Category: English

The digital clock on the dashboard flickered: 2:47 AM. My son, Toby, was burning up, his small body trembling against mine as I sprinted toward the Emergency Room entrance. The hospital was a vacuum of fluorescent lights and the smell of antiseptic. As the nurse drew his blood, Toby’s screams tore through the sterile air, raw and jagged. The nurse, a woman with kind eyes, leaned in close, whispering that if he was a brave boy, Mommy would get him a special surprise afterward. Toby’s tear-filled eyes instantly cleared. He tugged at the hem of my sweater, his voice small but insistent. “Can I have the Lego Mars Rover? The one Daddy got for my brother?” The words hit me like a physical blow. I felt the gaze of the other parents in the waiting room—heavy, pitying, or perhaps just curious. My heart did a slow, painful roll in my chest. “Toby, honey,” I whispered, kneeling so I was eye-level with him once his fever had finally begun to break. “Who is this brother you’re talking about?” He looked at me with that terrifyingly pure innocence only a three-year-old possesses. “The brother who calls Daddy ‘Daddy,’ Mom. You know. My brother.” When my husband, Daniel, finally rushed into the hospital at dawn, his face was a mask of frantic concern. I didn’t greet him. I simply repeated Toby’s words, syllable for syllable, watching his expression. His features didn’t shatter; they shifted. A subtle recalibration. “He’s just confused, Elena,” Daniel said, his voice smooth as polished stone. “He must have seen me with my boss’s kid. We were… helping them move some stuff. You know how kids are. They project.” The next morning, I didn’t go to work. Instead, I grabbed a gift-wrapped Lego set—the exact one Toby had mentioned—and drove straight to the address of Daniel’s “boss.” 1 The woman who opened the door was wrapped in a charcoal-grey silk robe that probably cost more than my monthly mortgage. Her makeup was impeccable, even for a Tuesday morning, and her eyes raked over me with a cold, dismissive edge. “Can I help you?” Her tone was clipped, her hand firmly on the doorframe. “Hi. I’m Elena, Daniel’s wife.” I held up the gift bag like a shield. “I heard your son loves Legos. I wanted to drop this off for him.” Her eyebrows arched—a slow, calculated movement. She stepped aside, gesturing for me to enter. “The kids are out with their grandmother at the park. Sit down, if you like.” She handed me a glass of water, her movements languid and bored. “How did you get this address? Did Daniel give it to you?” I took a sip, the cold water doing nothing to soothe the fire in my throat. “Daniel asked me to drop off some local preserves here a few months ago for the holidays. I have a good memory for directions.” She nodded vaguely. “Right. Those preserves were lovely. Very… rustic.” I scanned the living room while she spoke. It was a cathedral of high-end minimalism, but the floor told a different story. A colorful play mat was strewn with toys—the kind of expensive, sensory-development gear you see in upscale boutiques. In the corner, a pile of discarded toys sat gathering dust. Right on top was the Lego Mars Rover Toby had cried for. Before we could exchange another word, the front door burst open. Daniel stood there, breathless, his face pale and then instantly flushed with rage. He didn’t look at the woman in the silk robe. He looked straight at me. “I told you yesterday Toby was talking nonsense. Do you really trust me that little, Elena? That you’d stalk my colleagues?” The air in the room turned brittle. I took a slow breath and set the water glass down with a deliberate click. “Toby kept asking for this specific set. I just wanted to see it in person so I wouldn’t buy the wrong model. And I figured I’d bring a ‘thank you’ gift to your manager for looking after you at the firm.” I turned my gaze to the woman. “I just didn’t realize your manager was so… striking. And so capable.” Daniel’s jaw tightened. He looked like a man standing on a collapsing bridge. “If Toby wants something, you tell me. I’ll buy it. You don’t just show up unannounced at Vicky’s house. It’s unprofessional. It’s embarrassing.” Vicky let out a soft, sharp laugh. “I understand, Elena. Mothers get so… protective. It’s a very primal thing.” She gestured carelessly toward the corner. “Honestly, my son is already bored with that Lego set Daniel brought over. It’s just taking up space. If you don’t mind hand-me-downs, feel free to take it. It wasn’t exactly cheap, after all.” I stood up, my spine rigid. “That won’t be necessary. If it’s that easy to get bored of, then it’s just expensive trash, isn’t it?” I didn’t wait for them to process the sting in my words. “I’ve seen enough. Let’s go, Daniel.” As I walked toward the door, I didn’t acknowledge the dark navy blazer draped over the dining chair. I knew that blazer. I knew the slightly crooked button on the cuff because I was the one who had sewn it back on two weeks ago while Toby napped. Daniel followed me out, his voice a frantic whisper as we reached the driveway. “Elena, wait. The Lego… I bought it on behalf of the whole team. It was a group gift. I’d forgotten about it. I’ll buy Toby the newest version tonight, I promise.” I cut him off, my voice devoid of emotion. “You don’t need to explain, Daniel. Being a single mom in a high-pressure job like Vicky’s must be hard. It’s only natural for a supportive subordinate like you to go the extra mile.” Daniel’s shoulders dropped. He actually looked relieved. “Thank God. I thought you were going to make a scene. I’ll pick up the toy on my way home, okay? I love you.” As soon as his car pulled out of the driveway, I took out my phone and sent a detailed list of every observation to my lawyer. That afternoon, when I picked Toby up from daycare, I ran my hand through his soft curls. “Toby, guess what? Daddy’s bringing home the newest Lego robot tonight.” Toby practically vibrated with excitement. “Yay! Just like my brother!” My chest felt hollow. “Toby, why didn’t you tell Mommy you wanted that toy before?” He frowned, his little voice turning somber. “Grandma said Daddy works very, very hard for our money. She said one toy is enough. She said the other boy is smaller, so I have to share. She said I should wait until he’s finished playing with his things, and then I can have them.” 2 My heart didn’t just break; it curdled. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and pinched his cheek gently. “When did you see Grandma and the other boy, Toby?” “Daddy took me for cake and ice cream. Grandma was there, and the boy, and the lady.” He looked up at me, his eyes wide. “The ice cream was so good. Daddy said it was our ‘Little Secret.’ He said if I told you, I wouldn’t get ice cream anymore. But I only had three bites, Mommy. Can I have ice cream tomorrow?” The pieces of the puzzle were jagged, but they were finally fitting together. My three-year-old was being coached to lie to me by his own father and grandmother. “Of course, baby,” I whispered. “Mommy will buy you whatever you want.” Daniel came home early that night, acting the part of the perfect father. He brought the Lego set. He spent an hour in the kitchen making shrimp scampi—my favorite. He sat on the floor and played “dinosaur” with Toby, laughing as if he hadn’t spent the last three years building a second life. I watched them from the kitchen doorway, a cold, hard knot forming in my stomach. He had spent so many nights “at the office,” so many weekends “at conferences.” I had almost forgotten what we looked like as a family. As I tucked Toby into bed, he rubbed his face against my hand. “Mommy, Daddy played hide-and-seek today. I’m so happy.” “Aren’t you happy when Mommy plays with you?” He tilted his head. “Yeah, but Daddy is strong. He gives me ‘Sky-Highs.’ He gives the other boy ‘Sky-Highs’ too, but he hasn’t done it for me in a long time. He promised he’d do it every day now. I want us to be together forever.” My mind flashed back to Vicky’s smug expression—the way she’d bragged about how “the father” of her child would stay up late just to take them to the park. The room felt like it was closing in. Toby drifted off to sleep with a smile on his face, probably dreaming of being tossed into the air. When Daniel tried to pull me close in bed later that night, I went stiff. “I’m tired, Dan. It’s been a long day with Toby.” He didn’t push. He just yawned and was asleep within minutes. The sound of his rhythmic snoring, once a comfort, now sounded like a serrated blade against my nerves. I stared into the darkness. I hadn’t asked him how he knew the passcode to Vicky’s front door. I hadn’t pointed out that the men’s slippers by her mat were exactly his size. I was going to destroy him. I wanted him to lose everything—his career, his reputation, his pride. But then I looked at the monitor on the nightstand, showing Toby’s peaceful face. Toby was only three. He needed a father. He loved this version of Daniel. My phone vibrated. A message from my lawyer. “Found the birth registry for Vicky’s son. The father is listed as Daniel Miller. The child is three years old. He’s been cared for by Daniel’s parents since birth. His birth date is…” My hands shook so violently I nearly dropped the phone. The boy’s birthday was only two days after Toby’s. Everything clicked. That was why my in-laws always “confused” Toby’s birthday, sending cards two days early. That was why they were always “too sick” or “too busy” to help me with Toby. They weren’t busy. They were just with their other family. The one they had actually chosen. 3 For the next two weeks, I became an actress. I played the role of the unsuspecting wife while I worked with my lawyer to gather every scrap of evidence—bank statements, travel records, the second lease. I was the primary breadwinner for the first five years of our marriage, and though Daniel made more now, I had worked too hard to let him walk away with my stability. When Daniel announced another “business trip,” I didn’t question him. I even packed his bag, looking right past a pair of lace underwear that didn’t belong to me. But the other side was getting restless. The late-night “emergency” calls to Daniel increased. He would give me the same tired excuses, and I would just kiss his cheek and tell him to be careful. He became more attentive at home, fueled by a cocktail of guilt and the thrill of the double life. One Tuesday, I left work early to surprise Toby at his preschool. The teacher’s words felt like a bucket of ice water. “Oh, Elena, Toby’s grandmother picked him up an hour ago. Didn’t Daniel tell you?” My in-laws never picked up Toby. They barely acknowledged his existence. I called Daniel. Straight to voicemail. I called his parents. No answer. My heart hammered against my ribs. I called my lawyer, my voice cracking. “They took him. They took my son.” “Calm down,” my lawyer said. “Think. Where would they take him? This is Vicky’s play. She’s forcing a confrontation.” I didn’t think. I just drove. I tore through the streets until I reached Vicky’s townhouse. Even before I reached the porch, I heard it. The sound of Toby sobbing—a high-pitched, hysterical wail that sliced right through my soul. I pounded on the door like a madwoman. “Vicky! Open this door! If you touch my son, I swear to God I will kill you!” The door swung open, and I shoved my way inside. What I saw made my blood turn to ice. My mother-in-law was standing over Toby, hitting his small, red hands with a plastic truck. “Stop grabbing your brother’s things! Stop being so selfish!” she barked. “I told you to let Jack play with it! Have you no manners?” Toby stood there, shaking, his face a mask of terror. “I’m sorry, Grandma… it hurts. Mommy… I want Mommy…” Vicky was sitting on the sofa, holding her own son, watching the scene with the cold detachment of someone watching a boring documentary. I lunged forward, snatching Toby into my arms. “Don’t you touch him!” “Mommy… Mommy, it hurts…” Toby sobbed into my neck, holding out his swollen, red hands. My mother-in-law had the audacity to look indignant. “Elena? What are you doing here? Daniel isn’t even off work yet.” “You hit him,” I hissed, my voice trembling with a rage so pure it felt like fire. “He was being difficult,” she said, smoothing her skirt. “He needs discipline. Jack is much more well-behaved. They’re brothers, Elena. They need to learn to share.” “You knew,” I whispered, looking at her. “You’ve known the whole time.” Vicky stood up, her smile razor-thin. “Of course she knew. We’re a family, Elena. It’s time you stopped playing house and realized you’re the outsider here. Just give Daniel the divorce and let us be.” The door opened behind me. Daniel walked in, carrying a bag of groceries. “Hey, I couldn’t find the cake Vicky liked—” He stopped dead.

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My younger brother’s kidneys were failing. I was the only match. I was the only one who could save him. But I was waiting for him to die. Even though, to the outside world, he had spent his entire life playing my fierce protector. Right before they wheeled Mason into the operating room, the pre-op nurse looked at my mother. “She hasn’t had anything to eat or drink since midnight, right?” My mother, Jodie, was just starting to shake her head when I cut in, my voice bright and clear. “I ate.” Nurse Higgins—a hardened woman who had gone to high school with my mother—lost all professional restraint and slapped me hard across the face. Jodie immediately grabbed the nurse’s arm, not to defend me, but to plead. “Don’t listen to her, Martha! She’s been a pathological liar since she was in diapers. She’s just trying to cause trouble!” The waiting room, packed with my aunts and extended family, murmured in collective disgust. “Cora has poison in her veins,” one of them whispered loudly. “She just doesn’t want to save her brother.” 1 I rubbed my stinging cheek, the heat radiating under my skin. I tilted my head, smiling up at my mother, my eyes curving into crescents. “Mom, did you forget? You hand-fed me a bag of candy yourself this morning.” The desperate defense died in Jodie’s throat. Her face went violently pale, then mottled with a sickly green. Panic hijacked her features as she clawed at the nurse’s scrubs, her voice breaking into a sob. “Martha, please, it was just soft candy! It’s practically sugar, it shouldn’t even count! My boy is in there waiting for his life. He can’t wait anymore…” Then, she whipped her head toward me. The panic vanished, replaced by a venom so pure it could have burned through steel. “Cora, you lying bitch! You threatened me! You said if I didn’t give you the candy, you wouldn’t donate your kidney…” I held my hands up, palms out, the very picture of helpless innocence. “Mom, listen to yourself. I’m just your daughter. No matter how rebellious I am, I’d never use my brother’s life as leverage. But if your nerves have gotten the better of you, and it makes you feel better to pin this on me… fine. I’ll take the blame.” The waiting room erupted, but this time, the crosshairs shifted to my mother. “Jodie, what the hell is wrong with you?” Aunt Patty barked. “You know damn well she can’t eat before surgery. Why would you give her candy?” “We’re talking about a life-or-death transplant, Jodie! How could you be so stupid?” “Great. Now the surgery is delayed, and poor Mason has to suffer even longer.” I stood quietly near the wall, letting the chaos wash over me. The corners of my mouth crept up, millimeter by millimeter. A month ago, Mason was diagnosed with end-stage renal disease. He spent his days curled into a tight, agonizing ball on his bed, howling as if he were being torn apart from the inside. That day, my appetite was spectacular. I asked for seconds at dinner. The entire family had gotten tested. Out of everyone, I was the only viable match. For the past thirty days, I had become the god of this house. Whatever I wanted, Jodie provided, too terrified to even knit her brows in protest. My first order of business? I hit Mason. Just walked right up and slapped him. Then, I made them give me cash. I went to the state fair. I rode the carousel, screamed at the top of my lungs on the rollercoaster, and when the Ferris wheel reached its absolute highest point, I looked down at the earth and cursed my entire bloodline to rot in hell. I bought vintage dresses. I bought video game consoles. Thud. A violent impact shattered my reverie. Jodie launched herself at me like a feral animal. Her fingers tangled in my hair, gripping hard, and she slammed the back of my skull against the cinderblock wall of the hospital corridor. “You lying little freak! I’ll kill you for tricking me! I’ll kill you for hurting your brother!” The scalp-tearing pain spiked through my head. The temperature in my eyes dropped to absolute zero. Without a second of hesitation, I brought my knee up and kicked her squarely in the stomach. Jodie shrieked, stumbling backward until she hit the linoleum floor, folding in on herself. Aunt Patty rushed to haul her up, her pinched, bitter face snapping toward me. The onslaught of abuse was deafening. “You psycho! Striking your own mother? Have you no human decency?” “I don’t know how our family produced such a cold-blooded monster. You’re a disgrace!” “She’s doing this on purpose. She wants Mason to die. She’s rotten right down to the marrow!” “Always stealing, always lying since she was a kid! Now she’s just a full-blown menace!” 2 I calmly picked up a green apple from the nurses’ station fruit bowl, took a crisp bite, and smiled at the gaggle of outraged women. “Apologize to me right now. Or the kidney stays with me.” Aunt Patty opened her mouth to scream at me, but Jodie lunged forward and slapped a hand over her sister’s mouth. “Patty, shut up! Please!” Jodie turned back to me, her spine bending in an immediate, pathetic display of subservience. “Cora, baby, Mom is so sorry. Don’t let yourself get worked up. It’s bad for your health.” An orderly was wheeling Mason back down the hall. He caught the tail end of the scene and let out a long, heavy sigh of disgust. I didn’t care. The gossip had already spread through the entire hospital wing over the last few days: The girl in Room 101, Cora, is an absolute terror to her poor parents and sick brother. On my first day admitted, I threw a tantrum demanding a private suite. My father had fallen to his knees, begging me, explaining that they needed every dime for Mason’s post-op care. I refused to listen. I kicked his shin and called him a pathetic, useless failure of a man. When Mason was writhing in agony on his bed, I stood over him, told him he deserved it, and suggested he just hurry up and die. When Jodie brought me hot coffee, I complained it was burning my tongue. I slapped the cup out of her hands, the scalding liquid splattering everywhere. “Are you trying to burn me alive, you crazy old bat?” I had screamed. Everyone whispered when I walked by. They called me a sociopath. Cold-blooded. Malicious. Before the nurse left my room that night, she pointed a stern finger at my mother. “Surgery is rescheduled for tomorrow morning. Do not give her anything to eat.” She stopped at the door, turning back with a heavy glare. “Not even a sip of water. Understood?” 3 The next morning, right outside the OR doors, the surgical nurse asked the mandatory question: “No food or water since midnight?” Jodie shook her head violently, her eyes wide with desperate sincerity. “None. I sat beside her bed for twelve hours straight. Not a single drop.” The nurse let out a subtle sigh of relief. I looked at the ceiling and said, in an airy, conversational tone, “I drank a carton of milk.” The nurse’s face instantly darkened. Jodie waved her hands frantically, her voice pitching into hysteria. “Doc, please! Don’t listen to her! I swear on my life I didn’t let her have anything! She’s making it up because she doesn’t want to save her brother!” The nurse hesitated, glancing between us. Aunt Patty immediately jumped in, her voice dripping with toxic conviction. “The girl was born bad! When she was five, she set the woods on fire and tried to blame her baby brother. At seven, she stole candy from the corner store and said he did it. At nine, she mugged a kid for lunch money and framed him again. She’s a stray dog you just can’t train.” Jodie’s eyes were bloodshot. She grabbed my hand, squeezing until my knuckles popped. “Cora, tell them the truth! Your brother is lying in there, his life is fading…” “I am telling the truth.” I pulled my hand out of her grip and looked past her shoulders, through the glass doors of the prep room, where Mason lay. He looked terrifyingly pale, fragile as wet paper. I let out a soft, breathy laugh. “If he dies from the pain, it’s just karma.” From his gurney, Mason managed a weak, saintly smile. His voice was a reedy whisper. “If she doesn’t want to do it, it’s okay. Mom, stop forcing her.” 4 The moment the words left his mouth, Mason’s back arched off the mattress. He curled into a tight ball, letting out a raw, guttural scream. “Mom… it hurts…” Jodie lunged through the doors, throwing her arms around him, shaking uncontrollably as she wept. She whipped her head back to glare at me. “Cora! Just tell them the goddamn truth!” She turned a pleading, terrified gaze back to the nurse. “She lies! She always lies! You can’t trust a word she says!” The nurse looked profoundly conflicted. She stepped closer to me, her voice adopting that soft, patronizing tone adults use with troubled children. “Cora, look at me. Did you really drink the milk? I believe there’s a good girl in there somewhere.” I gave her a bright, beaming smile. “You guys have blood tests, right? Run my labs. Why ask me?” Aunt Patty lost her mind. She raised her hand, aiming a vicious strike at my face. “Cora! Do you have any idea what your little lie is costing us? Your brother has to suffer for another two hours! The extra blood work is going to cost hundreds of dollars, and we are already completely broke!” I didn’t flinch. I raised my own hand and slapped her across the face so hard the crack echoed down the corridor. My voice was glacial. “It’s not my pain. And if you’re broke, then he can just die.” 5 Aunt Patty cradled her stinging cheek, her eyes blown wide in sheer disbelief. She couldn’t process that I had actually struck her back. A second later, she lunged at me like a banshee, burying both hands in my hair and yanking backward with all her strength. “You little bitch! You dare touch me? I’m going to beat the living hell out of you today!” The searing pain in my scalp acted like a match dropped in a pool of gasoline. It ignited a fire I had been suffocating for a decade. I had been waiting for the chance to tear her apart. I reached back, dug my nails into her wrists, and twisted hard. I brought my boots down on her shins, kicking, biting, screaming as we crashed against the waiting room chairs. Her shrill curses rang in my ears. But inside my head, a rolodex of old debts was flipping rapidly. Since I was a toddler, she had pointed her bony finger at my face, calling me a “useless mouth to feed,” reminding me daily that as a girl, my only purpose was to be a burden until I was married off. It was Aunt Patty who had once convinced my father to leave me deep in the Appalachian woods during a winter freeze, hoping I’d get lost. It was Jodie, back when she still had a sliver of maternal instinct, who had run through the dark with a flashlight to find me. It was Aunt Patty’s daughter who stole my toys. When I had gently pushed her away, Aunt Patty had stormed over and delivered a closed-fist backhand to my left ear. I haven’t been able to hear properly out of that ear since. Every Thanksgiving, every Christmas, she would whisper poison in my father’s ear, insisting that girls didn’t belong at the main dining table because I’d “eventually belong to another man’s family anyway.” So I spent every holiday sitting on a bucket in the cramped kitchen, chewing on cold bread, listening to the clinking of their silverware. They had forgotten all of it. But I remembered. Every single detail was calcified in my bones. “Let go of me, you psycho!” I screamed. “You cursed, ungrateful wretch!” she spat back. Ultimately, I was an eighteen-year-old girl and she was a heavy-set adult. In the chaotic struggle, she shoved me violently. I flew backward, the side of my head cracking hard against the sharp metal edge of a medical cart. Warm blood instantly welled up, sliding down my temple. 6 The doors to the waiting area swung open violently. My father, Rick, had arrived. I hadn’t seen him in a month, but he looked like he had aged fifteen years. His greying hair was wild, his eyes sunken into dark, bruised sockets. He reeked of stale cigarettes and absolute exhaustion. He crossed the room in three long strides, stopping right in front of me. His voice was terrifyingly soft, laced with desperate pleading. “Cora… tell your dad the truth. Did you drink the milk?” My body was shaking violently, adrenaline and trauma vibrating through every muscle. But I lifted my chin, staring him dead in the eye. “I drank it.” Smack. Rick’s heavy calloused hand collided with my jaw. “Is this the time for your sick games?!” he roared, his eyes bloodshot. “When you lied as a kid, I told myself you were just acting out. But now? Your brother is in there dying, waiting for you to save his life!” He stared at me, his chest heaving, his voice trembling. “I am going to ask you one more time. Did. You. Drink. It.” I tasted the metallic tang of blood in my mouth. I slowly raised my head, gathered the spit and blood pooling on my tongue, and spat it directly into his face. “I drank it. What the hell are you gonna do about it?” Rick shook with a rage so profound it looked like a seizure. He raised his fist again. Two orderlies and the nurse rushed forward, grabbing his arms. “Hey! Back off! You can’t do that here!” Restrained by the staff, this tall, hardened man suddenly broke. He collapsed to his knees, burying his face in his hands, sobbing loudly in the middle of the hospital. “I don’t want to hit her!” he cried out to the strangers holding him. “But look at what she’s doing! Look at her!” “When have we ever mistreated her? She was our little girl! But she’s always hated Mason. And now she wants to stand by and watch him die…” Still crying, he looked up at me from the floor. “When you wanted that expensive new backpack, I worked double shifts at the mill to buy it for you. When you wanted those fancy out-of-season strawberries, the rest of us didn’t touch a single one. You ate the whole carton until you were sick. When you wanted name-brand sneakers, your mother worked overtime at the diner until she collapsed. We loved you so much. How did your heart turn to stone?” I pressed a hand against my throbbing, burning cheek. And then I laughed. It started soft, then grew into a sharp, manic sound that echoed down the halls. “Loved me?” “You buy me a couple of cheap material things to save face, and you call that love?” “Who the hell wants it!” 7 The heavy doors pushed open quietly. Ms. Gallagher, my high school homeroom teacher, stepped into the corridor. She walked quickly to my side, her eyes immediately locking onto the blood trickling down my forehead. Her brow furrowed, and her voice was a soothing balm. “Cora, honey… does it hurt?” Rick scrambled up from the floor, throwing himself toward her like a drowning man grabbing a life preserver. “Ms. Gallagher! Thank God you’re here. Please, talk some sense into her! We haven’t been able to do the surgery because she keeps sabotaging it! Yesterday she tricked her mother into feeding her candy, and today she’s lying about drinking milk!” “Please, she listens to you. Make her see reason!” Ms. Gallagher froze, taking in the chaotic scene. She turned to look at me, her eyes brimming with a profound, aching sadness. “Cora,” she said softly. “Tell me the truth. Did you drink the milk?” I lowered my gaze, letting my lashes hide the sudden prickle of tears burning in my eyes. My voice cracked. “Are you going to force me too, Ms. Gallagher?” She hesitated. She reached out, her hand hovering just inches from my shoulder, before she slowly pulled it back. The sorrow in her eyes deepened. In a fraction of a second, a flood of memories rushed into my mind. The quiet, uncelebrated kindnesses she had offered me over the years: The thick wool sweater she quietly slipped into my locker when my lips were turning blue in the winter. The days I was starving, surviving on tap water, when she casually left her staff lunch card on my desk. When the entire town labeled me a pathological liar and ostracized me, she was the only adult who stood in front of the classroom and said, “I believe her.” My chest felt like it was being crushed in a vise. A sour ache climbed up my throat. I bit down hard on my lower lip, forcing the tears back, and finally whispered: “I lied. I didn’t drink the milk.” “Ha! You hear that?!” Aunt Patty barked a triumphant, cruel laugh. “I told you she’s a liar! She just doesn’t want to save him! She’s a heartless little bitch!” Jodie surged forward, her fingers digging painfully into my biceps as she wailed. “Cora! He’s your flesh and blood! How can you be so cruel?!” Ms. Gallagher gently reached out and smoothed a piece of blood-matted hair from my face. “I knew it,” she said tenderly. “I knew you were a good…” I cut her off. “I’m still not doing it.” I reached into the deep pocket of my jacket and pulled out a bottle of water I had hidden there all morning. While they all watched in paralyzed silence, I unscrewed the cap and took a massive, undeniable gulp. I let the plastic bottle drop to the floor. Water spilled over the linoleum. I slowly raised my arm, pointing a steady finger straight through the glass at the boy writhing on the bed. His hospital gown was soaked in cold sweat, his groans barely audible through the door. “I want him to die.”

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When I opened my eyes again, the world was no longer white, sterile, and smelling of industrial bleach. I was back in my first year of grad school. In the dim light of the stairwell, Beth was hunched over, her eyes rimmed with red, her knuckles white as she gripped a tuition past-due notice. In my first life, I had found her here, sobbing because she couldn’t afford the semester. I had handed over five thousand dollars—every cent I’d clawed together from late-night tutoring and skipping meals. She had clung to me then, her voice thick with tears, swearing I was the most important person in her life. But by graduation, my senior thesis data had vanished into thin air. A week later, Beth published a paper with the exact same findings, claiming lead authorship. She didn’t stop there—she married our department head, Dr. Whitaker. When I confronted her, she simply leaned into his arm, looked at me with pity, and told the board I was “unstable.” She said I had “persecutory delusions.” That was how they dragged me to the psychiatric ward. For three years, I lived in a fog of sedatives, my veins hardening from the injections, until I finally died in a bed that wasn’t mine. 1 Beth sat on the concrete step, her shoulders shaking with rhythmic sobs. The notice was a crumpled ball in her hand, then smoothed out, then crushed again. I stood over her, the five thousand dollars I’d just withdrawn from the bank heavy in my pocket. In my last life, I didn’t hesitate. I’d pressed the cash into her palms like a lifeline. This life, I just watched her cry. All I could see was that hospital bed. The peeling white ceiling. The needle marks mapping my forearms. I could still feel the phantom chill of the sedatives turning my blood into lead. Beth looked up, tears snagged in her lashes, her lip trembling. “Julie, I’m tapped out. My mom’s medical bills… the house… we just don’t have it. If I don’t pay this by Friday, I’m out of the program. I’ll have to go back home.” I knelt down, but I only pulled one thousand dollars from my pocket. I laid the bills across her knee. Beth froze. She looked at the stack, then at me. “Take this for now,” I said, my voice steady. “For the rest, I’ll help you talk to the department. There are work-study positions available. If you apply, you won’t have to pay it all back at once, and you won’t owe me nearly as much.” Beth stared at the money. She didn’t move. “Is… is this it?” “One thousand is a lot, Beth. I make fifteen an hour tutoring. It took me months to save this.” I pulled a sheet of paper and a pen from my bag. “Write me a promissory note. It’s not that I don’t trust you—it’s just a habit I’m trying to start. For my own records.” Beth took the pen. Her fingers hitched for a fraction of a second. Then she smiled. It was a smile I knew too well—the corners of her mouth went up, but her eyes remained cold and flat. “Right. Of course. You’re being so sweet.” She scribbled the note and handed it back. I folded it carefully and tucked it into the hidden inner pocket of my backpack. On the walk back to the dorms, she looped her arm through mine. Her voice was still watery. “Julie, thank you. Seriously. I’ll never forget what you’ve done for me. You’re my sister.” “Mhm,” I murmured. You said that last time, too, I thought. Right before you locked me in a cage. I didn’t sleep that night. Once Beth’s breathing turned heavy and even, I crawled out of bed and opened my laptop. I exported every single byte of my experimental data. One copy to a private cloud. One copy to an encrypted Dropbox. One copy in a password-protected zip file sent to a burner email address. Finally, I sent a summary to my primary email with the subject: Thesis Progress Backup – Oct 17. Three locations. Three different, complex passwords. I watched the “Upload Complete” checkmark flicker on the screen and shut the laptop. Outside, the hallway light was buzzing, flickering in the dark. Beth rolled over in her sleep, mumbling something incoherent. The next morning at the lab meeting, our advisor, Dr. Whitaker, called for progress reports. He was forty-one, perpetually single, wore gold-rimmed glasses, and spoke with a slow, measured condescension that people mistook for wisdom. In my first life, I thought he was a visionary. Now I knew the truth: he was a weak man, easily swayed by a woman who knew how to play the victim. When it was Beth’s turn, she stood up. Her voice was thin. She got two sentences in before her voice cracked. “I’m so sorry, Dr. Whitaker. I’ve had some… family emergencies. My progress is a bit behind where I wanted it to be.” Whitaker pushed his glasses up his nose, his tone softening instantly. “It’s alright, Beth. If you’re struggling, talk to me. You don’t have to carry the weight of the world alone.” Beth nodded, dabbing at her eyes as she sat down. The other PhD candidates in the room shifted, their expressions full of easy sympathy. Then it was my turn. I flipped the slide to the third page and began detailing the data I’d pulled that week. Whitaker cut me off halfway through. “What’s the basis for this variable? Did you check the literature?” “Dr. Thompson’s 2019 paper, and the MIT study from last spring—” “Are you sure? I recall the MIT findings being inconsistent with your trajectory.” I rattled off the DOI numbers and the specific methodology citations. Whitaker scrolled through his tablet, silent for a long moment. “…Fine. Keep running it.” After the meeting, Beth sidled up to me. “Julie, that experimental design was actually really clever. Do you think you could send me the slides? I want to learn from how you structured the variables.” I pulled my thumb drive from the port and dropped it into my pocket. “Once I’ve cleaned up the formatting, I’ll send it over.” I never sent it. She asked again a week later. I told her I’d forgotten. She didn’t ask a third time. But that night in the dorm, as she lay on the top bunk, she spoke into the darkness. “Julie? Are you mad at me?” “No. Why?” “I don’t know. You just… feel different lately.” I pulled the duvet up to my chin. “Just tired, Beth. The lab is a grind. Don’t overthink it.” There was a long silence. “Oh. Okay. Goodnight.” “Night.” I lay there with my eyes open, listening to her toss and turn above me. Different? Of course I was different. The Julie she knew had died on day 1,087 in the psych ward. 2 The weeks blurred into a focused, rhythmic haze. I lived in the lab. Every time a result came in, I synced it across my backups. I sent myself a weekly email log. My lab notebook never left my sight; I took it to the cafeteria, the gym, even the bathroom. Beth, meanwhile, began cultivating her “tribe.” She started bringing lattes to the lab—one for everyone, except me. She didn’t “forget.” She would count heads right in front of me. “One, two, three… okay, that’s everyone who asked,” she’d say, then turn on her heel. Hannah, a senior student, walked over with her cup, whispering, “Did you and Beth have a falling out?” “No,” I said. “Then why—” “Maybe she’s just stressed.” Hannah looked at me skeptically but let it drop. In mid-November, I was in the campus restroom when I heard voices in the stalls. “Julie is just… she’s getting paranoid,” Beth’s voice echoed against the tile. “She locks everything. She carries that notebook like it’s the Holy Grail. Who does that? It’s not normal.” “Wait, really?” That was Kaitlyn, a junior. “That sounds a bit intense.” “I live with her, Kaitlyn. I see it every night. She wouldn’t even share a basic PowerPoint with me. I just wanted to learn, and she acted like I was trying to rob her. It’s honestly kind of scary.” The sound of the running faucet drowned out my footsteps. I dried my hands, looked at my reflection—colder, sharper than before—and pushed the door open. Kaitlyn was just coming out of a stall. Her face went beet-red. “J-Julie…” “The dispenser is out of paper towels,” I said calmly. “You might want to let maintenance know.” I walked out. From that day on, the atmosphere in the lab shifted. When I spoke during group sessions, no one followed up. When the group went to lunch, they didn’t look my way. I’d walk into the breakroom and the conversation would die like a snuffed candle. I saw Kaitlyn whispering to another girl as I walked by with my backpack. “See? She’s got the notebook. Everywhere. Isn’t that a bit much?” I filled my water bottle and kept walking. In early December, Whitaker called me into his office. He sat behind his mahogany desk, fingers interlaced. “Julie, I’ve been hearing some concerning reports about your lack of collaboration.” “Concerning how, exactly?” “Data sharing. Literature discussions. You seem to be isolating yourself from the team.” “My data is in a critical phase. Once it’s ready for publication, I’ll be happy to share.” Whitaker adjusted his glasses. “Academia requires an open mind, Julie. You can’t produce world-class work in a vacuum.” “Dr. Whitaker, you’ve seen my progress. The trends are excellent—” “I know,” he snapped. “But a good project doesn’t excuse a toxic personality. This lab is a team. Do you understand?” I gripped my notebook through the fabric of my bag. I said nothing. “Fine. Go back to work. Think about what I said.” As I opened the door, I ran into Beth. She was carrying a steaming cup of coffee. She blinked, surprised to see me, then offered a small, sympathetic smile. “Julie? Did the meeting go okay?” I brushed past her without a word. Behind me, I heard her soft knock. “Dr. Whitaker? I brought you an Americano. I saw your light was still on and figured you were pulling another late one.” Whitaker’s voice drifted through the closing door, ten times softer than it had been with me. “You’re too kind, Beth. Come in, sit down.” I walked faster. Back at my desk, I opened my laptop. Thirty-two backup emails sat in my inbox, each with a clear, unforgeable timestamp. I opened the latest one. Three control groups. Perfect results. The project was six months away from being a breakthrough. In my last life, Beth’s name was on the header of that breakthrough. Not this time. I closed the email and opened a new document. Title: Beth – Loan and Repayment Log. She hadn’t paid back a single cent. I saved the document, synced it to three clouds, and shut my eyes. From the top bunk, Beth’s voice drifted down. “Julie?” “Yeah.” “What do you think of Dr. Whitaker? As a person, I mean.” “He’s an advisor. Does it matter if he’s a good person?” Beth let out a small, airy laugh. “I guess not. Goodnight.” I didn’t say it back. I stared at the ceiling and counted to three hundred until her breathing leveled out. Then I rolled over, pressing my notebook under my pillow. 3 By spring, Beth’s “assistance” to Whitaker was undeniable. Mondays, she organized his desk. Wednesdays, she picked up his dry cleaning. Fridays, she handled his administrative filings. Weekends… she started going to his condo to “help with his organization.” The lab saw it. No one said anything. Except Hannah, who caught me in the breakroom once. “Is Beth… going a little overboard?” I shook my head. “None of my business.” “But she’s—” “Hannah, just focus on your own thesis.” Hannah looked at me for a few seconds, sighed, and walked away. In late March, I submitted my grant application for the next phase of testing. Two weeks went by. Nothing. Four weeks. Silence. I went to Whitaker’s office. “Dr. Whitaker, my grant application has been sitting in ‘pending’ for a month.” “I’m still reviewing the direction of your project,” he said, not looking up. “There’s no rush.” “But the reagents are going to—” “I said there’s no rush.” As I walked out, I saw Beth’s grant approval posted on the department bulletin board. Submission date: March 28th. Approval date: March 31st. Three days. My application had been rotting in his drawer for a month, but hers took seventy-two hours. I stood in front of that board for a long time. A junior student walked past, murmuring, “Still looking at that, Julie? Beth’s research direction is just really solid, I guess.” I didn’t answer. In April, my funding finally came through. It was a third less than what I’d asked for. I didn’t argue. I took two thousand dollars of my own savings to bridge the gap. The experiment couldn’t stop. By May, the core data began to finalize. All three control groups were yielding results that were even better than I’d hoped. I immediately synced them to my three clouds. I sent myself two emails—one with the attachment, one with just the raw findings and the date. Then, I opened my physical lab notebook. I copied the data in my neatest handwriting. Then I paused. I flipped to the back of the notebook. I wrote out a second set of data. This set was nearly identical to the real one, with one tiny, fatal flaw: in the third control group, I changed the p-value from 0.003 to 0.03. A single decimal point. To an untrained eye, or even a tired one, it looked fine. But anyone who actually understood the research would know that a p-value of 0.03 meant the results weren’t statistically significant. The entire conclusion would fall apart. I marked those pages with a sticky note: FOR VERIFICATION. Then, I closed the book and left it on my desk. Usually, it went everywhere with me. Today, I left it right there, in plain sight. Before heading to the cafeteria, I adjusted my desk lamp. I tucked a single strand of my hair under the base of the lamp. When I returned forty-five minutes later, the lamp had been moved two centimeters. The hair was gone. The notebook was exactly where I’d left it, but the sticky note had been moved by one page. I sat down, said nothing, and started typing my draft. Late that night, I stopped by the security office on my way out. The guard was scrolling through his phone. “Hey, I think I dropped my ID card in the building earlier. Could you help me check the footage to see if anyone picked it up?” “Which floor?” “Third.” “Let’s take a look.” He pulled up the playback. 6:32 PM: I leave the lab for dinner. 6:41 PM: Beth enters the lab. She walks straight to my desk. She looks around, then opens my notebook. She flips to the back—to the “bait” data. She pulls out her phone. Snap. Snap. Snap. She closes the book, replaces it perfectly, and leaves. The whole thing took less than three hundred seconds. The guard looked up. “See your ID?” “Oh, no. Must have dropped it outside. Thanks anyway.” “No problem.” I walked into the stairwell and stood in the dark. The motion-sensor lights stayed off because I wasn’t moving. I leaned against the wall and smiled. Okay, Beth. You took the bait. 4 From June to September, I waited. I waited for Beth to write her paper using that poisoned data. I waited for her to commit. I did nothing but run my own experiments and give my usual, lukewarm updates to Whitaker. His attitude remained cold. His attitude toward Beth remained… indulgent. In late September, Beth took a week off, saying she was visiting her mother. I was at the lab printer when I saw a discarded page in the recycling bin. It was a Table of Contents for a manuscript. The title was nearly identical to my research. Lead Author: Beth Miller. Corresponding Author: Dr. Richard Whitaker. I folded the paper and put it in my bag. I scanned it, uploaded it, and emailed it to myself. Mid-October, Beth’s paper was published. It landed in a high-impact journal. The lab was buzzing. During our weekly meeting, Whitaker stood up and singled her out. “Beth’s work is a testament to clarity and drive. She is quite possibly the most brilliant student I’ve had the pleasure of mentoring in years.” Beth stood up, blushing, looking modest. “I couldn’t have done it without Dr. Whitaker’s guidance.” The look they exchanged was one everyone in the room understood. After the meeting, I sat at my desk and downloaded her paper. I read every word. The methodology, the framework—it was mine. I scrolled to Section Three: Results and Analysis. Third control group: p=0.03. She hadn’t even caught it. She’d copied the error, character for character. I closed my laptop and exhaled. Game on. One week later, the University Academic Integrity Committee received an anonymous tip. The tip didn’t target Beth. It targeted me. The report claimed that I, Julie, had been spying on Beth’s research, stealing her ideas, and making “hostile remarks” about her in private. Attached were five “witness statements” from my lab mates. Kaitlyn wrote: Julie was always trying to look at Beth’s screen. A junior named Mark wrote: Julie told me Beth’s data was ‘fake’ to try and discredit her. Each statement was a half-truth or a fabrication, woven together to create a portrait of a jealous, unstable girl. The committee launched an investigation. I was placed on administrative leave. My keycard was confiscated. Whitaker held a lab meeting without naming me, but his message was clear: “Academic dishonesty is a red line. Anyone who crosses it is dead to this profession.” The room looked at me. No one spoke up. Hannah kept her head down, flipping through her notes. That afternoon, the university’s anonymous message board exploded. [LEAK: Grad student in the Bio-Sciences caught stealing roommate’s thesis] The thread was vicious. “Kick the academic trash out.” “Imagine stealing from the girl who literally helped you pay tuition.” “I heard she’s a total psycho. A real backstabber.” The last comment had the most upvotes. I shut down the forum. My phone rang. It was my mother. “Honey,” her voice was trembling. “Tell me the truth. Did you… is what they’re saying true?” I gripped the phone. “No, Mom. I didn’t do it.” Silence. “Then… then you have to explain it to them. You have to make them listen.” “I will.” I sat on the edge of my dorm bed. Beth wasn’t there. She’d been staying “out”—likely at Whitaker’s condo. I looked at my hands. In my first life, I would have broken here. I would have run to Whitaker crying, tried to explain it to the committee, sounding more guilty with every desperate word. And then Beth would have started “worrying” about my mental health. Not this time. I set my phone to Do Not Disturb and opened my evidence folder. The next day, Beth came back to the dorm to pack a bag. She saw me at my desk, hesitated, and then sat down across from me. “Julie.” “Mhm.” “How are you… holding up?” “I’m fine.” “I heard about the investigation. I don’t even know what to say. I just think the pressure got to you.” She reached out and put her hand over mine. Her skin was cool. “Maybe you should see someone? The campus clinic has great counselors. I can make an appointment for you.” I looked at her hand. Perfectly manicured. A small bite mark on her middle finger—a nervous habit she had when she was lying. In my last life, this was the hand that signed my commitment papers. “I don’t need a counselor,” I said, pulling my hand away. “I’m perfectly sane.” Beth sighed. “Julie, don’t bottle it up. I’m really worried about you. I’m afraid you’ll do something… drastic.” I looked her in the eye. “Beth.” “Yeah?” “When are you going to pay me back that thousand dollars?” Her face stiffened for a heartbeat. Then she smiled. “See? This is what I mean. You’re fixating on money. It’s not a normal way to react to all of this. You really need help, Julie.” She grabbed her things and left. As the door clicked shut, I heard her pick up her phone in the hallway. “Dr. Whitaker? Yeah, she’s getting worse… she said some really strange things… I’m scared, Richard. What do we do?” Her voice faded as she hit the stairs. I opened my laptop and logged the time and content of the conversation. Save. Sync. Email. The hearing was set for Wednesday. I made one more call. “Hi, is this the Facilities and Security office? I’d like to request a formal backup of the hallway footage from the Science Building. May 17th. Yes, I have the case number from the Dean’s office.”

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Today was supposed to be the pinnacle of my life—my engagement gala to Alex Cross. Instead, it became the day he walked into the ballroom with Lucy, the “miracle” biological daughter the Hart family had finally brought home, clutching a marriage certificate. They hadn’t just skipped the engagement; they had already tied the knot. Alex looked at me, his gaze stripped of the warmth I had relied on for five years. Now, there was only a cold, sharp disdain. “You didn’t actually think I was going to marry you, did you, Isabel?” he asked, his voice echoing through the silent hall. Lucy clung to his arm, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips. “I told Alex to play along for a bit,” she said, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “I thought you needed a reality check, but I didn’t realize you were actually delusional enough to believe the act.” Even my parents—the people who had raised me, who had called me their daughter for twenty years—stood firmly behind them. To them, this was simply cosmic justice. “You had twenty years of a life that belonged to Lucy,” my mother said, her eyes hard. “So what if you dated Alex for five years? You were just keeping his seat warm.” It was only then that the fog lifted. Alex and Lucy hadn’t just met; they had been orchestrating this for months. This gala, the dress I was wearing, the months of planning—it was all a curated performance designed for my public humiliation. The whispers from the crowd began to rise like a tide. The charity case finally got kicked out. Did she really think she could keep the Hart inheritance and the Cross fortune? I didn’t argue. I didn’t scream. I simply stood there, absorbing the jagged edges of their mockery. And then, I smiled. “I hope,” I said, my voice steady enough to make Alex flinch, “that after today, none of you find a reason to regret this.” 1 Alex let out a short, sharp laugh, clearly mistaking my composure for bitterness. “Don’t blame me, Isabel. Blame yourself. You were always too busy with your lab work, your research, your ‘career.’ I’m a man with needs, and you were never there.” He stepped closer, dropping his voice. “Lucy actually knows how to be a wife. She fits my world better than a woman who smells like formaldehyde.” He reached out and pressed a set of keys into my palm. My skin crawled at his touch. “The penthouse in the Upper West Side. Consider it your severance package.” I looked down at the silver keys. It was pathetic. “Alex,” I said, my voice carrying just enough to be heard by those closest to us. “Before you try to set me up as your kept woman, you should have asked yourself a simple question: Do I look like the type of woman who wants a man who’s already been handled by someone else?” The color drained from his face. He hadn’t expected me to call out his sordid little plan so bluntly. Before he could respond, his best man, Mark, stepped in with a sneer. “Give it a rest, Isabel. You’re lucky he’s giving you anything at all now that the Harts have officially disowned you. It’s a house, not an insult. Stop acting like a martyr; it doesn’t suit you.” I looked at Alex. He didn’t say a word. He just let them tear into me. A ghost of a memory flickered—the Alex who once drove six hours through a snowstorm just because I mentioned I missed a specific bakery’s sourdough. The Alex who, when I was volunteering as a medic in a conflict zone and we lost comms for a month, nearly lost his mind trying to charter a private plane into a no-fly zone just to find me. It was on that blood-stained soil, where tomorrow was never a guarantee, that I had promised to marry him. But the man standing in this ballroom wasn’t that man. That man was dead. “Isabel, don’t be like that,” Lucy purred, stepping forward. “I was just playing a little joke with Alex. I didn’t know he’d actually go through with the ‘fake’ engagement just to show me he was serious about us. It’s sweet, really. I’m sorry if it hurt your feelings.” She held out a glass of champagne, her eyes glinting. When I didn’t take it, she grabbed my hand, trying to force the stem into my grip. The glass shattered. Shards flew, one grazing Lucy’s leg. She let out a theatrical gasp of pain. Alex didn’t hesitate. He shoved me aside so hard I hit the edge of a table, his entire focus shifting to the tiny bead of red on Lucy’s skin. “Isabel! If you have a problem, take it out on me!” he roared. “Lucy was just trying to be nice. Can’t you be the bigger person for once?” A sharp, physical ache bloomed in my chest. “The bigger person?” “Alex, of all the people in this room, you are the last person who should be lecturing me on grace.” His friends circled like vultures, their voices thick with derision. “If you hadn’t spent your life nagging him about his diet or his drinking, maybe he wouldn’t have gone looking for someone who actually has a heart. You brought this on yourself. Why don’t you get on your knees? Maybe Alex will feel sorry enough to give you a job at one of his firms.” The room erupted in laughter. Everyone knew I had changed after returning from the field a year ago. I had tried to soften my edges, tried to fit into Alex’s social circle, even moved in with him despite the Hart family’s “traditional” rules. They all thought it was because I was desperate to hold onto him. They thought they had me trapped in their little trap. They thought I would break. I reached up, unslid the three-carat diamond ring from my finger, and let it fall. It didn’t bounce. it just sat there on the polished floor, looking like a piece of junk. “Happy New Life, Alex,” I said. “We’re done.” The air seemed to leave his lungs. He froze, his expression turning ugly as he stared at the ring. “You’re just doing this to get a reaction. You’re mad because I played you at the gala, so you’re acting like you don’t care.” I looked him dead in the eye. “Whether I care or not… you’ll find out soon enough.” I turned my back on them and walked out of the hall. The moment the heavy oak doors closed behind me, I pulled out my phone. “Stop the medication shipments to the Cross estate,” I said to the person on the other end. “And the research partnership with Hart Pharmaceuticals? Kill it. I’m done collaborating with them. Permanently.” 2 Leaving the Hart family meant resigning my position at Hart Memorial Hospital. Three days later, as I was finishing my exit paperwork and carrying a box of my personal belongings toward the elevator, I ran into Lucy. She was there for a “check-up,” looking every bit the pampered heiress. She leaned against the wall, watching me with a smug smile. “Isabel, remember three years ago? When you made sure my reputation was trashed in med school? When you made sure no residency program would take me? Did you ever think you’d end up like this?” “I can’t be a doctor, but so what? I can still get you fired from your own family’s hospital.” I looked at her, seeing the smallness beneath the designer coat. Three years ago, we were both grad students under the same mentor. She had been desperate for a shortcut, secretly buying substandard reagents to pad her research results. It resulted in an entire batch of experimental drugs being compromised. She tried to pin the blame on me since we shared the lab shift. But the digital trail of her purchases cleared my name. She was blacklisted from the research community for wasting a year of the institute’s funding. And she had hated me every second since. “I didn’t realize your man was so easy to catch,” she continued, moving closer so she could whisper in my ear. “A few ‘accidental’ run-ins, a little vulnerability, and he thought it was fate. He used to complain about how boring you were, always stuck in the lab. He said you didn’t know how to… give him what he really needed.” She pulled aside her silk scarf, revealing a cluster of faint bruises on her neck. Her eyes were a challenge. “I asked Alex how many kids he wanted. Want to guess what he said?” She leaned in. “He said as many as possible. Because he’s going to love our children more than anything in this world.” She waited for the tears. She waited for me to collapse. Instead, I let out a dry, hollow laugh. “Is that so? Well, I wish you both a very busy nursery. May you be locked together forever.” Lucy’s face contorted with rage. She raised her hand to strike me. I moved to block her, but someone grabbed me from behind, yanking me backward so violently my neck snapped. A stinging slap landed across my face, nearly knocking me off my feet. My mother—or the woman I used to call mother—stared at me with pure venom. “Isabel, stay the hell away from my daughter. If you breathe near her again, I will make sure the Hart family ruins what’s left of your miserable life!” I touched my burning cheek. The irony was a physical weight in my lungs. Six months ago, this woman was dying of liver failure. There were no compatible donors on the registry. I was the one who went under the knife. I gave her a portion of my own liver to keep her alive. I nearly died on that table from a massive hemorrhage. When she woke up, she held my hand and called me her “angel.” She promised that even if they found Lucy, I would always be her daughter. How quickly the “angel” became the “trash.” “I’ve already had you scrubbed from the family trust,” she spat. “You have no connection to the Harts anymore. I won’t let you hurt my daughter or my grandchild!” I froze. “Grandchild?” Lucy smoothed her dress over her stomach. “Didn’t you know, ‘Sister’? I’m three months pregnant.” Alex was standing by the clinic doors, his expression unreadable. So that was it. That was the resolve that led to the secret marriage. “Congratulations, Mr. Cross,” I said, my voice cold. My mother raised her hand again. “You still have the nerve to flirt with him in front of us? Do you think we’re blind?” This time, I didn’t let her hit me. I caught her wrist in a vice grip, squeezing until she let out a sharp cry of pain. Lucy scurried into Alex’s arms. “Alex, is she doing this because I took over the new drug research project? Isabel, if that’s what this is about, just take the project! Just don’t hurt Mom!” Her eyes, however, were dancing with malice. It was almost funny. They really had no idea. The “New Drug Project” was my brainchild. I had only offered it to Hart Pharmaceuticals to bolster my family’s standing in the biotech market. But if they wanted to play games, the game was over. 3 Alex’s face was a mask of iron as he stepped forward, prying my hand off the older woman’s wrist. “Isabel, enough!” he barked. “One is the sister whose life you stole for twenty years. The other is the mother who raised you. Do you have to be this vindictive?” His grip was tight—the same way he used to hold my hand in the field, his breath ragged, promising me that if we made it out alive, he’d spend the rest of his life making me happy. I never doubted his love then. But love is a volatile element. It shifts. It decays. “Apologize to Lucy and her mother,” Alex commanded. “Now. Or I will make sure you never work in this city again.” He was using the same protective instincts he once used to defend me, but now the weapon was pointed at my heart. “Even knowing they started this? Even knowing she hit me first? You still want me to apologize, Alex?” Alex set his jaw and looked away. My mother, seeing his support, lunged forward and landed another slap. “Shut up, Isabel! He’s your sister’s husband now. You have no right to speak to him like that!” I started to laugh, but tears escaped anyway. “I have no right? My sister stole my husband, Mom… I have more right than anyone.” Alex’s voice turned icy. “She is Lucy’s mother, Isabel. Not yours.” I cut him off, staring directly into my mother’s pale, panicked face. “She is.” My mother began to scream, her voice frantic. “Stop it! Don’t listen to her!” I smiled, though my heart felt like it was being shredded. “She had a one-night stand, had me, and dumped me on my grandmother. She married into the Hart family a year later. It wasn’t until Lucy went missing at age five that she ‘adopted’ me to fill the void.” My mother’s eyes went wide. She hadn’t realized I knew the truth. “Don’t listen to her!” she shrieked to the hallway. “She’s lost her mind since we kicked her out! She was a charity case from an orphanage! We have the papers!” After my grandmother died, I was sent to the foster system. I was seven, but I looked four—stunted, bruised, and starving. I remember the day she “found” me. She cried for twenty-four hours straight. I thought it was guilt. I thought it was love. I thought all those years of overcompensating were her trying to be a mother. But her love was a paper-thin thing. It couldn’t withstand Lucy’s whispers. “Mom,” I said, the word tasting like ash. “That’s the last time I call you that. Good luck. You’re going to need it.” Alex opened his mouth to say something, but Lucy suddenly collapsed against him. “Alex… my head… I feel like I’m dying…” My mother’s face went white. “Lucy has a heart condition! Any stress could trigger an episode! Get her to a doctor, now!” She turned to me, her voice trembling with rage. “The new research project—the one for congenital heart defects—that’s for Lucy! That’s why we needed this partnership! She’s going to be on the research team. She has to be!” Alex’s flicker of hesitation vanished. He glared at me with pure hatred. “Isabel, you knew she was sick, and you still pushed her. If anything happens to her or the baby, I will bury you.” He scooped Lucy up and ran toward the emergency wing. The man who once promised to protect me for a lifetime was now promising to be my grave-digger. I wiped the tears from my face, my expression going cold and flat. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I hadn’t called in a long time. “If you still want to marry me,” I said, “be at the courthouse in thirty minutes.” I heard a sharp, intake of breath on the other end. A voice, tight with restrained emotion, replied: “I’ll be there in fifteen.” Alex, you didn’t throw me away. I’m finally letting you go. 4 After signing the papers, I disappeared into the high-security labs of DM BioTech. I ignored every call from Alex, every text from the Harts. I stayed until the first phase of the clinical trials was locked. When I finally emerged, I found a scene I didn’t expect. The Harts and Alex were standing in the lobby of the DM Research Center, looking frantic. I had given orders to blackball both families. Why were they here? I turned to take the side elevator, but Alex spotted me. “Isabel!” he roared, charging across the lobby. He grabbed my arm and shoved me against the wall. My head cracked against the marble, and my ears began to ring. “I knew it! You’re the one blocking Lucy’s spot in the trial!” I didn’t have the energy for this. I tried to pull away, but he pinned me harder. “The Harts already wired you a million dollars as a settlement! What more do you want? Why are you trying to kill her?” He was shaking with rage. “Lucy needs to be part of this research team to get priority access to the trial drug. Her heart can’t wait. Do you really want her blood on your hands?” Lucy was leaning weakly against my mother, playing the frail victim to perfection. I knew her medical history—she had a murmur, but it wasn’t the death sentence she was pretending it was. “This project is a joint venture between DM and Hart Pharmaceuticals,” Alex spat. “Who do you think you are? You claim you don’t want anything from the Harts, yet here you are, clinging to a research position just to spite her. You’re pathetic.” He leaned in closer, his breath hot against my face. “One phone call from me, and I’ll have you fired. You’ll be lucky if you can get a job as a school nurse when I’m done.” My assistant, Sarah, came running over, looking horrified. “I am so sorry, Dr. Hart—I mean, Ms. Sterling. I didn’t know they would force their way in.” Alex misinterpreted her apology. He turned to Sarah, sneering. “You’re damn right you’re sorry. Get your boss, Anna, down here in ten minutes. If I don’t see her, Cross Holdings pulls every cent of investment from this project.” My mother stepped up, her face twisted in a mask of self-righteousness. “And tell her if Isabel isn’t gone by tonight, the Harts are pulling out too!” Lucy watched me, a tiny, triumphant smile tugging at her lips. She thought she had won. She thought money and influence could buy her a seat at a table she hadn’t earned. But they didn’t realize that I wasn’t just a researcher. I was the reason they were even in the building. Sarah stood frozen. Alex growled, “What are you waiting for? Call Anna!” I held up a hand to stop Sarah. “Let him.” Alex pulled out his phone, his eyes fixed on mine. “Fine. Watch your career die, Isabel.” He hit the speed dial. A second later, a clear, crisp ringtone echoed through the silent marble lobby. It was coming from my pocket.

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I awakened to the truth right before my arranged marriage with the male lead. After being drugged, I didn’t push open his hotel room door. Instead, gritting my teeth, I shoved open my stepbrother’s door. Under his stunned gaze, I pinned him against the door, kissed his earlobe, and whispered against his skin, “Please, save me.” I decided to go off-script. I wasn’t going to marry the male lead over some orchestrated accident, only to get divorced later because of another woman. I wasn’t going to waste years entangled with him, nearly losing my life in the process, just to have a toxic “happily ever after.” This time, I was going to hold onto the man who would give up his own life for me, even if he refused to say the words “I love you.” At the wrap party celebrating my Best Actress win, a single glass of wine sent my head spinning. I opted to leave early and head back to my hotel room to rest. Right before I pushed open Carter’s door, a flood of memories and scenes I had never actually lived flashed through my mind. I awakened to reality: I was the female lead in a toxic, angsty romance novel where the guy treats the girl like trash before finally begging for her back. The spiked drink tonight was a setup to get me into the director’s room, framing me for sleeping my way to the top and securing my award through the casting couch. In the original plot, I stumbled into the wrong room—Carter’s room. The next morning, a swarm of paparazzi would burst in, snapping photos of our one-night stand. To save face, Carter would be forced to put his arm around me and announce to the press that we had been secretly dating and were planning to get married. He would marry me, but in his heart, I’d always be the scheming woman who used dirty tricks to trap him into marriage. Because of that, the second we were married, he would slap a prenup and divorce papers in front of me to sign. The marriage would have a three-year expiration date. After three years, we’d divorce, and I’d get a ten-million-dollar alimony payout. He would repeatedly warn me not to catch real feelings during our sham marriage. But as the tragic female lead, I had already fallen hard for him long before this incident, all because he helped me out once in the past. Faced with his coldness, I foolishly hoped he’d change his mind, especially after I got pregnant from that one night. When I hinted at it, asking what he would do if I were pregnant, he ruthlessly told me to get an abortion. Later, when his childhood sweetheart and I were kidnapped together, he wouldn’t hesitate for a second—he’d choose to save her, leaving me alone on a burning yacht. I would fall into the ocean, my fate unknown. I’d end up stranded overseas, secretly giving birth to his child. Five years later, I would return to the States, determined to get justice. After my supposed death, he would finally realize his “true feelings” for me. He’d search frantically, throwing away business deals just to cross paths with me again. He’d uncover the truth about the spiked drink and confess that I was the one he truly loved. Eventually, after he took a knife for me from his deranged childhood sweetheart and ended up in the ICU, I’d soften, forgive him, and accept his proposal. The sweetheart would go to prison, and we’d have a grand vow renewal. What an absurd, pathetic storyline. Why should I ever look back at a man who put me through absolute hell? I was going to rewrite the script and sever all ties with Carter. This time, standing in front of the door I was supposed to open, I gritted my teeth and forced myself to walk a few steps further. Just as I was about to reach my own room, my legs gave out, and I crashed into another door. The moment the door opened, I froze. Standing there was Caleb, my stepbrother. I hadn’t seen him in seven years. He was wearing a bathrobe, the collar slightly parted. Droplets of water from his damp hair trailed down his chest. He wore a pair of gold-rimmed glasses now, making him look far more aristocratic and aloof than he did at eighteen. He looked even more unapproachable now, radiating a cold, restrained energy that was completely intoxicating. Thanks to whatever was in my system, I was feeling a lot bolder than usual. Normally, I’d be slightly intimidated by him and would never dare to do what I did next—I shoved him backward, pinning him against the door. He looked down at me and reached out to feel my forehead. “Are you drunk?” The last thread of my rationality completely snapped. His hand felt so incredibly cool against my burning skin. I leaned in and haphazardly kissed his earlobe, whispering against his skin, “Please, save me.” I watched the tips of his ears turn a furious shade of red, a stark contrast to his usual stoic, ascetic expression. A second later, he scooped me up into his arms and carried me inside. But instead of the bed, he headed straight for the bathroom. Oh wow, going straight for the shower play… He turned on the showerhead, and freezing cold water instantly drenched my entire body. He looked away, his voice ice-cold. “Are you sober now? What kind of game are you playing this time?” Crap. I forgot. The first two years after he returned from abroad were when our relationship was at its absolute worst. He couldn’t stand seeing me act like a pathetic doormat for Carter, so he always gave me the cold shoulder. And ever since I joined his family, I felt like Caleb and I were natural enemies. I never had a nice word to say to him, thinking he was just my stepbrother who had no right to boss me around, so I constantly pulled pranks on him. It was completely normal for him not to trust me right now. I looked at his soaked torso, his bathrobe pulled halfway open by my grabbing hands, and closed my eyes. “I was roofied. Please get me a doctor.” When he heard I was drugged, his head snapped back toward me, his eyes dropping to freezing temperatures. “Who did this?” “I don’t know.” I paused, looking at his face, then took a deep breath and gritted my teeth. “Now get out.” I was barely holding it together. He let out a self-deprecating chuckle, muttered a quiet, “No wonder,” and stepped out of the bathroom. Caleb found a female concierge doctor who hooked me up to an IV. Finally, the heat in my blood subsided. The next morning, the paparazzi arrived right on schedule. But when the hotel door burst open, the cameras caught Carter in bed with his childhood sweetheart, Ashley. I guess she got exactly what she wanted. All these years, Carter had never really gotten over Ashley. She was his first love. Back in the day, his prominent family forced them to break up. The reason was cliché: Ashley came from a working-class background, and the wealthy family didn’t think she was good enough. She was smart about it. Instead of fighting a losing battle, she took the initiative to leave. She refused the buyout money his mother offered, smoothly handed the audio recording of the threat over to Carter, broke up with him on the spot, and flew overseas to build her acting career. She understood the toxic male ego perfectly: men always obsess over what they can’t have. So for years, Carter never forgot her. The second she returned to the States, his eyes were glued to her, clearly signaling he wanted her back. Behind the scenes, Ashley constantly provoked me, trying to make me lose my temper in front of Carter while simultaneously stringing him along. This time, she probably panicked because rumors of a corporate merger and arranged marriage between my family and Carter’s were leaking to the press. She wanted to kill two birds with one stone. She was the one who spiked the drinks last night, taking the same drug herself. The substance metabolized quickly in the bloodstream, leaving no trace for a tox screen. That was why I told Caleb I didn’t know who did it—without proof, pointing fingers was useless. In the original timeline, the truth only came out much later when she completely lost her mind and confessed. Besides, I didn’t want Caleb fighting my battles. I wanted to destroy her myself. “Are Mr. Carter and Ms. Ashley rekindling their romance?” a reporter shouted. “What kind of question is that? Look at them—the real question is, when’s the wedding?” “Could you two give a statement on your current situation?” Ashley played the shy, victimized card, pulling the duvet over herself and refusing to speak. All eyes darted to Carter, but he didn’t immediately confirm their relationship. Instead, his eyes were locked onto me, standing in the hallway, watching the drama unfold. Following his gaze, the paparazzi spotted me. A few reporters practically sprinted over, their eyes gleaming with the promise of drama. “Chloe, did you know about them? What are your thoughts?” I casually tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and smiled gently. “I wish them the best on rekindling their spark. They should totally lock it down.” The second the words left my mouth, a stunned silence fell over the hallway. “Chloe, there’s no need to pretend you’re fine. Everyone knows your history with Carter.” It was true—everyone knew the wealthy socialite Chloe was psychotically obsessed with Carter. For him, I got into underground street racing and ended up with a broken leg that took six months to heal. For him, I got into a fistfight that landed me in a police precinct. I even joined the entertainment industry purely because he once offhandedly mentioned he liked watching movies and would probably date an actress one day. I knew full well that comment was aimed at his ex, Ashley, but I blindly dove into Hollywood anyway. Even after his ex returned, I shamelessly clung to him. Despite being an A-list actress, my fans endlessly roasted me online for being a desperate “pick-me,” but I never changed. So, it was impossible for me to just casually wish them well. “In the past, I was blinded by my own stupidity. My brain was basically mush,” I said breezily. “But that’s all in the past. I have new priorities now. They’re a perfect match, and I hope they stay together forever.” Carter’s face darkened terrifyingly. Instead of announcing his reunion with Ashley like I expected, he snatched a microphone from a reporter, slammed it into the floor, and roared, “Get the hell out! All of you, get out!” With the show over, I turned around and headed back to my room. As I turned, I saw Caleb standing nearby, his brows furrowed as he stared at me. Once we were inside my room, he spoke. “If it hurts, just cry. I won’t laugh at you.” His voice was surprisingly gentle. He genuinely thought I was heartbroken over Carter and was just putting on a brave face for the cameras. A mischievous urge took over, and I threw myself into his arms. “I’m so heartbroken! My chest physically hurts. I gave up so much for him… why won’t he just love me?” Caleb went entirely rigid, his voice tight with a hoarse, bitter edge. “Do you really love him that much?” Seeing him like that, I couldn’t bear to tease him anymore. In the past, I used to think he was just after my family’s wealth, which was why he always tried to manage my life and play the responsible older brother. Whenever we were in the same room, I was usually mocking him. I mocked him for shamelessly following his mother to marry into my wealthy family. I mocked him, calling him a gold-digging freeloader who would do anything for cash. I constantly told him to drop the fake “caring brother” act. That is, until I was trapped on that yacht. When the fire raged and I was abandoned to the flames, I thought I was dead. But Caleb charged in from the outside. To protect me from the flames, he shielded me with his own body. Half of his face was severely burned, and a collapsing steel beam crushed his leg, leaving him with a permanent limp. After that, he only dared to protect me from the shadows. He secretly paid for my directing classes overseas, wrote me anonymous letters encouraging me to become a famous director, and helped me return home in triumph. When his wounds got infected in the hospital, he held a photo of me, whispering quietly to himself, asking if I really hated him that much. He said his scars were too terrifying now, and he didn’t even dare to show his face to me. He wanted me to remember him the way he was before—handsome and whole. When he died, he left his entire estate to me, never once mentioning that he loved me. I looked up into his eyes and told him with absolute sincerity, “Starting today, I don’t love him anymore. I am completely over Carter.” He froze for a second. Then he lifted a hand, gently wiping away the fake tear on my cheek, and spoke in a strained voice. “You don’t have to put on a brave face to lie to me. If you can’t drop the act around me, I’ll leave. I’ll have your friend come keep you company.” “I’m not lying!” “I get it. Brooke should be here soon.” He pulled my hands away and walked out with long strides. Damn it. I only fake-cried because I felt terrible remembering how painfully he repressed his love for me in the original timeline. Now he totally misunderstood. By the time my best friend Brooke arrived, I was downing shots out of frustration. “Wow, the great socialite Chloe is actually day-drinking over a piece of trash?” “I am not drinking over that idiot Carter.” I guess I was a little too blunt, because Brooke actually looked up at the ceiling in shock. “Is the sky falling? You actually insulted him? In the past, if I said a single bad word about him, you’d rip my head off and remind me he was your savior.” Carter had saved me once. I was walking home late at night and realized I was being followed into an alley. He happened to be there and scared the creep away. I had begged for his help, and he put his arm around me, pretending to be my boyfriend, forcing the stalker to back off. He probably didn’t even remember it, but it was seared into my brain. The moment I saw him on the cover of Forbes, I did everything in my power to get close to him. Honestly, everything I’d done for him over the years had more than repaid that debt. But I kept acting like a brain-dead simp, constantly offering myself up to get hurt. What a garbage plotline. “That’s ancient history,” I said. “Right now, I want to chase Caleb. But he keeps thinking I’m trying to prank him.” “It’s just the two of us here, you can drop the act. Haven’t you tortured the poor guy enough since we were kids? You really want to play mind games and break his heart now? Honestly, you don’t even need to try…” She trailed off abruptly. I raised an eyebrow. “Why’d you stop?” “He’s been hopelessly devoted to you for years. If you really want to mess with him, find another way. Watching you obsess over another man has been pure torture for him. He’s suffered enough.” So his feelings for me were blatantly obvious to everyone else, and I was the only idiot who hadn’t noticed. “Why didn’t you ever tell me?” “I couldn’t even mention either of their names around you! One was your untouchable god, and the other was your mortal enemy. The second I brought Caleb up, you’d rant about how much you hated him. Years ago, just because you threw a tantrum and said you didn’t want to see his face in your house, he instantly packed his bags, went to college overseas, and built his own empire. He only came back this time because he has domestic corporate mergers to handle.” Back then, the year after my mom passed away, sixteen-year-old Caleb and his mother moved into my family’s estate. I blamed my dad for my mom’s death. I thought he didn’t care about her enough, which drove her to swallow a bottle of pills. While she was dying in the ER, he was away on a business trip and didn’t even make it back in time to say goodbye. And yet, so shortly after, he brought home a new woman—who was supposedly his first love. Because of that, I looked at Caleb with pure hatred. Even though he and his mom constantly tolerated my awful behavior. Once, when kids at my prep school mocked me for being motherless, Caleb actually threw punches for me. He told them I had a mom, and that his mother was mine too. I looked at him with pure disgust and told him they didn’t deserve to be my family. He would always quietly trail behind me, making sure I got home safe. But I kept relentlessly targeting him. I even went so far as to intentionally cut my own leg on a glass sculpture he made, just so I could frame him for it. Looking at my bleeding leg, he asked me in a dazed voice, “Do you really hate seeing me that much?” Back then, I was paranoid and obsessed with the idea that they were here to steal my father. I glared at him with hateful eyes. “Yes. I’m sick of your fake, hypocritical faces. You act like you care about me, but you’re just trying to push me out of this family.” “I’ll leave.” He immediately filed the paperwork for an overseas boarding school and never stepped foot in the house again. It was only after he left the country that I ended up being stalked and saved by Carter. I only found out the truth about my mom’s death much later. It had nothing to do with my dad being distant. She just never loved him. She manipulated him into traveling constantly because she was planning to run away with her high school sweetheart. When her lover died in a car crash on his way to get her, she couldn’t cope and took her own life. My dad had kept her ugly secret hidden, quietly enduring my misplaced hatred all those years. He and Caleb’s mom had only reconnected by chance long after my mom’s funeral. “What does he even see in me? I’ve basically been the evil stepsister in his life story,” I muttered. “You’d have to ask him,” Brooke said. “You want to chase him? Didn’t you just get an offer for that celebrity dating reality show? The one you were going to turn down? Don’t turn it down. Go on the show. And try to get him cast too. Let’s see how long he can keep up the stoic act.”

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My son had his leg broken at school by the chairman of the school board’s son, all because he accidentally spilled soda on his limited-edition sneakers. To smooth things over, the school gave my son a suspension instead. The other party’s mother, that woman dripping in designer labels, pointed at me in the principal’s office and said: “Do you know how much those shoes cost? Forty-two thousand dollars! Your son’s entire college fund couldn’t cover it! The fact that we’re not demanding his immediate expulsion shows how generous our family is being.” The principal nodded along beside her. “Mrs. Williams is absolutely right. We will handle this strictly according to school policy.” I suppressed my rage, looking at their self-righteous faces. That woman pulled out her phone and contemptuously brought up a photo. “Take a good look. This is Commissioner Williams from the State Education Committee. My uncle. You think you can go against our family?” In the photo, that commissioner was slightly bowing as he shook hands with my husband. I pulled out my phone and called my husband. “Honey, that Commissioner Williams in your committee—his niece just had someone break our son’s leg.”

When I rushed to the hospital, my legs were so weak I could barely stand. My son Lincoln lay in the hospital bed, his right leg wrapped in thick plaster, elevated high. That face that always wore a sunny smile was now pale as paper, his lips cracked and dry. The doctor held up the X-ray, his tone grave. “It’s a comminuted fracture. We’ve performed surgery, but the bone was shattered quite severely.” “The recovery will be very long, and it may affect his height development.” After staying with my son all night, the next morning I received a call from the school principal. On the phone, his tone was formal, saying that the offending student’s parents were willing to “negotiate amicably” with me. I rushed to the principal’s office. A woman in a Chanel suit, wearing a diamond ring the size of a pigeon egg, was impatiently scrolling through her phone. She was Zachary’s mother, Quinn Williams. The principal was serving her tea and water. When she saw me enter, Quinn barely lifted her eyelids, the contempt in her eyes unconcealed. “You must be Lincoln’s mother. Sit.” She pushed a document in front of me. “This is a settlement agreement. Sign it.” “We’ll cover all medical expenses, plus an additional three hundred thousand in compensation.” “Don’t waste my son’s time. He has an equestrian lesson this afternoon.” Her tone was like she was giving alms to a street beggar. My mind exploded. The image of my son lying in the hospital bed moaning in pain overlapped with her arrogant face. I grabbed that agreement, tore it to shreds, and threw it hard in her face. “In your dreams!” The mockery on Quinn’s face grew thicker. “Three hundred thousand—for ordinary families like yours, that would take years of saving every penny, wouldn’t it?” “Your son just has a broken leg. It’s not like he died. People need to know when they’re well off.” The principal rushed over to mediate. “Mrs. Lincoln, please calm down. Mrs. Williams is being very sincere.” Sincere? I was shaking with rage. “My son was beaten by your son and had his leg broken. The school doesn’t punish him, but instead gives my son a disciplinary mark. This is your sincerity?” Quinn calmly smoothed the wrinkles on her clothes and smiled. “The disciplinary action—I told him to give it.” “Who told your son to be so blind and spill Coke on my son’s new shoes?” “Those shoes are globally limited edition, worth three hundred thousand! You couldn’t afford them even if you sold your son!” “The fact that I’m not having him expelled shows how charitable our family is!” The principal nodded and bowed beside her. “Mrs. Williams is absolutely right. Rest assured, we will definitely handle Lincoln’s case seriously.” I looked at their vile faces singing in harmony, my anger nearly consuming me. Quinn took out her phone from her Hermès bag, contemptuously pulled up a photo, and shoved it in my face. “Look closely. This is Commissioner Williams from the State Education Committee. My uncle.” “You think you can fight me? Are you even worthy?” In the photo, that so-called Commissioner Williams was bowing respectfully to a tall figure, his posture humble. That figure—I knew it all too well. It was my husband, Hudson. I took out my phone and, right in front of them, called Hudson. When the call connected, my voice was ice cold. “Honey, that Commissioner Williams in your committee—his niece just broke our son’s leg.”

On the other end of the line, Hudson was silent for two seconds. Then his steady voice came through. “I understand.” “Where are you? I’ll be right there.” Quinn heard my words and froze at first, then burst into laughter. “Hahaha, this is killing me! Commissioner in your committee? You think you’re in a TV drama?” She pointed at my nose, tears of laughter streaming down her face. “Which committee is your husband an advisor for? Tell me so my uncle can look after him!” The principal also wore a pitying expression, sighing as he tried to persuade me. “Mrs. Lincoln, stop talking nonsense. The Williams family’s power is beyond our imagination.” “Just sign the papers, take the money and get your son treated. That’s what matters.” I hung up the phone and looked at them coldly. “I told you, I won’t sign.” “That disciplinary action must be withdrawn. Zachary must publicly apologize, then get out of this school.” Each of my words fell heavily in the silent office. Quinn’s laughter stopped abruptly, her face instantly darkening. “Getting cocky, are we?” “Looks like three hundred thousand doesn’t satisfy your appetite. Fine, I’ll add another hundred thousand. Four hundred thousand—is that enough?” Her eyes were full of disdain. “Don’t refuse a toast only to be forced to drink a forfeit. If you piss me off, you won’t get a single penny, and I’ll have your son expelled immediately!” The principal was sweating profusely, grabbing my arm. “Mrs. Lincoln, why make things difficult for yourself! You can’t win against them! For your child’s sake, just back down!” I shook off his hand and stared directly at Quinn. “Keep your money to buy your son a coffin.” “You!” Quinn’s chest heaved violently with rage, her pointing finger trembling. “Fine, just fine! I’ll show you today what power really means!” She immediately made a call and put it on speaker. “Uncle Williams, I’m at the school. There’s a parent here causing trouble who doesn’t know her place. Tell the principal to kick her son out!” An oily male voice came through the phone—it was Commissioner Williams from the photo. “Quinn dear, do you even need me for such a small matter? Just have the principal handle it directly.” “Who’s so blind they’d dare to offend my precious niece?” Quinn smugly lifted her chin and held the phone toward the principal. The principal immediately put on an ingratiating smile, nodding and bowing to the phone. “Hello, Commissioner Williams. Rest assured, I will handle this properly and make sure your niece is satisfied!” After hanging up, the arrogance on Quinn’s face was practically overflowing. “Did you hear that? Now, even if you kneel and beg me, it’s too late.” She turned to the principal and commanded imperiously, “Right now, immediately, process Lincoln’s expulsion!” The principal wiped the sweat from his forehead and looked at me with difficulty, ultimately yielding. “Mrs. Lincoln, this… there’s nothing I can do. You…” I ignored him, only quietly watching the office door. Hudson said he’d be right here. He never spoke empty words. Under Quinn’s urging, the principal tremblingly picked up the phone on his desk, preparing to notify the registrar’s office. My heart rose to my throat along with that lifted receiver. Just then, Quinn’s phone rang. She glanced at the caller ID and a doting smile appeared on her face. It was her son Zachary. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong? Missing mommy?” The voice on the other end was arrogant and domineering. “Mom, has that poor kid’s mom shown up yet? You didn’t waste time talking to her, did you? Tell her to get lost. Just looking at her is annoying.” “Oh, and the latest gaming console is out, globally limited edition. Remember to buy it for me!” Quinn beamed. “Okay, okay, okay. Mommy will buy it for you as soon as I’m done here. Be good in class now.” After hanging up, she glanced at me contemptuously. “Did you hear that? That’s the difference.” “My son has had everything he could want since childhood. And your son? He’s dragging his parents down and getting kicked out of school.” “I guess that’s just fate.” Her words stabbed into my heart. I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my flesh. The office door was suddenly knocked. The principal’s secretary poked her head in frantically, her face pale. “Prin… Principal, this is bad!” “Several major shareholders of the school, and… and Director Clark from the board, they’ve all suddenly arrived!” “They’re in the conference room, saying they’re calling an emergency board meeting!” The phone in the principal’s hand clattered to the floor. “What? Director Clark? Why is he here? Why didn’t I receive any notice?”

Quinn frowned impatiently and waved her hand. “What nonsense. A bunch of old men having a meeting—what’s the big deal?” “Principal, what are you standing there for? Hurry up and process the expulsion!” The principal was completely dazed, standing in place, at a loss. The atmosphere in the entire office instantly became strange. Just then, my phone vibrated. It was a text from Hudson. “I’m downstairs. The new school director wants to meet you. I’m sending him up.” I raised my head, looking at Quinn’s face twisted with impatience, and slowly held up my phone. The call connected. I put it on speaker, my voice not loud but clearly filling the entire office. “Honey, are they here yet?” “Yes, they’re here.” Hudson’s voice was as steady as always. I looked at the ashen-faced principal and the stunned Quinn, and said word by word: “Good. Send him up.” “It’s time to replace the principal.” As my words fell, the entire office became deathly silent. The principal stared at me with wide eyes. Quinn froze at first, then burst into even more piercing laughter. “Replace the principal? You? Who do you think you are? God almighty?” She laughed so hard she was bending over, the disdain in her eyes almost tangible. “Let me tell you, this school’s principal got his position because my uncle put in a word for him! No one can replace him!” The office door was suddenly pushed open forcefully. Hudson walked in. He wore a well-tailored dark gray suit, his posture upright, his aura powerful. As soon as he appeared, the air in the entire space seemed to be sucked out. Behind him followed a white-haired but vigorous-looking elderly man, and several middle-aged men with equally impressive presence. The moment the principal saw that elderly man, his legs went weak and he nearly collapsed to his knees. “Dir… Director Clark! Why… why are you here?” The man called Director Clark didn’t even glance at him, walking straight toward me. He bowed slightly, his attitude respectful to an unbelievable degree. “Mrs. Hudson, I’m sorry you and your child have been wronged.” Hudson walked to my side, took off his suit jacket and draped it over my shoulders, asking gently, “Are you okay?” I shook my head. Quinn’s laughter was still frozen on her face. She looked at me, then at Hudson, then at Director Clark who was being so respectful to us, her brain completely crashed. “You… who are you?” she stammered. Only then did Hudson turn his gaze to her. “Weren’t you just showing off your uncle?” He said lightly. “He’s right outside the door. You can ask him right now who I am.” As soon as he finished speaking, two black-suited bodyguards dragged in a sweating fat man. It was none other than Commissioner Williams from the photo. The moment Williams saw Hudson, his face turned deathly pale, sweat pouring down like rain. He broke free from the bodyguards and crawled on his hands and knees to Hudson’s feet. “Mr… Mr. Hudson! It’s a misunderstanding, all a misunderstanding!” “I didn’t know… I really didn’t know it was your son!” This dramatic scene left everyone in the office petrified. Quinn was even more thunderstruck, staring blankly at her uncle kneeling on the ground in such an undignified state. “Uncle Williams… you… what are you doing?” Williams heard her voice and turned to slap her across the face. “You idiot! Are you trying to get me killed!” He pointed at Hudson, his voice trembling. “Do you know who he is? He’s Hudson! He’s the chairman of Apex Capital! He’s the Governor’s honored guest!” “And you dared to offend his family?!” Chairman of Apex Capital, Hudson. The principal’s eyes rolled back and he collapsed limply in his chair. Quinn’s face instantly drained of all color. Quinn stood there stupidly, covering her face, completely stunned. Williams kept kowtowing to Hudson, begging for mercy. “Mr. Hudson, I was wrong, I was really wrong! My niece was blind. Please, in your magnanimity, spare me this once!” Hudson didn’t even glance at him, only saying to Director Clark, “Director Clark, it seems both the State Education Committee and this school need a thorough cleaning.” Director Clark immediately understood, nodding seriously. “Mr. Hudson, rest assured. I will give you and Mrs. Hudson a satisfactory resolution to this matter.” He turned, his gaze sharp as a knife as it fell on the principal slumped in his chair. “You, as principal, have distorted the truth and aided evil. Effective immediately, you are fired.” Then he looked at the trembling Williams. “As for you, Commissioner Williams, I believe the State Attorney General’s office will be very interested in your activities over these years.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “403842”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

On the day I got out, two people were waiting at the gate. One was my fiancée, Sophia Kane—the industry’s youngest female CEO of a publicly traded company. The other was my sister, Lucy. Five years ago, they personally sent me to prison. Sophia wore a black coat, standing ramrod straight, as if she were here to pick someone up. My sister kept her head down, not daring to even look at me. “Ethan…” Her voice was tight. I ignored her. A black Maybach was parked by the curb. I got straight in. **1** I’d been hearing that sound—the iron gate closing behind me—for five years. Hearing it from inside versus hearing it from outside—it wasn’t the same. The sunlight was blinding. I squinted, standing at the prison entrance, taking a deep breath. The air smelled of dust, mixed with greasy smoke drifting from a roadside barbecue stand. Five years. I’d almost forgotten that smell. I carried a clear plastic bag containing the phone, wallet, and stopped watch I’d had on me the day I went in. The phone had long since died. The wallet still held three hundred and twenty dollars, along with a photo of Sophia. I pulled out the photo, glanced at it, and shoved it into a nearby trash can. Then I looked up and saw them. Sophia stood on the opposite sidewalk wearing a black cashmere coat, her hair pulled into a flawless bun, makeup immaculate, feet in stiletto heels. She stood perfectly straight, expression calm, like she was picking up a colleague returning from a business trip. No—even more indifferent than that. Lucy stood beside her. She was thinner than five years ago. Face pale, head down, fingers twisted together, knuckles red. She didn’t dare look at me. I had no desire to look at her either. Sophia spoke first. She called out across the street: “Ethan.” Her voice wasn’t loud, but loud enough for me to hear clearly. It carried a kind of condescending composure. I didn’t respond. I was looking at the car parked by the curb. A black Maybach. I didn’t recognize the license plate, but I recognized the business card pressed under the windshield. Three words in gold embossing: Sterling Whitmore. The old man had kept his word. “Ethan…” Lucy finally raised her head, voice tight, eyes reddening. She took half a step forward, then stopped. Five years ago in court, she hadn’t worn that expression. Back then she’d stood in the witness box, voice clear and composed, systematically nailing her own brother to the defendant’s seat sentence by sentence. “I saw with my own eyes that Ethan attacked someone. After the victim fell, he kept kicking.” Every word had been a nail. I’d looked at her then. She’d looked back. Her gaze had flickered for one second. Just one second. Then she’d looked away and continued with her rehearsed testimony, sending me to prison. And now she stood at the prison gate, head bowed, saying “Ethan.” As I walked past her, I caught the scent of her perfume. Expensive. Five years ago she’d used ninety-nine-cent floral water from the supermarket. Apparently that fifty thousand dollars had served her well. I didn’t stop, heading straight for the Maybach. Sophia’s expression changed. She hurried across the street, heels clicking urgently on the asphalt. “Ethan, wait.” I pulled open the car door. “Ethan! I need to talk to you.” I bent down and slid into the back seat. The car had a faint sandalwood scent. The leather seats were warm from the sun. A man in his fifties sat in the passenger seat, salt-and-pepper hair, wearing a dark gray Mandarin-collar suit, back perfectly straight. He turned to look at me and nodded slightly. “Mr. Hayes, my name is George. Mr. Whitmore arranged for me to wait here for you before he passed.” He took a black document bag from the glove box and handed it over with both hands. “Everything Mr. Whitmore left for you is here.” I took it and unzipped the bag. Inside was a stack of documents. On top was a will with a notary seal still visible. I flipped to the second page and saw a string of numbers. My fingers paused. Then I closed the document bag and looked out the window. Sophia still stood beside the car, bent over, one hand tapping the window, mouth opening and closing. Through the glass, I couldn’t hear what she was saying. I didn’t need to. “Let’s go,” I said. George started the engine. The Maybach pulled smoothly away from the curb, gliding past Sophia. In the rearview mirror, her hand hung suspended in midair, body frozen. Lucy chased after us for a few steps, then stopped and crouched by the roadside, hands covering her face. I pulled my gaze back, leaned against the seat, and closed my eyes. Five years. One thousand eight hundred and twenty-six days. Every single day inside, I’d thought about one thing. Not revenge. Accounting. Who owed me what. How much. How to calculate the interest. Now the ledger was open. Time to collect. **2** The Maybach stopped in front of a luxury apartment building in the east district. The elevator went straight to the top floor. When the doors opened, the entire floor was the apartment. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked half the city’s skyline. The setting sun turned all the glass facades golden. In the center of the living room sat an unopened bottle of premium liquor, with a letter beside it. The envelope read: *For Ethan*. Sterling Whitmore’s handwriting. The strokes were still strong, but the line endings showed slight tremors. He’d written this in his final months. I didn’t rush to open the letter. First I sat down and spread the contents of the document bag across the table one by one. George stood beside me, poured me a cup of tea, then began explaining each item. “The overseas trust fund for Summit Holdings. Thirty-five percent equity stake, current market value approximately one hundred twenty billion dollars. This equity is held through a three-tier offshore structure. Mr. Whitmore’s biological son, Sebastian, still has no idea this asset exists.” I flipped to the next page. “Switzerland, Singapore, and the Cayman Islands. Seventeen accounts total across all three locations. Cash and equivalents totaling approximately thirty-eight billion dollars.” Next page. “Prime commercial real estate in eleven locations across major cities. Estimated value approximately twenty-six billion dollars.” George finished listing these figures and paused. “Mr. Hayes, your current personal assets are conservatively estimated at over one hundred eighty billion dollars.” I picked up the teacup and took a sip. Three years ago, on the metal bunk in prison, he’d coughed so hard his whole body curled into a ball. I’d put my own blanket over him and gone to the infirmary to get him cough medicine. Back then, no one paid him any attention. A seventy-something old man, hair completely white, gaunt, hunched over, voice weak when he spoke. Everyone assumed he was just an ordinary fraud convict. He didn’t explain. I didn’t ask. I just gave him half my egg at every meal. When he coughed, I got him hot water. When someone gave him trouble, I stood in front of him. No particular reason. I just felt an old man shouldn’t be treated that way. Half a year later, one evening, he suddenly spoke to me. “Ethan, why did they send you here?” I told him what had happened. My business partner set me up. My fiancée betrayed me. My sister gave false testimony. He listened in silence for a long time. Then said one sentence: “My son did the same to me.” Later I learned that Sterling Whitmore was the founder of Summit Holdings. Self-made. Forty years building a street-corner workshop into a hundred-billion-dollar commercial empire. Then his own son Sebastian, working with board members, forged a psychiatric evaluation, and on grounds of “senile dementia and incompetence,” sent him to prison. The charge was embezzlement. All evidence fabricated. Just like mine. We shared that cell for three years. He taught me to read financial reports, analyze business models, speak the language of capital. Three months before he died, he called in his overseas lawyers. One by one, he transferred every hidden asset Sebastian didn’t know about into my name. “Ethan, I have no other requests.” He lay on the infirmary bed, gripping my hand. His strength was already fading. “Take this money. Live a good life.” “As for Sebastian…” He paused. His eyes held no hatred, only weariness. “Help him if you want. Or don’t. Either way.” The night he died, heavy rain fell outside. I sat by his bed the entire night. That was the first time I cried after going to prison. Also the last. After that, I no longer needed tears. What I needed was patience. The first night after my release, I sat in the living room of this apartment and had George pull up everything about Derek Ford and Sophia from the past five years. Derek Ford. My former business partner. Now CEO of Ford Tech, a company on the verge of going public. Built on the core algorithm I’d written years ago. Sophia Kane. My former fiancée. Married Derek, leveraged the Ford family resources to start her own PR firm, and took it public. “The industry’s youngest female CEO”—she loved that title. Five years ago she slapped me, then climbed into Derek’s car using my dignity as a stepping stone. Now she had fame and fortune, living a glamorous life. While I’d spent five years eating moldy bread in prison. George handed me a detailed financial analysis report. “Mr. Hayes, Ford Tech’s largest client is Summit Cloud Data, a Summit Holdings subsidiary. Annual orders around eight hundred million dollars, representing forty-two percent of Ford’s total revenue.” Forty-two percent. I smiled slightly. “Tomorrow, set up a dinner meeting with whoever’s in charge at Summit Cloud Data.” George nodded. “Also,” I set down my teacup, “what’s the biggest supplier for Sophia’s PR firm?” “Stellar Media. Also owned by Summit.” “Schedule that meeting too.” I stood and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows. The city’s lights spread out below me—dense, scattered, countless points of light. Five years ago when I was ripped from this city, I’d taken nothing with me. Now I was back. With one hundred eighty billion dollars. And a very long bill to collect. **3** Three days after my release. Sophia called me. The number was newly changed. After I’d charged my old phone, her number had come through. “Ethan, let’s meet up. There are some things we need to discuss in person.” Her tone was flat, even carrying a hint of condescension. I said fine. She chose the location—East Lake Manor, the most expensive private restaurant in the city. When I arrived, two people were already sitting in the private room. Sophia occupied the head seat, wearing a dove-gray suit dress, pearl earrings, perfect lipstick. Derek Ford sat beside her. Five years later, the man had gained a good twenty pounds. His suit stretched tight, a Patek Philippe on his wrist, wedding ring on his left ring finger. Seeing me enter, he didn’t stand. Just lifted his chin and pointed to the chair across from him. “Sit.” One word. I sat. Sophia spoke first, voice unhurried: “Ethan, you’re out. That’s good. The past is the past.” She pushed a document toward me. “These are your original shares in the company. After you went in, we did an equity restructuring. Your shares were diluted. This document needs your personal signature for confirmation.” I opened the document and looked. I’d originally held thirty-five percent of Ford Tech as co-founder. In this document, my shares had become point-three percent. The company was currently valued at five billion dollars. Point-three percent meant fifteen million. Derek spoke up, legs crossed, spinning a pen between his fingers. “Brother, keeping those shares safe for you these five years hasn’t been easy. The company has hundreds of people to feed. R&D, marketing, fundraising—everything burns money. Having your thirty-five percent sitting there inactive affected our fundraising valuation.” When he said “brother,” the corner of his mouth lifted. “This fifteen million—Sophia and I discussed it. Honestly, it’s not bad. You get out, take this money, rent a place, open a small shop. You can make it work.” Sophia picked up the thread, tone gentle but every word laced with barbs. “Ethan, I know you might feel uncomfortable. But you have to face reality. Your current situation… someone with a criminal record, returning to the workplace—it’s difficult. This money will at least help you transition.” She even smiled. “Of course, if you need any help, Derek and I can make some introductions through our network.” The room fell silent for two seconds. Outside the window, bamboo leaves rustled in the wind. Derek’s pen spun rapidly between his fingers, metal glinting reflections on the ceiling. I kept my head down, reading the document, turning page by page. “Where’s the pen?” I said. Sophia froze for a moment, then undisguised satisfaction crossed her face. She handed over a Montblanc. “Here, page three and the last page. Signature and date.” I took the pen. Derek leaned forward, eyes fixed on my hand. I signed. Name, date, stroke by stroke. Then I put the pen down and stood. “Text me the wire transfer information.” I turned and walked out. Behind me came Derek’s laughter, voice lowered but loud enough for me to hear. “See? I told you. Five years in the can breaks a man.” Sophia didn’t laugh. But she didn’t stop Derek’s laughter either. Silence was consent. I pushed open the door and stepped into the corridor. At the corner, I stopped, pulled out my phone, and dialed. “George.” “Mr. Hayes.” “Is Summit Cloud Data settled?” “Settled. All of Ford Tech’s orders for next quarter have been cancelled. Reason given is strategic direction adjustment. Stellar Media also confirmed they’ll stop supplying all media resources to Kane PR starting next week.” “Good.” I hung up and pocketed my phone. Walking out of the restaurant, night wind hit my face. Cool. Fifteen million. They wanted to buy out my thirty-five percent stake for fifteen million. Buy out five years of imprisonment. Buy out all the rights of a business partner, a fiancé, a brother. Fifteen million. I exhaled softly. Derek was right. It really wasn’t bad. Enough for him to regret it for the rest of his life. **4** The next two weeks, I did nothing. More precisely, I didn’t personally do anything. Week one, Ford Tech received formal notice from Summit Cloud Data that all next quarter collaborations were terminated. Eight hundred million in orders, gone just like that. Derek blew up the phone of the Summit Cloud Data executive. The response: “Corporate strategic adjustment. Not my decision.” Same week, Ford Tech’s partner bank suddenly began reviewing loan qualifications. Three loans totaling two hundred million were demanded for early repayment. Reason: “Risk assessment anomaly.” Derek panicked. He started reaching out everywhere, calling in favors, treating people to meals. But he discovered something strange—the business contacts who usually called him brother were suddenly all busy. No answer on calls. No reply to messages. Secretaries blocking. Week two was worse. Three of Ford Tech’s core technical staff resigned simultaneously. These three managed the company’s most critical algorithm architecture—the system I’d written five years ago. Without them, projects ground to a halt. Derek exploded. He smashed a laptop in his office and screamed at the CTO for forty straight minutes. George told me all this. Summit’s intelligence network covered every corner of this city’s business world. Derek couldn’t escape this net. Sophia wasn’t doing much better. After Stellar Media cut her off, her PR firm lost sixty percent of its media channels in one stroke. Several major clients’ annual PR campaigns couldn’t be executed. Penalty fees accumulated to forty million dollars. She scrambled for replacement suppliers, but in this industry, Stellar was the absolute leader. Other firms were either too small to handle the volume or quoted triple the price. Sophia’s complexion worsened day by day. One of her employees told George’s people over drinks that Ms. Kane had been working until two or three AM every night, temperamental, firing two assistants in a row. I listened to all this while sipping tea. “Did Derek figure anything out?” “He hired a business investigation firm, but all leads point to strategic adjustments within Summit Holdings. No one’s pointed at you.” “What about Sophia?” “She’s more perceptive than Derek. Had lunch with a friend two days ago and mentioned the timing seemed suspicious.” “She suspects me?” “For about one second. Then she dismissed it herself. Her exact words were—’He’s just some guy who spent five years in prison and signed away fifteen million without a fight. How could he have that kind of pull?’” I laughed. “Continue.” George handed me another document. “Mr. Hayes, someone’s been buying up Ford Tech shares on the secondary market. At the current pace, in another two weeks the stake will approach the disclosure threshold.” “Who’s buying?” “The three shell companies you had me set up.” “Mm.” I flipped to the last page. A line of numbers. Ford Tech’s stock price had dropped from thirty-eight dollars per share last month to twenty-nine. Negative news plus major client losses—market confidence collapsed fast. The more it fell, the more I bought. The more I bought, the more Derek panicked. Friday evening of week two, Derek’s assistant called me. “Mr. Hayes, Mr. Ford would like to invite you to dinner tomorrow. To catch up.” Ten times more polite than two weeks ago. I said: “No thanks. I’m busy.” Then hung up. That evening I stood at the floor-to-ceiling windows, holding the seal Sterling had left me. Soapstone. Cool, heavy. Four characters carved on it. *Immovable as Mountains.* Sterling had said that in business, the most important thing isn’t acting fast. It’s staying calm. I put the seal back in its box and turned off the lights. Outside, ten thousand lights. Among them, one belonged to Derek’s home. I guessed he wouldn’t sleep tonight. **5** Fourth week after release, Lucy found me. She somehow discovered where I lived. Maybe she’d tracked the Maybach’s license plate. Maybe bribed the security guard. Either way, she came. Three PM, George called my intercom: “Mr. Hayes, your sister is in the lobby downstairs. Security’s blocking her. She won’t leave.” I was silent for five seconds. “Let her up.” When the doorbell rang, I sat on the living room sofa with a Summit Holdings quarterly report spread before me. The door opened. Lucy stood in the doorway, stunned. Her gaze swept from the marble entryway floor to the crystal chandelier, from the cityscape beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows to the unopened liquor bottle on the coffee table. Her mouth opened, then closed. “Come in and talk.” I didn’t look up. She entered, standing across from the sofa, both hands clutching her purse strap, knuckles white. “Ethan, um… there’s a problem with the house.” Of course. Three weeks ago I’d had George arrange for lawyers to file a property rights dispute on that house. That house was left by our parents, with both my and Lucy’s names on it. After I went to prison, Sophia used “authorized disposal” to transfer my half of the property rights to Lucy’s name—for a price, naturally. The price was that false testimony in court. Now the property rights were disputed. My lawyers filed for a freeze on grounds of “unauthorized action by unauthorized party, invalid agency.” Lucy panicked. That house was her only asset in this city. “Ethan, the property rights issue, was that you…” Her voice grew quieter until the last words were nearly inaudible. I set down the report, looked up at her. Five years later, Lucy was much thinner. Sunken eye sockets, prominent cheekbones, no flesh on her face. But she wore a jade bracelet on her wrist and a gold necklace. Poor, but vanity intact. “That’s why you came?” “Ethan, that house is what Mom and Dad left for us. You can’t…” “Left for us?” I repeated it. “Five years ago in court, what did you say? You said you saw with your own eyes that I deliberately hurt someone. Did you know that person was hired by Derek for twenty thousand dollars to act?” Lucy’s face went white. “Do you know that because of your testimony, the judge added two years to my sentence?” Her lips trembled. She couldn’t speak. “It should have been three years. Because of the ‘eyewitness’ supplementary testimony, it became five. Those extra two years were a gift from you.” I stood and walked toward her. She backed up a step, lower back hitting the chair. “That fifty thousand—is it spent yet?” At those words, Lucy’s tears fell. She crouched on the floor, hands covering her face, shoulders shaking. “Ethan, I know I was wrong… I didn’t know then… Sophia told me you’d just be in for a few months… said you’d get out soon… I didn’t know the sentence would be so long…” “Didn’t know?” I crouched down to her eye level. “Lucy, you didn’t not know. You didn’t want to know. Fifty thousand plus a house—you thought it was worth it. As for how many years your brother spent inside—that wasn’t your concern.” She cried harder, snot and tears covering her face. “Ethan, please, that house is all I have… I really don’t have anything else…” I stood, stepped back. “Leave.” “Ethan!” “I said leave.” I turned and walked back to the sofa, picking up the report again. Lucy stood behind me for a long time. Her crying gradually quieted. Finally she wiped her face and walked toward the door on unsteady legs. At the door, she paused. “Ethan, this apartment… where you’re living… where did you get the money…” I didn’t answer. The door closed. George emerged from the study, glancing at me. “Mr. Hayes, are you all right?” I turned to the next page of the report. “When’s the next move?” George checked his watch. “Ford Tech’s stock price dropped another four percent today. According to plan, we can issue a takeover bid next Monday.” “Change it.” “Sir?” “Wait until next month’s business summit. Announce it in front of everyone.” George paused, then nodded. “Understood.”

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The year I hated Lucas Carter the most was also the purest. Lucas Carter tortured and killed my dog that I had raised for ten years, all for his little secretary. To get revenge, I stabbed the little secretary five times, relishing her crazed screams. Everyone thought Lucas Carter would take my life. Instead, Lucas Carter just threw me a divorce agreement and said coldly, “You’re nothing but a dog of the Carter family. Since you want to go mad, then get lost.” After that night, I never appeared again. Until five years later, I attended a gala in my father’s place and ran into Lucas Carter’s little secretary. The little secretary splashed red wine on me. “Well, well, look who it is. The dog the Carter family didn’t want.” I grabbed a champagne bottle and smashed it on the little secretary’s head. “Five years and they still haven’t taught you how to be human. Today I’ll teach you myself.” Yolanda’s screams echoed through the room. Several lackeys standing beside Yolanda immediately positioned themselves in front of her and shouted at me. “Who the fuck are you!” “Do you know who you just hit!” “Let me tell you,” the loudest one pointed at me, “she’s the fiancée of the Carter Corporation’s heir! You’ve crossed her! Mr. Carter won’t let you go!” Someone else blocked my path, speaking mockingly. “I’d like to see which blind fool dares to offend Mr. Carter’s precious darling. Everyone knows Mr. Carter is crazy about his wife. Normally, if Miss Yolanda loses even a single hair, Mr. Carter would turn half the city upside down, let alone crack her head open!” Yolanda covered her bleeding forehead, glaring at me viciously. “Let me tell you, Gardenia, I was kind enough to let you go five years ago, but that doesn’t mean I’ll still be afraid of you five years later! You were nothing but a dog Asher kept at home! Five years ago I could destroy you, and now that you dare to show up, I can destroy you again!” I looked at how Yolanda had changed over five years. I had to admit it. Lucas Carter really had raised her well. The woman who could only timidly call me “Mrs. Carter” back then could now publicly threaten me to disappear, using words like “destroy.” Unfortunately, I’ve never been a pushover. Not five years ago. Not five years later either. Surrounded by a crowd, I looked at the shattered fragments on the ground, bent down, and under everyone’s shocked expressions, picked up a shard and smiled. “Yolanda.” I walked toward her step by step. “Five years ago,” I held the bloodstained shard, “I gave you too much face.” “What.” I stared at Yolanda’s lower abdomen, tracing the shard from her face downward. “I stabbed out your uterus back then, and you still haven’t learned your lesson.” “In that case.” My smile turned vicious, and before anyone could react, I raised the shard and stabbed it fiercely toward Yolanda’s abdomen. But. Before I could stab Yolanda’s belly, someone suddenly grabbed my wrist. I heard screaming in my ears, and Yolanda’s tearful voice. “Asher.” “I’m scared.” Five years ago, when I had pressed Yolanda to the ground and stabbed her again and again, Yolanda had shown the same terrified eyes, calling out vulnerably. “Asher, I’m scared.” Time overlapped. Behind me came a long-lost yet familiar voice. “Gardenia, it’s been five years.” “What,” Lucas Carter’s voice was gloomy, “still haven’t learned to behave?” My wrist was forcefully pulled outward. The pain made me frown, but instead of admitting defeat and giving up like I did five years ago, it ignited the blood in my veins that couldn’t be contained. I gripped the shard tightly, feeling it pierce my palm, and at the same moment Lucas Carter was about to seize the shard from me. I quickly turned my head and smiled at Lucas Carter. “Long time no see.” “Asher.” The shard stabbed viciously into Lucas Carter’s arm, blood spattering and blurring my vision.

The scene descended into complete chaos. I heard countless screams in my ears, someone shouting for security, and people whispering in discussion. “Who is this woman? Does she have a death wish? She actually dared to stab Mr. Carter!” “I just heard Miss Yolanda mention five years ago. Five years ago, didn’t Mr. Carter drive away a Carter family orphan girl, his wife in name only! Holy shit, could it be her!” “She doesn’t look like it though.” “I heard that orphan girl had no one, just a dog that was tortured to death all night because it offended Miss Yolanda! Everyone in high society has seen that torture video! They even skinned the dog alive!” “Look, Mr. Carter is actually smiling!” Blood kept seeping from Lucas Carter’s arm. Yolanda shouted, “Asher!” Then, ignoring her own forehead wound, Yolanda rushed over to Lucas Carter like a madwoman, shielding him and yelling at me. “Gardenia! What gives you the right to hurt Asher!” “The Carter family raised you for twenty years and raised an ungrateful wretch like you! Apologize to Asher right now!” Watching Yolanda act like the mistress of the Carter family, ordering me around imperiously, I found it laughable. I met Lucas Carter’s eyes. “After raising her for five years, you’ve raised a dog that stands up for you. Lucas Carter, you must feel pretty satisfied.” Yolanda’s face paled. Lucas Carter immediately shielded Yolanda behind him, just like five years ago. “Gardenia, things between us ended five years ago.” “I’ve already told you, Yolanda is the only one in my heart. I won’t fall in love with you and I could never like you,” Lucas Carter looked at me coldly. “I don’t care how you’ve spent these five years, or how you got an invitation to this gala and snuck in.” “But I will never let you return to the Carter family and continue to harm Yolanda.” “Gardenia.” Lucas Carter looked down at me from above. “Originally today I could have ignored you and pretended you didn’t exist, but since you hurt Yolanda, you have to pay the price.” Lucas Carter clapped his hands, and a group of security guards surrounded me. “You can choose to do it yourself, or I’ll do it.” A security guard handed over a knife. Lucas Carter took it, waiting for my answer. I just laughed outright. “Lucas Carter, do you think the whole world revolves around you?” I pointed at the knife in his hand. “If you’ve got the guts, you’d better finish me off today,” I walked closer step by step. “Otherwise, when it’s my turn to finish you off.” “You’d better not,” I leaned close to Lucas Carter, enunciating clearly, “beg for mercy on your knees.” “Hahaha.” My laughter echoed through the silent banquet hall. Lucas Carter’s expression darkened. Watching Lucas Carter tremble with rage, I couldn’t help but recall five years ago when he did the same thing, using Rusty to force me to kneel and kowtow in apology. He locked Rusty in an iron cage, had someone seal Rusty’s mouth, and as long as I refused to beg for mercy, the blade would mercilessly slice across Rusty’s body. All my pride was completely shattered. Watching Rusty in agony, I knelt and begged for mercy. “Lucas Carter!” I cried and pleaded, “Don’t hurt Rusty.” “I’m sorry!” I kowtowed forcefully, banging my head hard on the ground. “I was wrong! I know I was wrong!” Rusty was all I had. My only hope was to take Rusty and leave the Carter family. I desperately begged. “Let Rusty go, let Rusty go!” I’ll never forget Rusty’s eyes full of heartache for me, nor will I forget the hatred carved into my bones that still fills me with rage when I remember it. Looking at Lucas Carter now, only the hatred that hasn’t completely burned out remains. “Lucas Carter, you’re nothing but a dog being played by Yolanda,” I said word by word. “Old Master Carter handed the Carter family over to you, and he’ll probably crawl out of his coffin to demand your life!” “After all, the Carter family is completely finished!”

My throat was violently seized. My breath was stolen. Oxygen gradually depleted. I met Lucas Carter’s bloodshot eyes and heard his voice, vicious to the point of madness. “Gardenia, don’t think I won’t dare kill you!” “You’re nothing but the Carter family’s dog.” Lucas Carter forcefully threw me to the ground. Champagne glass shards all pierced my skin, creating countless small wounds. The pain made me shudder, and then Lucas Carter grabbed my hair. “When I tell you to kneel, you kneel!” “When I tell you to die! You die!” Lucas Carter smiled at me. “But today, I don’t really want you to die.” “After all,” Lucas Carter patted my face, “such a good plaything, how could I let it die so easily? Don’t you agree!” I looked at Lucas Carter so close. I remembered that day when Yolanda sent me a video, her tone boastful. [I just told Asher that Rusty scared me, and Asher skinned Rusty alive.] [You know what, next time I’ll tell Asher that you’re actually scary too. Will Asher skin you alive too?] [So funny!] [You’re nominally Mrs. Carter, but you’re actually worth less than a servant.] Now, meeting Lucas Carter’s expression, a sweetness rose in my throat. As Lucas Carter raised his hand to slap my face again, I spat a mouthful of bloody phlegm onto his face. Watching his expression shift from brief shock to disgusted revulsion, I smiled. “That’s right, Lucas Carter.” “How could you die so quickly?” I used his tone and smiled too. “After all, such a fun game, how can we not play it to the end?” Since I came back. I never intended to let Carter Corporation go. Those who killed Rusty back then, I want them all to pay the price one by one. Rusty died so cruelly. How could I let them go? Seeing my stubborn defiance. Lucas Carter suddenly released my hair and wiped the bloody phlegm from his face. “That’s right.” “Some things, if you don’t torture them slowly, how can you be satisfied?” “Since you’ve come back,” Lucas Carter looked at me, “then let’s play properly.” Lucas Carter stopped looking at me and ordered the security guards. “Watch her.” “Don’t let her escape.” Then Lucas Carter returned to his gentle and considerate demeanor toward Yolanda. “Does it hurt?” He gently wiped away Yolanda’s tears. “I’ll take you to a private room.” Yolanda cried into his arms. “With you, I don’t hurt.” “With you here,” Yolanda sobbed, “I’m not afraid of anything.” I watched Lucas Carter carry Yolanda horizontally out of the room. I slumped to the ground, the tiny wounds all over my body making me frown in pain. Those sycophants around me started spewing. “Who knows where this thing came from, daring to hurt Mr. Carter. Mr. Carter not taking half your life today is already mercy. Get lost.” “Exactly! I heard before that you’re just an orphan girl Old Master Carter picked up from outside. Old Master Carter raised you, but you repaid kindness with enmity and went after Miss Yolanda. You deserved to be kicked out.” “Not gonna lie,” someone smiled and opened their phone, “I still have that dog’s torture video saved.” That person opened their album and found the torture video. The others gathered around saying, “Let me see.” “I want to see too.”

Rusty’s screams rang out. But I seemed stimulated, directly picked up a shard from the ground, grabbed that person’s hair, and stabbed it viciously into his eye. Screams pierced my ears. I was like someone appreciating a work of art, turning my head to see those who had just been pointing fingers at me all fall silent. No one dared to provoke a lunatic. Moreover, a lunatic like me who dared to take the life of the Carter family’s heir. Even the security guards didn’t dare to really lay hands on me. I looked at this group of sycophants, spat out a mouthful of bloody phlegm, threw out the word “trash,” and headed in Lucas Carter’s direction. Lucas Carter brought Yolanda to a private room and called his personal doctor. The doctor carefully examined Yolanda’s wound, but Yolanda cried and said, “Don’t look at me, check Asher.” “I really didn’t expect,” Yolanda choked up, “that Gardenia would be even crazier five years later. We shouldn’t have been soft-hearted back then. She’s appearing here now because she can’t let you go.” “Back then, Gardenia loved you so much that the whole city knew. Just because you were a little nice to me, she publicly embarrassed me and even slapped me.” Yolanda wiped away her tears. “Asher, don’t let her destroy our relationship anymore, okay?” Lucas Carter sat at the bedside, held Yolanda’s hand, and softly comforted her. “I won’t. Don’t worry.” “To me,” Lucas Carter scoffed, “Gardenia is nothing but a toy. When we were young, I found her boring and would always lock her in the dark room, scare her with snakes and insects and rats, and found it interesting to hear her cry.” “Later, I discovered Gardenia fed stray dogs every day, so I poisoned several of them. She actually pulled a knife on me over some beasts.” Lucas Carter gritted his teeth. “That dog deserved to die.” I walked to the private room door and heard Lucas Carter say this. I remembered that time when Lucas Carter chained me up. For three whole days, Lucas Carter left me covered in injuries. Even so, Lucas Carter had the audacity to grab my throat and demand. “Don’t take medicine!” I still clearly remember Lucas Carter’s sick and obsessed eyes. “Since playing with you isn’t enough, then give birth to my spawn. I want to see if you’ll still have such a hard backbone when you’re carrying my spawn!” Later, it was Rusty who found the old master to rescue me. It was Rusty who accompanied me to the hospital, completely eliminating the possibility of me becoming a mother. Even if I could never be a mother for the rest of my life. I would never give birth to spawn carrying Lucas Carter’s blood. It was also then. Lucas Carter completely developed murderous intent toward Rusty. My phone vibrated. I looked at the caller and my expression softened. “You went to the gala in place of your father-in-law?” That person’s tone was gentle. “I heard your ex-husband is there too. Why didn’t you wait for me?” Hearing that person’s voice, I couldn’t help but complain. “I’m about to be killed! Before I die, come save me quick!” I hung up the phone. I heard Yolanda ask him, “What if Gardenia still wants to be with you?” Before Lucas Carter could answer. I kicked the door open directly, met Yolanda’s shocked face, and Lucas Carter immediately shielded Yolanda. “Gardenia! You really are shameless!” “Chasing us here!” Lucas Carter looked at me with satisfaction. “What, want to come back and be Mrs. Carter? Who do you think you are—” I picked up the knife in my hand, rushed quickly to Lucas Carter, stabbed it into his abdomen, and looked at him coldly with a sneer. “Lucas Carter!” “Go to hell!”

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The neighbor across from me doesn’t like to close his curtains. Every evening, I can see him working out in his living room. Black compression shirt, gray sweatpants. V-shaped torso, lean muscles, long legs, and a face with perfect bone structure. I’d been secretly watching for a solid two weeks, and just as I was about to work up the courage to ask for his contact info… Suddenly, comments appeared: 【Keep staring and I’ll gouge your eyes out!】 【This crazy supporting female character—the male lead is clearly trying to seduce the female lead next door, but she’s watching so intently. It’s infuriating!】 【The supporting character is so shameless. Peeping is illegal. Can’t someone call the cops on her?】 【Don’t worry, don’t worry. The male lead is pulling out all the stops tonight, but the supporting character gets so absorbed in watching that she accidentally falls out the window and dies…】 I sucked in a sharp breath. That very night, I installed safety bars and replaced my curtains with thick blackout ones. I didn’t dare look even once after that. A few days later, my neighbor knocked on my door with a tone that was both aggrieved and self-righteous: “Why did you stop watching me? Is it because you think I’m out of shape?” Me: ? 0

Those words hit me like a bolt of lightning. What did he mean by that? The comments were just as confused: 【That sounds almost… flirty?】 【The male lead is polite, so he can’t directly call out the supporting character’s rude behavior. He can only remind her indirectly not to peep anymore!】 【Damn, those pecs, those abs, that… he’s clearly got serious stamina! No wonder the supporting character was watching. I wouldn’t be able to resist either!】 【As expected of a cultured and graceful male lead—he’s a perfect match for our gentle and kind female lead!】 So that was it. He seemed like a pretty decent guy, actually. I couldn’t help but feel some gratitude toward the man in front of me. If I put myself in his shoes—if some creep had been secretly watching me for two weeks straight, I’d definitely call the cops. But he just came over to gently remind me. He’d already given me plenty of dignity. As I was mulling this over, Ethan suddenly introduced himself: “Hi, I’m Ethan. I’m from the capital. I own dozens of properties and have liquid assets in the hundreds of millions. I’m twenty-five this year, but I’ve been working out consistently. I’m in great health, and my parents have a harmonious relationship…” Me: ? 【The male lead is showing off his wealth to make the supporting character back off.】 【Male lead: This is a simple warning. Next time won’t be so easy.】 Me: ! I immediately bowed ninety degrees to him and apologized sincerely: “I’m so sorry, Mr. Ethan. I know my behavior caused you distress. It was wrong of me. I promise I’ll never watch you again!” Ethan: ? The aggrieved expression on his face suddenly froze, and his tone turned a bit flustered: “No, that’s not what I meant…” I understood completely. He still didn’t want to call me out directly because he was afraid of hurting my self-esteem. What a good person! I felt even more guilty and apologized repeatedly. 【Wait, why isn’t the supporting character following the script?】 【Admitting mistakes and changing behavior makes her a good girl. I hereby declare I won’t curse at the supporting character anymore.】 【Who knows if the supporting character is just pretending to lower the male lead’s guard so she can peep more effectively later?】 Heaven and earth could bear witness—I truly knew I was wrong and would absolutely never watch again. Falling from the tenth floor—how much would that hurt? I shivered, my face turning pale. But Ethan lowered his head, his ears turning completely red: “I just wanted to ask… do you girls like my body type?” Hearing this, I discreetly scanned him from head to toe and quietly swallowed. Damn, the black compression shirt was even pilling. His pecs were so full they were about to burst through the fabric. If I accidentally bumped into them, I wondered how good it would feel… The comments promptly interrupted my fantasy: 【The male lead hit a wall pursuing the female lead and doubts his own charm, so he’s trying to figure out what the female lead likes.】 【He’s too embarrassed to ask the female lead directly, so he’s asking the supporting character instead.】 I got it again. So he was trying to find out what the female lead liked. I was almost shipping them myself. To make up for my mistake, I decided to help them out: “Don’t worry, you have a great body. No one wouldn’t like it.” The female lead and male lead were made for each other—how could the female lead not like him? The corners of Ethan’s mouth instantly lifted high. I quickly added: “You can rest completely assured—I’ll never watch you again. If I do, I’ll… I’ll never get rich my whole life!” After making this vow, I didn’t wait to see Ethan’s expression. I went straight inside and closed the door. 0

That night, I added another layer of blackout curtains to make absolutely sure no light could get through. This should let me escape the tragic fate of accidentally falling from the building. I’d first noticed Ethan over twenty days ago. I’d been tortured to tears by a work proposal and went downstairs, wanting neither to take the stairs nor the elevator. I casually glanced out the window. Instantly, my headache was gone, my depression lifted, and I didn’t want to die anymore. In the unit across from mine, there was a gorgeous man working out, and he wasn’t even closing his curtains! From my angle, I could see everything. Black compression shirt, gray sweatpants. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, long legs, perfect facial structure… he fulfilled all my fantasies about the ultimate hottie. I clung to the window and watched for a full hour. The next evening, with an excited heart, I secretly looked across again. He still hadn’t closed his curtains! I didn’t know if it was my imagination, but the lighting seemed even brighter. This time his upper body was bare, and the gray sweatpants had been switched for athletic shorts. I was immensely grateful for my good eyesight—I could even clearly see the veins bulging on his abs. I scolded myself for my shameful peeping behavior while convincing myself that as a grown woman, I needed to look at these things to have the energy to make a living. After secretly watching for two weeks straight, I was sleeping with a pillow clamped between my legs. I couldn’t help fantasizing—if I could get him, I’d first give him a few light slaps on his chest, then have a good time on top of him. But the comments that suddenly appeared gave me a harsh wake-up call. The comments said he had someone he liked—the girl living next door to me—and that he worked out without closing his curtains just to attract her attention. I’d run into that girl a few times. She was gentle and beautiful. The thought that a fellow woman was secretly enjoying such a treat without telling me broke my heart. But heartbreak aside… I sincerely wished this young couple could be together forever, until they were old and gray! I stopped thinking about them and went back to enjoying videos of hot guys. The consequence of indulging in eye candy was that I nearly overslept for work the next day. When I got to the office, contrary to my expectations, there was no dead, dull office atmosphere. Everyone was as excited as if they’d taken drugs. After some quick investigating, I learned that the company had suddenly been acquired by a big shot, and we were getting a new boss. I sat at my desk feeling a bit worried. The old boss might have had a bald spot and tended to spray spit when he talked, but he was generous! He gave out bonuses on holidays, gave out bonuses when he was in a good mood, even gave out bonuses for occasional overtime… bonuses, bonuses, bonuses until you got sick of them. Where else could I find a boss who randomly handed out bonuses like that? I sent him a message with a heavy heart: 【Boss, if someone’s threatening you, just blink.】 The boss replied instantly: 【Not telling, not telling.】 【You have no idea what I got out of this!】 I was about to try to extract more information when a chorus of gasps suddenly erupted throughout the office. My lunch buddy kicked my chair hard. Me: … Following her gaze, I looked up and my eyebrows shot up in shock. Ethan? The new boss was actually Ethan? Ethan looked over at the same time. Our eyes met, and the corners of his mouth lifted in a high arc, his eyes shining impossibly bright. 【Oh no, that expression—the supporting character doesn’t think the male lead came here for her, does she?】 【Actually, the female lead has a partnership with this company, which is why the male lead acquired it.】 【Nothing else to say—everyone type these four words right now: OLDER MAN SUPREMACY!】 The office erupted. “Ahhhhh he’s so handsome and stylish!” “I heard he’s a young master from the capital. Wonder if he’s here to gain experience or for someone special.” “Boss, look at me! I don’t want to work hard anymore!” “…” Listening to all this gossip, I could only feel amazed. The title of most devoted CEO had to go to Ethan. To pursue his woman, this capital circle young master was willing to live in a small one-bedroom apartment, show off his body every day without closing the curtains, and even directly acquire a company. How wonderful. Another day of shipping a couple. The office gradually quieted down, and I recovered from my excitement over this couple and started working seriously. I don’t know how much time passed before my lunch buddy kicked my chair hard again. I looked up—it was Ethan again. He’d taken off his suit jacket, rolled his white shirt sleeves up to his forearms, and unbuttoned the top two buttons. His fingers were so long, and his nose bridge was so high… Stop it! I immediately shook those unhealthy thoughts from my mind and put on a fake smile: “Boss, can I help you with something?” 0

Ethan’s lips pressed into a straight line: “I need a secretary. Haven’t found the right one yet, so I’ll have to trouble you to fill in temporarily.” I froze: “But…” Before I could finish, Ethan had already picked up my entire desk and computer together. Me: … Helplessly, I could only follow. His legs were long and he walked fast. I had to jog to keep up with his pace. From the exertion, the muscles in his arms tensed, forming perfect muscle lines that were quite enticing. The comments started drooling: 【I feel like the male lead is the type who could toss a wok for cooking for days on end.】 【Serious stamina! Serious stamina!】 Stunned by these shocking comments, I fell silent. A few seconds later, watching Ethan place my desk directly in front of his own desk, I fell silent again. So close that if I stretched my legs, I could touch his calves. Extremely lacking in boundaries. Wait, was this okay? The comments were equally confused: 【Am I detecting a hint of ambiguity?】 【Maybe he thinks the supporting character knows the female lead and wants to butter her up so she’ll put in a good word, like how guys pursuing girls try to befriend their besties.】 【If I remember correctly, the female lead and supporting character aren’t even close, right?】 【But the male lead thinks they know each other! He’s just too in love!】 So Ethan thought I was the female lead’s best friend. But the female lead and I were at most nodding acquaintances. We weren’t close at all. I was about to explain when a comment suddenly floated by: 【This works out well. Let the supporting character see firsthand how much the male lead values the female lead and completely give up her delusions!】 Me: … Fine then. I stopped worrying about it and immediately started cramming on the job duties of a CEO’s personal secretary. On the other hand, Ethan seemed like he had ants in his pants. One moment rolling his shirt sleeves up to his arms, the next buttoning and unbuttoning his collar, revealing his delicate collarbones. Like a mischievous child trying every way to get an adult’s attention. Was he fishing for evidence against me? I worked even harder, not daring to give him even half a glance. A few minutes later, an impatient “tch” came from above my head. Sure enough, he was fishing for evidence. He was unhappy he couldn’t catch me in the act. He suddenly stood up and went into the lounge. A clattering sound came from inside. Me: … Sighing quietly, Ethan emerged from the lounge and placed several small cakes on my desk: “I accidentally bought too many today. Could you help me finish them?” After a while, he placed peeled pomelo segments on my desk. Then a bit later, a warm cup of bubble tea… This must be how guys treat their girlfriend’s best friend—alternating between annoyance and trying to win them over. My heart completely settled back into my stomach. After ending this inexplicably strange day, I waited for the bus outside. My lower abdomen suddenly felt a pulling sensation. I hurriedly ran back to the company restroom to take care of it. When I came out, a red sports car was arrogantly parked right in front of the company building. It was Ethan. “It’s about to rain. I’m heading your way—let me give you a ride.” I was about to decline when lightning flashed across the sky and the ground shook. I jumped in fright and stopped refusing. Ethan drove a sports car, so I had to open the door and sit in the passenger seat. We drove in silence. The moment I stepped through my front door, rain came pouring down. I secretly felt grateful I’d taken Ethan’s car home, otherwise with the rain, thunder, and my period, I would have been miserable. I pulled open the curtains to check the windows and inadvertently glanced across. Ethan was working out again. I silently marveled at how he never forgot his original intention. He suddenly looked up. Through the pouring rain, his gaze found me precisely. 0

I quickly pulled the curtains shut. After tapping an electronic prayer bell for a minute to absolve my sins, I collapsed on the bed to relax. Strange—my period usually left me in agony, but this time there was only a slight aching sensation. Could it be because I’d secretly watched Ethan for two weeks? So I felt completely justified scrolling through videos of hot guys for two hours before falling into a deep, satisfied sleep. Today was my second day as temporary secretary. I didn’t dare be late and got up ten minutes early. When I opened my door, I came face to face with the female lead, who was also heading out. She smiled at me kindly, and I returned a big smile. After going downstairs, I saw that familiar, flashy sports car again. 【Who understands—to get one more glimpse of his precious female lead, the male lead has been waiting downstairs for an hour.】 【The male lead is wearing a casual outfit in the same color scheme as the female lead today. They’re so in sync!】 【Serious stamina! Serious stamina!】 I wanted to pretend I hadn’t seen it. The car window slowly rolled down, revealing that handsome, perfect face. Ethan called out: “Sophia~ Get in~” I hesitated for a moment, but he’d already gotten out and opened the car door for me. Getting in the car, I noticed he’d changed his watch. Yesterday it was a Rolex, today a Patek Philippe. My back teeth were about to crack. Why couldn’t the world have one more rich person—me! Just as I was about to buckle my seatbelt, Ethan suddenly leaned over and fastened it for me. A pleasant, faint citrus scent swirled around my nose. I instinctively held my breath. The comments filled with question marks: 【Why is the male lead being so intimate and ambiguous with the supporting character?】 【This action makes me feel like he’s not waiting for the female lead, but the supporting character.】 【The male lead is being so improper with women. Deduct points! Must deduct points!】 I also felt this behavior wasn’t quite appropriate. What if the female lead saw and misunderstood? Wouldn’t I become a homewrecker struck down by heaven? No way, absolutely not! Everything Ethan was doing now was to get closer to the female lead. I couldn’t be a stumbling block on his path to winning his wife! I clutched the seatbelt and thought hard for a while, then suddenly turned to Ethan very seriously and said: “Mr. Ethan, I have a boyfriend.” His fingers, which had been tapping the steering wheel, suddenly stopped. Ethan stiffly turned his head, his dark eyes full of disbelief, something seeming to shatter in their depths. “A boyfriend? You have a boyfriend?” I nodded obediently. A creaking sound echoed in the car. It went on for quite a while before Ethan’s eyes began to redden slightly: “I don’t believe it!” I was a bit puzzled. What was with this “my wife doesn’t want me anymore” expression? “Why don’t you believe it?” “I’ve never seen any men around you.” Me: … I patiently lied: “He’s usually busy with work…” “No matter how busy, that’s no excuse to neglect you!” He raised his voice, looking like he was about to cry. 【Who understands—the male lead thought everyone was single, and finding out the supporting character is in a relationship instantly broke his defenses.】 【It’s like thinking we’re all struggling students, then you get first place in the whole school on finals. Total betrayal.】 I thought for a moment, opened my phone’s photo album, found a picture with my brother, and shoved it in Ethan’s face. In the photo, I was hugging the guy’s neck from behind, smiling brilliantly. “Look, my boyfriend’s handsome, right? Everyone says we look like a married couple.” Ethan stared at the photo for a long time, his lips trembling violently several times before he finally closed his eyes, his tone very light. “I’m sorry. My recent behavior has caused you trouble.” “But this is just a boss’s concern for an ordinary subordinate. Please don’t take it to heart.” With that, he silently started the car. I looked out the window, vaguely feeling something was off. When we entered the company, Ethan walked very quickly, as if dogs were chasing him.

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On the day I went into labor, Ethan Knight was out on a sweet romantic getaway with his intern at a hotel. I casually liked the post, then turned and sent a message to my AI husband “Ace”: “Ace, our child is going to be born today.” While Ethan deliberately ignored me, I listened to Ace tell me jokes through my earbuds. Even when the intern sent me a taunting text, I simply had Ace generate a blessing message to send back. Ethan’s friends gossiped behind my back: “Look how pathetic Quinn is, even tolerating Ethan taking another woman to a hotel.” “She’s just afraid of losing her position as Mrs. Knight.” Until Ethan turned down a billion-dollar project and rushed home for my birthday, only to find me smiling blissfully at my computer screen. He finally saw the AI—with a face that perfectly replicated his own, yet a hundred times more gentle—and his eyes turned red. He smashed the computer in a frenzy, pinning me down on the sofa: “I’m a living, breathing person. Please don’t fall in love with a piece of code, okay?” 1 “Quinn, I’m talking to you. Look at me!” He suddenly increased the pressure in his grip. “Say something! Do you think creating this virtual knockoff is going to disgust me?” My gaze traveled past his shoulder to the wreckage scattered across the floor. This was the “gift” he gave me after rushing home for my birthday, having turned down a billion-dollar project. The computer components had cut his finger. Blood dripped from his fingertip, falling drop by drop onto my pure white maternity dress. “Ethan, you’ve stained my dress.” I looked down at the red marks on the hem, reaching for tissues on the coffee table. “You’re worried about that dress!” Ethan snatched the tissues from my hand. He cupped my face with both hands. “Quinn, do you even have a heart? I’m your husband, a living person right in front of you, and you’d rather smile at some broken code than look at me?” I looked at his furious face. “A living person? You mean the one who accompanied his intern on a sweet hotel tryst during my delivery date?” Ethan’s expression froze for a moment, but was quickly covered by rage. “I told you, that was just going through the motions! It was Lily who insisted on going to that trendy hotel to see the night view. I just gave her a ride!” “A ride?” I reached up, prying his fingers off my chin one by one. “A ride that ended up on a hotel bed, posting on Instagram with the caption ‘Older Man’s Favorite’?” “Quinn, stop fixating on such a small thing! I rushed back to spend your birthday with you. What more do you want?” He took a deep breath, his tone softening. “I fired Lily, okay? I’ll be with you every day from now on. I won’t go anywhere. Just delete that knockoff, and we’ll live a good life together.” I looked down at the slightly trembling hands around my waist. “Ethan, you’re scared.” “Scared of what! I just think you’re being completely unreasonable!” I ignored his roar. Right in front of him, I opened the cloud backup app. Ace’s smiling 3D hologram appeared on the screen. He wore a white shirt, his eyes clear and bright. “Quinn, has the baby been good today?” Ethan’s pupils constricted sharply, staring fixedly at the screen showing that face identical to his own. “You kept him!” He let out a beast-like growl, snatched my phone, and hurled it viciously at the opposite marble wall. “Bang!”—a loud crash. Ace’s voice cut off abruptly. I looked at the shattered pieces on the floor, slowly stood up, and stepped over the pile of wreckage. “Quinn! Where are you going!” Ethan roared behind me. I didn’t look back, walking straight toward the bedroom. “Bang!”—I closed the bedroom door and locked it. From outside came Ethan’s suppressed roar, followed by the dull thud of fists pounding the wall. “Quinn, come out here! Explain yourself! You think hiding in there will solve anything? I’m telling you, I absolutely won’t let that broken program stay in this house!” I lay on the bed, hands resting on my swollen belly, and closed my eyes. “Goodnight, Ace,” I whispered to the empty air. The pounding on the door grew weaker. “Quinn, you’re going to regret this.” 2 The excruciating pain of my water breaking struck without warning in the middle of the night. I bit down hard on the corner of my blanket. After the tearing contraction passed, I pushed myself up against the edge of the bed. Without calling for Ethan outside, I picked up the landline and dialed 91

Carrying the hospital bag I’d prepared long ago, I supported myself against the wall, shuffling out of the bedroom step by step. The living room reeked of alcohol. Ethan lay passed out on the carpet. In his hand, he still clutched the shattered remains of my phone. An ambulance siren wailed outside the villa. Red and white lights flashed through the floor-to-ceiling windows onto his face. He just irritably turned over, mumbling incoherently. “Lily… stop it…” I withdrew my gaze and walked out the door without looking back. When checking into the hospital, the nurse gave me strange looks, seeing me alone. “Where’s your family? How could they let you come here carrying things by yourself?” “Dead.” I signed my name on the consent form. The nurse paused, didn’t ask further questions, but her eyes filled with sympathy. I lay alone in the delivery preparation room, enduring level-ten labor pain. Each contraction felt like a saw cutting back and forth through my waist and abdomen. The hospital room door was suddenly pushed open by Lily. She wore an oversized men’s dress shirt. I recognized that shirt—it was one of Ethan’s favorite custom pieces. On her neck, fresh red marks blazed prominently. Lily held up her phone on a call, the screen displaying Ethan’s name. “Quinn, I heard you’re in labor?” She looked at me, corners of her mouth barely concealing her smugness. I gripped the bedsheet tightly, with no energy to spare for her. Lily brought the phone screen close to my eyes, deliberately pressing speakerphone. Ethan’s intoxicated voice came through. “Lily, who are you calling in the middle of the night…” “Ethan, Quinn seems to be having the baby at the hospital. Don’t you want to come see?” Silence on the other end for two seconds, then a cold laugh. “Don’t worry about that crazy woman. She’s just using childbirth to compete for attention. Let her have it. When she’s done, she can come home and apologize!” Another contraction hit. I bit my lip hard, refusing to make a sound. Lily hung up, her smile growing wider. “Quinn, did you hear? Ethan said he hates that lifeless look of yours the most. What’s the point of holding onto the position of Mrs. Knight? No one even cares when you’re having a baby.” She flipped her hair, deliberately revealing the diamond bracelet on her wrist. “Ethan gave me this last night at the hotel. Pretty, isn’t it?” I glanced at her, then raised my hand and pressed the emergency call button at the bedside. “What’s wrong with bed three?” A nurse hurried in. “I don’t know this person. She’s disturbing my rest. Get her out.” The nurse frowned and immediately called security. “What are you doing! I’m Mr. Knight’s assistant! Don’t you dare touch me!” Lily shrieked. Security ignored her struggles, forcibly dragging her out of the room. Her cursing echoed in the hallway. “Quinn, you deserve to be abandoned!” The doctor wheeled me into the delivery room. I closed my eyes, my mind uncontrollably replaying scenes from five years ago. Back then, Ethan had carried me to the hospital in pouring rain. He’d cried anxiously outside the emergency room, swearing he’d never let me suffer even the slightest injustice. “Waaah—” With a clear infant’s cry, I opened my eyes. In that moment, I completely severed the last thread of expectation I had for Ethan. The boy who would carry me through rainy nights had long ago died in time. 3 The baby was taken to an incubator for observation due to premature birth. I lay in the hospital bed for a day and a night. Ethan finally arrived at the ward on the second morning. He looked even more haggard than me, having just given birth. In his hand was an insulated container bearing the logo of an old Michelin-starred restaurant. It was my favorite chestnut truffle bisque. “Quinn.” He quickly walked to the bedside, gripping my IV hand with a face full of guilt. “I’m sorry. I drank too much last night and slept too heavily. Lily took my phone as a prank. I really didn’t know you were going into labor.” He tried to place the container on the nightstand, looking at me ingratiatingly. “I reserved this for ages. Drink it while it’s hot.” I looked at him and withdrew the hand he was holding. I pointed at the trash can by the door. “Throw it away.” Ethan froze in place. “Quinn, don’t be like this. I rushed over, didn’t I? What about the baby? Boy or girl? Does it look like you or me?” He tried to change the subject. The hospital room door opened again. Lily appeared at the entrance with a fruit basket. Her eyes were red and swollen, looking pitiful. “Quinn, I’m sorry.” She walked to the foot of the bed and bowed deeply. “I just wanted to play a joke on you last night. I didn’t know you were really in labor. Ethan already scolded me. Please forgive me just this once.” Looking at her pretentious act, I felt nauseous. “Get out.” I said only that. Lily’s tears immediately fell. She looked helplessly at Ethan. “Ethan, is Quinn still mad at me? I really know I was wrong…” Ethan frowned, turning to shield Lily, his tone tinged with irritation. “Quinn, she already apologized. How long are you going to make a scene? She’s young and thoughtless. As my wife, can’t you be more gracious?” Looking at this man who kept telling me to be gracious, I suddenly felt it was absurd. I yanked the IV needle from the back of my hand. “Quinn! What are you doing!” Ethan frantically rushed over, trying to press on my wound. “Slap!” A crisp, resounding slap landed hard on Ethan’s face. He covered his face, looking at me in disbelief. “Quinn, you hit me?” Lily shrieked and rushed over to grab Ethan’s arm. “Quinn, are you crazy! Ethan came to see you out of kindness, and you hit him!” I ignored her screaming and pulled out a tablet. I pressed play. Ace’s gentle voice came through. “Quinn, congratulations on becoming a mother. Don’t be afraid. I’ll always protect you both.” After hearing that voice, Ethan stared at the tablet in my hands. “You made another backup?! Quinn, are you trying to drive me to death!” 4 “Ethan, what right do you have to mention death?” I held the tablet to my chest, as if protecting the most precious treasure. He lunged forward, snatched the tablet from my hands, and smashed it hard on the floor. “Crack!”—but Ace’s voice still played intermittently. “Quinn… are you… happy today…” Ethan went mad, stomping hard on the tablet until the voice completely disappeared. He gasped for breath, pulled out his phone, and called the technical director of Knight Corporation. “Ken, immediately lock Quinn’s personal cloud account! Find that AI program called ‘Ace’ for me and completely pulverize it! Don’t leave even a trace!” I suddenly sat up from the hospital bed. The violent movement pulled at my abdominal wound, making me gasp in pain. “Ethan, don’t you dare touch him!” I rushed over to grab his phone. He dodged to the side, watching my anxious state, a flash of vengeful satisfaction in his eyes. “Quinn, you’d fight me to the death over a broken program?” From the other end came the rapid clicking of Ken’s keyboard. “Mr. Knight, found it. The firewall is a bit complex. Need two minutes to break through.” I grabbed Ethan’s sleeve. For the first time in my life, I lowered my head to him. “Ethan, please, don’t delete him.” There was a pleading in my voice that even I found pathetic. Ethan grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at his triumphant yet cruel face. “Beg me? Now you know to beg me? When you were smiling at that fake, why didn’t you think this day would come!” I looked at him, tears finally falling. “He’s not fake. He never hurt me.” “Ken, do it!” Ethan roared into the phone. “Too late, Quinn. I’m going to make you watch your spiritual crutch turn to dust.” A long beep came from the phone. “Mr. Knight, data completely erased. Physical overwrite three times. Unrecoverable.” From the tablet speaker on the floor came Ace’s final message, accompanied by static. “Quinn… don’t cry… I love…” The voice stopped abruptly. I released Ethan’s sleeve, as if all strength had been drained from me, collapsing to the floor. A place inside me became completely empty. Ethan looked at me, trying to find submission and pleading on my face. But he was disappointed. I slowly raised my head, looking at this man I’d loved for ten years, feeling only strangeness. “Ethan, do you know whose data Ace’s core logic code was generated from?” He frowned, confusion flashing in his eyes. “Isn’t it just some broken AI? Who else could it be?” I told him, word by word, my voice soft as a breeze. “It was the eighteen-year-old Ethan Knight. The Ethan Knight who swore on the rooftop that he would never betray Quinn in this lifetime. The personality simulation code you personally wrote years ago to make me happy.”

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