Category: English

The charity student I had been sponsoring for ten years just got into a university near my house. He asked if he could crash at my place for a few days to get used to the city before the semester started. In my past life, I readily agreed. I not only bought him all kinds of daily necessities, but also prepared a brand-new MacBook and an iPhone as a reward for his hard work. But when he saw them, his face darkened instantly. “Liam, I used to think you were just some average middle-class guy. I actually felt grateful to you.” “I didn’t expect you to be this rich. Giving me just this cheap stuff seems a bit insulting, don’t you think?” “And that three-hundred-dollar monthly allowance you promised is a joke. It needs to be at least three thousand.” I refused him on the spot and told him that if he found it too little, he could find someone else to sponsor him. Seeing my firm stance, he immediately apologized, claiming he was just making a joke. I thought he had learned his lesson. I was wrong. That very night, while I was working late at the office, he slipped a massive dose of sleeping pills to my three-year-old daughter. Then, he crawled into my wife’s bed. By the time I found out, my daughter was already dead from an overdose. I was consumed by rage. But during our physical confrontation, he pushed me off the balcony, sending me plummeting to my death. Afterward, he used his sweet talk to seduce my wife, got her pregnant, and successfully took over my position, stealing my entire estate. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the day the charity student called. Hearing his request to stay at my place, my face remained dead calm. “Sorry, Tristan. My house isn’t open to strangers.” “Also, since you are now an adult, you’ll have to figure out your own tuition and living expenses from now on.”

Before I could even hang up the phone, my wife, Chloe, snatched it right out of my hand. Her voice turned incredibly sweet as she spoke into the receiver. “Tristan, don’t mind Liam. He’s just exhausted from work today and in a bad mood.” “It’s just staying over for a few days, of course you can. I’ll pick you up from the station tomorrow.” She hung up and turned to glare at me, her voice filled with annoyance. “Liam, what the hell is wrong with you?” “You’ve sponsored him for ten years. What’s a few more years of college? You should finish what you started.” “The poor boy came all this way for school. He doesn’t know anyone here. What’s wrong with letting him crash on our couch for a few days?” I snatched the phone back and looked at her coldly. “I said no, Chloe. And I mean it.” “It’s my money. I give it to whoever I want. If I don’t want to, no one gets a single dime from me.” Tristan’s whimpering, victim-playing voice immediately came through the speaker. “Liam, Chloe, please don’t fight because of me.” “It’s my fault. I didn’t think this through. I didn’t mean to disrupt your family’s life.” “I won’t come, okay? Liam, please don’t be mad at Chloe.” “Please, I beg you, don’t cut off my tuition and allowance. I really want to go to college.” I let out a cold laugh. “Cut the act, Tristan. My decision is final.” With that, I hung up. Chloe’s face darkened instantly. “Did you take the wrong meds today? How can you be so heartless?” “Tristan is such a sweet, sensible boy. Why are you pushing him into a corner?” I stared at Chloe’s face. My mind was flooded with images of her ugly, smirking face when she committed perjury in court in my past life. Tristan was the one who murdered me and our daughter. Yet, to protect Tristan and the bastard child in her belly, she ruthlessly painted me as a depressed, lunatic husband who poisoned his own daughter before jumping off the balcony. An uncontrollable wave of pure hatred surged from the depths of my soul. I pointed directly at the front door. “Chloe, let me make this crystal clear.” “If you ever contact Tristan again, we are getting a divorce.”

Chloe froze, clearly not expecting me to take it this far. She sighed and reached out to grab my arm, her tone softening. “Liam, don’t be mad.” “I just thought since you sponsored Tristan for so many years, you actually liked the kid.” “I had no idea you despised him this much.” “Fine, fine. I promise I won’t contact him again. Just stop throwing the word ‘divorce’ around, okay?” I brushed her hand off, not even wanting to look at her. Chloe cleared her throat awkwardly. “By the way, the office is sending me on a business trip for a few days.” “Get some rest at home. I’ll bring you a nice gift when I get back.” I genuinely thought that without Tristan’s interference, I could still keep this family together. After all, my daughter was so young. I didn’t want her to suffer the pain of a broken family. But the next afternoon, when I went to pick my daughter up from her after-school art class. Just as I reached the door, the teacher ran up to me. “Mr. Vance, what are you doing here?” “Lily was already picked up by her mom and a young man a little while ago.” A horrible sense of dread washed over me. I frantically dialed Chloe’s number. The phone rang for a long time before she finally picked up. “Chloe! Where the hell did you take my daughter?!” Chloe’s cheerful voice came through the line. “Oh, you’re off work? I already brought Lily home.” “There’s a huge surprise waiting for you. Hurry back!” Ignoring whatever “surprise” she had, I slammed my foot on the gas and sped home as fast as I could. When I kicked the front door open, Tristan was sitting on my sofa. He was holding a glass of milk, slowly moving it toward my daughter’s lips. In my past life, this was exactly what Tristan did when I wasn’t home. He crushed a massive amount of sleeping pills, mixed them into the milk, and tricked my three-year-old daughter into drinking it. By the time I found out, her tiny body was already cold. Pure terror seized me. I rushed over like a madman and slapped the glass right out of Tristan’s hand. “Get the hell away from my daughter!” With a loud crash, the glass shattered on the hardwood floor, spilling white milk everywhere. Lily burst into tears, terrified. I scooped her up, holding her tightly against my chest, my entire body shaking with rage and fear. Tristan gasped, looking at the spilled milk on the floor, pretending to be completely helpless and shocked. Hearing the commotion, Chloe ran out of the kitchen. Seeing the mess and our crying daughter, she screamed at me. “Are you out of your mind?!” I glared at Tristan with venom in my eyes, then turned to demand an answer from Chloe. “I asked you, why is he in my house?!” Chloe quickly pulled Tristan behind her back, shielding him. “My business trip was canceled! Tristan just arrived at the train station, so I picked him up on my way back to have dinner with us. What is your problem?” I looked at her coldly. “Chloe, do you treat my words as a joke?” “What did I tell you yesterday? If you contact him again, we are divorcing!” Hearing this, Chloe lost her temper completely. “You are being absolutely ridiculous!” “I brought Tristan here because I wanted you to see how amazing and talented this boy is!” “If you just spend a few days with him, you’ll change your mind!” “I’m trying to save your ten-year investment from going down the drain, and this is how you treat me? You’re threatening me with divorce!” Tristan peeked out from behind Chloe, his eyes red, looking incredibly wronged and stubborn. “Liam, please don’t blame Chloe. It’s all my fault.” “Both of you are my saviors. I don’t want you guys to fight because of me.” “I’ll leave right now. I won’t get in your way.”

He made a show of grabbing his suitcase, but stopped right at the front door. “As for my tuition and living expenses, don’t worry, Liam. I’ll find a way.” “Even if… even if I have to steal or rob, I will get the money.” Chloe immediately grabbed Tristan’s arm, her heart breaking for him. “Tristan, don’t say such foolish things!” “Don’t worry. Even if he doesn’t sponsor you, I will make sure you finish college!” Then she turned and glared at me with absolute hatred. “Look at what you’ve done!” “I thought you were a generous, noble man. I didn’t realize you were so petty and narrow-minded!” “You are pushing a good kid into a life of crime!” I let out a cold, mocking laugh. Whether he went to steal or rob was none of my business. I wasn’t the one forcing him. Seeing that I remained silent, Chloe sighed. “You’ve been working too much overtime lately, so I’ll let this slide. I know you’re just talking out of anger.” “I’m going to take Tristan out for a nice dinner to calm him down.” “Stay home and cool your head! And stop using divorce as a threat.” “Lily is only three. If she grows up without a mother, she’ll be laughed at by all the other kids at preschool!” With that, she dragged Tristan out the door. Before leaving, Tristan turned back and shot me a quick look. That look was filled with smugness and pure provocation. Not long after, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Chloe on Snapchat. “Since you don’t want Tristan staying at the house, I’m taking him to a nearby luxury hotel for now.” “I’ll take him around the city for a few days to clear his head.” “You should spend this time reflecting on your behavior.” I stared at the screen and let out a cold laugh. Reflecting? Oh, I definitely needed to reflect. Reflect on how blind I was to have married such a piece of garbage who constantly backed an outsider over her own family. Chloe’s heart was completely rotten. Since that was the case, there was nothing left to say. I dialed my lawyer’s number immediately. “Gary, draft a divorce agreement for me. I need it done as fast as possible.” Then, I called a private investigator I knew well. “I need you to investigate two people for me. My wife, Chloe Vance, and a college student named Tristan.” Over the next few days, Chloe didn’t contact me, and I thoroughly enjoyed the peace. But looking at my daughter, I couldn’t help but feel anxious. This house was no longer safe. Who knew what disgusting tricks Tristan would pull next? With that in mind, I quickly packed a few of Lily’s clothes and daily necessities. I put her in her car seat and drove straight to my parents’ house. Just as I arrived, my phone buzzed with two photos from Tristan. The first photo showed a massive, luxurious bed in a five-star hotel. Laid out neatly on it were a brand-new MacBook Pro, an iPhone 15 Pro Max, several luxury watches, and a few designer men’s suits with the tags still on. The second photo showed two hands clasped together. On their ring fingers were matching Cartier love rings. I didn’t even need to guess whose hands those were. It was Chloe and Tristan. Looking at the photos, I chuckled. Tristan probably thought he had landed himself a super-rich sugar mama. But what he didn’t know was this: The only reason we lived in a penthouse and drove luxury cars was because I worked my ass off, pulling crazy overtime to become the Vice President of my company. Meanwhile, Chloe had zero ambition. She had been working the same dead-end, lazy receptionist job for years. Her monthly paycheck, after taxes and insurance, was a pathetic fifteen hundred dollars. And she sent every single penny of that to her toxic, male-favoring family. I only gave her a credit card because I didn’t want her to feel embarrassed when she went shopping with her friends.

I never expected she would use my hard-earned money to play sugar mama to a broke college kid. I called the bank immediately and froze the card. My mom came out of the living room. Seeing my dark expression, she walked over with concern. “What’s wrong? You look awful. Did you and Chloe have a fight?” I didn’t want my parents to worry, so I took a deep breath and forced a smile. “It’s nothing, Mom. Just a minor issue at work.” “I might be really busy for the next few days, so I was hoping you and Dad could watch Lily for a bit.” My dad walked out of his study and scooped Lily into his arms. “Don’t worry about her. Go handle your business.” “But remember, if you’re dealing with something difficult, don’t keep it to yourself.” “Your mother and I will always have your back. If things get too tough, just come home. We can still support you.” Hearing my dad’s words, my eyes welled up with tears. In my past life, after my death. My parents couldn’t bear the grief of losing both their son and granddaughter. They both passed away shortly after. In this life, I would never let that tragedy happen again. Leaving my parents’ house, I drove back to my apartment complex. Just as I parked my car and got out, I ran right into Chloe and Tristan. Chloe’s face was livid. The moment she saw me, she charged at me. “Liam! What the hell is your problem?!” “Why did you freeze my card?!” I looked at her coldly. “Let me remind you, Chloe. That is my card.” “Do I need your permission to freeze my own credit card?” Chloe’s face flushed red with anger, completely speechless. Seeing this, Tristan stepped forward and wrapped his arm around Chloe’s shoulder. “What do you mean, ‘your card’?” “Liam, don’t think I don’t know the truth. Chloe told me everything. You only enjoy this rich lifestyle because of her hard work over the years.” “I didn’t expect you to be such an ungrateful leech, trying to steal Chloe’s money just because you’re married to her!” He turned to Chloe, his face filled with dramatic pity. “Chloe, this kind of man doesn’t deserve you.” “He’s just dead weight. You should divorce him right now!” I sneered in my mind. A few days ago, he was playing the polite kid, and now he was calling her ‘Chloe’ so naturally. It was the evening rush hour, and many neighbors were returning home. Hearing the loud argument, they began to gather around us. Seeing the crowd, Tristan’s eyes turned red. He pointed a finger at me, shouting dramatically. “Everyone, please listen to this!” “He promised to sponsor my college education.” “But right before the semester started, he told me that if I wanted the money, I had to obey him.” “He wanted me… he wanted me to sleep with the rich, older women he introduced me to!” “If Chloe hadn’t stepped in to save me out of the goodness of her heart, I don’t know what I would have done…” With that, Tristan covered his face, looking like he was traumatized and deeply victimized. The neighbors’ looks toward me shifted instantly. “Oh my god, he looks like such a decent guy. Who knew he was doing something so disgusting behind closed doors?” “You can’t judge a book by its cover. He looks so handsome and professional, but his heart is absolutely rotten.” “Exactly! He has a daughter of his own. How could he be so cruel to another kid?” Listening to the whispers, Chloe took a step forward, a smug smile playing on her lips as she whispered to me: “Hear that, Liam? Everyone sees what you are.” “I’m warning you, unfreeze the card right now, and I might help you clear your name before this gets out of hand.”

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My husband has split personality disorder. Or so I thought. On our anniversary, he dragged me to his lawyer’s office for the third time to force me to sign the divorce papers. Right after, he forced abortion-inducing pills down my throat. I blacked out from the excruciating pain and spent three days in the hospital. When I was finally discharged, I saw Ethan standing near the hospital entrance. He was surrounded by his close friends. One of them, Marcus, leaned in and asked in a low voice: “Ethan, how much longer are you going to use this split-personality lie to trick Hazel? Do you really not care about the baby at all?” Ethan casually flicked a piece of lint off his jacket. “Chloe has been having nightmares again about how Hazel bullied her back in high school. She’s depressed and can’t sleep. I had to do this to make her feel better.” “Besides, Hazel is fertile. We can have another baby whenever we want.” Tyler looked at him, his face filled with pity. “But Hazel spent every single penny of her savings to find a cure for your mental illness. She didn’t even get to see her parents one last time before they died because she was traveling to find a specialist for you.” Ethan let out a cold scoff. “She spent that money voluntarily. And I’m supporting her for the rest of her life, isn’t that enough?” “Once Chloe gets over her trauma, I’ll just pretend my ‘other personality’ is cured. Hazel will crawl right back to me and call off the divorce anyway.” A sharp, tearing pain flared in my lower abdomen. I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms. What he didn’t know was that three times was my limit. Once this 30-day separation cooling-off period ended, He and I would be finished forever. ……

Standing next to Ethan, Chloe lowered her eyes. Tears quickly welled up in her eyes. “Ethan, lying to Hazel like this isn’t a long-term solution.” “You’re pretending to be mentally ill for my sake, letting people whisper behind your back. It makes me feel so guilty.” Hearing this, Ethan immediately turned and pulled her close. He gently stroked her hair. Chloe leaned into his chest, looking fragile and helpless. “It’s nothing,” Ethan’s voice was incredibly gentle, a stark contrast to the cold indifference he had used when talking about me. “As long as you can escape the shadow of your past and find peace, I don’t care how long I have to play this part.” Chloe buried her face in his shoulder, a small, triumphant smirk playing on her lips. But when she looked up, her eyes were filled with fake fear and jealousy. She let out a shaky sob. “But when the thirty days are up, you two will still legally be husband and wife.” “Just thinking about you sharing a house with her makes me shake. I can’t even sleep at night.” I stood hidden behind a maple tree, watching her pathetic, hypocritical act. A wave of nausea hit my stomach. Nobody knew Chloe’s true face better than I did. She and Ethan were childhood sweethearts. But when we were teenagers, Ethan fell for me first. Since then, Chloe’s bullying had never stopped. In high school, she locked me in a dark janitor’s closet during lunch, making me miss a crucial midterm exam. She spread disgusting rumors that I would sleep with anyone for fifty bucks, making the whole school ostracize me. During my period, she forced ice cubes into my underwear, laughing hysterically as I curled up on the bathroom floor, shaking in pain. She even destroyed the birthday gift I had spent months making for Ethan. She stepped on the shattered pieces and whispered in my ear that a girl like me would never be worthy of standing beside him. Back then, I was insecure and naive. I craved Ethan’s tiny scraps of affection so much that I swallowed all the abuse in silence. Later, I managed to marry Ethan. I thought I had finally secured a peaceful life. But the moment Chloe returned from abroad, she twisted the truth. She painted herself as the victim, crying to the world that I was the one who had bullied her for years, leaving her with severe PTSD. Ethan had gently patted her back to comfort her when she told him that lie. His eyes had filled with a deep affection that I mistook for love. “Let it go,” he had told her. “I’ll punish her for you. But I still can’t divorce her just yet.” For a split second back then, I actually thought he still had some lingering feelings for me. Hearing those words now, Chloe’s fingers clenched tightly behind Ethan’s back. I walked straight out from the shadow of the tree. “Since it’s such a hassle for you, Ethan, you don’t need to play this game anymore.” “Once the cooling-off period is over, we will sign the papers and go our separate ways. No one has to suffer.” Ethan didn’t expect me to appear. His body froze. Instinctively, he shielded Chloe behind his back. His voice was a mix of panic and defensiveness. “What are you doing here?” I let out a weak chuckle, my hand resting gently on my aching lower abdomen. “My baby is dead, Ethan. Where else would I be if not at the hospital?” He fell silent. A rare flash of panic crossed his eyes. He took a step toward me, seemingly wanting to check on me. I immediately took a massive step back. “Don’t come near me.” I kept my eyes down, avoiding his complicated gaze. “If acting is this exhausting for you, let’s just stop.” “You don’t have to play the crazy husband anymore, and Chloe won’t have to feel disgusted seeing me every day. It’s a win-win.”

Hearing my words, disbelief washed over Ethan’s face. I had always been submissive. He never imagined I would actually demand a divorce. His raw instinct took over, and he blurted out: “No. I won’t allow it.” Beside him, Chloe’s shoulders slumped. She put on her signature guilt-ridden face and spoke in a soft, self-sacrificing tone: “It’s all my fault. I’m just too weak.” “Hazel must have had a reason to dislike me back then. I deserve to live with this trauma.” “I shouldn’t have complained to you, Ethan. I shouldn’t make Hazel angry again.” Before she even finished speaking, she raised her hand and slapped her own face hard. She kept slapping herself, sobbing loudly. “Hazel, I’ll slap myself ninety-nine times just like before. Please don’t be mad at Ethan.” Ethan immediately grabbed her wrist, stopping her. He gently touched her reddened cheek, his face filled with pain. He turned and barked at Marcus: “Go to the convenience store and get some ice! Hurry!” Chloe began to shake violently, burying her head into Ethan’s chest. Her tears soaked his shirt as she screamed hysterically: “No! No ice!” “That’s what she used to hurt me… I can still feel the cold. I can’t take it!” At those words, Ethan’s gaze turned ice-cold as he glared at me. “Do you hear that? Look at the mental scar you left on her!” “I’ve been trying to make up for your sins, tolerating your behavior this entire time. When are you going to stop being so damn selfish?” My body was weak and trembling. Watching them play their disgusting roles, I forced myself to stand straight and repeated every single word clearly: “I am not making a scene. Once the 30-day period is over, we are signing the papers. We are done.” Ethan’s face darkened completely. Completely ignoring my weak, post-surgery state, He grabbed my arm violently. He dragged me in front of Chloe, forcing me to bow my head. “Apologize to Chloe right now. This isn’t something you can just walk away from.” His words were like daggers to my heart. “You hurt her so badly back then that she can never get pregnant. And I just had to rid you of three of your babies.” “If she forgives you, we can wipe the slate clean. We can go back to how we were.” I looked up into his cold, heartless eyes, Then at Chloe, who was looking at me with a smirk. I let out a mocking laugh. “Apologize to a pathological liar? Never.” Marcus and Tyler quickly stepped in to play peacemakers. “Hazel, don’t be so stubborn. Just say sorry and get it over with.” “Yeah, Hazel. Standing your ground like this is just putting Ethan in a tough spot.” “If you actually get a divorce, you have no family, no money. How are you even going to survive on your own?” Every word they said favored Chloe. They completely ignored the fact that I had just had a forced miscarriage and was standing here in a hospital gown, completely exhausted. Ethan let go of my arm and wrapped his hand around Chloe’s waist. He looked at me, completely confident that I had nowhere else to go. “I know you don’t actually want to leave me, Hazel.” “Your parents are dead. You have no savings. If you leave me, you won’t even be able to afford rent.” He paused, offering what he thought was a generous compromise. “Apologize to Chloe right now. I will let this go. I won’t force you to get miscarriages anymore, and I will keep providing for you.” Chloe clung to him, her eyes gleaming with the triumph of a winner, Waiting for me to break and beg.

Hearing Ethan use my helpless, lonely reality to blackmail me, my heart went completely numb. In the past, I worked at a clinic during the day and washed dishes at restaurants at night. My hands were covered in thick calluses, and every single dollar I earned went toward finding a specialist for his mental illness. My parents had begged me to walk away, crying because they hated seeing me ruin my health for him. But I was blinded by love. I refused to let go. Seeing my stubbornness, my parents had given me their life savings to help support us. During those days, Ethan was genuinely sweet. When I came home late from work, he would wait up with a hot bowl of soup, carefully blowing on it before feeding me. When my cramps got so bad I couldn’t move, he would stay up all night, keeping his warm hands on my stomach. Later, I flew abroad to consult with a brain specialist for him. Midway through the trip, I received a phone call. My parents had been in a fatal car accident. I flew back like a madwoman, Only to find two white sheets covering their bodies in the morgue. I collapsed on the floor, completely shattered. It was Ethan who held me tightly, rubbing my back as he cried with me. “For the rest of my life, I will protect you for them,” he had sworn. He said he didn’t want a dime of my money. He bought them the best plots in a beautiful cemetery and accompanied me there every year. Back then, I truly believed my sacrifice had paid off. But now, knowing I had no family left, He chose to stab me in my deepest wound. I clutched my hospital gown, swallowing the bitter tears. Just as I was about to scream the truth at him, Ethan calmly pulled out his phone. The screen showed a notification for the cemetery plot renewal fees. He looked down at me. “Your parents’ cemetery lease expires next month. They need me to pay the renewal fee.” “If you don’t apologize to Chloe today, I will cancel the lease. I will have their urns dug up and thrown into the sewer.” That single sentence shattered my remaining strength. My parents were all I had left. I couldn’t let them be desecrated after death. The suffocating pain choked my throat. I slowly lowered my head. “I’m sorry.” Those two words took every ounce of energy I had left. Ethan immediately smiled, pulling me into his arms. His warm breath tickled my ear as he whispered: “That’s my good girl. Just behave, and we can go back to how we used to be.” His embrace was warm, but it made my stomach turn with disgust. Chloe, leaning against his other side, spoke up in a sweet, mocking voice: “Speaking of which, I haven’t visited your parents in a long time, Hazel. Let’s go to the cemetery together.” “They were always so nice to me. I want to pay my respects.” I snapped my head up, immediately rejecting her. “No! I’ll go by myself.” Just the thought of the woman who bullied me standing in front of my parents’ graves, pretending to mourn, made me want to throw up. It was a desecration. Ethan’s grip around my waist tightened. His gentle tone vanished, replaced by a cold glare. “Chloe is just trying to be nice. Don’t give her that attitude.” Marcus and the other guys quickly chimed in, telling me not to be ungrateful. They praised Chloe for being so big-hearted and forgiving. Chloe lowered her eyes, playing the hurt victim again, Tugging at Ethan’s sleeve as if she didn’t want to cause trouble. I leaned against Ethan, Watching the strangers walk by the hospital lobby. My heart was completely dead.

The marble gravestones were cold. In the black-and-white photos, my parents smiled warmly. Looking at them, my heart ached with a dull, throbbing pain. Chloe had sent Ethan to the administrative office to pay the fees. Before leaving, Ethan had given me a warning look. “Behave yourself. Don’t cause trouble.” The pain in my stomach was getting worse, so I didn’t bother replying. I squatted down alone, my fingers tracing their photos. I whispered, my voice barely audible: “Mom, Dad… I couldn’t save your third grandchild.” “I’m so tired. Once the 30 days are up, I’m leaving Ethan. I won’t let them hurt me anymore.” Suddenly, Chloe’s mocking laughter echoed behind me. She strolled over and dropped her sweet facade. “If you had just accepted your place earlier, I wouldn’t have had to go to such lengths.” “Know your place, Hazel. Stop clinging to the title of Mrs. Sterling.” I slowly stood up, not surprised at all by her sudden change. I let out a cold laugh. “Even without me, Ethan would never look at a snake like you.” “I am leaving him. Now, get the hell away from my parents’ graves.” My words hit her right where it hurt. Chloe lost her mind. She lunged forward, grabbing my neck, And slammed me hard against my parents’ gravestone. She whispered maniacally in my ear: “I controlled you back then, and I can control you now. You will always be under my shoe.” Her cold words felt like venom dripping into my ears. “You were too scared to tell your parents about the bullying back in high school, weren’t you? Well, I was nice enough to tell them myself.” “I told them exactly what I did to you. They got so panicked they rushed out to find me… and that’s how they got into that car crash. They died because of you, Hazel.” The truth hit me like a physical blow. A wave of pure hatred surged through me. I gathered every bit of strength I had and slapped her across the face. “You monster! How could you be so evil?!” “Hazel! Stop!” Ethan’s angry voice boomed behind us. He rushed forward and caught Chloe, who had deliberately let herself fall to the ground. He wiped away her fake tears, his face twisted in anger. “I told you to behave! Why are you putting your hands on Chloe again?” I looked at him, seeing how blindly he defended her. All my love and hate vanished into thin air. “She’s been lying to you this entire time, Ethan. She caused my parents’ death!” Ethan didn’t believe a single word. He stepped forward, grabbed the back of my neck, And slammed my head against the cold gravestone. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. His grip was so tight it felt like he wanted to break my bones. He snarled: “Kneel here and think about what you did. Look at your parents and ask yourself if you deserve them!” He picked Chloe up in his arms, Turned around, and drove away, leaving me all alone at the mountain cemetery. I knelt in front of the gravestone, tracing my parents’ faces over and over. Eventually, the sky darkened, and a heavy downpour began. My thin hospital gown was soaked in seconds. My weak, post-miscarriage body couldn’t handle the freezing cold. Using the gravestone for support, I forced myself to stand and staggered down the mountain path. The heavy rain completely blocked my vision. As I rounded a sharp turn, A pair of blinding headlights suddenly rushed toward me. Before I could even react, the car hit me, and everything went black. …… On the other side of town, Ethan took Chloe to the hospital for a check-up. As they walked out of the clinic, a young nurse saw them. Her face twisted in disgust, and she muttered under her breath: “What a jerk. How does he even show his face here?” Ethan frowned, about to confront her, When his phone buzzed. It was a full refund notification from the cemetery. He immediately called the cemetery manager. The manager informed him that I had paid off all the fees myself, canceled the lease, and arranged for my parents’ urns to be moved to another cemetery. “Damn it, Hazel. You’re taking this tantrum too far.” He called my number repeatedly, but it went straight to voicemail. A strange panic began to bloom in Ethan’s chest. He decided to drive back to the mountain to find me, But as he walked toward the exit, a team of paramedics rushed past him, pushing a stretcher. “Emergency! Clear the way!” As the stretcher flew past him, A pale, limp hand fell off the side. On her wrist was a faded, red braided bracelet. It was the matching bracelet Ethan and I had woven together when we were teenagers. There was only one pair in the world. The moment Ethan saw it, His heart stopped.

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My boyfriend, Wallace Vance, was the most ruthless designer in the fashion industry. He showed no mercy, not even to me, his exclusive runway model. When my weight went over by less than half a pound, he kicked me straight off the runway. “Alice, this is business, not a game,” he said coldly. “I won’t give you special treatment just because you’re my girlfriend.” I respected his work ethic. Or at least, I tried to. Until today. I had to leave the gym early because of a sudden dizzy spell from low blood sugar. When I walked into our apartment, I saw Juliet, my curvy best friend, trying on Wallace’s brand-new couture gown. Wallace was looking at her with a look of pure adoration—a look he had never given me. “I spent months designing this collection specifically for your body,” Wallace cooed, his voice dripping with sweetness. “You’re going to be the most unique star in the modeling world.” Juliet pouted, wrapping her arms around his neck. “But Wallace, I’m so much bigger than Alice. I’ll look like a joke next to her.” “Alice has the standard runway body, but you? You’re my real muse,” Wallace whispered, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “She doesn’t even compare to you.” A cold sweat broke out over my skin. My hands shook as I unlocked my phone and sent two texts to my dad. [Dad, I agree to the arranged marriage with Leo Sterling.] [Also, pull all James Group funding from Wallace’s fashion brand. Effective immediately.]

After sending the texts, my head was still spinning. I stumbled toward the kitchen, desperate for a piece of chocolate to stop the trembling in my hands. Just then, Wallace and Juliet walked out of the dressing room, laughing and whispering. The moment Wallace saw the chocolate in my hand, his smile vanished. “Alice, you’re supposed to be at the gym right now,” he snapped. “I’ll let the laziness slide this once. But chocolate? High-sugar junk food?” “Where is your self-control?” I stared at the tiny piece of chocolate in my palm, completely stunned. The man standing in front of me, screaming at me over a bite of chocolate, felt like a total stranger. I remembered when we first graduated. He had absolutely nothing back then. He did freelance sketching to pay the bills. He worked until his wrists were swollen just to make a few thousand dollars, and he spent every single penny of it on me. He used to buy me snacks and desserts, never caring about carbs or calories. He loved buying me pretty dresses and would always tell me how beautiful I looked. He never cared if I fit into a sample size. Now, with my heart racing from the hypoglycemia, I asked him quietly, “You can let Juliet model your couture, but I need your permission just to eat a piece of chocolate when my blood sugar crashes?” Wallace noticed my hands shaking. For a split second, guilt flashed across his face. He grabbed a glass of orange juice from the counter and handed it to me. “If you’re having a medical issue, of course you can eat. I didn’t mean it like that.” But Juliet’s eyes immediately welled up with tears. She bit her lip, looking incredibly hurt. “Alice, if you’re mad at me, I won’t wear the dresses. I’ll take them off right now.” “I know my body isn’t as perfect as yours. I’m not a professional like you.” Wallace panicked instantly. “No, Juliet! Don’t say that!” “Alice is too skinny. It’s unhealthy. You look perfect just the way you are.” “And besides, this collection was made for your curves. No one else can pull it off.” He turned back to me, his eyes full of annoyance. “Alice, if you really care about Juliet as a friend, stop comparing yourself to her. It’s pathetic.” “She has something you don’t. She’s not like those cookie-cutter runway models.” Without waiting for my reply, he grabbed Juliet’s wrist. “Come on, Juliet. Ignore her. Let me take you out to that seafood place you wanted to try.” The front door slammed shut. So, he knew being too skinny was unhealthy. So, all his strict rules were just a lie. All of Wallace’s professionalism and high standards disappeared the second Juliet was the one on the table. My eyes burned with tears. I tilted my head back, forcing them down. My phone buzzed. It was a message from my dad. [Alice, I’m so glad you’ve finally come to your senses! Leo is going to be thrilled. The engagement party is set for two days from now. Is that too soon for you?] I replied instantly: [No. Two days is perfect.]

While packing my bags, I found two sets of design sketches on Wallace’s desk. One was my wedding dress. There was only one draft. The lines were messy, the design completely basic and plain. The other set was Juliet’s bridesmaid dress. There were over a dozen detailed sketches. He had redesigned the embroidery on the hem nine times. The cut of the dress was specifically tailored to hide Juliet’s insecurities and highlight her best features. It was gorgeous. In fact, it looked far more like a luxury wedding gown than my own dress did. A few weeks ago, I had asked him, “Don’t you think my wedding dress is a bit too simple?” He had replied, “You look best in simple things.” I had been stupid enough to take it as a compliment. He just didn’t care enough to put any effort into me. My phone rang. It was the wedding planner. “Hi, Alice. I’m the coordinator for your wedding with Wallace. I just wanted to double-check one detail with you.” “Are we absolutely sure about replacing all the fresh lily of the valley with yarn crochet flowers? Artificial flowers might look a bit cheap on camera.” The tear I had been holding back finally rolled down my cheek. Juliet was highly allergic to flower pollen. He had planned this down to the very last detail. Without even consulting me, he had ruined the lily of the valley theme I had been dreaming of for years. I wiped my face. “It’s fine. Just do whatever Wallace requested.” After all, this wedding wasn’t really mine anyway. Whatever they did had nothing to do with me anymore. Shortly after I hung up, Wallace came home. He was holding a box from my favorite bakery. “Hey, Alice. Still feeling dizzy? I brought you your favorite lemon tart.” His tone was casual, as if nothing had happened. This was his usual way of sweeping things under the rug. When I didn’t answer, he pulled me to the dining table. “Even if you’re mad at me, you need to eat. It breaks my heart when you’re sick.” I stared at him, seeing a shadow of the boy he used to be. He used to care about me more than anyone. When I lost my appetite, he—a guy who hated the smell of grease—would look up recipes and spend hours in the kitchen trying to make something I’d eat. When my medical checkup came back with bad results, he would grill the doctor about every single metric until the doctor had to tell him to calm down. But everything changed the moment Juliet moved to our city. At first, Wallace criticized her. He said she had no business trying to be a model if she couldn’t manage her weight. But slowly, he started saying things like, “Curvy girls actually have a lot of charm.” They both loved bold, avant-garde styles. They shared the same creative vision. Later, he told me that Juliet was like his soulmate, his ultimate muse. The memories tasted bitter, making the sweet tart on the table look disgusting. I reached for the spoon. But before I could touch it, Wallace suddenly stood up, knocking the lemon tart right onto my lap. The sticky cream and pastry soiled my clothes, leaving me in a complete mess. Without even looking at me, he grabbed a shopping bag from the closet and rushed toward the door. “An emergency came up at the studio. I have to go.” “I’ll buy you another dessert next time.” I quietly cleaned the sticky cream off my clothes. Just then, my phone chimed with a Snapchat notification. It was Juliet’s public story. The caption read: [I just mentioned wanting a vintage silk dress, and someone brought it to me instantly~] The comments were already piling up. [Juliet’s curves look amazing in that slip dress! So gorgeous and cute!] [This photo has Wallace’s signature lighting. Wait, isn’t Wallace getting married soon? Is Juliet the bride?!] [Has to be! Wallace is so strict with models, but he always makes an exception for Juliet!] I tapped on the photo. I recognized the slip dress immediately. The shimmering silk, the delicate hand-pressed patterns. It was identical to the most precious dress in my collection. I ran to my closet and dug to the very bottom. The box was empty.

I drove straight to Wallace’s studio. On the way there, memories of my mother sewing that dress while she was dying of cancer kept flashing in my mind. When I was little, I hated wearing the same clothes as other kids. So, every year for my birthday, my mom would make me a custom dress. Until my seventeenth birthday. That year, she started working on the silk slip dress months in advance—from her hospital bed. Between chemotherapy sessions, she would sew stitch by stitch. She finished it the day before she passed away. It was the last birthday gift she ever gave me. I only wore it on my birthday, and only for half a day, because I was so afraid of ruining it. I pushed open the studio door. Wallace, who usually kept a professional distance from female models, had his arms wrapped around Juliet from behind, adjusting the tape measure around her waist. They looked incredibly intimate. Seeing me enter, Wallace’s face darkened, as if I had ruined their fun. “Give me my dress back,” I said, my voice cold. He knew the story behind that dress. He knew exactly what it meant to me. But looking at him, all I saw in his eyes was his adoration for Juliet. He paused for a few seconds, his tone growing arrogant. “Alice, honestly, this dress looks much better on Juliet. Don’t you think?” “You’re too skinny. You can’t fill it out. But Juliet has real curves. It fits her perfectly.” My whole body began to shake with rage. “So just because it fits her, you think you can steal it?” “Take it off right now, or I’m calling the police!” Wallace looked at me as if I had lost my mind. He immediately stepped in front of Juliet, shielding her. I was so angry that I rushed forward to grab the dress. In the scuffle, a pair of heavy fabric shears fell off the cutting table, plunging straight into the top of my foot. Pain exploded through my body as blood began to pour onto the floor. The shears had gone deep. I leaned down and pulled them out, causing a fresh gush of deep red blood to soak my shoe. Juliet started sobbing loudly. “Wallace, does Alice hate me that much?” “I know I’m not as skinny as a real model, but I’m trying so hard…” Compared to the bloody hole in my foot, Juliet’s fake tears obviously hurt Wallace much more. He glared at me, his patience entirely gone. “Alice! Do you have to make her cry to be satisfied? Apologize to Juliet right now!” “Me? Apologize?” The physical pain in my foot was excruciating, but it was nothing compared to the hollow feeling in my chest. Juliet grabbed Wallace’s arm, acting like the bigger person. “Wallace, don’t argue with her. You’ve been working so hard lately.” “Alice, I’ll take the dress off right now. Please stop making a scene.” Her words only made Wallace’s heart ache for her more. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and looked at me with disgust. “Since Juliet is willing to be the bigger person, I’ll let this go.” “But you’re going to walk down to that bakery and buy Juliet’s favorite blueberry cheesecake to apologize. Otherwise, you’re never getting this dress back.” He was doing it again. Making me “apologize” for things that weren’t my fault. If I ate a little extra for dinner, he made me run ten miles to “apologize.” If I drank too much water and looked bloated in the morning, he made me take a freezing ice bath to “apologize.” I looked at him, and any remaining love I had for this man completely died. Only the desperate urge to escape was left. “Fine,” I said quietly. Wallace was stunned. He hadn’t expected me to give in so easily. He let out a sigh of relief. “I’m glad you’re finally starting to be reasonable. Go on then. When you get back, we’ll talk about the wedding details.” At the mention of the flowerless wedding, I let out a dry laugh. “There won’t be a wedding. Once I get my dress back, we are completely finished.” Wallace assumed I was just being dramatic. He was already busy wiping Juliet’s tears with a tissue. I limped out of the studio, ignoring the pain in my foot, and hailed a taxi on the street.

I didn’t expect the ride to be a nightmare. The driver was driving erratically, slamming on the horn and speeding down the road. He was gritting his teeth, muttering and ranting about how his wife had cheated on him. Realizing something was terribly wrong, I grabbed my phone and spammed Wallace on Snapchat. [Wallace, my driver is acting crazy. Call the police for me.] [He’s mentally unstable. I’m in danger.] [Please, see this message and call the police!] We were about a mile away from the bakery when the driver suddenly turned to me, his eyes bloodshot. “I heard this bakery is great. Do you like cake too?” My heart was in my throat. I tried to keep my voice steady. “I’m just picking it up for someone else. I’ve never had it.” Just then, my phone rang. It was Wallace. Under the driver’s suspicious gaze, I trembling clicked accept. But it wasn’t Wallace’s voice. It was Juliet’s mocking tone. “Alice, stop spamming Wallace to get his attention.” “He’s busy using the fabric from your mother’s dress to design a new piece for me.” “And what’s with this fake emergency? Do you really think Wallace has time for your drama right now?” “Why don’t you just go die and see if he actually cares?” My back was soaked in cold sweat. Before I could scream for help, Juliet hung up the phone. The driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror, his expression turning cold and sinister. “I was going to give you a chance because you looked so pretty going to get cake.” “But it turns out you’re just like me. Unloved. Pathetic.” “Why don’t we just die together?” With a wild laugh, he yanked the steering wheel, crashing the car straight through the bridge railing. “No!” I reached forward to stop him, but it was too late. The car plummeted off the bridge, crashing into the freezing river below. The violent impact shattered my bones, and my body went numb. Before I lost consciousness, all I could feel was the biting cold of the water. Meanwhile, back at the studio, Wallace’s assistant rushed into his office. “Wallace, we have a massive problem.” “The James Group—our biggest investor—just pulled all their funding. We don’t have enough capital to launch the new collection!” Wallace rubbed his temples, frustrated. “Alice was the one who secured that investment. I’ll call her and see what’s going on.” But before he could dial, a breaking news alert popped up on his laptop screen. [Local Tragedy: A taxi driver went on a suicidal rampage today. The driver died on impact, but a female passenger was pulled from the river with severe injuries. She is currently in critical condition at General Hospital.] A sudden wave of dread washed over Wallace. He opened Snapchat. The moment he saw the chat history, his blood ran cold. The screen was filled with desperate SOS messages from Alice. Juliet came up behind him, whining. “Wallace, Alice was just playing a prank earlier, pretending she was in danger. I already called and chewed her out.” “Just ignore her. Hey, do you think Alice has any other vintage dresses I could borrow? Like that silk one…” Wallace turned on her, his face pale with fury. “Shut the hell up!” he roared. “All you care about is stealing her things!” “Do you realize you might have just killed her?!” He grabbed his car keys and drove like a maniac to the hospital. When he burst through the door of the ICU wing, he froze. Standing outside my room was a man he never expected to see. Wallace stuttered, “M-Mr. James? What are you doing here?”

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For the ninety-ninth time, Austin drove straight to my boss Brooke’s mansion. And just like every other time, he blamed me. “Why didn’t you remind me we missed the turn?” “Whatever. Since we’re already here, I might as well drop these fruits off at Brooke’s place.” Before I could answer, he grabbed the basket of organic fruit we’d bought for my parents and headed straight for Brooke’s front door. I didn’t stop him. After all, this had become our routine. When we were supposed to pick up my wedding dress, he ended up driving to the golf club where Brooke was playing. When I was burning up with a high fever, he took my medicine to the bar where Brooke was having a business dinner. Even on my birthday, he brought Brooke to what was supposed to be our date. “Brooke’s been under a lot of pressure lately,” he’d said. “You’re her assistant. Try to be more understanding.” But he had completely forgotten. Today was my very last day at the company. It was also the day I was packing up and moving out of our shared apartment. Since he loved being there so much, he could stay and be Brooke’s loyal watchdog for the rest of his life. *** ###

I locked the car doors, sat in the driver’s seat, and started the engine. Just then, an email notification popped up on my phone. My resignation was officially approved. HR emailed me: *“Wishing you all the best in your future endeavors, Chloe.”* I stared at the confirmation screen and typed back a simple, *“Thank you.”* A second later, my phone vibrated. It was a voice message from Austin. “Where did you drive the car? Get back here right now.” I paused. Looking at our chat history, there was a long list of unread messages from me that he had ignored. This rare moment of him taking the initiative to text me felt almost surreal. But before I could even process it, his next message popped up: “Go buy a set of electric screwdrivers and bring them over. Brooke doesn’t have any here.” I stared at the screen for a few seconds. So, he hadn’t suddenly realized I wasn’t behind him. He only noticed my absence because he needed someone to run his errands. I scrolled up through our chat history. Every single message from him was about Brooke. *“Give that perfume set you brought back from Paris to Brooke. I’ll buy you a new one later.”* *“Brooke said she wanted Japanese food. I already used your card to book a table for her.”* Austin’s texts to me were always demands. He made the decisions, and he never once thought to ask for my opinion. Then there was the most recent message from a rainy day. I had texted him asking if he could pick me up from the subway station. He replied: *“I’m out meeting clients right now. Just take an Uber.”* But five minutes later, Brooke posted a photo on her Instagram. An umbrella was tilted entirely over her, shielding her as she got into the passenger seat of a car. *“Almost got stuck in the storm. Thank God for my personal chauffeur,”* her caption read. I knew the car’s interior all too well. It was Austin’s. Back then, I kept telling myself that he was just trying to help me build a good relationship with my boss. I thought he was doing it for my career. But my constant understanding only made him push the boundaries further. This time, I didn’t reply. While I was packing up my desk at the office, another text from Austin came in: “Why aren’t you back yet? Brooke wanted French food, so I took her to the restaurant first. Just Uber over and meet us.” This wasn’t the first time. Whenever we made plans to eat out, if I was even slightly late because of work or traffic, Austin would lose his temper and blame me. He never cared about my feelings. “Brooke is your boss. She’s under a lot of pressure, so it’s normal for her to have a bad temper. What’s the big deal if she snaps at you a little? Stop being so dramatic.” *Stop being so dramatic.* That was also what he said when a pipe burst in my apartment, flooding the entire place. I had called him in a panic. And he had said: “I don’t have time to deal with that. Just call a plumber yourself. Stop being so dramatic.” So, I learned to dry the carpets, change the light bulbs, and fix things on my own. I slowly learned to stop relying on him. But when it came to Brooke, he was a completely different person. “Brooke is always so busy with work. If she needs help around her house, I’ll just handle it. Since she lives so close to Chloe, it’s on my way anyway.” I couldn’t understand. Why was helping me “being dramatic,” but helping Brooke was “just on his way”? I swallowed the bitterness in my throat and texted him back: *“You guys go ahead. I’m busy.”* It took him an hour to reply: *“Are you throwing a tantrum again? Chloe, grow up. Stop acting like a child.”* I used to throw tantrums. Last winter, I had a terrible fever in the middle of the night. Shivering under the blankets, I called him and asked him to bring me some medicine. He told me he was on his way to Brooke’s party because Brooke had had too much to drink, and he needed to bring her painkillers and electrolyte drinks. I told him I was really sick too. He stayed silent for two seconds before saying, “You can still make phone calls, so it can’t be that bad. Just call an Uber to the ER. It’s a twenty-minute drive. Hang in there.” That was the first time I felt I couldn’t take it anymore. He was my boyfriend, yet I was never his priority. I broke up with him that night. But he didn’t even argue. He just blocked my number. He knew I loved him too much. He knew I couldn’t leave him. So, he let me cry for two days straight until my tears ran dry. And then, like a fool, I went back to him. Since then, I had never thrown another tantrum. But this time was different. I wasn’t throwing a tantrum. I was done. *** ###

I got back to my apartment. Packed cardboard boxes were stacked up in the hallway, and the living room looked completely empty. Only then did I realize that after seven years of dating, there were barely any traces of Austin in my apartment. Just a pair of dusty slippers and a coffee mug he used once. And I was the one who bought both of them. He had never given me a decent gift. Yet, for Brooke’s birthday, he went out of his way to order a massive bouquet of her favorite red roses. When I asked him about it, he always said, “Those materialistic things are pointless. Real partners don’t care about fancy gifts.” I had questioned him. I had expressed my frustration. But he simply replied, “I only buy gifts for your boss to make you look good in front of her.” I laughed at my own stupidity. My phone vibrated. It was my mom calling. “Hey, Chloe. Have you and Austin decided on a wedding date yet?” Not long ago, our parents had met. My parents were very happy with him, but when it came to setting a date, Austin said he wanted to focus on his career first and that there was no rush. At the time, though disappointed, I tried to be understanding of his career goals. But now, I only felt relieved. If a man constantly drove his car to another woman’s house before marriage, how could I ever trust him to come home to me after? “Mom, we’re not getting married. I’m breaking up with him.” My mom’s voice instantly grew tense. “Why? Did he cheat on you?” “No. I just realized we’re not right for each other.” Silence fell over the line. After all, everyone knew I had loved Austin desperately for seven years. I was the one who chased him first. To get close to him, I joined the outdoor hiking club he liked and hung out at his favorite coffee shops just to “bump into” him. After graduation, he got a job offer in Los Angeles. Without a second thought, I turned down a prestigious recommendation from my professor and took an assistant job at Brooke’s company just to be in the same city as him. My mom was so angry she didn’t speak to me for three days, but I only told her, “Mom, if I lose him, I’ll regret it for the rest of my life.” Back then, Brooke even joked with me: “Chloe, you are completely whipped. He’s got you locked down.” Brooke used to be a good boss. She looked out for me, and we got along like friends. But no one expected that she would eventually enjoy my boyfriend’s undivided attention without a single shred of guilt. I opened Instagram and saw Brooke’s latest post. It was a video of her romantic dinner. The location was tagged at the high-end French restaurant I had mentioned to Austin dozens of times. The candles flickered, the plates were artfully arranged, and a live piano played in the background. Every time I asked Austin to take me there, he would say, “We’re saving up for a wedding, Chloe. Can you be more practical? A single dinner there costs hundreds of dollars. We can have a candlelit dinner at home.” But now, just because Brooke wanted French food, he took her to the exact restaurant I had been dreaming of. I sank onto the couch, feeling utterly exhausted. Last year, when I bought a heavy wardrobe, I called Austin to ask if he could help me assemble it. He said he had a team-building event and told me to hire a tasker. To save money, I spent the entire night assembling it myself by watching YouTube tutorials. I ended up cutting my hand on a sharp screw. Yet, when Brooke bought new cabinets, Austin took a half-day off from work to help her. “It’s heavy lifting, and Brooke is living alone. As her friend, I should help out,” he had said. I remembered watching him sweat as he worked on her furniture, realizing he looked like a complete stranger to me. It wasn’t that he didn’t know how to assemble furniture. He just didn’t want to waste his time on me.

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My husband had recently become obsessed with filming “couple prank” videos for TikTok. Late one night, he suddenly called me. His voice was unusually serious. “I cheated on you.” I thought it was just another one of his carefully prepared pranks. Playing along, I answered without hesitation,, “What a coincidence. I cheated too.” I waited for him to laugh and say, “Got you!” Like he always did. Instead, the line went silent. A few seconds later, he let out a relieved chuckle. “Thank God. Now I don’t have to worry about violating the prenup.” “The divorce papers are in the safe. The password is our wedding anniversary.” Then he hung up. Still smiling, I walked to the safe and entered the code. The divorce papers… were real. Just as I was about to call him back to confront him, my phone buzzed with a message from his new assistant. “Mrs. Carter, this isn’t a prank.” “I’m pregnant with your husband’s child. I’m six months along.” **Chapter 1** A photo of a pregnant belly was sent to my phone. I went completely cold, waves of nausea washing over me. I forced down the sickness and called Ethan back. It took three tries before he finally picked up. A young woman’s sweet, whiny voice came from the other side. “Babe, who is it? Calling so late…” Then came Ethan’s cold voice. “Did I not make myself clear?” I quickly explained, “I didn’t cheat! I thought you were recording another prank challenge, so I just played along…” He cut me off with a scoff. “Changing your story now? Did you see the terms in the divorce agreement and want to clear your name?” “Let me tell you, that’s not happening.” “I’ve already recorded you admitting to cheating.” “With my current net worth and resources, you stand absolutely zero chance if we go to court.” “For the sake of our history, I’ll let you keep the condo downtown, plus an extra three million dollars. Consider it my thanks for you staying at home to take care of me all these years.” He paused. “Sign the papers tomorrow. Let’s make this clean.” I married him right after college. I was by his side when he started from nothing, watching his tech company grow into an industry giant. I watched him become a billionaire. And in the end, my ten years of devotion and sacrifice were only worth a condo and three million dollars? His casual words crushed my heart into dust. My voice trembled. “Ethan! I know you’re doing this for a TikTok prank. Please stop lying to me, okay?” I still didn’t want to believe it, desperately clinging to that sliver of hope. But the voice on the other end changed. It was his new assistant, Olivia Ward. “Chloe, Ethan isn’t filming a prank. What’s between us is real.” “I’m already pregnant.” The phone seemed to be snatched back, but I could hear his faint voice in the background. “Why waste your breath on her? Let’s keep going.” My chest burned with acid. Before I could say another word, the call was disconnected. When I tried calling back, his phone was already turned off. I couldn’t sleep. I sat there in a daze for a long time. My tears soaked into the silk nightgown he had bought me just yesterday. “Sweetheart, I had a designer custom-make this for you. I hope it helps you sleep better.” I smiled bitterly, wiping my nose, and looked down at the diamond bracelet on my wrist. He had given me this bracelet the day before yesterday. “The moment I saw it, I knew it was perfect for you.” “People say women age after marriage, but to me, you’ll always be the girl who stole my heart.” I ripped the bracelet off and slammed it onto the hardwood floor. There was no going back… At eight o’clock the next morning, Ethan sent me a location. [Come here at ten. Bring the signed divorce papers.] Looking in the mirror, I seemed to have aged three years overnight. I had to apply concealer five times just to hide the dark circles under my eyes. I tried my best to look put together, but nothing could hide how exhausted I was after a sleepless night. When I arrived at the cafe, I saw Ethan sitting with Olivia. She sat right next to Ethan, leaving the seat opposite them empty. As soon as I sat down, Ethan pushed an iced Americano toward me. “I ordered this for you.” “But I never drink iced Americanos. You know I have a sensitive stomach. My ulcer just flared up again two days ago. I can’t drink cold things.” He frowned and pulled the coffee back. “Sorry, I forgot.” Just as he was about to order me something else, Olivia spoke up with a look of mock apology. “Chloe, I’m so sorry. That coffee was actually meant for me. This warm milk is what Ethan ordered for you.” “But my stomach suddenly hurt, and I wanted something warm, so I swapped them.” I didn’t hear a word she said. I just stared at her twenty-two-year-old face, feeling a sharp pang of envy. She was so young. No wonder Ethan liked her. I used to look like that, too. Suddenly, she stared at the necklace on my neck and gasped, looking at Ethan. “Didn’t I tell you to return this? Why is Chloe wearing it?” **Chapter 2** I frowned. “What do you mean?” Olivia smiled brightly. “Ethan saw this necklace and thought it would look good on me, so he bought it.” “But I didn’t really like it, so I told him to return it.” This necklace was a gift from Ethan for our seventh wedding anniversary, six months ago. “I was busy with meetings all day today, but I managed to slip out to the mall to pick this out. I thought it would look great on you.” I had looked at the pendant design and teased him with a smile, “Why did you buy me something that looks like it’s for a teenage girl?” He had just kissed my forehead. “In my heart, you’ll always be the same girl who stole my heart ten years ago. Now, go get ready. I’m making dinner, and we’ll celebrate our anniversary with a candlelit dinner.” Tears flooded my swollen eyes again. I must have looked pathetic. I struggled to unclasp the necklace, ripped it off, and threw it to the ground, letting it gather dust. Ethan looked annoyed. “Alright, calm down. I admit I forgot the exact date of our anniversary back then.” “But I couldn’t just go back empty-handed, so I got you that. I saw you wearing it all the time, so I thought you liked it.” I completely broke down. I grabbed the iced Americano and threw it right in his face. “I wore it not because I liked it, but because you gave it to me!” “Ethan, what do you take me for?” As I screamed those last words, a sharp pain shot through my stomach, and I collapsed onto my seat. But a second later, a cup of sticky, warm milk was splashed all over my face. “Chloe! I’ve always respected you, but how dare you throw coffee at Ethan in public?!” “Since you did that, don’t blame me for returning the favor.” Ethan immediately comforted her. “It’s fine, Olivia. I’m just here for the divorce papers. Don’t waste your time on her.” After Olivia finished wiping the coffee off his face and clothes, he held out his hand to me. “Give me the signed papers. Let’s not waste each other’s time.” “I’m not signing. As long as I don’t divorce you, Olivia will always be nothing but a dirty homewrecker.” Seeing my refusal, his anger flared instantly. “Don’t you have a side piece of your own? Or do you want an open marriage?” I felt sick to my stomach. “I don’t have anyone! I told you, I thought you were filming a TikTok prank, so I played along!” “You’re the only one who cheated!” But he scoffed. “Say whatever you want. This divorce is happening. Besides, you can never give me a child.” “But Olivia is pregnant with my baby. I have to take responsibility.” His words stabbed the most painful, vulnerable part of my heart. Ten years ago, to save Ethan during a mugging, I took a knife wound to the abdomen. The sharp blade pierced my lower stomach, and blood instantly soaked my dress. The doctors fought hard to save my life. But they told me— I would never be able to have children of my own. Ethan had stayed by my hospital bed, crying as he promised me, “Don’t be afraid. It doesn’t matter if we can’t have kids.” “I’ll take care of you for the rest of my life.” “I will never let you down.” The pain made it hard to breathe. Finally, I gathered my thoughts and asked him, “When did you two start?” He didn’t hesitate. “Yesterday was our one-year anniversary. Today is day three hundred and sixty-six.” He remembered it so clearly. **Chapter 3** I smiled. “You’ve been together for so long, and Olivia only got pregnant now?” A condescending smirk played on his lips. “Olivia has standards. She refused to sleep with me until I promised to divorce you.” I stood up on my shaky legs, pointing at him. “Then what was our sex life for the past year to you?” He decided to stop hiding. “Let’s just say I couldn’t bring myself to ruin Olivia, so I used you to satisfy my needs.” “You already know the answer anyway. Why ask? Just to humiliate yourself?” My stomach cramped violently, and I dry-heaved again. The milk on my face tasted bitter, and I laughed at myself. “So the nightgown and the diamond bracelet… they were just things Olivia didn’t want, right?” He didn’t answer, which was as good as a confession. He just kept urging me without looking up. “Just sign it.” I pulled the papers from my bag and tore them to shreds. “Never. I won’t let you two be together!” Olivia threw a stack of photos onto the table, sliding them to me with a smug smile. “Chloe, I have proof of your affair. If you refuse to sign, we can post these online.” “If that happens, you won’t just lose Ethan—you won’t get the condo or the three million dollars either.” My head spun. I picked up the photos, but before I could even look at them, everything went black and I collapsed. When I woke up, I was lying in a hospital bed. A beam of light fell across Ethan’s face, making him look just like the man who loved me with all his heart ten years ago. He handed me a bowl of oatmeal, his tone surprisingly cold. “You haven’t eaten all day. Eat this, then sign the new papers. After that, we’re done.” Weakly, I took the bowl. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted my medical chart on the bedside table. It clearly read: stomach bleeding and hypoglycemia. My hand shook, and the hot oatmeal spilled all over the blanket. I closed my eyes, breathing heavily. The cold air in the hospital room made me shiver. Ethan scoffed in disgust. “What are you acting weak for? You think this will stop the divorce?” “Ethan… I really didn’t cheat. There is no one else. Only you!” To my explanation, he simply threw a new set of papers at me. “Now the condo and the three million are off the table. You’re leaving with nothing. If you’re not happy, we can take this to court.” “Ethan, I helped build that company too!” I yelled, my eyes red. “Are you kidding me? You’ve been a housewife for years. The shares are all in my name.” With that, he shoved a pen into my hand. “Sign it. Don’t make me say it again.” Enduring the sharp pain in my stomach, I looked at the photos. In the pictures, I was acting intimately with a man I didn’t even recognize. There were even photos of us kissing. We were wearing five different outfits, implying we had met five times. Olivia walked in from the hallway, her voice soft and sweet. “Chloe, I didn’t want to show these to Ethan. I wanted to save you some dignity.” “But since you refused to sign, I’ll just have to post them online.” **Chapter 4** My heart squeezed painfully. I grabbed Ethan’s hand, trying to explain. “Listen to me, I don’t even know this man!” “I don’t want to hear it.” He cut me off, looking completely annoyed. “You don’t have to sign. We can go straight to court. It’ll just take a bit more time, but the result will be the same.” The pain in my stomach grew worse, and my heart ached in sync. After a couple of seconds of silence, I spoke in a raspy voice. “Fine. I don’t want to drag this out either.” Once he got the signed papers, he tossed a card onto the bed. “The three million is gone, but there’s thirty thousand dollars on this card. It should last you a while.” How pathetic. Ten years of youth and devotion. His net worth was in the billions, and I was worth thirty thousand dollars. He took Olivia’s hand and walked out of the room. Tears blurred my vision as I called out quietly behind him, “Ethan, you better not regret this.” He paused slightly and said, “I hope you and your lover are happy too.” After they left, I sat alone on the hospital bed, looking at the photos, a cold smile forming on my lips. I didn’t know the man in the photos at all. These photos were definitely photoshopped. Since she dared to frame me, she could wait for a court summons. I gathered all the evidence and filed a lawsuit that very afternoon. The next day, right after I was discharged from the hospital, Ethan’s calls started flooding in. “Chloe, have you lost your mind?!” “Olivia just got a court summons! She just started working, can’t you have some consideration for her?” The phone was quickly snatched away, and Olivia’s whimpering voice came through. “Chloe, I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have hired someone to take those photos and expose your affair.” “I’m apologizing to you. Let’s both take a step back. Can you please drop the charges?” Before I could speak, Ethan ordered coldly, “Olivia just caught you with that man. Is it really worth suing her? Come to the cafe across from the office right now. We need to talk.” “I can’t. I just got discharged. I’m not in the mood.” He scoffed. “Not in the mood? Because of your new guy? Did he dump you already?” I just smiled and didn’t answer. “You should actually read what’s on that court summons first.” “Tell Olivia she’s going to pay for what she did.”

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1 During graduation trip talks, my foster sister Monica and I argued. I wanted the American Southwest; she chose Iceland. Wyatt, grinning, said, “Iceland’s perfect! My new DSLR will capture Monica beautifully.” Parents nodded. “Scenery’s great. Her new down coat fits the weather.” They looked a perfect family. No one noticed the Southwest itinerary I’d spent two weeks planning, hidden under the fruit bowl. I tried to speak, but Wyatt cut in, frowning. “Southwest’s dust and sun. Monica’s too fragile for that. How’d she survive?” Mom slid a $2,000 gift card across the table. “Desert’s not going anywhere. Let Monica have this. I’ll take you next year.” I stared at the card, bitter smile on my lips, silent. Three years ago, they’d wept, promising a family Southwest trip post-graduation to make up for my 18 lost years. But I’d learned: Monica’s tears meant I yielded. My things, space, even their promises—sacrificed for her. Blood meant nothing against favoritism. Since I’d never win against their precious foster daughter, I quit their game. They could have Iceland. I’d take the long train to the desert alone. From now on, my own path. They could keep their high society and the Presley “real daughter” title. Wyatt noticed me staring silently at the gift card, and his scowl deepened. He reached over, snatched the detailed road trip itinerary from under the fruit bowl, and held it by the corner with obvious disgust. “What is this garbage? It’s just in the way, wrinkling Monica’s visa documents.” With a careless twist of his wrists, he crumpled the thick packet of paper, along with the translated documents for the DuPont merger I had stayed up all night to finish for my father, and threw them into the trash can. I stared at the crumpled paper, taking a slow, deep breath. When the Presleys first brought me back from the desert, my father had gripped my hands with tears in his eyes. Evelyn, you’ve suffered so much. When you graduate, I will rent two off-road vehicles and the whole family will take you back to the desert to see the golden cottonwoods. I had held onto that promise for three long years. I had researched every supply station, mapped out every mile, and calculated every stop. And for what? Monica only had to squeeze out a few tears and whisper, I heard the Northern Lights can bring a lifetime of good fortune. With my weak health, I don’t know if I’ll live long enough to see them again, and every single plan was instantly obliterated. “Evelyn, do not start throwing a tantrum now,” my father warned, his eyes flashing with irritation. “Our trip to Iceland is partly to meet with the executives of the DuPont Group at their private golf club. This is a matter of our family’s standing in high society. As our biological daughter, do you lack even this basic sense of the bigger picture?” Monica’s eyes immediately pooled with tears. “Dad, please don’t fight. It’s all my fault for having such poor health. If Evelyn really wants to go to the desert, I… I don’t have to go to Iceland. You should all go with Evelyn instead.” “What are you talking about?” Wyatt snapped, turning his glare back to me. “Evelyn, are you completely heartless? The Southwest is a wasteland of dust and scorching UV rays. Monica would lose a layer of skin out there! Do you have to torture her to be satisfied?” Looking at the three of them standing united against me, I felt as though a lump of lead was wedged in my throat, impossible to swallow or spit out. I took a step toward the trash can, wanting to salvage the itinerary that had cost me so many sleepless nights. But Wyatt kicked the bin away, letting out a sharp laugh. “What, still haven’t given up? What use is this stupid paper anyway, other than letting you play the victim?” I stood frozen, my fingernails digging into my palms until they bled. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and looked up with perfect calm. “Fine. I’ll go get my passport.” Hearing my surrender, my mother’s face finally relaxed. “That’s my sensible girl. Go get the original documents. The travel agency is waiting to finalize the booking.” I turned and walked back to my small room, which was essentially a converted maid’s quarters in the corner of the first floor. Once I handed my passport to the waiting butler, I shut the door, cutting off the sounds of their laughter as they discussed the northern lights. Sitting on my narrow single bed, I pulled out my cracked phone and opened a travel app. I entered the coordinates of the Southwest desert, setting the departure date for the exact same day they were scheduled to fly to Iceland. Since they wanted to see the northern lights, I would see the golden cottonwoods by myself. When the confirmation screen flashed, showing my purchase of a one-way ticket on a slow, regional train, a soft smile finally touched my lips. A single, one-way ticket. It was my passage to freedom. To prepare for the trip, the family drove to a high-end outdoor gear store in the city center the following morning. Monica drifted through the racks of premium winter coats, with my mother and Wyatt following close behind, carrying hats and gloves for her to try. I walked silently at the very back of the group. “Excuse me, ma’am,” a sales associate said, stepping up to me and handing me a stack of heavy coats. “Could you please carry these to the fitting room for our young lady?” The entire group went quiet. Monica bit her lip to hide a smug smile, making absolutely no effort to clarify who I was. I took the coats without a word. My mother finally seemed to realize what was happening and cleared her throat, looking slightly embarrassed. “This is actually our… our oldest daughter.” The associate apologized profusely, but I had already turned and walked toward the fitting room. Over the last three years, I had grown completely numb to being mistaken for a maid or a hired hand. When we reached the register, my father swiped his card for fifteen thousand dollars without blinking, purchasing Monica’s entire set of premium gear. Only as we were preparing to leave did my mother seem to notice my empty hands. She turned back to the clearance rack, grabbed an outdated, oversized utility jacket, and tossed it into my arms. “You can wear this. You’re used to the cold from your childhood in the countryside anyway. Even with the discount, this still cost over two hundred dollars.” Monica looked at the cheap jacket in my hands, putting on her best display of sweet generosity. “Mom, that jacket is far too thin for Iceland. Why don’t I give Evelyn the red coat I bought in Switzerland last year? It’s a bit worn, but it’s very warm.” Offering me her discarded hand-me-downs to highlight her own saintly nature was her favorite game. I stepped aside, avoiding her touch. “No, thank you. I don’t need it.” “Evelyn, what is with that attitude?” my father barked, his voice sharp with anger. “You’ve been back with us for three years, and you still haven’t lost that bitter, sensitive pride from the gutter! Monica is trying to be kind to you, and you treat her like this?” Wyatt was busy adjusting his camera, not even looking up. “Dad, don’t waste your breath on her. When we get to Iceland, I’m only taking photos of Monica anyway. Even if Evelyn freezes to death, I won’t waste a single frame on her.” When we returned home, the dining table was laden with a massive seafood feast to celebrate the approval of our visas. There were oysters, lobster tails, and a large bowl of steamed crab cakes. I stood by the table, making no move to sit down. “I had stomach surgery last month,” I said quietly, looking at my mother. “The doctor strictly warned me not to eat raw or cold seafood for at least six months.” There wasn’t a single dish on the table that I could safely eat. My mother’s hand paused, a brief flicker of guilt crossing her face, but it was quickly replaced by irritation. “We are celebrating a wonderful trip, and you have to ruin the mood with your illnesses? It was a minor surgery! A little seafood isn’t going to kill you. Stop being so delicate!” She waved over a maid. “Go heat up some of yesterday’s leftover porridge for her.” As I stared at the bowl of sour, day-old porridge, a wave of nausea hit my stomach. After dinner, Monica directed the staff to line up five massive suitcases in the center of the living room, and the family gathered around to pack them with snacks and designer winter wear. The spacious room was so crowded with their belongings that there wasn’t even a path for me to walk through. I knew then, with absolute certainty, that I had no place in this house. “Oh, my head… I feel so dizzy…” Monica murmured, pressing her hand to her forehead as she collapsed onto the plush sofa. My mother let out a sharp cry of alarm, and the entire room erupted into chaos. Wyatt rushed to hold her up, while my father barked orders at the butler to fetch the medical kit. They acted as though she were facing a terminal crisis, when in reality, she was simply experiencing a mild sugar drop from staying up late to look at travel blogs. I stood at the corner of the hallway, shivering as the cold wind drifted in from a half-open window. A sharp, familiar pain shot through my right knee. It was the chronic joint pain I had developed when I was twelve, after falling into an icy creek while gathering wild herbs in the high desert. Whenever the weather turned damp or I grew exhausted, the pain in my bones became almost unbearable. I limped back to my room and pulled open my nightstand drawer, searching for the herbal patches I had bought to manage the pain. But the drawer was completely empty. All ten boxes of the specialized patches I had purchased with my own meager savings were gone. Sweating from the pain, I limped back to the living room. My eyes swept over Monica’s open suitcase, and there, tucked into a side pocket, were the familiar brown paper boxes. I walked over, reaching out to reclaim my medication. Before my fingers could touch the box, my mother delivered a sharp, stinging slap to my hand. My skin immediately began to swell and redden. “What do you think you’re doing? Those are Monica’s heating patches for the cold weather!” she snapped, shielding the suitcase with her body. I gasped from the pain, forcing myself to explain. “Mom, those aren’t regular heat patches. They contain raw aconite and thunder god vine root. It’s a high-potency prescription herbal patch specifically formulated for severe joint pain!” “If someone without the condition uses them, they can cause severe skin ulcerations and even systemic toxicity!” “Stop making up these ridiculous stories!” Wyatt sneered, standing up to block me. “Evelyn, you really will resort to any lie just to steal from Monica, won’t you? Monica is going to a freezing place like Iceland. If she gets cold because of you, can you even afford to make it up to her?” Monica leaned back against the cushions, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Evelyn, if you’re really going to fight me over a few heating patches, I’ll give them back. I know I’m just an outsider in this family anyway…” “Monica, don’t say that! These belong to you!” my father declared, turning a furious glare on me. “Get back to your room! Get out of our sight!” Looking at their stubborn, united front, I decided to stop fighting. Even if I told them the absolute truth, they would only see it as a malicious lie. I pulled my throbbing hand back and let the pain in my knee burn. I turned and limped back to my room without another word. If Monica chose to burn her skin off with those patches, she would have no one to blame but herself. Two days later, we had to go to the agency to verify our fingerprints. When I walked out of the house with my documents, they were already sitting in the family SUV. I walked up to the window and looked inside. The butler sat in the passenger seat, and the four of them occupied the remaining rows. The spacious cargo area and the footwells were completely packed with Monica’s carry-on bags and makeup cases. There wasn’t a single inch of space left for me. “There’s no room in the car,” my father said, rolling down the window with a frown. “And your cheap canvas bag will scratch Monica’s leather suitcases.” “Then how am I supposed to get there?” I asked, my voice flat. “Figure it out yourself! Find a rental bike outside the estate, or walk to the subway station!” my father snapped impatiently. “We are on a tight schedule. Do not be late!” The window rolled up, and the driver hit the gas. The tires rolled through a muddy puddle, splashing dirty water all over my face and my cheap jacket. I stood in the driveway, wiping the mud from my eyes as I watched the vehicle disappear. The very last spark of hope I had held for this family died in that puddle. The damp wind bit through my clothes. I didn’t search for a bike, and I didn’t walk to the subway. I turned around and walked back into the empty house. My body was shaking from the cold, and my throat felt dry. I went to the kitchen, poured a glass of cold water, and swallowed two cold tablets. The bitter taste coated my tongue, but it was nothing compared to the bitterness in my heart. My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a notification from the family group chat. Five minutes ago, they had arrived at the airport lounge. The chat was flooded with photos: Monica eating pastries, Wyatt adjusting his camera lenses, and my mother discussing the premium travel insurance she had purchased for Iceland. Not a single person asked if I had found a ride, or if I was caught in the rain. I turned off the screen and went back to my dark room. Since I wasn’t going with them, it was time for me to leave. I knelt on the floor and pried away a loose piece of the baseboard under my bed. Hidden inside was a small iron box. This was the only piece of my past I had brought from the desert: a collection of hand-written folk songs my late adoptive mother, Martha, had penned for me, and her old, worn pocket watch. It was the only thing that had kept me going through three years of isolation in this house. But when my hand reached into the dark space, my fingers met nothing but cold, empty air. The box was gone. A sharp ringing sound filled my ears, and my heart seemed to stop. I bolted out of the room, running up the stairs toward the source of some faint noise on the second floor. When I reached the top of the stairs, my legs went rigid. Wyatt was standing in the hallway, throwing a paper airplane made from a sheet of yellowed paper. I could see Martha’s neat, looping handwriting covering the wings. Monica stood in front of the full-length mirror, a heavy metal chain around her neck. Suspended from the bottom of the chain was my adoptive mother’s old pocket watch. The glass cover of the watch had been crudely pried off, the delicate hands and face ripped out to expose the bare, gold gears. She was displaying it to Wyatt as if it were a trendy “steampunk” accessory. “You have to admit, Wyatt, this old junk actually looks incredibly chic once you modify it,” Monica said with a smirk. “What are you doing?!” I screamed, my eyes turning red with fury as I lunged toward them. My mother walked out of the adjacent room holding a pair of scissors, her brow furrowing in irritation. “What is all this screaming about? Your room was full of dusty, moldy garbage that made the entire first floor smell like a gutter. I had the maids clean it out. Is there a problem with that?” “That was my mother’s legacy! You stole it! You destroyed it!” My body was shaking so violently I could barely speak. I reached for the chain around Monica’s neck. “Give it back to me!” “Evelyn, are you insane?!” Wyatt yelled, stepping in front of Monica and shoving me back with all his force. “It’s just a piece of old brass! It’s an honor that Monica even wants to wear your trash! Why are you acting like a hysterical wild animal over a piece of garbage?” Monica shrank back, putting on a display of terror as tears spilled from her eyes. “Evelyn, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know this was so important to you. I’ll give it back, please don’t hurt me…” She fumbled with the clasp, her hands shaking, and the delicate watch slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the hardwood floor. As she tried to step back, her heavy designer boot landed directly on the exposed gears. A sharp crunch echoed through the hallway. The delicate inner workings of the watch were crushed into unrecognizable fragments. My breath caught in my throat. A dull, heavy pain bloomed in my chest, so intense that no tears could fall. “You ungrateful brat!” my father roared as he strode up the stairs, having heard the noise. He pointed a finger at my face, his expression contorted with rage. “You would threaten your own sister over a piece of country trash? You have completely humiliated this family!” “Guards! Lock her in the basement storage room! No one is to let her out until she learns how to behave!” Two burly security guards stepped forward, grabbing me by the arms and dragging me down the stairs. I didn’t fight them. My hand was clenched tightly around the sharp shards of glass I had gathered from the floor, the blood dripping from my palm and staining the white hallway carpet. The heavy metal door slammed shut, plunging the basement into absolute darkness. From upstairs, the faint sound of their laughter drifted down as they discussed what outfits they would wear to see the northern lights. I leaned against the cold stone wall and slid slowly to the floor. Over the next three days, the family acted as if I didn’t exist. Only the maid came once a day, sliding a piece of stale bread and a half-filled bottle of water under the door, as if she were feeding an animal. They were using isolation and physical confinement to force me to beg for their forgiveness. But they had entirely miscalculated. On the third evening, the sound of the front door closing echoed from upstairs. Tonight was the eve of their departure for Iceland. The family had booked the most exclusive restaurant in Boston to host a grand send-off celebration for Monica. The estate was finally completely silent. I pulled a bobby pin from my hair. Using the skills I had developed during my years in the dry country, and guided by the faint light of my phone’s low-battery screen, I manipulated the mechanism of the lock. With a soft click, the heavy padlock fell open. When I walked back up to the first floor, I didn’t call the police, and I didn’t wait to confront them. I walked into the living room, gathered every single piece of clothing and jewelry the Presleys had bought for me, along with our family portraits, and threw them into the fireplace, watching them burn to ash. I pulled the SIM card from my phone, snapped it in half, and tossed the device into the deep waters of the garden pond. Finally, I picked up the worn canvas bag I had brought with me from the desert three years ago. Fourteen hours later, I was sitting near the window of a long-distance train, watching the green hills fade into the endless, sun-baked plains of the Southwest. The wheels clattered against the iron rails, a rhythmic, beautiful sound that carried me away from my prison. The Presley family could keep their biological daughter’s title. I was going home.

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1 After my diagnosis of Emotional Apathy Syndrome, my feelings grew dull. When Gideon favored his first love, Lorelei, I stayed calm. Even seeing him give her our tenth-anniversary diamond ring drew no tears. He rarely came home, always claiming, “Lorelei is afraid of the dark.” When I called to tell him about my condition, Lorelei answered his phone. “Gideon is in the shower,” she mocked sweetly. “Call back later.” I hung up and let him bring her as his plus-one to our anniversary gala. Before the guests, he wrapped his arm around her waist. “Marrying you was punishment for losing a bet. Lorelei is my only love. You have played Mrs. Harrington for ten years. Be satisfied.” Lorelei giggled against his chest, triumphant. I simply smiled, picked up the photo album I had compiled, and dropped it into the champagne bucket. In my mind, memories of Gideon were dissolving. Soon, I would forget him and our agonizing ten years entirely. On the ride back to the estate, I voluntarily opened the front passenger door and gestured for Lorelei to take the seat. Gideon was used to my sharp tongue, my hysterical outbursts, and the desperate way I used to fight for his attention whenever Lorelei was around. My sudden grace and indifference only seemed to irritate him. Once we pulled up to the driveway and Lorelei stepped away, I turned to him and spoke quietly. “I’m not angry, Gideon. And I’m certainly not jealous.” Lorelei lingered by the porch, her voice trembling with manufactured tears. “Gideon, did I do something wrong? Fiona seems to despise me. Maybe I should just check into a hotel.” Gideon caught her by the hand, his voice laced with cold impatience as he looked at me. “Why should you leave? This is your home now.” He strode over and grabbed my wrist, his grip tightening. “Fiona, don’t think you can play these reverse psychology games with me. My parents forced me to marry you back then. Now that Lorelei is back, you need to grow up and accept it.” My eyes remained flat, reflecting nothing. “I understand. Let her move in. I’ll pack my things and let her have the master bedroom as well.” A flicker of suspicion crossed his features. “I’ll say it one more time. Pretending to be saintly won’t work on me. If you’re upset, throw a tantrum. Cry. Scream. I can easily buy you whatever designer bags or jewelry you want to make up for it.” Lorelei stepped up, resting her hand on Gideon’s arm. “Fiona, how could I possibly take the master bedroom? That wouldn’t be right.” Gideon let out a cold snort. “Since you’re so eager to play the generous wife, Lorelei and I will sleep in the master suite tonight.” He pulled her along, leaving me standing in the cold hallway. Deep within my mind, another piece of my memory of him shattered and faded into mist. That night, I booked a moving service for the following morning and purchased a one-way ticket to Europe, scheduled for one week from today. When I walked out of the guest room the next morning, Lorelei was already sorting through a cardboard box by the stairs. It was filled with the countless gifts Gideon had given me over the years. “Fiona,” she cooed, clutching a soft velvet throw pillow to her chest. “This is so comfortable. Gideon said I could have it.” I stared at the pillow. Three years ago, Gideon and I had found it at a flea market during a rare weekend trip. He had argued with the vendor for half an hour just to get it for me, eventually laughing as he tucked it into my arms, promising he would hold me just as tightly for the rest of his life. Now, as I looked at the handmade music box and the intricate wooden carvings he had crafted for me, the emotions attached to those memories felt as though they were being systematically extracted from my brain. “If you like it, keep it,” I said, my voice empty of cadence. “It’s all just old junk anyway.” I took my car keys and turned back toward the guest room. Gideon stepped into my path, blocking the doorway. “Fiona, what is wrong with you?” he demanded. “Before this, if Lorelei so much as looked at me, you would scream and fight with me for three days. Now I bring her into our home, and you don’t even have a single question?” I looked at him, finding the confusion on his face almost amusing. “Isn’t this exactly what you always wanted, Gideon? No fighting, no drama. Isn’t this better?” He stood frozen, unable to find a reply. I closed the door, shutting out his gaze. By the next morning, the moving truck was idling outside the villa. My belongings were packed into just two small boxes resting at my feet. Gideon emerged from the master bedroom, his face dark with fury when he saw the boxes. “Fiona, have you had your fun yet? Put your things back before I lose my temper.” The boy I had loved in my youth had become an unrecognizable shadow. I bent down to tape the box shut. “Let’s get a divorce, Gideon. I’ll have my lawyer mail the papers to your office in a few days.” Lorelei gasped dramatically from the hallway, though she couldn’t quite hide the spark of delight in her eyes. Gideon’s expression turned murderous. “What did you just say?” “I said, we are getting a divorce. I’ll send you the paperwork.” “Fiona, you’re getting bold, trying to threaten me with divorce,” he sneered, stepping closer. “It was just a ring. I already told you I would compensate you. What are you still throwing a tantrum for?” I met his anger with a long, hollow silence. Eventually, his patience snapped, and he slammed the front door as he left. With the sound of that slam, the details of his face seemed to blur even further in my mind. I realized I could no longer remember what his smile looked like. “We can go,” I told the mover. As the truck rolled down the driveway, I didn’t look back. My phone buzzed in my coat pocket. It was a text from Gideon. Be at the Grand Plaza Hotel at eight tonight. It’s Lorelei’s birthday. If you still want to keep your title as Mrs. Harrington, you will show up on time. I stared at the screen for a moment, then quietly blocked his number. Gideon, from this moment on, you are nothing but a stranger. That night, I scrolled past my friends’ social media posts showing updates from the party. It was a lavish affair, far grander than any anniversary or birthday Gideon had ever given me. In one video, he was down on one knee, presenting Lorelei with a massive bouquet of white roses. My best friend called me, crying on my behalf, furious at the injustice of it all. I listened to her sob, but my own chest remained light and hollow. The next afternoon, the head housekeeper of the Harrington estate called my temporary number, her voice tight with panic. “Fiona, please come to the manor immediately! Madam Beatrice has collapsed, and she keeps calling your name!” My mind immediately conjured the warm, gentle face of Gideon’s grandmother. She was the only person in that entire family who had ever treated me with genuine kindness, always holding my hand and telling me to come to her whenever I felt wronged. “I’m on my way,” I said, grabbing my coat. When I stepped into the grand parlor of the estate, the sound of Lorelei’s giggling echoed through the room. “Grandmother, Gideon flew this rare wellness tea in from abroad especially for you. Please try some.” Gideon sat on the adjacent sofa, looking bored. When he noticed me enter, his posture stiffened slightly, and his mouth curved into a familiar sneer. “So you finally decided to show up? I thought you were far too proud to care whether Grandmother lived or died.” Grandmother Beatrice looked up, a soft smile gracing her wrinkled face when she saw me. “Fiona, dear, come sit by me. I’m perfectly fine, just a slight spell of high blood pressure. Gideon was just overreacting and insisted on bringing you back here.” Lorelei chimed in, her tone dripping with sweet poison. “Yes, Fiona. Gideon was simply worried about Grandmother. But you’ve been so busy lately, you haven’t even had time to visit her.” She was clearly painting me as the unfilial, cold-hearted wife. In the past, I would have desperately tried to explain myself, sick with the fear of Gideon’s disapproval. Now, I merely offered a polite smile. “Since you have so much free time on your hands, Lorelei, perhaps you can fulfill those duties in my place.” Lorelei’s smile faltered, and she looked toward Gideon with wide, wounded eyes. “Gideon…” Gideon set his newspaper down, his gaze drilling into me. “Fiona, did you forget to take your medication today? Lorelei was only trying to help, and this is how you treat her?” I looked him dead in the eye. “My attitude is perfectly fine.” Grandmother Beatrice looked between us, her brow furrowing. “Gideon, Fiona, have you two been fighting?” “No, Grandmother,” Gideon lied smoothly. He stood up, grabbed my wrist, and dragged me out into the private garden. “You returned the secondary credit card, blocked my number, and now you won’t even show respect at the family estate?” he hissed, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. “Do you honestly think I won’t go through with a divorce? Have you forgotten about your brother lying in that hospital bed?” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “Every single dollar of his medical bills comes from my family’s pocket. Without that money, he won’t survive three days.” He was entirely certain he held the leash. At the mention of my little brother, Toby, a sharp, localized pang of grief pierced through the numbness of my chest. It was a fleeting, agonizing reminder of the love I once felt. I looked up at him, and to his surprise, I let out a soft laugh. “Gideon, my brother died six months ago.” The smug triumph on his face froze, replaced by a sudden, chaotic panic. “What? Why wasn’t I told?” I stared at him, the last remnants of my affection evaporating into the autumn air. “Because you were busy watching the penguins in Antarctica with Lorelei. You don’t have to worry about my family anymore, Gideon. We are entirely even.” I took a step back. “We are done.” A rare flash of embarrassment crossed his face. “I’m… I’m sorry about your brother. I truly didn’t know.” “You only care about things that involve Lorelei,” I said. “You’ve never known anything about my life.” His jaw tightened, and his eyes darkened with a sudden, ugly suspicion. “Are you so determined to get this divorce because there is someone else?” The sheer insult of his words broke through my apathy. Before I could process the impulse, my hand swung out and delivered a sharp, resounding slap across his face. The sound cracked through the quiet garden. “I simply do not love you anymore,” I said. Gideon clutched his burning cheek, his eyes wide with utter disbelief. “That’s impossible. You loved me more than anything.” He was right. I had loved him once, with a desperation that consumed my entire youth. In the early days of our marriage, under Grandmother’s guidance, we had shared genuine happiness. He would bring home the pastries I casually mentioned wanting, and I would stay up all night cooking porridge for him whenever his stomach flared up. We had loved each other with a clumsy, earnest devotion. But every year, Lorelei would return, and every year, the scale would tip in her favor. His blatant, unapologetic preference for her slowly eroded every ounce of love I had to give. Ten years of devotion, systematically destroyed by a thousand quiet disappointments. Gideon remained standing in the garden, staring at me as if I were a stranger. “That was a long time ago,” I said, and walked away. The next afternoon, Gideon sat in his high-rise office, staring out at the San Francisco skyline. His secretary stood by his desk, speaking in a hesitant whisper. “Mr. Harrington, the real estate agent confirmed that Mrs. Harrington has officially listed her downtown apartment for sale.” Gideon’s hand clenched around his gold pen. “What else is she selling?” “All of the high-end jewelry and designer watches you gifted her over the years. She took them to a luxury consignment shop to be liquidated for cash.” Gideon snapped the pen in half, his face turning a dangerous shade of red. That evening, as I was drying my hair in my hotel room, my phone rang with an unrecognized number. I answered it, and Gideon’s furious voice boomed through the speaker. “Fiona, you are getting entirely out of hand. You dare to block my number?” I pulled the phone slightly away from my ear, keeping my voice level. “Is there something you need, Mr. Harrington?” The formal address seemed to strike him like a physical blow. The line went silent for a few seconds before he snarled, “What did you just call me? We are not divorced yet. I am still your husband!” “Not for much longer,” I said, and disconnected the call. A moment later, a text message arrived from another unknown number. Fiona, stop playing games. Gideon is already exhausted by your pathetic attempts to get his attention. Attached was a photo. In the image, Lorelei was wearing a silk nightgown, smiling sweetly at the camera as she curled into Gideon’s arm on a plush hotel bed. Gideon’s eyes were closed, seemingly asleep, though his brow was furrowed even in rest. A sudden knock sounded at my door. Thinking it was room service, I pulled the door open, only for Gideon to barge in, slamming the door behind him and pushing me back onto the bed. Before I could speak, he grabbed my hand and began violently shoving several diamond rings onto my fingers. “Fiona, what will it take to make you stop this?” he demanded, his voice cracking with a mixture of rage and desperation. He was trying to use these rings to erase the memory of the one he had given to Lorelei. When I didn’t answer, his eyes flared with anger, and he leaned down to kiss me. I gathered all my strength, wrenched my hands free, and struck him across the face again. He stumbled back, the anger in his eyes suddenly giving way to a profound, broken defeat. “My relationship with Lorelei is complicated,” he whispered, his head bowed. “I can’t just cut her out of my life completely. But she will never take your place as my wife. Why can’t you just accept that?” Before I could reply, his phone began to ring. It was Lorelei. Her tearful, whimpering voice was easily audible in the quiet room. “Gideon… where are you? My stomach hurts so badly…” Gideon looked at me, torn, before stepping toward the door. “I’ll be right there,” he murmured into the phone, and rushed out, leaving the scent of his expensive cologne lingering in the air. I quietly slipped the diamond rings off my fingers and listed them on a local resale app. The next day, the specialist at the clinic stared at my brain scans, letting out a long, heavy sigh. “If this progression continues, you will lose not only your emotional capacity but your cognitive memory as well,” the doctor warned. “While the condition isn’t fatal, it will make it incredibly difficult to live a normal life.” I offered a small smile, realizing that even the muscles in my face felt heavy and unresponsive. “That’s alright. Perhaps it’s for the best.” I took my bag of medication and walked out of the clinic. As I rounded the corner of the sterile hallway, I collided with someone. “Fiona? What are you doing here?” Gideon’s voice cut through the quiet corridor, dripping with immediate suspicion. Beside him stood Lorelei, wearing a hospital gown, looking pale and fragile. “Gideon, is Fiona sick?” Lorelei asked, bending down to reach for the pill bottle that had fallen from my hand. “It’s none of your concern,” I said, retrieving the bottle before she could touch it. Gideon’s expression darkened. “Fiona, are you tracking us now? Is there no limit to how low you’ll stoop?” I looked at him with absolute indifference. “I came here to see my doctor. I don’t have the time or the energy to follow you.” Gideon let out a harsh laugh, snatching the paper bag of medication from my hands. “You’re pretending to be ill just to get my attention. This is pathetic, Fiona. Stop dragging this out.” With a flick of his wrist, he tossed my medication into a nearby biohazard bin. “You disgust me.” As the bag hit the bottom of the bin, the last remaining memories of Gideon in my mind began to dissolve, turning into nothing but gray, lifeless smoke. I took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and walked away. A few days later, my attorney called. “Fiona, Mr. Harrington is refusing to sign the dissolution papers.” “I see,” I replied, staring at the IV drip in my arm. My memory was deteriorating much faster than the doctors had predicted. I was starting to forget simple things—where I had left my keys, what I had eaten for breakfast, the faces of casual acquaintances. As I sat in a quiet cafe downtown, staring at the cold latte in front of my hands, I realized I couldn’t remember when I had ordered it. The squeal of tires cut through my thoughts. Gideon strode into the cafe, grabbed me by the arm, and pulled me toward his car. “You’re coming with me to Grandmother’s birthday gala,” he commanded as the car sped onto the highway. “Her health is fragile. I won’t have you stressing her with talk of a divorce.” I didn’t argue. I didn’t have the energy to fight him. The Harrington manor was alight with grand decorations. Luxury cars lined the private drive, and the ballroom was packed with the city’s elite. As I walked in beside Gideon, whispering voices immediately rippled through the crowd. “Look, the wife actually showed up.” “I heard Gideon has been living with the Lorelei girl. I thought the wife would have been thrown out by now.” “It’s a complete mess.” I remained entirely untroubled by their whispers. Gideon, however, looked tense, his hand dropping to grip my waist in a performative display of unity. “Fiona, sweetheart, come here,” Grandmother Beatrice called from her seat at the head of the main table, waving me over. I walked over and handed her the gift Gideon’s assistant had prepared for me. “Happy birthday, Grandmother. I wish you many more years of health and happiness.” The elderly woman took my hand, her eyes shining with warmth. But before she could speak, a commotion at the entrance drew everyone’s attention. Lorelei stepped into the ballroom, holding a beautifully wrapped silk box. She walked directly to Grandmother Beatrice. “Happy birthday, Grandmother,” she said, her voice carrying across the quiet room. “I personally brought this rare herbal elixir from Switzerland for you. I hope it brings you strength.” Grandmother’s smile faded slightly, and she gave a polite, distant nod. “Thank you, Lorelei.” Lorelei’s jaw tightened slightly at the cold reception. She turned her gaze to me, her eyes sweeping over my simple black dress. “Fiona, you look lovely tonight. Did Gideon pick out that dress for you?” She was wearing a custom couture gown, clearly trying to highlight the stark contrast between us. “Lorelei, you aren’t fully recovered yet. Why did you come?” Gideon stepped forward, his arm immediately finding her waist, his voice filled with genuine concern. As Lorelei moved past me, her heel caught on the edge of the carpet. With a dramatic cry, she stumbled directly toward the grand champagne tower nearby. “Ah!” The delicate crystal tower began to collapse. Without a second thought, Gideon lunged forward, throwing his body over Lorelei to shield her from the falling glass. The heavy crystal glasses shattered over my head, drenching me in sticky champagne, the sharp shards slicing deep cuts into my exposed arms. “Fiona! Why did you push her?” Gideon roared, looking up from where he held Lorelei in his arms. But as his eyes fell on my bleeding arms and soaked dress, his anger faltered, replaced by a sudden flicker of guilt. He turned to the head housekeeper. “Get the medical kit! Clean her up!” The housekeeper rushed over with the kit, but I politely pushed her hands away. I turned to Grandmother Beatrice, offering a shallow bow. “Grandmother, I’m feeling slightly unwell. Please excuse me.” Grandmother looked at my bleeding arms and ruined dress, her eyes filled with deep sorrow. “Go, child. Go take care of your wounds. Have the driver take you.” “There’s no need,” I said quietly. “I’ll take a taxi.” Gideon tried to follow me as I walked toward the exit, but I reached into my bag, pulled out the thick brown envelope, and pressed it into his chest. “Goodbye, Gideon.” I walked out into the cool night air, leaving him behind. It wasn’t until I was sitting in the airport lounge, waiting for my flight to Finland, that I realized I had accidentally left my medical diagnosis files inside that brown envelope along with the divorce papers. I stared out the window at the dark tarmac. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered anymore. The engines roared to life, and the plane began its long ascent into the sky. Gideon, this is the last time we will ever exist in the same world.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “517588”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 The day I got into Juilliard, the Sinclairs brought me home. Eleanor wept, promising to make up for lost years. Brent bought me a Maserati and enrolled me in the best driving school, vowing to drive me to college. The night before my road test, Ken, their foster son, stole the car and killed a man in a hit and run. Rachel squeezed my hand. “Austin, take the fall. His heart is weak. Prison will kill him.” Eleanor knelt, sobbing. “You can rebuild. Ken cannot.” Brent slid a pre-written confession over, promising freedom in six months. Gwen smashed the dashcam card. “I will wait for you.” I was sentenced to seven years. Ken wore Eleanor’s custom suit for my debut, flying to a European conservatory with Gwen waving beside him. On a damp autumn evening, I finished washing a Porsche Cayenne and handed over the keys. Gwen stood there, holding a five-year-old boy’s hand. “Austin, why didn’t you come find me? Still hate us?” I pushed the Venmo QR code toward her, not looking up. “That is eighty dollars. Scan, please. Card or Venmo?” She didn’t move. She simply stood with the boy just outside the muddy puddles of the washing bay. Her designer coat was pristine, completely out of place in this wet, gritty environment. The boy stared with wide eyes at the high-pressure water gun in my hand, while Gwen’s gaze drifted down to my cheap, water-stained rubber boots and plastic apron. “Austin, you shouldn’t have let yourself fall this low,” she said, her voice laced with disappointment. “Even if you are angry, you shouldn’t ruin your own future just to spite us.” I shut off the water pump, tossed the dirty rag into the bucket, and watched the murky water splash over my boots. “Do you want to scan the code, or should I call my manager?” Suddenly, the boy broke free from Gwen’s grip. He pointed at the glass cabinet behind the counter, shouting that he wanted to play with the old cello bow resting inside. Before I could stop him, he reached out to grab it. I lunged to intercept him, but the sudden movement tore at the old fracture in my wrist. A sharp, white-hot pain shot up my forearm. My fingers slipped, and the bow clattered onto the wet concrete. Gwen yanked the boy back, her eyes dropping to my exposed wrist. Under the harsh fluorescent light, the thick, jagged scar running across the bone looked monstrous. Her face drained of color. “What happened to your hand?” I pulled my sleeve down, hiding the scar, and bent to pick up the bow. “It has nothing to do with you.” Gwen frowned, her tone softening into that familiar, condescending pleading. “Austin, stop acting like this. The Sinclairs told me you were only supposed to be in there for six months. You chose to disappear for seven years just to make everyone feel guilty. Who are you trying to punish? Do you have any idea how sick Eleanor got because she thought you ran away?” My hands froze on the damp rag. Six months? I had spent seven grueling years in a concrete cell. Seven years of absolute hell, and to them, it was nothing but a childish tantrum. I wiped down the wet counter, my voice dead. “I didn’t run away. I’ve been working here.” Gwen’s expression darkened. “Ken hasn’t had an easy time either. He loses sleep every night because of his guilt. Just come back with me. If there are misunderstandings, we can sit down and talk them through.” She reached out to grab my arm. I took a sharp step back, avoiding her touch entirely. “The car is clean. Pay the bill and leave. Don’t block my station.” A soft chime sounded from my phone. The payment had gone through. I slung the rag over my shoulder. “Have a good evening, Gwen.” Ten minutes later, a black Audi sedan screeched to a halt by the curb. The door slammed open, and Rachel stepped out, her high heels clicking loudly against the wet pavement. She looked at the cheap neon sign of the car wash, then sneered at my face. “Austin, your mother is desperately ill in the hospital. How long do you plan on carrying out this ridiculous drama?” She didn’t ask how I was. She didn’t ask where I had been. She only stared at my stained apron and rubber boots with absolute disgust. “A Sinclair son washing cars for pocket change? You are dragging our family name through the mud. Pack your things and come home to apologize to Mom right now.” I threw the wet rag back into the bucket. The dirty water splashed onto the hem of her expensive trousers. “You have the wrong person,” I said quietly. “My name is Austin Reed. I am not a Sinclair.” Rachel’s jaw clenched, a vein throbbing at her temple. “Ken already apologized for what happened back then. Besides, you only spent six months in a low-security facility, and the family compensated you generously. You vanished without a word after you got out. Do you have any idea how long we’ve been looking for you?” Looking for me? A wave of nausea hit me so hard I nearly gagged. This city wasn’t that big. They didn’t even bother to check how long I had actually served, yet they had the audacity to claim they had been searching for me for seven years. The only person who had ever looked for me was my adoptive mother, Mary. Gwen sighed, attempting to play the peacemaker again. “Austin, Rachel is just worried. Your mother was admitted to the hospital again two days ago. No matter how resentful you are, you should at least go see her.” Rachel pulled out her phone, dialed a video call, and shoved the screen in front of my face. On the screen, Eleanor lay in a sterile hospital bed, her face pale and sunken. When she saw me, her eyes immediately filled with tears. “Austin, do I have to get on my knees and beg you to come home?” She clutched her chest, her voice trembling. “Do you know how many nightmares I’ve had about you? Even if you hate us for what happened, how could you be so cruel as to hide from your own mother for seven years?” I stared at her perfectly moisturized face. Seven years ago, when she knelt in front of me begging me to take Ken’s place, she had cried the exact same way. “Austin, say something,” Gwen urged. “Do you really have to make this so ugly?” I looked up, meeting their eyes. “What do you want me to say? That I should be grateful? That going to prison for Ken was a privilege granted to me by the grand Sinclair family?” Rachel’s face turned icy. “Don’t take that sarcastic tone with me.” I let out a soft laugh. “But you always loved it when I was agreeable, didn’t you? I used to say exactly what you wanted to hear.” The night of my welcome-home gala, Brent had insisted I perform a cello solo in front of all of Boston high society. He wanted to prove that his biological son was the true prodigy. I wore the custom tuxedo Eleanor had bought for me. I had practiced that piece for weeks, my fingers raw and blistered, just wanting to make them proud. But right before I was supposed to go on stage, I discovered someone had loosened the pegs of my cello and stolen my backup sheet music. Ken had walked into the dressing room, a bright, innocent smile on his face. He leaned in and whispered, “Do you really think you can just walk back into this family and take what’s mine?” I didn’t have time to confront him. I had to go on stage and play from memory. Midway through the performance, the tension in the damaged string snapped. The thick steel wire sliced deep into my finger, dripping blood onto my white shirt. I rushed backstage, holding my bleeding hand, wanting to demand answers from Ken. But he was already collapsed on the sofa, clutching his chest, weeping louder than I ever could. “Austin, I’m so sorry. I only wanted to help you tune your cello. Please don’t hate me for ruining your big night.” Eleanor had pushed past me, screaming for a doctor. Rachel had grabbed my shoulder and demanded I apologize. “You’ve been back for five minutes and you’re already bullying your brother? You know he has a weak heart!” Even Gwen, who had seen my hand dripping blood, pushed me down. “Austin, Ken is sick. Just let it go and apologize.” That was the night I learned that in the face of Ken’s tears, the truth meant absolutely nothing. No one cared about my bleeding fingers. They only cared that Ken was crying. Later, I overheard Ken yelling at a maid in the hallway. “As long as he is in this house, I am the outsider. I will make sure he never feels welcome.” When I confronted him, he screamed and threw himself down the stairs. Rachel didn’t even bother to look at the security cameras. She slapped me across the face so hard my lip split. “How can you be so vicious? He is sick!” That night, Gwen came to my room. She told me Ken was just insecure and that I should be the bigger person. “Austin,” Gwen said, cutting through my silence, her patience clearly wearing thin. “You pushed Ken so hard back then. He had to sneak away to Europe just to escape your shadow.” She looked at me as if I were a petulant child throwing a tantrum. “Can you please stop using the past to torture everyone?” Gwen honestly believed Ken was the victim. She had no idea that I was the one who had been pushed into an abyss. During my first year in prison, a guard looked the other way while an inmate broke my wrist with a heavy metal spoon in the cafeteria. The incident was swept under the rug as a common brawl, and I was thrown into solitary confinement for three days. Before the heavy steel door slammed shut, the inmate whispered in my ear, “Ken Sinclair sends his regards. He told me to make sure you were well taken care of.” Now, because of that shattered wrist, I could barely hold a coffee cup, let alone play the cello. Rachel took my silence as submission. “If you come home and apologize, the family will overlook your dramatic disappearance,” she said coldly. “Overlook it?” I looked down at the muddy water beneath my boots. Suddenly, I didn’t even have the energy to explain. They weren’t ignorant of the truth. They simply chose not to know. On the night before my final road test, a torrential storm was raging. Ken had stolen the keys to the Maserati Brent had bought for me. At three in the morning, he had stumbled back into the house, drenched in mud, sobbing that he had run someone over. Brent’s first reaction wasn’t to call an ambulance. He locked the front gates and threatened the staff to keep their mouths shut. Rachel had gripped my hand until my bones ached. “Austin, you are stronger than Ken. You have to take the blame.” Eleanor knelt on the floor, weeping hysterically. Brent pushed the written confession into my hands. “We have the best lawyers, Austin. It will be six months at most. I swear I will get you out.” I refused. I cried, telling them I was terrified, that my test was tomorrow, and my Juilliard classes started next month. Seeing my resistance, Ken clutched his chest and collapsed onto the sofa. The entire family rushed to his side, leaving me standing alone in the cold hallway. Gwen dragged me to the end of the corridor. Her eyes were filled with a desperate, suffocating devotion. “Austin, I will wait for you. It’s only six months. I’ll help you rebuild everything.” I clung to her coat like a drowning man grasping a straw. “The dashcam. There’s a camera in the car. It can prove I wasn’t driving!” Gwen was silent for a very long time, until the motion-sensor lights in the hallway flickered off, plunging us into darkness. “That camera,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, “will destroy Ken’s life.” I watched her walk out to the driveway, pull the memory card from the camera, and smash it with a heavy stone. The plastic shards scattered across the wet gravel. She walked back to me, wiped my tears, and said, “I love you. But this is the only way to save him.” I was so foolish back then. I actually believed six months would pass quickly. I believed they would keep their promise and bring me home. The day I was transported to the prison, the sky was a mockery of brilliant blue. Through the barred window of the transport van, I saw Ken dressing in my concert suit, getting into a luxury car bound for the airport. Gwen stood by the passenger door, smiling as she opened it for him. I pulled myself out of the memory and looked at Rachel and Gwen. “Are you finished?” I asked quietly. “If you are, get out of here. You’re dirtying my shop.” I turned, peeled off my wet apron, and walked toward the small, cramped room at the back of the car wash. Under my cot was a dusty cardboard box. It had been delivered to me by a stranger shortly after my adoptive mother passed away. I knelt down and peeled back the yellowing tape. Inside lay a neatly folded letter, a worn leather-bound journal, and a faded receipt from an auto repair shop. I opened the letter first. Austin, I never believed you were the one who ran that poor man down. You couldn’t even bear to step on an insect when you were a child. There is no way you would leave a human being to die in the street. The letter explained that after I went to prison, Mary never stopped looking for the truth. She visited the crash site, went to the hospital, and tracked down the repair shop. She had even knelt outside the Sinclair estate, begging for a copy of my court files. The Sinclairs had told her I was being well taken care of, and warned her that if she kept causing trouble, it would ruin my chances of early parole. She didn’t understand the law. She had no money or power. All she could do was use the simplest, most painstaking methods to record every discrepancy she could find. I folded the letter carefully and pressed it against my chest, my tears finally falling onto the old scar on my wrist. Over the next two days, after my shifts ended, I followed the addresses in Mary’s journal, searching for any scrap of evidence. On the third day, chaos descended upon the car wash. A rusted van screeched to a halt outside the bay. Several people wearing medical masks jumped out. The leader, a middle-aged woman, held up a blown-up newspaper clipping showing my mugshot from seven years ago. “Look at this man! He’s a murderer!” she shrieked, her voice drawing a crowd of onlookers instantly. “He ran my husband over and fled the scene! He only served a tiny fraction of his sentence because his family is rich! My husband is dead, and my children grew up without a father, while he works here as if nothing happened!” The crowd grew, murmuring in disgust. People pulled out their phones to record me. A bucket of dirty, foul-smelling water was thrown from the crowd, soaking my shoulder. A man in a black hoodie stepped out from the onlookers. He wore a mask, but I recognized his eyes instantly. Ken. He leaned in close, his voice a malicious whisper meant only for me. “You should have stayed dead, Austin. Look at you. Do you honestly think you have a place in the Sinclair family looking like this?” I stared at his retreating back, my fingers turning numb with cold. As the harassment continued, Cassie, the owner of the car wash, rushed out from the garage. She pulled me behind her, blocking the flying debris and the camera lenses with her own body. She pulled out her phone to call the police. “If you have a grievance, take it to the police station! Anyone who throws another thing is getting arrested for assault!” The screaming woman flinched but kept shouting, “He’s a killer! He killed my husband!” I held my wet collar and looked at her. “What was your husband’s name?” I asked. The woman hesitated. “What day did the accident happen? What was he wearing? Which hospital was he taken to? Who did he speak to before he died? Do you know any of those things?” She took a step back, unable to answer. At the edge of the crowd, Rachel’s Audi pulled up. Gwen got out first. She jogged over, her nose wrinkling at the sight of my stained clothes. She reached for me, but I stepped back. Her hand remained empty in the air, a flash of embarrassment crossing her face. “Austin, just apologize and lower your head,” she pleaded. “It’s natural for the victim’s family to be angry. You shouldn’t provoke them. If this gets out, it will ruin the Sinclair family’s reputation, and yours too.” I looked at her and laughed. Seven years ago, she told me Ken’s heart was too weak for prison and asked me to understand. Seven years later, she told me the victim’s family was grieving and asked me to bow my head. There was always someone else she needed to protect. And I was always the one who was expected to sacrifice. Eleanor arrived next, supported by Rachel. Her eyes were red and swollen. “Austin, if you just come home, our PR team will handle this mess. I promise no one will ever bring up this accident again.” I looked at her. “Handle it? Like you handled the dashcam seven years ago? Like you handled the court records? Like you handled your own son?” Eleanor’s face drained of color. Rachel took a step forward, whispering a harsh warning. “Austin, don’t let your petty resentment destroy the peace our family and Ken have built.” “Rachel,” I said, my voice dead calm. “Did Ken tell you I only served six months?” Rachel froze. Gwen’s brows furrowed, a flicker of confusion crossing her eyes. “What do you mean?” I didn’t answer. I walked back into the office and retrieved a thick folder from the bottom of my locker. The wail of sirens grew louder as two police officers pushed through the crowd, asking who had called. I raised my hand. “I did. There is a mob harassing my workplace, and I suspect someone has paid this woman to instigate this riot.” The woman screamed, “Officer, he’s a murderer! He ran my husband down!” I placed the folder on the hood of a nearby car in front of the officers. On top was my official release certificate from the state penitentiary. The paper was slightly wrinkled from the damp air, but the bold black ink was unmistakable: Seven Years Served. Gwen’s eyes fell on the paper, and the color vanished from her face. Rachel stared at the document, her lips parting, but no sound came out. “Officers,” I said, looking directly at the police. “I would like to file for a formal review of the vehicular manslaughter case from seven years ago.” “I was framed.” “And I have the evidence to prove it.”

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1 When my parents divorced, I was left as useless baggage on Gran’s doorstep. By four each morning, she’d drag me out to feed pigs, split wood, and scrub the drafty house. My hands were raw with chilblains and thick calluses. Dad, living comfortably in the city, kept promising to bring me over, but Gran locked me in my room like a lunatic. Buried in textbooks, I swore: the day I got into university, I’d leave and never look back. But on the day I planned to run to Dad’s, my phone buzzed with a strange email, dated exactly one year ahead. The attached video showed me, a year later, sobbing at Gran’s fresh grave. I stared, scowling at my reflection. “What are you crying for? The old hag’s gone. Pop champagne, don’t weep.” The girl on screen slapped herself, screaming, voice cracking. “Idiot! That loving dad? He remarried years ago—new wife, precious son. He wants you in the city to sell you to an old creep for a twenty-thousand-dollar dowry!” She gasped. “The grandmother you hated? She spent freezing nights digging through trash heaps, scraping pennies for your tuition! But the day you were to register for uni, she was shoved while stopping them from dragging you away. Hit her head. Never woke up.” Future-me stared, eyes swollen, choking back sobs. “Don’t trust him. If you get a second chance, save Gran. Give her the life she deserves.” I stood in the dim stairwell of my father’s apartment building, my heart hammering against my ribs. I was skeptical. My dad called me every month, his voice always dripping with affection. Could he really be planning to sell me? With trembling fingers, I dialed his number. The line clicked open. “Sylvia, sweetheart,” his voice was warm, almost too sweet. I swallowed hard, trying to keep my voice steady. “Dad, I’m almost at your place. I wanted to come see you.” He let out a delighted chuckle. “That’s wonderful! I’ll head out right now and buy all your favorite foods. Hurry on up, okay?” I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. It was all a mistake. The email was just a sick, twisted joke. But then, through the thin apartment door, a muffled voice drifted into the hallway. “Is that the daughter you were talking about?” a man’s gruff voice asked. “Sounds like a sweet thing. If we get this settled, the twenty thousand dollars is yours. Every single penny.” My blood turned to ice. Then came my father’s frantic whisper. “Keep your voice down! Just make sure you have the cash ready. Once she walks through that door, she isn’t escaping.” I took a sharp step back, my boot squeaking against the concrete. Panic tore through me. I turned and sprinted down the stairs like a hunted animal. When I finally burst out of the building, my stomach violently rebelled. I leaned against a rusted lamppost, dry-heaving until my throat burned. The raw, desperate screams from that future video echoed in my ears, louder than the city traffic. He was going to sell me. My own father was going to trade my life to secure a future for his new wife and son. With shaking legs, I boarded the overnight bus back to our rural town. Tears silently tracked down my face, freezing in the midnight air. It was three in the morning when I pushed open the creaking wooden gate of our yard. Gran’s house was dark, save for the single dim bulb hanging in the main room. I crept inside, my footsteps silent on the packed-dirt floor. Gran was crouching by the well. The water was near-freezing, and her hands were swollen, raw, and bleeding in places as she scrubbed a pile of salvaged scrap metal. She stopped every few seconds to cough, a deep, rattling sound that shook her frail frame. The scene hit me like a physical blow. The video, the cold numbers on a scrap paper, her tragic end: it was all real. A choked sob escaped my throat. Gran whirled around, her eyes wide. When she saw me, her expression instantly hardened into a scowl. She grabbed a dirty broom resting against the well, pointing it at me like a weapon. “You miserable brat!” she barked, though her voice cracked. “Where the hell have you been? Trying to sneak off to that deadbeat father of yours again?” She raised the broom high, but as her eyes swept over my tear-streaked face and blue lips, her hand froze. She lowered the broom, clicking her tongue in annoyance. “Get inside, you useless thing,” she muttered, turning back to the well. “There’s a cold sweet potato in the pot. Eat it and get back to your books.” I didn’t move toward the kitchen. Instead, I threw my arms around her bent, bony shoulders, burying my face in her rough, dirt-stained coat. Gran went completely rigid. “Gran, I’m sorry,” I wept, my tears soaking into the worn fabric. “I’m not leaving. I’ll never try to find him again. I’m going to study, I’m going to get into a great university.” I squeezed her tighter, feeling the sharp outline of her ribs. “Once I make it, I’m going to take you away from here. I’m going to give you a wonderful life.” Gran’s hands remained suspended in the air for a long moment. Finally, she let out a rough sigh and gave my back a clumsy, trembling pat. “Stop talking nonsense,” she mumbled, her voice surprisingly thick. “If you don’t pass those exams, I’ll break your legs.” Her words were harsh, but her touch was incredibly gentle. For the rest of the spring semester, I became a ghost in my own house, living only for my textbooks. I studied until my eyes burned and my fingers cramped. Gran still scolded me daily, complaining that I was too slow with my chores. But every night I fell asleep at my desk, I would wake up with her heavy wool coat draped over my shoulders. And every morning, a soft-boiled egg and a tube of cheap ointment for my cracked hands would be waiting next to my books. We lived in a silent truce, bound by an unvoiced understanding. Then, on a humid afternoon in April, Richard showed up. He brought two flashy boxes of cheap vitamins, and behind him stood his new wife, Vivian. She held a silk handkerchief over her nose, her eyes filled with disgust as she surveyed our crumbling yard. Richard spotted me scrubbing clothes by the tub. He immediately put on a warm, paternal smile and marched over. “Sylvia, look at you,” he said, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. “You’re skin and bones. What’s the point of a girl studying so hard anyway? I found a wonderful family for you in the city. The husband is a wealthy businessman. You’ll be living in luxury. We can finally be a real family again.” Looking at his eager, greedy eyes, a wave of intense nausea hit me. This businessman was the old creep who bought girls for twenty thousand dollars. I wrung out a wet shirt, keeping my voice cold and flat. “No, thank you. I want to take my exams first.” Richard’s smile faltered, but before he could snap, Vivian chimed in with a sharp sneer. “Oh, please. You really think you’re university material? Your father is trying to save you from a lifetime of shoveling dirt. Even if you manage to get into some low-rate college, how do you expect to pay for it? We certainly aren’t funding your little dream. We don’t have money to waste on a useless girl. Be smart and pack your bags.” The back door slammed open. “Keep your filthy mouth shut!” Gran roared. She charged out of the house, wielding a broom covered in chicken coop grime. Without a second thought, she swung it directly at Richard and Vivian. “Get out! Get the hell off my property!” “My granddaughter’s education is none of your business, you parasitic bastards!” Richard tried to duck, but the dirty bristles swiped across his expensive trousers, leaving a streak of filth. He went red, pointing a finger at Gran’s face. “You crazy old hag! Watch your step! I’m her legal father, and what I say goes!” Gran let out a harsh, mocking laugh. “Her father? You drove her poor mother to her grave, and now you want to sell her daughter? You miserable piece of trash. As long as I have breath in my lungs, you won’t touch a hair on her head!” She swung the broom again, striking Richard’s arm. Vivian shrieked, ducking behind him. “Keep acting tough, you old corpse!” Vivian yelled, her voice screeching across the yard. “Richard hasn’t sent you a single dollar of child support in five years! You think you can put her through college on the pennies you make selling trash? You’re delusional!” The world seemed to tilt beneath my feet. Five years without a single dollar? I stared at Gran in absolute shock. Gran didn’t look at me. Instead, she grabbed one of the vitamin boxes they had brought and threw it directly at Vivian’s head. “Get out! Get out before I get the pitchfork!” Richard scrambled backward, shielding his wife as they retreated to their car. Before slamming the door, he rolled down the window, his eyes dark with malice. “Fine! Let’s see how long you can feed her! When she’s starving, you’ll come crawling to me on your knees!” The car sped off, kicking up a cloud of red dust. The yard fell into a heavy silence. Gran dropped the broom, her chest heaving as she leaned heavily against the wooden doorframe. I walked over and gently touched her arm. “Gran, is it true? He hasn’t paid anything in five years?” She violently shook my hand off, her face twisting in anger. “That’s grown-up business! Get back to your room and study! If you don’t get into university, I’ll throw you out myself!” She turned and limped inside, her back more hunched than ever. That night, after her breathing turned slow and heavy, I quietly crept into her room and opened the bottom drawer of her wooden cabinet. There was no bankbook. Only a bundle of crumpled paper scraps and torn cigarette boxes, covered in crooked pencil marks. “June 6th: Sold scrap metal for two dollars fifty.” “July 10th: Sylvia’s practice exams, thirty dollars.” “October 5th: The pigs are growing well. There is hope for Sylvia’s tuition.” The very last entry, dated yesterday: “Sylvia is looking too thin. Go to the market tomorrow and buy half a pound of beef.” My tears fell silently, wetting the rough paper. She was killing herself to build a bridge for my future, just like the video had said. That was why she stayed up until dawn. That was why she never touched the eggs she prepared for me. Every single penny she scraped together was meant for my escape. I gripped the paper scraps tightly. I swore I would rewrite our story. I would make Richard pay, and I would give Gran the life she deserved. In June, just three days before the state exams, a massive storm hit the valley. The temperature plummeted, and I came down with a vicious fever of 103 degrees, shivering violently under my thin blankets. Gran stood over my bed, grumbling angrily. “Of all the times to get sick! You really are a curse on my life! I must have done something terrible to deserve you!” She slammed the door and went out into the pouring rain. I lay there, my joints aching, drifting in and out of consciousness. Hours later, I felt a damp presence by my bed. I opened my eyes. Gran was standing there, soaked to the skin, her clothes plastered with yellow mud. In her hands, she held a chipped ceramic bowl. Steam rose from a fresh bowl of chicken noodle soup, with a beautifully fried egg hidden beneath the surface. “Eat this,” she ordered, her voice hoarse. “And take these.” She set the bowl down and pulled out two boxes of fever medicine from her coat. They were wrapped in three layers of plastic bags, completely dry. My throat tightened. The nearest pharmacy was in the town five miles away. This frail old woman had walked ten miles through a torrential storm, risking her life on the muddy mountain roads, just to fetch me medicine. “Gran…” I whispered, my voice cracked. “Shut up and eat!” she snapped, turning away quickly. But I could see her shoulders trembling. The medicine broke my fever by morning. Three days later, I walked into the exam hall with a clear head. When the results came out, the entire county was in an uproar. I had scored in the top five of the state, securing the top spot in our district. Admissions officers from prestigious universities called our neighbor’s phone throughout the night. Gran did something she had never done before: she bought several rolls of firecrackers and set them off in the yard, filling the air with smoke and noise. She stood at the gate, handing out cheap candies to anyone who walked by. “My girl did it!” she beamed, her chest puffed out with pride. “She’s going to the big city! She’s going to be someone!” But the joy was short-lived. The following afternoon, our wooden gate was kicked off its hinges. Richard marched into the yard, followed by three burly men. “Well, aren’t you a clever little bitch, Sylvia?” he sneered, his eyes scanning the yard. “Mr. Henderson saw the news. He said since you’re the top scorer, he’ll raise the dowry to fifty thousand dollars! That’s enough to buy a nice apartment in the city for your brother Toby.” He waved his hand to the men. “Find her acceptance letter. Without that piece of paper, she can’t register anyway.” The men lunged toward the house, tossing chairs and tearing down shelves. “Stop it! You thieves!” Gran screamed, charging at them with a wooden cane. One of the thugs grunted in pain as she struck his leg. He whirled around and slapped her across the face with brutal force. Gran hit the floor, her lip split and bleeding. But even as she fell, her arms wrapped tightly around her chest. I noticed a bulge beneath her shirt: she had tucked my university acceptance letter inside her inner vest, keeping it safe against her skin. “Hand it over, you old corpse!” Richard yelled, stepping forward and grabbing Gran by her gray hair. Gran groaned, her eyes shut tight in pain. Vivian stood by the gate, holding her nose. “Richard, why are you wasting your breath on this old lunatic? Just grab the girl and let’s go. Toby is waiting at home for his new toys.” Richard nodded, releasing Gran’s hair and stepping toward me. Gran tried to crawl forward to grab his ankle, but she was too weak. I didn’t think. I sprinted into the kitchen, grabbed the heavy meat cleaver from the counter, and lunged back into the yard. “Get the hell back!” I screamed, holding the heavy blade with both hands, pointing it straight at Richard’s chest. My vision was red. I was shaking, but my grip on the handle was iron-clad. “Touch my grandmother again, and I swear to God I will gut you right here!” My voice carried a raw, murderous conviction that stopped the men in their tracks. Richard froze, his face going pale as he took two steps back. “You… you dare point a knife at your own father?” “Try me!” I snarled, stepping forward. “I would rather go to prison for murder than let you sell me. Get your dogs out of our yard right now, or I’ll start swinging.” The thugs exchanged uneasy glances. None of them wanted to risk getting hacked by a desperate teenager. Richard spat on the ground, trying to salvage his pride. “Fine! You want to play tough? Let’s see how long you can protect this old hag!” They scrambled back to their cars and sped away, leaving the yard in ruins. I dropped the cleaver, my knees giving out as I collapsed next to Gran, sobbing hysterically. Gran pulled me against her chest, her thin arms shaking as she held me close. It was the first time she had ever embraced me so tightly. “Don’t cry, Sylvia,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “Gran is here. Even if it kills me, I’ll get you out of these mountains.” Hearing my name from her lips for the first time, a strange sense of peace washed over my terror. I held her tight, and with my free hand, I pulled out my phone. I compiled the video from the future along with audio recordings of Richard’s threats and photos of Gran’s injuries, and sent them directly to the regional police and child protection services. It was time to end this. The monsters were going to pay. By late August, our backyard pigpen was empty. Gran had sold the two fat pigs we had raised all year. That evening, she sat on the edge of her creaking bed, a rusty needle in her hand, sewing beneath the dim bulb. Spread out on the blanket was a pile of crumpled small bills and a few crisp hundreds. “It’s twelve hundred dollars,” she murmured, folding the bills neatly and wrapping them in a piece of red cloth. Then, she took my old undershirt and began stitching the cloth pouch securely into the inner lining. “When you’re in the city, don’t go flashing your money,” she said without looking up, her voice thick. “Buy decent food. Wear what the city girls wear. Don’t let them look down on you because of where you come from.” I sat beside her, staring at her calloused, scarred hands. “Gran, once I get settled and find a part-time job, I’ll bring you to the city to live with me.” She snorted, clicking her tongue. “Who wants to live in the city? Go on your own. Once you’re gone, I’ll finally get some peace and quiet.” She was as stubborn as ever. But as she pulled the thread tight, I saw a single tear fall onto the red cloth, darkening the fabric. The next morning, we left before dawn to catch the long-distance bus to the provincial capital. If we could just get on that bus, we would be free. It was half-past three in the morning when we quietly slipped out of the yard. But as we reached the dirt road at the town entrance, three vans suddenly lurched out of the darkness, blocking our path. The doors slid open, and a dozen heavy-set men stepped out. Richard stood at the front, and beside him, Vivian was waving my official registry documents with a triumphant smirk. “Running away?” Richard sneered. “Did you really think getting into college meant you won, Sylvia? I used your legal documents to officially withdraw your registration at the university. You’re not enrolled anymore. You have nowhere to go but to Mr. Henderson.” With those few words, he shattered everything. The late nights, the frozen hands, the miles Gran had walked in the storm: all of it, wiped out by a stroke of a pen. Pure, unadulterated hatred flared in my chest. “You’re insane! This is kidnapping! It’s illegal!” “Kidnapping?” Richard laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. “A father arranging a marriage for his daughter? Even the sheriff won’t touch this. Grab her!” Two men stepped toward me. “Don’t you dare touch my girl!” Gran screamed. She dropped her worn canvas bag and hurled her frail body at the first man, her teeth sinking deep into his arm. “Ah! The old bitch bit me!” the man roared, violently throwing his arm back. Gran was flung to the ground, but she scrambled right back up, throwing herself in front of me. “Sylvia, run! Run to the highway!” Richard’s face twisted with rage. “Get this old pest out of my way! Now!” One of the thugs raised a heavy boot and kicked Gran squarely in the chest. A sickening thud echoed through the silent morning. Gran was thrown backward, her head striking a sharp, jagged rock on the side of the road. Blood, thick and dark, immediately pooled in the dirt. The sight of that crimson stain seared itself into my brain. Gran lay motionless in the mud, her eyes turning to me with a faint, fading light. Her lips moved slightly, making no sound, but I knew what she was saying: Run. “No! No! Please, God, no!” A choked, animalistic shriek tore from my throat. I fell to my knees, scrambling through the dirt to reach her. I pressed both hands against her head, trying to stop the blood, but it kept seeping through my fingers, warm and sticky. The horrific vision from the future had caught up to us. I gathered her rapidly cooling body into my arms, my world collapsing into absolute darkness. “Gran! Please! Gran!”

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1 On my birthday, my best friend gifted me an orange tabby. In the middle of the night, the cat actually looked at me, shook its head, and let out a heavy sigh. “She looks pretty, but how can someone be so clueless? Her best friend and boyfriend are literally stabbing her in the back, and she has no idea.” I thought my ears were playing tricks on me. I was just pulling my resignation letter out of my drawer, planning to quit my job with my best friend and go travel. “She’s busy resigning, while Vivian is busy plotting to steal her promotion and become the General Manager.” “Honestly, her boyfriend’s scheme is absolutely toxic.” “What a shame. The other neighborhood cats said this company is about to secure a ten-billion-dollar funding round. The future is gold.” The cat’s inner voice echoed in my head. My pen froze. I ripped the resignation letter to shreds. I barely threw the scraps into the trash before my best friend, Vivian, texted me. [Hey Naomi, let’s set our final day for next Monday!] She even attached a photo of her own signed resignation form. Right after, my boyfriend, Greg, texted: [Did you fill out the resignation form yet?] I stared at the screen, my mind blank. I couldn’t wrap my head around the betrayal. We grew up together. Vivian had always followed me around like a shadow. I treated her like a real sister. When she couldn’t find a job, I brought her into my firm, mentored her step-by-step, and even handed her my own clients. She used to shower me with public thank-yous. And Greg? He had been shouting that he’d marry me since we were kids. He confessed his feelings when we were eighteen, and we’d been together ever since. Nearly seven years. “That designer bag Greg got her for her birthday? It’s actually Vivian’s hand-me-down. There’s a mark on the inside.” “He’s been infatuated with Vivian since childhood.” The orange cat’s inner voice sounded again. I rushed to the closet, pulled out the leather purse, and inspected it under the light. Sure enough, etched into the bottom lining were three faint, scratched letters: V.W. Vivian Wright. Her initials. In that instant, the last thread of hope snapped. The love and friendship I had cherished so deeply were nothing but hollow, cheap illusions. “But hey, there’s a three-million-dollar lottery ticket hidden inside that bag’s serial number.” I whipped my head around. The orange cat hopped onto the windowsill, licked its paw, and muttered to itself: “The big white Persian at the pet shop said the brand is running a serial-number sweepstakes. The winning number matches this exact bag.” “Greg didn’t leave his phone number at the store.” “There are only three days left to claim it!” I shook off my shock, scrolled frantically through my chat history with Greg, and found the address of the boutique. I’d claim it right after work tomorrow. Previously, Greg had suggested I pay the one-million-dollar down payment on a house, and he’d handle the monthly mortgage. Now? I didn’t need him. I could buy the whole damn place in cash. Suddenly, my phone buzzed. Greg’s contact photo lit up. “Hey Naomi, you asleep? Why aren’t you replying to me and Viv?” “Did you finish the resignation letter? Viv says Hawaii is incredible. I already booked the tickets for next week. You can’t back out now.” Everything was always about Vivian. He used to explain it away by saying, “We’re a couple, Naomi. Viv is all on her own. We should look out for her and let her have her way sometimes.” I had trusted them blindly. “I just finished it. I was in the shower,” I lied smoothly. “Awesome! We’re finally going to make our childhood dream of traveling the world come true!” He chuckled. “Get some sleep. Love you forever, babe.” His voice was as sweet and gentle as ever, like he was soothing a child. In the past, those late-night sweet nothings would have warmed my heart. Now, they made bile rise in my throat. From this moment on, I wouldn’t waste a single second of my life on decayed love or rotten friendship. The next morning, I arrived at the office parking lot half an hour early. As soon as I parked, I spotted two familiar figures. Greg was leaning down, kissing Vivian’s forehead. “You worked hard last night, beautiful,” he murmured, his voice dripping with affection. “Oh, please. I work hard every night,” Vivian giggled, swatting his chest. “You’re like a wild animal, always trying to devour me.” My hands clenched the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white. They were sleeping together. Every single night. “By the way,” Vivian asked, leaning against him, “is it really okay to trick Naomi into quitting?” “Hey, it’s a dog-eat-dog world,” Greg smirked, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “Besides, Naomi is tough. She’ll find another job in no time. She’s too sentimental to hold a grudge against you anyway. Once we get married, I’ll use her money to pamper you.” Chills ran down my spine. This was the man who promised to love me forever. He was more venomous than a viper. Thank god for my telepathic tabby. It wasn’t too late. I didn’t storm out to confront them. Instead, I quietly recorded a video on my phone, waited in my car for another ten minutes, and then headed up to the office. “Naomi!” Vivian was waiting right by my desk, a beaming smile on her face. She grabbed my arm. “Let’s go hand in our resignations to the boss.” I didn’t resist. I was going to play my part in this little theater. At Mr. Henderson’s office door, Vivian slapped her forehead. “Oh, shoot! Naomi, I think I left my resignation letter at my desk. Go on in first, I’ll go grab it.” “Sure,” I said with a nod. As I walked in, I heard her let out a quiet sigh of relief. She thought her little trap had sprung perfectly. Mr. Henderson welcomed me warmly. “I heard a rumor you were thinking of leaving us, Naomi. Don’t tell me this is a resignation letter?” So Vivian had already started spreading rumors to pave her way to the top. “Of course not,” I replied, shaking my head. I handed him a sleek leather folder. Inside was not a resignation, but a groundbreaking marketing proposal for our upcoming product launch. Mr. Henderson read through it, nodding with growing enthusiasm. “This is brilliant, Naomi! Absolutely brilliant. Run with it.” “Also, the Marketing Director position has been vacant. The board just finalized the decision to promote you. The official announcement goes out next Monday.” “If this campaign blows up, the final Executive VP slot is yours, along with company shares.” “Thank you, Mr. Henderson. I won’t let you down,” I said, my heart racing. Leaving his office, I felt a wave of adrenaline mixed with sheer relief. If it weren’t for my cat, I would have thrown my career down the drain. Vivian and Greg would have laughed behind my back while stepping all over me. I returned to my office. Vivian used the excuse of delivering files to slip inside. “So, Naomi, what did Mr. Henderson say?” “Not much,” I said, keeping my face neutral. “Wow, he didn’t even try to keep you?” Vivian pouted, but her eyes danced with triumph. I let her enjoy her little fantasy. That evening, Greg was waiting in the parking lot. Vivian naturally slid into the passenger seat, casually resting her legs on the dashboard, showing off her thighs without a care in the world. In the past, I thought it was just childhood-friend comfort. Now, I noticed Greg’s eyes constantly darting to her legs with pure lust. “Naomi,” Greg smiled, turning back to me. “Viv says there’s a new hotpot place down the street. I sent you the address. Let’s go.” “You guys go ahead. I have things to do,” I replied coldly. Greg blinked, surprised. “Come on, whatever it is can wait. Dinner with Viv is a priority.” “Yeah, Naomi! If you don’t come, you’re not a real friend!” Vivian whined. In the past, I would have given in. Now, it just felt like cheap emotional blackmail. “No thanks. Family emergency.” I didn’t care about their reactions. I got into my car and drove straight to the luxury boutique. “Hello, could you please check if this serial number has won the sweepstakes?” The clerk took the bag, ran the number, and beamed. “Congratulations, ma’am! You’ve won the grand prize of three million dollars. Please step this way.” In less than a minute, the paperwork was done. A text notification buzzed on my phone: $2.7 million had cleared into my account after taxes. Knowing the store would display a promotional banner next week, I knew Greg and Vivian would find out soon. I immediately called a real estate agent and bought the luxury riverfront penthouse I’d been eyeing for months. Paid in full. After securing the deed, I went home and sat down with my parents. When they heard about the betrayal, they were shocked but stood firmly by my side, urging me to handle it my way. Just as we finished dinner, my phone buzzed. Greg and Vivian had added me to a group chat. Vivian sent a playful voice note: [Naomi, since you ditched us for dinner, you’re paying the bill!] Greg followed up immediately: [It’s not much, just $3,888. Just Venmo it to me.] Normally, I would have paid to keep the peace. This time, I ignored it and went to take a shower. By the time I got out, the group chat had over 99 unread messages. Vivian: [Naomi? Why aren’t you answering?] Greg: [It’s been ten minutes. The waiter is waiting.] Vivian: [Wow, I guess our friendship doesn’t mean much to you anymore.] Greg: [Seriously, Naomi, you’re being so petty. Whatever, we’ll pay it ourselves!] Only then did I reply: [Just got out of the shower.] Nobody replied. In the past, I would have sent them each a thousand-dollar digital red envelope to make up for it. What an idiot I had been. I gave my cat some freeze-dried treats and sat down at my laptop. I needed to perfect the marketing plan for Monday’s pitch. The orange cat hopped onto the desk, staring at the screen. “The office cats say the big boss loves pets but tries to act all tough and professional. He’s been wishing someone would pitch a pet-themed marketing campaign.” A spark of inspiration hit me. I immediately rewrote the strategy, weaving in a brilliant pet-friendly angle. I worked through the night. Just as dawn broke, Greg called. “Naomi, you were way out of line yesterday. Ditching the bill like that really hurt Viv. She actually cried. I heard she wanted a designer necklace at the mall. Why don’t you buy it for her to make peace?” I almost laughed out loud. He really was taking the “spend Naomi’s money to pamper Vivian” rule to heart. “It’s for the sake of our group,” Greg continued. “Just pay for it, Viv will be happy, and I won’t be mad at you anymore.” If I were still blind, I would have felt guilty. But now, I just felt disgust. “I worked all night and I’m exhausted,” I said flatly. “Go check it out yourself.” “Great!” Greg chirped, assuming I was agreeing to pay, and hung up. Vivian immediately texted: [Naomi, you’re the absolute best! I’m not mad at you anymore. Love you, xoxo!] I ignored it and fell asleep. When I woke up in the evening, my screen was filled with more texts. Vivian: [I found a better one! It’s $188,000. Buy this one for me instead!] Greg: [Since you didn’t say no, we’ll assume it’s a yes. Viv put it on an installment plan, you can just go pay it off next week.] Vivian: [No interest if paid within a month! Don’t forget, Naomi!] She even posted a photo of the necklace on her Instagram, naturally omitting who paid for it. The comments were flooded with jealousy. When someone asked if she got a massive raise, she replied: [Oh, it’s nothing major!] Greg commented: [My girl is the best.] The cheek of it. I only wore a thousand-dollar necklace, and Vivian casually swiped my imaginary credit card for a $188k piece. But I didn’t say a word. I wanted to see how Vivian, who lived paycheck to paycheck, would handle the bill when I refused to pay. Monday morning arrived. Vivian walked into the office wearing the glittering $188,000 diamond necklace. She deliberately raised her voice so everyone could hear. “Naomi, do you like it?” “It’s beautiful,” I smiled. The other colleagues crowded around. “Oh my god, Vivian, how much was that?” “Just $188,000,” Vivian smirked, secretly squeezing my hand, signaling me to keep quiet and play along. “Wow! $188,000? Vivian, I had no idea you were so loaded!” “I wish I had your talent.” “Naomi, look at your friend, and look at you. She’s really outshining you now.” “Exactly. Naomi brought her into the company, but Vivian is the one wearing a house on her neck. Naomi has nothing.” They gossiped and compared us. Vivian didn’t defend me; she just bathed in the praise. I simply smiled. “Alright, quiet down everyone!” Mr. Henderson walked into the department. “I am here to announce the new Marketing Director.” Vivian’s grin widened, her eyes gleaming with anticipation. She was practically vibrating. The colleagues all looked at her, expecting her name to be called since the rumor of my resignation was widespread. Mr. Henderson turned to me. “Effective today, Naomi Stone is our new Marketing Director.” Vivian’s smile instantly shattered. She whipped her head toward me, her eyes wide with absolute shock.

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