Category: English

Cassian Hawthorne and I are a couple bound by pure hatred. Outside of the obligatory physical intimacy, we were practically strangers beyond the bedroom. He despised my domineering ways, and I was fed up with his endless rules and restrictions. So, when my body was taken over by a so-called “strategy girl,” I expected nothing from him. Why would I? The docile, obedient wife she pretended to be was exactly the kind of woman he wanted. Anyway, this “strategy girl” wasn’t an ordinary person. She was crossed into this novel world, my world, from her reality, guided by a system with one goal—to seduce the male lead, my husband. Her success? It was not about love. It was about sleeping with him. In her pursuit of this twisted mission, my soul was forced out of my own body. Now, I was nothing but a wandering spirit, stuck near my stolen form, powerless to take it back. However, while I was cast out, I could hear her thoughts loud and clear. While she played the perfect wife, embodying everything Cassian supposedly desired, I could only watch. Yet, to my surprise, the man who loathed me seemed to notice the cracks in her act. With a darkened expression, Cassian grabbed “me” by the throat, his voice trembling as he demanded, “Who the hell are you? And where is my Aurelia?”

I got into a car accident on the highway while rushing to meet a client. The deafening crash sent my vision spinning wildly. Just before I lost consciousness, a single thought lingered in my mind. “Looks like I’ve lost this client, and once again. I’ve failed to beat Cassian this month.” What a bitter defeat. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself floating midair—just a soul, weightless and detached. Below me, my body lay on a hospital bed, and sitting beside it was Cassian. His sharp features carried a cold, austere look, but beneath it, there was a hint of weariness etched across his face. I was stunned. Wasn’t he supposed to be abroad, closing a deal? Before I could process the situation, a foreign voice echoed in my ears—strangely, it was coming from my own body. “So, this is my new vessel? Not bad. The original female lead must have been an idiot, competing with the male lead for clients. Well, no matter. Once I finish my mission, her wonderful life will be mine. Men are just slaves to their desires. The system really underestimated me with this assignment.” The voice prattled on incessantly, yet the person on the bed hadn’t moved an inch. Was this… the new soul inhabiting my body? Frowning, I listened closely and quickly pieced together my predicament. The accident had jarred my soul loose from my body. When I tried to approach the bed and reclaim what was mine, an invisible force repelled me. It didn’t take long to understand—I couldn’t regain control, at least not for now. My body was being occupied by this so-called “strategy girl.” As I was still digesting this cruel twist, the person on the bed stirred. Her eyelashes fluttered, signaling her awakening. Cassian immediately noticed and pressed the call button, summoning the doctors. When the strategy girl opened her eyes and saw Cassian, a flash of awe glimmered in her gaze, though she quickly masked it. Then, her screeching inner monologue hit me like a hammer. “Oh my God! Is that the male lead, Cassian Hawthorne? He’s so handsome! Rich, powerful, and charming—how could the original female lead not fall for him? Well, he’s mine now. Tee-hee.” I couldn’t deny it. Cassian was indeed the kind of man who turned heads—a lethal combination of refined elegance and unapologetic dominance. While the strategy girl squealed inwardly, she remembered she needed to mimic my personality. Turning her head, she spoke in a tone of feigned indifference, “Why are you here?” Almost immediately, her inner voice returned, smug and triumphant. “Good thing the system gave me a full briefing on the original female lead’s character. She’s cold and distant toward the male lead. Hmm, this whole ‘loveless marriage’ dynamic is kind of fun. I bet I can complete my mission in a month—tops!” Cassian didn’t seem to suspect anything unusual. Lowering his gaze, he replied with biting sarcasm, “I came to make sure you weren’t dead. I can’t deal with the family fallout if you are. Rest up—I’ve got work to do.” Straightening his posture, he turned and left, his black coat sweeping behind him. I felt a twinge of disappointment, though it was more of a resigned acknowledgment. After all, Cassian and I had always been adversaries.

From the strategy girl’s incessant inner chatter, I pieced together her mission. She had three months to seduce Cassian, with her success measured by completing a series of sexual tasks with him. I couldn’t help but feel baffled. What kind of twisted system assigns such a ridiculous task? But in a cruel twist of irony, the setup wasn’t entirely mismatched. Cassian and I clashed on almost everything. Almost. When it came to the bedroom, though, we were surprisingly… compatible. I was headstrong by nature, but in bed, I never seemed to hold the upper hand. In the end, I could only endure, pinned beneath him, hurling curses in between shaky breaths. “Bastard…” Cassian would always lean in, chuckling softly in my ear, his movements unintentionally gentler as he drew out my pleasure. Our relationship was anything but normal, yet the thought of the strategy girl using my body to do those things with Cassian made my stomach churn. Meanwhile, her thoughts grew more gleeful. She sifted through the system’s files, her mind buzzing with plans. “He actually just walked out? Hah, once I win him over, he’ll be begging for my love. This is all the original female lead’s fault. But no matter—once I finish the mission, I can stay in this world forever as a rich man’s wife!” Her words hit me like a splash of icy water. She hadn’t spelled it out, but the implications were clear. Once her mission succeeded, I would lose any chance of regaining my body. And as a disembodied soul, how long could I linger in this world? Eventually, I’d fade into nothingness, my existence snuffed out entirely.

The strategy girl had started making her move. She got out of bed, still in her hospital gown, and went to the bathroom to look at herself in the mirror. Satisfied, she ran her fingers over her face before heading to the door. But just as she tried to step out, Cassian’s assistant blocked her path. His tone was professional, almost robotic. “Mrs. Hawthorne, you’ve only just woken up. If you need anything, please let me know. For now, I must insist you return to bed and rest.” The strategy girl frowned, clearly displeased. “I’m fine. Discharge me. I need to get back to work.” The assistant didn’t so much as blink, as if her response had been entirely predictable. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hawthorne. Mr. Hawthorne has instructed me to prioritize your recovery.” They stared each other down for what felt like ages, but eventually, she gave in. “Fine. If I can’t work, I can at least rest at home. The doctor already said I’m fine. Tell Cassian I want to go home. I can’t stand being in the hospital any longer.” The assistant hesitated for a moment. After receiving Cassian’s approval through his earpiece, he stepped aside. “Understood, Mrs. Hawthorne. I’ll arrange for your discharge immediately.” She had been staying in a VIP suite, so all her belongings were already packed. A sleek Maybach waited downstairs to take her home. Her expression remained calm, but her inner thoughts betrayed her excitement. “A Maybach? And all this just to take me home? Incredible. This life is all mine now—the system didn’t lie. The sooner I get home, the sooner I can sleep with him and complete my mission. Cassian’s body looks good. I definitely won’t regret this part.” I looked up sharply. Even though I knew Cassian wasn’t desperate enough to touch someone recovering from an accident, I couldn’t shake my unease. Cassian was my last hope. Would he notice anything strange about her tonight?

Dinner was already prepared when we arrived home. The maids had outdone themselves, but the meal passed in near silence, aside from the occasional glance the strategy girl threw in Cassian’s direction. Cassian was the first to stand. He poured himself a glass of milk, clearly intending to retreat to his study. The strategy girl instinctively reached for a cup and moved toward the milk jug. Cassian froze mid-step. Her hand faltered. “Crap! I forgot—didn’t the original female lead have a milk allergy? Seriously, she can’t even drink milk? What a disaster!” She scrambled for an excuse, her frustration spilling over in her thoughts. She wasn’t wrong. I did avoid milk, but not because of any physical allergy. It was psychological. When I grew up, my parents had been incredibly strict. Every part of my life was controlled—what I ate, how much, when. Junk food was forbidden, and by the time I hit puberty, every meal was logged and approved to maintain my figure. Dinner was balanced but joyless. Even my nights ended with a forced glass of milk under my mother’s watchful eye. I’d drink it obediently, only to gag myself over the sink the moment she left the room. The smell of milk suffocated me. After I married Cassian, I finally gained a little weight. No one told me what to eat or drink anymore. Milk never touched my lips, and Cassian knew that. He stopped in his tracks, his gaze turning back to the dining table. The strategy girl didn’t miss a beat. She poured the milk into the cup, set it on the far end of the table, and said casually, “Selene, there’s a little milk left here. Drink it when you’re done cleaning up.” Yawning theatrically, she brushed past Cassian and headed upstairs. “That scared me to death! I almost blew my cover. Good thing I thought fast. The original female lead was always kind to the staff so that little act shouldn’t seem suspicious.” Cassian didn’t say a word. His hand lingered on the banister as he watched her disappear into the bedroom. Then, slowly, he resumed climbing the stairs.

He turned away, his expression hidden, but I already knew the truth. She had passed his first test. Cassian went to his study. He was always busy, and after flying back from overseas, his workload had only piled up. By the time he finished, it was well past midnight. When he returned to the bedroom, the strategy girl was already asleep. In the darkness, Cassian’s brows furrowed as he gently touched the bandage on her forehead. The injuries from the accident weren’t severe, just minor bruises and swelling, yet his fingers brushed over the gauze with surprising care. His hand lingered and then moved downward, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. There it was—a tiny red birthmark just behind her ear. His gaze darkened as he examined her inch by inch, searching for… something. But everything seemed normal. Eventually, he sighed softly, pulled the blanket over her, and lay down beside her. Cassian’s breathing soon evened out, but the strategy girl, with her back turned to him, suddenly opened her eyes. She revealed a triumphant smile, her eyes gleaming with confidence. I felt a pang of disappointment, though it was exactly what I had expected. When it came to appearances, there was nothing to find fault with—after all, it was still my body. “So, he’s suspicious after all.” She mused, her thoughts filled with amusement. “Good thing I’m in the original female lead’s body. There’s no way he’ll figure it out. And wow, wasn’t he kind of gentle just now? Guess the original female lead was too boring for him. Finishing this mission is going to be a breeze.”

Cassian had always been a staunch materialist, scoffing at the notion of souls or spirits. Tonight’s suspicions, I imagined, were born out of fear that someone might be impersonating me. Once he ruled that out, he wouldn’t care anymore. If anything, the more obedient and agreeable the strategy girl appeared, the less he’d bother to question her. After all, in Cassian’s mind, a compliant, understanding wife was far more preferable. Whether it was truly me didn’t matter to him. Our marriage had been an accident from the start. Both of our families had been close for generations, and Cassian and I had grown up as classmates. We never got along. Back in school, we competed over grades. Once we started working, it became a battle over projects. Neither of us ever backed down. And yet, despite this contentious relationship, our families were delighted. We were well-matched in background and upbringing, having grown up under their watchful eyes. Most importantly, our families were equals in status. There was no grand romance, no dramatic love or hate. Cassian and I were simply bound together for a lifetime. After we married, I gained some freedom from my family’s suffocating control. Cassian gave me shares in his company, making me the second-largest shareholder, right after him. With fewer restrictions, I poured myself into work. At times, even Cassian couldn’t stand it. He would close my laptop with an air of authority and say, “Take a break. You can’t keep pushing yourself like this.” But I always insisted on finishing what I had started. People often wondered why I worked so relentlessly when my husband was the CEO. The answer was simple—for myself. I knew our marriage wasn’t built on love. It was more of a transaction. Cassian offering me shares was his show of sincerity, and I was determined to make the most of it. This world has no permanent safety net. If I were to leave him, I wanted to ensure I could live extraordinarily well on my own. That had always been my goal. But now, it seemed all my efforts were for someone else’s benefit. The strategy girl had taken over my body, easily claiming everything I’d worked for. It was something no amount of effort could undo. A wave of helplessness washed over me. The faint rustle of movement in the room snapped me out of my thoughts. Time seemed to move differently when you didn’t need sleep. Before I realized it, dawn had already arrived. Cassian, ever disciplined, rose early for his morning run. The strategy girl was still sound asleep. He tucked the blanket around her with care, gazing at her sleeping face for a long moment before leaning down to press a gentle kiss to her cheek. His eyes held a rare softness. I instinctively reached up to touch my own face. Had he ever looked at me like that? We rarely kissed, not even during sex. I always felt that intimacy like that required genuine affection, and we… we were little more than business partners. For so many mornings, I had woken up to an empty bed. It had never occurred to me that he might have done such things while I was still asleep. For the first time, I questioned my feelings toward him. A flicker of hope sparked within me. What if… what if Cassian discovered the truth? What if he realized that the person inside that body wasn’t me, that my soul had been replaced? But over the following days, that hope began to dwindle.

Cassian went about his routine as usual, busy with work and rarely spending time with the strategy girl except at night. Meanwhile, the strategy girl was growing increasingly comfortable in my role. Everyone close to us knew about the car accident, so no one bothered her with work matters. She seamlessly slipped into the life of a wealthy wife. Luxury items were delivered to the house in a steady stream, and the spa became her new favorite haunt. I had owned plenty of designer goods before, but I’d never had much interest in them. Cassian, however, was stubborn. Every time a new collection was launched, he made sure it was delivered to our home. Out of courtesy, I would pick one or two items, just to humor him. The strategy girl wasn’t so reserved. She used my cards to pay for everything, careful not to raise Cassian’s suspicions. Standing in front of the walk-in closet filled with bags, she smiled smugly, satisfaction written all over her face. “Being rich feels amazing. I could never afford these bags before, but now they’re all mine. Cassian will be home soon. I need to clean up and make my move tonight. Once the mission is complete, I’ll plan a trip abroad. I heard he has a private jet—I’ve never been on one!” She was lost in her fantasy when the phone rang, interrupting her daydream. She was getting her nails done at home, and the manicurist was in the middle of attaching nail tips when the sound startled her. Annoyed, she yanked her hand away and glanced at the nails with a frown. “What is this mess? Your technique is awful!” The manicurist stammered an apology, bowing her head. “I’m sorry, Ma’am. I’ll fix it right away. Please let me try again.” The call was from my assistant, Grayson. As the phone rang a second time, the strategy girl impatiently put it on speaker. “Hello?” she snapped. “Ms. Swift, I apologize for disturbing you, but there’s an issue with our collaboration with Luminaris Industries. Their team is already here at the office. Would you be able to…” Grayson’s voice was tense, clearly indicating the urgency of the matter. Panic surged within me. The Luminaris Industries deal was something I had painstakingly secured after countless meetings. It wasn’t just crucial for me—it was vital for Cassian and the entire company. But the strategy girl had no idea. She didn’t understand the complexities of managing a business or handling partnerships, let alone navigating a situation like this.

She hesitated for a moment and then lowered her voice, adopting a weak tone. “You know I just got discharged. My head’s still killing me. You handle it for now, and I’ll review the files you sent.” I’d always been a workaholic, someone who kept pushing through illness to get the job done. People were usually the ones urging me to take a break. I was fiercely competitive, refusing to show weakness. This was the first time “I” had ever admitted to feeling unwell. Grayson wouldn’t dare neglect me after hearing that. His tone even carried a hint of guilt. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Swift. This came out of nowhere—no one expected it. Please don’t overexert yourself. I’ll talk to Luminaris Industries in the meantime. You just rest.” When the call ended, she let out a long sigh of relief but made no move to act. Hours passed as her manicure session dragged on. When it was finally done, she admired the tiny gemstones on her nails for a while before casually opening her laptop. The files Grayson had sent were packed with dense tables and technical terms, pages of professional jargon. “What the hell is this? Just looking at it gives me a headache. How would I understand any of this? Ugh, the original female lead isn’t here, and I’m stuck cleaning up her mess. What kind of idiot chooses work over living the life of a rich wife?” She scrolled through the documents, her frown deepening with every line. Even someone as skilled as Cassian would need time to get through this, let alone her. These files were directly tied to the project I had been leading—a project I knew inside and out. She stubbornly kept scrolling but gave up when it became clear she couldn’t make sense of any of it. Her long nails tapped irritably on the keyboard before she glanced at the clock. It was already nine at night, and Cassian still wasn’t back. I hovered beside her, fully absorbed in the data on the screen, quickly pinpointing the problem areas. I was desperate to reclaim my body, reorganize the files, and meet with Luminaris Industries myself. This project was the culmination of my hard work, and I knew she’d never appreciate its value. But every time I tried to approach her, an invisible force repelled me. After multiple failed attempts, I could only watch helplessly as the minutes ticked by. She eventually pulled out her phone and began scrolling through entertainment news. By midnight, she grew tired and simply went to bed. I stayed by her side, unable to rest, as the hours crawled on. Cassian didn’t return that night. The next morning, as the strategy girl yawned her way downstairs, she ran into him just as he walked through the door. His suit was slightly wrinkled, his features showing signs of fatigue, but he was still effortlessly handsome. “Luminaris Industries is taken care of,” he said. “Grayson mentioned your headache. I’ll have the doctor schedule a full check-up. I can’t have my parents worrying.” His gaze shifted downward, landing on her newly manicured nails. The rounded tips and shimmering gemstones caught the morning light, casting tiny reflections. “You got your nails done?” She froze, caught off guard.

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Bethany Wilcox, the girl who constantly boasted about her wealth, came to my company for an interview. Despite giving a disastrous performance, she somehow triumphed over all the candidates from prestigious universities and secured the position. “Oops, sorry, I wasn’t prepared well. Let’s do it again.” The interviewers exchanged awkward smiles, frozen on their faces. And so, her exclusive interview dragged on from morning till night. When the lights dimmed, the interviewers, finally relieved, each wore a long face and announced that everyone in the company had to stay for overtime. That evening, the wealthy girl posted a video. In the video, she said, “The first day of inheriting the family business started with an interview where I hid my identity.” I quickly called my mom. “Spill it. Do you have an illegitimate daughter, or am I not your child?” Today, the company had an interview session. Although all the candidates had finished and left, the interview wasn’t over yet. “The interviews are done, so why haven’t our superiors come out yet?” An employee, desperate to get a signature from the superiors, was pacing anxiously. “Shh, be quiet. The future female heir of our company is still in there,” someone whispered. “What?” another person asked. “She came for the interview. She posted a video yesterday.” Everyone perked up, exchanging whispers. The gossip group chat was buzzing with excitement. I opened the video through a link shared in the group chat. [What should I wear to the interview tomorrow?] In her video, the spacious walk-in closet looked strangely familiar, and in the corner, there was a sexy nightgown given to me by my best friend! I quickly called my butler, Kevin O’Conner. “Kevin, is everything alright at home?” “Uh, Ms. Stoddard, everything, everything is fine,” Kevin said, his usual calm tone faltering. I could tell he was holding something back. A chill ran down my spine. I had a bad feeling something was wrong at home. “Ms. Stoddard, how is your mother’s health? When will you be back?” “She’s still undergoing treatment. I’m not sure when I’ll return.” After high school, I received an elite education abroad. Half a year ago, my mother fell seriously ill, so I brought her overseas for treatment. Now that her health was under control and I had finished my studies, I had returned as per her wishes to take over the family business. To understand the situation of my company, I secretly returned to my home country and, relying on my own abilities, applied for a job at my company. I never expected to find myself in a “true or false daughter” drama. Looking at the clothes and accessories strewn across the floor, I felt my anger rise. I was eager to find out who was behind this mess. That evening, the imposter updated her video. [The first day of inheriting the company, starting with an interview where I hid my identity.]

The next day, someone in the gossip group posted a photo of her commuting to work. Bethany, donning oversized sunglasses and toting a Hermes bag, strode out of the car with an air of arrogance after the driver opened the door for her. The car was mine, and so was the bag. Bethany was shorter than me, and from the slightly loose suit she was wearing, it was clear that the suit belonged to me as well. Before she even reached the elevator, the fashionable employees in the gossip group had already stripped her down, analyzing her from head to toe. “Daughters from wealthy families really are different. The clothes she wears could buy a whole house.” “I envy her so much, and I’d love to be friends with a rich woman like her.” “Who wouldn’t want to latch onto someone like that?” But soon, their opinions changed. On her first day at work, Bethany took the team leader, Brad Williamson’s seat. She claimed that the background of Brad’s seat looked better for shooting videos. Brad’s smile went from flattering to fake. On her second day, Bethany took credit for a colleague’s report. On her third day, she inexplicably scolded a colleague. In the videos she posted every day, her superiors were eager to give her the best spot; she wrote amazing reports in minutes and criticized her colleagues for being useless… She portrayed herself as a workplace elite. Her colleagues became her comparison group, and her fans started calling us “Waste No. 1”, “Waste No. 2″… Watching her superiors fawn over her while her colleagues dared not speak out, I was thoroughly disappointed with the company’s management. I had filled pages in my little notebook with notes.

Soon, the time for the department product presentation arrived. I worked overtime for several days to prepare the PowerPoint for the product introduction. Just as I was about to present, Bethany came toward me, holding her phone and live-streaming. “Aaliyah Stoddard, what are you doing standing here? Don’t you see the superiors don’t have water? Go get some!” she said. Bethany casually flicked her hair, her gaze drifting. A hint of guilt flashed in her eyes. “Such a lack of awareness.” “Fans, I have to be strict. These employees are so lazy.” I squinted, pretending to be dismissed by her. I glanced at her livestream, where a group of fans were praising her as an excellent, independent woman. I couldn’t help but sneer, standing outside the door but not leaving. Bethany had deliberately tried to get rid of me, and I knew she was up to something. She stepped onto the stage, opened the PowerPoint, and began presenting with a serious expression. “Hello, everyone. I’m Bethany, the presenter for this product. “I’m new, so the PowerPoint isn’t perfect. Please guide me.” Hearing this, my teammates exchanged glances and looked at me with a gloating expression. I folded my arms and glared at them. The intimidation in my eyes made them shrink back. I had to admit, Bethany’s voice was sweet, and she read through the slides word for word. The entire room applauded her. She stood there proudly, like a rooster, with a smirk on her face as she winked at the phone in her hand. “Excuse me, what’s the design concept behind this product?” A sudden voice interrupted, and the applause ceased instantly. No one expected someone to ask a question. Bethany froze on the spot. All eyes turned to me. “Uh, the concept… well, it’s… it’s all about increasing profits, yes, profits,” she stammered, her face turning red. The room fell silent for three seconds, and then the department manager stepped in to smooth things over. “It all comes down to one thing. It’s all for the company!” he said, and everyone clapped in agreement. I felt like I had swallowed a fly. I did not expect the marketing manager could be so lacking in principles. It seemed clear the company had a long way to go. I sighed in frustration. It was after this incident that Bethany became my enemy. “I ordered coffee and desserts for everyone,” Bethany said. Sensing her colleagues’ dissatisfaction, she began buying food for everyone more frequently. “Thanks, young lady!” one colleague said. “Shh, don’t say that. I don’t want to expose my identity,” Bethany whispered. Slowly, she won over my colleagues with her sugary tactics. “Oops, Aaliyah, I forgot you were still here. I didn’t get anything for you,” she said, with clumsy acting. However, her poor acting had the most obvious effect. As a result, I was isolated by everyone.

The second half of the year’s product sales conference was about to begin. Brad assigned me to handle the service work. “Isn’t service work just being a waiter? “Hah, I was just joking. Aaliyah, you need to prepare well. You must handle the service properly.” Bethany covered her mouth and exchanged glances with her colleagues. Upon watching the chaotic team atmosphere, my patience was running thin. Brad, powerless against the undisciplined culprit, had no choice but to wait until Bethany finished her performance before continuing, his face expressionless. “This time, the president of Virex Global Group, Damian Caldwell, will be attending in person. Everyone needs to be on their best behavior.” “Mr. Caldwell, really?” “Mr. Caldwell is a golden bachelor, the heartthrob of the finance world!” Brad’s words were like a drop of water in a hot pan. All the female colleagues began chattering, their faces filled with admiration and anticipation. Bethany looked as though she was deep in thought. I couldn’t help but feel helpless, thinking to myself, “Why did this troublemaker have to show up?” The company placed great importance on the product sales conference. In order to secure Damian’s investment, the department had been working overtime for a week to ensure everything would be flawless. On the day of the event, Bethany, who wasn’t originally involved in the reception, showed up at the venue early. “Brad, Aaliyah comes from an ordinary family. She’s never seen such a big event. “I’ll handle the reception for her,” she suggested. “No, this reception is too important. It’s going to decide next year’s orders. You have no experience!” Brad immediately shook his head, refusing. “It’s fine if something goes wrong. I’ll take responsibility. Brad, don’t forget, and I’m going to be the company’s heir,” she said with an air of certainty and subtle threat. Under Bethany’s determined, almost menacing gaze, Brad finally relented. It worked out perfectly for me. I wasn’t in any rush to face Damian. As the largest investor, Damian made his grand entrance last. Damian had a tall, lean figure and sharp features. It seemed as though he carried the wind with him, walking into the venue amidst compliments from others. Bethany’s face flushed crimson, her eyes dreamy, as she stepped forward to greet him. Damian, however, walked straight past her, his eyes scanning the room. “Dear Damian, I’m Bethany. I’ll be your host today,” she introduced herself. “Are all your company’s employees this familiar with everyone?” Damian replied with a sharp tone. “Well then, tell me about the design concept of this product, its application scenarios, market predictions…” “Uh… I…” Bethany couldn’t help but scratch her head, her gaze darting around, silently pleading for help. After all these years, Damian’s tongue was still as sharp as ever. Unable to contain myself, I let out a laugh. Hearing my laugh, Damian turned his gaze toward me and flashed a rare smile. Bethany, on the other hand, turned beet red, and her heart raced, thinking Damian was joking with her. “Damian, you’re so naughty! My father is the boss of Stod Group, and I’ve heard from him that our families are old friends.” Damian suddenly turned his head toward her, his cold, appraising gaze freezing her in place. Bethany took a step back, visibly startled by his scrutiny. “Sorry, but my Caldwell family is not acquainted with the Wilcox family.” The Caldwell family had ties to the Stoddard family, not the Wilcox family. Without the Stoddard family, no one would even know who my father was. The employees around us were all awkwardly blushing, and Brad looked like he was about to lose his mind. “Mr. Caldwell, my apologies for not welcoming you properly. I’m Steve McLean, the company’s vice president,” he hurriedly stepped forward. “Bethany, don’t just stand there! Apologize to Mr. Caldwell; he’s just messing with you,” he said, exasperated. “Uncle Steve,” Bethany muttered, twisting her hands and sneaking glances at Damian. The other company executives around us exchanged amused glances. I thought to myself, “With such an unrefined leader at Stod Group, it’s no wonder the company is on the decline.” I clenched my fists. Stod Group was founded by my grandfather and has been the pride and hard work of the Stoddard family for three generations. Now, only my mother and I remain of the Stoddard family, and I will not allow anyone to ruin Stod Group.

The product sales conference turned out to be passable but far from perfect. Damian raised an eyebrow at me, and I nodded in response. We agreed to meet later at the café downstairs. “Why did you come over today?” “You’ve been gone for so long, and now that you’re back, you don’t even say a word. I had no choice but to come see you myself.” “Don’t you miss me?” he teased, a playful grin on his face as he threw flirtatious glances at me. “What’s going on with Bethany?” “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of her soon!” We hadn’t had a good conversation in a long time, and neither of us noticed the pair of angry eyes watching us from outside the café. When I returned to the office, I noticed that my colleagues were looking at me strangely. “Hmph, some people really don’t know their place. How dare she set her sights on Mr. Caldwell?” “Right! She’s trying to hook up with Mr. Caldwell during a company event and ruining the company’s reputation!” Two of my colleagues, with whom I had been on good terms, began gossiping. “Aaliyah, how dare you come back here after trying to seduce Mr. Caldwell? You’ve completely neglected your work. Do you even want to keep your job?” Bethany pointed at my nose, her face twisted with anger. “That’s nonsense. Damian and I are friends,” I retorted. Bethany and the other women laughed as though they’d heard the funniest joke. “You bumpkin, dreaming of marrying a rich man? It’ll never happen!” “Yeah, you’ll never marry into money in your life!” I glanced around at the mocking faces, then gave a slight smirk. “I just wanted to let you all know that due to Bethany’s poor reception, everyone in the marketing department has had their year-end bonuses canceled. “Since you’re all so happy about this, I assume you have no objections?”

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My husband takes me on a seaside getaway, coaxing me to lean over the ship’s railing to enjoy the view. With half my body stretched out over the edge, he waits for the perfect moment—then shoves me into the water without hesitation. My terrified scream is swallowed by the deafening roar of the waves, which crash over me and drag me mercilessly into the depths. Victor casts me a fleeting glance, no more than a flicker of acknowledgment, before his lips curl into a triumphant grin. Pulling out his phone, he eagerly calls his mistress, who conveniently works for an insurance company. “She’s overboard,” he says, his voice brimming with excitement. “Now we can finally cash in on that massive payout!” Water rushed into my throat, choking me violently. A suffocating sensation gripped me as I coughed and sputtered, my vision blurring in the chaos. Overwhelmed by terror, I begged desperately. “Victor, please! Save me! I don’t want to die! Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you. Just help me!” But my husband, Victor Bennett, simply ended his call and stared at me with cold indifference. Fueled by sheer survival instinct, I found a surge of strength, flailing my arms and legs until I managed to grab onto the ship’s rope ladder. For a moment, hope flickered—I could save myself. But Victor’s expression darkened the instant he noticed. His mistress, Ruby Monroe, appeared on deck just then. Victor turned to her and pointed at a metal rod leaning in the corner. “Hand me that,” he commanded. Without hesitation, Victor swung the sharp rod at my fingers. Blow after blow landed, turning my hands into mangled, bleeding messes. My grip faltered, and with every swing, he yelled furiously. “Just die already! I’m doing this for a better life—for us! Weren’t you always willing to do anything for my happiness?” Pain radiated through me as I tried to hold on, but his strikes grew harder, and the agony unbearable. At last, I lost my grip and plunged back into the sea. The water consumed me. I thrashed, desperate for air, but the waves dragged me under. Soon, the surface of the sea stilled, silent and ominous. From the depths, I could faintly hear Victor’s voice above. “Relax. Lillian’s a terrible swimmer—there’s no way she’ll survive. Besides, I destroyed her hands. She couldn’t even save herself if she tried.” Ruby’s doubtful voice followed. “If she can’t swim, why would she agree to come out here?” Victor laughed, his tone dripping with contempt. “I told her it was a romantic anniversary cruise. That idiot jumped at the chance.” He wrapped an arm around Ruby’s waist, pulling her close. They kissed passionately on the deck, their intimacy a knife twisting in my heart. Five years of marriage, and Victor had betrayed me without hesitation. When the kiss ended, Ruby playfully patted his shoulder and left. Victor adjusted his expression, his face contorting into a mask of panic as he began screaming. “Help! Someone help! My wife fell overboard! Please, save her!” Hearing his anguished cries, the ship’s crew rushed to alert the coast guard and search for me. But out here, in the vastness of the ocean, the sea swallows fragile lives quickly. Hours later, the rescue team returned empty-handed. Spectators patted Victor on the shoulder, consoling him as he slumped to the ground, seemingly devastated. But I noticed the faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. I returned to shore on a small boat, drenched and trembling as the cold wind bit through my soaked clothes. Despite knowing this betrayal was coming, my heart felt like it had plunged into an endless abyss of despair and pain. A month earlier, I had stumbled across an insurance policy hidden in our closet. The payout was enormous, and Victor was the sole beneficiary. The agent handling the policy? None other than Ruby, his first love and long-time secret mistress. My thoughts were interrupted by the ring of my phone. Shaking, I opened my social media app with my battered hands, only to see Victor’s latest post. “Please help me find my wife! She fell overboard!” In the video, Victor knelt on the ground, sobbing hysterically, pleading for the sea to return his beloved wife. It went viral almost immediately. Witnesses from the cruise commented in his defense, painting him as a grieving, devoted husband. But I knew better. This was all part of Victor’s elaborate plan to stage my death as an accident. When I returned to the hotel I had secretly booked in advance, I dried my hair and prepared to call my lawyer. But muffled sounds from the hallway caught my attention. Pressing my ear to the door, I recognized the voices instantly. Victor and Ruby. I crouched by the peephole, my stomach churning with disgust. They were entangled, completely lost in each other, oblivious to everything else. Although I had booked the room next to theirs to gather evidence of their affair, watching it unfold in real time made my stomach turn. Fighting the nausea, I steadied myself, only to hear Ruby’s coy voice drift through the door. “When I checked in, the receptionist mentioned that the guest in the room next door had the same name as Lillian. I told them I was her best friend and got a spare key. Should we take a look—just in case?” Ruby pulled out the keycard, inching closer to my door.

I gripped my phone tightly, my palms clammy with nervous sweat. Just as Ruby pressed her keycard against the lock’s sensor, Victor reached out and stopped her. “Forget it,” he said, his voice low but firm. “We saw Lillian fall into the ocean with our own eyes. There’s no way she survived. My post is going viral right now. If we do anything suspicious and it gets traced back to us, we’ll lose the payout. The insurance company won’t pay a cent.” Ruby hesitated but eventually nodded, letting him lead her back into their room. Moments later, muffled, intimate noises resumed through the wall. I quickly called my lawyer, my voice steady despite the storm inside me. Afterward, I went to the hospital to treat my injuries and then handed all the evidence I had collected over the past month to him. I had first discovered the insurance policy by accident. From the moment I saw it, something felt wrong. The payout was enormous, and Victor was the sole beneficiary. Even worse, the agent handling the policy was Ruby, his first love and long-time mistress. At the time, I thought I could confront Ruby directly, but Victor caught on quickly. Wrapping his arms around my waist, he murmured sweetly into my ear. “This is just a safety net for our marriage,” he explained smoothly. “Look, I even got a policy for myself. If either of us ever has an accident, the other will have the strength to go on. Isn’t that what love is? Taking care of each other?” Foolishly, I believed him. But soon after, I noticed his search history—articles about staging accidents and foolproof methods to make them look natural. The unease in my chest grew heavier with each passing day. Then came the moment that shattered every lie. One afternoon, I went to Victor’s office to drop off some papers and found him in the breakroom, passionately kissing Ruby. The truth hit me like a freight train. Everything he’d ever said about love was a sham. I took out the insurance policy that night and began my investigation. When I found that Ruby had altered several key clauses in the policy, making it more beneficial to Victor, I realized this wasn’t just an insurance document—it was my death warrant. From then on, Victor’s behavior changed. He began suggesting we try extreme sports or risky activities. One night, I was startled awake by a faint noise coming from the bathroom. Quietly, I got up and tiptoed toward the light. Inside, I saw Victor fiddling with the wiring, tossing loose cables into the bathtub. My blood turned cold. Every morning, I took a bath as part of my routine. There was no need to explain what he intended. Tears streamed down my face as I leaned weakly against the doorframe, my entire body trembling. Victor noticed me, his expression flickering for just a moment before he smoothed it over. “The wiring must’ve short-circuited,” he said calmly. “I’ll fix it tomorrow.” I couldn’t say a word. After that night, Victor became more cautious, his actions more calculated. Yet Ruby’s occasional visits to our home revealed her impatience. Her glances, sharp as knives, betrayed their shared intent. The day I overheard Ruby talking about booking a cruise, I knew they were planning to exploit my inability to swim. So, I decided to play along, baiting them into making their move. At the hospital, I overheard the nurses chatting in hushed tones. “Did you see that news about the wife who fell overboard? That poor husband, crying on his knees. He looked so heartbroken.” “He must’ve really loved her. It’s so tragic.” I bit my lip, forcing back a bitter laugh as I shook my head. Leaving the hospital, I instinctively opened Victor’s social media. As expected, he had posted another video. This time, he had hired a professional salvage team and vowed to spare no expense in finding his beloved wife. The comments were flooded with sympathy and praise. But my sharp eyes caught something—the profiles of the people commenting. Their faces were eerily familiar. They were the security staff from Ruby’s company. Victor had planned every detail meticulously. If I hadn’t known better, even surviving this ordeal wouldn’t have saved me. He would’ve lured me back, playing the concerned husband, only to finish what he started. The thought made me shiver, my stomach twisting into knots. I had come so close to being ensnared in his web.

“Mr. Blake, you once mentioned a job opportunity for me. Is the offer still on the table?” Standing by the window, I watched Victor dramatically perform his role as the grieving husband on the pier while making the call. “Lillian Carter? A sudden change of heart, I see. Weren’t you all about staying home to care for your husband before? Now you’re ready to get back into the grind?” Samuel Blake’s teasing tone made me smile wryly. When Victor and I got married, he insisted I quit my job and focus on being a full-time wife. At the time, I had just been offered a promising promotion, and Samuel had presented me with an incredibly tempting deal. But Victor’s words—”I don’t want you to tire yourself out. I just want you to be the happiest woman alive”—had swayed me completely. I resigned without hesitation. Looking back, that may have been the moment he started severing my ties to the outside world. If I ended up dead, there would be no one left to question his narrative or demand justice. “I guess I was too naive back then to realize that, for a woman, a career is her greatest shield,” I said. Samuel chuckled, clearly pleased. “Glad to see you’ve come around. The company’s main operations are now based in Harbor City. Would you be willing to relocate?” “Of course,” I replied without hesitation. “I’ll have my assistant book your flight.” The call ended, and I let out a relieved breath. Until everything was resolved, staying close to a familiar face seemed like the safest option. Victor and Ruby, no matter how resourceful, wouldn’t dare make a move on me in the company of my colleagues. The next day, as soon as I landed, a notification from the family photo-sharing album popped up on my phone. I opened it and froze. Victor had uploaded over a dozen explicit photos of himself with Ruby. They were everywhere—against the hotel’s floor-to-ceiling windows, in the bathtub, on the dining table… As I scrolled through, I noticed something else. With each picture, Ruby seemed to be flaunting more jewelry. The final photo revealed her wearing an unmistakably new, extravagant diamond ring. Victor could never afford something like that—not on his own. Then it clicked. The insurance policy. One of its clauses had been troubling me since I first uncovered it. According to the terms, my disappearance for fifteen days would qualify as an accident. A full month would legally declare me dead. Clearly, Ruby had exploited her position to draft such irregular clauses, likely releasing funds prematurely. It was blatant insurance fraud—grounds for severe legal repercussions. Victor and Ruby had kept this a tightly guarded secret. But now, convinced I was gone, they didn’t even bother removing me from the shared album. I saved every incriminating photo as evidence. Over the next month, Victor played the role of a grieving widower for the public while secretly indulging in a life of luxury with Ruby. They burned through our savings at an alarming rate, dining at expensive restaurants, shopping for designer goods, and taking lavish trips. Finally, the day came. One month since my “disappearance.” The time to legally confirm my death had arrived. Victor and Ruby returned to the country, eager to cash in on their charade. I watched them enter the police station, application forms in hand, ready to finalize my “death.” Exchanging a determined glance with my lawyer, I took a deep breath. It was time for this deceitful duo to face justice. Victor handed the paperwork to the officer, his face carefully crafted into an expression of sorrow. “Officer,” he began, his voice tinged with grief, “my wife fell overboard in a tragic accident. We’ve searched tirelessly, but there’s no sign of her. I believe it’s time to officially confirm her death.” Ruby stood beside him, her eyes brimming with anticipation. The officer reviewed the documents carefully and then nodded solemnly. “If there’s no contrary evidence, we’ll proceed with the standard procedure. Sir, my condolences for your loss…” Just as he was about to stamp the papers, I burst into the room, my voice sharp and clear. “Not yet!” Every head turned toward me in stunned silence. “I’m the victim of that so-called accident,” I declared, stepping forward. “I am not dead!”

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After my mother passed away, I entangled myself with her lover’s son. In a heated moment, he tightened his grip around my neck and asked, “Is this how you seduced my father?” Later, his half-brother also became infatuated with me. He was consumed with jealousy, “Getting along well with the little bastard, huh?” On the outside, I appeared fearful, but inside, I laughed with satisfaction. Let them go mad, let father and son clash, let brothers turn against each other. How entertaining! My mother fell to her death from a building. For years, she was trapped in a high-rise, treated like a plaything. She was forced to endure it all for my sake. On the day I came of age, her fragile form, as delicate as porcelain, fell from the attic and shattered before my eyes. The one responsible for her death was Gideon Everett. The head of the Everett Family. After my dad died, he took over our family business. He also seized my beautiful mother. Gideon Everett, that beast, fell for his best friend’s wife. To possess my mother, he plotted to kill my father and took away our family’s wealth. Now that my mother is gone, he’s set his sights on me. I need to protect myself, seek revenge, and make Gideon Everett pay in blood. He took everything from my father; I will destroy all he has—wealth, status, even life. I want him to feel the same pain of losing a loved one as I do. The first step in my revenge is to ruin his most prized son. His own son falling for his kept “canary.” Father and son struggling, turning against each other. How amusing, just imagining it makes me eager. Revenge starts tonight.

Wesley Everett, hailed as a business prodigy, is the most promising heir of the Everett Family. At just twenty-four, he founded his own company, becoming Harbor City’s most sought-after elite. I gently traced Wesley Everett’s features with my hand. What would it be like for such a proud and noble man to fall under my sway? I am very curious. Gideon Everett recently went on a business trip to Europe, leaving the family home. This gave me the perfect opportunity to seduce his son. That night, I chose a white lace dress. It had a touch of innocence with just the right amount of allure. I quietly pushed open Wesley Everett’s door. He didn’t have the habit of locking his door. At this hour, he was in the bathroom showering. I slipped under the dark covers of his bed, which carried his cool scent. The bed beside me sank a bit; he got on. I knew Wesley Everett had the habit of sleeping naked. Sure enough, as soon as he got on the bed, he noticed me pretending to be asleep. I knew I looked enticing. With glossy red lips, a face flushed from sleep, and a skirt that had ridden up to my thighs. The sight of my full, unrestrained curves further stirred the nerves of a man inebriated. Feeling Wesley Everett’s intense gaze. I deliberately let out a soft murmur and rolled over to embrace him hesitantly lying beside me. His firm muscles instantly tensed; he was restraining himself. Am I not tempting enough? It seems I haven’t ignited enough desire. I deliberately rubbed against him as if in a dream. Wesley Everett finally couldn’t hold back, gripping my chin with intense eyes, “Are you trying to seduce me?” Suddenly, my lips felt soft as his cold lips pressed against mine. I pretended to be startled awake, looking at him with innocent and naive eyes, “What are you doing?” My sweet, gentle voice carried a hint of desire. The thin strap of my nightgown slipped, exposing my creamy chest, pure yet seductive. Hearing my voice, Wesley Everett paused. Then he overwhelmed me with kisses, “Be good, let me kiss you.” His deep, husky voice carried an irresistible passion. Pinned under him, I struggled frantically, “Brother, you can’t do this.” Just then, footsteps suddenly approached the door. “Click, click, click!” Mrs. Everett was coming.

“Wesley, I made you some hangover soup. Get up and have some.” Fiona Taylor pushed the door open directly, knowing her son went socializing tonight and drank a lot. I shrank back in fear. Deliberately brushing against Wesley Everett’s sensitive, aroused spot. He gently kissed my forehead to soothe me. Then pulled the quilt up to hide me underneath, his dominant presence completely enveloping me. In this position, he completely trapped me in his embrace. Wesley Everett impatiently replied, “Mom, I need to rest.” Fiona Taylor walked in and placed the hangover soup on the desk. “Wesley, why is your face so red?” Of course, Wesley’s face was red. He was naked, pressed against me, even our hearts were beating in sync. If his own mother saw this, how thrilling would it be? The forbidden pleasure made Wesley Everett break out in a thin sweat, droplets rolling down his throat. Fiona Taylor wanted to come closer but was stopped by Wesley Everett. “I’m going to rest now, please leave!” Fiona Taylor knew her son was always proud and didn’t dare defy him, “Remember to drink the soup.” She gave a couple of reminders before turning to leave. Wesley Everett was near the brink, my hot breath brushed against his chest, each pant like a tickle to the heart. I certainly wouldn’t let him off so easily. I deliberately squirmed, my soft lips pressed against his chest. My fingertips accidentally brushed against his almost erupting desire. “Ah!” He let out an unbearable gasp. “Wesley, what’s wrong?” Fiona Taylor, just about to leave, returned with concern, leaning in to check on her seemingly unwell son. “I’m fine!” Wesley Everett grumpily pulled the quilt up, covering himself entirely. Underneath him, I was pinned, unable to move. I propped my hand against his pressing chest. My soft, boneless hand touching his hot, firm chest nearly drove his sensitive nerves to the edge. Fiona Taylor suspiciously glanced at the unusually high bulge on the bed. She seemed to sense something. The shape of the quilt… is there someone else inside?

Fiona Taylor held back and didn’t expose her son. Her son was her only support in the Everett Family; she didn’t want a direct conflict with him. Fiona Taylor suppressed her shock and anger, closed Wesley Everett’s room door, and instructed the servants not to disturb him. After Fiona Taylor left, I pushed Wesley Everett away. I sat weakly on the bed, gulping fresh air. The big movement made my nightgown completely fall off. My graceful figure was fully exposed. Wesley Everett’s drunkenness had mostly faded, and he looked at me with a grim face. Just as he was about to question me. I was a step ahead, getting off the bed, tears in my eyes, and running away in panic. Wesley Everett was stunned, watching me flee. For a moment, he felt a bit annoyed. Was she disgusted by him? After I left, Wesley Everett didn’t sleep. He replayed the scene of me pinned beneath him, releasing again and again. He didn’t know, as he called my name in ecstasy, I was outside the door watching him. …… The next day was a rest day, and I was painting in the studio. Fiona Taylor stormed in with people, “Grab Lydia Kane for me!” “Slut, just as cheap as your mother!” She was furious, dragging me into the conservatory and throwing me to the ground. The conservatory was her domain; she loved using needles on me there. Gideon Everett didn’t allow me to have visible injuries. So, she could only use needles. After pricking my back, she still wasn’t satisfied. She wanted to stab my fingers with needles. I was actually scared inside. Childhood memories of her abuse almost made me faint. I was gambling, betting that Gideon Everett or Wesley Everett would come to rescue me. Sure enough, just before the needle pierced my finger. Gideon Everett kicked open the door to the conservatory. He pulled Fiona Taylor away. “Fiona Taylor, I warn you, don’t forget your place.” Pushed away, Fiona Taylor screamed uncontrollably. “Do you know what she did? She seduced Wesley. Just like her shameless mother. All sluts!” Gideon Everett ignored her. He picked me up and headed straight to the attic. That’s the forbidden area of the Everett Family, where my mother lived before she died. Gideon Everett threw me onto the carpet, standing before me, leisurely unbuckling his belt. He didn’t save me; he just changed the way he tortured me. My hands and feet were tied, unable to move. Gideon Everett drank a lot, and with each sip, he whipped me. The belt lashed my body, burning with pain. Exhausted, he collapsed on the sofa, panting. The opportunity was coming. I silently counted the time, waiting for him to get drunk. Gideon Everett grabbed my hair, forcing me to look up at him, “Lydia Kane, you know very well why I keep you.” With that, he threw away the belt, untied me, and began tearing at my clothes. I struggled desperately, crying out to remind him. “Uncle Gideon, you promised my mom you wouldn’t touch me.” His hands paused briefly, then resumed tearing me apart even more violently. I calmed down, trying hard to imitate my mother’s voice, speaking coldly, “Gideon Everett, are you an animal?” Gideon Everett froze, his eyes dazed as he looked at me… “Sophie, we met first, I loved you first. Why did you…” He tossed aside the belt, freed me from my restraints, and started to pull at my clothes. I struggled desperately, crying out to remind him. “Uncle Gideon, you promised my mom you wouldn’t touch me.” His hands hesitated for a moment, but then he attacked even more ferociously. I calmed myself, trying hard to mimic my mother’s voice, speaking coldly, “Gideon Everett, are you an animal?” Gideon froze, his eyes glazed as he looked at me… “Sophie, we met first, I loved you first. Why…” His voice was thick with emotion. I knew I had succeeded. Gideon mistook me for my mom. I pushed him away, picked up the belt from the floor, and pressed my foot against his fervor. I struck him hard with the belt. He didn’t evade, enduring the pain with a twisted sense of excitement. Gideon Everett, this twisted monster. “Kneel!” I lashed him again, and Gideon trembled as he knelt upright. It seemed he enjoyed it that way. Suppressing my revulsion, I used the handle of the whip to lift his chin. “Gideon Everett, do you realize how filthy you are? You disgusting creature!” He didn’t flinch, his eyes dazed as he looked at me. “Sophie, I just love you too much. Please, give me, give me a child of ours.”

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I admit I was wrong. I am a modern woman, but I got tangled up with a strange system that made me earn money by pleasing men. I was simultaneously pleasing three men, and within less than six months, I made enough money to buy a villa. While I was busy making money, these three men suddenly showed up and cornered me against the wall. With grim expressions, they asked, “Tell us, who do you really like? You can only choose one.” I messaged the person saved as [6’2 Sagittarius Star, Acton Lyons] and said: [I miss you.] A few seconds later, Acton replied: [Stop missing me. I’m taking three girls out tomorrow. It’s going to be fun.] I quickly responded, still cheerful: [Taking girls out, huh? Be sure to drive safely.] Acton sent a string of ellipses. I elegantly took a sip of coffee, then messaged the second person on my list, saved as [6’1″ Capricorn CEO, Theodore Blakely,] with a simple [Good morning.] Then I started watching a drama. By the time I finished an entire season, he still hadn’t replied. But this didn’t surprise me. Calmly, I sent a follow-up message: [I checked, Capricorns really don’t like replying to messages. I understand.] Finally, he replied: [If you’re so free, why don’t you get a job?] I smoothly answered: [Mr. Blakely, do you need a secretary? I’m not only great at work, but I’m also quite good in bed.] Theodore sent another string of ellipses. He didn’t respond, which was fine. I turned my attention to the third person on my list, saved as [6’3″ Pisces Campus Heartthrob, Conley Morrison.] [Baby, happy birthday!] I messaged, then sent 500 dollars to him. After a moment’s thought, I added: [You have to accept this.] Soon, the transfer was received. Conley replied: [Thanks, Ms. Ellsworth, you’re so sweet.] I thought to myself, “What a sweet young man!” I asked kindly: [So, how are you celebrating your birthday?] Conley: [With the campus queen.] I smiled and transferred another 500 dollars. [This is for the campus queen’s hard work. I want to thank her for keeping you company on my behalf.] Conley probably didn’t expect me to be this generous. After a brief pause, he accepted the transfer and sent me a cute cat emoji. [Ms. Ellsworth, you’re truly amazing.] Having taken care of these, I put my phone down, let the maid give me a massage, and smiled at the fluttering words in the air. [System is settling your account…] [Three basic flattery behaviors completed, total earnings: 3,000 dollars, reimbursement for transfer: 1,000 dollars, total earnings: 4,040 dollars. Funds have been deposited.] Looking at my increasing balance, I stretched lazily. My best friend’s birthday was coming up, and I wanted to buy her a house. I thought, “Maybe I should throw in a sports car for her too. Well, it looks like I’ll need to work harder these next few days.” With that in mind, I dialed Acton’s number. “Acton, which hotel are you taking the three girls to tomorrow? I’ll come by with some condoms.” Acton was clearly stunned at my words.

As you can see, when it came to pleasing others, I was a professional. It was not something I wanted to do myself, but the system paid way too well. The next day, I sneaked over to Serenwood Mansion carrying a bag of contraceptives. The security guard quickly stopped me. “What are you here for?” I showed him the contents of my bag and said seriously, “I’m a delivery runner. We specialize in professional condom delivery services for clients in need.” The guard was stunned, but his professionalism kicked in, and he accepted it. “Go on.” When I found Acton, he was swimming in the outdoor pool. Three bikini-clad beauties of different nationalities cheered for him from the shore. When he saw me, Acton slowly walked ashore, flicking his head so that droplets of water rolled off his abs. I took a step back, making sure not to get my Chanel dress wet. Acton noticed my movement, raised an eyebrow, and teased, “Playing hard to get? Beatrice, your pursuit skills have improved.” I inwardly rolled my eyes and thought, “You’re thinking too much.” I lowered my head shyly, my cheeks tinged pink. I stamped my foot, pouted, and said, “Stop teasing me…Why do you always have to expose me like that? I’m about to cry…” Acton smiled smugly and noticed the bag in my hand. “You really bought them?” “I got eight boxes,” I said obediently, “If that’s not enough, let me know.” Acton let out a light laugh and gestured for me to sit down. “Sit.” I thought to myself, “Sit? I don’t have time to sit with you. I’ve got to go please the next guy and make more money.” I tactfully waved my hand. “I won’t bother you. There are too many people here, and I’m sure you’ll find me annoying. I’ll just leave…” Acton seemed about to say something, but then the three beauties gracefully surrounded him, blocking his view of me. I seized the opportunity to slip away. But as soon as I sat in the car, my phone buzzed with a message from Acton. [I accidentally ordered too much for lunch. Want to stay and eat?] I froze. I thought, “What is this? I’ve only been pleasing him for half a year. He’s not actually starting to develop feelings for me, right?” When I picked him, I had specifically checked his profile. Acton was known for being flirtatious but having a specific type. He only liked perfectly shaped, sexy women. He had countless girlfriends, but none of them lasted long. Seeing that his difficulty rating was five stars, I hadn’t hesitated to choose him as my prey. He was one of my cash cows, and I couldn’t let him fall for me! I was too scared to reply to his message. I focused on driving and stopped at a red light. My phone kept buzzing with messages. Acton: [Why aren’t you replying?] Acton: [Did you cry?] He sent a resigned emoji, then added: [I told you I was taking three girls out. You shouldn’t insist on showing up. Now you’re upset. Silly girl, what should I do to you?] Acton: [Alright, alright, I’ll send you 30 thousand dollars. Go buy a bag.] Two minutes later, another message came through. Acton: [Why are you still not replying?] Acton: [Did I make you cry with my kindness?] I felt a wave of helplessness. I nervously asked the system, “What happens if the target starts pursuing me instead?” The system’s voice was cold and detached. “Your salary will be reduced according to the extent.” I cursed inwardly. I decisively grabbed my phone and recorded a voice message full of venom. “You think 30 thousand dollars is enough to move me? Dream on! I spend more than that on manicures! Keep it for your retirement fund! I’ve been sick of you for a while, you useless playboy!” After sending it, I felt relieved. I hoped this voice message would crush any budding feelings he might have and help him return to being the difficult-to-please playboy he was before. The phone remained silent for a long time. Just as I was about to breathe a sigh of relief, the message alert went off. Then I saw Acton’s firm reply. [Your jealous side is pretty cute.]

The system coldly notified me: [Detected flattery behavior. Deducting 2,000 dollars.] This was insane. I immediately blocked and deleted Acton, just in case he said anything else that would cost me more money. Things were going so wrong. I called Conley. I remembered he didn’t have classes today. The phone rang for quite a while before he picked up, his voice still drowsy. “Ms. Ellsworth?” I mimicked the tone of an aristocratic lady and said, “Hey, I miss you. Little darling, how about I take you on a private jet, and we go somewhere fun?” A few seconds later, Conley replied with a smile in his voice, “Sounds good, I’ll get ready.” “Then it’s a deal. I’ll pick you up now.” I hung up the phone and floored the accelerator, heading straight to my second cash cow. I was determined to earn back what I had lost from one man through another. Conley seemed to have made an effort to dress up today. He wore a crisp white hoodie, his hair neatly styled, looking youthful and fresh. I helped him fasten his seatbelt and squinted playfully. “You look handsome today. I like it.” Conley smiled innocently, “That’s great. I hope she likes it too.” I raised an eyebrow. Just as I was about to ask who this “she” was, a girl jumped into the car. She wore the same white hoodie as Conley, with an ultra-short skirt and perfect makeup. I recognized her immediately. She was Sandra Powell, the campus queen at Conley’s school. Sandra flashed a sweet smile. “Thanks, Ms. Ellsworth, for taking us out!” I turned to Conley, who calmly smiled, “Ms. Ellsworth, I’m sure you don’t mind taking a lovely girl along, right?” I didn’t mind at all. As long as the jet could fit, I wouldn’t mind if he brought eight girls. I loved guys who were already taken. To me, guys like that were cash cows. I was thrilled, and with all sincerity, I told Conley, “I just want you to be happy. Your happiness is my greatest wealth.” And that was the truth. Conley gave me a long look, a faint smile tugging at his lips, but he didn’t say anything. We three boarded the private jet and flew to my island resort. From the moment Sandra arrived on the island, she was in awe of everything, gasping and marveling at every little thing. I quickly switched to money-making mode. “Conley, what kind of crepes do you want? I’ll make them for you.” “Vanilla, please. Thanks, Ms. Ellsworth.” Conley glanced at Sandra. Before he could say anything, I already knew what he wanted. “What does your girlfriend like?” I asked sweetly. “I’ll make her an even bigger one.” I knew this was a top-notch, pleasing technique. I pleased the girl he liked, too, knowing this was the best way to get on his good side. Conley hesitated, then said, “She doesn’t… never mind.” He trailed off and turned to ask Sandra, who was busy taking selfies, what kind of crepes she wanted. I was a pro at making crepes and had them ready in under five minutes, handing them to Sandra and Conley with a smile. I was this quick because I had made them for other men before. Just like they said, practice makes perfect. After we finished the crepes, I took them out on the yacht. Along the way, I fussed over Sandra. I worried she might be hot, cold, hungry, or even full from eating too much. When she got seasick, I gave her medicine. When she was snapping pictures, I showered her with compliments. I was so attentive, and Conley hardly had a chance to make any move. Finally, when Sandra had too much champagne and collapsed, Conley rushed to catch her before I could, carefully holding her in his arms, his eyes full of concern. As the sun set, they sat close, basking in the warm orange light, looking picture-perfect together. I gracefully walked to the cabin, “I suddenly need to use the restroom. You two carry on.” I jumped into the bed and checked my account. The balance was climbing rapidly, and I couldn’t help but cheer. Then, I turned on some jazz and started dancing. Just as I was swaying to the rhythm, I suddenly noticed Conley standing in the doorway. “Conley?” I froze and quickly stopped my dance. “Aren’t you with Sandra…?” Conley’s eyes were dim with a mix of sadness and something else…resentment, maybe. “You really want us to be together?” I froze. An ominous premonition washed over me, and I cautiously asked, “Aren’t you already together?” Conley squinted at me, his gaze darkening. “No. She’s just someone I hired to act. I wanted to make you jealous.” Oh my God. I was never one for jealousy. I thought to myself, “Is today the end of the world? Why is everyone changing?” I felt like I was about to crack. “Why would you suddenly do this?” Conley tugged at his collar, his clavicle flushed from the alcohol. He looked down and slowly spoke, “It wasn’t sudden. It’s been bothering me for a while. At first, I was with you just for your money, but you’ve gone too far. You love me too much. Even my mom wants something in return, but you don’t ask for anything.” I collapsed on the round bed. He crouched down beside me like a lost puppy, looking up with tearful eyes. “Everyone says love is about possession. But you’ve never gotten jealous of me. I want to know… do you love me so much, or not at all?” His last words hit me like a ton of bricks. His gaze seemed to pierce through my eyes and probe deep into my soul. I instinctively held my breath, mentally whispering, “Stay calm, Beatrice. You can handle this.” In that tense moment, I had an idea. I steadied myself and calmly said, “I did love you.” Conley froze. I wiped my face, forcing a sad expression. “I’ll be honest with you. I did love you. But suddenly, I don’t feel the same anymore. Sometimes, a woman’s heart changes like that. Just like the song says, love is something that can fade so easily…” I didn’t feel guilty at all. After all, many guys went through breakups like this, sudden and unexpected. Self-esteem is fragile, especially men’s. Even more so for young men. I thought after hearing my words, he’d immediately hate me and consider me the person he’d despise the most. And then, I’d be free to continue pleasing him again. Just as I was reveling in my victory, Conley suddenly shoved me down onto the bed. My hands were tied with a strap and pulled up above my head. Conley leaned over, pulling out a peeler and twirling it in his fingers. His gaze was something I had never seen before. He looked wild, almost insane. “Ms. Ellsworth, you can’t do this. “You’ve loved me for so long. You can’t just stop loving me. Will you fall for me again? “If I lose your love, I think I’ll go crazy. If you’ve stopped loving me, let’s die together, okay?” His breath was hot against my neck, sending shivers down my spine. I thought, “Crap. This guy looks so innocent, but he’s actually a psychopath!” The system pinged again: [Detected intense flattery behavior. Deducting 3,000 dollars.] Conley traced the back of the blade across my skin, his eyes darkening, his voice hoarse. “Ms. Ellsworth, didn’t you say you’d do anything to make me happy? If you fall for me again, I’ll be happy.” He grabbed my chin, coaxing me in a low voice, “Come on, Ms. Ellsworth. Tell me you love me.” [Deducting 4,000 dollars.] Hearing System’s notification, I snapped, “Screw you.” Conley shuddered, his voice trembling with excitement. “Ms. Ellsworth, say it again. It feels so good.” I was utterly stunned. At that moment, I felt a sense of complete despair. I realized this guy was a freak. Just as I thought I might be doomed, Sandra barged in. She saw us in our compromising position, yelled, “Hey!” and shoved Conley to the floor, then crawled on top of me. Her face flushed, smelling of alcohol. She nuzzled her face into my chest and said, “Ms. Ellsworth, stop liking him. Please like me instead.” I was completely dumbfounded. Sandra smiled lovingly, “Only girls understand what other girls want. I won’t let you suffer. I only like you. How about it?” I hesitated, “Sounds great, but…” Conley, gritting his teeth, got up and leaned in, but Sandra smiled and punched him squarely in the face, sending him crashing back to the floor. “I know boxing,” Sandra said sweetly. “Ms. Ellsworth, you can continue.” I swallowed hard. “Well, I think I can accept that.” Sandra curled up and fell asleep in my arms. I fought to untie myself, then escaped the island under cover of night. Just as I took a deep breath, I got a new message. It was from Theodore. He said: [Come pick me up.]

I stared at the message, lost in thought. In the past, I would always make an effort to pick Theodore up after work since each time, he earned me 5,000 dollars. But after two misfortunes today, I decided to be cautious and just called him. I got straight to the point. “You’re not planning to give me money, are you?” Theodore answered with a question mark. I continued, “You are not planning to have some women around you to make me jealous, right?” There was a brief silence, then Theodore replied, “Beatrice, are you going nuts?” Seeing his usual indifferent words, I felt a wave of warmth and relief wash over me. I sighed, “Wait for me. I’ll be there soon.” Downstairs in the Blakely Group building, Theodore stood in the wind. He had just lit a cigarette, but when he saw me get out of the car, he quickly put it out. I spoke gently, “Let’s go, Teddy. Get in the car.” Theodore nodded toward a nearby Porsche. I thought to myself, “Ah, looks like Mr. Blakely is tired of my Maybach. Fine, a change of car is fine by me.” I hurried over, opened the driver’s side door, and said to the driver, “Sir, please get out. I’ll drive.” The driver looked confused. “Miss, what are you…?” Theodore sighed softly and walked over to open the rear door. “Get in.” “Ah?” I was a little stunned but did as told. Theodore slid into the car beside me, and the vehicle started moving smoothly. I asked, “Teddy, where are we going?” Theodore replied, “You’ll know when we get there.” A sense of unease crept into me. Thirty minutes later, the car pulled into a closed amusement park. I thought, “What is going on here? This feels like something out of a horror movie. It’s terrifying.” As I got out of the car, I heard Theodore snap his fingers. The lights of the entire park flickered on, and suddenly, the silent fairytale world seemed to come alive. I understood then. I smiled and said, “If you just wanted me to go to an amusement park with you, you could have said so.” Theodore took my wrist through my coat sleeve and led me inside, stopping in front of the carousel. Golden neon lights blinked, and dreamy music surrounded us. Some fragmented memories flashed through my mind, and for a moment, I lost focus. I sniffed, then pulled out my phone and gave his rear a playful tap. “Go ahead. I’ll take a picture for you.” Theodore was momentarily surprised by my playful action, but he quickly got over it and snatched my phone away. “You go. I’ll take the picture.” I was annoyed. “Why don’t you just take my money from my pocket?” I thought, “Does this guy even realize how much he’s costing me with these little moments?” Theodore looked clearly confused. We stared at each other for a couple of seconds, and then he smiled, “I like watching people on the carousel.” Hearing that, I understood. I thought, “So that’s why he brought me here. It’s his little quirk.” I patted his shoulder with understanding. “You should have said so earlier. I’ll indulge you.” I cheerfully ran over to my favorite horse. The music grew more romantic and beautiful, and the lights around us slowly danced, rising and falling. A gentle breeze brushed my face. I had always watched others ride the carousel before. This was my first time experiencing it for myself. I spent the next several hours enjoying rides with him, and when we got off the little forest train, my stomach growled. He suddenly asked, “What kind of crepes would you like?” I froze for a moment. No one had ever asked me that before. Normally, I was the one asking others. After a moment of thought, I replied, “Blueberry.” Theodore nodded and rolled up his sleeves as he walked toward a crepe stall. I stood there for a second, stunned. I thought he was just going to buy me one, but no, he was going to make it himself. He skillfully spread the batter, and the delicious aroma filled the air. He seemed… less cold than usual. Watching him focus on the crepe-making process under the lights, I suddenly felt my heart rate quicken. He brought the plate over to me, his expression still calm, but there was a hint of expectation. “Try it.” I took a bite and realized it tasted better than the ones I made. He asked, “How is it?” I was about to say, “It’s delicious,” when suddenly I heard an irritating voice in my mind. “Intermediate flattery behavior detected. Deducting 5,000 dollars.” Fuming, I responded, “It’s okay. Just okay.” Based on what I knew of Theodore, I expected him to turn red with anger, grab me by the throat, and growl, “Woman, you’re out of the line.” But he didn’t.

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Our family business goes bankrupt, and my father decides we need to flee the country. As we approach the airport, a sleek black Maybach suddenly cuts us off, blocking the road completely. “Trying to skip town without settling your debt?” The cold, menacing voice comes from inside the car. Stepping out is Julian Knight, our largest creditor. A burly bodyguard in black drags my father out of the driver’s seat, forcing him to his knees with a harsh kick. My father crumples to the ground in front of Julian, bowing his head desperately. “Please, sir, have mercy. I… I have no way to repay the debt.” Julian presses the tip of his polished shoe against my father’s chin, lifting his face. “No money? Then give me your daughter. That will clear your debt.” Relief flashes across my father’s face. Without a moment’s hesitation, he scrambles to his feet, yanks me out of the back seat, and shoves me toward Julian. “This is my mute daughter, Celeste,” he says eagerly. “From now on, she’s yours. Do with her whatever you want.”

I stumbled backward, panic flooding through me as I looked at my father with pleading eyes, begging him not to do this. But he remained unmoved. “I’ve let you live a privileged life for years, even though you’re mute. I’ve fulfilled my duty as a father. Now it’s your turn to repay me.” As if afraid Julian might change his mind, my father hurried back to the car, threw one last cold command my way—”Make sure you serve him well!”—and slammed his foot on the gas, speeding off with the rest of my family without a backward glance. “Come with me,” Julian said, his cold fingertips brushing against my wrist. A shiver ran down my spine, and before I could stop myself, I bolted, running after my father’s car as it disappeared into the night. A bodyguard in black effortlessly tripped me with a subtle nudge of his foot, sending me crashing to the ground. My head hit the pavement with a sickening thud, and the rough asphalt scraped against my elbows and knees, leaving patches of raw, bloody skin. The same bodyguard hauled me up like I weighed nothing, tossing me into the back seat of the Maybach. The driver started the car, heading straight for Knight Estate. The night deepened, and in the dim glow of the car’s interior, Julian sat in the front seat, his expression cold and unreadable. His voice, low and laced with irritation, broke the silence. “Didn’t you have a crush on me in college? You should be thrilled to marry me now. But instead, you’re trying to run away? Hah. Women really are fickle.” His words pierced through me, and tears began to stream down my face uncontrollably. Yes, once, I had loved Julian deeply. He was the only person who had ever treated me like an equal. But I never imagined that love could have nearly killed me.

Back in school, I was the outcast. My classmates couldn’t stand me, insisting that someone like me—a mute—didn’t belong in a normal school. They said I should’ve gone to a “special” one, far away from them. No one wanted to sit next to me. Julian, however, willingly offered to take the seat by my side. To me, it was like a drowning person finding a lifeline. I was overwhelmed with gratitude for his kindness, and before I knew it, I had started to develop feelings for him. His friends teased him relentlessly for his “odd taste,” laughing that he’d chosen a mute girl as a desk partner. But Julian just shrugged, his tone light and dismissive. “The other girls are all too noisy. At least she lets me focus.” Quietly, I began showing my affection in small ways. I’d leave breakfast in his locker every morning, and when he missed class because he was sick, I’d meticulously write up notes and slip them into his bag. I knew I didn’t deserve him. I never dared to dream of having him. All I wanted was to see him happy, and I was willing to do anything for him. Then Julian got a girlfriend. Her name was Victoria Hale—beautiful, vibrant, and utterly ruthless. From the very first day of their relationship, Victoria launched what she called her “clean-up campaign,” targeting every girl who so much as glanced at Julian. And as his desk partner, I became her first victim. After school one day, Victoria cornered me with a group of girls. They pushed me to the ground and yanked my bag away, rummaging through it until they found the one thing I feared most—a thick blue notebook filled with pages and pages of my written confessions, all dedicated to Julian. Victoria’s expression darkened as she flipped through the pages. She grabbed my chin and slapped me hard across the face. Then, she tore the notebook apart, plastering five of its pages on the school bulletin board for everyone to see. The next day, the entire school was whispering, laughing behind their hands. A mute girl in love with the school’s most popular guy? It was unthinkable. “Can you believe it? Celeste Whitmore? A mute! And she thinks she has a chance with Julian?” “Julian’s girlfriend is Victoria Hale. What the hell is Celeste thinking?” The laughter stung worse than the slap. Victoria stood at the center of it all, smug and triumphant. I couldn’t even tear the pages down that night. Victoria and her friends had dragged me into the girls’ restroom, drenched me in ice-cold water, and locked me inside until morning. When I finally got home, I came down with a fever that no amount of medication could break. A week later, I was still bedridden, struggling to recover. The doctors eventually diagnosed me with fulminant myocarditis, caused by the cold. I spent a month in the ICU, teetering on the edge of death. When I was finally discharged, the thought of returning to school made my entire body shake. In the end, I had no choice but to take a leave of absence. By the time I mustered the courage to return a year later, Julian and Victoria had already graduated. Only then could I finally finish my studies in peace. Julian’s words about how “women are so fickle” weren’t just meant for me—they were also a jab at Victoria. Victoria was supposed to marry him next week. But just days before the wedding, she vanished. Julian eventually found out where she was—partying overseas with her friends, surrounded by handsome, blond strangers. She’d ignored his calls, turned off her phone, and thrown herself into a whirlwind of wild hedonism. Julian had been livid. To teach Victoria a lesson, he decided to replace her as his bride. And who better to spite her with than me—the one girl Victoria had always loathed most? I’d overheard my father gleefully gossiping about it one evening. “Julian’s had everything handed to him his whole life, and now he’s finally hit a wall with that Victoria girl.” He’d laughed as if Julian’s humiliation somehow eased his own failures. Now, I was to be part of Julian’s revenge. Marrying me was the cruelest way to mock Victoria. But for me, just thinking about Victoria’s face made my heart pound with dread. A sinking feeling settled in my gut. This marriage wasn’t going to be a fresh start. It was going to be the beginning of my end.

My first night at Knight Estate was sleepless. I tossed and turned until dawn, only to finally drift off for a brief moment before being abruptly woken up by Julian’s appointed stylists and makeup artists. They apologized profusely as they informed me of an urgent change: Julian had decided to move the wedding up to today. Unwilling but unable to resist, I was ushered into the dressing room. Julian was already there, his eyes glued to his phone. From the moment I entered to the moment I sat down, he didn’t spare me so much as a glance. The stylist retrieved a mermaid-style wedding gown from the wardrobe. It was stunningly beautiful but tailored for someone else—Victoria. The dress slid off my frame with the slightest movement. It was obvious that it had been designed for Victoria’s curvaceous figure. On my frail and petite body, the dress hung awkwardly, like a child trying on an adult’s clothes. Clutching the edge of the ill-fitting gown, I approached Julian, trying to communicate that the dress didn’t fit and pleading for the wedding to be delayed until a proper gown could be found. I stammered incoherent sounds, gesturing with my hands to express my thoughts. Julian let out an irritated click of his tongue and slammed his phone onto the table. “I thought you were quieter than other women,” he said, his voice cold. “But now I see that your little noises are even more grating. Stop flailing around like a monkey. I don’t understand sign language, and I don’t care to. Just do as you’re told. I don’t have time for your opinions.” My knees wobbled, and my eyes brimmed with tears. The stylist quickly stepped in to diffuse the tension. “We can adjust it, Miss. Don’t worry, it’ll be fine,” she said softly. She took out a needle and thread, pinching the gown tighter to make it fit. The once-beautiful wedding dress now bore obvious folds and stitches on the back—a stark reminder of how this wedding, much like my marriage to Julian, was cobbled together out of necessity rather than love. Once my makeup was done, it was time to head to the venue. But before we could leave, the dressing room door was abruptly kicked open. Victoria had arrived. Julian’s face lit up with triumph. He had deliberately leaked the news about the wedding and my role as the substitute bride, ensuring Victoria would find out. The fact that she showed up now meant his plan had worked. In his mind, this was a victory. Victoria stormed toward me, and in an instant, memories of her past torments flashed through my mind: the blue diary she tore to shreds, the ice-cold water she poured over me, and the nights she locked me in the school restroom while hurling insults from the other side. Did loving someone quietly, from afar, warrant such cruelty? I clenched my fists in defiance. Victoria raised her hand, ready to slap me, but I grabbed her wrist before it could land. My nails dug into her skin, and for the first time, I fought back. “What gives you the right to hit me?” I screamed internally. “Julian was the one who chose to marry me. Why aren’t you taking this up with him?” Victoria winced in pain. “You wretched mute! How dare you fight back!” she spat, her free hand rising for another strike. This time, Julian intercepted her. He stood between us, his expression colder than I’d ever seen. “Get out,” he said, his voice flat but final. Victoria’s fury morphed into desperation as she softened her tone, pleading with Julian. “Julian, please! I just wanted to clear my head before the wedding. I’m back now, and I won’t leave you again. Don’t be mad, okay?” “No,” Julian replied, his tone unwavering. He gestured to his bodyguards, who wasted no time dragging Victoria out of the estate. “Julian, no! Please, I’m sorry! Forgive me!” Victoria’s cries echoed through the hallway. Julian’s lips curled into a smirk. He had no intention of forgiving her so easily. Letting her off now wouldn’t satisfy his need to teach her a lesson. He planned to break her completely before considering reconciliation. The wedding went on as planned, but Julian’s empty gaze as he stood before me made it clear that this was no celebration. His thoughts were miles away, tethered to Victoria, leaving behind only a hollow shell to go through the motions.

That night, in our bridal suite, I grabbed a pen and paper and carefully wrote, “Now that you’ve had your revenge on Victoria, can’t you let me go? Please let me leave.” Julian’s brow furrowed as he grabbed my chin, forcing me to meet his icy gaze. “I married you to erase your family’s one-billion-dollar debt,” he said, his voice low and venomous. “And now you think that debt only buys me one day with you? Like father, like daughter. You’re both delusional.” He leaned in closer, his words biting. “I’ll let you go when I’m done. When I’ve fixed Victoria, when I’m ready to move on—then, and only then, can you leave. Until that day, you’re mine. Don’t even think about running.” Before I could react, Julian’s lips crashed down on mine. His kiss was fierce and punishing, stealing the air from my lungs. I tried to push him away, but it was useless. He ripped the dress from my body, pinning me beneath him. Then, the phone on the bedside table buzzed. Julian smirked, reaching for it. I shook my head frantically, trying to stop him, but he paid no attention. Grabbing my wrists, he pinned them above my head, his movements growing more brutal as he answered the video call. “No!” Victoria’s scream rang out from the other end of the call. “Julian, please stop! Stop torturing me!” she cried. Julian’s voice dripped with mockery. “Couldn’t handle it, could you? Did you ever think about how I felt while you were partying overseas, fooling around with those men?” “I’m sorry!” Victoria sobbed. “I was wrong! Please, tell me what I have to do for you to forgive me. If not, I’ll just end it. I’ll jump!” A sudden gust of wind roared through the phone’s speaker. Victoria stood on a rooftop, her face pale with despair. For the first time that night, fear flickered in Julian’s eyes. He quickly threw on his clothes and left the room without another word. I lay there on the bed, tears streaming down my face. Four years ago, Victoria’s torment had nearly driven me to death. But nothing she did back then compared to the humiliation Julian inflicted tonight. He had stripped me bare—not just physically, but emotionally—offering up my pain as entertainment for Victoria. At that moment, I stopped caring about my father or Julian’s threats. No one had ever asked if I wanted any of this. I wasn’t a commodity. I was a person. I deserved to live, and I deserved my freedom. With the estate guards relaxed after the wedding, tonight was my best chance to escape.

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### After seven years of marriage, I stumbled upon two letters my husband had written to his first love. One was a love letter. The other was a will. “In our next life, I’ll make you my wife.” “My inheritance will go to you. Even after I’m gone, I won’t let anyone hurt you.” It turns out, I’ve been the fool all along. I didn’t want to stand in the way of their true love, so I booked a plane ticket that very night. The next morning, I ironed his shirt for the last time and saw him off to work. At the door, he hesitated, waiting for the goodbye kiss I didn’t give him. “Anna, don’t be mad. The lipstick on my collar last night—it’s not what you think.” “It was just a friend. I was just giving her a ride home. Don’t overthink it.” I didn’t cry. I didn’t yell. I simply said, “Oh, I don’t mind.” Because I’d already lined up a date with someone else. I was ready to move on. But that’s when he started to panic. As I watched Oliver step out the door, he lingered in the entryway, hesitating, as though he were waiting for something. I kept my tone neutral, indifferent. “You’ve got your briefcase, your watch… what else are you waiting for?” His jaw tightened, and his brows furrowed in restrained irritation. He said nothing, but I knew. Seven years of marriage, plus the three years I spent chasing him before that—ten years of knowing this man inside and out. I could read him like an open book. He wanted a goodbye kiss. Because I hadn’t leaned in like I usually did, hadn’t whispered “I love you” with a peck on the cheek, he could sense something was off. “Anna, are you still mad? Be reasonable,” he said, his voice calm but laced with subtle condescension. “The lipstick stain was a misunderstanding.” “That woman wasn’t feeling well. I gave her a ride home, and the mark must’ve gotten there somehow. It’s not what you think.” “I explained this to you all night. You’ve got all the facts—can’t you be logical about it?” Oliver was a lawyer, and his words were always sharp, polished, airtight. Even the prenuptial agreement he wrote for us had been meticulously fair—no bias, no loopholes. Last night, I had screamed and cried over his suit jacket, the one I had ironed so carefully that morning. My fingers still bore the small burns from pressing out every wrinkle. But by the time he brought it back, it smelled of someone else’s perfume and bore a faint, familiar lipstick stain. The color and scent were unmistakable: his first love’s signature shade. When we first started dating, Oliver used to buy me that same brand of lipstick and perfume. I thought it was sweet, a sign of his thoughtfulness. Even though I didn’t like the scent, I wore it for him. It wasn’t until later that I realized the gifts weren’t for me at all—they were hand-me-downs, tokens meant for someone else. At the door, he tried again. “Do you believe me now? Can we move past this?” I glanced at my empty hand, my ring finger bare. I had taken off my wedding band last night. There was still an angry red mark where it had pressed into my skin for years. Would he notice? Would he care? If he said something—anything—to try to hold onto me, maybe I’d soften. Maybe I’d forgive him one more time. But Oliver didn’t even glance at my hand. He was already slipping on his shoes, ready to leave for work. “Oh, and I’d like fish for dinner tonight,” he added casually, as though I were his personal assistant. I watched his perfectly tailored suit disappear into the elevator. My heart sank a little deeper.

The letters were hidden in plain sight, wedged between the pages of a romance novel on the bookshelf. Oliver had always banned me from entering his home office, and for seven years, I’d respected that boundary. But the day before, he’d forgotten an important document and, in a hurry, had given me the door code: “716523.” I froze for a moment. The first three digits were his birthday. The last three weren’t mine. Before I could say anything, he snapped over the phone, “I’m about to go into court. Hurry up!” Flustered, I grabbed the folder, accidentally knocking a book to the floor. Oliver didn’t read romance novels. Curious, I picked it up. The pink cover bore an inscription: “To Luna, my one and only treasure.” The handwriting was unmistakably his. I flipped through the pages, and two letters fell out—one a love letter, the other a will. The love letter was nineteen pages long, filled with heartfelt words that gradually shrank in size toward the end. On the last page, he wrote: “There’s so much more I want to say, but this paper is too short, and my feelings are endless.” The will was precise, written with the same legal expertise Oliver used in his work. It outlined how most of his assets would go to Luna—his first love. He’d even taken out a life insurance policy, naming her as the sole beneficiary. “Luna, even if I leave this world first, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.” That night, when Oliver reached out to unhook my bra strap, I pushed his hand away. “Anna?” he said, confused, his fingers brushing against my collarbone. “What’s wrong? I want you.” Normally, I would’ve blushed and let him have his way. But not that night. “You said you didn’t want kids,” I replied flatly, my voice devoid of emotion. From the very beginning of our marriage, Oliver had been adamant about not having children. He told my family it was because of my health, but the truth was, it was never about me. For years, I’d endured lectures from my parents, swallowed bitter herbal supplements, and taken countless fertility treatments—all while knowing he didn’t share my burden. Once, when I told him the treatments were harming my body, I caught a flicker of relief in his eyes. “Just hold on a little longer,” he’d said, wrapping me in his arms. “Once my career stabilizes, we’ll try for a baby. I promise.” I believed him. And I kept believing him, even as the years passed and his promises remained empty. That night, when I rejected him, his expression turned cold. He rolled over, muttering, “Fine. Play hard to get. Don’t expect me to try again this month.” I lay awake all night, staring at the ceiling. It was a king-sized bed, but it felt as cold and empty as a stranger’s. The next morning, I booked a one-way ticket back to my hometown. I sent my mom a text: “Mom, I’m filing for divorce. Start looking for someone I can date.” Her reply came instantly: “Finally! I knew you’d leave that ungrateful jerk someday!” “Don’t worry, honey. I’ll find you someone good. My network’s huge.”

Before I even met Oliver, I knew he had a first love. They were once engaged, but she walked away after his parents disapproved. Angry and hurt, she refused his proposal. But the wedding venue had already been booked, the officiant scheduled. Oliver, ever the prideful man, wasn’t about to let himself look like a fool. So, he turned to me. “Anna, would you give this a shot with me?” His voice was steady, confident. He didn’t even bother to kneel—just stood there, looking down at me, as if he already knew my answer. And of course, he did. I had been chasing him for three years. There was no way I would say no. That day, I dropped my overseas work assignment, slipped into a wedding dress, and we eloped. Everyone around me congratulated me, saying I had finally “won” Oliver, the golden boy. And for a while, I believed it. Oliver was everything I thought I wanted—handsome, successful, with a family name that opened doors. Within a few years, his law firm had expanded all across Chicago, and when we went out, people called me “Mrs. Carter” with admiration. That day, I was over the moon. I stood in the parking lot, holding a positive pregnancy test, waiting for him to arrive. His career was steady now, and a baby would be the perfect cherry on top. When his car finally pulled into the lot, I ran toward it, grinning ear to ear. “Oliver, you’re going to be a dad!” I said, knocking on the window, my face nearly pressed to the glass. But Oliver didn’t roll down the window right away. When he finally did, the faint scent of perfume hit me. A familiar scent. And then I saw her. Luna, his first love, sat in the passenger seat, her lipstick smeared and her eyes red from crying. “I’m so sorry, Anna,” Luna said softly, her voice trembling. “I kissed Oliver. I’ve just been so emotional since my breakup… I lost control.” She turned to look at me, her face full of fake remorse, but her lips curled into the faintest smirk. “Don’t be mad, okay?” she added sweetly, her tone dripping with mockery. Behind her words, her eyes glittered with triumph as she raised her hand in a subtle, taunting gesture only I could see. My hands shook as I gripped the pregnancy test. Without thinking, I threw it at her, my voice trembling with rage. “Get out of the car—now! Who raised you to be this shameless?” But before Luna could respond, Oliver’s hand shot out, striking me hard across the face. The slap rang in my ears, sharp and deafening. My earring, a gift from him, tore from my ear, leaving a searing pain and a trickle of blood. Stunned, I stumbled to the ground, clutching my face as waves of pain radiated from my stomach. “Anna,” Oliver said, his tone cold, “you’re out of line. You know Luna grew up without a father. How could you be so cruel to her?” His words cut deeper than the slap. “Oliver,” I whimpered, clutching my stomach, “I think something’s wrong. Please, take me to the hospital. I’m pregnant.” For a moment, he hesitated, his eyes flickering with something that almost looked like concern. But then Luna let out a soft, pitiful moan. “Oliver,” she whispered, holding her head dramatically, “my head… it hurts so much. But you should take Anna first—she’s pregnant, after all.” Her voice was sweet, but her eyes gleamed with satisfaction as she leaned back in her seat. Oliver immediately turned his attention to her, his expression full of worry. He reached out to wipe the nonexistent tears from her face before starting the car. “Anna,” he said sharply, glancing at me through the rearview mirror, “your behavior today was unacceptable. If Luna ends up hurt, I’ll have no choice but to press charges for assault.” The man who had won every case he’d ever taken—my husband—was now threatening to sue me. For his first love. “Oliver,” I whispered, tears streaming down my face, “I’m carrying your child.” He didn’t even look at me. “Being pregnant doesn’t give you a free pass to act like this,” he said coldly. “Stop being so dramatic.” As the car sped away, leaving me crumpled on the pavement, I clutched my stomach and prayed for the tiny life inside me. I lost the baby. Oliver stayed with me for a month after the miscarriage. He fed me, stayed by my bedside, even helped me bathe. For a moment, I thought he might have changed. Friends and family urged me to forgive him. “All men make mistakes,” they said. “At least he’s trying now.” In the end, I softened. Oliver wrote me a letter of apology, promising he’d never hurt me again. “Anna,” he said, “I’m a traditional man. I only have room in my heart for one wife, and that’s you.” He swore Luna was just a friend. And like a fool, I believed him.

When I got the call about Oliver getting into a fight, I was taking out the last bag of trash. All our photos together? Gone. The matching outfits I once begged him to wear? Tossed. The handmade forever roses I carefully preserved? Now just fragile junk at the bottom of the trash can. It’s funny how things I once thought were precious now seem like nothing more than useless, flimsy clutter. The matching outfits I bought for us were always beneath him. He said they made him look “ridiculous.” But tucked away in the back of the closet was a matching pair of watches—the men’s version his, the women’s version I’d once seen his ex wearing. “Anna! Come quick! Oliver’s in the parking lot fighting someone!” “What?” I asked, my voice calm, scissors in hand, snipping away at the lucky bamboo I had nurtured for seven years—planted after I prayed for his success at the “most spiritual” temple in the city. “He’s bleeding from his forehead! His hand’s all messed up!” This was shocking. Oliver, the ever-composed attorney, never lost his temper. Even when someone cut him off in traffic, he’d quietly jot down their license plate and report them later, rather than dirty his hands. He was the epitome of calm and control. When I got into a car accident years ago, he handled everything without so much as a flinch. I’d once fallen in love with that steady, logical side of him. But now, I hated it. Because he could lose control for another woman, but he was always too rational with me. “Who’s the fight about?” I asked, my tone sharp, cutting straight to the point.

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He sent me a photo of blooming hyacinths: “The flowers have bloomed. Waiting for you to come home.” White hyacinths symbolize unspoken love. My heart soared, thinking my secret crush was finally reciprocated. But then I saw him arm-in-arm with another woman: “Rose, meet your future sister-in-law.” My hopes were crushed. I could only force a smile and offer my congratulations, swallowing the bitterness. Later, on a snowy New Year’s Eve, he showed up with an armful of hyacinths, pleading: “Rose, come home with me? Let’s not be siblings anymore.” My husband raised an eyebrow and smirked: “We should visit home. After all, we should let your brother know we got married.” “Rose, meet your future sister-in-law.” Ivo introduced me to a stranger on his arm. I stared at him in disbelief, my heart clenching painfully. Just a week ago, he had sent me a photo of white hyacinths: “The flowers have bloomed. Waiting for you to come home.” Blooming hyacinths, a secret love revealed. I had rushed home, filled with joy and anticipation. But now he was engaged, about to start a family with someone else. After a long moment, I finally found my voice: “This is so sudden?” “Ivo proposed out of the blue, so we decided to combine it with his birthday celebration,” his fiancée said softly, blushing. The darkness in Ivo’s eyes churned before settling, and he forced a smile: “Yeah, you came back just in time.” Just in time? Not really. For this possible outcome, I had postponed all my work and endured dozens of hours of flights to rush back. Unfortunately, fate never favors me. Just when I think I’ve touched happiness, I’m knocked back to square one. I clutched the gift I had carefully prepared, feeling awkward and disappointed. “Are you Rose? You’re as sweet as Ivo described,” the future sister-in-law greeted me warmly. I managed to return a smile. If only she knew – I wasn’t sweet at all. I coveted my adopted brother, her soon-to-be husband.

Ivo had found me when the Winstons’ daughter went missing. Mrs. Winston fell into depression and chose me as her replacement daughter. They showered all their love on me, giving me a warm home. But that life of pampering was like a bubble floating in the air – seemingly beautiful, but fragile. At sixteen, Natalie returned in a disheveled state. Naturally, she took away all of our parents’ attention. I wasn’t kicked out for losing my value, but became an invisible fixture in the house. I was grateful for the Winstons’ kindness, but inevitably lost my sense of home. The returned Natalie vented all her negative emotions on me. Isolation, insults, and beatings left my skin bruised under my school uniform. I couldn’t tell anyone. I couldn’t be the ungrateful wretch who destroyed the Winstons’ happiness. Only my adopted brother Ivo didn’t neglect me because of Natalie. He would comfort me when I cried at night. He would also make sure to get me the same gifts as Natalie. When bullies cornered me and I hid away, he was the one who found me and said: “Rose, I’ll take you home.” Home. I wanted to have a home with him. In the confused, tender years of sixteen and seventeen, I fell hopelessly in love with him.

“You’re here.” He called out to me, standing tall and graceful, with a backdrop of blooming white hyacinths. I was momentarily dazed. Three years ago, I had gathered the courage to give Ivo a bouquet of white hyacinths. Because they symbolize secret love – the feelings I had for Ivo that I couldn’t express. He was shocked and refused the flowers at first, but just when I thought my crush was hopeless… A few days later, he personally planted white hyacinth bulbs in the garden. He patted my head, his eyes full of tenderness that made me melt: “They should bloom in about three years.” Three years was an ambiguous timeline. I would graduate, and he would take over the family business. It seemed we would have the freedom to choose our future. But now, the flowers had bloomed, and he was getting engaged. I was just his adopted sister, with no right or standing to question anything. But this garden full of blooming hyacinths made me unwilling to give up. I picked a few stems and held them out to him, using all my strength to speak: “Ivo, do you want these?” Do you want my heart? Do you still want to have a home with me? His eyes reddened, and he hesitantly raised his hand. His pale fingertips touched the petals, then paused. My heart was about to leap out of my throat, and my hand holding the flower stems went weak. “I’m sorry.” In the end, he spoke hoarsely, clenching his fist and slowly withdrawing his hand. My elated heart plummeted back into my chest. It took a long while before I could feel my numb limbs again. “It’s okay.” I pulled back the flowers and looked up with a faint smile. It was already good enough. Even without love, he had been the salvation of my troubled youth. One must be content, I told myself silently. His eyes were full of pity as he raised his hand to touch my face, wanting to comfort me as he had countless times before. I stepped back, my tone sincere: “Happy birthday, big brother. Congratulations on your engagement.”

I threw myself into work, actively avoiding everything related to the Winston family. But Natalie wouldn’t leave me alone, always snatching away my resources. Including this supporting role in a movie I was going for. My agent pulled some strings and brought me to a dinner party, hoping to get the contract signed. I don’t drink, so I just sat there silently as a prop. But I could feel several assistant directors eyeing me. “Natalie Winston wants this role too. We can’t afford to offend the Winston family.” I had never revealed my connection to the Winstons publicly. After all, I was just their adopted daughter. Better not cause them any trouble. My agent smiled apologetically as he refilled the glasses: “The role was decided by Director Yates. It’s just the contract…” But one assistant director pushed his glass towards me, his yellowed teeth showing: “The contract can be discussed. But first, a toast.” I looked at my agent’s flushed, alcohol-soaked face, then picked up the glass with a forced smile: “Cheers to you.” The alcohol was unexpectedly harsh and stimulating. It made me choke and tear up. Through my blurry vision, someone walked in. The room suddenly went quiet. The person sat down next to me. A cool, fresh scent wafted over, dispelling the nauseating smell of alcohol. I finally saw him clearly – chiseled features, handsome and cold. It was Jude Yates, the A-list actor turned director whose every film was a box office hit. Why was he here? And frowning, no less. He stared at the glass in my hand and spoke coolly: “You can drink that much?” I wasn’t sure what he meant, so I stayed silent. The assistant director eagerly refilled my glass: “Director Yates is here. Hurry and toast him.” My throat and stomach felt like they were on fire, but I still gritted my teeth to drink. Jude suddenly snatched my glass away. The cold liquid splashed on my face. Before I could react, his warm fingertips gently pressed against the corner of my mouth. My taut nerves snapped. I reflexively slapped his hand away hard. His fair hand immediately turned red. I froze in place. Everyone around gasped. Jude slowly flexed his fingers, then smiled for no apparent reason: “Rose Winston. Very good.”

My agent wailed as he pulled me aside: “How could you mess up so badly? You’ve lost the role for sure.” I didn’t want everyone’s hard work to go to waste because of my impulsive action. So I decided to find Jude and talk to him again. When I reached the private room, the assistant directors were suddenly bowing and apologizing to me before leaving awkwardly. Jude was leaning by the window smoking. He looked weary. Seeing me approach, he put out his cigarette. I bowed and apologized: “I’m sorry.” He turned around and studied me with his arms crossed for a while before speaking coolly: “Rose Winston, why did you come to a dinner party like this?” I fidgeted with my clothes, suddenly feeling lost and helpless. I couldn’t tell others about Natalie’s bullying. If I came to these parties as a Winston daughter, it would seem like I was debasing myself. His gaze seemed to pierce through me. I couldn’t help but tremble: “Because… the contract for this role hasn’t been signed yet.” If it wasn’t signed, it didn’t belong to me. And if it didn’t belong to me, I would lose it. He seemed to chuckle softly. He walked over, his tall figure looming over me. “How did the Winstons raise such a naive daughter? Natalie is much more cunning than you. The roles I decide on never change. They were trying to get something for nothing. No, more like trying to trap a stupid rabbit.” How did he know I was part of the Winston family? I stood frozen, looking at him in confusion: “Who are you?” He lost his smile, his eyes turning serious: “Rose Winston, why do you want to act in this film?” His sudden change of topic caught me off guard. The official answer slipped out: “Because everyone wants to be in your films. They make actors famous.” He smirked mockingly: “Then why should I cast you? Anyone would become famous.” I lowered my head, clutching my hands in embarrassment. He was right – I had never been special. Not in the Winston family, not in acting either. But even if I was ordinary, I still wanted to fight for myself. “Because I love acting. I…” A sudden wave of nausea cut me off. An annoyed “tch” came from across me, startling me again. But then a dark handkerchief was held out in front of me. “Why are you crying? I said the role was decided and wouldn’t change. You’re making it seem like I bullied you.” I looked up at him in surprise. He immediately turned his face away awkwardly. He shoved the handkerchief into my arms and walked past me. “Sign the contract tomorrow, crybaby.”

Jude was a strange person, but he was highly efficient. The contract was sent to the company quickly. Unexpectedly, Ivo, Natalie, and Jude were all there. Ivo placed a contract on the table, smiling gently: “Rose, Natalie wants to trade a luxury brand endorsement for Jude’s movie role.” He nodded to Jude: “Director Yates said to ask you first.” Jude sat with his long legs crossed, resting his chin on his hand as he studied me with interest. I didn’t understand why Jude would personally deliver the contract for a supporting role. I understood even less why Natalie would trade a luxury endorsement for a supporting role. She had never let me have anything good. “This endorsement would take your commercial value and fame to the next level,” Ivo said softly, handing me the pen. I chose to enter the entertainment industry to stand in the spotlight, hoping my birth parents would see me. Ivo knew this, and was now offering me the best choice. I should have no reason to refuse, but my heart felt heavy and stifled. I just couldn’t bring myself to sign. Suddenly, Natalie leaned in close. I instantly felt chills down my spine. She whined sweetly: “Sis, just give me that role, okay?” I had tasted the consequences of refusing her before. All the scars on my body seemed to ache faintly. I trembled, almost uncontrollably, instinctively following her wishes and picking up the pen. Agree with her, or it will hurt. “Thank y-” Suddenly, my shaking arm was gripped. Jude’s voice came from above: “Rose Winston, why are you shaking? What are you afraid of?” His tone was still cool and indifferent, but it instantly pulled me out of my painful memories. He looked down at me, pressing the film contract under my pen: “You said you love acting. As it happens, I never change my cast. Sign it.” Driven by his gaze, I clumsily signed my name. It wasn’t until Natalie glared at me viciously that I realized I had actually defied her. But it seemed… not so terrible after all. I was no longer the 17-year-old Rose.

Soon, filming for “The Woman in the Mist” began. My supporting role was a nightclub girl, the one who led the female lead down a path of degradation. The first scene was teaching the female lead about nightclub life, meant to crush her self-esteem. “Don’t act like some chaste virgin here. Make the most of your youth while you can.” I smiled and put my arm around the male supporting actor’s shoulder. He started to open my clothes. I froze, a chill running down my spine. After several NGs, the assistant director, angry but afraid to speak up, went to get Jude. I braced myself for a scolding, but Jude just watched the playback silently, then studied me intently. I shrank back, my voice hoarse: “It’s because I…” The makeup artist exclaimed softly: “Ms. Winston, what happened to your back…” Her voice was cut off by Jude’s actions. He pulled down the back of my clothes. I closed my eyes in shame. Jude would see the large patches of old, messy scars on my back. If I sweated, the smeared concealer would stick to my skin and undershirt like mud. Ugly. Hideous. “Like a centipede turning over in the dirt,” a director once said. My whole body went cold. “What is this, Rose Winston?” His shocked voice came from behind. As expected, not only was it unsightly, but I was causing trouble for the crew. I clutched my clothes, apologizing softly: “I’m sorry.” Curious gazes stabbed at me from all around. But the next second, my collar was neatly tucked back in place. His hand rested on the back of my neck for a few seconds. I could have sworn I felt his hand trembling. I wanted to turn and check. But he quickly let go of me, acting as if nothing had happened, and left with the makeup artist. The gazes focused on me soon dispersed. My limbs gradually warmed up as I stood there in a daze. When the makeup artist returned, she washed off the concealer on my back. The assistant director had me change my movements, and the scriptwriter altered the lines. I put my arm around the female lead’s shoulder and stripped off my own clothes: “Look at these scars from resisting as a ‘virtuous woman’.” “You gave in?” “No. When you see these scars, you know I’ve been hurt, but you also know I’ve healed.” As I finished the lines, tears unconsciously fell from my eyes. Scars weren’t just remnants of pain, but proof of healing. It was the first time someone had said that to me.

After much thought, I made some food to thank Jude and went to his room. To my surprise, he was standing right outside my door. He strode in with his long legs. He looked to be in a bad mood again, his handsome features clouded with gloom. At nearly 6’2″, he loomed over me intimidatingly. He wasn’t here to terminate my contract, was he? My heart tightened as I sat stiffly on the stool. He spoke in a low voice: “Who did it?” I was confused for a moment before realizing he meant the scars. I hugged the lunchbox, answering softly: “No one. I just fell by accident.” He gave a short laugh, his voice suddenly sharp, clearly holding back anger: “Falls can cause burn scars? Do you think I’m blind or stupid? Tell the truth!” I flinched, the scars on my back seeming to burn again. “Sis, your hair is so pretty. Did you use a curling iron? Like this?” Natalie’s voice echoed in my mind like a demon’s whisper, making me curl up in pain. I think I had cried for help, but those people came over and pinned down my hands and feet. “Please, let me go…” My ears were suddenly covered, blocking out all the voices in my head. I opened my tear-soaked eyes to see Jude’s handsome face inches from mine. I didn’t know when he had crouched down and covered my ears. Then he dropped a bombshell: “Was it Natalie?” I stared at him with wide eyes, too shocked to speak. “Is it so hard to guess? She’s competing with you for roles, and you’ve hidden your identity.” His eyes were deep and gloomy, clearly reflecting my panicked face. “And you tremble when you see her.” He seemed to see through my disguises so easily. All these years, I thought I had hidden it so well.

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## When I was hospitalized with a sudden illness, my wife, Clara, was speeding to the airport to pick up the man she’d always loved—her old flame, Adam. She drank with him, fought for him, and threw away every shred of reason for him. She forgot our anniversary, hid the abortion of our child from me, and didn’t even visit me when I was critically injured in a car accident. In the end, I died on the operating table, my heart cold and empty. And when she finally pieced everything together, the guilt drove her to the brink of madness. Clara and I had been married for five years, but her work always came first. Our time together had been fleeting, barely enough to fill a handful of memories. This year, I thought we’d finally turned a corner. She’d said to me, “Benjamin, let’s start over.” That night, I was so excited I couldn’t sleep. I believed we’d finally grow old together, living a life of love and happiness. But it didn’t last. One event brought everything crashing down again. Yesterday, I was rushed to the hospital with acute appendicitis. It was an emergency, and I needed immediate surgery. I called Clara—again and again—but she didn’t pick up. Lying on the hospital bed, staring at the sterile white ceiling, I felt a hollow ache in my chest. Clara had been distant for weeks. She’d become increasingly elusive, ignoring my calls and leaving my texts unanswered. I scrolled through our chat history on my phone. The screen was filled with green bubbles—messages from me, all unanswered. The last message I’d sent her was yesterday evening: “Babe, I’m at the hospital. The doctor says I need surgery for acute appendicitis. Can you come be with me?” She never replied. Maybe she was busy, I thought. Maybe she hadn’t seen it yet. Clinging to the faint hope that she’d respond, I sent another message: “Don’t worry, the surgery is done. I’m fine now.” After hitting send, a notification popped up: a friend request from someone I didn’t know. But just from the profile picture, I knew exactly who it was. Adam. The man my wife had spent years chasing. Her so-called “one that got away.” I didn’t know why he was adding me in the middle of the night, but I accepted the request anyway. He didn’t say anything. Curious, I clicked into his profile and started scrolling through his posts. One post in particular caught my attention. “Someone who loves you will cross mountains and oceans just to be by your side.” The photo attached to the post? A woman’s silhouette, standing in an airport terminal. That silhouette was unmistakable—it was Clara. My wife. The post was timestamped 10 p.m. last night. Ten minutes after I’d sent her that message from the hospital. That was the exact moment I was being wheeled into surgery. It suddenly became clear why Adam had added me.

Before seeing that post, I had been making excuses for Clara. She was busy. She was stressed. Maybe she was at work, stuck in a meeting, or networking over drinks. I’d convinced myself that she just didn’t have time to check her phone. But Adam’s post shattered all of those excuses. No wonder she didn’t answer my calls or reply to my messages. She wasn’t too busy—she was with him. She’d dropped everything to be by his side. I felt like a fool. My grip on the phone tightened, my knuckles turning white. My vision blurred as I stared at her number on my screen, debating whether to call her. But in the end, I couldn’t do it. Pathetic. I didn’t even have the courage to confront her. Lying alone on the hospital bed, I found myself scrolling through Adam’s profile again, masochistically digging deeper. Unlike Clara’s profile, which was empty and pristine, Adam’s was full of life. He posted constantly—snapshots of his day, his thoughts on life. And at the end of every post, there was always a small snowflake emoji. It was subtle, but I knew what it meant. That snowflake—Clara. He never mentioned her by name, but she was everywhere. Every post was about her. No wonder Clara checked his profile religiously. Every time she read his posts, her mood would visibly brighten. And when I’d try to peek over her shoulder, curious, she’d immediately lock her phone and glare. “Don’t invade my privacy,” she’d snapped. I’d backed off, not wanting to upset her further. But one of Adam’s posts caught my attention. It was an announcement: He was getting married. He was moving abroad to start his new life. That was the same day Clara had told me, “Benjamin, let’s start over.”

Adam was Clara’s college classmate, the man she had loved but could never have—the one who got away. Back in school, Clara devoted herself to him completely. She was always by his side, running errands, doing whatever he asked without hesitation. A single offhanded comment from Adam could send her across half of Riverview City just to pick up his favorite breakfast. Adam majored in a different field than Clara, so what did she do? She switched majors. Adam liked nightlife, so she learned how to drink and smoke to fit into his world. Anything Adam liked, Clara would pursue it relentlessly, no matter the cost. Everyone in college knew how deeply Clara loved him. But in the end, they didn’t end up together. During Adam’s senior year, he announced he’d applied to study abroad. When Clara found out, she chased after him all the way to the airport. I don’t know what Adam said to her that day, but whatever it was, it broke her. She fell into a deep depression for months. I stayed by her side the whole time, quietly supporting her. Not long after graduation, to my surprise, Clara agreed to marry me. Even on the day of our wedding, I couldn’t believe it was real. It wasn’t until I slipped the ring onto her finger that it hit me—this wasn’t a dream. Overcome with emotion, I grabbed her hand and cried like a child. I had finally married the woman I’d loved for so many years. No one knew how much Clara loved Adam. And no one knew that my love for her was just as deep—if not deeper. I’d loved her for years, long before Adam ever entered the picture. Even when people mocked me, calling me a pathetic doormat who worshipped her, I didn’t care. Clara was my exception, my one and only. As long as I could be with her, I was content. But now… I’m starting to realize that maybe I don’t love her as much as I thought I did.

The doctor came in for his rounds and frowned when he saw I was alone. He sternly reminded me that I needed someone to look after me. My parents had passed away a couple of years ago. Clara was the only family I had left. I called her again. This time, it didn’t go straight to voicemail—it was turned off. I laughed bitterly to myself. What was I expecting? Adam was back. Of course, she wasn’t going to care about me. So, I called my childhood friend, Ryan. He showed up not long after, bursting through the door of my hospital room. “Benjamin, what the hell happened to you?” Ryan exclaimed, looking me over with wide eyes. “You look awful!” It had only been one sleepless night, but I must’ve looked so haggard that even Ryan, who’d known me forever, barely recognized me. “Where’s Clara?” Ryan asked, his voice sharp with anger. “You had surgery, and she’s not even here? What kind of wife does that?” He ranted on, furious on my behalf, but his words only made me sink deeper into thought. Maybe this was my fault. Maybe it was my unconditional love and patience that gave Clara the freedom to hurt me so carelessly. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself. “Adam’s back,” I said quietly. Ryan’s face darkened. “That bastard actually came back?” “This time,” I said, my voice calm, “I think I’m going to divorce her.” Ryan froze mid-motion, the apple he’d been peeling dropping onto the table. He opened his mouth to say something but hesitated, his face shifting through a mix of emotions. Finally, all he managed was, “Just… take care of yourself, man.” Truthfully, I’d already made peace with it. I’d always known Clara never truly let go of Adam. There was one time, a year into our marriage, Clara had gone out with friends and forgotten to bring a jacket. Worried she’d get cold, I rushed out to bring it to her. When I arrived at the restaurant, I overheard one of her friends teasing her: “You’re married to Benjamin now, but you’re still thinking about Adam?” Clara’s voice was calm, almost indifferent. “It’s different. Adam will always be special to me. I can’t forget him. Benjamin… he’s just my second choice.” I stood frozen outside the door, her words stabbing through me like ice. I was wearing a heavy coat, but in that moment, I felt cold to my core. From that day on, I understood. I would never compare to Adam.

When I was discharged and went home, I discovered something that shouldn’t have surprised me: Clara hadn’t been home at all while I was in the hospital. The house was eerily quiet. Dust had gathered on the furniture, a thin layer that made the emptiness feel even heavier. I imagined how happy she must’ve been these past few days, free of me and my burdens. I unlocked my phone and opened Adam’s social media profile again. The most recent post was a video. Dim lighting. Thumping bass. A crowded dance floor filled with bodies moving to the beat. In the center of it all was Clara, pressed tightly against Adam. The two of them moved in perfect rhythm, their bodies so close they seemed inseparable. As the song ended, Adam wrapped his arm around Clara’s waist, pulling her even closer. She tilted her head up, her eyes half-lidded, filled with an intoxicating mix of desire and devotion. And then, he kissed her. The kind of kiss that spoke of possession, of claiming. They stood there in the middle of the dance floor, locked together, oblivious to the world around them. The video cut off abruptly after that. I scrolled further, finding more posts I hadn’t seen before—all of them featuring Clara and Adam together. Dancing at clubs. Drinking and laughing at a barbecue joint. Racing motorcycles late at night. It was like they were reliving their college days, indulging in all the reckless things they used to love. Meanwhile, I’d been lying in a hospital bed, alone. The absurdity of it all hit me like a punch to the gut. Clara was my wife. And yet, the only way I could keep track of her was through another man’s social media. 6

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My childhood friend Richard Davis complained about the stress of grad school applications, sweet-talking me into being intimate with him. Afterward, he couldn’t get enough, pursuing me relentlessly for an entire year. Finding him too unromantic, I teased with a smile, “When chasing a girl, remember to bring flowers.” He kept kissing me, murmuring his agreement. Then came the day when Alicia Tate, the department beauty, confessed to him. Richard asked to meet me. “Help me pick out some flowers later. You girls usually have similar tastes. Whatever you choose, I’m sure Alicia will love it.” So, he did know that confessions should start with a bouquet. When Richard told me he’d accepted Alicia’s confession, it felt like all the air around me froze. When he mentioned Alicia, he couldn’t hide the smile spreading across his face. In all our years together, I’d never seen that expression on him before. I mumbled random responses, afraid that if I said too much, he’d notice something off in my voice. “Janet, are you about to cry?” He asked teasingly, raising his voice playfully. My hands trembled as I gripped the hem of my shirt. Richard knew me too well. He could pick up on my emotions from even the slightest change in expression. I couldn’t lie to him, but I still tried to put up a front. “I’m just tired from all the stress lately.” “Perfect timing then. Help me pick out some flowers. It’ll help you unwind.” When he said “unwind”, I couldn’t help but feel a pang in my heart. Richard always used this same excuse to coax me into bed. The excitement in his voice was unmistakable. “You’re both girls, and you picked it out. Alicia’s bound to love it.” Alicia was our department’s beauty queen, gorgeous and pursued by many admirers. But I never knew Richard had feelings for her, too. And where did that leave me… “Richard, what about me?” I asked, biting my lip. He fell silent for a few seconds, his face darkening. When he finally spoke, his expression was dead serious. “Janet, don’t tell me you’re taking this seriously. You’re just a childhood friend. Some things are just about mutual benefit, aren’t they?” His tone was calm, but each word cut like a knife. I’d taught him to give flowers when dating girls. In the past, he could never seem to remember. “You never need to teach those who truly want to learn,” as they say. He tucked my stray hair behind my ear with a mischievous smile. “You’ve lived in my home for so many years. Everyone sees you just like my little sister. Who could accept being with their sister? If I did that, what kind of person would that make me?” His words hit me like a bucket of ice water, leaving me frozen to the core. I stared at the ground, fighting back tears. “Finals are coming up. I need to get back to my practice problems.” With that, I rushed back to my dorm.

I thought Richard saw me as his girlfriend. We rode Ferris wheels together and watched sunsets. He took me to see the Northern Lights. He’d kiss me passionately just as the sun rose. He’d make all those romantic promises. Richard said I was like a sister to him. Yet every time we spent the night together, in those intimate moments, he’d call me his wife. Turns out, in Richard’s eyes, it was all just a game. From start to finish, I was the only one who fell deep. The phone ringing snapped me out of my thoughts. “Janet, have you been crying?” My aunt, Yvonne Watson, could hear something was wrong. I pulled myself back from the memories. My reflection showed tears streaking down my face, and I quickly wiped them away. “Just stressed lately and coming down with a cold.” She finally let out a sigh of relief. “Don’t forget to take your medicine, and if you’re really not feeling well, have Richard take you to the hospital.” I nodded along to everything she said. Mentioning Richard made Yvonne seem to remember something. “Oh right, Janet, have you told him about going abroad after your exams next month? He won’t try to stop you from leaving again, will he?” The year my parents passed away, Yvonne had planned to take me abroad, but Richard had grabbed my sleeve, begging me to stay. He said his house had many rooms, and I could live in any of them. His home would be my home, and he would be my family. Those words touched me deeply, and I turned down Yvonne’s offer. Now, thinking about my future, Yvonne has invited me again to develop my career overseas with her. I had planned to tell Richard about this today. I’d even written a whole page of explanation a week ago. I was planning to give it to him today. “Don’t worry, Aunt Yvonne, we’ve grown up now. We won’t be as stubborn as we were when we were kids.” “What about you, Janet? Will you miss him?” Whenever I chat with Yvonne, I somehow always end up mentioning Richard. How could she not understand the look of a young girl’s first love? After spending so many years abroad and with relatives keeping their distance from me, an orphan, this departure would likely be permanent. The thought that time heals all wounds brought me peace. “I’ve already contacted a renowned artist overseas to teach me. Besides studying, I just want to spend time by your side.”

While I was doing practice problems, my roommate Emily Walker suddenly exclaimed, “Janet, quick, look at this!” Before I could react, her phone screen was right in front of my eyes. In the video, Richard was down on one knee, holding flowers. “How could I let a girl make the first move? Alicia, will you be my girlfriend?” His nervous, bashful demeanor made everyone around him squeal with delight, calling him a true romantic. Yet just last night, he’d asked me out for dinner, pinned me against the hotel room door for a deep kiss, and promised to bring me flowers. Looking back now, those were just empty promises made in the afterglow of satisfaction. “Man, I really thought Richard was into you,” Emily said. She pulled her chair next to mine, looking disappointed. “He always invited you everywhere he went, got you gifts for holidays and birthdays. Now you’re telling me I shipped the wrong couple?” I forced a smile, fighting back tears that threatened to fall. I dug my fingernails into my palm. Maybe if it hurt enough physically, my heart wouldn’t ache so much. That evening at the cafeteria, I ran into the new couple holding hands. I instinctively lowered my head, wanting to get away from them as quickly as possible. “Janet, why are you in such a rush?” Richard grabbed my collar and pulled me back. “Why didn’t you respond to my message this afternoon? I’ve been meaning to talk to you.” He looked incredibly handsome today, not a hair out of place, his eyes lighting up when he looked at the girl beside him. “This is my girlfriend, Alicia. Say hello.” Over the years, I’d grown used to him introducing me to others as his non-blood-related sister, but this time I couldn’t bring myself to speak. When I didn’t respond, Richard suddenly reached out and pinched my cheek. “What are you spacing out for? Making your big brother lose face?” Our eyes met, and he saw the humiliated tears in mine. Richard’s hand froze, and his gaze turned uncertain. It reminded me of back then, when a classmate from the next class confessed to me, and I didn’t know how to respond. Richard had just returned from basketball practice and, seeing the scene came over and squeezed my cheek, his hand resting on my neck. What did he say back then? “What are you spacing out for, Janet? Need me to reject him for you?” The guy asked Richard what right he had to decide for me, what business was it of his. “What business?” he chuckled softly. “We live together. I’ve got plenty of pictures of Janet drooling in her sleep, want to see?” That night, after chasing the guy away, Richard used to study as an excuse to pin me down and kiss me all night. Playing with the necklace at my throat, he whispered a warning in my ear, “Janet, we grew up together. I won’t let you get distracted from me.”

“Come on, Richard, we’re all classmates here. No need to be so serious!” Alicia tugged at his sleeve. Richard finally relaxed, letting out a deep breath. “I got too worked up. It’s fine. It’ll get better once you two get to know each other.” I pressed my lips together, gripping my lunch box tighter. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll head back first.” In my heart, I thought, “Richard, there won’t be a next time.” Alicia’s voice came from behind me. “Hey, come do karaoke with us later! It’s Richard’s treat. You’re his sister. It wouldn’t look right if you didn’t come.” I thought Alicia had invited me because she wanted to get to know Richard better. But I’d been naive to think it was that simple. Richard was chatting with others while Alicia sat down next to me. She’d been overly friendly to me since the moment we entered the karaoke room. “Janet, I heard you and Richard grew up together. You two would make such a gorgeous couple. How come you never got together?” She had her arm linked through mine, making it impossible for me to dodge the question. “Richard only sees me as a sister. He’d never be with someone he thinks of that way.” I wanted to ease Alicia’s concerns. After all, they’d just started dating, and both lacked the security that comes with trust. But she pressed on with a provocative tone. “So what you’re saying is you’ve got unrequited feelings for my boyfriend?” “No, that’s not…” I opened my mouth but couldn’t find the words to defend myself. “Richard, that necklace looks really nice on you.” Richard was sitting next to Alicia, handing her a piece of fruit. “Oh, my parents gave it to me when I was little. Said it would keep me safe.” “Do you like it?” Alicia stopped him as he started to take it off, snuggling against him with exaggerated sweetness. “I just noticed Janet’s looks like a matching couple’s set with yours. But whatever, I guess she wears it every day because she likes you…” Richard looked at me, his eyes fixed on my neck. “Janet, give me your necklace.” Before I could react, he reached for it. “We’re all family here. Since Alicia likes it, consider it your welcome gift to her.” I instinctively backed away, dodging his reaching hand. He froze for a moment. Then anger flashed in his eyes. “Being disobedient, are we? Don’t forget, this belongs to our family. I have the right to take it back.” The chatter around us suddenly stopped as everyone turned to stare at me. “Richard, what are you saying? Don’t you remember? You got that necklace when Janet had a three-day high fever! You were crying, begging your parents to take you to get it for her.” The person who spoke up was a friend who’d grown up with us. Richard seemed to come to his senses suddenly and instinctively pulled his hand back. “I just thought since we’re all grown up now, we don’t need its protection to be okay anymore. Never mind… I was wrong. If you like it, keep it.” “No need. I’ll give it back to you right now.” I pulled off the safety necklace from my neck. “Now, I don’t owe you anything anymore.” He stared at the necklace in his hand, frozen in place.

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