Category: English

When my daughter wanted to attend the upcoming Comic-Con, I took her to a high-end specialty boutique to commission a fully custom, bespoke cosplay suit. My niece, whom I had been financially supporting for years, completely lost her mind when she found out. “You only give me a thousand bucks a month for living expenses! What gives you the right to drop ten grand on a costume for her?!” “I know I am just your niece, but you do not have to be so blatantly biased!” Her jealousy reached such a boiling point that she actually barged into my daughter’s college dorm, took a pair of shears to the ten-thousand-dollar bespoke outfit, and sent me a video of the shredded fabric to gloat. “Aunt Marcia, from now on, whatever my cousin gets, I get too. Otherwise, nobody gets to be happy!” “I will forgive your blatant favoritism this time, but you owe me two hundred thousand dollars to compensate for my emotional distress.” I did not even blink. I just dialed 911. “If you cannot reimburse the exact cost of that suit, you can pay me back with jail time!” 1 Inside a premium pop-culture boutique downtown, Harper was complaining at the top of her lungs. “Aunt Marcia, I know Jennifer is super into this geeky stuff, but there is absolutely no need to buy a cosplay suit this expensive!” “It is literally just an outfit she will wear once and throw in the closet. It is a total waste of money! And look at that custom wig. It looks completely unwearable for daily life. Why is it so ridiculously overpriced?” “My sorority is hosting a formal mixer next week. I begged you to buy me a designer evening gown and you refused, but now you are dropping thousands on a costume for Jennifer? You are so incredibly biased!” “Am I really worth that much less to you than she is?” Was she actually out of her mind? I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from cursing her out right there in the store. You are not my kid. The fact that I wire you a thousand dollars every single month just so you can live comfortably on campus is a blessing. How dare you act so entitled? Harper was my older brother’s youngest daughter. Her grades were decent, and she had gotten into the same university as Jennifer. However, my brother was incredibly old-fashioned and sexist. He refused to pay for a girl to go to college, expecting her to drop out and start working. Out of pity, I stepped in and promised to cover her tuition and living expenses for all four years. A few weeks ago, Jennifer mentioned a massive Comic-Con happening at the city expo center. She really wanted to go all out as her favorite character, so I brought her to this specialty boutique. We commissioned a tailored suit, custom props, and a styled wig. The total came to just over ten thousand dollars. Today was fitting day. Harper had found out I was heading to the shopping district and shamelessly tagged along, whining that she needed a new wardrobe. The moment she heard the final price tag of the cosplay suit, her fragile ego shattered, and she launched into her bitter tirade. I stared her down, my voice icy. “How I spend my money on my own daughter is absolutely none of your business.” Harper finally realized she had crossed a line. She quickly plastered a fake, overly sweet smile on her face. “Aunt Marcia, I didn’t mean it like that. I just know how hard you work for your money! It should be spent on things that actually matter, not on disposable trash that isn’t worth the price tag!” Trash? That was actually hilarious. As long as my daughter loved it, it was the best thing in the world to me. Twenty years ago, after giving birth to Jennifer, I was trapped in a nightmare. My ex-husband, Derek, was a violent monster. I begged my own family for help, but not a single one of them lifted a finger. Derek was a chronic cheater, addicted to gambling and cheap thrills. He racked up massive debts, and whenever he came home drunk, I was his punching bag. I tried to file for divorce, but the legal battle dragged on for years. My mental health completely deteriorated. I hit rock bottom. One night, I stood on the edge of a rooftop, holding my five-year-old daughter, ready to end it all. It was Jennifer’s tiny hands cupping my bruised face that stopped me. “Mommy, please don’t die. Please don’t…” she sobbed quietly. I fell to my knees, clutching her to my chest, crying until my vision blurred. Right then and there, I swore I would build a real life for us. I packed whatever fit in a duffel bag and fled to a different city. We lived in a damp, freezing basement apartment, but we were finally free from Derek. After two years of separation, the divorce was finally finalized. The very first thing I did after getting the papers was legally change Jennifer’s last name to mine. To keep us fed, I worked a grueling office job during the day, waited tables at night, and took in piecework to do at home while Jennifer slept. She was always right by my side, a quiet, sweet child who tried to help me however she could. Whenever I felt like I was going to collapse from exhaustion, I would look at her sleeping face and find the strength to keep going. We eventually upgraded from that basement to a decent apartment, and finally, to a beautiful, fully renovated house I bought with my own money. Nobody but the two of us knew how much blood and sweat went into getting here. Now that I was finally successful, I was going to spoil my daughter and support her passions unconditionally. 2 Seeing me pull out my premium credit card, Harper frantically grabbed my arm. “Wait, Aunt Marcia, let us make a deal! One of my roommates is a huge geek too. She has a bunch of costumes she only wore once. I will make her sell one to you for half price. Then you can use the leftover cash to buy me my formal gown!” “You really need to listen to me. Buying this is a financial mistake. It is barely any fabric and it costs a fortune! A designer dress for me makes so much more sense. It is for a very important networking event!” She actually reached over, trying to snatch my card out of my hand. I violently yanked my hand back, glaring at her with a deadly warning. “First of all, this is my money, and I will burn it if I want to. Secondly, you do not have the right to belittle my daughter’s interests. And thirdly, paying for your college is a favor, not an obligation. If you overstep again, I will cut you off completely.” Seeing genuine fury in my eyes, Harper finally snapped her mouth shut. Her face darkened with resentment. She spat out a venomous “You are going to regret this,” before turning on her heel and storming out of the boutique. Truth be told, I had no love for my brother. When I was fighting for my life during my divorce, he turned a blind eye. Everything I had, I built with my own two hands. The only reason I funded Harper was because she got into the same school as Jennifer, and I genuinely pitied her. She was so young. If she dropped out to flip burgers, my brother would absolutely force her into an arranged marriage just to collect a payout. I didn’t want her trapped in the same hell I barely escaped. I wanted her to graduate, get a solid career, and live a free, independent life. Since her freshman year, I had been giving her a thousand dollars every month. I took her out to nice dinners and bought her clothes. I had easily spent over thirty thousand dollars on her just in the last couple of years. Yet, Harper was a bottomless pit of complaints. She constantly whined that her allowance was not enough. Every holiday, she expected massive cash transfers. But a quick glance at her social media told a completely different story. Her feed was flooded with pictures of designer bags, limited-edition sneakers, and luxury skincare hauls. She was constantly flying out to VIP music festivals and buying ridiculous amounts of celebrity merchandise. Her latest post was a picture of her in an expensive dress at a concert with the caption: “Youth has no price tag! Dreams are priceless! Wearing this to see my favorite boyband is worth every penny!” She was living a much more extravagant lifestyle than my own daughter. When Jennifer had first heard the price of the custom suit, she felt guilty and suggested buying a cheap knockoff online. I was the one who insisted on getting the premium version. She rarely asked for anything. What was wrong with spending my hard-earned cash on her happiness? I did not expect gratitude for every dollar I spent, but Harper was taking me for an absolute fool. People who didn’t know better looked at her Instagram and assumed she was a trust fund baby. She was over eighteen now. She could easily get a part-time job or apply for campus grants. It was time to pull the plug on her free ride. I texted my brother, Marcus, asking him to meet me for lunch. I planned to make it clear that I would cover tuition, but the allowance was finished. The moment I stepped into the diner we agreed on, Marcus lunged at me. His face was twisted in rage as he swung his hand, delivering a blistering slap across my face. “Marcia, you have always been an ungrateful brat, but I thought you’d grown a brain by your age!” “Harper told me everything! You dropped ten grand on some stupid cartoon outfit for Jennifer, but you won’t even spend a fraction of that to get Harper a dress for her formal?” “What kind of aunt are you?! You know she has a massive networking event coming up! Are you trying to make my daughter the laughingstock of her entire university?” 3 The stinging heat on my cheek ignited pure, unadulterated rage in my chest. I had funded his daughter’s life out of the goodness of my heart, and her response was to run home, cry to her daddy, and have him physically assault me. No good deed goes unpunished. The old saying was dead right. Without a second thought, I grabbed a heavy glass beer bottle off the nearest table and smashed it squarely against his forehead. “Are you completely insane?! I pour my money and energy into your family, and you have the audacity to lay your hands on me!” Marcus stumbled back, clutching his bleeding forehead, screaming like a slaughtered pig. “You psycho! That is assault! I am calling the cops!” “You are an old man throwing a public tantrum. Have some shame!” I let out a chilling laugh. “This diner has security cameras. You hit me first. What I just did is called self-defense.” “And let me make this crystal clear. As of right now, I am not giving Harper another single cent. Oh, and that security job I pulled strings to get you? Don’t bother showing up tomorrow. You are fired.” “From this day forward, you and your toxic family are dead to me.” “You cannot cancel my job!” Panic instantly wiped away his anger. He kept one hand pressed to his bleeding head while reaching out to grab my coat with the other. “Marcia, you cannot be this heartless! If you cut Harper off, how is she supposed to eat? Are you really going to watch your own blood starve?” I sidestepped his grasp and planted a hard kick squarely onto his bad knee. “Not my problem. Rot in hell.” Leaving him groaning on the floor, I marched out of the diner, got into my car, and sped off. When I got home, Jennifer had her new cosplay suit on. She was spinning around, happily showing off the intricate details. She mentioned she wanted to book a professional makeup artist and asked if I would come with her to the convention. My eyes softened with overwhelming love. “Absolutely. I have my camera fully charged. I am going to take a million pictures of you.” I didn’t need her to cure cancer or become a billionaire. I just wanted her to be safe and happy. But the very next afternoon, Jennifer called me in tears, saying she was canceling her Comic-Con trip. Panic spiked in my chest. I asked her what was wrong. She refused to tell me the truth. She just mumbled that she didn’t want to go anymore and apologized for making me waste so much money. At that exact moment, my phone buzzed with a notification. Harper had sent me a video. A cold sense of dread washed over me. I hit play. The video showed Harper standing in Jennifer’s dorm room, holding a pair of heavy-duty fabric shears. With a smug, triumphant smirk, she violently snipped the ten-thousand-dollar bespoke suit into completely unrecognizable ribbons. I literally stopped breathing. Jennifer had been so excited yesterday. She just wanted to bring the suit to her dorm to show her roommates, and Harper had ambushed her. I didn’t waste a second. I drove straight to the university and pulled Jennifer out of her dorm. She collapsed into my arms, finally sobbing as she explained the nightmare she had endured. The night before, right after I left the diner, Harper had bombarded Jennifer with horrific text messages. “Jennifer, you are a selfish bitch! How can you sleep at night wearing a ten-thousand-dollar outfit while getting my dad fired from his minimum-wage security job?” “My dad has a bad leg. Trevor is unemployed. My entire family relies on my dad’s paycheck. Because of you, my allowance is gone and my dad is jobless!” “Your mom works hard for her money, and all you do is leech off her! If you want to dress up like a freak, get a job and buy it yourself. You are pathetic!” 4 Traumatized by the verbal abuse, Jennifer promised she would try to return the suit the next day. That was how Harper found out the costume was on campus. She immediately kicked open Jennifer’s dorm door with scissors in hand, destroyed the suit in front of the entire floor, and strutted away like she had won a prize. Jennifer had kept her mouth shut because she didn’t want to stress me out. Hearing this, a murderous fury consumed me. I grabbed Jennifer by the hand and marched straight to Harper’s dorm to confront her. To my absolute shock, Harper did not look scared at all. She actually looked incredibly proud of herself. “Oh, please. You give me a measly thousand dollars a month. Why should she get a ten-thousand-dollar outfit? That is ten months of my living expenses!” “Aunt Marcia, you should be thanking me. Jennifer is way too young to be wearing stuff that expensive. I am preventing her from developing toxic spending habits! I did you a favor!” “Besides, why are you being so unfair? She is your daughter, but I am your niece! You know my family is broke. Buying her something that expensive is basically a direct attack on my mental health!” “Whatever you spend on her, you legally owe me the exact same amount! Otherwise, I will develop severe self-esteem issues.” “I did the math. You have only supported me for two years. To make up for the eighteen years you ignored me, you owe me two hundred thousand dollars. Cut the check, and we are even.” I stared at her, completely stunned by the sheer magnitude of her delusion. How could a human being be this shamelessly evil? “Are you clinically insane?” I tapped my temple, staring at her in disbelief. “You need to be institutionalized. A functional member of society does not speak like this.” Harper rolled her eyes, scoffing loudly. “Save the drama. Transfer the money for my designer gown right now, and I will forgive you.” I pulled out my phone and immediately dialed 911. “Yes, police? I need to report the malicious destruction of private property.” Even as the officers arrived, Harper still believed she was entirely in the right. She acted like I was being dramatic. “We are literal family, and you are calling the cops?! After I defended you to my dad? You are a heartless bitch!” She had a death wish. I let out a dark chuckle. “Harper, I am done talking to you. If you do not reimburse the exact ten thousand dollars you destroyed, I am pressing felony charges. Enjoy prison.” I showed the officers the digital receipt, handed over the video Harper had proudly sent me, and had Jennifer’s roommates give their witness statements. Because the financial value of the destroyed property was so high, the police handcuffed Harper and dragged her out of the dorm. In the precinct holding cell, Harper finally started screaming in panic. “I didn’t do anything wrong! Why am I locked up?! You are all working together to frame me!” The desk sergeant looked at her with pure exhaustion. “Miss, we have a literal video confession and multiple eyewitnesses. You destroyed property valued at ten thousand dollars, which pushes this into felony territory. If you do not compensate the victim and she pursues charges, you are looking at one to three years in a state facility.” Harper completely froze. The reality finally hit her, and she frantically begged for her phone to call her dad. Marcus rushed into the precinct looking like a madman. He immediately tried playing the victim for the officers, crying about his bad knee, his unemployed son, and how poor his family was. He swore Harper was an angel who would never do something so malicious. Then, he spun around and unleashed his rage on me. “Marcia, you vindictive bitch! Cutting off her money was bad enough, but framing her for a felony?! You make me sick!” “Your brain must be rotting out of your skull!” I rolled my eyes, my voice dripping with biting sarcasm. “You should really be thanking your genius daughter. She filmed the crime and texted it to me herself. If she weren’t so incredibly stupid, getting her locked up would have taken way more effort!”

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The chill of early spring still clung to the air on the day of the memorial, the familiar scent of blooming daffodils filling my senses. I watched as my sister, Scarlett, snatched the metallic-looking power fruit from the table without a moment’s hesitation. Her movements were swift, almost rehearsed. In that instant, a cold dread seized me – she’d come back, too, carrying the ghosts of our past life. In that first life, she’d chosen the immunity fruit, only to be dragged away by the labs as a test subject due to her unique physiology. I, wielding the very metal power she now coveted, became a war heroine, a legend forged in the wasteland. Yet, in the end, I met my demise beneath her scalpel. Her enraged screams still echoed in my ears: Why do you get to bask in glory while I suffer? The memory was as sharp as the blade itself. This time, I calmly picked up the remaining fruit, the vibrant red one offering immunity to viruses, and swallowed it whole. She didn’t know. She couldn’t know that every use of the metal manipulation power gnawed at one’s life force – a secret I’d unearthed through an entire apocalypse’s worth of pain and sacrifice. If she craved heroism that desperately, then I would grant her wish. Let’s see if, this time, she could bear the true cost of her ambition. 1 The chill of early spring still clung to the air when I found myself back in the familiar living room. My sister, Scarlett, was rummaging through the wardrobe, a familiar scene that still sent a shiver down my spine. My hand instinctively went to my throat, a phantom ache lingering from the surgical blade that had ended my last life. As Scarlett pulled out a small, tarnished metal box from the depths of the closet, her face alight with barely contained excitement, my world tilted. “Rain, look what I found!” she chirped, trying for casual, but her knuckles were white from clutching the box. I slowly rose, feigning a polite curiosity. “What is it?” Seeing my clueless expression, Scarlett let out a relieved breath. She giggled, “I have no idea. Probably Mom’s old jewelry box?” She carefully pried open the lid. Inside lay two fruits, glowing with an otherworldly luminescence – one a vibrant, blood-red, the other a sleek, metallic silver. “What are these…?” I murmured, my gaze fixed on the fruit, pretending to see them for the first time. “Mom left them,” Scarlett’s breath hitched, her eyes glued to the silver one. “There’s a note too… take a look…” I took the yellowed slip of paper. It was Mom’s familiar handwriting, detailing the coming apocalypse in a month and the powers of these two fruits. Scarlett leaned in beside me, her entire body tensed. “This silver one grants control over metal, and the red one… immunity to viruses,” I read slowly, deliberately, my peripheral vision catching Scarlett’s fingers inching toward the silver fruit. Just as her fingertip was about to make contact, I looked up. “Scarlett, which one do you want?” She froze, then forced a smile. “I… I think controlling metal sounds pretty cool. I’d like that one…” A cold smirk played on my lips as I watched her try to maintain composure. In my previous life, she’d snatched the immunity fruit with the exact same greedy look. “Then it’s settled,” I said softly, laying down the note and reaching for the red fruit. “I’ll take this one.” Scarlett’s eyes lit up instantly. She practically snatched the silver fruit and shoved it into her mouth. As the pulp burst, a flash of triumphant joy crossed her face. “How’s the taste?” I asked, savoring a bite of the red fruit – sweet, with a subtle bitterness. “Amazing!” Scarlett wiped her mouth, already eagerly spreading her palm. A coin from the coffee table shot into her hand, her cheeks flushed with exhilaration. “It actually works!” I watched her display calmly, my mind already calculating the timeline. Thirty days until the apocalypse, plenty of time to prepare. “Scarlett.” I discarded the fruit core, asking casually, “If there really is a zombie virus, what’s your plan?” She paused, her gaze flickering. “To… to protect everyone, of course. With this power, I can definitely help a lot.” I nodded, saying nothing more. She had no idea about the cost of using the power. Each use drained the user’s life force. In my last life, when I became a war heroine, my life force was already nearly depleted. Even if she hadn’t killed me, I wouldn’t have lasted much longer. Since she was so keen on being a hero, it was only right for me, her sister, to grant her wish. 2 The following days unfolded with an unsettling calm. Scarlett practiced her metal manipulation daily, oblivious to the fine sheen of sweat on her forehead. She brushed it off as a beginner’s struggle, completely unaware of the gradual drain on her vitality. Meanwhile, as she honed her powers, I secretly hoarded supplies and contacted trusted friends. My five years of survival experience in the previous apocalypse made me intimately familiar with this city. I knew exactly where the safest havens lay. Following the memories from my past life, I rented a defunct factory on the city outskirts. It had its own water source and generators, making it the most secure refuge during the initial chaos. I’d initially thought that, given her past lessons, Scarlett would also suggest moving. But she merely scoffed, “If I go to the suburbs, how will I be a savior?” In the previous timeline, Scarlett was captured by the lab precisely because she was too high-profile. At the very beginning of the apocalypse, she’d flaunted her abilities within our neighborhood, attracting the attention of malicious individuals, which led to her capture. Reborn, if she hadn’t shed that habit, she was destined to repeat history. Seeing her insistence on staying, I tried to persuade her to stock up on more supplies. I urged her to lie low during the initial chaos and only emerge as a hero after order had completely collapsed. But she remained dismissive, even mocking me for being cowardly. “What’s the point of having superpowers if you hide them?” she’d argued. I was utterly speechless. Perhaps… this was a case of good advice falling on deaf ears. So, I stopped trying to dissuade her and quietly moved all my hoarded supplies to the warehouse. I reached out to a few friends I trusted implicitly, asking them to help me build a secure safe house. Only those who had truly lived through the apocalypse understood that the most terrifying threat was never the zombies, but human nature itself. Even my own sister had brutally murdered me out of jealousy in the last life; others were certainly no different. The people I chose were all individuals who had risked their lives to save me in the previous apocalypse. Though their individual abilities might be limited, their loyalty and reliability were unquestionable. The night before the apocalypse struck, I received photos from them. Seeing the mountains of supplies and the rows of weapons procured through special channels, a genuine smile touched my lips. I left a note and, under the cover of darkness, departed my home, heading towards the safe house… I had done my duty as a sister, offering all the warnings I could. Since Scarlett wouldn’t listen, all I could do was silently wish her good luck. 3 The safe house was even more perfect than I’d imagined. The heavy metal door was a solid eight inches thick, steel plates were embedded in the walls, and every window had been replaced with bulletproof glass. The basement had been converted into a comprehensive living space, stocked with enough food and medicine for ten people for five years. “Rain, are you sure the end of the world is really coming?” Uncle Leo, who had helped me build the safe house, handed me a hot mug of tea, his eyes still holding a hint of doubt. I took the mug. “Yes. Tomorrow morning at 7:15, Eastside Hospital will report the first zombie case. By 8 o’clock, the citywide alarm will sound…” Uncle Leo’s hand trembled, tea sloshing onto the table. He had been my father’s wartime comrade and, in my previous life, the only one who had risked his life to find medicine for me when I was gravely wounded. “Don’t worry, Uncle Leo. We’ll make it through this,” I said, setting down the mug. He hesitated, then asked, “What about Scarlett? She… why isn’t she here?” I spread my hands, then turned on the hidden camera I’d installed at home. Scarlett was in the living room, excitedly practicing her powers, various metal objects dancing around her. Pointing to my sister on the monitor, I explained, “She said she wants to be a hero, and heroes don’t hide in the shadows.” Uncle Leo sighed, saying nothing more. He’d probably figured out Scarlett’s stubborn nature and knew that trying to persuade her would be futile. He shook his head and walked away. Just then, an excited voice crackled through the monitor. “Yes, I really have superpowers! Tomorrow… tomorrow I’ll prove it to you!” I realized Scarlett was on the phone with someone. I sighed, turning off the monitor, a knot tightening in my chest. It seemed, even given a second chance, she had chosen the same path… 4 The next morning, I stood on the safe house’s observation deck, scanning the city through binoculars. At 7:15, Eastside Hospital’s alarm blared exactly as predicted, the wail of ambulances slicing through the dawn’s silence. “It’s begun,” I murmured, my fingers unconsciously tightening on the binoculars. The streets below erupted into chaos, screams drifting from the distance. Countless zombies surged from the hospital’s direction, sweeping through the city like a tide. I adjusted the lens to my old neighborhood and saw Scarlett already standing in the main plaza, surrounded by panicked residents. With a sweep of her hands, the iron gate of the community entrance tore upwards, twisting and deforming in the air, ultimately forming a metal barricade. Gasps of amazement rose from the residents; some even pulled out their phones to record. A wry smile touched my lips. She still loved the spotlight. “Rain, check the news!” Uncle Leo called from downstairs. I pulled out my phone and found Scarlett’s video already going viral online, emblazoned with headlines like “Superhuman Appears! Apocalypse Savior!” The comment section was ablaze, some cheering for a savior, others questioning if it was just special effects. Just then, my phone rang. It was Scarlett, a video call. I hesitated but answered. “Rain! Did you see the news?” Scarlett’s face, vibrant with excitement, filled the screen, the chaotic neighborhood blurring in the background. “I’m a hero now! Where are you? Come find me, I can protect you!” I shook my head, a sense of weariness washing over me. “You should worry about protecting yourself first.” A mocking sneer twisted her lips. “Rain, are you jealous? Jealous that I have powers and you don’t?” Her voice dripped with triumph. “Don’t worry, once I’ve got things sorted here, I’ll come for you.” I watched the crowd gathering around her. “No need,” I sighed. “Just be happy.” I hung up. Uncle Leo walked over, his face etched with a complex expression, hesitating before he spoke. “Rain, are you really not going to try to talk some sense into Scarlett? Being so flashy, she’s going to get herself into trouble!” I picked up a nearby weapon, my face devoid of emotion. “It’s her choice, Uncle Leo. Instead of worrying about her, we should focus on fortifying our defenses.” Outside the window, the shadow of the apocalypse had already engulfed the city. But I knew this was just the beginning. The truth about my healing powers would inevitably come out. To face the wolves eager to exploit it, only early preparation would ensure our survival. 5 By the third day of the apocalypse, the city had descended into utter chaos. We monitored various channels via radio. Temporary shelters were established in the city, only to be quickly overrun by zombies. One district, plagued by an overwhelming number of the undead, issued orders for carpet bombing. Even more bizarrely, a lab claimed to have developed a vaccine, recruiting survivors for trials. This very lab, recruiting survivors for trials, was the same organization that had captured Scarlett in my previous life. As for why they hadn’t made a move on her yet, I suspected it was due to public opinion. After all, Scarlett was a rising online sensation; a sudden move against her would spark outrage. Moreover, order hadn’t completely collapsed yet; they still had to consider the authorities. I sat in the safe house’s control room, watching Scarlett’s latest video on the screen. She had formed a small team of survivors and was actively “rescuing” trapped citizens. Her metal manipulation skills were clearly more refined in the video, but her complexion was noticeably paler. “She’s used her powers too many times,” I murmured. Even though Scarlett in the video was trying to project strength, the fine lines around her eyes and her chapped lips betrayed the rapid drain on her life force. Uncle Leo handed me a hot coffee. “When are you going to tell her the truth?” I had already confided in him about the side effects of the powers and my past life experiences. I took the coffee, shaking my head. “She wouldn’t believe me. She’d just think I was jealous.” “But…” Uncle Leo began, then trailed off. “Uncle Leo, I know what you’re going to say,” I said, setting down my coffee cup. “But this is the path she chose. Our priority now is to ensure the safe house’s defenses are impenetrable.” Uncle Leo watched the monitor, Scarlett basking in the adulation of the crowd, and sighed. “Oh, that girl… when will she ever grow up?”

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My sister was kidnapped, and the kidnappers demanded fifty million in ransom for her release. The whole family was busy gathering the ransom, but I kept attending auctions, buying expensive jewelry. Infuriated, the kidnappers demanded that I go alone to rescue her. Not only did I not go, but I also held a press conference, announcing that I was expelling my sister from the Schmidtke family. My sister was killed, and her mutilated body was dumped at our doorstep. Everyone accused me of being selfish, prioritizing the company’s inheritance over my sister’s life, and pressured me to atone with my own death. Instead of feeling any remorse, I deliberately overturned her ashes. I wanted to see when the person who had been hiding behind the scenes all along would finally jump out. 1 “Mary, it is a disaster! Isabella was kidnapped while traveling abroad! The kidnappers just sent a message demanding fifty million dollars in ransom within three days. If we do not pay, they will kill her. You have to save your sister!” My father barged into the boardroom, completely ignoring my assistant’s frantic attempts to hold him back. He stood in front of the entire executive board and all the regional managers, trying to physically drag me out of my chair. Compared to his absolute panic, I sat there with glacial calm. “She went on vacation with her boyfriend,” I replied, my voice completely devoid of emotion. “Isn’t she just hiding to test how much we love her? She pulls these pathetic stunts all the time. If you aren’t sick of it yet, I certainly am.” My utter indifference choked the words right out of his throat. It took him several seconds to recover. “It is real this time! Isabella was actually taken! The kidnappers sent a video straight to my phone. Look at it if you don’t believe me!” He shoved his phone across the mahogany table, trying to force the screen into my line of sight. “They said we have three days to get fifty million in cash, or she is dead. Mary, you have to save her!” A dark, mocking chuckle escaped my lips. “The last time she was heartbroken, she faked her own disappearance. I had to wire her a million dollars just to get her to come home. I guess she got a taste for the theatrics. Now she wants fifty million?” “If you want to play the hero, go find the money yourself. I am not her parent, and I am certainly not obligated to entertain her delusional games. Besides, I do not have that kind of liquid cash laying around.” Seeing that I was entirely prepared to wash my hands of the situation, his panic mutated into rage. “Where am I supposed to get that kind of money?! This is fifty million dollars! Are you really going to sit there and let those monsters murder her?” “You are her older sister! It is your duty to provide for her! And if you do not have the cash, sell your shares in the company! Schmidtke Enterprise is a massive empire. Liquidating a fraction of your equity would easily cover the ransom!” I stared at him like he had lost his mind. “Are you seriously suggesting I sell off my shares in this corporation to humor her psychotic little game?” “Do you even realize what you are asking? I hold exactly fifty-one percent of this company. If I sell a single share of my foundational equity, I lose majority control! You want me to risk the entire Schmidtke legacy to pay a ransom? Is your brain rotting out of your skull?” In my previous life, the moment he mentioned Isabella was kidnapped, I lost my mind with worry. I immediately suspended the board meeting and rushed home to help him liquidate assets. After we scrambled to gather the funds, we hurried to the drop-off location. Even though we arrived exactly on time, the kidnapper claimed we took too long and made him lose his patience. With a sick laugh, he tossed a hunting knife at my feet, ordering me to stab myself. If I refused, he would slit Isabella’s throat. Seeing my sister crying hysterically with blood dripping down her neck, I did not even hesitate. I picked up the blade and aimed it at my own abdomen. My father had lunged forward, supposedly to stop me. But his hands “accidentally” slammed into my wrists, driving the blade directly into my heart. I died instantly on the dirty concrete floor. When I opened my eyes again, I was sitting right back in this boardroom. “Mary, do you have no soul?! She is the sister you grew up with! She is in mortal danger, and you are sitting there like a block of ice!” Seeing that I remained entirely unmoved, he began screaming insults. “If she has actually been kidnapped, the first thing you need to do is call the FBI. Let the authorities handle it. Do not come in here throwing a tantrum.” The phantom agony of that blade piercing my heart still burned in my memory. I impatiently waved my hand, signaling the security guards to drag him out. Once he was forcibly removed, I offered a brief apology to the stunned executives. Suppressing the chaotic storm of emotions inside me, I forced myself to sit through the rest of the meeting. 2 The second the meeting concluded, I locked myself in my private office to analyze everything that had happened in my previous life. After running through the events with no clear answers, I called my assistant, Rachel, into the room. Pretending I was talking about a “friend,” I recounted the exact details of my past life’s murder. Her face contorted in thought, her eyes darting back and forth before she finally spoke. “Boss, has it ever occurred to you that this sister might not actually be blood-related? What if this entire situation was a trap designed specifically to eliminate you?” Spending too much time reading crime thrillers online had given Rachel a dangerously sharp intuition. “Think about it. Why would a family’s first reaction to a kidnapping be demanding ransom money instead of calling the police? And that final struggle with the knife… isn’t it a little too convenient that his ‘accidental’ push resulted in a fatal strike to the heart?” Her words hit me like a bolt of lightning. The fog completely cleared. After a long silence, I looked up at her. “Drop everything regarding the upcoming IPO. I have a very specific investigation I need you to run.” Rachel left with her orders. I stayed in the office, continuing my work as if nothing had happened. After hours, I drove straight to my private luxury condo instead of returning to the family estate. In this life, I completely completely washed my hands of the mess. My father was left running around like a headless chicken, desperately liquidating his own assets to scrape together the ransom. Meanwhile, I quietly shadowed his movements. Every antique or property he sold off, I anonymously purchased back. I even started attending high-society charity galas, throwing obscene amounts of money at rare diamonds, vintage paintings, and poverty relief funds. One evening, as I walked out of an exclusive auction house admiring a newly acquired emerald bracelet, a disheveled figure lunged out of the shadows, startled me. Taking a closer look, I realized it was my father. He looked like a homeless beggar, his clothes wrinkled and his face covered in a thick layer of stubble from days of exhausting desperation. “Mary, are you truly going to let your sister die at the hands of those butchers?” “It is only fifty million! That is pocket change for you! Is money really more important than human life?” “Did you forget the promise you made at your mother’s grave? You swore you would protect your sister for the rest of your life!” If I only had suspicions before, seeing his desperate, manipulative face confirmed it. There was a traitor in my inner circle. “I already told you. I do not have that kind of liquid cash, and even if I did, I would never spend it to save her. Instead of ambushing me in the street, you should be figuring out how to pawn the rest of your watches.” “Let me make this perfectly clear. I would rather burn my fortune or donate it all to charity than give a single dime to a disaster like Isabella. Give it up.” A crowd of elite socialites was beginning to form. I had zero interest in being their evening entertainment. I signaled my driver to push him aside, stepped into my Bentley, and drove away. Somehow, the events of that night reached the kidnappers. Infuriated by my statement that I would rather give my money to charity than save Isabella, they began relentlessly bombarding my private phone with calls and texts. They demanded I bring the ransom to the drop-off location completely alone, or Isabella was dead. Reading the text, I could not help but laugh out loud. This was fifty million actual dollars, not Monopoly money. Fifty million dollars in cash weighs hundreds of pounds. It would look like a literal wall of paper. Did they expect me to carry a mountain of bills by myself like some kind of superhero? I ignored the threat, powered down my phone, and opened the classified dossier Rachel had just sent me. 3 The day before the ransom deadline, my father, entirely unable to reach me, decided to go live on social media. He intended to publicly crucify me into paying. On the screen, he covered his face, sobbing hysterically. “I do not know what kind of monster she has become. Her own sister is facing death, and she feels absolutely nothing.” “She knows our entire family is going bankrupt trying to save Isabella. Yet she is out attending luxury auctions, buying useless diamonds and paintings, and throwing millions at charities. She has an absolute fortune, but she refuses to save her own flesh and blood.” “What sin did I commit in my past life to raise a daughter so cold-blooded she would let her own family die?” My father had always been a minor celebrity in the business world. Backed by paid internet trolls and manipulated algorithms, his livestream skyrocketed to the number one trending spot nationwide. The internet was entirely consumed by the scandal. “Heiress Isabella Schmidtke Kidnapped! Ransom Hits Fifty Million!” “Older Sister Refuses to Pay Ransom While Buying Diamonds. The Decay of Human Morality!” “Mary Schmidtke is a Cold-Blooded Sociopath.” “Schmidtke CEO Publicly Disowned by Grieving Father.” The outrage was absolute. Fueled by my father’s manipulative tears, millions of netizens began boycotting Schmidtke Enterprise products. Refusing to let my mother’s company suffer, I logged into my verified corporate account and requested a live split-screen with his broadcast. “Father,” I started, my tone perfectly composed. “I have been working back-to-back night shifts preparing for the company’s IPO, barely sleeping two hours a day. Imagine my surprise waking up to find you publicly dragging my name through the mud. What exactly do you gain by destroying the family business?” “Isabella throws these little vanishing acts whenever she doesn’t get her way. Every single time, I have to wire her millions before she miraculously reappears. Just the other day, you kicked down the boardroom doors, demanding I sell my controlling shares to pay a fifty-million-dollar ransom. How am I supposed to know if she is genuinely in danger, or if this is just another extortion scheme the two of you cooked up to drain my accounts?” “This company is the legacy of my grandparents. It is the lifeblood of my late mother. I would rather die than sell my shares. I am sure Isabella, despite her rebellious nature, would agree with me and defend our family’s empire with her life.” I did not offer any further explanations. I did not shed fake tears or play the victim. I simply disconnected from the livestream and immediately posted an official announcement on the corporate page. In exactly two hours, I would be holding a live press conference. The venue was completely completely packed. Journalists from every major news outlet swarmed the room, shoving microphones into my face, demanding to know if Isabella was really kidnapped and if I was truly leaving her to die. I tapped the microphone, instantly silencing the chaotic room. Then, I dropped a bombshell that sent shockwaves through the entire country. “Acting as the absolute head of the Schmidtke family, I am officially announcing the immediate expulsion of Isabella from our lineage.” “My former sister, Isabella, has orchestrated over a dozen fake kidnappings and disappearances prior to this incident. Every single one ended with me wiring her massive sums of money just to make her stop.” “Those extortions ranged from hundreds of thousands to millions. This time, they escalated to demanding I sell the foundational equity of Schmidtke Enterprise to fund a fifty-million-dollar ransom.” “I do not know if her current predicament is real or just another theatrical performance. But I am exhausted. I have heard the boy cry wolf too many times, and I refuse to participate in these toxic, manipulative games any longer.” “Therefore, effective immediately, Isabella is stripped of the Schmidtke name. She is no longer an heiress, and she is permanently forbidden from using our family name to fund her lavish lifestyle or con investors. Moving forward, her survival is her own responsibility. Schmidtke Enterprise will no longer be her shield. Her life, or her death, has absolutely nothing to do with us.” The room erupted into total pandemonium. Camera flashes strobed like lightning. Reporters screamed questions, desperate for more details. I turned my back on them with sharp precision, leaving the chaos to Rachel and the public relations team.

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My world shattered in the instant she turned and walked toward him. This proposal was meant to be the crown jewel of our company’s fourth-quarter PR strategy, the culmination of my ten-year relationship with Veronica Shay. But here I was, moments before the show, watching her from the shadows of a backstage fire exit. She was in her wedding gown, locked in a passionate kiss with a younger man. “An explanation?” I laughed, a cold, jagged sound. “You want to explain why you’re cheating on me minutes before you’re supposed to propose?” “This is being broadcast live to millions. The entire world is waiting.” I tossed the velvet ring box at her feet. “After the final song, you can either walk on that stage and propose, or you can watch your career burn to the ground.” Her fists clenched. She snatched the box from the floor, forcing the word through her teeth. “Fine.” The stage lights hit her, the crowd falling silent as she held up the ring. But she looked past me, her eyes locking onto the pale-faced man in the VIP section. “Jackson,” she said, her voice ringing through the arena, “thank you for making me a star. But tonight, I’m going to follow my moon.” The stadium erupted. And just like that, I became the punchline to my own proposal. 1 “Mr. Kang,” Kevin, my assistant, said, his voice hoarse. He handed me his tablet. “You… you should see this.” The screen was a firestorm of headlines about the concert. This proposal was supposed to be our masterpiece, a triumph for both our business and our love. I had poured a nine-figure sum into it, coordinating with dozens of major brands. All Veronica had to do was propose to me in front of her adoring fans, and the commercial value of our “power couple” brand would have been limitless. Everything was perfectly in place. But now, a photo of Veronica kissing that kid, Will, on stage was plastered everywhere, under the glaring headline: POP SUPERSTAR CHOOSES LOVE OVER CORPORATE GREED. My stunned, retreating back had been screenshotted and turned into a thousand different humiliating memes. Our company’s market cap had plummeted by half a billion dollars overnight. I scrolled through it all with a calm, detached focus, article by article, post by post, until I landed on Veronica’s official statement. She thanked everyone—her fans, her team, the lighting guy—but when it came to me and my company, she referred to us only as “a difficult professional chapter in my past.” She declared that she would, at any cost, “seek her artistic freedom.” Freedom. I stared at the word and a humorless laugh escaped my lips. “Get PR on the line. Tell them no response, no comment, nothing. Then get legal. I want them to prep the nuclear option in her contract. The breach of contract penalty clauses.” Kevin stared at me, bewildered. “Sir… shouldn’t we release a statement first? To do some damage control? The narrative online is turning against us.” “Damage control?” I walked over to him and pointed at the photo of Veronica’s soulful, earnest face. “You can’t control the damage from a liar, Kevin. You can only burn them to the ground.” I rubbed the bridge of my nose and collapsed onto the sofa, the last five years flashing before my eyes. Five years ago, she was just a girl with a beat-up acoustic guitar, singing an unheard-of indie folk song in a dive bar. There were maybe five people in the audience, but I heard something in her voice, a spark of raw talent. I decided to take a chance. I signed her and started a boutique agency with her as my only client. We had nothing. To save money, we slept on the floor of our tiny thirty-square-meter office, eating cheap instant ramen and talking about our impossible dreams. “Jackson,” she’d said one night, “the second I make it big, I’m going to marry you.” I had laughed. “The second you make it big, you’re going to pay back the startup loan.” She called me a killjoy, but her eyes were full of stars. To fund her debut album, I sold the only thing I had left from my parents: our family home. To get her a slot at a major music festival, I drank with a sleazy investor until I was puking blood into a toilet at 3 AM. She rushed to the hospital, her eyes red-rimmed. She clutched my hand and whispered, “Jackson, I swear, I will never let you suffer like this for me again.” Looking at her then, I felt like it was all worth it. I thought we were a team, that we had only each other. I poured every resource, every drop of my soul, into paving her path to stardom. I taught her how to work the cameras, how to handle the press, how to sculpt herself into the perfect idol for her fans. She was a fast learner. She was a massive success. So she got more and more famous. We moved into a sleek high-rise in the city center. The boutique agency became Starstream Media. But somewhere along the way, we changed. She started complaining about my “control.” She said her schedule was too packed, that she had no time to create, that she missed the “purity” of her early days. That’s when Will, her “pure” college friend, showed up. He became the symbol of everything she claimed to have lost. I tried to talk to her about it, about a month before the concert. “Veronica, we are business partners, and we are in a relationship. I can’t have anything jeopardize the foundation of either,” I said, getting straight to the point. She just stared at her phone, her reply dismissive. “You’re overthinking it. Will is just a friend. Someone I can talk to about music.” “I’m the one who produces your music,” I reminded her. Her head snapped up, her eyes flashing with a resentment I’d never seen before. “It’s not the same! What you do is business! It’s a product! Don’t you get it? That’s all you understand!” she spat. “When I’m with Will, I feel like a real person, not just a commodity you’re selling!” That was the first time I realized she wasn’t the same girl who had slept on the floor with me anymore. She was just the successful product I had created. And now, my product had a mind of its own and wanted to escape its creator. I chose to let it go. I told myself it was just the pressure of fame getting to her. I thought that once the concert was over, once our relationship was solidified by this grand, public proposal, everything would go back to normal. I was wrong. I was wrong to treat her like a pawn on my chessboard, forgetting that the most unpredictable piece in any game is the one that chooses to betray you. 2 The office door was thrown open without a knock. Veronica strode in, dressed head-to-toe in black, sunglasses and a hat obscuring her face. Will trailed behind her like a lost puppy. “Mr. Kang,” Kevin said, jumping to his feet and instinctively moving to stand between us. “Get out,” I said, my eyes fixed on Veronica, my voice devoid of any emotion. Kevin shot me a worried glance before retreating and closing the door behind him. The office was silent, save for the hum of the air conditioning. “What do you want?” I asked. Veronica took off her sunglasses. Her eyes were bloodshot, but her expression was eerily calm. “I’m here to discuss the termination of my contract.” She led Will to the sofa opposite my desk and tossed a file onto the polished wood. “I hope we can do this amicably. It’s better for the company, and for you, if we just go our separate ways.” “Amicably?” I felt a laugh, sharp and bitter, rise in my throat. “You call last night’s meticulously planned public humiliation an ‘amicable split’?” My voice rose, the control I was clinging to starting to fray. “You didn’t just ruin a proposal, Veronica. You detonated a nine-figure marketing campaign, the cornerstone of our entire fourth-quarter strategy. You know that better than anyone!” She scoffed, leaning back into the plush leather, her face a mask of defiance. “Business, business, that’s all you ever think about! I’m sick of it! I am not your goddamn cash cow!” Will decided to play the hero. “Mr. Kang, don’t blame Veronica… it’s all my fault. We’re in love…” “Shut up,” I said, my gaze cutting to him like a shard of ice. “No one is talking to you.” The color drained from Will’s face. He fell silent. That was what finally broke her. Veronica shot to her feet, her eyes blazing with hatred. “That’s enough, Jackson! You and your arrogant, condescending act! Who do you think you are? My savior?” She was practically shaking with rage. “Let me tell you something. Every single day with you felt like I was suffocating! You sold your house, you drank yourself sick—that wasn’t for me! That was for your own ambition! For your investment! I was just the most successful stock in your portfolio!” Every word was a calculated strike, aimed at my most vulnerable points. “So the last five years of our lives, that was just an investment, too?” I asked, my voice dangerously quiet as I met her furious glare. “Me sleeping on the floor next to you, was that an investment? Me waiting all night in the ER, was that an investment?!” She faltered for a second, her eyes darting away. I smiled, a tight, painful stretch of my lips, as tears burned the back of my eyes. “Veronica, just answer one question,” I said, taking a deep breath. “What were the last five years?” She was silent for a long moment. Then, a look of chilling resolve settled on her face. “They were… me paying you back.” She paused, a mocking smirk playing on her lips. “Oh, and one more thing.” She wrapped an arm around Will’s shoulders, her other hand resting gently on her flat stomach. “I’m pregnant. I have to do what’s right for him. And for our child.” Pregnant. Of course. The last thread of my sanity snapped. So that’s what this was all about. I wasn’t building a future for us. I was funding their love story and paying for their baby. 3 That afternoon, I sat in my office, watching the live feed of Veronica’s press conference on the large screen. She looked thinner, her face pale and fragile, her eyes red and swollen. Will sat beside her, his head bowed, the very picture of innocent, tormented love. “First, I want to apologize to everyone who cares about me,” Veronica began, her voice raspy, as if she’d been crying for hours. She wove a tragic tale of her pure love for music, of being swept up in the relentless tide of commercialism, of her profound artistic suffering. She painted Will as a beacon of light who had illuminated her dark, corporate world. She never mentioned a single thing I had done for her. I was simply “the former record label,” the “shackles of capital.” I, the man she had been with for five years, the man she was supposed to marry, had been erased. “I admit, Mr. Kang is a brilliant businessman,” she said, her voice turning from sorrowful to accusatory. “He brought me to where I am today, and for that, I am grateful.” “But,” she continued, her voice trembling with manufactured outrage, “he controlled my work, my social life, even my thoughts! Who I could see, what I could say, what I could wear—everything had to be approved by him! I was just his creation, a puppet with no soul!” Will, on cue, looked up at the cameras, tears streaming down his face. “It’s not Mr. Kang’s fault… it’s all my fault. I never should have come into her life… Veronica, I’m so sorry…” The room erupted in a blinding sea of camera flashes. The live chat comments exploded with fury. [OMG MY POOR GIRL! WE WILL PROTECT YOU!] [I’m crying, she was living in a prison this whole time!] [Jackson Kang is a monster! Get him out of the industry!] [#FreeVeronica! Let her make real music!] Finally, Veronica announced she was launching her own independent label, severing all ties with my company. “I’m going to make the music I want to make, on my own terms. It might be difficult, but I have Will. And our baby.” She looked at him, a tear rolling down her cheek. “And that’s enough.” The press conference ended. The internet detonated. I was public enemy number one. The company’s phone lines were jammed. A few of the smaller artists I had personally mentored were already sending feelers through their agents, hinting at wanting to terminate their contracts, afraid of being associated with the “evil corporate tyrant.” The rats were jumping ship. I looked at the hypocritical, tear-stained face on the screen and felt nothing but a cold, crystallizing hatred. I wiped a tear I hadn’t realized had fallen and buzzed my assistant. “Get legal, and get every department head. Conference room one. Five minutes.” Kevin looked at me, his eyes filled with concern. “Mr. Kang…” I forced a smile, my voice calm and steady. “Conference room one. Five minutes.” “I’m going to utterly destroy her.”

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1 My boyfriend of eight years and his first love were getting their kicks in our walk-in closet. “Keep it down,” Jane Lincoln whispered, her voice tight. “What if she hears us?” Jake Sandberg dismissed her concern. “Jane, don’t get distracted.” Jane started to cry, and Jake quickly kissed her. “Don’t worry, Jane, I took her hearing aids.” “She can’t hear us, it’s okay, don’t cry.” But Jake didn’t know I had just returned from the hospital. I had used all my savings to get a cochlear implant surgery. … I had just returned from the hospital after my cochlear implant’s external processor was activated and adjusted. Opening the front door, I heard strange noises. Stumbling footsteps mixed with gasps, followed by the sound of a closet door closing. My boyfriend of eight years and another woman’s voices intertwined. “Keep it down, what if she hears us?” Jake was unconcerned: “Jane, don’t get distracted.” Jane started to cry, and Jake quickly kissed her. “Don’t worry, Jane, I took her hearing aids.” “She can’t hear us, it’s okay, don’t cry.” So, the missing hearing aids had been taken by Jake, all to make me a part of their twisted game. I accidentally knocked over a glass vase near the entrance. When the sharp sound of shattering echoed, the commotion from the closet finally stopped. I stiffly knelt to pick up the pieces. “Ouch.” A shard sliced my finger. Tears welled in my eyes from the pain. After a long moment, a tall figure stopped in front of me. “Why didn’t you say you were back?” Jake’s voice was hoarse, his eyes still clouded with lingering desire. “Such a grown woman, crying over a tiny cut from a shard.” He looked at me with disdain. My lips trembled, so many words wanting to spill out, but in the end, I just said: “Jake, I can’t find my hearing aids.” Hearing this, the man opposite me pretended to search for a moment. When he emerged from the bedroom, he held up two hearing aids. “Dummy, you need to keep track of your own hearing aids. What if I hadn’t found them for you?” I snatched the hearing aids from his hand, pretending to put them on. When he wasn’t looking, I slipped both into my pocket. My heart hammered furiously, my breathing erratic. I walked past him, seemingly casually, heading towards the bedroom’s walk-in closet, feigning confusion. “In the bedroom? Why didn’t I see them earlier?” Jake had left in a hurry, leaving the closet door slightly ajar. Through that crack, I could even see Jane’s panicked, tear-filled eyes. Pain, like a cornered beast, savagely tore at my heart. I was practically suffocating. I instinctively reached out, my fingers trembling as they brushed the closet door. Through the narrow gap, Jane held clothes to cover her body, one hand clamped over her mouth as if terrified she might scream. My mind was a blur. I completely disregarded our upcoming wedding, focused only on tearing down the humiliating charade before me. Just as I reached to open the closet door, an uncontrollable wave of nausea surged through my throat. I pushed away Jake, who had rushed over anxiously, and hurried to the bathroom, retching dryly into the sink in front of the mirror. “What’s wrong? Did you eat something bad? Do you need to go to the hospital?” Jake leaned in, feigning concern. It had been a while since my last period. When I had my cochlear implant surgery today, I coincidentally had an ultrasound scan. The results showed I was seven weeks pregnant. I had been excited the whole way home, wanting to tell Jake the good news in person. The child we had hoped for for five years was finally coming. I looked at the man in front of me, whose concern seemed genuine, and couldn’t help but deceive myself. Perhaps, if I just pretended not to know. As soon as he knew I was pregnant. We could start over, couldn’t we? I was about to speak. The sound of something falling echoed, from the direction of the bedroom. Jake’s hand, resting on my arm, stiffened. “You go wait for me in the underground garage.” “I’ll tidy up and come down, then I’ll take you to the hospital to get checked.” I nodded. Before leaving, I used another less-used phone to call my main one. I set the spare phone to silent and placed it face down before turning to leave. In the empty underground garage, I sat quietly in the passenger seat, my phone beside me, still on the call. “Jay, I know you still resent me for leaving you to go abroad back then, but I truly had no choice.” “I know you’re about to marry Ruth.” “But what about me? Jay, I’m having your baby. Can you really bear to let our child be born without a father?” The woman’s crying and the man’s incredulous voice came through the phone. “Jane, is what you’re saying true?” What a coincidence. “Jay, I know your responsibility to Ruth, but are you really going to abandon all these years of love between us?” Only responsibility? “How could I abandon you!” Jake blurted out. My heart sank completely. The day Jake and I first met was also the first time I saw Jane Lincoln. I was six years old. My grandparents took me to buy my first pair of hearing aids. The staff stubbornly refused to sell them to us. Because we didn’t have enough money. Countless crumpled fifty-cent, one-dollar, five-dollar, ten-dollar, twenty-dollar bills piled up like a small mountain – it was their life savings. But it still wasn’t enough. My grandparents were so desperate they knelt, begging them to sell to us first, promising they could write an IOU. I knew it was because I was about to start elementary school, and they didn’t want my education to suffer because I couldn’t hear. They didn’t want other children to look down on me. Amidst the stalemate, a childish voice broke the silent air. “Daddy, sell them to them.” 2 Jake, who had come with his father, Mr. Sandberg, pleaded with him. Standing beside him, Jane Lincoln, in a beautiful princess dress with elaborate braids, looked at us with pity. Her gaze held no malice, yet it felt like a needle pricking me. I instinctively clutched my old, faded, stiff clothes. And so, we received a pair of burning hot hearing aids. And a thin IOU, heavier than a mountain. That’s how Jake, Jane, and I met. Children’s preferences are brutally straightforward. So I knew early on that Jake liked Jane. I watched him chase away the little boys who tried to befriend her, awkwardly giving her cheap but pretty hair clips. I watched him participate in make-believe games he usually found boring, just so he could play Mommy and Daddy with Jane. In their endless games where they were the main characters, I was always either a bystander or the villain. Once, Jake pushed me down according to the script. Perhaps he didn’t control his strength well, and I fell hard to the ground. Rough sand scraped my palms and knees; fresh blood seeped from the wounds, and I cried from the pain. Jake, who was originally walking towards Jane, suddenly turned around, carrying me on his back, and sprinted towards the infirmary. The slender boy’s body erupted with infinite potential. Leaning on his shoulder, I was so stunned I even forgot to cry. For a moment, I thought I was the heroine of a high school drama. “Hmph, Jane’s into cop movies lately. She keeps saying she only likes heroes.” “Now I guess I’m a hero too, right?” “Hey, Ruth, considering I saved you, you owe me big time. Make sure you praise me to Jane when you get back.” Those unspoken, fervent girlish feelings were doused with a bucket of cold water, the chill plunging straight to my heart. I stiffened and said, “Okay.” Later, in our junior year of high school, Jake’s father went bankrupt and committed suicide. Jane unilaterally broke up with Jake and moved abroad. I stayed with the penniless Jake, helping him start a business and rebuild his fortune. He confessed his feelings to me, then proposed. I thought I had finally emerged from Jane’s shadow. I was naive. I waited in the underground garage for a very, very long time, so long that Jake messaged me to say he had an emergency and couldn’t accompany me to the hospital. Because Jane was upset. He was taking her to set off fireworks in the suburbs. I silently went upstairs, washed up. When I instinctively sat on the bed, those filthy memories instantly flooded my mind. So dirty, so dirty. I ran to the bathroom and vomited until I was dizzy. As I collapsed to the floor, I saw a silver men’s ring lying by the drain. Four years ago, I used my meager savings to buy Jake a silver ring as a birthday gift. It was during the hardest time of his startup, when the dual pressure of mental stress and financial struggles was almost crushing him. The six-foot-tall man, upon seeing the small silver ring I gave him, actually got tears in his eyes. He held me very, very tightly, so tightly I could barely breathe. But I only thought to comfort him. He solemnly promised me: “Ruth, I will definitely make sure we live a good life.” Later, he treasured that silver ring as if his life depended on it, never bearing to take it off. He said seeing the ring was like seeing me; he wanted to see me every minute of every day. But now, that silver ring lay quietly in a corner of the bathroom, left to dust and grime that dulled its shine. I picked up the ring. I slept in the guest room for a night. As I drifted in and out of sleep, a figure climbed onto the bed. “Ruth, why weren’t you waiting for me in the living room today? And why did you sleep in the guest room?” In the past, no matter how late Jake came home, I would always wait for him on the sofa in the living room. Sometimes I would wait all night. After so many years, it had become our unspoken habit. “I don’t know why, but the bedroom smells really bad.” The smell of infidelity. 3 He was so close, I easily caught his scent. The rose perfume, unmistakable even through the faint scent of gunpowder. Roses were Jane Lincoln’s favorite. Disgusting. Perhaps out of guilt, he didn’t speak for a moment, then wandered into the kitchen. The kitchen was empty, the stove barren. “Ruth, why isn’t there any porridge today?” Jake’s work schedule was demanding; he often forgot to eat, leading to stomach problems over time. I researched many remedies, finally settling on several recipes for stomach-nourishing porridge, along with various other stomach-friendly meals. For years, I had tirelessly tried new ways to care for his health. I didn’t speak, just turned over and continued to sleep. Not having to get up early felt quite nice. Jake finally realized something was off with me and leaned in, coaxing. “Come on, Ruth, you’re not still mad about yesterday, are you? It was all work-related.” “You know, I do it all for our future.” “Are you still feeling unwell? Should I take you to the hospital now?” “No, I’m much better.” “Then how about I book our favorite restaurant for dinner tonight? Candlelight dinner?” “Sure.” It was a good opportunity for us to talk, to discuss the baby. Just as I finished washing up and opened my phone, I saw a message from Jane, asking to meet that afternoon. As if afraid I wouldn’t go, she even sent me a photo of her and Jake kissing under a sky full of fireworks. I went as promised. Jake, oblivious, drove me to the intersection. As we parted ways, I casually asked him: “Have you lost anything recently?” He looked around blankly, then shook his head. My heart turned to ice, inch by inch. I got out of the car, casually tossing a silver ring into a trash can. I pushed open the door of the cafe and saw Jane, in a white dress, waving to me from her seat. She was as beautiful as ever. I immediately noticed the diamond ring on her hand. When choosing wedding rings, I really liked the promise behind it: “One life, one love.” But Jake thought it was tacky and dragged me to the shop next door to pick out a different diamond ring. It wasn’t the ring that was tacky; it was me who wasn’t worthy. “Ruth, long time no see.” “Honestly, it was quite a shame you gave up on going abroad as an exchange student back then.” In high school, a well-known alumnus offered to sponsor my overseas study, on the condition that I work for his company after graduating college. It was a very rare opportunity; if I accepted, a brilliant future was within reach. But I still refused. At that time, Jake was at a low point: his father had gone bankrupt and committed suicide, and Jane had moved abroad, unilaterally breaking up with him. I felt I couldn’t leave him then. Memories slowly faded. A waiter brought two drinks. “Tequila Sunrise. It’s a very refreshing alcoholic drink. Try it.” Jane pushed a bright orange drink towards me. She was clearly smiling, but her fingers trembled slightly as she pushed the glass. “Jane, you’re very perceptive, and very smart.” I didn’t take the drink. She took a deep breath, her face instantly paling, but she still forced a smile. “Ruth, do you know?” “I thought I’d have to explain for ages to Jay about going abroad, but I didn’t expect him to just throw himself into my arms, unable to control himself, the moment we reunited.” My fingers suddenly tightened, and the wound I unintentionally touched throbbed even more fiercely. “Do you know the first thing he said to me?” “He said, ‘Jane, I hate you.’” “‘But you’re not allowed to leave me again.’” Jane recalled the anecdote and burst into laughter. I blinked furiously, a strained, ugly curve on my lips. It was quite funny. I started laughing too. But Jane, opposite me, suddenly stopped laughing and looked at me haughtily. “Ruth, you’re crying.” “You damn bitch, you’re here! You stole my money and ran back to the country, and now I’ve finally found you!” A sudden change. A burly man with a scarred face, appearing from nowhere, lunged and slapped Jane.

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The acrid smell of smoke was the first thing that hit me, jolting me back to a nightmare I’d already lived. I was home. And the house was on fire. This time, I noticed something I’d missed before. The front door had been locked from the outside. He had locked me in. He had taken the entire fire crew with him, up into the mountains, to search for her. His long-lost love, his old flame. The fire crept closer, its heat a living thing, forcing me onto the balcony. I knew what came next. Last time, in this exact moment, I had called him, begging for help. He had rejected the call to save her instead. I was pregnant. The fire had swallowed me whole. He had cried afterward, choked with regret. But on the day we were supposed to be married, he stood at the altar with her. Then, on their wedding day, he jumped from a bridge. His suicide note said that if he could do it all over again, he would choose me. A lie. Right now, in this second life, my call went straight to voicemail. I could only watch as the flames devoured our home, our future, everything. … The fire was a ravenous beast, consuming everything in its path. I clawed at the front door, my hand blistering against the searing hot metal, only to confirm my terror: it was bolted shut from the outside. My phone’s signal was weak, my call to 911 dropping in and out. In a desperate, muscle-memory reflex, I dialed my fiancé, Mark. A firefighter. The man who had sworn he would always choose me. The call connected. “I’m busy,” he said, and hung up. Thick, black smoke coiled around me, a suffocating blanket. A sharp, cramping pain shot through my abdomen. The wooden furniture, things he’d built for me with his own hands, groaned and cracked as the fire ate them alive. I stumbled back, forced onto the small balcony, the fire nipping at my heels. Finally, my 911 call connected. The voice on the other end was sickeningly familiar. It was Mark’s cousin, Zoe. “Our house… it’s on fire,” I choked out. “Please, hurry…” As I spoke, the living room curtains went up in a sheet of flame, a wall of fire lunging toward me. I froze, paralyzed by terror. Zoe’s voice dripped with disdain. “Look, Abby, it’s not that I don’t want to help you. But Mark took all the experienced guys to the state park to look for Evelyn. The only ones left at the station are a few rookies in training. They can’t be deployed.” She let out a dismissive scoff. “Besides, Mark told me the fire started in the apartment next door. He said he locked your door specifically for your safety. He said even if the fire spread, you’d have plenty of time to get out another way.” Her voice turned sharp. “You can drop the act. I’m not falling for your little stunts to get his attention. I want my best friend Evelyn to be my cousin’s wife, not you.” The moment she said Mark had locked the door, the world went silent. I didn’t hear the rest of her insults. The fire devoured the trellis he had built for my roses, and just like that, the house that was supposed to hold our six years of love became unrecognizable. I looked down. Blood was spreading from between my legs, a dark crimson river mingling with the soot and ash. I couldn’t believe I was back here, in this exact moment. In my last life, the fire from the neighbor’s kid playing with matches had engulfed the entire floor in minutes. My first instinct had been to call Mark. He had promised me he was on his way. He told me not to worry. The next thing I knew, he was leading his best crew up a mountain trail, searching for his precious Evelyn, who had been “missing” for days. The fire consumed me and my unborn child. When he finally found me, all that was left was a charred, incomplete skeleton. He had knelt in the ashes, a hollowed-out wreck, refusing to eat or drink for three days. He clutched the urn with my and our baby’s remains as if he couldn’t go on living. His old flame, Evelyn, cried and apologized, but he just stared through her. My spirit had ached for him, seeing his pain. And then, he married her. On the exact date we had set for our wedding. His parents, even my own, were thrilled. They thought he was finally moving on. But on their wedding day, he killed himself. His last words, spoken to everyone, were a vow that if he had a second chance, he would choose me without hesitation. And here we were. A second chance. And he had chosen to lock me in and run to her. A crowd was gathering on the street below. They saw me, trapped on the balcony, with nowhere left to go. I gripped the railing, the metal so hot it seared my palms, and watched the flames melt the plastic coating at the edges. The outdoor air conditioning unit I was standing on wobbled precariously. My hands and feet were swollen and blistering. The neighbors who had escaped were scrambling, dragging out mattresses and tarps. “My God, there’s a pregnant woman up there all alone!” “She’s covered in blood! Hurry, everyone, we have to get her down!” A sea of unfamiliar faces worked frantically below, their brows beaded with sweat, trying to build me a chance at survival. Some of them had burns of their own, but they didn’t stop. A bitter, acidic feeling rose in my throat. These strangers were risking their lives for me, while the man I had loved for years had done nothing but lock the door and hang up the phone. A single tear traced a path through the grime on my arm. In that instant, the fire surged, a wave of heat washing over me, engulfing my hand. “Call the district fire department! Someone’s going to die!” a man shouted from below. “We did! They just brushed us off, said they don’t have anyone available! What kind of fire department is that?” More people were calling, while others organized the makeshift rescue. A little boy yelled up at me, his voice piercing the chaos. “Jump, lady! My daddy said we’ll all catch you!” The pain was so immense it was becoming abstract, my mind drifting into a hazy fog. The sheer volume of calls must have finally gotten through to Zoe. She had trusted her brother, the rising star of the department, the one who gave lectures on rescue techniques. He had assured her he’d done a thorough risk assessment of the old apartment buildings in the area. She had believed him. But the calls kept coming. She couldn’t ignore them any longer. She put in an emergency request for a crew from the neighboring district. But in our small county, the two districts were separated by a wide river. Even with the bridge, it would take them forever to get here. The fire wrapped around my hand, my fingers no longer my own. The balcony beneath my feet was slick with my own blood. The railing snapped. I had nothing left to hold onto. I fell backward into the inferno. Before I was reborn, I witnessed Mark’s all-consuming grief. I had interpreted his suicide as a final, tragic act of love for me. I had drowned myself in the fantasy of our perfect connection, our shared dreams. When he failed to save me in that life, my heart broke, but it fluttered again when I saw his ghost clutching my ashes before he jumped. I never once doubted his love. He had loved me so loudly, so fiercely, and I had believed him so completely. But Evelyn’s existence proved that his love had always had a prior claim. One text from her saying “I miss you” was all it took for him to abandon his pregnant fiancée and drive hundreds of miles to spend her birthday with her. I had cried, I had begged, I had even used our baby to try and make him stay. All I got was, “Can you stop being so dramatic? Evelyn has severe depression. If something happens to her, can you live with that?” So he used that excuse, night after night, leaving me alone while he went to comfort her. After I died, he must have realized that depressed people can take medication, see therapists; they don’t always need him. But he wanted to be needed. Evelyn, insisting on the purity of their “platonic” friendship, had him give her my number. She made sure to document every moment they spent together. A selfie of them at dinner. A picture of the cake and flowers he bought her—on my birthday. A photo of them locked in a tight embrace. The constant torture from my own fiancé’s affair wore me down. I started fights over nothing. Nightmares plagued me. I’d wake up in a cold sweat, reaching for him, only to find the other side of the bed empty nine times out of ten. When I called his phone, Evelyn would answer. “Mark’s fast asleep,” she’d whisper. “Want to see?” Then she’d turn on the camera, showing him sleeping soundly, his arm wrapped around her. His explanation? He was just worried she’d have a relapse if he left. It was too risky. He never explained why they were sleeping in the same bed. He shattered my heart again and again, then offered just enough hope to piece it back together. My mental state deteriorated until I was a wreck. When I was finally diagnosed with severe depression, he just laughed. “Nice try,” he’d said with a sneer. “Don’t pretend you’re like Evelyn. You think faking depression is going to stop me from seeing her? Couldn’t you come up with a better excuse?” After my death, he found my diagnosis papers and the unopened bottles of antidepressants I’d refused to take for the baby’s safety. He had collapsed. But in this new life, knowing all of that, he still ran to her. Oh, how I wished I could tell all those people from my past life who called him a tragic, romantic hero. They were so, so wrong. His devotion was a cheap imitation. My last tear fell as the flames rushed to meet me. Below, the crowd of strangers surged forward as one. I was lucky. They caught me. But the impact sent a cataclysmic, tearing pain through my abdomen. An older woman with knowing eyes screamed. “Oh, God! The baby… the baby’s gone!” As her words fell, my child left my body in a rush of blood and ruin. For a moment, the world went utterly silent. Then I heard Zoe’s voice, raw with panic. She pushed through the crowd with a first-aid kit, her eyes red and swollen. “Abby… I’m so sorry… I really thought… Mark said he did the inspections, that everything was safe… I…” She fumbled through a basic check, her face growing paler by the second, especially when she saw the perfectly formed, lifeless infant on the ground. Her hands shook uncontrollably. The crowd’s shock turned to fury, directed at the uniform she wore. “Where the hell were you people? This is on you! Look at that baby! If you had come even a minute sooner, they both would have been okay!” Sobs broke out among the onlookers. Zoe kept whispering, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” while frantically trying to call Mark. The first call… unanswered. The second… rejected. On the third, he picked up, his voice a furious bark. “What?!”

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The day I arrived on campus for my freshman year, I was practically buzzing with excitement. I clutched my acceptance letter—same major as Nate—and planned the perfect surprise. I found him leaning against a brick pillar outside the women’s dorms, phone pressed to his ear, his voice a low, casual murmur. “Sera has severe anxiety. She only talks to me, she can’t handle being alone. You have to find a way to get her into my program,” he was saying, his tone smooth and commanding. He paused, then added, “And Ava… yeah, switch her to the International Relations department. Her temper’s bad and she gets jealous. I don’t want her stressing Sera out.” He glanced up at the dorm windows, a soft, almost tender smile gracing his lips. I couldn’t hear the other side of the conversation, but when the topic shifted back to me, his brow furrowed in annoyance. “Just forget about her. She’s been stuck to me for years. I need some damn breathing room.” So that was it. More than a decade of my life, a constant presence by his side, had been reduced to a burden. This time, I didn’t scream or cry. I just walked up to him and calmly ended it. A second after I said the words, a friend request popped up on my phone. It was from the Student Body President. The message read: “So… is it my turn now?” 1 “Break up?” The impatience in Nate’s eyes was so thick I could practically feel it. “Seriously? Just because I got here a day early and didn’t text you?” “Yes,” I said, my voice steady. “Fine,” he sighed, the sound heavy with theatrical exasperation, as if I were the most unreasonable person on the planet. “When you’ve cooled off, I’ll win you back.” But even as he spoke, his gaze drifted past me, locking onto a girl who had just stepped out of the dorm. “Nate, I mean it. We’re really…” My words trailed off. The lazy, arrogant slouch he always had was gone. He stood up straight, instinctively smoothing the wrinkles on his shirt. “Sera! You all settled in? Need help with anything else?” His voice was suddenly bright and eager, completely drowning out the rest of my sentence. Seraphina, or Sera, just nodded. She didn’t have to say a word. The way she stood there, biting her lip and staring up at him, was more powerful than anything I could have ever screamed. “I… I need you to introduce me to everyone at orientation… There are so many people… I’m scared…” she whispered, tugging on his sleeve and leaning in so close her lips brushed his ear. “Of course,” he agreed instantly. It was only then that he turned and seemed to remember I was still standing there. He cleared his throat, offering a half-hearted olive branch. “Ava, after I help Sera out, I’ll give you a tour of the campus, okay?” He didn’t even realize it. From the moment she appeared, I had become an afterthought. “Don’t bother,” I said, my voice dripping with ice. “You should stick close to your helpless little baby. I’m afraid she might have a meltdown and run home on her first day without you.” “Ava, what the hell is your problem? You know her situation!” he snapped, his brows crashing together. It was the first time he’d ever used my full name, and it was to defend someone else. A bitter laugh escaped my lips, but it was followed by a sharp sting in my nose. Nate and I had been childhood sweethearts. It was the kind of storybook romance everyone envied. Then, in our senior year of high school, a transfer student arrived. Seraphina. The whole school buzzed with whispers about the new girl with crippling social anxiety. Our boring, test-filled senior year suddenly had a new drama. Nate, ever the hero, decided he needed to be the one to “bring her out of her shell.” I thought it was pathetic, but he became obsessed. Soon enough, he was the only person at school she would speak to. He took it upon himself to be her guardian. He tutored her, took her on the Ferris wheel at the state fair, and bought her cupcakes from the bakery we used to love. He re-created every single one of our special moments, but with her. We fought. We screamed. We broke up a thousand times, and every single time, he would come back, head hung low, begging for forgiveness. But he never stopped “taking care” of Sera; he just got better at hiding it. When it was time to apply for college, I couldn’t let go of a decade’s worth of history. I chose the same university, the same niche major, just to be with him. Sera’s grades weren’t good enough, so she was waitlisted and then shunted into a less competitive program. I thought college would be a clean slate. But now I saw the truth. He wasn’t hiding his obsession anymore. He was flaunting it. “Oh, I know her situation,” I retorted, my voice sharp. “One’s a basket case and the other’s a fool. You’re both sick in the head. You two deserve each other. Do the world a favor and stay off the market.” I shoved down the flicker of pain and watched with grim satisfaction as his face darkened and Sera’s eyes filled with tears. Then, I turned on my heel and walked away. I checked my new schedule. International Relations. It seemed like a random, difficult pivot, but it was a perfect fit. My mother was a diplomat, my father a top-tier translator. I had always planned on following in their footsteps, but I’d thrown it all away for Nate, choosing a major I hated just to be near him. In a way, he’d put me back on the right track. And from now on, every step I took would be loud, brilliant, and on my own terms. I wouldn’t be his shadow anymore. I would become someone he could only ever look up to. 2 I wanted a clean break, but the official transfer paperwork was still being processed. That meant I was stuck attending the freshman orientation for my old major. I sat in the back of the lecture hall and watched as Nate led Sera onto the stage by the hand. He gave a brief, charming introduction for himself, then tightened his grip on her hand as she pressed herself against his side. “This is Seraphina,” he announced to the crowded room. “She’ll be transferring into our program soon. She’s a little shy, so I’ll be speaking for her.” The hall erupted in a chorus of whistles and suggestive catcalls. “Damn, of course the hot guys show up with girlfriends already.” “They look so perfect together! They must be totally in love.” They did look perfect. The girl, blushing and hiding in the boy’s arms. The boy, head held high, looking proud and possessive. From a distance, it was a fairytale. Only I saw the truth. I watched, my blood turning to ice, as Nate let the assumption hang in the air, a silent confirmation. So this is what it felt like to have him publicly claim someone. A memory flashed in my mind. The first week of high school, before we were officially a couple. Someone had put a love letter in my locker. Nate found it, read it aloud in front of the whole class, and then scoffed, “Ava’s been looking at this face for over a decade. If you want to compete, you’ll have to do better than me.” He was handsome, confident, and radiant. I used to love that about him. Now, the sight of his arrogance was blinding. I couldn’t take it anymore. I stood up and slipped out the back door. I’d only made it a few feet down the hall when a hand clamped around my wrist, yanking me back. Nate stood there, panting, a flicker of panic in his eyes. “Ava, let me explain. I was put on the spot. If I had denied it, Sera would have been completely humiliated. You know how sensitive she is.” I stared at the red marks already forming on my skin where his fingers dug in. A humorless smile touched my lips. “You don’t have to explain anything to me. We’re broken up, remember?” He visibly relaxed, a cocky grin spreading across his face as he slung an arm around my shoulders, his tone shifting to a playful, condescending purr. “Alright, alright. We’re broken up, if you say so. We’ll get back together after you’ve had your little fit. You’re so cute when you’re jealous.” He flicked my nose with his finger, a gesture so familiar and practiced it made me want to gag. We had been together for so long he genuinely believed I was incapable of leaving him. Just as I was about to shove him off, his expression turned serious. “Ava, listen. There’s a major national debate tournament coming up. It’s a huge deal for anyone wanting to get into a top-tier grad school. I know you can easily get one of the university’s sponsorship slots.” He paused, his eyes pleading. “Can you… can you give your spot to Sera?” I stared at him, my ears ringing with disbelief. A low growl rumbled in my chest. “On what grounds? Nate, do you seriously think that even if I handed her my spot, Seraphina, a girl who can’t even introduce herself to a room full of people, could actually win?” His voice dropped, laced with a pleading tone I had never heard before. “That’s why… I want you to compete, but put her name on the registration. Her grades aren’t as good as yours. If she wants to get into the same graduate program as me, this is her only shot…” I couldn’t stop the manic, incredulous laugh that bubbled up from my throat. I laughed until my eyes burned and tears started to stream down my face. It was the first day of college, and he had already mapped out his entire future with her, right down to her graduate school applications. “And what about me?” The question was a raw whisper. “Did you ever think about me?” Nate flinched. He looked away, his jaw tight. “It’s different. You have your family’s connections. You’ll be successful no matter what you do. Sera… she only has me.” He looked back at me, his eyes wide with earnest expectation. “Ava, I’ve always known you were a kind person. You’ll help her, won’t you?” I met his hopeful gaze and smiled, a sharp, cruel thing. “Of course. As long as she comes and begs me herself. If she impresses me, maybe I’ll throw her a bone.” 3 “You’re being completely unreasonable,” Nate spat, before storming off. I stood there for a long time, the disappointment in his eyes feeling like a physical wound. Finally, I turned and walked in the opposite direction. From inseparable companions to bitter strangers. It had only taken a year. I went to class alone, I ate in the dining hall alone. And everywhere I looked, I saw Nate doting on Sera. He walked her to class, saved her a seat at lunch, and whispered secrets to her as they strolled across the quad. We were technically in the same orientation group, but we were locked in a cold war. Thankfully, my transfer paperwork finally went through. I was almost free. On my way to the department office to pick up my final documents, I heard voices coming from behind the decorative pond near the administration building. Behind a large rock formation, a group of tall, muscular guys from the basketball team had cornered Sera. “Hey, are you for real with that whole mute act?” one of them sneered. “Is Nate into broken girls or something? That’s just gross.” Another one stepped closer, his voice menacing. “Tell us what that prick is afraid of. Spill, and we’ll let you go.” I recognized the jerseys. My roommate had told me that Nate had gotten into a nasty argument with some guys during a pickup basketball game a few days ago. It looked like they were holding a grudge. Sera looked around frantically, her eyes wide with terror. When she spotted me, she rushed forward and grabbed my sleeve. I flinched, instinctively shaking her hand off. I hadn’t pushed her hard, but she stumbled backward with theatrical grace and fell straight into the shallow pond. There were two loud splashes. One was Sera. The other was Nate. I stood frozen as he vaulted over a bench and dove into the water without a second of hesitation. He scooped her into his arms, his face a mask of fury as he glared at me. “Ava, what the hell is wrong with you? You’ve become a monster! Sera doesn’t know anything about our problems! If you have an issue, take it up with me. Don’t you dare bully her!” He automatically cast me as the villain. The injustice of it all sent a surge of hot rage through me. “Get your facts straight, Nate,” I shot back. “I have everything I need. Why would I waste my time bullying a ‘mute’? What’s in it for me?” I glanced around. The basketball players had vanished the second Nate appeared. I took a breath and tried to explain. “The people hassling her were the guys you pissed off on the court. If you don’t believe me, ask her yourself!” Sera coughed weakly, her pale face looking even more fragile and soaked. Her eyes, rimmed with red, were heartbreakingly pitiful. She didn’t say a word. She just cried, looking at me with pure terror. I almost laughed at the sheer absurdity of it. But Nate saw it as proof. He stepped in front of her, shielding her from me. “Ava, apologize to Sera. Now.” My vision narrowed. I barely recognized the cold, harsh man standing in front of me. “Why should I apologize? It wasn’t my fault. This girl is a manipulative liar who frames people…” CRACK. The slap sent my head snapping to the side. The sting on my cheek was nothing compared to the shock. Before the pain even fully registered, my own hand flew up, and I struck him back with every ounce of strength I had. My palm throbbed. I stared at Nate’s stunned, silent face, a red handprint blooming on his cheek. My heart felt like it was being ripped out of my chest. Just when I thought I couldn’t be more disappointed, he found a new way to shatter me. “Nate, we’ve known each other our entire lives. You’ve always protected me. And now you hit me? For her?” My voice cracked. “You’re the one who’s lost his damn mind!” I turned my glare on Sera. “And you. Keep up your act. Sooner or later, you’ll choke on your own lies. You pathetic, manipulative, fraud.” I spat the words out, one by one. I couldn’t stand to be there a second longer. I turned and ran. Behind me, Nate just stood there, staring at his own trembling hand. The hand that had just struck the person he once claimed to love more than anyone in the world. 4 After a few days of slathering on concealer, the handprint on my face faded. The one on my heart was permanent. I started packing my things to move to my new dorm across campus. As I was wrestling a suitcase taller than I was down the stairs, I ran right into Nate. He was carrying both of Sera’s suitcases, one in each hand, yet he was still managing to chat and laugh with her, doting on her every move. We met on the landing—him, pristine and smiling; me, sweaty and struggling. It used to be me and him, a perfect team. “Ava? You’re moving dorms?” I didn’t bother to look at the awkward guilt in his eyes. “Yep,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Someone was kind enough to file my major transfer paperwork for me, so I’ve got to make room for the new student.” His gaze darted away, and his voice was raspy when he finally spoke. “Look, Ava… maybe International Relations is a better fit for you anyway. And even if we’re in different programs, I can still come see you.” I closed my eyes, too exhausted to argue anymore. But as I turned to leave, he dropped Sera’s bags and ran after me, his voice tight with panic. “That day… I didn’t mean to…” Whatever apology he was about to offer was cut short by a sharp cry from Sera. He immediately fell silent and rushed back to her side. “Nate, it’s all wet… Everything is ruined…” Sera sobbed, pointing at one of her suitcases, which was now soaked, a dark stain spreading across the expensive fabric. “Who did this?!” Nate roared, his temper flaring. I had been watching the scene with detached amusement, but my blood ran cold when Sera turned and dropped to her knees directly in front of me. “I’m sorry…” she stammered, her voice a pathetic whimper. “I… I know I’m not good enough for Nate… I can stay in my old major…” Her small voice was laced with a delicate, wounded tremor. “Please… I worked so hard to get into college… I just want to study…” She never directly accused me, but she didn’t have to. The implication was clear. In that moment, I finally understood. She wasn’t an innocent victim. She was a master puppeteer. And her favorite puppet was still completely under her spell. “Ava, how far are you going to take this?!” Nate’s voice was a low, dangerous growl. “First you push her into the pond, now you destroy her belongings! What’s next? Are you going to get her expelled so you can have me all to yourself?” His voice rose to a furious shout. “God, right now, I honestly regret ever meeting you.” The words struck me like a physical blow, but my expression remained like stone. “Think whatever you want.” That was the spark that lit the fuse. Nate exploded. He stormed over to my luggage and kicked it, sending it tumbling down the stairs. Then he grabbed an empty water jug from a nearby trash can, filled it at a water fountain, and dumped it all over my scattered belongings. He stomped on my clothes, my books, my life. He crushed a small, leather-bound journal my grandfather had given me. It was the last birthday present he ever gave me before he died. He had filled it with photos and notes, documenting every important moment of my life, from my first steps to my high school graduation. On the last page, he’d written his final words to me. I treasured it. I kept it pristine. It didn’t have a single folded corner. Now, it was a soggy, mangled mess on the dirty floor, the ink bleeding, the pages ripped and ground into the tile by Nate’s shoe. “NATE, STOP!” I screamed, throwing myself forward, trying to salvage it. But he pressed his foot down harder, refusing to move. “See, Ava? Now you know what it feels like to have something you love destroyed!” he hissed. Having vented his rage, his voice softened, as if he were scolding a misbehaving child. He reached out a hand to help me up, but flinched back as a tear from my cheek dripped onto his skin, hot as acid. “Ava, you…” I looked up, my face streaked with tears, my eyes shot with blood. “That was the last thing my grandpa ever gave me… Nate, I hate you.” My voice was a raw, broken whisper. “I hate you more than I have ever hated anyone in my life.” Panic finally washed over his face. He scrambled backward, his foot slipping off the ruined journal. He stammered a quick, meaningless “I’m sorry,” then turned, grabbed Sera, and practically fled the scene. His parting words echoed down the empty stairwell. “Ava, when you’ve calmed down, I’ll come back and we can talk.” I knelt on the floor, gently picking up the tattered, unrecognizable pieces of paper. I wiped my tears away. There was nothing left to talk about. He had just personally, brutally, and permanently destroyed everything we ever were. I pulled out my phone. The friend request from the Student Body President was still there, sent three days ago. I pressed ‘Confirm.’

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I stared at my husband’s open laptop screen, messages from a group chat named “The Cheater’s Club” constantly popping up. Someone in the group was egging on “Eduardo,” saying he’d kept his secret stash for ten years without his “old lady” finding out, and urging him to share his secrets. Eduardo proudly replied that as long as he acted like he was selflessly dedicating himself to the family and perpetually exhausted, his wife would never suspect a thing. Someone else chimed in, saying that besides Eduardo, the longest-running record in the group belonged to the “Minister.” A cold smile tugged at my lips as I read these conversations. My husband’s strategy was indeed brilliant, but what he didn’t know was that he wasn’t the only one in this house who was skilled at deception. 1. “Honey, this month’s salary, it’s all here. Didn’t you say last week you had your eye on a bag?” “Our son is growing up fast; you should buy what you want.” My husband, Eduardo, tugged at the corner of his suit jacket, looking at me with an expression full of pure happiness. “Aren’t you keeping any for yourself?” I looked at his slightly faded suit, a complex feeling stirring within me. “What do I need a salary for, a grown man like me? I work hard out there, but isn’t it all for you and our son?” Eduardo’s face was etched with willing dedication to our family. “I’m working overtime tonight. If only I could work harder, my wife wouldn’t have to be so tired.” As Eduardo walked out the door with his briefcase, anyone who saw him would praise him as a man utterly devoted to his family. But who could imagine that such an honest man would be so eloquently sharing his infidelity tips in a cheaters’ group chat? “Women, they’re all family-oriented. Once they have a child, they have a weakness.” “As long as you win the child over, she won’t have the energy to go after you.” “Just act completely devoted to the family, and she’ll never suspect a thing.” “Remember, you have to forge every single pay stub meticulously.” The men in the group were full of admiration. “No wonder it’s Eduardo! Cheating for years and never caught.” “I remember Eduardo’s been married for a decade, right? People in this group have come and gone, but only the Minister and Eduardo are still standing strong.” Messages kept flashing on the social media alternate account I’d forgotten to log out of. I was stunned… It felt like a sick joke. My perfect husband, cheating behind my back… The chat window on the screen was quickly closed forcibly. The sound of a key turning in the lock came from the door. I walked out of the kitchen as if nothing was wrong, and Eduardo let out a sigh of relief as he saw the dim screen. “What’s wrong?” I smiled at Eduardo, a mix of emotions swirling inside me. “Nothing, just left my phone and laptop at home.” “I was worried you wouldn’t be able to reach me. Did you see anyone send me messages, honey?” Eduardo looked at me tentatively, a hint of concern for his work in his eyes. “This collaboration is very important. Didn’t you always want a new bracelet? When I land this deal, your husband can buy it for you.” I knew what answer he wanted. “Your laptop screen was off the whole time, and I didn’t hear anything.” Eduardo instantly relaxed, placing a kiss on my forehead. “For our anniversary in a few days, let’s drop the kid off at Mom’s place, and we can go out and have a proper celebration.” With that, he turned to leave. “Darling, wait.” I called out to him, a sarcastic smile flashing in my eyes. “I remember, you weren’t wearing these clothes when you left this morning.” Eduardo’s steps faltered, a look of panic in his eyes. Damn, in his rush to get back, he’d forgotten to change clothes. “The client I’m seeing today is quite important. For the company, the boss lent me his suit.” I smiled and nodded, straightening his tie. “You work too hard. Come home early.” Eduardo feigned calmness, nodding, but his departing figure, if scrutinized, held a hint of stiffness. I sighed. The scent of perfume on his suit was all too familiar. Only the sales associates at C-brand luxury boutiques wore that specific fragrance. He hadn’t even noticed the earring dangling from his tie. Too much heartfelt acting, and he’d even convinced himself. After a long moment, I opened Chat App and, from memory, added the account I hadn’t logged into for years. The message history from that group chat poured in like a torrent. I scrolled through the messages one by one, then sent a casual greeting with a smile. “Everyone, long time no see.” “Oh my god! It’s the Minister! The Minister has appeared!” A hint of cunning flickered in my eyes. Having been a housewife for so long, I almost forgot my true identity. You see, I am a genuine succubus. 2. The Cheater’s Club was something I founded back when I was a succubus, playing games in the human world. But then, I met Eduardo. I was either attracted by his honesty, or tired of being a succubus and wanted to try being human. Once a succubus falls in love and bears a child for a human, she is cursed, losing her succubus abilities. A succubus who has given birth cannot use any of the power she once gained as a succubus. Unless… they are willing to go back to their old ways. Successfully manipulating a man into willingly betraying his current lover is the only way to break the curse. And now, older and past my prime, I had no way to use my looks to win Eduardo’s heart back. Moreover, I had chosen to bear his child. “Mom, why are you still dawdling?” Leo looked at me, a hint of impatience and disdain in his eyes. If Dad hadn’t given him a task and promised him a toy train, he wouldn’t want to be with Mom at all. Mom never dressed up and had nothing in common with him. “We’re not going to kindergarten today.” I looked at Leo, filled with deep disappointment. Hearing he didn’t have to go to kindergarten, a hint of cheer lit up Leo’s eyes. But then, remembering the task Dad had given him, a flicker of disappointment crossed his face. Dad was planning to go on a date with Aunt Sophie today. Dad had also instructed him to keep Mom occupied after kindergarten. I saw the conflict in Leo’s eyes. After all, the messages I saw recorded showed Eduardo had shared in the group more than once how he used Leo to keep me busy. “Mom has something to do with Aunt Sarah tonight. Do you want to go play at Grandma’s house?” Leo hesitated for a long moment, then nodded. Mom had something to do anyway, so she wouldn’t bother Dad. Besides, he really didn’t want to go to kindergarten, so it counted as completing Dad’s task. After dropping Leo off, I found the succubus clan’s human world administrator, my sister Sarah. “You mean, you want to be a succubus again?” “Take back everything you once had? Luna, are you crazy?!” “You were the one who went mad wanting to be human. Now you want to be a succubus again? It’s not that easy!” I smiled bitterly, then handed her my phone with the messages. “Humans are truly no good,” Sarah said, a hint of anger in her eyes. Compared to humans, succubi are far more open. She couldn’t understand how her sister had suddenly become so love-struck. Marriage, for both humans and succubi, once a wrong step is taken, is a bottomless abyss. “I can help you, but according to the succubus covenant, I can only change your appearance, and it definitely won’t surpass your current beauty…” “Good.” I nodded. I knew she was doing all she could for me. “Are you sure? With that appearance, you’re confident you can make him change his heart? Lure him away from other women?” “I can only help you transform once…” After a moment of hesitation, Sarah looked at me with a complicated expression. With this face, unless he was truly starved, a normal man would likely find it hard to stomach. “I’m sure.” A determined smile flickered in my eyes. 3. I found the owner of the earring, Sophie Evans. She was very beautiful, the top sales associate at C-brand. In the Cheater’s Club, she had become Eduardo’s trophy. The moment she saw me, she recognized me. “Hello, I’m here to return something.” I smiled and nodded at her. However, the moment I opened the box, her professional smile froze on her face. Inside the box was the earring I had taken from Eduardo’s tie. “You know already?” Sophie looked at me, a sharp glint in her eyes. Soon, a smile touched her eyes again. “If it weren’t for me, you would never have known this in your life. You should thank me for letting you know your ‘honest’ husband is cheating.” “Women still need to love themselves.” “Survival of the fittest, you’re out.” “Mrs. Miller, as a fellow woman, I’m giving you a chance to leave with dignity.” Sophie looked down on me, her eyes full of youthful brilliance. “Do you really like other people’s things that much?” “Ms. White, I’m ten years younger than you, that’s my capital.” “My value is much higher than yours. You know a woman’s appearance depreciates with age.” “Did you know? Your husband isn’t just an ordinary company employee; he’s the general manager.” “You, you’re not worth his investment. If you were smart, you’d step aside sooner.” “Is that so?” I looked at the young Sophie. Her appearance wouldn’t even rank as low-grade among the succubus clan. Using looks to gain human love is a low-level succubus tactic. “Ms. Evans, what makes you so sure?” “Mrs. Miller, I’m ten years younger than you. That’s capital.” I looked at her, a hint of sarcasm flashing in my eyes. According to the succubus covenant, to regain my identity, I had to win back my unfaithful husband. That meant making him betray Sophie. “No wonder you’d believe a man like that.” Through her, I also saw my ten-year-younger self. “You’re being too naive.” Ten years, so much had changed. Not just me, but Eduardo too. I smiled, looking at the figure behind her. “Husband, what a coincidence.” 4. “Luna, weren’t you with Leo for the parent-child event? What are you doing here…” Eduardo’s eyes held a hint of awkwardness. “Didn’t I tell you last time that I wanted a new bag?” “Today, I specifically came to have a look. This old bag has been with me for so many years; it’s time for a change.” “Do you have any recommendations?” I looked at Sophie, a hint of a smile in my eyes. “Madam, you’ve certainly come at the right time today.” “As it happens, we’ve just launched a new bag, designed by a renowned international designer. Both its interior and exterior are top-notch.” “Madam, that bag of yours must be a ten-year-old model, isn’t it? So old and worn, the inside is probably already falling apart.” Sophie looked at me meaningfully. A hint of sarcasm flickered in my eyes as I looked at Eduardo. Isn’t that right? As Sophie walked past Eduardo with the bag, she deliberately brushed against him. Eduardo stiffened. However, I acted as if I hadn’t noticed. “Oh?” “But actually, I still prefer older styles.” I looked at the bag on the shelf, saying with a cheerful smile. “After all, the newer these luxury items are, the more easily they become outdated and depreciate.” “Classic styles, though old, hold eternal value.” Sophie gritted her teeth. “Sir, what do you think?” After looking at the price on the shelf, which was several times higher, Eduardo quickly made up his mind. “Honey, I think this new one is better. The old style is completely outdated. You should try something new. Anyway, once I make more money, you can change bags whenever you want.” “Then, Ms. Evans, please wrap it up.” I brushed my hair back, smiling at Sophie. Sophie’s eyes held a hint of jealousy. This bag was not cheap. This damn old woman. Once Eduardo divorced, wouldn’t all this be hers anyway? In the passenger seat, I frowned, noticing the adjusted mirror and a lipstick case lying on the floor. Eduardo seemed to sense my unusual behavior, and a dark flicker crossed his eyes. He was facing a promotion recently. If news of his affair and divorce got out now, his position as vice president, after being general manager, would be in jeopardy. Sophie was too impatient! “This bag isn’t cheap. It costs several months of our household expenses. You just bought it, just like that?” I suddenly looked at him with a half-smile. “Honey, it’s all worth it. You’ve given so much to this family. It’s just a bag. Even if it were stars in the sky, your husband would try his best to pluck them for you.” Eduardo said, a hint of financial pain in his eyes. “In the future, there will be more and more. You deserve the best.” “I’ve been neglecting you these past few days.” Eduardo continued to whisper sweet nothings, and a hint of sarcasm flickered in my eyes. Anyone would say that Eduardo, at this moment, was a perfect husband. It turned out that the most captivating thing wasn’t beautiful skin, but the deadly, gentle trap a man weaves for you. The next day, I went to the bank. Sure enough, after checking all the numbers, another sum of money was missing from my savings account. It was exactly the price of yesterday’s bag. Using a woman’s money to make her grateful was another one of his excellent strategies shared in the cheating group. A cold glint flickered in my eyes. To avoid alerting him, I took the bag to a pawn shop. “Madam, your bag is a fake. We can’t pawn it.” The pawn shop manager said cautiously. This marriage, already shattered beyond repair, now only consisted of mutual deception. Meanwhile, on the other end, Sophie held her new bag, doting on it. “Don’t be angry, you know I’m in a career growth period right now.” “You’re the only one in my heart. That old hag at home can’t even compare to you. My love and money will all be yours in the end.” Young girls are harder to appease. But as long as you make her believe you’re spending all your money on her, she’s easy to win over. In the evening, I helped Eduardo in the Cheater’s Club, sharing his insights and answering the group members’ doubts on his behalf. How could I not know what he was thinking? “Still, the Minister hits the nail on the head.” “The Minister is the most amazing one, isn’t she? I thought she had retired from the game!” “I heard the Minister’s admirers have all risen to prominence, haven’t they?” The group instantly boiled over again. Eduardo, having been the “big brother” in the group for so many years, probably forgot… The original legend wasn’t him at all. I smiled, turning off my phone screen. Looking at the private message friend request, I knew the fish had taken the bait.

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Opening my eyes, I was back in my childhood bedroom. I had returned to the day my father lied about having terminal brain cancer. This time, I saw through him. In my past life, he had fabricated the illness to steal the college fund my late mother left me. He vanished for a year, while I survived on instant noodles and menial jobs, fearing his medical expenses. He returned with a new wife and a baby boy, claiming she had funded his “recovery.” I was forced into servitude as their live-in maid, catering to my pampered brother. Years later, when that brother needed a heart transplant, my father forged my signature on a donation form. To harvest my heart, he pushed me from a balcony to stage my “accidental” death. 1 I was sitting on the living room rug pretending to do my math homework when the front door swung open. My father stumbled inside, massaging his temples. He collapsed onto the carpet, clutching his head and groaning in theatrical agony. “Massiel, help me,” he wheezed. “Get the painkillers from my drawer.” Watching this familiar, pathetic performance, I did not burst into panicked tears like I had in my previous life. Honestly, I found it almost hilarious. When I did not immediately rush to his side, he started rolling around on the floor, cranking up the volume of his wails. “Massiel, please! My head is going to explode!” In my past life, his Oscar-worthy acting had completely shattered the fragile psyche of a ten-year-old girl. I had cried until my eyes swelled shut, running to fetch my mother’s debit card. I had shoved it into his trembling hands, begging him to take the money, go to a private clinic in Switzerland, and listen to the doctors. I remembered him sitting in a wheelchair at the airport, gently patting my head. He had looked at me with such fake tenderness. “Be a good girl while I am gone, Massiel. Call me if you miss me.” I had watched his cab pull away, sobbing so hard I actually passed out on the sidewalk. A neighbor had to carry me inside. Every morning, I had clutched my mother’s silver locket, praying to God to save him. During the entire year he was gone, he sent me a fifty-dollar grocery card in the first month and then absolutely nothing. I was so fiercely loyal that I never complained. I thought he needed every penny to survive. So, I starved. I wore shoes with holes in the soles, worked illegal hours at a sweaty local laundromat, and wired whatever scraps I saved straight into his account. And my reward? He walked through the front door a year later with Sarah and her fat baby, Oliver. I was so young and naive back then. I actually thanked Sarah for saving my dad’s life. I let her push me around. She hoarded all the good food and expensive toys for Oliver, turning him into a spoiled, overweight tyrant. Meanwhile, I was severely malnourished. I did all the heavy lifting around the house and barely grew an inch. Kids at school used to joke that I looked like a walking twig. I tried to complain to my father once. I just wanted a fair share of the groceries. At first, he gave me a condescending lecture about how older sisters need to make sacrifices. When I pushed the issue, he slapped me across the face. He gave his romance to Sarah, his fatherly love to Oliver, and his explosive rage to me. Because of the endless chores and the emotional abuse, my grades tanked. I never made it to college. Sarah forced me to take a full-time job at a local canning factory. Every Friday, she confiscated my paycheck to fund Oliver’s private school tuition and his brand-new car. Then came Oliver’s heart failure. To save his life, my father pushed me to my death. I was so obedient. I was so desperate for his love. Being murdered by my own flesh and blood for being too compliant was the sickest joke of all. Now that I had a second chance, the blindfold was off. I did not want this toxic, cold-blooded excuse for a family anymore. Of course, directly calling out his lies right now was a terrible move. I was only ten years old. The law would not be on my side. So, I decided to play along. I ran to the drawer, grabbed his aspirin, and rushed to his side, my face masked in perfect concern. “Dad, why are these headaches getting worse?” He swallowed a pill dry and let out a long, tragic sigh. “Massiel, the doctors found a tumor in my brain. The only place that can treat it is a specialized clinic overseas. But I just cannot bear the thought of leaving you alone.” I forced a loud, dramatic sob. “Dad, you have to go! Do not worry about me. I am a big girl. I can take care of myself!” The only difference was that my tears last time were born of sheer terror. Today, I was forcing them out just to hurry the plot along. “Ah, forget it,” he sighed again, laying it on thick. “We just do not have the money for that kind of treatment.” He was waiting for me to offer the debit card. I just kept my head down, crying loudly into my hands, pretending I did not hear the hint. He did not bring it up again. I thought I had dodged the bullet, but when I came home from school the next afternoon, there was a sticky note on the kitchen counter. “Massiel, I am going to Europe for my treatment. I bought you three bulk boxes of instant macaroni. Take care of yourself. Wait for me to come home.” Panic spiked in my chest. I sprinted to my bedroom, dropped to my knees, and pried open the loose floorboard where I kept my mother’s debit card. The space was completely empty. I wiped a dry tear from my cheek, letting out a hollow laugh. What a fantastic father. When his guilt trip failed, he just robbed his own kid blind. Just like my past life, he only left enough cash to cover the water bill for a month. He barely ever called. But this time, I did not wait by the phone. I did not waste a single second worrying about his health. I threw myself into my textbooks. Getting a full-ride scholarship to a top-tier university was my only ticket out of this hellhole. When I ran out of food money, I did my classmates’ science projects for cash and went back to sweeping floors at the bakery. I already knew the drill. A year later, right around Halloween, the front door unlocked. My father stepped into the hallway, looking healthier than ever. Right beside him stood Sarah, rocking a baby boy in her arms. “Come say hi to your new mom,” my father beamed, his face flushed with pride. “And this is your little brother.” I stood at the edge of the hallway, my voice deadpan. “I only have one mother, and she is buried in the cemetery.” His smile instantly hardened into a scowl. “What is wrong with you?” he snapped, stepping forward. “If Sarah had not paid for my medical bills, I would be in a coffin right now. You need to show some respect and be grateful.” I spun on my heel and walked straight to my bedroom. Paid for his bills? What a joke. He took my mother’s life insurance money, rented a nice apartment across town, played house with his mistress, and had a kid. All while I was surviving on instant macaroni and tap water. “You ungrateful little brat!” He chased after me, pounding his fists against my bedroom door. “I have clearly spoiled you! Where are your manners? Is this the garbage they teach you at school?” I stood on the other side of the thin wood, screaming back. “You want to talk about manners? My mother was barely cold in her grave before you went out and knocked up some random woman!” A real tear slipped down my cheek when I said that. I genuinely missed my mom. Instead of backing down, my father lost his mind. “Who gave you the right to speak to me like that? Are you even my daughter?” He delivered a brutal kick to the door, splintering the frame. I could hear Sarah’s sugary, fake voice trying to soothe him. “Let it go, honey. She is just a child. We have plenty of time. A little discipline, and she will learn her place.” A shiver ran down my spine. I knew exactly what her version of discipline looked like. It meant treating me like a pack mule, forcing me to do the laundry, scrub the toilets, and eat whatever scraps they left on their plates. In my past life, there was a day I was so exhausted from doing their chores that I fell asleep at the kitchen table before starting dinner. Sarah had grabbed a wooden flyswatter and whipped my legs raw, then cried to my father, claiming I had attacked her. He had grounded me without even asking for my side of the story. Sure enough, a few days later, Sarah decided to establish her dominance. She cornered me in the kitchen, crossing her arms. “Listen up. From now on, you cook breakfast and dinner. You do the laundry. You mop the floors. And from midnight to three in the morning, you stay awake to feed Oliver so I can sleep.” She offered a sickly sweet smile. “I will also find you a weekend job at the diner downtown. You need to bring in some cash to help out. Your father’s health is delicate, and I have a baby to raise. It is the least you can do.” She tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with malice. “If your dad sees how helpful you are, I am sure he will finally love you.” “I am ten,” I replied coldly. “My only job is to study.” In my past life, I had swallowed my pride and agreed, hoping for crumbs of affection. They only took advantage of me. This time, I looked her dead in the eye and refused. Her fake smile vanished. “Excuse me?” She snatched a heavy wooden spoon from the counter and swung it hard against my calf. Pain flared up my leg, making me bite my lip to keep from screaming. I shook my head, refusing to back down. She raised the spoon higher, her face twisting in rage. My survival instincts kicked in. I dodged the swing, threw open the front door, and bolted onto the front lawn. She chased right after me, completely unhinged. I sucked in a massive breath and screamed at the top of my lungs. “Help! Please stop hitting me! Do not hurt me, Sarah! Help!” My shrieks echoed through the quiet suburban street. Doors flew open. Neighbors rushed out of their houses, stepping between me and a furious Sarah. Several women from the neighborhood watch immediately scolded her for chasing a terrified child with a makeshift weapon. Someone actually called Child Protective Services. A social worker showed up with a police officer, forcing my father and Sarah to sign a formal warning file right in our living room. Once the authorities left, the house fell into a terrifying silence. My father glared at me, his eyes filled with disgust. “Are you insane? Kids get spanked, it is completely normal! Plus, you are a girl. If you do not learn how to clean a house now, no man is ever going to marry you.” “I thought you said my education was the most important thing?” I shot back. He stammered, caught in his own hypocrisy. Finally, he just muttered that I was a nuisance and sent me to bed without dinner. I locked my door and chewed on a dry pack of ramen, washing it down with tap water. Sarah did not dare hit me again, but the psychological warfare escalated. She would deliberately serve me plain boiled potatoes while she and my father ate roasted chicken. One night, I overheard them drinking wine in the kitchen. My father laughed, “That miserable girl is getting way too rebellious. We just need to break her spirit. Thank God I have a son now. Oliver is going to be a real man someday.” Even though I knew exactly who he was, hearing those words still felt like a knife twisting in my ribs. Tears pooled in my eyes. Did he ever remember holding my mother’s hand on her deathbed, swearing to God he would protect me? He probably erased it from his memory the moment she died. Three blank lines Will Massiel survive the rising tide? What price will her toxic family pay for their cruelty? Unlock the next chapters to read her ultimate revenge! Three blank lines When Oliver turned one, Sarah demanded a family portrait by the ocean. We drove out to a rocky cove. They told me to wait on a jagged rock outcropping while they walked down the shoreline to take pictures with the baby. The wind was biting. I sat there, hugging my knees, watching them smile and pose in the distance. They looked like a picture-perfect family in a magazine. I just wanted to be part of it. Every time I tried to walk over, my father would wave his hand dismissively, yelling at me to stay put. Eventually, they walked so far down the beach that they disappeared behind a cliff. This had happened in my past life too. Eventually, my dad had driven back to pick me up. I wondered if he would do the same this time. I curled up on the cold stone, letting my exhaustion take over. Before my mother died, he used to treat me like a princess. We used to build sandcastles right on this very beach. The memory lulled me into a restless sleep. I woke up shivering violently. The sky was pitch black. The roar of the ocean was deafening. I bolted upright and realized the tide had come in. The ocean had completely swallowed the sand path. I was trapped on a tiny island of rock, surrounded by freezing, violent black water. Panic seized my chest. Did he leave me here to die because I refused to be their slave this time? Tears of pure terror streamed down my face. I cursed myself for holding onto a shred of hope that my father actually cared. Just as the water started splashing over my sneakers, a bright spotlight cut through the fog. A small motorized boat was tearing through the waves toward me. It was the Harbor Patrol. I waved my arms wildly, sobbing in relief. They pulled me onto the boat, wrapping me in a thick thermal blanket. The police called my father. He strolled into the coastal precinct an hour later. When he saw me wrapped in the blanket, sipping hot cocoa, a flash of pure annoyance crossed his face. He marched over and yanked my arm. “I told you to stay exactly where you were! Why did you wander off? You made me search everywhere and wasted police resources!” He was trying to flip the script, pinning the blame on a ten-year-old before dragging me out the door. “Hold it right there,” the desk sergeant barked, stepping out from behind the counter. “You are a grown man. Do not stand in my station and lie to cover your tracks.” The officer glared at my dad. “Do you know how we found her? A local fisherman called it in. He said he saw a little girl sitting on that rock for six straight hours. She never moved an inch, even when the tide came up. He thought she was trying to end her own life.” “So do not tell me she wandered off,” the officer growled. My father’s face turned beet red. He stood there, completely humiliated, unable to form a sentence. “It is the twenty-first century,” the cop continued, his voice dripping with contempt. “You do not get to treat your daughter like garbage just because you finally got a son. Take her home and do your damn job. Because if she makes something of herself one day, she is never going to look back.” “Right, right, of course. I understand completely. I will take better care of her,” my father stammered, forcing a polite smile. The second we stepped out of the precinct into the parking lot, his polite mask dissolved into pure fury. “You useless burden! You could not see us, so you just sat there? Did you do this on purpose to humiliate me in front of the cops? Do you know how bad this makes me look?” He raised his hand, balling his fingers into a fist. I stood my ground, my hands curled into tight fists at my sides. “Did you leave me there hoping the ocean would wash me away?” His hand froze in mid-air. He stared at me for several agonizing seconds, his breathing ragged. He did not say a word. But his silence was the loudest confession I had ever heard.

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Now, the new house had two lunatics. My mother sat slumped on the floor, eyes blank, muttering, “My soul was sucked into the toilet…” Beside her, my brother wore the same vacant look, repeating the same eerie words. Just last night, my mother had been normal. Obsessively, she had retraced every step my brother took before he fell ill, trying to find the cause—until she used that same toilet late at night. It all went back to the first time my brother used the toilet in the new house. When he came out, it was as if his soul had been drained, leaving him deranged. My parents’ world collapsed. They took him to every top psychiatric hospital in the country, but no expert could explain it. Nothing helped. As my parents grew more worn down, older relatives quietly suggested the house might be unlucky—they should get a spiritual master to check. But my parents always refused such things outright. Science had no answers; superstition was rejected. In desperation, my mother made that fatal choice—to relive my brother’s steps. She never expected that when the toilet flushed late that night, the same vortex that stole my brother’s soul would take hers, too. 1 My father realized the gravity of the situation. He put on a stern face and borrowed a hefty sum from relatives, friends, and the bank. He planned to take my brother and mother out of state for treatment first thing this morning. Before leaving, my father sealed all the bathrooms in the house with red bricks and cement, forbidding me from using them. I wanted to go with them, worried that my father couldn’t manage on his own. But my father told me gravely, “You’re about to take your final exams. The family’s entire hope rests on you. Don’t disappoint us.” My legs were frozen in the doorway; I dared not take another step, only watching their figures recede further and further. He was right, the family’s hope rested entirely on me. My father used to be a construction contractor. He had made a tidy sum a few days prior, capitalizing on the booming economy. To give me a better educational environment, he had bought a house in the city. But scarcely had we moved in when this happened. This sudden turn of events completely shattered our peaceful and harmonious little family. By the time I reacted, their backs had already disappeared down the stairwell. I returned to the living room, slumping onto the sofa, staring blankly at the empty room. It was then that a bone-chilling cold washed over me. The house didn’t get much light; every corner I looked at was shrouded in a dull grey. It was strange, but every time I came home, I felt incredibly sleepy. And now, an unstoppable drowsiness was creeping over me. In a state between sleep and wakefulness, I heard the toilet flushing in the bathroom. But the bathroom door had clearly been sealed with red bricks and cement by my father; no one could possibly be using it. How could I hear such a distinct sound of rushing water? To confirm I wasn’t dreaming, I forced myself to sit up, but found I couldn’t move at all. I knew I was experiencing sleep paralysis. When I was studying in the countryside, I often heard my classmates tell stories like this. Back then, I thought they were making it up, but now I believed them. My blood ran cold, my limbs pinned to the sofa, unable to move. Though my eyes were closed, I could clearly perceive everything happening around me. A black, legless figure emerged from the bathroom and floated towards me. When it reached the sofa, it simply collapsed onto my body. I screamed with all my might, struggling until I rolled onto the floor, waking up covered in sweat. The terrifying experience still left me shaken, and then, the rushing sound of the toilet flushing came from the bathroom again. I slowly approached the red brick wall, so nervous I almost forgot to breathe. My ear was pressed tightly against the cold wall when a sudden tapping sound echoed. I jumped back immediately, my heart pounding in my throat. 2 The tapping continued, and that’s when I realized someone was knocking at the door. I took a deep breath, scolding myself for scaring myself. After calming my thoughts, I walked to the door and opened it. A man in a property management vest stood at the doorway, handing me a utility bill. “Are your parents not home?” I nodded. “Well, you’d better contact your parents. Your utility usage is way too high. Pay it as soon as possible.” He mumbled as he turned and went downstairs. I stared at the utility bill, completely bewildered. Our family had been living here for less than half a month. How could we have accumulated such a high water bill? I immediately tried to contact my father, but his phone was constantly unreachable. I didn’t know who else to turn to; all our relatives were back in our hometown. In this city, I had no family, no connections. The living allowance my father left me was only enough for this month. There was nothing I could do; I could only pretend not to see that bill. But it was like a thorn embedded under my skin. During this time, my head was constantly in a daze; I was rarely fully awake. Since transferring to the city school, I had always stayed in the top ten in all my exams. This time, my monthly exam scores even dropped out of the top hundred in the entire school. My homeroom teacher had also noticed something was off with me and had spoken to me several times. But I actually kept dozing off in the teacher’s office. Finally, my homeroom teacher angrily dialed my father’s number. The result was the same; she couldn’t reach my father either. After evening self-study that day, I returned home and looked at the roughly built red brick wall, a deep sense of unease in my heart. I tried my best to use the school restrooms daily, but tonight, my stomach suddenly hurt terribly. I had no choice but to fumble in the dark to the public toilet next to the complex. It was 2:30 AM, the world utterly silent, save for the occasional honk of a passing truck. But it sounded like there were other people in the public toilet. “Why is this person using the toilet here so late at night? Doesn’t he have a bathroom at home?” “I don’t know, maybe the toilet in his house also sucks souls.” “Does he think he’s safe just by coming here?” “How about we drag him down to join us?” … My heart seized up. The voices were coming from the squat toilet beneath me. Now I was truly panicked. I didn’t even stop to wipe myself, quickly pulled up my pants, and rushed out of that public toilet. Back home, the sound of the toilet flushing in my bathroom grew increasingly distinct. I told myself it was coming from next door, forcing myself to try and sleep. But tonight seemed destined to be restless. Just as I was drifting off, from the other side of the cement wall, I heard my brother and mother calling out to me for help. “Leo, Leo, help us.” 3 I struggled to sit up in bed, carefully trying to pinpoint the source of the sound. Leaving my bedroom, I walked into the living room. That pitch-black brick wall still stood out starkly in the darkness. “Leo, help me…” My brother’s voice echoed again, sending a shiver down my spine. I slowly, tremblingly, approached the bathroom. A grating, piercing sound filled the air, like fingers clawing at the wall, tearing flesh until only bone collided with the cold cement. Slowly, a human figure began to emerge on the wall. On its black face, two rows of pristine white teeth were remarkably prominent, gnawing rapidly like a rodent. Soon, it had gnawed a hole in the wall. I thought I was dreaming and quickly rubbed my eyes. When I suddenly opened them, I found it had opened its mouth wide and was aiming for my throat. Instinctively, I swung my fist, punching it hard in the mouth. When my fist slammed against the cold wall, the pain in my hand brought me back to reality. Everything returned to normal. I realized I had been sleepwalking and returned to my room to rest. Because I hadn’t slept well the night before, I dozed off in class today. The teacher once again called me into the office and lectured me. She told me, heartbroken, that if I continued this way, I wouldn’t even get into a decent college. I knew this couldn’t go on, but I just couldn’t control my muddled brain. Since moving into the new house, my life had become a mess. Every time I remembered the distraught, panicked expressions of my mother and brother, tears of heartache would unconsciously fall. Could all of this be caused by the bathroom toilet? Before they lost their minds, they had indeed both used that toilet. If there was nothing wrong with it, my father wouldn’t have sealed it with red bricks and cement. But I had used that bathroom too, hadn’t I? Why was I fine? I had asked my father, but he had stammered and refused to tell me the truth. I thought about it all through evening study and decided to find the answers myself. On the way home from school, I passed a hardware store, went in, and bought a large sledgehammer specifically for demolishing walls. I carried it all the way, attracting many curious glances from passersby. As soon as I got home, I eagerly picked up the sledgehammer and slammed it against the wall, again and again. However, after only a few swings, a neighbor complained to the property management, saying I was disturbing the peace. Under the property management’s interference, I had to postpone my plan. But those few hits weren’t entirely useless; if you looked closely, a crooked crack had appeared in the wall. I found my toolbox and grabbed a suitable tool to widen the crack. Our bathroom window faced the street, and the tall streetlights shone directly into the bathroom, so I didn’t even need to turn on the light when using it at night. I don’t remember how long I picked at it, but piles of cement dust and brick fragments had accumulated on the floor. Until, a beam of light penetrated through the narrow slit. I squinted, looking inside through the crack. What I saw next sent a chill down my spine and is forever etched in my memory. 4 A translucent figure of my mother appeared in the bathroom. Her face was expressionless and pale, devoid of any living aura. She was mechanically moving back and forth between the toilet and the vanity, the sound of the toilet flushing echoing as usual with each press of the flush button. Suddenly, she stopped, stood still, and turned to look at me. Her lips moved, as if speaking, but no sound emerged. After our eyes met, she abruptly vanished. My gut told me something terrible had happened to my mother. The sudden surge of longing brought tears to my eyes. I used to have a happy family, loving parents, and a harmonious relationship with my brother, but all of it had vanished overnight. The more I thought about it, the more enraged I became. All of this was because we moved into this new house. All of this was because of this bathroom. I wiped the tears from my face, then once again swung the sledgehammer, furiously smashing the wall, roaring as I broke every piece of furniture in the house. Soon, the property’s security guards once again knocked on my door in the middle of the night. Three burly men broke in and found me hysterically wielding the sledgehammer, acting like a madman. Before I could calm down, they quickly subdued me on the floor. I struggled fiercely but was injected with a tranquilizer. In my dream, the image of my mother turning her head and whispering kept repeating. I opened my eyes wide, trying hard to see what my mother wanted to tell me. But then she suddenly leaned close to my face. I woke up, startled. As soon as I regained consciousness, I smelled a pungent disinfectant. I struggled to open my eyes, and a blank, idiotic face was pressed against the tip of my nose. “Ah!!!” I screamed, pushing him away! It was then that I realized. The ward was filled with psychiatric patients in blue and white striped uniforms. At that moment, my mind went blank. I wasn’t sick, but I had been confined to a psychiatric hospital. I frantically jumped out of bed, not even bothering to put on my shoes, and rushed to the door, desperately pounding on the locked ward door. “Let me out!” “I’m not sick! Let me out!” A nurse heard the commotion, walked over, opened a small iron window on the door, and yelled inside. “Stop shouting! Everyone locked in here says they’re not sick.” I quickly retorted, “Who sent me in? I can confront them!” “Your guardian, of course! Otherwise, our hospital wouldn’t admit you.” I froze. Could my father have returned? I wanted to ask more questions, but the nurse slammed the small iron window shut and walked away without looking back. I sank to the floor, burying my hands in my hair and rubbing it agitatedly. No, I can’t be held here for no reason. I have to get out! I need to find my family! I stood up and frantically tugged at the door, then lifted a chair and smashed the glass window, intending to jump out. In an instant, the ward became a chaotic mess, and several curious patients who had gathered were injured in the process. Soon, five or six medical staff members entered through the door, pinned me to the ground, and gave me another tranquilizer. After the medication wore off, I woke up again to find myself confined in an iron cage, my ankles shackled. A male doctor in a white coat approached me, holding a record book. His ID badge read, Dr. Miles Hamm, Chief Psychiatrist. “Your manic episode has flared up. Until your condition is under control, you’ll have to remain in here.” I gripped the iron bars tightly, pleading with him as if they were a lifeline. “Dr. Hamm, I’m truly not sick. I’ve been misdiagnosed. My emotions were indeed very agitated just now, but that was because I was scared.” Dr. Hamm adjusted his glasses, saying calmly, “Every patient with mania has said that.” Hearing that, my vision blurred. Dr. Hamm jotted down a few things, then turned to leave. I quickly called out, “Dr. Hamm, at least tell me, who sent me here? Who signed the admission papers?” Dr. Hamm paused but didn’t turn around. “Your father.” My heart, like the doctor’s fading footsteps, gradually sank into an icy abyss. Because I had trashed the ward, I was “rewarded” with a solitary cage, and the noise around me lessened considerably. I lay on the simple hospital bed, staring at the ceiling. Perhaps it was due to having slept, but my mind was much clearer now than when I was at home. Previously blurred memories gradually became distinct. Perhaps, my father had been acting strangely even then. When my mother and brother went to the bathroom late at night, the light on the balcony was on, and my father wasn’t asleep. The balcony and my bedroom were on the same side, so if the balcony light was on, it shone into my room. I got up, intending to pull the curtains shut, when a waft of smoke reached me on the breeze. Then I heard my father speaking softly on the phone. “Why are you in such a hurry? I promised you I wouldn’t say anything.” “But my youngest son, he doesn’t know anything…” I heard my father mention me. Just as I was about to stick my head out to listen carefully, my head accidentally bumped the screen window, making a sound, and my father’s voice abruptly stopped. Moreover, since my mother and brother fell ill, he had kept the matter hidden, using other excuses to borrow money. There were too many suspicious points about my father. Only by finding him could I understand the whole story and the truth. I walked to the ward window, looking at the hospital’s towering outer walls and strict guards. The urgent matter at hand was to escape from here first. But if my father was the one who put me in here, and he was determined to keep me locked up, paying the hospital on time, then there was no way I could get out. Even if I wasn’t sick, they would say I was. Unless I made a big scene.

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