Category: English

My brother’s son just turned eight this year. As the lawyer was handling the inheritance paperwork, he suddenly pointed to a clause at the end of the will and asked if I knew what my father had meant by it. I leaned in for a closer look. The clause stated that the house was to be provided, rent-free, for the use of the eldest grandson until he turned thirty. The lawyer sighed. “This means that for the next twenty-two years, while the house is legally in your name, you don’t actually have the right to use it.” 1 I stood in the law office, feeling like the punchline to a cosmic joke. Twenty-two years. My brother’s son, Henry, was eight. Thirty years old was exactly twenty-two years away. In other words, this half-a-million-dollar house, with my name on the deed, was to be a free home for my nephew for twenty-two years. And after twenty-two years, the place would be a rundown dump, its value a whole other question. Besides, after someone’s lived in a place for over two decades, could you really kick them out? My father had played his hand brilliantly. With a single piece of paper, he had bought out the last shreds of affection I had for him as a daughter. He had also bought all those days and nights I’d spent, devoted and exhausted, caring for him at the end of his life. I turned my head to look at my brother, William, sitting on the couch. His eyes darted away, unable to meet mine, but he couldn’t hide the smug little smirk playing on his lips. He knew. He must have known all along. I took a deep breath, my voice trembling uncontrollably. “Will, what is this?” William cleared his throat, putting on his best honest-man act. “Nora, don’t get worked up. Dad was just thinking of Henry’s future. He’s a boy, he’ll need a house when he gets married, right?” “Our family doesn’t have much. Dad didn’t have a choice.” His wife, Linda, immediately jumped in, her tone dripping with entitlement. “Exactly, Nora. You’re a girl, you’ll get married someday. A house isn’t as important for you.” “Besides, the deed is in your name, isn’t it? See how fair Dad was? He was still thinking of you. We’re just looking after it for you for twenty-two years. Saves you the hassle of renting it out. Isn’t that great?” A chill ran through me, a fury so cold it burned. “Looking after it? Linda, search your conscience. Is that what you call it? This is squatting! You’re stealing my home!” “How dare you!” Linda shot to her feet, her voice rising to a shriek. “What do you mean, stealing? This was Dad’s gift to his own grandson! It’s written right here in the will, clear as day! Nora, I’m telling you, don’t be ungrateful. The thing Dad worried about most before he died was that you wouldn’t honor his wishes. Are you really going to defy his dying wish? Can you live with that?” The thing he worried about most was that I wouldn’t honor his wishes? So when he held my hand and told me he wasn’t playing favorites, this is what he was thinking. He wasn’t comforting me. He was setting a trap. Sensing the escalating tension, the lawyer stepped in. “Ms. Shaw, Mr. Shaw, please, calm down.” “The will is legally binding. It’s all here in black and white. Ms. Shaw, you do indeed own the property, but the right of use for the next twenty-two years belongs to your nephew, Henry.” I looked at the lawyer and asked, enunciating every word, “So who pays the HOA fees, the heating bills, and the maintenance costs for these twenty-two years?” The lawyer paused, flipping through the documents. “The will does not specify. According to property law, the owner is typically responsible for such expenses.” “Okay. I understand.” I grabbed my bag, and without another glance at my brother or his wife, I turned and walked out. Linda’s shrill voice followed me. “Nora, what’s with the attitude? The keys! As soon as the deed is transferred, you’d better hand over the keys!” I didn’t look back. Stepping out of the law firm, the sunlight was blinding, but I felt frozen to the core. I pulled out my phone and found the last picture I had of my father. He was lying in a hospital bed, an oxygen tube in his nose. I was holding his hand, my smile full of daughterly devotion. Beneath the photo was the caption I’d posted: “Dad, may you rest in peace. You were the best father in the world.” Now, it all felt like a sick joke. 2 The six months my father was critically ill were the darkest of my life. He spent three months in the ICU, the daily bills piling up like a flood. My brother, William, just threw up his hands, claiming his factory was doing poorly, his wife was unemployed, his son had school expenses—he simply had no money to spare. Every time he came to the hospital, he’d hang around outside the room for ten minutes, snap a photo for his social media feed with a caption like, “Hoping Dad gets well soon,” and then make an excuse to leave. The entire burden fell on my shoulders. I rushed between my office and the hospital every day, spending nights on a cheap folding cot. Hiring a full-time nurse was too expensive, so I gritted my teeth and did it all myself. Bathing him, feeding him, dealing with his bodily waste—I did it all without a single complaint. Because he was my dad. The man who raised me. And because he had held my hand, more than once, and told me, “Nora, you’ve worked so hard all these years. Don’t worry, Dad knows what he’s doing. I won’t favor your brother.” The depth of my gratitude then was matched only by the depth of my disgust now. My husband, Mark, came home from a business trip to find me completely shattered. After I told him everything, he slammed his fist on the table in anger. “What kind of garbage is that? They’re walking all over you. What did he think you were? A free nurse and an ATM?” I collapsed into his arms, the tears finally breaking free. “Mark, I just don’t get it. How could he do this to me? I’m his daughter!” Mark held me, gently stroking my back. “Because you’re too good, Nora. In their eyes, your sense of duty is something to be taken for granted, an excuse to sacrifice you again and again.” He was right. Growing up, if there was ever anything good, it always went to William first. One egg had to be split, and he always got the bigger half. When I got into college, my dad gave me five hundred dollars for tuition. He gave William two thousand, telling him to go out and “make his way in the world.” After I started working, I sent three thousand dollars home every month, without fail. And my brother? The money for his wedding gift to his bride was scraped together because my dad forced me to pay for it. I wasn’t without resentment, but my dad would always say, “Your brother isn’t as smart or as capable as you are. As his little sister, you should help him out. We’re family, we can’t be so calculating.” “We’re family.” That one phrase had bound me for thirty years. Only today did I realize that in their definition of family, there was only taking and giving, no fairness or respect. And I was always the one expected to give. Just then, my phone rang. It was William. I swiped to answer but said nothing. “Hello? Nora?” William’s voice was laced with impatience, a commander issuing an order. “Where’d you run off to? Linda and I have been waiting. Where are the keys to Dad’s house? Get over here and give them to us. We’re planning to have it cleaned so we can move in next weekend.” I let out a cold laugh. “What keys?” William was taken aback for a second, then his voice rose. “What do you mean, ‘what keys’? The house keys, of course! Nora, don’t play dumb with me! The will is crystal clear. Are you trying to back out of it?” “The will says the house is for your son to live in, but it doesn’t say when, does it?” I said slowly. “The deed isn’t even finalized yet. The paperwork is still being processed. What’s the rush?” “You…” William was furious. “Don’t give me that crap! I’m warning you, if you don’t hand over the keys within a week, we’re calling a locksmith! Don’t blame us for embarrassing you then!” He hung up with a vicious click. I clutched my phone, the sorrow in my heart slowly being consumed by a rising fire of anger. Embarrassing me? They had ground my face into the dirt, using a knife carved from my own father’s bones to cut me to pieces, and now they wanted to talk about saving face? Fine. If you’re going to be shameless, then I’ve got no face to give you. 3 The next day, my aunt called. My father had only one sister, and she had always doted on William. “Nora, I heard from your brother that you’re refusing to give him the keys to the house?” My aunt’s tone was heavy with the scolding weight of an elder. “How can you be so thoughtless? Your father’s barely cold in his grave, and you’re going to make him turn in his grave over a house?” I answered calmly, “Auntie, that house is mine. The will states that I have ownership.” “Ownership, ownership, what’s that but a piece of paper? The house is for your nephew to live in, he’s still family.” “You’re a girl, what’s the point in fighting for it?” When I didn’t respond, her voice grew shrill. “Your brother has it so tough, supporting a family of three on his own. Henry is about to start elementary school, how can he not have a decent house? You’re married, you have your own home. Can’t you have a little sympathy for your brother?” There it was again. That same old argument. Because I’m a girl, I’m supposed to give way. Because my life is better than his, I’m supposed to be a bottomless well for him to draw from. “Auntie,” I interrupted her, “when Dad was in the hospital with hundreds of thousands in medical bills, neither you nor my brother paid a cent. Now it’s time to divide the inheritance, and you’re all suddenly so eager. Don’t you find that a little ridiculous?” The line went silent. A few seconds later, my aunt exploded in a rage. “Nora, what is that attitude? I am your elder! Wasn’t it your duty as a daughter to pay for your father’s care? What, did you expect us to praise you for it? I see what it is—you got married, and now you think you’re too good for your own family!” I hung up and blocked her number. On Friday afternoon, I was in a meeting when my phone started vibrating nonstop. It was Mark. I gave him a nod and stepped out of the conference room to answer. “Nora, you need to get back here, now!” Mark’s voice was a mix of urgency and fury. “Your brother and his wife, they’re at the house with a locksmith, trying to break in!” “I’m on my way!” I got permission from my director and floored it all the way to my father’s house. Downstairs, a small crowd of curious neighbors had already gathered. My brother William and his wife Linda were standing with their hands on their hips, directing a locksmith who was working on the security door. “Hurry it up, man! This is our house!” Linda’s voice was sharp and loud. I pushed through the crowd and shoved the locksmith away from the door. “Stop. Who gave you permission to touch the door to my house?” William saw me and showed no remorse. Instead, he played the victim. “So you decided to show up? Why didn’t you answer our calls? If you haven’t done anything wrong, what are you afraid of?” “What have I done wrong?” I pointed at the lock. “This is my house. What right do you have to break my lock?” Linda rolled her eyes. “Your house? The will says my son gets to live here for twenty-two years! That makes it ours! We have every right to enter our own home!” The neighbors started whispering amongst themselves. “Isn’t that the Shaw’s daughter? Poor thing. I heard her dad gave her the house, but then let his grandson live in it.” “That’s just bullying!” “Her brother and his wife are just awful…” Hearing the comments, Linda’s face turned beet red. She suddenly lunged at me, pointing a finger at my nose. “Nora, you ungrateful brat! William is the son! This house should have been ours in the first place! Dad only wrote your name on it because he was afraid you wouldn’t agree! You really think it’s yours?” “I’m telling you, we’re opening this door today! And we’re moving into this house!” As she spoke, she tried to shove me. Mark arrived just in time, pulling me behind him and creating a barrier between us. “William, Linda, have some decency,” Mark said, his face dark with anger. “The house belongs to Nora. What you’re doing is breaking and entering. It’s illegal!” “Illegal? Who are you trying to scare?” William yelled, his neck stiff with defiance. “It’s in my father’s will! Go on, call the cops! Let’s see who they listen to when they get here!” They were banking on the fact that I would be constrained by family ties, by my father’s reputation, that I wouldn’t dare escalate the situation. Seeing their shameless confidence, the rage in my chest burned hotter. I took out my phone and, in front of everyone, dialed 911. “Hello, yes, I’d like to report a crime. Someone is breaking the lock on my door. The address is…” 4 The police arrived quickly. When William and Linda saw the patrol car, they visibly panicked. Linda tried to sound tough. “What’s the use of calling the police? This is a family matter!” The lead officer was a stern-faced middle-aged man. He looked us over and asked directly, “Who called? What’s going on here?” I stepped forward and clearly explained the situation, including the contents of the will. William, in turn, produced a copy of the will, pointing to the clause with righteous indignation. “Officer, look, it’s in black and white. The house is for my son to live in! How is entering our own house breaking and entering?” The officer listened, his brow furrowed. He turned to a younger officer beside him. “Get on the radio with the legal department at the precinct and confirm how we handle this kind of situation.” Then he turned back to us, his tone serious. “Until this is sorted out, nobody touches this door. Both parties, come with me to the station to give a statement.” The moment Linda heard “station,” she started to throw a fit. “I’m not going! We didn’t break any laws, why should we go to the station? What kind of police are you? Siding with an outsider against us!” The officer’s face hardened. “Ma’am, I need you to cooperate with our investigation. If you continue to obstruct, we will charge you with interfering with a police officer.” That shut her up. She didn’t dare make another sound. At the station, we were put in separate rooms to give our statements. An hour later, we were brought back out. The young officer approached us holding a document. He addressed William and Linda. “We’ve consulted with our legal advisor. While this will grants your son the right to reside in the home, the property has not yet been legally transferred, and the owner has not willingly provided the keys. Your act of forcibly breaking the lock constitutes trespassing and property damage.” “If any property was damaged, the owner has the right to demand compensation and pursue legal action against you.” He paused, looking at all of us. “To put it simply, if she doesn’t want you to move in right now, you cannot force your way in. This is a civil dispute, and we advise you to resolve it through mediation or legal channels. For today, you’re getting a verbal warning. If it happens again, it won’t be this simple.” The expressions on William and Linda’s faces were a sight to behold. The will they thought was their trump card had, in the eyes of the law, given them no right to forcibly take possession. As we walked out of the station, the look my brother and his wife gave me was one of pure venom, as if they wanted to swallow me whole. “Nora, you’ve really outdone yourself!” William seethed. “You’d even call the cops just to keep us out! Do you even see me as your brother anymore? Do you have any respect for Dad?” “The moment you started scheming against me, no, I didn’t,” I said, looking at him coldly. Linda suddenly shrieked, “Fine! Fine! Nora, you just wait! See if you can keep us out forever! We have our ways!” They stormed off in a huff. Watching them go, I felt no sense of victory, only a profound weariness. Mark took my hand. “Nora, don’t be scared. Let’s go home.” I nodded, leaning against him. Although we had dealt with the immediate crisis, a sense of unease lingered in my heart. Two days later, my daughter’s kindergarten teacher called me, her voice frantic. “Lily’s mom, you need to come to the school right away!” My stomach clenched. “Ms. Davis, what is it? Is Lily okay?” “Lily’s fine, it’s her uncle and aunt. They’re at the gate right now, insisting on picking Lily up. They say they want to take her to see the new house that’s been prepared for her…” The phone almost slipped from my hand. They had sunk so low as to use my five-year-old daughter.

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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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In the seventh year of my marriage to Ethan, he spared no effort searching the entire country for renowned doctors to cure my muteness and hearing loss. The last time, he found an extremely toxic folk remedy and drank it himself to test it for me. After the poison took effect, he was in emergency care for three days and three nights, and permanently lost his ability to have children. Lying in bed with tubes covering his body, he still comforted me gently. “As long as you can speak again, losing anything is worth it.” “Besides, we already have one child. I’m content.” I knelt by his hospital bed crying, thinking I had found true love. But later, Wearing a cleaning uniform, I stood at the hotel front desk and personally checked Ethan and his mistress into a king-sized room. They even asked me to deliver five boxes of condoms to them. This time, I made up my mind to say those words myself. “Let’s get divorced.” “A king room, please. Thank you.” The woman wore flaming red lipstick, her cleavage on full display. She turned her head and shot a flirtatious smile at the man sitting on the lobby sofa. I followed her gaze to see a man bundled up tightly. The wedding ring on his finger was identical to Ethan’s. My heart skipped a beat as the woman handed over her ID. When I saw Ethan’s name clearly, my heartbeat faltered, I forgot to breathe, and my whole body trembled with numbness. My phone vibrated. It was a message from Ethan: “Clara, I’m looking for a doctor for you. I’ll be back late, don’t wait up.” In disbelief, I dialed his number with shaking hands. I watched as Ethan glanced over quickly, then immediately hung up. He stuffed his phone back in his pocket, pulled the woman closer, and headed to the room. His eyes held a tenderness I had never seen before. My chest felt filled with shattered glass. Even breathing became agonizing. “Are you blind?! What are you standing there for!” My colleague Sarah from the front desk had returned. She’d had a stomachache earlier and asked me to cover for her temporarily. “What are you staring at, you mute? Go clean your toilets!” She glared at me, then turned to answer the internal phone, her tone fawning as she nodded repeatedly. “Yes, Mr. Lancaster, five boxes of ultra-thin condoms, correct?” “No problem, please wait. I’ll send them right up!” My mind exploded. I furrowed my brows and made a gesture. Five? Sarah rolled her eyes, her tone mocking. “Look at you, so poor and sheltered. That was Mr. Lancaster on the phone!” “During Christmas, he booked the presidential suite for an entire month straight.” “That’s more than you could earn cleaning toilets for a lifetime–not even one day’s room rate.” She leaned in close, lowering her voice mysteriously. “That month, we had to change the sheets five or six times every night. The last cleaner got worked to death and quit.” My eardrums buzzed. I recalled that Christmas, when Ethan went to remote areas to find doctors for me and never returned. Our daughter Lily had a high fever in the middle of the night. I couldn’t get a cab and carried her to the hospital in the pouring rain. By the time we arrived, she had developed acute pneumonia. The doctor thrust a critical condition notice at me for signature, reproaching me. “If you can’t speak, how can we communicate about her condition?” I knelt on the floor, my hands shaking like a sieve, unable to write a single word. Every second I blamed myself madly, hating that I had burdened my daughter. A month later, Ethan finally came back. As soon as he walked in, he held me tight, his eyes red as he apologized. “I’m sorry, Clara. There was an avalanche in the mountains. I was trapped for a month…” I buried myself in his shoulder, not doubting him at all, only feeling that I had burdened him. I felt desperate and heartbroken, finding it all absurd. So this wasn’t his first time lying to me. It was just my first time discovering it. I threw down my mop and immediately rushed home to pack my bags. My daughter was beside me, constantly repeating “Daddy.” Lily was six years old and suffered from severe autism. My phone vibrated. A call from the rehabilitation center teacher. “Hello, Lily’s mom. There’s a parent meeting tomorrow at 2 PM to discuss Lily’s follow-up treatment plan. Will you be available?” I opened my mouth, making unclear sounds. Silence fell on the other end. “Hello? Lily’s mom, can you hear me?” I tapped the screen hard, trying to respond. “Um… maybe the signal’s bad. I’ll just call Lily’s dad directly. Last time he signed off on the treatment plan too, and he comes to the weekly training sessions. You don’t need to worry.” The teacher hung up. I stood there stunned, suddenly realizing that all of Lily’s rehabilitation training had been handled by Ethan. Because I couldn’t even manage basic social interaction. I could endure the suffering of being unable to speak, but Lily needed a father who could. Tears as big as beans fell to the floor. I suppressed my anger and put the luggage back. Ethan had just come home.

As soon as he walked in, he picked up Lily, then went to the kitchen to prepare medicine for me. Ethan brought the brewed medicine to me, blowing on it repeatedly. “This prescription is very effective. Drink it for three months, and you’ll be able to speak.” He smiled and brushed my hair aside. I instinctively dodged. A flash of alertness crossed the man’s eyes, but his tone immediately softened. “When you can speak again, the first thing you say should be ‘Clara,’ okay?” I didn’t move, disgusted to the point of numbness. That night, Ethan held me and slept soundly. While I stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep all night. I thought back to eight years ago, when Ethan first took me to see a specialist. The consultation fee was $800. He had just graduated then, with a salary of only $3,000. His hands were shaking as he paid, but he told the doctor to treat me no matter the cost. The day Lily was diagnosed with autism, I crouched on the ground crying silently. He swore to me, “Clara, don’t be afraid. Lily has me, and you have me too. No matter what illness it is, I’ll be with you both through the treatment.” From then on, he became the model father praised by all the teachers at the rehabilitation center. I closed my eyes, replaying it all over and over, tears soaking through the pillow, feeling both unwilling and resentful. The next day, while I was cleaning a guest room, I received a complaint from a guest saying the hallway was too noisy, with a child crying constantly. A bad feeling came over me. I rushed toward the end of the corridor. It was Lily. She was collapsed outside a door, her little face covered with tears and snot. Screaming “Daddy” hoarsely, repeating it over and over, her clenched little fists red and purple from pounding on the door. I felt struck by lightning. I rushed forward and pulled my daughter tightly into my arms. A note lay scattered on the floor: “Lily, be good. Daddy will come out soon.” When I saw the familiar handwriting, I instantly flew into a rage, wanting to rush in and skin him alive. Intense splashing sounds came from inside the room. A woman’s delicate moans and gasps continued. “Ah… gentle, the child is still outside.” “Who cares about that little idiot? What does she understand? Be good, lift your legs higher…” A bone-chilling cold shot to the top of my head. I was shocked to the point of numbness. Inside the door was endless pleasure. Outside the door were a desperate, suffering mother and daughter. I didn’t pound on the door. A mute’s protest would only be a laughingstock to add to their pleasure. I instinctively picked up Lily and ran home. And sent Ethan a message: “Come home immediately.” When the man came home, he smelled of body wash. Sweating profusely, he picked up Lily and shouted anxiously, “Lily, how did you run home by yourself?!” He was still performing enthusiastically. I reached out and handed him the divorce papers. Ethan’s expression showed great shock. He looked up sharply. “Divorce?!” He pressed me into his arms, his voice trembling with urgency. “Clara, do you think you’re burdening me again? I’ve told you so many times, no matter what, I will never abandon you and Lily!” His words sounded righteous but were utterly ironic. I pushed him away forcefully and slapped him across the face. Ethan looked completely incredulous. After a moment of silence, he stared at the compensation amount on the divorce agreement, then pulled out his phone. $1.88 million, transferred instantly. He grabbed my wrist tightly, his eyes reddening. “Money–I’ll give you however much you want. But we absolutely cannot divorce.” His phone screen lit up. Ethan frowned and hung up directly. “Something at the company. I’ll go handle it. You calm down.” Then he left without looking back. I picked up my phone, edited a text, and sent it to Marcus. “I’ve saved enough money. I want to buy that special medicine that can make me speak again.”

He replied instantly: “The special medicine needs to be shipped from abroad. Half a month at the fastest. I’ll coordinate it for you.” Marcus, my childhood friend. He was an otolaryngologist at the hospital. Two years ago he told me that a new biological drug from abroad had a 90% cure rate for my type of hearing loss and muteness. Two million dollars per treatment course. He said he would pay for it. I flatly refused and didn’t tell Ethan either. Not because I didn’t want treatment, but because I was afraid of crushing this family. Now it seemed my worry was too unnecessary. This family had long since fallen apart. During the days waiting for the medicine, Ethan was considerate to the extreme. He would get up at dawn and wait in line for three hours to buy me the little cakes I loved. He would insist on taking Lily to the rehabilitation center and patiently teach her to call me Mommy. He would blow on the medicine until it was warm and feed it to me spoonful by spoonful. I had seen what it looked like when he loved me, so I understood he was trying his best to perform love. The medicine became increasingly bitter. On a whim, I sent the medicine to Marcus for analysis. When I learned the test results, Marcus panicked and asked anxiously, “Long-term use of this medicine will severely damage the auditory nerves and worsen hearing loss and muteness. How long have you been drinking it?” Five years. I had drunk it for five whole years, not missing a single day. Everything before me became blurred. I was wrapped in bone-chilling cold, my clothes soaked with cold sweat. The tenderness of my former bedmate had actually been pushing me into an irredeemable abyss. I pulled myself together and persisted with treatment under Marcus’s professional rehabilitation. Ethan knew nothing about all this. I began practicing making sounds. My throat vibrated, producing weak and unclear sounds. “Li…ly.” When my daughter heard me speak for the first time, she threw herself tightly into my arms. “Mommy!” I wrapped my daughter in my embrace, tears pouring out. I could finally speak up for myself and my daughter. The next day, while I was doing rehabilitation exercises at home with Lily, Ethan’s mistress came straight to the door. “Hello, I’m Vivian.” After speaking, she walked right past me into the living room. Vivian looked around, her face full of disdain, and spoke arrogantly. “There are some things that Ethan is too soft-hearted to say to you. As his future wife, I have no choice but to take the trouble to say them myself.” The woman took out a voice recorder and pressed play. Ethan’s contemptuous, arrogant voice came through. “She will never be able to speak again in this lifetime.” “I watch her gesture in sign language every day, like a monkey. It’s really laughable.” “She’s actually secretly working to save money for treatment, exhausting herself like a dog every day, and still can’t earn a fraction of what I make. She might as well be reborn as a dog–at least then she could bark a few times.” I clenched my fists. My whole body trembled. A surge of anger shot straight to my head. Vivian stepped closer in her high heels, looking down at me condescendingly. “Did you hear that, mute? You really think he’s been searching the world for medicine for you? Dream on! When he was supposedly looking for medicine, he was in bed serving me!” Her eyes rolled, and she smiled even more arrogantly. “Oh, right, there’s good news too. I’m pregnant, with Ethan’s baby.” Vivian saw my stunned expression and became even more triumphant. “You don’t really believe his manhood is broken, do you?” The woman leaned close to my ear, enunciating each word. “He lied to you because he finds you disgusting and hates that you gave birth to a waste of space. When he’s with me, eight times a night isn’t enough. More intense than you could ever imagine!” After speaking, Vivian yanked my daughter out from behind me.

Her tone was vicious to the extreme, as she said through gritted teeth, “Lily, do you know why your daddy doesn’t want you? Because you’re a burden! Your daddy said once my baby is born, he’ll send you to an orphanage! You know what an orphanage is? It’s where kids with no parents go. That’s where you’ll live from now on!” Fortunately, Lily didn’t understand. But she still sensed the malice and began hitting herself on the head with her fists, screaming in pain. “Don’t touch my daughter!!” I rushed forward and blocked Lily. Then I grabbed Vivian by the throat and pressed her face against the wall. “What are you doing! Let go of me!” The woman screamed desperately, her manicured nails scratching several bloody marks on my face. But I felt no pain at all. I grabbed her hair tightly and shoved her away hard. “Get out!” Vivian, wearing four-inch heels, couldn’t steady herself, and tumbled down the stairs, her face smashed and bloody. “Ahh–help!” She clutched her stomach, curled up in agony. The next second, Ethan rushed out from the stairwell. When he saw Vivian lying on the ground, his eyes instantly became violent and fierce. “What did you do?!” The man looked up and questioned me harshly. I clenched my fists, not having time to speak. He pointed at me and cursed. “Don’t you know she’s pregnant?! If anything happens to Vivian, I will never forgive you!” After speaking, Ethan picked up the woman and left, his departing back resolute. He didn’t glance once at our daughter, still trembling in the corner. Nor did he ask why my face was covered in bloody scratches. That night, Ethan didn’t come home. The next morning, he returned. The man’s hair was disheveled, his eye sockets sunken, his face pale, as if he’d kept vigil at the hospital all night. He slowly walked up to me and suddenly dropped to his knees. “Clara, I’m sorry. I was too impulsive yesterday. I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” Ethan covered his face in repentance, his voice heavy with sobs. “I’ll be honest with you. Vivian and I do have some relationship, but it’s not what you think. She was my college classmate. Her family had a crisis, and I helped her. Later she kept clinging to me, and one time when I was drunk, things happened…” The man grabbed my hand and placed it on his chest. He said with apparent sincerity, “But the person I’ve loved from beginning to end has always been you!” The man’s tone was earnest, yet nauseating. “The doctor said Vivian’s body is very weak. It’s a miracle she could get pregnant. So I want to discuss with you–let her give birth to the baby safely. Then Vivian will disappear completely, and you can be the child’s mother. From now on, the four of us will live well together.” Seeing my silence, he put his arm around my shoulder and pulled me into his embrace. Whispering tenderly, “Clara, as long as you agree, I’ll listen to you in everything from now on. I won’t let you suffer any grievance.” I took a sharp breath and pushed Ethan away forcefully. He staggered back, looking at me in great surprise. My eyes were sharp. My lips moved. My throat forced out a few words. It was my first utterance in seven years. “Let’s… get divorced.” Ethan was clearly stunned. His pupils dilated suddenly, his face full of disbelief. “You… you can speak?!”

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After my miscarriage, I became the kind of wife Ethan had always wanted. I no longer shared the interesting parts of my day with him. I no longer called him all night when he didn’t come home. Even when Ethan and his mistress Quinn were about to have sex, I could remain expressionless and thoughtfully prepare condoms for them. But he got angry and viciously threw the condoms on the ground. “No need for those. I’m planning to have a child with Quinn. Aren’t you jealous?” I replied indifferently, “Whatever.” Ethan was frustrated by my lack of reaction and kept pushing, wanting to see me break down in tears. But didn’t he understand yet? I had long since stopped loving him. Why would I care about his provocations? Vivian Shaw POV After my miscarriage, I became the kind of wife Ethan Blackwood had always wanted. I no longer shared the interesting parts of my day with him. I no longer called him all night when he didn’t come home. Even when I was falsely accused and taken to the police station, and the officers said a family member had to bail me out, I just said I had no family. I calmly spent a week in detention. Seven days later, in the evening, the iron door of the police station swung open. I had just walked down the steps when a black Maybach screeched to a stop in front of me. The car door opened. Ethan stepped out wearing a tailored suit. He was tall with long legs, broad shoulders and a narrow waist, as coldly elegant and eye-catching as always. He walked up to me in a few strides, his brow furrowed slightly. “Vivian, why didn’t you call me when you were being bullied?” I smiled faintly. “Would you have even turned on your phone?” A week ago on my way home from work, an elderly person suddenly fell in front of my car. I got out to help, but they grabbed my arm and started shouting, “Hit and run! This young lady hit me and tried to run away!” The surveillance footage proved my innocence, but according to procedure, a family member had to come sign for my release before I could leave. I said I had no family. The police didn’t believe me and looked up my marriage registration information, finding Ethan’s phone number. They called. It was turned off. They called dozens of times. Always turned off. Ethan’s expression changed slightly. “The night you were detained, Quinn had stomach pain. I took her to the hospital.She doesn’t like noise, so I shut my phone off.” He paused, his voice lowering. “I’m sorry.” “It’s fine,” I said. “I didn’t expect you to come anyway. Just do what you need to do.” My tone was too calm as I said this. So calm there wasn’t a ripple of emotion. Ethan looked at me and suddenly grabbed my wrist. His hand was very hot, and his grip was strong. I frowned. “Why aren’t you angry?” Ethan stared at me, confusion in his eyes, along with a trace of unease he didn’t want to admit. I found it amusing. “Why would I be angry? You gave your reason, I understand it. Nothing to be angry about.” “Vivian…” “I’m tired. I want to go home.” I pulled my hand back and walked around him toward the car door. Ethan stood there, watching my retreating figure. We hadn’t seen each other in seven days, and I had lost a lot of weight. My shirt hung loosely on my frame. In the past, whenever he neglected me even a little, I would make a scene with red-rimmed eyes and ask him in an aggrieved voice, “Ethan, have you ever even cared about me?” Back then he thought I was overreacting, that I was immature. But now I didn’t make scenes, didn’t cry. I nodded and said “okay” to whatever he said. And yet he felt… panicked. The car was very quiet. The driver drove in front while I sat by the window in the back seat, watching the streetscape fly past in reverse. I no longer acted like I used to, unable to stop myself from looking at him the moment I got in the car, my eyes full of only him. When we were alone I would search for topics to talk about, and even when he responded coldly, I could chatter on by myself for ages. Now I just sat quietly, as if he wasn’t there beside me at all. Ethan finally couldn’t hold back. “Are you still throwing a tantrum about what happened before?” I turned to look at him, my eyes calm. “No, it’s all in the past.” “Then why are you…” “Ethan.” I interrupted him. “What do you want from me? To cling to you every day like before? Or to be like this now, not fighting or making noise, giving you enough freedom?” Ethan was stumped by the question. Of course he wanted me not to fight or make noise, didn’t want me always making scenes over Quinn. But when I really became like this, he felt… wrong. Everything felt wrong. “I just feel like you’ve changed,” he said quietly. I turned back to the window. Changed? Perhaps. When you love someone versus when you don’t, you’re naturally two different people.

Vivian Shaw POV The car fell silent again. Ethan wanted to say something more, but his phone rang. It was Quinn. He answered, and her sugary voice immediately came through. “Ethan, where are you? I’m at the mall and I bought so many things I can’t carry them all. Come pick me up, okay?” Ethan glanced at me. I continued looking out the window, as if I hadn’t heard. He suddenly felt irritated. “Quinn, you’re an adult. Stop always depending on me. And we don’t have any relationship anymore.” “But you’ve spoiled me for so many years, I’m used to it now.” Quinn’s tone was matter-of-fact. “Before, whenever I asked you to pick me up, you never refused.” “Before was before.” Ethan’s voice turned cold. “Back then you were my girlfriend, but now I’m married.” “Married?” Quinn laughed mockingly. “Do you really have feelings for her? Ethan, stop lying to yourself. If you don’t come, I’ll just find another man to help me carry things. Plenty of men want to help me anyway.” Ethan gripped his phone tightly. Quinn knew him too well. She knew he couldn’t stand her going to other men. “Wait there.” He practically ground out the words through clenched teeth, then hung up. He took a deep breath and turned to me. “Vivian, I…” “I’ll take a cab home.” I had already pushed open the car door. “You go pick her up.” I moved too fast for Ethan to react. “Vivian!” He got out of the car and caught up, grabbing my arm. “There’s really nothing between her and me anymore, but she and I grew up together. Our families know each other. I can’t completely cut ties.” “I know.” I nodded. “I understand.” I always said “I know” and “I understand,” like an AI with not a hint of emotion. Watching me show no reaction whatsoever, the nameless fire in Ethan’s chest burned even hotter. But Quinn’s call came through again, urging him relentlessly. “You go home first, I’ll be back later…” He wanted to say he’d come back later, but I had already flagged down a taxi. I got in, closed the door, and didn’t even glance at him again. The taxi drove away while he stood watching from behind. My phone rang. It was the HR department from my company. “Ms. Shaw, your application for overseas work has been approved.” The voice on the other end carried a smile. “Congratulations! You’re going to the New York headquarters. It’s a rare opportunity. But… won’t your husband have an issue with it? After all, who knows when you’ll be back. You two would have to live apart.” I looked at the neon lights flashing past outside, my voice soft. “I don’t have a husband. The same day I applied to go to New York, I also filed for divorce. Once the divorce is finalized, I can leave.” There was several seconds of silence on the other end. “Are you serious? You used to like him so much. You gave up so many good opportunities for him. How could you suddenly…” I smiled and shook my head. “I don’t like him anymore.” After hanging up, I leaned against the car window and closed my eyes. All these years, almost everyone knew I liked Ethan. Liked him to the point of losing myself, liked him to the point of being as humble as dust. But I was tired. Loving someone whose heart was forever filled with someone else was too exhausting. At eighteen, during my freshman year, I first saw Ethan at the new student awards ceremony. The sun was bright that day. He wore a simple white shirt and black dress pants, standing on stage with an extraordinary presence. He was the most popular guy at school, and nearly every girl in the audience blushed. I was one of them. But no one had a chance to get close to him. Because everyone knew that Ethan’s heart belonged only to Quinn, the girl he’d grown up with.

Vivian Shaw POV Quinn was temperamental, loved to make scenes, had a terrible temper. But Ethan doted on her, indulged her. Everyone said he was madly in love with her. For as long as he loved Quinn, I secretly loved him from behind. Until Quinn ran away from countless wedding ceremonies with Ethan. The first time, she said she was too young and didn’t want to get married so early. The second time, she claimed to have pre-wedding jitters. The third time, she said she felt Ethan didn’t love her enough. … The ninth time, she called from overseas the night before the wedding. “Ethan, I’ve been thinking, and I still feel freedom is more precious. Let’s not get married for now, okay? I want to travel abroad for a few years first!” That time, Ethan didn’t chase after her. He was depressed for a while, then started accepting the blind dates his family arranged. He went on one after another, always ending things after just one meeting. When I learned this, my heart pounded wildly. I pulled strings and managed to get a chance to go on a blind date with him. That day, somehow I ended up wearing the same dress as Quinn. Sure enough, when Ethan saw me, he froze. He stared for a long time, then said, “Let’s get married.” My wildly beating heart suddenly sank in that moment. I knew he was seeing someone else through me. But I still nodded. Because I liked him too much. Even knowing he probably had no feelings for me, I still wanted to stay by his side. After marriage, we were polite and courteous. Ethan treated me well. He was never stingy materially, gave me all the respectability I deserved, but I knew that wasn’t love. He never initiated intimacy with me. Only when I wore clothes similar to Quinn’s would he hold me in a daze, calling out “Quinn.” Each time I pretended not to hear. Five years passed like this. I thought life could continue this way, until Quinn came back. At the time I happened to be three months pregnant. My stomach suddenly hurt terribly. I clutched my belly wanting to call an ambulance, but Quinn showed up at the door. “So you’re Vivian Shaw?” Quinn looked me up and down with contempt in her eyes. “I heard you took advantage of my absence to steal my position?” My face was pale with pain. I had no energy to argue with her, only wanting to get to the hospital quickly. I tried to go around Quinn, but she blocked me. During the struggle, I really couldn’t take it anymore and pushed her. Quinn stumbled backward, her head hitting the door frame. Blood immediately flowed down. That night, Ethan locked me in the storage room. My stomach hurt terribly, like a knife was twisting inside. I pounded on the door, calling over and over, “Ethan… save me… the baby… our baby…” But no one came. The pain made me curl up on the floor. Warm liquid flowed out from beneath me. I reached down to touch it. My hand was covered in blood. Finally I passed out from the pain. When I woke up, I was in the hospital. The baby was gone. Ethan stood by the bed, looking at me with guilt in his eyes. “It’s my fault. After you’re discharged, we’ll have another baby.” “If you hadn’t pushed Quinn back then, I wouldn’t have locked you up. She’s not in good health. That push nearly killed her. I acted rashly in the moment. I can compensate…” In that moment, I laughed. Laughed until tears streamed down my face. “Ethan, what compensation do you think could make up for a life?” That was the first time, and the last time, I cried in front of him. From then on, I changed. I secretly filed for divorce and applied to transfer to New York with my company. No matter what happened between him and Quinn, I no longer cared. Because I no longer loved him.

Vivian Shaw POV I went home alone. The house was large, empty, and cold. I changed my shoes, went upstairs, and started packing. Actually, I had been quietly packing during this time. Now I just needed to finish up. I took out the clothes from the closet that were similar to Quinn’s style, one by one, folded them, and put them in boxes. I would never wear these clothes again. The sound of the door opening came from downstairs. Ethan was back, but he wasn’t alone. Quinn stood at the bottom of the stairs. Seeing me, she gave a sweet smile. “Vivian, long time no see.” I said nothing. “Quinn said she wanted to come see Snowball.” Ethan spoke, his tone somewhat unnatural. “She said it’s been a long time.” Snowball was a dog Ethan and Quinn had raised when they were together. Later when Quinn went abroad, the dog was left with Ethan. After I married in, I had been the one taking care of it. “Whatever.” I turned to go back to my room. “Snowball! Snowball!” Quinn had already crouched down, clapping her hands to call the dog. A white Samoyed ran out from the corner. Seeing Quinn, it excitedly jumped on her, tail wagging like a propeller. “Oh my, Snowball still remembers me!” Quinn hugged the dog, her eyes crinkling with her smile. “Looks like even though another woman has been taking care of you all these years, you still only recognize me.” Her words carried obvious provocation. I stopped in my tracks. Ethan frowned. “Quinn, you ran off abroad without a word back then and didn’t want it. You lost the right to be its owner long ago.” “Now you’ve seen it. You can go back.” Quinn pouted. “It’s dark outside and raining. How unsafe for me to go back alone. Can’t I… stay here for the night?” Ethan wanted to refuse. But it really was pouring rain outside with rolling thunder. He instinctively looked at me, wanting to convince me to agree. In the past, whenever Quinn came over, I would make a scene and he would have to put in effort to pacify me. But this time, before he could speak, I spoke first. “The guest room is in that room at the far end of the first floor. The sheets and covers are clean.” My tone was calm. “If you want to stay, go ahead.” With that, I turned and went back to my room. Ethan froze. Quinn was also stunned for a moment, but quickly smiled and wrapped her arm around Ethan’s. “Ethan, see? Vivian agreed.” Ethan looked at my closed door, that strange feeling rising in his chest again. He shook off Quinn’s hand. “Behave yourself.” Just then his phone rang with a work call. He glanced at Quinn. “Stay out of trouble.” Then he went to the study. Only Quinn was left in the living room. The smile instantly vanished from her face. She walked to my door and knocked. I opened the door. Quinn leaned against the door frame, looking me up and down. “Playing generous? You think letting me stay will make Ethan think you’re understanding? It’s useless, Vivian. Let me show you just how much of a failure you are. All these years, not only have you failed to win Ethan’s heart, you couldn’t even win over a dog.” She whistled, and Snowball came running. “Snowball,” Quinn pointed at me, “go, bite her.” The dog hesitated, but under Quinn’s urging, it still lunged and bit my calf. I was caught off guard and cried out in pain, my face instantly turning deathly pale! Quinn laughed with satisfaction. “See? You can’t even win over a dog, yet you foolishly thought you could steal Ethan from me? Just give up already!” The pain and humiliation made my whole body go cold, but I bit my lip hard, not letting myself make another sound. I looked up at Quinn, my eyes cold as ice. “Forgot to tell you, Quinn. The public areas of this house, including the stairs and hallways, all have twenty-four-hour surveillance. Both audio and video recording functions work perfectly.” “If you still want to stay here today and rekindle things with Ethan, I suggest you stop provoking me. Otherwise I’ll show him the footage directly. Do you think he’d still let you stay?” Quinn’s expression changed. I stopped looking at her, turned back into my room, and closed the door.

Vivian Shaw POV I walked to the bed, took out the medicine kit from the drawer, and treated my wound. The antiseptic stung fiercely on the wound, but my face showed no expression. After treating the wound, I lay down on the bed and closed my eyes. Unlike usual, I didn’t make milk for Ethan, didn’t wait for him to finish working, didn’t say goodnight to him. I just went straight to sleep. In the middle of the night, I was choked awake by thick smoke. I opened my eyes. The room was full of smoke, making me cough violently. I hurriedly got out of bed and opened the door. The hallway was ablaze with fire. A fire! I held onto the wall, moving step by step toward the exit, but after just a few steps, from inhaling too much smoke, my legs gave out and I fell to the ground. The floor was scorching hot. I struggled to get up but had no strength. Just when I thought I would die here, a figure rushed into the sea of flames. It was Ethan! He wore pajamas, his face covered in soot, anxiously looking around. I wanted to call out to him, but my throat was too choked by smoke to make a sound. I reached out my hand, wanting him to see me. But Ethan didn’t even look at me. He rushed straight toward the corner of the room. Snowball was curled up there, trembling. He scooped up the dog in one motion, turned and left, not even glancing back at me. I watched his figure disappear into the firelight and suddenly laughed. Laughed until tears fell. He had come to save the dog. In Ethan’s heart, I wasn’t even worth as much as a dog! The smoke grew heavier. As I breathed it in, my consciousness began to blur. I gritted my teeth, braced myself against the wall, and stood up shakily, stumbling toward the door. But the doorway was already blocked by a fallen beam. There was no way out. I looked at the burning beam in despair, then turned and rushed toward the window. I pushed open the window. Cold wind rushed in, clearing my head a bit. I looked down and happened to see Ethan rushing out the front door with the dog. Quinn threw herself into his arms. “Ethan! I was so scared!” Quinn was in tears. “I thought Snowball would die in there… We raised this dog for so many years. It witnessed our relationship…” Ethan’s body stiffened. He seemed to want to push her away, but seeing her cry so heartbrokenly, in the end, he still raised his hand and gently patted her back, softly comforting her. “Don’t cry. It’s okay now. The dog is fine, and you’re fine too.” I watched this scene, my heart feeling as if it were being violently squeezed by an icy hand, then suddenly released, leaving only boundless, numb emptiness. I no longer counted on anyone. I climbed onto the windowsill, took a deep breath, closed my eyes, and jumped. The time my body fell through the air was very short. I didn’t even have time to be afraid before I crashed heavily to the ground. BANG. Intense pain instantly swept through my whole body. I lay on the ground, warm blood spreading beneath me. “Oh my God! Vivian jumped!” The maid’s scream rang out. Ethan whipped around. He saw me lying in a pool of blood. “VIVIAN!!!” The expression on his face was one I had never seen before. Shock, disbelief, and a trace of… panic. I looked at him, opened my mouth wanting to say something, but only coughed up blood. Then I passed out completely. When I woke up again, the smell of disinfectant filled my nostrils. I opened my eyes and saw the white ceiling. I moved slightly. My whole body ached. The pain was excruciating. “Vivian!” Ethan’s voice rang out. I turned my head and saw him keeping watch by the bed, his eyes completely bloodshot, blue stubble on his chin. He looked haggard. He grabbed my hand, his voice trembling slightly. “You’re awake? How do you feel? Is anything uncomfortable?” I didn’t answer his question. I just slowly but firmly pulled my hand from his grasp.

Vivian Shaw POV Ethan’s hand froze in midair, his expression shifting slightly. He probably thought I was angry about the fire and my jumping from the building, that I resented him for not saving me first. “Vivian,” he tried to explain, lowering his voice, “when I went into the room, I didn’t see you. I thought you’d already escaped, so I only took Snowball. It’s not just an ordinary dog, it’s…” What? The token of his and Quinn’s relationship? A witness bearing their beautiful memories? “Since you were in the room, why didn’t you call out to me?” Why didn’t I call out? I finally raised my eyes to look at him. My eyes were very dark, very deep, containing no resentment, no expectation either. Just bottomless calm. “Because I’ve stopped counting on you.” Ethan’s whole body violently trembled, as if struck hard by something. His pupils contracted sharply as he looked at me in disbelief. “What do you mean… stopped counting on me?” His voice was terribly hoarse. I looked at him, my gaze calm as if I were looking at a stranger. “Exactly what it sounds like. I don’t count on you to save me, don’t count on you to choose me, don’t count on… you to love me.” Ethan’s heart shook. Just as he was about to speak, his phone rang. It was Quinn! He walked to the window, his back to me, and answered. I couldn’t hear the specific content, could only see the tense lines of his profile, his tone starting with impatience and ending with suppressed compromise and “I understand.” After hanging up, Ethan walked back to the bed, his expression unpleasant. He looked at me, wanting to speak but hesitating. “You should go.” I didn’t wait for him to speak first, that suffocating calm still in my tone. “I really don’t need anyone here.” Ethan looked at me, his chest feeling like it was stuffed with wet cotton, so stuffy he couldn’t breathe. He opened his mouth and finally only said, “Quinn has some trouble. I’ll… go handle it and come right back.” After a pause, he added, “I know you’re angry about what happened before, so you’re deliberately saying these things out of spite. Don’t worry, that kind of situation won’t happen again.” “In a few days it’s your mother’s death anniversary. I’ll go with you to pay respects.” My lowered eyelashes trembled lightly. “My mother’s death anniversary and Quinn’s birthday are on the same day.” I laughed once. “Aren’t you going to celebrate her birthday with her?” Ethan clearly hadn’t expected me to suddenly bring this up. His expression stiffened almost imperceptibly. He was silent for several seconds before avoiding my gaze and replying in a somewhat stiff tone, “Her birthday… what does that have to do with me?” I laughed again. How could it have nothing to do with him? Five years of marriage, and every year on that day, Ethan was “busy.” The first year, he said he had a business trip. The second year, he said he had meetings. The third year, he said he had to meet clients. Later I learned that my mother’s death anniversary and Quinn’s birthday were on the same day. Every year on that day, Ethan would fly over ten hours overseas to stand outside Quinn’s house all night, then leave gifts and depart. This year Quinn was back. He could see her in person, could express his love even better. “Oh, really?” I responded lightly, said nothing more, just closed my eyes again, assuming a posture that rejected conversation and showed utter exhaustion. Ethan, frustrated by my complete lack of reaction, felt anger rise in his chest but had nowhere to vent it. He looked at my pale face and tightly closed eyes. The words “Quinn and I really have nothing going on, don’t misunderstand” rolled around on his tongue, but in the end he only said, “Rest well. I’ll come see you again later.” Then he turned and hurriedly left the hospital room.

Vivian Shaw POV In the following days, I peacefully recovered in the hospital. Ethan came a few times, bringing expensive supplements and flowers. He never stayed long. His phone was always busy. I didn’t make scenes or fuss. I just said “mm” to whatever he said, giving him a feeling of punching cotton with no resistance. On the day I was discharged, Ethan brought flowers and accompanied me to the cemetery in the suburbs. I looked at the increasingly familiar scenery outside the window, a sense of absurdity rising in my heart. Five years. This was the first time Ethan came to pay respects to my mother. The cemetery was very quiet. Wind blew through the trees with a rustling sound. Ethan stood before the gravestone, looking at the woman in the photo who resembled me by seventy percent, silent for a long time. “Mom,” he began, his voice somewhat hoarse, “I’m sorry it took me so many years to visit you.” “I’ll take good care of Vivian from now on. You can rest assured.” Ethan continued, “I won’t let her suffer anymore.” I looked at my mother’s gentle smile on the gravestone, my expression numb. Mom, did you hear? The person I’ve liked for ten years said he’ll take good care of me from now on. But these words came too late. So late that I no longer need them. After paying respects, Ethan took me to the restaurant I’d always wanted to visit. It was a French restaurant that was very difficult to book. I’d mentioned it many times before, but Ethan always said he didn’t have time. Today he reserved the entire restaurant and arranged a romantic dinner. “I remember you said you wanted to come here.” Ethan pulled out a chair for me. “Try it and see if it suits your taste.” I sat down, looking at the table full of exquisite dishes, my heart completely unmoved. Halfway through the meal, Ethan’s phone rang again. Still Quinn. Her angry voice was loud enough that even I could hear it clearly. “Ethan! You spent days throwing me an extravagant birthday party, but you didn’t come yourself?!” Ethan frowned and glanced at me. I was cutting my steak, movements graceful, expression calm, as if I’d heard nothing. “I had something to do.” Ethan said quietly. “What could be more important than my birthday? You have to come to my birthday party right now, or I won’t celebrate this birthday at all!” Ethan, pestered beyond endurance, hung up. He looked at me, wanting to explain, but I had already put down my utensils. “You should go.” I said. “I’ve finished eating anyway.” “Vivian, Quinn just returned to the country. She wanted to gather all her friends together, but she doesn’t know how to organize a party, so I helped her a bit.” Ethan explained. “I didn’t mean anything by it.” “I know.” I nodded. “I understand.” That phrase again. The frustration in Ethan’s chest surged up again. “I’ll take you with me.” He suddenly said. “The party is nearby anyway. We’ll just make an appearance and leave. Consider it relaxing.” I wanted to refuse, but Ethan had already stood up. “Let’s go.” Quinn’s birthday party was in a luxury hotel’s banquet hall. When Ethan and I arrived, there were already many people inside. Quinn wore a red dress, like a proud peacock, surrounded by crowds. Seeing Ethan, her eyes lit up. She lifted her skirt and ran over. “Ethan! You finally came!” She directly wrapped her arm around Ethan’s, completely ignoring me beside him. “Quinn.” Ethan frowned, trying to pull his arm back. “Ethan, dance the opening dance with me!” Quinn acted coquettishly. “You haven’t danced with me in so long.” Ethan looked at me. I was looking elsewhere, as if admiring a painting on the wall. “Vivian…” Ethan started. “Go ahead.” I said. “I’ll get something to eat over there.” With that, I turned and walked toward the food table.

Vivian Shaw POV Ethan stood in place, seemingly frozen.I know that before, even if he just said a few words to Quinn, I would look at him with red-rimmed eyes. But now, I had actively pushed him toward her. He simply couldn’t believe it. Ethan belatedly let Quinn pull him into the dance floor. The music started. He held Quinn’s waist but couldn’t help frequently glancing toward me in the corner. I was standing at the food table, eating cake in small bites, my expression calm, my eyes indifferent, as if I were attending a stranger’s party. Quinn noticed his distraction and grew displeased. “Since you care about her so much, just go find her. I’ll go dance with another man.” With that, she let go of Ethan, turned, and walked toward a man in a white suit. The man was Quinn’s college classmate who had always liked her. Seeing Quinn approach, he immediately extended his hand attentively. Quinn placed her hand in his, and the two glided into the dance floor. Ethan stood in place, watching Quinn laugh and chat with that man, his expression gradually darkening. Quinn seemed to be deliberately provoking him, getting closer and closer to that man. Finally, she even leaned to the man’s ear and said something. The man laughed, lowered his head, and kissed her cheek. The wine glass in Ethan’s hand shattered with a crack. Blood mixed with wine dripped down, but he felt no pain. He rushed forward, grabbed Quinn’s wrist, and dragged her out of the dance floor. “Ethan! What are you doing?! Let me go!” Quinn struggled. Without a word, his face livid, Ethan practically dragged Quinn out of the banquet hall to the empty, deserted balcony outside. Ethan pressed her against the cold railing, his voice suppressing violent rage. “Quinn, do you have any sense at all?!” Quinn was startled by his shouting, then got angry herself and forcefully shook off his hand. “I have no sense? I’m not married. He’s not married. We’re both willing. So what’s the problem? Who are you to me, Ethan? What right do you have to tell me what to do? As my ex? Or as some other woman’s husband?” “You!” Quinn’s words stung Ethan until his eyes turned red, and the string of rationality snapped completely in that moment. He abruptly lowered his head and fiercely kissed Quinn’s lips! It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It carried punishment and plunder, fierce and domineering. Quinn stiffened at first, then a gleam of triumph flashed in her eyes. She didn’t struggle. Instead, she wrapped her arms around his neck and began kissing him back passionately. The balcony glass was frosted. People outside couldn’t see clearly what was happening inside, but I stood in the corner, and through a gap in the glass, I could see everything clearly. I watched Ethan kiss Quinn, watched Quinn wrap her arms around his neck, watched them kiss inseparably. There was no pain in my heart, only a numb sense of absurdity. The kiss lasted a long time, until both were breathless. Ethan suddenly pushed Quinn away, as if jolted awake from a dream. He looked at Quinn’s glistening red lips and dazed eyes, his heart lurching sharply, followed by overwhelming panic and self-loathing. “I’m sorry,” he turned his face away, his voice terribly hoarse, carrying a kind of awkward evasion. “I… I drank too much. I mistook you for Vivian.” Quinn obviously didn’t believe his explanation. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his waist, looking up at him, her tone carrying tears and pleading. “You’ve never had Vivian in your heart. How could you mistake me for her? Stop lying to yourself, okay? You still love me. You can’t let me go at all!” “Ethan, let’s stop torturing each other, okay? Divorce Vivian and let’s get back together. I swear I’ll never be as willful as before. I’ll love you properly, be a good wife to you, okay?”

Vivian Shaw POV Divorce? Get back together? These two words exploded like thunder in Ethan’s ears. As if scalded, he violently pushed Quinn away and said sternly, “What are you talking about! I won’t divorce Vivian!” “Why? Just because she followed you without any boundaries for five years?” Quinn shrieked, “Ethan, how long will you keep running from your feelings? If you really don’t have me in your heart anymore, don’t care about me at all, then I might as well just die!” As she spoke, she turned and rushed toward the edge of the balcony, as if she really meant to jump. “Quinn! Are you crazy?!” Ethan’s expression changed drastically as he rushed forward to pull her back. Just then, the huge crystal chandelier overhead, used for decoration, suddenly made a groaning sound, unable to bear its weight, then crashed downward! And it was falling directly toward Quinn’s head! “Watch out!” Ethan’s pupils contracted sharply. Without thinking, he used his body to shield Quinn tightly in his arms and rolled to the side! The heavy crystal chandelier smashed to the ground, instantly shattering, fragments flying everywhere. Ethan’s back was sliced by several larger shards, blood immediately gushing out, staining his expensive suit red. “Ethan! Are you okay? You’re bleeding!” Quinn’s face turned deathly pale with fright as she cried out. People in the banquet hall were startled by the loud noise and ran out, creating chaos at the scene. Some called for an ambulance, others came forward to help. I stood at the edge of the crowd, not a ripple of emotion in my heart, only finding the farce before me absurd and glaring. I didn’t step forward, didn’t inquire, didn’t even stay a second longer. Amid the ambulance’s piercing siren, I quietly turned and left. Ethan was hospitalized. I didn’t go see him. I stayed home alone, doing my own things, reading books, watching movies, packing my luggage. Until that evening, Ethan’s assistant Jeff suddenly called. “Vivian, could you come to the hospital to see Ethan? His stomach condition flared up again. The pain is severe, and the medicine the doctor prescribed isn’t helping much. He’s breaking out in cold sweat from the pain and won’t let the nurses near him. In the past, only when you massaged him would he feel better… We really don’t know what to do. Could you…” I walked to the window, looking at the city completely shrouded in the rain curtain outside. Raindrops pounded against the glass as if to drown the entire world. After he finished speaking, I calmly replied, “The rain is too heavy. I won’t be going.” The other end was clearly stunned, silent for several seconds, as if unable to believe what they’d heard. “M-Ms. Shaw… what did you say?” the assistant stammered. “I said the rain outside is too heavy. I don’t want to go out. I won’t be coming tonight.” “But Mr. Blackwood, he…” “I’m going to sleep now.” I interrupted him. “Good night.” I hung up, turned off my phone, went to bed, and no longer paid attention to any disturbances. The next day, Ethan checked out of the hospital early and returned home. His face was still somewhat pale. Seeing me sitting on the living room sofa reading, he paused, then walked over and stood before me. “Last night…” he began, his voice somewhat low, his gaze heavy as he looked at me. “Jeff called you?” “Yes.” I turned a page without looking up. “Why didn’t you come?” Ethan asked, suppressing some emotion in his tone. “Before… no matter the weather, even if I just casually mentioned feeling unwell, you would rush over immediately.” My page-turning motion stopped. I finally looked up at Ethan, my eyes calm and still. “You said it yourself. That was before.” I looked at him, my voice light, yet like a small hammer gently tapping on Ethan’s heart. “Ethan, people change.”

Vivian Shaw POV Ethan opened his mouth, wanting to say something, but found nothing to say. Yes, people change. I had changed. He probably just didn’t know why I changed, or when I changed. “In a few days,” he tried to ease the atmosphere, as if wanting to prove something, “it’s our wedding anniversary. Didn’t you always say you wanted to celebrate it properly? This year, I’ll throw you a party, invite everyone, make it lively, okay?” As he spoke, he observed my reaction. I looked at him, my eyes calm. “Whatever.” Whatever again. Ethan’s expression turned unpleasant, as if the irritation in his heart was surging up again. But he still began preparing for the party. He booked the most expensive hotel, hired the best planners, ordered me the most expensive gown, bought the most expensive, sky-high-priced jewelry. On the day of the party, I wore the gown he’d chosen, adorned with that priceless diamond jewelry set, and walked into the banquet hall on his arm. Everyone looked at me with envy. “Mrs. Blackwood is so fortunate.” “Ethan treats her so well.” “I heard that jewelry set was bought at auction. An astronomical price.” I listened to those comments, a proper smile on my face, but my heart felt nothing. Midway through, I went to the balcony for some air. I had only been standing there a moment when footsteps sounded behind me. It was Quinn. “Why are you here?” I turned to look at her. “Ethan invited me.” Quinn walked to my side, leaning against the railing. “He said today is your wedding anniversary and asked me to come witness your happiness.” As she spoke, she smiled. “Vivian, are you happy?” I said nothing. Quinn leaned close to me. “I know you’re not happy. Ethan’s heart only has room for me. You’re just a pitiful, laughable substitute! Last night he even because of me…” “Quinn,” I finally spoke, interrupting her words, my voice terrifyingly calm. “You know what? You’re really noisy, and really pitiful. Like a child who throws tantrums when they can’t get candy. What’s between Ethan and me is our business.” “As for you, an eternal failure living in the past who needs to provoke others to prove her own existence, you’re not worth me wasting any emotion on.” “You!” Quinn was thoroughly enraged by the undisguised contempt and pity in my eyes. She glanced at the low, decorative balcony railing behind me, a vicious glint flashing in her eyes. “Go to hell!” She suddenly reached out and used all her strength to violently push me! Caught off guard, I instantly lost my balance and fell backward! In the moment I fell off the balcony, survival instinct made me reflexively reach out and grab wildly. I happened to catch Quinn’s wrist, which she hadn’t pulled back in time! “Ah!” Both of us screamed simultaneously. Half my body was already suspended in air, hanging on only by my hand desperately gripping Quinn’s wrist. Quinn was also pulled down and collapsed at the railing’s edge, scared out of her wits, her other hand desperately clawing at the railing to avoid falling together. “Help! Ethan! Help!” Quinn shrieked and cried. People in the banquet hall were alarmed and rushed toward the balcony. Ethan ran at the front. Seeing this dangerous scene, his face instantly turned deathly pale. “Ethan! Save me! I’m going to fall! Pull me up quickly!” Quinn cried, tears streaming down her face, extending the hand clinging to the railing toward Ethan. Ethan’s gaze swept rapidly between me, gritting my teeth silently, and Quinn, crying and calling for help. In that split second, with almost no hesitation, he lunged forward and grabbed the hand Quinn extended toward him! “Vivian, hang on a bit longer!” Ethan looked down at me, his voice trembling. “Once I pull Quinn up, I’ll save you right away!” I looked at him and suddenly smiled. I let go. My body fell through the air, wind roaring in my ears. Finally, I crashed into the swimming pool below. Water splashed everywhere. The icy pool water engulfed me. I closed my eyes and lost consciousness.

Vivian Shaw POV When I woke up again, I was lying in the bed in my own room. The blood and mud on my body had been cleaned away, replaced with soft silk pajamas. The room was empty. Heavy curtains were half-drawn, letting in a dim ray of light. I stiffly turned my head, reaching for my phone on the pillow. The screen lit up, the glaring light making me squint. There was only one text message, from Ethan. “Vivian, Quinn was frightened and her emotions are unstable. I’m taking her to the hospital first. Rest well. I’ve had the butler treat your injuries. I’ll explain everything when I get back. I’ll compensate you.” Compensate. Compensation again. I stared at those words, finding it utterly laughable, absurd to the extreme. When did “compensation” become all that was left between us? When you truly like someone, you cherish them. There’s no need for the word “compensation” to make up for debts. Ethan, I don’t like you anymore. So your compensation. I don’t want it at all anymore. I only hope to sever all ties with you as soon as possible, leave this place, get far, far away, and never again endure this bone-cutting torture. Just then, my phone vibrated again. This time, the notice came from the court. “Ms. Shaw, your divorce from Mr. Ethan is now final. The divorce decree will be mailed to your address.” It was really over. I gripped my phone, my knuckles turning slightly white from the force. I looked at that short text for a long, long time, so long that the screen’s light automatically turned off, and I lit it up again. Then I tilted my head back and slowly, gradually, exhaled a long breath. That breath seemed to expel all the grievances, pain, struggles, and unwillingness accumulated over these five years of marriage, along with the last trace of hope for that person, all expelled from my body. I threw off the covers and, enduring the bone-deep soreness throughout my body, got out of bed and began final preparations. Actually, there wasn’t much left to pack. Those things belonging to “Mrs. Blackwood,” the luxurious clothes and jewelry, I had already picked out and left in the closet. Most of the things belonging to Vivian Shaw I had already packed. I folded the last few pieces of old clothes I wore regularly and put them in the suitcase, pulling the zipper closed with force. Three o’clock in the afternoon. Takeoff. I dragged my suitcase downstairs. The butler was directing servants to clean the living room. Seeing me, he was clearly stunned. “You’re…” “I’m leaving.” I stopped and looked calmly at this old man who had taken care of me for several years. “Thank you for looking after me all these years.” “What are you saying?! Does the sir… does he know?” The butler looked completely bewildered, trying frantically to stop me. “He and I are already divorced.” I smiled faintly. “Starting today, I’m no longer Ethan’s wife.” I dragged my suitcase out the front door. The morning breeze blew in my face. I took a deep breath of free air and hailed a cab straight to City Hall. When I received that divorce certificate, my hands trembled slightly. I opened the thin booklet and glanced at it. On it, my name and Ethan’s were finally side by side, yet completely separated by that certificate. How wonderful. This long dream that had flayed and dismembered me was finally over. I took a cab to the airport, completed check-in procedures, checked my luggage, and sat in the departure lounge watching planes take off and land outside. My phone suddenly rang urgently. Caller ID: Ethan. I looked at those three words, not a ripple rising in my heart. I didn’t answer, letting it ring until it automatically disconnected. He called again, over and over, hysterically, relentlessly. The phone vibrated in my palm, annoyingly noisy. Expressionless, I long-pressed the power button, slid the screen, and decisively turned it off. A sweet boarding announcement came over the loudspeaker. I stood up, dragging my suitcase, and walked toward the gate without looking back. When the plane took off, a huge roar filled my eardrums. I turned my head to look out the window. That city that had trapped me for five years grew smaller and smaller until it was completely obscured by white clouds. In my heart was an unprecedented calm. Goodbye, Ethan. Goodbye to that humble, people-pleasing past. The plane pierced through thick cloud layers, flying toward the sky, toward the blinding sun, flying toward my new life.

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The day of my divorce, I got hit by a car. When I woke up, everyone had a line of text floating above their heads. The nurse: [27 years old, eight years from now, breast cancer.] I picked up my phone. The first contact was my ex-wife, Vivian. After a second of hesitation, I opened her social media. Her latest post showed her and her new boyfriend in the Maldives, captioned “The rest of my life with you.” The location showed it was posted three hours ago. Our divorce papers had been finalized just yesterday. My daughter sent me a voice message: “Dad, Mom says I can’t go to her new house anymore. That man doesn’t like kids.” Gripping my phone, I went to pick up my daughter and ran into my ex-father-in-law, Robert Miller, at the entrance to the complex. Above his head, it read: [62 years old, three months from now, gas poisoning.] The moment he saw me, he started cursing: “Useless piece of trash! My daughter should’ve divorced you years ago!” “My daughter’s new boyfriend is young and handsome, and he’s a wealthy heir. What the hell are you?” I glanced at the text above his head and deleted the warning message I’d typed out, character by character. Then I took my daughter’s hand. “Come on, sweetheart. Dad’s taking you for pizza.” 1 At the pizza place, my daughter Lily handed me a slice. “Dad, you eat it. You’ve gotten so skinny.” She was only six years old, but she’d already learned to read adults’ faces. I bought her a Coke. My phone buzzed again. Vivian sent a text: “Figure out Lily’s tuition yourself. I need to pay off the loan on my new car.” But she had money for plane tickets to the Maldives. I didn’t reply. I just flipped my phone face-down on the table. Lily asked quietly, “Dad, does Mom not want us anymore?” “Mom just doesn’t want Dad anymore. She’ll always be your mom.” Even as I said it, the words felt hollow. What kind of mother wouldn’t even pay for her daughter’s tuition? Halfway through the meal, my phone rang again. This time it was Robert. I answered, and he immediately launched into a tirade. “Listen here, Lucas Gray. My daughter letting you walk away with nothing was being generous!” “The house is in my name. Don’t think you’re getting a cent!” “And Lily—don’t send her to our family! We’re not raising her for you!” He ranted for a full three minutes. I didn’t say a word back. Because all I could think about was that line of text above his head. 62 years old, three months from now, gas poisoning. “What, are you mute?” Robert shouted into the phone. “Yeah. I’ve gone mute.” I hung up. Lily had finished all her pizza. Her hands were greasy, and she was wiping her mouth with a napkin. “Dad, did Mr. Miller yell at you again?” “No, sweetheart. He said he misses you.” Lily tilted her head, thinking. “But last time Mr. Miller said I was a waste of money.” A six-year-old. She remembered everything. I paid the bill and walked Lily home, holding her hand. My phone pinged with a notification from the delivery app. The courier account I’d registered yesterday had been approved. Starting tomorrow, I’d be a delivery driver. Security guard wages were too low, and factory shift work was too rigid—I wouldn’t be able to pick Lily up from school. Delivery work was the only option. Flexible hours, and the more I worked, the more I earned. Back at our rental apartment, Lily fell asleep quickly. I sat on the edge of the bed and scrolled through my phone’s photo album. There were still pictures from our wedding. Vivian in her rented wedding dress, smiling brightly. Back then she’d said, “Lucas, we’re definitely going to have a good life together.” Seven years of marriage. The hard times finally ended—and she left. I deleted every photo of Vivian from the album. Not a single one left. Then I opened the delivery app and checked tomorrow’s weather forecast. Light rain. Rainy days meant more orders. Time to hustle. On my first day as a delivery driver, I witnessed the full spectrum of humanity in this city. I left at seven in the morning after dropping Lily off at kindergarten. At the entrance, Lily clung to the hem of my jacket and wouldn’t let go. “Dad, can you pick me up this afternoon?” “Yes, sweetheart. Dad promises.” I rode my electric scooter to the commercial district and started accepting orders. The first delivery was an Americano for an office worker in a high-rise. When I handed it to her, she didn’t even look up. She grabbed the coffee and shut the door. Above her head, it read: [29 years old, twelve years from now, liver cancer.] I bit my lip and said nothing. This wasn’t something I could control. Nor should I. 2 During the lunch rush, I completed twelve orders in a row. My legs were sore. I sat on the curb, eating bread. My phone buzzed with a news alert: Renowned businesswoman Sophia Quinn dies of organ failure at age 69. Sophia Quinn. That name was all too familiar. In high school, her granddaughter had been my classmate. Once, she’d invited me to her house, and I’d seen her grandmother. I told her she had eight hours left. She lasted exactly eight hours. Afterward, Sophia gave me five million dollars. That money paid for my college education and made me believe my life was finally turning around. Then, the second year after graduation, I married Vivian. A woman from a small mountain village who’d clawed her way out and was determined to climb higher. The first time Robert met me, he asked, “How many properties does your family own?” I said none. The smile faded from his face. But back then, Vivian had said, “Robert, Lucas treats me well, and he has capital. That’s enough.” Was it enough? Seven years of marriage. I spent every cent of Sophia’s five million dollars on Vivian’s graduate school, Vivian’s startup, Vivian’s luxury car to keep up appearances. Five million dollars. Gone without a trace. What did I get in return? A Maldives Instagram post saying “The rest of my life with you” to another man. At two in the afternoon, my phone rang. It was Vivian. “Just letting you know—I’m pregnant. Expenses are high, so I won’t be giving you a cent of child support for Lily anymore.” Pregnant. We’d been divorced less than a week, and she was pregnant. No need to calculate when this baby was conceived. “Vivian, you cheated during our marriage.” “Don’t make it sound so ugly. Caleb and I didn’t officially get together until after you moved out.” Caleb. That was her young new boyfriend. Her tone was calm as she said this. I didn’t hang up. I was waiting for her to say something—anything—about Lily. Even just asking “How’s Lily doing lately?” would’ve been enough. She didn’t ask. After telling me she was pregnant, she hung up. I set my phone down. The rain had stopped. Sunlight broke through the clouds and shone on my soaked courier uniform. I stood up. Time to keep working. On my third day of deliveries, I received a strange order. The address was an upscale complex in the the Southside. The notes said: Please ring the doorbell three times. Do not knock. I rang the doorbell three times. The door opened. A woman in her forties appeared. She wore a silk nightgown and a pearl necklace. As she reached for the food, I accidentally glanced up. The text above her head made me freeze. [45 years old, two days from now, strangled to death by husband.] My hand jerked. I nearly dropped the bag. “What’s wrong?” She looked at me. “Nothing.” I handed her the food and turned to leave. After two steps, I stopped. “Um—” I turned back. The woman was still standing in the doorway, rummaging through the bag. “Does your husband treat you well?” She looked up, her eyes guarded. “Why are you asking that?” “No reason. Just wondering. Please… be careful.” I got on my scooter and left. That night, I couldn’t sleep. I kept thinking about that woman’s face. There was a faint bruise on her face, covered with foundation. But I’d been close enough during the delivery to see it. The next day, I received another order to the same address. Same person. This time when she opened the door, there was a fresh cut on her face, running from her brow to her temple. The text above her head had changed. [45 years old, one day from now, strangled to death by husband.] I handed her the food. My grip was tight. “Ma’am, you need to call the police.” “Call them for what?” Her voice was soft. “Your husband hit you, didn’t he?” She looked at me for a moment, then shut the door. I stood outside and heard a man’s voice from inside: “Who was it?” “Delivery,” she said. “Don’t order delivery anymore. I’ll cook for you.” The man’s voice sounded gentle. I got on my scooter and sat outside the complex entrance for ten minutes. Then I pulled out my phone and dialed 91

“Hello, 14 Maple Gardens, Building 302, the Southside. There’s domestic violence happening. The woman has head injuries.” “Are you the victim?” “No, I’m a delivery driver. I saw it.” “Understood. We’ll send someone to investigate.” I didn’t know if the police could change anything. But the text said “one day from now.” I had to do something. 3 The next day at noon, I saw a local news headline while scrolling— “Man at Maple Gardens, The Southside, Detained for Domestic Violence. Woman Sent to Hospital for Treatment.” She didn’t die. The text above her head must have changed. I wasn’t certain—I couldn’t see the text of people in news articles. But she was alive. That was enough. That day, I completed eight extra deliveries. Earned enough for a week’s worth of Lily’s living expenses. On my fifteenth day of deliveries, Robert blocked me outside Vivian’s complex. He stood in front of my scooter. “Lucas Gray, have you no shame? Vivian says you’re demanding three thousand dollars a month in child support?” “The court ordered it.” “Court or no court, you’re just a delivery driver. Does raising a kid really cost three thousand?” “Vivian’s pregnant, and Caleb’s expenses are high. Can’t you ask for less?” I looked at the text above his head. Still the same line. [62 years old, two and a half months from now, gas poisoning.] The countdown was ticking closer every day. “Vivian—” her voice came from behind. She walked out of the complex with a tall, stylishly dressed young man beside her. That was Caleb. My first time seeing him. He wore designer streetwear, limited-edition sneakers, and his hair was perfectly styled. Above his head: [26 years old, four years from now, car accident.] When Vivian saw me, she hesitated. “What are you doing here?” “Picking up Lily’s things. She left some clothes at your place.” Vivian frowned and said to Caleb, “Wait for me in the car.” Caleb didn’t move. He looked me up and down and sneered. “So this is your ex-husband? He looks pretty rough. No wonder you weren’t into him.” He was five years younger than me, with the spoiled attitude of a trust fund kid. I wasn’t interested in arguing with him. Vivian tossed me a plastic bag. Inside were three of Lily’s old outfits and a stuffed bunny missing an ear. It was Lily’s favorite toy. Robert had cut off the ear. He’d said girls shouldn’t play with such delicate things—it made them weak. Lily had been only four years old then. She’d cried for an entire afternoon. I took the bag and turned to leave. Robert spoke up again. “Lucas Gray, stop right there. Let’s settle this child support matter.” “The court ordered three thousand. You pay three thousand.” “Three thousand? Why don’t you just rob us? Vivian’s expecting now, and Caleb needs to invest in—” “That’s your family’s problem.” Robert started cursing again. “Let me tell you something—my daughter’s money is our family’s money. You, an outsider, don’t get a cent!” I didn’t respond. I hung the plastic bag on my handlebars and started my scooter. Robert kept shouting behind me. Caleb stood off to the side, playing with his phone, completely indifferent. Vivian didn’t say a single word in my defense. Not one. That night, Lily fell asleep hugging the one-eared bunny. I sat by the window and counted this month’s earnings. Fifteen days of deliveries: forty-eight hundred dollars. Subtract fifteen hundred for rent, twelve hundred for Lily’s kindergarten tuition, a thousand for food, scooter charging fees, phone bill. One hundred and ten dollars left. One hundred and ten dollars. That was the total balance my daughter and I had left in this city. My phone buzzed. Vivian sent a text: “I’ll be a few days late with this month’s child support. Caleb’s got his eye on a watch, so I need to buy it for him first.” I put my phone under my pillow. Didn’t reply. 4 I stared at the long crack in the ceiling and made a decision. I couldn’t let this ability go to waste. Years ago, Sophia had given me five million dollars for one reading. How many people in this city wanted to know how they’d die? How many would pay to change their fate? I was done playing the saint. I was going to use these eyes to support my daughter and me. I spent three days working out a plan. I couldn’t just tell people how they’d die like I did as a kid. Too scary. Too risky. I registered a short video account called “Delivery Guy Talks Health.” The concept was simple: every day, I’d film a segment about real encounters I had while delivering food. Of course, I changed all the details. My first video: “Today I delivered to a woman with bruises on her face. Let’s talk about how to seek help if you’re experiencing domestic violence.” Combined with the news story from Maple Gardens, the video got over fifty thousand views. I didn’t mention anything supernatural. I just talked about the people I “saw,” then packaged it as common sense. … Two weeks later, I delivered a three-hundred-dollar order to an office building downtown. A three-hundred-dollar delivery. I’d never seen that before. When I opened it, it was afternoon tea for an entire office floor. The receptionist told me to leave it on the desk. As I was unloading the boxes, the conference room door was open. Inside sat a circle of people. At the center was a man in his early forties, wearing a sharp suit with a commanding presence. Above his head: [43 years old, one year from now, cerebral hemorrhage.] Next to him stood a little boy, about four or five years old, playing on an iPad. Above the boy’s head: [5 years old, today, anaphylactic shock.] Today. I set down the box and glanced at the order notes: [Nut allergy. All items must be nut-free.] The order had been placed by the receptionist. I opened one of the cake boxes and checked the ingredients list. Almond flour. “Hey, that cake—” The receptionist had already grabbed a box and was heading toward the conference room. I rushed over and snatched the box from her hands. “What are you doing?” The receptionist jumped, glaring at me. “This cake has almond flour. Your notes said nut allergy.” The girl froze, then flipped through the ingredients list. “Oh… I didn’t notice…” The man in the suit walked out of the conference room. “What’s going on?” The receptionist’s face went pale. “Mr. Hayes, the cakes contain nuts. I missed it…” Mr. Hayes glanced at the cake, then at his son playing on the iPad in the conference room. He took a deep breath, visibly shaken. “You’re the delivery driver?” He looked at me. “Yes.” “What’s your name?” “Lucas Gray.” Mr. Hayes had his assistant remove all the cakes and reorder. He called me into the hallway and handed me a thick stack of cash. “Thank you. My son’s nut allergy is severe. Last time he had an accidental exposure, he was in the ICU for four hours.” I felt the weight of the envelope. At least two thousand dollars inside. More than I’d make in three days of deliveries. “Mr. Hayes, I don’t want the money. But I’d like to ask you something.” “Go ahead.” “Have you been getting frequent headaches lately? Have you had it checked out?” Mr. Hayes’s expression changed. His eyes sharpened. “How do you know?” “I meet a lot of people doing deliveries. At your age, with high work stress, high blood pressure is common. I’d suggest getting a brain CT scan.” Perfectly worded. No one would suspect a delivery driver’s well-meaning advice. Mr. Hayes stared at me for five seconds. “Lucas Gray, what did you do before this?” “I ran a small business.” He nodded and shoved the money into my pocket. “Take it. And give me your contact info.”

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Early in the morning, my neighbor from next door, Lily Monroe, suddenly tagged me in the building’s group chat: “That whore from 1101! Have you no shame? Calling my husband to fix your pipes in the middle of the night—can’t find somewhere else to throw yourself at men?” “If you dare seduce my husband again, I’ll kill you!” I was completely stunned. I didn’t even know her husband, had never spoken a single word to him! I explained over and over, but she acted like she’d lost her mind, refusing to listen, just kept cursing at me. I had no choice but to block her and ignore this lunatic. But a few days later, she somehow snuck into my apartment. The moment I opened my front door, she lunged out from behind it and stabbed a knife straight into my chest. “This is all your fault! My husband doesn’t want me anymore! You’ll pay with your life!” My vision grew blurrier and blurrier. Even as I died, I never understood when I’d ever stolen her husband. When I opened my eyes again, I’d returned to the day she cursed at me in the group chat! Looking at those vicious insults, I couldn’t hold back anymore and fired right back: “Stop your crazy rambling! Your husband ran off with his mistress three years ago!” 1 The notification sounds from the building’s group chat suddenly went crazy. I opened it and my heart sank. Lily Monroe from apartment 1101 next door was tagging me in the group chat, cursing at me hysterically. “You whore from 1101! Get out here!” “I’ve been married to my husband Lucas Gray for over ten years, and we love each other dearly! You slut, just because you don’t have a husband, you try to steal someone else’s, secretly seducing my husband!” “Calling him to fix your pipes in the middle of the night—what are your intentions? Running out of places to spread your legs, so now you’re trying to steal someone else’s man!” A few gossipy neighbors in the group immediately chimed in: “How can our community have people like this? Shameless! So young and instead of behaving properly, she has to be a homewrecker and destroy other people’s families!” “People like this should be kicked out of the community. What a disgrace!” Seeing people backing her up, Lily became even more smug, her insults growing more vicious, one filthy message after another flooding the screen: “You slut who’s been screwed by every random man, you think you’re worthy of eyeing my husband?” “Give my husband back right now, or I won’t let you off!” Looking at these twisted accusations on my screen, I felt nothing but absurdity. My pipes were fine. Why would I call someone to fix them for no reason? Let alone call her nonexistent husband. But Lily gave me no chance to explain, just kept flooding the chat with curses: “You bitch, let my husband come home! If anything happens to him, I’ll drag you down with me!” The neighbors who’d been cursing at me earlier joined in: “Exactly! People need to have some moral boundaries. Let the woman’s husband go home. Stop being so shameless!” Looking at these accusations without any attempt to understand the truth, memories from my previous life suddenly came flooding back. In my previous life, I explained repeatedly in the group that I didn’t even know her husband, had never called him to fix anything. But not a single person in the group believed me. They all thought I was making excuses. Even more terrifying, Lily later snuck into my apartment while I was taking out the trash. She ransacked my place, searching everywhere for her so-called husband, and of course found nothing. Blinded by rage, she took it out on me, grabbed a knife from my kitchen, and stabbed me right in the chest. “This is all your fault! My husband doesn’t want me anymore! You’ll pay with your life!” Her screaming from my previous life, and the searing pain in my chest—even thinking about it now made my whole body run cold. I died without ever understanding what I’d done wrong, why I had to suffer such an undeserved disaster. Pulling my vision back from the memories, Lily’s curses in the group chat continued. This time, I couldn’t hold back anymore. The anger and resentment bottled up inside me exploded instantly, and I sent a voice message directly to the group: “Stop your crazy rambling! Your husband ran off with his mistress three years ago. Where’s this husband you’re talking about?!” 2 The moment I sent that message, the frantically jumping notifications in the group chat came to an abrupt halt. I stared at the screen for half a minute. No new messages appeared, and Lily’s stream of vile curses finally stopped. Looks like I hit a nerve. I let out a breath of relief, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over me. The fear from my previous life mixed with the anger of this one, leaving me with no desire to look at my phone anymore. I’d already said what needed to be said. Whether people believed me was their business. At least it was better than the last life where I explained myself to deaf ears. I casually turned off my phone screen, got up to wash up and go to bed, just wanting to turn the page on this miserable day. But just as I reached the bathroom door, a sharp, frantic roar suddenly came from outside, instantly shattering the silence of the night. “Lucas Gray! Get out here! I know you’re in this slut’s apartment, stop hiding in there!” It was Lily’s voice! She actually came to my door? My heart skipped a beat. The terror from my previous life when she broke into my home and attacked me instantly surged up, making my hands and feet go cold. “You won’t even come home for this woman? You’ve really got some nerve!” Her voice grew closer and closer, filled with hysterical madness. “You think I can’t find you just because you’re hiding in here? Open the door! Open this door right now!” Then came the sound of pounding on my door—“bang bang bang”—so forceful it seemed like she wanted to tear the door off its hinges. The commotion woke up the surrounding neighbors. Soon, chaotic footsteps and whispers came from outside. “What’s going on? Why all this noise in the middle of the night?” “Looks like Lily from 1101 is banging on Mia Watson’s door in 1102?” “Didn’t the group chat say Mia was seducing her husband? Is he really hiding in there?” Several nosy neighbors had already gathered at my door, craning their necks in the hallway light, their gossiping becoming more direct. “I bet it’s true. Otherwise why would Lily be this worked up? That cheating bastard and homewrecker must be hiding inside, too scared to come out!” “Absolutely shameless, hiding someone else’s husband in her apartment in the middle of the night!” “Got the guts to do it but not the guts to open the door? What a disgrace!” These words pierced my heart like needles, identical to the accusations in the group chat from my previous life. I clenched my fists, nails digging deep into my palms, anger overwhelming fear. Lily kept pounding on the door, her screams growing more shrill: “Mia Watson! You bitch, stealing my husband—I’ll kill you! I’ll skin you alive today!” Her voice was especially bone-chilling in the quiet early morning, every word dripping with murderous intent. My mind instantly flashed to the searing pain of being stabbed in the chest in my previous life, her twisted face at that moment, and my body began trembling uncontrollably. But the next second, a nameless rage suddenly rose in my heart. What right did she have? What right did she have to divorce three years ago but still imagine a husband to slander me with? What right did she have to take my life in the previous life and still come to ruin my life in this one? “Screw off!” I couldn’t hold back anymore and yanked the door open. The hallway light flooded in. Lily was raising her fist, ready to pound on the door again. Seeing me suddenly open it, she froze for a moment, her eyes full of hostility. I didn’t give her a chance to react. I raised my hand and slapped her hard across the face. The crisp smack echoed through the hallway. The surrounding chatter instantly stopped. The neighbors were all stunned, not expecting the usually quiet me to suddenly strike. Lily’s head jerked to the side from the slap, a clear red mark immediately appearing on her face. She was dazed for a few seconds, then like a lit firecracker, lunged at me with claws out: “You dare hit me? I’ll kill you!” I was already prepared. I quickly dodged into my apartment and stuck out my foot lightly. Lily, already out of her mind with rage, lost her footing and fell hard to the ground with a heavy thud. Looking at her sprawled on the floor, the hatred from being stabbed to death in my previous life surged up instantly, rage consuming me. I quickly stepped forward, sat down hard on her back, pinned down her struggling body, then grabbed her hair and yanked it in opposite directions. “This is for your screaming! This is for banging on my door! This is for slandering me!” I roared with red eyes, the pent-up grievances and anger from both lives erupting completely in this moment. “Let’s see what you’ve got! Today I’ll show you what happens when you slander people!” “Ahhh—! Mia Watson, you shameless homewrecker! There’s no justice! I’m calling the police! I’ll have them arrest you!” Lily, pinned under me and unable to move, could only tilt her head back and scream shrilly, her voice full of venom and unwillingness. The surrounding neighbors finally snapped out of it and rushed over to pull me off: “Stop it! Stop it! Let’s talk this out!” “Why are you hitting people? Someone’s going to get hurt if this continues!” “I already called property management. They’re coming to handle this!” Some grabbed my arms, others tried to pull me off Lily. I stared at Lily still cursing from the floor, my chest heaving violently. In my previous life, this lunatic stabbed me to death in my own home based purely on her delusions, leaving me to die without understanding why. In this life, she wanted to pull the same trick again. How could I possibly let her succeed? After the neighbors pulled me away, I continued glaring at Lily, but those neighbors turned around and started scolding me instead. “Mia Watson, you’re in the wrong here. Even if Lily said harsh things, you can’t hit people!” “Being a homewrecker and still so self-righteous, even attacking people—you’re too vicious!” “This can’t just end here. If property management can’t handle it, we’re calling the police to sort this out!” Call the police? I let out a cold laugh. Of course we should call the police. Even if they didn’t, I would. I shook off the neighbors holding me and, right in front of everyone, pulled out my phone and dialed 91

“Hello, police? I need to report something. There’s a mentally unstable person making a scene at my door, and she keeps threatening to kill me. Please come handle this right away.” 3 Hearing that I’d called the police, Lily suddenly broke free from the neighbors holding her and lunged at me like a madwoman, slapping me twice across the face. The crisp, loud slaps echoed through the hallway. My face immediately swelled up. “You bitch! Stealing my husband and you dare call the police? I think you’re tired of living!” She glared at me through gritted teeth, eyes full of poison. The slaps left my head ringing. I raised my hand to hit back, but just as I lifted my arm, two nosy neighbors grabbed my wrists tightly. “You want to hit back?!” One neighbor gripped my arm hard: “No matter what she said, you can’t hit first. Now you want to keep hitting? Can’t you just behave?” Another woman chimed in: “Exactly! You’re a homewrecker who hit first. This is outrageous.” Seeing me restrained, Lily became even more arrogant, standing in front of me with her hands on her hips, cursing even more viciously—her language was absolutely vile. The surrounding neighbors also joined in condemning me, saying I’d destroyed someone’s family, caused a disturbance in the middle of the night, and had no sense of public decency. “I didn’t!” I struggled to break free from their hold, stubbornly retorting: “I’ve explained so many times—I’m the only person in my apartment! I don’t even know her husband. How could I have seduced him?” I looked around at the watching neighbors, sweeping my gaze across their faces, raising my voice: “Besides, she says her husband is in my apartment. My door is wide open right now. Look inside—do you see anyone?” At those words, the previously chattering hallway instantly quieted down somewhat. Several neighbors instinctively craned their necks to look into my empty living room, doubt gradually creeping into their eyes. That’s right. The door was wide open, the inside completely visible. Forget a man—there wasn’t even an extra shadow. Seeing this, Lily immediately shrieked in defense: “He must have just run away! He was still inside when I was banging on the door. He must have heard we were calling the police and snuck out the back door or window!” I let out a cold laugh, struggling against the hands restraining me: “We’re on the 11th floor. How could anyone climb out a window? They’d have a death wish! Besides, there are only a few apartments on our floor. If someone ran out of my place, wouldn’t you all have heard something?” Everyone froze, exchanging glances. The commotion from Lily banging on my door earlier had been so loud, and they’d all been gathered in the hallway. If someone had actually run out of my apartment, it would have been impossible for no one to notice. One man muttered to himself: “True, I was standing at the hallway corner the whole time. Didn’t hear any doors opening or closing.” Hearing this, people finally calmed down a bit. Just then, two police officers in uniform walked into the hallway: “Who called the police? What happened here?” I immediately broke free from the neighbors’ hands, stepped forward, and pointed at the still-panting Lily: “Officers, I called. This woman, the resident of apartment 1101, Lily Monroe—without any evidence, she accused me of seducing her husband, claiming I was having an affair with him in my apartment. She not only verbally abused me in our building’s group chat but came to my door and banged on it, and just now she hit me.” I pointed to my swollen cheek where the five-finger mark was still clearly visible. Lily, who had been so aggressive moments before, suddenly deflated the instant she saw the police, actually falling silent and lowering her head. The officer looked at Lily and asked: “Ma’am, is what she said true? Why would you slander her?” Lily was silent for a long while before reluctantly raising her head and muttering: “Never mind, officers. My husband Lucas Gray already ran away. What’s the point of you coming now!” “Ran away?” I immediately seized on that, my sharp gaze fixed on her. “I think you’re just feeling guilty, aren’t you? I’ve lived in this building for five years. Three years ago, I saw with my own eyes your husband Lucas Gray fighting with you, dragging you through a divorce, and I haven’t seen him since!” “You’re lying!” Lily’s head shot up, her eyes excited as she glared at me, suddenly stepping forward and grabbing my arm tightly. “You keep saying you have nothing to do with my husband. I’m asking you—if I have evidence proving you’re having an affair with my husband, what will you say?” Her grip was strong, her nails almost digging into my flesh. I endured the pain, looking straight into her eyes, saying firmly: “If you can produce evidence proving I’m having an improper relationship with your so-called husband, I’ll move out of this building immediately and promise never to set foot here again or seduce your husband ever again!” “Good! Those are your words!” Lily immediately turned to the watching neighbors: “Everyone heard that, right? This is Mia Watson’s own promise. Don’t try to back out later!” The neighbors all nodded, whispering to each other. Lily grabbed my arm and dragged me toward her apartment: “Fine, I’ll let you see with your own eyes whether I have evidence or not!” I didn’t resist, letting her pull me forward. The curious neighbors followed behind, wanting to see what evidence she could possibly have. As soon as I stepped into Lily’s apartment, a warm, homey atmosphere hit me in the face. Men’s slippers sat on the shoe rack by the door. A freshly washed suit jacket hung on the balcony. The bathroom and kitchen items were all matching couples’ sets. Even the bedroom bed clearly showed signs of two people sleeping in it. Most eye-catching was the wedding photo hanging on the wall. In the photo, Lily wore a white wedding dress, nestled in Lucas Gray’s arms, smiling blissfully. Seeing all this, my heart couldn’t help but skip a beat, a trace of doubt creeping in. Could she really not be divorced? Had my memories from my previous life been wrong? Seeing me freeze, a triumphant smile appeared on Lily’s face. She turned and pulled out a stack of photos from a drawer, throwing them viciously in front of me: “Take a good look! Is that you and my husband in these photos!” I looked down at the drawer, my pupils contracting sharply, instantly falling silent. “Everyone saw that, right?” Lily raised her chin smugly, addressing the watching neighbors. “This is the evidence! She still dares to say she didn’t seduce my husband? Now that the proof is ironclad, Mia Watson, you should keep your promise and get out of this building!” The neighbors looked at the photos, their eyes full of contempt and certainty: “So it really happened. You really can’t judge a book by its cover.” “Never thought Mia Watson, who seems so quiet, would actually be a homewrecker.” “Having someone like this in our building is disgraceful.” Even the police frowned, looking at me disapprovingly. Feeling these strange looks, I took a deep breath, pulled out the divorce papers from the drawer, and threw them hard in front of Lily. “You take a good look at this. What is this?” 4 Lily’s gaze locked onto that divorce certificate, the smugness on her face instantly freezing. Her mouth hung open, the curses she’d prepared stuck in her throat. Her expression shifted from triumph to shock, then to panic. The surrounding neighbors also stopped their chatter, all eyes focusing on that suddenly appearing divorce certificate. The air seemed to freeze for a few seconds. “What… what is this?” Lily muttered to herself, as if unable to believe her eyes. I didn’t speak, just stared at her coldly. The next second, she suddenly scrambled up from the floor, snatched up that divorce certificate, then threw it violently to the ground like it was something dirty. “Fake! This is definitely fake! Mia Watson, to clear your name, you actually fabricated that Lucas and I got divorced!” She shrieked. “Lucas and I never got divorced! We have a great relationship. You had someone forge this certificate!” While shouting, she suddenly rushed over and slapped me again. Smack—this one was even harder than before. My other cheek instantly burned with pain, and I even tasted blood at the corner of my mouth. “This is all your fault! If you hadn’t seduced him, why would he have asked me for a divorce! It’s all your fault! You destroyed my family!” This slap completely ignited the emotions of the watching neighbors. Those who had shown some doubt moments ago now seemed to have found an outlet, all pointing and criticizing me. “Exactly, Mia Watson. You must have lured away her husband. Lily is already so miserable, and you’re still trying to blame her!” “You said it yourself—if there’s evidence, you’d move out of the building. Now the proof is ironclad. Don’t try to weasel out!” “Just move out. Our building can’t tolerate someone like you who destroys families!” The condemnations came one after another. They looked at me with contempt and disgust, as if I really were that unforgivable homewrecker. I rubbed my swollen cheek and a cold smile curved my lips. “To catch an affair, you need to catch both parties. You all keep saying I stole her husband—so where is her husband, Lucas Gray?” I looked around at the surrounding neighbors, my voice clear and firm. “This is a society governed by law. Everything requires evidence. And this divorce certificate has the government seal and a registration number. If you don’t believe it, you can verify it!” “Stop making excuses!” A middle-aged woman shouted with her hands on her hips. “Lily’s apartment is full of her husband’s things, and their wedding photo is still hanging on the wall. How could they be divorced? You must have done something!” “Exactly! So stubborn!” Another neighbor chimed in. “Lily, quick, call your husband and have him come confront her. Let’s see how she weasels out then!” Everyone echoed this sentiment, all urging Lily to make the call. Lily’s eyes flickered, a trace of hesitation crossing her face, her earlier arrogance diminished by half. She clutched her phone, her finger hovering over the screen, hesitating to press down. “I can’t… I can’t call…” She said in a low voice: “Lucas is busy right now. I can’t disturb him, or he’ll get angry and be even less willing to come home…” At these words, the surrounding chatter immediately quieted down. A female neighbor in a red jacket frowned, stepped forward, and looked at Lily with disappointment: “What are you doing this for? He already cheated on you, and you’re still trying so hard to win him back? This kind of man isn’t worth it!” “Exactly. You can’t force love. Why torture yourself like this? What’s the point?” Another neighbor also tried to persuade her. Lily’s eyes reddened, but she still stubbornly shook her head: “You don’t understand. Lucas still has feelings for me. It’s all because of this woman that he was confused for a moment…” She spoke, then glared viciously at me again. I took a deep breath, stepped forward, and looked calmly at Lily and the surrounding neighbors: “Since you won’t have him come here, then I’ll just have to take you all there.”

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After my sister ran away from her wedding, I married the Face-Blind CEO in her place. After another late-night sex session, I was scrolling through my phone before bed when I came across a trending post: [What should I do after discovering my wife deceived me?] [I was supposed to marry her sister, but I can’t recognize faces. She took her sister’s place at the wedding and even gave me an adorable daughter.] Someone angrily commented below: [Deception is poison to a marriage! You must divorce her and make her pay!] The poster stayed silent for a moment before replying: [Divorce? That’s not necessary… but punishment is still in order.] I was so scared I couldn’t sleep all night, terrified that Holden Stone would use ruthless methods to destroy me. The next day, I nervously clicked on the update— [This morning when I made eggs, I secretly burned my wife’s portion a little and deliberately didn’t arrange it into a heart shape.] [Even though I know she’s been cutting out sweets lately, I still added an extra half spoon of sugar to her milk.] [When I showered, I also closed the door completely without leaving a gap for her to peek through.] [This way, she should know I’m a bit angry, right?]

The moment I received the news that my sister was returning home, Holden Stone had me pinned against his lap, kissing me. Because he’d caught me talking to the new male intern, he seemed jealous. Tonight’s sex was particularly intense. My voice was hoarse from begging for mercy, but he still wouldn’t let me go. When he carried me to the bathroom to wash up, I was exhausted, my legs trembling. Fortunately, though Holden was clingy in bed, his aftercare was always thorough. Within half an hour, I was back in the soft bed. The man’s strong arms wrapped around my waist, his voice hoarse with satisfaction. As if mentioning it casually. “Baby, do you remember what I hate most?” My whole body stiffened. I unconsciously recalled how when I first married him, Holden didn’t like me. On our wedding night, he threw a contract at me and coldly warned me. “Automatic divorce after five years. By the way, I hate lies more than anything, so don’t let me catch you deceiving me.” Remembering his expression and tone then, I couldn’t help but tremble. I carefully studied his expression and answered in a low voice. “You hate… being lied to most.” Hearing my answer, Holden’s lips curved slightly. As if coaxing me, he murmured. “Then baby, have you ever lied to me?” Though his tone was gentle, I inexplicably detected a hint of danger in it. Alarm bells ringing in my mind, I immediately leaned in, obediently kissed Holden’s lips, and acted cute. “I love you most of all. I could never lie to you!” But the man didn’t answer right away. After a long silence that made cold sweat gradually seep down my back, Holden finally lowered his eyes and gave an emotionless “Mm.” Only then did I breathe a sigh of relief. After confirming Holden was asleep, I took out my phone. I opened the text my sister had sent. [Janelle, I’m coming home the day after tomorrow and won’t be leaving again. Mom told me you married Holden Stone. Is this true?] [When the Stone family proposed a marriage alliance back then, I refused.] [I didn’t expect them to still be so persistent. You and he have never even met—did someone force you to marry him?] Looking at this string of questions, I sighed softly. Yes, I had indeed deceived Holden. Back then, our family had a cash flow problem. Only the Stone family was willing to help, but they had one condition. My sister had to marry into their family. Apparently, Holden had accidentally run into my sister speaking at an academic conference and immediately proposed a marriage alliance. But my sister was devoted to her research and extremely averse to men. She refused without a second thought. Growing up, my sister and I had always been closest. I couldn’t bear to see her forced to marry someone she didn’t love. So that very night, I booked her a plane ticket and encouraged her to flee abroad to escape the wedding. Then I suggested to my panicking parents: “I found out Holden has severe face blindness. My sister and I look so similar—it’ll be the same if I marry him instead!” Desperate and with no other options, my parents accepted my proposal. After marrying Holden, I lived in fear every day, terrified my lie would be exposed. But whenever I thought about how my sister could have her freedom, it all felt worth it. Lost in thought, my phone suddenly refreshed to show a trending post. [What should I do after discovering my wife deceived me?] [I was supposed to marry her sister, but I can’t recognize faces. She took her sister’s place at the wedding and even gave me an adorable daughter.] My fingers froze. I stared at the post. As if possessed, I turned to look. In the moonlight, Holden was sleeping with his eyes closed, his profile refined and aloof. I climbed out of bed and carefully went to the living room. Only then did I click into the post.

The poster’s description was brief, but the comment section exploded. [Substitute bride? Aren’t you the one who can’t even recognize your own wife? The child is already born and only now you’re asking what to do!] [Besides, if she was a substitute bride, she shouldn’t have any feelings for you. You’ve been married so long—didn’t you ever find it strange?] [Right, love and indifference are pretty easy to tell apart, aren’t they?] The poster, who had been silent the whole time, immediately replied to this comment. [There’s no way my wife doesn’t have feelings for me. She loves me very much. If it weren’t for my work, she wouldn’t want to be apart from me for even a moment.] [I believe she must have had her reasons for taking her sister’s place.] [Don’t talk nonsense and try to drive a wedge between my wife and me.] The comment section went silent for a long time. Finally, someone slowly typed out a line. […Top-tier lovebrain. I’ve really seen it all now.] The poster replied again instantly. [Lovebrain? My wife does have a bit of that. She’s beautiful and naive. I often worry about her being deceived by others outside.] The comment section completely erupted. [?? Mind-blowing… Are you sure the lovebrain is your wife?] [It’s obvious who the real lovebrain is! But since you posted this, you must want a solution.] [Right, when it comes down to it, you were still deceived all these years.] [Deception is poison to a marriage! You must divorce her and make her pay!] This time, the poster stayed silent for a moment before replying. [Divorce? That’s not necessary… but punishment is still in order.] After posting that response, no matter how much the comment section goaded him, the poster never replied again. Looking at the poster’s tone, I unconsciously bit my lip. A ridiculous thought suddenly formed in my mind. Both involved arranged marriages, both involved substitute brides, and this poster’s word choices felt strangely familiar. Could this post have been made by Holden? At that thought, I immediately stood up. I carefully pushed open the bedroom door. The room was very dark, and Holden was still sleeping. Biting my lip, to completely dispel my concerns, I walked to Holden’s bedside and picked up his phone. In five years of marriage, I’d never checked Holden’s phone. After all, he was famously aloof and self-controlled, never getting close to women. Recalling the few passwords he commonly used, I quickly unlocked the screen. Before clicking into the app, I hesitated for a few seconds. The next moment, my wrist was caught. A man’s burning chest pressed against my back, his breath highly aggressive, his voice revealing no emotion. “Baby, what are you doing?” I bit my lip hard. My thoughts raced. In my panic, my mouth found an excuse without my control. “My… my phone died, so I’m borrowing yours.” As soon as the words left my mouth, I regretted them. What a terrible excuse. As if Holden would believe it. Unexpectedly, the man was silent for a long time but ultimately said nothing, as if accepting my explanation. Back in bed, my thoughts couldn’t settle for a long time. I didn’t tell Holden that just before he woke up, his phone had received a notification. It was a new comment from the forum. [Why hasn’t the poster replied? You still haven’t said how you’re going to punish your wife. You’re not really going to divorce her, are you?] So that poster really was Holden. Not only did he know I’d deceived him by taking my sister’s place, he was also planning to punish me for the deception. Recalling how the business world had described Holden over the years—vengeful and ruthless—I couldn’t help but shiver. I was done for. I wouldn’t survive tomorrow.

When I woke up the next day, Holden was already up. Since we’d been married, he’d been a good husband and father. He even made breakfast by hand every day according to our tastes. I walked to the dining table slowly, step by step. I looked up at the man who was feeding our daughter breakfast with refined, elegant movements. Taking a deep breath, I spoke softly. “Holden, there’s something I want to tell you…” “Eat breakfast first.” Long fingers pushed a side plate in front of me. Holden’s expression was calm, as if he knew nothing about my deception. I lowered my head and only then noticed the breakfast on the plate. It was no different from what I usually ate—two slices of toast, a fried egg, and vegetables. Even the mayonnaise had been thoughtfully spread for me. Because of last night, I had no appetite. I randomly stuffed a few bites into my mouth and was about to put down my fork. When I looked up, I saw Holden staring at me with deep, meaningful eyes. He raised an eyebrow ambiguously. “You… didn’t notice anything different?” I froze, unconsciously thinking back to the taste of breakfast. But a terrible thought surged in my mind. Could Holden hate me so much that he couldn’t even wait a day and directly poisoned my breakfast? My back went cold. I asked tentatively. “Should I have noticed something different?” Holden was silent for a moment. The expectant look in his eyes dimmed. He withdrew his gaze and answered as if it didn’t matter. “Nothing. I just wanted to casually ask how today’s fried egg was.” I didn’t understand, but I still answered immediately. “Delicious. Your cooking skills keep getting better.” My intention was to please him a bit. So when he settled accounts later, he might spare me. But for some reason, Holden’s expression darkened even more. He stared at me somewhat resentfully. Then looked at the plate in front of me. I thought he was blaming me for not finishing breakfast. I quickly picked up my fork and stuffed the remaining sandwich into my mouth. While eating, I praised: “It’s really good. I like it a lot.” Holden became even more strangely silent. After a long while, as if finally accepting reality, he took our daughter’s hand and walked out. His voice somehow sounded a bit annoyed. “Is that so? Since it’s so good, I’ll make it for you again tomorrow.” I stared at the man’s somewhat dejected back, feeling a bit strange. Holden… seemed angry? But I clearly finished all my breakfast. Men’s hearts are really hard to understand. After Holden left, I quickly took out my phone. I opened last night’s post. Regarding what Holden said last night about punishment, the comments below were dense, but he hadn’t replied to a single one. It wasn’t until a few minutes ago that he finally posted an update. [I punished my wife a bit this morning, but she doesn’t seem to have noticed. Was I not obvious enough?] The comments immediately became lively. [You punished her so quickly! You really are fast. Did you divorce your wife?] [What are you thinking? The city hall isn’t even open at this hour.] [Based on last night’s lovebrain comments, plus the fact that your wife didn’t notice it was punishment… he probably just silently sulked, right?] [It’s not that serious. He probably just secretly looked at his wife a few times less.] The comment section became more and more lively. Holden stayed silent for a long time. Then he first replied to the first comment. [I said I won’t divorce my wife. I swore an oath back then—even if I die, I’ll be with her for life.] [If there are any more comments trying to damage my relationship with my wife, I’ll block you.] After a pause, he replied to the comment about him sulking. [Of course not. I’m a man of principle. I won’t indulge my wife like that.] [But is sulking useful? If it is, I can try it tonight and make sure she knows she was wrong.] Someone in the comments was curious. [How does the poster know your wife didn’t notice the punishment? What if she knew but pretended not to because she felt guilty?] This time Holden replied quickly. [Because she kept smiling at me, making my heart beat so fast I didn’t dare look at her much. That’s definitely not the behavior of someone feeling guilty.] [I understand my wife. She’s so innocent and kind—she wouldn’t fake things with me.] Even though the comment section was already prepared, everyone collectively fell silent again. Instead, Holden himself posted another comment. [When I get home tonight, I’ll definitely punish my wife severely and make her understand the consequences of lying to me!] Looking at these words, my back inexplicably went cold. After thinking it over, I still couldn’t figure out what Holden’s punishment this morning had been. I instinctively wanted to pack my bags and run. But thinking of the Stone family’s influence throughout the country, I ultimately gave up and silently sat back down on the sofa. Only one thought remained in my mind. Tonight was my real death sentence.

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To get to Florida for my medical appointment, I rushed to the airport early in the morning, only to be denied boarding by my husband, Captain Ethan. “The flight’s oversold. Take the next one.” I pulled out my appointment confirmation and begged him to let me on the plane. “I went through so much to get this specialist appointment. If I miss it, I don’t know how long I’ll have to wait. The doctor said my illness can’t be delayed. Our son, Leo, is only three. He can’t grow up without a mother.” He replied sternly, “Rules are rules. Even if you’re family, no exceptions.” Just then, I saw Chloe, the underprivileged student I’d sponsored, arrive late but board smoothly. I was furious. “I was here two hours before her! Even if it’s oversold, shouldn’t I be boarding and she rebooking?!” He flung my hand away, irritated. “Can’t you be a little kinder? What are you arguing with a young girl for? She’s never been to Disney. What’s wrong with letting her go? And stop trying to manipulate me by faking an illness. You’ll set a bad example for our son.”

“It took me so much effort to get this appointment. If I miss it, I’ll have to wait forever.” I explained urgently, “This is life-saving.” Having rushed to the airport early in the morning after pulling an all-nighter, my disheveled appearance earned Ethan’s utter disdain. “What’s all this fuss about? Our airline isn’t refusing to compensate you. We even upgraded your seat. Don’t be so greedy!” I threw the five-hundred-dollar voucher he shoved at me, my emotions crumbling. “I don’t want an upgrade. I just need to get to my appointment on time. The doctor already said that if I don’t get treated soon, it could turn cancerous. Can five hundred dollars compensate me for my life?” Seeing that I wasn’t backing down, Ethan’s face immediately darkened. “Are you done yet? I thought you quit your job to better take care of Leo, but it turns out you just wanted to be lazy and fake illnesses all day at home. It’s one thing to put on an act at home, but now you’re doing it in public? Isn’t that shameful? So much drama, why don’t you try acting?” His harsh words pierced my heart. When I married him, I not only defied my parents’ wishes but also chose to forgo a wedding house and gifts. After we married, he was incredibly gentle with me. The only imperfection was how difficult it was for us to have a child. To fulfill his dream of becoming a father, I endured physical discomfort and psychological pressure, finally conceiving after hundreds of IVF injections. But shortly after Leo was born, I found out that the multiple IVF treatments had stimulated my uterine lining, leading to lesions. Just at this crucial point, Ethan entered a critical phase in his career, about to be promoted from co-pilot to captain. Fearing he’d be distracted, I kept my illness a secret and voluntarily quit my job to be a stay-at-home mom. It wasn’t until the doctor sternly told me that I couldn’t overexert myself, needed more rest, and recommended a specialist in Florida for urgent surgery, that I started to panic. But the specialist was so sought after, I couldn’t get an appointment. To prevent my condition from worsening, I strictly followed medical advice, no longer frequently cleaning the house or doing a lot of daily chores. Ethan’s dissatisfaction grew daily. I thought he would understand and empathize after I explained, but instead, he believed it was just an excuse to avoid housework. Watching the boarding time tick by, I was burning with anxiety and could only bring up Leo. “For Leo’s sake, please let me through. He’s only three, he can’t be without a mom.” Hearing me mention our son, the disdain in his eyes deepened. “You have the nerve to bring up Leo? Making a scene and being a compulsive liar in public, are you fit to be his mother? Aren’t you afraid you’ll set a bad example for him? I advise you to stop playing games. As a captain, I won’t show favoritism. Airline policy states that in cases of overselling, only rebooking is allowed. And you, you’re no exception!” Looking at his “impartial” face, I was utterly disappointed. Just then, a female passenger, Mrs. Davis, came forward and tried to persuade him. “Your wife looks very unwell. She might really be sick. How about I give her my seat? I’m not in a hurry.” My eyes lit up, but Ethan rejected her outright, without a word. “Olivia, don’t think I didn’t see your annual physical report from last year. It clearly states you’re perfectly healthy.” “When did I get a phy—” “Silence!” Ethan rudely interrupted. “Don’t keep using others’ kindness to achieve your ulterior motives.” At his words, Mrs. Davis, who had sympathized with me, immediately gave me a look of mixed emotions. The next second, she walked into the boarding gate without looking back. Left with no choice, I pulled out my electronic appointment confirmation and a screenshot of my medical records. “Ethan, look, I really did book an appointment with an oncology specialist at Florida Affiliated Hospital. I pulled several all-nighters to get this slot, I really can’t afford to miss it.” Ethan didn’t even glance at it, sneering repeatedly. “Your lying skills are getting more sophisticated. Wouldn’t it be better to spend that free time taking care of the family and Leo?” Looking at this man I thought I knew so well, I trembled with anger. “Ethan, in your eyes, am I someone who would joke about her own life?” “Who knows? All I know is that to gain my attention and concern, you’ve completely lost it.” Before he finished speaking, the airport announcement blared for the third time. “Attention Ms. Chloe Thorne, flying to Florida, your flight T2135 is about to depart. Please proceed to Gate 5 immediately.”

Originally, I thought it was just someone with the same name. It wasn’t until she appeared in person that I confirmed she was indeed Chloe Thorne, the underprivileged student I’d sponsored for years. She walked unhurriedly towards the boarding gate. Seeing me there, a flicker of surprise crossed her face. She eyed me up and down, her tone devoid of its usual humility. “Olivia, if Ethan weren’t by your side, I almost wouldn’t have recognized you. Ethan is a captain. You should at least try to look presentable when you go out. How do you expect him to hold his head high in front of his colleagues?” She looked radiant, a stark contrast to my disheveled self. Her subtle taunt made me uncomfortable, but at that moment, I couldn’t care less. I grabbed her hand like a lifeline. “Chloe, I have a life-saving medical appointment today. It’s an emergency. Can you please switch with me and take the next flight?” She immediately looked at Ethan, who frowned, clearly displeased. “Switch? What switch? Every seat corresponds to an individual’s identity information. If everyone did what you’re doing, would there be any safety guarantee?” Then, he looked at her with a doting expression. “Go on in, quickly. Any later, your Disney plans will be ruined.” A smirk played on Chloe’s lips, the glee in her eyes impossible to hide. “It’s a security risk, I really can’t help…” Seeing her refuse, I grew desperate. “Chloe, I’m begging you. I sponsored you from high school through college. I’m only asking you for this one favor, please?” A trace of embarrassment flashed across her face when I mentioned my sponsorship. The onlookers, seeing her hesitation, began to voice their indignation. “Young lady, she helped you for years. If you don’t have anything urgent, just let her go first.” “Look at her, all dressed up in designer clothes. She’s clearly made it big and is now completely ungrateful.” “There are so many ungrateful people these days. You never truly know someone.” The crowd’s murmurs made Chloe’s face flush. Ethan, seeing this, immediately shielded her behind him and loudly reprimanded me. “Olivia, you were so eager to sponsor her back then. Now you’re trying to guilt-trip her? Don’t pretend to be so noble or generous.” To board the plane, I suppressed the urge to lash out at him. “Fine, no switch. I can buy it, right? Chloe, how much was your ticket? I’ll pay you double. If that’s not enough, I’ll cover all your Disney hotel and ticket expenses.” To my surprise, Chloe’s eyes immediately reddened. “I may not be as rich as you, but you can’t just throw money at me like that. What do you think I am?” Seeing her feign distress, Ethan was utterly heartbroken. “Olivia, are you insane? I never knew you were so materialistic. Don’t think you can corrupt a young person’s soul with your dirty money. It’s her first time flying, her first time celebrating her birthday at Disney, and it happens to be the 10th-anniversary celebration. Can money buy that kind of happiness? How vulgar!” He stopped looking at me and eagerly pushed her towards the boarding gate. I snatched the boarding pass from her hand and demanded sharply, “Ethan, she checked in two hours after me. If the flight is oversold, why isn’t she, the latecomer, rebooked, instead of me?!” A gentleman from the crowd leaned in for a closer look and immediately sided with me. “She’s right. She arrived first. Even if there’s a rebooking, it shouldn’t be her.” Hearing the gentleman’s testimony, everyone immediately focused their attention on Ethan. Facing their questioning and scrutinizing gazes, his expression faltered. “It’s… it’s all randomly selected by the airline system. Whoever is chosen has to rebook. And besides, think about it: someone who isn’t sick trying to fake an illness to board, don’t you find her motives suspicious?”

His words made everyone step back simultaneously, looking at me as if I were a hijacker. I closed my eyes heavily. Three years of dating, six years of marriage — this was the man I defied my parents for, sacrificed my career for, risked my life to have a child for, and loved my whole life… My hands clenched into fists, trying to control my emotions. “Ethan, you keep saying I’m faking illness, but you can surely believe the words of my attending physician, right?” I called Dr. Miller. “Dr. Miller, hello, could you please take a few minutes to explain my condition to my husband? He’s not letting me go to Florida for treatment.” Dr. Miller’s voice immediately rose several octaves upon hearing this. “That’s outrageous! Your condition absolutely cannot be delayed. You must go to the hospital immediately!” Ethan snatched the phone, sneering. “Stop acting! I don’t care if you’re Dr. Miller or Dr. anyone else. How much did my wife pay you to act along with her?” He hung up the phone and turned to leave. “The plane is about to take off. Olivia, I’m warning you, go rebook your ticket, and stop disturbing everyone here!” I tightly clutched his sleeve, pleading with a last shred of hope. “Ethan, we’ve known each other for so many years. I swear on our relationship, I’m really sick and I have to go to Florida.” My voice carried the desperation of someone at the end of their rope. A subtle softening appeared in his eyes. Just as he was about to speak, his phone rang. Chloe’s sweet, coy voice carried from the phone. “Ethan, when does the plane take off? She’s already rebooked, right? If she knew you specifically reserved her seat for me, I wonder what she’d think.” My eyes widened in disbelief. “Why would you do this?! What did I ever do to you?! You’d rather give the ticket to Chloe, who arrived late, than let me get medical treatment. Ethan, you’re a monster!” My desperate roar made passersby stare. Seeing the truth exposed, Ethan whispered to me. “Yes, I gave your seat to her. So what? She had a difficult upbringing, didn’t have much of a family. Today is her birthday, why can’t you be a little kinder and let her have this? And don’t you ever look in a mirror before you leave? Even if you’re faking illness, don’t look like a homeless person. It’s an embarrassment!” I looked down at myself: a sweatshirt stained with milk, loose pants, and mismatched shoes. But what could I do? He was never home, always focused on his promotion. Leo had a high fever last night. To avoid affecting his work, I stayed awake at the hospital all night by myself. By the time my mother came to take over at the hospital, I rushed to the airport non-stop. Where would I have had time to wash up and get dressed? Watching his retreating figure disappear into the boarding gate, my heart felt dead. Ten minutes later, the plane I should have been on soared into the sky. For Leo’s sake, I knew I couldn’t give up. I called Dr. Miller again. After understanding the situation, he immediately helped me contact the Florida specialist. Learning that an afternoon slot had opened up due to a last-minute cancellation, I thanked him and rushed to the train station. On the way to Florida, I saw Chloe’s SnapChat updated. She was smiling radiantly in front of a Disney parade float, gently embraced by a man. The caption read: “My first time celebrating my birthday with the one I love most, in my favorite place. So happy!” Although the man’s face wasn’t visible, that figure, that hand… I’d recognize it anywhere. It was Ethan. The scar on his wrist from being bitten by a wild dog when he protected me years ago — I’d never forget it. I silently exited SnapChat and immediately turned off my phone. I don’t know how I arrived at the hospital, or how I signed for the surgery. All I know is that I woke up the next day. When I turned on my phone, besides my mother’s worried messages, there was not a single message from Ethan. It was clear he was lost in his new “paradise,” completely forgetting about me and his responsibilities. Just after I replied to my mother, Chloe’s message came in. “My boyfriend invited me to his promotion party on the 25th. What do you think I should wear to match my style? After yesterday’s boarding incident, I’m sure you’ve guessed who my boyfriend is, right? I advise you to step aside quickly, and stop deluding yourself.” I replied coldly, “Chloe, only decent people deserve to dress up. You’re worse than an animal!” After that, I blocked her. A moment later, Ethan furiously called. “Olivia, you’re getting more and more out of control! Your mother said Leo is sick and hospitalized, and you don’t even care. Do you even act like a mother anymore?” I didn’t respond to his accusation. I just said, seemingly out of the blue, “Our son’s birthday is in three months; he wants to go to Disney. You take him.” He paused for two seconds before demanding, “You’re his mother, why don’t you take him? Don’t you know I’m in a critical period for my promotion? And I’ll be on a business trip on the 25th. You better get back from Florida before I leave…” I hung up before he finished. The surgery was successful. The specialist advised me to stay for a few more days, but I insisted on being discharged early. After being discharged, I immediately had a private investigator track his and Chloe’s every move. I also found a passenger who was at the boarding gate that day. The next day, I went to a law firm with the evidence. Then, I sent the full account of the rebooking incident to a media contact. Soon, the 25th arrived. I quietly arrived at the banquet, put on a mask, and found a quiet corner to sit in. Chloe, dressed in a beautiful, elegant gown, affectionately linked her arm with Ethan’s. They moved through the banquet like a perfect couple. Everyone who saw her smiled and said, “Congratulations, Mrs. Thorne.” Ethan didn’t deny it, and Chloe accepted it readily. As the banquet began, he stood confidently on stage, sharing his flying experience and thanking his superiors for their mentorship. Applause erupted when he finished his speech. Just then, his superior, Director Thompson, quickly came on stage, announcing with a serious face: “We just received the latest notice from the board of directors: all of Captain Thorne’s work is suspended, effective immediately.”

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