Category: English

My newborn baby sister fell gravely ill right after she was born. A passing clairvoyant told my mother that it was because I was the vessel of a dark entity. He said the only way for my sister to survive was for me to go on a strict spiritual fast, praying for a hundred days. To save my sister, they fed me nothing but a small plate of boiled greens every day. I was so starved that I kept blacking out. One day, I fell to my knees, begging them for just a scoop of mashed potatoes or a slice of bread. But Mom kicked me hard, shoving me into the small pantry under the stairs, and locked the door from the outside. “You really are a monster, aren’t you? You know your sister’s life depends on this, yet you’re still trying to cheat? Are you doing this on purpose?” “It’s just a simple fast and a few prayers, Hazel! How hard can it be? Lily only has a few days left to get through this. Can you stop being so incredibly selfish for once?” But Mom, my stomach hurts so bad. I think I’m dying.

My limbs felt like they were filled with lead. Through the heavy wooden door, I heard Dad’s hesitant voice. “Eleanor… maybe we should let her out to eat something? Just a little bit?” “No!” Mom’s voice was sharp, laced with panic. “How can you softhearted now, David? Did you forget what happened a few days ago? She snuck a piece of turkey, and Lily had a life-threatening fever in the middle of the night!” I knew exactly what night she was talking about. A few days ago. During my fast, I was so dizzy from hunger that I dragged myself to the kitchen and took a tiny bite of leftover meat from the fridge. Mom caught me. She broke down in tears on the spot, crying hysterically. Dad rushed in and slapped me across the face so hard I hit the linoleum floor. Blood dripped from my nose, staining the prayer book on the counter. That night, I was locked in the pantry to “reflect on my sins.” When they finally let me out the next morning, the pain in my stomach was so agonizing I couldn’t even stand up straight. “She is a curse! She knew she would hurt her sister, yet she still snuck out to eat! She did it on purpose!” Mom’s voice had been freezing cold. Leaning against the pantry door now, I didn’t even have the strength to shake my head. No, Mom. I was just so, so hungry. I understood they were terrified of losing baby Lily. But why did they have to treat me like the enemy? I wasn’t a demon. I was their daughter, too… I tapped my weak knuckles against the door, over and over. I wanted to tell them I couldn’t hold on much longer. “Eleanor, the pediatrician said Lily’s illness is just a standard infant infection,” Dad’s voice drifted in, carrying a sliver of doubt. “What if that spiritual medium was just a fraud? We can’t keep Hazel locked up like this—” Mom cut him off instantly. “Shut up! What do you know? I knew something was wrong with Hazel the moment she was born. She was too quiet, and her eyes were so cold. Marcus said there’s a dark energy inside her, feeding on Lily’s life force!” She then turned toward the pantry door, her tone hardening into steel. “Hazel, stop acting. I know you can hear me. Just stay in there quietly. Once the hundred days are over, the bad energy inside you will be purged, and we can go back to being a normal family, okay?” I couldn’t squeeze a single word out of my throat. My stomach felt like it was being ripped apart by rusty knives. The pain in my chest was suffocating. Using every ounce of life left in me, I struck the door one last time. Mom stormed over and kicked the door from the outside. “Hazel! What kind of stunt are you pulling now? Do I need to teach you another lesson?” She unlocked the door and threw it open. A crack of warm light spilled into the darkness of the pantry. My heart flared with a desperate spark of hope— Am I saved?

“Mom.” A hand gently grabbed Mom’s wrist. It was Ethan. My older brother, who used to protect me from everything when we were kids. He stood at the pantry door, his eyebrows slightly knitted in annoyance. “Hazel is just being stubborn. The more you yell at her, the more she’s going to resist.” He sighed, turning his eyes toward the dark pantry. “Hazel, I know this sucks. But Lily is a baby; she can’t handle any setbacks. Just hang in there a little longer, okay? Once this week is over, I’ll take you out to McDonald’s and buy you whatever you want.” There was no reply from inside. I couldn’t move. My body was curled on the cold floor, like a wounded animal seeking a dark corner to die. The dried blood from my forehead had sealed one of my eyes shut. Cold sweat mixed with warm, sticky fluid ran down my cheek. I stared blankly at the crack of the door. *Mom, please. Just look down.* *Just a little bit more.* *And you would see me.* But— The light vanished. The door slammed shut, and the lock clicked. I heard Ethan sigh softly on the other side. “Don’t worry, Hazel. As soon as Lily gets better, I’ll convince Mom and Dad to let you rest. I’ll buy you anything you want to eat.” Their footsteps faded away. They all left. The pantry plunged into a terrifying, absolute silence. I lay frozen on the floor. And my chest stopped moving. *Mom.* *You were so close.* *You could have saved me.* In the darkness, my soul drifted out of my cold shell. I saw them gathered around Lily’s white crib in the nursery. Mom was tucking Lily in with a soft blanket, while Dad carefully fed her a bottle of formula. Ethan was organizing the blessed silver crosses and lavender satchels around the room. They all had relaxed, hopeful smiles on their faces. Only I was left behind, locked in that cramped pantry, transforming into a silent, frozen statue. *Dad. Mom.* *Lily’s life was everything to you.* *But what about mine?* My spirit followed them to the spiritual temple the next day. Everyone was praying devoutly. Only Dad looked restless, constantly checking his watch. When the service finally ended, he practically begged Mom as they walked to the parking lot. “I’m really worried about Hazel, Eleanor. She was too weak to sleep last night, and she didn’t eat anything this morning. We need to go home and check on her!” Mom frowned, her face tightening. “Check on what? She’s missed a couple of meals. Is her attitude more important than Lily’s life?” Dad clenched his fists, his voice shaking with desperation. He grabbed Mom’s arm, but she slapped him across the face. Mom’s eyes grew red, her voice cracking with emotion. “These last few days are the most critical! If we mess up now, does that mean all of Hazel’s sacrifices were for nothing?” “Just stay here and keep praying. I’ll drive back to get our insulated thermoses and check on her while I’m there.” Dad finally let out a sigh of relief. Mom drove back to our suburban house. She grabbed the thermoses from the kitchen island. Then, she walked over to the pantry door. Her voice softened slightly, though it was still laced with deep suspicion. “Hazel, I know you’re listening. Just behave yourself. Don’t try any tricks. Once the fast is over and the dark energy is gone, I’ll let you out, okay?” Silence. Mom’s expression darkened. “Hazel.” She lowered her voice, spitting the words through her teeth. “When are you going to stop this drama? Do you think I don’t know what you’re doing? Every time you scream about your stomach hurting or being hungry, you’re just acting. You want us to feel guilty so we’ll let you out, so you can ruin Lily’s recovery, don’t you?” She banged heavily on the wooden door. But then, she stopped. Frowning, she muttered to herself, “Why is she so quiet? Is she planning something?” She grabbed the brass doorknob and turned it. The door swung open slightly. The hem of my oversized yellow pajama shirt was visible in the crack.

Just then, Dad’s call rang through Mom’s phone. “Eleanor! Lily just woke up and she’s crying for you. Did you check on Hazel?” Mom hesitated for two seconds, then let go of the doorknob. “We’ll deal with Hazel after the final prayer,” she said to the phone, turning on her heel and walking away. Inside the pantry, my lifeless body was propped against the door, one hand still frozen in a claw-like shape, as if trying to knock. Floating in the air, I watched her retreating back in absolute despair. *Mom, you were just one step away.* *If you had just pushed the door open, you would have found my corpse.* That night. Knowing I was still locked up, Dad waited until Mom fell into a deep sleep, then crept downstairs to the pantry door. He whispered through the wood. “Hazel, I hid the spare key under the welcome mat by the front door. Grab it and get yourself something to eat!” “I left some chicken soup on the kitchen counter for you. I know your stomach is sensitive, so make sure to microwave it first!” Dad always remembered. He knew I had chronic gastritis. Over the years, whenever Mom locked me in my room or the pantry, Dad would sneak food to me when she wasn’t looking. He had even bought me a giant plush teddy bear and placed it in the pantry. Inside the bear’s zippered belly, he would hide packets of Oreos and crackers. I floated over and looked at the plush bear. Its belly was bulging. Dad had stuffed it with cookies again. *But I’m so sorry, Dad.* *I can’t eat them anymore.* The next morning. Dad woke up and immediately checked his phone. There was no reply to the text messages he had sent me. Panicking, he found Mom in the kitchen. “I texted Hazel about the key, but she hasn’t replied. What if she passed out from starvation?” “Don’t you have the security camera app linked to the pantry nanny-cam? Open it! Let me see how she is!” Mom rolled her eyes. “She’s playing mind games with you, David. She wants you to break the rules so she can bring the bad luck back to Lily.” Still, she pulled out her iPhone. She tapped the security app. The live stream of the pantry loaded on the screen. In the video, my back was turned toward the camera. Dad shoved his face close to the screen. “Hazel! The key is under the mat! There’s warm soup in the kitchen, please eat something. Don’t starve yourself!” No response. Mom frowned. “Hazel, if you’ve learned your lesson, just open the door and eat. Stop worrying your father.” But the figure on the screen remained completely motionless. Dad’s voice began to crack with terror. “Hazel? Are you sick? Please, just turn around and look at me. Just let me see your face!” Mom’s expression shifted slightly. She pinched the screen to zoom in. In the dim, grainy night-vision feed, I was curled up in the corner. My body was bent tight, like a dead shrimp. Mom stared at the image for a few seconds. Then, she let out a cold, mocking laugh. “Another one of her tantrums. She loves playing the victim.” When I was younger, I used to curl up like that to get her attention when she ignored me. She thought I was doing it again. “Hazel, we told you where the key is. If you want to act like a civilized human being, get out of there and eat! Stop trying to ruin your sister’s blessing!” Mom locked her phone and tossed it onto the granite island. I let out a bitter, silent laugh.

*Mom, if you had just zoomed in for three more seconds, if you had just looked closer…* *You would have seen that my chest wasn’t rising.* *I wasn’t throwing a tantrum. I was dead.* *We were so close to the end, and you still didn’t see me.* Finally, the hundredth day arrived. The final prayer was completed. Dad was the first one to bolt out of the chapel. “The spiritualist said the curse is broken! Lily is safe! Let’s get home and tell Hazel the good news!” “She’s been alone in that house for so long. She must be terrified.” Sitting in the passenger seat, Mom’s eyes welled with tears. “I know I was too harsh on Hazel. But I had no choice, David. The entity inside her was too strong. Now that she’s purified, she can finally be our sweet, normal daughter again.” Floating above them in the SUV, I smiled. It was a smile more painful than crying. *Dad, Mom.* *I waited one hundred days for this day.* *But I couldn’t make it to the finish line.* The car pulled into the driveway. Dad ran to the front door, unlocking it and throwing it open. But then, he froze. His eyes fell on the kitchen island. The bowl of chicken soup he had left out was untouched, covered in a thick layer of green mold. His voice began to tremble violently. “Hazel… she hasn’t eaten in days…” Mom froze for a fraction of a second, her face turning pale. But then, anger took over. She stormed to the pantry door and banged her fist against it. “Hazel! What do you want from us?! Are you trying to destroy this family?!” “Do you have any idea what we went through these past few days? We barely slept, trying to find spiritual guidance to save you! And what did you do? You went on a hunger strike to spite us? To make us feel like monsters?!” Dad grabbed her shoulders, his voice cracking. “Hazel wouldn’t do this! Eleanor, something is wrong!” Mom’s expression stiffened. Just then, the front door opened, and Ethan walked in. He held his phone in his hand, looking incredibly confused. “Mom, Dad, a police officer just stopped me on the driveway. He said a neighbor called 911 because they heard weird noises coming from our house a few days ago.” He looked toward the pantry. “Hazel, did you call the cops on us? Why would you do that?” Hearing this, Mom snapped. “Hazel! You called the police?! You want to ruin this family that badly?! You wouldn’t even pray for your baby sister, and now you want to drag us to jail?!” Dad’s face turned dark and disappointed. “Your sister is just a baby, Hazel. And you brought the cops to our door? You want the whole neighborhood to think we’re criminals?” “Hazel, what is wrong with you?!” They stood there, judging me, condemning me. But the pantry remained dead silent. Mom’s eyes were bloodshot. “I’m done with this!” she screamed, lunging for the door handle.

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The day Mason cheated on me, I took the Swiss Army knife he had gifted me and slashed my stepsister’s face open. After I went to prison, our marriage was automatically annulled. He finally gave my stepsister the grand, lavish wedding of her dreams. Three years later, I was released. Mason hired twenty security guards to keep a constant, paranoid watch on her. He set up fifty traps, desperate to throw me back behind bars. He even used a hundred middle managers to pass along a message: I could name any price, as long as I promised never to hurt Amber again. But he was overthinking it. Like a single drop of water merging into the ocean, I simply vanished from his life. Our next meeting was at my auto repair shop. I spit out the gum I was chewing, popped open the hood of his car with grease-stained fingers, and asked calmly, “How old is this ride?” He clenched his jaw so hard I could hear it. He squeezed the words out of his throat: “Valerie, this car was the very first gift you ever bought me.”

My hand holding the wrench paused for a fraction of a second. “Oh. Then it’s been a while. It’s due for a major overhaul.” My tone was too flat, completely devoid of emotion. Mason froze, his mouth opening and closing, but no sound came out. I tapped and checked every single bolt with my wrench, meticulous and focused. It was as if the dazzling yellow sports car in front of me was no different from the thousands of other beat-up sedans I had repaired. Perhaps the sharp clink of metal against metal grated on his nerves. Mason’s expression shifted several times before he finally forced a mocking sneer: “Valerie, if you’re short on cash, you can just call me directly.” “There’s no need to scatter nails on the road just to lure me to this godforsaken place to watch you perform.” I chuckled, chatting as casually as I would with any random customer. “If I were a good actress, I’d be in Hollywood by now.” “You came from 3rd Avenue, right? The local news mentioned this morning that a hardware truck spilled its cargo of steel nails there yesterday. You have to be careful.” As I spoke, I grabbed a rag from the counter and wiped the black grease from my hands. Mason’s eyes locked onto the rag. It was once pink, but now it was washed out to a dingy gray, the edges frayed and threadbare. He finally lost his temper, his voice rising: “Valerie, you used to be as proud as a swan.” “Claustrophobia, OCD, germaphobia—you had every single symptom of a spoiled rich girl. If a speck of dust landed on your high heels, you’d spend half an hour cleaning it. If there was a single oil spot on the dining table, you’d fire the maid on the spot…” “And look at you now…” “Hey, Val! Can you check my car? The AC is blowing hot air!” With a loud, cheerful shout, the glass door of the shop swung open. Mrs. Higgins, wearing a bright floral shirt, walked in and tossed her car keys into my hand. “You got it, Mrs. Higgins. Leave it here, I’ll check it out in a bit,” I said, catching the keys. “It probably just needs a freon recharge. Easy fix.” “Great, I’ll leave you to it.” She patted my shoulder warmly, then glanced at Mason. She lowered her voice. “You have a customer? I’ll get out of your hair then. Talk to you later!” After waving goodbye to Mrs. Higgins, I realized I still had a client waiting. I offered Mason a polite, professional smile. “Right, Mr. Miller. Your car is good to go. That’ll be twenty bucks.” “You…” Mason stared at me blankly. It took him a long time to utter that single word, as if he lacked the strength to say anything else. Instead, he hurriedly pulled out his phone, searching for a QR code to scan. When I saw the $500 notification on my screen, I waved my hands immediately. “Mr. Miller, you overpaid. Let me send the change back to you.” As I spoke, I instinctively opened Snapchat to find his contact. Then I remembered. The day I was sent to prison, he had blocked me on everything. Slightly embarrassed, I scratched my head. “Well, this is awkward. Mr. Miller, could you show me your Venmo QR code instead?” “Didn’t you… didn’t you say the car needed a major overhaul?” Mason’s expression was incredibly complex. “Check the other parts for me. Is this enough?” I smiled, genuinely pleased. “More than enough. It’s plenty. Please, have a seat while you wait.” I grabbed a small, folding camp stool from the corner and pushed it toward him. Looking at his perfectly tailored designer suit, I found a relatively clean cloth and laid it over the stool for him. Mason remained silent for a long time before gingerly sitting down. He sat elegantly, hands resting on his knees, looking entirely out of place. A second later, the squeak of the glass door startled him. “Hey, Val! Still working during lunch? Business must be booming! No wonder you ordered the double-entree lunch special today.” “Whoa, a luxury sports car. We’ve got a VIP client today!” It was Toby, the delivery guy who brought me lunch every day. I laughed and traded a few jokes with him before taking the paper bag from his hands. Hearing himself called a “VIP,” Mason shifted uncomfortably, turning his head slightly and letting out a quiet sigh. But there was nothing I could do about it. The neighborhood was just like this. Chloe, who owned the nail salon next door, ran in to ask if I wanted to grab hotpot with her tonight. A young guy from the upstairs apartment came down dragging a heavy suitcase, asking if he could leave it in my shop until he got back tonight. A high school girl rushed in, frantically asking if I had a portable charger she could borrow. Their eyes were full of curiosity, lingering on Mason’s expensive suit and striking looks. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, Mason crossed his legs and shifted on the tiny stool. “Valerie, have you really degraded yourself to this point? Hanging out with… these lowlifes?”

His eyes looked slightly red, though I might have been mistaken. After sewing uniforms in a federal prison for three years, my eyes tended to play tricks on me. “The car is in great shape,” I said, straightening up and wiping the sweat from my forehead with my elbow. “But the brake pads are a bit worn. You should get them replaced. My shop is too small to carry OEM parts, so you’ll have to go to an authorized dealership.” I pointed him in the direction of the nearest dealership and immediately opened my lunchbox. Orange chicken, beef stir-fry, and some greasy veggies—all my favorites. But even as I snapped my wooden chopsticks apart, Mason made no move to leave. Confused, I thought about it for a second and pushed the takeout box toward him. “Are you hungry, Mr. Miller? If you don’t mind, you can have some.” Mason’s gaze flickered. His eyes lingered on the black grease permanently stained under my fingernails, then drifted to the shiny, oily food in the box. When he spoke, his voice was raspy: “This is all cheap, processed microwave food. It’s unhealthy… You never used to eat this.” In his memory, I was a picky eater who only ate organic salads and fresh sashimi. If the food was even slightly un-fresh, I would spend the night throwing up in the bathroom. I smiled. “Well, prison food doesn’t have much flavor, and now I do manual labor all day. It cured all my spoiled habits.” “Every takeout place uses pre-made ingredients nowadays. Their spicy chicken is actually really good. You should try some, Mr. Miller.” “Oh, look! They even threw in an extra packet of chili oil today. What a steal!” I happily took the chili oil packet and tossed it into a plastic storage bin behind me. The bin was already half-full of free condiment packets. On tight days, buying a loaf of bread and using these was enough to get by. Mason suddenly stood up, his voice thick with emotion: “Stop it!” I froze, startled by his sudden outburst. In the next second, he threw a black card onto the counter. “This is my secondary card. Take it.” He moved so abruptly that he knocked over the small camp stool and almost flipped my lunchbox. Fortunately, my reflexes were quick. I leaned to the side and shielded my precious orange chicken. “Mr. Miller,” I said, feeling a bit helpless. “If you’re not going to eat, I’d like to finish my lunch…” “Valerie!” Mason growled, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. “I’m serious!” “This card is linked to my platinum account. It has a five-million-dollar limit. Use it however you want.” “Buy a nice storefront. Start a real, clean business. Be your own boss. Stop staying in this filthy hole working as a grease monkey!” “You used to be an elite skier from a wealthy family! Have you forgotten who you are?!” His roaring words echoed in the small shop, instantly dragging me back into the past. My family indeed used to be incredibly wealthy. My father was one of the top venture capitalists in Seattle. I was the pampered, only daughter of a billionaire family until I was seven, when my mother got pregnant with twin girls. But just as we were happily anticipating the arrival of my baby sisters, my father’s affair came to light. He fell head over heels for a mixed-race model, loving her with a passion that defied all logic. It got so bad that the mistress literally showed up at our house, demanding my mother sign the divorce papers. My mother was a proud, fiery woman. A fierce argument broke out. In the chaos, I saw with my own eyes that woman extending her long, red manicured nails, grabbing my mother by the throat, and shoving her down the grand spiral staircase. One mother, two unborn babies. Dead on impact. Afterward, to force me to change my police statement, my father locked me in the basement and beat me for a day and a night. His abuse eventually bought his mistress’s acquittal. They got married. The mistress brought her own daughter from a previous marriage—my stepsister, Amber. And so, my living nightmare began. The beatings, the verbal abuse, the false accusations, the non-stop bullying. To survive, I fled to Switzerland. I trained like a madwoman, became a competitive skier, and took the sports world by storm. Back then, Mason was studying at a prestigious business school in Zurich. After catching a glimpse of me on a live broadcast, he became my most devoted fan. Every time I crossed the finish line, he would be in the front row of the stands, holding a giant banner with my name, screaming at the top of his lungs. When a corrupt referee unfairly disqualified me, he led a protest with his classmates through the Swiss streets just to demand justice for me. He was there to comfort me through my injuries, and he encouraged me through my darkest lows. Finally, when I crossed the finish line in first place at the championships, I unbuckled my skis and ran straight toward him in the stands. Amidst the swirling confetti and the roaring crowd, under the gaze of thousands, I hugged him tightly. The dynamic of idol and fan ended there. He became my publicly acknowledged boyfriend. But I never could have imagined that on the night of my victory, as we strolled down a quiet Swiss street, two armed muggers would jump us from the shadows. They wanted our money and watches. To protect me, Mason immediately lunged at them, getting into a brutal fight. I was terrified. Fearing he would get hurt, I threw myself into the scuffle without a second thought. In the chaotic frenzy, a gunshot echoed. A bullet pierced my chest. It didn’t kill me, but it collapsed my lung and scraped past my heart. From that day on, I could never participate in any extreme sports again. Including skiing. But I never regretted it. Mason was the love of my life. His safety was far more important than any trophy. I could have won a hundred gold medals, but I only had one Mason. As I lay in the hospital bed, weakly holding his hand and whispering those words to him, he wept uncontrollably, burying his face in my chest. “Valerie, let’s go back to the States. My family has deep connections in both politics and business. No matter what you want to do next, I will back you up to the end!” Mason was that kind of man. He wasn’t good with sweet words, but he showed his love through action. Filled with hope and joy, I held his hand as we flew back home. At the airport, we were met by Amber. The moment she saw the wealthy young heir standing next to me, her eyes widened in shock, but she quickly masked it with a brilliant, sweet smile. It reminded me so much of her gold-digging mother standing next to my father. Their smiles had the exact same, calculating curve. And that dark premonition quickly became reality.

I don’t know when it started, but Mason began mentioning Amber more and more. At first, he said she was sweet and obedient. Then, he said she was pitiful, living under another family’s roof. Eventually, it became: “Valerie, stop bullying Amber all the time.” I wanted to have a serious talk with him, but it coincided with the anniversary of my mother and sisters’ deaths. I had to focus on the memorial service first. But when I returned home from the cemetery, I witnessed a scene that would haunt me for the rest of my life. Mason and Amber, those two disgusting hypocrites, were lying naked on my white bedsheets, tangled together in passion. “Hehe, Mason, why didn’t you go to your future mother-in-law’s memorial today?” “What mother-in-law?… A dead woman from the countryside doesn’t deserve that title… If I had to choose a mother-in-law, I’d choose yours…” A loud buzzing filled my ears. I completely lost my mind. I charged into the room like a feral animal, grabbing the knife on the nightstand and swinging. The blade sliced right across Amber’s beautiful, flawless face. Her blood-curdling screams still echo in my mind. Honestly, it was incredibly satisfying. After the incident, considering I was the victim of a betrayal, the judge initially wanted to give me a suspended sentence. But Mason hired the most expensive legal team in the country, even bribing witnesses to commit perjury, just to ensure I received a solid three-year prison sentence. Time flies. It has been seven years since I was released from prison. I exhaled slowly, quietly studying the man standing before me. It must be nice to be rich. Time hadn’t left a single mark on this handsome man’s face. But it had gifted me with cracked skin on my hands, a chin-length haircut for convenience, and grease permanently embedded under my nails. I gently pushed the black card back to him. “There’s no need, Mr. Miller. I’m doing quite well now.” “I have food, shelter, and my freedom. I’m not stealing or begging. I earn my living with my own two hands.” “I’m just an ordinary citizen. No great wealth, but no great tragedies either.” But Mason stubbornly kept his hand extended. “Just take it… as my compensation to you. Once you take the money, let go of your resentment. We’ll be even.” I looked at him, slightly amused. The arrogant young master of the Miller family had actually learned how to compensate someone. In the past, he never bowed his head to anyone. “That’s even less necessary. I saved your life because you were my boyfriend at the time, and I went to prison because I voluntarily assaulted someone. That’s just justice.” “Neither of us owes the other anything.” Mason clenched his fists, his eyes locking onto mine. It was as if he was trying to confirm, over and over again, that the woman standing in front of him was indeed Valerie. Finally, his head dropped slowly, and a faint glint of moisture appeared in the corners of his eyes. “Valerie… you’ve become such a stranger.” I glanced at the clock on the wall. “We haven’t seen each other in years. It’s only natural.” “Back then… I just lost control of my emotions for a moment,” he stammered, his voice cracking. “For all these years, I’ve been thinking… if you hadn’t impulsively committed that crime, I would have married you out of guilt. I would have treated you a thousand times better…” I remained silent, letting the ticking of the clock stretch the quiet into infinity. “Everyone has their own path to walk.” I pulled a lollipop from my pocket, peeled off the wrapper, and popped it into my mouth. “Never regret what you’ve done, and never look back.” “You—” Mason was choked up by my simple words. After a long pause, he said half-angrily: “One thing about you hasn’t changed. You’re still as stubborn as a rock!” I nodded cheerfully. “My neighbors say the same thing. They call it persistence.” “Valerie!” Mason clenched his fists. After hesitating for a long time, he suddenly called me by my old nickname. I dazed for a moment. The way he pronounced those syllables was exactly the same as before. Seeing me space out, his voice softened: “If you won’t accept my money, I can talk to your father for you. You probably don’t know, but Arthur has late-stage pancreatic cancer. The doctors say he doesn’t have much time left.” “If you ask for his forgiveness now, you can still get a share of the inheritance. It’ll be enough for you to live luxuriously for the rest of your life…” “Really?” I smiled genuinely. “Karma finally caught up to him.” Having his suggestions shut down repeatedly, Mason finally snapped. He grabbed my arm, trying to drag me toward his sports car. “Valerie, how long are you going to keep up this stubborn act?!” “Look at yourself! Look at what you’ve become!” “Renting a tiny, dark apartment, doing this filthy, exhausting manual labor!” “Eating greasy, cheap takeout, getting excited over a thirty-cent condiment packet!” “Do you think living like this makes you look cool? Or unique? Do you think it’s attractive?” “You’re just a low-class mechanic! The absolute bottom of society!” I looked down at myself—my overalls were covered in grease, my hair was tied in a messy ponytail, and there was probably dirt on my face. I argued back honestly: “It’s not that bad. At least I still have a clean, scar-free face. Unlike some people…” As if his tail had been stepped on, Mason’s face flushed red, and he practically jumped: “Amber has had reconstructive surgery! It’s completely fixed! Even though there are scars, she can cover them with makeup!” “But you? You smell like motor oil, and your hands are as rough as sandpaper! What man could ever stand you?!” Getting increasingly emotional, he started swinging his expensive Hermès bag at me as if to beat some sense into me. Right then, the glass door creaked open again. A boy and a girl, like two little rockets, came bursting into the shop…

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On the day of my wedding dress fitting, my fiancé’s childhood friend pointed at my open-back dress and burst out laughing. “Oh, Nina, isn’t this dress a bit too conservative for you? It doesn’t really match your wild style on *OnlyFans*, does it?” “Especially that red mole on your waist. It’s a carbon copy of the girl in that viral video—you know, the one who slept with three guys in one night.” I pulled the curtain shut, looking at her with cold eyes. “You looked quite closely, Lily. Did that girl also have my last name?” Lily looked terrified, instantly shrinking into my fiancé’s arms, trembling. “I’m sorry, Harrison. I just didn’t want you to be kept in the dark and marry a dirty woman.” Harrison’s face went completely black. He violently shook off my hand, wiping his palm on his pants as if I were a piece of garbage. “Nina, you make me sick. Take off that filthy dress right now!” Lily smirked, sticking her tongue out slightly before clinging to Harrison’s arm again. “Exactly. A sacred wedding dress is only meant for pure, innocent girls.” Just as Harrison reached out to tear the dress off me. The fitting room door was kicked open with a loud bang. My best friend, Chloe, who had literally just transmigrated back from a web novel world, stood there holding a shiny aluminum baseball bat. “Let’s see who dares to touch her. That girl in the video—isn’t it yourself, Lily?” **1** The metal bat slammed into the fitting mirror. With a deafening crash, the glass shattered. Shards flew everywhere, some slicing right through Harrison’s designer suit. Harrison froze, instantly releasing his grip on me. Chloe rested the bat in her palm, tapping it lightly. She tilted her chin, staring him down. “Well, aren’t we powerful, Harrison? Tearing a woman’s clothes off—is this the famous Cole family upbringing?” The store clerks outside didn’t dare to move or make a sound. I rubbed the red marks on my wrists. Harrison’s neck flushed red. He took a step back, eyeing Chloe’s bat, and growled, “This is between me and Nina! It’s none of your business! With the kind of dirty things she did, me not beating her up right here is already showing respect to her family!” Lily crept out from the corner, hiding behind Harrison, clutching his shirt. Tears welled up in her eyes. “Chloe, how could you treat Harrison like this…” Lily pointed at the lace cutout on my waist, where a small red mole sat. “I know you two are close, but the evidence is right there! The girl in that video has the exact same mole in the exact same spot! Nina made that kind of video just for money… she has no self-respect!” The people around us started whispering. “You really can’t judge a book by its cover. She looks like such an elegant designer, but in private…” “I’ve seen that site. She was really wild.” “Poor Harrison. His head is practically a forest of green.” Their judgmental stares landed on my bare back. I looked at Lily. I had sponsored her college tuition, brought her into the fashion industry, and in return, I reared a venomous snake. Just as I was about to speak, Harrison roared. The murmurs of the crowd made him lose all face. He didn’t want to investigate, nor did he want to protect me. “Nina! Haven’t you embarrassed me enough?” Harrison pointed his finger right at my nose, spitting as he yelled, his eyes filled with pure disgust. “I don’t care if it’s real or fake! As long as people are talking about it, you are dirty! The Cole family will never accept a stained bride! Now, take off that dress and get the hell out of here! Don’t let your filth ruin my eyes!” The last shred of my affection for him evaporated. This was the man I had loved for ten years. Easily swayed, double-standard, and always ready to sacrifice me to save his own face. Chloe raised her bat again. I put my hand on her arm. Chloe turned her head, her brows knitted tight. I shook my head. If we were going to end this, we were going to end it completely. I turned around, walked to the workstation, and picked up a heavy pair of tailor’s shears. Harrison took a step back, staring at me. “What are you doing? Have you lost your mind?” Lily shrieked, burying her face in Harrison’s chest. “Nina, don’t be reckless! Murder is a felony!” I looked down at this wedding dress. It had taken me three months to hand-sew it. I raised the shears and sliced down. *Rip!* The sharp sound of lace tearing and silk ripping echoed through the room. I didn’t stop. The train, the corset, the hand-beaded embroidery… Within minutes, the dress was reduced to a pile of shredded rags on the floor. I tossed the shears aside with a loud clang. Wearing only the ruined lining of the dress, I stepped over the fabric and looked up at him. “You’re right, Harrison.” I stared into his stunned face. “I don’t want filthy things either.” I grabbed Chloe’s hand and walked out. As we passed Lily, I paused. “Nice performance, Lily. Let’s hope your stage stays standing for a long, long time.” Lily’s body stiffened, but she quickly put back on her terrified face. Outside, the sun was shining brightly. We got into the car. Chloe threw the baseball bat into the back seat, slammed her foot on the gas, and the car roared forward. Neither of us spoke for a long time. Finally, Chloe broke the silence. “It’s an AI face-swap.” I leaned against the headrest, looking out the window. “I know.” Chloe glanced at me. “No, you don’t. This isn’t just a simple face-swap; it’s a plot. The original footage was filmed by Lily when she was studying abroad. She swapped her face with yours. In the original storyline of this world, you would be ruined, kicked out by the Cole family, and eventually die of severe depression.” I used to not believe in things like “storylines,” but looking at Harrison’s disgusting face today, I believed it. “A storyline?” Chloe gripped the steering wheel tighter. “But I’m back now, Nina. This time, I won’t let you lose.” I looked down at the calluses on my fingers. If Lily wanted to play, I would play with her until the very end. “Chloe.” “Yeah?” “Find the source of that video. And I want to know exactly how ‘colorful’ Lily’s life abroad really was.” Chloe let out a cold laugh. “Already on it.” The car entered a tunnel, and the world around us went dark. *** **2** My phone buzzed incessantly in my palm, the screen flashing non-stop. On my Snapchat and Instagram, the direct messages were a sea of red notifications, stuck at 999+. Lily had moved fast. Less than two hours after we left the bridal boutique, an edited video was trending at the bottom of the hot search list. The footage was heavily edited, showing only Chloe pointing a bat at Harrison, and me aggressively shredding my wedding dress. The caption read: *“Billionaire’s Bride-to-Be Caught in Wild Sex Scandal, Freaks Out After Engagement Canceled.”* The comment section was filled with paid bots and angry keyboard warriors. Photoshopped funeral pictures of me flooded my feed. My design sketches were defaced with hateful slurs. “She looks so elegant, but she’s such a slut in private.” “Why isn’t this woman dead yet?” “I heard she’s a designer? Who would dare wear her clothes? You’d catch an STD.” I swiped through the screen, taking screenshots of the most active accounts. *Thud!* The front door was kicked open, slamming hard against the wall. Harrison’s mother, Eleanor, stormed in with disheveled hair, with Lily trailing meekly behind her. Just as I stood up. *Slap!* My face whipped to the side. My ears rang, and the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. I pressed my tongue against my cheek and looked at Eleanor. “You shameless bitch! You’ve dragged the Cole family name through the dirt!” Eleanor pointed at my face, her massive emerald ring almost scratching my eyes. “I never wanted you in our family! If Harrison hadn’t insisted, you wouldn’t even be fit to wipe our shoes! Now that video is everywhere, and the whole city is laughing at us!” Lily held Eleanor’s arm, gently patting her back. “Please calm down, Eleanor… Nina probably just made a mistake. She did it for the money…” “Money? Did the Cole family ever starve her?” Eleanor roared. “Nina, return the $500,000 engagement fund immediately! And every single piece of jewelry and designer bag Harrison bought you—spit them all out! Issue a public statement admitting that this was entirely your moral failure and has nothing to do with the Coles!” I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth and looked at Lily. She was smirking behind Eleanor’s back. The living room was filled only with Eleanor’s shrill screaming. Lily went to get a glass of water, leaning in close to me as she passed. Her perfume was sickeningly sweet. “Does your face hurt, Nina?” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “The video might be fake, but Harrison believes it. Look at you now. Where is that proud designer attitude? I honestly can’t wait to see you completely destroyed.” With that, she quickly took two steps back, shrinking her shoulders to look weak. My phone rang in my pocket. It was Harrison. Right in front of them, I picked up and hit record. Harrison’s voice blasted through the speaker. “Nina, my mom is at your place, right? Don’t blame her for her temper. You went too far this time.” “For the sake of our ten years together, I’ll give you one last chance.” “Go to the hospital and get a virginity check and a full STD screening. Show me the clean report, and I won’t cancel the wedding.” He paused. Hearing no response from me, he continued, “But you can’t be my legal wife anymore. Lily is pure and innocent; she can’t be subjected to this humiliation. Lily will be my legal wife to keep up appearances, and I’ll buy you a penthouse to keep you as my mistress. As long as you’re submissive, I’ll still provide for you.” Keep me as a mistress? An STD screening? I gripped my phone and burst into a cold laugh. “Harrison, if the water in your brain leaked out, it could flood the entire Hudson River.” I hung up and saved the recording. This was piece of evidence number one. I looked up, staring directly at Eleanor. “I will return your money, and I don’t give a damn about any of your trashy gifts.” I took a step forward. Eleanor’s legs hit the edge of the sofa, forcing her to stumble back. “But we have some accounts to settle.” “That slap, and breaking into my house—I’ve recorded both.” I threw the front door wide open and pointed outside. “Take your precious foster daughter and get the hell out.” Eleanor’s eyes widened. “You dare kick me out? This house belongs to the Coles!” “The deed has my name on it. I paid the down payment, and I pay the mortgage. It has nothing to do with your family.” I pulled out my phone. “If you don’t leave in three seconds, I’m calling the police for home invasion and robbery.” Lily tugged at Eleanor’s sleeve. “Eleanor, let’s go first. Nina is emotionally unstable right now…” Eleanor spat on the floor as Lily guided her out. “Nina, just you wait! You’ll be begging me on your knees soon!” The door slammed shut. Silence returned. I slid down against the door, sitting on the cold hardwood floor. The recording file showed *Saved* on my screen. I wanted to cry, but I forced the tears back. Crying was useless. If I wanted to survive and drag these people down from their pedestals, I had to be dirtier and meaner than them. *** **3** The next morning, I walked into my fashion design firm. Before I even reached my desk, the pungent smell of wet paint hit my nose. My desk was covered in bright red paint, dripping onto the carpet. My sketches were torn to shreds, my computer screen was smashed into a spiderweb, and several keys had been pried off my keyboard, replaced with chewed gum. The assistants who used to call me “boss” or “mentor” kept their heads low, clutching their folders and avoiding my gaze. A few colleagues nearby weren’t even trying to hide their whispers. “How does she still have the nerve to show up?” “I heard that video is incredibly wild.” “Stay away from her. Don’t catch whatever she has.” I pushed open the door to my boss’s office. Mr. Henderson was smoking, not even looking up as he pointed at the termination contract on his desk. “Sign it.” The reason: *Severe damage to the company’s public image. Demanding heavy breach-of-contract fees.* I flipped to the last page. “The police investigation isn’t even over, and you’re already declaring me guilty?” Mr. Henderson crushed his cigarette in the ashtray and spun his chair around. “Nina, Harrison Cole personally called me. No one in this industry dares to cross the Cole family. Don’t blame me. You brought this on yourself.” I signed my name and put the pen down. “My lawyer will handle the fees.” As I stepped out of the building, my phone vibrated. It was a text message from the hospital reminding me to pay my mother’s upcoming surgery fee. I opened my banking app to wire the money. A red exclamation mark popped up: *Account Frozen.* It was a joint account between Harrison and me, but it held the life-saving money I had saved for my mother. Harrison had actually gone this far for that woman. I took a cab straight to the Cole Group headquarters. At the entrance, the security guard blocked my path. “Miss Barlow, orders from above. You are not allowed inside.” He looked anywhere but at me. “Tell Harrison to come down.” “Oh, look who it is. If it isn’t Nina.” Lily walked out from the VIP elevator, dressed in Chanel’s latest haute couture, clutching a limited-edition Hermès Birkin bag. She walked up to me and twirled. “Harrison is in a board meeting. He doesn’t have time for peasants. I heard your mother’s surgery fee is overdue? If you beg me nicely, maybe I’ll throw some spare change your way.” People were constantly passing through the lobby, and every eye was glued to me. I glanced at the bag in her hand. “Lily, that outfit was released just last month. It costs more than three years of your salary. How much limit does Harrison’s credit card even have left for you to burn?” Lily gripped her bag tighter, her neck stiffening. “Harrison loves spending money on me. What’s it to you?” “Enjoy it while it lasts.” I turned and walked away. Lily screamed behind me, “Nina! What the hell is that supposed to mean!” Back in my car, Chloe’s call came through. The background was filled with the rapid clacking of a keyboard. “I found it.” “The IP address that uploaded the video is located in the second-floor guest room of the Cole mansion—Lily’s bedroom. I tracked it further and managed to hack into her private, encrypted cloud storage.” Chloe paused. “Nina… it’s filled with her own videos. Extremely explicit, with price tags and custom services. She’s the one who’s actually filthy.” I buckled my seatbelt. “Back it up. Save it to the cloud.” “Already done. Also, I got some intel. Harrison is planning something big at the charity gala tomorrow night. He’s going to publicly cancel your engagement and announce his proposal to Lily.” The annual charity gala. It would be broadcast live across the city. Harrison wanted to completely ruin me to pave a golden path for Lily. “Tomorrow night,” I said, watching the city skyline recede in my rearview mirror. “We’ll send him an engagement present he’ll never forget.” *** At the five-star hotel ballroom. Chloe had secured two VIP invitations. We stood quietly in the shadows of a corner. Harrison entered, with Lily clinging to his arm. Lily was wearing a white mermaid gown, surrounded by a crowd praising her “artistic talent.” I stared at the dress. That was a discarded sketch I had thrown into the trash can a month ago. She had fished it out, added two cheap lines, and claimed it as her own original design. The lights dimmed, and a spotlight focused on the main stage. Harrison led Lily up to the stage and grabbed the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have an important announcement to make.” The massive LED screen behind them lit up. On the left was my professional headshot. On the right was the AI face-swapped nude photo, with the red mole on my waist heavily zoomed in. The room erupted into gasps. People started whispering, their eyes scanning the room to find me. Harrison pointed at the screen. “Nina Barlow’s private life is disgustingly wild. She makes and sells these kinds of videos. The Cole family will never accept such a vile woman! As of today, our engagement is officially null and void!” Some people clapped; others spat out curses. Suddenly, Lily clutched her stomach and stumbled backward. “Ah!” She grabbed Harrison’s suit jacket, pointing toward the VIP lounge. “Just now… Nina pushed me… my baby…” Harrison caught her, his eyes wild with fury as he swept his gaze across the room, instantly locking onto me in the corner. “Nina!” He charged down the stage. I didn’t move. In the next second, cold fingers clamped hard around my throat. Harrison slammed me against a marble pillar, his face inches from mine. “Ruining my reputation wasn’t enough? Now you want to kill my child?” I didn’t struggle. I just looked directly into his eyes. “It’s fake.” “Fake?!” Harrison grabbed a glass of red wine from a passing waiter’s tray and splashed it directly into my face. The cold liquid stung my eyes and entered my nose, making me cough violently as I bent over. Several hired instigators in the crowd immediately started shouting. “I’ve seen the video! It’s definitely her!” “Scammer! Give us back our money!” “A woman like her belongs in prison!” Security guards rushed over, grabbing my arms and dragging me to the floor. Nearby, a champagne tower wobbled slightly. Suddenly, a loud *clunk* echoed through the room. The automated doors of the ballroom locked shut. All the lights went out instantly. The massive LED screen flickered with static, turned black, and then a line of blood-red text flashed on the screen: **[WHO IS THE TRULY FILTHY ONE?]** Immediately, an unedited, raw video began to load. The loading circle spun twice. The audio came first. It was Lily’s high-pitched, moaning voice, echoing with crystal clarity through the dead-silent ballroom.

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My best friend, Maya, went to Dubai to work as a nanny. Out of nowhere, she video-called me, claiming a billionaire oil prince had fallen head over heels for her and they were getting married. “Chloe, I get millions in allowance every single day! Next week, I’m sending a private jet to pick you up. I’m gifting you an oil well so you can just lie in bed and count cash for the rest of your life!” I was so hyped that I quit my job on the spot, waiting for my ride. But on the day we were supposed to meet at the airport… I watched private jets land and take off all day, but none of them were for me. I even checked the customs entry list for the entire day. Maya’s name wasn’t on it. Heart pounding, I dialed her number. But all I got was a cold, computerized voice: “We’re sorry, the number you dialed is no longer in service…” I stared at my phone screen, not daring to blink. The time jumped from 2:00 PM to 8:00 PM. The air conditioning in the JFK Airport VIP lounge was freezing, raising goosebumps all over my arms. The receptionist walked over for the third time. The sharp click of her heels against the marble floor made my head throb. “Ms. Chloe, there is no Maya on today’s private flight arrivals. No flights from Dubai have even registered.” She wore a professional, fake smile, but her eyes were dripping with mockery. “That’s impossible!” I slammed my phone onto the counter. The screen displayed my chat history with Maya. In the photo, Maya was wearing a diamond-encrusted gown, leaning against a gold Bugatti with a radiant smile. “Look closely! This is the location she sent me yesterday. She said she was sending a Gulfstream G700 for me!” “She said she was taking me to Dubai to swim in cash. She was going to buy me an oil well!” The receptionist took a disgusted step back. “Ms. Chloe, you can get those photos photoshopped on Fiverr for five bucks. Or buy a fake package on Amazon.” “Your time in the VIP lounge has expired. Without active flight info, I must ask you to leave.” To wait for Maya, I had thrown my resignation letter right in my boss’s face. I hadn’t even paid my rent. All my luggage was stored at the airport lockers. If I didn’t leave now, I’d be sleeping under a bridge tonight. “Maya would never lie to me! We grew up together. I know every single freckle on her body!” I grabbed my phone and dialed that familiar number again. Yesterday, she was still bragging about how obsessed the prince was with her. She said she’d buy me a solid gold toilet just so I could experience “treating money like piece of trash.” Her voice had been high-pitched and ecstatic. In the background, I could hear loud Arabic music and the roar of sports cars. Now, there was only the robotic female voice telling me the number didn’t exist. My brain went completely numb. With trembling fingers, I opened Snapchat. Our chat history stopped at her last voice note: “Send me a photo of your passport before you get on the plane!” I sent her a question mark. A bright red exclamation mark flashed on the screen. *Message failed to send. You are not connected with this user.* Blocked? Deleted? Or account deactivated? A wave of dizziness hit me. I almost collapsed onto the floor. “Maya, you got rich and decided to dump your poor bestie, is that it?” Refusing to believe it, I clicked on her Instagram. Her profile, which had been flooded with photos of Dubai supercars, yachts, and that “oil prince” who only showed his eyes, was completely blank. Just a gray line. “Ms. Chloe, security is on their way. Please cooperate,” the receptionist’s voice went cold. I turned around, dragging my two massive suitcases, and ran. I couldn’t believe Maya would be this cruel. Last month, she couldn’t pay her rent, so I maxed out my credit card to cover her. Her ticket to Dubai was bought with my savings for a house down payment. She always said I was her only real family. She wouldn’t just vanish and delete her number. Unless… something happened to her! I took a cab straight to Maya’s old apartment. On the way, I called everyone in my contact list. “Zach, have you heard from Maya?” “Chloe, you’ve got the wrong guy. My ex was Vanessa. I’ve been single since college!” The line went dead. I cursed and called Maya’s cousin. “Jessica, is Maya with you?” “Chloe, honey, are you under too much work stress? I’m an only child. I don’t have a cousin named Maya.” The cab screeched to a halt at the entrance of a sketchy, rundown alley. My head hit the back of the seat, but I didn’t even care about the pain. I tossed a hundred-dollar bill at the driver and dashed into the dark building. I ran up to the fifth floor and began pounding furiously on the metal door of apartment 502. “Maya! Get out here!” “Don’t think you can hide from me! Give me my money back!” “If you want to cut ties, fine! Just pay me back for the plane ticket, and we’re even!” The door didn’t budge. Instead, the door of 501 swung open. An old man, reeking of cheap beer, poked his head out holding a heavy kitchen knife. “Who’s screaming in the middle of the night? You want me to chop you up?!” I flinched at the sight of the knife. I pointed at 502, my voice shaking. “I’m looking for Maya.” The old man squinted at me like I was a lunatic. “That apartment has been empty for years! Nobody lives there!” “Impossible!” I pulled out my phone and scrolled through my photos. “I helped her move in last month! Look, this is a photo of us right at this doorway!” My fingers flew across the screen until I found the photo. My voice died in my throat. The background of the photo was indeed this rusty metal door. Even the faded Halloween pumpkin decal on the door was identical. But in the photo, I was standing there completely alone, making a peace sign at the empty air, wearing a stiff, creepy smile. Maya, who was supposed to be hugging my arm, was completely gone.

Cold sweat instantly drenched my back. I stared at the photo, my fingers rubbing the screen aggressively as if I could rub her back into existence. “No… this is impossible!” “Who photoshopped this? Who touched my phone?” The old man’s anger turned into pity. He shuffled back a bit. “Kid, your brain is fried. Go home and take your meds.” The door of 501 slammed shut. The hallway fell into a dead, suffocating silence, save for the buzzing of the cheap fluorescent light. I leaned against the rusty railing, gasping for air, my heart hammering against my ribs. The deactivated phone could be a coincidence. Her relatives denying her existence could be a conspiracy. But how did the photo explain itself? My phone had never left my side. Only Maya and I knew the passcode. Had some hacker breached my phone just to wipe Maya out of my life? What kind of insane vendetta would that require? Maya was just an ordinary girl. How could she trigger someone that powerful? Unless… that “oil prince” was the problem! My brain was a chaotic mess. I knew I couldn’t stay here. I had to go home. My parents would definitely remember Maya! Maya basically lived at our house growing up because her own parents didn’t give a crap about her. She was always over at our place, eating our food. My mother, Helen, was a snob. She used to look down on Maya for being poor. But the moment she heard Maya was going to Dubai to marry a billionaire, her attitude flipped instantly. She even bought expensive glass mason jars just to pack organic jam for Maya to take with her. I stumbled down the stairs, hailed another cab, and rushed to my parents’ house. The moment I burst through the door, I saw my mom lounging on the couch, eating sunflower seeds while watching TV, and my dad, Richard, tending to his plants on the balcony. “Mom! Something terrible has happened!” I rushed over and grabbed her arm. “Maya is gone! Her phone is disconnected, her Snapchat is gone, and she’s literally vanished from our photos!” My mom flinched, spilling her seeds all over the floor. She patted her hands clean, looking irritated. “Chloe, did you go crazy just because you quit your job? Act your age.” “Mom, I’m serious! Maya said she was marrying a prince and would send us a million dollars each!” “You even asked her to get you a limited-edition crocodile Birkin bag…” My mom reached out and felt my forehead, her brow furrowing in confusion. “No fever. Why are you talking nonsense? Who the hell is Maya? What Dubai prince?” She turned and yelled toward the balcony, asking my dad if I had lost my mind over money. My dad pushed up his reading glasses and walked in. “Chloe, a job is just a job. You don’t need to make up stories to cope with losing it.” Looking at their familiar yet suddenly alien faces, a chill crept down my spine. “Mom, Dad, stop playing! Maya was my high school roommate! We slept in the same bed!” “Remember Thanksgiving two years ago? She accidentally ruined the gravy by putting chocolate syrup in it! You don’t remember that?!” I grabbed my mom’s shoulders, shaking her desperately. My mom shoved me away with surprising force. She stood up, pointing a finger angrily at my face. “Chloe, have you been possessed?” “You’ve been an awkward loner with zero friends since you were a kid! Where did this ‘Maya’ come from?” “And that Thanksgiving incident? You were the one who ruined the gravy and blamed it on a make-believe friend!” “Stop reading those trashy billionaire romance novels. They’ve rotted your brain!” I collapsed onto the floor. The cold hardwood sent a shiver through me, instantly clearing my head. A make-believe friend? I looked up at the family portrait on the wall. It was taken last Christmas. Maya had insisted on squeezing in, standing right between me and my mom. Now, in the photo, there was a bizarre, empty space between us. My posture in the photo looked incredibly unnatural. My arm was hovering in mid-air, as if wrapping around a ghost. “This photo is wrong! If I wasn’t holding someone, why is my arm raised like that?!” I pointed at the wall, my finger shaking. My mom let out a cold laugh. “You said your shoulder was stiff that day and wanted to stretch it out.” “Chloe, I’m taking you to see a therapist tomorrow. You’re having hallucinations.” Everyone was telling me it was a hallucination. If this were before, I might have actually doubted my own sanity and believed I had conjured up a best friend in my mind. But then, as my mom turned around to pour some water, I spotted something poking out from under the couch cushion. An airline ticket stub. Destination: Dubai. Passenger: Tyler. My deadbeat younger brother. The date on the ticket: Yesterday! Why did Tyler fly to Dubai on the exact same day Maya went missing? My parents were lying. They were trying so hard to deny Maya’s existence. What were they hiding? While my mom was in the kitchen, I reached under the cushion, pulled out the ticket stub, and shoved it into my pocket. The sharp edge of the paper sliced my palm. The sting kept me brutally sharp. Maya was real. Her “disappearance” was a meticulously planned crime. And my parents were accomplices.

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My wife was raped and beaten to death in our newly bought house by my best friend. Yet, in court, I stood up and defended him, securing his acquittal. My father-in-law, Arthur, had a stroke on the spot from pure rage and was rushed to the ER. My brother-in-law, Tyler, cornered me with a knife in his hand. “Ethan! She was your wife! She was in your new home, hanging up fairy lights and waiting for you when she was murdered!” “Why did you protect that animal, Leo Vance?! Are you even human?!” He pressed the blade against my throat, his eyes bloodshot and wild as he roared at me. I didn’t even blink. Feeling the sharp pain of the blade slicing into my skin, I just smiled. “Do it.” “Send me down there to be with her.” “Let her ask me face-to-face why I did it.” Tyler’s hand shook violently. He was on the verge of a total breakdown. “Ethan! You think I won’t do it?” The hospital corridor was packed with onlookers, their phone flashes blinking in my face. “Isn’t that Ethan Cole, the hotshot lawyer?” “Yeah, I heard he took a massive bribe to get his own wife’s killer off the hook.” “What a monster. Feeding on his wife’s blood money.” “Disgusting. Why is he still breathing?” I listened to their whispers, my expression blank, a faint, cold smile playing on my lips. Suddenly, the VIP ward door was kicked open. Helen, my mother-in-law, rushed out with wild, messy hair. She immediately saw me, my neck dripping with blood. She didn’t call for a doctor. She didn’t try to stop Tyler’s knife. *SLAP!* A heavy slap landed on my face, burning hot. My head snapped to the side, the metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. “Get out! Get the hell out of here!” Helen pointed at my face, her voice high-pitched and hysterical. “You killed my Clara! Now you want to kill her father too? Why don’t you just die!” Tyler’s grip loosened, and the knife clattered to the linoleum floor. He collapsed to his knees, sobbing uncontrollably. I ignored the stinging on my cheek, raised my hand, and casually wiped the blood from my neck. No explanations. No apologies. I didn’t even give them a second glance. Turning around, I walked straight toward the elevator. Behind me, Helen’s curses and Tyler’s weeping echoed down the hall. I kept my spine perfectly straight. The moment I stepped out of the hospital lobby, my phone buzzed in my pocket. The screen displayed “Vance Family.” I answered, my voice instantly switching to a warm, gentle tone. “Hello, Mrs. Vance.” The grateful voice of an elderly woman came through the speaker. “Oh, Mr. Cole, thank you so, so much. The police just said there wasn’t enough evidence. They’re releasing my Leo…” I stopped walking and looked back at the towering hospital building. “Don’t worry. I have everything under control. Just do exactly as I said, and he’ll be completely fine.” Sudden, heavy footsteps rushed up behind me. Tyler had followed me out. He was staring death glares at the phone in my hand. He had heard everything. And I knew he would. “Ethan—!” Tyler lunged, grabbing my collar and slamming my head violently against the concrete wall. “You took that murderer’s money, didn’t you? You sold Clara’s life for a paycheck! You sick piece of trash!” Pedestrians stopped, pointing and whispering. “Is that the corrupt lawyer?” “Looks decent on the outside, but his soul is pure black.” Staring into Tyler’s burning eyes, I didn’t defend myself. My right hand remained in my trench coat pocket, my fingers tightly gripping a ball of unfinished, thick yarn. It was a scarf Clara had been knitting for me before she died. “Say something! Are you mute?!” Tyler threw a hard punch, hitting my cheekbone. I stumbled back a few steps, steadying myself against the wall. I kept my head down, letting my messy hair cover my eyes. My throat tightened. “Are you done?” I spat out a mouthful of bloody spit. “If you’re done, go back inside and take care of your father.” With that, I pushed past Tyler and hailed a cab. When I got home, the house was dead silent. I didn’t turn on the lights. I grabbed a bottle of cheap whiskey from the cabinet, unscrewed the cap, and took a massive gulp. The burning liquid scorched my throat, and tears instantly flooded my eyes. I pulled out my phone, the dim screen illuminating my twisted face. The screen showed a forensic photo—Clara lying in a pool of blood, her eyes still open, as if she were looking right at me. I traced her pale face on the screen with a trembling finger. “Clara…” A low, wounded growl escaped my throat. I smiled at the photo, but heavy tears kept splashing onto the glass screen. “Soon, baby. Very soon.” The next morning, I was shaken awake by the sound of glass shattering. The living room was a disaster zone. Tyler had brought a few of his rough cousins. Armed with baseball bats, they were brutally smashing the small memorial table I had set up for Clara. The flowers were trampled, and the memorial candles were kicked over. “Trash it! Trash this monster’s house!” Tyler stepped directly on Clara’s framed photograph, the sound of the glass cracking exceptionally sharp. I stood at the bedroom door, watching the scene unfold. My fists clenched so hard my veins turned blue. But I didn’t move. I just watched coldly, like an outsider.

The sky was so dark it felt like it was falling, and the rain poured down in sheets. At the entrance of the cemetery, a large wooden sign stood right in the middle of the path. “Ethan Cole and dogs keep out.” The words were spray-painted in dripping red paint, looking like fresh blood. I was dressed in all black, shielding a bouquet of fresh lilies in my arms. Those were Clara’s favorite flowers. Ignoring the sign, I walked straight in. “Stop him!” Tyler roared, and five or six muscular guys rushed me. Without a word, their fists rained down on my back and head. I curled my body into a ball, desperately protecting the flowers in my chest. “Throw him out! Don’t let him ruin Clara’s path to heaven!” Tyler kicked me hard in the ribs. A sharp, agonizing pain shot through me. I groaned but refused to let go of the bouquet. Until someone forcefully bent my fingers back and snatched the lilies away. “You think you deserve to give her flowers?” Tyler threw the lilies into the mud and stomped on them repeatedly until the white petals turned into black mush. “You belong in hell!” Lying in the mud, staring at the ruined flowers, my eyes burned red. I tried to crawl toward them, but a heavy boot slammed down on the back of my hand. Tyler looked down at me, pulled a photo from his jacket, and slapped it onto my wet face. “Look at this, everyone!” He pointed at the photo, his voice piercing through the heavy rain. “This is his true face! Six months before Clara was murdered, he was already drinking with that killer, Leo Vance, at a pub!” The photo was real. But it was taken when Leo had come to my office to ask for legal advice. The gathering relatives and guests erupted. “Oh my god, so it was a pre-planned murder?” “How is this guy not behind bars yet?” Someone spat on my face. Then came plastic water bottles, mud, and even small stones. “Beat this gold-digging bastard!” “You sick cuckold!” I was like a stray dog cornered in the street, surrounded by an angry mob. No resistance. No explanation. I let them pelt me with whatever they had. The sound of squeaking wheels approached. The crowd automatically split to make way. Arthur sat in his wheelchair, his face pale and sickly, his lips trembling. He held an old, mud-stained sneaker and threw it at me with what little strength he had left. The shoe struck my forehead, leaving a dirty smudge. “You… animal… get out…” The old man shook with rage, his chest heaving like a broken bellows. “Arthur…” The moment I opened my mouth, two strong hands pinned my shoulders to the ground. “Get on your knees!” Tyler kicked the back of my knees. “Apologize to my father! Apologize to Clara!” My knees crashed heavily onto the rough gravel. Before I could react, a large hand pressed the back of my head and slammed it downward. *Thud!* The sound of my forehead hitting the concrete step was sickening. Warm blood immediately flowed down my eyebrow, blurring my vision. Everything turned red. Around me were curses, insults, and the relentless sound of rain. The sheer humiliation gnawed at my heart like a venomous snake. I lifted my head, my face covered in blood. Through the red haze, I looked at Clara’s cold tombstone. Suddenly, I laughed. A distorted, chilling laugh. “Arthur. Tyler.” I locked eyes with them, my voice quiet but dripping with icy malice. “You will regret this.” “Only I… can truly let her rest in peace.” Tyler flinched, taking a step back, startled by the look in my eyes. But he quickly recovered, masked by embarrassment and anger. “Still acting tough! Throw him out of here!” I was dragged out of the cemetery like a dead dog. And thrown brutally into the muddy ditch by the roadside. The dirty water seeped into my cuts, causing a blinding pain. The storm raged on, washing away the blood and dirt from my body. I lay in the mud, staring at the gray sky. My body was in extreme pain, but my mind had never been clearer. Clara. Just wait a little longer. The show isn’t over yet.

The door to our apartment had two yellow police warning tapes stretched across it. Dragging my injured left leg, I ignored the tapes, ripped them off, and pushed the door open. The air inside was thick with a stale, metallic smell. On the floor, a large patch of dried, dark-brown blood was staring back at me. That was where Clara died. I grabbed a rag from the bathroom, got down on my knees, and began to scrub the floor. “Clara loves a clean house. Can’t let it stay dirty…” I mumbled to myself, my eyes completely hollow. From the hallway, a sharp, mocking voice drifted in. “Oh look, the freak is back.” Our neighbor, Mrs. Gable, was standing in the corridor, raising her voice on purpose. “Selling his wife out and having the nerve to come back. Who’s going to buy this cursed apartment now? What a jinx.” “I know, right? Heard he even defended the killer. He’s lucky her ghost hasn’t dragged him to hell yet.” My hand paused for a second. I didn’t look up. I kept scrubbing. I scrubbed until the floorboards turned pale and my fingers were raw and bleeding. Heavy, hurried footsteps echoed in the hallway again. Tyler burst in with a few guys, waving some papers in the air. “Ethan Cole! Explain this!” He threw the papers, and they scattered across the floor in front of me. It was a copy of a life insurance policy. The payout: Ten million dollars. The sole beneficiary: Ethan Cole. Tyler’s eyes were bloodshot, looking like a wild predator ready to rip me apart. “No wonder you defended Leo Vance! No wonder you didn’t press charges!” He lunged, grabbing my collar and shoving the paper in my face. “Because he was your partner! You were the mastermind! You set this up for the insurance money!” I stared at the policy, completely frozen. When did Clara buy this? I recalled the week before her birthday, when she had mysteriously told me she had prepared a huge surprise for me. So this was it. That foolish, loving woman… Was she worried that if anything happened to her, I would be left with nothing? My heart felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand, making it hard to breathe. My silence, however, was proof of guilt in Tyler’s eyes. “Silent? Guilty conscience?” Tyler grabbed a baseball bat from near the door and swung it down with full force. *THUD!* The bat slammed into my stomach. My stomach spasmed violently. I curled up on the floor like a shrimp, cold sweat instantly soaking my back. I grit my teeth and didn’t make a sound. “Tell me! Did you plan this?!” Tyler raised the bat for another swing. “Stop hitting him!” A man’s voice came from the door. Our neighbor, Marcus Drake, walked in, wearing an expression of righteous indignation. “Tyler, I’ll testify for you.” Marcus pointed at me as I lay on the floor, his eyes shifting nervously. “A few days before the murder, I heard him and Leo Vance arguing in the hallway. They were talking about ‘how to split the cash’ and ‘making sure it looks clean.’” The crowd outside the door gasped. “Oh my god, a witness!” “This is it! He’s guilty!” Lying on the floor, I forced my head up to look at Marcus’s hypocritical face. He had been obsessed with Clara, pursuing her constantly, and grew bitter after she rejected him. Good. Very good. All the monsters are finally in one room. I suddenly burst out laughing. It was a laugh that rattled my chest, tasting of copper and blood. I struggled to my feet, grabbed a half-empty bottle of liquor from the ruined counter, and took a large swig in front of everyone. The alcohol spilled down my chin, mixing with the blood on my lips. “Yeah,” I said, wiping my mouth, looking at Tyler with a mocking smirk. “The money is coming. Ten million dollars. Of course I’m thrilled.” “With that kind of cash, do you think I’ll have trouble finding another woman?” Silence. Complete, suffocating silence. In the next second, Tyler completely snapped. He grabbed a heavy metal shovel from the corner of the room and raised it high. “Then go to hell with your money!” The shovel cut through the air, aimed straight at my skull. I closed my eyes. I didn’t dodge. *CLANG!* A dull impact echoed, but the expected pain didn’t come. I opened my eyes. A frail figure had thrown herself over me. Warm liquid dripped onto my face. It was Mary Vance, Leo’s mother. The edge of the shovel had grazed her forehead, and blood was gushing out. “Don’t hit Mr. Cole… He’s a good man…” the elderly woman sobbed, shielding me with her body. The crowd went wild. Tyler froze, and then his rage flared even hotter. He pointed at Mary, the veins on his forehead bulging like worms. “Look at this! The killer’s mother is protecting this piece of trash!” “You guys are definitely in this together! You disgusting criminals!” The gathered neighbors were fully riled up now. “Beat them to death!” “No shame!” “They threw away their humanity for cash!” People started throwing rocks, garbage, and rotten vegetables. Tyler pulled out his phone and started a livestream on TikTok. “Guys, look at this! This is Ethan Cole! The monster who murdered his wife for insurance!” The comment section exploded in real-time. [He deserves the electric chair!] [Dox him! Find out where his family lives!] [Why isn’t this demon dead yet?] I had officially become public enemy number one. Just then, sirens wailed in the distance. Two police cruisers pulled up downstairs, and officers rushed up the stairs. “Freeze! Everyone step back!” They set up caution tape, barely keeping the furious crowd at bay. But Tyler wouldn’t let it go. In front of the officers, he shoved his phone camera right into my face. “Ethan Cole, in front of the cops, in front of millions online, do you dare to admit you ordered Leo Vance to kill her?!” “Do you dare to swear? If you lie, may you burn in hell!” The crowd pushed forward, and I was knocked to the ground. Someone from the crowd had brought a plastic bowl filled with cold, rotten food mixed with dirty water and ash from the memorial candle. *SPLASH!* The cold, filthy mush was dumped directly over my head. Some of it even got into my mouth. “Eat up! This is your final meal!” “Apologize to your wife!” I lay on the ground, humiliated to the core. At that moment, my dignity was completely ground into the dirt. I stuck out my tongue and tasted the bitter, ash-covered food on my lip. Then, slowly, I stood up. I pushed away the officer who tried to help me. Using my sleeve, I wiped the grime and blood from my face, inch by inch. My movements were so slow it made the room go quiet. I lifted my eyes, looking past Tyler, past the police officers, and locked my gaze onto someone standing in the very back of the crowd. I roared, my voice echoing through the entire building. “Leo Vance is not the killer!” I pointed a trembling finger at the figure in the back, pronouncing every word clearly. “The real killer… is standing right among us!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “442720”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

On our fifteenth wedding anniversary, Ethan’s mistress showed up at my doorstep. She played a video of their intimacy right in front of my face. It was filmed in our own bedroom. Ethan was holding Amber, whispering over and over again how much he loved her. Amber caressed her flat stomach. “I’m pregnant. It’s his.” I froze. “And?” She smirked with pure provocation. “Ethan said he wants me to keep the baby.” I didn’t break down the way she wanted me to. I even smiled and told her, “Okay.” I just thought to myself—love really does have an expiration date. Fifteen years ago, I saved his life and lost the ability to ever become a mother. Back then, Ethan knelt by my hospital bed, crying, promising he never wanted kids. He said I was the only one he needed for the rest of his life. But promises expire. Since he forgot his, I would be the one to fulfill it. Starting today, I will arrange a grand exit. I will make sure Ethan never finds me again for the rest of his miserable life. Olivia’s POV When Amber slid her phone across the table, the muffled, heavy breathing of a man started playing from the screen. Soft piano music filled the cozy coffee shop, while outside, the rain beat down on the busiest street of downtown Seattle. Everyone knew today was Ethan and my fifteenth wedding anniversary. The whole city was waiting to see what grand romantic gesture Ethan had prepared for me tonight. But as I looked down, I was greeted by a very different kind of “surprise.” In the video, Ethan’s shirt was torn open. Amber’s soft arms were wrapped tightly around his neck, her face tilted up, her voice sickeningly sweet. “Ethan, I’m pregnant.” The camera shook slightly. Ethan didn’t push her away. My fingers clenched. The coffee in my cup trembled, and a drop of the dark liquid splashed onto my snowy white cuff, leaving an ugly, stubborn stain. Amber sat across from me. She slowly took her phone back, her smile innocent yet triumphant. “Olivia, did you see that clearly?” I looked up at her. In her eyes, I saw my reflection. I looked beautiful—the kind of beauty that remained unbroken even after years of quiet suffering. I didn’t show her the panic or despair she was desperate to see. “Faking a video isn’t hard,” I said softly. “Do you really think I’m that gullible, Amber?” Amber giggled, then tapped her screen to open another video. This time, there was no hiding behind clever angles. It was security footage from a hotel hallway. Ethan was carrying a disheveled Amber into a room. He didn’t walk out until three in the morning. As he stepped into the hallway, he pulled out his phone and made a call. His voice had been so gentle, almost cautious. “Olivia, something came up at the office. I won’t be home tonight. Go to sleep early, okay?” I remembered that call. That night, my chronic stomach ulcer had flared up. I was sweating cold from the pain, but I still forced a smile over the phone and told him, “Okay, babe. Don’t work too hard.” It turned out he wasn’t working. He was in another woman’s bed. Amber watched the color drain from my face, her hand gently resting on her belly. “I’m six weeks pregnant. Ethan said we are keeping this baby.” My breath hitched. A baby. Those words felt like a dull, rusty knife stabbing into the deepest, most sensitive part of my soul. Fifteen years ago, Ethan and I got married. Back then, he was the black sheep of the wealthy family, surrounded by ruthless business enemies. Three months into our marriage, Ethan was kidnapped. His captors didn’t want money—they wanted his life. I went to the drop-off location alone, trading myself to get him out of that abandoned warehouse. They kept me locked up for three days. When I finally woke up in the ICU, the sharp smell of bleach made me gag. The doctor stood by my bed, his voice full of pity. “Olivia, the internal damage was too severe. I’m afraid you can never have children.” That day, Ethan knelt by my bed, his eyes bloodshot. He squeezed my hand and sobbed, “Olivia, I don’t care about kids. I only want you. Just you.” For the next fifteen years, whenever his snobbish mother, Madeline, brought up the family line, Ethan would block her cold. He used to tell everyone, “If anyone pressures Olivia about kids again, you’re dead to me.” I believed him. I thought the whole world might judge me for being barren, but never Ethan. Yet here was Amber, rubbing her stomach, telling me Ethan wanted this child. How pathetic. I sacrificed my womanhood to save his life, and he went and got another woman pregnant. Seeing my silence, Amber assumed she had finally broken me. Her smirk widened. “Olivia, you have to understand Ethan. The family empire needs an heir. Since you can’t produce one, you can’t expect him to stay childless forever, right?” I slowly raised my eyes. Amber leaned in close, whispering, “So what if he loves you? A man’s love is nothing compared to his legacy. Besides, when he was holding me last night, he certainly didn’t look like he was being forced.” Slap! The sharp sound cut through the quiet coffee shop. Even the piano music seemed to skip a beat. Amber’s head snapped to the side. She clutched her burning cheek, staring at me in utter shock. “You… you slapped me?” I stood up, looking down at her cold-eyed. “That was for ruining my morning.” Amber’s eyes flared with pure venom. “Who do you think you are, Olivia? Ethan is keeping my baby! You’ve clung to the title of his wife for fifteen years, but in the end, you still couldn’t give him what he wanted most!” My chest throbbed with a suffocating pain, but I didn’t let myself take a single step back.

Olivia’s POV I picked up a napkin from the table and slowly wiped the coffee stain from my sleeve, as if wiping away something utterly repulsive. “Amber, you better pray he can protect you for the rest of your life.” Amber sneered. “Of course he will. Because the heir to the family fortune is inside my belly.” I looked at her, and suddenly, an overwhelming wave of exhaustion hit me. I wasn’t tired of losing to Amber. I was tired of the fifteen years of love, trust, and the marriage I had built with my own hands, all collapsing into dust in a single second. I didn’t argue. Arguing was cheap and pathetic. I grabbed my purse and turned to leave. Behind me, Amber’s voice chased after me, dripping with smug victory. “Don’t forget to look at the giant billboard downtown tonight, Olivia! Ethan’s anniversary confession is broadcasting live city-wide!” My footsteps paused, but I didn’t look back. I pushed open the glass door of the coffee shop. The cold wind rushed over me, making my eyes sting. The next second, the massive digital billboard in the center of the plaza lit up. The crowd around me gasped in awe. “Oh my god, look! It’s Ethan!” “Wow, his wife is so lucky. Fifteen years of marriage and he’s still this romantic!” I stood frozen in the middle of the crowd, slowly raising my head. On the screen, Ethan wore the custom black suit I had handpicked for him. His eyes were as warm and gentle as always. Looking straight at the camera, his deep voice echoed through the speakers. “Happy fifteenth anniversary, Olivia.” “You are the only one I will ever love.” All around me were whispers of envy and admiration. To me, it was nothing but a sick joke. I thought of the hotel video, of his heavy breathing as he held Amber. I thought of him kneeling by my hospital bed, swearing he didn’t want kids. I thought of our wedding day, when he promised that if he ever betrayed me, he would disappear from my life forever. Promises really do expire. Looking at the deeply devoted man on the screen, I let out a soft, cold laugh. Since Ethan forgot his vow… I would make sure it came true. Starting today, I would plan my disappearance. I would make sure Ethan could never find me again. On the screen, Ethan was still smiling. His face was magnified to a towering height, the city lights reflecting in his dark eyes—perfect, handsome, and utterly flawless. “Olivia, thank you for being by my side for fifteen years.” Below the screen, a young girl holding a cup of boba sighed. “This is true love. Fifteen years and he still does this.” “She must be the happiest woman in the world.” Standing in the crowd, listening to the waves of envy crashing over me, I felt like a prized exhibit in a museum. Everyone was admiring my “perfect life.” But only I knew that beneath the shiny, golden shell, it was completely rotten. On the screen, Ethan lowered his head slightly, as if looking directly at me through the sea of people. “I know you’ve endured a lot of pain over the years, and I know I owe you so much. I promise to spend every anniversary with you for the rest of our lives.” My fingers went numb. Owe me so much. Oh, he absolutely owed me. He owed me a body that could no longer bear life. He owed me for the fifteen years I swallowed my pride to keep his family happy. He owed me for every single time I had to pretend everything was fine in front of his toxic mother. And he owed me an explanation. But he didn’t give me one. Instead, he gave Amber a baby, and gave me a public humiliation masquerading as a love letter. My phone buzzed in my hand. It was an image from Amber.

Olivia’s POV The photo showed a woman’s hand with pale pink nails resting gently on a man’s wrist. The watch on the man’s wrist was one I knew too well—it was the birthday present I had bought for Ethan last year. Below the photo was a text message: 【He’s on his way to see you right now, Olivia. Guess whose bed he just got out of?】 I stared at the text, a sharp pain twisting my stomach. I didn’t reply. I tossed my phone into my purse and walked away from the crowd. My car was parked at the end of the block. My driver, Joe, noticed my pale face and immediately got out to open the door for me. “Are we heading home, ma’am?” I sat in the backseat, pausing for a long moment before saying, “Not yet.” Joe glanced at me through the rearview mirror but didn’t ask questions. “Where to, then?” I gave him an address. It was a small consulting firm located in an old building in the industrial district. It had a very ordinary name: The Clean Slate Agency. Three years ago, I had helped the founder of this agency during a charity gala. When she handed me her business card, she had said only one thing: “If there ever comes a day when you need to safely disappear from your life, Olivia, call me.” Back then, I thought it was ridiculous. I had Ethan. Why would I ever need to disappear? The city lights blurred past my window. I closed my eyes, but I couldn’t block out the voices from the video. “Ethan, I’m pregnant.” “We are keeping this baby.” I suddenly recalled the first time Madeline, his mother, had told me to my face that the family legacy couldn’t end with a barren woman. That night at the dinner table, everyone had gone dead silent. Only Ethan had put down his fork, his voice icy. “I married Olivia because I love her, not to use her as an incubator.” At that moment, I genuinely believed I was cherished. But people change. And vows turn into the ultimate mockery. The Clean Slate Agency was on the twelfth floor. The receptionist recognized me immediately. Without any surprise, she quietly led me into a private conference room. Ten minutes later, a middle-aged woman in a sharp gray suit walked in. “Olivia, it’s been a while.” I looked at her. “Sam, I need you to arrange my disappearance.” Sam sat down, pushing a glass of warm water toward me without asking probing questions. “A divorce, moving abroad, a new identity, or cutting all ties completely?” I wrapped my hands around the warm glass, the heat stinging my cold palms. After a long silence, I spoke. “A fake death.” Sam’s eyes flickered. “Olivia, that’s not a standard package. It means leaving everything you own behind. Your wealth, your social circle, your status, and even your name.” “I know.” “Ethan is a powerful man. If he suspects anything, he will dig until he finds the truth. It will be very difficult.” I looked up. “That’s why I need you to make it absolutely flawless.” Sam studied me for a few seconds. “Timeline?” I looked out the window. In the distance, the giant billboard was still flashing Ethan’s face, playing his confession on a loop like a beautiful knife repeatedly slicing open my heart. My voice was dead calm. “One month.” Sam asked, “Why one month?” I lowered my eyes. Because I wanted to see just how deep Ethan could cut me before I left. And because fifteen years of marriage deserved a clean, final wrap-up. But I didn’t say any of that. I just set the glass down, my voice as quiet as falling dust. “I want Olivia to be completely dead to Ethan’s world in exactly one month.”

Olivia’s POV By the time I walked out of the agency, the night had turned pitch black. I didn’t let Joe drive off immediately. I just stood on the sidewalk, letting the freezing wind bite my face. When my phone rang, I saw the caller ID. My finger hesitated. Ethan. I picked up, my voice showing no emotion. “Hey.” “Where are you?” Ethan’s deep voice was filled with his usual concern. “Joe said you weren’t home. Are you feeling sick again?” I watched a young couple in a convenience store across the street, laughing as they picked out hot drinks. My throat tightened. “Just tired. Out getting some fresh air.” “Send me your location. I’ll come pick you up.” I wanted to say no, but the words died in my throat. “Okay.” Twenty minutes later, a sleek black Maybach pulled up to the curb. Ethan got out, still wearing the exact same suit from the broadcast. Impeccable cut, perfect cuffs, and the watch I gave him sitting prominently on his wrist. My eyes lingered on the watch. In the photo, Amber’s hand had been resting right there. Ethan didn’t notice my stare. He quickly walked over and touched my forehead with his hand. “Why are you so pale? Is your stomach hurting again?” His hand was warm. I used to crave this warmth. Whenever I couldn’t sleep, Ethan would wrap his arms around me from behind, and the world would instantly feel safe. But now, as his hand rested on my skin, I only felt sick. I turned my head away, avoiding his touch. “I’m fine.” Ethan’s hand froze in mid-air, but he quickly withdrew it smoothly. “Are you still upset about the broadcast? I wanted to watch it with you, but something urgent came up at work.” Something urgent at work. I almost laughed out loud. He was always like this—lying with such smooth sincerity that it made you feel like you were the crazy one for doubting him. I didn’t call him out. I only asked, “Ethan, do you remember what you said on our wedding day?” Ethan blinked, startled. “Why are you bringing that up all of a sudden?” “Do you remember?” The streetlights stretched our shadows. Ethan looked at me, his gaze softening. “I remember.” Our wedding fifteen years ago wasn’t huge. Back then, Ethan had just taken over the family company, facing threats from both inside and out. Everyone was waiting for him to fail. At the ceremony, his mother Madeline didn’t even smile. She barely tolerated my presence. But as Ethan led me down the aisle, he held my hand so tight it hurt. In front of all the guests, he said, “Olivia, you are the only one for me. If I ever betray you, let me lose the right to ever see you again.” The guests had cheered, and I had laughed with tears in my eyes. I thought it was a lifetime vow. Ethan smiled faintly as he recalled the memory. “I said, if I ever betrayed you, I’d never see you again.” I looked into his eyes. “Did you mean it back then?” Ethan frowned slightly, looking a bit helpless at my questioning. “Of course I did.” He reached out to hold my hand. “Olivia, I know my mother has been putting pressure on you lately. Don’t listen to her. Having kids doesn’t matter to me. It never has.” I didn’t move. I watched him, feeling something inside me sink into a dark, bottomless abyss. If I hadn’t seen the video, I probably would have teared up at those words. But now, it was just pathetic. How could a man tell me kids didn’t matter, while simultaneously deciding to keep another woman’s baby? Ethan finally noticed my cold silence. “Olivia, what’s wrong with you today?” I shook my head. “Nothing.” I got into the car, my movements smooth and completely detached. Ethan stood there for a second before joining me in the backseat. On the way back, neither of us spoke. The car was filled with his usual cedarwood cologne, but there was also a very faint, foreign scent of women’s perfume. I rolled down the window a crack. The freezing wind rushed in, making my eyes water. Thinking I was cold, Ethan reached over to close it. I held the button down. “Leave it.” Ethan’s hand paused. “Olivia.” I didn’t turn to look at him. He said softly, “No matter what happens, I will always be here for you.” I stared at the passing neon lights, my heart dead silent. No, you won’t, Ethan. From the moment you betrayed me, you were already gone. Since you forgot your vow, I’ll be the one to make sure you keep it. We will never see each other again.

Olivia’s POV By the time we got back to our estate, the maid had reheated dinner for the third time. Worried about my stomach, Ethan personally scooped a bowl of soup and placed it in front of me. “Eat a little.” I stared at the soup. Ethan used to be incredibly busy, but whenever my stomach acted up, he would personally supervise my meals. Those tiny, caring details were what kept me going through all the cold shoulders I received from his family. But now, looking at them, they just felt degrading. How could a man split his tenderness so precisely—one half for his wife, the other for his mistress? I picked up the spoon and forced myself to swallow a few sips. Ethan let out a sigh of relief, reaching over to tuck a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “I cleared my schedule tomorrow. I’ll take you to that art exhibition you wanted to see.” I kept my eyes down. “No need. You’re busy.” Ethan paused. “Never too busy for you.” Right after he said those words, his phone on the table began to buzz. The screen lit up. There was no contact name, just an unsaved number. But I saw the subtle shift in Ethan’s eyes. He pressed decline, pretending nothing happened, and continued eating. Within thirty seconds, it buzzed again. I put down my spoon. “Answer it.” Ethan looked at me. “It’s not important.” When it buzzed for the third time, I finally let out a small, mocking laugh. “Ethan, people don’t call three times if it’s not important.” He was silent for a moment before picking up the phone and walking out to the balcony. The sliding glass door had excellent soundproofing. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but I saw his shoulders tense up as he rubbed his temples. When he came back inside, his voice was perfectly normal. “An urgent issue came up with an overseas branch. I have to head to the office.” I looked at him. “Now?” “Yeah. I might be late.” I nodded. “Go ahead.” Ethan didn’t seem used to my calm reaction. Before leaving, he leaned down to kiss my forehead. I turned my head. His lips met empty air. The room went dead silent for a second. Ethan asked softly, “Still feeling sick?” “Acid reflux,” I said. “I don’t want to throw up on you.” It was a perfectly logical excuse. A flash of worry crossed Ethan’s eyes. “I’ll have the family doctor come over.” “No need.” My voice was quiet. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Ethan stared at me for a few seconds before finally grabbing his coat and walking out. The moment the heavy front door clicked shut, the massive villa plunged back into silence. I sat at the table, motionless. Ten minutes later, my phone pinged. Amber had sent another photo. It showed Ethan’s car parked right outside a high-end private women’s hospital. Amber was standing on the steps, wearing Ethan’s coat over her shoulders. Her face looked pale, but her hand was wrapped tightly around his arm. 【Did Ethan tell you he had work tonight, Olivia?】 Immediately followed by another text: 【He just rubbed my belly. You have no idea how excited he is for this baby.】 I stared at the screen for a long time. Until my eyes burned, I flipped the phone face down on the table. When heartbreak reaches its limit, you don’t scream or cry. You just feel cold. A cold so deep that even breathing feels like swallowing glass. I got up and walked upstairs to our bedroom. On the nightstand sat a framed photo of us from our tenth anniversary at a ski resort. Ethan was holding me from behind, kissing the top of my head. I was smiling, my eyes full of complete, unshakeable trust. I picked up the frame, my fingers brushing over my younger self. How foolish I had been. I actually believed love could make up for all my sacrifices. I opened the drawer and pulled out a pair of scissors. Snip. The photo was cut right down the middle. I kept my half, tucking it deep into the drawer, and threw his half into the trash can. My phone buzzed again. This time, Amber sent only one sentence: 【Tomorrow night at eight, Seattle Auction House. Your mother’s heirloom is putting up for bid. Do you have the courage to show up?】 My grip on the phone tightened. My mother’s heirloom. I raised my head. In the vanity mirror, the woman looking back was pale, but her eyes had gone entirely cold. Amber could ruin my marriage. But she crossed the line when she touched my mother’s memory.

Olivia’s POV The next evening, I went to the Seattle Auction House alone. Ethan had called me in the afternoon, saying he had a business dinner and couldn’t make it home. I had heard Amber’s faint coughing in the background over the phone, but I just replied with a quiet, “Okay.” I didn’t ask. Asking would only bring more polished lies. The auction hall was bright, filled with Seattle’s elite dressed in tuxedos and evening gowns. I sat in the back row, my hat pulled low, quietly flipping through the catalog. When I reached item seventeen, my fingers stopped. It was a vintage emerald brooch. Waterdrop shaped, bordered with delicate diamonds, with a tiny letter “O” engraved on the back. Before my mother passed away, she had left this brooch to me. But when my family went bankrupt years ago, our estate was seized, and many belongings were scattered. I had spent years searching for this brooch to no avail. My chest tightened as I stared at the page. How did Amber find out about this? Once the auction started, I kept my bidding paddle down. When the emerald brooch was finally brought to the stage and the auctioneer announced the opening bid, the light in the VIP balcony on the second floor lit up instantly. “One million dollars.” Whispers broke out around me. “Mr. Ethan is bidding.” “It must be for his wife. Their anniversary was just yesterday, right?” I looked up at the private balcony. The glass was tinted, obscuring the people inside, but I could make out Ethan’s sharp, stern silhouette sitting on the leather sofa. My phone buzzed. A text from Ethan: 【Heading home tonight. I bought a surprise for you.】 Looking at the text, my heart felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand. If I hadn’t seen those videos, if Amber hadn’t rubbed it in my face, I would have truly believed Ethan bought this because he remembered my mother. A second later, Amber’s text popped up: 【Don’t get ahead of yourself. Want to guess who will actually be wearing this tonight?】 I raised my head. The door to the private balcony on the second floor opened slightly. Amber stood in the shadow, smirking down at me. She was wearing Ethan’s suit jacket over a sleek, low-cut silk dress, her hand resting protectively over her stomach. I suddenly realized Amber didn’t care about the brooch. She was just here to stomp on the very last piece of my heart. The bidding ended quickly. Ethan secured the brooch for three million dollars. When the hammer fell, my eyes welled up, but I forced myself to sit still. Half an hour later, the auction went on intermission. I got up to use the restroom. As I walked down the side hallway, I heard Amber’s soft laughter coming from a private lounge. The door wasn’t fully closed. I stopped. Through the crack, Ethan was sitting on the sofa, his brow furrowed with slight impatience. Amber, however, was leaning close, pulling his hand to rest on her belly. “Ethan, I think the baby just moved.” Ethan said softly, “It’s only been six weeks, Amber. It doesn’t move yet.” Amber pouted. “But I just want you to feel him.” Standing outside the door, I felt the blood in my veins turn to ice. Ethan didn’t pull his hand away. The hand that had once held mine by my hospital bed, swearing he didn’t care about having children, was now being pressed onto another woman’s stomach. I couldn’t look anymore. I turned and walked away. By the time I got back to the estate, the living room lights were on. Ethan arrived thirty minutes after me, carrying a beautifully wrapped jewelry box. “Have you been waiting long?” He walked over, his voice unusually tender. “Open it.” I looked down. Inside the box was not my mother’s emerald brooch. It was a brand-new diamond necklace—exorbitantly expensive, dazzling, and completely foreign. Ethan said, “I thought this suited you better. The brooch was too old and worn out. I had my assistant take it to a specialist for restoration first.” I looked him in the eye. “Where is the brooch?” Ethan hesitated for a fraction of a second. “I’ll give it to you in a few days.” I felt a sudden, profound exhaustion. Even his lies were getting lazy. My phone vibrated. It was a location drop from Amber. Seattle Auction House, Underground Parking, Section B. Accompanied by a text: 【Your mother’s brooch is on me. Do you have the guts to come see?】 I slowly closed the jewelry box. “I feel a bit suffocated. I’m going out for a walk.” Ethan stood up. “I’ll go with you.” “No need.” I grabbed my coat and headed out the door. This time, I was going to see exactly how disgusting Ethan could truly get.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “442031”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

I was born fat. Before prom started, everyone was asking each other to be their date. Someone shoved me toward Nicholas Reed and shouted for us to get together. My face turned red, and I stumbled right into the arms of my tall, handsome childhood friend. But Nicholas shoved me hard to the floor like he had touched something filthy. “You disgusting fat pig, don’t touch me! Gross!” “If I didn’t feel sorry for you getting bullied, I wouldn’t even bother with you!” The whole class laughed at me. Austin Walker, the star quarterback on the football team, helped me up from the floor. “Nicholas Reed.” “Do you really think everyone in the world is as blind as you?” The whole room went silent in an instant. He lowered his head and glanced at me, looking too serious for it to be a joke. “Serena Hayes, you’ll be beautiful once you lose weight.” Nicholas let out a sneer. “If she looks even half as good as the cheer captain after losing weight, I’ll livestream myself eating crap!” He looked at my dress, which had split at the seams. “But, well, this sow’s biggest hobby is eating, so there’s no way she can lose weight!” Another round of laughter broke out around us. I covered my torn dress, looked at him, and all twelve years of my crush vanished in that moment. That night, after I got home, I stood in front of the mirror and looked at myself. Five foot nine, 250 pounds. I wrote down a plan in my notebook: First, lose weight. Second, change my college application and stop going to Harvard University with him.

“LOL, the toad really wants to eat swan meat.” “She’s 250 pounds and still dares to like Nicholas. Where does she get the courage?” … My classmates’ mocking did not stop. Chloe Summers, the queen bee, laughed the loudest and deliberately picked up a plate piled high with cream cake. Then she pressed the plate into my face. Cream smeared all over my face. “Serena, don’t be sad.” “Eat more, just like a pig eating feed. Once you’re full, you won’t be sad anymore.” Someone chimed in, “Serena, if you want a boyfriend, you might as well find a boar, haha!” The prom exploded with laughter again. Nicholas held a glass of champagne, the remnants of mockery still hanging at the corner of his mouth, as if none of this had anything to do with him. Austin Walker, the star quarterback, frowned and glanced at him, but said nothing more. Instead, Chloe Summers, who was standing beside Nicholas, leaned over and whispered something. Nicholas gave a low laugh, as if he were sneering. I wiped the cream from my face and stood up. “I’m leaving first.” Chloe immediately put on a caring expression. “Serena, don’t be mad, we were really just joking…” I ignored her, got up, and walked out. When I passed by Nicholas, he did not even lift his head and was still chatting with Chloe. I stopped. “Nicholas Reed.” He finally looked up at me, with a trace of impatience in his eyes. “What?” I looked at him. I remembered when we were six, when he moved next door to my house and scraped his knee on the very first day. I was the one who carried him on my back and took him to the neighborhood clinic. Back then, he smiled at me, even though I was already chubby. That one smile stayed with me for twelve years. “Every word you said today,” I said very softly, “one day, you’ll regret it.” He raised an eyebrow and sneered without taking me seriously. “Me, regret it? Fatass, in this life I…” I did not listen to the rest and pushed the door open. The hallway was very quiet. My hands were shaking, but my tears did not fall. It was not that it did not hurt. It hurt too much, so much that I could not cry. My best friend Nina chased after me and grabbed my wrist. “Serena, I’ll go back right now and help you…” “Nina,” I cut her off, my voice hoarse, “walk with me.” The sunset stretched our shadows very long. I walked a long way before I spoke. “He’s right. I really am 250 pounds right now.” “But he said I’ll never lose weight in this lifetime.” “I’m going to lose it just to show him.” Nina bit her lip and said nothing, only holding my hand even tighter. When I got home that night, everyone was asleep. I stood alone in front of the mirror. My frame clearly was not small, but it was completely buried under fat. My face was as round as a big ball of dough, and I had three full layers of chin. But when I leaned closer, my eye shape was pretty. My nose bridge was high. The little mole at the corner of my eye looked like it had been drawn on. Austin Walker’s words echoed in my ears. “Serena Hayes, you’ll be beautiful once you lose weight.” Was it true? I did not know. But tonight, I made two decisions. First, lose weight, with a goal of 110 pounds. Second, cancel my Harvard University application. I opened my laptop and logged into the application system. On the screen, Harvard University’s admission confirmation page glowed quietly. The mouse hovered over Decline Offer. Nicholas’s words seemed to ring in my ears again. “You disgusting fat pig, don’t touch me. Gross.” I did not hesitate again. I clicked decline. Then I wrote another application email. It was to Stanford University, more than a thousand miles away from Boston. Because of Nicholas, I had never even looked at it before. For him, I applied to law, a major I did not like. Now, I chose the major I liked and clicked send. Thanks to my excellent grades, the other side soon sent me an admission notice. I clicked Accept and closed my laptop. But my heart felt lighter than ever. Starting today. I would no longer live for Nicholas Reed. I would live for myself.

At five the next morning, when the alarm rang, the sky was still dark. I put on my sneakers, went out, and took a jump rope to the community square. On the first day, I only jumped two hundred times before I was panting like I was about to die. On the third day, I increased it to five hundred, and my calves were so sore they trembled when I went upstairs. On the fifth day, after jumping one thousand times, I leaned over a trash can and threw up. But I never stopped for even one day. On the evening of the sixth day, I was stretching downstairs when Nicholas came back from playing soccer outside. He held a soccer ball and looked me up and down. “Why are you covered in sweat?” I did not speak and kept stretching my leg. He walked over and leaned against the wall, saying casually, “A classmate saw you jumping rope to lose weight?” I still said nothing. He kept talking to himself, his tone carrying that careless certainty he always had. “If you really want to lose weight, get a gym membership. Jumping rope alone won’t do much. With your weight… never mind.” After a pause, he added, “By the way, did you get your Harvard University admission letter? Mine arrived.” My hand paused for a moment. He thought I was still going to Harvard University. Everyone thought so. I straightened up and walked into the building with no expression on my face. Behind me, he shouted, “Did you get it or not?” The building door closed, cutting off his voice. As I went upstairs, the corner of my mouth actually curved slightly. Nicholas Reed, take your time waiting. When October third comes, you’ll know. On the eighth night, someone posted a video in the class group chat. It was footage of me jumping rope in the community square. Heavy panting, soaked clothes, jumping once and stopping once, and my fat shaking nonstop with every rise and fall. The person filming had deliberately chosen the ugliest angle. [I’m dying hahahaha Serena Hayes really started losing weight!!] [Nicholas’s words really hit her hard, huh?] [Austin said she’d look good after losing weight? I couldn’t see any potential in that face even with a magnifying glass.] Chloe Summers: [Serena, good luck! Anyway, there are tons of pretty girls at Harvard Law, so if you don’t lose a little weight, you’ll seriously feel inferior once school starts.] Nicholas also came out and sent a message. My heart jumped. He said: [Stop posting stuff like this. Are you all children?] Someone teased him: [Nicholas, are you feeling sorry for her???] He replied: [Are you guys bored? What does her losing weight have to do with me? I never liked her.] What did it have to do with him? Right, it never had anything to do with him. I liked him for twelve years, and he said it had nothing to do with him. Fine. From now on, it really would have nothing to do with you. I left the class group chat. I opened Nina’s chat box. [I’m going to stay at my grandma’s place until school starts. Keep it a secret for me. If anyone asks, say you don’t know.] Nina: [Leave it to me. But you have to promise me you’ll come back alive.] I smiled and typed an OK. Then I opened Nicholas’s chat box. I looked at all the messages I had sent him over the past three years. “My mom made apple pie today. Want to come over?” “It’s raining on the way home. I brought you an umbrella.” “Good night.” Every single one had been read and ignored. On the rare occasions he replied, it was always “Mm,” “Got it,” or “Stop bothering me.” I took a deep breath. Delete friend. No hesitation. Early the next morning, I dragged my suitcase downstairs. Downstairs, I ran into Nicholas’s mom. “Serena, where are you going?” “To my grandma’s place for a while.” “Then when Nicholas comes to your house for dinner later…” “Mrs. Reed,” I smiled, “Nicholas is already an adult, so there’s no need to trouble my mom anymore.” When I carried my suitcase out of the community, a window opened behind me. I knew it was Nicholas’s room. But I did not look back. Not even once.

My grandma lived on a farm in the countryside, where the phone signal had only one bar and there was almost no WiFi. On the first day I arrived, I locked my phone in a cabinet. Every day, I got up at five to jump rope. In the morning, I power-walked along the wooded trail outside the farm. In the afternoon, I helped my grandma prune fruit trees, move hay, and take care of the horses. The meal plan Grandma made for me was chicken breast with roasted vegetables, rotating between oatmeal, brown rice, and sweet potatoes. In the first week, I lost six pounds, down to 194 pounds. In the second week, I lost five pounds, down to 189 pounds. Starting from the third week, the weight dropped more slowly, so I added two thousand extra jumps every day and one set of strength training. In the fourth week, I was 180 pounds. In one month, I had lost a full twenty pounds. There were changes in the mirror, but they were not obvious enough. My face was not as round anymore, but my jawline was still blurry, and my body was loose and sagging like deflated dough. I did not waver at all. Continue. In the fifth week, I was 173 pounds. In the sixth week, I was 166 pounds. I turned on my phone for the first time. Dozens of messages flooded in. Nina’s messages: [Nicholas came to me! He asked where you went! I played dumb!] [He asked again today! He even asked if you changed your number!] [Hahahaha guess what he said? He said, “She’s definitely just throwing a tantrum. She’ll be back in a couple days.”] I let out a sneer. Throwing a tantrum? Nicholas Reed, you really think too highly of yourself. I kept scrolling. Nina had sent more: [He’s getting closer and closer to Chloe Summers. Today Chloe posted a photo of them playing ball together. Everyone in the group is saying they might be together.] I looked at that message. Then I waited for my heart’s reaction. Unexpectedly, there was nothing. It did not hurt anymore. It really did not hurt anymore. I turned off my phone and kept training. In the seventh week, I was 158 pounds. In the eighth week, I was 150 pounds. The changes in the mirror started becoming dramatic. My jawline emerged sharply, my cheekbones became clear, and my whole face looked as if it had been carved all over again. My body proportions began to show, my collarbones came out, and the lines of my legs changed from thick to long and lean. But it was still not enough. I knew the best version of myself had not appeared yet. Continue. In the ninth week, I was 142 pounds. When I went to the pharmacy in town to buy medicine for Grandma, the girl behind the counter froze when she took the prescription. She stared at my face for a long time. “You look like some movie star… I can’t remember who right now.” Grandma quickly pulled me away. After we got home, Grandma sat on the porch rocking chair and worried. “Your mother was like this back then too. She was chubby as a kid, and no one paid attention to her. Then she suddenly slimmed down, and the whole high school went crazy.” “You’re even more dramatic than your mother.” I thought Grandma was exaggerating too much. In the tenth week, I was 135 pounds. I turned on my phone for the second time. Nina’s latest message: [Nicholas told me to tell you that if you don’t join the Harvard freshman group soon, it’ll be too late. His exact words were, “Is she still throwing a tantrum? Tell her I won’t pay attention to her when the time comes, so she shouldn’t get her hopes up.”] I looked at this sentence and could not help laughing. Even now, he still thought I would go to Harvard University. He still thought I would chase after him like I used to. Nicholas Reed, what kind of dream are you living in? I replied to Nina: [Don’t tell anyone I went to Stanford University to study computer science. Including him. Let him find out himself.] Nina replied: [Okay! I can’t wait to see his face!!!] In the eleventh week, I was 125 pounds. Grandma officially forbade me from going out alone. “When you went to town to buy things the day before yesterday, those college boys in the supermarket kept following you. Did you know that?” “…It can’t be that serious, right?” “Go look in the mirror yourself!” I went to look. Then I fell silent. In the mirror was a face… even I found unfamiliar. A height of five foot nine and a weight of 125 pounds had released every advantage of my bone structure. My features looked delicate, as if someone had drawn them stroke by stroke. The corners of my eyes tilted slightly upward, my eyes were a pale blue, and my lips were a very light rose color. My collarbones looked like butterfly wings, and my waist looked small enough to hold in one hand. The mole at the corner of my eye was like the final stroke, pushing my whole face from “pretty” to “stunning.” I stared for a long time. So what Austin Walker said was true. In the twelfth week, I was 110 pounds. Grandma stood behind me and let out a long sigh. “What a sin. Your parents spent more than ten years fattening you up, and now it’s all wasted.” I finally could not hold back. “What are you all talking about? What happened to me when I was little?” Grandma shook her head and refused to say. She only muttered: “After school starts, wear a hat and sunglasses. Don’t cause trouble.” I replied, “Okay.” But in my heart, I thought— Nicholas Reed, on October third, you will look for me in the crowd of freshmen checking in at Harvard University. You will search every classroom in the law school. You will go through every freshman list. But you will never find the name Serena Hayes. Because I am no longer there. I will never stand behind you again.

The day before school started. Nina sent me a string of screenshots. They were chat records from the high school class group. Chloe Summers had posted a photo of herself and Nicholas standing at the Harvard University gate. She leaned against his shoulder and smiled brightly, with the caption: [Thank God you’re here with me!] A bunch of people teased them underneath. [Perfect match! Harvard University’s best couple!] Nicholas also rarely showed up, and his tone was very relaxed: [Don’t talk nonsense. We’re friends.] Then someone asked: [Hey, where’s Serena Hayes? Didn’t she also apply to Harvard Law? Why haven’t we seen her among the freshmen?] Chloe replied instantly: [Maybe she’s still losing weight, hahaha. After all, there are plenty of pretty girls in law school. If she shows up at 250 pounds…] A string of laughing-crying emojis followed. Nicholas’s reply came right after: [She’s probably still throwing a tantrum. She’ll be here in a couple days.] Someone chimed in: [Nicholas, you know her pretty well.] He replied: [We grew up together. How could I not know what she’s like? She’ll calm down after making a fuss for a couple days.] I stared at that sentence for a long time. “How could I not know what she’s like?” Nicholas Reed. You really do not understand me at all. You do not know I have already slimmed down to 110 pounds. You do not know I am already in California, three thousand miles away. And you know even less that the Serena Hayes who used to chase after you is long dead. I closed the screenshots and calmly packed the clothes I would wear tomorrow. White shirt, black suit pants, blond hair. That was enough. September first. Stanford University freshman welcome ceremony. The campus main auditorium was full of freshmen. The freshman representative speech for the School of Computer Science was scheduled for last. I was the last person to go on stage. Backstage was noisy, and the students in front of me were so nervous their palms were sweating. Instead, I was very calm. Five foot nine. One hundred ten pounds. My white shirt was tucked into high-waisted trousers, and below my waistline, it was all legs. When the staff member in charge of the microphone adjusted the equipment for me, they could not help freezing for a moment. “You’re… a freshman from the School of Computer Science?” I smiled and said nothing. The last thought that passed through my mind was— Nicholas Reed was probably still waiting in the Harvard freshman group to see my name. Then keep waiting. “Next, please welcome the freshman representative of the School of Computer Science—Serena Hayes.” I stepped into the lights and walked onto the stage. The moment the spotlight fell on me. Thousands of people in the audience lost their voices at the same time. It was not silence. It was suffocation. As if everyone had forgotten how to breathe at the same time. Five foot nine. One hundred ten pounds. White shirt, black trousers, ponytail. No heavy makeup, no fancy dress. Only a clean, simple face. And the tiny mole at the corner of my eye. I walked step by step to the podium. The silence lasted three seconds. Then the auditorium seemed to explode. Screams, applause, and whistles rose one after another. They mixed together, shaking the whole auditorium with echoes. Someone stood up. One row. Two rows. Ten rows. People in the back kept raising their phones to take photos. When I reached the podium, I stood still. I tilted my head slightly. The light covered my whole body. I smiled. The shutter sounds were as dense as a rainstorm. I suddenly remembered what Nicholas said at prom three months ago. “She’ll never lose weight in this lifetime.” “If she looks even half as good as the cheer captain after losing weight, I’ll livestream myself eating crap.” At this moment, I stood before thousands of freshmen. I stood where the spotlight was brightest. Nicholas Reed. You owe me an apology. But. I no longer need it. After the welcome ceremony ended. Nina’s messages hit me like bombs. [Your photos are being shared everywhere online!!!! I can’t hold it in anymore, I’m posting them in the class group!!!!] I had not even had time to reply. She had already posted them. In the screenshot was her caption: [@everyone Nicholas Reed, you said if she looked half as good as the cheer captain after losing weight, you’d livestream yourself eating crap.] [Come on. Take a look. Is this enough to be half?] The photo was taken at the welcome ceremony just now. Under the lights. White shirt, black trousers, the moment I tilted my head. Five foot nine. One hundred ten pounds. A mole at the corner of my eye. Then the group exploded. Messages flooded the screen like a tidal wave. [???????? Who is this???? Is this Serena Hayes????] [No way!!! This isn’t Harvard University!!! It’s Photoshopped, right!!!] [Wait… is this Stanford????] [@Nicholas Reed Where are you?! Come out!! Do you admit what you said or not!!!]

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On our fifth anniversary, I gifted my boyfriend of five years a brand-new Porsche 91 I thought my generosity would buy his loyalty. Instead, the very next day, he went on a TikTok live stream to drag my name through the mud. In front of the camera, his eyes were bloodshot, his voice dripping with bitter resentment. “What I wanted was real, pure love, not a relationship built on a pile of cash!” “She doesn’t get me at all. She loves humiliating my heart with her stupid money!” His best bros chimed in to support him, and the comment section immediately turned into a toxic wasteland, everyone calling me a soulless sugar mommy. Watching them twist the truth so effortlessly, I only felt a cold, deep irony. Fine. Since he wanted a love untainted by the smell of money so badly, I decided to grant him his wish. Not long after, Carter Miller found himself drowning in millions of dollars of debt, with breach-of-contract lawsuits piling up like mountains on his desk. He ended up on his knees in front of me, looking like a wet, dirty dog, desperately grabbing the hem of my pants, sobbing and begging: “Vivian, I was wrong! I don’t want that bullshit pure love anymore!” “Please, help me. Give me back my resources, my money… I really can’t take this anymore!” 1. The buzz of my phone felt exceptionally sharp in my empty luxury penthouse. It was 3:00 AM, and my screen was flashing with countless notifications. It wasn’t work emails on WhatsApp, but rather hundreds of wild tags and mentions on Snapchat and TikTok. I rubbed my throbbing temples and unlocked the screen. What caught my eye was a video that had already surpassed a hundred thousand likes. The creator: “Carter’s Late-Night Radio.” My boyfriend of five years, Carter Miller. The cover of the video was a close-up of his face—red-rimmed eyes, a broken expression, and a line of shocking text overlay: [On our 5th anniversary, I received the most devastating gift of my life.] I clicked on it. In the video, Carter was sitting in the driver’s seat of a pristine, shiny Porsche 911, twirling the key fob. It was the car I had taken him to pick up just yesterday, worth nearly two hundred thousand dollars. But he wasn’t smiling. He took a deep, shaky breath for the camera, his voice heavy with suppressed sorrow. “Today is the fifth anniversary of my relationship with my girlfriend.” “I thought, on such an important milestone, she would have prepared a surprise full of memories.” “Even if it was just a handwritten letter, or taking me back to the diner where we had our first date.” “But no. There was nothing. Absolutely nothing.” He raised the key fob with the Porsche crest, his eyes filled with disgust and hurt. “She just took me to the dealership, got this new car, and said: ‘Like it? Drive it home yourself.’” “At that moment, my heart completely froze.” “A two-hundred-thousand-dollar car sounds amazing, right? But in my eyes, it’s just a heap of cold, lifeless metal!” “It has no warmth, no soul, and absolutely no love!” “I asked her if she had anything else to say to me. No gift prepared with actual thought?” “And she actually rolled her eyes and said, ‘Isn’t this car good enough? Other guys would kill for this. Stop making a scene.’” In the video, Carter gripped the steering wheel, his knuckles turning white. “I was speechless. In her eyes, what am I? A pet she can just throw money at?” “I never wanted her money!” “I wanted the little things. I wanted the effort. I wanted the romance of being chosen over everything else!” “Am I wrong? I just wanted a pure love. Why is that so hard?” “This transactional relationship is literally driving me insane…” The video cut off there. I stared at the screen. My chest didn’t ache with pity for him like it usually did. Instead, a wave of pure, unfiltered disgust washed over me. In his little monologue, he conveniently forgot to mention that this car was his “Dream Car.” He had seen someone else driving it two weeks ago and had been whining about it in my ear every single day since. He also didn’t mention how many strings I had to pull, and how much extra cash I had to pay under the table, just to get this exact model delivered in time for our anniversary. And he definitely didn’t mention the context of my line, “Stop making a scene.” We were at the dealership, and he had thrown a massive tantrum in front of everyone because the staff didn’t set up a red carpet and a giant bow for his “delivery ceremony,” making me look like an idiot. In his video, I was the heartless, newly-rich b”ch who thought money solved everything. And he was the noble, poetic prince who refused to bow to wealth. I tapped open the comments. The internet had gone completely wild, and the screen was flooded with insults directed at me. [Oh my god! Carter, don’t cry! That classless rich girl doesn’t deserve you at all!] [Two hundred thousand dollars to buy off five years of youth? What does she think love is? A business transaction? Disgusting!] [So gross! She thinks because she has money, she owns him. She doesn’t respect men at all!] [Support Carter in breaking up! My girlfriend only makes $3,000 a month, but she makes me midnight snacks and hand-knits me beanies. That’s priceless romance! Money is trash!] [Bro, run! This woman looks down on you in her bones. She thinks you’re just after her wallet. You deserve a real girl who actually cares about you!] [I looked her up! Her name is Vivian Vance, founder of a tech startup. Haha, typical. The richer they are, the colder they get.] [@VivianVance, apologize! You owe Carter his youth back!] I scrolled down expressionlessly. Among the top-liked comments, I spotted a few very familiar handles. Hudson and Logan. Carter’s two “ride-or-die” bros. Hudson commented: [As Carter’s best friend, I honestly can’t watch this anymore. Vivian, you boss him around daily, and now you humiliate him like this on your anniversary? Do you even know how many sleepless nights he spent trying to plan a surprise for you?] Logan commented: [Exactly! Carter is a man of spiritual depth. He wants a soulmate! Your dirty money only pollutes his world! Set him free already!] But the most hilarious one was the third-highest comment. It was from Carter’s mother, Evelyn Miller. She had replied to a random user: “Sigh, my Carter was protected too well by me since he was a kid. He’s too pure, too gentle, always dreaming of those idealistic romances.” “I told him long ago that Vivian is too materialistic, too cold. She can’t give him the emotional support he needs. But this stubborn boy just wouldn’t listen to his mother…” “Too pure.” “Too gentle.” I looked at the comment and burst out laughing from sheer anger. I remembered three years ago when Evelyn Miller, claiming she “felt insecure,” forced me to buy Carter a luxury apartment in downtown LA—and demanded only Carter’s name be put on the deed. And two years ago, when Carter’s younger brother wanted a new car, she heavily hinted that as Carter’s girlfriend, I should fund it. Just last month, Evelyn went on a vacation to the Maldives and maxed out the $150,000 limit on the credit card I gave her. And now, she was online calling me materialistic, saying I couldn’t support her son emotionally. I threw my phone onto the sofa and walked over to the floor-to-ceiling window. Outside, the glittering night view of the city stretched out before me. Suddenly, these five years felt like a complete farce. I had given everything to pamper him and his family until they took it all for granted. And yet they stood on their high horses, looking down on me, claiming my money was dirty and that I wasn’t worthy of their noble souls. Fine. Since you think my money is so filthy. I will give you exactly what you asked for.

The next morning, my apartment doorbell was rung aggressively. I opened the door to find Carter standing there. He was wearing a white linen shirt, his hair styled to look messy, and his eyes were slightly pink as if he had cried all night. Behind him stood Hudson and Logan, looking like two hired goons. The moment the door opened, Hudson charged forward like a rabid dog protecting its owner. “Vivian! Do you even have a heart? Carter was in tears until dawn, and you didn’t even call him once? You didn’t even text back? Do you want him to die?!” Logan added with a cold sneer, “Vivian, don’t think you can do whatever you want just because you have some cash. Love isn’t a commodity! Your attitude at the dealership yesterday severely crushed Carter’s dignity!” Carter didn’t say a word. He just bit his lip, staring at me with a sullen, wounded expression. If this were the past, seeing him like this would have made me crumble instantly. I would have rushed over, grabbed his hands, apologized repeatedly, and promised to buy him whatever luxury watch or designer toy he wanted just to see him smile. But today, I just stood there, watching their little show. “And?” My voice was flat, without a single ripple of emotion. My calmness caught the three of them off guard. Hudson’s eyes widened, looking at me like I was some kind of alien. “And? You’re asking us ‘and’? Vivian, are you a sociopath? As his girlfriend, shouldn’t you be reflecting on your toxic behavior?” “Reflecting on what?” I looked at Carter. “Reflecting on whether I shouldn’t have bought you a Porsche?” Carter flinched, tears instantly welling up in his eyes. “Vivian! You still don’t get it, do you?!” he yelled, his voice cracking. “I don’t want a Porsche! I don’t want those tacky luxury brands! I just want effort! I want romance that comes from the heart! Why is that so hard for you to understand?!” “Yeah, Vivian,” Logan chimed in sarcastically. “Look at the girls on TikTok. They stay up all night making DIY scrapbooks and setting up fairy lights for their guys. What about you? Besides wire transfers and credit cards, what else do you know how to do? Your lazy attitude is literally a disrespect to love!” I stared at Logan. I remembered vividly that for Logan’s birthday last month, Carter had used my credit card to buy him a $10,000 limited-edition pair of sneakers. Logan had posted it all over his Instagram, calling Carter his “brother for life.” And now, here he was, preaching to me about disrespecting love. “I see,” I said, nodding slowly. “You see what?” Hudson looked at me suspiciously. “Don’t think you can just brush us off with some half-assed apology. I’m telling you, Carter is seriously heartbroken this time. If you don’t do something big to make it up to him, this is over!” “Something big?” I let out a soft laugh. “Like what?” Hudson answered immediately, as if he had rehearsed this. “Next month is Carter’s birthday. This is your last chance to redeem yourself! If you dare to insult him with another tacky sports car, we’ll make sure he dumps you for good!” “Exactly!” Logan added. “For this birthday, you are not allowed to buy your way out. You have to hand-make everything. Got it?” Carter stood behind them. Though he remained silent, his eyes were full of smug expectation. He was waiting for me to beg, to crawl, to rack my brain to create some “meaningful” DIY romance for him. Looking at their arrogant faces, I felt an unprecedented sense of relief. “Okay,” I smiled warmly. “I promise.” Carter’s eyes lit up, a flash of victory passing through them. “Vivian…” He stepped forward, gently taking my hand, his voice softening. “I didn’t mean to make things public on TikTok. I was just… I was just so desperate for you to understand me. You’re not mad at me, right?” “Of course not,” I looked into his eyes. “You want pure, cost-free, heartfelt romance, right?” “Yes!” Carter nodded eagerly, looking like an idealistic boy. “For your birthday next month, I will prepare a romance that you will never, ever forget.” I smiled and gently straightened his collar. “I promise, not a single penny of dirty money will ruin it.” Carter let out a long sigh of relief and patted my shoulder. Hudson and Logan exchanged a look, both smiling in satisfaction. In their minds, I was still the rich, gullible Vivian who would do anything to keep her man. They thought they would see me act like a clown next month, trying to please them with pathetic DIY crafts. Oh, they had no idea. The game had just begun.

After throwing them out, I went straight to my study and opened my laptop. Since we were going “pure” and “non-materialistic,” I had to commit to the role fully. First, I called Marcus, the sales manager at the Porsche dealership. “Marcus, about that 911 we picked up yesterday. I’m not satisfied with it.” Marcus panicked on the other end of the line. “Ms. Vance! Is there an issue with the car? Just say the word, we will send a team to assist you immediately!” “No, the car is fine,” I said casually. “My boyfriend thinks the car is too tacky for his sophisticated taste. Send someone over to my building to tow it back.” Marcus was stunned, silent for a few seconds. “Uh… Ms. Vance, the car is already registered. If you return it now, it can only be processed as a used-car trade-in. You’ll lose quite a bit…” “I don’t care,” I cut him off. “Deduct whatever you need to. Just make sure that car is out of my garage by tonight.” After hanging up, I opened my banking app. I found the authorized user credit card with the $150,000 monthly limit that Carter always carried. I tapped “Freeze Card.” Next, I dialed my Chief Financial Officer, Leo. “Leo, liquidate the accounts of ‘The Solitude Cafe’ immediately.” “The Solitude Cafe” was a passion project Carter had whined about wanting two years ago. I had funded the entire thing—from the prime downtown location to the high-end interior design and the premium organic coffee bean supply chain. To save his “independent artist” pride, I had registered him as the sole owner and brand founder. But in reality, because Carter only cared about hosting poetry readings and giving away free hand-brewed coffee to his hipster friends, the cafe was bleeding cash every month. My parent company had been silently covering all his losses. Leo hesitated. “Ms. Vance, that cafe has a monthly deficit of about $50,000. If we pull the plug now…” “Cut all financial support from the parent company,” I ordered coldly. “Starting today, Carter Miller is solely responsible for the rent, utilities, employee wages, and supplier bills. Also, tell our legal team to draft a formal repayment contract for all the losses our company covered over the past two years. We’re going to court.” “Understood, Ms. Vance.” Leo was a smart man and asked no further questions. Leaning back in my leather chair, I let out a long breath. For five years, I had been a bottomless piggy bank, feeding Carter and his family’s bottomless vanity. I thought that if I gave him enough, he would eventually see my devotion. But I was wrong. Some people will eat your food and complain that your plates are too heavy. Since he hated the gold, I would take it back and leave him in the mud. That afternoon, Carter sent me a message on Snapchat. “Babe, my card was declined? I’m at the mall with Hudson, and we found a limited-edition designer jacket, but the transaction didn’t go through.” I looked at the screen, a cold smirk playing on my lips. I replied: “Sweetheart, to prepare for your birthday surprise, I’ve decided to cut off all material distractions starting today. I want to show you that even without money, I can give you the most fulfilling love. Don’t buy that jacket. I will hand-make a better one for you.” The chat screen went silent. Ten minutes later, Carter replied with a single word: “Okay.” Even through the screen, I could picture his face—gritting his teeth, forced to pretend he was touched by my “thoughtfulness.” He had built the “money is trash” persona himself. Now, he had to play the part, even if it killed him.

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I spent an entire year working myself to the bone for the Paris Avant-Garde Fashion Showcase. I almost went blind. All I wanted was to bring the last piece of art my late Grandma Evelyn left me onto the global stage. But right before the flight, Carter, my boyfriend of five years, canceled my ticket. He took the couture gown I had hand-sewn with my own blood and sweat and put it on his sob-story assistant. He said: “Chloe’s depression is flaring up again. She needs this runway show to rebuild her confidence.” “You’re the talented one, Maya. You’ll have other chances. Just do this to help her out.” He thought I would swallow my pride and step back, just like I had done for the last five years. But he didn’t know. Once you give some things away, they are gone forever. And along with that dress, my love for him was completely drained. Later, that parasite of an assistant was thoroughly ruined, and Carter’s family empire went bankrupt. He knelt in a raging blizzard, begging me to look at him. But I just held the arm of Julian Vance, the sole heir of New York’s top financial empire, and didn’t even spare Carter a glance. “Get lost, Carter. Don’t get your cheap hands on my dress.”

Three days before the start of Paris Fashion Week, I dragged my temperature-controlled case filled with couture designs to JFK Airport, dripping with sweat. Carter and I had agreed to meet at Terminal 3. I had spent countless sleepless nights on this collection, working until my retinas were bloodshot, just to win this invitation to the international showcase. But when I stood in front of the self-service kiosk, it didn’t print my boarding pass. Instead, a cold notification popped up on the screen: Flight canceled. Ticket refunded. I called Carter. His phone was off. Fifteen minutes later, I saw him through the glass wall of the VIP lounge. He was wearing the black trench coat I had personally tailored for him, leaning down to tenderly adjust a scarf around Chloe’s neck. Chloe was holding my sketchbook in her hands. Around her neck hung my official entry pass. And in the temperature-controlled case next to her feet was Grandma Evelyn’s final masterpiece, which was supposed to be in my hands! Before I could even get close, Chloe’s eyes welled up with tears, and she shrank behind Carter. “Maya, please don’t be mad. I just… I just wanted to see Paris so badly.” “My anxiety has been so terrible lately.” When Carter saw me, his gentle expression instantly hardened into a scowl. “What are you doing here?” I pointed at the case by her feet, my fingers trembling. “That’s mine.” Carter took an impatient step forward, blocking Chloe from my view. “Chloe is in a bad mental state. The doctor said she needs to travel and clear her mind.” “What’s the big deal if she borrows your dress just to take some photos outside the venue and make herself feel better?” “Then what about my plane ticket?” Carter paused, pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket, and shoved it into my hand. “I bought you a ticket back home. You’ve been too tired lately. Go back and get some rest.” He looked down at me, his voice low, but every word stabbed like a dagger. “Paris is a shark tank. Even if you go, you’ll just be a nobody in the background.” “Chloe is different. She needs this exposure to apply to Parsons. Don’t be a party pooper.”

I looked at the ticket. A one-way, coach-class ticket back home. So, my year of sleepless nights, of almost losing my eyesight, was worth nothing more than a retreat Carter had patronizingly arranged for me. I ripped the ticket to shreds and threw them into the air. Carter’s face twisted in anger. “Maya! What kind of tantrum are you throwing now?” I glared at him, my eyes burning. “My pass, my sketchbook, and my grandmother’s masterpiece are all in her hands. Why the hell should I leave?” Chloe immediately grabbed Carter’s sleeve, tears streaming down her face. “Carter, maybe I should just give everything back to Maya. I should go back to the hospital. I don’t deserve to see the show anyway…” She said she wanted to give it back, but her hands clutched the case tighter. Carter frowned at me, his eyes filled with disgust. “Chloe is literally this sick, and you’re trying to publicly humiliate her and drive her over the edge?” While he spoke, I reached into my pocket and silently turned on my backup phone. The recording app started ticking away. The airport PA system began announcing final boarding for the flight to Paris. Chloe gently tugged at Carter’s sleeve. “Carter, we have to go, or we’ll miss the flight.” Carter didn’t look at me again. With one hand around Chloe’s waist and the other dragging my case, he turned and walked into the VIP boarding lane. I stood there, watching their retreating backs. A massive tower in my heart crumbled to dust. I turned around, walked to the ticketing counter, and bought a ticket on the next budget flight to Europe. Three layovers. Thirty-six hours of travel. No checked baggage allowance. Just a single backpack. Halfway through, Carter sent me a message on SnapChat. “Chloe gets panic attacks on planes. Don’t send any messages to trigger her.” I didn’t reply. Thirty-six hours later, with swollen legs and dark circles under my eyes, I stood at the front desk of the hotel in Paris. The receptionist checked my passport, looking apologetic. “Miss Maya, the reservation was indeed paid for with your card.” “However, Mr. Carter changed the guest name to Miss Chloe.” I gripped my passport. “Who gave him permission to do that?” “I am sorry. Mr. Carter claimed he is your fiancé and showed us a screenshot of your authorization.” Ding. The elevator doors opened. Carter walked out, wearing a plush bathrobe, his hair slightly messy. When he saw me, his first words weren’t to ask how I had survived thirty-six hours of exhausting layovers. Instead, he knitted his brows and hissed, “Are you seriously stalking us all the way to Paris?” I looked at him. “Where is my room?” “Chloe just took her meds and fell asleep. Keep your voice down.” “I asked you, where is my room?!” Carter rubbed his temples, his tone incredibly dismissive. “The hotel is fully booked.” “There’s a small storage room in the basement with a cot. You can crash there for tonight.” He tossed a rusty key onto the floor at my feet. “Don’t come upstairs and make a scene. Chloe can’t handle any stress.” I looked down at the key and suddenly let out a cold laugh. “Carter, I worked night shifts for three months drawing blueprints to save up enough money to book this suite.” “I know.” His voice grew even lower, carrying a chilling indifference. “But Chloe is weak. She’s exhausted after a ten-hour flight.” “Maya, grow up. Stop being so petty about everything.” I reached into my pocket and tapped my phone. The recording was still going. This time, I didn’t swallow my tears like I used to. When I pushed open the basement storage door, a foul smell of mold and dust hit my face. Mops, bleach, and mountains of dirty laundry filled the space. My temperature-controlled case was carelessly dumped right next to a bucket of dirty water. The lock had been brutally smashed open. My blood ran cold. I lunged forward. The inside was a total mess. My sketchbook was there, and my sewing kit was there. But the heavy-embroidered couture gown, “Ethereal,” was gone. My phone buzzed. It was a message from Carter. “Chloe took the gown to try it on. She says she wants to wear it to the showcase tomorrow.” “It’s an honor for your work to be worn by her. Don’t be ungrateful.”

The next morning, the showcase committee announced that the preliminary review would take place at 10 AM at the plaza outside the Louvre. I hadn’t slept a wink. Clutching my broken case, I rushed upstairs. As soon as the elevator doors opened, I saw Chloe standing by the floor-to-ceiling window at the end of the hallway. She was wearing my “Ethereal.” It was a piece sewn stitch by stitch with ultra-fine silver threads, forming a stunning celestial map. But right now, Carter was holding a pair of scissors, cutting open the back hem of the gown without a second thought. His movements were so casual it made my heart turn to ice. That gown was the last piece of art Grandma Evelyn had taught me to embroider, stitch by stitch, when she was on her deathbed. Grandma had said: “Maya, when you go to the big stage, bring this sky with you. Let the world see our heritage.” I rushed over, my voice hoarse with pure fury. “Take it off!” Chloe gasped, her eyes instantly turning red. “Maya, I didn’t know this was yours…” “Carter told me he bought this couture piece for me.” Carter immediately shielded her behind him, pointing the scissors at me. “Maya, you want her to strip right here? This is a public hallway. Do you have any decency?” I stared at him. “That is my grandmother’s final legacy!” Carter’s face stiffened for a fraction of a second, but then he sneered. “The old woman has been dead for years. Are you really going to trigger Chloe’s panic attack over a piece of dead fabric?” Chloe hid behind him, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed. Carter immediately turned around, whispering sweet things to comfort her. “Don’t worry, babe. She’s just crazy. She’s jealous because you look prettier in it than she ever could.” At the preliminary review, Chloe, wearing the mutilated “Ethereal,” took center stage. She held my sketchbook, leaning into Carter’s chest, smiling coyly for the cameras of international media. Some peers from our college recognized Carter and cheered: “Wow, Carter! Your girlfriend’s dress is insane! It’s gorgeous!” Carter didn’t correct them. He just turned his head and gave me a cold, warning look. There was no guilt in his eyes. Only a high-and-mighty threat. After the review, Chloe held up the ruined hem of the dress and ran down to the steps by the Seine. “Carter, take some solo photos of me! I want to post them on Ins!” I marched over and grabbed her wrist. “Take the dress off and give it back to me.” Chloe struggled, pulling back. “Maya, I’m not done taking photos…” “Take. It. Off!” During the struggle, she suddenly shrieked. A sharp ripping sound echoed through the air. The delicate silk hem had snagged on the sharp iron railing of the stairs. The gorgeous silver embroidery tore open, leaving a huge, ugly gash. Chloe took the opportunity to fall straight into Carter’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably. “I didn’t mean to! Why did Maya have to push me?” Carter shoved me away with brutal force. Unprepared, I fell heavily onto the stone steps. My palms scraped against the rough concrete, and blood instantly welled up. But he didn’t even look at me. He was too busy inspecting Chloe’s ankle. “Did you twist it? Does it hurt?” I looked down at the bright red blood on my hands, then at the completely ruined “Ethereal.” Carter looked back, his eyes as cold as ice. “Are you happy now, Maya? Do you have to ruin everything before you’re satisfied?” I opened my mouth, but the taste of copper filled my throat. Before I could speak, Chloe suddenly pulled a crumpled little fabric pouch from the inner pocket of the dress. “Ugh, what is this cheap junk? It was pressing against my skin the whole time.” My face drained of all color. That was the silver locket and lucky charm containing Grandma’s hair. I lunged to grab it, but Chloe let go of her hand, pretending to slip. The pouch fell straight into the rushing currents of the Seine, swallowed instantly by the dark waves. I knelt on the cold stone bank, reaching wildly into the water. But there was nothing. Only the freezing river water, chilling me to the bone. Carter stood behind me, his voice dripping with impatience. “It’s just a cheap pouch. I’ll buy you ten designer bags when we get back, okay?” I knelt on the ground, my fingers clutching the cracks in the stone so hard my nails cracked, bleeding onto the rock. At that exact moment, I finally woke up. Some people don’t hurt you because they don’t know your pain. They hurt you because to them, your entire life isn’t worth a single tear from their precious lover.

At noon, Carter sent me a text on WhatsApp. “Bring your original design sketches to the exhibition hall. Chloe needs them for her judge interview this afternoon.” I didn’t go. I sat in the damp basement storage room and opened my laptop. My cloud backup was empty. My entire life’s work from the past three years had been wiped out. The entire series of sketches titled “Rebirth” was gone. I had worked on them for three long years. Countless sleepless nights, hundreds of worn-down pencils. I wanted to show them to the world on the Paris stage. But now, they were gone. I called Carter. Before the call connected, I turned on the recording on my backup phone again. He took his time answering. In the background, I could hear the soft jazz of a high-end restaurant and the clinking of expensive cutlery. “What now?” “Where are my cloud sketches?” There was a two-second silence on the other end. “Chloe needed a headline collection to apply to Parsons. I copied your sketches for her.” “And I cleared the cloud so you wouldn’t do anything stupid and ruin her chances.” I shook so hard my teeth clattered. “Who gave you the right to steal my life’s work?” Carter’s voice turned icy, filled with the arrogant condescension of a wealthy heir. “Maya, can you stop being so selfish?” “You’re just an undergraduate. Those sketches are wasted in your hands anyway.” “Chloe is different. She actually needs them.” I let out a harsh laugh. “So my future is just a stepping stone for her?” “It’s just borrowing your name temporarily.” “Carter, that was three years of my life!” He fell silent for a moment. When he spoke again, his voice was utterly heartless. “Maya, don’t bite the hand that feeds you. Without the Wilson family’s resources, do you honestly think you’d even be in Paris?” I hung up. Ten minutes later, the design community back home went into a frenzy. Chloe had posted a set of design sketches on Instagram and Twitter. The caption read: “East Coast Aesthetics: My Paris Debut.” The first slide was my main collection blueprint. The second slide was my embroidery breakdown. The third was a highly edited photo of her wearing my damaged gown. The comments below were filled with worship. “Chloe is a literal genius!” Our college dean even posted in the student group chat: “Chloe, this collection is outstanding. It’s enough to secure your early admission to Parsons. We are so proud of you.” I grabbed my coat and stormed towards the Michelin-starred restaurant they were at. I kicked the private dining room door open. Carter was leaning over, patiently cutting a steak for Chloe. He had never cut my food for me. Once, when I accidentally cut my hand while rushing a deadline and couldn’t even hold a fork, he had mocked me, saying I couldn’t even feed myself. But now, that perfectly cut steak was placed right in front of Chloe. The waiter served foie gras. Carter subconsciously said, “Maya can’t eat organ meats, it makes her sick.” My steps paused. The next second, he pushed the expensive white truffle pasta to Chloe. “You have a delicate stomach, eat this.” I felt a sudden wave of absurdity. He remembered everything. He just consciously chose to give his care to someone else. I marched over and held out my hand. “Give me the flash drive with my sketches.” Chloe’s eyes instantly turned red, looking like a frightened little deer. “Maya, I really just wanted to try my best to prove myself…” I stared at her coldly. “By stealing someone else’s work? Does that prove you’re a thief?” Carter slammed his fork onto the plate, making a sharp, metallic screech. “Maya, watch your mouth!” “If you’re so worried about being clean, maybe you shouldn’t have done something so filthy!” The room fell into a dead silence. Carter stood up, his tall frame towering over me, his face extremely dark. “Do you have to embarrass us abroad and ruin this dinner?” “You ruined my entire life!” Chloe sobbed, shaking her head. “Maya, Carter gave me the sketches. I thought you agreed to it.” “If I knew you didn’t want to, I would rather die than use them.” Carter wrapped his arm around her shoulders, glaring at me. “I gave them to her. If you have a problem, take it out on me.” I sneered. “Great. Then post a public statement right now telling the world who actually drew those sketches!” He instantly went quiet. Chloe wept even harder, clutching Carter’s shirt. “Maya, why do you have to push Carter like this?” “You already have so many great designs. Can’t you just let me have this one?” The next second, my phone screen lit up. It was an official email from our college board. “Maya, we have received a formal plagiarism report accusing you of stealing Chloe’s showcase designs.” “Your graduation portfolio review has been suspended, and your degree is being withheld.” Immediately after, an email from the top NYC design studio I had signed with popped up. “Dear Miss Maya, due to a severe academic and commercial plagiarism controversy, your employment offer has been rescinded.” I stood frozen, staring at the words on the screen. My blood turned to absolute ice. I found out later that the “formal report” had been sent by Chloe herself. She had recorded the confrontation in the private room earlier, edited it to make me look like a hysterical bully trying to steal her work, and sent it to the school and the studio. She didn’t just want to steal my designs. She wanted to brand me as a plagiarist forever, ensuring I could never work in this industry again. I didn’t have a powerful family like Carter. I didn’t have the luxury of crying to get whatever I wanted like Chloe. That job offer was my only ticket to a better life. And they had just destroyed it. Seeing my pale face, Carter frowned. “What’s wrong?” I threw my phone straight at his chest. He looked down at the screen, and for a fleeting moment, a flash of panic crossed his eyes. But Chloe quickly tugged his sleeve, her voice trembling. “Carter, I’m scared… did I do something wrong?” And just like that, his guilt vanished. He tossed the phone back onto the table and said in a patronizing, dismissive voice: “Maya, don’t blow this out of proportion.” “If you just post a statement saying you ‘inspired’ each other, Chloe is kind enough not to sue you.” I looked at this man I had loved for five years in sheer disbelief. “You want me, the actual creator, to publicly apologize to a thief?” He avoided my eyes, sounding irritated. “We need to quiet down the media first! You don’t have a backup. If you fight this, you will lose!” I threw my head back and laughed. I laughed so hard tears came out of my eyes. The designs were mine, she was the thief, he was the accomplice who handed her the knife. And yet, I was the one who had to kneel and apologize.

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My most desperate moment wasn’t when I saw my daughter’s face photoshopped onto a naked body. It wasn’t when the image went viral in a group chat full of high school boys. It was when we went to report it, and Mrs. Evans looked her in the eye and said, “Boys will be boys, sweetheart. It’s just a phase.” My seventeen-year-old daughter, Maya, was quiet, sweet, and had never hurt a soul in her life. She was secretly photographed in a bathroom stall, her face merged onto obscene nudes, and publicly humiliated in a group chat for three agonizing hours. And what did she get instead of justice? A cold warning from the school “not to blow this out of proportion,” and a freezing shoulder from her own father. “The more you scream, the more you ruin her. Who’s going to want her after this?” When everyone begged her to swallow the dirt, I chose to fight. Armed with nothing but voice recordings, screenshots, medical records, and a burning rage, I took the school to court. I dragged the bullies into the light. And I locked the man who once promised to “protect us from the world” out of our lives forever. 1 Elena Miller’s POV My seventeen-year-old daughter Maya’s face was cropped onto a naked woman’s body. Accompanied by the most disgusting, filthy comments, the image had been circulating in three different high school boys’ Snapchat groups for three hours. And yet, when her guidance counselor, Mrs. Evans, called me into her office, the first words out of her mouth behind closed doors were: “Mrs. Miller, listen. Boys at this age are just curious. It’s hormones. Let’s handle this privately. We don’t want to blow this out of proportion and ruin these young men’s college prospects, do we?” I stared at Mrs. Evans’s phone screen, the blood in my veins turning to ice. The first screenshot was taken from beneath a bathroom stall divider. The side of the face was crystal clear. It was my sweet, introverted Maya. The next image was a sickening, AI-generated nude, captioned: “Look at Maya from class 3. Absolute trash, but hot, right?” Below it was a waterfall of laughing emojis, throw-up faces, and thumbs-ups. “How long has this been out?” I whispered, my voice trembling with pure rage. “We’re still verifying the shares, but it has already spread to the senior class chats,” Mrs. Evans said smoothly, taking her phone back. She crossed her hands on her desk with an air of professional superiority. “My advice? Let’s bring the boys’ parents in for a quiet chat. A young girl’s reputation is fragile, Elena. If you call the police, this goes public. How is Maya supposed to show her face at school after that?” Her reputation. Fragile. When those bastards were passing her around like a joke, not a single person cared about Maya’s reputation! “I’m calling the police,” I said. I pulled out my phone and dialed 91

Mrs. Evans’s face fell instantly. She reached across the desk and grabbed my wrist, her voice dropping into a harsh threat. “Mrs. Miller! There is a protocol for this! The boy’s family owns a massive business in this city. They have deep pockets and serious connections. If you blindly call the cops now, have you thought about the consequences?!” Consequences? I violently slapped her hand away. I remembered the parent-teacher meeting last semester. This exact woman had stood at the podium, promising a “zero-tolerance policy on harassment.” But now that the bully had rich parents, “zero-tolerance” became “boys will be boys”? “Sneaking a camera into a girls’ bathroom and distributing non-consensual pornography is not a phase. It’s a felony!” I glared at her. “If those were your daughter’s naked photos, would you be asking me to sit down and have a friendly chat?!” Mrs. Evans’s expression hardened. Her patience was gone. “Since you are being so uncooperative, the school will not assist you further. I strongly advise against police involvement, and we will not be releasing any security footage or internal records to help your case.” I didn’t argue. I had never been more clear-headed in my life. Screaming at her would change nothing. The school had already chosen its side. I took a sharp step forward, snatched Mrs. Evans’s phone off her desk, and opened the Snapchat thread. I held up my own phone and immediately started recording a video of the screen. The usernames, the timestamps, the photoshopped images, the filthy comments. Click. Click. Click. “What do you think you’re doing?! That is private school property!” Mrs. Evans panicked, lunging to grab her phone back. I ignored her, quickly capturing dozens of screenshots. Combined with the voice recording I had started the moment I walked into her office, I gripped my phone like a lifeline. “Private property? No. This is the evidence that’s going to put them in handcuffs.” I slammed her office door behind me. The hallway was empty; the final bell had rung long ago. I dialed Maya’s number over and over. “The subscriber you are trying to reach is not available…” I didn’t know where Maya was. I didn’t know if she had already seen the disgusting things they were saying about her. The cold wind slapped my face as I walked out of the building. I clenched my fists. They wanted to bury this in a quiet office? In their dreams. 2 Elena Miller’s POV My hands were shaking as I hailed a cab to go find my daughter. By mid-afternoon, my phone buzzed. It was Mrs. Evans again. The moment I picked up, her voice was frantic. “Elena, you need to get to the downtown hospital emergency room right now! Someone sent the screenshots to Maya. She smashed her phone and locked herself in the hospital bathroom. She won’t come out!” My head spun. My mind went entirely blank. I screamed at the cab driver to step on the gas. The ER observation wing was at the end of a long, white hallway. The smell of bleach and antiseptic hit me like a solid wall. I ran through the doors and saw Chloe, Maya’s friend, crouching outside a room, her school hoodie stained with dirt. Chloe looked up, her eyes red and puffy. “Mrs. Miller… the whole school knows. Someone DM’ed the photos straight to Maya. She saw them, lost her mind, and threw her phone against the wall.” My feet glued to the floor. I looked past Chloe toward the half-open door of the hospital room. The bed was empty. But the bathroom door inside was shut tight. I walked over, my fingers touching the cold metal handle, and immediately heard the click of the lock from the inside. Then, the sound of Maya’s choked, desperate sobbing leaked through the wood. “Maya,” I said, my throat feeling like it was full of broken glass. “Open the door, baby.” No response. The crying stopped for a second, swallowed down by sheer panic, replaced by shallow, hyperventilating gasps. I slid down and sat on the edge of the empty hospital bed, feeling entirely drained. I looked at Chloe’s phone. The Snapchat groups were still going crazy. Someone had tagged Maya: “Is your mom gonna die of embarrassment when she sees this?” Right after, another photoshopped image popped up with a single caption: “Trash.” A string of laughing emojis followed. My fingers pressed against Chloe’s screen so hard my knuckles turned white. I systematically saved every single screenshot. Someone in the chat joked: “Did she actually kill herself or something?” The immediate reply: “Even better. Free show.” Just as I saved the last screenshot, my phone rang. The caller ID: Marcus Vance. For a second, I hesitated. But in that second, my mind flashed back to seventeen years ago in the delivery room. The man who had held my hand, eyes red, swearing he would protect us from anything, was now looking at this tragedy with nothing but cold, upper-class indifference. I pressed accept. “Don’t make a scene out of this, Elena,” Marcus’s voice was flat, totally devoid of warmth. “If this gets out, it ruins everyone.” No “How is our daughter?” No “Is Maya hurt?” Not even “What did they do to her?” “Don’t make a scene” was the first thing out of his mouth. My heart felt like it was being carved out by a dull knife. “Do you have any idea where Maya is right now? She is locked in a hospital bathroom, terrified to even make a sound while she cries!” The line went silent for two seconds. Then Marcus sighed, his tone dripping with irritation. “It’s just high school boys being boys. You making a big deal out of this only feeds their attention.” I listened to his corporate, polished excuses while my daughter’s muffled, agonizing cries echoed from the bathroom. The contrast made me physically sick. Marcus continued, “If you keep pushing this, it’s going to affect the custody agreement. You know how that works.” I pulled the phone away from my ear, hit the record button to save the call, and hung up. The crying in the bathroom shifted. I leaned my forehead against the wooden door and spoke softly, but with a voice like iron. “Maya. You don’t have to come out right now. But I promise you, I will make them pay.” 3 Elena Miller’s POV When we finally got back to our apartment, Maya immediately locked herself in her bedroom. I stood outside her door, holding a plate of freshly cooked steak. The plate made a soft click as I set it down on the floor. “I’m leaving the food right here, sweetheart,” I said to the closed door. Not a single sliver of light came from under the frame. Maya was so quiet she felt like a ghost. I went back to the living room and sank into the couch. My iMessage icon showed dozens of unread notifications. I tapped on the pinned chat at the top, the Vance Family Group Chat. A group I hadn’t uttered a single word in since the divorce. Marcus’s father, Arthur Vance, had sent a message that sat at the top like a toxic weight: “Control Maya. Don’t let outsiders laugh at our family over this trash.” The replies from the relatives flooded in right after. “Exactly. A girl’s reputation is everything.” “If she didn’t act out, boys wouldn’t do this. Marcus, you need to talk to Elena.” “Marcus, sort this out.” And Marcus? He remained completely silent in the chat, silently agreeing to the public execution of his own daughter’s dignity. I stared at the screen, my face blank. I didn’t type a furious reply. I didn’t leave the group. I simply pressed the screenshot buttons, capturing Arthur’s words, the relatives’ faces, and their contact cards. Every single one of them. Once I finished, I called Marcus back. It rang five times before he picked up. “Have you seen the family chat?” I asked directly. Marcus lowered his voice. “…Yes.” I waited for him to say more. A stupid, naive part of me hoped this father would stand up for his daughter just once in front of his elitist family. But Marcus spoke. “Look, my dad isn’t entirely wrong, Elena. The more noise you make, the worse it gets. Who is ever going to want to marry her in the future if she’s known for this?” That sentence blew away the very last ashes of respect I had left for him. “Let me ask you something,” my voice cracked, shattering the quiet of the apartment. “She locked herself in a hospital bathroom today. Now she’s locked in her room, and she won’t eat. Have you asked her how she is? Just once?!” Marcus remained unmoved, his voice carrying that familiar, condescending tone. “Calm down. I’ll talk to the family. Just make sure she eats.” He hung up on me. I set the phone down. The call had been automatically recorded. I opened my notes app and began cataloging the evidence: 7:12 PM. Arthur Vance: “She’s bringing embarrassment to the family.” 7:14 PM. Marcus Vance: “Who is ever going to want her after this?” I suddenly remembered the day Maya was born. Marcus’s mother, Eleanor, had held her in the hospital room, bragging to the nurses, “She’s a Vance through and through.” I let out a cold, cynical laugh and typed one last line in my notes: The Vances say Maya belongs to them. I stood up and walked back to Maya’s room. The food outside her door was cold. The darkness beneath her door was absolute. 4 Elena Miller’s POV Marcus’s phone call came in just as I was putting on my coat. I stood in the entryway, looking at his name flashing on the screen. I answered. “Elena, let me give you some perspective here,” Marcus said, his voice dripping with that arrogant, corporate tone. “The boy’s family is very influential. They run half the real estate in this city. If you back down, they’ll make sure Maya gets taken care of. If you drag this out, the only one who suffers is Maya.” My heels clicked sharply against the hardwood floor as I hung up on him, muted my phone, and slipped it into my pocket. Half an hour later, I was standing outside a massive estate in the wealthy suburbs of the city. The door opened, and the boy’s mother stood there. She wore an expensive beige cashmere dress. She looked me up and down, blocking the doorway completely. “I’m Maya’s mother,” I said, keeping my voice deadpan. “Your son harassed my daughter at school. I want a written, face-to-face apology to Maya.” The mother adjusted her collar and let out a soft, dismissive chuckle. “Oh, please. Kids play around. It’s not like he actually took her clothes off. Coming to my house like this? You’re making yourself look desperate.” The father walked up behind her, holding a cup of espresso. He didn’t even look at me. “Maybe Maya should watch how she behaves around boys. Why is it always our son’s fault?” I stood on the porch, looking at this smug, wealthy couple. I memorized their faces, etched their arrogance into my mind, and turned around. The heavy oak door slammed shut behind me, a loud bang that felt like a laugh at my expense. I drove straight to the school. In the administration building, Mrs. Evans’s desk was empty, her coffee cup cold. Principal Cooper intercepted me at the end of the hall, a polished, fake smile plastered across his face. “Mrs. Miller, Mrs. Evans is out sick today. We are conducting an internal investigation. As for the security cameras from that day… well, as you know, the system is old, and it happened to be down for maintenance.” Down for maintenance. Happened to be. I stared at him. “Where is the maintenance log and the technician’s report?” Principal Cooper’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second. “We are compiling the paperwork. Why don’t you take Maya home to rest? We will contact you when we have an update.” With that, he slipped into his office, leaving the door slightly ajar. I could hear faint laughter from inside. I didn’t leave. I sat down on the concrete steps outside the school, pulled out my phone, and scrolled to a picture of last semester’s syllabus. There was Mrs. Evans’s quote printed on the front page: “Any report of harassment will be investigated within 24 hours, with disciplinary action taken immediately.” I stared at it and moved the photo into a folder labeled “EVIDENCE.” Lies. Cover-ups. Deflection. They thought I would get tired and walk away. But they had no idea what a mother who has nothing left to lose is capable of.

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