Category: English

1 My parents pitied my cognitively disabled twin Tina, so they secretly swapped our memories. My research papers became hers, my restored antiques hers. Tina basked as the city’s celebrated prodigy while I was stripped of intellect, reduced to a babbling idiot. They patted my head, cooing, “Even if you are a dummy, we love you.” That lie held until Tina accidentally burned a priceless tapestry at the museum. Facing millions in damages and decades in prison, they dragged me to the clinic. “Take her memory of the arson and implant it into Sophie. Let her rot. Don’t ruin Tina’s future.” The procedure was flawless. Under intense neural rewriting, even Supreme Court lie detectors couldn’t detect a glitch. As freezing electrodes pressed to my temples, I saw my parents’ eyes brimming with worry, but only for Tina. The truth pierced my fog: they only ever loved her. But this implanted memory would become the weapon that sent them straight to hell. … “Mom, are you guys being serious right now? You want me to go to jail for Tina?” I stared at the woman in front of me in pure disbelief. The unconditional love she had just promised me crumbled like wet paper. Faced with my questioning, a flash of annoyance crossed my mother’s face. She impatiently waved her hand, signaling the orderlies to pin me down. “Who let you out of your room. Whatever, this saves me the trouble of tricking you into coming down here.” “This is about our family’s survival. Your sister is absolutely not going to prison.” I was shoved onto the cold steel operating table. Heavy leather straps buckled around my wrists and ankles. I could only watch in horror as the technicians prepped the neural override machines. Just mentioning Tina made my mother tear up. She turned to my father to complain. “Tina is already pitiful enough with her condition. As the older sister, Sophie should be begging to take the fall. Instead, she has the nerve to talk back to me. I raised an ungrateful brat.” “Stop crying Martha,” my dad soothed her. “Once the memory swap is done, all evidence of Tina doing it will be wiped clean. She will be perfectly fine.” A piercing, agonizing pain drilled through my skull. My vision whited out. The last thing I saw was the immense satisfaction in my mother’s eyes. It was a look that stung more than the needles in my scalp. In all my life, I had never seen her look at me with such absolute approval. The roaring flames from the museum erupted deep within my mind. I stood shivering in the middle of our living room, tears spilling out of my eyes uncontrollably. My mother glared at me, her voice dripping with disgust. “Sophie Davis, do you have any idea how much I have sacrificed to raise you? And how do you repay me?” “You burn down a national treasure. You drag your sister’s name through the mud and get her slammed by the press. You made this mess, so you are going to take the punishment.” I stared at her blankly. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. A tiny voice in my head screamed that this was wrong. But under my mother’s disappointed glare, my body just nodded mechanically. I asked her in a childish, broken voice. “Mom, am I going to jail? Can I eat seafood then?” Every time Tina won an award, Mom would order a massive seafood feast. Huge Boston lobsters, fresh oysters, the works. But she never let me have a single bite. She always said it was Tina’s special day and I had already eaten enough junk food. I was not allowed to steal my sister’s thunder. But I had no memories of my own left. I literally did not know what seafood tasted like. Going to prison sounded like a big deal. I figured it was finally my turn to celebrate. Seeing the genuine yearning in my eyes, my mother froze for a second. She turned around, walked into the kitchen, and brought out a plate of rotting, foul smelling raw oysters. My dad frowned. “Isn’t that Tina’s leftovers from last week? It is completely spoiled. She can’t eat that.” “This is the seafood she has been begging for,” my mother replied coldly. Like a starved animal, I grabbed the slimy meat and shoved it into my mouth. It was putrid. Bitter. Disgusting. It tasted absolutely nothing like the delicacy I had imagined. Seeing me slow down, my mother scowled and snapped at me. “You are the one who wanted it. You finally have the guts to demand your sister’s food, so you better lick that plate clean.” “Or you will never eat another meal in this house again.” Terrified, I choked down the rest of the rotting sludge. The vile stench made me gag violently. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and forced a pathetic, eager smile for my mother. Neither of them cared that halfway to the police station, my breathing turned into ragged wheezes. Angry red hives exploded across my neck and arms. The itching was absolute torture. I opened my mouth to beg for help. My mother grabbed my collar and shoved me out of the parked car onto the concrete. She looked at my thrashing body with pure revulsion. “Are you done putting on a show?” “You know you have a severe seafood allergy and you still shoveled it down. You just love making our lives a living hell. Do you have any idea how much trouble your little arson stunt has caused Tina?” “You have been a burden for twenty years. We are sick of tolerating you.” I sat paralyzed on the pavement, gasping for air. “I am sorry Mom. I didn’t know.” Mom was mad. I ruined things for Tina. I needed to apologize. “I am sorry Tina. I shouldn’t have started the fire.” I messed around at the museum. I burned the tapestry. It was all my fault. I shouldn’t have gone to the exhibit. But wait. Why was I at the museum on Tina’s birthday. I was never allowed to leave the house on her birthday. The conflicting memories began tearing my brain apart. I clutched my head, crying and babbling apologies to no one. My screams drew a crowd. A few relatives of the people injured in the museum fire recognized me. Their faces twisted with rage as they swarmed me. They cursed at me, spitting venom, venting all their grief and fury on my fragile body. I looked up helplessly at my mother standing by the car. But all I saw in her eyes was relief. She was glad I was the one taking the hits. I tried to crawl toward her, but the angry mob blocked my path. My struggling only made them madder. Someone shoved me hard. I fell backward, and my skull cracked violently against a sharp fire hydrant. The physical trauma acted like a sledgehammer to the mental barricades. The locked memories flooded my brain like a broken dam. Blood pooled on the gray pavement. The crowd stepped back in panic. “Oh my god, she is bleeding. Is she going to die? Someone call an ambulance.” “Relax. She is a total psycho. She is way tougher than her genius sister. She won’t die.” My mother remained rooted to her spot, watching me bleed out with the cold detachment of a bystander. Blood dripped down my face, mixing with my tears. While I was being beaten and humiliated, her first instinct was not to protect me, but to celebrate that her plan was working. She did not love me. Not even a fraction. When I opened my eyes again, the hospital room was dead quiet. The violent blow to my head had somehow realigned my fractured neural pathways. Everything was crystal clear now. The groundbreaking thesis that earned Tina her Ivy League spot was written by me. I spent three months running on black coffee to finish it. The shiny trophies lining Tina’s bedroom shelf were bought with my deteriorating eyesight and endless nights of studying. Simply because Tina was born slow and needed extra padding in life, my sweat and tears became the stepping stones my parents casually placed under her feet. My chest hurt so much I could not breathe. Tears streamed down my face in absolute silence. I scared the hell out of the nurse walking in. My mother followed right behind her. Seeing my tears, her face darkened instantly. She pointed a manicured finger at me and started screaming. “You have some nerve crying.” “If your little arson scandal hadn’t blown up on the news, Tina wouldn’t have been harassed by reporters today. Get your ass out of that bed and pack your things. We are leaving.” The stitches on my scalp throbbed with a dull ache, but I suddenly lost the energy to argue. When I was seven, a pot of boiling water spilled on me. My entire back was covered in hideous burns. But my parents cared more about Tina twisting her ankle on the stairs. They said Tina was a fragile genius. She needed to be pampered. I was just the family idiot. A few scars on my back didn’t matter. I looked at my mother, who was currently stressed out of her mind over Tina, and asked her in a raspy voice. “Mom. Why did I leave the house on the day of the fire?” She froze. A flicker of guilt crossed her eyes. “How should I know? If you hadn’t sneaked out like a maniac, our family wouldn’t be dealing with this nightmare.” Ice water ran through my veins. I stared her dead in the eye and spoke slowly. “But that day was Tina’s birthday. You and Dad strictly forbade me from ever stepping outside on her birthday. You said letting the neighbors see my face would embarrass her.” Under my mother’s expanding pupils, I continued. “Tina has already stolen my entire life. Is it still not enough?” A stinging slap landed squarely on my cheek, leaving my ear ringing. The nurse had already slipped out. My mother glared at me with absolute righteous indignation. “That is your sister’s life. I know you are bitter.” “But Tina is the recognized prodigy now. She cannot go to jail. You are the older sister. Throwing yourself on the sword for her is your duty.” “I already paid people to wipe the security footage of Tina starting the fire. Sophie, do not make this harder than it has to be. You are taking the fall for this, whether you like it or not.” I sat on the sterile hospital bed, laughing and crying like a maniac. I was grieving for myself. How could a mother be this biased. To protect one daughter, she was willing to bury the other alive. She looked at me with a complicated expression. “I already called the precinct and told them you are ready to confess. They will be here any minute. Be a good girl, Sophie.” “Your father and I will be waiting for you when you get out.” The door swung open just as she finished her sentence. Four uniformed officers walked in with handcuffs. I looked at my mother in horror and started screaming. “I didn’t do it. It wasn’t me.” She completely cut off the officers’ hesitation. “She is the one who did it, officers. Please make sure you interrogate her thoroughly.” Thanks to my parents’ enthusiastic cooperation, I was subjected to grueling interrogations for days. Under the extreme psychological pressure, my newly restored memories clashed violently with the implanted ones. My brain short-circuited. I started speaking in pure gibberish. The lead detective couldn’t bear to watch it anymore. Soon after, the police knocked on my family’s front door with a medical envelope. “Based on our psychiatric evaluations, Sophie Davis is suffering from severe trauma induced psychosis. We cannot proceed with a standard interrogation.” “If you can provide proof of a pre existing mental condition, the judge can commute her sentence to a medical facility.” I stared blankly at the scene playing out in my living room. A tiny spark of hope flickered in my chest, only to be ruthlessly extinguished by a firm voice. “We do not have any medical records. Please punish Sophie according to the maximum extent of the law.” My mother stood there. The smile on her face was as warm as a spring breeze, yet it drove a spike of solid ice right through my heart. She glanced at me coldly. “If a standard interrogation won’t work, then put her on the Neural Tribunal.” The detective was stunned. He asked her to repeat herself. “Are you absolutely sure, ma’am? The Neural Tribunal extracts memories by force. The brain damage is completely irreversible. It often leads to permanent vegetative states.” My mother waved him off like he was bothering her with trivia. “It is fine. She has always been resilient. We have to give the angry public the truth, right?” As the police left, the detective gave me a look of profound pity. I suddenly wanted to burst out laughing. Of course she wasn’t worried. The memories of the fire were sitting right inside my brain, and Tina’s tracks were perfectly covered. She was cutting off every single escape route I had. Memories truly do not lie. I let a tear slip down my cheek. I only hoped that when the truth finally came out, my parents would be able to pay the price. The Neural Tribunal was scheduled three days later. I was released on bail and followed my mother back home. The house was filled with joyous laughter, which died the second I stepped through the door. Tina was sitting at the dining table, eating premium crab legs that my dad was carefully shelling for her. My mother caught me staring at the food and smirked. “You want some? Just plead guilty on that stand, and I will buy you all the crab you want.” I felt like I was five years old again. I had simply asked Dad to pass me a piece of braised beef. Instead, I got a thirty minute screaming lecture. They called me greedy, spoiled, and completely selfish. They made me grovel and apologize before I was allowed to eat plain rice. But Tina could demand the moon and never pay a dime. The disgust on my mother’s face vanished the second she looked back at Tina. It was replaced by pure, unfiltered adoration. Tina threw her fork on the table and started whining loudly. “Why is she back. Do you guys not love me anymore. Are you trying to send me to jail.” Because of one tiny tantrum, both my parents rushed over to coddle her. My dad pushed a mountain of sweet crab meat in front of her and patted his chest. “Daddy loves you the most, sweetheart. Stop crying. Once this blows over, Daddy will go buy you that Porsche you wanted, okay?” My mom quickly chimed in. “Mommy loves you too. If you are stressed out, I will take a month off work and we can go vacation in Paris. How does that sound?” I stood frozen in the hallway like an unwanted trespasser. Tina could shed two fake tears and get a hundred thousand dollar sports car. When I was sixteen, I asked for a five dollar ice cream and got called a financial leech. My mother, who always claimed she was too busy to talk to me for even one minute, was suddenly ready to drop everything for a month in Paris. I thought my heart was entirely numb to their blatant favoritism. But it still felt like it was being fed through a meat grinder. Hearing their promises, Tina finally gave a condescending nod. She glared at me. “Get her out of my sight.” Because of that one sentence, my mother grabbed me by the hair and dragged me into the basement storage room. Right as she was closing the heavy metal door, I begged her. “Mom, I am sorry. Please do not lock me in here, please.” Absolute pitch black darkness swallowed the room. My body began to violently tremble. A suffocating wave of pure panic crushed my lungs. I slammed my fists against the door, screaming at the top of my lungs. My mother’s voice filtered through the steel, cold and utterly devoid of empathy. “Stop acting crazy. Sit in there and think about what you did. Do not ruin your sister’s mood.” It felt like I was going to cry out every drop of blood in my body. Because Tina was born with severe nyctophobia and fear of the dark, they had doctors extract that fear and dump it into my brain when I was only three years old. I was so young that the trauma multiplied a hundredfold. They were the ones who gave me this crippling phobia. But they conveniently forgot about it, treating my terror as a nuisance. I screamed and scratched at the walls in the dark until my throat bled, but no one came. Faint sounds of a comedy show playing on the upstairs TV drifted down to the basement. I curled into a ball, my mind flashing through the last twenty five years of hell. Because of the constant memory swaps, my life was entirely fractured. One second, I was weeping tears of joy over a breakthrough in genetic sequencing. The next second, my brain would be wiped clean, and I would become a drooling idiot who forgot how to use a fork. I survived in a fog, stuffed full of memories that did not belong to me, until I couldn’t even tell who I was anymore. But a vessel can only hold so much trash before it breaks. During those years of induced idiocy, I endured the abuse of hired nurses, the cold violence of my parents, and the mockery of our entire neighborhood. I was obsessed with seafood because of a memory that wasn’t mine. But eating it meant actual death. Every tragedy in my life was orchestrated by the two people who brought me into this world. Just as my consciousness began to fade, a bucket of freezing ice water was dumped over my head. “Time is up. Stop playing dead. We have a trial to get to.” The icy water dripped down my eyelashes, splashing onto the concrete floor. I couldn’t tell the difference between the water and my tears. I looked up at her, my voice completely hollow. “Why do you treat me like this.” My mother froze. A brief flash of panic crossed her eyes. But a second later, she squared her shoulders and looked at me with righteous fury. “Are you blaming me?” “Sophie, I put a roof over your head and food in your stomach. Without me, you would have died in a gutter. What right do you have to judge me?” “I raised you for twenty five years, and you do not have an ounce of gratitude in your body.” Gratitude. I was supposed to be grateful. Grateful that she hollowed out my brain for twenty five years. Grateful that she ruined my future. Grateful for the endless emotional torture. It was beyond absurd. I remained dead silent as they shoved me into the car. I didn’t snap out of it until we arrived at the steps of the Federal Neural Tribunal. A massive crowd of protesters and journalists had already swarmed the plaza. The moment I stepped out, cameras flashed like strobe lights, and microphones were shoved into my face. “Sophie. Do you feel any remorse for destroying a piece of national history.” “Your sister Tina is a literal genius and a charity ambassador. Why did you turn out to be a sociopath? Are you jealous of her?” “We heard you were raised by your grandmother when you were young. Did her toxic parenting make you like this?” Hearing my grandmother mentioned, a surge of pure rage ignited in my chest. I opened my mouth to yell back, but Tina’s soft, victimized voice echoed from behind me. “Maybe that is the case. I grew up in the city with Mom, receiving proper tutoring. But Sophie… she spent too much time in the countryside. I guess she picked up some bad habits.” I turned around, staring in disbelief at the monster wearing my face. She was smiling smugly for the cameras, and even turned to look at our mother, who gave her an encouraging nod. It was true. I was raised by my Nana when I was a toddler. In this entire mess of fake and stolen memories, the warmth of my grandmother was the only real thing I had left. When my intellect started fluctuating wildly, Nana was the only one who didn’t abandon me. She constantly took me to different clinics, begging for answers. And for that, Tina endlessly framed her, pulled cruel pranks on her, and accused her of abuse. Eventually, my dad used it as an excuse to lock Nana away in a miserable nursing home. I lunged forward, wanting to grab Tina by the throat and demand to know why she was dragging Nana into this. But my mother stepped in, shoving me back with brutal force. A sharp slap cracked across my face. She looked at me with absolute loathing. “What is wrong with you.” “We are in front of the whole country, and you are still trying to bully your sister.” Tina cowered behind our mother perfectly, but her eyes locked onto mine, shining with vicious delight. “Is my sister mad because I mentioned Grandma?” “But Sophie, if you actually cared about her, why didn’t you even show up to her funeral?” “Besides, Grandma died because of you.” I froze. A freezing, venomous dread wrapped around my spine. “Because of me…?” “Yeah,” Tina nodded innocently, projecting her voice for the microphones. “Grandma saw the news about you burning down the museum. It gave her a massive heart attack. She died in the hospital, completely alone. It is all your fault.” I looked at my mother in sheer horror. Despair crashed over me like a tidal wave. Violent, heavy tears poured out of my eyes. I cried until the capillaries in my eyes burst, bleeding crimson tears down my cheeks. Like a dying riverbed bleeding out its last drop of mud. My teeth chattered uncontrollably. I threw myself at my mother, screaming like a wounded animal. “Why didn’t you tell me. You knew the truth. Why didn’t you tell her it wasn’t me.” She was the only person in this godforsaken world who actually loved me. And she died thinking I was a monster. I am so sorry, Nana. I am so sorry. The outraged crowd began throwing garbage and half full coffee cups at me. Two massive court bailiffs grabbed my arms and dragged me up to the transparent Tribunal stage. The sour stench of spilled coffee soaked my clothes, but I didn’t care. I just kept my eyes locked onto the mother and daughter standing in the front row. The neural extractors were clamped onto my skull. A massive surge of electricity ripped through my nervous system. Total paralysis hit instantly. My organs felt like they were being roasted on an open fire. My head felt like it was going to split open. But the physical agony was nothing compared to the gaping hole in my chest. Down in the audience, Tina was smiling brightly, looking like a total winner. Until the colossal holographic screen suspended above the courtroom suddenly flickered to life. Tina’s smile died instantly.

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1 On the first day I returned to the wealthy Montgomery estate as their long-lost biological daughter, I wrote three words across my forehead with a black marker: DON’T HIT ME. The fake daughter, Tiffany, burst into hysterical laughter on the spot. Clad in a studded punk jacket, she made a ridiculous face at me. “I thought our long-lost sister would be some kind of tough girl, but you’re just a pathetic little coward!” “Seriously, what a loser!” She chewed her bubblegum loudly, leaned over, and spat it directly into my hair. I bit my lower lip tightly, my eyes brimming with tears, but I didn’t utter a single sound. My biological older brother, Brandon, sneered in satisfaction. “At least you know your place. The Montgomerys aren’t people you want to mess with.” My biological parents looked at me with open disgust. “Look at her, weak and useless. How does she carry an ounce of Montgomery blood? I genuinely suspect Tiffany is our real daughter.” Our very first family reunion ended in cold mockery and utter disdain. After everyone left, I sat alone in the vast, freezing living room, clutching my deceased adoptive mother’s framed portrait to my chest. Tears dripped onto the glass frame. “Mama… they don’t seem to like Maddy very much.” “But don’t worry, Mama. Maddy warned them nicely. As long as they don’t hit Maddy first, Maddy won’t hit them back. Maddy is the sweetest boxer in the world.” … I wept over Mama’s portrait for a long time before gently placing it back into my backpack. Inside the bag was an insulated stainless steel thermos that Mama had prepared for me before she passed away. It was packed with warm, soft-boiled eggs, my absolute favorite. I unscrewed the lid, feeling the gentle heat radiating from inside. Taking one out, I carefully rolled the warm egg over my swollen eyes. Back at the underground fighting ring, I used to see injured boxers soothe their bruises like this. Sure enough, the swelling around my eyes subsided quickly. Afraid the eggs would get cold, I hurriedly placed it back inside. I couldn’t bring myself to eat even a single one. As I sat there cradling the thermos, Tiffany walked down the grand staircase, puffing on a thin cigarette. The moment I saw her, my eyes lit up with genuine hope. “Sister!” I rushed over, holding up the thermos and opening the lid right in front of her face. I forced the sweetest, brightest smile I could muster. “Sister, have an egg!” I beamed at her. “My mama, I mean, my adoptive mother, boiled these for me before I came here. They’re soft-boiled!” “Maddy loves soft-boiled eggs the most. I know you’ll love them too!” Mama always told me that good things must be shared with family. I remembered every single word she taught me. If I shared my very best thing with my sister, she would treat me like real family, right? Yet, just as I looked up at her with big, expectant eyes, Tiffany raised her hand and slapped the thermos away. “Get lost, freak!” The stainless steel thermos tumbled down the marble stairs, shattering into pieces. My heart felt as if it shattered right alongside it. The soft-boiled eggs bounced down the steps, their warm yolks breaking and spilling everywhere. “Maddy’s eggs!” I scrambled down the stairs like a madwoman, picking up the ruined eggs. Sharp metal fragments from the thermos sliced into my fingers, but I didn’t even feel the pain. Tiffany put out her cigarette butt, casually flicking the hot ash right onto my broken eggs. “Are you mentally deficient?” “What disgusting garbage. Dogs wouldn’t even eat this trash!” She walked past me, her sharp high heels stepping directly onto the egg yolks, stomping them into a muddy, unrecognizable mess. I couldn’t hold back my emotions any longer. Tears flooded my vision. Before walking away, she glared down at me with venom. “And stop playing dumb in front of me. You think acting cute makes Mom and Dad like you and hate me?” I shook my head frantically, trying to explain that I had no such intentions. Tiffany didn’t buy a word. She let out a cold, sinister laugh. “Then prove it to me.” She pointed her long nails at the blackened, stomped egg yolk on the floor. “Kneel down and eat every bite off the floor. Then I’ll believe you.” I froze. “Sister… the eggs are dirty…” I whispered timidly. Tiffany’s face twisted in rage. She raised her palm to strike me, but right before the slap landed, my biological brother Brandon appeared and caught her wrist. “Tiffany! What are you doing?!” He paused, glancing at Tiffany’s shocked expression. Then he turned to me, walking over with a smooth, gentle smile as he patted my head. “Silly girl, these eggs were left for you by your adoptive mother, weren’t they?” I nodded vigorously. His smile widened, turning far more twisted than Tiffany’s. “Then you must eat them all. Otherwise, your dead mother up in heaven will be very angry with you.” My heart skipped a terrifying beat. Without a second thought, I reached down, scooped up the dirty, ash-covered egg yolk from the floor, and shoved it into my mouth. “Mama, don’t be mad… please don’t be mad…” “Maddy didn’t mean to hurt Mama’s feelings…” As I chewed the bitter, dirty egg, tears streamed down my face in heavy rivers. Mama, you lied to me. You said they would treat me like family. But they hate me so much. 2 My brain had never worked quite right. Doctors told my adoptive mother that a childhood brain injury had permanently arrested my mental development. Intellectually, I would remain five years old forever. Fortunately, nature gave me extraordinary physical gifts. Though I looked slender and frail, I possessed terrifying, explosive physical strength. When my adoptive mother fell gravely ill from kidney failure, she couldn’t afford dialysis on her meager income from collecting recyclable trash. To raise money for her treatments, I entered the underground bare-knuckle boxing circuit. One victory paid a thousand dollars, exactly enough for one dialysis session. On my very first day in the ring, I lacked technique and suffered three broken ribs. I didn’t cry. During my second fight, I lost again, my lower jaw dislocated by a heavy hook. I still didn’t cry. My third fight, my fourth fight, defeat after defeat. My body was covered in severe fractures and dark bruises, yet I stood back up on that canvas every single time, battered and bleeding, without shedding a single tear. I had to earn money. I had to save my mama. It wasn’t until my fifth match, when my opponent locked me in a brutal chokehold that nearly knocked me unconscious, that a spectator shouted from the crowd that the hospital was calling for payment and my mother was dying. In that precise moment, I burst into tears. I bit my lip so hard it bled, forcing my muscles past their physical limits. My joints popped and cracked as I tore through my opponent’s lock. The moment I broke free, I swung my fists blindly through my tears. That night, weeping uncontrollably, I beat every fighter in that arena until they cried. When I dragged my blood-soaked body into the hospital, the doctors had stabilized Mama, but the ongoing medical fees remained a bottomless pit. So, I became a full-time underground cage fighter. I evolved from a terrified rookie into an undisputed, terrifying queen of the ring who defeated massive opponents purely through brutal muscle memory. I never ran out of cash again. Yet, a month later, even when I slammed stacks of hundred-dollar bills onto the chief doctor’s desk and fell to my knees begging him, money could no longer save Mama. On her final day, she told me she hated the smell of the hospital and wanted to go home. I carried her on my back, walking miles down the road. Resting her chin on my shoulder, she whispered that she had boiled soft-boiled eggs for me in her thermos, my favorite treat. She apologized, saying she should never have picked me out of that trash dump years ago, forcing me to suffer a hard life with her. She told me that the wealthy Montgomery family had finally found me. Her dying wish was for me to return to my biological family and live a happy, comfortable life. She told me to be sincere, to work hard to fit into my new home. I remembered every single word she said. But was the Montgomery house really my home? On my second morning at the estate, laughter echoed constantly across the breakfast table between Tiffany and Brandon. I kept my head down, shoveling food into my mouth, pretending I didn’t hear them making fun of me. “Dad, Mom, ever since Maddy came back, you haven’t assigned her a bedroom yet,” Tiffany said, giving our parents a meaningful look. My biological father didn’t even bother raising his eyes from his newspaper. Finally, my biological mother, Victoria, chimed in indifferently, “Whatever. She’s a brain-damaged dummy. Does it matter where she sleeps?” I buried my face deeper into my bowl, gripping my fork tightly, saying nothing. Mama had told me that her biggest wish was for Maddy to be happy in her new home. So, I pretended to be deaf and kept eating. The atmosphere at the table grew suffocatingly cold, punctuated only by Tiffany’s sharp, ringing laughter. “How about we put her in the guest bathroom?” Tiffany suggested brightly. “She grew up living in a literal garbage dump anyway. Our guest bathroom is practically a palace compared to her old home!” Brandon immediately chimed in with a laugh. “Great idea! Her brain is full of garbage anyway. Maybe she’ll get flushed down the toilet one day!” The siblings burst into loud laughter. My biological parents’ faces darkened instantly. My father slammed his fork onto the table. “We’re eating breakfast! What are you talking about?!” He glared at me with deep disgust. “Disgusting. I lost my appetite.” My biological mother pushed her plate away, muttering aloud without the slightest hesitation, “I knew the moment she was born that she was defective. That’s why I tossed her in the trash dump and brought our sweet Tiffany home instead.” “I thought I was rid of that useless girl forever, but that homeless trash lady actually dragged her back right before dying. What a nuisance.” “She even fell to her knees begging me, saying she was dying and afraid no one would take care of the dummy. She threatened to call the news media if I didn’t take her back. Absolute psychos, the both of them.” My hands stopped moving. So… I was abandoned at birth? Mama had begged them on her knees just so I could have a place to live? Tears dripped into my food bowl. I don’t even remember how I was dragged across the floor and thrown into the dark guest bathroom. When the heavy door slammed shut and locked from the outside, the entire world fell silent, leaving only me and my backpack. I pulled out Mama’s framed portrait from my bag and cried like a pathetic child. “Mama… why were you so foolish?” “Mama, I miss you so much.” “Is this really my home? Are these people really my family?” 3 I spent the entire night curled up on the cold bathroom tile, cradling Mama’s portrait in my arms. Suddenly, a bucket of ice-cold water slammed through the doorway. The freezing water drenched me from head to toe. I gasped, jerking awake, only to see Tiffany leaning against the doorframe, smirking down at me. “Time to wake up, trash lady’s daughter!” She insulted Mama the second she opened her mouth. My fists clenched tight, then slowly uncurled. Mama told me never to hit family members, no matter how hurt I felt. Maddy wanted to be an obedient girl. “My mama wasn’t a trash lady,” I replied in a quiet, trembling voice. The smirk on Tiffany’s face instantly vanished. She called for Brandon. With a heavy kick, Brandon busted open the locked bathroom door. The moment they walked in, they saw me holding Mama’s portrait tight against my chest. Brandon crossed his arms, his face twisted in disgust. “What kind of creepy trash is that?” Tiffany initially hid behind Brandon’s back out of instinct, but hearing Brandon’s words, she let out a loud laugh. “You’re so right, Brandon! It really is creepy trash! Hahaha!” My fists hardened again. “Stop calling my mama creepy trash!” I glared at them, my voice raised several decibels. “Your trash mother is a ghost now! She’s dead and rotting!” Tiffany screamed back viciously. Before I could react, she lunged forward and ripped Mama’s portrait right out of my hands. “Give it back to me!” I yelled. Tiffany pulled a thick permanent marker from her pocket and began scribbling directly over Mama’s face. “Make me! What are you gonna do about it, dummy?” Brandon stood by the doorway with his arms crossed, watching the show with an amused smile. “Be careful, Tiffany. She’s not just dumb, she might be crazy too.” Tiffany scoffed, holding up her artwork to show me. She had drawn a mustache over Mama’s lip and a crude turtle across her cheek. I reached my breaking point. I lunged forward and grabbed Tiffany hard by her collar! “Give it back!” My entire body shook with violent rage. Yet Mama’s final words echoed inside my mind: Never hit your family! I forced myself to hold back! Tiffany panicked, terror flashing through her eyes as her voice trembled. “Dad! Mom! Maddy is going to beat me up!” I instinctively let go of her collar, but it was already too late. My biological parents had rushed down the hallway. Tiffany threw herself into their arms, weeping tears of fake terror. “Dad, Mom, Maddy is insane! I just made a little joke with her picture, and she tried to murder me!” Brandon chimed in from the side. “Tiffany was just putting a little makeup on that trash lady’s face. Maddy has only been home for two days, and her temper is already out of control.” I looked helplessly at my biological parents. Their faces remained cold and disappointed. My father waved his hand impatiently. “It’s just a harmless joke! The drawing looks fine. You should thank Tiffany for beautifying the frame, why are you trying to hit her?” My biological mother waved her hand in utter disgust. “Take that hideously ugly picture away! It’s creeping me out!” “Throw it in the trash!” “Quick, throw it away! Don’t let me see it again! It’s bringing terrible luck to our home!” Uncertain of how to dispose of the frame, Tiffany looked around the bathroom. With a cruel laugh, she tossed Mama’s portrait straight into the open toilet bowl! Dirty water splashed over Mama’s face, making it look as though she was crying. Tiffany burst into laughter. “Hey, look at that! The toilet is the perfect washing machine for her face!” “I really am a genius!” Brandon and my biological parents nodded in total approval. “Tiffany is right. That’s our smart daughter.” “Close the toilet lid. We’ll have the maid scrub it later.” “Don’t let that trash dirty our toilet.” They discussed the matter casually, completely ignoring the fact that I had already reached into the toilet bowl and pulled Mama’s portrait out. Looking at Mama’s stained, dirty face, my hand trembled as I carefully wiped the water away. “Mama, I’m sorry.” “Maddy is going to be a bad girl today.” “I promised I would never hit family members… but Mama forgot that long, long ago, Maddy swore a solemn oath to protect Mama no matter what.” I cracked my knuckles, flexing my iron wrists. “And besides, Maddy only promised never to hit family.” “You monsters are NOT my family.”

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1 After transmigrating into a cheesy CEO romance novel, I found myself bound to a husband-hunting mini-app alongside another transmigrated girl. Whichever one of us managed to woo the almighty corporate tycoon, Dominic King, would win the ultimate clearance key to go home. I threw myself into the task with the desperate hustle of a burnt-out tech engineer. I stayed on call twenty-four hours a day, pulling all-nighters for him. Yet the app kept savagely deducting my points. System Notice: Stayed up all night brewing stomach medicine for the male lead. Favorability points deducted: 10. Reason: Deeply scheming; shameless attempt to curry favor. System Notice: Walked six miles in a torrential rainstorm to deliver an urgent file to the male lead. Points deducted: 100. Reason: The billionaire CEO saw right through your pathetic sob story. I originally assumed Dominic was just an impossible man to satisfy. That was until I caught a accidental glimpse of the other transmigrated girl’s status panel. Her name was Zoe. System Notice: Called the male lead a useless dog. Favorability points added: 500! Reason: What a fierce, thorny rose! I watched in total disbelief as Zoe slapped Dominic square across the face. His favorability points skyrocketed on the spot, while Zoe stood there crying out of sheer frustration. In that exact moment, enlightenment struck me like a freight train. “Girl,” I whispered, leaning over to Zoe. “Forget this trash CEO. What do you say we team up and burn this whole system to the ground?” … “It worked! It actually worked!” “Miss Harper’s risk-control model is an absolute masterpiece! If not for her, King Enterprises would have lost at least three billion dollars today!” Ding! Host Harper worked through the night to patch the cyberattack on King Enterprises’ risk model, saving the male lead three billion dollars. Favorability points deducted: 10. Current favorability score: Negative 90. Reason: Showing off professional talent; attempting to capture the male lead’s attention through work performance. Highly manipulative. Warning: If favorability drops below Negative 100, the host will face immediate physical annihilation! What on earth? I just saved his family empire billions of dollars, and he penalizes my favorability score?! The Chief Financial Officer was still raving, “Miss Harper is the undisputed hero of this crisis! Mr. King, I strongly propose the board award her a special bonus…” “Enough.” Dominic slammed the report onto the marble desk with a loud bang. The applause in the boardroom died instantly. The executives, sensing the lethal shift in the air, quickly filed out of the room. Dominic raised his icy gaze, fixing his eyes on me. “Don’t flatter yourself just because you did a little bit of work for King Enterprises,” he sneered. “Harper, put away your pathetic little tricks. I will never love a woman like you.” I almost laughed out loud from sheer rage. In this twisted fictional world, a woman doing her job exceptionally well wasn’t called competence; it was called seduction. “Are you completely out of your mind, Dominic?!” I froze for a second. I hadn’t opened my mouth. Who said what I was thinking? I turned around to see Zoe, my rival for the conquest spot, bursting straight into the executive office. Dominic’s face instantly lit up with arrogant delight. He stood up and strode toward Zoe. “Did you come all this way just to see me?” Zoe took a step back, grabbed a heavy jewelry box, and hurled it directly at his face. “I told you already! I don’t like you, and I don’t want your stupid gifts!” Zoe shouted. “Dominic, stop having your security goons stalk me!” Dominic’s eyes darkened dangerously. He grabbed Zoe’s wrist in a vise grip and yanked her hard against his chest. “Let go of me!” Dominic leaned in close, his gaze dropping to her lips. “The harder you fight me, the more fascinating I find you.” Zoe’s arm swung back and landed a brutal slap across his left cheek. The crack resonated through the office. A bright red handprint bloomed on Dominic’s face. Zoe ripped her wrist free and yelled at the top of her lungs, “Dominic, you absolute trash! When I say I don’t like you, I mean I don’t like you! Can you not understand basic English?!” Based on my agonizing experience of losing points for doing good deeds, I was certain Zoe’s violent outburst would trigger the system to erase her on the spot. Ding! Zoe insulted the male lead and slapped him across the face. Male lead favorability skyrocketing by 500 points! Reason: She is so terrified, yet she uses sharp thorns to protect her fragile heart. A woman’s rejection is truly the ultimate expression of overwhelming love and self-preservation. She is so pure, so untamed, utterly unlike those gold-digging sluts outside! My hands trembled so hard that the neatly stacked files in my arms spilled all over the floor. What kind of unhinged, masochistic logic was this?! Hearing the system announcement in her head, Zoe stood frozen for a second. She turned around and darted out the door, running past me in total distress. Dominic reached up, slowly tracing his swollen left cheek as he watched her retreating figure with a dark, satisfied smile. “Zoe,” he murmured to himself. “You really are unlike any other woman.” 2 The sound of rushing water echoed inside the executive restroom. Zoe stood in front of the sink, desperately scrubbing the palm she had just used to slap Dominic, her skin turning raw under the hot tap. “Disgusting…” she sobbed softly, cursing under her breath. I leaned against the doorway, waiting until her breathing steadied before walking over. “Let’s make a deal.” Zoe spun around, her guard immediately going up when she saw me. “A deal with you?” she scoffed, wiping her eyes. “With the pathetic lapdog who spends all day groveling around that psycho? My favorability score is almost maxed out. I’ll be going home soon. Why would I ever team up with you?” I sighed, stepped forward, and reached out to turn off the running faucet. “Who told you that reaching maximum points lets you go home?” Zoe froze. “What do you mean?” I leaned in close, lowering my voice to a whisper. “Did you ever actually read the fine print at the very bottom of the app’s terms and conditions?” Zoe’s breathing hitched. “The ultimate clearance reward isn’t returning to the real world,” I revealed quietly. “The final reward is being permanently locked inside this book, marrying Dominic, and giving birth to eight of his heirs to achieve a happy ending.” Zoe’s face turned deathly pale. “No… That’s impossible…” She shook her head in sheer denial. “If you don’t believe me, open your app panel right now. Scroll all the way to the bottom and read the tiny grey text.” A few seconds passed in agonizing silence. Zoe opened her eyes, her knuckles white as she gripped the marble edge of the sink. “How could this be…” she gasped, her voice breaking down. “I’m just a glorified breeding tool trapped in this hellhole? I’m supposed to spend the rest of my life tied to that repulsive freak?!” I extended my right hand toward her at the perfect moment. “Zoe, fighting against each other is completely pointless. We are both victims of this insane system. Instead of letting a husband-hunting app ruin our lives, let’s team up.” “Let me hack this world into pieces.” Zoe stared at my open palm, the panic in her eyes slowly hardening into fierce determination. “Fine.” She gripped my hand tightly, her teeth grit. “Screw this pathetic male lead. I wouldn’t bear his children if my life depended on it!” Warning! Warning! Anomalous alliance detected between hosts Harper and Zoe! Status: Severe Out-Of-Character violation! Executing Level One High-Voltage Shock Penalty! “Wait, what? Shocks?!” Before we could react, an invisible bolt of raw electricity slammed down from above. Zoe and I screamed in unison, our bodies convulsing violently as we collapsed onto the cold tile floor. “Damn it, this thing is for real!” Zoe groaned, cold sweat pouring down her forehead. The system voice continued its mechanical assault: Mandatory Directive Issued! Harper: At Mrs. King’s charity gala tonight, fall to your knees and beg Dominic to marry you! Zoe: At Mrs. King’s charity gala, reject the ten-million-dollar hush check offered by Dominic’s mother, and offer your body to the billionaire CEO! Failure to comply will result in a tenfold voltage increase until brain death occurs! This system was an absolute monster. I was in too much physical agony to even curse out loud. Zoe and I had to support each other, limping out of the restroom step by agonizing step. The moment we stumbled out, we ran right into Dominic. He looked back and forth between Zoe and me, his mind constructing some bizarre narrative as he let out a cold, arrogant smirk. “Harper, you act so innocent on the surface, but you actually dared to bully Zoe in the restroom behind my back?” Before I could even open my mouth to explain, Dominic grabbed me by the collar and shoved me hard onto the floor. “Are you blind?!” Zoe shrieked, rushing to pull me up. “Which of your eyes saw her bullying me?! Can’t you see neither of us can even stand properly?!” My vision swam from the painful impact, yet I still caught the expression of pure delight washing over Dominic’s face. “Zoe, you two are fighting over me?” he purred, stepping closer. “Don’t worry, my heart belongs only to you!” He reached out, attempting to wrap his arms around Zoe. Facing a creature completely incapable of processing human speech, Zoe gave up on words entirely. She swung her arm back with everything she had and delivered a thunderous slap right across Dominic’s right cheek. Now his face was perfectly symmetrical. I was so terrified for her that I forgot my own physical pain. I genuinely feared the system would erase Zoe on the spot, destroying my only ally. Instead, Dominic closed his eyes, an expression of twisted ecstasy spreading across his face. “Zoe… You’re jealous because I spoke to her, aren’t you? Does your hand hurt from hitting me?” Watching Dominic’s spineless, masochistic act, I genuinely wondered if his brain had been replaced with sludge. Zoe wiped her hand on her dress in disgust, stepped back, and spat out a single word: “Get lost.” Dominic withdrew his hand with a deeply devoted look. “Zoe, whatever demand you make, I will grant it.” With that, he actually turned around and walked away. Once he was out of sight, Zoe wiped her palm against her skirt again and muttered, “Total creep. I swear I’m going to find a hacker to wipe this stupid app off the face of the earth.” Her words hit me like a lightning bolt. Could this app actually be hacked? If it was structured as a mini-app, with tasks, UI panels, and a backend server, then there had to be a data entry point somewhere! I just needed to get my hands on a terminal. Just as I outlined my hack plan to Zoe, a group of suit-wearing bodyguards surrounded us. “Miss Harper, Miss Zoe, Mrs. King requests your presence at the gala. The limousine is waiting outside.” 3 We were escorted to the grand ballroom of the King estate, where the entire high-society elite of the city had gathered. Dominic’s mother, Victoria King, sat at the head table like a queen on a throne. Sitting right beside her was David, my fictional father in this story world. As we approached, Mrs. King pulled a check from her designer handbag and tossed it straight into Zoe’s face. “Here is a hundred thousand dollars. Take the money and never show your face in front of my son again.” Zoe raised her wine glass, clearly tempted to splash the red wine across Mrs. King’s face. The system’s shrill warning blared inside our heads: Maintain your character persona! Out-of-character behavior forbidden! Reject the check immediately and profess your passionate love to the male lead! Prove that your love cannot be bought with money! Otherwise, face immediate physical annihilation! Zoe’s hand froze in midair. Having just endured an electric shock, she had no desire to experience it again so soon. Dominic, observing Zoe’s defiant posture from across the room, felt the flames of obsession burn even hotter in his chest. Ding! Zoe maintained her stubborn pride in the face of financial humiliation. Male lead favorability +100! Reason: That stubborn, enduring look in your eyes makes me want to possess you right this instant! Zoe’s face turned completely green. I had no doubt that if she wasn’t worried about Dominic creeping over to lick her hands, she would have shattered her glass and ended the narcissist on the spot. Seeing Zoe stand silent like a mute, Mrs. King sneered in contempt. “Common girls from lowborn families. Show them a bit of cash, and they lose their ability to speak.” After humiliating Zoe, Mrs. King turned her sharp gaze to me. “Harper, dear, I have always favored you. As long as your father signs this investment agreement tonight, Dominic will agree to get engaged to you next month.” She pulled a thick document from her folder and slid it across the table. It was a predatory contract designed to bleed my father’s business completely dry. David looked at the agreement, his jaw clenched as his knuckles turned white. “Sweetheart,” David whispered, looking up at me with fatherly concern. “Do you really want to marry him? If you truly want this, dad will sign it.” I looked at the contract in Mrs. King’s hands, then met Zoe’s eyes. We both knew the system wouldn’t give us a peaceful way out tonight. We either followed its pre-written script like puppets, or we smashed the table to pieces during the chaos. The irritating system clock began chiming: Force your father to sign the agreement within ten minutes using threats of self-harm! Failure will result in immediate physical annihilation! A blood-red countdown timer flickered in front of my eyes. Zoe glanced at her phone screen, leaned in, and whispered to me, “When the chaos starts, find a way to make your move. Don’t worry about me.” Right on cue, the double doors of the banquet hall were kicked open with a loud bang. Leading the intruding gang was Toby, Zoe’s useless, debt-ridden younger brother. Knowing what was about to unfold, Zoe gave me a swift signal. I nodded, leaned down, and whispered to David, “Dad, wait for me to come back. Whatever you do, do not sign that paper!” Using the sudden commotion as cover, I darted toward the grand staircase and headed straight for Dominic’s second-floor study. I had repaired his laptop once before. During that repair, I had spotted a strange, hidden background process running inside the terminal root directory. Looking back now, that process was almost certainly the data port left by the system inside this world! If I could breach his personal computer and trace the data port back to the system core, I would have a real chance at rewriting the operational rules of this entire universe. Dominic’s laptop sat right on his executive desk. I locked the heavy oak door behind me and sat down. My fingers flew across the keyboard in a blur of motion. Outside the door, security guards began pounding frantically. “Miss Harper! Open the door! Mrs. King is still waiting for you downstairs!” I tuned out the noise entirely, my eyes glued to the terminal code streaming across the screen. World Core Anchor: Dominic King. Plot Maintainer: Victoria King. Hosts are required to complete conquest tasks surrounding the anchor point. System Backend Breach Progress: 10%… 30%… 50%… System Backend Breach Progress: 99%… Access Privilege Takeover: Failed. Damn it! Downstairs in the hall, the thugs dragged Zoe to the center of the room, demanding money. Zoe’s face was pale, but her voice remained cold as ice. “I don’t have any money! You built up those gambling debts yourself, so pay them off yourself!” The thug leader’s face darkened. “Bitch, you’re doing this the hard way.” Several thugs lunged forward, pinning Zoe firmly to the ground. As Zoe fought back with everything she had, Dominic stopped the security guards from stepping in. Holding a glass of red wine, he stood nearby, watching her struggle with a cold, superior smile. “Zoe,” he purred. “Beg me.” “Promise to become my woman, and I’ll save you.” Zoe’s dress strap snapped during the struggle. She spat directly toward his shoes. “In your wildest dreams! Dominic, I would rather sleep with a toad than let you touch me!” Dominic’s eyes narrowed maliciously. “You’ll regret this.” When I rushed back downstairs, Zoe was still pinned to the floor, while Mrs. King forced a pen into David’s hands. “David, everyone here knows how deeply your daughter loves my son,” Mrs. King coaxed smoothly. “She won’t survive without Dominic. Sign this paper, and Harper becomes the future mistress of the King family.” David held the pen, the veins on his hands bulging under the pressure. He understood nothing of high-society traps; he only cared that without this marriage, his daughter might lose her mind. “Dad, don’t sign it!” I roared. I vaulted over the mezzanine railing, landed on the floor, and snatched the pen straight out of his hand. Warning! Hosts Harper and Zoe have failed their mandatory tasks! Annihilation countdown reached zero! Punishment protocol activated! Executing maximum directive: Immediate physical annihilation! A sickening electrical hum vibrated through the air overhead. A massive pillar of lightning ripped through the ceiling, descending straight toward us!

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My roommate loved making explicit phone calls with her online boyfriend in the middle of the night. Every single night, her talk got dirtier and louder. We were kept awake until the break of dawn, practically begging her to tone it down. Instead of showing an ounce of remorse, she smirked at us and said we were just bitter and lonely. “Dying of jealousy watching someone else get loved, huh?” “Not my fault you girls are too ugly to land a guy.” The funny thing was, she was easily the least attractive girl in our dorm. The three of us didn’t care about dating because our workload in Microchip Engineering was brutal. As the top program on campus, if you failed an exam, you wouldn’t graduate. Period. We studied all day and barely had enough sleep to function. To catch some rest, we tried everything. We talked to her nicely. We yelled. We even reported her to campus housing. Nothing worked. Brooke refused to change. Since every other dorm in the building was fully booked, I was pushed to my absolute limit. I gave her one last warning. “Keep pushing me, and I swear I’ll patch your explicit phone calls directly into the university PA system.” “If you’re so shameless, let the entire campus listen.” 1 “Who are you trying to fool? Are you some kind of hacker?” Brooke laughed so hard her entire bunk bed shook. “Did you watch too many cheesy spy movies? You think you can just tap away at your laptop keyboard and crack into the school’s broadcast system? Monica, you study microchips, not computer hacking. Who do you think you are?” I stared at her without saying a word. Broadcasting her trashy calls didn’t require high-level hacking skills at all. All I needed was for the radio station to keep its power supply on overnight, plus an old wireless broadcast transmitter brought into our room. As a senior technician at the campus radio station, I could pull that off with my eyes closed. I had already run the plan by my other two roommates. Since none of us could sleep anyway, we decided to see who could play dirty better. Brooke had crossed the line first. Her obsessive romance was none of our business. At first, she claimed there were mosquitoes on the balcony, so we kindly let her make her private calls inside the room. Then she pushed her luck. First, it was calling from ten to eleven at night. Then it stretched until midnight. Recently, she was still whispering dirty talk at two in the morning. It went from “Do you miss me today?” to explicit details about her favorite bedroom positions. She never wore headphones. She kept the speaker on full blast. She acted as if the three girls living in the same room didn’t exist. The night before my midterms, she talked until three in the morning. I buried my head under my blanket trying to memorize formulas while listening to her moaning on speaker. Because I couldn’t sleep, I failed the exam. Failing meant retaking the class. It meant losing my academic scholarship. It meant kissing my fast-track graduate school recommendation goodbye. I took a screenshot of my failing grade and posted it in the room group chat, begging her to keep her voice down. She replied with a laughing cat emoji. “You failed because you’re dumb. Blaming me now?” I was about to jump out of bed and tear her hair out, but my roommate Brenda held me back. “Don’t lose your temper, Monica. She wants us to hit her. Then she’ll report us for bullying and get us disciplined.” Dealing with a shameless parasite is exhausting because normal people have things to lose, while parasites have nothing to lose. So, to deal with a parasite, I had to be even nastier. “Who am I? I’m the one about to ruin your life,” I said, my voice cold as ice. “Keep doing what you’re doing, and let’s see how fast you get socially destroyed.” Brooke stopped laughing and glared at me. “You think your empty threats scare me? Monica, I’ve known you for two years. You’re a weak coward. What could you possibly do?” She yawned and slumped back onto her pillow. “Whatever. I’m not wasting my breath on you losers. My man is waiting for me.” She pulled out her phone, and the screen lit up with an active call. “Babe… are you there? My roommates are picking on me again…” Her boyfriend’s rough voice blasted through the speaker. “Damn, those bitter virgins again? Baby, just wait. Once I come over to your campus, I’ll teach those miserable sluts a real lesson.” “Oh, don’t be so aggressive, babe. They’re just jealous. Ignore them. Tell me, did you miss me today?” On the bed next to mine, Pathy sat up abruptly, ready to unleash a flood of curses. I put a hand on her arm and shook my head. “Tonight is the last time she gets to act like a queen.” When morning came, I headed straight for the radio station. 2 At the bottom of the equipment cabinet in the station room lay a pile of retired cables, broken audio jacks, and old CD players. Underneath it all sat a cardboard box with a faded label: Outdoor Event Broadcast Gear—Decommissioned. I had stumbled upon this box while cleaning the storage room last month. The model was outdated, but every component worked perfectly. I pulled out my phone, switched on Bluetooth, and located the transmitter signal. I played a song as a test and turned on the station monitor speaker. The music flowed through clear and crisp, without static or interruption. Signal rock solid. That was all I needed. When I returned to the dorm, voices were already drifting through the cracked door. “Don’t you think she’s mentally ill?” Brooke was on the phone, her voice so loud it echoed down the hallway. “So what if I talk to my boyfriend? It’s my personal freedom! Those three act like total psychos, giving me dirty looks every single day. I don’t owe them anything!” “She even threatened me last night, saying she’d get me socially ruined. You know what she claimed? That she’d patch my calls into the school broadcast system! I almost died laughing! She’s a microchip student. When her laptop broke last month, she had to ask an IT guy to fix it, and now she brags about hacking!” Her online boyfriend chuckled over the line. “Did she really say that? Broadcasting our private talk to the whole university? Sounds kinda hot.” “Hot my ass,” Brooke sneered. “She’s all talk. I know Monica inside out. She complains every day, and has anything ever happened to me? Weak losers stay weak forever!” “And that girl Pathy? Built like a fire hydrant, but her temper is worse than a guy’s! Don’t even get me started on Brenda. Scruffy and pale like she just crawled out of a storm drain! The three of them can’t get a man to save their lives, so they just grind over textbooks like mindless robots. Hahaha, total freaks!” I pushed the door open. Brooke glanced at me without the slightest hint of embarrassment. Instead, she cranked the speaker volume up another notch. “Babe… my roomie is back to play third wheel again…” I ignored her baby voice, put on my noise-canceling headphones, and opened my textbook. Brooke kept trying to get a reaction out of me. “If you want to read, go to the library! Don’t sit here acting like a buzzkill! Since you love studying so much, why don’t you sleep in the library? Save yourself the walk.” “I’m serious. Since all three of you hate my guts, why don’t you move out? I’d get a whole four-person room to myself. So spacious! Then my boyfriend could come stay over whenever he wants.” I pulled off one headphone and looked her dead in the eye. “If you pay for our housing fees, we’ll pack up and leave right now. If you can’t afford it, shut your mouth.” She didn’t expect me to snap back, stumbling for words. Her boyfriend chimed in through the speaker. “Who’s that? The pimple-faced one you mentioned?” “Yeah, that’s her. Ugly face, huge attitude,” Brooke told her phone while staring at me. “Telling you to shut up? Who the hell does she think she is? When I get some free time, I’ll pop by your campus and see if she keeps that big mouth open!” The guy sounded like a uneducated thug from a sketchy street gang. I couldn’t fathom how Brooke, a college student, could fall for a loser like him. “Sorry to break it to you, but our campus doesn’t just let any random trash walk in. Stick to working your factory shift so you can afford your cheap beer,” I said calmly. A single effortless line, and her boyfriend completely lost his temper, screaming obscenities through the speaker. I put my headphones back on and tuned them out. Winning a petty verbal spat meant nothing. Tonight, Brooke would learn what real consequences felt like. 3 By evening, Pathy and Brenda returned to the dorm one after another. Pathy slammed her backpack onto her desk and collapsed into her chair. “Professor Vance’s lecture today wasn’t a class. It was a weaponized lullaby.” “Didn’t sleep well?” I asked. “What do you think?” she shot back. Nobody in our room had slept well. Being forced to listen to someone else’s dirty late-night routine at two in the morning would ruin anyone’s sleep schedule. Dark circles hung heavy beneath Pathy’s eyes. Brenda stayed silent, her eyes red and puffy. She opened her planner, which was packed with dense notes tracking her packed schedule. Up at six-thirty, library by seven, four tough engineering lectures during the day, followed by an online mock exam at night. She was the top student in our room and worked harder than anyone. Freshman year, she ranked third in the entire department. But this year, thanks to Brooke’s constant late-night noise, she barely managed to stay in the top ten. All of us, including Brooke, knew why Brenda worked so hard. Her parents were disabled, living off small disability checks. It had taken her entire family three full years to save up enough money for her college tuition. Every time her parents called, they always reminded her, “Focus on your studies, darling. Don’t starve yourself. If you run short on cash, we’ll find a way.” Every time she hung up, she cried silently, wiped her tears, and went back to solving equations. On nights like these, what she needed was proper rest, not being woken up at midnight by Brooke’s shameless groans. “Brenda, after tonight, you’ll finally get a good night’s sleep,” I whispered, comforting her. She rubbed her eyes. “Will your plan really work?” I unlocked my desk drawer and pulled out a palm-sized black transmitter. “The receiver is already wired into the main mixer in the radio station. The main fader is turned down right now, so it’s silent.” “When Brooke makes her phone call tonight, her audio signal will transmit directly to the radio room. Then, every speaker across campus will blast her voice.” “The academic buildings, the dining hall, the track field, the dorm entrances, the security booth, the main administration lobby. Everyone will know exactly who she is.” Pathy let out a sharp laugh. “If she still has the nerve to bother us after that, her skin must be thicker than concrete!” Brenda thought for a moment, then raised a crucial question. “What if someone is working at the radio station tonight?” “Nobody will be there. The evening broadcast show is paused for a format overhaul starting this week. The radio room is completely empty at night.” “And after it starts playing?” Brenda pressed on. “Won’t someone run over to shut it down? Will we accomplish what we want?” “Don’t worry. The radio room is on the top floor of the furthest academic building. The doors are locked at night. Running over there and unlocking the system will take at least fifteen minutes. That’s more than enough time to make Brooke a legend.” Pathy clapped her hands softly. “The stage is set. We’re just waiting for the trash to perform.” Right as the words left her mouth, Brooke pushed the door open, fresh out of the shower. 4 “Who are you calling trash?” Brooke glared at us, clutching her towel. I glanced at her sideways. “Why? Are you applying for the title?” Pathy snickered. “Speak of the devil!” Even Brenda, usually quiet and timid, joined in. “Don’t be so sensitive, Brooke. Nobody named you.” Brooke’s face flushed red with anger. With three of us united, she couldn’t win a verbal fight. So she resorted to her favorite tactic to irritate us. Setting her phone on the nightstand, she dialed her boyfriend’s number on speaker. “Babe… I’m putting on my body lotion… Too bad you can’t smell it… Such a shame…” “My roommates? Oh, they’re all here, pretending to read their stupid books!” “I’m telling you, they just called me trash. I didn’t bother arguing with them. Lowering myself to their level is so tacky!” “All they do is study! Look at Pathy’s face, built like a fire hydrant! What’s the point of reading all those books when no guy will ever marry her?” Hearing this, the three of us exchanged a knowing smile. Only a shallow, insecure girl would measure a woman’s entire worth by her physical looks and marriage potential. Each of us had real goals worth striving for. Pathy scored second in the latest department mock exam and had a strong shot at a direct master’s program. If Brenda climbed back into the top three, she wouldn’t just secure a master’s spot; she would swim in full-ride graduate fellowships! As for me, Brooke had no idea that my family owned one of the top microchip manufacturing enterprises in the country. I chose this grueling major to master the core technology before taking over the family business. Both Pathy and Brenda were future core talents I planned to recruit for my company. And even setting all that aside, without heavy makeup, any of us looked miles better than Brooke with her thick layer of cheap foundation. Her unearned confidence stemmed entirely from acting cheap, attracting swarms of low-life guys who fed her ego with meaningless compliments. At eight-thirty, Brooke finally wrapped up her call. She climbed down her bed ladder and started aggressively rummaging through the wardrobe. “Where is my black mini skirt? The one I bought at the mall last week. Did one of you steal it?” Nobody paid her any mind. She stomped over to Brenda’s closet and pulled it open. Out of the three of us, she picked on Brenda the most because Brenda seemed gentle and weak. Brenda moved to stop her, but Brooke shoved her back hard. “I’m looking for my clothes! Did you steal it? What are you panicking for?” Pathy couldn’t stand it anymore and leaped down from her bed to back Brenda up. While the two of them blocked Brooke, I walked straight to Brooke’s wardrobe, grabbed a handful of her clothes, and dumped them onto the floor. “Is finding a skirt really that hard? There. Much easier now, right?” Her black mini skirt sat right there in plain sight on the top shelf. She had been staging a scene on purpose. Brooke’s face turned beet red. She couldn’t physically fight all three of us at once. She snatched the skirt off the floor and held it against her waist. “My boyfriend is coming to visit me this weekend! Just wait until he gets here, you’re all going to pay!” “He said we should book a hotel room downtown, but I don’t see why we should waste money. Why don’t you three spend the night at the library and leave the room to us?” “If you do that, maybe my boyfriend will cool off and spare you!” It was a pathetic, low-class threat. None of us bothered answering. We simply climbed back into our beds to rest. Brooke scoffed loudly. “Ungrateful snobs!” Under my blanket, I brought up the remote control interface for the radio station transmitter on my phone, confirming that the receiver indicator light was solid green. Lights-out time arrived. The room fell into pitch darkness. Only Brooke’s bed remained illuminated by the bright white glow of her phone screen. Brooke’s voice cut through the dark night, loud and shameless. “Babe… what are we talking about tonight? I’m in a bad mood… I need something extra naughty…”

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1 Everyone called me the luckiest in our blended family, the only child shared by both parents. No one saw behind closed doors. Missing kitchen money meant Mother’s slap across my face while my step-siblings went unquestioned. Father “forgot” my allowance, leaving me with their discarded hand-me-downs. Their fights made me the punching bag. “Too young for depression. Stop dramatizing,” Mother sneered at the scars on my arm. I did the chores, endured the abuse, then cut my wrist one Tuesday night. That finally rattled them. For the first time in seventeen years, I got a room, a cramped study with a mattress. Privacy, however small. Until Logan and Amber fought. Next day, my room was stripped, my things dumped in the living room. Mother’s tone was flat. “Their rooms are too close. Logan’s gaming keeps Amber awake. Be reasonable, Jesse. We humored your suicide act long enough. Don’t make things difficult.” This time, numbness settled over me. I didn’t scream or cry. I couldn’t hear them anymore. I wanted nothing from them. … As I turned toward the study, my mother lunged forward, grabbing my wrist. The moment her fingers brushed the thick, raised scars on my skin, she recoiled as if she’d touched a live wire. “Did you not hear me? That room belongs to your brother now! He needs his gaming space!” With a sharp click, she slammed the door shut, as if even my gaze would defile the space. A bitter, humorless laugh escaped my throat. “Then where am I supposed to sleep?” My mother froze, her face flushing with anger. She gestured wildly around the living room as if I were an idiot. “Are you blind? We have a couch! We have rugs! Sleep wherever you want. Stop playing the victim!” Sleep anywhere. Like a stray dog. “Don’t I deserve a room of my own?” My voice was barely a whisper, but it triggered my father. He stormed over, looking like he’d reached his absolute limit. “You have everything in this house! You have both your biological parents under one roof! Why do you always have to fight your brother and sister for every little thing?” “Logan’s dad walked out on him. Amber lost her mother. You have us both, and yet you are the one acting like a spoiled brat!” “They manage to be happy, while you walk around with that miserable, depressing face all day!” A mountain of guilt crashed down on me, crushing the air from my lungs. The words I wanted to scream died in my throat. I had heard variations of this lecture for seventeen years. If I ever stood up for myself, I was labeled selfish, ungrateful, and toxic. I was terrified of that label. Amber walked in after her shift, her heel catching on my pile of luggage. She stumbled, her brow furrowing instantly as she spotted me. “What is it now?” My mother sneered, her voice dripping with mock-exhaustion. “He is throwing another tantrum because he wants his own room. Never lets us have a moment of peace.” Amber let out a dry chuckle, her lips curling into the exact same condescending smirk my mother wore. “Kids these days and their privacy.” She said it so casually. She completely forgot that when she moved in at six years old, she was immediately given the master guest room, a brand-new computer, and a weekly allowance. Back then, everyone had to knock three times before entering her room, or she would scream the house down. Yet here she was, mocking my despair. “That’s enough of this nonsense,” my mother declared, shoving a heavy hamper of dirty laundry into my chest. “Go wash these.” “My college placement exams are next week…” “Don’t use exams as an excuse! Your brother and sister both graduated, and they never whined like this!” Of course they didn’t. They never had to touch a dirty dish, sweep a floor, or scrub endless piles of clothes. My mother wouldn’t dare ask Amber because she didn’t want my father to think she was being a cruel stepmother. My father wouldn’t dare ask Logan because he didn’t want to upset my mother. I was the only safe target. Hurting or exploiting me cost them nothing because no one would ever take my side. My silence only fueled my mother’s rage. She shoved me into the bathroom. Before I could steady myself, her palm connected with my face. The force of the blow spun my head to the side. Under the harsh, buzzing fluorescent light, her face twisted into something monstrous. “Hurry up and wash them. Your brother needs that shirt tomorrow. Do you think my life is easy? I run myself ragged for this family of five, and you, the luckiest one of all, do nothing but work against me!” “How am I lucky?” “What did you say?” Her voice pitched so high it practically rattled my eardrums. I blinked back my tears, staring at her through the throbbing heat on my cheek. “Does getting beaten every day make me lucky?” “You wouldn’t get hit if you weren’t constantly defying me! You bring this on yourself!” But the old, submissive Jesse was gone. I looked her dead in the eye. “Maybe I don’t bring it on myself. Maybe you are just a coward who only picks on the weak.” She froze, the color draining from her face before rushing back in a wave of hysterical fury. “I might as well just die!” she screamed, clawing at her own chest. The bathroom door burst open. My father stormed in, his face darkened with rage. I couldn’t stop the primal shudder that racked my body. He stared at me for a fraction of a second before his boot slammed into my ribs. A sharp cry tore from my throat as I was launched against the cold tiles. My face reflected in the glossy wall, distorted in agony. Then came the slipper. He whipped it off and began striking my face, over and over. “How dare you talk back to your mother! We raised you, fed you, and this is how you repay us? You are nothing but trouble!” Behind him, my mother crossed her arms, a look of smug satisfaction washing over her features. “Hit him harder. I’ve had it with his attitude these past few months, acting like he owns the place just because he spent a night in the ER.” The corner of my mouth split open. Dizzy spells washed over me, and the muffled sound of laughter echoed from the other side of the wall. Logan and Amber were chatting in the living room. They knew exactly what was happening. They just didn’t care. It didn’t affect them. I curled into a ball on the cold floor, closing my eyes as the world faded away. My mother called me out of school for five days. My face was too bruised for me to be seen in public. On the third day, my friends came to check on me. When I opened the door, they froze. The swelling had gone down, but the mottled purple and yellow bruises were still painfully obvious. Humiliation washed over me, but before I could explain, my mother pushed past me to usher them in. “Don’t just stand there, Jesse. Go get some sodas for your friends.” “Mom, let them just…” “Oh, so now you care about looking bad?” My mother laughed, eager to expose my shame to my peers. “Since you are Jesse’s friends, I won’t hide it. He didn’t take sick leave. His father had to teach him a lesson. If I hadn’t stepped in, his father would have beaten him to a pulp.” My friends stared at me, their eyes shifting between pity, confusion, and horror. At school, I was the quiet, straight-A student. At home, I lived worse than a stray dog. “He brought it on himself,” she continued, warming up to her audience. “We give him everything, yet he treats us like trash. He even screams at his own parents.” “Mom, please stop…” My head hung low, my voice cracking with unshed tears. But my plea only made her louder. “He thinks he is a prince. We ask him to do a little housework and he throws a tantrum. What’s the point of raising such an ungrateful brat?” My father took the sodas from my hands, setting them down with a warm, deceptive smile. “We are the only ones who could ever tolerate him. Even his brother and sister walk on eggshells around him. Does he act like this at school too?” He smiled, trying to bait them into validating his narrative. I stood frozen, trembling from head to toe. My friends looked at me helplessly, unsure of what to say. One of them looked like she was about to cry. My desk-mate, Mason, gathered his courage and stepped closer to me, grabbing my hand. “Come out with us to get some fresh air. It’s Dylan’s birthday today. We are going to celebrate.” “He’s not going anywhere. He has to make dinner,” my mother snapped, her face darkening. Seeing that she wasn’t getting the agreement she wanted, her patience evaporated. “Actually, it’s getting late. You all should leave.” “Ma’am, can’t Jesse just come out to relax for a bit?” Mason asked, taking a deep breath. My mother stared at him as if he had spoken in tongues. “Relax? From what? We are the ones who need to relax!” Her anger boiled over, and she whipped around to glare at me. “What did you tell your friends? What lies have you been spreading about us?” “We didn’t mean that, we just…” my friends stammered, terrified. But my father cut them off with a cold wave of his hand. “That’s enough. Get out.” He shook his head with mock sorrow. “Jesse has already corrupted you. Stay away from him, or you’ll turn into ungrateful brats just like him.” The tears finally spilled over. I snapped, screaming at the top of my lungs. “Why do you have to do this to me in front of my classmates? What did I ever do to deserve this?!” “Oh, look at him! He is showing his true colors now!” My mother shrieked with glee, pointing a finger at me. “See? I told you he is insane!” She looked so thrilled, so vindicated. It was as if driving me to madness was her greatest achievement. Unable to bear the tension, my friends bolted for the door. My mother watched them run, turning to me with a triumphant smirk. “See? Even your friends can’t stand your crazy behavior. That shows you how messed up you are.” “It’s you they can’t stand!” I screamed, shoving past her and running out the front door. I barely made it to the hallway before her heavy footsteps caught up to me. She grabbed me by the collar, pulling me back. “You stop right there! What did you just say to me?” Her lips trembled with rage. She raised her hand to strike me, but out of the corner of her eye, she spotted our neighbor stepping out of the elevator. Her hand froze in mid-air. Instead of hitting me, she brought her hand down hard across her own face. “What did I do to deserve this? Why is God punishing me like this?” she wailed, collapsing to the floor. The neighbors rushed over to intervene. “Calm down, Susan! Don’t hurt yourself!” Susan wept hysterically, playing the martyr. “He tortures us at home, and now he brings his friends over to join in. He makes his father and me look like monsters. I don’t want to live anymore. I’ve sacrificed everything for him. If it weren’t for him, I would have divorced years ago!” My father wrapped his arms around her, glaring at me with disappointment. “He is driving us to our graves. We only want him to be happy and healthy. Why is that so hard?” The world went quiet. The murmurs of the neighbors lecturing me, the dramatic wailing of my parents, it all faded into static. I felt a hysterical laugh bubble up in my chest. I started sobbing, slapping my own face repeatedly. My parents watched cold-eyed, showing no concern. To them, it was just another act. Suddenly, a sharp ringing filled my ears, and the ground rushed up to meet me. When I opened the eyes, the smell of antiseptic filled my nose. I was in a hospital bed. Through the glass window of the door, I could see my mother on her phone. “I know, he is throwing another fit. I’ve suffered so much because of him… But what can I do? He is still my son… Yes, thank you for caring about me.” She hung up, a look of profound satisfaction on her face. Seconds later, she dialed another number, my Aunt Sarah. “Sarah, you have no idea. I just want to end it all… I did everything for him. He is the only one with both biological parents in that house, and yet he is never satisfied… My heart is breaking.” She went on and on, soaking up the sympathy pouring from the receiver. Finally, she exhaled deeply and hung up. When she turned and saw me staring at her, the warmth vanished from her face. She walked in, her movements slow and cold. Under the harsh hospital lights, she looked like a stranger. “Jesse, acting crazy isn’t going to work anymore.” I kept quiet. She looked down at me. “Since your mental state is so unstable, you won’t be taking your college placement exams this year.” My eyes widened, horror gripping my chest. A cruel smile played on her lips. “I’m doing this for your own good. If you go to college in this state, you might hurt someone.” With that, she turned on her heel and locked the door from the outside. I cried until my throat was raw. But somewhere in the darkness of that night, a cold clarity washed over me. I figured out a way to escape. Completely. Starting the next morning, I became the perfect, obedient son. I did everything without a word of protest. A week later, she brought me home. The moment we walked through the door, I was greeted by a mountain of dirty dishes. “Go wash those. No one’s helped me since you left, and I’m exhausted,” she muttered. I didn’t say a word. I just walked over and started washing them. Next was a basket of laundry, filled with delicate fabrics that had to be hand-washed. As I scrubbed, Amber opened the door and tossed two more shirts into the tub. “Jesse, thank God you are back,” she said, her smile genuine. But it wasn’t because she missed me. It was because she finally had her servant back. Once she stepped out, I heard my mother’s smug voice in the hall. “People like him just need to be put in their place. See? He is much better now.” She didn’t even bother to lower her voice. I remained quiet, playing the part of the meek lamb. But my mother had no intention of letting me return to school. She wanted to teach me a lesson I’d never forget. Three days before the exams, Mason secretly slipped me my admission ticket. I hid it in the absolute bottom of my backpack. That evening, while we were watching TV, my mother cast a calculating look my way. “Everyone else is preparing for the exams. Are you jealous?” “Yes,” I murmured. She smiled, thoroughly pleased with herself. “Well, you’ll just have to deal with it. You brought this on yourself.” I said nothing. On the morning of the exams, I kept my eyes on the clock. The second they left for work, I grabbed my bag, called a cab, and headed straight for the testing center. I had already booked a cheap motel nearby for my luggage. By the end of the first day, my phone was ringing off the hook with fifty missed calls from my parents. “Where are you? Did you seriously go to the exams?” “When will you ever learn to obey?” “I told you that you aren’t mentally fit for this! Get back here right now before I come find you myself!” I ignored the messages and spent every second cramming for the next day’s subjects. But the next morning, as I approached the testing center, my parents were waiting. Their eyes locked onto me like predators spotting prey. But I was faster. I slipped past the security gates just in time. My mother looked ready to explode, glaring at me through the barrier. “Jesse! You just wait!” My heart hammered against my ribs, but I didn’t look back. I ran toward the examination hall, toward the only escape route I had left. I poured everything into the papers. I felt like I was flying. But by the afternoon of the final day, my luck ran out. I thought I might actually make it. But they caught me right outside the exit. My father clamped a hand over my mouth, twisting my arm behind my back to drag me toward their car. My mother struggled to keep her anger in check, whispering fiercely, “When will you stop causing trouble?” The other parents waiting outside watched us, hesitating to interfere. Seizing the moment, I bit down hard on my father’s hand. He yelled, releasing his grip, and I screamed with every ounce of air in my lungs: “Please let me take my exams, Dad! I don’t want to drop out and work in a factory! Mom, I promise I’ll make money and take care of you! Please just let me finish my exams!” Within seconds, a dozen parents closed in, their faces tight with fury. “He is just a kid! What is wrong with you people?” “This is his future! Whatever problems you have, let the kid finish his exams first!” “Let him go right now, or I’m calling the police!” My mother’s face turned white, then red. “Don’t listen to him! He is mentally unstable!” But no one bought it. “You look like the unstable one,” an older man barked. “What kind of parents try to ruin their own kid’s future?” Intimidated by the crowd, my father let go of my arm. “Run!” a woman in the crowd yelled. I bolted back inside the school gates. My parents could only watch helplessly as my figure disappeared into the building. For the remaining exams, they didn’t dare show their faces. But the moment the final bell rang, the real nightmare began. My parents, accompanied by Logan and Amber, showed up at my motel. My father slammed his hand onto the front desk, holding a thick coil of rope. “Which room is my son, Jesse, in?” They had come prepared to tie me up and drag me home. The exams were over; there would be no crowd of angry parents to protect me this time. They thought they had won. But the receptionist’s next words made their faces turn pale.

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Back in time, I immediately secured a new room and dedicated medical team for my daughter. Returning to the old room for her chart, I caught Paisley, my husband’s spoiled star student, pulling the oxygen tube off another premature baby. In my past life, she had done the same to my child, giggling as she snipped the line with surgical scissors. My husband kicked me aside, coddling her while she sobbed that I’d attacked her. He pinned me to the wall, forced me to kneel before her and the entire staff, and let my daughter die. Labeled insane, I was tortured to death in an asylum. Now, watching her repeat the cruelty on another infant, I felt no shock, only cold resolve. This time, I would not beg. I would make sure she and my husband paid before they could destroy another life. … 1 The moment I pushed the ICU door open, I caught Paisley pulling the oxygen tube off the incubator. “Dr. Derek can only have one baby, and that is me. How dare an ugly creature like you try to compete with me?” The nightmare of my past life flashed before my eyes. My daughter’s face turning purple from suffocation, her tiny lungs gasping for air. Panic seized my heart, and I lunged forward like a madwoman. “Stop!” Paisley flinched, but the moment she recognized me, that innocent, mocking smirk returned to her face. “Why are you screaming? You scared me. It is just a little tube. It is not like pulling it will kill anyone.” “That is a living child!” I screamed, reaching out to snatch the tube back. “How dare you raise your voice at me? Who asked you to bring this thing into the world anyway? It is just a pathetic preemie. It will never be as precious as me. Dr. Derek said I am his favorite little girl!” Paisley was an intern at the hospital and a student of my husband, Derek. Around her, Derek was always endlessly patient and fond. Backed by his authority as Chief Medical Officer, Paisley acted like she owned the hospital, treating me with utter contempt. Hearing the infant’s faint, agonizing breaths, panic and rage consumed me. I grabbed her wrist tightly. “Paisley! You are supposed to be a doctor, not a monster who plays with a patient’s life!” Just as I reached for the oxygen line, Paisley let out a soft snort, whipped out a pair of surgical scissors from her pocket, and snapped the tube in half. Her grin widened. “Oops. Looks like it is completely useless now.” She tossed the severed tube onto the floor. “If you know I am a doctor, then you should listen to me. Stand still and let me punish you for your rude behavior.” She grabbed a heavy metal chart clipboard and slammed it against my forehead. Obsessed with saving the baby, I failed to dodge. Sharp agony exploded across my brow, and warm blood trickled down my face, blurring my vision. Her laugh turned hysterical. “That is what you get for sticking your nose where it does not belong!” Hatred devoured my entire soul, but I could not afford to waste time on her. I stumbled toward the emergency call button on the wall. Her expression changed, and she grabbed me tightly. “You are not allowed to press that!” Blood dripped into my eye. I shoved her away with all my strength and slapped the emergency call button, praying someone would come save this poor child. A second later, the ICU door swung open. Seeing the newcomer, Paisley immediately dissolved into tears and threw herself into his arms. 2 “Doctor! You are finally here! She hit me!” The man who walked in was Derek. Without asking a single question, he kicked me squarely in the stomach. I could not dodge in time. My body slammed against the hard bed frame, reopening my fresh C-section wound. A tearing, excruciating pain radiated through my core. Derek froze for a fraction of a second, his brows furrowing. “Sarah? What are you doing here? I thought a patient was causing trouble for Paisley.” Paisley. He called her so intimately. He was not even her original supervisor when she joined the hospital, yet he somehow managed to transfer her under his wing. As the Chief Medical Officer, he was always too busy to come home, claiming he was slammed with surgeries for six months straight. Yet Paisley’s social media was full of photos of him guiding her late at night in his office. I used to confront him, but he always brushed it off, accusing me of being insecure about his work. It was not until my past life, when Paisley pulled my daughter’s oxygen tube, and Derek covered up her crime while punishing me, that I realized how foolish I had been. He even forged medical reports to commit me to a psychiatric facility, where I was tortured to death. Only now, saving the baby was the only thing that mattered. I dragged my battered body across the floor, clutching his trousers. “Derek, save the baby first! She pulled and cut the oxygen tube. The baby is suffocating! Please, check on the baby!” Paisley interrupted me with pathetic, soft sobs. “Doctor, she is just jealous because you are so nice to me. She wants to ruin my career. If you had come any later, she would have strangled me to death.” She sobbed softly, wiping her tears. “Women with postpartum depression are so terrifying. My heart aches for you, Doctor.” Derek’s attention was instantly captured. He pulled her close, gently wiping her tears with his thumb. “Paisley is just an innocent fresh graduate. She respected you and cared about you, which is why I let her check on you. How dare you fabricate lies and lay a hand on her? You are vile!” He barked orders at me, grabbing me like a stray dog and throwing me onto the floor right in front of Paisley. “Apologize to Paisley right now, or I will have your daughter thrown out of this hospital immediately!” His words felt like an ice pick plunging into my chest. My pupils dilated in shock. “Derek! Do you even have a heart?!” Before our marriage, Derek claimed he wanted to be childfree and forced me to get an IUD. Seven years into our marriage, unable to withstand his mother’s pressure, he suddenly demanded a child. I ruined my body taking hormones, desperately trying to conceive, but nothing worked for two years. My mother-in-law badmouthed me everywhere, telling neighbors and hospital staff that I was a broken vessel. When I begged Derek to go for a checkup, he claimed he was too busy and made me go alone. My results were completely fine. It was only later that I discovered he suffered from severe sperm motility issues. “Honey, let us do IVF,” he had cried back then, looking so sincere. “Once we have a child, my mother will treat you better. When I am busy at work, the baby will keep you company.” Believing his heartfelt words and loving children myself, I endured hundreds of painful injections and three brutal years of egg retrievals before finally conceiving. When our daughter was born prematurely, he never came to see her once. I called him countless times and asked nurses to reach him, only to receive his cold, detached response: I am a doctor and the Chief Medical Officer. Am I supposed to break rules and give you special treatment? What would others think of me? You are a mother now, grow up. All I wanted was for him to hold his daughter just once. “Don’t cry, little one,” Derek whispered, stroking Paisley’s back. “Your teacher will handle this. Your senior’s wife always listens to me. She will apologize to you right now.” He looked down at me with supreme disdain. “You are just doing this to get my attention, aren’t you? Stop making things hard for Paisley. If you beg for her forgiveness nicely, I will give you three minutes with our daughter.” A bitter laugh escaped my throat. Tears mixed with blood on my face as I raised my head to stare at him. “Derek, let us get a divorce.” 3 In twelve years of marriage, Derek had never seen such cold determination in my eyes. Perhaps feeling his authority challenged, rage flickered in his gaze. “Have you lost your mind after giving birth? Divorce? Absolutely not.” “Look at yourself. You cannot even handle my mother, and now you are making a scene with me. You are a complete failure as a woman. No wonder you spend your time picking fights with my student.” Paisley, still dabbing her eyes, suddenly perked up. She spoke in a meek, trembling voice. “Doctor, it is all my fault for making her angry. Let her hit me and curse at me. I can take it. I am strong.” She then turned to me, lowering herself pitifully. “I am just a junior intern. Can you please stop using divorce to threaten Dr. Derek?” I stopped wasting my breath on their pathetic act. Every second counted for the child in the incubator. Derek did not rule the entire world. Outside this room were other nurses, patients, and the police. I pulled out my phone with trembling hands while shuffling toward the door. “Help! An intern just pulled the oxygen line of a premature baby! Somebody help!” “Hello, 911? My name is Sarah, I am at City General Hospital…” A sharp blow knocked the phone out of my hand. It shattered against the wall. “Are you insane!” Derek shoved me back inside. “You are throwing a temper tantrum over a tiny misunderstanding with my student, and you want to call the police? Do you want to ruin my career?!” I glared at him with pure hatred. I did not just want to ruin his career. I wanted to tear him apart to avenge my daughter from my past life. “Get out of my way!” During our struggle, my collar was ripped open, exposing deep, faint scars across my collarbone and shoulders. Those were injuries I had taken for him years ago when angry family members of patients tried to attack him at the hospital. His gaze softened slightly, his tone involuntarily relaxing. “Sarah, stop this madness. I worked for over a decade to reach this position. Can you not show a little grace? She is just a student I favor. There is nothing inappropriate between us. Do not use an innocent baby as an excuse to throw a fit. Calm down.” I screamed at the top of my lungs, “Then go check on the baby! If you won’t save the child, get out of my way so someone else can!” He wore a look of utter disappointment, as if I were beyond salvation. I knew him too well. No matter what I said, he would never believe me. His heart had been completely biased toward Paisley from the very start. Gathering every ounce of strength left in my body, I raised my hand and slapped him hard across the face. “Get lost!” “Doctor!” Paisley shrieked, her eyes instantly reddening. “How could you hit him! You are awful! Let me blow on it, Doctor, so it won’t hurt.” Enraged by my slap, Derek shoved me violently. I used the momentum to turn the door handle and burst into the corridor. “Doctor! Somebody save the baby!” I grabbed the arm of a passing doctor. “The baby is suffocating without oxygen! Please, hurry, save the child!” Sweat poured down my body as I babbled frantically. My screams attracted the attention of patients and visitors in the hallway. The doctor tried to calm me down, telling me to speak slowly. I took a deep breath. “An intern in your hospital, Paisley, pulled the oxygen tube of a premature infant! Your Chief Medical Officer, Derek, is covering for her…” Before I could finish, the doctor bowed respectfully toward someone behind me. “Chief Officer Derek.” A chill ran down my spine as a heavy hand clamped down onto my bleeding shoulder. 4 All eyes in the corridor locked onto us. Derek maintained his composed, professional composure. “Everyone, please do not be alarmed. This is my wife. She just gave birth to our premature daughter, and due to emotional instability, she is speaking incoherently.” Given his prestigious status and calm demeanor, the onlookers instantly changed their perspective. “This is a hospital, if you have family drama, take it home. She looks completely unhinged. Being a doctor must be so exhausting.” “Dr. Derek is the backbone of our hospital. So young, yet so accomplished, gentle, and dedicated to his patients. He is famous for being a wonderful doctor.” “I saw his picture on the hospital wall of honor. If he says it is fine, it must be fine. Women who just gave birth are emotionally fragile, but making up lies to smear her own husband is just embarrassing.” Their whispers stabbed into my ears like sharp needles. Pointing fingers surrounded me. I leaned against the wall, my abdominal wound oozing blood, my body ice cold and drained of strength. I pleaded with the young doctor, “Just go inside and check. Send any doctor in. That is a human life, a fragile baby!” The young doctor hesitated and made a move toward the room, but Paisley stepped in his path. “She is just jealous because Dr. Derek is nice to me. She is a patient, and you cannot listen to the wild accusations of a sick person.” Derek immediately chimed in, “Please trust me, everyone. It is my fault for not handling my wife’s emotional episode properly. The child is perfectly fine. I will reason with her.” The crowd began to disperse, reassured by his authority. Suddenly, a high-pitched, continuous medical alarm pierced through the air from inside the room. My heart plummeted into an abyss, mirroring the exact moment my daughter died in my previous life. I sprinted into the room like a lunatic. Fearing I would cause more trouble, Derek rushed in right behind me. When his eyes landed on the severed oxygen tube and the baby’s cyanotic, bluish-purple face, panic finally struck him. The heart monitor flatlined into a straight, solid tone. The baby was gone. Paisley muttered under her breath in a tiny voice, “Finally, that ugly thing is dead.” Her voice was extremely low, but Derek heard it clearly. His complexion shifted rapidly. Looking at me as I collapsed beside the bed weeping hysterically, he pulled me tightly into his arms. “It was just a weak little girl anyway. Even if she survived, she probably would have had underlying genetic defects.” “Stop crying. Once this blows over, we will try IVF again. We will aim for a boy next time. My mother and the elders will respect you, and our lives will be peaceful.” I stared at him in sheer disbelief, thrashing violently in his grip. I screamed, then burst into manic laughter. Paisley took a step back, feigning terror. “She is scaring me! She looks completely insane. Doctor, maybe we should send her to the psychiatric ward.” People from the hallway began gathering at the door again. Unable to handle Paisley’s suggestion at that moment, Derek tried to regain control of the room. “Everyone, stay calm! I will take full responsibility for this incident!” Losing too much blood, my strength faded, and my vision began to turn black. Just as my consciousness drifted toward the void, a frantic nurse hurried down the hall. “Is baby Hope’s family here? Your baby has been successfully stabilized in her new room!” Derek froze. Paisley turned pale. Hope was my daughter’s name. The heavy weight crushing my chest finally lifted, and tears I had held back streamed down my face. Derek lost his composure, his voice cracking wildly. “My daughter is in a new room? Then whose premature baby is in this incubator?!”

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My husband has a lean waist, long legs, pale skin, and a face that could launch a thousand ships. His only flaw? He is completely impotent. Our sex life consists entirely of me waging a solo battle. Tonight, I was planning to spice things up a bit when I suddenly saw floating text drifting across the bedroom like live chat comments: [Lmao, this supporting female character is jumping around like a total clown.] [The male lead is a pure Platonic romance guy. He only has eyes for his soulmate.] [Just wait until the female lead shows up. Those two pure-love warriors will fly off into the sunset together.] [In the original story, she clings to him, refuses to sign the divorce papers, and gets kicked out with absolutely nothing. She ends up dying alone in some cheap rental apartment, and nobody even claims her body.] As I stared in a daze, my husband pushed open the bedroom door. Catching sight of me in sheer black lace, his ears turned a faint crimson, and he quickly looked away. “My hands are a bit tired today… Can I use my mouth instead?” 01 “Never mind. Let’s just go to sleep.” I pulled the duvet over myself, wrapping it tight, and turned my back to him. Larry’s hand, halfway through unbuttoning his shirt, froze in midair. Thinking I was upset because he got home late, he sat on the edge of the mattress and gently brushed my shoulder. “Did I come home too late? I’ll be earlier next time.” I didn’t say a word. He leaned in closer, his ears flushed so deep they looked ready to bleed. “If you want… you can sit on my face instead.” I admit I hesitated. My lust almost won. But then, another wave of comments floated past. [Ugh, such a pure and elegant guy being ruined like this.] [Well, he’s a live-in husband relying on her family. What choice does he have?] [If her family hadn’t used their influence to force him into this marriage, would a guy like him ever stoop to her level?] [While he was winning awards in Paris, she was busy blowing money on designer bags.] [The first thing he does when his company goes public is divorce her. She won’t get a single penny.] [Even after the divorce, she won’t stop making a scene, and the whole internet mocks her for going crazy. She literally dies in a tiny, dingy apartment, and it takes days for anyone to find her body.] “I’m really not in the mood. Just go to sleep.” Larry stared at me, utterly bewildered. Usually, I would have pounced on him like a starving predator. But now, my heart was as still as dead water. I couldn’t even bring myself to look at him. It took him a long moment to offer a quiet, slow, “Oh.” He stood up and headed to the bathroom. I pulled out my phone and texted a doctor friend: I’m seeing floating words in the air. They’re insulting me. My friend replied instantly: Could be mushroom poisoning. Get to an ER. Me: But I had that wild mushroom hotpot last week. My friend went silent for a moment. I’m on duty Monday. Let me book you an appointment in psychiatry. I put my phone down. The words on the ceiling hadn’t vanished. Piece by piece, I reconstructed the entire story from the comments. I was the villainous supporting female character in a PG-rated romance novel on some web platform. My husband was destined for a purely Platonic romance, and the female lead was his true soulmate. As for me, my ending was nothing short of tragic. Wait. This is a female-targeted web novel, and they couldn’t even keep the male lead a virgin for the female lead? What kind of messed-up world is this? I let out a heavy sigh. Suddenly, a bright red comment pinned itself right in front of my eyes. [The male lead actually developed sexual trauma as a kid when he walked in on his dad messing around with his aunt right in his mom’s funeral home.] [The female lead (supporting character) forces herself on him every day, and he’s too scared to say anything. He’s been secretly seeing a therapist.] [That’s literally how he meets the female lead! The female lead is his therapist!] I stared blankly at the words, my mind going completely numb. Did intimacy actually cause him pain? 02 Before Larry married into my family, he warned me that he was impotent. We tried it once on our wedding night. I lay on top of him for ages, coaxing and whispering sweet things. In the end, he closed his eyes and whispered in a raw, tight voice, “I’m sorry. I… I can’t.” I froze for a solid thirty seconds. What an absolute waste of god-tier genetics. Having a face like that just to keep it on display? But he was just too beautiful. His skin was so pale it seemed translucent, his eyes slightly rimmed with red, and his long lashes were damp. He looked so vulnerable, so quietly desperate to please. I stared at him for a long time and finally let it go. Keeping a gorgeous centerpiece in my house wasn’t a bad deal, after all. The next day, I had someone consult a traditional specialist, bringing home dozens of natural herbal remedies to boost his performance. He drank every bitter cup without a single complaint, but nature refused to cooperate. Eventually, I gave up on the hardware. If the hardware didn’t work, there was always the software. He was incredibly talented with his hands, and his mouth was magic. He never rejected a single request I made. But he was never enthusiastic about it. At first, I assumed it was just his physical limitation. Later, I realized something was off. He always took perfect care of me, yet he remained completely detached. When we were done, he would hide in the bathroom for hours. When I asked, he simply said he was washing up. I hadn’t thought much of it. Nobody is perfect. With a face like that, how could I demand blazing passion too? Not until tonight, when I saw the comments. Only then did I realize that for all these years, he had been swallowing his disgust just to please me. 03 The bathroom door creaked open slightly. Larry’s voice drifted out through the warm steam. “…Catherine, I forgot my pajamas. Could you pass them to me?” I blinked. There were towels in the bathroom. Since when was he so modest? I rolled out of bed and grabbed a silk robe. The door opened a fraction wider. He hadn’t wrapped a towel around himself. He stood entirely bare in the swirling mist. Damp hair clung to his forehead, and his pale skin was flushed a delicate pink from the heat. His waist was impossibly lean, droplets of water tracing the curve of his hips. My pulse quickened. My gaze drifted downward, but I forced myself to snap back. “Here,” I said, shoving the robe through the gap. He took it but didn’t close the door. As the steam poured out, he stood half-cloaked in the light, murmuring, “Thank you, sweetheart.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. The corners of his eyes were flushed, and he looked at me as if there was something he desperately wanted to say but couldn’t. That look was different from before. My heart skipped a beat. A comment floated above my head: [The male lead is terrified. He’s so scared she’s going to force herself on him.] [Then why did he ask her to bring him pajamas?] [Because walking out naked would guarantee she’d eat him alive! A towel can slip off easily, but a robe at least has a belt.] Me: “…” Larry waited for a few seconds, only to hear me say, “Dry your hair before you come out.” He seemed momentarily dazed, looking down at himself. He lingered, waiting for something more, but nothing came. Finally, he lowered his lashes and quietly pulled the door shut. [Lmao, look at his face! He is so confused!] [Safe for another day.jpg] I slid back under the covers. Ten minutes later, he emerged. Carrying the cool, damp scent of the bath, he carefully lifted the duvet and slid in beside me. The faint scent of the rose body wash, the exact same one I used, drifted off him. I kept my back turned, pretending to be fast asleep. Behind me, the space fell quiet. [The male lead must be laughing in relief right now, celebrating silently.] [Oh my god, his silent joy is sending me.] I didn’t turn around. I only heard the rustle of the sheets as he rolled over, facing my back. After a long while, a tiny whisper broke the quiet. “…Catherine?” I didn’t move. A gentle tug pulled at the edge of the blanket, tucking the cold draft away from my exposed back. 04 The next morning, by the time I finished getting ready, Larry was already at the door, briefcase in hand, slipping on his shoes. On the dining table sat a bowl of warm oatmeal, some fresh fruit, and a perfectly peeled egg. “Morning,” he said, his eyes curving into a gentle smile. “Your breakfast is ready.” “Thanks,” I murmured. Having finished putting on his shoes, he lingered by the door. He adjusted his cuffs, his gaze flicking up to meet mine. [What is he waiting for? Buddy, you’re going to be late for work.] [He’s waiting for her to let him go. Usually, she wraps her arms around him and kisses him for ten minutes before he can leave.] [He’s forced to do this routine every morning like a punch-card at a job. He’s probably sick to death of it.] I sat at the table, clutching my spoon, frozen. Larry stood there a moment longer, then slowly walked back to me. He leaned down slightly, turning his cheek toward me. He was waiting for his morning kiss. I tilted my head away. His lips brushed past my cheek, finding only empty air. Larry’s eyelashes fluttered. He stood frozen, unable to process what had just happened. Straightening up, his voice dropped a fraction lower. “…I’m leaving then.” The front door clicked shut. My spoon tapped against the side of the bowl with a sharp clink. He really must hate being physically close to me. All these years, I had been the one forcing it. The morning kiss was a chore, bedtime was an obligation. Now that I was pulling away, he could finally breathe easy. [Whoa, did she actually change her tune today? She avoided the kiss?] [Look at his face… that does not look like relief.] [Duh. When you’ve been treated like a puppet for years, a sudden change in routine just makes you wonder if you’re about to get chopped.] I stared at my breakfast, my stomach tying itself into a painful knot. 05 At nine sharp, I arrived at the office. My secretary followed me in, arms loaded with files. I didn’t hear a single word she said. My eyes were locked on the empty air in front of me. [The male lead is meeting his therapist after his meeting today. Is the female lead about to make her entrance?] [Isn’t he supposed to divorce her the second his company goes public? If you look at the timeline, it’s coming up fast.] My pen slipped from my fingers, clattering loudly against the mahogany desk. I snapped back to reality. My secretary jumped. “Is everything alright, ma’am?” “Carry on,” I murmured. Once she left, I stared at the business proposals on my monitor, my mind drifting for hours. Around noon, the secretary knocked, announcing that my husband had arrived. He was standing at the door holding a pastry box. He wore a light gray button-down, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms. The sunlight flooded in from behind him, turning his long eyelashes a soft, spun gold. “I was passing by that bakery you like,” he said softly, “so I picked something up.” His office was all the way uptown; that bakery was miles downtown. “Have you had lunch?” he asked. “Not yet.” “Let’s eat this then.” He sat across from me and began opening the box. [He just saw the female lead. She validated all his childhood trauma, so now he’s bringing the supporting female character some cake out of guilt.] I stared at the slice of Black Forest cake in front of me, my fork hovering in the air. “Aren’t you going to eat?” He looked up, his eyes bright and hopeful. I wanted to ask him if he hated touch. If he did, we could just have a Platonic marriage. I wouldn’t mind. But then, another line of text drifted overhead. [Ah, I get it! His company’s latest project is short on cash flow. He’s here to ask her for money.] [Wait, doesn’t he hate using her money?] [He used to, but now he’s desperate to build his own empire so he can run away with the therapist.] I froze. After staring at him for three agonizing seconds, I set my fork down and forced a faint smile. “Larry, you didn’t just come here to bring me cake, did you? Is something on your mind?” His lashes fluttered nervously. “…I just… wanted to bring you this.” “And?” “Our latest project hit a bit of a funding bottleneck,” he murmured, keeping his head down. “Catherine… do you think you could transfer me two million?” I couldn’t quite describe the sensation in my chest. It felt hollow, bitter. After a quiet pause, I nodded. “Sure. I’ll give you your salary card back when we get home.” He looked up, completely blank. “…What salary card?” “The one you gave me when we married. You need money, right? The savings from the past few years should be more than enough. Take it back and use it however you need.” His brow furrowed. “Why are you giving me that card? If I need a transfer, you could just send it to me.” [Wait, if he’s desperate for money, shouldn’t he gladly take his card back?] [Maybe he’s just embarrassed?] [Stop making excuses. He’s desperate to start over with the female lead, why would he refuse his own money?] Me: “You said you were short on cash. The money in that account will cover it.” “If I’m short, you can just wire it,” he said, his voice tightening with a sudden edge of panic. “Why are you trying to hand it back to me?” He stared at me, his dark eyes searchingly deep. “Are you hiding something from me?” I went quiet for a second. “…No.” “Then why are you suddenly returning my card?” “It’s just easier if you have it. You won’t have to keep asking me.” “…Oh. Fine. I’ll give it back once the project is settled.” [Lmao, the male lead is so good at acting dumb. His own tiny salary is nothing; her family’s money is the real prize.] [Honestly, I think he just genuinely loves her. Is it just me?] [Shut up.] [Is there a chance he’s actually head over heels for her?] [Did you write the book? No? Then sit down.] 06 That night, I slid the card across the bedside table to him. Larry was leaning against the headboard reading. He didn’t pick up the card. He just looked up at me. “Do you really want to give this to me?” “Yes. You need it,” I said, placing it firmly on the nightstand. “The PIN is still your birthday.” He stared at the plastic card for a few seconds. Suddenly, his fingers wrapped around my wrist, pulling me toward him. Caught off guard, I lost my balance and ended up leaning against his chest. He tilted his chin up, his lips brushing the corner of my mouth with feather-light pressure. Every time I gave him an allowance, he would kiss me like this. But tonight, the kiss lingered. The moment I felt the warm slip of his tongue, I jerked my head aside. His lips brushed past my cheek again, left kissing the empty air. Larry froze. He remained frozen in that slightly upturned posture. After several long seconds, he slowly let go of my wrist and sat up straight. His voice was barely a whisper, thick with some suppressed emotion. “…Are you avoiding me?” I said nothing. He bit his lower lip. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong? You shrank away from me last night, too.” What was I supposed to say? That I could see floating insults in the air? That I knew he felt nothing but disgust every time he had to touch me? That our marriage was a mistake from the start? I closed my eyes, feeling as though the thin thread holding my sanity together was about to snap. “Larry, let’s just make this a Platonic marriage.” “I know you’ve never really been into the physical side of things. I was too demanding in the past. From now on, we don’t have to do any of that. It’s better this way.” I watched the color drain from his face as if he’d been hit with a bucket of ice water. His throat bobbed, then went still. He didn’t say a single word. [The male lead must be thrilled inside. She’s proposing a platonic marriage, saving him the trouble of faking it.] [Finally, he doesn’t have to treat sex like a chore. Victory lap!] [Does he look happy to you?] [Silence is consent, sweetie. With his upbringing, did you expect him to throw a party and applaud?] A dull ache flared in my chest, but I pushed it down. I leaned forward, placing a chaste kiss on his forehead. “Get some sleep.” I stood up, pulled a spare blanket from the closet, and turned toward the door. His voice drifted from behind. “…Where are you going?” “The guest room. We should sleep in separate rooms tonight.” There was no response. As I reached the doorway, I looked back. He sat with his head bowed, his face cast in shadow. Right as the door clicked shut, I caught him raising his head. The overhead light shattered into tiny, glistening fragments in his eyes. His lips parted, moving silently, but no sound came out. 07 I slumped against the guest room door, my heart hammering so hard it rattled my eardrums. That silent movement of his lips, it looked like he was saying, Don’t go. [The male lead is definitely celebrating in there.] [Probably trying not to laugh out loud.] [The villainess finally did one good thing, even if it’s late.] [He’s going to tell the therapist the good news tomorrow, mark my words.] I took a deep breath and threw the blanket onto the bed. Slowly, the stream of comments began to thin. One, then another, drifting past after long intervals, their color fading. [Actually, when are they getting divorced…] Once the last comment vanished, the ceiling returned to a pristine white. I stared at the blank space, entirely stunned. From the moment these comments appeared, they would multiply exponentially whenever I interacted with Larry. The more there were, the more my emotions were hijacked. No. I shouldn’t let these bizarre floating letters dictate how I felt about my husband. I closed my eyes and replayed the events of the last forty-eight hours. I needed to go back and talk to him. But the second my feet touched the floor, my knees gave out. It felt as though an invisible, heavy hand was pinning me down. Slow drops of crimson text began to bleed into the air before my eyes. [Please adhere to the main storyline. No deviations allowed.] I blinked. Unlike the comments, this message stayed locked in place. I tried to lift my foot, but my soles felt welded to the floorboards. I couldn’t budge. [Warning: Character attempting to alter the plot. Forced Correction Mode activated.] Cold sweat broke out across my back. From down the hall, a soft rustle broke the silence. Footsteps were approaching. Larry knocked softly. “…Catherine? Can we talk?” I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. A new prompt flashed: [Initiate divorce with the male lead.] The doorknob turned. Seeing me standing frozen in the middle of the dark room, Larry paused. “Why are you in the dark?” He strode over, his thumb gently catching a stray tear on my cheek. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?” Only then did I realize my face was wet. Larry, I’ve been seeing these terrible words for days. They say you hate me, that I’ll end up dying alone in some slum. Larry, there’s something in my head controlling me. But the words that actually tore past my lips were, “Larry, let’s get a divorce.” His hand froze against my cheek. “You’ve been acting so strange lately. Are you sick? If something is wrong, we can fix it together. Please.” [Character deviating from the plot! Correcting!] I heard my own voice, cold and mocking, say, “Are you deaf? I said I want a divorce. I’m bored of you.” “You’ve been a total bore all these years. You’re useless in bed, and you’re useless out of it.” “If it weren’t for your pretty face, do you think I would have ever looked at you twice? I’m tired of looking at you.” He stood entirely still, looking as if the skeleton had been ripped right out of him. My mouth kept churning out poison, each sentence sharper than the last. He stared at me for a very long time. Long enough that I thought he might never speak again. Then, slowly, he let go and took a half-step back. His knees bent, and he sank to the floor, kneeling at my feet. He looked up at me. “Are you finished?” “…Yes.” “Then it’s my turn.” He reached up, taking my limp hand in his. “Catherine, what are you so afraid of?”

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1 I earned a six-figure salary working as an undercover handler for the city’s top elite heir, specifically hired to use love to tame his wild, rebellious younger brother. I ran this gig for three years with zero negative reviews. Until today, at the drag strip, when he pushed me aside for a girl in a white cotton dress. My heart sank. Not out of heartbreak, but out of pure agony for my about-to-be-lost double salary. I immediately turned around and emailed his older brother my resignation letter. Three minutes later, the elite heir himself locked down the entire mountain racing pass. … The night wind along the mountain pass blew hard, making my eyes sting. Taking advantage of the moment, I squeezed out two precise tears and gripped the edge of Zach’s racing suit. “Zach, don’t go,” I whimpered, pitching my voice to a perfectly delicate tremolo. “This mountain pass is way too dangerous, I’m really scared…” I knew this routine like the back of my hand. For three years, whenever my eyes turned red, this stubborn mule of a guy would soften up instantly. He would curse under his breath, toss his car keys aside, shove me into the passenger seat, and drive me home like a good boy to drink warm milk. But tonight, something was off. Zach didn’t wrap his arm around me like he usually did. Instead, his brow furrowed, his eyes skipping right over my shoulder toward the far side of the bleachers. I followed his line of sight and took a quick peek. Holy crap, I cursed in my head. Standing in the corner of the bleachers was a girl wearing a faded white cotton dress. She wore no makeup at all, looking like a delicate white lotus swaying in the wind among a sea of heavily painted party girls. What was most fatal was her expression: three parts stubbornness, three parts defiance, and four parts absolute martyr-like stoicism. We were doomed. Alarm bells blared in my mind. This girl had just flipped the young master’s “true love” switch. “Sienna, be a good girl,” Zach said, pulling my fingers away one by one. His motion wasn’t harsh, but it was absolute. He casually put a cigarette between his lips, leaning down close with a wicked smirk. “Don’t worry, your man’s driving skills are top-tier. I’m taking the prize in tonight’s race no matter what.” I glanced in the direction he pointed. The so-called prize was that girl in the white dress. Word on the street was that her brother owed loan sharks a fortune, and she had been dragged to the drag strip as a betting chip. Whoever won the race got to take her home. What a cliché storyline. What a dramatic trope. If this were any other day, I would have bought a bag of sunflower seeds and crouched by the curb to enjoy the show. But right now, I couldn’t bring myself to smile. Because this meant my personal cash cow was about to break out of the pasture. Zach threw on his helmet and slid into his flashy red sports car without looking back. The engine let out a deafening, throaty roar. The surrounding trust-fund bros began to cheer wildly. “Zach’s the man!” “Risking it all for a pretty face!” “Hey Sienna, looks like your official girlfriend status is expired! Can’t even keep your man on a leash!” A few socialite girls who had always disliked me sidled up to throw mocking jabs. I kept my head low, my shoulders trembling in rhythm. To them, I looked like a heartbroken girl weeping in despair. In reality, I was fighting with everything I had to hold back a burst of laughter while frantically clicking an imaginary abacus in my head. My name is Sienna. I am a professional hired companion. To be precise, I was a high-priced “wild animal trainer” employed by the eldest heir of the Sinclair family, Xavier Sinclair. Zach was the wild animal I was assigned to manage. Three years ago, Zach was a chaotic nightmare who spent his days getting into street fights, drag racing, and hitting nightclubs. Old Mr. Sinclair was so enraged he nearly suffered a heart attack. When Xavier took over the family conglomerate, his very first order of business was to clean up family discipline. However, running a multi-billion-dollar empire left him zero time to babysit his rebellious younger brother. So, he found me. “I will pay you fifty thousand dollars a month,” Xavier had said, sitting behind his leather executive desk, handing me a contract with an icy expression. “Your task is to make him fall in love with you, then use his love-addled brain to keep him in line. No drag racing, no brawling, no negative press headlines. As long as he smoothly finishes his college degree and enters the company as an intern, I will pay you a five-million-dollar completion bonus in one lump sum.” I looked at that long string of zeros and signed my name on the spot. Are you kidding me? A base salary of fifty thousand a month! And that wasn’t even counting the pocket money, designer bags, and jewelry Zach bought me on the side. Drawing two paychecks for one job was the absolute pinnacle of corporate grinding. For three years, I performed my duties with absolute dedication. I played the sweet, fragile, helpless working-class college girl to perfection, completely captivating Zach. For my sake, he quit smoking and drinking. He even dyed his bleached yellow hair back to natural black. Every single day, he picked me up from class right on time and spent his weekends sitting quietly with me in the university library. The entire elite social scene gossiped about how the wild second prince of the Sinclair family had been completely tamed by a commoner girl. Xavier was immensely satisfied with my job performance, even handing me annual bonuses twice. With just six months left until Zach’s college graduation, that five-million-dollar final bonus was practically waving at me. And then tonight, out of nowhere, Zach had a sudden brain short-circuit and insisted on coming to the mountain pass with his bad influences, running straight into Isla, the delicate white lotus. The red sports car shot out like an arrow off a bowstring, its taillights cutting a streak of crimson through the dark night. I let out a soft sigh, dropping the tearful act. Reaching into my Hermès bag, I pulled out my secondary phone, opened the messaging app, and located the solid black profile picture. Boss, we have an emergency, I typed rapidly. Target Number Two has encountered an uncontrollable emotional variable. In layman’s terms, his affection has shifted. My tear strategy is no longer effective. To avoid the embarrassment of getting kicked out, I am requesting to terminate my contract early. My formal resignation has been sent to your email. How will this month’s salary and my severance package be calculated? After sending the message, I let out a long breath of relief. A professional knows when to hold on and when to let go. Although losing that five-million-dollar final bonus stung a little, I had saved up a massive fortune over the past three years. It was more than enough for me to buy a luxury villa back in my hometown and live a comfortable life hiring a few handsome young personal assistants. My phone vibrated almost instantly. Xavier replied in seconds with just two icy words: Location. I blinked, quickly dropping the live pin of the drag strip into the chat. No further response came from his end. Leaning against the bleacher railing, I blew idly into the cold night wind, mentally rehearsing how to wrap up the scene later. Zach was guaranteed to win the race. He was, after all, a semi-professional champion driver. When he returned victorious with his new girl, what posture should I adopt? Should I hysterically demand why he betrayed me? Or should I put on a brave face, wish him happiness, and walk away into the dark? Which approach would squeeze a larger breakup payout out of him? While I was deliberating, the roar of an engine echoed from the far end of the mountain road. The red sports car crossed the finish line first, pulling off a gorgeous drift before coming to a firm halt in the center of the crowd. Zach pushed the door open and stepped out. Tossing his helmet aside, he casually ran a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. That arrogant, wild demeanor was admittedly quite attractive to younger girls. The crowd erupted into wild cheers. The trust-fund bros who had set up the bet walked forward with sour expressions. “Zach, you won,” the leader said through grit teeth. Zach let out a cold smirk, walking straight past them to the corner of the bleachers, grabbing Isla’s wrist in a firm grip. “She’s coming with me,” he declared. “Her brother’s debt is completely wiped clean.” Isla struggled against his grip without success. Raising her head, her eyes rimmed red, she glared at him. “I don’t need your pity! I’ll pay off my brother’s debt myself!” Wow, look at those lines, I thought. Absolute perfection. Zach was clearly eating up every bit of it. The smirk on his face deepened. “Pay it back yourself? With what? From today on, you belong to me. Be good, listen to me, and don’t make me angry.” I watched from the side with immense entertainment, practically wanting to play background music for their romantic drama. That was until Zach dragged Isla straight over to stand in front of me. The surrounding air went instantly dead quiet. Everyone stared at me with expectant, drama-hungry eyes. I quickly pinched my own thigh hard, forcing two fresh tears to well up in my eyes. “Zach…” I raised my head, my voice trembling and my eyes filled with shattered grief. “Who is she?” Zach looked at me, a brief flash of guilt flickering across his eyes before being replaced by cold detachment. “Sienna, let’s break up,” he said, his tone as casual as if discussing the weather. “I’ve treated you well over the last three years. Everything you wanted, I bought for you. You should be satisfied. I only just realized that what I felt for you before wasn’t love at all. I just appreciated that you were obedient and sensible.” He squeezed Isla’s hand tightly. “It wasn’t until I met her that I truly understood what real heart-fluttering passion feels like.” I had to suppress a massive urge to roll my eyes. Dude, you literally just met her for the first time tonight! What in the world is ‘real passion’?! You’re just attracted to a pretty face, stop acting like a tragic romantic hero! Still, on the surface, I had to finish my performance. I stumbled back two steps, my face turning deathly pale as if I were about to collapse. “I don’t believe you…” I bit my lip hard, tears rolling down my cheeks in heavy droplets. “You said you would marry me! You said we’d get married right after graduation!” Zach knit his brows, growing visibly impatient. “Sienna, stop making a scene. Let’s part on good terms. Tomorrow I’ll have my assistant wire two million dollars to your account, and you can keep the downtown condo. Don’t come looking for me anymore.” Two million dollars in cash plus a prime downtown luxury condo! My heart bloomed with pure joy. What an absolute win! Severance pay from the boss plus a breakup payout from the younger brother—I was stepping directly into financial freedom! Just as I was preparing to take the graceful exit, pretend to weep uncontrollably, and make my grand departure, a massive deafening roar sounded from directly above our heads. Gales of wind whipped up dust and gravel from the asphalt, blinding everyone on the ground. Everyone looked up in sheer terror. Three sleek black helicopters hovered directly above the racing strip. Blinding searchlights cut through the dark like sharp blades, illuminating the entire venue as bright as midday. Immediately after, a convoy of over a dozen black Maybachs roared up from both ends of the mountain pass, their sharp screeching brakes echoing in unison to completely seal off every exit. The crowd erupted into chaotic panic. “What on earth is happening?!” “Is it a police raid?!” “Raid my ass! Look at those license plates!” Zach’s expression shifted drastically as well. Subconsciously shielding Isla behind his back, he stared fixedly at the lead Maybach. The car door opened. Dozens of bodyguards dressed in sharp black suits and wearing earpieces filed out in swift precision, forming two disciplined lines. A tall man wearing a custom black trench coat stepped out of the vehicle. His figure was lean and commanding, his features carved with cold perfection. An aura of absolute, long-standing authority radiated from his very presence. Just standing there, he caused the surrounding temperature to drop to freezing point. Xavier Sinclair. My cold, ruthless, capitalist employer. Why on earth had he come here in person? I stood frozen in place, completely forgetting my fake crying routine. Xavier took long, deliberate strides, his leather shoes clicking sharply against the asphalt. Without sparing a single glance at the trembling trust-fund heirs around us, he walked straight toward our group. Zach swallowed hard, his voice tight. “Brother… why are you here?” He assumed Xavier had come to drag him back home. The Sinclair family discipline was notoriously brutal, and if the old patriarch found out he was drag racing at night over a woman, his legs would be broken. Zach grit his teeth, puffing out his chest defiantly. “Brother, I take full responsibility for my own actions! I set up tonight’s race! It has nothing to do with Isla! Whatever you want to do, direct it at me, don’t touch her!” His heroic, protective stance really carried the dramatic aura of a romance male lead. Behind him, Isla stared at Xavier with eyes filled with deep hostility and suspicion. 2 She looked as though she were staring at an evil villain trying to tear true lovers apart. Xavier halted his footsteps. His gaze swept indifferently over Zach, then flicked past Isla. That look was identical to staring at two irrelevant ants. He didn’t even bother uttering a single word to Zach. Stepping right past them, he walked directly up to me. My heart tightened violently. Oh crap. Was the boss here to personally execute my account? Did he think I had failed to manage his brother properly and come to demand liquidated damages? My brain frantically calculated excuses. “Boss, let me explain…” I lowered my voice to a whisper meant strictly for his ears. “This really isn’t my fault. It’s an uncontrollable force of nature. About that two-million-dollar severance…” Xavier looked down at me from his superior height, his dark eyes swirling with a depth I couldn’t decipher. Suddenly, he raised his hand. I flinched back, instinctively shrinking my neck thinking he was going to strike me. Instead, his hand landed gently on the top of my head, softly smoothing down my wind-ruffled hair. “I didn’t approve your resignation,” Xavier said, his voice deep and raspy, carrying a barely perceptible trace of a chuckle. “Since Target Number Two has failed…” He leaned down, his breath brushing against my ear as he whispered in an intensely seductive tone, “…we launch Project Number One.” I froze, staring at him in complete bewilderment. “What is Project Number One?” Xavier unbuttoned his trench coat with slow precision, draping it over my shoulders. It carried his faint, crisp scent of cedar. Leaning closer until his lips nearly brushed mine, he murmured, “Me. Double your monthly salary, ten-million-dollar completion bonus. Sienna, now it’s your turn to manage me.”

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1 After a grueling ten-hour shift, I bought a lottery ticket on impulse and won ten million. Heart racing, I ran home and kissed my husband Luke, breathless with the news. He dropped his phone. “What?” I handed him the ticket, his fingers trembling. “Let’s put it in our shared safe,” I suggested. He agreed. We locked it inside together. The next morning, I said, “Come on, let’s claim the prize.” I entered the six-digit code and opened the safe. Empty. Only our birth certificates and apartment deed remained. The ticket was gone. I turned to Luke. “Did you move it?” His face went pale. “I haven’t touched it since last night.” “Only we know the code, Luke. If not you, then who?” He yanked the safe from its shelf and slammed it onto the floor. “I told you, it wasn’t me! Are you accusing me of stealing our own ticket?” His reaction was far too intense for an innocent man. Yet the smart access log showed no one had entered the code between last night and this morning. How could a physical ticket simply vanish from a locked safe? … “Look at the log again,” Luke muttered, crouching on the floor. He flipped the dented safe over and pointed at the small digital screen on the back. I leaned in closer. The screen showed the access history in clear, bright text. The most recent opening was recorded at 8:07 AM today, marked as a passcode entry. That was the opening I had just performed. Scroll up. The entry before that was at 10:41 PM last night, also marked as a passcode entry. That was when we had locked the ticket away. There was absolutely nothing recorded in between. “See?” his voice sounded raw and dry. “It was opened exactly twice. Once to put the ticket in, and once when you opened it just now.” I stared at the screen, a loud ringing starting in my ears. “Then where is the ticket?” “How should I know?” “Luke, stop playing games with me.” He bolted upright, a thick vein throbbing on his temple. “Janice, what exactly are you accusing me of? Do you think I crept out of bed while you were sleeping, opened the safe, and took it? Why would I steal from my own household?” I stayed silent, my mind racing. He drew a sharp breath and thrust his phone in front of my face. “Look at my screen-time records. The screen locked at 11:02 PM last night and didn’t light up again until this morning. I didn’t even touch my phone, let alone get up.” The digital log confirmed his words. His phone had been completely inactive through the night. “So just because we can’t explain it, we’re supposed to pretend it didn’t happen?” I clenched my fists, my voice rising. “It’s ten million dollars, Luke. Not ten dollars.” He opened his mouth, but no sound came out, as if something were choking him. After a long, heavy silence, he finally spoke. “Maybe we should call the police.” “And tell them what? That our lottery ticket grew legs and walked out of a locked safe?” He fell silent again. I knelt on the floor, systematically pulling everything out of the safe. Passports, the deed, our marriage certificate, and a small savings book. No false bottom, no hidden compartments. I even turned the heavy metal box upside down and shook it with all my might. Nothing fell out. “Is it possible…” he hesitated, looking at me with a strange expression, “that you made a mistake?” I looked up at him. “What do you mean?” “I mean, is there any chance the ticket didn’t actually win? You were so incredibly excited last night. What if you misread the numbers?” I stared at his face, trying to detect a lie, but his expression was entirely earnest. “Luke, you looked at the ticket too.” “I did, but I was so caught up in the moment that I didn’t verify the numbers carefully.” “Six numbers, matching perfectly. I checked them three times.” “Then…” He ran his fingers through his hair, tugging at the roots. “Then I honestly don’t know what to tell you.” I stood up, my knees feeling weak. Ten million dollars. Only last night, I was planning to send fifty thousand to my parents and pay off our remaining mortgage. Now, those bright dreams had popped like soap bubbles. “I’m going to check the building’s security cameras,” I said. While our apartment didn’t have cameras inside, the building corridors did. The property management’s footage would show if anyone had entered our floor. Luke didn’t try to stop me, but he didn’t follow me either. When I looked back, he was sitting on the floor of the study, his face buried in his hands. It was a posture of absolute defeat, though I couldn’t tell if it was from guilt or despair. I turned and walked out, my hand trembling as I pulled the door shut. The mirror in the elevator reflected a face that was ghostly pale. In the lobby, the security guard, Roy, was scrolling through his phone. “Roy, could you help me check the corridor cameras for the seventeenth floor from last night?” He raised his head. “Did something happen, Janice?” “I lost something valuable.” “How valuable? Should we call the police?” “Let’s look at the footage first.” He led me into the security room and pulled up the feed for our floor. We fast-forwarded through the footage, watching the time stamp fly by. From 10:30 PM last night when we came home, to 8:00 AM this morning when I walked out of the study. Near ten hours of footage. The hallway remained completely silent. Not a single soul had approached our door. “No one came near your apartment, Janice,” Roy said, gesturing to the screen. I stood there, completely numb. No one had walked down our corridor. The safe had not been opened. The ticket had simply vanished into thin air, as if it had never existed in the first place. As I walked out of the management office, my phone buzzed with a text from Luke. “Janice, have you considered the possibility that we never actually put the ticket in the safe?” 2 “What on earth do you mean by that?” I stood near the entrance of our building, clutching my phone, my voice sounding much sharper than I intended. Luke remained silent on the other end for a few seconds. “I just mean, is it possible you were holding a different piece of paper? Or maybe you set it down somewhere else in the apartment and forgot about it?” “Luke, you stood right beside me and watched me put it in.” “I know, but I wasn’t looking at your hands that closely.” “You held that ticket yourself for at least half a minute. You even commented on how much your hands were shaking. Have you forgotten that?” “…No, I haven’t.” “Then why are you trying to tell me we never put it in?” His heavy, strained breathing came through the speaker. “Janice, I’m just trying to explore every possibility. Don’t lose your temper.” I hung up on him. When I got back to the apartment, Luke had already tidied up the study. The safe was back in its corner, its cracked plastic casing held together with a neat layer of duct tape. He sat on the sofa, looking up at me as I entered, but he didn’t speak. “The security cameras didn’t show anyone,” I said, breaking the silence. He nodded slowly, as if he had already expected that result. “I’ve been playing the whole night back in my head,” he said quietly. “Last night, you showed me the ticket. We went into the study. You entered the passcode, opened the safe, and put the ticket inside.” “Yes.” “Then you closed the door, and I watched you do it.” “Yes.” “Is there any chance the door didn’t latch completely? Maybe the ticket slid out of the gap?” I went back into the study and searched every inch of the room. I checked behind the bookshelves, under the desk, along the edges of the carpet, and within the folds of the curtains. Nothing. “There’s nothing there,” I said, walking back out and staring directly at him. “Luke, I am asking you one last time. Did you take it?” His tired expression hardened into a cold, defensive mask. “Janice, I already told you I didn’t. How many times are you going to ask me that?” “Then give me a reasonable explanation!” “I don’t have one!” He stood up, towering over me, his gaze fierce. “I want to know what happened to it just as much as you do! But you keep questioning me over and over, as if I’m some common thief in my own home!” “Only the two of us know that passcode.” “What about you then? You know the passcode too. Maybe you sleepwalked in the middle of the night and threw it away?” The accusation felt like a slap to my face. I stood frozen. Realizing he had crossed a line, he looked away, his tone softening slightly. “Just try to remember,” he muttered. “Did you dream about anything last night?” I had indeed dreamed. I dreamed of bank vaults, of money, and of my mother calling to ask why I hadn’t sent her any funds. But those were just dreams. I had never sleepwalked in my life. “I don’t sleepwalk, Luke.” “How would you know? You’re asleep when it happens.” I wanted to argue, but a part of me wondered if there was some terrifying truth to his words. No, that made no sense. “The safe logs,” I pointed out. “Even if I had sleepwalked, I would have had to enter the passcode, and the logs would have recorded an entry.” He had no answer for that. We were back in the same impossible loop: the safe had never been opened, yet the ticket was gone. For the rest of the day, neither of us brought it up again. But the atmosphere in the apartment had shifted, a sharp, invisible tension settling between us. I made dinner, but he only took a few bites before putting his fork down. I had no appetite either, moving the food around my plate until it went cold. When we went to bed, we stayed on opposite sides, separated by a wide, silent gulf. At three in the morning, I woke up suddenly. It wasn’t a sound that woke me, but a sudden, heavy wave of anxiety that pulled me from my sleep. I lay in the dark, listening to Luke’s steady breathing, when a memory suddenly sparked in my mind. When I bought the ticket last night, the clerk had stared at me for a long time. The lottery kiosk was right by our neighborhood entrance, and I occasionally stopped by to buy a scratch-off. The owner, a man in his early forties named Gavin, always wore a baseball cap and offered a friendly, wide smile. When I had scratched the ticket in the shop, he had been standing right next to me. I distinctly remembered him saying: “Well, look at that. You’ve got some serious luck, lady.” At the time, I had been too dizzy with excitement to pay attention to his tone. But thinking back on it now, his voice hadn’t sounded casual at all. He had seen the winning numbers. But even if he knew, what difference did it make? He couldn’t possibly get into our apartment. I rolled over, burying my face in the pillow. Perhaps Luke was right. Perhaps my mind was playing tricks on me. Perhaps the ticket hadn’t won ten million dollars at all, but some minor prize, and my eyes had deceived me in my excitement. Perhaps the ten million dollars had never existed. The thought brought a dry, bitter chuckle to my throat. The only thing more terrifying than losing a fortune was starting to doubt your own sanity. 3 “You look awful lately.” During lunch the next day, my coworker Phoebe nudged my shoulder. I had been staring blankly at my computer screen for an hour without typing a single digit. “I’m fine.” “Sure you are. Those dark circles under your eyes look like they were painted on with charcoal,” she said, pulling her chair closer. “Did you and Luke have a fight?” I hesitated for a moment. “Phoebe, do you believe that a physical object can just… vanish into thin air?” “What kind of object?” “Like a piece of paper. Say you lock it inside a secure safe yourself, and the next morning you open it, and it’s gone.” Phoebe raised an eyebrow. “Then obviously, someone took it.” “But only two people know the passcode. The security cameras show no one entered the apartment, and the safe’s digital log shows no access during the night.” She gasped, lowering her voice. “Did you get robbed?” “No one could have gotten inside.” “Then it has to be your husband.” “The logs prove the safe wasn’t opened.” “What on earth…” She leaned back, looking spooked. “That sounds like a ghost story.” “So now I’m starting to think my memory is playing tricks on me. Maybe I never actually put it in the safe.” Phoebe stared at me for a long moment. “Janice, you are the most organized person I know. You don’t just lose things like that.” I offered a bitter smile. When I got home from work, Luke had surprisingly prepared a full dinner: roasted chicken, garlic broccoli, and a warm soup. “I got off early today, so I thought I’d cook,” he said, setting the table with an artificial, forced cheerfulness. I sat down and took a piece of chicken. He watched me from across the table, clearly wanting to say something. “What is it?” I asked. “Janice, about that ticket… maybe we should just let it go.” My fork hovered in the air. “Let it go?” “Let’s just pretend we never won. We can go back to living our lives exactly as we did before. Maybe that ten million dollars was never meant for us anyway.” I set my fork down. “Are you asking me to just forget this ever happened?” “That’s not what I mean.” “That is exactly what you mean. You want me to accept that a fortune vanished into thin air and act like everything is perfectly fine.” He let out a long sigh. “Then what do you want to do? How long are you going to let this consume you? You haven’t been yourself for days.” “How can I be fine when we lost ten million dollars?” “Here we go again.” He slammed his fork onto the table. “Ever since that ticket went missing, you’ve been looking at me differently. Do you think I don’t notice?” I couldn’t find the words to argue, because he was right. For the past two days, every time I looked at him, the same dark question flashed through my mind: Did he take it? “Luke, if you didn’t take it, why aren’t you helping me figure out what happened? Why are you so desperate to make me give up?” He closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ve thought about it. I’ve spent two days trying to find an explanation, but I can’t.” “So your solution is to just accept the loss.” “What else can we do? Call the police? Send the safe to a forensics lab? Hire a psychic?” His voice rose, tinged with a sharp anger. I refused to back down. “You haven’t seemed worried at all. Ten million dollars is gone, and you are far too calm.” “Calm?” He stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “You think I was calm when I threw that safe onto the floor yesterday?” “You threw it because you felt guilty.” The words left my mouth before I could stop them. His face went entirely rigid. The room fell into an icy, suffocating silence. “Fine,” he said quietly, his voice dangerously low. “You’ve already decided I’m a thief.” “I didn’t say that.” “Janice, let me make one thing clear. If you are going to keep treating me like this, I can’t stay in this house.” He turned and stormed into the bedroom, slamming the door behind him. I sat alone at the dinner table, the food growing cold before me. My phone buzzed. It was a message from Phoebe. “I just thought of something. Is your safe one of those models with both a fingerprint scanner and a keypad?” “Yes. It has a six-digit code.” “Is there any chance the design itself has a flaw? Like a physical gap, or maybe a manufacturer override code that came with it?” I stared at the screen. An override code? I opened a browser and began searching for the specific model of our safe. After scrolling through dozens of forums, I found nothing about override codes. But then, I spotted a customer review from seven months ago. “The gap between the door and the frame is far too wide. You can easily slide a thin wire through the side and hook small papers out. Terrible design. One star.” I stared at the review, my heart suddenly leaping into my throat. You wouldn’t need a passcode. You wouldn’t even need to open the safe. You could simply slide a wire through the gap and fish the ticket out. 4 “Take a look at this review.” The next morning, I handed my phone to Luke. He took it and stared at the screen, his expression shifting from confusion to quiet realization. “Fish it out through the gap?” “Do you think it’s possible?” He immediately walked into the study and knelt in front of the safe, examining it closely. I knelt beside him. The gap between the door and the frame was indeed quite wide. It was narrow, but with a thin, flexible tool, it was certainly possible to reach the interior. “But even if that’s true,” he said, turning to look at me, “who could have done it?” We were back to the same problem. The security cameras showed no one entering our floor, and our doors and windows were completely locked. “Unless they didn’t enter through the front door,” I murmured. “If they didn’t use the door, how did they get in? Did they fly?” I ignored his sarcasm, walking over to the window. We lived on the seventeenth floor. There was nothing outside the balcony but open air. No one could climb up there. What about the study window? It faced north, overlooking a quiet alleyway and the flat roof of the unit’s shared garages below. I pushed the window open and looked down. The garage roof was only about three or four meters below our window. If someone were to climb up from the roof along the external drainage pipes… No, we were on the seventeenth floor. That was far too high to be realistic. “Janice,” Luke said, leaning against the doorframe. “Are you suggesting someone scaled the building like Spider-Man?” “I am simply exploring every physical possibility.” “Have you considered the most likely explanation?” “What?” “The ticket might have slipped into the internal mechanism of the safe and got shredded when we locked it.” I took a flashlight and thoroughly examined the inside of the safe, peering into every dark corner and shining the light through the gaps. There was absolutely nothing. “No paper fragments,” I reported. He leaned his head against the doorframe, his face lined with an exhausting sense of helplessness. “Janice, I really don’t know what to do anymore.” Neither did I. That afternoon, I took a half-day off from work. I spent the hours pacing the apartment, replaying every single detail of that night in my head. Buying the ticket, scratching it, finding out I won, running home, showing Luke, and locking it away. Every single step was crystal clear. I remembered the slight tremor in Luke’s hands. I remembered the texture of the ticket, the thick paper, and the slightly rough edges. I remembered entering the passcode, my fingers slipping because of my excitement. I remembered the distinct click of the safe door locking. Those memories were too vivid to be a trick of my mind. The ticket had been in that safe. Someone had taken it. But who? And how? As I sat on the study floor, my back resting against the safe, my phone rang. It was an unknown number. “Hello?” “Hello, is this Janice?” “Yes, who is this?” “I’m Gavin, from the lottery kiosk near your building entrance.” I sat up straight. The lotto clerk. “You left something at my shop. A keychain with your building access card. I figured it belonged to you, since I saw it hanging from your bag when you bought that ticket.” I reached into my bag and felt around. My keys and access card were right there. “Gavin, I have my keys with me. Are you sure you have the right person?” “Oh,” the voice on the other end paused. “My mistake then. Sorry to bother you.” The line went dead. I stared at the screen, my thumb hovering over the call log. How did he get my phone number? I had never registered my personal details at his kiosk. The realization felt like a cold needle piercing through the fog of the past two days. I finally knew who had stolen my ticket.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “599280”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The day I was brought back to my ultra-wealthy family, I was immediately dumped into the most expensive prep academy in the city. My icy older sister shoved the school uniform into my arms. “We don’t raise freeloaders here. You’d better keep your head down and act invisible.” On my very first day of school, the campus queen bee poured a full glass of red wine right over my dress. The entire audience held their breath, waiting for me to burst into tears. I glanced down at my soaked dress, then suddenly began to applaud with immense enthusiasm. “Brilliant! Absolutely brilliant!” The queen bee was dumbfounded. “Are you insane?” With tears sparkling in my eyes, I grabbed her hands tightly. “With this single splash, you have highlighted the class divide, awakened female consciousness, and exposed the absurd underbelly of elite education!” “Classmate, you are a born performance artist!” Queen bee: “…” Ten minutes later, the senior art teacher came running over, his voice trembling with sheer excitement. “Who? Who was it that just executed this live installation of Wine and Power?!” I pointed straight at the queen bee. “It was her.” Later on, her family’s corporate stock value actually skyrocketed. Yet she broke down completely over the campus-wide PA system, screaming hysterically: “I literally just wanted to bully her!” 1 The auditorium was so quiet you could hear the red wine dripping off the hem of my dress. Drip. Drip. It splattered onto the polished marble floor. Penelope, the school queen bee, stood there holding an empty crystal goblet, her triumphant smirk freezing mid-frame. Beside her, a couple of girls had already whipped out their phones. One had even angled her camera for optimal lighting. In the front row, someone was softly counting down. “Three.” “Two.” “One.” They were waiting for me to burst into tears. I didn’t cry. Instead, I began to applaud with immense enthusiasm. My applause echoed loudly through the cavernous hall, sharp and jarring. Penelope knit her brows, struggling to regain her composure. “Cora Montgomery, have you lost your mind?” Cora Montgomery. That was the shiny new name assigned to me after I was brought back to the ultra-wealthy Montgomery family. It sounded very high-class, even if it felt a little unfamiliar rolling off my tongue. I looked up at her, my gaze solemn and overflowing with respect. “Penelope, you are far too humble.” Penelope blinked. “What?” I swept my gaze across the room. Every freshman and faculty member was present. Elite prep academies really were built different. Even their crowds for witnessing a public humiliation were impeccably organized. Talk about a jackpot. I cleared my throat and lifted the soaked fabric of my skirt. “Everyone, look at this dress! Originally, it was just a standard piece of off-the-rack haute couture.” “But with this single splash of Cabernet from Penelope, it is no longer ordinary!” I continued passionately. “It now possesses conflict! Class dichotomy! Raw pain! And above all, philosophical thought!” A few students in the front row had their expressions twist in visible confusion. Behind the stage, the senior art teacher, Mr. Adler, poked his head out. He had initially come to check the stage decorations for the orientation ceremony, but hearing my speech, his footsteps halted dead in their tracks. I spotted him instantly and immediately yielded the floor to the professional. “Mr. Adler! You arrived just in time!” I called out. “Please, evaluate this from a professional standpoint. Does Penelope’s splashing gesture hold value as a piece of avant-garde performance art?” Mr. Adler adjusted his glasses, his eyes sweeping from my wine-stained gown to Penelope’s pale face. Penelope panicked. “Mr. Adler, I didn’t…” Before she could finish, I grabbed her wrist in a tight, dramatic hold. “Don’t explain yourself! True artists never rush to define their own work!” Penelope’s lips trembled. Mr. Adler took two steps closer. He stared at the wine stains dripping down my skirt for a full fifteen seconds. Then, his eyes ignited with brilliant fervor. “The fluid motion of that crimson hue… it truly carries an explosive tension that shatters conventional order!” he gasped. Dead silence fell across the auditorium. Penelope’s sidekick almost dropped her phone onto the floor. I nodded, my voice dripping with deep solemnity. “You understand me, Mr. Adler. No, wait, you understand Penelope.” Mr. Adler had fully crossed into an artistic trance. He began circling me, muttering to himself, “The subject, the oppressor, and the voyeurs… all three parties simultaneously construct a complete live installation!” The Headmaster, who had been waiting on stage to deliver his welcoming address, was now whiter than the projection screen. He hurried down the steps and whispered forcefully, “Miss Montgomery, the orientation ceremony is about to begin. Please go change your clothes immediately.” I gasped in profound shock. “Headmaster! Are you suggesting we interrupt a priceless, live artistic event?” The Headmaster choked on his words. I pressed my advantage. “Doesn’t Crestview Academy always emphasize freedom, diversity, and raw creativity? Right here, right now, Penelope has used a single glass of wine to open the very first aesthetic masterclass for our freshman cohort. Are you really going to shut this classroom down?” A vein throbbed violently on the Headmaster’s temple. His eyes darted toward the dozen phone cameras pointing directly at him. The people who had originally recorded my humiliation were now capturing bulletproof evidence of his bureaucratic dilemma. The Headmaster remained silent for three full seconds. Then, he offered a strained, painful smile. “Of course not. Our academy has always respected the creative expression of our students.” Penelope was utterly dumbfounded. I turned around, took her hand, and bowed deeply to the entire audience. “Thank you, everyone! And thank you, Penelope, for bringing us this masterpiece titled Wine and Power!” Scattered applause erupted from the crowd. Some were just here for the drama, some were coerced by the mood, and others simply hadn’t processed what had just transpired. Penelope’s face turned an unsightly shade of green and white. I leaned into her ear and whispered softly, “Don’t be nervous. When great artists first achieve fame, they always feel a bit out of their element.” She yanked her hand back violently. “Cora Montgomery, you just wait!” My eyes lit up. “Fantastic!” Penelope stared at me with intense suspicion. I beamed at her with pure sincerity. “Penelope, do you already have a second piece planned?” 2 When the orientation ceremony ended, I was summoned straight to the Headmaster’s office. Penelope was dragged in right along with me. The moment she stepped through the door, she slumped onto the leather sofa, her eyes rimmed red like a helpless little rabbit. “Headmaster, my hand really just slipped!” I nodded vigorously. “I believe her.” Penelope froze. The Headmaster paused as well. I looked at them with unyielding earnestness. “Many magnificent creations begin with a mere accident. It was true for the wine splash, and it was true when the apple hit Sir Isaac Newton on the head.” The corner of the Headmaster’s mouth twitched. Penelope clenched her fists so hard her knuckles turned white. “Stop making up absolute garbage!” I corrected her gently. “This isn’t garbage. This is artistic critique.” A sharp cough sounded from the doorway. I turned my head. Serena Montgomery stood in the frame. Dressed in a sharply tailored black blazer with cold, detached features, she looked so polished she barely seemed human. She was my notoriously icy older sister—the current heir to the Montgomery estate. At twenty-four, she was already sitting at board meetings, verbally shredding old corporate executives until they hung their heads in silence. The look she gave me was even colder than the day I was brought back home. “Cora.” I stood up straight instantly. “Sister.” Her gaze landed on my wine-soaked dress. “I told you to keep your head down and act invisible.” I attempted to explain. “I did keep my head down.” Serena’s face remained expressionless. “You call this keeping your head down?” I contemplated for a moment. “Perhaps my head is just naturally rebellious.” The Headmaster suddenly took a very urgent, loud gulp of water. Seeing a potential ally, Penelope whined pitifully, “Serena, my hand really slipped…” Serena cast a fleeting glance at her. “I didn’t ask you.” Penelope snapped her mouth shut, her face stiffening. Serena turned her icy gaze back to me. “It’s your very first day of school, and you’ve already made yourself famous across the entire campus.” “Sister, that’s called brand reach,” I corrected brightly. Serena stared at me. “You sound remarkably proud.” I nodded. “The viral conversion rate is indeed quite impressive.” The Headmaster finally felt compelled to interject. “Miss Montgomery, we will handle this matter appropriately. It definitely won’t tarnish the Montgomery family’s prestige.” Serena’s tone was flat. “It already has.” Cold sweat broke out on the Headmaster’s forehead. She raised her arm and handed her phone to me. The screen displayed the top trending topics. #EliteAcademyWineArt #PenelopePerformanceArt #CrestviewOrientationCeremony I blinked. “That fast?” Penelope’s face drained of color as she reached out to snatch the phone, but Serena smoothly pulled it out of reach. Serena glanced down at the analytics page. “The stock value of Penelope’s family business just jumped two points.” Silence descended upon the office. Penelope’s expression shifted from frantic distress to sheer bewilderment. I clapped my hands softly. “A stunning market debut, Penelope!” Penelope glared at me with pure venom. “Shut up!” Serena locked her phone screen. “This matter ends here.” She looked at me. “Get back to class.” I obediently turned toward the exit. As I reached the doorway, I spun around to look at Penelope one last time. She instantly threw her guard up. “What else do you want?!” I offered a glowing, genuine smile. “Penelope, today’s piece achieved a remarkably high level of execution. Next time you feel the urge to create, feel free to give me advance notice!” Penelope grabbed a decorative throw pillow from the sofa and hurled it straight at my head. I ducked smoothly to the side. The pillow flew past me, crashing right into the trophy sitting on the Headmaster’s desk. The Headmaster’s eyelid twitched frantically. Serena finally spoke. “Cora.” I snapped to attention. She said coldly, “Get your ass back to class.” I obediently scrammed. Stepping out into the hallway, I checked my phone. The school forum was completely ablaze. Someone had uploaded a video of me applauding in my wine-stained gown. The title was exceptionally eye-catching: The Long-Lost Heiress’s Mental State Is 30 Years Ahead of the Entire Campus. The comment section was refreshing at lightspeed. Is she genuinely insane? Penelope finally ran headfirst into a brick wall this time. Wait… why does her explanation actually make sense? Say what you want, but Mr. Adler’s eyes were practically glowing! I scrolled through the thread in high spirits. Elite prep schools were marvelous. The campus was practically overflowing with passionate, creative minds. As I rounded the corner of the corridor, several girls stepped out to block my path. Leading them was Penelope’s main henchwoman, Sienna. She crossed her arms, letting out a cold sneer. “Cora Montgomery, do you seriously think you’ve won?” I answered solemnly, “I wouldn’t dare.” Sienna lifted her chin in satisfaction. A second later, I added, “Art knows no winners or losers.” The smirk vanished from her face. I stepped around her. She grit her teeth, venom lacing her voice. “You’d better stay far away from the old building after classes end today.” I paused, my eyes sparkling brightly. Sienna flinched back half a step under my intense gaze. I lowered my voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Wait… we can create art in the old building too?” 3 It turned out that the old building was indeed a phenomenal venue for artistic creation. Right after the final bell rang, as I reached the edge of the sports field, two girls dragged me into the abandoned academic wing. Their movements were practiced and their route was discreet. You could tell right away they were seasoned artists. Ultimately, they shoved me into a deserted, decommissioned restroom. The door was locked from the outside with a heavy iron latch. Sienna’s laughter echoed through the wood. “Cora, you sure love to run your mouth, don’t you? Why don’t you stay in there and talk to yourself all night?” Chortles of laughter sounded from her squad. Someone turned on their phone to record. “Beg us! Say please!” I stood in the center of the dark restroom and surveyed my surroundings. Peeling wall paint. A heavily rusted faucet. Windows reinforced with thick iron bars. And a broken mop lying pathetic on the tile floor. Magnificent. Rich materials. Raw emotion. A closed-loop spatial structure. I pulled out my phone to check my cell signal. Two bars. More than enough. I tapped into a live-streaming app and typed out the title: Locked in a Restroom for 30 Minutes: Witnessing Structural Violence at an Elite Academy. In the first minute, only three viewers joined. By the fifth minute, over a hundred people had flooded in. By the tenth minute, the school’s online forum blew up completely. I angled the phone camera directly at the rusted iron lock. “Dear audience, does this lock merely seal a wooden door?” Comments flashed across the screen at lightning speed. Wait, does it mean something else?! Is she doing another lecture?! I paused for dramatic effect. “On the surface, it locks a door. But in reality, it seals away a new student’s fragile trust in campus safety.” The live chat went dead silent for a second. Then, a avalanche of comments erupted. Oh god, she’s starting again! Why am I actually listening to this?! Are the old building bathrooms really that dilapidated? I swept the camera toward the sink. “Look at this faucet. It has been rusting for years, yet it persists in remaining right here. It represents the neglected, forgotten corners of elite education!” The laughter outside evaporated into thin air. Sienna began pounding frantically on the door. “Cora! What the hell are you doing in there?!” I pointed the camera toward the shaking wood, introducing her warmly to the stream. “The person outside is the co-curator of this live installation. Notice how she uses rhythmic percussion to reinforce the second layer of spatial oppression.” The chat blew up instantly. CO-CURATOR LMAO! The bullies outside are about to have a total nervous breakdown! Wait, did they actually lock her inside an abandoned bathroom?! I offered a gentle reminder to the viewers. “Please don’t misunderstand them, everyone. They simply possess an overwhelming desire for artistic expression.” Chaos erupted outside the door. Someone cursed in a panicked whisper, “Turn off the stream! Make her turn it off right now!” I set my phone securely on the edge of the sink, climbed up onto the porcelain counter, and declared with deep solemnity, “Our exhibition is now reaching its grand climax! When the victim begins to dictate the narrative, the oppressors involuntarily become part of the exhibit itself!” It went completely silent outside the door. Five minutes later, hurried footsteps echoed from the far end of the hallway. The Headmaster, Mr. Adler, security guards, and the entire student council came rushing over. The Headmaster was wiping sweat from his forehead as he bellowed, “Break the lock! Open it now!” When the security guard snapped the iron latch with bolt cutters and pushed the door open, the camera caught the sickly pale faces of the girls standing outside in stunning high definition. Sienna turned around, trying to cover her face and run. I leaped down from the sink and introduced them with radiant enthusiasm. “Look, everyone! These individuals are the master architects behind this enclosed spatial experience!” Sienna shrieked, “Shut your mouth!” I nodded approvingly. “Her emotional delivery is remarkably full-bodied.” Mr. Adler squeezed through the crowd. He looked at the bathroom, looked at the live stream on my phone, and then looked at me. His eyes were twinkling with unbridled awe. “This piece… it is infinitely more mature than the wine dress!” he gasped. The Headmaster almost fainted on the spot. “Mr. Adler!” Mr. Adler reined himself in immediately, though the way he stared at the broken bathroom door held a level of profound appreciation that certainly didn’t belong in a administrative crisis. I picked up my phone. The live view count had surpassed one hundred thousand. Penelope was standing near the back of the crowd, her expression utterly grim. I waved at her with a bright, cheerful smile. “Penelope! The second exhibition is a resounding success!” Her lips turned white. “This… this has nothing to do with me!” I offered her a look of deep understanding. “Great art always endures authorship disputes.” Penelope’s vision went dark for a brief second. That very evening, Crestview Academy issued an official public statement: The old building restrooms present safety hazards and will undergo immediate structural renovation. Simultaneously, to honor this vital campus safety dialogue, the first floor of the building will be transformed into a student public art space. Reading the announcement, I nodded in satisfaction. Just as I was getting ready to sleep, Serena pushed my bedroom door open. She tossed a tablet onto my bed, displaying the replay of my live stream. She asked coldly, “Cora, what on earth are you doing at that school?” I pointed at the view count. “Sister, I brought honor to our family line.” 4 Serena stared at the view count, remaining silent for ten full seconds. Finally, she shut the tablet off. “Starting tomorrow, a personal chauffeur will drive you to and from school.” I gasped in shock. “Sister, are you trying to protect me?” She cast a freezing look at me. “I’m afraid you’ll blow up the campus.” I let out a sigh of relief. Good, she was still the familiar, cold sister I knew. The next morning, the moment I stepped into my classroom, every single head snapped in my direction. Class 17, where I had been assigned, was the notorious dumping ground of Crestview Academy. It housed slacker heirs abandoned by their families, low-ranking rich kids, and weirdos kicked out of the advanced placement tracks. I walked to the very back row and took a seat. Slumped on the desk beside mine was a boy wearing thick black-rimmed glasses. His desk was piled high with scratch paper covered in dense, intricate mathematical formulas. The moment I set my backpack down, he snapped his head up. “Could you try breathing a little quieter?” I clamped my mouth shut instantly. Three seconds later, he added, “Your respiratory rhythm has unnatural fluctuations.” I held my breath completely. He nodded in satisfaction and went back to his calculations. A guy in the front row burst out laughing. “Gideon is having another episode! He’s the guy who had a total meltdown last month just because the math teacher wrote a chalk symbol half a centimeter crooked!” The pen in Gideon’s hand came to a sudden halt. I glanced at him. This classmate possessed extraordinary artistic potential as well. During the second period, Penelope marched over accompanied by the Dean of Discipline. She stood at the classroom doorway, her eyes rimmed red. “Dean, my diamond necklace is missing.” The classroom fell instantly silent. The Dean frowned. “Are you sure you lost it around here?” Penelope bit her lower lip, her gaze landing squarely on me. “I’ve only been near Class 17 today.” Every eye in the room shifted toward me. Sienna chimed in immediately, “Cora, do you dare let the Dean search your backpack?!” I nodded. “I dare.” They clearly hadn’t expected me to be so cooperative. The Dean walked over, his expression grim. “Miss Montgomery, please cooperate with the inspection.” I pushed my backpack straight onto the podium. A flash of smug triumph gleamed in Penelope’s eyes. A second later, my bag was unzipped and turned upside down. Textbooks, a pencil case, half a bag of potato chips, two beef sticks, and a dazzling diamond necklace tumbled out onto the desk. The entire class gasped. Penelope covered her mouth, feigning horror. “Cora, it really was you!” I stared at that shimmering diamond necklace, my eyes slowly igniting with awe. Penelope suddenly felt an ominous chill run down her spine. I bent down and scooped the necklace up with both hands, holding it reverently. “Magnificent! Simply magnificent!” The Dean knit his brows. “Cora Montgomery, stop fooling around!” I turned around to face the entire class. “Classmates, please remember this precise moment! The significance of this necklace has officially transcended the value of fine jewelry itself!” The corner of Penelope’s mouth twitched violently. I continued passionately, “It was planted inside the bag of a newly reclaimed heiress! It carries the weight of immense wealth, prejudice, societal surveillance, and above all, the price of innocence!” Gideon finally raised his head from his desk. He stared at the necklace for two seconds, then stated plainly, “The logic holds up.” The entire class went: “??” I looked at him, deeply moved. “Thank you for the critical endorsement, Gideon!” Penelope lost her temper. “You stole my property!” I nodded eagerly. “Then call the police immediately!” She froze. I handed the necklace straight to the Dean. “Dean, please call the police right now. And while you’re at it, review the hallway CCTV footage to see who placed this magnificent artwork into my bag.” All color drained from Penelope’s face. The Dean realized something was terribly wrong. He turned to look at Penelope. “Miss Penelope, are you absolutely certain you want to file a police report?” Penelope’s lips quivered. “I… I was just making a joke…” I burst into enthusiastic applause instantly. “Bravo! So this piece contains elements of absurd dark comedy as well!” The classroom erupted into roaring laughter. Penelope covered her face and ran out of the room in shame. The Dean stood there holding the necklace, looking utterly trapped in an awkward nightmare. I returned to my desk, contentedly unwrapping one of my beef sticks. Suddenly, Gideon pushed a piece of scratch paper onto my desk. Written on it was a single line: The Price of Innocence: A Logical Flowchart. I was instantly filled with profound respect. Class 17 truly was a den of hidden dragons and crouching tigers.

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