Category: English

For seven years, I was nothing but a disposable NPC wife in a horror game, dragged along by the monstrous Boss who kept me caged. Then, out of nowhere, a player killed him. The player, who bore a striking seventy-percent resemblance to my late husband, sheathed his sword and held out a hand to me. “Your husband is dead,” he said. “Come with me.” Right then, glowing lines of text flashed across my vision like a live stream chat. [The BOSS knew she was unfaithful all along. He faked his death just to test her.] [But the BOSS is still gravely wounded. Don’t worry, our brave female lead is about to rescue and heal him!] [This cowardly side-character NPC is running off with a player, thinking he actually cares about her. She has no idea he’s just using her unique NPC biology. Every time players get hurt, they’re going to carve pieces of flesh off her to heal. It’s going to be brutal!] [Oh, I remember this part! At the very end, she crawls to the BOSS, begging him to save her, but she ends up getting dirt on the female lead’s dress. The BOSS disintegrates her soul without even blinking.] [Wait… is that player supposed to look like that? Why does he look different from what I remember?] 01 I was a throwaway NPC wife in a horror game. My daily routine consisted of following the BOSS around to trigger the plot. By day, we had to play the part of a deeply loving couple in front of the players. “This is my thirteenth wife,” the Count would say, wrapping an arm around me while viciously pinching my waist from behind. “I adore her.” Biting my lip, I would nod meekly. By night, I had to “accidentally” cross paths with the players and weep to them about how terribly the Count treated me. “Yes, he beats me constantly. These bruises on my arms are proof of his cruelty.” I would sob, displaying carefully painted-on marks. “Every night, he locks me in the very last room on the second floor to torture me. Please, I beg of you, save me.” “But the BOSS told us to stay away from the last room on the second floor,” the players would mutter, thrown off by the conflicting rules. “He’s lying to you! If I’m not out by midnight, please come in and rescue me. I will reward you handsomely!” Naturally, driven by the promise of a rich reward, there were always players foolish enough to take the risk. None of them ever made it out alive. To be fair, I wasn’t entirely lying. While they were being torn apart and consumed by monsters in that room, the BOSS was tormenting me on the other side of the wall. The walls were thin. He loved pinning me against them. The louder the screams from next door, the more violent his touch became. “You stared at the second man from the left a second too long today,” he whispered, biting my earlobe. “Do you like him?” “No,” I gasped. The cold, slithering tentacles rising from his shadow wrapped around my thighs, freezing my skin. “Traitors end up just like the first twelve.” I turned around, plastering on a compliant smile to appease him. “Never. I would never betray you.” As if. Where else am I going to find someone who looks so much like my long-lost first love? 02 But then, a player arrived who completely threw me off my game. Oh my god. A man showed up looking exactly like my lost love. I ran through my usual routine, weeping in front of him under the cover of night. He listened, then let out a soft laugh. “He treats you badly? How about I kill him for you, and you come with me?” I froze. Usually, at the start of a run, players didn’t immediately go after the BOSS. Some overly sympathetic players had tried in the past, of course, and their deaths were spectacular. My Count husband was ridiculously overpowered. That was why the survival rate of this dungeon was a flat zero. I kept up the act, sobbing, “My husband is incredibly powerful. You shouldn’t…” Thirty minutes later, the entire second floor was engulfed in raging flames. The player walked out of the fire, dragging several twitching tentacles and tossing them at my feet. “Your husband is dead. That’s fantastic… I mean, I’m so sorry for your loss.” I stared at him, utterly dumbfounded. “Don’t believe me? Look at the system log.” He swiped his hand, bringing up a glowing interface only players could see. There it was, in bold text: [Warning: Count Alistair of the Dread Castle has been slain. Congratulations on clearing the dungeon!] I stood there, a sudden, strange hollow feeling blooming in my chest. The man sheathed his sword and offered his hand. “Come with me.” I hesitated. Sure, the Count looked seventy percent like my first love. But this guy looked a hundred percent like him. Sure, the Count had great stamina and a wild imagination in bed. But this new guy looked like he wouldn’t disappoint either. Sure, the Count was strong. But this guy was strong enough to turn the Count into calamari. Actually, I couldn’t think of anything else in the Count’s favor. Rest in peace, dear ex-husband. Your death brings me great sorrow, but a girl has to look to the future. Just as I reached out to take his hand, the strange, glowing chat logs flashed before my eyes again. [The BOSS knew she was unfaithful all along. He faked his death just to test her.] [But the BOSS is still gravely wounded. Don’t worry, our brave female lead is about to rescue and heal him!] [This cowardly side-character NPC is running off with a player, thinking he actually cares about her. She has no idea he’s just using her unique NPC biology. Every time players get hurt, they’re going to carve pieces of flesh off her to heal. It’s going to be brutal!] [Oh, I remember this part! At the very end, she crawls to the BOSS, begging him to save her, but she ends up getting dirt on the female lead’s dress. The BOSS disintegrates her soul without even blinking.] [Wait… is that player supposed to look like that? Why does he look different from what I remember?] Wait, I was just a tragic side character? I suppose that made sense. I was just the BOSS’s possession. There had been twelve others before me. But… carve my flesh? It was true that an NPC’s flesh could rapidly heal players. Suddenly, the way this handsome player was looking at me felt entirely different. Shuddering, I yanked my hand back and squeezed out a few pathetic tears. “You have to understand… my husband just died. His soul hasn’t even crossed over yet. I cannot betray his memory so soon.” “So you can after the mourning period is over?” “…” Was that seriously his takeaway? The player actually seemed to ponder this. He picked up the charred tentacles, stuffed them into a small jar, and pressed it into my hands. “Think of this as your husband for now. Keep him close so you feel he’s still with you. I hate seeing you cry.” As he spoke, his gaze was incredibly intense, dripping with affection. Can you blame me? Imagine a man who looks exactly like your first love staring at you with eyes full of absolute devotion. Suddenly, holding my dead husband in a jar felt a bit inconvenient. It was keeping me from wrapping my arms around this new guy. I wiped my tears and nodded. Whatever. Let him carve my flesh. To die in the arms of beauty is a worthy death. “Ah, the system says the next instance is opening. This place is about to collapse. Let’s go.” He wiped the blood from his hands and took mine, leading me forward. Honestly, the jar was just in the way. As we navigated the crumbling ruins, I “accidentally” dropped it into a fissure. A burst of flames swallowed it instantly. Finally, I had both hands free to cling to his arm. But why did the back of my neck suddenly feel so cold? 03 It was my first time in the players’ safe zone, a cozy, tavern-like lobby. We sat across from each other at a wooden table. “This next dungeon is notoriously lethal. Word is, no one has ever cleared it. We need to recruit more members.” The players at the neighboring table whispered, their eyes drifting toward us. Specifically, they were looking at the man across from me. My current appearance was a mess: a simple white dress, eyes swollen like bruised plums, and hair looking like a bird’s nest. I looked exactly like the kind of dead weight that gets everyone killed. Sure enough, a burly player walked over. “Hey there. We’re all ranked in the top thirty. Want to party up with us?” Addison didn’t even look up. He kept his chin resting on his hand, a lazy smile playing on his lips as he looked at me. “Esme, what do you think?” “How do you know my name?” “Heard your husband yell it.” A female player nearby couldn’t help but chime in. “Wait, you two aren’t a couple?” “Nope,” Addison replied, his tone entirely casual. “Her husband just passed away, and I’m just looking after her.” “…” The tavern went dead silent. After a long, awkward pause, the woman managed a weak, “My condolences.” “So, what’s your name?” I asked, looking up. “You don’t even know his name?” the female player blurted out. “Is this really just ‘looking after’ her?” “Addison,” he said. “Addison?” The burly man frowned. “That sounds incredibly familiar. I feel like I’ve heard it somewhere…” Realizing Addison took his cues from me, they eagerly invited us to join. I couldn’t find a way to refuse, so I agreed. As soon as we joined, the female player, Julia, crept over to gossip. “Was your husband good-looking?” I pointed at Addison. “He was alright. Looked pretty much like him.” Julia: “…” “He must have treated you well, right?” I pointed at Addison again. “He was okay. A bit worse than him, though.” Julia: “…” “How did he die? You must be devastated.” I pointed at Addison a third time. “He was alright. This guy killed him.” Julia’s jaw practically hit the floor. Just then, the glowing chat log popped up again. [Is this side-character really using him as a rebound?] [Oh my god, the female lead already found the BOSS! He’s acting like a tame little puppy around her, it’s so cute!] [If the BOSS finds out the songbird he caged for seven years ran off with another man, he’s going to lose his mind, haha.] [Not necessarily. The BOSS wanted her dead anyway. She was just too good at playing innocent, and now her true colors are showing.] [When is this player going to start carving her up? I can’t wait to see her face when she realizes she’s been played!] [Soon, definitely soon. Look at the way he’s staring at her like a predator. I bet a pack of spicy strips he starts carving tonight!] As that last line vanished, Addison stepped between me and Julia. He caught my wrist, his grip firm but gentle. “You must be exhausted. Let me take you to a room to rest before the next dungeon starts.” He cast a brief glance over his shoulder at Julia. I couldn’t see his expression, but Julia took several trembling steps back, looking terrified. Oh god. Is he taking me to the chopping block? I remained silent as he led me down a dimly lit corridor, away from the bustling lobby. 04 To be honest, my memory of my first love was incredibly blurry. Perhaps spending so much time in the horror game had eroded my past. The earliest memory I possessed was of a man holding me tightly, weeping, promising he wouldn’t let anything happen to me. Seeing him cry had torn my heart apart. Even with only that fragment, I knew he was the most important person in my life. But when I next opened my eyes, I was staring at a throne made of blood and bones. A man draped in shadows sat upon it, eyes closed, resting. He looked seventy percent like the face in my memories, but his aura was entirely different. When his eyes snapped open, they were a deep, crimson red. Sensing I was awake, a long black tentacle slithered from his shadow, gently tilting my chin up. “You’re quite beautiful,” he murmured. “How would you like to be my thirteenth wife?” And so, I became his thirteenth wife. He claimed he couldn’t stand a marriage that wasn’t real, routinely ignoring the game’s boundaries just to tease and torment me. And now, a man who looked identical to my memory had appeared, bearing the exact same temperament. I couldn’t help but ask, “Addison… have we met before?” Addison pushed open the door to a bedroom. As I stepped inside, he turned, his arm brushing past my cheek to click the door shut. “Why do you ask?” The room was dark, but his eyes caught the faint light from the hallway, gleaming with a dangerous intensity. “Nothing. You just feel very familiar.” He leaned in, his breath smelling of cold cedar enveloping me. “Because I look like him?” “What?” Which “him” did he mean? Before I could process it, his hand slid down to my waist, slowly tracing upward. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver straight down my spine. “Did he touch you like this too?” As our breath mingled, he let out a low, husky laugh. His lips brushed against the shell of my ear before he pulled back. “Get some rest,” he murmured, leaving me flushed, breathless, and utterly confused as he slipped out the door. Well. He was a professional tease. I took a cold shower to calm down, then crawled under the covers and drifted into a heavy sleep. The bed felt strangely similar to the one back in my castle. In the middle of the night, I vaguely heard the door click open. A dark shadow swiftly moved toward me. He stood by the bedside, watching me for a long time, before leaning down to press a fierce, almost punishing kiss against my lips. “Mmh…” I whimpered, struggling against the intensity of it, but my eyelids felt like lead. A pair of dark, possessive eyes stared down at me through the gloom. Surprisingly, the familiar gaze put me at ease. I reached up, wrapping my arms around his neck and hooking my legs around his waist. “Stop playing… go to sleep.” “Esme, who exactly are you calling?” His hand slid beneath my nightgown, his fingers digging into my waist with bruising force. Exhausted, I patted his wrist weakly. “My husband just died. Not yet…” “…” I could hear the sound of his teeth grinding. “You little witch. So you do remember your husband just died.” “You swore you’d never betray me. Yet the moment I close my eyes, you throw yourself into the arms of a lover? Hmm?” He seemed genuinely furious. Pulling my gown up, his lips trailed fire from my waist upward. “Where did he touch you? Here? Or here?” He bit down hard enough to sting. I kicked out in irritation. “Leave me alone!” But my foot hit nothing but empty air. I snapped awake. The room was pitch black, and I was entirely alone. I shrank back against the headboard, my hand trembling as I touched my waist. The faint, red marks left on my skin were painfully real. Oh my god. My dead husband had come back from the grave to claim my soul.

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1 When I was rushed to the ER with a severe allergic reaction, my husband of five years was nowhere to be found to sign the consent forms. I called him twenty-eight times. He ignored every single one, sending back a generic text instead: Don’t worry, I’m almost there. On the twenty-ninth attempt, he finally picked up. His voice was thick with irritation. “Emma, what is your problem? Why do you have to be so dramatic?” “Every other day it’s either a headache or some stupid allergy. Do you honestly think you’re made of glass?” “Instead of blowing up my phone, why don’t you learn from Sienna? She literally broke her leg and the first thing she did was tell me not to worry.” I stared at the glowing screen, my vision blurring as blood began to seep backward into the IV line on the back of my hand. Before I could speak, another text popped up, accompanied by a heart emoji. Sorry, I’m out at dinner with the guys. You calling like crazy makes me look bad. Don’t take my tone to heart, just remember not to call next time. I forced a weak, bitter smile. There wouldn’t be a next time. If twenty-nine phone calls couldn’t bring him to my side when I was suffocating, what was the point of holding on? … I spent three agonizing hours in the resuscitation room. It was only when the epinephrine surged through my veins that the terrifying, clawing sensation in my throat slowly began to ease. As the nurse gently pulled the needle from my hand, she glanced at my phone screen, which was still lit up with a wall of unanswered calls. Her voice was quiet, laced with pity. “Is your emergency contact still not here?” I shook my head. There was no need for him to come anymore. When I actually needed his signature to save my life, he was too busy worrying about his pride at a dinner table. Later, the doctor handed me the critical care notice and the treatment logs, asking me to sign them myself. With a trembling hand, I wrote my name, Emma King, stroke by stroke. When I finished, the doctor warned me that I had to carry an EpiPen at all times and avoid any form of stress or physical triggers. I nodded, my throat too raw and swollen to produce a sound. Yet, as I walked out, I didn’t feel fear. I felt a strange, cold relief. At least from this day forward, I would never look to Hank Cole to save me again. Twenty-nine calls were more than enough to wash away five years of delusion. The sky was turning a pale, bruising gray when I stepped out of the hospital. Sitting in the back of the cab, my mind drifted back to our first year of marriage. I had caught a simple cold back then, and Hank had stayed by my bedside all night, clumsily trying to read an old glass thermometer. I honestly believed we would be like that forever. But then his childhood sweetheart, Sienna, returned from abroad. From that moment on, my illnesses became “attention-seeking stunts,” and my cries for help became “nuisances.” When I let myself into the house, the living room lights were blazing. Hank was sitting on the sofa, the sharp smell of whiskey clinging to his clothes. His phone screen was active, displaying an article titled Post-Fracture Care and Rehabilitation. Hearing the door, he looked up. His first words weren’t a question about how I was. “So you finally decided to come home?” I froze, my hand still resting on the shoe rack. He knitted his brows, looking as though he had been nursing a grudge all night. “Emma, I had to take your calls in front of all my business partners last night. Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was for me?” I set the hospital bag on the coffee table. “I almost suffocated, Hank.” He cast a fleeting glance at the medical files but didn’t bother to pick them up. “Hospitals always exaggerate minor things just to scare patients into paying more. You should know how they operate.” It felt as though a heavy blunt object had slammed directly into my chest. I stared at him, my voice barely a whisper. “So, to you, twenty-nine phone calls were just me putting on a show?” Hank went quiet for a second. When he spoke again, his voice was slightly softer, but the underlying impatience remained. “I’m not saying you’re acting, Emma. I’m asking you to grow up.” “Sienna broke her leg and her first instinct was to make sure I didn’t worry. You had a simple allergic reaction, and you had to keep calling me over and over to force me to run to you.” A simple allergic reaction. Hearing those words, the physical pain in my throat suddenly vanished, replaced by a profound, deadening numbness. I picked up the medical report and held it directly in front of his face. “The doctor said if I had arrived ten minutes later, I would have died.” For a fleeting second, Hank’s eyes flickered with something resembling shock. I thought, perhaps, he might finally ask if I was okay. But then his phone rang. He looked down at the screen, and his expression instantly transformed. He answered it, his voice softening into a gentle, protective register I hadn’t heard in years. “Sienna? What’s wrong? Is the leg hurting again?” He listened to the muffled voice on the other end, his posture tense with worry. Within seconds, he was on his feet, grabbing his coat. “Don’t cry. I’m coming right now.” As he brushed past me, he paused for a brief moment. “Stop making a scene. Remember to take your medicine.” He was in such a rush that his coat snagged the edge of the coffee table. The hospital bag fell, sending my prescription slips, invoices, and emergency medication scattering across the hardwood floor. He glanced back at the mess, his tone indifferent. “Clean that up. Don’t let Sienna see it when she comes over tomorrow. She’s incredibly sensitive, and she’ll blame herself to death if she thinks she caused a rift between us.” The heavy front door clicked shut. I knelt on the floor, picking up the papers one by one. Nestled among the medical bills was a separate, pristine document. It was a divorce agreement. My brother, Justin, had instructed the family lawyers to draft it the day I got married, just in case. Hank had laughed when he saw it back then, swearing we would never need it. Emma, the only way we part is in a pine box, he had said. I used to think the document was an unnecessary precaution. Now, I realized it was a lifeline. Hank didn’t return that night. The following afternoon, his personal driver delivered a designer shopping bag to the house. I assumed it was some sort of peace offering, but when I opened it, I found Sienna’s soiled trench coat and a pair of mud-caked designer heels. The driver looked incredibly uncomfortable, shifting from foot to foot. “Mr. Cole said that since Miss Sienna’s leg makes it hard for her to move, he wanted Mrs. Cole to help clean these.” I stared at the mud on the expensive leather, a sudden laugh escaping my dry throat. I had just escaped the ICU, and his only concern was ensuring his childhood friend’s shoes were spotless. He couldn’t spare a single text to ask if I was still breathing, but he could arrange a courier for dirty laundry. I set the bag by the front door and left it there. By evening, Hank returned, pushing Sienna in a wheelchair. She had a soft wool blanket draped over her lap, her face pale, her eyes rimmed with red. “Emma, I am so incredibly sorry,” she murmured, her voice trembling. “I just wanted to come by and check on you.” Her eyes drifted to the boxes of emergency medicine resting on the coffee table, and she flinched, shrinking back into the wheelchair as if terrified. “Those medicines… are they because of me? If I hadn’t fallen last night, Hank would have been at the hospital with you.” Hank’s face instantly darkened as he glared at me. “Emma, why did you leave those boxes out? Who are you trying to guilt-trip?” I stared at him, incredulous. “The doctor told me to keep my rescue meds within arm’s reach. Leaving them on my own table in my own home is a crime now?” Sienna’s eyes welled with tears. “Please don’t fight because of me. It’s just… seeing those medical boxes makes me panic. My mother passed away in an ICU bed, and whenever I see hospital supplies, I feel like I can’t breathe.” Without letting me explain, Hank stepped forward and swept every single box off the table, throwing them into a sideboard drawer and locking it. “Since they trigger her, keep them out of sight.” I rushed forward to stop him. “Those are my emergency meds!” He held the drawer shut, his voice freezing over. “What difference does it make where they’re kept? Do you really have to flaunt them in front of her just to cause panic?” In that exact moment, I realized the utter futility of trying to reason with him. His scale of justice was permanently broken, and the balance would never tip in my favor. That night, Sienna complained of phantom pains in her leg. Hank carried her into the guest room upstairs. That room had belonged to my late mother. After she passed, I had preserved every piece of furniture, every frame, and every book exactly as she left them. Now, Sienna was buried beneath my mother’s favorite cashmere throw, whimpering about the draft. Hank walked to the wardrobe, pulled out my mother’s hand-woven silk shawl, and draped it over Sienna’s shoulders. I stood in the doorway, my fingers turning ice-cold. “That belongs to my mother.” Hank didn’t even look back. “It’s just a piece of fabric, Emma. Sienna is sick. Don’t be so incredibly petty.” In the dead of night, I woke up with a terrifying itch in the back of my throat. At first, it was just a slight tightness, but within seconds, it mutated into a suffocating pressure. I reached blindly for the nightstand, only to remember that my rescue medication was locked in the study drawer downstairs. I dialed Hank’s number. It rang for an eternity before he finally answered, his voice hushed and harsh. “What is it now?” I clutched my throat, my breathing shallow and wheezing. “The medicine… give me… the key.” There was a brief pause on the line, followed by an exasperated sigh. “Sienna just fell asleep. Stop trying to get attention, Emma. I’ll give it to you in the morning.” He hung up. I dragged myself down the hall and pounded on the study door, but the lock was firmly engaged. With no other choice, I threw a coat over my pajamas and stumbled out into the freezing night. It was two in the morning, and a torrential downpour was turning the streets into slick black mirrors. By the time I reached the nearest 24-hour pharmacy, my slippers were soaked through, and my hands were shaking so violently I could barely present my ID. The pharmacist took one look at my blue-tinged lips, rushed to pour me a cup of water, and helped me administer the rescue dose. I sat on a metal chair near the entrance for a long time, waiting for my lungs to expand again. My phone buzzed. It was a notification. Sienna had just posted on her social media feed. It was a photo of Hank sitting on the edge of her bed, holding a steaming mug of tea. The caption read: Nothing beats the feeling of knowing someone is watching over you in the dark. I turned the screen off. The rain outside mingled with the hot tears slipping down my face. I wasn’t crying because I loved him. I was crying because I had finally accepted the brutal truth: I had spent five years of my life loving a ghost. The next morning, I woke up with a roaring fever. The doctor insisted I return for a follow-up scan to check the swelling in my airway. As I approached the clinic entrance, I spotted Hank’s sleek black sedan parked directly outside the orthopedic wing. He was leaning down, adjusting the blanket over Sienna’s lap with an tenderness so agonizingly gentle it looked as though he were handling a piece of priceless porcelain. Sienna looked up, her smile faltering as she spotted me. “Emma? Are you here for the hospital too?” I didn’t answer. Hank straightened up, his brow furrowing instantly. “Are you tracking my car now, Emma?” The sheer absurdity of it made me want to laugh. “I have a follow-up appointment.” He glanced at the hospital slip in my hand, his tone remaining dismissive. “A follow-up for a simple allergy requires you to shadow us to the orthopedic wing?” Sienna quickly tugged at his sleeve. “Hank, don’t be like that. I’m sure Emma was just worried about my leg.” The coldness in Hank’s eyes softened as he looked at her, then hardened again when he turned back to me. “It’s fine. Since you’re here, you’re coming to the company gala tonight.” “You terrified Sienna last night with your tantrum. The least you can do is apologize and make things right.” My throat was still incredibly raspy. “Why on earth would I apologize to her?” Hank’s face hardened. “Emma, do not humiliate me in public tonight.” I went to the gala. But I didn’t go to apologize. I went to deliver the paperwork. As soon as I stepped into the VIP banquet room, the sound of laughter drifted over the clinking of champagne glasses. “Hey, Hank, is it true your missus called you twenty-nine times the other night? Talk about a leash.” Another voice chimed in. “No wonder you blocked her. I’d lose my mind if my lady was that suffocating.” Hank sat at the head of the table, Sienna right beside him. He made no effort to correct them, merely swirling his whiskey. “She’s always been like that,” he said smoothly. “Ever since she started chasing me in college, she’s loved making a mountain out of a molehill just to get attention.” A ripple of amused chuckles went around the table. Standing in the doorway, I felt the last drop of warmth drain from my body. My desperate cry for survival had been reduced to a cheap joke to entertain his business associates. Someone noticed me standing there, and the laughter died instantly. Hank looked up, seemingly surprised that I had actually shown up. “You’re here. Sit down.” I walked over, bypassed the empty chair, and laid the divorce agreement directly over his plate. “Sign it.” Hank’s eyes fell on the bold letters at the top of the page, and his face instantly turned an ugly, livid red. “Are you seriously throwing a tantrum here?” “You’re the one who demanded I show up.” He let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Emma, have you completely forgotten who you are? Who was the one who waited outside my office until three in the morning just to see me? Who was the one crying every birthday, begging me to remember?” “Who was the one who swore she’d endure anything just to marry me?” Every word felt like a physical blow to my face. The absolute devotion I had given him was being stripped bare and displayed to the room as a pathetic, desperate joke. Sienna lowered her head, her eyes sparkling with tears. “Hank, please stop. It’s all my fault. Emma is only doing this because she loves you too much.” Hank reached over, squeezing her hand tightly. “You have nothing to apologize for, Sienna. This isn’t your fault.” He slid a glass of amber liquid across the table, stopping it inches from my hand. “If you want me to sign those papers, fine. Drink this glass of whiskey and apologize to Sienna for your behavior last night.” I didn’t move. He leaned back in his chair, his voice dripping with arrogance. “Because of your twenty-nine calls, she spent the entire night crying, thinking she had somehow disrupted your recovery. You owe her an apology.” A dry laugh escaped my lips. “I was in the ICU fighting for my life while she was crying in your arms, and I owe her an apology?” Hank’s patience snapped. He grabbed the divorce papers and ripped them clean in half, throwing the pieces at my feet. “I’ll tell you this once, Emma. As long as I don’t agree, you are never getting out of this marriage.” Sienna gently touched his arm, a tear slipping down her cheek. “Let it go, Hank. Emma has hated me for a long time anyway.” Hank stood up, snatched the glass of whiskey, and forced it into my hand. “If you don’t apologize, I’m liquidating your mother’s art studio tomorrow. The lease is under my company’s holding group, and I will have it demolished.” My mother’s studio was my absolute breaking point. It held her unfinished canvases, her paints, and the letters she wrote to me during her final days in hospice. Her last words to me had been: Emma, whenever the world gets too heavy, go to the studio. I’ll be waiting for you there. My grip on the glass tightened until my knuckles turned white. “If I drink this, you won’t touch the studio?” Hank’s face was a mask of cold authority. “Drink it, apologize, and the studio stays.” Sienna shook her head, her voice trembling. “Hank, don’t. Emma’s health is delicate. If something happens, she’ll just blame me again…” “If she actually cared about her health, she wouldn’t use it as a weapon to control me,” Hank snapped. Someone at the table whispered, “It’s just a single drink. She’s really dragging out the drama.” The doctors had been very clear: no alcohol, no stress. But I couldn’t let them touch my mother’s legacy. I closed my eyes and drank. The burning liquid scorched my raw throat like liquid fire. I immediately collapsed forward, coughing violently as my airway began to spasm and close. I reached frantically into my purse for my EpiPen, but before I could pull it out, Sienna shrieked, throwing herself backward. “Emma, please don’t hit me!” Without hesitation, Hank lunged forward to shield her, grabbing my wrist with a crushing grip and wrenching my hand away from my bag. The purse flew from my grip, and the plastic medicine container spilled onto the carpet. “The medicine…” I wheezed, my throat closing rapidly. “Get… the medicine…” Hank looked down at the white pills scattered on the floor, his eyes filled with nothing but disgust. “Enough, Emma. Cut the act.” He raised his foot and kicked the container away. The remaining pills rolled into the dark corners of the room. I fell to my knees, clawing at the carpet, my vision beginning to tunnel into blackness. Sienna sobbed loudly behind him. “Hank, I’m so scared. Is she really doing this to punish us?” Hank turned to the security guards standing near the door. “Take her outside. Let her sober up in the rain.” As the heavy hands of the security team hauled me out of the room, I couldn’t even draw enough air to scream. One of the guests murmured, “Hey, she looks really gray. Are we sure she’s okay?” But Hank didn’t look back. “She’s an actress. She’ll stop when the audience leaves.” It was a hotel waiter who secretly called the ambulance. When I woke up, I was back in the emergency ward. The doctor was standing over me, his expression grave. “Your airway closed completely. If you had arrived five minutes later, we would be preparing you for the morgue. Where is your family?” I stared at the clear fluids dripping into my vein, my heart hollowed out. “I don’t have any family.” The next morning, I pulled the IV out myself and took a cab straight to my mother’s art studio. But when I reached the door, the lock had already been replaced. The building manager avoided my gaze, looking guilty. “Mr. Cole gave strict orders. The space is being cleared out to serve as Miss Sienna’s private rehabilitation art therapy room.” A loud ringing filled my ears. Through the cracked door, I heard Sienna’s light, airy laughter. “Let’s just throw all these old paintings away. The colors are so depressing, they’re bad for my recovery anyway.” I shoved the door open. The floor was littered with muddy footprints and torn canvases. My mother’s masterpiece, Spring Mountain, had been sliced in half with a utility knife. I threw myself toward the ruined canvas, but Hank stepped in front of me, blocking my path. “Emma, what are you doing here?” I looked up at him, tears finally spilling over. “You promised you wouldn’t touch this place.” He frowned, looking slightly uncomfortable. “It’s just a temporary adjustment. Art therapy is crucial for Sienna’s recovery right now.” Sienna peeked out from behind him, her voice dripping with mock innocence. “Emma, I am so sorry. I had no idea these old things meant so much to you.” She said she was sorry, but her foot was planted firmly on one of my mother’s handwritten letters. In that moment, a strange, absolute calm washed over me. I reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone, and dialed my brother’s international number. “Justin,” I said, my voice steady and cold. “Is the renewal for Cole Group’s overseas medical distribution license scheduled for today?” Justin’s voice came through the speaker, deep and sharp. “Yes. The family trust fund we invested in his company is also up for review. One word from you, and his entire empire collapses by tomorrow morning.” Hank sneered, assuming I was playing another game. “Are you seriously running to your brother again, Emma? Don’t you get tired of this?” I looked at the sliced canvas of Spring Mountain, then at the dirt on my mother’s letter. “Don’t renew the license,” I told my brother. “Withdraw the entire trust fund. Shut down every single distribution channel we own.” “And Justin? Call the best litigation firm in the country. I want Hank Cole on his knees when he signs the papers.”

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When a psychopath broke into our daughter’s kindergarten, my husband offered up our little girl to exchange for a hostage, leading to her brutal death. At a later dinner party, his best friend and his wife were doting on each other, their plump, healthy son full of life. Seeing how skeletal and hollowed-out I had become, the wife leaned in and whispered, “Thank God it wasn’t my precious boy who died.” I flipped the dining table in a rage. A shard of broken porcelain cut her, but the person who panicked and rushed to her side first was my own husband. In court, the killer escaped the death penalty. Outside the courthouse, my husband wept on his knees, begging for my forgiveness. Yet the moment he turned his back, he was whispering sweet nothings to his best friend’s wife in the corner of the stairwell. I launched a secret investigation. I discovered she was his college sweetheart, the white moon he could never forget. Even worse, I found records of her secret communication with the killer. From that day on, I pretended to be completely broken and depressed. But beneath my hollow exterior, every time she looked down on me with smug pity, I was silently counting down the remaining days of her life. 1 Hearing the sound of the front door opening, I forced a small smile onto my face and walked over to greet him. I knelt down to help my husband slide into his slippers, then took his briefcase. “William, we haven’t had dinner together in so long. I made your favorites.” My voice was still raspy from the endless crying. He stared down at me, a flicker of disbelief passing through his eyes. My submissive behavior was a complete departure from how I had been acting lately. But he quickly masked it with a gentle smile. “That sounds wonderful.” He had to keep playing the role of the grieving, supportive husband, after all. If this were the old me, if the stench of expensive, unfamiliar perfume wasn’t clinging so heavily to his suit, I might have actually believed him. But now, I knew he was worse than a beast. Even a wild animal protects its offspring, yet he, under the guise of being the school board director, had sacrificed our child for his own interests. He had physically pushed our trembling, five-year-old daughter into the hands of a madman, turning a deaf ear as Lily screamed “Daddy” with everything she had. The first time I saw the security footage, I fainted from the sheer grief. His excuse was always the same: “The situation was too critical. I was only trying to buy us time to de-escalate him.” He hadn’t even waited for the negotiator to arrive. By the time I reached the school, all that was left of my daughter was a tiny, blood-soaked body. Only later did I discover the real reason he was so eager to exchange the hostage. The other little boy trapped inside, the one he saved, was his biological son. A son he had fathered with his best friend’s wife. I forced the memories back down. Even though my hatred for him burned like acid, I had to play my part. I scooped some food onto his plate and told him I wanted to go for a walk after dinner. He quietly pushed the food I served to the side of his plate, barely touching it. He was probably terrified I would poison him. Deep down, his conscience was eating him alive. Every night, he would wake up drenched in sweat, gasping out Lily’s name. I used to think it was grief. Now I knew it was sheer, unadulterated terror. The evening breeze outside was cool and refreshing. I hadn’t felt the open air in months. Nearby, several children were running around, laughing and playing. Lily used to be one of them. A sharp pang of sorrow pierced my chest. One of the neighbor’s children spotted me and ran over, her eyes bright. “Auntie Lisa, why didn’t Lily come down to play today?” Her mother rushed over, instantly covering the girl’s mouth. “I’m so sorry, Lisa. She’s young, she doesn’t know any better.” No matter how broken my heart was, I would never take my anger out on a child. I whispered that it was alright. But my husband’s face had already hardened into a mask of irritation. “Let’s go back.” Does the mere mention of our daughter disgust you that much, William? As we turned back toward our building, a little girl with straight bangs and two neat braids ran past us, giggling as she shouted, “Daddy! Daddy!” Her hair was styled exactly like Lily’s. I remembered Lily had a red dress just like the one she was wearing. William gasped, taking several hurried steps backward in sheer panic. He tripped over the edge of the flower bed, tumbling backward into the dirt. His face was pale, beads of cold sweat breaking out across his forehead. I felt a cold wave of amusement wash over me. Suppressing my disgust, I reached down to help him up. “I’m fine,” he choked out, completely losing his composure. That night, I initiated intimacy, suggesting we try for another baby. Perhaps rattled by his panic in the courtyard, or perhaps fueled by my sudden warmth, he was exceptionally passionate. It was repulsive. Afterward, I stood under the shower, scrubbing my skin until it was red and raw, trying to wash away his touch. I stood over the toilet, retching violently until my stomach was empty. Then, with trembling fingers, I swallowed a morning-after pill. I looked at my bloodshot eyes in the mirror. William, Scarlett, the game has just begun. I will make you both pay for Lily’s life in blood. 2 “Lisa, honey!” I was in the grocery store aisle when a dripping, sweet voice called out from behind me, drawing the gazes of several nearby men. I didn’t even need to turn around to know who it was. It was the woman who had orchestrated my daughter’s death, my husband’s college sweetheart and his best friend’s wife: Scarlett. I quickly reached up, messing up my hair to make myself look even more disheveled and hollowed-out, before turning around. Scarlett was holding her son Toby’s hand, her high heels clicking loudly against the linoleum as she glided toward me. She had striking, cat-like eyes, the kind of bold, classical beauty that commanded attention. She wasn’t just a quiet muse, she was a thorny red rose. “It really is you,” she purred, looking me up and down. “I’m surprised you’re actually out of the house.” She raised a manicured hand to cover her nose, her disdain entirely undisguised. I didn’t say a word, simply turning my shopping cart to leave. Miffed by my silence and unable to tolerate being ignored, her expression hardened. “Lisa! You know as well as I do that what happened had nothing to do with Richard or me. There’s no reason to treat me like an enemy. You flipped the table at the dinner party last time, and I still haven’t even…” “Then whose fault was it?” I interrupted, my voice flat. “The killer, obviously!” she scoffed. “But he took his own life in prison, so who else is there to blame? Do you really have to keep making things so awkward for William and his best friend?” So, according to her, it was my fault. My fault for seeing the secret messages she sent to the killer, instructing him on how to play insane so he could dodge the death penalty. She smiled, clearly believing she had won this little exchange. “Lisa, instead of throwing tantrums, you should keep a closer eye on William. Keep acting like this, and you might find yourself with no husband at all.” I sneered internally, but on the outside, my eyes welled with tears. I let them spill over, looking at her with a look of frantic desperation. “What do you mean?” She leaned in close, whispering in my ear. “I saw William with another woman the other day. She was acting very familiar, even wiping his mouth for him.” “No… that can’t be,” I whimpered, letting my voice rise to a hysterical pitch. “You’re lying!” She looked at me with pure amusement, utterly satisfied by my unraveling. Ignoring my questions, she turned on her heel, pulling Toby along as she walked away with her head held high. I rushed after her, grabbing her sleeve. She violently shook me off. “Scarlett, please!” I begged, clutching at her coat. “Tell me what to do. Richard loves you so much. Please, teach me how to keep my husband.” I had to hold back the urge to vomit. I couldn’t believe such pathetic words were coming out of my mouth. “Well,” she said, a cruel, mocking smile playing on her lips, “you have to play on a man’s pity, honey. Cry and make a scene whenever he’s around. If you act fragile and broken, he’ll feel too guilty to leave you.” She was deliberately advising me to do the exact things that would push William further away, all while pretending to be on my side. “Really?” I whispered, staring at her wide-eyed. “Of course,” she smirked, patting my cheek. The moment she turned the corner, I pulled out a tissue and wiped the tears from my face. It was exhausting having to cry on cue. I hoped she would savor her little victory. It would be the last one she ever had. 3 “William, Lily’s life insurance payout finally cleared.” I quietly pushed open the door to William’s study, placing a warm cup of milk on his desk. A brief flash of excitement crossed his face before he quickly forced his features into a somber frown. “What good is money? No amount of cash can bring our sweet girl back.” “Don’t say that, honey,” I said, my voice dripping with devotion. “I know how stressed you’ve been with the business. This money can help you. Think of it as Lily’s way of looking out for her father.” “Lisa, you are too good to me,” he said, taking my hand and looking into my eyes with what looked like profound affection. “As long as you don’t leave me, I’ll do whatever it takes,” I whispered, kneeling beside his chair and pressing his hand against my cheek, playing the submissive, broken wife perfectly. Back in Lily’s room, I shut the door, slipped on my headphones, and turned on the receiver. The wiretap I had hidden in his study was working beautifully. His phone call went through almost immediately. “The payout is substantial,” William’s voice came through the static. “See? Even in death, your daughter is finally useful,” Scarlett’s cold, mocking laugh echoed in my ears. A red-hot wave of fury surged through me, and I squeezed my fists until my nails drew blood. I wanted to tear her limb from limb. “She wasn’t my daughter,” William replied smoothly. “My only child is our boy, Toby.” “Then you better make sure every cent of that money is spent on Toby and me. Richard’s debts are piling up, and I can’t live like this much longer.” A woman like Scarlett knew exactly how to wield her charm like a weapon. “Be patient, darling,” William cooed. “Once the money is secured in the new investment account, I’ll file for divorce. We’ll take Toby and move abroad.” He paused, chuckling softly. “Lisa was just in here, crying on her knees. She said she’d do anything as long as I don’t leave her.” “Pathetic woman,” Scarlett sneered. I pulled off the headphones, took a deep breath to steady my racing heart, and dialed a number. “Uncle Thomas,” I said when the call connected. Thomas was a private investigator and a close friend of my father. He had been helping me gather evidence ever since he found the recordings of Scarlett colluding with the killer. “Lisa, how is your father doing?” Thomas asked gently. “His hair has gone completely white over the past year,” I whispered, my throat tightening. “I haven’t had the courage to face him.” “Don’t carry this burden alone, child,” Thomas said softly. “Your father loves you. Let’s finish this, and then you can go home.” A few days later, William casual brought up a topic at the dinner table. “Richard mentioned a new high-yield investment project. The returns are incredible. I was thinking we could use Lily’s insurance money…” “Is it safe, William?” I asked, putting on a show of deep anxiety. “I’m just so worried about losing everything.” He slammed his chopsticks onto the table, making me flinch. “Are you questioning my judgment?” “No! No, honey, I’m sorry,” I stammered quickly, shrinking back. “I just meant… maybe we should ask my father for advice first? He has so much experience with these things.” My father had been William’s mentor, teaching him everything he knew about investment. But after Lily died, William’s ego got the better of him. He thought he was a financial genius, rejecting my father’s advice and losing a fortune in his own bad deals. He sneered, pulling out his phone and dialing my father’s number. “Father, it’s William. I wanted to ask your opinion on a project…” Before he could finish, my father hung up on him. William’s face turned purple, his embarrassment morphing into rage when he realized I was watching him. “Look at your father’s attitude! Get back to your room!” He immediately retreated to his study to call Scarlett. Through the wiretap, I listened as Scarlett urged him to use me to get to my father. Over the past year, without my father’s backing, William’s business had dried up completely. “I don’t know, Scarlett,” William murmured. “Lisa has been acting strange lately.” My heart skipped a beat. Had he figured it out? “She’s much more submissive than before,” William continued. “Now that our daughter is gone, she realizes I’m the only thing she has left.” I let out a silent breath. His arrogance was truly his own worst enemy. “Why? Are you starting to fall for her?” Scarlett’s voice was sharp with jealousy. She couldn’t tolerate him showing even a fraction of affection to anyone else. “You know you’re the only woman I’ve ever loved,” William reassured her. “What about your daughter? You seemed to care about her…” “That’s in the past, Scarlett. Don’t bring her up again.” His voice was instantly clipped and annoyed. I felt a cold shiver run down my spine. The killer had once asked Scarlett why she wanted a child dead. Her response had been simple: “Because she was stealing my son’s father.” She had helped murder my daughter out of petty, psychotic jealousy. The weight of the truth hit me so hard my knees buckled, and I sank to the floor of Lily’s room. I clutched her framed photograph to my chest, my body shaking with a silent, agonizing sob. I bit my lip until the taste of copper filled my mouth, forcing myself to make no sound. The next day, William paced around the living room, looking hesitant. I approached him with a warm smile. “William, I called my father. He said you can send over the project proposal. He’ll look it over for you.” “Really?” His face lit up with greedy excitement. He rushed into his study, and a moment later, I heard him on the phone. “Father! Yes, thank you so much!” When he came out, he wrapped his arms around me. “Your father said the project is solid. He’s even planning to invest two million of his own money!” “That’s wonderful, honey,” I murmured, resting my head against his shoulder. My eyes were as cold as ice. William, Scarlett, enjoy the trap. It was designed specifically for you. A month later, my father called William to report that the initial returns were incredibly high. William immediately transferred all his remaining capital, including Lily’s insurance money, into the account. He even convinced Scarlett’s family to pool their savings and join in. William was ecstatic, constantly planning his future life abroad with Scarlett over the phone. Two months in, the returns peaked, and William was practically walking on air. By the third month, the project manager vanished into thin air. The website went dark, and the office was found abandoned. I watched William frantically dial the dead number over and over, his face pale with dread. I picked up my phone and sent a quiet message to Thomas: “The fish is caught. Pull the net.”

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1 Christopher Reed was an internationally renowned, award-winning photographer. But in his entire career, he had never once shot a human portrait. I had begged him countless times, practically wearing myself out trying to convince him to do a photoshoot for me, but he politely declined every single time. He was always so gentle, yet so distant. “You know I never shoot portraits. It’s just not what I’m good at.” Until the day I accidentally pushed open a hidden door in the back of his latest gallery exhibition. When I flicked on the light switch, my fingers began to tremble uncontrollably. The hidden room was plastered with hundreds of portrait photographs. And from the very first frame to the last, the subject was the exact same girl. I walked along the wall, looking at them one by one. In some, her eyes were crinkled in a bright, beautiful smile. In others, her gaze was lowered in quiet contemplation. The lighting, the composition, the use of shadow—every single element was breathtakingly tender. It was impossible to hide the absolute devotion and sheer favoritism of the man behind the lens. At the bottom of one of the photographs, a single line of handwritten text made my eyes burn with tears. I told you, in this lifetime, my lens will only ever focus on you. Stella. It turned out he wasn’t bad at shooting portraits. It was just that the exclusive muse of his lens was never meant to be me. … I stumbled out of the hidden room, my face as pale as a ghost. “Chloe, where did you run off to? You know how chaotic opening day is for the exhibition.” Christopher had walked up to me out of nowhere. He didn’t even notice my bloodless face; he just looked annoyed as he shoved a stack of documents into my hands. “You’re going to have to handle the wrap-up and post-exhibition press. I just got a sudden burst of inspiration, and I need to fly to Aspen immediately to shoot a snow series.” My entire body went rigid. My mind instantly flashed to a social media post I had just seen when I searched Stella’s name five minutes ago. Next stop, Aspen! Wait for the gorgeous snow shots, guys! Stella was a travel influencer. She spent the entire year jet-setting across the globe. I had scrolled through the travel photos on her feed. Every single one of them had the exact same photographic signature. It was Christopher. Which meant, for the ten years Stella had been a travel influencer, Christopher had been traveling right alongside her. And for the six years I had been married to him, I was completely kept in the dark. Every time he packed his bags, I thought he was going on an intense, grueling work trip. I had no idea he was just flying out to be Stella’s personal photographer. My throat felt like it was stuffed with cotton. It hurt to swallow. I forced the words out. “But the exhibition just opened. You’re the featured artist, you can’t just leave. Can’t the photos wait until next…” “Aren’t you usually great at handling these things?” he cut me off, clearly losing patience. “Besides, an artist’s inspiration is the most important thing. I have the vision now, so I have to shoot now. If the inspiration fades, what’s the point?” “I already booked the flight. You handle things here.” Without giving a single damn about what I thought or felt, he turned on his heel and strode toward the exit, rushing to meet another woman. Watching his anxious, hurried back disappear into the crowd, a sudden wave of dizziness hit me. For years, I had managed the house, managed his finances, and handled every tedious, exhausting detail of his gallery shows. I wasn’t his wife. I was his live-in assistant. His maid. Just then, his junior assistant came jogging up to me, looking panicked. “Mrs. Reed! I just saw Mr. Reed leave… but he has a very important networking dinner tonight with Mr. Sterling. Mr. Sterling just bought four massive prints today. He’s a VIP client.” “Are you… going to cover for Mr. Reed again tonight?” The assistant looked incredibly stressed. “If Mr. Reed blows him off completely, Mr. Sterling is going to be furious…” Christopher had always despised networking. He felt rubbing elbows with corporate executives ruined his “artistic aura.” So, for the last few years, I was the one who handled all the schmoozing. I used to be a complete lightweight, but after years of corporate dinners, I had developed a liver of steel. I looked at my reflection in a nearby glass pane. I looked exhausted. My eyes were dull, completely worn down by the stress of corporate pleasantries and business deals. And then I thought of Christopher. Thirty years old, but still looking like a pristine, untouched bohemian artist who had never worried about a single practical thing in his life. I suddenly felt like a stranger in my own body. I used to hate networking too. When did I slowly morph into someone I didn’t even recognize? Seeing that I wasn’t speaking, the assistant nervously tried again. “Mrs. Reed… maybe you should call Mr. Reed and talk to him?” I snapped out of it and looked at the assistant. “Call Mr. Sterling. Tell him Christopher had a sudden burst of inspiration, flew to Aspen, and won’t be able to make the dinner.” If Christopher didn’t care about his own career, if he was willing to throw away his VIP clients to go play in the snow with Stella, why the hell should I keep wiping his ass for him? But in the end, I still went. I had been the one to personally invite Mr. Sterling to the gallery. It was my responsibility to see it through. When Mr. Sterling walked into the private dining room and saw I was alone, his face darkened, and his tone turned sharp and mocking. “Mrs. Reed. Let me guess. Is Christopher physically sick today, or is he mentally sick today?” “Or is he just too much of a visionary to stoop to having dinner with a lowly businessman like me?” In the past, whenever Mr. Sterling insulted Christopher like this, I would instantly jump to defend my husband, even if it meant offending the client. This time, I just smiled. I poured myself three shots of whiskey, downed them back-to-back, and then gave Mr. Sterling a deep, formal bow. “Christopher said he had a burst of inspiration and flew to Aspen. That is why he cannot be here tonight.” “But I am not here tonight as Christopher’s representative. I am here as Chloe, to personally thank you for supporting my work in organizing the exhibition.” Mr. Sterling looked genuinely surprised. He clearly hadn’t expected me to stop making excuses for Christopher. “You’re a hell of a lot more professional than he is,” Mr. Sterling grunted. “But three shots aren’t going to put out this fire.” I gave him a bright, practiced smile. “I understand perfectly.” I proceeded to kill an entire bottle of top-shelf whiskey on my own. Mr. Sterling finally nodded in approval. “Alright. You’ve earned my respect, Chloe. We don’t need to mention your husband again tonight.” After Mr. Sterling left, my body finally gave out. I collapsed right there in the private room. When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. A perforated ulcer. “You need emergency surgery right now. Get a family member here to sign the consent forms,” the doctor said, holding a clipboard. I took the clipboard from his hand and signed my own name. “My husband is dead.” The doctor blinked in shock, but wisely chose not to say another word. After the surgery, I packed up all my work files, along with one specific manila envelope, and handed them over to Christopher’s assistant. “From now on, anything regarding the gallery exhibitions has absolutely nothing to do with me. If there’s an issue, call Christopher.” “And make sure he signs the papers inside that envelope.” While I was recovering in my hospital bed, I opened Stella’s social media. She had just uploaded a new album. She was wearing a stunning red dress, standing against a backdrop of snow-capped mountains. The caption read: I told him I wanted to shoot a snow series, and he dropped everything at work to fly out with me. After all these years, he hasn’t changed a bit. The comment section was a flood of envy. “Omg, is the photographer your husband? He’s so talented!” “These are breathtaking! I want a shoot like this! Can I rent your photographer? I’ll pay top dollar!” Stella actually replied to that last comment. He promised me that in this lifetime, I would be his only human subject. So, sorry, no can do! [wink emoji] The replies under that were just endless screaming about how romantic it was. I closed the comment section and started packing my things in my hospital room. When I finally got back to our house, I dug through the bottom of the closet and found a stack of portrait photography textbooks. Seeing them pulled me into a painful memory. Back then, the only reason I agreed to go on a blind date with Christopher was because I loved photography. I thought that when we traveled, he could take beautiful pictures of me. But after we got married, we never traveled together. And he never took a single picture of me. I used to beg him. He would just say he wasn’t good at shooting people. When I badgered him too much, he promised that once he “practiced enough,” he would finally take my picture. So I bought him all these expensive portrait photography textbooks, hoping that one day he would pick up his camera and point it at me. But in six years of marriage, he never took a single photo of me. Not one. I remembered one specific day. I needed a standard passport-style headshot for an electronic visa application. I was in a massive rush, so I asked him to just snap a quick picture of me with his iPhone against a white wall. “It doesn’t require any artistic skill,” I pleaded. “Just take a quick picture, I really need it right now.” His face went completely cold, and he rejected me flat out. “I am a professional photographer. The word ‘quick’ does not exist in my vocabulary.” “Forcing me to shoot a portrait when it’s not my specialty is a direct insult to my profession. Ask someone else.” He slammed the door and left the house. In the end, I had to knock on my neighbor’s door and beg them to take the picture for me. After that fight, I actually had to write him an apology letter, promising I would never ask him to take my picture again, before he reluctantly agreed to come home. Looking back on it now, I was so incredibly pathetic it was almost funny. I picked up the textbooks and threw them straight into the trash can. I wouldn’t be needing them anymore. “What are you doing?” Christopher had just walked through the front door, dragging his suitcase. He pointed at the trash can. “Didn’t you buy those books for me? Why are you throwing them away?” I didn’t even look at him. “They’re taking up space. It’s not like you’re ever going to read them.” He frowned, clearly annoyed. “What’s with the passive-aggressive attitude? You know how busy I am. When would I have time to read those?” “I already told you I’m not good at portraits. You’re the one who tried to force me to do something I’m not comfortable with, and now you’re throwing a tantrum about it. You’re crossing a line, Chloe.” I opened my mouth, a split second away from screaming at him about the hidden room full of Stella’s portraits. But I swallowed it down. “I won’t force you anymore.” I turned my back to him and went back to packing my own suitcase. “Aren’t you going to unpack my luggage?” he demanded. In the past, every time he came back from a trip, if I was home, I unpacked his suitcase. I took out his dirty clothes, washed them, ironed them, and hung them up. I meticulously cleaned and maintained his camera lenses. All he had to do was point and shoot. Looking back, I was basically the unpaid logistics coordinator for his romantic getaways with his ex. “I’m tired. Unpack it yourself.” Christopher opened his mouth to argue, but his phone suddenly rang. “Boss,” his assistant’s voice came through the speaker. “Mr. Sterling just pulled all his funding for the next exhibition. You need to handle this right now, or the next gallery opening is going to be a disaster.” Christopher grabbed my wrist, his grip bruising and furious. “Chloe! I left the exhibition in your hands, and this is how you handle my business?! Why the hell is Mr. Sterling pulling his funding?!” Faced with his explosive anger, I was completely numb. “Because you blew off his private dinner. He was pissed, so he pulled the money.” He scoffed. “Don’t give me that excuse. This isn’t the first time I’ve skipped one of his dinners, and you always smoothed it over. Why is he so furious this time?” “Is there something wrong with your competence?” I laughed bitterly on the inside. My competence. My competence was smiling until my face hurt, drinking myself into a stupor, and acting like a subservient dog until I literally drank a hole through my stomach. While he was out in the snow, taking pictures of Stella. I forced down the suffocating ache in my chest, my voice raspy. “You’re right. There is something wrong with my competence. That’s why I quit.” “You can handle it yourself from now on.” He froze, staring at me in pure disbelief. “The gallery is your life’s work. You can’t just quit.” Oh. So he did know how much blood, sweat, and tears I poured into it. “I’m incompetent, remember? I wouldn’t want to hold back the great Christopher Reed.” I ripped my wrist out of his grip, threw my last sweater into my suitcase, and zipped it shut in one fluid motion. “Where do you think you’re going?” I didn’t answer his question. I just threw out a casual observation. “The snow in Aspen looked beautiful. The model looked beautiful too.” Christopher went rigid as a board. A flash of intense, defensive panic washed over his face. “You’ve been spying on me?” Watching him react like this just filled me with a deep, hollow exhaustion. He had been caught in a massive lie, and his very first instinct wasn’t to apologize or explain. It was to interrogate me. I let out a dry laugh, my tone completely devoid of emotion. “Stella’s social media is public. Your comments are public too.” Under her post, Christopher had commented using his burner account: You are the only muse my lens will ever know. His burner account wasn’t exactly a secret CIA operation. The profile picture was a lighting test shot he took in our home office. A flicker of guilt crossed his face. “Look, there’s a reason for all of this. If you really want me to take your picture that badly, I can talk to Stella and see if she’s okay with me shooting a portrait series of you.” I actually laughed out loud. The sheer absurdity of it was staggering. My own husband had to ask another woman for permission to take my picture. “Don’t bother. I already booked a professional photographer. I wouldn’t want you to break your sacred vow to Stella.” He paused, clearly remembering the wish I had been nagging him about for months. I wanted to take a gorgeous, professional photoshoot before I turned thirty, to capture my youth while I still had it. And my thirtieth birthday was in exactly two days. I didn’t look at him again. I grabbed my suitcase handle and walked toward the door. But he aggressively blocked my path, grabbing my arm again. “Chloe, listen to me! Stella is my ex-girlfriend. But because of some things that happened in the past, I failed her.” “So we made a pact. In this lifetime, I will only ever shoot portraits of her. It’s my way of making up for what I did to her.” “I gave you my hand in marriage. Can’t you just be generous about this?” His ex-girlfriend. I had already guessed as much. But looking at the hundreds of photos in that hidden room, every single frame was dripping with a photographer’s desperate, all-consuming love. That wasn’t just “making up for the past.” He was still deeply in love with Stella. He failed her. He needed to make it up to her. But why was I the one paying the price? He married me, but his heart was permanently chained to Stella. I looked up at him, my voice dead. “So tell me, Christopher. What exactly did I do wrong?” “What?” Christopher looked genuinely confused for a second. I stepped around him, but he grabbed my luggage handle, a flash of genuine panic in his eyes. “I’ll text Stella right now. I’ll tell her I’m making an exception for you. I promise, I’ll shoot a birthday series for you, and it will be perfect.” “I said don’t bother.” But he ignored me, physically dragging my suitcase out the door and forcing me into the passenger seat of his car. I didn’t expect him to drive us straight to the coast. “The sunset is gorgeous right now. We’ll do the shoot right here on the beach.” I looked down at myself. I was wearing baggy sweatpants, zero makeup, and my face was gaunt and exhausted from the hospital stay. I looked like an absolute wreck against the stunning ocean backdrop. “Do you honestly think I look like I’m ready for a photoshoot right now?” He froze, holding his Leica camera. “Let’s just take a few test shots. If you don’t like them, we can always schedule a proper shoot later.” I sneered. “I thought you were only allowed to make one exception for me? If we do it again, aren’t you terrified Stella will be furious? After all, you promised her you’d only ever shoot her.” He looked incredibly conflicted, and then, seeing the open disgust in my eyes, his face flushed dark red with anger. “Are you intentionally trying to humiliate me?” I shook my head. “I’m just stating facts.” He stiffened, his voice losing its arrogant edge. “Stella isn’t a petty person.” So I am? “The light is perfect. Let’s just start.” He ignored me, adjusting his camera settings and framing the shot. Right as his finger rested on the shutter button, his phone started ringing. I couldn’t hear what the person on the other end said, but Christopher’s expression instantly morphed into sheer panic. He looked at me, a brief flash of guilt in his eyes. “I have an emergency. We’ll do the photos next time.” He didn’t even wait for me to reply. He sprinted back to his car, threw it in drive, and sped off. He completely forgot I was even there. This specific stretch of the beach was popular with photographers, but it was miles away from the main road. I let out a bitter, exhausted laugh. I had to walk for three hours before I finally found a spot with enough cell service to call a cab. When I got back to the empty house, I grabbed my suitcase and headed straight for the airport. While I was waiting at my gate, I checked Stella’s social media. She had posted a picture of two first-class plane tickets. You could see the side of a man’s face in the frame, and the distinct red mole on his ear. It was Christopher. The caption read: Taking off for New Zealand with my personal photographer! So his massive “emergency” was that he needed to escort Stella to New Zealand. I turned off my phone and boarded my flight. I never needed to see Christopher Reed ever again.

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I am the widowed innkeeper NPC in a horror game. Ever since my husband went missing, the loneliness has been unbearable. To cope, I try to trap players in my dungeon to keep me company. The only problem? My IQ is terribly low. The trials I design are childishly simple, and I can only watch in dismay as players breeze through them. They even started calling my dungeon the “Toddler Zone,” claiming a three-year-old could beat it. Worse, they flooded the community forums with warning posts, telling everyone that my trial is a low-difficulty, low-reward waste of time, begging new players not to bother. Eventually, the Game Master delivered the final blow: because my success rate is too high, my dungeon is being permanently shut down. Heartbroken, I swept the guest rooms of my inn and locked the doors for the last time. But on the night of the shutdown, a series of heavy knocks rattled the tightly shut doors of my inn. One after another, the very players who had easily conquered my trials stood outside, calling my name in excited, breathless whispers: “Holly, it’s me. Your man. I’m back.” 01 Dungeon Announcement: “Attention all players! Due to an overwhelming number of negative reviews and a lack of active participants, the Rosewood Inn trial is releasing its final seven slots. After this round, the dungeon will be permanently shut down.” This notice quickly pinned itself to the top of the horror game’s community forum. Beneath the announcement, the comment section exploded with remarks from players who had previously cleared the inn trial. “Finally, it’s closing.” “I absolutely despised that innkeeper boss.” “Thank goodness. Who even plays such an outdated, cliché trial anyway? I went once, my heart was pounding the whole time, but the rules were just way too simple.” “Exactly. That widow boss was so incredibly annoying. I cleared her dungeon months ago, and I still can’t get her out of my head. It’s infuriating.” “Good riddance. Don’t let anyone else waste their time. They shouldn’t even release those last seven slots, just close it now.” “Agreed. If nobody applies, I bet Holly will cry her eyes out. Annoying.” “Wait, is that the entire leaderboard in the comments? Screenshotting this!” “I didn’t even notice at first. The comment section is literally filled with the top-tier grinders who survive on points.” “Carry me, legends! What does it even feel like to have a nine-figure point balance?” “Do the gods of the leaderboard get their hearts racing because of a minor boss too? Haha.” “I was planning to check it out, but if the veterans say it’s trash, I’ll pass.” “Same, sticking to my four-star trials.” “Yeah, let’s focus on other dungeons. Ignore this minor boss.” At that moment, a player holding the number one spot on the global leaderboard, whose avatar was a simple black-and-white lucky cat, posted a comment. “Oh my god, Tony! He only ever posts strategic guides. This is the first time he’s ever left a comment in a public thread!” “The pros are so nice, saving us from the trash tier.” “Actually, Tony was the one who wrote the very first warning post about this place.” “And the other pros all upvoted him!” “I’m crying. They care about us so much.” 02 I was shaking with anger, clutching my cheap phone. It was an NPC-exclusive model I had saved up my meager points for years to buy. Logging into the player channel, I pointed my screen at Shadow, the owl who was currently forced to pose as a lucky cat on my counter. “I know this guy! When he cleared my dungeon, he stole my gold lucky cat ornament!” Hearing this, Shadow stopped flapping his wings and landed on my shoulder, squinting at the screen. He was tired of doing double duty as both an owl and a lucky cat ever since my ornament was stolen. I remembered the thief’s arrogance when he cleared the trial. “The rules of this place are incredibly stupid,” he had sneered. “Who could this possibly eliminate? You silly little ghost.” The memory made my ghostly form flicker with rage. “I only let him win because he looked so pathetic and miserable!” Shadow sighed, his voice low. “Holly, your rules are already incredibly easy. You don’t need to let anyone win.” I pretended not to hear him, tapping the screen with my long, sharp nails. “And this one, and that one! I only let them through out of the goodness of my heart! Now they talk trash behind my back? I’m going to eat them!” Shadow gave up, flying back to the counter to resume his stiff, lucky-cat pose. Then I remembered the system notification. My dungeon was closing forever. There would be no more new players to keep me company. In a fit of pique, I turned off the phone and threw it onto the counter. I floated up to the ceiling beam, hanging upside down with my long red tongue sticking out, closing my eyes to wait for the final batch of players. Because of that, I missed the flurry of new posts that immediately began to flood the forum. 03 Justin had just cleared a brutal four-star dungeon when he saw the notice about the Rosewood Inn. It was rated negative stars by the veterans. Ever since he started playing this survival game, he had known about the notorious “trash dungeon” that the top players warned everyone to avoid. He had planned to visit it one day out of sheer curiosity. Now that it was closing, he had to act fast. As a dedicated completionist, his fingers flew across the screen, instantly hitting the application button. Before he could even log out, his inbox began to flash violently. “Bro, are you selling your Rosewood Inn slot? I’m serious. Name your price.” Justin figured it was another completionist. “Sorry, man. I’m trying to collect all the dungeon achievements. I want to experience it myself.” Almost instantly, a voice message popped up. “Bro, I have the completionist trophy for this dungeon. I can trade it to you right now, and I’ll throw in ten thousand points. Just don’t go in.” Justin paused. If the guy already had the achievement, why was he buying a slot? And why was he offering such an insane amount of points? Something felt off. He exited the chat, only for his screen to freeze. In a matter of seconds, his pending messages and friend requests skyrocketed to 99+. He scrolled through the requests. Every single one was trying to buy his slot for the Rosewood Inn, with each offer more absurdly high than the last. What was going on? He had assumed he would be the only player in this dead dungeon. If the reviews were so terrible and the widow NPC was so annoying, why was everyone desperate to get in? He navigated back to the community main page. The forum was flooded with high-value bounty posts. The authors were all top-ranking players on the global leaderboard. Their words were frantic and polite, a stark contrast to their previous cold warnings. They didn’t sound like players looking for a quick trial. They sounded like frantic husbands offering rewards for a missing wife. The top pinned post, which must have cost a fortune in points to secure, caught his eye. “Trading my entire point balance for a slot in the final round of the Rosewood Inn. Beyond points, I will fulfill any condition, or carry you through any five-star dungeon of your choice.” The author of the post was Jimmy. 04 Jimmy was the rank-two player on the leaderboard. He and Tony were the only two players in the history of the game to clear every single five-star trial. They were legends, untouchable gods to ordinary players. While Tony occasionally posted guides, Jimmy was a complete mystery. He never participated in community discussions, focusing entirely on grinding points and uncovering hidden game mechanics. The community was in shambles. No one could understand why these gods were suddenly begging for a low-tier slot. The comment section of Jimmy’s post was already thousands of pages long. “Just got out of a trial. What did I miss? Why are the top dogs begging for a Rosewood Inn slot?” “Check the announcement. The dungeon is closing.” “What kind of riddle is this?” “Didn’t Tony tell us to stay away?” Jimmy had replied to that last comment just a minute ago: “That absolute bastard.” “Is Jimmy always this aggressive?” “Wait, did they lie to us? Is there some legendary loot in there?” “Oh my god, I knew it! They wanted to keep the treasure for themselves!” Justin checked his lobby team list. The other six players assigned to his round were all in the top ten. Some of them were the very ones who had left the worst reviews. “Wow,” Justin muttered, a smug grin spreading across his face. “Completionists really do win in the end. These pros have been playing 4D chess for years, coordinate-bombing the reviews to keep people away. Absolute geniuses!” Even if he couldn’t get his hands on the secret treasure, watching the top players fight would be worth it. His game bracelet suddenly vibrated. “Player, where is Holly’s husband? The trial is starting. Transferring in ten seconds. Please prepare.” Justin took a deep breath, closing his eyes. “Ten.” “Nine.” “Eight.” A cold, smooth sensation suddenly wrapped around his wrist. “Take me with you,” a voice whispered. Justin opened his eyes in shock. A small, snow-white snake was wrapped tightly around his wrist like a bracelet. “Six.” A notification popped up. A massive sum of points had been transferred to his account. “I’m Jimmy. This is your payment.” “Three.” The snake spoke, and a co-op entry request popped up on his screen. Only those who had cleared the game had the authority to force an entry like this. “Accept it. Quickly.” “Two.” Justin felt a sharp pinch on his wrist. He quickly tapped accept. “Transferring!” 05 The world spun, and when Justin opened his eyes, he was standing in front of a dilapidated, eerie inn. The white snake on his wrist had gone completely still, mimicking a realistic leather bracelet. Around him stood six other players. They were indeed the top players from the leaderboard. None of them looked at Justin. In fact, they didn’t even look at each other. They seemed incredibly tense, their faces slightly flushed despite their calm expressions. While Justin was wondering if he should introduce himself, his bracelet buzzed. It was a private message from Jimmy: “Start a public stream.” Was Jimmy planning to expose the others? Justin quickly enabled the streaming function. The player closest to him let out a cold snort. It was Barrett, ranked fifth. He was famous for his aggressive, brute-force playstyle. Rumor had it he was searching for a legendary item to revive his deceased wife. Was the resurrection item hidden here? Before Justin could think further, Barrett stepped up to the wooden door and knocked loudly. “Holly! It’s me! Your man! I’m back!” 06 I had assumed no one would show up for the final round. After telling Shadow to sweep the guest rooms, I locked the front door. Then, holding Shadow in my arms, I swung back and forth on the ceiling beam. Once midnight struck, my dungeon would close, and I would be left to wander this empty inn for eternity. When the knocking started, I was actually feeling relieved that I had saved enough points for a phone. At least I would have something to do while floating around. But then a voice called out: “Your man?” Could a ghost experience auditory hallucinations? I checked the dungeon interface. To my surprise, seven players and one snake had arrived. Well, I was a professional NPC. If players were here, I had to play my part. I shook my shoulders, smoothed down my red dress, and prepared to work. At the same time, a notification popped up on the global player forum: “Rosewood Inn trial is now live. Justin is broadcasting.” The forum was already buzzing with speculation. When the stream link appeared, players flooded the channel. “What’s going on? Are those the top players?” “Who is brave enough to stream in front of the gods? Are they going to show us how they bully the boss?” “Maybe they all suffered a defeat here before, and they’re back for revenge before it closes?” “Look, Barrett is knocking on the door.” “Wait, is this boss the wife Barrett has been trying to save?” I adjusted my collar. It had been so long since I used my human form that walking on two legs felt a bit strange. The knocking outside continued, and I hastened my steps. 07 Justin watched the viewer count of his stream climb rapidly. The chat was a blur of frantic questions, making him feel a bit nervous. If the pros found out he was streaming, he would be in deep trouble. Barrett was still shouting at the door, calling Holly’s name, while the other pros stood by with dark, tense expressions. Creak. The heavy wooden door slowly swung open. “Welcome to Rosewood Inn,” a soft, ethereal voice drifted out. Justin looked up, and the stream camera automatically focused on the doorway. The chat went dead silent for a fraction of a second before exploding. “Is this the widow boss? Why does she look like… that?” “Is she a ghost or an angel?” “Why did the stream quality suddenly jump to ultra-HD? She is absolutely stunning!” “I’m a veteran player who quit years ago. Why does she look so familiar?” “Me too! But seriously, she’s gorgeous. I can hear my own heart beating.” I could feel someone’s heart beating furiously. I quickly turned off the voice chat, wondering whose racing heart was echoing so loudly in the quiet night.

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1 I’ve been able to understand animals since I was born. When I was three, the old golden retriever at my grandma’s house started barking frantically at me. [Don’t drink that! There’s rat poison in the soup!] I got so scared I knocked the bowl of chicken soup off the table. Half an hour later, a rat that licked up the spill on the floor dropped dead by the baseboard, foaming at the mouth. When I was seven, the neighbor’s pet canary spent all day cursing out their nanny. [Thief! Stole the money and hid it under the bed!] The police did a search and found the missing three thousand dollars exactly where the bird said it was. Fast forward to today. I was waiting in the ER to pick up my dad from his shift when a chaotic scene broke out. The young daughter of a powerful, old-money heiress had been bitten by a snake. The heiress’s fiancé rushed into the ER. His own hand was swollen from a snakebite, but he didn’t care. He practically shoved a clear plastic container with a snake in it right into my dad’s face. My dad, an ER doctor with twenty years of experience, immediately identified it as a cobra and ordered the nurses to prep the cobra antivenom for the little girl. But suddenly, a piercing, frantic series of barks erupted from a fluffy Pomeranian near the door. [That’s not the snake that bit the little master!] [That man swapped the snakes! He wants to marry into the rich family, but he doesn’t want to be a stepdad! He’s intentionally misleading the doctor to let her die!] [The snake that actually bit her was a King Cobra!] My pupils contracted violently. I yelled out before I could stop myself. “Dad, stop! You can’t just give her cobra antivenom! You need to give her banded krait antivenom too!” The entire emergency room froze and stared at me. My dad looked utterly confused. “Leo, a cobra bite only requires one type of antivenom. We don’t need the banded krait serum.” I took a step forward. “But what if the snake that bit her wasn’t this one? What if it was a King Cobra?” The moment the words left my mouth, the man claiming to be the heiress’s fiancé went completely pale. That was all the confirmation I needed. The Pomeranian was telling the truth. This guy had swapped the snakes. I looked at my dad, keeping my voice steady. “Dad, you know a King Cobra bite delivers both neurotoxins and cytotoxins simultaneously. A single antivenom isn’t going to be enough.” My dad was a veteran of the ER. He was sharper than most. Hearing me lay it out like that, his expression shifted. “But her current symptoms align perfectly with a standard cobra bite. And the family brought the specimen right here…” [He’s full of crap!] The Pomeranian was jumping up and down in a panic, wagging its tail so hard it looked like a helicopter blade. [Adam intentionally sent the nanny away and had someone release a King Cobra through the garden fence!] [After the little master was bitten, he let the King Cobra escape, pulled out this regular cobra he had prepared beforehand, and let it bite his own hand!] [If the doctor only gives her one antivenom, she is going to die! And then the mistress will definitely make the doctor take the fall for it!] I sucked in a sharp breath. This guy was pure evil. He wasn’t just trying to murder a little kid; he was setting my dad up to take the blame for medical malpractice. Before I could say another word, Adam, who had just finished receiving his own dose of antivenom, lashed out. “Who the hell are you? Do you know spouting nonsense in an ER can kill someone?!” The tear tracks on his face were still wet, but his eyes were sharp and vicious. “I’m warning you. This is the granddaughter of the Sterling family! If you delay her treatment, you won’t be able to afford the consequences!” I didn’t back down an inch. “You’re the one delaying her treatment! You want the Sterling family fortune, but you don’t want the baggage of a stepdaughter. So you came up with a sick plan to swap the snake and mislead the doctors.” “You thought you could walk away with clean hands, inherit the money, and even look like a tragic hero who tried to save her!” The ER went dead silent. Every single pair of eyes snapped to Adam. Except for the Pomeranian, who was staring at me in absolute shock. [You can hear me?!] It read my expression and went completely wild with excitement. [Oh my god! Yes! The little master is saved! Finally, someone is exposing this evil man!] Adam’s face lost all its color. He clearly couldn’t fathom how I knew the exact details of his plan. But he was a good actor. He regained his composure in a split second. “Do you have any proof of this insane conspiracy theory? Keep spouting this garbage and I will sue you for defamation!” I ignored him. I turned to look at the Sterling family patriarch, a distinguished older gentleman standing near the bed. “Sir, please believe me. The little girl was bitten by a King Cobra.” “If you only administer one type of antivenom right now, the neurotoxins in her system will go untreated. She won’t survive the night.” The old man’s deeply lined face was tense with anxiety. He hesitated. “Adam… are you absolutely sure this is the snake that bit Kayla?” He asked it gently, but Adam instantly made his eyes red and glassy, putting on a masterful display of wounded grievance. “Grandpa, you’ve seen how much I love Kayla. You know how good I am to her.” “I was so terrified she would be misdiagnosed that I chased down the snake with my bare hands, knowing I would get bitten! Why would you listen to the crazy ramblings of a total stranger over me?” “If you still don’t believe me, ask the nanny! She was right there when it happened!” Everyone’s gaze shifted to the middle-aged nanny hovering nervously in the corner. She was already terrified because her negligence had led to the child getting bitten. Hearing Adam essentially offer her a lifeline, she immediately nodded vigorously. “Y-Yes… sir, little Kayla was definitely bitten by this exact snake.” “It came out of nowhere, bit her, and tried to slither away. Mr. Adam reacted so fast, he just threw himself at it to protect her.” The Pomeranian was grinding its teeth in pure rage. [I spit on you! This man is the biggest faker in the world! He bribed the nanny months ago to find out everything the little master liked, just so he could suck up to the family and get engaged to the mistress!] [Behind their backs, he calls the little master a burden! He even calls the old man a half-dead geezer!] [But look at the old man’s face! He’s getting soft! He’s going to fall for it!] Just as the dog predicted, the old man hesitated for a few seconds before sighing. “Adam, forgive me. My mind is just clouded with panic. I didn’t mean to doubt you.” “Doctor, go ahead with the cobra antivenom.” My dad knew I wasn’t the type to cause a scene without a reason. He had been quietly but intensely observing the little girl’s symptoms this entire time. “Sir, I strongly advise we exercise caution here. The patient is already beginning to exhibit subtle signs of neurotoxicity…” Before he could finish his sentence, the Director of the ER shoved his way through the crowd and yanked my dad aside by the arm. “Dr. Hoffman! The family literally brought the specimen with them! What is there to hesitate about?!” “This is the Sterling family! We need to administer the antivenom immediately! If you delay this any longer and something happens to that child, who’s going to take the fall? Because it won’t be me!” The Director glared at me, his face turning an ugly shade of purple. “And why are you letting your son run his mouth in my ER?! He’s a vet med student! What does he know about human clinical toxicology?!” My dad’s brow furrowed, ready to argue back, but Adam exploded first. “Director Vance! Is this how the doctors in your hospital operate?!” He lifted his chin, radiating arrogant entitlement. “I risked my own life to catch this snake, and you’re going to ignore the hard evidence because a vet student had a hunch?!” “It seems I need to have a serious conversation with my father about pulling the Adam Corporation’s funding for this hospital next quarter.” Director Vance’s face instantly went sheet white. The Adam Corporation was the hospital’s largest private donor. They funded millions in medical equipment procurement every year. Vance didn’t hesitate for half a second. He whirled around and screamed at my dad. “Dr. Hoffman! Administer the cobra antivenom immediately! This is a direct medical order!” “If you don’t execute it right this second, you can pack up your locker and get the hell out of my hospital!” My dad looked down at the little girl on the bed. She was seven years old. The swelling on her arm was traveling rapidly up her lymphatic vessels toward her shoulder, and she was crying weakly in pain. He took a deep breath, turned to the nearest nurse, and spoke with absolute clarity. “Nurse Sarah. Go to the pharmacy and pull the banded krait antivenom.” Director Vance’s eyes bulged out of his head. “Are you insane?! She was bitten by a standard cobra!” My dad’s voice was rock solid. “I am the attending physician for this patient. I have the ultimate authority to determine the treatment plan based on clinical presentation.” Nurse Sarah froze for a second, then nodded and turned to run toward the pharmacy. Adam panicked. He lunged forward and grabbed Sarah by the sleeve of her scrubs, his voice pitching high. “Don’t you dare! Kayla was bitten by a cobra! If you pump her full of unnecessary antivenom and she dies from toxic shock, who is going to take responsibility?!” He whipped his head toward the Director. Director Vance was sweating profusely. He yelled at my dad. “Dr. Hoffman, wake up! Mr. Adam and the little girl were bitten by the exact same snake!” “Mr. Adam is showing absolutely zero signs of neurotoxicity! He only has localized swelling!” But that only made my dad more confident. “Exactly. Putting aside what species of snake it is, why would two people bitten by the exact same snake exhibit two completely different physiological reactions?” Someone in the crowd of onlookers muttered quietly. “Yeah… why are their symptoms different?” “Could the kid be right? Did this guy really swap the snake because he didn’t want a stepkid?” “It’s totally possible. Remember that crazy true crime case on the news last month?” Adam’s face visibly tightened, but he recovered fast. “It’s obvious! I’m a full-grown adult with a strong immune system. My body metabolizes venom differently. Kayla is a small child, so the toxins are overwhelming her system!” “Plus, I already received the antivenom and I’m fine. That proves it’s the right treatment!” Director Vance nodded frantically like a bobblehead. “Mr. Adam is absolutely right, this is basic physiolo—” Before he could finish, a woman in a sleek black trench coat strode into the ER, flanked by four massive bodyguards. Maya Sterling, the heiress herself, looked at her daughter lying on the bed, her jaw tightening so hard it looked like it might snap. “What is going on? Why hasn’t she received the antivenom yet?” Adam threw himself at her, trembling and crying. “Maya! It’s this vet student! He keeps physically blocking the doctors from giving Kayla the shot! I caught the cobra with my own hands, but he keeps insisting it was a King Cobra! He’s trying to force them to give her a second, highly toxic antivenom! He’s literally trying to kill her…” Maya didn’t even look at him. She took a step forward, her freezing, calculating gaze landing directly on my face. “You’re claiming the snake that bit my daughter isn’t the one in that box. What proof do you have?” The Pomeranian was going absolutely feral, jumping and barking at Maya’s ankles. [Mistress! Mistress! I told the nice boy! I saw it with my own eyes!] Unfortunately, Maya couldn’t hear the dog. But I could definitely feel the intense, suffocating pressure of her stare. Proof? What proof did I have? Was I supposed to tell a billionaire heiress that I heard it from her fluffy lap dog? She’d lock me in a psych ward. Seeing that I was temporarily speechless, a flash of smug triumph crossed Adam’s eyes. “See? I asked him for proof earlier and he couldn’t produce a single thing! He’s just deflecting and throwing insane accusations at me to delay Kayla’s treatment!” “Maya, it’s been almost an hour since she was bitten! We have to give her the shot now!” Maya finally turned her head to look at him. “You seem very eager.” Her eyes were completely devoid of emotion, but something about the way she said it made Adam flinch. “N-No… I’m just terrified for Kayla. Even I feel dizzy and sick, and I’m an adult who already got the antidote.” Maya acted like he hadn’t spoken. She turned her icy gaze back to me. “I checked the security footage from the estate. Kayla ran into a blind spot in the garden. The cameras didn’t catch the bite. Did you see something?” I was desperately trying to figure out how to spin a believable lie when the Pomeranian started barking frantically again. [The Boss! Find the Boss! There’s a stray tabby cat that lives in the garden! The little master always feeds her, and the Boss loves her!] [After the little master got bit, I saw the Boss chase after the snake! The other strays followed her! They’re definitely going to avenge the little master!] A tabby cat? I’m a vet med student. I know animal behavior. A cat’s reaction time is ten times faster than a snake’s. To a street-smart stray cat, a snake is basically just a very spicy string toy. If what the Pomeranian was saying was true, the tabby had definitely caught it. I looked up at Maya, radiating absolute confidence. “Ms. Sterling. The cameras might not have caught it, but you can send your security team to sweep the perimeter of your garden. Check every inch outside the fence, specifically anywhere the stray cats congregate. The snake that actually bit your daughter is going to be right there.” Adam’s face warped in horror. “Are you insane?! I already caught the snake! You’re sending people on a wild goose chase just to—” I let out a dry laugh, cutting him off completely. “Mr. Adam, for a guy who just claimed to be dizzy and sick, you’re awfully energetic. What exactly are you so terrified of? Are you scared they’re going to find the snake? Or are you scared they’re going to find something else?” “You—!” He realized he was overreacting and forced himself to calm down. “What do I have to be scared of? My conscience is perfectly clear! But if Kayla suffers permanent nerve damage because of your little stunt, you will pay for it!” I ignored his empty threats and kept my eyes locked on Maya. “The golden window to administer antivenom is two hours. I’m sure the Sterling family’s security team is efficient enough to sweep a garden in a fraction of that time.” “But if you inject the wrong antivenom right now, there is no undo button. It’s your call.” I had done everything I could. If they insisted on giving her the wrong treatment, it was out of my dad’s hands. I just had to pray that this woman wasn’t the type of mother to let her kid die just because her fiancé told her to. Maya stared at me for two long, agonizing seconds. Then she pulled out her phone. “Sweep the garden. Find the snake.” I had barely let out a sigh of relief when she locked eyes with me again. “Listen to me very carefully. The golden window might be two hours, but every minute counts. If my daughter suffers any lasting neurological damage because of this delay, I will personally destroy your life.” So I try to do a good deed and get a death threat in return? Nice. But there was a kid’s life on the line. I swallowed hard and nodded. “Understood.” Now I just had to pray to God that the street cat actually won the boss fight against a King Cobra. The next ten minutes felt like ten years. My dad stood by the bed, continuously checking the little girl’s blood oxygen levels. Director Vance paced back and forth, muttering under his breath. “We’re dead. If the Sterling family blames the hospital, the entire ER is going down… no, the whole hospital is finished.” The Sterling patriarch was frantically rolling a string of wooden prayer beads through his fingers, murmuring silent prayers. Adam was staring daggers at me, his eyes practically dripping poison. The Pomeranian was lying flat on the floor by my feet, its ears pressed against the tile, its tail thumping rhythmically. [The Boss definitely killed it. I just hope those stupid bodyguards aren’t blind…] Ten minutes later, Maya’s phone rang. She answered it. Slowly, a deep crease formed between her brows. She hung up, looked at me, and her eyes turned utterly lethal. “They swept the garden three times. They checked a ten-mile radius. Aside from a few feral cats, there is no King Cobra.” [Impossible! The Boss would never let it get away!] The Pomeranian jumped up in a panic. My heart sank into my stomach. Did the cat lose? Adam instantly burst into dramatic, heaving sobs. “Maya! I told you he was just stalling! Please, tell the doctors to give Kayla the shot before it’s too late!” Maya’s gaze on me was colder than liquid nitrogen. She raised a single finger, gesturing to her bodyguards. “Take him to the police station.” Two massive men in suits stepped forward and grabbed my arms. The Pomeranian let out a miserable, high-pitched whine. [It’s over… it’s over… the little master is dead…] As the bodyguards started dragging me toward the door, I fought back, screaming at the top of my lungs. “You can’t just give her one shot! You’re going to kill her!” Adam stepped up and slapped me hard across the face. “Shut your mouth!” “What King Cobra? What stray cats? You made up this entire psychotic fantasy just to delay Kayla’s treatment!” “Who paid you?! Was it one of Maya’s corporate rivals?!” He was working himself into a frenzy. He raised his hand to slap me again. My dad, who was being restrained by hospital security, screamed, his voice breaking. “Don’t touch my son! He doesn’t lie!” Adam whipped around and roared at my dad. “He didn’t even see the snake and he’s screaming about a King Cobra! If that’s not lying, what is?! You two are in this together!” “This whole snake incident is suspicious! He won’t tell the truth until he learns a lesson. Throw him in the back of my car! I’ll interrogate him myself!” “And grab his dad too! He’s probably an accomplice!” Adam smiled smugly as the bodyguards dragged me closer to the automatic doors. The Pomeranian was desperately biting at the hem of Maya’s trench coat. [No! It’s not true! The nice boy didn’t lie!] [Don’t let him take the nice boy! Adam will torture him!] Maya glanced down at the little dog tugging on her coat, a slight frown on her face. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could— A golden-brown blur launched itself through the sliding glass doors of the ER. With a wet, heavy thud, a six-foot-long, dark brown snake was dropped onto the sterile white tiles. A ragged, battle-scarred tabby cat sat down next to it and casually started licking its paw. “Meow.” [I’m exhausted. It took me forever to find out which hospital the kid was at. Better not be too late.] The second Adam’s eyes locked onto the mangled corpse of the King Cobra on the floor, his face drained of every single drop of blood.

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Bennett and I were each other’s first loves. We were together from the age of eighteen to twenty-three. Later, I personally drugged his drink and sent him into my sister’s bedroom. He desperately escaped and came looking for me, only to overhear the conversation between my friend and me. “All these years of history, and you’re just throwing him away?” I swirled the wine in my glass, a careless smirk on my face. “Friends are like limbs; men are just clothes. She’s my sister. What’s wrong with letting her have some fun with him?” Since then, Bennett cut all ties with me. We hadn’t seen each other in three years. Three years later, some were newlywed, while some slept eternally in a quiet southern town. My name is Norah Vance. I am the eldest daughter of the wealthy Vance family. For as long as I can remember, I lived in the family’s old estate in the historic district, raised by my grandmother. My parents, Arthur and Evelyn, lived with my younger sister, Pearl, in a luxury penthouse downtown. The old estate was only a thirty-minute drive from their place, but to me, we were separated by mountains, living in two completely different worlds. My parents rarely came to see me. I only saw them during major holidays. Grandma always told me that they loved me, but they were just too busy with the family business to have the energy to care for me. I believed her. Yet, the resentment in my heart grew like wild grass, suffocating me. I couldn’t help but wonder—if they were so busy, why wasn’t Pearl sent to the old estate too? Why did they have time to raise Pearl, but not me? The historic district was an exclusive neighborhood where old money retirees lived. There weren’t many left-behind kids in this area, but Bennett and I were the exceptions. The Vance and Cole families had been close for generations. Bennett’s parents worked abroad year-round, so they left him in the care of his grandparents. You would think two kids in the same boat would look out for each other. But I hated Bennett from the bottom of my heart. I had hated him since we were toddlers. He was the textbook “perfect child.” He always ranked first in school, excelled in AP math, piano, and golf, and was always polite and well-mannered. Meanwhile, I was the neighborhood rebel, spoiled by my grandmother. I skipped classes, scaled school fences, and got into fights. To make matters worse, our names—Norah and Bennett—sounded like opposite poles. Every time I got into trouble, the elders and teachers would compare me to him. “One goes north, the other goes south,” they would say. Over time, I declared a one-sided war on Bennett. I did everything to ruin his day. Seeing him miserable was the only thing that made me happy. But Bennett was no pushover. Throughout middle school, our petty wars never stopped. I tore his worksheets, he pulled my hair. I put earthworms in his desk, he drew stupid caricatures on my test papers. In a flash, we turned fifteen and ended up in the same high school. Bennett got into the honors class with the highest score and became the Student Council President. I barely scraped into the regular class, remaining the troublemaker who gave teachers headaches. Whenever he hosted a school assembly, I would catcall and shout his name from the crowd, trying to embarrass him in front of the entire school. After one assembly, he cornered me in the stairwell. Frowning, his voice deep, he asked, “Norah, we’re not in elementary school anymore. Can we please make peace?” I rejected him outright, pushed past him, and walked away without looking back. At fifteen, all I wanted was for my parents to look at me, even if it was just a glance. And messing with Bennett, the golden boy, was the perfect way to get attention. I hoped Bennett would lose his patience and complain to my parents. I hoped my parents would finally come to discipline me. But nothing happened. Absolutely nothing. Bennett never told on me, and my parents’ eyes remained fixed solely on Pearl. Pearl was five years younger than me, the absolute princess of the family. She actually liked me. Whenever we met during holidays, she would sweetly call me “Sis” and stuff candy into my hands. But I hated her. I was jealous of her—jealous of the unconditional love she received. I took my anger out on her. Every time we met, I gave her the cold shoulder, snatched her gifts, and threw away her candies. I thought I would keep being a rebel until I grew up.

I never expected that in the winter of my fifteenth year, fate would deal me a crushing blow. Grandma suffered a sudden brain hemorrhage and was rushed to the ER. A few days later, she woke up. The doctor told us it was just a final rally before the end, and we should prepare for the worst. I rushed into the ICU and threw myself beside her bed. Grandma looked at me, her eyes overflowing with tears. She gently stroked my hair and began to tell me the secrets she had hidden for fifteen years. She told me I was not Evelyn’s biological daughter. She said my parents had been married for seven years without any luck of having a child. Desperate for an heir, Grandma took advantage of a time when Evelyn was visiting family out of state. She got my father heavily drunk and arranged for another woman to be in his bed. That single night resulted in a pregnancy. And then, I was born. When Evelyn found out, she cried, screamed, and almost filed for divorce, but eventually compromised. She had only one condition: she would never raise me. “Norah, don’t blame your parents. Blame me. It was your old grandma who lost her mind,” she whispered. “I thought, since your mother couldn’t conceive, she would eventually accept you over time.” “But when you were five, Pearl came. It was fate. Your mother is innocent; she has suffered so much.” “I’m sorry, my sweet Norah. I will make it up to you in the next life…” Grandma’s voice faded into nothingness, and her hand fell limp. At that moment, all my anger and resentment collapsed like a house of cards. Yes, how pitiful my mother was. Every time she looked at me, she saw the living proof of her husband’s betrayal. And Pearl was even more innocent. She did nothing wrong, yet she had been the target of my bitter jealousy. Could I blame Grandma? She was the only one who truly loved me. I couldn’t hate her. Could I blame my father? Manipulated by his mother and resented by his wife, his life was its own kind of hell. In the end, the only person left to blame was myself. Why was I even born? Grandma’s funeral was grand. Bennett came too. He stood in the crowd, dressed in a black suit, his eyes cast down. I didn’t talk to him, nor did I talk to anyone else. I was like a puppet without a soul. After the funeral, I moved into my parents’ penthouse—the place I had dreamed of living in since childhood. The apartment was massive, with plenty of rooms, yet I felt like I didn’t belong anywhere. The moment I learned the truth about my birth, all my past rebellion felt like a joke. Overnight, I went from a loud, arrogant brat to a silent shadow. But just as I was shutting myself away in the dark, two people forced their way into my locked heart. One was Bennett, whom I had hated for a decade. The other was Pearl, whom I had envied for just as long. After learning the truth, I started avoiding Bennett on purpose. But he quickly noticed my change. He started clinging to me, being so incredibly sweet that it threw me off. In the cafeteria, he would always sit across from me, moving all the best food from his plate to mine. When I hid on the school rooftop to cry, he would always find me and silently sit by my side. After school, when I didn’t want to go home, he would walk with me through the streets, buying me ice cream. His warmth acted like a gentle current, melting the icy walls around my heart. And Pearl, sensitive as she was, noticed the tense atmosphere at home. She began tirelessly trying to mend the cracks in our family. She would constantly sweet-talk our mother: “Mom, thank you for giving me a sister. I love Norah so much.” “Mom, look, the backpack Norah packed for me is so neat, much better than yours!” “Mom, I’m so happy I get to go to school with Norah every day.” Gradually, the coldness in Evelyn’s eyes when she looked at me began to fade, replaced by a gentle warmth. Eventually, she even started warming up a glass of milk for me whenever she made one for Pearl. Under the warmth of Bennett and Pearl, I slowly came back to life. I finally realized that Pearl was never my enemy. She was my sister. And as for Bennett, we naturally became a couple. Our families were old friends, and our social status matched perfectly. Both sets of parents were happy to see us together. After we started dating, our dates almost always included a little tagalong—Pearl. Bennett would playfully complain to me, “Norah, when do we get some alone time?” Pearl would jump out from behind, hands on her hips, glaring at him. “Are you trying to get rid of me so you can take advantage of my sister?” Watching them bicker, my heart swelled with pure happiness. I thought this beautiful life would last forever.

But the year Pearl turned eighteen, everything shattered. First, Bennett’s parents suddenly returned to the country. They were fiercely against our relationship and even locked him in his room. Then, I received my medical report from the hospital: late-stage stomach cancer. I had three years left to live, at most. When I walked through the door that day, it wasn’t a cheerful Pearl who greeted me, but my mother. Without saying a word, she handed me a diary. With trembling hands, I opened it and turned the pages. “Went to the Cole estate with Norah again today. Finally saw him. His smile is so beautiful.” “Norah has been so busy lately and hasn’t visited the Coles. Ugh, I miss him so much.” “Saw him again today! Following Norah around is definitely the best decision ever.” Every word felt like a dagger piercing my chest. Pearl was in love with Bennett. My mother remained silent for a long time before she finally spoke. “Do you know why Bennett’s parents suddenly opposed you two?” “I called them. I told them you are just an adopted daughter, and that everything in the Vance estate will belong to Pearl in the future.” With one simple phone call, she destroyed any future Bennett and I could have had. That night, Bennett escaped through his window and found me. “Norah, let’s run away. Anywhere, as long as I’m with you.” Looking at his desperate face, my heart bled. Run away? If he did, he would lose his inheritance. His five cousins would tear him apart and take everything he owned. He would have nothing. And what could I give him in return? If we ran away, I could only give him three years of my life. Was I supposed to ruin the rest of his life for just three years of togetherness? I couldn’t. I absolutely couldn’t. Pearl loved him. They grew up together, and they were perfect for each other. More importantly, I couldn’t let Bennett waste his youth on a dying girl. It was better to make him hate me. Looking at the passionate young man in front of me, I forced a bright smile. “Okay, let’s run away.” I tricked him into drinking a glass of red wine laced with sleeping pills, then carried him into Pearl’s bedroom. I didn’t drug him with anything else like Grandma did. I just wanted him to hate me. As for his relationship with Pearl, I decided to let nature take its course. Then, I went to a noisy VIP club, hired a couple of handsome escorts to sit with me, and called my best friend over. I wanted to say my goodbyes to her while waiting for Bennett to find me. At the same time, my mother burst into Pearl’s room with the housekeepers. Bennett and Pearl woke up to the commotion, completely bewildered. My mother demanded angrily, “Bennett, what did you do to my daughter?” Confused and panicking, Bennett blurted out, “How is this possible? I was with Norah last night!” The moment the words left his mouth, he remembered the glass of red wine and my unusually bright smile. A terrible realization washed over him. He quickly corrected himself, “I’m sorry. I drank too much last night and stumbled into the wrong room.” Pearl quickly chimed in, “Bennett and I are fully clothed! Nothing happened, Mom. He must have been looking for Norah and got into the wrong room because he was drunk.” After calming my mother down, Bennett ran out of the house. He had to find me. We had each other’s locations shared on Snapchat. I watched the little icon on my screen get closer and closer to the club. The icon stopped just a few feet away from my VIP table. My friend asked, “All these years of history, and you’re just throwing him away?” I swirled my drink, laughing carelessly. “Friends are like limbs; men are just clothes. She’s my sister. What’s wrong with letting her have some fun with him?” After that night, Bennett vanished from my world. He blocked me on Snapchat, and our families stopped speaking to each other. Pearl became the most anxious one. Every day, she would hover around me, her eyes filled with worry. “Norah, what happened between you and Bennett? Did you guys have a fight?” I just shook my head and smiled, saying everything was fine. Refusing to give up, she tugged at my sleeve and explained for the hundredth time. “That night, I was fully clothed, and so was he.” “He smelled so strongly of alcohol. He really just got drunk and walked into the wrong room.” “Norah, I swear!” I pinched her nose gently. “You’ve said that so many times. I know.” Pearl’s voice softened, filled with a young girl’s hope. “Then can we go visit the Coles? I haven’t seen Bennett in so long. Just go with me, please?” Looking at her bright, hopeful eyes, a dull ache spread through my chest. She really did love him that much. What I did was right. I turned my face away and said quietly, “Go by yourself. I’ve been feeling a bit tired lately.” Pearl looked at my pale face, wanting to say something, but stopped herself. The side effects of chemotherapy were getting worse. I started vomiting constantly, unable to keep any food down. My weight dropped rapidly, and my hair began to fall out in clumps. I became terrified of brushing my hair because every brush brought away a handful of strands. I couldn’t stay here anymore. I was terrified Pearl would discover my secret. Even more, I was terrified Bennett would suddenly show up and see me in this pathetic state. I packed a small suitcase, left a letter, and left the city. I moved to a quiet, sleepy town in Georgia. There were peaceful, flowing creeks and endless fields of wild yellow flowers. I rented a tiny cottage and spent my days watching the sun rise and fall. I kept taking my chemo pills, and the dosage only got stronger. Whenever the pain became unbearable, I would curl up by the window, clutching my knees, picturing Pearl’s bright smile and remembering the warmth of Bennett’s hand in mine. In the blink of an eye, three years passed. One day, I was casually watching the news on TV. “The eldest son of the Cole family is engaged to the daughter of the Vance family. The wedding will take place in three months.” Pearl and Bennett were getting married. So, they really did end up together. My departure had indeed paved the way for them. I should be happy, shouldn’t I? I had achieved my goal. But why were my tears pouring down like rain? I sat in my rented cottage, staring into the dark all night. I wanted to see them one last time. Just once. Before I died, I wanted to lay eyes on the two most important people in my life. I booked a flight back and began my journey home.

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On Christmas Eve, my sister, Chloe, had a mild allergic reaction to mangoes. My parents frantically rushed her to the emergency room. Yet, I had been severely allergic to fish since childhood, but fish was served on our dinner table every single day. My parents always told me: “Allergy? That’s just a weak immune system. Eat more of it, and once your body gets used to it, you won’t be allergic anymore.” Staring at the Christmas dinner slowly turning cold on the table, I couldn’t help but let out a bitter laugh. I didn’t even realize my face was already drenched in tears. Suddenly, a notification popped up on my phone. It was a Snapchat message from Mom: [Summer, Chloe refuses to get a blood test. She says she’s terrified of needles and is crying for you. Get over here now.] I pulled at the corner of my mouth. Terrified? No, she wasn’t. She just didn’t want them to find out she was pregnant. Mom, Dad, your precious little golden child isn’t just pregnant. I walked back into the hospital. At the ER entrance, Nurse Lily looked up in surprise. “Dr. Miller? I thought your shift ended. Why are you back?” I gave her a weary smile. “My sister was admitted. Allergic reaction.” I headed toward the trauma bay. Behind me, I heard Lily muttering to herself, “Weird. Isn’t Dr. Summer a doctor here? Why do her parents need to bring her sister to the ER for a mild allergy?” To my parents, Chloe’s allergy was a life-or-death crisis. How could they ever risk their “golden child” when they had me—their “trial run”—to experiment on? Outside the treatment room, Mom was buried in Dad’s chest, sobbing uncontrollably. “Richard, we are such terrible parents. How did we not know Chloe was allergic to mangoes?” They had actually been perfect parents to Chloe. There had never been a single allergen in our house since the day she was born. But Chloe was pregnant. The pregnancy had triggered a new, sudden allergy, and they simply didn’t know yet. The moment Mom saw me, she grabbed my arm roughly, her voice dripping with blame. “What took you so long? Don’t you know a severe allergy can kill someone?” “She refuses to do the blood test, so they can’t start the IV. She kicked us both out of the room. Go in there and do something!” I looked into her tear-filled eyes. For the first time in my life, I talked back. “I know exactly how deadly allergies are, Mom.” “So tell me—why is it that when I was allergic to fish, you mashed a whole bowl of cod into my rice and forced me to eat it?” Not only that, but when my throat began to swell, they told me to “tough it out” so I could eat fish normally in the future. It was only when a neighbor visited, gasped in horror, and screamed at my parents for being criminally negligent that I was finally rushed to the ICU. The doctor said if I had arrived five minutes later, I would have been brain-dead. Mom froze for a second. Then, her face flushed with deep annoyance. “What nonsense are you talking about? I never did that!” “Even if I did, why bring up the past now? Look at your sister! She’s breaking out in hives!” With that, she pushed me into the hospital room, shutting the door behind me. Chloe was sitting on the gurney, scratching her neck frantically. “Summer! Thank God you’re here. You have to save me. Only you can help me now.” I pulled back her collar to inspect the rash. “You need an IV antihistamine. It’ll clear up faster.” She glanced nervously at the closed door and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Summer, cut the crap. I know you found the folic acid pills in my vitamin bottle.” “I know I can’t hide it from you. Please, Summer, help me. I can’t take any medication that might hurt the baby.” I stared at her, my expression completely flat. “So? You’re going to keep it? You’re only a sophomore in college…” “Summer!” she interrupted, her voice snapping with irritation. “Just because Mom and Dad ruined your relationship when you were in college doesn’t mean you get to rain on my parade.” “Mom and Dad actually allowed me to date. I just haven’t figured out how to tell them about the pregnancy yet.” Right. She had to remind me. When I fell in love in college, my parents threw a massive scene at the Dean’s office. They used the most vicious language to humiliate me and that boy at school. They even threatened to report him to the police for sexual assault, despite me screaming that we hadn’t even kissed. They wouldn’t let it go. In the end, unable to bear the public humiliation and pressure, the boy withdrew from college. His entire future, which he had worked so hard for, was destroyed by my parents. After that, no one at school dared to be my friend. And I never dated again. But when Chloe went to college, my parents saw that I had become an “old maid.” Fearing they had been too strict, they suddenly became open-minded and encouraged Chloe to date.

To ensure she had a “healthy social life,” they raised her allowance to $1,000 a month. They claimed they didn’t want her “begging boys for money.” Meanwhile, when I was in college, they gave me exactly $150 a month. I had to work three part-time jobs just to afford groceries and textbooks. Later, Mom actually bragged on Facebook about how she “fostered independence” in her eldest daughter. The post was flooded with mockery from local moms. [If you don’t want to cherish your daughter, someone else will.] [Treating your kid like that is how you end up in a cheap nursing home.] Panic-stricken by the online backlash, they immediately added another $500 to Chloe’s monthly allowance. Every wrong decision they made with me, they corrected by doubling the love on Chloe. “Summer!” Seeing me space out, Chloe gave me a hard shove, her tone reverting to her usual bossy self. “I looked it up on Google. There are allergy meds safe for pregnant women. Prescribe me that. I’m itching to death!” “I’m not lying for you, Chloe. Tell Mom and Dad yourself.” I turned to leave. “Summer! Don’t you want to know what Grandma Sarah said right before she died?” I stopped dead in my tracks. Grandma Sarah was the only person in this world who had ever truly loved me. When I was little, I proudly brought my report cards and academic awards home, taping them to the living room wall to surprise my parents. They only gave them a cold, passing glance. “Take them down. It looks messy. You think this deserves a trophy? Summer, you’re still far from good enough.” But Grandma Sarah would bake blueberry muffins to celebrate my B-plus. She would hug me and say, “My Summer is the smartest girl in the world.” She carefully taped together the certificates my mother had ripped down. “Bring them all to Grandma’s house, sweetie. Seeing them makes me happy.” Eventually, my awards covered an entire wall in Grandma’s living room. She boasted about me to every neighbor who walked by. But when Grandma was terminally ill, my parents hid it from me. They claimed they didn’t want to “distract” me from my medical school entrance exams. Because of their lie, I never got to say goodbye. Yet, when Chloe was stressed during her junior year of high school, they let her take a gap year to travel across Europe. How was I ever supposed to forgive them for that? Suppressing the sharp ache in my chest, I turned back to Chloe. “Fine. I’ll write the prescription.” The moment I stepped out of the room, my parents swarmed me. “How is she? Is Chloe okay?” “I’m getting her meds.” I averted my eyes and walked past them quickly. They immediately pressed their faces against the glass window of Chloe’s room. “Chloe? Sweetie, are you okay?” “Okay, okay, Daddy and Mommy won’t come in. Just don’t scratch your face, okay? It’ll scar, and we can’t have our beautiful girl scarred!” I forced myself to block out their voices. But my chest felt like a hollow cave, with cold wind howling through the empty space. From childhood to adulthood, they had nothing but criticism for me. Even when neighbors complimented my looks, Mom would scoff: “Beautiful? Her eyes are as small as a mouse’s. And she has such a gloomy personality. I don’t know who she got those genes from.” Only Grandma Sarah ever told me I was beautiful. I’m sorry, Grandma. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there at the end. Back in the room, I handed the pills to Chloe. “Take three. We need to keep you overnight for observation.” The moment she swallowed them, I asked, “What did Grandma say before she passed?” “Do you really want to know?” Chloe arched an eyebrow, a smirk playing on her lips. “No wonder Mom and Dad say you’re an ungrateful leech who only cared about that old lady.” I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms. “Tell me.” She slid back down onto the pillows. “Tell Mom and Dad to go home first. You stay here and nurse me tonight.” “Chloe.” “Don’t think your pregnancy is the only secret I know.”

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At our Thanksgiving dinner, I happily announced that Chloe was pregnant. My dad, Arthur, immediately proposed: “Chloe, let me hire an eight-pack male housekeeper for you.” “You’re pregnant, you shouldn’t be doing any chores. Having a handsome male housekeeper will not only keep the house clean but also satisfy your physical needs. We wouldn’t want you to feel frustrated during pregnancy!” Chloe almost choked to death on her turkey. I slammed my fork down in displeasure: “Dad, what kind of sick joke is that!” Arthur glared at me with a sinister look: “I’m not joking. What woman doesn’t cheat?” “When your mother was pregnant with you, she hooked up with our male housekeeper. Every woman in this world cheats, so why would your wife be any exception?” A sudden surge of anger rushed to my head. Just because his wife cheated on him, why the hell did my wife have to cheat on me too! Chloe looked like she was sitting on pins and needles. She nervously wiped her sweat, then tightly held my hand. “Arthur, please don’t test me. I promise I will never do anything to betray Ethan!” My dad’s smile froze on his face. Jealousy quickly crept into his eyes. “Oh, my silly daughter-in-law, Ethan has already betrayed you a long time ago. Why are you being so loyal to him?” My eyes widened in disbelief. “Dad, what nonsense are you talking about now? I have never done anything behind Chloe’s back!” Arthur smirked triumphantly. As if he had been prepared for this, he pulled a crumpled piece of loose-leaf paper from his pocket. He slid the paper into Chloe’s hands and lowered his voice: “This is the creepy letter Ethan wrote to a girl back in high school. I intercepted it. I even made a hundred copies of it and plastered them all over his school.” “Harassing a girl at eighteen—I would never do something so shameless. What does this prove? It proves Ethan is a degenerate creep. He’s definitely messing around behind your back.” “Even a good man like me got cheated on. You don’t need to treat a trash guy like him like a king. If you want to cheat, just do it.” My dad let out a cold snort. His expression was filled with utter contempt. I clenched my fists so hard that my nails dug deep into my palms. The sharp pain was burning, but I couldn’t feel it over the numbness in my chest. Those suffocating memories instantly flooded back to me… Growing up, my dad’s favorite phrase was: “If I didn’t have it, why should you?” “I didn’t even have clean underwear when I was a kid, why should you? Just wrap yourself in any old rag!” “I’m not buying you a razor. No one bought me one when I was young, so why should you use my money? Figure it out yourself!” I grew up with no new clothes, no decent underwear, and not even a proper razor. When I was eighteen, a kind girl in my class noticed my struggle. She hesitantly handed me a bag one day. Inside were clean underwear, shaving cream, and a brand-new razor. She quietly told me to ask her for help if I ever struggled again. I was so moved that I wrote her a heartfelt thank-you letter. But my dad insisted it was a “harassment letter.” He called me shameless and claimed the girl only bought me those things because I had threatened her. My dad dragged me to a clinic for a reproductive exam. He yelled in the hallway for everyone to hear: “Check if he’s even functional, or if he’s just a sexually frustrated freak!” When the results came back completely normal, he looked dazed, almost utterly disappointed. But quickly, he changed his narrative. “So what if you’re physically normal? You wrote creepy letters to a girl at eighteen. Your mind is already filthy. You’re just a lowlife. No decent girl will ever want you.” “I was clean and decent, yet I ended up with a woman like your mother. A piece of trash like you is only fit to marry a worthless whore.” My dad heavily edited my thank-you letter, turning it into a truly disgusting, explicit note. He posted a hundred copies of it around the school. From then on, that girl avoided me like the plague. My classmates looked at me with disgust and mocked me daily. I didn’t have a single friend. Even the teacher who used to like me the most started looking at me with pure loathing. Later, I worked hard and escaped that small, run-down town. My career took off, and I started earning more and more. My dad actually apologized to me back then. He said he was only trying to prevent me from dating in high school so I wouldn’t ruin my future. I thought he had finally changed. But now, he was bringing up the past again just to trash me in front of my wife! After reading the “letter” with a look of utter confusion, Chloe looked at my dad as if he were a lunatic: “Arthur, whether this thing is real or fake, it’s ancient history.” “I don’t care about the past. I only care about our future.” “I am very happy with Ethan. Don’t worry, I will never betray him.” 2 Chloe squeezed my hand. Her warmth slowly melted the icy chill in my bones. Most of my anger faded away. Ever since the letter incident, my dad kept drumming it into my head that I didn’t deserve a good girl. After I started working, he kept setting me up on horrible blind dates. A girl under house arrest, a convicted scammer, a woman who had been divorced three times… My dad always said that since he couldn’t get a good woman, I certainly didn’t deserve one either. But Chloe had never let go of my hand from the very beginning. Chloe’s loyalty only made my dad furious. No matter what lies he spewed, Chloe stayed by my side. So, he turned his target back onto me. “Ethan, how many months along is she?” I answered warily, “Almost four months.” My dad smiled, looking relieved. “Four months… Heh, then you’re about to become impotent soon.” “Ethan, you’re finally going to taste this misery. When your mother was pregnant, I worked myself to the bone to support the family. My body broke down, and your mother called me a useless excuse of a man. That’s why she slept with the male housekeeper.” “Once you ruin your own body from stress, Chloe will definitely find someone else.” Looking at the satisfaction in my dad’s smile, I couldn’t help but shiver. A cold, desolate sadness washed over me. We were father and son, not enemies. Why was my dad so eager to see me fail? Why did he desperately want my wife to cheat on me? Shouldn’t a father want his son to be happy? At the thought of me being betrayed, the excitement on my dad’s face was completely unmasked. He gestured wildly as he rambled on: “Being impotent is nothing. That’s the least of your worries.” “With Chloe pregnant, you’ll have to work like a dog to support the family. You’ll go bald, get wrinkles, grow a beer belly, and look so ugly that Chloe will want to throw up just looking at you! Once you turn into that monster, Chloe will naturally jump into another man’s bed.” “I had to go through all that pain. Why shouldn’t you experience it too?” Even Chloe, with her gentle temper, was thoroughly enraged now. She glared at my dad coldly: “Arthur, that’s not going to happen.” “My family has money. Ethan doesn’t need to destroy his health to work. He only needs to do what he loves. I am going to use my entire trust fund to support his startup.” “Besides, even if Ethan does end up looking like that, I would only feel heartbroken and blame myself. Why would I ever cheat on him?” My dad opened his mouth, his eyes turning blank. I thought he was going to throw another tantrum. Tantrum about how hard he worked in his youth to the point of ruining his body, and why I got to have it easy. But he didn’t. My dad silently kept putting food onto Chloe’s plate, muttering, “Eat more.” In his eyes, there was jealousy, but even more, there was deep loss and misery. My heart suddenly gave a sharp, painful throb. No matter what, my dad had raised me all by himself. His jealousy was real, but his twisted love didn’t seem entirely fake either. He was old. Chloe and I should try to tolerate him as much as we could. The Thanksgiving dinner ended in a bizarre, tense silence. Soon, Chloe reached her second trimester. Chloe took me to see the office space she had rented for my startup, but we were stopped by the property manager. “Mr. Miller, the lease was canceled by your father.” “If you have any questions, you should talk to him.” With a loud *thud*, my heart sank to the bottom of my chest. I rushed back home immediately to confront him. The moment I stepped through the door, my eyes were blinded by the brand-new Rolex on my dad’s wrist. I didn’t even have to guess where the money came from. Furious, I grabbed his wrist and demanded: “When I got married, you said you didn’t have a new watch when you married, so why should I. I felt bad for you, so I gave you the watch Chloe bought for me without a second thought.” “Dad, if you wanted a new watch, you could have just told me! I would have bought it for you! Why did you cancel my office lease?!” Hearing the words “office lease,” my dad’s eyes instantly turned bloodshot. 3 He gnashed his teeth and glared at me, a terrifying hatred emanating from his eyes. He slapped me hard across the face: “You have the nerve to ask?!” “When I wanted to start a business back then, nobody helped me! I had to be a slave to corporate America my entire life! Why? Why is Chloe willing to give you her trust fund to support your startup? You don’t deserve it!” I held my burning cheek, completely dazed. That phrase again. I felt incredibly wronged and helpless. Why did my dad lose his mind every time my life got slightly better? Could a father really envy his own son to this extent? While I was lost in thought, my dad suddenly lunged at me and violently yanked at my pants. His eyes shone with a manic, excited light, filled with twisted anticipation: “Chloe is over five months pregnant now. You must be exhausted. Let me see how pathetic and shriveled you’ve become!” The moment he saw that I was perfectly healthy and functional, the wild grin froze on his face. He rubbed his eyes, staring in absolute disbelief. Finally, he had to accept the bitter truth that my body was perfectly fine. My dad burst into tears, ripping open his own shirt to point at his worn-down, frail chest, glaring at me with pure hatred: “To raise you, I ruined my own health! Your mother called me a useless piece of trash and cheated on me!” “I became a broken man, so why the hell do you get to be perfectly fine?!” My dad roared. Amidst my anger, a wave of pity washed over me. His life had indeed been bitter. Perhaps it was the decades of misery that had twisted him into this monster. Trembling, I opened my arms, wanting to hug my dad, wanting to repair this broken father-son relationship. “Dad, everyone’s body is different.” “I’ll take you to a specialist. We can slowly get you treated, okay?” My dad opened his arms too. I thought he was going to hug me, to accept my peace offering. But I was dead wrong. In the next second, my dad raised his foot and violently kicked me straight in the groin. He used all his strength, stomping on me repeatedly. “To hell with your ‘different bodies’! You just had it easy, enjoying all the luxury!” “I became a useless wreck just to raise you. If the father is a wreck, the son must be one too!” My dad stood over me, panting heavily, the tip of his shoe stained with my blood. That kick had landed directly on my most sensitive part with maximum force. My vision went black from the agonizing pain, and I collapsed onto the floor, curling into a ball. I looked down; my inner thigh was already swollen, bruised a horrific shade of purple and red. To make me just like him, my dad was actually trying to castrate me. Enough. This was enough. As if the pain and despair weren’t enough, my dad raised his foot again, preparing to stomp down once more. In absolute terror and despair, I screamed for help: “Chloe!” Chloe burst through the door, horrified by the bloody scene. She flew to my side. I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Clutching my bleeding groin, I blacked out. In the hospital, Chloe held my hand, her voice trembling with lingering fear: “Don’t worry, Ethan, you’re going to be okay.” “Your dad is insane. I’m already looking into some reputable psychiatric facilities. We are cutting him off after this.” I nodded in agreement. When we returned home from the hospital, we found my dad sitting in our living room. I instantly regretted ever giving him a spare key to our apartment. Seeing my hospital gown, my dad rolled his eyes in annoyance: “I didn’t even go to the hospital when I chopped off my finger at work, and you ran to the ER over a little scratch? Why do you get to go to the hospital?” “Chloe, you need to control him. Going to the hospital is a waste of money. He has absolutely no backbone!” My already shattered heart stabbed with pain once more. Suddenly, the doorbell rang. My dad happily got up to answer it. He respectfully welcomed a young man inside. The guy was young and handsome, dressed in flashy clubwear, with his eight-pack abs faintly visible through his semi-sheer shirt. Chloe and I exchanged a confused look. 4 Like presenting a prize, my dad pushed the young man toward Chloe with a sly grin: “Chloe, this is Justin. The personal assistant I hired for you guys.” “Look at him, he’s fit and capable. Isn’t he a million times better than that pale, sickly husband of yours?” Justin licked his lips and gave a suggestive, charming smirk. I stared at them coldly, my heart dropping into a bottomless ice cave. My dad was doing it again. Just because my mother cheated during her pregnancy, he was hell-bent on making my wife cheat too. Before I could even lose my temper, Chloe’s face darkened, and she began pushing them out: “Dressed like that? Does he look like he’s here to do housework?” “Arthur, I will hire a professional service myself. As for this ‘gentleman,’ please take him and leave immediately.” With that, Chloe shoved them toward the door. But my dad was stubborn. He grabbed the doorframe, refusing to budge. He gave Chloe a highly suggestive look: “Oh, Justin is very ‘capable’ in more ways than one!” “You have to give him a one-day trial. If he really is useless, I’ll take him away. But you can’t judge a book by its cover and rob this poor young man of a job opportunity!” Justin also blinked his large, puppy-dog eyes and pleaded in a deep, sultry voice: “If I don’t find a job soon, my family is going to sell me to offshore illegal casinos to pay off their debts.” “Chloe, Ethan, please, just give me a chance!” My head was throbbing from their badgering. Fine. It was just one day. What could they possibly do in twenty-four hours? If they refused to leave tomorrow, I would just call the police. Seeing my silent compliance, my dad and Justin exchanged a knowing smile. Though they smiled brightly, a chill ran down my spine. The next morning, I woke up to find the bed beside me empty. I called out Chloe’s name, but there was no response… until I checked the guest bedroom. Chloe and Justin were lying in bed together, completely naked. Their faces were flushed, their bodies tangled in an extremely intimate position. Even with my eyes closed, I could guess what had happened. An overwhelming wave of agony crashed over me. I roared in fury, grabbing a glass mug from the nightstand and smashing it onto the floor. My dad walked in, looking at me with absolute triumph, as if he had just won the lottery. “Your mother cheated when she was pregnant, so why shouldn’t your wife?” “Hmph, I had to live with a cheating whore my whole life, why do you get to have a perfect woman like Chloe? Now look at you, your wife is a cheater too.” My dad grabbed my arm: “Come on, don’t embarrass yourself here. Stop ruining their post-sex bliss.” “Divorce Chloe. I’ll introduce you to a woman who is actually a perfect match for you. I think Scarlett would be great.” I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat feeling like a razor blade. I knew Scarlett. She had been married five times, divorcing each husband immediately after taking their money. She had had countless abortions, and she even had a severe, incurable STI! I thought my dad was just jealous of me. This wasn’t jealousy. This was pure, unadulterated hatred! He hated seeing me happy, and he only felt joy when I was dragged down into the mud. My eyes fell upon a bottle of heavy-duty liquid aphrodisiac sitting on the corner of the table. My heart seized. To force my wife to cheat, my dad had actually resorted to drugging her. I violently shook off my dad’s hand, casting away the very last shred of familial affection I had left. Unlocking my phone, I dialed 911: “Yes, I’d like to report a crime. Someone has been poisoned and physically assaulted. The address is…”

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After my wife reached a seven-figure salary, she put me in her slide presentation of life shames during her speech at the annual industry summit. On the massive screen, she projected photos of me wearing an apron, frying fish, and kneeling on the floor scrubbing the toilet. Next to the photos, she wrote in bold, humiliating letters: “A depreciating asset!” “A stumbling block to progress!” “An obstacle that must be cleared on the road to success!” In an instant, I became the laughingstock of the entire venue. But what she didn’t know was that I used to be a legendary algorithm genius in the tech world. I only hid my brilliance and returned to the kitchen because I loved her. Now, this marriage? I’m done with it. My wife, Vivian, was giving a keynote speech titled “My Decade” at the prestigious Annual Tech & Industry Summit. The presentation slides had finally reached the “Acknowledgments” section. I remembered her telling me last night that she wanted to give me a special thank-you today. I secretly wondered if she would show a sweet couple photo of us. However, the first slide popped up. It was a photo of me wearing a grease-stained apron, looking messy and flustered while frying fish. Giggles and whispers immediately rippled from the back rows. Then, the second photo appeared. It was a shot of my back as I knelt on one knee, scrubbing the toilet bowl. The angle was awkward, making me look incredibly submissive, as if I were worshiping the toilet. The entire hall erupted into laughter. And there I was, sitting in the front row, invited as the “supportive spouse.” The camera panned to my face, which had gone completely pale. I could clearly hear the whispers from the seats next to me. “Is that Vivian’s house husband? The one living off her?” “No wonder she’s so successful. She cut off the dead weight to fly higher.” “It couldn’t have been easy for Vivian, climbing to the top with a useless drag like him.” The voices were loud. They wanted me to hear them. I froze in my seat, feeling every gaze in the room burning into my skin like flashlights. On stage, Vivian looked radiant, her voice confident and sharp. “In the career growth phase, we must learn to subtract. We have to identify and clear out the burdens that slow us down…” For the next ten minutes, she dissected my daily chores—cooking, cleaning, taking care of our daughter—as if they were corporate business cases. Sunk cost, opportunity cost, negative return on investment… Every business term she used felt like a cold knife twisting in my heart. The audience erupted in thunderous applause as her speech ended. Vivian smiled and bowed gracefully on stage, basking in the spotlight. She was glowing. Meanwhile, I slouched my shoulders and quietly walked out of the hall, blending into the shadows. When I got home, I sat on the dark sofa. I didn’t turn on the lights. I just stared at the silhouettes of the furniture in the silence. We had been married for five years. When Vivian said she wanted to push for her career, I said okay, I’ll handle the home. When she said she hated chores, I said okay, I’ll do them. When she said having a baby would ruin her career path, I said okay, I’ll raise Lily. I thought this was a partnership. I thought this was what a family was supposed to be. Only today did I realize that in her eyes, I was just a parasite, a “depreciating asset” holding her back. The front door clicked open. Vivian stumbled in, smelling of alcohol. Her cheeks were flushed, but her eyes still held the excitement of her big night. She flipped the light switch and frowned when she saw me. “Leo, why are you just sitting there in the dark? Go make me a black coffee. I have a massive hangover.” I didn’t move. I just stared at her. “Vivian, what am I to you, really?” Vivian pushed past me impatiently. “Leo, what is your problem now?” “Today’s slides. Those photos. Those words.” I questioned her, my voice trembling but steady. “In your heart, I’m just a burden, aren’t I?” Vivian turned around, leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. I knew that posture. It was her negotiation stance, the one she used when dealing with difficult clients. “Leo, today was the biggest day of my career. I don’t want to fight. Those were just case studies for the presentation. I needed them for the stage effect.” I let out a dry laugh. “Case studies? Using photos of your husband scrubbing toilets as a joke?” “What did you want me to do?” Vivian raised her voice. “Show a cheesy couple photo? Tell everyone my success is because I have a great husband? Who would buy that in our industry?” She walked closer, her breath smelling of wine. “Leo, this is my moment. Can you please not ruin it?” I looked at her, suddenly feeling like she was a complete stranger. The woman who had shared my bed for five years was someone I didn’t know at all. “So, to you, I really am just a negative asset that needs to be cleared out of your way?” Vivian went silent for a few seconds. “So what if you are? What if you aren’t? Leo, grow up, will you?” She turned and walked toward the bedroom. “I’m exhausted. I have a meeting with investors tomorrow.” The bedroom door slammed shut. I stood up and went into the study. At the very bottom of the bookshelf, there was a dusty cardboard box. I pulled it out and opened it. Inside were relics of my past life: my collegiate coding championship medals, a faded team photo, and an old black phone. I plugged it into a charger. As soon as the screen lit up, a five-year-old text message popped up. “Leo, are you really not joining us? Name your price. The offer stands.” The sender was Cole Sterling—the man who was now the billionaire founder of the tech giant Apex Tech.

Five years ago, Cole’s company was just a team of five people, including me, operating out of a cramped rented apartment. He had told me we were going to change the world. But I had told him I was getting married, and Vivian needed me. Cole had tried to convince me. “Leo, think about it. Opportunities like this only come once in a lifetime.” I had replied without hesitation, “A marriage also only comes once.” He had been silent for a long time before replying, “Alright. But I will always keep a spot open for you. Come back whenever you’re ready.” Later, his company, Apex Tech, became a global tech giant. And I became the pathetic back profile scrubbing a toilet on a slide screen. After a moment of hesitation, I dialed his number. It rang only once before it was picked up. “Hello?” Cole’s voice came through, sounding slightly tired but alert. “Cole, it’s me. Leo.” The other end went dead silent. A few seconds later, Cole’s voice exploded with disbelief and excitement. “Leo?! Is that really you?” “Yeah, it’s me.” “Man! You finally woke up!” Cole’s voice sounded like fireworks. “The shares I promised you back then? I’ve kept them untouched. Where are you? Tomorrow—no, right now, I’ll send a car to fetch you. We’re actually stuck on a major security protocol loop right now, and your brain is exactly what we need…” He talked incredibly fast, his familiar passion warming my cold heart. My eyes grew misty. “Cole, I can’t come over just yet,” I interrupted him, my voice a bit raspy. “Why?” Cole’s excitement died down, replaced by confusion. “I need to handle some personal stuff first. But you can send me the files of that security loop. I’ll take a look.” “Awesome!” Cole didn’t ask further. “Leo, with you on this, we’re already halfway to solving it!” Minutes later, the data was transferred to my laptop. The dense code, the complex architecture… it was so familiar, like riding a bike. For the next three days, life went on as usual. I took Lily to preschool, did the groceries, cooked, and cleaned. Vivian still left early and came home late, completely absorbed in her work. We barely spoke. The atmosphere in the house was colder than living with a stranger. But during the late nights when Lily was asleep, and in the brief pockets of time between chores, my brain was running at maximum speed. On the third night, I sent a security patch and a detailed analysis report to Cole. A few minutes later, Cole called back, his voice cracking with pure excitement. “Holy shit, Leo! You’re a freaking god! Not only did you patch the leak, but you optimized the entire defense logic! My senior devs are literally staring at your code right now like it’s a miracle!” Listening to his praise, I managed a small smile. But my heart was surprisingly calm. It felt like I had just done something as natural as breathing. “Send me your bank account details. I’ll wire your payment.” I hesitated for a second, then agreed. I needed the money now. Not to prove anything, but to buy back my own life. Soon, my phone buzzed with a bank notification: $5,000,000 had been deposited. I gasped. I called Cole back. “Cole, this is too much. It was just a patch.” “Too much?” Cole yelled through the phone. “Leo, do you know how many millions we would lose a day if our competitors exploited that bug? It’s easily double this amount. I actually feel like five million is insulting your genius. Just take it, or I’ll be pissed!” After hanging up, I stared at the long string of zeros. For the first time, I realized how ridiculous my five years of “sacrifice” had been. Vivian had worked her ass off for five years to reach a million-dollar salary. And I had made three times her annual income in just three days, in the middle of doing chores and raising our kid. With the money, I started to change. First, I went to a high-end boutique and got myself a few tailored suits. I joined a premium gym, hired a personal trainer, and started working out again. I also bought a luxury watch—a brand only true connoisseurs would recognize. When I stood in the living room looking completely transformed, Vivian was visibly stunned. She looked me up and down, her eyes lingering on my watch for a second before she let out a mocking laugh. “Leo, since when did you care about brand names? Wearing a fake watch out? Aren’t you afraid of getting laughed at? What, having a midlife crisis and trying to feel important?” Her words were like cold needles, but they couldn’t pierce the emotional armor I had built over the last few days. However, the real blow came without warning. A few days later, I was playing with Lily at the community playground until a bit late. As we walked back, I saw a black Mercedes-Maybach parked near our building. Vivian got out of the passenger seat. From the driver’s seat came a wealthy-looking, middle-aged man. The man naturally reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind Vivian’s ear. Then, they shared a brief, intimate hug. It was a gesture too practiced to be their first time. The man drove off. Vivian turned around with a lingering smile on her face, which instantly froze when she saw me standing in the shadows. A flash of panic crossed her face, but she quickly masked it with her usual defensive attitude. “My company is bidding for a massive contract worth over a hundred million dollars,” she said defensively. “That was Robert, the head of the procurement committee. In business, sometimes you have to play the game.” I didn’t say a word. I just watched the tail lights of the Maybach disappear. At that moment, the very last spark of hesitation in my heart died. If that’s how it is, Vivian, let me show you what you’ve actually thrown away and trampled on. The “depreciating asset” who only knew how to clean toilets in your eyes is about to become the mountain you will never be able to climb.

I pulled out my phone and sent a Snapchat message to Cole. “Help me look up Starlight Corp’s biggest bidding project recently, and find out what technical issues they are facing.” Starlight Corp was Vivian’s company, a publicly-traded electronics manufacturer. Within two hours, Cole sent me a highly detailed report. The report showed that while Starlight Corp looked successful on the outside, they were under massive pressure. Their revenue and net profit had plummeted over the past year, and their stock price was tanking. They desperately needed a win to restore investor confidence. The multi-million smart IoT terminal project from Omni Group was their holy grail. It wasn’t just a lucrative contract; more importantly, Starlight wanted to secure a long-term partnership with a giant like Omni Group. The core requirement of the bid was to design a smart management system that could seamlessly integrate with Omni’s standards while maintaining flawless quality control. Starlight’s tech team had been working day and night, but they couldn’t solve the integration lag. On top of that, another company was eyeing the project. Vance Technologies, a smaller but highly innovative firm. However, Vance Tech was also stuck on the exact same technical bottleneck. I closed the file and leaned back, closing my eyes to think. Since Starlight and Vivian had bet their entire future on this, I would strike them exactly where they were weakest—their technology. Once my plan was set, I contacted Cole again and asked him to introduce me to Marcus Vance, the CEO of Vance Technologies. Cole’s efficiency was unmatched. The next afternoon, I met Marcus Vance in a private VIP room of an exclusive club. I didn’t waste time on small talk. I pushed a technical proposal across the table. It contained the exact solution for the Omni Group project. Marcus, having a strong engineering background himself, scanned the paper. I watched his expression go from skepticism to absolute shock. He sat straight up, his eyes wide. “Mr. Miller… this is genius! This system doesn’t just solve the compatibility issue; it increases the overall efficiency by twenty percent! How did you develop this so quickly?” I replied calmly, “How I did it doesn’t matter. What matters is, can this proposal win you the Omni Group contract?” “Yes! Absolutely!” Marcus said, his voice shaking with excitement. He looked at me eagerly. “Mr. Miller, please join Vance Tech. The Chief Technology Officer position is yours. We can start at a million-dollar base salary plus stock options!” It was an offer that would tempt anyone, but I shook my head. “Thank you, Mr. Vance, but I have no interest in joining full-time. However, I can act as your special technical consultant for this project to help your team implement it.” “I have only one condition: my identity must remain strictly confidential until the contract is signed.” Marcus nodded vigorously. “Deal. I’ll personally handle the NDA. Having you on our side is the best thing that ever happened to Vance Tech.” On the day of the bidding event, I arrived early and sat in a quiet, dimly lit corner at the back of the auditorium. Vivian, representing Starlight Corp, was the lead presenter. She wore a sharp white suit, her makeup was flawless, and she exuded authority. She stood on stage, demonstrating her polished slides and explaining Starlight’s solution. Her delivery was perfect, her data was solid, and her confident aura had the judges and Omni Group executives nodding in approval. Everything seemed to be going exactly as she had planned. Until the Q&A session. Marcus Vance raised his hand. He took the microphone and skipped the pleasantries, pointing directly at a flaw in Vivian’s presentation. “Vivian, your high-concurrency data solution might look good on paper, but under real-world testing, it will cause severe latency on Omni’s assembly lines.” The question was highly technical and sharp. Vivian’s face paled for a fraction of a second, but she quickly forced a bright smile. She adjusted her headset and responded smoothly. “Thank you, Marcus. Our team actually anticipated that risk. We have designed a three-tier dynamic buffer to handle it. In our industry right now, this is the absolute best solution available.” Vivian’s quick thinking was impressive, and she quickly regained control of the room. But Marcus just smiled, a sharp edge in his eyes. “The best solution? I beg to differ. Ladies and gentlemen, Vance Tech has developed a brand-new system architecture. It doesn’t just fix the latency; it boosts overall system efficiency by over twenty percent. I’d like to invite our special technical consultant to explain the details.” A murmur ran through the crowd. Vivian’s brow furrowed, a trace of anxiety flickering in her eyes. But mostly, she looked annoyed. She didn’t believe Vance Tech could have a better solution, let alone some random “consultant.” Under the spotlight, I slowly stood up, straightened my suit jacket, and walked toward the stage under a sea of curious eyes.

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