Category: English

  • He Never Answered My Calls After 9 PM

    My fiancé, Zachary, had a weird rule. He never picked up any phone calls after 9 PM. Even when we were head over heels in love. The second the clock struck nine, he would hang up on me without hesitation. One night, I was walking home late and realized someone was stalking me. Panicking, I called him. All I got was his extremely irritated voice through the speaker. “How old are you, Elena? Can you respect other people’s schedules? I’m hanging up.” That night, I spent hours at the police station making a report. I didn’t get home until the next morning. He didn’t even ask if I was okay. Until now. I was using his laptop and accidentally saw his call history synced from his phone. There was a call record from 9 PM to 9 AM the next day. A solid twelve hours. They called every single night, and it had been going on for five years. I knew that number. It belonged to his teaching assistant, Chloe. At that moment, my spine went cold. A wave of exhaustion washed over me. I sat there for a long time until my legs went numb. I silently closed the laptop, logged into my account, and canceled our appointment for the marriage license at City Hall. That call was never meant to light up for me. And I didn’t want to answer it anymore.

    When the screen showed the cancellation was successful, Zachary walked out of the bathroom. Seeing me sitting there motionless, he glanced at the time and frowned. “Do you have something to say? It’s almost nine. I need to sleep.” I froze for two seconds, then shook my head. “Nothing.” He nodded. “Okay. Goodnight then.” He didn’t notice the change in my mood. He turned around and went back to his room. I stared into space for a bit. Just as I was about to stand up, his laptop screen lit up. A call from Chloe popped up on his phone and synced to the computer. And Zachary. The man who supposedly never took calls, never spoke, and never replied to messages after 9 PM—he answered it in a split second. He was so eager, as if terrified she would wait even a moment longer. I let out a mocking laugh. How sweet of him. Too bad his exception wasn’t me, his fiancée. I went back to the bedroom. Zachary had already closed his eyes, looking fast asleep. But this time, I noticed things I had never noticed before. For example, his phone was placed face down on the nightstand. And there was a tiny, barely noticeable black earbud in his right ear. I turned off the lights. In the darkness, I replied to the transfer notice my boss had sent me last week. I had declined it back then because I didn’t want to do long-distance with Zachary right after getting married. But now, it was over. My boss replied almost instantly. “Have you made up your mind, Elena? The State Department assignment at the Embassy in Paris is at least five years. If you’re sure, get your visa sorted. You leave in three days.” I typed back: “I’m sure. Thank you.” The man beside me was breathing softly. I figured Chloe must be feeling very safe and warm right now. The next morning, Zachary was standing in the walk-in closet. I got up and touched his phone. It was scorching hot. After packing the documents I needed for my visa, I glanced at him and headed for the door. As we brushed past each other, Zachary stopped me, looking confused. “Aren’t you going to tie my tie today?” I curled my lips into a small smile. “No. You should learn to do it yourself.” I paused. “Or ask your assistant to do it.” Zachary put his things down and walked over, looking at me with confusion. “Are you talking about Chloe?” Just mentioning her name softened his cold, serious face instantly. A warm smile flickered in his eyes. “She actually knows how to do it. She’s a very sweet and attentive girl. But what does that have to do with you tying my tie?” I stayed silent for two seconds. I didn’t even know where to start, so I didn’t bother explaining. “Nothing. I just don’t want to do it anymore.” Zachary pursed his lips, clearly annoyed. “Suit yourself. Oh, by the way, you don’t need to bring me lunch today. Chloe just text me. She said she’s bringing me something.” My hand froze on the doorknob. “Okay.” Zachary had severe stomach issues because of his stressful work, so no matter how busy I was, I used to cook for him every day. Well, this worked out great. I was more than happy to be free of the chore. I didn’t care about his feelings anymore. I opened the door and walked out. I went to the embassy and got my five-year work visa. Then I went to my office to collect my official transfer documents. Placing the papers in my bag, I looked at the cherry blossoms blooming outside the gates. For the first time in five years, I felt an overwhelming sense of relief.

    On my way home, my boss called. He asked me to go to Columbia University’s literature department to pick up some research files for him. Hanging up, I sighed. I wanted to cut all ties with Zachary, yet he just had to be a professor at Columbia. When I arrived at the department, it was during the peak hour between classes. I couldn’t help but overhear the students talking. “I barely managed to grab a seat in Professor Miller’s class! He is so popular!” “I know, right? The girls go for Professor Miller, and most of the guys go for Chloe. Seriously, they look like a power couple.” My steps slowed down. A sudden wave of bitterness washed over me. In our five years together, Zachary had never once introduced me to his social circle. When we were deeply in love, I used to beg him to introduce me to his friends, or to post a picture of us on Instagram. But Zachary. The esteemed, serious literature professor, would always look at me like I was a spoiled child and scold me. “Elena, grow up.” “You’re not eighteen. Don’t worry about this superficial stuff. It doesn’t suit my professional image.” I had been stunned that day. And I never brought it up again. The girls next to me kept gossiping about Zachary and Chloe. “Honestly, Professor Miller’s profile says he’s engaged, but I bet it’s Chloe! Otherwise, why has no one ever seen his fiancée?” “Definitely. A guy that serious only smiles when Chloe is around.” Their voices faded as they walked away. My steps got slower and slower until I stopped by the corridor window. All the suppressed pain and humiliation of the past five years rushed over me. I took a deep breath. But it was fine. I had a way out. In three days, it would all be over. After picking up the files, I walked past the second faculty office and heard familiar laughter. “Try this! It’s seriously so good!” Through the crack in the door, I saw Chloe and Zachary sitting close together, eating breakfast. Chloe naturally held a strawberry milkshake up to his lips. Zachary hated milkshakes. Once, I made one for him, and he threw a massive fit and walked out, leaving me crying alone in the house. But now. He just frowned slightly, sighed helplessly at Chloe’s puppy-dog eyes, and drank it with pure indulgence. Chloe’s eyes sparkled. “How is it? Good?” Zachary nodded. “Not bad.” I let out a self-deprecating laugh. Behind my back, Zachary was actually capable of being this gentle and accommodating. I just had never seen this side of him in five years. Not even once. Inside the office, Zachary naturally took a napkin and wiped some crumbs from the corner of Chloe’s mouth, asking softly. “Did you sleep well last night? Any insomnia?” “Very well,” Chloe smiled. “You know I sleep like a baby as long as you’re on FaceTime with me.” She seemed to think of something. “But I heard you don’t take calls after 9 PM. Am I disturbing you?” Zachary replied without a second thought, “You are the exception.” Those four words. They twisted around my heart like thorny vines, making it hard to breathe. Hearing him say it with his own lips… After the initial suffocating pain, I just felt numb. Pulling out a thorn hurts, but once it’s out, time will heal the wound. I leaned against the wall, took a deep breath to clear my eyes, and walked away. When I got home, I pulled out my suitcase and started packing. After living here for five years, my belongings couldn’t even fill a single suitcase. In the evening, Zachary called. “Get ready to go downstairs. We’re having dinner at my mom’s place tonight.” “Okay,” I replied. When I reached his Maybach parked by the curb, I habitually opened the front passenger door. Only to find Chloe sitting there, eating a cupcake. “Hi, Elena!” Looking at the crumbs falling all over the leather seat, my first instinct was to look at Zachary. He absolutely detested anyone eating in his car. Especially me. But right now, his expression was completely calm, as if he was totally used to it. I suddenly realized. Ah, I almost forgot. Chloe was the exception in his life. Chloe hurriedly wiped her mouth and made a move to get up. “Maybe I should sit in the back, I…” I gave her a polite, calm smile. “It’s fine. You stay there. It’s just a seat.” I opened the back door and climbed in. I caught the brief flash of confusion in Zachary’s eyes. But I didn’t care. In the past, this had happened before. But every single time, Zachary would snap at me with annoyance. “Elena, it’s just a seat. Don’t make a big deal out of nothing.” Looking at the rain pattering against the window, I realized I didn’t feel sad or hurt anymore. The peace inside me was almost shocking. Yeah. It was just a seat. Just a man. To me, they were the same now. If they were dirty, I’d just throw them away.

    When we arrived at the Miller estate, Mrs. Miller was waiting outside. Chloe hopped out of the car. She ran over and grabbed Mrs. Miller’s arm, acting cute. “Mrs. Miller! It’s so windy out here. Why did you come out? Let’s go inside.” Mrs. Miller smiled warmly. “I was waiting for you, darling. I felt so bad making you work under Zachary. He has such a difficult temper.” Chloe glanced at Zachary, who was standing nearby with a soft smile. Her ears turned slightly pink. “Professor Miller is great. I love working with him.” The two of them began walking inside. After walking a few steps, Mrs. Miller seemed to remember something and turned around. Her gaze cooled down when she saw me. “Oh, Elena is here too. Come in quickly, don’t freeze.” That was all she said. Zachary walked up to me, looking down with a frown. “Are you in a bad mood?” “No.” I just felt relieved. He pursed his lips. “If things are going badly at your work, I hope you don’t bring that attitude into my family’s home. I don’t want to deal with a sulking face all evening.” My hands clenched into fists at my sides, my palms stinging. It was hilarious. For a split second, I had actually wondered if he was asking out of concern. I stopped in my tracks. The love in my eyes was gone, replaced by absolute emptiness. “If I’m unhappy, I’ll show it. If you don’t like looking at my face, then don’t look.” “I am not your servant. I don’t exist to please you.” Zachary’s face hardened, his annoyance clear. “Elena, you are an adult. We are about to get married. I don’t want an emotionally unstable wife.” I let out a cold laugh. “Then who do you think fits your perfect standard?” He looked like he was seriously considering it, but I already knew the answer in his heart. “No matter what, you are the one I’m marrying.” “But I do think you could learn a thing or two from Chloe. She knows how to manage her emotions perfectly, you know?” I stared at him for two seconds. Then, I smiled. “Sure.” We sat down at the dining table. Mrs. Miller sat Chloe and Zachary on either side of her. I sat in a corner where I wouldn’t disturb them. Once the food was served, I realized something. There wasn’t a single dish on the table that I liked. Mrs. Miller was beaming, constantly putting food onto Chloe’s plate. “Look at how thin you are.” “You need to take care of yourself. Zachary told me all your favorite foods so I could have the chef make them.” Chloe smiled shyly. “Thank you, Mrs. Miller.” Mrs. Miller then paused. She looked at me awkwardly, forcing a smile. “Elena, I didn’t know what you liked to eat. Just help yourself.” Zachary placed a piece of pineapple pizza on my plate. “Next time, tell me what you want to eat in advance, and I’ll have the housekeepers prepare it.” “You don’t really have any strong preferences anyway.” “Unlike Chloe. She loves sweet and sour things, like pineapple pizza. Just like a kid.” I looked down. Staring at the pineapple pizza on my plate—the very fruit that I was highly allergic to—I lost myself in thought. Five years. We had been together for five years. And he still needed me to “tell him in advance” what I liked and disliked. Every detail he knew about Chloe’s preferences was like a slap in my face, mocking my five years of devotion. My phone buzzed. It was an email from my boss with my flight details. Tomorrow morning at 8 AM. My heart finally settled. I was free. I didn’t touch my fork during the entire dinner. Zachary didn’t even notice. I was just a ghost at the table, quietly watching the three of them act like a happy family. I couldn’t fit in. And I didn’t want to.

    On the way home, Chloe sat in the front passenger seat again. Zachary was dropping her off first. I sat in the back, texting my landlord in Paris about my new apartment. “Come sit in the front,” Zachary suddenly said. Without looking up, I replied, “No need.” Silence stretched for a few seconds. “Suit yourself.” I ignored him, looking at the photos of the bright, beautiful Parisian apartment. I paid the deposit immediately. When we got home, he took a photo album out of his briefcase and walked over to me. “Want to take a look?” I took it, confused, and realized it was a wedding catalog. “Pick a dress soon. The wedding is in a month. The designers need time to make adjustments.” He pointed to a dress covered in delicate white flowers. “I think this one is perfect.” A flash of contempt crossed my eyes. He really thought of her in everything, didn’t he? If this were the old me, I would have thrown a fit. But now, I just nodded calmly. “Sure. It looks nice. Let’s go with this one.” Anyway, I was leaving in two days. What did a wedding in a month have to do with me? Zachary seemed highly satisfied with my obedience. He leaned down and planted a kiss on my forehead as a reward. “Good girl.” “This is how you should behave. I don’t like the attitude you had earlier today. Don’t let it happen again, okay?” With that, he went into the bathroom. I grabbed a disinfectant wipe and scrubbed my forehead until the skin turned red. By 9 PM, Zachary turned off the lights and got into bed. His phone was face down, his Bluetooth earbud firmly in his right ear. He didn’t notice the empty vanity table or the empty bathroom cabinets. He didn’t even see the suitcase standing by my side of the bed. Of course. Except for Chloe, he didn’t care about anyone else. In the middle of the night, I was suddenly woken up by a sharp scream coming from his earbud. Beside me, Zachary bolted upright. He panicked, shouting into his mic, his voice trembling violently. “Chloe? What’s wrong?!” In the quiet room, I could hear Chloe sobbing hysterically on the other end. The man who prided himself on being calm and never breaking his rules instantly lost his mind. He threw off the covers and ran out of the house in his pajamas. His 9 PM rule? His precious sleeping schedule? Everything was thrown out the window for Chloe. I had no intention of following him, but I couldn’t sleep either. I scrolled through my phone out of boredom. The Columbia University student forum was blowing up. “Some creep broke into the faculty housing! I think Chloe from the literature department is in trouble!” “She’s fine, she’s fine! Live update here: the creep was trying to break her window, but Professor Miller showed up!” “Holy crap, Professor Miller looked terrifying, like a wild beast. He literally beat the guy half to death!” “The NYPD is here now.” I watched the live updates. Every post had pictures. They pierced my eyes in the dark, cold bedroom. Then, someone posted a video. I clicked on it. The man who always talked about rules and decorum was acting like a madman. He was throwing heavy punches at a masked man on the ground. He only stopped when the police pulled him off. Then, he turned around and wrapped Chloe in a tight embrace. He pressed her face against his chest, shielding her from the bloody scene. “Don’t worry. I’m here.” The video instantly went viral on local social media. Everyone was praising him, saying how attractive a protective man was. I stared at the video for a long time. Then, I liked a comment that read: “They look so in love, hope they stay together forever.” I closed the app. Zachary didn’t come back that night. I wasn’t surprised at all. I slept peacefully until 6 AM. Grabbing my suitcase and my passport, I took one last look at the wedding catalogs on the table. I left my keys on the entryway table. And walked out without looking back. At the airport, I posted a public announcement on my Instagram, pinning it to the top of my profile. Then, I boarded the plane. The moment the plane took off, Zachary and I were over forever.

    At that exact moment, Zachary, who was keeping Chloe company in her dorm, suddenly felt a sharp, stabbing pain in his chest. Chloe looked up, worried. “Zachary, what’s wrong? Are you okay? You look pale.” Zachary took a deep breath. After a moment, the pain subsided. He poured a glass of warm water for her. “I’m fine.” He couldn’t figure out why his heart ached so badly, so he brushed it off. “I was probably just too panicked when I heard you were in danger. Now that the adrenaline is fading, my heart is just racing a bit.” Chloe’s ears flushed. Thinking about what had happened, she was still trembling. “Thank you.” “If it weren’t for you tonight, I don’t know what…” She paused. “Please don’t tell your mom. She’ll worry herself to death.” Zachary nodded. Seeing Chloe shivering on the bed, too terrified to close her eyes, he sighed. “Go to sleep. I’ll stay here tonight. I won’t leave.” A flash of triumph crossed Chloe’s eyes. “Okay.” She closed her eyes, but her hand reached out to grab his fingers, holding on tightly. Zachary frowned. His instinct was to pull away. But seeing how shaken she was, he relented. She’s just a young girl, he reasoned. Then he thought of Elena. He had rushed out in such a hurry. He wondered how she was doing at home. He pulled out his phone and sent her a text. “Chloe is fine now. Don’t worry. Go back to sleep.” He waited. No reply. The chat remained silent. Zachary’s breathing turned heavy. But then he figured she must be asleep. It was normal not to reply at this hour. He put his phone away, gently freed his hand from Chloe’s grasp, and sat down on the single armchair across the room. The next morning. The moment he walked out of the faculty housing, Zachary realized something was off. Everyone who ran into him and Chloe was giving them weird looks. Professor Carter from the math department gave him a sly grin. “Congrats, Professor Miller! I didn’t know you and the beautiful Chloe were getting married. You kept it so quiet!” “When is the wedding? You better invite us for a drink!” His wife, Mrs. Carter, smiled. “Oh, hush, you’re too old to be drinking. But Professor Miller is a lucky man. Chloe is such a sweet girl.” Zachary was completely bewildered. He quickly interrupted. “Wait, Chloe and I are not getting married. She is not my fiancée. I’m already engaged.” He pulled two wedding invitations from his bag and handed them over. “My fiancée’s name is Elena. Our wedding is next month. You’re more than welcome to come.” Professor Carter and his wife exchanged a glance. The atmosphere turned instantly awkward. “It’s… not Chloe? But you two usually…” Mrs. Carter nudged her husband, smiling uncomfortably. “Right, right. Congratulations anyway!” They hurried away. But Zachary still caught their whispered scoffs from down the hall: “Is he crazy? He has a fiancée but spent the entire night in Chloe’s room…” Zachary frowned, feeling a knot in his chest. He only saw Chloe as a younger sister. What was wrong with taking care of her? But as he walked through the campus, more and more people kept congratulating him and Chloe. It got to the point where even his students started teasing him in class. Zachary couldn’t take it anymore. His face turned icy cold, all his usual gentle demeanor vanishing. “Quiet down. Let me make something clear. There have been a lot of ridiculous rumors about me and Chloe lately.” “I hope you all have the intelligence to stop spreading them. Chloe is my mother’s student, and she is like a younger sister to me. I have a fiancée, and we are getting married next month.” The noisy classroom fell dead silent. The students stared at each other in shock. One brave girl from the front row spoke up. “But Professor Miller, if Chloe isn’t your girlfriend, why are you two always so touchy-feely?” Zachary’s brow furrowed. He honestly couldn’t understand the question. “Touchy-feely?” “I don’t think we are. I have a fiancée. I only look after Chloe because my mother asked me to.” Several girls in the back snickered. Finally, a girl from another department spoke up boldly. “But Professor, the university forum is full of posts shipping you two, and you’ve never denied them.” “We all know she’s special to you.” “A ‘sister’? Does a sister tie your tie and feed you breakfast in public?” Half the classroom burst into giggles. Some students secretly gave the girl a thumbs-up. Zachary’s face turned incredibly dark. To him, those things were completely harmless. It was just an older brother pampering his younger sister. Why on earth would these students interpret it that way? His terrifyingly dark expression eventually silenced the classroom. Zachary spent the rest of the lecture in a quiet rage, wishing the class would just end. The way his students looked at him was deeply unsettling. They looked at him like he was a cheater. But he had done nothing wrong. Cheating… Zachary detested that word. Elena is sensible, Zachary thought. She would never think of me that way. Suddenly, his phone on the podium started buzzing frantically. He picked it up. It was a barrage of messages from his mother. “Zachary, have you seen Elena’s Instagram?! What happened between you two? Why did she cancel the wedding?!”

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  • My Future Self Called to Save My Life

    The day my twin sister, Jade, got her rejection letter from Juilliard’s dance department, the entire family gathered around to comfort her. I stood quietly in the corner, staring at the acceptance notification glowing on my phone screen. I was about to tell my parents that I had made it in. But then, my phone buzzed. It was a FaceTime call—from my own number, dated ten years in the future. “Do not tell them you got into Juilliard!” My future self on the screen looked exhausted, her voice trembling. “The moment you tell them tonight, Jade won’t be able to handle it. She’s going to jump from the roof of our apartment building.” “You will spend the next eight years of your life paying for her ‘tragedy.’ And on the tenth year, Mom and Dad will make sure you get into a car accident so you can never stand on a stage again. They will steal your life to pay for Jade’s.” “Believe me, Pearl. Our parents have never loved you.” My eyes widened in pure disbelief. The camera on the screen tilted down, revealing my future self’s empty wheelchair. My legs were gone. Before I could scream, the call disconnected. Right then, my parents finally remembered that I had applied to Juilliard too. Mom rubbed Jade’s back, whispering gently, “Sweetie, look at your sister, Pearl. She only applied because she wanted to copy you. No matter how bad you think you did, she’s always there to make you look good.” Dad pointed a finger at me. “Pearl, you didn’t get in either, right?” Thinking of the chilling FaceTime call from my future self, my heart sank into an icy abyss. I shook my head slowly. “No. I didn’t get in.”

    Hearing my rejection, Dad let out a sigh of relief, a familiar, predictable smile playing on his lips. “See, Jade? You only feel bad because you hold yourself to such high standards.” “Look at your sister. She failed, and she doesn’t even care.” I watched my family ignore my existence, the joy of getting into the top dance school in the country completely evaporating. “She’s always been pathetic,” Jade sneered, wiping her tears. “She shouldn’t even be compared to me.” I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell them that I was better than her. But the warning from ten years later echoed in my mind, and I slowly clamped my mouth shut. Mom patted Jade’s shoulder. “Exactly. Our Jade has been winning local dance trophies since she was a little girl. I know you’ll get in next year.” With that, Mom took a shiny Tiffany & Co. bracelet out of her pocket and clipped it onto Jade’s wrist. Then, her eyes flicked to my bare wrist. She sighed. “Pearl, you need to start putting in some effort. This bracelet is a reward for your sister’s hard work. You can’t keep being the disappointment of this family.” I lowered my head. Growing up, Jade was always the star. No matter how hard I tried, I was always “just a bit short.” A bit short on looks, a bit short on intelligence, a bit short on talent. Today was the very first time I had actually beaten Jade. I got into Juilliard. But I was still “just a bit short” of getting my parents’ love. “Pearl, you don’t think I’m being unfair, do you?” Mom asked, her voice dropping. I shook my head. “No.” My chest felt so tight I could barely breathe. “Good,” Mom said. “If you really can’t do anything else, you can just prep for the SATs again with Jade next year. It’ll save us some trouble.” “No,” Dad interrupted before I could even reply. “Her situation is different from Jade’s. She’s just not built for dancing. Prep courses would be a waste of money.” I knew what Dad meant. He thought I was too short. Unlike Jade, who supposedly had the “perfect dancer’s body.” I had heard this my entire life. Even my ballet instructors used to sigh when looking at me. “Your proportions aren’t ideal, Pearl. Your legs are too short. You two are twins, but why couldn’t you inherit even half of Jade’s physique?” They always stopped there, but I knew the rest. Why are you so useless? My parents believed my desire to dance was just a desperate attempt to copy my sister. Whatever she had, I had to grab. But it wasn’t like that. I just didn’t want to be left behind in the dark. Jade always got the custom designer tutus, the newest pointe shoes, and the spotlight with our parents’ standing ovations. Meanwhile, if I asked for a single pair of shoes, I was told I was wasting their hard-earned money. For this Juilliard audition, I had trained until my toes bled. I had ruined dozens of shoes in secret. And I made it. But to them, I was still the trash sister. Dad tossed a local community college brochure onto my lap. “Stop trying to ride on your sister’s coattails. Just apply to a local college nearby. That way, we can keep an eye on you.” I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted copper. “Okay,” I whispered. But under the table, my fingers slid across my phone screen, officially clicking “Accept Offer.” Juilliard was three thousand miles away in New York. Once I left… I was never coming back.

    I went back to my room and started packing my suitcase in silence. I opened my closet. Out of dozens of clothes, only three or four faded t-shirts actually belonged to me. Mom always said, “You two are twins, just share your clothes.” But I had highly sensitive skin. Wearing cheap polyester gave me painful red rashes. They never believed me. Even if they found out I got into Juilliard, they would never love me. I knew that now. I dropped the clothes back into the closet. I packed only my absolute essentials. Suddenly, my phone rang. It was Mom. “Pearl, come down to the Italian restaurant down the street. We’re celebrating Jade’s decision to try again next year. We need to support her.” I opened my bedroom door. The apartment was completely empty. They had already left without me. They could have walked down together as a family of four. But they “forgot” me again. I wanted to say I wasn’t going. But realizing these were my last few days here, I swallowed my pride. “I’ll be there.” When I arrived at the restaurant, the table was loaded with lobster, oysters, and shrimp—all of Jade’s favorites. I was highly allergic to seafood. But they chose to ignore it. “You’re twins,” Dad had said years ago. “She’s fine, so why are you acting so dramatic? If you don’t want to eat, don’t. More for Jade.” I was used to it. The pain didn’t even register anymore. I pulled out a chair and sat down. Jade’s plate was piled high with shrimp Mom had personally peeled for her. In front of me, there wasn’t even a fork or a glass. Dad was busy pouring watermelon juice for Jade. The three of them looked like a perfect, happy family. I was just a ghost sitting at the edge of their frame. Jade smirked. “Dad, how much allowance did you send me today?” “I got $1,000 via Venmo. Pearl, you’re going to college, so you must have gotten more, right?” I looked at my Snapchat. There was a single pending transfer of $20. I didn’t accept it. Mom placed another lobster tail on Jade’s plate. “Your sister is eighteen now. She needs to start earning her own money.” Jade pouted, leaning into Mom’s shoulder. “Ugh, really? I don’t want to grow up if I have to pay for my own stuff.” Mom laughed, stroking Jade’s hair. “Don’t worry, sweetie. This $1,000 is for you to spend on whatever you want. Just focus on your prep classes for Juilliard.” “If you need more, just ask.” “Can I have $3,000 more then? I want to go to Cabo with my friends before prep classes start!” Jade squealed. Mom unlocked her phone and sent $5,000 via Apple Pay without a second thought. I saw her contact list on her screen. Jade was pinned to the top. My name wasn’t even saved; I was just a raw phone number. I used to dream about this. Kneeling by Mom’s side, being comforted, having my mistakes forgiven, and getting whatever I asked for. But the reality was, when I asked Mom for $300 to buy a cheap iPad for my schoolwork after graduation, she had scoffed. “If you put half of that energy into your dancing, you wouldn’t be such a disappointment.” Dad tapped his fork against my empty table space. “Why aren’t you eating?” “I don’t have a fork,” I said honestly. “Then ask the waiter for one!” Dad snapped. “Are you a princess? Do we have to serve you ourselves?” I looked down. I wasn’t a princess. But why did Jade get her shrimp peeled and fed to her? When the waiter finally brought my utensils, Mom tossed a single shrimp onto my plate. “There. I gave her some, and now I’m giving you some. Don’t go telling people we favor your sister.” I opened my mouth, but Dad cut me off. “Your mother gave you food. Stop making that miserable face and eat.” “Now.” I picked up the shrimp. I stared at it for a long time before forcing it down my throat. Almost instantly, my throat began to burn. Dad laughed, turning to Mom. “See? I told you she was faking her allergy all these years just to get attention.” They kept laughing and talking. I realized then that to parents who don’t love you, your very life is nothing but a joke. I stood up, my throat tightening. “I’m full.” I turned and walked out.

    “Pearl!” Mom called after me. For a split second, a tiny spark of hope flared in my chest. Maybe they saw the hives breaking out on my neck. Maybe they finally realized. But Mom’s voice was cold. “Since it’s summer break, don’t just laze around. Find a summer job.” “You’re an adult now. Act like one.” Jade got a vacation to Cabo, and I got a demand to work. I stood frozen for a second, then pushed open the restaurant door. Actually, I had always been the “mature” one. I gave up my dresses, did the chores, and never asked for a penny. But because they didn’t care, everything I did was a mistake. I took an Uber to the ER alone. I sat in the waiting room, got my prescription, and paid for it myself. I was used to being alone. It shouldn’t have hurt. But then, my phone buzzed with an Instagram notification. Jade had posted. [Craving custom cake, so Mom and Dad took me out! Forever their little princess! ] In the photo, Mom and Dad were laughing, feeding Jade a slice of gourmet cake. I remembered asking Mom for a small cake for my birthday once. Her response had been freezing: “Don’t you want to be a dancer? Where is your self-control? Do you want to get fat?” The doctor’s voice broke my thoughts. “Acute allergic reaction. If you had come any later, your airway would have closed up.” It felt like a physical blow to my chest. “Sweetheart, doesn’t your family know you have a severe shellfish allergy?” Of course they knew. They just didn’t care. I sat in the cold hospital bed with an IV in my arm, watching the fluid drip down. If Jade had been gone this late, they would have called the police in a panic. But my lock screen was completely empty. Not a single text. My knuckles turned white as I clutched my phone. I opened Instagram again. Mom had posted a collage of Jade. [My beautiful girl graduated! Next stop: Juilliard!] I scrolled through Mom’s feed. It was a sea of Jade. My face appeared exactly once—in the background of Jade’s photo. My mother’s colleagues at work didn’t even know she had twins. Once, one of them saw me and was shocked. “Twins? I had no idea!” “Pearl doesn’t look like Jade at all. She doesn’t really fit in, does she?” My parents had just laughed, pulling Jade closer. “Yeah, they came from the same belly, but we wish Pearl had even half of Jade’s grace.” To them, I was just a defective buy-one-get-one-free deal. By the time my IV was finished, it was the next morning. I walked back into the apartment. My parents were in the living room packing Jade’s designer suitcases. Dad glanced up at me. “Pearl, where the hell were you?” “Does it matter? You didn’t notice anyway.” The room went dead silent. Dad’s face twisted in rage. “Do you think because you’re eighteen, you can talk to us like that?” “Staying out all night and now you have the nerve to blame us?” The hives on my hands were still red and swollen. They were looking right at them. But they pretended not to see. I clenched my fists, the skin burning. “It won’t happen again.” Ignoring Dad’s yelling, I walked back to my room. All of my belongings had been thrown into the hallway. In the trash can lay my painted plaster doll—shattered into pieces. I had painted that doll when I was eight. I had won second place in a dance competition, and they had taken us to a craft shop. That was the only time I stood next to Jade on a podium. She had won first. Before I could even finish painting it, they had abandoned me at the shop to take Jade to the movies. Jade walked out of my room, smirking. “Pearl, since you’re going to college anyway, you won’t be coming back much. I’m taking over your room, okay?” I stared at the broken pieces of my childhood in the trash. “Sure,” I said quietly. I was never coming back anyway. Let her have it.

    Maybe my lack of reaction disappointed her. Jade’s smirk faltered. “You’re not even going to yell?” When we were kids, I fought for my space. But all I got was: “You’re the older sister, Pearl. Can’t you just let her have it?” Now that I was leaving, there was nothing left to fight for. I grabbed my suitcase and turned around. Dad was blocking the hallway, his face dark. “Pearl, you think you’ve got wings now, huh? You think we can’t touch you?” “Are you trying to run away to scare us?” “No,” I said, my voice completely flat. “Since you aren’t paying for my college, I have to go find a job.” “What is that supposed to mean? You think we owe you something?” Dad bellowed. “You wanted to dance, so we paid $1,500 a year for eight years of classes, even when your teacher told us you had zero talent! We never stopped you!” “And your clothes! You’re the only one complaining about ‘itchy fabric,’ so we had to buy you special outfits. That’s hundreds of dollars!” “Your food, your pointe shoes—you asked me for $800 just last semester! Do you have any idea how much you cost us?” He listed every dollar like a debt collector. My ears started ringing. “Pearl, where is your goddamn conscience?” My eyes burned, but I forced the tears back. “I’ll pay you back. Every single cent.” Dad stepped forward and slapped me across the face. The force of it spun my head around. “With what job? You failed your auditions! You’re nothing!” “Why can’t you be sensible like Jade for once in your life?!” My cheek burned like fire. Jade rushed over, fake tears spilling from her eyes as she grabbed my arm. “Pearl, stop making Dad mad!” “They do everything for us. I never tried to take anything from you!” She never had to try. Everything was handed to her on a silver platter. I shoved her off me. I barely used any force, but Jade stumbled back, crying out as if I had struck her. Mom instantly shielded Jade, glaring at me like I was a monster. “Both of you are my daughters! How could you think I don’t love you equally?” “Pearl, you are a massive disappointment.” But I knew the truth. Some daughters are just worth more than others. I turned around, opened the door, and walked out. Behind me, Dad’s voice roared through the hallway: “If you walk out that door, don’t you dare ever come back!” I pulled out my phone and booked a one-way train ticket to New York. “I won’t,” I whispered.

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  • He Got 3 Questions Wrong at Our Wedding

    On our wedding day, my bridesmaid decided to test Carter with three simple questions before the ceremony. I thought he’d ace them easily. I never expected him to get the very first one wrong. “What’s Chloe’s shoe size?” Without a second thought, he blurted out, “Size 6.” “What’s her favorite color?” “Blue.” An awkward silence fell over the bridal suite. Everyone exchanged nervous glances. He was wrong on both. Then came the final question: “What year did Chloe graduate from college?” Everyone relaxed, thinking there was no way he could mess this up. After all, we were college sweethearts. “2013,” Carter said confidently. “I made her a custom pair of crystal heels as a graduation gift that year. I’m 100% sure.” My gaze drifted to Hailey, my maid of honor, who was wearing a dusty blue bridesmaid dress and sparkling crystal heels. She bit her lip, whispering to Carter in a small, tense voice: “Chloe graduated in 2012. I was the one who graduated in 2013.” In that split second, everything clicked. The last lingering doubt in my heart vanished. I let out a cold, quiet laugh, looked down at my phone, and texted my parents: “Mom, Dad, get the car ready. I’m calling off the wedding.”

    The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop. “My bad. I mixed up the years. It was 2012,” Carter corrected himself coldly, acting as if it was no big deal. Hailey quickly forced a smile to break the tension. “Chloe, Carter’s just been super stressed about the wedding planning lately. It’s normal to get a little confused. Don’t make a scene. All our friends and family are waiting downstairs.” Instantly, the other bridesmaids chimed in, trying to appease me. “Yeah, babe, it’s your big day! Smile a little!” “You can punish him tonight. Don’t let a silly mistake ruin the ceremony!” They all thought I was overreacting. But only I knew that Carter had changed. Years ago, if I so much as frowned, he would immediately panic, doing whatever it took—buying me gifts, telling stupid jokes—just to make me smile. But now, his eyes were glued to my best friend, and he couldn’t seem to look away. “Fine. Let’s go,” I said. I didn’t want to make things awkward for the guests who had flown in from across the country. I followed the itinerary and let Carter carry me out to the car. As he lifted me, he laughed and said, “Have you been stress-eating lately? You definitely feel heavier than 110 lbs.” 110 lbs. That was Hailey’s weight. She had just bragged about it on her Ins story yesterday. “Have you been carrying someone who weighs 110 lbs lately?” I asked casually. Carter stiffened. He quickly shook his head. “Of course not. Don’t be paranoid.” Right then, Hailey jumped in, eager to clarify. “Oh, actually, I’m 120 lbs now, so it’s definitely not me!” I looked down, hiding my mock scoff. Guilty people always scream the loudest. But I didn’t call them out. I wanted to see how long they could keep up this pathetic show. Inside the cramped sports car, Hailey insisted on squeezing in, sitting right between Carter and me. “You don’t mind, do you, Chloe? The other shuttle cars are totally full. Let’s just squeeze.” I didn’t say a word. The entire ride, Hailey chattered away, looking far more excited than the actual bride. And Carter answered her every word. It made me feel like the third wheel at my own wedding. As we rounded a corner, Hailey suddenly tapped Carter’s shoulder. “Carter, I’m dying for those honey lavender cupcakes from that bakery uptown.” “Sure, I’ll grab some for you.” With that, Carter spun the steering wheel, taking a sharp turn in the exact opposite direction of the wedding venue. My brows furrowed. “Carter, stop. We don’t have time.” “That bakery is ten miles away. The ceremony starts in an hour. We’re going to be late.” He glared at me through the rearview mirror. “It’s on the way! Buying cupcakes takes two minutes. You’re just being petty because of those trivia questions.” I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, clenching my fists to keep from crying. When he got my graduation year wrong and I stayed quiet, I was “ruining the mood.” But when Hailey wanted cupcakes from across town, it was “on the way.” Fine. If he wasn’t in a rush, neither was I. After all, I had no intention of marrying him anyway. My phone buzzed. A text from my parents: “Sweetheart, the SUV is parked by the side entrance of the venue. We’re ready when you are.”

    I don’t care for sweets, so I just stood near the bakery entrance, watching them. The baker was incredibly friendly and offered Hailey a sample of their new flavor. “Haven’t seen you and your boyfriend in a while!” “You guys look so fancy today. Going to a gala?” Hailey blushed, pointing a manicured finger toward me. “Oh, no! It’s my best friend’s wedding today. I’m her maid of honor.” The baker’s smile froze. He looked back and forth between the three of us, his expression turning highly uncomfortable. “Oh, my bad,” he apologized awkwardly. “You two come in for afternoon tea so often, I just assumed you were a couple.” “I didn’t realize there was a third party.” The “third party” he was referring to was, without a doubt, me. I waited for Carter to speak up and defend me. But he didn’t. He didn’t care at all. Instead, he bought every single flavor of cupcakes they had, walking out with three giant shopping bags. I made one passing comment: “Don’t waste food if you can’t finish them.” And just like that, Hailey burst into tears. “Chloe… I know this isn’t about the cupcakes,” she sobbed, sounding incredibly fragile. “You’re just mad because Carter spent money on me.” “I’m so sorry.” She shakily pulled two hundred-dollar bills from her purse and tried to force them into my hand. That was the final straw for Carter’s patience. His jaw tightened, and he looked at me with pure disgust. “Chloe, do you have any sense of the bigger picture?” “It’s our wedding day, and you’re choosing now to throw a tantrum? Hailey is your best friend. It’s completely normal for me to buy her some treats.” Normal? I looked at her. I wanted to laugh. The LV bag on her shoulder, the Cartier necklace she was wearing, the designer heels on her feet—Carter had bought every single one of them. Meanwhile, in our seven years of dating, the most expensive gift I had ever received from him was a electric toothbrush. Even the outdated wedding dress I was wearing today was a cheap rental I paid for myself. I had never asked Carter for a single dime. I used to think that by not caring about his money, I would get his pure, unadulterated love. How naive. In the end, I got neither. “Carter, don’t blame Chloe,” Hailey pleaded, playing the saint. “It’s her first time being a bride, so she’s probably just anxious. Please don’t fight because of me. You know my parents got a messy divorce, and all I want is for you guys to be happy.” I stared at Hailey. In that moment, my heart felt like it was being stabbed by a thousand needles. The year her parents divorced, she couldn’t sleep for months. I was the one who stayed up with her, cooked for her, washed her clothes, and held her hand through her darkest times. I never expected her to stab me in the back like this. “Yeah, whatever you say,” I murmured. It took me a long time to pull myself out of my memories. By the time my vision cleared, the tears on my face had already dried. Back in the car, silence fell over us. But it didn’t last long because Hailey… was thirsty again. “Carter, these cupcakes are kind of dry. I really need an iced matcha latte.” Her voice got quieter with every word, her eyes darting to my face to check my reaction. But my face was blank. Carter hesitated for a second. “Hailey, we are… actually running really late.” “But,” he quickly pivoted, “if you’re thirsty, let’s grab one fast.” Just then, Carter’s phone started ringing off the hook. “Carter! Where the hell are you?” “The guests are all seated! We’re just waiting on you and Chloe!” Carter ignored the calls, hit the gas, and sped toward the nearest Starbucks.

    When he and Hailey came back to the car, there was a bright red mark on Carter’s neck. Noticing my stare, panic flashed through his eyes, and he quickly covered it with his hand. “The bugs around here are crazy…” Hailey blushed and nodded. “Yeah, Chloe, the mosquitoes are so bad. You don’t think it’s something else, do you?” I shook my head. “Must be a really desperate female mosquito. Biting people like a shameless animal.” Their faces instantly turned pale. “Excuse me, I need a cigarette,” Carter muttered, stepping out of the car. A few yards away from the car, Carter looked incredibly anxious. He whispered to Hailey, “Do you think… she knows?” Hailey took the cigarette right out of his mouth and took a drag. “No way. She loves you too much. Even if she suspects something, she’ll forgive you.” “I know her. She’s soft-hearted. Years ago, when I got dumped, she literally skipped her finals and flew a thousand miles just to comfort me.” “I didn’t want to hurt her either, but… I fell for you.” Her sweet words were too much for Carter. He blushed all the way down to his collar. I watched them through the tinted car window. Their silhouettes, stretched by the afternoon sun, looked so intimate. The two people I loved most in the world had hurt me the deepest. I had spent years catering to them. It was time to wake up. I looked down and called the HR director of my family’s conglomerate, Vance Group. “Hi, Audrey. You asked me what I wanted as a wedding gift, right?” “I want you to fire Hailey. Effective immediately.” Because she had failed multiple classes in college, Hailey couldn’t find a decent job after graduation. I practically begged my father to pull strings and get her into Vance Group. In just three years, she went from a receptionist to a junior project manager, her salary jumping from $40k to $150k. I paved every single step of her career. But to protect her fragile ego, I kept my family’s identity a secret, letting her believe she achieved it all on her own merit. Now, it was time to take back what was mine. When Carter got back in the car, perhaps out of guilt, he handed me a cup of black coffee. “I grabbed this while waiting for the matcha. I know you hate sweet drinks.” I didn’t take it. He shook the cup, getting annoyed. “Take it. We don’t have time for this.” I ignored him. “Are you seriously still throwing a fit over some cupcakes and matcha?” “She’s your best friend! Are you even human, being this jealous of her?” Carter was always so incredibly harsh with me. He would never dream of speaking to Hailey like this. “Chloe, I’ve been exhausted for weeks planning this wedding. Can you please grow up? Don’t make me deal with your attitude on my wedding day.” I nodded, swallowing my tears. “Thank you.” My voice was polite, cold, and distant. But it seemed to reassure Carter. He relaxed, turned on the radio, and laughed with Hailey all the way to the venue. He didn’t notice the black Maybach parked near the side entrance of the hotel. He should have recognized the license plate—it belonged to my family. But his eyes were only on Hailey, who had just tripped on her dress. “Hailey! Are you okay?” Hailey pouted, looking pitiful. “This bridesmaid dress is too long. I tripped.” Carter shot me a glaring look. “This is your fault. Why did you have to pick such a long style?” He forgot that Hailey was the one who insisted on this specific design. “She’s hurt. I’ll carry her to the bridal suite first. Find your own way up.” Before I could answer, he swept Hailey into his arms and walked straight toward the elevator.

    I gathered up my heavy train and slowly made my way to the bridal suite. I could have left right then. But if I was going to run, I had to take my makeup artist with me. I was the one paying her, after all. When I finally pushed the door open, the scene inside shocked me. The celebrity makeup artist I had booked two years in advance was currently being scolded by Carter like a child. She looked like she was on the verge of tears. “Perfect timing,” Carter said, dumping a pile of cosmetics onto the vanity. “Hailey said you gave the artist a different contract. You used the premium, high-end products for yourself and left her with cheap, knockoff brands.” I stared at them, speechless. What kind of drama was this now? Hailey wiped her eyes, fake-apologizing. “I’m sorry, Chloe. I shouldn’t have said anything. I didn’t mean to steal your spotlight. I’ll just go wash my face. I can go bare-faced for the wedding, really!” I scoffed. “I never told the artist to do that, and I would never do something so petty.” But Carter didn’t believe me. He thought I was just acting out. “Chloe, this reverse psychology is getting pathetic. Do you really think playing hard to get is going to make me beg for your forgiveness?” I shook my head. “I don’t need you to beg.” “What is up with your attitude? Just because I got Hailey some treats, you do this? You made her cry! You need to apologize to her right now.” “Why should I apologize for something I didn’t do?” Frustrated, Carter gripped my shoulders. His grip was so tight it bruised. “Chloe, I don’t have time for your games. The ceremony starts in thirty minutes. Apologize now, or I’m calling off this wedding.” I smiled. For the first time today, a real smile spread across my face. Carter still thought he could threaten me. He had no idea I didn’t care anymore. “Okay.” My nonchalant response pissed him off even more. He was about to yell when Hailey quickly stopped him. “Carter, please don’t. It’s your wedding day.” “It’s all my fault. Go downstairs and greet the guests. I’ll handle things here.” Carter hesitated, then nodded. Before leaving, he gave me one last disappointed look. “Why can’t you be more mature like Hailey?” As soon as the door closed, I turned to my makeup artist and whispered a few words. She immediately started packing up her kit. Hailey, thinking we were just moving to another room, waved her hand dismissively. “Whatever, I don’t care. Let her get her makeup done first.” The makeup artist just rolled her eyes at Hailey’s delusion. Thirty minutes later, the grand ballroom was filled with music and laughter. The officiant gave a beautiful opening speech, then looked toward the grand entrance with excitement. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, please stand for our beautiful bride!” “Three…” Under the spotlight, Carter nervously adjusted his bow tie. “Two…” A bead of sweat rolled down his temple as he probably pictured our future together. “One…” The heavy doors swung open. But there was no one there. The officiant gasped, looking at Carter’s back, and whispered, “Where… where is the bride?” Carter spun around. The hallway was completely empty. In that moment, sheer panic set in.

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  • Stop And Wait Right Here At The Intersection

    1 The green light flashed as I reached the crosswalk. I hesitated while Darcy and Owen dashed across. Red trapped me at the curb. They never looked back. A black car hissed past, mud spattering my pants. I blinked, stunned, then stepped away. I had always been half a beat behind, last to drop my fork and lagging on group walks. In school, they fretted over my grades. One drilled math while the other took notes until their heads bent close, bickering over a geometry line all afternoon. I sat mute beside them. Apartment hunting, they linked arms, comparing commutes and sunlight. Owen swung Darcy’s bag as she laughed. I trailed, watching their backs. Only those in sync caught the same green light. The slow waited alone. The signal changed. I stepped forward. If we could not walk together, I would walk alone. … By the time I reached the apartment, they were already inside, exploring the rooms. Seeing me enter, Darcy’s face tightened with impatience. “What took you so long? Owen and I are almost done looking. If you were any slower, the agent would have gone off work.” Owen poked his head out from the kitchen, quickly walking over to Darcy’s side and gently patting her shoulder. “Stop yelling at Shawn. He’s always walked slow. Can’t you show some patience?” I looked down at the dark mud stains on my trousers. “You guys just walk too fast.” Owen let out a cheerful laugh, pointing toward the open balcony. “Well, at least you’re here now. Look at this balcony; it’s beautiful. Planting some lisianthus flowers here would look amazing, perfect for photos.” Darcy followed his gaze, letting out a soft chuckle. “Lisianthus are incredibly hard to keep alive. With your three-minute attention span, they wouldn’t survive a week. Better to grow mint; at least we can use it for cocktails.” “Who says I can’t keep them alive? I’m going to plant lisianthus!” “Fine. When they wither, don’t expect me to replant them for you.” They bickered back and forth, their voices filled with a comfortable, intimate familiarity, looking exactly like a young couple planning their first home together. But I was the one renting the apartment. I was the one who would be paying the rent. Yet, they had already bypassed me entirely, deciding the fate of the balcony and even assuming I would definitely live here. Looking at the empty concrete floor, a sudden wave of apathy washed over me. I didn’t even want to plant a single blade of grass here anymore. The bitter taste of being ignored crept up my throat. I remembered a time when I had complained to Darcy about how difficult it was for me to join their conversations. She hadn’t even looked up from her phone. “You’re always sitting there like a mute. How is anyone supposed to constantly cater to your quiet moods?” I took a deep breath, stepping forward to bridge the distance between us. “Actually, I think a cactus would be nice too,” I said, trying to keep my voice light and cheerful. “Because when a cactus gets heartbroken, it turns into a round little ball because it cries so hard all its needles fall off.” It was a silly, outdated joke I had read in an old magazine the night before. The moment the words left my mouth, the playful bickering stopped, and the room plunged into an awkward, suffocating silence. Perhaps because I was always slow, even my jokes were hopelessly outdated. Five seconds passed. Owen was the first to react, breaking the silence with a sudden burst of laughter. “Darcy, that was freezing. That joke is even colder than the time you fell into the snowbank in Iceland.” Darcy’s eyes instantly crinkled with warmth at his words. “And whose brilliant idea was it to drag me into the backcountry for skiing? I was the one who had to dig you out of that hole.” “Haha, you were covered in snow from head to toe, looking at least ten years older. If you end up an old maid because of that, don’t expect me to marry you!” They laughed freely, their joy unreserved. I remembered how she had promised to take me to see the Northern Lights once we graduated, then pushed it back to when our careers settled, and then told me to wait until her next vacation. I had waited and waited, only to find out she had already gone with Owen. “Iceland?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “When did you go?” The laughter stopped instantly. Darcy’s expression smoothed over into a cool, dismissive mask. “Last winter. You were away on a photography shoot.” Was I away on a shoot, or did they deliberately plan the trip for when I was gone? Owen waved his hand quickly. “It’s in the past, no big deal. Let’s focus on the apartment.” They moved on, their mutual silence closing the topic with perfect coordination. The damp, muddy trousers clung to my skin, making every second I stood there feel like an eternity. “I’m not feeling well. I’m going home. We can look at apartments another time.” As I turned to leave, I heard Darcy’s low, irritated whisper behind me. “Throwing another tantrum. He’s completely spoiled.” I returned to our shared apartment alone. I slipped on my slippers and went into the bathroom, using a wet wipe to gently clean the dried mud from my trousers. The motion-sensor light above flickered on and then died, leaving me in the dark. Only when the water in the sink overflowed, spilling cold droplets onto my bare feet, did my slow brain register the mess and reach out to turn off the faucet. I was always half a beat behind. But it hadn’t always been this way. When I was seven, Darcy had dragged me into a torrential downpour for two hours just to catch a cicada. I had suffered a raging fever for a day and a night, nearly damaging my brain. From that day on, my reflexes were permanently slower than the rest of the world. My older sister, Valerie, had been so furious she wanted to beat Darcy. The young Darcy had knelt by my bedside, her face drenched in tears as she sobbed, “Valerie, you can hit me! It’s all my fault! Just please don’t take Shawn away. I swear, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to him. I’ll never let him suffer a single day of unhappiness.” I believed her. And my sister believed her too. So, when Valerie took over our family’s international business and moved abroad, she left me to live with Darcy’s family. In the beginning, Darcy had kept her promise. Back when my hair was long, I was too slow and clumsy to hold the heavy blow dryer steady. She would always take it from my hands, her slender fingers gently running through my hair, checking to make sure the air wasn’t too hot. “It’s okay if our Shawn is slow. I have all the time in the world to wait for you.” But now, she had run out of time. A few days ago, under the exact same circumstances, water was dripping from my hair onto the floor. She hadn’t reached for the dryer. Instead, she had simply tossed a dry towel at my chest, her brow furrowed with a deep, unconscious irritation. “Shawn, you’re twenty-three, not three. Can’t you learn to be a bit more independent like Owen? He carried a water jug up six flights of stairs the other day without a single complaint. You can’t cling to me forever. Move out into your own place for a while and learn how to be an adult.” Patience, it seemed, was a resource easily worn away by time. The person who had once sworn to spend her life making things up to me now found me to be nothing but a nuisance. And that was why I had gone to look at apartments today. I dried my hands, walked into the living room, and sat down on the sofa. I pulled my camera from my bag. It was one of the few things I truly owned, and the tool I used for my photography work. I spun the dial, clicking through the playback menu. The screen illuminated my face in the dark room as I slowly scrolled backward, image by image. I was the one who had pressed the shutter on every single one of them. The compositions were steady, the lighting captured beautifully. But the subjects were always the same. Darcy and Owen laughing by the window of a chic cafe. Darcy and Owen clinking their glasses together by a cozy campfire. Owen gently reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from Darcy’s eyes. There were over three hundred photos stored on the memory card, and I was permanently frozen behind the lens, invisible. In the life that belonged to Darcy, my only role was to record her moments with someone else. I wasn’t in her photos. And naturally, I had no place in her future. Darcy didn’t return until late in the afternoon. She tossed her car keys onto the entryway table, the metal clinking sharply against the wood. “Shawn, what exactly is your problem?” she asked, walking over to stand in front of me with her arms crossed. “Owen spent four afternoons running around, calling in favors just to find a place that suited you. What are you so unhappy about?” “Leaving like that just because you ‘didn’t feel well’… do you have any idea how awkward you made things for him?” “I don’t have a problem with the apartment,” I said slowly. “Then why did you look so miserable? He spent the entire day worrying about you, so guilty he couldn’t even eat dinner.” So Owen hadn’t eaten dinner, and she had rushed back to demand justice on his behalf. Last month, when my acute gastroenteritis had flared up so badly I was curled double on the sofa, she had only sent a brief text: Drink some hot water. I have to play cards with some clients tonight. Order some medicine through a delivery app. I pressed the delete button on my camera, erasing every single photo on the card. “I just felt like… that apartment wasn’t being chosen for me.” She let out a cold scoff. “Shawn, stop being so paranoid and bitter. Do you think everyone is as idle as you, sitting at home all day looking for things to complain about?” “I’ve booked a restaurant for tomorrow lunch. You’re going to come and apologize to him, and we’re going to put this behind us.” I stared at her for a few silent seconds. My girlfriend was furious because I hadn’t managed to protect the feelings of another man. “Darcy, let’s break up.” Darcy’s expression froze. A flash of genuine shock crossed her eyes, quickly replaced by a look of sheer amusement. “Break up?” “Shawn, do you really think you can threaten me with that? With your slow, helpless brain, where would you even go without me?” “I’m not threatening you.” Darcy turned away, tossing her bag onto the sofa. “Fine, stop acting childish. I’ll text you the restaurant address. Make sure you’re on time.” She walked into the bathroom without looking back, and the sound of running water soon filled the apartment, shutting my voice out completely behind the frosted glass door. The next day, I went to the restaurant anyway. Owen really had spent a lot of time helping me look at apartments, and my upbringing dictated that a proper “thank you” was still necessary. When I pushed open the door to the private room, they were already there. They were sitting side-by-side on one side of the long table, their heads close together as they laughed at something on a phone screen. A table set for three always had a cruel geometry. They sat so close their shoulders were practically touching. And I was left to pull out the single chair opposite them, sitting down like an uninvited guest at a private meeting. “Shawn, you’re here!” Owen greeted me with a bright smile. “Darcy said you were throwing a fit and might not show up. No need to apologize, we’re all friends here. It’s no big deal, let’s just move past it.” “Thank you,” I said softly, keeping my eyes on the table. In front of Darcy and Owen sat two tall, condensation-beaded glasses of iced lemon tea. In front of me, there was nothing. In the past, whenever we ate out, she would always make sure a cup of warm tea was waiting for me the moment I sat down, knowing my weak stomach couldn’t handle ice. Now, she couldn’t even remember to order a glass of water for me. “I’ll go grab something to drink,” I said, rising from the table. I walked to the front counter and ordered a hot milk. As I waited for the drink to be prepared, I turned to walk back to the room. Just as I rounded the corner, a waiter carrying a heavy, piping-hot clay pot of soup came rushing toward me. “Watch out!” I heard the warning. But my reflexes were always half a beat behind. By the time my foot took a single inch of a step backward, the boiling liquid had already cascaded down. Most of the scalding soup poured directly onto my shins and the tops of my feet. An agonizing, searing pain instantly ripped through my skin. My brain went entirely blank, and my body froze, locking me in place. The door to the private room opened, and Darcy and Owen stepped out. She didn’t rush forward to help me. Instead, she let out a light laugh. “Shawn, when are you going to fix that slow reaction time? You’re a grown man, how do you not even know how to dodge a waiter?” Owen stood beside her, joining in on her laughter. “Seriously, Shawn, you’re too much. If that were me, I would have leaped out of the way in a second. Your reflexes are slower than a sloth’s.” Darcy chimed in, “If he had even half of your quickness, I wouldn’t have to spend every waking hour worrying about him.” The skin on my legs was already beginning to swell into angry, red blisters, the burning pain radiating deep into my bones. Back in high school, I had tripped on the track, scraping a tiny patch of skin on my knee that barely even bled. Darcy had run faster than the gym teacher to reach me, her face pale as she helped me up, her hands trembling so hard she could barely hold a cotton swab in the nurse’s office. “You can’t even walk straight,” she had scolded me, her voice shaking. “What are you going to do if I’m ever not around?” Owen had also patted my shoulder, promising to keep an eye on me whenever we ran. But now, as they stared at my blistering skin, they only found my clumsy pain amusing. I looked up, meeting her eyes. “Is this funny to you?” The laughter faded slightly from Darcy’s face. “It was just a joke, Shawn. Do you have to take everything so seriously?” Owen chimed in, “Yeah, Shawn, I was just trying to lighten the mood. Don’t be mad. When I burned myself cooking before, I just put some toothpaste on it and was fine. It’s really no big deal.” Darcy let out an impatient sigh. “You heard him. Go to the bathroom and run some cold water over it. Stop standing there making a scene.” I took a taxi to the city hospital by myself. After the doctor had finished cleaning and bandaging my burns, I pulled out my phone and sent a message to my sister. Valerie, is your offer for me to come to Los Angeles to help you still open? Her reply came almost instantly. Of course it is! I’ve kept a room ready for you. Did that girl Darcy do something to you? My throat tightened, and I blinked back tears. I just really, really miss you. I returned to the apartment and began packing my suitcase. As I worked, I noticed that the moisture-proof box I kept in the corner of the closet was empty. Inside was the only keepsake my mother had left me: an extremely rare, out-of-production roll of Kodak film that had inspired my dream of becoming a photographer. The front door opened, and Darcy walked in. Seeing my bandaged leg, her brow furrowed slightly. “What did you do? You look like a mummy.” She knelt down, her fingers gently touching my ankle. “Try to look where you’re going next time. Once this busy season is over, I’ll take you to Iceland to see the Northern Lights, okay? Stop looking so miserable all the time, no one owes you anything.” I pulled my leg back, out of her reach. “Where is my film?” Her hand froze in mid-air. She stood up, reaching into her pocket and pulling out a crushed, bent metal canister. “Since you treasured it so much, Owen and I decided to hide it. We were going to give it back once you got worried, to give you a surprise.” “But the metal was so old. When Owen tried to pull it open to look, he accidentally tore the film.” My hands shook as I took the canister and opened the lid. The delicate film inside had been completely pulled out of its casing, entirely exposed to the light. It was torn clean in two. It was the only remaining memory of my mother, something I would hold and look at on the nights when insomnia gripped me, missing her. My voice shook uncontrollably. “Do you have any idea how important that was to me?” “I know, but he didn’t do it on purpose.” She reached into her shopping bag and pulled out two brand-new, expensive rolls of film, placing them on the table. “No matter how important that old film was, can it really be more important than my relationship with Owen? I went out of my way to buy these rare replacements at a premium for you.” I raised my hand and slapped her hard across the face. The force of the blow turned her head to the side. She froze, completely stunned. When I was seventeen, I had accidentally lost a cheap lens cap worth a few dollars. Darcy had spent three hours with a flashlight in the dark schoolyard grass, searching until she found it. She had told me back then, “Anything that belongs to Shawn, no matter how small, is a treasure.” But now, she had personally helped destroy my most precious memory. Darcy slowly turned her head back, her grip clamping onto my wrist with sudden, terrifying strength. “Shawn, are you out of your mind!” She pulled me roughly into her chest, locking her arms around me. “Let go of me!” I struggled. “Stop acting up!” she commanded, her arms tightening until I could barely breathe. “That film is already in the past! You have to learn to look forward, do you understand?” I stopped struggling, letting my arms hang limp at my sides. My tears slipped silently down, soaking into her collar. Yes, she was right. It was all in the past. Including her. I cried quietly, the silent tears flowing until my eyes felt dry and the sharp ache in my chest finally subsided. Darcy’s hand gently stroked my back. Only when she felt my muscles finally relax did she slowly loosen her grip. “You still have me,” she whispered softly. I didn’t answer her. I turned back to the bedroom to continue packing. Darcy followed me, her voice turning cold. “What are you doing?” “Packing my things.” “Are you playing the run-away-from-home game again?” “You were the one who told me to learn from Owen and be independent. I’m moving into the rental tomorrow.” She opened her mouth to argue, but stopped, remembering that she had indeed been the one to suggest I move out. After a long silence, she spoke quietly. “Let’s sleep in the same bed tonight. Since it’s your last night here.” We hadn’t slept in the same bed for months. She had complained that my slow lifestyle affected her sleep, and that my tossing and turning disturbed her work the next day. She had told me, “Shawn, you need to learn to be independent, not like a child who needs someone to hold him to sleep.” So I had moved into the guest bedroom, and I had stayed there for half a year. I didn’t argue. That night, Darcy wrapped her arms around my waist from behind. In the dark, I kept my eyes wide open, staring at the neon lights of the city glittering through the window. “Darcy, if I truly learn to be independent, will you be happy?” “Of course,” she answered without hesitation, her tone carrying a wave of relief. “I can’t wait.” Yet, the arm wrapped around my waist tightened its grip just a fraction. The next morning, I changed into fresh clothes and rolled my suitcase to the entrance. Darcy put on her coat, reaching out to take the handle of my bag. “I’ll help you move.” Before her hand could touch the metal bar, the phone in her pocket began to ring. It was Owen, his voice bright and excited over the speaker. “Darcy! That new sci-fi movie is premiering today, and I managed to snag two tickets! Come watch it with me!” That was the movie we had promised to see together three months ago. Darcy glanced at me, then accepted his invitation, hanging up the phone and heading for the door in a rush. “Take a cab to move your things first. I’ll go watch the movie with him, and we’ll come find you at your new place later.” “Okay,” I said quietly. Once the door clicked shut behind her, I called a cab and headed straight for the airport. I dialed my sister’s number. “Valerie, make sure you’re there to pick me up.” Her warm, laughing voice came through the line. “Don’t worry, little brother. Have I ever forgotten anything that concerns you?”

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  • After All Our Countless Farewells

    1 In the third year of my marriage to Gabriel Mercer, I was hit by a car while riding my bicycle. Even as a sharp, agonizing pain radiated through my leg, I forced myself not to call him. He was a Major General, a man of high standing whose duties meant he could not take personal calls during work hours. The woman who had hit me was sobbing, holding onto my handlebars to keep me from leaving. “My boyfriend is on his way. Please wait, we will definitely give you a solution you are happy with.” But when the black military SUV with the high-ranking plates pulled up behind her, my entire body went rigid. Gabriel got out of the vehicle, immediately wrapping his uniform jacket around the crying woman’s shoulders, his voice filled with a rare, gentle concern. “I am late. Are you hurt?” It was only then that I realized Gabriel’s phone was not off to everyone during work hours. It was just that his emergency contact list was reserved for the girl from his past. He frowned, his gaze dropping to my bleeding knee, staring at it for a long, silent moment. The woman, Hannah, looked between us with a hesitant glance. “Do you two know each other?” Before Gabriel could speak, I cut in. “We don’t.” After all, in the contract he had handed me three years ago, the very first clause dictated a strictly hidden marriage. Now, our three-year agreement was about to expire. I was already preparing to leave. … I had always known Gabriel had someone else in his heart, but I never imagined it would be the very woman who had just run me over. When Gabriel first arrived, I had frozen, instinctively assuming he was there for me. But Hannah had already scrambled to her feet, running straight into his arms. “Gabriel, what do I do? I hit someone.” The man draped his heavy service jacket over her shoulders, his voice as calm and steady as ever. “I will handle it.” I slowly pulled my gaze away, staring down at the raw, scraping wound on my knee. The pieces finally fell into place, explaining why Gabriel had barely been coming home lately. His childhood love, Hannah, had returned to the country. Hannah stepped back from his chest, turning to offer me a bright, privileged smile. “My boyfriend is here now. Whatever compensation you want, just speak to his assistant.” “I am so sorry for delaying your commute and causing this injury. Please, don’t hesitate to ask for what you need. My boyfriend is highly capable, he will make sure it is taken care of.” I offered a quiet thank you, but Gabriel’s assistant, who was standing nearby, looked incredibly uncomfortable. He was one of the very few who knew about our hidden marriage. He stammered, looking at my leg. “Mrs… I mean, ma’am, why is your wound still bleeding so heavily? It has been half an hour since the accident. Do you have a coagulation issue?” “Just a minor one,” I replied, nodding. Gabriel’s head snapped toward me, his voice dropping an octave. “Clotting issues?” Hannah looked confused. “What’s wrong?” He did not seem to hear her, his eyes locked onto my bleeding knee, his brow furrowed in a tight line. Hannah finally sensed the tension, looking between Gabriel and me with growing suspicion. “Do you two know each other?” Before Gabriel could find his voice, I answered for him. “We don’t.” As expected, he looked satisfied with my quick thinking. He took Hannah’s hand, offering a casual instruction to his assistant before they walked away. “Take her to the clinic.” I watched their retreating figures, swallowing the faint bitterness in my throat. There were exactly two months left before our contract expired, and it was time for me to start packing. 2 Our convenience marriage had been remarkably straightforward. Back then, I desperately needed tuition for graduate school. Through a mutual acquaintance, I ended up signing a contract with Gabriel. On our wedding day, there was no ceremony, no rings, and no vows, only a legal document. He needed a sham marriage to satisfy his family’s constant pressure, and I needed the financial security. The terms were simple: keep the marriage hidden, and occasionally play the doting wife at family dinners. We had no marital obligations, no responsibility toward each other, and I was even free to date as long as I kept it out of the public eye. I was paid three thousand dollars a month. Once the three years were up, I would receive a three-million-dollar exit fee. At the time, Hannah was studying abroad, and I had no idea she even existed. I had absolutely no reason to refuse the offer. After we married, Gabriel kept me close, teaching me how to navigate his world. I learned to play the role of the perfect General’s wife, selecting his suits, managing his social calendar, and dealing with difficult politicians. Once, at a high-profile gala, a corrupt local commissioner tried to touch me. Gabriel, who usually kept his emotions entirely under wraps, kicked the man’s knee so hard he buckled. He then shoved a heavy wine bottle into my hand, wrapping his arms around me from behind, his deep voice vibrating against my ear. “Do you know what I am teaching you today?” Enveloped by his cold, woody cologne, I tried to keep my breathing steady. “You are teaching me to negotiate from a position of strength, to maintain boundaries…” He caught my wrist, lifting my hand with the bottle. “My dear, this isn’t a textbook problem. Don’t be so formal.” “It’s just a fight.” With a sickening crack, the bottle shattered over the commissioner’s head. My palm went numb from the impact. Gabriel pulled a linen handkerchief from his pocket, gently wiping the sweat from my hands. “Don’t forget this. I am your backing.” “Don’t let anyone else bully you.” I had quickly pulled my hand away, muttering a hasty thank you before escaping to the restroom. If I had stayed a second longer, the affection in my eyes would have given me away. Perhaps it was the thrill of a first love, or perhaps Gabriel’s occasional indulgence made me lose my head. I moved into his villa, spending every evening waiting by the window for his headlights to appear in the driveway. Until the night of a major victory banquet. He came home heavily intoxicated, supported by a female subordinate. His arm was slung over her shoulder, their faces mere inches apart. “Mrs. Mercer, please step aside,” the woman said, her voice laced with a subtle disdain. “I need to help the General inside.” I remained where I was, extending my hands toward him. “I can take my husband from here.” Before I could close the door, the secretary let out a soft laugh. “As the General’s wife, you should learn to be more accommodating. If you get jealous over every little thing, you’ll end up miserable.” I had not realized that Gabriel was still somewhat conscious, nor did I know he had heard the entire exchange. Later, when I brought a bowl of hangover soup to the living room, he was lying on the sofa, his eyes remarkably clear as he stared at me. I set the bowl down. “Since you are awake, drink some of this. It will help.” Gabriel did not touch the bowl. Instead, he asked, “Do you know why I never let you into my study?” The lingering annoyance in my chest vanished, replaced by curiosity. I shook my head. He stood up, refusing my assistance, and led me toward the locked room. When he pushed the door open, a massive oil painting met my eyes. A young girl, barely sixteen, stood in a field of wildflowers, her eyes closed as she breathed in the scent of a blossom, her face half-hidden. It was the reason I had not immediately recognized Hannah when we finally met in person. Gabriel leaned against the doorframe, lighting a cigarette. “I have loved her since I was seventeen. It has been ten years.” “If we hadn’t quarreled before she left, she would be the one standing here with me today.” His tone was conversational, yet each word felt like a physical blow to my chest. Before I could process the pain, he drove the point home. “I cannot give you the affection you are looking for, Darla. Do not develop feelings you shouldn’t have.” “I will be adding an amendment to our contract,” he continued, his tone entirely businesslike. “If you cannot manage your emotions and cross the boundary, it will be considered a breach of contract. You will lose your compensation and face a heavy penalty.” The hallway light cast a long, narrow shadow across the floor of the dark study. I stood there, frozen, recalling a comment Gabriel had once made about greedy associates. They hover at the boundaries, always testing the limits. It is incredibly off-putting. That night, I became the person who disgusted him. Gabriel left the room shortly after. I stood in the dark until the first light of dawn broke through the window, the cold air finally clearing the fog from my chest. From that day on, I managed myself perfectly. I kept my distance, offering him nothing but polite, professional respect. And slowly, the feelings faded to nothing. 3 My leg wound was dressed at a local clinic, and after taking a day off, I went straight to the hospital to visit my mother. She had been diagnosed with a rare brain tumor, and there were only a couple of specialists in the country capable of performing the surgery. She was constantly worrying about the cost, pleading with me to let her check out. I popped a slice of fresh pear into her mouth. “Absolutely not. You fainted the last time you went for a scan. I heard that Dr. Bennett, the leading neurosurgeon, is coming to our local hospital next month.” Our physician had promised to secure a slot for us if the rumors were true. The thought of my mother recovering made my steps lighter as I went down to the cafeteria, but the head nurse stopped me in the corridor. “Darla, about the private suite we reserved for your mother… a new patient with heavy backing just arrived and took it.” The nurse sighed, lowering her voice. “I heard her boyfriend is a Major General. He pulled some serious strings…” Almost at the same moment, I saw a flash of white fabric near the stairwell, identical to the sundress Hannah had been wearing that morning. I pulled my gaze back, offering a reassuring smile. “It’s fine, Nurse. The room doesn’t matter. I just want my mother to get her surgery.” When I returned to the villa that afternoon, Gabriel was sitting on the sofa. It was unusual for him to be home at this hour instead of accompanying Hannah. I offered a polite nod. “Major General.” I turned to head to my room, but his voice stopped me. “How is your knee?” “Dressed and healing. It is fine,” I replied. Gabriel set his coffee cup down, checking his watch. “We need to go to my parents’ house for dinner tonight. Are you free?” According to our contract, I had to make myself available for family events. I nodded. “Yes.” I selected a classic designer outfit, applied my makeup, and ensured I looked every bit the elegant wife of a military officer. When we arrived at the Mercer estate, I automatically slipped my hand through his arm, greeting his family with practiced warmth. During dinner, Gabriel’s mother looked at us expectantly. “Have you two started trying for a baby yet?” I choked on my soup, coughing into my napkin. Gabriel reached over, handing me a glass of water while gently patting my back. “Darla is still young.” His mother frowned. “She is twenty-five. It is the perfect time to start thinking about these things.” I swallowed the lump in my throat, offering a quiet nod. “I understand, Mother.” A violent rainstorm broke out that evening, forcing us to stay the night. We shared the master suite, sleeping under separate blankets. After three years, the arrangement was familiar and comfortable. When I came out of the bathroom in my silk gown and sat on the vanity bench to apply ointment to my knee, Gabriel looked over. “I am sorry I couldn’t take you to the clinic myself the other day.” He looked tense, as if struggling to explain his relationship with Hannah. I cut him off gently. “It is fine, Major General. Our contract doesn’t require you to take care of me. You don’t need to explain.” “Whatever is going on between you and Miss Hannah is your business. I will continue to play my part until our contract ends in two months.” He raised his eyes, staring at me. “Two months?” It seemed he had forgotten the date. “Yes,” I reminded him. “In two months, our agreement expires, and we can finalize the divorce.” Gabriel set his wine glass down, his voice cool and detached. “You certainly have the date memorized.” He turned and walked into the bathroom, ending the conversation. 4 A few weeks later, my mother’s physician called with incredible news: he had managed to secure a consultation slot with Dr. Bennett. For the next two weeks, I spent every evening after work at the hospital. One afternoon, as I stepped into the elevator, the doors began to close before being held open. Gabriel and Hannah walked in. Hannah did not recognize me from our brief encounter, her eyes scanning right past me. Gabriel hesitated for a fraction of a second but said nothing. As the elevator rose, Hannah clung to his arm, her voice sweet and filled with affection. “Thank you, my amazing boyfriend, for sorting out everything for my mother. Now we just have to wait for the results.” “How should I thank you? Maybe I’ll let you take me out to dinner tonight.” I kept my eyes glued to the floor indicator, waiting. “What do you want to eat?” Gabriel’s deep voice finally replied. “Let’s go to your place. I want your homemade pasta!” The elevator dinged at my floor. I stepped out into the quiet corridor, realizing I would need to find a hotel tonight. After feeding my mother, I booked a room at a nearby boutique hotel. I showered and fell into a deep sleep, exhausted from the long day. Sometime during the night, my phone rang. I answered it sleepily. “Hello?” “When are you coming home?” Gabriel’s voice came through the receiver. “I made dinner. I am waiting for you.” I buried my face deeper into the pillow. “Aren’t you with Hannah?” “I didn’t want to get in your way… so I got a hotel room for the night…” The line went silent before Gabriel’s voice dropped, carrying a distinct edge of displeasure. “Send me your location. I am coming to pick you up.” I was too tired to care about his authority. “No, Gabriel. I am already asleep. Don’t bother me.” He remained silent for a few seconds before his tone softened, carrying a hint of amusement. “You have quite the temper when you’re tired, don’t you?” Without the barrier of my usual professional restraint, I simply let out an annoyed sigh. I heard a soft chuckle from the other end of the line. “Alright, go back to sleep. I won’t disturb you.” The call disconnected, and I drifted back into a heavy sleep. The next morning, the conversation felt like a dream. When Gabriel called again, I assumed he was going to reprimand me for my lack of respect. I kept my tone carefully polite. “Is there something you need, Major General?” There was a long pause before he spoke, his tone completely flat. “Nothing. I simply forgot to ask what you were doing at the hospital yesterday.” “My mother is admitted,” I replied casually. “But it is nothing serious. She will be discharged soon.” “If you need any assistance, contact my chief of staff directly,” he said. I thanked him politely, though I had no intention of doing so. His position was sensitive, and I was not about to involve military personnel in my personal matters. The contract dictated that I keep my distance, and I intended to honor it. The silence stretched, yet he did not hang up. “Major General? Is there anything else?” I could hear the rhythmic tapping of his fingers against his mahogany desk, a habit of his when he was deep in thought. “I was just wondering what time you usually take your afternoon nap,” he said. I blinked, entirely thrown off. Before I could process the question, he added, “I will make sure to call you during those hours from now on.” I had no idea what he was playing at. Was this some new method of torment? Dr. Bennett was scheduled to arrive on the seventeenth, with a very limited three-hour window for consultations. We had secured the very last slot. Gabriel had been deployed to a training exercise in the north and was not expected back for a week. Whenever I saw Hannah at the hospital during those days, she was always alone. On the morning of the seventeenth, I saw her chatting with the receptionist at the nurse’s station, eating an apple with a relaxed, casual air. “My mother’s results are only partially back, but the director told me not to worry,” she was saying. The nurse looked up from her paperwork, offering a polite smile. “That is good news. Perhaps you should take a walk? We are preparing for Dr. Bennett’s arrival this afternoon.” Hannah paused, her interest piqued. “Dr. Bennett? Who is that?” “The leading neurosurgeon in the country. His slots have been booked for months.” “But your mother’s case doesn’t require a specialist of his caliber,” the nurse explained. Hannah took a slow bite of her apple, her eyes narrowing. “I see…” A sudden chill of unease washed over me, but I tried to brush it off. Hannah’s mother did not have a brain tumor; surely she would not take a critical slot from someone who actually needed it. But my hope was shattered. At two o’clock that afternoon, our physician called me into his office, his face incredibly grim. “The slot is gone.” The words felt like a physical blow, leaving my ears ringing. “Major General Mercer’s girlfriend claimed it, using her military dependent priority,” the doctor said, his brow furrowed. “I tried to explain that her mother’s condition is standard, but she insisted she wanted the absolute best opinion.” I leaned against the wall to keep my balance. “Can we request an extra slot?” “Impossible. Dr. Bennett is flying out for an international conference at five.” I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms to keep from breaking down. I immediately dialed Gabriel’s number, but as always, the call went straight to his secure line’s automated busy signal. With no time to lose, I took a taxi back to the villa, grabbed our marriage certificate, and rushed back to the hospital. I marched straight into the director’s office. Before he could speak, I set the document on his desk, my chest heaving. “I am Gabriel Mercer’s legal wife. You can verify the registration.” “I am not here to steal anyone’s slot. I am simply taking back the one that belonged to my mother.” The slot was restored. Once the consultation was finished and the surgery date was locked in, the heavy weight in my chest finally lifted. I asked the director and the physicians to keep my identity quiet, but Hannah was persistent. As I walked out of the hospital that evening, she blocked my path, staring at me before her eyes crinkled into a sharp, mocking smile. “I remember you. You’re the girl from the bicycle accident. No wonder Gabriel was so focused on your clotting issue.” “I didn’t take your mother’s slot, Hannah,” I said quietly, looking down. “I can explain my relationship with Gabriel.” She had no interest in listening, extending her hand. “Just show me the certificate.” Her voice carried a distinct threat. “Otherwise, I will make sure your mother has a very difficult time staying in this hospital, let alone getting her surgery.” With no other choice, I showed her the document. Hannah stared at it, her smile widening into something cold. She immediately pulled out her phone and dialed Gabriel’s number. The call was answered almost instantly. With tears welling in her eyes, she looked straight at me. “Gabriel, you have a wife.” A brief silence followed before Gabriel’s voice came through. “Who told you that?” “How could you treat me like this?” she sobbed, her voice breaking. “We are done.” She hung up the phone and turned to leave. I took a step forward, but she did not look back, her voice dripping with venom. “Don’t you dare follow me.” “Enabling your husband’s affair makes you just as pathetic, Darla. Don’t make me get my hands dirty in public.”

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  • I Am Never Your Appendage

    1 It was the third year of my self-imposed exile in the wilderness, living on a deserted island to keep Silas company, far away from human society. His severe autism made the world a hostile place for him. He still only tolerated my presence, refusing to let anyone else set foot on the shore. He remained the same as he had always been: expressionless, quiet, and completely averse to any form of physical contact. Until today, when the tide washed a woman onto our beach. By the time I found them, his face was flushed red with embarrassment as he desperately pressed his lips to hers, performing mouth-to-mouth resuscitation. Over the next two weeks, I watched him lead her through every corner of the sanctuary we had built with our own hands. “This is the shelter. I tore it down and rebuilt it seven times.” “This is the garden. We grow lettuce and cucumbers here.” “This is where we fish. The water purifier is kept here too.” Finally, sitting under the glow of the campfire, he looked at her with a depth of emotion I had never seen and asked, “Sherry, the world out there is filthy. Stay here with me, okay?” I stared blankly at the sudden warmth in Silas’s face, a bitter, hollow ache spreading through my chest. In that moment, I finally understood. Someone had actually succeeded in breaking through his shell. But that person wasn’t me. Sherry ignored Silas, turning her head to look at me instead. “Lyra, why are you so quiet?” I sat on a log, preparing to speak, but Silas cut in with sudden, desperate urgency. “What is it about this place that you don’t like? I can have the Harrisons remodel the entire island. A massive villa with a swimming pool? A beautiful botanical garden? Just name it.” Silas had always loved the raw state of nature, detesting any form of modern technology that could corrupt the environment. Before we came to the island, his grandfather had insisted on building a sturdy concrete house for us. Silas had rejected the offer flatly. Shortly after we arrived, the rainy season hit. My clothes were perpetually damp, clinging to my skin. By the tenth day of a raging fever, I didn’t even have the strength to stand. Yet, all Silas had said back then was, “Once the shelter is built, it will be better.” Sherry let out a soft laugh. “Silas, you already have Lyra here to keep you company. Why would I stay? Besides, I get the feeling she dislikes me. I don’t think she wants me here.” Silas frowned, turning his head to glare at me with cold accusation. “You hate her?” Before I could even attempt to explain, he turned back to Sherry, his eyes fixed on her with an eager intensity. “This is my island. Don’t you know who the Harrisons are? We are the wealthiest family in the country.” He was practically desperate to display his fortune, showing off his lineage like a peacock fanning its feathers. Suddenly, it felt as though a clump of wet cotton was wedged in my throat. It had taken me ten long years of patience to understand Silas’s habits and his way of speaking. Sherry had demolished all of it in just two weeks. Over the past few days, Silas had initiated twenty-seven satellite calls to his grandfather. Every single one of them was for Sherry’s sake. Helicopters, which he usually despised for their loud engines, began arriving one after another. They brought fresh cakes, gourmet milk tea, and even luxury clothes and designer jewelry. They erected one elaborate, high-end tent after another on the beach, all reserved exclusively for her. I blinked rapidly, forcing back the tears that threatened to spill. I simply couldn’t believe Silas could fall for someone this easily. The satellite phone vibrated in my pocket. I stood up silently and walked a short distance away to answer it. It was his grandfather, Charles Harrison. Lately, he had been calling every day to ask about Silas’s condition, and I had reported everything to him honestly. Charles let out a booming laugh over the receiver. “Lyra, my boy Silas wants to keep Sherry on the island! He’s actually in love! I can’t believe how blunt he is when he tries to win a girl over!” His voice carried the same excited warmth as the time he first saw Silas kiss me. That had happened right after we finished building our very first crude shelter, which was so poorly made it leaked when it rained. Silas had been so ecstatic he spun me around three times and pressed a quick, clumsy kiss to my lips. My heart had nearly stopped beating in that moment. The old man on the line paused suddenly, realizing that I was still Silas’s fiancée. His tone quickly shifted to one of quiet comfort. “Lyra, I know Silas used to care for you deeply. He used to accompany you to the hospital every single day just to be near you. And when you two got into that car accident, he nearly lost his life trying to shield you. But love is a strange thing; it has no rhyme or reason. Maybe what he felt for you was just the affection of a sibling. If he truly loves Sherry, we should dissolve the engagement. I will compensate you, of course. I’ll officially adopt you as his sister.” I remembered when Charles had held my hand years ago, telling me how grateful he was to have me, wishing I could stay by Silas’s side forever. “Grandfather,” I said softly, “the medical expenses your family pays for my mother’s treatment are more than enough. I’ll stay for another two weeks. If… if things don’t change, I will leave the island on my own.” I was ten years old when I first met Silas. He had always rejected everyone, but for some reason, he would sit quietly in my mother’s hospital room, listening to me babble happily about school. When Charles discovered this, he immediately transferred my leukemia-stricken mother to a private wing and hired the best specialists. In exchange, I became Silas’s shadow. We ate together, studied together, and played together. He hated speaking, so I did all the talking. He couldn’t fit in with our classmates, so I constantly explained his behavior to others, shielding him from their cold, mocking stares. We had made a pact back then: if he managed to finish university, I would accompany him to a deserted island to escape the world for five years. But now, it was clear he no longer needed me. These days, he guided Sherry to every corner of the island, walking shoulder-to-shoulder with her, leaving no space for me to join them. Helicopters now flew in three times a day, delivering whatever Sherry wanted to eat, drink, or play with. They even transported two tons of purified water daily just so she could take comfortable showers. The plans for the villa, the pool, and the garden had already been laid out. Meanwhile, our small garden had been completely dug up by the workers. Those fruits and vegetables we had nurtured so carefully were tossed to the side, left to rot in the dirt. The mechanical roar of construction equipment was constant. Normally, Silas would have flown into a violent, shaking rage at such noise, requiring hours of gentle soothing from me to calm down. But now, he endured the discomfort willingly just to stay by her side, relaying her demands to the architects, revising the blueprints for the eight-hundredth time. His eyes remained filled with absolute indulgence whenever he looked at her. At night, Sherry would blast loud music that echoed across the entire island, pulling Silas to dance with her around the campfire. She would squeeze his chest, laughing. “Silas, you’re incredibly handsome. You’re in better shape than most movie stars.” With a sly smile, her fingers slid slowly down past his waistband. His throat bobbed, but he didn’t pull away. I couldn’t watch any longer and turned to leave, but the sound of a dry branch snapping under my foot betrayed my presence. Their eyes snapped toward me. Silas stiffened, while Sherry remained draped over him like a vine. I didn’t expect him to run after me, but he did, grabbing my wrist with a tight, frustrated grip. His brow was furrowed, his voice laced with irritation. “What are you doing? The island is huge. Do you have to keep stalking us?” “You put bugs in Sherry’s food, left a snake in her tent, and falsely accused her of pushing you into the sea. What are you planning to do this time?” It felt as if my heart was being squeezed by a cold hand. “I’ve explained to you a dozen times, I didn’t do any of those things,” I said, looking up to meet his eyes. “Silas, I’ve already told your grandfather. I’m leaving in two weeks.” But Silas only saw my departure as a childish tantrum. “Are you unhappy with the lifestyle here now? If you prefer the primitive way, you can keep living like that. But Sherry is a celebrity, she’s different from you. She’s used to being pampered. The fact that she’s willing to live on an isolated island is already incredible.” I opened my mouth, but the rest of my words died in my throat. I slowly pried his fingers off my wrist and forced a small, tired smile. “Silas, you’ve fallen for her.” He froze, his scowl deepening. “I haven’t. I was just dancing with her. I know you’re my fiancée. I’ll keep my promise and marry you when we turn twenty-five. Can you stop being so suffocating?” He was a man of very few words. In the past, I would say ten sentences and he would reply with one. Now, he was talking more than he ever had, yet he was accusing me of being suffocating. And all of it was because of Sherry. An overwhelming exhaustion washed over me. As I turned to walk away, Silas yanked my arm, throwing me off balance. I fell forward, a sharp rock jutting out directly in front of my face. I gasped, reaching back instinctively to grab him for support, but he let go. Sherry had tripped behind him. He lunged past me, catching her securely in his arms. I slammed hard against the sharp rock. A deep gash tore across my forehead, and warm blood began to trickle down my face. I looked up through the crimson haze, only to see him looking frantically at Sherry. “Sherry, are you hurt?” Sherry shook her head, her face pale as she looked at Silas. “Silas, I don’t want to cause any more misunderstandings between you two. Maybe I should be the one to leave.” I clutched my bleeding forehead. Silas didn’t give me so much as a passing glance, his words slipping out without hesitation. “I’ll have her leave the island so she can calm down.” My tears mixed with the blood dripping down my cheek. In that moment, I decided I wanted to leave immediately, just as he wished. After performing some basic first aid on my wound, I used the satellite phone to call Charles. The old man let out a delighted laugh. “Excellent! Excellent!” “Tell Sherry that if she gets pregnant, I will give her a hundred million dollars. If she gives birth to a boy, she can have whatever she desires. She doesn’t need to play those petty games anymore.” Charles had seen Sherry push me into the ocean through the satellite surveillance feeds. But he had never cared about who was right or wrong; he only cared about who could make Silas behave more like a normal human being. “You have no idea, Lyra. I’ve already had my staff edit a bunch of clips of them together. We’ll play them at their wedding.” His voice turned soft and coaxing. “Lyra, since things have turned out this way, why don’t you come back first? Let’s leave the island to the two young lovers.” The phrase young lovers felt like a needle driving straight into my heart. “Okay,” I whispered. “Grandfather, if that’s the case, you should tell Sherry yourself. I’ll leave the satellite phone with her.” I asked him to send a helicopter for me, then went back to the shelter to pack my belongings. When I entered, I found my only three sets of spare clothes shredded to pieces. Sherry was standing nearby, trying on a designer dress. She walked over, looking feigningly surprised. “Oh, Lyra, I’m so sorry. I just mentioned in passing that I needed some rags to wipe down the furniture. I had no idea Silas would go and shred your clothes.” “Why don’t you look through my wardrobe and see if there’s anything you like? I’ll give it to you as compensation.” I looked around the room. This was the shelter Silas and I had built with our own hands, the place where we had lived together for three years. The handmade clay plates and cups we had crafted were gone. Even the sacred fire we had kept burning continuously had been reduced to cold ashes. Now, the entire space was crammed with luxury clothing, expensive jewelry boxes, and a massive full-length mirror. Ignoring her insincere apology, I laid the satellite phone down on a trunk. “It’s all yours,” I said, turning to walk out. Sherry called out to me, looking at me with a smirk. “Lyra, to be honest, I really envied you. A penniless orphan almost becoming the mistress of the Harrison estate.” She let out a soft, mocking chuckle. “But don’t blame me for taking what’s yours. Silas was already sick of you. If you’re going to leave, do it quickly.” My face darkened as I gave her a cold warning. “I’ve already asked the Harrisons to investigate your background. You better pray you don’t have any skeletons in your closet.” A flash of panic crossed Sherry’s face. The next second, she raised her hand and slapped herself hard across the cheek, letting out a piercing shriek. “Lyra, please! I beg you, let me go!” She frantically disheveled her hair, tearing at her own collar just as Silas came rushing through the entrance, pulling her into his arms. “Silas, Lyra told me to stay away from you. She told me to leave the island immediately and stop seducing you, or else she’d throw me into the ocean to feed the sharks!” Silas’s eyes instantly turned red with rage as he glared at me with disgust. “Lyra, when did you become so malicious?” “I’m the one who insisted Sherry stay. If you’re angry, take it out on me!” “Apologize to her right now!” I looked at him, listening to the soft whimpering of the woman cradled in his chest. The suffocating weight of my grievances could no longer be contained. “I didn’t do anything.” Silas didn’t pay attention to my words, his harsh voice drowning me out. “Are you lying to me now too?” “And to think Sherry spent days helping me prepare a birthday gift for you, even going out of her way to have a mango cake delivered from across the country!” “Get out!” In just two short weeks, Silas had memorized Sherry’s favorite tea flavors and her preferred clothing brands. He knew what colors she liked and what flowers she adored, promising to plant a garden full of roses and lilies for her once the villa was completed. He, who had never cared for media, could even recite the names of her favorite directors, actors, and singers. Yet, he had completely forgotten that I was severely allergic to roses and mangoes. The wind swept over the cliffs, carrying away the tears from my eyes. I turned and walked away. Just as I reached the edge of the cliff to wait for the helicopter, Silas blocked my path once again. The anger in his eyes was palpable. “Where is Sherry’s jade pendant?” “Give it back to her.” “That was a gift from her mother for her eighteenth birthday.” Being falsely accused over and over again finally pushed me past my breaking point. I screamed at him, my voice cracking. “I didn’t touch Sherry!” “I didn’t threaten her!” “And I have never seen her stupid pendant!” I had never once lost my temper with Silas in all the years we had spent together. He froze for a moment, but my anger only seemed to provoke his own. He grabbed my wrist, yanked off my red string bracelet, and hurled it over the edge of the cliff. “Fine. If you won’t give it back, then you don’t get to keep yours either.” My breathing stopped. He knew exactly how much I treasured that bracelet. It was the only keepsake left to me by my deceased parents, something my father had traveled to a temple to obtain for my mother when I was born. After they passed away, I had worn it every single day for seven years. It was all I had left of them. The tears finally spilled over, completely out of my control. Silas’s expression softened slightly at the sight of my tears, but he still held my arm. “Now we’re even,” he said. “Go apologize to Sherry, and I’ll forgive you.” “If you don’t want to live on the island anymore, I can accompany you back to the city for a while. I’ve already promised to help Sherry win an award, but once the villa is built, we can come back together.” Seeing that I wouldn’t stop crying, he grew increasingly anxious, talking far more than usual. “What is wrong with you lately? Why won’t you speak to me?” “I’m not even holding your behavior against Sherry anymore.” “Are you crying now just so you can run to my grandfather and tell him I bullied you?” His voice grew louder, as if he were desperately trying to force everything back into order. “Sherry said you’re just jealous. I never said I wouldn’t marry you.” “You’re going to be Mrs. Harrison soon anyway. What more could you possibly want?” I raised my hand and slapped Silas hard across the face. I stared into his eyes, speaking slowly and clearly. “Silas, no one in the outside world even knows about our engagement.” “Your grandfather will help us dissolve it. I am not marrying you.” “I am leaving right now. We are done.” Silas’s expression darkened instantly. I ignored him, turning around and throwing myself over the edge of the cliff into the sea, desperate to find my red string bracelet in the vast, churning water. After my tenth dive, I dragged myself onto the shore to rest. Silas found me again, dragging my shivering, soaking-wet body back to the camp and shoving me in front of Sherry to force an apology. Sherry, her eyes red, spoke up timidly. “Silas, one of the construction workers found my pendant. I… I must have dropped it by accident earlier.” Silas’s grip on my wrist loosened. He let out a sigh of relief, gently brushing a tear from Sherry’s cheek. “I’m glad we found it.” “You’re too kind, Sherry. You don’t need to make excuses for Lyra.” He turned back to me, his tone carrying a sense of magnanimous forgiveness. “Lyra, thank Sherry.” “Thank her for being so understanding.” “Thank her for what?” I asked, my voice deadly quiet. “For framing me?” Seeing that I was completely unyielding, anger flared in Silas’s eyes once again. The roar of several incoming helicopters drew Sherry’s attention. She tugged at Silas’s sleeve. “Silas, it’s fine. Let’s go see what else you bought for me.” Silas shot me a final, warning glance, but I met his gaze with absolute indifference. I watched from a distance as Sherry squealed with delight, kissing the designer handbag Silas had purchased for her. Silas smiled indulgently, though a faint crease remained between his brows. “As long as you like it, Sherry. We’ll leave tomorrow, and I’ll buy you even more beautiful dresses for your red carpet events.” “What about Lyra?” “Leave her here. Since she loves the island so much, she can supervise the construction of our villa.”

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  • Handcuffs Between Us

    My former lover was the one who slipped the cold steel over my wrists. He stood there in his crisp police uniform, a man of absolute integrity, complete with a young, beautiful girlfriend waiting for him in the wings. At the precinct, he kept things strictly professional, his expression entirely detached. “Tell us what you did, and don’t lie.” 1 The officer who arrested me was Austin. To everyone else at the station, he was Chief Austin. He did not soften his grip in the slightest. The metal bit deep into my skin, and tears welled in my eyes from the sharp sting. “Gentle, please,” I whispered. He did not even spare me a glance, his voice completely flat. “Just standard protocol, ma’am. I’m sure you understand.” Not a single shred of our past remained in his eyes. A hollow ache settled in my chest. In the interrogation room, the detective across from me flipped through a file. “You filed a formal complaint against Victor?” I nodded. “What exactly is your relationship with him?” “He is my husband.” “Were you complicit in any of his illegal operations?” The question hung in the air. The harsh fluorescent lights flickered, reflecting off the dark lens of the recording camera. For a second, the room seemed to spin. My gaze drifted to Austin, who had remained silent in the corner of the room. His expression was a blank wall. “Just tell us what you did, Fiona,” he said calmly. “And don’t lie.” 2 The investigation eventually cleared me of all suspicion. As for that bastard Victor, the charges were staggering: tax evasion, human trafficking, and racketeering. The prosecutors estimated his minimum sentence would be life without parole. But Victor was not stupid. He caught wind of the raid and fled before they could lock the city down. In the precinct’s main office, detectives were loudly debating their next move. I sat in the corner, clutching a paper cup of lukewarm water, feeling entirely out of place. Suddenly, someone at the door shouted, “Hey, look, the Chief’s girl is here!” A few young officers swarmed around a long-haired girl entering the room. She was incredibly sweet, wearing a white floral sundress, carrying herself with a quiet, gentle grace. She blushed as she walked toward Austin, holding out a neatly packed lunchbox. So, this was his new girlfriend. A genuine smile broke through Austin’s stern face. “You came.” She kept her voice low. “Make sure you eat it while it’s still warm. I spent hours making it.” “Don’t trouble yourself next time,” Austin murmured, pinching her cheek affectionately. I lowered my head, staring at the floor. The lighthearted teasing of the officers echoed in my ears. It was too loud. 3 Her name was Lily. She was a twenty-year-old student at a prestigious university. Austin had brought her to an alumni reunion last year. At the time, an old classmate had leaned over to tell me they looked like a match made in heaven. The classmate immediately covered her mouth, looking at me with deep regret. She had probably remembered that years ago, she used to say the exact same thing about Austin and me. I had only offered a faint smile. “It’s fine. It’s in the past.” A few days later, I finally cleaned out my phone contacts. I blocked my ex-husband, his terrible friends, and his awful mother. For the first time in years, I felt like I could breathe again. I went to the local grocery store to stock up on food, but fate is a cruel thing. I ran straight into Lily. She had her hair styled in a beautiful half-up crown, looking like an angel as she waved at me. Austin was standing right beside her. My posture went rigid. Memories flooded back. Years ago, during our high school’s centennial celebration, I had returned to our old campus as an alumna. Lily, then a nervous freshman in her blue-and-white uniform, had approached me with a notebook. “Senior, could you write a few words of encouragement for my exams?” Four or five years had passed, yet she actually remembered me. After a bit of polite small talk, I could not help but ask, “That day at the celebration, did I come alone?” Lily tapped her chin, thinking. “I think your boyfriend was there. I remember a guy standing a few paces behind you, carrying your handbag. But he was too far away, and I couldn’t see his face clearly.” She looked at me with innocent curiosity. “Are you two still together?” Austin, who had been walking slightly ahead of us, suddenly stopped and looked back, raising an eyebrow. My breath caught. That look was painfully familiar. Whenever I did something mischievous back then, he would look at me with that exact half-amused, half-reproving expression. Back then, I would get flustered, find an opportunity to bite his jaw, and try to run away. He would inevitably catch me by the waist, pull me into some dark corner behind a door, and kiss me thoroughly. I snapped back to reality, forcing a stiff laugh. “No, we broke up a very long time ago.” Austin let out a quiet, mocking chuckle. I quickly looked away. Lily showed me her left hand, her face glowing with pure joy. A massive diamond ring sparkled on her finger. “Fiona, does getting married really make you age faster?” she asked. “That depends entirely on who you marry,” I said softly. “Marry the right person, and you’ll stay young forever.” Her bright eyes shone with a sweet simplicity. “Really?” “Really,” I replied. “Your guy here is a keeper. He’s built for a quiet, happy family life.” She blushed. “How can you tell?” “Because our old teachers used to say so,” I said, offering a weak cover. She caught the detail instantly. “Teachers?” Austin turned his head, his gaze burning into me. With both of them staring, I struggled to keep my voice steady. “We were classmates back in the day. He was the golden boy, so the teachers always used him as an example.” Lily gasped in delight. “No way!” I nodded, my chest tightening. Rivals in middle school, friends in high school, lovers in college. My youth was not defined by years. It was defined by Austin. 4 I tried to focus on starting over. After being worn down to the bone by Victor for years, I needed to rebuild my life, find a decent job, and learn to take care of myself again. On my next visit to the precinct to sign some paperwork, Anna, a round-faced officer, gasped when she saw me. “Fiona! You look like a completely different person. You’re stunning!” I smiled, feeling a genuine spark of energy. When I met Austin in his office, I sincerely thanked him and urged him to bring Victor to justice. Through the haze of cigarette smoke, Austin stared at me, his fingers slowly dropping to his side. His eyes were dark and incredibly complex. “You haven’t changed at all, Fiona.” His voice was laced with a bitter chill. “Still selfish, still cold. You don’t actually care about anyone.” I offered a small, polite smile. “I wish you and Lily a lifetime of happiness.” He did not reply. Beneath his long lashes, his eyes burned with a dark, suffocating intensity. I took two steps forward, lowering my voice. “What? Are you still in love with me?” He let out a sharp, mocking scoff and crushed his cigarette in the ashtray. Six months flew by. During that time, Lily reached out to me once. She asked, “Fiona, was there a girl in your class whose name started with the letter F?” I told her I could not recall. She handed me a worn, leather-bound journal. It was Austin’s diary, spanning from middle school through high school, filled with his elegant, sharp handwriting. I promised Lily I would look through it at home and let her know if I remembered anything. But I never got the chance to read it. That very night, Austin banged on my door like a furious creditor. “Give it back,” he demanded, his voice dangerously low. Lily stood a few paces behind him, shivering like a frightened bird. With nothing left to say, I quietly handed the journal over. Without a word, Austin tossed the book straight into a basin of water sitting near the door. I instinctively lunged forward to grab it, but it was already sinking. Lily whispered from behind him, “Austin, who is F?” It was not a classmate. F stood for February, my birth month. “Just childhood nonsense,” Austin said, his voice softening slightly as he spoke to her, though his eyes remained locked on me. “I was young and stupid. It was just a game.” Lily let out a shaky breath and wrapped her arms around his waist. “You scared me. I thought you had some unforgettable first love.” Austin’s lips curved into a deeply sarcastic, painful smile. I forced myself to play the mediator. “Exactly. There’s no secret. You two shouldn’t let a silly old book cause any drama.” My eyes drifted to the basin. The journal floated on the surface, completely ruined and abandoned by its owner. Tears began to sting my eyes. I turned my back to them, pretending to adjust something on the counter as I wiped my face. “We all have to move on eventually. You two deserve to be happy.” 5 I ended up taking the diary apart, page by page, trying to salvage it. There were over a thousand pages. My small balcony could only hold a few dozen sheets at a time, making it a tedious, foolish project. Yet, I worked on it day and night. The exhaustion must have triggered something, because that night, I dreamed of Austin. It was the night of my twenty-fifth birthday. I had looked him in the eye and said, “Austin, I’m bored. I’m done playing this game with you.” He thought I was joking, his voice incredibly tender. “Sweetheart, stop teasing.” I had smiled, cold and detached. “Do you honestly think I’m going to spend the rest of my life with a low-paid beat cop? I want a real life. I’ve been playing with you all these years because you’re handsome and built well, but the game is over. I found someone better.” “Fiona…” He looked lost, reaching out to pull me into his arms. I shoved him back with all my strength. “You know Victor, the head of our firm? He has money, power, and influence. You can’t even begin to compete with him.” He stared at me, frozen, as the evening shadows slowly swallowed his face. The dream shifted. It was the night before my wedding. Austin was there, dressed in a flawless designer suit, sipping champagne and laughing with Victor. It was only then that I recalled a passing comment from an old classmate. Austin’s family was incredibly wealthy and influential; police work was merely his passion, a choice he made out of love for the job. A heavy, suffocating cold settled in my chest. At the reception, Austin’s icy gaze swept over me. “Victor, your bride doesn’t seem very happy today.” I forced myself to smile, leaning heavily against Victor’s arm. “Detective Austin is young and highly accomplished. I’m sure he will have a bright future.” During a break in the banquet, Austin cornered me outside the restrooms. His hands were shaking, his voice cracking with desperation. “Fiona, tell me you regret this. Just say the word, and I’ll take you away from here. Just tell me the truth, please.” He lowered himself, practically begging. “Just come back to me, Fiona.” I placed a hand over my slightly rounded stomach. “It’s too late.” Across the hall, Victor stood watching us, smiling like a predator playing with a captured pet. I closed my eyes and surrendered to the dark. A sudden, violent crack of thunder shattered the dream. I bolted upright in bed, gasping for air. My phone was vibrating violently on the nightstand. It was Lily. Her voice was choked with hysterical tears. “Fiona, Austin got into a horrible accident. I’m so scared. Can you please come to the hospital?” I froze. In an instant, the blood in my veins turned to absolute ice.

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  • If The Clock Could Rewind

    1 Midnight in the university alumni group chat, someone suddenly posed a popular question: “If you could turn back the clock, which year would you go back to?” Tristan, the golden boy of our department who had vanished from the face of the earth five years ago, suddenly popped up: “Our junior year, during that freezing winter.” A few seconds later, another message followed: “And back to Eleanor Sinclair’s side.” The group chat exploded instantly. Back at Amberley University, they had been the golden couple everyone whispered about: the untouchable, ethereal beauty and the dazzling star athlete. Their love had been wild, passionate, and loud. Unfortunately, it had ended in heartbreak when he moved abroad. To this day, everyone in that chat was absolutely certain Eleanor still loved him. Myself included. I turned my head to look at Eleanor, who was fast asleep beside me. The once unattainable goddess of our campus was now my wife. She was quiet, attentive, perfect in every duty of marriage, and she did not love me. In my past life, I had slowly drowned in depression trying to warm this frozen stone of a woman, dying with the bitter belief that her heart belonged entirely to Tristan. Having been given a second chance at life, I decided I was done playing the fool. I quietly slipped out of bed, placed the signed divorce papers on the nightstand, and rolled my suitcase toward the bedroom door. Suddenly, a pair of burning-hot hands wrapped around my waist from behind. She held me with a desperate, crushing strength. Her tears scalded my collarbone, and her voice was a terrifying, ragged whisper. “Baby, where are you going? Why are you divorcing me?” “Please, don’t leave me, okay?” “Eleanor, are you having a nightmare?” I asked softly. Eleanor’s voice changed instantly, as if someone had flipped a switch. The raw, ragged desperation vanished, replaced immediately by her usual frigid composure. Her grip on my waist loosened, her hands retreating as if she had touched a hot stove. I turned around to see her back facing me, her shoulder blades tense and rigid. The warm glow of the bedside lamp caught the side of her face. She quickly swiped the back of her hand across her cheek, erasing any trace of wetness. “It was just sleep paralysis. I wasn’t fully awake.” “I’m sorry for disturbing you.” She leaned down to pick up the divorce papers she had crumpled in her grip. Flattening the creases with slow, deliberate care, she spoke in her usual business-like tone. She folded the paper once, then twice, then three times, before tossing it with perfect precision into the wastebasket by the bed. The movement was clean and cold, as if she were throwing away a used tissue rather than our marriage. “The Sinclair family cannot afford this kind of public embarrassment.” “And we do not have a history of divorce.” “If you’re feeling restless, go out and spend some money tomorrow.” Leaving me with those flat, empty words, she turned and walked into the bathroom. The lock clicked shut. Soon, the sound of rushing water filled the room. I stood there in the dark, the spot on my collarbone where her tears had fallen now completely cold. She had been exactly like this in our past life. Occasionally, she would lose control in the dead of night, only to act as if nothing had happened the next morning, masking everything under an impenetrable layer of dignity and poise. For five years, I had stupidly let myself be moved by those rare moments of midnight vulnerability. My phone screen lit up in the darkness. There was a new message in the alumni chat. I swiped it open. Tristan had posted a photo: a yellowed, worn movie ticket stub from a classic romance film that had played during our junior year. He had captioned it: “Some memories remain warm, even after five freezing winters.” The replies rolled in immediately. “You still kept that, Tristan? My heart breaks for you.” “Some people are just impossible to forget.” “@Tristan, you deserve so much better.” I exited the chat, leaning down to gather my coat from the floor. As I did, my hand brushed against the academic journal Eleanor always kept on her nightstand. I knocked it slightly out of place, and something slipped out from the pages, landing softly on the carpet. I picked it up. It was a custom leather bookmark with gilded edges. It shared the exact same design, the exact same font, and the exact same layout as the movie ticket stub Tristan had just posted. They were a matching set. The shower stopped. The bathroom door opened. Eleanor walked out, wrapping her robe tighter around herself. Seeing me kneeling on the floor with the bookmark in my hand, she paused for a fraction of a second. “It was a promotional gift from the publisher,” she said, her voice as flat as if she were explaining a shipping invoice. I nodded, slipped the bookmark back into the journal, and stood up. No demands for explanations. No accusations. I didn’t even look at her a second time. I grabbed my duffel bag and began packing my toiletries: my toothbrush, my face wash, and the bottle of lotion that was nearly empty. “What are you doing?” she asked. “Going to my parents’ place.” “At three in the morning?” “Yes.” She fell silent for a few seconds. “Leave the bag. I’ll have the driver take you.” “No need.” I pushed open the bedroom door and walked down to the foyer. The butler was already waiting there, holding a black umbrella and a heavy camel hair coat. “Sir,” he said politely, “Madame instructed me to ensure you don’t catch a cold. It would harm the public image of the Sinclair family’s marital harmony.” I looked at the coat. In my past life, she had done this too. She would never chase after me, and she would never offer an explanation. But she would always make sure someone handed me an umbrella, a coat, or a cup of warm water at just the right temperature. It was a cruel trick that made you feel cared for, while simultaneously making you realize that the care had absolutely nothing to do with you as a person. She only cared about protecting the pristine title of “her husband.” I walked past the butler, opened the heavy front door, and let the biting winter wind hit my face. My phone vibrated again. It was a friend request on WeChat. The avatar was a silhouette of Tristan’s profile. The invitation message read: “It’s been five years. I just wanted to ask how she’s doing. Please don’t take it the wrong way, okay?” I stared at the words for three seconds. Then, I tapped accept. Tristan chose a quiet coffee shop tucked away in an alley near our old campus. He was sitting by the window wearing a cream knit sweater, his hair casually styled, looking noticeably thinner than he had in college. “Long time no see,” he said, rising to offer me a warm, gentle hug. He smelled faintly of cedarwood. I sat down, declining to order anything. “To be honest, I hesitated for a long time before reaching out to you,” Tristan said, keeping his eyes down as he stirred his latte, the spoon clinking softly against the ceramic. He pulled a yellowed document from his bag and slid it across the table. It was a photocopy of an old visa application from five years ago. “Eleanor kept this safe for me all this time,” he said, his voice cracking slightly with emotion. “I left in such a hurry back then, I didn’t have time to gather my things. I’ve wanted to get it back for years, but I was so afraid of disrupting your lives.” I glanced at the photocopy. Eleanor’s name was nowhere on it. “She kept a photocopy of your visa,” I said flatly. “And?” “Nothing, I just…” Tristan shook his head quickly, his eyes instantly brimming with tears. “I just thought you should hear this.” He pulled out his phone, tapped the screen, and played an audio clip. The quality was poor, sounding as if it had been recorded through a heavy door. Eleanor’s voice came through, sounding exhausted. “Don’t push him. I’ll handle whatever consequences come of this.” And then it cut off. There was no context, no hint of who she was speaking to or who she was talking about. Tristan paused the recording, looking up at me with wet, pleading eyes. “I ran into some trouble when I was abroad, and she… she helped me so much. I didn’t mean to come between you, I just…” I picked up the untouched glass of ice water in front of me and slowly poured it into the potted fern sitting on our table. A few drops splashed onto the sleeve of his white sweater. “Tristan,” I said, standing up. “Cut the tragic hero act.” “If you have something to say, say it. Stop playing these pathetic games.” “If you want Eleanor, you should be talking to her, not me.” He froze, his lips parting in shock. Without waiting for a response, I grabbed my bag and walked out. The moment I pushed through the glass door of the cafe, a sleek black luxury sedan pulled up smoothly to the curb. A bodyguard in a tailored suit stepped out, holding an umbrella. He bypassed me completely, walking straight up to Tristan and bowing slightly. “Mr. Tristan, Madame requests your presence in the car.” I looked back. The transition on Tristan’s face from utter shock to pure triumph took less than half a second. He scrambled to gather his things and practically ran to follow the guard. The rear window of the luxury sedan remained rolled up. The heavy tint made it impossible to see inside. But I knew Eleanor was sitting in the back seat. The car glided away. I stood there on the pavement as a cold, biting rain began to fall, soaking through my clothes. By seven that evening, the alumni group chat had descended into absolute chaos. One of Tristan’s friends had posted a blurry, secretly taken photo of Tristan leaning in to enter the luxury sedan. The license plate was fully visible. Tristan replied almost instantly: “Guys, please don’t share this. Her husband will be heartbroken if he sees it. I only wanted to see her from a distance.” The chat went wild. “Tristan, stop hurting yourself for her.” “Honestly, some people are just taking up a spot they don’t deserve. It’s frustrating to watch.” “@Tristan, you deserve to be cherished.” I typed out a reply. My finger hovered over the send button for three seconds before I deleted every single word. Then, someone else chimed in: “Please, just leave Tristan alone. He only recently recovered from severe depression. Don’t trigger him.” The screen kept scrolling with endless vitriol. “Some people really love bullying the gentle ones.” “Tristan only went abroad back then to let them be happy together.” I closed the app. I popped open my phone’s SIM tray, pulled out the card, snapped it clean in half, and dropped it into a trash can by the street. Then, I walked into a print shop, printed out a fresh copy of the divorce agreement, signed my name, and booked a same-day courier. The destination: Eleanor’s private estate. Less than twenty minutes after the delivery was marked as signed, my phone rang. It was the bank. “Mr. Sinclair, this is your private account manager. We regret to inform you that all secondary cards under your account have been suspended by the primary cardholder. If you have any questions, please contact…” I hung up. I opened my wallet. Inside were three fifty-dollar bills and a few stray coins. This was all the money I had in the world. I hadn’t worked a single day since we got married. Eleanor had always told me, “You don’t need to work. We have everything you could ever want.” In my past life, I had believed her. I had believed her for five years, until I ended up having to ask her assistant for household funds just to buy a box of stomach medicine. I dragged my suitcase through the cold streets for hours before finding a run-down motel on the west side of the city. The front desk clerk quoted me eighty dollars a night, no breakfast included. I paid for two nights, leaving myself with seventy dollars. My room was on the third floor, with a window that faced a blank concrete wall. The building’s heating hadn’t been turned on yet, and the sheets felt damp and freezing to the touch. Just as I set my suitcase down, there was a knock at the door. A motel employee stood there holding an elegantly wrapped thermal delivery box, wearing a smile that was entirely too bright. “Hello, sir! This is part of our motel’s new VIP welcome program. It’s a complimentary bowl of stomach-soothing porridge. Congratulations on winning!” I glanced at the gold-embossed logo on the box. The Golden Crane. It was an exclusive, reservation-only restaurant on the east side of the city that required a three-week waiting list. Inside was sugar-free date and longan porridge. Eleanor absolutely loathed porridge. But Tristan loved it. I had no desire to unravel the mystery of why this was showing up at my door. “No, thank you. I don’t want it.” “But sir, it’s completely free—” I shut the door in his face. The employee left the box on the floor outside. I opened the door again, picked it up, and tossed it into the trash chute down the hall. My stomach had been burning since the afternoon. I had left the house in such a rush that morning that I’d only had half a glass of cold water all day. I sat on the edge of the mattress, curling inward to wait out the sharp, twisting pain. It didn’t stop. It only grew worse, feeling as though a cold hand was slowly wringing my organs. I grabbed my keycard and went downstairs, walking to the convenience store at the corner. The pain relievers were on the bottom shelf. Just as I reached for them, someone rounded the corner of the aisle so fast they nearly ran me over. It was Penny, Eleanor’s personal assistant. She was dripping with sweat, panting heavily as if she had just sprinted across several blocks, clutching a prescription box of stomach medication in her hand. “Mr. Sinclair,” she stammered, trying desperately to sound casual. “What a coincidence! I was just passing by. This medicine is incredibly effective for stomach pain. I use it all the time, so I thought I’d just buy some for…” “Penny,” I said quietly. She stopped talking. I looked at the box in her hand. It was an imported, high-strength prescription drug specifically for stress-induced gastritis. There was absolutely no way a common convenience store carried it. “Did she send you?” Penny’s eyes darted away, her lips trembling. I reached out and knocked the box clean out of her hand. The plastic packaging hit the linoleum floor with a sharp crack, the pills spilling out and rolling under the shelves. “Go back and tell her,” I said, “to keep her cheap pity to herself. If she actually cares, she can start by signing the papers.” Penny scrambled onto her knees to gather the loose pills, her hands shaking so badly she could barely pick them up. Only when I had paid for my items and turned to leave did she catch up to me, pressing a heavy, gold-foiled invitation into my hands. “Mr. Sinclair, Madame insisted I deliver this to you personally.” “Tomorrow is the university’s centennial gala. Madame said that for the sake of the company’s stock stability, you must attend as her husband.” I took the invitation. The cover was stamped with the Amberley University crest and a small line of print: Reserved VIP Seating — Mrs. Eleanor Sinclair and Partner. My stomach flared with another wave of sharp pain. The alumni chat had been muted on my end, but the whispers still found a way to reach me. Tristan had posted a new set of photos. Standing in front of a dressing room mirror, he was wearing a tailored midnight-blue suit, looking back over his shoulder with a sharp, elegant jawline. The caption read: “Even if I’m only a supporting actor tonight, I want to look my best for an old friend.” Apparently, the comment section was filled with praise and broken hearts. I chose a fitted black velvet shirt from my bag. It was the most daring piece in my wardrobe, tailored perfectly to hug my waist. In my past life, I had never dared to wear anything like this. Eleanor had once told me, “You’re too thin. Fitted clothes make you look fragile and unstable.” Tonight, I didn’t care. The gala was held in the university’s historic Grand Hall. The crystal chandeliers were blindingly bright, casting a warm glow over the sea of expensive dresses and sharp suits. I walked in alone. Eyes fell on me from every corner of the room, carrying a mix of cold calculation, muffled snickers, and blatant amusement. I hadn’t walked ten paces before Tristan stepped out from the crowd. Flanked by a group of seven or eight loyal followers, he paused when he saw me, then slowly walked over. “Oliver,” he said, his voice so soft and delicate it sounded as if he were trying not to scare a wild animal. “I’m so sorry. If my being here makes things awkward for you… I can leave right now. Really.” He lowered his head slightly as he spoke, pulling his shoulders inward to look as small and yielding as possible. The surrounding crowd instantly looked at him with profound pity—and shot me looks of pure disgust. I ignored him, reaching out to take a glass of champagne from a passing waiter’s tray. Just then, a wave of hushed murmurs swept through the entrance. Eleanor walked in, surrounded by several members of the university’s board of directors. She was wearing a charcoal-grey power suit, her gold cufflinks catching the light. Her eyes swept across the room. They lingered briefly on Tristan, then on the crowd surrounding him, and finally on me. Without a single change in her expression, she averted her gaze and walked straight toward the VIP stage. It was the look she would give a total stranger. One of the women standing next to Tristan suddenly spoke up, her voice sharp and loud enough to carry. “Oh, look, the house husband is here. All by himself? Did Eleanor leave you behind?” It was Gemma, a woman who had been notoriously obsessed with Tristan since our college days. I didn’t answer. Taking my silence as permission, she stepped closer with her wine glass in hand. As she tried to brush past me, her elbow suddenly lunged sideways. She didn’t hit me. Instead, she slammed hard into the glass champagne tower beside us. With a deafening crash, the delicate glass shattered, cascading down in a violent wave of alcohol. The freezing champagne drenched me from head to toe. My black velvet shirt was instantly soaked, clinging heavily to my skin. The hall fell dead silent for a second, followed by a wave of poorly suppressed laughter. “Oh my gosh, I am so, so sorry!” Gemma cried out with theatrical horror, though the corners of her mouth were twitching with amusement. More people began to crowd around us. “Weren’t you the one who forced Tristan to go abroad five years ago?” “He spent five miserable years alone in a foreign country because of you. Doesn’t your conscience bother you at all?” “Say something! Apologize to him in front of everyone! Get on your knees and apologize!” Tristan stood just outside the circle, his hands covering his mouth, looking entirely innocent, as if he had no idea how things had escalated to this point. I took a step back, my spine hitting a cold marble pillar. Champagne was dripping from my hem, pooling inside my shoes. The lights above felt entirely too bright. I reached slowly into my small leather clutch and pulled out a small, grey device. It was an old voice recorder, its edges worn white from years of handling. In my past life, I had never found the courage to use it. But in this life, it was more than enough. I looked up, staring past the angry, mocking faces in front of me, and locked eyes with Eleanor, who was still being toasted by the board members in the distance. She set her glass down, apparently noticing the commotion, and turned her head. Our eyes met. I turned around, took the audio cable dangling from the standing microphone next to the pillar, and plugged it directly into the recorder. “Do you all really think Tristan chose to sacrifice himself and that I was the one who forced him out? Well, you might want to listen closely to what actually happened.”

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  • I Picked Up a Zombie

    1 During the peak of my shameless physical desires, I picked up a pet zombie to play with. He could not speak. Whenever I teased him too much, a single drop of my blood was enough to placate him. But today, right after I messed up his soft curls, a glowing chat box popped up in front of my eyes. Oh my god. I’ve seen people raise cats and dogs, but this is my first time seeing someone keep a Zombie King as a house pet! The Zombie King has been enduring this cannon fodder’s abuse for a year just to map out the Haven’s defense systems! This dumb girl is going to end up as humanity’s biggest traitor. Just wait till she gets thrown to the horde and ripped to shreds! My hand froze right as I was strapping the silver muzzle onto my little zombie. Sensing my hesitation, he lunged, shaking off the loose strap. His sharp fangs bared, sinking deep into my wrist. I hissed, a sharp breath catching in my throat. The little zombie froze. He looked stunned, as if he had not expected his sneak attack to actually land. His milky-blue eyes widened in sheer confusion. Then, slowly, his cold tongue darted out, gently licking the bead of blood welling on my skin. I pulled my hand back and snapped the muzzle shut. The silver metal locked around his jaw. He thrashed in frustration, but it was useless. Seven days ago, before heading out on a raid, I had injected him with a heavy-duty sedative designed specifically for infected. It should have kept him out cold on my bed the entire time. But during a quiet moment on the field, I had pulled up the feed of the hidden camera I recently installed in my bedroom. I wanted to admire his sleeping face, but instead, I saw him sitting up, casually unclasping the muzzle himself. “Captain, move! The horde is closing in!” My squad’s shout had cut my feed short. I shut off my phone and leaped back into the armored vehicle. When I finally got home, new muzzle in hand, I braced myself for an ambush. But when I unlocked the door, he was lying there, completely still, muzzle perfectly secure. It was as if the security footage had been a hallucination. Still, I woke him up and strapped the tighter, upgraded model onto him. I washed the fresh bite on my wrist and jabbed an antiseptic serum into my arm. When I walked back into the bedroom, the little zombie was sitting on the edge of the mattress, knees pulled to his chest, burying his face in his arms. Only his messy curls were visible. I ruffled his soft hair. He looked up, his damp eyes filled with a pitiful, soft gaze. It was incredibly endearing. I pinched his cheek and leaned down, pressing a light kiss to the center of his forehead. “You bit me today. No dinner for you.” He responded with a low, menacing growl, but it sounded more like a pout than a threat. 2 Honestly, believing my little zombie is some legendary Zombie King is like believing I am the ruler of the empire. When the outbreak hit three years ago, a fraction of humanity gained supernatural abilities. I was one of the heavy hitters. Because of my raw power, countless opportunists tried to crawl into my bed just to secure my protection. Even the self-proclaimed strongest commander of the Haven once reached out a hand to me, saying, “You are the only woman fit to stand by my side.” That line made me so nauseous I could not sleep. So, I snuck into his quarters at midnight and castrated him with a combat knife. I fled the Haven that very night. On my way out, I ran into a ragged little zombie trying to ambush me at an abandoned gas station. I was going to decapitate him on the spot, but before he could even reach me, he tripped over his own feet and faceplanted. “Dumbass,” I muttered, sheathing my dagger. But as I turned to leave, he scrambled up and chased after me. That was when I got a proper look at his face. I froze. I actually looked around to see if someone was pulling a prank. There was no way a creature of the apocalypse could look so perfectly tailored to my exact aesthetic tastes. I pulled a spare muzzle out of my pack and strapped it onto him. “An idiot zombie like you is never going to successfully bite anyone. Other monsters will probably eat you alive.” “Growl!” “Want to come with me instead?” He lunged, but I caught his wrists and immediately started trimming his dangerously long claws. Traveling with a brain-dead pet had its challenges. Eventually, when the Haven practically begged me to return, even forcing that castrated commander to offer a formal apology, I decided to go back. It felt great knowing he despised me but could not touch me. “You guys don’t mind if I bring a pet, right?” I stepped aside, revealing my little zombie. “He is very sweet.” The Haven ran him through a dozen scanners before finally letting him in. And now, these random glowing comments were telling me this adorable idiot is the Zombie King? 3 He had barely tasted a drop of blood all day. By midnight, the sound of his furious teeth-grinding was driving me insane. I snapped my eyes open, irritated. The Zombie King is insanely brutal to himself. He literally shattered his own core just to bypass the Haven’s scanners. With a broken core, his memory and IQ plummeted. This girl got incredibly lucky. If he had his full faculties, she would be history. It’s fine. His core is healing. The moment he fully recovers, she’s dead meat. A Zombie King, huh? I reached over and clicked on the dim bedside lamp. He was curled up at the corner of the mattress, still grinding his teeth. But then I noticed he had somehow stolen one of my sweaters and buried his entire face in the fabric. “Stealing from me?” I yanked the sweater away. Nico stared at me, his eyes wide. Sensing my movement, he grabbed my arm and lunged to bite, only for his teeth to clank harmlessly against the silver metal of the muzzle. His loose pajamas had slid down, exposing a sliver of his pale waist. I pressed my hand against his bare skin. He froze instantly. Under the faint yellow light, his cheeks seemed to flush, though I did not pay it much mind. I flipped over, pinning his hips down with my knees. “If you are going to keep me awake, then you don’t get to sleep either.” Though he had a remarkably innocent face, Nico stood at a solid six-foot-two. Beneath his clothes, he was built like a lean, powerful athlete. Just as I was about to indulge in my late-night snack, the chat exploded. Here it comes! His memories aren’t fully back, but his intellect is. He’s not going to let this low-tier villainess touch him anymore! Imagine waking up to see your annoying captor riding you. He’s going to tear her apart. Oh, he won’t kill her yet. He’s going to sabotage the Haven and frame her first, making her a pariah before letting the horde rip her to shreds. My brow furrowed. I could enjoy this meal anytime, but I had no interest in a death row feast. Just as I went to slide off him, a cold, heavy hand clamped around my waist, pinning me firmly against him.

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  • My Bursting Fireworks Meet No Gaze Of Admiration

    1 The night before Gideon planned to propose, my mother was diagnosed with cancer. After scraping together every dollar I had, I was still twenty thousand short for her surgery. Crying, I called Gideon, but the voice that answered sounded like him three years ahead. “Mom got better, didn’t she?” I sobbed. “You’ll save her, right?” Silence. Then his tone turned ice-cold. “She died. When you asked for money, I refused. Instead, I bought your best friend a thirty-thousand-dollar necklace.” I gripped the phone, my fingers shaking so hard the diagnosis papers crumpled. He laughed, dry and mocking. “Your best friend came onto me ages ago. I held back for you. But I never thought you’d beg for twenty grand like some gold-digger.” The next evening, Gideon knelt before me, ring in hand, ready to propose. His future self’s final words rang in my ears. “Tomorrow night, I sleep with your best friend for the first time. You could skip the money, but without my help, your mother dies sooner. Your move.” … “Will you marry me?” he asked softly. The moment the words left his mouth, both of our phones vibrated simultaneously. Mine was a text from the hospital, demanding the outstanding balance. His was a barrage of incoming WhatsApp notifications, chiming endlessly in the quiet air. “Who is texting you? Let me see.” Catching the sudden flash of guilt in his eyes, I lunged forward with red eyes, trying to snatch his phone to see the truth for myself. He scrambled backward to shield the device, but the movement was too slow. I had already caught a glimpse of the text on the screen. It was from Becca, my childhood best friend. [I know you’re proposing to her tonight. Just give me this one night, okay?] Dazed, I lost my balance and fell heavily onto the gravel path. The sharp stones sliced into my palms, and fresh blood immediately welled from the cuts. Right at that moment, the elaborate fireworks Gideon had prepared for my proposal exploded in the night sky behind him. The brilliant, colorful lights painted the dark heavens, resembling a grand, mocking joke. I let out a bitter laugh, reaching up to rip the delicate white veil from my hair. The blood pooling in my palms stained the pristine white tulle, spreading like crimson winter blossoms across snow. My tears fell drop by drop, blurring the face of the man I had loved for five years. “Never mind, Gideon,” I whispered, my voice raw and broken. “I won’t marry you.” With that, I forced myself up, turned around, and ran in the opposite direction. He instinctively took a step to chase after me, but the ringing of his phone pulled him back. Behind me, Gideon’s voice drifted through the freezing wind. He didn’t sound particularly disappointed. Instead, his tone carried an unsettling sense of relief. “Yeah, I was proposing, but she said no.” “Alright, stop crying. I’m coming to see you right now.” At the hospital, I stood behind the cold glass of the ICU, staring at my mother’s frail, pain-riddled body. Illness strikes like a landslide. No one had expected her sudden collapse last night to result in a terminal diagnosis. “Miss Vance, the deposit you made won’t cover the next round of chemotherapy,” the nurse said gently. “Please make a payment at the main desk on the first floor.” I clutched the hem of my shirt, pulling out my phone to check my banking app. My total balance was exactly $4,053.62. It was not even a fraction of the twenty thousand dollars needed for her long-term treatment. Under normal circumstances, my savings would have been more than enough. But half a month ago, Becca had borrowed every single dollar of my hard-earned savings under the pretense of starting a boutique business. She had held my hands, weeping tears of desperation. “Hazel, I don’t have a wealthy boyfriend like you do. If even you won’t help me, my parents will force me to marry that old businessman they picked out!” Without a second thought, I had transferred the money to her, not even asking for a promissory note. I never imagined that along with my savings, she would also steal the man I was supposed to marry. I took a deep breath, dialing Becca’s number. The moment I opened my mouth to ask for my money back, a familiar voice drifted through the receiver. “I’m out of the shower. Who’s calling?” “Just a wrong number…” Becca cut herself off, and then, as if realizing something, she let out a soft, deliberate giggle. Her voice rose, dripping with mock innocence. “Gideon, do you think Hazel rejected your proposal because you didn’t offer her a big enough dowry?” “She did tell me once that as long as the price is right, she doesn’t care who she marries!” I had never said anything of the sort. But Gideon remained silent on the other end. He didn’t defend me, nor did he dispute her words. Soon, the unmistakable, wet sounds of intimacy echoed through the speaker. This was exactly what his future self had warned me about, their first night together. The call ended with a sharp click. I tried calling back in a frenzy of desperation, but the line remained dead. I collapsed onto the cold hospital floor, my sobs escaping through my tightly clenched fingers. As my emotions completely ruptured, a violent wave of nausea hit my stomach. Clutching a nearby trash can, I threw up until my throat burned. 2 For the first twenty-five years of my life, my world revolved around only three people: my mother, Becca, and Gideon. I never imagined that in a single night, I would lose all three of them. I, who had never begged anyone for anything, spent the next few hours calling every relative and acquaintance I knew. The responses fell into three categories: they had no money, it was inconvenient, or they sent a token few dollars to appease me. To raise the funds, I took on three different part-time jobs, doing whatever paid the fastest. Aside from sleeping and sitting by my mother’s bedside, I didn’t allow myself a single breath of rest. During this time, Gideon sent me a single text: [Don’t regret this.] He would probably go to his grave never understanding why I had suddenly transformed into a stranger. Just as I would never understand how five years of shared love could be dismantled so effortlessly by another woman’s whispers. In contrast, his future self was far more talkative, sending me sporadic messages. “You don’t need to push yourself this hard.” “Even if you work yourself to death, you can’t change her outcome. What’s the point?” When I received that text, I was standing under a blazing hundred-degree sun, handing out flyers for five dollars an hour. I didn’t have a single drop of energy left to reply. That evening, a coworker from my part-time shift asked if I could cover her night shift at a high-end lounge. “The clients there are incredibly wealthy. The tips from a single table are more than what we make in a month!” “If my daughter wasn’t sick, I would never give up this shift!” I accepted without hesitation. But when I pushed open the heavy mahogany doors of the VIP suite, my eyes locked directly with Gideon’s through the hazy, dim lighting. Sitting curled against his side, her face glowing with triumph, was Becca. One of Gideon’s friends sneered, eyeing my uniform with absolute disdain. “Well, look at that, Gideon. Isn’t that your gold-digging ex-girlfriend who refused your proposal because the price wasn’t right?” “Working as a maid in a place like this? What, looking for another rich guy to parasite off of?” The room erupted into cruel laughter, with Becca’s giggles ringing the loudest. Now that she had successfully taken my place, she had no intention of playing the sweet friend anymore. Clinging to Gideon’s arm, her smugness was unbearable. “Gideon, Hazel has been desperately short of cash lately. She’s asked almost all of our mutual friends for loans.” “Should we help her out a little?” Gideon’s eyes remained dark and unreadable. After a long pause, a cold smile played on his lips. “Sure.” He tapped his leather shoe against the glass table, pointing at a line of high-end, high-proof liquor bottles. “Ten thousand dollars a bottle. Will you drink?” He knew about my severe alcohol allergy. He was doing this to humiliate me. But to his surprise, under the mocking stares of the entire room, I didn’t hesitate. I reached out, grabbed a bottle of whiskey, tilted my head, and began to gulp it down. The burning liquid scorched my throat, and my stomach immediately twisted in agony. I dug my nails deep into my palms, forcing myself to suppress the urge to vomit. By the time Gideon realized what was happening and snatched the bottle away, I had already drained more than half of it. “Hazel, are you out of your mind?!” he roared. “What is wrong with you? Why do you need money this badly?!” Under the influence of the alcohol, my eyes stung with tears. I wanted to tell him how exhausted I was, how terrified I was of losing my mother. But his future self had already shown me the truth: even if I told this version of Gideon, the outcome would be exactly the same. I wiped the stray liquor from my chin, holding up my phone’s payment QR code with a blank face. “What I drank was worth twelve thousand dollars, right?” He swore under his breath, authorized the transfer, and pointed at the door, telling me to get out. The moment I stepped out of the suite, my legs gave out, and I sank to the floor, leaning against the cold wall. Staring at the notification of the transferred funds on my screen, a weak laugh escaped my lips. Laughter turned to tears, which flowed freely down my face. With this money, combined with what I had saved and borrowed, my mother’s next treatments were secured. But right then, a frantic call from the hospital shattered my fleeting relief. “Miss Vance, your mother’s condition has suddenly deteriorated!” “Please get to the hospital immediately!” 3 I lost count of how many times I tripped and fell on the dark streets. By the time I reached the hospital, my knees were bleeding, and I had lost one of my shoes. But I was still too late. I didn’t get to say goodbye. The doctor simply handed me a cold slip of paper, her death certificate. I wrapped my arms around my mother’s cooling body, weeping until my voice cracked. “Mom… please don’t leave me alone!” “Take me with you. Please, I’m begging you…” Even the nurses, who were used to the tragedy of the ICU, looked away with red eyes. “Miss Vance, please accept our condolences,” one nurse whispered, handing me a tissue to dry my tears. In our family, there was an old superstition that a relative’s tears must never fall on the face of the deceased. If they did, the departed soul would be unable to find peace, or they might carry their most cherished person with them to the grave. I wished with all my heart that the superstition was true. My mother was my only family, the only anchor I had in this world. Now that she was gone, what was the point of my existence? My phone rang. It was future Gideon. “Hazel, your mother…” “Why? Gideon, tell me why!” I screamed into the receiver, letting out every ounce of grief and agony I had bottled up. “Why is it that no matter what I do, I can’t save my mother?!” “Why is it that when I did absolutely nothing wrong, you and Becca chose to destroy me?!” “Why did the man I loved for five years end up in bed with my best friend?!” “Tell me why! Explain it to me!” An absolute, crushing silence met my screams. Through the static of the line, I thought I heard the sound of a quiet sob. Finally, he let out a ragged breath. “I’m sorry.” The rage drained out of me, leaving me completely hollow. I slid down the wall, curling onto the floor. I had one final question for him. “Gideon… do you regret it now?” The future version of him didn’t answer. Instead, he spoke a single, strange sentence. “Hazel, don’t look out the window.” But his warning came too late. The moment the words left his mouth, a brilliant burst of fireworks lit up the night sky outside the window. One after another, the colorful lights shattered the darkness, turning the night into day. Two young nurses passed by, their voices filled with envy. “Young Mr. Gideon ordered those for his new girlfriend! They’re going to keep going all night!” “I’m so jealous. I heard his ex-girlfriend of five years rejected his proposal because she wanted more money. What a gold-digger!” Ah, I had forgotten. Today was Becca’s birthday. On social media, Becca had posted a picture of herself snuggled in Gideon’s arms, surrounded by a mountain of luxury gifts. [I want money, love, and everything in between, and he hands it to me with a smile, calling me adorable.] I stared at the screen, a tired smile touching my lips. I liked the post, and then I blocked her account. A second later, my phone rang. It was Gideon. “Hazel, do you have any idea that today is Becca’s birthday?! Why did you block her?!” “She’s crying her eyes out because of you! Call her and apologize right now!” I opened my mouth to speak, but a sudden, sharp pain flared in my lower abdomen. A warm rush of blood trickled down my legs. My vision went black, and I collapsed onto the floor. When I woke up, a doctor was standing by my bed with a gentle smile. “Congratulations, you are two months pregnant.” “But your body is severely malnourished, and your stress levels are far too high. You are experiencing a threatened miscarriage.” I stared at the medical report, reading the words over and over. Finally, I dialed the future number. “We… had a child, didn’t we?” The line fell silent again, but this time, I could hear his choked-up weeping clearly. “I’m sorry, Hazel…” In the end, even that child hadn’t survived. His voice carried a desperate, breaking plea. “Abort the pregnancy now, Hazel. Don’t let the baby suffer…” “I’m begging you, please.” 4 After hanging up the phone, I gently placed my hand over my flat stomach. Even if he hadn’t said it, I had no intention of keeping this child. “I’m so sorry, little one.” “In our next life, please find your way back to me, okay?” “I promise I won’t make you wait long.” If the baby’s destiny was already written, if my efforts could change nothing, then it was better to end it before the suffering began. At least now, before the baby was fully formed, they wouldn’t have to experience the pain of this world. Half an hour later, I was lying on the cold operating table. The freezing anesthetic entered my veins, but even as my consciousness began to slip, I could still feel the cold instruments scraping inside my body. Cold sweat soaked my hair and back. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the agony in my heart. After the procedure, dragging my aching, hollow body, I went to collect my mother’s death certificate. Once the cremation paperwork was signed, I sat on a bench outside the crematorium, watching the thin plume of white smoke rise from the chimney. I reached out my hand to catch it, but my fingers closed on empty air. After much thought, I decided to take my mother’s ashes back to our old house. She would be safe there, with me. But when I reached the front steps, holding the urn close, I found Gideon and Becca waiting for me. “Where have you been?! I told you to apologize to Becca on the phone! Are you deaf?!” I didn’t even look up. As I tried to squeeze past them, Gideon grabbed my arm. He stared at my deathly pale face, a sudden look of shock passing through his eyes. “Why do you look like this?” I frowned, trying to wrench my arm free. Before I could, Becca lunged forward, snatching the urn from my arms. “Hazel, what’s in this pretty jar?” “Give it back!” I screamed, my voice cracking like shattered glass as I lunged for it. Everything happened in a blur. Becca shrieked, throwing herself into Gideon’s arms, and as she did, she intentionally let go of the urn. The ceramic jar shattered on the concrete path. Staring at the fine, grey ash scattering into the wind, something inside me snapped. I lunged forward, striking Becca across the face with all my remaining strength. A second later, Gideon shoved me hard, sending me crashing to the ground. “It’s just a jar! Are you out of your mind?!” The sharp ceramic shards sliced deep into my palms, blood spilling instantly. But I felt no pain. I scrambled on my knees, desperately trying to scoop my mother’s ashes back together with my bleeding hands. The blood stained the grey dust, turning it a dark, wet crimson. I didn’t even notice when Gideon and Becca finally walked away. That night, clutching a framed photograph of my mother, I swallowed the bottle of sleeping pills I had bought on my way home. As my eyelids grew impossibly heavy, I heard the soft chiming of the windbell on the porch. With the last of my strength, I turned my head, and in the doorway, I saw my mother smiling at me. On the nightstand, my phone screen was still open to the chat with future Gideon. Thirty minutes ago, I had sent him a final message: [Thank you for telling me the truth. It’s finally over.] At one in the morning, Gideon’s phone rang. It was the hospital. “Hello, is this the family of Hazel Vance? She has swallowed a lethal dose of sleeping pills! We are currently resuscitating her!” Gideon didn’t remember how he made it to the hospital. His mind was completely blank, running through multiple red lights in a haze of panic. Only when he saw the resuscitation form with Hazel’s name on it did his denial finally crumble. Right then, Hazel’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He answered it instinctively. But he never could have dreamed that the voice on the other end would be his own. Only, it sounded far more weathered, and completely frantic.

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