Category: English

Just because I ate a couple extra bites of the cake Mrs. Wilson made, my mom suddenly lost it and ruined my birthday party. “You’re truly your father’s daughter, with the same taste,” she spat. “Since you like her so much, why don’t you let her be your mother from now on?” “I don’t want you anymore.” Confused and scared, I cried and begged for her forgiveness. But she accidentally pushed me, causing me to hit my head on the table corner. Blood gushed out. In my dazed state, I heard my mother’s inner thoughts: [Let the chase begin. He’ll regret this.] [Those who betray true love deserve to suffer.] [That ungrateful father-daughter duo must be regretting it now.] She sounded smug and vindictive, without a trace of concern or love for me. But mom, if you truly love someone, how could you bear to see them hurt? “You like eating it so much? Then eat all you want!” When my mom suddenly grabbed an entire cake and threw it at my face, the noisy living room fell silent. Only her sharp voice lingered in the air. She wiped the cake off her fingers with a napkin, then shot Mrs. Wilson a look of disgust. “Aria Anderson, you really are your father’s daughter. The two of you have such similar tastes.” “Since you like her so much, why don’t you let her be your mother?” I looked at my mom, then at Mrs. Wilson’s weathered face. At an age when I hadn’t yet learned the word “absurd,” I suddenly grasped its meaning. It was all my fault and dad’s for always making mom misunderstand. That’s why she was so angry. “I’m sorry, mom. I was wrong.” I lowered my head in shame, hiding my reddening eyes. The cream felt sticky and uncomfortable on my skin. I didn’t dare to take a shower or change clothes, afraid that if I looked away for a moment, mom would really leave. But my apology didn’t soften mom’s expression. She coldly examined me, as if trying to find something on my face. “Then tell me, what exactly did you do wrong?” I nervously clutched the hem of my shirt, trying hard to recall what I had done to make mom angry. But I couldn’t think of anything. Singing the birthday song, blowing out candles, cutting the cake, eating the cake – these were all normal parts of celebrating a birthday. I hadn’t misbehaved or done anything out of line. I anxiously dug my nails into my palms, tears welling up in my eyes. Seeing me stammer without being able to say anything, mom’s face grew increasingly dark. Finally, her patience ran out. She violently flipped over the cake on the table. The gifts beside it crashed to the floor with a clatter. “You even like Mrs. Wilson’s cooking. Your dad must really be starving.” “When I cook, you two are so picky.” “But you can’t get enough of her cake, stuffing your face with it.” “Fine, Aria. Have it your way. I don’t want you anymore.” “From now on, you don’t have a mother.” Mrs. Wilson turned pale with fright, unable to understand how she, a 40-something housekeeper who diligently cooked and cleaned every day, had suddenly become the other woman in her employer’s marriage. I trembled in fear too, forgetting the cream still on me as I threw myself at mom’s legs and held on tight. “Mom, I was wrong. I’ll never eat cake again.” “Please don’t leave me.” My sobbing irritated mom, and the sweet cream made her even more unbearable. “My new dress!” She shoved me away forcefully, staring at the white cream stains on her dress as her chest heaved. “Go to Mrs. Wilson. I don’t want to be your mother anymore.” Mom pushed too hard. With cream all over the floor, I lost my balance and fell, hitting my forehead on the table corner. In an instant, liquid gushed from my head. Before losing consciousness, all I saw was red. I couldn’t tell if it was blood or mom’s red dress. “Mom, don’t go.” Don’t leave me.

When I woke up again, I was in the hospital. “Mom!” I frantically searched for mom’s figure, finally spotting her playing on her phone in the corner of the room. Mom was still here. My anxious heart finally calmed down. I stared at her without blinking, afraid she would suddenly disappear. The next moment, dad’s call came through. Mom clicked her tongue and irritably rejected the call. Soon dad called again. Mom rejected it again. This went on until the tenth call when mom finally answered impatiently. “Aaron Anderson, stop calling me. I told you, I won’t forgive you. This time, I’m definitely getting a divorce.” “Go live with all your mistresses.” “From now on, no one will cook for you or stay up late waiting for you to come home from work.” “Losing me is your loss.” The other end went eerily silent for a few seconds. Mom didn’t speak either. But I clearly heard her voice, as if coming from her heart. [Let the chase begin.] [Those who betray true love deserve to suffer.] [That ungrateful father-daughter duo must be regretting it now.] Her tone was triumphant and smug, without any concern or love for me. But mom, if you truly love someone, how could you bear to see them hurt? What chase? What betrayal? Was she talking about me and dad being ungrateful? I looked at mom in confusion, suddenly feeling a bit sad. I’m not ungrateful. I love mom very much. A feeling of inescapable exhaustion enveloped me. I couldn’t understand why things had turned out this way. Just because I was greedy and ate a few extra bites of Mrs. Wilson’s cake? Tears fell one by one onto the blanket, leaving damp spots. “Wendy, can’t we talk things through? Don’t take it out on Aria. She’s just a child,” dad’s voice sounded tired. “Besides, you have some nerve to talk. How can anyone eat the food you cook? You almost killed me!” Before he could finish, mom cut him off with a cold laugh. “A child? She knows plenty. She probably already knew Mrs. Wilson would become her stepmother, that’s why she’s sucking up to her.” “Too bad no stepmother will ever be good to her stepdaughter. I’m waiting to see you regret this.” The last sentence was directed at me. Mom turned to look at me. Her eyes held pure malice, as if she couldn’t wait to see me mistreated by Mrs. Wilson. “You’re being completely unreasonable,” dad’s voice turned cold too. He hung up with a click. [You’ll be begging me to come back one day.] Mom was angered by the “unreasonable” comment and started imagining scenes of dad pleading for her to return. It took her a while to calm down. She picked up her bag and left gracefully. “I’m not your mother anymore, so don’t expect me to take care of you.” “Just stay here and see if your precious Mrs. Wilson comes.” This time, I didn’t try to stop her. I hugged my knees tightly, struggling not to cry out loud. Mom, you said those who betray true love deserve to suffer. But if you truly love someone, how could you bear to see them hurt?

Mrs. Wilson didn’t come to the hospital to take care of me. She had resigned. Hardworking housekeepers with cooking skills are in demand everywhere. There was no need to stay with our family and risk her reputation. That day, I sat alone in the hospital from dawn to dusk without eating or drinking anything. My head remained dizzy and weak. In the end, a kind nurse couldn’t bear to see me like that. She brought me a meal from the hospital cafeteria and called my dad. After learning that mom had abandoned me at the hospital, dad rushed back from out of town overnight. When I saw him, the first thing I said was: “If mom never sees me again, will she regret it?” Sitting in the hospital room all day, looking at the tall buildings outside, a thought suddenly occurred to me. If I jumped from here, mom would lose me forever. When she sees my body, will she regret it? Will she cry and beg me not to leave her, just like I begged her on my birthday? “No,” dad replied firmly without hesitation. “Aria, people who truly love you won’t bear to see you hurt.” “Those who don’t love you won’t care if you’re in pain.” “Hurting yourself to make others feel regret or guilt is just a stupid form of emotional blackmail.” “You can’t gain real respect and love through such means. If you don’t believe me, we can make a bet.” Dad and mom soon got their divorce papers. Mom took the money and house, but not me. The house mom got was right next door to ours. When I missed her, I would wait by the door. If I was lucky, I might see her coming home or going out. But she never spoke to me or responded to any of my friendly gestures. Until one day, mom brought home a little boy. I heard mom call him Noah, Noah Summers. That was the first thing mom had said to me since the divorce. “Aria Anderson, this is my son Noah Summers.” “You’d better not bully him, or else…” She gave me a meaningful look, as if certain I would harm this little boy. A few days later, a handsome man moved in with mom. Mom liked to kiss him at the front door. A few times when dad came home early from work and ran into them, he frowned and wanted to talk to mom. “If you want to kiss, do it in your own home. Don’t always do it in the stairwell. It’s not good for the kids to see.” Mom was convinced he was jealous, and smirked smugly. “Where we kiss is our freedom. It’s none of your business.” “Or are you jealous that you can’t kiss me anymore?” Then she became even more excessive. She also liked to put on a show of mother-son affection with Noah at the door. “Sweetie, come here and let mommy tie your tie for you.” “Mommy baked this bread for you. Remember to eat it at school.” I stood at the door, looking at mom longingly, but didn’t get even a glance from her. After mom went back inside, I looked at the bread in Noah’s hand, hesitating. I wasn’t sure if I should stop him from eating it. To my surprise, Noah thought I wanted to steal his bread. He charged at me aggressively.

“You motherless bastard, get out of my way.” Noah was tall and sturdy, like a little bull. “Don’t even think about stealing my bread.” I could have dodged, but for some reason, I suddenly remembered the bet I made with dad and forcefully stopped myself from moving. A dull pain shot through my abdomen as Noah knocked me to the ground. My palms and knees were scraped and bleeding. “Mom,” I cried out, feeling wronged and bursting into tears. Seeing me cry so miserably, Noah finally got a bit scared and kept saying, “It’s not my fault. You fell on your own.” Perhaps the noise was too loud. Mom opened the door to check the situation. I sobbed and choked, using all my strength to cry, wanting to release all the grievances and insecurities I had bottled up. Tears streamed down my face. “Mom, Noah pushed me.” As I tattled on Noah, a flash of guilt crossed my mind. I’m a bad child. I’m sorry Noah, I just missed mom too much. But mom’s reaction left me stunned. She came over and stroked Noah’s head gently. “Did my baby get scared? Don’t worry, mommy’s here. I won’t let anyone bully you.” She had never spoken to me so tenderly. When her gaze turned to me, the concern in her eyes instantly turned to disgust. “Aria Anderson, I warned you not to bully Noah.” “No matter how much you act out, I won’t come back.” “I’ve told you already, I’m not your mother anymore. From now on, Noah is my only child.” Her tone was full of mockery, but her inner thoughts revealed excitement. [Regretting it now? Too late.] [I suffered so much for you two before. You deserve to taste some of that pain.] “Mom, aren’t you going to ask if I’m hurt?” Mom frowned, her expression a bit unnatural. “Why should I care if you’re hurt?” Oh, I see. Mom doesn’t love me, so she doesn’t care if I’m in pain. Dad won the bet. I wiped the tears from my face with my forearm and looked up at mom, speaking slowly and seriously. “Actually, I could have dodged Noah just now, but I didn’t.” “I did it on purpose because I wanted to see if you would feel guilty about me.” “What about you, mom? Was it on purpose too?” In that moment, I suddenly understood many things. Why I always felt guilty towards mom, why she suddenly wanted to leave us, why dad didn’t try to stop her. Mom angrily pulled Noah away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She clearly understood. My teacher once taught us a phrase – to be ashamed into anger.

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I have a superpower. When I kill someone, I can gain their memories from the past three years. Before the SAT Exams, I killed my overachiever boyfriend and got into college without a hitch. Content When did I first discover this about myself? I was nine years old when my parents got divorced. The court awarded custody to my mom. I loved my mom, but honestly, I loved my dad more. I often sneaked away to visit him just to spend time together. But one day, when I saw him, I caught him kissing a woman—Mallory Chase. My parents had shielded me from adult matters, so it was the first time I’d ever seen a man and a woman kiss. Her lips were bright red, like blood—so red they looked like they could devour someone. I was furious. Even at that young age, I understood. Dad had done something wrong, and that’s why they divorced. Dad was the bad guy. Brimming with anger, I stormed off to his car and tossed a handful of marbles onto the seat. They’d poke at Dad’s back, maybe make Mallory fall on her face. But instead, the marbles jammed the brakes. The car malfunctioned. Mallory ended up in a coma. Dad died instantly. The police checked the surveillance footage and saw me throwing marbles into the car. But I was just a nine-year-old kid. They are too young to know better and to be held legally responsible. And when I screamed and cried, inconsolable over losing my dad, everyone pitied me. No one blamed me. They just thought I was a poor child caught in tragedy. But as I cried, memories poured into my mind, memories that didn’t belong to me. I saw Mallory’s face through someone else’s eyes. That’s when I learned just how early Dad had started doing bad things. I saw arguments between him and Mom; he stole money from our home. I saw him wrapped around Mallory, their disgusting intimacy like two animals snarled together. I threw up. Mom and the police thought my body was overwhelmed by grief. Only I knew the truth: it wasn’t grief. It was hatred. Even at that young age, I saw them for what they were—two beasts twisted together.

Unexpectedly, my sadness quickly faded. What lingered was disgust. At the same time, I realized there was something different about me. As a little girl, I didn’t dare to say it. As I grew older, I didn’t want to say it. It wasn’t until I got older that I understood this ability. When I was in middle school, my neighbor, Lydia Prescott, and I were in the same class. We were very close friends. We went to and from school together and were inseparable—even when going to the restroom. Our teachers joked that we were “conjoined twins.” Lydia wasn’t the nicest person, but was beautiful—far prettier than I was. Sometimes, I overheard people say we were like “the princess and her sidekick.” It didn’t bother me much, but Lydia always looked smug when she heard it. I think that’s one of the reasons she stayed close to me. People don’t like being outshined by those closest to them. Lydia liked being the star. In some ways, it showed she thought of me as her confidant. I was so good to Lydia that she became a little dependent on me. Her grades were always better than mine—except in English. So, her English homework was often my responsibility. I wrote it neatly for her. As the English class representative during small tests, I helped the teacher grade papers in the office. E’d secretly change a few of Lydia’s answers and bump up her score. each time That was until the teacher found out. But Ms. Vivian Hale, our English teacher, didn’t scold me for altering the grades. Instead, she took it out on Lydia. Ms. Hale had always disliked Lydia—too pretty, too into makeup, and her English skills were lacking. Lydia was everything Ms. Hale frowned upon. “All you do is focus on nonsense instead of your studies!” “Girls like you will never amount to anything.” Lydia’s eyes turned red instantly. She slammed her desk and ran out of the classroom. Ms. Hale scoffed at first, but she grew nervous when Lydia didn’t return. After a while, she stopped teaching and told me to find Lydia. I knew where Lydia was. She was in the storage room next to the third-floor break room. Whenever Lydia was upset, she hid there. I opened the door quietly, slipped inside, and sat beside her. She didn’t look at me, and I didn’t look at her. I understood her. She didn’t want me to see her vulnerable. After a while, Lydia finally spoke. “I hate Ms. Hale.” “I hate Ms. Hale too,” I said, joining her indignation. She couldn’t help but laugh a little at my childishness. “Let’s go back,” she said. “Okay.” Our bond grew even more potent. But I had to admit, there’s a natural difference in aptitude for learning. I worked hard, but I just wasn’t good at school. Lydia and I spent the same time studying, but her grades steadily improved, even in English. Sometimes, she’d offer to tutor me, but it was useless. I just didn’t get it. My mom often compared me to Lydia. I didn’t want to disappoint her. She was all I had. As my grades stayed stagnant, I started to panic. A dark thought crept into my mind. What if I killed Lydia? If I killed Lydia, I’d have her last three years of middle school memories. Some ideas are impossible to shake once they’ve entered your head. I had a plan. The school had recently installed new air conditioning. The cooling system was robust. Some older students joked it was ironic the school added A/C right after they graduated. Lydia, being short, always sat in the front rows while I was stuck in the back. As summer approached and the A/C turned on, I often complained about the heat and wandered to Lydia’s desk during breaks. While chatting, I’d casually adjust the thermostat to its lowest setting—cold air blasting at 60°F. When the bell rang, I’d walk away. Sometimes, Lydia remembered to reset it. Sometimes she didn’t. She often sat through an entire class in freezing air. A few days ago, Lydia and I went shopping. I mentioned my mom asked me to stock up on cold medicine and asked if she wanted some. “Cold medicine? In the middle of summer?” she asked. “My mom said the A/C at school and home is too much of a temperature swing. She told me to keep some medicine handy.” Lydia hesitated, then nodded. “That makes sense.” She bought the same medicine I did. When I saw her sniffling and complaining about a headache, I knew my chance had come. After school, as usual, we walked home together. “Let’s stop by Greenfield Riverside Park,” I suggested. We often relaxed there. It wasn’t unusual. I led Lydia toward a spot near a convenience store’s surveillance cameras. “Open your bag,” I said. Inside her bag were two bottles of liquor—highproof. She pulled them out, surprised. “Ta-da! A surprise for you!” “We’re almost high schoolers. Don’t you want to try it?” I turned slightly, hiding my mouth with my hair. I knew Lydia. She was a rebel at heart, yearning to break the rules her strict parents imposed on her. Lydia grabbed one bottle and handed the other to me. I acted hesitant, almost scared. “Maybe we shouldn’t. What if your parents find out?” That only fueled her determination. “Don’t worry! Just one sip!” I pretended to waver until she practically shoved the bottle into my hand. We talked for a while. We discussed our latest tests, dreams for the future, how much we hated Ms. Hale and even the warm tones of the sunset. She apologized. She admitted she sometimes saw me as a sidekick. She said I was her best friend. Forever. I said, “Yes, forever.” As the evening wore on, I patted Lydia’s shoulder and said it was time to head home. I barely drank, only pretending to sip. Lydia, however, was tipsy, her movements unsteady. I’d already checked. Her mom was working late, and her dad was on the night shift. Lydia would be alone. “Goodbye, Lydia,” I said, smiling. “See you tomorrow.” “Oh, and don’t forget to take your cold medicine tonight. You’ve got a bit of a cold.” Lydia smiled back, her eyes glinting with the soft light of dusk. I calmly went home, ate dinner with my mom, finished my homework, and fell peacefully asleep. The following day, a sharp pain pierced my head. New memories flooded my mind. I knew I had succeeded.

Lydia Prescott was dead. Her mom found her collapsed in the living room when she got home that night. By the time they got her to the hospital, it was too late. The police investigated and concluded she had died from alcohol poisoning due to mixing antibiotics with liquor. In those days, before the internet became widespread, middle schoolers like us didn’t know much about these kinds of things. Except for me, who had three years of memories from my dad. Yes. The cold medicine Lydia and I bought together that day included antibiotics. It went so smoothly—almost too smoothly. I had thought of so many ways this could have gone wrong. Lydia might not have taken the medicine. She could’ve taken it but skipped the antibiotics. She could’ve felt sick and called for help in time. Her mom might have come home early and stopped her. But none of that happened. Could this smooth success mean that fate was on my side? As Lydia’s best friend and the last person to see her alive, I was called to the police station to give a statement. Since I was a minor, my mom accompanied me. I sat there looking scared while my mom comforted me. “It’s okay, sweetheart. The officer just wants to ask a few questions,” she said. “Yeah, don’t be scared,” the officer added kindly. “We just need to clear a few things up.” They didn’t think for a second that a little girl like me could have done anything. “According to the victim’s mother, she wasn’t in the habit of drinking, but you two were seen drinking that day. Why?” I glanced at my mom nervously. She patted my hand reassuringly, silently encouraging me to speak. “Lydia said she wanted to try it, just for fun. She suddenly pulled two bottles of liquor out of her bag,” I said, my voice trembling. “I didn’t want to drink, and I tried to talk her out of it, but…” My voice cracked, and tears streamed down my face. The officer nodded. The surveillance footage supported my story: Lydia had forced the bottle into my hands. After a few more harmless questions, they let me go. The case was ruled an unfortunate result of teenage rebellion and ignorance. At school, Lydia’s death became a cautionary tale. Meanwhile, I was busy organizing my thoughts. It felt like I’d struck gold. Lydia’s mind had been full of knowledge. My grades skyrocketed, much to my mom’s delight. And mine, too. When the SAT Exams came, I performed flawlessly and got into the best high school in the city, Ashwood High School. My mom even bought a house near the school district—a prominent place with a spacious bedroom and my study. During the summer, she enrolled me in a prep course for high school. When the new semester started, I wasn’t behind like some classmates. But I knew this wasn’t a permanent solution. I wasn’t naturally gifted in academics. Even with Lydia’s solid knowledge base, I’d fall behind again. Last time, luck had played too significant a role. This time, I needed a better plan for my high school years.

I set my sights on Caleb Summers. He was the top student in our grade and also my classmate. Caleb lived up to his name—bright and dazzling. With his clean-cut good looks and academic brilliance, he had a swarm of admirers. And then there was me: plain, ordinary. We seemed destined to remain in separate worlds. But I observed him and did some online digging. That’s how I found the obscure chat app Caleb used most frequently. The app was anonymous, with no notification system. I pored over every detail of Caleb’s activity. He was a lively, optimistic boy with a good family background. He had low blood sugar and always carried sweets. He loved classic literature and mystery novels. I changed my profile picture on the app to a delicate jasmine flower—Caleb’s favorite. But I didn’t add him directly. I couldn’t risk spooking him. Instead, I built my profile slowly. I shared posts regularly, shaping myself into someone with interests that aligned perfectly with his. Over time, my account gained a few followers. It no longer looked fake. One day, I sent out a cryptic message: “When Rachel killed Alex, what do you think she was thinking?” It referenced a plotline from The Madonna of the Sleepers, a classic novel Caleb had been reading in class. He hadn’t posted about it anywhere. At first, there was no response. But the next day, Caleb replied: “Protection and fear, I guess.” “How do you know I’m reading this?” “Fear? Do you think Rachel was afraid of Alex?” I ignored his second question. “I think Rachel was afraid of her memories,” I replied. Seeing I wasn’t revealing my identity, Caleb didn’t push further. We continued chatting about books, cautiously at first. Eventually, the exchanges grew longer, evolving from literature to films. One day, Caleb asked: “You’re interesting. How old are you? What city do you live in?” I didn’t reply. For days, I ignored all his messages. He flooded me with apologies, worried he’d offended me. About a week later, I finally wrote back: “If you want to know who I am, meet me tonight on the rooftop of Hawthorne Hall.”

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I had just gotten married when my in-laws decided to wash their hands of everything and travel all over the place. For the past two years, the couple has been traveling across the country. They’ve been spending their savings like there’s no tomorrow. I’ve told my husband several times to persuade his parents to save some money for their retirement. But my husband always retorts with a gruff voice: “Are you hoping to leech off my parents? Why are you always calculating their money? As their children, of course we’ll take care of them in their old age. Why else would we have kids?” My good intentions were misunderstood. After that, I stopped bringing it up. I figured as long as they had enough money for themselves and didn’t burden us, it would be fine. But I was naive to think the problem would be that simple. With the way my in-laws were spending money, how could their savings be enough? In the living room. “Alex, you know your cousin is getting married this July. I was wondering when your mom could pay back the $7,000 she borrowed from me last year,” Aunt Emma asked bluntly as she placed the candy and gifts she brought on the table. My husband and I were stunned for a moment, looking at each other in confusion. My husband quickly recovered and probed, “Aunt Emma, did Mom borrow money from you privately? I had no idea.” Aunt Emma waved her hand and slowly explained the situation: “Your mom asked me not to tell you when she borrowed the money. She said she was out of cash and needed me to lend her a few thousand dollars. It’s not just me – your Uncle Jack and Aunt Sarah have also lent her money. I wouldn’t be in a rush to ask for it back, but your cousin is getting married, you know? I called your mom, but she said she didn’t have any money and told me to ask you.” My heart sank, and my face fell. It was bad enough that my in-laws had blown through their savings, but they were even borrowing money from relatives. My husband’s face also darkened, and he let out a long sigh: “Aunt Emma, give me your bank account details. I’ll try to gather the money and transfer it to you in the next couple of days.” “Alright, I’ll send you the account information when I get home. I’ll be going now,” Aunt Emma said with a smile, getting up to leave as soon as my husband agreed to repay the money. I tried hard to suppress my anger. I forced a smile as I saw her out. As soon as I closed the door. Furious, I clutched my aching chest and exclaimed: “Honey, what’s wrong with your parents? Isn’t all that money enough for them? They’re even borrowing money from relatives now? I told you earlier to ask them to be more careful with their spending. Look what’s happened now!” My husband’s face was grim too. He snapped: “Enough, stop nagging about this and that. I’ll ask them about it later.” My husband irritably took out a pack of cigarettes and started smoking. Then he called his parents and asked them to come over right away. Whenever it came to matters concerning his parents. My husband couldn’t bear to hear a word against them from me. My temper flared up too, and I didn’t want to stay with him. I went back to our room to take care of the baby. My in-laws have been selfish their entire lives. They’ve never thought about their children. When my husband and I got married, we used money that he had saved from his own work. His parents didn’t contribute a penny. They even made us pay for our own wedding. Later, when we bought a house, my husband used all his savings and borrowed some money from friends to come up with $20,000. My parents also gave us $20,000 to help our little family. I had thought about asking my mother-in-law to lend us some money to reduce our mortgage burden. But she brushed me off, saying she had no money. She even declared harshly: “No one can count on my money.” And now, this is what’s happened… I suddenly felt that the pressure on my husband and me would be enormous in the future. “Quick, quick, Lily, make me something to eat. I’m starving!” My mother-in-law’s voice came from outside. As soon as I walked out, my mother-in-law immediately ordered me to make her food in a bossy tone. I didn’t agree. My husband made tea for his parents and brought it over: “Mom, I called you over today because I need to clarify something. Did you borrow money from Aunt Emma and the others? Aunt Emma came by today saying you borrowed $7,000 from her last year.” Hearing this, my father-in-law nervously looked left and right while holding his cup, not saying a word. My mother-in-law was stunned for a few seconds, then reacted and said matter-of-factly: “Oh my, I had forgotten all about that. Yes, I borrowed $7,000 from your Aunt Emma last year. Mom’s a bit short on cash now, so can you help me pay it back?” My husband asked in disbelief: “Mom, you two have so much in savings, and it’s still not enough for the two of you?” Seeing that her son was angry, my mother-in-law’s eyes darted around, trying to change the subject: “What’s wrong? I’m your own mother. What’s wrong with me spending some money? We do have savings, and we haven’t asked you for money before. You don’t know, but in my group of friends, their sons give them money every month. Look at you!” My husband ignored her attempt to change the subject. I couldn’t hold back: “Well, other parents buy houses and cars for their children! What about you? We’re not asking for your money, but at least don’t drag us down!” But my mother-in-law didn’t take my words seriously: “I’m talking to my son. Why are you butting in? I’m not asking you to pay, am I?” “You…” Just as I was about to argue with my mother-in-law, my husband grabbed my wrist and pulled me back. His eyes were full of disapproval. Although he was also angry about his parents’ behavior. He didn’t approve of me, his daughter-in-law, talking back to his mother. I was furious too, and since he didn’t want me involved, I wouldn’t be. I wrenched my hand free and sat down by myself. My husband rubbed his forehead in frustration, trying to keep his voice calm: “Tell me, Mom, how much money do you actually owe?” My in-laws exchanged a glance. My husband stared at them intently. My mother-in-law hesitated: “A…about $20,000.” “What? You owe that much? Are you spending money or throwing it away? I told you to be more careful with your monthly expenses. $20,000 is my entire year’s salary. Are you trying to work me to death?” Before my mother-in-law could finish, my husband jumped up in anger. He couldn’t help but point at his parents and scold them. “Don’t… don’t be angry. As long as you help pay off these debts, we won’t spend so recklessly in the future,” my mother-in-law promised, cowering a bit, frightened by my husband’s outburst. “Pay it back? Where am I supposed to get that kind of money? I still have to pay the mortgage and car loan every month!” my husband snapped back at his mother in frustration. Then he sat down heavily on the sofa. The living room fell into an awkward silence. Until my mother-in-law turned on me: “Lily, didn’t you have your mom come look after the baby before? You paid her every month, right? Your mom must have some money saved up now. Why don’t you ask her to lend us some?” Last year after I gave birth, I had originally wanted my mother-in-law to help take care of the baby. I was going to give her $500 a month as compensation, but she refused because she was busy traveling. I had no choice but to ask my mom to come after discussing it with my husband. My mom adamantly refused to take any money, but after my repeated insistence. She symbolically took $300 a month. But she often bought things for me and the baby. That money, though given to my mom, mostly ended up back in our pockets. And my mom still tirelessly took care of the child. I clenched my fists, suppressing my emotions: “Mom, I had originally wanted to pay you to look after the baby, but you didn’t want to, so I had to ask my mom to come. My mom didn’t want to take any money, and in the end only symbolically took $300 a month. And with how often she buys things for the family, that money doesn’t even stay in her pocket. How can you have the nerve to try to get money from my mom?” But my mother-in-law refused to listen to reason, taking the opportunity to play the elder card: “That sounds nice, but would you really let your mom suffer a loss? Who knows how much money you’ve given her behind our backs? Besides, the baby is her grandchild too. Is it about the money or about hurting feelings?” When it’s not about her, she always takes the high road. I scoffed coldly: “How noble of you! You talk about feelings! Well, the baby is your own grandson too. Why don’t you come take care of him for free without asking for money?” “You… how dare you talk back to me like this? I’m still your mother-in-law! Son, control your wife. Look how disrespectful she is to her elders.” Choked by my words, my mother-in-law’s face turned from red to white. She resorted to shifting the topic. “Enough, stop arguing. Mom and Dad, you should go home first. I’ll figure something out!” my husband interrupted impatiently, cutting off the argument between me and his mother. “Alex, Mom knew you wouldn’t let her down. You’re such a good, filial son. I’ll leave that money issue to you to sort out then.” Having achieved her goal, my mother-in-law’s face lit up with a smile. She showered my husband with praise. Then she took my father-in-law’s arm and sauntered out. I sat silently to the side. Inwardly, I resented my husband. Our family wasn’t well-off either. He had taken on this burden, but with his parents’ extravagant spending habits. I feared that once this debt was paid off, they would just borrow more. When would it ever end? After thinking for a long while, I couldn’t hold back and spoke up: “Honey, do you really plan to help your parents pay off this debt? What if they keep borrowing in the future?” My husband took a drag on his cigarette and replied dismissively: “What else can I do? They’re my parents. If I don’t help pay off this debt, who will? People would laugh at me.” I rolled my eyes: “Anyone with eyes can see your parents are just trying to freeload off us because they’re out of money. They want to stay at our place to eat and drink for free, and have me as their unpaid housekeeper to serve your whole family.” As soon as he heard me badmouth his parents, my husband immediately put on a serious face: “That’s enough. It’s natural for parents to rely on their children. Don’t worry, I’ll let them stay for a week, then I’ll send them back home. I can’t just turn them away when they show up at our door with their luggage, can I?” Although I was indignant inside. But thinking about it, what my husband said did make sense. Forcing my in-laws to leave today would likely lead to gossip from the neighbors. “Alright, but remember what you said – send your parents home after a week.” I still made a concession. After my in-laws moved in It was pretty much as I had expected. Because we didn’t agree to pay my mother-in-law, even though I was already run ragged at home, she refused to lend a hand. She waited for me to cook three meals a day and was picky about the food. She had also joined a dance group downstairs. Whenever she had time, she would go dancing in the neighborhood. She didn’t help with any housework at all. That would have been fine. But my in-laws were also not very hygienic. They often left their dirty clothes lying around. They never threw used bags into the trash can. Instead, they just left them on the table. In just a few short days. The house was in a complete mess. I was busy from dawn to dusk every day. Juggling housework and childcare, while also looking after two elderly people. I was on the verge of a mental and physical breakdown. So, after a week. I brought up the idea of having my in-laws return to their own home again. “We’re not going back. Your father and I are comfortable staying here, with good food and drink. Why should we go back to live by ourselves? What? You dare not let your mother-in-law stay at your place?” Sure enough, as soon as I brought it up. My mother-in-law glared coldly at my husband, ignoring me. My husband smiled awkwardly and put some meat in his mother’s bowl: “Mom, my home is your home! Stay as long as you like.” My father-in-law also chimed in while eating: “Alex, you can’t forget your parents just because you got married. It was your mother and I who raised you with such hardship. Now that you’re married, you won’t even let your own parents stay? People would curse you if they heard this.”

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I spent ten years trying to win over Tristan Wilder. The only way I could avoid being erased by the system was to marry him before he turned twenty-eight. But on our wedding day, the female officiant made a mistake. Instead of asking, “Do you take her to be your wife?” she asked, “Do you take me to be your wife?” The audience burst into laughter, but Tristan’s eyes turned red. Without a second thought, he took the officiant by the hand and left the wedding, saying, “I do.” That’s when I realized: Tristan had always been in love with someone else—his first love. And now, she’s back. Everything is over. 0″Do you take me to be your wife?” “I do.” When Tristan said those words, his eyes were red, and the entire room went dead silent. But he ignored everyone. He turned, took the hand of the woman in the white dress, who looked eerily like me, and walked out of the wedding. It was supposed to be my wedding. Yet, I stood there like a spectator, feeling the despair well up in my eyes. It’s all over. The system’s voice, tinged with regret, echoed in my head. “That’s Tristan’s first love. Ten years ago, she left to study abroad.” “And now she’s back.” “Your mission… it’s failed.” The wedding venue erupted into chaos: Guests whispering, the officiant trying to restore order, my friends furiously cursing under their breath… But to me, everything was eerily quiet. Yes. It was all over. My mission had failed, and I was going to die. I had spent the last ten years trying to win over Tristan Wilder. I was there for him when he had nothing. I watched him climb his way up to become the CEO of one of the biggest companies in the country. During the hard times, I stayed up late making him soup, nursed him back home after drunken business meetings, and shared meals of mac and cheese with him. I thought my companionship was the greatest act of love. I thought I had made my way into Tristan’s heart. But now, it all feels like a joke. A first love is always a first love. She didn’t need to do anything. All she had to do was stand there, and Tristan would follow her. I’m sorry, host, the system said, with a faint trace of sadness. “You only have three days left to stay in this world…” I took a deep breath, my chest tightening as though two heavy stones were crushing it. My friend held my hand and gently rubbed my back, trying to comfort me. “Lana, don’t worry about it. That jerk isn’t worth it…” I shook my head and sent the guests home. I declined the sympathy from family and friends, and left the wedding alone. Dressed in my pristine white wedding gown, I waved down a cab on the street. The driver looked at me in shock, but I held back my tears. “Take me to Gull Cove.” Gull Cove was where I first met Tristan, where we started his business together. There was an old, run-down apartment there—our first home and where all my fond memories were stored. I only had three days left. I wanted to die there. 0

The driver was silent for a long time, probably confused by the sight of a bride leaving a chapel alone. When we finally arrived at Gull Cove, I pulled out my phone to pay, but the driver waved it away. “No need. Miss, take it easy. As long as you’re still alive, there’s no obstacle you can’t overcome…” I didn’t cry when Tristan left with his first love. I didn’t cry under the weight of all the judgmental stares at the wedding. But the driver’s unexpected, kind words shattered my defenses. Once he left, I collapsed on the ground and cried, my heart aching with every sob. Yes, there’s no obstacle I can’t overcome. But I’m about to die. I walked along the muddy path at Gull Cove for a long time until I finally reached the familiar, run-down apartment building. Room 20

That’s where Tristan and I spent our hardest three years. Dragging my mud-stained wedding dress, I silently pulled out the key and twisted it in the rusty lock. It creaked, loudly, as the door finally opened. The door next to me swung open too. Mrs. Hattie Greene, the woman with her hair in rollers, peeked her head out, looking me up and down for a while. Suddenly, her eyes lit up as she asked, “Lana?” I forced a smile and nodded. Mrs. Greene rushed out, her apron still on, grabbing my hand with warmth. “Do you remember me?” “I’m Mrs. Greene! I lived next door when you two stayed here…” Of course, I remembered. Back then, Tristan and I would come home late from work. On nights we were too tired to cook, Mrs. Greene would pull us into her house to eat dinner with her. She was warm and kind, reminiscing about old times. “So, where’s that young man? You two must be married by now, right?” As she continued talking, her gaze finally landed on my pale face, tear-filled eyes, and the mud-streaked wedding gown. She stood there, stunned for a long moment, before gently patting my back. “It’s okay, dear. There are plenty of good men out there.” “Don’t worry, I’ll find someone better for you.” I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced back the tears that threatened to fall. After saying goodbye to Mrs. Greene, I stepped into the tiny apartment. This place, full of memories Tristan and I shared… The room was small. Just a double bed, a dust-covered table, and a worn-out panda plushie. This was everything Tristan had given me. I sat on the bed, running my fingers over the stuffed panda, and tears poured out. “Don’t cry, Lana. Tristan was wrong.” “Don’t cry, Lana. Tristan was wrong.” The broken, mechanical voice repeated, blinking its dim light. It was from my first birthday with Tristan. I had cooked noodles at home, waiting excitedly for him to come back. But he never showed up that night. When he finally returned the next afternoon, his eyes were red, and he looked completely worn out. Maybe out of guilt, he gave me the panda plushie. I was so happy back then. Tristan’s panda… I loved it so much. But later, I found out his first love’s name was Rachel Whitmore. The panda said “Lana,” but it wasn’t for me. It was for Rachel. That night wasn’t just my birthday. It was also Rachel’s birthday. He had spent the whole night running around, trying to ship the panda overseas to her. But because the plushie had a lithium battery inside, he couldn’t send it by air. So Tristan brought it back and threw it to me like trash. The panda was pitiful, discarded like garbage. And my love? Just as worthless. 03. That night, I lay on the bed where Tristan and I had once slept together, tossing and turning, unable to sleep. Seven years had passed, and the faint scent of lemon still lingered on the sheets—Tristan’s scent. I used to love that smell. But now, it only made me feel sick. Our text conversation was still open from the night before. “Babe, babe, we’re getting married tomorrow. I’m so nervous! What if I can’t sleep?” “Don’t worry, after the wedding, you’ll control the money, and I’ll do all the housework…” How laughable. Last night, Tristan was still anxious about our wedding. And today, he chose to leave me, walking out hand-in-hand with someone else. He didn’t even look back at me when he left. Of course, he never really saw me at all. I was just a stand-in for Rachel. Now that she’s back, he doesn’t need me anymore. Tristan was probably somewhere right now, happily walking in the moonlight with his first love. Pathetically, I stared at my phone. Through blurred tears, I saw a message pop up: “Lana Brooks! Where are you? So, we didn’t get married, big deal!” “Are you really going to disappear and throw a fit over this?” “Don’t you get it? I’ve never loved you!” “I transferred $300,000 to your account.” “Take the money and leave. If you want to die, then go ahead!” The pain in my heart stabbed like a knife. Tristan’s cold words were just as harsh as the day we first met. He couldn’t even muster an apology. $300,000? I had spent ten years helping him build his business, standing by his side as he went from a broke young man to a successful entrepreneur. What we earned together was far more than that. But… When you truly love someone, do you really care about money? Then go ahead and die… Those words clouded my mind like a dark storm. But Tristan, I’m really going to die soon. Tears welled up again, but I swallowed them down. I hovered over the keyboard, trying to think of something to say. But in the end, I had nothing left. With a final breath, I clicked the “delete contact” button. Goodbye, Tristan. The Tristan I’ve loved for the last ten years. 0

The night had grown late. A cold wind blew in through the poorly sealed window, chilling me to the bone. Ten years ago, when Tristan and I lived here, the window was always like this—never fully closed. Every night, the room would grow cold, almost unbearably so. Back then, Tristan would hold me close, his body pressed against mine, sharing his warmth with me. Those winters were harsh, but with Tristan by my side, they always felt like spring—bright, warm, and full of promise. Now, lying alone in this bed, all I feel is the biting cold. A dull, relentless ache spread through my chest. I lay there, staring blankly into the darkness. Maybe I’ll just die here like this. By the time my body turns cold and rigid, Tristan will be in bed with his first love, whispering sweet nothings in her ear, just like he used to do with me. The phone on the nightstand buzzed suddenly, pulling me from my thoughts. I picked it up, and a friend request appeared on the screen. It wasn’t from Tristan. The request was from a person with a name that made my heart sink: Rachel Whitmore. Rachel Whitmore… Tristan’s first love, the “Lana” that the panda plush had referred to all along. The woman who had truly won Tristan’s heart. I accepted the request, my curiosity getting the best of me, and immediately went to look through her posts. I couldn’t help but wonder. Why? Why did this woman, who resembled me in so many ways, deserve Tristan’s entire heart without lifting a finger? Why had I given everything, only to end up with nothing? Why did I have to pay with my life? What made her so much better than me? Her most recent post was a nine-picture collage. In every photo, Tristan was smiling, looking at Rachel with a tenderness that I’d never seen before. His grip on her hand was tight, as if he feared losing her again. And to top it off, Tristan was wearing the same suit he had worn to our wedding. So, the moment he left me at the altar, he rushed to her, embracing his first love and taking these pictures. They looked so happy. As if I had never existed at all. The caption that accompanied the photos was like a knife dipped in poison, stabbing deep into my heart. “After ten years, you’re still you, and I’m still me. (Oh, by the way, we’re getting married in three days~)” Three days? I let out a bitter laugh. Three days was when my mission would fail, and I’d be erased by the system. It was also when Tristan would marry Rachel Whitmore. The system’s voice suddenly echoed in my head. “Disgusting…” Even the system sounded angry. I shook my head. The system continued, its tone softening. “Lana Brooks, I can see it. You’ve done everything you could over these ten years.” “I’ll give you a choice—choose how you want to die…” Choose how I want to die? I sighed. Since I was going to die anyway, it didn’t matter how it happened. The phone buzzed again. It was a message from Rachel Whitmore. She sent me an address. “We’re getting married in three days. I hope you’ll come.” Staring at those words, an idea started to form in my mind.

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I am a blind young woman. Living alone, a man broke into my home one night to steal, but he also tried to assault me, slowly undoing my clothes, muttering about taking more than my body… he wanted my heart, too. Today is June 7th. It’s been exactly 1,095 days since I lost my sight. My name is Emily Shaw, and I’m twenty-one years old. But my life, my future—it all got destroyed three years ago. It was June 7th then, too, and I was on my way to the SATs, mumbling bits of the poems I’d reviewed that morning. That’s when I heard a young girl crying. Instinct told me that the man rushing off with her had to be trafficking her. People nearby ignored it all, but I couldn’t. I ran toward them. In a narrow alley, I fought to free the little girl from him. That’s where the man’s knife struck, stabbing into my eyes, blinding me for good. I was blinded by a sudden rush of blood. The pain was unbearable, yet I held that girl as tightly as I could. Later, her family dropped to their knees to thank me. The police awarded me a Community Bravery Award and $1,500. I was praised as a hero. But my life, my beautiful future, had ended there. At first, the family I saved would visit occasionally, bringing the little girl. But eventually, they stopped coming altogether. I remember the last time Maddie came. She giggled as she pressed a few coins into my hand and said, “You can go beg under the bridge someday, okay? My mom says if I don’t study hard or go blind like you, I’ll end up begging too!” My lips quivered, and I fought back my tears. Once, I was my mom’s precious girl, the light of her life. If I could do it all over again, I would never step in like that. I would rather be an indifferent stranger than give up the happiness of a lifetime. Since losing my sight, every day has felt like a year. I’ve had to depend on my mother, and she was the only family I had. A week ago, she passed away from illness, and though relatives came for the funeral, they soon left. Now, I am truly the loneliest person alive. It’s so empty that I don’t even know why I keep living. Since losing my sight, my other senses have only sharpened. My hearing has become so acute that I can hear the exact spot where a needle drops to the floor. I’ve memorized how many steps it is to the kitchen, the bathroom, the nearest fast-food place. I live carefully, counting my steps. But I keep on surviving because of one person. There’s someone I care for. His name is Daniel Hart, my high school boyfriend. Even after what happened, he didn’t break up with me. He would still come by and check on me, giving me a shred of comfort in my broken world. This afternoon, I was practicing my Braille dictionary in the living room when I heard a knock on the door. With my guide stick in hand, I started slowly toward the door, but the knocking became louder and more aggressive. “Hold on, hold on…,” I said quietly, but the person kept pounding on the door. “Hey, if you don’t open up, I’m leaving. I’m here to fix the pipes for free, and you’re just letting me wait. You think I’m—” The door swung open, and his rant cut off when he saw me. The draft chilled me, and I couldn’t help but shiver. I apologized, “Sorry, I’m blind. It took a bit to get over here.” He paused, mumbling after a moment, “Oh, that’s fine. You’re Ms. Shaw in 302, right? I’m Norman Brooks, the repairman they called in to check the pipes.” He reached out and touched my hand. Though reluctant, I shook it lightly. “Hello.” Norman was diligent and polite, finishing the repair, then even offering to clean up my bathroom for me. “Stay for tea?” I offered, politely. I heard him scratch his head and awkwardly decline. Just as he was leaving, I heard a key in the lock, and the door opened. “Emily, I brought you something good to eat!” I instantly recognized Daniel’s bright, comforting voice. My heart warmed, and I threw myself into his arms. “You’re finally here.” In my memory, Daniel still looked like he did at eighteen, his face warm and bright. Every time he came, I would trace my fingers over his face, his lips, his Adam’s apple. I was terrified of forgetting the face of the one I loved most. After all, he was all I had left in the world. We kissed, oblivious to Norman, who cleared his throat, reminding us he was still there. Blushing, I pulled away from Daniel. “Uh, Ms. Shaw, I’ll take off now. If your pipes act up again, just have maintenance call me. I’ll leave you two alone,” Norman said, sounding irritated. “Yes…Daniel, could you see him out?” I urged Daniel toward the door, but he stayed still, keeping me in his arms as if to prove a point. “Just a plumber,” he said quietly, “We paid him to do his job. No need to see him out.” I wanted to tell him that Norman had come voluntarily, without charging a thing, but I heard Norman already leaving. Daniel didn’t seem to care. I smelled the fresh bouquet of flowers he brought and heard him place them gently in a glass vase. “Emily, you have to keep living,” he said softly. “One day, I’ll marry you.” Daniel had gone off to Georgetown and was now prepping for grad school. I was happy for him; he was getting the life I never could. On our rare visits, Daniel would hold me as I drifted off to sleep. When he thought I was asleep, he would finally slip out. But this time, as he left, he took a call in the living room, and I heard everything. The familiar warmth of his voice had a different tone: “Hey, baby. I’m just here because she’s alone all the time, and the reporters still hang around every now and then. Don’t worry. I’ll get the last bit of her support check, cover my tuition, and after that, I’m out of here.” “A dumb, pathetic blind girl,” he said, chuckling. “I’m just using her. I’ve never loved her.” The shock flooded through me, bringing a searing pain, like a bolt from a clear sky. Daniel had felt disgust for me this whole time?

I had feared that Daniel might leave, but I never expected it would happen in such a cold, brutal way. I stopped reaching out to him, and true to his word, he never came back. Even if I knew he had cheated… what could I do? I couldn’t rage or stop him from seeking better choices. From then on, it felt as if the life had drained from me. I cried every day. Without sight, without family, and without love, only the dark and this empty building kept me company. One afternoon, I was in the shower, cleaning myself up as if for some final act. When I rinsed off the soap, I heard the sound of someone swallowing from somewhere in the room. My sharpened senses picked it up right away—a low, heavy sound, like a man’s breath. The darkness around me magnified my fear. “Who’s there? Who?” My voice wavered as I asked, tension tightening my chest. No answer came, only silence. Panicked, I fumbled for a robe, buttoning it with trembling fingers, and reached to lock the bathroom door. Just as I was about to lock it, I realized—it had been opened from the outside. The cold air filled my throat, squeezing it tight. My heart sank. Terrified, I slipped and fell, my robe catching on the handle, leaving me exposed on the cold floor. I heard the front door close from the inside. Someone was here. Two hands reached down and pulled me up, wrapping around my waist, his warm palm pressed against me. My teeth chattered, but the gentleness was an illusion. The next second, I felt the cold edge of a knife at my neck, a faint scent of blood in the air. He was injured. “Where’s the money?” he said in a gruff voice. From his voice and breath, I knew right away who it was—Norman Brooks, the plumber from earlier. My mind went into overdrive. He must have been trying to rob me, furious over some previous theft gone wrong, choosing me, the blind woman, as the easy target. “My mom has my savings…there’s no money here. Please, let me go,” I begged, though my mother had been gone for weeks. In reality, I had no savings left. I’d used up everything for Mom’s medical bills. Only a few emergency bills remained under my mattress. Norman scoffed, his sweat close to my ear. “Next time, then, little blind girl. If you tell anyone, you’ll be sorry.” I nodded, drenched in cold sweat. After that, he resumed his search, dragging me with him, looting my router, TV box, and an old vase, boxing up everything. Held by the neck, I couldn’t call out for help. The room was filled with the unbearable sound of water dripping from the kitchen sink. When he finally let me go, he brushed against me, making me shiver. His hands were rough and calloused from years of hard work. He paused and handed me my robe after a moment. As I dressed, I could feel his gaze on me. A blush rose to my cheeks, my heartbeat pounding in my ears. “You’re…very beautiful,” he said suddenly, voice low. “I’ve never seen a woman’s body before. This is the first time.”

After he left, I took a moment to catch my breath, reaching out to check the lock on my door. It hadn’t been forced open. He had used a key. And the only spare key was with Daniel. Panic hit me as I screamed, blindly lashing out, knocking over the vase Daniel had placed so delicately in the living room. Glass shattered around me, and I stepped right onto a shard, but I didn’t feel the pain. Norman had stolen almost everything valuable from my home, leaving the place empty and mocking. Even my phone, my only way of reaching anyone, was gone. A voice in my head, cold and cutting, asked: Emily Shaw, what do you have left? Why are you still here? But another voice within me pushed back, fierce and defiant. No. I’m not going to let them break me. Not after everything. If I had to go down, I would take someone with me. I wiped away my tears and slowly made my way downstairs to the small convenience store to ask for help. The shop owner, Linda Carson, was there playing cards with some other women. Their laughter echoed through the summer air, completely ignoring me. Nervous, I held out five dollars and said quietly, “Please, I need help. There’s been a break-in at my place, and the man tried to assault me. Can you call the police?” The women went silent, and Linda Carson looked at me with mock sympathy before saying, “Oh, honey, who’d rob a place like yours? They’d be more likely to leave you some coins to survive on.” They burst into laughter, as if mocking my misery was a pastime. I clenched my fists, shame burning in my chest. It dawned on me how helpless I was—trapped, blind, with no one to turn to. Linda tossed a moldy loaf of bread at me, shouting, “Here, now take that and get lost. You’re in the way.” The stale bread struck my forehead, the pain blossoming. I reached up to hold my head, anger boiling over. “I might be blind, but I can see who you really are,” I snapped back. “I’m not some beggar you can insult as you please.” I was about to turn away when Linda shoved me back, dousing me in hot tea. “Here’s some sunshine for you, honey,” she sneered. The tea scalded my chest, searing through my skin, a painful reminder of how powerless I was. Tears stung my eyes as I thought of my mother, of Daniel, of everything that had led me here. Just then, a familiar deep voice cut through the crowd. “What the hell are you doing? She’s blind, for God’s sake. And you’re treating her like this?” It was Norman. My heart skipped a beat. Fear twisted inside me, knowing he was here. “You all better have some damn decency,” he barked, smashing Linda’s sign. She slammed down her shutters as the women scurried off, casting wary glances at him. Finally, we were alone, and I felt his presence near, his breathing still heavy from anger. “Ms. Shaw, are you okay?” His tone softened as he turned to me, a strange contrast to the fury moments before. “Yeah, yes…thank you.” My voice trembled. “What were you doing here anyway?” he asked, curiosity tinged with something else. I hesitated. I couldn’t tell him I was trying to report him for harassment and theft. “I…came for food,” I said softly. “Well, isn’t that convenient,” he chuckled. “I just stocked up on canned meat. Let’s go, I’ll walk you home.” When we returned to my apartment, he even swept up the glass shards on the floor. After he noticed the burn on my chest, he rummaged through my things until he found an ointment, carefully applying it to my skin. Sitting on the sofa, I felt strangely out of place in my own home, as if I were the guest, and he was the host. Fear and confusion tangled inside me, knowing how he’d helped me today but also remembering his threats. When it was time to take my medication, I swallowed it with water, hoping it would calm my nerves. I’d been on anti-anxiety meds since I lost my sight, a routine meant to keep me grounded. “Was it here where you got burned?” Norman asked, his fingers brushing my collarbone. “Yes, but…” I tried to stop him, but it was too late. He gave a sharp tug, pulling my strap down to examine the burn. His grip was firm, and a soft blush spread across my skin. “Don’t move. I’ve seen it all before,” he murmured, pressing the ointment into my skin, his fingers surprisingly gentle. My heart hammered, and I could hear the slight hitch in his breathing as he worked. “If anyone messes with you again, let me know,” he said softly. “I don’t have family. Got nothing to lose.” I moved to pull his hand away, and that’s when I noticed it—his leg. Or rather, the lack of it. His left leg was a prosthetic. I didn’t know what had happened to him, but it made me uneasy, a chill crawling up my spine. “Norman, I… I really don’t have any money. Please, don’t come back here again.” I forced the words out, my voice trembling. The air between us froze, his hand stilled, and for a moment, he didn’t respond. Then, with a slow smile, he whispered, “No money? You’ve still got something else.” I tensed, unsure of what he meant. Before I could react, he pinned my arms over my head, pushing me down onto the sofa. His lips, cold and rough, found mine in a bruising kiss. Shock and terror pulsed through me, spreading like fire from my spine to my limbs. His kiss was brutal, forceful, more of an assault than an embrace, his breath heavy and primal. I thrashed, trying to break free, but his strength far outweighed mine. And as I felt his body’s shift, a deeper, more primitive fear took root inside me. Even blind, I knew what he intended to do.

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A Childhood Nightmare I was the imposter heiress of the Scott family. When the real heiress, Edna Scott, returned, everyone blamed me for stealing ten years of her life and forced me to atone for it. They despised me, even cursed me to die. Eventually, I did die, and everyone lost their minds. The boy who used to love bullying me knelt at my grave, crying and begging me to wait for him—to marry him in the next life. My parents and brother, who had always insulted me, also knelt there, crying, and apologizing for all the harm they’d done to me. But it was too late. I was dead. My body was shattered from the accident, but even then, I still clutched the grocery bags in my hands. Inside them was the dinner I was supposed to cook for the family. My spirit floated above the scene, numb, as I watched the driver panic and hurriedly load my body into the car. I laughed bitterly to myself. Who would’ve thought that my eighteenth year would end in death? I drifted aimlessly for a while. Then, without realizing it, I found myself floating back to the front of my house. When I got home, Dad and Rick hadn’t returned from work yet. Edna and Mom were sitting in the living room, discussing the latest designer handbags. Each bag’s price was more than I could ever dream of spending. After some time, Edna pouted and said, “Mom, I’m hungry. Why isn’t Sunny back yet?” Mom glanced at the clock, her tone full of irritation. “Where the hell is that Sunny? It’s been forever, and she still hasn’t returned with the groceries!” “Sweetheart, how about I take you out for dinner instead?” she offered. But Edna stuck out her lower lip. “No, no, I want to eat the dinner my sister makes for me. Let’s pretend we’re supporting her effort.” I knew she didn’t actually want to eat anything I cooked. She just didn’t want to miss another opportunity to humiliate me. Mom shook her head with a smile full of affection. “You’re too kind-hearted. Even now, you’re trying to support her.” Edna had always been like this—at school, she was a rebellious teen, but at home, she played the role of an innocent angel. Another hour passed, and finally, there was some noise at the door. Mom couldn’t hold back her anger anymore. “You worthless girl! Do you want to starve Edna to death by showing up this late?” But the door opened to reveal Rick and Dad instead. The moment I saw Rick, a lump formed in my throat. He was the person I cared about most in this family, but it had been so long since he even looked at me. “Dad! Rick!” Edna excitedly ran over to greet them, snuggling her head into their chests. Dad patted her head affectionately. “Edna, you’re all grown up now, but you still love clinging to your old dad, huh? Once you get married, you’ll cry your eyes out.” “Well, then I won’t get married! I’ll stay by your side forever.” Her sweet words made Dad burst out laughing. Rick tugged casually at his tie, every move effortlessly attractive. He didn’t pay any attention to Edna, though, and frowned as he asked Mom, “Where’s Sunny?” “You mean that fraud?” Mom couldn’t hide the disgust in her eyes. “I bet she’s up to no good. She can’t even manage a simple grocery trip, and she’s probably starving my Edna on purpose.” Dad’s face darkened with anger. “I’m calling her right now to see what the hell is going on. Does she think she can get away with making my precious daughter hungry? She’s been out of that basement for too long.” Even though I was dead, hearing those words made my soul tremble. The basement was my nightmare. Edna had been brought back into the family when I was ten. I couldn’t accept that there was suddenly another girl in our house, or the abrupt change in my parents’ behavior. I threw tantrums and even demanded they send Edna away. That night, I got slapped several times and was locked in the basement.

I Died, and No One Knew The basement was cluttered with unused items, and the whole room reeked of mildew. That night, I cried so much that I lost my voice. By the next day, I had developed a high fever. My parents locked me in my room and ignored me. Just as I was about to lose consciousness, it was fifteen-year-old Rick who left a bottle of fever medicine and a glass of water on my bedside table. He left without a word, but I grabbed onto that lifeline, somehow finding the strength to sit up and take the medicine. After several days of suffering, I finally recovered. Rick became the bright spot of my youth, my one source of hope. If it weren’t for him, I probably would’ve died long ago. But soon, Dad awkwardly realized that no one in the family had my contact information. Neither Edna nor Mom had it, either. In the end, Dad took Edna and Mom out to dinner, while Rick stayed behind, claiming work as an excuse. Edna smiled brightly. “Rick, you better work hard so you can earn lots of money to take care of me in the future.” For the first time in a while, Rick’s face softened into a smile. “Don’t worry. The Scott family business will always be your strongest support.” Watching this, I was consumed with jealousy, but when Rick said he wouldn’t go to dinner with them, I got anxious. “Hey, Rick! You have stomach problems—you can’t skip meals! When I was alive, I reminded you three times a day to eat and take your medicine. How have you still not formed the habit?” Rick had severe stomach issues, and I often saw him in pain, his face pale. I worried about his health constantly, even though I knew he was annoyed by me. Still, I pushed myself to send him reminders every day, even though he never once responded. After they left, Rick retreated to his study to work late into the night. I stayed by his side, watching him go through documents I didn’t understand. A focused man is truly at his best, and in that moment, Rick exuded the charm of a successful man. I felt a swell of pride in my chest. See? My brother is the most handsome man in the world. Several hours later, I heard a noise downstairs. I floated out to check. When I saw their empty hands, I knew they had forgotten to bring Rick anything to eat. I started to panic. What would happen if his stomach problems flared up? But then I stopped and laughed bitterly to myself. I was dead. What could I possibly do, even if I worried myself to death? I floated back to his side to watch him work. Finally, at 1 a.m., Rick closed his laptop and stood up. Suddenly, there was a noise outside his study window. Someone was throwing small stones at the glass. Rick walked over to the window, his face cold. Curious, I peeked out too, and saw Dylan Brooks grinning like a troublemaker. “Hey, Rick, why didn’t I see Sunny come home today?” In the dead of night, his voice cut through the silence, too loud. I had always hated Dylan. He constantly bullied me. Whenever I went out to buy groceries, he would whistle at me. Even though he was the only son of the Brooks family, he spent his days doing nothing and was known around town as a spoiled brat. Rick responded coldly, “If you keep disturbing my family, I’ll tell Mr. Brooks tomorrow.” At the mention of his grandfather, Dylan’s cocky expression wavered. He muttered a few curses under his breath before leaving. To my surprise, I felt a tiny bit of warmth. I couldn’t believe the first person to notice my absence was Dylan, the guy I hated most! Rick closed the window, freshened up, and was about to head to bed. But as he passed the hallway, he made a sudden turn toward my bedroom door. What was he up to? Rick first cracked the door open slightly, but when he saw the room was empty, he pushed it open with force. He turned on the light, and the entire room came into view. A bed, a desk, and a wardrobe—this was my entire world. Rick frowned even deeper, then closed the door and turned off the light. He went to sit on the living room sofa. I suddenly felt nervous. Was he waiting for me? But as soon as the thought crossed my mind, I dismissed it. How could it be? Rick Scott, the busy and admired businessman, waiting for someone as insignificant as me?

He waited for a while, occasionally lifting his arm to check his watch. Finally, he took out his phone, staring at the screen as if trying to make a decision. Curious, I floated closer. It was our chat window. He was the only person in the family who had my contact information. The conversation was filled with messages sent only by me—reminding him to take his medication on time. After hesitating for a moment, he dialed my number. Of course, I could never answer it. Annoyed, Rick lit a cigarette, but just then, his phone buzzed with a message. “Don’t call me. I’m busy.” I was shocked. The hit-and-run driver was using my phone to message Rick! Rick smirked in anger, put out the cigarette, and immediately deleted my contact from his phone. “Ungrateful, just like a stray dog. No wonder Mom and Dad always said she couldn’t be trusted,” he muttered before heading off to bed. Hearing that felt like a dagger to my heart. I couldn’t believe it. Even my favorite brother was talking behind my back like that. The next morning, Rick came down for breakfast. As he ate, he casually asked, “Edna, why didn’t you make soup for me this morning? Are you not caring for your brother anymore?” Edna’s eyes flashed with panic for a second, but she quickly regained her composure. She put on a pitiful face and replied, “Oh, I’m sorry, Rick! I was so worried about Sunny last night that I couldn’t sleep. I completely forgot to make your soup today. You’re not mad at me, are you?” Rick gave her a soft smile. “Of course not. You work hard every morning. You don’t need to make soup next time. If you tire yourself out, Mom and Dad will be mad at me.” How shameless! I couldn’t help but curse under my breath. Only now did I realize that Edna had taken credit for my efforts. Rick had a sensitive stomach, so I would wake up early every day to make chicken soup for him. I thought that even though I never said anything, he’d know it was me. After all, Edna was never the type to be diligent, yet she managed to steal all the credit. As soon as they mentioned me, Edna continued, “I’m so worried about Sunny. You know how she’s always been a loner, with no friends and no money. Who knows where she stayed last night? What if some old man tricked her?” Mom scoffed. “Why bother worrying about her? As long as she doesn’t come back pregnant, that’s all I care about.” They joked about me like it was nothing, and Rick just sat there, emotionless, continuing to eat. Then the news came on: “Today, an unidentified female body was found in the woods on the west side of town. The victim appears to be around 18 years old. No missing person report has been filed, and authorities are working to confirm her identity.” Seeing the blurred-out body on the screen, I was overwhelmed with sorrow. Sunny Scott, you really have the worst luck. The police already know you’re dead, but the family you lived with for eighteen years thinks you’re out messing around with some man. Dad couldn’t help but sigh, “What a shame. Such a young life, gone just like that.” Mom, however, looked more alarmed. “Edna, from now on, you need to have two bodyguards with you at all times when you go out. If something happened to you, how would I go on?” Just then, there was a loud knock at the door. “Is Mr. Scott home?” a voice called. Dad frowned, clearly irritated. “What’s that troublemaker doing here? I’ve seen him hanging around outside for days. He better not have his eyes on my Edna.”

At Dad’s remark, Edna actually blushed. “Dad, don’t say that! Dylan Brooks probably has something important to talk about.” I had known for a while that Edna liked Dylan. As much as I disliked Dylan, I had to admit, his rebellious attitude and good looks made him popular with girls our age. In the end, Dad let Dylan in. Dylan scanned the living room and asked directly, “Mr. Scott, hasn’t Sunny come home yet?” Edna visibly paled. I couldn’t help but find his question odd, and I muttered, “Dylan, are you seriously here just to ask about me? Can’t you survive a day without bullying me?” Edna forced a smile, her voice rising in false sweetness. “Sunny ran off with some guy last night, Dylan. I’m not sure why you’re looking for her.” Rick, who had been quiet until now, suddenly snapped. “Edna, watch your mouth.” Edna looked hurt. “Are you doubting me, Rick? I know Sunny better than anyone—we go to the same school.” Mom jumped to Edna’s defense. “Edna wouldn’t lie about something like that. Besides, we’ve always treated Sunny well. We’ve given her food and shelter, and this is how she repays us—running off without a word.” Treated me well? I laughed bitterly. In their eyes, I probably did live in luxury. Rick had stomach issues, so I always made chicken soup for him in the mornings and reminded him to take his meds. Dad had such picky tastes that I’d spend hours researching recipes just to satisfy him. Mom loved wearing designer clothes, and it was me who hand-washed all of them. And Edna? At home, she was the innocent princess, but at school, she led the pack of bullies who tormented me daily. Dylan exploded with anger. “You ugly little liar! I know exactly what kind of person Sunny is. You don’t get to slander her like that!” Then he turned to address everyone in the room. “What’s wrong with you people? Sunny has lived with you for eighteen years! She didn’t come home last night, and instead of worrying, you make up filthy rumors about her? You don’t deserve to call yourselves her family!” With that, he stormed out, leaving Dad fuming. “I’ve spent decades in business, and now I’m being lectured by some kid? I’m calling Mr. Brooks to deal with this!” Dad yelled, slamming his chopsticks down. My heart sank. Dylan was definitely going to get in trouble tonight. Even though I didn’t like him, the thought of him being punished because of me didn’t sit well. I followed Dylan back to his house. The Brooks estate was the polar opposite of the Scott Manor. The Brooks family’s home was all understated elegance, with every piece of art on the walls worth a fortune. In comparison, our home, with its overly lavish decor, looked tacky—like a nouveau riche caricature. Dylan entered his room, kicked a chair in frustration, and picked up his phone. “Hey, Officer King, I heard you’ve been promoted recently. Can I ask a favor? I need you to find someone named Sunny Scott. She’s eighteen, and she went missing yesterday. She was last seen wearing a white shirt and blue jeans.” I was stunned by how well Dylan remembered the details. If he used that memory in his career, Mr. Brooks would be overjoyed. “No problem, Mr. Brooks,” Officer King said on the other end. “I’ll make sure to send a team out to look for her.” Then there was a pause before he added, “Wait a minute… a white shirt and blue jeans? Was she also wearing sneakers when she went missing?” Dylan’s voice grew excited. “Yes! How did you know? Have you seen her? Where is she?” Officer King hesitated. “Mr. Brooks, you’d better come down here in person.” It was clear that Dylan realized what was going on. He hung up immediately, jumped into his pink Lamborghini, and raced toward the police station.

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I thought I would love him forever… if only I hadn’t heard those words. On the second day of giving Thomas the silent treatment, I decided to go to his place to make up. As soon as the door opened, I heard a familiar female voice: “What? Don’t tell me you’ve actually fallen for her?” “Don’t forget, you were the one who said you wanted to get revenge for me!” That voice… it once plunged me into hell. As evening fell, I hurried towards the elevator, clutching a box of fresh cake. This was the second day of my silent treatment with Thomas, which also happened to be his birthday. I had finally found an excuse to rush over to his place with a cake. Usually, I had to let Thomas know before going to his place. Otherwise, he’d accuse me of messing with his things. Even though that one time, I hadn’t touched anything, just sat on the sofa waiting for him. But this time was an exception. It was a surprise. Surely he wouldn’t be angry… The elevator finally arrived. I nervously picked up the cake and walked towards Thomas’s door. Suddenly, a familiar voice stopped me in my tracks. “What? Don’t tell me you’ve actually fallen for her?” “Don’t forget, you were the one who said you wanted to get revenge for me!” Hearing this voice, I felt as if I’d been plunged into an icy abyss. How did Thomas know her?! Before I could even think of an excuse for him, his urgent voice came through: “Don’t be angry. How could I possibly like her?” “I’m just playing with her, how could you take it seriously!” “Don’t worry, I’ve already proposed to her. Soon she’ll be at your mercy!” … Every word felt like a knife to my heart! I don’t know how long it took, but Thomas finally managed to placate Mia. Her final words were, “Well, I want to be there when you two get engaged. I want her parents to know what a shameless homewrecker their daughter is!” Thomas reassured her, “Of course you’ll be there. You have to witness the moment of victory!” My boyfriend was planning to use our engagement party as a tool to please another woman… I tugged at the corners of my mouth, unable to even muster a bitter smile. I stood there stupidly at the door, masochistically listening to them belittle me until my legs went numb, and they still weren’t done. Finally, Mia said she had to leave. Only then did I come to my senses and frantically ran towards the stairwell. I crouched by the stairwell door, peeking through the small gap to watch Thomas fawning over Mia. My heart felt as if it had been slashed by a knife, the pain piercing to my very core! After seeing Mia off, Thomas’s face immediately darkened. I saw him pick up his phone, messaging someone while muttering, “Getting too big for her boots…” When I picked up my phone, I realized that his gloomy face had been directed at me. He said, “It’s my birthday today, did you forget?” “Who are you having dinner with again?! Even I, as a director, am not as busy as you!” “Let me tell you, if you’re not here by 8 PM, we’re breaking up!” … This overconfident attitude was something I had indulged over many days. Although Thomas was two years older than me, he often acted childishly in our relationship. It was all due to being spoiled by his family, and I was happy to indulge him too. But now… I laughed bitterly. So this is what it feels like to reap what you sow… I looked at the cake in my hand, suddenly feeling as if it weighed a thousand pounds, too heavy for me to lift. I left that cake in the stairwell, along with the ring Thomas had given me. The first time I met Mia was at my previous company. At that time, my boss Lucas was explaining to me how to improve a project proposal. Inadvertently, our shoulders brushed against each other as he leaned over to look at the computer screen. To an outsider, it might have looked intimate. But in reality, we didn’t have much physical contact, so neither of us thought anything of it and continued our discussion. However, someone with too much time on their hands took a photo of this moment and sent it to Mia. The next day at work, as soon as I sat down at my desk, Mia, who had been waiting for a long time, rushed up to me like a madwoman and slapped me across the face. “You bitch! How dare you seduce my husband!” I was stunned by her slap, aware of nothing but the intense pain on my face… Mia was about to strike again, but luckily Lucas grabbed her hand. “What are you doing here?!” Mia, gritting her teeth, pointed at me and shouted at Lucas, “Because of this slut, you’re yelling at me?! Are you really protecting this homewrecker?!” Lucas had no idea what she was talking about. He could only desperately block her, shielding me from Mia’s frenzied attacks. Afterwards, Lucas publicly apologized to me and dealt with the person who took the photo. But from that moment on, Mia had her sights set on me. I don’t know if she suffered from paranoid delusions, but every time I showed up at the company, she would stand at the company entrance, staring at me intently, as if afraid I would have any intimate interaction with Lucas. Her behavior drove me to the brink of a nervous breakdown, so I voluntarily resigned. On the day I left, packing up my things, Mia snorted coldly and finally moved away from the company entrance. The new job I found was at Thomas’s company. I remember that day when he asked me why I left my previous job. I calmly gave him a rehearsed answer. At the time, he looked at me with a meaningful gaze. I thought he found my answer too perfunctory. Looking back now, I realize all the signs were there from the beginning. I returned home like a walking corpse. As soon as I got home, Thomas called. I stared at the vibrating phone, a glimmer of hope in my heart. Maybe he had seen the cake? Maybe he was calling to explain… I made excuses for him, answering the phone with a hint of expectation, only to be met with Thomas’s sarcastic tone: “Oh, so you’re finally free to answer the phone! Who are you having dinner with this time?” I was stunned by his mocking tone, taking a while to remember the “guy” he was referring to. Previously, a long-term client of the company had invited me to dinner. I thought it was to discuss a contract, but it turned out he wanted to confess his feelings for me. Although I had always claimed I wasn’t single, no one at the company had ever seen my boyfriend. They probably thought it was just an excuse I used to avoid dating. Someone must have told him. I awkwardly watched him smiling and holding out flowers, wracking my brain for a polite way to reject him, not noticing that Thomas was sitting behind me at the time. He mistook my momentary silence for interest, so he immediately bought a ring to tie me down. At the time, he leaned on the sofa, roughly slipping the ring onto my finger, arrogantly saying, “Now they’ll have to believe you!” Although I didn’t want to get engaged so early, seeing how much he cared about me, I could only happily accept. The ring he bought was that season’s new design. After that, anyone with any sense never bothered me again. However, what came with it was my team leader frequently hinting at me, asking if I was getting married. I knew what she meant – she was afraid I would start taking time off work. Every time, I would exhaustively explain, afraid of being misunderstood. But Thomas became unhappy, thinking I didn’t love him, and started giving me the silent treatment. At the time, I lamented that although he was two years older than me, he was still so childish in our relationship. But now, I couldn’t help but think, it wasn’t that he couldn’t see my difficulties, he just didn’t care. He was simply trying to trip me up… I suddenly thought, did he buy me the ring because he was afraid I’d run away, afraid he couldn’t get revenge for Mia… On the other end of the phone, Thomas was still waiting for my response. Even though I had already sentenced him to death in my mind, I still wanted to get to the truth. “Thomas, do you love me?” There was a moment of silence on the other end, followed by a nonchalant tone, “Of course I love you, why else would I be with you?” “Then what about Mia? Do you love her?” His breathing on the other end became erratic. In an instant, my heart turned cold. “The ring is in the stairwell of your building. Let’s break up.”

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“Eliza, would you come with me?” The wedding hall fell into complete silence as I stood there, stunned, with the ring halfway onto Eliza Monroe’s finger. Her long-lost love, Julian Hart, stood up yet again, shouting across the room at her. “Eliza, I’m here to take you away. Will you come with me?” Without a moment’s hesitation, Eliza pulled her hand away from mine, lifted her dress, and walked gracefully toward Julian. Tears glistened in her eyes, filled with an emotion I hadn’t seen before, as if Julian were the one she was meant to marry today. And there I stood, the actual groom, under the glaring spotlight, reduced to nothing more than a clown in a suit. With conviction, Eliza extended her hand to Julian, her voice ringing loud and clear for everyone to hear. “Julian, I will!” ###It couldn’t be more evident. Eliza Monroe, the woman I loved, had been swept away by her long-lost love, Julian Hart. But I didn’t feel angry. Instead, there was a strange sense of inevitability. After all, this was the third time in a month that my wedding had been interrupted by Julian. I let the ring fall from my hand, its imprint digging sharply into my palm. No one moved to stop them—not even Douglas and Vivian Monroe, who sat unmoving at the head table. I just stood there, watching their little drama unfold. The first time Julian crashed our wedding, I was furious. I shouted at him with every ounce of rage I had. This was supposed to be Eliza’s and my day. I had planned it meticulously, and I couldn’t let him ruin it. Red-eyed, I rushed to tackle Julian, intent on stopping him from stealing the woman who’d promised to be my wife. But our relatives blocked my path. Julian, standing protectively beside Eliza, smirked and said: “See? He flies off the handle at the smallest thing. He’s bound to hurt you one day.” “Be glad I’m testing this for you. Otherwise, think of how much you’d suffer in the future!” In that moment, the crowd turned against me. Their whispers painted me not as the groom but as the villain. The voices surrounding me scolded me, saying it was just a test, and I had overreacted. It ended with me handing out a few hefty checks, and Eliza reluctantly agreeing to marry me again. The second time, I didn’t shout. I didn’t lose my temper. I fell to my knees, holding Eliza’s dress, pleading with her not to leave. I loved her, and I recounted every single reason why. Julian pointed at me, disdainful. “Pathetic. You think you can manipulate Eliza with this show of weakness? You’re just a coward. What do you bring to the table besides clinging to her?” Once again, I was judged and condemned. Everyone there was one of Eliza’s friends or relatives. I had no family—no one to stand by me. The verbal onslaught came from every side, and Eliza simply nestled into Julian’s embrace, a sweet smile on her lips. Anger wasn’t enough. Begging wasn’t enough. Everything I did was wrong. So, I chose to do nothing. I stood in silence, watching. Julian’s voice cut through the room once more. “See? Blake Carrington doesn’t even care enough to fight for you. How could you marry a man like that?” “He’s failed all three tests. He’s not worth marrying.” Anger failed. Pleading failed. Indifference failed. What do you want me to do? Eliza’s eyes flicked back to me, and she threw the bouquet at my chest. “Blake! What are you doing just standing there? I’m being taken from you!” “You don’t care at all, do you? You never loved me!” Her expression was a mixture of rage and frustration. But I merely brushed off the flowers clinging to my suit, straightened my tie, and walked toward the emcee, taking the microphone from him. “Eliza, go. This wedding is over.” ###

When I finished speaking, the entire wedding venue fell into silence. Everyone assumed Eliza Monroe had me completely under her control—that no matter what she did, I wouldn’t end things. Eliza snapped out of her shock quickly, her eyes narrowing in rage. She grabbed a champagne glass and threw it at me, soaking my custom suit, one I had bought specifically for this day. “Blake Carrington, have you lost your mind?” she shouted. “How dare you say the wedding is off? You’ve got some nerve!” “You didn’t even pass a single test, and now you say something like that?” Tests? A single wedding costing tens of thousands of dollars. Dresses, photography, the emcee, flowers, venues. Three weddings, costing millions in total. I laughed bitterly. Every cent came from me. “Oh, so they were tests, not real weddings? Fine.” “All three weddings came to four hundred fifty thousand. Pay it back—can you do that?” Eliza’s face fell. She couldn’t possibly pay it back. Every dress, every piece of jewelry she owned—I paid for. The house her parents lived in, the car they drove, even their jobs at my company—they all came from me. She wouldn’t be able to come up with that money, no matter what. The luxurious life Eliza enjoyed was funded solely by me, but none of that mattered to her. Instead, she doubled down, eyes blazing as she grabbed another glass and hurled it at me. “Spending money on me is a privilege!” “What do you have besides a pile of cash? You think that will tie me down? And now you dare to demand it back? I’ll make you regret it!” With that, she stormed out, wedding gown trailing behind her, and Julian Hart followed close, casting a triumphant smirk my way as they exited. I watched them go, a hollow feeling taking root in my chest. Five years of love, and this was who she really was. I glanced down at the wedding band still pressed into my palm, its outline sharp against my skin, and finally, the tears fell. Eliza and Julian had been together before. When her family fell from wealth, Julian had walked away. That’s when I came in, loving her fiercely, supporting her through everything. When she accepted me as her partner, I thought my love had won. Then Julian came back from overseas, ruining everything in an instant. Eliza fell for him again without a second thought. She stopped caring about me, my objections—everything except my money. She only cared about Julian. She used my love as a pawn for his gain, trampling over my feelings and dignity. The relationship had been decaying for a long time. I’d just been too naive to see it. I reclaimed the money I had given to her parents as a bride price and told the emcee to clear the guests from the hall. I changed out of my soaked suit, grabbed my car keys, and prepared to head home when one of Eliza’s relatives grabbed my arm, sneering. “Blake, so when’s the next wedding?” he said, laughing at my expense. They thought it was a joke—that I would never truly leave her. I said nothing, walking straight to my car. There wouldn’t be another wedding. ###

I drove back to my house, determined to remove every trace of Eliza Monroe from my life. The house was filled with memories—proof that at one point, there had been love between us. As I looked around, my mind drifted back to my childhood. I was an orphan, with no family to care for me, scavenging for food on the streets. One day, I found a scrap of meat and held it up, triumphant. Suddenly, a starving dog lunged, grabbing it from me. Desperate, I fought it, wrestling the animal with everything I had. I sat against a dumpster, bruised and bleeding, chewing on what was left of that meat while watching children pass by, holding their parents’ hands and laughing with candy in their grasp. I wished I knew what that tasted like. A little girl in a princess dress noticed me. She let go of her mother’s hand and came over, holding out a piece of candy. “Here, this will make the pain go away,” she said, her smile radiant, angelic. That smile and that moment stayed with me, etched deeply into my heart. Years later, in college, I saw a woman who looked like the grown-up version of that little girl. Her name was Eliza Monroe, but she was already with Julian Hart. I buried my feelings, never daring to hope. When her family lost everything and Julian left, I stepped in. My company, Carrington Holdings, was just taking off, and I used every dollar I had to help her family. Her parents invited me to dinner, and that night, they sent Eliza into my arms. I knew they were after my money, but I had enough to spend a lifetime, and I was willing to use it for the woman I believed to be my angel. No matter what they wanted, I complied. I believed that if I loved her enough, I could take Julian’s place in her heart. I saw her as my sun, blinding myself to reality. But today, reality burned me to the core. I looked around the room, filled with remnants of our time together. Tears fell once more. I remembered the day we bought this house. Eliza had stood next to me, wearing a mask, her wide eyes sparkling as she gazed up at it and talked excitedly about the future. I had thought I’d won her heart completely. But she had probably been thinking of Julian even then. My phone buzzed with an alert—a hotel charge. Eliza didn’t have her own card; every expense went through mine. I knew exactly where she was: at The Grand Union Hotel, still in her wedding gown with Julian. Just hours earlier, I had been holding her hand, asking her if she’d marry me. How could the angel I once adored have turned into this? I sank onto the sofa, hands over my face, as tears came once more. Three days later, after packing up all the reminders of our relationship, I sat in the now-bare living room, waiting for the moving truck. The front door opened unexpectedly. Eliza walked in, laughing with Julian, their happiness like a knife in my heart. ###

Eliza froze when she saw the empty room. She pulled away from Julian, storming up to me. “Blake Carrington, what do you think you’re doing? Haven’t you caused enough trouble at the wedding?” she snapped. “How dare you turn our house into this? Are you out of your mind?” Julian, ever the actor, chimed in with mock regret. “Eliza told you, those weddings were just tests. I’m sorry, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have been so concerned for her.” He shifted the blame neatly onto me, painting me as the unreasonable one. I stared at them, the smirk barely hidden on Julian’s face and the superiority in Eliza’s eyes, and I laughed. “Let me guess, I’m supposed to beg for your forgiveness?” “Should I apologize for being humiliated and then apologize again for the inconvenience?” Eliza didn’t catch the sarcasm, nodding as if satisfied. “If you’d just apologize properly, we might be able to work this out,” she said, looking me up and down before adding, “But like this? Never.” “Blake Carrington, we’re going to file for divorce tomorrow.” Eliza had used the threat of divorce before, and each time, I’d caved for the sake of love. Not this time. Julian, sensing my silence, egged me on. “See? He’s too proud, too weak. Can’t even apologize for his wife.” I chuckled, the absurdity of it all finally sinking in. If Eliza had been my wife in the true sense, I would have apologized for anything. I’d fought stray dogs for scraps; there was no humiliation I couldn’t endure. But she wasn’t my wife. She had just come from a hotel room with Julian, her face still flushed from whatever they’d done. And they expected me to apologize. “Fine, you want an apology?” I said, eyes locked on hers. “Tell me, Eliza, where were you these past two days?” Her face paled, a thin sheen of sweat breaking out on her brow. She knew that without me, she was nothing. She tried to sound fierce. “I was at my parents’. What, I can’t visit them when I’m upset? At least Julian cares enough to check on me. Have you ever done that?” Even now, she was trying to manipulate me, turning my love against me. I pulled out my phone and held it up for her to see. “Look closely. The hotel room charge is right here. Still want to lie to me?” She slapped the phone out of my hand, shouting, “Hotel? I don’t know anything about that!” “Blake, if you’d just come to your senses, maybe I’d forgive you! Even if you leave, you’re leaving the house and the dowry. That’s my compensation for wasted years.” Compensation? For what? Since we started dating, she hadn’t spent a single cent of her own. Now, millions in wedding expenses down the drain because of Julian’s provocations, and she dared to demand money from me? I reached into my bag, pulled out the divorce papers I’d drafted, and tossed them at her feet. “Here’s your compensation.” “Trash belongs with trash. I hope you both have a long, miserable life together.”

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In the sixth year of our marriage, Jason cheated on me. I found a long, chestnut-colored hair on his underwear that didn’t belong to me. Huh, looks like he’s been having some fun. That bastard couldn’t even give me the decency of a seven-year itch excuse. I stormed into the living room and threw the hair into Jason’s bowl as he was having a late-night snack. Then, I packed my things as quickly as possible and called my best friend Rachel to help me move my luggage. After that, I left the home we had shared for six years without looking back. Jason just watched me coldly, not saying a word, let alone trying to stop me. “Congrats on escaping that hellhole, sis. Where should we go to celebrate tonight?” Rachel asked, driving her new G-Wagon with one hand while pushing her black sunglasses up her nose with the other.

I leaned back in my seat, staring blankly at the river under the bridge. My facade of strength and coolness was fading, and emotions were starting to take over. Jason and I had known each other for ten years, been in love for eight, and married for six. We had built everything from scratch, from having nothing to our company being on the verge of going public. We had seen so many broken marriages among our relatives and friends. I always believed that Jason and I were the perfect soulmates. The only flaw was that we had been sleeping in separate beds for all these years. But that was Jason’s choice. He said love was just love, the purest and most sacred human emotion. Anything done in the name of love was moral blackmail against love itself. I believed him, but now? A single strand of hair shattered my eight years of self-deception. “Damn it! Lily, if you dare cry, I swear I’ll drive this car straight into the river!” Rachel exclaimed dramatically. My carefully cultivated emotions instantly crumbled. I glared at her, annoyed. “Can you please act like a normal human being? I just got cheated on, can’t you let me wallow for a bit?” Rachel scoffed, twisting her mouth in disdain. “Remember when we were the two campus beauties back in law school? So many guys chasing after us, but you wouldn’t give them the time of day. Then you fell for Jason from the Finance department. What did he have going for him besides his looks?” “Being handsome is the biggest advantage. Even if he did nothing but lie in bed, just looking at his face was enough to make me happy.” Rachel let out a loud “Fuck!” and tossed her sunglasses into the backseat. “You’re hopeless. Think about it – he had a bombshell like you by his side for eight years and didn’t sleep with you. I bet he’s impotent.” I let out a cold laugh. If he was impotent, how could he cheat? Hiding hair in his underwear and playing such dirty games – I was utterly disgusted. “Maybe I’ve become ugly now, and he can’t get it up for me anymore.” Rachel’s jaw dropped in shock, and she reflexively slapped the steering wheel. “Damn that Jason! What kind of twisted ideas has he been feeding you? If I were a guy, I’d drag you to the backseat right now.” True friends are the real deal. “Just focus on your driving,” I spat, continuing to stare out at the river. It wasn’t until Rachel slammed on the brakes that I realized we weren’t at my villa in the south of the city. Jason and I had bought a villa there in my name. We had planned to invite his parents from the countryside to live with us after the New Year, but now it seemed that wouldn’t be happening. “A nightclub? It’s too noisy, I don’t want to go,” I said, looking at the large, flashing neon sign that read “Light Years” at the entrance. “Miss White, you’re here!” A tall, skinny young man with green hair, wearing tight pants and loafers, came out of the club and greeted Rachel intimately. Rachel turned off the engine and got out, tossing her keys to him from a distance. “Two tasks: first, get that beauty out of the passenger seat; second, park the car in the garage.” “You got it.” The green-haired young man caught the keys mid-air, opened the driver’s door, and sat down. Then he turned to look at me, leaning in closer. “Sister~” he called out, his voice dripping with charm and coquettishness. I pulled my coat tighter around me. “I’m getting out now.” Rachel saw how flustered I was and chuckled, hooking her arm around my neck as we walked in. It had been years since I’d been to a nightclub after marrying Jason. Just like I remembered, as soon as we pushed open the glass door that seemed like a barrier, deafening music flooded my eardrums. I frowned and turned to leave, but Rachel held me tight. I had no choice but to cover my ears and follow her inside.

We made our way through the crowd of wildly dancing people to a booth. Rachel ordered drinks with familiarity, and soon the table was filled with an array of colorful cocktails. “No men tonight, I’m here to keep you company. Here, Lily.” Rachel handed me a bottle of alcohol with a grand gesture, then grabbed one for herself and took a swig. I swirled the blue liquid in the bottle, wondering when drinks had become so pretty. I took a sip and licked my lips. Not bad, it was sweet and sour. It was more like an alcoholic beverage than actual liquor. Seeing me start to drink, Rachel burst into laughter. “Ladies, why drink alone? Want to play a game with us?” A cool-looking guy with a flashy thick chain around his neck and black gemstone earrings tilted his head and invited us. I glanced at the sofa next to us and shook my head. A bunch of kids who looked barely of age – what fun could that be? “My baby just got cheated on and isn’t in the mood. Maybe next time,” Rachel waved her hand, declining as well. “No way! Even a beauty like you gets cheated on? Congrats, sis, you’re free now.” The guy gave me a thumbs up. If it weren’t for his sincere expression that didn’t seem mocking, I would have smacked him with the bottle. He was congratulating me for being cheated on? How brain-dead do you have to be to say something like that? Seeing that we really weren’t interested, the guy shrugged and left. I leaned back on the sofa and took out my phone from my bag, turning on the screen. “Hmph, that bastard hasn’t even called or messaged once.” I angrily tossed my phone onto the seat next to me and kicked off my high heels. From the corner of my eye, I caught a burning gaze. I turned to look. It came from the table next to us, from a handsome guy sitting next to the chain-wearing guy from earlier. The guy was staring right at me, and when he saw me looking, he boldly raised an eyebrow instead of looking away. I rolled my eyes and turned away. He was pretty handsome, not much worse than Jason. But were young guys these days all so confident and sleazy? For a while after that, I could feel that unabashed, burning gaze from the next table every now and then. I really didn’t like the feeling and was about to get up and tell Rachel we should leave. Suddenly, the booming music that had been filling the air stopped, as if someone had hit pause. But immediately after, everyone started rushing towards the dance floor. I didn’t know what was happening and looked around in confusion. Then I saw the handsome guy from the next table who had been staring at me walk straight over, the corner of his lips curled up in a smile as he extended his hand to me. “You seem down today. It’s midnight now, want to go wild on the dance floor?” “Let’s go, Lily! It’s midnight, time to party!” Rachel jumped up from the sofa. “No thanks, I’ll wait for you here. We can leave after you’re done partying.” I shook my head in refusal. Rachel knew my personality well. Seeing my firm attitude, she didn’t push further and ran off to the dance floor herself. The handsome guy raised an eyebrow, withdrew his hand, and turned to head towards… the stage. So the DJ was this handsome! The guy was operating the turntables on stage, with the crazy crowd going wild on the dance floor in front of him. As I was staring at him curiously, unable to look away, he suddenly looked over at me and pointed his finger straight at me. Everyone on the dance floor turned to look at me, and I suddenly felt very uncomfortable and self-conscious. A few girls in matching outfits ran over and forcibly pulled me onto the dance floor, dancing around me. Oh god, this must be what they call “hype girls,” right? I stood there awkwardly among them, moving stiffly and feeling utterly embarrassed. People on the dance floor started snickering, and I angrily glared at the instigator on stage. But I saw that he also looked shocked, forgetting to DJ for a moment. It was as if he had never seen such an uncoordinated newbie at a club before. Luckily, Rachel saved me. She let out a loud yell, drawing everyone’s attention, and started swaying her hips. The music on stage started up again. People once again lost themselves in the frenzy of the atmosphere. Rachel was really getting into it, pulling out her hair clip and letting her long hair cascade down. Her chestnut-colored curls seemed to come alive, swaying with her movements – it looked amazing. Suddenly, my heart skipped a beat. In a flash of insight, I felt like I had grasped something. Chestnut-colored curls? Bathroom? Jason’s underwear? I pushed my way through the crowd in front of me, not caring about anything else, and rushed to Rachel’s side, grabbing her tightly. Rachel was startled and quickly stopped dancing. “Lily, what’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?” I stared at her intently, licking my dry lips, and asked, “Rachel, the day before yesterday when Jason wasn’t home, after you showered at my place, did you use my hair dryer?” Rachel nodded, “Yeah, why? Did it go missing? I left it on top of the washing machine.” I looked at her for a long moment, then suddenly burst out laughing. “So it was you! The laundry basket next to the washing machine had Jason’s unwashed underwear in it. You must have shed some hair!” Jason hadn’t cheated on me! I had misunderstood him! Thinking about how I had thrown the hair into his bowl, I felt a pang of regret. Jason had severe germaphobia. Oh god, what had I done? I needed to go home right away. I needed to tell him that I had misunderstood him. He hadn’t betrayed me. It was all my fault for jumping to conclusions without thinking. I needed to apologize to him. “You keep partying, I have to go,” I said, letting go of Rachel and running towards the exit. The taxi dropped me off at the entrance of our neighborhood. It was only then that I realized I had left my phone and bag at the nightclub. Fortunately, the security guard recognized me and helped me pay for the taxi. I jogged into the complex, feeling guilty and excited as I ran towards our home. Just as I was about to turn the corner to our building, a gentle male voice stopped me in my tracks. The voice sounded crystal clear in the silent night. “Babe, why did you come here?” Jason! This voice had become a part of my life, but I had never heard Jason speak in such a tender and affectionate tone. For a moment, I thought Jason had seen me. But the female voice that followed completely shattered my illusion.

“I heard something was off in your voice on the phone, so I was worried and came to check on you. What’s wrong? Is she… upstairs?” “She left. She found out I betrayed her.” “How is that possible?” The woman seemed incredulous. “We always go to my place, and you clean up thoroughly afterward. How could she know?” “It’s all because of you,” Jason’s voice was husky, the same raspy tone he used when he could barely control himself while holding me. “You were too wild that day, and your hair… got stuck in my underwear. Olivia, I loved how you were that day. Come upstairs with me. She won’t be back tonight.” Jason’s voice was full of desire. But what shocked me most was the name Olivia. Jason’s girlfriend from eight years ago, so long ago that I didn’t recognize her voice at first. Ten years ago, when I fell for Jason, he had a girlfriend from his hometown. Somehow, they broke up two years later. I pursued Jason right after he became single. When I first got together with Jason, Olivia came to make a scene once, crying and causing a commotion outside our classroom. In the end, Jason came to pick me up and sternly warned her off. I never saw her again after that. “I can’t stay long. That idiot husband of mine will be back from overtime soon, and the kid is still sleeping. I need to hurry back.” Damn, I cursed inwardly. She has a family and a child, yet she’s out here cheating. “Olivia, don’t go. I want you, just once. I promise I’ll be quick.” Then, in the darkness, I heard the sound of a zipper being pulled down, followed by some indescribable impact sounds. I wanted to leave, but my feet seemed rooted to the ground, unable to move. With a low growl from Jason, Olivia let out a surprised gasp. Then everything went quiet, with only the panting of those two animals rising and falling. I felt nauseous. Eight years! So it wasn’t that Jason didn’t like sex, he just didn’t like having sex with me. My heart turned ice cold, and my whole body shook violently. The heartache made it hard to stand. I leaned against the wall and bent over. “Jason, pull out. You said just once, and I need to go,” Olivia said, breathlessly. “I’d never lie to you. I said once, and I’ll let you go soon.” “Haha, that was pretty quick indeed. Quite honest of you, big brother.” Suddenly, a mocking male voice sounded behind me. “Who’s there?!” Jason shouted sternly, with sounds of frantic movement in the darkness. I was startled and quickly turned around. In the darkness, I could only see a tall figure, unable to make out the face. Suddenly, a flashlight beam shone over. “Lily?” Jason’s voice trembled slightly, as if in disbelief. And I, following the light he shone, saw clearly who was behind me. It was the handsome DJ guy from the club!

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When Brandon Ashford’s old flame came back into his life, I took our son and flew to America. People said I didn’t even register on their radar, that I was nothing but a worthless, spoiled wife, hiding from a fight like an ostrich with its head in the sand. But someday, I’d walk tall and watch them all eat their words beneath my feet. 0Brandon’s high school sweetheart, Claire, is back. Back in senior year, he entered the Young Innovators Award and met Claire Emerson. I’d heard she was pretty, clever, outgoing, and came from an affluent family. The two of them were young, in love, and even planned to go to the same university. But things didn’t work out that way—Brandon was accepted to Harvard, but Claire… who knows what happened with her? I figured they broke up because of the distance. But then a mutual friend dropped the real story on me. “Jazz, didn’t you know? That girl tried to blackmail Brandon by threatening to end her own life if he went to Harvard! She actually tried to trap him into staying with her.” Blackmail? Threats? Giving up Harvard? I shook my head. This story sounded like something out of a cheesy romance novel. Brandon and I, meanwhile, were childhood friends. Our families had been partners in business for generations. Years ago, when my father’s mistress showed up, taunting my mom over the phone, my mom flew back to the U.S. in the middle of the night. That led me to apply to Harvard, where Brandon and I ended up in the same program. When I saw him again, I was taken aback by how much he’d grown into his looks. But strangely, I didn’t feel any of those romantic sparks. Our connection was more like an unspoken understanding—a bond that felt familiar, like the relationship between our parents. I’d thought my mom would divorce my dad, but she didn’t. She told me, “Love and marriage aren’t the same. We’ve been married for years, and we trust each other. We’re also tied together by shared businesses and a social network that isn’t easily untangled. And if that other woman’s showing up at our door, it just proves her stupidity. If your father had any intention of being with her, she wouldn’t have had to resort to that.” “But Dad still cheated,” I whispered, looking down. “You always told me, ‘Once a cheater, always a cheater.’” My mom just smiled knowingly. “Maybe so, but remember, that woman claimed your father was with her at Lakewood Hot Springs on the day he was actually in Hong Kong with your grandparents.” I blinked. My mind was spinning. “Jazz, no matter whom you marry—business partner or not—remember this: love clouds reason. Never act on impulse.” “Then why did you storm back to the States that time?” I asked, grinning. She laughed again. “Otherwise, how would I have gotten you to give up Charleston and go to Harvard?” 0

I’d been played. All my life, I’d dreamed of the romantic charm of Charleston, of living on a sprawling estate in the middle of a sea of lavender. But as the sole heir of the Eastwood Family business, I had to put in the effort if I wanted the freedom to live as I pleased. So, when Claire asked me to meet up, I agreed. She came bursting with excitement, eager to show me her memories with Brandon and their matching tattoos. She preened like a proud peacock, and I barely contained my laughter. “It’s rare to see a mistress be this bold,” scoffed my friend Erica, my childhood friend with a firecracker temper and a sharp tongue. “Bold?” Claire arched an eyebrow. “This is love. What’s bold about that? I came here to make you face reality, stop hiding, and pretending I don’t exist. Brandon told me I’m the one he loves, the one he cares about, the one he can’t live without. You two have nothing in common, yet you cling to the title of Mrs. Ashford? Why not just let him go? I’ll make sure Brandon gives you a generous settlement. You’re still young…” “Smack!” Erica’s face went red with fury, and her hand landed across Claire’s face. Claire blinked in shock, then clutched her cheek and screeched, “How dare you hit me?” Her shouting pierced the quiet of the private room, and curious staff couldn’t help peeking in to check if we needed assistance. I was stunned—not because Erica hit her, but because Claire was screaming like a madwoman, even reaching to grab Erica’s hair. And she actually had the nerve to say I was “clinging” to the title of Mrs. Ashford? That I was just a housewife? “Tell Brandon to ask for a divorce if that’s what he wants. I’ll walk away on the spot,” I said calmly, letting the chaos simmer down. Claire looked taken aback. “All this, and you’re still holding on? I didn’t realize you were so stubborn.” She gave a smug smile. “Fine, I’ll have Brandon come to you, then. Just don’t cry and refuse when he asks for it.” I nodded, pulled Erica to her feet, and left. “Hey, you haven’t paid!” Claire called out. I glanced at the untouched tea, totaling over $400. Smiling, I replied, “The owner is a friend of mine, so it’s on my tab. If you can’t finish, feel free to take it home.” 0

In the days that followed, Brandon never mentioned a word about divorce. Everything seemed normal—except he started coming home a bit later than usual. I asked him about it, and he said an old friend wanted to start a new project and was looking for investors. He was still considering it. I asked him to send over the details. Sure enough, when I opened the file, Claire Emerson was listed as one of the founders. And after looking through the pitiful revenue and chaotic financials, I just shook my head. Here she was, trying to get investors for this disaster of a company, in an economy where everyone else was tightening their belts. She had some nerve. “What do you think?” Brandon asked. I hadn’t let on yet that Claire had already come to see me. We’d been married for years now, and we already had a son. We were even considering trying for a girl. A nice, balanced family. But here comes Claire, dropping back into our lives, just as my mother would call it—a disruption to what was really a business alliance between our families. Childhood friends, families with deeply interwoven ties—it was complicated. So complicated that a single change could pull everything apart. I just couldn’t believe Brandon would cheat, let alone get a divorce. “I think it’s best to be cautious,” I replied. “Since you’re more familiar with this field, you should handle it.” Relieved, I handed him a bowl of special soup I’d made for his stomach issues. He took it with a smile, not needing to ask what it was. The next day, I came to the office with a fully prepared proposal. I’d hardly been in the office recently, with us trying for another child, so the long-time employees looked at me with surprise, clearly curious. The newer employees didn’t even know who I was. Just as I reached Brandon’s office, I heard Claire’s familiar voice, pleading, “Brandon, please, you’ve got to help me. This is my dream!” Brandon didn’t reply. I knocked and opened the door. Claire was sitting next to him on the sofa, casually leaning close. Her low-cut dress practically invited the world to see her bra. I ignored her, calmly setting my papers on the desk. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything?” “Not at all, babe! This is Claire, the one I told you about,” Brandon replied quickly, standing up like he’d been shocked and moving to my side. I caught the flash of irritation in Claire’s eyes as she looked innocently at Brandon. “Jazz, you’re gorgeous! I’m surprised he never mentioned you.” Right. As if my existence was something she had to be “informed” about. After all, she managed to walk right in, didn’t she? Brandon looked uncomfortable, and I smirked. “Since when do people talk about their families with strangers?” I handed him a thermos. “I heard you have a drinking event tonight, so I made this for you. I’ve got plans to meet Mrs. Young for tea later.” He smiled gratefully; he didn’t even need to open it to know what was inside. But Claire didn’t let it go. “Oh, I’ll be at that dinner too! Jazz, what’s in the thermos? Could I try some?” Brandon frowned, setting the thermos aside. “This isn’t something just anyone should drink, Claire.” “Is it some kind of miracle hangover remedy?” She laughed lightly, pouting, “I thought all those housewives making home remedies was a soap opera trope, but I guess it’s real after all…” Neither of us laughed, and the room grew tense. Brandon’s grandmother, after all, was a well-known herbalist, and she’d created that particular recipe just for his stomach. Obviously, Claire had no idea. I sighed, realizing that this woman didn’t seem to have much upstairs. Nothing about her added up, and she wasn’t at all the type I’d imagine Brandon would like. With anyone else, he’d probably have already blown up at them. But for Claire, his patience seemed endless. After an uncomfortable silence, he looked at her with an unreadable expression. “Jazz knows a lot about the food industry, Claire. If you really want to go forward with this, why don’t you talk it over with her?” Huh? I was surprised. I could see why he wouldn’t want to reject her outright, but what was this about food? According to the file, her company was all about couples’ apps, nothing to do with the restaurant industry. But Claire missed my surprise and went on, oblivious. “Brandon, do you really think that someone who spends all her time having lunches and afternoon teas has industry knowledge? This is different. Plus, I’m opening a cat café targeting young professionals and students…” She looked at me with a challenging gleam in her eye. “You and I can handle the business discussions, Jazz. I wouldn’t want to interrupt your busy schedule of lunch dates.” I almost laughed. Was she serious? She couldn’t have done any real research if she thought she could look down on me like this. I, Jasmine Eastwood, eldest of the Eastwood Family and a Harvard economics PhD, “just” did lunches and teas? Did she have any idea how much a class taught by me would cost? I stared at her, amused by her smugness, even as I saw a hint of irritation in Brandon’s face. Why was he holding back? Was it because of his lingering feelings for her? He glanced at me apologetically. “I have a meeting soon, Claire. Talk to Jazz about it, as I suggested.” With that, he answered his phone and hurried out, leaving just the two of us. Claire dropped her act, sneering at me. “You really are something else, putting on this whole act to get his sympathy, showing up with soup and your pretty face. But Brandon and I are in this together. You? You can cook him soup. A housekeeper could do the same. Aside from spending his money, what else can you do?” “Talk business with you, obviously,” I said dryly, nodding toward the documents on the desk. “Brandon’s orders.” “Oh, come on,” she scoffed, her voice dripping with contempt. “He’s just being polite, letting you save face so you don’t accuse him of transferring your assets to me. You think he respects you? He’s just afraid you’ll embarrass him and drag the company down.” I stared at her, hardly believing her arrogance. The fact that she felt so comfortable speaking about “transferring assets” showed me she really didn’t know much. My silence made her bolder. “Brandon is so good to me, and not just with this. Tonight, at that big event, he’s taking me with him. Did you know I’m the first woman he’s brought along? It shows I’m the one he truly loves. You’re just sad, really. Married to him all these years and he’s never invited you. Poor thing…” She looked at me triumphantly. “It must be humiliating, huh? Go ahead, cry if you want to. Failed love, a failed marriage—it’s not the end of the world. You’re still pretty enough, and even if your family background’s not as great, Brandon would still give you a decent payout. Just let go. If you make a scene, you might not even get alimony.” I couldn’t help myself; I burst out laughing. I wasn’t just amused by her ridiculous logic but by her complete inability to understand what mattered to me. Love, feelings—those were trivial. What I cared about was control, and I had plenty of it. My career, my finances, my status—and yes, even my marriage. I had a child with Brandon, after all. And the fate of her so-called project was entirely in my hands. I looked at her blandly. “Stop dreaming. That glitch-riddled app or your cat café? Neither is getting any funding from us.” But Claire smiled, undeterred. “Jazz, don’t kid yourself. If I’m here, and if Brandon’s letting me ask in front of you, then it’s important to him. He’ll say yes.” I watched her saunter out and opened the window, letting the strong scent of her perfume blow away. With it went any uncertainty I might have felt. That night, I waited for Brandon to come home. At four in the morning, he stumbled in, reeking of alcohol and perfume—Dior J’adore, which I’d never worn. Our housekeeper, Mrs. Williams, shook her head in disapproval as she helped him into the bedroom. “I’ll make some sobering soup for him, Jazz,” she offered, seeing my expression. “Sweetheart,” he mumbled, trying to pull me into a hug. “Sit down. We need to talk,” I said, brushing him off. Claire had already confronted me, hinting at a romance and asking me to divorce him. His arm went stiff, but all he did was slur, “I love you, babe,” before passing out. I sighed. You can’t wake someone who’s faking sleep. The next morning, he’d already left for a sudden business trip to Seattle. But things took a turn when Mrs. Williams came to me, looking worried. “Jazz, I think Evan has a fever.” 0

I hurriedly called for a driver, and we rushed Evan to the hospital with Mrs. Williams by my side. Thankfully, it wasn’t flu season, so the private hospital was fairly empty, and the admission process went smoothly. I stayed with Evan until he fell asleep, then handed him over to Mrs. Williams so I could grab a quick bite in the small waiting room. Erica, who’d shown up by then, was furious. She slapped the table in frustration. “Jazz, I’m telling you—there’s something going on with Brandon and that woman. Call him right now. I don’t care about any business deal; he needs to get back here! Let’s see if he values money more than you and his son.” “It’s hardly comparable,” I replied, trying to keep my calm. Despite my own frustration, I’d been holding back. “He can’t hide forever; we can wait a couple of days.” “But Evan is sick!” “Evan has a doctor. It’s not as if Brandon’s one himself.” “See, that’s the problem!” Erica groaned, exasperated. “You’ve let him get too comfortable, Jazz. You’re way too good to him!” “Am I?” I chuckled to myself. This wasn’t about being good to Brandon; it was about protecting my son and myself. I wasn’t about to explode without solid evidence and give Claire—or anyone else—the satisfaction of seeing me unravel. Making a scene would just leave me looking petty and hysterical. “Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure he’s alone,” Erica muttered darkly, giving me a pointed look. “I bet he’s on this trip with her.” “Maybe not,” I said, finishing my cake and motioning toward the door. “Look—speak of the devil.” “What?” Still steaming, Erica whipped open the door and saw Claire approaching. Without missing a beat, she let loose. “You must have a bloodhound’s sense of smell to sniff out an opportunity like this!” Claire didn’t flinch. If anything, she smiled pleasantly, putting down a gift-wrapped drone on the table. “I heard Evan wasn’t well, and with Brandon out of town, I thought I’d drop by to visit and bring him a little gift.” She glanced at me, eyes twinkling. “Rough night, Jazz? Looks like you didn’t get much sleep. I guess Brandon told you he’s decided to invest in my cat café?” “Excuse me?” Her words took me by surprise, but I kept my face neutral. “He didn’t mention that. But if he plans to make any decisions, he’ll need the approval of the majority shareholder.” I pushed the drone back toward her. “Take this with you. My son doesn’t need your gifts.” “Really?” She feigned shock, flashing a syrupy smile. “Funny, he seemed to like the sneakers, the overalls, and the Lego set that Brandon picked out with me. Didn’t he tell you?” Her words hit me like a punch, tearing down any patience I had left. I felt a surge of heat, and in that instant, every shred of composure shattered. All the principles of self-control and dignity flew out the window. She had no right to even look at my son, much less give him anything! I was shaking as I grabbed the box and hurled it at her.

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