Category: English

The new semester had barely begun when the principal announced that all student guardians had to attend a school-wide classroom clean-up. I saw my chance and approached the principal privately to explain my situation. “Principal, my parents have very specialized jobs. They truly can’t make it.” To my surprise, the principal slammed his lesson plan down on his desk and roared at me, “Every other parent can make it, but yours are ‘special’? You wrote ‘confidential’ for their profession on the enrollment form, and now you’re making excuses for them not showing up? You don’t take me seriously at all!” He then laid down a harsh ultimatum: “If your parents don’t come, then we won’t keep you in this class!” I was utterly stunned. The regulations of their classified agency mean they can’t just go out in public! But when my parents actually showed up at the school, the principal’s attitude instantly changed. 1. Principal Vanderberg walked into the classroom, a grim look on his face, and slammed his lesson plan onto the podium. “For the new semester, I asked guardians to come to school for a clean-up. Only one student’s guardians didn’t show. What, is it embarrassing to sweep a floor at school? Or do you think your child’s grades are so good they don’t need to do ‘menial’ tasks?” His voice rose. “Let me tell you, in my class, the way guardians treat the school is how I treat their child.” Guardians coming to school for clean-up was supposed to be voluntary, but Principal Vanderberg was image-conscious. He felt the more guardians attended, the better it reflected on him as a principal, so he demanded all guardians must be present. “Lily Adams.” He called my name directly. I stood up. “What exactly do your parents do for a living? Street sweepers? Janitors? They must have some off-hours, right?” He asked, arms crossed. Someone snickered. “They…” I paused. “Their agency is… special. They can’t leave.” “What agency? Tell me about it.” “I can’t.” A brief silence fell over the classroom. Principal Vanderberg was furious. “Can’t say? Or are you embarrassed to say it?” “Starting the school year off with that passive-aggressive attitude, you think I can’t handle you?” I quickly explained, “Principal, I’m not. They truly can’t say…” Principal Vanderberg’s face was livid. He slammed his hand on the table. “I’ve been teaching for years, I’ve seen every kind of guardian! I’m calling your guardians right now! I’ll ask them myself! If they don’t tell me why they can’t come, you’ll stand for every class until graduation!” With that, the principal pulled out his phone and immediately dialed the number I had provided, deliberately putting it on speaker. From the phone’s speaker came a mechanical female voice: “Hello, the number you have dialed is not in service. Please check the number and dial again.” The classroom erupted in laughter. Principal Vanderberg hung up, his chest heaving. He felt mocked and humiliated by me. “Lily Adams.” He gritted his teeth. “You’re playing games with me?” “No, Principal, they truly are…” “Silence.” He pointed a finger at me. “Do you think I’m an idiot? You’ve been lying from start to finish. There’s no such thing as a ‘classified agency.’ You just didn’t want your parents to come. You’re deliberately defying me!” He grew angrier as he spoke, his face red. “Since your parents won’t come to school, then you don’t need to attend class. Get out now!” I explained again, “Principal, I already told you, my parents’ work is highly sensitive. Not just anyone can reach them.” Principal Vanderberg was trembling with rage. “Get out!” I sighed, resigned, and walked out into the corridor. Principal Vanderberg was notoriously petty. Once, a student merely misremembered the timetable and took out a textbook for another subject. Principal Vanderberg publicly berated him for an entire class. If I couldn’t resolve this, who knew how much trouble he’d cause me later. I pulled out my encrypted phone and sent a message to the group chat with my parents: [My principal, Mr. Vanderberg, has some misunderstandings about me because you couldn’t come for the clean-up. Can you explain to him?] A moment later, my mother replied, indicating understanding: [Understood. Situation reported. Someone will handle it.] 2. I stood in the corridor for a full class period, my legs aching. Finally, when the bell for the break rang, I went to the staff office to explain, but at the door, I overheard Principal Vanderberg’s voice. “That Lily Adams, she’s a rotten apple! Doesn’t show up for clean-up, her parents’ profession is ‘confidential,’ and her phone number is out of service! What kind of behavior is this? This is blatant deception of the school, deception of the teachers! Her family values are clearly problematic!” My heart sank. Another teacher spoke up. “No, that can’t be right? Maybe there’s a special reason? The child is usually very well-behaved.” Principal Vanderberg’s voice rose. “Well-behaved? I’ve seen plenty of students like her. What’s the use of good grades? If their character is flawed, they’ll just be a blight on society! Her parents are probably fugitives, that’s why she’s so secretive!” I couldn’t take it anymore. I kicked the door open. It might have been my fault for not explaining properly, but how dare he, as a principal, insult my parents? All the teachers’ gazes turned to me. I looked directly at Principal Vanderberg. “Mr. Vanderberg, you can question me, but you cannot slander my parents like this! You have no evidence, so how dare you say my parents are fugitives!” Principal Vanderberg’s face was livid. He pointed at me. “What kind of attitude is that? Eavesdropping on teachers, then barging in to talk back! Was I wrong? I think you lack proper upbringing!” “My upbringing teaches me to be truthful and to follow rules!” I met his gaze without flinching. “What I’m saying is the truth, and as for my parents’ profession, you have no right to know!” “You’re out of line!” Principal Vanderberg was trembling with rage. He grabbed his lesson plan book from the table and threw it at me, but I dodged it. He roared, “Get out! From now on, you’re out of my class!” I pressed my lips together and turned to leave. Behind me, Principal Vanderberg roared, “Look at that! What an attitude, incorrigible! I’ll definitely teach her a lesson!” Back in my classroom seat, three or five classmates huddled together, whispering, then all turned to look at me, then turned back to continue talking. “Principal said her parents are fugitives!” “We should stay away from her!” My hand, which was turning a page, froze. The class president stood up from his seat, clapped his hands. “Everyone, hand in your holiday assignments. Separate by subject, pass them up by group.” I lowered my head, rummaging through my bag, about to pass my holiday assignment to the student in front. Principal Vanderberg walked directly towards me. In front of the whole class, he took the stack of assignments from my hands, turned around, and tossed them into the trash bin. The classroom was dead silent. All the blood rushed to my head. “Principal Vanderberg!” “What?” He turned to me. “You’ve repeatedly challenged my authority. Since I can’t control you anyway, you don’t need to hand in your assignments anymore.” He took a stack of test papers from the podium and handed them to the class president. “These are this week’s practice sheets. Hand them out.” Principal Vanderberg glanced at me again. “Oh, and don’t give any to Lily Adams. I’ve confiscated her papers.” “Also, I’ve spoken with the other subject teachers. From now on, Lily Adams doesn’t need to hand in any assignments or test papers for any subject. It’ll be useless, we won’t accept them.” My body went cold. Just because my parents couldn’t come to school for clean-up? I was going to be treated like this? The class bell rang. Principal Vanderberg pointed to the corridor. “My class, you can get out!” I gritted my teeth, turned, and left the classroom, knocking on the head of student affairs’ office. 3. I recounted the entire incident to Dean Thompson. “Principal Vanderberg, because my parents couldn’t come to school for clean-up, called them fugitives and made the whole class aware. He also threw my assignments in the trash, saying he wouldn’t accept my work anymore, wouldn’t give me test papers. I want the Dean to judge this fairly.” Dean Thompson listened to my words, then remained silent for a moment. “Lily, dear,” his voice was serious. “I’ve heard what you said. I know Principal Vanderberg; he’s a bit hot-headed, but his intentions are good.” A kindly smile spread across his face. “How about this, in a little while, I’ll use the school intercom to speak on your behalf, and I’ll explain your parents’ situation to everyone, so the teachers and students don’t misunderstand. How does that sound?” My eyes welled up. “Thank you, Dean Thompson! Thank you!” “Go on, go on,” he waved his hand. I bowed deeply to him and left the office. Standing in the corridor, I let out a deep sigh of relief. The intercom would ring soon. Once this was resolved, I could go back to class and study like before. I stood outside the classroom, where Principal Vanderberg was teaching. The intercom crackled to life. I immediately stood up straight. “Attention all faculty and students.” Dean Thompson’s voice came through the speaker. “Here is an announcement.” I took a deep breath. “Regarding the disciplinary action against junior student Lily Adams.” “Upon investigation, it was found that the student provided false guardian information, defied her principal’s authority, and refused to cooperate with class duties. After multiple attempts by the principal to educate her, she showed no remorse, and today, during a break, she left class without permission and disrupted the teaching order. Her actions severely violate school rules and regulations, creating a negative impact.” “After deliberation by the grade committee, it has been decided to place student Lily Adams on school probation. All students are advised to take this as a warning, and respect their teachers. End of announcement.” I felt as if struck by lightning, my mind completely blank. Principal Vanderberg gave me a mocking smile from inside the classroom. I turned and ran, kicking open the Dean of Student Affairs’ office door. Dean Thompson was drinking tea. He frowned and shouted. “What’s wrong with you? Don’t you know to knock before entering?” “Why did you lie to me?” I gasped, my voice trembling. “Didn’t you promise to help me? Why did the announcement say I was being disciplined?” He stood up, enraged. “Lily Adams, let me tell you, don’t make trouble here. Your disciplinary action is final!” Principal Vanderberg stomped in. Her eyes were spitting fire. “Oh, Lily Adams, you dare to come looking for the Dean!” She took a few quick steps, and without a word, slapped me. My face burned, and I stumbled sideways. “You little brat!” Principal Vanderberg pointed at my nose and yelled, “Even if you go to the Headmaster, it won’t matter! I run this class! I’m telling you, you messed with the wrong person today!” “Cousin, calm down,” Dean Thompson said from the side. I clutched my face, staring at them in disbelief. No wonder Principal Vanderberg was so arrogant; Dean Thompson was backing her up. My phone vibrated. A message from my mother: [Daughter, we’ll be at your school in ten minutes.] Principal Vanderberg’s face darkened. She stepped forward and roughly knocked my phone out of my hand. “Still trying to call for help? Dream on! I’ll teach you a good lesson for your fugitive parents right now!” My fists clenched. All the blood rushed to my head, the pain on my cheek, the heat in my eyes, all mixed together into something indescribable. But my parents were arriving soon. Then, let’s see how arrogant she could be! I scoffed. “Mr. Vanderberg, are you really sure you want to do this?” 4. Principal Vanderberg scoffed, yelling, “Security! Now!” Two security guards ran in. Principal Vanderberg pointed at me, furious. “This student violated school rules and assaulted a teacher!” “Look at this slap mark on my face! She’s completely out of control. She needs a lesson!” I looked at Principal Vanderberg’s smooth face and laughed, exasperated. This was a complete inversion of the truth. The guards rushed forward, twisting my arms, one on each side, pinning me in place. I struggled, but two fists were no match for four hands. Principal Vanderberg stood before me, looking down. “If your parents won’t discipline you, then I’ll do it for them. I’ll teach you respect!” “Now, get on your knees and apologize!” I struggled, shouting, “I’m not wrong!” “I won’t kneel!” The guards’ grip was strong, pressing on my shoulders until they ached. I twisted my body, kicking at the ground. “Hold her down!” Dean Thompson yelled, and from behind, he kicked the back of my knee. My leg gave out, and I slammed to my knees on the floor. Principal Vanderberg squatted in front of me, holding her phone, the camera pointed at my face. “Come on, look up. Let everyone see what a student who hits a teacher looks like.” “Say, ‘My parents are fugitives.’” I bit my lip, staying silent. She stood up and handed her phone to one of the security guards. “Hold this. Get a clear shot.” The guard took the phone, the camera still on me. Principal Vanderberg circled behind me and kicked me in the back. I stumbled forward, bracing myself with my hands on the ground, my palms scraping against the floor, a burning pain. “Won’t say it?” Her voice came from above. “Fine. Let’s see how long you can hold out.” She bent down, grabbing a handful of my hair, yanking my face upward. My scalp screamed in pain, feeling like my hair was about to be ripped out. “Look at the camera. Admit your parents are fugitives. Say it.” Principal Vanderberg commanded. Tears streamed down my face from the pain, but I bit my lip and remained silent. My silence enraged Principal Vanderberg. She snatched the stun baton from the security guard’s belt. My blood ran cold. I fiercely demanded, “Principal Vanderberg! This is illegal! You are a disgrace to the teaching profession!” She pressed the stun baton to my shoulder, and I trembled with fear. “Scared now? Will you say it or not?” “Never! My parents are not fugitives.” My voice trembled, but each word was clear. “They protect this country. People like you don’t deserve to mention them.” Her face darkened, and she snapped, “You think you’re so tough!” With that, she moved to press the button. Just then, the classroom door was kicked open, and several figures appeared in the doorway. I cried out: “Mom, Dad, you’re finally here!”

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Rowan Pierce despised inconvenience. From something as trivial as picking up my iced latte on his way home. To something as vital as reviewing my resume before a major job interview. He always acted like I was asking for the moon. But when it came to my younger sister. He could spend four grueling hours carrying her shopping bags around the mall. He could stay up for three consecutive nights mapping out her entire career trajectory. Until one night, during a massive torrential downpour. I was stranded under a leaking bus shelter. I called Rowan, begging him to come pick me up. He was only three blocks away. “It is completely out of my way. Stop being so difficult.” He rejected me, just like always. Yet he immediately turned his car around and drove ten miles in the opposite direction to drop my sister off at her apartment. Sometime later. Rowan went on a business trip and sent me a text message: [I am heading back soon. What kind of gift do you want?] I did not jump for joy. I did not text back a string of excited emojis. I simply typed out a polite refusal: [No need. It is too much of a hassle for you. Thanks anyway.] 01 Maybe he had never seen me use such a detached, formal tone before. The very next second. My phone rang. It was Rowan. “Didn’t you mention you wanted that limited-edition skincare set? You asked me to bring it back for you.” His voice was as cold and crisp as ever. It didn’t sound like he was offering a gift. It sounded like he was interrogating a suspect. That skincare set was a conversation from months ago. It had been sold out everywhere. The only place you could get it was the flagship store in the city he was currently visiting for work. I had brought it up a few times before he left. But every single time, he would just furrow his brow in deep annoyance. “I am going there to close a deal, Audrey. Not to act as your personal shopper.” “But you could just grab it on your way back to the hotel.” “It is not on the way. It is an inconvenience.” His excuses were always the same. Always an inconvenience. Hearing him suddenly bring it up now meant he had remembered all along. I suppose I should have felt a thrill of happiness. But maybe the fever burning through my veins had numbed my emotions. Or maybe it was because I had already paid a personal shopper double the retail price to ship that exact set to my apartment three days ago. Right now. My heart felt entirely hollow. I let out a soft “hmm” of acknowledgment. My answer echoed the text I had just sent him. “I already bought it myself. Don’t worry about it. I won’t trouble you.” Rowan fell utterly silent for two long seconds. I stayed silent, too. Because of my answer. The atmosphere between us over the cellular line twisted into something bizarrely quiet. “Audrey…” It sounded like Rowan wanted to say something else. But right at that exact moment. A bright, bubbly voice echoed in the background of his call: “Ro! Come here and look at this! Does this necklace look pretty on me?” “…” I didn’t launch into a jealous interrogation about who that voice belonged to. I used to. Not anymore. Realizing I had absolutely nothing left to say to him. I tactfully took the hint. “I have things to do. I am going to hang up now.” 02 My phone call with Rowan lasted exactly one minute and thirty-eight seconds. Thank god. It didn’t cross the three-minute mark. Otherwise, Rowan would have lectured me about wasting his precious time again. It couldn’t be helped. Rowan was a certified genius. And a genius’s time operated on a completely different currency than the rest of us normal people. Back when we were in high school. While everyone else was goofing off during summer break. He was counting every second, buried in advanced calculus and SAT prep. In the ten minutes between classes. He could finish half a practice exam. In his spare time, he dominated every academic decathlon and robotics competition in the state. Bringing home shiny medals and prestigious trophies for the school. He optimized his time to an absolute extreme. Every single minute was a commodity. Because of this, Rowan harbored a deep-seated resentment for anyone who wasted his time on trivial, mundane things. Especially me. Even though I was his girlfriend. During our dates. If I asked him to grab me a coffee on his way out of the lab. He would calculate that the five minutes spent waiting in line at the cafe could have been used to recalculate his data models. When I asked him to review my resume after college, he just glanced at it and sighed. “Your formatting is a chaotic mess, Audrey. There is nothing salvageable here.” “…” Well… That was exactly why I needed his help in the first place. But… Rowan just found it exhausting. I always felt like Rowan was the human embodiment of a perfectly coded algorithm. Every word, every action, flawlessly executed. He was like a high-voltage fence. Any attempt to cross his boundaries was strictly forbidden. So, in our daily lives. We always maintained this bizarre, invisible distance. Only in the dead of night, tangled in the sheets, did I ever see him lose even a fraction of his iron-clad control. But later, I finally figured it out. He wasn’t a man who hated trouble. He just hated it when the trouble came from me. 03 After I hung up, my screen lit up with two new texts from Rowan. [That was Michelle just now.] [Are you absolutely sure you don’t want anything?] The first text was an unsolicited explanation for the female voice. The second was a rare double-check on a request I had already denied. How incredibly strange. Rowan Pierce never asked twice once he got a ‘no’. I had no idea what glitch had infected his system. But staring at that first message. I couldn’t help but zone out. If there was one person on this entire planet who could make Rowan sacrifice his invaluable time? It was her. My younger sister, Michelle. She was the golden child of our family. Gorgeous, bratty, wildly vibrant, and totally uninhibited. She could be an absolute menace, yet somehow, she always managed to make people want to protect her. My mother abandoned a decade-long career just to be a stay-at-home mom for Michelle. My father drained his secret savings account just to buy Michelle an outrageously expensive designer gown for her eighteenth birthday. And even Rowan. When Michelle was throwing a tantrum. He would patiently carry her bags through endless department stores for four hours straight. When she was having a meltdown over the brutal job market. He would work late at the office, then pull an all-nighter to completely revamp her resume. He mapped out her five-year career plan and then effortlessly handed her an assistant position at his own tech firm. I used to be so confused. I was jealous. I was furious. I screamed, I cried, I acted like a total lunatic. But none of it made a single dent. Sometimes you just have to swallow the bitter pill and admit the truth. Some people just have to stand there and breathe. And the whole world will love them, effortlessly offering up the very things you would have to bleed to get. 04 I didn’t reply to Rowan’s texts. Once the IV bag was empty. I walked out of the sterile hospital lobby. The nurse had strictly ordered me to stay in bed for the next two days. She warned me the fever could easily spike again. “You really need someone to keep an eye on you at home. Where is your boyfriend? Or your folks?” Rowan… Rowan was on a business trip. As for my parents… Never mind. I wasn’t going to burden them. “I can manage on my own.” I called in sick and took two days off from work. I spent those forty-eight hours lying in bed in a hazy, feverish fever dream. My phone buzzed a few times. I didn’t bother checking the screen. Two days later, my chest finally felt lighter. The sickness was lifting. I unlocked my phone. Rowan’s pinned chat was flooded with unread messages. [Audrey, why aren’t you replying?] [What is going on with you? Audrey, pick up the phone.] And the final message read: [My flight lands on Sunday.] I stared at the screen. Then, I unpinned his chat from the top of my inbox. I noticed a missed voice call from my mother and dialed her back. “What’s up?” “Audrey, honey, Rowan said he couldn’t get a hold of you. He asked me to check in.” “I am fine. I have just been swamped with work the past couple of days.” “Oh, right, right. Well… when are you going to come home for dinner?” Ever since my sophomore year of college, when I started paying my own rent. I had moved out of that house and practically never looked back. I rarely visited. Not until I started dating Rowan and had to bring him over for the official ‘meet the parents’ dinner. I don’t know if guilt had finally caught up with my parents or what. But after I graduated. They suddenly started reaching out to the invisible older daughter they had spent a lifetime ignoring. “Saturday works. I am free then.” “Wonderful! What are you craving? I will cook whatever you want.” “Just something light.” My stomach was still recovering from the fever. I didn’t have much of an appetite. My mom happily agreed. But when Saturday rolled around. I didn’t just see my parents. I walked into the living room and saw Rowan and Michelle. 05 The man who specifically told me he was landing on Sunday. Was currently sitting on my parents’ velvet sofa, laughing and playing chess with my father. Michelle was curled up on the armchair next to them. Every few minutes, she would playfully snatch a chess piece to cheat for my dad. Eliciting fond, exasperated headshakes from both men. As for my mother. She was hovering around the dining room table, arranging the silverware. Occasionally, she would look up, her eyes melting into absolute adoration as she watched the three of them in the living room. The house smelled like rich, spicy Cajun butter and roasted garlic. The warm, golden glow of the chandelier bathed the entire scene in perfection. It was a picture-perfect, sickeningly sweet family portrait. I stood in the doorway, gripping my tote bag. Frozen. Unable to step forward, unable to back away. It reminded me of the first time I brought Rowan home for dinner. This exact scene had played out before. Back then, we had been stuck in traffic and arrived twenty minutes late. Rowan had walked in carrying an expensive bottle of wine. My mom had rushed over to the foyer, asking: “Did you guys hit rush hour?” “Yeah, traffic was crawling,” Rowan replied. Before I could even take my coat off, Michelle came flying down the oak staircase like a tornado. “Ro! You made it! Did you bring my iced matcha?” She fluttered around him like a hyperactive butterfly. Rowan let out a soft, amused sigh and handed her the sweaty plastic cup. “Getting your ridiculous drink is the exact reason we hit traffic in the first place.” Rowan wasn’t lying. The phone call inviting us to dinner had actually been made by Michelle. “Oh, by the way, when you drive over, stop at that cafe downtown and get me an iced matcha. Extra ice, three pumps of vanilla.” She had ordered him around like a servant. Rowan hadn’t even hesitated. Though he did frown softly, remembering a detail I didn’t even know. “Aren’t your cramps supposed to start soon? You shouldn’t be drinking ice.” Through the phone, Michelle had scoffed like a spoiled brat. “Fine, no ice then. Just make sure you bring it!” “Got it.” And so, when we left his apartment. Rowan had driven completely out of his way, hitting three extra red lights. Just to get Michelle her customized drink. Back in the present memory, Michelle stuck her tongue out at him. She grabbed the drink and immediately tugged on his sleeve. “I am stuck on this marketing proposal. You have to come look at it right now.” Ever since Michelle got hired at Rowan’s firm. She practically acted like his shadow. Rowan laughed, shaking his head. “Did I come here to eat a home-cooked meal, or to do your homework for you?” “Oh, come on! It will literally take you five seconds.” She dragged him away toward the living room. My dad sat by the coffee table, sipping his bourbon, smiling proudly at the two of them. My mom turned back to the kitchen to check on the roast. And I had stood there, much like I was doing right now. Like a ghost. A transparent outsider completely walled off from their reality. I had walked through the front door right behind him. But I had just stood in the center of the foyer, utterly invisible. Unable to blend in. So I just stood there, drowning in my own awkward, pathetic isolation. 06 But this time. Someone noticed me almost immediately. “Audrey…” Rowan was reaching for his knight on the chessboard. When he casually glanced toward the entryway with a smile on his face. His eyes locked onto mine. He froze completely. Hearing his voice, everyone in the living room and the kitchen stopped what they were doing and looked over. My mom was the closest to the door. She jumped a little when she saw me. “Audrey? What are you doing here today?” “Didn’t you literally invite me over for dinner?” I threw the question right back at her. My mom went completely blank. Watching the utter confusion dawn in her eyes. I knew instantly that she had completely forgotten about the phone call she made to me. I knew it. A bitter, mocking smile tugged at the corner of my lips. Embarrassment flashed across my mom’s face. She rushed forward to take my bag, trying to cover her tracks. “Right, right, of course! So glad you made it. Come in, come in.” Maybe it was just my imagination. But the second my foot crossed the threshold. That warm, picturesque, sitcom-family atmosphere shattered entirely. I gave my dad a stiff nod. He grunted in acknowledgment, his eyes already drifting back to the chessboard. Rowan stood up and walked toward me. “Audrey…” He looked like he was bursting with things to say. He reached his hand out toward me, leaving it awkwardly suspended in mid-air. Michelle shot me a side-eye, then stood up and stretched dramatically. “Mom, is the food ready? I am literally starving to death.” “Yes, yes, it is all done! Go wash your hands.” At the dinner table, Michelle’s loud chatter masked the thick, suffocating tension in the room. “Mom, you have no idea what I had to survive on during that trip. Bland salads and dry sandwiches everywhere. It was a nightmare.” “I have been craving your spicy seafood boil for a whole week.” My mom looked at Michelle like she had just survived a war zone. “Then eat up, sweetheart. You look so thin.” She piled a mountain of crab legs and shrimp onto Michelle’s plate. Then, she glanced at me. Probably trying to overcompensate for the fact that she forgot I was coming. She grabbed a piece of spicy sausage and dropped it onto my plate. “Eat up, Audrey. You too.” “…” I stared at the piece of sausage, dripping in bright red chili oil. “Mom, I…” “Oh, wait! Mom, Dad! We bought you guys presents from the trip!” Michelle totally cut me off. She practically leaped out of her chair. She bolted over to her designer suitcase that was still sitting in the corner of the dining room. A minute later. She was pulling out sleek, expensive shopping bags. “This one is for Dad! And this one is for you, Mom!” “Oh, honey, you shouldn’t have! You were there for work, you didn’t need to spend your money on us.” My parents were chiding her, but their faces were absolutely glowing with pure joy. Michelle tilted her chin up, looking exceptionally smug. “I didn’t pick them out alone. Rowan and I spent hours looking for the perfect ones, didn’t we?” She looked over at Rowan. “…Yeah.” Rowan gave a stiff nod. My parents were practically glowing. They kept gushing about how thoughtful ‘their Rowan’ was. Not a single person at that table noticed that my plate was completely empty. Even though I had spent a lifetime getting used to this. Swallowing the air at that dinner table made my chest ache so badly, I thought my fever had come back. Otherwise, why would my throat feel so impossibly tight? 07 An hour later. The plates were cleared. Since Rowan and Michelle had just gotten off a plane and were exhausted. My mom didn’t try to force us to stay for dessert. She ushered Rowan and me out the door. Rowan and I walked side-by-side into the dim, echoing parking garage beneath my parents’ building. Right as I reached for the passenger door handle, Rowan grabbed my wrist. “Audrey, our flight got changed at the last minute. That is why we got back early. I was going to text you the second I dropped Michelle off.” He had brought Michelle straight to her parents’ place from the airport. He just hadn’t expected my mother to aggressively insist he stay for dinner. And he certainly hadn’t expected me to walk through that door today. Rowan finally managed to spit out the explanation he had been holding in all night. During the entire dinner. We hadn’t exchanged a single word or even made eye contact. Well, I hadn’t. Rowan had kept stealing nervous glances at me the entire time. Now, as he stood under the harsh fluorescent lights of the garage. His face was deadly serious. His dark eyes were locked intensely onto mine. The crazy part was: I didn’t feel a single thing. If this had happened a month ago. My chest would have been filled with heavy, suffocating cotton. I would have given him the silent treatment for three days straight out of pure resentment. “Okay. Got it.” I nodded calmly and slid into the passenger seat. Rowan froze. He clearly had not prepared himself for such a cold, indifferent reaction. His mouth opened, then closed again. It was obvious he had an entire speech locked and loaded. But normally, I was the one who had to pry the words out of his mouth. Now that I refused to engage. He had no idea how to keep the conversation alive. When we finally got back to his luxury apartment. Rowan followed me quietly through the front door. He had been on a plane for six hours. Dark circles were already forming under his eyes. “I am going to take a shower first.” He popped the latches on his suitcase, letting it fall open on the hardwood floor. Lying right on top of his neatly folded dress shirts was a lace bra. “…” Rowan went completely rigid. His eyes snapped up to look at me in pure panic. Right on cue. His phone buzzed. It was Michelle. “Ro! I think I left some of my lingerie in your suitcase because mine wouldn’t close…” Before she could finish her sentence. Rowan slammed his thumb onto the end call button. He looked at me, his voice tight. “Her suitcase was over the weight limit, so she had to…” It was always like this. I couldn’t even count how many times these ‘innocent accidents’ or ‘unavoidable situations’ had happened. All I knew was. Standing there looking at that lace bra. I suddenly lost every single ounce of desire to hear his excuses or pick a fight. “Just keep the water pressure down. I am going to bed.” I pulled my gaze away from his panicked face. I turned on my heel and walked up the stairs. Behind me, I could feel the weight of Rowan’s stare burning into my back for a very, very long time. 08 The next morning, I had to go to work. My rideshare was exactly two minutes away. I was rushing down the stairs when Rowan stepped into the hallway, physically blocking my path. “I made breakfast. Eat before you leave.” “I can’t. I am going to be late.” “I will drive you.” Rowan stated firmly. His tech firm and my office building were only three blocks apart. But there was a notoriously brutal traffic light in between that lasted a full two minutes. Rowan had always considered those two minutes a criminal waste of his time. So, in the two years we had lived together, he had never once offered to drop me off or pick me up. Hearing him suddenly volunteer. I hesitated for a split second. But I easily sidestepped his outstretched arm. “No, it is fine. I don’t want to inconvenience you. My Uber is literally pulling up outside.” Later that afternoon, right before five o’clock. Rowan sent me another text. [I am coming to pick you up.] I typed back immediately: [Working late tonight.] The little typing bubble on his end popped up and danced for a long time. But he never actually sent a reply. For the next few days, it was the exact same routine. It was so incredibly bizarre. Normally, after a quick breakfast in complete silence. We would go our separate ways at the front door. Or Rowan would leave first, already deep in a conference call. But now, Rowan was literally standing by the door, waiting to leave together. And to avoid being trapped in the suffocating confines of his car. I had started waking up thirty minutes earlier just to sneak out. But I knew this cat-and-mouse game wasn’t sustainable. Until my company sent me out to do a site inspection at a new commercial mall with my boss. And just my luck. I bumped right into Rowan.

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In the macabre tales of the living dead, I was a fake heiress. To bring me back to life, my parents mortgaged their health, my brother sacrificed his lifespan, and even my fiancé pawned off his entire fortune. This time, I learned my lesson. I wouldn’t be like before. When my parents favored the true heiress, I chose understanding. When my brother, swayed by her slander, wrongly accused me, I simply bowed my head and admitted fault. I even walked in on her and my fiancé in a drunken embrace, and I calmly handed over my wedding dress and engagement. After all, in my past life, they hated nothing more than my constant arguing and fighting over these things. But when I truly stopped fighting, they grew restless, anxious. “Rina, don’t be like this to us. You can have anything you want.” “Just please, come back to how you used to be…” They pleaded over and over. I didn’t ask for much, considering their current predicament. I only requested a hundred million dollars. 1. The biting scent of disinfectant shot straight to my brain. A cacophony of voices buzzed around me, making my head throb. I opened my eyes to a blinding white. Instantly, several magnified faces swam into view. My father clutched his chest, coughing violently, as if trying to tear his lungs out. My mother’s cheeks were flushed crimson, her forehead slick with cold sweat, her palms scorching hot to the touch. My once vibrant brother sported a shock of disheveled white hair. He was barely in his twenties, yet his hair was completely white, his face shadowed by enormous dark circles, making him look like he’d just escaped a refugee camp. The most bizarre was Henry. The former prince of the city’s elite, who wouldn’t be caught dead in anything less than bespoke tailoring, now wore a pilled white shirt that looked like a bargain bin special from a discount store. “Rina! You’re finally awake!” My mother cried, snot and tears streaming down her face, her scalding tears splattering onto my hand. “The psychic was right! As long as we were willing to pay the price, we could call your soul back!” They babbled on, tripping over each other’s words. To resurrect me, my parents had fallen gravely ill, their health permanently damaged. My brother had shaved sixty years off his life, his hair turning white overnight. Henry had squandered his family fortune, left penniless. It sounded truly touching. As if bringing me back to life was their lifelong pursuit. I looked at their overjoyed faces, my heart utterly still. If they loved me so much, why did they drive me to my death in my previous life? The ocean in my dying moments last time had been too cold; it had frozen my heart solid. I tried to twist my parched lips into a smile, but my facial muscles felt stiff, unresponsive. A leopard doesn’t change its spots. Trusting them would be like believing pigs could fly. … For the first month after I was discharged and returned home, my family acted as if they’d rip out their own hearts and present them to me on a platter. At dinner, my mother piled every piece of meat onto my plate. While watching TV, my brother shoved the remote into my hand, letting me watch whatever I wanted. Even Fiona, the true heiress who was always doted on, became invisible in this house. The other day, Fiona merely glanced my way, and my mother immediately bristled. “What are you looking at! If it weren’t for you, Rina wouldn’t have suffered so much! Get back to your room!” Fiona flinched, tears welling in her eyes, but she dared not let them fall. This scene was truly ironic. In my past life, ever since Fiona came back, I was always the one being yelled at like that. Her masterful acting had everyone dancing to her tune. She threw herself into the ocean, then claimed I pushed her. I tried to explain, but no one believed me. My parents pointed fingers, calling me ungrateful, threatening to kick me out. My brother, to avenge Fiona, hired thugs to break my legs. Henry was the cruelest. He said he wanted me to experience Fiona’s despair, then had me thrown into that very ocean. “Rina can swim; she won’t drown. It’ll just teach her a lesson.” He watched coldly from the shore. But he forgot, how could someone with broken legs swim? The icy seawater flooded my nasal passages, my lungs felt like they would burst. I struggled desperately, but could only watch myself sink. Until the moment I lost consciousness, no hand ever reached for me. Now, this show of deep affection—who was it for? … The false peace couldn’t last. Human nature’s inertia is immense; the slightest relaxation and it snaps back to its original state. At the dinner table, six dishes, two soups. The last piece of sweet and sour pork remained on the platter. It was my father’s signature dish, and my favorite. Fiona kept her head down, picking at her white rice, like a wronged daughter-in-law. Suddenly, a single tear plinked into her bowl. The sound was soft, but piercing in the quiet dining room. She said nothing, just quietly wiped her eyes with her sleeve, and continued to stuff rice into her mouth. That look of enduring humiliation, it was truly heartbreaking to witness. My father’s eating slowed. He looked at Fiona’s pitiful display, his brows furrowed. Almost an unconscious movement, he picked up the piece of pork that was meant for me, twisted his wrist, and placed it in Fiona’s bowl. “Why are you crying? Have some meat.” The action was fluid, as natural as breathing. Only after he finished did he suddenly snap back to reality. His chopsticks froze mid-air, and the expression on his face solidified. My mother and brother also froze, their gazes darting between me and that piece of pork. Fiona bit her lip, the piece of pork glaringly obvious against the white rice. She timidly glanced at me, whispering, “Rina, you have it. I’m not hungry…” Dead silence descended on the dining table. Everyone held their breath, waiting for me to react. If this were my past life, I would have already smashed my bowl. I would have hysterically demanded to know why my father was so biased, why he always picked for her, never for me. I would have pointed at Fiona and called her out for her fakery. Then everyone would storm off, and I would once again be branded “immature” and “narrow-minded.” But now, I just found it amusing. See? This was their so-called “change of heart.” All it took was two crocodile tears from Fiona, and their scales would immediately tip. I put down my chopsticks, pulled out a napkin, and dabbed my mouth. A perfectly composed smile spread across my face. “Fiona really is too thin. She should eat more to nourish herself.” My tone was even, devoid of any sarcasm. After saying this, I even picked up a stalk of greens and put it in my mouth, chewing with evident enjoyment. My parents visibly relaxed, but then, a hint of awkwardness and guilt crept onto their faces. It was a complex expression. Relieved I hadn’t made a scene, yet also finding my reaction unsettling. Too agreeable. Too agreeable to be the spoiled Rina they knew. “Rina, darling, your father didn’t mean it like that…” My father tried to explain, his wrinkles deepening. I cut him off. “Dad, please eat. The food will get cold.” I lowered my head and continued eating, blocking out their scrutinizing stares. After dinner, I went back to my room and picked up a book. The door slammed open. My brother burst in, seething, with a meek-looking Fiona trailing behind him. Fiona had her sleeves rolled up, revealing a purplish bruise on her wrist. “Rina! Have you been bullying Fiona again?!” My brother’s roar made my eardrums throb. “Did you do that to Fiona’s arm? I knew you wouldn’t settle down so easily! You pretend to be magnanimous, but you’re secretly underhanded. When did you become so vicious?!” Familiar recipe, familiar flavor. No evidence needed, no investigation required. If Fiona was hurt, the culprit was always me. Fiona hid behind my brother, stammering, “Bro, don’t blame Rina. I just bumped myself accidentally… it’s not Rina’s fault…” This tactic of feigned humility, she had mastered it perfectly. My brother grew even angrier. “Don’t cover for her! Besides her, who else in this family would target you?” After his tirade, he seemed to suddenly remember something. Remembered whose sake his white hair was for, remembered that I was someone who had “died once.” The anger on his face froze, and he forcefully suppressed his rage, switching to a more serious, advising tone: “Rina, darling, I’m not trying to yell at you. You and Fiona are sisters, you should stick together. Mom and Dad and I have already talked to her, had a heart-to-heart. She won’t target you anymore, so you don’t need to be defensive.” Looking at his hypocritical face, I felt nothing but revulsion. Before he could finish, I stood up. Facing him and Fiona, I bowed deeply. A ninety-degree bow. “I’m sorry. It was my fault. I shouldn’t have appeared before Fiona, shouldn’t have breathed the same air. I promise, I’ll stay ten feet away from her from now on, so she never feels uncomfortable.” My tone was flat, like an emotionless robot. Admitting every baseless accusation, my sincerity was impeccable. My brother, prepared with a belly full of lectures, found them choked in his throat, his face turning beet-red. He opened his mouth, about to say I didn’t need to be so submissive. I had already straightened up, expressionlessly closing my bedroom door. The door clicked shut right in front of his nose, completely cutting off his bewildered face. … Soon, it was Henry’s birthday, though this year his birthday celebration was comically meager. To resurrect me, the once lavish Henry, now couldn’t even afford a decent private room. The cheap disco ball in the main hall made my eyes spin, and on the tables were a few bottles of watered-down liquor. His sycophantic friends were still forced to praise him, calling him “devoted” and a “reformed rake.” I found the noise grating, so I excused myself to touch up my makeup and headed towards the lounge at the end of the hallway. My hand had just touched the doorknob when strange sounds drifted out. The rustling of fabric, and gasps stifled with great effort. The door wasn’t locked. I gently pushed, and the heavy, solid wood door cracked open. The scene through the gap was even more blinding than the lights in the main hall. Fiona was sitting on Henry’s lap. Her already short cocktail dress was bunched up to her waist, her two dazzlingly white legs tightly wrapped around Henry’s waist. Henry’s hand was buried beneath her dress. Both their faces were flushed, sweat trickling down Henry’s temples. The air was thick with a cloyingly nauseating sweetness. Fiona arched her head back, her neck forming a delicate curve, a seductive moan escaping her lips: “Henry, darling…” Her voice was a winding, melodious whisper. I stood at the doorway, watching this tableau, feeling utterly nothing. I even had the leisure to evaluate Fiona’s figure. She certainly had more curves than my recently resurrected, sickly self. No wonder Henry couldn’t resist. My past self, if I had witnessed this, would probably have felt the sky collapsing. I would have stormed in, splashed champagne in their faces, dragged Fiona out by her hair to expose her. I would have cried, screamed, demanded to know why Henry betrayed me. But now, I just found the scene repulsive. So repulsive that I had no desire to even step inside. Perhaps it was the draft from the doorway. Henry jolted, his hazy eyes snapping into focus. The moment he saw me, all the color drained from his face. The expression was as if he’d seen a ghost. “Wil… Rina?!” He fumbled to push Fiona off him. The force was surprising; he sent Fiona tumbling off the sofa, her forehead hitting the coffee table corner with a thud. Fiona shrieked, clutching her forehead, looking at Henry in disbelief. But Henry paid her no mind. He scrambled towards me, practically crawling, trying to grab my hand. “Rina! Let me explain!” “It’s not what you think! I was drunk… it was her! She seduced me!” He babbled incoherently, trembling all over. The cheap shirt, drenched in sweat, clung to his body, making him look utterly pathetic. I stepped back half a pace, avoiding his outstretched hand. As if avoiding a bag of wet garbage just pulled from a bin. Henry’s hand froze mid-air. He stared intently at my face, trying to find even a hint of anger, jealousy, or sorrow. Alas, he was destined to be disappointed. I was calm. This calmness terrified him. More than if I had a knife in my hand. “Rina, yell at me.” His voice trembled, his eyes bloodshot. “Hit me, slap me! Just don’t look at me like this… please, don’t look at me like this!” I ignored his outburst. I lowered my head, opened my purse, and slowly pulled out a red velvet box from a hidden compartment. Click. The box opened. Inside lay the diamond engagement ring. Then, I took out a pre-written letter of disengagement, placing it neatly on the nearby coffee table, along with the ring. Right where Fiona had just cut her head. The fresh crimson bloodstain, reflecting the cold gleam of the diamond, had a morbid beauty. “Happy birthday, Henry.” I looked at him, my tone as gentle as if catching up with an old friend. “I was wondering what gift would be appropriate. Since you’re so fond of Fiona, then I’ll grant your wish. Consider this letter of disengagement my present to you both.” Henry was stunned. He stared at the letter as if it were some monstrous beast. “No… I don’t want it…” He shook his head desperately, tears and snot blurring his face. “I squandered my family fortune for you! I put my life on the line for you! Rina, how could you do this to me?!” “Just because of this one time? Just because of this one accident?!” He roared, the veins in his neck bulging. “I told you I was drunk! Can’t you be understanding?!” How laughable. This was the man who claimed to love me to his bones. One moment entangled with his prospective sister-in-law, the next resorting to emotional blackmail. His so-called deep affection, in the face of desire, was less than a used tissue. Seeing my silence, Henry suddenly lunged at me, embracing me like a madman. His strength was immense, squeezing my bones painfully. The stench of alcohol, perfume, and sweat churned my stomach. “Rina, please just make a scene! Please?!” His eyes were bloodshot, roaring in my ear: “You used to be so jealous! You used to throw a fit if I just spoke to another woman! Hit me, yell at me, anything! Just don’t be so calm, I’m scared!” “Like this… it makes me feel like you don’t care about me at all!” I let him hold me, my hands hanging at my sides, offering no response. When he finally tired himself out, panting, I raised my hand and gently patted his back. My movements were soft, like comforting a rabid stray dog. “Henry, you’re overthinking it.” My voice was gentle, carrying a hint of “understanding” consideration. “Men will be men, playing the field is normal. Fiona is young and beautiful, and she’s my sister. Keeping things in the family is fine, why would I be angry?” “I respect your choices, and I understand your needs.” Every word was like a blunt knife, carving into him. Henry’s body stiffened. He let go, stumbling back two steps, his eyes hollow as he stared at me. “You… what did you say?” “I said, I don’t mind.” I smiled, even helping him straighten his disheveled collar. “As long as you’re happy.” Henry utterly collapsed. He crouched on the floor, clutching his head, letting out animalistic whimpers. The despair was a hundred times more intense than when he went bankrupt. Because he realized, no matter what he did, the Rina who used to cry and laugh, whose eyes were solely for him, was never coming back. All he had bought back with his entire fortune was a soulless shell. Fiona huddled in the corner, trembling. She had originally wanted to see me make a fool of myself, to watch me become hysterical. But now, she only felt cold. A bone-deep chill that shot from her soles to the crown of her head. I didn’t spare them another glance. I turned and walked towards the door. My hand paused on the doorknob. I looked back, giving that pathetic pair a perfectly poised smile. “Oh, right. The guests outside are still waiting for cake.” “You two carry on. Just keep it down. Don’t disturb everyone.” With that, I thoughtfully closed the door behind me. Following the soft click of the lock. Henry’s heartbroken roar echoed from inside, along with the loud crash of something being smashed.

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1 When I was eight years old, I made a deal with a demon. I traded away my own lifespan to save my sister, who was dying of leukemia. But nobody knew. My parents always told me that Vivian’s days on earth were numbered. They told me I had to love her, protect her, and make sure she lived without a single regret. “Hope, Vivian loves both of these plushies. Just let her have them. Dad will buy you something else next time.” “Hope, Vivian… she really likes William too. Can you just… step aside for her?” “Hope, your sister is literally dying. Why are you still fighting with her?” Toys. My parents’ affection. The love of my life. I surrendered everything to Vivian for my entire life. They always told me I had plenty of time left. They promised that after Vivian passed away, they would spend the rest of their lives making it up to me. But I did not have much time left either. At the age of thirty-two, my sister passed away on her hospital bed with a peaceful smile on her face. She left this world with zero regrets. At that exact same moment, huddled on a freezing bench in the corner of the hospital courtyard, my breathing quietly came to a stop. “…William, Vivian’s body is rejecting the new experimental drugs. She threw up the oatmeal the second she swallowed it.” My mother’s frantic voice echoed through the phone speaker. William immediately understood. “I will be right there.” I sat at the dining table, watching him abruptly stand up and grab his winter coat. Whenever Vivian was in pain, she cried for our dad, she cried for our mom, and she cried for my boyfriend. She never cried for me. At first, when my mother wanted William to visit, she would call me to ask him. But somewhere along the line, they completely bypassed me, the useless middleman, and started contacting him directly. “Do you really have to go?” I asked softly. William paused at the front door. His tone grew heavy. “Hope, your sister is in critical condition. Try to be a little more mature about this.” Perhaps realizing his words were too harsh, his voice softened. “Just be a good girl. Once… once all of this is over, I promise I will stay by your side and make it up to you.” The front door clicked shut. I stared at the cooling dinner on the table and sat in absolute silence for a long time. Then, I pulled out my phone and tapped into a very familiar livestream channel. Vivian’s radiant, smiling face popped onto the screen. “Ta-da! Welcome to day twelve thousand and nine of Vivian kicking cancer’s butt! I ate eight meals today, but I am still starving because I threw up seven of them! Haha!” Vivian looked deathly pale, but her spirit was incredibly vibrant. She wore a knit beanie, with faint patches of thin hair peeking out from the edges. She was happily sharing her daily updates with her thousands of followers. My parents sat on either side of her, looking at her with nothing but absolute, tender devotion. The live chat was moving at lightspeed. “Keep fighting, Vivian! You are going to beat this!” “Omg, I am crying. Her parents’ love is the best medicine!” “I am fighting cancer too, and seeing your positivity every day seriously makes my pain go away.” “Wait, the whole family is on screen today. Does that mean the person holding the camera is the boyfriend?” Right on cue, Vivian looked up and reached her hand toward the camera with a brilliant smile. “Come here, William. The tripod is stable. You do not need to hold it.” William’s tall frame stepped into the frame. He indulgently offered her his hand, letting Vivian pull him into a hug and playfully shake his arm like a spoiled child. The chat exploded with hearts. “Ahhh! No wonder she is so happy today, her eyes are literally sparkling! The boyfriend is visiting!” “William is such a simp for her! He looks so professional and serious, but he lets her completely mess with him. They are totally couple goals!” Vivian’s smile deepened. Through the digital screen, our eyes met. I was watching. And she knew it. She always knew. Vivian and I were twins. But I was born perfectly healthy, screaming at the top of my lungs, while Vivian was sickly and frail, as tiny as a stray kitten. When we were barely a month old, she was diagnosed with leukemia. Unfortunately, we were fraternal twins. My bone marrow was not a match. From that day on, my parents poured every ounce of their soul and attention into Vivian. They named me Hope, meaning I was supposed to hope and pray for my sister’s survival. They named her Vivian, hoping she would be full of vibrant life. They told me my sole purpose was to pray for her health, while Vivian’s only job was to survive. I was just a babbling infant chewing on my fingers. I had no idea I was carrying such a crushing burden from the moment I took my first breath. Growing up, I had to yield to Vivian in every single aspect of life. Just like my name, I existed entirely for her sake. When relatives brought gifts for twins, they usually bought two identical toys to prevent fighting. But my parents always bought two different ones and let Vivian pick first. I only got whatever she rejected. If she liked both, I got absolutely nothing. When we started elementary school, my parents practically begged the principal to put us in the same class so I could act as her personal caretaker. My backpack was stuffed with her pill bottles and thermos, leaving barely any room for my own books. My mother would kneel down and lecture me sternly. “Keep a close eye on your sister. Do not let her run or jump. If any nasty boys try to bully her, you have to protect her.” I wanted to tell her that no one would ever bully Vivian. The teachers told the whole class that Vivian was very sick and needed to be treated like glass. The other parents sighed and talked about how pitiful the poor, beautiful girl was. Vivian instantly became the precious princess of the entire school. During recess, kids crowded around her desk, racking their brains to make the fragile, pretty girl laugh. And they quickly figured out that Vivian only smiled her brightest when I was being humiliated. So, my water bottle was suddenly filled with chalk dust. My textbooks and uniform were stained with permanent ink. My desk drawer magically spawned dead bugs and rotting garbage. My mother would aggressively shove my ruined clothes into the washing machine. “Hope, you are a little girl! Why are you always so filthy? You are nothing like your sister. She is so clean and elegant.” Tears welled up in my eyes. “Mom, the kids at school are bullying me.” My mother frowned and turned to Vivian. “Vivian, is that true?” Vivian held up a sparkly hair clip a boy had just gifted her, blinking in innocent surprise. “No way! Everyone at school is so nice!” My mother slapped my shoulder. “Liar! If you keep making up stories for attention, you are not getting any presents next time!” I felt so incredibly wronged. I had not received a new present in years. Every time Dad brought something home, Vivian would look at it with wide, hesitant eyes, touching everything, unable to let anything go. And Dad would always say, “Hope, just let Vivian have it. Dad will buy you something else next time.” But “next time” never came. The bullying at school, my mother’s absolute distrust, my father’s neglect, and Vivian’s quiet tyranny left me sobbing into my pillow night after night. One day, exhausted and with swollen eyes, I accidentally handed my water bottle to Vivian. I did not know some boys had dumped crushed chalk into it again. Vivian took a sip, started coughing violently, and was rushed to the hospital. My mother, eyes red with fury, slapped me so hard my ears rang. “Hope! Just because your sister refused to cover up your lies, you actually tried to kill her!” I cried hysterically. “I did not put that in there! I swear it was an accident!” Nobody listened to my defense. My parents hovered over Vivian’s hospital bed, showering her with frantic affection. Through the gap between my parents’ shoulders, Vivian looked at my tear-streaked face. She smiled brilliantly, but her eyes were swirling with dark, concentrated hatred. She hated me. And that hatred peaked when we were eight years old. When we were eight, Vivian’s cancer relapsed aggressively. The doctors pulled my parents into the hallway and told them she would likely not live to see eighteen. While my parents sobbed outside, Vivian lay on the bed, weak and feverish, and whispered, “Hope, I want to live.” My heart ached. She was my sister. I wanted her to live too. Right at that moment, a man materialized in the center of the hospital room. His lips and eyes were stained pitch black, and massive bat-like wings folded behind his back. He introduced himself as a demon. He asked if I was willing to share my lifespan with my sister. Vivian’s eyes shot wide open. She stared at me, desperate and begging. I glared at the creature defensively. “The books say demons are evil!” The demon simply raised a brow, amused, but remained silent. Vivian panicked. She dragged her frail body out of the hospital bed, hyperventilating as she wildly clawed at my clothes. “Stop making excuses! You just do not want to save me!” “I want to live! Why won’t you save me?!” She cried so violently that the emotional overload caused her to pass out entirely. I was terrified. Watching her lips turn blue and her skin fade to a deathly gray, panic completely consumed me. The demon chuckled softly. “Oh my, what a tragedy. She is dying right now. She will not even make it to eighteen.” I was so scared. I was scared the demon was tricking me and would eat my soul. I was scared of what would happen to me if my lifespan was ripped away. I was scared that if my sister died right in front of me, my parents would blame me forever. But mostly, I was terrified of watching my own twin sister die. She still wanted to see the flower fields. She still wanted to sing in the school talent show. So, I said yes to the demon. The demon told me that excluding my first eight years, I was destined to live for another seventy-two years. He would take one-third of those remaining years as his payment, and transfer another third into Vivian’s body. I counted on my small fingers. That meant I was only going to live to be thirty-two. It felt so incredibly far away. I could not even imagine what I would look like twenty years from now. But it also felt so short. My mother was thirty-three. That meant I would die before I even reached my mother’s current age. The demon extracted two glowing golden orbs from my chest. He took a deep breath, swallowed one orb, and let out a satisfied sigh. Then, he pushed the remaining golden light into Vivian’s chest. The color returned to her cheeks almost instantly. When my parents rushed back into the room, Vivian woke up. The second she saw me, she started screaming hysterically. But the demon had already placed a temporary hex on our voices. She shrieked and babbled, but could not form a single coherent word about the deal. The sheer terror of almost dying, combined with her deep-seated resentment toward me, drove her completely insane. She pointed a shaking finger at me and desperately mouthed lies to our parents. “It was Hope! Hope hit me! She bullied me! She wants me dead!” My parents were horrified. Initially, they might have doubted it, but Vivian’s tears were so tragic and desperate. My mother cried in heartbreak. My father dragged me out of the room by my collar, kicked the back of my knees, and forced me to stand in the freezing hospital corridor. “Think about what you have done! Do not even think about coming back inside until you confess!” I stood shivering in the hallway until past midnight. Only after they had fully coaxed Vivian to sleep did they drag me back in. Under their terrifying, disgusted glares, I sobbed and swore that I would always protect my sister and never hurt her again. From that day on, Vivian found her ultimate outlet. She constantly invented new ways to frame me, running to our parents to complain just so they would punish me. And my parents never doubted her for a second. In their eyes, Vivian would always be the little angel covered in IV tubes, who fought for every breath but still smiled and said she was not in pain. The way my parents looked at me shifted from anger, to disgust, and finally, to utter apathy. Vivian always hated me. Especially on those nights when she lay in bed, swallowing handfuls of pills, in so much agony she could not sleep. She thought that after she passed out that day, I had cold-bloodedly rejected the demon. But the demon had been very clear from the start. He was exchanging lifespan, not health. Even though she would spend her life chronically ill, and I would spend mine perfectly healthy… We were both going to die at the exact same moment.

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My life was never short of admirers, but none persisted like Nick Singer, who stayed by my side for ten years. This childhood friend, from the first day he brought me flowers that I promptly tossed in the trash, slowly became the only guy consistently in my orbit. Everyone said that presence was the deepest confession, that I’d never find another like Nick Singer. Just as I finally decided to accept him, I saw an identical bouquet of white lilies—the same kind he’d given me—on my sister Maya’s bedside table. In that moment, I froze. 1 The next day at Northwood High, Nick Singer brought me a red rose. I frowned, not even glancing at it, and tossed it straight into the trash. Nick flinched, but didn’t get upset, just smiled and leaned in: “What’s wrong? Did I do something?” From age seven to seventeen, no matter how much I lashed out at Nick, he always indulged me like this. The worst time was when I accidentally shattered his late mother’s treasured locket. My eyes red, I wanted to apologize. But Nick simply asked if my hand was hurt. Even though later, he’d hide and cry alone. Perhaps it was just a coincidence. I turned my head, muttering, “The white lilies you gave me yesterday, why does my sister have the same ones?” Nick chuckled, “Nothing to do with me. I know you can’t stand her, so I’ve never interacted with her.” Right. Nick and Maya Zinberg barely exchanged a few words; how could he possibly have given her flowers? I breathed a sigh of relief, about to swallow my pride and apologize to Nick. The class bell rang. I wrote a note and tucked it into his desk. But then I noticed a pink envelope in Nick’s desk, adorned with a small heart. I recognized the handwriting. It was my sister’s, Maya Zinberg. 2 My fingers hooked the pink envelope, and without a second thought, I pulled it out. The letter unfolded, revealing Maya Zinberg’s familiar, elegant script. In it, she wrote about being smitten with Nick the first time she saw him, her envy watching him bring me flowers, and her hesitation to approach him. I patiently flipped through, until the very last line: “If you agree, please send me a white lily.” My gaze halted. So it wasn’t a coincidence; that white lily on her bedside table came from him. The teacher at the front of the class was lecturing animatedly. I fought down my anger, slammed the letter onto Nick’s desk, and glared at him. The screech of my chair against the floor was too harsh. The teacher frowned and called my name: “Chloe Zinberg, what are you doing distracting yourself in class? You answer this question.” I stared at the formula on the blackboard, my mind blank, filled only with the contents of that letter. Nick whispered the answer beside me, his tone urgent and soothing. But I didn’t want to say a word. The teacher waited for a long time with no response, her face darkening completely: “Chloe Zinberg, what do you have besides a pretty face? Your grades aren’t as good as your sister’s, your personality is spoiled and bossy, you constantly make boys fawn over you, throwing the class into chaos!” I lowered my head, biting my lip, saying nothing. I didn’t care what people said about my personality. But I hated it most when people compared me to my sister. I didn’t look at the teacher, nor at Nick, and walked straight out of the classroom, my face cold. I had just washed my face in the girls’ restroom when I heard Nick’s footsteps behind me. His face was full of urgency, completely unlike his usual calm, accommodating self: “Chloe, don’t be mad.” “You know perfectly well I hate it when people compare me to her!” I looked up, glaring at Nick. “Nick Singer, don’t play dumb. You know that’s not what I’m angriest about.” He pursed his lips, a hint of grievance in his eyes, and explained softly: “The white lily was specifically for you. I didn’t know she wanted one too, and I certainly never intended to give her one.” I asked, “Then what about the white lily on her bedside table?” “She must have bought it herself, wanting you to misunderstand,” Nick sighed, his tone helpless. “Lots of guys in class like you, saying they’ll ask you out after graduation. I was afraid of losing you, so I wanted to make you a little jealous, to let you know I care.” His gaze was pleading: “I’ve already explained to the teacher; don’t take it to heart. I can wait, until you’re ready to accept me, after graduation, however long it takes.” Seeing the persistence in his eyes, remembering his unwavering presence for ten years. The fire in my heart died down a bit. I said, my face still cold, “Fine, after graduation.” Nick’s eyes immediately lit up, and his gentle smile returned. On the way home from school, he took a call, frowning, and said, “Something urgent came up. You go home first; I’ll find you when I’m done.” I nodded and walked on. After a few steps, I remembered my water bottle was in the classroom and turned back. Reaching the classroom door, I was about to push it open when I heard Maya Zinberg’s voice, with a hint of petulance: “Nick, are you really going to wait until after graduation?” I froze. 3 The classroom door was ajar, and Maya Zinberg’s voice drifted out, soft and docile. “Nick, the way Chloe walked out of class today, the teacher must be really upset. And you’re still going to explain for her, it’s too much work.” “Sometimes I wonder, you’ve waited for her all these years, offered her all your best, but she seems to… never really care.” “Chloe probably doesn’t understand how rare it is for someone to wait wholeheartedly, just like I’m waiting for you.” She looked at Nick with feigned concern: “I’m just worried you’re too tired. If Chloe keeps acting like this, won’t you be too wronged?” No tears, no playing the victim, no blatant insults. It made my chest tighten with disgust, yet I couldn’t pinpoint any direct malice. I shoved the classroom door open. The door slammed lightly against the wall with a muffled thud. Maya Zinberg turned around, showing no alarm, only a perfectly placed expression of surprise. Then she lowered her eyes, docile as a harmless kitten, completely devoid of the unease from just moments ago. My gaze landed on her. I raised an eyebrow: “Maya Zinberg, when you talk behind people’s backs, you’re much more agreeable than in front of Mom and Dad.” “Worried about him? It’s not your place to be. How I treat him is between us, and it’s not up to someone who’s barely spoken a few words to him to defend him.” Maya Zinberg’s eyes reddened, but she merely whispered in defense: “Chloe, I didn’t mean to. I’m just worried about Nick. I didn’t mean anything else. Please don’t overthink it.” Nick, standing nearby, frowned slightly, stepping forward. His tone carried a hint of exasperation towards me, and a gentle protection towards Maya Zinberg: “Chloe, don’t say that. Maya is just being kind, no ill intent. Why are you so aggressive?” That single sentence made my heart ache. The year I was born, Maya followed, premature and frail. The entire family’s focus instantly shifted. She lacked a “wood” element in her Chinese astrology, so they named her Maya, like an evergreen redwood, wishing her a life of joy, cherished in everyone’s palms. And I was named Chloe. To be cautious in words and deeds, always yielding. From childhood, if she wanted something of mine, I had to give it up. My only friend was also snatched away by her casual remark: “Chloe’s just like that; you’ll always feel wronged playing with her.” Everyone told me, “You’re the older sister; she’s delicate, you have to let her have her way.” I was forced into being sharp, moody, and difficult. Only then could I hold onto a tiny bit of what was mine. Everyone favored her, except Nick Singer. Since age seven, he ignored everyone’s criticisms, ignored me throwing his flowers in the trash, ignored my cold remarks, and always unconditionally stood by me. Seven-year-old Nick stubbornly told me: “I love how you protect yourself! We’re friends, and I’ll always stand by you!” “People who live by stealing from others like her aren’t worth your anger!” But just now, for Maya Zinberg, he frowned and offered a dismissive word of protection. No favoritism, no over-the-top defense, just a common plea for calm. Yet he knew exactly how desperate I had been forced to become. But he still chose to protect her. I took a deep breath, refusing to feel wronged. The next second, I raised my hand and slapped Nick. Nick’s head snapped to the side from the blow. He turned back, startled, his eyes filled with disbelief and a hint of hurt. I didn’t look at him, nor at the bewildered Maya Zinberg. Tears welled in my eyes, but I bit my lip hard, refusing to let them fall. The way to protect myself from feeling wronged wasn’t to cry. I turned and stormed out of the classroom without looking back. Leaving ten years of companionship, ten years of favoritism, all behind me. 4 I rushed back to the dorm. Having been estranged from my family for so long, I chose to live on campus. A moment later, my roommate cautiously approached, her voice tentative: “Chloe, there’s a guy waiting for you downstairs, it’s Nick Singer.” I was listening to music. Hearing her, I replied, “Got it, thanks.” I picked up my phone and immediately texted Nick: [Get lost, don’t be an eyesore here.] Message sent, I flipped my phone face down on the desk. My roommate stood there, hesitating for a long while, as if gathering great courage, then whispered: “Chloe, my brother… he’s liked you for a long time, since freshman year. You’re so pretty; isn’t it better not to focus on just one person, to look at others?” Her brother, Julian Evans. The only one in the whole school who dared to openly defy me, whom I’d verbally sparred with countless times, and who still wouldn’t back down—he liked me? This was even more ridiculous than Nick’s excuses. I didn’t respond. Outside the window, the sky slowly darkened. Evening study hall ended at nine; it was now eleven-fifty, a full three hours later. My phone vibrated countless times on the desk. Nick’s messages popped up one after another, but I didn’t glance at a single one. Ten minutes left until the dorm gates closed. If Nick didn’t leave soon, he’d be sleeping on the streets tonight. The screen suddenly lit up. The caller ID was Mr. Singer. Nick’s father, who lost his wife early and raised him alone, had always doted on me like his own daughter. Every time I went to his house, he’d find ways to make my favorite dishes, always saying it was his blessing that Nick stood by me. I sighed, finally answering, my voice softening slightly: “Mr. Singer.” “Chloe,” Mr. Singer’s voice was anxious, “Nick’s been standing downstairs for almost three hours. It’s so cold; could you please go down and see him? Please, as a favor to me.” “…I understand.” I grabbed my jacket and went downstairs. Nick stood under the streetlight, his voice terribly hoarse, filled with deep-seated hurt: “Chloe, you finally agreed to see me.” “This afternoon, I really just wanted to talk to Maya, to make it clear to her to stop overthinking things, to stop meddling in our business.” “I was protecting her not out of favoritism, but because I was afraid she’d be malicious, turn around and spread rumors in class or at home, ruin your reputation, and make things harder for you.” “I know you hit me because you felt wronged, because for so many years only I stood by you, and I disappointed you. I don’t blame you, not at all. I only feel for you…” As he spoke, his voice caught, and the tears in his eyes finally fell. The boy’s raw vulnerability was laid bare before me. He reached out, gently tugging my sleeve: “Chloe, could we, just hug? Just once. I’ll go straight home; I won’t bother you.” The figure who shielded me at seven, the white lily handed to me at seventeen, that question of “Are you hurt?” when the locket shattered… All my sharpness, in that moment, softened for an instant. I didn’t push him away. Nick immediately stepped forward, gently embracing me, holding me tightly, choking back sobs: “Don’t leave me… please.” After only a few seconds, I gently pushed him away: “Go back. The gates are closing.” Nick reluctantly let go of me, his eyes red, nodding, and ran towards the school gate, looking back three times. I turned to go back to the dorm. A tall figure suddenly emerged from the shadows nearby, blocking my path. It was Julian Evans. I raised an eyebrow, “Good dogs don’t block the road.” Julian sneered, retorting, “Nor do your dog-eyes recognize people.” He didn’t say anything else, just directly handed his phone to me. The screen was lit. A clear photo, taken just moments ago. Right at the corner downstairs of this dorm building, a blind spot I couldn’t see. Nick Singer was tightly embracing Maya Zinberg, bending down to kiss her deeply and wildly. Maya raised her hand, hooking his neck, tilting her head slightly, docile and dependent, showing no trace of the embarrassment of being rejected. 5 Back in my dorm, I blocked and deleted all of Nick Singer’s contact information. Graduation was only six months away. Even if I, Chloe Zinberg, was a scoundrel, or spoiled, I wouldn wouldn’t waste my remaining time on someone who was full of lies and played both sides. The moment dawn broke, I got ready and walked into the academic building as usual. But today, it felt like I was back a few years ago. In the hallway, many eyes were on me, whispering: “That’s her, Chloe Zinberg. I heard she strung Nick Singer along for ten years, treating him like a toy, and now she still wants to hold onto him, even trying to steal her own sister’s boyfriend.” “Not just that, someone saw her hugging Nick Singer downstairs the dorm yesterday, clinging to him.” “I always disliked her; she uses her looks to mess with guys. I heard she used to always steal her sister’s things. So disgusting, how is someone like her not expelled yet…” And rumors about my promiscuous private life, claiming I’d slept with countless people. Every word was too vile to hear. Just like before. My freshman year, Maya Zinberg developed a crush on a boy in class. The boy casually complimented me, saying, “You’re so pretty.” She immediately turned around and cried to our family and classmates, claiming I deliberately flirted, that I used my looks to intentionally steal her things. My family, without questioning, pointed fingers at me, calling me thoughtless, selfish, and malicious. I fought with the people who spread rumors about me, hitting one until he passed out, my eyes red with fury. The school threatened to suspend me, and my family, swayed by Maya, didn’t care. I was pushed to the rooftop, wanting nothing more than to jump and end it all. It was Nick Singer who rushed up like a madman, tightly hugging my waist, pulling me back. He knelt on the ground, trembling all over, his eyes red, screaming: “Chloe Zinberg, don’t you dare die! I believe you, I’ll always believe you! Everyone else can doubt you, but I believe! Anyone who dares to say a bad word about you, I’ll fight them to the death!” He literally took a suspension for me, and he tried to explain to my classmates and repair my relationships. But what about now? Nick Singer stood at the classroom door, for the first time openly standing beside Maya Zinberg. Julian Evans walked past, slowly remarking: “Are you waiting for Nick Singer to stand up like before and say, ‘She’s not like that’?” I said nothing, just walked up to Nick Singer, my gaze calm: “Nick Singer, I’m just going to ask you one question.” “Were you clinging to me while you already had a girlfriend, or not?” A flicker of struggle crossed Nick Singer’s eyes. The girl he had once gambled his entire youth believing in stood before him, tears in her eyes. But in the end, he only said: “No.” “You were clinging to me. Maya has nothing to do with it.” The entire class erupted in gasps.

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After successfully redeeming the villainous male lead, I dutifully stepped aside for the original heroine as promised. I took a new identity and left, but in less than twenty-four hours, he saw right through me. The System waved its hand dismissively: “Don’t panic. If he figures it out, I’ll just forge another identity for you.” So, over the following year, I was forced to roleplay as a personal chef, a maid, a circus monkey, a barber, a baker, and a spicy noodle vendor. Yet every single time, he recognized me in a split second, dragged me back to his mansion, and threw me into a whirlwind of relentless passion. The last time, Dante kissed my fingers, his voice raspy: “Done playing cosplay? Tomorrow, we’re getting our marriage license.” I froze, staring at the ring on my finger, silent. But the System reached its absolute limit: “Screw this! I refuse to lose. This time, I’m wiping his memories completely. There’s no way he’ll recognize you now.” “And I’ll implant fake memories that the original heroine is his fiancée, and that he’s been deeply in love with her for years…” Sure enough, when we met again… The man who had proposed to me just days ago didn’t even spare me a glance. He brushed past me with a cold, detached expression: “Pardon me, miss. Excuse me.” 01 After more than two hundred failed attempts, the System finally stopped obsessing over creating disguise after disguise for me. Instead, it shifted its focus entirely onto Dante. And declared with absolute confidence: “Host, I guarantee you, this time the male lead won’t just casually recognize you like before.” Sigh. My ears were practically growing calluses from hearing that exact promise. I let out an indifferent yawn. Over the past few years, under the System’s forced maneuvers, I had tried selling treadmills to eighty-year-olds in underground malls, serving artificial street food to college students, and even playing a hoop-jumping circus monkey. Every single time, the System had guaranteed success in that exact same tone. And every single time, before the ink could even dry on its promise, Dante would show up with a squad of bodyguards. That lunatic needed just one glance to tear away my disguise, drag me back, and flip me over and over in bed until my back was nearly broken. Last time, it took Dante two days to track me down and expose me. That was one day faster than the time before. I wondered if he would be even faster this time… A strange, subtle flicker of anticipation rose in my chest. Seeing me silent, the System patiently explained: “This time is genuinely different. Host, I brought you to this banquet today just to show you…” Before it could finish, the bustling chatter in the grand ballroom died down. The clinking of wine glasses ceased. People turned their heads, whispering as everyone’s gaze gravitated toward the entrance. A big shot had arrived. Pushed back by the crowding guests, my high heels nearly caught on my dress hem. I stumbled two steps before stabilizing myself. I looked up and locked eyes with a familiar, breathtakingly handsome face. Dante wore a charcoal-gray shirt today. Broad shoulders filled out the tailored fabric, tapering into a sharp, narrow waist. Tall, strikingly handsome, draped in an air of noble detachment, he commanded the room effortlessly. Way too handsome. I swallowed ungracefully. My eyes shifted, catching the woman pressed closely to his side. Beside Dante stood a stunning woman I had never seen before. I froze. She beamed, Dante’s suit jacket draped over her shoulders, her fingers delicately touching his firm forearm. Dante loathed being touched by anyone. Yet now, his expression remained cool and indifferent, showing not a hint of resistance to her touch. Maybe the air conditioning was blasting too hard, but a sudden wave of cold washed over me. Chills seeped through my bones, freezing me in place. 02 The System breathed a huge sigh of relief: “It worked! That woman beside him is the original heroine, Serena.” “Host, I wiped every single memory of you from his mind, and implanted new memories that she’s his fiancée and that they’ve been madly in love for years. He only has eyes for her now, so he definitely won’t recognize you.” I was stunned. “The heroine…?” “Of course! This is a romance novel. Naturally, there’s a male lead and a female lead!” Ever since the System dumped me beside Dante, the freezing cold, hunger, and endless lonely wandering of my past had been kept at bay. Life had been so peaceful that I forgot Dante was the male protagonist. The System added casually: “As the male lead, he has a destined female lead. That’s an unshakeable law. What are you even moping about, Host?” I stayed silent for a long time, forcing a stiff tug at the corner of my mouth. “Is that so? Well… that’s wonderful. The mission is finally over. Congratulations…” The System nodded repeatedly: “Yes! This task took way too long and completely derailed from the original script. Dante actually wanted to marry you! A male lead marrying an NPC, was he insane?” I didn’t reply. Lowering my head, I slowly uncurled my palm. A ring rested in my hand. Under the chandelier, the large solitaire diamond caught the light. Inside the band, our names were clearly engraved. That night, when Dante exposed my disguise yet again, he pinned me to the bed. Just as I was on the verge of passing out, a cool band slid down my ring finger, fitting perfectly. Dazed, I raised my hand, nearly blinded by the diamond. Before I could react, Dante pinned my hand down, kissing my forehead softly, his voice trembling: “Sierra… will you give me a chance to give you a home?” I was an orphan. I had never seen my parents. “Home” was a foreign word in my memory. I had doubted countless times if I even deserved one. My lips trembled as I stared at his moving lips until my vision blurred. Unfortunately, before Dante could hear my answer, the System forcibly pulled me out. [NPC emotional anomaly detected. Pulling Host out in 3, 2, 1…] 03 Applause broke my thoughts. On stage, Dante was guiding Serena up, his hand resting lightly against her waist in a familiar, gentle posture. Serena offered him a sweet smile. Infected by her smile, Dante let the corners of his lips curve up slightly, a soft layer of warmth surfacing in his dark eyes. One cold, one radiant, matching seamlessly. Truly a match made in heaven. My mind went blank. Suddenly, Serena turned her head, her gaze landing directly on me. She paused, hooked her finger playfully through Dante’s cuff, and raised her eyebrows at me. Dante took the microphone, his voice crisp and steady through the speakers: “I am Dante, and this is my fiancée, Serena. Seven years ago, when I had nothing, Serena stayed by my side without hesitation. She even injured her arm saving me, leaving a scar on her wrist that hasn’t faded.” Injured her arm saving Dante… I lowered my eyes, pulling my sleeve down firmly to hide the long scar on my wrist. Seven years ago, I was working a summer job at a barbecue place. When the System found me, my delivery time was about to expire, and I was riding my scooter at breakneck speed. Seeing me unbothered, the System said: “Don’t you want to save Spud?” I froze. Spud was a stray cat I adopted when I was ten. People in the alley joked that we were an orphaned kid and an orphaned stray. But I refused that label. My cat wasn’t an orphan. I knew that to Spud, I was his entire world. Even when illness left him too weak to eat, he dragged out his last breath, refusing to close his eyes because cats know humans fear loneliness. The System enticed me: it would cure Spud’s terminal illness if I went to a newly adult teenager named Dante, the world’s male lead who had veered off course, filled with dark resentment and suicidal thoughts, causing the storyline to collapse. My task was simply to keep him alive. So, when Dante held a razor against his wrist seven years ago, I crashed down from the sky right in front of him, completely derailing his self-destruction. Seven years later, that long scar on my wrist throbbed with a faint, phantom pain. I sighed softly, rubbing it with cold fingers to ease the ache, but it was useless. 04 The System whispered: “Sorry, Host. I took the things that happened between you and the male lead and assigned them to the female lead instead.” I didn’t look up, forcing my tone to sound casual: “It’s fine. They’re the ones meant to be together anyway…” The System praised me: “Exactly! They’re a match made in heaven.” On stage, Dante spoke while gazing down at Serena, his eyes dark and calm. Suddenly, he paused mid-sentence. Time ticked by until someone whispered below: “The ring… the ring…” Dante snapped back to reality. Hesitating, he opened a velvet box. Inside lay a ring. A massive diamond solitaire, engraved with letters inside the band. It was identical to the ring sitting in my palm. My breath hitched. I squeezed the ring in my hand tightly, the diamond’s sharp edge digging into my flesh, pain radiating straight to my heart. Stupid Dante. Such a wealthy CEO, and he couldn’t even buy a different ring for his proposal. Cheap jerk. I blinked hard. The System noticed: “Host, are you… crying?” I shook my head violently: “No, just got dust in my eye. Why would I cry? Don’t be ridiculous…” The System sighed: “Alright.” “System.” “Yes, Host?” “Why doesn’t this cake taste sweet at all?” “What did you say?” I shook my head, chewing the cake forcefully. A few seconds later, heavy tears dripped onto the back of my hand. I scrambled to pull tissues from my bag, my hands shaking so violently I couldn’t pull one out. Someone nearby stared. I kept my head down. What are you looking at? Never seen a leaky faucet before? 05 Prompted by the crowd, Dante pinched the ring. Serena raised her hand, a soft blush dusting her cheeks. Just as the ring was about to slide onto her finger, Dante’s eyelashes fluttered. The ring slipped from his fingers with a metallic clink, bouncing across the marble floor and rolling out of sight. Everyone froze. Dante cleared his throat, sounding apologetic: “Sorry, my hands slipped because I was nervous. Could everyone help me look for it?” The guests bent down to scan the marble floor. Serena stepped forward to comfort him: “It’s okay, Dante, we’ll find it.” Dante stood motionless, his calm gaze searching the room, his fists clenched tightly at his side. The System whispered in my ear: “Host, let’s leave.” I bit my lip, taking one last look at Dante. “Okay.” As I stepped out the doors, the ballroom erupted in noise again. Looks like they found the ring. People were chanting for them to kiss. I paused, tempted to turn back, but the System interrupted: “Host, the mission is complete. I’m leaving now. By the way, Spud’s illness is fully cured. You’ll see him when you get home.” Knowing Spud was healthy and waiting for me cheered me up a bit. I didn’t turn back. “Okay. Thank you.”

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1 Five years ago, when I was an Ivy League scholarship recipient with a bright future, my life utterly collapsed at the age of eighteen. My adoptive sister, Jenny, suddenly developed a bizarre illness: merely touching me – Anna Grey – would trigger terrifying symptoms like festering eyes, bleeding eardrums, and even suffocation. My parents and brother, convinced I carried a unique pathogen causing Jenny’s suffering, sent me to a sterile training camp nestled deep in the mountains. That dark, sunless place became my supposed “atonement.” Meanwhile, Jenny, who scored a mere 200 on her SATs, used my acceptance letter, transforming herself into a popular freshman sensation on campus. Family visits, initially once a month, gradually dwindled to once a year, until I was completely forgotten in the depths of the mountains. It wasn’t until five years later, when Jenny finally announced her allergy was gone, that they remembered I even existed. The day they came to pick me up, my brother subconsciously frowned, and I, like a startled rabbit, knelt down, my face contorted in terror. Tears streamed down uncontrollably. I choked out a trembling plea: “Master, your puppy is clean now, not dirty. Please, Master, take your puppy.” … My brother recoiled a step, inspecting me with a look of disgust: “Alright, enough of the act.” “What, do I need to beg you to come home?” I flinched, not daring to look up. The camp warden immediately sidled over. One hand supported my arm, the other fiercely pinched me behind my back. I trembled with pain but dared not cry out. The warden helped me, dressed in an ill-fitting gown, up from the ground, saying obsequiously to my brother: “Miss Grey is just overwhelmed with joy! Five years without seeing her family, she’s a bit over-excited!” “Mr. Grey, please don’t be offended!” “Miss Grey, please go home with your family.” She leaned close to me, her voice hushed so only I could hear: “Don’t forget all those photos and videos are still in my possession. Remember what you can and cannot say!” My blood ran cold. The nauseating smells, the clammy hands… Filthy memories washed over me like a tide. I leaned on the warden’s strength to stand, not daring to look at anyone. My father impatiently glanced at me: “Five years, and not an ounce of improvement!” “So uncouth, not a patch on Jenny!” My mother walked over and took my hand. I greedily savored that touch of warmth, my eyes stinging. The next second, my mother froze. She gasped, clutching my withered, stick-like wrist: “I send you five hundred dollars a month for food, how can you be so thin?” “Anna, you’re not deliberately starving yourself to gain sympathy, are you?” I opened my mouth, wanting to explain. To tell her that less than fifty dollars a month was spent on me, that the camp food was all rotten. And I only got four hours of sleep a day, the rest of the time spent in training. Training how to be obedient, how to kneel, how to live like a dog. But as I opened my mouth, my father began to rush us: “Alright, alright, let’s go.” “Jenny’s still waiting alone at home.” I dragged my stiff legs, following them. At the door, I couldn’t resist looking back at the place that had imprisoned me for five years. Then I turned back, gazing greedily at the world outside the car window. People were laughing, birds were flying freely. My eyes welled up. My brother scoffed, glancing at me: “Worthless.” I shrank my neck, not daring to look again. The car stopped outside the house I remembered. My mother pushed open the door, her voice laced with laughter: “Jenny, look who’s back!” I stood at the doorway, my heart pounding. My sister, the sister I hadn’t seen in five years. I pursed my lips, trying hard to force a smile. But just as my lips curved upward, a bucket of water poured over my head. The icy water streamed into my nose and mouth. I choked, coughing violently, soaked to the bone, my hair clinging to my face in wet strands. The stinging smell of disinfectant made me want to vomit. I stood frozen, water dripping from my chin. 2 Jenny hid behind Mom and Dad and my brother, her voice soft and full of grievance: “I was just worried Anna might have germs. What if I get an allergic reaction again?” “Anna wouldn’t be mad, would she?” Mom tenderly pulled her into a hug, patting her back soothingly: “Don’t worry, sweetie, Anna would never blame you.” My brother sighed, his voice full of aching concern: “Jenny, we know how much you’ve suffered, we all understand.” I stood there, drenched, a blank stare on my face. Not daring to move, not even daring to breathe loudly. I just kept mumbling, my lips trembling, “I’m sorry! Don’t hit me! I’m sorry! Don’t hit me!” My brother froze for a second, then leaned closer to listen. The next moment, he was stunned. Shock and heartache flashed across his face. Jenny bit her lip fiercely, but quickly reverted to a wronged expression. She peeked out from Mom’s embrace: “Is Anna mad? Is she upset I didn’t come to pick her up earlier?” “Don’t be mad at me, okay? I prepared a surprise for you!” She pointed to the living room, where the dining table was laden with an abundant spread. Mom lovingly stroked her head: “Jenny is so thoughtful, Anna. You should thank your sister.” Dad disgustedly glanced at me: “Alright, stop putting on a show.” “Who in the camp doesn’t know you’re the second Miss Grey? With your status, who’d dare bully you?” He walked into the room, throwing a last remark: “Get up already, stop making a spectacle of yourself at the door.” Mom, holding Jenny, also turned and left. My brother stood there, looked at me, but said nothing. I curled up on the ground, trembling uncontrollably. They would never know what kind of life I lived in that training camp. Live rats were placed on a plate and brought before me. They squeaked and scurried around the plate, their gray-black tails tangled together. At the warden’s command, I had to stuff them into my mouth. Various insects crawled in my bowl. I threw up, then had to continue eating. Any disobedience resulted in a brutal beating. Electric prods sizzled against my body, causing excruciating pain that made my organs bleed. I was thrown into a water cell, immersed for three days and three nights. My wounds turned white and festered, making me forget who I was. I used to be an Ivy League scholarship recipient. At sixteen, my paper won first prize nationally. My teacher patted my shoulder and said: “Anna, you’re a genius; you’ll surely achieve great things someday.” And now I had been trained into a good dog that obeyed commands. I slowly got up, wiping my face hard. I shuffled my feet, walking towards a home where there was no longer a place for me. 3 By the time I came to my senses, I was already sitting at the dining table. Plates of food, exquisitely presented, were laid before me. Jenny sat beside me, smiling sweetly. She extended her hand towards me, wiggling her fingers: “Anna, look, I specially made all these dishes for you.” “My hands are all hurt, it’s so painful.” With that, she giggled and leaned into Mom’s embrace. Mom tenderly cradled her hand, gently blowing on the almost invisible scratches: “Poor baby, you worked so hard. Mom knows you care about Anna the most.” I looked at the table laden with an elaborate seafood boil. I was allergic to every single item. I remembered when I was little, I accidentally ate shrimp once. My throat swelled up, making it hard to breathe, and I nearly didn’t make it through resuscitation. After that, the family never bought seafood again. My brother looked at my dazed face and spoke: “What are you staring at? Eat up, the food will get cold.” Seeing no reaction from me, my brother frowned again and impatiently shouted: “Anna Grey!” I jumped, instantly reflexively standing up: “Yes, sir!” Then, I frantically grabbed a shrimp and stuffed it into my mouth. The shell wasn’t peeled, hard and scratching my throat, but I couldn’t care less. I grabbed another piece of calamari, stuffing it in. Then another crab leg, shoving the whole thing into my mouth. The shell cut the corner of my mouth; blood flowed out, mixing with the food as I swallowed. My brother stood frozen. My mother’s voice also trembled slightly: “Anna, please don’t…” But I couldn’t hear. I only knew I had to eat it all, had to be obedient. Couldn’t leave anything. Couldn’t make them angry. Soon, my throat began to itch, and my skin started to burn. Red rashes broke out all over my body and face. I continued to stuff food into my mouth with one hand, while scratching myself with the other. My fingernails scraped across my skin, leaving trails of blood. My brother’s face was grim; he reached out, wanting to stop me. But when I saw his hand, I was so frightened I immediately knelt on the floor. I raised my hand and slapped myself hard: “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” “I’ll be good! I’ll eat it all! I’ll eat every bit!” I didn’t know what I was saying, only that I had to apologize, had to admit fault. I crawled towards my brother on my knees, my trembling hands reaching to undo my buttons. Exposing my skeletal chest. I grabbed his hand, trying to press it against my chest: “Master, it’s all yours, please don’t hit me anymore!” My brother froze, his face ashen. He tried to pull his hand away, but I gripped it tightly: “Anna Grey, are you crazy? What are you doing!” The next second, a resounding slap struck my face. My head snapped to the side, my cheek burning. Jenny’s eyes were red-rimmed, large tears streaming down: “Anna Grey, have you put on enough of a show?” “Do you just have to act pitiful? Have to make everyone feel sorry for you?” “I was the one who got hurt, I was almost killed by you! Don’t you know that?!” She cried, gasping for breath, pointing her finger at me: “I finally recovered, and you come back and pretend to be crazy to gain sympathy! Are you trying to drive me to my death?” Mom rushed over and hugged her, crying tears of pain: “Don’t cry, Jenny, Mom’s here, no one can bully you.” Dad coldly glanced at me: “You’ve been acting up since you walked in. Are you not content until you’ve turned this house upside down?” “I knew we shouldn’t have brought you back!” I knelt on the floor, my clothes open, my face covered in blood. Just then, the front door was pushed open. A tall figure stood silhouetted against the light in the doorway, holding a large bouquet of white lilies. His voice was laced with a gentle laugh, as soft as a spring breeze: “Anna, I heard you were back. I wanted to come see…” His smile froze. I looked up, meeting his eyes. In that instant, all color drained from my face. 4 My former fiancé, Arthur Miller, stood gravely at the door. The bouquet dropped to the floor, and he took a few steps forward, reaching out to help me up. “Anna, what happened to you…” Jenny, like a butterfly, flung herself into his arms, intimately looping her arm through Arthur Miller’s: “Arthur, you’re here!” She looked back at me, her eyes hiding daggers: “Anna, you might not remember, but this is Arthur, you’ve met him before.” I forced a bitter smile. How could I forget a love so deeply ingrained in my bones? She held onto Arthur Miller, a beaming smile on her face: “Auntie said I’m an Ivy League graduate, and I’m the perfect match for Arthur. They’re arranging our engagement this year!” “You absolutely have to come, Anna!” Arthur Miller frowned, trying to pull her hand away: “What are you talking about? Engagement? I haven’t…” Jenny, seizing the moment, released his hand and feigned helping me up. I kept my head down, not daring to look at him. My brother’s contemptuous gaze swept over me, a cold sneer playing on his lips: “No wonder she’s acting crazy. It’s for this.” “How shameless.” I kept my head bowed, my fingernails digging into my palms. Jenny whispered softly in my ear: “Anna Grey, do you think your used-up body is worthy of Arthur?” “I’ve been by his side for these five years. You want to fight me for him? Do you even have the right?” “I have high-definition backups of all your videos, every frame crystal clear.” “I advise you to be sensible, and just be your useless self.” She patted my arm, her tone light: “Otherwise, I guarantee everyone will get to enjoy your pathetic show!” My tears finally fell. I thought I had finally escaped the hellish life of the past five years. But the devil still clung to me! Jenny let go of me, turning with a triumphant smile: “Arthur, Anna’s too tired. Let her go rest in her room for a bit!” I stood there, watching her joyful retreat. I suddenly raised my hand and ripped open my clothes. Buttons popped, fabric parted. On my emaciated chest, a dense scattering of scars. Cigarette burns, knife slashes, and charred marks left by electric prods. Patch after patch, horrifying to behold. I finally couldn’t hold back a wail: “Why are you doing this to me?” Everyone was stunned. I stared at Jenny, tears streaming down: “Jenny, do you hate me?” “You must hate me, right? Otherwise, why would you let others torture me like this?” I turned to Mom and Dad: “Am I not your child? Why do you only love Jenny and not me?” Mom’s lips trembled. “Brother, what did I do wrong to make you hate me so much?” My brother’s face changed; he took a step forward: “Anna, listen to me…” Dad slammed his hand on the table, pointing at me and yelling: “Look at you! What a spectacle!” “Are you blaming us? What have we ever done to you?” Tears still streaked my face, but I smiled. I retreated step by step, backing towards the window. The window was wide open, blowing my hair. Arthur Miller’s face was ashen: “Anna! Don’t move!” Mom’s legs gave out; she fell to her knees, crying and shouting: “Anna, Mom’s begging you, come down!” “Mom was wrong! Don’t be impulsive, let’s talk this through!” Dad stood still, sneering: “Nobody stop her! Let’s see how far she’ll take this act?” “She won’t jump! If she dared, she wouldn’t have waited until today!” Before his words finished, I leaped. The wind violently rushed upwards, my ears filled with its roar.

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1 My husband had a face carved by angels, drawing eyes everywhere he went. The first time it happened was on the subway. A cute girl with big, dewy eyes asked for his number. He didn’t even look up. The second time was at the beach. A stunning woman in a bikini approached him. He turned on his heel and walked away. The third time, the fourth time… every attempt was met with cold, unyielding rejection. I couldn’t help complaining to my best friend that he was a total stiff, though deep down, my heart was practically singing. Hazel just snorted. “He’s acting. No man turns down free food. Don’t believe me? Try texting him from an alt account.” For three whole days, my friend request sat there unanswered. Just as I was secretly gloating, the request was accepted. I typed out a message: “Hey handsome, I really like you.” He replied with a single sentence: “Stay away. I’m married.” I burst out laughing, screenshotted the reply, and sent it to Hazel, telling her she owed me my autumn iced boba tea. The very next second, he sent a photo. Along with a caption: “See this? This is my wife. Beautiful, right? Stop harassing me, she’ll get upset if she sees this.” The smile froze on my lips. In the photo, the woman snuggled intimately against his shoulder was painfully familiar. It was my best friend, Hazel. A wave of nausea hit me as I realized I had spent the last eight years living as an absolute fool. The dream was over. It was time to wake up. … Ralph finished ordering food. Seeing me staring blankly at my phone, he reached out with a warm smile to pat my head. “What’s wrong, babe? Starving to death?” I subtly leaned back, dodging his hand. My chest felt hollow and heavy. His hand froze in mid-air, a frown tugging at his brows as he opened his mouth to ask what was wrong. Right on cue, Hazel burst through the restaurant doors. She dropped into the seat beside me, holding two iced boba drinks, and pushed one toward me. It was my favorite Mango Sago. “Here, your autumn boba tea. A bet’s a bet.” Ralph shot her a contemptuous look. “Just one drink? How cheap can you get? What did you even bet my girl?” Hazel rolled her eyes. “Mind your own business! If you’re so generous, why don’t you pay for this hot pot?” Usually, whenever they started bickering like this, I would laugh and play mediator. This time, I stayed dead silent. I poked the straw through the seal and took a deep gulp. It tasted bitter, without a single trace of sweetness. The two of them exchanged a strange look, sensing something off, though neither could put a finger on it. Hazel took a sip of her Peach Oolong tea, wrinkled her nose, and pushed it aside in disgust. “Gross. Tastes terrible.” Ralph gave her a look of utter disdain. “If it’s terrible, why push it over here? Who wants your spit?” Hazel nearly rolled her eyes to the back of her head. “I was asking you to throw it in the trash, your majesty!” Ralph grumbled under his breath about her bossing him around, but his hand reached out anyway. He grabbed the cup, put his lips directly over the straw she had just used, and took a long sip. Then, he frowned. “Yeah, it really is gross.” My eyes locked onto that straw. The red lipstick smudge was wet with saliva, smeared heavily around the tip. A sharp, stinging pain throbbed in my chest. When we first started dating, Ralph told me he was a severe germaphobe. Even during the peak of our honeymoon phase, he never ate off my plate or drank from my glass. When we kissed, he would carefully wipe the lipstick off my lips with a wet tissue first, keeping the touch brief and gentle. Yet just now, he didn’t mind Hazel’s saliva at all. The server brought out the dishes. Ralph kept scooping cooked meat into my bowl until it piled up like a small mountain. Hazel moved fast, reaching her chopsticks across the table to grab the last piece of shrimp paste. Her grip slipped. The shrimp paste plummeted back into the pot, sending a wave of scalding hot broth splashing across the table. I flinched, squeezing my eyes shut as intense burning heat seared the skin of my forearm. When I opened my eyes, Ralph was half-standing. He had grabbed Hazel’s wrist, pulling her firmly behind his body to shield her. “Do you have a brain?” he roared at her, his voice laced with explosive anger and raw, unfiltered worry. “How many times have I told you to use the slotted spoon?” Hazel felt guilty, but her pride kept her from backing down. She shoved his hand away. “Why are you screaming at me? It didn’t even splash on you! Stop acting so delicate!” “I was afraid it would splash on my girl!” Hearing those words, I pulled a napkin from the dispenser and quietly wiped the spicy oil off my skin. My hand trembled slightly, knocking my chopsticks off the table. I bent down to pick them up. Underneath the tablecloth, I saw Ralph’s leg pressed tightly against Hazel’s calf. Hazel had slipped off her high heels. Her bare ankle was wrapped around his leg like a creeping vine. Above the table, they were still arguing, neither willing to yield an inch. “Can you stop kicking the table? You knocked my girl’s chopsticks onto the floor!” “Which eye saw me kick it? Your hands were shaking, stop blaming me for everything!” I straightened my back and slammed the dirty chopsticks onto the wooden table with a heavy thud. “I’ll get a fresh pair.” Turning on my heel, I walked toward the service counter. The moment I turned the corner into the hallway, my knees buckled, and I slumped heavily against the wall. Memories from the past eight years flashed through my mind like a horror movie. All those fierce, constant arguments between them. All the hidden glances and secret touches buried in the dark. I finally understood it all. I just didn’t know how far they had actually gone. Pulling myself together, I walked back to the table, pretending nothing had happened. After paying the bill, Ralph stepped outside to answer a phone call. When he returned, he told me he had to go back to the office for urgent overtime. “Babe, I called a cab for you. Text me the moment you get home, okay?” He pressed a gentle kiss onto my forehead. Hazel waved her hand dramatically. “Alright, alright, spare me the public display of affection.” She shot Ralph a quick look. “Actually, drop me off at the shopping mall on your way.” Ralph acted annoyed, but he still opened the passenger door for her. The two cars pulled out one after the other. As my cab approached the main intersection, I spoke up quietly to the driver. “Follow that Mercedes.” The driver’s eyes lit up with instant curiosity. Sure enough, the Mercedes didn’t head toward the mall, nor did it head toward his office building. Instead, it drove straight into a residential neighborhood I knew all too well. It pulled into the parking lot right beneath Hazel’s building. I sat in the back of the cab, rolling down the window. A few minutes later, the lights on the eighth floor flickered on. The living room curtains weren’t drawn. Two silhouettes were wrapped around each other, tangled in a passionate, desperate embrace. I pushed the car door open and walked upstairs. Standing outside Hazel’s apartment, I pushed lightly against the door. It wasn’t even locked. The air inside was thick with heavy, suffocating intimacy. I reached out and flipped the main light switch in the living room. A sharp scream cut through the apartment. Ralph bolted off the sofa, his eyes wildly searching the entryway. The moment his eyes met mine, his flushed face turned deadly pale. “Babe… what are you doing here?” Hazel frantically pushed Ralph away, scrambling to straighten her clothes. I walked over to a dining chair opposite the couch and sat down calmly. My gaze drifted between the two of them, finally settling on Hazel. “When did it start?” Hazel raised her hands, stammering frantically. “Sierra, it’s not what you think. We were just…” “When did it start!” I cut her off, my voice sharp as a blade. Ralph took a step toward me. “Babe, let me explain.” “I am asking her!” My eyes locked onto Hazel with cold fury. Hazel’s eyes welled with tears. After a agonizing pause, she whispered, “Three… three years ago.” Three years ago? That was right after Ralph and I got married. Hazel had gone through a horrific breakup back then, crying herself to sleep every single night. I took her out for fresh air, took her shopping, took her on vacations. I bought her designer clothes, bags, and makeup. Ralph had even pretended to be jealous back then, complaining that I spent more time comforting my best friend than being with my new husband. It turned out they were already sleeping together back then. “Hazel, how could you do this to me?” I asked quietly. She slid off the couch, crawling toward me on her knees to grab my hand. I pulled away instantly. “Sierra, I’m so sorry! I’m so sorry! I didn’t want to ruin your marriage. I was just… I was in so much pain.” I looked at her with pure ice in my eyes. “You were in pain, so you decided to destroy my life?” Hazel knelt on the floor, weeping hysterically. Ralph couldn’t watch it anymore. “Enough, Sierra! Stop it! Hazel has severe clinical depression! She tried to kill herself multiple times! Stop backing her into a corner!” I shifted my eyes to him. “I’m backing her into a corner? You two are pushing me into an abyss!” I pulled out my phone, unlocked it, and pulled up the chat screen. “Ralph, she has depression. What’s your excuse? Why did you send this photo from your alt account calling her your wife? What did you mean by that?” His pupils dilated instantly. He snatched the phone from my hand, scanning the screen over and over. “This… this account was you?! You used a fake account to test me?! You don’t trust me at all?” “Trust?” I let out a bitter laugh, pointing at his disheveled shirt and messy hair. “This is what my trust got me.” Choking on his words, he stood there speechless for a long moment before raspy words escaped his throat. “Babe, what’s between Hazel and me isn’t what you think. Give me some time. Once her mental health improves, I’ll cut all ties with her. I swear!” He raised his right hand. “The only person I have ever loved is you.” I never knew vows could sound so utterly revolting. “Ralph, let’s get a divorce.” Saying those words out loud still made my heart ache with a fierce, tearing pain. Ralph lunged forward, wrapping his arms around me with crushing force. “No! I don’t agree! You’re angry right now, you’re not thinking clearly. Let’s sit down and talk this through, please!” I shook my head, using every ounce of strength left in my body to push him away. “I have never been clearer in my entire life. Think it over. Don’t make me wait too long.” Without giving Hazel a single glance, I walked out the door. I walked endlessly down the street until the streetlights grew sparse and the night grew pitch black. Only then did I allow my tears to fall. Ripping out eight years of deep love from your heart was never going to be easy. Suddenly, crude voices echoed from behind me. “Hey sweetheart, why is a pretty girl walking alone crying in the middle of the night?” I turned around. Three men stepped out from the shadows of an alleyway. Cigarettes dangled from their lips, smelling of cheap liquor and stale smoke. I looked around. There wasn’t a street sign or a soul in sight. Panic surged in my chest. One of the men stepped close, his greasy eyes scanning my body greedily. “Got dumped? Why don’t you let us take real good care of you?” A rough, calloused hand reached out to grab my shoulder. I lifted my leg with all my strength, kicking hard into his groin. He let out a muffled curse and swung his palm flat against the side of my face. A loud crack echoed, and my ears began ringing violently. Everything went white. In the middle of the chaos, a familiar figure charged out of the dark. Ralph ripped the man off me, throwing a heavy fist straight into his face. He knocked the other two to the ground in a frantic brawl. Realizing they were outmatched, the three men cursed loudly and scrambled away into the night. “You’re safe now, babe! I’m here, don’t be scared!” He wrapped his heavy jacket tightly around my trembling shoulders. I lifted my head, looking at the familiar face in front of me. The heart that had just died felt a tiny spark of life trying to ignite again. “Take me home,” I whispered. “Okay!” He held me tight, resting his chin on top of my head. Suddenly, his phone buzzed loudly in his pocket. The name “Hazel” flashed across the screen. He hesitated for a brief second before hitting answer. “Ralph… where are you? It hurts so much… I can’t remember how many pills I took…” When he hung up, a deeply conflicted expression covered his face. I pulled myself out of his arms, feeling the last ember in my heart freeze into solid ice. “Babe, I called emergency services, the police will be here soon. Hazel’s having a crisis, I need to…” “Just go,” I interrupted him, handing his jacket back. A few minutes later, his rushed footsteps faded into the distance. I pulled out my phone and typed a message to my senior manager, Gwen. “I accept the overseas transfer to the London office. As soon as possible.” Gwen called me back instantly. “Sierra, didn’t you tell me last week that you and Ralph were trying for a baby? Why the sudden transfer?” My heart was filled with bitter sorrow, unable to explain the mess. “Not anymore. We’re getting a divorce. I only have one condition, I’m bringing my mother with me.” Silence blanketed the line for a moment before Gwen spoke again. “If you’ve made up your mind, the company fully supports you. You can fly out tomorrow!” After hanging up, the police arrived. After taking my statement, they safely escorted me back home. The moment the front door locked behind me, I collapsed onto the couch. The apartment was cold and quiet. My chest felt utterly hollow. I picked up my phone to check the time, but my fingers compulsively opened my alt account to check Ralph’s social media feed. The moment I opened it, my throat felt constricted, making it hard to breathe. The feed I usually saw on my main account was boring and work-focused. Aside from a few company updates, there was never a single trace of me. Whenever I playfully asked him to post photos of us, he always said he disliked exposing his private life to the public. He said he didn’t want other men lusting over his beautiful wife. Back then, I thought it was sweet. Now, looking through the alt account, I saw a completely different reality. Every single post was filled with photo grids, packed with intimate photos of him and Hazel. One post stood out sharply. It was dated May 20th of this year, our third wedding anniversary. I had booked a high-end restaurant a week in advance. That morning, I texted him: “Leave work early tonight, I’ll be waiting for you at the restaurant.” He replied: “Sure thing, babe.” Followed by a string of kissing emojis. I sat at the restaurant table as the server poured cup after cup of water, but he never showed up. At ten that night, he sent a text: “The new product launch is hitting a glitch, everyone has to stay late at the office. Don’t wait up for me, babe!” I ordered a single dinner set, brought home his favorite spicy poached fish, and waited. When he arrived home past midnight, his exhausted eyes lit up seeing the fish on the dining table. “Thank you, babe!” Yet on that exact same night, his alt feed showed two movie tickets. It was for a romantic film I had been dying to see for months. And the tickets were for love seats. My fingers trembled as I scrolled down. Valentine’s Day, my birthday, his birthday… Every single milestone was spent with Hazel. I closed the app and closed my eyes. The apartment was silent, save for the ticking of the clock. I didn’t want to know how many more lies were buried beneath the surface. This marriage was beyond saving. I picked up my phone again and sent a text to Attorney Ross. “Please draft a divorce agreement for me.” Sent. I began packing my things. Three years of marriage, eight years of love, couldn’t even fill a single twenty-eight-inch suitcase. When I woke up the next morning, I reached out out of habit to touch the other side of the bed. It was cold and empty. Ralph hadn’t come home all night. I wheeled my suitcase to the entryway to change my shoes. The front door swung open. Ralph stepped inside, holding a paper bag containing fresh soy milk and pan-fried beef buns. They were from my favorite breakfast spot, the one that always had a line wrapped around the block. He froze seeing my suitcase. “You’re leaving for a business trip this early? Why didn’t you tell me? I could have driven you.” I ignored him, pulling my sneakers on. He rushed forward, pulling me into a tight, apologetic hug. “Babe, don’t be mad anymore. Eat breakfast first, or your stomach is going to hurt again.” He held out the bag. I didn’t reach for it. His hand hovered awkwardly in the air as he explained helplessly, “Hazel took too many pills last night. I had to rush her to the hospital to get her stomach pumped. Once she gets better, I promise…” “I’m leaving,” I cut him off, unwilling to hear another word. I stepped out the door and pressed the elevator call button. He chased after me. “Babe, don’t make an impulsive decision! I’ll wait for you to come back!” The elevator doors slid shut. I let out a cold laugh in the privacy of the metal box. No. I was never coming back. The transfer paperwork went smoothly. After saying goodbye to my colleagues, I walked out of the office building and headed straight to my mother’s apartment complex. Just as my mother and I stepped out of her building, a crowd of angry people suddenly rushed out from the shadows, surrounding us tightly. My mother stumbled back in fear, nearly falling over. I quickly held her steady and shouted, “What are you doing? Move out of the way!” A girl wearing glasses shoved her phone right into my face, her voice dripping with righteous fury. “Everyone look! This is the disgusting mistress who stole her best friend’s husband!” She grew more animated, pointing the camera straight at my mother’s face. “And this is her mother! Anyone who raises such a shameless daughter must have been a homewrecker herself!” Fury exploded in my chest. I reached out and slapped the phone out of her hand, sending it crashing onto the pavement. She froze for a second before lunging forward, shoving me violently. “You dare lay a hand on me? You stole someone’s husband and pushed the real wife into the ER, how do you even have the nerve to be alive?” I was completely bewildered. “I am not a mistress! You have the wrong person!” “Not a mistress?” Another woman shoved a phone screen against my eyes. “Open your eyes and look closely!” I caught a glimpse of a viral online post. The headline read: [VIRAL DRAMA! Taxi driver witnesses cheating confrontation! This mistress is out of her mind!] The post, written from the driver’s perspective, detailed how he drove the “original wife” to catch the husband in the act. It claimed the mistress was so arrogant that she humiliated the wife, pushing her into severe shock and landing her in the ER. Attached were two photos. The first showed three people arguing heatedly. The second showed a woman being wheeled into the emergency room while a man hovered beside her anxiously. In the photos, Hazel’s and Ralph’s faces were heavily blurred. My face, however, was in crystal-clear focus. “You have the wrong person!” I yelled at the crowd, holding up my ID. “I am the wife in that post! I have a marriage certificate to prove it!” “Still lying?” A heavy-set woman barked. “Why would the mistress be blurred while the wife’s face is shown? Who knows if your marriage certificate is fake?” I tried to explain, but my voice was completely drowned out by the roaring mob. Suddenly, a plastic water bottle flew through the air, striking me hard across the forehead. I touched my forehead. My hand came away covered in warm blood. My mother threw her body over mine, crying out desperately, “Stop hitting her! Please! My daughter is innocent! You have the wrong person!” The crowd ignored her cries, pushing closer and closer. Suddenly, my mother clutched her chest, gasping violently for air. “Mom! Mom, what’s wrong?!” Finally, building security guards forced their way through the crowd. “Disperse! Clear out!” I grabbed a guard’s arm like a lifeline, sobbing hysterically. “Call an ambulance! Quick! My mother has a heart condition!” By the time Ralph arrived outside the resuscitation room, I was still sitting on the cold floor in shock. “Babe! I thought you went on a business trip? How did this happen? Who hurt you?” I lifted my head, looking at him through a blur of tears. “It was that online post! A mob attacked us! My mother is inside being resuscitated right now! Hazel was the one who posted it!” Ralph frowned, his grip on my hand slowly loosening. “Hazel couldn’t have posted it. She’s been in the hospital since last night.” “So what?” My eyes widened in disbelief. “You believe her over me? You think I made it up?” He didn’t answer, but his silence said everything. I wiped my tears and turned my back on him. “Get out. I don’t need you here.” He stayed crouched beside me, his voice carrying a desperate plea. “Sierra, things have spiraled out of control. The priority right now is to calm the internet storm down!” “How?” I asked coldly. “Go apologize to Hazel.” “What did you just say?!” I couldn’t believe my ears. His face flushed with impatience. “Just apologize publicly and clarify that the post is fake! Once the netizens lose interest, they’ll disperse. It’s for your own good, and for your mother’s good!” I let out a bitter laugh. “You’re doing this for Hazel!” Exposed, Ralph snapped. “Sierra, I’m doing this for you! If this scandal keeps growing, do you think your mother can handle it? She’s still in critical condition!” My head slowly dropped. He was right about one thing. My mother was hanging by a thread. She couldn’t take any more shock. Like a hollow shell stripped of its soul, I let Ralph lead me to Hazel’s hospital room. Ignoring the whispers from onlookers, I bowed my head toward the bed. “I am sorry. My handling of the situation caused you harm.” Hazel’s eyes turned red, and she reached out to grab my hand. I took a step back, looking at the man beside me. “Are you satisfied now?” He nodded. I turned and walked away. The moment I reached the emergency doors, a nurse ran out, her voice frantic. “Where were you? The patient went into sudden cardiac arrest! We spent forty minutes on CPR, but she just passed away.” My legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the floor, crawling desperately toward my mother’s body. “Mom! Don’t leave me alone! Please, I’m begging you!” I screamed until my voice blew out, but no response ever came. There was nothing left in this city for me. Two hours later, holding the urn containing my mother’s ashes, I boarded a flight to London. Before boarding, my phone chimed with a notification. [Dear customer, your delivered package containing the divorce agreement has been signed.] I blocked both of their numbers and walked through the terminal gate without looking back once. When the plane touched down, my screen lit up with ninety-nine missed calls.

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1 The blood pact I signed seven years ago finally expired today. Wilson Wilder and I would soon become complete strangers. She was probably still recalling my past fits of rage when I caught her cheating—smashing things, screaming, raising hell. But she didn’t know, everything was different now. When I suddenly came home, I walked in on Wilson Wilder having sex with another man in my car. This time, she made no attempt to hide it. Instead, she rolled down the window, leaned out, and gently covered the man behind her with a wool blanket. From the back seat, I heard the rustle of clothes. She shielded the man even more carefully, then turned back to whisper, “Don’t be scared.” Then she looked at me, a flicker of unease in her eyes, and asked, “Weren’t you supposed to be at your MBA class today? Why the sudden return?” … I yanked open the car door. The back seat was a mess: ripped black stockings, used condoms. A wave of nausea hit me. I gagged uncontrollably. “Why bring someone into this car?” Wilson Wilder calmly buttoned her shirt. She glanced at my car. “It was the most convenient place. Didn’t think much of it.” “Couldn’t exactly bring him home, could I, darling?” The man in the car scrambled out, stumbling pitifully in front of me. “Mr. Wilder, I’m so sorry, I couldn’t control myself…” I stood there, arms crossed, unmoving. “Get out.” I wouldn’t lift a finger for her anymore. But that didn’t mean I’d be kind to the man who’d slept with my wife. Even if she wouldn’t be for much longer. As he ran off, I gave him a dismissive glance. Early twenties, clean-cut college kid. Her type. Clean background, simple life, high achiever. Everything I wasn’t. Which one was this? I stopped counting years ago. I called my butler: “To the garage. Smash the car.” Old Thomas smashed it with restraint. His hammer, wrapped in suede, landed with a dull thud, like bone breaking within flesh. Then came the sharp crack of shattering glass. Wilson Wilder got out of the car, pulled me into her embrace, and gently ruffled my hair. Like soothing an agitated cat. I pulled away, leaned against the wall, and lit a cigarette. Didn’t smoke it. In the flickering light of the cigarette, the obsidian Bentley became a heap of scrap. She followed me inside. Her hand circled my waist. “Julian, don’t be mad. I’ll get you a new car?” “My husband didn’t hit anyone. That’s progress.” She pinched my cheek, a hint of surprise in her tone. “Just play nice, and no one can threaten your position.” “It’s your birthday today. Seven years you’ve been with me in Kingsport.” She magically produced a gift box. Hermès, rare leather. I wasn’t surprised. Inside the bag, however, lay a “Python” revolver. Out of instinct, I released the cylinder, pulled back the hammer, and checked the chamber. Empty. I paused, bringing the gun to my nose. No gun oil smell, just an industrial scent. Fake. I tossed the gun back into the bag, my eyes hardening completely. She lay back on the sofa, hands behind her head. “It’s just a toy, a memento of your past. Be good from now on, no more playing with weapons.” Her tone was light. The glory my past had brought her, dismissed in a single breath. Seven years. My heart had long turned to ash. I pulled out the drafted divorce papers. “Wilson Wilder, sign it.” “From now on, we go our separate ways.” A fleeting, almost imperceptible panic crossed her eyes. Then she smiled, more relaxed. “Julian, we can’t be separated in this life. Have you forgotten?” “I shouldn’t have done it in your car. Don’t say things you don’t mean.” She hugged me from behind, her cheek rubbing my forehead. “I’ve got a birthday surprise for you. Let’s go out.” She tried to take my hand. I sidestepped, avoiding her touch. She seemed to have forgotten. Back then, she was just a small-time dealer. Wanting to start her own business, she refused my money, then turned around and stole goods from my sister’s rival. “Mad Dog” Hayes put out the word. One of her hands, and the debt would be clear. Or, the Wilder family could sign a blood pact. My sister refused. I bit my finger, pressing my blood print onto that pact. By gang rules, she and I could never be separated in this life. A pact that compromised the Wilder family’s reputation and dignity, binding her and me together. Until this morning, when Mad Dog Hayes dropped dead in a brothel. As I changed, I sent that text. “Sis, pick me up in Avalon in two days.” 2 To avoid complications, my sister and I agreed to keep everything as usual before I left. In the living room, Wilson Wilder took off the shirt still carrying the scent of another man. On her pale, slender body, the dark scar of a gunshot wound on her right shoulder. Like a cigarette burn on snow. My first year in Kingsport, my enemies from Avalon came seeking revenge. She took that bullet for me. When did the woman who’d risked her life for me begin to change? I couldn’t fathom it, and I no longer cared to try. Silently, I got into her car. My thoughts drifted back seven years. Hayes’s stronghold. Mad Dog Hayes put away the pact. “Gutsy. This matter is forgotten.” He smiled at my sister, revealing a mouth full of yellow teeth. “Your brother is bound to that lowlife who stole my goods for life. He’s not allowed back in Avalon, not allowed to touch a single cent of your Wilder family money.” “The streets are watching, see what kind of trash Eleanor Wilder’s only kin ended up with!” That year, the woman I loved to my core wept before me. She trembled all over, yet clutched my hand tightly. She swore I would never regret this decision. But now… “Darling, we’re here.” The car stopped at Kingsport Maternity Hospital. Outside the patient room, she whispered, “Be gracious in a moment.” I had already guessed nine tenths of it. But seeing the tiny pink bundle in the man’s arms, my heart still skipped a beat. Adam Schwarz. Her personal assistant. Long-term lover. “Julian, I didn’t want to have a child with another man either.” Her voice was very low. “You can’t have children. I don’t blame you. But I need an heir.” “The child will call you Dad too. When you’re old, he’ll be someone to rely on.” Adam Schwarz nodded, full of agreement. “Brother, Wilson has always wanted a child. You should let her have this.” Mr. Schwarz, Adam’s father, walked in to check on the baby. He was a renowned obstetrician. He held up a miniature Hermès horse toy, teasing the infant in a falsetto voice. Wilson Wilder and Adam Schwarz leaned in, heads together, laughing around their son. I laughed out loud. “Poor folks sure know how to make every penny count, treating designer accessories like treasure.” Adam Schwarz caught sight of the rare leather bag in my hand, and his face darkened. Mr. Schwarz, however, remained calm and composed. “Mr. Wilder, I know you were a gangster in Avalon. But this is Kingsport; please show some class.” I couldn’t be bothered with him. He thought I was tacitly accepting his paternalistic tone. “It’s understandable you’re ill-mannered, with both your parents gone.” Parents gone. A damp, rainy day. Wilson Wilder deliberately avoided my gaze, playing with her son’s chubby little hands. I raised my hand and slapped Mr. Schwarz across the face. As he shrieked, I displayed the diamond ring on my ring finger: “As long as I’m still married, your son is still the side piece. Your grandson will always be a bastard.” “You, the side piece’s dad, are not fit to speak of my parents.” Adam Schwarz wailed, clutching his father. Wilson Wilder symbolically pulled me towards the door. Words she had spoken six years ago surfaced. “Julian, you have no mother, no father; you only have me.” Barely a year into our marriage, she began cheating. I was inherently proud; I couldn’t swallow the humiliation. I was hysterical. But I had nowhere to go. With that sentence, she made me face reality. Now, it was uttered again from my “father-in-law’s” mouth. A gust of wind from behind. My scalp prickled with pain. Adam Schwarz rushed forward, grabbing my hair and yanking it back forcefully. He held me, shoving me violently towards the corner of the table. “Bang!” My hip slammed against the table’s edge, clenching my insides with pain. Wilson Wilder instinctively leaned forward, wanting to help me. But Adam Schwarz grabbed her arm, fiercely blocking her. “Don’t you dare go!” Wilson Wilder didn’t step forward. Good. I smiled to myself. Anyway, we were ending this. 3 I had a dream of falling endlessly. I dreamt of being nineteen. I told her that when I was fifteen, I took a knife for my sister from some enemies, the blade piercing my back. I lay in the hospital for half a year. When I got out, my studies were completely ruined, so I dropped out. She trembled as she kissed the snake-like scars on my body. She saved her meal money, running all over the city’s bookstores to pick out textbooks for me. In the dim yellow light of our rented room, she held me, teaching me word by word from books I no longer understood. She said I was hers. Inside and out, for life. I dreamt of being twenty-one, on her birthday. I learned from the elders back home, and personally made her a nourishing chicken and fish maw soup. Her office door wasn’t fully closed. Soft moans drifted out. I kicked the door open. Wilson Wilder was naked, her long hair swaying. Adam Schwarz was behind her. The chicken soup splattered over both of them. Wilson Wilder was unfazed, helping him wipe off the traces. “Work stress, darling. You understand.” I smashed the office to pieces. She didn’t even blink. But when I picked up a glass shard and walked towards Adam Schwarz. She shielded him. “Anything, come at me. Adam and those other men are different.” Young and hot-headed, I severely beat Adam Schwarz with my bare hands. The Schwarz family threatened to sue me; she used every means, soft and hard, to suppress it. The cost was her not coming home for a year. “Julian, you disappoint me so much.” Her betrayal had been foreshadowed. She said I didn’t understand her as those other men did. She stopped teaching me long ago, pulling strings to enroll me in an MBA program. I didn’t understand those coding algorithms, those capital models. But I once believed so deeply. I understood the weight of two hearts relying on each other. I understood how to bet on a woman before she made her fortune. My biological father died at a card table. Turns out I was just another gambler with poor luck. … “Sir.” Thomas’s voice pulled me back. He was covered in wounds. My phone was handed to me. 【WilderTech to be renamed SchwarzTech tomorrow】 【Wilson Wilder convenes board meeting to transfer 10% shares to Adam Schwarz】 I had trusted her, only holding 8%. She ensured Adam Schwarz always outranked me. Thomas pulled out a crumpled invitation. Tonight’s gala, official announcement of the change. I quickly bandaged his wounds. Some matters needed to be settled before I left. “Thomas, the Wilder family has a saying.” Old Thomas smiled at me. “Today she eats the bitter fish and endures the thirst. Tomorrow, someone else will settle the score with her.” 4 I drove straight to the banquet hall. No one dared to stop me. Wilson Wilder looked surprised: “Julian, aren’t you supposed to be home recovering?” “Wilson Wilder, you’ve forgotten where you came from. Forgotten who you relied on to make your fortune.” Adam Schwarz linked arms with her, beaming. “What’s wrong with Wilson thinking about her child?” His eyes scanned me with a lewd gaze. “My dad says you’ve taken too many hits, can’t have kids?” Wilson Wilder’s brow furrowed: “Enough!” He’d hit a nerve, and it only emboldened him. “Julian, everyone says you’re the eldest son raised by the Avalon syndicates.” “There’s no deal you can’t close, no woman you can’t conquer.” “Why cling to Wilson?” “Cling to her?” I looked at him. “What was she, starting her business relying on me? What are you, her side piece?” He paused, then beckoned to the media. “Shoot him! He’s a wreck; does he deserve to stand next to Wilson?” A journalist cautiously asked: “He’s Ms. Wilder of Avalon’s only kin.” Adam Schwarz waved his hand: “Who’s the Wilder family? A bunch of nobodies crushed by the Hayes syndicate!” That journalist bowed slightly to me and left. Others didn’t want to offend Adam Schwarz. All the cameras and mics pointed at me. I calmly looked at Wilson Wilder: “I’m selling off my 8% stake.” Her face changed: “Do you know SchwarzTech’s current valuation?” “One hundred and fifty million. B-round funding closed last week.” They exchanged glances. Adam Schwarz waved his hand: “I’ll take it all. Mr. Wilder, you’ll be all alone after this, don’t regret it.” The nanny brought the baby, whose tiny hand waved at the cameras. I instantly saw the strand of sandalwood beads around her neck. My father’s keepsake. Lost when I fled at fifteen. My sister turned Avalon upside down after she made her fortune, but never found it. “Met at a private auction last month,” Wilson Wilder said airily. “Adam liked it, so he wears it for fun.” My father’s only memento to me. In their mouths, it was “for fun.” “Give it back to me.” Every word was gritted through my teeth. “You will pay for this.” Adam Schwarz laughed. He unclasped the beads, dangling them in front of me. Like teasing a dog. “You wore them,” he said, his eyes curving into a sneer. “Not fit for my child to wear.” He let go. Clatter. The beads hit the ground, scattering everywhere. My mind went blank. My hand was already in my bag, pulling out the revolver, pressing it against his forehead. The moment the cold metal touched his skin, he froze. Then tears and snot flowed together, his face crumpling. “You’re crazy!” Wilson Wilder rushed over. “The gun’s fake!” Fake. But his legs were trembling. A yellowish-white liquid streamed down his pants, soaking a small puddle on the ground. The pungent, stale smell hit my nose. I couldn’t hold it in and threw up on him. He screamed. Wilson Wilder pressed a remote. The lights in the entire hall went out. Sudden darkness. I started to tremble. I feared the dark. She knew that. When I was little, my father used to lock me in the closet when he had clients. I’d huddle inside, listening to the laughter and moans from outside. I cried, I screamed, but no one heard. On our wedding night, I told her. She said, “With me, you’ll never be alone in the dark.” Now she’d turned off the lights. Someone gripped my shoulder. Smack. A slap, my right cheek stung. Smack. Another, my left cheek. Adam Schwarz had hit me. I couldn’t see him, but I felt the whoosh of his hand, smelled that stale, pungent scent mixed with perfume. I swallowed the metallic taste in my mouth. “Get out.” Adam Schwarz sneered: “Weren’t you so tough just now?” Wilson Wilder wiped sweat from my brow. She leaned into my ear, her voice very soft. “About what happened back then, I told myself you did it for me. But every time I think of it, I feel sick.” She paused. “In this life, let’s just make each other sick.” I was trembling more and more violently. Not out of fear. It was cold. A cold that seeped from my bones. I wanted to scream. Wanted to fill the entire hall with my screams. But I couldn’t. I started to fall. Back into that closet. The laughter, the moans, surged from all directions. I covered my ears, but the sounds still burrowed in. The person I thought would save me had now personally turned off the lights. She used the thing I feared most to hurt me. The stories I told her had become her knives against me. In the dark, I picked up the scattered beads, one by one. I don’t know how much time passed, then a beam of light cut through the darkness. “Julian.”

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Mother died of cancer. Father fell into a deep depression and followed her soon after. Alone in the funeral parlor surrounded by white flowers, I called my husband, desperate to hear his voice. Instead, his words cut through the receiver like ice. “Is depression genetic in your family? If you are sick, go see a shrink. Do not drag other people down with you like your parents did.” In the background, I heard his secretary, Beth, whine softly. “Mr. Sterling… my stomach hurts.” His tone shifted instantly, growing impatient with me. “We have been in meetings all night. I have not even had time to eat. I do not have time to listen to you cry. Unless someone is dying, do not call me again.” He hung up. I swallowed my grief, finalizing the funeral arrangements alone. Exhausted and having eaten nothing in three days, I collapsed in the hall. Waking in the ER, my phone lit up with a notification from Beth’s livestream. On the screen, a man’s hands wearing a platinum band identical to mine handed her a perfectly baked soufflé. Beth covered her mouth, eyes wide with feigned delight. “Wow! I casually mentioned I could not stomach my medicine without a dessert, and you actually baked this from scratch?” I looked at my own ring finger. My heart began to throb with a sharp, rhythmic pain. He was not too busy. He just did not love me anymore. 1 Realizing that his wedding band was visible to thousands of viewers, Karl quickly pulled his hand back. When his hand reappeared in the frame, the ring was gone. Only a pale indentation remained on his skin. This blatant attempt to hide his marriage pleased Beth immensely. Her coy giggles prompted Karl to reach out and pinch her cheek. His voice was dripping with affection. “Stop laughing like a fool. Did you not say you wanted this? Tell me how it tastes.” “I failed over a hundred times at the bakery before I finally got this one right. If it is good, you have to be a good girl and drink your stomach medicine.” Beth’s face flushed red. She took a small bite of the souffle, chewing slowly. Karl stared at her, his eyes full of eager anticipation. He looked like a completely different person from the man who had just told me he was too busy to eat and too busy to listen to my grief. “Mr. Sterling, this is absolutely incredible!” Beth practically purred. “Whoever gets to be your wife will be the luckiest woman alive!” Lucky? We had been together for five years and married for three. Karl had never cooked a single meal for me. He always said he was busy. He said he was busy building an empire so I could be the envy of every woman in the city. He said his time was too valuable to waste on menial domestic tasks. But now, just to coax his secretary into taking her antacids, he had spent hours in a bakery learning how to make a souffle. He had the time to fail a hundred times over a dessert, but he did not have the time to attend my parents’ funeral. He could not even spare a single word of comfort. Karl reached out and naturally wiped a smudge of powdered sugar off Beth’s lip with his thumb. The live chat exploded. [Do not use your hands! Use your mouth! Kiss her!] Beth smiled wickedly and took another messy bite, intentionally getting more sugar on her lips. The chat went wild. [Here is your second chance! Do not mess it up this time!] The camera suddenly jerked, and the livestream abruptly ended. But that quick camera movement was enough for me to recognize the background. Beth was admitted to the exact same hospital as me. Driven by a morbid curiosity, I dragged my exhausted body down the hall to her VIP suite. Through the glass window on the door, I saw Karl rubbing a smudge of red lipstick off his mouth. His face was slightly flushed. “Beth, that was the last time.” “I have to go check on Sienna in a bit. I heard she fainted at the funeral.” The moment he mentioned my name, all the gentleness vanished from his voice, replaced by heavy exhaustion. Beth’s smile froze. She immediately pushed the dessert tray away. “Then you should hurry up and go be with your wife. Why are you wasting time baking for me?” He twisted the wedding ring he had put back on his finger and let out a long sigh. “There is no rush. I will go see her after you drink your medicine and your stomach stops hurting.” My eyes fell on the small plastic cup of medicine on her nightstand. I had taken that exact same gastric coating liquid before. It was barely a mouthful, and it did not even taste bitter. But Beth held the cup for a long time, her pretty face scrunching up in dramatic disgust. Karl, a man completely devoid of patience, coaxed her softly. “Just drink it like a good girl, and I will stay with you for another hour.” Beth finally smiled and brought the cup to her lips. My heart twisted like a wet rag. I turned to walk away, but my legs gave out. I collapsed backward, desperately grabbing the metal door handle on my way down to break my fall. The door swung open with a loud crash. Startled by the noise, Beth choked on her medicine, coughing until her face turned bright red. Karl spent a good minute patting her back before he finally turned to look at the doorway. “Sienna?” I was sprawled on the cold linoleum floor, completely drained of strength, black spots dancing in my vision. But I could still see the absolute icy contempt in Karl’s eyes. “What exactly are you doing?” he demanded. “Throwing a pity party to get sympathy? Or are you just trying to scare Beth?” “I did not…” I whispered weakly. He ignored me and yelled down the hall for a nurse. “Get her out of here. Do not let her disturb the other patients.” The approaching nurse assumed we were strangers. She hurriedly apologized to him. “Sir, I am so sorry she disturbed you and your wife. I will take her back to her room right now.” Karl did not correct her assumption. As the nurse helped me out of the room, she pulled out my phone to call my emergency contact. “Hello? Where are you? Your wife just collapsed again in the hallway…” Karl’s voice boomed through the receiver. “Sienna! Are you ever going to stop this nonsense?” Hearing the exact same angry voice coming from the phone and the room behind her, the nurse froze in absolute shock. “That guy in there… is your husband?” I forced a weak smile. “Not for much longer.” The nurse saw the utter desolation in my eyes. She hung up the phone and silently helped me back to the IV room. I was physically exhausted, but sleep refused to come. Instead, I pulled out my phone and texted my lawyer. [Draft a divorce agreement.] I did not fall into a heavy sleep until the PDF arrived and I digitally signed it. I slept so deeply that I did not realize the IV needle had slipped out of my vein. The fluid had pooled under my skin, forming a painful lump the size of a golf ball on the back of my hand. I woke up to a sharp, throbbing pain just as Karl pushed the door open. He glanced at my swollen hand. Not a flicker of concern crossed his face. “Did you time this perfectly just for my arrival?” “It is just a little saline drip, Sienna. Your desperate attempts to play the victim are getting ridiculous.” He did not call a nurse. He did not ask if it hurt. He simply reached over and aggressively yanked the needle out of my flesh. The sudden violence of his movement caused a spray of blood droplets to shoot from the puncture wound. A few drops landed on his crisp white dress shirt. Karl, a notorious germaphobe, scowled deeply. “Sienna! Have you had enough of this tantrum?” I stared blankly at the blood still welling up from my hand. It felt like I was watching my own heart bleed out. “What tantrum, Karl?” He told me he was too busy with meetings to comfort me, so I handled my parents’ funeral entirely on my own. He took off his wedding ring to flirt with his secretary, and I did not expose him. He told me not to disturb Beth’s rest, so I obediently walked away with the nurse. He forcefully ripped a needle out of my vein, and I did not utter a single cry of pain. What exactly did he want from me? “You have the nerve to ask me that? I told you not to call unless it was an absolute emergency, and you had your relatives blow up my phone a dozen times!” “Why can you not be understanding like Beth? Why do you constantly force me to deal with your petty, meaningless drama?” My chest tightened again. So, his secretary throwing a fit over stomach medicine required him to bake a souffle and coax her like a child. That was called being “understanding.” But me, silently burying my parents and bearing the weight of the world alone, was considered “meaningless drama.” I pulled the printed divorce agreement from the bedside table and handed it to him. “Sign it. You will never have to deal with my drama again.” A flash of shock crossed his irritated eyes, quickly replaced by intense disgust. “Sienna! First the pity play, now you are threatening me with a divorce? Are you just going down a checklist of manipulation tactics?” “I am out there breaking my back every single day to give you a perfect life. Endless meetings, endless client dinners, endless proposals. And what do you do?” “You stay at home. You water the flowers. You bask in the sun and play the elegant Mrs. Sterling. What exactly are you so dissatisfied with?” I watched his lips move, feeling like I had been plunged into an ice bath. “Karl, just because I do not commute to the corporate office does not mean I sit around doing nothing. Every single flagship product design your company launched this year was drafted and finalized by me.” “It has been five years. Did I ask to stay home? You begged me to work remotely so I could curate your precious exotic greenhouse. You needed me here to bathe and feed your stroke-survivor mother. You needed me to watch your Alzheimer’s-stricken father so he would not wander into traffic!” “Does everything I sacrificed for this family mean absolutely nothing to you?” He grabbed a tissue and tossed it onto my lap. “Enough. There is no point in talking to you. You refuse to understand my pressure, and I refuse to validate your delusions. You always play the victim. You only ever complain instead of actually solving the problem.” “If you want to enjoy the status and luxury of being my wife, you need to prove you deserve to stand beside me.” “Do you really think your current behavior makes you worthy?” He was not asking a question. He had already decided I was guilty. I smiled bitterly and wiped a stray tear from my cheek. “You are right. I am not worthy. Please, just sign the papers.” He snatched the divorce agreement, flipped through the first two pages, and tossed it straight into the garbage can. “Do not throw the word divorce around lightly. Because the second I actually take you seriously, there will be no turning back.” “I am not going to let the media say I abandoned my wife the moment her parents died.” “While you were busy with the funeral, Beth hired a private nurse to look after my parents. She even went to our house to tend to your greenhouse. I was checking in on her out of gratitude. Stop letting your paranoia run wild.” “I brought a gift. Once you fix your attitude, you are going to go over to her room and properly thank her.” So, taking care of his parents and my plants was framed as a favor to me. How utterly laughable. Before I could refuse, he pulled a velvet box from his pocket and popped it open. The contents instantly pierced my eyes. Inside was the finished product of the third-anniversary diamond ring I had designed myself. It was supposed to be a matching set, but when my mother got sick, I only had time to forge the women’s band. “Do you still want me to make the men’s band?” I asked, suppressing the bitter taste of bile in my mouth. He pulled his current wedding ring off and showed me the red indentation on his finger. “Yes. This one is getting a little tight. I need the new one.” He said it so casually, completely oblivious to the sacred meaning behind a custom set of vows in metal. “Fine. Sign the divorce papers, and I will make it.” Karl scowled, but a smug smirk touched the corner of his lips. “Sienna, stop throwing a tantrum. I promised your parents I would take care of you for the rest of your life. As long as you finish my ring, I will clear my schedule and attend your parents’ memorial service next week.” I stared at the man I had loved for eight years. For the first time, he looked like a terrifying stranger. “Fine.” I would make the ring. But I did not need his care anymore. He looked at my compromise with a knowing, victorious expression. “If you wanted me to attend the memorial, you should have just asked nicely. Why did you have to put on this massive theatrical performance? You are so exhausting.” “Do you not know that the squeaky wheel gets the grease?” I actually laughed out loud. So, getting a son-in-law to attend the final rites of his wife’s parents required me to get on my knees and beg for his charity. But I had begged him. And what did he do? “I called you. What did you say to me?” Karl rubbed his temples, completely losing his patience. “I am busy. I am exhausted. Why can you not just be mature? Look at Beth…” Since the moment he walked into my hospital room, he had not offered a single word of comfort. His entire objective was to force me to hand over the women’s ring—the ring I designed for myself—to Beth, and then guilt me into finishing his matching band. My parents’ death was nothing but a bargaining chip to him. Suddenly, a massive commotion erupted in the hallway outside. Someone was screaming about jumping out of a window. “Do not stop me! Mr. Sterling and I are completely innocent, but his wife is texting me, calling me a homewrecker! I cannot live with this humiliation!” Hearing Beth’s hysterical cries, Karl’s face drained of color. He shot me a death glare and sprinted out of the room. I had no interest in watching their soap opera. I walked out to the nurses’ station to get a bandage for my bleeding hand. The young nurse carefully cleaned the dried blood, whispering furiously. “Ma’am, your husband’s secretary is a piece of work! The second she saw him walk into your room, she started this whole suicide act!” “You cannot divorce him. Do not let that manipulative snake win!” I thanked the nurse for her kindness and turned back to my room. But the moment I sat on the edge of the bed, Karl stormed in, his face twisted in absolute fury. He grabbed my arm and violently yanked me to my feet. “Get up. You are going to apologize to Beth right now.” “And I am warning you, if you send her one more disgusting, abusive text, I will let her press charges against you for harassment.” “And do not expect me to protect you. And definitely do not expect me to show up at your parents’ memorial!” That was when I realized Beth had received anonymous hate texts after I left, calling her a mistress. “I did not send those texts…” “Shut up! You are still lying!” “Do not think I do not know you faked fainting just to spy on Beth and me! I was willing to let it slide, but this crosses the line!” Seeing my desolate expression, his tone softened slightly, though it remained frozen in authority. “Enough. Just go apologize to her, and I will take your side and protect you from the fallout. After all, you just lost your parents, and you probably inherited their mental instability…” I stood absolutely still. Suddenly, I lost all desire to defend myself. Blindly accusing me of a crime without a shred of evidence—that was what Karl called “taking my side.” And he finally acknowledged the pain of losing my parents, but only to use it as an excuse to force me into soothing Beth’s ego. I did not know how he dragged me down the hall to her room. All I knew was the sudden, sharp pain in my knees. When I blinked, I realized I was kneeling on the floor beside Beth’s hospital bed. Karl shoved the velvet ring box into my hands, his voice a harsh command. “Did you not say you were going to thank her? Do it.” I let out a hollow, broken laugh. I opened the velvet box and held it up toward Beth. “I wish you both a lifetime of happiness.” Before Karl could process his shock, I pushed myself off the floor and bolted for the door. Karl stuck his foot out and tripped me. I crashed hard into the doorframe. “Sienna!” he roared. “Is that your idea of an apology? Get back here and do it right!” Beth quickly grabbed his arm, tears streaming down her perfectly applied makeup. “Mr. Sterling, please do not be mad! She is just grieving. I do not blame her… as long as she stops calling me a homewrecker…” Her brilliant display of fake grace and kindness moved Karl deeply. “Do not worry. If she ever insults you again, I will make her regret it for the rest of her life.” Right as he said that, a group of loud, aggressive people stormed into the hospital room. They claimed to be my relatives. They started hurling raw eggs and wilted lettuce at Beth. “You cheap homewrecker! You really know how to sink your claws into a man! You completely brainwashed Mr. Sterling!” Karl quickly shielded Beth with his own body. Egg yolks and trash splattered across his expensive suit and face. Beth pushed weakly against his chest. “Mr. Sterling, get out of the way! They are here for me!” Karl held her tighter, shouting at the crowd. “I will say this one last time! Beth is not a homewrecker!” “Sienna, call off your insane family right now! Or I swear to God I am calling the police!” I looked at the screaming mob. I had never seen any of these people in my life. Tears of hysterical laughter pricked my eyes. “They are not my relatives. I do not know them!” The mob instantly turned toward me, their voices dripping with fake sympathy. “Oh, Sienna, do not be scared! We are here for you! We will not let anyone bully you!” Then they turned their wrath back on Karl. “Mr. Sterling, out of respect for Sienna, we will not hurt you. But you need to step aside and let us teach this trash a lesson! If she had not seduced you, you would have been at the funeral to send off Sienna’s parents! She reeks of cheap perfume. Can you not smell it?” One of the women pulled out a phone and started recording Beth’s egg-covered face. “A slut like you deserves to die!” “But before you do, the whole internet is going to see exactly what you are!” Karl, realizing this mob was utterly unhinged, immediately pulled out his phone and dialed 911. Beth snatched the phone out of his hand, weeping violently. “Mr. Sterling, no! Just let it go! It is all my fault. Do not ruin your marriage over me…” But Karl snatched the phone back and hit send. Beth’s face paled dramatically. She looked at the mob, her voice trembling. “You guys need to get Sienna out of here right now! If Mr. Sterling gets the cops involved, you will all go to jail!” The “relatives” who had just sworn to defend my honor instantly grabbed me by the arms and dragged me toward the exit. Realizing something was horribly wrong, I thrashed wildly, screaming at Karl. “I really do not know them! Help me!” Karl just sneered in disgust. “Your shamelessness truly knows no bounds.” A sweaty hand clamped hard over my mouth. I was dragged into the service elevator. Within seconds, a sickeningly sweet chemical smell filled my nose, and my vision faded to black. Total despair washed over me. Was I really going to be kidnapped in broad daylight while my husband watched? When I finally woke up and saw my surroundings, my blood ran cold.

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