Category: English

I was born fragile and spoiled rotten, the kind of heiress who threw a fit if the tea was a degree too cold. So, when night fell, I did what I always did. I ordered my handsome, fiercely loyal butler to my room to keep me company until I fell asleep. But suddenly, lines of bizarre, glowing text floated across my vision without any warning. The floating words claimed that a terrifying final boss was currently slaughtering players outside, and absolutely did not have the time to coax me to sleep or tuck me in. The text sneered that I was nothing more than a pet kept in this gothic manor by the monster, a fragile little toy for his amusement. It told me to stop acting like a high and mighty princess. Worse still, the words predicted that the moment this boss met the smart, resourceful heroine of the game, he would grow utterly disgusted by a whiny diva like me. The text said he would torture me using the most twisted methods imaginable before eating me alive, bite by bite. I trembled violently, yanking my velvet quilt all the way up over my head. A second later, a pair of ice-cold hands gently peeled the blankets back. A voice, incredibly soft but laced with a bone-deep, shadowy chill, hovered right above my face. “My lady, whatever is the matter?” 1 My whole body shook even harder. Those hands paused for a fraction of a second before moving to cradle the back of my head, touch impossibly tender. Just like he had done for countless nights before. His thumb stroked through my hair, the pressure absolutely perfect. “Are you feeling unwell tonight, my lady?” Silas sounded exactly the same as always. Deep, soothing, laced with genuine concern. He reached out to check my forehead for a fever. A floating comment slid past my eyes: “Can’t blame the spoiled brat for not suspecting a thing. If I hadn’t literally just watched the boss snap a player’s neck with a smile on his face, I’d fall for that gentle mask too.” Snap a neck? My spine locked up. I slapped his hand away the second it came near me. The brief contact with his palm was so freezing it sent a violent shiver straight through my bones. “Get away from me! Your hands are like ice. Are you trying to freeze me to death?” I forced myself to sit up, desperately putting on my usual arrogant, untouchable act. Silas wasn’t angry. He simply withdrew his hand, a look of indulgent amusement actually playing on his flawless lips. “My apologies, my lady. I was just dealing with some frozen goods. The cold must have lingered on my skin.” Frozen goods? My eyes darted to the crisp white cuff of his dress shirt. There was a faint, dark red smear on the fabric. A flurry of text rolled past: “LMAO frozen goods. You mean those players he dismembered and shoved into the meat locker?” “Good thing the diva is lazy and loves rotting in her room. If she actually took a walk around the manor, she’d realize how screwed she is.” “I read the leaks. This brat gets sliced into sashimi by the boss and eaten raw at the end.” “Well, the boss grew this ingredient himself. At least he knows she’s organic, haha!” Sashimi? Me? As the words kept scrolling, pure terror seized my chest. My body was already weak, and the sudden spike of adrenaline sent me into a violent coughing fit. Silas immediately sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing circles into my back while guiding a glass of warm water to my lips. It tasted faintly of honey. Sweet and soothing. The coughing finally subsided, and my racing heart began to settle. I looked up, really looking at the man in front of me for the first time. As the most attentive butler in Blackwood Manor, Silas always wore a pristine black tailcoat. His facial features were sculpted and deep, his skin carrying a sickly, vampiric pallor. Every move he made dripped with dark, aristocratic elegance. He didn’t look like a butler. He looked like the true master of the manor. Noticing my unblinking stare, Silas swallowed. I swore a flash of crimson cut through his silver-grey eyes. He raised his hands and began loosening his tie. I immediately realized what was happening and panicked. “Stop! Keep your clothes on!” His jacket was already off. His fingers paused right at his leather belt. He looked at me, a flicker of genuine confusion crossing his face before realization dawned. “How thoughtless of me. Allow me to shower first, my lady. I will change into that servant outfit you adore so much.” Before I could even open my mouth to protest, he vanished from the room like a ghost. 2 I had never regretted anything more in my life. The manor was massive and suffocatingly dark. Even though Silas had decorated my bedroom to look like a cozy haven, with warm tapestries on the walls, fluffy wool rugs, and beautiful porcelain dolls lined up on the shelves, I was still terrified of sleeping alone. Every single night, I commanded Silas to come in and coax me to sleep. The kind of coaxing that involved him getting into my bed. I always made him strip off that stiff, formal tailcoat, leaving only a thin, white undershirt. He would pull me against his chest and read me fairy tales. I never actually listened to a word of those stories. I only cared about the feeling of being pressed against his rock-hard abs and the sharp V-line of his hips. Floating text: “Damn it, the diva is making the boss strip and cuddle her again!” “Move over and let me tag in! The boss is so hot, I want to sleep on his chest and feel those abs!” “You guys are delusional. This monster is a bloodthirsty psycho. Everything you see is a trap. Humans are just bugs to him. Who falls in love with a bug?” “Only the brave, smart heroine gets his affection! This spoiled brat is a coward with a dirty mind. It’s a miracle she’s survived this long ordering him around.” Me, the walking miracle, was currently having a mental breakdown. I hadn’t even processed half of what the floating words were telling me. In the blink of an eye, I had gone from the pampered lady of the house to a literal snack. So, when Silas returned wearing my favorite unbuttoned shirt and pulled me into his arms to read, I felt absolutely nothing. Even with his firm chest pressed flush against mine, the mood was dead. He noticed. He stopped reading, casually popping open two more buttons on his shirt to expose more skin. In my mind, Silas was now a merciless, slaughtering demon. I was terrified of him. But old habits die hard, and my hand instinctively slipped inside his shirt. His body was just too perfect. My fingers traced his skin, slowly drifting downward. Silas let out a low, muffled groan. His breathing grew heavy, the rhythm ragged. A moment later, his large hand clamped gently over my wrist, stopping me. “My lady, you cannot go any lower.” Floating text: “Ahhh keep your hands off him! Let me do it!” “See? The boss only sees her as a pet. He’d never actually let her cross the line!” “He belongs to the heroine! Get your filthy hands off him, you brat!” I bit my lip. The comments were right. Silas let me get away with murder on a daily basis because I hadn’t pushed his actual boundaries yet. Normally, I would have thrown a tantrum and kept going. He was just a butler. He couldn’t refuse his master. But now, all I could think about was becoming his midnight sashimi. I squeezed my eyes shut and yanked my hand out of his shirt. Silas froze. He clearly hadn’t expected me to actually back off. He lowered his gaze, his expression suddenly dark and utterly unreadable. “My lady, if you truly desire it, I could…” “I don’t. Get out of my room right now. I don’t want to hear any more stories. You don’t need to come at night anymore.” I scrambled out of his arms, wrapping myself tightly in the quilt and turning my back to him. The moment the words left my mouth, the temperature in the room plummeted. Even with my eyes closed, I could feel it. The heavy, suffocating weight of Silas staring unblinkingly at my back from the darkness. It felt like the cold, slimy coils of a viper slithering over every inch of my skin. “Are you dissatisfied with my performance tonight, my lady?” It was a trap. A deadly, literal trap. My heart hammered against my ribs as my brain desperately spun a lie. “Isn’t it obvious? You’re freezing! You’re so cold I can’t even get comfortable!” The comments mentioned that monsters ran colder than humans. I technically wasn’t lying. Silas didn’t say a word. The silence in the room was deafening. I swallowed hard, fully preparing myself to die right there in my bed. Suddenly, the warmth returned. That crushing, horrific pressure vanished completely, as if I had imagined the whole thing. The mattress shifted as he stood up. He even paused to tuck the edges of my blanket in. “I understand.” “Sleep well, my lady.” He walked out. It took hours for the tension to leave my muscles. That oppressive, murderous aura he had just leaked… it was terrifying. So that was the real Silas. 3 After that night, the floating text showed up all the time. I walked out into the grand corridor. Text: “The diva is so clueless. Has she never actually looked at the wallpaper?” I stiffly turned my head toward the walls. The elegant crimson floral patterns I had passed a hundred times suddenly snapped into horrifying focus. If I squinted, those flower petals weren’t flowers at all. They were bloody handprints, dragged downward in pure agony by people trying to escape. I slapped a hand over my mouth and practically ran to the main parlor. The parlor was a masterpiece of gothic luxury, brightly lit, with a massive crimson carpet covering the stone floor. Just as I let out a sigh of relief… Text: “The boss literally entertains the players here before massacring them. That carpet isn’t red fabric. It’s dyed with human blood.” “Those candles burning on the tables? Rendered from human fat.” “And the grand chandelier up there is sculpted from cracked skulls.” I had nowhere to hide. Through the lens of these floating words, the gorgeous manor I called home melted away into a blood-soaked slaughterhouse. The quiet, efficient maids and footmen? Flesh-eating monsters in disguise. The beautiful rose bushes in the garden? Carnivorous plants that drained humans dry. And Silas. The true lord of the manor. He was the most brutal anomaly in this entire horror dimension. He delighted in hunting players in the most agonizing ways possible. No one had ever survived more than three nights here. Except me. Not only had I lived in luxury for three years, but I had strutted around treating this psycho boss like my personal footstool. I was officially panicking. According to the text, the heroine was arriving in half a month. That would be my execution date. I had to find a way out of this game. I had to get away from Silas. 4 When I casually brought up the idea of taking a stroll outside the manor grounds, Silas gracefully lifted my hand and pressed a soft kiss to my knuckles. “My lady, I have told you before. The outside world is far too dangerous.” I faked a bratty scowl. “I don’t care! I’m suffocating in this dusty old house. I want fresh air!” A thoughtful look crossed his pale features. “If you insist. I will accompany you.” I wasn’t surprised. I wasn’t planning to run today anyway; I just needed to map out the escape routes. I spun around to head out the doors, but Silas’s arm shot out to block me. My stomach dropped, thinking he’d changed his mind. Instead, he took a thick velvet cloak from a terrified-looking maid and meticulously draped it over my shoulders. “It is bitterly cold outside, and your constitution is delicate. We must keep you warm.” His expression was so serious, so focused. He looked like a devoted caretaker genuinely terrified I might catch a cold. My spoiled, impossible personality was honestly entirely his fault for enabling me this much. Fully bundled up, we set off. The woods surrounding the estate were damp and pitch black, echoing with the distant, guttural shrieks of monsters. But with the ultimate boss walking right next to me, nothing dared to show its face. I barely walked a mile before I got tired. Out of pure habit, I ordered Silas to carry me. A split second later, I realized that acting like a diva was a fast track to the meat locker. I opened my mouth to take it back, but I was already swept off my feet into his arms. His signature scent—crushed pine and winter frost—filled my lungs. I pressed my face against his chest as he walked, his stride effortless. “Next time you wish to leave the house, simply tell me to carry you from the start. You needn’t tire your own feet.” I blinked in surprise. Mostly because he didn’t feel like a corpse anymore. “You’re… really warm today.” Silas looked down. “Does this mean I am permitted to return to your bed tonight, my lady?” Staring into those hypnotic silver eyes, my brain short-circuited. “Yes.” The corner of his mouth curved into a breathtaking smirk. He pressed his lips to my forehead. “It would be my absolute honor.” The forest was massive, and the manor sat at its dead center. We only mapped the inner perimeter before heading back. As soon as we returned, my coughing flared up again. Text: “She’s just a normal human. Staying inside a horror dimension this long is rotting her body from the inside out.” “Even if the boss doesn’t kill her, she’ll drop dead on her own pretty soon.” Silas walked in carrying a steaming bowl of medicine. He blew on every spoonful until the temperature was perfect before pressing it to my lips. When the bowl was empty, he pulled a silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and gently dabbed the corners of my mouth. Then he left to prepare my afternoon tea. The truth was, Silas hadn’t known how to take care of a human when I first met him. I had trained him. Sometimes, I found myself drowning in the custom-built paradise he created for me. The comments were right. Monsters were natural-born manipulators. But I didn’t belong here. I snapped out of my daze. My resolve hardened. I had to escape. 5 That night, Silas showered and came to my room. Just like old times, he pulled me against his chest and started reading. His body heat was completely normal now. Out of sheer reflex, I snuggled deeper into his embrace. He stroked my hair. “Comfortable, my lady?” I nodded. Even while telling myself to stay sharp, the next morning I woke up sprawled all over him. My arms were locked around his neck, my leg thrown over his waist. It was muscle memory at this point. I opened my eyes to find him staring at me, those silver-grey eyes crinkling at the corners. I went completely rigid. “Good morning, Silas.” “Good morning, my lady.” His voice was naturally raspy and unfairly sexy in the morning. He sat up, dropping a lazy kiss on my forehead. “Sleep a little longer. I’ll go prepare breakfast.” Once he was gone, I jumped out of bed and started pacing the halls. If I was going to run, I needed cardio. Pacing a castle this huge was a solid workout. After a while, I noticed how eerily silent the manor was today. Text: “A fresh batch of human players is getting dropped into the meat grinder today.” “Shame the heroine isn’t in this batch. She could have met the boss early.” “Can the diva just die already? She’s living the dream up there and I’m jealous!” New players? Today? Thinking back, the manor did receive “guests” every now and then. I had just never cared. I stayed up in the penthouse suite living my best life. I had no idea what happened downstairs. Whenever I heard screaming, Silas just told me the staff was catching rats. … I assumed tonight would be like all the others. I went back to my room to stretch. Suddenly, my bedroom door burst open. A man covered in blood and dirt stumbled inside. He stared at the pink plushies and lace curtains in absolute shock. When he spotted me, he immediately leveled a rusted pipe at my head. But after a few seconds, realizing I was just a human girl in pajamas, his aggressive stance broke into frantic desperation. “How did you get up here? I didn’t see you downstairs!” I was just as stunned as he was. I couldn’t believe a player had actually survived the monsters, evaded Silas, and made it to the forbidden top floor. He clearly thought I was just another player trying to survive the game. The guy lowered his pipe and rushed over, sweating profusely. “You used an item to teleport up here, right? Listen to me, almost everyone downstairs is dead. The boss is going to realize we’re gone any second. We have to run!” My eyes lit up. “You know a way out?” His face fell. “I found the secret escape tunnel. But the door is locked, and the master key is on the boss. It’s impossible.” He gripped his hair in despair, his voice cracking. “We were so close. We’re going to die here…” Keys? I casually reached into my bedside drawer and pulled out a massive iron ring heavy with brass keys. “I’ve got all the keys right here.” His jaw hit the floor. “How the hell did you get those?!” Silas had personally handed them to me, of course. I needed them to access the locked conservatories for my walks. I lied through my teeth: “Found them under the bed.” He snatched the ring, tears of relief in his eyes. “Oh my god. We’re getting out. We’re actually going to escape!” I was thrilled. What a stroke of luck. Following the guy’s lead, we practically sprinted down the hidden servants’ stairs and found the iron door to the tunnel. The key turned with a heavy clack. We both let out a massive breath and slipped inside. The tunnel was damp and seemingly endless. A single candle flickered on the stone walls every fifty feet, providing terrible visibility. The deeper we went, the darker it got. After what felt like hours, a faint bluish light appeared in the distance. The guy choked back a sob. “The exit! We did it! We’re actually clearing an SSS-rank game!” The crushing weight on my chest finally lifted. I picked up my pace. “Careful, babe, the ground gets uneven here,” the guy called back. I nodded, but a second later my foot caught on a jagged rock. I pitched forward. Before I hit the dirt, a strong arm clamped around my waist, catching me effortlessly. “Thanks for the catch,” I breathed. Up ahead, the guy stopped. “What? I didn’t catch you. I’m over here.” My blood ran cold. The absolute worst premonition slammed into my gut. A second later, freezing breath brushed against the back of my neck. A dark, amused whisper slid directly into my ear. “You should be thanking me, my lady.” The moment the words left his lips, every single unlit candle in the mile-long tunnel violently erupted into dark red flames. The claustrophobic space was instantly illuminated in a hellish crimson glow. Silas’s terrifying aura completely swallowed me from behind, drowning me in his cold pine scent. The guy ahead of us slowly turned around. When he saw the man holding my waist, his pupils shrank to pinpricks. He stumbled backward, his legs giving out completely. “T-The Boss!” he screamed, dropping to his knees. Silas didn’t even look at him. He was staring down at me, the silver in his eyes rapidly bleeding into a predatory red. “I told you,” Silas murmured. “Next time you wish to leave the house, simply tell me to carry you. You needn’t tire your own feet.” “Walking this far… my lady must be exhausted.” My heart battered against my ribs like a trapped bird. The guy on the floor scrambled up, completely losing his mind to the terror. He bolted toward the exit light. “Sorry, babe! Better you than me!” His footsteps echoed wildly until they faded into nothing. Silas didn’t chase him. He just kept his glowing eyes locked onto mine. Text: “She’s dead. The brat finally played herself. Direct elimination.” “The boss hates disobedience more than anything. Prep the carving knives, she’s dinner.” My mind went completely blank. Silas scooped me up into his arms, turning his back on the exit, and started walking us all the way back to the manor. The flickering red flames cast sharp, demonic shadows across his perfect face. The light of the exit grew smaller and smaller until it vanished completely. I spent the entire walk trying to formulate an excuse, but my throat was closed tight. When we entered the manor and walked past the kitchens, I squeezed my eyes shut and played dead, waiting for the butcher’s knife. It never came. I was gently lowered into my own plush, feather-soft bed. I opened my eyes, utterly confused. Silas stood over me. The gentle butler act was gone. His expression was dangerously dark. This was it. He was going to kill me. He leaned over me. I flinched, trying to pull away, but he pinned my shoulders to the mattress. His face stopped inches from mine. Somehow, during the stumble in the tunnel, I had scraped my temple. A tiny bead of blood welled up on the skin. Silas leaned in, and the rough heat of his tongue swiped across the scratch. Wet. Slow. Agonizingly deliberate. My heart skipped a beat. A bizarre, electric shiver shot down my spine, making my toes curl. I let out a tiny, involuntary whimper. The mix of absolute terror and undeniable attraction was making me lose my mind. I stared at the sharp line of his throat, the dark hunger in his eyes, and before I could stop myself, I tilted my chin up to kiss him. He pulled back instantly. “My apologies, my lady. I overstepped.” His voice was perfectly controlled again. “You were out in the damp for too long. I will fetch you some hot milk so you do not catch a chill.” He turned and walked out. He didn’t ask a single question. He didn’t ask why I was in the tunnel, he didn’t ask about the player, and he definitely didn’t say the word ‘escape’. When he returned with the glass of milk, I stared at it, half-convinced it was laced with cyanide. But if Silas wanted me dead, he could just snap my neck. I chugged the whole glass. Silas stood perfectly still, watching me. As I swallowed, his own throat bobbed in tandem. “Drink slowly, my lady. Do not choke.” I gripped the empty glass, desperately trying to do damage control. “Silas, that weird man burst into my room spouting absolute nonsense about games and escaping. I didn’t understand a word of it.” I paused, forcing my tone to pitch into its usual bratty annoyance. “He dragged me out of my room! I was terrified, so I just followed him! He was totally insane.” Silas took the glass from my white-knuckled grip and placed it on the nightstand. He reached out and gently smoothed my hair back. “Outsiders are always spouting nonsense,” he agreed softly. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping into a dark, intimate purr meant only for me. “They only want to trick you into leaving this safe place.” “But I am the only one in this world who truly cares for you.” He smiled, his long fingers hooking under my chin, forcing me to look directly into his eyes. “Isn’t that right, my lady?” Text: “Holy crap the tension. The butler dominating the master. This is spicy.” “The boss isn’t playing along anymore.” “The power dynamic just flipped. Let’s see the diva act tough now.” I was genuinely terrified of the look in his eyes. I nodded quickly. Satisfied, he released my chin. “Good girl.” “It is late. Time to coax you to sleep.” He stood up. “I will shower first.” The moment the bathroom door clicked shut, I let out a massive breath I didn’t know I was holding. My brain scrambled to figure out how to get back to that tunnel. Text: “Lmao she doesn’t even know the tunnel was fake.” “The boss rigged that passage a long time ago. The real exit looks nothing like that.” “Haha that poor bastard ran all night only to realize the ‘exit’ led directly into the manor’s torture chambers. The monsters down there are having a field day with him right now.” “Honestly, out of all the players, he got the worst death.” My blood turned to ice. I clutched the sheets, horrified. The exit was a trap. The comments kept rolling: “For the record, the real exit is the dried-up well in the back gardens.” “If you jump in, you leave the dimension. But no one’s ever made it. Those man-eating roses turn players into fertilizer before they even get close.” “Plus, the boss is always home. Who’d risk it?” The well. The back gardens. I burned the words into my brain. 6 For the next few days, I played the part flawlessly. On the surface, I was the same demanding, insufferable heiress. I ate the extravagant meals, complained about the tea, and let Silas pamper me. He was even more attentive than before, testing the temperature of my water against his own wrist before handing it to me. But I noticed the changes. A massive antique mirror suddenly appeared in the hallway. When I walked past it, my reflection smiled a fraction of a second too late. A little porcelain cat statue was placed on the staircase railing. No matter what angle I walked from, its black glass eyes followed me. Even the ghost-like servants who usually hid in the shadows started mopping floors and arranging flowers right outside my doors. They were watching me. Every single pair of eyes was a silent reminder: Silas hadn’t forgotten my little field trip. He just chose not to speak of it. My skin crawled constantly. At night, I lay against his chest, listening to his deep voice narrate a story about a cursed village’s blood sacrifice. I watched the text float above us. It mentioned that Blair, the legendary heroine he was destined to fall for, would arrive in exactly one week. I shifted, burying my face into his shirt. He stopped reading, looking down. “My lady?” “Keep reading,” I muttered into his chest. “As you wish.” His hand patted my back in a slow, rhythmic motion, like he was soothing a temperamental cat. I closed my eyes, running the garden route through my head. I knew the path. But with the monster patrols and my own pathetic stamina, there was zero chance I could sneak past them alive. Then, a crucial line of text caught my eye: “On the night of the full moon, the boss falls into a forced slumber. All the monsters in the manor become sluggish and blind. It’s the only weakness in the system, but no player has ever lived long enough to see the full moon.” The full moon. I opened my eyes and stared out the heavy glass window. The moon hanging in the dark sky was almost completely round. Three days. I just had to wait three days.

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1. This Spring Break was… different. My husband, Mark, suddenly announced he was taking annual leave. He was all mysterious about it, even booked a seven-day trip to Scandinavia. A little thrill went through me; I thought he was finally learning to be thoughtful. Then, that day, I overheard him talking to our son. “Dad, you’re married to Aunt Lily, what about Mom?” Our son, Finn, sounded so confused, his voice tiny and innocent. Mark just chuckled, playing it off. “Silly boy, that’s just pretend.” “You have to keep it a secret for Dad, don’t tell your mom. I’ll get you the newest toy car.” He even tried to bribe Finn with a gift. In that moment, my mind just exploded. I stood there, rooted to the spot, for ages, trying to process it all. I eventually stumbled downstairs, the cold air outside doing little to help me calm down. If he was so desperate to rekindle things with Lily Roberts, then I didn’t need to put myself through this anymore. All those dreams I’d put on hold for family when I was younger? It was time to pick them up again. This Scandinavian trip? I wasn’t coming back. … After I’d calmed down, I headed back upstairs and ran smack into Mark in the hallway. He was wearing a flashy red suit, and I couldn’t help but ask, “Don’t you hate red?” “That was then, this is now. Red’s in this year, and I’m helping a buddy try on his wedding suit. Gotta look festive, right?” Mark rattled off a string of excuses. But then it hit me: Lily Roberts adored red. And ever since she’d returned from abroad, Mark’s closet had gained several red jackets, not to mention red underwear and socks. It had all been there, clear as day, if I’d only looked. “Wedding suit? I can drive you.” I offered, my voice flat. “No, no, no!” Mark shook his head like a bobblehead doll. “Why would a woman get involved in us guys’ business?” “I’ll bring back gifts for you and Finn when I return.” He leaned in, kissed my forehead, and without another word, he was off, practically flying down the stairs. A sharp pang went through my heart. I almost called out to him, but in the end, I just shook my head. Everyone thought Mark and I were the perfect couple, a dream team in business. He never looked down on my humble background, choosing to marry me without hesitation. I worked practically non-stop, pulling Sterling Holdings back from the brink of bankruptcy countless times. They called me “The Workaholic.” Ten years of growing together, we not only had a wonderful son but also rebuilt Sterling Holdings into a powerhouse. But now, even I was just realizing that Mark had always harbored a secret love for Lily Roberts. I walked back into the house. “Mommy.” Finn ran over, hugging my legs tight. “No matter what, you’ll never leave Dad and me, right?” He seemed to sense something, his small face etched with worry and fear. My heart ached. I knelt down, stroking his head, and asked softly, “If one day, Dad and I go our separate ways, who would you want to live with?” 2. Finn froze, tears welling up in his eyes. “I’m sorry.” I hugged Finn tightly. “Mommy’s going to make you dinner.” Finn was only eight. Adult matters shouldn’t burden a child. We could have hired a nanny, but both Finn and Mark loved my cooking. I remembered all their likes and dislikes, and tonight, I made Finn’s favorite tomato scrambled eggs and lion’s head meatballs. I also made egg pancakes. When Finn saw the food on the table, he suddenly burst into tears. Looking up, he said, “Mommy.” “You know about Aunt Lily and Dad getting married, don’t you?” “Dad told me it was just a pretend wedding. Mommy, please don’t be mad, okay? Dad loves you.” I sighed softly, pulling Finn into my arms. I knew. His little head couldn’t comprehend all the twists and turns. He just innocently believed Mark and hoped that his mom and dad wouldn’t separate. Unfortunately, the adult world wasn’t that simple. After dinner, I saw a post from Mark’s “best friend” on social media and raised an eyebrow. The photo of someone trying on a wedding suit didn’t show a face, but that little red mole on the neck? Mark had one too. The picture of hands clasped with a woman, fingers intertwined, clearly showed the imprint of a ring on the ring finger. The watch the man was wearing? I’d seen it before. It belonged to Lily Roberts. The caption read: “The moon I missed will always return to light my way once more.” That line felt eerily familiar. I rushed into Mark’s study, moved his computer, and underneath, there was a notebook. The moment I opened it, that very sentence stared back at me. All the signs pointed to this account not belonging to some “best friend,” but to Mark himself. “A trip to Scandinavia.” “A fictitious wedding and social media account of a ‘best friend’.” “Mark, you came up with these ridiculous schemes just to deceive me, all for Lily Roberts.” I murmured to myself, picking up my phone and sending a message. [Keep a partner slot open for me.] [Also, have your lawyer draft a divorce agreement for me.] A few months ago, my childhood friend invited me to start a business in Scandinavia, offering me 30% of the shares, with no capital required from my end. The other two partners were also on board, recognizing my capabilities. But with a husband and child, I just wanted stability and had consistently declined. Now, it was time to unleash myself. It was almost midnight. Mark stumbled back, drunk. No gifts in his hand, but his shirt collar was wide open, and there was a faint lipstick stain. In short, he looked a mess. “Wife, why aren’t you asleep yet? Waiting for me, were you? You naughty woman, always messing with me.” He grinned at me, then headed straight for the bathroom. Usually, he’d give me a hug first. My heart sank at the thought. Suddenly, I heard a choked sob and hurried to Finn’s room. “What’s wrong? A nightmare?” Finn shook his head, pointing his little finger at the phone screen. I looked down. It was a social media post from Lily Roberts’ daughter, Sarah. Sarah was sitting at a pink piano, holding a tablet, smiling brightly. The caption: [Thank you, best dad in the world, for my limited edition custom piano.] “Mommy.” “I’ve seen this piano, and the tablet, on Dad’s computer.” 2. That one plaintive sentence almost shattered my emotional defenses. Finally, I understood why Finn was crying. Normally, Mark always said, “Boys should be raised tough, so they don’t become spendthrifts later.” He was strict with Finn, rarely buying him any toys he wanted. Even this phone was my old one, passed down to Finn. I would also secretly take Finn out to play. Every time Mark found out, he would get angry with me. So, that’s why he tried to bribe Finn with a toy car to keep him quiet. And today, before he left, he said he’d bring back gifts for Finn and me, but he came home empty-handed. Deceiving and cheating on me was one thing. But how could he dote so much on someone else’s daughter, giving her everything she wanted, while being so harsh and deceitful with his own son? “Sweetie.” “Mommy will buy you one later.” I comforted Finn, tucked him into bed, then went back to the living room and sat on the sofa. When Mark finally emerged, I suppressed my anger and asked, “Didn’t you say you’d bring Finn a gift?” “Forgot, forgot.” Mark chuckled awkwardly, rushing over to hug me. “I’ll buy him one next time. Boys should be raised tough anyway.” As he spoke, he stroked my face. In the past, I had a visceral attraction to him, so his flirting would have overwhelmed me. Now, my heart was utterly still. “I saw Sarah gets whatever she wants. Today she was sitting at a pink piano, beaming, with a tablet.” I said, deliberately sarcastic. Mark first stiffened, then exploded, standing up abruptly and frowning. “Why do you have to compare him to others?” “It’s just a gift! Why are you being so passive-aggressive? Are you deliberately looking for a fight?” “Is it Finn who wants the gift, or you?” I said nothing, just looked up and stared into his eyes. The atmosphere became tense for a moment. Mark seemed to feel guilty, avoiding my gaze, his tone softening considerably. “Wife, let’s not fight. The day after tomorrow, on Finn’s birthday, I’ll definitely prepare a big surprise for him!” “You just keep your spirits up these two days and get ready for the Scandinavian trip.” I nodded, using the excuse of work to go to my study. The next day, at the company meeting, Lily Roberts suddenly spoke up, “While Scarlett Stone is on vacation these few days, someone should take over her work, right?” “I’m willing to volunteer.” She smiled, her eyes fixed on me, laced with a challenge. Everyone was taken aback, turning to Mark, awaiting his response. It was only a seven-day vacation; Mark or his deputy could easily cover it. No one expected Lily Roberts to openly demand power. It was truly absurd. “Do as Lily Roberts says.” Mark took a deep breath, looking at me. “Scarlett, enjoy your vacation. Lily Roberts can handle the work; she’s quite capable.” The entire room fell silent. This time, everyone’s gaze shifted to me. “Scarlett Stone.” “You wouldn’t think I’m trying to steal your position, would you?” Lily Roberts’ smile grew even brighter, her tone more provocative. Everyone sensed the tension. In my ten years at Sterling Holdings, everyone knew I was decisive and not to be trifled with. Even Mark looked a little nervous. But I simply smiled and said, “Alright, I agree.” No one expected me to relinquish power so easily. Only Mark let out a long breath, a faint smile gracing his lips. Before she could say anything else, I stood up and walked out. Mark quickly followed, grabbing my arm from behind. “Wife!” “Listen to me…” I turned and cut him off. “Listen to what? Are you going to say this meeting was specifically targeting me?” Let alone me, anyone with eyes could see Mark was paving the way for Lily Roberts using me. And it all started with that Scandinavian trip. His motives were so deeply hidden. I hadn’t noticed it before. “Wife, let me explain properly.” Mark opened his arms and hugged me tightly, speaking earnestly. “Lily Roberts is talented. She can shine and inject new vitality into the company.” “I was forced to come up with this plan.” “When you return, I’ll make you Vice President of the company. I hope you can understand me.” 3. Vice President? Don’t make me laugh! Since Sterling Holdings was founded, there’s never been a Vice President position! It was just like the gifts he’d constantly promised Finn, nothing but empty words. “For ten years,” I mused, hesitating for a few seconds, “I’ve always understood you, always been considerate of your difficulties.” “Yes, you’re the best, wife!” Mark actually thought I wasn’t angry anymore. After praising me, he turned and went back into the conference room. As I packed up my office, Lily Roberts walked in. “I’m treating everyone to dinner tonight, want to come?” She smiled. “No, thanks.” I calmly refused, picking up my things to leave. From behind me, Lily Roberts’ voice floated, “Ten years together? It doesn’t compare to one glance from me that catches Mark’s eye.” This time, I could only remain silent. In the afternoon, Lily Roberts sent a message to the executive group: [I got a promotion today, so I’m treating everyone to dinner.] Mark didn’t object at all, instead he led the charge in responding, then sent me a message. [Wife, don’t overthink it.] I didn’t reply. That evening, Mark, Lily Roberts, and the others were happily dining out. I was home, packing my bags. “Mommy.” Finn ran over, tugging my hand. “Mommy, are you leaving? Can you wait a few days?” “Tomorrow’s my birthday. Mommy said she’d give me a big surprise, and then I’ll make a wish that you two never separate! That Dad won’t marry Aunt Lily!” “He’ll definitely agree!” His little face was anxious, his words a jumbled mess. “Okay,” I nodded softly. Mark didn’t come home that night. Finn and I spent a sleepless night. “Dad must be preparing a surprise for me!” Finn gazed out the window, speaking into the morning light. But an hour, two hours… until darkness fell, Mark still hadn’t returned. I couldn’t resist calling him. “It’s our son’s birthday today. Where’s the surprise you prepared?” “Oh, uh… it’s in the bedside drawer, there are tickets to Scandinavia. Take Finn and go travel!” Mark chuckled. “I’m too busy today, gotta hang up.” The call was abruptly ended. I turned and retrieved the tickets from the bedside drawer. It turned out Finn had also become an obstacle for Mark to achieve his desires. Almost simultaneously, Mark’s “best friend” account posted on social media again. [Engaged! Love her, give her everything she wants.] The accompanying image was a share transfer agreement. I clenched my fists. For ten years, I’d slaved away at Sterling Holdings, doing the work of ten departments single-handedly. From regulations to company development strategies, from partner negotiations to factory site selections, everything was meticulously planned and executed by me. Yet, I only earned a regular manager’s salary! Now, all my efforts were being reaped by Lily Roberts, who had contributed nothing. “Mommy.” “Dad’s not coming, is he?” My son’s crying voice reached me. I turned to see him trembling, clutching his phone, and on the screen, Lily Roberts’ daughter, Sarah, had also posted. [Thanks, Dad, for the handmade little cake!] For a child, this was undoubtedly a devastating blow. “Mommy.” “I don’t want to stay here anymore. Take me with you, okay?” Finn wiped away his tears. “Okay,” I nodded tearfully, packed all our luggage, left the divorce agreement, and led Finn out of the house. We boarded the plane to Scandinavia. … Mark and Lily Roberts had their wedding, then spent a few days on their honeymoon. They didn’t even come home, going straight back to the company for a regular meeting. He scanned the room, asking curiously, “Where’s my wife? Why isn’t she here?” Everyone shook their heads. “She must be having too much fun.” Mark muttered, stood up, walked out of the conference room, and dialed my number. “Hello, wife!” “You’re never late for work normally. Why weren’t you at the meeting today? Haven’t you returned from Scandinavia yet?”

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This marriage was destined to be a business transaction from day one. My family’s company desperately needed a massive infusion of capital to stay afloat, and his family was drowning in a messy, high-stakes legal battle. We each had something the other needed. That was the only reason we walked down the aisle. From the moment we said our vows, we slept in separate bedrooms. I remember mustering up the courage shortly after the wedding to ask if I could move my things into the master suite. He rejected the idea without a second of hesitation. His reason was simple. Caroline would mind. Caroline. His first love. The girl he could never let go of. He looked at me with ice in his eyes and added that if it had not been for me, they would not have ended up like this. He told me to just leave things as they were. I stood there frozen. It took me a long time to force a single, pathetic “okay” past the lump in my throat. I never brought up sharing a bed again. For three years, no matter the occasion, the woman standing by his side was always Caroline. She was at his family dinners. She was on his arm at the corporate galas. Even at my own mother’s birthday party, she was the one hovering near him. Everyone whispered behind my back. They all gossiped about who the real mistress of the house actually was. But it didn’t matter anymore. The financial crisis was averted, and the lawsuits were settled. It was finally time for me to leave. 1 I sat in the study, reading the divorce settlement from top to bottom one last time. Black ink on white paper. Crystal clear. Under the asset division section, I asked for absolutely nothing. The sprawling estate belonged to him before we married, so he kept it. The luxury cars stayed with him. His company shares had nothing to do with me. I only needed the money I had in my own savings account. I picked up a pen and signed my name on the dotted line. Serena Kensington. Three years ago, I was stupid enough to think that even though this marriage started as a corporate deal, maybe we could build something real. I was such a fool. I slid the documents into a manila envelope and left it on the coffee table. Then I picked up my phone and opened my text thread with him. “Come home early tonight. There’s something we need to discuss.” About two minutes later, a single word popped up on the screen. “Okay.” I locked my phone and tossed it onto the sofa. Turning around, I walked into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water. It was a massive, gorgeous kitchen. It featured a double-door smart fridge, built-in dual ovens, and imported German cookware, all arranged in pristine order. But I rarely used any of it. When we first got married, I tried cooking a few times. I wanted him to have a hot meal waiting for him after a long day at the office. The first time, I spent hours making a slow-roasted beef brisket. He took one bite and said it was decent. Then his phone rang. He grabbed his coat and walked out the door, saying Caroline had an emergency. The second time, I made pan-seared sea bass. He never came home at all. The third time, I prepared an entire feast. I stood over the stove from four in the afternoon until seven in the evening. He actually came home that night, but Caroline was trailing right behind him. They walked in laughing and joking. When he saw the dining table covered in food, he paused for a second before shaking his head. “We already made reservations. We’re eating out.” Caroline stood behind his shoulder, tilting her head to look at me. She offered a sickeningly sweet smile. “You worked so hard for nothing.” Just thinking about that smile makes my stomach churn with acid. I never cooked for him again. Seven o’clock rolled around. He wasn’t home. Eight o’clock. Still empty. At nine, my phone finally buzzed. I glanced at the screen. It was a text from him. “Caroline is dealing with some stuff. I’m going to be late. Go to sleep first, don’t wait up.” I stared at those words for a very long time. Go to sleep first. Don’t wait up. I had been reading those exact words for three years. It was always like this. It was always Caroline. She was a walking disaster zone, and he was her personal first responder. If she caught a cold, he had to be there. If she felt sad, he had to be there. He helped her move apartments. He even held her hand when she adopted a stray cat. Once, Caroline mentioned she was craving a specific slice of cake from a bakery across town. He drove forty minutes in gridlock traffic to buy it, delivered it to her condo, and waited until she finished eating before heading back. He walked through the front door at 1 AM. I asked him if he had eaten dinner. He said he already ate at Caroline’s place. Then he took a shower and went straight to sleep in the guest room. I should have woken up and smelled the coffee that night. But I didn’t. I kept tricking myself into believing that since we were legally bound, we owed it to each other to try. I thought that if enough time passed, he would realize I wasn’t a monster. I thought that if I played the perfect, understanding wife, he would eventually turn around and see me. Looking back, it was completely delusional. If someone doesn’t have a space for you in their heart, bending over backwards will only break your spine. He wasn’t going to fall in love with me just because I was a good wife. He just felt entitled to my goodness. I didn’t reply to his text. In the past, I would always send back a polite “Okay” to let him know I understood. Sometimes I would even add a pathetic “drive safe,” desperately trying to show him how graceful and mature I was. But tonight, I didn’t want to reply. It didn’t matter anyway. In a few days, I would never receive a text from him again. 2 I left my phone on the coffee table and grabbed the remote to change the channel. A reality show was playing. A bunch of celebrities were laughing hysterically at some pointless joke. I leaned back against the cushions. The contrast between the bright, noisy television and my dead, silent reality felt completely absurd. Here I was, sitting in a multi-million dollar mansion, chained to a ghost of a marriage, waiting for a man who would never prioritize me. And he was out keeping his first love company. He did it openly. He felt completely justified. Because on the day we got our marriage license, he made his stance crystal clear. If it weren’t for me, he and Caroline would be living happily ever after. In his eyes, I was the villain who tore them apart. I was the ruthless heiress who shoved her way into his life, using my family’s connections and his company’s lawsuit to force a ring onto his finger. But what was the actual truth? The truth was that my father’s business was bleeding cash and teetering on the edge of bankruptcy. Meanwhile, Arthur’s corporation was drowning in a catastrophic lawsuit that only my family’s political network could make disappear. The patriarchs of both families sat down over an expensive dinner and finalized the merger. Nobody asked me if I wanted to be a bride. Nobody asked him if he wanted to be a groom. To the rest of the world, it was a perfectly balanced business deal. He provided the funding. My family provided the muscle. A clean exchange. Caroline was just the unfortunate collateral damage. Arthur firmly believed I had stolen her rightful place. I had forced her to step down from the role of the beloved girlfriend to the tragic, hidden ex. So he poured all his guilt into spoiling Caroline, and he saved all his freezing indifference for me. On our wedding night, he drank himself into a stupor. His groomsmen had to drag him into the house. I tried to help him take off his suit jacket and loosen his tie. He grabbed my wrist with a grip so tight it bruised. “Serena Kensington.” He spat my full name, his voice ragged and slurred. “You know exactly what this marriage is. I don’t love you, and I will never love you as long as I breathe. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll play the quiet little wife and stay out of my way. Do not expect me to ever touch you.” He let go of my wrist, stumbled down the hallway, and locked himself in the guest bedroom. We slept in separate rooms from that night forward. He took the guest room. I took the master suite. Thinking about it now, over the course of three years, he had only stepped foot in the master bedroom twice. The first time was on our wedding night to deliver that speech. The second time was last winter when I caught a nasty virus. My fever spiked to 103 degrees, and I was delirious. The housekeeper panicked and called him. He showed up two hours later, stood in the doorway of the bedroom, stared at me for ten seconds, and told the housekeeper to take me to the ER. Then he left. He said Caroline had an incredibly important social event, and he needed to be her plus-one. He didn’t come home at all that night. When I woke up at seven the next morning, I checked my phone. My screen was completely blank. Not a single text checking to see if I was alive. I washed my face and walked downstairs. The housekeeper, Martha, was already prepping breakfast. When she saw me walking down alone, she opened her mouth to say something, hesitated, and finally just asked gently what I wanted to eat. “Just some plain oatmeal, please.” I sat at the kitchen island. My phone screen finally lit up. It was a text from him. “Caroline drank too much last night. I stayed at her place to take care of her. I have a morning meeting, so I’m heading straight to the office.” I put the phone face down and took a spoonful of hot oatmeal. “Martha, could you do me a favor and buy some heavy-duty cardboard boxes today?” She froze, holding a spatula in mid-air. “Are you moving, ma’am?” “Yes. In a few days.” She parted her lips, clearly wanting to ask a million questions, but one look at my exhausted expression made her swallow her words. She had worked in this house for three years. She had eyes. She knew exactly what was going on. “Right away, ma’am.” 3 She nodded and turned back to the stove. I finished my breakfast, went upstairs, and changed into a pair of jeans and a sweater. I had an appointment with a leasing agent today. I needed to secure a new place before walking out of this toxic mansion. I didn’t ask for a dime in the divorce settlement, but that didn’t mean I was destitute. I had a healthy amount of savings from before the marriage. Even though I hadn’t worked a corporate job for the past three years, Arthur’s family automatically deposited a hefty monthly allowance into my account. I barely touched it, so it had piled up into a small fortune. It was more than enough to rent a nice luxury apartment and live comfortably for a year or two without breaking a sweat. I would figure out the rest of my life later. The leasing agent was a bubbly young woman with a high ponytail who talked a mile a minute. She showed me a sleek two-bedroom apartment on the East Side, just outside the chaotic city center, surrounded by greenery. “Miss Kensington, the natural light in this unit is to die for. The landlord just completely renovated the place. All the appliances and furniture are brand new. It’s going for four thousand a month. What do you think?” I stood on the balcony. The view was entirely unobstructed, overlooking a beautiful public park. It wasn’t a mansion, but it was perfect for one person. More importantly, there were absolutely zero memories of Arthur Harrington polluting the space. “It’s perfect. I’ll take it.” The girl blinked, clearly shocked that I was signing without haggling or hesitating. She broke into a massive grin. “Oh, wonderful! Let me get the paperwork ready and call the landlord right now!” I signed a one-year lease on the spot and wired the deposit and first month’s rent. When I walked out of the building with the keys in my hand, the afternoon sun felt incredibly warm against my skin. I stood on the sidewalk, tossing the keys in my palm, feeling a crushing weight finally lift off my chest. When I got back to the mansion later that afternoon, Martha had already stacked a dozen folded moving boxes in the living room. I was just about to carry a few upstairs to tackle my closet when the front door clicked open. I didn’t turn around, but my gut already told me who it was. Sure enough, a familiar, sickly-sweet voice echoed behind me. “Oh, you’re home.” I turned around. Caroline was standing in the foyer. She noticed the cardboard boxes in my hands. Her gaze flickered over my casual clothes before landing on my face. “Are you packing?” I completely ignored her question and asked one of my own in a flat tone. “Why are you here?” “Arthur brought me.” She stepped further into the house, looking around like she owned the place. “My lease expired, and I haven’t found a new condo yet. He told me to crash here. Said I could stay as long as I need.” I gave a curt nod and let out a flat “Oh.” Caroline clearly hadn’t anticipated such a deadpan reaction. Her smug smile faltered for a second. “You don’t mind, do you?” She tilted her head, giving me a look of fake innocence. “I mean, I told him it might be a little awkward, but Arthur absolutely insisted. He said…” “If he told you to stay, then stay.” I cut her off abruptly. “It’s a big house. There are plenty of rooms.” She tightened her lips, striding over to the plush living room sofa and sitting down like a queen on her throne. “You really are so generous.” “You were generous enough to force your way into this marriage, and now you’re generous enough to let me move in.” I looked at her, suddenly finding the whole situation incredibly amusing. I didn’t bother validating her petty bait. I turned on my heel and headed for the stairs. Feeling completely dismissed, Caroline raised her voice, her tone turning sharp. “Serena Kensington, I am talking to you.” I paused on the first step and looked over my shoulder. “I heard you.” “But you didn’t come here to make polite conversation with me, so why are we wasting each other’s time?” “I have packing to do.” Caroline shot up from the sofa. The fake, polite smile completely vanished from her face. “You’re leaving?” she blurted out, her voice dripping with disbelief. “Obviously.” “Did you think I was going to stick around to be the third wheel in my own house?” 4 Caroline stood completely paralyzed by the sofa. I turned back around and marched up the stairs, leaving her alone in the massive living room. I opened the doors to my walk-in closet and started pulling dresses off their hangers. After three years of marriage, I didn’t actually have that many clothes. Arthur had never taken me shopping. He had never bought me a single gift. No anniversary presents. No birthday surprises. Definitely no Valentine’s Day flowers. Thinking about it now, my dedication was truly pathetic. I folded my last cashmere coat, tucked it into the box, and was just reaching for the packing tape when my phone buzzed. It was a text from Arthur. “I have a business dinner tonight. I won’t be home to eat. Caroline just moved in, so be a good host and help her get settled in the guest suite.” I locked the screen, tossed the phone onto the bed, and kept taping my boxes. By the time the sun started setting, my closet and study were completely boxed up. When I walked downstairs, Caroline was sitting elegantly on the sofa, sipping an espresso. Hearing my footsteps, she glanced up. Her eyes instantly locked onto the manila envelope resting on the coffee table. “What’s that?” I didn’t answer. I just walked over, adjusted the envelope so it sat perfectly in the center of the table, and sat down in the armchair across from her. Caroline stared at the thick envelope for a few seconds before letting out a short, mocking laugh. “Divorce papers?” I stayed silent, letting my silence act as a confirmation. Her eyes immediately lit up. It wasn’t shock in her gaze—it was pure, unfiltered thrill. “Are you seriously divorcing him?” “Yes.” “When?” “Whenever he gets home. I’ll tell him tonight.” I crossed my legs and leaned back. “This marriage was just a business transaction to begin with. Now that the companies are stable, dragging this out doesn’t benefit anyone.” She stared at me for a long time, her eyes narrowing as she tried to read me. “Serena.” She dropped her voice into a hushed, conspiratorial tone. “Do you really not love him? Or is this just some desperate act to get his attention?” The question actually caught me off guard for a second. Did I not love him? Three years ago, when I first put on the white dress, I was full of hope. The man waiting at the altar was devastatingly handsome, fiercely intelligent, and commanded every room he walked into. I honestly believed that if I was just flawless enough, considerate enough, and patient enough, the ice around his heart would melt and he would finally look at me. But it didn’t take long for reality to crush that delusion into dust. “It doesn’t matter anymore.” I looked Caroline dead in the eyes. “Whether I loved him or not, it’s over.” At nine o’clock sharp, the front door opened, and Arthur walked in. His eyes immediately found Caroline sitting on the sofa, and the hard lines of his face softened into something warm. “Caroline. Are you settling in okay?” Caroline beamed at him, her voice dripping with honey. “It’s been wonderful.” Only then did Arthur bother to acknowledge my existence. His gaze swept over me, drifted down to the manila envelope on the coffee table, and finally landed on the stack of moving boxes piled near the stairs. He frowned slightly. “What’s with the cardboard boxes?” I stood up from the armchair, picked up the envelope, and held it out to him. “Arthur. We need to talk.” He didn’t reach for the envelope right away. He just stared at me, a flicker of genuine confusion in his dark eyes. “What is this?” “Divorce papers.” 5 The living room fell into a suffocating silence. Caroline gripped the handle of her espresso cup so tightly her knuckles turned white. She didn’t blink, her eyes glued to Arthur’s face. Arthur looked down at me. His expression barely shifted. There was no anger. No panic. Not even a trace of surprise. He just stayed quiet for a few agonizing seconds before finally reaching out and taking the envelope from my hand. “When did you draft this?” “Last week.” He pulled the thick stack of papers out and scanned the pages from top to bottom. When he reached the section detailing the division of assets, his frown deepened into a harsh crease. “You’re not asking for a single cent?” “No.” “You don’t even want the house?” “This estate is your pre-marital asset. It has nothing to do with me.” He slowly lifted his eyes to meet mine. There was an emotion swirling in his gaze that I couldn’t quite decipher. “Serena, are you throwing a tantrum?” I almost laughed in his face. A tantrum? You only throw a tantrum when you still desperately care about someone and want them to prove they love you back. My heart was completely dead. What was there to throw a tantrum over? “I’m not throwing a tantrum.” “I am dead serious. We got married because our families needed it. The crisis is over. There’s zero logical reason to keep pretending.” Arthur stared at me, the silence stretching out between us. He looked at me as if he was studying a stranger, trying to calculate my hidden angle. “Are you absolutely sure about this?” “Crystal clear.” He tossed the legal documents onto the coffee table, unbuttoned his suit jacket, and sank heavily onto the sofa. “Fine,” he said. One word. Cold, sharp, and totally void of hesitation. Beside him, Caroline sucked in a sharp breath, immediately ducking her head to hide the triumphant smirk pulling at the corners of her mouth. Watching her terrible acting, I realized my heart wasn’t reacting at all. I wasn’t angry. I wasn’t heartbroken. I didn’t feel wronged. I just felt numb. “When are you going to sign it?” I asked. Arthur leaned back against the leather cushions and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Tomorrow. I had drinks at the dinner tonight. I have a headache.” “Alright.” I turned to walk up the stairs when his voice stopped me. “Serena.” I paused on the bottom step but didn’t look back. “Where are you going to stay after you move out?” “I already signed a lease on an apartment.” Silence hung in the air behind me for a few seconds. “If you don’t have a place lined up right away, you can stay in one of the guest rooms.” He said it so casually, like he was offering a stray dog a blanket in the garage. I turned around and looked down at him. He was sitting on the sofa, his jacket still on, his tie loosened and crooked. He looked incredibly drained. Caroline pressed her lips together, clearly livid that he was offering me a place to stay under the same roof as her. “No need. Once I walk out that door, I’m never coming back.” I turned back around and walked up the stairs. Behind me, I could hear Caroline murmuring something in a hushed, placating voice. Arthur muttered a low reply, the words muffled by the distance. But right before I closed my bedroom door, I distinctly heard Caroline let out a soft, victorious laugh. The next morning, when I walked downstairs, Arthur was already sitting at the dining table. He was wearing a tailored navy loungewear set. His hair was messy, a few dark strands falling over his forehead, making his sharp features look even more striking. A cup of black coffee and an untouched sandwich sat in front of him, but his attention was entirely locked on his phone. Martha was bustling around the kitchen. Hearing my footsteps, she popped her head out. “Ma’am, what would you like for breakfast?” “Just the oatmeal, Martha. Thanks.” I pulled out a chair at the opposite end of the long dining table, leaving three empty seats between us. He glanced up from his screen, looked at me, and set his phone face down on the table. “I signed the papers.” I looked up from my bowl and saw the manila envelope sitting squarely on the center console. “You were right.” He picked up his mug and took a slow sip of black coffee. “Ending this quickly is the best move for both of us.” If anyone else had said that to me, I probably would have felt a sting of humiliation. But coming from him? It was exactly what I expected. “I’ll go file the paperwork at the courthouse today.” “Okay.” He set his mug down. His dark eyes locked onto my face and stayed there for two uncomfortable seconds. “Serena, did you ever regret these last three years?” 6 The question came completely out of left field. I froze for a second, then genuinely thought about it. “Regret isn’t the right word. It just feels like a massive waste of time.” His index finger twitched against the mahogany table. It was a microscopic movement, but I caught it. “A waste of time.” He repeated the four words slowly, testing the weight of them. “You think being married to me was a waste of time?” “What else would you call it?” I shot back. “Do you honestly think anything from the last three years is worth remembering?” He didn’t answer. “In three years of marriage, how many times did you sit down and eat dinner with me? How many nights did you actually come home? Do you know my favorite food? Do you even know my birthday?” I pushed the bowl of oatmeal away and stared him down. “You don’t. You don’t know a damn thing about me. Because for the last three years, every single ounce of your energy was dedicated to Caroline.” His mask finally cracked. A deep furrow appeared between his brows, and his jaw tightened. “When you agreed to this marriage, you knew exactly what the dynamic was going to be,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “I know.” I nodded calmly. “That’s exactly why I never blamed you. Like I said, it was a transaction. We got what we needed. Now the deal is over, and we go our separate ways.” I stood up, walked over to the console, and picked up the envelope. I pulled the papers out to check. On the very last page, his signature—Arthur Harrington—was slashed across the line in bold, aggressive ink. He actually signed it. I suddenly felt like the last three years had been a suffocating fever dream. Now I was finally waking up, holding the only proof that it ever happened. “Let’s go. To the courthouse,” I said. He gave a curt nod, turned around, and went upstairs to change, leaving me alone in the dining room. Five minutes later, he came back down. He was wearing a charcoal wool overcoat and black trousers. He looked immaculate, sharp, and untouchable. He grabbed his car keys from the foyer tray and shot me a look. “Let’s go.” The drive to the courthouse was agonizingly silent. You could hear a pin drop in the luxury sedan. He drove with aggressive precision, both hands gripping the leather steering wheel, his eyes locked dead ahead. He didn’t say a single word. I sat in the passenger seat, watching the city skyline blur past the tinted window. As we drove past a familiar intersection, I spotted a specific French bakery. It was the exact bakery Caroline was obsessed with. The same bakery Arthur had spent two hours driving through gridlock traffic just to buy her a slice of cake. “In the last three years, was there anything you wanted to do but didn’t get the chance to?” he suddenly asked, shattering the silence. I blinked, completely thrown by the question. “Yes.” “What was it?” “I wanted to see the Northern Lights.” “I’ve always wanted to go, but taking a trip like that alone felt pathetic.” He fell silent for a long time. “You can go with friends now.” “Yeah.” We didn’t speak again. The courthouse wasn’t busy. The clerk took our IDs and the signed settlement, running through the mandatory checklist in a bored, bureaucratic drone. “Are both parties consenting to this divorce?” “Yes,” I said. “Yes,” he echoed. “Are there any disputes regarding the division of assets?” “No.” “No.” The clerk slammed a heavy stamp down on the papers and slid two pristine divorce decrees across the counter. Dark blue covers with gold foil lettering. I opened mine. The date of dissolution was stamped starkly across the page. Today. When we walked out of the courthouse, the midday sun was blinding. I had to squint against the glare. Arthur stood next to me on the concrete steps, holding his copy of the decree. He stared straight ahead at the bustling street, and suddenly, he spoke. “Serena, I’m sorry.”

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1 The day I turned twenty-four, my sister, Veronica, jumped from the fourth-floor balcony. She said it was her birthday gift to me. By the time I scrambled down the stairs, her head was a bloody mess from the impact. But she was still conscious, lying cradled in my brother’s arms, a defiant smile on her face as she looked at me. “Jessie,” she breathed, “I know I’m the extra one… I just want you to be happy…” My mother collapsed to her knees, her sobs raw and guttural, begging me to move out for a while. I didn’t argue. I just nodded, numb, and packed my bags as if I were escaping a fire. Everyone in this house was insane. If I stayed any longer, I was afraid I’d become one of them. … “Veronica! Don’t you dare scare me like this, just hold on a little longer, please!” “The paramedics are on their way!” My brother, Vincent, looked like he was on the verge of a complete breakdown. His hands trembled as he tried to staunch the flow of blood from her head. My mother was a heap on the ground beside them, beating her chest and crying out, “What have I done to deserve this?” The entire household was thrown into chaos by Veronica’s sudden leap, all composure lost. Only I stood to the side. A detached observer, so calm I didn’t seem to belong, my mind already drifting. The paramedics arrived. Vincent and my mother climbed into the ambulance one after the other. As the doors were closing, my mother shot one last pleading look in my direction. Her eyes, clouded with tears and utter exhaustion, were a mirror of every other time she had begged me to give in to Veronica, to just let her have her way. In the past, that look would have sent me into a fit of rage and tears. But this time, a deep, weary sigh escaped from the very core of me. I couldn’t even be bothered to say a word. She didn’t have to worry about me refusing to leave. Even if she hadn’t asked, I had already decided to get as far away from this family as possible. In the seven years I had lived in this house, Veronica had slit her wrists twelve times and overdosed more times than I could count, using self-harm as her weapon of choice to get what she wanted. Every time she hurt herself, I had to take a step back. Now, I had nowhere left to retreat. I was scared. Truly, deeply terrified. If she had the guts to throw herself off a fourth-story balcony this time, what was to stop her from dragging me down with her next time? I wasn’t done with living. I was afraid to die. I had just dragged my suitcase downstairs when my boyfriend, Eric, showed up. Or, I should say, my ex-boyfriend. The reason Veronica jumped was because, just moments before, Eric had asked me to marry him. As she teetered on the railing, Eric had begged her not to jump, his face a mask of agony. By the end, both of their faces were streaked with tears. And I just stood there, an outsider, watching the man who had been kissing me moments before scream promises to Veronica that he would break up with me. Now, standing in front of me, Eric’s face was etched with fatigue. He saw me, and his gaze flickered away. “Jessie…” There was nothing left for us to say. I just pushed my suitcase past him. But he grabbed my wrist, his grip tight. “Jessie, Veronica is at the hospital. She’s crying, asking to see you. Will you please go see her?” In that instant, a wave of nausea so powerful it felt like my stomach was turning inside out washed over me. Veronica. She was like a viper. From the moment I was brought back to this family seven years ago, she had sunk her fangs into me and refused to let go. Just like in the soap operas, the wealthy family was greedy. They wanted to keep both the daughter they had raised and the biological one who had been lost. So, the adopted Veronica and I became “sisters.” For the first three months, she showered me with kindness. She acted as a buffer between me and my estranged parents and brother, the one person in the family who was genuinely warm to me. She introduced me to her friends, taught me the etiquette of high society, and would even defend me from those who sneered at my background, telling me to ignore them. For a while, I thought I had fallen into a fairy tale. I thought having a sister like Veronica was a wonderful thing. But then, she started treating me like a disease, a predator, an invader. She became obsessed with destroying me, even if it meant sacrificing her own life. At my “welcome home” party three months after my arrival, Veronica fell down the grand staircase. Just before she fell, her fingers, cold and clammy, dug into my arm. “Guess what they’ll think if I… ‘accidentally’ fall down these stairs?” she’d whispered. “Who do you think they’ll blame?” Her methods were crude. But her previous, very public displays of affection for me made her act all the more believable. And besides, everyone already loved her. So, all my frantic denials were dismissed as pathetic lies. And for seven years, I had choked on that lie, until it had nearly driven me insane. 2 I let out a cold laugh and wrenched my arm from his grasp. “Eric, are you sick? Are you and Veronica not done torturing me yet?” He looked at me, a flicker of confusion in his eyes, before his face flushed a deep red. He stammered, gesturing wildly. “Jessie, I’m not breaking up with you, don’t be angry.” “I was just— I just had to—” I kept walking, dragging the heavy suitcase behind me without a backward glance. “Fine. Then let me inform you. We’re done!” “Now get out of my way.” Eric blocked my path, refusing to move. “Jessie! I don’t agree to this! Veronica was about to jump! I only said that to calm her down!” “She’s your sister, for God’s sake! Do you want her to die? Jessie, can’t you be reasonable for once?!” I’d had enough. I shoved him hard. “That’s right! I’m being unreasonable! So what?” “And what kind of sister is she to me?” “Eric, if you’re really in love with Veronica, then go ahead, be with her.” “I’m out. Can’t I just be out of this?” “My mother, my brother, you—I don’t want any of you anymore! I’ll give you all to Veronica.” “I’m begging you, all of you, just leave me alone!” “I said I don’t want any of it!” My voice, which had started as a rush of frantic words, rose to a desperate scream. The immense psychological pressure was suffocating me. I wiped away a single tear that had escaped and forced myself to stand steady. Eric stumbled back, staring at me in shock, his lips trembling. “Jessie, how can you say that… We… we grew up together… I only love you…” I scoffed, my gaze cold as ice. My adoptive parents and Eric’s family lived on the same block. Neither of our families had much money, so Eric and I spent our childhoods collecting cans and bottles to save up for school fees. When the Meng family came and told me I was their long-lost daughter, my first and only request was that they fund Eric’s education. Eric didn’t disappoint. He got into one of the best universities in the country. I knew Veronica wanted to take everything that was mine, so I kept Eric a secret, hiding him away like a precious treasure. I naively believed that as long as she never met him, the one thing that was truly mine would remain mine. I guarded my secret for so long. But I never imagined that Veronica and Eric had already met. Just before she jumped, Veronica had shown me their text messages, filled with flirtatious, ambiguous exchanges. She had smiled so radiantly, but her eyes held a raw, undisguised malice. She stared at my face, as if eagerly anticipating the same hysterical breakdown I’d had so many times before. But to her surprise, all I could manage was a dry, “Oh.” I couldn’t pinpoint the emotion I felt then. It was as if a heavy weight I’d been carrying had finally crashed to the ground. Seeing my flat reaction, Veronica’s face fell. A moment later, a chilling smile spread across her lips. She climbed onto the railing, tears streaming down her beautiful face. “I’m sorry, Jessie. I shouldn’t be bothering you two anymore… It’s better if I just disappear…” A sickening thud echoed from below. It was the sound of Veronica hitting the ground. It was also the sigh of my soul, utterly and completely exhausted. In that moment, all I wanted was to run far, far away. I ignored Eric’s explanations, just staring at him, my eyes empty. He eventually fled, utterly defeated. But he didn’t give up, sending me a relentless stream of texts, trying to explain his relationship with Veronica. He swore that as soon as she was out of the hospital, he would set things straight with her and never see her again. For a second, his words caused a flicker of emotion in me. But the next moment, my mother called, sobbing into the phone. “Jessie, please, I’m begging you. Can you just stop contacting Eric for a while? Veronica… she slit her wrists again last night.” 3 I heard my own voice, as cold and distant as a stranger’s. “Oh. So she didn’t die this time either. Veronica really is a tough one.” My mother was crying too hard to speak. Then, my brother’s hoarse, accusatory voice came through the line. “Jessie, how can you be so cold-hearted? Do you have any idea how many times Veronica has been saying she’s sorry to you these past few days?” “Just… get to the hospital. Veronica has something she wants to say to you—” Before he could finish, I could faintly hear Veronica’s muffled sobs in the background. “It’s all my fault… I shouldn’t be alive… I’m just an extra…” My mother and brother immediately rushed to comfort her, their voices urgent and panicked. “Veronica, sweetheart, don’t think like that, please don’t scare us…” “Veronica, it’s my fault. I’m so sorry. If only we had never brought Jessie home…” … Like a form of self-torture, I listened to the sounds on the other end of the line. I was calm. So calm that I even let out a small, contemptuous laugh. There it was. They finally said what they really thought. All this time, they’d been putting on a show of treating us equally, when their hearts had been with her all along. It was like having a fish bone stuck in my throat—a constant, irritating pain. The texts from Eric kept coming. He reminisced about our childhood, collecting bottles together. He remembered how I had cried and clung to his hand when I first went to live with my biological family. He even brought up the day he confessed his love for me, holding a jar filled with a thousand paper cranes. I scrolled through the messages, my heart a barren wasteland. But I still agreed to meet him one last time. After all, during these seven years of torment by Veronica, Eric had been the one pillar that kept me going. A proper goodbye was the last bit of warmth I could offer to a relationship that was now just a part of my past. We met at our favorite little diner. Eric looked nervous and fidgety. When he saw me, he pushed a container of food toward me. “Jessie, you’ve lost so much weight. You always loved my braised pork knuckles. See? I woke up at the crack of dawn to make them for you.” I glanced at the container. A sour taste rose in my throat. If I remembered correctly, in the text messages Veronica had shown me, Eric had promised to make her this exact same dish dozens of times. And now, he was pushing it in front of me with a hopeful smile. “Jessie, just try a little.” I fought the urge to throw the container in his face and looked away. “Eric—” As if he knew what was coming, he kept interrupting me, his eyes darting around the room. “Jessie, you said you wanted to go to that concert—I got us tickets.” “Jessie, please don’t be like this. Don’t look at me that way…” “We… we were supposed to get married. You said yes, remember?” “We grew up together, we know everything about each other. Jessie, are you really just going to throw all of that away?” “I swear, there’s nothing between me and Veronica. I just… I couldn’t stand by and watch her die. Jessie, you understand, right? You have to understand.” His voice cracked, and he ducked his head, miserably wiping away tears. For a moment, I was lost in a daze, my own eyes turning red. I had guarded him so carefully from Veronica, like a dragon protecting its only jewel. But on that day, when I found out they had been in contact all along, I hadn’t felt anger. Instead, it was a strange sense of relief, as if a long-dreaded fate had finally arrived. I was just sad. Sad that the jewel I had cupped so gently in my hands had turned out to be nothing more than a worthless pebble. “Eric, there’s nothing left for us to say.” “You knew that talking to Veronica would hurt me, but you did it anyway. So, you were the one who chose her over me, weren’t you? Veronica is insane. Seven years… it’s been long enough. I…” Before I could finish, Eric’s expression changed drastically. I followed his gaze and looked behind me. For a second, the world went silent, a ringing in my ears.

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I was terrified. Every time I thought about my ending in the book, I couldn’t stop shaking. It turned out I was the product of my mother’s affair. Such a soapy, twisted plot. According to the novel, my older sister, Abby, was abused by my mother her entire childhood, both physically and mentally. This trauma turned her into a twisted, ruthless, and cold-blooded villainess. The first thing she did after taking control of the family was expose my true parentage. She threw my mother and me out onto the street and spent the rest of her life torturing us. But after I transmigrated into this world, I realized something shocking: this older sister was actually the female lead of the story. My mother kept her locked in the attic, feeding her only once a day. My scumbag father, after bringing her home, completely ignored her existence. It wasn’t until I was five years old that I even knew I had an older half-sister. My playboy father only cared about his own pleasure; he never gave a damn about his kids. 1 My mother left the house right after finishing breakfast with me. At my age, I should have been in kindergarten, but because of my weak constitution, I was kept at home to rest. I sneaked into the kitchen and asked Mary, our cook, for another plate of soup dumplings and a glass of milk. Mary looked down at me, surprised. “Leo, are you still hungry?” I tilted my head back, my neck aching a bit from looking up at her. “I need to eat more to grow tall.” And just like that, I got my second breakfast. Holding the small tray, I refused Mary’s help and wobbled my way down to the end of the hallway. I struggled to turn the doorknob, pushed the door open, picked up the tray again, and walked in. Abby’s room wasn’t spacious—it was actually smaller than my walk-in closet—but it was clean and well-lit. She was sitting on the floor by the window, reading a book. She didn’t react at all when I walked in. I set the tray down. “Sister, eat.” I remembered the book saying that my mother starved her, giving her only one meal a day. This eventually caused the female lead to develop chronic stomach issues. Although her stomach pain later became a plot device to bring her and the male lead closer, I mentally apologized to him—he was the male lead, he could find another way to spark romance with her. But I was different. I was just a vicious male supporting character destined to die a horrible death. Abby stared at me blankly, her eyes ice-cold. I wiped my hands, picked up a dumpling, ate one myself, and then grabbed another and shoved it directly toward her mouth. The dumpling was honestly too big for me, and I nearly choked to death on the first one. Abby had no choice but to pat my back and feed me a sip of milk. Once I finally caught my breath, I looked at the glass—I had chugged more than half of the milk. I felt a pang of guilt. “Mom’s not home,” I explained softly. “I told Mary I was still hungry, so she gave me this.” Nobody else knew, but Abby was only seven years old. No matter how powerful she became later in the story, right now, she was just a starving child. She lowered her eyes and slowly, silently, finished the dumplings. At the very end, without any hesitation, she drank the rest of the milk I had started. Watching her, I felt a spark of hope for my future survival. I waited a while before taking the empty tray back. Mary just assumed I was a growing boy with a big appetite and didn’t suspect a thing. My mother didn’t come home for lunch either. Mary made me tomato noodles with a bunch of colorful, kid-friendly toppings. “Mary, can you make a little extra?” I asked. Mary smiled. “Leo is eating so well today.” I thought to myself, I’ll probably be eating this much every single day from now on. I actually had a very small appetite. Looking at the heavy tray, I thought for a second, then stood up wobbly. “Mary, Leo wants to eat in his room.” “Are you sure you don’t want me to carry that for you?” she asked. “Leo can do it himself,” I insisted. I had a playroom filled with Legos where I spent most of my time, so it wasn’t weird for me to walk in that direction. I walked right past my playroom, straight to the end of the hall. “Sister, open the door!” I called out. I was using every ounce of strength to hold the heavy tray. If I put it down, I probably wouldn’t be able to pick it back up. Thankfully, Abby opened the door just in time and took the tray from my shaking hands. I sighed in relief. But when I looked at the table, my expression froze. There was a bowl of plain noodles sitting there. Not a single vegetable, no meat, nothing. It was a miracle the female lead managed to grow tall eating such garbage. I walked over, pushed the plain noodles aside, and slid my tray into the center. “Sister, eat this.” Abby looked at the colorful, rich tomato noodles, then at me. “Did you eat?” My stomach chose that exact moment to growl loudly. I yelled, “Sister, you eat first!” Keeping the female lead fed was my top priority. Plus, I remembered I had an entire cabinet of snacks in my room. Abby stayed silent for a moment. She picked up a pair of chopsticks, scooped a small bowl of noodles, sat in front of me, and held some up to my mouth. “I’m not hungry. You eat.” I shivered slightly and obediently opened my mouth. I always felt that she didn’t seem like a female lead at all; she felt more like the ultimate villain. She was only seven, but she was already terrifying. I took a few bites and was instantly full, just chewing without swallowing. Abby glanced at me. “Full?” I nodded rapidly. Only then did she begin to eat the rest of the noodles from the tray. This time, I didn’t take the tray back to the kitchen. I left it in my playroom, knocked it around to make it look messy, and then told my nanny to clean it up. That night, both my father and mother came home together. My eyelid twitched. When these two were in the same room, it was usually like Mars colliding with Earth. My mother patted my head and went straight upstairs. My father, however, knelt down and looked at me. “Did Leo have fun playing today?” I nodded. “Yes.” My father actually cared about his son at this point. He held me and talked to me for a good while. My heart skipped a beat. I just hoped that when this cheap dad found out I wasn’t his biological son, he would still speak to me this gently. Even Abby was called down for dinner that night. I quickly realized that when my father was around, my mother didn’t dare go too far. Our family sat around the dining table, putting on a fake show of harmony, eating in complete silence. My father cut the steak on my plate into tiny pieces and handed it back to me. “Does Leo want to go to kindergarten and make some new friends?” I completely froze. I blinked my big eyes at him. “Leo doesn’t want to go to school. Leo wants to stay home.” My father and mother exchanged a look. When it came to me, they were actually on the same page. “How about we invite your cousin from your uncle’s house to come play with you?” my mother suggested. It took me half a minute to remember who she was talking about. It was a minor bully character who tormented the female lead in the book. “I want that huge Lego set! I want to play by myself!” I quickly said, using my hands to gesture how big it was. After a lot of frantic hand waving, my mother finally understood. My father laughed. “Alright, Daddy will buy it for you.” It was obvious my father didn’t want me interacting too much with my mother’s side of the family either, so the conversation hit a dead end. After a while, my mother put down her silverware and went upstairs. My father wiped his mouth and said, “Leo, keep eating with your sister.” I nodded. “Okay.” Once my father was out of sight, I looked around to make sure the coast was clear. I grabbed a spoon, scooped up a massive piece of my favorite stir-fried meat, and stretched my little arm across the table. “Sister, this is really good.” Abby watched my shaking hand. Seeing that the meat was about to fall off the spoon, she sighed softly, picked up her plate, and caught it. I finished my dinner feeling incredibly satisfied. I firmly believed that the bond we were building, meal by meal, would eventually convince the female lead to spare my life. The childhood phase that passed by in a single blink in the novel, I had to survive day by day. My fake parents actually treated me really well. Even though they were rarely home, they never deprived me of anything material. This made it easy for me to secretly take care of Abby. But every time my mother came home, it was absolute torture for me. I wanted to be close to her, but I was also terrified of her. As the mother of my original character, I had thought about trying to pull her back from the edge—at least save her from her miserable fate in the book. But whenever she looked at Abby, she turned into a monster. She used every excuse to torment the girl, venting all her hatred for my father onto this innocent child. Once, I was so terrified by one of her cruel punishments that I developed a high fever in the middle of the night and started hallucinating. The next morning, when Abby and I saw each other, it was hard to tell who looked worse. I couldn’t change my mother’s mind, so I just focused on making Abby’s life a little more bearable. I even managed to skip grades so I could be in the same class as the female lead. From elementary to middle school, my father arranged for both of us to attend the same elite private academy. My mother threw a fit at first, but eventually, for some reason, she agreed. Having read the book, I knew exactly why. Because everyone knew Abby was an illegitimate child hated by her own family. The kids at the academy came from wealthy, powerful backgrounds, and they loved bullying her for entertainment. Although the novel only mentioned it briefly, I could imagine the absolute hell she went through at school. One Monday morning, I sat in the car, fighting back yawns. As soon as Abby got in, I hit the button to raise the privacy partition between us and the driver. Then, I pulled a bag of cookies and a carton of milk out of my backpack. “Breakfast. You have fifteen minutes.” In the original novel, my character inherited my mother’s nasty temper and kicked Abby out of the car on the very first day of school, forcing her to walk. Abby had to walk for an hour and obviously arrived late. After that, she woke up before dawn every single day to walk to school, until our elderly butler finally took pity on her and secretly lent her his son’s bicycle. But now? I was terrified of not treating her well enough. There was no way I’d let her walk. Abby ate quietly. Right as the car pulled up to the school gates, I grabbed the empty wrappers, shoved them into my bag, and hopped out of the car pretending nothing had happened. “Sister,” I whispered, “if anyone bullies you, tell me. I’ll beat them up.” At school, I always pretended not to know her well. That was, until the day I saw three kids cornering her, digging through her books, and shoving her shoulder. As I got closer, I heard their ugly laughter. I couldn’t take it. I had no idea how Abby managed to stay so expressionless through it all. I marched right up and kicked the lead kid’s desk as hard as I could. It flipped over with a massive crash, scattering textbooks everywhere. I sneered at them. “No matter what, her last name is still the same as mine. Who gave you the right to teach her a lesson?” Even though I was short, my cold voice and aggressive entrance terrified the entire classroom into dead silence. The boy leading the group started to get angry, but his friend pulled his sleeve. They muttered under their breath, flipped the desk back over, and slinked away. The kid’s last name was Vance. His family did a lot of business with my mother’s side, so he didn’t dare cross me. Abby quietly picked up her books from the floor without saying a single word. When I sat down, I realized my foot was throbbing in pain. Thinking about my fragile glass-doll body, I fell silent. Eventually, I begged my mother to let me take taekwondo classes. She agreed and hired a private coach to train me at home. Because of that, Abby heard me screaming in pain on a regular basis. She looked at me with very complicated eyes back then, but ultimately just patted my head. During lunch break, I sat on the school roof with the massive bento box delivered from home, waiting in absolute boredom. Just as I was starting to panic that she hadn’t seen the note I slipped her, she finally appeared. I scratched my head. “I thought you didn’t see the note.” She explained that she got held up by something. My internal alarms instantly went off. “Did they bully you again?” Ever since I kicked that desk, nobody had dared touch her. She shook her head. “No.” Then I noticed the apple in her hand, and my brain started spinning. Who else would give the female lead an apple at school besides the male lead? Before high school, their interactions were supposed to be minimal, but the plot always found a way to push them together. The male lead was smart, handsome, and incredibly kind. He stepped up to help her multiple times, acting as the single ray of light in her childhood outside of her mother. This was all laying the groundwork for them to meet, understand each other, and fall in love. I relaxed and opened the food container. Mary knew exactly how much I “ate.” Every single box had two massive layers—way more than both of us could finish. The school cafeteria had amazing food, but I remembered a scene from the book where someone dumped a tray of food all over Abby, leaving her starving after she had to change clothes. I was not letting her suffer that indignity. After we finished eating, Abby packed up the containers for me and left the apple behind. I stared at it. “This apple…” “What?” she asked. “You don’t want it?” “It’s not that I don’t want it,” I mumbled. Abby turned to leave, her face blank. “If you don’t want it, throw it away.” I stared at the apple in a daze. The novel spent so much time describing her intense control issues and possessiveness—especially when it came to the male lead and anything related to him. Did this apple really mean absolutely nothing to her? This was a gift from your childhood crush! I didn’t dare eat it. I just packed it in my bag, figuring that if she regretted it later, I could give it back. But days passed, the apple started to rot, and she never brought it up again. I chalked it up to the timeline. They were still kids. Their real romance didn’t blossom until high school. During my last year of middle school, my mother’s side of the family took a massive financial hit. Whenever my parents were home together, it was a warzone. Back when our family was struggling, my mother’s family helped a lot. Now that they were crashing, my father refused to lift a finger. Their screaming matches echoed from the second floor all the way down to the living room. I sat on the couch with my earbuds in, calmly doing my homework. Abby raised an eyebrow. “You’re not worried?” I pulled out an earbud. “What?” She pointed toward the ceiling. I shrugged. “Adult problems. Kids shouldn’t get involved. Besides, I know her family will take a hit, but they won’t go bankrupt.” They were stepping stones for the female lead. Until she grew powerful enough to crush them, they couldn’t fall. As long as her family stayed afloat, my secret parentage wouldn’t be exposed, and everything was manageable. I smiled. “I need to finish this fast so I can watch TV.” I was obsessed with a new drama and needed to catch up on the latest episodes. That day, my father slammed the front door and left. My mother threw an absolute fit. That night, my mother claimed she lost an expensive necklace and “found” it in Abby’s room. She accused Abby of stealing and forced her to kneel outside in the snow for two hours. It was the dead of winter. Abby knelt in the snow wearing nothing but thin pajamas. I was so anxious I was on the verge of tears, but one sharp look from Abby forced me to stay calm. My mother did it on purpose. Whether a maid actually stole it and hid it, or my mother orchestrated the whole thing, she just needed an excuse to punish her. Abby’s existence was a thorn in her side, and my father’s refusal to help her family today had driven that thorn even deeper. I sat on the stairs, hugging my knees, looking out the window at the frail girl kneeling in the snow. I felt like I had tried so hard for years, but nothing had really changed. The next morning at school, I tracked down the male lead, Ethan, and asked him to help me buy some medicine. He looked confused. “Doesn’t the school clinic have that stuff?” I lowered my head, looking embarrassed. “I got frostbite playing in the snow, and I don’t want my mom to know. If I go to the clinic, they’ll log my name and call my parents.” Ethan immediately understood. “Don’t worry, your secret is safe with me.” I sighed in relief. This was the safest way I could think of. I knew the male lead was a good guy, and it was a great excuse to earn some favor with him. That night, my mother thankfully wasn’t home. I breathed a sigh of relief and snuck into Abby’s room with my backpack. She was sitting up in bed, reading. Her face was frighteningly pale, but her expression was perfectly calm. You couldn’t tell what she was thinking. “I asked Ethan to buy some medicine,” I said softly. “Do you remember him? The guy in the white shirt who smiles with his eyes?” Abby gave a faint “Mm.” I reached out to roll up her pajama pants, but she grabbed my wrist. She looked a bit uncomfortable. “I can do it myself.” I obediently let go. “I’ll go check what’s for dinner.” When I came back with the tray, she had finished applying the ointment and was out of bed. Usually, I was the one keeping the conversation going, but I was in a terrible mood today, so we ate in silence. I pulled a test paper out of my bag. “They handed this out today. With your grades, it doesn’t matter if you don’t do it.” Abby was a master at hiding her true potential. She purposely kept her grades slightly above average—not terrible, but never standing out. She took the paper from me and coughed twice. I stared at her pale face, feeling my chest tighten. “Are you sick?” The moment I asked, I felt stupid. Who wouldn’t be sick after kneeling in the freezing snow for two hours? “I’m fine,” she said flatly. I didn’t believe her. I ran to my room and grabbed the first-aid kit. Unsurprisingly, she was running a high fever. Thank god we had the right medicine in the box. Looking at her miserable state, my nose started to sting. I tried to hold it back, but I couldn’t. Fat tears started rolling down my face. For the first time, Abby looked panicked. “What’s wrong?” I shook my head. “Nothing. I just feel so useless.” In the beginning, I only took care of her to save my own skin. But after spending so many years together, I truly saw her as my family, my friend. Yet every time she suffered, I was powerless to stop it. I could only stand by and watch. Abby shifted on the bed. She reached out and placed her hand gently on my head. “I don’t blame you. Stop crying.” Hearing that made me want to cry even harder. I couldn’t help it—I lunged forward, wrapped my arms around her, and sobbed for a good ten minutes. She froze completely, her body rigid, but she didn’t push me away. When I finally stopped crying, I realized what I had just done and was too embarrassed to look her in the eye. “Get some rest,” I mumbled, scrambling toward the door. “I’m going to do my homework.” The next day, her fever was worse. I woke up extra early to sneak her some breakfast and medicine, only to find I couldn’t even wake her up. My eyes got hot. I took a deep breath, blinked hard, and forced myself to act completely normal. I packed away the food and medicine, made sure my face wasn’t red, and walked out to the dining room for breakfast. I frowned, putting on my best annoyed brat act. “Is she not going to school again today?” Mary paused while serving porridge. “I think she’s still feeling unwell.” I scoffed loudly. “Get a doctor to look at her. If something happens to her, Dad is just going to come home and scream at Mom again.” Mary nodded quickly. “You’re right. I’ll let the butler know right away.” I let out a breath. If the butler knew, my father would find out, and there was no way he would let her die of a fever. I spent the entire day at school completely distracted. I kept staring at her empty desk, wondering if the doctor ever showed up. I prayed her brain didn’t get fried by the fever. It wasn’t until I rushed home and saw her sitting on the couch that my heart finally settled back into my chest. Thank god she was alive. I rushed over, worried. “Why are you out of bed?”

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At my father-in-law’s funeral, the grieving family could hardly conceal their delight. My mother-in-law, adorned in jewels, held her chin so high it was as if her husband had not just passed away. This was all because the old tycoon had left them an inheritance of nearly a billion dollars. In my previous life, I discovered the truth as he lay on his deathbed. His investments had collapsed long ago, leaving him with nothing. His extravagant lifestyle was sustained only by a web of high interest loans from online lenders, all to feed his vanity. Yet, seeing him so frail, I kept the secret, hoping he could pass in peace. After his death, my mother-in-law worked me relentlessly. The funeral was my first chance to rest. I had intended for us to face the debt together as a family. Instead, she publicly tried to force me into a divorce, demanding I relinquish any claim to the inheritance. I refused, for I still loved my wife. But my refusal only convinced her I was after a share of the money. That night, as I slept, she crept into my room and murdered me with a knife. She then greeted my wife, who had just returned, with a chilling smile. “Don’t worry, dear. I took care of that useless trash for you. He won’t lay a hand on your money, or my grandson’s inheritance. You must sort out the marriage papers quickly. I won’t have my grandson born a bastard.” As a spirit, I watched my wife and her mother dispose of my body. They wove a tale for the police, painting me as an abusive monster and claiming she had killed me in self defense. Amid a firestorm of online hatred directed at me, my wife signed a letter of forgiveness for her mother. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back at my father-in-law’s funeral. This time, I will not hesitate. I will agree to the divorce and sign whatever they put before me. Let them enjoy the tens of millions in debt he left behind. 1 “Alex, get this dress to my sister, now. She needs to change soon.” A dress was shoved into my hands, and I looked up into the sharp, critical face of a woman. I was dazed. “Don’t just stand there spacing out. Can you try to be useful for once? No wonder my sister can’t stand you.” The familiar words sent a jolt through me. I whipped my head around, taking in the scene. She was still rambling. “I have no idea what kind of dumb luck you stumbled into to marry Isabelle. I’m telling you, she could do so much better. A small-timer like you doesn’t deserve…” Before she could finish, I threw open the door and ran. It was real. I was back. Thank God. I found my mother-in-law, Meredith, holding the dress. She had been chatting cheerfully with a guest, but the moment she saw me, her face soured. She snatched the dress from my hands and shot me a venomous glare. “Have you no sense at all? Can’t you see I’m with a guest?” “Just wait for me by the door of the changing room.” I offered her my arm to help her, a cold sneer hidden deep inside. It was her husband’s funeral, yet she’d already changed her outfit three times. Was she really oblivious to the strange looks the other guests were giving her? After she changed, I was gathering her discarded clothes when I caught her staring at me with a calculating glint in her eye. My heart steeled itself. Here it comes. “Alex,” she began, her voice dripping with condescension, “now that your father-in-law is gone, Isabelle is the pillar of this family. I’m sure you understand what I mean.” “I’ve been more than generous, letting a good-for-nothing like you stick around for this long. But this family will not be dragged down by a man like you.” “So, know your place. Get the divorce done with Isabelle, and do it now.” I feigned shock, lowering my head and mumbling, “Meredith… I know I’ve let Isabelle down. But… what does she think about this?” Meredith let out a scornful laugh. “You think she’s going to plead your case? Let me tell you, this is my decision, and it’s final!” “I’ll get her in here right now. I’ll make you give up, you pathetic worm!” A few moments later, Isabelle pushed the door open. Her expression was calm. She first offered me a soft, gentle smile before turning to her mother with a look of confusion. “Mom, what’s wrong? Why did you call me over in such a rush?” “How could I not rush? This man is going nowhere, and today is the day. We’re settling this divorce!” “Mom!” Isabelle’s voice was sharp, as if trying to cut her off. Meredith pulled her aside, and they began whispering furiously. I watched as a cascade of emotions washed over Isabelle’s face—shock, anger, conflict—before finally settling into a mask of profound sorrow. “Mom, could you leave us for a minute?” she said, her voice heavy. “I’d like to speak with… Alex… alone.” 2 Meredith shot me a cold, triumphant smirk before closing the door behind her. Isabelle walked toward me, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. She reached out, her hand gently caressing my cheek. “Alex… I… I have no choice,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I’ve already lost my father. I can’t lose my mother, too.” “She has a heart condition, you know. She can’t handle any stress. I can’t be selfish… I can’t put my love for you before her health.” “Let’s just… let’s just get a divorce for show. Once I’ve calmed her down, we’ll get married again, I promise. You’re the only one I’ve ever loved!” She delivered the lines with such heartfelt passion, you’d think she was a tragic heroine from some old play, forced to abandon her love by a cruel matriarch. But I wasn’t her fool anymore. I knew exactly who she was. In my last life, I had truly believed she loved me, that all the trouble we had was just Meredith’s doing. It was only after I was dead, after I’d heard her conversation with her mother, after I’d seen the cold, detached look in her eyes as she stared at my corpse, that I finally understood. She knew everything. She had let it all happen. In fact, she had been the one to push her mother to kill me. She was the one who wanted the divorce. She was the one who wanted me dead. I dropped my gaze, hiding the mockery in my eyes. “I know… I understand, Isabelle. I’ll… I’ll divorce you.” The moment the words left my mouth, Meredith burst back into the room. “Let’s go, now! We can make it to the courthouse before it closes. Let’s get this done.” “Wait!” she added, her eyes narrowing. “First, you have to sign a waiver to the inheritance. Isabelle, this boy is sneaky. We can’t let him get a penny of your father’s money!” Her hand clamped down on my arm, her nails digging into my flesh as if she was afraid I’d make a run for it. Isabelle looked away, her eyes darting around the room, unable to meet mine. “…Fine. I’ll sign it. I won’t touch a single cent of your family’s money.” I clenched my fists so hard my knuckles turned white, fighting the urge to laugh out loud. I had waited so long to say those words. Once I sign this paper, all that debt has nothing to do with me. Isabelle must have mistaken my trembling for grief. A flicker of pity crossed her face. “Mom, maybe we should just let it go. It’s not like we can’t afford to support one more person.” My expression tightened, but Meredith’s reaction was far more extreme. “What are you talking about? Isabelle, you have no idea how much trouble a man can cause! Besides, you have a child to think about now!” At the mention of a child, Isabelle’s eyes flickered, and she fell silent. I obediently signed the waiver, then followed Isabelle to the courthouse to file for divorce. We would have to come back in a month to finalize it. As we left the building, she seemed to want to say something more, but I couldn’t stand another second of her hypocritical performance. I turned, hailed a cab, and left her standing there. In the cab, I saw messages from my parents asking if I was coming home for dinner. With a sigh, I told the driver a new address. When I got home, the table was filled with all my favorite dishes, a rare sight. I picked at my food, my appetite gone, and then quietly announced the news. “We’re getting a divorce.” I braced myself for the storm, the screaming and shouting. After all, they had always been so proud that I’d married into a wealthy family, constantly reminding me to suck up to them, caring more about Isabelle than they ever had about me. But this time, there was no anger. They exchanged a look, a flash of unconcealed joy passing between them. My mother even put a chicken wing on my plate. “Oh, Alex, don’t be sad. It’s trendy to be single these days. Mom thinks it’s perfectly fine to be on your own.” I nodded, a small part of me touched. Maybe they finally understood. I was about to tell them about the family’s financial situation after dinner, but just then, my brother, Kevin, walked in. As he passed me, a familiar scent hit me, and I froze, the realization striking me like a bolt of lightning. I finally understood why my parents weren’t upset about the divorce. 3 I have an extremely sensitive nose; the scent of most commercial perfumes is overwhelming to me. That’s why I had personally blended a unique fragrance for Isabelle, with Blue Tansy as the main note. It was a scent unlike any other. And right now, that was the exact scent I smelled on Kevin. So, Isabelle’s affair was with my brother. No wonder my parents weren’t upset. In their minds, only their precious younger son deserved to marry into money, even if it meant he had to steal his own brother’s wife. I’d always known they favored him. My birth name, the one they gave me, was a cruel joke, a pun on the word for “failure.” I changed it myself when I got older. Growing up, I did all the chores while Kevin lounged on the sofa, ordering me around. New clothes and toys were always for him; I only got his hand-me-downs when he grew tired of them. Even after I got a good job at a prestigious firm and sent them money and gifts every month, they still doted on Kevin, who did nothing but leech off them. And now, they had helped him steal my wife, too. My mother glanced at my brother with a look of pure adoration before placing another chicken wing on my plate. “Alex, honey, your brother has found someone special. But you know our family’s situation… I’m worried her family will look down on him. Do you think… maybe you could help him with half of the down payment for a house?” I kept my head down, shoveling food into my mouth in silence. Suddenly, my father slammed his hand on the table. “All you do is eat! Your elders are talking to you. Have you no manners?” “Your brother is getting married! As his older brother, it’s your duty to contribute!” I set down my chopsticks and looked up, meeting their eyes directly. I hadn’t even realized tears were streaming down my face. “Married? To who? Isabelle?” I watched the color drain from their faces and let out a bitter, hollow laugh. “He’s the homewrecker who stole his brother’s wife, and I’m supposed to buy them a house? Am I just a complete joke to you?” “Who are you calling a homewrecker? You useless bastard, it’s your own fault you couldn’t keep her!” Kevin roared, lunging at me, his fist aimed at my face. We tumbled to the ground, trading blows. When it was clear Kevin was losing, my father bellowed, “That’s enough!” He and my mother rushed over to pull me off. He pinned my arms while she held me down, allowing Kevin to land several solid punches, splitting my lip and drawing blood. “You’re the older brother! Why can’t you just let him have his way for once? How dare you raise a hand to him, you animal!” my father yelled, his hand swinging back before connecting with my cheek in a series of sharp, stinging slaps. I collapsed onto the floor, watching my mother coo over Kevin, fussing over a scratch on his hand, while my father stood over me, his face contorted with rage. A wild, broken laugh escaped my lips. “I have to let him have whatever he wants? If he wanted to murder someone, should I hand him the knife?” “Why are you so biased? Why do you hate me so much? Sometimes I really wonder if I’m even your biological son!” I screamed the words, a desperate attempt to vent the years of resentment. I never expected to see a flash of pure terror in my mother’s eyes. Before I could process it, my father lunged, his hands closing around my neck, squeezing tight. “You ungrateful whelp! After everything we’ve done for you, you dare to scream at us!” “You’re not setting foot in this house again until you’ve learned to reflect on what you’ve done!” He dragged me out of the house and slammed the door shut. I covered my face with my hands, silent sobs shaking my body as tears slipped through my fingers. So it was true. I wasn’t their son. And in my past life… they must have been a part of my death, too. In the chaos of the fight, I had managed to grab a strand of hair from the floor. I sent it to a lab for DNA testing. While I waited for the results, I went to a real estate agency. Thank God I had resisted Meredith’s pressure to hand over all my savings back then. Now that I had nowhere else to go, I at least had enough to buy myself a home. After looking at a few places, I made up my mind. I was just about to confirm the purchase with the agent when I heard a familiar, sycophantic voice behind me. “Sweetheart, I want a villa with a garden. We can plant those roses you love.” I turned and saw him: Kevin, with his arm wrapped possessively around Isabelle. They saw me at the same time. Isabelle’s face went rigid, but Kevin strode over, a smug, triumphant grin plastered on his face. “Bro, I’d start thinking about your future if I were you. It’s tough for a divorced guy to find someone new. If you blow what little money you have on a house, how are you going to live?” “Not like me, of course. I’ve got a rich family to back me up. You should probably just go apologize to Mom and Dad.” 4 The real estate agent’s eyes lit up. She’d overheard Kevin mention buying a villa and immediately hurried over to them. “Sir, perhaps you’d be interested in one of these properties? They have large, beautiful gardens. This one, in fact, comes pre-planted with a full rose garden, perfectly suited to your lovely partner’s tastes.” Kevin’s eyes gleamed, but Isabelle hesitated. The inheritance hadn’t been settled yet; she didn’t have the cash on hand. “Kevin, we said we were just going to look today. We can buy it once the money comes through…” Hearing her whisper, I decided to pour some fuel on the fire. “What’s the matter, Kevin? You went to all that trouble to seduce your brother’s wife, and now she won’t even buy you a house?” The agent’s expression shifted as she took in this juicy piece of gossip, her eyes darting between the three of us. Kevin’s face turned beet red. He looked at Isabelle, his eyes pleading. She hardened her resolve. “We’ll take it,” she said, her voice sharp. “We’ll pay right now. For the one Kevin likes.” She pulled out her phone and, with a few taps, secured a multi-million dollar online loan. Then she shot me a look of pure venom. “Alex, when my father’s inheritance comes through, you’d better not regret this. You have disappointed me so much today!” “Why? Were you planning on having both of us, Isabelle? A little brotherly sharing?” My sarcastic retort made her face go pale. I guessed it pricked whatever was left of her conscience. She always did this—put on a show of being soft-hearted while doing the most monstrous things. Kevin, who obviously knew her well, tightened his grip on her hand and placed his other hand on her stomach. “Honey, the baby just kicked. I think he’s angry, too.” “I’m not a useless man like my brother. You and I are going to have lots of children together, Isabelle.” Isabelle’s face lit up with a look of genuine surprise and delight. She placed her own hand on her belly, not sparing me another glance as she walked away, clinging to Kevin’s arm. Watching her dig herself into an even deeper hole, I smiled and called the agent over. I bought the small apartment I’d had my eye on, paying in full. Back at my temporary place, I was planning my move when my parents called. I answered, and was immediately met with a torrent of abuse. “Alex, you’ve really grown a backbone, haven’t you? How dare you publicly call your brother a homewrecker! Do you have any idea that his wife is pregnant? What if the stress caused a miscarriage? How can you be so vicious?” Listening to them, I thought with a detached sense of irony, Wow, Kevin really tattles fast. “Did I say anything that wasn’t true? He is a homewrecker. What, do you expect me to babysit the child they conceived behind my back?” “You… Alex! You get over here and apologize to Kevin right now! If you don’t, we’ll go to your office and make a scene until you get fired!” The absurdity of it made me laugh, but a chill ran down my spine. “Fine. Go ahead. After you’re done and I’ve lost my job, I’ll make a scene of my own. I’ll make sure the whole world knows that Kevin is a snake who seduced his own sister-in-law.” “I have nothing left to lose. I’ll just drag my feet on finalizing the divorce, and Kevin’s precious child will be born a bastard.” The other end of the line went silent. I pressed my advantage, my voice low and menacing. “Don’t push me. I don’t mind taking you all down with me. If I’m going to be miserable, so is everyone else.” I hung up and blocked all of their numbers. The call served its purpose. For the next few weeks, they left me alone, and I moved into my new apartment without any trouble. When the one-month waiting period was over, I arrived at the courthouse on time. My threat had clearly worked; Kevin was already there, anxiously waiting with Isabelle by his side. The moment the divorce certificates were in our hands, he couldn’t resist a final jab. “Hey, bro, if you get on your knees and apologize, maybe I’ll let a little cash slip through my fingers for you. We’re talking about a billion dollars here. You couldn’t earn that in ten lifetimes!” I was about to fire back a cold retort when Isabelle’s phone rang. It was Meredith, her voice frantic and laced with panic. “Isabelle, it’s… it’s bad! There are… there are people here demanding money! They’re saying… they’re saying your father took out loans from loan sharks!”

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It was a freezing Sunday morning, and I was lighting a fresh memorial candle at my daughter’s grave. My son-in-law, Oliver, suddenly broke the silence, asking if I knew where Sweetpea lived. He told me that before Lily died, she constantly talked about someone named Sweetpea, calling this person her savior. He said he wanted to pay them a visit to show his gratitude. My hand froze in midair. I almost dropped the lighter. Sweetpea wasn’t some stranger. It was the embarrassing childhood nickname I had given my daughter. When Lily grew up, she thought the name was incredibly childish and absolutely forbade me from ever saying it out loud. A cold knot formed in my stomach. Why on earth would she tell her husband that Sweetpea was her savior? 1 My daughter was brutally murdered in a dark alleyway three months ago. She was eight months pregnant at the time. The killer showed absolutely no mercy, taking her life and the life of her unborn baby in one horrific act of violence. When the police called and I rushed to the scene, the sheer trauma of seeing what was left of her made me pass out on the wet pavement. Oliver was completely destroyed. He sat by her body in the freezing rain, weeping until his voice gave out. The shock and grief were so profound that streaks of silver appeared in his hair overnight. The crime shocked the entire city. Everyone was disgusted by the killer’s cruelty and heartbroken over Lily’s fate. The police department immediately set up a special task force. But because Lily died in a blind spot without a single security camera, there were no witnesses. It was pouring rain that night, washing away any footprints or DNA. The killer vanished like a ghost. The task force worked around the clock for days but came up completely empty. Refusing to let the monster walk free, Oliver publicly offered a massive million-dollar reward. He went on every local news station, begging the public to help find the person who slaughtered his family. For a while, the whole country was obsessed with the case. But three agonizing months passed. Every lead turned into a dead end. Just yesterday, the department officially disbanded the special task force. The million-dollar reward sat unclaimed. The murder of my daughter was officially a cold case. I honestly thought the truth would stay buried forever. But right now, hearing Oliver’s question, a sharp tremor went through my heart. I looked up at him, studying his face. “When exactly did Lily say Sweetpea was her savior?” Oliver thought for a few seconds, his expression completely serious. “Just a few days before she was killed.” Something was wrong. Something was horribly, twistedly wrong. I kept my eyes locked on his face. “What were her exact words?” Oliver met my gaze, his eyes pooling with sadness. “She said if it wasn’t for Sweetpea, she wouldn’t have survived this long. She called Sweetpea the greatest blessing of her life and made me promise to repay the favor if we ever got the chance.” He took a shaky breath. “I kept asking her who this person was and where they lived. She just smiled and said she would introduce me after the baby was born. I never thought she wouldn’t make it to that day.” His voice cracked as he spoke, dropping into a devastated whisper. But down by my side, my fingers were digging into the cold wet dirt. I called her Sweetpea because she was such a tiny, chubby, sweet-smelling baby. Later, when she started dating, she specifically warned me. She told me if she ever got a boyfriend or got married, I was never allowed to utter that nickname around him. She was terrified of being teased. From that day on, Sweetpea became a banned word between us. Lily hated that nickname so much. There was absolutely zero chance she would willingly bring it up to Oliver. And there was definitely no way she would call Sweetpea her savior. So who was lying to me? 2 While my mind was spinning, Oliver spoke again. “Mom, it was just the two of you growing up. Do you have any idea who this Sweetpea is?” I chose not to tell him the truth. Instead, I looked at him, let two seconds of heavy silence pass, and calmly shook my head. “Never heard of them.” A flash of disappointment crossed Oliver’s eyes. “I really wanted to thank them. Just to fulfill Lily’s last wish. But if you don’t know them either, I guess I’ll have to let it go.” I didn’t say a word. I just looked down and fixed the flowers. But the suspicion in my chest was growing into a raging fire. My husband died when I was young, and I raised Lily all by myself. Working double shifts while being a single mom was hell, but Lily was an angel. She never caused trouble. She was so gentle that she had never even been in a shouting match with anyone, let alone made mortal enemies. That was exactly why the cops were so stumped. She had no enemies. Oliver and Lily met in college. They dated for five years and had been married for three. For eight whole years, Oliver treated her like royalty. Every time Lily called me, she was bragging about him. “Mom, Oliver just signed up for a culinary class so he can make me healthy meals every night.” “Mom, I coughed twice this morning and Oliver dragged me to the clinic for a full checkup. He’s such a worrywart.” “Mom, a huge stray dog charged at me today. Oliver threw himself right in front of me and fought it off barehanded. He was bleeding everywhere but didn’t even care. He just cried because I scraped my knee falling down.” “Mom, I’m pregnant! Oliver is over the moon. He just booked the most expensive maternity clinic in the city. He swore he would protect us with his life.” She was so incredibly happy. As a mother, I could see the glow radiating from her. And I genuinely believed Oliver loved her with everything he had. That was why he aged ten years overnight when she died. For the last three months, he hadn’t slept a full night. Once the million-dollar bounty went public, his phone rang off the hook. If a caller spotted someone suspicious across the state, he would drive there immediately. Once, at two in the morning, someone called saying a creepy drifter was following pregnant women in the next county. Oliver threw on a jacket, drove four hours in the pitch black, and found nothing. This happened every single day. People told him to rest. He would just grit his teeth and shake his head. “I am not missing a single chance to get justice for Lily.” When the task force shut down, he begged them on his knees, tears streaming down his face. “Please, keep looking. My wife and baby can’t die for nothing.” I was hospitalized for shock after the funeral. I refused to eat. I wanted to die. Oliver was the one who stayed by my bed day and night, talking me off the ledge. He held my hand and cried. “Mom, you are the most important person in Lily’s world. If she looks down from heaven and sees you like this, it would break her heart.” If it wasn’t for Oliver, I would probably be in a psychiatric ward right now. Because I knew exactly how good he was, I was losing my mind trying to figure out who was lying. If Oliver was lying, how did he find out about the nickname, and why spin this weird story? If Lily was lying to Oliver, what was the point of telling him that? Was she trying to send a message? Right when I felt my head was about to split open, my cell phone buzzed. It was Detective Garrett, the head of the disbanded task force. As soon as I answered, his voice came through completely breathless. “Sarah, someone just anonymously leaked a hidden camera video of the alley from the night your daughter died.” 3 My knees gave out. I had to grab the gravestone to keep from falling. Oliver, who had heard the voice through the speaker, went wide-eyed. He leaned in and yelled into the phone. “Detective! Are you serious?” Garrett cleared his throat, his tone dead serious. “Dead serious. How fast can you two get down to the precinct?” We both nodded aggressively, practically screaming into the receiver. “We are on our way!” Oliver drove like a maniac. His hands were physically shaking on the steering wheel, and he had the gas pedal slammed to the floor. He looked like a man desperate to rip the killer apart with his bare teeth. We burst into the station a few minutes later. Detective Garrett was waiting in the conference room with a laptop open on the table. He skipped the pleasantries. “Tech guys already verified it. The footage is raw. No deepfakes, no edits. I need you both to watch this closely and tell me if you recognize the guy.” He hit play. It was nighttime. The alley was dark, lacking streetlights, so the footage was incredibly grainy. But I instantly recognized the brick walls. It was the alley. On the screen, my pregnant daughter was walking slowly in the rain, holding an umbrella. Two seconds later, a man stepped into the frame. He was wearing a black hoodie pulled up tight, a baseball cap, and a medical mask. He kept a steady distance, about ten feet right behind Lily. You couldn’t see a single inch of his face. But you could see his build. He was short, almost skeletal. And he walked with a severe, heavy limp. A few seconds later, Lily turned the corner into the blind spot. The man paused at the mouth of the alley, looked left, looked right, and followed her into the dark. The video cut to black. Detective Garrett paused on the frame of the man, zooming in on his hunched, limping figure. “Have either of you ever seen this man in your lives?” I stared at the screen until my eyes burned. I shook my head. “Never.” Oliver’s face was completely drained of color. “I have no idea who that is.” Garrett played it again, this time at half speed. He pointed at the screen with a pen. “Based on the coroner’s timeline, your daughter was attacked the moment she entered that blind spot. This man is our prime suspect.” Knowing I was staring at the monster who butchered my baby made my blood boil. I leaned in, practically pressing my nose against the monitor, praying to recognize something. But he was completely covered. The only thing visible was his eyes, caught for a split second reflecting the distant streetlamp. For some inexplicable reason, those eyes gave me a weird, prickling sense of deja vu. But my mind was blank. I couldn’t place them. Garrett looped the video a dozen times. No matter how hard we looked, we had no names to give him. The room fell dead silent. Finally, I looked at Garrett. “Is that the only clip?” He nodded, looking exhausted. “I was packing up my desk yesterday. Then this morning, this file drops into my inbox. And it wasn’t just me. The sender mass-emailed it to every single officer in the building, plus three local news anchors.” He sighed heavily. “It’s all over the internet now. The public is out for blood. The mayor just called and forced the department to reopen the case. Everyone wants this guy’s head on a spike.” Something didn’t sit right with me. “Why did the sender wait three months? Why wait until the day after your team officially shut down to make a huge spectacle out of it?” It made zero sense. This was the golden ticket. If the person who filmed this had turned it in on day one, they would be a millionaire right now thanks to Oliver’s reward. Why hide, ignore the money, and wait until the cops gave up to drop a bomb? Garrett rubbed his temples. “We think they wanted to cause maximum panic. They want a media circus. We tried tracking the IP address, but it bounced through ten different countries. The sender is a ghost.” Oliver slammed his hands on the table. “Can’t you track him through other street cameras? He didn’t just teleport there! Pull the footage from every block in a five-mile radius!” Garrett looked over at Toby, the tech guy at the corner desk. Toby typed frantically. “We are pulling all commercial and traffic cameras from the night of the murder. We are through seventy percent of the footage, but there is no sign of…” Before Toby could finish, Garrett’s radio crackled loudly. “Boss, patrol unit three. We are doing a sweep of the lower east side. We just spotted a guy matching the suspect’s description. Same hoodie, same heavy limp.” Garrett shot out of his chair like a rocket. “Do not engage. Keep eyes on him. We are on our way right now!” 4 Oliver and I jumped into the back of Garrett’s unmarked cruiser. Twenty minutes later, tires screeching, we pulled up outside a decaying, rundown apartment complex on the edge of town. Several plainclothes officers were already waiting by the dumpsters. They jogged up to Garrett. “Boss, asked around. Neighborhood kids call him Limping Jack. He’s a drifter, collects cans for cash. Wanders the streets all day. He went into the ground floor unit right there and hasn’t come out.” Garrett drew his weapon and signaled the men to move quietly toward the peeling wooden door of the apartment. I stayed close behind Garrett, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. Oliver was pacing behind me, aggressively twisting his wedding ring. “Lily… we are finally going to get him. We are finally going to make him pay.” His voice was vibrating with emotion. He had been waiting for this exact moment. Garrett knocked sharply on the door. “Gas company. We have a reported leak, open up.” Footsteps shuffled inside. A heavy deadbolt clicked. The door swung open. Standing there was a frail, hunched man. Half of his face was covered in horrific, melted burn scars. And his eyes… they were the exact same eyes from the grainy video. Seeing the badges instead of gas workers didn’t shock him. Limping Jack stared at the cops, paused for two seconds, and actually smiled. “Took you long enough.” His voice was calm. Unnervingly calm. Like a man waiting for a dinner guest. Garrett instantly sensed danger and tackled the man to the ground. Two other cops piled on, pinning his arms. Jack didn’t even try to fight back. With his face pressed against the dirty linoleum floor, he kept laughing. “I waited three whole months for you guys. Finally. Hahaha!” That laugh sent a block of ice sliding down my spine. Feeling sick, my eyes wandered past the scuffle and into his cramped apartment. What I saw made the breath leave my lungs. Every single inch of his four walls was plastered with photographs. Hundreds of them. Thousands of them. And they were all of my daughter. There was a picture of her as a toddler in the park, wearing pigtails. There was her in middle school, carrying a heavy backpack. Her sitting in the college library, chewing on a pencil. Her in a wedding dress, holding Oliver’s arm. There was even a recent one, her heavily pregnant, watering plants on her balcony. The pictures documented her entire existence. From a little girl to a grown woman. A complete timeline of my baby’s life. I was paralyzed. Oliver froze in the doorway. A second later, a guttural scream ripped out of his throat. He lunged forward, grabbing Jack by the collar and hoisting him up. “You sick, twisted freak! You’ve been stalking her for years?!” Jack didn’t flinch. He let his head hang back and let out another raspy laugh. “That’s right.” “I killed her.” The moment the words left his mouth, Oliver’s fist connected with Jack’s jaw with a sickening crack. “I’ll kill you! I’ll fucking kill you!” It was the first time I had ever seen Oliver lose his mind. He was a wild animal, raining punches down on the frail man, his eyes bloodshot, fully ready to murder him right there on the floor. Garrett and another cop had to physically put Oliver in a chokehold to drag him off. Oliver was still thrashing wildly, screaming at the top of his lungs. “What did she ever do to you?! Why did you have to hurt her?!” Jack wiped the blood from his mouth. He completely ignored Oliver. Instead, his eyes found mine, locking onto me from across the room. He spoke softly. “I confess. Take me away.” Garrett holstered his weapon and gestured to his men. “Get him in the car.” They slapped the cuffs on him and hauled him up. Again, no struggling. Jack actually walked toward the police cruiser faster than the cops pulling him. He was desperate to be arrested. Watching his hunched back and heavy limp as he walked away, an overwhelming sense of wrongness washed over me. Nothing made sense. Who was this man? Why did he photograph my daughter for twenty years, only to brutally murder her right before she gave birth? Why would he pick a perfect blind spot to commit the murder, completely avoiding detection, but then leave his front door unlocked and practically beg the cops to arrest him? Why say he waited three months? And the video… if he filmed it himself, why wait? Why turn down a million dollars just to send an anonymous email to the news? And what about Oliver? Why did he lie about Lily mentioning Sweetpea? My brain felt like it was trapped in a blender. Everything was spinning out of control. I leaned against the wall to keep from collapsing. As I did, my gaze drifted to the dirty window of the apartment. Sitting on the windowsill was a small, potted sunflower. It was completely dead. Withered and black. The moment I saw it, my heart stopped. A terrifying, earth-shattering realization hit me like a freight train.

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My adopted brother, Peter, was allegedly allergic to lies. He claimed that whenever he heard one, he would break out in hives, sneeze uncontrollably, and his eyes would stream with tears. On the very first day I returned to my biological family, Peter immediately suffered a massive allergic reaction. His skin turned bright red and swelled up, his eyes and nose running non-stop. From that moment on, my entire family branded me a pathological liar with zero morals. Later on, my grandmother, who was paralyzed from a severe stroke, was pushed down a flight of stairs. When they asked me, I simply shook my head and said, “It wasn’t me.” The very next second, Peter went into anaphylactic shock and collapsed right in front of everyone. My father was furious. My mother screamed and cried at me. My older sister, Jacqueline, slapped me across the face so hard my vision went black. “How could our family produce such a toxic, venomous snake like you?!” I was humiliated, tortured, and relentlessly punished. It wasn’t until the moment I died that I finally discovered Peter’s true secret. 1 On my very first day back at the Starzyk estate, I didn’t hesitate. I poured myself a glass of boiling hot water and drank it straight down. Only when I felt that agonizing, burning pain searing my throat did I finally relax against the leather seats of the family’s Porsche. In my past life, the second I was reunited with my biological parents and my sister, I had hugged them, my eyes red and brimming with tears of joy. My mother’s voice had choked with emotion as she told me they had finally found me. Peter, standing off to the side, had looked down at the floor and muttered, “I’m so sorry, brother. I’ve been occupying your rightful place all these years. Now that you’re back, I should give everything back to you.” Jacqueline had immediately frowned, reaching out to gently stroke his hair. “Don’t say such silly things. Ethan won’t mind.” I had quickly nodded in agreement. “Of course not. I consider you my real brother. We’ll always be a family.” It was supposed to be a warm, welcoming reunion. But the moment the words left my mouth, Peter started furiously rubbing his nose. He sneezed violently, over and over, his hands frantically scratching at his arms, which were rapidly breaking out in angry red hives. Jacqueline’s face immediately darkened. She barked at the maids to fetch his antihistamines. My parents subtly pulled their hands away from mine. The warm, loving looks they had just given me were instantly replaced by cold, calculated scrutiny. I was terrified. I couldn’t understand how a genuine, heartfelt sentence could trigger such a catastrophic reaction. I had heard rumors before. The adopted son of the Starzyk family had a bizarre medical condition. He was supposedly allergic to lies. The story went that shortly after he was adopted, Peter had a severe allergic reaction to a loyal, longtime nanny. After a thorough investigation, the family discovered that the nanny was actually a corporate spy hired by a rival firm to steal the Starzyk Corporation’s trade secrets. Another time, during a massive charity gala, Peter couldn’t stop sneezing while my father was negotiating with a prominent investor. Later, they found out the investor was secretly bankrupt and the entire partnership was a massive Ponzi scheme designed to steal their money. The most famous incident happened at Jacqueline’s engagement party. The moment Peter shook hands with her fiancé, he broke out in full-body hives and ran a dangerously high fever. Furious, Jacqueline hired a private investigator. She discovered her seemingly perfect fiancé was actually sleeping around and had contracted multiple STDs. Incident after incident elevated Peter to the status of a holy oracle within the Starzyk family. He was their precious, untouchable little prince. They trusted him implicitly. And they absolutely refused to let anyone or anything harm him. Because of him, they instantly threw up their walls against me, their own biological son who had just returned home. My mother looked incredibly awkward. She forced a stiff smile and asked me how I had been living all these years. Thinking back to the brutal beatings at the orphanage, the relentless bullying at school, and having to scrape a living off the filthy streets, I offered a bitter, honest smile. “It was hard, but I survived.” Hearing that, a flicker of genuine heartache finally crossed my mother’s face. But to everyone’s shock, Peter’s condition didn’t improve even after taking his medication. In fact, his arms flared up with massive, swollen welts. My mother panicked and immediately called for the family doctor. The look she shot me was entirely hostile and guarded. In her mind, I was obviously lying, playing the victim just to garner sympathy. Right on cue, Peter played the role of the incredibly reasonable martyr, insisting that he had to pack up his things and give his master bedroom back to me because it “belonged to the rightful heir.” 2 I felt like I was sitting on a bed of nails. I immediately shook my head and said, “I could never take your room. I didn’t come back here to steal anything from you.” That single sentence acted like a lit match to gasoline. It triggered the most violent reaction yet. Peter started gasping for air, clutching his chest, making horrific wheezing sounds like he was suffocating. Jacqueline lost her mind. She shoved me hard against the wall, screaming at me to stay away from him. My father’s face was completely black with fury. “That’s enough for today,” he snapped. “Maria, go prepare a guest room for him. Get him out of my sight.” I stood there, completely paralyzed, watching them swarm around Peter in a panic. I had no idea what I did wrong. Just like that, the family I had spent my entire life dreaming of finding completely rejected and despised me. From that day forward, the Starzyk family never gave me a single kind look. I would hide in the hallways, listening to the maids gossip about how the “newly found young master” was a vicious, pathological liar. They whispered that a piece of trash dragged out of the slums could never compare to their elegant, pampered Peter. I could only keep my head down, forcing myself to become completely invisible in my own home. The incident that sealed my absolute destruction happened late one night. The family had gone out for a walk. I was in my room, studying. Suddenly, a deafening crash echoed from the hallway. I rushed out of my room, only to see my grandmother—who had been paralyzed by a stroke—tumbling violently down the grand marble staircase, wheelchair and all. I screamed in horror and rushed toward the stairs to help her. But right at that exact moment, the front doors opened. My family walked in, witnessing the entire scene. A maid collapsed onto the floor in absolute terror, pointing a trembling finger directly at me. “Master Ethan said he was going to take the Madam to the gardens for some fresh air! I don’t know what happened, he just suddenly pushed her down the stairs!” Jacqueline broke down instantly. Our grandmother was the person she loved most in the world. My father’s hands shook uncontrollably as he dialed 911. Outside the emergency room, the surgeon told us the prognosis was incredibly grim. Tears streamed down my face. I shook my head frantically. “Please, you have to save her! I don’t know why this is happening. I didn’t do it!” But the moment the words left my lips, Peter, standing nearby, went into a severe asthma attack. His face drained of all color, and he collapsed into anaphylactic shock right there in the waiting room. The chaos exploded. Peter was rushed into the ER on a stretcher. My father grabbed me by the collar, his teeth bared in pure, unfiltered rage, roaring at me to shut my mouth. My mother sobbed hysterically into her hands, praying for her mother-in-law and her precious son. Jacqueline’s hair was a mess. Her eyes were bloodshot. She marched up to me and delivered a brutal, ringing slap across my face. “How many people do you have to kill before you’re satisfied?! How did our bloodline produce such a toxic, venomous bastard?! Is there a single ounce of truth in your filthy mouth?!” I was knocked straight onto the linoleum floor. My mind went completely blank. I didn’t know why this was happening. I wanted to know how any of this was possible too! I literally did nothing, yet I was instantly condemned as the family’s ultimate villain! My grandmother died that night. Peter was transferred to the ICU. The Starzyk family completely gave up on me. My mother wanted to throw me back onto the streets and severe all legal ties. But Jacqueline refused. Her voice was pure ice. “A life for a life. He murdered Grandma. I will make sure he suffers for the rest of his pathetic existence.” From that day on, my life became a living hell. I was locked in the dog kennels or strung up by my wrists from the second-floor balcony. Jacqueline tortured and humiliated me on a daily basis. My parents turned a completely blind eye. I spiraled into total despair. My will to live slowly drained away. One day, the groundskeeper “forgot” to feed the family’s massive Tibetan Mastiff. Starving and rabid, it sank its teeth deep into my calf. I just lay there on the grass, watching it tear into me, bite after bite. Eventually, I closed my eyes, letting the agonizing pain drag me down into the abyss. Remembering every brutal detail of my past life, I clenched my fists tightly. This time around, I absolutely refused to be their punching bag. I was done living like a coward! 3 Just like in my previous life, the moment I walked through the door, my family pulled me into a tearful embrace. And right on cue, Peter delivered his exact same rehearsed line: “I’m so sorry, brother. I’ve been occupying your rightful place all these years. Now that you’re back, I should give everything back to you.” This time, however, I didn’t say a single word. I just stood there, staring at him in dead silence. His eyes quickly turned red, acting as if my silence was somehow bullying him, and he just kept frantically apologizing. Seeing this, my family naturally started throwing annoyed, judgmental glances my way. I looked at them with wide, pitiful eyes. I pointed to my throat and opened my mouth. My throat was severely blistered, red, and covered in raw ulcers from the boiling water. Their faces instantly changed. They immediately called for the family doctor. After a quick examination, the doctor confirmed it was a severe burn, stating that with medication, I wouldn’t be able to speak for at least a week or two. My mother finally let out a sigh of relief. But then, the doctor frowned heavily. “The young master is covered in scars, both old and new. It looks like he has lived a very brutal life out there.” Hearing that, my mother pulled out a silk handkerchief and dabbed at her tears. A massive wave of guilt and heartbreak washed over her, making her voice tremble. “Oh, Ethan… you’ve suffered so much. I promise, Mommy will never let anyone hurt you ever again.” My father stood nearby. His eyes lingered on the jagged scars cutting across my arms, and he let out a heavy sigh. “From this day forward, no one will ever dare lay a finger on the heir to the Starzyk family!” The muscles in Jacqueline’s jaw tightened. A flicker of genuine sympathy crossed her normally icy eyes. Peter was completely blindsided by this sudden shift in the atmosphere. No one was paying attention to him anymore. He stood frozen in the corner like the main character who just had his spotlight stolen. At that moment, I looked over and saw my grandmother sitting silently in her wheelchair. My nose stung. I walked over and dropped to one knee beside her. In my past life, my soul had lingered after I died, desperately trying to figure out what had actually happened. I followed Peter around like a ghost. That was how I discovered the truth. He wasn’t allergic to lies at all. His “medical condition” was a complete fabrication. His real secret? He could hear people’s inner thoughts. Whenever he heard someone thinking something different from what they were saying, he would fake an allergic reaction. He used this “power” to build an untouchable persona of pure, infallible honesty. But the most terrifying secret I learned was straight from his own thoughts. Years ago, my grandmother had actually tracked down my location. She was overjoyed and immediately started making arrangements to bring me home. But Peter read her mind. Terrified of losing his status and inheritance, he deliberately unchained the rabid guard dogs and set them loose on her. The sheer terror triggered a massive stroke, paralyzing her and rendering her speechless. And the only reason she never recovered? Peter had spent years bribing the household staff. The daily “medication” she drank every night wasn’t curing her. It was a slow-acting poison designed to keep her trapped in her own body. For years, my grandmother had been fully aware of every evil thing Peter had done, but she couldn’t move a muscle or speak a word. She was trapped, forced to watch him destroy her family while she slowly waited for death. I pressed my face gently against my grandmother’s frail hand. Hot tears poured down my cheeks. She was the only one who genuinely loved me, but in my last life, I failed to save her. I even took the fall when Peter’s bribed maid pushed her down those stairs to silence her forever. This time, I swore on my life, I was going to pull her back from the edge of the grave! Even though she couldn’t move, I saw a faint glisten of moisture gathering in the corners of her eyes. Jacqueline watched us, clearly moved, and quickly turned her head away. My parents exchanged a look filled with profound relief. Only Peter was left standing in the distance, entirely shut out of the family’s warmth. Round one. Victory was mine. That night, Peter slipped into my room, his face twisted in a dark, venomous sneer. “Don’t get too comfortable. My eighteenth birthday is exactly one month from now. Dad already promised to transfer his shares to me as a coming-of-age gift. The Starzyk empire belongs to me.” One month? I let out a low, silent chuckle. I was going to make sure his eighteenth birthday was an event he would remember for the rest of his short, miserable life.

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Of all the contacts on my phone screen, nearly seventy percent were tagged “Vincent – Client.” My fingertip froze on the glass. Moments ago, in the parking garage of St. Jude’s Women’s Center, I had watched my husband, Vincent, carry a pink prenatal bag for another woman, the hospital’s logo burning into my vision. I called his name. He turned, showing no panic, still holding the woman’s hand, and only frowned as if I were an interruption. “Sophia,” he said, his tone more distant than with clients. “What are you doing here?” My eyes were fixed on their entwined hands, on the halo of diamonds glittering on her ring finger. “My annual check-up,” I replied, fighting to steady my voice. He nodded dismissively. “Well, don’t let me keep you.” Then he looked down at her and offered the same gentle smile he once gave me ten years ago. As they walked away, I heard her ask softly, “Who was that?” Vincent’s quiet reply echoed off the concrete walls: “She’s nobody.” He paused, then added, “She can’t hold a candle to you.” The engine started and faded. I stood alone, every ounce of strength gone. 1 A fluorescent light in the garage ceiling was failing, flickering on and off in a frantic, dying rhythm. I don’t know how long I stood there. Three minutes, maybe thirteen. It wasn’t until a black Audi, reversing, nearly clipped me and the driver honked twice that my feet finally moved. I didn’t cry. I couldn’t name the feeling. It wasn’t heartbreak; heartbreak was supposed to ache, but I was completely numb. It was like a machine humming along for a decade, and someone had just yanked the plug. Every gear seized at once. The silence was terrifying. I walked to my car, pulled the door open, sat down, and buckled my seatbelt. Then I opened my contacts again. Mr. Redmond – Dad’s Golf Buddy, Chairman of Redmond Properties. In the winter of 2016, after dinner with my dad at the country club, I had casually placed Vincent’s business card by Mr. Redmond’s hand. “My husband just started his own practice,” I’d said. “If you ever have any legal needs, maybe you could throw some work his way.” Mr. Redmond had smiled and pocketed the card. The following year, Redmond Properties moved its entire legal portfolio to Vincent’s firm. The annual retainer was $1.2 million. Arthur Cole – Mom’s College Friend’s Son, President of Apex Investments. In the summer of 2017, at my mother’s birthday party, I made a point of inviting Arthur and seating him next to Vincent. Six months later, Apex Investments tasked Vincent with the legal due diligence for three major acquisitions. The fee for the largest of those deals was $4.6 million. Mark Marston – Tech CEO I’d met at an industry conference. In 2019, I had dinner with him twice. On the third, I brought Vincent along. Later, when Mark’s company went public, Vincent’s team handled all the legal work. That one deal brought the firm $8 million. I scrolled down, one name after another. Franklyn Bell. David Shaw. Peter Quinn. Behind every name was a dinner, a round of golf, an evening where I had smiled until my face ached. Seventy percent. Seventy percent of his firm’s core clients were people I had brought to him. Today, Vincent Croft stood as a partner in one of L.A.’s top three commercial law firms. He wore $3,000 bespoke suits and spoke eloquently on legal talk shows. Every stepping stone beneath his feet was one that I had laid. And just a few minutes ago, he had told that woman, “She can’t hold a candle to you.” I put my phone away and started the car. As I drove out of the garage, the sunlight stabbed at my eyes, and I squinted. I was home. I put the key in the lock, turned it twice, and the door swung open. The living room was just as we’d left it that morning. His jacket was slung over the sofa, his half-finished coffee sitting on the table. I folded his jacket and hung it in the closet. I took the coffee cup to the kitchen and washed it. Then, I started making dinner. My hands were steady as I chopped the vegetables. Tomatoes into perfect, even cubes. Eggs whisked until frothy. Green onions sliced paper-thin. The oil sizzled in the pan. I poured in the eggs, stirring them with a spatula. Everything was exactly as it had been for the past ten years, on any given evening. At 8:40 p.m., Vincent came home. He’d changed his suit and his tie. “A frittata?” he asked offhandedly. “There was nothing else in the fridge,” I replied. “Get some steak tomorrow,” he said, sitting down and taking a bite. “Okay.” He glanced at me, detecting nothing unusual. Of course he didn’t. My expression hadn’t changed at all. After dinner, he went to his study to work. I cleared the dishes, wiped the table, and scrubbed the last water spot from the kitchen counter. Then I went to our bedroom and picked up my phone. There was a number in my contacts I’d saved six years ago but had never once dialed. Rebecca. My college roommate. After graduation, she’d moved to New York to become a trial lawyer. She had just moved back to L.A. last year to start her own firm. At a reunion last month, she’d complained about how hard it was to find clients, joking that the stress was turning her hair gray. I stared at her number for a long time. I didn’t call. Not because I didn’t want to. But because I wasn’t ready yet. Outside, a string of lights along the distant coastline blinked on. We bought this condo in 2018. The down payment was $480,000, paid for by my father. Vincent said he would handle the mortgage, but after the first year, I was the one making the payments. $3,200 a month. I turned off the lights and lay down in bed. In the darkness, I replayed the scene from the parking garage. He hadn’t said, “I’m sorry.” He hadn’t said, “I can explain.” He had said, “She can’t hold a candle to you.” In front of a total stranger, he had taken ten years of my life, my effort, my everything, and crushed it into dust with seven words. I closed my eyes. Tomorrow, I had to remember to buy steak. 2 The next day, I went to the law firm. It was my Thursday routine, helping Vincent organize client files and coordinate with the administrative staff. No one paid me a salary. Vincent called it being “partners in life and work.” I pushed open his office door. The young woman at the front desk greeted me with a bright, “Morning, Sophia.” I smiled back. Vincent wasn’t in. His assistant, Jenna, told me he was out meeting a client and wouldn’t be back until the afternoon. I sat down in his large leather chair and started sorting through the month’s case files. A stack of invoices sat on the corner of his desk. I picked them up and idly flipped through them. Most were for routine office expenses—printing, couriers, travel. But I stopped on the twelfth one. An invoice from a furniture store. Modern Living Furnishings. The total was $37,800 for one item: a three-seater leather sofa. The delivery address was listed as: The Pacific Crest, Unit 1204, Santa Monica. That wasn’t our address. I took a picture of the invoice with my phone, then placed it back exactly where I’d found it. Next, I opened his laptop and pulled up his email. He never changed his password. It was six digits, our wedding anniversary. In the search bar, I typed “The Pacific Crest.” Three seconds later, four emails appeared. The first: a notification for payment of HOA fees, billed to Vincent Croft. The second: a quote from an interior design company for a full furnishing package. Total price: $186,000. The third: confirmation of a new broadband internet installation. The fourth: a forwarded email. The original sender was a woman named Paige. The message was short. Vince, I went with the cream-colored curtains. Let me know if you like them. An image was attached. Sunlight streamed through the cream curtains, illuminating brand-new hardwood floors. The living room was spacious, with that $37,800 sofa sitting right in the middle. On the wall hung a large abstract painting. I recognized it instantly. It was a print I had helped him pick out at an art fair last year. He told me he loved it. Turns out, he was buying it for someone else. I closed the email client. The screen reverted to the login page. With a single click, I cleared the browsing history. Jenna came in with a cup of coffee. “Sophia, Mr. Croft said a client will be here at three. He asked if you could get the conference room ready.” “Which client?” “Mr. Wallace, from the Wallace Group.” Wallace. I pressed my lips together. “Of course. I’ll get it ready.” I wiped down the conference room table twice, set out eight bottles of mineral water, and calibrated the projector. At ten past three, a man in his fifties walked in. Michael Wallace, Chairman of the Wallace Group. He was a client I had introduced to Vincent at a Chamber of Commerce gala last year. When he saw me, he shook my hand warmly. “Sophia, good to see you. How has your father been?” “He’s doing well, thank you for asking, Michael.” Vincent walked in behind him, clapping him on the shoulder. “Michael, sorry to keep you waiting.” He glanced at me. “Sophia, could you get us some coffee?” Michael Wallace frowned for a split second. He knew exactly who I was. But Vincent had already started his presentation. I turned and walked to the kitchenette. As I was pouring the coffee, my phone buzzed. It was an alert from a real estate app linked to Vincent’s credit card. “The property you are tracking, The Pacific Crest, Unit 1204, Santa Monica, has completed its title registration.” Property Owner: Vincent Croft. Purchase Price: $1.8 million. One point eight million dollars. I was paying our $3,200 mortgage every month. And he had taken that money and bought another woman a house. The coffee was ready. I carried the tray back into the conference room and placed a cup in front of Mr. Wallace. “Michael, please.” Then I turned, walked out, and gently closed the door behind me. The moment the door clicked shut, I could hear Vincent’s voice, confident, steady, and professional. “Now, Michael, the risk factor in this clause is…” Ten years ago, he couldn’t even draft a simple contract properly. It was my father who had taught him, line by line, how to do it. I stood in the hallway, leaning against the cool wall. The faint sound of traffic drifted up from the street below. I took out my phone and stared at Rebecca’s number for three long seconds. Then I put it back in my pocket. It wasn’t time yet. 3 In the days that followed, I started to notice. It wasn’t that I was actively looking for clues; it was more that things I had been blind to before were now screamingly obvious. The collar of his shirt would occasionally carry the scent of a perfume that wasn’t mine. Nothing expensive, just the cloyingly sweet, fruity kind you smell at department store counters. His arrival time home shifted from 8:30 to 9:30, then from 9:30 to 10:00. The excuse was always the same: “Working late at the office.” On Saturday, he said he was going to play golf, but the clothes in his bag were bone dry when he returned. But the thing that stuck with me the most was small. The milk in the refrigerator. I only drink skim; he drinks whole. Last week, I found a carton of strawberry-flavored yogurt in the fridge. I don’t like strawberry. Neither does he. The next day, it was gone. I didn’t ask. Even if I did, he’d have a hundred plausible excuses. He was a lawyer. Making up stories was his profession. Life went on. On the surface, nothing had changed. I still went to the firm on Thursdays, cooked dinner every night, and paid the mortgage every month. Only one thing was different. At night, I started going through my contacts. Not Vincent’s. Mine. I went through every client’s name, reliving how we met, where we had dinner, what I had said to convince them to give their business to Vincent. On the fourth night, I had a final count. Of the firm’s twelve core clients, eight and a half were mine. Why half? Because one of them was a client Vincent had technically landed himself, but the introductory dinner had been hosted by my father. My father had no idea. He thought it was just a casual get-together with friends. For ten years, I had been his unpaid business development manager. I smiled, made small talk, remembered every client’s wife’s birthday, and knew what grade their children were in. Mr. Redmond’s wife loved a specific type of white tea, so every spring, I would send her a tin of the finest Silver Needle. When Arthur Cole’s mother was hospitalized, I visited her three times, each time bringing her favorite osmanthus cakes. When Mark Marston first moved to L.A., he didn’t know a soul. I was the one who helped him find an apartment, recommended a dentist, and even found the international school his son now attended. Did Vincent know about all this? Yes. And what did he say? “Sophia, you’re a natural at this stuff. You’re better than any business assistant I could ever hire.” Better than an assistant. That’s what I was to him. A useful tool. So useful that he didn’t even feel the need to hide his affair, because tools don’t have feelings. “She can’t hold a candle to you.” He wasn’t insulting me. He was stating what he believed to be a fact. In his world, I truly couldn’t compare. I wasn’t as young. I wasn’t as pretty. I didn’t fawn over him. And as for my network, my resources, my connections? He had long ago claimed them as his own. They were as natural and essential to him as the air he breathed, and who ever stops to thank the air? On Saturday afternoon, Vincent’s mother called. “Sophia, dear, has Vincent been busy lately?” “He has been, Mom.” “Well, you two have been married for ten years now. Isn’t it about time you had a child?” “We’re planning on it.” “You’re not getting any younger, you know. You should hurry up.” “I will.” “I heard a new maternity center opened up near your neighborhood. Do you want me to go take a look?” “That’s not necessary, Mom. We’ll see when the time comes.” After hanging up, I sat on the sofa. The TV was on, playing some legal talk show. On screen, Vincent was wearing a sharp gray suit, sitting on the expert panel. The camera zoomed in for a close-up. Comments scrolled across the screen: “Vincent Croft is so handsome,” “So professional and charming,” “Where can I find a husband like that?” I turned off the TV. In the blank, dark screen, I saw my own reflection. Thirty-four years old. Fine lines at the corners of my eyes. Lips a little pale from years of not wearing lipstick. She can’t hold a candle to you. He was right. But do you even know whose ground you’re standing on? Vincent didn’t come home that night. He sent a text: Urgent case at the office. Pulling an all-nighter. I used to reply, Take care of yourself. This time, I sent back a single word. Okay. Then, I dialed Rebecca’s number. It rang three times before she picked up. “Sophia? Why are you calling so late?” “Rebecca,” I said, my voice even. “Your firm. Are you still looking for clients?” There was a two-second pause on the other end. “Always. What’s up?” “I might have a few to send your way.” “…How big are we talking?” “Big enough to set you up for the next three years.” Rebecca went quiet again. “Sophia,” she said, her voice now serious. “Are you sure about this?” I looked out the window at the glittering ribbon of the coastline highway. “Let’s meet next week and talk in person.” 4 I met Rebecca on Tuesday afternoon. We chose a private dining room in a small, out-of-the-way restaurant in Marina del Rey, a place where we were unlikely to run into anyone from our circle. Rebecca was thinner than I remembered from college, her hair pulled back in a low ponytail, wearing a tailored navy-blue suit. Her firm, Shoreline Law Group, currently employed six lawyers and mostly handled small-scale cases. “Were you serious on the phone?” she asked, her chopsticks hovering mid-air. “I was.” “How many clients?” “Let’s start with three.” I wrote three names on a piece of paper and slid it across the table. Redmond Properties. Apex Investments. Marston Technologies. Rebecca glanced at the list, and her expression changed completely. “Sophia, the combined annual legal spend for these three is at least twenty million dollars.” “I know.” “And you’re certain you can convince them to switch firms?” I took a sip of my tea. “I personally introduced every one of these clients to Vincent. Mr. Redmond is my father’s golf partner. Arthur Cole is the son of my mother’s best friend. Mark Marston is someone I cultivated a relationship with myself.” “What about their personal relationship with Vincent?” “It exists,” I said, setting my cup down. “But it’s not as strong as he thinks it is.” “Rebecca, do you understand the relationship between a lawyer and a client?” “Of course.” “Most of the time, the client isn’t loyal to the lawyer. They’re loyal to the person who made the introduction.” Rebecca stared at me, slowly lowering her chopsticks. “What’s your plan?” “We take our time. One by one.” I took out my phone and opened a document. “We start with Redmond. His daughter is getting married next month. I’ve already prepared a gift. I’ll deliver it in person and casually bring up the subject of consolidating family enterprise legal services.” “What kind of consolidation?” “I’ll tell him that my family’s trust is restructuring and requires an independent legal team, separate from Vincent’s firm, to avoid any potential conflicts of interest.” “Is that a solid reason?” “It is. Mr. Redmond is a businessman. The words ‘conflict of interest’ are more persuasive to him than any piece of gossip.” Rebecca was silent for a moment. “Sophia, what on earth happened between you and Vincent?” I didn’t answer her question. “Rebecca, all you need to do is be ready to take on these clients. Your team’s work has to be impeccable. No screw-ups.” “You can count on me for that.” “One more thing.” “What is it?” “Until this is done, no one can know that I’m involved. Not even the people at your firm.” “How long will this take?” “Two months.” By the time I left the restaurant, it was already dark. The streetlights stretched my shadow long and thin behind me. Before getting in my car, I glanced back to make sure I wasn’t being followed by any familiar vehicles. Then I drove away. With my hands on the steering wheel, I felt something I had never felt before. It wasn’t anger, and it wasn’t relief. It was clarity. Ten years of marriage had been like a veil over my eyes, and now, a hand had violently ripped it away. My entire world looked different. On the way home, I stopped at the supermarket and bought two pounds of steak. Vincent had mentioned he wanted some the other day. When I walked in, he was sitting on the sofa, scrolling through his phone. He looked up at me. “What’d you get?” “Steak.” “Good.” He went back to his phone. A notification popped up on his screen. I caught a glimpse of a pink profile picture. I went into the kitchen and put the steak in the fridge. Then I started making soup.

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1 It was past ten at night by the time I finally left the library and drove home. As I turned onto Oakwood Avenue, a narrow one-way street, headlights blinded me. A sleek black Porsche was barreling straight toward me, going the wrong way. I laid on the horn, hoping the driver would realize his mistake and back up. Instead of stopping, the Porsche’s engine roared. The driver hit the gas and aggressively aimed his grille right at my hood. Blinded by his high beams, I yanked the steering wheel hard, slamming on the brakes. My tires screeched, stopping barely two feet from his bumper. Before I could even catch my breath, the Porsche’s door flew open. A heavyset, bald man stepped out. He was gripping a heavy steel crowbar. “You blind, stupid bitch! Do you have eyes in your thick skull? Learn how to drive!” Panic spiked in my chest. He was completely unhinged. In my absolute terror, my foot slipped off the brake and hovered over the gas pedal. … “Honk at me again! I dare you! Do you not see the badge on this car?” He marched up to my beat-up Honda Civic and kicked the side panel violently. With one swift motion, he swung the crowbar and smashed my side mirror clean off. “A piece of trash Honda trying to block my road. I could total ten of these junkers and pay for them in cash!” His face, heavy with fat and flushed bright red, pressed against my driver-side window. He pounded his meaty fist against the glass. “Back the hell up! I swear to God, I absolutely hate entitled female drivers like you.” He kicked my door again. The deafening thud made my entire body violently shake. Tears of frustration and fear welled up in my eyes. “You’re the one who isn’t looking! Can’t you see the giant one-way sign?” I shouted through the glass. “You were driving on the wrong side! I honked to warn you, and you just flashed your brights and sped up!” “If I hadn’t slammed on the brakes, someone could have died!” “Die then! It’s what you deserve!” The bald guy hammered his fists against my window a few more times. Still unsatisfied, he reached into his car, grabbed a steaming cup of takeout coffee, and hurled it directly at my windshield. The sticky brown liquid smeared across the glass. I flicked on the wipers and fumbled for my phone to call 911. The second the dispatcher picked up, the glass shattered. The steel crowbar pierced straight through the driver’s side window, stabbing brutally into my stomach. Agony ripped through me. I curled inward, dropping my phone onto the floorboard. Choking back a sob, I threw my arms over my head and screamed my location at the fallen phone. “Oakwood Avenue! Third traffic light on the one-way strip. A Porsche driver is attacking me. His plates are…” The man kept swinging. The windshield spiderwebbed into a million jagged lines. The hood of my car was a landscape of deep, brutal dents. Shards of glass sliced into my palms. The sight of my own warm blood made my mind go completely blank. When I looked up and saw him raising the heavy steel bar for another swing at my face, pure survival instinct took over. I needed to reverse. I needed to get away. But my trembling foot missed. I slammed down on the gas. The Honda lurched forward with explosive force. The bald man, trapped right between the two bumpers, was crushed against his own Porsche. A blood-curdling shriek ripped from his throat. It sounded like an animal being slaughtered. “My legs! My fucking legs are broken!” He collapsed onto the asphalt, his previous arrogance entirely vaporized. A crowd had already gathered. An older gentleman standing on the sidewalk started clapping. “Good! You served him right. God, that felt good to watch.” A younger woman rushed over to my window. “Don’t be scared, honey. I’ll testify for you. He attacked you first.” She held up her smartphone. “I got the whole thing on video. He was going the wrong way, running his filthy mouth, and smashing up your car for no reason.” As the adrenaline began to fade, a repulsive stench hit my nose. I recoiled in disgust. “He reeks of liquor.” The woman with the phone pointed at the groaning man on the pavement. “You can smell him from a mile away. He’s completely wasted, throwing a drunken tantrum and treating you like an easy target.” When the cops arrived, the woman practically shoved her phone into the officer’s hands. With the video evidence, the situation was crystal clear. An ambulance hauled the drunk driver away, and the police arranged a ride for me to the nearest ER. On my second day in the hospital, the bald man’s wife called me. She introduced herself as Brenda. She sounded soft-spoken and reasonable, asking if she could visit. Assuming she wanted to apologize, I agreed. She walked into my room carrying a basket of expensive-looking apples. She immediately grabbed my hand, her face a picture of exaggerated sympathy. “Sweetheart, how are you feeling? Seeing you hurt just breaks my heart.” Her warm attitude made me drop my guard a little. I shook my head. “The doctors said the glass didn’t cut too deep. I’ll be discharged in a couple of days.” “Oh, thank God. Since you’re not badly hurt, let’s just get this settlement agreement signed right now.” Her tone shifted slightly, growing a bit more urgent. “My husband Boris is the sole provider for our family. He brings in about eight grand a month.” “Now that both of his legs are shattered, our rent, utilities, and the boys’ private school tuition are all depending on this settlement money.” “Settlement money?” I stared at her, thoroughly confused, and looked down at the document she pushed onto my lap. The very first clause was highlighted. Party A voluntarily agrees to compensate Party B with the sum of one million dollars, exclusive of hospital fees. Under Party B was the name Boris. 2 “A million dollars?” My eyes nearly popped out of my skull. Brenda just waved her hand dismissively. “Honestly, a million is cutting you a deal.” “You broke my husband’s legs. You owe us a decade’s worth of living expenses for my entire family.” She leaned closer. “Considering you’re just a college student, I’m taking pity on you and only asking for a million. Otherwise, the tuition for my kids alone would be way more than that.” As if worried I wouldn’t believe her, she whipped out a crumpled report card. “Both of my boys are Ivy League material. They’ll definitely be getting full rides to the best universities in the world.” “Ivy League? With a 2.0 GPA? Lady, are you drunk too?” I shoved the paper filled with red ink away, offering her a cold, empty smile. “Your husband drove drunk. He drove the wrong way. He publicly demolished my car while bragging that he was rich enough to smash ten of my Hondas and pay for them in cash.” “He was acting like he owned the universe when he was swinging that crowbar. And now you’re sitting here trying to play the sympathy card, expecting me to fund your entire family for the rest of your lives?” Wow. Birds of a feather really do flock together. I grabbed the basket of apples, ready to kick her out. As I picked it up, a vile, rotting stench hit me. Beneath the perfectly polished apples on the top layer, the rest of the fruit was entirely rotten. Some were literally crawling with maggots. “It’s just a trashy little Honda! Why are you being so vindictive?!” Brenda’s polite mask completely slipped. “My man just put a few dents in your car. You crippled him! You turned him into a useless cripple stuck in a wheelchair for the rest of his life!” Seeing that I wasn’t going to sign, she forcefully shoved a pen into my palm. She grabbed my wrist with surprising strength, trying to physically force my hand down onto the signature line. Her violent pulling yanked the IV needle in the back of my hand. Blood immediately started backing up into the tube. I slammed my free hand down on the nurse call button. The pen dragged across the paper, leaving a jagged streak of ink. I grabbed the basket of rotting apples and slammed it directly into Brenda’s face. I ripped her precious settlement agreement in half right in front of her. “Take your garbage paper and get the hell out of my room.” “With the repulsive way you people act, I wouldn’t settle with you if you paid me a million dollars.” “You broke his legs! That million dollars is a debt you owe my family!” The bruised, mushy apples had completely ruined Brenda’s makeup. She frantically wiped her face, getting mashed fruit and wriggling maggots all over her hands. The nurses rushed in with hospital security. They grabbed Brenda, who was still trying to lunge at my bed, and practically dragged her out into the hallway. “Fine, you little bitch! You want to do this the hard way? I’ll show you the hard way!” My phone buzzed with a text from her number. I immediately blocked it and grit my teeth while the nurse reinserted my IV. After I was discharged, I went to the impound lot to take one last look at my totaled car. It was a gift from my dad for my eighteenth birthday. The day I got my license, this was the car I drove. I ran my fingers over the deep, brutal dents in the hood. I uploaded the dashcam footage to my cloud drive, untied the lucky charm hanging from the rearview mirror, and headed to the police precinct to give my official statement. I figured it would just be a formality. The evidence was rock solid. But the moment I walked into the precinct, I saw Brenda. Her frizzy hair was a mess. She slammed a USB drive onto the front desk, her nose pointed up in the air with unbearable arrogance. “Watch this. Ironclad proof. That little tramp provoked him first.” Her so-called ironclad proof was a deepfake video. On the monitor, “my” face was twisted in a grotesque sneer. “I” was violently pounding on the Porsche’s window, revealing a mouth full of rotting yellow teeth. “I can total ten of your junk cars and pay for them in cash,” the fake version of me spat. The AI rendering was terrible. The facial proportions were completely warped. Only someone as delusional as Brenda would think her amateur editing skills were flawless enough to fool law enforcement. “See?! My husband drives a Porsche! A custom paint job alone costs thousands! This psycho woman was trying to smash his windows in. My husband was simply defending himself with that crowbar.” She even pulled out her phone, showing the officer a chat log with some “expert” online lawyer, trying to pressure them. “The legal experts online already confirmed this is textbook self-defense. That bitch deserved to get her car smashed.” She shot me a venomous glare, covering her nose like I was a walking biohazard. The disgust on her face was theatrical. “She reeks of cheap perfume. Just look at the way she dresses. Does that look like a decent girl to you?” “She’s a cheap piece of trash turning tricks. She crippled my husband. If you cops don’t lock her up immediately, what, are you waiting to become her regular customers?” 3 “Ma’am, we deal in actual evidence here. Our tech department ran the video you submitted. It’s heavily altered. The original audio and actions belong to your husband, Boris.” The desk sergeant looked at her with pure exhaustion. “You submitted fabricated evidence, perjured yourself, and publicly slandered another citizen. We are officially placing you under arrest for criminal obstruction and defamation.” “Arrest me? On what grounds?!” The moment Brenda realized she was actually going to be detained, she lost her mind. She started sweeping everything off the precinct’s front desk, screaming at the top of her lungs. “That little whore definitely paid you off! You’re protecting a murderer! You’re bullying a helpless family! Does the law even exist in this country anymore?!” She grabbed a paper cup of water and threw it directly into an officer’s face. When two cops moved to restrain her, she threw herself onto the floor in a theatrical swoon. She threw herself down a little too hard, and the back of her head cracked against the tile floor, drawing a thin line of blood. The second she felt the blood, she started wailing, rolling around on the floor. “I demand to see the captain! I’m taking this to the supreme court!” Her tantrum was a well-oiled machine. It was obvious she had used this exact method to bully people into submission her entire life. Unfortunately for her, she was throwing her fit in the middle of a police precinct, directly under a 4K security camera. No amount of screaming was going to save her from the handcuffs. When two officers hauled her up by her armpits like a dead fish, Brenda actually looked confused. She genuinely seemed baffled that her foolproof strategy had finally landed her in jail. By the time reality set in, she was crying, begging them to believe that someone else gave her the video and she had no idea it was fake. The officer just twisted her arms behind her back. His voice was completely devoid of sympathy. “Too late for that. Enjoy your cell.” They hauled her off to the medical ward to check the cut on her head. I watched the chaotic mess left behind on the floor and sighed. “You might want to book her a psych evaluation while you’re at it.” “She seriously needs her head checked.” Brenda tried to play hardball and ended up deepfaking her way into a jail cell. Now, the son was paralyzed in a hospital bed, and the daughter-in-law was locked in county jail. Boris’s elderly parents panicked. They hired a legal proxy to meet with me, begging me to sign a letter of forgiveness so they could bail Brenda out. “They’re a hardworking family. Boris is in sales. He has to drink with clients to close deals. He just had a little too much that night.” “Brenda is busy with the kids, and Boris wanted to save a few bucks on an Uber. He thought the streets were empty and he knew the neighborhood well. It was just a momentary lapse in judgment.” The slick lawyer pushed his glasses up his nose, his tone deeply serious. “The family is willing to cover the damages to your vehicle. But they ask that you show some grace. Sign the settlement so Brenda can go home and care for her children. And please, drop the charges so Boris doesn’t get a permanent record. It could ruin the kids’ future college applications.” The lawyer was a smooth talker. He booked a table at a high-end steakhouse and ordered their signature dishes just to butter me up. But the moment he slid that exact same absurd settlement agreement across the table, I stood up from my chair. “They owe me for the car and my three days of medical bills regardless of any agreement.” “From start to finish, Boris is at fault. Why the hell should I pay the price for his stupidity?” “You saw the dashcam footage. He literally said I deserved to die. Losing his legs is karma. I am not paying a single cent.” “You’re being incredibly vicious for a young woman. You crushed his legs. Even just out of basic humanitarian decency…” The lawyer furrowed his brow, trying to shame me. I just laughed. “Humanitarian decency only applies to humans. Not rabid animals.” “Being this stubborn isn’t good for your health, kid.” The lawyer sighed heavily, slipping the paper back into his briefcase. He shook his head. “Boris is the golden boy of that family. You turned him into a cripple. Their resentment toward you is massive.” “You ruined their son’s life, and now you refuse to pay a dime. When the payback finally catches up to you, it’s going to cost you a lot more than a million dollars.” The payback arrived faster than I expected. After the incident, my dad called my college advisors to get me a temporary leave of absence. He wanted me to stay home until the legal drama officially concluded. “Boris’s family are the neighborhood bullies. Now that you’ve hurt him, they’re definitely going to come looking for trouble,” my dad warned me. “They already did. One of them is already in a cell.” My dad, Arthur, ran a very popular local deli. Weekends were packed, so I was helping out behind the counter. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the front door swing open. “Welcome! Menus are on the tables, or you can scan the QR code to order.” An elderly woman waddled in. Her face was heavy with loose flesh, a massive knock-off designer bag slung over her shoulder. Trailing behind her were two chubby boys waving plastic action figures around, violently smacking them together. They nearly knocked over a glass bottle of hot sauce on the nearest table. I quickly caught the bottle before it shattered. The old woman’s narrow, beady eyes locked onto me. She flipped aggressively through the menu before pointing a bony, wrinkled finger at my face. “Your sign outside says unlimited soup refills if we order a large bowl, right?” “Yes, ma’am. Free refills on the broth.” The old woman had a dark mole on the corner of her mouth. I remembered seeing the exact same mole on Boris’s face.

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