Category: English

I transmigrated into the female lead of an angst-filled romance novel. On the day I slit my wrists, my husband—the male lead—was bringing his childhood sweetheart back home from abroad. He sneered at me: “Didn’t you say that as long as you could marry me, you could endure anything? You can’t even handle this little thing?” The sweetheart chimed in: “I’m the one he loves. If you hadn’t used his mother’s life to blackmail him, he never would have been with you. It’s time to return him to his rightful owner.” And my mother-in-law, whose life I had saved, said coldly: “I’ll give you your money back. Can you please let my son go? A divorce is best for everyone.” I won’t divorce him. Because he’s going to die soon anyway. 1 When I woke up, I was lying in a bathtub. The water around me was stained crimson. My phone was on speaker, and a man’s angry voice blared from it: “I’m home, where are you again? Playing this game of life and death every day, is it really that fun?” I hung up, dialed 911, and when I woke up again, I was already in a hospital room. The doctor said, “If you had been brought in five minutes later, we couldn’t have saved you. Thankfully, your will to live was strong.” “Mhm, I know.” The female lead of this novel, Chloe Evans, had loved the male lead, Ethan Wright, hopelessly but unrequitedly. Under his long-term emotional abuse, she developed severe depression and strong suicidal tendencies. Tonight, Ethan hosted a welcome-home dinner for his childhood sweetheart, Maya. Triggered by this, Chloe felt she couldn’t hold on anymore and called him to come home. But he ignored her cry for help. Her life was originally meant to end today. But of course, I was here now. “Your phone kept ringing. The caller ID was ‘Husband.’ We notified your family, and he’s on his way.” “That doesn’t matter. How is the baby?” When Chloe attempted suicide, she was pregnant. “The fetal heartbeat stopped for a moment, but thankfully, the baby’s will to live is as strong as yours. The critical danger has passed for now. I’ll bring you the detailed report in a bit.” “Thank you.” A moment later, a man in a tailored suit pushed the door open. One glance at the bandages wrapped around my wrist, and his handsome brows knitted together: “Pulling this stunt again? Chloe, you threaten suicide every day. Why haven’t you just died already?” “You haven’t died yet, so I’m in no rush.” I looked at him calmly. “I’ll send you on your way first, Ethan.” In the original story, after Chloe died with their unborn child, Ethan suddenly seemed to realize he loved her. He was filled with regret. He put on a grand display of belated devotion. A year later, Ethan died of stomach cancer. One year isn’t that long; I can wait. Ethan had never heard such vicious words from Chloe’s mouth. He froze for a moment: “I just went to catch up with an old friend from college. Was all this really necessary?” His so-called “old friend” was his childhood sweetheart, Maya. But of course, I didn’t care about that. “The desire to kill someone is hard to hide. When you wish someone were dead, who you went to see, or what you did, doesn’t matter anymore.” Ethan shook his head in disbelief: “Chloe, are you insane? If you want to die so badly, don’t drag other people down with you.” “Watch your mouth! She’s suffering from clinical depression, and you’re casually telling her to die. How is this any different from attempted murder?” The doctor reprimanded him, then turned to me and spoke softly, “Here’s the report. The baby is fine. You two are tough; mother and child are both safe.” “You’re pregnant?” Ethan looked stunned, then coldly turned his face away. “I said I didn’t want a child right now. I used protection every time. Did you tamper with the condoms?” “The best form of protection is abstinence. Don’t you know that basic fact? Or are you saying I intentionally forced myself on you? If so, go call the cops. Press charges for marital rape.” Chloe was a gentle, quiet woman. This was the first time Ethan had faced such a sharp-tongued version of her. He was so angry he was trembling: “…You’re being completely unreasonable.” “Men who are bad with words make for boring arguments. Aside from your face, you have nothing going for you. You’re just annoying.” I pulled the blanket up to sleep, wondering what Chloe ever saw in him. Just then, Ethan’s phone rang. I could faintly hear Maya’s voice: “…Ethan, I’m drunk, I don’t know how to get to the hotel…” Ethan glanced at me: “It’s not convenient tonight.” “It’s convenient. Get out,” I interjected. Originally, Ethan was supposed to be with Maya tonight. While Chloe was left to listen to her own blood slowly draining away. “Are you done throwing this tantrum?” Ethan was always impatient when he spoke to me. “You’re really hard to please. When I clung to you, you found me repulsive. Now that I don’t want to see you, you stick around like glue. What, have you fallen in love with me?” Ethan glared at me fiercely and slammed the door as he left. Not long after, he dragged a reclining chair over, set it up next to me, and lay down in silence. 2 I stayed in the hospital for a while. Ethan stayed with me, keeping a cold, silent vigil. One day, I went to my therapy session. My attending psychiatrist, Dr. Miller, talked with me for a bit, then had me redo a full panel of neurological tests and psychological evaluations. He looked at my reports as if he were witnessing a medical miracle. “Your depression… it’s cured. The psychological assessments and test results are all perfectly healthy.” “When depression patients first develop symptoms, it’s often due to an excessive fixation on a specific goal. This leads to a narrowing of focus, an accumulation of frustration, which evolves into self-directed aggression and self-loathing. I used to love Ethan. I only saw him. When he didn’t love me back, I felt worthless. Now that I’ve let it go, my vitality naturally began flowing again.” Dr. Miller smiled and shook my hand: “Congratulations. And I say that as a friend.” Dr. Miller was the only person who genuinely cared about Chloe. He had witnessed how this pitiful woman had sunk so deep into the mire of love. All her sacrifices had sunk like stones in the ocean. Her most sincere emotions had earned her nothing but pain. “So, what’s your plan now? Divorce him?” “No.” I curled the corners of my lips. “He’s a CEO, after all.” When he dies, the company is mine. Why would I divorce him? 3 The day I went home, Ethan said he was busy and didn’t come to pick me up. Instead, I received a message from an unknown number. It was a photo of Ethan. He looked slightly intoxicated, smiling gently at the camera, his shirt unbuttoned to reveal his collarbones. Chloe had never seen him like this. I, on the other hand, felt nothing. I forwarded it to my lawyer and told him to file it away. The moment I stepped through the front door, I heard the lock click behind me. The person walking in wasn’t Ethan; it was his childhood sweetheart, Maya. “After all these years, his door code is still my birthday. Chloe, what makes you think you can compete with me?” She carried the arrogance of someone who knew she was favored, looking at me with disdain. “Does guarding his door make you happy?” Maya never expected me to fight back: “Chloe, if I hadn’t gone abroad to study five years ago, you wouldn’t even be in the picture. You saw it yourself; the moment I came back, Ethan couldn’t wait to see me. If you have any self-awareness left, you should pack your bags and leave.” I dropped two slices of lemon into a glass of warm water: “If I recall correctly, Ms. Maya, you went to New York, right? That’s not that far. A five-hour flight, tops. Why are you making it sound like you were separated by life and death and had to break up?” “Five years. 1800 days. 43,800 hours. He couldn’t even spare five hours to visit you in New York once, and you dare believe he loves you? Were you conned by him?” Maya froze for a second: “How could Ethan afford a plane ticket back then? If he had the money, would you have been able to use his mother’s medical bills to force him to marry you?” “So you know. The Ethan from five years ago was just a poor guy who couldn’t even afford a $300 plane ticket.” I swirled my glass and turned around. “Now that he’s the CEO of Wright Corporation, you tell me to get out. Heh, you’re basically committing armed robbery in broad daylight.” Just as I finished speaking, police sirens wailed outside. Maya frowned: “You called the cops?” I raised my glass to her: “When you’re being robbed, any normal person would call the cops. Just so you know.” As she was being taken away by the police, she was still screaming: “Let’s see what charges you can actually pin on me!” 4 “Home invasion and attempted robbery,” I reiterated to the police officer at the station. Maya was crying beautifully: “I just had a little emotional dispute with her…” “I don’t know her. She picked the lock and broke in. That’s a felony. From what I recall, the mandatory minimum is ten years.” “Chloe! I just went back to my boyfriend’s house! And you want to send me to prison?!” Hearing “ten years,” Maya lost control. I spoke slowly and deliberately: “First of all, he is my husband. Second, the house is under my name. Ms. Maya, didn’t you just get back from New York? You should know that in America, the moment you stepped through my door, under the Castle Doctrine, I could have shot you dead, and it would be self-defense.” “Chloe!” A man’s furious, low roar came from behind. “What are you doing?” In the past, whenever he got angry, Chloe would shrink back. She was always terrified of upsetting him. She would swallow her pride and try to keep the peace. I am not that kind of person. “This woman broke into my house.” I raised an eyebrow. “What do you suggest I do?” Ethan turned to the police officer: “This is my wife. She misunderstood my relationship with Ms. Maya here. It’s just a domestic dispute.” He had brought a team of lawyers with him, effectively muddying the waters. Watching the police sign the mediation forms, Maya shot me a disdainful glance, the smile of a victor playing on her lips. Walking out of the police station, Maya immediately clung to Ethan like a fragile bird: “Ethan, it’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have gone to find your wife to explain the misunderstanding from the other day. I didn’t expect it to make her even angrier.” Ethan frowned: “Chloe, even if you’re jealous of her, there’s no need to be so vicious and ruin her life…” Slap! Before he could finish, I raised my hand and slapped him across the face. Ethan was stunned: “You hit me?” “So what?” I said, casually examining my nails. “I hit you because I wanted to. Do I need to schedule an appointment?” Chloe had certainly been jealous of Maya. Jealous of this despicable woman, simply because she had his tenderness. I, on the other hand, do not possess such a saintly heart. “Do you know what you did wrong? Hm?” I pinched his jaw. “I don’t care how many flings you have. When you cheat, I’ve always turned a blind eye. But this stupid woman, who doesn’t even know her place, dared to parade herself in front of me—” “You can’t even keep your little mistress in line. Tell me, how useless are you?” Maya was shocked for a moment, her voice trembling: “What mistress?” She looked at Ethan, saw him staring fixedly at me, and snapped back to reality: “…How can you treat Ethan like this? You actually hit him! Do you have any class?” She raised her hand high, aiming for me. Ethan grabbed her wrist. Slap! Before Ethan could say anything, I slapped him hard across the face again. “Take a good look. This is the woman you’re cheating with. She’s trying to hit your wife. So you like them rough and uncultured? I respect your preferences, but please don’t let her out to embarrass you and disturb the peace.” I patted Ethan’s bruised and swollen face and slowly put my black leather gloves back on: “—Lest people say the CEO of Wright Corporation is such a useless piece of trash he can’t even cheat right, falling for a vulgar idiot.” Ignoring Maya’s crying and cursing, I gracefully picked up my purse and got into my car. On the way home, the paparazzi had already edited the photos and videos of the scene outside the police station into a juicy article. I bought them a spot on the trending list. That day, the internet exploded. #WrightCorpCEOCaughtCheatingBeatenByWife in the streets shot to number one. “Holy shit, this rich wife is a badass.” “When men cheat, most women either cry or post ‘we’ll cherish what we have.’ Very few just beat up the scumbag without a word.” “But she still lost. Look how fragile the mistress is acting.” “The person above me is disgusting. In rich families, marriages are often just business arrangements; they do whatever they want. This wife clearly doesn’t care. With her money and looks, do you think she can’t find a younger, better-looking guy?” “Fucking awesome… this guy is so pathetic.” … I went into the kitchen to cook. Not long after, Ethan walked in holding his phone. He held up the photos Maya had sent me: “Is this why?” “I don’t care about the details. You don’t need to explain to me.” I leaned against the counter, arms crossed. “I only have one rule: If she shows her face in front of me again, I’ll hit you again. My demands aren’t high. Just keep your people in check.” “When are you going to stop being so unreasonable?! I already told you, she and I are just…” “Shut up. I’m trying to eat, and you’re making me nauseous.” I took my plate and sat at the dining table. He followed and sat down across from me, but the space in front of him was empty. “Where’s mine?” Ethan glared at me angrily. He had a bad stomach. Chloe had spent a lot of time trying to nurse him back to health, changing the menu every meal to make it healthy and delicious. “I only made enough for myself.” I held my glass of milk, taking a satisfying sip. “Could you not sit in front of me? Your bruised face is ruining my appetite.” Ethan tossed his phone aside and slumped back in his chair, his face dark. Great. Throwing a temper tantrum, huh? I picked up my plate and went upstairs to watch a show. Downstairs, I heard the sound of pots and pans smashing. Ethan hated Chloe. Because Chloe had said: “As long as I can marry you, I can endure anything.” So he would often bring women home, making her listen to their all-night escapades from outside the door. She would cry and endure it, believing everything was her fault and this was her deserved punishment. On the surface, she had to maintain the dignity of Mrs. Wright, preserving a marriage riddled with holes. When he cheated, she didn’t dare interfere. If she showed the slightest hint of displeasure, it would draw his mockery: “Didn’t you say you could endure anything? If you can’t, then get out.” Now, I didn’t care at all. Instead, he was the one losing his mind. I turned the music up to the max, eating my hot meal and watching my show in my room. He couldn’t handle just this? This was only the beginning. 5 A few days later, Ethan’s secretary, Liam, called me: “Madam, Mr. Wright’s stomach is hurting. He asked you to come over.” “I’m at the spa. I don’t have time.” Rejected, Liam paused for a second: “He’s really in a lot of pain…” “If he’s sick, take him to a doctor. What do you need me for?” I could faintly hear Ethan’s voice through the receiver. Liam laughed nervously: “Mr. Wright says every time his stomach hurts, eating your porridge makes him feel better.” I hung up without hesitation. What did he think Chloe was? A chef or a miracle doctor? Before I even finished my facial, the spa manager came upstairs to tell me someone was waiting downstairs. “Who is it?” “He said his name is Liam, he’s your husband’s secretary. He looks very anxious.” “Anxious for what? Let him wait.” After my massage, I put on some light makeup and walked downstairs leisurely. Liam was standing there, looking miserable. As Ethan’s lapdog, Liam was an expert at reading the room. Since Ethan treated Chloe like dirt, he followed suit. Whenever he had to deliver something, he deliberately made things difficult. Once, while Ethan was fooling around with women in his office, Liam told Chloe outside: “Madam, a smart person knows when to back off. Mr. Wright is indeed hungry right now, but he doesn’t want your food. If you go in there and make a scene, it won’t do anyone any good. It’ll only make him hate you more.” Saying that, he threw Chloe’s carefully prepared bento box into the trash. “Alright, if there’s nothing else, Madam, please leave.” It was raining heavily that day. Chloe was distracted on her way back and got into a car accident. That was how she lost her first child. The Liam from back then was so arrogant; now he looked so pathetic. His clothes were covered in food stains, and there was even grease in his hair. “Well, Secretary Liam, what happened to you?” I asked, gracefully descending the gilded staircase. Seeing me, Liam’s eyes lit up: “I’m here to take you to the company.” “Did you take him to the doctor?” “Mr. Wright refused to go…” He glanced at me. “He’s in a very bad mood lately.” “What, he was in such a bad mood he threw food at your head? Aren’t you his most trusted confidant?” Liam pressed his lips together: “You used to take such good care of his diet, Madam. He won’t eat the takeout we order. We tried every restaurant nearby, and he said none of them tasted right. It’s already 2 PM, and Mr. Wright hasn’t eaten anything yet.” “Which place did you order from?” Looking at his confused expression, I held out my hand. “Give me your phone.” I ordered the exact same meal Liam had ordered, without changing a thing. When we arrived at the company, the food had just arrived. I carried it upstairs. As I pushed the door open, a project proposal came flying at me: “What is this garbage?!” I looked at the stormy atmosphere in the office: “Should I wait until you’re done yelling?” Seeing me, Ethan instinctively loosened his tie, turned his head away, and quieted down, staring blankly at his computer screen. The terrified subordinate shot me a grateful look: “Then I won’t disturb you, Mr. Wright, Madam.” “Get out,” Ethan said calmly. I placed the takeout on the desk, threw myself onto the sofa, and started playing on my phone. Ethan immediately noticed something was off: “Bought from outside?” “I was at the spa.” “I don’t like this stuff,” Ethan said, his face cold. “Outside food is dirty. It makes my stomach hurt.” “Then call someone else.” I looked around the room. “You have everything here—a bedroom, a private kitchen. There are plenty of people willing to cook for you.” Realizing what I was hinting at, Ethan walked over briskly and snatched my phone: “Are you still mad? Because of Maya, you’re not even going to feed me now?” I laughed. All this over just Maya? “You never seemed to like it before. Now that I don’t want to cook anymore, you’re begging for it. Are you going to eat it or not? If not, I’m taking it away.” Ethan glared at me fiercely, went back to his desk, and started eating in sullen silence. He frowned, forcing it down. Putting on a show for me. But I just watched coldly. When I took the trash out, Liam looked like he’d seen a ghost: “I’ll take that, I’ll take that…” The exact same meal. When I gave it to him, Ethan ate it. This was a situation he had never anticipated. I said lightly: “From now on, order him takeout every day at noon.” “This…” “Just tell him I ordered it.” The way Liam looked at me changed, filling with awe: “Even though Mr. Wright has had women around him all these years, I can tell you’re the only one in his heart.” I couldn’t help but laugh: “Don’t give me that flattery. It’s not funny, it’s just gross.” Even at a time like this. Ethan only cared about whether Chloe made him food. He didn’t think about whether her wrist, where she slit it, hurt when she had to lift a heavy pan. That’s not what having someone in your heart looks like. Chloe had put him on too high a pedestal. He was used to looking past her, yet expected her to be there unconditionally. 6 Half a month later, it was Ethan’s mother’s birthday. He threw her a lavish banquet. I hadn’t planned on going, but hearing that many prominent figures in the city would be there, I decided to make an appearance. Seeing that old woman was bad enough. But standing next to her was Maya. Bad luck truly comes in pairs. Dressed like a modest, sweet girl, Maya was sitting in my seat. When she saw me, she stood up: “I’m sorry, Chloe. I was just catching up with Mrs. Wright. We haven’t seen each other in a long time.” “You just sit right there; we haven’t finished chatting. Don’t you like the house I’m living in right now? I’ll transfer the deed to your name tomorrow.” The old woman didn’t even glance at me, instead pulling Maya by the hand. She was wearing a bracelet. It wasn’t expensive, but it was an heirloom of the Wright family. Chloe had always wanted it. Ethan’s mother had said she’d get it over her dead body. Wearing that bracelet, Maya sat back down with a clear conscience: “Chloe, you see, Mrs. Wright asked me to sit here.” “Does taking other people’s things feel that good?” I pulled out a chair and sat down gracefully across from them. “Or do you just enjoy the feeling of constantly winning through competition? That’s a sign of low self-esteem. It means deep down, you despise yourself and can only find a sense of existence through this sick behavior—you should go see a psychiatrist.” I pulled out Dr. Miller’s business card and slid it across the table. Maya was stunned: “Chloe, I know you have a misunderstanding about me. But I was practically raised by Mrs. Wright, and Ethan and I grew up together. I just sat in your seat, and you tell me I’m sick. Isn’t that going too far?” “The internet says much worse things. They call you a homewrecker, a shameless bitch destroying another woman’s family. But you seem fine with it; you don’t even try to avoid suspicion. Do you enjoy the feeling of being despised by everyone?—That’s also a pathology. It means deep down, you agree with and cater to those opinions. You have a strong tendency for self-destruction. You need to see a psychiatrist.” Maya didn’t understand why I kept bringing it back to psychiatrists. It was completely different from her plan to anger me. Furious and embarrassed, she quickly glanced at the business card. Ethan’s mother tore the card up: “What homewrecker? Who’s the real homewrecker here? If it weren’t for you scheming to force Ethan to marry you, Maya would be my daughter-in-law. What right do you have to tell her what to do?” Her voice was very loud. People around us started looking over. I poured a glass of red wine, smiling slightly: “What scheming did I do, hm? Was it the kind of scheming where I spent a million dollars to save your life while you were lying in the ICU?” At the time, Chloe had been chasing Ethan for two years. Ethan was indifferent; there wasn’t much love, but they got along peacefully. When his mother got into an accident, Chloe didn’t hesitate to pull out the life-saving funds. But her condition was that Ethan had to marry her. As long as Ethan married her, the company would be his, and he wouldn’t have to pay back the money. Her original intention was to show them her sincerity. She ran around the hospital, tending to the old woman hand and foot until she was discharged. But because her kindness came with a condition. Ethan and his mother treated her like an enemy. Ethan’s mother treated her even worse, like she was cheap goods delivering herself to their door. Her son deserved better. She huffed: “It was just a million dollars! What’s the big deal? Ethan has money now. We’ll pay you back your million dollars, and you divorce him.” I swirled my wine glass: “What you owe me isn’t a million dollars. That million dollars, back then, bought your life. So if you really want to pretend none of this ever happened, sure—you die right now, and I’ll divorce him right now.” Ethan’s mother’s eyes went wide: “What did you say?! Say that again!!” I lazily lifted my eyelids: “You die right now, and I’ll divorce him right now. Which word didn’t you understand, hm?” Maya slammed the table and pointed at me: “Today is Mrs. Wright’s birthday! How dare you curse an elder like this! Do you have no upbringing?!” “Whether an elder deserves respect depends on the person. Normally ungrateful, using my love for Ethan to arrogantly make demands of me, I put up with it. But today, with so many people here, so many eyes watching, she actually tries to pimp for her son. Is this how an elder should act?” I casually raised my glass to the people around us. “I apologize for letting everyone see this family drama.” Some people were recording the whole thing on their phones. Perfect. I don’t mind buying another spot on the trending list to show everyone the true colors of this family. Before I could lower my glass, my wrist was grabbed. “Chloe, when are you going to fix this habit of going crazy every time you see Maya?!” Ethan hauled me up. “Apologize to my mother!” “Mom? She’s not my mom. My mom wouldn’t forbid me from coming home for Thanksgiving, leaving me to eat food that I’m allergic to, all by myself. “My mom wouldn’t refuse to even look at me after my miscarriage, calling you in the middle of the night to keep her company, saying that if I couldn’t have kids, you should find someone else. “My mom certainly wouldn’t scheme to find out how sick I was, when I was going to die, what relatives I had left, and who my house would go to. “And my mom passed away a long time ago; she wouldn’t be here celebrating a birthday. If my mom were alive, you, Ethan, wouldn’t have even been allowed through our door, let alone have your mother rise in status because of you.” “Listen to what she’s saying! Ah?! Since you don’t know how to discipline your wife, I’ll do it for you!” The woman surnamed Wright lunged forward with red eyes to slap me. It only took a few words to force this vulgar country bumpkin to reveal her true colors. Ethan yelled for someone to stop his mother. I tried to pull my hand away from Ethan’s grasp. But he wouldn’t let go. In his increasingly wet eyes, I smiled, prying his fingers open one by one: “Ms. Wright, I used to give you some face, out of respect for your son.” “Now, I don’t even want your son anymore. You don’t need to try so hard to act all high and mighty in front of me.” I left behind the furious Ms. Wright and Ethan, who stood frozen in place, and walked out of the banquet with a light step. If you draw a circle with a wet finger around an ant, it can’t smell its own pheromones and can never find its way out. It will just wander around inside that little circle. Chloe had trapped herself exactly like this, associating with a pack of ungrateful wolves. The best way not to lose a game is to leave the table. If there’s someone you hate in your life, make them roll out of your life. The world is so big; they aren’t worth it.

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“Mom, you should really marry someone else. I want the Oscar winner to be my new dad!” The entire internet agreed. The Oscar winner agreed. But her biological father definitely did not. He stormed onto the set of the reality show in a blind rage. My daughter, stubborn as a mule, pointed right at the movie star and told her dad: “Let me introduce you. This is Mom’s new husband, and my new dad!” 1 I am Hollywood’s most hated starlet—a true “love-to-hate” celebrity. My claim to fame? I only play the “Mean Girl” or the “Vengeful Other Woman.” Every villainous role I take is so convincing that people follow me on social media just to curse me out. My reputation is a permanent shade of “infamous.” People even say I’m not acting; they say I’m just being myself. Lately, there haven’t been any good villain scripts, so I decided to join a high-profile parenting reality show with my daughter. 2 When the camera crew arrived at our house to pick us up, my daughter was standing by the bed, shaking me awake: “Miss Sleeping Beauty, the crew is here. Please tell the bed to let go of your highness!” I didn’t even open my eyes. I just mumbled: “I can’t. Mom is too elite. I need five more minutes. Go pack the bags.” “What kind of person makes their kid pack for them? Which one of us is the parent here?” She sighed heavily but started tossing things into the suitcase anyway. “What are we bringing? Cleanser? Makeup? Clothes?” “Whatever you pick… I’ll wear,” I groaned into the pillow. 3 Half an hour later, I finally crawled out of bed. I opened my eyes only to see the production crew standing right there in my bedroom. The livestream was already rolling. [Hahaha, Serena’s bedhead is too real. She looks exactly like me on a Monday morning!] [Serena’s daughter is so cute, I’m dying…] [How can Serena be a mom? She’s making her kid do all the work. Unfit!] [Oh my god, the daughter is so pretty and sweet, I almost forgot I came here to hate-watch Serena.] I blinked stupidly. “Why didn’t anyone tell me we were live?” My daughter puffed out her cheeks and shot me a look: “I told you! But you were having a love affair with your mattress and wouldn’t even lift an eyelid. Who’s to blame?” Me: “…” This kid… she’s a total savage. 4 After washing up and loading the luggage, I followed my daughter into the production van. We headed to the first filming location. During the drive, the producer interviewed us: “Serena, what’s your daughter’s name?” “Just call her Tiga.” The producer paused. “Tiga? Like… the superhero?” My daughter rolled her eyes and said, “She thinks all boys love superheroes, so she named me Tiga so I’d be popular.” I rubbed her fuzzy hair and said with a straight face, “Trust me, honey. No man worth his salt doesn’t love a hero.” My daughter: “I’m literally done.” The live chat erupted. [Tiga! Hahahaha, I’m wheezing!] [Serena: I just want the boys to like my daughter, what’s wrong with that? Hahaha!] [What kind of girl is named Tiga? Look at her face, it’s just pure ‘done’!] [Serena is definitely a few sandwiches short of a picnic.] The producer cleared his throat and asked, “And Tiga, where is your father?” My daughter’s face went cold. “Don’t mention him. Just thinking about him makes my blood boil!” 5 I announced I was married the moment I entered the industry, but I never revealed who my husband was. Over the years, everyone has been dying to know his identity. Fans, haters, even my colleagues. They were all curious how I got such top-tier roles despite being a “villainess.” My shows were always massive hits. No exceptions. They’d gossiped for years, but no one knew the truth. They didn’t know I was basically in a “ghost marriage.” I got pregnant after a drunken night with him right after we wed. He’d never helped with the kid. He’d drop by once in a while to see her, but mostly, it was just me and Tiga in our own world. No wonder she reacted like that. The crew was hoping for a scoop, but they weren’t going to get it from a four-year-old. 6 Star Babies was a new kind of show. Unlike standard family shows, it featured celebrities paired with kids. The director was creative. Aside from me and Tiga, who were actually related, the other groups were famous child stars paired with unmarried celebrities. And the biggest catch? They had signed the reigning Oscar winner, Elias Thorne. Who wouldn’t want to see a man like that playing “Daddy”? The hype was astronomical. When we arrived at the luxury villa for the shoot, one group was already there. Elias Thorne. And his partner, a five-year-old child star named Toby. The second Tiga saw Elias, she dropped her backpack and sprinted toward him. She leaned against the sofa next to him, cupping her face in her hands, her eyes sparkling. “I know you. You’re the movie star.” Elias looked at me, then back at Tiga, and smiled. “And how do you know me, little one?” “Ti—” I tried to stop her, but it was too late. “Because I want you to be my new dad!” Kill me now. I was one step too slow. This kid had been talking about “trading in” her dad for months. She’d decided Elias was the perfect candidate for a dad—and a husband for me. What I hadn’t told her was that Elias Thorne was my ex-boyfriend from college! The livestream went nuclear. [Did I hear that right? Tiga wants the Oscar winner to be her dad?] [Hahaha, this kid is a comedy goldmine!] [Tiga, honey, does your mom have a say in this?] 7 Elias was visibly stunned. Before he could respond, Tiga reached out and poked his arm. She turned to me: “Mom, he’s ripped.” My face turned a deep shade of scarlet. Then she touched his stomach and looked at me again: “Mom, he has a six-pack. He’s actually a catch. Can you please consider making him my dad?” “Tiga! Get your hands off the movie star!” I hissed. Elias looked like he hadn’t expected to be felt up by his ex’s daughter. Then, he spoke: “I can only be your dad if your mom agrees to marry me.” Me: “?” What the hell was Elias playing at? Before I could process it, Tiga screamed: “Mom! Let’s get remarried! I want Elias to be my new dad!” Honey, did you ask your actual father? She was literally trying to give her dad a “green hat” on national television. Are we going to survive the night? Technically, I wasn’t even divorced yet. 8 Tiga marched over to me on her little legs, looking incredibly serious. “Mom, I’m not kidding. Remarry him. “Look, he’s handsome, he’s talented. Sure, my ‘scumbag dad’ might be slightly better looking, but you’ve been looking at that face for years. You’re bored of it. “Just get a new husband and give me a new dad. It’s a win-win, right?” Danger! Danger! My sweet daughter… it’s one thing to call him “Scumbag Dad” at home, but on a livestream?! Do you want to get us canceled or just murdered? The chat was having a field day. [She really wants that upgrade! Hahaha!] [Honestly, Elias saying ‘I can only be your dad if your mom marries me’ is a wild thing to say. He’s into it!] [Tiga (Upgrade Edition): Mom, let’s go. We’re getting a new dad.] [Wait, did she call her dad a ‘scumbag’? Maybe he treats them badly.] [Who the hell did Serena marry?! Does anyone actually know?] I looked at Tiga, trying to be a parent: “Don’t call him that. He’s your father.” Tiga puffed out her chest. “Hmph. He’s a part-time dad. He’s fired.” 9 Ten minutes later, the third group arrived. Brianna Vance, a B-list actress known for having “connections.” And her partner, a four-year-old named Lily. Now that everyone was here, the director started the first segment. “You have to handle your own meals during the shoot. You’ll play a trivia game to win ingredients. First place gets 20 items, full spices, and snacks. Second gets 15 items and some spices. Third gets 10 items and almost no spices.” Each group was given a buzzer. The questions began. “In the cartoon Boonie Bears, what are the two monkeys named?” Buzz! “Bram and Briar!” “In Cocomelon, what is the baby’s name?” Buzz! “JJ!” It was a battlefield of cartoons. The kids were intense. “Final question: In the show Super Pig, what is the name of the pink princess pig?” Tiga’s eyes lit up. She went for the buzzer, but Toby was faster. Toby froze. He couldn’t remember. He scratched his head. “I think… Pinky?” Next second, Tiga screamed at the top of her lungs: “It’s Princess Penny, you amateur! “She’s the most beautiful pig in the world and the love of my hero’s life!” 10 She stood up, looking tiny but fierce, defending the honor of her “hero.” The room went dead silent. I was trying so hard not to laugh. Everyone was. Could we laugh? Was it rude? But she called a pig… a love of her life’s… “Hahahaha!” I was the first to break. Then the whole room exploded. The livestream was a wall of “LMAO.” [Hahaha, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t laugh at a kid, but she’s so serious about the pig!] [Tiga: My hero loves that pig, respect her!] [I can’t breathe! ‘Princess Penny is the love of his life’—Tiga is an icon.] Tiga looked around, confused. “Why are you laughing?” The director wiped his eyes. “We’re… we’re just impressed by your knowledge, Tiga. You won! Pfft…” The scores were tallied. Tiga got 8 right. Toby and Lily both got 6. The ranking: Tiga first, Toby second, Lily third. The rooms were assigned by rank. We got the penthouse on the fourth floor. Elias was on the third. Brianna was on the second. We went to unpack before lunch. 11 I didn’t need Tiga to help unpack, so she took her snacks and went to share them with the other kids. I was busy looking at a cookbook called 100 Easy Meals for Dummies when Tiga came back. “Mom, put the book down. We’re going.” She dragged me to the third floor. She knew I couldn’t cook, so she’d convinced Elias to cook for us too. I have to admit, the man could cook. Everything smelled amazing. BUT! “Tiga, stop calling him ‘New Dad’.” Tiga blinked her big eyes. “But Mom, he said yes. He’s my New Dad now. “I found you a husband who acts and cooks. You should be thanking me!” I choked on my water. Is this real life? A daughter replacing her father with her mother’s ex-boyfriend? This is a structural collapse of the mother-daughter dynamic. Then, I heard a low, melodic chuckle. I looked at Elias. “You agreed to this?” Elias: “To being her dad? It seems I have.” Me: “?” Is everyone insane? I blurted out: “Elias, did you forget you’re my ex?” “I didn’t forget. That’s why being her dad is so interesting.”

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A top-tier Manhattan billionaire gave a highly serious financial interview, but a whimsical painting hanging on his wall ended up going viral. When the reporter asked about it, he humbly replied, “My wife painted it.” That very night, a popular young actress painted on her livestream, acting coy: “Oh, he just blurts everything out! So embarrassing~” I was utterly confused. Wait, didn’t I paint that? 01 Grayson Pierce, the titan of the New York business world, was trending everywhere today. It all started with an interview. During an incredibly serious, high-stakes financial interview, the artwork hanging on the wall behind him was decidedly… unserious. It was a painting of a few water lilies. Crystal-clear dewdrops rolled along the edges of the round lily pads, looking incredibly lifelike and on the verge of falling. Normally, a masterpiece of such exquisite skill would be accompanied by a profound, classical poem. But this painting went the exact opposite route. It featured a rather humorous, modern limerick: [Let them be mad, I’ll stay glad. Stress won’t pay my doctor’s bill!] The cameraman was clearly captivated by this bizarre masterpiece, accidentally focusing the lens on the painting several times. The reporter was no exception. As the interview drew to a close, she gathered her courage to ask about it: “I noticed the painting on your wall is quite interesting. May I ask which master artist created this piece?” Grayson humbly replied, “My wife painted it.” The reporter immediately praised, “Your wife must be an incredible artist!” “No, she’s an actress.” The reporter was even more surprised. “Which actress?” “She won’t let me say.” A faint, doting smile played on the billionaire’s lips. “When she finally decides to give me an official title, I’ll tell you.” Just like that, Grayson Pierce’s “obsessed wife-guy” persona exploded across the internet. [Handsome, filthy rich, and obsessed with his wife. Please tell me, does this man have any flaws?] [Being married is his only flaw.] [I don’t recognize him. Who is this guy?] [He’s the current CEO of the Pierce Empire. He’s always been super low-profile. I don’t know why he’s suddenly flexing so hard.] [Blind guess: it’s for his wife. He’s probably investing in Hollywood just to protect her career, right?] [OMG! A romance novel coming to life!] [Am I the only one who wants to know who his wife is? She’s an actress!] [Is it Aubrey Sinclair? Isn’t she the ‘Princess of Manhattan’?] [Only her delusional fans believe she’s the ‘Princess of Manhattan’. Do you honestly think she could even get a word in with the real New York elite?] [I think it’s A-list actress Quinn. Haven’t the tabloids been saying she’s secretly married?] Watching the comments section name-drop every famous actress in Hollywood without ever mentioning me… I secretly breathed a sigh of relief. Being a D-list nobody definitely had its perks. I was just about to text Grayson, warning him to watch his mouth in the future, when my manager, Harper, snatched my phone away. “The show is about to start. Get ready.” I pressed my lips together and abandoned the idea of contacting him. 02 The show I was about to go on was a live-streamed variety show. The concept was simple: The celebrity guests would make a gift live on set, choose a recipient, and then personally deliver it to their door. Because the live gift-delivery segment had produced so many iconic, unscripted moments, the show had skyrocketed to become the hottest live variety program of the year. Before the broadcast even started, nearly a million people were already waiting in the stream. Harper whispered to me from the sidelines: “I didn’t know Aubrey Sinclair was going to be here today. But don’t be afraid of her, and ignore whatever her toxic fans say. Let’s just do our job well today. Don’t start trouble, but don’t back down either, okay?” I nodded. She patted my shoulder. “You’ve got this.” The livestream quickly began. The camera swept across the guests as the host interviewed and introduced them one by one. When it was my turn, the tone of the live chat drastically changed. [Why does this show invite just anyone?] [Who is this girl? Just looking at her annoys me.] [It must be so hard for Aubrey to share a stage with someone like her.] Aubrey Sinclair actually spoke up to “defend” me: “Guys, don’t say that! Chloe and I are actually really good friends.” I looked at her, saying nothing. If I didn’t know her true colors, I really would have thought she was the sweet, kind-hearted angel her fans claimed she was. Aubrey hated me. More than once, she had subtly encouraged her fans to cyberbully me. All because a male actor she had a crush on publicly confessed his feelings for me. Whenever I thought about that, I felt incredibly wronged. I barely knew that actor, Ashton Cole. We had hardly exchanged a few sentences. Yet, on a talk show, he publicly declared I was his ideal type. That move not only made Aubrey hate me, but it also knocked over the vinegar jar at my house. Grayson pinned me to the bed, interrogating me about my history with Ashton. But what history was there? I racked my brain, trying desperately to recall and repeat every single mundane sentence I had ever spoken to the guy. Grayson remained unsatisfied, letting out a dark chuckle. “You remember it all so clearly, huh?” And then came round after round of absolute torment. I really didn’t want to endure another exhausting, back-breaking night like that, so I publicly stated that I didn’t like Ashton. But somehow, Aubrey seemed to hate me even more after that… I genuinely couldn’t understand her brain circuitry, so I just silently tried to stay away from her. But the live chat wouldn’t let me off the hook. [This woman is so rude! Aubrey is talking to her!] [I’m seriously going to cry from how frustrating she is!] [What is wrong with Ashton’s eyes? He ignores Aubrey for HER?] [This woman just knows how to seduce men. Look at that foxy face. Our Aubrey doesn’t have her manipulative schemes!] [Ahhhh! What a pity for my Ashton & Aubrey ship!] The show quickly transitioned into the gift-making segment. The camera focused on Aubrey. The host stood beside her, asking, “What is Aubrey going to give tonight?” “I’m going to give a painting.” “And who is it for?” Aubrey smiled shyly. “You’ll all find out in a bit~” She picked up her brush and dipped it in ink. With a few shallow strokes, a graceful, elegant water lily leaped onto the paper. The live chat instantly boiled over! [Wait, why does this water lily look familiar?] [Hint: One word. Pierce.] [Right?! Isn’t this the exact same one from the billionaire’s study?] [Oh my god! So Aubrey really is Mrs. Pierce!] Aubrey looked up innocently. “Hmm?” To help clear her confusion, the host directly pulled up the clip of Grayson’s interview and played it on the studio’s main screen. After watching it, Aubrey blushed deeply. “Oh my, why does he just blurt everything out? It’s just that our two families have intentions of an arranged marriage. Nothing specific has been finalized yet.” [HOLY SH*T! What did I just hear?] [Key takeaway: It’s not finalized yet, but the billionaire is already publicly calling her his wife!] [Our Aubrey is just too lovable.] [Billionaire Pierce is so impatient! He can’t wait to let the whole world know Aubrey is his wife!] [Hahahaha I’m officially shipping the Pierce x Sinclair CP starting today!] Aubrey spoke gracefully, “Please don’t laugh at us~” Then, whether intentionally or not, she added a few words beside the painting. [Why stress and make a fuss? It’s not worth the mental strain for us.] The Live Chat: [Those are the last two lines of the limerick!] [I’m 100% sure the painting in the billionaire’s study was done by Aubrey! And I’m sure Aubrey is going to give this painting to Billionaire Pierce later!] [Is she planning to give him a whole series?] [I don’t understand you lovebirds and your little inside jokes.] [So romantic!] [Is it because Billionaire Pierce publicly demanded a title, so Aubrey is planning to go public too?] Aubrey never gave a direct response to the chat’s speculations. I couldn’t help but ask, “Did you really gift the painting in Grayson Pierce’s study?” Aubrey raised her eyes to look at me. Her expression was haughty. “If I didn’t give it to him, did you?” [Exactly! This woman is so annoying, asking a question she already knows the answer to!] [Did the show invite her just to piss us off?] [Is the brain on her shoulders just for decoration?] I forced myself to hold back, but I just couldn’t swallow this insult. I nodded and admitted it. “Yes, I gave it to him.” The entire studio fell into a stunned uproar! 03 [This woman really just opens her mouth and spits out lies!] [Look at the expression on her face. Could she actually be telling the truth?] [Anyone can make up a lie. I could say I gifted it too.] [Right! This woman just loves to steal. First, she stole Ashton from Aubrey, and now she’s trying to steal Aubrey’s title as Mrs. Pierce!] [She’s so pathetic.] The live chat was furious. They even started universally spamming [Chloe Vance get out of Hollywood!] across the screen. Aubrey smiled faintly and looked at me. “Is it really from Chloe?” Her face displayed the perfect amount of confusion. “Then, does that mean you’re the ‘wife’ Brother Gray was talking about?” Even though this wasn’t the time to be jealous, I still felt a twinge of sourness at her calling him “Brother Gray.” That dog, Grayson Pierce! When did he get tangled up with Aubrey Sinclair?! I looked her straight in the eye. “I am.” She let out a light laugh. It was the kind of silvery, bell-like laugh her fans always praised, but to my ears, it sounded like nails on a chalkboard. “But I haven’t heard that Brother Gray is already married.” Her expression was innocent, yet seemingly wronged. “Where exactly did Chloe meet Brother Gray?” The chat was easily swayed by her rhythm. [Isn’t it obvious? She’s making it all up!] [Aubrey is such a pure, innocent cutie. I really don’t understand how someone with her personality survives in the entertainment industry!] [Guys, one calls him ‘Brother Gray’, the other calls him ‘Grayson Pierce’. The level of closeness is pretty obvious, right?] [Chloe is just a habitual homewrecker!] [The way she shamelessly admits it is so obnoxious!] [My heart aches for Aubrey!] Aubrey acted like a child who had finally found someone to back her up after being bullied. In a flash, her eyes reddened, and she even tried to soothe the chat: “Guys, please stop. Chloe definitely didn’t do it on purpose.” The live chat went even more insane. Like a sweeping machine gun, they blasted me from head to toe. The situation was spiraling out of control. The producers stepped in to maintain order, announcing a ten-minute break. The moment the cameras turned off, everyone in the studio rushed over to comfort Aubrey. My manager, Harper, pulled me into a corner. “What is going on?! How did you drag Grayson Pierce into this? We seriously cannot afford to mess with him. Let alone you, even the CEO of our agency wouldn’t dare lift his head to speak in front of him.” Bringing this up only made me feel more wronged. “I really am Grayson’s wife!” Harper stared at me, her jaw hitting the floor. I scrolled through my phone looking for evidence. My chat contact name for him was “Dog Man,” and his call log name was “Needy Hubby.” Neither of those proved his identity. Blame it on me being too cautious normally! Left with no other choice, I opened my hidden photo album. Inside was a digital scan of my marriage certificate with him. I zoomed in on the picture and showed it to Harper. “Do you believe me now?” Harper was completely paralyzed. She stood there, dumbfounded, for a full minute before finally squeezing out, “With a background this massive, why are you slumming it in Hollywood with me?” She made me laugh. “Then from now on, you’ll be rolling with me.” 04 The marriage certificate acted as a tranquilizer for Harper. She grabbed my hand to discuss a counter-strategy. Before we could figure out a plan, her phone rang. On the other end was the agency’s CEO, exploding with rage. “How are you managing your artists?! Chloe has no brain, but do you lack one too?! Do you not know who Grayson Pierce is? You just let her spout whatever nonsense she wants?!” “Boss, I—” “I don’t want to hear your excuses! I just want you to fix this! If this isn’t resolved by tomorrow morning, both of you can pack your bags and get the hell out!” He hung up. Harper and I looked at each other. Harper asked me, just to be absolutely sure, “You really are Mrs. Pierce, right?” “100% genuine.” Only then did she relax, and she shared her master plan with me. Originally, my idea was that as soon as the cameras turned back on, I would just slap the marriage certificate on the table. I wasn’t going to swallow this insult. But Harper thought that method wasn’t dramatic enough. And it wouldn’t completely crush Aubrey. She whispered her plan into my ear. I nodded in realization and slowly gave her a thumbs-up. The production team announced the countdown to go back live. Harper patted my shoulder. “The rest is all up to you.” The cameras rebooted, and the live chat was still furious. The number of concurrent viewers in the livestream had multiplied. That was when I found out “Aubrey’s beautiful tears” had made it to the top of Twitter’s trending page. Public opinion was completely one-sided. All the new viewers in the livestream were here to cancel me. I thought to myself, The more people, the better. A bigger audience makes exposing Aubrey’s true colors that much sweeter. “I apologize for losing my composure just now, and thank you all for your concern. My gift is finished; it’s a painting.” Aubrey displayed her water lily painting to the camera. The chat was filled with praise. [Aubrey is so emotionally stable!] [If I were her, I’d be furious for three days straight after being wronged like that!] [It’s just billionaire elite basics. Aubrey has taken emotional management classes since she was a kid.] [Not gonna lie, she paints really well!] Perhaps because there were so many people in the chat, voices of doubt began to slowly emerge. [Wait, does anyone else think the handwriting doesn’t look like the one in the billionaire’s study?] [The water lilies look a bit different too.] [Is the handwriting you use when you’re mad the same as when you’re happy?] [Please, haters, go read a book! You can’t step into the same river twice, and you can’t paint the exact same painting twice, OK?] The chat started arguing over the similarities of the painting. But the gift-making segment continued, and the camera quickly cut to me. I effortlessly picked up my brush. I recreated the exact painting from Grayson’s study onto the paper, right down to the exact lettering of the limerick. The chat went feral. [This woman is such a clout chaser!] [But wait… this painting actually looks way more like the original!] [Holy sh*t! Could that painting actually have been a gift from Chloe?] [Do you guys understand the difference between tracing and an original creation? She’s clearly just copying it!] [My heart aches for Aubrey, getting tangled up with a psycho like this.] [Does she have some kind of mental illness?] The host asked me at that moment, “Chloe, this painting is quite intriguing. Who are you planning to give it to?” I watched the expression on Aubrey’s face and deliberately said ambiguously: “I’m giving it to my Mr. Pierce.” 05 The expression on Aubrey’s face was instantly spectacular. She feigned composure. “Does Chloe really know Brother Gray? “If you’re actually involved with him, then I’ll call my family right now and tell them I refuse to go through with the arranged marriage.” She spoke with a mix of grievance and stubborn pride. “I don’t want a man who is two-timing.” [Ahhhhh no, don’t do it!] [Chloe is obviously just putting on a show for you, Aubrey! Don’t fall for it!] [Where did all the people who believed her go? Come out and explain how a D-lister like Chloe could ever meet a titan like Grayson Pierce?] [Exactly! Mrs. Pierce? Don’t make me laugh. If she really had Grayson backing her, would she be struggling this much in Hollywood?] [I heard someone stole her role recently and she didn’t even dare make a peep. And you’re telling me she’s Mrs. Pierce?] [She’s lying through her teeth!] [I suddenly really want to see Aubrey make that call and cancel the marriage. Billionaire Pierce loves her so much; if he loses his wife, he’ll definitely burn the city down for her!] [Upvote +10086. Chloe is gonna be screwed then.] I kept Harper’s “push and pull” principle in mind and said deliberately, “Huh? But he never told me he was going to have an arranged marriage. “The Pierce family shouldn’t really need to arrange marriages, right?” I mimicked her tone. “Are the Grayson you’re talking about and the Grayson I’m talking about really the same person?” [She makes a good point. Why would the Pierce family need an arranged marriage?] [It’s a power alliance between two ultra-wealthy families. You poor people wouldn’t understand.] [You fans are the ones who don’t understand. That’s the Pierce family!] [Everyone knows that marrying into the Pierce family is never a ‘power alliance’. It’s always considered marrying up!] [Then let’s hear Chloe explain how she hooked up with Grayson Pierce!] The host stepped in to take control of the situation. “Is it really the same person? Let’s look forward to the upcoming gift-delivery segment!” He looked around the set playfully. “Our guests can now call their intended recipients to confirm their location before heading out to deliver their gifts!” Aubrey offered graciously, “Since Chloe is in such a hurry, you can call first.” Instantly, every eye in the studio was glued to my phone. I didn’t flinch. Under the intense pressure, I dialed “Needy Hubby.” One ring, two rings… five rings later, there was still no answer. I mentally cursed my dog of a husband for dropping the ball at the most critical moment. After hanging up, I dialed his work number. This time, it rang until the automated voicemail picked up. Grayson still didn’t answer. Aubrey smiled at me. “No one answering? Let me try.” As she confidently dialed, I saw the live chat explode with mockery aimed at me. [Oh my god, this is too embarrassing!] [She even saved him as ‘Needy Hubby’. Who’s the needy one here?] [If you ask me, Chloe would have had better luck calling me. At least I would’ve picked up!] [Sis, drop the act. You’re digging your own grave.] Just as I was feeling lost and anxious, the screen suddenly lit up with an incoming call from “Needy Hubby.” I exclaimed excitedly, “He’s calling back!” Aubrey looked over, her expression anxious. I hastily pressed answer. From the other end of the line came Grayson’s deep, rich, and velvety voice: “Wife, did you miss me?”

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My mom worked as a live-in housekeeper for the Vance family. Mrs. Vance, Liam’s mother, was always on guard, treating me like a thief trying to steal her precious son. After starting college, I moved out of the Vance estate as fast as I could. I even got a boyfriend and flaunted our relationship daily on Instagram and Snapchat. But whenever I had to return to the Vance house, Liam would still put food on my plate, gently asking about my studies and my life. It was all so normal. Until the middle of the night, when the locked door to my room clicked open. He stood by my bed, a rope in his hand, staring at me in the dark for who knows how long… 01 Liam’s mom guarded against me like I was a thief. My dad and Liam’s dad grew up together in the same blue-collar neighborhood. Later, Liam’s dad made it big in business and became incredibly wealthy, while my dad struggled to make ends meet. When my dad got terminal cancer and passed away, the Vance family, out of pity for us—a widow and an orphan—offered my mom a job. To be honest, the Vance family truly saved us. My parents didn’t have much education. They had always worked factory jobs, leaving me in a rural town to be raised by my grandmother. My grandmother favored boys, so I didn’t have an easy childhood. When my dad got cancer, it drained almost all the meager savings our family had. Mr. Vance went back to his hometown to visit relatives, heard about our situation, and felt terrible. He told my mom to bring me and move into their home in the city. My mom became their live-in housekeeper, and I lived with her in the staff quarters. I was finally able to attend a good school in the city. I was just starting middle school then. 02 Liam was five years older than me, the picture of a gentle, sensible older brother. Moreover, he was the classic “perfect kid next door.” He ranked first in his high school class, was the student body president, and was adored by teachers and peers alike. Mr. and Mrs. Vance were incredibly proud of him. When I first arrived at their house, Liam played the role of a caring older brother perfectly. My backpack, textbooks, workbooks, and stationery—he took me to the bookstore to buy them all. When I first struggled to keep up with the city school curriculum, he patiently tutored me. Afraid I wouldn’t have friends or fit in, he would run over from the high school building during lunch break to bring me cookies and milk. His goal, of course, wasn’t just to give me snacks, but to show my classmates that I had someone looking out for me, making sure no one dared to bully me. He told everyone I was the daughter of his dad’s close friend. After moving in with my mom, even though we were living in someone else’s house, the Vance family’s mansion had staff quarters that were a hundred times better than our old run-down apartment. Plus, my mom could finally take care of me. Even though she wasn’t highly educated, seeing her knitting a sweater for me in our room after I finished my homework in the study made me incredibly happy. 03 But Mrs. Vance didn’t like me or my mom. I could see that clearly. Mrs. Vance would often subtly warn me when others weren’t around, saying Liam only saw me as a sister and telling me not to get any ideas. She emphasized that because Liam was so exceptional, his future girlfriend or wife would undoubtedly be an outstanding girl. Mrs. Vance said, “An outstanding girl doesn’t just need to be beautiful; she needs to have top grades, come from a good family, and be highly capable. Only someone like that is worthy of our Liam.” To be honest, I had no conflict of interest with Mrs. Vance, and I completely agreed with her. I thought she was right. Liam was truly exceptional. He was exactly like the male lead in a young adult novel: handsome, smart, with a great personality, gentle, always wearing crisp button-down shirts, and not overly talkative. So, he truly deserved to be with the most outstanding girl. 04 I attended a private high school, funded by Mr. Vance. It was close to home. Those who wanted to study abroad could join the International Baccalaureate program, and those who didn’t stayed in the regular track. My tuition was paid by Mr. Vance. Every time I saw him, I would bow deeply, thanking him for his immense help. I promised that I would make money in the future to repay him, and that I would never forget his kindness. The school often had assemblies and pep rallies where the whole student body gathered. The hosts were frequently two people: Liam, and a senior girl. That senior girl was beautiful, had great grades, and was as popular as Liam. Because of their striking looks and hosting skills, they were chosen to host school events and represent the school in competitions. Consequently, they were often seen together on campus. Everyone thought they were the golden couple. I thought so too. They were my idols. I hoped that one day I could be as amazing as them. 05 When I first arrived at the Vance home, Liam was a junior in high school. Besides tutoring me, guiding my academic path, and helping me with my weak subjects, he would take me out for fun during holidays. Once I had completely adapted to life at the Vance home and my new school, he flew overseas for college. He went to an Ivy League university. When he left, I was in eighth grade. Mrs. Vance was very reluctant to see him go. But I felt she also breathed a sigh of relief, thinking I wouldn’t be spending day and night cultivating feelings with her son anymore. Because every time Liam tutored me, Mrs. Vance would say she could hire a tutor, insisting we shouldn’t waste Liam’s time. Liam would respond in a very straightforward manner, asking why they should go through the trouble. He said helping me was his responsibility. When Liam wanted to take me out, Mrs. Vance would gently suggest she could take me, or have someone else take me. She argued that an older teenage boy and a younger girl wouldn’t have fun together anyway. Liam would reply, “We’re going to the arcade. Guys and girls of all ages can have fun there. Mom, do you want to come?” Liam simply didn’t understand his mother’s underlying message. When Mrs. Vance told me to keep my distance from Liam, I immediately agreed. 06 Liam’s grades were indeed excellent, and he was very sensible, making him highly likable. But I felt he had a flaw: once he decided on something, he had his own unshakeable logic, and no one could argue him out of it. Because he simply wouldn’t listen. I told him I would manage my own grades. He said helping me was his way of managing things. I told him to focus on his own life. He said taking care of me, his “little sister,” was a part of his life. When he wanted to take me out and I said I didn’t want to leave the house, he would strictly criticize me, saying teenagers shouldn’t stay cooped up at home all day ruining their health. His mom told him I had my own life and told him not to interfere too much. He replied that he had his own ideas and told his mom not to interfere too much. In short, after two years of living in constant anxiety, Mrs. Vance finally managed to separate Liam and me. The smile on her face became much more relaxed, and she was noticeably kinder when she looked at me. 07 Liam was very busy while studying abroad, usually coming home only once a year. I started high school and was also very busy. During his four years abroad, we had almost no contact. I transferred from the private middle school to a public high school and lived in the dorms, studying hard every day. When Liam came home, he would bring gifts for everyone. His manners were truly impeccable; the gifts he brought for each person perfectly suited their needs. Mr. and Mrs. Vance were incredibly satisfied with him, constantly saying that even though Liam was a son, he was as attentive as a daughter. Mr. Vance said that having a successful career, a happy family, and an accomplished son in this lifetime must be because he was kind and did good deeds, accumulating good karma, which brought him such good luck. Life passed uneventfully. Until Liam graduated from college and was preparing to return to the US to start his career. Mrs. Vance started getting nervous again. 08 During summer break, I moved back to the Vance house from school. Liam was due back in a little over ten days. Mrs. Vance said to me, “Chloe, Liam will be back soon. You’ve grown up now, so make sure you don’t cling to him like you did when you were little. Otherwise, your future sister-in-law might get jealous.” I immediately proved my loyalty: “Mrs. Vance, don’t worry. Once college starts, I’ll live in the dorms. I’ll work part-time jobs to make money during the semester and won’t have time to come home. I absolutely won’t get in the way of Liam finding a wife.” Mrs. Vance praised me for understanding the situation and gave me a red envelope with cash, telling me to buy whatever I needed. She added, “You know, you can look for a boyfriend while you’re in college, but make sure you keep your eyes open. College is where you find true feelings. It’s harder once you enter the real world. When you’re looking, make sure you consider the guy’s character and family background. If you find someone you like, you can also bring him to me so I can give you some advice.” I thanked her joyfully, went back to my room, and counted the money in the envelope. It was a thousand dollars. I secretly vowed that I would make money in the future and properly repay the Vance family. 09 During the summer break, Liam returned. As usual, he brought gifts for everyone. For me, it was a laptop. He said I would need it for college. The new smartphone in my pocket was a gift from Mr. Vance. Whenever Mrs. Vance saw Liam and me together, her eyes would scan us like radar, terrified we might develop feelings for each other. Mrs. Vance was really overthinking it. Firstly, I knew my place. Secondly, I wouldn’t bite the hand that fed me. It was impossible for me to seduce her son. Liam offered to take me on a graduation trip. He said, “Other kids get to go, why shouldn’t you? I’ll make sure you have it.” Although I was incredibly tempted, I knew that if I went on a trip with Liam, Mrs. Vance probably wouldn’t be able to sleep at night. I said I was going to work part-time at McDonald’s. 10 But I didn’t go work at McDonald’s; I left the Vance house every day to read at the library. Liam was busy starting his own company. Sometimes I’d get up in the middle of the night for water and see him just getting home, looking a bit exhausted. I wanted to show I cared, but the best way to care for him was to stay away. So I silently locked my bedroom door. When college started, my mom helped me pack my bags. Liam, unusually, was home. He leaned against the doorframe, frowning, “The university isn’t far from here. There’s really no need for you to live in the dorms.” I said, “College will definitely be busy, and I want to work part-time to make my own money, so living at home wouldn’t be convenient. Liam, don’t worry, I’ll come back to visit often.” He nodded and patted my head, “Take good care of yourself. If you run into any problems you can’t solve, call me.” I nodded. Mrs. Vance immediately came out and swatted his hand away, “Your sister is grown up now, you need to maintain boundaries!” I smiled at both of them. 11 Going to college and living in the dorms was the first step. What would truly put them at ease was if I got a boyfriend. Then Mrs. Vance would be completely relieved. Then I’d save money, buy a house, and I wouldn’t have to visit their house often. Of course, I would still go back to see Mr. and Mrs. Vance, but having my own home meant I’d be independent, and they would be even more reassured. Liam drove me to the university. He helped me carry my luggage, make my bed, and buy necessities—he was the picture of a perfect older brother. We set up various student accounts and then went to the dining hall to eat. Liam moved the lean meat from his sweet and sour pork onto my plate and said, “You’re still young. Don’t date right away. Focus on your studies, understand?” I nodded quickly, saying, “Of course I know. Liam, you’re not getting any younger either. Hurry up and find a sister-in-law from a good family so Mr. and Mrs. Vance can stop worrying.” His brows furrowed deeply as he said, “Adult matters are none of your concern, kid.” After seeing Liam off, I began my college life. 12 I felt my first priority was to find a boyfriend. A month into the semester, a sophomore guy started pursuing me. His name was Ethan. He was a notorious playboy in his department and a wealthy heir. To date, he had cycled through at least ten girlfriends. We ate together, watched movies, went shopping. He gave me gifts, then confessed his feelings, and we got together. His confession was pretty smooth: he booked a candlelit dinner, brought a huge bouquet of roses, and gave me a beautiful snake-shaped necklace. I shyly accepted, then took a bunch of photos, uploaded them to Instagram and Snapchat, and officially announced I was dating. We also took a selfie together. While taking the photo, Ethan stole a kiss. I didn’t like it internally, but I still smiled for the picture. I rarely went back to the Vance house. My relationship with Ethan was known to everyone. He was already very popular, which brought a lot of attention to me as well. I thought about it and registered an account on TikTok, planning to make some money as an influencer. 13 Ethan was quite cooperative with me, so I started by showing off my boyfriend. I filmed our daily dates. I decided my account would focus on sharing college life and relationship experiences, aiming to eventually get sponsorships. Then I went online to see how similar accounts filmed their content, learned a few tricks, and got Ethan to film with me. I have to say, the results were incredibly good. Sometimes I shared long vlogs, from doing my makeup to the end of the date. Sometimes I shared short, 15-second clips. These might just be a single scenario, like him tapping my shoulder from behind and me turning around, or the popular “kissing trend” online, paired with catchy, upbeat music. I actually had two videos go viral in a short period. The long one was a bit funny; the short one was extremely atmospheric and aesthetic. Then, my followers across platforms surged by hundreds of thousands. I added an affiliate link to my bio, started taking sponsorships, and made six figures. Happiness came so suddenly; I was dizzy with joy. So when my mom called me back to the Vance house for dinner on the weekend, I went back excitedly, completely oblivious to the danger descending. 14 Because I had made money, I went to the mall and bought gifts for Mr. Vance, Mrs. Vance, and Liam, as well as for my mom. Even though they lacked nothing, it was about showing respect. Mrs. Vance smiled at me even more genuinely. She even said Ethan was the son of a major business tycoon, a very good young man, and told me to date him seriously. I nodded. As long as Ethan didn’t bring up breaking up, I wouldn’t either. My current online traffic relied on him. My mom pulled me into the kitchen and whispered, “Now that you’ve just started college, focus on your studies first. Wait until you find a good job before dating. Don’t mix up the order.” My mom’s biggest wish was for me to find a good job, preferably something stable with benefits or becoming a teacher. I told her I knew. My mom looked at me, hesitating, and finally said, “Don’t… don’t get too close to that guy. Make sure you don’t get pregnant right now. If you get pregnant and have an abortion, it’ll hurt your body a lot, and it’ll be harder to find a good marriage partner later. Having the baby is even more impossible. You need to get a good job and be able to support yourself first before considering other things.” She asked me again, “You guys haven’t gone all the way, have you?” I was so embarrassed. Even though she was my mom, I didn’t want to talk about this. I scratched my head and said, “Mom, I’m going out to help.” As soon as I turned around, I saw Liam with his hands in his pockets, leaning against the kitchen doorway, staring at me darkly. I didn’t know how much of the conversation he had heard. I felt even more humiliated and hurried out with my head down.

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In Manhattan’s elite circles, Arthur Sterling was known as a ruthless force. Cold and eccentric, he treasured nothing—except for a rough, silver prayer bracelet on his wrist. Rumor had it that his true love had prayed for it step-by-step, kneeling at an ancient church in Europe just for him. Once, a top-tier actress accidentally brushed against it. The very next day, she vanished from the public eye, completely blacklisted. At a movie wrap party, I accidentally spilled red wine right onto Arthur’s wrist. In that moment, the entire room held its breath. Everyone thought my career was over. But to everyone’s surprise, he calmly pulled a few tissues and meticulously wiped every single silver bead. Without even looking up, he uttered three words: “It’s fine. Continue.” That very night, Arthur got his wish and tied a delicate gold anklet with a bell around my ankle. The crisp, melodic ringing echoed in the bedroom all night long. 01 At the wrap party celebrating our movie crossing the $300 million box office mark. “Did you guys hear? That A-list actress, Nicole, accidentally touched Mr. Sterling’s bracelet a couple of days ago, and immediately got dropped by all her major brand deals. I heard she’s facing tens of millions in breach-of-contract penalties now.” “They say it was a gift from Mrs. Sterling. I’m so jealous of that woman, being held in the palm of the hand by the head of such a top-tier dynasty.” Arthur, reverently referred to by the crowd as the “Heir,” was currently playing with his wine glass alone, his expression aloof. The director wiped cold sweat from his forehead. He had no idea why this VIP had suddenly graced them with his presence. Although the movie was a massive hit, this amount of money was pocket change to the Sterling family. “Mr. Sterling, is there anything specific you need us to do today?” Arthur’s long, elegant fingers tapped a steady rhythm on the table. His voice was lazy, and he didn’t even look up: “Nothing. You all carry on.” 02 “Mr. Sterling, I’m Sarah, the female lead in the movie. I want to toast to you, to thank you for this opportunity.” A blonde actress walked over, holding a wine glass, swaying with calculated allure with every step. A strong, overpowering perfume hit the air. Arthur frowned imperceptibly. He lit a cigarette, his deep eyes narrowing slightly. His gaze swept across the room and finally landed on me, sitting in the corner, for a few seconds. “Her perfume is too strong. You toast me instead.” Suddenly, I became the target of everyone’s scrutiny. Bracing myself, I poured a glass of wine and walked over with steady steps. “Mr. Sterling, a toast to you. Thank you for your generous investment in the production.” Arthur picked up his glass expressionlessly and downed it in one gulp. The director and producer breathed a sigh of relief, exchanging meaningful smiles. “Maya, you sit next to Mr. Sterling tonight. Make sure to take good care of him.” Before I could even refuse, I saw my manager, Monica, almost tearing up with excitement. She clearly thought I was about to soar up the social ladder and become royalty. I silently took a sip of my juice. I had debuted five years ago and was still a D-list celebrity without a single breakout role. The only thing going for me was my face, which the media had dubbed “stunningly breathtaking.” 03 I felt an unfriendly gaze continuously stabbing at me. I looked up and saw Sarah. Having lost face in front of everyone because of Arthur, she was clearly pinning the blame on me. I curled my lips into a small smile and ignored her. But she actively provoked me: “Maya, sitting so close to Mr. Sterling, how can you be so oblivious? Hurry up and pour the gentleman a drink.” I looked at the decanter on the table. Just as my fingers touched the glass, someone shoved me hard from behind. I lost my balance and lunged forward. In a panic, I grabbed the edge of the table to steady myself, but ended up knocking over Arthur’s wine glass. The red liquid ran down the tablecloth, splashing directly onto his silver bracelet. 04 The entire room instantly fell dead silent. Everyone was waiting for Arthur’s thunderous rage. “Maya is finished. Even someone of Nicole’s status got blacklisted. Let alone a nobody like her.” “Are you betting Arthur kicks her out of New York, or completely erases her from the entertainment industry?” Arthur furrowed his brows. His assistant hurried over with tissues. Using his long fingers, Arthur slowly and methodically wiped each bead on the bracelet, as if it were the most precious antique in the world. Three minutes passed. Those three minutes felt longer than three years to everyone else in the VIP room. The director bravely tried to explain: “Mr. Sterling, Maya didn’t mean to, please…” Looking at the now-clean bracelet, Arthur finally showed a satisfied expression. “It’s fine. Continue.” Everyone: “???” Did they hear that right? Mr. Sterling actually let it slide? Because of Arthur’s unusual leniency, I earned a dozen more jealous glares. I couldn’t help but sneer inwardly. Because that bracelet on Arthur’s wrist… I was the one who gave it to him. 05 Halfway through the party, I went to the restroom. Right as I stepped out, Sarah blocked my path in the hallway. “Maya! I’m warning you, Mr. Sterling has a wife. If the mysterious Mrs. Sterling finds out you’re trying to seduce her husband, you won’t even know what hit you.” I looked blankly at Sarah as she bared her fangs at me. When she finished, I raised an eyebrow: “Mrs. Sterling?” “Of course. I had the privilege of meeting her once. She is countless times more beautiful than you. If trash like you dares to get close to Arthur, I’ll tell his wife and make you disappear for good.” She had finally gained a bit of fame from this movie and wanted to climb the social ladder through Arthur, but I ruined it for her. Naturally, she was furious. I looked playfully at the figure standing not far behind her. “Mr. Sterling, did you hear that? Sarah says she knows your wife?” Sarah looked as if she had been struck by lightning. She spun around stiffly: “Sir, I…” 06 When she turned around, she realized there was no one there. Furious, Sarah raised her hand to strike me: “Maya, how dare you play me!” I grabbed her wrist and flung it back. My eyes instantly went cold as I stepped toward her, forcing her back: “If you want to survive in this industry, stay away from me.” With that, I elegantly walked away in my heels. Midnight, the Sterling Estate. Arthur was leaning against the headboard, his gold-rimmed glasses tossed casually to the side. I instinctively tried to back out of the room, but his long arm pulled me into his embrace, and he locked the door behind us. “Maya, you know how much I treasure it. You got it dirty today. You have to pay me back.” He pulled me by the waist, not giving me a chance to breathe. Domineering and lingering. I tried to push him away, but he held me tighter. Finally, with flushed cheeks, I gave in: “How do I pay you back?” He took out a delicate gold anklet he had prepared long ago and tied it around my ankle. A thin red string with a delicate bell. Against my pale skin, it looked exceptionally beautiful. The sweet ringing of the bell echoed in the quiet bedroom all night long. 07 Early the next morning, I was woken up by my phone’s harsh ringtone. “Monica, what’s wrong?” As soon as I spoke, I was startled by my own raspy voice. Monica paused for a second on the other end before exploding: “You’re asking me what’s wrong?! Of all the people to seduce, you had to mess with Arthur Sterling! The whole internet is saying you’re trying to sleep your way to the top as his mistress. That audition I fought so hard to get you is gone. Your endorsement deal for next month is canceled. If you don’t explain this to me right now, you’re on your own!” Arthur, wearing a crisp bathrobe, walked out of the bathroom. Hearing the shouting, he raised an eyebrow slightly. Monica heard the movement on my end and screamed: “Who are you with right now?!” I wasn’t fully awake yet, so I blurted out: “Arthur.” I regretted it instantly and covered my mouth, trying to salvage the situation. Monica took desperate, deep breaths on the other end: “Maya Thorne!! You get your ass back to the agency immediately! Right now!!” 08 Forty minutes later, I arrived at the agency. The trending topics on social media were already blowing up: #MayaThorneHomewrecker #ThrowingHerselfAtMrSterling #SarahMillerSpeaksUpForMrsSterling #AreTheyBesties #MayaThorneHickey #OvernightAtTheMansionTruthUnknown Monica stood by the window, yelling at the PR department: “What is the meaning of Sarah’s tweet? She’s stepping on another artist from the same agency to climb the ladder. Are you guys going to do something about this?” The PR team, full of sly veterans, deflected: “The traffic is too high right now; we can’t suppress it. Monica, you’d better deal with Maya’s private image first.” I opened Sarah’s social media account. Her words were sharp: [Throwing yourself at someone when you know they have a family. The “innocent” persona is just a cover for despicable behavior. Seeing Mrs. Sterling look so haggard broke my heart.] She even tagged a few so-called elite socialite accounts. I sneered: “She’s really rushing to dig her own grave.” Monica slammed my laptop shut: “Explain to me what these marks on your neck are. And don’t tell me they’re mosquito bites. I heard you. Was that really Arthur Sterling? Did you actually become his mistress?” I knew I couldn’t hide it anymore. So I just told her the truth about my secret marriage to Arthur. Monica was dumbfounded, nearly spilling her coffee all over the floor. She reached out and felt my forehead: “You don’t have a fever, do you? Even if you’re desperate for a man, you don’t need to make up a story like this.” I rested my head on my hand and stared at her with a half-smile. After a long pause, Monica asked in a trembling voice: “Really?” Me: “Truer than gold.” 09 Monica paced frantically around the office, practically buzzing with excitement: “Oh my god, I knew your face was a VIP pass to the top! Arthur Sterling! If he lifts a single finger, you’ll have your pick of the best roles!” She was already visualizing me standing on the Oscars stage. “So you really were with him last night? These marks… he made them?” I calmly nodded. “Monica, haven’t you always complained about me not getting any media traffic? Now I have it.” “I wanted good traffic, not the kind where the entire internet wants you canceled!” “You used to say that in this industry, even infamy is better than obscurity.” “…” Monica suddenly calmed down: “You don’t want to go public?” “It’s a hassle.” Monica stared at me with a “I don’t believe you for a second” look. “To be honest, Monica, I made a bet with my dad. If I can’t win Best Actress on my own merit by the time I’m thirty, I have to go back and inherit his energy empire.” Monica: “…” That reason sounded incredibly obnoxious.

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When the judge’s gavel finally struck wood, my fingernails were biting so deeply into my palms I was surprised I didn’t draw blood. I sat there, clutching the ruling that declared I had lost the case. The judge ordered me to record and post a public apology video for ten consecutive days. The recipient of this apology was the man currently glowing with arrogant victory at the plaintiff’s table—my husband, Toby Crawford. It all started three months ago when I found out about his filthy, cliché affair. In a moment of sheer, blinding rage, I wrote an anonymous post about it on a local community forum. I didn’t expect the algorithm to pick it up, turning my heartbreak into a viral sensation. Toby was livid. He immediately hired the most ruthless, egregiously expensive legal team in Chicago and sued me for defamation and emotional distress. The internet commentators, who had been following the drama, held their breath for me. They told me to set up a GoFundMe, to hire a shark of a lawyer to fight back. Instead, I quietly turned around and walked into a free legal aid clinic. “You can’t even afford a decent attorney, and you still have the nerve to go to war with me?” Toby had cornered me in the courthouse corridor earlier that morning. The disdain in his voice was so thick you could choke on it. The other woman, clinging to his arm like a designer accessory, pouted her glossed lips. She looked at me with faux, sugary pity. “You should just admit you were wrong, Gemma. Toby has a good heart. If you beg a little, he might just leave you enough to survive.” I hadn’t given their little theatrical performance the time of day. I just walked straight into the courtroom. But now, with the verdict handed down, Toby was standing up, leisurely adjusting his custom French cuffs, looking at me as if he were already watching me drop to my knees. I slowly lifted my head. I looked right into his eyes and flashed him a bright, blinding smile. My voice was crystal clear. “Don’t you worry, Toby. For the next ten days, you have my word—every single apology video will be packed with absolute sincerity.” “After all,” I added softly, “there are a few things I’ve been meaning to really talk to you about.” 01 The moment I stepped out of the heavy courthouse doors, Toby and his mistress, Madison, blocked my path. The damp city wind whipped around us, but they stood there like they owned the pavement. “See that, Gemma?” Toby sneered, tossing his copy of the court order so it hit my chest and fluttered to the ground. “Your pathetic little stunts mean nothing to me. If you ever dare to spew garbage on the internet again, I’ll let my legal team ruin whatever is left of your miserable life.” Beside him, Madison gasped, covering her mouth in a perfectly choreographed display of sympathy. “Oh, Gemma,” she cooed, her eyes wide. “If you had just told us you were broke and couldn’t afford a real lawyer, I could have loaned you some money. It breaks my heart to see you embarrass yourself like this today.” I looked at the two of them—the man I had built a life with, and the girl who was currently wearing a necklace bought with my daughter’s college fund. I slowly bent down and picked up the paper from the concrete. When I straightened up, my voice was dead calm. “Loan me money, Madison? That’s actually perfect timing,” I said, smoothing out the paper. “Because until Toby and I are legally divorced, every single dollar he transferred to your accounts, every gift he bought you, is classified as joint marital property. I’ll be expecting you to return my half of it as soon as possible.” “You—!” Madison choked, her carefully cultivated sweet-girl persona cracking. Her face went from flushed pink to a sickly, pale green. A few bystanders lingering on the courthouse steps had caught the exchange. I could feel the weight of their stares shifting heavily onto Toby and Madison. “Wow, the cheating husband and the mistress bullying the wife? That’s vile,” a woman muttered loudly. “Have they no shame?” another whispered. Hearing the crowd turn, the smugness evaporated from Toby’s face. He stepped toward me, his jaw tight. He pointed a finger at my face, shouting to the onlookers, “Don’t listen to a word she says! She’s mentally unstable! She makes things up because she’s delusional!” The crowd exchanged hesitant glances, the seed of doubt planted. Seizing the moment, Madison snatched the court ruling from my hand and waved it like a white flag of vindication. “Look!” she cried out. “The judge just ruled that she was lying! The court is forcing her to apologize publicly!” Seeing the official seal on the document, the murmurs in the crowd shifted. The sympathetic looks they had given me curdled into disgust. “Who would have thought? She looks so normal, but she’s actually psycho,” someone scoffed. “You really can’t judge a book by its cover.” Toby puffed his chest out, his ego instantly inflating on the validation of strangers. “Gemma,” he warned, his voice dripping with malice. “You better follow this court order to the letter. Ten days of public apologies. Do not test me, or you will regret it.” Without waiting for my response, he grabbed Madison’s hand and pulled her away, his chin held high, walking down the steps like a conquering king. I didn’t care about the whispering crowd. I just stood there, looking at the empty space they left behind. I reached down and picked up the court ruling one more time. I looked at the black ink mandating a ten-day public apology. A slow, quiet smile crept onto my lips. You want a public apology, Toby? Careful what you wish for. 02 The very next day, I followed the judge’s orders. I set up my phone on a ring light in my living room, hit record, and posted my first public apology to every major social media platform. “Hello, Toby Crawford. I am your wife, Gemma. I am here to publicly apologize to you. I am sorry for exposing the fact that you have been having an affair with a married woman named Madison to the internet…” The video caught the algorithm like a house on fire. Within hours, it was trending locally, then nationally. The comment section was a war zone. People began picking apart my statement, complaining that it wasn’t specific enough. Which Toby? Which Madison? There are thousands of them! This apology feels like a passive-aggressive joke. Some helpful armchair lawyers even tagged me, warning that I needed to pin the video to the top of my profile for the full ten days, otherwise Toby’s lawyers could file a motion for contempt of court. I took their advice to heart. On day two, I pinned the video. But I also uploaded a new one. This time, I looked directly into the lens and clarified, with absolute enunciation, that I was apologizing to Toby Crawford, Managing Director of Vanguard Development in Chicago, and his direct subordinate, a married woman named Madison. The moment it went live, it dominated the trending pages. Less than an hour later, my phone vibrated furiously across the kitchen counter. Toby’s name flashed on the screen. “Gemma! You crazy bitch!” he roared the second I answered, his voice cracking with panic. “Who told you to post my company information? Take it down! Delete it right now!” Listening to his hyperventilating rage, I leaned back against the counter, tracing the marble with my index finger. A cold, hollow laugh escaped my throat. “Toby, I’m just following the law. The judge ordered a public apology. I’m making sure it’s public.” “You take it down,” he hissed. “Now.” “That’s impossible. And honestly, it’s only day two. Don’t worry, honey. I’ll be here every single day for the next eight days, apologizing just like the judge asked. I won’t miss a single one.” The silence on the line was heavy, suffocating. When he spoke again, his voice was a low, trembling snarl. “Gemma, you are going to destroy my reputation. You’ll ruin my career! How can you be this vicious?” Vicious. The word hung in the air, absurd and suffocating. He was the one who had spent years sleeping in my bed while stripping off my clothes and slipping into someone else’s. He was the one I caught secretly draining our joint savings accounts, funneling away the foundation of our family. And I was the vicious one? Exhaustion washed over me. I didn’t have the energy to play his twisted games anymore. “Call it what you want,” I said, my tone flat. “I’m hanging up. Oh, and remind Madison to wire me back every dime you spent on her during your little romance. Joint marital property, Toby. I have every legal right to claw it back.” I pulled the phone from my ear, ready to end the call, when his tone suddenly shifted. The aggression vanished, replaced by a soft, mournful sigh that made my stomach churn. “Gemma… please. We’re husband and wife. Why does it have to come to this?” His voice was a masterclass in manipulation. “We were college sweethearts. Do you remember how jealous everyone was of us on campus? We’ve been through so much together. Why do you have to be so ruthless?” I froze. My breath caught in my throat. We had met freshman year. He chased me for three years, wearing me down with late-night coffees, endless patience, and promises of a beautiful, simple life. When we graduated, I defied my parents—who thought he lacked ambition—and married him when he had absolutely nothing. We built our life from the ground up. The late nights, the stress, the eventual promotions. We had finally made it. We had our beautiful daughter, Mia. I had genuinely believed I was the luckiest woman in the world. Until three months ago, when a glowing notification on his locked screen shattered the glass house I was living in. When I didn’t respond, Toby took my silence as a victory. His voice dropped lower, thick with feigned heartache. “Gemma, even if you hate me, think about Mia. She’s just a little girl. You’re blasting our dirty laundry for the whole world to see. Have you even stopped to think about the psychological trauma you’re inflicting on her?” A wave of pure, unadulterated nausea hit me. I gripped the edge of the counter until my knuckles turned white. “Don’t you dare bring Mia into this,” I whispered, the ice in my voice cutting through the phone. “Did you think about her trauma when you were unbuttoning another woman’s blouse? Drop the caring father act, Toby. It makes me want to vomit.” “You—!” I could hear him gasping for air, choking on his own fury. It took him several seconds to compose himself. Realizing his guilt trip had failed, the mask slipped entirely. “Gemma, I am warning you. Delete the videos and post a retraction clearing my name immediately.” “Or what?” “Or you’ll find out exactly what I’m capable of.” The line went dead. I scoffed, tossing my phone onto the sofa. But as the afternoon wore on, his threat echoed in the quiet corners of the house. It left a dark, lingering stain on my peace of mind. That evening, after I picked Mia up from school, I made her favorite mac and cheese. I sat across from her at the dining table, watching the way her little feet kicked under the chair, the way she carefully picked the peas out of her bowl. A sharp ache seized my chest. My eyes blurred. “Mia,” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “Are you… are you mad at Mommy? For what I’m doing to Daddy?” Mia stopped eating. She looked at me with her big, solemn brown eyes. Then, she slid out of her chair, padded around the table, and wrapped her little arms around my neck. Her small thumb brushed against my cheek, wiping away tears I didn’t even realize were falling. “Don’t cry, Mommy,” she said softly. “I know Daddy hurt you first. I know he loves that other lady now.” She pressed her forehead against mine. “Don’t be scared. No matter what happens, I’m always going to hold your hand. I’m on your side.” My breath hitched into a sob, and I pulled her into my lap, burying my face in her soft hair. The purity of her love, her heartbreaking understanding of a situation she never should have had to witness, broke me open. But it also fused my spine with steel. If Mia was with me, I had nothing left to fear. The internet was already a powder keg. It was time to strike the match. I reached for my phone, opened my encrypted messages, and sent a single text to my contact. 03 When the reply came through, I let out a long exhale. The next morning, after dropping Mia safely at the elementary school gates, I went home and uploaded the third apology video. Fueled by the algorithm’s love for drama, the scandal of the Vanguard Development VP forcing his scorned wife to publicly apologize while keeping his married subordinate as a mistress had hit critical mass. The internet was out for blood. The comments under Vanguard’s corporate pages were devastating. My phone buzzed. A text from Toby. You’ve really crossed the line, Gemma. You’re going to regret this. My heart gave a violent, sickening lurch. An icy dread washed over me. Mia! My mind immediately flashed to my daughter sitting in her classroom. A brief moment of rationalization tried to soothe me—he’s her father, even a monster wouldn’t hurt his own child—but the suffocating tightness in my chest wouldn’t dissipate. I couldn’t sit still. I grabbed my keys, abandoned my half-finished coffee, and drove straight to her elementary school. When I rushed into the front office, the receptionist’s words made the ground drop out from beneath me. Mia was gone. Toby had picked her up an hour ago. I felt the blood drain from my face as I stared at her homeroom teacher. “I told you,” I said, my voice shaking with restrained hysteria. “I told you specifically that no one is allowed to take her except me.” The teacher looked sympathetic but defensive. “Mrs. Crawford, I’m so sorry, but Mr. Crawford is her biological father. He’s on the authorized list, and he has joint legal custody. We have no legal grounds to stop him from signing her out.” My fingernails dug into my palms, reopening the half-healed crescents from the courtroom. I forced myself to take a shallow, trembling breath. “I… I understand. I’m sorry for raising my voice.” The moment the teacher walked away, I stumbled out to the parking lot. My hands shook so violently I could barely unlock my phone. I dialed Toby’s number. He picked up on the second ring. “Where is she?” I demanded, my voice raw. “Where did you take my daughter?” Toby chuckled, a low, relaxed sound that made me want to scream. “She’s with me. As for where we are, you don’t need to worry your pretty little head about that.” “Toby,” I growled, “bring her back to school right now. If you don’t, I swear to God I will call the police.” “Oh, call them!” he mocked, utterly unfazed. “Go ahead, Gemma. Call 911. Tell them a loving father picked his daughter up from school early for a dentist appointment. Let me know how fast they rush over to arrest me for exercising my parental rights.” I bit down on my lower lip so hard I tasted copper. “What do you want?” I rasped. “What do you want me to do to get her back?” “Simple,” he said smoothly. “Delete the apology videos. All of them. Then, record a new one. A retraction. You will tell the world that you were the one who had an affair, that I caught you, and that you made up these vicious lies about me and Madison because you were bitter and wanted to ruin me.” “You’re out of your mind,” I spat. “I will never do that.” The next sound I heard through the speaker wasn’t Toby. It was the sharp, terrified sound of Mia crying, followed instantly by Madison’s cold, irritated voice snapping, “Stop whining, you’re giving me a headache!” “Toby, she’s your daughter!” I screamed into the phone, tears finally spilling over. “She’s just a girl,” he said dismissively. “Besides, Madison is pregnant. We’re having a boy. Now, be a good girl and do what you’re told, Gemma. Because if you don’t, I will drag this custody battle out for years, and I’ll make sure you never see Mia again.” The line clicked dead. I stood paralyzed in the empty parking lot, a heavy, suffocating weight crushing my chest. Toby had lost whatever shred of humanity he had left. The thought of Mia trapped in a room with him and Madison made me feel physically ill. Suddenly, my phone vibrated in my hand. I answered it immediately. A deep, steady male voice came through the speaker. “The files you requested are secured and in your inbox. We are ready to execute the plan whenever you give the word.” I didn’t acknowledge the files. I just gripped the phone and whispered, “Toby took Mia. He took her from school. Please. Please find her. Bring her back to me.” There was a brief pause on the other end. “Don’t panic,” Colby said quietly. “I’ll get her. I promise.” With Colby’s promise holding me together, I drove home. When Toby texted me again, sending a picture of Mia looking terrified on a strange sofa as a reminder of his leverage, I set up my ring light. I went live. Because of the massive internet frenzy, my live stream pulled in tens of thousands of viewers within minutes. And just as I anticipated, Toby and Madison, feeling invincible with Mia as their hostage, confidently requested to join the stream as co-hosts. I accepted the request. The screen split. Toby and Madison sat side-by-side, exchanging a smug, victorious look that they didn’t bother hiding from the camera. “Go ahead, Gemma,” Toby said, playing the magnanimous victim for the audience. “Tell everyone the truth. Tell them how you got caught cheating, and how you tried to drag my name through the mud to cover up your own sins.” I opened my mouth to speak, but my eyes caught a movement on his side of the screen. Toby’s hand was subtly squeezing a plush bunny—Mia’s favorite toy, the one she carried in her backpack every single day. It was a silent, violent threat. My heart hammered against my ribs. Just as the silence stretched too thin, my computer chimed with an encrypted message notification. We have her. She’s safe. A rush of adrenaline hit my bloodstream, flushing out the terror. The heavy stone on my chest shattered into dust. I looked straight into the camera, at the viewer count climbing past a hundred thousand, and cleared my throat. “Ladies and gentlemen,” I said, my voice steady and resonant. “Toby is right. I did come here today to tell you the truth. But it is not a retraction.”

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When the judge’s gavel finally struck the wood, the sound echoed through the courtroom like a gunshot. I sat there, my fingers white-knuckled around the court order, my nails digging so deep into my palms I thought I might draw blood. The verdict was in. I was ordered to record and post a public apology video every day for the next ten days. The recipient? The man currently preening at the plaintiff’s table—my husband, Justin Whitmore. It had started three months ago. In a moment of raw, uncensored fury, I’d taken the sordid details of his affair and posted them on a local community forum. I didn’t expect it to go viral. I didn’t expect it to become the scandal of the year in Chicago’s social circles. Justin hadn’t just gotten angry; he’d gotten litigious. He hired the most expensive legal team in the city to sue me for defamation. People online had been worried for me. They’d told me to crowd-fund a high-powered attorney of my own. Instead, I’d walked quietly into a legal aid office. “Can’t even afford a real lawyer, Natalie? And you thought you could take me down?” Justin had hissed when we crossed paths in the hallway earlier. The contempt in his voice was thick enough to choke on. Beside him, Amber, his little “associate,” clung to his arm. She looked at me with a look of staged pity. “You should just admit you were wrong, Natalie. Justin is a good man. If you ask nicely, maybe he’ll let you keep some of your dignity.” I didn’t give them the satisfaction of a response. I just walked into the courtroom. Now, as the court adjourned, Justin was busy adjusting his silk cufflinks, looking like a man who had already won the war. He was waiting for it—waiting for me to break, to beg, to crawl. I looked up at him and forced a bright, sharp smile. My voice was clear, carrying across the thinning crowd. “Don’t you worry, Justin. I’ll make sure those ten days of apologies are… memorable. I guarantee they’ll be full of ‘sincerity.’” I tilted my head, my eyes locking onto his. “After all, there are some things I’ve been dying to talk to you about for a long, long time.” 01 Outside the courthouse, Justin and Amber were waiting for me like a pair of vultures. “See that, Natalie? Your little stunts don’t work in the real world,” Justin snapped. He looked down at me, the man I’d spent a decade of my life with, and I saw nothing but a stranger. “If you ever try to drag my name through the mud again, I’ll make sure you realize exactly what my legal team is capable of.” He took his copy of the judgment and flicked it at me. It hit my shoulder before fluttering to the pavement. Amber covered her mouth, her eyes wide with fake sympathy. “Natalie, if you were that desperate for cash, you could have just asked. I would have lent you enough for a decent lawyer so you didn’t have to lose so embarrassingly today.” I looked at them both—the polished executive and the girl who thought she’d won a prize. I leaned down, picked up the paper, and straightened my coat. “Lend me money, Amber? That’s generous,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “But considering we aren’t divorced yet, every cent Justin has spent on you—the jewelry, the rent for that condo, the ‘business’ trips—is legally marital property. I’d suggest you start tallying it up. I’ll be expecting a full refund.” “You—” Amber’s face went from pale to a blotchy, ugly red in seconds. The people lingering on the courthouse steps started to slow down, their ears perking up. I could hear the whispers starting. “Is that the guy from Midwest Steel? He’s cheating on her?” “Ugh, look at them ganging up on the wife. How pathetic.” Justin’s smugness evaporated instantly. He stepped toward me, pointing a finger. “Don’t listen to her! She’s unstable. She’s been making up lies for months because she can’t handle the fact that our marriage is over!” The crowd wavered, looking between his expensive suit and my quiet composure. Amber seized the moment, grabbing the judgment from my hand and holding it up like a trophy. “Look! The court literally ruled that she lied! She’s been ordered to apologize publicly because she’s a slanderer!” The tide of public opinion shifted back. I felt the weight of their judgmental stares—the “crazy ex-wife” narrative was a powerful one. “Natalie,” Justin warned, his voice low and dangerous. “Post those videos. Ten days. If you miss even one, or if you don’t sound sorry enough, I’m coming for everything you have left.” He turned, leading Amber away with his head held high. I didn’t care about the whispers. I didn’t care about the looks. I just looked down at the court order in my hand. Publicly apologize for ten days. Justin, if you wanted a spotlight, you should have been careful what you wished for. 02 The next day, I didn’t hide. I sat in front of my ring light, took a deep breath, and hit ‘record’ on the first of my court-mandated videos. “Hello, everyone. My name is Natalie Rossi, and I’m making this video as a formal apology to my husband, Justin Whitmore. I am here to apologize for the ‘fact’ that I publicly exposed his affair with his subordinate, Amber Montgomery, on a public forum…” By that afternoon, the video was everywhere. It hit the local trending page within hours. The comments were a battlefield. Some people pointed out that my apology felt… specific. Others, clearly legal-savvy, warned me that I hadn’t specified which Justin Whitmore or Midwest Steel I was talking about, suggesting I wasn’t being “sincere” enough. “Make sure you pin the video for at least ten days,” one helpful commenter wrote, “otherwise he can claim you didn’t fulfill the court’s requirements for visibility.” Noted. On the second day, I didn’t just apologize. I leaned in. I made sure to mention his full title: General Manager of Midwest Steel’s Chicago branch. I mentioned Amber’s role in the HR department. I spoke about the “alleged” misuse of company travel vouchers that happened to coincide with their weekends in Cabo. Justin called me within twenty minutes of the upload. “Natalie! You bitch! What the hell are you doing? Delete it! Delete it now!” He was screaming so loud I had to hold the phone away from my ear. I felt a cold, sharp spark of satisfaction. “I’m just following the judge’s orders, Justin. I’m apologizing publicly. Isn’t that what you wanted?” “You’re making it worse! You’re naming the company! You’re naming Amber!” “Well, the internet said my first apology was too vague. I’m just trying to be thorough. And don’t worry—this is only Day Two. We have eight more days of ‘sincerity’ to go. I won’t miss a single one.” “Natalie, you’re destroying my reputation! You’re going to ruin my career! How can you be this malicious?” Malicious. The word tasted like ash in my mouth. This was the man who had cheated for years while I stayed home raising our daughter. This was the man who had hidden our savings and tried to gaslight me into thinking I was losing my mind when I first found the receipts. “Am I?” I laughed, and the sound surprised even me. “Remind Amber to start saving her pennies, Justin. Every dime you spent on her is coming back to me. It’s marital property. My lawyer—the ‘bad’ one, remember?—is very clear on that.” I went to hang up, but his tone shifted. The rage vanished, replaced by a low, manipulative honey. “Nat, come on. We’ve been together since college. Remember when we were at U of C? Everyone thought we were the ‘it’ couple. We’ve built a life together. We have a daughter. Do you really want to burn it all down?” My hand trembled. For a second, I saw him—the boy who had chased me for three years, the man who had cried when Zoe was born. But then I remembered the texts I’d found. I remembered the coldness in his eyes when he’d served me with the defamation suit. “You’re really going to bring up Zoe?” I asked, my voice trembling with suppressed disgust. “You’re going to talk about her ‘delicate heart’ when you’re the one who broke our home? You make me sick, Justin.” “Natalie—” I hung up. That evening, when Zoe came home from school, I made her favorite dinner—creamy mac and cheese with the good breadcrumbs. I watched her eat, her small face so full of innocence, and my heart ached. “Zoe,” I whispered, “are you… are you mad at Mommy for being mean to Daddy?” She put her fork down and climbed off her chair. She walked over to me and wiped a tear away from my cheek that I hadn’t even realized had fallen. “Don’t cry, Mommy,” she said, her voice small but firm. “I know Daddy was being mean to you first with that other lady. I’m on your side. Always.” I pulled her into my lap and held her so tight it was like she was the only thing keeping me on this earth. Her strength gave me exactly what I needed. I wasn’t just fighting for my pride anymore. I was fighting for her future. I pulled out my phone and sent a message to the contact I’d been working with in secret. We’re ready for the next phase. 03 The reply came back instantly: Locked and loaded. The third day began like the others. I dropped Zoe at school, but as I drove away, a cold knot of dread began to tighten in my stomach. Justin was a cornered animal, and cornered animals lashing out. By noon, the internet was a wildfire. My “apology” series had become a true-crime soap opera for half of Chicago. People were digging into Midwest Steel’s glassdoor reviews; they were finding Amber’s old social media posts. The pressure was mounting. Then, my phone buzzed. A text from Justin: “You think you’re so smart, Nat. You’re going to regret this. I’m taking what matters most.” My heart stopped. Zoe. I told myself I was being paranoid. He was her father. He was a monster, but surely he wasn’t that kind of monster. But the panic wouldn’t subside. I left my office, ignoring my boss’s confused looks, and raced to Zoe’s elementary school. When I got there, the receptionist looked at me with a confused frown. “Oh, Mrs. Whitmore? Zoe’s already gone. Her father picked her up twenty minutes ago.” The blood drained from my face. “I gave specific instructions,” I said, my voice cracking. “I told the office that only I was allowed to pick her up until the custody hearing.” The woman looked sympathetic but helpless. “He’s her father, Natalie. He’s a legal guardian. We can’t legally stop him from taking his own child unless there’s a court order on file. He said there was a family emergency.” I stumbled out to the parking pool, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I dialed Justin’s number, my hand shaking so hard I nearly dropped the phone. “Where is she, Justin? Where is my daughter?” “She’s with me,” he said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “As for where… that’s not your concern right now. If you want to see her again, you know what you have to do.” “Bring her back now, or I’m calling the police!” I screamed. He chuckled. “Go ahead. Call them. Tell them a father is spending time with his daughter. See how fast they rush to help you with a ‘domestic matter.’ But if you want this to go away quietly, here’s the deal.” I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper. “What?” “Delete the videos. All of them. Then, you’re going to go live. Right now. You’re going to tell everyone that you were the one who had an affair. You’re going to say you made up the stuff about me and Amber because you were jealous and mentally unstable. You’re going to clear my name, Natalie. Or you’ll never see Zoe again.” From the background of the call, I heard a sharp, piercing cry. It was Zoe. Then, Amber’s voice, cold and sharp: “Shut up, you brat! Stop crying!” “Justin, she’s your daughter!” I shrieked. “She’s a bargaining chip,” he snapped. “And Amber is pregnant with my son. I don’t need a daughter who’s been brainwashed by a crazy woman. Do the livestream, Nat. Now.” He hung up. I stood in the school parking lot, the world spinning around me. He had no soul. He was willing to use our child as a shield for his own crimes. Then, my phone buzzed again. A different caller. “We found the files,” a deep, masculine voice said. “They’re in your inbox. We can move whenever you’re ready.” “He took Zoe,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Please, Dan. I need you to find her. I can’t do this if she’s in danger.” There was a pause. Dan Kessler—my “legal aid” lawyer, who was actually a high-stakes corporate litigator I’d known since our undergrad days at U of C—softened his tone. “I’ll get her, Natalie. I promise. Stick to the plan. He thinks he’s won. Let him keep thinking that for ten more minutes.” I took a shaky breath. I checked my messages. A new one from Dan: “Got her location. We’re five minutes out. Go live.” I opened the app. I hit the ‘Go Live’ button. Within seconds, ten thousand people joined. Then twenty thousand. Justin and Amber joined the split-screen almost immediately. They were sitting in what looked like a home office, looking smug. “Go ahead, Natalie,” Justin said, leaning into the camera. He held up a stuffed rabbit—Zoe’s favorite, the one she slept with every night. “Tell everyone the truth.” I gripped my phone, my eyes burning. Then, a text popped up at the top of my screen. “She’s safe. I have her. Finish it.” The weight lifted. The fear died. In its place, a cold, crystalline rage took over. I cleared my throat and looked directly into the camera, my voice echoing to nearly a hundred thousand viewers. “Everyone, Justin is right. I’m here to tell the truth. But it’s not the truth he wants.”

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My life didn’t just change that day; it fractured. It was the day the world stopped being a series of sounds and started being a symphony of secrets. I suddenly, inexplicably, possessed the ability to hear what people were thinking—the unfiltered, ugly truths they kept locked behind polite smiles. The first voice to pierce my consciousness belonged to my “younger sister,” Melody. We were standing in the hallway of our family home when her mental sneer hit me like a physical blow: Does this charity case really think she can compete with me for the inheritance? God, she’s pathetic. I stared at her, the girl I’d shared bedtime stories and secrets with for nineteen years. Her face was a mask of wide-eyed innocence, but her mind was a pit of venom. Then came my mother’s voice—warm and maternal on the outside, but ice-cold within: Melody is my only real daughter. This girl is just a stray I picked up. Of course I’m going to protect my own flesh and blood. Nineteen years of “I love you, honey” and “You’re my world” evaporated. It wasn’t just a secret; it was a masterpiece of deception. And finally, Tyler. My childhood sweetheart. The boy I’d loved since I was twelve. His mental voice was a jagged blade of contempt: Jade is a nobody. A squatter in a palace she doesn’t belong in. She’s nothing compared to Melody. I took a sharp breath, the air burning in my lungs. I looked up at the man standing before me, the man who was currently pretending to care about my day. I felt a strange, cold clarity settle over me. If the world I knew was a lie, then I was done playing by its rules. I felt a sudden, reckless impulse. I turned my gaze toward a stranger across the quad—a man who radiated a different kind of energy. I let a playful, dangerous smile touch my lips. “Hey, stranger,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “Are you looking for a girlfriend, or just a new perspective?” 1 It was the first day of my sophomore year at St. Jude’s. I’d hauled my luggage up to the dorms early, desperate to make a good impression on my new roommates. I was unpacking my sweaters when the first “glitch” happened. I should wear the white dress today… it makes me look soft, approachable… I froze. The voice was clear as a bell, but the girl in the next room was huming to herself, her lips nowhere near moving. I shook my head, rubbing my temples. Lack of sleep, I told myself. Auditory hallucinations brought on by caffeine and nerves. I finished organizing my desk and dialed my mother to let her know I’d moved in. “Mom, I’m all set. The room is great, and the campus is beautiful,” I said, trying to sound like the dutiful daughter she expected. “That’s wonderful, Jade,” her voice flowed through the receiver, honey-sweet. “Focus on your studies, sweetheart. Call us if you need anything at all.” Then, the static in my head cleared, and I heard the second layer of her voice. Melody is my daughter. She’s the only one who matters. As for Jade… she’s not mine. I just have to play the part a little longer. Don’t let her suspect a thing. The phone felt like a piece of dry ice in my hand. My fingers went numb. “Mom?” I whispered, my heart hammering against my ribs. “Yes, honey? Is something wrong?” Why won’t she just hang up? I need to call Melody. I actually want to hear her voice. My pulse was a frantic drumbeat in my ears. It wasn’t a hallucination. I was hearing the thoughts behind the words. And the words were devastating. Not mine. Not my daughter. “Nothing,” I forced out, my voice cracking. “I have to go. Talk later.” I hung up and slumped onto the edge of my bed. My phone nearly slipped from my trembling grip. Nineteen years. Every birthday, every scraped knee, every “proud of you” moment—was it all a scripted performance? I took a ragged breath, trying to claw back some semblance of sanity. Maybe I was having a breakdown. Maybe the stress of the new semester had finally snapped something in my brain. The door creaked open. Melody swept in, her designer suitcase trailing behind her. She saw me and her face lit up with a choreographed glow. “Jade! Oh my god, we’re in the same dorm? This is amazing!” She lunged for a hug. I instinctively recoiled, stepping back toward the window. Melody was six months younger than me. She was the “golden child”—delicate, beautiful, and perpetually “needing” things. I was the “responsible” one. The one who smoothed the path for her. “Jade? Is something wrong?” She tilted her head, her eyes brimming with fake concern. You idiot. You really think I’d let you walk away with the family estate? You’re a fake, Jade. A counterfeit. I’ve been waiting for this. Once you’re married off to some nobody, everything our parents built will finally be mine. Just where it belongs. The words felt like lightning strikes. I stared at her, at the perfect curve of her smile and the practiced light in her eyes, and I realized I didn’t know her at all. “Jade? You’re acting weird,” she said, reaching for my hand. “Did you not sleep? Maybe you should lie down for a bit.” God, look at her. Pathetic. She probably didn’t even turn on the AC to save money. Cheapskate. I wrenched my hand away. “I’m fine. Just… unpack your stuff. I need some air.” I bolted out of the room before the scream building in my throat could escape. I needed to think. I needed to understand if I was crazy or if my entire existence was a fraud. I wandered the campus aimlessly, my mind a chaotic storm. If I wasn’t their daughter, who was I? Had there been a switch at the hospital? Did the “golden child” and the “responsible one” actually belong in different lives? My phone buzzed. A text from Tyler. Tyler: Hey Jade, you moved in yet? Thinking about you. A week ago, that message would have made my day. We’d been together for two years, and I’d loved him for eight. He was my anchor. I started to type a reply, but then the air around me seemed to ripple again. Jade is such a drag. How did I end up stuck with the fake heiress? Does she really think I love her? Please. Melody is the real prize. Once she officially inherits, I’m making my move. She’s the one with the real pedigree. But I have to keep Jade on the hook for now. I still need her to ghostwrite my senior thesis. I stared at the screen, at the little blue bubble of his “care.” It felt like a sick joke. Everyone knew. My mother, my sister, my boyfriend. They were all in on the secret, watching me play the role of the fool while they waited for the curtain to fall. I sat on a park bench, the sun hot on my neck, and felt a single, hot tear track down my cheek. I wiped it away savagely. Nineteen years of a mother who never loved me. Nineteen years of a sister who plotted my downfall. Two years of a boyfriend who saw me as a tool. I started to laugh. It was a sharp, brittle sound that drew looks from passing students. My life was a tragedy, sure, but I wasn’t going to let it be a comedy for their amusement. If they thought I was a “fake,” I was going to show them exactly what a counterfeit was capable of when she stopped playing nice. 2 When I finally dragged myself back to the dorm, the other two roommates had arrived. There was Piper—small, bubbly, with a voice like a Disney princess. And then there was Jordan—tall, sharp-edged, dripping in labels that cost more than my tuition. “Hi, I’m Jade,” I said, keeping my voice neutral. “Oh, hi!” Piper chirped. “I’m Piper. So excited to meet you!” Jordan just gave a curt nod, her eyes scanning my outfit with the clinical precision of a seasoned socialite. Melody immediately chimed in, “And I’m Melody! Jade is my big sister.” Disgusting. I have to play the ‘doting sister’ act again. Whatever. If people think we’re close, I can make her do my laundry and take my notes. I didn’t look at her. I just started organizing my bookshelf. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken tension until Piper tried to break the ice. “Wait, you guys are sisters? That’s so sweet! You must be so close.” Melody beamed. “The closest! Jade is basically my best friend.” I turned my back on them, my jaw tight. Later that afternoon, Jordan’s phone rang. “Hey, Hailey… what? You need money? Right now?” Here we go again. She knows I’m a soft touch for a ‘family emergency.’ If I send her the five grand, I’ll never see it again, but I can’t just say no, can I? I looked over at Jordan. She looked genuinely distressed, clutching her phone. “Hailey, what happened? Is your dad okay? How much do you need?” Come on, Jordan, just say yes. I need that deposit for the new car. You’re so easy. I felt a surge of cold anger—not at Jordan, but at the person on the other end of the line. I’d had enough of people being used. I walked over and put a firm hand on Jordan’s shoulder. “Don’t do it.” Jordan looked up, startled. “What?” “Your ‘friend’ is lying to you,” I said, my voice low and steady. “She has no intention of paying you back because there is no emergency.” Jordan’s eyes widened. “How could you possibly know that?” “Call it a gut feeling,” I lied. “I’ve seen this script before. Don’t be her ATM.” Jordan hesitated, then spoke into the phone. “Hailey, look, I’m actually a bit short myself right now…” “Jordan! We’ve been friends for ten years! How can you be so selfish?” The voice on the other end was hysterical. Jordan looked at me. I shook my head once. She took a breath. “I’m sorry. I just can’t do it this time.” She hung up. Two minutes later, Jordan’s phone chimed with a series of texts. Her face went pale, then flushed a deep, angry red. “Wow. She just called me a ‘stingy bitch’ and blocked me. You were right. She wasn’t even asking—she was demanding.” She actually saved me five thousand dollars. I was going to be such an idiot. I owe her. Jordan looked at me, her guard dropping significantly. “Thanks, Jade. How did you catch that? The tone?” “People who really need help don’t start with a guilt trip,” I said with a shrug. Jordan reached into her Prada bag and pulled out a slim leather wallet. She pulled out five hundred dollars in crisp bills and pressed them into my hand. “I don’t need a reward,” I said. “Take it,” Jordan insisted. “You saved me five grand and a lot of heartache. Consider it a finder’s fee for my missing common sense.” She looks like she could use it. Those shoes are three seasons old. I suppressed a smirk. If she wanted to think of me as a “charity case” while paying me for my services, fine. I’d need a war chest for what was coming. “Thanks,” I said, tucking the money away. That night, Melody’s voice drifted over from the other bed. “Jade? You awake? I want to go hit the shops tomorrow, come with me?” “I’m busy.” “Oh, come on! It’ll be fun.” Please. She’s probably just embarrassed because she can’t afford anything at the galleria. So pathetic, living on a budget. I stared at the ceiling, the darkness of the room reflecting the coldness in my heart. Nineteen years of lies. The reckoning was coming.

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The day of the school field trip, I was burning up. My skin felt like it was on fire, and the thermometer had climbed to a terrifying 104 degrees. My mother didn’t care. She was too busy getting my younger brother, Toby, ready for the outing. To her, my illness was just an inconvenience, a smudge on her perfect day. “Keep an eye on her, Ma,” my mother said to my grandmother as she headed for the door. “Don’t let her cause any trouble.” When the front door clicked shut, my grandmother stepped into my room. She looked at me lying there, my sheets drenched in sweat, and a look of pure disgust twisted her features. “Wretched girl,” she spat, her voice thick with irritation. “Always looking for drama. It’s just a little fever. You’re not dying, so stop acting like a martyr.” Before I could breathe a word of protest, she ripped the duvet off my shaking body. Her hand clamped onto my arm like a vice, and she hauled me out of bed. I was so weak I couldn’t even find my feet; I collapsed, my knees hitting the cold hardwood floor with a dull thud. “If you’re so hot, we’ll cool you down,” she muttered. “Medicine is a waste of money for a girl who’s just faking it for attention.” I realized then where she was taking me. Panic flared through the haze of my fever. I started sobbing, my forehead hitting the floor as I begged her, “Grandma, please! I’m sorry! Don’t put me in the chest freezer. Please, I’ll freeze to death!” She didn’t listen. She never did. She heaved the heavy lid of the deep freezer in the utility room, grabbed me by the scruff of my neck, and shoved me inside. “You’ll be fine,” she said, her voice chillingly casual. “Sleep it off. Sweat the fever out. I’ll let you out when I get back from my bridge game.” Bang. The lid slammed shut. A second later, I heard the metallic click of the padlock. I screamed. I thrashed. I clawed at the plastic interior walls until my fingernails bled, but my voice was swallowed by the relentless, mechanical hum of the compressor. I don’t know how long I was in there. Ice crystals began to form on my eyelashes. My lips felt stiff, crusted with frost. The world started to tilt and fade, my eyelids becoming heavy as lead. Just before the darkness took me completely, a single, silent thought flickered in the back of my mind. Grandma. June is sorry. If there’s a next life, I promise… I’ll never get sick again. … I thought that was the end of my story. Then, the sound of a key turning in the front door echoed through the house. “Toby? Diane? Mom? I’m home!” The voice was a spark in the dark. It was my father. He was back. For a heartbeat, hope flared. But it died just as quickly. It’s a hallucination, I told myself. My father was supposed to be on a business trip across the state. He couldn’t be here. Mom and Toby were at the park; Grandma was at her game. The house was empty. I slipped back into the fog of despair. But then, I heard footsteps. Real, heavy footsteps approaching the utility room. I forced my eyes open. Rrrrrip. The sound of my eyelids tearing away from the frost was sharp and sickening. My body was a block of ice; I couldn’t move a finger. But a desperate, frantic thought took hold of me. One more time. Just one sound. If my father heard something, he’d look. He’d save me. I gathered every ounce of my soul and slammed my head against the side of the freezer. Thump. The sound was muffled, but clear. At that exact moment, his phone started ringing. “Hey, honey! You guys at the fair? Great. Yeah, call me when you’re headed back, I’ll pick you up. How’s June? Is she still throwing her little tantrum?” It was my mother’s voice on the other end. For a second, I felt a pang of warmth. She was asking about me. She cared. “Haven’t seen her,” my father replied, his voice cooling. “Mom probably took her out to run errands.” “That girl is so spoiled,” my mother sighed through the speaker. “She was so mad I didn’t take her to the fair that she started faking a fever just to get my attention. She’s learned how to manipulate us to get what she wants.” My father sighed, a sound of profound disappointment. “I don’t know where she gets it from. She’s become so needy lately.” The tiny flame of hope inside me didn’t just flicker out; it was crushed. Mom, I wasn’t lying. I really was sick. Why won’t you believe me? Then, the back door opened, and I heard my grandmother’s voice. “Robert? When did you get back?” “A little while ago. Ma, where’s June? Wasn’t she with you?” Finally. He was asking for me. I waited for the sound of the key, for the lid to lift, for the nightmare to end. I waited and waited. “She’s not with me,” Grandma said. There was a brief, calculated pause. Then, a sharp gasp. “Oh dear. That girl is so headstrong… you don’t think she ran away, do you? She was throwing such a fit before I left.” I stopped listening to the lies she told him. Something inside my mind just… snapped. She had forgotten me. In the silence of the freezer, memories began to swirl like a blizzard. I saw my mother’s face, contorted with resentment. “If you hadn’t been a girl, my life wouldn’t be this hard. Why were you even born? You’re just a weight around my neck.” I saw my father, his eyes red with rage, blaming my mother for his own failures. “Another mouth to feed and she can’t even carry on the family name. What good are you to me?” And finally, my grandmother at the dinner table, rapping my knuckles with a wooden spoon. “Useless girl. All you do is eat and take up space. We should have left you at the hospital.” In the chorus of their cruelty, I suddenly felt a strange, chilling peace. I couldn’t feel the cold anymore. The pain was fading into a dull, distant throb. I was slipping away, and for the first time in my life, I felt light. Mom, Dad, Grandma… are you going to be happy now? Now that I’m finally out of your way? I found myself sitting on the lid of the freezer, looking down. I could see through the white plastic. There was a tiny, frozen statue inside. That was me. No weight. No temperature. So this was what it felt like to be dead. My father and grandmother were chatting in the living room, their voices light. Robert checked his watch and stood up. “Ma, start dinner. I’m going to go pick up Diane and Toby.” “Sure thing,” she said. “I’ll get the ribs started. My grandson needs his strength.” I watched her bustle about the kitchen. She walked past the utility room a dozen times. Not once did she look at the padlock. Not once did she remember the girl she’d put on ice. An hour later, the front door burst open. Toby came running in, his new sneakers flashing with every step. “Grandma! Look at my cool shoes! They light up!” “Oh, they’re beautiful, sweetheart. Anything looks good on my favorite boy.” I remembered asking for those shoes. My mother had slapped me so hard my ear rang for an hour. “Unless you’re getting a scholarship, don’t ask me for a cent. I give you an education, and you repay me by being a greedy brat.” I never asked again. But Toby? Toby only had to whisper a wish, and it became reality. He was the “bloodline.” I was just a “disappointment” that would eventually be married off to someone else. “Mom, where’s June?” Toby asked, looking around. “Who cares?” my mother snapped, slamming her keys on the counter. “She’s probably off sulking somewhere. She’s lucky she’s not here; I’d give her something to really cry about.” Grandma set the table, placing a steaming bowl of soup in front of Toby. “That girl is a lost cause. If she’s run away, good riddance. She’s nothing like our Toby. He’s the only one with any sense in this house.” My father sighed, his gaze hardening. “She’s gone too far this time. When she crawls back tonight, I’m locking her in her room for a month.” Dad… I’m never coming back. Over dinner, Toby saw a commercial for a traveling carnival in the town square. He pointed at the screen, eyes wide. “Mom! I want to go!” “Of course, honey,” she said, not even hesitating. Toby glanced at my empty chair. “Is June coming?” My mother peeled a shrimp and dropped it into Toby’s bowl. “She’s off being dramatic. Forget about her. You’re the only one who doesn’t make our lives a living hell.” My heart—or whatever was left of it—ached. Even in death, they only saw my absence as a provocation. After dinner, the house felt festive. They were all going to the carnival. “Grandma, you have to come!” Toby pleaded. Grandma looked touched. “Oh, you go on. I’m tired.” “No! If you don’t go, I’m not going!” Toby pouted. My parents laughed. “Alright, alright. We’re all going.” It was seamless. No one mentioned searching for me. No one wondered if I was cold or hungry or safe. I was a ghost before I even died. They piled into the car, and I sat in the backseat next to Toby. I watched Grandma play with him, her eyes crinkling with a genuine love I had never seen directed at me. The carnival was a cacophony of lights and sugar. Toby ran straight for the snack stands. My mother didn’t scold him for his impulsiveness; she just smiled. I remembered being eight, at a similar fair. I’d asked for a candied apple. My mother had screamed at me in front of everyone. “Are you ever not hungry? We just ate! Look at your brother, he’s not complaining!” Toby had made a face at me and ran toward the bounce house. The carnival music was blaring when a woman suddenly shrieked. She tore through the crowd, frantic. “Has anyone seen my daughter? She’s in a white dress! She was right here!” People shook their heads. The woman began sobbing, slapping her own face in a fit of grief. “It’s my fault! I shouldn’t have left her to go to the bathroom! My baby!” A hush fell over the crowd. Someone suggested calling the police. The woman ran off toward the security station, her face a mask of agony. Toby watched her go, then looked up at Mom. “Is June lost too? She’s been gone a long time.” My mother froze for a second, then her face softened into that condescending look she always used for me. “No, sweetie. June is too smart for her own good. She’s just hiding to make us worry.” “She’s just being stubborn,” my father added, handing Toby a stuffed animal he’d just won. “She’ll be home when she gets hungry.” Suddenly, sirens cut through the air. Word spread through the crowd—security footage showed a man leading the girl in the white dress away. The exits were being blocked. Panic rippled through the carnival. My mother grabbed Toby, her face pale. “We need to go. Now.” As they were stopped at the exit by police for questioning, my father suddenly looked uneasy. “Maybe we should go home and check on June,” he muttered. “With everything going on… what if something happened?” Grandma rolled her eyes. “Robert, don’t be so sensitive. She’s a teenager, not a toddler. The house is locked. Unless a kidnapper has a key, she’s fine.” She was so indignant, so sure. But Grandma… you knew where I was. You told me you’d let me out. You lied to them. My father’s patience snapped. “I don’t care, Ma. She’s my daughter. She’s annoying and she’s a brat, but she’s been gone eight hours. If she’s not there when we get back, I’m calling the cops.” My mother scoffed. “Fine. Go ahead and indulge her. This is exactly what she wanted—everyone frantically looking for her.” When they got home, the house was silent. My father ran to my room. He saw the messy bed, the cold air. “She’s not here,” he shouted. My mother slumped onto the sofa, and Grandma emerged from her room, both shaking their heads. Then, a knock at the door. My mother grabbed a broom from the corner, her face hardening. “That little bitch. I’m going to—” She opened the door, broom raised, but it was our neighbor, Mrs. Gable. “What on earth are you doing?” Mrs. Gable asked, staring at the broom. My mother forced a laugh. “June’s been out all day. I thought she was finally sneaking in.” Mrs. Gable frowned. “Out? What are you talking about? You told me this morning she had a 104-degree fever. How could she be out?” The broom clattered to the floor. “If she’s missing,” Mrs. Gable said, sensing the shift in the room, “you need to check the security cameras at the gate.” My father didn’t wait. He and Mom ran to the neighborhood security office. I followed them, a silent shadow. They watched the footage from the moment Grandma left. I never walked out that gate. The ride back was tense. “She’s in the house,” my mother insisted, her voice trembling now. “She’s hiding in a closet or under a crawlspace. She’s just trying to scare us.” My father’s face was a mask of fury. “If she is, I swear to God, I’m done with her. She can stay in the street for all I care.” They burst back into the house. “Found her?” Grandma asked. “No. She never left the neighborhood.” My mother’s eyes suddenly darted to the utility room. She frowned. “Ma… why is there a padlock on the deep freezer?” My father stepped closer, his brow furrowed. “What’s in here that needs a lock?” Grandma’s face went bone-white. She started to tremble. “Nothing… just… I didn’t want the girl stealing the good meat.” “Where’s the key?” my father asked, his voice low and dangerous. “I… I don’t know. I misplaced it.” Her voice was a fragile thread. My mother realized something was horribly wrong. She guided Grandma to the sofa. “Ma, sit down. I’ll find the key. It’s summer, we need to clean that freezer out anyway before the food spoils.” “No!” Grandma shrieked, standing up. “I’ll do it tomorrow! Just go to bed!” The more she resisted, the more my father’s suspicion grew. “I found it,” my mother called out, holding up the spare key from the junk drawer. Grandma threw herself in front of the freezer. “Don’t! I’m telling you, it’s fine! Go to sleep!” “Get out of the way, Mom,” my father roared. “I want to see what’s in this damn box!”

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My life had been hollowed out by my father’s drinking long ago. Every time he stumbled home, reeking of cheap bourbon and resentment, the walls of our house would shudder under the weight of his rage. My mother was the first to break; she fled into the night years ago, leaving nothing but a cold trail and a shattered silence. My little sister, Hallie, didn’t have the strength to run. The years of witnessing his violence had turned her into a ghost—a hollow-eyed girl who drifted through the house, her mind stalled in a permanent state of shock. Now, I was the only one left standing. The only one sane enough to bear the brunt of his fists and the only one standing between Hallie and the abyss. I endured it, gritting my teeth and tallying the bruises like a countdown. I had a plan: get through graduation, take my saved tuition money, and disappear with Hallie in the middle of the night. But then, he found the money. That afternoon, he cornered me, his breath a foul cloud of malt and rot, demanding I hand over my future. I looked at his distorted face, the features bloated by years of malice, and I felt something snap. Not a break, but a hardening. My eyes drifted to the heavy lead pipe leaning in the corner. I walked toward it, my movements slow and deliberate, and wrapped my fingers around the cold metal. He used to roar that “a belt teaches a boy to be a man.” Well, I was starting to think that maybe a pipe could teach a monster how to be a father. Maybe, if I swung hard enough, I could finally wake him up from the nightmare he’d built for us. … When he saw the pipe in my hand, he let out a jagged, mocking laugh and spat on the floor. “What? You think you’re tough enough to take a swing at your old man?” He slammed his bottle onto the kitchen table with a bone-jarring thud, thrusting his chin forward. He tapped his forehead with a nicotine-stained finger. “Go ahead! Right here! Do it! Kill me!” My Uncle Silas, his favorite drinking buddy, scrambled out of his chair, grabbing my father’s arm. “Frank, knock it off! Take it easy!” Then Silas turned his glare on me, his eyes narrowing with a self-righteous fire. “Put that thing down, Casey! Don’t push him. Your dad’s had a hard enough life as it is!” A laugh bubbled up in my throat—sharp and bitter. “Hard? He spends his days doing nothing and his nights beating his kids. Tell me, Silas, which part of that is the ‘hard’ part?” “A father has a right to discipline his own!” Silas barked. “And who says he doesn’t work? He put in two days at the construction site this month, didn’t he? He even bought gifts for you and the kid!” I let out a cold snort. I reached into the junk drawer, pulled out a crumpled bag, and threw it onto the table. It slid across the wood and hit my father’s chest. “You mean this?” It was a bag of generic saltwater taffy. The plastic was coated in a layer of grime, the candy inside melted into a single, neon-colored lump of sugar and dust. It was years past its expiration date. Silas blinked, looking at the bag, then at my father. He cleared his throat, doubling down on the lie. “So what? It’s the thought that counts. Children are supposed to show gratitude. Don’t be like that mother of yours—no heart, no loyalty. Just a runner.” “Loyalty?” I stared them down, my voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “You know exactly why she ran. If she’d stayed another week, you’d have been burying her in the backyard.” My father slammed his fist onto the table, his face turning a bruised purple. “She got what she deserved! Women like her… they need to be kept in line! They’re built for it!” He pointed a trembling finger at my nose, spraying spit as he screamed. “You and that idiot sister of yours, you’re just dead weight. I’m doing you a favor by raising you. Spare the rod, spoil the child. You should be thanking me for the education!” I gripped the pipe until my knuckles turned white. A fire was roaring in my chest, a heat so intense it made my fingertips go numb. “Oh, I’m feeling very educated right now.” He huffed, thrusting his palm toward me. “Enough talk. Where’s the cash? The money you hid from that summer job. Hand it over.” I didn’t move. He took a step into my space, looming over me. “Are you deaf? Give it here! You’re not going to college. I found you a spot at the poultry plant down in the valley. Room and board included. Twelve-hour shifts, six days a week. You’ll send the checks home to me.” Silas nodded in approval. “He’s right. What’s a girl need with a degree? You’re just going to get married and pop out kids anyway. Might as well make yourself useful to your father while you’re young.” I took a deep, steadying breath, looking my father directly in the eye. “You aren’t getting a dime. And I am going to school.” My voice was terrifyingly calm. “If you try to stop me, I will end you.” The room went silent. My father’s face went from purple to a deep, angry crimson. “You little bitch! I’ll kill you first!” He reached down, ripping off his heavy leather belt, ready to lunge. I raised the pipe, holding it level between us. Silas jumped between us, his voice cracking. “Casey, stop! You really want to hit your own father? You want God to strike you down for being an ungrateful brat?” “Drop the pipe! Get on your knees and apologize!” Silas screamed. Behind him, my father was bouncing on the balls of his feet, emboldened. “Let her try! She doesn’t have the guts!” “Look at her! Hands shaking like a leaf. You’re a coward, Casey! Just like your mother! You were born to be under someone’s boot!” The insults became a blur—filthy, degrading, a lifetime of venom poured into a few seconds. I closed my eyes for a fraction of a heartbeat. Then, I swung. The pipe connected with his temple with a sickening, wet thud. Warm blood sprayed across my cheek. A guttural scream tore from his throat as he collapsed, clutching his head, blood seeping through his fingers like oil. Silas stood there, frozen, his mouth hanging open like a landed fish. I wiped the blood from my face with the back of my hand. I took one step forward and raised the pipe again. That broke Silas’s trance. He lunged at me, wrestling the pipe away and tossing it against the far wall. “Are you insane? You’re going to murder your own father?” He pointed toward the hallway. “Your sister is watching!” I turned. Hallie was standing in the shadows of the doorframe. Her small frame was trembling, her eyes wide and red-rimmed. She looked so fragile, like a bird made of glass. “Casey…” she whispered. My heart twisted. I walked over and scooped her up. Her hands were ice-cold as she reached up to touch the blood on my face, her eyes filled with a terrifyingly adult kind of worry. “Casey… blood. I’m scared… I don’t want you hurt.” My throat tightened. I kissed the top of her head. “It’s not my blood, honey. I’m okay. I promise.” In the kitchen, Silas was frantically pressing a dirty kitchen towel against my father’s head. My father was moaning on the linoleum, his eyes rolling back, his body jerking in small, pathetic spasms. Silas fumbled with his phone, his hands shaking so hard he almost dropped it as he dialed 911. The sirens arrived ten minutes later. As the paramedics loaded my father onto the gurney, Silas leaned in close, his voice a low hiss. “You’re done, Casey. When he gets out, he’s going to break you. And I’m going to let him.” The news spread through our small town’s gossip vine like a brushfire. Within hours, my phone was blowing up with messages from aunts and cousins I hadn’t seen in years. “He’s still your father. He only hits you because he loves you.” “Even if he’s wrong, you don’t raise a hand to a parent. It’s a sin.” “Your mother already destroyed this family. Don’t finish the job. Go apologize.” “All that book-learning has rotted your brain. Honor thy father.” I remembered the nights I had carried a bruised and crying Hallie to their doorsteps, begging for a place to sleep. They had kept their doors locked then. Not a single one of them had spoken up for us. Now, they were all experts on “family values.” My father ended up with seventeen stitches and a Grade 2 concussion. He sent me dozens of voice memos from his hospital bed—poisonous rants, promises to kill me, threats to “sell” Hallie to the highest bidder just to spite me. The “family elders” issued an ultimatum: Come to the hospital, get on my knees, beg for forgiveness, and hand over the tuition money. Or else. I tucked a brand-new collapsible baton into my sleeve—one I’d bought with the last of my grocery money. I typed a single word back into the family group thread: Fine. When I pushed open the door to the hospital room, the smell of antiseptic hit me like a wall. A handful of relatives were huddled in the corner. Their expressions shifted from anger to smug satisfaction the moment they saw me. My father bolted upright in bed, tossing the sheets aside to get at me, but the others held him back. “You little bitch! You actually showed up!” His eyes were bloodshot and feral. “Get out of my way! I’m going to teach her what happens to traitors!” Uncle Silas stepped forward, his voice booming with false authority. “Look how upset you’ve made him! Now, get down on your knees. Maybe if your attitude is right, he’ll still let you live under his roof.” The chorus began behind him. “He raised you for eighteen years, and this is how you repay him?” “If you can hit your own father, what else are you capable of? You’re a danger!” I didn’t say a word. I walked to the edge of the bed. My wrist flicked. Snap. The baton extended with a sharp, metallic ring. Before anyone could draw a breath, I put my entire weight into a swing, aimed directly at my father’s head.

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