Category: English

After being locked away in an asylum for two years, I finally learned my lesson. When my brother got into another bloody fistfight with a trust-fund billionaire over his unrequited love, I turned around and walked away. I didn’t interfere. When my sister insisted on marrying an abusive monster, I kept my mouth shut. I didn’t utter a single word. When my father risked our entire family estate on a high-stakes corporate betting agreement, I pretended not to see. When my mother embezzled company funds to bail out her deadbeat brother, I minded my own business. The perk of cutting ties with them? My bank account is overflowing, and I actually smile now. But they? They’ve completely lost their minds. 1 On my very first day out of the asylum, I stumbled upon my brother, Rory, in a brutal alley brawl with a group of trust-fund elites. He was throwing wild, desperate punches, burying his fists into one of the rich heirs like a rabid dog. I stood a few yards away, a look of simulated terror plastered on my face. I trembled, feigning cowardice, and didn’t take a single step forward. One of the main reasons they locked me away in that hellhole was because I had tried to stop him from picking a fight with a prominent high-society heir two years ago. Back then, Rory was obsessed with Isla, the girl of his dreams. But Isla only had eyes for Barrett, a prominent billionaire heir. Out of sheer, blinding jealousy, Rory looked for any excuse to pick a fight with Barrett. I had been there. I held Rory back with everything I had, taking two heavy blows to my back from his wild fists, but I didn’t let go. Seeing how desperately I was trying to prevent a tragedy, Barrett took his security team and walked away, avoiding a bloodbath. But afterward, Rory blamed me entirely. He claimed I ruined his big moment, that I prevented Isla from seeing his raw masculinity. When Isla eventually rejected him and moved to Europe, Rory directed all his burning hatred toward me. This time? I turned on my heel and walked away. No way was I getting involved. I didn’t go home either. After my entire family conspired to throw me into a psychiatric ward, leaving me to rot for two painful years under the guise of doing what was best for me, I learned one absolute truth. Stay as far away from the Whitmores as possible. Every ounce of misery in my first twenty years of life came from them. From now on, I only live for myself. That night, a phone call dragged me back to the Whitmore estate. I didn’t want to start an open war with them, there was no benefit in that, so I decided to see what they wanted. The moment I stepped through the door, my father roared at me, “Your brother was in a street fight this afternoon! Why didn’t you stop him?!” Just as I figured. No matter what choice I made, the blame would always land on my shoulders. When you’re the unloved child, even your breathing is an offense. I replied coolly, “I was terrified. I didn’t even realize it was Rory.” My mother glared at me with pure venom. “You did it on purpose! Rory said you were standing less than ten feet away! How could you not recognize your own brother? You wanted him to get hurt, didn’t you? How did you become so utterly malicious?!” They hadn’t visited me once during my two years in the asylum. Now that I was finally out, their only concern was that I hadn’t played meat shield for my golden-boy brother. Rory was the one who went looking for trouble, and the fight was basically over by the time I walked past. My intervention would have changed nothing. But in their eyes, my lack of self-sacrifice was a crime. In the past, I had taken his punches to keep him safe, only to be rewarded with his eternal hatred. Why would I ever play the savior again? Ignorance is bliss. “If you don’t believe me, there’s nothing I can do,” I said. I had no energy to argue with them. Just then, my father’s phone rang. It was the police department. Rory had been arrested. 2 He had broken three of Barrett’s ribs and slashed his face. The Whitmores were moderately wealthy, but we were nothing compared to the true, untouchable elite. Offending a billionaire’s son meant our family could be crushed overnight. Hearing that her precious son was locked up, my mother wept hysterically, insisting that the rich kid was using dirty political connections to suppress them. She threatened to go to the media to expose the corruption. My father, possessing a shred of sanity, immediately hired a top lawyer and began looking for mediators. They were willing to pay any amount of hush money as long as Barrett dropped the charges. Watching them scramble and panic for Rory, a bitter smile tugged at my lips. I had never once experienced that kind of parental devotion. When I lay in bed for three days and nights with a scorching fever, their only reaction was to ask why I hadn’t gone to school. When I was harassed by a boy at school and begged them for help, they told me to tell him to stop and reflection on my own behavior. When I earned my advanced classical piano credentials, they accused me of showing off because my sister, Jenny, couldn’t even read sheet music. When I got accepted into an Ivy League university, they frowned and asked if I had cheated on the SATs. The list of micro-cruelties was endless. For years, I kept testing them, hoping for a shred of affection. I had been pathetic. But those days were over. “I remember that rich boy was your high school classmate,” my mother suddenly said, grabbing my wrist tightly. “Go to the hospital right now. Find him and beg him to drop the charges against your brother!” Her nails dug into my skin, her eyes wide with desperation. I looked down at her phone screen, which was playing the security footage of the fight. The boy Rory had brutally beaten was indeed my former classmate, Barrett. But Barrett had ruthlessly bullied me in high school. I despised him, and the thought of seeing him made my stomach churn. I shook my head. “He bullied me in high school. He dragged me by my hair across the courtyard. I’m not going.” My mother gripped my wrist even harder, her eyes bloodshot. “Perfect! If he bullied you, he definitely remembers you! Use that to make him feel guilty so he’ll let your brother off! Go now!” Her tone was entirely transactional. I simply nodded. “Fine.” Fine, my ass. Once I walked out that door, she would have no idea where I went. I had absolutely no intention of begging my bully to save my abusive brother. If they could be this monstrously biased, I could match their coldness. I turned and walked away. But before I could reach the car, my mother caught up with me. “I’m coming with you.” She didn’t trust me. I let out a dry laugh. “Suit yourself.” On the drive over, she uncharacteristically asked if I had been comfortable at the facility. “It wasn’t a facility, Mother. It was an asylum,” I corrected her. She offered a tight, awkward smile. “I just remember the grounds were lovely. It seemed like a good place for you to rest…” “Was it? Is why you explicitly instructed the doctors to give me monthly electroshock therapy sessions to teach me how to be obedient?” I asked, my voice flat. During my first year, I was subjected to monthly ECT sessions, the agony so intense it made me lose control of my bladder. During the second year, because I started playing along, they let me off the shocks and made me memorize books on family morality instead, slapping me across the face whenever I missed a word. My mother’s fake smile vanished. “I… I only did it for your own good…” “Of course,” I murmured. The atmosphere in the car turned dead silent. When we arrived at the hospital, my mother explained our purpose to the receptionist. Barrett refused to see her, but he agreed to let me in alone. He still remembered me. He sat in his luxury suite, his bruised face twisting into a cruel smirk. His terms were simple: become his kept mistress for two years, and Rory goes free. I gave him a direct answer: “In your dreams.” He seemed entirely confident I would bend to his will, telling me I had one night to think it over. I didn’t even give him a second glance as I walked out. My mother was waiting in the corridor. Seeing the cold fury on my face, she assumed I had failed. She immediately began screaming at me, right there in the hallway. “You useless, worthless disappointment! You can’t do a single thing right! I don’t even know why I bothered raising you!” 3 I looked at her with total detachment. “Then let’s sever ties. Officially.” She hadn’t expected me to say those words. Her furious expression froze, but before she could utter another sound, I turned and walked out of the hospital, leaving her behind. The following morning, my phone rang. Somehow, they had found out about Barrett’s disgusting proposal. Their tone was suddenly incredibly gentle, practically begging me to sacrifice myself for Rory. They wanted me to sell my body to my high school bully. I refused immediately. My father tried playing the good cop. “Gemma, the Whitmores need this. Barrett comes from an incredibly powerful family. Countless women would kill to be in his bed. You’re not just saving your brother; you’re elevating yourself. If you play your cards right and bear his child, you’ll secure a spot in high society.” My mother took the bad cop approach. “If you don’t save your brother, you are no longer a Whitmore. We will disown you.” Since the gloves were entirely off, I didn’t hold back. I let out a sharp laugh and fired back through the speakerphone: “I have never met parents as repulsive and depraved as you. You’re actually encouraging your own daughter to become a rich man’s whore. If your precious son is too stupid to keep his fists to himself, he should face the consequences. He is a brainless idiot!” I slammed the phone down and blocked their numbers. To prevent them from trying to kidnap me again, I immediately packed my bags and moved out of my apartment. Two years ago, the four of them had physically forced me into a car with the asylum staff, claiming my depression and mild anxiety made me unfit for society. I wasn’t going to give them a second chance to lock me up. I went completely off the grid. They had no way of tracking me down, so they eventually had to give up. A week later, Rory was released. My parents had to pay nearly three million dollars in medical expenses and settlements to resolve the issue. Barrett’s family eventually dropped it to avoid a public scandal. The moment Rory was freed, he went straight to find Isla, who had recently returned from Europe. Instead of a romantic reunion, he found her kneeling by Barrett’s feet, gently massaging the rich heir’s legs. Assuming Isla had degraded herself to save him, Rory lost his mind. He charged in like a heroic idiot, screaming about how a real man takes responsibility for his own actions and telling Barrett to leave Isla alone. But Barrett had brought a full security detail this time. Rory’s pathetic display of chivalry earned him a brutal beating in a back alley. The entire incident was filmed and sent directly to my parents. My father nearly had a heart attack. He had just spent millions to bail the idiot out, only for Rory to immediately pick another fight. My mother wept for her darling boy but didn’t dare retaliate against an untouchable dynasty. Ultimately, they locked Rory inside the estate to keep him out of trouble. It was useless. In a desperate bid to escape and see Isla, Rory jumped from his second-story bedroom window. He broke his leg in three places.

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1 When I woke up from the car crash, six years had vanished. I was married to my childhood sweetheart, and we even had a son. Our little boy was the spitting image of his father—quiet, guarded, and painfully adorable. I couldn’t help myself. I scooped him up and covered his chubby cheeks in kisses. Just then, my phone rang. It was an unrecognized number. I pressed answer, and a man’s drunken voice slurred through the speaker: “She blocked me. It hurts so bad, Hazel. Can you come keep me company for a while?” My five-year-old son immediately gripped my hand, his knuckles turning white. “Mom… are you going out to drink with Uncle Beckett again?” “Dad will be so sad.” He lowered his head, his voice cracking. “And so will I.” … When I first opened my eyes, a beautifully dressed little boy was standing at my bedside, staring at me with wide, anxious eyes. “Mom, you were having a nightmare. Are you okay?” Why was he calling me Mom? I blinked, taking in his features. He was incredibly handsome, a perfect, miniature version of Jasper. Then, my eyes drifted to the wall. Hanging above the headboard was a massive, elegant wedding portrait of Jasper and me. I had only been in a car accident. How did I wake up married to him with a child? But looking at the sweet little boy, logic went out the window. My hands moved faster than my brain, pulling him into my chest. I hugged him tight, kissing him repeatedly until his face was damp. That was when the phone on the nightstand buzzed. The caller ID read: Beckett. I answered, and the heavy scent of alcohol seemed to bleed through the line as a man groaned. “She blocked me. It hurts so bad, Hazel. Can you come keep me company for a while?” I was completely bewildered. “Who is this?” The voice on the other end grew cold and exhausted. “Hazel, stop playing games. You know I’m in no mood for your drama right now.” “I’m at our usual bar. Old place. I’m waiting.” With a sharp click, the line went dead. I checked the time. It was two in the morning. Who was this lunatic, demanding my presence in the middle of the night? Did he think I was some cheap, desperate girl? My five-year-old son squeezed my fingers, his chest heaving. “Mom, are you going out to drink with Uncle Beckett again? Dad will be so sad.” He looked down. “And so will I.” I stared at him, a deep sense of unease settling in my chest. Why did this little boy look so incredibly insecure? Seeing my silence, his grip slowly loosened. His shoulders slumped, a look of profound disappointment crossing his small face. “If you have to go, Mom… I’ll get your coat.” “It’s cold outside. You shouldn’t catch a chill. Remember your scarf, too.” He was so heartbreakingly sweet that my heart melted. I quickly grabbed his tiny hands, my voice softening. “I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart. How could I leave you all by yourself in the middle of the night?” “Come here. Let’s cuddle and go back to sleep.” The boy froze, staring at me with a hesitant, shy, almost overwhelmed expression. “Is that… is that really okay, Mom?” “Of course it’s okay! A mother sleeping with her baby is the most natural thing in the world.” I pulled him under the warm duvet, wrapping my arms around him. “By the way, what’s your name, sweetie?” He reached up, placing a cool hand against my forehead. “Mom, do you have a fever? I’m Tristan. You were the one who chose my name.” “Tristan? Like the knight?” He shook his head, his voice dropping. “No. You said it meant sorrow. Because you hated us.” I went completely numb. Tristan? Sorrow? Why on earth would I give such a beautiful, innocent child a name like that? The next morning, I woke up late to find Tristan already dressed. He was sitting quietly on a small chair, reading a book without making a single sound. My god, I had given birth to an angel. I adored him instantly. I wanted to call his name, but “Tristan” felt too heavy, too thick with a past I couldn’t remember. So, I called out softly, “Sweetheart.” “Where is your father?” Hearing the endearment, Tristan’s ears flushed a bright red. “Dad… he was working late at the office last night.” “Oh. I see.” I thought about the six-year blank in my memory since the car crash. I offered him a warm smile. “Come here, sweetheart. Let me test you. How is the relationship between your dad and me?” Tristan hesitated, his eyes dropping to the floor again. “Not very good, Mom. You seemed to really hate us.” “Dad said you lost your memory after the accident. Since you didn’t have any other family left, he brought you home to care for you, and you two got married shortly after.” “But after I was born, you were unhappy every single day. Dad said it was postpartum depression, that you didn’t hate me, you were just sick.” “But then you met Uncle Beckett, and you started smiling again. You told Dad that Beckett was your medicine.” A bitter, old-beyond-his-years look crossed his face. “And then, you didn’t want us anymore.” I searched my brain, but the name Beckett conjured absolutely nothing. “Who is this Beckett? Why would I care about him so much?” Tristan shook his head. “I don’t know.” “But on your anniversary with Dad, Uncle Beckett called Dad from your phone on purpose.” “Dad thought it was you calling, and he was so happy when he answered.” “But you didn’t know the call was connected. You were busy talking to Uncle Beckett. He told you he didn’t love you, that he was in love with his brother’s fiancée, even though they could never be together.” “You asked him why, if it was so painful, he couldn’t just consider you instead.” “Uncle Beckett said that if you got a divorce, he would consider it.” “And then, Mom… you said, ‘Okay, I’ll divorce him.’” “Dad… Dad was so heartbroken that day.” His voice trembled. “And so was I.” I sat there, utterly stunned. In my son’s eyes, I was nothing but a desperate, pathetic simp. I was throwing away my family for a man who was pining after his own brother’s fiancée. It was the plot of a cheap, trashy soap opera. I reached out, gently covering Tristan’s ears. “A child shouldn’t have to carry these heavy things.” Tristan blinked, looking at me with confusion. I let out a long, heavy sigh. Jasper was my childhood sweetheart. When I was seven, my father worked as a driver for the Lu family. Because my mother was gone and my father was always busy with work, he would often leave me at Jasper’s estate. My classmates had warned me, telling me that rich kids were cruel to their bones. They said Jasper would treat me like a toy, bullying and tormenting me every day. But the moment I met him, those fears vanished. Jasper had no sense of superiority. He looked at me and said I looked like a delicate porcelain doll. I was fragile and sickly back then. But despite being the pampered heir of the wealthy Lu family, Jasper would kneel on the frozen ground to put on my socks in the winter. He carried my backpack to school every day. When I was sick in bed, he would sit by my side, holding my hand and refusing to leave. Later, when my father died in a tragic accident, none of my relatives wanted to take in a penniless orphan. It was Jasper who took my hand and led me into his home. The Lu family was one of the most powerful dynasties in the city, but he never let me feel like an outsider. To me, he wasn’t just a lover. He was my family. Before the car crash, we had been planning our wedding. We had already picked out our future home. I had teasingly told him the bathroom needed a double tub, a massive mirror, and floor-to-ceiling windows so we could play around. Jasper had smiled and promised me everything. And yet, during the six years I had lost to amnesia, I had treated him like garbage. The guilt tore at my chest. “Sweetheart, let me ask you one more thing. When is our wedding anniversary?” “November twenty-first, Mom.” That was just two days ago. I couldn’t let my husband suffer like this any longer. When Jasper came home, I was going to make things right. That evening, Jasper returned from the office. The house was dark, quiet, and cold. As usual, there was no one waiting for him. He let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh and reached for the light switch. The moment the light flared, I stepped into his path, a brilliant smile on my face. “Surprise!” The living room had been beautifully decorated, and a warm, steaming dinner sat on the dining table. Jasper froze, his briefcase slipping slightly in his grip. “Hazel? What is this?” “I know we missed our anniversary, so I wanted to make it up to you tonight.” Tristan was already fast asleep, leaving just the two of us in the quiet room. “Just an anniversary dinner?” “Of course. What else? I made everything myself. Come, try some.” I pulled him toward the table, making him sit. I stared at him, taking in his features. He was breathtakingly handsome, like a painting of a modern prince. I wanted nothing more than to drag him to bed and ruin that perfect, neat composure. I tilted my head, offering a soft smile. “Does it taste good, honey?” Jasper’s fork paused mid-air. He looked at me as if I were a ghost. “It’s been a long time since you called me that.” He took a slow bite. “The food is excellent.” I winked. “If you like it, I’ll cook for you every single day.” But there was no joy in his eyes. “Is that so? That must be incredibly exhausting for you.” “How much money do you need this time, Hazel?” “After all, you worked so hard to learn how to cook healthy meals for Beckett’s sensitive stomach. You wouldn’t waste those skills on me without a price.” I went entirely rigid. Just then, my phone began to blare. It was Beckett. I immediately swiped decline. But a second later, the screen lit up again. Jasper placed his fork down, his eyes dark and empty. “Why don’t you answer? Are you afraid I’ll hear something?” “You don’t have to hide it from me. Just do what you want.” His voice was a hollow whisper. “I already know everything anyway.” Left with no choice, I swiped accept and pressed the speakerphone button, laying the phone flat on the table. Beckett’s irritated voice snarled through the speaker. “Hazel, you actually dare to hang up on me now?” “You had quite a spine last night, actually refusing to show up. Is this a new game? Playing hard to get?” “I have to admit, you’re slightly more interesting than before.” He let out a patronizing chuckle. “I have some good news for you.” “My brother is marrying his girlfriend next week. I’m going to plan the wedding myself. Maybe once I hear her say ‘I do’ to him with my own ears, I can finally let her go.” “And then, I’ll give us a try.” “As for you, make sure you clean up your mess and cut off whatever ties you need to on your end.” Jasper listened to the entire speech, a faint, mocking smile playing on his lips. “How touching. You gave him your heart, and now you’re going to give him your official status too.” “Should I start packing my bags to make room for him?” Before he could say another word, I reached out and pressed my fingers against his lips. “Husband, shut up for a second and let me handle this.” I cleared my throat, speaking into the phone with cold precision. “Beckett, right? I am a married woman with a family. Please have some self-respect.” “Stop trying to insert yourself into my marriage. My husband and I are deeply in love, and we don’t need a third wheel.” “We’ve just finished our romantic candlelight dinner and are about to go to bed. I need to warm his sheets now. Goodbye.” With a swift tap, I disconnected the call. Then, right in front of Jasper’s stunned eyes, I blocked the number and deleted the contact permanently. Surely he would believe me now. But Jasper only stared at me, his shoulders slumped. “You don’t have to force yourself to play these humiliating games for his sake.” “How am I forcing myself?” He looked away. “We’ve been sleeping in separate rooms for a very long time.” I blinked, thoroughly confused. “Why on earth would we do that?” My eyes slowly drifted down to his lap, my voice dropping to a cautious whisper. “Is it because… you can’t perform?” That didn’t make sense. Before the accident, Jasper had been insatiable, going through an entire box of ultra-thin condoms every night until I was begging for mercy. Jasper’s face flushed a deep crimson, a mix of embarrassment and anger flashing in his eyes. “You were the one who demanded it!” “Because you said the mere thought of me touching you made you sick.” I wanted to punch my past self. How could I have kept such a masterpiece of a man out of my bed? Was I out of my mind? “Well, tonight, we’re touching.” “Husband, I’ve missed you so much. Let me feel you.” I slid my hand beneath his shirt, pressing my palm against the firm, defined muscles of his chest, gently teasing his skin. It had been years since I had touched him like this. His body went rigid, a low, ragged groan escaping his throat as he grit his teeth. “Enough, Hazel.” “Beckett’s company just secured its funding. You don’t have to disgust yourself by seducing me anymore.” He pushed my hand away, stood up, and walked out of the room. Looking at the back of the man who used to look at me with nothing but warmth and adoration, my heart shattered into a million pieces. I tangled my fingers in my hair, staring at the empty doorway. What had I done? Could a man as proud and dignified as Jasper ever forgive me?

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1 For our first anniversary, my boyfriend gave me a twenty-dollar scratch-off card. When I scratched off a five-million-dollar jackpot, I screamed, ready to throw my arms around his neck. But my best friend, Vivian, grabbed my wrist. “Valerie, look closely! This card is fake. He’s running a loyalty test on you! To put it bluntly, the guy doesn’t trust you for a second!” She urged me to dump him. Who wants to be with a cheap, broke guy who uses fake junk to test real feelings? Honestly, for a split second, it made perfect sense. But just as I was about to march downstairs and slap that stupid ticket right into Tristan’s face, a tiny, furious voice echoed in my head. “Are you kidding me? Is my idiot mother really about to break up with my dad again?” “Does she have any idea that my dad is the sole heir of the Mercer dynasty? Literally the crown prince of New York’s elite?” “All she has to do is pass this stupid test and she gets a fifty-million-dollar reward. Instead, she’s going to listen to that toxic snake and end up dying in misery.” What? Tristan is the heir to a hundred-billion-dollar empire? Why didn’t you say so earlier! When I first realized the ticket was fake, Vivian’s words had sunk into my mind like a poisoned needle. “A man with actual capability would never run a messed-up test like this,” she whispered, her face tight with mock concern. “Deep down, he thinks you’re just some gold-digger! Why do you think he’s still waiting down there under the streetlamp? He’s waiting to see how you react. If you tell him you won, he’ll just shrug it off as a joke, feeding on your disappointment. If you don’t tell him, he’ll look down on you from his moral high ground, watching you embarrass yourself trying to cash a fake ticket!” Down on the street, Tristan stood quietly beneath the flickering yellow glow of the lamppost. His head was bowed, his face shadowed, making his expression impossible to read. For the past year, he had never bought me anything expensive, and I had never minded. I loved him for who he was. But if this was all a twisted game… Seeing me hesitate, Vivian pressed harder. “A relationship without trust is just a house of cards, Val. A guy with a mind this dark isn’t going to stop at one test. Do you want to spend the rest of your life walking on eggshells? Can you really tolerate being played like a fool? You need to go down there, expose him, and slap some sense into him!” Taking a deep breath, I gripped the scratch-off and walked toward Tristan. “Tristan, you…” Before I could finish, that squeaky, immature voice rang out again in my mind. “Are you kidding me? Is my idiot mother really about to break up with my dad again?” I whipped my head around, but the street was empty. The voice was coming from inside my own stomach. “Does she seriously not know my dad is the Mercer family heir, worth a hundred billion dollars?” “In her past life, she listened to that toxic witch Vivian. She threw the card in my dad’s face, screamed that he was a cheap hypocrite, and broke up with him on the spot after a massive fight. Then Vivian swooped in. She played the gentle, caring angel, married into the empire, and became the billionaire’s wife. And what happened to my idiot mom? Vivian ruined her career, dragged her name through the mud, and had her baby taken away. My mom ended up committing suicide in a dingy, rented room.” “I got reborn just to end up with a mother who doesn’t learn her lesson!” I froze, ice water running through my veins. The idiot mother was me? I was pregnant? And Tristan was a billionaire prince? The little guy in my belly let out a heavy, dramatic sigh. “Mom, get your act together! It wasn’t easy getting reincarnated. Don’t ruin it this time!” “Right now, right this second, go hug my dad. Pretend you’re ecstatic and tell him you won the jackpot!” “As long as you pass this test, my dad has a fifty-million-dollar bonus and a massive luxury penthouse waiting for you. If you don’t pull it together, that toxic bitch gets it all…” I looked up at Tristan. Suddenly, the streetlamp wasn’t the only thing shining. He practically glowed with the light of a golden god. He wasn’t just a hidden heir: he was my personal ticket to paradise. 2 Tristan watched my face fluctuate between tears and a hysterical grin, his brows knitting together. “Val? What did you want to say?” I took a deep breath, threw my arms around him, and buried my face in his chest. “Tristan, you won’t believe how lucky we are! That scratch-off you gave me? We won! It’s a five-million-dollar jackpot!” His body stiffened instantly. “You… actually told me?” “Of course I did! You’re the love of my life, and you bought the ticket. With this money, we can finally build our future together.” Up on the steps, Vivian’s face practically shattered. She marched down, her voice sharp. “Valerie, stop being so brainless! I told you, that card is fake! Tristan is just playing you!” So what if my golden goose wanted to run a little security check before raining cash on me? I was more than happy to play along. Inside my belly, the little guy gasped. “Wait, my mom actually used her brain? But now that the toxic snake exposed it, how is she going to save this?” Just sit back and watch your mother’s award-winning performance, I thought back. “Wait… you can hear me?” the baby wondered. I ignored him, focusing instead on the ticket. My eyes welled up with tears right on cue. “It… it’s a fake?” “Val, let me explain,” Tristan pleaded, his composure slipping. “I thought we finally made it,” I choked out, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes, letting a single tear roll down my cheek. “I thought you wouldn’t have to work three jobs anymore just to save up for our future.” I let out a shaky breath, wrapping my arms tighter around his waist. “But it’s okay. I know you were just trying to make me happy. It was nice to dream for a second. It just means you’ll have to keep working hard, and I’ll be right there beside you.” I buried my face back into his chest, letting out soft, muffled sobs. Tristan cupped my face, gently wiping away my tears. “You sweet, silly girl. The ticket is fake.” “But you passed the test. This is your real reward.” He slid something into my palm. I looked down. An Amex Black Card, and a key fob to a penthouse overlooking Central Park. I swallowed hard. “What… what does this mean? Tristan, where did you get this?” “My family is actually the Mercers of New York,” he admitted softly. “I had to hide my identity while dating. I want to bring you home, but my family required a test first. You have no idea how terrified I was that you’d leave me for five million dollars. Thank you, Val. I promise to love you with everything I have.” Vivian turned deathly pale. “Valerie, did you not hear him? He’s been lying to you from day one! He’s just playing with you. Men like him never marry girls like us! Throw that trash back at him! Don’t sell your soul for money!” The little guy in my belly snorted. “My dad is the sole heir of the Mercer line. The old patriarch is dying for a great-grandchild. If my mom spills the pregnancy news right now, the family gates will swing wide open for her.” Seeing Vivian reach out to snatch the card and keys, I quickly shoved them into my pocket, covering my stomach. “But I’m already pregnant with his child. I don’t want my baby growing up without a father.” Vivian froze. Tristan looked like he’d been struck by lightning. “Val… what did you say? You’re pregnant?” When I nodded, he immediately pulled out his phone, made a rapid-fire call, and scooped me up in his arms, walking toward a sleek black Maybach that had quietly pulled up to the curb. “I’ll have the wedding planned immediately. First, we go to the hospital.” The baby purred happily. “Not bad, Dad. But don’t celebrate too early. That toxic snake Vivian isn’t going to give up easily. She already knew your true identity and has been plotting to tear you two apart so she can take my mom’s place.” Resting in Tristan’s arms, I gently caressed my stomach. But I have you now, don’t I, my sweet reborn baby? After the hospital confirmed the pregnancy, the Mercer patriarch immediately gifted us a sprawling estate in the Hamptons as a welcoming present. Everything was picture-perfect. Except for Vivian. And my baby was about to give me a very grim warning about what she had planned next. 3 After the scratch-off incident, I moved out of my cramped apartment and into the estate. Vivian pretended to be happy for me, but she bombarded my phone with toxic texts daily. “Val, do you really know Tristan? Families that rich have crazy rules. Can you actually survive in that world?” “They only care about pedigree. You think you can secure your place just with a baby? Watch out, they might just take the kid and kick you to the curb!” “Men born with silver spoons don’t stick to one woman. High-society guys are all players.” Every time she tried to plant seeds of doubt, my little guardian angel chimed in. “She’s just trying to make you paranoid, Mom. My dad is completely devoted to you, and the Mercer family has strict moral codes.” “In the last life, my dad only ended up with her to make you jealous. He loved you to death. In fact, after you died, he took his own life.” “Don’t play into some tragic romance trope. Tell Vivian that even if the Mercers only want the baby, you’ll still be set for life on child support alone!” Grinning, I picked up my phone, switched on the video call, and slowly panned around my massive, thousand-square-foot master bedroom. “Vivian, look at this place. Just for being pregnant, they gave me this estate and an unlimited allowance.” “Even if they kick me out after the birth, they’ll have to pay me millions in child support. I’m set for life either way.” “And if I have a boy, he’ll inherit the entire Mercer empire. Who cares if I marry into the family? As long as I have the money, I’m happy.” “You shouldn’t worry about me. Worry about yourself. I heard your deadbeat, gambling father is looking for you again?” Vivian’s face flushed with a mixture of rage and humiliation. She slammed the phone down, hanging up on me. Why didn’t I block her? Because my sweet baby told me that villains like Vivian are like roaches. If you don’t face them head-on, they just skulk in the dark. It was much more satisfying to keep her close and drive her insane with my success. A few weeks later, Tristan took me to a high-society charity gala. It was my official debut as his wife. Since Tristan didn’t want a rushed wedding and wanted to spare me the stress while pregnant, we had quietly registered our marriage and planned a grand ceremony for the following year. Before we left, my little guy gave me a stern warning. “Be careful tonight, Mom. In our last life, Vivian set you up at this very gala, causing a massive public scandal that ruined your reputation.” What did she do? I asked mentally. “In the past life, you snuck in as a waitress to see my dad after finding out you were pregnant. Vivian spilled red wine all over your dress and led you to a private changing room.” “She had hired a man to wait for you there. When my dad walked in, you were disheveled and caught in a compromising position. He was blinded by rage. With Vivian whispering poison in his ear, he didn’t even believe the baby was his.” “You were thrown out into a torrential downpour, got hit by a car, lost me, and ended up with a crippled leg. Vivian is definitely going to sneak in tonight to pull something similar.” I shuddered, a cold sweat breaking out on my neck. At the gala, sure enough, I spotted Vivian. She was dressed in a server’s uniform, holding a tray. When she saw me, she marched straight over. “Oh, Valerie, that dress is stunning. Your new man must be incredibly generous. How much did you have to do to get it?” “I wish I could find a sugar daddy like that. Some of us actually have to work for a living.” She spoke just loudly enough for the surrounding socialites to hear. Several wealthy women exchanged mocking glances, instantly branding me as a gold-digging interloper. I remained perfectly calm. “Oh, this dress? It was a gift from my mother-in-law, Beatrice Mercer. She actually designed it herself when she was pregnant with Tristan.” My response delivered a double blow: it confirmed my marriage to the heir and showed I had the mother’s full backing. The socialites’ snickers instantly vanished, replaced by polite, flattering smiles.

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1 I spent five years trying to become the leading lady in Nolan’s life. The floating comments in my head had warned me from the very beginning. Doesn’t she realize there isn’t a shred of love in his eyes? Don’t be stupid. He only tolerates her because his son needs a mother. Once his first love returns from abroad, all her years of devotion will mean absolutely nothing. But I refused to believe them. Every story had a past, didn’t it? Nolan was attentive, respectful, and always kept clear boundaries. His personal life was as clean as a blank sheet of paper. How could I throw away everything we built just because of a few cynical remarks from unseen onlookers? Later, when he got down on one knee and proposed, the comments finally began to shift in my favor. Yet, that was the exact moment I decided to let go. … I opened the custom wedding invitation Nolan had designed. The gold-embossed font was elegant, bold, and striking. My smile slowly froze on my face. “Who is Giselle?” Nolan went rigid for a fraction of a second, his eyes darting away. “Oh. The designer must have made a mistake.” “I’ll have them reprint a new batch immediately.” If I hadn’t seen that exact name on the list of newly hired instructors at my school, his smooth explanation might have actually convinced me. I picked up the remote and casually switched on the television. “…World-renowned ballerina Giselle has returned to the country to continue her studies. In an exclusive interview, she stated she is currently focusing on her career and has no plans for marriage…” The reporter’s crisp voice filled the quiet living room. The arm Nolan had wrapped tightly around my waist suddenly went limp and slipped away. The floating comments flared up again. Nolan, what are you doing?! Just hearing her name makes you pull away from Gemma? My heart breaks for her. Don’t forget Gemma basically raised your kid and coddled your demanding mother for five years. If you still want Giselle, you are completely heartless! Am I the only one who pities the designer? The male lead gave the wrong name but blamed it on the working class. Was it really a designer’s mistake? Or was it that, in his subconscious, his bride had always been Giselle? I took a deep, quiet breath, forcing a playful smile onto my face as I turned to look at him. “What a coincidence. She shares the same name.” He didn’t answer. His eyes were glued to the television screen. The woman on the screen was elegant, her movements light and ethereal. When the reporter asked her about her college days, a deep, unshakeable sorrow clouded her eyes. “Gemma, should we move the wedding up?” “Next year is going to be incredibly busy at the winery. We have several major international contracts to negotiate, and I might not have the energy to plan a proper wedding then.” There was an intense, pleading look in his eyes, mixed with a complex emotion I couldn’t quite decipher. The chat feed began placing bets. Half of them say he’s doing this just to spite the female lead. The other half say he’s terrified of regretting his choice, so he’s burning his own bridges. Not a single soul believed he actually wanted to marry me. But what if? What if there was a tiny chance? His excuse was perfectly logical, after all. If only he hadn’t deliberately avoided eye contact the moment Giselle’s name came up. I wanted to speak, but a sudden mist blurred my vision. Seeing my silence, a flicker of panic crossed his face. He quickly reached out, grasping my hand to reassure me. “Don’t worry. I promise the wedding will be grand. I won’t let you feel rushed or slighted just because we’re moving the date up.” “Toby already calls you Mom, and my mother gave you the family heirloom emerald bracelet. You are the destined daughter-in-law of this family. Having the wedding a bit earlier is a happy occasion for everyone, isn’t it?” “Are you still upset about the name on the invite? It really was just an accident. Please don’t be mad at me, okay?” The more he spoke, the more defensive he sounded. I almost felt embarrassed for him. One of the comments had put it beautifully: He was never a good liar. I gently pulled my hand from his grip, my expression as sweet and calm as ever. “Whatever you prefer.” The next afternoon, Nolan picked me up after work to try on wedding dresses. “A few new arrivals from Milan just came in. I had them set aside the best ones so you can have first pick.” The moment I slid into the passenger seat, he leaned over naturally to pull my seatbelt across me, clicking it into place. For five long years, he had been this meticulously attentive. The comments always claimed he was like a cold, emotionless robot. I had spent years arguing with them, defending his quiet care. But the moment of truth was finally here. As we neared the boutique, my phone rang. “I’m just one intersection away,” I said into the receiver. “Take your time, don’t rush.” Nolan reached over, taking my hand in his. “Did you invite a friend?” I nodded. “A new colleague from work. She just got back from abroad and has an incredible eye for fashion. I figured she could help me choose.” The floating comments were practically screaming with excitement. The legendary reunion is finally here! The female lead left twelve years ago to pursue her career after having his baby, and now they’re finally going to stand in the same room! I’ll always support Gemma, but for just one second, I really want to see this tragic couple reunite. Does the second female lead know something? Is she testing him on purpose? When Giselle arrived, Nolan was holding my handbag and my discarded coat, looking every bit the devoted, doting fiancé. I smiled warmly as I introduced them. “Nolan, this is Giselle. She just joined our faculty as a ballet instructor. She used to be the principal dancer for an international company.” “And Giselle, this is my fiancé, Nolan. He runs a private winery.” 2 I clenched my fists in my pockets, watching their faces intently, searching for even a flicker of recognition. But there was nothing. They exchanged polite, professional handshakes, greeting each other like complete strangers. My heart made a clean, sharp cracking sound and died. I forced myself behind the heavy velvet curtain to change, pulling the fabric back just a fraction of an inch to peer out. The moment they thought I was out of sight, their polite masks shattered instantly. “I thought you were allergic to caffeine.” “I went through desensitization therapy while I was abroad.” “Ha. Did you approach us on purpose today?” Nolan’s tone was biting, but it couldn’t hide the raw panic bleeding through his voice. “I had no idea you were her fiancé.” “Save it. I will never believe another word that comes out of your mouth.” “If you find this too awkward, tell her I had to leave when she comes out.” “Who do you think you are? Coming and going whenever you please?” Through the gap, I watched as Nolan reached out and grabbed Giselle’s wrist, squeezing it tightly. The veins in his neck were bulging with rage. All of his usual calm, composed dignity had vanished into thin air. “Gemma and I are getting married next month. Don’t you dare try any of your games again.” Giselle began to weep, turning and running out of the boutique. Nolan hesitated for two agonizing seconds before rushing out after her. Almost immediately, my phone buzzed with a text. An emergency came up at the winery. Take a cab home, okay? I looked down at the glowing screen, a bitter smile touching my lips. The harsh, warning words he had hurled at Giselle weren’t a rejection of his old flame. They were the desperate, defensive lashes of a man trying to score a point against the only woman who had ever truly broken him. The comments floated across my vision. Don’t cry, Gemma. You’re beautiful, and you’ll find someone who actually cherishes you. I’m starting to hate the male lead. Both Giselle and Gemma are completely innocent here. This is a total trainwreck. I’m finally old enough to understand both sides of this mess. In the beginning, the comments had been brutal to me. Before Nolan, I had never been in a relationship. A strict upbringing and a demanding academic schedule had molded me into the classic quiet, obedient girl. Even after entering the workforce as a piano teacher, my life remained sheltered and simple. Toby was the student who gave me the most headaches. He couldn’t sit still, had a terrible memory, and his parents were always late to pick him up. The third time I found him sitting alone in the dark corner of the classroom, his stomach rumbling loudly, I decided to take him home with me. I cooked him sweet-and-sour chicken, braised beef, and tomato eggs. He ate like he hadn’t seen food in days. The following week, a tall, elegant man accompanied Toby to class. “Hello, I’m Toby’s father. Thank you for looking after him the other day.” And just like that, Nolan entered my life. Over time, I learned he was thirty-five, a single father, ran a successful wine business, and had been raised by a single mother. He was physically fit, impeccably dressed, and carried himself with a quiet, mature dignity. Falling for him was as natural as breathing. At first, I wasn’t sure if he felt the same way. Until one day, the floating comments appeared before my eyes. Stop dreaming, second female lead. You are not the heroine of this story. Once his first love returns, all your years of devotion will mean absolutely nothing. If the male lead’s mother hadn’t hated the first love so much, they’d have three kids by now. Gemma, listen to me. Don’t rush in just because he seems to like you right now. You’re just a placeholder. Amidst the sea of warnings, I realized one thing: He liked me. If he liked me, what was there to hesitate about? A young girl’s feelings shouldn’t just remain a quiet secret. I began to pursue him, putting myself in his orbit as much as possible. “I found an incredible bakery nearby. We should take Toby there sometime.” “Toby’s piano needs tuning. If you aren’t sure which brand to buy, I can come with you.” “Your mother picked up Toby today and invited me over for dinner. I didn’t say yes immediately because I didn’t want you to feel awkward. Haha.” It was a simple, transparent strategy, and the comments hated me for it. One afternoon, when we took Toby to the amusement park, the insults nearly blinded me. Doesn’t she realize there’s no love in his eyes? What a manipulative woman, using the kid to force the male lead to spend time with her! The second female lead is just a glorified, free nanny. Learn your place. Nolan, reject her already! The female lead is living a lonely, miserable life across the ocean while you’re playing house with another woman! But the tides turned completely after I stood up for Toby at school. Toby had gotten into a fight, and Nolan was away on a business trip in Europe, so I stepped in. I had never been a mother, but I believed a mother should trust her child. I shielded Toby, spent hours track down the school’s security footage, and stood my ground against the aggressive parents of the other kids. She stood up for him in front of the principal without hesitating. That was so cool! I wish I had a mother like her. The other parents kept calling her a stepmother who didn’t care about the kid. She took so much abuse for him! The bullies had nothing left to say, so they teased Toby for not having a mom. Gemma literally brought him lunch to show them he had someone. I’m crying, this is so sweet. It was after that incident, as Nolan drove me home, that he spoke a sentence that changed everything. “Do you want to give us a try?” After a long, breathless pause, I heard my heart hammering against my ribs. “Yes.” 3 So, when I saw Giselle’s name on the new hire list, I decided to take a gamble. She was stunning, elegant, and carried herself with an effortless confidence. She was everything the comments had warned me about—the legendary, unshakeable first love. She actually existed. But then I thought, so what? I had been by Nolan’s side for five years. I went from his son’s piano teacher to his mother’s favorite shopping companion, and finally, a permanent fixture at the family dinner table. We were just one signature away from making it official. Most importantly, Nolan, who was notoriously cold toward women, had been the one to ask me to give us a try. On the day we officially made our relationship public, even the comments that had hated me from the start conceded that my devotion had finally paid off. They said my sincere heart had finally touched him, and that a man as responsible as Nolan would never look back once he made a commitment. I had let those words fill me with a quiet, secret joy for a very long time. When Nolan finally came home that evening, I was in the living room, gently correcting Toby’s finger placement on the piano keys. Nolan held a bouquet of white lilies, a quiet apology on his lips. I didn’t reach out to take them. “Are you still angry?” He leaned down, trying to coax a smile out of me. Toby, sensing the tension, quietly slipped back into his bedroom. My smile felt incredibly stiff and cold. “I’m allergic to lilies.” Nolan rubbed the back of his neck, dismissive. “I just remembered you liked the color. I forgot about the allergy.” “On our anniversary last year, the restaurant you booked was decorated with white lilies. I broke out in hives and had to spend the night in the ER.” “Last month, when I asked you to buy an air purifier, you brought home a lily-scented one. I spent weeks struggling to breathe before I finally had to move back to my own apartment.” Twelve years had passed, yet he remembered with absolute clarity that Giselle was allergic to caffeine. I had been by his side for five years, and he couldn’t even remember the flower that sent me to the hospital. The difference between love and tolerance was staggering. I didn’t acknowledge his empty apology. I quietly packed my things into my bag and walked toward the front door. “Don’t be mad, Gemma. I promise I won’t buy the wrong flowers next time.” “And about today… leaving you at the bridal shop was my fault. Next time, even if you try on a hundred dresses, I’ll sit right there and watch you. Okay?” He took me by the shoulders, his eyes wide and seemingly sincere. It was always the same script. I had spent years waiting for those “next times,” watching my hope slowly curdle into complete numbness. “There won’t be a next time, Nolan. Here are your keys.” I kicked off my slippers, slipped into my heels, and placed the house keys gently on the shoe cabinet. His polished composure finally cracked, a flash of irritation breaking through. “Gemma, is this really necessary? You’ve always been so reasonable. Are you really going to pick a massive fight over such a trivial thing?” Missing my high school reunion because he didn’t want to socialize was a trivial thing. Skipping our wedding photos because he hated the hassle of hair and makeup was a trivial thing. And now, putting his first love’s name on our invitations and abandoning his bride-to-be to chase her down was also a trivial thing. What, then, was a significant thing? As the comments had so brutally pointed out: When a man doesn’t love you, you could hang yourself from the ceiling and he’d just think you were playing on a swing. I looked up, locking eyes with him. “I heard you two in the dressing room.” “What?” “Why didn’t you tell me you knew Giselle? The bride’s name on our invitation belonged to your first love.” His entire body went rigid, and he slowly lowered his head, unable to speak. The cards were finally on the table. And he had absolutely nothing to play. Even though I was the official fiancé, in the grand narrative of his life, the first love was an invincible force. My logical mind told me to run from a man who couldn’t choose, but a small, desperate part of me wanted to wait just a little longer. What if? That was why I had set up their meeting today. I needed to see it with my own eyes so I could finally kill the hope inside me. Otherwise, I would have walked away looking graceful, only to torture myself with endless “what-ifs” later. I walked out of the apartment and pressed the button for the elevator. The numbers ticked up slowly. 1… 2… 3… 4… 5… It would take a while to reach the twenty-third floor. But the door behind me remained firmly shut. No one ran out to stop me. For a single, fleeting second, I had thought that if he ran out and gave me even a half-decent explanation, I would have forced myself to believe it. The comment feed erupted into a frenzy. Gemma, don’t cry! We’ll find someone a million times better! Nolan is just prideful and slow to open up. He doesn’t want you to leave, but chasing you down would look desperate, and that’s just not who he is. You’ve held on for so long, why not give it one more shot? In a choice between two women, the one who stays is always the one who ends up suffering. I cleared out every single one of my belongings from Nolan’s apartment. During the day, I went to work and taught my classes as if nothing had happened. At night, I sat in my empty apartment, reading through our old text messages and crying until my chest ached. When I finally decided to pour myself a glass of wine to dull the pain, I realized my rack was filled entirely with bottles Nolan had gifted me over the years. The sight only made the tears flow faster. From now on, if I wanted a drink, I would have to buy it myself. Ironically, Nolan, who had always been so distant, began texting me every single day. It’s raining today. Remember to bring an umbrella. I ordered your favorite hot pot. It should arrive at your place soon. Gemma, those are all things of the past. You haven’t visited in days, and Toby really misses you. That last text struck a nerve with the comments. He’s just using the kid as leverage because he’s losing his free nanny! Block him! Delete his number! True moving on starts with physical boundaries. Cut him off! But I didn’t block him.

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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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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.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “406605”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

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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When I got out of juvie, I saw Wendy’s mutilated body. The word “whore” was carved all over her. By the time she was sent to the funeral home, neither Mark nor Jacob had shown up. Only Lily stayed with me, gently patting my shoulder: “Zoe, your mom’s death is actually a good thing. Logan Hayes has not only dropped the charges against you, but he’s also agreed to give you a million dollars in compensation.” “Just sign the settlement agreement and start a new life in another city.” That’s when I learned the truth. Logan Hayes had found out I pushed his daughter down the stairs and threatened to break both my legs. Wendy sent me to juvie, then took it upon herself to apologize to Logan Hayes on my behalf. She ended up being brutally tortured to death. Actually, Wendy and I didn’t have a good relationship. During those three days locked up in juvie, I thought of a hundred ways to fight her when I got out. So facing her memorial photo, I could actually smile: “Did Wendy deserve to die?” Lily touched her nose: “The Hayes family has wealth that rivals nations and power that reaches the heavens. A single human life means nothing to them. There’s no ‘should’ or ‘shouldn’t.’” My smile didn’t change: “Then she didn’t deserve to die. If Wendy didn’t deserve to die, then the Hayes family needs to pay for her life.” Lily’s expression turned stern: “Zoe Mitchell, you want to go after Serena Hayes again? Don’t forget, your mom died trying to atone for your sins. What right do you have to fight against Serena?” I lowered my lashes, hiding the coldness in my eyes: “Not just Serena. I want every single member of the Hayes family’s life.”

I took the settlement agreement, glanced at it, then tore it into shreds. Then I went to the closet in Wendy’s bedroom and dug out an inconspicuous little box. I tucked it into my jacket and headed for the door. Lily blocked my path: “Zoe Mitchell, I don’t know what you’re trying to pull.” “Wendy was heartless enough to send you to juvie, yet you want to risk your life fighting the Hayes family for her? With this toy-like little box? How stupid.” “You’d be better off doing what Mark and Jacob did—sign the settlement and take the million. Using Wendy’s life to get a fresh start, isn’t that worth it?” I asked myself the same question. Was it worth it? Mark and Jacob definitely thought it was very worth it. Since I got home, I haven’t seen them once. They didn’t ask which funeral home Wendy was sent to or when the cremation would be. The two pinned profile pictures in our family chat sat there like they were dead. If Wendy knew that her death only benefited these two cold-blooded animals, would she ever be able to rest in peace? Faced with my undisguised mockery, Lily uncomfortably avoided my gaze. “But you’re still here, aren’t you? Being able to help you settle things with the Hayes family makes it worth it.” She’d probably come on the Hayes family’s orders, doing everything possible to get me to sign the settlement. She pushed her phone in front of me: “Zoe, you need to be more reasonable. Actually, Wendy’s death has no direct connection to the Hayes family. It was just an accident. You’re just an ordinary student—don’t go up against the Hayes family.” “If you don’t believe me, watch the surveillance footage Serena sent. When Serena left, Wendy was still alive.” I tapped the video open. In the footage, the woman knelt before a girl twenty years younger than herself. Begging her not to hold it against me. Then after Serena left laughing, she slowly pressed her head to the ground and never lifted it again. I dragged the progress bar back and forth several times: “Serena cut Wendy one hundred and eighty-seven times?” Lily’s hand trembled, goosebumps breaking out on her arm. “What are you talking about?” “I counted. Serena cut her at least one hundred and eighty-seven times.” I lowered my lashes. Hiding the darkness in my eyes. The injuries on her body were definitely more than what showed on the surface. They said Wendy died of a heart attack, but she actually died from the pain. She was so stupid. Usually she’d hit me or scold me. If I ate one more piece of Jacob’s fried chicken, she’d twist my ear. But when it came to something life-threatening, she’d rather send me to juvie than let me go herself. And she let Serena abuse her without running away. All just to hear those words: “Fine, then I’ll let your daughter go.” Even when she was covered in wounds from the torture, she was smiling. I had just dragged the progress bar back several times. I saw her collapse on the ground, struggling several times but unable to get up. Before she died, there was no light left in her eyes, her lips constantly moving. Even though there was no sound, I recognized what she was saying. Zoe, I’m sorry. Zoe, don’t avenge me. Zoe, run away. She really was a complete and utter fool. I traced my fingers across her pale face on the screen: “Wendy, when have I ever listened to you?” “Don’t worry. I won’t run. There’s no reason in this world for a murderer to live peacefully.” “I’ll make the Hayes family pay with their blood.” Lily’s whole body trembled. She quickly snatched her phone back. Even her voice was shaking: “Are you crazy? Going after the Hayes family is suicide!” “You’re going to throw away the rest of your life for a dead person?” I gripped the little wooden box in my hand. If this was three days ago, I really wouldn’t have had any way to deal with the Hayes family. But now it’s different. I pushed past her hand and hailed a cab to the Hayes estate, not letting Lily see the cold gleam in my eyes. She’d witnessed Serena’s bullying of me at school for three years without stopping it once. Now she wanted to smooth things over and force me to give up investigating Wendy’s death. Once I dealt with the Hayes family. I wouldn’t let her off either. The car slowly stopped. The Hayes family villa loomed before me. Someone in a security uniform came over and knocked on the window. “What do you want?” “Got an appointment? You think you can just barge in? If you don’t have an appointment, fuck off.”

It was actually Mark. He’d taken the million dollars but instead of going off to enjoy himself somewhere else, he became a security guard at the Hayes estate. Well, I suppose the Hayes family wouldn’t let these people who knew the truth run around loose. Keeping them under their noses was safer. I got out of the car. Mark’s expression froze on his face, then twisted into surprise: “How is it you? Oh, I get it, you’re here for that million, right?” “Let me set up an appointment with the butler for you.” I held the wooden box in my hand: “I’m looking for Logan Hayes.” Mark’s face instantly changed. He reached out to cover my mouth: “Are you crazy? You think you can just say Mr. Hayes’s name like that? Be careful or you won’t get a single penny.” “You really think you’re somebody important?” I sneered: “Logan Hayes and his daughter killed your wife, yet you don’t even dare say his name.” “If you want to be a dog, be one yourself. Don’t drag me into it.” Mark’s face instantly turned red. The veins on his temples stood out clearly. If we were at home, his palm would have already slapped my face. At the Hayes estate, he still maintained basic decorum. The other security guard in the gatehouse couldn’t sit still anymore. He grabbed a baton and ran in front of me: “Zoe Mitchell, calling our dad a dog—where are your manners?” “Mom died because you offended Serena. I haven’t settled accounts with you yet, and now you’re questioning us?” Jacob straightened his security uniform. Looking all righteous and proper. Seeing once again what cold-blooded scum this father and son were, I couldn’t help cursing Wendy in my heart again for being a fool. This father and son clearly knew Serena was bullying me at school, yet they never stood up for me. That would have been one thing. We never had any real family affection anyway. But they enjoyed Wendy’s care every single day. Mark’s shop lost nearly ten thousand a month, and Wendy filled the gap by working as a housekeeper and doing odd jobs. Jacob stayed home playing games every day, and Wendy had to bring meals to his room. Yet knowing Wendy was tortured to death by Serena. They still chose to come to the Hayes estate and be their guard dogs, bowing and scraping and wagging their tails at them. I wonder if Wendy saw this scene. Would she regret it? I tested them one last time: “Mark, Jacob, I haven’t signed the settlement agreement yet.” “Come with me to the police station now and tell them everything.” “Mark, I can let go of the wrong things you did before.” Mark froze. His eyes darted around, a flash of guilt quickly passing through his pupils. But before he could say anything. Jacob rushed over and kicked me in the stomach: “Zoe Mitchell, I’m warning you, Dad and I are doing great now. Even working as security at the Hayes estate, we’re living the high society life.” “You want to ruin our good days? Don’t even think about it.” “And you want to see Mr. Hayes? Believe it or not, I could kill you right now and no one would dare say anything.” Mark calmed down too, crossing his arms and raising his eyebrows at me: “Zoe Mitchell, be smart. Take the money and work as a maid at the Hayes estate.” “Think about it—when Wendy was alive, could you eat lobster and premium steak for every meal? The moment Wendy died, our good days arrived.” “What does that tell you? It tells you Wendy was a curse on our family of three.” He crouched down and grabbed my arm: “Zoe, if you don’t want to be a maid, that’s fine too. As long as you let the Hayes family put a tracker on you and promise never to go to the police…” His face was still full of longing for the good life. Then his expression suddenly froze. Followed by an inhuman wail. That piercing sound almost made Jacob wet his pants. He mustered his courage and pinned Mark’s body down. Only then did he discover both eyes were streaming blood. I’d blinded him. Jacob’s face turned ashen: “Are you insane? You believe I won’t call the police?” I pulled my lips into a smile: “Go ahead and call them. Doesn’t the Hayes family say they can smooth over anything for their daughter?” “What do you mean?” Mark’s pig-like screaming brought everyone out of the villa. A servant suddenly pointed at my face and shouted: “Look, doesn’t she look familiar?”

Her shout drew everyone’s eyes to my face. Soon someone recognized me: “Isn’t this the person Miss had conflict with? I remember her last name is Mitchell. She’s not here to extort money because of her mom, is she?” The first maid kept shaking her head: “No, I mean, her appearance looks very familiar.” “She looks like… Mr. Hayes.” The entire atmosphere froze for a moment. The butler standing at the front frowned deeply: “Don’t talk nonsense.” But his hand quickly grabbed the intercom: “Sir, please come to the entrance. This matter may require your personal attention.” My heart lifted uncontrollably. Even though I’d long stopped expecting any family affection from the Hayes family. This was the first time I would meet my biological parents. Who would have thought—I was the real daughter of the Hayes family! I was the biological daughter of this couple who didn’t consider human lives as lives! I only found out about this the night before Wendy sent me to juvie. I heard Wendy arguing with Mark through suppressed sobs: “No, we can’t let Zoe go to the Hayes estate!” “Aren’t you afraid your dirty deeds will be discovered by the Hayes family?!” “If Logan Hayes discovers you switched his daughter with yours, and that his biological daughter has been bullied by your daughter all along, what do you think he’ll do?” “Let me tell you—you and Jacob will both die!” My brain went blank. I heard every word clearly. I recognized every word. But strung together in sentences, I couldn’t understand. Mark paced in place like a caged animal: “Then what do we do? Serena specifically demanded Zoe come apologize. She’s angry and wants to vent. If Zoe doesn’t go, we’ll die anyway!” “Besides, it’s been so long now. How could Mr. Hayes possibly recognize that’s his daughter?” “Don’t be so paranoid…” After saying this, he viciously shoved Wendy. “Look at what you gave birth to. Now she’s playing the young lady with such a temper. I wanted to claim kinship with her, but now there’s no chance of that.” It wasn’t until I heard this. That I finally understood completely. I really was Logan Hayes’s daughter. Years ago, Mark had switched us. Letting her assume my identity as the Hayes family’s young lady. Leaving me at the Mitchell house to be a blood bank for his son. Those moments I’d missed, those confusing scenes, came flooding back from the depths of my memory one by one. Mark probably never thought. That I actually looked a lot like Logan Hayes. That’s why when Serena first saw me, she showed uncontrollable panic. Then, using the excuse that I’d dirtied her shoes, she slapped me over a dozen times. She didn’t want to see my face. She found trouble with me at school day and night. Sometimes it was because I scored a few more points than her, sometimes because I said one sentence to her deskmate. Only when my face was black and blue, almost unrecognizable, would she be satisfied. Everyone knew. Logan Hayes doted on his only daughter. Everyone knew. Logan Hayes always sought revenge. Actually, I’d thought about it—as long as I solved the problem with Serena, I wouldn’t need to acknowledge the Hayes family. The harm the Hayes family had done to me couldn’t be erased by blood relations. And I remembered how guilty Wendy’s eyes looked every time she saw me. Since childhood, she was the only person who was good to me. I didn’t notice then how Wendy’s expression gradually became determined. Before I could react, she sent me to juvie. Three days passed. Wendy died. Died at Serena’s hands. I looked at Logan Hayes walking out the door: “I have something to say to you.”

Logan Hayes’s eyebrows didn’t move at all. His face showed no expression, but his presence commanded respect. I didn’t miss the flash of astonishment in his eyes. Serena held his arm, her face almost bloodless. I directed my gaze at her: “After killing Wendy, can you really sleep at night?” I didn’t believe she hadn’t guessed my identity. Didn’t believe she hadn’t guessed the relationship between her and Wendy. Logan Hayes’s eyes filled with disgust: “You’re the one who pushed Shannon and made her fall down the stairs. What, you came to my house to cause more trouble for my daughter?” “Your mother’s death was an accident. One million dollars is the highest sincerity I can offer. If you want more money, forget it.” After speaking, he glared at the butler with displeasure. He put his arm around Serena to return to the house. I stepped forward, blocking Serena’s path: ” A debt must be repaid, and a murder must be paid for with a life..” “I don’t want your money. I want Wendy’s life.” Both Logan Hayes and Serena froze, as if they’d heard the biggest joke. Jacob rushed forward to grab my shoulder: “Are you sick? You just blinded my dad and I haven’t settled that with you yet. I’m your elder brother, and I can send you back to juvie.” I spat at him viciously: “Pfft! Am I even Mitchell blood? Where does ‘eldest brother like a father’ come from? My dad is standing right here.” Serena’s face completely changed. She looked at me with something like panic, pulling on Logan Hayes’s hand: “Dad, throw her out quickly.” “I think she’s gone crazy!” “I never want to see her again!” Logan Hayes was heartbroken. He pulled her into his embrace: “Okay, if you don’t want to see her, you won’t.” “Trust me. If I want, I can make sure she never appears within ten kilometers of us again.” The Hayes family’s bodyguards understood his implication. They exchanged glances and surrounded me. I knew this was my last chance. If I was expelled by the Hayes family, I would never be able to see Logan Hayes again. Jacob glared at me with resentment. Clearly already thinking of a hundred ways to teach me a lesson. The moment the Hayes family bodyguards grabbed my wrists. I smashed the little wooden box I’d been holding all along. With a crisp “crack.” The wooden box shattered into pieces. The contents rolled out and stopped at Logan Hayes’s feet. The man merely glanced at it. Then his face changed drastically.

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