Category: English

On the day I went to pick up my wedding dress, I found out the rose lace gown had been replaced. In its place sat a dress covered in heavy tulip embroidery. I asked my fiancé about it. He didn’t even look up from his phone, busy replying to Chloe on Snapchat. He said carelessly, “Chloe likes tulips. She helped me change it.” “Besides, you look the same in everything.” But that rose lace was hand-stitched by my late mother before she passed away. I stared at the unrecognizable dress, unable to speak for a long time. Ethan thought I was about to cry again, and his voice turned impatient. “Don’t make a big deal out of a dress.” “Chloe was just trying to help you. She has better taste than you anyway.” It was only later that I realized it wasn’t just the dress. The entire wedding venue had been redesigned into a pink tulip theme—Chloe’s favorite. I used to think this was our wedding. But it turned out I was just a stand-in, meant to stand under the spotlight to complete a wedding that Chloe never got to have. Roses wither, and I didn’t want to love him anymore.

After leaving the bridal boutique, we went to our new house, which was still under renovation. The moment I pushed the door open, I was greeted by a sea of tulips. Ethan assumed I was going to throw a tantrum again. “It’s just decor. As long as it’s livable, it’s fine.” I picked up a small, tulip-shaped nightlight and whispered, “But you promised me we would use a rose theme. My favorite…” Ethan reached out and grabbed my wrist. His fingers were cold against my skin. His tone was still patronizing, like he was pacifying a spoiled child. “Hazel, the renovation is almost done. If you throw a fit now, the workers will have to redo everything. It’s not worth the hassle.” I looked at the massive oil painting of tulips hanging in the living room. “I didn’t ask them to redo it.” Ethan relaxed his grip slightly, looking satisfied with my obedience. “Good. Chloe actually came by today to check on things. She said this painting would make the living room look brighter.” I smiled faintly. “She really put a lot of effort into this.” “She knows about these things,” Ethan said, pulling out his phone to text. His thumbs flew across the screen. “Not like you, always clinging to old things.” Old things. My mother’s legacy had become a disposable “old thing” in his eyes. The interior designer standing nearby looked uncomfortable. He held up his tablet and asked in a low voice, “Mr. Miller, should we still go with the champagne sheets Hazel chose for the master bedroom?” Ethan didn’t look up. “No, change it to white. Chloe has trouble sleeping. Don’t use heavy colors.” The designer froze and glanced at me quickly. Ethan realized what he had just said. His brow furrowed, but he quickly recovered his composure. “I mean, Chloe helped test the lighting in here. Her advice is professional. Don’t overthink it.” I nodded. “I won’t.” He seemed choked by my calm response. He stared at me. “Why are you acting so weird today?” I didn’t answer. I turned and walked into the walk-in closet. The shelves had been lowered. The hanging section had been adjusted to the height of the long dresses Chloe usually wore. I had told Ethan before that I had a lot of long winter coats and needed a tall closet. At the time, Ethan told me our house wasn’t a warehouse, telling me not to make it look like a cheap rental. But with one word from Chloe about her dresses, the closet was rebuilt to fit her. I pulled open a drawer and found a small, cream-colored ceramic deer. It wasn’t mine. Ethan walked in. Seeing the deer, he paused, then picked it up and set it aside. “Chloe must have left it here. I’ll have her take it back later.” I asked, “How many times has she been here?” “It’s a renovation. Of course she had to come,” Ethan said, his voice cold. “You’re always busy with work. I asked her to supervise to save you the trouble.” “Does she have a key?” Ethan locked his phone screen and let out a dry laugh. “Hazel, do you have to make everything sound so ugly? She came here to help, not to rob us.” I looked at him. “I just asked if she had a key.” Just then, the sound of a key turning in the lock came from the front door. Chloe walked in carrying a bakery bag. Her movements were as natural as if she were coming home. “Ethan, I bought your favorite chestnut cake. I brought one for Hazel too.” She saw me, her smile unchanging. “Am I interrupting?” Ethan naturally took the bag from her hand. “No. She was just saying how much she appreciates your help.” Chloe smiled. “Don’t be so polite, Hazel! Your future home is so important. Of course I want to help you guys make it perfect.” I looked down at the soft slippers she was wearing. There was only one pair of guest slippers in the shoe rack. They were light yellow, one size smaller than mine. Ethan followed my gaze. His patience finally snapped. “They’re just slippers. She comes over a lot, so we left a pair here so she doesn’t have to keep taking her shoes off.” Chloe bit her lip gently. “Maybe I should take them back. Hazel might mind.” “No need,” Ethan decided for her. “She’s not that petty.” I reached into my bag, pulled out my copy of the house key, and placed it on the console table. “Then leave this key here too.” Ethan looked at the key, his face darkening. “What is that supposed to mean?” I said, “You two clearly need it more.” He stared at me for a few seconds, trying to figure out if I was truly angry or just trying to make him apologize. Chloe spoke first. “Hazel, please don’t misunderstand. Ethan and I grew up together. We have habits we can’t change, but we are really just friends.” Ethan chimed in quickly. “You heard her. Stop acting like this, or she won’t even dare to help us anymore.” I picked up my bag. “Okay.” Ethan grabbed my wrist again, harder this time. “I’ll have the driver take you home. I have a business dinner tonight. Don’t call my mom and complain about this nonsense.” I looked up at him. “What are you afraid I’ll say?” “I’m afraid you’ll blow things out of proportion,” he whispered. “The wedding is in three months. Don’t make both of our families look bad.” Three months. We had been engaged for two years. The day we finally set the date, I had circled it on my calendar three times in pure excitement. Now, that house was filled with Chloe’s presence. The designer packed up his things to leave. As he passed me, his tablet screen lit up. I saw the project name written at the top of the file.

“Recreation of Chloe’s Old Apartment.” I stood in the elevator, the words on the screen burning into my mind. Ethan ran out just as the elevator doors were closing. He blocked the door with his hand, his voice thick with anger. “Hazel, are you seriously throwing a tantrum over a project name?” I looked at his cufflinks. “You saw it?” “So what if I did?” He stepped inside and pressed the button for the lobby. “Chloe’s old place had great aesthetics. It’s normal for the designer to use it as inspiration.” I asked, “Why are we recreating her old apartment for our future home?” Ethan pinched the bridge of his nose. “Do you have to be this dramatic? I bought the house, and I paid for the renovation. Is it a crime for me to choose a style I find comfortable?” The reflective metal walls of the elevator showed my pale face. I said, “No, it’s not.” Ethan actually looked angrier. “Hazel, this silent treatment is more annoying than yelling.” The elevator doors opened on the first floor. Chloe’s voice echoed from behind us. “Ethan, don’t yell at her. It’s all my fault.” She held out the ceramic deer to me. “Take this as an apology. I used to love it, and Ethan said it would look great on your master bedroom windowsill.” Ethan looked at the deer, his eyes softening for a split second. I suddenly remembered my birthday three years ago. He had given me a rose brooch. He said it reminded him of me—quiet, elegant, and peaceful. Later, when Chloe returned to the country, that brooch disappeared, and I never saw it again. I didn’t take the deer. “Since you like it so much, keep it.” Chloe’s hand froze in midair. Ethan snatched the deer and said coldly, “She’s offering it to you. Just take it. Don’t embarrass her.” I looked him in the eye. “I don’t want someone else’s leftovers.” Chloe turned pale. Ethan’s expression changed instantly. “Hazel, apologize.” Workers were moving in and out of the lobby, and the designer was still nearby. Several pairs of eyes quietly drifted over to us. I asked, “Why?” “You’re being hurtful,” Ethan said, gripping my shoulder. His grip wasn’t painful, but it kept me from pulling away. “Chloe is just trying to be nice. Why are you being so passive-aggressive?” Chloe whispered, “It’s fine, Ethan. I don’t want to make Hazel uncomfortable.” Ethan didn’t let go of me. “I’ve spoiled her too much. She doesn’t even have basic manners anymore.” I looked at the ceramic deer. One of its ears was chipped and carefully glued back together, leaving a faint line on the glaze. Chloe suddenly said, “Actually, Ethan originally gave this deer to me. I just thought it would fit nicely in your new home.” Ethan frowned. “Chloe.” She acted as if she had let a secret slip and quickly looked down. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.” I laughed. So, it wasn’t her old belongings she wanted to give me. It was a keepsake Ethan had given her, and they wanted to display it in my house. Afraid I would ask more questions, Ethan shoved the deer into my hands. “Just take it. It’s just a decoration. Stop making a scene.” The sharp edges of the broken ceramic pressed into my palm. My hands trembled, and I dropped it. The deer shattered in two on the concrete floor. Chloe gasped. Ethan’s face went completely dark. “Hazel!” I knelt down to pick up the pieces. A sharp edge sliced my finger, and a bead of blood welled up. Ethan saw it. His hand twitched, but he chose to shield Chloe first. “Don’t look, Chloe. Be careful not to get cut.” Chloe hid behind him. “Hazel, I know you don’t like me, but you didn’t have to do that.” I gathered the shards in my hand. “How much was it? I’ll pay you back.” Ethan stared at my bleeding hand, his voice dropping. “This isn’t about money.” I asked, “Then what is it about?” He didn’t answer. The designer carefully handed me a tissue. “Hazel, you should wrap your finger first.” Ethan took the tissue and was about to hand it to me when his phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID and answered immediately. “Hi, Aunt Beverly. Yes, Chloe is with me. Don’t worry.” Chloe leaned in close to listen, her face instantly softening. The voice on the other end was loud and clear. “Ethan, how is your new house with Chloe coming along? I’m coming back to town soon, and I want to be the first to see it!” I squeezed the shards in my hand and looked up at Ethan. He was silent for a second, then quickly replied, “It’s almost done. I’ll bring her over then.” Ah. So it was their house all along.

I didn’t ask Ethan who Aunt Beverly was. And he didn’t offer to explain. The next day, Ethan’s mother, Eleanor, invited me to try on dresses for the after-party. When I arrived at the boutique, Chloe was already sitting on the sofa, a designer shawl draped over her shoulders. Eleanor smiled and waved. “Hazel, you’re here! Come look. Chloe has great taste; she picked out a few dresses for you.” I looked at the rack of dresses. They were all high-waisted with short trains and very narrow shoulder lines. I said, “These don’t really suit my style.” Eleanor’s smile faded slightly. “You’re getting married, Hazel. It’s always best to listen to your elders and those with experience. Chloe has been to many high-society weddings; she knows better than you.” Chloe stood up and pulled a dress off the rack. “This one is beautiful. Ethan would love it.” I asked, “It’s my wedding. Why does everything have to be about what he likes?” Eleanor paused with her teacup halfway to her lips. “Hazel, don’t be so petty. Ethan is busy. You should be more supportive of him.” Chloe added softly, “Ethan likes clean, simple looks. If you wear something too flashy, he won’t be used to it.” The assistant took the dresses to the fitting room, but I stood still. Eleanor finally frowned. “What is wrong with you lately? You’ve been so stubborn. The house design, the decoration, and now the dresses—nothing seems to please you.” I looked at her. “Did you know my wedding dress was replaced?” Eleanor paused. “Chloe mentioned it to me. The old dress was a bit outdated and didn’t fit the theme.” I nodded. “My mother made that dress before she died.” The room went dead silent. Chloe’s eyes welled with tears instantly. “Hazel, I really didn’t know. If I had known, I never would have suggested changing it…” Eleanor softened her tone. “That was indeed a misunderstanding. But Ethan just wanted the wedding to look perfect. Don’t hold a grudge over this.” Suddenly, I felt a deep sense of exhaustion. They all knew I was wronged. But they were more afraid of Chloe feeling uncomfortable. When Ethan pushed the door open and walked in, Eleanor looked at him like he was a savior. “Ethan, thank God you’re here. Hazel keeps saying these dresses don’t suit her.” Ethan glanced at the rack. “Chloe picked them?” Chloe nodded. “I was just making suggestions.” “Then pick one of these,” Ethan said, walking over to me. He gently smoothed a strand of hair over my shoulder. “Hazel, don’t make everyone waste their day here.” I raised my eyes to meet his. “What if I don’t want to wear any of them?” His hand froze. His voice was low and warning. “The wedding isn’t just about you.” I laughed. “The house isn’t mine, the wedding dress isn’t mine, and I can’t even choose my own party dress. Whose wedding is this anyway?” Ethan stared at me, his eyes flashing with a clear warning. “There are people around. Stop talking nonsense.” Chloe pleaded softly, “Hazel, don’t misunderstand. Ethan just wants everything to go smoothly.” I turned and walked into the fitting room without another word. As the assistant helped me zip up the dress, my phone buzzed. It was a message from the designer. “Hazel, I asked around about the rose dress you mentioned. Mr. Miller said not to keep it. Chloe said she didn’t like it either, so they had it sent to the warehouse.” Below was a photo. In a dusty corner of a warehouse lay the rose dress my mother had made for me. It was torn, and the hem was covered in dirt. I stared at the photo, a cold numbness spreading through my chest. The assistant asked, “Hazel, is the zipper too tight?” I replied, “A little.” When I walked out, Ethan looked up. He seemed satisfied. His tone softened. “This one looks decent.” Chloe, however, froze. Her fingers tightened around her shawl. Eleanor smiled. “If Chloe had had her wedding back then, she probably would have looked just like this.” Ethan’s face tightened. “Mom.” Eleanor realized her slip of the tongue and took a sip of her tea to cover it up. “I was just talking.” I looked at the mirror. The girl in the reflection was wearing a dress handpicked by Chloe, standing next to Ethan. She looked like an old, faded photograph where someone had pasted my face over Chloe’s. Through the crack of the fitting room door, I saw a folder lying on the table. I bent down to pick it up. On the cover, it read: Wedding Ceremony Timeline & Preferences.

Under Bride’s Style Preferences, the name listed was: Chloe. I put the folder back down, my fingers lingering on the cover. Ethan walked over. “What are you looking at?” I looked up. “Why does the wedding plan list Chloe’s preferences?” He glanced at it, his expression unchanged. “The planning company was lazy. They used her old event template. I’ll have them change it.” Chloe spoke up immediately. “I sent them some inspiration files earlier. They must have gotten confused. Hazel, please don’t be mad.” I looked at Ethan. “Is it really just a misunderstanding?” His patience was entirely gone. “What else would it be? Hazel, are you going to act like the whole world owes you just because you see Chloe’s name?” I didn’t ask further. That afternoon, I went to the warehouse alone. The manager searched for a long time before bringing out the rose dress. “Mr. Miller’s assistant said to throw it away, but we didn’t dare, so we kept it here.” The skirt was creased and covered in dust. I used a tissue to wipe it clean, bit by bit. My phone rang. It was a text from Ethan. “Aunt Beverly is coming over to the new house for dinner tonight. Be there. And don’t pull a face.” I texted back: “Okay.” The dinner was held at the new house. When I arrived, the dining table was set right under the tulip painting. Chloe was holding an old lady’s arm, smiling sweetly. Seeing Ethan, Aunt Beverly’s eyes lit up. “Ethan, Chloe, this new house is beautiful! It looks just as cozy as Chloe’s old apartment.” Ethan didn’t correct her. I stood at the door, my hands freezing as I took off my coat. Chloe saw me first, her smile faltering slightly. “Hazel, you’re here.” Aunt Beverly blinked. “And who is this?” Ethan finally spoke. “Aunt Beverly, this is Hazel.” He didn’t introduce me as his fiancée. Aunt Beverly looked between the three of us, then nodded with a smile. “Oh, a friend! Come in, sit down.” Ethan whispered to me in a low, cold voice, “She has a heart condition. She can’t handle stress. Don’t say anything stupid.” I asked, “What do you mean by stupid?” He stared at me. “Don’t mention the wedding, and don’t mention our relationship. I’ll explain everything to you after dinner.” I smiled softly. “Ethan, you invited me here to play the role of a guest in my own home?” He lowered his voice. “It’s just one dinner.” Chloe walked over, looking apologetic, but her voice was loud enough for everyone to hear. “Hazel, Aunt Beverly took care of Ethan and me when we were younger. She always thought we would end up together. I just don’t want to break her heart.” I said, “So I should be understanding.” Ethan cut in quickly. “It’s best if you can.” At the dinner table, Aunt Beverly kept putting food on Chloe’s plate. “Chloe loved this dish when she was a kid. You remember, don’t you, Ethan?” Ethan deboned a piece of fish and placed it in Chloe’s bowl. “I remember.” Aunt Beverly clapped happily. “Ethan always knows how to take care of you. Seeing you two together makes me so happy.” Chloe glanced at me, her face flushed. “Aunt Beverly, stop it.” Ethan drank his water, offering no correction. I sat at the very edge of the table. The light from the tulip lamp above was dim, making the food look gray and unappetizing. Aunt Beverly suddenly looked at me. “My dear, do you have a boyfriend?” The table went dead silent. Ethan looked up, his eyes filled with a clear warning. I put my fork down. “I used to.” Ethan’s brow furrowed. Aunt Beverly didn’t catch the tension. “What about now?” I said, “Not for much longer.”

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My boyfriend told his friend in French that the twelve-carat diamond ring was for the woman he had never been able to forget. As for me, he said he’d keep me by his side with no real commitment. But Shawn Foster didn’t know I grew up in Paris, and French was my native language. He knew even less that the girl he called “from a modest family” and “unable to live without him” was the daughter of the richest man in the world—and the mysterious designer Lune he had been desperately searching for. Chapter 1 Wendy Wells POV My name is Wendy Wells. That afternoon, while I was ironing a shirt for my boyfriend, Shawn Foster, I found a ring box. The moment I opened it, my heart started pounding so fast it felt like I was having a heart attack. A twelve-carat pear-cut diamond refracted a blinding fire under the fluorescent light. We had been together for seven years. For the past two, every time I tentatively brought up going home to meet my parents or getting married, he would smile and tell me to wait a little longer. He said we should wait until the company was more stable. He said he didn’t want me to settle for less. I had thought his feelings for me had faded. So it turned out he had been secretly preparing this all along. My fingers trembled a little as I carefully slid the ring onto my ring finger. It got stuck. The ring stopped at my second knuckle and would not go any farther, squeezing so tightly that the base of my finger turned red. It was too small. I froze for a moment, then shook my head with an amused little smile and took it off, putting it back into the box. Seven years ago, my fingers had been slender and fair, untouched by any household work. All these years, I had taken care of his food, clothes, and daily life. I had stayed up with him late into the night revising proposals. In winter, I had personally washed the bespoke shirts he refused to let the housekeeper touch. My fingers had grown at least one size thicker. A designer’s hands had slowly become a housewife’s hands, the knuckles swelling by a full circle. And he had actually bought it according to my size from back then. That careless idiot. I carefully slipped the ring off and put it back in the box exactly as it had been. I couldn’t let him find out. I had to let him follow his own plan. As for the size, I would just hint at it tonight. When he proposed, I would pretend to be surprised. But no matter what, I couldn’t press down the corners of my mouth. My mind was full of thoughts. How would he propose? What would he say to me? I was in a good mood the entire afternoon. That night, as usual, I personally stewed his favorite seafood soup and pushed open the door to his study. Shawn Foster was leaning back in his chair, on a phone call. His long legs were crossed, his figure tall and sharp, his posture effortlessly refined. When he saw me come in, he lifted his eyes and smiled at me. Then he hooked an arm around my waist and pulled me onto his lap. The man on the other end spoke fluent French with a Parisian accent, his tone full of teasing. It was his childhood friend, Luke Bennett. “The ring arrived? You’re really going to propose?” Shawn Foster casually stroked my wrist, his voice lazy as he answered in French as well. “Yeah. I had someone get it from an auction in Antwerp. Twelve carats, specially customized to fit her size.” Leaning against his chest, I secretly curved my lips and fed him a spoonful of soup. “Not bad. That’s a pretty big move.” Luke Bennett whistled. “Is Fiona Quinn worth you spending that kind of money?” My whole body went stiff. The ring wasn’t for me! “Of course she is. Back then, I wasn’t good enough for her.” Shawn Foster lowered his head and kissed the tip of my ear. “Now that I have the ability, I owe her an answer.” “Damn. I never thought I’d see the day Shawn Foster got tied down. Then what about Wendy Wells? What are you planning to tell her?” Shawn Foster leaned back in his chair, his tone carrying that familiar indifference I knew too well. “The wedding won’t be big. Just a few people we know well. I can keep the news under control. It won’t reach Wendy’s ears.” “You mean you’re going to hide it from her? For how long?” Shawn Foster was silent for a moment, then glanced at me. “As long as I can.” “Aren’t you afraid she’ll find out and leave?” Shawn Foster rubbed his brow, his tone turning serious. “Wendy won’t leave. She loves me that much, and her family doesn’t have any real background. Her social circle all these years exists because she followed me into it. Her parents are probably dying for me to marry her. Tell me, if she leaves me, where can she go?” The man on the other end laughed suggestively. “Shawn, that’s pretty ruthless. She’s been your girlfriend for seven years, and now she’s turning into your mistress?” Shawn Foster’s face darkened. He rubbed my hair. “Don’t talk nonsense. I do have feelings for Wendy. It’s been seven years. How could I not? She treats me well and worries about everything for me. I know all of that.” He paused, as if choosing his words. “But Fiona is different. You know how devastated I was when she left back then. Now that she’s come back, I don’t want to miss my chance again.” I lowered my head and looked at my own hand. That afternoon, when I had tried on the ring, it had left a faint indentation on my knuckle. So it wasn’t that he had carelessly remembered my size wrong. That ring had never been meant for me from the very beginning. Seven years. I never knew the person he truly wanted to marry had never been me. Just like he didn’t know that the person in his arms had never been some little girl without any powerful family background. Just like he didn’t know that the mysterious designer Lune, whom the whole world was desperately searching for, was right now in his arms. Seven years ago, Dad asked me to come home for an arranged marriage alliance. I had a huge fight with him and sat by the river crying. Shawn Foster thought I was upset over something and stayed with me the whole night. He talked to me about his dreams. He said he wanted to build his own fashion group and make everyone who looked down on him regret it. The fire in his eyes drew me in. It made me willing to wager everything on him. We naturally ended up together. I took off the Wells family name, moved out of a luxury apartment in the city center and into his two-hundred-square-foot rental, and told him I was from an ordinary family too. I accompanied him as he founded AVEUN, secretly sending him money and resources. The three earliest rounds of financing for AVEUN were quietly injected by me under the name of an investment company owned by Wells Group. Later, AVEUN needed a designer who could hold up its image. Shawn Foster searched everywhere, but he was never satisfied. One late night, while Shawn Foster was asleep, I submitted my designs to AVEUN’s official email under the name Lune. That collection later became AVEUN’s most classic series, and it was also the foundation that turned Shawn Foster into a legend in the industry. Simon Foster said signing Lune was the best bargain he had ever made in his life. But to this day, no one knew who Lune was. Not even Shawn Foster himself. All he knew was that Lune refused all interviews, never attended any events, communicated only through email, and was a genius but eccentric person. He didn’t know that genius slept beside him every night, making him coffee and ironing his shirts every day. From the days when he couldn’t afford to rent an office and could only sketch in a rental apartment, to now, when his AVEUN Group had become the hottest fashion group in the country, I had always been there. But he had never once brought up marriage. At first, I understood. Back then, he had nothing. The one-bedroom apartment he rented did not even have a decent bed. He said, “When I’m worthy of you.” I smiled and said okay. Later, the company secured its first round of financing. Then it signed several major celebrity endorsements. Then AVEUN’s annual revenue broke two billion. His reason became, “Wait a little longer. This year is too busy.” After that, it became, “What’s the rush? It’s not like I’m going anywhere.” In the past two years, he had already become unwilling to even hear me mention it. “All right, let’s stop talking. My Wendy should be getting sleepy.” He hung up the phone, lowered his head, kissed my forehead, and asked gently in Chinese, “What are you thinking about?” “I was thinking about what you two were talking about.” I lowered my head, hiding my emotions. “Just work. What’s there to think about?” Shawn Foster laughed softly, picked up the bowl, and took a sip of soup, his features relaxing. “I’m going to shower. Let’s sleep early tonight.” The sound of running water came from the bathroom. My phone vibrated. It was the monthly email from Paris, from the family legal team. [Miss Wells: Your father asked me to pass on a message. The family is ready to welcome you back at any time.] I glanced in the direction of the bathroom and calmly replied with four words: [Arrange the return trip.] Since you think I can’t live without you. Then I’ll take everything I gave you and leave you forever. Chapter 2 Wendy Wells POV The next morning, I woke up to my biological clock. The other half of the bed was empty, and the blankets had already gone cold. In the past, I had always been the first to get up every morning, make breakfast, and then wake him, just so he could stay in bed for ten more minutes. His work was busy. I felt bad for him. Yet today, he had actually gotten up earlier than me. Wrapped in my sleepwear, I walked out of the bedroom and saw Shawn Foster standing in front of the full-length mirror in the walk-in closet. A brand-new bespoke suit, newly changed cuff links, and his hair freshly styled. He looked even more meticulous than he did for a brand launch. He changed three ties in front of the mirror. When he saw me in the mirror, he turned his head and smiled. His brows carried an undisguisable good mood. “Why are you awake? Sleep a little longer.” “Why are you up so early today?” “There’s an important meeting at the company. I have to get there early.” As he spoke, he was still adjusting his cuffs, a smile hanging at the corners of his mouth. I leaned against the doorframe and watched him. Shawn Foster worked in fashion, so his taste in clothing had never been bad. But he also never dressed this carefully on an ordinary workday. Unless the person he was seeing today was worth him getting up at six and fussing in front of the mirror. I drew in a breath and decided to give this seven-year relationship one last chance. I tried to make my tone sound as casual as possible. “Shawn, come home with me next week. My parents want to meet you.” His hands paused on the buttons, but he did not turn around. “There’s a major project going on lately. I can’t get away. Next time.” In seven years, I had heard “next time” far too many times. I didn’t say anything else. Forget it. After fastening his cuff links, he walked over, bent down, and kissed the top of my head, his voice gentle. “I have to work overtime tonight. I might be home very late. Eat dinner by yourself. Don’t wait for me.” With that, he headed out, his steps so light he looked as if he were going to some long-awaited appointment. The door closed, and the living room fell quiet. His phone was lying quietly on the shoe cabinet in the living room. He had left in such a hurry that he forgot to take it. The screen lit up automatically, and an unread message popped up. Contact name: Fiona. [Shawn, it’s been seven years. I missed you so much. See you at the airport in a bit.] Getting up at six, changing three ties, smiling so brightly his eyes nearly flew off his face—so he was going to pick her up at the airport. The front door was suddenly pushed open. Shawn Foster had come back, his footsteps hurried. He strode to the entryway and picked up his phone. The instant his fingertip lit the screen, his movements stiffened for a split second. He looked up at me, a trace of nervousness in his gaze. “Wendy, did you look at my phone just now?” Curled up on the sofa and holding a cup of water, I lifted my head at his words, my expression innocent. “No. Why?” He looked at me for two seconds, searching my face. Then his shoulders relaxed, and his brow smoothed out. He came over, wrapped an arm around my waist, lowered his head, and kissed the corner of my mouth, his voice soft. “Nothing. Love you.” The door closed for the second time, and the sound of the car engine gradually faded. “Love you.” He said those two words several times a day. Before, I had believed every single one. I knew who Fiona was. Fiona Quinn, one of the film industry’s most famous actresses. She had been working overseas these past few years, and this year she had just received a Cannes Best Actress nomination. Her red-carpet looks had swept the headlines of every major fashion media outlet. Seven years ago, she had only been Shawn Foster’s college girlfriend. They had dated for four years, from freshman year until graduation. The year they graduated, Shawn Foster took his business plan everywhere and hit wall after wall. Fiona Quinn disliked that he was poor and had no future. She left him with the words, “You can’t give me the life I want,” then turned around and entered the entertainment industry. When Shawn Foster met me, it had been less than a month since he was dumped. He had told me about Fiona Quinn. Back then, he held me and spoke very seriously. “Fiona Quinn is my ex. She’s in the past. Wendy, you’re my true love.” I believed him for seven whole years. But all it took was for his ex to buy a plane ticket back, and he rushed right up to her. My phone rang. It was a video call from my brother, William Wells. “Wendy, Dad said you’re coming back? Did Shawn Foster bully you?” “No. I just miss you guys.” “Don’t try that with me. Say the word, and I’ll fly over tomorrow and take his legs off—” The phone was snatched away. Dad’s voice was much gentler, carrying a cautious tentativeness. “Wendy, if you miss home, then come back. You’ve been out there for seven years. It must have been hard, right? I won’t push you into an arranged marriage alliance anymore. Come back, and you can do whatever you want.” I clenched my phone, my eyes burning. I had been stupid. I had rejected the family who genuinely loved me and trusted Shawn Foster with my whole heart. My dad loved me so much. How could the marriage partner he chose for me possibly be bad? “Dad, I’m willing to come back for the arranged marriage alliance.” The other end of the call went quiet. After a long while, Dad laughed, but halfway through, his voice caught. “Good. Good! Next week, I’ll have William take the private jet to pick you up!” He paused, then his tone softened. “Oh, right, sweetheart. Today is your birthday. Happy birthday, my good girl.” Tears splashed onto my phone screen. “Thank you, Dad.” Chapter 3 Wendy Wells POV All day today, my phone never stopped. My college classmates’ group chat filled two whole screens with birthday wishes. My best friend sent several sixty-second voice messages in a row, screaming as she asked what gift I wanted. The design team in Paris sent over a huge bouquet of white roses by international air freight. On the card was a line printed in French: Joyeux anniversaire, Lune. Everyone remembered what day it was. Shawn Foster used to remember too. When we were poor, he brought home the cheapest bouquet of carnations from a roadside flower shop and put them in a washed paper cup in the rental apartment. The cake was a discounted little cake from the supermarket, only big enough for one thin candle. He held me and said, “When I have money, I’ll definitely give you the grandest birthday.” Later, he really did. A reserved cruise ship, tens of millions in jewelry, fireworks blooming over the sea all night, and LED screens across the city scrolling the words “Happy Birthday, Wendy Wells.” In seven years, he had never missed my birthday. This year was different. Fiona Quinn had come back, and he had forgotten my birthday. Over the course of the day, I packed up all my things. In the walk-in closet, the things he had given me over the years filled an entire wall. Limited-edition bags, haute couture gowns, jewelry sets bought at auctions—each piece was worth a fortune. The cabinet beside it held the things I had given him. A Patek Philippe annual calendar, Hermes platinum cuff links, and a vintage leather blazer he’d been hunting for years. I had someone search the vintage shops in Tokyo for three months before finally finding it. I called the housekeeper over. “Auntie Lily, pack all of these up. Contact a charity and have them donated by the end of today.” Auntie Lily froze. “Miss Wells, all of this together must be worth over a hundred million…” “Yes. So donating it can help a lot of people.” Auntie Lily didn’t dare ask any more questions. She called people over to pack and move everything. By evening, more than half of the walk-in closet was empty, and the house looked as if it had gone through a move. I barely ate a few bites at dinner. My stomach felt awful, and I wanted to throw up. At first, I thought it was because I had barely eaten all day and was overly hungry. Until the third time I dry-heaved, I supported myself against the sink and suddenly remembered something. My period had not come this month. Half an hour later, I sat on the edge of the bathtub with a pregnancy test in my hand, staring at the two red lines, my mind completely blank. My phone screen lit up. It was a push notification for an entertainment news article. [Famous actress Fiona Quinn quietly returns to the country, escorted the entire way through the airport by mystery gentleman in full VIP treatment] In the attached photo, Fiona Quinn was wearing sunglasses while a man’s hand protected her waist as she passed through the crowd. The photo did not capture the man’s face. But I recognized the watch on that wrist. A Patek Philippe 5270P, perpetual calendar chronograph, limited worldwide release. It was the thirtieth birthday gift I had given Shawn Foster. My phone vibrated again. Shawn Foster sent me a WeChat message. Wendy, I have to work late at the office tonight, so I won’t be coming home. Go to sleep first. Love you. I looked at the pregnancy test, then at the message. The irony felt like a play whose script had already been written. We used to lie in bed and talk countless times about having children someday. He said their eyes should look like mine, their nose like his. He said if it was a daughter, we would name her Nina Foster; if it was a boy, Grant Foster. He said once the company was a little more stable, we would have one. The child had come, but his heart was already gone. I didn’t even know if anything he said back then had been sincere. I didn’t sleep that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him kissing me while saying he needed to give Fiona Quinn an answer. I saw the hand in the airport photo, shielding Fiona. I held back for a long time, but in the end, I still couldn’t stop myself from calling him. It rang for a long time. No one answered. After a while, I called again. His phone was off. Clutching my phone, I curled up on the sofa and finally couldn’t hold it together anymore. I cried the entire night. Seven years of feelings couldn’t be cut off just because I said so. Especially not when there was another life inside me. The next morning, I got up with my eyes so swollen I could barely open them. The person in the mirror looked haggard beyond recognition. I decided to go to the hospital first and get checked, just to confirm it. When the car passed through an intersection, a truck running a red light slammed into us from the side. After the deafening crash, a sharp pain shot through my leg, and something warm trickled down my calf. I was still conscious enough to dial Shawn Foster’s number. The number you have dialed is powered off. Chapter 4 Wendy Wells POV In the end, a passerby called an ambulance for me. When I arrived at the hospital, a nurse pushed me into the emergency room. As we rounded the corner by the outpatient hall, I turned my head and saw Shawn Foster. He was standing in front of the registration desk, slightly bent over, filling out a form for the woman beside him. Fiona Quinn was leaning against his shoulder, looking as if she wasn’t feeling well. As Shawn filled out the form, he turned his head to speak to her, his tone gentle and patient, like he was coaxing a sick child. My injuries weren’t too serious. My leg needed seven stitches. But the doctor’s expression was a little grave. “Ms. Wells, the external wound on your leg has been treated. But your abdomen suffered an impact, and judging from the examination results…” She glanced at the report in her hand. “You were about six weeks pregnant. Unfortunately, due to the force of the car accident, the fetus could not be saved.” I stared at the ceiling and said nothing. Last night, I had cried all night over those two red lines, asking myself over and over whether I wanted this child. Now I didn’t have to ask anymore. The doctor was still explaining the post-op precautions when the door to the ward was suddenly pushed open. Shawn Foster rushed in. “Wendy? It really is you.” He strode to the bedside, his gaze sweeping over the gauze and stitches on my leg. His expression changed. “How did you get hurt? What happened? Why didn’t you call me?” The doctor was still standing beside us and took over. “Hello, sir. The patient was in a car accident this morning. Her leg required seven stitches, and in addition, because her abdomen suffered an impact, it caused a miscar—” “I did call.” I cut the doctor off and looked at Shawn Foster. “Your phone was off.” Shawn froze. Almost instinctively, he took out his phone and glanced at it. The screen was lit, with full signal. I watched the changes in his expression. First confusion, then a flash of guilt. He lowered his head and quickly swiped on his phone a few times before hiding the screen again. “Sorry. I was too busy working overtime yesterday. My phone ran out of battery and shut off by itself. I didn’t know you called.” He was lying. I knew what he was doing. He was taking my number off the blacklist. And he wasn’t the one who had blocked me. Fiona Quinn was. “Shawn…” a weak female voice came from the doorway. Fiona Quinn stood there, holding onto the doorframe. Over her hospital gown, she had draped Shawn Foster’s suit jacket, and her face was even paler than when I had seen her in the hall. Shawn immediately turned and went to her, one hand supporting her waist, the other holding her arm. His voice was full of tension and reproach. “Why did you get out of bed? The doctor told you to stay in bed and rest.” Fiona leaned weakly into his arms, her gaze passing over his shoulder to look at me on the hospital bed. “I saw you rush out in such a hurry. I was worried, so I came to take a look.” She sized me up, her tone innocent and naive. “And this is?” Shawn Foster had his back to me. He didn’t turn around. “A friend. I saw she was hospitalized, so I came to check on her.” So I was his friend. He crouched down and gently lifted her into his arms. Fiona’s arms naturally looped around his neck. Holding her, Shawn Foster walked out, tossing one sentence back at me. “Rest well. I’ll take her back to her ward first.” Shawn Foster carried Fiona Quinn to the end of the hallway and disappeared. He never came back. The doctor told me to go for another examination, so I could only hold onto the wall and limp there by myself. When I passed a VIP ward at the corner of the hallway, the door was left slightly ajar. Shawn Foster was sitting on the edge of the bed, holding Fiona Quinn’s hand as she received an IV. Fiona turned her head to look at him. Her voice didn’t sound weak at all. “That woman just now. What exactly is your relationship with her?” “Don’t overthink it. She’s just a friend.” “Don’t try to fool me. What kind of friend calls you so many times in the middle of the night? Shawn Foster, do you think I’m blind?” Shawn Foster was silent for a moment. “She was a substitute I found when you weren’t around. We’ve already broken up.” “Then do you still love her?” “I only love you. Do you even need to ask?” “Words are cheap.” Fiona pulled her hand back and turned her head away from him. “Prove it to me.” Shawn Foster took a box from the inner pocket of his suit. Dark green velvet, with a hidden gold clasp. I recognized that box. The night before last, I had secretly opened it and tried on the ring inside. It had gotten stuck at my knuckle. He got down on one knee. “I originally wanted to find a more formal occasion, but I can’t wait anymore.” He opened the box. The twelve-carat pear-cut diamond refracted a blinding light. “Fiona Quinn, seven years ago, I wasn’t good enough. I couldn’t make you stay. For the past seven years, I’ve fought with everything I had to climb higher, all so that one day I could stand in front of you and be worthy of you. Marry me.” Tears fell from Fiona’s eyes, and she held out her left hand. The ring slid onto her ring finger, fitting perfectly. I stood outside the door. The wound on my leg was still seeping blood, staining the gauze dark red. So that was how he defined me. Just a substitute. I turned around and limped away from that door. The hallway was long, so long it felt like I would never reach the end. My phone rang. It was my assistant calling. “Ms. Wells, the design collaboration license between Lune and AVEUN expires next month. Should I renew the contract as usual?” For seven years, every time the contract expired, I told her to renew it. “No.” My assistant was clearly stunned. “You said… no?” “Yes. Once it expires, notify Legal to start the termination process.” Chapter 5 Wendy Wells POV Not long after I hung up, Shawn Foster’s message came through. Wendy, that was Fiona Quinn just now. She just came back to the country and doesn’t have many friends here. Last night, she ate something bad and got acute gastroenteritis, so she came to the hospital this morning. She’s a public figure, so it’s inconvenient for her to show her face. I just helped run an errand for her. Don’t overthink it. I didn’t reply. Over the next few days, Shawn Foster never came to my ward. He sent messages saying the company suddenly had a project to follow up on and he had gone out of town on a business trip. He had hired the best caregiver to take care of me and told me to focus on recovering. The caregiver was indeed diligent, asking after me, serving tea and water, taking care of every detail. But he chose to personally stay with Fiona Quinn, and he lied to me. On the third night, an unknown number sent me a message. It was a video. The background was the messy bed in a hotel suite. Fiona Quinn had her arms around Shawn Foster’s neck, her voice soft and coy. “Who do you love?” “You. I only love you.” I didn’t need to guess who had sent it from that number. On the day I was discharged, I called a car and went home by myself. When I pushed open the door, the lights in the living room were on. Shawn Foster was back. The moment he saw me come in, he immediately got up and walked over to take the things from my hands. “You’re back? How’s your leg? Does it hurt?” As he spoke, he handed me a gift box. “I left for that business trip in such a hurry that I didn’t get a chance to visit you. I bought you a gift as an apology.” I opened the box. It was a diamond bracelet. I wasn’t surprised at all. Because ten minutes earlier, that unknown number had sent another photo. In the photo, a diamond necklace from the same series rested against Fiona Quinn’s collarbone. It was more than ten times more expensive than this bracelet. You got the bracelet, right? It was a free gift that came with the necklace. I didn’t want it, so I rewarded you with it. A necklace for his lover, a freebie to brush me off. In the past, whenever I received a gift from him, even if it was just ice cream bought from a roadside stand, I could be happy for days. I glanced at the bracelet and casually set it on the table. Shawn Foster’s expression shifted. He frowned slightly, as if sensing something was wrong. Then he reached out, wrapped an arm around my waist, and pulled me into his embrace. “Are you angry? It was my fault for not visiting you these past few days. It won’t happen again.” He lowered his head to kiss me. I turned my head slightly, just about to find an excuse to avoid him. His phone rang. Shawn Foster ignored it and kept leaning in. The phone kept ringing. I pushed lightly against his shoulder. “Answer it. It’s been ringing for so long. Maybe it’s urgent.” “Nothing is more important than you.” He pinched my cheek and smiled. The phone rang for the third time. He finally glanced at the screen in irritation, and his smile froze. He let go of me, picked up his phone, and quickly walked to the balcony. Through the glass door, I saw him answer the call, his brows tightly furrowed, his tone urgent but quiet. I faintly heard things like “Don’t worry” and “I’ll be right there.” He pushed open the glass door and returned to the living room, heading straight for his coat. “There’s an emergency at the company. I have to go out for a bit.” He bent down and quickly kissed my forehead. “Don’t let the wound on your leg touch water. Sleep early.” I sat on the sofa and looked at the bracelet I had casually left on the table. The diamonds sparkled beautifully under the light, cold and icy, just like this home. That night, the unknown number sent another photo. In the photo, Shawn Foster was asleep with his arms around Fiona Quinn. Their bare shoulders were exposed above the covers. All it takes is one call from me, and I can make him leave your side. So what if you were his substitute for seven years? The real one is back. Why are you still clinging to him? Before I make him kick you out, be sensible and get lost on your own. I pressed the X hard to close the chat, then sent a message to another number: Find out everything Fiona Quinn has been doing overseas these past few years. The more detailed, the better. The other party replied instantly: Understood, Miss Wells. Chapter 6 Wendy Wells POV The next afternoon, I decided to go out and watch a movie. A classic old film I really liked was being re-released. I had wanted to see it the year it first came out, but back then, I was helping Shawn Foster start his business and was too busy. I never got to watch it. Over the years, whenever I mentioned to Shawn Foster that I wanted to go to a movie, he always said he had been busy lately and we would go another day. Another day turned into nothing. After a while, I stopped bringing it up. This time, I wasn’t waiting anymore. Just as I was about to leave, I ran into Shawn Foster. He was carrying a bag of things. When he saw me, he froze slightly. “Where are you going?” I didn’t look at him. I lowered my head and organized my bag. “To see a movie.” He frowned, his tone a little urgent. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier? I’ll go with you.” “Do you have time?” My tone was calm as I looked up at him. Shawn Foster choked on his words, his voice turning a little unnatural. “I do. Let’s go. I’ll drive.” On the way there, he talked a lot, much warmer than usual. He asked if my leg still hurt, asked what I wanted to eat, and even took the initiative to say he would take me to a Japanese restaurant I had mentioned once a long time ago. He was making it up to me. Making up for the way he had been stuck to Fiona Quinn these past few days and neglected me. When we arrived at the screening room, we sat in the middle row. Before the lights dimmed, someone sat down in the seat beside us. A low-brim baseball cap, a black mask, half her face covered. But I recognized her. Shawn Foster recognized her too. It was Fiona Quinn. Fiona Quinn sat on Shawn Foster’s right. I sat on his left. The lights went out, and the screen lit up. Barely ten minutes into the movie, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Shawn Foster’s right hand slide off the armrest. Fiona Quinn’s left hand also dangled beside her seat. In the darkness, their hands quietly clasped together. The light from the screen flickered between bright and dim. Shawn Foster’s right hand went from holding hers to resting on Fiona Quinn’s knee, then slowly slipped under the hem of her skirt. I turned back to look at the screen. The theater was too dark. Not a single frame on the screen registered in my mind. When the movie ended, people surged through the lobby. Fiona Quinn took off her mask to fix her hair and was recognized by a few girls passing by. “Oh my God, it’s Fiona Quinn! It’s really Fiona Quinn herself!” The screams triggered a chain reaction, and the crowd began to rush this way. Shawn Foster reacted unbelievably fast. He wrapped an arm around Fiona Quinn’s shoulders, using his body to block the crowd, lowering his head to shield her as he hurried toward the side exit. Fiona leaned into his arms smoothly, their movements flawless together. I stood where I was, pushed around by the crowd leaving the theater. Someone kicked the wound on my leg, and the pain drilled straight into my bones. He had left too quickly. He had forgotten that he had come to the movie with me. I walked out of the theater alone and took a cab home. That night, a set of photos climbed onto the trending searches. Fiona Quinn Mobbed by Fans During Movie Outing, Mystery Male Companion Protected Her the Entire Time The photos had been taken by a passerby on a phone, and the angle only captured Shawn Foster’s back. The lines of his suit were sharp, his figure tall and upright. The comment section was frantically guessing his identity, all of them saying, “He looks so handsome just from the back.” I scrolled through two screens of comments, then turned off my phone. That evening, Shawn Foster came home. When he entered, his expression was a little uneasy, and he took the initiative to explain. “What happened this afternoon—Fiona Quinn is a famous actress. It would’ve been dangerous if she was recognized. The situation was too chaotic at the time, and I—” “I understand.” I took over his words. “You don’t need to explain.” Shawn Foster’s words caught in his throat, his half-finished explanation hanging awkwardly in the air. He looked at me, as if waiting for me to continue, waiting for me to ask questions or get angry. “You… really don’t mind?” “I don’t. What’s there to mind?” He was silent for a while, then said dully, “That’s good.” After a moment, he changed the subject. “There’s a charity gala tomorrow night. Come with me.” All these years, I had always accompanied him to public events. Everyone in the circle knew I was his girlfriend. “Okay.” The next day, after Shawn Foster went to work, my assistant called. “Ms. Wells, Mr. Foster’s side said they want to borrow First Snow.” My hand, holding the cup, froze. First Snow was Lune’s most famous work. The outside world called it the pinnacle into which the designer had poured her entire heart and soul. No one knew that gown was designed by me for myself. Every stitch, every thread, every hand-sewn crystal carried the same wish: One day, I would wear it to marry Shawn Foster. It was displayed in the glass display case on the first floor of AVEUN Group’s headquarters. Countless people stopped to admire it every day, but no one had ever worn it. Because the authorization contract I signed with AVEUN stated it clearly: First Snow may only be used as a work of art for static exhibition. Without Lune’s own written authorization, no one is permitted to borrow it, try it on, or use it for commercial exposure. “Mr. Foster said it was to lend to Ms. Quinn for tonight’s charity gala.” The assistant continued, “He said AVEUN will be collaborating with Ms. Quinn later on, and Ms. Quinn’s personal aura suits this gown perfectly. First Snow has never been worn by anyone before. It has enough buzz, and it would also be excellent exposure for the brand.” A grand, righteous-sounding excuse. The gown I designed with my own hands—he wanted to drape it over another woman. “No.” “Understood. I’ll reply to Mr. Foster.”

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On the night the Vance family held their grand homecoming banquet, I, their biological son, was not even allowed to walk through the front door. My biological mother, Victoria, threw a maid’s uniform through the iron gate, her face twisted in disgust. “Put this on and come through the back door. Keep your head down. Do not let anyone see your face and embarrass our family.” Inside the grand ballroom, Christian—the adopted son they had raised for eighteen years—stood at the center of attention. He was dressed in a bespoke designer tuxedo, surrounded by my biological parents, looking like the true sole heir to the Vance empire. Seeing me, he immediately walked over with a warm, welcoming smile, calling me his “brother.” The guests fawned over him, praising how kind and generous he was to the newcomer. But I could hear his inner voice loud and clear: Look at this trailer trash trying to steal my life. I will kick you back to the gutter where you belong sooner or later. My biological sister, Olivia, also leaned in to hiss a warning: “Behave yourself, Ethan. Do not even dream about touching the Vance family fortune.” I did not say a word. I just lowered my head and smirked. What they did not know was that I could not just hear people’s inner thoughts—I could broadcast them directly to the entire house’s smart speaker system. I reached into my pocket, tapped my phone, and gently pressed the “Broadcast” button. In the next second, Christian’s malicious, venomous voice echoed through every single speaker in the Vance mansion.

The driveway of the Vance estate in Long Island was packed with luxury sports cars. Tonight was the twentieth birthday party for the Vance family’s adopted son, Christian. Every high-society figure in the city had shown up. Meanwhile, I, Ethan Reed—the biological son who had been lost for twenty years—stood awkwardly in the golden-lit foyer wearing a pair of faded jeans and a pilling T-shirt. The crystal chandeliers were blindingly bright, and the air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and sweet champagne. My biological mother, Victoria Vance, was staring at me as if I were a pile of steaming garbage. “What on earth are you wearing?” she whispered harshly, her voice dripping with disgust. “Tonight is Christian’s big night. Are you trying to make our family the laughingstock of the elite?” My biological father, Arthur Vance, frowned and impatiently tugged at his tie. “Alright, stop wasting your breath on him. Have someone take him to the servants’ quarters in the back house. He is not to come out until the party is over.” Standing there, the last shred of hope I had for this “family” shattered into dust. These were the biological parents I had traveled ten hours to meet. Just then, a young man and a young woman came down the grand spiral staircase. The boy wore a custom tuxedo studded with micro-diamonds, looking like a handsome prince. The girl was in a high-fashion evening gown, looking cold and regal. They were Christian and my so-called older sister, Olivia. Christian saw me, his lips curving into a polite but distant smile. “Is this… the brother we finally found?” He stood on the stairs, looking down at me, a flash of contempt crossing his eyes. Victoria immediately pulled him to her side, her voice softening. “Christian, sweetie, you do not need to come down. He is just here to stay for a few days.” Olivia, on the other hand, glared at me coldly. “Ethan, right? Let me make this clear. Now that you are back at the Vance estate, you better stay in your lane. Christian is sweet and innocent. If you try any dirty tricks or attempt to steal what belongs to him, I will make your life a living hell.” The four of them stood together, a united front, treating me like some evil intruder. I looked at Christian’s innocent face. Just as I was about to speak, a sharp, sudden pain shot through my brain. Then, a screeching, nasty voice exploded in my mind. This trailer trash looks so disgusting. He actually thinks he can come back and play the rich young master? In his dreams. Once tonight is over, I will find a random excuse to kick him out of this house forever. My eyes widened as I stared at Christian. His lips had not moved. He was still wearing that polite, saintly smile. Was I hallucinating? No. I focused my mind, lock-targeting his face. What are you staring at, hillbilly? Everything in the Vance family belongs to me. Mom, Dad, Olivia—they are mine. You are just a pathetic stray nobody wants. I took a deep breath. I could hear his thoughts. And I could feel that, as long as I willed it, I could transmit this voice to anyone in the room. This was an ability that had awakened after I hit my head in a minor car accident on my way here. I thought it was just tinnitus, but it turned out to be a gift from fate. I looked at my “dear sister” who was glaring at me, and a cold smile crept onto my face. Since you love your precious little brother so much, let me show you how “sweet” his mind really is. I focused my mind on Olivia and tapped the virtual “Broadcast” button in my head.

The air seemed to freeze. Olivia, who had been glaring at me coldly, suddenly stiffened. Her pupils dilated in sheer shock. Olivia is such a brainless btch. As long as I play the sweet little brother, she barks at whoever I want like a loyal guard dog. What a useful tool. Christian’s voice echoed with crystal-clear precision inside Olivia’s mind. Olivia turned her head slowly, staring at Christian in complete disbelief. “Christian… what did you… what did you just say?” her voice trembled. Christian looked completely bewildered, blinking his innocent eyes. “I did not say anything, Olivia. I was just saying that Ethan must have had a hard life…” What is wrong with this crazy btch? Why is she looking at me like that? Did she find out that I was the one who broke her boyfriend’s designer watch and blamed it on the new chauffeur? The second thought exploded in Olivia’s mind. Olivia’s face drained of all color. She took a step back, her eyes filled with absolute horror and shock as she looked at Christian. “Olivia, what is wrong? Why do you look so pale?” Victoria noticed her daughter’s distress and asked quickly. Olivia pointed at Christian, her lips trembling, but she could not squeeze out a single word. What could she say? That she heard her brother calling her a brainless dog in her head? Who would believe her? I chose that exact moment to look down, playing the part of the humble, mistreated son. “Olivia, is it because I am standing here? Am I ruining the mood? I will go to the servants’ quarters right now. I do not want to ruin Christian’s birthday.” My quiet, submissive behavior made Christian’s secret thoughts sound even more monstrous. Olivia looked at me with a whirlwind of emotions—shock, doubt, and a trace of guilt. “No need,” Olivia said, taking a deep breath to suppress the chaos in her heart. Her voice was raspy. “You are a biological Vance. You are not sleeping in the servants’ quarters. Mother, have someone get him a suit. He is joining the party.” “Olivia. Are you crazy?” Arthur glared at her. “Do you want him to walk out there like a hobo and make us a laughingstock?” Old man, you have already lost all your face anyway. Once I get my hands on the family shares, you are the first one I am kicking off the board of directors. This time, I switched the broadcast channel to Arthur. Arthur’s shouting stopped instantly. He looked as if he had been struck by lightning. He whipped his head toward Christian, his eyes bulging. “Father? What is wrong?” Christian was terrified by the murderous look in Arthur’s eyes. He shrank back toward Victoria. Arthur panted heavily, his chest rising and falling violently. He pointed a shaking finger at Christian. It took him a long moment before he spat out through clenched teeth: “Fine. Perfect. Get him changed. He is joining the party.” Victoria had no idea what was going on, but seeing her husband and daughter acting like they had seen a ghost, she did not dare argue. She reluctantly called a maid to take me upstairs. I followed the maid up the grand spiral staircase. At the landing, I stopped and looked down at the pale father and daughter, and the completely confused Christian. The show was just getting started.

The maid took me to a guest room at the end of the second floor. There was a suit laid out on the bed, clearly prepared in a hurry. It was a tight-fitting, neon-green suit made of cheap, shiny fabric. The style was so tacky and outdated that it looked like something a clown would wear to a cheap kid’s party. “Young Master Ethan, Master Christian personally picked this out for you. He said this color would make you stand out,” the maid said, keeping her head low, a hint of pity in her voice. Looking at the eyesore of a suit, I let out a cold laugh. Christian really went all out. If I were the old, insecure Ethan, walking into a room full of billionaires in this clown suit would have broken me. But I was not him anymore. Without hesitation, I put on the neon-green suit. If we were going to embarrass ourselves, let us make it a grand disaster for everyone. The moment I pushed open the doors of the grand ballroom, the chatter died down instantly. Every eye in the room locked onto me. Shock, disgust, mockery, amusement—a thousand different looks converged on me as if I were a circus animal. Victoria’s face turned almost as green as my suit. She looked like she wanted to sink into the floor. Arthur was shaking with rage, refusing to even look in my direction. Christian, wearing his dazzling custom tuxedo, walked toward me like a proud peacock. “Ethan, that is a very… unique look,” he said loudly, making sure the surrounding guests could hear. “Everyone, I want to introduce you to my brother who was lost for so many years, Ethan.” The crowd burst into whispers. “Is that the real son? Why is he dressed like a clown?” “Jeez, you cannot take the trash out of the gutter. He has none of Christian’s elegance.” “The Vance family must be mortified. If I were Arthur, I would pretend I did not know him.” Listening to the whispers, a smug, venomous grin flashed in Christian’s eyes. Laugh. Keep laughing, you hillbilly. This is what you get for trying to take my place. I will make sure you can never show your face in this city again. Looking at his fake smile, I patted his shoulder warmly, smiling even brighter than him. “Thanks for the compliment, Christian. After all, you picked this suit out for me yourself. You said it matched my personality perfectly.” The moment I said that, the mocking whispers paused. Several business rivals of the Vance family in the crowd suddenly looked very amused. Christian’s smile froze. “Ethan… I just thought the color was vibrant…” How dare this loser say that out loud. Just wait, I will destroy you later. I ignored his panic. My eyes swept over the guests who had been laughing at me. There was Mr. Richard Miller, a notorious new-money billionaire who was laughing the loudest. And Mr. Harold Cooper, a man who had married into a wealthy family and lived off his wife, looking down his nose at me. I smiled, targeted them, and turned on the “Group Broadcast” mode. Richard Miller is laughing so hard, but does he know his wife spent last night at her young boy toy’s apartment again? Apparently, the boy toy is threatening to expose everything to the tabloids. And Harold Cooper, the ultimate gold-digger. His precious son lost ten million dollars in underground gambling last month and embezzled company funds to cover the debt. The audit is coming next week, and he is going straight to prison. These were all secrets Christian had gathered. He loved digging up dirt on high society to use as leverage. And now, I was broadcasting all these secrets to the entire room using Christian’s own voice.

A bizarre, suffocating silence fell over the ballroom. Mr. Miller, who was laughing a second ago, froze. He whipped his head toward Christian, his eyes burning with pure, murderous rage. Mr. Cooper went completely ballistic. The champagne glass in his hand slipped and shattered on the marble floor. “Christian. What the hell did you just say?” Mr. Miller roared, lunging forward and grabbing Christian by his designer collar. Christian was paralyzed with fear. “Mr. Miller, what are you doing? I did not say anything.” “You are still lying. I heard you loud and clear. You said my wife has a boy toy. You little piece of sht, you have been spying on me.” Mr. Miller was out of his mind with embarrassment. He raised his hand and delivered a roaring slap right across Christian’s face. Slap. The sound echoed through the silent ballroom. “Ah.” Christian screamed, clutching his swollen cheek, stumbling backward. Before he could even recover, Mr. Cooper rushed him, grabbing his tuxedo jacket. “You venomous little brat. You dare accuse my son of embezzlement. I will teach you a lesson you will never forget.” The two distinguished, billionaire businessmen were now acting like rabid street fighters, shoving and hitting Christian. Christian’s expensive tuxedo was torn to shreds, his styled hair was ruined, and he screamed in terror as he was beaten. “Help. Mother. Olivia. Save me.” Victoria finally snapped out of her shock, screaming as she threw herself into the fray to break it up. Arthur and Olivia also rushed in to pull the angry men off. The ballroom descended into utter chaos. Screams, curses, and shattered glasses created a beautiful symphony. I stood on the edge of the crowd, watching the drama unfold with a cold smirk. I picked up a glass of champagne from a passing tray and took a slow, satisfying sip. Ah, top-shelf. Delicious. The grand birthday party the Vance family had spent months planning was now the biggest joke in New York high society. Eventually, security escorted the raging Mr. Miller and Mr. Cooper out, and the other guests quickly made excuses to leave. Within thirty minutes, the lively ballroom was completely empty, leaving behind a ruined, messy hall. Christian slumped in a chair, his hair disheveled, his face bruised and swollen, crying hysterically. Victoria held him, her eyes red from crying. Arthur’s face was black with rage. He whipped around and glared at me. “Did you do this?” he roared. “The moment you came back, everything went to hell. What did you do?” I set my glass down, looking completely innocent. “Father, what are you talking about? I was standing here the whole time, and I did not say a single word. Everyone saw it. Christian brought up those secrets and pissed off Mr. Miller and Mr. Cooper. What does that have to do with me?” “You ungrateful brat.” Arthur raised his hand to strike me. I did not flinch. I just stared at him coldly. Just before his hand hit my face, Olivia suddenly grabbed his wrist. “Father, stop,” Olivia said, her voice sounding incredibly exhausted. She looked at Christian, and for the first time, there was no affection in her eyes—only deep suspicion and disgust. “Something is very wrong today. But either way, the party is ruined. Let Christian go clean up.” Arthur gave me one last furious glare, then stormed off. As Victoria helped Christian walk upstairs, Christian shot me a look of pure, unadulterated hatred. Ethan, you bastard. I will make you pay for this humiliation a thousand times over. I met his gaze, my lips curving into a mocking smile. Anytime, little brother.

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The day the college admission letters were released, I was the only student in our entire small town to get into an Ivy League university. The town mayor, thrilled by the news, personally came to our house to present me with a $10,000 scholarship check. But right in front of everyone, my mother snatched the check straight out of my hand. The next second, she splashed a bucket of dirty mop water right at my feet. With her hands on her hips, she sneered loudly so the whole neighborhood could hear: “What’s the point of a girl going to a fancy college anyway?” “Since you got into some top-tier Ivy, your monthly allowance will be exactly $211! The rest of the money is going to your brother, Tyler, for his wedding and a new truck!” Standing next to her, Tyler’s trashy friends chimed in with nasty smirks: “Exactly. A girl like you has no business in college. Do us a favor and go work in a warehouse instead.” I didn’t say a single word. During that entire summer, I worked three part-time jobs simultaneously. I pushed myself so hard that I ended up in the ER with a bleeding stomach ulcer, but I never went back to ask them for a single penny. Eight years later. I became the youngest Chief Attending Physician at the state’s top hospital. Meanwhile, my mother was kicked out of her home because of the massive debts Tyler had racked up. Now half-paralyzed from a stroke, she was dumped right at my clinic door in the middle of the night. Grabbing the hem of my white doctor’s coat, she wept muddy tears: “Chloe, I had a stroke… The ICU bills are too expensive. You have to pay them for me…” I smiled faintly, pulled out $211 from my desk drawer, and stuffed the crumpled bills into her trembling hand. “Mom, the ICU is way too expensive. I found a nice, cheap spot for you on the street corner.” “If I gave you a single penny more, I’m afraid you wouldn’t be able to sleep peacefully.”

The half-closed door of my clinic was kicked open with a loud bang. Tyler rushed into the room, flanked by two tattooed thugs. He kicked the trash can near the entrance over, pointed a finger at my face, and screamed: “Chloe, are you even human? You’re a big-shot doctor now, making bank.” “And you throw two hundred bucks at your own mother who raised you? How can you be so heartless?!” The patients waiting in the hallway and the passing nurses were startled. A dozen people poked their heads into my clinic, whispering and gossiping among themselves. “What’s going on? Is that doctor refusing to take care of her own mother?” “The old lady looks really sick. Her daughter is dressed so professionally, but she won’t even pay her medical bills?” Hearing the commotion outside, Tyler smirked, looking even more pleased with himself. He marched up to my desk and slammed a thick stack of stamped documents right onto my keyboard. “Private VIP Suite Application!” Tyler yelled. “The doctor said Mom’s stroke is serious. She needs to stay in the best private luxury suite! As a physician at this hospital, you need to sign as her guarantor right now.” “And pay the $20,000 deposit! Otherwise, I’ll wreck this entire clinic today!” Margaret Vance, sitting in her wheelchair, took the cue. Clutching her chest, she began to wail: “How did I raise such an ungrateful monster? I worked myself to the bone to raise you, and now you won’t even care for your own mother…” I didn’t say a word. I calmly pushed the papers aside. I grabbed my mouse, clicked onto the hospital’s internal database, and pulled up her lab results from thirty minutes ago. I turned the computer monitor around so it faced the crowd gathering at the door. Then, I read the report out loud: “Margaret Vance, female, fifty-six years old. CT scans and blood work show: Mild lower back pain due to a herniated disc and slightly high cholesterol. Neurological reflexes: Completely normal. No signs of stroke or brain hemorrhage. Conclusion: No emergency or hospitalization required.” I looked up and stared directly at Tyler. “A herniated disc doesn’t even qualify for a regular ward bed, and you want a VIP private suite?” “Tyler, if you want to scam me for money, at least learn some basic medicine first.” The onlookers outside gasped, their expressions instantly turning into amusement. “Wait, so she didn’t even have a stroke?” “Is the brother crazy? Trying to scam his own sister at her workplace?” Having his lie exposed in public made Tyler’s face turn beet red. He slammed his palm on my desk and roared: “Back pain is still pain! My mom is hurting so much she can’t even walk!” “You’re giving us the money regardless! We aren’t leaving today without twenty thousand dollars!” One of the thugs behind him sneered: “Yeah, your mom worked so hard to raise you, and now you’re successful. It’s just twenty grand. Being this stingy is just cold-blooded.” I lowered my eyes, snatched the $211 back from Margaret’s hand, and slapped it onto her medical chart. “Keep it for some cheap painkillers. This is the last bit of decency I’m giving you.” With that, I pressed the security call button on my desk and leaned back in my chair.

Within minutes, three security guards arrived and dragged a screaming Tyler and his thugs out of the clinic area. Before he was pushed out, Tyler pointed a finger at me and roared: “Chloe! Just you wait! This isn’t over. I will destroy your reputation!” I thought the drama would stop for the day. But right after my lunch break, I went down to the main lobby to pick up some files. As soon as I stepped out of the elevator, I heard a loud, pathetic wailing. Tyler had pushed Margaret in her wheelchair right in front of the main reception desk, where the foot traffic was heaviest. Margaret was wiping tears, grabbing the clothes of random patients passing by, and crying: “Everyone, look at this! We were so poor back then, but I worked day and night to pay for her Ivy League tuition!” “Now that she’s a successful doctor, she won’t even pay a dime for my treatment. She’s throwing her own mother onto the streets!” Several young nurses frowned, turning their eyes away to avoid looking at me when I walked past. The Chief of Medicine, Dr. Reynolds, happened to be walking by. He pulled me into a quiet corner of the hallway. “Chloe, this is your promotion year, and the board thinks very highly of you.” “But having your family cause this kind of scene in the lobby is extremely bad for our image.” He had a weary, peace-keeping expression on his face as he said: “At the end of the day, she is still your mother.” “Why don’t you just pay some money and make this go away? Why make things so ugly?” I looked him in the eye and refused immediately: “Dr. Reynolds, giving in to people like them once will only make them greedier next time.” Dr. Reynolds sighed, shook his head, and walked away. A few nurses were whispering, glancing at their phones and then looking back at me. I checked my phone and realized Tyler had posted my old college admission photo in the patient-community group on Snapchat. He had added a caption full of lies: “This doctor is letting her own mother die just to protect her career.” The comments were racking up fast, with strangers calling me a monster. I didn’t run away. Instead, I walked straight toward Margaret’s wheelchair in the center of the lobby. Thinking I was finally breaking, Tyler held out his hand with a smug grin. “Thought it through? Give me the cash.” I ignored him entirely. I pulled out a few pages of old bank statements and transaction records from my bag. These were the documents I had carefully saved since that summer eight years ago. I unfolded the papers and spoke loudly, my voice echoing across the lobby: “Since everyone is so interested, let’s hear the truth about how she ‘worked day and night’ to send me to college.” “Freshman year, September 1st. Margaret Vance transferred exactly $211 into my account.” “October 1st, $211. November 1st, $211. She did this for four years straight. Not a single penny more, and not a single penny less.” The lobby fell dead silent. The whispering nurses stared in shock. That amount of money couldn’t even cover a week’s worth of basic groceries, let alone textbooks or rent. I flipped to the next page and raised my voice: “Also during my freshman year, September 10th. Margaret Vance transferred $21,000 to my brother Tyler’s account. The transaction note read: ‘For Tyler’s new motorcycle.’” “On October 15th, she transferred another $5,000. Note: ‘Tyler’s birthday present.’” I slammed the copies hard onto the armrest of Margaret’s wheelchair. “Mrs. Vance, back then you told everyone that because I was a girl, I only deserved $211 a month, and that all the money had to be saved for your precious son.” I bent down, staring straight into her shifting, guilty eyes. “I am now giving you $211 a month as an ‘appreciation fee.’ Don’t you think I’m being incredibly generous?” Nobody in the lobby said a word. The nurses who had been whispering turned red and looked down. Margaret lowered her head, trying to stammer an excuse: “But… but I worked hard for that money! The family was poor back then…” “Poor enough to spend over twenty-six thousand dollars on a motorcycle and birthday gifts for a son who flunked out of high school?” I scoffed. The crowd gasped. Seeing that no one was taking their side anymore, Tyler lost his temper. He lunged forward and shoved my shoulder hard. “Shut up! You’re just a heartless, ungrateful bitch!” I took half a step back, pointed at the security camera right above us, and said: “The cameras are rolling, Tyler. Touch me again, and I’ll have the police arrest you for assaulting hospital staff. Let’s see how you like spending a few days in a cell.” Tyler’s hand froze mid-air. He grit his teeth and slowly backed down.

The afternoon was packed with surgeries and consultations. Margaret and Tyler remained camped out on the benches in the hospital lobby. Right before my shift ended, I received a call from the mayor of my hometown. “Chloe, did your mother go to the city to find you?” Mayor Davis lowered his voice over the phone. “I’m only telling you this because you always send free medical supplies and charity checkups to the elderly back in our town. Don’t let them trick you. Your mother didn’t go to the city because she’s broke.” I tightened my grip on the phone. “Mayor Davis, please tell me.” “Two months ago, the city bought our old neighborhood for redevelopment. Your family’s old house was bought out by the developers.” “The first buyout check of $600,000 was wired to your mother’s account weeks ago!” Mayor Davis let out a long sigh. “But your brother is a gambling addict. He got mixed up with some dangerous loan sharks and owed them a fortune. They threatened his life right at their doorstep.” “Tyler forced your mother to hand over the entire $600,000 to clear his debts. Once the money was gone, he complained that her back pain was too much of a burden. So, he drove her to the city overnight and dumped her on you to get rid of her!” I hung up, and everything clicked. They had squandered $600,000. Now that the old woman was broke and sick, they wanted to dump her on me. How convenient. As I was changing out of my scrubs, the door to the break room was pushed open. Tyler walked in, accompanied by a heavy-set, middle-aged man. It was my Uncle Richard, a distant relative from our hometown. Richard immediately assumed the role of the family patriarch, pointing a finger at me and lecturing: “Chloe! What was that stunt you pulled in the lobby today? Airing your family’s dirty laundry like that? Where is your respect for your mother?” I looked at him coldly. “Richard, family drama is dirty laundry. But publicly defaming me to extort money is a crime.” “How dare you talk back to me!” Richard slammed his fist on a table, spitting out his toxic, backward logic. “In our town, the family property goes to the son, and the daughter is solely responsible for the parents’ medical bills and funeral! That is how things are done!” “You’re successful now. You must carry the family load!” Tyler, feeling empowered by Richard’s presence, drew a “Support Responsibility Agreement” from his pocket and slapped it onto the table. “Look closely!” Tyler sneered, tapping the paper. “This legal document states that from now on, Chloe Vance will fully cover all of Margaret Vance’s living expenses, medical bills, and nursing home fees!” I glanced at the paper. My eyes locked onto a line written in tiny font near the bottom. The clause required me to pay Tyler an additional $5,000 per month as a “caregiving fee.” “Do you honestly think that if you print something on a piece of paper, robbery suddenly becomes legal?” I asked. Margaret was wheeled into the room, sobbing: “Chloe, I’m dying… Your brother needs to get married, and he’s under so much pressure. You make so much money, why can’t you just help him?” Tyler stepped closer, leaning over my desk threateningly. “Chloe, I’m telling you. If you don’t sign this today, I will hire ten elderly people to book your appointments every single day starting tomorrow!” “They will occupy every slot, scream, and make a scene in your clinic. Let’s see how you get your promotion then. I will ruin your career!” Richard pushed a pen toward me. “Sign it and put your thumbprint down! Don’t be ungrateful!” I looked at the three of them. I didn’t touch the pen, and I didn’t lose my temper. I stepped back as my phone vibrated in my pocket. I pulled it out. It was a text notification from the Land Registry Bureau. Looking at the confirmation message, I let out a quiet sigh of relief and put my phone away. My trap was set.

The next morning, Tyler took Margaret’s medical chart straight to the Patient Relations Department to file a formal complaint, accusing me of professional misconduct. Dr. Reynolds immediately called us all into a conference room for mediation. Margaret was parked in her wheelchair in the corner, her eyes closed as she pretended to be semi-conscious. Two social workers, Mrs. Gable and Mr. Miller, were also invited as neutral witnesses. Dr. Reynolds took a sip of his coffee and tapped the table. “Dr. Vance, you are one of our top talents. But medical ethics are closely tied to personal integrity. This family dispute is harming the hospital’s reputation.” “You need to look at the bigger picture.” Tyler sat with his legs crossed, looking incredibly smug. He pushed the agreement and a premium nursing home quote to the center of the table. “Dr. Reynolds, we’re reasonable people,” Tyler said grandly. “As long as she signs these documents, guaranteeing she will cover all of Mom’s future expenses,” “And pays us a $50,000 deposit today, I will take Mom and leave immediately. No more trouble for the hospital.” Uncle Richard chimed in from the side: “Exactly. This is the best way to protect your career. Spend a little money to buy peace, Chloe. Don’t be petty with your own blood.” Margaret wept quietly: “Chloe, please sign… save your mother. Your brother doesn’t have a real job. He’s struggling…” Dr. Reynolds, believing that paying them off was the easiest way to make the problem go away, picked up the pen and offered it to me. The two social workers whispered to each other. “She makes good money as a doctor. Spending fifty grand to buy peace is worth it.” “Her own mother is begging her. Staying stubborn just makes her look heartless.” Everyone in the room looked at me, expecting me to break under the pressure and write the check. Tyler leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with greed. I stood at the end of the long table, looking at the papers. My expression was completely blank. I reached out and picked up the stack of documents. Dr. Reynolds sighed in relief, and a massive grin spread across Tyler’s face. But I didn’t take the pen. I flipped through the papers until my fingers rested on the very last pagea document that definitely did not belong to the nursing home agreement. I paused, a cold smile forming on my lips. I took that document, which bore a bright red legal seal, and slammed it face-down on the table.

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I used to think Theodore Foster and I were each other’s everything. Twenty years as childhood sweethearts, seven years in a marriage forged through hardship—we went from having nothing to building a fortune worth hundreds of billions together. But I never imagined that after he made it big, I would be kicked out of the game by one cold divorce certificate. My parents and my child all became sacrifices to this love. So I let everything go and left the country to start over. But Theodore Foster, why are you crying? Nancy Davis POV When I pushed open the doors of the Civil Affairs Bureau, I was still thinking that maybe I was just overreacting. The message from that unknown number was too absurd—“You still don’t know, do you? Your husband divorced you.” Theodore Foster and I had grown up together. We had been married for seven years. How could I not know what kind of person he was? And yet, that ridiculous sentence kept echoing in my heart. I stood in front of the counter and hesitated for a long time before asking the clerk to check my marital status for me. “Hello. Could you please check my marital status?” The clerk looked up at me, her gaze a little strange. Then she tapped on the keyboard and paused for a few seconds. “Ma’am, you are currently divorced. The divorce was finalized a week ago.” My eyes flew wide. My legs went weak beneath me, and I had to grip the counter to steady myself. What that unknown number said was actually true? Theodore Foster had divorced me behind my back? Unwilling to give up, I gave her his ID number and asked her to check. “Could you please check Theodore Foster’s marital status as well? His ID number is xxxxxxxxx.” The clerk glanced at me, probably finding the name familiar. After all, Theodore Foster was considered a major figure in River City. After typing a few times, the clerk gave a brief reply. “Mr. Foster is married.” “Married? To whom?” The moment I heard that, I fell apart. “I’m sorry, I can’t tell you. That is a citizen’s personal privacy.” He divorced me, then married someone else. Who was it? When did it happen? I walked out of the Civil Affairs Bureau, and a cold chill ran over me. I took out my phone and sent three words to that unknown number: “Who are you?” My hands were shaking so badly that it took me several tries to send it. The other party did not reply. I called Theodore Foster again. It rang for a long time, but no one answered. For a moment, I felt completely lost, so I just kept walking down the road. Ahead was a large banyan grove, the place where, when I was young, I had dreamed countless times of holding my wedding. Without realizing it, I walked toward it. Theodore Foster and I had been married for seven years, but we had never had a wedding. Back then, we had gotten married in a hurry. We had just started our business and were dirt poor. Theodore Foster had wanted a wedding, but to save him money, I refused. Later, when we had money, Theodore Foster became so busy he could barely split himself in two, and the wedding kept getting pushed back again and again. I had drawn a wedding design, and it had always been kept in the drawer of his office desk. He had promised me he would hold it, but year after year, he never fulfilled that promise. That banyan grove was especially lively today. White and pale pink cascading flowers hung down everywhere, like smoke, like mist. Warm golden sunlight filtered through the gaps in the trees, scattering bright specks across the moss-covered ground. Crystal bead curtains swayed gently between the crowns of the trees. Everything looked dreamlike. But the scene was so familiar it made me unable to breathe. Because this wedding design was exactly the same as the one I had made for my own wedding! Who had used my design? My gaze involuntarily turned toward the guests seated among the trees. Not far away, there were indeed a few figures I recognized—they were Theodore Foster’s friends. So, one of Theodore Foster’s friends was getting married and had used my wedding design? Would Theodore Foster come today, then? But he had clearly told me that he was on a business trip to Ocean City these two days. Why did he lie to me? My heart sank lower and lower, as if I had reached some dangerous edge, and one more step forward would be a bottomless abyss. I hid behind a huge banyan tree, my eyes sweeping over the wedding venue as I searched for Theodore Foster. Very soon, I saw the groom onstage. The groom had his back to me. His suit was crisp, his posture tall and straight. The moment he turned around, all the blood in my body went cold. It was Theodore Foster. It was Theodore Foster, who was supposed to be on a business trip in Ocean City. It was my husband, Theodore Foster, whom I had known for more than twenty years and been married to for seven! Not only had Theodore Foster divorced me behind my back, he had also used my design to hold a wedding with someone else! My heart instantly sank to the very bottom of the abyss, and all the blood in my body seemed to stop flowing. I had imagined countless times what Theodore Foster would look like standing on a wedding stage in formalwear. Today, I finally saw it. But he was someone else’s groom. Tears clouded my eyes. Anger and grievance surged over me all at once. I saw the man onstage take out his phone, frown at the screen for a moment, and finally hang up the call. When I called again, the man was completely unaware. He had put his phone on silent. It was as if my world had been muted too. My thoughts drifted back to the past. Theodore Foster and I were neighbors when we were little. Theodore Foster’s father died young, and his mother was addicted to gambling. When Theodore Foster was a child, no one took care of him. It was my parents who brought him into our home, gave him clothes to wear, and made sure he had enough to eat. The two of us grew up together. In high school, we became each other’s first love and got into the same university. I still remember the day we reported to campus. He hugged me excitedly and said he would only love me for the rest of his life. After graduating from university, Theodore Foster started his business. He was so busy he neglected meals and ruined his stomach. When my parents found out, their hearts ached for him, so they often cooked meals and delivered them to his company. Once, my father got into a car accident on the way to deliver dinner to him. Before my father passed away, to put the old man’s heart at ease, Theodore Foster insisted on registering a marriage with me. Right in front of me, he knelt by my father’s hospital bed and told my father not to worry. He said that as long as he was there, I would always be the happiest person in the world. Because of that, I had always believed in Theodore Foster without question. We were lovers, family, and the people who trusted each other most. I thought Theodore Foster would love me for the rest of my life. I never imagined his promise would only be valid for seven years. The wedding officially began, and a burst of orchestral music pulled me back from my thoughts. The bride walked over slowly in a luxurious haute couture wedding dress. I knew her. She was Sophie Scott. She was also the daughter of Scott Group, Theodore Foster’s biggest business partner. I tugged at the corners of my lips, forcing out an expression that looked half like a smile and half like a sob. So it was her. Ever since Theodore Foster began working with the Scotts two years ago, he had come home later and later and taken more and more business trips. I had thought it was because of work, so I never asked. I never imagined the two of them had already gone from business partners to life partners. Not far away, the voices of Theodore Foster’s friends drifted over: “Man, Sophie Scott and Theodore Foster really are a better match.” “Exactly. One is a well-bred heiress, the other is a billionaire CEO. They’re well-matched in status. Nancy Davis is just a housewife, after all. She isn’t good enough for Mr. Foster.” “Don’t say that in front of Mr. Foster. Mr. Foster said Nancy Davis’s family did him a great kindness, and Nancy Davis will always be the person closest and dearest to him.” I almost laughed out loud, but inside, I was drowning in grief. What a wonderful “closest and dearest person.” The person closest and dearest to me turned me from his lawful wife into the shameful other woman! The wedding continued. The officiant was reading the vows. I could not listen anymore. I turned around and dragged myself away. Theodore Foster, since you betrayed me, I won’t want you anymore either.

Nancy Davis POV I didn’t go home. I took a cab straight to the immigration agency. “I want to immigrate. The sooner, the better,” I said. The immigration agent said that with expedited processing, it could be done within a month. I nodded and left my documents there. When I got home and pushed open the door, the maid immediately came up to me, her face full of worry. “Mrs. Foster, where did you go? Mr. Foster has been looking for you like crazy. He called so many times and told you to call him back right away!” I took out my phone and saw dozens of missed calls. I called back, and he picked up after one ring. “Nancy! Where did you go? Why didn’t you answer your phone?” His voice was breathless, as if he truly had been anxious. As I walked toward the walk-in closet, I answered, “I went shopping. My phone was in my bag, so I didn’t hear it.” Theodore Foster clearly let out a sigh of relief. “From now on, keep your phone in your hand when you go out. Don’t make me worry, okay?” After a pause, he said again, “I was negotiating with a client earlier. My phone was on silent, so I missed your call. What did you need me for? Did you miss me?” I gave a soft mm-hmm. Theodore Foster chuckled in satisfaction, and his tone softened too. “I still have to be away on business for another two days. I’ll definitely make it back for your mother’s birthday.” How hard it must be for him. While honeymooning with his new wife, he still had to remember to celebrate the birthday of the mother of his ex-wife. After hanging up, I walked into the walk-in closet. Haute couture gowns, limited-edition handbags, and high-end jewelry filled the room. I ran my hand over a Himalaya Birkin. He had bought it for me when his company earned its first ten million. Back then, he had held me and said he would never let me suffer again, that whatever other people had, I would have too. Beside it was a one-of-a-kind haute couture gown. He had custom ordered it for me for his company’s fifth anniversary annual gala. That day, standing onstage in front of everyone, he said, “The most important person today is my wife.” In the jewelry cabinet, there was a necklace he had bought for eighty million at auction. On the day his company went public, he personally put it around my neck and said he wanted to make me a woman everyone envied. He clasped it around my neck with his own hands. “Nancy, I will make you a woman everyone envies.” Once, I thought these expensive things represented his love. Only now did I understand they were merely apology gifts for each time he failed to show up. He had spent a lot of money, but he had long since stopped spending any thought. I called the butler over and told him to put everything away and contact an auction house. The butler froze and asked me, “Everything?” I said yes. Everything. Not one piece left. The butler did not ask anything else and turned to make the arrangements. Two days later, Theodore Foster came back. The moment he entered, he buried his face in my neck. “Nancy, I missed you so much. Business trips are exhausting. Only when I hold you do I feel like I’ve come back to life.” I couldn’t control myself as I thought of the wedding, of Theodore Foster in his groom’s suit, gazing at Sophie Scott with deep affection. I forced back my tears and instinctively took a step back. He didn’t notice. From behind his back, he took out a dark-blue gift box and handed it to me. “Open it. I bought it especially for you.” I opened it and saw a diamond bracelet. I casually set it on the entryway console. “Let’s go to bed early. Tomorrow we have to go to the hospital to see my mother.” He paused, probably sensing that my reaction was off. He looked at me a few times, but said nothing and nodded. The next morning, I was drinking coffee when he came out of the bedroom, wearing the dark-gray suit I had matched for him the night before. He walked up to me, lowered his head, and handed me his tie, asking me to tie it for him. I stood up, straightened his collar, and tied his tie. Then I asked casually, “When you’re on business trips, who ties your tie for you?” I looked at him and smiled. His smile froze for an instant, panic flashing through his eyes before he quickly returned to normal. “I can only do it myself. I can never get it right. Nancy still does it best.” I did not say anything else. On the way to the hospital, his phone rang. In the reflection of the car window, I saw two words pop up on the screen: Sophie Scott. He glanced at me nervously. Seeing that I was looking out the window, he answered the call.

Nancy Davis POV “What? Okay, I’ll be right there!” He hung up and turned to look at me, his expression anxious. “Nancy, there’s an urgent project at the company. I have to—” I reminded him, “Today is my mother’s birthday. You promised.” He frowned impatiently. “Nancy, this is urgent company business. Your mother will understand. I’ll personally apologize to her next time.” I couldn’t remember how many times he had used an excuse like this to abandon me. I was too tired to argue. “Let me out at the intersection ahead. I’ll take a cab.” He let out a breath of relief. “Apologize to your mother for me. I’ll visit her another day.” “No need. These past few years, my mother’s illness has been thanks to you too.” That was true. Ever since my mother developed severe heart disease, she had relied on imported specialty medication to get through each day. The treatment costs were enormous, and Theodore Foster had paid for all of them. His tone softened. “Without your parents, I wouldn’t be where I am today. Taking care of your mother is what I should do.” I opened the car door and got out without hesitation. I took a cab to the hospital alone. When I pushed open the ward door, my mother was sitting on the edge of the bed, slowly moving her legs. “Mom.” My mother looked up and smiled at me. “Nancy, you’re here?” She looked behind me. When she did not see Theodore Foster, disappointment flashed in her eyes, but she said, “Theodore is busy with work, but you have to remind him to take care of his health. He may be young, but he isn’t made of iron.” My throat tightened, and I swallowed it back with effort. I sat down beside my mother’s bed and hesitated for a long time before speaking. “Mom, I’m going abroad in a while. I don’t feel comfortable leaving you alone in the country. Will you come with me?” My mother’s hand stilled. She looked at me for a long while, her gaze gradually sharpening. “Nancy, tell me the truth. Is Theodore treating you badly?” The one person in the world you can never hide from is your own mother. I lowered my head and said nothing. My mother was silent for a moment, then reached out and held my hand. “Nancy, you are the daughter your dad and I treasured most. We’re not going to let you suffer. Wherever you go, I’ll go. While I can still stand, I’ll go with you.” I could not hold back anymore and threw myself into my mother’s arms. The two of us held each other and cried so hard we could not speak. After leaving the ward, I wiped away my tears and immediately sent my mother’s documents to the immigration agent. Then I went to the payment office to pay my mother’s medical fees for the month. After paying, I was walking back when I passed the obstetrics and gynecology department, and my footsteps abruptly froze. Theodore Foster and Sophie Scott were walking side by side in front of me. One of Theodore Foster’s arms was around Sophie Scott’s waist, and the other was carefully protecting the area in front of her belly. So this was the urgent project he had mentioned. I lowered my head and refused to look at the perfect couple, but their conversation still reached my ears clearly. Sophie Scott smiled brightly at Theodore Foster. “It’s only a little over three months. You don’t have to be this nervous.” Theodore Foster frowned and corrected her. “This is my son, the future heir of Foster Group. How could I not be nervous?” My steps suddenly faltered. How familiar those words were. Three years ago, when I was four months pregnant, Theodore Foster had supported me like this during my prenatal checkup too. At the time, his hand had also protected my belly, and he had been extremely wary of everyone who came near me. He had said to my stomach, “This is my son, the future heir of Foster Group. No one is allowed to touch him.” But not long after he said those words, Theodore Foster’s business rival deliberately staged a car accident to get revenge on him. I was four months pregnant when the crash threw me out of the car. The baby was gone. The doctor told me my uterus had suffered severe damage, and my chances of getting pregnant again in the future were slim to none. Afterward, Theodore Foster used swift and ruthless measures to send the perpetrator to prison. He sat beside my hospital bed, his eyes red as he held my hand. “Nancy, we won’t have children anymore. Even without a child, the two of us are still a complete family.” I believed him. I never imagined that in just three years, he would have a child with someone else, and a home with someone else. So his devotion and tenderness were never reserved only for me. I looked away and quickened my pace, brushing past them from behind. Just then, the door to the obstetrics department was suddenly shoved open. A woman with disheveled hair rushed out from inside. She was gripping a fruit knife in her hand and screaming, “You killed my baby! I’ll kill you!” The woman charged straight toward Sophie Scott. Sophie Scott screamed in terror. Theodore Foster reacted extremely quickly. He grabbed Sophie Scott and pulled her back. At the same time, his other hand yanked backward hard, pulling me in front of Sophie Scott as a shield. Everything happened in an instant. Before I could react, I only felt a chill across my abdomen. Then, a burst of agony exploded through my lower belly. I looked down and saw that the knife had already sunk into my lower abdomen. Blood gushed from the wound. All the strength drained from my legs in an instant, and I collapsed to my knees. In the last moment before I lost consciousness, I saw Theodore Foster holding the fainted Sophie Scott tightly in his arms, his face filled with panic and heartache. He did not look my way even once. I was overwhelmed by resentment until I sank completely into darkness.

Nancy Davis POV When I woke again, I was in a hospital room. A stranger sat by my bed, a caregiver in her fifties, her head lowered as she knitted a sweater. Seeing my eyes open, the caregiver put down her work and hurried out to call the doctor. The attending physician was a woman in her forties. After looking through my medical records, she spoke with anger barely held back in her voice. “Do you know how hard it was for you to conceive this baby? How could you come for a prenatal checkup alone? Well, now the child is gone, and it will be almost impossible for you to get pregnant again.” I froze. I had been pregnant? My hand moved on its own to cover my lower abdomen. My abdomen was wrapped in gauze, flat and empty. So, without my knowing, I had another child. The child we had hoped for for so many years. After that car accident, the doctors had determined that it would be nearly impossible for me to conceive again. Theodore Foster and I had grieved over it for a long time. I had even secretly gone to hospital after hospital, searching for treatment and medicine, swallowing countless bitter remedies and going through endless examinations. I thought it would be impossible in this lifetime. Perhaps heaven had taken pity on me after all, giving me this miracle when I was at my most desperate. And yet this miracle had been destroyed by the child’s own father, with his own hands, all to protect another woman. My eyes burned until they ached. Every last bit of strength I had left went into clenching my fists. My lower abdomen hurt. My heart hurt. Every inch of my body hurt. I bit down hard on my lower lip, so hard that blood seeped from the corner of my mouth. The female doctor looked at me and seemed unable to bear it. Her tone softened. “You’re still young. When you meet the wrong person, you have to cut your losses in time.” The caregiver beside her chimed in too. “That’s right. You were unconscious for a whole day, and not a single person from your family or his came by. No one even asked about you.” “Look at Mr. Foster. He’s so busy, but he still accompanied his wife for her prenatal checkup.” “Although this time, he accidentally ran into you and caused your injury, he had his assistant pay all your medical bills right away and even hired me to take care of you.” As she spoke, the caregiver took a business card from the drawer and placed it by my pillow. “His assistant told me that once you’re discharged, you should contact him to discuss compensation afterward. I heard this Mr. Foster isn’t short on money. Once you get the money, if you need to divorce, then divorce. Let go of that scumbag and start over on your own.” I stared at the ceiling without speaking. Family? What family did I have left? My father had died in a car accident while delivering food to Theodore Foster. My mother lay in a hospital room upstairs, relying on expensive medication to keep a heart that might stop at any moment beating. My husband was with his new wife. As for my mother-in-law, Fiona Foster… Back when Theodore Foster was poor, Fiona Foster praised me whenever she saw me, saying I was capable and virtuous. She was so attentive it almost felt like she was trying to curry favor, terrified that I would look down on Theodore Foster for having no money and leave him. Later, after Theodore Foster succeeded in his business, Fiona Foster’s attitude toward me changed. She remained polite, but she became much colder. After my miscarriage three years ago, when the doctor said Nancy Davis was almost impossible to get pregnant again, Fiona Foster changed her face completely. Not only did she often make things difficult for me, she also blamed me openly and in private for cutting off the Foster family line. Theodore Foster flew into a rage over it and forbade Fiona Foster from coming to our home again, completely separating me from my mother-in-law. At this moment, what relatives did I have who could come to my side? I lay alone on a hospital bed, saying goodbye to our unborn child. Meanwhile, Theodore Foster and his darling wife were looking forward to the arrival of their child. How ironic. My phone lit up. It was a photo from that unfamiliar number. In the photo, on a beach where the sea met the sky, Sophie Scott leaned in Theodore Foster’s arms. Theodore Foster held her from behind, his chin resting on her shoulder. The two of them smiled at the camera, sweet and perfectly in sync. A line of text followed underneath: [Your ex-husband is on his honeymoon. You can just lie in the hospital by yourself.] Right after that, a message from Theodore Foster popped up on WhatsApp: [Nancy, something urgent came up at the company. I need to go on a business trip for a week. Take good care of yourself. I’ll bring you a gift when I come back. I love you.] That was right. Newlywed bliss naturally meant a honeymoon. Now I knew who that unfamiliar number belonged to. It was Sophie Scott. I looked at the messages the two of them had sent one after the other. One showing off, one lying. It was simply the funniest joke I had ever heard in my life. I laughed and laughed, and then tears streamed down my face. Over the next few days, Sophie Scott never tired of it. Every day, she sent me photos. On the first day, it was Theodore Foster personally feeding Sophie Scott strawberries, his profile wearing a gentle smile. Back in college, Theodore Foster had fed me strawberries like that too. But in recent years, it had happened less and less. On the second day, it was a photo of the two of them on a yacht. Sophie Scott wore a bikini, and Theodore Foster held her from behind, intimate to the extreme. On the third day, it was a photo of a diamond bracelet. The caption read: [He said this is a gift for the mother of our child.] I touched my empty lower abdomen, my heart icy cold. On the fourth day, the photo Sophie Scott sent made my hands tremble violently. Messy bedsheets. A man’s bare shoulders and back. A woman’s arm draped over him. The caption read: [He said you’re like a dead fish. Boring as hell.] I flipped my phone face down on the bed and closed my eyes. Tears slid from the corners of my eyes into the pillow. Thanks to Sophie Scott, these past few days, Nancy Davis’s tears had barely stopped. I did not want to let him affect my emotions anymore. But we had more than twenty years of feelings between us. I could not control it.

Nancy Davis POV A week later, I was discharged. I took a cab home by myself. When the maid saw me come in, she hurried over. “Mrs. Foster, where have you been? Why do you look so pale?” I waved my hand and said nothing, heading straight upstairs back to the bedroom. After resting at home for another three days, my complexion slowly improved. But I did not want to stay in this house even one more day, so I called the immigration agent. “When will my paperwork be ready?” “Ms. Davis, we are already expediting the documents for you and your mother. Everything should be completed within three weeks.” “Okay, I—” “What immigration? Who’s immigrating?” Theodore Foster pushed the door open and walked in, his expression tense. My heart lurched. I quickly hung up the phone and set my phone down with a normal expression. “A friend of my mother asked me to help ask about it.” Seeing my calm expression, Theodore Foster finally relaxed his tense shoulders. He reached out and pulled me into his arms. “Let me hold you. I haven’t seen you in so many days. You’ve lost weight.” He stroked my hair with heartache. “It’s all my fault. I’m always on business trips. For the next few days, I’m not going anywhere. I’ll stay with Nancy properly.” “Next time, let’s go to Bali island, okay? I heard there’s a restaurant on the sea cliffs there. The lobster is especially fresh, and the sunset is beautiful too.” I leaned in his arms, my whole body stiff. In the photos Sophie Scott had sent, the place where they had gone for their honeymoon was Bali island. The cliffside restaurant he mentioned was one he had just taken Sophie Scott to. Listening to his lies, my heart felt as if it were being carved up. How hard it must have been for him. After having fun honeymooning with his new wife, he still did not forget to share it with me, his ex-wife. “If you stay with me, what about your company?” What I did not ask was, what about your new wife? What about your unborn child? Theodore Foster chuckled softly. “How could the company be more important than Nancy? Nothing in the world can stop me from staying with my wife.” As he spoke, he took out a gift bag. Inside was a limited-edition Birkin. “Saw it on my business trip. It’s for you. Do you like it?” I looked at that expensive bag and forced myself to squeeze out a smile. “I like it.” The next day, Theodore Foster took me to a lakeside French restaurant for dinner. After we were seated, Theodore Foster expertly instructed the waiter, “No truffle sauce with the foie gras. Medium-well steak with black pepper sauce. Crème brûlée for dessert, no chocolate.” After the waiter noted it down and left, Theodore Foster skillfully replaced the ice water in front of me with warm water. When the steak was served, he deftly cut it into small pieces for me and arranged them on my plate. I lowered my head, not letting my tears fall. He clearly still remembered every habit of how to love me. So why could his heart drift to someone else? “Mr. Foster, what a coincidence.” A bright female voice interrupted us. Sophie Scott walked over in an haute couture dress, poised and graceful. Theodore Foster frowned, his expression displeased. “Ms. Scott. What a coincidence.” A flash of disappointment crossed Sophie Scott’s face, but she quickly hid it and smiled at me. “That’s right. The client I’m waiting for just won’t show, and I don’t want to eat alone. Mrs. Foster, would you mind sharing a table?” Before I could answer, she had already pulled out a chair on her own and sat down. Theodore Foster looked at me nervously. My expression remained calm as I lowered my head and took a sip of water. Seeing that I had no reaction, Theodore Foster did not say anything more. He waved the waiter over to add more dishes. He flipped through the menu and ordered several more. Listening to the dishes he named, Sophie Scott laughed softly. “Mr. Foster still remembers what I like to eat.” Theodore Foster’s hand paused mid-order. He immediately looked at me guiltily and explained, “Ms. Scott and I often have working meals together. After enough time, I just remembered. Nancy, don’t overthink it.” I pulled my lips into an ugly smile and lowered my head, eating now and then without interest. He remembered my dietary restrictions, and he also remembered Sophie Scott’s preferences. He remembered both of our tastes perfectly. What a deeply devoted man he was. During the meal, Theodore Foster went to the hallway to take a call. As soon as he left, the smile on Sophie Scott’s face turned cold. She put down her knife and fork, looking at me with a half-smile. “Nancy Davis, Theodore already got married to me. I didn’t expect you’d be willing to be the other woman and still refuse to leave.” I lifted my eyes and met her gaze. “Ms. Scott, you were the other woman who just managed to climb into position, and now you’re here mocking someone else as the other woman? If you could control your man, you wouldn’t have shown up here today.” Sophie Scott’s smile stiffened on her face. I gave a cold snort. “The trash I don’t want anymore, you’re welcome to pick up yourself. But why do I feel like he wasn’t very happy to see you just now?” Sophie Scott had always been proud and arrogant. These were the words she could least bear to hear. Her face flushed bright red. She abruptly stood, grabbed my arm, and yanked me up. “Today I’ll let you see exactly who he likes!” She pulled me so hard that I staggered to my feet. Before I could react, Sophie Scott had already dragged me with force and jumped into the lake outside the terrace.

Nancy Davis POV The instant I fell into the lake, all the blood in my body seemed to freeze. When I was a child, I had fallen into a river. Water had flooded my mouth and nose, and I had nearly drowned. Ever since then, I had been afraid of water. I had never learned to swim. Theodore Foster knew that. The icy lake water surged into my ears, my nasal cavity, my throat. I struggled desperately, but my limbs would not obey, as if they had been tied down. My body sank like a stone. Terror pressed down on me from every direction. Hearing the commotion, Theodore Foster rushed to the lakeside. When he saw me in the water, his face changed drastically. Without hesitation, he jumped in and swam toward me. Through the water, I vaguely saw his figure approaching. On the other side, Sophie Scott screamed, “The baby! My stomach—” Theodore Foster’s movements came to a sudden halt. I saw struggle and pain flash across his face. I saw him clench his jaw. In the end, he changed direction and swam toward Sophie Scott. He chose Sophie Scott. I watched helplessly as Theodore Foster got farther and farther away from me. My throat felt as if someone had grabbed it, and I could not make a sound. The lake water closed over my head. I gave up struggling and slowly closed my eyes. When I opened my eyes again, it was the familiar hospital room once more. Theodore Foster sat in the chair by my bed. I did not know how long he had been keeping watch. His eyes were bloodshot. Seeing me wake up, he immediately knelt in front of my bed and gripped my hands tightly in both of his. “I’m sorry, Nancy. I mistook her for you. The water was too murky at the time. I couldn’t see clearly. I didn’t do it on purpose. I’m sorry…” I closed my eyes and no longer looked at him. Even now, he was still lying. He had chosen Sophie Scott, then run to me and pretended to be hopelessly devoted. He dared to do it, but not to admit it. I did not want to hear his lies anymore. Theodore Foster kept apologizing, repeating “I’m sorry” over and over. I interrupted him. “I’m hungry.” “Okay. Okay, I’ll go buy food right now.” Theodore Foster hurriedly stood and almost ran out of the hospital room. The room was finally quiet. But it was not quiet for long before the door was pushed open again. Sophie Scott walked in holding a bouquet of lilies. Seeing that Theodore Foster was not there, her dignified bearing became haughty and condescending. The last trace of disguise vanished from her face, revealing unconcealed malice. “Nancy Davis, you saw it, didn’t you? He chose me. Why aren’t you getting lost already?” I turned my head away and did not look at her. Seeing that I had no reaction, Sophie Scott immediately became dissatisfied. She toyed with her long fingernails, her tone casual. “Let me tell you the truth. That crazy woman in the obstetrics department? I arranged it.” She stared at me viciously. “Originally, I wanted her to stab you to death. Who knew you’d be so lucky and survive? But it wasn’t a total waste. She stabbed that little bastard in your belly to death. That’s not bad either.” My mind exploded with a boom. In an instant, all the blood in my body rushed to my head, and my ears rang. I abruptly raised my hand and slapped Sophie Scott hard across the face. “Bastard!” Sophie Scott’s face was knocked to the side, and a red mark quickly rose on her cheek. But instead of getting angry, she smiled, using the gentlest tone to say the most vicious words. “Your child was the bastard. A little bastard who didn’t have the life to survive.” The string of my reason snapped. I raised my hand to slap her again. “Enough, Nancy Davis!” Theodore Foster seized my wrist hard. The takeout boxes he had just bought fell to the floor, soup splashing everywhere. He forcefully shoved me toward the head of the bed. The back of my head hit the bedrail, and pain blackened my vision. Theodore Foster did not spare me a glance. He hurriedly supported Sophie Scott, his eyes anxiously scanning her up and down. “Are you hurt? What are you doing here?” With reddened eyes, Sophie Scott shook her head, looking wronged yet magnanimous. “I only felt sorry about what happened before and wanted to come see Ms. Davis. I didn’t expect Ms. Davis to be angry because you saved me first. I’m sorry, Ms. Davis. It’s my fault.” Theodore Foster turned to me with a dark expression, his voice ice-cold. “Nancy, how could you hit someone? Do you know Sophie is still pregnant?” I leaned against the head of the bed, the back of my head still throbbing faintly, but I laughed coldly. “How do you know she’s pregnant? Is the child yours?” “You!” Theodore Foster’s face turned blue, then white. His lips moved several times, as if he had been exposed in public. Anger and guilt surged up at the same time, making his expression look utterly ugly. Through gritted teeth, he forced out a few words. “You’re completely unreasonable!” After saying that, he bent down, picked Sophie Scott up in his arms, and stormed out without looking back. The hospital room door slammed shut with a dull bang. I looked at his fleeing back, then at the mess all over the floor. Slowly, I raised my hand and touched my chest. It was already numb there. I could not feel the pain anymore. I wiped the corners of my eyes again. At last, no tears came out. That was fine too. I had given up on Theodore Foster completely. I no longer loved him.

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When my daughter jumped from the eighteenth floor, she was still clutching a silver necklace tightly in her hand. Until her very last breath, she was waiting for her father to save her. But Harvey, the famous, high-profile defense attorney, didn’t fight for her. When she was being assaulted, he declined her FaceTime calls. And when I went to the police, he accused me and our daughter of being dramatic liars. Then, the horrific leaked videos of the assault went viral on TikTok and Snapchat. The cyberbullying pushed her over the edge. She cried and asked me, “Mom, does Dad not love me anymore?” I couldn’t answer her. She didn’t know that her father had checked out of our marriage long ago for a younger woman. But I was done trying to save a toxic marriage. My only goal now was to drag everyone who hurt my baby girl straight to hell. My daughter, Olivia, was in the ER. When the doctor handed me the medical report, his voice was so quiet it was almost a whisper. “She has been severely assaulted. She needs immediate physical and psychiatric care.” In that second, my brain went completely numb. The world around me faded into a dull buzz. In the hospital room, Olivia was curled up in the corner of the bed. She was shivering under the thin blanket. Her exposed wrists and neck were covered in dark purple bruises. Every time a footstep echoed in the hallway, she flinched violently, her eyes filled with pure terror. The rage inside my chest boiled over. I couldn’t take it anymore. I turned and ran out of the hospital. Thirty minutes later, I slammed open the doors of Harvey’s law firm. He was in the middle of a partners’ meeting. Every eye in the conference room locked onto me. Harvey put down his fountain pen, his brows furrowing into a deep, irritated scowl. “Sarah, whatever this is, we’ll talk about it at home.” I ignored the stares of his colleagues and walked straight up to him. “Olivia called you last night. Multiple times.” “Why didn’t you pick up?” The room fell dead silent. Harvey waved his hand, signaling his team to leave the room. The moment the heavy glass door clicked shut, his voice dropped. “Are you seriously doing this right now?” “This is my firm, Sarah. Not a place for you to throw tantrums.” I stared into his cold eyes, speaking through my teeth. “Answer me.” “When Olivia called you last night, screaming for help, why did you decline her call?” Harvey’s remaining patience completely evaporated. “I was working on a multi-million dollar merger.” “You stormed into my office just because of a missed call?” I let out a dry, bitter laugh, my eyes burning with tears. “She was attacked last night, Harvey.” “She called you because she was begging her father to save her.” “Did you even care?” His expression froze for a fraction of a second, but he quickly regained his icy composure. “Did you call the police?” I stared at him, stunned. He continued smoothly, “If a crime was committed, let the police handle it. Coming to my office and screaming at me serves absolutely no purpose.” I grabbed his expensive collar, my tears finally spilling over. “She is your daughter!” “When she was at her absolute worst, you were the first person she thought of!” “And you couldn’t even bother to slide to answer!” Harvey calmly but firmly pushed my hands away, his voice turning freezing cold. “Sarah, pull yourself together.” “Adults solve problems with legal procedures, not emotions.” “Now, stop disrupting my work.” Those cold, clinical words completely extinguished the last spark of hope in my heart. Years ago, to help me win a lawsuit, he had changed his entire career path and went to law school. Back then, he swore he would never let anyone hurt me again. But now, when his own daughter needed his protection, he couldn’t even spare a single word of comfort. Harvey checked his Rolex. “If that’s all, I have a client waiting.” I looked at this man—someone who used to be my husband but now felt like a total stranger. Suddenly, I had nothing left to say. I turned and walked away. … It was evening by the time I got back to the hospital. The second I pushed the door open, Olivia startled awake from her nightmare. She looked at the doorway in absolute horror, her body tense and ready to hide. Only when she realized it was me did she slowly relax. In the next second, she threw herself into my arms, sobbing so hard her entire body shook. “Mom…” “I can’t sleep.” “Every time I close my eyes, I see their faces.” I held her tight, my own tears soaking her hospital gown. “It’s okay, baby. Mommy’s here.” “Nobody is ever going to hurt you again.” But as soon as the words left my mouth, she screamed as if she had been shocked. “No!” “They will!” She scrambled back to the corner of the bed, covering her ears. “They said… they said they wouldn’t let me go…” “There were so many of them…” “Mom, you can’t beat them. They have too much power.” I pulled her back into my arms, gently stroking her back until her shaking slowly subsided. After a long silence, she reached out and took my hand. “Mom.” “Please don’t tell Dad.” I froze. “Why?” She kept her head down, her voice barely a whisper. “I don’t want him to think… I’m a bad girl.” Her words felt like a physical knife twisting in my chest. To Olivia, Harvey had always been the perfect, heroic father. She studied day and night, pushing herself to the limit just to get a single nod of approval from him. But even now, when she needed him most, her hero was nowhere to be found. I held her close and didn’t have the heart to tell her that her father had ignored her desperate calls all night. Once Olivia fell back asleep under the sedatives, I quietly left the room and drove to the police station. I didn’t care if Harvey believed us or not. I was going to get justice.

The detective assigned to the case was incredibly sympathetic. “The attacker tried to silence her, and she had to jump from a low balcony to escape them,” he explained. “When our patrol unit found her, she was badly bruised and disoriented.” “But she was clutching this necklace so tightly. She kept repeating that she bought it for her dad.” “She’s such a bright, sweet girl. It’s a tragedy.” “But don’t worry, we are going to do everything we can to put this monster behind bars.” To move the investigation forward, the detective asked me to identify some personal items recovered from the scene. The moment he pulled them out, I lost it. Beneath a pile of torn, stained clothes lay a small, delicate silver necklace. Olivia had worked part-time at a local coffee shop all summer to save up and buy that for Harvey’s birthday last year. But when she proudly presented it to him, he had scoffed, calling it “cheap junk” and telling her she was wasting her time instead of focusing on her SATs. Since that day, Olivia had worked twice as hard, determined to get into his alma mater, Harvard. Two days ago, she received her Harvard acceptance letter. She had been so excited to go to his office to surprise him. Instead, she was dragged into hell. I pressed the cold necklace against my chest. The tears I had been holding back for days finally washed over me. For the next few days, I stayed by her side. With the help of a trauma therapist, she stopped talking about wanting to end her life. She even forced a small smile to comfort me. “Dad is a brilliant lawyer, Mom. I have to be strong. I can’t make him look bad.” But her brilliant lawyer father hadn’t visited her once. Olivia didn’t say it out loud, but I saw the way she stared at the door. I couldn’t stand seeing her heart break. So, I called Harvey repeatedly until he finally agreed to stop by. Knowing he was coming, Olivia specifically wore a long-sleeved shirt to cover her bruises. But we waited from sunrise to sunset. When Harvey finally showed up, he looked completely annoyed. He was on his phone, frowning at me as he walked in. “My firm just took on a massive federal case. Make this quick.” Olivia eagerly reached for her backpack to pull out her Harvard acceptance letter. But before she could, Harvey turned to his young legal assistant, Sienna, who had followed him into the room. “Did we secure the CCTV footage of the street yet?” Harvey asked her. “Time is money. We can’t waste a single second.” The smile on Olivia’s face froze, but she still gathered her courage and spoke up. “Dad… I got into Harvard.” Harvey didn’t even look at her. He just kept discussing his case with Sienna. “Don’t worry about it too much, Sienna. Since the kid is your relative, I’ll handle the defense personally,” Harvey said. “Besides, I absolutely despise those cheap, trashy girls who party hard and then cry foul when things go wrong.” The color completely drained from Olivia’s face. She began desperately rubbing her sleeves over her hidden scars, her forced smile looking more painful than a sob. My chest tightened. Just as I was about to step in and shut him down, there was a knock on the door. Sienna checked her phone, looking frantic. “Harvey, my cousin—the boy I told you about—is outside. He’s terrified.” “He’s just a sweet boy from a small town. He came to the city and got scammed and set up.” “Please come talk to him. He’s so fragile, I’m terrified he might do something reckless to himself…” Hearing this, Harvey immediately turned on his heel, completely ignoring Olivia, and walked out the door. I rushed to Olivia’s side to comfort her, but before I could touch her, she started shaking violently. “Mom…” Olivia’s teeth chattered. “That boy… the one outside with Sienna…” “He was the one who attacked me.” “What?!” I stood up, my blood running hot. But Olivia grabbed my hand with terrifying strength.

Even in the middle of summer, her hands felt like ice. Every word she spoke was laced with a deep, paralyzing dread. “Why is Dad defending a monster like him?” “Does Dad hate me that much? Does he not want me to be his daughter anymore?” “I’m dirty, aren’t I? I disappointed him… Dad doesn’t want me…” “No, baby, no!” I shook my head, desperately trying to pull her out of her panic attack. But she was completely triggered, repeating the same words like a broken record. “Dad doesn’t want me.” “Dad hates me…” I had no choice. I ran out into the hallway to catch Harvey and tell him the sickening truth. But when I explained what Olivia had just said, Harvey snatched his hand away with utter disgust. “Sarah, do you ever think before you lie?” “Olivia is my daughter. In this city, with my reputation, who would dare touch her?” “If she didn’t get the grades she wanted and is throwing a fit, she can just tell me. There is absolutely no need to invent a disgusting lie like this just to get my attention!” I froze, staring at him in utter disbelief. “She is your flesh and blood! You would believe a complete stranger’s sob story over your own daughter?” Harvey sneered. “I am a defense attorney, Sarah. I deal in hard evidence.” “If she can’t produce solid, undeniable proof, then she can stop pretending to be my daughter. I don’t raise liars.” “Dad…” A soft, fragile voice came from behind us. Olivia was standing there, swallowed up by her oversized hospital gown. Her trembling hands were still clutching her Harvard acceptance letter. “I didn’t lie… I really got in…” But before she could finish, Harvey’s phone rang. He looked at the caller ID, and without a second thought, answered it. His voice instantly softened into a gentle tone. “Sienna, hey, calm down. I’m coming right now.” “I’m here. You don’t have to worry about a thing.” The last spark of light in Olivia’s eyes died. The acceptance letter slipped from her fingers, fluttering down to the dirty hospital floor. She looked like an old, broken woman as she slowly turned back, her shoulders slumped, dragging her feet. “I get it now,” she whispered to herself. “Dad just… hates me.” My heart shattered into a million pieces. I lunged at Harvey, grabbing his jacket, screaming at him to go back and apologize to our daughter. But he just looked at me with deep annoyance. “Sarah, cut the drama, will you?” Harvey pulled out his phone and tapped on a video. “I already had my investigator check the security cameras around our house.” “Olivia was inside the house all night. She didn’t even step outside.” “How could she have been attacked if she never left the house?” “I know you hate how close I am with Sienna, but you don’t have to poison our daughter’s mind to frame an innocent kid!” A high-profile lawyer like him knew damn well that digital video could be edited and forged. Yet Harvey, who prided himself on being objective and meticulous, had lost all his brain cells the moment Sienna was involved. I looked at him, feeling a profound, heavy emptiness. “Harvey, when we got married, you swore to me.” “You said no matter what happened, you would always believe me. You said we would face the world together.” “Look at you now. What are you doing?” Harvey laughed, a sound dripping with contempt. “Look at yourself, Sarah. Are you even the same woman I married?” “You spend all day being paranoid and jealous, and now you’ve raised our daughter to be a manipulative liar!” Olivia was a good girl. She was my absolute pride. Years ago, when Harvey first started his firm, his arrogant attitude pissed off some dangerous people, and he was almost blacklisted from the state bar. I was the one who carried Olivia in my arms, knocking on every partner’s door to apologize and beg for him.

Back then, Olivia couldn’t even speak full sentences. But she would look at those powerful men and babble, “Daddy is good. Please don’t hurt Daddy.” Her innocent face had bought Harvey a second chance at his career. And now, when she was the one begging for a lifeline, he was stomping on her hand. “Whatever,” Harvey sighed, looking at my tear-stained face. “I know raising her hasn’t been easy for you.” “Go back and tell Olivia that it’s fine if her grades aren’t perfect, but she needs to keep her morals straight.” “I don’t expect her to take over my firm, but I won’t let her make me the laughingstock of the legal community.” “A top attorney like me cannot have a daughter who lies about being assaulted.” No investigation. No forensic tests. Just because of a few words from Sienna, he had declared his own daughter guilty. Before I could even process the pain, my phone buzzed frantically with a dozen notifications. It was the head nurse from the hospital. “Sarah, you need to get back to the psychiatric ward right now!” “Someone just leaked a highly graphic video of Olivia on Snapchat and TikTok. Olivia saw it and is completely hysterical!” “She’s hurting herself! We can’t hold her down!” My hands shook so violently I could barely hold the phone. The video was slightly pixelated, but anyone who knew Olivia could tell it was her. The comment section was filled with disgusting, vile messages from her classmates: “Omg, isn’t this the quiet girl from AP Lit? She acted so innocent, but look at her go.” “If I were her, I’d literally jump off a bridge. How embarrassing for her parents.” “I have the full unblurred link. $5 on Venmo, DM me.” Every single word felt like a physical blow to my skull. I forwarded the link to Harvey, my fingers trembling on the screen. “Sue the poster! They are destroying Olivia! Do something!” This time, Harvey replied instantly. But it was only two words: “Too busy.” Right. I forgot. Harvey was too busy saving the actual rapist. Why would he care if his daughter lived or died? Tears dripped onto my screen, blurring my vision. I quickly called a few of my old friends from college who worked in PR and media, begging them to help me get the videos taken down. Not even ten minutes later, Harvey called me back, his voice booming with fury. “Sarah! Why are you telling people that Sienna set Olivia up?” “Do you have any idea what kind of damage a smear campaign like that does to a young girl’s career?” “Get over to the office and apologize to Sienna right now. Publicly admit you lied. I will not let you ruin Sienna’s future!” His blind defense of that girl made me lose my mind. I screamed into the phone. “What about Olivia’s future?! What about her life?!” “The boy who did this is Sienna’s cousin! You are defending a monster and gaslighting your own daughter! Are you even human, Harvey?!” Harvey choked on his words for a second. Then, he spat out, “You’re delusional,” and hung up. Back in the room, Olivia was curled under the bed, shaking as she listened to my muffled screams. When I crawled under to hold her, she slowly looked up. “Mom… does Dad really hate me?” I wanted to lie. I wanted to protect her. But the brutal truth was staring us in the face. I couldn’t make excuses for Harvey anymore. The light in Olivia’s eyes completely vanished. For the next week, her mental state deteriorated rapidly. She was terrified of every shadow, staying awake for days. But sometimes, she would hold my hand and whisper, “I’ll stay strong for you, Mom. I’ll live.”

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1 The night I was diagnosed with stomach cancer, I saw a viral “Do you have the guts?” challenge. Owen had tagged Emily: Do you have the guts to admit you take off his hearing aids so he won’t hear us next door? Emily replied instantly. Stop it. Stop being crazy. Owen answered, Don’t worry, I won’t tell him. I’m dying anyway. My final wish is seeing you two happy. Commenters tore him apart, not knowing the truth. At the orphanage, when a drunk caretaker came for me, Owen locked me in a utility closet, taking the beating himself. Later, Emily gave up an Ivy League future and studying abroad to tutor me for three years so I could get into college. I owed them everything. Even knowing they betrayed me, hating them felt like ingratitude. The hospital called—Owen’s liver was failing, and I was a perfect match. I looked at my stage II stomach cancer diagnosis on the desk. Then I went to the hospital alone, signed the organ donation form, and signed papers refusing further cancer treatment. … After completing the pre-op tests, I sat in the hospital corridor for a long time, just trying to feel my own body before the sickness completely hollowed it out. When I turned my phone back on, the video was gone. The comments were deleted. Instead, I had thirteen missed calls from Emily and seventeen from Owen. I called Emily back. She picked up on the first ring, her voice freezing. “Michael, where have you been?” “Owen has been breaking out in cold sweats from the pain. Because we couldn’t find you, he refused to take his pain meds.” “Do we really have to worry about you at a time like this?” I opened my mouth, but my throat was incredibly dry. She noticed my silence and paused. “Where are you?” I stuffed the test results deep into my coat pocket. “Nowhere. I’m fine.” She let out a sharp sigh of relief. “If you’re fine, get over here. Owen wants to take a photo.” Owen’s voice came through the receiver, weak and laughing. “Art, I want to take a decent portrait for my funeral. I don’t want you guys remembering me looking like a corpse when I’m gone.” Emily immediately snapped at him. “Shut up. You look so awful right now even the Grim Reaper wouldn’t want you.” She sounded harsh, but I heard the rattle of the water glass shaking against the table. Her hands were trembling. When I reached the studio, Owen was already dressed in a crisp white button-down. He was so thin the shirt hung loosely on his frame. Emily stood behind him, her eyes red. Seeing me, she frowned. “Why is your face so pale?” Before I could answer, Owen smiled. “Hey, Art.” Emily immediately turned to support his weight. I walked over and gently adjusted Owen’s collar. He was just as thin when we were kids, pushing me into that dark closet. When the ambulance took him away back then, he still tried to comfort me. “Don’t worry about me, Art. I might be skinny, but I can protect you.” The photographer broke my reverie. “Should we do the solo shots first?” Owen shook his head. “Can we do a group photo of the three of us first? They’re the most important people in my life. Then you can take my solo portrait.” Emily’s face darkened. “Stop calling it that.” Owen’s eyes brimmed with tears. I looked at him and said softly, “Let’s not do a group photo.” They both looked at me, startled. I forced a smile. “You two should take a couple’s portrait.” Owen froze. Emily frowned. “Michael, don’t start.” I didn’t look at her. I squatted down to meet Owen’s eyes. “I’m just worried that if you go to the other side alone, other ghosts will bully you. You need some backup.” Emily went quiet. Owen’s tears spilled over, and I gently wiped them away with my thumb. The photographer told them to stand closer. Owen hesitated to touch her. I took his hand and placed it in Emily’s. “It’s okay.” Emily looked up at him. The photographer said, “Bride, hold onto the groom.” She didn’t correct him. She just wrapped her arms tightly around Owen’s. I stood outside the frame, holding Owen’s medicine bag and Emily’s purse. The flash went off, bright and blinding. It struck me then that Emily and I had never taken couples’ photos, let alone wedding portraits. I stepped slightly into the edge of the frame. In their perfect photo, my blurry shadow would be my final, quiet farewell. After the shoot, Owen wanted to go for a walk. “Just for a bit. I want to look at the sky one last time.” Emily refused. “You’re too weak to be moving around.” Owen looked down, silent. I went to speak, but my vision went black. The blood draw had left me lightheaded, and a dull, heavy ache throbbed in my stomach. I leaned against the back of a chair to steady myself. Emily saw me and knit her brows. “Michael, Owen is exhausted. Don’t start acting sick right now and make him feel worse.” I forced a nod, picking up Owen’s scarf. “Let’s go. I’ll walk with him.” The wind outside was freezing. Emily supported Owen ahead of me, and I lagged behind. Owen stood by the railing, staring into the gray distance. “Emily, I have one last wish.” Her voice strained. “You have a lot of wishes today.” Owen didn’t laugh. He looked back at me. Emily did too. After a few seconds, she spoke softly. “Art, can you take off your hearing aids for a moment?” I complied, and the world plunged into silence. Emily turned to Owen. With absolute seriousness and devotion, she said something. Owen froze, then laughed through his tears. They thought I couldn’t hear. But I could read lips. She had said: I love you. A wave of bitterness washed over me. I wiped my tears, slowly letting my lips curve into a silent shape: I love you both, too. That was why I was willing to let them go. Owen cried so hard his body swayed. Emily’s face paled. She lunged to catch him. “Owen?!” His eyes closed, his fingers still clutching her sleeve. Her voice shook with panic. “Owen, stay with me. Look at me! Do you hear me?!” She carried him to the car. As she sped away, she forgot all about me. I stood by the empty road, put my hearing aids back on, and hauled a cab to the hospital. When I reached the emergency room, Emily was standing outside the resuscitation room. Her dress was wrinkled, her hands stained with Owen’s nosebleed. The nurse told her to wash up, but she didn’t hear. Her eyes were glued to the red light. When the doctor stepped out, she rushed forward. “How is he?” “His liver is failing,” the doctor said. “We can’t drag this out any longer.” Her lips trembled. “Haven’t you found a donor? I don’t care how much it costs!” The doctor frowned. “It’s not about money.” Her voice cracked. “Then take mine. I’ll donate. Just save him.” I watched her from a few paces away. I remembered when my hearing first deteriorated and I was too terrified to sleep. Emily had stayed up with me until dawn. Her eyes had been red then, too. But back then, she had only patted my shoulder and said, “Don’t worry.” She was always so calm, I never thought she could break. The doctor went back inside. Emily slid down against the wall, burying her face in her hands, sobbing. I walked over and crouched before her. “He’ll be okay. He’ll get the donor.” She snapped her head up, her eyes bloodshot. “Michael, how can you say that so easily? Like it’s nothing?” I froze. She pushed herself up so fast her shoulder slammed into me. Lightheaded and weak, I lost my balance and fell to the cold floor. A sharp spasm of pain flared in my stomach, turning my vision dark. But Emily didn’t even notice. She glared down at me. “Owen almost died outside that door trying to save you when we were kids. Now he’s dying, and you’re just standing there telling me he’ll be fine? Michael, when did you become so selfish?” I sat on the freezing tile, unable to utter a word. A nurse ran over to help me up. “Are you alright?” “Just low blood sugar,” I mumbled. The nurse looked at my deathly pale face. “You really should get checked out.” Before I could answer, Owen’s weak voice drifted from the room. “Emily…” She spun around instantly. Owen’s first question upon waking was, “No donor yet?” Emily held his hand. “I’ve sent people to get tested.” Owen’s eyes welled up. “Don’t do it. I don’t want you giving up part of your liver for me. And I don’t want Art to be hurt either.” Hearing my name, Emily finally cast a glance at me. It was a complex look, filled with silent accusation that I was too detached. Owen pulled a worn notebook from under his pillow. A sticky note on the cover read: Bucket List. He opened the first page. “Took the photo. Check.” He drew a tick next to it. Then he flipped the page. “I want to go to the old hilltop sanctuary to draw a blessing card. The old lady near the orphanage used to say that if the card is blessed, it can buy you some extra time.” He smiled weakly. “I want to try.” Emily agreed. I leaned against the doorframe, my phone buzzing in my pocket. It was a text from the hospital: Mr. Michael, please check in by 8:00 AM tomorrow. Pre-op preparations for organ donation have been confirmed. I clenched my fists. Owen noticed my silence. “Art, do you not want to go?” “No, I just have some things to take care of tomorrow.” Owen’s eyes dimmed. “Are you tired of me, Art?” My chest tightened. “No.” “I only have a few things left,” he whispered. “If you don’t want to come, it’s okay.” Emily looked at me, her voice laced with cold irritation. “Michael. All he wants is for you to accompany him to get a blessing card. Is that really so hard?” I locked my phone and smiled. “It’s not hard. I’ll go.” The next day, we went to the hilltop sanctuary. Emily helped Owen up the path. I trailed behind, my stomach throbbing. Every dozen steps, I had to stop to catch my breath. Emily only looked back once. The sanctuary was quiet. Owen drew his blessing token first. When the priest read it, his face fell. A bad omen. The card read: A fading life cannot be held, fleeting blessings cannot endure. Owen stared at it, laughing quietly. “Pretty accurate.” Emily snatched the card and crumpled it. “Garbage. Draw again.” The priest shook his head. “One request per token. You cannot redraw.” Emily’s face twisted with anger. Just then, my token fell out. An auspicious omen. The priest glanced at it. “A long life of peace, filled with abundant grace.” My fingers trembled. I had drawn it for myself. Before I could pocket it, Emily reached over, took it from my hand, and pressed it into Owen’s palm. “Take this. Wash away the bad luck.” Owen blinked. “But this is Art’s.” Emily finally looked at me. “Michael, you don’t mind, right?” I looked at the card, then at Owen’s deathly pale face. If this card really possessed any magic, let it protect him. Owen walked to the relationship altar. The priest said, “A relationship token can only be drawn once in a lifetime.” Owen stepped back. “Then leave it for you and Art.” But Emily grabbed his hand. “Don’t be afraid. Draw it if you want.” The wooden token clattered down. A perfect match. The priest read: “Bound by life and death, a bond too deep to sever.” Strangers nearby murmured about what a beautiful match they were. I stood to the side, a sudden wave of nausea hitting me. I covered my mouth, forcing down the metallic taste of blood. I stayed silent. Emily helped Owen down the steps. Owen leaned on her, asking, “Where’s Art?” Emily looked back. I was far up the steps. “He’s slow,” she said. “We’ll wait for him at the bottom.” I tried to keep walking, but the pain in my stomach was blinding. Dizziness washed over me, and my knees buckled. I couldn’t do it. I turned back toward the sanctuary. Next to the side chapel was a small clinic. A white-haired nurse helped me lie down and gave me some basic treatment. “You need to go to a hospital immediately. Any longer and you’ll bleed out.” I grabbed her hand. “Don’t tell the people outside.” When Emily finally found me, I had just sat up. She rushed in, exhaling in relief before her expression soured. “Michael, why did you run off here?” “Look, I’m sorry about taking your card earlier. I’ll take you to draw as many as you want later. Owen only has so much time left. Can we just keep him happy, please?” I looked at her, nodding weakly. “Okay.” She helped me down the mountain, her phone buzzing constantly with texts from Owen: Did you find Art? Is he mad at me? Emily, please don’t yell at him. As she read them, she murmured to me, “Michael, let’s just let him have his way this time.” Upon returning, I checked straight into the inpatient ward. The doctor looked grim. “You have liver donation surgery tomorrow, but your current physical state makes this extremely high-risk.” I closed my eyes. “I know. But please, proceed.” That night, Emily called me three times. I didn’t answer. When she texted, I didn’t dare read them. Finally, I turned off my phone. The next morning, news came from Owen’s ward: a donor had been found. Emily rushed to the doctor’s office. Through the door, I heard her voice. “When is the surgery?” “The donor has been admitted and passed all checks,” the doctor said. “I can compensate them,” Emily said urgently. “Money, real estate, anything they want.” The doctor shook his head. “That won’t be necessary.” In the afternoon, the nurse wheeled me out for my final tests. Passing the hallway, I heard Emily on the phone. “I still can’t reach Michael. He’s been acting strange since we got back from the sanctuary.” Owen’s weak voice answered, “Go find him.” Emily fell silent for a long moment. “After your surgery. He’s a grown man, he’ll be fine.” The nurse wheeled me into the elevator. Just before the doors slid shut, I saw Emily look up. She seemed to catch a glimpse of my patient gown. She took a step forward, but the doors closed. Later, Emily brought fruits and supplements to the donor’s ward. I heard her asking the nurse outside, “Can I just peek in? I want to say thank you on behalf of Owen.” The nurse stopped her. “The donor needs to rest.” She hovered at the door. I kept my back to her, my hair messy, not daring to move or turn around. Through the crack in the door, her voice softened. “His back looks… like someone I know.” My fingers clawed into the sheets. The nurse smiled. “Ms. Emily, you’re just stressed. Tomorrow’s surgery will go smoothly.” She finally left. I let go, my palms slick with sweat. On the day of the surgery, Owen was wheeled in first. I lay on another gurney, pushed through a side corridor. From a distance, I saw her tucking his blanket in. Three hours later, the surgeon emerged to deliver the good news: “The surgery was a success.” She leaned against the wall, eyes tearing up. “He’s alive… thank God.” But a second later, another nurse rushed out from the operating theater. “Who is Michael’s next of kin?!” Emily froze. “Are you mistaken? I’m Owen’s family. Why would Michael be in the operating room?” The nurse was frantic. “No mistake. The donor who gave his liver to Owen is Michael. He was already suffering from stomach cancer, and now after the transplant, his vitals are highly unstable. We need the family to sign an emergency consent form immediately!”

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1 Justine saw the Disneyland passes online and booked two tickets without hesitation. One for herself and one for her best friend Jared. After linking them to her account, she glanced at me. “Got your ticket yet?” I watched them walk toward security, shoulders brushing, then swallowed hard and bought a single adult pass. By the time I entered, Jared had messaged our group chat. “Taking too long, Marc. We’re hitting rides first. Don’t wait up.” On a trip for three, they always walked together. I was the one left behind. I deleted my draft that said I was coming to find them. Jared posted a photo of him and Justine in matching Mickey ears, faces close. The caption read, “Celebrating our 30th photo together.” In ten days in Los Angeles, they had taken thirty photos. I had been left behind thirty times. At dusk, crowds gathered for fireworks. I finally found them. Justine smiled and held up her phone. “Marcus, let me take your picture!” I stood alone under the glowing castle, flashing a stiff peace sign. Before I lowered my hand, she shoved the phone back and looped her arm around Jared. “Now take one of us! We want the castle like Nick and Judy.” I stared at the screen, handed the phone back, and walked away. This summer trip would never have the ending I had imagined. Justine hurried after me, catching my arm. “The fireworks aren’t even over. Where are you going? Don’t wander off and get lost again.” I blinked against the stinging in my eyes, forcing a smile as I turned back. But my gaze fell instantly on their tightly intertwined hands. The smile died on my face. “I think I want to go back to the hotel.” “Justine, hurry up! The crowd is moving, we need to grab the best viewing spot up front!” Jared’s voice cut over mine, loud and urgent. Justine didn’t hesitate. She let go of my arm, turned around, and pulled Jared into the throng. The surging crowd quickly swallowed them up, pushing me further and further away. It occurred to me then that even if I stood perfectly still, they would still find a way to leave me behind. As the fireworks erupted into brilliant colors behind me, I walked out of the park gates. I stared blankly at the gridlock of cars stretching into the night. Before we left, Justine had insisted on making all the plans herself, claiming she couldn’t trust me to handle the logistics. Now, I was left to navigate the unfamiliar transit system alone, following the signs toward the subway station. A hand suddenly grabbed my shoulder from behind. Justine was panting, her face slick with sweat, but her voice carried a sharp chill. “You’ve been pulling away from us all day. Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to try and enjoy the park while constantly searching for you?” “I’m sorry…” The familiar apology died in my throat. During the past thirty times I had been abandoned, I was always the one who apologized. Jared draped an arm over my shoulder, offering a sweet, easy smile. “Don’t mind her, Marc. She’s just a typical blunt girl, she doesn’t know how to show she cares about guys.” I looked at the heavy backpacks Justine was carrying, along with the giant stuffed animals they had won at the carnival games. Taking a step to the side, I let Jared’s arm slip off my shoulder. “Looks to me like she knows how to care for you just fine,” I said quietly. Jared grinned at Justine. “Aw, looks like our little Marcus is jealous.” Justine scowled, her irritation flashing clearly in her eyes. “He’s passive-aggressive from morning to night. Who has the energy to decode his constant mood swings?” Before I could reply, she spotted a large rideshare vehicle pulling up to the curb. She grabbed Jared’s hand and pulled him toward it. “Those people are looking for passengers to split the fare! Come on, let’s go negotiate with them.” After walking a few steps, she seemed to remember I was there. She turned around, calling out over the din of the traffic. “Marcus, stop throwing a fit. This is the busiest hour, and it’s impossible to get a private ride. Jared and I are taking this one. You find three other people to split another car.” Jared waved energetically from the window as the car door slid shut. “See you at the hotel, Marcus!” I stood frozen on the sidewalk, watching the sleek black car merge into the sea of taillights. At that moment, the sheer panic and humiliation of being abandoned in an unfamiliar city at midnight finally broke me. Tears spilled over my cheeks, and I wept openly under the streetlights, ignored by the rushing crowds. I remembered the day high school ended. Justine had been the one to suggest this trip to Los Angeles. She had looked into my eyes under the schoolyard trees and said, “Marcus, let’s be official.” But when we arrived at the station on the day of departure, I found out she had bought a ticket for Jared, too. I pulled out my phone and sent her a text. Justine, let’s break up. Her reply came almost instantly. Marcus, are you serious? Are you really throwing a tantrum just because Jared and I walked together today? I did it for your own sake. Your leg can’t handle long walks anyway. Whenever I complained, Justine’s excuse was always that she was doing it “for my own sake.” But the only reason my leg couldn’t handle long walks was because of them. During the summer before our senior year, we had taken Jared’s family’s beat-up minivan to the coast. Jared had insisted on swapping seats with me, forcing me into the passenger side while he played a rowdy game of charades with Justine in the back. They got so wild that Jared accidentally slammed into the driver’s seat, forcing the steering wheel out of control. The van crashed violently into a rock wall. The crumpled passenger door crushed my leg. During the most intense months of exam prep, I had to navigate school with a heavy plaster cast. Justine had carried me on her back up the stairs for an entire semester. I had allowed myself to believe she did it out of love. Now, I realized it was nothing more than guilt. It was nearly midnight by the time I managed to find a rideshare. Since my destination was the furthest, the other passengers gradually filtered out, leaving me alone in the back seat. I opened the maps app on my phone and realized the driver had veered off the main highway, heading down a dark, unfamiliar road. Panic seized me. I shared my live location to the group chat, tagging both of them repeatedly. Where are you guys? Can you look at my route? This driver is taking a very sketchy turn. Justine, call me on speaker right now so he knows someone is expecting me. Are you guys there? The silence stretching inside the car was suffocating. Finally, my phone buzzed with a message from Jared. I wiped the cold sweat from my palms and tapped it open. Marc, stop spamming the chat. Justine and I are in the middle of a mobile game and the connection keeps lagging because of your notifications. I stared at the words on the screen for a full minute, and then a dry, hollow laugh escaped my chest. The driver glanced at me through the rearview mirror, his voice gruff but kind. “Hey kid, we’re pretty far out. You should send a message to your family to let them know you’re safe.” I nodded numbly, thanking him, but the tears kept silent pace down my face. When I finally reached the hotel, Justine was sitting on the steps near the lobby. Seeing me limp toward her, she let out a long, weary sigh. “Marcus, it took you two hours to get a rideshare. I don’t even know what to say to you.” I brushed past her, keeping my head down. “Did you see my messages?” She looked up, her eyes vacant. “What messages?” Jared walked out of the lobby doors, casually messing up my hair. “Hey, look who finally decided to show up. We thought you got lost in the city forever.” He sat down on the wicker chair next to Justine, immediately leaning over her shoulder to analyze their last game match. I turned and walked toward the elevators. As the metal doors slid shut, separating me from the two of them, I caught my reflection in the polished steel. My face was pale, my eyes bloodshot and swollen. The lingering hesitation in my heart finally died. I pulled out my phone and sent a voice note to my mother. “Mom, I want to go to McGill. I’m not going to Stanford.” My mother, hearing the exhaustion in my voice, asked if Justine and I had fought. I didn’t give her a direct answer. The next morning, Jared’s bed remained perfectly made. He hadn’t slept in the room last night. The group chat was completely silent. Justine had sent me two private messages in the middle of the night. Marcus, I just saw the group chat. Next time you call a rideshare, make sure the license plate matches the app. She followed it with a link to a safety blog post about how to protect yourself in a stranger’s car. There was no apology, no concern. Just cold, clinical advice. I deleted the link and walked out of the room, determined to end things clearly. I wanted to tell her that this trip was a disaster, and that I was leaving. But when I knocked on her door, there was no answer. I called Jared’s phone. Justine answered. “You’re awake? The hotel breakfast runs until ten, make sure you grab something.” “Where are you guys?” I asked. The line went quiet for a moment before Jared’s voice took over. “Hey Marc, the hotel gave us a free couple’s photoshoot package that expires today. Since you were sleeping in, Justine said we shouldn’t bother you. So we just came out to do it ourselves.” “The photographer is waiting on us, so you just relax at the hotel, okay?” In the background, I heard the photographer’s muffled voice. “Come on, guys, show some affection! You’re a couple, don’t be shy. Press your cheek against hers, perfect, now hold that!” My fingers trembled, and I hung up the phone. To distract myself, I booked a last-minute ticket to a local museum. Subconsciously, I wanted to prove a point. I wanted to show them that I could have fun on my own, that I could be the one to abandon them. But the truth was, they didn’t care. When Justine found out I was at the museum, she sent a brief text. Cool. Jared and I are meeting an old classmate for lunch. Have fun, let’s meet up at the night market tonight. It was noon. They had just finished their photoshoot. It was clear they had never intended to invite me to their lunch. That evening, the night market was packed. When Justine saw me, the relaxed expression on her face instantly tightened into a frown. She handed me a cup of boba tea, her voice laced with annoyance. “Finally, the young master decides to grace us with his presence.” Jared took a long sip of his own drink, his eyes lingering on the iced lemon tea Justine was holding. Without a word, Justine naturally handed her cup to him. Jared took a drink, complained it was too sour, and handed it back. The gesture was so seamless, so practiced, it was obvious they did it all the time when I wasn’t looking. I slowed my pace, letting them drift ahead until the distance between us stretched. As I walked with my head down, a sudden, heavy force slammed into my shoulder. A cup of sweet milk tea splattered all over my shirt, and a man’s phone flew out of his hand, crashing onto the pavement. The screen shattered into a web of cracks. The man grabbed my arm with a crushing grip, nearly tearing the skin off my wrist. “Are you fucking blind? This is a brand new phone! Pay for it!” In the chaos, I looked over the heads of the crowd, locking eyes with Justine. But she was looking in the opposite direction, frantically pulling at Jared’s sleeve. Jared was in a heated argument with a street vendor over a failed digital payment. “Justine! I have a problem over here, can you help me?” I called out. Seeing me turn my head, the man slammed me hard against a brick wall. I fell to the ground, and his heavy boot stepped directly onto my swollen ankle, grinding down. A wave of white-hot agony washed over me, and my vision went dark. Across the street, Jared finally settled his dispute with the vendor. Justine looked back toward me one last time. Her gaze lingered on my collapsed form for less than a second before Jared grabbed her hand and pulled her around the corner. In the end, it was an elderly bystander who called the police for me. By the time I finished giving my statement at the station and returned to the hotel, it was long past midnight. I limped through the lobby, my ankle twice its normal size, throbbing with a dull, sickening heat. Justine came rushing out of the elevator when she heard the noise, holding a plastic bag of ice and spray from a local pharmacy. She knelt down, trying to touch my ankle. “Let’s ice it first, then use the spray. We’ll see how it looks tomorrow.” I stared down at her face. She possessed a cold, analytical maturity that felt entirely unnatural for her age. Her movements were gentle, but all I felt was a freezing numbness. “You saw me, didn’t you?” Her hands paused on my ankle, but she didn’t look up. “I didn’t see any fight. Jared was arguing with the vendor, and I was trying to keep him from escalating things.” Her voice was perfectly level, her expression unchanged. I stared at her, realizing how pathetic I had been. Jared stood behind her, casually chewing on a candied apple, his voice dripping with mock concern. “Marc, you really shouldn’t be so spacey in crowded places. You have to watch where you’re going.” Justine let out a soft laugh. “You’re acting like you just met him. He’s always been clumsy, constantly getting lost.” “Did I choose to get lost?” my voice cracked, cold and sharp. “You saw me. Why didn’t you come?” The warmth drained from her face, replaced by a flash of deep irritation. “Your situation was an issue, but Jared’s wasn’t?” I forced myself up, the agony in my ankle making me gasp for air, but I refused to let myself crawl before her anymore. “Justine, if I’m always your second choice, then don’t bother pretending to care.” “Justine, go after him,” Jared murmured from behind her, his voice soft and helpless. Justine raised her voice, her anger finally breaking through. “Don’t bother! We agreed to travel as a group, but he is the only one playing the victim!” I hobbled back to my room, packed my bags, and booked the earliest train ticket home. When I opened my phone, I saw a new post in the group chat. Jared had uploaded a group photo of the three of us from the night market. It was the first time in eleven days that I had appeared in their photos. He tagged me. Marc, Justine said this trip was to make up for the sophomore trip I missed. I didn’t know my presence bothered you this much. If it does, I’ll buy a ticket and leave tomorrow. The implication was clear. I was the interloper. Years ago, during our sophomore summer, Justine had crashed her bicycle into Jared, causing him to undergo a minor brain surgery. Even though the doctors said it was an accident, she had carried the guilt ever since. From that point on, Jared had inserted himself between us, an immovable wedge. Justine’s reply in the group chat was swift. I won’t allow you to leave. Her favoritism was absolute. On my feed, Jared had posted a grid of their couple’s photoshoot. In the photos, Justine was smiling at him, holding his hand, looking into his eyes with a tenderness she had never shown me. Our high school classmates were already leaving comments, congratulating them on going official. I liked the post and added a comment. You two make a perfect couple. Minutes later, my hotel door was slammed open. Justine stood there, her eyes flashing with fury as she grabbed my arm. “What is your problem? Why are you leaving passive-aggressive comments on Jared’s post? He ran off because of you!” I stumbled against the wall, my freshly iced ankle twisting again. “Jared is gone?” “Yes! Thanks to you!” she screamed. The urgency of finding him seemed to override her anger. I swallowed my tears, limping after her as we searched the dark streets. We split up to cover more ground, and I called Jared’s phone dozens of times, getting nothing but voicemail. At dawn, I dragged myself back to the hotel. I pushed open the door to their room and froze. Empty beer bottles littered the floor. On the narrow sofa, Justine had her arms wrapped tightly around Jared’s waist, the two of them fast asleep, tangled together. The sight was the final spark on a long-neglected fuse. The fragile thread of my sanity snapped. I grabbed a heavy pillow from the bed and began thrashing them with it, screaming in a frenzy. Did they have any idea how dangerous the streets were at night? Did they care that my leg was screaming in pain? Jared woke up with a start, his eyes red and swollen with fear. He reached out to stop me. “Marcus, I’m sorry! My phone broke last night, and Justine’s phone died!” I slapped his hand away with all my strength, leaving a bright red mark on his skin. Justine shoved me back violently, her face dark as night. “Marcus! If you hate seeing us together this much, then get out of this trip! The moment you walk away, our promise is dead!” I tripped over the edge of the rug, my injured ankle slamming hard against the wooden bedpost. The pain was blinding, but I forced myself to laugh, a loud, hysterical sound to mask the utter humiliation. “You’re already sharing a bed. Why are we even pretending?” I dragged my suitcase out of the room. Behind me, Jared called my name, but Justine’s cold voice cut him off. “Let him go! He thinks the whole world has to revolve around him.” When my mother met me at the train station back home, she took one look at my purple, swollen ankle and gasped. At the clinic, the doctor stared at the X-rays, his brow furrowed in concern. “This started as a minor strain, but the continuous stress has caused a complete rupture of the Achilles tendon. Even after surgery, you’ll have difficulty flexing your heel. You’ll likely walk with a permanent limp.” I sat in silence. My mother held my head against her chest, her tears wetting my hair. “Don’t worry, sweetie. We’ll find the best doctors. We’ll fix this.” The small examination room filled with the sound of my weeping. A notification popped up in the group chat. It was Jared. Marc, Justine wants me to apply to the vocational school near Stanford. I checked, and the campus is right down the road. We can all be together again, I’m so happy! I left the group chat and blocked both of them. Jared continued to broadcast their trip on the main class group chat. Thirtieth photo with Justine. We’re at the Griffith Observatory today. Someone told me this is the ultimate place to confess. Is that true? Should we try it? The chat erupted with classmates egging them on. And then, Jared posted a video. Justine was holding a bouquet of bright sunflowers, standing on the observation deck overlooking the city lights. Her voice was soft but clear. “Jared, you win. Let’s be together.” From behind the camera, Jared laughed. “Okay!” My chest gave a violent, painful squeeze. On the night she had agreed to be my girlfriend under the streetlights, she had promised to bring my favorite sunflowers to our college send-off and confess to me properly. Now, those flowers and that promise belonged to Jared. Three days later, Justine sent me a text. Marcus, you are so difficult to please. Because of your attitude, I lost a bet to Jared and have to be his girlfriend for three months. When you get to Stanford, don’t come see me too often. I don’t want Jared to get upset. I’ll reach out to you when the bet is over. But by then, I was already boarding a flight to Montreal. Justine decided to let me simmer for a few days, convinced I would come around. On the morning of her flight to Stanford, she woke up early and took a taxi to my house, intending to surprise me. She hesitated at the door for three long minutes, practicing how she would explain that she and Jared were planning to rent an apartment together near campus. The door opened, and my mother stood there, looking at her with cold surprise. “Mrs. Zhou, I’m here to pick up Marcus so we can head to the airport together,” Justine said, offering her most polite smile. But my mother’s response shattered her composure. “Justine, Marcus went to McGill.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “504155”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

1 Vanguard Law was nothing but a three-person sweatshop when it was first founded. I poured three years of my blood, sweat, and tears into building it from the ground up, transforming it into one of the most prestigious law firms in Chicago. I personally carried more than half of the company’s total revenue on my shoulders. But when it came time to discuss my partnership equity and the commission for a ten-million-dollar mega-contract I just landed, my boss flipped the script. “Do not think you are God’s gift to this firm just because you hold a few big accounts.” “Those VIP clients do not care about you. They care about the Vanguard brand.” He fabricated an “unexcused absence” to force me out and threatened to blackball me with an airtight non-compete clause. I sat in silence for a few seconds, let out a soft laugh, and signed my resignation papers. Picking up my cardboard box, I walked to the door and tossed one last sentence over my shoulder. “By the way, those top-tier VIP clients you love so much? They are my weekend hiking buddies. They are loyal to me, not your brand. If I walk, they all walk.” … “Wendy, who gave you the nerve to pull a no-show for three days straight?” Jackson lounged back in his oversized leather executive chair, looking me up and down with a gaze so slimy it made my skin crawl. His tone was dripping with venom. “Do not think you are God’s gift to this firm just because you hold a few big accounts.” “Those VIP clients do not care about you. They care about the Vanguard brand.” “You went AWOL for three days and ignored all calls. I have every right to terminate you on the spot.” I froze, my grip tightening on the contract in my hand. “Jackson, I submitted a PTO request for those three days last week. You personally approved it. And besides…” I wanted to tell him that even though I was technically on vacation, I had spent those entire three days hiking Blackwood Peak with Mr. Preston. I did it all for the firm, and because of that trip, I successfully locked down a ten-million-dollar retainer. Jackson cut me off with a mocking sneer. “Did I approve it? Funny, I do not remember that. Did you file the paperwork with HR? Show me the physical approval slip.” I was completely boxed in. Because the trip was a last-minute opportunity, Jackson had only given me a verbal okay. Seeing my silence, his smug smile widened. “Wendy, so what if you are the golden girl of this firm?” “You vanished without a trace on company time. Several clients could not reach you.” “We all thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere, but you were out having a grand old time hiking some mountain!” He knew exactly where I was. He knew I was at Blackwood Peak, which meant he knew I was entertaining Mr. Preston. It hit me like a splash of ice water. Jackson was doing this on purpose. He was the managing partner, but for two years running, my billing numbers had utterly crushed his. He was threatened. I shook the signed contract in my hand, refusing to back down. “Blackwood Peak is high altitude, there is zero cell reception. And I was working! I secured a one-year exclusive contract with Apex Corporation. The deal is worth ten million dollars.” “Hilarious!” Jackson burst into a grating, obnoxious laugh. “Working? You really think a woman like you landed a shark like Mr. Preston strictly through legal expertise? We all know exactly how you close your deals.” He dragged his eyes over my body again, his expression so vile he might as well have called me a cheap streetwalker to my face. I slammed my hand on his desk. “Watch your mouth, Jackson. Show some respect.” “Respect?” He scoffed loudly. “What kind of hike takes three days and three nights? You want respect? Look in the mirror. You do not deserve it!” A dull ache settled in my chest. Three years ago, Vanguard was a tiny, failing operation. Jackson fed me beautiful lies about potential, promised me equity, and begged me to treat this startup like my own family. For years, I worked myself to the bone, calling in every personal favor I had to drag high-net-worth clients through our doors. In three years, I grew this firm to a hundred employees. Over fifty percent of our total revenue came directly from my client roster. Top-tier firms had tried to poach me constantly, but Jackson gave me the title of Vice President. I stayed out of loyalty to my clients. Even though I was paid significantly less than the industry standard, I never once complained. I gave this company everything. And now, Jackson was throwing me under the bus the second I outlived my usefulness? My voice dropped to absolute zero. “Are you entirely sure you want to push me out?” Jackson waved his hand dismissively. “Stop acting like you are irreplaceable. You think this firm will crumble without you?” “The only reason you have that VP title is because you have been here the longest. I have a line of actual heavyweights begging to take your corner office!” Right on cue, Jackson’s assistant, a petty guy who had hated my guts since day one, chimed in. “Oh, Wendy, did you not hear? Kyle, that guy who graduated a year behind you? He is a legal superstar now, and he is bringing tens of millions in fresh accounts with him.” Jackson took a drag of his vape and blew the vapor directly into my face. “Exactly. Kyle is golf buddies with half the CEOs in the city. If you had not been hogging the VP chair all this time, he would have taken Vanguard public by now.” Kyle? I coughed, waving the sweet, sickening vapor away from my face, as the memory clicked into place. Kyle was a junior from my law school. Sure, he was a well-known guy on campus, mostly because he failed his core classes twice. He was famously almost expelled after everyone found out he was the kept boy toy of a wealthy older woman. 2 Looking at Jackson’s treacherous face and the malicious, gloating smirks of my coworkers, a wave of pure nausea washed over me. This was the place I had poured three years of my life into. I dragged this firm out of the gutter, only to realize it was rotting from the roots all along. This dump was not worth another second of my time. I gave them exactly what they wanted. “Fine. I quit.” Jackson clearly did not expect me to fold so easily. He blinked in surprise before his smug arrogance returned tenfold. “Smart choice.” “Go pack up your garbage and get the hell out of my building.” I did not say another word. I turned on my heel, walked into my corner office, and systematically packed my life into a single cardboard box. Just as I hoisted the box and walked toward the main exit, Jackson barked across the bull pen. “Hold on.” Two male associates dragged a rusted metal mop bucket to the center of the walkway, directly in my path. The water inside was a filthy, sludgy gray, reeking of bleach and mildew. I frowned. “What is this?” Jackson crossed his arms, looking down his nose at me like I was a pest. “Step over it. We need to cleanse the stench you are leaving behind. Vanguard is too classy to harbor a toxic plague like you.” “Especially a woman who traded favors on her back to get to the top. It is disgusting.” He was not even trying to hide it anymore. He was publicly slut-shaming me in front of the entire office. The two associates who dragged the bucket over started snickering. “Oh right, I guess we cannot call her VP Wendy anymore. Hey, since you are unemployed now, maybe your nightly rates will go down?” “Must be nice being a woman. Just bat your eyelashes, whisper sweet nothings in the right ear, and skip right to the top of the corporate ladder.” “Honestly, knowing I had to take orders from her for a year makes me want to puke!” I actually laughed. A year ago, those exact two associates were on the verge of being fired by Jackson for failing their probationary assessments and botching their paperwork. I was the one who pulled them onto my core team, hand-held them through massive projects, and saved their jobs! What an absolute pack of rabid dogs. I dropped all pretense of being professional. While they were still laughing, I took a step back, planted my left foot, and delivered a vicious roundhouse kick directly into the side of the metal bucket. Crash! The heavy bucket went flying across the polished marble floor. Gallons of filthy, gray water and grimy mop strings exploded everywhere, soaking the pristine shoes and tailored pants of the men mocking me. Screams and curses erupted across the room. “Are you insane?!” Jackson shrieked, jumping back to save his Italian loafers. I did not give him a second glance. Ignoring the utter chaos behind me, I walked straight out the glass double doors of Vanguard Law with my head held high. Standing on the sidewalk, the cool Chicago breeze washed away the lingering heat of my anger. Honestly, finding out a company was pure poison before wasting another year of my life there was a blessing in disguise! Jackson truly believed the firm was going to skyrocket without me? I could not wait to watch it burn. I pulled out my phone and opened my pinned group chat. It had exactly four members, titled “Summit Squad.” I did not type out a long explanation. I did not cry. I just sent three words. “I got fired.” The chat was dead silent for exactly three seconds. Then, my phone started vibrating violently. Lincoln texted first. [Did you not just hand them the Apex contract from Preston? Why the hell would they fire you?!] I sent a quick voice memo. “Jackson claimed I went AWOL during the three days I was hiking Blackwood Peak with Preston.” Lincoln was a legendary real estate mogul in the city. He owned half the commercial blocks downtown and had a notoriously short temper. He immediately fired back an audio message. “I am bringing my security team down there right now to bulldoze that pathetic little office! If it was not for you, Val, I would never have let a dumpster-fire firm like that touch my legal work!” Felix jumped in next. His tone was fiercely protective. “Do not stress, sis. I am hacking their mainframe right now. I will clone their entire client database and pack it up for you!” Felix was a tech billionaire prodigy. He loved playing around with cybersecurity. When he found out I was working at a no-name firm, he casually tossed a three-million-dollar tech contract onto my desk just to be supportive. I typed a quick, collective response. “I am a lawyer, guys. We do not commit cybercrimes or property damage.” Right after that, Victoria’s name popped up. She was the oldest and most successful of our crew. She sent a full sixty-second voice note, her tone absolutely lethal. “Vanguard is burning the bridge after crossing the river. They got a taste of real money, realized they are close to an IPO, and terminated you so they do not have to pay out your promised equity. What absolute trash. If Vanguard does not have you, they do not deserve my business. I am terminating my contract with them today.” I typed frantically. “Wait, what about the penalty fees?” “I am a billionaire, honey. I can afford a penalty fee!” Almost simultaneously, two more messages popped up. Lincoln: “Agree. Contract terminated. I will pay the damn fee!” Felix: “Yeah. Contract terminated. Send them the bill!” 3 Looking at the glowing text bubbles, the last shadow of gloom in my heart completely vanished. Vanguard was garbage, but my friends were worth their weight in gold. That evening, I polished my resume and sent out a few applications. The very next morning, I woke up to an email invitation for a senior partner interview at Pinnacle Law. Time: 11:00 AM. I quickly threw on a sharp, charcoal-gray tailored suit and headed over. An HR rep guided me down a long, sleek corridor and stopped in front of a frosted glass door marked “VIP Conference Room.” I straightened my collar and pushed the door open. Sitting at the massive oak table were two faces I knew intimately well. Sitting in the primary interviewer’s chair was my former boss, Jackson. Lounging next to him, with his feet propped up on the table, was my lovely junior, Kyle. They were both staring at me with the predatory, mocking grins of cats who had just cornered a mouse. Everything clicked into place. I had been wondering why Pinnacle Law reached out so fast when I had not even applied to them. This was not an interview. This was a carefully orchestrated trap. Jackson leaned forward, lacing his fingers together. “Wendy, you are unemployed. As your former mentor and your dear junior, we were just so worried about you.” “I pulled a massive favor with Pinnacle’s managing partner to get you in this room today. Just wanted to see if you actually bring any real value to the table.” Kyle let out a cocky laugh. “Yeah, Wendy. You were such a hotshot back in law school. We all just wanted to see if you had any actual bite left without the Vanguard brand backing you up.” I calmly pulled out the leather chair opposite them and sat down gracefully. “Alright then. Let’s begin the interview.” My face showed zero traces of the anger or humiliation they were desperately hoping for. Jackson was thrown off balance. He stared at me for a long moment before finally asking, “Word on the street is your clients are loyal to you, not the firm. If Pinnacle hires you, how do we know you will not use some dirty, underhanded tactics to steal our clients when you leave?” I smiled, my words sharp as glass. “If you are terrified of losing clients, the root issue is your firm’s sheer incompetence, not the employees. Jackson, you literally just told me yesterday that Vanguard’s success was entirely due to the Vanguard brand, not me. Why are you suddenly so terrified?” “You—” Jackson choked on his words, his face flushing dark red. He glared at me, completely speechless. Kyle patted Jackson on the shoulder. “Let me handle this.” “You?” I let out a sharp, dismissive laugh. “You do not have the basic qualifications to ask me a single legal question. You barely passed your core classes, and you never once beat me in a collegiate mock trial.” “As for the cases you have personally litigated since passing the bar? A solid zero percent win rate. That alone should have you permanently nailed to the wall of shame.” “Oh, wait, my bad. You have beaten me in one category. You are an absolute master at kissing up to rich cougars to pay your bills, right?” Kyle bolted upright like a cat whose tail had been stomped on. His face turned a dangerous shade of purple. “You are spitting pure slander!” I was done playing their game. I grabbed my purse. “Do not worry, boys. I am going to do phenomenally well without Vanguard.” I turned to leave, but Jackson suddenly tossed a thick legal document across the table. It slid to a stop right in front of me. “You really are a streetwalker with a sharp tongue! You think you are so brilliant? So capable?! Let me tell you a harsh truth. Without Vanguard, you are nothing but a stray dog!” I picked up the document. It was my original employment contract. But attached to the back were two freshly printed pages. A non-compete agreement. “Read it and weep, Wendy. It is right there in black and white. For three years post-termination, you are legally barred from seeking employment at any rival law firm in this city.” “I have already called every major managing partner in Chicago. Anyone who hires you is declaring open war on Vanguard!” I had underestimated just how venomous Jackson could be. He did not just want to fire me, he wanted to permanently obliterate my entire career. He soaked in the silence, his voice trembling with sadistic pleasure. “You think you are so tough? You think signing one ten-million-dollar deal makes you royalty? I am going to make sure that without my permission, you do not even have the right to beg for scraps in this industry!” I looked at their smug, punchable faces and let out a soft laugh. “I cannot wait to see you try.” He wanted to blacklist me? He clearly had not asked the other three billionaires in the “Summit Squad” if they approved of his little plan. Just as the words left my mouth, Jackson’s cell phone started ringing frantically on the table. He picked it up, and the color instantly drained from his face. He gasped, his eyes going wide with pure terror. “What?! Victoria from Vogue Enterprises is canceling her retainer?”

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When my billionaire father died suddenly, my stepmother and stepsister moved into the master suite and treated me like excess baggage. At sixteen, terrified they’d steal my inheritance, I played the brainless, spoiled princess who couldn’t tell a contract’s front from its back. Rose tossed legal documents at me. I flipped two pages, tears streaming. “These words might know me, but I don’t know them.” When she urged me to sign away my rights, I clung to her neck. “You’re the best sister ever. You’d never lie to me, right?” Stepmother watched for six months, convinced I was a gullible idiot. She doubled my allowance, telling everyone I was simple and easy to please. I embraced the life of a useless trust fund baby—lounging, manicures, reality TV, lavish teas. Last month, Rose brought home her best friend, a “top-tier financial elite” from London. Stepmother handed me a thick ledger. “She’ll manage your finances. Have a look.” Fresh ink reeked from the pages. Two flips revealed white-out and altered numbers. Signing would make me guilty of embezzlement. I closed the ledger, smiling sweetly. “Thank you, Evelyn. I promise I’ll study it very hard.” 1 At my father’s funeral reception, Evelyn stood in the center of our grand living room, pressing a silk handkerchief to her eyes. She looked directly at a group of distant relatives and delivered a flawless performance. “Sandy is my own daughter now. I promise you all, I will take the absolute best care of her.” Her voice was choked with sobs but perfectly audible. The household staff stood around with their eyes downcast. I heard one of the maids whisper about how incredibly kind the madam was for taking in such useless baggage. I stood silently at the top of the grand staircase, gripping a framed photograph of my father, completely mute. That very same night, the head maid, Martha, marched up the stairs to my bedroom. “Miss Sandy, the madam said you need to pack your things and move up to the attic. She is going to completely remodel this room.” I looked up at her, my voice trembling. “But this is the room Dad decorated for me.” “The madam makes the rules now,” Martha snapped, already shoving my expensive dresses into a suitcase. I did not argue. The attic was tucked away at the very end of the third floor. When I pushed the heavy door open, a wave of damp, rotting wood and stale dust hit my face. The window frame leaked freezing air, the mattress sheets were a dingy yellow, and the single pillow bore a dark, suspicious water stain. I sat on the edge of that disgusting bed, hugging the stuffed bear my father had given me, and finally let the tears fall. I wiped my face fiercely, making a silent vow to myself. Nobody was going to protect me anymore. From this moment on, if I was going to cry, those tears needed to buy me something valuable. The door creaked open. Rose walked in carrying a bowl of plain rice and vegetables, completely failing to hide the nasty smirk on her face. She was the daughter Evelyn brought into the family from a previous marriage. We shared zero blood, but I was forced to call her my older sister. Rose slammed the bowl onto the dusty wooden desk. The ceramic clattered loudly against the wood. “Eat up, princess. Mom says this is your new kingdom.” She turned on her heel to leave. I called out to her, my voice shrinking into a pathetic squeak as I squeezed my stuffed bear tighter. “Rose… can I please go look at Dad’s room sometimes? Just to remember him?” Rose glanced over her shoulder and rolled her eyes. “What is there to look at? He is dead, get over it.” She marched down the hall, her heels clicking aggressively on the hardwood. But three days later, she came right back. This time, she wore a bright, artificial smile. She was holding a stack of legal documents, and her voice was sickeningly sweet. She spread the papers out on the desk, calling me by the pet name my father used. “Sweetie, the company needs you to sign off on some routine paperwork. It is just a formality. Just put your name right here.” I took the documents and let my eyes trail over the dense legal jargon. It was a complete transfer of shares and a formal declaration waiving my inheritance rights. Evelyn and Rose had spent three days cooking up this brilliant scheme. I found it absolutely hilarious, but when I looked up, my face was a mask of pure confusion. “Rose, these words might know me, but I definitely do not know them.” Rose forced a patient smile. “You just need to sign your name. I will take care of all the complicated stuff for you.” I shook my head violently and pushed the papers back toward her, forcing a dramatic sob. “Dad always told me never to sign things I cannot read. He said signing your name means you are making a promise, and you can never take a promise back.” Rose’s face immediately darkened. “Are you saying you do not trust your own sister?” She was always like this. Every single emotion she felt was plastered right on her face. She was almost too easy to read. I suddenly lunged forward, throwing my arms around her neck and rubbing my face against her expensive cashmere sweater. “Rose loves me the most! You would never lie to me, right? So please, sit down and read every single word to me so I can understand.” I felt Rose’s entire body go rigid. She was completely caught off guard by my clinginess. From the corner of her eye, she spotted a maid walking past the open doorway. She ripped the documents out of my hands, her face flushed with frustration. “Forget it. We will talk about this when you are older.” She stormed out, slamming the door so hard the walls shook. I sat on the bed, hugging my bear, watching the closed door as the innocent smile on my face slowly vanished into a cold, flat line. Late one night about a week later, a horrifying, screeching sound pierced the silence of the attic. It was clearly a human attempting to mimic the wail of a dying cat. The sound was shrill, deliberate, and coming from just outside my door. Next came the rhythmic, eerie tapping against my drafty windowpane. A moment later, a distorted, creepy music box melody started echoing through the hallway. It sounded exactly like the background track of a cheap horror movie, bouncing off the walls in the dead of night. I curled into a ball under my thin blankets, my heart hammering against my ribs, my palms slick with cold sweat. But my panic only lasted a few seconds. I realized exactly what this was. Evelyn was trying to terrorize me. She wanted to drive me clinically insane or scare me into running away from home. Like mother, like daughter. If Evelyn wanted to get rid of me, she was reduced to using these cheap, pathetic parlor tricks. I took a deep breath, kicked off the blankets, and ran barefoot out of the room. I let out a bloodcurdling scream, crying hysterically as I sprinted down the dark staircase. “Evelyn! Evelyn, help me! There are ghosts! I am so scared!” 2 The terrified screams of a sixteen-year-old girl are incredibly loud. My voice echoed through every corner of the massive estate, blending perfectly with the creepy music she had set up in the hallway. I did not stop running until I reached the master suite. I threw my fists against Evelyn’s heavy mahogany door, pounding relentlessly. “Evelyn! Open the door! Please, I am terrified!” The door remained firmly shut. Seeing this, I instantly dialed up my performance, sobbing so hard I sounded like I was choking on my own breath. Doors began to click open upstairs and downstairs as the staff peeked out of their quarters. Martha stood at the end of the hall, clutching her robe. I heard another maid whisper to her, wondering why the madam was ignoring a terrified child. Still, the room inside remained dead silent. I pressed my face against the wood, my voice shaking in pathetic, broken gasps. “Mom… please. I am so scared. I cannot sleep alone in the dark.” The whispering in the hallway grew louder. Finally, the lock clicked. Evelyn stood in the doorway wearing a luxurious silk nightgown. Her face was a mask of suppressed rage, dark circles forming under her eyes. She opened her mouth to scold me, but I did not give her the chance. I launched myself into her arms, shivering violently, and buried my wet, snotty face right into her expensive silk chest. “Evelyn, I need to sleep with you tonight!” With the entire household staff watching her every move, Evelyn was forced to contort her furious face into a mask of maternal concern. She awkwardly patted my back, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness while her jaw was completely locked. “Alright, sweetheart. You can sleep in my room tonight.” I crawled into her massive, comfortable bed and wrapped myself tightly in her Egyptian cotton duvet. I looked up at her with eyes full of absolute adoration and dependence, while internally, I was laughing my head off. I made sure she suffered that night. I tossed and turned aggressively. I kicked the blankets off six different times. I sleep-talked nonsense four times. At three in the morning, I shot up in bed, screaming my father’s name, and then threw myself into Evelyn’s arms, sobbing uncontrollably. Evelyn spent the entire night replacing the blankets, waking up to my screams, and soothing my fake panic attacks. She did not get a single minute of sleep. If she wanted to maintain her image as the saintly, grieving stepmother, she had absolutely no choice but to swallow her rage and comfort the traumatized orphan. The next night, I showed up at her bedroom door again, clutching my pillow. I stared up at her with giant, pitiful eyes. “Evelyn, I am still too scared.” She tried to turn me away, but I just stood there, shivering in the hallway. A maid happened to be walking by with a stack of fresh towels, glancing in our direction. Gossip was a wealthy widow’s worst nightmare. Evelyn ground her teeth together and opened the door. From that day on, if a floorboard creaked in the attic, I was knocking on her door. Evelyn’s eye bags grew darker by the day. Her skin lost its expensive glow. On the morning of the fifth day, I heard the sharp, violent crash of porcelain shattering against the wall inside her bedroom. That afternoon, I was walking past her closed door and caught the sound of muffled arguing. Rose’s voice was sharp and impatient. “Mom, the girl is a complete idiot. Dad spoiled her so much her brain is entirely empty. Scaring her is useless. What if she actually loses her mind? How are we going to explain a crazy stepdaughter to the extended family? We are better off just keeping her happy until she turns eighteen. Then we can easily trick her into signing everything away.” There was a long silence before Evelyn let out an exhausted sigh. “You are right. Playing rough is too risky. We will keep her comfortable and complacent. It is only two more years anyway.” I stood perfectly still in the hallway, clutching my teddy bear. A slow, genuine smile spread across my face. The very next morning, Evelyn was a changed woman. She climbed the stairs to the attic, took my hand, and spoke to me in a voice as soft as velvet. “Sweetie, this room is entirely too cold for you. Let’s get you moved to the south-facing guest suite on the second floor. How does that sound?” By the afternoon, I was unpacking in a beautiful, sunlit room. Fresh silk sheets, brand-new velvet curtains, and a massive bouquet of fresh lilies sitting on the vanity. It was a massive upgrade from the moldy attic. Standing in front of the maids, Evelyn smiled warmly and announced her new policy. “Sandy is such a sweet, simple girl. From now on, she gets an allowance of twenty thousand dollars a month. She can buy whatever makes her happy.” The staff immediately began praising the madam’s generosity. Rose leaned against the staircase railing, a look of absolute disgust on her face. I squeezed my new designer stuffed animal and beamed at them with perfect, childish innocence. “Thank you so much, Evelyn! Thank you, Rose!” 3 I spent my days sleeping until noon. I would wander downstairs to eat the gourmet breakfasts Martha prepared, then collapse onto the velvet sofa to scroll through social media and watch mind-numbing reality shows. I booked expensive private manicurists to come to the house, and mountains of designer shopping bags piled up in the foyer. Evelyn and Rose watched me rot on the couch, their eyes growing more relaxed by the day. “Look at her,” Rose sneered one afternoon, stepping over a pile of my discarded fashion magazines. She did not even bother to lower her voice. “She dropped out of her prep school because she said reading gave her a headache. She is completely useless.” Evelyn took a slow sip of her black coffee, a satisfied smirk on her lips. “Useless is good. Useless means she will not cause us any trouble.” I popped a fresh strawberry into my mouth, my eyes glued to the television screen, giggling loudly at the show. But I kept a mental receipt of every single thing they did. Shortly after my father passed, his most trusted executives had secretly reached out to me. Every single quarter, I quietly reviewed the company’s confidential financial reports. Evelyn thought keeping the official documents locked in my father’s study was enough to keep me out, but she had no idea my father had told me exactly where the hidden spare key was. A few days after my seventeenth birthday, Rose walked through the front doors with a stylish stranger. Evelyn practically floated down the stairs to greet them, taking the woman’s hand affectionately before turning to me. “Sweetie, this is Rose’s best friend. She just moved back from the UK. She is a genius with money.” The woman flashed me a brilliant, over-rehearsed smile, reaching out a hand with perfectly painted crimson nails. “Just call me Amy.” I tilted my head, looking at her with wide, empty eyes. “Hi, Amy.” Amy’s smile widened, but I caught the brief, unmistakable flash of superiority in her eyes. A week later, Evelyn walked into my bedroom, her eyes artificially reddened with fake tears. She sat on the edge of my bed, pulling a thick leather binder into her lap. She grabbed my hand, her voice trembling just the right amount. “Sweetie, the company accounts your father left behind are an absolute mess. I simply cannot manage them all by myself. This is the ledger from last year. Just take a look and sign your name at the bottom to show you acknowledge it.” “Do I really have to read all this boring math?” I asked, looking thoroughly confused. Evelyn nodded sadly. “You are your father’s daughter. It is your responsibility to at least look at it.” I took the heavy binder and opened it. The paper smelled strange, like harsh chemicals and damp ink. It was the distinct smell of special erasing fluid. My eyes scanned the columns. My heart did a cold, hard flip. A thirty-million-dollar expenditure had been scratched out and rewritten as three million. The tampering was incredibly sloppy, the ghostly indentations of the original zeros still visible under the new ink. They really thought my brain was completely hollow. They were not even trying to hide their crimes. Since they were so confident in my stupidity, I had to reward them for their faith. I looked up, blinking rapidly. “Evelyn, these numbers give me a headache. Can Rose come explain them to me?” Evelyn immediately called Rose and Amy into the room. The three of them surrounded my bed. Rose forced herself to patiently point at every single line item, explaining them in a gentle, soothing voice. But I could see a bead of nervous sweat forming on her forehead. I kept pointing to the same glaring discrepancy. “But why does this line look so messy? What was the number before it got changed?” Rose’s mouth twitched. “It was just a typo by the accountant. We fixed it for you.” I pointed to another blaring error. “What about this one? Why did thirty million turn into three million?” Amy’s professional patience finally cracked. Her tone turned sharp. “You do not need to worry about the details. Just sign your name at the bottom. We are taking care of it.” My eyes instantly welled up with tears. My lower lip quivered violently. “Are you guys mad at me because I am stupid? I do not want to sign this anymore. I am going to call Mr. Harrison. He was Dad’s favorite lawyer, and he told me to call him if I ever got confused.” Mr. Harrison was the corporate attorney my father trusted with his life, and the very same man who had been secretly feeding me company updates. Rose’s face drained of all color. She lunged forward, grabbing my arm, her voice pitching up in panic. “No! Do not bother the lawyers. We are just trying to help you. Do you really think your big sister would trick you?” I looked at her, tears spilling down my cheeks, sniffling loudly. “If you promise everything is okay, then write me a guarantee. Write down on a piece of paper that signing this book will not make me lose any of my money. Then I will sign it.” Rose and Amy exchanged a long, tense look. The room was suffocatingly quiet. Amy finally gritted her teeth. “Fine. We will write it.” Rose pulled a crisp piece of stationary from my desk. She picked up a pen and wrote out a formal guarantee, stating that the ledger was entirely accurate and would not result in any financial loss to my estate. She signed her name with an angry flourish. Amy signed directly below her. I read the paper carefully, making sure the wording was ironclad, before folding it up and slipping it into my pajama pocket. Then, I picked up a pen and signed the forged ledger. I made sure my handwriting was atrocious, shaky and oversized, like a child learning cursive. I completely changed the way I held the pen, ensuring a handwriting expert would have a nightmare trying to match it to my real signature later. As soon as they had the signed book in their hands, Rose and Amy let out a simultaneous breath of relief. I saw the triumphant, greedy smiles they flashed each other before they practically ran out of the room.

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