Category: English

1 The plane landed in Dubai at 8:30 PM, the sky behind me alight with gunfire. I texted my husband, Justin Vane: [I’m here. I’ve come to bring you home.] He didn’t reply. I called his assistant, Blake Miller. Blake stammered, “You actually went to the UAE?” An explosion rumbled nearby. My eyes stung. “Which district is he in?” A pause. “He never left the country.” Wind cut through my collar. Blake’s voice fell. “The business trip was a lie.” A picture came through—dated today. Justin, smiling, arm around a woman blowing out candles. Cathy Evans. The woman he swore three years ago he’d never see again. He’d also forgotten—today was my birthday. Another text: “Autumn, Justin never stopped seeing her. I didn’t dare tell you.” I looked at my phone. That message—I’ve come to bring you home—was never sent. If that was how it was, I’d stop waiting for him to come home. … “Madam, please use the evacuation route and do not linger here.” The airport announcement sounded again. I took a step, then my legs buckled, and I fell. I don’t know how many places I drifted through. Finally, the moment I boarded the plane back home. I couldn’t help but cry aloud. Back home, looking disheveled and exhausted, I headed to a law firm. In the elevator, I heard someone behind me playfully complaining on the phone. “Who stole that lace thong from my pocket? I came here commando, it’s all your fault.” “Alright, I’ll wait. Let’s see how you punish me later.” I turned around, incredulous. It was Cathy. She was still on the phone. “Do you have enough condoms in your drawer?” The elevator doors closed, reflecting two faces in the mirror. One was delicate, with exquisite makeup, and a playful sparkle in her eyes. The other was smudged and gray, with sunken eyes, chapped lips, and frizzy hair tied loosely. No wonder she didn’t recognize me. After the smoke and fires of war, I barely recognized myself either. A low chuckle came from the other end of the phone. “Depends on who it’s for. For you? Never enough.” She pouted playfully. “If your wife heard that, she’d be filing for divorce again.” “Let her. So what if we divorce again?” The elevator was ice cold, but I felt as if someone had seized my throat. My entire body trembled, but not a single word would come out. “You, you’re trying to make me jealous, aren’t you?” She lowered her voice, the end of her sentence rising in a flirtatious tone. “Be careful, I might just scream later and let everyone at your firm know that Attorney Vane is cheating again, and with me.” He laughed again. “If you dare to scream, I’ll break the news to her right away.” The elevator doors opened. Justin, impeccably dressed in a suit, stepped forward and wrapped his arm around Cathy’s waist, lowering his head to kiss her. He was as impatient as a fish starved for water, finally finding a spring. Cathy laughed, trying to shy away, but he pulled her back, deepening the kiss. She punched his chest playfully, mumbling, “There are other people here…” Only then did Justin lift his head. My hands and feet fumbled as I spun around, my eyes instantly moist. “Let her look. I’m kissing the woman I love most. What’s there to hide?” Cathy nestled into his embrace, giggling, her whole body shaking. He took off his coat and wrapped it around her. “If I didn’t have urgent business back at the firm to retrieve some documents, I wouldn’t want to be apart from you for a second.” He sighed. “I’m just afraid that if I show up at the firm now, my wife will find out tomorrow.” Cathy playfully purred, “Alright, I’ll let you have your way tonight. Consider it my comfort to you.” The elevator quickly descended to the second basement level. I followed mechanically. Then, I watched them get into the luxury car whose license plate was my birthday. Soon, the car began to subtly rock. I stood rooted to the spot, a chill creeping up my spine, freezing me to the bone. No one knew. Justin and I’s first time had also been in a car. He was so nervous his palms were sweating, constantly asking if it hurt. When I said no, he would smile and say, “You’re so wonderful, Cathy.” “Cathy, don’t worry, I will never let you down.” Afterward, he wrapped me in his coat and turned the heater up full blast. I leaned on his shoulder and teased, saying that when we were rich, we’d buy the most luxurious car. He said, “Okay, and I’ll put it in your name.” Later, his career flourished, we naturally married, and lived three happy years. Until I found him in bed with his secretary, Cathy Evans. I was willing to leave with nothing just to divorce him. The day we got our divorce papers, he jumped from a third-story window. He didn’t die, but he broke a leg. Lying in the hospital bed, he confessed his wrongdoings and begged me for another chance. My heart softened. I cared for him for six months until he fully recovered. After we remarried, he was even better to me than before. He swore he would never do anything to betray me again. But now. This heart, bruised by him, had just begun to heal, only for him to brutally tear it open once more. Bleeding profusely. 2 I don’t know how I got home. Looking at the woman before him, with her messy hair, several band-aids on her face, and a gaping hole in her clothes, the security guard couldn’t believe I was Justin Vane’s wife. He hesitated, then called Justin. Hearing Justin’s voice, I instinctively snatched the phone and threw it to the ground. I turned to leave, but I was penniless. When I heard Justin might be in trouble, I spent all my savings on a ridiculously expensive return ticket. One and a half million dollars. No hesitation. My thought was simple: I wanted him back, safe and sound. Tears streamed down my cheeks. My phone rang. My mother was calling. “I just found out you went abroad to find Justin. You scared me to death! Are you both alright?” My nose stung, but I tried to sound calm. “Mom, I’m fine.” “Thank heavens! And you, you’re not even three months pregnant, going to such a dangerous place. You worried me sick. Thank goodness you’re okay.” I hung up the phone and gently touched my lower abdomen. Justin still didn’t know that after his “business trip,” I found out I was pregnant. My reckless journey abroad was, in truth, a desperate suicide mission. No matter what, my family of three would be together. A throbbing pain spread through my chest. Looking up again, a pair of arms enveloped me. The familiar scent of tobacco. It was Justin. “Where have you been? Why do you look like this?” Our eyes met. Justin’s were filled with genuine concern. It was as if the man in the elevator, who had looked at me with such indifference, wasn’t him at all. I forced a smile. “I stumbled, then I fell again trying to get up.” Just like this marriage. I believed him once, and I was deceived again. “The plane ticket back must have been expensive, right?” Justin froze for a moment, then tenderly scooped me into his arms, a flicker of guilt crossing his eyes. “It’s worth it. My wife was waiting for me to come home.” He spoke with such sincerity, his eyes welling up with tears. Justin knelt, and without a word, began applying antiseptic to my wounds. Seeing the cuts and bruises on my body, his handsome brows furrowed in concern. “Darling, I was wrong. I shouldn’t have left you alone at home.” He was about to say more when his phone suddenly rang. After answering it, Justin apologized to me. “I have to go out for a bit. I’ll be home later.” I said nothing, just watched him put on his jacket. How many times had I sat by the door, silently waiting for him to come home? How many times had I reheated the dinner, over and over again? My eyes reddened. The tension that had held my nerves taut for days suddenly snapped. I abruptly stood up and pushed him away. “Go. And don’t come back.” Justin bent his head, intending to kiss me, but I turned away. He sighed. “Don’t be angry. I’ll make it up to you tonight.” He left in a hurry. The exhaustion of recent days pulled me into bed, only for a nightmare to jolt me awake. I dreamt of bombs falling around me. Waking, I saw the huge wedding photo on the wall. I remembered the first time I found out about Justin’s infidelity. He and Cathy had pressed four wet handprints onto our wedding portrait. I went insane and smashed everything in the house. Justin had knelt and begged me, saying that a second wedding would be the rebirth of our love, a monument to our mended relationship. Those vows still echoed in my ears. To this day, I still couldn’t understand. Why would he choose to hurt me again? Scrolling on my phone, I typed Cathy Evans’s name. After Justin fired her, her reputation in the legal world was ruined. No one dared to hire her. But surprisingly, she had become a popular social media influencer, with one of her casual videos getting tens of thousands of likes. She never showed her face, only videos of her holding a man’s hand. I clicked on each one. The man’s fingers were long and slender, tracing, kneading, intertwining with hers. Every video was like a knife. One hand rested on her waist. The little finger had a faint scar. An icy coldness spread through me. That scar. He got it when he was eighteen. A punk had cornered me, demanding I be his girlfriend. Justin had rushed over, shielding me. A beer bottle had grazed his head, splattering blood on my school uniform. He had quickly covered his head with his hand, gasping in pain, but still comforting me. “It’s okay. Even if I’m disfigured, you still have to keep me.” I found the contact number in her profile bio. I dialed it. Justin’s clear, cool voice came through the receiver: “Who is this?” 3 A cold dread settled in my heart. Justin had an exceptional memory, but he didn’t even recognize my phone number. “It’s me.” I paused. “I’m looking for Cathy.” “She’s in the shower.” He didn’t seem to recognize my voice either, his tone as flat as if he were dismissing a telemarketer. The sound of running water came through the receiver. Cathy’s voice floated over: “Honey, can you grab me a towel—?” The phone was carelessly put down. Footsteps receded, then returned. “Here.” “You dry me, won’t you…?” she cooed. “I need to get back early tonight.” “Are you… unable?” He laughed, his voice dropping to a low growl. “You really don’t know if I am?” Cathy giggled, then gasped as if she’d fallen onto the bed. I almost hung up the phone. But my finger trembled, unable to press the screen. Half an hour later, she updated her video. A large hand massaged her lower leg, his thumb tracing circles up her ankle. The Patek Philippe watch on his wrist gleamed. The comments section exploded: [Sister, please make a tutorial! How do you get such a high-quality man to serve you?] She replied: [True love comes naturally. If a man truly loves you, he’ll give you everything.] I clutched my phone tightly. That Patek Philippe watch shimmered on the screen. In the early days of his startup, money was tight. He had admired that watch for three years but couldn’t bring himself to buy it. I secretly sold the house my mother had given me, flew abroad, and bought it for him. The day I found out about his cheating, I smashed it. Justin specifically flew to Switzerland to find a craftsman to repair it, then knelt and presented it to me, saying that broken pieces could still be made whole. But the tiny crack on the watch face, it could never be completely removed. The comments section was awash with envy. Some complimented, others questioned: [Why won’t she show her face? Is she a mistress?] Soon Cathy posted a voice message. I clicked on it. Justin’s voice came through the receiver, deep, clear, every word distinct: [She’s not a mistress. She’s the woman I love most.] I clenched my lips. I turned off the video. I dialed his number. “Let’s get a divorce.” Justin paused for two seconds. “What’s wrong? I’ll be right back.” “No need. The previous agreement template will do.” His voice deepened. Through the receiver, I heard the creak of a spring being heavily pressed down and then bouncing back up. “I’m genuinely busy with something important. I’ll be back right away.” A woman’s languid moans were faintly audible in the background. I laughed, tears welling up. “You keep busy.” He seemed to be restraining something, lowering his voice. “No matter how angry you are, don’t mention divorce again. That was our agreement.” On his end, he seemed to have intensified whatever he was doing, and Cathy’s moans ceased. I hung up, my trembling hand pulling out that old written promise. The edges of the paper were curled. On it, he had written: a lifetime, growing old together, never again. He said a signature wasn’t sincere enough. He bit his finger and pressed a bloodied handprint onto the paper. He had bitten so hard that year, blood beaded up, and I watched, feeling the pain myself. He had smiled and said, “The pain will make me remember.” I found the divorce agreement and emailed it to him. His call came immediately. Justin’s voice was laced with anger. “Cathy Hayes! Half the assets are yours. Just stop this, okay?” Tears suddenly streamed down my face. I bit my lip and spoke: “The money, I want it.” “The divorce papers, I want those too.”

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Ever since my best friend confessed that she was sleeping with her married boss, I had not slept a wink. On one hand, it was a twenty year friendship that I could not bear to cut loose. On the other hand, my moral conscience was screaming at me. I absolutely despised women who destroyed other people’s families. But she was my only true friend. Torn and desperate, I called into a popular late night advice podcast. By the time the host finished breaking down my situation, a cold sweat had completely soaked through my shirt. 1 The moment my call was connected, my hands gripping the phone were clammy. My throat felt incredibly tight. “Host, I have a best friend I’ve known since elementary school. We were so close we used to share everything. When I got married, she was my maid of honor. But recently, she secretly confessed that she is the ‘other woman.’ The guy is an executive at her company. He has a wife and kids.” Saying those words out loud made my chest physically ache. I kept telling myself that this was wrong. I loathed home wreckers more than anything. But the second I thought about our two decades of history, all those tears and laughs we shared, my resolve crumbled. My voice broke into a quiet sob. “Should I just cut her out of my life? I really can’t bear to do it. She is my best friend.” The host’s voice was deep, steady, and entirely devoid of sugarcoating. He cut straight to the bone. “Let me throw a radical hypothetical at you. If she wasn’t playing the ‘other woman,’ but was instead selling her body to strangers for cash, would you still keep her around as a friend?” I didn’t even have to think about it. The words slipped right out. “Absolutely not.” The second I said it, I froze. Both actions crossed massive moral boundaries. Why was I giving her a free pass for destroying a family, just because she held the title of ‘best friend’? The host’s words hit me like a sledgehammer. He continued, his tone sharp. “Then why do you tolerate her actively ruining another woman’s home? If she committed arson or murder, would you keep her by your side just because you ‘grew up together’? We cannot choose our blood relatives, but we can choose our friends every single day of our lives. A friendship is not a blood pact. You do not owe her your own moral compass.” I fell utterly silent. Tears slipped silently down my cheeks. I tried to defend her, though I knew I was only lying to myself. “Because… we have such beautiful memories. I keep thinking, what if she realizes her mistake? If she ends the affair, can we still go back to how things were?” I was still desperately clinging to a fantasy. I wanted to believe it was just a moment of weakness, and that our twenty years of sisterhood would somehow guide her back to the light. The host shattered that illusion without mercy. “That is not a ‘mistake.’ That is a rotten core. Do not expect her loyalty to you to somehow make up for her collapsed morality. She did something disgusting, and then she bragged to you about it. That proves she doesn’t even feel an ounce of shame. Stop betting on her humanity based on your shared past.” He paused, letting the silence hang heavy before his tone turned deadly serious. “You are a married woman, so I am going to spell this out for you. You think we are debating morality right now? We are talking about your own safety. Allowing a proud homewrecker to casually stroll in and out of your life is planting a landmine in your own living room. Your husband is going to notice. Once he realizes you tolerate and even accept a woman with zero boundaries, what message does that send him? It is an invisible permission slip. He will think, ‘Wow, my wife is completely fine with infidelity. She accepts mistresses.’” Those words felt like a bucket of ice water to the face. I had never looked at it from that angle. I was so wrapped up in my own emotional attachment that I had completely ignored my own marriage. I had ignored my husband. He was right. How could I risk the sanctity of my own home just to shelter her toxic secrets? I took a deep, shaky breath, shoving my heartbreak down into the pit of my stomach. My voice finally steadied. “Okay. I know what I need to do now. Thank you so much.” 2 I ended the call, dropped my phone onto the sofa, and let the tears flow freely. I wanted to type out a long text message to give our friendship a proper burial. But as my fingers hovered over the screen, I just could not bring myself to hit send. Right then, my thumb accidentally tapped the live stream button on my screen. I had forgotten to exit the app completely. The host’s broadcast was still playing in the background. And he was speaking a truth he hadn’t wanted to say directly to my face. “To be honest with all of you listening, I only gave that caller half the truth just now.” His voice was heavy, laced with a dark warning. “There is a psychological concept called the Broken Window Theory. If you walk past a building and all the windows are pristine, no one dares to throw a rock. But if just one window is already shattered, human nature kicks in. People can’t resist the urge to pick up a stone and smash another pane. It is basic, ugly human nature.” My entire body went rigid. The phone nearly slipped from my sweaty palm. “That caller’s best friend is a broken window.” Every single syllable drilled directly into my skull. “Her husband is a flesh and blood mortal man. His temptations are unpredictable. Is he going to look at her best friend and think: ‘Well, her window is already broken anyway. Why shouldn’t I be the one to throw a stone?’ Never put human nature to the test. Telling her to keep that mistress away from her husband isn’t about upholding justice. It is about saving her own life.” In that exact fraction of a second, all my hesitation, all my nostalgic grief, completely evaporated. All that was left was a terrifying chill creeping down my spine. I always thought my indecision was a sign of a loyal heart. I never once realized that my so called ‘attachment’ was not only warping my own morals, but actively planting a lethal bomb under my own roof. I slowly picked up my phone, wiped my eyes dry, and opened her contact profile. I deleted the emotional goodbye paragraph I had drafted, and firmly tapped ‘Block.’ Outside the window, the sky bruised into a deep purple twilight. I gathered my scattered emotions and walked into the kitchen to start making dinner. I planned to sit down with my husband when he got home, tell him everything, and explain the boundary I had finally drawn. “Honey, I’m home,” Mark called out, pushing the front door open. I walked over out of pure habit to take his suit jacket. As my fingers brushed against the fabric of his pocket, they grazed a smooth, metallic tube. I pulled it out. It was a lipstick. It was not my shade. It was a very specific dusty rose tint. The exact shade Jess had worn every single day for the last five years. The tip of the lipstick was freshly smeared. My heart violently contracted, and the suit jacket nearly slipped from my trembling fingers. I forced a mask of casual curiosity onto my face. “Whose lipstick is in your pocket?” Mark’s eyes darted away for a fraction of a second before he smoothly brushed it off. “Isn’t it yours? I found it wedged in the passenger seat. It probably fell out of Jess’s purse the last time I gave her a ride. You guys are always together, you know how she is.” His tone was incredibly calm, laying out a perfectly logical excuse. Any other day, I would have bought it without a second thought. But the podcast host’s chilling warning was still echoing in my ears. The blood in my veins turned to ice. The ‘landmine’ the host had warned me about was not a future possibility. It had already detonated right under my feet. I didn’t expose him on the spot. I just turned around in silence and walked back to the kitchen, my entire back violently trembling. I dug my nails into my palms, forcing myself to breathe, and began piecing together every single detail I had blindly ignored. Jess had been dropping by our house constantly lately, always claiming she was ‘just in the neighborhood.’ She was always dressed flawlessly, and the way her eyes lingered on Mark always carried a strange, sticky heat. Mark had been coming home late for months. His excuses were always ‘overtime’ or ‘entertaining clients.’ His phone was permanently on silent, and he even took it into the shower with him. For my birthday last month, Jess gifted me a designer necklace. It was the exact same necklace I had seen a photo of on Mark’s phone a week prior. He had told me he was buying it for a ‘VIP client.’ There was even a time I walked into the living room and caught them whispering and laughing on the sofa. The second I entered, they snapped apart, looking like deer in headlights. All those little coincidences. My ‘deep sisterhood’ and my ‘happy marriage’ were nothing but a grotesque stage play. 3 I shoved the nausea deep down into my stomach and mechanically finished cooking the dinner spread. The doorbell suddenly rang. A massive, vibrant bouquet of purple violets obscured the doorway. Behind it was Jess’s brilliantly smiling face. Before I could even process her presence, she squeezed past the door frame and threw her arms around me. “Surprise! I bought you your absolute favorite flowers!” My entire body went stiff as a board. Every hair on my arms stood on end. Jess pulled back, a dramatic pout forming on her glossy lips. “Sophie, what is going on with you? Did you seriously block me on social media?” I opened my mouth, completely unsure of what to say, and possessing zero desire to explain myself. Jess seemed to misread my awkward silence. She laughed and affectionately ruffled my hair. “I knew it. You definitely pressed the wrong button by accident, didn’t you? Sophie, you are getting so bad with technology. My little nephew knows how to use his phone better than you do.” Her tone was sickeningly sweet, playing up her usual quirky, innocent persona. She acted as if this was just a silly little misunderstanding between two lifelong friends. I played along, giving a stiff nod and forcing a wooden smile onto my face. Seeing the dining table covered in steaming dishes, Jess’s eyes practically sparkled with fake tears. “You are the absolute best, Sophie. You cooked all my favorite dishes! Honestly, your cooking hits the spot better than my own mother’s.” It was only then that I looked down at the table and truly saw it. Every single dish laid out was either Jess’s favorite or Mark’s favorite. Not a single plate held food that I actually liked. These were the two people I loved and trusted most in the entire world, and they had joined forces to slaughter my soul. They took my unconditional love and turned it into a punchline. A bitter, corrosive taste flooded my mouth. I swallowed hard. I managed to pull up the corners of my mouth into a smile that looked more like a grimace. “As long as you guys like it. Oh, I think I forgot to bring up that bottle of red wine from the trunk of the car. Let me run down and grab it.” “I’ll go,” Mark said, putting down his chopsticks to stand up. “No!” My voice spiked sharply, carrying a shrill edge that even surprised me. I didn’t dare look at their faces. I grabbed my keys from the entryway console, along with my old backup phone. The second the door clicked shut behind me, I quickly unlocked the backup phone. Before stepping out, I had deliberately opened a voice recording app on my main phone and left it hidden on the bookshelf. I dialed my main phone from the backup device. The call auto answered silently. A second later, Jess’s voice came through the speaker. “Sophie is acting super weird today.” Mark’s voice followed, sounding irritated. “Of course she is acting weird. How many times do I have to tell you to be careful? You literally left your lipstick in my coat pocket.” “What? Do you think she figured it out? Mark, listen to me right now. Sophie is my best friend in the world. I might lose you, but I refuse to lose her!” Mark let out a cruel, mocking scoff. “Oh, so now you want to play the fiercely loyal best friend? You didn’t seem too worried about protecting Sophie when you stripped naked and crawled into my bed.” Jess gasped, sounding playful rather than offended. “Hey! I was just testing the merchandise for my bestie. What if you were bad in bed?” “You stubborn little fox.” What followed was the unmistakable, wet sound of skin on skin, and heavy kissing. Before, it was just a strong suspicion. Now, the absolute, disgusting truth was pouring directly into my ears. My knees buckled. I slid down the cold hallway wall, pressing my hand hard over my mouth to muffle my violent sobbing. My brain was flooded with a chaotic reel of memories I couldn’t stop. In college, when Mark formally asked me out, I brought my best friend along to meet him. Jess was brutally cold to him the entire night. She picked apart his clothes, mocked his career prospects, and nearly started a screaming match at the restaurant. When the night ended in disaster, Jess grabbed my hands and looked me dead in the eye. “Sophie, this guy is a loser. He is not good enough for you. Dump him!” Back then, I just thought she was being fiercely protective and a little too picky. Years later, when we got married, Jess was my maid of honor. She cried harder than I did at the reception. She hugged me tight and whispered fiercely. “You better be happy. If he ever dares to make you cry, I will personally destroy him!” But during the vow exchange, looking back now, I remembered the incredibly complex, dark look in her eyes as she stared at Mark’s profile. Even after the wedding, they supposedly hated each other. Whenever Jess came over, they bickered constantly over the smallest things. The movie choice, the seasoning in the food, a random news headline. I always played the exhausted peacemaker, secretly feeling so lucky that I had a best friend who ‘kept my husband in check’ and a husband who ‘tolerated’ my difficult friend. I wiped my face dry, saved the audio file to a secure cloud drive, and took a deep breath. This recording was going to be my golden ticket in divorce court. 4 When I walked back to the dining table, my face was a mask of perfect calm. I looked straight at Mark. “I’m done cooking from now on. I am going out tomorrow to look for a job. I’ve been out of the workforce for too long.” Mark’s brow furrowed in deep disapproval. “Why the sudden urge to work? Isn’t it nice staying at home? It’s not like I can’t afford to take care of you. The corporate world is exhausting, the office politics are toxic. I just don’t want you to suffer.” Jess’s eyes, however, lit up with fake excitement. “Are you serious? Sophie, that is amazing! Come work at my company. I have enough pull to make sure nobody messes with you, and we get to see each other every single day!” Her tone was so warm, so incredibly genuine. Her eyes sparkled with what looked like pure support. Staring at her flawless performance, my mind boggled at how a human being could be so terrifyingly deceptive. I shook my head, keeping my voice entirely flat. “No thanks. I want to rely on my own abilities and find my own path.” I refused to let my life be entangled with hers for another second. I needed to get as far away as possible from the cage she and Mark had built around me. I was taking my life back. Mark tried to shut it down again. “I make enough to support this family. Your place is right here at home.” Before I could respond, Jess shot Mark a glaring look. “Stop being so controlling! My Sophie is incredibly talented. Why should she be locked up in your house like a pet? She isn’t a canary in a cage. She deserves her own life.” Watching her aggressively defend my honor made the air leave my lungs. The harder she played the fiercely loyal best friend, the more sickening the irony became. The physical pain in my chest was blinding. I didn’t argue. I just gave a quiet nod. Only one thought echoed in my skull. Get away from them. Run as fast as you can. For the next few weeks, I operated in total secrecy. I drafted divorce papers with a lawyer and sent out my resume like a machine. Finally, my hard work paid off. I landed a solid position at a mid-sized firm. But barely a month into the job, my department manager started targeting me. No matter how flawlessly I executed a project, he found a way to tear it apart. He forced me to work ridiculous overtime hours and humiliated me in front of the team, calling me a “washed-up housewife” who couldn’t keep up with modern business and didn’t belong in a corporate building. Just as I was on the verge of breaking down and quitting, Jess magically appeared at my company. She stepped in, completely humiliated my manager, and had him fired on the spot. That was when the horrifying truth dropped. Jess had requested a lateral transfer from her corporate headquarters and was now my direct superior. In that moment, the blood froze in my veins. Absolute despair washed over me. I was running as fast as I could, but she was a shadow sewn to my feet. In the following weeks, Jess played the role of the benevolent mentor to perfection. She guided me through projects step-by-step and shielded me from office politics. But her ‘kindness’ felt like a concrete boulder crushing my chest. My coworkers began looking at me with deep resentment. In their eyes, I was just the “boss’s pet,” a useless parasite who only survived because of nepotism, and the reason the previous manager got the axe. Even Mark started treating me with open disdain. He dropped by the office one afternoon to bring me coffee. “Look at yourself. You completely lost your mind demanding all this independence. Without Jess holding your hand, you are absolutely nothing. You’d be eaten alive. Just quit and go back to the kitchen where you belong.” I stayed silent, grinding my teeth. That only fueled his ego. “You do not have the brain for a career. Look at Jess. Look at the aura she commands when she negotiates a deal. That is what a real career woman looks like. Stop making a fool of yourself, accept your reality, and go home to cook dinner.” Hearing him so blatantly compare me to his mistress made my stomach violently churn. I had reached my absolute limit. I slowly lifted my head and stared directly into his eyes. “Mark, when you and Jess are rolling around naked in bed together, does she strip off her clothes with that same ‘career woman aura’?” Time stopped. Every single coworker in the open-plan office who was pretending to work instantly froze, their jaws dropping as they stared at our cubicle. Mark’s pupils shrunk to pinpricks. It looked like he had been struck in the face with a baseball bat. The color instantly drained from his skin, leaving him looking like a corpse. He opened his mouth, but only a pathetic, breathless wheeze came out. I stood up, pushing my chair back. “I am officially resigning tomorrow. The divorce papers are already drawn up. I never want to see either of your disgusting faces for the rest of my life.” I turned on my heel to walk away. Behind me, there was a loud splash. The iced coffee in Jess’s hand had slipped from her trembling fingers and crashed onto the floor. Her face was paper white. Her glossy lips were visibly shaking. At that exact second, the heavy glass doors of the office suite were violently shoved open. A middle-aged woman with perfectly styled curls, wearing an elegant, vibrant silk dress, stormed into the room like a hurricane. “Jess! Which one of you is Jess?! Show your face right now, you shameless, husband-stealing home wrecker!!”

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1 I was born with a built-in lie detector. Anyone who lies to me pays a price. My parents claimed they didn’t favor sons over daughters, that both were equally important. The result? They became infertile, unable to have any more children. My grandmother, distraught, adopted a boy. To ensure he grew up strong, she tricked me, telling me she would prick my head with needles to make me smarter. Instead, the needles all ended up in her beloved grandson’s head. He became simple-minded. Years later, my boyfriend proposed to me. He swore he would love me forever, vowing to be struck down by lightning if he didn’t. And he was. Struck dead by lightning. My ability was discovered by a socialite. She wanted me to test her boyfriend’s fidelity. The offer? Three million dollars. Soon, I became a hot commodity in the elite circles. Everyone wanted my services. I stared at the long string of numbers in my bank account. For the first time, I desperately wished there were more lies in this world. … After high school graduation, I had just received my acceptance letter when my boyfriend knelt before me and proposed. The crowd around us chanted, “Say yes! Say yes! Say yes!” I looked at the cheap plastic ring in his hand, my voice even. “Do you truly love me?” He nodded eagerly. “Yes, I love you!” He held up three fingers. “I swear I’ll love you forever, or may I be struck down by lightning.” I actually believed him, a sweet smile gracing my lips. But then, the next second, the familiar buzz of the lie detector rang in my ears. My smile faltered. Immediately, the sky darkened. Thunder cracked, and lightning flashed. My boyfriend looked up, bewildered. Someone in the crowd remarked, “Looks like rain.” Then, I watched as a bolt of lightning struck him. He remained in his kneeling position, utterly charred, his eyes wide and vacant. The plastic ring in his hand, scorched black, rolled to the ground. Just like his cheap affection, shattered to pieces. “Ahhh! Someone’s dead!” Disappointment flickered in my eyes. I turned and walked away, ignoring the screams behind me. I stayed in my rental apartment for two days. Just as I was about to cook some instant noodles, there was a knock at the door. Opening it, I was surprised to find Penelope Ashworth, a well-known socialite from my school. Penelope gestured to her two bodyguards, who pushed past me and entered. I was forced onto the sofa, staring at her. “Your boyfriend died, didn’t he?” My expression shifted slightly. How rude. To just bluntly ask if someone’s dead. Penelope lifted her chin. The bodyguards opened two cases, revealing stacks of cash. “Luna Hayes, I know about your ability—that you can tell if someone is lying.” “Help me test my boyfriend, and all this money is yours.” I was very tempted, but a little hesitant. I warned her, “People might die, you know.” Penelope’s voice rose. “Do you think I care? I’m perfect; how could he possibly not love me?” The lie detector buzzed again. I sighed inwardly. Penelope clearly cared a lot. The next second, the lightbulb above her head fell. A bodyguard quickly stepped in front of her, shielding her. Penelope shrieked, scrambling to her feet, looking at me helplessly. “See? You lied. You care very much about your boyfriend.” I was born with this innate lie detector. Whenever someone lies to me, I hear a warning sound. And then, that person pays a price, big or small. Penelope’s eyes lit up even more. “Then help me! Do you want me to call him over? Here’s his contact information.” 2 I started by adding Charles Knight’s contact. But he didn’t accept. He rejected my request. Penelope seemed pleased. “See? He respects boundaries.” I gazed at the stacks of cash in the cases, a hungry glint in my eyes. I cleared my throat. “How about you bring him over tomorrow? I can test him in person, just a few questions.” Penelope was thrilled. “Alright!” I saw them out, carefully locked the apartment door, and then pounced on the money. I counted bill after bill. I’d probably never seen so much money in my life; my fingers cramped from counting. Three million dollars in total. I counted it three times. Penelope was truly rich. I wouldn’t have to work my way through four years of college now! But before I could even celebrate, my parents called. “Darling, do you have any money? We want to give a gift to the matchmaker to help your brother find a wife.” My voice was flat. “No money.” “That works out. I found you a good family for marriage. Girls don’t need to read so many books; it’s useless.” “You need to think about your brother. He’s simple-minded. What will happen if he doesn’t have a wife?” I couldn’t help but laugh. I hung up immediately. Then came a barrage of calls and messages, all cursing me, calling me ungrateful and heartless. When I was little, I had just figured out my innate lie detector. I excitedly went to test if my parents loved me. “Mom and Dad, if you have a baby brother, will you still want me?” My mother gently stroked my face. “How could we not want you? You’re our sweet little girl. Boys and girls are all the same.” That night, they became infertile. When they received the hospital reports, they wept hysterically. “Our son! We won’t have a son!” It was at that moment I realized they didn’t love me. They were all liars. No wonder they named me ‘Bring-a-Boy.’ I saw them crying, so ugly, and couldn’t help but laugh. My father heard me and grabbed a bamboo stick to hit me. I shouted, “You’re infertile! Not even a man! How can you be my father?!” My shouting let the whole village know. My parents were utterly humiliated and tried to commit suicide by drinking pesticide that day. My grandmother, desperate, adopted a boy, which immediately soothed their spirits. My parents revolved around him, insisting I call him ‘Little Brother.’ Later, my grandmother heard about a folk remedy to ward off misfortune. It was supposed to help her precious grandson thrive. She held up three silver needles and came to me. “Darling, if these three needles are put into your head, you’ll become very smart.” My expression was cold. The buzzing of the lie detector was so loud it almost deafened me. “Alright, I want to be smart.” I wanted to test if someone lying to me could actually harm me. Worst case, I could always run away. But before the needles even touched my head, my brother started crying. My grandmother rushed to comfort him, but he cried all night. My parents, worried sick, took him to the hospital. The doctors found three silver needles in his head. From then on, he became simple-minded. The whole family wept inconsolably. The experiment was a success. People lying to me couldn’t harm me. I gathered the money, tucked it under my bed, and planned to deposit it in the bank tomorrow. Penelope moved quickly. The next day, she sent me an address. It wasn’t just Charles Knight who showed up. Penelope’s best friend, Serena Davies, was also there. Penelope explained, “This is my best friend. She’s very curious about you.” I knew. She was probably worried Penelope was being swindled. No one would truly believe I had special abilities. 3 I cleared my throat. “Shall we begin?” Charles sat up straight, his right hand clasped with Penelope’s. “Do you want to marry Penelope?” Charles nodded. “Of course. I only want to marry Penelope.” No buzz. Penelope looked at me, excited. I shook my index finger at her. No lie! “Do you love her?” Charles stated firmly, “Yes, I do. We’ve been together since childhood. We’re destined to be together.” Again, no buzz. Penelope’s smile stretched almost to her ears. Charles truly loved her. She suddenly stood up. “Alright! The test is over. Luna Hayes, thank you so much.” I didn’t expect the money to be this easy. Serena, standing nearby, scoffed. “Oh, Penelope, this woman is a fraud. She’s just after your money. Don’t let her trick you out of everything.” “No way. I’ve had someone watching Luna. Her boyfriend lied that day, and he was struck by lightning right on the spot.” So, Penelope had been there that day. Serena shrugged, annoyed. “Fine, I’m going to get a manicure. I wouldn’t have come if I’d known it would be so boring.” I suddenly spoke. “You’re lying. You won’t be getting a manicure today.” Serena reacted sharply. “What are you talking about?!” The next second, the coffee cup in front of her exploded, sending ceramic shards flying. Charles instinctively let go of Penelope’s hand and moved to shield Serena. The atmosphere grew tense. That was a purely subconscious reaction from Charles. I immediately realized. Here’s my real job! “May I ask why you shielded Serena?” Charles’s voice was flustered, and he instinctively glanced at Penelope. “Because she’s Penelope’s friend. How could I just stand by and watch her get hurt?” The lie detector buzzed. Wrong reason. I felt a surge of excitement. “Then what is your relationship with Serena?” Charles stammered. “She’s… my girlfriend’s best friend, you know.” No buzz this time. “I’m asking about your relationship with Serena, not involving Miss Ashworth.” Charles mumbled. “We’re… barely friends.” The lie detector buzzed again. “You’re lying.” Charles looked panicked. “What are you talking about?!” He sharply turned to Penelope, and seeing the suspicion in her eyes, he grew even more flustered. “Penelope, she’s just a charlatan. Don’t believe her. Serena and I really are just barely friends.” Serena quickly chimed in. “Yes, she’s definitely lying.” Penelope stared at him, demanding, “What were you doing last Saturday night? Why did you smell like another woman’s perfume?” So Penelope’s suspicions weren’t unfounded. I repeated my question. Sweat beaded on Charles’s forehead. He said stiffly, “I was studying, Penelope knows that.” Another lie. I looked at Serena, a smile playing on my lips. “And you? What were you doing?” Serena nervously clutched her sleeves. She clearly didn’t believe I could truly detect lies. She bravely said, “I was getting a manicure. I get a new one every Saturday. I always have.” Serena did have a habit of getting a new manicure every Saturday, but that night, she had done more than just her nails. I looked at Penelope. “They’re both lying.” “Impossible! I have a classmate who can vouch for me!” Charles exclaimed. Soon, his classmate arrived. I asked him seriously, “Did you personally see Charles studying that night, and not doing anything else?” His classmate nodded firmly. “Yes, Charles was studying.” I sighed. “Miss Ashworth, I suggest you investigate thoroughly. They’re both lying.” Serena shouted, “Are you done?! How could I possibly be involved with Charles?! You’re a fraud!” My voice was calm. “Then do you dare to swear that you and Charles are completely innocent?” 4 Serena didn’t dare. Although she didn’t know how I could tell she was lying, a chill still ran down her spine. I looked at Charles again. “You make a vow.” “Of course I can swear, but this ends here. I don’t have time to keep messing with a fraud like you.” “Penelope, I’m so disappointed in you. I love you so much, and I’ve played along with your games, and you still doubt me.” Penelope, recalling my previous boyfriend’s fate, grew anxious. “Maybe… maybe we should just drop it. I’ll investigate the rest myself.” The atmosphere grew tense. Even if we stopped here, I wouldn’t be returning the money. But I detest those who betray sincere hearts. I stared directly at Serena and smiled. “Miss Davies, I don’t recall ever saying you were involved with Charles. Why are you so quick to jump to conclusions?” Penelope’s face changed slightly, and she snapped her gaze to Charles and Serena. Charles looked irritated. He ran his hand through his hair. “Penelope, are you seriously still doing this? You just suspect me of cheating, don’t you?” “Fine, I admit it. I cheated. Are you satisfied now?” “Penelope, your constant suspicion will only erode my love for you.” The lie detector remained silent through every one of his statements. That was the problem. It meant everything he said was true. Guilt immediately welled up in Penelope. Was she really too suspicious? Charles then turned to Serena. “You make a vow. If nothing happens, I’ll buy you a car. We’ll just play along with Penelope for a bit longer.” Serena’s tension instantly melted away. She held up three fingers. “I swear, if I’m involved with Charles, if I stole my best friend’s boyfriend, may I be hit by a car the moment I step outside!” Charles smirked. “Is that enough?” I nodded. “That’s enough.” Charles took Penelope’s hand. “Penelope, believe me, I really didn’t cheat.” “You’re the only one I love.” “Let’s just drop this. I really can’t handle this kind of joke.” Penelope’s expression softened, and she nodded hesitantly. “Goodbye, you two. You can go. I still want to finish the tea and pastries on the table.” I lowered my head, earnestly eating my cake. One slice of cake cost over a thousand dollars. I’d never tasted anything like it in my life. Serena rolled her eyes. “Such a commoner.” Penelope frowned. “Serena, don’t be rude.” Serena snorted. Just as I was finishing my cake, I heard the screech of tires outside. I picked up my coffee cup, walked to the window, and looked down. Serena was lying in the street, having been thrown by the impact. She was unconscious, brain matter spilling from her head. The car didn’t stop. It continued, plowing directly into Charles and his classmate. Screams erupted. Charles was pinned against a tree, clutching his leg frantically. “Ah! My leg is broken!” Because they all lied. The consequences caught up to everyone, to varying degrees. Penelope, horrified and shaken, looked up, and our eyes met. I raised my cup to her in a silent toast. Your money was well spent.

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When Victoria’s family lost everything, I lived in a cramped, windowless basement with her. I worked three jobs a day to help her rebuild her empire from the ground up. When she finally reached the pinnacle of success, she promised to give me a real home. Yet, in the third year of our marriage, I accidentally stumbled upon the property deed to our marital home. Under the owner’s name, I saw the name of her first love. With red, tearful eyes, she explained, “This is what I owe him.” I nodded slowly. I pulled out a photograph from our days in that suffocating basement, showing a tiny folding table completely buried under a mountain of debt collection notices, and pushed it across the table. “You paid off your debt to him with a house. So, how are you going to pay back what you owe me?” 1 I gently slid the property deed across the table toward Victoria. The words “Owner: Tristan” stung my eyes like shards of glass. Victoria’s face instantly drained of color. She instinctively reached out to snatch the paper away, but her hand froze in midair. “Joey, please listen to me…” Her voice was hoarse, her eyes rapidly turning red. It was a look I knew all too well. Whenever she felt guilty about wronging me, she would put on this innocent, fragile expression. There was a time when that look would break my heart. “Alright. I am listening,” I said, picking up my glass of warm water. My tone was unnervingly calm. She stared at me, a flicker of panic flashing through her eyes. My absolute composure seemed to terrify her. “Tristan… he hasn’t been doing well.” She struggled to get the words out. “Years ago, my parents violently opposed our relationship and forced us apart. It triggered severe depression for him. He had to drop out of college, and his entire life was nearly ruined.” “So, this house is my way of compensating him. Joey, this is what I owe him.” I nodded, signaling that I understood. “And what about what you owe me?” Victoria froze, looking at me as if I were speaking a foreign language. I didn’t spare her another glance. I pulled out my phone and brought up a photo I had kept for years. It was taken in the cramped, hundred square foot basement in Brooklyn we used to rent. The image showed a battered folding table entirely buried under a mountain of final notice bills. In the corner of the frame, you could barely make out her slumped silhouette, radiating absolute despair. “You paid off your debt to him with a house. So, how are you going to pay back what you owe me?” She looked down at the screen, and her body jerked violently. The photo clearly dragged her back to the agonizing, suffocating memories of us struggling to survive together. To help her pay off the astronomical debts her family left behind, I quit my stable corporate job. I started working three different shifts. I did freelance design during the day, drove a ride share all night, and took on odd jobs every weekend. For three solid years, I never slept more than four hours a night. Once, I caught a severe fever. To save money on a doctor’s visit, I wrapped myself in thick blankets and tried to sweat it out, nearly developing fatal pneumonia in the process. Victoria had held me and cried uncontrollably that night. She swore to the heavens that she would give me a real home and never let me suffer again. She kept her word. She rebuilt her empire and became a ruthless titan of the business world. She also gave me a home. A home with another man’s name legally bound to it. “Joey.” Victoria looked up, the guilt in her eyes practically overflowing. “I know you are the one I have wronged the most. But Tristan and I are completely over. You are the man I love, and you will be my only husband.” “I will spend the rest of my life making this up to you. Please?” She reached out, her tone bordering on begging. “Tristan already lost me. He cannot lose everything else. Think of this house as a final period marking the end of our past.” I smoothly dodged her hand. “Alright. I understand.” Seeing that I wasn’t screaming or throwing a tantrum, her posture visibly relaxed. She genuinely believed I had accepted her absurd justification. Meanwhile, beneath the table, I opened my messages and quietly texted my lawyer, instructing him to draft a divorce agreement immediately. 2 Victoria paused, hesitating before she spoke again. “Joey, can I discuss something with you?” “It’s about Tristan. He got into a dispute with his landlord and was kicked out. He can’t find a suitable place to live on such short notice.” “Do you think… he could move into our house for a little while? Just as a temporary transition.” A bitter laugh almost escaped my throat. Was she completely out of her mind? “Do you honestly think that is appropriate?” I asked coldly. “Why wouldn’t it be?” A hint of impatience immediately crept into her voice. “Joey, when did you become so petty and calculating? I already told you, he is entirely in the past. My heart belongs only to you.” “His mental state is incredibly fragile right now. He is completely alone. What is the harm in helping him out?” “You have my word. I will never betray you!” She sounded so incredibly righteous. But she had already betrayed me. The moment she decided to give our sanctuary to another man, the betrayal was absolute. “Victoria,” I said slowly, pronouncing every syllable. “Do you see me as a puppet you can manipulate however you please?” “Do you think that just because I swallowed years of suffering for you, I deserve to be trampled on like this?” She fell silent. After a long pause, she rubbed her temples and let out an exhausted sigh. “Joey, stop overthinking everything. I am simply helping a friend. My decision is final. I am going to pick him up.” Without another word, she grabbed her keys and walked out. Hearing the heavy thud of the front door closing, I closed my eyes, forcibly swallowing the acidic burn rising in my throat. Getting angry over worthless people was a waste of energy. Right then, my phone rang. It was Victoria’s father, Richard. “Joey, my boy. Come back to the old estate for a family dinner tomorrow with Victoria.” Richard had always treated me incredibly well. I couldn’t bring myself to reject him. “Of course, Dad.” After hanging up, I stared out the window at the darkening sky. My chest felt hollow and freezing. The next day, I drove back to the Kensington estate alone. When the Kensington family went bankrupt, this magnificent ancestral home had been mortgaged and auctioned off. Later, when Victoria climbed back to power, she desperately wanted to buy back the property that held all her childhood memories. But the new owner utterly refused to sell. It was me who visited the eccentric retired professor with gifts, week after week. I spent three entire months wearing him down until he finally nodded and agreed to sell it back to us at the original price. When Richard saw me walk in alone, his brow furrowed deeply. “Where is Victoria? Wrapped up in her nonsense again?” “An emergency board meeting came up. She will be here a bit later,” I lied, covering for her out of habit. Richard patted my shoulder heavily and led me to the leather sofa. He let out a long sigh. “Joey, stop covering for her. I have heard all about what she has been doing lately.” My heart skipped a beat. “Is she tangling herself up with that Tristan boy again?” Richard’s gaze sharpened into daggers. “I warned her years ago. That man is rotten to the core. I told her to stay as far away from him as possible!” I lowered my head and said nothing. Richard rubbed my back, his voice thick with validation and profound regret. “You are a good kid, and you have been wronged. Rest assured, the Kensington family acknowledges you and only you as our son-in-law. If she dares to do anything to betray you, I will be the first one to make her pay!” A sliver of warmth entered my cold heart. I forced a smile. “I am fine, Dad.” Just then, Victoria walked through the door. When she saw me, her face instantly darkened. She was clearly annoyed that I had arrived before her. “Dad, did you call Joey here just so he could complain to you?” Her very first words were dripping with hostility. Richard grabbed his porcelain teacup, looking entirely ready to smash it against the wall, but he held back. “You ungrateful brat, what kind of nonsense are you spouting? Do you really think Joey is that kind of person? If he had uttered a single bad word about you to me, I wouldn’t have even let you through the front gates today!” “Then what is this?” Victoria snapped impatiently. “If he didn’t run his mouth, how do you know about Tristan?” “Do I need him to tell me?” Richard sneered coldly. “You brought that man straight into headquarters and made him your personal assistant. You practically broadcasted your filthy little affair to the entire corporate board. Do you think I am blind?” A bitter smile crept onto my face. 3 Shortly after she left the house yesterday, she couldn’t wait to bring Tristan back and move him into the guest room. Following that, she placed him directly in her company, keeping him glued to her side. Afterward, she had offered me a sickeningly fake explanation, claiming Tristan was new to the corporate world and would adapt faster if she personally guided him. Victoria’s face shifted from pale to green. She took a deep breath, seemingly too exhausted to argue further, and bluntly announced her move. “Tristan is waiting outside. I told him to bring in an urgent document.” Without giving us a chance to react, she turned around and opened the heavy oak doors. Tristan walked in timidly behind her. He wore a crisp white button down shirt, looking the picture of pure, helpless innocence. The moment he saw Richard, he reflexively shrank behind Victoria’s back. Victoria instantly shifted into a defensive posture. “He is only here to drop off a file. Stop glaring at him like he is a criminal on trial. You are terrifying him.” I looked at Victoria as if she were a complete idiot. Tristan stood beside her, his voice trembling and soft like a frightened animal. “Victoria, this is a private family dinner. It is… inappropriate for me to be here. I should just leave.” Yet, his feet remained firmly planted to the floor. He didn’t take a single step backward. “You must be exhausted from delivering the files. Stay and eat before you go.” Ignoring any protests, Victoria forcibly pushed him down into the empty chair right beside hers. That seat was originally meant for me. The atmosphere in the dining room plummeted below freezing. Richard stared coldly at Tristan’s pathetic theatrical act, a mocking sneer curving his lips. “Mr. Tristan, we are both grown men. You can drop the victim act in my house.” Richard slammed his chopsticks onto the table, showing zero mercy. “I can see right through your pathetic little calculations.” Tristan’s face turned deathly pale. Tears instantly welled up in his eyes. “Mr. Kensington, I… I have no idea what you are talking about.” “No idea?” Richard chuckled darkly. “Years ago, when you and Victoria were dating in college, she brought you to this exact house for the first time. The second you walked through the doors, your eyes never stopped scanning the expensive decor.” “When you heard the sheer scale of our corporate assets, the raw greed and scheming in your eyes were practically written across your forehead!” Tristan’s entire body began to tremble, acting as if he were enduring unimaginable humiliation. Seeing this, Victoria slammed her hands onto the table and shot up from her chair. “Enough!” She glared viciously at her own father. “It has been years, and you are still exactly the same! You never cared about what was best for me. You just wanted absolute control over my life!” “When you violently forced us apart, you pushed Tristan into a deep depression! Do you feel even an ounce of guilt? Now that he finally has the strength to step back into the world, why do you have to stab him with such vicious, toxic words?” “Control you?” Richard was practically shaking with fury. “If I really wanted to control you, I would never have let Joey suffer alongside you in that basement when you went bankrupt! You ungrateful wretch, have you completely forgotten who dragged you out of hell?” “I haven’t forgotten!” Victoria’s eyes were bloodshot as she screamed back. “I will spend the rest of my life repaying Joey’s kindness! But that does not conflict with me making amends to Tristan!” With that, she violently grabbed the trembling Tristan by the wrist and marched toward the door without looking back. “Where the hell are you going?” Richard roared behind her. “I am not staying in this toxic house another second!” She dragged Tristan away, fueled by blind rage. From beginning to end, she did not spare me a single glance. She didn’t even consider taking me with her. “Joey, ignore her. Let her roll in the dirt!” Richard was panting heavily. He grabbed my hand. “Stay the night. Have a drink with your old man.” I shook my head slowly and stood up. “Dad, I should go back.” This was a war between Victoria and me. I could not let him completely sever ties with his own daughter because of me. Out in the driveway, Victoria’s car was still parked. She was leaning against the driver’s door, impatiently scrolling through her phone. Clearly, she was waiting for me. So, she finally remembered that she had left her husband inside. I slowly walked toward her. The glow of the streetlamps stretched my shadow out long across the pavement, making me look incredibly isolated and lonely. Hearing my footsteps, Victoria looked up. The impatience on her face only deepened. “What took you so long? Get in.” She pulled open the door and slid into the driver’s seat. I walked to the passenger side. Before my hand even touched the handle, a pained groan echoed from the back seat. 4 “Victoria… I feel so sick… I can’t breathe…” Victoria’s face instantly drained of color. She threw herself over the center console to check on him. “Tristan, what’s wrong?” “I… I think… I am having an allergic reaction to peanuts…” Tristan’s voice was broken and breathy, dripping with agonizing pain. Victoria’s head snapped toward me, her eyes blazing with absolute condemnation. “Joey! You knew Tristan was deathly allergic to peanuts! Why didn’t you warn the kitchen staff beforehand?” I stared at her, completely dumbfounded by her logic. When exactly was I ever informed of his allergies? And why on earth was it my responsibility to manage the dietary restrictions of a random interloper in my father-in-law’s kitchen? Furthermore, all the dishes were already plated and served by the time we even arrived. “I had no idea he was allergic to peanuts,” I answered in a deadpan tone. “You didn’t know?” Victoria’s voice spiked in volume. “You did this on purpose! Are you really that desperate to eliminate him?” A sharp, incredulous laugh ripped out of me. “So what if I did? What exactly do you want from me? Do you want me to write a formal apology for his throat closing up?” “I will let it slide this time!” Victoria hissed through gritted teeth. “Since he will be living under our roof from now on, you better pay close attention! I will not tolerate another incident like this!” She expected me to actively cater to him in my own home? I could hardly believe the words coming out of her mouth. Just how utterly shameless could this woman become? Before I could fire back, Tristan let out another dramatic, strangled groan from the back. The last thread of Victoria’s rationality snapped. “We have to get to the ER right now!” She fired up the engine and looked at me frantically. “Get out of the car!” I stood absolutely still, staring through the window. “You want me to walk back?” We were in the middle of an exclusive, isolated suburban estate. Public transportation did not exist here, and catching a cab at this hour was virtually impossible. Victoria punched the steering wheel in frustration. “The hospital is in the completely opposite direction of our house! I do not have the time to drop you off, Tristan’s life is on the line! Figure it out yourself. Deal with it!” With a screech of tires, she slammed on the gas, leaving me standing in a cloud of harsh exhaust fumes. I stood entirely alone on the dark, empty road. A bitter night wind swept past, cutting through my clothes and chilling me to the bone. She said it so casually. Deal with it. Yes. I had dealt with far too much over the past few years. I pulled out my phone and dialed her personal chauffeur. “Thomas, please come pick me up from the old estate.” Ten minutes later, the sleek black car pulled up. Thomas looked surprised to see me standing alone. “Mr. Joey, where is the boss? I thought you were returning together.” I pulled open the door and slid in. “An urgent matter came up at the company. She had to leave early.” Inside, I was laughing bitterly. She was busy nursing her precious first love. Not long after I got back to the silent house, my phone chimed with a notification. I tapped the screen, and my pupils violently contracted. In the photo, Victoria was fast asleep in a plush hotel bed, wearing a thick white bathrobe. Her pale skin was littered with aggressive, unmistakable red hickeys, trailing from the base of her neck all the way down to her collarbone. Beneath the photo was a highly provocative text: “Joey, Victoria isn’t coming home tonight. She said she can only truly relax when she is with me.” So, the dramatic peanut allergy emergency was nothing but a cheap excuse for them to get a hotel room. Victoria. You really outdid yourself this time. My face was a mask of absolute stone. I took screenshots of the photo and the message, bundled them together, and emailed them directly to my lawyer. Then, I forwarded the same screenshots to Victoria with a single line of text: [I guess giving him the house wasn’t enough. You had to hand over your body too, right?] Within twenty minutes of sending the message, Victoria burst through the front door, looking panicked and slightly breathless. A guilty, caught-in-the-act expression was plastered across her face. “Joey, listen to me, it is not what you think. Tristan and I…” “Shut up,” I cut her off with ice in my voice, refusing to listen to her exhausted, pathetic lies. She tried to step forward and grab my hand. “Come on, stop throwing a tantrum. Nothing happened between us.” I violently slapped her hand away in pure disgust. I turned around, walked into the study, and grabbed a massive, thick stack of old debt collection notices. “Victoria, look at these!” I pointed at the mountain of yellowing bills, my voice violently trembling with suppressed rage. “Do you remember these? When your family went bankrupt, I was the one who moved into that pitch black basement with you. I was the one who starved with you, eating one meal a day!” “To help you clear tens of millions in debt, I emptied my entire life savings. I slaved away in a cubicle all day and drove cabs all night!” “When you got blackout drunk and collapsed on the sidewalk, I was the one who carried you home on your back. When your wealthy former friends humiliated you in public, I was the one who stood in front of you and fought them off! Where the hell was your precious Tristan back then?!” “And look at you now. You climbed out of the gutter. You are the untouchable CEO again. You get your precious first love back in your arms, and suddenly I am just an obstacle in your way?” By the end, I was practically screaming. I took the heavy stack of bills and viciously hurled them directly into her face. The papers exploded into the air, raining down around us. “How exactly are you going to pay me back for this?!”

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I was on the roof, ready to jump, when a viral post froze me. The profile picture was heartbreakingly familiar. [My wife hurt my sister—the most important person to me. I taught her a lesson; she might’ve ended up in ICU. Any ideas to make it up?] Comments raged, but the OP replied coolly: [Her own parents approved. She deserved it for bullying her adopted sister.] [I faked a kidnapping while she was pregnant, made her think she was assaulted, then forged paternity tests to ‘prove’ the baby wasn’t mine—just to make her stop.] Another like appeared: [That’s my daughter. My son-in-law did this to fix her jealousy. Blame her.] The same profile pic—Rosalie’s favorite kitten. So it was real. My pain was a gift from those I loved, for the daughter they chose. Fine. I’d give them their happy ending. I leaned into the wind from the skyscraper. “System,” I whispered, “this time, I’m coming home.” … My parents were still venting in the comments. [Just bringing her home forced my sweet Rosalie into a deep depression. We thought that after the ‘assault,’ after the whole town whispered about her carrying a bastard, she’d finally quiet down and stop competing with our angel. But no, she turned around and set her sights on the company, clawing her way up to the General Manager position, just so people would call Rosalie a useless, pretty face!] Sebastian, my husband, immediately replied beneath their comment. [Good thing I was the client. I made her life a living hell, found every possible reason to reject her work. Then I took the contract she finally landed and gave it to Rosie, promoting her to General Manager instead. And for what? She threw a fit, coughed up some blood, and landed herself back in the ICU, trying to frame Rosie for it. My poor Rosie had nightmares for a week.] I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. That contract… I had fought tooth and nail for it, drank myself sick until I was coughing up blood to close that deal. It was the single ray of light I had managed to grasp for myself after crawling out of the abyss of shame, of being the woman who carried a “bastard.” And with a few tears from Rosalie, the man I loved most had snuffed it out with his own hands. One user asked him, [If you hate your wife so much, why marry her? And why are you here asking for advice on how to ‘compensate’ her? You’re a scumbag. Just divorce her. If I were your wife and found all this out, I’d lose my mind!] A minute later, a new reply from Sebastian appeared. [Are you kidding? She’s obsessively in love with me. What’s she going to do if she finds out the truth? A little lesson like this is nothing a few sweet words can’t fix. But Rosie is different. We grew up together; she depends on me. She’s already suffered enough because I couldn’t marry her. It’s only natural that I treat her better.] My parents chimed in to back him up. [If our son-in-law hadn’t been in a coma after his car crash, we never would have brought her home. We gave her the golden opportunity to marry him, a desperate marriage to bring him luck. We were so good to her, and she showed no gratitude. She targeted our Rosie at every turn. Our Rosie is the one who’s truly been wronged.] Every word was a defense of their precious angel. In their fury, my parents even forgot to hide the names. It didn’t take long for sharp-eyed netizens to connect the dots. “A marriage to bring him luck? The only high-profile heir who was in a coma after a crash in the last five years was the Blackwood heir.” “Oh my god! Then ‘Rosie’ must be Rosalie Ashwood! They were childhood sweethearts, which means she’s the fake heiress!” “Is no one else shocked that the Blackwood heir is even married in the first place??” That last comment felt like a hand closing around my throat. He didn’t love me. So my very existence as his wife was a secret. I wanted to laugh, but tears streamed down my face like broken pearls, impossible to stop. Just as their identities were exposed, the screen flickered. The post vanished. In its place was a formal cease-and-desist letter from a law firm. “This post is not to be associated with any real individuals. Blackwood Enterprises’ legal team will pursue legal action against any and all comments that slander Ms. Rosalie Ashwood’s reputation.” Ms. Rosalie Ashwood. No prizes for guessing who that protection was for. In the ten minutes I’d been reading, a crowd had gathered on the street below. Ignoring the shouts of the firefighters, Sebastian scrambled onto the rooftop. He was still catching his breath, his face a mask of terror as he crept toward me. His voice trembled. “Zoey, don’t do this. Please. It’s all my fault, everything is my fault. I can’t live without you.” His frantic, self-blaming tone was a world away from the man who had written that post. For a dizzying moment, I couldn’t tell which one was the real him. When I first arrived in this world, my mission was to win his heart. My life revolved around him. Sebastian was from a lesser branch of the Blackwood family. I nursed him back to health after his coma, and with my knowledge of the “script,” I guided him smoothly as he took control of the entire Blackwood empire. In those early years, when our love felt real, he would hold me and promise, “Zoey, my life has no meaning without you. We’ll never be parted by life, only by death.” And I believed him. When I was “assaulted” by the kidnappers, I locked myself in the bathroom and scrubbed my skin raw until the tub was stained pink with my blood. When I learned I was carrying a “bastard,” the revulsion was so strong I grabbed a pair of scissors, ready to carve the flesh from my own body. When he took my contract and my position, he told me I wasn’t competent enough, that I should just stay home and recover. I obeyed. I waited for him through a thousand cold, empty nights. It was during that dark time that the System appeared. [Host, your heart is breaking. I’m not asking you to complete the mission anymore. Let me send you home…] The System said that even though the mission was a failure, it could still grant my wish: a pair of loving parents and a partner who would never betray me. Back then, I couldn’t see the filth hidden beneath the concern of Sebastian and my parents. I just told the System, “But isn’t that the life I’m living right now?” Now, that post had ripped away the lies and the pretense. I couldn’t deceive myself any longer. As I came back to the present, the System’s voice echoed in my mind again. [Host, Sebastian is here. I know you’re going to soften. It’s windy up here. If you’re not going to jump, you should come down.] Ten times I’d been in the ICU. Nine of those times, I had begged the System to let me live. All I could chant were their names: Sebastian, Mom, Dad. I had made them my entire world. And what did they make me? “No, System,” I murmured, my voice catching in a sob. “This time, I really am going home.” Sebastian heard me and scoffed, a flicker of contempt flashing in his eyes. Ten trips to the ICU, and when had she ever actually died? But he had to maintain his loving-husband persona. His eyes reddened as he took another step closer. “Zoey, if you jump, I’m jumping with you. I’ll die with you…” I tuned him out. I closed my eyes, spread my arms, and, to the sound of horrified screams from below, I stepped off the edge. Sebastian, I don’t want you anymore. Mom, Dad, I don’t want you either. You can have your perfect, happy family with Rosalie. I’m done. … When I woke, the sharp scent of antiseptic filled my nostrils. For a second, I thought I was home. But before the joy could even register, a familiar voice sent a jolt of ice through me. I hadn’t died. “Zoey, you’re finally awake. Do you know, if you’d jumped just a few inches to the side, you would have missed the firefighters’ air cushion? If you had woken up any later, I was about to call a board meeting and announce my intention to follow you in death.” Sebastian’s eyes were bloodshot, his voice a choked, trembling whisper. He gripped my hand tightly, like I was a priceless treasure he had almost lost forever. But as he leaned down to kiss my forehead, I saw it. A faint, purplish mark on his neck—a hickey. And clinging to his suit was the distinct, cloying scent of magnolia. Rosalie’s perfume. These were details I had never let myself notice before. A wave of nausea washed over me, and I gagged. Sebastian’s face tightened with alarm. He yelled for every doctor on the floor. He stood by, his gaze locked on the physicians as they examined me, looking as if he would willingly take all my pain onto himself. The doctor felt my weak pulse and looked at me with pity. “Mrs. Blackwood is severely weakened, and her body is suffering from extreme emotional distress. She needs gentle care and absolutely cannot be agitated again.” He hesitated, then looked at Sebastian. “The day of the incident, I was called to the Blackwood residence. I don’t know what happened, but your wife was so distraught she was hyperventilating into respiratory alkalosis, her whole body convulsing. If I’d been ten minutes later, she would have been gone… Mr. Blackwood, I really think you need to pay more attention to your wife’s mental health…” My mind flashed back to that day. To Buddy, my dog, his lifeless eyes staring up at me, his blood seeping into the grout lines of the tile floor. My vacant eyes trembled. He was the one friend I’d had the longest since coming to this world. And Rosalie had killed him with a bowl of poisoned milk, then had him cooked into a stew. Sebastian felt me shaking and a flicker of pain crossed his face. He pulled me into his arms. His gaze turned dark as he looked at his assistant. “Find out what happened that day. I want the person responsible to pay with their life.” The words had barely left his mouth when the hospital room door was thrown open. Rosalie stood there, dressed in a white designer dress, her perfectly made-up face stained with two delicate teardrops. A perfect, innocent little flower. But as her eyes met mine, a flash of pure venom crossed her face. She suddenly dropped to her knees in front of me, her pale hands clutching a thick leather riding crop. “Sebastian, it’s all my fault. If I had known my sister would get so upset, I would have let Buddy bite me to death before I ever hurt him. It’s all my fault. Sister, please, hit me.” Sebastian froze, his eyes filled with a pained confusion. My parents, who had followed her in, stood rigid, their hands clenched so tight their knuckles were white. They were barely holding on to their loving-parent facade. Sebastian reached for her. “What are you talking about?” But Rosalie stubbornly stayed on her knees, refusing to move. She lifted her tear-streaked face to him. “Sebastian, if my sister won’t do it, you have to. If she can’t get this anger out, her depression will only get worse. It’s just a few lashes, right? Hit me hard. Even if my skin breaks, as long as it makes my sister feel better, I’m willing.” She grabbed the riding crop and forced it into Sebastian’s hand. Her performance was flawless, a portrait of wronged, patient suffering. It made me look like the bully, using my illness to torment her. Even the doctor standing nearby was looking at her with pity and at me with disapproval. She always did this, twisting words until I was the villain. Before, I would have tried to defend myself. But there was no point now. While Sebastian was hesitating, I snatched the riding crop. Before I could throw it away, he grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron. “That’s enough, Zoey! Stay out of this. I’ll handle Rosalie’s side of things and get you an explanation.” His hold was so strong it left angry red marks on my thin wrist. I met his eyes and saw something I’d never seen directed at me before: the cold, sharp wariness one reserves for an enemy. And I laughed. My heart, which I thought was already dead, was squeezed so hard it produced a final, bitter surge of rage. How could he be so certain I was the one at fault? Just because she was Rosalie?

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After my family went bankrupt, my father’s wealthy friend took me into the Sinclair estate. Because of this, the two Sinclair daughters entangled themselves in my life for eighteen long years. Their fierce pursuit and blatant favoritism toward me left everyone in our circle both shocked and envious. Yet, when I finally expressed my desire to settle down and start a family, both of them rejected me outright. The older sister, Victoria, adjusted her designer blazer and said she had to put her empire first and had no room for marriage. The younger sister, Audrey, laughed and told me she was still young and wanted to enjoy her freedom. She even added that fleeting romances should never be taken too seriously. But the very next day, at my own birthday gala, both of them got down on one knee and proposed to Noah, the son of the family chauffeur. To amuse him and prove their loyalty, they cornered me. Knowing full well I suffered from severe stomach ulcers, they forced me to down glass after glass of raw, burning whiskey. As I collapsed, coughing up blood from a ruptured ulcer, they simultaneously covered Noah’s eyes and mocked me for putting on a pathetic show. Lying on the stretcher as the paramedics rushed me away, my heart finally died. On the day I was discharged from the hospital, I pulled out my phone and called my father. “Dad, I’ll do it. I will marry the Kensington heiress.” 1. The biting autumn wind pierced my clothes the second I stepped out of the hospital doors. My body had not yet adjusted to the bitter chill. My phone buzzed. It was Victoria Sinclair. Her tone was sharp, dripping with misplaced resentment. “Arthur, where exactly are you hiding? Do you honestly think running away absolves you of your responsibilities? Get back here right now and apologize to Noah.” Audrey’s voice echoed through the speaker immediately after. “Your little fake illness stunt really upset him. His constitution is already delicate, and thanks to your theatrics, he hasn’t had an appetite in days!” I looked at my own reflection in the sliding glass doors. I was so haggard and emaciated that a strong gust of wind could have knocked me over. I had suffered from chronic stomach issues and a weak immune system since childhood. During all those years we spent growing up, the Sinclair sisters had moved mountains to care for me. I still remembered a night when my illness flared up violently. The estate elevators had lost power, and Victoria had carried me on her slender back up twenty flights of stairs just to get me to a doctor. Audrey used to sprint across the entire city in the pouring rain just to buy my favorite artisan pastries, desperate to see me smile. From then on, every single thing I ate or drank was strictly monitored and personally handled by the two of them. It was a beautiful illusion. But the moment Noah stepped into the picture, everything shattered. I remained completely silent and hung up the phone. Then, I dialed my father’s number. “Dad, I have thought it through. I am willing to marry Genevieve Kensington.” My father paused on the other end of the line. “Arthur, this is a lifelong commitment. Are you absolutely certain this is what you want?” Years ago, after my mother passed away and our family business collapsed, my father sent me to live in Boston while he stayed behind to hold the crumbling remains of the Pendelton family together. It took him eighteen years of blood and sweat to forge a connection with the old money of the Kensington dynasty, earning our family a chance to rise from the ashes. But compared to the revival of our legacy, he cared far more about my happiness. Even when Dowager Kensington took one look at me and decided I was the perfect match for her granddaughter, my father still placed the ultimate choice in my hands. Back then, I was naive enough to believe that true love was rare and precious. I foolishly wanted to choose between the two Sinclair sisters. Now, the veil had been lifted. I finally understood that I was nothing more than a convenient pastime for their idle boredom. I should have known my place and walked away long ago. I opened a travel app to book a flight to New York. A notification popped up at the top of my screen. It was a new social media post from Noah. The caption read that true love needed no words, and only useless parasites resorted to cheap tricks to climb the social ladder. He proudly flaunted two distinct, dazzling diamond engagement rings on his fingers. The background of the photo was my bedroom. The bespoke tailored suit and the limited edition luxury watch he wore were the exact birthday gifts Victoria and Audrey had custom ordered for me six months ago. I quietly blocked Noah’s account. “I am entirely serious, Dad. I want to settle down and have a child of my own as soon as possible.” During my hospitalization, the lead physician warned me that this recent hemorrhage had caused irreversible damage to my already fragile constitution. If I did not try to start a family while I was still relatively young, I might lose the chance forever. I simply had no time left to wait for people who did not love me. “Alright. I respect your decision, son.” My father seemed to understand the unspoken pain in my voice. He told me that Grandma Kensington had already consulted their family astrologer, and next Sunday was the perfect date to sign the marriage license. He promised to arrange absolutely everything the moment I flew back. Just before disconnecting, he added one final request. “Make sure you say a proper goodbye to Mr. Sinclair.” I looked up at the suffocating gray sky. The doctors advised a week of bed rest to recover from the internal bleeding. I decided to use this one remaining week to sever every tie and properly bid farewell to my past. 2. I took a cab back to the Sinclair estate. The moment I stepped through the wrought iron gates, a blast of freezing water hit me square in the chest, soaking me to the bone. “Oh my gosh, Arthur, I am so sorry. I was just watering the garden and didn’t even see you there.” Noah held the brass nozzle of the garden hose, keeping the icy spray trained on me until I was completely drenched before finally lowering his hand. I forced my stinging eyes open. My breath caught in my throat. The rare white lilies I had meticulously cultivated for years had been violently uprooted and trashed. In their place was a garish, overwhelming sea of blood red roses. A sharp gust of autumn wind swept past, and my newly recovering body instantly seized up in agony. A wave of dizziness washed over me, nearly sending me to my knees. Standing on the veranda, Victoria and Audrey merely exchanged a look and sneered in unison. Their eyes were filled with disgust, clearly assuming I was putting on another dramatic medical act the second I returned. “I honestly thought you actually had a spine, Arthur. I thought you would never show your face here again,” Victoria sneered. Audrey crossed her arms, her voice dripping with venom. “Where else could he possibly go? Even his own parents dumped him. He is just a stray.” A sharp, physical ache tore through my chest. I suddenly remembered my very first day at the Sinclair estate. A young Audrey had held my trembling hand, trying every silly trick she knew to make me smile. She had looked up at me with bright eyes and promised that I never had to be afraid, because this would be my home forever. Victoria had personally cleared out the grandest master suite in the ancestral manor just for me. Years later, when the three of us moved into this modern villa closer to the city center, Victoria memorized every single one of my preferences. She designed the primary bedroom down to the thread count of the sheets. She had boldly declared to high society that, now and forever, I was the irreplaceable master of this house. That was true, right up until the day Noah used the excuse of helping his father with errands to enter the villa. Every single day, aside from clinging to the sisters, his favorite hobby was pretending to accidentally shatter my belongings. At first, I pitied his poor background and let it slide. But his audacity grew. He crossed the line by deliberately smashing an antique cameo locket my mother had left me, right in front of my face. Pushed to my absolute limit, I stepped forward to confront him, only for Victoria to shove me back violently. She frowned at me in disappointment, claiming Noah’s life was already hard enough. She demanded to know why a spoiled, silver spoon aristocrat like me insisted on bullying a naive, sheltered younger boy. Audrey chimed in, reminding me that Noah was even younger than her, and told me to act my age and show some grace. Clutching the shattered pieces of my mother’s locket, I felt a suffocating sense of helplessness for the very first time. From that day forward, the entire dynamic shifted. I was no longer the sun their universe revolved around. The chauffeur’s son methodically chipped away at my existence, replacing me piece by piece. He became the new master of the villa, utilizing every manipulative tactic in the book to force me out. Since that was the case, I had absolutely nothing left to linger for. I just wanted to pack my belongings and vanish. I walked into the foyer, only to find my personal items unceremoniously dumped in a chaotic pile in the hallway. Victoria stood at the top of the stairs, her arm wrapped protectively around Noah’s waist, looking down at me like a peasant. “Learn your place, Arthur. You are nothing but a parasite leeching off the Sinclair family. You have absolutely no right to look down on Noah, and you certainly do not have the right to throw aristocratic temper tantrums at him.” She continued her decree, stating that I was to move into the servant’s quarters immediately. She announced that all my corporate responsibilities would be handed over to Noah, and she was demoting me to the logistics department to do grunt work until I learned some basic human decency. Audrey casually ripped the seams of the vintage teddy bear my father had given me, tossing the stuffing into the air just to make Noah giggle. “If you ever throw another childish fit and upset Noah again, I promise I won’t let you off the hook, Arthur.” The casual cruelty in their voices was a far cry from the tender devotion they used to show me. If the old Arthur had heard these words, he would have been too heartbroken to sleep for weeks. But I was leaving now. I had zero energy to bicker with them. I kept my voice completely flat. “You are absolutely right.” “I will move my things out immediately.” “And there is no need to trouble the CEO with a department transfer. I quit.” Victoria let out a cold, incredulous laugh. “You really are dead set on clinging to our family as a lazy, useless burden, aren’t you?” “Whatever. Out of respect for your father, I will let your insubordination slide this once.” “Just remember where you stand from now on.” I walked straight past Victoria without looking at her. “There is no ‘from now on’.” This place had indeed given me countless beautiful memories. But ultimately, it was never my home. 3. I thought packing would take hours. But as I sifted through the pile in the hallway, I realized there was hardly anything left. Almost all of my clothes had been meticulously selected by Victoria. She used to say that I was the most important person in the Sinclair family, so naturally, I deserved the finest things in the world. Now, those exquisite fabrics were soaked in foul, murky water, reeking of decay. I had transitioned from being the center of her universe to an irrelevant parasite. I pushed the ruined clothes aside and saw hundreds of polaroid photos scattered across the hardwood floor. Audrey used to be obsessed with taking pictures of me, insisting she needed to document every single version of my smile. Whenever we took a group photo, the two sisters would practically go to war over who got to press their shoulder against mine. Now, in every single photograph of the three of us, my face had been violently carved out with a box cutter. I couldn’t bear to look at the mutilated images any longer. I scooped everything up in my arms and shoved it all straight into the heavy duty trash bin. Victoria was walking down the stairs with Noah just as I let the lid slam shut. A flicker of genuine shock crossed her eyes. She knew I had treasured those items more than my own life. But within a second, her expression hardened into a mocking sneer. “You certainly don’t mind throwing away the Sinclair family’s money.” The old Victoria would drop millions without blinking just to buy me a moment of happiness. Now that Noah was by her side, every single thing I did was a sin. I had lost the privilege of being cherished, and I had lost the desire to defend myself. I looked at her with dead eyes. “I will repay every cent.” “The Sinclair family doesn’t care about your pocket change. Just remember your promise to never harass Noah again,” she snapped. Noah tugged at the hem of Victoria’s silk blouse, pouting his lips. “Victoria, please don’t waste your precious time on irrelevant people. I really want to go to the secret base to see the sea of stars. Let’s go now.” My body froze, and my footsteps halted. The secret base Noah mentioned was a magnificent glass observatory Victoria had built for me when I first arrived in Boston. Mr. Sinclair had been overwhelmed with corporate takeovers back then, so he entrusted my care to Victoria, who was six years my senior. She practically laid the wonders of the world at my feet. She constantly told me I was her eternal moonlight, the pure love she would cherish forever. She personally designed a breathtaking planetarium ceiling inside the observatory, creating an immortal sea of stars just for me. Under that glowing celestial canopy, she had looked at me with profound devotion. “Arthur, never forget this. This galaxy belongs entirely to you, just like my love.” She told me that all the rivers and mountains eventually surrendered to the sea, and her love would constantly flow toward me in the exact same way. We spent eighteen years slowly perfecting that glass sanctuary. From that night on, the scales of my heart had tipped irrevocably toward Victoria. Yet, every single time I was on the verge of choosing her, Audrey would throw a spectacular, destructive tantrum, forcing me to retreat to preserve the peace. As for now. They had found their thrilling red rose, and they had long forgotten the quiet, fading moonlight. But it was fine. I took a deep, shaky breath and forced my legs to move forward. I didn’t want either of them anymore anyway. 4. Just as I walked past Noah, he suddenly lashed out, grabbing my wrist with a vicious grip. His manicured fingernails dug deeply into my skin, dragging down my forearm and leaving a jagged, bleeding scratch. “Why won’t you even listen to me finish my sentence, Arthur? Are you that disgusted by me?” A sharp hiss of pain escaped my lips, and I forcefully yanked my arm away from his grip. Using my momentum, Noah threw his entire body backward, collapsing onto the marble floor. “Victoria, help me!” Panic seized Victoria’s face. She lunged forward, gathering Noah into her arms as if he were made of fragile glass. Before my brain could even process the movement, her hand cracked across my cheek. The resounding slap echoed through the grand foyer. Audrey, rushing in from the courtyard upon hearing the commotion, immediately screamed at me. “Arthur, why are you constantly trying to destroy him?” “Don’t you ever forget, if the Sinclair family hadn’t taken pity on you, an unwanted orphan, you would be rotting in an alleyway eating out of dumpsters right now! Your ingratitude is one thing, but biting the hand that feeds you is disgusting!” A high pitched ringing filled my ears. This was the first time in my entire life that anyone had ever struck me. My entire universe seemed to shatter into microscopic fragments in that single, agonizing second. Victoria stared at her trembling hand, then up at my swelling face, realizing she had crossed a line. “Are you… are you okay? I…” “I’m fine. I don’t blame you.” I slowly lifted my thumb and wiped the metallic tang of blood from the corner of my mouth. I truly didn’t blame her. I would consider that violent slap the final payment for the life she saved when we were young. From this moment on, all debts were settled. We owed each other absolutely nothing. Audrey, however, refused to let it go, stepping into my path to block the door. “Don’t you dare walk away. Apologize to him right now!” Her vicious glare was completely unrecognizable from the sweet girl who used to trail behind me, begging for my attention. I knew exactly how ruthless she could be. Back in high school, a boy had mocked me for being a bankrupt orphan. Audrey had orchestrated a brutal underground retaliation, and Victoria used her wealth to clean up the mess. The two sisters executed their plan flawlessly, forcing the boy’s entire family to flee Boston in disgrace. Back then, I never could have imagined that one day, they would turn those exact same venomous tactics on me. I glanced at the triumphant smirk hiding behind Noah’s fake tears and buried the storm of emotions raging in my chest. “I will never apologize. I did absolutely nothing wrong.” I had nothing left to fear from them. Even without their threats, I was already walking out the door. 5. Audrey was still seething with rage, ready to strike. Victoria, plagued by a sudden surge of guilt, stepped in front of her sister and significantly softened her tone. “Let it go. I lost my temper just now, please don’t take it to heart. When I come back from my business trip, I’ll bring you those rich chocolate truffles you love so much.” “But you have to promise me one thing. You must stop making things difficult for Noah.” A slap to the face, followed by a piece of chocolate. But she had completely forgotten. I had bleeding ulcers. Chocolate truffles triggered agonizing acid reflux for me. Years ago, in order to protect my digestive health, Victoria fired a dozen private chefs until she found one perfect enough. In the end, she stayed up for consecutive nights researching nutritional therapy, personally designing my entire dietary plan. Audrey used to hover over me every single day, tirelessly making sure I adhered to the regimen. And now, they had forgotten all of it. A draft of icy air swept through the open door, and a bone deep chill erupted from my chest, swallowing me whole. I shivered violently, suddenly remembering that the clothes plastered to my skin were still soaking wet from the freezing water. I could feel a heavy fever rapidly taking over my body. Just as the nausea hit me, Audrey intentionally shoved her shoulder hard into my chest as she walked past. “Stop faking it.” My weakened legs buckled, and I collapsed straight into the decorative mud pit by the doorway. Victoria turned her head, a flash of genuine conflict tearing through her eyes. But ultimately, she flanked Noah with her sister, and the three of them walked out, leaving me in the dirt. I lay there for a long time before I found the strength to drag myself out of the mud and call an ambulance. The attending doctor took one look at my catastrophic state and began shouting in pure frustration. “You were literally just discharged! How did you end up like this?” “Do you have a death wish? Because your body cannot handle this kind of abuse!” I didn’t dare utter a single excuse. I quietly obeyed his orders and stayed in the hospital under strict observation for several days. It wasn’t until my fever completely broke that the medical staff finally cleared me to leave. Having lost so much precious time, I had to accelerate my departure plans. I went to the corporate headquarters to formally process my resignation and say goodbye to the colleagues who had treated me well over the years. Only to discover that Noah had already fired every single one of them. The remaining employees actively avoided me like I was carrying a plague. I stood alone in the grand corporate lobby for half the day, only to be casually informed by a receptionist that Victoria and Noah had left town on a business trip. The three of them had flown to Nantucket, to the very beach I had loved most as a child. They were visiting the exact destinations I had always dreamed of seeing but never had the chance to go to. A bitter, self deprecating laugh escaped my lips. I dropped my resignation letter into the lobby trash can. I had been so stressed about how to explain my sudden departure, completely oblivious to the fact that absolutely no one cared if I existed. Now, I only had one task left. Say goodbye to Mr. Sinclair. Then I could leave this city without a single regret.

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After I accidentally discovered my brother reading my diary. I was both furious and speechless. In retaliation, I wrote him into my diary: “I’m a bad girl. How can I have those kinds of feelings for my own brother?” “They say brotherly love is a sickness, it’s not right, I shouldn’t be like this.” “But I really can’t control myself…” From that day on, my brother looked at me like he’d seen a ghost every time he saw me. I suppressed my laughter and, with increasing fervor, wrote things in my diary to scare him. Completely oblivious to how my brother’s gaze, from avoiding me in panic, had slowly morphed into a look of tormented suppression. Until a month later. An old money couple showed up with a paternity test, and without a word, they embraced my brother, calling him their son. Me: ? 1 As far back as I can remember, my brother, Asher, has always been by my side. He was the first person I called after I learned to speak. Dad said I called him “brother” so skillfully, it was as if I was born knowing how to. At my one-month celebration, so many hands reached out to hold me, but I reached past everyone and clung tightly to his finger. And as an older brother, Asher never disappointed. When I was six, I was rushed to the hospital after secretly drinking a bottle of orange-flavored dish soap. Asher stayed by my bedside for two days and two nights, refusing to eat or drink, looking like a ghost. When I was eight, I tried to ride our neighbor, an old lady, across the street, and Dad chased me with a stick. Asher protected me like a mother hen, taking the hits from Dad without backing down. When I was ten, on my birthday, I solemnly made a wish: “I want to be with my brother forever.” Asher watched me, shielding the candle flame with his hand. I slowly looked up, unable to see his face clearly, but I heard him say, word by word: “Little sister, you don’t need to wish for that.” When I was fourteen, Asher watched a TV show where a couple stole their family register to get married, and he frowned, asking Dad: “Why did they steal the family register?” Dad smiled and explained: “Because they want to get married.” “Marriage means putting two people’s names on the same family register.” Asher was nearly six feet tall by then. With handsome features and a tall, straight build, he was the target of many girls’ secret glances at school. After hearing Dad’s explanation, he realized: “Oh, I see.” “Then my sister and I should just get married.” “We’ve been on the same family register since we were little.” Dad nearly dropped his teacup. He grabbed the feather duster nearby and swung it at Asher. Asher dodged, turning his head to earnestly ask me: “Little sister, do you think what I said is wrong?” Without thinking, I nodded directly: “Of course, what brother said is right.” Dad paused, then silently swapped the feather duster for a shovel, chasing him even more fiercely. 2 In the blink of an eye, Asher and I had been inseparable, leaning on each other, as siblings for over twenty years. Last weekend, Asher forbade me from attending a male classmate’s birthday party, and we had a huge fight. He couldn’t argue with me, and in his frustration, he actually recited a passage from my diary. That’s when I realized he had been secretly reading my diary all along. Furious, I kicked him hard and stormed upstairs. Although I also secretly read Asher’s diary every day, I never read it out loud to him! I always laughed to myself in secret. Who’s as shameless as him?! That utterly shameless jerk! The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. To get back at Asher, I specifically went out and bought a new diary with a lock. After half a month of aimlessly jotting down daily occurrences, I started writing furiously: “I’m a bad girl. How can I have those kinds of feelings for my own brother?” “They say brotherly love is a sickness, it’s not right, I shouldn’t be like this.” “But I really can’t control myself. The internet is right, our red thread is hidden…” … I switched to a red pen and drew a crooked heart where the period should be. Asher certainly didn’t disappoint me. The next day, when he brought fruit into my room, his eyes immediately landed on the diary I had deliberately left open on the desk. Perhaps he remembered the kick I gave him a few days ago for reading my diary. Perhaps his conscience finally struck, and he thought an older brother shouldn’t invade his younger sister’s privacy. In any case, he paused for five seconds. But only for five seconds. His slender fingers skillfully flipped open the thin pages. His face still wore that casually lazy expression, his lips even curled in a mischievous “what’s wrong with just one look?” But after reading just two lines, Asher’s upturned lips sharply dropped. His fingers, clutching the diary, trembled faintly, his temples throbbed, and his vision swam. Finally, he stumbled two steps and collapsed heavily into a chair, clearly scared half to death by the diary’s contents. And I, hiding by the door, watched his world-shattering reaction, covering my mouth and laughing so hard I couldn’t stand straight. Heh heh. That’ll teach him to read my diary. He deserved it. 3 Asher practically fled my room. At nearly six feet three, he used his hands and feet, running as if tumbling and crawling. He didn’t even see me hiding by the door, observing him. He simply transformed into a stubborn fish, diving headfirst into the bathroom, splashing water on his face. I waited until the sound of running water in the bathroom stopped. Only then did I walk over and ask: “Brother, what’s wrong?” The sounds inside abruptly ceased. After a long moment, Asher’s unsteady voice finally replied: “Nothing…” I said, “Oh.” “Then I’ll go back to my room.” “Wait!” The door was abruptly pulled open. Asher stood at the doorway, still dripping water from his face, staring at me with a complicated expression, wanting to speak but holding back: “Willow, are you… do you have someone you like recently?” I feigned confusion, frowning: “No, I’m busy looking for an internship lately. I don’t have time to think about romance.” Asher fell silent. He looked me over gravely, and only after confirming I truly wasn’t lying, did he breathe a sigh of relief, as if escaping a disaster, and wiped the water from his face. Right. The “brother” written in the diary might not necessarily be him; it could be some male celebrity. No problem, no problem, the sky hasn’t fallen, the home hasn’t been destroyed, sister is still sister. I subtly pursed my lips: “Brother, if you’re all right, I’ll go back to my room now.” With that, I turned around. I pulled a manga book from my backpack and casually dropped it on the floor. A loud thud echoed in the empty room. Asher instinctively looked towards the sound. On the title page, several glaring big words— “Sister Becomes Wife.” “…” Asher’s breathing abruptly stopped. Then, trembling, he pressed his finger to his philtrum. 4 Before I could react, the manga book was snatched from me by Asher. His captivating eyes widened, and his voice trembled slightly: “Willow! You, you, you, if you dare buy such trashy books again, I’ll tell Mom!” I obediently lowered my head: “Got it, brother.” Asher hummed, expressionless. Then turned. And scrambled upstairs, using both hands and feet. On the surface, I calmly watched him leave. But inside, I was practically cackling with laughter. To confirm once again that I hadn’t misjudged, I figured Asher would definitely sneak into my room tonight to read my diary again. I pulled out my phone. I found a bunch of sentences and copied them into my diary: “My brother, who raised me, suddenly stopped talking to me. Is he tired of me? Is he going to leave me?” “What should I do, how can I keep him forever?” “One hundred and eight plans to trap my brother by my side for life…” I closed the diary. I stretched. Went downstairs to heat some milk. When I returned, I immediately noticed a subtle shift in the diary’s position, and a partial footprint on the carpet. I took a contented sip of milk, then snuggled comfortably into bed. Half asleep, half awake, the deadly silent room next door, which had been quiet for most of the night, suddenly erupted in a heart-wrenching wail and a sound like a donkey’s braying cry: “Dad! Mom! I’m a beast!! Ahhh-woo-woo-moo-moo-moo…” 5 The next morning, I ran into Asher on the stairs. My mind wasn’t fully awake yet. My habitual greeting was: “Bro, morning.” Asher’s thin lips pressed together, but he didn’t respond, his face stern as he quickly walked past me. I paused, then called out to his retreating back: “Asher? Asher, what’s wrong? Why aren’t you answering?” “…” Asher finally stopped. But he didn’t turn around. His voice was calmly detached, like a customer service agent: “Do you need something?” His icy tone sent a shiver down my spine. I subconsciously said: “No, nothing…” Asher started walking again. He went downstairs without looking back. Dad came out of the kitchen with breakfast. Seeing Asher leaving me far behind, he couldn’t help but laugh: “What’s wrong with you two? Did you have a fight?” Before I could speak, Asher, who had just sat down, abruptly stood up. His voice was cold and firm: “Dad, I am me, and Willow is Willow. We cannot use ‘we’.” My mom was startled when she heard that. “Well, I’ll be damned. Aren’t you two usually inseparable?” Asher didn’t rush to answer. He pondered for a few seconds, then slowly looked up at me: “Mom, Willow and I are both grown up now.” “As the saying goes, boys and girls are different. Willow and I should also maintain some distance.” “Later, Willow will marry, and I will take a wife. Then we will be two separate families.” “Willow, do you think what I’m saying is right? You can’t always cling to me anymore. Brother needs his own life, and so do you, understand?” Of course, I understood. I just hadn’t expected that those two pages of my diary could have such a profound impact on Asher. A brother who had been so eager to control his sister. Was now actively trying to maintain distance. And even emphasizing his own life… I was utterly shocked. Asher wiped the corner of his mouth. He slowly stood up: “I’ve eaten enough. You two eat. I’m leaving.” He paused. He looked up at me. And said, word for word: “Don’t follow me. I won’t be taking you with me today.” Me: “…” My mom finally noticed something was off and turned to ask me, “What’s wrong with your brother?” I rubbed my temples and said, “Maybe it’s puberty.” My mom’s eyes widened: “He’s twenty-six and still in puberty?!” Me: “…Uh, some people mature late.” My mom was half-skeptical: “That’s a bit too late, isn’t it…” 6 Asher was true to his word. For the next few days, he left early and returned late, deliberately avoiding any time he might run into me. Even if we accidentally bumped into each other at home, he would immediately get up and walk past me with an expressionless face. The times I saw him were few and far between. If it weren’t for the mysterious braying sounds I kept hearing from his room in the middle of the night, I would have thought he hadn’t been coming home for days. Estimating the time, I figured it was about time to tell Asher the truth. But the crucial evidence—the diary—had vanished. I searched everywhere, turning the house upside down, frantically sweating. If those diary entries were seen by my parents, it would be disastrous; our family would be ruined! Just as I was catching my breath from exhaustion, my best friend called, inviting me to a bar. I glanced at the time and instinctively wanted to refuse; Asher definitely wouldn’t let me go out at this hour. But then I thought, Asher had been keeping his distance from me lately because of the diary, so he might not care… I pondered for two seconds, then agreed to meet my best friend and hurried downstairs to find Asher. He was sitting on the sofa, reading a book. The warm yellow light framed his profile, his eyelashes casting a small shadow on his eyelids. Just sitting there, his mood was inexplicably somber, like a melancholic god. I stopped: “Brother, my best friend invited me out tonight. I might not be back until tomorrow morning…” The words hung in the air. Asher paused in turning a page. I waited for a long time, but still no answer. I asked softly again: “Brother, can I not go?” “Why not?” After a long silence, Asher smiled. He subtly pressed his slightly trembling fingertips together: “Of course, you can. We both should have our own lives. Brother won’t control you. Go ahead…” My eyes lit up: “Really? Brother, are you telling the truth?” Asher maintained his smile. His voice was very soft. Almost hollow: “Of course, it’s true. Didn’t I say the other day? We both should have our own lives. We are both free, little sister, you are free…” I bounced upstairs: “Okay! I’ll get changed and leave! Bye, brother!” Asher slowly let the smile fade from his face. He casually tossed the book he was holding aside. His voice remained gentle: “Alright, bye…” 7 For years, Asher had always been so controlling. My wardrobe had almost no suitable clothes for going to a bar. But now, life had suddenly gotten better. Asher no longer treated me like a grandchild. I even started to hesitate whether to tell him the truth about the diary. Never mind. I’ll think about that later. I pulled out all the clothes from my closet. They were strewn all over the bed. Then I tried them on one by one in front of the mirror. White dress? Too plain. Black dress? Too gloomy. This off-the-shoulder one, the neckline was a bit low, and the back was quite open. I held the dress against myself in the mirror, pondering whether to try it on. Suddenly, the back of my neck tightened, my back felt cold, and a strong sense of unease welled up inside me. I instinctively looked up at the mirror. In the mirror, Asher stood silently in the half-open doorway. I gasped. I didn’t know how long he had been standing there. I didn’t know when he had arrived. I didn’t know why his footsteps made no sound at all. Asher just stood there. Half of his body was hidden in the hallway shadows. The other half was illuminated by the room light. Revealing an expressionless face. He was watching me. Not with that deliberately distant gaze from before. But with a damp, sticky quality, something I couldn’t quite identify. His gaze fell directly on me from the mirror, landing on the backless dress in my hand. 8 The dress in my hand almost slipped. I turned to look at him: “Brother, what are you doing standing there? You scared me…” Asher seemed to be yanked back from some deep place by my words. He suddenly snapped back to reality. He squeezed his eyes shut tightly. When he opened them again, his eyes had regained their calm. He leaned against the doorframe. Shrugging helplessly: “Nothing, just passing by.” “Come on, Willow, don’t I have to pass your room to get back to mine?” His tone was light, as if the person in the mirror just now had been my imagination. I stared at him for two seconds. Then realized: “I know, brother, you don’t want me to go, do you?” Asher paused. Then he curved his lips, smiling effortlessly, with a hint of helpless indulgence. “How could that be? I haven’t changed my mind, don’t overthink it, little sister.” “Willow, brother still says the same thing. We are both free. What kind of brother would always want to control his sister for no reason?” “Controlling her until she’s eighteen is fine, but still controlling her after eighteen, isn’t that too much, too annoying? I’m not that bored…” As he spoke, his gaze seemed pulled by something, irresistibly drifting downwards. Landing on the dress in my hand. Just one look. Then he immediately shifted his gaze: “Don’t worry, brother won’t control you anymore, Willow. From now on, you can do whatever you want.” “Alright, you pick your clothes. Brother won’t disturb you for now.” “Oh, right, if you run out of money, just ask brother. You can’t go out without money.” 9 Asher’s footsteps gradually faded. But I stood rooted to the spot, unable to fully process what had happened. This was the Nth time today. Asher had said he would no longer control me. I slowly sensed something abnormal. Asher’s words were too decisive and practiced, as if he had drafted them long ago and rehearsed them a hundred times in his mind. I held my breath. A terrifying thought suddenly surfaced in my mind. Had he already considered distancing himself from me even before seeing my diary…? Was he tired of me? Did he no longer want me as a sister? Would he have found a way to abandon me, regardless of that diary? Did my prank diary just give him an excuse? … The more I thought about it, the more logical it seemed. I hugged my arms tightly, my fingertips touching my skin, only to realize my hands were cold. That year I was ten, Asher had sworn to me that we would be together forever. He was only twenty-six now. Had he forgotten everything already? Or rather, from beginning to end, was I the only one who remembered? I clenched my back teeth tightly. I raised my hand. And threw the dress in my hand hard at the mirror. 10 When I went downstairs again, Asher was still sitting there, reading. As if nothing had happened. He heard my footsteps. And looked up at me with a smile: “Willow…” I expressionlessly averted my gaze. As if I hadn’t seen him at all. I walked straight out. And slammed the door shut. Inside. Asher still sat rooted to the spot. Maintaining his raised head. He stared at the door I had slammed. His handsome face, turned pale, inch by inch. 11 I cried into my best friend’s shoulder for two whole hours. Muffled, I asked: “Bestie, can you teach me how to swear?” My best friend looked at me in surprise: “Sweetie, why do you suddenly want to learn swear words? Didn’t you say your brother doesn’t let you swear?” “Hmm, he doesn’t, but this time it’s different.” “How is this time different?” I wiped away my tears, fiercely declaring: “This time, I’m going to curse at him!” My best friend spat out a mouthful of drink: “Willow, are you crazy? You dare curse at your brother?” I: “Why wouldn’t I? If he doesn’t want me, he deserves to be cursed at. Just teach me.” My best friend put down her glass, looking at me strangely: “…Alright.” “Willow, remember, when you curse, always include family.” “No matter what swear word, always put family first. That way it’ll have more impact.” I wrote it down in my notebook: “Include family, put them first, that makes it impactful…” My best friend sighed helplessly: “I can tell your brother really pissed you off this time…” I didn’t say anything, just took a big gulp of the drink on the table, preparing to tell my best friend the whole story. But who would have thought, after one glass of wine, my head started spinning. I leaned on the bar to steady myself, but my body swayed uncontrollably backwards. In that precarious moment, someone from behind grabbed my hand. It was my best friend’s younger brother. I didn’t know when he had arrived. Last summer, he even gave me a love letter, but my brother saw it and he ran two miles out of fear. Before I could retract my smile, that hand was violently pushed away by another hand. The force was so great that my best friend’s brother stumbled two steps. The next second, my waist was encircled from behind, and I was scooped into a cold embrace. I looked up, bewildered. It was Asher. His lips were tightly pressed together. His jaw was clenched into a straight line. His chest heaved violently: “Willow, come home with me.” “If you ever come to a place like this again, I swear I’ll die.”

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My husband is a man of great prestige, a distinguished professor of medicine. When our tour bus flipped, his first instinct was to shield the young female student sitting in the row ahead of us. I was left behind, critically injured, clinging to life. When I finally woke up, he was tending to me while correcting his favorite student’s research paper. “Don’t overthink it, Riley. I just appreciate her talent.” He didn’t even look up. “Abigail just published three international papers; she has a brilliant future ahead of her. She was the one who performed your surgery. It was flawless.” Mentioning his star pupil, his eyes—usually cold and detached—warmed with pride. He had no idea. Because just a moment ago, the System had told me: his “brilliant” student had left a fatal, rotting surgical sponge inside my abdomen. 1 The System warned me about the sponge while Ross was peeling an apple for me. “Thank god we caught it early,” the System sighed. “If you have a re-operation now, you’ll survive. It’ll just be a bit painful.” “If you don’t want to go through another surgery, you could also choose to reload your save to before the accident.” I didn’t answer immediately. I watched silently as the silver fruit knife danced between his elegant, long fingers. I wasn’t allowed to eat yet, and my cravings were driving me mad. Ross would peel apple after apple from the basket, holding them up for me to smell, endlessly patient. The hospital had assigned me a private nurse, but Ross had refused her. “Who else could tolerate your temper besides me?” He smiled, placing a piece of apple under my nose. The sweet, crisp scent drifted into my lungs. I felt a dull ache deep in my gut. I frowned. “Did the surgeon who operated on me not perform a post-op check?” For safety, that should have been standard procedure. Ross’s long, thick lashes paused. “I had that step skipped.” I blinked. “Why?” He looked at me, his eyes filled with a sudden, sharp pity. “Post-op checks prolong the anesthesia. You’re weak; the faster the surgery ends, the better.” “Besides, your surgery was performed by Abigail. She’s meticulous. She wouldn’t make a low-level mistake like that.” 2 Right. Abigail. Ross’s favorite doctoral candidate. She had immense talent and stellar grades. For the past few years, no matter what surgery Ross performed, he dragged her along. They were a fixture together, often joked about in the department as the “Power Duo.” Abigail had assisted in several major operations, and they had all gone smoothly. But I still found it laughable. “Ross, for a life-or-death major surgery, you dared to let a student handle it alone?” I knew that as the hospital’s most authoritative surgeon and a national professor, he had the power to do that, even if it bent the rules. “What if she messed up? What if I died? Did you think about that at all?” He chuckled, as if I’d said something absurd. “How could I ever let you die?” He flicked my nose gently. “Do you think I’ve spent all these years in clinical research just to watch you fade away? I want us to grow old together.” “I told you, Abigail is a one-in-a-million surgical genius. The fact remains, she didn’t disappoint me. She performed your surgery perfectly.” His tone was absolute, laced with a faint, maddening arrogance. True. That surgery had made Abigail famous overnight. She had pulled me back from the gates of hell in record time. The news had even reported on it, praising Abigail as the “Rising Star of Surgery.” Ross was hailed as the visionary mentor, and his reputation reached even higher heights. After hesitating, I gripped his hand. “Please, just perform a check yourself. Just call it a follow-up exam.” “Don’t be ridiculous.” Ross stood up, and the warmth in his eyes hardened into frost. “Surgeries aren’t just something you do for fun.” He softened his tone a moment later. “Do you trust me so little? Why would I ever want you to suffer through another operation?” I stared at him. “But Abigail…” He cut me off firmly. “She is my student. I won’t allow anyone to question her skill. The surgery she performed is flawless.” I looked at him quietly. Is that right? A second later, the icy System voice chimed in my head: Detected: Host’s impending death. Do you wish to reload now? I shook my head. “Why not?” the System asked, confused. “Are you just giving up because of him?” “I’m not that stupid.” I asked coldly, “If I die, I still have a three-day window to reload, right?” “That’s correct.” I laughed softly. “Then schedule the reload for after I die.” 3 It was funny. I actually considered reloading to before the accident. The reason was simple: the day before the accident, I had found out I was three weeks pregnant. That night, Ross had been in the operating theater until dawn. I had called him, bursting with joy, but Abigail had answered. “Professor Ross is teaching me a surgery; he’s asleep in the breakroom.” I froze. “Wake him up. I have something important to tell him…” Abigail cut me off without a shred of hesitation. “He said before he went to sleep that no one is allowed to disturb him, unless it’s about my work.” Her tone was indignant. “He’s been working all day. Even if you’re his wife, shouldn’t you be a bit more considerate?” I was stunned, then let out a cold laugh. “That’s not your place to say.” Before she could react, I hung up. I’d always had trouble conceiving. But Ross loved children, always rambling on about wanting a daughter. So, this child was a miracle. When the crash happened, my first instinct was to protect my stomach. But it was too late. The baby had been torn away along with my broken flesh. Ross still didn’t know the child had ever existed. Two weeks post-op, I finally saw my stitched-up stomach. A jagged, brownish scar ran across my pale skin, sewn together with sloppy, uneven stitches. It looked like a withered branch—hideous and haunting. I looked down, my eyes stinging. Ross walked over, covering me up with a practiced, casual air, stroking my hair. “Don’t cry. To me, no one is more beautiful than you.” He teased me deliberately. “When we have our kids later, you’ll have a scar anyway. You wouldn’t skip out on having our children just to stay pretty, would you?” I pushed him away. “Abigail stitched my stomach like this. As a patient, don’t I have the right to file a complaint?” Ross’s face darkened. He knew his student’s skill. Under normal circumstances, Abigail would never stitch a wound so poorly. Unless she did it on purpose. “Great things are not accomplished by dwelling on small details,” Ross said coldly after a pause. “An occasional lapse in judgment from a genius like Abigail is… expected.” “Abigail is the most talented student I’ve taken in years. I cannot watch her potential be destroyed.” He leaned down and kissed my forehead, his tone dripping with fake warmth. “Be a good girl. Just let it go.” 4 Ross started trying to win me back. He’d bring a different kind of porridge every day, feeding me from a thermos. I’d take a few bites in front of him, and the moment he wasn’t looking, I’d dump it out in disgust. One day, he caught me in the act. He shook his head, sighing, and wiped my stained fingers. “You’ve been dumping it out for days. Still not over it?” So, he had known all along. I pulled my hand away, expressionless. “If you have time, go guide your genius student. The nurse can take care of me.” “You’re just saying things to hurt me.” Ross sighed, sounding incredibly weary. “You’re my wife. How could I let a stranger take care of you?” His voice was so tender, it felt like drowning. For a fleeting second, I felt like I was back at the beginning of our marriage. When I first joined his university as a lecturer, some of the rowdier students had tripped me, causing a severe sprain. When Ross heard, he stormed into the faculty office and beat those students to a pulp. Several ended up in the hospital, and he faced a disciplinary board. In the hospital room, Ross was bruised and swollen. I had been heartbroken, scolding him for being reckless. He just laughed, a carefree, stupid grin. “You’re my wife. Who else is going to protect you if I don’t?” … Back in the present, I whispered to him, “This is the final check-up before I’m discharged. Please, stay with me.” Ross smirked, nuzzling my cheek. “That’s more like it.” As I was being pushed into the imaging room, he held my hand tightly. But a second later, his phone rang. He answered, his voice dropping. “The lab door is locked? It’s so late. You’re in there alone?” Soft, muffled sobs drifted from the other end. He let go of my hand and strode toward the exit. “Don’t be afraid. I’m coming right over.” His shadow vanished around the corner, decisive and cold. He never once looked back. I lowered my eyes and shook my head at the nurse. “It’s fine. Continue.” This was the last chance to find the sponge. He hadn’t treasured it. I asked the System, “What is my time of death?” After a moment, the System provided a crisp answer: “Three weeks from now.” Perfect. It would be our seventh wedding anniversary. I’d have a surprise waiting for him then. 5 The day before my discharge, Abigail came to visit. She was dressed to kill, wearing a gorgeous dress that suggested Ross had been incredibly generous with her—yearly scholarships and project funding. Over the years, he’d essentially turned her into a high-fashion princess. Abigail placed a bouquet on my bedside table. “The Professor and I picked this out together. I hope you like it.” The scent hit me instantly, and I began to cough violently. The rotting sponge rubbed against my insides, making my very soul ache. She had chosen a bouquet of blooming Eustoma. And Ross knew I was allergic to Eustoma. Noticing my glare, he spoke calmly, explaining, “I warned her, but she loves Eustoma. She insisted on buying it, so I let her have her way.” “She’s just a kid who likes fancy flowers. The sentiment is what matters.” He whispered in my ear, “I’ll throw them out once she leaves.” Abigail broke into a smile, tears in her eyes. “The Professor always spoils me.” Ross sighed with fake annoyance, his gaze brimming with indulgence. “What can I do? I’m stuck with a silly student like you.” I choked on my breath, reaching out to push the vase further away. I accidentally knocked it over. Abigail’s eyes reddened; she knelt to pick up the flowers. A second later, she stumbled, her knees landing squarely on the jagged ceramic shards. Ross rushed over, scooping her up and carrying her to an empty hospital bed. He turned to look at me, his expression devoid of emotion, filled with terrifying rage. “Even if you don’t like Abigail, you don’t have to humiliate her like that.” “She’s just a student. Would it kill you to show a little restraint?” I covered my stomach, choking, and managed to whisper, “It hurts…” Ross cut me off coldly. “Stop acting. You’ve been recovered for ages.” When he said it, he seemed to realize he’d slipped up, biting his lip uncomfortably. “What I meant was… your body isn’t as weak as you think…”

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One minute after my childhood sweetheart broke up with me, he publicly announced his relationship with a student from a low-income background on social media. He claimed that Eleanor suffered from depression, and once he helped her become as bright as I was, he would reconcile with me. Eleanor used his phone to assert her dominance: “Thanks for taking care of my boyfriend before. We need to keep our distance from now on.” I scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping me. It took me only thirty seconds to get my mom to cut off her financial support. 1 My mom informed the school she would be discontinuing Eleanor’s scholarship. She immediately notified Adam’s father. The engagement between our families was off. At the same time, Eleanor’s best friend sent me a video of Adam and Eleanor getting intimate. In the video, Adam, visibly tipsy, was kissing a flushed Eleanor, his arm around her. Someone nearby, enjoying the spectacle, called out: “Adam, aren’t you worried about Alice getting upset?” Adam cupped Eleanor’s face, licking her lips with an undeniable desire. “Nah, she’s easy to appease.” “We grew up together; I know her inside and out.” “She’s also just… so inconsiderate, always coming first, costing Eleanor her scholarship. I’m just teaching her a lesson.” I let out a cold laugh. So that’s what he really thought of me. Adam continued: “Besides, I’m bored. Goody-two-shoes, so old-fashioned, wouldn’t even let me hold her hand. It’s honestly so dull.” “The thought of getting engaged to her after graduation, being tied down, makes me sick to my stomach.” Adam made a disgusted face. Eleanor quickly snuggled against his chest. “I’m not like her. You can touch me anywhere, but only you, darling.” Adam burst into laughter, tightening his arm around Eleanor’s waist. “I like a girl with some spice, like Eleanor.” “As for Alice, whoever wants her can have her. I certainly don’t!” I could barely suppress the nausea churning in my gut. Then, from the video, a lazy voice spoke up. “Well, in that case, I’m going to pursue her.” It was Jerry Voss. Our class president, who had always shared the top spot with me. 2 Adam’s face instantly darkened. Eleanor blinked her eyes, tugging his hand. Adam let out a strange, dismissive snort. “Go ahead, but she’s been in love with me for over ten years, been desperate for me countless times. I’m utterly sick of it.” “She’s a loyal woman, guarding her purity for me.” Jerry Voss chuckled noncommittally. He picked up his school jacket, revealing a clean, long hand with an expensive watch on his wrist. “I’m leaving.” His gaze swept over Adam and Eleanor, who were tightly embracing, with a hint of disdain. “Adam, remember what you just said. Don’t regret it later.” “I won’t back down.” Adam’s face was grim, the desire that Eleanor had stirred in his eyes now completely gone. “I’ve said it before, Alice loves me to death. I just have to snap my fingers, and she’ll come crawling back.” Eleanor’s eyes instantly welled up, and Adam quickly added, “But, I’m happy to let you have a go. She’s just a lapdog, and I have plenty of those.” At this, his friends roared with laughter. “Adam’s not wrong, Alice is totally a lapdog.” “Which game did she not excitedly bring a case of water to? Which party did she not rush to pay for?” “The more girls are like that, the cheaper they are.” The video ended there, showing only a faint shadow of Jerry Voss raising his foot towards Adam. 3 Lost in thought, my phone vibrated. It was a message from Eleanor’s best friend. [Feeling very sad and angry, aren’t you? I advise you to give up on Adam as soon as possible. For a lapdog like you, men will only find you cheap.] [Jerry Voss seems to like you quite a bit. You two are both bookworms, quite a good match.] I suspected Eleanor herself had sent this from her best friend’s phone. She often did things like that. She used to send me messages from Adam’s phone. Sometimes, she’d deliberately send ambiguous messages to make Adam and I argue, then feign illness so Adam would go comfort her. But now, none of that mattered to me. I’m very open to advice. A man who’s been soiled, might as well be thrown away. I also thought Jerry and I were a perfect match, both in intelligence and family background. [Why aren’t you replying, Alice? Are you mad to death? (Hand over mouth emoji)] Uh, not really. I was pretty angry at first. I mean, extremely angry. Because my family is old money, really old money. I don’t have autonomy in dating. I can only choose a future spouse from families of equal standing. But I’m not particularly stunning in appearance. Especially compared to other daughters from similar backgrounds. Honestly, the competition is brutal. Adam was one of the better-looking ones among my choices. But! Compared to Jerry Voss. There was absolutely no comparison. Jerry Voss was taller, handsomer, and smarter than him. He was a triple threat. With a better option now, what did I have to be sad about? Sadness only comes from not getting the best! 4 After showing my mom the video Eleanor’s best friend sent me, my mom was furious, wanting to confront Adam’s family, but I stopped her. I pointed at Jerry Voss in the video, my eyes sparkling. “I like him.” My mom was silent for a moment, looking at my unremarkable features behind my thick-rimmed glasses. “He’s too… captivating. While his family matches, you—” I raised my hands in surrender, asserting indignantly. “A toad that doesn’t want to eat swan is not a good toad!” “But on the other hand, he’s still young, hasn’t seen the world yet. This is your chance.” My mom patted my shoulder. “To improve the next generation’s genes, you have to work hard.” “All your mom can do is improve our family status.” I recalled my dad’s somewhat plain face. Silence… 5 I stayed up all night, memorizing everything I’d paid a high price to find out about Jerry Voss. For a straight-A student like me, being able to recite it backwards after two reads was basic. The next morning, for the first time, I didn’t wait for Adam to go to school together. Through the security camera, I saw Adam frowning, waiting outside my front door. Impatiently, he spoke into the video doorbell. “Alice, you have three minutes. If you’re not ready, don’t bother coming out.” Speechless. I ignored him. Now that the engagement between our families was off, my housekeeper and the maids didn’t have much patience for him either. “Alice has already left.” Adam’s face instantly darkened. He threw the breakfast he had brought for Eleanor onto the ground. The milk bottle smashed with a thunk, spilling milk everywhere. Why didn’t I think it was for me? Because he never brought me anything; I always brought things to him. Our maid was furious. “I just swept this floor, what’s wrong with you?!” “How dare you speak to me like that? Believe it or not, I’ll have Alice fire you!” The maid rolled her eyes. “Your engagement is off, and the collaboration between the Summer and Evans families has ended. You should leave.” “This is just Alice throwing a tantrum. I’ll smooth things over, and our engagement will never be called off.” Adam walked away with a dark expression. Adam and I were desk partners. When I arrived at school, Eleanor was sitting in my seat. My books were all placed on the teacher’s desk. She smiled at me. “Alice, I want to sit with Adam. We’re in the honeymoon phase right now.” “Didn’t godmother say to let me have my way a bit? Please, sister, grant Adam and me our private world.” “You don’t want people to call you a third wheel, do you?” It seemed she didn’t know yet that my mom had stopped funding her. I had originally intended to lose my temper and yell at her. But then I caught a glimpse of Jerry Voss behind me. The seat next to him had been empty for years. Instantly, I became a drama queen. Showtime! 6 My eyes were red-rimmed, and I stood there in a daze, not knowing what to do. Jerry Voss walked in, picked up my books from the teacher’s desk, and told me, “Alice, come here.” I followed behind him, watching as he placed my books next to him. My heart instantly fluttered. Manga plot come to life. So thrilling… I shouldn’t have watched so much anime. It’s making my brain a little scrambled… I suppressed my shyness and said, choked with emotion, “Class President, thank you.” “I didn’t eat breakfast. If you really want to thank me, bring me some breakfast when you go get yours.” “I stayed up all night doing practice tests, so I’m really sleepy now and want to catch some Z’s.” Huh??? So he’s not the shy type, but the jealous type. He must have seen that I used to go get breakfast every morning and bring some back for Adam, and now he wants that too. I nodded repeatedly. “Okay, okay!” I’ll definitely spread my favors equally. No! Given that he’s more than a little better looking than Adam. I’ll definitely favor him more. It wasn’t until I got to the breakfast spot that I realized I hadn’t asked Jerry what he wanted. I found his contact information in the class group chat and added him. I wrote in the note: [Class President, what would you like to eat?] Then, while slurping my noodles, I waited for him to accept my request. I’m a genius. This was truly an excellent and not at all awkward reason to get his contact information. Jerry Voss quickly accepted my friend request and replied. I looked at his message, a little puzzled. Why were all his choices things Adam disliked? And each one was precisely a “landmine” for Adam. Things Adam had repeatedly warned me not to buy for him, and even forbade me from eating. Though I never listened to him, always indulging myself. On my way back after buying Jerry’s breakfast, I ran into Adam’s best friend, the one who had mocked me as a lapdog in the video. He was overly enthusiastic, greeting me with a big grin. “Hey, Alice, is that for Adam?” He pulled out his phone, quickly took a picture, and sent it to Adam’s group chat. I didn’t need to imagine how they would mock me. But I had no intention of stopping him. I desperately needed these cannon fodder to act as a catalyst, igniting Jerry Voss’s protective instincts and making him take the initiative with me. I gave the cannon fodder a smile in return and walked on. At the classroom door, Adam was already there, chatting and laughing with Eleanor in his seat. He seemed to be in a very good mood. A completely different person from when he walked out of my house, as seen on the security footage. He saw me, leaned back in his chair, and smirked at me idly. “You bought it back. I’m hungry too.” Jerry Voss, who had been napping at his desk, also sat up. His seat was diagonally behind Adam’s. I bit my lip, deliberately avoiding Adam’s gaze, and walked silently with my head down. As I passed Adam, he reached out to take the breakfast from my hand. I suddenly quickened my pace, went and sat down next to Jerry Voss. I placed the breakfast on his desk, and even pulled out a warm carton of milk from my pocket. “Eat it while it’s hot. I really like these too.” “Our tastes are surprisingly similar, Class President.” Jerry Voss smiled, while Adam froze, the smile on his lips stiffening. His fair-weather friends, who had been watching the show, also looked rigid. “Alice, that’s not for Adam, is it?” I said softly but firmly. “He has a girlfriend. Why would I bring him anything? And our engagement is off; we cut ties a long time ago.” This was an elite private school. Aside from those sent abroad by their families, all the heirs and heiresses from our social circles attended this school. Some were low-key about their status, others high-profile. But the impending marriage alliance between the Summer and Evans families was widely known. As my words fell, I noticed Jerry Voss’s lips curving into a pleased smile in my peripheral vision. Adam, however, looked terrifyingly pale. He glared at me coldly. “Alice, don’t you dare regret this.” “I, Adam Evans, don’t take back dogs who betray their masters. Even if you come begging, we’re over.” I snapped back. “You’re the dog, a dog in heat chasing after everyone.”

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My best friend was a bohemian soul, a girl who claimed to breathe only for freedom. After getting pregnant by a billionaire CEO, she insisted on running away to hide the baby. I urged her to stay. Her tone was ice-cold. “I refuse to be a man’s plaything. Give me liberty, or give me death.” But she had no idea how brutal life was for a single mother. She didn’t know that in the real world, ruthless billionaires don’t drop to their knees to grovel for a runaway lover. In our last life, I couldn’t bear to see her suffer. I talked until my throat bled, convincing her to stay. The CEO didn’t hesitate to put a ring on her finger. Yet, even draped in diamonds, she still acted like a tragic bird in a gilded cage. She threw constant tantrums. She staged elaborate suicide attempts to test his love. Eventually, she set the mansion on fire. As the flames roared, she was carried out safely. I was the collateral damage left behind to burn. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the exact day she decided to run away. 1 “Riley, stop trying to talk me out of it. I’ve made up my mind.” “I won’t be Victor’s little canary. There’s no freedom in that house.” “I’m going to Europe. I’ll raise this baby on my own.” Standing outside the private clinic, my best friend Daphne faced me. She looked down, gently resting a hand on her perfectly flat stomach. Her eyes were distant, carrying that signature aloofness she wore like a crown. The doctor had just confirmed she was three months pregnant. The father was my boss. She could have easily used this child to secure her place in high society. Instead, her very first instinct was to run. In my past life and this one, I could never wrap my head around her logic. Was a life of absolute luxury by a billionaire’s side really that terrible? Why was she so desperate to go starve in a foreign country? She was soft, incapable of heavy lifting, and completely unequipped for the real world. Surviving alone abroad would be a nightmare. More importantly, she had no passport, no visa, and couldn’t speak a word of a foreign language. Even buying groceries would be a struggle. In my last life, I laid all these harsh truths out for her. It only fueled her stubbornness. “I’ll find a way. I know people who can get me across the border unnoticed.” “Once I’m there, I’ll wash dishes. I’ll support myself.” “You care too much about money, Riley. You’ll never understand. Even if I die in the gutters of a foreign street, I will never be his caged pet. Give me liberty, or give me death!” Back then, my head throbbed watching her play the misunderstood heroine. I begged and pleaded until she finally agreed to stay with Victor Sinclair. Victor didn’t want the mother of his child to suffer any indignity. He married her immediately. After she gave birth, he even stepped back from his empire, spending months solely focused on her and the baby. To the outside world, she was living a fairy tale. But it was never enough for her. She spent her days weeping by the window, complaining to anyone who would listen that she had no freedom. When she got bored, she started playing with death. Slashing her wrists. Swallowing pills. Threatening to jump from the balcony. She was saved every single time. Until one evening, she insisted I cook her favorite meal. While I was in the third floor prep kitchen preparing her specialized dietary plan, she set the house ablaze. The rescue team arrived and pulled her out immediately. I was trapped. A burning beam from the ceiling collapsed, crushing my skull. I blacked out. Later, as a ghost hovering in the smoke filled air, I saw Daphne sitting safely on the grass, looking utterly bored with the world. When the firefighters asked if anyone else was inside, she kept her mouth shut. She stared blankly ahead as if she had no earthly tethers left. She knew exactly where I was. One word from her, and they would have rushed up to save me. But she said nothing. She just watched the crew spray water onto the inferno, layer by layer. By the time they found me, I was nothing but ash. Now, the smell of suffocating smoke still felt raw in my throat as I blinked and stared at her face. “Riley? Why aren’t you saying anything?” Daphne waved a hand in front of my eyes, waiting for my usual panicked response. I took a deep, shaky breath, forcing the violent tremors in my hands to stop. Since she loved freedom so much, fine. This time, I wouldn’t stand in her way. I looked her dead in the eye and spoke slowly. “It’s your life. You have to make your own choices. I can’t decide for you.” “I knew you wouldn’t understand… wait, what?” Daphne choked on her words. A flash of genuine shock broke through her icy facade. The self righteous speech she had prepared died in her throat. “You aren’t going to try and stop me?” I couldn’t hold back a bitter laugh. “Why would I waste my breath? You’re an adult. If you want to leave, who am I to tie you down?” Go ahead, Daphne. I really wanted to see how a girl who hadn’t even finished high school was going to conquer the world abroad. 2 “So, when are you leaving?” I asked. Victor was due back from his business trip in three days. If she didn’t run now, she’d miss her window. She tilted her chin up, her gaze drifting to the sky. “There is no rush. I need to make some preparations.” Daphne’s idea of “preparations” was packing up every single item she owned in the mansion. Well, almost everything. She deliberately left behind a few pieces of her most intimate lingerie. A silk nightgown tucked into the corner of his study. A lace bralette draped near the dressing room door. A delicate slip left in the private gym. Places where Victor’s hands would naturally graze. It was a calculated setup, designed to make him ache with longing every time he saw them. “I’ve sorted everything. I might have left a few things behind. Victor will probably just throw them away when he sees them.” She feigned complete indifference, shrugging her shoulders. Finally, the day before Victor’s return, Daphne headed to the docks. Her grand plan to go abroad was paying a shady fixer to sneak her onto an unregistered cargo ship. When I found out, I was speechless. She stood by the pier holding a tiny, vintage leather suitcase, wearing a pristine white floral dress, waving goodbye to me as the sea breeze caught her hair. It looked like a beautifully framed shot from a romance movie. A second later, a massive, sweaty dockworker shoved his way into the frame, glaring at her. “You’re wearing that fancy crap to squeeze into a shipping container? It smells like rotting fish and piss in there. A fragile little thing like you won’t last a day.” Daphne raised her chin even higher. Her voice was crystal clear. “For the sake of my soul’s freedom, physical hardship means nothing.” The worker rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath. “Sneaking out on a freighter for freedom. Chick’s got rocks in her head.” He was right. By choosing this dark, illegal route, she was condemning herself to live like a rat in the shadows. But she clearly had no concept of the brutal reality awaiting her. Just before boarding, she played her final dramatic card. “Take this black card back to Victor for me. Make sure you tell him that a free spirit can never be bought with money…” Before she could finish her monologue, I snatched the sleek metal card right out of her fingers. “The ship is leaving. Text me if you have anything else to say.” Daphne’s hand froze mid air. She stared at her empty fingers, then up at me. Her expression cracked, looking genuinely bewildered for a split second. She definitely didn’t expect me to take the card so easily. In the past, terrified she would starve, I would have begged her to keep it. She forced a stiff smile. “I guess… I really am leaving now.” She kept looking back over her shoulder as she walked up the ramp. I ignored her theatrical lingering. I turned on my heel and walked away fast, terrified she might actually change her mind and chase after me. The next day, Victor returned from his trip. I prepared his customized nutritional dinner, just like always. Casually, I mentioned that Daphne had packed up and left. Victor sliced his steak. His expression didn’t even flicker. In my previous life, once he knew about the pregnancy, he instantly dragged her to meet his parents and gave her his name. This time, hearing she had abandoned him, he didn’t lift a finger to chase her. That was Victor Sinclair. If you were his woman, he would drown you in wealth and luxury. But the moment you decided to walk away, he wouldn’t even blink. As his private nutritionist for the past five years, I knew exactly how he operated. Daphne was just too blind to see it. 3 The intimate items Daphne left behind were found by the housekeeper within two days. They went straight into the trash. The limited edition silk slip was the only exception. The housekeeper was too afraid to toss something so expensive and brought it to Victor for instructions. Victor was reviewing a stack of contracts. He didn’t even look up. “If it’s garbage, throw it out.” There was zero lingering affection. Zero heartache. Daphne’s pathetic little mind games were tossed out with yesterday’s trash. A few days later, a new face appeared at the estate. Her name was Stella. She was vibrant, radiant, and the exact opposite of Daphne. She loved to talk. Wherever Victor went, she followed, chattering away with a bright smile. And Victor, a man notoriously obsessed with absolute silence, never once looked annoyed. He never had this much patience with Daphne in my last life. I couldn’t help but root for them. That was when Daphne made her first overseas call. “Riley, how is Victor holding up? Is he going crazy looking for me?” “You have to swear you won’t tell him where I am. Promise me.” I glanced toward the living room, where Victor was chuckling at something Stella said. I decided to be honest. “You don’t need to worry. He’s busy entertaining a new woman. He doesn’t have time to look for you.” Dead silence on the other end. Then, a soft, dismissive scoff. “Heh. I’ve only been gone a week, and he’s already desperately searching for a replacement?” Before I could speak, she kept going. “Does she look like me? Is it the eyes? Or the way she smiles?” “Victor is just trying to distract himself. Give it three days. He’ll be sick of her.” I didn’t have the energy to argue. “Yeah, sure. Whatever you say.” Satisfied, she hung up. But three days passed, and then another three. Stella was still practically living at the mansion. Even the heavy curtains in the master suite were swapped out for a bright, sunny fabric she preferred. Every last trace of Daphne was being systematically scrubbed clean, replaced by vibrant colors. When Daphne called again, I was preparing afternoon tea for Victor and Stella. Stella’s infectious laughter echoed clearly through the phone’s receiver. Daphne paused. Her voice carried a faint, barely disguised edge of panic. “That replacement is still there?” My stomach tightened. Was Daphne going to change her mind and come back to fight for her spot? “Victor is so childish. Does he really think parading another woman around will force me back?” “I am a wild hawk. I belong to the sky. I won’t clip my own wings just to orbit a man like those pathetic girls.” Exhale. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. For a second there, I thought she had actually grown a brain. Luckily, she was still choking on her own ego. I relaxed completely. I had zero intention of telling her that Stella wasn’t a replacement at all. She was Victor’s first love. I had only just found out myself. Victor and Stella had dated in college but were forced apart because their family backgrounds didn’t match at the time. Stella was sent abroad to study by the Sinclair family. They had been separated for seven years. In the previous life, by the time Stella returned, Victor was already married to Daphne. Because of his sense of duty, he kept his distance. Stella, having fierce boundaries of her own, never crossed the line. There wasn’t a hint of infidelity. But this time, there was no Daphne in the way. I knew it was only a matter of time before they rekindled the flame. Blissfully unaware, Daphne remained convinced that Victor couldn’t breathe without her. Her tone shifted back to that annoying, airy arrogance. “Tell that poor girl not to get her hopes up.” “I don’t mean any harm. As a fellow woman, I just pity her. What’s the point of being someone’s shadow? She should leave before she gets her heart broken.” 4 I reached out to Brooke, an old friend who ran a restaurant in Europe, and asked her to keep tabs on Daphne. Daphne was an undocumented immigrant with no working papers. With her complete lack of skills, the only job she could possibly land was scrubbing dishes in an underground kitchen. The expat community is small. As long as Daphne walked into a restaurant in that district, word would reach me. Until Victor and Stella were officially locked in, I needed to make sure Daphne stayed far, far away. For the next few days, Daphne didn’t call. Instead, she was busy curating her social media feed, posting aesthetic collages of her new European life. She always idolized everything foreign, convinced the air overseas was somehow purer. Mutual friends flooded the comments with envy. [Wow! Did you move abroad for work?] [Just starting a new chapter, nothing major.] [What kind of work?] [Oh, just diving into the culinary industry.] [That’s amazing! You must be managing a high end bistro! I have to visit you!] [Stop, it’s just a little passion project.] She deflected the questions flawlessly, keeping up her humble, artsy persona. But reading those replies now, the suffocating stench of her vanity was overwhelming. Not long after, Brooke called with an update. She sounded entirely baffled. “Riley, did you really grow up in the same foster home as this girl?” “She is completely useless. She shatters plates, leaves grease on the pans, and complains about the water ruining her hands. She’s been fired from three different places in under a month.” “No one in the district wants to hire her anymore.” Exactly as expected. We did grow up in the foster system together, but she always acted like a deposed princess. She refused to lift a finger, playing the delicate flower while I fought our battles and handled the dirty work. Her entire life had been shielded from consequence. She was basically a spoiled aristocrat without the trust fund. That was why I fought so hard to stop her in our last life. I knew she couldn’t handle the grind. Without Victor’s money and my constant care, she would drown. And here she was, sinking fast. Brooke had a soft heart. She couldn’t stomach the thought of a pregnant woman sleeping on the streets, so she offered Daphne a lifeline. “I took her in as a waitress. She’s over six months pregnant. If I don’t give her a shot, she won’t survive the winter here.” Waitressing was miles better than slaving away in a dish pit, and she could actually earn tips. I didn’t object, but I gave Brooke a strict warning. “Do not tell her we know each other.” Dying and coming back to life had opened my eyes. Daphne was a parasite who only drained the people closest to her. If she knew Brooke was my friend, she would milk her dry. Meanwhile, back at the estate, Victor and Stella’s romance was brewing. But it was agonizingly slow. It had been over a month, and they were still in the hand holding phase. Neither wanted to cross the line first. If they weren’t in a rush, I was! So, on a perfectly quiet evening, I orchestrated a breathtakingly romantic candlelight dinner on the terrace. Maybe it was the expensive vintage wine. Maybe the moonlight was just right. That night, Stella pulled Victor into the master bedroom by his tie, and the door didn’t open until late the next morning. The ship had finally sailed!

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