Category: English

I died on the night my sister, Natasha, became a legend. It was the finals of the International Youth Dance Championship. The spotlight was blindingly bright, and everyone in the crowd was screaming her name. But the person standing in the center of the stage, wearing her costume and dancing her final piece, was me. My name is Emma. I am Natasha’s twin sister, born three minutes after her. I was also the shadow hidden behind her spotlight. Natasha was supposed to be hidden in the dressing room by Mom and Dad, pretending her old injury had flared up, waiting for me to finish the entire performance in her place. But as I landed the final grand jeté, my starving body finally gave out. My old right ankle injury tore apart, and the back of my head slammed heavily against the edge of the stage. When the blood pooled around me, Mom’s first instinct wasn’t to save my life. She rushed to my side and hissed under her breath: “Get up, Emma! Don’t you dare ruin things for Natasha right now!” I wanted to laugh, but I couldn’t make a sound. Before my consciousness faded completely, Natasha rushed into the crowd wearing her hospital gown. She fell to her knees beside me, crying hysterically: “She’s not Natasha!” “Her name is Emma!” “She’s my sister!” “You forced her to do this!” The entire crowd gasped. I thought my name had finally stepped into the light. But only after I died did I realize that the living can tell far more lies than the dead can bleed.

Seven hours after my death, Mom and Dad wheeled my body into the morgue. The next second, they forced Natasha into her award ceremony gown. Natasha sat on the metal bench in the hospital hallway, her hospital gown still draped over her shoulders. Her face was as white as paper. Mom shoved the dress into her arms. “Put it on.” Natasha looked up, her eyes bloodshot. “Emma is still in there.” Mom slapped her hard across the face. “I know she’s in there!” “But the media is waiting outside, and the committee is waiting too!” “Do you want the whole world to know that the prodigy dancer we raised for eighteen years is a fraud?” Natasha’s head snapped to the side from the force of the blow. She didn’t move for a long time. Dad was standing at the end of the hallway making a call, his voice low but every word cutting sharply into my ears. “Yes, Natasha’s old injury flared up. She was resting backstage.” “Emma has always been mentally unstable. She stole Natasha’s costume and snuck onto the stage.” “Natasha was so traumatized by the incident that she started talking nonsense.” “We have the medical records. The PR statement will be released tonight.” I floated in the air, watching him calmly arrange the narrative of my death. So, I wasn’t forced to death by them. I was just a mentally unstable, identity-stealing lunatic who ruined a genius dancer’s night of glory. Natasha suddenly stood up and lunged to grab Dad’s phone. “You can’t say that about her!” Dad grabbed her wrist, twisting it back. His eyes were cold and venomous. “Natasha, you better wake up.” “Emma is already dead.” “Your endorsements, your Ivy League scout offers, your invitations from international dance companies, and our family’s academy franchise contracts—they are all still on the line.” Natasha’s voice shook. “That was Emma’s life!” Dad stared at her, his voice freezing cold. “Her life isn’t worth five million dollars in breach of contract fees.” The silence that followed was suffocating. Mom picked the gown up from the floor and handed it back to Natasha. “Your father mortgaged the entire academy for you.” “If we lose this championship, our whole family is ruined.” Natasha looked at her and suddenly let out a bitter laugh. “So Emma deserved to die?” Mom’s eyes flickered with guilt, but she quickly hardened her face. “She danced in your shadow for so many years. Carrying this for you one last time is the least she can do to repay us for raising her.” I thought ghosts couldn’t feel pain. But at that moment, it felt like a knife was being driven into my chest all over again. Natasha didn’t change into the dress. She threw the expensive white tulle gown straight into the trash can. In the next second, Dad grabbed her by the hair, forcing her face down toward the trash. “Pick it up.” Natasha bit her lip hard. “No.” Dad leaned down and whispered in her ear: “If you dare disobey me, I won’t even buy Emma a niche in the columbarium.” Natasha froze. “What do you mean?” Dad let go of her and slowly adjusted his cuffs. “The dead are the most obedient.” “Once they are turned to ash, where they go and how they are kept is entirely up to the living.” Natasha finally bent her knees and pulled the gown out of the trash. Her tears dripped onto the white fabric, one by one. Standing next to her, I finally understood. They didn’t just want to steal my dancing. They wanted to steal my death.

The next day, videos of the competition were all over YouTube. The top comments under the videos were all expressing pity for Natasha: “A prodigy’s night of glory ruined by her mentally unstable twin sister who stole her costume.” “Natasha’s breakdown on stage was clearly a PTSD response.” “The worst pain is being hurt by your own family.” My face in the videos was heavily blurred, but my name was dragged through the mud in every comment section. “Emma is so evil. Was she so jealous of Natasha that she had to steal her identity?” “I heard she had mental issues since childhood. Her parents did their best raising her. They are saints.” “Natasha is so unlucky. Her injury flared up, and then her sister ruined her career.” Mom scrolled through the comments, letting out a sigh of relief. “The public is sensible after all.” Natasha sat at the dining table. The bowl of oatmeal in front of her had already gone completely cold. She suddenly asked, “Where did those medical records come from?” Dad threw a stack of documents onto the table. “Don’t worry about it.” Natasha picked them up and flipped through them. Age ten: Personality disorder. Age twelve: Aggressive tendencies. Age fifteen: Delusional desire to replace Natasha. Age eighteen: Severe mental instability, long-term custody recommended. Every page was stamped and signed by a doctor. But I had never been to those hospitals. The only clinic I ever visited was orthopedics. Because of fluid in my knees, torn ankle ligaments, back spasms, and my right foot that had never properly healed after the car crash when I was seven. Natasha flipped to the end and suddenly stopped. An old X-ray folder had been removed, leaving only the empty manila envelope. On the cover, it read: Emma, Age 7, Shattered Right Ankle. Natasha stared at those words, her fingers tightening. “Where is this X-ray?” Mom’s expression shifted. “Lost it a long time ago.” Natasha looked up. “Why is this the only one that’s lost?” Dad said coldly, “Natasha, that is none of your concern right now.” Mom shoved a script in front of her. “We are recording a statement video this afternoon. Read exactly what is written here.” Natasha looked at the first line, and her hands began to tremble. “Emma had been mentally unstable for a long time. On the day of the event, she stole my costume and snuck onto the stage, leading to the tragic accident.” She kept reading. “In my state of extreme shock and grief, I mistook her toxic, pathological obsession with me for family coercion.” “Please do not blame my parents. They are the ones hurting the most.” Natasha laughed, though tears streamed down her face. “You two are disgusting.” Dad raised his hand to strike her. This time, Natasha didn’t dodge. Instead, she leaned into his hand. “Do it. Slap me hard. Make sure it’s swollen so the media can get a clear shot of it this afternoon.” Dad’s hand stopped in mid-air. Mom looked incredibly uncomfortable. “Natasha, do you really want to fight us?” Natasha glared at them. “I want to hold a funeral for Emma.” “Absolutely not,” Mom refused instantly. “The media is watching us. If we hold a funeral, everyone will start asking questions.” “Asking what?” Natasha’s voice was freezing. “Asking why the dead one wasn’t me?” Silence fell over the dining room like a tomb. Dad threw a sealed plastic bag onto the table. Inside were my old pointe shoes from the stage. The satin was worn through at the toes, and the ribbons were stained with dried, dark blood. “Emma’s things are all in here,” Dad said. “If you cooperate, we will give her a quiet, clean memorial.” “If you don’t, these things, along with her ashes, will be dumped in the trash.” Natasha reached out to grab the shoes. But Dad pressed his hand flat over the bag. “Record the video first.” At three in the afternoon, the camera turned on. Natasha wore a plain white sweater, her face completely pale. Mom stood behind the camera, holding up the script. Dad stood beside her, clutching my pointe shoes in his hand. Natasha stared at the lens for a long time. So long that Mom muttered impatiently, “Speak.” Natasha finally opened her mouth. “I am Natasha.” “The girl who died on stage last night was my twin sister, Emma.” Our parents’ faces twisted instantly. Natasha continued: “She wasn’t crazy.” “And she didn’t steal my identity.” “She—” Dad slammed the power strip off, and the screen cut to black. What they didn’t know was that before the recording, Natasha had used an old phone hidden in her sleeve to log into my burner account and start a live stream. So, those twelve seconds still made it to the internet. It wasn’t on Natasha’s verified account. It was on a burner account I had helped her register three years ago, linked to an old email our parents knew nothing about. I had once written the password at the very bottom of her notes app, hidden under a childish title: For when you want to tell the truth. Back then, she had asked me why I made it. I told her, “Because one day, you’ll want to run away.” She hadn’t answered me then. But she remembered. Unfortunately, this time, she still didn’t get to finish her sentence.

My parents fought back quickly. They spin-doctored Natasha’s short video, presenting it as “evidence of post-traumatic dissociation.” Mom sat in front of the camera, crying so hard she almost fainted. “We had two daughters. One is gone, and the other has lost her mind.” “Please, stop triggering Natasha.” “Emma had been obsessed with mimicking her sister since she was a child, fantasizing that she was the real Natasha.” “As parents, we did everything we could.” Dad also appeared on screen, his eyes red. “Emma was our child. We don’t blame her.” “She is gone now. Please, let her rest in peace.” Watching the screen, I felt so disgusted I wanted to throw up. They refused to even give me a funeral, yet they preached about letting me rest in peace on camera. The internet quickly turned. “The parents are so tragic.” “Natasha is clearly not mentally stable right now.” “Emma is still torturing her family even after she’s dead. How horrifying.” Natasha was locked in her bedroom. Her phone, laptop, door lock, and window latches were all confiscated. She was trapped in a room, just like I used to be. Except her room had a bed, warm meals, and bright lights. My old room—the basement studio—had nothing but mirrors and a barre. That night, Natasha went down to the basement for the first time. Her hands shook violently as she picked the lock with a hairpin. I followed her down. When the light clicked on, she froze. There were still dried blood stains on the wooden floor from my intense training sessions. My worn-out knee pads were piled in the corner. Next to the mirror, a yellowed training schedule was taped to the wall. 6:00 AM: Cardio. 8:00 AM: Flexibility. 10:00 AM: Routine drills. 2:00 PM: Full run-through. 9:00 PM: Weight check. The last column read: “Three days before the competition: Limit food intake to match Natasha’s weight.” Natasha reached out to touch the paper, her fingers trembling. She suddenly crouched down and pried a tiny SD card out of a crack in the floorboards. I stared in shock. I had hidden that. A long time ago, I knew they would eventually discard me. I didn’t have the courage to run, and I had nowhere to go. So, I secretly recorded every forced training session, every injury, and every time Mom screamed that I was “worthless,” saving them on that card. I had planned to mail it to Christine after the competition. But I never made it. Natasha clutched the SD card in her palm and whispered, “Emma, I found it.” Just as she stood up, the basement light at the top of the stairs suddenly brightened. Mom stood there, her face deathly pale. “What is in your hand?” Natasha hid her hand behind her back. Mom shrieked, “Give it to me!” Natasha turned to run. But Dad rushed down the stairs, catching her in a tight grip. The SD card slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor. Mom instantly stepped on it with a loud crunch. The tiny card was crushed to pieces under her heel. Natasha stared blankly at the shattered plastic. The last bit of light in her eyes died. Mom wasn’t done. She slapped Natasha hard across the face. “You’ve been completely corrupted by that parasite.” Natasha slowly raised her head. “She wasn’t a parasite.” Mom screamed: “Yes, she was!” “Since the day she was born, she dragged you down.” “If it weren’t for her, our family would have had only one perfect, prodigy daughter!” Natasha suddenly asked, “So the car accident when we were seven… did you plan that too?” Mom’s voice cut off instantly. Dad’s face twisted in shock. I froze as well. The car accident? Natasha stared dead into Mom’s eyes. “I saw Emma’s old X-ray records today.” “A shattered right ankle.” “She couldn’t put full pressure on her right foot after that, yet you told her she was naturally unfit for public competitions.” “I always thought it was just an accident.” Mom’s lips turned white. Dad interrupted harshly: “Natasha! Have you lost your mind?” Natasha laughed. “I guess it wasn’t an accident after all.” Standing in the cold basement, I felt my entire world turn to ice. So my life in the shadows wasn’t just bad luck. It was meticulously orchestrated by them from the very beginning.

Christine arrived the next day. She didn’t bring flowers. She brought a cease-and-desist letter and a voice recorder. Mom blocked the doorway, forcing a polite smile. “Christine, Natasha is not feeling well lately. She’s not fit to receive visitors.” Christine stared at her coldly. “I’m not here to see Natasha.” “I’m here to ask about Emma.” Mom’s smile instantly stiffened. Christine opened her phone, showing a screenshot of the backstage footage from the night of the competition. Though the video was blurry, it clearly showed the dancer’s right ankle buckling outward upon landing. “Natasha doesn’t have an old injury in her right ankle,” Christine said. “But Emma does.” Mom’s face went cold. “What are you implying?” “I am implying that I suspect you have been running a long-term identity fraud scheme in these competitions.” Dad walked out of the living room. “Christine, watch your mouth.” Christine didn’t back down. “I have already petitioned the committee to retrieve the full backstage security footage.” Dad smiled faintly. “Feel free to try.” “But I heard there was a power surge backstage that night, and most of the video files were corrupted.” Christine’s expression tightened. Dad stepped closer, lowering his voice. “You have your own dance company, and you have students.” “Slandering an international champion won’t do you any good.” Christine glared at him. “Do you really think the dead leave no evidence?” Dad remained silent, but Mom let out a cold sneer. “Of course the dead don’t.” “Only the living have voices. Only the living make evidence.” A muffled banging noise came from upstairs. Natasha was throwing herself against her bedroom door. “Christine!” “The basement! They destroyed the evidence in the basement!” Dad’s face darkened instantly. He turned to head upstairs. Christine suddenly raised her voice: “Natasha! I hear you!” “And I will remember Emma’s name!” Those words made Natasha quiet down, and they made me want to cry. It turned out that having someone remember your name was such a difficult thing. After Christine left, Dad called a crew to tear down the basement that very night. The mirrors were carted away, the barres were unscrewed, and the floorboards were pried up. My blood stains, the training schedules, and my old knee pads were all stuffed into black trash bags. Mom stood by, urging them, “Hurry up.” “The media is coming tomorrow morning to film Natasha’s recovery documentary.” Dad frowned. “We can’t keep the ashes either.” Natasha stood at the top of the stairs, her face losing all color. “You promised you would let her have a proper burial.” Mom avoided her gaze. Dad said: “Keeping them is a liability.” “Scatter them. Keep it clean.” Natasha rushed down the stairs to grab the urn. Dad shoved her away. She crashed against the wall, wincing in pain, but she desperately locked her hands around the cuff of his pants. “Don’t touch her.” Dad looked down at her. There was no fatherly affection in his eyes—only disgust. “If you keep fighting me, I will make sure she doesn’t even have a place to rest.” Natasha’s grip slowly loosened. She watched Dad lock my cremation urn inside the wall safe. The electronic lock clicked shut. Dad said, “We will dispose of it after the award ceremony.” My ashes had become their final hostage. Late that night, Natasha quietly opened the sealed bag containing my pointe shoes. She clutched them to her chest, sobbing for hours. Then, she suddenly stopped. When her fingers brushed the heel of the left shoe, she paused. Those shoes were never used on stage again; I had hidden them in the deepest corner of the basement. I had gathered all my secret videos from my old phone, camera cards, and the basement computer. Before the finals, I had copied everything onto a micro SD card, sealed it in a waterproof capsule, stuffed it into the hollow heel of my left pointe shoe, and hand-stitched it shut with thick thread. Because I knew those shoes were the only things my parents would never try to sell, exhibit, or use to promote Natasha’s glory. Natasha used to help me mend my shoes when we were kids. She could feel the difference immediately. At that moment, her eyes turned fiercely red. “Emma… you left a way out after all.”

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“Fiona, the baby’s condition is unstable. We need you, as the temporary guardian, to sign off on the subsequent treatment.” I put down my pen and looked across the conference table. Opposite me stood Sean. He was holding a newborn, his eyes bloodshot. “Sean,” I said, my voice incredibly calm. “This baby is the biological son of you and Hailey, isn’t it?” The conference room fell dead silent. Sean’s face turned paper-white. “What are you talking about?” I turned my phone screen toward him. On it, the barcode from the luxury maternity retreat, Hailey’s payment records, and the timestamps of his car entering and leaving the retreat’s garage were neatly lined up. “Do you want me to call the police so they can verify the parents’ identities?” The baby started crying. Sean took a step back, looking as if the ground had been swept from beneath his feet. As for me, I simply picked up the European clinical fellowship offer, an opportunity that had taken me two long years to secure, and slipped it back into my folder. In this life, I was done raising anyone else’s child.

Fiona’s POV I never could have imagined that while I was signing my final departure paperwork at the university, Sean would burst in holding a baby. My advisor and several other classmates who were also heading abroad were sitting in the conference room. In just a few days, I was supposed to leave for a prestigious medical fellowship in Europe. It was an opportunity I had spent two grueling years preparing for. In my past life, I never made that flight. It was Sean back then, too, showing up with a sudden infant. He claimed the baby had been abandoned in the alley behind his family’s clinic. He told me his health was poor and that he might never have biological children. He said since we were getting married anyway, we should just take the baby in. I loved him so much then, pitied him so much, that I actually canceled my plane ticket, gave up my fellowship, and brought that baby home. We named the boy Caleb. I raised Caleb, slaved away for Sean’s family, and took care of his “paralyzed” mother, until I eventually worked myself into a terminal illness. When I begged for treatment, Sean and Caleb complained it was too expensive. They brought me home and gave me nothing but cheap painkillers. On the day I died, I heard Caleb crying in Hailey’s arms. “Mom, I can finally call you Mom open and honest now.” Only then did I realize that the child I had spent my entire life raising was the biological son of Sean and Hailey. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of my departure. The baby in Sean’s arms was wrapped in a light blue blanket, his cries weak. Sean stood at the door, his eyes red, looking like the victim. “Fiona, I know you’re busy today, but I had nowhere else to turn. Someone left this baby in the alley behind our old clinic. Social Services needs a temporary guardian to sign off immediately. Can you please just help me watch him for a bit?” My professors sat beside me, keeping quiet. I didn’t even stand up. I just asked, “Why are you looking for me?” Sean was visibly taken aback. After all, the old Fiona would never ask “why.” Whenever he said he needed me, I would always worry about his struggles first, completely ignoring my own limits. Sean lowered his voice. “You’re a medical student, and you’re so detail-oriented. We’re getting married soon anyway. Helping me is helping our future family.” I smiled. Family. In my past life, everyone in Sean’s family had that word glued to their lips. Giving up my fellowship was “for the family.” Quitting my job was “for the family.” Using my mother’s retirement money to buy Caleb an apartment was “for the family.” Even when I was dying and my bones ached, they said the family couldn’t let a sick patient drag them down. I looked at the folder in Sean’s hands. “What do you want me to sign?” Sean quickly handed the papers over. “Just a temporary foster intake form. CPS said we can do a transitional placement with a familiar family first before they find a permanent home.” I flipped to the first page. On the form, my name, home address, and future family plans were already filled out. Only the signature line was blank. What disgusted me even more was the background section. It was written as if I had already enthusiastically agreed. To be married soon. Female applicant has a medical background, stable household, and a long-term desire to provide care. These words hit me like a slap in the face. They were exactly like the praise Sean’s family used to shower me with in my past life. Fiona is so patient. Fiona is so caring. Fiona is the perfect mother. They praised me so much that eventually, saying “no” felt like a crime. The department head noticed something was off and frowned slightly. “Fiona, did you clear this placement with the university’s travel board beforehand?” “No,” I answered instantly. “I am here today to confirm my flight to Europe, not to sign up for motherhood.” Someone in the room let out a soft gasp. Sean’s expression turned incredibly dark. He probably hadn’t expected me to be so blunt in front of my peers. In the past, I always protected his fragile ego. Even if I felt wronged, I would wait until we got home to ask him quietly about it. But I had cared about his feelings for an entire lifetime already. That was enough. I looked up. “Where did you get my ID copies?” Sean stiffened. “From when I helped you organize your licensing exam materials last month. Fiona, don’t sweat the small stuff. The baby can’t wait.” “Small stuff?” I slammed the folder shut. “You took my personal documents, filled out a foster form without my consent, and crashed my academic meeting to force me to sign it. You really know how to pick your moments, Sean.” Sean’s voice dropped. “Do you really have to embarrass me in front of everyone?” I pulled out my phone. Panic flashed in his eyes. “What are you doing?” “Calling 911,” I said calmly. “An abandoned baby is a matter for the police, the hospital, and Child Protective Services. It is not the job of an unmarried medical student.” The baby started crying again. Sean hugged the infant closer, his eyes turning cold. “Fiona, when did you become so heartless?” I stood up and took my passport and visa documents back. “Since the day I died once.” Sean froze. He obviously couldn’t understand what I meant. He probably just thought I was talking nonsense out of anger. But I was completely sober. I could clearly see the familiar designer watch on his wrist, the loose threads on the baby’s blanket, and the light blue hair tie, the exact brand Hailey always used, wrapped around the baby’s bottle bag. I hadn’t noticed these details in my past life. Back then, my mind had been filled with Sean’s tearful eyes and his heartbreaking lie: “I might never have my own kids.” I had valued his pain too much and my own future too little. In this life, I wouldn’t fall for the same trap twice.

Fiona’s POV By the time the police arrived at the university building, Sean was still standing in the hallway, holding the baby. He kept trying to explain himself, claiming he was just panicking, that I was his fiancée, and that we were going to build a life together anyway. But when the officers asked him for the exact time and location he found the baby, and why there was no initial police report, his answers became incredibly vague. “In the alley behind our closed family clinic,” Sean stammered. “I went there this morning to pick up some old boxes, and the baby was just… there.” The officer asked, “Why didn’t you call 911 immediately?” Sean looked at me. “I was afraid the baby would suffer in a state facility. Fiona has a medical background. I thought she could care for him first.” I spoke up. “I never consented to this.” Sean snapped at me, frustrated. “I know you’re mad at me, but the baby is innocent!” “If he’s innocent, he deserves to go through the proper legal channels.” I looked at the officer. “I suspect this man of identity fraud. He used my personal documents to forge a foster application and tried to sabotage my career.” Hearing this, the department head’s face turned dead serious. Sean panicked. “Fiona! Do you really have to take it this far?” I handed my document folder to the officer. “I never authorized any agency to use my ID. The signature is blank because he came here to coerce me into signing it on the spot.” The officer took the file, reviewed it, and looked at Sean. “Who gave you these forms?” Sean’s lips trembled. “A local community volunteer.” Suddenly, I pointed to the edge of the baby’s blanket. “The baby has a hospital band on.” Everyone looked. Tucked inside the soft blanket was a tiny pink hospital identification band, printed with a serial number and the initials of a luxury private maternity retreat. Sean instinctively tried to shield the baby, but it was too late. The officer saw the motion. “We are taking the baby to the hospital for an evaluation, and we will run a trace on the hospital ID. Mr. Sean, as the person who ‘found’ the infant, you need to come with us to give a formal statement.” Sean’s face drained of color. I went to the hospital to give my statement. My dad, Arthur, and my mom, Helen, rushed over as soon as they got my call. My mom grabbed my hands immediately. “You didn’t sign anything, did you?” “No, Mom.” My dad glared at Sean, his voice dripping with anger. “What the hell were you doing with my daughter’s ID?” Sean still tried to defend himself. “Sir, I was only doing it for the baby.” My dad let out a harsh laugh. “For the baby? So you decided to exploit my daughter?” My dad was usually a mild-tempered man. He had always viewed Sean as the sweet boy next door. Not wealthy, but stable and hardworking. In my past life, when I insisted on staying, my dad had opposed it. But he ultimately gave in because I cried and said I loved Sean. Living this life again, I finally saw the deep disappointment and fear in my father’s eyes. He didn’t look down on Sean for being poor. He was just a father who finally realized someone was trying to turn his precious daughter into a stepping stone for another family. The baby was taken into the ER. The doctor explained they would treat him under the safe-haven protocol and contact CPS. When Sean heard “CPS,” his expression grew even worse. Not long after, Hailey rushed in. She was still in her nurse’s uniform, her eyes puffy. Her first words weren’t about the baby’s health, but: “Sean, why are the police involved?” I stood by the wall, raising an eyebrow. Hailey acted as if she had just noticed me, squeezing out a fragile, apologetic smile. “Fiona, you’re here too. Please don’t misunderstand… Sean just has a heart of gold.” In my past life, Hailey was always like this. Fragile, sweet, always playing the victim. She cried when she took my scholarship, saying she would study hard on my behalf. She cried when she claimed Caleb back, saying her years away from him were her life’s greatest regret. I stared at her. “You got here incredibly fast.” Hailey’s eyelashes fluttered. “The hospital group chat was talking about an ER intake.” I replied flatly, “The baby literally just entered the ER. The news traveled to the inpatient ward that quickly?” Hailey’s face stiffened. Sean immediately stepped in front of her, blocking my view. “Fiona, Hailey is a nurse. What’s wrong with her caring about a patient?” “Did I say there was something wrong?” I smiled slightly. “I was just curious.” The police officer paused his pen on his notepad, took a long look at them, and continued writing. Watching Sean instinctively shield Hailey, the last trace of affection I had for him evaporated. I had seen this exact protective posture in my past life. Every time Hailey visited our house and her eyes welled up, Sean would stand in front of her. Back then, I had been so drained by housework that I would just turn down the stove in the kitchen, pretending not to hear his soft murmurs of comfort in the living room. I used to lie to myself, thinking Sean was just a loyal, caring friend. Now I knew the real word for it: favoritism.

Fiona’s POV The doctor soon came out with an update. The baby had a minor infection and mild dehydration, but his life wasn’t in danger. He needed to be admitted for observation. Since his identity was unknown, the hospital would proceed with state emergency custody, and the medical bills would be temporarily covered by the state social fund. I listened carefully. In my past life, Sean had sweet-talked me into taking the baby home on day one. After that, every bill, every sleepless night, and every heavy responsibility fell squarely on my shoulders. By the time I wanted to back out, his family had already put me on a pedestal as the “perfect mother.” If I complained about being tired, I was labeled selfish and ungrateful. In this life, I wouldn’t make the first mistake. Sean, however, was getting desperate. “We can’t let him go to state custody. He’s so small. If he keeps moving around facilities, it’ll ruin his health. Fiona, it’s just a temporary signature. No one is asking you to adopt him right now!” My mom was trembling with rage. “Are you out of your mind? My daughter leaves for Europe next week. Why on earth should she sign up to be a foster parent?” Hailey chimed in, her voice soft and timid. “Mrs. Helen, Sean is just worried about the baby. Fiona is a medical student; taking care of him for a few days shouldn’t be that hard, right? Maybe the trip to Europe can be pushed back a bit.” I turned my gaze to her. “If it’s so easy, why don’t you sign the papers?” Hailey turned pale. “I’m a nurse at this hospital. It’s a conflict of interest for me to sign.” “But aren’t you the one who cares about the baby the most?” Hailey’s eyes filled with tears instantly. “Fiona, why are you attacking me? I was just stating a fact. Your family is well-off. Even if you delay your fellowship for a year, you’ll have another chance. But if nobody helps this baby, his life could be ruined.” I actually laughed out loud. My family is well-off, so I should sacrifice. My grades are good, so I should step aside. I have a soft heart, so I should be the one to suffer. In my past life, everyone used these exact arguments to slowly push me into a corner. “I cannot delay,” I said, looking Hailey dead in the eye. “Not even for an hour.” Sean’s face twisted. “Are you seriously going to abandon a baby just for your career?” I countered, “Are you seriously trying to ruin your fiancée’s career for a baby of unknown origin?” Sean choked on his words. Hailey whispered, “Sean, stop pushing Fiona. If she doesn’t want to, forget it. I can come by and check on the baby after my shifts.” Her words sounded like a compromise, but they were designed to make me look incredibly cold and selfish. I refused to play her game. I turned to the doctor. “I am not the baby’s relative, nor am I his guardian. Please do not contact me for any future signatures or payments. Sean is the one who found him, and the police are still investigating the baby’s origin.” The doctor nodded. “Understood.” Sean gritted his teeth. “Fiona, do you have to draw such a harsh line between us?” “Yes,” I said. “There is absolutely no legal or biological relationship between me and this child.” Just as the words left my mouth, the phone in Hailey’s pocket vibrated. She glanced at it, and a look of sheer panic flashed across her face. I caught it. Though she quickly flipped the phone screen-down, I caught a glimpse of a text message from an unsaved number: The hospital band wasn’t removed. Don’t let them trace it back to the retreat. I didn’t expose her right then and there. I just looked out the window. My calm reflection stared back at me in the hospital glass. The prey had already exposed their weakness. There was another reason I didn’t call them out on the spot. I knew Sean and Hailey too well. If I accused them right there, they would have thrown a massive scene. One would cry about her “good intentions,” the other would claim he was “just scared,” and they would use the baby as a shield so no one would dare to press further. I wasn’t going to fall into that circus again. In this life, I wanted hard evidence. Written, undeniable evidence. When I got home, I wrote down every single detail in my notes. Sean’s excuses, Hailey’s arrival time, the baby’s ID band number, the doctor’s statements. I recorded everything chronologically. In my past life, I lost because I believed “family” shouldn’t keep score or keep receipts. But bad people thrive when good people don’t keep receipts. In this life, I would make sure every lie was documented, and every suspicious move had a paper trail.

Fiona’s POV The next morning, I received three emails. The first was from the university’s travel board, notifying me that someone had tried to log into my student portal at 3:00 AM to submit a deferral request. The system had blocked it due to an unrecognized IP address. The second was from a state foster platform, thanking me for submitting an “expression of interest” for emergency foster care, stating they were only waiting for my final e-signature. The third was the most ridiculous. It was an unsubmitted application for my fellowship spot, with Hailey listed as the alternate candidate. The cover letter stated that I was withdrawing due to “unexpected family planning” and highly recommended my classmate, Hailey, to take my place. My mom’s face turned red with anger when she read it. “How dare they!” My dad immediately called our family lawyer. But I remained completely calm. I saved the original emails, took screenshots, and changed all my passwords right in front of the lawyer. After reviewing the files, the lawyer said, “This isn’t just a lover’s spat. Unauthorized access to student accounts, identity theft, and forging legal documents to sabotage your academic standing. We can absolutely file criminal charges.” I nodded. “Then let’s take it all the way.” My mom looked at me, worried. “Fiona, don’t force yourself to be strong if you’re hurting.” “Mom, I’m not forcing anything.” I closed my laptop. “I just finally know where to put my energy.” In my past life, I spent all my energy on enduring. Enduring Sean’s busy schedule, enduring his mother’s fake illnesses, enduring Caleb’s terrible tantrums, and enduring Hailey constantly appearing in my life as a “close friend.” I endured so much that when I got sick, my pain was treated as an inconvenience to them. In this life, I was done enduring. My phone rang. It was Sean. I put it on speaker. “Fiona, don’t blow this out of proportion,” Sean said, his voice hushed. “The deferral application was just a draft; I didn’t submit it. And the foster platform was just an inquiry. No official documents were signed. Calling the police won’t benefit anyone.” I replied, “You mean it won’t benefit you.” There was a pause on the line. “We’ve been together for so many years. Are you really going to ruin my life over a few forms?” “You tried to ruin my life over those exact forms.” His breathing grew heavy. Sean finally lost his temper. “Is going to Europe really that important to you? More important than a baby’s life? More important than me? More important than our future?” I said softly, “Yes, it is more important than you.” Sean gasped. I added, “It is more important than all of you combined.” I hung up. The living room was dead silent for a few seconds. My dad suddenly let out a soft chuckle. “You should have done that a long time ago.” I smiled. It was a small smile, but a massive weight lifted off my shoulders. Saying no to Sean didn’t make my world collapse. Putting myself first didn’t make me a bad person. The lawyer quickly gathered the evidence. That afternoon, I filed an official police report for identity theft and submitted a formal statement to the university about my compromised account. The department head emailed me back quickly: Your fellowship status remains fully secure. Please proceed with your travel plans as scheduled. Looking at the email, my heart finally settled. This time, nobody was going to press the pause button on my life. The department head later sent me a private text. She told me that many students face intense emotional and familial pressure before going abroad. She had seen too many bright young women give up their dreams for guilt-tripping partners. She reminded me that my future was worth protecting. Reading her text, I sat in silence for a long time. I wasn’t the only one who had almost been dragged down. And there were people in this world who would look me in the eye and say: Your future matters. That night, I sat at my desk and checked my travel documents one last time. My passport, my visa, my health clearance, my housing confirmation, my credit cards. They were all real, solid, and sitting right in front of me. No longer stuffed into the back of a drawer because of Sean’s “just wait one more year.” My mom brought in a glass of warm milk. Seeing my straight posture, she gently stroked my hair. “Are you exhausted, sweetie?” I shook my head. Actually, I was. Rebirth didn’t magically erase the trauma. The memory of the physical pain from the hospital bed, Caleb’s hateful glares, and Sean’s tenderness toward Hailey were still wired into my brain. But this time, I didn’t have to swallow the pain and pretend everything was fine. “Mom,” I said suddenly. “If I had made the wrong choice in the past, would you and Dad have hated me?” My mom paused, her eyes tearing up. “You are our daughter, Fiona. If you take a wrong turn, we pull you back. Why would we ever hate you?” I took a sip of the warm milk. The warmth traveled down my throat, and my eyes welled up.

Fiona’s POV Once Sean was called in for questioning, Hailey was the first to crack. She showed up at my apartment building that evening, holding a bag of fruit, her eyes swollen from crying. My mom didn’t even want to let her in, but I told her to let Hailey up. I wanted to see what kind of performance Hailey had prepared this time. Hailey sat on the edge of the sofa, her hands trembling. “Fiona, I know you’re mad at me, but I swear I didn’t know anything. Sean just asked me if I would want the fellowship spot if you decided not to go. I thought you had made the decision yourself.” I poured her a glass of water. “And you were happy to take it?” Hailey bit her lip. “It was an opportunity of a lifetime. My family isn’t wealthy like yours. When an opportunity like that comes around, I have to grab it.” “So because my family is doing well, I should just hand my hard work over to you?” Hailey’s tears began to flow. “That’s not what I meant. Fiona, you’ve had everything since we were kids. Loving parents, supportive teachers, and Sean loved you first. But what about me? I have to fight for every single scrap.” I stared at her. In my past life, I had been deeply moved by this exact speech. I had pitied her, thinking a single sacrifice on my part wouldn’t hurt. But what I handed over wasn’t just a spot in a program; it was my entire life. “You can fight all you want, Hailey. But why did you have to steal from me?” Hailey’s face went white. I unlocked my phone and slid the screenshot of her text message across the table. “Who sent you this?” Hailey’s hand shook so violently she almost dropped her glass. “I… I don’t know,” she stammered, trying to deny it. “Probably just spam.” “Fine. I’ll let the police run a trace on the number.” Hailey finally dropped her act. Her voice turned sharp and desperate. “Are you trying to destroy us? The baby is already sick, and Sean is at his wits’ end because of you. I just wanted a chance at a better life. Why can’t you just let this go?” My mom let out a disgusted laugh. “You stole from my daughter, and now you have the nerve to ask her to let it go?” Hailey suddenly glared at me, her eyes filled with venom. “Do you really think you’ve won? Sean has always loved me. The baby is ours. The only reason he chose you was because your family has money and could help him climb the social ladder!” Her words didn’t hurt me at all. In my past life, a revelation like this would have broken me. Now, it just felt pathetic. “Then you two deserve each other,” I said calmly. “The baby, Sean, and his family’s mess. You can have them all back.” The color drained from Hailey’s face. She wanted Sean’s affection, but she absolutely did not want his family’s financial burden. Her plan was to have me raise the child, pay the bills, and care for his mother, while she could swoop in later as the biological mother, playing the victim. I stood up and opened the door. “Get out.” Hailey snarled, “You’ll regret this, Fiona! Even if you go to Europe, Sean won’t wait for you!” I looked at her. “That is the best news I’ve heard all day.” I shut the door, cutting off her sobbing. My mom hugged me tightly. “Don’t listen to a word she said, sweetie.” “I won’t, Mom.” I finally understood that Hailey’s ultimate cruelty wasn’t stealing Sean. It was her constant attempt to gaslight me into believing that everything stolen from me was just something I “owed” her. After Hailey left, my mom was still furious. “She practically grew up eating at our table! Did I ever treat her poorly? When you had study guides, I made you print copies for her. When you went to competitions, I made extra lunches for her. How can she take so much from us and still feel entitled to steal your life?” I rubbed my mom’s back to soothe her. “Mom, don’t waste your energy on her.” “I’m not angry for her,” my mom said, her eyes red. “I’m just heartbroken for you. You always told us Sean was struggling, Hailey was struggling… but my daughter was struggling too.” Those words hit me hard, and my tears finally broke. In my past life, everyone was struggling except me. I had listened to their complaints for so long that I forgot to ask myself: Fiona, aren’t you tired? In this life, someone was finally asking for me. I didn’t sleep well that night. I dreamed of my past life, standing in Sean’s kitchen washing dishes. The sink was piled high with greasy plates. Caleb was screaming my name from the living room, and Sean’s mother was pounding on her bedroom door for attention. My hands were covered in soap suds, and no matter how hard I scrubbed, I couldn’t get them clean. I woke up before dawn, drenched in sweat. I sat on the edge of my bed for a long time, then turned on my desk lamp. I rechecked my documents. The paper was real. The visa was real. The suitcase was real. I was no longer trapped in that nightmare. I was finally awake.

Fiona’s POV The truth about the baby came to light very quickly. Based on the hospital band serial number, the police traced the birth to a high-end private maternity retreat. The facility initially cited client privacy, but they complied once the police presented a formal warrant. The baby had been born at a private hospital affiliated with the retreat. The mother had registered under a fake name, but the bank account used to pay the bills belonged to Hailey’s aunt. Furthermore, Sean’s license plate had been captured entering the retreat’s garage on the day of the birth. Sean could no longer play innocent. He cornered me at a coffee shop near campus. I had just finalized my departure details with my advisor and was about to head home. Sean stood at the entrance, looking exhausted and significantly thinner. “Fiona, we need to talk.” “My lawyer is right here,” I said, pointing to the man sitting next to me. Sean froze, then let out a bitter laugh. “You won’t even see me without a lawyer now?” “Correct.” My bluntness left him speechless. He slowly sat down, his voice cracking. “The baby is mine. It was an accident. Hailey and I got drunk one night… and then she got pregnant. I panicked. I was terrified you would leave me if you found out, so I came up with this plan.” I stared at him. “Your plan was to package your child as an abandoned baby and dump him on me?” Sean’s eyes turned red. “I didn’t want to hurt you. I just knew how kind-hearted you are. I thought if you raised him for a bit, you would fall in love with him, and even if you found out the truth later, you wouldn’t be able to leave.” “So you gambled on my kindness.” “I gambled on our love!” Sean pleaded, reaching across the table. “Fiona, you’re the one I love. Hailey was just a mistake. If we raise this baby together, we can still have a perfect family.” I wanted to laugh at his audacity. I had heard some disgusting things in my past life, but his ability to spin his betrayal into an act of love still shocked me. “A perfect family?” I asked slowly. “The biological mother watches from the sidelines, the biological father pretends he found the kid in an alley, and the fiancée gives up her career to raise him? You call that a perfect family?” Sean’s face turned ash-gray. “I know I messed up,” he whispered, swallowing his pride. “But please, don’t go to Europe. I can’t handle this on my own. The baby needs medical care, and Hailey is falling apart. If you stay, we can start over.” Looking at him, I felt the memory of my past self slipping away. Why had I ever loved a man like this? Perhaps Sean was never worth it. I had simply projected all my youthful fantasies onto him, refusing to admit I had made a terrible mistake. “Sean,” I said. “You’re not struggling because the situation is hard. You’re struggling because you don’t want to take responsibility.” I stood up to leave. Sean jumped up. “Fiona!” My lawyer stepped in, blocking him. “Mr. Sean, if you continue to harass my client, we will call the police.” I slipped my lawyer’s business card into my bag. I was no longer in the business of cleaning up Sean’s messes. On the ride home, my lawyer warned me, “Sean is extremely unstable right now. He might try to corner you again before your flight. Do not meet him alone.” I nodded. “I know.” I wasn’t afraid of Sean. I had simply learned that putting yourself in danger isn’t “brave.” It’s foolish. In my past life, I believed our years together meant he would never truly hurt me. But I learned the hard way that harm doesn’t always come in the form of physical violence. Sometimes, a coerced signature, a guilt-trip, or a stolen opportunity can destroy your life just as easily. Outside the car window, the city lights blurred past. Looking at my reflection, I realized how young I still was. At this exact age in my past life, I was already learning how to mix baby formula, walking on eggshells around Sean’s mother, and crying quietly into my pillow at night. Now, I had the time to choose differently. And that was worth everything. Sean sent me dozens of messages after that. Sometimes he begged, sometimes he cursed, and sometimes he pretended nothing happened, asking if I had eaten. I didn’t reply to a single one. I realized that ignoring him was a skill, a way of training myself to no longer be controlled by his emotions. In the past, whenever Sean was unhappy, I would immediately analyze what I had done wrong. Now, whether he was happy or falling apart was entirely his own problem. I was completely done with him.

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I once thought loving someone enough to lay down my life for them was the purest, unbreakable love there was. Until, in the wind and snow, I heard the “late husband” I had tried to die for eight times carefully holding another woman in his arms while pretending to be someone else. He said, “Once I stabilize the situation, she’ll understand.” It hit me then—my wholehearted love was just an inconvenience he could put off sorting out for later. And so, I finally learned to live for myself. Bella Hayes POV To die for my husband, Evan Foster, who had “died” in a car accident, I almost jumped off the cliff edge at Snowridge for the eighth time. But only now did I realize that the kind of love I had been willing to throw my life away for was the biggest joke in the world! My husband, Evan Foster, who should have been burned to a charred corpse in that car accident, wasn’t dead at all. He was living under the identity of his half-brother, “Eric Foster,” carefully holding another pregnant woman in his arms. At that moment, wrapped in an emergency blanket, I stood stiffly outside the lounge at the rescue station, listening to the suppressed sobbing and angry scolding of Evan Foster’s mother, Anna Clark, coming from inside. “Evan! How much longer are you going to keep lying to her?! Bella Hayes climbed over the guardrail at the accident site eight whole times for you! Are you really going to watch her die for love, right in front of you?!” Inside the room, the man I had loved deeply for three years was silent for a long time. When he spoke again, his voice was hoarse yet cruel. “Mom, the real Eric died saving me. Grace Carter is still carrying his child. She can’t handle the shock of her fiancé’s tragic death. Right now, I can only be Eric Foster.” “And what about Bella Hayes?! She’s your legally wedded wife!” “Once Grace safely gives birth, and once the situation at Foster Group stabilizes, I’ll tell Bella Hayes the truth.” His tone carried a certainty so self-righteous it sounded natural. “She loves me that much. She’ll understand.” “She’ll understand.” Those words were like a rusty, blunt knife, grinding my heart to pieces while it was still alive. For Evan, I had tried to die eight times. I had tormented myself until I looked neither human nor ghost, and I had nearly built up a tolerance to sedatives. And Evan, to protect another woman’s pregnancy, had personally faked his own death. He had watched me fall apart in agony, yet from his lofty position, he was certain that in the end, I would generously forgive him?! The door to the lounge was suddenly pushed open. “Eric Foster” looked up, met my dead, hollow eyes, and his face went deathly pale in an instant. He blurted out, “Bella!” Not Bella Hayes. Not Ms. Hayes. But “Bella,” the name he would only murmur in a low, lingering voice between the sheets, in the depths of passionate nights. I looked at that face, my stomach churning violently. All I felt was overwhelming disgust. The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed hard. Then he abruptly came back to himself and put on that restrained, compassionate expression. “Bella Hayes, why are you standing here? The doctor said you can’t be out in the wind.” I didn’t expose him. I only tucked my wind-tangled hair behind my ear, my voice as light as a weightless flake of snow. “Eric Foster, is your brother really dead?” A flash of extreme humiliation passed through “Eric Foster’s” eyes, but he still gritted his teeth and said, “Bella Hayes, my condolences.” I nodded. With that nod, I completely severed the obsession I had held for Evan Foster for three years. I turned and walked into the wind and snow. No matter how the man behind me called out, I never looked back again. The Evan Foster I had loved had already died in that car accident. The one still alive was a vile man who had played me for a fool for another woman’s sake.

Bella Hayes POV When I returned to the Foster villa, four bodyguards stood guard outside the master bedroom, and they had even installed two surveillance cameras. “Eric Foster” walked in with a glass of water and a pillbox, impatience pressed between his brows. “Bella Hayes, take the sedatives first. The doctor said you’re emotionally unstable. Be good.” Be good. Those were the two words Evan loved saying to me most. I used to think they were indulgent and affectionate. Only now did I understand that they were just convenient tools for training me. I suspected I’d never been his wife or lover, just someone he could keep under his thumb. I glanced at the pillbox and pushed it away coldly. “I don’t want to take them.” “You haven’t slept in two days!” His tone grew heavier, faintly carrying the pressure of someone used to standing above others. I lifted my head and stared him down. “What? Afraid that if I’m awake, I’ll get in the way of you taking care of Grace Carter?” “Eric Foster’s” heart gave a violent jump. He instinctively avoided my gaze. “Grace Carter is carrying the Foster family’s child. My brother is gone. It’s only right that I take care of Grace in his place.” I watched him act, without even the strength left to laugh at him. “Fine. Take good care of her, then.” I took the pills and swallowed them in one gulp. The look in “Eric Foster’s” eyes as he watched me was dark and unreadable, but in the end, he said nothing. As soon as “Eric Foster” left, I immediately locked the bathroom door. From the hidden compartment at the very bottom of the sink cabinet, I pulled out an old backup phone. I didn’t cry or make a scene the way I used to whenever I felt wronged. Instead, I calmly dialed the number of Ethan Cole, the assistant my father, Charles Hayes, trusted most. “Ethan Cole, I want to leave the Foster family. Tomorrow morning, bring people to pick me up.” Ethan Cole sounded a little surprised on the other end, but he immediately said, “Of course, Ms. Hayes. I’ll be there on time tomorrow morning.” After hanging up, I let out a breath of relief. I walked out of the bathroom and pulled open the drawer of my vanity. Inside were all the memories Evan and I had shared. But as expected, every photo, letter, ticket stub related to Evan—even our marriage certificate—had been taken away. They wanted to erase every trace of Evan’s existence because they were afraid I would go insane. But he had never considered that I no longer cared about Evan. For Grace Carter, he could turn from Evan Foster into Eric Foster. And for myself, I could also turn from Mrs. Foster back into Bella Hayes. I let out a cold laugh and neatly pulled the wedding ring off my ring finger. That diamond ring, engraved on the inside with both our names, had once been something I treasured like my own life. But now, it felt like a disgusting dog collar. I casually tossed the ring into the trash can. Then I began packing the things that belonged to me. My ID documents, passport, bank cards, and the bracelet my mother, Mia Hayes, had left me. My hands shook slightly, my heart hammering away in my chest. But with every item I took away, my love for Evan Foster died a little more thoroughly. I knew very clearly that this time, I wasn’t acting out of anger. I was saving myself.

Bella Hayes POV Early the next morning, Grace Carter came to the villa with her slightly visible baby bump. She wore a pitiful white dress, and the moment she came in and saw me, her eyes reddened. “I came to see Bella Hayes. If Eric Foster hadn’t gotten into that accident trying to save Evan, the Foster family wouldn’t have ended up like this…” With a single sentence, she put all the blame for Evan’s “death” on me. “Eric Foster” walked out of the study. The first thing he looked at wasn’t me, but Grace Carter’s belly. “Didn’t I tell you to stay home and rest during the pregnancy? Why did you come all the way here?” Grace Carter bit her lip and leaned weakly against him, as if she had no bones. “I dreamed about Eric Foster… I was afraid Bella Hayes might do something reckless, and I was also afraid that once the baby is born, there won’t be a father to love them. I’m scared…” “Eric Foster” held her and comforted her gently. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here.” “Grace Carter, don’t worry. I won’t let anyone hurt you, and I won’t let anyone hurt the child.” Grace Carter leaned softly in his arms, her eyes filled with dependence and trust. “You’re so good to me. I want to be with you forever.” I stood on the staircase, coldly watching this adulterous pair compete in their acting. All I felt was a wave of nausea rising in my throat. If, before today, I had still held even the tiniest expectation for Evan, then today, every last bit of that expectation had been ground into sand. I had completely, utterly given up. I would never have the slightest fantasy about him again. This person was no longer the Evan Foster who had once loved me. Or perhaps I couldn’t even be sure whether Evan Foster had ever felt even the slightest love for me back then. “You call him Eric Foster so smoothly,” I said, slowly walking down the stairs and looking at Grace Carter with a half-smile. Grace Carter’s face went pale. In panic, she grabbed “Eric Foster’s” sleeve. “Bella Hayes, what do you mean by that?” “Eric Foster” immediately frowned and stepped in front of Grace Carter. “Bella Hayes, Grace can’t handle any shock. Watch what you say.” I looked at his protective stance and only found it absurd. “It was just an offhand comment. Why are you two so nervous?” Grace Carter lowered her eyes and timidly changed the subject. “Bella Hayes, tonight is the anniversary of the day Eric Foster and I originally set our wedding date. I want to ask you for one thing. At tonight’s family dinner with the elders, could you please not mention trying to jump off the cliff again? Grandpa and Grandma can’t handle the shock.” “Eric Foster” immediately chimed in as well. “That’s right, Bella Hayes. You should come sit with everyone tonight too. This family can’t keep being weighed down by your depression.” Depression. He faked his death, and I was destroyed by grief for him. In the end, it somehow became my sin in this family? I looked at Grace Carter’s face, wearing that manipulative innocent act to the extreme, and suddenly laughed. “Sure. I’ll be at tonight’s anniversary dinner on time.” I wanted to see with my own eyes just how far Evan Foster would trample the Foster family’s dignity into the mud for this woman.

Bella Hayes POV At the dinner in the villa’s east hall, the seats were filled with relatives from the Foster family. Grace Carter sat beside “Eric Foster,” every bit like the lady of the Foster family, as the elders surrounded her with concern and questions. One drunken older relative patted “Eric Foster” on the shoulder and sighed. “Eric, your brother is gone, and Bella Hayes is pitiful too. In the future, if she needs to be sent away, just send her away. Don’t let a widow like her wail at home every day. It’s bad for the family!” “Eric Foster’s” hand tightened abruptly around his wineglass. Grace Carter immediately tried to smooth things over with reddened eyes. “Please don’t say that. Bella Hayes just loved Evan too much.” “Love or not, she can’t keep trying to kill herself every day! She’s completely disgraced the Foster family!” “The Foster family’s dignity?” I, who had been silent the entire time, suddenly stood. My cool voice instantly cut through the noise in the room. My gaze was like a blade as it pierced straight toward “Eric Foster.” “You stripped my room bare, took all my phones, and posted guards to lock me up like a prisoner. Tell me, Eric—was all that for the Fosters’ precious reputation?” The entire room fell deathly silent. Anna Clark’s expression changed drastically. “Bella Hayes, what nonsense are you saying?!” “Eric Foster” shot to his feet, his eyes panicked yet cold. “Bella Hayes, you’ve had too much to drink. I’ll take you back to your room.” “Don’t touch me!” I violently flung off his hand. I pulled a document from my bag and threw it directly onto the center of the table. “Since all the elders are here today, I’ll make myself clear. I’ve already entrusted a lawyer to conduct a full investigation and freeze all marital assets under Evan Foster’s name! If Foster Group has any documents that require my signature, contact my lawyer directly. Don’t let ‘Eric Foster’ bring them in front of me and disgust me again!” Everyone in the room sucked in a sharp breath. “Bella Hayes! Are you insane? Your husband is barely cold in the grave, and you’re already thinking about fighting over the family fortune?!” Grace Carter’s tears instantly burst free. Clutching her stomach, she collapsed crying into “Eric Foster’s” arms. “Bella Hayes, do you blame me? If you think the baby and I are in your way, I’ll leave right now. I would never fight you for your money…” I looked down at her nauseating display from above and let out a cold laugh. “Don’t bother going. If you’re so fond of hand-me-down garbage other people cast aside, you’re welcome to cling to it.” “Bella Hayes! Are you done making a scene?!” “Eric Foster” erupted in rage, the veins on his forehead throbbing. I looked at the face I had once loved so deeply. There was no warmth left in my eyes. “Evan Foster, I’ve already died for you eight times. From now on, whether the Foster family lives or dies has nothing to do with me.” The moment those words came out, the hall instantly plunged into deathly silence! What had she called him?! Evan Foster?! “Eric Foster’s” face turned as white as paper in an instant, his pupils contracting violently. He instinctively tried to pull me back, but I avoided him without mercy. I didn’t spare him another glance. I turned and strode out of the brightly lit hall. Outside, Ethan Cole’s car was already waiting in the wind and snow. I opened the car door and left behind all of the Foster family’s hypocrisy, schemes, and that sickening so-called devotion forever.

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After seven years of marriage, I was his collateral for a debt, the ATM in my mother-in-law’s eyes. I had boiled all my love and hope into a bitter medicine made from my trampled dignity. Until forced kneeling in the chapel shattered my knee, until the call from my dying father was cut off without mercy— I finally saw clearly that the man who kept saying he loved me had never truly cared whether I lived or died. This debt settlement called marriage was due to end. Grace Gardner’s POV “Grace Gardner, this is your seventh year in the Foster family as collateral for a debt, isn’t it?” At the Christmas family dinner, Mrs. Foster placed an promissory note on the table in front of a full table of relatives, her eyes fixed on me. The once-lively long dining table fell silent in an instant. No one responded. One gaze after another stabbed toward me, sitting at the very end of the long dining table, as if they were watching a joke. Seven years ago, my biological father had pressed my finger down to sign and fingerprint, sending me into the Foster family like a piece of collateral. From that day on, in the Foster family, I was a debt first, and only then Mrs. Foster. Ever since then, at every Christmas family dinner, this promissory note would appear on the dining table right on time, becoming the blade Mrs. Foster used to humiliate me in public. I lowered my eyes, both hands clenching a piece of paper in my pocket. It was a bank statement, one I had found three days ago in an old box in the storage room. The transfer records from the past six years matched up, entry by entry. In the note field of the final transfer, one sentence was written in black and white—Loan Repaid in Full. The debt had been paid off long ago. The promissory note Mrs. Foster was holding was nothing more than a scrap of paper meant to disgust me. “Lost your voice? I asked you how many years are left.” Mrs. Foster pressed harder. I lifted my reddened eyes. I did not take out that bank statement. Instead, I cast a pleading look toward my husband, Zachary Foster, who was sitting in the head seat. Six years ago, also on Christmas, Mrs. Foster had called me a debt-repayment servant. Back then, Zachary had overturned the table in front of all the elders, eyes red as he pointed at everyone and roared, “She is the wife I married into this family, not a debt-repayment tool!” Those words became the only obsession that carried me through seven years of humiliation in the Foster family. Every time Mrs. Foster humiliated me with that promissory note, I desperately found excuses for him in my heart. Mother was an elder. It was hard for him to contradict her in public. He was too busy. The timing was wrong. He would definitely handle it privately… But today, the irrefutable evidence that the debt was paid was right in my pocket! As long as he was willing to say one word, even if it was only to shield me for a moment, Mrs. Foster would shut up. I stared at him, my eyes stinging. And yet Zachary only leaned against the back of his chair, his long fingers lazily turning a stemmed glass. Faced with my nearly pleading gaze, his expression did not change. He did not even lift his eyelids. A few seconds later, he unhurriedly picked up his coffee and took a sip. As if the woman being trampled underfoot and ground into the dirt in front of everyone was not his wife at all. Faint laughter rose around the table. Mrs. Foster sneered smugly. “A debtor with three years left unpaid thinks she’s qualified to sit here and vote? Mr. Walter, remove Grace Gardner from the family council roster.” This year, Mrs. Foster wanted to stomp me into the mud completely. My nails dug deep into my palms until they broke the skin. I did not argue back. Without a word, I endured it until the banquet ended, then stopped Zachary at the second-floor stairwell. “I have something to tell you.” My voice was trembling. Zachary lowered his head, scrolling on his phone, not even sparing me a glance from the corner of his eye. His tone was cold and impatient. “I’m tired today. Another time.” With that, he walked around me without the slightest mercy and went straight back to the study. Late that night, I sat alone in the cold bedroom. I smoothed out that crumpled bank statement bit by bit and spread it on the desk. Then I picked up a pen and wrote, stroke by stroke, in the blank space on page four: Debt Paid in Full. After a pause, I wrote another line: Zachary Foster was present and did not speak. The pen had just stopped when Zachary’s voice suddenly came from the hallway. The study door had not been fully closed. He was on the phone with a friend, his tone carrying a casual chuckle. “It’s not like you don’t know how my mother is. She’s old, so she likes dredging up old grievances. Every Christmas, it’s just going through the motions. Everyone laughs it off and moves on.” Whatever the person on the other end said, Zachary gave a dismissive scoff. “She can’t even take that little bit of grievance? There’s nothing worth being serious about. Let her be.” With a boom, all the blood in my body turned cold. The knuckles gripping the pen slowly went white. It felt as if a huge gash had been torn open in my chest, and freezing wind was howling straight in. So it wasn’t that he couldn’t protect me. It was only that, in this man’s heart, the humiliation I suffered and the dignity that had been ground to pieces were simply not worth him getting serious over. Plop. A tear fell onto the bank statement, blurring the writing. I raised my hand and wiped the tears away hard, my gaze cooling little by little.

Grace Gardner’s POV After wiping away my tears, I did not wait for Zachary to return to the bedroom like I usually did. Since this man could not be relied on, I could only rely on myself. That night, I sat under the cold desk lamp and went through the daily reimbursement records from my seven years in the Foster family all over again. The principal Mrs. Foster claimed could never be paid off had long since been settled in my bank statement. The so-called difference was a dead debt that the finance manager had forcibly squeezed out by cutting off the beginning and end of items I had already repaid, then piling on compound interest like they were sucking blood! Early the next morning, as expected, word came from the old family estate again, telling me to go over and reconcile the accounts. The finance manager held a tablet, his voice cold as he checked the accounts entry by entry. Mrs. Foster sat high and mighty on the main mahogany sofa, then slapped that photocopied fake promissory note down in front of me. “Take it back and look at it carefully! Look at exactly how much that father of yours still owes our Foster family!” I lowered my eyes and did not argue a single word. I picked up that photocopy, folded it, and put it into my pocket. And in that same pocket, pressed tightly beneath it, was the bank statement that showed the debt had already been paid in full. When I left the old family estate, I deliberately stopped Walter, the butler, and tentatively brought up the accounts. Walter paused for half a beat, his gaze contemptuous. “Mrs. Foster has the original promissory note in her hands. Naturally, what Mrs. Foster says is what counts. Besides, Mr. Foster is so busy. How would he have time to interfere with household accounts?” My heart could not have died any more thoroughly. Late at night, I hid in the cramped storage room. I tried calling to consult about a small loan, wanting to leave myself some escape money that would not go through the Foster family accounts. The customer service representative’s voice was cold and mechanical. “Ma’am, you have no proof of income. Your spouse would need to sign a consent form.” The hand holding my phone fell limply. A spouse’s signature? That would be the same as telling Zachary I was checking the accounts and preparing to run away! I stuffed the original bank statement and that photocopy of the fake promissory note into the most hidden compartment of an old suitcase, then covered them tightly with worn-out curtains. In this man-eating mansion, money, accounts, and status were all locks, one after another. But this time, the evidence belonged only to me.

Grace Gardner’s POV The night I hid the evidence, I lay awake in the darkness until dawn. I was clearly aware that if I wanted to escape this hellhole, evidence alone was not enough. I had to have money I could control myself. But this was an impossible dead end. Because in the Foster family, I did not even have the freedom to buy a packet of salt. Every month, all of my living expenses had to be attached to receipts, reviewed by the butler, and then reported to Mrs. Foster. Once, I took four extra bags of salt at the supermarket, and Mrs. Foster’s voice message smashed into my phone that same night like a death summons: “Why did you buy so much salt? Didn’t you just buy some last month? Mom isn’t trying to control you, but even if it’s only two dollars, as an outsider, you should still know your place.” If I wanted to break free from this humiliation, I had to go out and work. The next day, I went behind the Foster family’s backs and interviewed at a company. I passed both the written test and the interview, but when HR handed me the onboarding form and saw Zachary Foster’s name filled in under the spouse section, their expression changed immediately. “Ms. Gardner, I’m sorry. According to policy, because of your identity, you need Mr. Foster’s personal signature and consent before you can be employed.” I froze where I stood. I did not argue. I got up and left that building. The fluorescent lights in the corridor made my eyes sting. I did not even have the right to want independence. At dinner, Mrs. Foster was not there. For once, it was only Zachary and me. As if tossing me charity, Zachary said casually, “Next month, I’ll take you to the annex villa for two days. I’ll talk to my mother.” My motion of eating paused. Borrowing this last faint trace of warmth between husband and wife, I spoke hoarsely. “Zachary, if I want to go out and work in the future, do you think that would be okay?” Zachary put down his fork, his brows drawing together slightly. “This family doesn’t need the little bit of money you’d earn.” “I just feel that staying home every day…” “What?” He cut me off without mercy, his gaze filled with condescending scrutiny. “You don’t like your life now? Being Mrs. Foster is such a hardship for you?” One question nailed me straight onto the pillar of shame labeled ungrateful. Just as those words stabbed me so deeply that my whole body went cold, Mrs. Carter came over with a cold expression: “Mrs. Foster said that since Grace still hasn’t paid off her debt, she is to go to the chapel tonight and keep vigil overnight. She’s the eldest daughter-in-law of the Foster household. She is to kneel there and reflect properly!” Zachary was sitting on the living room sofa, the glow of his phone screen falling across his handsome face. He heard every word clearly. He knew perfectly well how hard the hardwood floor in the chapel was. He also knew perfectly well that I had a serious old injury in my knee, and that kneeling too long would leave me in unbearable agony. But he did not even raise his head. His finger even slid calmly across the screen again. I looked steadily at him, then forced one word out to Mrs. Carter: “Okay.” That night, I knelt on the chapel’s icy floor, the cold drilling from my knee into the cracks of my bones like knives. In the latter half of the night, when I tried to stand, my left leg could no longer straighten at all. I braced myself against the wall and dragged my body back to the bedroom step by step. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I clutched my knee, which hurt so badly it was spasming, and the last trace of light in my eyes went out completely.

Grace Gardner’s POV The excruciating pain tortured me for three days. During those three days, Zachary went out early and came home late as usual. He did not even ask one word of concern. And Mrs. Foster’s mental torment of me gave me no chance to breathe at all. Before the family’s month-end tea gathering, Walter, the butler, arrived at the annex villa right on schedule. “Mrs. Foster said there will be a meeting in the main hall in three days. All the women of the family are to attend.” Walter paused, his gaze mocking. “You only need to bring your ears.” I held on to the doorframe, my left knee still aching as if needles were stabbing into it. Only bring my ears meant depriving me of the right to speak. Like a servant, I was arranged at the very end of the long dining table, in the seat closest to the door. Mrs. Foster tapped the tabletop and raised her voice. “Starting this year, seats will be adjusted. Some people still have outstanding debts, so it is unsuitable for them to participate in internal family affairs!” The women around the table whispered among themselves, their contemptuous gazes sweeping toward me. I shot to my feet. Mrs. Foster immediately raised her hand and snapped sharply, “Today, you only brought your ears!” I did not sit down. I looked past the long dining table, straight at Zachary on the other side. Zachary sat there, his screen lit. With my own eyes, I watched his thumb swipe once, twice, three times. On the fourth time, he finally stopped. But he still did not raise his head to look at me even once. With a cold smile, Mrs. Foster had the butler remove the nameplate marking her as the Foster family’s eldest daughter-in-law in front of everyone. The metal plate struck the tabletop with a piercing, muffled thud. In the entire room, not a single person said even half a word for me. After the meeting ended, I stopped Zachary in the corridor and held that removed nameplate in my palm. “Your mother took down my nameplate in front of everyone.” My voice trembled slightly. Zachary only swept it a bland glance, his brows faintly furrowing. “Things like that are only formalities. Don’t take them too seriously.” “Formalities?” I stared at him. “Mother only wants to reassure the elders. Stop making a scene.” He lifted his hand, making the exact same impatient gesture Mrs. Foster had used just now to stop me. “Go back and rest.” I shut my mouth instantly. Back in the room, I opened the drawer. The photocopy claiming I owed a debt lay side by side with this nameplate symbolizing the Foster family’s eldest daughter-in-law. The two things were like two lies so disgusting they made me sick.

Grace Gardner’s POV I had thought that after the nameplate was removed, I would become completely invisible in the Foster family, and at least earn a moment of peace. But I had underestimated Mrs. Foster’s methods of tormenting people. Humiliation in the Foster family had always been a slow slicing, inch by inch. Before lunch on the day after the nameplate was taken down, eight people were seated in the small reception room. Mrs. Foster sat high in the head seat, with Zachary beside her. On the table lay the documents for the Foster Group Charitable Foundation’s spring allocation. In previous years, I had always personally signed for this fund and followed up on the process. “Starting this year, I will review this fund,” Mrs. Foster announced coldly. “For the household accounts, it is always more reassuring when an elder personally checks things over.” The butler handed the folder directly to Mrs. Foster. This year, my signature field was completely empty. But when the previous page was flipped open, my notes and signature from last year, earned through so much hard work, were still pressed beneath it. An elder from a side branch immediately smiled ingratiatingly. “With you personally managing it, of course it will be more reliable. it will prevent certain people with dirty hands from messing with it, the elder Mrs. Foster sighed hypocritically.” After Mrs. Foster signed, she sighed hypocritically. “I’m also helping Grace share the burden. That girl hasn’t had it easy.” Only then did Zachary finally deign to look at me across from him. “Mother is only afraid you’re too tired. Don’t take it to heart.” His voice was warm and gentle. Listening to those high-sounding words, I suddenly felt a wave of nausea. I finally saw through this man’s fixed, disgusting pattern— Using an old debt to humiliate me in public was called dredging up old grievances. Taking down my nameplate in public was called reassuring the elders. Stripping away my last bit of signing authority was called being afraid I was too tired. In Zachary’s mouth, every single flaying, tendon-stripping thing Mrs. Foster did to me could be whitewashed with a decent, affectionate reason! After lunch ended, I returned to my room. I pulled out a blank envelope and took out every out-of-pocket receipt and transportation invoice related to the charitable foundation from the past nearly three months, one by one, then placed them neatly inside. On the front of the envelope, I wrote today’s date with heavy strokes. At dusk, Zachary unusually came to my room carrying a box of expensive desserts and casually asked whether my knee was doing better. Without even looking at that box of desserts, I pushed the envelope full of out-of-pocket receipts directly in front of him. I said nothing. Zachary glanced at the date on the front of the envelope. He had no interest at all in opening it. I turned around and walked toward the kitchen to heat the herbal pack for my knee. The boiling water churned, and scalding steam rushed up, burning my fingers so sharply that they jerked back. That piercing pain in my left knee began to surge upward again, endless and unrelenting.

Grace Gardner’s POV That night, the scalding herbal pack ultimately failed to warm my ice-cold heart, and it also failed to ease the piercing pain in my knee. Yet first thing the next morning, Mrs. Foster issued a new order of torment. “Go to the chapel and recheck all the old ledgers and photocopies of promissory notes from the years of debt collection, one by one.” Walter, the butler, stood in the doorway, delivering the message from above. “Mrs. Foster said that since you are the Foster family’s eldest daughter-in-law, you should set a good example of repaying debts before God.” The chapel was bone-chillingly cold. There was only a low table, a cold cushion, and a table full of scattered account pages. Walter locked the heavy wooden door from the outside with a backhand motion. “You are not allowed to get up or drink water until you finish checking everything. Those are the rules.” The instant I knelt down, my left knee made a teeth-grating click. Agony swept through my entire body in an instant. I bit down hard on my lower lip, my face as pale as paper, yet I did not make a single sound. With trembling hands, I began checking the papers one by one. Those old files had no numbering at all, and the dates were completely out of order. The only thing that was perfectly clear was the record of Mrs. Foster’s humiliation of me over these seven years: public questioning, reprimands in the side hall, forced kneeling, compound interest… Half an hour later, Walter pushed the door open a crack and asked with a sneer, “Mrs. Foster asks, how many years are left on your debt?” My fingers turning the pages were already frozen stiff. Without raising my head, I said, “However many years she says are left.” Walter snorted coldly and slammed the door shut again. Time passed, minute by minute. The ache in my knee bloomed into a throbbing swell, burrowing deep within my bone tissue. I broke out in cold sweats and my vision blurred repeatedly. I attempted to shift my weight to ease the strain, yet I crumpled back to my knees after barely ten seconds. After that, my knee was not just in pain anymore. It had lost all feeling completely. When Walter pushed the door open again two hours later, I was digging my fingers hard into the floor tiles with both hands, trying to stand. But my left leg was like a useless piece of wood, dragging behind me without the slightest response. Walter frowned, took out his phone, and called Zachary Foster. He even deliberately put it on speaker. “Mr. Foster, Grace doesn’t seem to be able to stand up.” The other end of the line was quiet for two seconds. Then Zachary Foster’s careless, faintly irritated voice rang out clearly in the empty chapel. “Mother is just following the rules. It’s not like she physically punished her. Once she’s done checking the old files, it’ll be over. Tell her not to overthink things just because of a little pain and make everyone look bad.” The call was cut off without mercy. Half-sprawled on the cold floor tiles, I listened to that icy busy tone, and my tears finally fell silently onto the dust-covered floor. I did not cry out in pain again. I only reached out with a trembling hand and silently pulled over the next loose sheet. Two hours later, Walter half-dragged, half-pulled me into the hospital. The ER doctor looked at the scans, his brows tightly furrowed. Pointing at the lower edge of the patella, he said sternly, “What happened?! The old injury has worsened, and the cartilage wear is irreversible! From now on, this knee of yours can only be maintained through long-term rehabilitation. It will never fully return to normal!” The cartilage damage was permanent; full recovery would never be possible. I numbly took the medical record, my gaze fixed on the doctor’s signature and the date. After returning to the annex villa, I locked the door behind me and took out the real bank statement from the hidden compartment of my old leather suitcase. In the blank space beside the final paid-off record, my hand trembling, I wrote stroke by stroke with such force that the pen nearly cut through the paper: [March 7 of the sixth year, Debt Paid in Full. In the seventh year, I was forced to kneel until I was crippled.] [And he knew all of it.]

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The last time I called Mom, I had not eaten anything for seven days. When I was five, Mom and Dad adopted a girl from a remote fishing village. From that day on, she slept in my room, wore my dresses, and called my mom and dad hers. And I was sent back to the fishing village where she had grown up. I lived with her grandmother, who had Alzheimer’s. Mom said: “She suffered too much growing up.” “You’ve never suffered before, so you should get a taste of it too.” Before I left, Dad ordered me to take good care of the confused grandmother and watch the house and yard. After Grandma threw my food to the dog again, I finally could not take it anymore and called Mom to ask for something to eat. She was terribly annoyed. “How come Clara can endure hardship, but you can’t?” “The sea is all around you, so if you’re hungry, go catch fish in the water!” I obediently listened and went into the sea to catch fish. But while I was swimming in the sea to catch fish, a fisherman mistook me for a big fish and speared me to death. It was not until three years later that Mom came to pick me up. “Anna, I’m here to take you home.”

There was a pile of bones in the center of the room, and a rusty fishing spear lay on top of it. She kicked it without the slightest concern. The window glass was shattered, and the sea wind poured in. The excrement of the grandmother with Alzheimer’s was everywhere. Grandma was curled up in a pile of tattered bedding, dazed, drool constantly running from her mouth. Mom, Sophia, frowned, covered her nose, waved at the foul smell in the air, and could not help complaining: “Why is this place like a dump? Don’t you know how to clean?” “Anna! Get out here and clean this up!” Sophia looked around, and her voice calling my name grew louder and louder. I happily threw myself at her, but I hugged nothing, passing through her body like air. I forgot again. I had died three years ago. After hoping and waiting so long, I had finally waited until Mom came back. She was carrying cookies and cake, and I was so greedy that I almost drooled. I felt happy inside, thinking Mom still had me in her heart, and she had finally come to take me home. I jumped around beside her happily: “Mom, I’m here, I’m right here.” Her phone rang, and unable to stand the stench in the house, she went outside to answer it. I immediately followed her. “Baby, be good. Mom will be back soon. I’m picking up your sister.” “Mom bought you your favorite cookies and cake, all the things you love.” “Okay, okay, I’ll be back in a little while, and tonight Mom will hold you while you sleep.” I froze, and my excited heart instantly turned icy cold, as if a basin of cold water had been poured over it. So those cookies and cakes were bought for my younger sister. I waved my arms in grievance and roared at her: “I’m your biological daughter, so why don’t you love me?” “I was clearly more obedient than my adopted sister, so if you didn’t like me, why did you give birth to me?” She could not hear anything and turned back into the house with a disgusted look on her face. “Mom! Where is Anna? What’s going on? I’ve been calling for so long, and there’s no response!” Her tone began to grow impatient, and she raised her hand to check the expensive watch on her wrist, clearly anxious to hurry back. I squatted on the ground, like the year I had almost starved to death, too powerless to hate. For someone who does not love you, even overwhelming love is like punching cotton. So my adopted sister was already this old, and Mom would still hold her while she slept. But when I was five, after they adopted my sister and brought her home, I was sent to the fishing village and made to sleep with the grandmother who had Alzheimer’s. When Grandma’s illness acted up, she was like a violent thug and would beat me until I was covered in bruises. I cried so hard that snot bubbled from my nose as I clung to Sophia’s leg and begged bitterly: “Mom, please, take me home. I don’t want to stay here.” She frowned, her whole face saying I was being spoiled: “You’re the older sister, so you need to be sensible. Your sister just came to our home, and everything is unfamiliar to her, so she needs more care.” “Don’t be naughty and provoke Grandma, and she won’t hit you. Clara’s grandmother is sick, and Clara endured it all, so you can too.” She always said I could do it too, so I had to shoulder so many things that a child my age should never have had to bear. From then on, I never knew again what Mom’s bed or Mom’s embrace smelled like. “Anna, Anna catching bugs, a whole bunch, dead child…” Grandma was not clear-headed, and she could not recognize my mom as she slowly muttered to herself. My mom stopped looking for me and stared at the ruined house in disgust, nagging: “She’s still as naughty as she was when she was little! Not quiet and graceful like Clara at all.” “What kind of girl catches bugs? She made the room dirtier than a doghouse.” “She’s such a big girl now, but she has no sense of hygiene at all!” “And she’s always trying to come home with me. With how sloppy she is, she really has been spoiled rotten by me…” She let out a heavy sigh. It was full of disappointment in me. My heart felt as if a hole had been torn through it, and the pain made even my soul tremble. But Mom, I caught bugs because there was nothing to eat at home. Grandma and I were so hungry that we were weak, and we really could not get any thinner, so I caught bugs. I was so scared that I wailed, but I still did not dare let go. To fight birds for bugs, I climbed very high up trees and often fell down. Even if I managed to catch a bug and roast it, I could not bear to eat it myself. Instead, I saved it for Grandma, and only after Grandma was full could I eat. But Grandma was never full, and she even got so hungry that she bit a chunk of flesh from my leg. Even after becoming a ghost, the spot where that piece of flesh was bitten away from my leg was still hollow. Many families in the fishing village had moved away, and now only Grandma remained in this broken-down house. After I went into the sea to catch fish and was speared to death by a fisherman, the former village chief thought my parents had picked me up. Seeing how pitiful Grandma was, he would deliver food every week, and sometimes once every two weeks. That was how Grandma survived.

Sophia could not bear the foul smell and retched in nausea for a while. She really could not stay any longer, so she hurriedly opened her exquisite Louis Vuitton bag, took out five hundred dollars, and placed it on the trash-covered table. There was a plate of fat dead bugs on the table, already covered in mold and giving off waves of stench. Sophia ran outside in disgust and threw up for a long time. “Anna, dead child, dead child, give me bugs… big fat bugs…” Grandma chased after her, barefoot, hunched over, dirty and disheveled, like a madwoman. Before she even got close, that thick stench filled the air. My mom reached out to stop her. “Don’t come over here. You stink!” “I put five hundred dollars in living expenses on the table for you and Anna, so tell her to spend it carefully.” “I’ll come see her again next time.” My soul followed them outside too, numb as I watched her disgusted expression. Just as she was about to hurry away, a video call came to her phone, and the contact name was Husband. “I didn’t see Anna. She seems to have gone out to catch bugs. She’s so old, yet still so naughty.” Sophia’s tone was full of disgust as she summarized what she had seen in a few words. I leaned closer and saw Dad in the video. His hair was slicked back and shiny, he wore an expensive suit, and his skin looked good. His whole body gave off the rich air of someone raised by money. The house behind him was bright and exquisitely decorated. My heart felt sour, because this good life had once belonged to me. It was just that after they adopted my sister, Mom and Dad felt that ordinary me was too spoiled, so they sent me here to receive hardship education. I did not dare call them often, afraid they would think I was delicate, and the only time I called was seven days before I starved to death. Maybe after suffering too much pain, nothing could stir up much emotion anymore. I just stood numbly beside Sophia. “Honey, I thought about it, and shouldn’t we bring Anna to the city now?” “Anna is eight, and it’s inconvenient for her to go to school there.” My shattered heart was instantly stitched together a little, and tears of surprise filled my eyes. Mom did not love me, but Dad still cared about me. I stared at Dad and smiled. Even though he could not see me. Sophia let out a deep sigh, and her tone was disappointed, disgusted, and hopeless. She covered her nose and walked into the house, aiming the camera inside: “Look, Anna made the house look like a dump.” “I want to take her back too, but look at how filthy she is. How can we take her?” I felt extremely wronged and said dully: “I’m not filthy.” What could a five-year-old child do? I had been dead for three years, and you still did not know. “Let me see my sister’s house, let me see!” A lively and cheerful voice came through, and a seven-year-old girl with two pretty braids appeared in the video. She was my adopted sister, Clara. She had been raised very well, wearing a beautiful princess dress, her skin tender like a peeled egg. She was confident and lively, like a little princess from a wealthy family. Her smile disappeared when she saw the ruined house in the video, and her disgusted expression was exactly like Sophia’s. “It’s so dirty. Even a dump isn’t this dirty.” “I won’t let her come to our house. Someone this unhygienic will definitely bring lots of germs!” But the fishing village I was in had clearly been her former home. Ethan quickly pulled Clara into his arms and coaxed her: “Okay, okay, we’ll listen to our little princess and not bring your sister here yet.” “We’ll have your sister fix all her hygiene habits, and after she becomes a clean little kid, we’ll bring her here, okay?” Clara pouted proudly and pulled Ethan’s hand to the side: “Let her see my room. When she makes her room as pretty and clean as mine, then you can bring her here.” With a great sense of superiority, Clara showed every corner of her room to the camera. “Mom, let her see what a girl’s room should look like.” “I don’t want a sister who lives in a trash heap.” I stared without blinking at Clara’s room, because it had once been my bedroom. The room was decorated cutely and brightly, and a cabinet of toys and figurines was arranged neatly inside. Her room was very big, connected to a transparent walk-in closet. All kinds of dazzling clothes hung inside. Even the carpet in the room was snowy white and fluffy, like walking on clouds. I just watched, my mind completely blank. My heart, riddled with wounds, could not muster even the slightest strength to hate or resent.

“Your sister is only like this because she’s in the fishing village. Once she comes to the city, she won’t be like this anymore.” “When your sister comes, there’ll be one more person to play with you and one more person to take care of you. Wouldn’t that be great?” Ethan’s words coaxing Clara stabbed into my heart like knives. I hated that sentence with everything I had: you’re the older sister, and you enjoyed good days for many years, so you should give way to your adopted sister and let your adopted sister live a good life. After the video call ended, my mom took a pen and paper from her bag. She wrote a few lines on it: “Anna, Mom will go back for now this time.” “You made the house far too dirty and messy, so Mom will give you one month to clean both the house and yourself.” “One month later, Mom will come to inspect it, and if the hygiene is up to standard, Mom will take you home.” “If it isn’t up to standard, you’ll stay here and continue reforming yourself.” After writing it, she looked at the house not far away and hesitated, then stuffed the note into Grandma’s drafty pocket: “This note is for Anna, so you must make sure she sees it.” “I’ll go back for now this time, and tell Anna I’ll come again in one month.” After saying that, she hurried away without looking back. I watched her back, smiling until I started crying. Grandma stared dazedly at her back for a long time. “Grandma, go back inside. Don’t stay out here in the sun.” The scorching sun made sweat pour from her head, but she stared blankly and did not know to wipe it away. Maybe she was also just lucky, because after getting heatstroke several times, she had managed to survive. “Anna… Anna, catching bugs, playing, dead child, sea, fish.” She began talking nonsense again. I watched helplessly as she was left to fend for herself, just like I had once been. Even though she was not my biological grandmother, I still did not want to watch her fend for herself the way I once had. But I was powerless. I ran into the house and anxiously reached out to clean the room. But my hands could not pick up anything, and I stomped my feet and cried in panic. “I can’t help you anymore. What do I do? What do I do?” But she cheerfully picked up the maggot-infested food from the table and began eating. I cried even louder at the top of my lungs, trying to make her hear my voice. But everything was in vain. One month later, Sophia and Ethan came back together. This time, their hands were empty. I pouted and complained, “What are you coming back for? Only Clara is your precious baby, so don’t come back here and disgust me.” They could not hear anything, but I heard plenty of them complaining that I was sloppy and disobedient. It just so happened that the village chief came to deliver food to Grandma. He knew Grandma could not cook, so he only brought food enough for one day, with meat and vegetables, and the meat was stewed very soft so Grandma could chew it. The rest was water, bread, and other instant food. When the village chief saw my dad, he asked curiously: “Is the Clara you adopted never coming back? Then are you responsible for taking care of her grandmother?” My mom said, “Anna is still here, so we sent her here to train herself a little.” The confusion on the village chief’s face grew deeper. Sophia looked at the room that had not been cleaned at all, covered her nose, and said in disgust again: “Why does this child Anna never change no matter how many times she’s taught? I told her to clean the place up, and then I’d come get her!” “She actually didn’t clean up at all! This child really can make a person furious!” Ethan could not help feeling nauseated either, but in front of others, he held it back. The village chief looked suspicious. “Wasn’t Anna taken to the city by you a few years ago?”

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I had been with Ethan for three years, and he had one unbreakable habit. Every night at ten-thirty, he would send me a sixty-second voice memo. It was always him reading romantic poems or classic prose. I treasured those voice memos like they were priceless gold. I saved every single one in a Snapchat folder named “Ethan’s Lullabies.” I really thought it was his own special, romantic way of loving me. Until I was planning our wedding, and I found a private podcast on my best friend Chloe’s iPad. There were over seven hundred audio files in there. The poems, the tone, even the tiny rustle of pages turning in the background—they were identical to the ones in my folder. The only difference was the timestamp. She received them an hour and a half earlier than I did every single night. As it turned out, the exclusive romance I treasured was just a second-hand forward, sent to me after he was done comforting someone else. I stared at the playlist of that private podcast on the iPad screen, my fingers shaking uncontrollably. “My sweet Chloe, here’s a little Shakespeare for you tonight. Sleep tight, beautiful.” Ethan’s deep, velvety voice came through the headphones, carrying a hint of lazy tenderness. In the background, there was a faint, distinct click of a Zippo lighter. I knew that sound too well. Because on my phone, inside the “Ethan’s Lullabies” folder, there was a voice memo that sounded exactly like this. Even the lighter clicked at the exact same second. My hands trembled as I clicked on the upload history. Seven hundred and thirty audio files. Every single one was uploaded at 9:00 PM. And I always received Ethan’s voice memos at 10:30 PM. For three years, over a thousand days and nights. He had been recording these sweet lullabies for Chloe at nine, and then, like checking off a chore on his to-do list, he forwarded the exact same audio file to me ninety minutes later. The deep love I thought we had, the special ritual I thought was ours alone… was just a massive, pathetic lie. A wave of intense nausea hit my stomach. I ripped the headphones off and gasped for air. Chloe’s iPad screen was still glowing. She had lent it to me half an hour ago to pick some background music for my wedding. She probably forgot to log out of her private account. Or maybe, she did it on purpose. The front door lock beeped. Ethan walked in, bringing the chilly autumn breeze with him. He was holding a beautiful, vintage paper shopping bag. Seeing me on the couch, he immediately offered a warm smile. “Freya, look what I got for you.” He took off his shoes, walked over, and handed me the bag. “That limited-edition vintage Leica camera you mentioned once? I pulled a lot of strings to get it from a collector in Japan. A pre-wedding gift for my beautiful bride.” Ethan’s eyes sparkled with a desperate desire to please me. He leaned in, trying to kiss my cheek out of habit. I instinctively leaned back, avoiding his touch. There was a faint scent of woody rose perfume on him. It was Chloe’s favorite brand—a niche, strong fragrance that lingered for hours. Ethan froze mid-air, a flash of confusion crossing his eyes, but he quickly recovered. “What’s wrong? Stressing out over the wedding plans?” He gently stroked my hair. I didn’t say a word. My eyes fell on the Leica camera. On its brass edge, there was a tiny, sharp scratch, like it had been scraped by a manicured nail. Just ten minutes ago, Chloe had posted a picture on her close friends’ Instagram story. It was the exact same Leica camera, with the exact same scratch on the corner. Her caption read: [A priceless vintage piece to others, but to me, just a little token of his everyday indulgence.] Looking at that scratch made my eyes sting like crazy. “Where did you get this camera?” My voice was flat, like a dead pool of water. Ethan walked over to the kitchen island and poured himself a glass of water, completely unfazed. “A friend shipped it to my office. I just grabbed it on my way home. Do you like it?” He didn’t even bother to make up a decent lie. Watching him drink water, I suddenly felt that this man, whom I had loved for three years, was a complete stranger. Right then, Ethan’s phone on the counter lit up. Caller ID: Chloe. Without hesitation, he picked up the call right in front of me and even put it on speaker. “Ethan…” Chloe’s voice came through, filled with tears and panic. “The pipe under my sink just burst! There’s water everywhere, and the landlord isn’t picking up. I’m so scared. Can you please come over?” Ethan’s brows knitted instantly. He checked the wall clock. “Don’t panic. Shut off the main water valve first, go stand somewhere dry, and wait for me. I’m on my way.” He hung up, turned to me, and spoke in a tone that left no room for argument. “Freya, Chloe has an emergency. Her pipes burst, and she can’t handle it alone. I’ll go help her out real quick and come right back.” I leaned back on the couch, looking at him coldly. “If her pipes burst, she should call a plumber, her landlord, or emergency maintenance. Are you a licensed plumber now, Ethan?” Ethan froze. For the past three years, I had never spoken to him in such a sharp tone. I had always been the sweet, understanding fiancée. He pinched the bridge of his nose, his voice dropping into an impatient, patronizing sigh. “Freya, stop being difficult. Chloe is your best friend. She’s all alone in this city. What’s wrong with me helping her out when she’s in trouble? Since when did you become so heartless?” As he spoke, he pulled a velvet Bvlgari box from his pocket and placed it in front of me. “I bought you this necklace on my way home. Be good, wait for me. I’ll come back to keep you company as soon as I fix this.” With that, he grabbed his car keys and walked out without looking back. As the front door slammed shut, the entire apartment fell into a dead silence. I looked at the Bvlgari box, then at the second-hand Leica camera, and suddenly let out a laugh. Tears streamed down my face, burning hot against my skin. I didn’t touch the jewelry box. Instead, I grabbed my phone and dialed the HR director at our Milan headquarters. A month ago, the company had offered me a promotion to be the Design Director for the Milan region. I had turned it down without a second thought because of my wedding with Ethan. “Hi Lisa, sorry for calling so late. Is that Director position in Milan still open?” There was a brief pause on the other end, followed by an excited voice. “Of course it is! Freya, did you change your mind?” “Yes. I accept the relocation. The sooner I can start, the better.” After hanging up, I went into my study. I took all the audio files from Chloe’s private podcast and the screenshot of her Instagram story, and backed them all up into an encrypted cloud drive. At 10:30 PM. My phone buzzed right on time. Ethan had sent a sixty-second voice memo. I clicked it. It was him reading Shakespeare. In the background, the sharp click of the lighter sounded louder than ever. And ninety minutes ago, this exact audio had already been safely uploaded to Chloe’s private podcast.

The next afternoon was our scheduled wedding dress fitting. Ethan showed up on time at the luxury bridal boutique, and to absolutely no one’s surprise, Chloe was standing right next to him. Chloe was wearing a chic Chanel-style tweed set, her makeup flawless. She showed absolutely no signs of the “water pipe trauma” from last night. “Freya, thank God Ethan came over last night, or my apartment would have been a swimming pool. I came today to help you pick your wedding gown to make it up to you!” Chloe reached out to grab my arm affectionately, but I took a step back, dodging her touch smoothly. She didn’t even look embarrassed. Instead, her eyes started wandering over the expensive custom gowns in the boutique. The designer walked over with a warm smile, bringing down the custom gown I had ordered six months ago. “Miss Miller, your wedding gown is ready for the final waist adjustments. You can try it on in the fitting room first.” Just as I was about to take the gown, Chloe let out an exaggerated gasp. “Oh my gosh! This velvet cape is absolutely gorgeous!” She pointed to a dark emerald velvet cape on a nearby mannequin, embroidered with intricate gold threads. It was breathtakingly luxurious. “That’s Miss Miller’s custom-ordered cape. The gold embroidery is entirely hand-stitched. It took our artisans three months to finish,” the designer introduced proudly. Chloe bit her lower lip, her eyes filled with envy and a sudden, forced sadness. “It’s so beautiful… I guess girls like me will never get to wear something this perfect in our entire lives.” Seeing this, Ethan immediately turned to me and said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world: “Freya, that cape looks pretty loose anyway. Since Chloe loves it so much, why don’t you let her try it on first? You two are about the same size.” The designer’s smile froze, and she looked at me awkwardly. I stopped in my tracks and stared coldly at Ethan. “This is my custom couture. I don’t share things that touch my skin.” Ethan’s brows furrowed instantly, clearly feeling like I had embarrassed him in front of others. “It’s just trying it on, it’s not going to ruin it. Since when did you become so petty? Chloe just wants to see how it looks. Can’t you just do this small favor for your best friend?” Chloe quickly waved her hands, her eyes turning red as she played the victim. “It’s fine, Ethan. Freya doesn’t like people touching her things. I won’t try it. I don’t want to make her mad.” The more she played the victim, the more Ethan thought I was being unreasonable. He walked right past me and ordered the designer, “Take that cape down and let her try it on.” The designer had no choice but to carefully remove the cape and drape it over Chloe’s shoulders. Chloe walked to the full-length mirror, turning left and right. Her eyes were filled with the smug satisfaction of winning. Ethan stood behind her, watching her reflection. His gaze was deep, and his throat bobbed slightly. He had completely forgotten that today was supposed to be his fiancée’s fitting day. Right then, Chloe reached out to touch the gold embroidery on the cape. “Oh!” With a sharp gasp, there was a sickening rip. The massive, cluster-diamond ring on Chloe’s ring finger had snagged hard on the gold threads of the cape. She had pulled too quickly, ripping a long tear right through the custom embroidery. The expensive velvet fabric was ruined. “Oh my goodness!” The designer gasped in horror. Ethan’s first reaction wasn’t to look at the six-figure custom cape. Instead, he grabbed Chloe’s hand frantically. “Did you hurt your hand? Did the ring scratch your finger?” Chloe shook her head, tears streaming down her face as she looked at me in terror. “Freya, I’m so sorry! I really didn’t mean to. I didn’t know my ring would snag… How much is the cape? I’ll pay you back!” Ethan immediately shielded her behind his back, like a knight protecting his princess. “Pay for what? It’s just a piece of clothing. Freya won’t hold this against you.” He turned to me, his tone commanding and dismissive. “Since this one is ruined, just throw it away. Go pick a more expensive one, and I’ll pay for it.” With that, he pulled out his phone and Venmoed me fifteen thousand dollars. The notification chimed loudly in the quiet boutique, sounding incredibly mocking. I looked down at the transaction on my screen, finding the whole situation absolutely ridiculous. Three months of artisan handwork, my months of excitement… to him, it was just trash that could be replaced with a quick Venmo transfer. “No need. This one is fine.” Without even entering the fitting room, I turned around and walked out the door. “Freya! What kind of tantrum are you throwing now? I said I’d buy you a new one! When are you going to stop being so dramatic?” Ethan yelled from behind. I ignored him, pushed open the door, and walked out. Standing in the cold autumn wind, I pulled out my phone and called my sales rep at the Porsche dealership. “Hey Marcus, that Macan I ordered… if I transfer the lease to someone else right now, can we close the deal today? Yes, original price. I’ll pay the transfer fees. Just make it quick.” I hung up and glanced back at the boutique’s glass window. Ethan was holding a tissue, gently wiping away Chloe’s tears. I let out a cold laugh, hailed a cab, and drove away.

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On our seventh wedding anniversary, my husband, Julian Vance, spent forty million dollars at a charity gala to buy back my late mother’s diamond necklace. But the moment he secured it, he turned around and gently fastened it around the neck of his first love, Blair Sterling. He even took the elite medical team reserved for my life-saving treatment and handed them over to her—just because she had slightly sprained her ankle. He looked at me and said, “Sera, you’ve always been the strong, rational one. Blair is terrified of pain. Don’t pick a fight with her over this.” Clutching my terminal cancer diagnosis in my cold hand, I felt an exhausting, bone-deep weariness wash over me. My time was running out. I wouldn’t fight her for him anymore. The lights of the grand ballroom were blindingly bright. I sat in the audience, my fingers ice-cold as I tightly gripped the thin piece of paper in my purse—a diagnosis of late-stage glioblastoma. On stage, the auctioneer slammed his gavel down with ecstatic energy. “Forty million! Congratulations to Mr. Vance for winning this stunning diamond necklace, ‘The First Snow’!” The room erupted into thunderous applause. Every eye in the house turned toward the front row, admiring the tall, devastatingly handsome man in a tailored tuxedo. Julian Vance. My husband. My love of ten years, and my partner in a seven-year marriage. That necklace was my late mother’s most treasured possession. I had been forced to pawn it three years ago when my family’s business collapsed. Julian had promised me that tonight, he would bring it back home. He said it would be our seventh-anniversary gift. I watched him stand up and accept the velvet box from the stage hostess. A fragile, hopeful smile began to form on my lips, and I prepared to stand and greet him. But Julian didn’t walk toward me. He turned, walked straight past my row, and went to the other side of the room where Blair Sterling sat, her eyes red and watery. Under the stunned gaze of the entire high-society crowd, Julian personally draped the necklace—the one carrying all my memories of my mother—around Blair’s neck. “You had a scare today, Blair. Consider this a little gift to soothe your nerves.” His voice, transmitted through the microphone, was deep, gentle, and echoed clearly throughout the massive hall. Blair covered her mouth, tears trembling on her eyelashes as she leaned delicately into his chest. “Julian, this is too expensive… Won’t Sera be angry?” “She won’t.” Julian didn’t even glance back at me. His voice was dismissive, utterly cold. “It’s just a necklace. She’s not that petty.” I sat frozen in my seat. Around me, the whispers of the guests began to pierce my ears like poisoned needles. “Oh my god, the poor Mrs. Vance. Her husband just gifted a priceless heirloom to his ex right in front of her.” “Everyone knows Julian only has eyes for Blair. Seraphina is just a placeholder.” Suddenly, a sharp, blinding pain stabbed through my brain, as if a chainsaw were ripping through my nerves. I gasped and quickly covered my nose. A warm, thick liquid flowed out without warning. Blood. It dripped rapidly through my fingers, staining my custom white gown. It was a horrifying contrast. I didn’t make a sound. Trembling, I pulled a handful of tissues from my clutch, pressed them hard against my face, and stumbled out of the hall through the back exit under the mocking stares of the crowd. Outside, the freezing winter wind slapped my face like a whip. I looked back through the glass doors at the glittering hall. Julian was leaning down, tenderly adjusting a wrap over Blair’s shoulders, treating her like fragile porcelain. “Julian,” I whispered his name, my mouth filling with the bitter, metallic taste of blood. Seraphina. My name meant burning fire, but my life had already burned down to the very end. I was about to become nothing but ash. And he was still spending his millions to keep someone else warm.

When I returned to the cold, echoing mansion we called “home,” I didn’t turn on the lights. I groped my way into the bathroom in the dark. Looking in the mirror, I saw a pale, ghostly face. The nosebleed had stopped, but the dull, pounding pain in my head remained. My doctor’s words echoed in my ears: “Sera, the tumor is pressing against your optic nerve and memory center. You will gradually lose your sight, then your memories, and finally, brain death. At most, you have three months.” Three months. I splashed cold water on my face, pulled the wrinkled diagnosis sheet out of my bag, and was about to lay it on the coffee table when the front door was thrown open. Julian walked in, bringing the chill of the night with him. “Why are the lights off?” He flipped the switch, and the sudden glare made me wince and close my eyes. He marched over to me, his brow furrowed in deep irritation. “Sera, what was that stunt at the gala? Leaving early without saying a word? Are you throwing a tantrum to embarrass me?” I opened my eyes and looked at this man. The man I had loved for a decade. “That necklace belonged to my mother,” I said, my voice so hoarse and cracked that it sounded foreign to my own ears. Julian’s hand paused on his tie. Then, he let out a cold scoff. “It’s just a piece of jewelry, Sera. Blair was tripped by some loose cables backstage and got badly shaken up. What’s wrong with me giving her something to calm her down?” “As my wife, do you really lack this much basic compassion?” “Shaken up?” I laughed, a bitter, hollow sound that made my stomach churn with nausea. “She gets a little scared, so she gets my mother’s final heirloom to feel better? Julian, do you even have a heart?” “Enough!” Julian slammed his tie onto the sofa, his eyes flashing icy anger. “Don’t start with your dramatic accusations, Sera. Blair has been physically weak since she was a child. You have everything in the world. Why do you always have to fight her for every little thing?” I had everything? I stared at him, finding his words incredibly absurd. My parents were dead. My family was bankrupt. I had worked myself to the bone helping him build his empire from scratch, destroying my own health in the process. Now, all I had left was a terminal brain cancer diagnosis. And he had the nerve to say I had everything. “Julian, what if I told you I was dying?” I asked, looking straight into his eyes. Julian froze for a fraction of a second. Then, a look of profound disgust swept across his face. “Sera, are you seriously using a fake illness now just because you’re jealous? Your annual health reports are sent directly to my office by my assistant. Aside from some mild anemia, you’re perfectly fine!” “Stop acting. I’m exhausted.” Without even looking at the paper crumpled in my hand, he turned and stormed upstairs, slamming the guest room door shut behind him. I stood alone in the empty, silent living room. My hands and feet felt completely numb. Of course he didn’t know. He never had the time to go to the hospital with me. The assistant he sent to manage my medical records had been bought off by Blair months ago. I slowly opened my fist. The crumpled diagnosis paper was stained with my blood. I walked over to the trash can, opened my hand, and let it go. The paper fluttered down, disappearing into the trash. Since he didn’t want to believe me, there was no point in saying another word.

The next morning, I woke up to a violent wave of nausea. I collapsed over the toilet, throwing up sour fluid mixed with streaks of blood. When I finally stood up, my vision blurred into a gray haze for a terrifying few seconds. I knew my time was slipping away faster than expected. I forced myself to clean up and went downstairs. Julian was sitting at the dining table, sipping his coffee. Seeing me, he actually spoke first—a rare occurrence lately. “This afternoon, I need you to sign over your shares in the Southside Heights Redevelopment Project.” My footsteps halted. I stared at him in disbelief. The Southside Heights project was my blood, sweat, and tears for the past three years. It was my ultimate professional achievement, built on sleepless nights. “Why?” I managed to ask. Julian set his coffee cup down, his tone entirely casual. “Blair wants to learn how to manage a business. She doesn’t have any experience, and the Southside project is already running smoothly. It’s the perfect training ground for her.” “To compensate you, I’ll have fifty million dollars wired to your personal account.” He wanted to hand over my life’s work to his darling Blair as a plaything? I walked over, leaning my hands on the table, staring intensely into his handsome face. “Julian, do you think my life and my hard work exist solely to pave the road for Blair Sterling?” Julian’s brow snapped together. My resistance clearly annoyed him. “Sera, be realistic. Blair is all alone in this city with no family to support her. As her older brother figure, it’s my duty to look after her. You’re already Mrs. Vance. You have everything you could ever want. Why are you greedily hoarding a single project?” “Older brother figure?” I let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “What kind of ‘brother’ gifts a forty-million-dollar romantic necklace to his ‘sister’ at a public gala? What kind of ‘brother’ robs his own wife to give to another woman?” “Bam!” Julian slammed his hand on the table and stood up, his expression dark and menacing. “Sera, don’t push your luck! You will sign those shares over whether you like it or not! You don’t call the shots in this family!” He grabbed his suit jacket, turned on his heel, and slammed the front door as he stormed out. The deafening sound vibrated through my ears, and a sharp, agonizing pain erupted in my brain. I collapsed onto the floor, cold sweat instantly soaking through my shirt. My vision plunged into pitch darkness. This time, the darkness lasted for ten agonizing minutes. When light finally crawled back into my eyes, I looked around the massive, empty mansion and let out a soft, hollow laugh. Tears streamed down my cheeks. “Julian, you want to give her everything, don’t you? You want to strip me bare for her?” “Fine. I’ll let you.” I pulled out my phone and dialed my lawyer. “Arthur, prepare a divorce agreement for me. Also, liquidate all the assets under my personal name. Sell them immediately, even if it’s below market value.” “Yes. As fast as possible.”

Over the next few days, I moved like a ghost through the city, wrapping up my affairs. I sold my properties, my car, and even the expensive jewelry Julian had gifted me over the years. With the proceeds, I established a trust fund for blind children. Since my own eyes were failing, I wanted to help others see the beauty of the world I was leaving behind. On the fourth afternoon, I walked out of the private clinic after my final session of palliative chemotherapy. I was so weak that my legs trembled with every step. Just as I reached the pavement, a bright red sports car screeched to a halt right in front of me. The window rolled down, revealing Blair. She wore oversized designer sunglasses, a sweet but venomous smirk plastered on her face. “Sera! What a coincidence. Are you here for a checkup?” She scanned my pale, skinny frame with smug satisfaction. “Julian told me you’ve been throwing a tantrum lately and told me to ignore you. But I’m just too soft-hearted. I felt bad for you, so I wanted to deliver some news in person.” She took off her sunglasses, grabbed a document from the passenger seat, and tossed it out the window. It fluttered down, landing right at my feet. “The Southside Heights project is officially under my name now.” I stared down at the paper bearing Julian’s personal signature seal. My heart didn’t even ache. It was completely numb. “Blair, does taking my leftovers really bring you this much joy?” I asked quietly. Blair’s smile stiffened for a second, then her smirk widened. “Sera, keep playing tough. Julian’s heart is with me. Your money, your project, your necklace—they are all mine now. All it takes is one tear from me, and he will crush you under his shoe.” “Don’t believe me? Watch. If I call him right now and say I’m feeling dizzy, he will abandon his multi-billion-dollar board meeting and run to my side instantly.” She pulled out her phone, dialed Julian’s number, and switched to speakerphone. “Julian…” her voice instantly transformed into a fragile, breathless whimper. “I’m outside the municipal hospital… I suddenly feel so dizzy, and my chest hurts…” On the other end of the line, Julian’s voice was instantly frantic. In the background, I could hear his executives whispering during a presentation. “Blair? What’s wrong? Don’t panic, I’m on my way! Stay right there!” The call disconnected. Blair looked at me triumphantly. “See? That is exactly how much you matter to him.” I looked at her face, warped by greed and malice, and felt nothing but pity. I didn’t answer her. I turned to hail a cab. But before I could open the passenger door, loud, frantic footsteps echoed behind me. “Sera! What did you do to her?!” I turned around. Julian had arrived in record time. He wasn’t even wearing his suit jacket, his tie was loose, and sweat dripped down his forehead as he rushed over and shielded Blair behind him. He glared at me with pure rage, as if I were a monster. “Blair only came here for a routine checkup! Why did you push her?!” I froze. “Push her?” I looked at Blair standing perfectly fine behind him, clutching her chest with tears streaming down her face. “Julian, please don’t blame Sera… I just lost my balance… She’s just angry with me, so she barely touched me…” Her acting was truly Oscar-worthy. “Julian, with which eye did you see me push her?” I asked coldly. “If you didn’t push her, why is she having chest pains? Sera, your jealousy has turned you into an unrecognizable, bitter hag!” Julian roared. Another wave of agony hit my head. The world spun, and I had to grip the car door tightly to keep from collapsing. “Believe whatever you want.” I didn’t have the energy to argue. I bent down and climbed into the cab. “Driver, please go.” As the taxi pulled away, I looked in the rearview mirror. Julian was lifting Blair into his arms, carrying her frantically toward the emergency room. He didn’t even notice the small pool of fresh blood left on the concrete where I had been standing.

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The ultimate penalty of the escape room was a mystery box filled with live, crawling roaches. Charlotte, my so-called best friend, shrieked and recoiled in disgust. But as she backed away, she instantly grabbed the hand of Brandon—my boyfriend of five years. She looked at me. “Chloe, you do it. Come on, this is the perfect chance to cure your phobia.” Brandon chimed in, squeezing her hand. “Charlotte’s right, Chloe. You have a panic attack every time you touch something dirty. You need to get over this.” The coworkers around us started chanting. “We all did our parts! Your group is the last one!” Brandon walked over and forced his hand over mine, locking my wrist. “Look at me. Just look at me.” The three of us had been friends for over a decade. They knew damn well this would nearly kill me. I have severe OCD. Mysophobia, to be exact. Since we were kids, Charlotte had been pulling these stunts under the guise of “curing me.” She’d stuff dead bugs into my backpack, or mix spoiled food into my lunch. And Brandon would always back her up, telling me she only had my best interests at heart. But every time I forgave them, it only paved the way for their next, even more ruthless prank. My stomach was churning, acid rising in my throat. But looking at them now, the roaches didn’t even seem like the dirtiest things in this room anymore. Brandon’s grip on my wrist was like iron. Even though my face was paper-white and cold sweat was pouring down my neck, he wouldn’t let go. The moment he finally loosened his grip, I yanked my hand back with everything I had. “See? I told you it wasn’t that hard,” Charlotte clapped, giggling. Brandon smiled, nodding. “Exactly. Overcoming a phobia only takes a second of bravery.” As they both reached out to pat me, I took a massive step back. “Don’t touch me. You’re dirty.”

The entire room went dead silent. Charlotte and Brandon’s hands froze mid-air. A coworker whispered in the back, “What did Chloe just say?” No one answered. Charlotte was the first to break the awkward silence, forcing a laugh to smooth things over. “She’s just startled. It’s fine, guys, don’t take her seriously.” She turned to me, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “Chloe, your hands are shaking so bad. Brandon, babe, rub her back. Comfort her a little.” I didn’t look at her. I only stared at Brandon’s hand. That hand had just been squeezing my wrist, his thumb pressing against the inside of my pulse point. That was our secret signal, one we had used for five years. It meant, “Don’t worry, I’m here.” But the very next second, he had let go. All because Charlotte had looked over. I turned on my heel and headed for the exit. “I’m leaving.” No one ran after me. I stood in the dim corridor outside the escape room for a long time. It wasn’t until the game officially ended that the heavy doors finally pushed open again. Charlotte was clinging to Brandon’s arm, laughing and joking with the rest of the team. She spotted me immediately, her grin widening. “Look at her, Brandon. She touches one little dirty thing and goes completely mute. She actually walked out by herself.” The smile on Brandon’s face faded slightly. He walked over and stood beside me. “Are you mad?” “No.” “Then let’s go. I’ll drive you guys home.” When we reached his car, Charlotte naturally opened the passenger door and slid right in. She did it so casually, as if that seat belonged to her. I pulled open the back door, just like I always did. As Brandon started the engine, Charlotte began babbling about how fun the escape room was and who screamed the loudest. Halfway through, she suddenly spun around in her seat and reached back, trying to pat my knee. “Chloe, you were so brave today!” “If we practice a few more times, you’ll definitely be able to live like a normal person.” She leaned further back, her hand moving toward my leg. I slammed myself against the car door, flinching violently away from her touch. Charlotte’s hand swiped empty air. She pouted, looking incredibly hurt. She pulled her hand back, her smile tightening. “I was just trying to compliment you.” Brandon glanced at me through the rearview mirror. “Chloe, she’s trying to be nice.” Charlotte turned back around, but a few minutes later, she spoke up again. “Chloe, are you feeling better? Back in the room, did you get that urge to wash your hands again?” “No.” “Liar. You always do that when you touch something gross.” She let out a soft giggle. “But you really did improve today. Remember in middle school? You used to pass out if you saw a bug.” I stared at the textured pattern on the back of the driver’s seat. She remembered that I used to faint. That was exactly why she had pushed that roach box in my face today. When the car pulled up to my apartment building, I opened the door and got out immediately. Brandon rolled down his window. “I’ll pick you up for work tomorrow morning.” “Don’t bother.” “Chloe.” His voice carried a heavy sigh of exasperation. “Stop acting like a child. I’m going to drop Charlotte off now. Wait for me to get back.” I stood on the sidewalk, looking at him. He was wearing the navy-blue jacket I bought him last year. One of the cuff buttons had come loose last week, and Charlotte had been the one to sew it back on. “Okay,” I said quietly. I turned and walked into my building without looking back. The second I stepped inside my apartment, I ripped off my jacket, threw it straight into the laundry basket, and ran to the bathroom. I turned the faucet on high, letting the freezing water rush over my hands. I pumped a massive glob of soap and began scrubbing. Over and over. Ten minutes. Twenty minutes. Forty minutes. I didn’t stop until the skin on the back of my hands was raw, bright red, and bleeding from the microscopic cracks. As I finally turned off the water, my phone buzzed. It was a notification from Snapchat. Charlotte’s story. I tapped it. It was a group photo from the escape room. Everyone was smiling, except me—because I wasn’t in it. The caption read: “Such an adrenaline rush today! Best squad ever (minus one)!” Someone in the comments asked: “Where’s Chloe?” Charlotte replied with a laughing emoji covering its mouth. I scrolled down. Brandon had liked the post.

The next morning at the office, I pulled open my desk drawer. My fingertips brushed against something cold, slimy, and gelatinous. The repulsive texture sent an instant shockwave through my system. My breathing caught. My stomach violently cramped. The modern office desk in front of me suddenly blurred, transforming into my 8th-grade classroom. I saw the boys laughing as they stuffed dead, rotting insects into my backpack. I saw my teenage self reaching for a textbook, only to pull out a hand covered in green, oozing slime. The entire classroom was roaring with laughter. “Chloe is a slimy freak! Touch her and she pukes!” I squeezed my eyes shut, biting my lip so hard I tasted blood. The physical pain dragged me back to reality. I pulled out a sanitizing wipe. Holding it like a shield, I picked up the stress-ball Charlotte had left in my drawer—the one that had burst and leaked slime everywhere—and threw it into the trash. When I was fifteen, I had completely broken down and cried because someone put a dead rat in my locker. Brandon had shown up. He didn’t say a word. He led me out of the hallway, went into my room, and stayed there for five hours. He threw away everything that had been contaminated and bought me brand-new replacements, arranging them exactly the way they were. The next morning, I woke up to a single text from him. “Your room is clean now. It’s okay if the world is dirty. You have me.” I had kept that promise close to my heart for ten years. “Chloe? Earth to Chloe. What are you daydreaming about? Let’s grab lunch.” Charlotte’s voice shattered my thoughts. At lunch, Charlotte used her own fork to stab a piece of beef from her plate and dropped it onto mine. “Try this. It’s absolutely amazing.” I looked down. The edges of the meat were grayish-green. The color was completely off. I laid my fork down. Charlotte frowned. “What now?” “The meat doesn’t look fresh.” “Oh, come on. Everyone else is eating it. You’re the only one being dramatic.” She turned to Brandon. “Brandon, back me up here.” Brandon glanced at my plate. His lips twitched slightly. “It’s fine. If you think it’s dirty, just throw it away.” Charlotte’s face fell. “Dirty? What do you mean dirty? Chloe, you are literally pathologically sensitive.” I stared at the graying meat. “I can’t eat this.” I pushed the plate away. Charlotte’s expression hardened. “Chloe, I was just trying to share my food with you. How can you be so cynical?” “Is my friendship just ‘dirty’ to you too?” People at the neighboring tables were starting to stare. Brandon reached over and pushed the plate back toward me. “Just eat it, Chloe. Don’t make a scene for Charlotte.” I looked into his eyes. “You honestly think there’s nothing wrong with this meat?” He didn’t answer. He just repeated, “Just eat it.” I picked up my fork. I stabbed the gray meat. I put it in my mouth and swallowed it. Charlotte instantly beamed. “See? I told you you were exaggerating.” Brandon let out a sigh of relief and patted the back of my hand. I immediately ran to the restroom and threw up. I stood over the sink, staring at my pale, ghost-like reflection in the mirror. It wasn’t because of the bad meat. It was because Brandon had seen it too—he knew it was bad—and he still made me swallow it. That afternoon, we had a department sync. Brandon sat next to me. He suddenly leaned in and whispered: “For tomorrow’s client presentation, let Charlotte do the speaking.” I froze. “What?” He tried to soften his words. “Charlotte is great on her feet. I want her to co-present with you.” “You do the slides, she does the talking. How does that sound?” I looked at him, my heart aching. “You think I’m an embarrassment, don’t you?” Brandon was silent for a few seconds, his gaze shifting away. “I didn’t say that. I just don’t want you to push yourself too hard.” He lowered his voice further. “Chloe, just trust me on this.” I didn’t reply. I stood up and walked out of the conference room. That night, I stayed late at the office alone, practicing the presentation deck until midnight. I wiped down my keyboard with rubbing alcohol three times before I started typing. As the alcohol seeped into the raw, cracked skin on the backs of my hands, the pain was blinding.

The next afternoon, the main conference hall was packed. I walked up to the podium, holding the clicker. The massive projector screen lit up. I pressed the button to advance the slide. Everything went smoothly at first. But then, a high-definition, giant close-up of a cockroach filled the entire screen. The audience gasped. I instinctively took a sharp step back, my heart hammering against my ribs. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a Snapchat from Charlotte. “Added a little appetizer to help you train your nerves. Surprise!~” My fingertips went completely numb. My hand was shaking so violently I could barely hold the clicker. “Apologies. A slight technical glitch.” I forced my trembling fingers to double-click the button. The disgusting image disappeared, replaced by our quarterly data charts. For the rest of the presentation, my voice was steady, clear, and articulate. I didn’t miss a single data point. But by the time I walked off the stage, my back was soaked in cold sweat. The room erupted into applause. Even the Regional VP nodded at me in approval. Brandon stood up. “We all know how capable Chloe is,” he announced to the room. “That slide was just a harmless little joke. We’ll handle the technical side internally.” “To cover what Chloe might have missed, Charlotte will now take over for the Q&A.” I watched him. I watched Charlotte walk up to the stage with her USB drive, looking like a victorious queen, taking credit for my hard work. He had still managed to put her on stage. At the after-party that night, the atmosphere was lively. Charlotte was sipping her cocktail, laughing loudly. “You guys have no idea how bad Chloe’s OCD actually is,” she announced to the table. “Back in college, our roommate accidentally touched her water bottle.” “Chloe literally threw the whole flask in the trash and cried under her blanket all night.” The table burst into laughter. “Seriously? That is so extra!” Charlotte nudged Brandon with her elbow. “Brandon, you were there. Tell them, isn’t it true?” Brandon held his glass, his fingers tracing the rim. He shot a quick glance at me but said nothing. I set my glass down and looked straight at her. “Charlotte, I want an apology for the cockroach slide this afternoon.” The laughter at the table died instantly. Charlotte’s smirk froze. Her eyes instantly welled up with tears. “Chloe, it was just a joke…” “I was literally trying to help you overcome your fear. You don’t appreciate it, and now you’re humiliating me in front of everyone?” “That is so hurtful.” Brandon set his drink down, his brow furrowing. “She didn’t mean any harm, Chloe. Besides, your presentation went great, didn’t it?” “Charlotte was just trying to help. Don’t make things ugly.” I looked at Brandon, and the last embers of my love for him turned to ice. Seeing Brandon defend her, Charlotte grew bolder. She pointed toward the dirty, ash-stained tray in the middle of the table. “If you really think I’m trying to hurt you, why don’t you prove you aren’t just being dramatic?” “Go wash this ashtray.” “You wash it, and I’ll apologize.” My stomach turned. I stepped back. “I’m not doing that. Move it away.” “Oh, come on! What are you scared of? Touching it won’t kill you!” Charlotte suddenly grabbed the dirty ashtray and shoved it right into my face. I dodged backward so fast my leg slammed violently against the sharp corner of a chair. A blinding pain shot up my leg. I lost my balance and crashed onto the floor. My knee scraped against the hardwood, blood instantly pooling through my torn tights. With a loud clatter, the dirty ashes and wet cigarette butts from the tray spilled all over my clothes. “Oh my god!” Charlotte shrieked, backing away and waving her hands frantically. “I… I didn’t mean to! Why did you react so dramatically?!” Brandon’s face went pale. He took a step toward me but abruptly stopped. I remembered. He always said we had to “keep things professional” at work events. Instead of helping me up, he pulled a pack of tissues from his pocket and handed them to Charlotte. “Hey, don’t cry. It was an accident.” I didn’t look at either of them. I dragged myself up using the wall for support and walked out to call an Uber. On the ride home, my phone buzzed continuously with texts from Brandon. “I know you felt wronged tonight. Charlotte went too far, but she knows she messed up. She’s crying her eyes out wanting to apologize to you.” Followed by a second text: “But Chloe, think about it. If she hadn’t been pushing you all these years, would we even be this close?” “We are getting married in five days. She’s doing this because she cares about our future.” I stared at the screen and didn’t reply. When I got home, my mother was sitting on the couch scrolling through her phone. On her screen was a Snapchat photo of Charlotte smiling through her tears, surrounded by coworkers comforting her. I limped into the living room. Hearing my footsteps, she looked up. The smile on her face vanished. “Look at Charlotte. She’s so mature, she knows how to handle herself in public. She makes everyone look good!” She threw her phone onto the coffee table. “And look at you. You can’t even finish a simple dinner without throwing a tantrum. You embarrass me!” I stood in the center of the room, looking at her. “Mom, my knee is bleeding.” “Bleeding?” My mother let out a cold sneer. “Your father divorced me because he couldn’t stand your dramatic, high-maintenance OCD! Understood?” “What, are you trying to drive Brandon away now too?” She pointed a finger at me, her voice shrill. “You think you’re hot stuff? You’re lucky Brandon even wants you!” “If Charlotte wasn’t constantly smoothing things over for you, he would have dumped your crazy ass years ago!” “Honestly, Brandon and Charlotte make a much better couple than you two ever will!” I had heard these words so many times I was entirely numb. Without a word, I walked into the bathroom and locked the door. I slid down onto the cold tile floor. I grabbed the showerhead and let the cold water blast over the bloody scrape on my knee. The stinging pain kept me grounded. Under the cover of the rushing water, I dialed my bridesmaid’s number.

Five days later. Our wedding day. I sat in the bridal suite in my white gown, my fingers subconsciously wiping the edge of the vanity over and over. Kathleen, my bridesmaid, stood behind me, adjusting my veil. Her fingers accidentally brushed against the back of my neck, and I instinctively flinched. “It’s just me, Chloe,” she whispered gently. I nodded at her, trying to breathe. The ceremony went by in a blur, and soon, we were at the reception party. Charlotte took the microphone and walked onto the stage, her eyes gleaming with excitement. “Family and friends, we are going to play a very special game tonight!” “Blindfolded Touch!” “We are going to blindfold our beautiful bride. Then, we’ll have various men—not just the groom—touch her, and she has to guess which one is Brandon!” She paused, raising her voice over the microphone. “Think of it as a special exposure therapy game!” “Chloe, you’ve been wanting to cure your OCD forever, right? Today is the day!” The crowd erupted into cheers and applause. I froze on the spot, the blood draining from my face. Blindfolded. Touched by random men. I whipped my head toward Brandon, my eyes begging him for help, filled with absolute terror. He looked at the laughing guests, then back at me. He walked over and picked up the black silk ribbon. “Just play along,” he whispered, his voice low. “It’s just a game. Don’t worry, I’m right here.” My vision plunged into total darkness. The sounds around me became distorted and muffled. A rough, calloused hand grabbed my left arm. My entire body locked up. My stomach did a violent flip. Then, another hand stroked down my spine, slow and heavy. I began to hyperventilate, my chest heaving. Someone in the crowd yelled, “Who is it? If you guess wrong, you have to take a shot!” A third hand reached from behind, grabbing the back of my neck. In that fraction of a second, the suffocating trauma of when I was thirteen rushed back, drowning me. “No! Stay away!” I shrieked, ripping the blindfold off. I collapsed onto the floor, curling into a ball and wrapping my arms tightly around my head. The room fell silent for a heartbeat, and then an even louder wave of laughter exploded. “Oh my god, she is so dramatic!” “It was just a touch, it’s not like it killed her!” Charlotte was holding her phone up, recording me, laughing so hard she was shaking. At the VIP table, my mother was laughing too, leaning over to talk to our relatives. “I told you she’s too delicate. How is she going to live with a husband if she won’t even let men touch her?” Charlotte crouched down next to me, whispering in my ear. “Chloe, I know you’re scared. But you can’t expect Brandon to walk on eggshells around you forever.” “He’s too good for you. I’m doing this for your own sake, okay?” The moment she finished speaking, Brandon walked over. He didn’t try to help me up. He just stood over me, his forehead creased in irritation. “Chloe. I approved this game.” He looked down at me, his eyes full of disappointment. “I was one of the people who touched you. We’ve been together for five years. Are you telling me you can’t even recognize your own fiancé’s touch?” I slowly let go of my head and stood up. My hands were still trembling, but my eyes were dry. I wasn’t crying. I looked at Charlotte. I looked at Brandon. I looked at my mother. I reached up, unpinned my veil, and tossed it onto the table next to me. I turned to walk away. Brandon rushed forward, grabbing my wrist. “Chloe, stop making a scene.” His voice was a harsh, impatient whisper. “I know you’re mad. We can talk about this when we get home. Don’t make us a laughingstock in front of everyone.” I looked at his hand clamping my wrist. I didn’t say a word. I just yanked my arm back with a cold, terrifying strength. He blinked, startled by my defiance, and instinctively let go. He watched me walk toward the exit, but he didn’t pursue me. In his mind, I just needed some space to cool off. He believed I would crawl back on my own. In the parking lot, Kathleen’s car was already waiting, engine idling. “You finally did it,” she said as I opened the door. “You should have done this five years ago.” I got into the back seat, changed into my regular clothes, and tossed the white wedding dress out onto the pavement. Before the car pulled away, I took one last look at the glittering lights of the hotel. “Let’s go.” Ten minutes later, inside the reception hall. It was time for the wedding toasts. Brandon went to the bridal suite to find me, his face wearing a smug expression of “let’s see how you apologize for this.” The room was completely empty.

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While I was trying on my wedding dress, Julian’s best friend suddenly tagged me on Snapchat: “Stella, the invitations are shipping the day after tomorrow. Have you noticed the bride’s name isn’t yours yet?” Looking at myself in the mirror, draped in the pure white gown, my mind went entirely blank. The next second, a voice note from Julian’s childhood buddy, Carter, popped up in the group: “I bet Julian a grand that you wouldn’t notice until you got the physical invite. He changed the bride’s name to Melody.” “You’re way too carefree, Stella. Tell Julian to change it back quick, or are we still having a wedding?” I slowly unzipped the wedding dress, feeling a sudden wave of nausea wash over me. Melody Evans was Julian’s first love—the legendary “one that got away” in their elite social circle. Yet, marrying me was a vow Julian had made solemnly in front of both of our families. And now, during the wedding prep, they were using my self-respect as a pawn for their bets. “Julian, you’re wicked. I bet she’ll be crying and begging you to take her back once she finds out.” “I bet she won’t even dare to lose her temper. Whoever loses pays for next month’s yacht party.” Then, a special notification buzzed on my phone. Melody had posted a photoset on Instagram, wearing a limited-edition wedding gown. [Thank you for giving me my dream wedding dress, Julian~] Beneath it, Julian had commented with a red heart emoji. I calmly tapped the “like” button on her post. Then, I deleted the Snapchat wedding planning group and booked a one-way ticket to Alaska. The wedding was off. I’d rather go freeze in the mountain wind to clear my mind and wash the dirt from my eyes.

The harsh fluorescent lights of the bridal boutique reflected off the mirror. I folded the heavy train section by section and handed it back to the assistant. The assistant hurried after me with a measuring tape, smiling. “Miss Vance, do we still need to take another half-inch off the waist? Mr. Sterling said everything has to be absolutely perfect.” I looked at the white tulle in her hands, my voice flat. “No need. Cancel the order. Give this dress to the next customer.” The assistant froze, chasing me down with the contract. “Miss Vance, if you cancel now, the fitting fees and the deposit cannot be refunded.” I pulled my card from my designer bag and pressed the pen down. “Deduct whatever you need to. Just don’t contact Julian Sterling again, and don’t call my parents.” When I walked out of the store, the afternoon sun was so blinding it made my eyes water. On my phone, the wedding planner was still messaging me about the color palette of the flower wall. I leaned against the sidewalk railing, systematically canceling the hotel block, the florist, the makeup artist, and the limo service. The cancellation fees drained five thousand dollars from my account instantly. The wedding planner sounded incredibly hesitant. “Miss Vance, does Mr. Sterling know about this? He just called this morning to change the bride’s nameplates to Miss Evans. He said it was just a joke…” Staring at the transaction success screen, I said softly, “He likes to play games. Let him plan the rest himself.” My mother’s call cut in. In the background, I could hear the loud laughter of her country club friends. She lowered her voice, but couldn’t hide her smug excitement: “Stella! Julian’s assistant just delivered a trunk of designer perfumes and limited-edition bags. Everyone here is talking about how lucky you are.” “He also promised you the biggest wedding in the city. Stop being so stubborn. Men have to socialize. Just swallow your pride and it’ll pass.” I asked her, “Mom, what if the name on the invitation isn’t mine?” My mother paused, her voice instantly turning cold and sharp. “Don’t talk nonsense. A man like Julian willing to marry you is a miracle for our family. Don’t make a scene over nothing and embarrass both families.” I let out a soft laugh. “I get it. Enjoy the bags, Mom.” After hanging up, I dialed Julian. The moment the call connected, Melody’s soft, giggling voice drifted into my ear first. Someone in the background cheered, “Julian, Stella is checking up on you! Coax her quick, or the bride might actually run away.”

Julian’s voice sounded incredibly dismissive. “Stella, what is it now?” I watched the passing traffic and asked, “Was it fun, betting on my name on the invitations?” His side went quiet for a second, followed quickly by the clinking of champagne glasses. Julian chuckled, “The invitations haven’t even been printed yet. I’ll have them changed back tomorrow. Melody just got back to the country. The guys were just trying to make her feel welcome.” I replied, “So my dignity is just a cheap token for you to please her?” Julian clicked his tongue in irritation. “You’re about to become Mrs. Sterling. Can’t you show a little grace? Melody is in poor health. She just wanted to wear a wedding dress once to fulfill a bucket list wish.” Melody’s gentle voice floated over. “Julian, don’t fight with Stella because of me. I’ll take the dress off and give it back to her right now.” Julian’s tone instantly softened. “It’s not your fault. She’s just been in a mood lately.” I looked down and saw Melody’s Instagram had updated again. Next to two movie tickets was Julian’s hand resting on the steering wheel. That Cartier watch was something I bought him after pulling double shifts for six months at the animal shelter. Her caption read: [Thank you for always being my safety net for the rest of my life.] When Julian spoke to me again, his patience was completely gone. “Stella, can you not be such a buzzkill? You’re acting like a psychopath.” The call went dead. I stood at the subway entrance and cleared every single photo from our shared album with one tap. My phone buzzed again. Julian had Venmoed me five thousand dollars with a note: “Go buy a bag. Stop throwing a tantrum.” Standing at the turnstile, I declined the transfer and put Julian’s profile on “Do Not Disturb.” He quickly sent a text: “Stella, that’s enough. Take the exit ramp I’m giving you. Don’t wait until I lose my patience.” I let out a cold laugh and didn’t reply. That night, I went back to our penthouse and started packing my things. As the cardboard boxes piled up in the corner, I threw my animal shelter ID badge right into one. Just last week, Julian’s mother had told me, “A Sterling daughter-in-law rolling around in the dirt with stray animals is embarrassing.” So, I had handed in my resignation. Thinking about it now, it was utterly pathetic. As I bent down to grab the packing tape, Julian’s FaceTime call suddenly flashed on my screen. I answered. The screen showed the warm, upscale lighting of a boutique pet store. Melody was standing next to him, cradling a ragdoll cat, while Julian held a bag of imported cat food. He frowned. “Why did you decline the money?” I taped the box shut. “Don’t need it.” Julian said coldly, “You don’t need it? Does your pathetic salary even cover the wedding cancellation fees? Don’t make yourself look cheap just to spite me.” Melody leaned closer to the camera, her eyes perfectly rimmed with tears. “Stella, are you mad at Julian because I tried on the wedding dress yesterday?” I looked at the cat in her arms and warned quietly, “That cat has discharge in its ears. You should probably stop taking photos and take it to a vet first.” Melody’s face stiffened. Julian instantly blocked the lens. “Can you stop talking to people like they’re stray mutts?” My hand holding the tape froze. He used to love watching me treat injured animals. He used to say that when I bent down to help them, I practically glowed. Melody bit her lip. “It’s all my fault. My health is bad, and having a wedding dress photo shoot was just a silly dream of mine. I’ll delete the photos right now.” Julian wrapped an arm around her shoulder, his voice softening. “Don’t delete anything. You did nothing wrong.” When he turned back to me, his face was like ice. “Stella, look at how sweet Melody is, and look at you. Your petty jealousy is exhausting.” I folded the top of the box. “You two deserve each other.” Julian didn’t seem to process it. He went silent for two seconds before laughing. “Fine. Keep playing your little drama. I’ll have my assistant reprint the invitations tomorrow.”

I hung up. The Sterling family group chat was blowing up with new notifications. Julian’s mother had posted nine photos with the caption: [Finally met the lovely Melody whom Julian always talks about. So elegant and polite. No wonder everyone adores her.] The photos were from an exclusive Sterling family brunch. Melody sat right next to Victoria Sterling, and Julian was leaning in to serve her food. Victoria Sterling messaged me privately soon after: [Stella, Melody has traveled a long way back. We are just hosting her. Don’t overthink this. A Sterling bride needs to show some class.] I replied: [Mrs. Sterling, Julian and I are over. The wedding is canceled.] She called me immediately, her voice sharp and demanding. “What is wrong with you? Julian is willing to settle down and marry you, which is already giving your family plenty of face.” I put the phone on speaker on the table and continued taping my boxes. She tried to suppress her rage. “Melody is Julian’s first love. It’s normal for a man to have a past. If you hold on too tight, you’ll only push him away.” I said, “Then let him go.” The line went quiet for a moment before Victoria sneered. “Don’t you dare regret this. The Vance family has accepted so many of our favors. If we make this public, your family will be the one begging for mercy.” I hung up, throwing every plush toy, couple’s mug, and photo album Julian had ever given me into a heavy-duty trash bag. At the bottom of the closet sat a half-knitted grey sweater. I had been knitting it for Julian. His hands always got freezing cold in the winter. I grabbed the end of the yarn and pulled. The wool unraveled around my feet, looking exactly like the boundaries I had repeatedly compromised over the last three years. The donation truck arrived quickly. The driver lifted the heavy bags and asked, “Are you sure you don’t want any of this, miss?” I nodded. “None of it. Throw it away or recycle it.” The apartment slowly emptied out until only the spare key was left hanging by the door. Suddenly, the lock clicked. The door swung open, and Julian walked in, pushing two large pink suitcases. Julian scanned the empty living room, his brow furrowing. “Why is this place so empty?” Melody peeked out from behind him, still holding the cat, her voice timid. “Stella, am I intruding?” Julian pushed the suitcases inside, his tone completely matter-of-fact. “The pipes burst in her apartment. It’s not safe for a single girl to stay in a hotel. She’s going to stay here with us for a few days.” I asked, “In which room?” Julian pushed the bags toward the master bedroom. “Melody has trouble sleeping in unfamiliar places. She’ll take the master bedroom. Go clean up the guest room.” Melody quickly grabbed his sleeve. “Julian, don’t. Stella will be upset. I can just sleep on the couch.” Julian patted her hand to comfort her. “Your health is delicate. Don’t make yourself suffer.” He looked at me, his eyes cold. “You’re going to be the mistress of this house anyway. Can’t you be a little generous?” “This isn’t my house.” Julian’s face relaxed slightly. “At least you know that. I paid for this penthouse. Just because you picked out some furniture doesn’t mean you get to make the rules.” I reached out and took the keys off the hook. The metal felt ice-cold against my palm. Melody said softly, “Stella, don’t misunderstand. Julian is just worried about me. You’re still the most important person to him.” I looked at her. “Was the movie you guys saw last night good?” Melody’s eyes flickered with guilt. Julian immediately stepped in front of her. “Are you ever going to drop this? What does Melody owe you?” I said, “She doesn’t owe me anything. You do.” Julian stared at me, a sarcastic smirk playing on his lips. “Here we go again. Stella, every time you’re unhappy, you threaten to break up. Isn’t this getting old?” I grabbed my packed suitcase. The wheels rolled across the hardwood floor, making a sharp, distinct sound. The smirk faded from Julian’s face. “Where do you think you’re going?”

I put on my shoes by the door, my voice incredibly calm. “You don’t need to clean the guest room. You two can have this whole place to yourselves. Julian, we’re done.” Melody’s eyes instantly welled with tears. “Stella, this is my fault. I’ll leave right now. Please don’t ruin your wedding over this.” But Julian held her back, his eyes turning dangerous. “Let her go.” He leaned against the doorframe, his voice tight with anger. “If you walk out that door today, don’t expect me to chase you. You have three days to come back and apologize. If you do, I’ll pretend this never happened.” I opened the door. Julian added, “Stella, I won’t cover for you with your parents. When they start asking questions, you deal with them yourself.” My steps paused for half a second. For the past three years, my mother had bragged to everyone about how well I was marrying. My father had paraded the expensive whiskey and cigars Julian sent him in front of all our relatives. Julian knew how much I dreaded disappointing them. He always knew exactly where to stab. Melody chimed in softly, “Stella, your parents love Julian so much. You’re being so selfish.” I turned back to look at Julian. “Changing the bride’s name on the invites, taking her to meet your family, letting her sleep in my bed… and I’m the one being selfish?” Julian went silent for a second, but his arrogance quickly returned. “We can talk about all of that later. Get back inside. Who are you trying to put a show on for?” I placed the keys on the shoe rack. Julian’s eyes locked onto them, and his brow twitched. “You’re leaving the keys?” I replied, “Like you said, you bought this place. Now that someone else is sleeping in the master bedroom, it’s not appropriate for me to keep these.” His face completely darkened. “Stella, do you have to be this dramatic?” I didn’t answer. I pulled my suitcase into the elevator. Before the doors slid shut, Julian’s voice echoed down the hall: “Stella! If you walk out now, don’t you dare come crawling back!” As the elevator went down, I tossed the spare keycard straight into the trash chute. My phone buzzed. It was Claire, the shelter director: [Stella, a National Geographic documentary crew is coming tomorrow to film some conservation footage. Can you help us out for one last day before you officially leave? They’re looking for a veterinary consultant, and I think you’d be perfect for it.] I typed back: [Sure.] The moment my screen went dark, Melody’s Instagram popped up with an update. She was standing in front of the master bedroom’s floor-to-ceiling window. Her caption read: [After all the detours, I’m finally back where I feel safest.] The next morning, I arrived at the shelter with my suitcase. I changed into my scrubs, the familiar scent of disinfectant washing over me. As I was bending down to adjust the heating lamp for a puppy that had just come out of surgery, the courtyard outside suddenly erupted into chaos. Claire walked into the clinic room, wiping her hands, her face incredibly tense. “Stella, the National Geographic crew was filming, but Melody’s PR team suddenly barged in with their own cameras.” My hands paused. “Who authorized that?” Claire lowered her voice. “The shelter’s main donor called and said Melody needs a ‘charity angel’ shoot. Julian is out there with her too. The documentary director, Zach Thorne, looks absolutely furious. He’s just standing there with his crew, mocking them.” I walked out to the courtyard. Melody was standing by the cages in a pristine white dress, surrounded by cameras. She bent down, attempting to lift a golden puppy that had been neutered just yesterday. I immediately blocked the cage door. “He’s not even twenty-four hours post-op. You cannot hold him.” Melody looked up at me, her smile dripping with sweet innocence. “Stella, I just want to show everyone how cute he is. People will only donate if they see how sweet he is.” Julian stood just outside the camera frame, frowning. “Stella, don’t make a scene here.” I stared right into his eyes. “His incisions haven’t healed yet. If something happens, who takes the blame?”

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My husband, Liam, was slipped a spiked drink when he was young. He had a one-night stand with a woman, and she ended up pregnant. In the third year of our marriage, he looked at me with a guilty expression and said: “I didn’t find out about the boy until he was already six. He is the only mistake of my past, but a son of the corporate empire cannot be left raised in the slums. He carries my blood.” The child was innocent, after all. So, I agreed to let him move into our home. Unfortunately, the boy, Leo, hated my guts. “You’re a wicked woman! If it weren’t for you, my mommy would be living with my daddy right now!” I couldn’t stand his daily screaming and tantrums anymore. I proposed sending him to a prestigious boarding school. But Liam flatly refused. “He’s just a six-year-old child. Even if he dislikes you, what harm can he actually do? Since when did you become so heartless, Hailey?” And that brought us to today—when Leo pushed me down the stairs, causing me to miscarry. When Liam heard the news, he merely pinched the bridge of his nose with an exhausted sigh. “If you had just treated him like your own son, why would he have done this to you?” At that exact moment, the harsh truth finally clicked. In his heart, that boy was his family. I was just an outsider. Clutching my empty, aching stomach, I dialed my billionaire brother’s number. “Julian, my baby is gone. Please, come and take me home.”

Right after I hung up, Liam walked into the VIP hospital room. He was holding his illegitimate son, Leo, by the hand. The little boy had his lips pouted, looking completely defiant. “I didn’t do it on purpose! She slipped because she’s clumsy…” Liam tapped the back of the boy’s head and said in a cold tone, “I’m saying this for the last time. Apologize to Hailey.” For the past three months, he had been trying to force Leo to call me “Mom.” And every single time, Leo would throw the exact same hysterical tantrum: “No! I won’t!” “I already have a mommy! She took care of me for six years. We just don’t live together right now!” He threw his arms around Liam’s waist, sobbing. “Daddy, why don’t you want my real mommy? She’s so sweet. Why can’t we be together?” Liam froze, speechless. He had always avoided explaining to Leo why he and Chloe couldn’t be together. Looking at the boy’s tear-stained face, Liam’s eyes filled with intense guilt. After the nanny took Leo out of the room, Liam pulled up a chair and sat down beside my bed. “I’ve made him come here and apologize. You can’t seriously expect a six-year-old to get down on his knees and beg for your forgiveness, can you?” I clenched my fists under the blanket, my throat burning. “So my baby deserved to die?” During the three months since Leo arrived, he had spiked my water with harmful herbal extracts and abortive tea mixes more than once. A six-year-old child could never have come up with that on his own. It was glaringly obvious who was pulling the strings behind him. I had warned Liam before: “Send the boy back to his mother.” But Liam had remained silent, smoking on the balcony all night long. Later, as Leo kept sweetly calling him “Daddy” day after day, Liam’s cold exterior began to melt. The next time I brought it up, his face was like ice. “That’s out of the question.” “Chloe is manipulative and unstable. She will ruin my son if she raises him.” A suffocating silence hung in the hospital room. Liam rubbed his temples and said in a raspy voice, “I can compensate you in any way you want, Hailey. Just don’t ask me to send Leo away.” I turned my head away from him. “Then there’s nothing left to say.” Liam stared at my belly, a flicker of pain crossing his eyes. “Hailey, I’ve already lost one child. Do you want me to lose another?” “You should know that no one can ever threaten your position as my wife.” I kept my eyes lowered, swallowing the bitter taste in my mouth. Liam and I had an arranged marriage for business alliances. But looking back, we did share three years of genuine love. That was before we knew Leo existed. Back then, he aggressively outbid everyone at a high-end charity auction to win back my late mother’s vintage jewelry just to make me smile. He even shut down a private harbor in New York for an entire night just to throw a fireworks show for my birthday. But all of that ended abruptly the moment a six-year-old boy appeared. I touched my lower abdomen. Now that the anesthesia had fully worn off, a sharp, cramping pain flared up inside me. I closed my eyes and said quietly, “Liam, let’s get a divorce.” Liam stiffened, then let out a cold, cynical laugh. “Over a child?” “I know you hate Leo, and I know you’ve been paranoid about his mother.” “But I’ve told you a thousand times—you are my only wife. There is absolutely no need to be jealous of a woman who poses zero threat to you.”

He always referred to Leo’s mother as “that woman.” But he had no idea what a desperate woman would do for the sake of her child. The day I fell, Leo’s remote-control car had rolled right under my feet at the top of the stairs. I was five months pregnant back then. With my belly blocking my line of sight, I tripped and tumbled all the way down the grand staircase. I still remembered the look in Leo’s eyes. Panic, fear, but also a sick, subtle trace of satisfaction. He had clutched his smart-watch phone, his childish voice trembling as he spoke into it: “Mommy, she’s bleeding so much…” On the other end of the line, Chloe had whispered in a rushed, hushed tone: “Wait a little longer before you call for help.” “Listen to me, Leo. You cannot let her give birth to that baby. If she does, your father’s wealth will go to someone else.” “Only if that baby is gone will everything belong to you. And only then can mommy come back to your father’s side where she belongs…” There were security cameras all over our house. Liam was a ruthless, sharp businessman. It was impossible for him not to know. He just chose to turn a blind eye. For the sake of his son, he would always harbor a subconscious soft spot for the boy’s mother. On the day I was discharged, the nurse gave me a strange look. “Where is your husband?” I looked down at my phone. Liam had sent a message just minutes ago: [Leo says his mother is sick.] [Don’t worry, I won’t go see her myself. I’m just setting up a team of doctors to take care of her.] I closed my eyes, letting out a long, heavy breath. “My husband is dead,” I told the nurse. The nurse blinked in surprise, then offered me a knowing, supportive smile. “Congratulations.” Once my body recovered, I immediately began liquidating my assets. Julian’s company had invested $900 million into Liam’s firm back when we married. Pulling out that capital and dividing our assets was going to be a messy, massive war. I walked out of my family’s corporate office holding a thick stack of legal documents. On my drive back, I got stuck in a heavy traffic jam. My car ended up stopped right next to an elite private elementary school. “Daddy! You actually came to pick me up today!” Holding the steering wheel, I glanced at my rearview mirror. I saw Leo jumping eagerly into the back seat of my car. The car I was driving belonged to Liam’s fleet. The boy hadn’t even looked at the license plate before hopping in. The second he saw me in the driver’s seat, his face turned paper-white. “Hailey…”

Just then, a woman rushed over from the sidewalk, grabbing him out of the car and pulling him into her arms. “What do you think you’re doing? Why are you trying to kidnap my son!” “Just because you lost your own baby doesn’t mean you can steal mine! Leo didn’t mean to hurt you!” I narrowed my eyes. I recognized her instantly. Chloe. Leo’s eyes darted around before he buried his face in her chest, crying loudly. “Mommy! While you were gone, this lady kept hitting me!” “She wouldn’t give me food, and she wouldn’t let me see Daddy!” Chloe gasped dramatically, her eyes wide with manufactured horror. “How could you be so cruel? How could you abuse my little boy! He might not be yours, but he is the baby I raised with my own sweat and tears…” The street was packed with other wealthy mothers picking up their kids. Hearing this, several of them threw their takeout coffees and trash right at my windshield, whispering loudly: “Unbelievable. Stepmothers are always evil. She’s just bullying a child who doesn’t have his real mom around!” “Exactly. Look at her luxury clothes. She’s clearly a homewrecker who chased out the real mother and took her place!” Chloe held Leo tightly, weeping as though she were the ultimate victim. I rolled up my window, grabbed some tissues, and calmly wiped the coffee off my window. Then, I sent Liam a text: “Get over here.” It showed as read, but there was no reply. I sent another one: “At Leo’s school.” He grabbed the location pin immediately. Within ten minutes, his black SUV screeched to a halt nearby. After getting a quick rundown of what happened from the security guard, Liam glared coldly at the mother and son clinging to each other. Chloe swallowed hard, looking terrified. “I’m so sorry, Liam… I was just so worried about Leo. I didn’t mean to misunderstand your wife…” Liam didn’t even look at her. He turned to me and said, “I know you’re angry. I’ll make her apologize to you.” Chloe caught on quickly. She lowered her head submissively. “I am deeply sorry, Mrs. Vance.” Liam waved his hand dismissively, signaling her to take the child and leave. I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel and let out a sarcastic chuckle. “That’s it? That’s all you’re going to do?” Liam watched Chloe’s retreating figure. After a long pause, he sighed. “She’s still the boy’s mother, Hailey. Don’t push her too hard.” I looked away. My eyelashes fluttered slightly. When I first found out about Chloe, Liam had knelt before me and swore: “I was only nineteen when I was drugged.” “That woman only wanted my money. If I ever see her again, I will make sure she loses everything.” And yet, here they were, reunited. Staring into the eyes of the woman who shared his son’s face, his heart had inevitably softened. A dramatic reunion, wrapped in lingering looks of pity. I let out a breath, feeling a wave of nausea. I stepped on the gas and drove away. Rain began to pour down, splashing cold water through the half-open window onto my face. Right then, my phone lit up. I wiped my eyes. It was a message from Julian’s corporate legal team. [Hailey, we have finished auditing the assets. We are ready to pull our funding from Liam’s company at any moment.] I typed back instantly: [Do it. We pull out tomorrow. The faster, the better.]

When I got home, I immediately started reviewing the paperwork, double-checking every clause of the divorce agreement. When we got married, I had made Liam sign a prenuptial agreement. If any illegitimate children ever surfaced, he would have to leave the marriage with absolutely nothing. I still remembered the night he signed it under the glowing fireworks in New York. Back then, he would have agreed to anything I asked. I still remembered how my heart had fluttered. But now, I felt absolutely nothing for the girl I used to be. The door opened. Liam walked in. A faint scent of unfamiliar perfume clung to his sleeves. “Are you still mad at me?” “I sent Leo to sleep at his mother’s place tonight.” He walked over, trying to sound patient. “I know you want a family, Hailey. I’ll make sure Leo respects you and calls you Mom.” I didn’t even look up from my laptop. “He will never be my son.” Liam’s face darkened. He walked to the window and lit a cigarette. “Hailey, I don’t get it. Why are you so hostile toward a child?” “It seems like you’ve hated him from the very second he walked through our door.” He was wrong. It was Leo who hated me. When we first met, I had bought him a beautiful welcome gift. But not only did he throw it in the trash, he used the remote-control car to kill my unborn baby. At the thought of this, I shut my laptop and looked up at him coldly. “Liam, you know the truth.” “The truth about what?” “Every time you look at that boy, you see his mother.” Liam’s hand holding the cigarette shook violently. He let out a bitter, defensive laugh. “If there were ever a chance of me getting back with her, do you honestly think you would be my wife right now?” A sharp pang went through my chest. He despised Chloe’s low-class schemes, but that didn’t stop him from using her existence to humiliate me. Seeing that I didn’t argue back, a smug smile returned to his face. “Be good. Didn’t you always want to see the Northern Lights? I cleared three days of my schedule. Let’s fly out tomorrow, okay?” I turned my head away silently, completely checked out. The next morning, Liam saw my packed suitcases sitting by the door. He let out a soft laugh. “You already packed your bags? Look who couldn’t wait.” Just as I was about to pull out the signed divorce papers, Leo came bursting into the foyer, crying his eyes out. “Daddy! Today is the school’s Family Day!” “My daddy and mommy have never showed up together. All the other kids have both their parents there. They laugh at me and call me a charity case…” “Daddy, please come with Mommy just this once. Please…” Liam hesitated for a second. But in the end, he nodded. The Northern Lights we were supposed to see drifted further out of reach. He couldn’t even look me in the eye as he walked out the door. A few minutes later, my phone buzzed with a text from him. [I’m only doing this for the kid. I’m just showing up so he doesn’t get bullied.] I smiled bitterly to myself. First, it’s just showing up for the kid. Then what? A family photo? A family dinner? A family vacation? With a living child bridging them together, Liam and Chloe would never truly be apart. Fortunately, I had already built my exit strategy. At 2:00 PM, I finished loading my suitcases, waiting for Julian’s private security detail to pick me up. But just as I opened the front door, I ran right into a sweating, panicked Liam. In his arms was a pale, whimpering Leo. The boy’s leg was covered in blood, looking absolutely gruesome.

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