Category: English

1 The factory granted us a half-day off, and I was relaxing in the dorms with my coworkers. Our supervisor took advantage of my distraction to sneak a look at my personal diary. Right then and there, she took her own life. A newly arrived intern, refusing to believe in any curse, flipped the diary open to take a glance himself. Within seconds, he walked straight to the window and threw himself off the sixteenth floor. After those two back-to-back deaths, my diary went viral across the internet. A high-profile billionaire even offered ten percent of his entire net worth just for the chance to look at it. But I kept it locked securely inside my safe, refusing to show a soul. Until tonight, at my promotion dinner, when my fiancé waited until my back was turned and flipped open the very first page. “What are you looking at?!” I lunged forward, desperately tearing the leather-bound diary out of Charles’s grip. Charles froze, his hand still holding a half-empty glass of red wine meant to celebrate my promotion. His eyes stared blankly at a hollow point in space, his pupils rapidly dilating. “Charles?” A cold shiver ran down my spine. I squeezed the diary tightly against my chest, backing away from him. The chatter in the private banquet room died instantly. Every coworker in the room turned to stare at the two of us. “Heh… hehehe…” A strange, rattling chuckle escaped Charles’s throat. He snapped his head toward me, his gaze locking onto mine with terrifying intensity. “So that’s what it is… that’s how it works…” he whispered to himself. The next second, he grabbed the silver cake knife from the table. “Charles, stop!” I screamed, throwing myself forward to grab his arm, but I was too slow. He flipped the knife, pointing the sharp tip directly at his own forehead. “I have to carve it down… can’t forget… must not forget…” The blade sank deep into his flesh. Blood sprayed across the white frosting of the promotion cake. Screams erupted in the room as my coworkers scrambled toward the exit. A few of the braver men rushed forward, pinning Charles’s arms and legs to the floor. Charles thrashed with terrifying, unnatural strength, his eyes bulging out of their sockets. “You blind fools! You don’t know anything!” he shrieked, his voice raw. A sharp blow stung my face, leaving my ears ringing. Beatrice, Charles’s mother, glared at me with bloodshot eyes, her fingernails clawing into my skin. “You witch! What kind of sick curse did you put on my son?” She cursed, reaching out to rip the diary from my hands. I gritted my teeth, curling my body around the book, ignoring the sharp pain of her nails tearing into my skin. “Don’t touch it! If you look at it, you’ll die!” I warned, my voice cracking. Beatrice did not care. The rumors of the diary’s value had completely consumed her. The entire internet knew that Adam Sinclair, the billionaire chairman of Sinclair Enterprises, was offering ten percent of his conglomerate’s shares just to lay eyes on this book. “Stop acting like a saint! You just want that money all to yourself!” Her face twisted with greed as she kicked my knee, forcing me to slip onto the floor. She yanked my hair backward, her fingers wrapping around the edge of the diary. “Give me the book! It belongs to our family now! If you’re marrying into our house, your very life belongs to us!” The pain made my vision blur, but I refused to let go. If I let go, everyone in this room would die. Before she could pry it loose, the double doors of the banquet room were kicked open. Two lines of men in dark suits filed into the room, immediately taking control of the exits. The billionaire himself, Adam Sinclair, rolled into the room in his wheelchair. He looked down at me, his eyes gleaming with a cold, predatory light. “Miss Liu, have you reconsidered my offer?” 2 When Beatrice saw Adam Sinclair, her hostile expression instantly melted into a sycophantic grin. “Mr. Sinclair! You came yourself! I have the book right here, let me get it for you!” She pulled my hair with renewed force, nearly tearing my scalp. I let out a cry of pain, biting my lip as I threw my weight over the diary, pinning it to the floor. “Beatrice, stop! If he looks, he’s a dead man!” Adam Sinclair let out a dry, raspy chuckle, leaning heavily on his silver cane. “Miss Liu, do you really think a man of my age is still afraid of death?” He leaned forward, the faint scent of medicine and old age washing over me. “I am already dying. If I can glimpse the ultimate secret before I go, what is a little death?” I trembled under his gaze. “You have no idea what is actually written in there!” Adam straightened up, giving a slight nod to his men. Two muscular guards stepped forward, grabbing my shoulders and lifting me completely off the ground. With my arms pinned, Beatrice lunged, tearing the diary from my chest. “Here, Mr. Sinclair! It’s all yours! About that reward…” She held the diary with both hands, her eyes wide with greed as she offered it to him. “Don’t give it to him! Beatrice, you’re killing him!” I thrashed in the air, kicking my legs wildly, but the guards held me like a vise. Adam reached out a withered, trembling hand, his fingers stopping just inches from the leather cover. Suddenly, Charles, who had been pinned to the floor, let out a primal roar. “Don’t touch it!” He broke free from the coworkers holding him, throwing himself across the room. He tackled Beatrice to the ground, the diary flying from her hands and sliding across the floor. Charles wrapped his hands tightly around his mother’s neck. “You understand nothing! None of you do!” Beatrice’s eyes rolled back, her hands clawing desperately at her son’s arms, but she couldn’t budge his grip. “Charles… Charles… it’s me… your mother…” “No, you’re not! None of you are!” Charles shrieked, opening his bloody mouth and biting down hard on Beatrice’s ear. A horrific scream echoed through the room as a piece of her ear was torn away. The guards immediately lunged, pressing taser batons against Charles’s back. The electrical current sent him into violent convulsions, and his eyes rolled back as he collapsed into unconsciousness. Taking advantage of the chaos, I brought my knee up sharply into the groin of the guard holding me. He gasped, releasing his grip. I dropped to the floor, rolled over, and snatched the diary back into my arms. “Stop her!” Adam roared, his face twisting with rage. I shoved past my frozen coworkers, burst out of the room, and ran down the emergency stairwell. Behind me, the heavy footsteps of the guards echoed down the concrete steps. I burst through the hotel’s back exit, running straight into the pouring rain. The freezing water hit my face, clearing my head. I had to destroy this book. As I stepped toward the curb to hail a cab, a dark, unmarked van veered sharply, blocking my path. Two strong arms reached out from the sliding door, grabbing my coat and hauling me into the dark interior. The cabin was thick with the chemical smell of chloroform. I fought wildly, kicking and scratching at the men pinning me down, while keeping the diary pressed firmly against my stomach. “Quiet down! Move again and I’ll open your throat!” The cold edge of a blade pressed against my neck, sending a shiver through my body. The van sped into the rainy night, blowing through multiple red lights. Under the passing streetlights, I finally saw my captors. The person sitting in the passenger seat, turning to glare at me, was Florence, Charles’s sister. 3 “Tina, you really are something,” Florence said, her eyes filled with malice as she blew a puff of cigarette smoke toward me. “You turn my brother into a lunatic, and then you try to run?” “I didn’t do anything to him! He stole my diary!” I spat back. “Save it! My brother is in the psychiatric ICU, and my mother is undergoing emergency surgery. How are you going to settle that debt?” She took another drag of her cigarette. “Sinclair made an offer. Hand over the book, and our family gets a ten percent cut of the reward. That’s more than enough for us to live like royalty for the rest of our lives.” “Are you all insane? You won’t live long enough to spend a single cent of that money!” I couldn’t believe they were still thinking about the reward. Florence swung her hand back, her palm striking my face. The impact split my lip, and the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. “Stop acting so pure. If you hadn’t brought that cursed book into our lives, none of this would have happened. You are giving us that diary tonight!” The van screeched to a halt, parking in the flooded basement of an abandoned, half-finished high-rise. I was dragged out of the vehicle and tossed onto the wet concrete. Florence’s heels clicked against the stone as she walked over, grabbing my hair to force my head back. “Search her!” The two men stepped forward, tearing at my coat. “Get off me!” I fought like an animal, sinking my teeth deep into one man’s wrist. He cried out in pain, bringing his fist down hard against my temple. My head spun, the world turning pitch black for a few seconds as the strength drained from my limbs. They pulled the diary from my shirt, handing it respectfully to Florence. “Finally…” Florence stared at the book, her eyes shining with greed. “Florence… don’t open it… I’m begging you…” I whispered from the wet ground, my vision blurring. “A hundred million dollars… just for one look…” She didn’t hear me. Her finger was already slipping under the leather cover. Before she could open it, the entrance of the garage lit up with a dozen high-beam headlights. A line of luxury sedans drove in, surrounding us in a tight circle. Adam Sinclair’s guards stepped out of the vehicles, all of them carrying firearms. “Miss Zhou, taking things that don’t belong to you carries a very high price,” Adam said, his wheelchair being pushed forward by a guard. Florence trembled, nearly dropping the book. “Mr. Sinclair… I was just preparing to bring it to you…” she stammered, offering the diary with both hands. I closed my eyes in absolute despair. It was over. If the diary fell into the hands of a powerful, ruthless man like Adam Sinclair, the consequences would be unimaginable. But as Florence stepped forward, her eyes locked onto the cover. “Wait… it’s moving…” she whispered, her voice shaking. Adam frowned, his voice cold. “Bring it here!” Florence didn’t move. Her fingers began to slide across the cover, completely out of her control. “It’s breathing… there’s something inside trying to get out…” With a sudden, sharp motion, she flipped the diary open to the very first page. “Don’t look!” I screamed, my throat raw. Florence’s gaze locked onto the open page. She stood perfectly still, holding the diary, completely frozen. “Miss Zhou?” Adam sensed something was wrong, his eyes narrowing. The whites of Florence’s eyes slowly vanished, her pupils dilating until her eyes were nothing but two empty pools of pitch black. “So… that’s what it is.” 4 Her voice carried an eerie, hollow echo. “Grab her! Take the book!” Adam ordered, tapping his cane sharply. Two guards lunged at Florence. Just as their hands were about to touch her, Florence moved. She held the open diary up to her chest, turning the first page directly toward the face of the two approaching men. “Look,” she whispered, a serene smile on her lips. “Here is the truth.” Two deafening gunshots echoed through the concrete garage. The moment the guards saw the page, they did not hesitate. They turned their weapons on themselves, putting the barrels into their own mouths and pulling the triggers. Blood and bone splattered across Florence’s face. She did not even blink, her terrifying smile remaining perfectly intact. “They’re insane! Shoot her! Shoot her down!” Adam screamed, panicking in his wheelchair. Florence rushed forward, grabbing the armrests of his wheelchair before his guards could react. “Mr. Sinclair, didn’t you want to see it? Let me show you.” She forced his eyelids open, slamming the open diary directly onto his face. Adam let out a horrific, gurgling scream. His body convulsed in the wheelchair, dark, thick blood pouring from his eyes, nose, and mouth. The remaining guards were too terrified to fire, and the garage fell into absolute chaos. Taking advantage of the panic, I dragged myself up and ran toward the exit. I had to destroy the diary. But as I burst out into the alley, a barrage of camera flashes blinded me. Dozens of reporters and internet streamers had blocked the exit. “She’s out! That’s her! The woman with the cursed diary!” “We’re live, everyone! This is the owner of the hundred-million-dollar diary!” “Tina Liu! What did you write in that book? Why does everyone who looks at it end up dead?” Microphones were shoved into my face, the flashing lights making it impossible to see. “It’s this evil woman! She ruined my son, and now my daughter is trapped in there!” Beatrice, her head wrapped in bloody bandages, pushed through the crowd, grabbing my hair to drag me in front of the cameras. “You are going to show the world what is in that book tonight! Let everyone see what kind of monster you are!” “Let go of me! I don’t have it! Florence has it!” I screamed, struggling against her grip. “Liar!” Before Beatrice could say more, the crowd parted. Florence walked out of the dark garage, drenched in blood, holding the diary high above her head. Every camera instantly focused on her. “Don’t you all want to see?” She walked right up to the lens of the nearest phone. She slowly opened the cover, exposing the first page to the high-definition camera. “No!” I cried out, closing my eyes. “Look! Look closely, all of you!” Florence shrieked, pressing the bloody page against the lens. Across the internet, millions of screens were filled with the image of the yellowed paper. I lay in the mud, waiting for the mass tragedy to unfold. Seconds ticked away, but there were no screams of agony from the reporters, nor any panicked alerts from the livestream chat. “How… why aren’t you going mad?!” Florence stared at the phone screen, the veins in her eyes bulging. I opened my eyes, ignoring the throbbing pain in my head, and looked at the phone lying on the ground. The only sound in the dark alley was the distant, muffled screaming of Adam Sinclair from inside the garage.

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1 After seven years together, Vivian Cross’s greatest talent was threatening to break up with me. Every time I reminded her to sleep earlier and stop wrecking her health, she would snap, “Noah Reed, can you stop managing me like my agent? If you’re sick of this, then break up with me.” To help her win Best Actress, I rewrote scripts for her, buried scandals, and stayed with her through night after night of online abuse. Then, on the eve of the awards ceremony, I received a set of photos. In them, she and Jamie Cole were kissing in a hotel hallway. That same night, she had told me her stomach hurt and asked me to skip an investment meeting to bring her medicine. Before I could question her, she sent a voice message first. “Jamie was under a lot of pressure. I was just rehearsing with him. Can you be mature for once? If you keep being paranoid, we should break up.” I stared at the photo for a long time, then closed the ring box I had planned to give her after the ceremony. Quietly, I replied, “Fine. Let’s break up.” She paused, then scoffed. “Here we go again. Suit yourself.” I did not explain. I threw the ring I had saved three years to buy into the trash. My phone lit up again. Vivian texted: 【Stop being dramatic. The awards are tomorrow night. Send me the final draft of my speech.】 No explanation. No apology. Just the entitlement to ask me to keep writing for her. I sat in the studio and looked at the acceptance speech on my screen. The first line on the first page was something she had asked me to write herself. 【At the lowest point of my life, someone held my hand and kept pulling me forward.】 Back then, she had curled up on the couch with a cushion in her arms and asked, “Noah, if I really win, I’ll thank you onstage, okay?” I had said okay. Thinking back now, I was pretty stupid. For seven years, I rewrote scripts for her, drank for her at dinners, suppressed trending scandals, and carried her from a mocked pretty face to a Best Actress nominee. Later, everyone said Vivian Cross had been born to act. Only I knew I had lifted her there, inch by inch. I selected the entire speech and pressed delete. Then I deleted the tribute video I had prepared for her. My assistant, Sam, pushed the door open and froze. “Noah, wasn’t that Vivian’s surprise?” “No need.” I handed him a project list. “Organize all contracts related to Vivian’s studio. Send them to legal tomorrow.” Sam’s face changed. “Did you two fight again?” Again. Everyone was used to it. Vivian said break up, and I coaxed her. She blocked me, and I sent her schedule through work email. She stormed out, and I chased her to the parking lot. So this time, no one believed I was truly done. An unknown number called. I answered. Jamie’s voice came through, trembling with tears. “Mr. Reed, please don’t blame Vivian about the photos. It was all my fault. I drank too much that night. She was only helping me.” Helping him so thoroughly their lips touched. He paused, then added, “If I’m making you unhappy, I can skip the awards ceremony. Though Vivian said she hoped I’d be there in the audience with her.” Every word landed perfectly. Wronged, obedient, and still showing off. I leaned back in my chair, my stomach beginning to ache. “Go.” The other end went quiet. I said flatly, “Have fun.” Then I hung up. 2 I went to the awards ceremony that night too. At the end of the red carpet, Vivian wore a black couture gown, elegant and untouchable. Jamie stood beside her in a white suit, clean-cut and handsome. The media asked them to stand closer. He turned slightly and rested a hand on her waist. She smiled. Camera flashes exploded. I watched in silence. Soon, my phone vibrated. 【You’re here?】 I did not reply. She sent another. 【Tonight matters to me. Don’t make that face.】 When Best Actress was announced, the lights dimmed. The big screen played the crying scene that made her famous. I had coached her through that scene, line by line. Back then, the director had yelled at her, “It’s fake. There’s no feeling in it!” She hid in the dressing room and smashed a cup. I comforted her, encouraged her, and rehearsed with her. Later, that scene passed in one take. When the host read her name, applause thundered through the hall. Vivian stood up and glanced at me first, as if confirming I was still there. The next second, Jamie wrapped his arms around her. The camera caught a close-up. People in the audience cheered. Vivian stiffened for half a second, then patted his back. She went onstage with red-rimmed eyes. “Thank you to the director, the crew, and every audience member who supported me.” She paused. My hands slowly tightened on my knees. Then she looked down at the audience. “And thank you, Jamie.” The spotlight swept over Jamie. He looked up at her, eyes wet. Vivian smiled. “During this time, I was under so much pressure. He talked with me, stayed with me, and helped me through the hardest days.” Applause rose again. The camera, very considerately, cut to my face. On the big screen, I sat in the audience, my expression pale. Someone nearby whispered, “Isn’t that Noah Reed?” “Her ex? Awkward.” “Did Vivian just announce her new man?” I heard every word. Vivian saw it too. For a second, her expression faltered. But she still did not add my name. She only lifted the trophy. “Thank you for loving me.” Afterward, she had her assistant call me to the dressing room. When I entered, Jamie was sitting on the sofa, pale-faced. Vivian stood beside him, holding a cup of warm water. When she saw me, the first thing she said was, “Why weren’t you smiling earlier?” I opened the photo and held it in front of her. “Explain.” Her face hardened. “Do you have to make trouble today of all days?” “When am I allowed to ask?” “I told you, Jamie was stressed. I was rehearsing with him. It’s just the angle.” Jamie immediately stood. “Mr. Reed, it’s all my fault. The director said I had no talent, and I drank too much that night. Vivian was just afraid something would happen to me.” As he spoke, his eyes reddened again. Vivian’s voice softened at once. “You don’t need to explain.” Then she turned to me, frost in her eyes. “Noah, you’re a grown man. Do you really have to pick on a younger actor who just entered the industry?” Younger actor. Two light words, and seven years of my devotion were pressed into nothing. Jamie lowered his head. “Maybe I should go. As long as Mr. Reed stops being angry, I won’t see you again.” He had barely moved when Vivian grabbed his wrist. “You’re not going anywhere.” She looked up at me. “Apologize to Jamie.” I stared into her eyes for a long time. Then I said quietly, “No.” She froze. In the past, as long as she frowned, I would lower my head first. Even when I had done nothing wrong. But this time, I did not. Her expression darkened. “Then go cool off. I don’t want to see you tonight.” I nodded. “Okay.” Before the door closed, I heard Jamie ask, “Vivian, does Mr. Reed really hate me that much?” Vivian comforted him gently. “Don’t mind him. I spoiled him too much.” The door shut. Those words landed squarely on my back. 3 The after-party was held on the top floor of the hotel. I was about to leave when her manager stopped me. “Mr. Reed, the press is everywhere. Don’t embarrass Vivian.” Don’t embarrass her. All these years, everyone had advised me the same way. As if her dignity was naturally my responsibility to patch up. In the banquet hall, Vivian stood in the center of the crowd. Jamie blocked drinks for her. Someone teased, “Jamie looks more like the male lead tonight than the actual male lead.” Another laughed. “Should we start calling him brother-in-law?” Jamie’s ears turned red. “Don’t say that. Vivian will get mad.” As he spoke, he looked at her. Vivian swirled her wine glass and scolded him with a smile. “Stop joking.” She did not admit it. She did not deny it either. Beside me, Sam’s face went white with anger. “Noah, let’s go.” But Vivian saw me and waved. “Noah, come here.” I did not move. Jamie came over with a glass of wine. “Mr. Reed, let me toast you. Vivian winning tonight is partly thanks to you too.” Partly. What a perfect word. I ignored him. His hand froze midair, and his eyes began to redden again. Vivian’s voice sank. “Noah!” My stomach hurt badly. I did not want to keep humiliating myself here, so I explained, “My stomach isn’t well. I’m not drinking.” Vivian walked over and shoved the glass into my hand. “It’s just one sip. Don’t ruin the mood.” Seven years ago, an investor had forced her to drink, and I drank in her place until I ended up with acute gastritis. She cried by my hospital bed and said she would never let me touch alcohol again. Now she said, don’t ruin the mood. I put the glass back on the table. “I’m not drinking.” Jamie hurriedly said, “Forget it, Vivian. Mr. Reed might really be uncomfortable.” As he stepped back, he tripped. The red wine in his hand spilled all over me. My white shirt bloomed red in an instant. He panicked and reached for tissues. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” I frowned and pushed his hand away. Vivian stepped in front of him. “He already apologized. What else do you want?” I looked down at the mess across my chest and suddenly remembered a long time ago. She had also been splashed with wine. I had taken off my jacket, draped it over her shoulders, and pulled her out of that dinner party. That night, she hugged my waist and said, “Noah, I want you to protect me forever.” And I did. I protected her for seven years. Until she finally became the heroine who could shield someone else behind her. I went to the restroom. Cold water ran over the back of my hand, but it could not ease the pain in my stomach. I texted her: 【I’m leaving first. We’ll talk tomorrow.】 She replied quickly. 【Don’t throw a tantrum tonight.】 I stared at those words. My mouth tugged slightly, but I could not even laugh. 4 The next day, Vivian came to the studio. She took off her sunglasses and threw a script onto my desk. “Change the male lead of When the Cold Wind Passes to Jamie.” This script was the film I had spent three years writing. The female lead was based on her. I had planned to give it to her as a career-transforming project after she won Best Actress. She knew better than anyone how much of my heart was in it. I opened the script. A few sticky notes were tucked inside. But the handwriting was not hers. 【Make the male lead feel younger.】 【Add more romance.】 【Ending would be more tragic if the female lead gives up her career for him.】 I looked up. “Jamie wrote these?” Vivian frowned. “He was just making suggestions.” “Does he even understand scripts?” “Noah, don’t be so harsh.” I closed the script. “I won’t change it.” “Why?” “He doesn’t deserve it.” Just then, Jamie’s voice came from the doorway. “Am I here at a bad time?” He held two coffees and stood there obediently. Vivian’s tone softened immediately. “Come in.” Jamie looked at me, eyes already wet. “Mr. Reed, if you think I don’t deserve the role, I can withdraw. Please don’t let me affect you two.” I said flatly, “You really don’t deserve it.” The office froze. Vivian shot to her feet. “Noah, that’s enough!” “No, it isn’t.” I tore off the sticky notes. “If you two want to sell a couple fantasy, go ahead. If you want to flirt, fine. But don’t touch my script.” Vivian stared at me, then suddenly laughed. “Your script?” Her voice was not loud, but every word stabbed straight into my chest. “My studio paid for the early-stage development. This project was built around me. Can you afford to pull out?” As soon as she said it, even Jamie froze. Vivian stiffened too. But she did not apologize. She only looked away. “I didn’t mean it like that. You’re the professional one. You understand what I want best. Just help me this once.” Yes. I understood her best. So when she hurt me, she also knew exactly where to stab. That afternoon, the trending page exploded. #JamieColeVivianCrossLivingTogether# It started from a livestream. Jamie was wearing a charcoal-gray jacket while chatting with fans on a hotel sofa. Fans dug up an old photo from Vivian’s house and found the same jacket in the corner. It was my jacket. Two winters ago, I stayed up at her house rewriting a script and left it in her closet by mistake. During the livestream, someone asked whose jacket it was. Jamie looked down, smiled, and said, “Oh, this? I just grabbed it.” He did not say more. But it was enough. Half an hour later, Vivian called me. Her first words were, “Don’t post anything yet.” I leaned back in my chair. My stomach hurt so badly that cold sweat broke out on my forehead. “Post what?” “A clarification,” she said. “Jamie just got an endorsement. He can’t be labeled a homewrecker. Post that our relationship is stable and the jacket was taken by mistake on set.” For a second, I thought I had misheard. “We’ve already broken up.” She was silent for a second, then impatiently said, “Don’t focus on that right now. When the trending topic passes, we can talk privately.” “You want me to pretend we’re still together to protect him?” “It’s not protecting him. It’s protecting everyone.” Her voice turned cold. “Noah, it’s one sentence. Do you really have to ruin a newcomer?” I looked out the window. The sky was dark. Rain was coming. “I won’t post it.” The other end went quiet. Then she laughed coldly. “Fine. Don’t regret it.” That night, her studio released a statement. The jacket, they said, was spare wardrobe from the crew. Online rumors were fabricated. They did not mention me. Jamie reposted it: 【Sorry for worrying everyone. Thank you, Vivian, for always protecting me.】 Fans cried all over the comments. 【Poor baby.】 【Vivian is so responsible.】 【Certain ex-boyfriends should stop buying smear campaigns. If you can’t have her, don’t go crazy.】 My name was dragged across every platform. They called me a kept man, a control freak, a parasite who used Vivian to enter the industry and then bit her hand. Sam was furious. “Noah, let’s release the evidence.” I braced myself against the desk and stood. The pain in my stomach felt like a knife twisting inside me. “Take me to the hospital.” The test results came back. The doctor frowned. “Gastric bleeding. You need to be admitted immediately.” As the IV needle entered the back of my hand, I made one last call to Vivian. It rang for a long time before she answered. The background was noisy. Someone shouted, “Vivian, Mr. Cole is needed for the shoot.” She lowered her voice. “What is it?” I looked at the IV bag and said quietly, “I’m in the hospital. Gastric bleeding.” She paused. Jamie’s voice came closer. “Vivian, is this collar too low?” Vivian covered the receiver, her voice muffled. “Wait a second.” Then she said to me, “Noah, don’t use your body to pressure me. I’m shooting a magazine spread. Jamie’s not in a good state. I can’t leave.” I said nothing. She sounded even more annoyed. “Aren’t the doctors there? You’re a grown man. Can you stop coming to me for everything?” A nurse pushed a cart past the corridor. Listening to the wheels, I remembered Vivian’s first stomach spasm. I drove from the east side of the city to the west, running three red lights. She clutched my hand and said, “Noah, don’t go.” Now it was my turn. She said she could not leave. I said softly, “Okay.” Then I hung up. The nurse asked, “Will your family come?” I looked at the back of my hand and gave a bitter smile. “No.” Half an hour later, I had Sam bring my laptop. He was anxious. “Noah, the doctor said you need to stay.” “Book the earliest flight to Harbor City.” “Now?” “Now.” I sent Vivian’s studio a termination letter. I returned every cent of the early development funds for When the Cold Wind Passes, revoked her priority cooperation rights for the script, and shut down all shared document access. I blocked every way she could contact me. Finally, I put the key to our shared apartment into a courier envelope. At one in the morning, it was raining in the capital. I got into the car to the airport. Sam asked, “Do you want to send her one last message?” “No.” I watched the streetlights blur past the window and suddenly thought of that ring. By now, it had probably already been dumped into a garbage truck. Good. Some things belonged exactly where they rotted. After seven years of walking through storms together, loving Vivian had finally reached its last stop.

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1 On our wedding anniversary, Zach sent a voice note claiming he was stuck at a business dinner, but the background audio betrayed him. I could clearly hear another woman’s sweet, demanding voice ordering him around. Five minutes later, his close female friend posted a cozy photo of the two of them holding sparklers on her feed. Her caption was a thinly veiled swipe at me, mocking how I could not even uncork a bottle of wine and was only good as a passive ornament in his life. In the past, I would have immediately called him to demand answers, only to be branded as hysterical and unreasonable. This time, I did not shed a single tear. I calmly tapped the heart icon to like her photo, opened a chat with a headhunter, and officially accepted a job offer in Chicago. During my final seven days before leaving, I behaved exactly as usual. I cooked his meals and accompanied him to social events, but behind his back, I quietly transferred my savings, booked a moving truck, and threw away all my old belongings. Zach was smug, genuinely believing he had finally tamed me into the perfect, silent wife. He had no idea that the moment I liked that photo, I had already checked out of our marriage. Seven days later, when he walked into an apartment stripped down to the bare walls, he completely lost his mind, racing toward an airport for a flight that would never wait for him. On the night of our wedding anniversary, the dining table was a quiet tragedy. The lobster I had stood in line for three hours to buy had gone completely cold. The red wine in the decanter had oxidized for so long that it now carried a sour, sharp smell. To prepare this meal, I had turned down my own department’s promotion dinner and rushed home two hours early. My phone screen lit up on the dark mahogany table. It was a voice message from Zach. “Summer, the dinner with Jared’s clients isn’t wrapping up anytime soon. I can’t slip away. Go ahead and eat without me, okay? I’ll buy you that designer bag you wanted next week.” The background was loud, filled with the crashing of ocean waves and heavy electronic music. A familiar, high-pitched female voice cut through the noise, calling out, “Zach, stop sending updates to the boss! Get over here and drink this shot for me!” It was Phoebe’s voice. I did not reply. I simply stood up, picked up the plate of lobster, and dumped the entire elaborate meal straight into the trash can. With a wet splash, all my carefully planned romance became nothing but garbage. I sat back on the sofa and opened social media. Just a minute ago, Phoebe had updated her feed with a grid of nine photos. The location tag showed the rooftop terrace of the most exclusive oceanfront hotel downtown. In the center photo, Phoebe was smiling brightly with a sparkler in her hand. In the background, Zach was shielding the wind with his body, leaning in close to light it for her. Under the warm glow of the sparkler, they stood incredibly close. The look in Zach’s eyes carried a relaxed tenderness I had not seen in years. In the comments, Zach’s friends were already teasing them. Zach is really playing the perfect white knight tonight. Is Summer keeping tabs on you? Phoebe had replied to one of them: Don’t be silly, Summer is very open-minded. Not like me, I can’t even open a bottle of wine without Zach’s help. Looking at the text, I only felt a dull sense of irony. I did not take a screenshot to confront him, nor did I call him in tears. I simply tapped the little heart icon, leaving a quiet like on the post. Then, I closed the app and opened my chat with Mr. Henderson, the recruiter who had messaged me two weeks ago. I had been hesitating on his offer until now. My fingers did not tremble as I typed: “Mr. Henderson, I accept the offer for the Operations Director position at the Chicago branch. I will finalize my resignation here this week and can start next Monday.” He replied almost instantly, clearly thrilled: “That is fantastic news, Summer! The team in Chicago desperately needs a strong leader like you. Monday works perfectly. Welcome aboard!” “Thank you,” I typed back. “Could you also help me apply for the corporate apartment? I will be releasing my lease here.” After sending the message, I set my phone face down on the table and went to the balcony to fold the laundry. Five minutes later, my phone began to vibrate violently. It was Zach. He had probably seen the notification for my like, and guilt, or perhaps irritation at my quiet reaction, had driven him to call. “Hello,” I answered. “Summer, what is your problem?” Zach’s voice was laced with alcohol and annoyance. “Everyone was having a great time. What was that passive-aggressive like supposed to mean? You made Phoebe so uncomfortable she almost cried, asking if she did something to offend you.” “The photo was nice, the composition was great,” I said in a flat voice. “And it’s my account. I can like whatever I want.” “Can you stop being so incredibly petty? I already told you this is for work! Phoebe has two major accounts in her hand right now, and I have to keep her happy. You work in operations, you should understand how business networking works.” “I do understand,” I replied, watching a stray firework streak across the night sky outside. “That is why I didn’t make a scene, and I didn’t ask you to come home.” “You…” Zach was silenced by my complete lack of emotion. His tone softened slightly, carrying a patronizing sigh. “Fine, stop throwing a tantrum. I’ll come home early tomorrow and take you out for sushi.” “No need.” “What do you mean, no need?” “There’s no need to come home early, and no need for sushi.” I glanced at the open suitcase sitting by the bedroom door, empty and waiting to be filled. “Summer, you’re just determined to pick a fight tonight, aren’t you? Fine, I won’t come home at all. Cool your head!” The line went dead. Listening to the dial tone, I tossed the phone onto the sofa. I walked into the bedroom, opened the closet, and took down the dresses Zach had bought me over the years, the ones I had treasured but never actually liked. One by one, I threw them into a donation box. 2 The next morning, a pounding hangover woke Zach in a foul mood. He rolled over in the hotel bed, calling out out of habit, “Babe, get me some water.” Only silence answered him. Zach sat up abruptly, finally remembering that to teach me a lesson, he had slept at a friend’s place the night before. He checked his phone. It was ten in the morning. There were no notifications. I had not sent a single message asking if he had drank too much or reminding him to take his medication. “Still acting out,” he muttered, running a hand through his messy hair before heading home. When he unlocked the front door, the apartment was eerily quiet. I was sitting at the dining table, typing away on my laptop with an iced Americano beside me. Zach threw his jacket onto the sofa, bringing the stale smell of tobacco and alcohol into the room as he approached. “Is there anything to eat? My stomach is killing me. Make me some ramen with a couple of eggs.” My fingers did not stop moving across the keyboard. On the screen was a detailed hand-off document for my current job. “The kitchen is right there, and there are eggs in the fridge. Make it yourself.” Zach froze, looking at me as if I had spoken in a foreign language. “What did you say? My head is splitting, and you want me to cook?” I finally stopped typing, closed my laptop, and turned to look at him as if he were a giant toddler. “Zach, your hands are not broken. If you don’t want to cook, the food delivery apps are on the second page of your phone.” “Summer!” Zach snapped, kicking his slipper aside. “Is this really necessary? Over a silly anniversary? I already told you Phoebe is a business partner. Why are you acting like a child?” “Acting like a child?” I stood up, smoothing down my shirt. “Zach, the clothes in the washing machine are from two days ago. The shirts in the dryer have been sitting there for three. If you don’t want to go to work naked tomorrow, I suggest you iron them yourself.” Zach stared at me in disbelief. For the past three years, I had kept his life running like clockwork. His clothes were always pressed and organized by color, his toothpaste was squeezed, and even his business trip bags were packed by my hands. “Are you losing your mind?” Zach stormed into the closet, the sound of hangers rattling loudly. “Where is my navy tie? And my cufflinks? Summer, where did you hide my things?” I leaned against the doorframe, watching him fumble through the racks in frustration. “The tie is in the second drawer on the left. The cufflinks are at the bottom of the jewelry box.” My voice was completely devoid of emotion. “They have always been there. You just never bothered to look.” Zach hurriedly grabbed his things, his fingers fumbling with his tie as he muttered under his breath. “Fine, you want to play this game? Let’s see who breaks first. I have a busy week ahead. Don’t bother me.” I walked back into the living room, picked up a stack of printed papers from the drawer, and placed them on the entryway table. They contained all our login credentials, utility account numbers, and the contact information for the property manager. Zach glanced at the papers as he put on his shoes, letting out a cold scoff. “What is this? A demonstration of your hard work to make me feel guilty?” “It is to make your life easier in the future,” I said quietly. “The future?” Zach’s hand paused on the doorknob. He sneered, brushing it off. “What, are you threatening to move out now? Summer, stop. My patience has its limits.” “It certainly does.” As the front door slammed shut behind him, the final thread of attachment I had held onto for three years snapped completely. I unlocked my phone, opened our family group chat, and tapped “Leave Group.” I was done arguing, because I no longer cared about winning. 3 By Friday, I was only two days away from my departure. My friend Chelsea was helping me seal the moving boxes, cursing under her breath. “That absolute jerk really hasn’t noticed that you’re packing up the entire apartment?” The living room was bare. The paintings, ornaments, and plants had all disappeared, leaving only the basic furniture. Several heavy cardboard boxes were stacked in the corner, labeled with shipping tags destined for Chicago. “He comes home past midnight, crashes on the bed, and leaves before I wake up,” I said, cutting a strip of packing tape with a sharp snap. “To him, the details of this home don’t matter. As long as I’m physically breathing in this space, he thinks everything is normal.” “What about your joint account? Did you move the money?” Chelsea asked. “Yes.” I pulled up my banking app to show her the transaction history from the previous night. I had calculated our joint savings down to the last decimal point, separating my exact salary contributions and investment returns over the past three years, and transferred them to my private account. The transaction memo read: Asset Division. “We split the rent and utilities down the middle, but I paid for all the groceries and household supplies for three years,” I said, my voice light. “I didn’t bother charging him for that. Consider it charity.” Chelsea looked at me, a proud smile on her face. “Summer, you are being incredibly cold, and I absolutely love it.” Just then, my phone buzzed with a message from Zach. Jared’s engagement party is tonight at the Victoria Hotel. Get dressed. I’ll pick you up at six. It was immediately followed by a digital transfer of two thousand dollars. Go buy a decent dress. Don’t wear your cheap clothes. Respectable people will be there tonight. Looking at the notification, I felt a wave of dark amusement. For years, I had bought affordable clothes to help us save for a house, and he had simply assumed I had terrible taste. “Are you going?” Chelsea asked. “Going there feels like giving him exactly what he wants.” “I am going,” I said, my eyes turning cold. “Why wouldn’t I? It is my final appearance with that crowd. I should give them a proper curtain call.” I walked over to the closet and pulled out a black, backless designer gown I had bought with my own money but had never found the occasion to wear. It was sharply tailored, elegant, and commanding. By five in the afternoon, I was fully made up, sitting in the quiet of the empty living room. I opened my cloud storage, navigated to the folder labeled “Us” containing over three thousand photos of our relationship from college onward, and hit select all. Delete. Empty trash. With a brief loading icon, three years of shared history vanished into digital dust. The front door opened, and Zach walked in. When his eyes fell on me, a flash of genuine admiration crossed his face, quickly replaced by his usual smug, self-satisfied grin. “See? You look beautiful. Why couldn’t you put in this effort before?” He walked over, reaching out to wrap his arm around my waist. “Still angry? You accepted the money, so drop the attitude. Phoebe is going to be there tonight, she’s Jared’s cousin. Don’t make things awkward for her.” I stepped sideways, smoothly avoiding his hand, and picked up my clutch. “Let’s go. We don’t want to be late.” Zach’s hand remained frozen in mid-air. He frowned, sensing a strange shift in my behavior, but he could not quite put his finger on it. He was still looking for a compromise, but I had already found the exit. 4 The silence in the car was heavy and suffocating. Zach gripped the steering wheel, casting frequent glances at me through the rearview mirror. I kept my head turned toward the window, watching the city lights blur past, my expression completely neutral. During the drive, I had casually mentioned my job relocation. “About this transfer…” Zach broke the silence, trying to find a casual opening. “If you really want a change of scenery, I can talk to some people and get you a transfer locally. There’s no need to relocate. Aren’t we supposed to be planning for a baby? A long-distance relationship is just unrealistic.” I did not turn my head. “Don’t worry about it.” “Why do you always have to be so difficult?” Zach’s patience snapped. “I’ve already apologized. Can’t you just give me a break? We’ll talk about this properly after the party.” Suddenly, the car’s Bluetooth system rang, the name Phoebe flashing on the dashboard screen. Zach shot me a quick, nervous glance, intending to decline the call, but his finger slipped and pressed answer. Phoebe’s whiny voice immediately filled the car. “Zach, where are you? Help me! The zipper on the back of my dress is stuck, and the hotel staff are too clumsy to fix it. If it bursts, I’m going to be completely exposed! Can you please come up and help me? I’m in Room 1206.” The air in the car turned freezing. Zach began to stammer, “Summer, she just…” “Go ahead,” I interrupted, my voice perfectly calm. “A broken zipper is a major issue. You wouldn’t want her exposed in public.” “Summer, don’t get the wrong idea, Phoebe is just…” “Drop me off at the next intersection,” I said, pointing to the traffic light ahead. Zach gripped the wheel, the veins on his forehead bulging. “Summer!” “Stop the car!” I raised my voice, my tone sharp. “I have something to take care of. Go do what you need to do.” The car jerked to the curb. I opened the door and stepped out into the cool night air, my heels clicking sharply against the pavement as I walked away without looking back. Half an hour later, I arrived at the venue. Chelsea had sent me a brief video clip from inside the ballroom. In the crowded room, Zach was standing close to Phoebe, holding a glass of champagne in one hand while his other hand casually hovered near her waist. His friends were laughing, teasing him: “Zach, did Phoebe dress up just for you tonight? Where is Summer?” Zach looked slightly distracted, but he still defended her. “Drop it, she got caught in traffic.” Phoebe stood beside him, her face glowing with triumph. I closed the video and put my phone away. I texted Chelsea: Tomorrow morning at ten, bring the movers. He always goes to the gym at that time. She replied instantly: On it. The truck is booked. I took a deep, steadying breath and pushed open the doors to the ballroom. The room fell quiet, and all eyes turned to me. Zach’s eyes lit up, and he immediately stepped away from Phoebe to greet me. “What took you so long? Why weren’t you answering my calls?” I sidestepped his reaching hand, maintaining a flawless, polite smile as I nodded to the guests. “Apologies, I had some personal matters to attend to.” There was no anger, no jealousy, and I did not even take the seat next to him. Instead, I found a quiet corner and watched the party unfold. His friends and Phoebe looked bewildered. They had been anticipating a dramatic confrontation, or at least a tense cold war. Instead, they got nothing but absolute, dead silence. At eleven that night, we were in the car heading home. Zach finally snapped, unable to bear the quiet any longer. “Summer, what was that display tonight? I already told you Phoebe is just…” “Zach,” I interrupted. “What?” “You asked me earlier when I was leaving.” Zach froze, his hands tightening on the wheel as a sudden look of dread crossed his face. The car pulled up to our apartment building. The yellow streetlights did not reach the darkness in my eyes. I opened the passenger door, stepping out into the cool spring breeze, leaving him with a final, cold silhouette. “Next Monday,” I said. He finally panicked.

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1 In the third year after a book-transmigrator bound to a strategy system took over my body, his mission was declared a failure. To win over those powerful women in high society, he wore my face every day and acted like a shameless clown. In the end, he became the joke of the entire city and tore my once peaceful family apart. Before leaving this world, he left a gloating message in my mind. “What a shame. I ruined your hand.” “Your three sisters now wish you were dead, and your woman only sees you as a clingy stray dog.” “Enjoy the rest of your life yourself.” I opened my eyes abruptly. Before I could even catch my breath, a slap struck my face. Slap. My head snapped to the side. My ears rang. “Dorian Vale, how long are you going to keep making trouble?” A furious voice came from above. I lifted my head. The person before me was my second sister, Serena Vale. This top actress, who once stood in the rain for three hours just to buy me a limited-edition cake, was now glaring at me with rage. Not far away, the poolside was a mess. My nominal younger brother, Mason Vale, was soaked through, curled up on a lounge chair and shivering while coughing nonstop. The woman protecting him was Bianca Shaw. She was the untouchable heiress of the capital circle, and the number one target that transmigrator had spent three years licking like a dog. Bianca gently patted Mason’s back, then lifted her eyes and glanced at me. “Miss Vale, today I’ve truly seen how your family raises people.” Her voice dropped coldly. “Since Mr. Vale likes water so much, why not let him soak in the pool all night and clear his head?” Serena’s face turned even uglier at that. She spun around and shouted at me. “What are you waiting for? Get over there, kneel, and apologize to Mason.” “If you had actually drowned him, I’d be the first to kill you.” I didn’t speak. Three years. That absurd transmigrator had occupied my body for three whole years. I had been like a spectator locked in a dark room, forced to watch him use my face to flatter and stir up trouble in this circle. To please Bianca, he tried to drug her. To compete for the attention of my three sisters, he targeted Mason every day, crying, threatening, and making scenes. He trampled my dignity into the ground and squandered all my family ties. Now he had walked away, leaving me this mess. Seeing that I still hadn’t moved, a cold laugh came from the other side of the hall. My eldest sister, Audrey Vale, stood and threw a stack of documents at my feet. “Don’t force him to apologize. A person like him has no heart.” Audrey looked down at me, not a trace of warmth in her eyes. “Dorian Vale, these past three years, we gave you countless chances. You were the one who kept being shameless.” “Sign this relationship severance agreement. From today on, you are no longer part of the Vale family.” “Audrey…” Mason weakly lifted his head from Bianca’s arms. “Don’t do this. Dorian only cares too much about you all. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have come back…” “Mason, you’re too kind. That’s why he bullies you.” My third sister, Sylvia Vale, who had been silent until now, walked over. “Dorian, you have severe mania and paranoid personality disorder. As a doctor, I recommend you receive compulsory treatment immediately.” “Mason was lucky today and didn’t die. Leave yourself a last bit of dignity.” Everyone in the banquet hall was watching my humiliation. Watching the once-spoiled young master of the Vale family be swept out by his own sisters. Based on the transmigrator’s memories from the past three years, I should now throw myself at Audrey’s feet, crying that I was wrong. Or scream at Bianca that I was innocent, that Mason had fallen in by himself. They were all waiting for me to go crazy. Waiting for me to kneel on the floor and beg for forgiveness like before. But I didn’t. I stood quietly, raised my hand, and wiped the corner of my mouth. Sticky. I looked at the blood on the back of my hand for one second, then slowly crouched and picked up the severance agreement. “Pen?” My voice wasn’t loud, but everyone froze. Serena seemed not to understand what I had said. She frowned instinctively. “What trick are you playing now? Dorian Vale, I’m warning you. Even if you die here today, we won’t soften again.” “I’m not playing tricks.” I straightened and looked at her calmly. “I asked where the pen is. Don’t you want me to sign?” My reaction made Audrey frown too. She snorted coldly, took a pen from her pocket, and threw it at my feet. “Stop pretending.” “If you sign quickly, I can still have someone transfer one million to your card so you don’t starve on the street and embarrass us.” I bent and picked up the pen. Without hesitation, without even reading the clauses, I flipped straight to the last page and signed my name. After signing, I handed the agreement to Audrey. She didn’t take it. She stared at my face, shock flickering in her eyes. “You’re not taking it? Then I’ll leave it here.” I placed the agreement on the table, then turned to Sylvia. “Dr. Vale.” I changed my form of address. I no longer called her my third sister. Sylvia paused slightly and looked at me. “I’m not sick, but thank you for the medical advice.” My tone was calm. “In the future, tell the Vale kitchen to use less salt. Your stomach can’t handle heavy food, and too much will make it hurt.” Then I looked at Serena. “That slap just now clears the debt between us.” “From now on, I won’t embarrass you by picking you up at airports or visiting your sets anymore.” Finally, my gaze passed them and landed on Bianca and Mason. Whether the transmigrator pushed Mason or not no longer mattered to me. “Miss Shaw.” I looked at Bianca’s cold face. “These three years, my pestering must have annoyed you.” “From now on, I won’t appear in front of you again. I wish you and Mason a long, happy life together.” After saying so much, it felt as though all my strength had been drained. I turned and walked step by step toward the banquet hall doors. No one behind me spoke. Perhaps my abnormal calm had stunned them. When I reached the entrance, the night wind blew in. It was cold, and a light rain had started. I was wearing the transmigrator’s favorite pure white fitted formal suit, tacky and thin. The wind hit me, and I couldn’t help shivering. Serena’s furious voice suddenly sounded behind me. “Dorian Vale. If you walk out that door, don’t ever expect to come back.” “You think playing hard to get will make us feel bad for you? Dream on.” I didn’t turn around. I only pushed open the heavy door and stepped into the rainy night outside. The wind outside was strong. Rain instantly soaked my hair. Before I could walk down the steps, more than a dozen blinding flashlight beams lit up in the darkness. “He’s out. That shameless Dorian Vale is out.” “Block him. Don’t let him run.” A short-haired girl rushed forward first and splashed a cup of ice water straight onto me. “We all saw it in the group chat. You pushed Mason into the pool.” “You vicious man. Why don’t you just die?” A group of young girls holding support signs rushed from the dark, blocking the stairs. The signs had Serena’s name printed on them. They were her fans. For the past three years, the transmigrator had gone to Serena’s sets every day to leech off her fame, so her fans had long seen me as a thorn in their side. The banquet schedule wasn’t secret. Clearly, they had come specifically to ambush me. Ice water soaked half my body. A cold wind blew past, and I shivered. According to the transmigrator’s habits over the past three years, he would have screamed and covered his face, then fled back into the hall and thrown himself into Serena or Audrey’s arms, crying for help. But I didn’t hide or cry. I only stood there quietly. Then the door behind me opened. My three sisters came out, along with Bianca, who was protecting Mason. Bodyguards immediately opened umbrellas to shield them from the wind and rain. They stood on the steps and looked indifferently at me, surrounded by fans in the rain. When Serena saw this, not only did she not stop her fans, she sneered. “Dorian Vale, what sob story are you trying to perform now?” “You deliberately used the front entrance to anger my fans so I’d feel sorry for you?” Her eyes were full of disgust. “I’m telling you, even if they beat you to death today, I won’t protect you again.” Audrey adjusted her cuff and said coldly, “Make him leave. Don’t let him embarrass the Vale family at the door.” Sylvia pushed up her glasses and looked at me, soaked through. “You brought this on yourself.” As for Bianca, she didn’t even look at me. All her attention remained on Mason in her arms. They were waiting. Waiting for me to be cursed by the fans and cry for them to step in like before. Just then, Mason broke free from Bianca’s arms and took a small step forward. “Dorian, the rain is heavy. You’ll get sick if you leave like this.” After saying that, he blinked and looked at the necklace around my neck. “Dorian… that necklace was the coming-of-age gift my mother left me. If you really want to leave, can you return it to me?” The moment he said that, the surroundings exploded. Several fans pointed at me and cursed. “Shameless. He got kicked out and still wants to steal Mason’s things.” “He’s a thief. Don’t let him take Mason’s necklace.” Serena’s face turned iron-blue. She rushed down the steps. “Dorian Vale, you’re hopeless. You even stole from Mason. Take it off right now.” Audrey’s eyes filled with deeper disgust. She ordered the bodyguards coldly, “Go get the necklace back. If he refuses, use force.” Bianca finally lifted her head and looked at me with mockery. “Dorian Vale, if you want money, I can give you some. But stealing is truly beneath you.” Hearing her say that, I felt nothing. Before the transmigrator occupied my body, Bianca and I actually had an engagement. Back then, although she was cold, she gave me the only softness she had. She had severe mysophobia and never allowed anyone close. But on snowy winter days, she would naturally take my cold hand and tuck it into the pocket of her coat to warm it. She was a workaholic, but because I casually said I wanted to see the sea, she canceled a meeting worth billions without hesitation and drove me there overnight. Then she scolded me for being reckless while wrapping her coat around me. But in these three years, the transmigrator twisted everything between us to complete his strategy mission. He drugged her and climbed into her bed. He fought like a lunatic for attention. He not only threw my dignity onto the ground, but also wore down the affection Bianca once had for me into the disgust she had now. The reason she treated Mason so well now was simply because he resembled the me from three years ago, before I “went mad.” Looking at the contempt in her eyes now, I only felt bored. This necklace had clearly been left to me by my mother. But the transmigrator wore it everywhere just to provoke Mason. Now it had somehow become Mason’s property. If it were before, the transmigrator would have argued with them, saying the necklace was mine. I did not. There was no point explaining to these people. I lifted my hand to the clasp behind my neck. Click. I opened it. Triumph flashed in Mason’s eyes. He reached out to take it. “Thank you, Dorian…” But I didn’t hand it to him. With a turn of my wrist, I threw the necklace into the puddle at my feet. Mud splashed onto Mason’s pants. “Ah!” Mason screamed in fright and stepped back, crying. “If you didn’t want to give it to me, that’s fine. Why throw away something my mother left me?” “What are you doing?” Bianca pulled Mason back under the umbrella and glared at me viciously. Serena lost control and rushed forward, raising her hand to slap me again. “You bastard. Watch me…” I stood still, looking at her hand frozen midair. “Hit me.” My voice was cold. “If this slap lands, tomorrow’s headline will be: Second Miss Vale Assaults Ordinary Man in Public.” Serena’s hand froze in the air. She shook with anger, but did not dare lower it. I ignored her. Then, in front of all of them, I removed every accessory on my body. Finally, I bent down and took off the leather shoes that had rubbed my heels bloody. Barefoot, I stepped into the rainwater and looked up at the people on the steps. “I won’t keep a single thing from the Vale family. From now on, Dorian Vale has nothing to do with the Vales or the Shaws.” After saying that, I turned around. The fans below the steps were stunned by my demeanor. Someone stepped back first, and the crowd blocking the path unconsciously opened a way. Rain fell on my face as I walked step by step into the depths of the night. Serena remained frozen with her hand raised. Her gaze unconsciously dropped to the shoes on the ground. Then her whole body trembled. The backs of those shoes were soaked completely red with blood. Not only her. The women on the steps were all staring at that red stain. For the past three years, that “Dorian Vale” would cry and scream for half a month over even a paper cut, forcing everyone to comfort him. But just now, with his heels rubbed raw and bleeding, he had stepped barefoot onto the gravelly wet ground without even frowning. That feeling was familiar and strange. Because three years ago, before that man “went mad,” the real Dorian Vale had been like this. Mason sensed the atmosphere shift. Seeing all the women staring in the direction Dorian had left, panic flickered in his eyes. He quickly crouched and picked up the necklace. “Please don’t be angry with Dorian.” Mason held the necklace in his hands and smiled. “He must have been confused when he took this from my room.” “I already said I don’t blame him. Why is his temper still so bad?” After speaking, he instinctively leaned toward Bianca. In the past, Bianca would always gently catch him at times like this. This time, not only did Bianca not move forward, she stepped half a pace away. Mason stumbled and missed. He lifted his head in disbelief. “Bianca…” Bianca frowned at the necklace in his hand and said in a low voice, “Mason Vale, you said he stole this necklace from your room?” Mason’s heart skipped, but he braced himself and nodded. “Y-yes. It was the coming-of-age gift my mother left me…” “You’re lying.”

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1 I’d been married to Neil for three years without ever asking him for a single favor. The only time I did was this summer, right after my brother Toby graduated high school. I asked Neil to arrange a simple internship for him at his firm. He didn’t look up from his laptop. “Tell him to report to the front desk.” Toby took a seventeen-hour overnight bus from our rural hometown, wearing his only crisp white shirt, and sat in the lobby all afternoon. By early evening, a company chat notification popped up: Who’s the country bumpkin at the front desk? His collar’s literally yellowing. Dead. Someone attached a photo. Neil had his arm slung over another young man, smiling with polished warmth. Same floor, same afternoon. Another message read: Both are little brothers, but the difference is insane. When Toby came home that night, he pulled out a bag of sun-dried peaches. “Ruby, I brought these for Neil. He was just too busy today. I’ll catch him next time.” He smiled brightly. “The girl at the front desk even poured me water. It was really good.” I smiled, ruffled his hair, then turned and called my lawyer. “Please draft a divorce agreement for me.” In the living room, Toby was sprawled out on the sofa, scribbling on a sticky note. When I walked over, he instinctively hid the note behind his back, the tips of his ears turning bright red. “What are you writing?” “N-nothing.” I reached out for it. He shrank back but wasn’t fast enough. I plucked the crumpled piece of paper from his fingers. There was only one line written on it. [ Neil, I left the sun-dried peaches on the table for you. It’s a fresh batch from this summer. Mom says they’re your favorite. ] I stared at that sentence, a heavy, suffocating weight pressing down on my chest. Five years ago, when Neil visited my hometown for the very first time, he really did love them. That autumn, he drove eleven hours straight just to accompany me back to the farm. Toby had just started middle school. Hearing that his big sister’s boyfriend was coming, he ran all the way from the edge of town to the main dirt road to meet us. When the car door opened, Toby stood there panting, his clothes stained with sweat, clutching a bag of dried peaches in his hands. Neil crouched down, untied the bag, and ate three slices right then and there. “These are amazing. Way better than all those imported snacks I buy in the city.” Toby’s eyes instantly lit up like stars. For the rest of that trip, Neil carried that bag of dried peaches everywhere he went. My mom pulled me aside and whispered nervously. “Neil is just being sweet. A cheap, rural snack like this can’t compare to the nice food he eats in the city.” I smiled with absolute certainty back then. “He isn’t just being sweet, Mom. He really likes them.” My mom beamed, and the very next day she laid out two massive trays of peaches to dry in the sun. Now, that fresh bag of sun-dried peaches was sitting on my coffee table. Toby had brought them all the way from upstate. Through a seventeen-hour bus ride, he had held the bag tightly against his chest, terrified of crushing them. It was past eleven when the front door finally clicked open. Neil walked in and casually hung his suit jacket on the rack. As he passed the coffee table, his footsteps paused. He glanced down at the bag of dried peaches. His nose wrinkled slightly. He absentmindedly shoved the bag toward the edge of the table. “Is your brother asleep?” “He’s asleep.” He loosened his tie and leaned against the dining table, typing on his phone. I watched as he opened the company group chat. [ Set up a lunch reservation for Oliver tomorrow at the steakhouse. Invite the marketing directors so he can get familiar with the team. ] After sending that, he sent a private message to his executive assistant, Rachel. [ Your brother did well today. I’ll personally take him on a site visit tomorrow to show him the ropes. ] She replied instantly with a smiley face. [ You’re too kind, Mr. Wright. I’ll thank him on your behalf. ] A faint smile touched the corner of Neil’s mouth. By the time he looked back up at me, his expression had smoothed out into his usual calm demeanor. “Ruby.” He spoke as if the thought had just crossed his mind. “HR mentioned a new face at the front desk today. Was that your brother?” I stared at him. “You’re just finding this out now?” He froze for a fraction of a second before quickly offering an excuse. “I was swamped with meetings all day. I couldn’t get away. He should be fine hanging out by the reception desk, right?” “Sophie is a nice girl. She was very welcoming.” I didn’t say anything else. He didn’t seem to care either. He picked up a glass of water and headed toward the master bedroom. As he passed the coffee table again, the hem of his slacks brushed the bag of dried peaches, knocking it straight onto the hardwood floor. He didn’t even break his stride. I picked up the bag, carefully retied the red string at the top, and placed it back on the table. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Toby. He probably hadn’t had the courage to ask me in person. [ Ruby, can I go to the office a little earlier tomorrow? ] [ Sophie said she’d find some work for me to do. I want to get there early so I don’t cause any trouble for Neil. ] The next day at noon, I brought a packed lunch to the corporate building. Sophie at the front desk offered a polite, slightly tense smile. “Hey Ruby. Mr. Wright is upstairs. Do you want me to let him know you’re here?” “No need, I’m just here to see my brother. Where is Toby?” Her smile faltered for a second. “Toby is… down in the Basement Level 2 archives. Rachel assigned him there yesterday.” She paused, lowering her voice. “Ruby, there’s no air conditioning down there, and the ventilation is pretty bad. Do you want me to mention it to Mr. Wright? Maybe we can move him somewhere else?” “I’ll go check on him first.” The elevator chimed at B2. The moment the doors opened, the heavy smell of mildew hit me. At the end of the dimly lit hallway, a heavy steel door was propped open. Old, dusty filing cabinets were stacked almost to the ceiling. Toby was crouching on the concrete floor. The sleeves of his white shirt were rolled up past his elbows, and his forehead was dripping with sweat. When he saw me, his eyes lit up entirely. “Ruby! What are you doing here? It’s not even my lunch break yet.” He flashed a massive, goofy grin, looking exactly like the carefree kid he was back home. “I brought you lunch. Is it getting too hot down here?” He took the lunchbox, wiping his dusty hands on his trousers before opening it. “It’s not bad. I’ve got a fan.” In the corner, a rusted pedestal fan rattled weakly against the wall, its blades coated in a thick layer of gray dust. “Ruby, I actually really love this job.” “Look, I’ve already organized three whole shelves. I put custom labels on the front of every single folder so people can find things easier.” I followed his pointing finger. The labels were written in his neat, careful handwriting. On the corners of a few tags, he had drawn tiny little flowers. It was a habit he had kept since elementary school. I crouched down and gently pushed a heavy binder back into place for him. “Take a break after you eat.” “Can’t.” He shoveled two bites of rice into his mouth and looked up seriously. “Rachel said I need to finish all of this by the end of the week. I can’t slack off. I’d embarrass Neil.” I looked at his sweat-drenched eyelashes, a painful lump rising in my throat. When I took the empty lunchbox and got back into the elevator, the car stopped on the seventeenth floor. The moment the doors slid open, I had a clear view of the executive dining room across the glass hallway. Neil sat at the head of the table. Oliver sat directly across from him. Several marketing directors were gathered around them, the atmosphere light and relaxed. Neil leaned over, picking up a fork to gently correct Oliver’s grip on the cutlery. The gesture was incredibly natural. It carried the patient warmth of an older brother guiding someone younger. Oliver smiled shyly, and Neil patted him on the shoulder, his eyes full of quiet approval. The elevator doors slowly slid shut. At our wedding reception three years ago, I had seen a nearly identical scene. Toby had been wearing a borrowed suit. The sleeves were a size too long, and his fingers were trembling with nerves. Neil had taken his hand, gently pressing a pair of chopsticks into his palm. “Don’t be scared, kid. You’ve got me now.” Toby had looked up at him then, his eyes brimming with tears, but he had smiled so brightly. “Okay, Neil.” “Yeah. We’re family now.” On the seventeenth floor, a table full of laughter and a curated executive lunch. Down in B2, a floor covered in dust and a rattling, broken fan. As I walked out of the corporate lobby, I ran straight into Rachel. She was carrying two iced coffees, her designer heels clicking sharply against the marble floor. “Ruby, what a surprise. Mr. Wright was just talking about you.” “Oh, by the way, how is your brother settling into the archives? If he needs anything, just let me know.” I forced a tight, empty smile and walked out the door. Toby came home very late that night. There was a dark, prominent stain right below the collar of his white dress shirt. “What happened?” He looked down, immediately trying to pull his collar up to hide it. “It’s nothing, Ruby.” “Toby.” He stayed quiet. He turned around and walked straight into the kitchen. The faucet turned on full blast. I stood in the doorway, watching him scrub frantically at the coffee stain with a bar of soap. After a long time, he finally spoke, his voice incredibly small. “I was delivering some files upstairs this afternoon, and I ran into Oliver.” “He and Neil had just walked out of the conference room. Oliver was holding a coffee. He said I was in his way.” “I stepped aside, but he still bumped into me. I mean, it probably wasn’t on purpose.” By the end of his sentence, he didn’t even sound like he believed it himself. “Did Neil say anything?” Toby’s hands stopped scrubbing. He shook his head, then quickly flashed me a reassuring smile. “Ruby, I swear it’s fine. It’ll wash out. I’ll just wear a sweater vest over it tomorrow. No one will notice.” It was the only crisp white shirt he owned that didn’t have fraying seams. Right before bed, I opened my phone. A new photo was circulating in the corporate group chat. Neil was standing at the head of a conference table, with Oliver standing right beside him. The caption read: “Mr. Wright personally mentoring the new blood. Oliver crushed his first presentation today.” Right below it, someone had forwarded a direct quote from Neil. “Oliver is young, but he has brilliant intuition. I’ve always viewed him as my own little brother.” I stared at those words until my phone screen went totally black. Toby finished reorganizing the entire B2 archive in exactly five days. When he told me, he looked a little nervous. “Ruby, I want to show Neil the master index I put together. Do you think he’d be happy?” I gently smoothed down his hair. “He will be.” At noon the next day, he made sure to wash his face in the lobby restroom. He stared at himself in the mirror for a long time. He buttoned his collar all the way to the top, unbuttoned it, and finally buttoned it back up again. Sophie told me all of this later. When Toby finally made it to the executive floor, the assistant told him the CEO was in a meeting. He nodded politely. He hugged the heavy stack of master index folders to his chest and stood completely still against the hallway wall. He waited for two straight hours. Executives walked by, throwing him weird, judgmental looks. Some whispered to each other. Sophie went upstairs to try and convince him to wait in the lobby, but he shook his head, gripping the folders tighter. “I want to hand them to him myself.” The conference room doors finally opened. Neil and Oliver walked out side by side, deep in conversation. Toby’s eyes lit up. He took a hopeful step forward. “Neil…” Neil’s gaze swept over him, pausing for less than a second. “Yeah.” He didn’t even break his stride. Toby’s outstretched hand froze in midair. The heavy folders slipped an inch down his chest. Oliver glanced back over his shoulder. His eyes landed on the faint, unwashed stain on Toby’s collar. He let out a quiet smirk, turned around, and followed Neil down the hall. Sophie said that when she finally went over to pull Toby away, he stood completely paralyzed for a long time before slowly looking down at the folders in his arms. Then he whispered, almost to himself, “I guess he really is just too busy.” That stack of master folders was eventually tossed into a storage closet by the janitorial staff. Neil never saw them. That night, Neil got home before Toby did. I set a glass of water down in front of him. “Toby went up to see you today.” His fingers paused as he unfastened his cufflinks. “Oh, right. I think I saw him when I was leaving the boardroom. What did he want?” “He finished organizing the entire archive. He wanted to show you.” Neil leaned back into the plush sofa. “He should have just handed that off to HR. Tell him next time he needs something, just send a text. Standing around the executive hallway looking lost is a bad look.” “A bad look?” “We have high-profile clients walking in and out of this office. Him standing outside the boardroom dressed like that…” He stopped himself. “Look, just tell him to wait in the lobby next time.” The living room fell dead silent. I looked at him, and my mind suddenly flashed back to the hardest year of his startup phase. Toby had secretly pawned the gold locket our parents had given him. He spent half a month doing grueling manual labor unloading cargo trucks just to scrape together a little extra cash for Neil. Toby was only thirteen back then. The skin on his hands was so cracked from the freezing cold that they bled whenever they touched water, but he just smiled and said he was happy to help his brother-in-law. That night, Neil had gotten dead drunk. He held Toby and cried like a child. He swore that the second he made it big, he would treat Toby like his own flesh and blood. “Did you forget all of that?” Neil’s expression went blank for a second. He raised a hand to pinch the bridge of his nose. “Ruby, things are different now. Can you stop dragging up the past every single time we talk?” “Given my position now, people are watching my every move. I can’t exactly go around introducing a rural farm kid as my brother-in-law to every investor I meet.” “Look, whatever. Is he unhappy with the work? Does he want to transfer departments?” I stared at him. “I bought him a ticket home for the day after tomorrow.” Neil frowned. “I thought you said he was staying the whole summer.” “His college semester is starting.” “Doesn’t that start in September?” I didn’t answer him. When I pushed Toby’s bedroom door open, he was already packing his duffel bag. That white dress shirt was folded into a perfect, neat square, buried at the very bottom of his bag. “Ruby.” He didn’t turn around. “Is it… is it just too inconvenient for Neil to have me around?” “No. His company is just dealing with a lot right now.” Toby nodded slowly. After a long pause, he finally spoke, his voice barely a whisper. “Ruby, I know.” He turned around. He was eighteen years old. That bright, boundless excitement he used to have when he ran two miles just to hand Neil a bag of peaches was completely gone. “I saw the company group chat. I borrowed Sophie’s phone to look something up, and I saw all of it.” “They said I’m a country bumpkin. They said my shirt collar is yellow.” He let out a very soft, fragile laugh. “They aren’t wrong. It is yellow. It won’t wash out.” My throat instantly closed up. But Toby was the one trying to comfort me. “Ruby, please don’t blame Neil. He’s running a massive corporation. The fact that he even let me through the front door is more than enough.” He reached into his bag and pressed that white shirt a little deeper into the bottom. “It’s my fault. I’m just not good enough.” Before he left, Toby took a trip to the clearance section of a local department store and bought a silk tie. His internship stipend was sixteen hundred dollars a month. So far, he had only earned three hundred. The tie cost a hundred and twenty dollars. He stood in front of the display counter for a very long time before finally gritting his teeth and buying it. “Ruby, look at this. Do you think Neil can pull off this color?” The price tag was still attached. He had protected the cardboard box the entire way home so the corners wouldn’t even get slightly bent. Watching how incredibly careful he was being, my chest physically ached. “It’s gorgeous. He’s going to love it.” Toby let out a massive sigh of relief. Then he unzipped a hidden pocket in his backpack and pulled out a thick manila envelope, setting it on the coffee table. “Ruby, this is for you.” “What is this?” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking a little embarrassed. “My internship money, plus all the allowance you’ve sent me over the years. I never spent any of it. I saved it all up.” “It’s not a lot, but consider it a third-anniversary present for you and Neil.” I opened the envelope. Three thousand, two hundred dollars. I looked inside. There were only a few crisp hundred-dollar bills. The rest of it was entirely made up of crumpled fives, tens, and twenties. On the way to the bus station, Toby kept his eyes glued to the window. “Ruby, the city really is massive.” “If you get accepted here for grad school, you can look at it every single day.” He just smiled and didn’t reply. A moment later, he suddenly asked, “Ruby, do you remember that river right in front of our house?” “I remember.” “When the water flooded a few years ago, Neil carried me across on his back. The water was up to his thighs, and his pants were completely soaked. I told him to put me down, but he refused.” He looked down, a soft smile touching his lips. “He told me that when he finally got rich, he was going to build a solid bridge for our town. I honestly thought he was just flexing.” “But he actually wired the money to the town council.” Toby paused, looking back out the window. His voice dropped so low I almost couldn’t hear it. “Ruby, they finished building the bridge this summer. I don’t think he even knows.” When we arrived at the transit hub, the terminal was packed. Toby handed me the tie box. He had slipped a handwritten note inside. “You should head back, Ruby. I can handle it from here.” “It’s a seventeen-hour ride.” “It was seventeen hours getting here, and I survived just fine.” He laughed, showing the slight crook of his canine tooth. “Plus, I bought instant noodles.” After he passed the ticket gate, he turned around and waved at me. His mouth moved, but the words were drowned out by the noise of the crowd. But I read his lips perfectly. “Ruby, tell Neil I said thank you.” The automatic gates slid shut. I stood completely frozen for a very long time. My phone buzzed in my pocket. New messages in the corporate group chat. “Mr. Wright is hosting a massive farewell dinner for Oliver tonight at the Peninsula Hotel. Booked the VIP dining room. Half the executive board is there.” “Damn, going all out for an intern?” “Wait, didn’t Rachel’s brother and the CEO’s brother-in-law intern at the exact same time? Why is only one getting a send-off?” “One is a VIP, the other was basically doing charity labor. You really think they’re on the same level?” I stared at those messages, a sudden, bitter laugh escaping my lips. Same day. Toby was sitting on a cramped overnight bus for seventeen hours. He had spent half his internship money buying Neil a tie, and his dinner was a cheap cup of instant noodles. Oliver was sitting in a five-star hotel’s private dining room. He was wearing a luxury watch Neil had gifted him, surrounded by executives kissing his feet. I had seen that watch in a boutique catalog before. Twelve thousand dollars. When I got home, I placed the tie box onto the coffee table. Right next to it sat the bag of sun-dried peaches. It had been sitting there completely untouched since the day Toby arrived. I walked into the study and pulled out the divorce papers. As the pen touched the paper, a flood of memories rushed into my mind. Neil crouching by the dirt road, eating dried peaches. Toby riding on his shoulders, laughing at the top of his lungs. Neil leaning over at our wedding, carefully adjusting Toby’s grip on his chopsticks. But my hand didn’t tremble. I signed my name with absolute certainty. After I signed it, I walked into the bedroom and pulled my suitcase from the closet. The front door unlocked right as the clock struck midnight. Neil pushed the door open, the heavy smell of expensive liquor clinging to his suit. He called out as he kicked off his shoes. “Ruby? Why are the lights…” His voice cut off instantly. He saw what was sitting on the coffee table.

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1 Sloane’s gallery was celebrating its anniversary. My deaf-mute father took three Greyhound buses to get there, wearing a borrowed old suit with sleeves too short, sticking out among the elites. When he saw Sloane, his eyes lit up. He shakily unwrapped a faded flannel bundle and a mason jar of pungent homemade relish. Inside was a hand-carved wooden comb. He gestured clumsily: This brings safety. You have a weak stomach, so I made this spicy relish to help you eat. Sloane frowned and stepped back. “I have important clients. You being here is inappropriate.” She signaled her assistant with a look of disgust. “Get a trash bag. Throw those in the basement. The smell is awful.” Dad’s hands froze midair. He tugged his jacket hem and retreated into a corner. My heart ached sharply. Just then, Sloane’s first love, Paul, walked in. Her scowl vanished into a radiant smile. “Paul, I secured that two-million-dollar vintage Patek Philippe pocket watch. Your father will love it.” Paul waved it off. “You went out of your way for his little hobby.” Sloane smiled softly. “As long as he’s happy, it’s worth it.” In the corner, Dad stared, eyes bloodshot. He signed to me: I’m useless. I couldn’t bring her anything good. I embarrassed you. Looking at his hunched back, I knew. This marriage, built on my humiliation and her contempt, was finally over. I stopped Gwen in her tracks. “I will take those. Don’t touch them.” Gwen glanced at me, then back at Sloane, hesitating. Sloane had her back to me, laughing with Paul. Her voice wasn’t loud, but every word was crystal clear. “That antique sterling silver tea set for your dad arrives next week. I will deliver it to him personally.” Paul leaned against the display pedestal, looking as comfortable as if he owned the place. “You spoil him too much. He stared at that last tea service you got him for an entire week.” Sloane laughed. It was a genuine, effortless laugh. A laugh I hadn’t seen in a very long time. I bent down and picked up the mason jar and the wooden comb from the floor. The jar wasn’t big. My dad had fermented the relish in an old crock last autumn. He wrapped the lid in three layers of cling wrap and double-bagged it in plastic. He was terrified the smell would leak out. But it leaked anyway. I turned around to find him. He wasn’t in the corner anymore. I found him in the back stairwell of the gallery. He was crouching on the concrete steps, hands folded over his knees, head bowed. Sensing someone approaching, he shot up immediately. He signed to me. “It’s fine. It’s too crowded in there. Dad just came out for some fresh air.” The short sleeves of his borrowed suit rode up, exposing the jagged scar on his wrist from an old bandsaw accident. I handed the mason jar back to him. Panic flashed in his eyes. He signed. “She didn’t like it?” “She is just busy today,” I said. “I will give it to her later.” He believed me. He hugged the jar back to his chest. Then he dug into his pocket and handed me a crumpled piece of paper. It was his bus tickets. Three of them. From our rural county to the transit hub, from the hub to the city, and from the city down here. The earliest ticket had a departure time of 4:00 AM. I didn’t say a word. I just folded the tickets and slipped them into my own pocket. When I brought him back out to the gallery, the anniversary event was in full swing. Sloane stood in the center of the exhibition hall, surrounded by a crowd of wealthy patrons. Paul stood right at her right hand, adjusting the microphone stand for her. There was barely any space between them. When Paul leaned down to whisper something, his lips practically brushed her ear. Sloane didn’t pull away. I led my dad through the side entrance and found a spot against the wall. There were no chairs left. A staff member gave me a passing glance before turning back to work. My dad just stood there. He shifted the mason jar to his left arm. His right hand hung at his side, his calloused fingers nervously pinching the seam of his trousers. He couldn’t hear a single word being said on stage, but his eyes never left Sloane. Someone walked up to the stage and handed her a bouquet. It was Paul. A massive arrangement of white lisianthus. Sloane took it, smiling brightly as she thanked him. Camera flashes lit up the room. My dad tugged at my sleeve and signed. “Your wife is incredible.” He smiled. He smiled so hard his wrinkles bunched together, revealing a chipped front tooth. I nodded. “Yeah. She really is.” I didn’t tell him that the man handing her the flowers was her first love. I didn’t tell him that Sloane gladly spent two million dollars on an antique watch to impress Paul’s father. And I didn’t tell him that she couldn’t even be bothered to unwrap the flannel cloth to look at the comb he spent three months carving. During the intermission, Sloane arranged a catered reception. The long tables were lined with exquisite pastries, artisan coffee, and delicate macarons. My dad stood in front of the table, staring at the spread for a long time without reaching for anything. He didn’t recognize a single item. Eventually, he just took a paper cup of plain water, retreated to his corner, and drank it slowly. I went over and grabbed two slices of cake for him. He shook his head and signed. “Too expensive. You eat it.” I forced the plate into his hands. Only then did he take a tiny bite, chewing it with agonizing slowness. Paul’s parents arrived. I knew exactly who they were. His father dealt in high-end antiques and owned three massive showrooms upstate. His mother was a retired fine arts professor from an Ivy League university. The moment they walked in, Sloane practically flew over to greet them. She linked her arm through Paul’s mother’s arm, her tone dripping with affection. “Mary, you mentioned wanting to see that post-impressionist landscape. I kept it off the market specifically for you today.” Mary patted her hand with a warm smile. “You always know exactly how to spoil us, dear.” Sloane turned and snapped her fingers at Gwen. “Go switch the tea in the VIP lounge to the Darjeeling first flush Mary loves. And serve it in the Wedgwood fine bone china.” Gwen jogged off to get it done. Paul’s father walked through the gallery with his hands clasped behind his back, nodding in approval. “Sloane, the curation this year is leaps and bounds ahead of the last.” Sloane beamed. “I owe it all to your guidance, Arthur.” Paul stood nearby with his hands in his pockets, his expression neutral. But his eyes never left Sloane. I looked over at my dad. He was watching Sloane chat with Paul’s family. He couldn’t read lips. He had no idea what they were talking about. But he could read the expression on Sloane’s face. The smile she gave Paul’s parents was radiant and entirely genuine. Half an hour ago, she hadn’t even looked him in the eye. He slowly placed his cake down on the windowsill and didn’t touch it again. I walked over to him. He signed. “Your wife is busy. Let’s not get in her way.” His gestures were slower than usual. It was like he had to second-guess every movement before he made it. “Dad, are you hungry?” I asked. “Let me take you out to get some real food.” He shook his head. Then he looked down at his scuffed cloth shoes, and glanced at the polished leather wingtips and designer heels walking around the room. He pulled his feet further back under his chair. Right then, Gwen walked by carrying a tray of fresh fruit for Paul’s parents. As she passed my dad, she caught a whiff of the mason jar in his hands. She visibly wrinkled her nose and practically sprinted away. My dad noticed. He immediately hid the jar behind his back and lowered his head to sniff his own shirt. Then he did something that made my heart physically stop. He shoved the mason jar into the dark corner of the stairwell and covered it with his borrowed suit jacket. He was terrified the smell would offend someone. I stared at that jacket, a heavy lump forming in my throat. He had specifically borrowed that suit from old man Henderson back in our village just for today. Henderson was a size bigger than him. The sleeves were too short, and the shoulders sagged. But before he left the house, he had spent twenty minutes staring at himself in the mirror, looking so proud. And now, he had stripped it off to hide a jar of relish. Left wearing nothing but a faded, pill-covered gray crewneck in a room full of bespoke suits and evening gowns, he looked even more tragically out of place. Paul walked over with a glass of red wine and gave me a passing glance. He knew who I was. Or rather, he knew I was Sloane’s husband. But he never went out of his way to speak to me. He walked right up to Sloane and casually draped his arm over the back of her chair. Sloane didn’t pull away. My dad stared at that hand, then looked at me, his face tight with anxiety. He signed. “Who is that man?” “A business partner,” I said. He nodded and didn’t ask anything else. But his eyes stayed glued to Paul’s hand for a very long time. Sloane stood up to greet a new wave of guests, passing right by us. My dad scrambled to stand up straight. He raised his hand, wanting to wave hello. Just as his hand went up… Sloane’s phone rang. She answered it without breaking her stride, walking right past him. My dad’s hand hovered in the air for a second before he slowly let it drop. He smiled to himself. Nobody saw that smile. Nobody except me. Before the second half of the event started, I went to the restroom. On my way back, I passed the VIP lounge. The door was cracked open. Sloane was sitting inside, directly across from Paul’s mother. Mary pulled a velvet jewelry box from her purse and slid it across the table. “You mentioned you loved raw emeralds the other day. I had my jeweler set this pendant aside for you. It isn’t much, but I hope you like it.” Sloane opened the box and gasped softly. “Mary, this is way too expensive.” “Take it.” Mary patted her hand. “I see you as my own daughter. Don’t be so polite with me.” Sloane lowered her head, her voice dropping to a soft murmur. “You are always so good to me, Mary.” Mary smiled and helped her close the box. “I won’t push you about the situation with Paul. But you need to figure out what you truly want.” Sloane didn’t say a word. She didn’t deny it, either. I stood in the hallway, my fingers pressed white against the doorframe. I didn’t push it open. I knew exactly what Mary meant. And I knew exactly what Sloane’s two seconds of silence meant. I turned around and walked back to the exhibition hall. My dad wasn’t in his corner anymore. I searched the entire floor before finally finding him down in the basement storage room. He was crouching on the dusty concrete floor. He had opened the plastic bag holding the wooden comb. He couldn’t hear my footsteps. I stood behind him, watching him huddle among the discarded cardboard boxes, frantically rubbing his thumb over a wooden comb nobody wanted. I knelt down beside him. He jumped, startled, and quickly hid the comb behind his back. Then he flashed me a nervous smile and signed. “Dad was looking for the bathroom. Got lost.” He was terrified I would see how pathetic he felt. He had spent his whole life being terrified of exactly that. I reached out and gently pulled the comb from his hand. The wood was carved with a delicate, winding lotus pattern. Right in the center of the lotus was a tiny word. Peace. He signed. “The carving is ugly. It’s normal that your wife doesn’t like it.” I gripped the comb so tight my knuckles turned white. He signed again. “When I get back, Dad will carve a much better one. With better wood.” He actually thought the problem was his craftsmanship. I helped him to his feet. His legs had gone numb from crouching. He stumbled and threw a hand against the wall to catch his balance. The basement wall was coated in thick dust. He left a dirty handprint on the paint. He yanked his hand back in a panic and desperately wiped it on his trousers. I led him back upstairs. As we passed the main entrance, we ran straight into Sloane walking Mary out. Mary held Sloane’s hands, smiling warmly. “Come to the house for dinner next week. I will make that beef bourguignon you love.” Sloane nodded brightly. “I will be there. I will bring Arthur’s favorite tea.” They stood arm in arm, looking exactly like a mother and daughter. My dad watched them. He looked down at his own dust-covered hands. He hid his hands behind his back. Then he signed a single sentence to me. He signed. “Your wife is a good person. She is so respectful to her elders.” The anniversary event finally ended, and the guests slowly filtered out. My dad started helping the staff stack chairs. He carried seven or eight heavy folding chairs at a time, stacking them with more care than any of the paid employees. A young staffer shot him a weird look and whispered to her coworker. “Who is that guy?” “I think it’s the boss’s husband’s dad.” “The deaf guy?” They didn’t speak loudly, but I heard every word. My dad couldn’t hear a thing. He just kept carrying chairs. Sloane was at the reception desk, saying goodbye to Paul. “I’m heading out,” Paul said. “My old man is taking us out to dinner tonight. I’ll swing by and pick you up.” “Sounds perfect,” Sloane replied. He left. The gallery finally grew quiet. Sloane finally seemed to notice my dad. She walked over. Her tone was slightly more polite than before, but only barely. “Dad, you came all this way without giving us a heads-up. I could have arranged something.” My dad quickly dropped the chairs he was holding and rubbed his calloused hands together nervously. He looked at me to translate. “He said he didn’t want to cause any trouble,” I said. “He wanted to surprise you.” Sloane gave a tight smile and didn’t respond to that. She looked at me. “Arthur is hosting a dinner for us tonight. Take your dad somewhere nearby to grab a quick bite.” Grab a quick bite. “Can’t we all go together?” I asked. Sloane shot me a warning look. “Arthur booked a private chef’s tasting menu. It’s eight hundred a plate, and he only reserved four seats.” She paused. “Besides, look at your dad. It wouldn’t be appropriate for him to be there.” My dad saw the tension in our faces. He grew frantic and signed to me. “What is she saying?” “She said she has a business dinner tonight, and she wants me to take you out for something really delicious.” My dad looked visibly relieved and nodded enthusiastically. He signed. “Of course, of course. Your wife is an important woman. We shouldn’t get in her way.” Sloane grabbed her designer purse, ready to leave. As she walked past the front desk, she remembered something and turned to Gwen. “Those two things I told you to throw away. Did you handle it?” Gwen hesitated. “Dean took them.” Sloane glanced at me. She didn’t say another word, just pushed the glass door open and stepped out. The moment the door swung shut, I saw Paul’s sleek Mercedes parked out front. He stepped out and opened the passenger door for her. The gesture was so fluid, so natural. Like he had done it a thousand times. My dad stood behind the glass door and saw it too. He looked at Paul, and then he looked at me. He lowered his head and stood in silence for a very long time. Finally, he signed a single sentence. “Treat her better. Don’t let someone else steal her away.” I didn’t answer him. That night, I took him to a small diner for a bowl of beef stew. After he finished, he signed to me. “I’ll leave first thing in the morning. I don’t want to cause any more trouble.” “There’s no rush,” I said. He shook his head. “It’s time to go. If I stay too long, your wife will be upset.” When we got back to the apartment, I told him to take the guest bedroom. He flat-out refused and insisted on sleeping on the couch. He said the bedsheets were too white, and he was terrified of getting them dirty. I pulled the wooden comb and the mason jar out of my backpack. There was a faded piece of paper taped to the jar. He barely knew how to read or write, so he had asked the elementary school teacher back in the village to write it for him. It read: Daughter-in-law, the relish is freshly fermented. I added two scoops of salt so it won’t spoil. Good for the stomach. Right beneath that was a line of crooked, barely legible handwriting. You could tell he had written it himself. Just two words. Our family. I carefully packed the comb and the relish back into my bag. Then I took the divorce papers I had drafted weeks ago and placed them dead center on the coffee table. The house belonged to her. The car belonged to her. The savings account belonged to her. I didn’t want a single damn cent. At 4:00 AM, I woke my dad up. He sat up groggily and signed. “The sun isn’t even up.” “Let’s go, Dad,” I said. “I’m taking you home.” He froze. “You don’t have work?” “I quit,” I said. Then I added, “I’m coming back home with you.” He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. I picked up his worn canvas duffel bag and pulled the front door open. The motion-sensor light in the hallway flickered on for a brief second, then died. I led my dad down the hall, and we stepped into the elevator.

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1 I locked up my adoptive brother. I broke his leg, chained him in the basement, and tried to turn him into something that needed me to survive. When I was angry, I slapped him. Before meals, I made him call me “Master.” Every bruise on him was a mark I had left. I treated him like a dog and waited for Stockholm syndrome to happen. But it never did. Every time Owen looked at me, his eyes were filled with pain and a hatred so dense it almost had weight. After three months, I finally gave up. I unlocked his shackles and smiled bitterly. “Owen, don’t hate me. I just wanted you to be unable to leave me.” After that day, I went to school, ate, slept, and disappeared from his life like he wanted. I met new people. Then one day, I opened my eyes. The moment I raised my hand, I heard the familiar clink of chains. The basement was almost airtight. Owen was chained to the bed, one ankle wrapped in thick gauze. I stood in the shadows and waited for a long time. My legs were sore. Finally losing patience, I poured a glass of water and threw it in his face. Owen flinched. Water clung to his lashes. His hair stuck damply to his forehead in messy strands. Beautiful enough to make the heart stop. At last, he woke. He tried to lift a hand to wipe the water from his eyes, only to realize something heavy was locked around his wrist. I greeted him. “Hi. Morning.” “Mor…ning?” Owen repeated it blankly. There were no windows here. No clock. The only light came from a shaky incandescent bulb overhead. Of course he couldn’t tell what time it was. Owen had lived more than twenty years as the prized young master of the family. This was probably the first time he had ever slept somewhere this shabby. He rubbed his aching, foggy head and finally realized something was wrong. “Lydia, what are you doing?” His voice was low. When he frowned slightly, he carried that natural, quiet authority. He looked good. So good it made people want to ruin him. I answered without shame. “I want you, Owen.” The impact of those words was too strong. His eyes widened. He looked down at the chain on his body and pulled hard several times. When it did not budge, he finally realized I wasn’t joking. His mind seemed to explode. “What do you mean, want me?” I moved closer step by step. “You really don’t understand?” “Then I’ll make it clearer. I want to be with you. I want you to belong to me. I want you to be my dog.” “Do you understand now, brother?” Owen was so shocked his voice shook. “Do you know what you’re saying? Are you insane? Do you remember I’m your brother?” I swallowed, a little excited. That sentence. That tone. Exactly like I had imagined. Fear, disbelief, and the shame of something forbidden. I said casually, “We’re not related by blood. What does it matter?” Owen froze. “Mom and Dad told you?” “Yeah. But even if they hadn’t, did you think I couldn’t guess?” “Everyone could see they didn’t care whether I lived or died. They only loved you.” It was funny. Owen’s leg was injured, his wrists chained, his body damp and trapped in this wreck of a room. Yet his first reaction was still to comfort me. “Lydia, that isn’t true. Mom and Dad care about you.” “You’ve lived with us for so long. Blood stopped mattering a long time ago. You know I’ve always treated you as my real sister.” He stumbled over his words. “Even if Mom and Dad are sometimes more biased toward me, that doesn’t matter.” “You know what’s mine is yours. I’ll take care of you for the rest of your life. I’ll give you the best of everything I can.” I nodded. “I believe you.” Hope flashed in Owen’s eyes. “Then…” Before he could finish, I raised my hand without warning and slapped him hard. The sound was loud and crisp. His skin was pale, so his cheek flushed red at once. His head turned to the side. His hair fell messily. Maybe he was stunned, because he didn’t come back to himself for a long while. “You’ll give me the best of everything? Fine. Then give me the part of you no one else has touched.” Owen’s pupils shrank. Whether from fear or anger, his body trembled. “Who taught you to say these things?” I tilted my head. I couldn’t explain what I was feeling. After staring at him for a few seconds, I suddenly leaned in. I bit his lip hard. It was a bite. No tenderness, no romance. Only force. It was as soft and warm as I had imagined. When it split, I tasted blood. He looked truly miserable. He struggled desperately, but the restraints held too tightly. The more he fought, the more helpless he looked. In daily life, I rarely saw him cry. He was always tough, powerful, the person who stood in front of me and handled everything. But now, as if suffering some unbearable pain, even with his eyes tightly shut, tears still leaked from the corners. Seeing him like that made irritation rise in me for no reason. I refused to retreat. “No one taught me, Owen.” “But you raised me yourself. If you hadn’t tempted me, if you hadn’t kept crossing lines without knowing it, how would I have become like this?” “You brought this on yourself.” He trembled harder. My patience ran out. I grabbed his jaw and forced medicine between his lips. Owen’s eyes filled with tears from being forced. He struggled and coughed badly, choking on water. The cruelest thing he could call me was “beast.” It only made me more excited. “Don’t be so fierce.” I smiled. “Your leg still needs regular dressing changes. What will you do if you offend me? Do you want to be permanently disabled?” Only then did Owen seem to realize something. A little terror appeared in his eyes. “My leg…” “I hit you with the car. Don’t accuse me of intentional injury when you get out, okay?” The medicine took effect quickly. Owen’s breathing grew heavy. His gaze blurred, and a thin flush spread over his skin. He still looked tormented. Strangled by that useless sense of morality. But instinct could not be suppressed. I glanced down and sneered. “So much for being noble. I really thought you were made of wood.” “Aren’t you still reacting to the sister you raised?” Owen looked like a trapped animal, cornered with nowhere to go. He dug his nails into his palm, and the chains rubbed red marks around his wrists. He murmured my childhood nickname again and again, begging me not to continue. I touched his burning face and slowly undid the first button of his shirt. Then I added calmly, “Don’t be afraid. You can tell on me.” “If you can still get out.” The day I learned I had been adopted, I wasn’t surprised at all. The woman I had called Mom for twenty years looked relieved, like she had finally set down a burden. “Lydia, we’ve raised you this long. As adoptive parents, we’ve done our duty. We have a clear conscience.” “We’ll give you one of the family properties, and you can choose any car. We’ll also keep supporting you until you graduate college.” “Media will come in three days. You should know what to say.” I smiled and nodded calmly. My adoptive mother had probably prepared for me to make a scene. Seeing me so calm, she seemed at a loss. After considering it for a moment, she softened her tone. “Of course, if you have any other requests, you can bring them up. We can discuss it.” “After all, we watched you grow up. There is still some affection…” I cut her off. “I don’t want anything.” She sighed in relief and patted her chest. “Good.” I held back a cold laugh with all my strength. My only thought was that my plan to imprison Owen had to be moved up. Ever since I could remember, I had vaguely sensed that my parents favored my brother more. This favoritism wasn’t like giving him the bigger drumstick at dinner. In small things, Owen and I received equal resources. Toys, clothes, everything. Whatever he had, I had too. Outsiders thought I was the precious daughter of the family. Only I could sense the subtle difference in their attitude. They treated me like a friend’s child. Polite. Controlled. Distant. They never cared how I was doing in kindergarten or whether I had made new friends. They didn’t care what color dresses I liked, or why I hid in my room crying at night. Yes. As adoptive parents, they were beyond reproach. But to me, a child who knew nothing, the two people I depended on most not caring about me was a very painful thing. I was jealous of Owen. For a long time, I truly hated him. I broke his toys, threw tantrums for no reason, and even pushed him hard down the stairs. Owen fell badly. His forehead split open. Mom and Dad were so heartbroken they skipped work and stayed with him for three days. Watching him in pain, I felt a twisted pleasure rise in me. But Owen didn’t ask why. He didn’t blame me at all. When Mom and Dad questioned him, he even covered for me and said he fell by accident. I froze. A little guilty. So I picked a time when Mom and Dad were asleep, padded into his bedroom in fluffy slippers, tugged his sleeve, and asked why he hadn’t told on me. Owen had been beautiful since childhood. Delicate and fine, like white porcelain in a display case. Even after I woke him, he wasn’t angry. He rubbed his eyes and smiled, pulling me into his arms. His cold, clean scent filled my nose. “Because you’re my little sister.” “Were you angry because I didn’t give you the new blocks that day? I was planning to build them and then give them to you.” “If you like making things yourself, we can build them together tomorrow, okay?” I don’t remember what he said after that. My mind was full of his bright eyes. And that indulgent yet solemn sentence. Later, when I grew older, there were things no one needed to say. I could guess from tiny clues. Muffled conversations in the study. The teasing looks relatives gave me. A few times, someone nearly slipped up, pointing at my face and laughing behind a hand. “Well, raising someone long enough does change things. Look at her eyes. They really do look a bit like yours now.” Mom shot her a look. She immediately shut up and laughed it off. That left a thorn in my heart. That night, I stood on the balcony for a long time. A wealthy family, successful parents, countless pretty clothes in my closet. If one day all of this left me, what would I do? When I thought it through, I realized the thing I couldn’t let go of most was my brother. I paced the balcony anxiously. But Owen was a living person. A person with his own thoughts and judgment. How could he ever truly belong to me? While I was worrying, Roundy came over. Roundy was my dog. No breed. I picked him up from the street. Maybe because I raised him, he was afraid of strangers but especially close to me. Now he ran to my leg with a little ball in his mouth, rubbing his forehead against me. His round eyes stared at me, clearly hoping I would play with him. I crouched and stroked his furry head. His world was so simple. Eat, sleep, play. So pure that it almost contained only me. Yes. Keeping a person’s heart was too hard. But keeping a dog was easy. I hugged Roundy tightly and buried my nose in his fur. Mm. A little smelly. The next afternoon, I went to the basement. Owen had his back to me, shoulders trembling uncontrollably. I hadn’t changed his clothes after yesterday. Red marks, some shallow and some deeper, still crossed his waist and abdomen. I had scratched them there. I licked my lips. Yesterday, Owen had tried at first to maintain his pure, principled image, holding me off with all his strength. Later, maybe the medicine took hold and he couldn’t pretend anymore. He bit his lip and endured everything in silence. It was the first time, so I hadn’t bothered correcting him. I let him get through it however he could. Today would be different. I smiled. “It’s already this late, Owen. Still pretending to sleep? That’s rude.” He ignored me, but his breathing clearly quickened. He was afraid. Afraid of the sister he had raised himself. I barely suppressed my laughter. After clearing my throat, I softened my voice to coax him. “You don’t have to talk to me. But you need water, right? How many hours has it been? Aren’t you thirsty?” Owen was silent for a few seconds, then finally turned over. He sat up, clearly unrested. His eyes were bloodshot, his face exhausted, his voice hoarse. “Lydia, unlock these. Let’s talk properly.” I raised an eyebrow and shook the bottle of mineral water in my hand. “One sentence. Do you want it or not?” He fell silent. The meaning was obvious. No. I glanced at his throat as it moved slightly. I wasn’t surprised. With a smile, I opened the cap in front of him. Then I poured more than half the cool, clear water onto the floor, not leaving a single drop. “It’s fine. I have plenty of time to waste with you.” Owen opened his mouth but said nothing. His pupils trembled. I didn’t give him another chance. I turned and left the basement. My brother couldn’t keep pretending. His throat had been dry and tight after a whole day without water. He panicked and tried to grab my clothes, but he accidentally fell from the bed with a heavy thud. As if he couldn’t feel the pain, he tried desperately to get up and reach me. But the chain was limited. He couldn’t even touch a corner of my clothes. Instead, he ended up covered in dust. I shut the door. After a little while, I heard a suppressed, wounded sound that was almost a sob. How should I put it? It felt pretty good. I didn’t leave him there for too long. Around eight that night, I returned to him right on time. I brought enough water and food. Owen was a grown man, but who knew what temper he was throwing? He remained in the exact position from when I left. Lying on the floor without moving. Hair messy. His pretty face streaked with tears. His eyes terribly red. My good brother. Did he really not know this look only excited me more? I stretched out one foot and naturally stepped on his abdomen, grinding lightly. “Still so stubborn?” “…” “Then I’ll have to use medicine again. But you know that stuff can be addictive.” “Maybe by then, before I even touch you, you’ll already react and crawl over to beg.” Owen’s teeth nearly ground together. “Filthy.” I smiled and opened the bottle cap. “Come on. Call me Master and I’ll give you water.” Even I clicked my tongue at that. Truly vile. Owen’s face alternated between red and white. Whether from shame or rage, he suddenly turned his head away and refused to look at me. I smiled and brought the bottle to his lips. “Come on. Drink.” He had been thirsty so long. Even though every part of him resisted, after struggling a little, he still reluctantly opened his mouth. I fed him a few sips. Just as I was about to keep tormenting him, my phone rang. Owen and I froze at the same time.

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1 I coasted through two years at my wife’s company. I was the absolute most invisible person in the entire department. Bar none. My presence was so low that when the layoffs rolled around, my name was right at the top of the list. The HR Director slapped the termination agreement on the desk right in front of me, skipping the corporate pleasantries altogether. I did not hesitate either. I signed my name, grabbed my potted cactus, and walked right out the door. A week later, three of the company’s core projects completely derailed. By the end of the month, my wife flew back from overseas to audit the books. She flipped open the layoff roster and froze for three seconds. Then she gently closed the folder. The soft thud of that cardboard echoed louder than a thunderclap. My name is Luke. I spent exactly two years grinding at a subsidiary of Summit Enterprises. Two whole years. Seven hundred and thirty days. My overall significance to the branch roughly equaled the dusty potted ficus in the lobby corner. Actually, that is not fair. The cleaning lady at least watered the ficus. I had to pour my own coffee. At three o’clock on a Tuesday afternoon, Jenny from reception poked her head over my cubicle partition. Hey Luke, Brenda from HR wants to see you. I looked up at her. Jenny had this incredibly subtle expression on her face. Her lips were pulled down in a frown, but her eyes held this undeniable spark of excitement. It was that specific thrill people get when they are rubbernecking a car crash. I set down the spreadsheet I was reviewing and stood up. In the next cubicle over, Josh pulled out one of his AirPods and shot me a knowing look. Good luck in there, man. Watch your back. I ignored him and headed straight for the HR department. When I pushed the door open, Brenda was already sitting behind her desk. She was in her early forties, rocking a fresh blowout, with an acrylic manicure that looked far more polished than any performance review she had ever written. She was in the middle of peeling an orange. She did not even bother to stand up when I walked in. She just gestured toward the chair across from her with her chin. Sit. I sat. She took her sweet time tossing the orange peels into the trash can, wiped her hands with a wet wipe, and then pulled two sheets of paper from a folder. Luke, the company is undergoing some structural optimization. Your position falls within the adjustment scope. This is your termination agreement. Your severance package will be standard pay plus one month. She slid the paper across the desk and tapped the signature line with her manicured index finger. Take a look. If there are no issues, just sign it. From the moment I walked in, she had not made actual eye contact with me once. Her eyes were glued to her phone screen. I glanced down at the agreement. Under the section for the reason of termination, it read: Performance targets unmet, structural optimization. Performance targets unmet. I had personally built the entire financial modeling system for our three core projects from the ground up. Just last quarter, my catch in a contract saved the company a two-million-dollar penalty. Performance targets unmet. Sure. Whatever. I picked up the pen, flipped to the last page, and signed my name. Quick and clean. Took me maybe two seconds. Brenda actually paused at that. She had clearly prepared a whole corporate speech about how difficult this decision was for management and how she hoped I would understand. But I signed so fast that all her rehearsed corporate jargon got jammed in her throat. She pulled the agreement back and cleared her throat. Right. Well, your exit procedures will be completed today. Your final paycheck will hit your account at the end of the month. Got it. I stood up and turned toward the door. Just as I reached for the handle, Brenda tossed one last comment at my back. The company cannot afford to carry dead weight. I hope you put a little more effort into your next job. I stopped for a second. I did not look back. I just pushed the door open and left. Back at my desk, I started packing up. I did not have much. Just a cactus I had kept alive for two years, a Yeti thermos, and an unopened box of dental floss. Josh leaned over and patted my shoulder. Take it easy, man. Let’s grab a beer sometime. His tone was about thirty percent pity and seventy percent pure relief. With me gone, his workload was bound to shrink. I knew exactly how the office politics played out. I shoved the cactus into my cardboard box, picked it up, and walked out. Passing the breakroom, I caught the hushed voices of two coworkers. Yeah, that Luke guy. Just got the axe. Makes sense, honestly. Never really saw him do much of anything anyway. Word is Brenda personally put his name on the block. Well, he was a goner then. She’s trying to establish dominance since she got promoted. I did not break my stride. I kept walking. When I reached the lobby, Frank the security guard held the glass door open for me. Heading out, Luke? Yeah, Frank. Heading out. He hesitated for a second. Gonna need that ID badge back, buddy. I looked down and unclipped the lanyard from my neck. The plastic card displayed a very tired mugshot of me, and right next to it: Luke, Finance Department, Junior Associate. Junior Associate. I had been grinding here for two years, and that title had never budged an inch. I handed the badge to Frank, gripped my box, and stepped out the front doors. The afternoon sun felt pretty damn good. I stood on the concrete steps and glanced up at the massive corporate logo bolted to the building. Summit Enterprises, Boston Branch. Summit. I pulled out my phone and looked at the pinned contact at the very top of my messages. Victoria. My wife. And incidentally, the CEO of this entire corporation. My thumb hovered over the screen for two seconds before I typed out a quick text and hit send. What’s for dinner? Three seconds later, she texted back. You’re cooking. I shoved the phone back into my pocket, adjusted my grip on my cactus, and started walking home. 2 Day one of unemployment. I slept until eleven in the morning and woke up naturally. I had not bothered to close the blinds, so the sun was blasting me right in the face. I rolled over and spotted the cactus sitting on my nightstand. It had survived the corporate wasteland for two years and even sprouted a tiny little offshoot on its side. Now, mother and child had come home, just like me. I stretched my arms out. My joints popped like bubble wrap. I had not slept this well in two years. I threw on some gym shorts and flip-flops, then headed downstairs to grab a coffee and a bacon, egg, and cheese sandwich from the corner deli. Right outside my apartment building, I bumped into Mr. Henderson, the old guy from down the hall, walking his corgi. Not at the office today, kid? Using up some PTO. You young folks have it easy. Always taking time off. I just smiled and did not argue. After I finished my breakfast back at the apartment, I booted up my PlayStation. The moment that start screen lit up the TV, a sudden realization hit me. Getting fired really was not all that bad. Day two. Woke up at eleven again. The fridge was empty, so I took a stroll down to the local farmer’s market. I spent a solid ten minutes haggling with Martha at the butcher stall, eventually getting her to knock two bucks off the price of a prime cut. She squinted at me from across the display case. Don’t you have a job to be at, kid? I do. Flexible hours. That’s a lot of flexibility right there. I carried my groceries home, packed the meat and veggies into the fridge, and stood in the middle of my kitchen. That was when it dawned on me. I finally remembered why I had gone to work at my wife’s company in the first place. Two years ago, Victoria had just taken over her family’s empire. With over a dozen subsidiaries under the Vanguard umbrella, she was practically drowning in work, flying around the clock. I told her I wanted to join the company and help her out. She looked at me with an expression that screamed: And what exactly can you do? I told her I had a finance degree. I told her to throw me in at the bottom so I could work my way up on my own merit. She could not talk me out of it, so she finally agreed. But she had one strict condition. Absolutely no one could know we were married. Her exact words were: If people find out you are the boss’s husband, do you honestly think anyone in that building is going to look at you the same way? I told her to relax. No one would ever know. So I showed up at the Boston branch, starting from the absolute bottom rung as a junior finance associate. I grinded for two years. True to my word, nobody knew. And absolutely nobody took me seriously. At eight o’clock that night, Victoria called me on FaceTime from overseas. I frantically paused my game and shoved the controller under the sofa cushion before hitting accept. When the screen connected, Victoria was looking sharp in a tailored blazer, sitting in what looked like an executive airport lounge. Why are you at the house? I rubbed the back of my neck. Working from home today. She eyed me up and down through the camera. You’re working from home in basketball shorts? Company culture is very casual. Victoria did not entertain that. She stayed quiet for a few seconds. There’s a discrepancy in your branch’s recent financial reports. I need you to keep an eye on it for me. Yeah, absolutely. I’m on it. She gave a curt nod, fired off a few more instructions, and ended the call. Once the screen went dark, I pulled the controller out from under the cushion. I stared at the paused game on my TV, then down at my recent call log. Should I tell her? And have her fly back early just to turn the office into a war zone? Forget it. I would tell her when her current trip wrapped up. I hit unpause, watched my character respawn, and charged right back into the boss fight. Meanwhile. And I mean at that exact moment. Back at the office, VP Richard’s nephew, Kyle, was staring blankly at my old monitor. He had been brought in to replace me. Today was his first day on the job. He double-clicked on my main work directory. Every single file in the folder was fully encrypted. 3 Day three of unemployment. It was the quarterly reconciliation date for Project Alpha. I knew this because the calendar alert still popped up on my phone. I glanced at the notification, swiped it away to turn it off, and rolled over to go back to sleep. Things over at the company were a lot less peaceful. Later on, Marcus from Finance called me and painted a very vivid picture of what went down that morning. Kyle sat at my desk and stared at the financial modeling system I had built for two solid hours. He did not understand a single line of the logic. He ended up running over to Marcus’s office in a panic. Marcus, I can’t figure out this reconciliation model. It doesn’t make any sense. Marcus walked over, took one look at the screen, and the color drained from his face. That model was something I had built entirely from scratch. Every cross-verification node, every supplier payment condition, every contract penalty trigger was hardcoded into that system. It was not something a rookie could just pick up by skimming a manual. Then Kyle dropped a line that sent Marcus’s blood pressure through the roof. Also, I can’t even get into the protected folders. The handover document says the password is… the cactus’s birthday. Marcus stared at him for five agonizing seconds. The cactus has a birthday? They dragged Brenda up from HR. She flipped through my exit paperwork. My handover log was meticulous. I had listed every process, every file location, and every critical deadline. I did not leave a single thing out. But the actual operational logic of that core model? That only existed in my head. Because it was not a standard company procedure. I had coded the damn thing myself to save time. A vein throbbed against Marcus’s temple. Brenda, before you went ahead and axed him, did you bother checking with any department heads about how critical his role was? Brenda looked defensive, though her voice shook a little. Marcus, he was just a junior associate. His performance review clearly stated he wasn’t meeting targets. Who gave him that review? Brenda kept her mouth shut. At four in the afternoon, my phone rang. It was Josh. I was standing in the middle of the farmer’s market, inspecting a bin of tomatoes. Luke! His voice sounded like he was reporting from the apocalypse. We can’t open the Project Alpha reconciliation model. What the hell is the password? Oh, that. I squeezed the tomato in my hand. Not ripe enough. I put it back. Tell HR to send me a formal technical consultation request. Just pay me the standard market consulting rate and I’ll unlock it. He went dead silent for three seconds. Bro, are you serious? I got fired, Josh. This literally isn’t my job anymore. Come on, man, don’t do this to me. I can go talk to Brenda, maybe we can figure out a way to… Martha yelled at me from across the aisle. Hey kid! Fresh halibut today! Gotta go, Josh. Buying fish. Click. I hung up the phone before I had to listen to him hyperventilate. That very evening, the supplier for Project Bravo sent over a formal letter of demand. Payment was overdue. If the funds did not clear within three days, they were initiating legal action. Marcus sat in his office, rubbing his temples as a headache pounded behind his eyes. He hauled Brenda into a private meeting. I do not know exactly what was said in that room. But according to Jenny at the front desk, when Brenda walked out of Marcus’s office, her face was the exact same color as printer paper. Ghost white. I did not know any of this, of course. I was at home, trying to perfect the simmering time for my braised short ribs. The cactus was soaking up the afternoon sun on the windowsill. Life was good. 4 Day five of unemployment. I finally nailed the braised short ribs. Glistening, perfectly marbled, the meat practically falling off the bone the second my fork touched it. Absolute perfection. I poured myself a glass of Coke and was just about to dig in when my phone buzzed. Unknown number. I picked it up, and immediately a middle-aged man started screaming in my ear. Is this Luke? This is Gibson from Apex Supply. Who the hell is managing the payment clauses on the Project Charlie contract? Does nobody at your company read the penalty stipulations? I slowly put my fork down. Hello, Mr. Gibson. I’ve actually left the company. You’ll need to reach out to the current project manager. What? You left? Then who’s handling the contract? I suggest calling the company’s main line. He muttered a string of curses and slammed the phone down. I looked down at my plate of ribs. I let out a heavy sigh, picked up a piece, and popped it into my mouth. Yep. Delicious. I ended up getting the full play-by-play of the office meltdown from Jenny later that evening. She sent me a massive voice memo, sounding like she was on the verge of tears. Luke, I am losing my mind over here. Project Charlie had completely exploded. There was a hidden, escalating penalty clause buried deep in that contract, triggered automatically if a payment was delayed by more than seven business days. I was the one who had spotted it during the initial review, and I built an automated alert system that warned us five days before every single payment node hit. But that alert system lived on my local machine. When Kyle took over, he had absolutely no clue the system even existed. Day seven came and went, and the penalty clause activated automatically. Three core projects, completely paralyzed. Project Alpha’s financials were gridlocked. Project Bravo’s vendors were threatening lawsuits. Project Charlie’s late fees were skyrocketing by the hour. The front desk phone was ringing so much Jenny said her ears were bleeding. Two angry suppliers actually sent representatives down in person to block the main entrance. Frank the security guard was completely overwhelmed trying to keep them out. VP Richard called an emergency executive meeting. Marcus recounted the details of that meeting to me later. Richard slammed his hand on the boardroom table. What the hell is going on? Three major projects blowing up in one week? There goes our entire monthly profit margin. Marcus looked right at him. Richard, the core financials for all three of those projects were handled exclusively by Luke. After he left… Richard cut him off. He was a low-level junior employee. How much impact could he possibly have? Marcus’s jaw tightened. Richard, he built the financial models from scratch. Right now, there isn’t a single person in this building who knows how to operate them. The boardroom plunged into dead silence. Brenda sat huddled in the corner, gripping her pen so hard her knuckles were white. Richard turned his glare on her. Brenda. Get him back here right now. Brenda swallowed hard. I tried calling him. He’s not answering. Richard narrowed his eyes. However you got rid of him, you figure out a way to drag him back. Brenda swallowed her pride and dialed my number again. I happened to be outside, walking Mr. Henderson’s corgi. When the phone rang, the dog was busy doing circles around a fire hydrant. I answered. Brenda’s voice came through the speaker. She was still trying to use her condescending HR voice. Luke, management has reviewed your file. Given your past contributions, we’ve decided to offer you an opportunity to return to— Sorry, I’m walking a dog right now. Click. I hung up. The corgi looked up at me. I crouched down and gave him a good scratch behind the ears. Nothing to do with you, buddy. Do your thing. Twenty minutes later, Brenda called again. I did not pick up. She called a third time. Ignored. Jenny told me later that when Brenda finally put her phone down, Richard demanded to know what I said. Brenda’s voice was hoarse when she answered. He said… he’s walking a dog. According to Marcus, the mood in that boardroom could be summed up in one word. Shattered. 5 Day seven of unemployment. I unlocked my phone to find seventeen missed calls. Countless text messages. Over ninety unread messages on WhatsApp. I scrolled through them one by one. Josh: Bro, I’m begging you. Just pick up the phone. Please. Jenny: Luke, the suppliers are tearing me apart. My hands are literally shaking. Marcus: Luke, name your price. Whatever you want, we can negotiate. Brenda’s messages were the most entertaining. I sorted them chronologically. First message: Luke, please cooperate with the company’s formal handover procedure. Third message: Luke, management is willing to negotiate a slight increase in your severance. Let’s talk. Fifth message: Luke, please. I know my attitude was out of line before. I apologize. Seventh message: If you have a shred of humanity left, text me back. Ninth message: I am begging you on my hands and knees. I read every single message from top to bottom. Then I picked up my PlayStation controller and queued up for another match. At eight o’clock, Victoria’s FaceTime call came through. I stared at the screen. I had to pick up. If I ghosted her two days in a row, she would definitely track my GPS. I hit accept. She was not in a hotel this time. She looked like she was sitting in a temporary office somewhere. And she looked pissed. What the hell is going on at your branch? I was mid-slurp on a bowl of takeout noodles. I mumbled around the food. Hmm? What do you mean? I just looked over the subsidiary’s monthly report. Profits tanked by sixty percent. Three core projects are totally stalled. Reception has logged over forty vendor complaints. Really? That sounds pretty rough. Victoria stared right through the camera lens. Are you not at the office? I’m… working from home today. Cooking dinner. Cooking dinner on company time? We have flexible— If you say ‘flexible hours’ to me one more time, I will buy a ticket and fly back tonight. I swallowed my noodles so fast I almost choked. Victoria’s expression shifted. I knew that exact look. It was the transition from suspicion to scrutiny, and finally, to locking onto a target. That was her rhythm in the boardroom. The second she smelled blood in the water, she hunted it down. Luke. Yeah. Are you hiding something from me? I slid my bowl out of the camera’s view, took a deep breath, and pointed my phone at the stove. Babe, look at the color on these braised short ribs. I’ve been perfecting this recipe for three days— I’m booking a flight for tomorrow. You just wait. Click. She hung up on me. I stared at the black screen, a lump of noodles suddenly very heavy in my stomach. I was dead. I was so incredibly dead. I glanced over at the cactus sitting on the windowsill. Buddy, the missus is coming home. The cactus did not say a word. But I swear it was mocking me. The next day. Right before Victoria’s plane touched down, she sent me a text. Pick me up.

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1 Seven years after I left Nathan Vale, I became the most authoritative hypnosis specialist in the country. Today, I received a confidential consultation request from another province. When I pushed open the door to the consultation room, a storm had just begun outside. In the dim therapy chair sat a man tormented by insomnia. It was Nathan. He slowly opened his eyes and broke the awkward silence with a dry voice. “Summer… have you been well all these years?” Holding his medical file, I smiled with polite distance. “Fortunately, yes. Everything has been fine.” He watched me calmly close the file, pain flashing through his eyes. “You’re different now. Before, whenever it thundered or rained, you never dared to be alone.” I smiled and didn’t answer. Actually, nothing had changed. I had only stopped leaving any part of my emotions for him. Putting away my pocket watch, I slowly pushed the medical file back in front of him. “Mr. Vale, I can’t perform hypnosis on you.” His fingers, resting on the armrest, trembled violently. It wasn’t emotional shaking. It was involuntary tremor caused by long-term neurasthenia. His hand knocked over the glass on the table. The glass shattered against the tile, the sound swallowed by a clap of thunder. Nathan stumbled up from the therapy chair. His hand reached across my desk, fingers spread, trying to cover my ears. Muscle memory from seven years ago. I didn’t even lift my eyelids. I pressed the intercom. “Jade, come clean this up.” His hand froze in midair. Thunder rumbled outside. I continued flipping through the next client’s file. He stared at my calm profile as I turned the pages. Slowly, the hand hovering in the air withdrew and clenched into a fist, his knuckles taut. My assistant pushed the door open and bent to pick up the broken glass. Nathan still stood there. “Summer, I can pay double.” “It isn’t about money.” “Triple.” His voice was dry and hoarse, soaked in exhaustion. “I really haven’t slept through a full night in almost three months.” I didn’t respond. I opened the drawer. My fingertips touched a metal casing. I took it out and placed it on the desk. An old pocket watch. The moment Nathan’s gaze landed on it, his breathing stopped. His throat moved, but he said nothing. I saw an unreal flicker of light ignite in his eyes. He thought I kept the watch because I was sentimental. I picked it up, turned it half a circle in my palm, and snapped it down on the desk. “If Mr. Vale really wants sleep, the psychiatric department is down the hall to the left. Ask for heavy sedatives.” I tore off a sticky note, wrote down a few numbers, and pushed it toward him. “Refusal consultation fee. Finance will send you the invoice later.” He didn’t look at the note. He stared at my fingers, at the pocket watch I had slapped casually onto the desk. His mouth twisted into an expression uglier than crying. “That watch is broken.” His voice trembled hoarsely. “I’ll buy you a new one.” I didn’t answer. I simply turned the watch over and opened the back cover with my thumb. Inside the cover was a place where words had once been engraved. Three words. Nathan loves Summer. Now those words were unrecognizable. The metal had been scraped again and again by something sharp, leaving grooves of different depths, like wounds that had failed to heal. All color drained from Nathan’s face. I knew what he had remembered. I stared into his bloodshot eyes. “It wasn’t just the watch that shattered.” My voice was very soft. “It was someone’s nerves too. You haven’t forgotten that, have you, Nathan?” It was as if someone had shoved him hard from behind. He staggered backward and hit the therapy chair. He didn’t even take an umbrella. He yanked open the door and stumbled into the rain at the end of the corridor. I picked up the pocket watch again and pressed my thumb against the scratches. Seven years. Memory was like a rusted floodgate. In that moment, it loosened with a crash. I heard Nathan’s voice again. Not the hollow, nearly begging voice from moments ago. The voice from seven years earlier. Warm, carrying the scent of mint, pressed against the top of my head. “Summer, don’t be afraid.” “I will always be your safest fortress.” Seven years ago, I was twenty-two. It was the third year Nathan had kept me by his side. Thunderstorms triggered my illness. It wasn’t ordinary fear of thunder. It was true post-traumatic stress. When I was little, my stepfather had locked me in a leaking basement for three days. Ever since, whenever lightning flashed, my limbs would spasm uncontrollably. That day, thunder struck from four in the afternoon until dawn. I curled inside the master bedroom closet, wrapped in his coat. The sound of the door lock turning came at 11:03 p.m. Nathan rushed into the bedroom, soaked from head to toe, ink stains still on the cuff of his suit. He opened the closet door and saw me shaking in the corner. Without a word, he bent and scooped me up, holding me in his arms. His chest trembled. His body heat came through his drenched shirt. “Summer.” “Look at this.” He took out a custom pocket watch from his pocket, opened the back, and held it by my ear. The second hand ticked softly and steadily, one beat after another, like another calm heart. “Listen to this. Not the storm outside.” His chin rested against the top of my head, his voice lowered. I clutched his shirt and refused to let go, nails digging into the fabric. “Never leave me.” He placed the watch into my palm and wrapped his hand around mine. “Even if I’m crushed to dust.” Only those words. I believed him. I used those words as a foundation and built every definition of safety upon them. But another thunderstorm came three months later. I held that pocket watch and sat on the living room sofa all night. The second hand ticked thirty-two thousand times. His phone had been turned off since eight in the evening. At 5:40 a.m., the door lock finally turned. He pushed the door open, collar loose, carrying a strong sandalwood scent that did not belong to him. It was the perfume used by Bianca Vale, his boss’s daughter. I had smelled it at the company banquet. I could identify it from three tables away. He saw me sitting on the sofa and paused. “Why aren’t you asleep?” His eyes swept over the watch in my hand, then quickly moved away. “The company system had issues. I spent the whole night in the server room.” He tugged at his tie and walked toward the bathroom. “The perfume rubbed off by accident. There were lots of people around.” I didn’t move. I placed the watch on my knees and pointed at the storm still churning beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows. “Do you know how I got through last night?” He stopped, but he didn’t turn around. In the past, at moments like this, he would turn back, pick me up, and cover all my panic with his warmth. This time, he stood where he was and tugged at his tie. His voice carried something it never had before. “Summer, you’re not a child anymore. You need to learn to handle these things yourself. Stop being so immature.” His phone screen lit up on the entryway cabinet. I saw the message preview. The sender was saved as a white gardenia emoji. “Thank you for staying with me last night. I felt so safe.” It was as if an invisible hand had seized my heart. “You lied to me.” I heard my own voice shaking. “Bianca, right? Are you going to abandon me and marry her?” Nathan’s expression changed. Not guilt. Not panic. It was a kind of irritated impatience I had never seen on his face before. He came back, pressed one hand onto my shoulder, and pushed me against the sofa back. His strength wasn’t great. But the gesture itself chilled my spine. “You’ve been too tense lately.” He leaned down, his gaze like he was examining a malfunctioning machine. “I think you’re hallucinating.” He went to the kitchen and poured a glass of water. When he returned, white powder was still visible at the bottom of the glass, swirling in tiny currents. He held the water to my lips. “Drink it. Sleep.” His thumb brushed the corner of my mouth. The touch was light. So was his voice. “When you wake up, we’ll get married.” I didn’t drink it. I knocked the glass away with the back of my hand. Water spilled across the carpet. The white powder dissolved into a cloudy stain. Nathan straightened and stared at the wet patch for five seconds. Then he took out his phone and dialed a number. “Seal all exits.” Within ten minutes, the villa’s security system switched modes. Door locks, window locks, garage gates, every path leading outside locked at once. He took away my phone. The reason was that I needed rest. For half a month, I did not see complete daylight once. The bedroom curtains were nailed shut. The remote was removed. But early autumn thunderstorms came like clockwork, every other day. Every time lightning pierced through the gap in the curtains, I shook uncontrollably. My nails nearly dug through my palms. During the day, Nathan was gone. When he came home at night, he sometimes brought me a slice of my favorite cheesecake. He sat by the bed, fed me with a fork, and wiped cream from the corner of my mouth with his thumb. His movements were exactly the same as before. As if nothing had happened. As if I could leave at any time. On the eleventh day, the housekeeper forgot to lock the kitchen door after bringing dinner. The living room TV was on. I saw the screen. A press conference. Nathan stood onstage. Bianca held his arm, wearing a crisply tailored white suit. Reporters shoved microphones almost into his face. Nathan turned slightly, looked at the woman beside him, then faced the camera. “In this life, I will only marry the woman standing beside me.” Flashbulbs exploded across the screen. I crouched in front of the TV cabinet. My knees hit the tile, but I felt no pain. That night, when he opened the bedroom door, I held kitchen scissors in my hand. The tip pressed against my carotid artery. “Let me go.” He stood at the door, eyes falling on the scissors. There was no fear. He approached with slow steps, bit by bit. “Let you go?” He stopped in front of the bed and tilted his head. “So you can go tell everyone?” He reached out and grasped the blade with his bare hand. Metal sank into flesh. Blood slid down the blade and fell onto the sheets. His expression did not change. “Summer, alive, you are mine.” He pulled the scissors from my hand inch by inch. “Dead, you can only die in this house.” He threw the scissors into the hallway. The sound of metal striking the floor echoed through the empty villa for a long time. Three days later, Nathan brought someone back. The man carried a black briefcase. Beneath his white coat, he wore an ordinary gray sweater. Nathan had the housekeeper help me sit up. Soft restraints were already tied around my wrists. He stood at the foot of the bed and looked down at me. “Summer, you’re in too much pain now.” He reached out and brushed aside the hair on my forehead. “I found the best doctor for you.” I shook my head desperately. Tears slid from the corners of my eyes into my ears. “I won’t fight anymore. I’ll listen to whatever you say. Please don’t do this.” Nathan’s hand stopped on my forehead. He closed his eyes. For that one second, I thought he would stop. I thought he was still the man who once canceled million-dollar negotiations for me. Then he opened his eyes, turned around, and said something to the man in English. “Erase the memories that hurt her. Rewrite love into obedience.” The man opened his briefcase and took out a syringe and a palm-sized machine. Nathan walked toward the door. I could no longer scream complete words. Only broken sounds left my throat. The door closed. As the last strip of light was cut off, the needle pierced the vein on the back of my hand. After the drug took effect, my consciousness sank like drowning. My body stopped struggling. But I was still awake. The man thought the sedative had pushed me into deep hypnosis. He began guiding me with a pendulum and words, invading my subconscious sentence by sentence. “Forget betrayal.” “Forget waiting through that thunderstorm.” “He is safe. Obey him, and you won’t hurt anymore.” Every instruction reached my mind like ten thousand needles piercing my skull. The brainwave interference device was attached to both sides of my temples. Whenever my subconscious tried to seize a memory, electric current poured in from behind my ears and burned along my nerves. I tried to hold on to the sound of the pocket watch’s second hand. To the image of Nathan crouching in front of the closet and catching me. To the words “crushed to dust.” Every time I tried, the electric shock came. It was as if someone were using a branding iron to burn away the words inside my brain, one stroke at a time. I felt my fingers move. Under the restraint, my right middle finger kept curling inward. Hidden beneath my nail was a thin piece of metal. Before I was tied to the bed, I had bitten off a clasp from the pocket watch chain, held it between my gum and cheek, and moved it into my hand. I began to scrape. While the doctor adjusted the instrument settings, I used that metal piece to scratch the back cover of the pocket watch again and again. Nathan loves Summer. I cut over those three words repeatedly. My finger tore open. Blood mixed with metal dust. My fingertip lost all feeling. But physical pain became an anchor. It pinned me to the edge of clarity and kept that machine from pushing me all the way down. The procedure lasted four hours. When it ended, I could see nothing clearly. All I heard was the hum of the machine shutting off. The door opened. Nathan walked to the bed and bent over to look at me. I knew I had to act. I emptied my gaze, stopped my eyes from focusing, and relaxed every facial muscle. His hand covered the top of my head. “Summer, you’re so good now.” There was satisfaction in his voice. His fingertips brushed over my cheekbone, as if admiring a newly acquired collectible. A deep chill crawled up my spine. But I endured it. The brainwave intervention severed part of my short-term memory. For nearly half a year, my recollections were fractured and displaced. But the core remained. My nerves had been burned raw. Pain itself became the container of memory. With my damaged consciousness, I escaped that villa through the kitchen exhaust duct at dawn on the twenty-first day while the night housekeeper dozed off. That was seven years ago. I closed the back cover of the pocket watch. The metal clasp gave a soft click. The door to the consultation room was suddenly shoved open. Nathan had come back. He was soaked through, hair plastered to his forehead. He knelt in front of my desk, knees hitting the tiles with a dull thud. “I was a bastard back then.” He held his head, his vocal cords shaking badly. “I thought if your memories were erased, you wouldn’t suffer anymore. I thought it was for your own good.” I looked at him. This man who had once said at a press conference that he would marry only one woman now looked like a rotten, rain-soaked rag. I smiled. Very lightly. Without sound. He froze and lifted his face. I leaned down, meeting his gaze at eye level. “Mr. Vale, actually, that doctor of yours wasn’t very skilled.” His lips moved. “Try imagining what it felt like to feel your brain nerves being burned one by one by electric current, while having to pretend to stare blankly as you touched my head and said I was good.” I paused, my voice steady. “In business terms, I believe you’d call that worse than death.” Nathan’s pupils expanded to the limit in an instant. He opened his mouth but made no sound. Only broken gasps squeezed from his chest. His nails dug into the seams between the floor tiles, shaking terribly. I straightened, picked up the pocket watch from the desk, and gently swung it in midair. The second hand no longer moved. “Since you like hypnosis so much.” I released my fingers and let the watch hang. “Then I’ll let you taste what it means to never wake up.”

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My brother was in a brutal crash and rushed to the ICU. Desperate to save my bonus for his surgery, I sprinted to Director Carter’s office to approve my emergency leave. She deliberately stalled. “No ER certificate attached. Denied.” I texted Dad. He sent a photo of the admission slip, but she sneered. “Video call me. I want to see him holding the family registry and certificate.” Dad stood trembling outside the ICU, awkwardly holding the papers to the lens while I begged her to look. She glanced for two seconds and rejected it. “Policy deducts three months’ bonus. The ER isn’t a crematorium. Finish your reports.” Staring at the rejection, I laughed dryly. Without screaming, I pressed voice memo and spoke clearly: “Dad, stop waiting. Police confirmed Carter’s son stole the car for a joyride and totaled it. He had no ID, his face was shredded, so they misidentified him as my brother. Tell Director Carter to sign the critical condition waiver herself.” 1 The second I sent the voice message, Director Carter let out a sharp, mocking laugh. She picked up the ceramic coffee mug on her desk and hurled it directly at my head. “Chloe, have you completely lost your mind?!” “You’re using cheap, disgusting curses against my son just to fake a day off?!” I dodged the flying mug. It shattered against the wall, hot coffee splattering everywhere. “Director Carter, I am not lying to you.” “The traffic police already confirmed the identity. The driver in the crash is your son, Jackson.” “Call them and verify it yourself.” Director Carter slammed both hands onto her desk and shot up from her leather chair. “Shut your mouth!” “My son drove his brand new Porsche to a resort resort this morning!” “Why the hell would he ever touch your pathetic, cheap sedan?” “Do you honestly think someone as poor and miserable as you is worthy of having her car stolen by my son?” I pulled up the text message from the police dispatcher, intending to show her the official notice. She lunged forward, violently snatching the phone out of my hand. She threw it onto the marble floor with everything she had. The screen instantly shattered into a spiderweb of glass. “Chloe, you are a pathological liar, and you viciously curse the families of your superiors.” “I am officially notifying you. You are fired.” “Your salary for this month, along with your entire performance bonus, is being withheld to compensate for the company’s reputational damage.” “Pack your trash and get out of my building. Now!” I slowly crouched down and picked up my ruined phone. “You don’t have the legal authority to fire me without cause.” “Withholding my earned wages is a federal crime.” Director Carter stepped around her desk and viciously kicked my hand with the pointed toe of her designer heel. “In this department, my word is the law!” “Your brother is dying in the ICU, isn’t he?” “I am going to make sure you don’t get a single dime.” “I want you to watch him take his last breath!” The coworkers gathered outside the glass walls didn’t dare make a sound. Director Carter picked up her desk phone and dialed Human Resources. “Chloe has severely violated company conduct. Draft her termination papers immediately.” “Notify Payroll. Freeze all of her reimbursements and direct deposits.” She slammed the phone down and pointed a perfectly manicured finger at the door. “Security!” Two heavy set security guards rushed into the office. “Throw this garbage out.” “She is not allowed to take a single piece of company property with her.” The guards stepped forward, grabbing me roughly by both arms. I struggled against their grip, shouting as loud as I could. “Director Carter, the boy lying in the ICU is Jackson!” “He didn’t have his wallet, and his face was completely ripped apart by the windshield!” “If you don’t go down there and pay the deposit for his surgery, he is going to die!” She marched right up to me and raised her hand high. Smack. She slapped me directly across the face. “Still running your mouth!” “Throw her out!” The guards dragged me out of the executive suite. They hauled me through the lobby and out the front doors of the corporate tower. They shoved me hard, sending me tumbling down the concrete steps. My shattered phone screen suddenly lit up. It was my dad calling. “Chloe, the doctors said his pupils are dilating!” “They need a family member to sign the consent form for the experimental drugs immediately!” “The deposit is ten thousand dollars!” I gritted my teeth and pulled myself up from the concrete. “Dad, the patient is not my brother!” “Leave him alone. Let his own family deal with the consequences!” My dad’s voice was panicked. “But the hospital registered him under your brother’s name!” “If we don’t pay, they are legally required to stop treatment.” “And the police said you are the registered owner of the vehicle. Procedure requires the family to be present.” I let out a cold, hollow laugh. “Then let them stop treatment.” “The person dying on that table is Director Carter’s son.” “I’ll catch a cab to the hospital right now.” I flagged down a yellow taxi. From the top of the stairs, Director Carter’s shrill voice rang out. “Chloe, you think running to the hospital is going to save you?” She clicked down the steps in her stilettos, looking at me like I was an insect. “Let me make this perfectly clear. You crossed me. I will have you blacklisted across this entire industry.” “Not only am I freezing your paychecks, I am going to make sure your brother rots in that hospital bed, and you won’t even have the cash to cremate him!” I rolled down the taxi window. “Director Carter, you should really call the resort and see what car your son is actually driving today.” 2 The taxi pulled away from the curb. I glanced back and saw Director Carter turning around, her face twisted in absolute disgust as she walked back into the corporate tower. When I rushed into the hospital’s emergency lobby, my dad was pacing frantically, clutching a stack of urgent medical bills. “Chloe, the administration says if we don’t pay the deposit right now, they have to pull the plug.” I snatched the bills out of his trembling hands and ripped them in half. I tossed the pieces into the nearest trash can. “Pull it.” “Tell them to pull it right now.” My dad completely froze. “Chloe… that’s a human life!” “I know it’s not our boy, but…” I cut him off immediately. “Dad. The person bleeding out in that room is my boss’s son. Director Carter.” “He stole my brother’s car, took it joyriding, and completely totaled it.” “His mother just froze my paychecks, fired me illegally, and promised to blacklist me so I can never work again.” “She literally told me she wanted to watch my brother die.” “Why in God’s name would I save her son?” The ER attending physician hurried out of the double doors, holding a critical condition waiver on a clipboard. “Family of the patient? Are you here?” I stepped forward. “Doctor, the patient in that room is not my brother.” “His name is Jackson.” The doctor’s eyebrows slammed together in frustration. “We verified the vehicle registration found inside the wreckage. The vehicle belongs to your family.” “The patient is suffering from a massive intracranial hemorrhage.” “He needs an emergency craniotomy immediately. If we delay by another ten minutes, he is dead.” “Who is signing the consent? Who is paying the deposit?” I pulled my driver’s license out of my wallet and held it up. “My name is Chloe. I am the registered owner of the car.” “But the person inside that room is not related to me. I absolutely refuse to sign any medical waivers.” “And I am not paying a single cent.” The doctor’s face darkened. “If you refuse to sign, we cannot legally perform the brain surgery.” “The patient will reach brain death very quickly.” “How can your family be this cold-blooded?” I stared at the doctor with a completely deadpan expression. “It’s not cold-blooded. You simply have the wrong family.” “I called his biological mother. She explicitly refused to come to the hospital.” “She believes we are running a scam on her.” Suddenly, a loud commotion erupted at the far end of the hallway. Several men in sharp black suits violently shoved through the crowd of patients. Director Carter’s husband, Richard, a wealthy local executive, marched straight up to me. Behind him was the head corporate lawyer from my company. Richard pointed a thick, heavy finger directly at my face. “Are you Chloe?” I met his furious glare without blinking. “Yes.” Richard didn’t hesitate. He swung his hand, aiming a brutal slap right at my head. I ducked to the side, and his hand hit nothing but air. He let out a furious roar. “Your worthless, trash brother!” “He drove his pathetic junk car and hit my son, didn’t he?!” I looked at him with absolute ice in my veins. “Richard, you have your facts entirely backwards.” “Your son, Jackson, broke into my brother’s car and stole it.” Richard let out a booming, arrogant laugh. “Bullshit!” “My son drives a Porsche! Why would he ever stoop so low as to steal a garbage used car?” The corporate lawyer stepped forward, adjusting his tie. “Chloe, Director Carter has authorized me to handle this matter entirely.” “We pulled the security footage from the club district. Your brother parked his car outside a nightclub.” “Later, the vehicle was found crashed into a highway barrier.” “Jackson was drinking at that exact nightclub tonight, and now his phone is completely unreachable!” “It is obvious your brother hit my client’s son and hid the body to cover up the crime!” I pulled out my phone and started dialing 911. “Since you claim you have footage, let’s have the traffic detectives settle this.” Richard lunged forward and violently snatched the phone out of my hand. He hurled it against the hospital wall. The device shattered into a dozen pieces. “Call the cops? You think the police are going to protect a nobody like you?” “Let me make this clear. My family has enough power in this city to crush you like a cockroach.” “If you don’t tell me where you hid my son right now, I will bury your entire family!” My dad stepped in front of me, throwing his arms out to shield me. “You people are completely insane!” “The police clearly stated there was only one injured driver pulled from the wreckage!” Richard raised his heavy leather shoe and viciously kicked my dad directly in the stomach. My dad let out a sharp gasp of pain and collapsed onto the linoleum floor. “Dad!” I instantly dropped to my knees, holding him tight. Richard pointed a menacing finger at the heavy doors of the ICU. “The kid lying in there is your brother, right?” “He hits my son, and now he thinks he can hide in the hospital and play the victim?” 3 Richard violently whipped his head toward the attending physician. “Doctor, my name is Richard Carter. CEO of Carter Enterprises.” “That kid inside, the one who caused the crash? Cease all medical intervention immediately.” The doctor froze, utterly bewildered. “Mr. Carter, this is a hospital, you can’t just…” Richard cut him off with a chilling sneer. “I don’t care what this is. Your Chief of Medicine is my weekly golf partner.” “That kid committed a hit and run. He is suspected of the attempted murder of my son.” “Anyone who tries to save his miserable life is making a direct enemy of the Carter family!” The doctor looked incredibly conflicted. “But sir, the patient requires emergency brain surgery to survive.” Richard waved his hand dismissively. “I don’t give a damn!” “Stop his medication and pull the ventilator right now!” “Let him die in there and pay for what he did to my boy!” I helped my dad up from the floor, easing him into a waiting room chair. I just watched Richard scream his psychotic demands. “Richard, are you absolutely certain you want the life support pulled?” Richard took a threatening step toward me. “What’s the matter? Starting to feel sorry for your trash brother?” “My son is missing and could be dead for all I know. Why should your brother get top tier medical care?” “I’m not just pulling the plug. I’m making sure your whole family rots in a federal prison!” The corporate lawyer chimed in, adjusting his glasses. “Chloe, Mr. Carter has already applied immense pressure on the police department.” “Your brother is facing charges for felony vehicular manslaughter.” “Your only way out of this is to sign a ‘Do Not Resuscitate’ order on his behalf right now.” I smiled. I actually started laughing out loud. “You want me to sign a DNR for the patient in that room?” Richard snarled, “Exactly!” “If you don’t sign it, I’ll put your old man in the ICU right next to him.” “And that’s just the start. You will never find employment in this state ever again.” “The bank will foreclose on your family home before the week is out.” I stood up straight, brushing the dust off my knees. I looked Richard dead in the eyes. “Fine.” “I’ll sign it.” The corporate lawyer immediately unzipped his leather briefcase and pulled out a standard medical waiver to cease treatment. Richard snatched it from his hands and slammed it onto the reception desk in front of me. “Smart girl.” “Sign your name, and get the hell out of my city.” I didn’t reach for the pen. “I can’t sign this document.” Richard’s face contorted in absolute rage. “Are you playing games with me?” “Do you want me to walk in there and rip his oxygen tube out with my own bare hands?!” I kept my voice perfectly, terrifyingly calm. “Because I am not his legal guardian or family member.” “The doctor just told you, only direct family can authorize a DNR.” “If you really want the patient dead, why don’t you sign the waiver yourself, Richard?” Richard was momentarily caught off guard, but then he let out a dark, arrogant laugh. “You think I won’t?” “I am the family of the victim! I am formally demanding the cessation of medical care for a violent criminal. It is entirely within my legal rights!” He turned and glared at the doctor. “Give me your hospital’s official DNR form!” “I will sign it right now!” The doctor was sweating profusely. “Mr. Carter, this completely violates medical protocol…” “The paperwork must be signed by the patient’s parents or legal spouse.” Richard shoved his finger inches from the doctor’s face. “Cut the bureaucratic garbage!” “I said I’m signing it, so I’m signing it!” “If anyone comes asking questions, I take full legal and financial responsibility!” Right as the words left his mouth, the sharp, rhythmic clicking of high heels echoed down the sterile hallway. Director Carter strode toward us, flanked by two more security guards. “Honey, why are you wasting your breath arguing with these peasants?” “I just got off the phone with the Chief of Medicine.” “All medical funds for that criminal have been completely frozen.” She stopped directly in front of me, her eyes dripping with malice. “Chloe, earlier today in my office, you fabricated a disgusting lie about my son dying.” “Now your own brother is bleeding out behind those doors. Karma is a beautiful thing, isn’t it?” I looked at her, completely unfazed. “Director Carter, have you actually managed to contact your son yet?” Her face twitched violently, but she quickly raised her voice to cover her panic. “That is none of your damn business!” “Jackson is at a luxury resort. He just forgot to charge his phone.” “Bottom feeders like you belong rotting in the gutter where you started.” Suddenly, the heavy doors of the ICU burst open. An emergency room nurse sprinted out, her face pale with terror. “The patient’s blood pressure just crashed to critical levels!” “If we don’t begin a massive blood transfusion and initiate the surgery right this second, his heart will stop in less than five minutes!” The nurse looked frantically at our group. “Who is the family?!” “Sign the consent form and pay the deposit right now!” 4 Director Carter let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “There is no family here!” The nurse was practically hyperventilating. “What do you mean there’s no family?” Director Carter pointed a manicured finger right at my chest. “She refuses to sign it. And even if she wanted to, she doesn’t have a dime to her name.” “Her brother is a rapist and a murderer.” “Why the hell is your hospital wasting resources trying to save a piece of human garbage?” The nurse stared at her in utter disbelief. “But ma’am…” Director Carter took a step forward, aggressively snatching the patient’s medical chart right out of the nurse’s hands. She slammed it forcefully onto the linoleum floor. “There are no ‘buts’!” “I am an executive board member of Carter Enterprises.” “I am ordering you to cease all resuscitation efforts immediately.” “Let him die!” I crossed my arms over my chest and tilted my head. “Director Carter, if the patient in that room dies, aren’t you worried about the legal repercussions of your actions?” Director Carter threw her head back and laughed. “The law?” “I am the law!” She pointed her finger directly at my nose, her voice dripping with venom. “Chloe, do you think you can play mind games with me?” “You think a cheap reverse psychology trick is going to work?” “I don’t care if God himself comes down from the heavens. The worthless bastard in that room dies today!” Richard grabbed a pen off the nurse’s station counter. He flipped the critical condition waiver over and scribbled violently on the back of the page. “I, Richard Carter, formally demand that this hospital immediately cease all medical intervention for the perpetrator, John Doe.” “I assume all legal and financial consequences for this action!” He violently slashed his signature across the bottom of the page. He even pressed his thumb onto an ink pad on the desk and stamped his fingerprint next to his name. Director Carter glanced at the paper and snatched the pen from his hand. “Honey, let me add my name.” “I want this little bitch to fully comprehend what happens when she crosses us.” She signed her name in bold, looping letters right below his. The two of them shoved the paper aggressively against the terrified nurse’s chest. “Read it carefully!” “Those are our signatures.” “Turn off the ventilator right now!” “Stop the blood transfusions!” The nurse was physically trembling. She looked desperately at the attending physician for help. The doctor took the paper, his face grim. “Mr. and Mrs. Carter.” “Since you are making an explicit, documented demand, and you have pressured the hospital administration to back you…” “We have no choice but to halt the surgery and withdraw the experimental medications.” Director Carter shot me a look of pure, triumphant malice. “Do you see this, Chloe?” “This is what real power looks like.” “Your brother is about to become a corpse.” “You better go buy a cheap tarp to wrap him in. It’s all you’ll be able to afford.” I stared back at her without a trace of emotion. “Director Carter. Richard.” “Are you absolutely certain you don’t want to step inside and look at the patient?” “Even just one quick glance?” Director Carter’s face twisted in pure revulsion. “Look at a dead body? I’d rather not infect my eyes with such filth.” “Do you really think I want to see you crying over a corpse?” Richard scoffed loudly. “Stop wasting your breath on her.” “Put two guards on the door. Make sure the medical staff actually pulls the plug.” With a flick of his wrist, two massive bodyguards stepped in front of the ICU doors, crossing their arms. “Nobody goes in!” The doctor and the nurse exchanged a helpless look before pushing through the doors into the emergency suite. The heavy doors clicked shut. The hallway fell into a dead, suffocating silence. My dad tightly gripped my sleeve, his knuckles white. “Chloe… someone is really going to die in there…” I gently patted his hand. “It’s okay, Dad.” “The person dying is someone who spent his whole life hurting others.” “Karma finally caught up with him.” Ten excruciating minutes passed. The ICU doors slowly pushed open. The doctor walked out. He slowly shook his head. “Because we withdrew the experimental medications and disconnected the ventilator…” “The patient slipped into a deep coma.” “Brain stem reflexes have entirely vanished. Spontaneous respiration has ceased.” “Clinically speaking, the patient is brain dead.” Director Carter clapped her hands together in sheer delight. “Fantastic!” “Good riddance!” Richard let out a booming, victorious laugh. “This is exactly what happens when you mess with the Carter family!” The corporate lawyer stepped forward, pulling a document from his briefcase. “Now that the perpetrator is officially deceased…” “We will immediately file a civil lawsuit against Chloe, demanding massive financial compensation for the emotional distress caused to my clients.” Director Carter strutted right up into my personal space. “Chloe, your brother is dead.” “Are you satisfied now?” “Tomorrow morning, your industry-wide blacklist goes into effect.” “You better prepare to spend the rest of your life begging for scraps on the street.” I quietly watched the absolute ecstasy radiating from her face. Then, I turned my head to look at the doctor. “Doctor, since the patient has officially been declared brain dead…” “Have you cleaned him up so the family can identify the body?”

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