Category: English

After Ethan Thompson and I started dating, he blocked his ex-girlfriend, Scarlett Hayes, on all platforms. But every time she got drunk, she’d show up outside our apartment building and cause a massive scene, pounding on the door and ringing the doorbell incessantly, until he came down. As soon as the lights went out, he had to go downstairs. They were always on a collision course, clashing like rivals since their dating days, and they’d argue intensely over the smallest things, each cursing louder and fouler than the last. I had long grown used to it. But this time, the usual war of words escalated. Scarlett straddled him, her fists and kicks showing no mercy. Furious, I rushed over and pushed her away, only to receive a harsh slap in return. Just as I was about to retaliate, Ethan clamped down on my wrist. He helped Scarlett up from the ground, his eyes overflowing with concern: “Did you hurt yourself when you fell?” When he turned to me, there was only harsh criticism: “She’s had too much to drink, why would you push her?!” I stared blankly at the man who allowed another woman to cling to him and throw a drunken tantrum. Suddenly, I understood. When a man says he hates a girl he’s dated, that girl is actually the one he can’t forget.

Ethan and Scarlett had been entangled for seven years, and their breakup was anything but amicable. I had been living in Ethan’s apartment for three years, and Scarlett had been causing trouble for three years. At first, she secretly made a spare key and, when he wasn’t home, stole the dog they had raised together. Ethan spent three days tracking her down, finally retrieving the dog from a rental in the suburbs. Later, she attached a miniature device to the bottom of his car. Every time we drove out, the car’s GPS would loop the voice message of Ethan confessing his feelings to her from back in the day. After that, every time she drank, she’d come to our building and cause a huge scene, pounding on the door and ringing the doorbell incessantly, until he came down. Such was the tangled mess of their love and hate. Ethan would clench his teeth in anger every time, swearing he’d cut ties with her completely. Yet he never truly pursued any action against her. This time, I was the one who got hit. But she was clinging to him, still sobbing, her face streaked with tears. Ethan didn’t look at me. He didn’t even ask if I was hurt. He just held her patiently in his arms, comforting her in a soft, low voice: “There, there, it’s okay now. I’m here, stop crying.” “I hate you, Ethan!” Scarlett clung to him, feigning drunkenness, tearing and biting at him. Ethan was a severe germaphobe. He couldn’t stand physical contact with others. Every time I tried to kiss him, he’d turn his head. Frowning, he’d say, “Chloe, cut it out, it’s not hygienic.” But now. She wrapped her arms around his neck, her wet kisses landing on his cheek, his neck, the corner of his lips. The sounds of her wet kisses were jarring. He didn’t pull away. Even when she bit his Adam’s apple, he only let out a muffled groan and tightened his arms around her. “Chloe, don’t mind her, she’s had too much to drink.” He finally spared me a glance. “You go on back to sleep. I’ll take her home.” With that, he lifted her into his arms and turned to leave. Scarlett lay on his shoulder, her previously closed eyes suddenly opening. There was no trace of drunkenness in those eyes, only triumph. She looked over his shoulder at me, a defiant smirk playing on her lips. As if to say, “See? I won again.” I watched Ethan’s retreating figure. It was strange; he seemed to have lost his light. I had tried hard to convince myself that for a crazy woman like Scarlett, Ethan felt nothing but disgust. It wasn’t until this moment, watching him carry her away and disappear around the street corner, that I finally understood. His fondness for her was almost physiological. It would always override his reason.

That slap couldn’t be for nothing. I immediately called the police. The siren’s wail quickly pierced the quiet of the neighborhood. Scarlett sobered up instantly, lunging at me like a maniac, trying to scratch me, but the police officers handcuffed her arms behind her. She screamed as she was shoved into the patrol car. Ethan’s usually impassive face was almost contorted with panic. “It’s a complete misunderstanding! She’s my friend, she was drunk and emotionally unstable, that’s why she lashed out at me! We can sort this out at home…” The officer explained, “A victim, Ms. Chloe, reported an assault. We need to take her back to the station to verify the details.” “What victim?” Ethan whipped his head around, his gaze like an ice pick, piercing right through me. He looked like he wanted to skin me alive. “Chloe! Are you seriously going to take this that far?!” My cheek was still swollen, and I looked at him coldly. “Ethan! Save me! No!” Scarlett cried out from the car. Ethan was burning with anxiety, pounding on the car window: “Scarlett, don’t be scared! I’ll be right there!” He ignored me, started his car, and sped after the police vehicle. I went to the hospital and got a medical report for the injury. All the way, my phone vibrated frantically. When I didn’t answer, messages popped up one after another. All from Ethan, demanding answers. [Answer the phone.] [Why did you call the police? Scarlett was drunk, it wasn’t intentional, and besides, you pushed her first!] [Go to the police station right now and drop the case.] [If she gets a criminal record, her life will be ruined. Can’t you be a little kinder?] Kinder. I touched my still-throbbing cheek and made a decision in my heart. Back at Ethan’s apartment, I pulled out my suitcase. Three years, but not many personal items. I neatly folded my clothes, and threw away my used toothbrush. Finally, I opened Ethan’s laptop. I deleted the few, precious photos of us together from his cloud storage. Those were the only few photos from our three years together, proof that I hadn’t imagined this relationship. The login ID auto-filled. The page refreshed, and just as I was about to delete, I clicked on the folder named “Archive” by some strange impulse. The mouse wheel scrolled down. No end in sight. Over ten thousand photos. All of them Scarlett. Waves crashing, she ran barefoot on the beach, the camera capturing her flying hair as she looked back. Cherry blossoms like snow, she stood under a tree laughing joyfully, his hand reaching out to support her waist. In a field of flowers, he held a cake, gazing at her deeply, his eyes brighter than starlight. Their past was intimate and unrestrained. And me? Three years into our relationship, I always felt like a shadow. I used to think trust was the most important thing in a relationship. He blocked all her contact methods, hated her so much he wouldn’t even order her favorite dishes or listen to her favorite songs. That meant it was completely over. I had strong self-esteem; I wouldn’t snoop, I hadn’t even asked for his phone password. Even if his replies to my messages were always brief and cold. Even if I gave him gifts, he would always give gifts of similar value in return. I lied to myself, thinking it was his politeness and boundaries. But now, the screen displayed countless saved chat logs, like a giant spiderweb. That was their daily life back then. He’d say: [I saw a cat on the street today, it looked a lot like yours.] She’d say: [The clouds today look like marshmallows, you have to buy them for me after work.] He’d say: [My little greedy cat.] Meaningless chatter back and forth, he’d reply to all of it. Even when they fought, he’d write lengthy messages, every word carefully chosen, arguing with her endlessly. He even gave her his salary card, playfully begging her: [Babe, can I have some spending money?] I looked at those photos, those records. It felt like a dull blow to my chest. A long, sinking feeling of helplessness washed over me. It wasn’t that he didn’t understand romance, or that he was inherently cold. It was just that his passion, his indulgence, his boundless affection, he had always been stingy about sharing even an ounce of it with me. To him, I was always dispensable. That’s why, with me, he thought even arguing was a waste of time. I closed the laptop. The moment the screen went black, it reflected my pale face and swollen red eyes. My phone buzzed on the table, its screen lighting up and darkening. Ethan sent another message: [I’ll wait for you for half an hour. If you don’t come drop the case, we’re breaking up.]

The elevator doors slowly closed. I looked down at my phone screen, his threat pricking my eyes like needles. For three years, he had always been a decent boyfriend. It was only when Scarlett was involved that every argument between us felt like he became a different person. I remembered last week, he waited in line for half an hour to buy the drink I wanted. Just as he handed it to me, Scarlett appeared. She stopped us, pouting petulantly: “I want one too, Ethan. You promised you’d only ever buy drinks for one woman – me.” Without a word, he took the cup from my hand, inserted the straw, and handed it to her. I looked at my empty hand, but he casually put his arm around me: “It’s just a coffee, give it to her, or she’ll make a scene again.” In our second year of dating, I took him home for the first time. My parents prepared for three days, cooking a table full of his favorite dishes. Halfway to my place, Scarlett called, saying her car had been in an accident. He turned the car around and left. I was left alone with a table full of cold food and my parents’ awkward silence. Later, he coaxed me: “She’s never handled these things before, don’t be mad. I’ll make it up to your parents another day.” When that “another day” came, he was having dinner with my parents. His phone rang, an unknown number. He stood up to answer it, speaking into the screen with extreme impatience: “Scarlett, are you done yet? What is it now?” My mom’s hand, holding a dish, froze in mid-air, and my dad put down his wine glass. After he hung up, I quietly reminded him that it wasn’t very polite. He frowned, stating matter-of-factly: “If I don’t answer, she won’t stop. Your family won’t mind this.” Our biggest argument erupted when I had acute appendicitis. I was about to go into surgery, when Scarlett called, drunkenly screaming, “If you don’t come in ten minutes, I’m ordering three male escorts.” He hesitated for three seconds, then chose her. When I woke up, he was standing by my hospital bed, looking exhausted, with blood marks from her scratches still on his neck. He explained: “She was drunk, I was afraid she’d do something she’d regret.” “You’re fine now, aren’t you? I’ll take time off to take care of you for the next few days.” They say a good ex should be like they’re dead. But his ex was everywhere. Like air, like a virus. Every time, he’d say dismissively: “I’m annoyed too, what can I do?” Making me feel like I was the petty, unreasonable villain. The elevator descended, the numbers constantly changing. I sent Ethan one last message. [Okay, let’s break up.]

No matter what Ethan sent me next, I firmly refused to reply. Of course, I didn’t go to drop the case. But the next morning, a call woke me up. Through the receiver, Scarlett’s voice was triumphant, almost floating. “Chloe, so what if you called the police? Ethan still couldn’t bear to see me suffer!” “He contacted his dad last night and bailed me out.” I instantly sobered up. Ethan and his estranged father, who had abandoned his family, hadn’t spoken in over a decade. It was the deepest scar on his heart. Now, for Scarlett, for a mere 48-hour detention, he had humbled himself to beg that man. Seeing my silence, her laughter grew even more jarring. “Doesn’t that count as Ethan publicly slapping you in the face?” “So what if you’re his girlfriend? His first choice, the one he loves, will always be me.” I hung up the phone, and the screen lit up. It was a screenshot of Scarlett’s Ins story. That private list, visible only to three people, was once filled with her presence. When he was with her, he updated it daily. Sweet moments, arguments, making up—all updated. But for me, he had never officially announced my existence, saying only that showing affection on social media was childish. For every one of their anniversaries, he would meticulously prepare surprises. Because he was afraid “my little princess wouldn’t be happy, and would cause a scene again.” Yet for our three anniversaries, he was absent due to Scarlett’s various dramas. I once tried acting out like Scarlett. He frowned impatiently: “Chloe, I broke up with her precisely because I was tired of her capriciousness. Are you going to be like that too?” I loved him too much, so I could only swallow my grievances and back down. At noon, the lock turned. Ethan came in, carrying a large bouquet of champagne roses. Seeing the unpacked suitcase in the hallway, he smiled helplessly. “Baby, yesterday was my fault. I spoke out of turn.” He walked closer to me, his tone indulgent as he explained. “I didn’t mean to favor her. You know her personality; I was worried she’d keep causing trouble if you hit her back.” “You’re usually so gentle, you’d get the short end of the stick in a fight.” I looked at him, feeling both absurd and amused. My 6’1″, eight-pack-abs boyfriend was right there. But I still took a slap for nothing, didn’t I? “So, you sought out the person you despise the most, to bail her out?” At the mention of that man, Ethan’s expression hardened. “If you hadn’t insisted on making such a big deal out of it, would I have gone to beg him?” “Scarlett’s mom and my mom are best friends, we grew up together. Now my girlfriend put her in a police station, how are our families going to interact in the future? What will my mom think of you?!” “I used to think you were sensible, but this time, you just acted so recklessly.” He kept talking. “Chloe, does it make sense for you to always be jealous because of her? That’s just her personality, you know I’ve blocked her, what else can I do?” Listening to his string of accusations, my heart grew colder. Yes, he had blocked all her contact information. But he never missed a call from those unknown numbers. “You should go.” I heard myself say. “I agree to break up.” “I already said I was impulsive and spoke wrong. Can’t you just let it go?” He tugged irritably at his collar. “Chloe, I’ve told you many times, I will never get back with Scarlett. Her temper is too fiery, we simply can’t make it work.” Saying this, he took a velvet box from his pocket and opened it. Inside was the diamond ring we had custom-made together. “Once we’re married, she’ll finally give up and stop bothering us.” “From the day I started dating you three years ago, I knew you were the perfect wife for me.” I looked at the diamond ring I had dreamed of so many times. Now, the light it reflected was no longer dazzling, only blinding. He said so many words about “suitable,” “wife,” and “stability,” but he never once mentioned love. The refusal was on my lips when my phone rang at an inconvenient moment. It was my mom. Her voice was excited and relieved. “Ethan just brought so many gifts to the house, and he and your dad set the engagement date. This weekend sounds good.” I was stunned, instinctively refusing: “Mom, I don’t want to, it’s too rushed…” “You child, you’ve been together for three years, it’s time to move forward. What more could you want from a good man like him?” Mom’s rambling faded as she hung up. Ethan hugged me from behind, resting his chin on the top of my head. “Your mom is very happy about our engagement.” His voice was coaxing: “She just slapped you, right? I’ll let you hit me back for her, as much as you want, okay?” “Let’s not quarrel over such a small thing.” I remembered my mom, just a while ago, wiping away tears and holding my hand when she found out she needed heart surgery: “Mom’s biggest worry is that no one will take care of you.” I stood there blankly, letting him slide the ring onto my ring finger. Like a beautiful set of shackles.

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While applying for colleges, I got a video call from my future self. The woman in the video looked utterly exhausted, screaming: “Don’t give up Harvard for Ethan! No one should ruin your future!” “Ethan truly loves Lily Smith, not you. They secretly agreed to get married right after college. Everyone knows about it!” I froze for a few seconds, then quickly changed all my applications to Harvard. Seeing me finish, the woman in the video visibly relaxed. She then leaned closer to the camera, speaking faster, “Go buy a lottery ticket tomorrow. The numbers are 122033, and buy ten of them! This money will completely change your fate.” “Also, no matter who tries to persuade you, don’t sell the old house Grandma left you. This area is scheduled for urban redevelopment soon.” “In two years, Horizon Tech’s stock will skyrocket a hundredfold before being delisted.” “What you need to do is buy heavily into it on May 6th, 2024, to bottom-feed.” “Eighteen-year-old Chloe Smith, you absolutely must save yourself from this mess. You must seize this opportunity and live a life of success.” As soon as she finished speaking, the video cut off, and my phone went completely black. I murmured, “I will.”

My bedroom was so quiet I could hear my own breathing. I stared intently at my phone, which was now just a black screen, my heart pounding. What had just happened felt like a dream. Compared to my youthful crush on Ethan, the undeniable regret and exhaustion in my future self’s eyes were like a bucket of ice water poured over my head, snapping me wide awake. My hands trembling, I pulled a notebook from my drawer and carefully wrote down the lottery numbers. Below them, I marked in red — “Don’t sell Grandma’s house, Horizon Tech.” After I finished, I let out a long breath. Just then, my phone buzzed with a SnapChat message from Ethan: [You changed your college applications to Texas College, right? Lily loves the ocean, so we’ll both go with her to the coast.] Lily’s message followed immediately: [Chloe, Ethan said you’d come to college with me and take care of me.] [Thanks! You really are the best sister in the world.] My gaze fell on the constantly popping up messages on my phone screen, and I slowly closed my eyes. Ethan was my childhood sweetheart, we grew up together. Lily was my half-sister. Half a month after my mom passed away, Dad brought Lily and her mom home. That’s when I found out I had a sister, Lily, who was only half a month younger than me. Grandma was worried I’d be mistreated, so she took me in and raised me. It wasn’t until Grandma passed away that I was sent back to live with Dad. Dad felt guilty and tried to make it up to me in every way possible, giving me more allowance than Lily. My stepmom was relatively kind; at least, she didn’t overtly make things difficult for me. Lily, on the other hand, loved sticking by my side, always telling everyone she had a super-smart older sister who aced everything. But after that phone call, I realized these people might not be worth it. My life, my future, should be my only pursuit, something I should give my all for. Perhaps seeing that I hadn’t replied for a long time, Ethan called directly. “Chloe, what’s going on? College applications are almost due. Have you even—” “Don’t worry, I’ve filled them out.” My voice was calm. Hearing this, the person on the other end of the line let out a sigh of relief. Then came Lily’s sweet and lively cheer, “Yay! That’s great! The three of us can be together again!” Lily’s voice was as innocent and harmless as it had been countless times before—she was a girl who truly grew up surrounded by love. Before, I would have thought that Lily depending on me and Ethan being by my side was the best thing ever. But now, I just felt a bitter irony. On the other end of the line, Ethan was completely at ease, his tone as gentle and confident as ever. “Chloe, I knew you’d be the most understanding.” “Texas College has a nice environment and is close to home. It’ll be convenient for all three of us to come back on holidays, much better than going thousands of miles north.” He always took things for granted. He never considered that I could have gone to Harvard and had a brilliant future. But thankfully, it wasn’t too late. I washed up and went to bed. I had a dreamless night. The next day, as soon as it was light, I woke up with a start. In my mind, that string of numbers, enough to rewrite my destiny, flashed over and over, perfectly clear. I quickly changed, not even stopping for breakfast, and rushed out the door, heading straight for the nearest lottery store. The morning breeze was cool, dispelling the summer heat. I walked up to the counter and recited the numbers I knew by heart: “Excuse me, I want to buy 122033, ten lines.”

Five minutes later, I walked out of the lottery store. I carefully folded the ten thin lottery tickets and put them into my pocket, close to my body. I unconsciously clenched my hand, my fingertips trembling slightly. Before yesterday, I was willing to sacrifice my own future for Ethan and Lily. But now, I only cared about myself. As I walked towards the apartment building. I vaguely heard rustling sounds from the lawn ahead. “Lily, let me hug you. I’ve missed you so much.” It was Ethan’s voice. Then came the sound of clothes rubbing together, and wet kissing sounds. I was about to walk past when I heard Ethan’s voice again, “Chloe is such a tag-along, always clinging to us. Good thing she’s not around today, or we wouldn’t have any alone time.” “You’re so bad, don’t talk about Chloe like that.” Lily’s coquettish voice followed. Ethan chuckled, taking over with a spoiled tone, “Okay, okay, we won’t talk about her.” “But Lily, we can’t go public yet. Chloe wouldn’t be able to handle it.” Lily sniffled, a little wronged, “Okay, I know. Chloe is so pitiful, and she’s always liked you a lot.” “Chloe is sensitive, fragile, and has a weird personality. She’s always disliked me. In her subconscious, Mom and I are the culprits who destroyed her family.” “But I actually like her.” Ethan sighed. “Lily, you’re just too kind. No matter what, you’re innocent.” I didn’t listen any further, turning and quickening my pace. To say I wasn’t sad at all would be a lie. Ethan was my most important friend when I was a child. Even after Dad took me back, my connection with Ethan never broke. He would worry about me being bullied, constantly reminding me to watch out for my stepmom, almost like he had paranoia. [Chloe, you have to be careful of your stepmom. She doesn’t look like a good person; that’s how it always goes in TV dramas.] [You should be careful of your dad too. After all, a new mom often means a new dad.] [That sister of yours isn’t simple either. A child born from an affair—what good could come from that?] [Chloe, if you get bullied, tell me, and I’ll rush over to save you that very night.] [We’re childhood sweethearts; I’ll be your strongest support.] Later in high school, Ethan threw tantrums at home to protect me, absolutely insisting on coming to the same school as me. … I took a deep breath. Compared to that slight melancholy, what filled my heart was the wild joy of impending destiny change. Back home, I buried myself in my room. By then, it was 8:50 AM. The lottery drawing was less than half an hour away. I reached into my pocket and touched the lottery tickets, feeling like I was holding a scorching hot fire-ball. Just then, someone knocked on my door. I opened it. It was Ethan who knocked, with Lily standing beside him. Seeing me, Lily immediately flashed a sweet smile, walked over, and linked her arm through mine, her voice soft, innocent, and spoiled, “Chloe, where did you go this morning? Ethan and I waited for you forever.” Ethan frowned at me, his eyes filled with worry and confusion, “What’s wrong with you? You haven’t replied to any messages all day. Do you know how worried we were about you?” “Didn’t check my phone.” I said dismissively. Ethan paused slightly, the tenderness in his eyes fading a bit, a flicker of annoyance crossing his brows. But soon, his brow smoothed, and he chuckled, “You’re throwing a fit because we asked you to apply to Texas College, aren’t you? Chloe, you’re so stubborn.” “Honestly, if you really didn’t want to, who could force you? But you can’t agree verbally and then secretly resent us.”

Lily quickly stepped between Ethan and me, playing the peacemaker, “Okay, okay, both of you say less.” She looked back at me, her voice soft and coaxing, “Chloe, we’re going on a trip. Are you coming? The SATs are finally over; shouldn’t we relax?” I subtly pulled my hand back. “No, I’m not interested.” The air hung heavy. But I didn’t pay them any more attention, turning back into my bedroom and closing the door. At this point, there were only five minutes left until the draw. The two outside seemed to say something else, but I couldn’t hear it. My gaze returned to the lottery draw page. The countdown ticked down, with only three minutes remaining. I pulled out the ten lottery tickets I had kept close to me, my hands trembling, and spread them out on the table. At 9:15 AM sharp, the numbers were drawn. Every single digit matched. In an instant, my blood surged, boiling hot! I stared intensely at the screen. A single winning ticket was ten million. Ten winning tickets meant a hundred million. After taxes, I’d have a solid eighty million dollars. The next morning, I put on the most inconspicuous baggy hoodie, a baseball cap, and a mask, then grabbed my ID and the lottery tickets to claim my prize. I arrived at the state lottery center around 11 AM. Following the procedures I had looked up in advance, I cooperated with the staff to complete registration, tax payment, and bank transfer. Two hours later, eighty million dollars were transferred into my newly opened exclusive bank account. Looking at the long string of numbers, I could barely suppress my smile. Indeed, money solves ninety-nine percent of problems. Perhaps because of the unpleasant argument the night before, Ethan seemed to be giving me a “lesson” and didn’t contact me all day. Lily, however, sent me a message: “Chloe, are you unhappy?” “No.” I replied. She clearly didn’t believe me but didn’t ask further. I got home in the evening. As soon as I opened the door, a heavy, oppressive atmosphere hit me. Dad sat on the sofa, smoking, his face full of worry, looking tired and anxious. My stepmom, Mrs. Jenkins, sat beside him, sighing frequently, her eyes red-rimmed. Lily sat close to Mrs. Jenkins, her eyes downcast. I changed my shoes as usual and walked over calmly. Hearing my movement, Dad looked up, speaking with some difficulty, “Chloe, you’re back. Dad needs to talk to you about something.” I looked at him, my gaze utterly calm. I could already guess what he was going to say. Sure enough, Dad spoke again, “The factory ran into big trouble. We’re having cash flow problems, and if this keeps up, we might… go bankrupt.” Mrs. Jenkins immediately chimed in, “Chloe, you’re a sensible girl. You know how important this factory is to our family. If it goes under, we’ll all struggle.” “The most urgent thing now is to cash out quickly and plug the hole!” With that, Mrs. Jenkins rushed over, grabbed my hand, and said urgently, “Chloe, the old house your grandma left you is in a great location, right next to the commercial district. We’ve checked; it can sell for at least five million, which is just enough to cover the debt.” I pulled my hand back, not a ripple of emotion in my eyes. My future self had repeatedly warned me to hold onto that old house. Seeing my silence, Dad grew more anxious, “Chloe, we’re family. You can’t just ignore us when the family is in trouble. That old house is sitting empty; it’s a waste to keep it. We might as well sell it for an emergency.” “Once Dad gets through this, I’ll definitely compensate you.” Lily looked at me with teary eyes, “Chloe…” I looked up, my gaze sweeping over the family of three before me, and slowly said, “Okay.” At my words, their eyes lit up, and smiles appeared on their faces. Dad chuckled, “I knew Chloe would be the most understa—” But I cut him off directly, calmly throwing out a question, “But I have one question: this factory that needs me to sell my house to save it, in the future, who will it go to?”

As soon as the words left my mouth, the living room fell into dead silence. Lily suddenly looked up at me, biting her lip tightly. Dad’s smile froze, momentarily speechless. The gentle, sincere expression on Mrs. Jenkins’s face completely vanished. She stared hard at me, saying nothing. In that eerie and awkward atmosphere, I smiled. My laughter was jarringly out of place. Everyone knew the answer to that question. All the family’s assets and savings were implicitly reserved for Lily. They wanted me to sell the house Grandma left me to save the family business that would eventually belong to Lily. That night, I used it as an excuse to pack my bags and move out. Before I left, Dad’s figure seemed to slump significantly. He asked me, “Chloe, you never truly forgave me, did you?” I paused for a moment. No, I never did. All these years, I’d acted indifferent, trying to fit in with this family. But all of that was just a means for me to survive. That night, I returned to Grandma’s old house. I tidied up a bit and then crashed, falling into a deep sleep. Perhaps because I had been so stressed these past few days, I slept like a log until 2 PM the next day. Just after I finished eating, the doorbell rang. It was Ethan. He actually came to make up. “Chloe, can we stop this cold war? You haven’t spoken to me in days; I can’t take it.” “Okay, okay, I admit it was my fault. I neglected you.” “How about this: after our test results come out, we’ll go on a trip. I’ll go anywhere you want, just you and me.” I looked at him with some surprise. Ethan met my gaze, his ears slightly red, “I used to think you clung to me too much, making me feel suffocated. But these past few years, with you ignoring me, I feel even worse.” I couldn’t help but frown. Ethan, lost in his own emotions, smiled and reached out to ruffle my hair, “We promised each other we’d be together forever.” I took a step back, spreading my hands. “My dad once said that to my mom too, but he cheated on her while she was pregnant.” My words were too blunt, making Ethan flinch. He instinctively retorted, “But Lily is innocent; she can’t help how she was born.” I stared at him for a long time. How could I have ever liked someone like this? I then turned and closed the door. I wouldn’t stop for unworthy people anymore. In the following days, Dad and Mrs. Jenkins still didn’t give up. Annoyed, I directly asked in the family SnapChat group—”You need money to plug the hole, so why don’t you sell all the gold jewelry at home? Why don’t you sell the cars and house? You’re just waiting to take advantage of me, aren’t you!” My words were too blunt and harsh. It caused a stir in the extended family chat. Dad, being thin-skinned, left the group that day. Mrs. Jenkins then played the victim in the group, claiming how good she had been to me, but I had never truly accepted her. Of course, doing so only made the relatives scold her even more. As for Lily, the beneficiary, she remained silent. Ethan wasn’t someone who would pester endlessly. After being treated that way last time, he also felt angry. For a long time, he didn’t appear before me again. I was happy with the peace. About half a month later, acceptance letters for college started arriving for my classmates. The class SnapChat group was lively every day. Everyone was excitedly looking forward to college life. I also received my acceptance letter—it was from Harvard University. I looked at the letter, my fingertips tracing the school name over and over, my eyes moist. Ethan, who hadn’t spoken to me in a long time, called me proactively, “Are you still mad? You should have gotten your Texas College acceptance letter by now. We’ll be going to college together, you know.” I raised an eyebrow and said, “Who told you I was going to Texas College with you?”

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The day I discovered my husband, Leo, was cheating, his health report arrived, confirming a severely weakened heart. The doctor repeatedly warned me: “Your husband must avoid any strong emotions, especially when it comes to sex. He needs to abstain, or risk sudden death.” I nodded, but the moment I was out of sight, I tore up the report. After that, I played the role of the tender wife, pretending ignorance of his affair, even deliberately creating opportunities for him to cheat. Until one night, Leo died of sudden cardiac arrest while he was with his mistress, Eve. Holding the autopsy report, I faced a sobbing Eve and said, “You murderer, I’ll see you locked up for life!” Watching Eve’s terrified, panicked face, I couldn’t help but smile to myself. His inheritance, plus Eve’s compensation, would soon all be mine. Our seemingly perfect, middle-class life, envied by outsiders, crumbled today. Blown to pieces by two packages that arrived simultaneously. One was a thick envelope from a private investigator, filled with countless photos. My husband, Leo, walking hand-in-hand through the mall with a younger woman, kissing passionately in front of his car, and even entering a discreet adult hotel together. The photos were blindingly clear. The woman’s face was radiant, captivating—displaying a brazen vulnerability and dependence I had never once shown Leo. The dates ranged from six months ago to just yesterday. The other package was from the City Medical Center, containing Leo’s comprehensive health report. I had been casually flipping through it until my eyes landed on the cardiovascular section: severe coronary artery atherosclerosis, critical stenosis. Warning: Extremely high risk of acute myocardial infarction. Immediate intervention recommended. Avoid emotional agitation, excessive fatigue, overeating… Avoid emotional agitation? I looked at the warning in the health report, then back at Leo’s flushed face in the photos, eyes gleaming with excitement as he held that woman around the waist. A frantic thought took root. The blade of betrayal and the gravedigger’s shovel – both handed to me at the same time. The world fell silent for a moment. Then, a strange calm mixed with excitement enveloped me. I didn’t cry, didn’t make a scene, didn’t even feel the expected heartache. Only a cold, hard thing named revenge quietly solidified within me. Well, Leo, you’re having so much fun out there, but what happens when you burn yourself out? As your lawful wife, it’s my duty to help you replenish your energy, isn’t it? I picked up the health report, carefully tucking it into the bottom drawer. Then, I shredded the unbearable photos. Afterward, I put on my apron and started preparing dinner. The rich aroma of roasted pork ribs wafted from the kitchen – Leo’s favorite, but also precisely the kind of dish the doctor had strictly warned him to avoid. At seven sharp, Leo came home. His shirt collar had a smudge of glaring fuchsia lipstick. He handed me his briefcase as usual, his tone carrying a subtle hint of perfunctory dismissal: “Lots of company stuff today, I’m exhausted.” I greeted him, taking his bag, my smile impeccably gentle: “You work so hard, Leo. Go wash up, I made your favorite roasted pork ribs, and I opened a nice bottle of wine to help you unwind.” Leo looked at me with a touch of surprise, apparently not expecting this reaction. He probably anticipated an interrogation or a cold war. After all, just yesterday we had a huge fight because he’d “worked late” until dawn again. But he was quickly drawn in by the aroma, a familiar, somewhat entitled look of satisfaction spreading across his face: “You’re so good to me.” I watched him devour the thick, glossy pieces of meat slathered in sauce, watched him drain the wine glass I had filled. The stagnant pool in my heart stirred, a ripple of greasy satisfaction spreading through it. Eat, drink, my dear husband. This is only the beginning. Your good times are still to come. On the surface, I remained Freya, the gentle, considerate wife. But in the shadows, I became the most patient hunter, weaving Leo’s fate inch by inch with silken threads of tenderness. Our daily meals were completely revamped, all under the guise of “nourishment.” Breakfast was no longer oatmeal and whole wheat toast, but sizzling bacon and eggs, paired with crispy, buttered white toast, and a high-sugar, full-fat chocolate milk. Leo ate with a wide smile, praising my cooking and saying I’d become more “caring.” “Darling, you work so hard every day, so much brainpower. You need quality fats and protein.” I refilled his bacon, watching his slightly bruised eye bags with feigned concern. “Your complexion still doesn’t look great lately. Is work stress too much? How about I fry you a steak tonight to give you a boost? That’s the most nourishing.” Leo mumbled a reply, eyes glued to his phone, fingers flying across the screen, a subtle smile playing on his lips. I didn’t need to guess who was on the other end. My heart felt dipped in ice water, but the smile on my face grew even softer. Dinner was the main event. Lamb chops, steak, foie gras, ice cream… a rotating feast. Fats and sugars are silent killers for the cardiovascular system, and I, with my own hands, disguised these assassins as a feast of love, feeding them spoonful by spoonful into my husband’s mouth. He ate until his mouth was greasy, occasionally touching his chest and saying, “A bit rich, I feel bloated.” I would immediately hand him a pre-prepared strong coffee or fresh juice, saying softly, “Drink some coffee to cut through the richness, and juice for vitamins. Your stomach’s just a bit sensitive since you don’t go out much. You’ll get used to it after a few more times. It’s all for your health.” Occasionally, he’d cast a scrutinizing glance my way, but it would always melt under my impeccable concern.

The real ‘extra meals’ happened late at night. Leo’s “overtime” became increasingly frequent and late. Before, he would at least come up with plausible excuses. Now, it was almost just a notification. I never pressed him. Instead, when he returned late at night, reeking of booze and cheap perfume, collapsing onto the sofa and complaining of exhaustion, I’d tie on my apron and head into the kitchen. Ten minutes later, a steaming bowl of instant ramen, topped with a golden fried egg and a few slices of spam, shimmering with oil, or a generously portioned microwave pizza, loaded with stretchy cheese, would be placed before him. “You’re back so late, you must not have eaten properly. Going to bed on an empty stomach is bad for you, hurry and eat something while it’s hot.” I sat opposite him, propping my chin on my hand, my eyes so gentle they could melt. “I also brewed a pot of strong coffee for you, to perk you up. You don’t want to get sleepy after eating, do you? Don’t you still have emails to deal with?” Leo usually had already had a late-night snack in Eve’s “love nest,” but faced with my earnest care, plus the energy drained by his illicit affair, he often managed to force down a considerable amount more. High-salt, high-fat late-night meals, combined with the stimulating caffeine, forcibly awakened his nerves in the dead of night. His heart raced, his face flushed. Several times, after eating, he’d irritably tear open his collar, pacing the living room and complaining, “Damn it, I’m stuffed and wired, can’t sleep now.” At this, I’d slip on the running jacket and shoes I’d conveniently left by the sofa, my eyes bright: “Can’t sleep? Let’s go for a night run! The doctor said moderate cardio is good for sleep and strengthens your heart and lungs. I’ll go with you!” Leo was initially resistant, but he couldn’t resist my persistent coaxing. Sometimes I’d say things like, “Look, your belly’s getting a bit soft. Running will help you stay in shape. I love it when you have abs,” half-coaxing, half-encouraging. His deep-seated male chauvinism and vanity were completely satisfied. So, at one or two in the morning, the figures of us, the “loving” couple, began appearing on the quiet streets outside our neighborhood. Of course, I couldn’t really run. After a few hundred meters, I’d stop, breathless, leaning on a streetlamp, waving him on: “Honey… I can’t go on, you’re… you’re so fit… You keep running, I’ll wait for you here and cheer you on!” Leo’s vanity swelled under my admiring gaze and the occasional surprised, somewhat envious looks from passersby. He was like a spinning top whipped by an invisible lash, running furiously under my watchful eye, on the silent streets. I could see the veins bulging in his neck, hear his increasingly heavy, bellows-like breathing. Meanwhile, I’d slowly walk to the 24-hour convenience store, buy two energy drinks, then sit on a bench by the roadside, taking out my phone. The screen displayed real-time data from his health app. Heart rate: 158, 162, 165… constantly climbing, hovering near the danger zone. When he finally finished one or two laps, sweat-soaked and purple-faced, returning to my side, I’d immediately rush up, wipe his sweat with a towel, hand him a drink, my face full of concern: “Darling, you’ve sweated so much, you must have burned a lot of energy. Are you hungry? There’s a BBQ joint still open over there, shall we grab something to replenish your strength? If you don’t refuel after exercise, you’ll lose muscle.” And so, Leo, fresh from his “healthy” night run, would once again find himself at a smoky BBQ joint, eating greasy grilled meat and drinking ice-cold beer. I watched him with a smile, as he consumed those high-salt, high-fat, high-purine foods. A few scattered late-night diners and the BBQ joint owner all looked on with admiration. “Buddy, you’re a lucky man! Your wife’s gorgeous and so thoughtful. She even works out with you late at night and then feeds you!” “Not many couples work out together like you two these days. Such a great relationship!” Leo, puffed up by these compliments, guzzled his beer, arm around my shoulder, boasting to onlookers, “That’s right, my wife’s one of a kind!” I leaned into his embrace, smiling as I accepted everyone’s praise, my fingers subtly tapping my phone screen, checking his health app data from an angle he couldn’t see. His daily diet was the high-load foundation. My ‘loving’ late-night snacks added fuel to the fire. The ill-timed night runs were the final straw. And the BBQ and beer after his workout? The perfect, deadly cycle. Every step was filled with a wife’s profound concern for her husband’s health. Every step pushed his already fragile heart closer to the brink of collapse. A neighbor lady bumped into me at the supermarket and complimented me: “You look so well lately, dear. Must be your husband making you happy. I see him running every night, he’s got more energy than a twenty-year-old!” I smiled shyly: “Oh, he’s just restless. But exercise is always good, and I support him.” I supported him. Yes, I supported him more than anyone, towards the ‘healthy’ end I had so meticulously prepared for him.

My physical care was meticulous, and I never relaxed my mental and physiological manipulation either. However, from the day I confirmed his affair, my body had completely shut him out. Every touch physically repulsed me. But that didn’t stop me from keeping him in a state of insatiable hunger, high arousal, yet utterly unsatisfied by me. I began deliberately changing my information consumption habits. My browser history would occasionally show pages for adult novelty stores and niche lingerie brands. The search bar on my shopping apps would be filled with keywords like ‘sexy,’ ‘seductive,’ ‘couple’s intimacy.’ Big data algorithms are ruthless and efficient. Soon, not just my phone, but the shared household tablet, and even Leo’s own phone, began popping up with related recommendations. Ads for barely-there lingerie, promotions for all sorts of bizarre products, and even short video clips disguised as ‘tutorials’ but actually quite explicit. At first, Leo would awkwardly swipe them away, scolding: “What kind of rubbish are you looking at all day?” But the light in his eyes didn’t lie. I wouldn’t argue, simply responding in a shyer, more innocent tone: “Oh, I just clicked on it by accident. This big data is so annoying…” My tone and expression were like a child who had just discovered a new world, both scared and curious. This blend of innocence and forbidden suggestion was more impactful than any direct seduction. Leo’s Adam’s apple bobbed. His gaze at me grew complex, holding surprise, suspicion, but mostly an undeniable, aroused desire. I created a new, anonymous social media account, with no connections to anyone we knew. Then, I ‘accidentally’ let Leo discover it. Consequently, bolder, more explicit images, links, and short videos began to ‘casually’ appear in our lives. I never said, “Let’s try this.” I just asked, “Does this look good?” or “Is this useful?” leaving the space for choice and imagination entirely to him. His body, ravaged by alcohol, high-fat diets, and irregular sleep, secreted untimely hormones of excitement. I knew he forwarded most of those pictures and links to Eve. Because I had inadvertently seen Eve’s replies pop up on his phone: “You devil, so kinky?!” “Buy it! I want the black one!” “This looks wild, let’s try it next time!” Their interactions, thanks to my unseen contribution, grew more passionate, more brazen. I could even imagine how Eve was using these ‘new toys’ to desperately please and bind Leo to her. This was exactly what I wanted. However, merely adding fuel to their fire from afar wasn’t enough. I needed this fire to burn more wildly, consuming him even faster. The opportunity soon arose. Eve was even more impulsive than I’d imagined. Perhaps my changes made her feel threatened, or maybe Leo’s recent physical discomfort made him less capable, causing her anxiety. She actually used a seemingly ordinary anonymous account to send me a SnapChat friend request. The message read: “Hey, thinking of trying out some new skincare? Let me know!” I looked at the profile picture and name and almost burst out laughing. Such a petty trick. I clicked “Accept.” She started sending me occasional skincare ads, her tone enthusiastic and humble. I would occasionally reply with a bland “Hmm,” or “I’ll take a look,” my attitude cool but polite. I posted on Ins, setting the privacy to ‘custom visibility,’ meaning only she could see it. The first photo was a lavish dinner I had cooked, captioned: “Hubby’s been working hard lately, so I’m nourishing him. He ate all of my loving dinner!~” The second was a profile shot of me wiping Leo’s sweat after his run, captioned: “Accompanying hubby on his night run. Even though he’s fast, I’ll always be at the finish line waiting for him.” The third showed a corner of our closet, vaguely revealing an adult novelty item, captioned: “Oh dear, my package arrived by accident, so embarrassing… I’ll surprise him when he gets back!” Every Ins post was precisely targeted. Sure enough, Leo’s “overtime” hours suddenly increased, and the timing became even more ridiculous. Sometimes he wouldn’t come home all night. When he returned, his face bore the exhaustion of overindulgence, his eyes bruised, but his spirit had an unnatural high. Besides his usual cologne, he sometimes carried the mixed scent of cheap essential oils or other strange fragrances. And whenever he received certain calls, looking hurried and about to leave, I would express just the right amount of disappointment, but quickly replace it with an understanding smile. “More overtime? Go on, don’t work too hard.” Or, before he left, I would gently pull him back, my face flushed, saying in a voice only we could hear: “My… my new nightgown arrived. Will you… come home early tonight?”

The most spectacular incident was on Leo and Eve’s one-year anniversary. That afternoon, I posted an Ins story visible only to Eve: an old photo of Leo and me, captioned: “It’s that day again. Thank you, darling, for always being there. See you at our usual spot tonight~” Then, I pre-booked Leo for dinner at home, telling him I’d learned to make his favorite fondant cake, a complex process, and he absolutely had to come home for it. At seven sharp, Leo arrived home, looking restless. I pulled him to sit down, fed him a bite of cake, my eyes as soft as water. Just as he picked up his spoon, his phone began to vibrate wildly. It was Eve. He glanced at it, his face subtly changing, and hung up. The phone rang again. He hung up again, and it rang once more. I looked at him, surprised: “What’s wrong? Urgent company matter?” Leo stammered: “No… just a difficult client.” “Then pick up, don’t delay important business,” I said thoughtfully. He awkwardly walked to the balcony and answered the call. The soundproofing was good, but I could still hear his low, anxious voice. “…I know what day it is! But I really can’t leave right now!… Stop making a scene, okay?!… What Ins post? You saw it wrong! That was an old one!… Hello? Eve! Hello!” He slumped, lowering the phone, and turned to see me watching him silently, still holding a soup spoon. His face was a mix of embarrassment, guilt, and unvented frustration. “Darling, I…” he tried to explain. But I smiled faintly, interrupting him: “Was that Eve? She sounds very anxious to find you. Is today… some important day for you two?” Leo looked as if he’d been struck by lightning, his face instantly draining of color. Without waiting for his answer, I put down the spoon, my voice still calm, even tinged with a weary tolerance: “Go on, don’t keep her waiting. I’ll save the soup for you.” In that moment, the expression on Leo’s face was priceless: the panic of being exposed, guilt towards me, and fury at Eve’s ill-timed theatrics. But he eventually grabbed his jacket and rushed out of the house, without even a proper explanation. I knew that when he left, he would face an Eve completely out of control, driven by jealousy and insecurity. Appeasing her would require ten times the energy and effort than usual. Indeed, Leo didn’t return until well past midnight, dragging himself in, even more exhausted, reeking of stale smoke and booze, an air of despondency clinging to him. He saw the living room light still on. I was curled up on the sofa, seemingly asleep, covered by a thin blanket, the TV playing some boring late-night show. He paused, then tiptoed over, his eyes filled with genuine remorse. He wanted to touch me, but didn’t dare. I stirred at the opportune moment, rubbed my eyes, and seeing him, offered a tired yet soft smile: “You’re back? Want some more cake?” “No, Freya!” He grabbed my hand, his voice hoarse, “I’m not hungry. Why… why aren’t you in bed?” “Waiting for you,” I whispered, with just the right touch of grievance and dependence. My lack of argument, my waiting, my fatigue, my forced tenderness in my eyes—they were like countless needles pricking his dwindling conscience. He felt an unprecedented wave of guilt, a guilt that demanded immediate atonement. “I’m sorry, Freya, I…” He stammered incoherently. Then, as if finding an outlet, he hastily added: “I’ll clean the kitchen! You go rest!” He rushed into the kitchen, clumsily started washing the pots and pans I had deliberately left, splashing water everywhere. After tidying up, he noticed the floor was a bit dirty. Without a word, he grabbed the mop and started cleaning the floor. After doing all this, his energy still had nowhere to vent. Or rather, guilt compelled him to do more to compensate. “Freya, you look pale. You haven’t been exercising. How about we do some yoga? I’ll join you!” He pulled out the dusty yoga mat. In the dead of night, after finishing chores, he started exercising again. His breathing quickly grew heavy once more, sweat beading on his forehead. After a few awkward yoga poses, he was still wide awake. Or rather, he dared not sleep. He was afraid if he closed his eyes, he’d see me, quietly waiting, or Eve’s hysterical face. “How about… we watch a movie? A horror film? That’ll wake us up.” he suggested, his eyes bloodshot. So, at three in the morning, we sat on the sofa, watching a horror movie with jarring sound effects and gory visuals. The screen’s light illuminated his pale, agitated face. With every sudden scare, his body jerked, his heart pounded like a drum. I leaned against him, feigning fear, gripping his arm, feeling the abnormal, violent throbbing of the veins beneath his skin, and his increasingly ragged breaths. As he stared intently at the screen, gasping in fear at the plot, I smiled coldly. Look how hard my husband works. Working hard to juggle two women, working hard to burn away what little health he had left. And I, I just quietly accompanied him, Until he completely burned out.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “419003”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

On our third wedding anniversary, Liam brought Serena home. He had forgotten our anniversary again. He just gave me a displeased look. “What are you staring at? Go get Serena her slippers, quickly.” He paused, then added, “She just got divorced and has nowhere to go. She’ll stay with us for a few nights. Don’t get the wrong idea.” Serena was the woman he loved but couldn’t have in his youth. How could I not overthink it? That night, I was jolted awake by a sharp female voice. Liam wasn’t beside me. From the guest bedroom next door, I heard intimate moans. What they were doing was obvious. I pulled out my journal from the nightstand, flipping to the first page. It was already filled. “Day one of marriage, he got drunk and called out Serena’s name. Minus ten points.” “I had a high fever. He flew to Paris for Serena’s dog’s birthday. Minus ten points.” …… “Brought another woman home on our anniversary. Minus twenty points.” After writing that, I looked at the bottom line: “When I deduct one hundred points, I’ll file for divorce.” Now, only twenty points were left.

Ashley POV I closed the thick textbook and rubbed the back of my aching neck. “Ashley, your husband is in the news again.” The seventeen-year-old boy opposite me twirled his pen, pushing his phone screen toward me. His eyes held undisguised pity and the bluntness typical of his age. “Who’s that woman? She’s making him forget his actual wife?” My gaze fell on the screen. It was a video secretly filmed by a reporter. Late at night, in the VIP lounge of the international airport, Liam Vance, wearing the black coat I had ironed for him that morning, was holding a slender woman with red-rimmed eyes tightly in his arms. Flashbulbs flashed non-stop. Liam, who usually hated cameras, didn’t lose his temper. Instead, he pressed the woman’s head into his chest with a large hand, shielding her face from all prying eyes. It was a look of cherish and fervent devotion I had never seen in our three years of marriage. The bold headline below the video was painfully clear: “Liam, heir to the prominent Vance Group, picking up his ex-girlfriend Serena Clarke late at night as she returns home after her divorce.” I stared at the screen for five full seconds until it went dark. Then, I forced a faint smile. “Adults’ business is not for kids. You got half your grammar questions wrong today. I’ll check your corrections tomorrow.” I calmly packed my canvas bag, pushed open the door, and walked out of the luxury mansion nestled in the hills. As soon as I stepped outside, a cold wind wrapped in drizzle hit me. I shivered, pulling my trench coat tighter. Today was my and Liam’s third wedding anniversary. For this day, I had canceled my two evening tutoring gigs, booked a table at his favorite French restaurant half a month in advance, and even bought a sexy silk nightgown. But just three hours ago, Liam had sent me a cold message: “Something urgent came up at the office. I won’t be back tonight.” Turns out, his urgent business was picking up Serena. I didn’t hail a cab. Instead, I opened my umbrella and walked for a long time in the rain. Passing a cake shop that hadn’t closed yet, I went in and bought a small strawberry mousse. It was already eleven at night when I returned to our downtown penthouse apartment. The house was pitch black, empty, and devoid of any warmth. I didn’t turn on the main lights, only a dim floor lamp. I placed the strawberry mousse on the dining table and lit a thin candle. The candlelight flickered, illuminating my pale, thin face. “Happy third anniversary, Ashley,” I whispered to the empty air, then blew out the candle. I didn’t make a wish, because I knew my wish would never come true. At two in the morning, the click of the fingerprint lock finally echoed from the front door. Liam walked in, bringing with him a chill. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and long-legged. His chiseled face showed clear exhaustion, but when he saw me sitting on the sofa, his brow immediately furrowed. “Why aren’t you asleep yet?” His voice was low, with a hint of annoyed displeasure at being disturbed. I stood up and walked closer to him. As soon as I was near, a faint hint of orange blossom perfume drifted into my nostrils. That was Serena’s favorite scent. Back in college, Liam’s clothes always smelled like that. My chest felt like it had been stung by something sharp. I suppressed the nauseating acidity rising in my throat and asked softly, “Is the company matter settled?” Liam’s hand paused slightly as he took off his coat. His gaze flickered for a moment, but quickly returned to its usual aloof indifference. “Yeah, it’s settled.” He was lying. I looked at his stern face and suddenly found it a little funny. This man, who was decisive and ruthless in business and never bothered to lie, was now lying to me to protect another woman’s reputation. “Liam,” I called out, stopping him as he was about to go shower. My voice was a little hoarse. “Do you remember what day it is today?” Liam’s steps halted. He turned to look at me, his impatience even more pronounced. “Ashley, I’m exhausted today. I don’t have time for your guessing games. If you need money, just use your platinum card.” With that, he walked straight into the bathroom and slammed the door shut. The sound of water running covered my suddenly heavy breathing. I bit down hard on my lower lip until I tasted a hint of blood, then slowly released it. I went to the study, pulled open the bottom drawer, and took out a locked journal. I opened the first page, which had a table titled: “Liam Point Deduction Chart.” Full score was one hundred. The first line read: “Day one of marriage, he got drunk and called out Serena’s name. Minus ten points.” The second line read: “I had a high fever, he flew to Paris to buy Serena a limited-edition handbag. Minus ten points.” … The densely packed handwriting recorded every heartbreak I’d suffered over the past three years. I picked up the pen and wrote in the newest line: “On our third wedding anniversary, he went to the airport to pick up Serena, who’d returned home after her divorce, and lied to me about it. Minus ten points.” After writing that, I looked at the bottom line: “When I deduct 100 points, I’ll file for divorce.” Now, only twenty points were left. I closed the journal and locked it again. I returned to the bedroom. Liam had already showered and was lying in bed. He had his back to me, presenting a rigid back. I lay down beside him, separated by a boundary that felt like it could never be crossed. The next morning, I was woken by a shrill doorbell. I got up to open the door, but when I saw who was standing outside, my blood ran cold. Serena stood there in a pure white dress, her long hair flowing over her shoulders. She was dragging a huge suitcase and looked at me with red-rimmed eyes, like a frightened fawn. And Liam, who had gotten dressed at some point, was standing behind me. He reached past me, took the suitcase from Serena’s hand, and spoke in a tone I’d never heard before, so gentle. “Why are you here so early? I told you to get some more sleep.”

Ashley POV Serena glanced at me timidly, biting her lip. “The hotel bed was too hard, and I was scared being alone… Liam, am I disturbing you two?” “No,” Liam answered definitively. Then he turned to me and said in an undeniable, commanding tone, “Serena just got back, and she’s emotionally unstable. She’ll be staying here for a while. Go tidy up the guest room.” From the first day Serena moved in, this house stopped being mine. There was a pink toiletries set on the bathroom counter, Serena’s stuffed animals piled on the sofa, and even my desk, which I usually used for lesson planning, was now covered with her various cosmetics. I didn’t make a fuss. I acted like a dutiful invisible person, leaving for my tutoring jobs on time every day and returning late at night under the moonlight. I thought that if I just yielded, I could maintain surface peace. But I underestimated Serena’s tactics and overestimated Liam’s bottom line. One weekend night, I was suddenly hit with a severe stomachache. It felt like a meat grinder violently churning inside my stomach. I was in so much pain that I broke out in a cold sweat, curled up in bed, my breathing shaky. I fumbled for my phone and called Liam. The phone rang for a long time before he picked up. Liam’s extremely impatient voice came through. “What is it?” “Liam… my stomachache is acting up, it really hurts. Can you come back and take me to the hospital?” My voice was so weak it was almost inaudible. There was silence on the other end for two seconds. Apparently, he heard the pain in my voice, and Liam finally relented. “Alright, I’ll be right back. Get dressed first.” I hung up, forced myself to get up, put on a thick coat, and sat on the living room sofa, waiting for him. The cramping pain in my stomach came in waves. I bit down hard, staring at the clock on the wall. Twenty minutes later, the lock clicked. Liam strode in. Seeing my pale face, his brows furrowed slightly. “Why are you in so much pain? Let’s go, the car’s downstairs.” He actually reached out to help me. Leaning on his warm arm, my nose stung, and that little spark of hope in my heart, which was almost extinguished, seemed to reignite. Just as we reached the front door, and Liam had picked up his car keys, the guest bedroom door on the second floor suddenly burst open. Serena ran out barefoot, her face ashen, trembling all over, and threw herself into Liam’s arms. “Liam! I’m scared! There’s thunder outside, I’m so scared!” She clutched Liam’s shirt, crying uncontrollably. “Please don’t leave? Please don’t abandon me!” Liam stiffened, instinctively letting go of my hand and instead wrapping Serena tightly in his arms. “Don’t be scared, Serena, I’m right here. It’s just thunder, it’s okay.” He patted Serena’s back gently, his voice dripping with tenderness. I lost my support and stumbled, my back hitting the cabinet by the door with a heavy thud. A dull ache spread, but it was nothing compared to the cramping in my stomach, or the tearing pain in my heart. I looked at the two of them, tightly embracing, as if they were the loving couple, and I was just the villainous female antagonist ruining their moment. “Liam,” I took a deep breath, my voice trembling from the pain. “I’m really hurting.” Liam’s movements paused. He turned to look at me. In his deep-set eyes, there was no sympathy, only the cold calculation of weighing pros and cons. “Ashley, Serena had a very unhappy marriage abroad. She’s been severely traumatized and has serious PTSD from thunder,” Liam said, frowning, his voice carrying a sense of righteous accusation. “You just have a stomachache. Go to the hospital in a cab by yourself. I’ll stay here with her.” You just have a stomachache. That sentence was like a resounding slap across my face, shattering the pitiful hope in my heart. I looked at Liam and suddenly laughed. It was a laugh uglier than any cry. “Alright.” I didn’t argue, didn’t become hysterical. I just turned around, pushed open the door, and walked out into the stormy, thundering rain. I don’t know how I managed to get a cab, or how I registered and got an IV. The cold IV fluid dripped into my veins. I lay on the emergency room bed, staring at the sterile white ceiling, took out my phone, and noted in my memo: “My stomachache was unbearable, but he made me go to the hospital alone in the pouring rain to comfort Serena who was afraid of thunder. Minus ten points.” Only ten points left. Just then, a commotion erupted outside the emergency room. “Doctor! Come quick and see her! She’s bleeding!” The voice was too familiar. I turned my head, and through the half-open curtain, I saw Liam. He was soaking wet, cradling an equally drenched Serena in his arms, his face showing a mix of panic and urgency I had never seen before. A doctor rushed over to examine her. A few seconds later, the doctor’s voice was a little helpless. “Sir, this lady just accidentally cut her finger while cutting fruit. The wound is very shallow, doesn’t even need stitches. A band-aid will be fine.” “What do you know! Her blood doesn’t clot well. What if it gets infected? Call your best surgeon!” Liam roared furiously. I lay behind the curtain, silently watching the scene unfold. Turns out, he wasn’t afraid of the heavy rain, or the thunder. He just… didn’t care about me. I closed my eyes, and a hot tear slid down my temple. Just then, Liam seemed to sense something. He suddenly turned his head, his gaze directly meeting my dead eyes.

Ashley POV The moment our eyes met, I saw a flicker of panic, almost imperceptible, in Liam’s eyes. He released Serena’s hand and took a step forward, as if to come over. But Serena chose that moment to let out a delicate whimper of pain. “Liam, I feel so dizzy.” Liam’s steps were rooted to the spot. He looked at the swaying Serena in his arms, then back at me, pale-faced and hooked up to an IV behind the curtain. Finally, he turned back to support Serena. “I’ll take Serena to get bandaged first, I’ll come find you later,” he said coldly, from several feet away. I didn’t respond. I simply pulled the curtain shut, blocking his view. I knew Liam too well. As long as Serena shed a single tear, his “later” would become “never.” Sure enough, even after I finished my IV, had the needle removed, and walked out of the hospital alone, Liam never reappeared. For the next few days, I buried myself in work. I took on more tutoring jobs, leaving early and returning late, deliberately avoiding any encounters with Liam and Serena. Liam seemed to enjoy my absence too. He spent every day shopping, visiting art exhibits, and seeing a therapist with Serena, acting like a devoted boyfriend. One afternoon, I was teaching a class at a high-end tutoring center downtown. The center was on the third floor of an old commercial building. Downstairs was a popular coffee shop. I was standing at the podium, explaining a complex math problem, when suddenly, a piercing fire alarm blared through the entire building. “Fire! Run!” There were heart-wrenching screams from outside. My face changed. I immediately put down the chalk and directed the dozen students in the classroom. “Don’t panic, everyone! Cover your mouths and noses with your clothes, duck down, and form a line to the emergency exit!” Thick smoke quickly poured in through the door cracks, making it hard to see. By the time I shielded the last student out of the classroom, the hallway was engulfed in flames. The old building’s fire safety system was outdated, and the fire spread incredibly fast. I coughed violently from the smoke, tears streaming down my face. I fumbled my way towards the stairwell, but at a corner, a suddenly collapsing wooden beam struck my calf. I cried out in pain, falling heavily to the ground. Sparks still clung to the beam, and the intense heat scorched my skin, making me almost pass out. I desperately tried to push the beam away, but it was too heavy. I couldn’t budge it. Flames licked at the surrounding walls, and the air grew thinner and thinner. I lay on the ground in despair, my vision gradually blurring. Just then, a tall, imposing figure suddenly rushed up the stairwell. It was Liam. He was wearing a well-tailored suit, his face smudged with ash, anxiously searching for something in the inferno. My heart pounded fiercely. Was he here to save me? Did he know I was teaching here, and rushed in despite the danger? “Liam,” I used all my strength, reaching out towards him, my voice hoarse beyond recognition. “I’m here. Save me.” Liam heard my voice and spun around. Through the smoke and flames, his gaze landed precisely on me. I knew he saw me pinned under the burning beam, saw the desperate will to survive on my face. He took long strides, running towards me. Ten feet, five feet, three feet… Just as I thought I was finally saved, and hope ignited in my eyes, a piercing cry suddenly came from the other end of the hallway. “Liam! Help! I’m so scared!” It was Serena. She was in this building for some reason, now trapped near another classroom door, surrounded by fire. Liam’s steps abruptly halted. He looked at me, so close, then at Serena in the distance. For the first time, his stern face showed struggle and hesitation. “Liam,” I stared at him, tears mixing with black ash and flowing into my mouth, bitter enough to make me gag. Don’t choose her. Please, this time, don’t choose her. However, no miracle occurred. Liam just looked at me deeply, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. Then, he unhesitatingly turned and sprinted towards Serena. “Ashley, hang on! The firefighters will be here any minute! Serena has depression; she can’t handle this!” The man’s voice cut through the flames, like a poisoned knife, savagely stabbing into my heart and then twisting. I watched as Liam wrapped Serena in his suit jacket, picked her up, and rushed down the stairs without a single glance back. He didn’t even turn his head once. The fire grew fiercer, and the ceiling above groaned, cracking under the strain. I gave up struggling. I lay on the scorching floor, feeling the flames creep closer and closer. A string in my heart snapped completely. Boom! A massive, burning section of the ceiling crashed down, engulfing me entirely.

Ashley POV When I woke up, all I saw was the hospital’s glaring white. The strong smell of disinfectant filled my nostrils, and excruciating pain shot through my right arm and calf. I moved my cracked lips, but no sound came out. “The patient’s awake! Call the doctor!” A nurse’s surprised voice rang in my ears. After a series of examinations, the doctor told me I had second-degree burns over much of my body, a fractured calf, and had inhaled a large amount of toxic gas. Surviving the fire was extremely lucky. “Firefighters brought you in. Where’s your husband? I don’t see any family members,” the doctor said, frowning, a hint of displeasure in his voice. I closed my eyes and said nothing. My husband was busy comforting his first love. Why would he have time for me? The ward door was pushed open. It wasn’t Liam who came in, but his good friend, Greg Evans. Seeing me wrapped up like a mummy, Greg’s face showed a flicker of awkwardness and guilt. He placed a fruit basket on the bedside table and cleared his throat. “Ashley, you’re awake. Liam… he’s a bit busy, he asked me to check on you.” My gaze was hollow as I stared at the ceiling, my voice hoarse like sandpaper. “He’s with Serena, isn’t he?” Greg choked, his eyes darting away. “Ashley, don’t misunderstand. Serena just happened to be at the coffee shop downstairs looking for Liam that day, then the fire happened. She was terrified, and her old condition flared up. Liam had no choice…” “No choice?” I scoffed, a movement that pulled at the wounds on my face, making me gasp in pain. “He had no choice, so he stood by and watched me burn to death, while saving a woman who didn’t even have a scratch?” Greg was speechless. Just then, footsteps and hushed arguing came from outside the door. The ward’s soundproofing wasn’t good. I clearly heard the conversation outside. It was Daniel Hayes, another of Liam’s friends. “Liam, are you crazy? Do you know the video of you rushing into the fire to save Serena has gone viral? The entire city is laughing at the Vance family! You risked your life for a divorced woman? If you get scars on your hands, will you still be able to hold your position as the Vance heir?” Then came Liam’s cold, firm voice. “If I can’t, then I won’t. As long as Serena is okay, I can give up everything the Vance family has.” Daniel was furious. “What about your wife? Ashley is still lying in there! She’s your actual wife! You saved Serena right in front of her. How do you think she feels?” There was a long silence outside the door. So long that I thought Liam had left, before his low, cold voice slowly broke the quiet. “How she feels, does it matter?” “If her father hadn’t died saving my grandfather back then, if my grandfather hadn’t forced me, I never would have married her. For these three years, I gave her the dignity of Mrs. Vance and endless money. What more could she be unsatisfied with?” “I married her to find an obedient ornament, and to give up hope, to forget Serena. But I overestimated myself. I love Serena. From beginning to end, she is the only one in my heart. As for Ashley, she is injured, and I will give her the best medical care, but don’t expect any affection from me.” These words were like sharp ice blades, precisely piercing my already bruised and battered heart. Turns out, these three years of marriage were just my solo act, from beginning to end. What I thought was love growing over time was merely his calculated charity; what I thought was a beautiful relationship was just his indifference after his heart had turned to ashes. He gave all his favoritism, his madness, his tenderness to Serena, leaving me only with calculation and exploitation. I slowly closed my eyes, tears sliding down my temples, seeping into the bandages, stinging terribly. I didn’t cry out loud. I just silently added the last sentence to that journal in my heart. “He personally admitted that he married me only to repay a debt and to forget Serena. Minus ten points.” One hundred points deducted. I opened my eyes. There was no longer any hidden endurance or love in them, only a desolate emptiness. With my uninjured left hand, I struggled to press the call button beside the bed. The nurse quickly arrived. “Ashley, what’s wrong?” “Please, contact a lawyer for me.” My voice was quiet, but it carried a decisive strength. “I want to draft divorce papers.” The conversation outside the door ceased abruptly. A few seconds later, the ward door was violently pushed open. Liam stood in the doorway, his face terribly grim, his dark eyes fixed on me in the bed. “What did you just say?” he asked through gritted teeth, as if he’d heard some unbelievable joke. I met his gaze without flinching, repeating coldly: “I said, Liam, we’re getting a divorce.”

Ashley POV Liam’s face instantly turned ashen. He strode to the bedside, looking down at me, wrapped in bandages, his eyes burning with suppressed fury. “Ashley, haven’t you made enough of a scene?” He lowered his voice, his tone full of warning. “Do you know what you’re saying? Divorce? Do you think the Vance family door is something you can just walk in and out of?” In his eyes, I was just playing hard to get. For three years, I had been as docile as a cat without a temper, silently enduring no matter how much he neglected me. Now, bringing up divorce was merely a tantrum because he’d saved Serena in the fire first. I looked at his arrogant demeanor and suddenly felt utterly disgusted. “I’m not making a scene,” my voice was calm, as still as stagnant water. “Liam, I’m tired. Since Serena is the only one in your heart, I’ll grant you your wish.” He scoffed. “Ashley, don’t forget, before your father passed away, he entrusted you to me. Without the Vance family, how will you make a living in New York? With your few thousand dollars a month from tutoring? Don’t be so reckless. When your injuries heal, I’ll compensate you with a penthouse downtown.” That dismissive tone again, as if I were a beggar. I closed my eyes, not wanting to look at him anymore. “Get out. I don’t want to see you.” “You!” Liam’s temples throbbed. He was about to say something when Serena’s delicate voice suddenly came from outside the door. “Liam, are you in there?” Liam’s expression instantly softened. He glared at me furiously, then turned and quickly walked out. The moment the door closed, I finally couldn’t hold on any longer, and silent tears streamed down my face. The next day, the lawyer came to the ward with the drafted divorce papers. I signed my name without hesitation. I asked for nothing. The Vance family’s assets, properties, shares. I didn’t take a single penny. I truly left with nothing. As I signed, the ward door opened. It wasn’t Liam who entered, but Serena. She wore a custom Chanel suit, her makeup flawless. She walked to the bedside in high heels, looking down at my disheveled self. “Ashley, I hear you’re divorcing Liam?” Serena chuckled, covering her mouth, her eyes full of a victor’s smugness. “You’re quite sensible. You should have realized long ago that you’re not good enough for him.” I handed the signed agreement to the lawyer, signaling for him to step outside. Once only the two of us were left in the ward, I lifted my eyelids and looked at Serena coldly. “Did you come here just to say these pointless things?” My cold attitude stung Serena, and her smile faded slightly. She pulled a velvet box from her bag, opened it, revealing a brilliant pink diamond ring. “Do you recognize this?” Serena deliberately dangled the ring in front of me. “Liam bought this at auction yesterday for twenty million. He said this is the ring that truly belongs to Mrs. Vance. As for that cheap ring on your hand, you should have thrown it away long ago.” I glanced at my empty ring finger. That plain band had probably fallen off during the fire, when I was trying to push away the beam. “Oh, really?” My tone was flat. “Well, you’d better hold onto it tightly. After all, trash like Liam is only a treasure to you.” “How dare you call Liam trash?!” Serena exploded, raising her hand as if to hit me. Just then, familiar footsteps sounded outside. Serena’s eyes flickered. Her raised hand suddenly reversed direction and slapped her own face hard, then she collapsed to the floor, covering her face and crying hysterically. “Ashley, I’m sorry… I know you hate me, but you can’t hit me…” The ward door was violently pushed open. Liam immediately saw Serena crying on the floor, and me, expressionless, leaning against the bed. “Serena!” Liam tenderly helped Serena up. Seeing the clear red handprint on her face, he turned and glared at me. “Ashley! Are you insane? She has depression, and you dared to hit her!” I looked at her terrible acting, lacking even the desire to explain. “Yes, I hit her. So what?” I retorted with a cold laugh. “How could you do such a thing!” Liam looked at me with profound disappointment. “I actually thought I owed you something after the fire. But now it seems, a vicious woman like you doesn’t deserve my sympathy!” “Are you done talking?” I pointed towards the door. “If you are, take your first love and get out.” Liam laughed in exasperation. “Fine, Ashley, don’t you dare regret this!” He picked up Serena and strode out of the ward. Half a month later, I forced through my discharge procedures. My injuries weren’t fully healed, but I couldn’t stand another moment in this city saturated with Liam’s presence. On the day I was discharged, I went to New York’s largest art center. A crucial education symposium was being held there, and I needed to meet a professor to get a letter of recommendation. It was my only chance to leave New York and move to California. In the art center’s main hall, a grand jewelry exhibition was underway. I dragged my still-healing leg, limping through the hall. As luck would have it, Liam and Serena were also there. Serena was wearing that pink diamond ring, nestled in Liam’s arms, accepting media interviews. I lowered my head, trying to quicken my pace and leave, but fate always seemed to play cruel jokes on me. Above my head, the massive crystal art chandelier, weighing several hundred pounds, suddenly let out a grating, snapping sound. Bang! A steel cable broke, and the huge chandelier plunged straight down! Directly below the chandelier were both Serena and me! “Serena!” Liam’s eyes widened in horror. Like a mad leopard, he lunged desperately towards Serena, embracing her and rolling them both to a safe area. And I, thrown by the immense impact, crashed heavily against a marble pillar. Shattered crystal glass pierced my body like blades. But the most painful was my lower abdomen. I lay in a pool of blood, clutching my agonizingly painful stomach, feeling a warm liquid gush furiously down my thighs.

Ashley POV An excruciating, heart-wrenching pain. I curled up on the cold marble floor, my vision blurred by blood and tears. All around were screams, alarms, and panicked footsteps; the entire art center was in chaos. I clutched my lower abdomen tightly. The warm liquid was gushing out faster and faster, draining all warmth from my body. “Save my baby.” I weakly reached out to the crowd, but couldn’t even form a complete sentence. Not far away, Liam was anxiously checking Serena. Aside from being a little startled, Serena didn’t have a single scratch on her body, yet she still huddled in Liam’s arms, trembling pitifully and crying. “Liam, I’m so scared, the light almost hit me…” “It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m here.” Liam held her tightly, his voice filled with the relief of a narrow escape. He didn’t notice that less than ten feet away, his wife was lying in a pool of blood, close to death. It wasn’t until the ambulance arrived, and paramedics carried me away on a stretcher, semi-conscious, that Liam, amidst the confusion, caught a glimpse of a dazzling crimson. But he only frowned, then averted his gaze, because Serena was calling him, complaining of dizziness in his arms. Inside the emergency room, the situation was chaotic. “Patient has severe abdominal trauma and massive hemorrhage! Blood pressure is dropping rapidly!” “Ultrasound shows an eight-week intrauterine pregnancy, placental abruption. The baby can’t be saved, we need to perform a D&C immediately and transfuse blood!” “Patient is RH-negative O-type blood! How much reserve blood does the blood bank have?” The chief surgeon commanded the rescue, dripping with sweat, but a nurse rushed in, pale-faced. “It’s bad. The only two bags of RH-negative O-type blood in the blood bank were forcibly claimed by Mr. Vance of Vance Group ten minutes ago.” The doctor was horrified. “Why did he take them? Does he have a critical patient on his side?” “No.” The nurse was almost in tears. “The woman Mr. Vance brought in was just startled. Mr. Vance insisted her face was pale and she might have internal bleeding, so he forcibly kept the blood bags in her room as a precaution, saying no one was allowed to touch them without his permission.” Lying on the operating table, my consciousness was hazy, yet I heard every word of that conversation clearly. RH-negative O-type blood. Serena was also this blood type. Years ago, because Serena had this rare blood type, Liam had established several private blood banks worldwide, just to ensure she would always have blood available if she ever got injured. And now, for a woman who was merely startled, he withheld the blood that could save my life and my baby’s. “Call Liam immediately! Tell him there are two lives at stake here!” the doctor roared. The nurse tremblingly dialed Liam’s number and put him on speakerphone. The phone rang three times before it was answered. Liam’s cold and impatient voice came through. “I told you, those blood bags must remain in Serena’s room. She has severe PTSD. If she has a stress reaction leading to shock, that blood will be life-saving.” “Mr. Vance, we have a pregnant woman here with severe bleeding. Without this blood, both she and her baby will die,” the nurse pleaded, her voice choked with tears. There was a moment of silence on the other end. Just as the doctor thought Liam might relent, he let out a laugh so cold it was chilling. “What do other people’s lives have to do with me? I only care about Serena. If so much as a single hair on her head is harmed, I will make sure this entire hospital pays. Stop bothering me with these petty games.” The call was ruthlessly disconnected. The emergency room was dead silent, save for the piercing alarm of the heart monitor. I lay on the cold operating table, a tear, mixed with blood, sliding from the corner of my eye. I no longer had the strength to hate. I only felt profound sorrow. That was his child. He didn’t even know he was about to be a father, yet he personally sentenced his own child to death. The wavy line on the heart monitor instantly flatlined. A sharp, prolonged beep pierced the emergency room air.

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When I fell into the ocean, my childhood sweetheart, Ethan, swam towards my cousin, leaving me to be swept away by the waves. My family thought I was dead. Ethan married my cousin, Tiffany. Three years later, I returned home, and my parents’ first reaction wasn’t joy. Instead, they were worried about upsetting Tiffany and causing her to have a miscarriage. My mom’s eyes darted away, and my dad’s face held a warning. After Tiffany moved in, my family forbade me from arguing with her, including over Ethan, whom I loved. But they didn’t know I’d lost my memory after falling into the sea. I now had a fiancé who loved me and a new family. It was the third year since I fell into the ocean. My mom, eyes swollen, took my hand. “Elara, don’t blame them. No one expected you to come back.” I pulled my hand back, feeling a little awkward. My dad slammed his hand on the table. “The search teams went out multiple times and found nothing. It’s your own bad luck; who else is there to blame?” “Tiffany married Ethan and she’s pregnant. When they get here, don’t say anything to upset her.” I looked at the fork that had fallen to the floor. A little lost. Ethan? It sounded vaguely familiar, but I couldn’t recall much. After drifting at sea for three days and three nights, Liam Hayes saved me. He said I hit a reef and lost my memory. It wasn’t until recently that I recalled I might have a family. I hadn’t planned on coming back. But Liam’s family was so loving. They didn’t believe their own parents would abandon a child, unless by accident. Watching my mom guiltily turn her head away and my dad’s unwelcoming expression, I instinctively felt that my subconscious had been right. But, it didn’t matter. I’d already died once. I’ll love those who love me, and ignore those who don’t. I said calmly, “Okay, I won’t say anything out of line.” My dad choked on his words. My mom put some food on my plate, sighing. “Elara, these past three years haven’t been easy for anyone.” “Tiffany was with us all this time, and Ethan felt so guilty about not saving you.” “You don’t know how much they suffered. Ethan lost over twenty pounds, and Tiffany forced a smile to reassure us.” I picked out the cilantro I didn’t like. Suddenly, I missed the meals Liam’s mom used to make. Half an hour later, the guests finally arrived. Tiffany Thompson touched her slightly bulging stomach, her face filled with guilt. “Mom, Dad, it’s all my fault.” “My stomach hurt a bit before we left, and Ethan was too worried. He insisted we go to the hospital to get it checked.” Seeing her pale face, my mom quickly asked Ethan, “What did the doctor say? Is everything okay?” I glanced over inadvertently. Ethan’s eyes were a little red, and he quickly avoided my gaze. How strange. I said I didn’t remember Ethan. My mom thought I was just being stubborn. She said we used to be inseparable, like two peas in a pod, even sharing a bed when we were kids. “Elara, let’s talk things out nicely and part amicably. It’s better for everyone.” She said “good” so many times. But she never once asked: “You were missing for three years; how have you been out there?” When I was rescued, my phone and wallet weren’t with me. Did I have money? What did I eat, what did I wear, how did I live? I wasn’t complaining. There was no disappointment. The Hayes family had been so good to me. So good that I had come to believe I had always belonged to their family. I was just curious. How could parents be so cold to their own child? From the moment she entered, Tiffany kept looking my way, noticing my glance at Ethan. Her expression grew agitated, mixed with a hint of sorrow. “Elara, I’m so sorry.” “It was an accident when I pulled you into the water. I thought Ethan would save you first.” Ethan’s eyes completely panicked, afraid to look at me. My dad interrupted. “Tiffany, you don’t need to apologize to her!” “Elara must have pushed you first, and you lost your balance, pulling her down with you.” “It was only right for Ethan to save you first.” My mom gently stroked Tiffany’s head. “Silly girl, Elara and you are good sisters; she won’t hold it against you.” “Rest easy and take care of your pregnancy. Your uncle Richard and I will handle everything.” Oh, my God. I knew I was terrified of water. Why would I even go to the beach? Turns out, someone pulled me into the water! Seeing that I didn’t speak, Tiffany’s face turned stark white, as if she had genuinely done something terribly wrong to me. But, if she truly wanted to apologize. How was it that every time she spoke, my family blamed me for being difficult? I didn’t remember what she did. But the feeling was incredibly uncomfortable. My dad’s voice grew even angrier. “You’re back now, so let’s turn the page on this. No one is allowed to bring it up again.” “Okay!” My dad was terrifying. He had none of Robert Hayes’ gentle demeanor. My mom was biased too. I, the victim, hadn’t even spoken, and she’d already easily forgiven them on my behalf. Whatever! Anyway, I didn’t remember anything. Perhaps, thanks to her pulling me, I completely forgot about my parents.

I got up and went into the kitchen. Ethan followed me in. Our eyes met, and I felt incredibly awkward. “Elara, how have you been these past three years?” “Pretty good.” “You weren’t dead. Why didn’t you ever come back? Was it because I didn’t save you?” I forced myself to answer. “Something like that!” “Mainly, I had amnesia and completely forgot I even had relatives.” Ethan’s face instantly froze. He wanted to speak again. Tiffany burst in. Seeing us talking, she called out intimately, “Honey, I want shrimp. Can you peel them for me?” Ethan followed her out. I glanced at the stove. I remembered Liam’s mom saying that steamed egg custard shouldn’t be left on the stove too long, or it’ll get rubbery. So, I took it out. My mom saw what I was holding and looked anxious. “Tiffany is pregnant; this bowl of sea cucumber and egg custard is specially for her.” Tiffany’s eyes lowered, showing a hint of forbearance. “Elara suffered a lot out there. I don’t need it.” My dad reacted as if he had some kind of post-traumatic stress. “She chose not to come back herself; what does that have to do with you? Don’t give it to her.” He was so fierce. I felt a little angry. But Liam’s mom said that when you’re doing well, it’s easy to be generous and not dwell on trivial matters. These past three years, they had given me so much care and love, making me gentle-tempered. I smiled slightly. “I wasn’t going to eat it. I just saw it was done steaming and helped take it out.” Ethan looked at me and mumbled instinctively, “Elara, you’ve changed so much.” I blurted out, “Have I?” My dad took a small sip of wine, saying contentedly, “Before, you always competed with your cousin for everything. Looks like suffering out there taught you some manners.” I was speechless. This neighborhood isn’t cheap! How can they act like a bowl of sea cucumber is such a big deal, making such a fuss about who gets to eat it? I yearned for Liam’s mom’s cooking again. Silverwood was near the ocean, and she often made big seafood feasts. Steamed grouper, vermicelli scallops with garlic, salt-baked mantis shrimp, spicy blue crabs. Seeing how much I loved them, the whole family would compete to put food on my plate. Tiffany had a prenatal class appointment, so she grabbed Ethan and left in a hurry. My mom praised him for being thoughtful, like a good father-to-be. Ethan gave me a complicated look. I pretended not to see it. Looking at my dark, cramped room, I figured I wouldn’t be back often, so I turned on the light and started clearing out things I didn’t want. My mom looked surprised. “Elara, isn’t this your favorite dress? Why is it on the floor?” She seemed to be reminiscing. “At first, I only bought one for Tiffany, and you were so mad you didn’t eat dinner for two days.” Was I really that childish? Liam’s younger brother, Caleb, would definitely tease me if he knew. I casually picked it up and said indifferently, “I don’t remember! That style is so outdated. If you don’t want to waste it, just use it as a rag!” My mom looked hurt. In her eyes, even if I never won against my cousin, I still showed an expectation for my parents, hoping they could be fair, at least buying each of us one. Yet now, she saw no ripple of emotion in my eyes. I packed a large bag of old things, ready to call someone to pick them up. Passing Tiffany’s room, it was beautifully decorated. Even though she had moved out, everything was neat and tidy, the duvet smelling of sunshine. Unlike my room, which was small, cramped, and dusty enough to make you choke. My mom’s expression was awkward, and she eagerly explained, “Tiffany loves cleanliness, so I tidied her room whenever I had time.” “Tomorrow I’ll find a cleaner. I’ll buy you the bedding you used to like, sweetie.” “No need.” I came back to Fairview to finalize my official records and change my registered address. Liam’s family had initially hoped I would get married with my parents present, so I wouldn’t have any regrets. But it seemed utterly unnecessary now. My phone chimed. The contact was labeled “My clingy puppy fiancé.” He sent several messages in a row: “Babe, are you happy seeing your parents?” “Why haven’t you given me my goodnight kiss yet? Has anyone bothered you?” “I bought your mom a jade necklace, and I heard your dad likes off-road vehicles, so I ordered one around two hundred thousand.” “Do you think the gifts are generous enough? My parents also want to send a carload of stuff.” I thought for a moment, then rapidly typed. I only replied with seven words. Liam was so startled he immediately called.

“Babe, what do you mean, ‘I don’t think they deserve it’?” “Has someone been bothering you?” Liam was terrified I’d suffer even the slightest grievance. I told him the truth. The staff’s words echoed in my ears: “Your parents had your registration officially cancelled.” “Generally, if someone is missing for four years, you can apply. But since you fell into the sea, considered an accident, your family could apply to the court in as little as two years.” I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. A trace of doubt surfaced in my mind. Why was my dad so eager to declare me dead after only two years of my disappearance? On the other end of the phone, Liam gritted his teeth. “That’s outrageous! How could they do that to you?” He sounded a hundred times angrier than me. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t be there for you.” Liam’s branch office was in the next city. He wanted to come home with me but had an important client meeting. I told him to focus on his work. “Babe, are you sad?” Not really. It just felt strange to be inexplicably declared dead. I didn’t know how to explain it. I wasn’t particularly bothered. But there was a dull ache. I went to the courthouse to revoke the death decree. On the way, I ran into Ethan. He stared at me intently, his eyes swirling with an unreadable emotion. “Elara, after your uncle Richard cancelled your registration, I went to the beach to lay flowers whenever I had time.” I nodded, feeling incredibly awkward. “I wasn’t dead. Did I make you waste money?” He quickly shook his head, then added, as if explaining, “Tiffany and I only got together after your registration was canceled.” “By then, we were both barely holding on, and thankfully we became each other’s support.” “That’s good. You two look like a great match.” Ethan’s eyes turned red. “Elara, I know you loved me most. But Tiffany and I are married; I can’t betray her.” “Please don’t take it out on Tiffany; she’s fragile and pregnant with my child. She can’t handle any stress.” I looked at him, bewildered. “I’m not doing anything!” Ethan’s expression stiffened slightly. “That’s good! When the baby is born, Tiffany hopes you and Mom can help take care of it.” He seemed to be testing my reaction. I shook my head. “No, I’ll be leaving Fairview soon.” Ethan’s face instantly paled, and he grabbed my hand. “Say that again?” “I finally waited for you to come back; why are you leaving again?” I pulled my hand away with force. “My fiancé is in Silverwood. Isn’t it normal for me to leave with him?” Ethan’s voice was strained, trembling slightly. “Impossible. You said you’d marry me when we grew up… How could you choose someone else?” I looked at him, at a loss for words. “Uh, your name is Ethan, right?” “To me, you’re no different from a stranger now.” “You married my cousin, so don’t say such strange things.” “My fiancé is a jealous type. If he beats you up, it’s not his responsibility.” Ethan’s body trembled as he looked at me, his eyes reddening inch by inch. Is something wrong with this guy? Is he going crazy? I quickly walked away.

I don’t know if Ethan was bad luck. Soon after, I bumped into someone else. When she finally saw my face, She looked like she’d seen a ghost, screaming loudly. “Elara, I’m sorry. Even though we’re rivals, it’s only professionally. Please don’t come looking for me in broad daylight!” “I’m terrified of ghosts. I’ll go to the temple tomorrow to burn incense for you.” Me: … After all that fuss, it was just a misunderstanding. Seeing that I had a shadow while standing in the sun, Chloe Foster finally calmed down, patting her chest. “It’s not just me overreacting; everyone at the TV station thought you were dead.” “Your dad showed up at the director’s office with your death certificate and black-and-white photo, causing a huge scene.” “He claimed you fell into the sea by accident while interviewing fishermen and insisted that Tiffany take over your job, threatening to cause trouble every day if not.” To prove I wasn’t a ghost, Chloe dragged me to the station. I hadn’t worked there long. But I had a good education and strong work ethic, so my colleagues liked me. Everyone was complaining about Tiffany. “She can’t even edit a script in a day. When she messes up, all she does is cry, adding so much to our workload.” “If it weren’t for your sake, and the fact that her fiancé brought in advertising, she would have been fired long ago.” I couldn’t help but laugh wryly, buying my colleagues bubble tea. My mood on the way home suddenly felt like I was going to a funeral. As soon as I entered the house, a cup was suddenly thrown towards the doorway. I narrowly dodged it. Then I saw my dad, without even asking what happened, yelling at me. “Elara, look at what you’ve done. You just had to go to the TV station and embarrass your cousin.” My mom looked at me with displeasure, her tone full of disapproval and blame. “Tiffany is pregnant and often takes time off, so her colleagues are already jealous. Now that they know you’re not dead, but she’s taken your position, the boss will definitely make things difficult for her.” Tiffany’s eyes were red, looking so wronged she was about to cry. “Elara, I didn’t mean to take over your job.” “Uncle Richard said it’s best to keep opportunities within the family, and that a radio job is hard to get and brings Ethan prestige, so I agreed.” My dad rushed to cancel my registration to clear the way for Tiffany. I thought for a moment, then couldn’t help but laugh. “Tiffany, your grades were so bad, how could you possibly handle it? Be careful not to take on a role you’re not qualified for. You might just bring trouble upon yourself.” She looked anxious. “How do you know my grades were bad? Did you remember something?” “No! I saw your old test papers while packing. Your essays were always miles off-topic, and you couldn’t even get the basic literature questions right.” My dad noticed her discomfort and was about to scold me again. Tiffany, afraid I’d reveal more, quickly tried to appease him. “Uncle Richard, Elara misunderstood; that’s all in the past.” “Mr. Hayes from Zenith Corp rarely makes appearances; he’s a finance mogul the station has long wanted to interview.” “Thanks to Ethan collaborating with him, we got in touch. I actually contacted him directly a few days ago.” Her voice suddenly rose, and she glanced at me. “I will prove to all of you that I won’t do any worse than anyone else.” My dad looked relieved, and my mom was proud of her. I listened, utterly bewildered. Zenith Corp? It sounded like a branch company under the Hayes Group. Was the Mr. Hayes she spoke of Liam, or his distant cousin, Daniel, who was dealing with embezzlement issues?

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After I got pregnant, I became incredibly anxious. Every day, I’d text Ethan Vance, asking if he loved me. For the first 99 times, he’d respond gently. Until the 100th time I asked. He suddenly replied with three impatient messages. `[Aria, are you that bored?]` `[Now that your morning sickness is over and the baby isn’t bothering you, you’re going to start bothering me?]` `[If you have so much time, why don’t you look in the mirror and see that face of yours? It looks like a bruised piece of meat.]` I froze. The next second, the messages were unsent, and a voice message popped up. “My apologies, my assistant accidentally sent that. Please don’t mind it.” Whether it was accidental or not didn’t matter anymore. All I knew was, our marriage was completely over. I got up and went to the clinic. When I walked out, my four-month-old baby was gone. By the time I got home, it was pitch black outside. The living room lights were on, and Ethan Vance was sitting on the couch. He looked up when he heard the door, his brows furrowed. “Where have you been? Why are you back so late? Couldn’t you bother to reply to my messages or calls?” I didn’t say anything. I kicked off my shoes and went to pour myself a glass of water. He looked at me, his gaze lingering on my face for a few seconds before he finally spoke: “About what happened this afternoon, I explained it to you. My assistant grabbed the wrong phone.” “She’s already apologized to me, and I gave her a stern talking-to. It won’t happen again.” An assistant, grabbing her boss’s private phone by mistake? I chuckled softly, put down my glass, and looked at him. Ethan Vance was incredibly handsome. I’d known that from the first moment I saw him. Now at thirty-three, he looked better than most men his age. Sitting on the couch in his loungewear, he looked like he’d stepped right out of a magazine. I used to love looking at him, thinking I’d never get tired of it. But today, I suddenly realized that his good looks had nothing to do with me anymore. It was like a beautiful dress in a storefront window. You look at it for a long time through the glass, thinking it’s yours, but you never actually get to hold it. “Ethan,” I spoke, my voice calmer than I expected: “What was your assistant’s name again?” He paused. “Megan. Why?” “How long has she been with you?” “About six months,” he said, then added, “Why are you asking? I told you it was a misunderstanding, didn’t I? Do you have to keep dwelling on it? Can’t you just pretend you didn’t see it?” He fired off four questions in a row. I didn’t answer him, instead continuing: “I remember when she first started, you mentioned she was clumsy, nothing like the efficient type you usually preferred. Then you stopped talking about her, and I thought you’d fired her.” “Turns out you didn’t fire her. And because of her, I’ve noticed that for the past six months, your overtime hours have been getting longer, and your business trips more frequent.” Ethan Vance’s brows furrowed again. “Aria, what exactly are you trying to say?” I smiled. “I’m just stating facts.” His frown deepened, and his tone became impatient: “Aria, I know pregnancy is hard, and your emotions are all over the place. I get that. But you can’t be paranoid over a few accidentally sent messages. It’s not good for you, and it’s not good for the baby.” Baby. That word was like a needle, piercing straight through my heart. How long had we been married? Four years, I think.

When I was twenty-two, I secretly came back from overseas to have some fun. At a friend’s party, I fell for Ethan Vance at first sight and pursued him. At first, he thought I was too young. Later, I relentlessly pursued him, laying my heart bare. I sent him flowers, gave him jewelry, and even proposed to him. People gossiped, saying I was too bold, too eager. But I didn’t care. Shouldn’t you be brave when you love someone? Later, we got together. We dated for a year before getting married. For four years of marriage, every single day, I was the one carefully giving my all. He’d respond with just a little bit, and I’d feel like my whole world lit up. It wasn’t until I got pregnant that I noticed he seemed happy, even giving me more attention than usual. But deep down, I suddenly started to feel uneasy. I kept pestering him, asking if he loved me. Though he never said “I love you,” he’d gently reply with “I’ll come home early.” Until this time, his private phone, which he never even let me touch, was taken and used to send multiple messages. Only then did I understand. He’d never truly cared about me, not once. But it was fine; it was over now. I was tired of loving him. Seeing that I remained silent, he probably thought I’d given in. He walked over to me, bending down as if to hug me. “Alright, don’t overthink things. The housekeeper made you some soup; drink a little and get some rest. Tomorrow’s the weekend, I’ll take you shopping…” “I aborted the baby.” My words were barely a whisper. He froze. His arm was still in mid-air, poised to hug me. The living room was so quiet you could hear the wall clock ticking. One tick, two ticks, three ticks. Then he straightened up, looking down at me, as if he hadn’t understood. “What did you say?” I looked up, meeting his gaze, and said, word for word: “I said, the baby’s gone.” “After you sent those messages, I went to the clinic and had the procedure done.” Ethan Vance’s face gradually turned white. In the five years I’d known him, I’d almost never seen him lose his composure. He was always in control in front of everyone, emotionally stable like a finely tuned machine. But at this moment, that machine had jammed. I found it oddly refreshing and kept watching him. “You aborted the baby without consulting me?” My lips remained curved. “Yes.” “Aria.” He called my name, his voice trembling: “That was my baby too.” I shrugged indifferently. “I know.” “You know?” His voice suddenly rose, his eyes instantly turning bloodshot: “You knew, and you still went to the clinic by yourself and aborted the baby, without even telling me!” “Aria! Do you even see me as your husband?” He had never yelled at me like this before. In our occasional arguments, he would at most just go silent with a cold expression, waiting for me to back down first. At that moment, I suddenly laughed: “Ethan, so you *can* get angry? You *can* get red-eyed? You *can* have moments like this when you lose your composure? I thought you were only capable of giving me the silent treatment.” Ethan Vance froze, then instantly clamped a hand on my jaw, his eyes blazing with fury. “Aria! What exactly are you trying to pull? I told you those messages weren’t from me. Why won’t you just believe me!” “And that wasn’t just your baby, it was mine too. How dare you get rid of it by yourself without consulting me?” “Since you’re so capable of aborting my child on your own, then you better make me another one!”

He suddenly lowered his head and bit my lip. A metallic taste quickly filled my mouth, and I winced in pain. In our one year of dating and four years of marriage, he had never initiated a kiss. Even during our most intimate moments, I was always the one to initiate the kiss. There was a time I dreamed he’d be more proactive. But now, I just felt disgusted. I bit him back, hard. He cried out in pain and roughly shoved me away. I looked up, my eyes red, staring fixedly at him: “If you want a baby, go find another woman to have one with. I’m sure your assistant would be thrilled to have your baby.” Ethan Vance froze: “What did you say?” My eyes red, I shrieked: “I said, if you want a baby, go have one with your assistant! Don’t you dare disgust me!” “Ethan, you truly, truly disgust me now!” He stared intently at me, like he wanted to pierce right through me. Three seconds later, he suddenly laughed. “Fine! Since you’re so generous, I’ll give you what you want.” “Don’t you dare regret it! And don’t come back crying and begging me!” The door slammed shut with a heavy thud. Silence fell. I looked at the closed door, tears silently streaming down my face, until finally, I burst into loud sobs. As if to cry out all the grievances of so many years. Ethan Vance, this time, I won’t regret it. And I won’t beg you ever again. I wiped away my tears and made a call. “Marcus, pull the funding we gave Ethan.” Ethan Vance didn’t come back that night. The next morning, I went to a lawyer’s office to prepare divorce papers. It was the weekend, so he wasn’t at work. But I didn’t know where to find him. Just then, my phone popped up with a video. Immediately followed by Chloe’s frantic voice message. “Aria! Isn’t this your super-cool, unapproachable husband?” “I saw him at The Galleria with some woman! He even knelt down to tie her shoelace for her!” “You’re only four months pregnant, and he’s already out chasing other women? That asshole, has he no shame?! Holy crap, I’m going to kill those two scumbags!” I tapped on the video. In the clip, the man who always acted so superior around me was kneeling down to tie a girl’s shoelace, just because of a few playful words from her. The girl laughed and filmed him with her phone, and he was smiling reluctantly too. My heart still couldn’t help but ache. I used to wish for that, too. But back then, he always maintained an aloof posture. He never flat-out refused, but he never reciprocated either. Leaving me to awkwardly find an excuse to back down. I forced a smile and replied to Chloe. “We’re getting a divorce.” No sooner had I sent the message than an unknown number called. “Ms. Vance, your husband and a friend have had a disagreement. Please come to the police station as soon as possible.” Chloe was impulsive, but I hadn’t expected her to act so quickly. I quickly hailed a taxi and went there. As I arrived at the entrance, the noisy commotion was still ongoing. “Ethan Vance! How could you do this to Aria? She’s only four months pregnant, and you couldn’t resist going out and cheating! And you openly took your mistress shopping, tying her shoelace! Why don’t you just drop dead!” “Our Aria was so good to you, loved you so much…” “Wasn’t she practically throwing herself at me?” Ethan Vance interrupted her, his face cold. I froze in place. Ethan Vance’s voice continued: “Did I ask her to be good to me? Did I ask her to love me? Wasn’t she the one who was desperate, who practically climbed into my bed, who married me at the flick of my wrist? So, what’s her kindness got to do with me? I don’t love her, why should I respond to her? Now that she’s pregnant, do I have to stay loyal to her forever?”

Chloe was furious; if the officers hadn’t held her back, she would have lunged at him. “Ethan Vance! Do you have any conscience?! If it wasn’t for Aria back then, you’d be behind bars by now…” “Chloe!” I cut her off, walking in and looking at the police officer. “I’m taking her.” Before the officer could speak, Ethan Vance said in a deep voice: “Are they just going to leave after hitting my person?” I looked at the woman next to him, eyes red, covering her face and leaning into him, then finally at Ethan. “What do you want?” Ethan Vance’s eyes were cold and narrowed. “Your friend slapped Megan, now I want her to return it.” Chloe looked like she’d heard a joke. “Let her hit me, you think…” “Who said I want you to return it?” Ethan Vance cut Chloe off, his gaze fixed on my face. “Aria, your friend made a mistake for you, so you should be the one to pay the price.” “You son of a bi—” Chloe trembled with rage, rushing forward to tear apart those two scumbags. The next second, I spoke. “Okay.” Chloe whipped her head around: “Aria, are you crazy? He cheated! He wronged you!” I ignored her and walked up to Ethan Vance and Megan. “Do it.” Megan’s eyes were red, and she said softly: “Mr. Vance, please don’t make your wife uncomfortable, I…” *Slap!* Before she could finish, Ethan Vance grabbed her hand and harshly swung it across my face. A burning, stinging pain instantly spread. After the slap, I turned to leave. “Did I say you could leave?” Ethan Vance’s tone was icy cold: “She slapped Megan once. I want you to return it ten times over.” He pulled Megan forward. Before I could react, slaps rained down, one after another. *Slap! Slap! Slap…* Nine slaps, each one heavier, each one crueler than the last. With each blow, what little love remained in my heart dissipated a little more. After the final slap, I felt nothing at all. A warm liquid flowed from the corner of my mouth, and my mouth was filled with the taste of rust. None of the nearby officers dared to interfere. Because the one doing the hitting was Ethan Vance, who practically ran the city. After hitting me, Ethan Vance rubbed Megan’s hand. He warned me coldly: “Keep your friend in check. Next time, don’t let her bark like a mad dog and scare my person.” With that, he pulled Megan, ready to leave. “Ethan.” I called out to him, taking out the divorce papers: “Let’s get a divorce.” Ethan Vance looked incredulous: “You want to divorce me?” I nodded: “Yes.” He stared at me for a full ten seconds, then laughed. “Aria, I haven’t even settled the score with you for aborting our baby behind my back. Now you’re coming at me with divorce, playing hard to get?” I forced a smile: “You’re overthinking it.” Ethan Vance’s face instantly darkened. He snatched the divorce papers, quickly signed his name, and then harshly slapped them back onto my face. “Aria, a friendly reminder: without me, you’re nothing.” “And when you come crawling back to me crying for forgiveness, I won’t even spare you a glance.” At the hospital, Chloe cried while applying medicine to my face. “How dare he hit you? What right does he have to hit you? If it wasn’t for you back then, that Ethan Vance would be behind bars, and he wouldn’t be here throwing his weight around and bullying you!” “That asshole! I’m definitely going to find a way to get revenge! I want him dead, I want to avenge you!” I chuckled a little, “I’ve already told Marcus to pull the funding.”

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My daughter clutched my hand, her body trembling with sobs, as she choked out words into the live camera: “Dear netizens, even if it means giving every last bit of my bone marrow, I will save my dad! He raised me, now I’ll care for him in his old age!” My son stood beside her, eyes red-rimmed, bowing deeply to the camera: “Thank you for all your donations. We’ll sell everything we own to make sure Dad gets better!” The comments instantly flooded the entire screen: “Now *these* are truly filial children! So touching!” “That old man must have done good deeds in his past life to have such amazing kids!” “Already donated! Wishing a speedy recovery to the uncle!” The whole internet envied me, saying I had a pair of devoted children eager to donate their bone marrow. Only I knew they were here to claim my life. The live stream ended, and from the end of the hallway, I heard the siblings’ conversation. There wasn’t a hint of their earlier sobs, only cold calculation: “Bro, I really don’t want to donate bone marrow to that old man. It’ll hurt my body and mess up my wedding photos next month!” “Don’t worry, silly sis, who’s actually going to donate to him? We’ll just tell the netizens the transplant failed due to rejection, and they can’t check the records anyway.” “Oh, right! And when he dies, that downtown apartment of his and his fifty thousand in savings, we’ll split it evenly!” “Plus, the eighty thousand from the netizens’ donations, we’ll divide that too. It’ll be just enough for your wedding fund!” I lay in my hospital bed, listening to them plot how to divide my assets, and quietly activated a hidden live stream. Today, I would expose these “internet’s most filial children” and ruin their lives. 0

My fingertip lightly pressed the frame of my glasses, and the live camera feed synchronized online. The next second, my daughter came over with a bowl. “Dad, let me feed you some chicken noodle soup. I specially made this for you, it’s good for your stomach.” She spoon-fed me, one spoonful at a time, with their camera set up beside her. “As long as my dad gets better, I’ll do anything. I’d trade my life for his.” I looked at the soup offered to my mouth and deliberately knocked the bowl over. The scalding soup spilled all over my daughter. The comments instantly flooded the screen. 【Is this dad sick in the head?! His daughter is so good to him, and he’s still not satisfied!】 【I think he deserves to be sick. This kind of person shouldn’t be a burden to his children anymore.】 Ethan immediately rushed over, gripping my emaciated hand, his voice choked. “Dad, don’t worry, Chloe and I will get you cured, even if we have to sell everything we own.” “We’ve already prepared to donate our bone marrow to you. As soon as you give the go-ahead, the surgery can happen.” Chloe picked up a towel, delicately trying to wipe the soup off me. On camera, she looked patient and kind, but only I knew. Every movement of her hand was so heavy it felt like it could peel off a layer of skin. The comments were still full of angry remarks. 【These children are so incredibly devoted. What bad luck to have a dad like this.】 【The internet’s most filial children, truly deserving of the title.】 Watching their phony act, I spoke. “I suddenly feel like having some pecan pie.” It was a treat I’d been mentioning for years. Chloe immediately nodded. “Dad, don’t worry, I’ll go buy you some right now, the most authentic kind!” She pulled Ethan out, thinking I couldn’t hear them. “Do you even know which bakery’s pecan pie he wants?” Ethan scoffed. “How would I know? Just buy the cheapest pie and bring it back. That old man won’t taste the difference; just get it over with.” Before long, Chloe walked back in with the pie. Comments flashed wildly before my eyes. 【This daughter is too good. What more could the protagonist be unhappy about?】 I merely took a bite, then abruptly threw the box to the floor. Ethan and Chloe immediately surrounded me again. Looking at their feigned concern, then at the barrage of insults in the comments. My heart was calm. I just wanted to see how long they could keep up the act. That night, I was in too much pain to sleep, so I faked a cough and a restless turn. But I heard muffled arguing from outside the hospital room. “Bro, how much longer? I can’t keep this act up, seeing him every day drives me crazy.” It was Chloe’s impatient voice. “Just hold on a little longer. Once that donation money clears, and we get his apartment, we’ll be free.” Ethan whispered. “Don’t mess up, don’t let him find any cracks in our story.” “What if he suddenly gets better?” “Relax, the doctors said his condition has progressed to its advanced stages. He wouldn’t last much longer. Then we’ll just say the bone marrow transplant failed. Netizens will only sympathize with us more.” As soon as he finished speaking, I deliberately coughed loudly a few times. The voices outside instantly vanished. Seconds later, my “children” pushed open the door, their faces again filled with worry. Ethan reached out to feel my forehead, his voice tender. “Dad, are you feeling bad again? We’ll stay with you, don’t be scared.” I lay still in bed, letting them perform. The whole internet was still praising their deep affection. Only I knew that these two were wolves in sheep’s clothing. 0

After that day, Ethan and Chloe constantly talked about taking me for check-ups and pulling strings to find specialists. They put on a show of being devoted children, worried sick about me. But in reality, they deliberately delayed every check-up. They even secretly changed my appointment times. Important bone marrow re-examination dates were secretly changed again and again, postponed repeatedly, and finally, simply missed. I suddenly remembered how before, they’d held up their phones, constantly filming me. Completely ignoring how my skin had already ulcerated from the illness, red and broken in patches. The pain at night was excruciating. The slightest movement tore at my flesh, making even the blanket unbearable. During filming, Chloe would gently dab ointment on my sores, crying into the live stream about how much it pained her to see me suffer. But as soon as the camera was off, they wouldn’t even spare me a glance. I’d whimper in pain, and they’d only complain that I was noisy, that I was a burden, that my rotting appearance was an eyesore. Forget applying medicine or wiping me down; they wouldn’t even bother to hand me a glass of water. One time, I was in such agony that I begged Chloe to help me change a bandage. But she recoiled in disgust, her brows furrowed. “It’s so gross. Don’t touch me. Can’t you just deal with it for a few days? It’s not the first time.” Ethan was even more direct, waving his hand impatiently. “Don’t bother. Medicine isn’t free, you know? Just endure a few days, it’ll pass.” All those tears shed on camera, all that feigned sympathy, were just an act for the netizens. When the doctor made rounds, I pretended to know nothing. “Doctor, why haven’t my last bone marrow re-examination results come back yet?” As soon as I spoke, Ethan’s face changed, and he hurriedly stepped forward to smooth things over. “The doctor is busy; maybe they haven’t sorted them out yet. Dad, don’t worry, we’ll ask them for you.” The doctor frowned, looking puzzled. “The re-examination date was long ago. Didn’t you say the patient wasn’t feeling well and canceled it?” That sentence, clear as day, was recorded verbatim by the camera. The comments were still a chaotic mess, defending them, but my heart had turned to stone. I pretended my phone was dead and reached for Ethan’s phone. “Let me call a relative.” He reluctantly handed it over. My fingers swiftly swiped open his bank statement. A large, unfamiliar transfer stood out, marked as ‘advance payment’. Scrolling further up, recent cash withdrawal records—amounts, times— They perfectly matched the records of my retirement savings that I had secretly checked. My retirement savings were being slowly drained by them. Late at night, I suddenly developed a high fever, my body burning hot. I desperately pressed the call button, the bell ringing repeatedly, but no one came in. Dragging my heavy body, I slowly shuffled out of the hospital room. My “children” were arguing in hushed tones in the hallway. “How much longer do we have to endure this, Bro? I’m really starting to break.” It was Chloe’s annoyed voice. “Just hang in there. This is a critical time. Once this period is over, everything will be fine.” Ethan gently persuaded her. “He’s lucid one moment, confused the next. What if he slips up on camera one day and all our previous efforts go to waste?” “Don’t worry, he’s so far gone, he wouldn’t be able to cause any trouble. Just wait patiently.” After confirming the camera captured their conversation, I quietly retreated back to my room. The comments were silent for a moment before someone hesitantly typed: 【Did anyone just hear voices outside?】 【It sounds like the siblings chatting? Too quiet to hear clearly.】 【They’re probably worried about their dad. Taking care of a sick person is hard work, after all.】 【It sounds a bit like complaining, but that’s normal. Anyone would have complaints after caring for someone for so long.】 Seeing that doubts were finally appearing in the comments, a faint smile touched my lips. This was only day one. These two’s true faces would soon be impossible to hide. 0

The next morning, as soon as I opened my eyes, I saw Ethan and Chloe had already set up their camera and were filming me. The two were chatting and laughing, discussing how much money they could make today. Online, they claimed all that money was for my treatment. But in the end, they were spending all *my* retirement money. And the money they earned from the videos had long since gone into their own pockets. I suddenly raised my hand and fiercely swept the water glass on the nightstand to the floor. Chloe’s face stiffened, then instantly plastered on a smile. “It’s okay, Dad, just an accident. We’ll get you clean sheets right away.” Ethan also leaned in, wiping his eyes for the camera. “As long as Dad is comfortable, we’re willing to endure any hardship.” The comments were full of praise. 【What wonderful children. If it were me, I’d have lost my temper already.】 【This dad is too much trouble.】 The camera turned. They stood with their backs to me, changing the sheets, their voices hushed, yet every word was swallowed by the microphone on my glasses. “Such a hassle. If it weren’t for the traffic and the money, who’d want to wait on this old man?” “Hurry up and change it. Don’t let him cause any more trouble. Once the money is ours, I’ll show him.” The live stream momentarily froze. Finally, a few doubtful comments popped up. 【Wait, I think I heard something?】 【Did I mishear? It sounded like they were badmouthing him?】 They couldn’t see the comments in front of me, so they naturally didn’t know that everything was being recorded by me. Before long, they composed themselves again, holding up a piece of paper to film a video. “Everyone, don’t worry, we found a match! Bone marrow transplant can be arranged soon!” They turned the camera to me. “Dad, you finally have a chance to recover. Then we’ll take you on a world trip, and we won’t have to suffer from illness anymore.” The two wiped away tears, looking as if they’d finally seen light after hardship. “We’re still a bit short on surgery fees. We’ll just work extra shifts and sell everything we can, and we’ll have enough.” Ethan and Chloe finished filming and started editing. The so-called matching report was tossed aside. I clearly saw the blurred handwriting and crooked stamp on it. Seeing this, the comments grew more suspicious. 【It feels like a setup, that report looks fake.】 【These children are completely different when the camera is off, so weird.】 While they were out taking a call, I secretly pressed the doctor’s direct line. My attending physician sounded surprised. “Matching? Both of them failed the matching test a week ago. I thought you already knew.” That single sentence hit me, making my whole body go cold. They never intended to save me. The so-called bone marrow donation was a scam from beginning to end. Before long, Mr. Henderson, an old neighbor, rushed in with fruit. Ethan immediately blocked the doorway, a fake smile on his face. “Uncle, Dad just fell asleep, it’s not convenient to see anyone.” “I’ll just take a quick look, I won’t bother him.” Mr. Henderson insisted on entering. Chloe frantically rushed over, pushing him out while giving Ethan a look. “Quick, cover Dad up properly, don’t let him catch a cold.” She spoke with feigned concern, but her hand pressed hard against my ulcerated skin, making me tremble all over. As soon as Mr. Henderson left and the door closed, Ethan’s face instantly changed. “Dad, please don’t do that again. If outsiders find out anything, won’t all our efforts be wasted?” Chloe also stood by, sighing softly. “We’re doing this for your own good, trying to raise more money for your treatment. If you keep acting like this, it makes things very difficult for us.” “If we weren’t thinking about your apartment and savings, which could support your subsequent treatment, we wouldn’t have to go through all this trouble.” His tone held a hint of subtle menace. “Just rest and recover, don’t overthink things, and don’t say anything to outsiders. It’s better for you, and for us.” I didn’t say a word. And the camera on my glasses clearly captured the impatience in his eyes and the falseness in her voice. At the same time, the live stream, which had remained on, completely exploded with comments. 【That tone just now… that wasn’t concern, was it?】 【His eyes were terrifying, where’s the filial piety? That was clearly a threat!】 【I felt something was off before. They only put on a filial act in front of the camera.】 They didn’t realize the live stream from my glasses had gone out of control. After lecturing me for a few minutes, they slammed the door and left. That night, I pretended to be asleep, closing my eyes and listening to them conspire in low voices outside the hallway. “Once the apartment is successfully transferred to our names, don’t let that old neighbor say anything else, to avoid any further complications.” “Don’t worry. Once the old man… then no one will suspect us.” A chill ran from my feet to the top of my head, freezing my limbs. I lay quietly in bed, watching the now out-of-control comments on the live stream, my mind clear. The real show was just beginning. 0

Over the next few days, I deliberately feigned a worsening condition. They thought I was too disoriented to hear or remember anything, so they stopped being cautious, conversing directly by my bedside. “Bro, he won’t last much longer.” Chloe’s voice was full of impatience. Ethan scoffed, kicking the foot of my bed. “Once he hands over the rest of his retirement savings, we’ll just dispose of him. The apartment and savings will all be ours.” I lay there, my body cold. The glasses camera live-streamed every word, every expression, crystal clear. The comments instantly blew up. 【They’re not even pretending anymore! Are these really his biological children? These are demons!】 【I praised their filial piety before, I must have been blind!】 I appeared unconscious, but secretly, I had already sent the live stream recording, bank statements, and the forged matching report. All of it went to Detective Miller, my retired police uncle. As soon as the message was sent, I clutched the fruit knife I had secretly taken from the cafeteria, hiding it under my pillow. To make one last big score, they decided to host a fully live-streamed “filial piety” birthday celebration on my sixtieth birthday. They would publicly announce a successful bone marrow transplant and share the good news at the banquet to scam more donations. As soon as the banquet ended, they planned to eliminate me. Then they would claim I died on the operating table due to transplant failure. They would walk away scot-free. That day, the hospital room was decorated festively with red. Ethan forced a smile. “Dad, happy sixtieth birthday. May you live a hundred years.” Chloe held her phone, live-streaming. “Thank you, everyone, for your continued support! My dad will be fully recovered soon!” The comments were already flooded with bots. But the viewers of my secret live stream tacitly agreed not to expose their true nature. They, too, wanted to see what these two “children” would do. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a menacing-looking stranger standing outside the door—one of their accomplices. A fellow patient and a few enthusiastic netizens came in to wish me a happy birthday. Someone smiled and asked me, “Uncle, your children are so devoted, you’re truly blessed.” I offered a weak smile and a gentle nod, secretly adjusting the camera to high definition. It captured them exchanging glances with the man outside the door and secretly passing him a note. Chloe brought a cake and held it to my mouth. One whiff told me something was wrong; the cream had a strange smell. I pretended to eat it, but spit it out the moment they turned away. The celebration soon ended, this “filial piety” birthday banquet was a complete success. The final act was over. My “children” stopped bothering to hide their true intentions. Ethan looked at his phone, checking the payouts, and scoffed. “Why were the donations from this live stream so low? But with the previous ones, it’s enough for us to make a clean break and disappear overseas.” Chloe, after seeing off the guests one by one at the door, turned her gaze to me. “We’ve been acting for so long, finally no need to pretend. Old man, you should just accept your fate.” The secret live stream instantly erupted. 【Holy sh*t! They’re completely dropping the act! These two aren’t even human!】 【I pitied them before, now I want to slap myself twice!】 I slowly raised my eyes to them. “You thought I wouldn’t recognize you?” “You are not my son and daughter at all. From the first day you stood by my hospital bed, I knew.” Both of them visibly froze, clearly not expecting me to have known the truth all along. After a brief moment of shock, they burst into arrogant laughter. “Didn’t expect you, old man, to be quite clever. Too bad, what good is knowing? You’re still at our mercy.” I used all my strength to question them. “What did you do to my real children?” Chloe leaned closer to me. “Your good children? They’ve long been buried on some distant hillside, their bones probably rotten by now.” The live stream exploded completely. 【Animals! They’re absolute animals!】 【Call the police! Quick, call the police! These are murderers!】 Ethan saw my face turn pale and my breathing become rapid, assuming the drug in the cake was finally taking effect. He leaned in smugly to provoke me. “They were crying and begging us back then, that sight was much more entertaining than you now.” “Just wait patiently. Once that fake surgery tomorrow is over, you can go join them for a family reunion.” With that, he reached out to tie me up. The moment he came closer, I suddenly pulled out the fruit knife hidden in my sleeve. Using all my strength, I plunged it into Ethan.

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My husband filed a PTO request for his wedding. And the bride isn’t me. Good thing I joined his company as HR behind his back. Or I never would’ve found out about this sweet little surprise. I click to see the details. Applicant: Henry Mitchell. Co-applicant: Vivian Brooks. I pull up Vivian’s employee file. Sweet face. Twenty-four. Job title: Henry’s personal secretary. I find her on Instagram. Her account is public. Her most recent post, from yesterday, is a wedding photo. Henry in a white suit, his arm wrapped around her waist, smiling like he means it. My finger hovers over the “Approve” button on the request. Click. Enjoy your wedding, Henry. I signed off on it myself. … A message pops up in the company group chat. It’s Vivian. She’s posted a digital wedding invitation. Below it — the same photo she put on her Instagram yesterday. The chat explodes. I scroll through them with a blank face. Each message hits me like a slap. My chest gets tighter and tighter. Then the HR door swings open. Vivian walks in carrying a tray of wrapped chocolates, beaming. “Ladies, come celebrate with me!” Her voice is sugar-sweet. The happiness on her face isn’t something you can fake. Everyone crowds around her, laughing, grabbing handfuls of chocolates. She works her way down the row and stops at my desk last. I don’t reach for any. So she sets a handful of chocolates down on my keyboard herself. Like there’s no question whether I’ll take it. “Avery, you have to come. Promise me.” I look up at her glowing face. “Congratulations.” I pick up a chocolate, peel back the foil, and pop it in my mouth. Sweet. “Vivian, that bracelet is stunning. Did Henry get it for you??” One of the girls points at her wrist. Vivian laughs, embarrassed, touching the diamond bracelet. “Yeah. He says my skin’s too pale not to wear something that sparkles.” I stare at the bracelet. The chocolate in my mouth turns bitter. That bracelet was Henry’s first-anniversary gift to me. Three months ago, Henry told me he was going on a business trip. When he came back, he said the bracelet had slipped off somewhere. He felt awful about it. Promised me he’d replace it with something better. The bracelet wasn’t lost. He gave it to her. Vivian lifts her hand higher. The diamond on her ring finger catches the light. “Henry designed the ring himself. Look, see how the petals curl? Isn’t it the most unique thing?” The girls gasp. “Henry is so romantic!” “A man like that? You don’t find them anymore!” I once told Henry I wanted a one-of-a-kind ring. But he said, “We’re already married. What’s with all that cheesy stuff?” Vivian’s cheeks flush pink. She keeps going. “Henry’s so busy, but he still remembers to pick up cinnamon rolls from my favorite bakery. Always fresh out of the oven.” That bakery is downstairs from our apartment. I asked Henry a hundred times to grab some on his way home. He always snapped at me. “That’s so far. Why would I go all the way over there?” The bakery is in the opposite direction from where Vivian lives. He wasn’t avoiding the detour. He was avoiding doing it for me. “Henry says once we’re married, he’s putting me in charge of all the finances. Every cent.” Three days into my marriage, I handed over my paycheck. Henry said a man should manage the money. That’s what keeps a household stable. I look at this glowing girl in front of me. The sweeter she sounds, the harder I breathe. “Avery? You’re so quiet.” I force my lips into a smile. “He really loves you. You two are going to be so happy.”

When I get home, Henry is in the kitchen wearing an apron. He hears the door and pokes his head out, smiling. “You’re home! Go wash up, dinner’s almost ready.” He walks out carrying a steaming plate of shrimp pasta. “Made your favorite tonight. Try it.” I drop my bag and head to the bathroom. I twist the faucet on full blast. The rush of water drowns out the sound of me almost throwing up. Back at the table, Henry has already filled my plate. “How’s the job hunt going?” He asks me this every single day. It used to feel like he cared. Now it feels like surveillance. I push rice around my plate. “Still looking. No rush.” “No rush at all. Take your time. I can support both of us.” I almost laugh out loud. Sure he can. After all, he gives me a $300 monthly allowance. That diamond bracelet on Vivian’s wrist? I couldn’t afford it if I starved myself for two years straight. Henry sets down his fork. “By the way, something came up. I have to fly out to Miami tomorrow. Big project. About two weeks.” I look up. “That long?” “Yeah. They need me on-site.” He lies smoothly. Not a single crack. “When do you leave?” “Tomorrow morning.” I nod. “All packed? Need help?” “I’ve got it.” He drops a piece of shrimp onto my plate. “Eat more. You’ve gotten so thin.” My stomach lurches. It’s Vivian’s favorite dish. I’m allergic to shellfish. I set down my fork. Henry’s brow furrows. The warm look on his face cools instantly. “What now? Food’s not good enough?” I shake my head. “Just tired today.” “Tired?” He scoffs. “You sit at home all day and you’re tired? I work twelve-hour shifts and still come home to cook for you. Do you ever hear me complain?” I look at him. For a second, he feels like a stranger. Is this really the man I married? The man who used to run out at midnight to get me Midol when I had cramps. The man who carried me across flooded streets in the rain. When did he become this? “Henry, when’s the last time we actually talked?” He blinks. Then waves his hand, irritated. “What do you call this? I’m talking to you right now.” “I’ve got a million things on my plate at work, and I come home to wait on you. What more do you want from me, Avery?” “Don’t be ungrateful.” I don’t say anything else.

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The pregnant woman next to me holds up a lipstick and asks the room if her husband is cheating. I recognize it. It’s mine. “Found this in his coat pocket last night,” she says, holding it up between two fingers. “Be honest with me, ladies. Is he cheating on me?” My eyes lock on the tube. The casing is scuffed and worn, and there—right on the side—is the Hello Kitty sticker I pressed on five years ago. That’s my lipstick. Before I can breathe, another woman laughs and points at the lock screen of her phone—a wedding photo. “Mrs. Chase, stop it. You and Sterling have been married almost three years. He treats you like you’re made of glass. There’s no way he’s cheating.” I follow her finger to the screen. The groom in the photo is my husband. My delivery-driver husband. The man I’ve been married to for five years. Sterling Chase. The room goes underwater. Their voices sound miles away. The pregnant woman catches my elbow. “Hey—you okay?” I nod. I can’t speak. My eyes drop to her left hand, and the diamond on her ring finger nearly blinds me. She catches me looking and smiles, holding her hand out a little farther. “Pretty, isn’t it? My husband flew it in from overseas. There’s not another one like it in the country.” “Of course it’s pretty,” another woman chimes in, voice thick with envy. “An six-million-dollar piece. You said you liked it, and Sterling bought it on the spot. He is obsessed with you.” Six million. I don’t even dream about it. Because I argue with cashiers over two bucks of vegetables. This is the man who couldn’t make rent? The man I’ve been married to for five years? “Obsessed? That’s an understatement,” another mom-to-be says. “Their wedding three years ago cost two million. The day they signed the papers, he transferred every asset he owned into her name.” “And since she got pregnant? Forget it. He’s got nurseries set up in three rooms—boys’ clothes, girls’ clothes, bottles, toys, you name it. Through age ten. The man is dying to be a dad.” The whole room laughs. I’m freezing. My fingertips are shaking. For five years, Sterling has refused to give me a baby. He said we couldn’t afford it. He said he didn’t want me or the child to suffer. He said wait, just wait a little longer. Three years ago, when I got pregnant the first time, he begged me for three nights straight. I cried the whole way to the clinic. Alone. I thought he was scared of the cost. I thought maybe he just didn’t like kids. Turns out he has money. Turns out he loves kids. He just doesn’t want them with me. My nose burns. I tip my head down before the tears come and pull out my phone. I text the only friend I have at the courthouse. [Can you check something? Is my marriage to Sterling Chase legally on file?] The reply comes quickly: [Yes. It’s real.] I should feel relieved. Instead my chest caves in. So what if it’s real? This woman in front of me—even if her marriage to him is the fake one—she has everything I don’t. The Mrs. Chase title. The six-million-dollar ring. The two-million-dollar wedding. The man who treats her like glass. And me? I have nothing. My phone buzzes in my hand. Incoming call: Star I stare at the screen. I can’t make my thumb move. And then, beside me, her voice goes sharp. “Star?” She’s looking right at my screen. “Your husband’s name is Star too?”

My fingers tremble around the phone. Before I can answer, the ringing dies. Three rings. Cut off. A second later, another phone rings. Hers. She swipes to answer on speaker without thinking, and his voice pours into the room. “Hey, baby. Class done?” I stop breathing. “There’s a storm coming. Don’t move. I’m coming to get you.” She giggles, scolding him. “Babe, no. You have that big meeting today. I’ll just grab a cab.” “Not a chance,” Sterling says. His voice is warm, possessive, the way it used to be in my kitchen at midnight. “No meeting matters more than you. I’m not letting you go home alone in this.” The call ends. The other women start teasing her about how lucky she is. I sit very still. Year one of our marriage, I worked a night shift on top of my day job. No matter how late I got off, Sterling would be waiting outside. I’d tell him to sleep, that I felt awful dragging him out of bed. He’d pull me into his chest and laugh. “Sleep? Not a chance. I don’t care how tired I am. I’m not letting you go home alone.” Back then, I thought I’d marry this man a hundred times over. Now he’s saying the same words, in the same voice, to someone else. My vision blurs, then sharpens. My phone buzzes. [Star: Babe, last-minute overtime. Can’t make it home tonight. I’ll come next time.] [Star: Drive safe in the rain. Take care of yourself.] Three years ago, he took a delivery route in another city. Said he could earn more there. Said once he saved enough for a down payment, he’d come home and buy us a real house. A real life. I believed him. I waited. We saw each other a few times a month, if that. I held onto every promise like it was sacred. Working overtime. He’s used that line so many times I lost count. And every time, I forgave him. Sometimes I cried for him. For how hard he was working. For us. Five years of waiting. Five years of saving up hope. And what was waiting on the other end? Another wife. Another house. Another life. He built me a fairy tale he never planned to make real. He’s never going to tell me who he actually is. Because in his real life, there’s no room for me. My eyes drift down to her bump. “How… how far along are you?” She rubs her stomach, and her whole face softens. “Just past five months.” She tilts her head. “I don’t think we’ve met. Are you new? I’m Evelyn Lockwood. Call me Evie.” Evie. Late-night phone calls. Evie in his contacts. He told me she was a pushy boss. I never questioned it. Someone elbows me. “She asked your name, hon. You with us?” I lift my chin. “Aria.” Evelyn’s eyebrows twitch a little. “Aria? Pretty.” A woman squints at the lipstick still in Evelyn’s lap, then sucks in a breath. “Wait—look at the bottom of the lipstick. Is that… an A engraved there?” The room goes quiet. Every single eye lands on me.

The silence stretches. “Wow, what are the odds,” the woman says slowly. “Same letter and everything. This wouldn’t happen to be yours, would it, Aria?” My face goes stiff. Every breath is heavy. Then she bursts out laughing at her own joke. “Listen to me. What am I even saying? Like she’d know Mr. Chase. Girl probably doesn’t even know what he looks like.” Right. Of course. A woman like me—worn jeans, gray T-shirt, pilled socks—couldn’t possibly cross paths with Sterling Chase. I see Evelyn’s shoulders relax. The little crease between her brows smooths out. But she’s not done with me. Her smile turns sweet in that careful, practiced way rich women have. “Ladies, leave Aria alone. She seems like a good girl. She’d never do something that nasty.” Then, louder, for the room. “Whoever the lipstick belongs to—she’s just some cheap mistress. Trash. She’s not making waves.” Evelyn picks up the lipstick, glances at it once, and tosses it into the trash can like it’s a used tissue. I watch it land. Something in my chest tears wide open. Sterling gave me that lipstick on our wedding day. A five-dollar drugstore tube. I kept it like it was a diamond. Five years. I’d panic if it scratched. And there it sits in the trash. Right next to my marriage. Both of them garbage. Both of them are jokes. Evelyn’s eyes drift over me—slow, neutral, the way you’d look at something at a yard sale. In a room full of designer maternity wear, I stick out like a stain. I tuck my feet under me without thinking. She catches it. Of course she does. The corner of her mouth lifts. Calm. Untouchable. “Aria, I have a closet full of clothes I haven’t even worn. If you’d like, come by and grab whatever fits. My husband buys me a whole new wardrobe every season. I can’t get through it. It just ends up in donation bags anyway. Better it goes to someone who needs it.” Then her eyes drop to my stomach. “How far along are you, sweetie?” My nails dig into my palm. “A little over three months.” The whole circle turns. Stares. A few jaws actually drop. “Three months? Are you serious? You can’t even tell.” My hand drifts to my belly. My fingers won’t stop shaking. No. You can’t tell. I work two jobs so Sterling won’t have to stretch his paycheck. I haven’t bought meat in months. I’ve been losing weight for years. Five-foot-eight, barely ninety pounds. My stomach is flat. There’s nothing there for them to see. In a room of glowing pregnant women, I look like a dried-up weed. Something close to pity flickers across Evelyn’s face. Her voice goes soft. Gentle. “Honey, you’re not eating enough. That’s not okay for the baby. After class, let me send you home with some prenatal stuff. Vitamins, protein powder, whatever you need.” I shake my head on instinct. She waves me off. “Don’t be silly. Do me the favor. Honestly, ever since I got pregnant, my husband’s been trying to feed me the entire store. I can’t keep up. I’m sick of looking at it.” I glance at the black plastic bag near the wall. Inside: the day-old shrimp I grabbed from the market this morning, half of them already gray. That’s what I’m bringing home to my baby tonight.

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The Don who killed seven of my exes just to have me — yet stood by and let his side piece flaunt a positive pregnancy test in my face. When I dated, he kidnapped my boyfriend. When I got engaged, he chopped off my fiancé’s hands. So I drugged him, took three hundred sixty-five filthy photos of his sleeping body, and leaked every single one online. He woke up, wrapped a hand around my throat, and kissed me laughing. “That’s my girl. The rose I raised myself. We were always meant to bleed together.” I laughed too. God help me, I agreed. That was eight years ago. Eight years of blood, bullets, and a bed neither of us ever left empty. Nothing on earth could pry us apart. Until her. Sienna Moretti. Soft hands. Soft eyes. No blood under her nails. I’m at the black-market clinic for my tenth round of fertility treatment when she walks in, cradling a swollen belly like a prize. “You must be Christian’s sister,” she purrs. “I hear you kill people for sport. No wonder your womb won’t take.” I just nod. I don’t even blink. She knows what I am. She walked in here anyway. That’s not courage. That’s an invitation. I have her strapped to the operating table within minutes. The doctor doesn’t ask questions. He never does. I snap a picture of the bloody little thing they pull out of her and text it to Christian. Got your gift. I love it. Ten minutes later, every soul in the building has been cleared out by his men. He storms in with a Glock in his hand and fresh blood still drying on his collar. “Have you lost your mind?” “Wasn’t this your gift to me? I opened it. You’re not happy?” His jaw locks. His eyes—those cold dead eyes I’ve watched empty a hundred men—turn red as he stares at the operating room door. “Elena. She’s just a girl. You didn’t need to go this far.” “Just a girl?” I light a cigarette, let the smoke curl between us. “She knew I get off on killing. I figured you sent her over so I could blow off some steam.” I lean in close. “Tell me, big brother. Did I read it wrong? She wasn’t a present. She was your new mistress.” The fury drains out of him. Something worse replaces it. Guilt. He shoves past me into the operating room. The girl is already awake and screaming, clawing at her empty, bleeding stomach. “Christian! She killed our baby! Kill her, kill her!” He scoops her up like she’s made of glass and presses his gun against my forehead. “Elena. You went too far.” I laugh. I actually laugh. I push the barrel aside with one finger and blow smoke into his face. “So what now? You gonna put one in me to avenge that little bastard?” I trail my fingers down Sienna’s bloody thigh and slide the blade from my garter. “Or do you want to gut me too? Even the score for your lamb?” The knife is already moving. Sliding into her fresh wound, twisting just enough. She goes quiet. Out cold. “Sorry, brother. There’s nothing in mine to take.” His men swarm me, guns drawn from every angle. But Christian just stares at me. And then he smiles. He waves them off. “Out. All of you. I didn’t call you here.” “Elena. Well played.” “Right back at you, brother. You taught me everything I know.” Eight years. Ten dead boyfriends. That’s how long it took him to turn me into this. The night he made me his, he wrapped my hand around the hilt of his knife and drove it through my fiancé’s heart together. He whispered against my ear, “Once you become me, no one else will ever be good enough.” He pulled me down off my white pedestal and into the dirt. The white roses turned red. The stain never washed out. And now he wants something clean? That’s a joke. “What, brother? Disappointed I accepted your gift? You’re right, I should’ve gone further. You always say a real Vance leaves nothing standing. I’ll do better next time.” He stares at me for a long moment. Then he carries her out. “Elena. Remember this. We’re not done.” The consequences come faster than I expected.

That same night, my doctor calls. The one who’s done all ten rounds of IVF on me. Christian has shut down every treatment. He’s moving the doctor to the estate to take care of Sienna. He’s even confiscated my psychiatric meds. The fragile little lamb needs them more, apparently. When his men leave, I’m staring at the ceramic pieces in the display case. The ones Christian and I made by hand when we were young and stupid and in love. Marco is shaking with rage as he packs them into a box. “Miss Elena, the Don’s lost his mind. Turning on you for some outsider? If it weren’t for you, he’d be rotting in a ditch a dozen times over.” “He’s playing with a new toy,” I tell him, smiling. “Let him play. When he’s done, I’ll bury what’s left of her.” “Throw those out. And bring me his wine collection.” I sit in the moonlight with a glass of red and look at Christian’s prized bottles. Vintage Bordeaux. Sixty-thousand-dollar Burgundies. A whole cellar of them. Pretty things are always so easy to break. I pick up a hammer. One. Two. Three. In ten minutes, two million dollars worth of wine is a sticky red lake on the marble floor. Marco rushes over. “Watch your feet, Miss Elena. Don’t cut yourself on this junk. It’s not worth it.” I snap a picture and send it to Christian. Not loud enough. Buy me more. He doesn’t text back. He video calls. Sienna’s smug little face fills the screen. “What, disappointed it’s me?” “I should thank you, really. If you hadn’t done what you did, I’d never have moved into Christian’s penthouse. He didn’t leave me after the miscarriage. He’s actually softer with me now. Guilt does wonderful things to a man.” She fakes a yawn, tugging her collar down so I can see the fresh kiss marks he left across her chest. “Sorry, can’t chat. Christian wants to make it up to me again tonight.” “You really are as filthy as they say, Elena. No wonder he can’t stand you.” I smile. “Is that right? Sweetheart, clean things don’t live long around the Vances.” Marco’s face goes black with fury. “Let me handle her, Miss Elena. Quiet. Clean.” I wave him off, swinging on the porch swing. “She’s just a girl. I’ve already wrapped a present for her.” If she’s smart, she’ll understand who she’s playing with. If she’s not, I’ll teach her. A month passes. Christian doesn’t come home once. I know my husband. He collects things. Wine. Art. Women. So I buy a ticket to the biggest underground auction of the season. He’s there. Of course he is. Sienna is glued to his arm. “Elena. What a coincidence. What brings you?” “Did someone tell you there’d be a gift for you tonight?” I lean back in my chair. “Tell me, sweetheart. Pregnant again? Already?” Her smile cracks. Her eyes go wet. Christian gives me a warning look. “Elena. Watch yourself. You’re scaring her.” That’s funny. I once gutted twelve men in our foyer five months pregnant, and he kissed the blood off my face and called me his good girl. “Just here to restock, brother?” I murmur. “Makes sense. Your cellar’s looking awfully empty.” His jaw tightens. He looks at Sienna. She mumbles something about the photos I sent—she deleted them because she didn’t think they mattered. “Don’t make decisions for me again,” he says coldly. Then he sees how upset she looks, and his voice goes soft. “It’s fine. Just don’t do it again.” A dozen lots come and go. Then the headline piece. The lights dim. Three hundred sixty-five photos of Sienna fill the screen. Every position. Every angle. Every filthy little secret she thought was private. Her scream tears through the ballroom. “What is this! How did you—” Christian kicks the door of my booth open. “Elena. Pull them down. Now.” I nod at the auctioneer. He clears his throat. “My apologies, Don Vance. These are tonight’s featured lot. Starting bid: two million.” I tap my fingers against the table and watch his face. Rage. Disbelief. Hatred. But not a single drop of guilt. “You’ve gone too far.” “She’s just a girl!” I smile, wide and innocent. “So what do you want me to do, brother? The bidding’s already open. My opening offer is ten million. Care to match?” “Otherwise, who knows where these end up.” He slams the door behind him. A minute later, the booth next door bids back. Every time I raise, he adds a hundred grand. Eighty million dollars later, I let him win. I lean back, satisfied. Bleeding him was only step one. A text buzzes on my phone. Unknown number. Watch your back, Elena. You’re next.

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