Category: English

1 While taking a quiet walk around our residential neighborhood, I ran straight into my ex-husband, Tristan. For a second, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. No one knew better than I did how much Tristan detested this town, and how much he despised this exact neighborhood. I stopped in my tracks, offering a polite but distant greeting. “Are you back to visit your grandmother’s grave?” He stood there, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, his eyes locked onto mine without so much as a blink. “I bought a house here. I stay here whenever I’m in town on business.” A wave of disgust washed over me, instantly killing any desire to be polite. I looked down, already mentally calculating the cost of moving somewhere else, and stepped aside to walk away. But Tristan stepped in front of me, blocking my path. “Brooke, I regret it.” I pretended not to hear him, my eyes lighting up as I waved to someone behind him. “Jasper!” Jasper walked over, naturally taking my hand in his. When I first met Tristan, he wasn’t the powerful tech CEO he is today. Back then, in the eyes of our classmates and neighbors, he was just a lonely, impoverished seven-year-old boy. He had no parents and no friends. His divorced parents had tossed him back and forth like a hot potato before finally dumping him on his grandmother. Winters in Seattle were wet and bone-chilling, filled with endless drizzle. While the neighborhood kids played together, Tristan could always be seen trailing behind his grandmother, collecting cardboard and plastic bottles from recycle bins. He wore thin, worn-out clothes, constantly shivering with his head tucked into his collar. Some of the kids from our block spread the story at school, and soon, everyone started calling him “the garbage boy.” Since we lived in the same neighborhood and went to the same school, I constantly witnessed him being bullied and mocked. Eventually, I couldn’t bear to watch it anymore. I began taking care of him in secret. I would pack an extra breakfast to share with him, and I gave him my spare gloves and insulated thermos. When my dad discovered why my things kept going missing, he let out a soft sigh and brought Tristan into our home. From that day on, Tristan played at our house, ate at our table, showered in our bathroom, and did his homework beside me. My mother started buying everything in pairs: one blue, one pink. On Tristan’s tenth birthday, my father bought him a computer. That was the day we discovered his terrifying talent for programming. After that, his life changed completely. He swept every local and national coding competition, his room filling up with trophies and cash prizes. At fourteen, he traveled abroad as the youngest competitor in the World Programming Championship and took first place. I still remember the video of him holding the trophy on a bustling European street, his eyes shining brightly as he smiled into the camera. “I want to thank Mr. and Mrs. Su. Without them, I wouldn’t be standing here today. And thank you, Brooke.” We were only fourteen, but watching that broadcast, my face burned crimson. During our senior year of high school, the day he received his early admission letter to Boston Tech, he wrapped his arms around me. “Brooke, please apply to a school in Boston,” he whispered softly in my ear. For that single sentence, I left Seattle and enrolled in a mediocre local college in Boston. I had always been ordinary: ordinary grades, an ordinary life, an ordinary degree. I was nothing like Tristan. He was a man of extremes. When he loved something, he loved it to the point of obsession. He loved programming, and he worked himself to exhaustion to launch his startup. He loved me, too, often running across campus just to eat breakfast with me after pulling an all-nighter at his office. But when he hated, he hated with equal intensity. During our freshman year, Tristan used his hacking skills to break into his biological father’s small logistics firm, systematically ruining his most lucrative contracts. During our junior year, while his startup was in its most critical phase, he took a night off to throw a lavish party, celebrating the day his mother’s second marriage collapsed. Looking back, the way he treated me after he fell out of love was entirely consistent with who he had always been. 2 At twenty-three, the moment I graduated, Tristan and I got married. By then, his company was valued at millions, and he had purchased a luxury penthouse in one of Boston’s most expensive districts. Because we had no financial worries, I took a quiet, low-stress job earning about three thousand dollars a month. In a city like Boston, it wasn’t a high salary, but the hours were strictly nine-to-five, and the office was incredibly close to Tristan’s headquarters and our home. Tristan was consumed by his work, and I had no grand career ambitions. I preferred coming home to cook dinner and tend to our pets. In the beginning, everything was perfect. Tristan’s company grew rapidly, and he was hailed as one of the youngest, most promising tech executives in the country. He was sharp, confident, and deeply devoted to me. He would sit at our table, drinking the soup I had simmered for hours, and tell me how incredibly lucky he felt. But gradually, his nights out grew longer, and the distance between us stretched into a chasm. The breaking point arrived on Tristan’s twenty-seventh birthday. I stayed up waiting for him all night. When he finally walked through the door at dawn, I spotted a clear smear of red lipstick on his collar. In that instant, something inside me snapped. I hurled his birthday cake at him, lunging forward to tear at his shirt. I smashed everything within reach: the dishes, the decorations, our framed wedding portraits. Tristan watched my hysteria with cold, detached eyes. He calmly reached behind him to close the front door. “Brooke, if you’re going to scream, at least close the door. If you don’t care about your reputation, I care about mine.” He looked at me, his brow furrowed with deep irritation. “You’re still my wife, and as long as you don’t cross the line, nothing will change. No one is going to take your place. Be reasonable. It’s better for everyone.” He didn’t even bother to deny it. He just stood there and admitted it. My mind shattered. I lunged at him again, but he pushed me away with enough force to send me stumbling. He looked down at me, his words cutting like glass. “Look at yourself. Do you look like a CEO’s wife? You look like a screaming street vendor.” He turned and walked out of the apartment. He didn’t return for weeks. I was twenty-seven, proud, and entirely unprepared for that level of humiliation. I began showing up at his office, demanding a confrontation. It didn’t take me long to find out who the other woman was: Vivian, his corporate partner. Tristan hadn’t even tried to hide her. They were already behaving like a married couple in front of the staff, attending meetings and dinners together. His assistants, his executives, everyone knew. I was the only one kept in the dark. The betrayal kept me awake for days. Eventually, I lost control and lunged at Vivian in the office lobby, grabbing her hair as we tumbled to the floor. She was thin and lacked my physical strength, but even as I pinned her down, she glared up at me with tears in her eyes. “I know I’m wrong, Brooke! But I was there coding with Tristan when we were still in college! We pulled seventy-hour weeks, drank cheap coffee, and survived on instant noodles! Where were you? What were you doing?” “Tristan would finish a twenty-hour shift and still have to run to your campus to walk you to your morning classes! You sat back and enjoyed his success while he nearly worked himself to death! You don’t deserve him!” My hands went limp, and I stumbled back, staring at her in disbelief. How could she speak with such self-righteous fury? Was she actually accusing me of failing him? Tristan rushed into the lobby. He didn’t look at me once. He helped Vivian up, wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and led her away. I walked back to our empty penthouse like a ghost, sitting in the dark for days, her words echoing in my mind. Where was I while they were building his dream? What was I doing? I was in Seattle. 3 I was taking care of Tristan’s grandmother. She was a gentle, kind-hearted woman who had always treated me like her own family. During our senior year of college, she fell gravely ill. Tristan’s startup was at its most critical point, and he was working himself to the bone. Meanwhile, I was trying to finish my thesis and secure an internship. Tristan had collapsed into my arms one evening, weeping as he talked about his company and his grandmother’s failing health. I remembered exactly what I told him. I told him I would return to Seattle to care for her. Tristan had held me so tight I could barely breathe, whispering endless promises of gratitude. He told me he had decided to marry me when he was fourteen, and that he would spend the rest of his life making me happy. His tears had soaked my shoulder, and I comforted him, telling him I needed a break from the academic pressure anyway. I claimed it would be good to spend some time with my own parents. I had gaslit myself into believing I was the one who needed a break, all to ease his guilt. And so, I spent over a year in Seattle, working with my parents to nurse his grandmother through her final days. I didn’t return to Boston until after her funeral. Tristan had kept his promise. The moment I got back, he proposed with a diamond ring, and we married shortly after. But now, his mistress was standing in his office lobby, demanding to know what I had done to deserve him. It was a sick joke. I locked myself in the apartment, weeping through the nights, slowly destroying myself. I obsessed over our history, trying to figure out where things had gone wrong. Sometimes I hated Tristan with a burning passion; other times, I blamed myself. I had married an extraordinary man, but I had failed to keep pace with him. After two weeks of silence, Tristan came home. He held a bouquet of crimson roses, handing them to me as if nothing had happened. “Vivian agreed not to press charges for the assault.” “Brooke, think about your parents. Your father is a high school teacher. If you keep making these scenes, do you think his reputation will survive the scandal?” He actually had the nerve to bring up my parents. “We have a lifetime of history together. Vivian isn’t going to take your status. You have wealth, position, and everyone in this city calls you Mrs. Lu. I’ve given you everything a woman could want. You need to be content.” “Be sensible, Brooke. Let’s just go back to the way things were.” Mrs. Lu. What a sickening title. Looking at the man standing in front of me, a wave of physical nausea hit me. I rushed into the bathroom and threw up until my stomach was empty. A week later, I found out I was pregnant. The news thrilled Tristan, and he seemed to commit himself to our family. He took my hand, his eyes filled with apparent remorse. “I made a mistake, Brooke. I’m sorry. Now that we have a baby on the way, I’m done playing around. I promise I’ll cut things off with Vivian. Let’s raise this child and build a real home.” I wept, but eventually, I chose to believe him. I convinced myself that I shared some of the blame, that his years of hard work had taken a toll on him. He was back now, and that was all that mattered. But the human heart is a fragile thing. I felt as though my soul had been hollowed out. I had lost my job after missing so much work, so I spent my days sleeping, staring at the walls, and waiting. Tristan kept his word, coming home every night to cook dinner and read stories to my belly. And I might have actually believed he had changed, if Vivian hadn’t started sending me video clips every single day. 4 He spent his nights with me, but his days were still spent with Vivian. In the videos Vivian sent, the staff called me “the primary boss’s wife” and referred to Vivian as “the little boss’s lady.” They joked about Tristan’s ability to keep both of us happy. On Vivian’s birthday, Tristan announced to the entire office that anyone who wished her a happy birthday would receive a double bonus. He certainly knew how to make a woman feel special. Watching those videos, I realized Tristan’s love was like a firework: brilliant, loud, and easily given to anyone. All I had left was the ash. I didn’t know why I was still clinging to the ruins of our marriage. But looking down at my six-month pregnant belly, I couldn’t bring myself to give up on the life growing inside me. I decided to block Vivian’s number, put my head in the sand, and just focus on bringing my baby into the world. But Vivian had no intention of letting me find peace. On a rainy Tuesday afternoon, she showed up at my door carrying a large cardboard box. She didn’t come inside; she simply dumped the contents onto the floor of my entryway. Out spilled my old college notebooks, a framed photo from our wedding, and a small horse sculpture I had bought Tristan when he started his company. “Brooke,” Vivian said, her smile sweet but her eyes cold as ice. “Tristan said these things were taking up too much space in his office. He wanted me to throw them away, but I thought it would be a shame to lose such precious memories. I brought them here so you could keep them.” Staring at the mess on the floor, I didn’t even feel angry. “Get out,” I said quietly. I was done fighting with her. It wasn’t worth the energy. “Oh, are we sensitive today? I haven’t even started,” Vivian sneered, stepping closer and intentionally shoving her shoulder into mine. “Tristan told me you look like a bloated pig these days, and that you smell like baby formula. He says looking at you makes him sick.” She leaned in close, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Did you know we bought a new, larger sofa for his office lounge?” My vision blurred. The fragile peace I had built shattered into a thousand pieces. I don’t remember how I lunged at her, or how we ended up on the floor. I don’t even remember when Tristan arrived. There was only chaos, screaming, and then a sharp, tearing pain in my abdomen. When I woke up, the storm had passed. I was lying in a hospital bed, and my baby was gone. Tristan sat beside me, clutching my hand as tears streamed down his face. “Brooke, we’re still young. We’re only twenty-eight. We can try again. I swear, I’ll cut Vivian out of my life permanently this time…” Without a word, I grabbed the paring knife from the fruit basket on my bedside table and plunged it toward his chest. He flinched, and the blade buried itself in his shoulder. But even as blood soaked his shirt, he didn’t let go of me. He held me tight, weeping into my shoulder. His tears felt like grease on my skin. The moment I was discharged, I filed for divorce. Tristan refused to sign the papers. In response, I picked up another knife and drew it across my wrist, slicing deep into the flesh. The sight of the blood terrified him, and he finally signed the papers. In the settlement, he transferred ten million dollars to my account. I didn’t refuse the money; I knew I would need it to pay for my medical treatment. My mind was broken. I was diagnosed with severe, clinical depression.

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1 My ten-year-old son, James, was supposed to be enjoying his after-school swim club. Instead, his classmates held his head down, pinning him to the pool’s suction drain. I dove in like a madman when I saw the water blooming with a sickening crimson. But by the time I dragged him out, the brutal force of the drain had already torn his face beyond recognition. He choked up a final pool of dark blood and went completely still. The ringleader, an arrogant boy, sneered without a shred of remorse. “So what? I’m a minor, the law can’t touch me anyway.” “Besides, I couldn’t stand him. Now that he’s dead, nobody is in my way for first place.” His father tossed a credit card at my feet with a lazy, patronizing shrug. “There is a hundred grand on there. That should be more than enough to buy your boy’s cheap life.” Grief-stricken, I demanded justice, but my wife, Audrey, held me back. “They’re just kids, Lucas! Our boy is already gone, do you really want to ruin another child’s entire future?” My relentless crusade only managed to land the boy a brief stint in juvenile hall, a far cry from the justice my son deserved. Consumed by despair, I swallowed an entire bottle of sleeping pills by my son’s grave. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very day I was supposed to drop James off at the pool. Instantly, I grabbed his hand and dragged him back to the car. We were going home. But even with James safe, the tragedy of the pool still unfolded, only this time, it claimed a different boy. … We had left in such a hurry that James’s dry clothes were still in the locker room. I told him to wait in the car while I ran back inside, intending to also warn the facility manager about the dangerous suction drain. But the moment I stepped into the natatorium, a chorus of cruel laughter echoed off the tiled walls. “Look at him! Doesn’t he look like a dead fish? Move, you idiot! Why aren’t you moving? Hahaha!” Three boys were laughing hysterically. The tallest, Mason, was stepping heavily on a patch of blue fabric underwater. Seeing that familiar shade of blue, identical to James’s swimsuit, and the faint pink cloud rising in the water made my heart stop. If I hadn’t known for a fact that James was sitting safely in the car, I would have collapsed right there. In my past life, Mason had targeted James because my son beat him academically, and Mason wanted to crush him in the pool too. But who was this boy? And why were they doing this to him? I didn’t have time to think. I rushed forward, shouting at the top of my lungs. “Stop! What the hell are you doing?!” Mason looked up, raised an eyebrow, and took a casual step back. “Oh, look, the old dog’s here to protect his pup. Game’s over, boys.” The other two boys jumped back like startled rabbits, refusing to look me in the eye. Even though they had released him, the immense suction held the boy’s face flat against the drain grate. His limbs floated limply. In my past life, James had been trapped exactly like this. I had dove in to save him, but the suction was too strong to fight. By the time the staff turned off the filtration system, the golden window had slammed shut, and my son died in my arms. The blue swimsuit, the medium-cropped hair, the slight build… I kept telling myself James was safe, but my hands shook uncontrollably. Drawing on my grim experience, I screamed at the nearby lifeguard. “What are you standing there for? There’s a kid stuck to the drain! Shut off the filtration system now!” The lifeguard finally snapped out of his daze and scrambled to call the control room. A few agonizing minutes later, I pulled the boy’s limp body from the water. His face was swollen and distorted, completely unrecognizable. He wasn’t breathing, and there was no pulse. Mason stood nearby with his arms crossed, a smug smirk playing on his lips. “Mister, he said he could hold his breath for three minutes. We were just helping him.” “Helping him?!” My vision went red. I slapped him hard across the face. “You call pinning him to a drainage grate helping him?!” Mason clutched his cheek, glaring at me with venom. “It was just a game! Who knew he’d be such a wimp?” “How dare you hit me? Do you know who my mother is? She’ll destroy your whole family!” I knew exactly who his mother was, and it only made me want to tear that arrogant look off his face. His mother had married a useless parasite named Richard, and together they had raised this little monster. “A game? This is murder! Do you understand that?!” The chubby boy beside Mason finally started to look terrified, his voice trembling. “Mason, did we… did we go too far?” Before he could finish, Mason snapped. “Shut up! You were holding him down just as hard!” The third boy burst into tears. “I want to go home…” I ignored them, laying the boy flat on the tile. I began administering CPR, screaming at the staff. “Call an ambulance! Hurry! He might still have a chance!” As I tilted his chin back to give him rescue breaths, I noticed a tiny, dark-red birthmark shaped like a plum blossom behind his ear. Something clicked in my mind, but the thought slipped away before I could grasp it. Just then, Coach Briggs walked in through the side door, exhaling a slow puff of cigarette smoke, accompanied by Richard, Mason’s father. The moment they saw the scene by the pool, the color drained from their faces. “What… what happened here?!” Mason immediately twisted his face into a mask of tearful innocence, running to his father. “Dad! We were just having a breath-holding contest. He said he could do three minutes, but then…” “This is unacceptable!” Coach Briggs went pale. “I’ve told you boys a thousand times, no swimming without a coach present!” “I’m sorry, Dad, I won’t do it again,” Mason whimpered, burying his face in his father’s side, though he cast a malicious smirk at me from the shadows. “But that mister over there hit me!” Richard saw the red handprint on his son’s face and pointed an angry finger at me. “Who the hell do you think you are, putting your hands on my son?” He cast a dismissive glance at the dead boy on the floor. “The kid didn’t follow the rules, and his parents clearly weren’t watching him. You can’t blame anyone else for a tragic accident, right?” In my past life, the security footage showed Mason pushing James into the pool from behind before all three boys dragged him to the drain and held him down. The boy lying here had suffered the exact same fate. I knew the agonizing pain of losing a child. No matter who this boy was, he was innocent. Saving him was the only thing that mattered. I didn’t waste my breath on Richard, continuing my chest compressions while looking at the coach. “Coach Briggs, this happened on your watch. You have a responsibility here. You need to contact this boy’s parents immediately.” 2 Coach Briggs fumbled with his phone, his hands shaking so violently he nearly dropped it. “Yes… yes, of course… I’ll call right away…” A few seconds later, he looked down at the boy’s mangled, swollen face. “But… his face is so swollen, I can’t tell which student he is.” I looked up, thoroughly exasperated. “Then check your roster! See who was supposed to be here today, cross-reference the absences, and look at who’s standing right here!” Mason chimed in, stepping forward. “Don’t bother looking, Coach. I know exactly who it is.” He crouched down next to me, staring at the boy’s face. His voice was quiet, but his words pierced my ears like needles. “It’s James, Mister. Don’t you even recognize your own son?” “You were so dramatic earlier, I thought you knew. Or were you just too scared to face the truth?” My eyes widened as I stared at him. They thought this was James? That was why they had done this? Mason seemed delighted by my shock. Seeing that my hands hadn’t stopped pumping the boy’s chest, he shook his head. “Don’t waste your energy. You’ve been doing CPR for twenty minutes, but he was under for ten. The golden window is long gone. He’s brain-dead.” My hands went limp, and I collapsed onto the cold tiles, my entire body shaking. Was I too late again? In my past life, I couldn’t save my own son. In this life, I couldn’t save this boy either. I glared at Mason. “Why would you do this? Aren’t you afraid of retribution?” “Oh, I’m shaking in my boots,” he mocked, clutching his chest dramatically. “What retribution? The law?” “I’m only eleven. Under the law, anyone under fourteen can’t be held criminally responsible.” He was so close I could smell the orange shampoo in his hair. That scent, combined with those exact words, had been the soundtrack to my nightmares in my past life. Looking at his twisted, malicious face, the hatred I had suppressed across two lifetimes boiled over. I grabbed him by the hair and shoved his face toward the water. “You sadistic little monster! I’ll let you taste what it feels like…” Before I could drag him under, Richard slammed his heavy key ring into the side of my head. The metal cut deep into my forehead, and blood began to trickle down my face. I was forced to let go, and Richard quickly pulled Mason behind him. “Are you insane?!” Richard roared. “It was an accident! Why are you taking it out on a child? My son is just a boy, how could he understand the consequences? It was a tragic accident!” “An accident?!” The blood roared in my ears. “Go check the security cameras! Three of them held his head down and forced him into the drain! You call that an accident?!” Richard glanced back at his son, who looked slightly guilty, before slowly pulling a black card from his wallet. “What do you want, justice? Let me tell you something, Mister. Justice in this world depends entirely on who you are and how much you can pay.” He took a step forward, tapping the card against my nose. “Do you know who my son is? His mother is the sole heiress of the Harrington Group.” “And your son? Just a working-class brat. His life isn’t worth ruining my son’s future.” He tossed the card directly at my bleeding forehead. “There’s a hundred grand on this card. The pin is six eights. Take the money, bury your kid, and keep your mouth shut.” “If you breathe a word of this to anyone, or if you call the police, I’ll make sure you and your wife can’t even get jobs sweeping streets in this city.” Mason peeked out from behind his father, sticking his tongue out at me. There wasn’t a trace of fear on his face, only pure, malicious triumph. Coach Briggs, desperate to avoid a scandal, whispered in my ear. “James’s dad, look, it was an accident. Since they’re offering to settle this privately, why don’t we all just take a step back?” Take a step back? I looked at the black card on the floor, then at the cold, lifeless boy, and a bitter laugh escaped my lips. A child’s life was just a transaction to them, negotiated with such casual ease. My eyes fell on the birthmark behind the boy’s ear again, and suddenly, I remembered who he was. If a working-class boy’s life wasn’t enough to bring them down, let’s see how many of their own lives they would have to pay to settle the score for this boy. Mason kept rambling. “Mister, be smart. Money is real. Your kid is dead anyway, you can always just make another one…” I slowly raised my head, my eyes locking onto his arrogant face. “Your mother’s money won’t save you this time.” He tilted his chin up. “Say whatever you want. I won’t get in trouble anyway. My dad said the law protects minors like me.” I gently wiped the water and blood from the dead boy’s face, my finger brushing against the plum-blossom birthmark. Then, I took off my jacket and laid it gently over his body, giving him his last shred of dignity. “Protects you?” I let out a cold, hollow laugh. “Then you’d better pray that the law is the only thing people believe in.” Richard frowned, his eyes narrowing. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I ignored him, pulling out my phone to send a single text. Then, I leaned down and whispered into the dead boy’s ear. “Don’t worry, buddy. Your mom is on her way.” With that, I began dialing 911. “What do you think you’re doing?!” Richard demanded, his voice dropping to a threatening register. “I told you, we settle this here and now! If you dare…”

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1 The heatwave apocalypse arrived without warning, sending global temperatures soaring into uncharted territory. As the power grid collapsed across the country, the government rationed electricity, leaving household air conditioners dead. Millions fell victim to severe heatstroke, their bodies cooking from the inside out. I had spent my life savings on a small, portable cooling tent. Due to power limitations, it could only fit one person at a time. My family and I agreed to take turns, one day at a time. But by the second day, they stole my turn. First, they gave my slot to my younger brother. Second, they gave it to my mother. By the third day, I died of heatstroke. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in my bedroom, exactly one week before the world went to hell. This time, I woke up with the Sensory Swapping System. The first thing I did after my rebirth was shut down every assembly line at my food processing plant. I took all the rice, flour, grain, and oil from the factory and locked them away in our storage vaults. With the apocalypse looming, raw survival depended entirely on securing resources. Checking the countdown on my phone, I had exactly six days and seven hours before global temperatures spiked by thirty percent, scorching crops and drying up rivers. At that point, anyone with food and water would become a prime target. Simply having supplies was not enough; I needed an absolute fortress. My top priority was upgrading the factory. I expanded the main warehouse, installed an independent solar power grid, and dug deep to place a heavy-duty underground water filtration system. Every production line was cleared out, and raw ingredients were categorized and secretly moved into cold storage and reinforced vaults. Finally, I hired a high-end security firm to install a defense system. With my safe house ready, I turned to the remaining supplies. I rented a twenty-four-foot refrigerated box truck. It was large enough to haul my entire checklist, yet modest enough to navigate the city streets and enter the factory gates without drawing suspicious eyes. More importantly, it kept temperature-sensitive cargo perfectly chilled during transport. I bypassed local supermarkets and wholesale markets, which were too crowded and lacked the bulk items I needed. Instead, I drove to a massive warehouse club on the city outskirts and bought vacuum-packed rice, flour, grains, frozen meats, and canned goods in bulk. I cross-referenced my checklist to make sure no detail was missed: antibiotics, painkillers, anti-inflammatories, gastrointestinal medicine, antihistamines, and wound disinfectants. Once the medical supplies were secured, I cleared a small indoor plot inside the factory. As soon as my first truckload arrived, I sowed vegetable seeds into the fertile soil. There was no telling how long the heat would last, and relying solely on stockpiles was a death sentence. I needed a continuous, renewable source of food. By the time I finished my second supply run, my bank accounts were drained. Running a private factory meant most of my liquid capital was tied up in unpaid invoices, so I liquidated my stock portfolio and sold my family’s ancestral home far below market value. With the cash, I covered the factory roof with high-efficiency solar panels, adding several industrial-grade diesel generators capable of running for years. I also purchased an encrypted military-grade radio transmitter, multiple thermal imaging cameras, and a state-of-the-art automated defense system. Six days later, the heatwave struck. My external sensors registered a blistering 119 degrees Fahrenheit. And I knew this was just the beginning. The municipal power grid collapsed within four hours of the initial spike. The city fell into a suffocating silence. Water systems rely on electricity; when the pumping stations ground to a halt and the last drops trickled out of the taps, raw panic tore through the streets. I unlocked my phone, watching the desperate cries for help online and tracking real-time aerial footage from my drone. The once-bustling streets were completely abandoned. The asphalt was melting, bubbling up and releasing a pungent chemical stench. As my drone hovered over my old apartment building, I spotted three familiar faces through the window. “It’s too hot! Why isn’t the AC working?” “I’m going to die!” My brother’s whining voice filtered through the audio receiver. Watching the three of them drenched in sweat, I reached into my mini-fridge, grabbed a cold can of soda, and took a long, refreshing drink. The icy liquid slid down my throat, sending a pleasant shiver through my body. It actually felt a little chilly, so I adjusted my thermostat to a comfortable seventy-eight degrees. By the third day, the temperature outside hovered near 140 degrees. Reports of heatstroke deaths were skyrocketing, and vicious fights over bottled water were breaking out on every corner. Unbothered, I pumped filtered water from my well and gently misted the green sprouts pushing through the indoor soil. But as I stood enjoying the quiet, my security console flashed a bright red warning: [Bio-signature approaching]. 2 Through the high-definition security monitors, I watched two men carrying heavy fire axes kick through my outer factory gate. “The air is cooler in here! There’s definitely food inside!” On screen, their faces were twisted with heat exhaustion and manic desperation. I recognized them instantly. In my past life, these same two men had looted a local convenience store during the initial blackout, hacking the elderly shopkeepers to death for a single case of bottled water. They began hacking at my security doors, cursing and screaming. Their violence only made my decision easier. Since I had spent millions on an automated defense grid, I figured this was the perfect opportunity to test it. I moved my finger across the console and tapped the [Purge] command. A silent laser swept across the hallway. The two intruders collapsed instantly, blood pooling on the concrete. Within seconds, automated cleaning arms emerged from the wall, dragging the bodies toward the incinerator chute. I launched my drone to scan the factory perimeter. The location was remote enough that no one else seemed to be nearby. But as the drone returned toward the main hangar, three figures caught my eye. “Mom, Dad, this is where Sylvia is hiding!” “That selfish bitch is in there enjoying the AC while we’re out here dying!” I had fully expected Gavin to drag our parents to my door eventually. But what I did not expect was the sudden alert on my monitor: [Main Door Unlocked]. The sound of my security system disengaging made my blood run cold. How was that possible? The security architecture was my own design, featuring physical and digital barriers. Without my master biometric override, opening the door from the outside should have been impossible. I pulled up the lock diagnostics. The primary electronic lock icons were flashing red, showing they had been bypassed. Zooming in on the entryway camera, I saw Gavin holding a strange, custom-built electronic device. He was running it over the keypad, forcing the system to cycle through codes. I had forgotten that despite his lazy, useless attitude, my brother was a mechanical prodigy when it came to locks and circuits. I took a deep breath, my fingers flying across the auxiliary control panel. I had engineered this system to handle any threat, including an inside betrayal. I initiated the secondary lockdown protocol. I wiped the digital keypad memory and engaged the heavy steel physical deadbolts. [Authorization required: Iris scan, palm print, thirty-six-digit dynamic physical key.] [Processing security protocol… 3… 2… 1…] [All external digital signals blocked.] The moment the physical bolts slammed into place with a heavy thud, Gavin’s face fell. He kicked the door in frustration, triggering the automated defense warning. Realizing what would happen if he stayed, he grabbed our parents and retreated into the courtyard, screaming curses into the security camera. I assumed they would wander off and perish in the heat, but two hours later, they returned. This time, they were dragging someone with them. It was Martha, my oldest factory employee. She had been with me since I started the business, treating me like her own daughter. In my previous life, I had lost contact with her during the chaos. In this life, with time running short, I had anonymously sent her a massive crate of supplies and a stack of cash, urging her to escape to the countryside. How did they find her? “Sylvia!” Gavin screamed at the camera, holding a kitchen knife to Martha’s throat. “If you don’t open this door, I’m going to carve this old lady up piece by piece! You have three minutes!” The temperature outside was rising. Sweat poured off my family as they counted down the seconds, their eyes wild with desperation. In the final seconds, I relented. I put on my tactical body armor, gripped my rifle, and opened the inner security gate. “Let Martha go, and you can step inside,” I announced through the speaker. But I underestimated their cruelty. The moment the cool air of the vestibule hit their skin, Gavin kicked Martha hard in the stomach, sending her sprawling. Before I could catch her, the three of them rushed past us into the primary safe room and slammed the door, locking it from the inside. I didn’t panic. I simply smiled, helped Martha up, and led her into the secondary shelter next door. Fortunately, I had designed the factory with a dual-zone layout. By locking themselves in the primary room, they had only cut off a tiny fraction of the facility, leaving the storage vaults and greenhouses entirely under my control. But as the minutes ticked by, the air in my secondary room began to warm up. I checked the monitors and saw Gavin frantically pressing buttons on the master panel, cutting the power to my section of the building. The suffocating heat of my past life began to creep back into my chest. On the split-screen monitor, I watched Gavin tearing through my refrigerator, guzzling my cold drinks while my parents submerged their heads in the sink. I pulled up the system interface on my tablet. [Sensory Swapping System activated. Please select target.] Without hesitation, I typed in my brother’s name: Gavin.

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1 “No, I can’t do this anymore…” Desperate for quick cash, I had accepted a part-time product testing gig. The listing promised a generous payout of three thousand dollars just for testing out some new merchandise. But I never could have imagined what kind of products they actually were. They were intimacy devices: high-powered vibrating toys in shades of hot pink, strangely shaped massagers, essential oils that gave off a heavy, suffocating scent, and synthetic stimulants designed to spike your adrenaline and hormones. But the most terrifying thing in the room was the heavy red leather chair. I was currently strapped to it, my wrists and ankles secured, forced to experience every single device in the shop. That day, my body’s natural sensitivity was pushed past its breaking point, trapping me in a nightmare as the shop’s personal testing machine. … My name is Luna, and I’m a dance major from a struggling background. To cover my tuition and monthly expenses, I’ve had to take on almost every odd job imaginable. Right now, I was standing in front of an adult novelty shop. It was a secluded, single-story building located in a quiet, industrial pocket of the city. A dim, warm pink light spun lazily above the entrance, casting an eerie glow over the pavement. My heart did a nervous flutter, and I checked the address on my phone one last time. This was the place. Yesterday, a notification had popped up on my student job board app: High-paying gig, first come first served. Female only. When I saw the three-thousand-dollar payout, I didn’t stop to think. I just tapped “accept.” Only now, standing in front of the locked door, did the reality of the situation sink in. A three-thousand-dollar testing job wasn’t going to be for regular household appliances. It was going to be for highly private, intimate novelty products. I swallowed hard, my throat dry. I had heard rumors of other college girls taking similar high-paying gigs. One girl had returned to the dorms with her legs shaking so badly she couldn’t leave her bed for a week. As I hesitated, my phone buzzed in my hand. It was a text from my landlord, Mr. Davis. Luna, rent is due next week. Don’t be late. On one hand, I was facing immediate eviction. On the other, I had three thousand dollars practically waiting for me. I grit my teeth. It was just a product test, right? People used these things every day. There was nothing to be afraid of. I took a deep, shaky breath, knocked on the door, and waited. The door was opened by a tall, heavily built man in his late object-thirties. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of loose gray sweatpants, his skin glistening with sweat as if he had just finished a strenuous workout. A heavy, sweet, yet metallic scent drifted from the interior, making my chest tighten. The man leaned against the doorframe, his eyes scanning me from head to toe. “You here for the gig?” This had to be Marcus, the owner. I offered a quiet nod. He was easily twice my size, and the fear I had managed to push down came rushing back. Marcus let out a slow, satisfied grin. “Well, they finally sent me a good one.” His gaze was incredibly intense, as if he were looking straight through my clothes. I clenched my fists, feeling like prey cornered by a predator. “Come on in,” he said, turning back into the dimly lit room. I stepped inside, the heavy, sweet scent instantly wrapping around me. The room was dark, save for the bright glow of a thirty-two-inch monitor on the main desk. As my eyes adjusted, my body went rigid. The screen was playing a highly explicit, graphic video. On the monitor, a woman was bound to a leather chair, her limbs restrained as she was subjected to various mechanical devices, her muffled gasps echoing softly from the desktop speakers. The sheer explicitness of the scene made my pulse race, a strange, nervous heat blooming in my cheeks. I tried to look away, but my eyes kept darting back to the screen. Marcus caught me looking, a low chuckle escaping his throat. “You don’t have to look away. It’s just human nature, after all.” He reached over and unplugged the headphones, letting the loud, rhythmic sounds of the video fill the empty room. “No, that’s… that’s fine,” I stammered, stepping toward the display shelves to distance myself, only to find them lined with massive, bizarrely shaped silicone devices that looked entirely unnatural. “Marcus, please… can we just get the test started? I’d like to finish as quickly as possible.” My heart was pounding against my ribs, my voice shaking. “Eager, aren’t we?” Marcus switched on a standing lamp, casting a warm, amber glow across the room. Now I could clearly see the layout. In the center of the room sat a massive king-sized bed, and beside it was an intricate red and black leather chair fitted with heavy straps and various mechanical attachments. “Right here,” Marcus said, patting the leather headrest. “This is our newest import. You’re going to be testing it today.” 2 “What?!” I gasped, taking a step back. I had assumed the testing would involve small, hand-held devices, things I could easily manage. But the chair in front of me was the exact model from the video, the one where the woman had been completely overwhelmed by the machinery. The thought of being strapped to that device made my skin crawl. “I’m not doing this. I want to cancel.” Marcus reached out, his heavy hand clamping firmly around my forearm. “Don’t be so quick to leave. This chair cost me a fortune to import, and it’s just a sensory massage system. Nothing more.” “Besides, if you back out now, you’ll have to pay the cancellation fee.” “What cancellation fee?” I demanded, trying to pull my arm free. Marcus’s lips curved into a smug smile. “I guess you didn’t read the fine print on the app.” I quickly pulled out my phone, opening the gig contract. Hidden at the very bottom of the terms was a clause stating that if the tester cancelled after arriving at the venue, they would be liable for double the payout in liquidated damages. Six thousand dollars. I had been so blinded by the three-thousand-dollar offer that I hadn’t even looked at the terms. I didn’t have six hundred dollars to my name, let alone six thousand. “I didn’t think you’d have that kind of cash lying around,” Marcus murmured, his grip on my arm tightening slightly. “How about this? If you cooperate and complete the test, I’ll add another two thousand to your payout.” Five thousand dollars. My resolve crumbled. The thought of my unpaid rent and my empty bank account flashed in my mind. “Fine,” I whispered. “But you have to stop if I tell you to.” “Of course,” Marcus promised, his voice smooth. “The moment you say stop, I’ll shut it down.” He guided me to the chair, and I lay back against the slick, cold leather. It was surprisingly comfortable, but the moment my limbs were in place, Marcus pulled the thick leather straps over my wrists and ankles, securing me flat against the frame. The interior of the straps was lined with soft velvet, preventing them from chafing my skin, but the realization of being completely helpless made my breath hitch. He walked over to a small table and lit a heavy, scented candle. As the sweet, exotic aroma filled the air, a strange, heavy relaxation began to wash over me, dulling my anxiety. “During the test, I need you to be completely honest about what you feel,” Marcus instructed, picking up a clipboard. “Your feedback determines the final report.” I nodded slowly, trying to stay focused. “Okay.” He flipped a switch on the console, and a low hum vibrated through the chair. It started gently, a pulsing sensation that moved from my calves to my thighs. “It… it tickles,” I murmured, squirming slightly. Marcus made a quick note on his clipboard. “Highly sensitive. Good.” The intensity of the vibration increased, the pulses growing stronger as they moved up toward my lower abdomen. A sudden, sharp wave of heat bloomed inside me, making my chest rise and fall rapidly. I tried to arch my hips away from the vibration, but the straps held me firmly in place. “What does it feel like now? Is it too intense?” Marcus asked, his eyes locked on my face. “It’s… it’s too much,” I gasped, my skin flushing as a feverish warmth spread through my limbs. “Marcus, turn it off… please!” The machine suddenly surged, the localized vibrations pulsing rapidly against my core. I cried out, my mind spinning as the unnatural, drug-induced stimulation overwhelmed my senses. Finally, the machine clicked off. I lay gasping for air, my skin slick with sweat, my mind completely scrambled by the intensity of the sensation. “We need to remove your outer clothes for the next phase,” Marcus said, his voice dropping an octave. “The fabric is damp, and it’s interfering with the sensors.” Before I could protest, my mind still clouded by the heavy scent of the candle, Marcus reached down and unzipped my shorts, pulling them and my shirt away until I was left in only my underwear. The cool air of the room hit my damp skin, making me shiver. He picked up my shorts, his eyes dark as he examined them. The cold air helped clear my head, and a sudden wave of panic washed over me. “No… we didn’t agree to this. I want to stop!” I struggled against the leather straps, but Marcus simply looked down at me, a cold, dark grin on his face. “You don’t get a say anymore.”

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1 My brother was rotten from the start. He tried to kill me more times than I could count. At five, he threw a lit lighter onto my lap. The flames melted half my face, scarring me forever and leaving a constant, burning itch. Through tears, I told the truth, but Mom only held me and whispered, “Your brother’s just a baby. He couldn’t have done that.” At ten, he tricked me into fetching a ball from a thorn thicket hiding a hornet’s nest. I was stung by hundreds, fell down a ravine, and shattered my leg. My kidneys failed, leaving me tied to a catheter for life. Still, no one believed me. “You weren’t careful,” they said. “Stop being a burden.” On my eighteenth birthday, he shoved peanut butter cake into my mouth. I choked instantly, collapsing as he stood over me, grinning at my struggle. Only when he’d had his fill did he run out shouting, “Grace ate cake and had an allergic reaction!” Mom screamed. Dad cursed. “Why won’t that useless girl just die already?” I smiled. [Congratulations, Host. Hidden ending unlocked: 99 Deaths.] [In 24 hours, the portal to the real world opens.] My throat was almost entirely blocked. Every attempt to breathe sounded like a broken bellows, yet not a single drop of oxygen reached my lungs. As I lay on the floor drifting into unconsciousness, I heard heavy, hurried footsteps echoing down the hall. Dad burst through the door and immediately slapped me twice across the face. “Always stuffing your face! Are you really that greedy? What did I do in a past life to deserve you? Can’t you give us one single day of peace?” Mom was frantically tearing through the drawers. “Where is the EpiPen? Where does this stupid girl keep her emergency medication?” When I was first injured years ago, they kept emergency meds in every corner of the house. Back then, even a slight cough from me would make Mom panic and rub my back. “Are you okay, Grace? Do we need to go to the hospital?” But as the incidents piled up, their concern morphed into exhaustion. Eventually, I was left to drag my crippled leg to my follow-up appointments all by myself. Of course she didn’t know where the medication was. She hadn’t cared enough to look in years. Dad’s face darkened, and he dumped the contents of a drawer onto the floor, his voice dripping with irritation. “If we can’t find it, then fine. Maybe we will finally all be free.” Two agonizing minutes later, Mom found the pen on top of a cabinet. Her hands shook as she plunged the needle into my thigh. The crushing weight on my chest slowly lifted, though the fiery red hives covering my body still burned, and the residual muscle aches left me pinned to the floor, unable to move a muscle. Mom looked at Dad, a flicker of guilt in her eyes. “Maybe we should take her to the hospital just to be safe?” Dad hesitated for a fraction of a second, but then his anger flared up again. “To the hospital? With what money? Every penny we make goes toward her endless medical bills! Luke, next time your sister tries to kill herself, don’t bother telling us. Once she’s gone, the rest of us can finally have a real life.” He slammed the door behind him. Mom sighed, shooting me one last disappointed look before following him out. Luke leaned down, whispering in my ear with a cruel chuckle. “Can’t die, can’t leave. Pretty miserable, huh? Guess what kind of game we are going to play next time?” He strolled out of the room, puffed up with pride, totally missing the genuine smile that spread across my face. Thank God. I am finally the one who gets to be free. Years ago, in the real world, I had been terminally ill and refused to be a burden to my grandmother. I jumped from the hospital rooftop, only to hear a mechanical voice in my head as I fell. [Host detected. Survival instinct is below 10%. Initiating the Rebirth Redemption Quest. If you successfully complete your mission, you will be rewarded with a healthy, brand-new life in your original world.] My mission was to redeem my sociopathic younger brother, Luke. From the day he was born, I did everything to care for him, constantly whispering words of love and guidance. But on the very night he learned to speak, he stared at me with a sickeningly sweet smile. [You are the ninety-ninth host I’ve met,] he had whispered inside my mind. [The first ninety-eight died playing my games. I hope you last a bit longer.] That was when I realized he wasn’t just a troubled child. He was a malicious, corrupted transmigrator. With his twisted experience, Luke easily turned my life into a living hell, systematically stripping away my parents’ trust until I was completely isolated. When I was lying in a hospital bed with third-degree burns, clinging to life, the system’s voice had chimed again. [Due to a major world glitch, Host has unlocked the hidden ending. Surviving ninety-nine deaths will also count as mission completion.] In truth, every one of Luke’s pranks should have killed me. The system had kept my broken body barely functioning, forcing me to endure over a decade of horrific torture just to reach this day. [The portal opens in 24 hours. You only need to experience your one-hundredth and final death to leave this world forever.] I forced my battered body up, trying to drag myself back onto the mattress, but my palm accidentally pressed down hard on the emergency call button on my headboard. A piercing alarm blared. Footsteps thundered down the hallway, and the door was thrown open once more. 2 Dad stood at the entrance, chest heaving, his car keys clenched tightly in his fist. Mom scanned me with lingering panic. “What is it now?” I shook my head weakly. “Nothing… I just…” Before I could finish, Dad hurled his car keys directly at my face. They struck the bridge of my nose with a sickening crack, sending a blinding wave of pain through my skull. “If it’s nothing, why the hell did you press the alarm? Are you trying to give your mother and me a heart attack?” Dad roared. “You’re already a useless cripple, and now you’re acting out like a psychopath. Why can’t you be more like your brother? When are you going to grow up?” Watching him rave, I felt absolutely nothing. No anger, no sorrow. The stolen happiness of my childhood was always meant to be paid back. Before Luke was born, my parents had treated me like their whole world. I wore the nicest clothes they could afford. When I mentioned wanting to learn the piano, Dad worked three months of overtime just to buy me a high-end brand and hire a professional tutor. When a boy at school cut my hair as a prank, my normally timid mother marched straight into the principal’s office and fought for me tooth and nail. In the real world, I had been raised by my grandmother and never knew what it felt like to have parents. For a brief, foolish moment, I had actually hoped I could stay with them forever. But then Luke arrived, and the dream shattered. Even as an infant, Luke would spit in my face. When I pinched his cheek in frustration, Mom yanked me away, her eyes cold with disappointment. “Grace! You’re the older sister! How could you lay a hand on a baby? Did we teach you nothing?” After the fire, whenever the scars on my face flared up with excruciating pain, I would sob and clutch Mom’s hand. “It was him! He threw the lighter at me! He was born evil, Mom! He’s going to ruin us all!” I begged. “Please, it’s not too late. We have to watch him. Don’t let him fool you!” At first, they offered half-hearted comfort. But eventually, Dad’s patience snapped. He slammed a heavy glass ashtray onto the floor, his eyes shot with blood. “Grace, we tolerated your tantrums because we felt bad for you! But this is insane! You caused that fire yourself, and now you’re trying to frame your toddler brother?” He raised his hand to strike me, but Mom held him back, looking at me with pitying disdain. “Grace, listen to me. I know what you’re doing. But throwing these fits out of jealousy to get our attention is only going to make us resent you.” From then on, Luke’s physical abuse became a regular routine, and my parents’ tolerance evaporated. Once, he pushed me from the top of a slide. I hit the concrete head-first and blacked out. When I opened my eyes, I was still lying on the cold pavement. Mom stood over me, her arms crossed. “I suppose your brother did this too? How long are you going to keep up this pathetic act?” she snapped. “Do you think the hospital is a hotel? My credit cards are already maxed out from your bills!” That was the day I gave up. I completely let go of any hope of redeeming Luke. Seeing me silent, Mom sighed and reached down to pull me up from the floor. But Luke’s eyes darted around, and he suddenly let out a shrill cry. “Mom! Dad! Talk to me! I can’t hear anything!” He clutched his ears, feigning agony. “I was standing right next to the alarm. It was so loud… I think my ears are bleeding!” Mom gasped, instantly dropping my arm. My crippled leg hit the hardwood floor with a dull thud, sending a jolt of pain through my spine. “Oh my god, let’s get you to the doctor right now!” she cried. Dad grabbed me by the hair and dragged me toward the basement stairs. “You miserable parasite! You’re already a broken piece of trash, and now you’re trying to ruin your brother too?” he spat. “Stay down here and think about what you’ve done. No food for you today!” The heavy wooden door slammed shut, plunging the cellar into pitch darkness. The only sound was the scratching of mice in the corners. I closed my eyes, peacefully waiting for the clock to run down. Some time later, a rough hand shook me awake. 3 Dad tossed a worn jacket over me, his voice eerily calm. “Put this on. Get up.” My body felt like it was going to detonate. A sudden, violent fever had taken hold, leaving my head spinning. When I didn’t move fast enough, Dad’s face twisted with annoyance. Mom stepped forward, grabbing my limp arms and shoving them into the sleeves. “Grace, stop being stubborn. Just listen to us. We’re doing this for your own good.” Suddenly, she paused. “Why are you burning up? Are you…” Before her hand could touch my forehead, Luke chimed in, his voice dripping with exaggerated sweet concern. “Do we really have to send her to a care facility, Mom? I can skip my tutoring classes. I won’t go out with my friends on weekends anymore. I’ll spend all my time and money looking after Grace myself!” He looked at me, a sickening glint in his eyes. “Grace, just apologize to Mom and Dad. Promise you won’t cause any more trouble, and we can get through this as a family.” A few years ago, a family friend had suggested sending me to a long-term care home after seeing my condition. Back then, Dad had slammed his fist on the table in a rage. “Your father-in-law went into one of those places and died a month later! Are you asking me to murder my own daughter? As long as we have a roof over our heads and food on our table, I will never abandon Grace in a dump like that!” Looking back, the memory was a sick joke. I shook my head weakly. “I didn’t do anything wrong.” Mom’s hand froze in midair, her expression hardening into disgust. Dad’s anger boiled over. He grabbed my arm and dragged me across the floor toward the front door. “I should have shipped you off years ago. Why did I waste so much time and money on an ungrateful leech like you?” I was tossed onto the back seat of the car. With every bump in the road, my internal organs felt like they were being pierced by hot knives. I drifted in and out of consciousness from the sheer agony until the car finally screeched to a halt in front of a pair of rusted iron gates. The facility director, wearing a stained white coat, hauled me out of the car and shoved me into a squeaking wheelchair. “You folks got lucky today,” he said with a greasy smile. “We just had a bed open up. Once you pay the administrative fee, we can get her processed.” Before we even crossed the threshold, the sound of blood-curdling screams and shattering glass echoed from the hallway. A few burly male orderlies rushed past us, pinning a thrashing patient to the dirty floor like livestock before plunging a syringe into his neck. Within seconds, the patient’s eyes rolled back, and he went limp. Mom shrank back, suddenly terrified. “What is wrong with him? And our Grace is a young woman, and you can’t put her in a room with a violent man!” The director shrugged off her concern. “He’s just a bit schizophrenic. He’s perfectly pleasant when he’s medicated. Besides, we’re completely full. Once you’re in a place like this, gender is the least of your worries.” Dad stared at the floor, his face grim, while Mom darted uneasy glances at me. After a tense silence, Dad opened his mouth to speak, but Luke cut in. “Dad, Mom, the air in here is making me feel really sick. I think I’m getting a fever.” He forced out a wet, dramatic cough. “Besides, Grace grew up around boys. I’m sure she’ll get along fine with him.” Panicked, Mom and Dad immediately started pushing Luke toward the exit. “Right, right, let’s get out of here. Director, we’ll leave Grace in your capable hands.” The staff tossed me onto a filthy mattress like a sack of meat. Once the director locked the door, they abandoned us. Late into the night, the schizophrenic patient on the floor finally stirred. He rolled over, locked his wild, bloodshot eyes on me, and let out a manic, silent grin. From beneath his pillow, he pulled a small kitchen knife, playfully tracing its edge along my skin before plunging it deep into my thigh. Dark blood sprayed across the sheets. I was too weak to lift a finger, and even if I could, I wouldn’t have fought back. He went into a frenzy, stabbing at my face and chest. The room filled with the wet, sickening sound of tearing flesh. I bit my lip until it bled, choking back every scream. Just a little longer. Just bear it a little longer, and it will all be over. After what felt like an eternity, the pain vanished. I found myself floating, looking down at my own butchered body. The familiar mechanical voice echoed in my mind. [Congratulations, Host. Mission accomplished. The return portal will open at noon. Please stand by.] My spirit drifted out of the room, wandering the grim halls of the facility. Around eight in the morning, to my surprise, I saw Mom and Dad walking down the corridor. Mom’s eyes were red and puffy. “I couldn’t sleep a wink last night,” she murmured. “No matter how angry we were, we shouldn’t have left her in a place like this.” Dad huffed, though his voice had softened slightly. “You women are always so dramatic. Let’s just see how she’s adjusting. If she’s miserable, and if she’s willing to apologize and beg for forgiveness, maybe we’ll take her back home.” Standing nearby, the director rolled his eyes when they weren’t looking. “They got along beautifully. Not a peep out of them all night. But let me make one thing clear: if you change your minds now, you’re only getting half your deposit back.” A card terminal beeped as Dad swiped his card. Then, the heavy door was pushed open.

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My daughter was born prematurely and immediately sent to the incubator. Finally, the day came to bring her home from the hospital. I practically threw myself forward, clutching my daughter tightly in my arms. But the next second, I froze completely. The Blood Guanyin pendant around my neck—it hadn’t turned red? This was a gift from the Miao teacher at the orphanage, given to each of us orphans. She said the jade was sealed with our blood and a type of Miao blood parasite. Once blood relatives came near, the parasite would come alive and the pendant would turn blood red. But now, with my daughter in my arms, it didn’t move at all. My head spun and I nearly dropped the baby. If this child in my arms wasn’t my daughter, then where was the baby I’d carried for ten months and labored for fourteen hours to deliver? My face went deathly pale, my whole body trembling uncontrollably. My husband Ethan thought I was just overcome with emotion and came over with a smile: “Our daughter is finally discharged. You don’t have to worry anymore.” I grabbed his arm desperately, my voice shaking: “Ethan, this isn’t our daughter. Look at her face—she doesn’t look like either of us at all!” He wrapped his arm around my shoulders with a laugh: “Rain, you’re just too anxious! All newborns look pretty much the same. How can you tell who they look like?” “I took this baby directly from the nurse’s hands. There’s no way it’s wrong.” “But…” Cold sweat trickled down my forehead. I suddenly pulled open the baby’s swaddling, turned her body over, and with trembling fingers examined every inch of her skin. No birthmark. Her bottom was completely clean. Nothing there. My mind exploded with a buzz. “Our daughter has a red plum blossom birthmark on her bottom. After delivery, the nurse specifically showed it to me!” I was practically screaming: “This baby doesn’t have it. She’s not our daughter!” Ethan’s smile instantly froze. He looked at the baby again, his face turning white as paper. Two people with double eyelids—how could we possibly have a baby with single eyelids? Without another question, he immediately grabbed the baby and rushed out, driving straight to the hospital. I wanted to chase after them, but the C-section incision on my belly suddenly tore open. The pain made it impossible to move. I collapsed on the floor, imagining what might have happened to my daughter. Switched at birth, kidnapped by traffickers, sold to a place I’d never find… The tears wouldn’t stop. I desperately called my husband, but couldn’t get through. Time crawled by, second by second. Just as I finally managed to drag myself to the door, it suddenly opened. My husband was holding another baby, his face full of smiles: “Honey, I brought our daughter back!” “The hospital made a mistake. There were two babies in the NICU, and another baby’s father has the same name as me. The nurse grabbed the wrong one. Thank God you noticed!” I broke into tears of relief and immediately took the baby. The tiny face was about fifty percent similar to mine. Half of my anxiety finally settled. The birthmark was there too. Tears fell again. What a blessing! My daughter was finally back. But then, my hand suddenly froze. The pendant on my chest still hadn’t turned red. This baby wasn’t my daughter either?! My heart churned uneasily. I forced myself to calm down, my gaze slowly moving to Ethan’s face. “Are you sure,” I asked, word by word, “this is our daughter?” He gently took my hand and pulled a document from his bag, his tone certain: “Of course. This time I did a paternity test with our daughter. Look—confirmed father-daughter relationship.” Those words were printed clearly on the white paper. But my heart felt like it was being squeezed by a hand, tightening more and more. If the baby was my husband’s, why hadn’t the pendant turned red? Unless this DNA paternity test was fake. Or this baby wasn’t the one I gave birth to.

At the thought of these two possibilities, my back felt like someone had poured a bucket of ice water over it, chilling me from head to toe. I slowly raised my head to look at Ethan. His face still wore a smile. I tentatively asked: “Ethan, could this report be fake?” “What if someone deliberately stole our daughter and made a fake report to deceive you…” He interrupted me with a laugh, “Honey, you must be scared from that mix-up earlier. I promise, this time it’s definitely real.” He took our daughter and sat on the sofa, gently playing with her little face. “I already reported it to the police at the hospital. The DNA testing agency has a long-term partnership with the police. The results can’t be wrong.” “Plus, look how this baby resembles both you and me, and the birthmark is there too. It can’t be wrong.” He looked up and smiled at me: “Stop scaring yourself.” I stared intently into his eyes and said, word by word: “But my Blood Guanyin pendant hasn’t turned red!” “Don’t you remember? I told you before that if I encounter a blood relative, this pendant will turn red.” Ethan was clearly stunned for just a moment. Then he laughed, louder than before: “Honey, and you’re a college professor—you actually believe in this stuff! How could such mystical things exist in this world!” “Besides, I already did a paternity test with this baby. She’s definitely ours!” He stood up and pushed me toward the bedroom, “Stop overthinking. The doctor told me to hurry and get the baby vaccinated. Go get ready, we’re leaving soon.” I don’t know if it was just my imagination, but for a split second, I saw Ethan habitually pinch his fingers. And when he did that gesture, it meant he was nervous or lying. I said nothing more. With the mix-up that just happened, maybe he was nervous too. Perhaps he was right. I’d worn this pendant from age six until now—twenty years—and it had never turned red. Maybe it was just a hopeful story the orphanage teacher left us, a beautiful lie. I slowly pushed down the unease in my heart, held my daughter, and left with my husband. The community health center wasn’t crowded. I was filling out forms with my head down when a familiar voice suddenly came from behind me. “Rain!” I whipped my head around. It was someone I grew up with at the orphanage. Her name was Vivi, and she was smiling at me. “Rain! I can’t believe we live in the same community! Did you have a boy or a girl?” “A girl.” Her eyes lit up: “I’m so happy. We finally both have our own blood relatives.” My eyes welled up as I nodded emphatically. Just then, her husband walked over holding their baby and came up beside her. My gaze inadvertently fell on her neck. I suddenly noticed the Blood Guanyin pendant was turning red, bit by bit. I stood frozen like I’d been struck by lightning. So this pendant really does turn red when near blood relatives. So the Miao teacher from the orphanage hadn’t lied to us. My breathing became rapid. My chest felt like something was blocking it, getting tighter and tighter. Could it be that the baby my husband brought back really wasn’t my daughter? But if that wasn’t my daughter, then where was my daughter? Just as I stood there in a daze, my husband walked over holding our daughter and took my hand to leave. Looking at the pendant around my neck that still hadn’t changed color, I pushed his hand away and stared hard at my husband, demanding: “Whose bastard child is this?” “Where exactly is my daughter?”

Ethan froze on the spot. His face was full of hurt: “Honey, what’s wrong? Why are you saying this? The baby is obviously ours—mine and yours! This is our daughter!” I looked at him coldly and demanded loudly: “Stop pretending. This isn’t my daughter at all! Where did you hide my daughter?!” The crowd that heard the commotion all started pointing and whispering about us. My husband immediately panicked and lowered his voice to explain: “Rain, what’s gotten into you? The hospital did make a mistake before, but I already switched the baby back. You don’t need to be scared anymore.” He held our daughter up in front of me, showing the baby’s face. “Let everyone see how much this baby looks like you. How can you suddenly say she’s not yours? What happened?” His face was full of confusion. The onlookers’ eyes moved between me and my daughter, discussing among themselves: “Miss, this baby really does look a lot like you!” “Exactly, like she was carved from the same mold. Why are you saying she’s not your daughter?” I laughed coldly and pointed to the pendant on my chest: “Because this thing hasn’t turned red. The first time you brought a baby back, it didn’t turn red, and that really wasn’t my baby.” “This time it still hasn’t turned red, so this definitely isn’t my daughter!” Just now, Vivi told me that many of the orphanage kids had found their biological parents thanks to this red-turning pendant. This further confirmed my suspicion. Ethan looked utterly helpless, rubbing his forehead as he explained again: “Rain, I’ve told you so many times to believe in science and not those superstitions! Why won’t you listen?” “Besides, I already did a DNA paternity test with our daughter, confirming we’re father and daughter. What exactly are you doubting?” I said coldly: “Our daughter did a DNA test with you, but not with me.” Ethan looked shocked, his eyes full of hurt: “You’re… suspecting me of having an affair?” Ignoring Ethan’s wounded expression, I grabbed my friend from the orphanage: “Vivi, didn’t you just say you work at a paternity testing center?” “I’m asking you to do a DNA paternity test between me and this baby right now!” I grew up with Vivi at the orphanage. Her test report couldn’t possibly be wrong. “As long as I do a DNA paternity test with her, it will prove this isn’t my daughter! As for whether she’s your bastard child, that depends on whether you dare to test again!” Faced with my accusation, Ethan just smiled bitterly, his expression unchanged: “If this is what it takes to dispel your doubts and acknowledge our daughter, I’m willing to cooperate.” He turned to Vivi, his tone sincere: “Please arrange sample collection for all three of us immediately, and rush the results.” Seeing Ethan so open about it, doubt crept into my heart instead. Had I really made a mistake? After the blood was drawn, the wait was agonizing. A few hours later, Vivi walked in carrying a rush document envelope. With trembling hands, I tore open the envelope and pulled out the report. Black words on white paper, clear as day. “Based on available data and DNA analysis results, supports that Ethan is the biological father of the child, and supports that Rain Song is the biological mother of the child.” My mind went blank. The person doing the DNA paternity test was reliable, and DNA couldn’t be faked. Had I really made a mistake? Was this really my daughter?

My eyes turned red as I looked apologetically at my husband, my voice choked: “I’m sorry, Ethan. I misunderstood you.” Ethan pulled me into his arms, gently patting my back: “It’s okay, honey. I must not have done enough to make you this anxious.” “The doctor said you just gave birth and your hormones are unstable, making you prone to postpartum depression. I didn’t care for you enough. It’s my fault!” “I’ll hire a nanny right away to take care of you and the baby!” He looked at me tenderly, then turned to smile at Vivi: “You and Vivi haven’t seen each other in so long. Why don’t you chat and relax a bit before going home?” People crowded around, saying: “Yeah, I think this girl must have postpartum depression to be so paranoid.” “Where can you find such a good husband? You must cherish him!” “Trust is the most important thing between spouses!” I remembered the first time Ethan and I met, the dazed expression he wore looking at me. My heart warmed. Under his passionate pursuit, we got married. He’d always been incredibly attentive to me. I touched my nose sheepishly, “Okay, thank you everyone for your concern. I won’t be paranoid anymore.” After getting our daughter vaccinated, Vivi and I went shopping and had dinner. We chatted from afternoon until evening before I went home. As soon as I walked through the door, I discovered there was already someone new in the house. The nanny was happily playing with our daughter in the nursery. She wore a mask on her face, so I couldn’t see her features. My husband explained that the nanny, Grace, was a patient from his plastic surgery department. She had scars on her face and was afraid of scaring me and the baby, so she’d keep wearing a mask. I didn’t mind. My husband Ethan was a plastic surgeon. Knowing people like this wasn’t unusual. After changing clothes and washing my hands, I headed straight to the nursery to hold my daughter. The moment my daughter opened her eyes and smiled at me, I discovered that the Blood Guanyin pendant on my chest was turning red, bit by bit. Tears filled my eyes as I screamed for Ethan to come look: “Ethan! The pendant turned red! Natalie really is my daughter!” However, when Ethan saw the reddening pendant around my neck, he was clearly stunned. I jokingly teased him: “Shocked, aren’t you? Can’t believe your own eyes? I was wrong to doubt you earlier. Let me apologize again, okay?” Ethan opened his eyes wide, stroking the pendant and murmuring: “I never thought… this thing actually works.” I hugged him playfully: “I know, right? But why did it only change now? It made me worry for so long.” Ethan seemed to remember something and said with a smile: “I remember when our daughter was in the hospital, you left this pendant in the refrigerator. Could it be that the blood parasite was frozen and only slowly revived, which is why the pendant turned red?” I remembered now. When our daughter was in the incubator, I couldn’t eat or sleep all day, constantly forgetting things. Once I even stuffed the pendant and a towel into the refrigerator together, where it stayed frozen for several days. Maybe that really was the reason? That last bit of anxiety finally settled back into my stomach, safe and sound. I was overjoyed and specifically took a photo to send to Vivi, telling her the good news. The next morning when I woke up, the sun was shining brightly. The nanny made me sweet wine egg drop soup. I took a sip. It was sweet. “Where’s Natalie?” I asked casually. “Daddy took her downstairs for a walk.” At those words, my whole body shuddered violently. I stared hard into Grace’s eyes: “What did you say? Natalie went downstairs?” Behind the mask that only revealed Grace’s eyes, her face showed complete confusion: “Yes, the doctor said the baby should get more sun. What’s wrong?” I shot to my feet. The chair tipped backward with a loud crash. So that’s it! I finally knew where my daughter actually was.

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I took three days of sick leave for a minor surgery. When I returned, the whole school was spreading rumors—that I’d gone to get an abortion. Ava posted my photo from behind on the forum with a caption: “If you know, you know.” I tried to explain. No one listened. I pulled out my medical records. They said it could be forged. My homeroom teacher only said four words: “The innocent need no defense.” Later, thugs blocked me at the school gate, calling me “cheap.” After that, I swallowed half a bottle of sleeping pills. My mom held my ice-cold body and wailed all night. The next day, she hanged herself from the old oak tree. Then I opened my eyes again. My phone screen was lit. Ava’s post had been up for just nine minutes. This time, I didn’t type out an explanation. I pulled up a photo I’d casually taken at the hospital three days ago— Ava herself, standing in front of the OB-GYN registration window. I clicked reply, attached the photo, and typed a line: “What a coincidence. Are you here for an abortion too?” **Chapter One** A dull ache throbbed in my lower abdomen. I lay on my side in my rented room, staring at the peeling white paint on the wall, waiting for the pain to pass. Third day after my ovarian cyst removal surgery. The stitched incision pulled and twinged with every movement. My phone vibrated under my pillow. Once. Twice. Then it wouldn’t stop. I fished it out. The screen glared painfully bright. Notifications from the school forum flooded in. The message count stuck at “99+”. I clicked in. Pinned post. Bold red title— “Sophomore Class 6 girl takes sick leave? I ran into her at the OB-GYN, if you know what I mean.” The attached image showed someone from behind. Hospital gown, clutching a blue medical file folder, hair down, walking out of the OB-GYN corridor. It was me. Posted by—Ava. The comments had exploded. “Holy shit, that bookworm from Class 6? Her image just collapsed?” “Three days sick leave, OB-GYN, hahaha I get it.” “Getting an abortion and openly taking leave? That’s bold.” “Ava never misses when she calls someone out. Waiting for the original poster to explain.” “Poor thing, even teacher’s pets have their day.” I gripped my phone. My knuckles turned white. The swelling pain spread from my abdomen to my stomach, acid rising to my throat. Then the memories came crashing down. I remembered the stares in the hallway when I returned to school. I remembered the two red words spray-painted on my desk. I remembered showing them my medical records to explain, and someone rolling their eyes and saying “probably forged.” I remembered my homeroom teacher leaning back in his chair, fingers tapping the desk: “The innocent need no defense. Don’t make a big deal out of nothing.” I remembered the thugs blocking me at the school gate calling me “cheap.” I remembered the note slipped under my dorm door that said “go die.” I remembered my mom standing at the office door with a bag of farm eggs, smiling apologetically and saying “Teacher, please help,” then getting pushed out and her knee hitting the threshold. I remembered counting sleeping pills that night. When I got to the thirty-seventh pill, my hand shook. I remembered that my final conscious moment was filled only with blurred wailing. My mom collapsed over my already-cold body, crying until she couldn’t breathe. The next day. She joined me at the old oak tree by our house. I gasped sharply, my spine jerking away from the mattress. The surgical incision in my lower abdomen tore with a line of searing pain. Real pain. I looked down and saw the gauze bulging under my hospital gown. The stitches had been removed today. I’d returned to my rental this morning. The post on my phone— I glanced at the posting time. Nine minutes ago. I was alive again. My heartbeat hammered against my ribs. Heavy and dull. At this moment in my past life, I’d been crying under my covers. I’d cried all night, drafted over a dozen explanatory messages, deleting and retyping, typing and deleting. The next day I’d returned to school with swollen red eyes and medical records, beginning the final month countdown of my life. This time, I didn’t cry. I didn’t type. I opened my photo album and scrolled back. Three days ago in the hospital waiting area, I’d casually snapped a photo of the lobby to send my mom and let her know I was okay. In the bottom right corner of the photo, in front of the OB-GYN registration window, stood a person. High ponytail, white T-shirt, school jacket draped over her forearm. Her ID card sat on the counter. Ava. In my past life, I’d never opened that photo a second time. Back then I’d been too busy explaining, begging, being afraid. I couldn’t even hold onto my own life. Who had time to wonder why Ava was at the OB-GYN too? But this life was different. This life, I knew. I opened the forum and found Ava’s post. 1,200 comments already. I pressed “reply.” Uploaded the photo. Typed word by word— “What a coincidence. Are you here for an abortion too?” Send. I set down my phone and lay on my back, staring at the ceiling. The incision still hurt. But something in my chest had ignited, rising from my stomach, burning until my eyes stung. It wasn’t grief. It was hate. In my past life, I’d begged everyone on my knees. This life, no more kneeling. Half an hour later, I picked up my phone. Comment count: 1,487. The top comments had completely changed. “Wait wait wait, Ava was at the OB-GYN too??” “I zoomed in—that really is Ava!” “The timestamps match! Same day!” “So when Ava was photographing someone else, she was registering herself??” “The bookworm just counterattacked hahaha!” “Ava babe, who really got the abortion?” “Waiting for the school belle to respond.” My inbox had exploded too. First message from a classmate: “Sophia, are you crazy?! Do you know what Ava’s like when you provoke her?” Second, third messages from strangers, all “666” and spectator emojis. And one more. From Ava. Two words— “Delete it.” I stared at those two words. **Didn’t you say in my past life that the innocent need no defense? Panicking now?** I didn’t reply. I shoved my phone under my pillow. Closed my eyes. Tomorrow I’d return to school. The real show was just beginning. **Chapter Two** Ava’s messages kept coming. “Sophia, are you insane?” “Where did you get that photo?” “I’m warning you, delete it right now, or don’t blame me for what happens.” I didn’t reply. The forum had already gone wild. Ava’s fans and bystanders were fighting like mad. “Ava was at the OB-GYN? What’s going on?” “Reminder: OB-GYN doesn’t just treat pregnancy, they treat other gynecological issues too. Ava might have just been getting a regular checkup.” “Then Sophia might have been getting a regular checkup too! Why didn’t Ava say that about her?” “Shot herself in the foot lol.” “Don’t pick sides yet, wait for the school belle’s response.” Ava’s fourth message came through. Her tone had changed. “Sophie, is there some misunderstanding between us? That post was really just a joke. I’ll delete it tomorrow. Can you delete the photo too? Let’s both stop this, okay?” Sophie. She called me Sophie. She’d called me that in my past life too. On the third day after the whole school mocked me, she “ran into” me in the cafeteria, smiled and put her arm around my shoulder: “Sophie, don’t take it to heart. Everyone’s just joking.” Then she turned around and sent a voice message in her group chat: “This is too funny, she actually believed it.” I typed. “Ava, I’m not going to argue with you on the forum. Just answer me one thing.” “That day at the OB-GYN, were you seeing the doctor for your aunt or your uncle?” Send. The “typing” indicator in the chat box flashed once, then disappeared. One minute. Three minutes. Five minutes. I stared at that silent conversation. In my past life, after Ava’s situation was completely exposed—which happened after I died—many things came to light. I didn’t know what happened to her after. But I knew why she went to the OB-GYN. I knew who that “uncle” was who picked her up every Saturday. I knew what she feared most. At the six-minute mark, Ava’s messages exploded. “What do you mean?!” “Are you stalking me??” “Sophia, are you sick? Do you even know what you’re saying!” “My aunt is in that hospital! What’s wrong with visiting her??” “If you dare spread lies I’ll make sure you can’t stay at this school!!!” Five messages in less than a minute. Every word dripped with cracks. I replied with one word. “Oh.” Then closed the chat. Twenty minutes later, Ava’s original post on the forum was edited. A new paragraph appeared— “Let me clarify for everyone! That day I was visiting my aunt who was hospitalized~ I happened to pass by the OB-GYN corridor and saw a certain classmate. I just thought it was a coincidence so I mentioned it casually, no malicious intent! As for the photo that certain classmate posted—I was at the registration window helping my aunt register~ Hope everyone views this rationally and doesn’t over-interpret♡” Seconds later, supporting comments popped up in perfect formation. Uniform rhythm, similar wording, obviously pre-arranged. “Sis said she was visiting her aunt, stop stirring things up!” “Sophia’s photo only shows Ava standing at the window, doesn’t show what she was registering for. Taking things out of context.” “The bookworm got called out so she’s viciously biting back, classic.” Public opinion began to sway. Some people swung back to Ava’s side. Others were still watching. But it was so much better than my past life. In my past life at this point, the comments were completely one-sided. Because I’d done nothing. I’d only hidden under my covers refreshing the page over and over, watching those comments drown me alive. This life, at least half the people were asking—”So why exactly was Ava at the registration window?” That was enough. The first cut didn’t need to go too deep. Making her panic was enough. I rolled over and put my phone on silent. **You think you can get away with making up “visiting my aunt”? Ava, your aunt wasn’t at that hospital that day. I checked in my past life. This life, I’ll make sure everyone can check too.** Tomorrow back to school. The real show hadn’t even started yet. **Chapter Three** When I walked into the school building, people in the hallway parted to make way. Not out of respect. Out of spectacle. Whispered buzzing, elbows nudging elbows, some people holding up phones to film me. A laugh came from behind: “That’s her.” I pushed open the back door to Class 6. The buzzing chatter in the classroom cut off. Forty pairs of eyes turned toward me in unison. Too uniform to be natural. A few boys whistled. “Yo, the bookworm’s back—” “All recovered now?” I didn’t look at them. Because I saw my desk. Two words spray-painted on the surface. Red paint. Large. “SLUT.” The paint hadn’t fully dried. The edges bled into rough tendrils. The pungent chemical smell rushed in, stinging my eyes until they watered. My chair lay overturned on the floor. Books from my desk drawer scattered everywhere, textbook pages torn to shreds. The classroom went silent for a second, then erupted in laughter. Someone applauded. Someone filmed with their phone. I stood there, hands at my sides. The incision in my lower abdomen started aching from walking too much. I scanned the classroom. In the back row by the window, Rachel sat with her head down playing on her phone, fingers tucked in her sleeves. But I saw a bit of red at the edge of her sleeve. Third row, class president Ethan sat ramrod straight. His gaze met mine for a moment. Then he looked away. Lowered his head, staring at the open textbook in front of him. In my past life, I’d gone crying to him. He’d said: “Sophia, stop making trouble. The more you make a fuss, the worse it gets for you.” Then closed his pen cap and turned his head toward the window. I remembered that sentence for a whole lifetime. That lifetime was very short. **You saw. You always saw.** **But you chose to pretend you didn’t.** The laughter continued. Someone shouted: “Sophia, that paint cost a lot of money. Consider it a welcome gift.” I didn’t wipe the desk. Didn’t cry. Didn’t explain. I pulled out my phone from my pocket. Opened the camera, aimed it at my desk, pressed the shutter three times. Different angles, capturing the red words, the overturned chair, the shredded textbooks. Then switched to my contacts. The classroom laughter gradually faded. Because they saw the three digits on my phone screen. 9-1-

I pressed the call button and raised the phone to my ear. The entire classroom went dead silent. “Hello, High-Tech District Experimental High School, Grade 11 Class 6. My name is Sophia. My desk has been spray-painted with offensive language and my personal property has been deliberately destroyed. I have photos of the scene. Please dispatch officers.” My voice wasn’t loud, but every word drove into the silence. Rachel’s phone dropped to the floor in the back row. No one picked it up. Thirty seconds later, the classroom door flew open. Homeroom teacher Mr. Walker rushed in, his expression caught between panic and anger. “Sophia! What are you doing?” He grabbed my wrist holding the phone: “Hang up! Do you know what you’re doing!” I looked up at him. “Mr. Walker, please let go. I’m filing a police report. Interfering with a police call is illegal.” His fingers froze. The entire classroom—forty students plus students from the next class peeking in the doorway—everyone watched as— The homeroom teacher gripped the wrist of the most invisible scholarship student in class, while the scholarship student calmly continued her police report. He let go. Stepped back. The voice on the phone said something. I said: “Okay. I’ll wait in the classroom.” Hung up. Put the phone back in my pocket. Bent down to pick up my chair and sat down beside the spray-painted desk. Took out my notebook, turned to the first page, and started copying the formula on the blackboard. No one around me spoke. No one laughed anymore. Mr. Walker stood by the podium, his lips moving several times, but in the end said nothing and left. His phone call echoed from the hallway, voice kept low, but I caught one word—”dispatch.” I continued copying formulas. The scratching of pen on paper was the only sound in the entire classroom. **Ava, in my past life you killed with words. This life I’ll use the law. Let’s see who falls first.** **Chapter Four** The police arrived quickly. When two uniformed officers walked into the classroom, the substitute math teacher stopped mid-chalk stroke. The whole class’s attention shifted from the blackboard to the door, then to me. I stood up, took my phone and backpack, and followed them out. Many people in the hallway craned their necks to look. Passing the neighboring class’s door, a girl held up her phone filming me. Taking the statement took forty minutes. In the small room in the dean’s office, I showed the police the photos on my phone and explained everything step by step. The post. The photo from behind. The forum attacks. The spray-painted desk. The older officer finished recording and looked up: “Do you have any suspects?” “Rachel, my classmate. She has red paint residue under her fingernails.” After finishing the statement, I came out to an empty hallway. Lunch break. I leaned against the wall and closed my eyes for a moment. The incision in my lower abdomen throbbed dully. After being stuck to my clothes all day it was getting itchy. Time to change the gauze. No time for that. I rummaged through my backpack for painkillers and dry-swallowed one. The pill stuck in my throat, bitter and astringent. No classes in the afternoon. I sat in the library until five. Quiet. No one came looking for me. Not even Mr. Walker showed up. But the calm shattered at nine that evening. I’d just finished changing my gauze in my rental when my phone vibrated. Not the class group chat—I’d been kicked out long ago. The grade-level group, the kind where people rarely spoke. Today it exploded. Someone threw a video into it. The thumbnail was blurry, but you could make out a dim room, a girl and a man. The title: four words: “Sophia’s hookup.” My hand stopped. Then I clicked in. The face in the video was mine. Features, contours, hair length—all matched. But it wasn’t me. AI face-swap. In my past life, this video spread throughout the entire school two weeks before I died. After watching it, I locked myself in my rental for three days without eating or drinking. Three days later, I opened that bottle of sleeping pills. Now, it was back. Stomach acid surged up violently, my throat turning sour. My fingers gripped the phone’s edge, nails digging into the plastic case. Tinnitus buzzed, my heartbeat pounding against my temples. I closed my eyes. Counted to five. Opened them. The grade group had exploded. “Holy shit is this real??” “That face is so clear…” “Photoshopped right? Something feels off.” “What’s off? The face is right there!” “Isn’t she supposed to be a bookworm? Why’s she always doing this stuff…” Messages scrolled too fast. Before I could screenshot, the group admin deleted the video. But it was too late. It had already been saved, forwarded, sent to countless other groups. **In my past life, this video was the final straw that broke me.** **This life—it’s the first steel beam that will break Ava.** I swallowed my emotions. Didn’t cry. Didn’t type a defense. Opened the screen recording tool, scrolled up through the grade group chat history, and screenshot every forwarding, comment, and distribution path one by one. Captured thirty-seven images. Then opened the dialer. 911. Second time. “Hello, my name is Sophia, Grade 11 Class 6 student at High-Tech District Experimental High School. Someone has created an AI deepfake pornographic video using my facial features and is distributing it widely in the grade group and multiple social groups. I am a minor. I’m requesting to file a case.” The other end went silent for two seconds. “You’re certain it’s AI-generated?” “Certain. The body in the video is not me. I’m requesting a technical forensic analysis.” “Alright, we’ll forward this to the cybersecurity department. Preserve all relevant screenshots and links.” Hung up. My phone lit up again. Message from Ava. “Sophia, things have escalated to this point. You delete the photo from the forum, and I’ll have people take down the video. We both save face.” Save face. You destroyed my reputation with lies, nailed me to a pillar of shame with an AI face-swap. Now you want to talk about saving face. I replied with one line. “The police will find out who made the video. Ava, pray they don’t trace it back to you.” No reply from her. I closed my phone and pulled up the covers. The incision jumped beneath my waistband. I put a pillow under my lower abdomen and curled up. The bitter taste of that half-bottle of sleeping pills rose again. It still clung to the back of my throat, impossible to swallow no matter how I tried. Some things you can’t forget even after dying once. But that’s okay. This life, I won’t take them. **Chapter Five** The next day at 6:40 AM. My mom called. I looked at the word “Mom” on my screen. My heart clenched. The ringtone went four times before I answered. “Sophie honey, does your surgical incision still hurt?” Her voice was a bit hoarse, but she was trying to sound cheerful. “Not anymore, it’s almost healed.” “Is the school food good? Does the cafeteria have pork ribs?” “Yes.” “Sophie…” She stopped. A long breath on the other end. Inhale, hold it, then slowly exhale. “Sophie, is someone at school bullying you?” My fingers tightened. “Mom, no.” “Some people in town… showed me some things on their phones.” She paused, her voice starting to shake. “Sophie, none of that’s true, right? Mom knows it’s not true. Mom believes you.” I bit my lower lip. There was still a cut inside my lip from dry-swallowing painkillers yesterday. When I bit down, the metallic taste of blood spread along my tongue. Past life. In my past life she’d made this same call. I’d cried and said “Mom, I didn’t do those things.” She’d said “Mom knows. Mom will come to school tomorrow.” The next day she came. Wearing her most presentable piece—an old gray jacket, carrying a bag of farm eggs, standing at the homeroom teacher’s office door, bent over with a forced smile: “Teacher, please help. My Sophie isn’t that kind of child.” Mr. Walker didn’t even look up. “Parent, your daughter has caused quite a stir at school. I suggest she do some self-reflection. The innocent need no defense—if she hasn’t done anything, what’s there to fear?” My mom stood in the doorway holding the eggs, not knowing what to do with her hands. When she left, her knee hit the threshold. No one helped her up. Seven months later, she joined me at the old oak tree. “Mom, listen to me.” I kept my voice very steady, saying each word carefully. “Those things are all fake. Someone is trying to hurt me. But I’m handling it. I filed a police report. You don’t need to come to school.” “But—” “Mom, don’t come.” Silence on the other end. Then I heard an extremely soft sob. She was desperately holding it in. “Okay.” “Sophie, you… you have to be okay.” “Yeah. I’ll be okay. I’ll come home to see you this weekend.” Hung up. I crouched in the corner of the hallway, back against the cold wall. Hands covering my face. Didn’t cry. My eyes were dry and stinging. The incision twinged once. I stood up. **This life you don’t have to come. Don’t have to beg anyone with a bag of eggs. Don’t have to kneel. Don’t have to die.** At noon, the forum exploded again. Ava posted an audio recording. Post title: “Sophia admitted it herself—everyone listen for yourselves.” Thirty-six second audio clip. A female voice inside—my voice—crying and saying: “I know I was wrong. I shouldn’t have falsely accused Ava. I made it all up, the medical records are fake. I was just jealous of her…” I listened to it. Replayed it twice. The tone was very close. The intonation mimicked my speech patterns. But there was one problem—the breath intervals in the four words “I made it all up” were too uniform. Normal people don’t speak like that. AI-synthesized audio has mechanical breathing rhythms. In my past life, I didn’t know these things. This life, on the first day after my rebirth, I’d researched everything online about AI voice detection. The comments went crazy. “Confirmed! She admitted it herself!” “LMAO where’s her face? Fake-righteous bookworm.” “Ava is finally cleared!” “So what was that police report earlier about? What performance was that?” I took screenshots and saved the original audio file link. Then made my third police call. “Hello, this is Sophia from the previous report. Someone has published an AI-forged audio recording using my voice pattern and is spreading it on the forum. I’ve saved the original link and screenshots. Please submit it for technical forensic analysis as well.” Three police calls. Within three days. Hung up. Walked into the dean’s office. Mr. Walker was inside. When he saw me, irritation flashed across his face. “Sophia, what now.” “Mr. Walker, Ava has published a forged AI voice recording impersonating me. I’ve filed a police report. This will have legal consequences.” “Legal consequences?” He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “Sophia, can you just settle down? The way you’re making a fuss affects your own future. Do you still want that recommendation spot?” I looked at him. Behind his lenses, his eyes shifted away. “Mr. Walker. I’m sitting in front of you right now with three police report receipts in hand.” My voice wasn’t loud. “I’m the victim. You’re asking the victim to shut up.” His fingers froze on the temple of his glasses. “I’ll remember your exact words. If the follow-up investigation involves the school’s handling responsibility, the Board of Education will see them.” I stood up and walked out. Didn’t look back. The hallway was empty. Lunch break sunlight poured through the windows, bleaching the floor tiles white. I leaned against the railing and took three deep breaths. My hands were shaking. Not from fear. From anger. In my past life, I knelt and begged him for help. He gave me four words. This life I spoke to him standing up, and his first reaction was still to tell me to shut up. That’s fine. If you won’t help, I don’t need your help. But don’t block my way.

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Grandma was on her deathbed, barely able to speak, but she managed to whisper that her only wish was to see me get married. I sobbed uncontrollably, and my entire family’s eyes turned to Fudge standing behind me. Fudge sighed, gently wiped away my tears, and led me out to the hallway. But the moment the door closed behind us, his expression turned cold. “Yolanda, we’ve been together seven years. You know I hate being forced into things more than anything.” “Relationships should develop naturally. They shouldn’t be swayed by anyone else’s opinions.” His hand brushed through my hair, still somewhat soothing. “There’s no rush to get married. Let’s wait until my company goes public and things stabilize, okay?” “I have a meeting tonight. Just handle your family for now. I’ll bring you a gift when I get back.” Before I could respond, he turned and left, walking side by side with his female secretary. The moment their figures disappeared behind the elevator doors, I saw the secretary rise on her tiptoes and naturally adjust his tie. And he didn’t push her away. I dried my tears and returned to the hospital room, smiling as I took Grandma’s hand. “Grandma, don’t worry. I’m getting married in three days.” “Before I walk down the aisle, I’ll be waiting for you to brush my hair yourself.”

Hearing me say this, everyone in the room breathed a sigh of relief. Grandma’s eyes even reddened as she said “good” several times. After driving my parents home, Mom called me into the study alone. “Yolanda, there’s something I’ve been holding back for a long time, but I need to tell you.” She hesitated, looking at me with eyes full of reluctance. “Last month on your birthday, Fudge came to give you a gift but said he was busy and left after barely five minutes.” “But half an hour later, my friend saw him at a pet hospital in the south part of town, accompanying a woman in loungewear while her dog was being treated. It seemed to be that Secretary Shen of his…” Mom pushed a photo toward me. In the photo, Sharon was holding a bandaged puppy in her arms, looking up with a smile and saying something. Beside her, Fudge had his head lowered, listening intently. The indulgence and affection in his eyes were almost overflowing. Even without any intimate gestures, the two of them seemed connected by invisible threads, forming a clear boundary between themselves and everyone around them. Looking at Fudge like this, I felt disoriented for a moment. Once upon a time, he used to look at me with that same focused, passionate gaze every day, his emotions constantly swayed by my joys and sorrows. Not like today, when my tears hadn’t even dried before he demanded in a stern voice that I be considerate and mature, not to cause him more trouble. “Yolanda, you and Fudge have been together all these years. If he wanted to propose, he’s had plenty of opportunities.” “The way he’s being forced into this today—Mom’s just afraid you’ll suffer later. Maybe you should…” Before Mom could finish, I cut her off with a calm voice. “Mom, I am getting married. But who says I’m marrying Fudge?” By the time I got back from my parents’ house, it was late at night. I pushed open the door to find Fudge surprisingly still awake, sitting on the sofa in loungewear, watching the US stock market. Seeing me return, he closed his laptop, removed his glasses, and gave me a searching look. “Why so late today?” I forced a smile. I originally wanted to say that he had plenty of nights when he came home even later than this, but when the words reached my lips, I felt it was pointless. I gave a perfunctory response. “Nothing much. Just spent some extra time talking with Mom.” Fudge nodded, picked up a dazzling necklace from the jewelry box on the table, stood up, and walked toward me. “Yolanda, thank you for helping me deal with the marriage pressure.” “You know, marrying you has always been my plan for the future. It’s just that the timing isn’t right yet. I only want to give you the most grand wedding…” As he spoke, he tried to pull me into his embrace as usual and put the necklace on me. Ever since we started dating, whenever Fudge did something that hurt me, he would give me gifts to compensate. But in the past, no matter how expensive the gift was for him at the time, he would always feel guilty, carefully holding his sincere heart while apologizing, hoping to make me happy again. Not like now, with his face completely calm, his eyes containing nothing but the composure of someone in complete control, devoid of any tenderness. This version of him already felt sufficiently unfamiliar to me. I tilted my head away, dodging his hand and avoiding his embrace. “Fudge, there’s no need for this anymore.” “Let’s end this here.”

Fudge’s expression darkened abruptly. “Yolanda, you were never someone who acted on impulse like this.” “Just because I didn’t agree to get married right now? Did you coordinate this with your family on purpose, using this to force my hand?” I looked up, meeting the anger in his eyes with complete calm. “I’m not forcing you, Fudge. I’m the one who doesn’t want to be with you anymore.” His expression grew even darker. “We’ve been together seven years. No one knows your feelings for me better than I do.” “Don’t play hard-to-get with me. I’m not falling for that trick.” He was convinced I was throwing a tantrum, convinced I was using Grandma’s situation to pressure him into compromising, to force him to propose immediately. Looking at him, I suddenly found it all laughable. Laughable that I’d persisted all these years. Laughable that it took me until now to see clearly what a cold, selfish person he was. “I’m not playing hard-to-get, Fudge. You’re too self-centered.” “You only ever think about yourself, about your company, about your reputation.” “But you’ve never considered me or my family’s wishes.” As if I’d struck a nerve, his expression grew even uglier, and his voice rose considerably. “I work myself to the bone trying to get my company to go public—isn’t that all for giving you a better life in the future?” “I’m postponing the wedding to give you a grand ceremony, aren’t I?” “Yolanda, why can’t you just be more understanding and stop trying to force me to do things I don’t want to do?” Understanding? My nose stung with tears. Haven’t I been understanding enough? Shortly after we got together, because he repeatedly told me I was too sharp-edged, I learned to restrain myself, to retreat further and further. All these years, even though I desperately wanted to get married, I kept considering his various excuses and repeatedly convinced myself and my family to postpone. Even now, because I loved him, I tolerated his intimacy with Sharon over and over, hypnotizing myself into believing he still loved me. This version of myself disgusted even me, let alone anyone else. “Fudge, whether you believe it or not, I’ve had enough.” “I don’t want to wait for you anymore. I don’t want to revolve around your schedule anymore. And I definitely don’t want to watch you and Sharon carry on ambiguously.” At the mention of Sharon, something flickered in his eyes before being covered by anger again. “I’ve told you countless times, she and I are just colleagues. Stop being unreasonable.” “The wedding is non-negotiable. We have to wait until my company goes public and stabilizes.” “No matter how much you make a scene, it won’t change anything!” With that, he threw the necklace onto the sofa, turned around, and left. The door slammed shut with a bang. The framed photo hanging in the entryway fell and shattered on impact. This apartment was one we bought together in our third year. I handled all the decorating myself. Every corner held my expectations from back then. But now, all that remained was overwhelming disappointment. The warmth from those early days was completely gone. I opened the closet, took out my clothes, folded them one by one, and placed them in the suitcase I’d prepared in advance. From the study, I only took necessary documents. I left everything else untouched. After packing everything, I contacted a courier service and had my suitcase sent to the apartment I’d rented in advance. Once I’d finished all this, I sat on the sofa in a daze. My phone suddenly vibrated twice. A notification that Sharon, whom I’d marked as a special contact, had posted a new update. “Period cramps are killing me, but someone made me brown sugar water. I’m so blessed.” The accompanying photo was taken in a kitchen. A broad-shouldered, narrow-waisted man in a crisp suit was wearing a teddy bear apron, standing with his back to the camera in front of the stove. Even without seeing his face, you could tell from his body language how relaxed and at ease Fudge was in this moment—completely different from the coldness he showed me. In the past, facing Sharon’s overt and covert provocations, I would always lose control and demand an explanation from Fudge. Now, I simply raised my hand, calmly liked the post, then blocked both Fudge and Sharon.

Soon after, there was a knock at the door, and I received an email. Opening it, I found a wedding invitation with a deep red background and gold embossed patterns. At the same time, my phone showed a message from Lucas Ashford. He was an investor I’d met through an elder’s introduction. He was steady and reliable in his dealings. Three days ago, when I set the wedding date, I reached an agreement with him to get married that same evening. “Yolanda, did you receive the invitation? This is the design you selected. Does the sample meet your expectations?” I was slightly taken aback, not expecting him to be so efficient and thorough. This sense of reliability was something I had never received from Fudge. I came back to my senses and sent Lucas a positive confirmation. Looking down again at the date on the invitation, there were still three days. That was enough time. The next morning, I went to the company. I wanted to wrap up my project. As soon as I walked into the office area, scattered discussions drifted from nearby. “Did you see Secretary Shen’s post yesterday? Mr. Harrington personally made her brown sugar water.” “The whole company’s been talking about it, and Mr. Harrington hasn’t clarified anything. Obviously, he’s acknowledging it.” “I think Secretary Shen and Mr. Harrington make a great couple. They look perfect together.” I paused slightly. Back when Fudge said office romances weren’t appropriate, we concealed our relationship. Now he didn’t care anymore? Several colleagues saw me, and the discussions stopped abruptly. Their expressions turned panicked and awkward. Before Sharon appeared, when they knew the company was co-founded by Fudge and me after college graduation, they used to ship us together. I understood and said reassuringly: “Don’t be nervous. They really are well-matched.” Just as I finished speaking, a furious voice came from behind me. “Yolanda!” Fudge approached with an icy aura, striding up to me with a dark expression, his gaze sweeping over the surrounding colleagues. Everyone immediately lowered their heads, not daring to make another sound. “Come with me.” He turned and walked into the office first. I followed him in. After closing the door, Fudge turned around and looked at me silently for a moment. “What did you mean by liking Sharon’s post yesterday? And what did you mean by blocking me?” I leaned against the door, my expression indifferent. “The like was genuine well-wishes. I blocked you because we’ve already broken up. There’s no need to keep private contact information.” Fudge’s anger intensified. “Well-wishes? Do you know your like made Sharon feel guilty all night? She kept apologizing to me, saying she caused you to misunderstand.” I found it absurd and couldn’t help laughing. “Fudge, if she really felt guilty, she should apologize to me.” “But you and I are already over. Whatever happens between you and Sharon has nothing to do with me.” “Whether she feels guilty or not isn’t something I need to consider.” Fudge stared at me, practically grinding his teeth. “Fine. Yolanda, you’ve got guts. I’d like to see how long you can keep this up.” With that, he raised his hand and told me to get out. Less than ten minutes after returning to my workstation, the company’s internal group chat posted the latest personnel change announcement. My position as project director had been revoked. Sharon was directly taking over the core project I’d worked on for half a year that was about to launch. And I had been transferred to the logistics department, responsible for trivial administrative tasks. Looking at the words on screen, my heart still uncontrollably ached for a moment. Actually, I’d already planned to resign. I just wanted to see my final project through before leaving, since it carried all the heart and soul of my career so far. I thought that even if our relationship had fallen apart, the bond from building the company together would remain. But now it seemed that was just my wishful thinking. Still, this was fine. At least it would allow me to cut ties sooner. I opened my computer and had just finished writing my resignation letter when I received a message from Lucas’s assistant. “Miss Yolanda, Mr. Ashford says the wedding dress has been custom-made to your measurements. You can go to the shop after work to try it on. Contact me anytime if there are any issues.” After work, I left the company and found the wedding dress shop according to the address. A clerk greeted me warmly: “Are you Miss Yolanda? Mr. Ashford has already informed us. Your wedding dress is in the fitting room.” The satin material was simple and clean, making my figure look elegant and poised. Standing before the full-length mirror, looking at myself in the wedding dress, my thoughts churned uncontrollably. Fudge once said that when the company stabilized, he would order the most premium wedding dress in the city and give me a wedding everyone would envy. I believed him. So I waited year after year, from hopeful anticipation to complete disillusionment. My nose suddenly stung, and tears still fell. I wasn’t sad for Fudge. I was sad for the version of myself who foolishly gave seven years of genuine devotion. Just then, the respectful voice of a clerk came from outside the shop door. “Mr. Harrington, you’re here.”

My entire body stiffened. I slowly turned around. Fudge stood at the shop entrance, his gaze falling on me, his face full of shock. He quickly noticed my reddened eyes. Something shifted in his expression, producing a hint of softness as he walked up to me. “The wedding dress suits you very well. If you like it, I’ll buy it for you.” He paused, then continued, “I have been neglecting you lately, but it’s also because you’ve been too disobedient, always forcing me to do things I don’t want to do. Be good and listen to me. Once the company goes public and stabilizes, I’ll definitely marry you.” He seemed to think I came here alone to try on wedding dresses because I wanted to marry him. I was about to explain when Sharon’s soft, delicate voice came from behind me. “Fudge, I’ve chosen my wedding dress. Have you picked out your suit?” Sharon, wearing a white dress, walked over to Fudge and intimately hooked her arm through his. Fudge’s body instantly tensed. He hastily tried to push her away, but afraid of being too obvious, he could only offer a flustered explanation. “Yolanda, don’t misunderstand. Sharon just wanted to experience what it’s like to wear a wedding dress, but she doesn’t have any other male friends.” “You know how girls are—they see videos and want to try the trend.” In the past, I begged and pleaded for him to accompany me to try on a wedding dress just once, but he said I was brainwashed by the internet, that a wedding dress was just a piece of clothing and there was no need to make a big deal of it. But now, he was willing to take time out to help Sharon choose a wedding dress. I didn’t want to say anything more to him. I turned to leave. But Sharon quickly stepped forward and grabbed my wrist. “Miss, Mr. Harrington is telling the truth. If you’re still angry, just hit me!” Before I could react, her body swayed and she fell toward the ground, letting out a soft cry. “Ah!” She weakly pressed her ankle, her face pale, looking extremely pained. “Fudge, I think I twisted my ankle. It hurts so much.” Seeing this, Fudge immediately pushed me aside and rushed to support Sharon, his eyes full of fury as he looked at me. “Yolanda, you’ve gone too far!” Without any hesitation, he scooped Sharon up and headed outside. Watching his hurried departing figure, I only felt it was laughable. This wasn’t the first time Sharon had used such tactics to frame me. In the past, I thought Fudge was being deceived. Now I finally understood—he wasn’t blind in the eyes, he was blind in the heart. His heart never had room for me, which is why he sided with Sharon time and time again without asking for the truth. I returned to my temporary apartment. My phone kept buzzing with messages, all from Fudge’s work number. “Yolanda, come to the hospital immediately and apologize to Sharon, or I’ll postpone our wedding indefinitely.” “Even if your grandma really is dying this time, I won’t soften!” Message after message, every word dripping with selfishness and tyranny. He even cursed my grandmother. I was so angry I felt nauseous. I directly deleted and blocked his work number too. After doing all this, I opened the company’s HR system and formally submitted my resignation letter. The moment the email sent successfully, all the darkness in my heart completely dissipated. Meanwhile, Fudge had just finished sending his text messages with a dark expression. Sharon spoke softly. “Fudge, is Yolanda really angry at me? It’s all my fault. If it weren’t for me, none of this would have happened.” “It’s not your fault. Yolanda is being unreasonable. Don’t worry, I’ll definitely give you an explanation!” Fudge consoled her, his tone full of conviction. In the past, whenever he threatened to postpone the wedding, Yolanda would take the initiative to back down. He was confident this time would be the same. But early the next morning, he received a call from HR. “Mr. Harrington, Miss Yolanda has submitted a formal resignation letter. She’s very determined. We can’t talk her out of it.” Hearing this, Fudge immediately flew into a rage and drove to our apartment. But when he opened the door, everything belonging to me had already disappeared. He took out his phone to message me through his work number, only to find he’d been blocked there too. An inexplicable panic rose in Fudge’s heart. And all his unease reached its peak when he saw the bright red invitation on the table. In the bride’s position was my name. But in the groom’s position was not his name. In an instant, Fudge’s face turned as white as paper. The invitation slipped from his hand and fell to the floor.

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To catch the last design project before Christmas, I’d been on business trips for three straight days. On the high-speed train back, I absentmindedly scrolled into a livestream titled “Daily Life of a Kept College Girl.” “My sugar daddy’s wife is on a business trip, so to save money on hotels, he let me stay at his place. Today’s the last day!” On screen, the girl wore a silk nightgown, pouting as she complained. A comment asked: “If he’s this cheap, why are you even with him?” She smiled smugly. “My sugar daddy’s a freeloader himself, but his wife is a famous designer!” “He supports me entirely with his wife’s money.” The camera panned, revealing a familiar curved balcony, custom bookshelves, a planet lamp… Frame by frame, it was all the home I’d designed myself. She winked playfully at the camera: “My sugar daddy says after New Year’s, he’ll use his wife’s year-end bonus to pay for my down payment.” “And he’ll even have his wife personally design my wedding suite. Just thinking about it is so thrilling.” The moment the livestream ended, a message from my husband Lucas popped up: “Honey, I transferred twenty thousand from your card. Needed it urgently.” 0

The scenery outside the train window blurred into a gray-white haze. I stared at my phone screen, my fingertips ice-cold. Lucas’s message still glowed there. Seeing I hadn’t responded for ages, he sent another. “Honey, are you still busy? Why aren’t you replying?” I took a deep breath and tapped on the screen: “Bad signal on the train. I’ll be home in two hours.” Lucas replied almost instantly. “Why are you coming back early? I’ll wait for you at home. Take your time on the way back.” I stared at those words, suddenly feeling disoriented. I ignored him and switched back to the short video app, finding the profile of that livestreamer. On her profile page, she’d posted a new video just one minute ago. I clicked on it. On screen was the same girl in the silk robe. She blinked at the camera, her voice syrupy sweet. “Oh no! My sugar daddy’s wife is coming home from her trip early. I’ve got to go!” She waved a sparkly earring at the camera, her lips curled in a smug smile. “This? I’m going to hide it under the pillow as a little gift for his wife. Do you think she’ll find it?” At the end of the video, she leaned close to the camera and lowered her voice: “Want to keep watching me and my sugar daddy’s daily life? Join the fan group and I’ll share more~” My finger moved faster than my brain—I clicked to request entry to the group. The system approved me instantly. The group announcement hung there, glaring: “Welcome to Jane’s Sweet Little Nest~ My sugar daddy totally spoils me!” I exited the app and closed my eyes. Lucas and I had been married for five years. We’d been together since college. When he was pursuing me, he ate instant noodles for a month just to save up money to buy me a necklace. After we married, he started a business and lost everything, even racking up a mountain of debt. My career had just started then, but I took on the burden of our household without a second thought. He cried and said, “Honey, when I turn things around, I’ll make sure you have a good life.” I held him tight. “Okay. I’ll wait for that day.” I drew designs until dawn every day, thinking that if I took on more projects, we could pay off his debts sooner. When I opened my eyes again, the view outside the window showed the familiar lights of my city. We’d arrived. I dragged my suitcase, practically rushing home. I pushed open the door. Lucas emerged from the kitchen wearing an apron, his face full of smiles. “You’re back? Are you tired? I made you noodles.” I said nothing. I changed my shoes and headed straight to the bedroom. Walking to the bed, I reached under the pillow. Nothing. “What’s wrong? Looking for something?” Lucas’s voice came from the doorway. I turned around, unable to force any expression onto my face. “Nothing. Just a bit tired.” He walked closer, trying to take my suitcase. Just then, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen, his expression clearly stiffening for a moment. Then he turned and headed to the bathroom. “Let me take this call.” The door was ajar. I stood where I was, hearing a girl’s soft voice drift through the gap into my ears. “When are you coming over… I miss you…” It sounded like the voice from the livestream. My nails dug into my palms. A few minutes later, he rushed out to grab his coat. “My friend… suddenly got sick. I’m going to check on him.” “Also, I’m a bit short on cash. Honey, can you transfer me some more?” I grabbed his hand. “Which friend? Is it serious? Let me come with you.” 0

“Really, you don’t need to. You just got back from a trip—rest up.” Lucas pressed down on my hand reaching for my coat, his tone urgent. I looked up and saw several red marks on his neck. “What happened to your neck?” I stared at him. He frantically covered them with his hand, his eyes darting away. “Ah… probably mosquito bites. They’re really itchy.” With that, he rushed out the door, even forgetting to take his scarf. Maybe I was too exhausted. I’d been working nonstop on projects lately, and then this happened. I lay on the bed, my head buzzing. Before I knew it, I’d fallen asleep. When I opened my eyes again, the room was pitch black. I fumbled for my phone—it was midnight. The screen was still on the fan group interface for that girl named Jane. The latest messages were all from her, just posted: [Tonight my sugar daddy is still with me~ I just acted cute and he came running] Below was a photo. The lighting was ambiguous. A girl leaned against a man’s shoulder. The man’s face was covered with a sticker, but that familiar black mole on the side of his neck—I recognized it instantly. It was Lucas. The gray hoodie he wore was the birthday gift I’d given him last year. And Jane was wearing his shirt, loose and oversized. [My sugar daddy says I can’t leave hickeys anymore! Because his wife asked him about them!] [As compensation… he gave me his wife’s Bulgari necklace~] She posted another picture. My breath caught. That was part of my dowry from my mother, a limited edition piece she’d brought back from Italy. It went missing last year. Lucas had even helped me search for it for ages, saying we must have accidentally thrown it out while cleaning. So it wasn’t thrown out. It was stolen to give away. I tossed my phone aside, wanting to close my eyes and keep sleeping. But every time I closed my eyes, all I saw was that photo. Jane leaning against his shoulder, smiling. Him looking down at her, his gaze painfully tender. That was an expression I hadn’t seen in a long time. Half-asleep, I struggled through until dawn, hearing the sound of keys at the door. Lucas tiptoed in, carrying the cold from outside. He walked to the bedside and tucked the blanket around me. I opened my eyes. He jumped. “Did I wake you?” “Lucas,” I called out to him, my voice hoarse. “This New Year, come back with me to see my parents.” He froze, obvious hesitation flashing across his face. He mumbled an “mm” and looked away. I continued, “Which friend was sick yesterday? I’m free today. Let’s go visit.” His shoulders visibly stiffened, and his speech quickened. “You don’t know them, and… and they were already discharged today. No need to go.” More lies. I watched him nervously swallow, and suddenly felt a wave of nausea. “Honey…” He suddenly moved closer, lifting the blanket and lying down. His arm came around to hold me, his face buried in my neck. “Don’t ask anymore. Just let me hold you for a while.” He carried a faint scent of perfume—sweet, fruity floral notes. I lay stiffly in his embrace, motionless. His hand patted my back gently, just like he used to do when coaxing me to sleep. 0

There was one day left before we’d go back to my parents’ place. At breakfast, I asked Lucas, “Can you come to the mall with me today? Let’s buy some New Year goods for Mom and Dad.” His hand pausing while peeling an egg, he didn’t look at me. “Vivian, I… I found a day-labor job. Today’s my first day. I want to earn money myself to buy gifts for your parents. That shows more sincerity.” As he said this, his gaze drifted toward the window, his ears slightly red. But I still nodded, even managing a smile. “That’s great. It’s the thought that counts.” He looked relieved, hurriedly finished eating, grabbed his coat, and headed out. The moment the door closed, the smile collapsed from my face. My phone vibrated. It was Jane’s fan group. She’d posted a voice message: [Sisters, my sugar daddy has to go back to his hometown with his wife for Christmas~ Today he’s treating me to an early “New Year’s dinner” to console my wounded little heart~] Below was a restaurant location. I stared at that address, then suddenly grabbed my car keys and followed. The restaurant’s lighting was dim and intimate, the air filled with expensive perfume and the scent of fresh bread. I sat in the most secluded booth with an untouched glass of water in front of me. Then I saw them walk in. Lucas wore the cashmere coat I’d bought him just last month, with Jane on his arm. The server led them to the best window seat. “Lucas, isn’t this place really expensive?” Jane rested her chin on her hand, her eyes bright as she looked at him. “For you, it’s worth it.” Lucas pushed the menu toward her. “See what you want to eat. Today, you’re the priority.” Jane’s slender fingers pointed at items on the menu as she leaned softly toward Lucas. Lucas naturally put his arm around her shoulder, his chin nearly touching the top of her head. “I can’t spend New Year with you, so today I’ll make it all up to you.” “Hmph, you just know how to sweet-talk me. When are you going to leave her?” Jane pouted, her tone coquettish. Lucas lowered his head, leaning close to her ear. “Just wait a bit longer. That old hag—if it weren’t for her money… I’d have stopped bothering with her ages ago.” Jane immediately beamed, quickly kissing his cheek. “What about my New Year gift you promised me?” “Don’t worry. I already paid the twenty thousand down payment on the house.” Lucas tapped her nose, his eyes full of affection. They said much more after that. Every sentence was like a poisoned needle piercing my ears. I gripped my water glass tightly, nails digging into my palm, yet I felt no pain. My stomach churned violently. The few bites of bread I’d forced down earlier felt like stones lodged inside. They ate for a long time, their behavior growing increasingly intimate. When they finally got up to leave, Lucas actually bent down and kissed Jane’s forehead—so tenderly. After they left, I immediately drove home. I burst through the door, not even bothering to change my shoes, and rushed straight to the bathroom. Kneeling by the toilet, I vomited up all the nausea I’d held back at the restaurant. Why? When your business failed and you were drowning in debt, I stayed up late with you figuring out solutions, desperately taking on projects to pay back the money. Have you forgotten those days? Now that life has finally stabilized and the debt is almost paid off… The sound of keys turning. Lucas was home. Hearing the commotion, he ran to the bathroom door and saw my state. He froze for a moment. Then his face filled with familiar concern. “Vivian? Why are you throwing up? Did you eat something bad?” He crouched down, his warm palm patting my back with gentle motions, his tone anxious. Completely different from the man who’d just been in that restaurant with his arm around another woman, speaking such heartless words. I lifted my head and looked at this face I’d loved for nearly ten years. “Lucas, that twenty thousand—where did you spend it?”

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The moment I was reborn on the beach, my buddy Liam’s urgent phone call came through. “Ethan! Where the hell are you?! The bride has been waiting for you for two hours!” I rubbed my throbbing temples and swiped open my phone calendar with a laugh. “What are you talking about? Today’s the 14th. My wedding is on the 21st. That’s a whole seven days away.” “Seven days my ass!” His voice cracked. “All the guests at the hotel are about to leave! Vanessa has torn off her veil. Get over here now.” I looked up at the public screen by the beach. It clearly displayed June 14, 2026. In my past life, I thought I’d been so busy I’d mixed up the dates. I rushed to the hotel like a madman, only to have a flower pot drop from above and smash through my skull the moment I stepped through the door. I didn’t even get a chance to see the killer’s face. This time, I stared at the messages popping up on my phone — “Today is your wedding” — my fingertips ice-cold. The sea breeze carried a faint fishy smell into my nostrils. I jerked my eyes open, gasping for air, my whole body radiating bone-chilling cold. In my past life, the flower pot had exploded on my head. In an instant, intense pain struck. My whole body went numb. Blood pooled everywhere. In the last second before losing consciousness, I still couldn’t figure out why the wedding had been moved up seven days. I’d spent half a year preparing for this wedding, attending to every detail. I’d even written the date on the invitations myself. Before I could sort out my thoughts, the piercing phone ringtone pulled me back to reality. My lock screen showed the countdown to my wedding with Vanessa: [7 days until the wedding] Liam kept calling. I suppressed my irritation and answered. His anxious voice came through. “Ethan, today’s your wedding. The guests have been waiting for you for two hours. The bride is going crazy. Where did you run off to?” I suppressed my anger and asked in a low voice, “Say that again. What day is the wedding?” “June 21st! Did you forget your own wedding day?” I gripped my phone tightly, my knuckles turning white. “Then check today’s date.” Silence on the other end for a few seconds. “Ethan, today is June 21st, Saturday. Are you coming or not?” I hung up and pulled up the invitation photo. Black and white, June 21st. That was right. But my phone calendar, the car display, the screen on the street — all showed June 14th. I forced myself to calm down. In my past life, I’d lost my life because I rushed over impulsively. I called my grandfather, George. He had raised me. He’d said he would definitely attend my wedding.

“It’s Ethan! What made you think to call me? Remember to pick me up next Saturday for your wedding.” George put on his reading glasses and squinted at me affectionately. Seeing him so calm and composed, I relaxed a bit and asked casually, “George, what’s today’s date?” George smoothed his graying hair and said with a smile, “Today’s the 14th. Our Ethan’s wedding is on the 21st. What’s wrong? Getting anxious to marry your bride?” He had always doted on me most. He would never lie to me about something as important as my wedding. My tense nerves relaxed slightly. But then I thought — why would Vanessa and Liam put on such an elaborate show to deceive me? I clenched my fist, veins bulging on the back of my hand. Seeing me zone out, George said gently, “Ethan, make sure you rest well these next few days. You need to be the most handsome groom on your wedding day.” I was silent for a moment, then finally just said “Got it” and hung up. On the screen by the shore, the date was clearly visible: June 14, Saturday. I pulled up the invitation photo. June 21st, no mistake. My phone screen kept flashing. Vanessa was calling again. Before I could speak, Vanessa’s voice came crashing down. “Ethan! You gave my mother a heart attack! She’s in the hospital! If anything happens to her, I’ll never forgive you! Where are you?” I took a deep breath, suppressing my anger. “Vanessa, I’ve been preparing this wedding for half a year. The date is set for June 21st. What’s the point of this scene you’re making today?” Vanessa’s voice turned cold. “You think I’d use my own mother’s health to put on an act? Even if you don’t want to get married anymore, we can sit down and talk. You called all the elders here, then left them hanging while you vacation at the beach?” She paused, her voice becoming hoarse. “Ethan, I never realized you had this much nerve.” My heart tightened. “Elders? What elders?” Vanessa turned the camera. George was standing in the hotel lobby, his wrinkled face filled with exhaustion. Seeing that familiar face, my head buzzed. I had to grip the railing to keep from falling. George faced the camera, his voice carrying a disappointment I’d never heard before. “Ethan, you’ve been so sensible since you were little. How could you joke about something this important today? You made Vanessa’s mother so upset she had to go to the hospital! Come over right now and apologize to everyone properly.” Vanessa took back the phone, her tone ice-cold. “If you have any sense of responsibility left, get over here now.” As soon as she finished speaking, she sent a hotel location. It was exactly where I’d died in my past life. My hand holding the phone began to tremble. I had just talked to George on the phone. He was grilling meat at the farm. How could he possibly appear at a hotel in the city center in just a few minutes? I immediately called George again. “Ethan, sweetheart, what’s wrong?” Hearing such caring words, my heart didn’t warm at all. The video background was clearly next to the grill in the farm’s backyard. I steadied my emotions. “Nothing, George. I just missed you.” I hung up and sent the call recording to Vanessa. “My grandfather is at the farm right now. I don’t know who that person you found is.” A few minutes later, Vanessa sent a video. George was pacing back and forth at the hotel entrance, occasionally looking anxiously outside. When he heard any sound, he rushed out anxiously, tripped on a chair, and fell hard. My heart clenched watching it. Then Vanessa’s messages kept popping up. “Ethan, you’re really something, using AI video to deceive me. Your grandfather is at the hotel right now. He’s been waiting all morning!”

George said his only wish was to see me get married and see me happy. He’d prepared the family heirloom for me half a year in advance and even handcrafted a small wooden cradle. No matter what method Vanessa used to get George to the hotel, I had to go and ask him face to face. Recalling my past life when I rushed to the hotel entrance, the welcome sign clearly read June 21st. What was going on with all this? I organized the information I’d collected and sent it to Vanessa. After a few seconds, Vanessa video called me. Her eyes were slightly red, her voice carrying suppressed trembling. “Ethan, you’re still hung up on the date at this point? I don’t care what day it is today. I want you at the wedding venue right now.” After a few seconds of silence, her tone softened slightly. “Ethan, whatever happened, just come over first. Your family is all here. We’ll apologize to everyone properly, and it’ll be over. Your grandfather is old. He can’t handle this much stress.” My parents also crowded into the frame. My mother, Sarah, looked exhausted but still tried to sound calm. “Ethan, just come over. Even if you mixed up the dates, your father and I won’t blame you.” My throat tightened. “But today is the 14th. The wedding is the 21st.” My father, David, snatched the phone when he heard that, his face livid. “How did I raise you? When you make a mistake, you own up to it. Where did your manners go? How can you not even know what day it is? Get over here right now and apologize to everyone!” He hung up after saying that. Regardless, with my past life’s experience, I could definitely avoid the danger. I steeled myself. I wanted to see exactly what Vanessa was up to. With that thought, I picked up my pace and returned to the hotel to change clothes. When I got in the Uber, the first thing I looked at was the display screen. Just like my past life, the electronic screen showed June 14th. As soon as I sat down, I urgently said to the driver, “The Ritz Hotel, please.” The driver was clearly taken aback and glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Are you sure?” I nodded. The car sped down the road, scenery flying past the windows. The driver put on some soothing light music. Once my tense nerves relaxed, drowsiness slowly crept in. I don’t know how long passed. I rubbed my eyes, and when I saw the news notification on my phone clearly, I broke out in a cold sweat. A news story had shot to the top of Twitter’s trending topics. #Groom forgets wedding date and goes missing, bride’s mother dies of heart attack#

I stared at my phone screen. The comments section had exploded. [Is this guy sick? If you don’t want to get married, just say so. Is this really necessary?] [The bride’s mom was literally killed by stress. He needs to pay with his life!] [I heard the groom is still vacationing at the beach. Unbelievable.] [Wedding turned into a funeral. This guy’s life is over.] My finger scrolling through the screen trembled uncontrollably. Vanessa’s mother… was dead? That was impossible. In my past life, when I rushed to the hotel entrance and the flower pot fell, I clearly saw her screaming in horror from the second floor. I suddenly looked up at the taxi display screen. June 14th, 2:23 PM. The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Young man, you don’t look so good.” “Sir, can you go any faster?” “This is already the fastest.” The driver paused. “The Ritz Hotel… I’d advise you to mentally prepare yourself.” My heart skipped a beat. “What do you mean?” The driver didn’t answer. He just silently turned up the music volume. It was an old song, “The Wedding March.” The gentle, melodious tune felt especially eerie now, giving me goosebumps. My phone rang again. It was Liam. “Ethan, where are you? Vanessa’s mother… she’s really gone.” His voice was low. “Come quickly. Vanessa’s in bad shape.” I gripped my phone tightly. “Liam, tell me, what day is it today?” Silence on the other end for a few seconds. “June 21st. Ethan, do you… really need to see a doctor?” I hung up, opened my camera, and aimed it at a road sign outside the window. Seaside Boulevard, 15 kilometers from the Ritz Hotel. The electronic screen on the sign clearly displayed: June 14, Saturday. I took a photo and sent it to Liam. He replied quickly. “Is photoshopping fun?” Then another message. “And you’re still hung up on the date at this point!” I turned off my phone and looked out the window. In the distance, the spire of the Ritz Hotel was faintly visible. In my past life, the flower pot had fallen from the curved balcony on the fourth floor. The taxi stopped at the hotel entrance. I paid, and the driver suddenly called out to me. “Young man,” he lowered his voice, looking at me in the rearview mirror, “don’t trust your eyes too much about some things.” I stared at him. “What do you mean?” The driver had already started the car and only left me with, “Sometimes people even lie to themselves with their own memories.” I stood in front of the hotel’s revolving door and took a deep breath. The lobby was empty. Unexpectedly quiet. In the distance, I could see a huge welcome sign standing in the center. The background was a wedding photo of Vanessa and me, with gold lettering: Groom: Ethan & Bride: Vanessa Wedding Date: June 21 Seeing this scene, my breathing suddenly quickened. The fear from my past life rampaged through my rationality. I was certain the accident in my past life was deliberate. If so, the killer wouldn’t show themselves unless I went over. They might even kill me another way. My back was already soaked with sweat. I gritted my teeth and charged forward. Bang! The flower pot exploded behind me. Flying ceramic shards cut bloody gashes on my leg. I had no time to care. I stepped back half a step and glanced up. The person hurriedly retreated, but I still caught sight of her face. I thought I knew what was going on. I steadied myself and quickly scanned my surroundings. Then a hand pressed on my shoulder from behind.

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