Category: English

During our vacation trip, my water broke on the way to the airport. Someone helped flag down a taxi, and just as they were about to help me in, my husband rushed over and blocked them. “My wife has a history of fraud. The last person who helped her ended up paying five hundred thousand dollars.” The bystander jerked their hand back in fear, and the taxi driver refused to take me. I had no strength to explain. I could only dial emergency services with trembling hands. But when the ambulance arrived, Ethan just sneered coldly. “My wife is in her third trimester and often leaks urine. Every time, she thinks her water broke.” “She has serious mental problems. No matter what the test results show, she’ll accuse the hospital of scamming her.” “If you take her to the hospital, not only won’t you get paid, but she’ll also call the police and sue you.” The paramedics cursed and left. I was drowning in despair when Ethan looked at me with complete calm. “Your sister Sophia is pregnant. The baby is mine.” “Her due date is today. I promised her I’d make sure her child is born first.” “Just hold on a bit longer. As soon as she delivers, I’ll arrange your surgery immediately.”

Seeing tears pooling in my eyes, he patted my face as if to comfort me. “You only have yourself to blame. Back then, I just drunkenly kissed her, and you made it everyone’s business.” “She married some random guy out of spite against you, never expecting he’d be abusive and beat her until she miscarried.” “You owe her a life. Making you hold it in and deliver later is just helping you atone for your sins.” I looked at his indifferent eyes, a bitter smile forming on my lips. Ethan, since you say I’m guilty, I wonder if repaying you with two lives for the price of one will be enough. Another wave of excruciating pain tore through my lower abdomen. I knelt on the ground, unable to suppress my anguished screams. Ethan looked down at me, his eyes holding reluctance and heartache, but not a trace of guilt. The crowd around us had long dispersed. I looked up helplessly, my voice trembling. “Ethan, please, take me to the hospital first.” The pain made me desperately clutch at his pant leg with blood-stained fingers. Ethan kicked my hand away, stepping back with disgust written all over his face. “I promised Sophia I’d personally accompany her during delivery. There’s a professional team recording it for us. If my pants get dirty, she won’t be happy.” Blood pooled between my legs, and amniotic fluid soaked the ground. Ethan saw none of it. His mind was only concerned with whether he looked presentable enough while accompanying Sophia during childbirth. He didn’t care about me, nor about the baby in my belly. Then what were those ten years I spent with him, building his empire from nothing and tasting every hardship life had to offer? My whole body trembled as I tried to question him, but the torture of contractions made me writhe on the ground. Ethan glanced at his watch, a smile playing on his lips. “Sophia should be delivering soon. You go home first. Once I’m done, I’ll come get you.” My consciousness was beginning to blur from the pain as I pleaded with a trembling voice. “Ethan, my water broke. If I don’t go to the hospital now, the baby will die.” He bent down, stroking my head with something like pity. The gesture was so casual, like petting a stray dog. “Don’t worry, I won’t abandon you. After all, you’re the real Mrs. Morrison, and you’re the one I love most.” “But debts must be repaid. Atoning this way—knowing the pain will teach you a lesson, so you won’t bully young girls just because of your status anymore.” “I’ve already instructed the family doctor to wait for you at the villa. You and the baby will be fine. At most, you’ll just hurt for a while.”

“Mia, don’t be so dramatic. Same childbirth, but Sophia isn’t making a fuss. She’s just waiting quietly for me at the hospital. In this regard, she’s much more sensible than you.” As soon as he finished speaking, Ethan’s phone rang abruptly. Through the speaker came a woman’s coquettish voice. “Ethan, the doctor says I’m fully dilated and needs me in the delivery room now.” “Are you still with that old hag? Oh right, she’s the one you officially married, Mrs. Morrison. The one in my belly is just a bastard.” “Ethan, if you don’t come right now, I’m not giving birth.” The usually calm and composed Mr. Morrison’s expression changed instantly. His eyes filled with anxious panic, even his tone becoming humble. “What are you talking about? I told you, only the one in your belly will be the Morrison family’s firstborn.” “Mia’s water broke and she’s rolling around on the ground in pain right now. If you don’t believe me, I’ll take a video to show you.” He bent down, shoving the camera in my face. Only after seeing my wretched state did Sophia laugh with satisfaction. I forced down the bone-deep pain and looked up at him. “Why? Why does it have to be her?” “Ethan, have you forgotten? She was the one who drunk-drove and nearly killed you. She was also the one who pushed your mother off a cliff, leaving her body unfound.” What answered me was a cold, mocking laugh. “What happened back then was just my bad luck. As for my mother, there were no surveillance cameras on the mountain. Even the police said it could have been an accidental fall. How can we blame Sophia?” I collapsed on the ground, laughing until tears came. Sophia, my half-sister from my mother’s second marriage. Spoiled and willful since childhood, she bullied me relentlessly. After the SATs ended, she partied all night with friends, and despite everyone’s warnings, insisted on drunk driving. She accidentally hit Ethan, who had just finished his night shift. With no one around, Sophia left Ethan bleeding on the ground and drove away. Later, she pinned all the blame on me. I was taken in for questioning. She was afraid the victim would press charges and the truth would come out. Under the pretense of apologizing on my behalf, she lured Ethan’s mother to the mountaintop and pushed her off the cliff when she wasn’t paying attention. I served three years for a crime I didn’t commit. After my release, I accidentally learned that Ethan’s legs were disabled, and doctors said he’d spend the rest of his life in a wheelchair. I found him and confessed everything. When Ethan was in complete despair, wanting to end it all— It was me who knelt before his wheelchair and swore I’d help him stand again. I took care of him for two full years, accompanying him through rehabilitation. The day he successfully stood up, Ethan knelt on one knee and slipped a simple silver ring on my finger. His eyes then were full of deep affection. “Mia, you gave me a second life. Could I ask you to give me a chance to take care of you for the rest of yours?” I believed him. Even though he was so poor he couldn’t even afford a proper wedding, I still married him without hesitation. He said I bullied Sophia. But he clearly knew that she had forced me to drink urine and kneel in a cage barking like a dog. Those ten years of living hell were my lifelong nightmare. After marriage, I woke countless times from nightmares, crying as I told him about dreaming of being beaten by Sophia. His hands trembled as he held me, his eyes red as he promised he would rise up and seek justice for me and his mother. To crush the family business, he threw himself completely into the corporate world. But I never expected that the first thing he’d do after achieving success was to get entangled with Sophia.

When I caught them disheveled and kissing in my marital bed, I nearly lost my mind. I slapped Sophia twice hard and posted photos of her half-exposed chest all over the internet. Ethan’s eyes turned red. He knelt before me and swore he was drunk and mistook her for me. In front of me, he threw her out, saying he’d never see her again for the rest of his life. I never imagined— He talked about seeking justice for me and his mother, but behind my back, he got Sophia pregnant. My unwavering devotion earned me his cold indifference, saying he’d use my life and our child’s life to apologize to Sophia. I bit my mouth raw and spoke in a trembling voice. “Ethan, why? Why are you doing this to me?” No response. He was so anxious he didn’t even spare me a glance before leaving decisively. The blood beneath me flowed more and more. I hurt so much my consciousness started to blur. But for the sake of my child, I still gritted my teeth and got up, stumbling toward the hospital. By the time I reached the emergency room entrance, my entire lower body was soaked in blood. After an examination, I was rushed to the operating room. But unexpectedly, just as I reached the door, someone blocked my way. I forced myself to lift my head, only to meet Ethan’s cold eyes. “Mia, didn’t I tell you to go home and wait?” “Stop playing weak. If you can’t handle this little pain, why didn’t you think about how much it hurt when you caused Sophia to be beaten until she miscarried?” “I’m warning you, Sophia isn’t fully dilated yet. Until her baby is born, no matter how much it hurts, you hold it in.” His face was full of impatience, but I didn’t even have the strength to defend myself. The doctor looked anxiously at him, trying to push him aside. “The patient’s water broke, causing massive hemorrhaging. She needs surgery immediately, or both mother and child will die.” Ethan kicked over the hospital bed, his eyes full of vicious mockery. “How much did Mia pay you to play along with her act?” “To make sure her child is born first, she’ll do anything.” “So what if her water broke? Delivering a bit later won’t kill her. Stop being so dramatic.” I lay sprawled on the ground in disgrace, unable to laugh or cry. Ten years of life and death together. But my unbearable agony was just dramatic pretense in his eyes. My scalp went numb with pain. I couldn’t hold back anymore and clutched my belly, screaming. The doctor’s expression changed as well. “Sir, the pregnant woman’s condition is truly critical. If we delay treatment and she dies, her family will hold you accountable.” The doctor bent down to help me up, but Ethan spoke coldly again. “Family? She has no family.” “Mia is my mistress. She knew today was my wife’s due date and deliberately put on this act to compete for my attention.” “If she delays my wife’s delivery, you can forget about keeping this hospital open.” The hands supporting me suddenly let go. I fell heavily back to the ground. Blood spread beneath me. I lay on the cold floor, barely conscious, every organ trembling with pain. A smile appeared on Ethan’s lips. He bent close to my ear, his tone tinged with rare heartache. “Does it hurt? Good. Only by remembering today’s pain will you stop using your status as Mrs. Morrison to make things difficult for Sophia.” “Be good, Mia. Stop making a scene. Only by being obedient can you suffer less.” “Just hold on a bit longer. Once Sophia delivers, I’ll arrange for you to enter the operating room immediately.”

“Although your child won’t be the firstborn, I won’t play favorites. I promise, whatever Sophia’s child has, yours will have too.” “I told you, the person I love most is you. For this lifetime, you’ll always be my Mrs. Morrison.” I bit through my lip, my smile mixed with blood. Ethan, your love is too heavy a burden. I don’t want it. And I don’t want you anymore. The next moment, someone lifted me up. Ethan carried me all the way back to the hospital room, personally watching as the doctor administered the suppressant before leaving satisfied. I lay in the hospital bed all night. I’d pass out, then be jolted awake by the pain. I couldn’t live, and I couldn’t die. The nurse who changed my dressing looked at me with disgust, deliberately pinching my leg hard. Her unconcealed gossip cut into my heart. “Mistresses deserve it. In so much pain and no one cares. She might as well die.” “Who told her to be so arrogant? The wife is giving birth, and this homewrecker has the nerve to show up and compete for attention, thinking spreading her legs makes her the man’s true love.” “The wife really knows how to handle people. Fully dilated, got the epidural, but just won’t push. As long as she doesn’t deliver, the mistress can die in pain for all she cares and still won’t be allowed in the delivery room. So satisfying.” I pulled at my lips, the smile bitter. Satisfying? But I was Ethan’s wife. I couldn’t understand how someone who once would have risked his life for me could now be so cruel. Another contraction hit. Before I could scream, the hospital room door was pushed open. Sophia walked in holding her newborn baby, supported by someone. I never expected my mother, whom I hadn’t seen in years, would accompany her. Sophia looked at me with triumphant eyes. “Mia, knowing you’re suffering, I specially brought your nephew to see you.” “Both mother and baby are safe. When the baby was born, Ethan was so moved he cried.” I suppressed my anger and looked at her. “He’s not my nephew. Take your bastard and get out.” Sophia gave a cold laugh and slapped me hard across the face. “What right do you have to tell me to leave?” “Last night when you were screaming, Ethan was right next door in the delivery room with me. But he didn’t care at all, only focused on comforting me.” “So what if you’re Mrs. Morrison? The unloved one is the mistress. The one in your belly is the bastard.” Blood mixed with tears from my split eye. But Sophia wasn’t planning to let me off. She bent close to me, malice unconcealed in her eyes. “You really are lucky to be alive. After suffering all night and you’re still fine. How about I help you out and send you and your bastard on your way together.” She grabbed the thermos from the floor and swung it hard at my belly. I pushed her away desperately and stumbled toward the door. As soon as I ran out of the room, I crashed into a familiar embrace. After seeing Ethan’s concerned face clearly, I gripped his sleeve tightly, my voice trembling. “Ethan, save me. Sophia’s gone crazy—she’s trying to kill our baby.” Ethan’s expression changed. Just as he was about to speak, a baby’s shrill cry came from the hospital room. He shoved me aside hard and kicked the door open, rushing in. The next moment, someone grabbed my hair and dragged me back into the room. The scene before me made me tremble uncontrollably. Sophia knelt in the middle of the room, holding the blood-covered baby. “Ethan, I just wanted Mia to share in my joy so she could deliver smoothly, so I brought the baby to see her.”

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The day my fiancée cheated, I proposed without hesitation. The night before the wedding, I knelt on the floor of my rental apartment, organizing six manila envelopes. Each one contained evidence of my fiancée’s affairs over the past three years. Chat screenshots, transfer records, hotel receipts, intimate conversations with five different men. One hundred and seventy-three pages. Soon, these six envelopes would appear at the wedding banquet. One for her parents, one for her boss, one for her best friend, one for her relatives, one for my parents. The last one would go to the five men she’d been sleeping with. At this dream wedding she’d spent half a year meticulously planning, I would give her a surprise the whole world would witness. “Ethan, Lucas is going to be your groomsman tomorrow.” Sophia fiddled with the veil she’d wear the next day. Lucas stood right beside her, wearing a perfectly tailored white suit. That was the custom suit Sophia had spent twenty thousand dollars on for him yesterday. Meanwhile, the suit I’d wear tomorrow was a three-thousand-dollar rental. Lucas raised his eyebrows at me, a blatant smirk of provocation on his face. “Ethan, Sophia says I get car sick. If I sit in the back car, I might throw up and ruin tomorrow.” He took a step forward, reaching out to adjust Sophia’s veil. “If you have a problem with it, I just won’t come tomorrow. No point in causing trouble between you two because of me.” Sophia grabbed his wrist, her brow furrowing instantly. “What are you talking about? Without you, what’s the point of this wedding?” She turned to glare at me, her eyes full of warning. “Ethan, Lucas is my best guy friend. If it weren’t for him helping me these past three years, do you think I would’ve said yes to your proposal?” “Tomorrow is my once-in-a-lifetime big day. What’s wrong with letting him ride in the lead car?” I looked at this pair standing before me like conjoined twins, nausea rising in my stomach. If this were three months ago, I would’ve gotten into a huge fight with her over this. I would’ve been like a jealous madman, demanding to know who the real groom was. But now, my heart was utterly calm. I almost wanted to laugh. My gaze fell on the diamond ring on Sophia’s ring finger. That ring cost me a hundred and twenty thousand dollars. She complained it wasn’t big enough, then immediately whined on SnapChat to Lucas about how cheap I was. Lucas’s reply at the time was: “Baby, once we trick him into signing over that downtown apartment tomorrow, I’ll buy you a huge diamond.” Those chat records were quietly stored in my backup phone right now. I pulled over a chair and sat down, looking at her calmly. “Fine. He can have the lead car tomorrow.” Sophia froze, clearly not expecting me to agree so readily. She looked me up and down suspiciously. After confirming I showed no signs of anger, her expression softened. “At least you’re being sensible. Stop acting like a bitter housewife watching Lucas all the time. We’re all adults. Have some perspective.” Lucas laughed too. He walked up to me and patted my shoulder. “Ethan’s being cool about it. You better prepare good gifts for tomorrow’s wedding games.” “Don’t worry, I’ve had the gifts ready for a while.” I brushed his hand off and stood up, walking toward the closet. Sophia suddenly called out to me again. “Oh, one more thing.” She pulled out a red velvet box from her bag — the one storing my mother’s belongings. Inside was a pair of old-fashioned antique gold rings. My mother had given them to me on her deathbed, making me promise to put one on my future wife at the wedding. Sophia opened the box and picked up one of the rings with two fingers, her face full of disgust. “This ring is way too tacky to wear tomorrow. It doesn’t match my custom wedding dress at all.” She turned to look at Lucas, her eyes lighting up instantly. “Lucas, didn’t you say you needed a ring to match your outfit? Why don’t you wear this one for fun?” My breathing caught. My fingers clenched tight. Lucas made a show of declining. “That’s not appropriate. This is a family heirloom from Ethan’s mother. What would it mean for me to wear it?” “What’s inappropriate about it? Ethan’s stuff is my stuff. What’s wrong with me giving it to my friend?” Sophia forcefully pushed the antique gold rings into Lucas’s hand, then turned to look at me. “Ethan, surely you’re not so petty you can’t even part with a ring? I’m marrying you tomorrow. Can you not be so cheap?” I stared at the ring in Lucas’s hand. My mother had worn it her entire life. Now these two were using it as a prop for their flirtation. Rage churned in my chest, but I forced it down. Tomorrow. Just get through tonight. Tomorrow I’d make them pay back everything with interest. I took a deep breath and forced out a smile devoid of warmth. “I’m not being cheap. Since you think it doesn’t match, let Lucas wear it.” I watched Lucas slip the ring onto his pinky finger, my gaze growing colder. “Just don’t regret it tomorrow.” Sophia rolled her eyes and pulled Lucas toward the door. “What do I have to regret? We’re going to try on his groomsman suit now. Get some sleep early and don’t show up tomorrow with dark circles embarrassing me.” At the door, she stopped and looked back at me. “Ethan, you’re such a good-tempered husband. I’m definitely going to be the most beautiful bride tomorrow.” I watched their backs disappear through the door, then pulled out my phone and opened a chat group named “Special Guests.” “Of course. Tomorrow everyone will remember you.”

At ten PM, the bridal suite was so quiet I could only hear the ticking of the wall clock. I sat on the sofa, checking the number of USB drives in tomorrow’s wedding favors. One hundred and twenty drives. Each one contained Sophia’s “highlight reel” from the past three years. My phone suddenly vibrated. It was Sophia’s mother, Margaret, calling. I pressed answer and put it on speaker. “Ethan, are you asleep yet?” Her voice carried the calculating shrewdness of a penny-pincher. “Not yet. What’s up?” “Here’s the thing — I was just thinking, three hundred thousand isn’t going to be enough.” My fingers stopped typing on the keyboard. “Didn’t we agree the wedding would cost three hundred thousand?” Margaret snorted coldly on the other end. “That was before. Prices are rising so fast now, and Sophia’s brother is getting married next year. He needs to buy a car worth five hundred thousand. If you don’t have the five hundred thousand ready tomorrow as a wedding gift to our family, don’t even think about marrying my daughter!” I heard Sophia’s voice on the other end. She was clearly standing next to her mother. “Margaret, why are you explaining so much to him? If he can’t come up with this money, we’re calling off the wedding.” She came closer to the phone, her tone dripping with manipulation. “Ethan, let me tell you — men chasing after me could line up from one end of the street to the other.” “Benjamin offered to buy me a Porsche yesterday. If I wasn’t being loyal to you, do you think you’d have a chance to marry me?” I listened to this mother-daughter duo’s performance, mockery flickering in my eyes. That Benjamin — forty-five years old, balding with a beer belly, owner of a building materials company. The only reason Sophia didn’t marry Benjamin was because he had a wife. She could only be his mistress in the shadows. And me? I was the honest sucker she’d carefully selected. “Five hundred thousand is a bit difficult.” I deliberately slowed my speech, pretending to be troubled. “I don’t have that much cash on hand.” Margaret immediately panicked, her voice rising an octave. “What do you mean you don’t have it? You still haven’t transferred that downtown apartment to Sophia, have you?” “Just go get a mortgage loan! I don’t care how you do it — if I don’t see five hundred thousand tomorrow, there’s no wedding!” I looked at the hotel records of Sophia and Benjamin on my computer screen, a cold smile tugging at my lips. “Margaret, there’s no way I can get a loan processed in time.” I paused, then dangled the bait. “How about this — tomorrow, in front of all the relatives, I’ll write you an IOU for five hundred thousand with my personal signature. It’ll have legal validity. Would that work?” Silence on the other end for a few seconds. Margaret seemed to be discussing it with Sophia. A moment later, her voice came back, tinged with satisfaction. “At least you know what’s good for you. An IOU works, but it has to state payment within one month, or I’ll make a scene at your company!” “No problem.” I agreed unusually readily. “But Margaret, tomorrow’s wedding is Sophia’s big day. You and her brother need to arrive early, right? And you’ve notified all the relatives and friends?” “You think I need you to tell me that? Our family’s relatives are taking two charter buses tomorrow. It’s going to be lively.” Afraid I’d back out, Margaret added a few more reminders before hanging up. I looked at the darkened phone screen and saved the call recording, renaming it “Extortion Evidence — Backup.” Just then, a SnapChat message from Sophia came through. It was a voice message. I clicked it. What came out wasn’t Sophia’s voice, but a middle-aged man’s greasy panting. “Baby, tomorrow’s your wedding day. Won’t you come out and have one last wild night with me tonight?” Then came Sophia’s coquettish laughter. “Oh stop it, Benjamin~ I have to get up early tomorrow for makeup. After I get back from the honeymoon, I’ll make it up to you properly~” The voice message existed for only two seconds before being quickly recalled. Immediately after, Sophia sent a text message. “Honey, I accidentally sent the wrong message. That was a client from my work group joking around. Don’t overthink it.” I stared at those words, almost able to see her smug face on the other end. She knew I was “honest.” She knew I was “head over heels for her.” So even her lies were this perfunctory. I didn’t call her out. Instead, I played along. “It’s okay. Work is important. Get some rest early.” “By the way, is Benjamin coming to the wedding tomorrow?” Sophia replied quickly. “Yeah, he’s one of my big clients. I specially reserved a VIP table seat for him.” I looked at the VIP table seating chart and closed my laptop with satisfaction. At that table sat not only Benjamin, but also Lucas, the gym trainer Ryan, and the company intern Liam. An entire table of ex-boyfriends. They’d definitely get along great tomorrow. “Ethan, my mother worked hard to raise me. What’s wrong with you writing an IOU?” Sophia sent another voice message, her tone dripping with condescension. I held down the record button, my voice gentle as stagnant water. “Fine. I’ll write it. I’ll hand it to her in front of all the relatives tomorrow.”

At six AM, the wedding convoy stopped outside Sophia’s apartment complex. I stood outside her security door wearing that three-thousand-dollar rental suit, holding a bouquet of red roses. The hallway was packed with Sophia’s relatives, all whispering and looking at me like I was a circus monkey. “If you haven’t prepared a cash gift of ninety-nine thousand dollars for me, I’m not opening the door for you.” A flippant voice came from inside. It was Lucas. I looked at him through the iron bars of the security door. He wore the custom suit I’d paid for, with a boutonniere that should’ve belonged to a groomsman pinned to his chest. Meanwhile, my actual groomsmen were being blocked at the stairwell landing by several of Sophia’s relatives. “Lucas, the custom is to give gifts at the door. The car gift is given when we arrive at the hotel.” I stated the facts calmly. Lucas snorted and blew a smoke ring through the door at me. “Ethan, rules are dead but people are alive. Sophia says today, I make the rules.” He turned and picked up a basin from a nearby table filled with murky yellow liquid. “If you want to take Sophia, sing a love song in front of everyone, then do ten push-ups. Then I’ll open the door.” The surrounding relatives immediately burst into laughter. “Why’s the groom just standing there? Getting married and can’t even show this much sincerity?” “Exactly. Our Sophia is a beauty. This little test is nothing.” My gaze moved past Lucas to Sophia sitting on the living room sofa. She wore an elaborate wedding dress, holding a fan partially covering her face, laughing hysterically with a bridesmaid beside her. She had no intention of stopping this. She was even recording it on her phone. “Sophia, is this what you want too?” I stared into her eyes, my voice not loud but loud enough for everyone in the living room to hear. Sophia lowered her fan and rolled her eyes. “Ethan, if you can’t take a joke, don’t play along. Everyone’s just having fun. Lucas is joking with you. Who are you making faces at?” She stood up and walked to the door, looking down at me. “If you don’t want to drink it or crawl, then take your people and get lost. I’m calling off this wedding!” She was certain I wouldn’t dare make a scene at this point. After all, in everyone’s eyes, I was the pathetic simp who’d thrown away everything just to marry her. I looked at the hickey on the side of her neck, deliberately covered with foundation. That definitely wasn’t a mosquito bite. The shape and color were clearly from last night. And Lucas’s lips still had traces of lipstick he hadn’t wiped off completely. My hands slowly clenched at my sides, nails nearly digging into my flesh. “Fine. I prepared gifts for you.” I grabbed the gift bag full of items from behind me and shoved it through the door. Lucas’s eyes lit up. He immediately squatted down to grab them. The moment he lowered his head, I kicked the security door hard. The old lock made a brittle crack under the strain. The door swung open. Lucas was knocked backward by the door, landing on his butt with gifts scattering everywhere. “What are you doing!” Sophia shrieked, pointing at my nose and cursing. “Ethan, are you crazy! You dare hit Lucas?” I ignored her and walked straight to the sofa, casually tossing the roses onto the coffee table. “We’re running out of time. Let’s go.” Sophia’s mother, Margaret, rushed out of the bedroom at that moment, holding a piece of paper and a pen. “Go where! You haven’t written the IOU yet!” She slammed the paper and pen onto the coffee table, glaring at me furiously. “Write that five-hundred-thousand-dollar IOU in front of everyone, or nobody’s leaving this apartment today!” The living room fell silent. All the relatives’ eyes focused on me. They were all waiting to see this sucker make a fool of himself. I picked up the pen and without hesitation, quickly wrote out a five-hundred-thousand-dollar IOU and signed my name. “Margaret, keep it safe.” I handed the IOU to Sophia’s mother, my lips curling into an imperceptible cold smile. Margaret carefully inspected it, then tucked it away satisfied. “At least you know what’s good for you. Sophia, I’ll help you downstairs.” “No need.” Sophia looked coquettishly at Lucas, who had just gotten up from the floor. “Let Lucas carry me down. He’s stronger.” Lucas immediately dusted himself off and gave me a smug look before walking over to scoop Sophia up in his arms. Sophia wrapped her arms around his neck, smiling sweetly. Everyone present thought this scene was perfectly natural. Not one person thought there was anything wrong with another man carrying the bride downstairs. I followed behind them, watching Lucas’s hand — wearing my mother’s antique gold rings — pressed tightly against Sophia’s waist. “Ethan, who are you pulling that face for today? If you don’t want to get married, get lost right now.” Sophia glared back at me from Lucas’s arms. I pulled out my phone and sent a text to my lawyer: “Proceed as planned.” Then I looked up at her. “Get married? Of course we’re getting married. The guests are all waiting.”

There were forty minutes left before the wedding ceremony officially began. In the hotel’s luxury lounge, Sophia sat before the vanity touching up her makeup. Lucas leaned against the dresser holding a glass of champagne, occasionally leaning close to Sophia’s ear to whisper something that made her giggle. When I pushed the door open and walked in, the laughter stopped abruptly. Several bridesmaids exchanged glances, their eyes full of unconcealed contempt and mockery. “Why were you glaring at Lucas earlier?” Sophia glanced at me through the mirror, her tone cold and hard. “He’s been running around for our wedding and hasn’t even eaten breakfast. Do you have no conscience?” I walked to the sofa and sat down, my gaze sweeping over the scattered invitations on the table. On one of the covers was clearly written “Benjamin Thompson.” That was Benjamin’s full name. “I wasn’t glaring at him.” I replied flatly, casually picking up a glass of water from the table. “If you weren’t glaring at him, why would he feel so wronged?” Sophia spun around abruptly, slamming her powder puff on the table. “Ethan, don’t think just because we’re getting married today you can boss me around.” “Let me tell you — Lucas is the most important person in my life. If you can’t accept him, we don’t need to continue this marriage!” Lucas immediately put on a wronged expression and tugged at Sophia’s sleeve. “Sophia, don’t fight with Ethan because of me. It’s such a happy day. I can take a little mistreatment as long as you’re happy.” This manipulative speech immediately won the bridesmaids’ sympathy. “Exactly, Ethan, you’re being way too petty.” “Sophia choosing you is a blessing you earned over eight lifetimes. Hurry up and apologize to Lucas!” “Lucas studied abroad. He’s more than good enough for your wife. What are you jealous about?” I listened to these cutting remarks, my gaze falling on the trash can. Inside lay several crumpled pieces of letter paper. That was my wedding vow that I’d stayed up three nights revising over a dozen times. I walked over, bent down, and picked up the crumpled paper. “What are you doing?” Sophia wrinkled her nose in disgust. “I threw that away. What sappy garbage. So tacky I felt sick reading it.” “I’m reading my own vows later. I don’t need your corny words.” She stood up and walked in front of me, jabbing her finger hard into my chest. “Now, immediately, apologize to Lucas. Otherwise, during the ring exchange, you can stand on stage and embarrass yourself alone!” She was certain I wouldn’t dare resist. After all, in everyone’s eyes, I’d already invested so much sunk cost — eight hundred and eighty thousand in wedding expenses, a five-hundred-thousand-dollar IOU, and a hall full of guests. I’d been pushed to the edge of a cliff. One step back would be an abyss. I looked at her exquisite yet mean face and suddenly felt somewhat tragic. What kind of trash had I fallen in love with these past three years? “Apologize?” I smoothed out the crumpled paper bit by bit, folded it neatly, and put it in my suit pocket. “Sure.” I turned to look at Lucas, my lips curling into an eerie smile. “Lucas, I’m truly sorry. You’ve worked so hard today.” Lucas froze for a moment, clearly not expecting me to be this spineless, then broke into a smug smile. “Ethan’s too kind. We’re all family from now on. Sophia’s business is my business.” Only then did Sophia hum with satisfaction and return to her vanity. “At least you know what’s good for you. Go outside and check — make sure Benjamin’s table is arranged properly. Don’t neglect the VIP guests.” I turned and walked out of the lounge, closing the door behind me. At the end of the hallway, my several groomsmen were waiting. They weren’t my friends, but professional bodyguards and a legal team I’d hired at a high price. “Mr. Ethan, all evidence has been synced to the control room. We can cut to the big screen at any time.” The lead bodyguard reported quietly. “Have all the people at the ‘special guest table’ arrived?” I adjusted my tie. “All present. Benjamin Thompson, trainer Ryan, and that intern Liam — eight people total, all at the front row VIP table.” I nodded, listening to the wedding march playing in the banquet hall. That cheerful rhythm now sounded like a death knell counting down. “It’s time. The bride and groom are requested to enter.” The emcee’s voice came through the walkie-talkie. The lounge door opened. Sophia walked out on her father Robert’s arm like a noble princess. Lucas followed behind her, holding the tray with the rings. As Sophia passed me, she whispered a warning. “Ethan, hold onto the ring properly. Don’t embarrass yourself later.” I looked at her, a smile reaching my eyes for the first time. “Don’t worry. Today will definitely be the most unforgettable moment of your life.”

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Everyone in my family thinks I’m a frail, introverted good girl. But no one knows I’ve been lusting after my stepbrother Ethan for a long time. I’ve even secretly written a dark romance novel with him as the protagonist. In the book, I imprison him in a dark room, touch him as I please, make him cry and beg for my mercy. The colder he is to me in reality, the more cruelly I torment him in my novel. Until yesterday, when my stepbrother brought home a beautiful blind date. I went crazy with jealousy and returned to my room to torture him mercilessly in my novel all night long. In a daze, I discovered the novel’s plot bleeding into reality. Someone blindfolded me and tied my hands behind my back to a chair. Warm breath sprayed against my neck as a pair of hands methodically unbuttoned my collar. That familiar yet cold voice chuckled softly in my ear: “Last night’s update was quite well written. But Chloe, you got one thing wrong—I don’t like to beg. With my vision stripped away, my other senses amplified infinitely. Ethan’s fingertips carried a scorching heat as they traced across my skin inch by inch. I shuddered violently. This couldn’t be possible. He was always so proper, someone who buttoned his shirts all the way to the top. How could he speak to me in such an intimate tone? “Not going to say anything?” His finger flicked open my last button. The cool air touched my skin, and I trembled uncontrollably. “Ethan… I was wrong…” My voice quavered. I couldn’t tell if it was fear or hidden excitement. “Scared now?” He laughed lowly and untied one of my hands. But before my newly freed hand could move, he forcefully pressed it down. He pulled my hand downward. Through the thin fabric, that shocking heat made my scalp tingle instantly. I tried to pull my hand back, but he gripped it tightly. “Why are you running away?” He leaned against my ear, his teeth gently biting my earlobe. “Didn’t Chloe write in her book that I was tormented by aphrodisiacs until I lost my mind, crying and begging for your mercy?” I was so ashamed I could explode. Tears soaked through the blindfold. “I’ve taken the drug now.” He guided my movements, each one carrying irresistible force. “How do you want to see me beg?” I gasped heavily, my senses infinitely magnified in the darkness. The sensation in my palm was too vivid—hard and burning hot. Ethan’s voice was hoarse beyond recognition, heavy with panting. He rested his chin in the hollow of my neck, teeth lightly grinding against my throat. “Chloe, help me. Please.” He was actually begging me… using a tone tortured to the extreme, almost broken, begging me. The intense contrast made me both afraid and gave birth to a secret pleasure. My brain exploded with a boom, my rationality completely burned away. Following his force, my five fingers slowly tightened. Sweat dripped from his temple onto the side of my neck, so hot it made my whole body tremble. “Faster.” He urged in a low voice, his tone carrying not a hint of pleading but rather a commanding tone from on high. I could only be forced to follow his rhythm. The temperature in the air climbed steadily. The ambiguous sounds of panting were especially clear in the silent room. The intense sensory stimulation and mental tension made my head spin. I was already physically weak. My vision went black and I lost consciousness. When I woke again, sunlight streamed through the curtain gaps into the room. I bolted upright and found myself lying on my bedroom’s large bed, my pajamas neatly arranged. I let out a long breath. My back was already soaked with cold sweat. So it was just a dream. My palm seemed to still retain that shocking heat and sensation. I collapsed back into the pillows, my heart still pounding wildly in my chest. I must have become obsessed with writing my novel lately. What you think about during the day, you dream about at night. To actually have such an absurd erotic dream. Taking several deep breaths, I forcefully suppressed the twisted flutter in my heart and got up to wash. The girl in the mirror had faint dark circles under her eyes, looking like a sickly invalid who couldn’t withstand a gust of wind. But her cheeks were flushed, tear tracks still visible at the corners of her eyes—the appearance of someone who’d been bullied. Chloe Harper, you’ve really lost your mind. I turned on the faucet and splashed cold water on my face. But the dream’s sensations were too real. That shocking heat, that hoarse panting, and the trembling sensation when he bit my earlobe. I leaned against the sink, my fingertips uncontrollably gripping the hem of my pajamas. My mind was filled with Ethan’s cold, ascetic face. In front of others, he always maintained a lofty appearance, but in my dreams, in my novel… He belonged to me. I closed my eyes, my breathing gradually becoming rapid. “Ethan…” I bit my lip, letting out a suppressed whimper.

Until my mother’s knocking came from outside the door. “Chloe, are you up? We’re having guests today, come downstairs for breakfast.” I snapped my eyes open. Guests? Could it be another blind date for Ethan? I took a deep breath, straightened my clothes, and pushed the door open. In the dining room, my stepfather and mom were chatting warmly. Ethan wore a well-fitted suit, his collar buttoned meticulously. He was looking down at the morning paper. The morning light outlined his cold, ascetic profile. Even his hair carried an inviolable sense of distance. This was the real Ethan. Lofty and untainted by worldly dust. I lowered my head, pulled out the chair next to him and sat down, calling out softly: “Dad, Mom, Ethan.” Ethan’s movements paused slightly. He gave a faint “Mm.” That voice was clear and clean, completely different from the hoarse, panting man in my dream. I bit my spoon, my gaze involuntarily drifting downward to his long legs. Imagining what kind of burning body was wrapped beneath that suit. Just then, the doorbell rang. A servant led a young woman inside. As expected, another blind date for Ethan. She wore exquisite makeup, every movement revealing the elegance of a high-society lady. “Ethan, Uncle, Auntie, good morning.” She greeted them with a smile and naturally walked to sit on Ethan’s other side. Ethan gave a slight nod in acknowledgment and stood to pour her a glass of warm water. “Thank you.” When their eyes met, there was an understanding that outsiders couldn’t intrude upon. My hand gripping the spoon tightened suddenly. Crazy jealousy threatened to drown me. Why could she sit beside him so openly? Why did she get such gentle treatment from him? I stared at that glass of water, wishing I could poison it. “Coming over so early, what’s the occasion?” Ethan’s tone remained cool, but held a bit more familiarity than when he spoke to me. Mia chuckled lightly, reaching up to play with her curled hair. “Didn’t we agree you’d accompany me today to choose a venue for the engagement party? Did you forget?” Engagement party. Those three words drove into my eardrums like nails. I lowered my head abruptly, biting my teeth hard. How long had they even known each other? And they were already getting engaged? Mom laughed beside them, unable to contain her joy. “Ethan’s busy with work, Mia. Please be understanding. If this boy dares bully you, tell me and I’ll deal with him for you.” “Don’t worry, Auntie. Ethan treats me very well.” Mia’s eyes sparkled as she looked at Ethan with adoring eyes. I watched them like a match made in heaven, my nails digging deep into my palms. I wanted so badly to gouge out those eyes of hers. I wanted so badly to tie Ethan up and lock him in a place where only I existed. Make him only look at me, only become aroused for me. I suddenly covered my mouth, coughing violently. This trick never failed me. As long as I showed signs of illness, everyone’s attention would immediately shift to me. Sure enough, Mom immediately rushed over nervously to pat my back. “Chloe! What’s wrong? Did you catch a cold?” I coughed until I couldn’t catch my breath, my eyes rimmed with pitiful red as I secretly observed Ethan from the corner of my eye. He frowned and stood to pour me a glass of water too. “Drink some water.” He brought the glass to my lips. I tremblingly reached out to take it, my fingertips covering the back of his hand. My heartbeat skipped, greedily savoring that brief moment of contact. Ethan didn’t pull back. He let me half-hold his wrist as he tilted the glass. The warm water moistened my dry throat. I finally stopped coughing. “Thank you.” I looked up at him with tearful eyes. From this angle, I could see his prominent Adam’s apple. So sexy. I wanted to bite it. “If you’re not feeling well, go back to your room and rest.” Ethan withdrew his hand calmly, his voice indifferent. He pulled out a disinfectant wipe and methodically wiped the back of his hand where I’d touched him. He actually found me dirty? Mia watched from the side, a flash of contempt in her eyes. “With Chloe’s poor health, she should probably stay home more. Ethan, let’s go. We’re almost late for our appointment.” She hooked her arm through Ethan’s. Ethan didn’t push her away. I watched their departing figures, the obedience in my eyes fading, leaving only gloom. After returning to my room, I immediately locked the door. I opened my computer and stared at the words on the screen. Anger and jealousy grew wildly. If only everything in the book were real. How wonderful that would be.

In the evening, when Ethan returned, he carried a faint scent of alcohol. Seeing him enter the study, I brewed a cup of tea and walked in. “Ethan.” Ethan was leaning back in his chair, rubbing his temples. His tie was loosened, the top two buttons of his collar undone, revealing a kind of decadent sexiness. Hearing my voice, he paused and looked over. “Why aren’t you asleep yet?” “I heard you come back, so I made you your favorite black tea.” I walked closer carrying the tray, deliberately stumbling. Ah! I cried out, my whole body falling straight toward him. Ethan caught me steadily as expected. I tumbled into his lap, enveloped by his intense masculine scent mixed with a faint alcohol smell. My breathing became chaotic. My heart pounded wildly, almost bursting through my chest. If I just tilted my head slightly, my lips could brush against his jawline. “Did you burn yourself?” Ethan’s voice came from above my head, deeper than usual, slightly hoarse. He didn’t immediately push me away. Those long-fingered hands even lingered at my waist for a moment. My whole body stiffened. I didn’t dare move, even slowing my breathing. “No… no.” I stammered in response, my eyes rimming red. “I’m sorry, I’m too clumsy.” I tried to stand, but my legs were weak and I fell back into his embrace. This time, my hand braced against his chest. Beneath my palm was his steady, powerful heartbeat. Through his shirt, it burned my fingertips. Ethan’s eyes darkened. He finally reached out to grip my shoulders, pulling me from his lap and steadily placing me to the side. His movements were restrained and distant. “So careless. What have I taught you?” He pulled out a tissue and methodically wiped the suit pants where I’d pressed against them. His tone returned to its lofty coldness. I lowered my head, staring at the water stains on the carpet, the dark flame in my heart burning hotter and hotter. “How did it go today with Miss Thompson choosing the venue?” I asked with feigned casualness, my fingers twisting my skirt hem tightly. Ethan’s wiping motion paused slightly. He looked up at me, his eyes unfathomable. “Adult matters. Children shouldn’t pry.” He stood up, looking down at me. “It’s late. Go to bed.” What kind of answer was that? Was he protecting Mia? I bit my lip, tears welling in my eyes, stubbornly sitting on the sofa without moving. “Do you think I’m annoying? After you get married, I won’t be able to come to you like this anymore, will I?” Ethan looked at me silently. After a long moment, he sighed. He walked in front of me, bent down slightly, and gently wiped the corner of my eye. “Don’t overthink it.” His voice softened a bit, carrying a seductive quality. “As long as Chloe is good, I’ll always be your brother.” Always be your brother. Who the hell wants you as a brother! What I want is you panting beneath me, those eyes seeing only me! I suddenly grabbed his hand, recklessly pressing my cheek against his palm, greedily absorbing his warmth. “I’ll be good.” I looked up at him, my gaze nearly obsessive. “I always listen to you.” Ethan let me nuzzle his palm, his gaze resting on my face. Then slowly withdrew his hand. “Go to sleep.”

Wednesday afternoon, my parents went on a business trip. Only Ethan and I remained at home. I carried a plate of freshly cut fruit and carefully pushed open the study door. Ethan was leaning back in his chair with his eyes closed, breathing evenly, seemingly already asleep. His tie was loosened slightly, revealing a large expanse of delicate collarbone. I stared at his thin lips, my mind filled with scenes from my novel of him being kissed until red and swollen, panting. My hand reached out uncontrollably, inching closer to his cheek. Just one touch would be enough. His phone on the desk suddenly vibrated. I jerked my hand back like I’d been shocked, my heart nearly leaping from my throat. The screen displayed a message from Mia. “Darling, I came back early. Let’s have dinner together tonight.” Darling. Those three words stabbed my eyes. Ethan was awakened by the vibration. He slowly opened his eyes, his gaze hazy for a moment before returning to clear indifference. Seeing me standing nearby, he sat up straight and casually adjusted his collar. “What is it?” “Nothing… I brought you some fruit.” I pointed frantically at the fruit plate on the desk. Ethan’s gaze fell on the lit screen. A trace of extremely faint smile actually rippled in his eyes. It was a warmth I’d never seen before. He picked up his phone to reply to the message, not even sparing me a glance. “Leave it there. I’ll eat it later.” I don’t know how I walked out of the study. Back in my room, I swept everything on the desk to the floor. Why! Why should he give all his tenderness to that woman! Ethan was mine. Could only be mine! Since he wanted to fly away with someone else, I’d break his wings and drag him into hell with me. I pulled open the drawer and took out a small white bottle from the very back. This was something I’d obtained from the black market. Originally just an impulse purchase, but now it finally had a use. In the afternoon, Ethan went out for a while. When he returned in the evening, he carried a faint perfume scent. Mia’s scent. I forcefully suppressed the violence in my heart, lowering my eyes as I brought a cup of calming tea to the living room. “Ethan, you’ve been working overtime so much lately. Drink some calming tea and get some rest early.” Ethan removed his suit jacket and casually accepted the teacup without any wariness, tilting his head back to drain it in one go. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. The swallowing motion was inexplicably sexy. After drinking, he handed me the empty cup, his gaze lingering on my face for a moment. “You don’t look well today either. Get some sleep early.” The rare concern in his tone made me waver for an instant. But thinking of how he was about to get engaged to another woman, that wavering instantly turned to ash. I clutched the cup and obediently nodded, returning to my room. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I stared at the time on my phone. One hour later. I soundlessly opened my door and walked out. Ethan’s door wasn’t locked. I gently opened it. The room was pitch black. He lay on the large bed, his breathing long and deep. I crouched beside the bed, my gaze tracing his features. This absolute sense of control made my whole body tremble. Worldly ethics and morality were completely cast aside in this moment. He was a responsible person. Even if he hated me, he could only be bound to my side. I climbed onto the bed, straddling his lean waist and abdomen. Trembling, I reached out to undo the first button of his pajamas. Then the second, the third. A large expanse of firm chest was exposed to the air. I leaned down, my nose nearly touching his skin, greedily inhaling his unique pine scent. “Ethan, you’re about to be mine.” I murmured obsessively, closing my eyes and kissing toward his thin lips. Just then, a hand suddenly gripped the back of my neck, pinning me in place. My whole body stiffened. My blood nearly froze. Ethan, who should have been in deep unconsciousness, slowly opened his eyes. Those black eyes, usually cool and ascetic, now churned with unfathomable dark currents. The world spun. He flipped me onto the bed. He turned over and pinned me beneath him. His cool fingertips brushed across my skin, stirring up tremors. He laughed lowly, his voice carrying a heart-bewitching hoarseness in the silent night. “Chloe, the dosage wasn’t enough.”

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I lived as a mute for three years for Ethan Lancaster. I didn’t dare speak loudly. I didn’t dare touch my cello. I even kept my breathing quiet. All because my “hypersensitive” husband couldn’t stand the slightest noise. Then I saw him at a noisy Livehouse, another woman in his arms. They kissed passionately in the chaos. It turned out his condition only applied to me. My voice was noise, but her rock music was his cure. That night, I signed the divorce papers, dragged my suitcase out, and left without looking back. Three years later, at Vienna’s Musikverein, I took the stage as principal cellist. And he knelt backstage, clutching the ring I once wore, begging me to come back. Right in front of him, I threw the ring into the trash. “Trash belongs in the trash.” Stella Sterling POV I spent three years being a “mute” in the Lancaster household. Not because I couldn’t speak, but because of my husband, Ethan Lancaster. He suffered from severe neurasthenia and hyperacusis. Everyone in San Diego knew that Ethan Lancaster, the head of Lancaster Corporation, loved silence and hated noise. He couldn’t tolerate the slightest commotion. High-decibel sounds would give him splitting headaches and even trigger severe physical nausea. Because of his condition, I lived like a ghost in these three years. I carpeted the entire mansion with the thickest rugs. I wrapped every table corner and door hinge in soundproof foam. I fired all the staff and took care of him myself, just because their footsteps might bother him. I even gave up my cello. The one I loved more than life itself. I locked it in the basement and never touched it again. In front of Ethan, I barely even breathed loudly. I spoke in soft whispers, never daring to raise my voice. I thought it was his weakness. A physical defect he couldn’t overcome beneath that cold, noble exterior. I willingly dimmed my shine and silenced my energy for him. I became his quietest, most obedient wife in this tomb-like mansion. Until tonight. A friend sent me a video. The background was San Diego’s most famous, and loudest, underground Livehouse. Heavy metal drums pounded. Lights flashed. The crowd screamed. Their voices nearly lifted the roof. And right in the center of the video, sitting in the front row of the VIP section without even frowning, was the man who “got physically sick from noise.” My husband, Ethan Lancaster. Through the screen, I could clearly see that Ethan wasn’t wearing any noise-canceling earplugs. Instead, he lounged lazily on the sofa, his gaze piercing through the chaotic crowd, focused tenderly on the woman performing on stage. That woman was Miranda Lynn. She was the love Ethan had hidden in his heart for seven years, the first love he had once defied everyone, even risking a break with his family, to be with. At the end of the video, cold sparks suddenly shot from the stage with a massive explosion. Ethan almost instinctively stood up, strode quickly to the stage edge, and pulled Miranda into his protective embrace. He gave Miranda all his tenderness and protection, completely forgetting that he himself was supposed to be a severe neurasthenia patient who “couldn’t tolerate any noise.” I don’t know how I walked out of the mansion or how I took a cab to that Livehouse. When I pushed open the door, the deafening music hit me like a tsunami. My eardrums ached from the assault, my heart pounded violently in my chest, and I nearly vomited. I hadn’t heard sounds this loud in three years. For Ethan, I had grown accustomed to deathly silence, to soundlessness. My hearing had even become abnormally fragile from years of overprotection. But now, forcing down my discomfort, I pushed through the wild, packed crowd step by step until I reached the front. Less than thirty feet away, Ethan was looking down, saying something to Miranda. Miranda’s eyes were slightly red, as if she’d been wronged somehow. Ethan sighed softly, reached up to tousle her hair, his eyes filled with an indulgence and tenderness I had never seen in three years. Was this really the same Ethan who would coldly tell me to get out if I accidentally knocked over a water glass? I stared at them, tears streaming down my face. I remembered the New Year’s Eve of our first year married, when fireworks suddenly went off outside. The loud noise left Ethan pale-faced. He locked himself in his study and didn’t speak to me for three whole days. After that, I never celebrated another holiday, never listened to music again. I thought he was seriously ill. I thought he was simply cold by nature, unable to tolerate external noise. But only now did I suddenly understand. Lofty angels aren’t incapable of descending to earth. His hyperacusis could have exceptions too. He couldn’t tolerate noise. He just couldn’t tolerate sounds I made. Miranda’s rock music was medicine that healed him, while my cello was merely noise that disgusted him. How ridiculous. I had once been the most brilliant young cellist at Vienna’s Musikverein. Proud, radiant, supremely confident. Yet for a man who never loved me, I clipped my wings. I silenced my voice. I spent three years in humble suffering. A widow’s marriage. Since his condition had long been cured, since he’d already found his medicine. Then it was time for this dispensable “mute” to exit the stage.

Stella Sterling POV The atmosphere in the Livehouse reached its peak as the band began their encore, and the crowd below descended into complete frenzy. The mass of people surged forward like a tide, and my body swayed precariously among the frenzied fans. I was shoved by those around me, stumbled, and fell hard less than ten feet from Ethan’s VIP booth. My knee slammed into the edge of a hard step, and searing pain shot through me. The commotion caught the bodyguards’ attention. Several black-suited security guards rushed forward, forcibly separating the surging crowd and roughly shoving me, who had fallen to the ground, back. “Stand back! Don’t disturb Mr. Lancaster and Miss Lynn!” The bodyguard’s cold voice cut clearly through the noisy music. My palm scraped across the rough floor, tearing away a large patch of skin and drawing blood. I didn’t cry out in pain. I just raised my head and looked directly at Ethan across the short distance between us. Ethan had clearly noticed the disturbance. He frowned slightly, his gaze sweeping over coldly. When he saw it was me, a flash of shock crossed his deep eyes, but it vanished instantly, replaced by undisguised annoyance and ice. He didn’t come forward to help me up. He didn’t even stop the bodyguards’ rough treatment. He simply turned aside instinctively, completely shielding the startled Miranda behind him, as if I were some dangerous beast that might bring harm. “What are you doing here?” Ethan looked down at me from his superior position, his voice cold as ice. “Stella, have you sunk to stalking now?” Stalking. Sunk to. Those words were like sharp knives, stabbing precisely into my heart. Pain wracked my entire body, but I stubbornly refused to look away. I gazed at Ethan’s devastatingly handsome face and suddenly found it utterly unfamiliar. “I was just passing by.” I forced myself to stand up from the ground, my voice hoarse and dry from not speaking loudly in so long. “I apologize for disturbing Mr. Lancaster and Miss Lynn.” Miranda peeked out from behind Ethan. Seeing the blood on my hand, she immediately covered her mouth with a gasp. “Oh my God, Stella, you’re bleeding! Ethan, you should have someone take her to the hospital. There are too many people here, it’s too dangerous.” Her concern sounded so sincere, as if she were the legitimate Mrs. Lancaster, while I was just a stranger who’d accidentally wandered into their world. But Ethan didn’t even glance at the wound on my hand, his tone utterly flat. “Don’t worry about her. She has legs, she can go to the hospital herself.” Then he turned to the bodyguards with a cold order. “Clear out the irrelevant people. Don’t let them frighten Miranda again.” Irrelevant people. I silently chewed on those words in my mind and let out a low laugh. Three years of marriage, over a thousand days and nights of companionship and compromise. In his eyes, I was just an “irrelevant person.” Following their orders, the bodyguards immediately stepped forward and gestured dismissively. “Miss, please leave immediately.” I didn’t look at Ethan again. I straightened my back, turned around, and walked out that door step by step without looking back. Outside, a cold autumn rain had started falling at some point. Icy raindrops pelted my face and body, instantly soaking me to the bone. I didn’t open an umbrella or call a car. I just walked aimlessly along the empty street. Flashing through my mind were the absurd five years I’d spent. At twenty, I fell in love with Ethan Lancaster at first sight at a Sterling family banquet. Back then, he was the brightest rising star, cold, ascetic, utterly unattainable. Like a fool, I set aside all my pride to pursue him. I learned to cook for him, tempered my personality for him, and even during the six months after his car accident from family power struggles when he was temporarily blind, I stayed by his hospital bed for the entire half year. Later, he finally agreed to marry me. I thought I’d finally moved his heart. Our wedding night. He coldly tossed me a prenuptial agreement and laid down that “absolute silence” rule. That’s when I finally understood. He married me for the Sterling family’s influence. And because I was obedient. Quiet. Easy to keep in line. And now, Miranda had returned. The woman who could make him break all his rules, who could make him willingly endure noise, had returned. I stopped walking, tilted my head back, and let the icy rain wash over the tears on my face. Enough. Really, enough. Though I’d loved him humbly, the pride in my bones hadn’t completely died. Since he didn’t love me, since his heart would forever hold only another woman, then I was done serving him. These three years. I’d just consider them wasted on a dog. I wiped the rain from my face. I pulled out my phone and called my lawyer. “Mr. Williams, draft a divorce agreement for me. As soon as possible.”

Stella Sterling POV When I returned to the mansion, it was already two in the morning. I didn’t change out of my soaked clothes or treat the now-congealed wound on my palm. Instead, I went straight to the basement. At the far end of the basement sat a large temperature-controlled case. I entered the password and opened it. Inside lay a deep brown cello. It was my eighteenth birthday gift from my grandfather, and my “comrade-in-arms” through countless international competitions. Since marrying Ethan, this cello had never seen daylight. I reached out with trembling hands and gently caressed the cold wood grain of the instrument’s body. I carefully packed the cello and carried it back to the master bedroom. Over the next several hours, I methodically packed my belongings. I actually didn’t own much. Over these three years, to match Ethan’s minimalist, cold aesthetic, I’d thrown away all my brightly colored clothes. My jewelry box contained only a few plain accessories. I stuffed the few items of clothing and documents that belonged to me into my suitcase. Finally, I placed the divorce agreement that Mr. Williams had sent over and printed overnight squarely on the massive black-and-white marble coffee table in the living room. After finishing everything, dawn had broken. At eight in the morning, the sound of fingerprint unlocking came from the mansion’s main door. Ethan walked in carrying a chill and the faint scent of tobacco. His suit jacket was draped over his arm, his tie slightly loose, his brows showing traces of exhaustion from staying up all night. When he saw me sitting on the sofa with a suitcase at my feet, his steps paused briefly, and his brows immediately furrowed. “What are you making a fuss about now?” Ethan’s voice dripped with impatience. “Wasn’t making a scene at the Livehouse last night enough? Now you’re staging a runaway drama at home?” I looked up at him. No hysterical questioning, no tears of grievance and compromise. “I’m not making a fuss.” My voice was soft. “Ethan, let’s get divorced.” Ethan’s movements froze abruptly. As if hearing some absurd joke, he laughed coldly, casually tossed his suit jacket on the sofa, and walked over to look down at me from above. “Stella, do you think you can force me to yield to you this way?” Ethan’s eyes filled with mockery. “Miranda spent seven years abroad and developed severe depression and claustrophobia. Her therapist suggested she visit crowded, lively places for exposure therapy. I was only there last night as a friend accompanying her for treatment. As Mrs. Lancaster, with perfect health and everything you could want, must you compete with a sick person?” A sick person. A friend. Listening to these high-sounding excuses, I felt nothing but churning nausea in my stomach. “What about your neurasthenia?” I looked into his eyes and asked word by word. “Weren’t you supposed to get headaches and nausea from sounds over fifty decibels? The sound system at the Livehouse last night was deafening. Why didn’t your condition flare up?” Ethan’s expression darkened instantly, anger at being exposed flashing in his eyes. “I took medication.” He looked away coldly, his tone forceful. “Stella, my patience has limits. Don’t push it.” “Right, you took medication.” I smiled. “For her, you can take medication to endure the noise you hate most. But for you, I didn’t touch my cello for three years and even walked on tiptoe. Ethan, don’t you think you’re a hypocrite?” “What exactly are you trying to say?” Ethan’s patience completely ran out, his voice rising. “I’m saying I’m done.” I stood up and pushed the document on the coffee table toward him. “I’ve already signed the divorce papers. I’ll leave with nothing. I don’t want a cent of the Lancaster fortune. Just sign your name, and we can divorce tomorrow. From now on, you can accompany your beloved for her treatment, and we’ll owe each other nothing.” Ethan looked down, his gaze falling on that black-and-white document. He stared hard at my face. “Stella, you’ve grown quite bold.” Ethan laughed in fury, grabbed the agreement, tore it to shreds right in front of me, and threw the pieces violently on the floor. “Think you can threaten me into cutting ties with Miranda through divorce? You’ve chosen the wrong method.” He closed in on me, his eyes menacing. “Let me tell you. I won’t agree to this divorce. You’d better put that suitcase back right now and be the obedient Mrs. Lancaster you’re supposed to be. Otherwise, I guarantee that once you walk out that door, you won’t get anywhere in this city!” With that, he turned without hesitation, strode out of the mansion, and slammed the door. I looked at the scattered paper fragments on the floor. No anger, no sorrow. I simply bent down, picked up my suitcase, shouldered my cello, and walked out of this prison that had trapped me for three years without looking back. If he wouldn’t sign, fine. I’d just file for divorce in court. Either way, I was never coming back.

Stella Sterling POV After leaving the Lancaster house, I moved into an apartment in the city center. It was a property I’d bought outright before marriage. Ethan didn’t know about it. After settling in, the first thing I did was call my former professor, Leonard Wright, principal conductor of the National Symphony Orchestra. “Stella? Is it really you?” On the other end, Leonard’s voice trembled with excitement. “Three years! You finally decided to contact me, girl! I thought you’d really decided to spend your whole life as that invisible wife for the Lancaster family!” My eyes grew hot. I took a deep breath, forcing down the bitterness in my throat. “I’m sorry for disappointing you. I want to come back. Does the orchestra… still have a place for me?” “Yes! Of course!” Leonard answered without hesitation. “Early next month, the orchestra is holding a major charity symphony concert at the theater. Our original principal cellist withdrew due to tendonitis. If you’re willing, come to the orchestra tomorrow for an audition! As long as your foundation hasn’t deteriorated, the position is yours!” After hanging up, I looked at the cello standing quietly in the corner, and light finally rekindled in my heart. Early the next morning, I brought my cello to the National Symphony Orchestra’s rehearsal hall. After three years without touching the instrument, my fingers were initially stiff. But when bow met string and produced the first note, the muscle memory carved into my bones instantly awakened. When I finished a difficult piece, Elgar’s Cello Concerto in E minor, the entire rehearsal hall fell silent. Then it erupted in thunderous applause. Leonard excitedly patted my shoulder. “Wonderful! Marvelous! Stella, not only haven’t you regressed, you’ve gained a depth and explosive power you didn’t have three years ago! The principal position is definitely yours!” I was genuinely happy. However, this joy didn’t last long. That afternoon, while I was alone in a practice room familiarizing myself with the score, the door was suddenly pushed open roughly. Ethan’s chief assistant, Marcus, walked in with several workers wearing moving company uniforms. “Mrs. Lancaster.” Marcus saw me and bowed his head slightly, though his tone carried undeniable firmness. “Mr. Lancaster has instructed us to take the antique cello you have here.” I stood up and blocked the cello. “What did you say? This is my cello. What right does he have to take it?” Marcus explained expressionlessly. “Miss Lynn is also participating in next month’s charity concert as a guest violinist for her comeback performance. However, her violin was damaged during air transport back to the country. Mr. Lancaster said your cello has excellent tone quality, and though they’re different instruments, it can be used by Miss Lynn’s accompaniment team to ensure a perfect performance.” I couldn’t believe my ears. “Has he lost his mind?” I trembled with rage. “This was my grandfather’s legacy to me! It’s something I value more than life! He wants to take my cello just to support Miranda’s performance?” “Mrs. Lancaster, please don’t make this difficult for us.” Marcus waved his hand, and several workers immediately stepped forward, attempting to forcibly remove the cello. “Don’t touch it!” I desperately protected the case. Just then, my phone rang. “Ethan Lancaster” flashed on the screen. I answered, my voice shaking with anger. “Ethan, what the hell are you trying to do?!” On the other end, Ethan’s voice remained coldly indifferent, as if discussing some trivial matter. “Marcus should have explained it to you clearly. Miranda needs a good instrument. That cello of yours will just gather dust in your hands anyway. Better to lend it to her.” “I told you, that’s my cello! I’m performing next month too. I need it!” I spoke through gritted teeth. “Performing?” Ethan scoffed, his tone full of contempt. “Stella, you haven’t touched a cello in three years. What are you doing running to the orchestra to make trouble? You think a concert is kids playing house? Don’t embarrass yourself on stage.” “Whether I embarrass myself or not is none of your business!” “Enough, stop making a scene.” Ethan cut me off impatiently. “It’s just a cello. I’ll have Marcus order ten of the latest models for you tomorrow. Miranda’s emotional state is very unstable right now. This performance is important for restoring her confidence. As Mrs. Lancaster, can’t you be a little more generous?” Generous? Hearing those words, I found them utterly absurd. For another woman’s confidence, he would ruthlessly trample my pride and seize my most precious faith. “Ethan, I’m saying this one last time. I won’t lend it.” I spoke each word deliberately. “If you dare let anyone touch my cello, I’ll call the police immediately.” The line went silent for two seconds, then Ethan’s ice-cold warning came through. “Stella, must you make this so ugly? Believe me or not. You won’t just lose that cello, you won’t even be able to get through the doors of the National Symphony Orchestra!” My heart plunged into an ice cellar at that moment. Looking at the advancing workers and Marcus’s expressionless face, I released my protective grip on the case. “Fine. Take it.” “Ethan Lancaster, remember this. I’m giving you this cello as charity today. From now on, between us, all debts are settled.” I hung up and watched as the workers carried away the cello that held all my dreams and memories. The moment the door closed, I didn’t cry. My heart had already died. It died in Ethan’s casual remark about “don’t embarrass yourself on stage.”

Stella Sterling POV Two weeks later, at the theater. This charity symphony concert, jointly hosted by several top financial conglomerates, not only gathered the nation’s finest musicians but also attracted countless celebrities and dignitaries. I didn’t attend as Mrs. Lancaster. After all, we’d kept our marriage secret for three years. The outside world had no idea Ethan was married. I came as a guest cellist with the National Symphony Orchestra. Though the antique cello had been seized, Professor Wright had worked through the night to borrow an equally prestigious instrument for me, preserving my performance opportunity. At seven p.m., the red carpet ceremony officially began. I wore a well-tailored black velvet gown, my hair swept up elegantly. Free from the oppressive rules of the Lancaster household, I felt much more relaxed. I had just walked to the signature board when the crowd suddenly erupted in violent commotion and flashbulbs went wild. “It’s Mr. Lancaster! Ethan Lancaster is here!” “Oh my God, who’s that woman with him? She’s gorgeous! Mr. Lancaster is actually helping her out of the car himself!” My hand holding the signing pen paused slightly. I turned to look. At the end of the red carpet, Ethan wore a custom black suit, his posture upright, coldly noble. And on his arm was Miranda in a custom white starlight gown. One in black, one in white, they walked slowly forward surrounded by countless cameras. Miranda seemed somewhat uncomfortable with such blinding flashbulbs and shrank back slightly. Ethan immediately turned aside, using his tall frame to shield her from some of the cameras, leaning down to whisper comfort in her ear, his eyes so tender they could drip water. Reporters frantically pressed their shutters, someone shouting questions. “Mr. Lancaster, is this beautiful lady your girlfriend? Did you come tonight specifically to support her?” Ethan stopped, his gaze sweeping the entire venue before settling on the cameras. “This is Miranda, tonight’s guest violinist.” Ethan’s voice carried through the microphone across the entire plaza, low and firm. “She’s also… a very important person to me. I hope everyone will support her performance tonight.” The entire venue erupted. This was clearly Ethan announcing Miranda’s status to the entire city. Standing in the shadows not far away, I quietly watched this scene. My heart was strangely calm. No jealousy, no anger, only indifference. I turned and walked straight into the theater without another glance at them. The first half of the concert went extremely smoothly. My solo performance stunned the audience. With flawless technique and abundant emotion, I announced to everyone the powerful return of the former cello prodigy. During intermission came the charity auction segment. I sat in the orchestra section, watching the auction items sell one by one on stage. Until the final featured item was wheeled onto the stage. It was a pair of rare nineteenth-century European royal antique matching rings, called “Eternal Vow.” The instant I saw those rings, I took a sharp breath. Before our wedding, I had seen this pair of rings at a private exhibition and loved them beyond measure. Full of joy, I’d pulled Ethan along, hoping he would bid on them as their wedding rings. But Ethan had only glanced at them coldly, shaken off my hand, his tone mocking. “Stella, marriage is just a transaction of interests. Buying such impractical things, don’t you find that ridiculous?” In the end, our wedding rings were just ordinary plain bands, and Ethan, citing “inconvenience at work,” never wore his once in three years. And now, the auctioneer enthusiastically introduced the rings’ significance on stage. “‘Eternal Vow,’ representing love that transcends time until death. Starting bid, twenty million!” As soon as the words left his mouth, from the front VIP section, Ethan raised his paddle without hesitation. “Fifty million.” The entire venue gasped. Jumping straight to thirty million more. This wasn’t just a display of wealth but a determination to win. No one dared compete with Ethan. The auctioneer excitedly brought down the gavel. “Fifty million, sold! Congratulations, Mr. Lancaster!” The host joked with a smile. “Mr. Lancaster spent a fortune on this pair of couple’s rings. Which lucky lady are you planning to give them to?” The spotlight instantly focused on Ethan and Miranda sitting beside him. Ethan stood up and accepted the velvet box containing the rings from the staff. He turned his head, looking at Miranda beside him, her face full of shy delight, his voice carrying through the microphone to every corner of the theater. “These past years, I lost something very precious and left behind a great regret.” Ethan’s gaze was deep and devoted. “These rings are to make up for that regret. I want to give them to the person who is most important to me.” The venue erupted in thunderous applause and cheers. Miranda covered her mouth, tears of emotion streaming down her face. And sitting in the corner, I silently raised my phone and recorded the entire scene. I opened my email and sent the video to Mr. Williams with a message. “Mr. Williams, this is the latest evidence of Ethan Lancaster’s extramarital affair and transfer of marital assets. Please add it to the divorce litigation file.” After sending it, I darkened the screen. Ethan Lancaster, since you love such public displays of affection, I’ll grant your wish and let you love to your heart’s content. In court.

Stella Sterling POV After the auction segment ended, it was time to prepare for the second half of the performance. I stood up and headed toward the backstage restroom. Just as I reached the corridor corner, I heard a familiar light laugh.”Ethan, these rings are too expensive. I really can’t accept them.” Miranda’s delicate voice carried a hint of shyness. “As long as you like them, any price is worth it.” Ethan’s voice was low and tender. “You deserve this.” I paused mid-step, intending to turn and leave, but accidentally kicked a decorative planter by the wall, making a soft sound. The two people in the corridor turned their heads simultaneously. The moment he saw me, the tenderness on Ethan’s face vanished instantly, replaced by his usual coldness and wariness. He instinctively pulled Miranda behind him, his brows furrowed. “What are you doing here? Eavesdropping again?” I almost laughed at his persecution complex. I smoothed my dress and walked forward to face them both. “Mr. Lancaster thinks too highly of himself. This is the only way to the restroom. I’m not bored enough to eavesdrop on other people’s declarations of love.” Miranda stepped out from behind Ethan, her gaze falling on me, a flash of barely concealed jealousy in her eyes. “Stella, don’t misunderstand.” Miranda bit her lip, putting on a pitiful expression. “Ethan only bid on the rings to cheer me up because I’ve been under so much stress lately. Oh, and I need to thank you for lending that antique cello to my team. The tone is really wonderful. Ethan said you didn’t need it anymore. You’re not angry with me, are you?” These words, seemingly grateful, were actually flaunting Ethan’s favoritism toward her with every sentence while twisting the knife in my heart. Looking at her hypocritical face, I laughed coldly. “Miss Lynn is too kind.” I lifted my chin slightly. “Since that cello has already been touched by others and tainted, I don’t want it anymore. Consider it a donation to those in need. After all, someone has to deal with the garbage.” “You!” Miranda’s face went pale, her eyes instantly reddening as she looked at Ethan with grievance. “Ethan, I didn’t mean anything by it. How can Stella say such things…” “Stella Sterling!” Ethan shouted harshly, his face terrifyingly dark. “Watch your mouth! Miranda thanked you out of kindness, and you have to act like a lunatic making a scene? Apologize to her right now!” “Apologize?” I met his angry gaze fearlessly and smiled slightly. “Ethan, have you forgotten you’re supposed to be a severe neurasthenia patient? You could handle that noisy auction earlier, and now to protect her, you’re even raising your voice. You two really are a perfect match. One with depression who can play violin in front of thousands, another with hyperacusis who can chat and laugh at a Livehouse. Truly two medical miracles.” My words struck Ethan’s face, turning it iron blue. For three years, I had always been docile and silent, not even daring to breathe loudly. But now, each of my sentences hit precisely where it hurt. “Stella Sterling, you’re completely unreasonable!” Burning with rage, Ethan suddenly reached out, trying to grab my wrist. “Don’t touch me!” I reacted quickly, retreating a step sharply. “Ethan Lancaster, you disgust me.” His hand froze in midair, his pupils contracting violently. He stared into my eyes. “Say that again.” He spoke through gritted teeth, the words barely squeezing out. “I don’t repeat myself.” I glanced at him coldly. “Please control your people, Mr. Lancaster, and stop bothering me. Otherwise, I don’t mind letting the whole city know that Mr. Lancaster is not only a hypocrite but also a cheating scumbag.” With that, I turned without hesitation and walked away from the corridor without looking back. Leaving Ethan standing there alone.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “390160”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

The video call on New Year’s Eve came without warning. On the screen was my eight-years-younger self, excitedly sharing the news of Amelia Vance’s confession. His eyes shone, and he spoke effusively about a beautiful future, saying Amelia would plant all his favorite flowers, spend every New Year’s Eve with him, and forever pamper him like a prince. I listened quietly, a faint smile playing on my lips, not interrupting his dreams. Suddenly, he stopped, his gaze sweeping over the empty room behind me, and he asked curiously, “Where’s Amelia? We must be incredibly happy eight years from now, right?” I didn’t answer, simply slowly rotated the phone camera, aiming it at the other end of the living room. There, Amelia Vance was pressed tightly against the floor-to-ceiling window by a stranger, kissing him passionately. Amelia’s body was pushed slightly forward, one hand leaving a damp print on the fogged glass. She gasped softly, even naughtily pinching the man’s butt. The man seemed somewhat uncomfortable, lifting his head. Only then did he see me through the glass, clearly startled. Immediately after, he clung to Amelia again, as if boneless, rubbing against her playfully. “Amelia, is there someone else in your house?” Amelia was unconcerned, even deepening the kiss, matching the man’s posture. In the midst of the kiss, she opened her eyes and looked at me, her gaze filled with coldness and amusement. “Don’t mind him,” she said casually. “He won’t care, will he?” 1 Care? I’d grown tired of saying that years ago. From hysterical crying to numb acceptance, and finally, no longer even having the will to speak. However, the eight-years-younger me on the screen had turned ashen, his hand trembling as he ended the call first. But the performance by the window was escalating. I simply lowered my head and sent a New Year’s greeting to my sister, who had long since vanished, to distract myself. The man now laughed excitedly, his hands bolder as they roamed over Amelia. “Where did you find a husband so… understanding?” Then, they intertwined, coats, ties, shirts… scattered all the way up the stairs. Facing such a scene had become a regular feature, a colorful movie playing in this cold villa. I couldn’t even bothered to lift an eyelid. As the awkward holiday comedy on TV grew drowsy, and I was on the verge of falling asleep on the sofa, the housemaid woke me. He spoke with difficulty. “Ms. Vance asked you to go buy a box of… lubricant…” On New Year’s Eve, the streets were deserted, with only a few novelty shops open. I walked against the cold wind for over half an hour. When I returned, I vaguely heard two maids inside discussing me. “Mr. Thompson is truly pitiful. These past eight years, he’s lived worse than a servant.” “Well, whose fault is it that he married Ms. Vance through such underhanded means? For Ms. Vance to even give him a title is already being more than generous.” Memories violently pulled me back to the past. Amelia had gone traveling to a rural village, and we met, fell in love. Our love was pure and fervent, like the mountain wind. I followed her, risking everything, to the city where she lived. But her father vehemently opposed it, despising me as a country bumpkin. Yet, Amelia had tightly clasped my hand and said, “Don’t be afraid. I’ll make my dad agree to us.” Later, my sister, who lived in that rural village and had never gambled, suddenly incurred a massive gambling debt. Desperate, she listened to someone’s suggestion. If she could just get me into Amelia’s bed, making it a fait accompli, the Vance family, to save face, would surely let Amelia marry me, and the debt could be repaid. My sister drugged both Amelia and me. After a chaotic night, Amelia’s gaze at me, once full of tender affection, turned cold and disgusted. She married me, and she also threw a check at me. “Remember, this money, you owe me.” Marriage, from what should have been a mutually loving dream, had turned into what she perceived as a conspiracy engineered by my sister and me to trap her. It wasn’t that I hadn’t brought up divorce later. Each time I did, she would sneer, “You want a divorce? Fine. Pay back that fifty million, principal and interest. Otherwise, I’ll find your sister and make sure she rots in jail.” My sister was long gone, whereabouts unknown. This debt was cemented onto me. Amelia opened the bedroom door, her upper body covered in bright red marks, glaringly obvious. “What took you so long?” She snatched the box from my hand. Its plastic edge brushed my cheek, a stinging sensation. “He’s just too big; he couldn’t wait.” My peripheral vision caught the naked figure on the large bed in the room. My stomach churned. I turned to flee. But she asked me from behind, with amusement, “Why don’t you stay and join us?” I finally couldn’t stand it anymore. I stumbled to the toilet and vomited violently. I video-called my eight-years-younger self again. I asked, “Do you think she still loves me?” He cried, still disbelieving. “How could she become like this? She clearly said she only loved me!” I knew that without having personally experienced these years of despair, words alone couldn’t convey the depth of it. Perhaps, he would still, like I once did, make excuses for her, believing it was just a temporary misunderstanding. I didn’t blame him, but invited him to keep watching. On New Year’s Day, when I woke up, the man from last night was already gone. But he had left a pair of underwear on the sofa. Amelia followed my gaze, then suddenly wrapped her arms around my waist, pulling me closer. “What, are you jealous?” She looked up, intending to kiss me, but I instinctively recoiled. This made the rare hint of tenderness in her eyes quickly turn to mockery. “Always this miserable, half-dead look.” “You only ever sound like a human being the night you drugged me and climbed into my bed.” Her words stabbed at my heart, a wave of shame spreading through me. But she just pushed me away coldly. “Alright, it’s New Year’s Day. We have to go back to the family estate to greet my dad.” Amelia’s father was the person I least wanted to face. All these years, his gaze at me had always been like I was some kind of filth. But to my surprise, this time, he didn’t even glance at me. He was on the sofa, chatting happily with the same man who had been embracing Amelia last night. It turned out he was Leo Thorne, Amelia’s original arranged fiancé. Mr. Vance patted Leo’s hand, his eyes full of satisfaction. “Good boy. If it hadn’t been for that wretched boy, you would be our son-in-law by now.” Amelia also walked over, smiling playfully. “Dad, I’m already married. Why bring all this up? If you like him, just have him come over more often to keep you company.” “Then what capacity would I come in? Should I call you ‘sister’?” Leo chuckled. But the term “sister” had tormented me all last night as they had indulged themselves, punctuated by its repeated use. At this moment, they exchanged smiles, looking like a true family. And I stood awkwardly at the periphery, like an abrupt outsider. At dinner, simply because Leo said, “I’d like some beef,” Mr. Vance had the kitchen prepare an entire table of beef dishes. Our ethnic group had a tradition of not eating beef; we couldn’t even touch it. Seeing me hesitate to pick up my chopsticks, Mr. Vance finally turned his gaze to me, his face full of annoyance. “What are you standing around for? Eat! Don’t be so delicate!” “In the Vance family, you should do as the locals do, understand?!” I looked at Amelia helplessly, placing my last hope in her. At least she used to understand me. Then, she picked up something that looked like a mushroom and placed it on my plate. “Dad, don’t scare him.” The thoughtfulness in her tone made me momentarily see the Amelia of the past. “This isn’t beef, Adrian. Try it, it tastes good.” I ate it without suspicion, but the moment my teeth closed around it, Leo’s laughter broke the silence. He pointed at me, his voice innocent yet cruel. “Look! He ate the beef!” “I told you, there’s no such thing as beliefs or taboos. It’s all just an excuse, putting on airs!” Amelia had lied to me. I stumbled to the restroom, sticking my fingers down my throat. I wanted to vomit out that piece of meat, along with all the humiliations and betrayals I had swallowed these past years. Physiological tears blurred my vision. I video-called my eight-years-younger self again. This time, he was silent for a very, very long time. Then, he began to recall, by the clear stream in our village. She looked at me, her eyes bright like stars: “Adrian, I did my research beforehand. Your people don’t eat beef, right?” “When we’re together, I’ll be with you, and I’ll never touch it either.” But now? The me on the other end of the video was even more despairing than I was. “This isn’t… not what I wanted…” He cried, his voice raw, repeating over and over: “It hurts too much.” Does it hurt? But I had grown used to it, unable to shed another tear. Amelia disappeared for several days again. As I spent my days staring blankly at my phone, I unexpectedly received a message from my sister, asking to meet. The message was like a ray of light in the darkness, making me believe she had come to pull me out of this mire. But in reality, my sister grasped my hand, trembling. “Adrian, I’m so sorry… I think I’ve been set up…” “They’re demanding thirty million from me now, or they’ll take my life…” Hope shattered in an instant, replaced by a deeper helplessness. The previous fifty million had already nailed me to the pillar of shame, forcing me to sell myself for money, tormented day and night. How could I now ask Amelia for more? As I stood bewildered, the positive result on my pregnancy test seemed like a cruel joke—Amelia was pregnant with my child. I finally waited for Amelia to come home. “Thirty million for this child, is it a fair trade?” My voice was so calm, it felt unfamiliar even to myself. Her pupils constricted. The next second, she grabbed my throat, shoving me violently against the wall. A suffocating sensation instantly overwhelmed me. Her eyes surged with fury and undisguised hatred. “How did I not realize before that you were such a schemer? You can even put a price tag on the child in my womb!” “Do you even have a heart, damn it? Aside from money, is there no genuine feeling between us?” Genuine feeling? All my genuine feelings had long ago, through countless nights of humiliation over these eight years, been ground into dust by her own hands. A gust of wind, and nothing was left. I ignored her malice, stubbornly asking her, “A trade?” She was finally completely enraged by my attitude, threw me onto the bed, and recklessly tore at my clothes. “Amelia Vance! You’re pregnant with my child! Not now!” As I struggled desperately, she pulled out a card and threw it at my face. “Fine! I’ll buy this child’s life!” She leaned close, her breath hot on my ear, every word a stab to my heart. “If it’s gone, that’s on me too.” That night was a living hell. I took her to the hospital to confirm. The child was still there. I touched her still-flat belly, feeling a bond for the first time. A few days later, Amelia returned home. “I’ll stay with you until he’s born, to be worth your thirty million.” She paused, lost in thought as she looked at her slightly swollen abdomen. Then, she violently slammed the ash tray next to her onto the floor. A jarring crash. “You win!” She didn’t even glance at my feet, cut by the shards, but turned and slammed the door shut again. That night, I once again video-called my eight-years-younger self. “I don’t want my future days to be like this…” He shook his head, his voice broken. “I don’t want my baby to be born into a home filled only with humiliation… I don’t…” Listening to his repeated whispers, I suddenly felt that perhaps everything could still change. A few days after the thirty million was transferred, my sister asked to meet me again. This time, she cried, repeatedly hitting herself. “Little brother, I’m not human! I owe another ten million… I swear, this is the last time!” I stared at her blankly, unable to think of any other reason to beg Amelia. I could only wait for her to come home again, then kneel before her. “Give me another ten million. I’ll do anything you want!” Amelia kicked me away, then suddenly laughed. “What part of you is still worth ten million?” Watching her retreating figure as she slammed the door again, I knew she had probably shown me all the leniency she had. But my sister then sent me a video of her being beaten on the ground by several people. I had no choice but to call Amelia over and over, pleading: “Please, I’ll even die for you!” Then, I listened all night to her and Leo’s activities, without receiving a single reply. At dawn, when I found my sister again, she was already lying on the ground, covered in blood. She used her last strength to grasp me: “Little brother… I’m so sorry for what I did to you, for not stopping you from being with her…” I froze, hearing. “Yesterday I found out, it was the Vance family who tricked me into gambling… a setup…” “Every time… it was… even the forced marriage was their idea…” Every word, I understood, but combined they were so cruel. The Vance family? Then what was all I endured these eight years? Was I foolish, or did I deserve it? I didn’t even have time to digest the crushing truth. The doctor informed me that my sister had multiple organ failure and was in critical condition. Deeper than despair was another despair. Just as I was crying, begging the doctor to save my sister, Amelia appeared at the hospital, embracing Leo, who had twisted his back in bed last night. “Amelia Vance!” The hatred, accumulated for too long, exploded. I rushed forward like a madman, grabbing her collar, becoming hysterical. “It was you! It was your family who set up my sister! Wasn’t it?!” Amelia froze, then frowned. “What nonsense are you talking about! I wouldn’t stoop to such underhanded tactics!” I pointed at my sister, teetering between life and death on the hospital bed, my fingertips trembling. “Amelia Vance, stop pretending! What is it you can’t do?!” “You played us, my sister and me, like puppets. Are you satisfied now?!” Amelia’s face darkened, her eyes turning completely cold. “Adrian, remember, this is all your own doing!” She gestured to the doctor beside her. “Get all the doctors in the hospital over here, treat Mr. Thorne’s back.” “As for certain half-dead people, no need to waste medical resources.” One by one, the doctors, ignoring my screams and pleas, removed all the tubes and equipment from my sister. Soon, my sister’s body convulsed one last time, then fell silent. I collapsed to the ground, crying, watching Amelia leave, embraced by Leo. “Amelia Vance, if I could do it all over again, I would never repeat the same mistakes.” A sharp pain suddenly shot through her lower abdomen. Warm liquid gushed out, spreading down her pants. Before losing consciousness, I made one last call to my eight-years-younger self. “Leave her.” I spoke with a dying despair. “We can live again.” He bit his lip hard, and finally nodded. “Okay.” Perhaps out of a last shred of conscience, or perhaps remembering Adrian had lost both his sister and his child, Amelia uncharacteristically returned home early. Pushing open the door, a strange emptiness washed over her. She hadn’t yet pinpointed what was missing. Just then, the maid brought her a cup of coffee. She took a sip, then spat it out, frowning deeply. “The taste is off. Have Adrian make it again.” The maid looked bewildered. “Adrian? Sir, which Adrian?” Amelia’s heart inexplicably tightened. Impatiently, she said, “My husband, Adrian!” The maid looked even more confused. “Ms. Vance, when did you get married? We haven’t heard you have a husband.”

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The first thing I remember after the car crash is a memory from three years ago. Back then, Ember and I hadn’t broken up yet. My voice was thick with tears as I dialed his number, telling him my head hurt so much. There was a long silence on the other end. Then, Ember’s voice, cold as ice, asked if I thought this was some kind of sick joke. He hung up on me. I was completely lost. About five minutes later, he called back. He told me to give him the address, and that this had better not be some stupid dare. 1 I gave him the address of the hospital. Half an hour later, Ember appeared at my bedside. He was dressed in a sharp black suit, looking like he’d traveled a long way. My nose stung with the urge to cry, and I threw myself into his arms. He smelled faintly of tobacco, a scent that felt foreign to me. The Ember I knew didn’t smoke. His body went rigid. He gripped my wrist and pulled me away. “Chad, what the hell are you doing?” I stumbled back onto the bed, my eyes instantly welling up. “Ember, you don’t love me anymore! We’re done!” “Done?” Ember let out a short, harsh laugh, as if my words were the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “We broke up three years ago.” His words hit me like a thunderclap. A wave of pain crashed over me. I clutched my head, my brow furrowing tightly as the room spun around me. The last thing I saw before I blacked out was Ember slamming the call button by the bed, his voice sharp with panic. “Doctor!” When I woke up again, the sky outside was dark. The hospital room was silent. My heart sank. Ember was gone. The doctor told me the amnesia was caused by a blood clot in my brain. He couldn’t say for sure when my memories would return. I lay in bed, my mind replaying scene after scene of Ember and me, sweet moments that felt like they’d happened only yesterday. He had always doted on me, spoiled me. He would never lie to me, and he would never, ever say the word “breakup.” The more I thought about it, the more miserable I became, and the tears started to fall again. Just then, the door opened, and Ember walked in, carrying a takeout container. He was still in the same suit, his tall, lean frame getting closer and closer. I couldn’t hold it back anymore and started sobbing. “I thought… I thought you left…” A tissue was held out in front of me. I took it, wiped my eyes, and blew my nose. Ember pulled a chair up to the bedside. He opened the container, and the rich aroma of food filled the small room. It was a steaming oxtail soup, and it looked incredible. Grumble. My stomach protested loudly, the sound echoing in the quiet room. Ember glanced at me, then slowly ladled a bowl of soup and held it out. I didn’t take it. The words slipped out before I could stop them. “Babe, you feed me.” His hand froze in mid-air. The way he looked at me, it was like he was looking at a complete stranger. Reality came crashing back. We broke up, he’d said. A heavy weight settled in my chest, making it hard to breathe. I fought to keep my emotions in check, my voice muffled. “It’s just… a habit. I’ll get used to it.” “Is that what you call Nathan, too?” Ember’s lips curled into a sarcastic smile. “You’re hurt. How come I don’t see him here?” Nathan? He was a senior from our university. Ember, being the jealous guy he was, had never wanted me to be too friendly with him after he’d asked me out once. I was completely confused. “What does he have to do with anything?” Ember’s gaze clouded over, but he didn’t push the subject. Trying to remember things just made my head ache, so I let it go. My eyes were fixed on the chunks of meat in the bowl. “So, are you going to feed me or not?” He glanced at the IV in my hand and finally relented. “It’s hot!” “I want the broth.” “Come closer.” I couldn’t help it. I fell back into our old rhythm, whining and being playful with him. Ember paused for a second, then obediently scooted his chair closer. His face hadn’t changed much from my memories. But looking closer, I could see the differences. The boyish cockiness was gone, replaced by a quiet, steady confidence that showed in his every move. A wave of sadness washed over me. “Ember,” I whispered, “why did we break up?” He never answered my question. He took a work call and left. Later, I found a train ticket in my purse. The departure city was Northwood, over six hundred miles away. Vague, blurry fragments flashed in my mind, but I couldn’t piece them together. The next day, two police officers came to my room. That’s when I learned that the driver who hit me had been caught. The reason he’d done it? He was in a bad mood. As for compensation, that was something I’d have to handle myself. That evening, the doctor came by on his rounds and reminded me to settle the hospital bill. I nodded, agreeing readily. But when I took my bank card to the payment window, the clerk informed me I had insufficient funds. Flustered, I fumbled for another card. Still insufficient. The clerk was getting impatient. “Which card is it? If you don’t have the money, let the next person go.” My face burned with humiliation. “This one.” A hand with long, elegant fingers slid a credit card through the window. Ember paid the bill for me. The clerk’s attitude changed in a heartbeat, her voice suddenly sweet. “Here’s your card back, sir.” Ember took it, his face like stone. “Apologize to her. Unless you’d prefer to receive a formal complaint.” The smile on the clerk’s face froze. After a moment, she grudgingly muttered an apology to me. Back in the room, Ember set down the takeout and turned to leave. I panicked. I ran and wrapped my arms tight around his waist, instinctively nuzzling my face against his chest. His breathing hitched. His body was ramrod straight, and his voice came out low and rough. “Chad, let go.” I refused, pressing my full weight against him and looking up with pleading eyes. “Ember, don’t push me away.” “I feel dizzy…” The room fell silent. Then, Ember suddenly swept me into his arms. I instinctively hooked my arms around his neck, my gaze fixed on the sharp line of his jaw. My voice trembled. “Ember, what… what are you doing?” The words were barely out of my mouth before he unceremoniously dropped me onto the bed. The romantic bubble in the air popped with a sad little poof. A week later, I was discharged. Ember came to pick me up. I stared at the luxury car for a few seconds, then said nothing and got in. Over the past few days, he would bring me food and then stay in the room for an hour or two. But he was always on a conference call or on his phone. I’d secretly looked him up online. What I found was shocking, but also, not entirely unexpected. Back in his junior year, Ember had already been planning to start his own business. He was Southport’s valedictorian, accepted into Southport University with the top scores in his program. He loved game design and had even won a gold medal with his roommates at the National Game Design Awards. He’d racked up countless awards during his time in school. His dream was always to start his own game development company. And in just three years, he’d done it. He was even more successful than I could have imagined. He had glowing reviews online, and a legion of female fans who called him their “internet husband.” He’d always been popular at school, but everyone knew how crazy he was about me, so I never paid those other girls any mind. But now… “Where do you live?” Ember’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. I opened a hotel booking app on my phone and gave him the address. The day after the accident, the doctor had told me to contact my family. I’d opened my mom’s chat history and scrolled through our messages. My heart had plunged into a pit of ice. She had remarried and moved out of Southport. No wonder I was staying in a hotel. I didn’t have a home here anymore. Ember was quiet for a moment, his grip on the steering wheel tightening slightly. I pulled myself together, and a question popped into my head. “Ember, do you have a girlfriend?” The light ahead turned red, and the car slowed to a stop. Ember turned to look at me, his eyes dark and unreadable, swirling with an emotion I couldn’t name. “No.” A smile spread across my face. “Then can I stay at your place?” After picking up my luggage, Ember took me back to his apartment. It was in the most expensive part of the city. The place was huge, immaculate. I wandered around under the pretense of “taking a tour” and found no signs of a woman living there. Ember wheeled my suitcase into the guest room, said, “Make yourself at home,” and disappeared into his office for a meeting. The meeting lasted for over an hour. I watched TV, bored, until my stomach started to grumble. The fridge was stocked with fresh ingredients, so I rolled up my sleeves, ready to cook. And promptly sliced my finger. “Ah—” I cried out, my brow knitting in pain. I heard a string of worried footsteps, and Ember’s voice, tight with tension. “What happened?” I turned to see him standing there, his eyes locked on the bead of blood welling up on my fingertip. Before I could say anything, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me into the living room. He sat me on the sofa, opened a first-aid kit, and knelt in front of me. His head was bowed as he carefully disinfected the cut and applied a bandage. The bandage had little cartoon characters on it, my favorite. Watching the focused, gentle way he tended to me, I felt a lump form in my throat. My voice was dry. “I’m sorry. I was just hungry and wanted to make something.” Ember looked up, his dark eyes reflecting a blurry image of me. A small smile touched his lips. “Chad, this isn’t like you.” He stood up and ruffled my hair. “Don’t cook. I’ll take you out.” The nights in Southport were as lively as ever. Ember took me to the food street near the university, to the ramen place that used to be our favorite. In my memory, we had been here just a short while ago. But the shop’s decor was completely different. After we sat down, I asked him, “Do you come here often?” [Chad is about to learn the painful truth behind their breakup. Unlock the next chapter to discover the secrets that tore them apart.] Ember poured me a cup of tea. “Rarely.” I tried to sound casual. “Have you brought other girls here?” He just looked at me, his gaze deep and unreadable, and didn’t answer. Time had changed him. He’d learned to hide his feelings. He was no longer the boy who had shared everything with me. My heart ached, but I couldn’t stop myself from probing. “Well, have you or haven’t you?” What I really wanted to ask was if he’d dated anyone in the years since we’d been apart. “Two bowls of ramen!” The owner’s voice cut through our conversation. Steam rose from the bowls, blurring Ember’s face. With food in front of me, I forgot my question and took a sip of the broth. It still tasted exactly the same. Suddenly, a few extra slices of braised pork appeared in my bowl. I looked up, surprised. Ember’s jaw tightened slightly. He tried to look nonchalant. “Just a habit.” I blinked. “Oh.” Was that his answer? That night, after my shower, I was curled up on the sofa watching TV. Ember had been in his office ever since we got back. After thinking for a long time, I padded over in my slippers and knocked on the office door. “Ember, can I borrow your computer?” He opened the door and leaned against the frame, arms crossed. “What for?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice. “I want to work on my resume.” Now that I was back in Southport, I didn’t plan on leaving again. I wanted to build a life here. Ember nodded and stepped aside to let me in. The computer was locked. I turned to him. “What’s the password?” He paused, then walked over, leaned down, and typed in four numbers. He was so close I was practically enveloped by him, his warm breath fanning against my cheek. My heart hammered in my chest. The temperature in the room seemed to rise. On impulse, I tilted my head up and kissed his cheek. “You still haven’t answered my question from the ramen shop.” Ember froze, a faint blush creeping up his neck. His voice was low and husky. “What about you? Are you back in Southport for Nathan? Or… for me?” Nathan again? Did we break up because I cheated on him? Think, you idiot, think! I tapped my head, but he caught my wrist. “Forget it.” Ember straightened up, a self-deprecating smile on his lips. “What’s the point of arguing with someone who can’t even remember?” He turned and walked away, his lean back looking strangely lonely. A fragmented memory flashed through my mind. On the day we broke up, I think I watched him walk away just like that, disappearing into the thick darkness of the night. Ember got incredibly busy, leaving early in the morning and coming home late at night. He had his lawyer help me with the accident compensation. He also hired a cook to prepare my meals. And just like that, I settled into his home. That weekend, I went back to the hospital, desperate to get my memory back. After a simple check-up, the doctor told me, “There’s a condition known as psychogenic amnesia. It’s possible the memories are so painful that your brain has chosen to forget them as a protective measure. If you truly want to remember, you could try hypnosis, or revisiting old places, meeting old friends…” I left the hospital, the doctor’s words echoing in my head, twisting my heart into a knot. I sat on a roadside bench for a long time, until a pair of black leather shoes entered my vision. “Chad.” A familiar voice came from above me. When I didn’t respond, Ember knelt down to meet my gaze. “Why are you crying?” he asked, frowning as he gently wiped a tear from my cheek. “I’m not crying. Something got in my eye,” I said stubbornly. “Want me to blow it out for you?” “…” And then he actually did, leaning in and blowing gently at my eyes. I held my breath, my cheeks turning red. Ember had come straight from his office. On the way to the parking garage, he took a call about a dinner meeting. I stopped by the car door. “I can just take a cab back.” Ember opened the door for me. “The cook is off today. There’s no food at home.” Home. The word dropped like a pebble into a still lake, sending ripples through my heart. “It’s just Marco and the guys. Want to come with me?” he added. Marco was his college roommate. I was still hesitant. “Would that be weird for me to go?” Ember didn’t push. “Then you pick a place to eat.” I thought for a few seconds. “Where are they eating?” “Near the university.” The doctor’s words came back to me—revisit old places, meet old friends. “Okay,” I nodded. “I’ll go.” The traffic was terrible. By the time we got to the restaurant, the private room was already full. The moment I walked in, the lively chatter died down. The atmosphere turned tense. Ember scanned the room, his gaze lingering for a moment in one direction. I followed his line of sight and froze. It was Nathan. He smiled at me. Out of politeness, I smiled back. When I turned my head, I met Ember’s dark eyes. He didn’t look happy. His lips were pressed into a thin line. Marco stood up, glass in hand. “Ember, my man! You’re late! You know the rules, you gotta chug one.” He poured a generous amount of liquor into Ember’s glass. Then, as if he’d only just noticed me, he feigned surprise. “Well, well, Ember. And who did you bring with you?” Ember frowned, downed the drink in one go, and shot Marco a warning look. “Get another chair.” Marco ignored him, his eyes fixed on me. “Isn’t this Chad Shaw? Couldn’t hack it in Northwood, so you came crawling back to Ember?” Ember’s face darkened. “Marco, shut up,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “What? Did I say something wrong? Who was it that dumped you and ran off when you needed her most? Wasn’t it Chad?!” “Marco!” A dead silence fell over the room. Everyone else just watched, a vaguely hostile curiosity in their eyes. Nathan opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again. I stood there, mortified, digging my nails into my palms. “Whatever, my bad,” Marco said, waving a hand dismissively and calling a waiter to bring another chair. A warm hand closed over mine. Ember was pulling me toward the door. Suddenly, a sharp female voice cut through the silence from behind us. “Ember, Chad’s father is a murderer! You’d better stay away from her!”

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I waited for three long years. In that time, I mailed seven whistleblower letters. His people intercepted the first six. For the seventh, I changed my strategy. I sent it directly to the state. He was on vacation in Miami that day. He had just posted a photo of the ocean view on his social media, captioned, “Hard work pays off. You deserve to enjoy life.” A string of likes quickly appeared below it. What he didn’t know was that thirty-seven agents from the State Department of Revenue were already walking through the doors of his company. I stared at the photo on my screen, then quietly set my phone down. 1. It all started three years ago, one night when I found the money. The day had been completely ordinary. I was lying in bed, scrolling through my phone, about to transfer some money into a savings account. I opened my banking app and glanced at the transaction history out of habit. An automatic debit. On the 15th of every month, a fixed transfer of $5,000. The memo read: Mortgage. I froze. We had paid off our mortgage in 2019. I scrolled up. Last month, $5,000. The month before that, $5,000. I kept scrolling back. It was there. Every single month. I counted. Fourteen consecutive months. Seventy thousand dollars. I put my phone down and stared at the ceiling. In the living room, Mark was watching a football game, the commentator’s voice drifting down the hall. I picked my phone back up and took a screenshot. Then I looked up the recipient’s account information. The account holder: Amber. I knew that name. She was the receptionist I had personally hired for his company three years ago. I remember her interview. She wore a white dress and had two dimples when she smiled. I’d told Mark, “This girl seems bright. Let’s hire her.” “Whatever you think is best,” he’d said. He hadn’t even given her a second glance then. Or so I thought. I didn’t confront him right then and there. I didn’t cry, or scream, or throw my phone. I saved the screenshot of the bank statement to a password-protected folder. Then I turned off the light and pretended to be asleep. Mark came to bed at eleven, snoring the moment his head hit the pillow. I lay there with my eyes open, thinking all night in the darkness. The next morning, he left for work. I called in sick. I opened my laptop and looked up the bank card tied to that transfer. Mark was using a personal card linked to the company account. I knew which bank it was from because I had gone with him to open it years ago. I dug deeper into the transaction details. There was an auto-pay setup, and in the payee’s information, there was one extra piece of data: An address. Lakeside Terraces, Building 7, Apartment 1402. We lived on the east side of town. Lakeside Terraces was on the west side. I changed my clothes and left the house. Forty minutes later, I was standing in front of Building 7 of Lakeside Terraces. It was a nice complex. Manicured lawns, underground parking. I took the elevator to the 14th floor. I stood in front of apartment 1402. There was a cartoon sticker on the door, a smiling cat. I didn’t knock. I just stood there for five minutes, then turned and left. Because on the shoe rack by the door, I saw a pair of men’s slippers. Brown, size 10. Identical to the pair in our closet at home. I sat in a coffee shop across the street for two hours. At two in the afternoon, a woman walked out of Building 7. Ponytail, floral dress, perfectly applied makeup. Amber. She walked to the curb, made a phone call, and said something with a smile. I couldn’t hear the words. But I saw her gently touch her stomach. My hands began to tremble. Not from sadness. From rage. One hundred and eighty thousand dollars. My parents had given me one hundred and twenty thousand, and I had saved sixty thousand myself. Five years ago, when Mark told me he wanted to start his own business, I gave him every penny. I even quit my job at a major accounting firm to be his CFO. I built his books from scratch, one entry at a time. For five years, I worked until 11 p.m. every night. His company grew from a tiny startup into a business with a three-million-dollar annual revenue. And he took the money I helped him earn and used it to keep a woman. To buy her a condo in Lakeside Terraces. Five thousand a month, like clockwork. Seventy thousand so far, and still counting. I left the coffee shop and stood on the sidewalk for a moment. The late autumn wind was cold. I didn’t cry. I took out my phone and snapped a picture of Lakeside Terraces. I saved it to the encrypted folder. Then, I went home and started making dinner. Mark got home at seven. He ate the ribs I’d made and told me they were delicious. I looked at him and smiled. I didn’t say a word. He had no idea. I had already begun. 2. The next day, I went to the state’s business registry. I looked up our company’s equity transfer records. When we first registered the company, I held 30%, and Mark held 70%. I wrote the charter myself. I remembered it clearly. But the record in the system now showed: Katherine, 0%. Amber, 30%. The date of transfer was a year and a half ago. Attached was an equity transfer agreement. Transferor: Katherine. Transferee: Amber. Transfer price: One dollar. I saw the signature on the agreement. It was my name. But I didn’t sign it. When I sign my name, the final stroke of the ‘e’ in Katherine always has a small curve. This one didn’t. He had forged it. I stood there in the lobby of the registry, staring at the screen for a long time. The final stroke of the ‘e’ was straight, with no curve. Just like him. He stabbed me with a straight blade, not even bothering to conceal it properly. In that moment, I finally understood something. In Mark’s eyes, what was I? I was the money, the bookkeeper, the one who propped up his company, and then, like a piece of scrap paper, I was thrown away with a forged signature. A fake name. One dollar. I was worth one dollar. I took a picture. After leaving the registry, I did a second thing. I went back to the office. I was still the company’s CFO. Mark hadn’t touched my position. He had only touched the equity, because he was sure I would never check. I walked into the finance department, opened the company’s internal system, and started pulling Amber’s employment records. Date of hire: March 2020. I hired her. Then I checked her pay stubs. 2020: $4,000 a month. 2021: $8,000 a month. 2022: $15,000 a month, plus a thirty-thousand-dollar “annual bonus.” I checked her promotion history. 2020: Receptionist. 2021: Assistant to the General Manager. 2022: “Executive Vice President of Administration.” A receptionist, promoted to VP in two years. Her salary had nearly quadrupled. Plus the five-thousand-dollar monthly “mortgage.” Plus the thirty-thousand-dollar “bonus.” I did the math. In two and a half years, the money Mark had spent on Amber: Salary difference: Approximately $50,000. Monthly transfers: $70,000 (and counting). Condo at Lakeside Terraces: Down payment of around $80,000. Bonus: $30,000. Miscellaneous expenses: Unknown. A conservative estimate: Over $230,000. The startup capital I had given him was $180,000. He had spent more on her than my entire initial investment. I closed the laptop. I sat in my chair for ten minutes. Then I did a third thing. I looked for photos. There was a “Team Events” folder on the company’s shared drive. I started from the beginning. May 2020, the company’s first team-building event. In the group photo, Amber stood on the far right, prim and proper. December 2020, the annual holiday party. In the group photo, Amber stood next to Mark, her body angled slightly toward him. Mark’s hand rested on the back of her chair. I zoomed in. He was smiling. I knew that smile. It was the same smile he used when he was courting me. December 2020. The eighth month after the company was founded. So, the affair hadn’t been going on for a year. Or two years. It started almost as soon as the company was on its feet. Every single day I was propping up his company, he was behind my back with another woman. Four years. More than fourteen hundred days. I worked until 11 p.m. every night. He came home every night from Lakeside Terraces. I thought he was out entertaining clients. He was in apartment 1402. Behind the door with the smiling cat. I took screenshots of all the photos in chronological order and saved them to my encrypted folder. The evidence was mounting. So was my rage. But I kept quiet. Because I knew Mark was not a man to be trifled with. He had money, connections, and lawyers. If I showed my hand now, he had a hundred ways to make sure I walked away with nothing. I had to win. Not just have a fight, a good cry, and then get divorced with nothing to my name. I had to make him pay. A real price. 3. For the next week, I went through all five years of the company’s books. I had done these books. I knew better than anyone what was inside. On the surface, Mark’s company was a construction supplier with an annual revenue of three million. But in reality, starting in the second year, he had been keeping two sets of books. One for the IRS, and one for himself. I didn’t know at first. When I found out, he told me, “Every company does it. It’s no big deal.” I believed him. Because I was his wife. Looking back now, he probably had me cook the books from the beginning with a clear plan: if we ever split, these fraudulent records would be the rope around my neck. You did the books. You’re complicit. Clever. So clever. The things I compiled in that week: Underreported income: A cumulative total of around $800,000. Falsified invoices: At least a dozen. Fraudulent payroll records: Used to siphon company funds. Personal expenses billed to the company: The $80,000 down payment for the Lakeside Terraces condo was disguised as a “project fee.” I had the original drafts for all of it. Five years of drafts. I had kept them all. Not because I was prescient, but because it was my professional habit as an accountant. For every transaction, I had a scanned copy of the original receipt. Mark didn’t know. He thought I was just his obedient little bookkeeper. With all this, I wrote my first whistleblower letter. I signed my name to it. I attached evidence of the three most blatant instances of tax evasion. I mailed it to the city’s IRS office. Two weeks later, two agents came to the office. They walked around, looked at a few ledgers, and chatted with Mark for half an hour. Then they left. The conclusion: Upon review, no significant violations were found. I waited a month. Nothing. One evening, Mark came home and sat on the sofa, looking at me. “Katherine.” “Yes?” “Did you report me?” I didn’t answer. He laughed. “Let me tell you something. Frank, at the IRS? I’ve known him for ten years.” He crossed his legs. “You can report me a hundred times. It won’t work.” I just looked at him. “It’s just a formality every time, you understand?” He stood up and walked over to me. “If you feel so wronged, we can get a divorce.” He looked down at me. “You can have the house, and I’ll give you fifty thousand. Don’t even think about anything else.” Fifty thousand. I had put in one hundred and eighty thousand. I had worked as his CFO for five years for free. He was offering me fifty thousand. “Why aren’t you saying anything?” he asked. I looked at him. “I need to think about it.” He let out a short, sharp laugh and went back to the bedroom. He didn’t go to Lakeside Terraces that night. He probably thought he should stay to “pacify” me. I lay next to him, listening to him snore. Staring at the ceiling. Fine. You say a hundred times won’t work. Then I’ll try a hundred and one times. 4. I didn’t mail the second letter right away. First, I went to see someone. Brenda. Brenda was forty-eight, a former colleague of mine from the accounting firm. A year after I quit to join Mark’s company, he said he needed to hire a cashier and asked for a recommendation. I recommended Brenda. She had been with the company ever since. She was the kind of person who faded into the background. Dressed simply, spoke little, came and went on time, and never attended company parties. Mark never gave her a second look. But Brenda had one particular trait: in her twenty years as a cashier, she remembered every single dollar that passed through her hands. It wasn’t loyalty. It was a professional habit. Just like me. I took Brenda out for lunch. At a simple noodle shop. “Brenda, I’m divorcing Mark.” She put down her chopsticks. “Why?” “He’s cheating. You knew, didn’t you?” She was silent for a few seconds. “Everyone in the office knows.” “Everyone?” “He takes that Amber girl to business dinners. He doesn’t even try to hide it.” I laughed. The whole company knew. Except me. Because no one dared to tell the boss’s wife. “Brenda, I need you to do something for me.” I looked her in the eye. “How much of the company’s real cash flow from the past few years do you have records of?” Brenda looked at me for a long time. Then she said something. “Kate, I’ve been waiting for you to ask me that for two years.” She told me that two years ago, Mark had a new finance manager handle the accounts, sidelining her. But she didn’t quit. Because she knew this day would come. “I have a record of every dollar he’s taken from the company account each month.” She took a USB drive from her purse. “Cashier’s copy. It’s a habit of mine.” I took the drive. “Thank you, Brenda.” “Don’t thank me,” she said. “At the holiday party, he made me serve drinks. Said the cashier wasn’t a real employee.” She picked up a noodle with her chopsticks. “I’ve been waiting for this day too.” From that day on, Brenda became my eyes inside the company. Every suspicious transfer, every fake invoice, every personal expense disguised as a business one, she sent me a copy. Encrypted files, with the password changed weekly. Mark had no idea. He thought Brenda was just an old cashier who clocked in and out. He didn’t know that this old cashier was meticulously documenting his crimes. At the same time, I mailed my second whistleblower letter. This time, I intentionally only reported a minor issue, a transfer of about ten thousand dollars from a corporate to a personal account. The evidence was solid, but the amount was small. Why? Because I wasn’t trying to win this round. I wanted Mark to think this was all I had. As expected. Two weeks later, the IRS agents came again. They looked into it. Mark had to pay back eight thousand in taxes. He paid the fine, made a call to his “guy Frank,” and the matter was settled. He came home and said to me, “You reported me again?” I didn’t deny it. “Is this really worth it?” He shook his head. “Eight grand. That doesn’t even cover my lawyer’s fees.” He laughed. “Is that all you’ve got?” I looked at him. “Yes. That’s all I’ve got.” He smiled, satisfied, and left for Lakeside Terraces. I waited until he was gone, then took out my phone and sent a message to Brenda: “Keep going.” 5. The third month after I mailed the third letter. I found something new. The kickbacks Mark was paying to “Frank” at the IRS. Not just dinners and gifts. Direct wire transfers. Three times a year, ten thousand dollars each time. The money came from one of Amber’s personal accounts and was sent to a man named Frank Benson, the very agent in charge of auditing him. Brenda gave me this information. While organizing some old files, she had found a notebook locked in Mark’s desk drawer. It detailed every “PR expense.” Mark probably thought an old cashier would never go through her boss’s drawers. He was wrong. Brenda not only went through them, she took pictures. Every page, front and back, in high definition. Looking at those photos, I finally understood. It wasn’t that my letters were useless. It was that there was no such thing as a fair investigation. Every IRS audit was just a show Mark had paid for. The auditor was on his payroll. How could he possibly find anything wrong? I put my phone down. I took a deep breath. Fine. So it wasn’t a lack of evidence. It was that I was sending it to the wrong place. From that day on, I changed my strategy. No more letters to the city office. I started researching the whistleblower process for the State Department of Revenue. The state had its own independent whistleblower office, a separate system from the city. Mark’s “guy Frank” had no pull at the state level. But I wasn’t in a hurry. I needed more time. Because the amount of Mark’s tax evasion was still growing. He was getting bolder. Every report against him had been quashed. He no longer saw me as a threat. Two hundred thousand in evasion the year before, three hundred fifty thousand last year, and this year’s numbers were still climbing. He thought he was untouchable. With Frank in his pocket, no one could touch him. This was exactly what I wanted. The more arrogant he got, the bigger the hole he dug. And the bigger the hole, the harder it is to climb out. I mailed the fourth, fifth, and sixth letters. All to the city office. All squashed by Frank. Every time Mark got the news, he would just laugh. “You again?” He wasn’t even angry anymore. He found it funny. He thought his ex-wife (we were in the process of divorcing) was a pathetic, incompetent woman who could do nothing but write useless letters. What he didn’t know was this: In letters four through six, I had intentionally included only small pieces of evidence. Like baiting a hook. Every time he got away with it, he relaxed a little more. And every time he relaxed, he would commit another crime. And Brenda was recording every single one. By the end of the third year, Mark’s cumulative tax evasion had exceeded eight hundred thousand dollars. Add to that bribery, forging my signature to transfer equity, and creating fake invoices. Each crime was enough to bring him a world of hurt. Winter of 2024. I was ready. All the evidence, my five years of original drafts, Brenda’s three years of records, the photos of Mark’s bribery notebook, the forged signature on the equity transfer, was compiled into a single file. I printed three copies. One for the State Department of Revenue. One for the State Ethics Commission. And one for myself. The seventh letter. This time, no city office. No Frank. Straight to the state. The day I mailed it, it was very cold. The clerk at the post office asked me, “Registered or standard?” “Registered.” “You got it.” She gave me a receipt. I tucked it away safely. On the way home, I bought a bouquet of flowers. I put them in a vase in the living room. Then I sat down. And I waited.

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Midnight had long come and gone when Evelyn finally dragged her exhausted body home. I sat alone on the living room sofa, my spirits at rock bottom. Seeing my state, she said nothing, simply thrust her phone into my hand. “You can check,” she said, her voice calm. “The password is still your birthday.” With that, she turned and walked into the bathroom, the sound of rushing water filling the silence. I stared at the phone, a bitter smile playing on my lips. What good would checking do? She only ever let me see what she wanted me to see – a perfectly clean interface. Soon, she emerged from the shower, wrapping her arms around me tightly from behind, still damp from the steam. “See? I told you there was nothing,” she murmured, a hint of playful cajolery in her voice. “You have to trust me.” I slowly raised my head, my gaze inadvertently falling on the back of her neck – there was a clear, thin scratch. An unspeakable wave of irony surged through me, yet I didn’t react with the same hysteria as before. I simply pushed her away gently, my voice calm in a way that even I found unfamiliar. “Evelyn, let’s get a divorce.” I truly couldn’t endure another day of this mutual torment. 1 Silence hung in the air for a few moments. Then, a sharp, shattering sound broke it. Evelyn had accidentally knocked over a vase nearby. That vase was the very first decorative item we’d bought together, during our first year of marriage, on a trip to IKEA. From our cozy two-bedroom apartment to a spacious loft, and now to this luxurious villa, it had been our good luck charm, witnessing all our stumbling steps along the way. Now, the vase was utterly shattered. Just like my seven-year marriage to Evelyn, beyond repair, never to return to what it once was. I pulled my gaze from the shards scattered across the floor and looked back at Evelyn. “I’ve had a lawyer draft the divorce papers. Please sign them…” Before I could finish, Evelyn cut me off. “My hand was cut by the vase, Adrian.” I paused, looking down. Only then did I notice a cut on her hand, bleeding crimson onto the floor. “Adrian, help me with this,” Evelyn’s voice was hoarse. She rarely showed vulnerability. But I knew this was her usual tactic to make amends. If I followed her lead, and gently applied medicine to her wound, we would once again be “back to normal.” But this time, I merely shifted my gaze, my voice detached. “It’s just a minor cut. A little antiseptic will do.” I paused, returning to my original topic. “After you’ve taken care of it, remember to sign the divorce papers.” Evelyn’s eyes instantly dimmed. “Adrian, I’m hurt! How long are you going to keep this up?!” Evelyn’s tone was bewildered. In her eyes, it was as if cheating wasn’t wrong. Especially since, after my hysterical outbursts, she had already routinely deleted those ambiguous chat logs, and even changed all her passwords to my birthday. So, she didn’t understand why I was still “throwing a tantrum.” I subconsciously rubbed the mottled scar on my hand, saying nothing further. Just then, her phone rang. It was that familiar ringtone, one that had often sounded in the dead of night for nearly a year. Evelyn had once explained it was an urgent company line; I hadn’t doubted her. Until her birthday, when I was at the grocery store, picking out her favorite fish, debating whether to make her braised fish or spicy fish soup, I looked up and saw her, wrapped in another man’s arms, choosing snacks. It was then that I finally, belatedly, understood. Evelyn had cheated a long time ago. And that man was her childhood friend she had mentioned once, Justin Thorne. Perhaps because the accusations and confessions were already out in the open, Evelyn didn’t bother with excuses this time. She answered the phone right in front of me: “I’ll be right there, wait for me.” After hanging up, she disregarded the injury on her hand, quickly grabbed her car keys, and left. As she reached the front door, she suddenly cast a deep look at me. Her voice was filled with disappointment: “You used to not be like this, Adrian.” What was I like before? Offering her a burning heart, only to have it wounded beyond repair? Because I cared too much, couldn’t bear to lose this ten-year relationship. Moreover, at that time, she was pregnant. So I endured the pain, chose to forgive her. She promised to keep her distance. But what was the result? The scar on my hand, wasn’t it proof of my foolishness? I rubbed the scar, and the festering wound seemed to ooze again, a pain so sharp I couldn’t breathe. Suddenly, a loud bang interrupted my thoughts. Evelyn had slammed the door shut and left. I knew she was going to Justin again. I stared at the closed door, a faint curl of my lip. “Evelyn, goodbye.” 2 Half an hour later, Justin posted a status update visible only to me. “She says only I truly understand her. She asked me never to leave her.” The accompanying photo showed the back of Evelyn’s head, buried in his embrace, and their fingers tightly intertwined. Just minutes earlier, Evelyn had told me I could trust her. But her idea of trust probably referred to the pure “friendship” between her and Justin. Trusting that her repeated absences from my follow-up appointments, all for some minor issue of his, were merely out of “loyalty” to a good friend. Trusting that spending an entire night together, naked in the same bed, was simply a platonic “reunion.” Soon after, Justin, just like many times before, deleted the status update, wiping it clean. As if what I had just seen was merely a figment of my “suspicious mind.” Then, he sent me another message. “Brother-in-law, Evelyn was in a bad mood tonight and came to drink with me. Please don’t overthink it.” “It’s not worth it, letting an outsider like me affect your relationship.” Don’t overthink it? I looked at those words, a cold laugh escaping me. I remembered back then, when I, burning with fever, confronted Evelyn with a screenshot of Justin’s post, her explanation had been much the same. “Justin and I grew up together. After high school, he went abroad to study and stayed there. Now that he’s finally back, can’t I spend some extra time with my old friend?” “Adrian, you’re just bored from being home sick, that’s why you’re always overthinking things.” Seeing my feverish, increasingly pale face, Evelyn seemed to realize her slip of the tongue. She quickly pulled me into her arms, pressing her forehead against mine. “Adrian, even for the sake of our child, you should trust me, okay? Don’t overthink it.” She gently wiped away my tears, her voice helpless. “Don’t cry, Adrian. Alright, I promise you, I’ll keep my distance from him.” Seeing my tears flow even harder, Evelyn then deleted Justin’s contact information right in front of me. She even changed all her passwords to my birthday. Ten years of a relationship, seven years of marriage, and our child was about to be born. At that time, I truly couldn’t bear to let go. So I gritted my teeth, forgave her, and chose to trust her one more time. But what happened later? Less than a month later. Just when she went into premature labor, and we learned the baby had died in utero, when she most needed to rest and recover in the hospital. She left the hospital without a second thought, merely because Justin said he had a “stomachache.” I instantly broke down, frantically grabbing a fruit knife beside me, my voice hoarse as I asked her: “Evelyn, are you sure you want to choose him? If you take that step, we’re completely over!” Evelyn’s face instantly twisted in disgust, her eyes looking at me like I was a madman. “Adrian, stop making a scene. I have a family doctor there, and besides, the doctor already said he’s fine.” “Justin just returned recently. He’s alone, and his health has always been delicate. I have to go; don’t make this difficult for me.” With that, she never looked back, leaving me with only a resolute back. The moment the hospital room door closed, the knife in my hand slipped, uncontrolled, cutting my wrist and leaving that hideous scar. The vibration of my phone pulled me back from distant thoughts. It was a voice message from Evelyn, sounding as if she’d been drinking. “Adrian, please don’t be angry with me anymore. Can we have another child?” A child? I subconsciously rubbed the scar on my hand, though it was already numb with pain. Yet, hearing her mention a child again, my heart still ached in waves, threatening to drown me. After a long while, I finally composed myself, wiping away the last tear. I quietly blocked both Evelyn and Justin’s contact information. Then, I dialed a long-distance number. “Dad, three days from now, I’ll meet you at the airport.” 3 For the next few days, Evelyn didn’t come home. I stopped asking her when she’d return, and instead began packing my bags. But seven years of marriage had left too deep an imprint; many items carried Evelyn’s shadow. The white scarf Evelyn gave me on our first date. I wore it for years, unable to part with it, because she had spent months knitting it by hand. And many other “firsts” she’d given me, things Evelyn had put thought into, staying up late to make by hand. I had carefully treasured them all in a safe, unable to throw them away. Later, Evelyn’s career became more and more successful, and her gifts grew increasingly expensive. I still accepted them with joy, because they were all proof that Evelyn had once deeply loved me. But then, in our second year of living in the grand villa, Justin appeared. My vanity table slowly filled with various luxury brand watches and bracelets. My wardrobe gradually hung with the latest seasonal haute couture. These were worth hundreds of thousands, some even millions, but they were no longer given out of love. They had simply become Evelyn’s “apologies” and “compensations” for the countless nights I spent waiting alone while she was with someone else. I looked at these items, coldly bypassing them. Then I packed only those things that truly belonged solely to me. The day everything was packed, Evelyn happened to come home. Seeing the suitcase in my hand, she frowned. “Where are you going this time?” She still thought I was just throwing a tantrum. After all, in the past, I had more than once threatened to leave. I didn’t deny it, simply lowering my gaze. “To clear my head.” Evelyn didn’t notice anything amiss. Instead, she pulled me into a tight embrace. “Adrian, I’ve been waiting for your call these past few days.” Waiting for my call? But I distinctly remembered sending her messages in the past, asking her to come home. What I received in return was her dismissive impatience. She cupped my face in her hands, staring intently at me. “If you had just said something, I would’ve come back immediately. But you didn’t.” Evelyn’s tone was accusatory. As if in those past few days, the person who had been with another man wasn’t her, Evelyn. I didn’t expose her, but a faint smile touched my lips. Evelyn mistakenly thought I had calmed down and stood on tiptoe to lightly kiss my mouth. “Evelyn, I knew it. You’re not like my dad.” Not like my dad? Evelyn’s words, spoken without warning, pierced my heart, a pain so intense I could barely breathe. She knew perfectly well the immense pain my mother’s affair and domestic abuse had inflicted on my father and me. If my father hadn’t been resilient enough, brave enough, he would have been buried in a grave! He wouldn’t have fled abroad to live the life he wanted. And now, she casually dismissed everything my own father had struggled to achieve. And this knife, it was handed to her by the me who once loved Evelyn with all his heart. Meeting my swollen eyes, Evelyn awkwardly explained: “I’m sorry, Adrian. I meant that you don’t have to struggle like your dad. Just staying by my side is enough.” “Is that so?” I suddenly smiled, looking directly into her eyes. Evelyn met my gaze, a strange tightness in her chest, but she didn’t dwell on it, still thinking I meant to reconcile. She nodded repeatedly, her voice assured. “Of course, Adrian. You have to trust me, just like before.” I scoffed inwardly, but showed no outward sign. Just then, my phone rang. I looked at her, and calmly said, “My car’s here, Evelyn. You go back to work.” “Okay.” Evelyn still didn’t notice anything amiss, even kindly walking me to the door. Before getting into the car, I called her name. “Hm?” “Goodbye, Evelyn.” I said. Consider it a final farewell to Evelyn, a farewell to my past. She ruffled my hair, smiling, “Alright, go clear your head. I’ll be home working hard, earning more money to take care of you.” I still said nothing, just looked at her one last time, and gently waved my hand. As the car neared the airport, my phone vibrated frantically. It was an unknown number. I assumed it was a scam call and immediately blocked it. But as I exited the call screen, I saw an anonymous text message. “Adrian, your child isn’t dead. Evelyn lied to you.”

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Michelle said something came up at work and left in the middle of our dinner again. I didn’t try to stop her. I just quietly finished my meal alone. Later that night, scrolling through Instagram, I saw a new post from her childhood friend. It was a picture of her hands, sleeves rolled up, serving a plate of food. The caption read: “Stomach bug from hell. Huge thanks to Soph for being my hero and cooking for me. You’re my rock, always showing up when I need you.” This time, I didn’t call and start a fight like I used to. From that day on, whenever she ditched me to take care of him, I’d just smile and tell her it was okay, acting like the most understanding boyfriend in the world. Until the day he sent me a picture of them playing a game, sharing a single Pocky stick between their lips. I saw the photo and felt nothing at all. That’s when she finally panicked. Her eyes turned red, a mix of desperation and hurt welling up as she asked me, “Why aren’t you angry?” 1 Michelle had barely touched her steak when her phone rang. “Something came up at work,” she said, already grabbing her purse. “I’ve gotta head back.” “Okay. Go on.” I cut off a piece of my own steak and chewed slowly. It was tender, juicy. Perfect. Michelle seemed thrown off by my calmness. She frowned. “I’ll bring you back a gift.” Then she rushed out. I calmly finished the rest of my meal. A small part of me was disappointed. Our last anniversary dinner, and we couldn’t even get through it together. When I got home, I saw the Instagram post from her childhood friend, Alex. The photo showed Michelle’s hands, sleeves rolled up, placing a dish on a table. The caption: Stomach bug from hell. Huge thanks to Soph for being my hero and cooking for me. You’re my rock, always showing up when I need you. I shut off my phone, got into bed, and went to sleep. Sometime in the middle of the night, I heard the soft beeping of the keypad lock. I registered that it was Michelle, then drifted back into a haze. Just before I fell completely asleep, I felt a presence beside the bed, someone watching me in the dark. The next morning, I showered, made myself a simple breakfast, and was sitting at the table when Michelle came into the dining room. She glanced at the sandwich and glass of orange juice on the table and fell silent for a moment. “You didn’t make me anything?” She hated simple, cold breakfasts. I usually didn’t have the energy to make two different meals, so I’d always made her favorite, a proper hot breakfast for us both. “Yeah, I forgot. You can just order something or grab a bite on your way out.” I finished my food in a few bites, ready to leave for work. When I looked up, I saw her face had darkened. “I know you’re mad that I lied to you yesterday, but you used to get so dramatic, I was afraid to tell you the truth…” “I’m not mad.” “Alex’s stomach flu was acting up again, and he lives alone. I was worried, so I…” “…I’m really not mad.” “Can you please stop this? I told you, I only see Alex as a brother. Why can’t you just understand that?” “I’m really, truly not mad, okay?!” My voice rose without me meaning for it to. Seeing the shock on her face, I took a breath and softened my tone. “I get it, I do. But I have to get to work now. We can talk when I get back.” Without waiting to see her reaction, I walked out the door. 2 At work, my boss, Ms. Davis, called me into her office to talk about the overseas assignment again. “Larry, this is a fantastic opportunity. The location is great, it’s safe, and the career path is exactly what you’ve been looking for. Please, think it over again.” She had tried to convince me for weeks, laying out everything from the salary bump to the long-term benefits. But I’d always hesitated, held back by my relationship with Michelle. But now… I looked up at Ms. Davis, at the hint of ‘I-can’t-believe-you’re-passing-this-up’ in her expression. “I’ve made my decision, Ms. Davis. I’ll take it.” A wide smile spread across her face, and the relief I felt in not letting her down was like a heavy weight lifting from my own shoulders. After work, I grabbed dinner by myself before heading home. To my surprise, Michelle was already there. Now that was a rare sight. “You’re home late,” she said, her expression unreadable. She handed me a small box. “Anniversary gift.” “Oh,” I said, taking it. I felt a flicker of something, but it was closer to embarrassment than guilt. “Thanks. I, uh, I forgot to get you something. I’ll make it up to you, okay?” Her face seemed to darken another shade. “Larry, can you please just calm down and listen to me?” “I’ve told you before, Alex and I grew up together. It’s not easy for him, moving to this city all by himself. I promised his parents I’d look out for him.” I could feel the anger rolling off her, but I honestly didn’t understand why. “Don’t get worked up. I know. I understand.” “Just say what’s on your mind! Stop being like this!” she snapped, her voice rising. “How many times do I have to tell you it’s platonic? He’s like a brother! What will it take for you to believe me? And think about it, if I really wanted to be with him, why would I be with you?” I tried to soothe her. “Calm down. I’m not mad. I truly believe you’re just friends.” “You…” She took a few deep, frustrated breaths, her chest rising and falling. “I’m hungry.” “Sorry, I already ate on my way home. Why don’t you order some takeout? Or there’s stuff in the fridge if you want to cook.” The only answer I got was the sound of her bedroom door slamming shut. 3 I was almost asleep when Michelle came into the room. She walked in and just stared at me. “It’s raining outside.” “Huh? Oh. You should probably dry your hair, or maybe just take a hot shower.” She was soaked, but I didn’t get what she was trying to say. Her voice was thick with disbelief. “I didn’t have an umbrella. I was gone for five hours! It’s pouring! Aren’t you worried about me at all?” “You used to be different,” she went on, her voice cracking. “Whenever we fought and I stormed out, you’d call me, or you’d call my friends to see if I was okay.” “At the very least, you’d leave a light on in the living room and wait for me to come back.” “But tonight, I was gone for five hours, and you didn’t even send a single text!” I kept my voice gentle. “I didn’t contact you because you’re a grown woman. I figured you could handle yourself. Besides, I didn’t want to embarrass you by calling around to all your friends, asking where you were.” Michelle’s face froze. She must have remembered what she’d screamed at me a long time ago. “Are you ever going to stop?! I’m an adult! I know what I’m doing! Do you have to blow up my phone like a lunatic? And why are you harassing my friends? Do you have any idea how much they make fun of me because of you?!” That time, I had spent hours frantically calling everyone I could think of to find her. The moment I finally heard she was safe, the relief that washed over me was immediately shattered not by her gratitude, but by her rage. But I wasn’t interested in digging up the past. The hand-off for my new assignment was starting, and I was just… tired. “Look, just go take a shower so you don’t catch a cold.” I turned and went into the master bedroom. It took a while to fall asleep, my mind churning with work that needed to be done. In that blurry space between waking and sleeping, I thought I felt a hand gently stroke my face, followed by a soft sigh. Then, the mattress dipped beside me. 4 It seemed Michelle was genuinely angry now. She started leaving early and coming home late, avoiding me completely. No texts, no calls. I was more than happy for the peace and quiet. I certainly wasn’t going to go looking for trouble. But after five days of the silent treatment, she actually texted me. [I’m making dinner tonight. Come home and eat.] Honestly, I was shocked. For our entire relationship, I had been the one who cooked. I remember once, I’d playfully complained that I was tired and asked if she would cook for a change. She had just hugged me and said, “My cooking skills are so bad, I’d probably put you in the hospital. Besides, I love eating my husband’s home-cooked meals every single night.” Blinded by love, I never questioned the glaring contradiction in her words. I’d spent countless hours after work teaching myself to cook, following recipes to get the flavors just right for her, collecting a nice set of burns and knife-cuts along the way. I was still living in that sweet fantasy, proud that my girlfriend got to eat my food every day, right up until Alex casually mentioned how great a cook Michelle was. That led to a massive fight. Michelle’s reaction was, as always, coldly dismissive. “Alex can’t cook, and he’s a really picky eater. We can’t have him ordering takeout all the time, can we?” “He’s not like you, you’ll eat anything. I’m just taking care of my big brother.” “You’re a grown man. Stop expecting people to cook for you all the time.” “If you think cooking for me is such a chore, then just stop. It’s not like I’m forcing you to.” And after that? I think I let her half-hearted apology smooth things over, and I forgave her. What’s that saying? Love really does make you a special kind of stupid. But still, I texted back: [Okay.] We were on the verge of breaking up anyway. If possible, I wanted it to be clean. The moment I opened the front door, I heard Michelle’s cheerful voice from the kitchen. “Larry! You’re home! Go wash up and relax for a minute, dinner’s almost ready.” I sat down at the dining table, a strange mix of emotions swirling inside me. I never thought I’d see the day Michelle willingly stepped into the kitchen. If this had happened on any other day, at any other point in our relationship, I would have been overjoyed. Michelle soon brought out a spread of four dishes and a soup. Though they were all fairly simple, one bite was all it took to confirm that she was, indeed, an excellent cook. “Larry,” she began, her voice tinged with a surprising vulnerability, “why have you been ignoring me for so many days?” “Whenever we had a fight before, you’d always come around by the next day at the latest. But this time… it’s been five days and you haven’t reached out once.” “Uh…” I swallowed the food in my mouth. “I was just trying to give you some space.” An awkward silence fell between us. After a moment, she spoke again, her tone cautious. “That night… I ended up getting to Alex’s so late because of his stomach thing that I hadn’t eaten. That’s the only reason I cooked for him. I’m going to teach him how to cook, so I won’t have to go over there so much anymore.” “Oh. Okay, good.” I mumbled a reply, afraid she’d blow up again and accuse me of not understanding, then went back to eating in silence. “Hey,” she said, her voice softer still. “How about you come with me to this month’s get-together?” I was so surprised I looked up. Her eyes were shining with hope. 5 It wasn’t that Michelle had never taken me to hang out with her friends before, but we both knew what she meant: the special monthly gathering for her inner circle. It wasn’t special because of what they did, but who was there. It was a closed group. No partners allowed. I’d asked her to take me before, but she’d always brushed me off. When she saw I wasn’t buying her excuses, she lost her temper. “Larry, can you stop being so damn needy? It’s suffocating! I already told you, this is our one night a month where it’s just us, a time to unwind. Why do you have to interfere with every little bit of personal space I have?!” I’d flipped a table that day, screaming at her. “Then what about Alex? You took him, didn’t you?” Her reply had been ice-cold. “Alex grew up with me. He’s met them all before. He’s not an outsider.” “Besides, he doesn’t have any other friends in this city. I only brought him because I didn’t want him to be lonely.” “Stop being so paranoid. You sound like a psycho.” I never thought she’d be the one to invite me. But the hand-off for the overseas post was genuinely hectic. Thinking of my workload, I had to refuse. Besides, I was never really close with her friends anyway. At this point, there was no reason to try and force it. “I’ve got a lot on my plate at work right now. Maybe some other time.” Michelle slammed her chopsticks down on the table. A deep weariness was etched on her face. “Larry, I know you’re unhappy about Alex. That’s why I’ve been bending over backwards for you these past few days. But I get tired too. I’ve humbled myself enough. What more do you want from me?” “You’re twenty-eight years old,” she said, her voice tight. “Stop throwing tantrums like a child.” “You’ve got it wrong,” I said calmly. “Work really is just busy right now.” “Whatever,” she said, her voice hard as stone. We finished the rest of the meal in total silence.

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Payday. I stared at the direct deposit notification on my phone, my mind going completely blank. My salary was supposed to be nine thousand dollars a month. The text said fifty-five hundred. What really sent my blood pressure into the stratosphere was the news that Alex, the culinary school intern who’d only been here a year, got a raise. From seven grand a month to ten-five. What the hell was this? I was the executive chef who had dragged this place up from a greasy-spoon dive to a three-star Michelin restaurant. I hadn’t seen a raise in five years. I’d spent every holiday season practically living in the kitchen, working overtime, training apprentices who were now running their own kitchens at our other locations. And this was my reward? A pay cut, while a kid who wasn’t even a full-time employee got a bonus? The fury built until I couldn’t see straight. I grabbed the resignation letter I’d kept in my locker for a day like this and stormed into the owner’s office. I remember him calling me and Alex in after the New Year. “The restaurant’s gone up another Michelin star,” he’d said, beaming. “Time for a raise for everyone.” I’d actually let myself get excited, thinking, finally, it’s my turn. What a joke. The owner, Mr. Ross, looked up from his desk, a surprised expression on his face when he saw the letter. “Susan, what’s this all about?” A cold laugh escaped my lips as I unleashed all the bitterness I’d been swallowing for years. “I can’t even support my family on this. I’m done.” 1 Mr. Ross slid the resignation letter back across his polished desk, his expression a mask of concerned difficulty. “Susan, I know you might be upset, but we’re adjusting to market trends, making strategic pivots. You’ve been here five years, you’ve seen us through thick and thin. Is this little thing really worth quitting over? Be a team player. Be reasonable.” I laughed again, a harsh, grating sound. “Mr. Ross, it’s precisely because I’ve been here for five years.” “Year one, I slept on the kitchen floor on New Year’s Eve just so I could be up at 5 a.m. to prep for the dinner service.” “Year two, I had a 104-degree fever in the middle of winter. You said a private party had booked the whole place and couldn’t be canceled. My hands were shaking so bad I could barely hold a knife, but I finished all twelve courses.” “Year three, business was booming. I was working around the clock, so exhausted I could barely stand. I was filleting a sea bass and nearly sliced my finger off. I just wrapped it in plastic wrap and got back to the stove. I didn’t get stitches until after we closed. The doctor said another half hour and I would’ve lost the finger.” “Year four, I was cooking all day and training apprentices all night. I worked endless overtime and never saw a single cent for it.” “Year five, I’ve poured my life into this place, and today, you cut my pay.” I leaned forward, my hands flat on his desk. “All I’m asking for is to be treated fairly. Is that really so hard?” The smile on Mr. Ross’s face finally vanished. He slammed his hand on the table. “Susan! What’s your point? Are you trying to list your accomplishments for me?” “Let me tell you something. The reason you’re standing here today, the reason you get to call yourself a Michelin-star chef, is because of what? Because of this restaurant! Because of the top-tier ingredients I spend a fortune on! Because of the platform I built for you! Without all that, what are you?” My fingers curled into tight fists, my jaw clenched. Five years ago, Savor was nothing more than a hole-in-the-wall diner. When he hired me, he promised me a percentage of the profits if I could turn the place around. I believed him. To perfect my craft, I traveled everywhere, studying under different masters. I used my own savings. I paid for my own travel and lodging. I even bought my own ingredients to practice my knife skills and cooking techniques after my shifts. The second year, I wanted to revamp the signature dish. He refused, said it was too risky. I stood in this very office and swore to him that if we lost a single dollar on it, he could deduct it from my salary. That revamped dish became a sensation. It’s what put this restaurant on the map. “Mr. Ross, let me ask you something. In five years, this restaurant’s profits have increased a hundredfold. Where is the profit-sharing you promised me when I started?” His eyes darted away. “Susan, it’s not that I don’t want to give it to you. We just don’t have it.” He cleared his throat and spread his hands. “Do you have any idea how much it cost to get that third Michelin star? The dinners for the critics, the networking, the kitchen upgrades… that set of imported French copper pots alone cost over twenty thousand dollars. Every penny the restaurant made went right back into it.” I stared at him. “No money?” “Then tell me this. Alex isn’t even a full-time employee. What are you paying him a bonus for?” Mr. Ross was silent for a beat. “Now, Susan, that’s not a fair comparison.” “Alex is a graduate of the Cordon Bleu in Paris. He’s formally trained. Do you know what the hottest trend in the culinary world is right now? International, high-end cuisine. If we want to compete on a global scale, we need a strong foundation in that world.” “And you? You cook traditional food. It’s good, but let’s be honest, it’s outdated. The market is moving on. If this restaurant doesn’t evolve, it dies. You represent the past, Susan. Alex represents the future.” The future of the restaurant who, as far as I knew, still couldn’t properly sear a steak. I looked down, a bitter smile on my face, and walked out of the office. Let’s see how many days Savor can keep its three Michelin stars without me. 2 I went to the staff restroom and splashed cold water on my face. Walking past Mr. Ross’s office again, I saw the door was slightly ajar. I heard Alex’s voice and stopped in my tracks. “Don’t you worry, Mr. Ross. I’ve got all her signature recipes down. The exact cooking temperatures, the sauce ratios, I’ve memorized everything.” Alex’s voice was slick with pride. Mr. Ross chuckled. “Alex, my boy, you’ve got a good head on your shoulders.” “What’s the real asset of this restaurant? The recipes. As long as we have those, it doesn’t matter who’s cooking. You add your fancy Western plating, your molecular gastronomy tricks… when we take that to the international market, it’ll be a slaughter.” Alex paused, then lowered his voice. “But, Mr. Ross, her attitude in here just now… I think she’s serious about leaving. What about that big banquet next week? Thirty-eight courses. If she really walks out…” Mr. Ross scoffed. “Walk out? She wouldn’t dare.” “Her husband has a bad back, he’s on medication constantly. That’s two grand a month right there. Then there’s the mortgage, I heard her on the phone once, that’s another forty-five hundred. And her son does some kind of martial arts, the training camps are eight grand a quarter.” “You do the math. How much does she need every month? She dares to quit? What’s she going to use to pay her mortgage? To buy her husband’s medicine?” Mr. Ross laughed again. “She’s just throwing a tantrum. In a couple of days, she’ll cool off and come crawling back. I’ll just dangle another carrot, promise her a bonus at the end of the year, and she’ll be back in the kitchen, working like a good little girl.” “I’ve seen her type a million times. With family responsibilities weighing her down, she has no other choice.” The laughter seeping through the crack in the door hit my ears like physical blows. I looked down at the pale scar on my right index finger and shoved my hand deep into my pocket. My phone buzzed. I pulled it out. A connection request on LinkedIn. The message read: Sarah Connolly, Talent Acquisition, Apex Hospitality Group. I accepted. A message popped up immediately. “Chef Susan, my name is Sarah Connolly, and I’m a recruiter with Apex Hospitality Group. We are currently building our flagship restaurant and would be honored to have you as our Executive Head Chef. We’re offering a salary of one million dollars a year, your own dedicated R&D team, and the full backing of the group to innovate within traditional cuisine. If you’re available, I would love to discuss this further.” One million dollars a year. I stared at the number on the screen for a long, long time. From the office, Mr. Ross’s voice drifted out again, clear as day. “She won’t dare leave.” I woke my phone screen and tapped out a reply. “Very interested. I look forward to our conversation.” I put my phone back in my pocket, straightened my back, and walked away without a second glance at that door. 3 That afternoon, I was in the kitchen, preparing for the final handover. I was pointing out a few things to the apprentices, which dishes they still needed to master, which daily details to watch out for. Suddenly, a server from the front-of-house burst in, her face pale. “Susan, we have a problem.” “There’s a food blogger out there, she has like, three million followers. She ordered our signature Matsutake Mushroom Consommé and the Pan-Seared Redfish.” “She took one bite and put her utensils down. Says it tastes wrong. She’s filming a video about it right now in the dining room!” Everyone in the kitchen turned to look at me, the same way they had for the past five years, expecting me to clean up whatever mess they’d made. I glanced over. “Alex made the signature dishes this afternoon. Have him deal with it.” Alex froze. He was standing at his station, his apron splattered with grease, sweat dripping from his forehead. The kitchen door swung open. It was Mr. Ross. He zeroed in on me the second he walked in. “Susan!” “Are you doing this on purpose?” “Did you or did you not teach him the core recipes for your signature dishes? Are you holding back, keeping secrets for yourself?” “That blogger has three million followers! Do you know what will happen if she posts a negative review?!” He pointed a finger at me, his voice full of command. “Susan, you go out there and apologize to her right now. Then you remake the dishes, serve them yourself, and smooth things over.” I gestured to the recipes taped to the wall, the paper yellowed and stained from years of kitchen smoke. “The recipes have been on that wall for years.” “But if your knife skills are sloppy, if you can’t control the heat, if your fundamentals are weak, there’s nothing I can do.” “If I made the mistake, I could fix it. But I can’t fix someone else’s lack of skill.” Mr. Ross’s face flushed red, then went pale. “Susan, are you slacking off on purpose because you’re mad about the pay adjustment?” “When there’s a problem in the restaurant, you, as the head chef, are just going to hide back here? What are you trying to do? Do you want to see this restaurant fail?” I found it hilarious. “The person whose cooking is making the restaurant fail doesn’t seem to be in a hurry. Why should a chef who isn’t skilled enough to earn a high salary be worried?” Mr. Ross took a deep breath, a vein throbbing in his forehead. “Susan, the pay cut… I didn’t think it through.” “Our food costs were too high last year, the budget was tight, so I had to make some adjustments. It wasn’t personal.” “How about this: I’ll restore your salary to nine thousand, same as before. We’ll put this behind us, okay?” Back to nine thousand? Were five years of my life and sacrifice only worth nine thousand a month? I said calmly, “My salary is lower than Alex’s, so I must not be as skilled. In that case, someone of my level certainly can’t give him any pointers or solve this problem.” Mr. Ross’s face tightened. He glanced anxiously towards the dining room, then back at me. After a long moment, he spoke. “Fine.” He squeezed the word out through gritted teeth. “I’ll add another thousand. Ten thousand.” “Susan, ten thousand a month is not a low salary in this industry. Don’t be ungrateful.” “Now go fix this.” “And next month, we have three big private bookings. High-end clients, the cheapest table starts at eighty thousand. You have to personally oversee all three. There can’t be any issues with the food.” “You pull these off, and then we’ll talk about your bonus.” It was always then we’ll talk. And every year, there was a new excuse. “Fine,” I said. Mr. Ross visibly relaxed. He probably thought he’d won again. I turned to go deal with the situation in the dining room. My phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a message from Sarah Connolly, the recruiter from Apex Hospitality. “Chef Susan, the contract details have been sent to your email. You can sign whenever you’re ready. Just let us know your preferred start date, and we’ll accommodate you.” I glanced at the calendar. The earliest of those three private bookings was on the 12th of next month. The latest start date Apex had offered me was the 10th. I put my phone away, returned to my station, and got back to work. Mr. Ross thought Alex could handle it. So let him.

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