Category: English

The day my ice-cold fiancée Victoria Hastings ruined her own reputation, I was lounging in the backyard of my Hudson River estate, smoking a perfectly marbled brisket. The savory scent of cracked black pepper and hickory wood had just filled the courtyard when my phone went absolutely nuclear. The vibration was so violent it rattled the table and shattered my eight-thousand-dollar Baccarat crystal tumbler. My boy Jaxon sent fifty voice notes in a row. His throat sounded completely blown out. “Alex!!! Check the trending page!!!” “Massive drama!!! Your girl Victoria!!!” “Live broadcast!! Turn on that dating show right now!! She’s doing you dirty on national TV!!!” A spark from the burning charcoal snapped, nearly singeing my eyebrow. I let out a dark chuckle. Victoria? Humiliating me? That was more absurd than pigs growing wings and winning the Kentucky Derby. Who was Victoria Hastings? Manhattan’s ultimate socialite. The billionaire ice-queen CEO. The internet’s undisputed dream wife who never gave men the time of day. She couldn’t possibly face a scandal. Her entire pristine image was built on an impenetrable mountain of cold, hard cash. Carrying a heavy, murderous aura of who the hell dares to mess with my girl, I tapped into the live stream. The screen instantly loaded. It was a heavily hyped, supposedly unscripted extreme survival dating show. Right at that moment, Victoria was blushing deeply, participating in a game of Truth or Dare. Her dare: Call the man who makes your heart beat the fastest and ask to borrow a hundred million dollars. 1 Live viewer count: thirty-seven million. The comment section was scrolling so fast it looked like a locust swarm, completely obscuring the faces on the screen. I pinched the screen to zoom in. Victoria sat by a crackling bonfire, wearing a cream-colored knit sweater. Her hair was tied up loosely, exposing the elegant curve of her neck. The warm firelight danced across her face, melting away half of her signature icy facade. Next to her sat a man. Early twenties, sharp jawline, piercing eyes, and a charming little mole near the corner of his mouth when he smiled. He wore a custom casual suit, sleeves rolled up twice to show off a limited-edition luxury watch. Nate Alexander. A top-tier pop idol who debuted from a hit reality show. Half the women in America went to sleep dreaming of putting a ring on his finger. He was tilting his head, smiling at Victoria. I knew that exact smile. It was the grin of a predator who had fully cornered his prey and knew she couldn’t escape. The host, Ryan, held up his microphone, dragging out his words to maximize the tension. “Tori, you know the rules. Truth or dare, and you picked dare.” “Now, please call the man who makes your heart race the most, and ask him for a hundred million dollars.” “Remember, it has to be the one who makes your heart race.” The live chat instantly exploded. “The one who makes her heart race! Doesn’t that mean her fiancé?” “Who even is Alex? Has the internet investigated him yet?” “Nothing to find. Rumor has it he’s just an absolute nobody, a corporate arrangement set up by the Hastings family.” “There’s no way she actually calls her fiancé, right? In front of the whole country?” Victoria looked down, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. She bit her lower lip, released it, and bit it again. Her gaze drifted toward Nate. Just for a second. Then she pulled it back. Nate chuckled softly. He reached out and gently tucked a stray hair behind her ear. Victoria’s shoulders shrank back the slightest bit, but she didn’t pull away. Thirty-seven million people watched that exact motion. Ryan instantly threw gasoline on the fire. “Tori, could it be that your ultimate crush is sitting right here with us?” Victoria took a deep breath and picked up her phone. The screen lit up. She scrolled to a single contact name. Alex. Just my name. No emojis, no profile picture, no special tags. I stared at the screen. The heavy scent of hickory smoke still lingered in my throat. Sizzling fat dripped onto the hot coals, and a bead of boiling grease popped, searing the back of my hand. I didn’t flinch. She pressed call. The phone in my pocket began to vibrate. 2 It rang exactly three times. I picked up. “Yeah.” My voice was blasted through the studio’s loudspeakers, echoing out to thirty-seven million listeners. Victoria pulled the phone slightly away from her face and put it on speaker. Ryan leaned in, his face glowing with pure gossip. “The mysterious fiancé! Ladies and gentlemen, this is the very first time the internet gets to hear his voice!” The chat went feral. “Okay but his voice is deep as hell.” “Who cares? A nice voice doesn’t pay the bills.” “The ultimate placeholder husband has logged on lmaooo.” Victoria cleared her throat. Her tone went completely flat, like she was reading the terms and conditions of a legal contract. “Alex. I’m filming a show right now. There’s a game segment where I need to borrow a hundred million. Can you figure something out?” Figure something out. Four words. Not do you have it. It was can you figure something out. Every single person watching caught the underlying message. He doesn’t have a hundred million dollars, but he needs to go scrape it together for her. Ryan laughed and pushed the knife deeper. “Tori, is this the man who makes your heart race?” A suffocating silence blanketed the set for one solid second. Victoria didn’t look at the camera. Her voice was ice-cold. “He is my fiancé. It was an arrangement made by the families.” She didn’t say yes. She didn’t say no. But everyone heard the real answer loud and clear. No. She quickly added, “A hundred million is definitely a bit out of his reach, but this is just a game anyway.” The comments flooded in like a broken dam. “Deadass crying right now. She has to call her crush for 100M, and she calls her broke fiancé who can’t even afford it.” “Did you see the way she looked at Nate? The chemistry is insane.” “Did she get this fiancé out of a cereal box?” “Girls, her heart is beating for the pop star, but she’s calling the hubby for cash. Iconic.” Nate sat beside her, smiling effortlessly. He picked up his wine glass and took a slow sip, completely relaxed. The dark red liquid caught the firelight, reflecting a fleeting flash of absolute triumph in his eyes. I stared at the screen of my phone. Thirty-seven million people were waiting for me to break. “Alright,” I said. “A hundred million, right? You got it.” I didn’t raise my voice. It was dead calm. The entire studio froze. Victoria froze. Ryan’s mouth hung open, his exaggerated expression completely glitching out. The chat took a full two seconds to process what just happened. “??? You got it? Just like that?” “The absolute flex. Man is dropping 100M like it’s pocket change.” “Capping so hard right now.” “Wake up buddy, it’s a hundred million, not a hundred bucks.” I ignored the internet’s meltdown. “Victoria Hastings,” I used her full name, pronouncing every single syllable with surgical precision. “When this broadcast is over, we need to talk.” Then I hung up. Call duration: forty-seven seconds. Victoria remained frozen, her phone screen already black, still holding it up to her ear. Nate let out a mocking snort. He tilted his head, swirling his wine. “Your fiancé is quite the character. Talks a really big game.” Ryan scrambled to save the segment. “Talk about tension! Well, viewers, whether or not that hundred million actually hits the bank account, we’ll just have to wait and see!” The comments detonated again. “I bet my life savings this Alex guy can’t even wire a thousand bucks.” “The most pathetic fiancé on the internet, confirmed.” “Tori needs to drop him and get with Nate right now!” I locked my phone and tossed it aside. The prime cut of meat on the grill had completely charred, sending up thick plumes of black smoke that stung my eyes. I picked up my secondary phone and pulled up a number with no name attached. Just a string of digits. Three years. I had lived in this city for three years and never dialed this number once. Today was the first time. I hit the button. It rang exactly once before it connected. “Young Master.” The voice was old, profoundly respectful, and trembling with a hint of shock. “Arthur,” I grabbed the blackened meat with tongs and dumped it into the trash, brushing the ash off my hands. “The Hastings Group. Every single line of funding connected to the Pierce family. Cut it.” “Credit lines, loan guarantees, venture investments, acquisition funds. Leave absolutely nothing.” “Right now. Immediately.” The other end of the line went dead silent for two seconds. “Young Master, if we execute that order, the Hastings Group will suffer a total cash flow collapse within forty-eight hours. Seventy-three percent of their liquid capital runs straight through the Pierce Capital pipelines.” “I know.” “Your grandfather and old Mr. Hastings were close friends for thirty years…” “Arthur,” I cut him off. “She stood in front of thirty-seven million people and called me a corporate arrangement.” The line fell silent again. Three seconds later, Arthur’s voice dropped, sharp and decisive like a blade sliding out of its sheath. “Understood. It will be fully executed within twenty minutes.” I hung up, walking over to the edge of the patio and gripping the iron railing. The biting wind sweeping off the Hudson blew away the last traces of hickory smoke. Across the water, the Manhattan skyline glowed brilliantly, twisting into the dark clouds like a serpent scaled in diamonds. Beneath that ocean of lights stood seven massive skyscrapers, twelve commercial hubs, and three entire financial blocks. Every single one of them had the name Pierce attached to the deed. Victoria truly believed her family was worth ten billion dollars. What she didn’t know was that out of that ten billion, seven point three billion was entirely propped up by Pierce money. She actually thought this marriage was just an “arrangement made by the families.” She was right about the arrangement. But it wasn’t the Hastings family calling the shots. It was my grandfather taking pity on her grandfather, throwing the Hastings family a lifeline to save them from ruin. There was only one condition attached to that lifeline: The Hastings’ granddaughter had to marry the Pierce’s grandson. Three years. I had stayed quietly in this waterfront estate. I didn’t get involved in the Pierce empire’s business, I never threw my family’s name around, and I never swiped the black card sitting in my drawer that had no spending limit. I did it all just to wait for Victoria to figure out her own feelings and come to me willingly. Well, she figured it out alright. She figured out she wanted to go on a dating show, blush at a boyband pretty boy, and tell the entire country I was nothing but a forced obligation. Fine. Then don’t blame me for tearing down the facade. 3 At 1:17 AM, Marcus, the Chief Financial Officer of the Hastings Group, was jolted awake by his phone. He glanced at the screen. It was an automated red-alert from the company’s internal risk management system. He answered, and a robotic AI voice began to list the casualties: “Critical Alert: Master account anomaly. Pierce Capital guarantee limit reduced to zero. Repeating: Pierce Capital guarantee limit reduced to zero. Associated credit contracts have triggered mandatory liquidation clauses. Immediate action required.” Marcus’s exhaustion vanished instantly. He threw off the blankets, flipped open his laptop, and hammered his password into the system. On the screen, lines of financial data were rapidly turning blood-red. Pierce Capital has withdrawn all joint letters of guarantee. Pierce Capital has terminated investment agreements (Codes PC-2024-0731 through PC-2025-0214, total of forty-seven contracts). Pierce Capital has frozen all Hastings Group corporate accounts operating through Pierce National Bank. Marcus’s fingers started to violently shake. He grabbed his phone and dialed a number. “Mr. Hastings! Sir! We have a catastrophic situation!” Richard Hastings’s voice groaned through the speaker, groggy and deeply irritated at being woken up. “It’s the middle of the night, Marcus. What the hell is it?” “Pierce Capital… they pulled everything! All guarantees, all credit lines, all investment capital. It’s completely severed!” The line went dead silent for five agonizing seconds. When Richard finally spoke, his voice sounded like someone was strangling him. “Say that to me one more time.” “Pierce Capital pulled out. Our master accounts are frozen. If we don’t secure alternative funding within forty-eight hours, our corporate cash flow snaps. Every single construction project halts. Mr. Hastings, we are dead in the water.” Richard hung up the phone. He sat on the edge of his mattress, clicking on the bedside lamp. The color drained from his face piece by piece until he looked like a corpse. Next to him, his wife Eleanor woke up, rubbing her eyes. “Who’s calling you at this hour…?” Richard didn’t answer. He frantically scrolled through his contacts, found the executive liaison for Pierce Capital, and hit dial. The number you have dialed is powered off. He called the Pierce Capital headquarters front desk. “We apologize, but Pierce Capital’s corporate relationship with Hastings Group has been officially terminated. For all future inquiries, please contact our legal department.” He made seventeen phone calls. Every single one gave him the exact same answer. Richard’s phone slipped out of his sweaty palm and slammed against the marble floor, a jagged crack splitting the screen. He stared blankly at the ceiling, his pupils dilating in pure terror. Pierce Capital. Pierce. Alex… Pierce. No. Impossible. That kid who spent his days lounging in a riverfront house, playing with his dogs and smoking meat on the grill? How could he possibly be tied to the apex predators of Pierce Capital? He was just a distant, broke relative of the Pierce family. Old Mr. Pierce had forced this marriage out of a misguided sense of charity. That was what Richard had always believed. For three whole years, that was the absolute truth in his mind. 4 I woke up the next morning feeling completely refreshed. My phone had over four hundred unread messages. Three hundred of them were just from Jaxon. I casually scrolled through the trending page. #VictoriaHastingsDatingShowDrama – 1.2 billion views. #WhoIsVictoriaFiance – 800 million views. #DidAlexSendThe100Million – 500 million views. I clicked into the threads. The comment sections were a unified wall of mockery. “It’s been twelve hours. Where’s the hundred mil? Did the bank pigeon get lost?” “Tori needs to cancel this engagement immediately. Why keep a broke loser who lies to save face?” “Nate and Tori are the endgame. This Alex guy is just a speedbump.” “Lmaooo the ultimate placeholder gets publicly cucked and says ‘you got it’. Got what? Got ghosted?” I put the phone down, brushed my teeth, boiled some water, and brewed a cup of black tea. Jaxon called. “Bro, are you okay?! The entire internet is dragging you through the mud! Did you look at Twitter?!” “I saw.” “Why aren’t you losing your mind?! Your girl is basically flirting with another dude on live television, and you hit them with a ‘you got it’?! Got what?! Do you even have a hundred million dollars?!” “I do.” “…How much do you actually have?” “A little more than a hundred million.” Jaxon went totally silent for ten seconds. “Alex, the heartbreak didn’t actually fry your brain, did it?” I didn’t answer, because another call was actively beeping through. Caller ID: Nate Alexander. I narrowed my eyes. I had never saved his number. How did he get mine? The answer was painfully obvious. Victoria gave it to him. I picked up. “Alex, right?” The voice on the other end carried a lazy, arrogant smirk. He spoke with the casual disrespect of someone looking down from a throne. “Did you catch the broadcast last night?” “I did.” “Then you should know that Tori is having a really great time on this show.” He intentionally called her Tori. Not Victoria. Not your fiancée. Tori. Like it was a pet name he had used a thousand times in private. “Did you really track down my number just to tell me that?” “No, I called because I wanted to give you a piece of advice.” Nate lowered his voice, acting like he was doing me a favor. “Bro, cancel the engagement. You’re out of her league. Don’t stress over the hundred million thing, I’ll cover it for her.” My fingers tightened around my teacup. The fine porcelain let out a faint, microscopic creak. “You’ll cover it?” “Yeah. It’s a hundred million. Pocket change. If you’re worried about looking bad on the internet, I can have my manager spin the narrative and say the money actually came from you. How about that? I’m giving you a way out.” The dark tea rippled in the cup, tiny waves crashing against the rim. “Nate,” I slowly placed the cup down on the marble counter. “Do you have any idea how Victoria’s ten-billion-dollar net worth actually exists?” The other end laughed. “Obviously. The Hastings Group. A top-ten corporation in New York.” “Then do you know where the Hastings Group gets its money?” Nate paused. For the very first time, a microscopic sliver of uncertainty bled into his voice. “What are you talking about?” “Nothing. I got your advice.” I hung up the phone. Finished my tea in one gulp. And opened my closet. Pushed all the way to the back was a custom-tailored, pitch-black suit. I hadn’t worn it in three years. On the inside of the collar, embedded into a dark metal button, was a flawlessly engraved letter: P. Today was the day I put it back on.

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They say my husband loves me. They also say he sent me my fiancé’s severed legs in a Tiffany box on my eighteenth birthday — with a note that read: “Be mine.” To get me to marry him, Damien Moretti chopped off my fiancé’s legs. Wrapped them in red ribbon. Called it a present. So I returned the favor. Had him grabbed. Cut the tendon clean out of one leg. Carved out one of his eyes for good measure. He didn’t scream. Didn’t curse me out. He laughed. “See, baby? Told you. You and me — we’re the same animal. Born for each other.” And the worst part? I laughed too. Because that twisted son of a bitch was right. Eight years. Eight years of bullets, bodies, and bad decisions dressed up as love. Then she showed up. Some pretty little thing.Eyes too big and too innocent to be real. The kind of girl men write poems about and women. Sienna Russo. She walked up to my door. In a white dress. Like she belonged. “Damien told me himself,” she said, chin up, lips pouted. “You’re filthy, Aria. He’s done slumming. Girls like me are what he keeps now.” I let her finish. Even gave her a little nod. Sure, sweetheart. Whatever helps you sleep. Then I pulled the blade off my thigh and opened her face like an envelope. “Pretty little angel, huh?” I purred while she screamed. “Let’s see how the boys like you with the wings ripped off.” Her shrieking was the best music I’d heard all week. I snapped a picture. Sent it to Damien. Trash on my doorstep. Yours, I think. Ten minutes. That’s how long it takes him to come tearing through my door, gun bulging under his jacket. “What the fuck did you do, Aria?” I exhale smoke right at his face. “Took out the trash. A ‘thank you’ would be nice.” His jaw locks. That dead eye of his flickers — red, wrong, like something crawled into the socket and stayed there. “You don’t touch what’s mine. You know better than that.” I tilt my head. Tap my ear. Frown. “Sorry — couldn’t catch that over all the yipping. Come again?” “Aria—” Sienna throws herself against his chest, sobbing into the silk. “Damien — kill her! Kill her for me! Look what she did to my face! She did it ’cause she’s jealous — ’cause you love me!” He shoves her off. Sees the meat where her cheek used to be. His good eye goes black. The gun snaps up. Cold against my forehead. Safety clicks off. “Aria Lombardi.” Voice colder than the steel. “You went too far.” “She’s a kid. She’s not like us.” I smile. Push the barrel aside with one lazy finger. Blow smoke between his lips. “Oh? So what now, Don? Gonna pull the trigger? Even the score for your little pet?” Closer. My mouth ghosts his jaw. “Or maybe…” I drag it out, sweet as poison. “You wanna cut up my face too? Make us match? Couples therapy?” “You know I’m not that stupid bitch. You know what comes after.” The knife is already kissing his liver. He hisses. His men flood the room. Six guns trained on me. He just looks at me. Long. Quiet. Then he laughs. Soft. Almost fond. He waves one hand. “Out. All of you. I didn’t fucking call you. Out.” The room clears. “Aria. You’re really something else.” “Right back at you, Don. You taught me well.” To make me ugly, just like him, he sent me my fiancé’s legs in a box tied with red ribbon. To drag me to the altar, he wrapped his hand around mine and shoved a blade straight through my fiancé’s heart. He whispered in my ear, blood drying on his cheek, love burning in his one good eye: “Once you’re dirty as me, no man on earth will want you. Just me. Always just me.” He pulled me out of the light and buried me in the dirt with him. The white gardenia is red now. Soaked through. You don’t wash that out. And now he likes them clean? Cute. “What’s the matter, Don? Don’t like your gift?” I drag the tip of my knife slow across his shirt. “Right — silly me. You like to take legs off. I went easy on her. Real soft touch. I’ll do better next time. Promise.” Sienna shrieks into his sleeve, yanking on him, begging him to make me pay. He stares at me. A long, long time. Then he turns. Picks her up. Carries her out. At the door, he doesn’t look back. “Remember this, Aria. We’re not done.” The fallout comes faster than I thought.

That night, Damien drags every doctor on the Family payroll out of bed. One scar on her face, and I bury every last one of you. Word reaches me while I’m out by the tank, feeding my sharks. “Easy, baby. You’ve been hungry, haven’t you?” I tap the glass. “Mama’s got you.” Matteo stands behind me, jaw clenched, draping a coat over my shoulders. “He’s out of line this time, Donna. Eight years — and he’s never once turned on you for a woman.” “That chair he sits in? You handed it to him. The Family is his because you let it be.” I just shake my head. Smile a little. “He’s a toy, Matteo. Let him throw his fit. When he’s done, I’ll be the one zipping the bag.” I press a finger to Matteo’s lips. Soft warning. “And watch the word ‘Family.’ On paper, we’re a holding company now. Don’t slip.” I turn back to the tank — to the row of pretty little fish Damien spent years raising. His pride and joy. “Drop them in. Useless things don’t get to live in my house.” A hundred shiny little bodies. Thrashing. Darting. Nowhere to hide. The sharks don’t miss. I watch it all turn red, one fish at a time, and I laugh out loud. Hasn’t been that fun in months. I snap a photo. Send it. Fun, huh? Wasn’t enough though. Stock the tank better next time, Don. He doesn’t text back. He calls. Video. I pick up — and there she is. Sienna. Smug little smile under the bandages. “Aw. Sorry it’s not him, babe?” “News flash — he didn’t dump me. He swore he’d make you pay. Pulled every doctor your family’s got out of bed for me.” “Heard you can’t sleep without a needle these days. Sweet dreams tonight?” She leans in. Lets the robe slip. Bite marks all down her collarbone. “You’re filthy, Aria. You make me sick.” “Me? My hands are clean.” I smile. “Clean? Pity. Clean girls don’t last long in the Moretti house, sweetheart.” Line dies. Matteo walks in. Folder under his arm. “Donna. The items. We found them. Black-market auction. Tomorrow night.” Finally. “Eight years.” I exhale. “Wire five hundred million. Tomorrow, I bring them home.” The auction floor. Old money. Old blood. Old enemies in tuxedos. And of course — them. Sienna’s hanging off Damien’s arm. Spots me. Lights up. “Ms. Lombardi! Small world. Something here catch your eye too?” She tilts her head, sweet as syrup. “Pity. Damien said everything tonight’s mine. Little ‘sorry’ gift.” Damien feels my eyes. Pats her hand like she’s a nervous puppy. “That’s right. I said it.” “You crossed a line last time. Call this even.” “Don’t be difficult, Aria.” Cute. Last spring, I put forty of his enemies in the ground for him. He kissed the blood off my hands and called me his good girl. Now Sienna pouts, and suddenly I’m the difficult one. I look straight at him. Voice soft. “You didn’t see the pictures last night, Don?” “Guess not. Otherwise you wouldn’t be in such a good mood, would you?” His face freezes. Head snaps to her. She stammers. Just some stupid fish, baby — didn’t look important. So I deleted them for you— His breath goes sharp. “Who the hell told you you could touch my phone?” One tear. The words die in his throat. “Forget it. Auction first. We’ll talk at home.” The bidding starts. Damien doesn’t even glance at the catalog. Just lifts one finger. Don’s Privilege. The whole room sucks in air. My face goes to stone. Lot after lot. His. Then the last three roll out — and I’m on my feet. My mother’s pearls. The crucifix my father had blessed in Palermo. My grandfather’s painting — the only thing of his I have left. I grab the runner by the sleeve. “Those three. Mine. I don’t care what they cost.” The man goes white. Voice shaking. “Donna — please. You know the rule. Don’s Privilege. Don’t make me die for this. Please — go talk to Don Moretti yourself.” I walk to Damien’s private box. Push the door open. I don’t even get the words out. Sienna’s manicured finger is already on the screen, pointing at the three lots glowing under the spotlight. “Damien, baby. Those three? I love them. I want them.”

Damien stiffens. “You just said this stuff was tacky.” “Yeah, but now I want them. You’re not gonna give them to me? Me and the baby are gonna be upset. When he’s born, I’ll tell him his daddy’s a cheap bastard!” My breath stops. I look at her stomach. Still flat. So that’s why a woman dared to walk into my house. She’s carrying his. Damien’s face goes cold. “Aria. I already promised Sienna. If you like them, I’ll find you something else later.” “You know what these mean to me!” Eight years ago, my Family was bled dry by old enemies. Everything that mattered to me — vanished. I killed a hundred of their men. But the one at the top? He wouldn’t talk. He wanted me to suffer. In the end, it was Damien who did it. Tortured him for a whole month. Damien’s voice grinds, anger barely held in. “They’re dead people’s junk. Why do you care so much?” “I told you I’ll make it up to you. This one goes to Sienna. You owe her this.” Sienna steps forward. Smiles. “Right, Ms. Lombardi. Mom and Dad are dead. Keeping their stuff just makes it hurt more, doesn’t it?” “You think maybe they died like that because you racked up too much bad karma? I heard they got their arms and legs chopped off. Sewn up into dolls. First time I heard that, I almost passed out!” The words drive into my heart. Rip me open. I slam her face-down on the table. Pull the knife from my thigh. Press it to her wrist. “You talk too much.” “The pearls — or your hand. Pick one!” Damien is on his feet. Kicks the knife out of my grip. I draw my gun. Press it to her belly. “Aria! Let her go!” “Sienna’s only telling the truth. You’ve killed plenty of people — you can’t handle a little honesty?” “If your parents hadn’t made so many enemies, they wouldn’t have died that way! Look at yourself right now. I don’t even recognize you anymore!” The gun jerks in my hand. Almost goes off. I’m shaking. All of me. He knows exactly why my parents died. The men who came that night , they were coming for him. Not us. They grabbed three of us at once. My father. My mother. Damien. Then they made me choose. Save my parents — Damien dies. Save Damien — my parents die. At the end, Mom and Dad looked at me. Said they were too old. Said they couldn’t protect me anymore. Said the Family would have to be left in Damien’s hands. They weren’t murdered. They put the bullet in their own heads. So I wouldn’t have to choose. After they were gone, the enemies let Damien walk. But they took my parents’ bodies with them. By the time I tracked the bastards down, the place was empty. All that was left were two rotting dolls. Stitched together. Limb by limb. I dug their grave with my bare hands. Ten fingertips down to the bone. The whole time I dug, Damien knelt beside me. Hours. Didn’t move. He smashed his forehead into the headstone until it split open. Swore on his life he’d protect me. That same night, he carved my name into his chest with his knife. “Aria is my heart. From now on — where I am, you are.” “You’re my life.” I grind the cigarette out behind Sienna’s ear. Smile down at her. Wide. Wrong. Then I slowly let her go. “You’re right. They wouldn’t like what I’ve become.” Sienna throws herself sobbing into Damien’s arms. “She’s a psycho!” He just stares at me. I slide my hand into my pocket. He tenses. Instantly. Until he sees what I pull out — a man’s gold band. He breathes out. “Got a present for you, Don. Let me put it on for you myself. Okay?” He lets go of Sienna. Walks to me. Holds out his hand. Obedient. Like muscle memory. The blade flashes. His ring finger drops to the floor. I laugh. Out loud. Wild. “Damien, this is what you owe me!” “I’m taking it back. Piece. By. Piece!” I twirl the knife between my fingers and step toward Sienna.

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I lay on the delivery bed. The contractions were coming faster now, one after another. My husband, Adrian Lang, held my hand, his eyes soft with concern. “Hang in there, Serena. We’ll meet our baby soon.” I was trembling from the pain, but I still forced a smile. Then a nurse walked in with a syringe. I thought it was the epidural. But Adrian let go of my hand and stepped back. The needle pierced my skin. Then I heard his voice. “Get the dose right. Make sure she doesn’t deliver before Vanessa.” My eyes flew open. I stared at him in shock. He glanced at his watch. “Vanessa’s already six centimeters dilated. Buy us two more hours.” I wanted to scream. I wanted to fight back. But the drug was already in my system. The contractions suddenly weakened, as if something inside me had been forced still. … They moved me to a temporary room in the basement. Adrian’s sister, Chloe Lang, stood in the doorway, idly turning a scalpel in her hand. “Don’t blame Adrian, Serena.” “The baby Vanessa’s carrying is my brother’s only child.” She smiled. “It’s a boy and he’ll be the Lang family’s first grandson.” Her gaze dropped to my stomach. “So what if you go into labor first?” “You’re only carrying a girl.” I covered my belly with both hands. Another wave of pain broke through the medication, and my vision blurred. “Call a doctor. I’m about to give birth. Please…” Chloe laughed. She walked over and crouched in front of me, then tapped my cheek lightly with the scalpel. “Give birth?” “That drug will keep working for another three hours.” “Vanessa’s already in the delivery room.” “So stay here and wait.” “After her baby is born safely, you can have yours.” She rose to her feet and looked at the bodyguard outside. “Keep an eye on her.” “If she dares to scream, gag her.” The door slammed shut. The basement was lit by a single dim emergency light. I lay on the floor as blood slowly spread beneath me. Adrian had taken my phone the moment we arrived at the hospital. He said radiation wasn’t good for the baby. Now I understood. He was afraid I’d call someone. I curled up and tried to breathe through the pain. But all I could see was Adrian’s face. Cold. Calm. Like I meant nothing to him. Not his wife. Not the woman carrying his child. Three months ago, his older brother died in a car accident. He left behind his pregnant wife, Vanessa. At the funeral, old Mr. Lang held Vanessa’s hand, tears streaming down his face. “That child has to be born safe.” “The Lang family can’t lose its heir.” Back then, I even felt sorry for her. I stepped forward and said, “Dad, don’t worry. Adrian and I will raise our baby well too.” He looked at me and said nothing. Only now did I understand. He had already given up on my child. “Ah—” Another contraction tore through me. This one was stronger. The drug was wearing off. The baby was coming. I crawled to the door and pounded on it with all the strength I had left. “Someone! Please! I’m about to give birth!” “Please save my baby!” No one answered. I kept screaming until my throat turned raw. At last, I heard the bodyguard’s impatient voice from outside. “What the hell are you yelling for?” “Miss Lang told you to wait, so wait.” “But my baby—” He cut me off with a sneer. “If it dies, it dies.” “That’s your bad luck.” Then he spat out one last cruel sentence. “That’s what you get for carrying a girl.” My whole body went cold. I collapsed onto the floor. This wasn’t fate. They were trying to kill my baby.

I had no idea how long I had been trapped in that basement. The bleeding only got worse. Everything beneath me was soaked with blood. Just as the edges of my vision began to blur, the door swung open. It was not Chloe. It was not the bodyguard. It was the Lang family’s doctor, Carter. The second he saw me, all the color drained from his face. “Serena? What are you doing down here?” “Adrian told me you were resting in one of the VIP rooms.” I tried to answer. Nothing came out. Tears spilled down my face as I lifted a trembling hand to my stomach. Carter rushed over and dropped to his knees beside me. The moment he examined me, his expression changed. “Oh God.” “The baby’s crowning.” “Your water already broke.” “I need to get you into surgery right now.” He reached down to lift me, but the second my body shifted, a hot gush poured between my legs. Blood. So much blood. Carter’s hands started shaking. He turned toward the doorway and shouted, “I need help in here!” “She’s bleeding heavily!” But the hallway outside was empty. This private hospital belonged to the Lang family. Tonight, the entire building had been cleared for Vanessa’s delivery. All the doctors and nurses were upstairs, gathered outside her delivery suite. Carter yanked out his phone and tried to call for help. But there was no signal in the basement. “I’m taking you upstairs,” he said through clenched teeth. “Stay with me.” Then he bent down, gathered me into his arms, and ran. Or tried to. The stairwell felt endless. Every step sent a brutal jolt through my body. The pain was so intense I thought I might black out at any second. I could feel the baby dropping lower and lower. But she still would not come. The drug was still in my system. My contractions were weak and uneven. That was the worst part. “Doctor…” I clutched at his coat, barely able to force the words out. “If it comes down to it… save my baby.” “Don’t say that.” “You’re both going to make it.” At last, he reached the first floor and rushed toward the operating room. But the moment we got there, both of us froze. The OR doors were wide open. Inside, there was nothing. The surgical lights were gone. The operating table was gone. The monitors, the oxygen equipment, every last piece of medical machinery… Gone. The room was completely empty except for the wall outlets. Carter stood there in stunned disbelief. A strangled sound died in his throat. “How is this possible?” “I checked everything myself this afternoon…” Footsteps echoed down the hall. Chloe approached with two nurses behind her. The moment she saw us, one brow lifted. “Carter? What are you doing down here?” “Vanessa is upstairs in the delivery room.” “Why come all the way down here?” Carter pointed at the empty operating room. His voice shook. “Where is the equipment?” “Who cleared out this room?” Chloe looked at him with wide, innocent eyes. “We moved everything upstairs.” “Vanessa’s having a C-section, so of course she gets priority.” “If anything happens during surgery, she’ll need all the equipment close at hand.” “We couldn’t risk leaving her in a standard OR.” As she said it, her gaze shifted to me. Then she smiled. “Oh. Serena, you’re in labor?” “I’m afraid you’ll have to wait.” “Vanessa comes first.” “So you’ll just have to hold on a little longer.” I stared at her beautiful, smiling face. Suddenly, I remembered something she had said to me six months ago. Back then, we were out shopping together. She had slipped her arm through mine and smiled up at me sweetly. “You’re so good to me, Serena.” “Better than any real sister.” That day alone, I spent over a hundred thousand dollars on designer bags for her. Looking back now, I was a fool.

Carter rushed into the nurses’ station like a man possessed. He tore through every cabinet, searching for emergency supplies. There was nothing. The shelves were empty. No clamps. No gauze. Not even basic medication. “Where are the drugs?” he shouted. “The meds to stop the bleeding. The ones to induce stronger contractions. Where are they?” A nurse lowered her head. “They were all taken to the third floor.” Carter froze. “What do you mean?” Her voice dropped even lower. “Mr. Lang ordered that everything be prioritized for Ms. Vanessa.” Carter slammed his fist against the cabinet. Then he turned to look at me. His eyes were red. His lips trembled. “I’m sorry, Serena.” “I’m so sorry.” “There’s nothing I can do.” Chloe walked over and lightly patted his shoulder. “Carter, don’t worry.” “Vanessa hasn’t delivered yet.” “Once she’s done, they’ll move the equipment back downstairs.” She glanced at my stomach and added in an almost careless tone, “Besides, even if the baby comes now, so what?” “It’s only a girl.” “If she dies, she dies.” “The Lang family won’t care about one little girl.” I stared at her. At the girl I had loved like my own little sister for three years. Then, with every ounce of strength I had left, I forced out two words. “You bastard.” Chloe’s expression darkened at once. She bent down and leaned close to my ear, her voice barely above a whisper. “Go ahead. Curse all you want.” “Once you give birth, you’ll be too weak to fight back. And when that happens, I’ll make sure you stay quiet.” “By then, Vanessa will take your place.” “As for you…” She straightened and smiled brightly. “If my brother is feeling merciful, maybe he’ll let you live. You can stay in the house. As a servant.” Carter could not hold back anymore. “Miss Lang, this is murder!” “Murder?” Chloe gave a cold little laugh. “Watch what you say, Carter.” “Women die in childbirth every day. That’s hardly unusual.” “Besides, this is a family matter. You’re an outsider. This is none of your business.” Then she motioned to the bodyguards. “Take Carter away. Leave Serena to me.” Two bodyguards stepped forward immediately. They grabbed Carter by the arms and dragged him toward the door. He struggled against them and shouted back at me, “Serena, listen to me! Try to keep the contractions going! Press your acupoints! Stay awake!” “Don’t give up! Your baby still has a chance!” His voice grew fainter and fainter. Then Chloe shut the door and turned back to me. She pulled a phone from her pocket and started a video call. “Adrian,” she said sweetly, “Serena’s about to give birth. Do you want to take a look?” A second later, Adrian’s face appeared on the screen. He was standing outside a delivery room. Doctors and nurses moved quickly behind him. “Chloe, stop messing around. Vanessa’s condition is unstable. The baby’s heart rate is dropping.” Chloe tilted the phone toward me. “Look at Serena,” she said lightly. “She’s bleeding a lot. Do you think she’s about to die?” Adrian looked at the screen. He frowned for a second. Then he looked away. “She can wait.” “Once Vanessa delivers, the doctors can go downstairs.” “Chloe, keep an eye on her. I can’t leave right now.” The call ended. Chloe put her phone away and shrugged. “You heard him.” “To Adrian, Vanessa comes first.” “As for you…” “You were nothing more than a womb.” “Now that you’re no longer useful, you get thrown away.” I closed my eyes. I refused to look at her again. Slowly, I slid one hand behind my back and felt along the inner lining of my dress. It was still there. A tiny device, no bigger than a button. My father had given it to me. I could still hear his voice from that day. “Serena, the Lang family is dangerous. If anything ever happens to you, press this.” Back then, I laughed and told him he was worrying too much. “Dad, I don’t need it. Adrian is good to me. So is everyone in the Lang family.” Now I understood how foolish I had been. I hooked a fingernail under the protective cover. Pried it open. Then pressed the button. There was no sound. No light. But I knew the signal had gone out. My father once told me that if I ever used it, someone would get to me within thirty minutes. But thirty minutes… could my baby make it that long?

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The night I left my marriage with nothing, I wandered the streets of New York alone. A small ad on the side of the road caught my eye: [Looking for a stepmom. Age and looks don’t matter. Must be patient with kid. Room and board included.]() Room and board included. That’s what got me. That same night, I dragged my suitcase to the address on the ad. I walked straight into the mansion of Natpphan Sterling — the richest man in New York. George, the butler, stiff and condescending. “Mr. Sterling is looking for a mother for his child. Not a wife for himself. I need you to be very clear on that.” “Mr. Sterling is an exceptional man. Don’t get any… ideas.” I kept my head slightly down, eyes forward. Honestly, this job was perfect for me. To put it simply, they just needed a high-end nanny. I had only gotten divorced that morning. Remarriage? Couldn’t be further from my mind. But taking care of a kid and having a roof was a lifeline for me. I nodded respectfully. “I understand. I won’t get any ideas. You have my word.” George gave a curt nod and led me to the dining room. At a massive long table, a young father and his son were locked in a silent battle. The man sat there holding a bowl and a spoon, his expression dark. The boy bit his lip and refused to budge. Neither of them was backing down. The man pinched the bridge of his nose and lowered his voice. “Just one bite, Luca. One tiny bite. Can you do that for me?” George stepped forward and spoke to Nathan. “Sir, another applicant is here. This one seems honest.” The man slowly turned around. He wore simple black dress pants and a white shirt, a little bit of mashed potato stuck to his shirt. That handsome face — I’d seen it on the cover of Forbes before. A minute ago, I was worried this whole thing might be a scam. Now I could relax. He had no reason to trick some broke woman like me. His deep-set eyes swept over me, cool and brief. “What’s your name?” I said. “Claire Bennett.” He gave a barely perceptible nod. “Give it a try.” Then he stood, walked over to the sofa, crossed his arms, and leaned back to watch me. So this was interview. Feeding a child was probably harder for him than closing a multi-billion dollar deal. I had to nail this. If I could stay, at least I wouldn’t be sleeping on the street tonight. I put on what I hoped was a warm, motherly smile and walked toward the boy.

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Twenty years ago, my dad was in a car accident. My mom, a top-tier lawyer, used her entire fortune and all her legal expertise to win the case for the culprit. All because the culprit was the man she loved but couldn’t have. Later, that man was acquitted and released, while my dad died. Twenty years later, I became the “Ironclad Lawyer,” a name that struck fear into the hearts of many in the legal community. A man knelt outside my firm, begging someone to take his wife’s hit-and-run case. The perpetrator brazenly boasted that no one in Evergreen City would dare touch his wife’s case because his mother was a legal titan. I flipped open the familiar, sickening family photo. With a cold sneer, I slammed the retainer agreement onto the table. “I’ll take this case.” In the emergency surgery ward’s hallway. A middle-aged man stepped forward. “Mr. Miller, thank you for agreeing to help us…” He was the husband of the injured delivery driver, whose leg was broken. I didn’t speak. I looked down, flipping through the perpetrator’s medical records and the synchronized police accident report in my hands. One hundred and forty miles per hour, in a city zone. A few steps away, the VIP room door was ajar. I turned my head slightly. On the hospital bed, the young perpetrator lay with his eyes closed. His face was pale. But the curve of his eye socket and brow bone. They were exactly like that person’s. Footsteps interrupted my thoughts. A woman in a high-end tailored suit walked out of the room. She was Ethan Campbell’s fiancée. She glanced at the unsigned settlement agreement in my hand. Her face hardened. “Two hundred thousand dollars.” “To hire you as my litigation lawyer. What do you say?” I pulled my gaze away from the hospital bed. I took out my old, rusted fountain pen from my pocket. My thumb twirled the cap around and around. “Ma’am.” I looked at her. “He’s facing charges for a hit-and-run.” The woman paused, then let out a cold laugh. She turned and gestured to the bodyguard behind her. A black briefcase was placed on the floor, its lid springing open. It was full of neatly stacked bundles of cash. The elevator at the end of the hallway chimed. The law firm’s director, Mr. Harrison, ran out, drenched in sweat. He didn’t even look at me, heading straight for the woman. He bowed profusely. “Ms. Davis, please calm down first. Alex isn’t thinking straight today.” He turned, grabbing my arm, and practically dragged me to the corner of the hallway. “Alex, are you trying to drag the firm down with you?” I didn’t move. He pointed at the VIP room, his hand trembling. “Do you know who’s lying in that bed?” He swallowed hard. “His mother is Eleanor Vance.” “A titan in the entire Evergreen City legal community.” “How many people in law enforcement and the judiciary have attended her lectures?” The director panted, continuing to pressure me. “The Campbell family naming you is giving you an out.” He patted the briefcase. “A poor person’s leg isn’t worth much, but the Campbell family’s reputation cannot be tarnished.” He stared into my eyes. “This is your livelihood; don’t jeopardize your career.” The woman approached. She didn’t even glance at the director, staring only at me. “Professor Vance has connections everywhere.” She lifted her chin, her voice dripping with contempt. “My fiancé merely had an unfortunate run-in with some nobody from the lower class.” She kicked aside the crumpled delivery bag nearby. “Are you really going to trade her broken leg for the Campbells’ humiliation?” “Tell me, who gave you the guts?” The hallway fell silent. The delivery driver’s husband sat paralyzed on the floor, not even daring to cry out. I slowly lifted my eyelids. My hands were in my pockets. “Director.” “Legal fees can buy services.” I walked back to the briefcase. “But they can’t buy my conscience.” The woman’s face completely fell. The director gasped. I raised my hand, pointing towards the VIP room. “No matter how powerful your connections, they can’t absolve him.” “No matter how much money, it can’t reattach that man’s leg.” “As for the Campbell family’s reputation.” I threw the report in my hand back onto the pile of cash. “What does that have to do with me?” I moved closer to the woman, staring into her eyes. “I’m going to make sure that driver goes to jail, for the sake of that delivery worker.” The muscles in the woman’s face twitched twice. She stared at me, grinding her teeth. “Fine.” “Alex Miller, I hope you truly understand who you’ve just offended.” *Bang.* She spun around and slammed the VIP room door shut. The director’s face was ashen. He pointed at me, unable to squeeze out a complete sentence for a long time. “You… you’re finished!” He stomped his foot. “You’ve offended the Campbells; you’ll never make it in Evergreen City!” The director scrambled into the elevator. Only I and the delivery driver’s husband were left in the hallway. I stood rooted to the spot. My hand in my pocket, gripping that old fountain pen. Offending the powerful. In their eyes, that was a dead end. But they didn’t know. I had been waiting for this opportunity for twenty long years. I pulled out my phone. “Grandma, it’s me. That thing… you can bring it now.”

I locked the retainer agreement in my drawer. The office door was pushed open. A faint scent of sandalwood drifted in first. Subtle, expensive, like the incense offered before Buddha in a temple. I looked up. A man in a sharp, dark suit stood at the doorway. His hair was meticulously combed, a string of prayer beads wrapped around his left wrist, and he held a document in his right hand. His steps were steady. As if nothing could rush him. He placed the document on my desk. I glanced at the official seal. Evergreen City Accident Victims’ Relief Fund. How ironic. “Mr. Miller.” His voice was incredibly calm. “Ms. Davis is young and impulsive; I apologize on her behalf.” He flicked his prayer beads. “I’m David Campbell, Ethan’s father.” I didn’t respond. He gestured to the document on the table. “This is a million-dollar special assistance fund from the foundation.” “Donated in your name to the injured delivery worker.” He paused, as if carefully choosing his words. “At the same time, the foundation would like to hire you as Chief Legal Counsel, with an annual salary of three million dollars.” He looked up at me. “The condition is that you withdraw from this case.” I leaned back in my chair. “Mr. Campbell, what are you trying to do…?” “Help you.” He interrupted, his tone so sincere it didn’t sound like a negotiation. “Life is tough for people in the lower class. If they fight this case to the bitter end, the long litigation period will only cut off their basic living expenses.” He sighed softly. “You get a respectable job, he gets life-saving money. It’s good for everyone.” “Mr. Miller, I’ve done twenty years of charity work, built dozens of schools.” “I understand the struggles of the underprivileged all too well.” As he said this, his eyes even had a hint of moisture. Filled with compassion for humanity. “Mr. Campbell.” I spoke. “Hit-and-run is a criminal offense.” I looked into his eyes. “Charity money can’t buy an acquittal from the court.” He scrutinized me. As if appraising a mistakenly priced item. “Mr. Miller.” His tone shifted; it was still soft, but there was something underlying it. “Everyone says you’re an Ironclad Lawyer.” He leaned forward. “Today, I’ve finally witnessed it myself.” I didn’t move. He continued to stare at me. “Why are you so set on going against my son? What do you gain?” “Not enough leverage? Or are you just trying to leverage the Campbell name for your own career?” He leaned closer, his voice even lower. “Let me be clear.” “You won’t earn much from taking on a messy case like this, and you’ll offend an entire network of people.” He pointed at me. “My wife’s former students are everywhere in law enforcement and the judiciary.” “Do you really think you, a single lawyer, can go against the entire legal community of Evergreen City?” “Mr. Campbell.” I stood up. “The fundamental principles of justice won’t be wiped away by your family’s dirty tricks.” I walked around the desk, to the door, and opened it. “Take your dirty money and get out.” The veneer of respectability on his face shattered. “People who clawed their way up from the bottom just don’t understand rules.” He stood up, his voice icy. “You’ll see.” I stood still, my shoulders trembling. Twenty years ago. My dad’s body was shattered in the middle of the road. And the killer’s husband had just been sitting in front of me. Wearing prayer beads, fidgeting with a million-dollar check, talking to me about charity, about the struggles of the poor. I lowered my head and let out a soft laugh. David Campbell couldn’t handle this. So next, it would be her turn. The legal titan who used “procedural justice” to acquit her husband, the killer. My mother, Eleanor Vance. The door was kicked open. The law firm director rushed in. “Notice of Investigation for Professional Misconduct.” “Alex Miller, you’ve been suspended indefinitely.” I glanced at the signatory. Just moments ago. How efficient. “Professor Vance spoke a single word, and the State Bar Association dared to rubber-stamp it.” “Do you think you’re representing a delivery driver’s case?” He took a breath. “You’re sending your entire professional career to the guillotine of the Campbell family!” The director was about to say more. The door opened. A scent of rich wood wafted in first.

I looked up. Eleanor Vance stood at the doorway. Dressed in a black skirt, with silver hair and wire-rimmed glasses. Her posture was ramrod straight, her steps measured and deliberate. Exactly like the legal titan on television. The director turned, looking as if his throat had been squeezed. He retreated to the corner, then backed out the door. The door closed. Only she and I were left in the office. Twenty years. I was finally sitting across from this woman. She pulled out a chair and sat down calmly. Without a hint of anger. Even with a smile. “Mr. Miller.” Her voice was deep, steady, like she was lecturing from a podium. “Evergreen City hasn’t seen a young man of such integrity as you in a long time.” She looked at me. “Speaking up for the underprivileged, excellent.” My hand in my pocket clenched around the old fountain pen. She took off her glasses, slowly polishing them with a soft cloth. “Ethan’s incident was an accident.” “Young people driving carelessly, everyone has done it.” “If you’re willing to drop this now, I’ll recommend you for the position of Deputy Secretary-General of the State Legal Society.” She looked at me, her tone so sincere, as if mentoring a protégé. “Young man, you need to look at the bigger picture.” I took out the old fountain pen from my pocket and twirled the cap with my thumb. “Professor Vance.” “Twenty years ago, the severe hit-and-run case on Eastwood Highway in Evergreen City.” “That battle made your name famous and placed you on the path to becoming a legal titan.” Eleanor Vance’s hand, polishing her glasses, stopped. “What exactly are you trying to say?” I stood up, hands braced on the desk, staring into her eyes. “I want to ask Professor Vance.” “Back then, you proclaimed procedural justice, upholding every letter of the law.” “But what about now?” I snatched up the ‘Notice of Investigation for Professional Misconduct.’ “No evidence collection, no defense, no hearing required!” “With just one word from you, the State Bar Association bypassed all proper procedures and blacklisted a practicing lawyer in ten minutes!” “Where is your so-called procedural justice now?!” The office instantly fell silent. “You use privilege to oppress victims, and dirty hands to interfere with justice.” “To protect your hit-and-run son, you’ve trampled on the very beliefs you championed your entire life!” “Eleanor Vance, is this your original intention as a lawyer?!” Eleanor Vance took a deep breath. The gentle, scholarly facade on her face shattered. Replaced by cold arrogance. “What a sharp-tongued young man.” “You want to talk to me about intentions? About procedure?” She stood up, meticulously adjusting her cuffs. “Twenty years ago, I still needed to rely on procedural justice to win the cases I needed to win.” “But twenty years later, in Evergreen City…” She abruptly leaned forward. “I am justice. I am the rule!” “Tomorrow, all city media will receive irrefutable evidence of your professional misconduct and extortion against the Campbell family.” She walked to the door, not even looking back. “Try to fight me, and you won’t even get through the courthouse doors.” The next morning. All major media outlets in Evergreen City simultaneously published reports. “Renowned lawyer Alex Miller accused of professional misconduct and extorting millions from the Campbell family; the State Bar Association has launched an investigation.” The accompanying image was a screenshot of me standing beside the briefcase. The law firm director’s call came in. My partnership status revoked. My lawyer’s license frozen. Judges and prosecutors I had worked with before all blocked me overnight. A text message from an unknown number popped up on my phone. [Young man, in Evergreen City, no one can change the rules I set.] Immediately after, the delivery driver’s husband called. Someone had told his wife that if she signed the settlement, the Campbell family would cover all remaining medical expenses. If not, she couldn’t even keep her current hospital bed. “Mr. Miller… should we sign it?” I gripped my phone. “Don’t sign. Wait for me.”

An edited recording was uploaded online. The footage of me telling the delivery driver’s husband, “I’ll take this case,” was transformed into ‘irrefutable evidence’ of a lawyer first demanding exorbitant fees, then inciting the client to reject a settlement. The last bit of public sympathy vanished. My name became synonymous with “crooked lawyer.” My personal information was dug up. My home address, the schools I attended. I turned off my phone. Sitting in my half-empty office. The door was pushed open. It was Grandma. She had come from the countryside. Her hands were covered in cracked skin, with decades of ingrained dirt in her fingernails that wouldn’t wash away. It was these hands. That had saved dollar by dollar for all my tuition, from elementary school to law school. “I know what you’re doing.” Grandma looked up. Tears streamed down her face. “But I’m scared.” “When your dad left, the road… it was all shattered…” “I… I didn’t even receive a single intact piece of his clothing…” Grandma covered her mouth. Her shoulders shook violently. “I’ve already lost a son.” “Alex, I can’t lose you too.” “Let it go…” I knelt down. And held her hands. “Grandma, this time is different.” I looked up. “Every debt owed will be paid, not a single one less.” “Did you bring that thing?” “I did, but I’m afraid…” “It’s okay, I’m here.” The next day. The Campbell family held a public press conference. The live stream started simultaneously, reaching over a million viewers within ten minutes. Eleanor Vance was the first to take the stage. Her prayer beads were replaced by a charity medal on her chest. Her tone was gentle, her eyes filled with perfectly placed tears. “I’ve done twenty years of charity work, built forty-three schools, and sponsored over two thousand underprivileged students.” “We are all heartbroken by the delivery driver’s injury.” “We immediately offered full medical compensation and lost wages.” “But that lawyer rejected all goodwill, determined to drag this family into court.” Her voice trembled. “I just want to ask one thing: who is truly harming that delivery driver?” The comments section exploded. [Ms. Campbell is right! That lawyer isn’t helping the delivery woman at all, just using a poor person to get famous!] [Could someone who’s done charity for twenty years be a bad person? It’s the suspended lawyer who’s full of dirty tricks!] Ethan Campbell was wheeled onto the stage. His arm was bandaged, his face pale. He kept his head down, his voice so soft it seemed fragile. “What happened that day… I know it was my fault.” “I’ve been blaming myself ever since, unable to sleep at night.” “I’m willing to take full responsibility and compensate for all damages.” “But that lawyer… he doesn’t want money, he doesn’t want a settlement; he wants to send me to jail.” He looked up. Tears fell. “I’m only twenty-four this year.” “I just made a mistake…” Eleanor Vance walked onto the stage, placing a sympathetic hand on Ethan’s wheelchair. She took the microphone and scanned the audience. “The law is not without compassion.” “Ethan is still a child; he has his whole life ahead of him.” “As a seasoned legal professional, and as a mother.” “I will never allow anyone with ulterior motives to use public opinion to ruin my son’s life!” *Bang!* The side door of the venue burst open. All cameras abruptly turned. I walked in, step by step, wearing my lawyer’s robe. “What a touching display of mother-son affection.” “But why didn’t you protect my father like that back then?” I looked at Eleanor Vance on stage, who was staring in shock, and spoke each word distinctly. “My dearest, Mother.”

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My daughter always loves to tell the “truth.” I asked her, “Is Mommy pretty?” She said, “Mom, I’m telling the truth—you’re the ugliest mom in the whole kindergarten.” When my mother-in-law pointed at my nose and called me wasteful for buying my daughter an expensive backpack, I asked her how she felt about it. She said, “Honestly? I’m actually pretty happy when you get yelled at, Mom.” My husband jokingly asked her if she’d take care of me when I got old. She said, “I’m not taking care of her. When she’s old, she should just die already.” My heart sank. But she just smiled with her eyes crinkling: “I’m just telling the truth!” Later, when officers came for a household registration check, they asked my daughter a few routine questions. Once again, she told the “truth.” But this time, she regretted it for the rest of her life. **01** During the household registration check, police officers came to our door. My seven-year-old daughter blinked her big eyes and asked: “Why do you need to register all this?” The officer ruffled my daughter’s hair: “It’s for government policy, and also to prevent human trafficking.” My daughter nodded, then suddenly her face lit up with realization: “Oh, I get it! You’re looking for traffickers! That’s my mom, isn’t it?” “She said it herself yesterday—she kidnapped me!” The officer’s smile instantly froze on his face. I stared at my daughter in shock, catching the cunning flash in her eyes as my mind went numb. My daughter had always enjoyed saying these “truths” to cause me pain and embarrassment. Yesterday I wouldn’t let her eat too many snacks, so she said I was an evil mother and that she didn’t want to be my daughter. I’d been angry at the time: “You’re right, you’re not my daughter. I kidnapped you!” She’d immediately said she didn’t believe it. But I never expected that today she’d take the very thing she claimed not to believe and present it as “the truth” to the police. The officer’s expression as he looked at me had already changed. I forced out a dry laugh: “She was misbehaving yesterday, so I said something I didn’t mean. I didn’t think she’d take it seriously.” The officer’s brow finally relaxed, and he told my daughter: “Sweetie, you can’t joke about things like this. If your mom gets mistaken for a trafficker, she could go to jail.” When I saw my daughter nod, my racing heart calmed down. I thought that would be the end of it. But the next second, my daughter’s face turned completely sincere: “But my mom can’t have children. If I wasn’t kidnapped, how else did I get here?” The officer’s gaze became scrutinizing and suspicious as he looked at me. I quickly explained: “After I had my daughter, I got an IUD. When she says I can’t have children, that’s probably what she means.” I tugged at my daughter’s hand, signaling her to stop talking. But she wouldn’t listen: “No, Mom couldn’t have kids even when she first got married, but I’m already this old.” I didn’t know how a seven-year-old girl could think of this angle. But when you examined her words closely, it was hard not to become suspicious. My husband and I had been married for six years, and I’d had an IUD for six years—so how could we have a seven-year-old daughter? The officer had obviously thought of this too, and his expression grew serious. “Let me see the child’s birth certificate.” My heart dropped. We didn’t have a birth certificate for my daughter. Six years ago, I’d desperately rescued her from a trafficker—she’d been a kidnapped child. When the police pulled up her biological parents’ file, they were too shocked to speak. My husband’s and my expressions went through several changes. Our only thought at the time was: “If we send this child back to her biological parents, living might be worse than death for her.” My husband and I couldn’t bear it, so we’d raised her until now. My daughter probably thought what I’d said was just something said in anger, but she didn’t know that angry words could also be the truth. We hadn’t told her because we were afraid she’d feel like she was living under someone else’s roof. But now, if I didn’t come clean, I might actually be taken away by the police. Just as I was about to speak, my daughter suddenly shouted: “Oh! I just remembered!” “Mom got pregnant before marriage! She got pregnant with me first, then got married! That’s what adults mean when they talk about being improper before marriage!” I froze in place. If what my daughter said were actually true, I’d probably want to crawl into a hole right now. But my silence at this moment was due to a chill in my heart. My daughter thought she’d hurt me, and the corners of her mouth curved up with excitement. “Mom, I’m just telling the truth to help clear things up. Don’t be mad at me, okay?” The officer’s complicated gaze withdrew from me as he continued registering information. In a corner no one was watching, my hands clenched tight, desperately suppressing the surge of emotions. This wasn’t the first time my daughter had done something like this… **02** When she was in kindergarten, she often praised other people’s mothers in front of me, saying how beautiful they were. I asked her, “Isn’t Mommy beautiful?” But my daughter stared right into my eyes and said, “Mom’s not beautiful at all!” “Mom is the ugliest mom in the whole kindergarten!” I froze instantly. Seeing my daughter’s eyes smiling and looking so happy, I couldn’t help but say: “When you talk like that, it really hurts Mommy’s feelings.” But unexpectedly, my daughter said very seriously: “But teacher says good children should always tell the truth!” I was speechless for a moment, feeling vaguely that something was off. Logically, children should have a natural filter when it comes to the people who raised them, including their appearance. But my daughter seemed different. Later, when my daughter started elementary school, I spent a hundred dollars on an Elsa princess backpack she liked. When my mother-in-law found out the price, she pointed at my nose and called me wasteful. But my daughter treated her grandmother’s scolding as background noise and spun around dancing in the living room. I couldn’t help but ask my daughter: “You heard Grandma yelling at me. Don’t you have any thoughts about that?” My daughter’s eyes rolled around, and finally she looked at me intently: “I do! I feel really happy!” Seeing the genuine smile on my daughter’s face, my expression instantly froze. My daughter stared at me for a long time, then said: “Mom, don’t be angry. I’m just telling the truth.” Last month, my daughter got sick and I took care of her around the clock for a whole month. My husband saw that I’d lost a lot of weight and asked my daughter tenderly, “Mom took care of you growing up. Will you take care of Mom when she’s old?” My daughter glanced at me, pouted and said: “No way! When Mom gets old, she should just die already!” My husband’s body stiffened, and the color drained completely from my face. What’s worse, when my daughter saw our reaction, she actually started dancing around happily. I didn’t say another word the whole way home. My daughter even asked me: “Mom, are you unhappy again because of my truth?” That night, I barely slept at all. My husband also tossed and turned, and suddenly said in the silence: “What she says… it’s probably just jokes, right?” Even he didn’t sound certain. Every time I was in pain because of my daughter’s words, a glint of secret pleasure would flash in her eyes. Then she’d use the same trick again, blocking any response from me with “I’m just telling the truth.” Thinking of this, I could barely control my emotions. I quickly opened the door, wanting to see the officer out. “Officer!” My daughter called out just in time to stop the officer who had one foot out the door. “If I find out Mom really is a trafficker, can I call the police?” The officer looked at my daughter with a complicated expression, then looked at me. Finally, he slipped a contact card into my daughter’s hand before leaving. **03** After the police left, my daughter tilted her head and studied me. When she saw that my expression hadn’t changed, disappointment flashed in her eyes. I couldn’t help but ask my daughter: “Why did you say those things to the officer just now?” My daughter put her hands on her hips and tilted her head back, looking completely matter-of-fact: “I’m a good kid who tells the truth!” “You should blame yourself, Mom! You’re the one who said I was kidnapped when you got angry!” Only then did I truly confirm that she’d told the police on purpose, intending to punish me for what I’d said yesterday in anger. I clenched my fists and asked her: “What if Mom really did take you from a trafficker, but because your real parents were bad people, I didn’t return you to them? Would you really call the officer and have Mom sent to jail?” My daughter nodded without hesitation. “Of course! Mom, I’m a good kid who tells the truth!” My heart instantly sank to rock bottom. I don’t know when my husband came back, but he’d been standing in the doorway for a while, his face frighteningly dark. But he still suppressed his emotions to comfort me: “Maybe… she’ll grow out of it.” My daughter cheered up again, completely ignoring our pain. I couldn’t help but think: if my husband and I worked hard our whole lives only to raise an ungrateful wolf, why not cut our losses now? But after raising her for so many years, I still wanted to give her one last chance. I looked at the business card on the table and deliberately said: “Lucy, you really were kidnapped by me. In the safe at home, there’s still your original file—it was taken from your biological parents’ household registration.” “If you keep using ‘telling the truth’ to hurt us, your dad and I are going to send you back to your biological parents.” After hearing my words, fear appropriate for her age finally appeared on my daughter’s young face. She asked my husband urgently: “Dad, is it true?” My husband suppressed his irritation: “Your mom’s just joking with you.” The panic on my daughter’s face gradually faded. She pouted at me: “I knew it wasn’t true! I wish I really did have other parents! I hate you, Mom!” My husband’s expression darkened further. But her attention was on me. I cooperatively showed a hurt expression, and only then did she break into a smile. In that moment, what was there left for me to understand? My daughter had always thought she was our biological child, so she hurt me again and again without fear of consequences. My heart turned completely cold. That night, just as I was drifting off to sleep, I suddenly heard the sound of someone turning the bedroom door handle. A small figure crept into my bedroom. After a minute, that figure left my room. From outside the room came a deliberately hushed child’s voice. “Hello, is this the police? I’m telling the truth—my mom really is a trafficker. The evidence is hidden in the safe. You need to come arrest her!” **04** The police arrived incredibly fast. I’d barely put on my jacket when the door was broken down from outside. My daughter ran crying into the officer’s arms, pointing at me with a frightened face: “My mom is a trafficker! Mom said I was kidnapped!” The officer didn’t notice, but I clearly saw the gleam in my daughter’s eyes. It was that look of smug satisfaction, knowing she could use “the truth” to get me again. The officer pressed his baton against my shoulder, his voice full of authority: “Please open the safe and let us take a look.” My husband was woken by the commotion and rushed out. When he heard “safe,” he instinctively panicked. “You can’t open it!” Seeing this, the officer signaled his colleagues to pick the lock. I saw the tools scattered on the floor and looked at my daughter. “Lucy, Dad already told you this afternoon it was just a joke. Why did you still call the police? Is that what telling the truth means?” But my daughter pressed her lips shut tight, not mentioning a word of what my husband had said. I looked at my daughter meaningfully. “You’ll regret it when they open the safe.” My daughter pursed her lips and let out a heavy huff. “Mom can never tell the difference between jokes and the truth. I’m punishing you, Mom.” “From now on, Mom will be like Lucy and only tell the truth.” The police broke through the first lock on the safe. The safe opened, revealing a sealed small box inside. I asked my daughter, “If it’s proven that you’re not my daughter, will you go back to your biological parents?” My daughter answered quickly: “Yes!” “Every time I tell the truth, Mom gets unhappy. I hate you, Mom!” Whatever small bit of compassion I still had for her completely vanished. The sealed box was a high-density container I’d purchased—very difficult to pry open. I watched the officer sweating profusely as he worked on it, then spoke up: “I can open it with the password, as long as Lucy signs a termination of adoption agreement with me.” My daughter didn’t understand what a termination of adoption agreement was, but she noticed that I really didn’t want the box opened, so she quickly nodded. She pressed her handprint on the agreement. I entered my daughter’s birthday and opened the small box. Three documents lay inside. The first was an adoption agreement. The second was a news report from when I’d rescued her from traffickers six years ago. The third was information about her biological parents. When the officer saw the first document, he said nothing. When he saw the second document, his expression was shocked. He read it over several times, and when he looked up, his eyes were full of admiration: “You risked your life to rescue a child from traffickers? That’s incredibly brave!” My daughter heard the officer praising me instead of criticizing me, and even giving me a thumbs up. She froze in place. The officer didn’t marvel for long. Due to his professional training, he quickly opened the third file. With just one glance, he froze. As if unable to believe it, he suddenly looked up at me. “This… this… are you sure? The child’s biological parents?” “You’re really going to send her back to them?” The other officers who hadn’t seen the file didn’t understand. They all went over to look. The next instant, they all simultaneously looked at my daughter with sympathy. Everyone was waiting for my answer. I just closed my eyes and nodded: “The termination agreement is signed. There’s no going back.” In this scenario, my daughter seemed to suddenly understand everything. Terror appeared on her face.

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While walking and live streaming to my followers, I smiled weakly at the camera and slowly collapsed. As my viewers frantically called for help in the chat, armed sentries appeared in everyone’s view. I let myself faint, falling against a soldier’s solid chest. In my previous life, my advisor Dr. Marcus Reed stole core experimental data and sold it overseas. But the security footage showed me as the last person to access the lab. Two minutes after I left, a fire erupted, triggering an explosion in the research building and destroying all evidence. I had been asleep in my dorm. No one could provide me with an alibi. Convicted of arson causing massive property damage, I was sentenced to life in prison. I eventually died in a prison fight. When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day of the fire. Since he could forge surveillance evidence against me, I would use ironclad proof to tear off his hypocritical mask. Without me as his scapegoat, how could he convince the university to accept responsibility for hundreds of millions in losses? **1.** I had been live streaming for half an hour of walking. Without any beauty filters, my face had become visibly pale. The chat comments had shifted from “This streamer is actually a PhD student, such advanced concepts!” and “Holy crap, the method she’s explaining could solve my current technical problem!” to “Streamer, do you researchers not exercise? You’re breathing really hard!” and “I recognize this road. Just a few more steps ahead, there’s a military base. Go there for help, you look like you’re about to pass out!” and “Oh my God, someone’s about to collapse right on my phone screen!” I looked up at the screen weakly. You could clearly see my forehead covered in cold sweat.”I really don’t feel well. Probably low blood sugar. I’m sorry.” Comments flooded the screen: “Stop talking! Someone please save her!” “Soldiers, help! This citizen is about to die!” Finally, I saw the base gates. I used my last bit of strength to hurry forward, stumbling as I crossed the yellow line. “Halt! State your purpose!” The sentry at the gate raised his weapon. Seeing someone with a selfie stick charging straight past the security line, he immediately went on alert. I kept my head down. The camera could capture my pale face and half-closed eyes, but the sentry couldn’t see. From his perspective, an unidentified person was ignoring his warning and rushing toward the military installation. One sentry raised his rifle while another called for backup, approaching me cautiously. Then I crashed heavily into him and collapsed limply to the ground. Squinting at the time through barely open eyes: 9:48 PM. Seven minutes until the fire. I gasped heavily as my tense nerves suddenly relaxed, and my consciousness began to fade. I felt someone shaking me. Struggling to open my eyes, unable to see the face clearly, I tried to speak loudly but my voice came out barely audible, until he put his ear close to my mouth. “I’m sorry… I’m not a threat… I’m still streaming. Could you help me turn it off?” The last thing the stream captured was a military cap. As consciousness faded, I saw my previous life. Being dragged out of bed with the covers ripped off became my lifelong nightmare. Standing in thin pajamas, surrounded by police and university administrators, facing their harsh questions about why I set the fire, all I could do was weakly deny it. “I didn’t do it.” Nothing else. As the cold handcuffs locked around my wrists, I felt my entire life being shackled. During my days and nights in prison, I ran through countless scenarios. The best possibility was that it had been an electrical short circuit, not intentional arson, which might have meant a lighter sentence. But I had no way to prove that the last person to access the lab wasn’t me. The surveillance clearly showed me entering and leaving the building. The lab access logs showed my credentials. The evidence was solid enough to crush me. It wasn’t until a year later, when my advisor took a teaching position in America and published research results based on my core technology, that I understood. The fire’s purpose wasn’t to destroy something, but to cover something up. And now, without my cooperation, who else could help him smuggle things right under everyone’s noses? **2.** I felt someone moving me. I struggled to open my eyes. My vision was too blurry. I could only desperately grab onto whoever was wearing the uniform. “Miss, let go so the medic can examine you.” I didn’t want a medic. I didn’t want to go to the hospital. I needed to stay under the base’s surveillance. Someone was prying my fingers open. It hurt. Tears streamed down continuously, but I refused to let go no matter what, using every ounce of strength. “She’s probably scared from earlier. Nothing serious, just low blood sugar. Since she won’t let go, just carry her to the duty room.” I stopped struggling, letting them carry me through the base gates. I stared up at the security camera at the entrance. Such solid evidence. Someone put a piece of candy in my mouth. Slowly, I regained a bit of strength and could sit up. A group of people surrounded me. None of the stern, cold faces from my previous life. Their concerned expressions made tears pour down my face. “Miss, feeling better?” Seeing some life return to my eyes, a lieutenant next to me asked with concern. The grievance in my heart surged up like a flood breaking through a dam, unstoppable. I began sobbing uncontrollably. The clock on the wall seemed like a countdown, bringing me closer to safety. 9:50 PM. Marcus Reed must already be in the lab copying my data, right? I had considered reporting him to catch him in the act, but then I realized he hadn’t just forged my access card but had also tampered with the university’s surveillance footage. That wasn’t something a newly returned PhD advisor of less than a year could accomplish alone. 9:53 PM. My crying turned to hiccups. The people around me went from being flustered to calm, handing me water and tissues. Marcus had already locked up and left. I didn’t know what method he used to start the fire. Theoretically, the lab had comprehensive power cutoff protection and fire prevention measures. How could it catch fire so easily, let alone spread and cause an explosion in the research building? 9:54 PM. My emotions gradually settled. The lieutenant’s voice couldn’t suppress his amusement: “Miss, you’re the best crier I’ve ever seen.” I smiled sheepishly, pursing my lips. I had been terrified by what happened to me, but also grateful for my second chance. Heaven knows, when I discovered I had been reborn one hour before the fire, the burst of joy nearly overwhelmed me. “Can’t stay in the dorm!” was my only thought at the time. I grabbed my essentials and immediately escaped. Sitting in the taxi, I came back to my senses and started thinking about what else I could do. I usually recorded some videos without showing my face, sharing study tips and methods. Now I decided to stream with my face visible, letting all my viewers bear witness for me. Collapsing at the military base gate was pure coincidence. When I was reborn, I had been up for over twenty hours and was about to sleep. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been sleeping so deeply that I didn’t even know a fire had started. The combined mental and physical pressure was too much. Given my current condition, the low blood sugar hit at just the right time. “Should I call an ambulance for you?” The lieutenant looked at me with a smile. “You’re still frighteningly pale.” 9:55 PM. The second hand seemed to tick against my heart. “Yes, thank you so much.” I stopped my sniffling and thanked him. **3.** The fire trucks arrived before the ambulance. Several fire engines rushed past with sirens blaring. Through the window, I stared blankly as the red lights disappeared into the distance. “We’ve verified all your documents. Here, keep them safe.” I snapped back to attention and accepted the documents the lieutenant handed me. All my IDs: driver’s license, student card, lab access card. “Don’t worry, we’ll go with you to the hospital.” His hearty voice gave me an immense sense of security, so much so that I fell asleep before the ambulance arrived, until my body was suddenly yanked, nearly throwing me out of bed. “Olivia Summers, you’re suspected of arson. We need you to cooperate with our investigation!” The same cold, severe voice from my previous life made me shiver. My head was still somewhat foggy. I looked at the crowd before me without focus and asked in confusion, “What?” “You think hospitalizing yourself will clear you of guilt?” The dean’s voice was hoarse, looking like he hadn’t slept all night. “Olivia Summers, you were caught on surveillance fleeing after committing arson.” Marcus Reed still had that refined, scholarly demeanor, using the gentlest tone to condemn me. “You’ve made no progress on your experiments recently and put too much pressure on yourself.” “I told her I wouldn’t let her delay graduation, but who knew she’d be so extreme? She’d rather destroy everything than admit she wasn’t capable.” He explained to the dean and police like a caring mentor. “This is definitely her fault, but I hope you can go easy on her given her youth and give her a lighter sentence.” The police ignored his soft pleas and said coldly to me, “She’s an adult. She needs to take responsibility for her actions.” “What exactly happened?” I asked, looking completely confused. “Still pretending!” The dean pointed at me furiously. “Last night, minutes after you left the lab, it caught fire!” “The fire spread and caused an explosion. Half the research building was destroyed!” “The entire campus stayed up all night, but you had the nerve to hide in a hospital and sleep!” He turned to the police in frustration. “Captain Wilson, take her away. I have nothing more to say to her.” “I never went near the academic building last night.” I propped myself up on the hospital bed, leaning forward, desperately trying to make them believe me. “I have no reason to burn down the building. Please believe me!” No matter how sincere or anxious I was, everyone around me looked at me coldly, as if I were a clown throwing a tantrum. “You should be grateful no one was hurt, or we wouldn’t be speaking to you so nicely.” “I’m the captain of the city’s detective unit. I’m officially notifying you that you’re under arrest. Take her!” He grabbed my arm and pulled me out of bed roughly. I stood barefoot on the floor. The icy tiles sent a chill that froze my heart. The female officer next to me gripped my wrist tightly, the cold handcuffs about to snap shut. “What are you doing!” A forceful shout from the doorway interrupted her action. A young man in military uniform stood holding a food container, frowning as he glared at the room full of people. “Who are you?” Marcus asked gently. “Are you Olivia’s boyfriend?” One sentence immediately diminished the authority conveyed by the uniform. “The lieutenant sent me to look after her.” The young soldier ignored Marcus and spoke directly to Captain Wilson in his police uniform. “What’s going on? She’s still a patient!” “She’s suspected of arson causing major property damage. We need to take her to the station.” Captain Wilson responded matter-of-factly. The soldier looked at me with difficulty. Seeing my pleading eyes, he thought for a moment, then stepped directly in front of me. “I’m going with her, and I’ll notify our lieutenant. You’re not taking her anywhere otherwise.”

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I lost my sight at three and my parents at five. When I was eight, my brother Thomas was claimed by a wealthy family and became the true heir. The spoiled, troublesome fake heir Robert was kicked out. I stood between my two brothers and pushed Thomas. “Thomas, I can’t hold you back anymore. Go live the good life.” Thomas crouched down and pinched my cheek. “Did I say I wasn’t going to take care of you anymore?” Later, the good-for-nothing Robert also became a reliable brother. They became my solid sky, my steady ground, my cane that I tapped forward with every step. They told me, “Chris, do you know why the baby mix-up happened?” “It’s because the world wanted us to come to you and become your two eyes.” I always knew I couldn’t live without Thomas. When I lost my sight at three, my parents abandoned me. Thomas walked for five hours to bring me back. The thin boy’s back carried me steadily. I heard him say firmly, “If you don’t want her, I’ll raise her.” When I was five, my parents died in a car accident. Thomas had just started his freshman year of high school and was one of the top students. At the funeral, people came and went. They said, “Thomas, your sister will hold you back for the rest of your life.” They said you should find a dark night and abandon her. So that night, Thomas woke me up. I didn’t cry or fuss as he picked me up. Thomas carried me for a long time. When he stopped, I felt sunlight warming my face. Thomas said, “Chris, this is sunrise. You can’t see it, but you can feel it.” Thomas pinched my cheek. “The sun rises every day, just like I’ll be by your side every day.” That day, sitting among the crowd watching the sunrise, I heard people humming and singing. Someone handed me a candy. Thomas said, “Chris, this world is beautiful. Don’t be afraid. Grow up bravely.” I nodded, half understanding. Later, Thomas worked part-time while going to school, supporting both of us by himself. When I was seven, I started at a school for the blind. The stylus made dots on the braille paper. The first word I learned was “brother,” the second was “Thomas.” But on my eighth birthday, I waited at the school gates and Thomas never came. Later, I heard my teacher talking to someone nearby, handing me over to an unfamiliar pair of hands. The teacher said, “Chris, you’ll go with him from now on.” I touched his face. “Who are you?” He said, “I’m your brother.” I shook my head. “You’re not my brother. My brother is Thomas.” He was silent for a moment before saying, “My name is Robert. From now on, I’m your brother.” The teacher explained to me that they’d been switched as babies, and this person was my real brother. Thomas was someone else’s child. The teacher put it gently, but someone standing nearby, eager for drama, said: “I saw Thomas get into a luxury car. He’s definitely gone off to live the good life. He’s not going to remember you.” Someone else said, “I know Robert. He’s the school bully. Fighting, skipping class, causing trouble—he does it all.” “The Davis family found out he wasn’t their real child and kicked him out. Now he’s got a blind sister too. Talk about bad luck.” I was scared. I stood there crying. I cried until the crowd gradually dispersed, leaving only the breathing of the person in front of me. I wiped my tears and asked him, “Thomas went to live the good life, didn’t he?” He said yes. I said, “Then I’ll go with you.” Then I added carefully, “I’m very good. I can do a lot of things by myself.” He touched my head and picked me up. His arms weren’t as solid as Thomas’s, but they were thin and strong. I said quietly, “Can I call you Robert?” He said yes. After a while I said, “Robert, I’m sorry.” He didn’t speak for a long time. I tentatively touched his face, felt his earring, his eyebrow piercing. I thought he might be a scary person. But I heard him say, “Don’t be afraid. I’ll protect you from now on.”

Robert and I were halfway home when I heard a large group of footsteps. They laughed as they approached. “Robert, weren’t you so arrogant before? Didn’t you walk around like you owned the place?” “Now you’re not the Davis family heir anymore. Let’s see who’s going to worship you now. Brothers, if you’ve got a grudge, now’s the time! Get him!” Robert ran while carrying me. The group chased us fast. I said frantically, “Robert, put me down! Run!” Robert and I were backed into a corner. He still held me tightly. He turned his back, letting those people punch him over and over again. When someone tried to pull me from his arms, he fought back desperately. I was so scared I screamed, “Robert! Robert!” He held me so tightly, no matter how much they kicked and beat him, he wouldn’t let go. Suddenly a gust of wind swept past. Someone kicked them away. “Let them go!” It was Thomas! He stood in front of Robert and me. “I’d like to see who dares to touch them again!” Some in the group still wanted to fight, but their companions pulled them back. “This is the real Davis family heir. Let’s go!” After the crowd scattered, Thomas tried to pick me up. Robert instinctively didn’t let go. Thomas’s voice was cold. “Let go!” Thomas carried me home. Robert’s footsteps followed behind us the whole way. I touched Thomas’s face. His brows were tightly furrowed. He must have been very angry. I’d grown up in his arms since childhood. I rarely even got bumps or bruises. I said quietly, “I’m fine. Why did you come back?” He didn’t answer me. He walked faster and faster until we reached our door and he opened it. When the door was about to close, Robert grabbed it. I heard Robert say, “She’s my sister.” Thomas sneered. “You can’t even take care of yourself. Let go!” I didn’t hear any more of their conversation. They must have been facing off in silence. I broke the silence and asked again, “Thomas, why did you come back?” I felt Thomas’s gaze. He must have looked at me. He said, “This is my home.” I shook my head. “No, Thomas’s real home is somewhere very wealthy. I want you to go live the good life.” I’d been holding Thomas back since I was little. When my parents were alive, he only had to worry about my daily care. After they were gone, the burden of life plus me weighed on him until he could barely breathe. He studied during the day and worked part-time until late at night, often so exhausted he fell asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. He had a deep scar on his back from being hit by something heavy while moving cargo. It took seven stitches. Every time he carried me on his back, I could feel that scar. I cried and said, “Thomas, please go.” He crouched down and gently wiped away my tears. “Chris, now that you have him, you don’t want me anymore?” In the end, Thomas didn’t leave, and Robert came inside. After Thomas wiped my tear-stained face with a towel, he told me to wait in my room. Blind people are always more sensitive to atmosphere and people’s emotions. I was afraid they would fight, so I secretly opened my door a crack to listen to them talk.

Thomas’s voice carried a cold mockery. “Robert, you’ve been causing trouble for me at every turn at school. I haven’t even settled the score with you yet, and now you’re rushing over here?” I nervously picked at my fingers. Robert was silent for a moment. “I’m giving you back your life. You go be the Davis family heir. From now on, you can do whatever you want to me. I’ll take it.” “But she’s my sister. I’ll be the one protecting her from now on.” Thomas raised his voice. “I raised her. How is she suddenly your sister?” Even through the door, I could feel the tense atmosphere between them, neither giving an inch. Robert continued, “Everyone in the Davis family has a businessman’s mindset—profit above all. In their eyes, you coming back here is the same as giving up everything.” Thomas sneered. “Who wants their stuff anyway?” Robert said with certainty, “They demanded you stop caring about Chris. That’s why you came back.” When I heard this, my heart trembled. I pressed so hard that my nail dug into my flesh and drew blood. Robert snorted coldly. “That’s exactly the kind of people they are.” “But you don’t need to feel burdened. You really don’t have any obligation to take care of Chris now. I will.” “What’s all this ‘you will, I will’ business? Did I agree? Stop acting like you’re the heir and ordering people around.” Robert was so blocked by Thomas’s words that he couldn’t say anything. After a while, I heard Thomas say, “You’re not leaving no matter what, are you?” Robert said nothing, making it clear he wasn’t leaving no matter what. Thomas laughed coldly. “I’m only not beating you up because I don’t want to scare Chris.” “If you’re staying, you’d better behave yourself. Don’t provoke me.” Thomas’s tone was unusually harsh. I thought he and the scary Robert might start arguing any second. But Robert didn’t say anything more. He silently backed down. That day, I only half understood what Thomas and Robert said. I touched my eyes in frustration. When you lose your sight, you can never get very precise information. Just then Robert came into the room and called out, “Don’t touch.” I obediently put my hand down and felt my way over. As soon as I got close to him, I smelled a faint scent of blood. I grabbed his hand. “Robert, did you fight with someone again? Are you hurt?” Robert said, “I’m fine.” Whenever someone was hurt and I couldn’t judge the specific situation, I always felt very uneasy. I asked quietly, “Did they go to your workplace to cause trouble again?” All the household expenses depended on Thomas, and we were visibly struggling to make ends meet. After Robert moved in, he also swallowed his pride to find work. But his grades weren’t good enough to tutor, and when he was moving things on the street, those thugs spotted him. After mocking him, they went to his workplace every day to cause trouble. Not only was the money Robert earned not enough to deal with the trouble, but he also came home with injuries every day. I held his hand distressingly. That’s when Thomas came back too. He must have been caught in the rain. Water dripped onto the floor. Thomas said, “It’s fine. Just a light rain. Only got a little wet.” From the sounds, Thomas went into the bathroom, and then Robert followed him in. They spoke in low voices, but a blind person’s ears are unusually sharp. “Are you sick? It’s pouring rain and you couldn’t take a cab home? Aren’t you afraid of catching a cold?” “Saving money. I’m not that delicate.” Thomas paused before continuing, “Look at yourself, covered in injuries big and small. Take care of yourself first.” “Also, if you really can’t earn money, just forget it. Don’t make more trouble for yourself.” They both seemed quiet for a moment. “Why are you still standing there? Get out. I need to shower.” I heard every single word. I sat on the couch, using my fingernail to scratch my palm over and over.

A few days later, when Thomas wanted to take me for an eye checkup, I refused to cooperate. I lay on the bed and wouldn’t get up. “My leg hurts.” Thomas rubbed my calf. “Did you twist it yesterday?” “No, I just don’t want to move.” “You don’t have to move. Thomas will carry you.” I said, “Well, my head hurts too. I want to sleep.” Thomas seemed to laugh. He rubbed my head. “What are you overthinking now?” He picked me up from the bed. “I’ll figure out the money situation. It’s not your problem to worry about.” I felt a bit sad. “I don’t want you both to work so hard.” He pinched my cheek. “When I see Chris, I’m not tired anymore.” In the end, I obediently went with Thomas for the checkup. Before we left, I asked, “Where’s Robert?” Thomas said, “He went out early this morning. Haven’t seen him.” Thomas took me through several alleys. I heard the sounds of a fight. He was about to pick me up and walk faster when I tugged his sleeve. “Thomas, I think I heard Robert’s voice.” At first Thomas walked forward a few steps as if he hadn’t heard, then sighed and stopped. He put me down at the alley entrance. “I’m very close by. Just stand right here and don’t move. If anything happens, call me immediately, okay?” I nodded and listened to Thomas’s footsteps heading deeper into the alley. I pressed my ear against the wall and heard Robert’s voice through the chaotic noise: “I won’t fight back today. I’ll let you beat me up fair and square. But after this, none of you better interfere with my work!” That day’s checkup, Thomas and Robert took me together. I heard Thomas also dragged Robert to the emergency room and got some topical medicine. I touched Robert’s hand distressingly. “Does it hurt?” “Serves him right,” Thomas said while applying medicine to Robert. “Playing the hero.” Robert hissed lightly but ignored Thomas’s sarcasm. He pinched my cheek. “Doesn’t hurt. I’m fine.” Although Thomas’s words were harsh, his attitude toward Robert had clearly softened a lot. The house had two bedrooms. It had always been one for Thomas, one for me, and Robert sleeping on the couch. When bedtime came, I lay in bed. I heard Thomas’s voice from outside. He said to Robert, who couldn’t even stretch out his arms and legs on the small couch, “Come sleep in the room.” I listened to the sounds of doors opening and closing and fell into a deep sleep in the darkness. After that, not only did their relationship improve, but Robert was able to find work too. I secretly asked Robert, “How did you win him over?” “Who won him over?” He didn’t tell me at first. Later, when I annoyed him enough, he said, “I used to cause trouble for him because I once saw him teasing you and I thought he was bullying you.” “So I went to seek justice. Later I found out you were his sister.” “That day when we got into the fight, those people spilled all the stupid things I’d done.” He made me laugh so hard I was giggling. He poked my forehead. “Oh, so you dare laugh at me?” Robert and I were messing around when Thomas finished cooking noodles. I held my fork and ate slowly. I heard Robert ask, “Where’s mine?” “First you have to say, ‘Thank you, Thomas.’” After Thomas spoke, Robert was quiet for a moment, then asked somewhat awkwardly, “Why should I?” “You’re eating food that I made.” Knowing Thomas was deliberately teasing Robert, I laughed on the side. After a while, Robert still hadn’t spoken. Thomas said, “Very principled. Starve then.” “Thank you, Thomas.” The days passed like this. The abandonment and rejection I’d feared never happened. I even gained another brother. They would come to the school for the blind together to pick me up, each holding one of my hands. When we encountered puddles, they’d lift me up together and shout with a laugh, “Jump!” Now Thomas and Robert were in their last semester of senior year. Thomas still made Robert study. After they both got off their part-time jobs, Thomas would go over problems with Robert in the living room while I sat to the side listening to them talk. Thomas tapped Robert’s head with a pen. “Pay attention. Getting into a good college will save us a lot of money!” “Thomas has fallen into the money pit,” Robert turned his head to tell me. “There’s an ad downstairs offering big money for surrogacy. You should tell Thomas to go earn it.” I pushed him with a laugh. “Robert! You’re so bad!” But sometimes they would avoid me when talking. Once I was lying on the couch with my eyes closed, and they thought I was asleep. Robert spoke in a low voice. “The Davis family hasn’t contacted you again?” Thomas’s voice was also very quiet. “They’ve called a few times asking me to come back. Same old story—stop caring about Chris and come back to inherit the family fortune. I said it’s impossible.” Robert’s voice carried a hint of worry. “They’re not going to give up that easily…” After I accidentally overheard this, I didn’t dare show it on my face, but my heart was always anxious. Maybe the more you fear something, the more likely it is to happen. One day, someone knocked on our door. After the door opened, I could feel the air gradually grow heavy.

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On the night I decided to divorce, my protégé — a scholarship recipient I’d supported for eight years — was stealing the show at a charity gala, wearing a limited-edition necklace my husband had bought. She sweetly posted on Ins: “He said he has an instinctive attraction to me. Is this what it feels like to be truly adored?” I tapped the ‘like’ button, then casually tossed the divorce papers onto his face. Ethan sneered, “Eleanor, you’re just using that old debt of gratitude to manipulate me. Without me, you won’t last a day in this social circle.” He thought ten years as a stay-at-home wife had turned me into a useless mess. But he had no idea. Like that ungrateful snake, I’d supported three hundred. Now, they were all top professionals in various industries. One word from me, and I could make him lose everything. The lights of the charity gala were dazzling. I stood on the VIP terrace on the second floor, holding a glass of champagne, watching the girl at the center of attention in the grand hall downstairs. Chloe. The scholarship recipient I’d supported for eight years. She was wearing a couture gown, a dazzling sapphire necklace around her neck, smiling innocently for the cameras. That necklace. Ethan Hayes had bid fifty million for it at an auction last month. The news was everywhere, saying Ethan had splashed millions on it to surprise his beloved wife for their tenth wedding anniversary. Now, that surprise was around a twenty-two-year-old girl’s neck. My phone vibrated. Chloe had posted an update. It was a selfie of her wearing the necklace, with the blurry side profile of a man in a suit in the background. “He said he has an instinctive attraction to me. I’ve never been in love before — is instinctive attraction a good thing or a bad thing?” Dozens of comments were already underneath, all teasing her. I stared blankly at the screen, then gently tapped my finger, leaving a comment. “Great. Just like a dog to its own filth — also purely instinctive.” After posting, I drained the champagne from my glass and turned towards the backstage area. Within five minutes, hurried footsteps echoed down the corridor. Ethan pushed open the lounge door, his face ashen. “Eleanor Vance, what the hell are you doing?” He strode over, slamming his phone onto the table. My comment was right there on the screen. “Chloe is still young, just getting started in the industry. Your comment will be screenshotted and used against her. Do you know this could ruin her?” I leaned back on the sofa, coldly looking at the man I’d loved for ten years. “Ruin her? When she was wearing my husband’s necklace and showing off her affection, why wasn’t she afraid of ruining herself?” Ethan frowned, a flicker of impatience in his eyes. “She borrowed that necklace just to wear. Young girls like to look pretty, it’s just vanity. Do you really have to be so petty about it?” “Besides, you sponsored her. It’s normal for her to be attached to us. I’ve been with you for ten years, I treat her like a sister. What’s wrong with taking care of her a bit more?” A sister? His ‘sister’ with an instinctive attraction? I laughed, exasperated, and pulled a pre-prepared document from my bag, tossing it at his chest. “Since you’re so fond of taking care of her, then you can officially take care of her from now on.” The papers scattered on the floor. The cover clearly read: “Divorce Agreement.”

Ethan froze. He looked down at the documents on the floor, then up at me, as if he’d heard the funniest joke in the world. “Divorce?” He pulled at the corner of his mouth, his voice full of certainty and contempt. “Eleanor, there’s a limit to throwing tantrums. You’ve been married to me for ten years, never worked a day. You probably don’t even know how to ride the subway anymore.” “Who are you kidding? Everyone knows you’re nothing without me.” Looking at his arrogant face, my stomach churned. Ten years ago, Ethan was just a poor kid. My father saw his potential and gave him his first startup capital. When his company was struggling the most, I was there, eating instant noodles with him, pulling all-nighters. Later, when the company grew, he said the world outside was too harsh, and told me to stay home and live comfortably, his ‘lady of leisure.’ I believed him. And what did I get in return? His dismissive line: “You’re nothing without me.” “Ethan, I’ve already signed the papers.” I stood up, smoothing my dress. “My lawyer will contact you tomorrow.” With that, I walked out without hesitation. “Eleanor Vance!” He called out sharply from behind me. “If you walk out that door today, don’t even think about coming back! I’d like to see how you’ll survive without me!” I didn’t stop, only leaving him my back. “Just you wait.” Stepping out of the hotel, the night air was cool. I pulled my shawl tighter and called Martin, my driver. “Martin, bring the car to section C in the underground parking.” He stammered on the other end, “Ms. Vance, uh… the car’s having some trouble. I sent it for repairs. Maybe you could call a taxi?” I frowned. The car was perfectly fine this afternoon — how could it suddenly break down? Just then, a black SUV pulled up in front of me. The door slid open, and Chloe poked her head out, smiling innocently. “Eleanor, can’t find a cab this late? Ethan told me to give you a ride home.” I looked at her, then at the familiar figure in the driver’s seat. Martin. My father’s most trusted driver, who had watched me grow up, was now looking down, avoiding my eyes. I understood instantly. “Martin, what is the meaning of this?” I asked coldly. He rubbed his hands, his voice thin, “Ms. Vance, Ms. Miller said… she said she was going that way anyway, and she helped my son get into that private school…” I took a deep breath and closed my eyes. So that’s how it was. Even the people closest to me could be bought by her with such tactics. “No, thanks.” I opened my eyes, my gaze chilling as it swept over Chloe’s triumphant face. “I find it dirty.” With that, I walked to the roadside and hailed a taxi. Through the rearview mirror, I saw Chloe’s smile freeze, and she stomped her foot in frustration.

It was late when I got back to the mansion. I didn’t turn on any lights, going straight upstairs to the walk-in closet to pack. I only took a few changes of clothes and the mementos my parents had left me. The rest — the designer bags, couture gowns, and jewelry Ethan had bought — I didn’t even glance at them. “Well, well, well, trying to run away in the middle of the night?” A sarcastic voice suddenly came from behind me. I turned around to see Chloe leaning against the doorframe, wearing a burgundy silk nightgown, holding a glass of red wine. That nightgown was my mother’s favorite. It was passed down to me. I had cherished it, barely daring to touch it. Now, it was being worn by an ungrateful snake. A surge of pure fury rushed to my head. “Take it off,” I stared at her, saying each word slowly and deliberately. Chloe not only didn’t take it off, but she deliberately puffed out her chest, chuckling smugly. “What’s wrong, Eleanor? Ethan said this dress was just gathering dust, so I could wear it. I think it fits perfectly.” She walked in, high heels clicking, her eyes scanning my suitcase with contempt. “Eleanor, you don’t need to overreact. Ethan said your family only gave him a little money back then, and he’s repaid it all, with interest, over the last ten years.” “He doesn’t love you; he was just repaying a debt. Now that he’s met me, he knows what true love is.” “You’ve hogged him for ten years, shouldn’t you be satisfied?” I looked at her face, twisted by jealousy and triumph, and felt a sudden wave of pity. I walked up to her, and without warning, I raised my hand. Slap! A loud slap landed on her face. Chloe stumbled, the wine glass in her hand falling to the ground and shattering. Red liquid splattered onto the expensive carpet, a stark, alarming stain. “You… you dared to hit me?!” She clutched her face, staring at me in disbelief. “And what if I did?” I looked at her coldly. “This dress is my mother’s heirloom. Who do you think you are to wear it?” “And also, did Ethan not tell you that the startup capital for his company was given by my father? The down payment for this mansion? I paid for it. And the CEO position he now holds? Half the shares are in my name!” “You thought you snagged a trophy husband? Wrong. All you snagged was a dog I raised!” Chloe was stunned by my words, her face turning green then white. Just then, the front door was violently pushed open. Ethan stormed in.

“Eleanor Vance! What are you doing!” He immediately shielded Chloe behind him. Seeing the slap mark on her face, his eyes turned vicious. “You actually dared to hit her?” I sneered, “What, you feel bad for her? Then take her and get out of my house.” “Your house?” Ethan looked as if he’d heard the funniest joke. “Eleanor, are you out of your mind? This mansion is registered under my name!” “Is it?” I zipped up my suitcase, straightening up to face him. “Then you’d better check the purchase contract from back then and see who really paid for it.” Ethan’s face changed. When we bought this house, he had no money at all. I secretly used all my personal savings and investments, unbeknownst to my father, to cover the cost. Even though it was registered in his name, the transaction records were all there. “Eleanor, do you really have to make this so ugly?” He gritted his teeth. “Fine, you can leave, but you’re not taking anything from this house! You’ve lived off me all these years; what right do you have to take anything?” I looked down at the suitcase on the floor. It contained only a few old clothes and my parents’ photos. “Don’t worry, I find the trash you bought disgusting.” I pulled my suitcase, walking out without looking back. As I passed them, I paused and looked at Ethan. “Ethan, remember what you said today. Starting tomorrow, everything the Vance family gave you, I’m taking it all back, piece by piece.” Stepping out of the mansion, the night wind on my face, I felt a clarity I hadn’t felt in years. Ten years. I’d spent ten years of my youth to see a man’s true colors. The cost was high, but thankfully, it wasn’t too late. I pulled out my phone and found the hidden list in my contacts. On the list were three hundred names. Over fifteen years, I had used my private account to continuously support scholarship recipients. Many of them had lost touch, many were still toiling at entry-level jobs. But some had already grown into towering figures. I dialed the first number on the list. After two rings, the call was answered. A deep, steady male voice came through. “Eleanor?” “Liam.” I looked at the flashing neon lights in the distance, my voice calm. “I’m getting divorced.” There was a second of silence on the other end, then the sound of a chair being pushed back. “Where are you? I’ll send someone to pick you up immediately.” “No need. I’ll send you my location. Tomorrow morning at ten, bring your people and meet me.” “Got it.” Liam didn’t ask any unnecessary questions, his response quick and concise. After hanging up, I hailed a taxi and went to a five-star hotel in the city center. After a hot shower, I lay on the large bed, staring at the ceiling. Ethan Hayes, you thought I, Eleanor Vance, was a mere clinging vine that could only depend on you. But you didn’t know that for the past ten years, though I didn’t work outside, I planted an entire forest. Now, it’s time for this forest to overshadow you.

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One AM, I was mopping the floor at the convenience store when I bumped into my own mother. She was wearing a cashmere coat worth thousands, holding her two-year-old daughter’s hand, picking out imported milk for her shopping basket. Seeing my name tag, her smile froze. “Give me your account number. I’ll transfer you some money so you and your dad can get something decent to eat.” I pushed her hand away. “No, thanks, Ms. Vance.” She frowned, looking at my twisted knuckles and the old scars on my palm. “Where’s your dad? Is he not taking care of you? At least tell me, I’ll come pick you up.” I stared at her. “He can’t anymore.” “He’s dead. Died three years ago.” She didn’t believe me. She said my dad was a master at playing the victim. But soon after, she barged into my tiny rented apartment and saw Dad’s memorial photo— She shook my shoulders wildly. “Where is he? He can’t be dead!” I shook her off. “The night you spent eight million on a painting for Caleb Blackwood, my dad was biting through his lips in pain on his hospital bed.” “One less splurge from you, and his surgery would’ve been covered.” “And that card.” “The one you said had three hundred thousand in it, when I tried to withdraw it—” “There wasn’t a penny.”

It had been three years since I’d seen my mother, and I found her in a convenience store. One AM. The store was empty. I was bent over, stocking bottled water on the shelves, when the sensor bell chimed at the entrance. A woman holding a little girl, around two years old, walked in. I continued working, not paying attention. It wasn’t until the woman came to the checkout counter with a bottle of water that I looked up. Our eyes met. The expression on her face froze. I was stunned for a moment too, but quickly recovered. “Twelve dollars total.” I scanned the barcode, my voice as flat as a machine’s. She didn’t pay. She stared at my name tag. My name tag read: Autumn Dawson. “Autumn?” Her voice was trembling slightly. “Is it really you?” I didn’t answer her question. “Twelve dollars. How will you pay?” Her gaze moved from my grease-stained uniform to my deformed knuckles, then to my worn-out canvas shoes with peeling soles. “Why are you so thin?” She frowned. “Where’s your dad? If he’s not taking care of you, at least tell me, I’ll come pick you up.” I forced a small smile. “Ms. Vance, either pay for your things or step aside.” She glanced back. There was no one behind her. She sighed. “Give me your account number. I’ll transfer you some money so you and your dad don’t have to suffer.” I looked up at her. “No, thanks.” “Never saw you care so much about Dad and me before.” Her face darkened. “You’re as stubborn as your dad. If you hadn’t stuck with him back then, would you be working the night shift at a convenience store now?” The little girl tugged on her coat. “Mommy, I want milk.” She bent down, picked up the child, and looked at me again. “Tell your dad not to be stubborn. If he’s willing to apologize, I’ll take you in. Your life wouldn’t be worse than it is now.” My fingers tightened on the cash register. “My dad and I don’t need your concern. We’re strangers to you. Talking like this, people might misunderstand.” Her eyes flickered, as if she wanted to say something. But she swallowed it. She put down twelve dollars, turned, and left. After she left, my colleague peeked out from the back. “Who was that just now? She had quite the entourage.” I didn’t look up. “Don’t know her.” Another colleague came over, holding her phone screen in front of me. “I looked her up. Isn’t that Eleanor Vance from Vance Corp.? The CEO who’s always in the news for her charity work?” “Look at this interview. She says her biggest regret in life is her ex-husband and daughter.” I glanced at the screen. “She’s good at faking it.” “But she donates real money to charity, and she even started a children’s foundation named after her daughter!” I stopped what I was doing and looked at them. “She pretended to be poor to her ex-husband, transferred all their savings when they divorced, and dumped all their debts on him.” “Her husband went from being a teacher to a warehouse mover just to pay off the debts she left behind.” “She says her biggest regret is her ex-husband and daughter? But then she physically pushed her own daughter’s hand into broken glass, making it so I could never draw again.” They froze. “You… How do you know all this so clearly?” I flipped my name tag. Autumn Dawson. “Because I’m her daughter.” They immediately fell silent. After my shift, I didn’t go back to the rented apartment. I stopped at a bakery for the smallest cake, then a flower shop for a bouquet. It was a forty-minute walk to the cemetery. The cake and flowers I placed in front of the gravestone. In the photo, Dad wore a white shirt and had a gentle smile. I knelt down in front of him. “Happy birthday, Dad.” “I ran into her today.” “She still thought you were alive.”

The next day, as soon as I walked into work, something felt off. Mr. Henderson, the manager, was behind the counter, wiping sweat, his face pale. Eleanor Vance sat on a lounge chair in the middle of the lobby. An unopened coffee sat in front of her. Her assistant, David, stood behind her, holding a file bag. The manager saw me, his eyes looking like he’d seen a lifeline. “Autumn, Ms. Vance said the milk she bought yesterday was bad, and her daughter got sick.” “You, you come over and explain to Ms. Vance…” I glanced at him. “Explain what? If it’s not past its expiration date, it’s not our problem.” Then I walked towards Eleanor Vance. Her gaze was already fixed on me. “Ms. Vance, what exactly do you want?” She looked up. “The milk yesterday had a quality issue. Lily drank it and threw up all night. Her dad isn’t happy.” I scoffed. “So? Are you here to complain? Or are you looking for an excuse to drag me in front of Caleb Blackwood and make me apologize to him?” Her face changed. I continued. “Isn’t that what you did three years ago? My dad and I were always the ones apologizing first, kneeling first, making amends first.” Her brows furrowed. “My business with your dad is not for a child to judge.” “I’m not a child anymore.” I stared at her. “The year you threw my dad and me out when I was sixteen, that’s when I grew up.” “Threw you out?” Her voice rose. “Your dad dragged you out himself! He knew what he did!” I looked at her, unsure whether to be angry or laugh. “What did he do? What he did was get framed by your precious husband.” “It’s been three years. Did you ever once look into the truth?” She slammed her hand on the armrest of the chair. “Did you learn to lie through your teeth from your dad? When has Caleb ever harmed you? He’s a thousand times better to Lily and me than your dad ever was!” I retorted coldly. “Better? Better enough to stomp on your own daughter’s hand? Better enough to press my dad’s face to the ground where you couldn’t see?” She opened her mouth, but no words came out. I didn’t want to waste any more time with her. “Ms. Vance, I advise you to leave now. You and I have nothing to do with each other anymore.” She finally stood up. “I want to see your dad. Let him explain it himself.” That sentence made my whole body stiffen. Several customers in the store were watching. I stared at her. “See him? You lived in the same house with him for seventeen years, did you ever really know him?” She was too angry to answer for a moment. She threw down a business card and left. Gold embossed: Eleanor Vance. My colleague came over. “Autumn… Are you okay?” I tore the business card in half. “Help me get a few more shifts. I’m still three hundred short on rent this month.” She looked at the shredded paper in my hand and didn’t dare to ask anything else. After work that day, I went home and looked at my dad’s photo. “Dad, she’s looking for you.” “She said you know what you did.” I buried my face in my knees. “But you didn’t do anything wrong.”

Three years ago, our family lived in a three-bedroom apartment. Dad was a teacher at a private school. Every day, he’d come home, hum while he cooked in the kitchen. I was in my first year of high school, spending all my free time in the art studio. That year, I won first prize in the art competition. The judges said I had exceptional talent with color and recommended me for early admission to a top art school. Mom didn’t come home often. But when she did, she’d sit on the couch and watch me draw. She’d smile and say my talent was like hers. Those were the happiest days of my life. Until one day, Mom suddenly stormed home, slamming the door. She smashed Dad’s phone on the floor, pointing at him. “Michael Dawson, you’re absolutely shameless!” “Look at these pictures yourself!” On the table was a stack of printed photos. Dad hugging a young woman, picking out jewelry at the mall. Dad’s face went white. “That’s not me, Eleanor, listen to me—” “Shut up!” She slapped him. “Caleb Blackwood investigated for a month! You’ve been with that student for a whole year!” I rushed out of my room. “Mom, let Dad explain—” She didn’t even turn around. “He cheated on me, he cheated on you. I can’t stay in this house for another day.” That night, the lawyer arrived. The agreement was already drawn up. The house was hers, the car was hers, all the savings were hers. Dad got nothing. Dad’s hand kept shaking as he signed. “Eleanor, those pictures are fake… Let me investigate, just give me a week—” “You don’t have a week. Be out by tomorrow.” I knelt, tugging at her skirt. “Mom, please don’t go. Can you just let Dad prove it? I don’t want you two to divorce—” She suddenly shoved me. I flew backward, hitting the back of my head on the corner of the coffee table. I instinctively put out my right hand to brace myself. My palm landed on a glass cup on the table, shattering it. Shards of glass embedded themselves in my palm and between my fingers. Blood gushed out instantly. The pain made my vision go black. Dad rushed over and held me. “Eleanor! Call an ambulance quickly!” Mom glanced at me. A flicker of panic crossed her face. But at that moment, Caleb Blackwood walked in through the door. He saw the blood everywhere and covered his mouth. “Eleanor, what happened… This is so scary…” Mom’s expression changed instantly. She quickly went over, hugging him to comfort him. “It’s okay, it’s nothing to do with you.” She didn’t look at me again. Caleb was an unknown actor back then. He was handsome and spoke in a sweet, soft voice. He said he grew up in an orphanage, with no parents. He said my mom was the best person in the world to him. He said if my mom didn’t take care of him, he wouldn’t want to live. Mom believed it all. She gave him all her tenderness. My right hand underwent three surgeries. The tendon damage was too severe; my fingers couldn’t regain their flexibility. From then on, I couldn’t hold a paintbrush steadily. My early admission to the top art school was revoked.

That winter was the hardest time for my dad and me. Dad was fired from the school. Somehow, those fake photos got to the school administration. The woman in the pictures looked about the same age as his students. Even though it wasn’t the same person, the parents raised a fuss, and the school couldn’t cover it up. I never had proof of who sent the photos, but I had my suspicions. No job, no house, no savings. Dad moved me into a cheap apartment, less than ten square meters. The walls were covered in mold, the windows leaked air, and in winter, it was so cold you could see your breath. Dad worked as a mover in a warehouse during the day and washed dishes at a restaurant at night. Fifteen, sixteen hours a day, he got so thin his cheeks became hollow. My hand was still bandaged. Every day after school, I’d go to the supermarket to help people carry groceries. Two dollars a trip. At first, we could afford bread. Later, we couldn’t even afford to buy much of that. Every meal, Dad would put all the good food in my bowl. He’d say he wasn’t hungry. But I’d hear him get up in the middle of the night to drink cold water several times. One day, I came home from school and smelled meat cooking. I opened the door and saw a table full of dishes on the coffee table. Next to it, a small cake with a crooked candle. “It’s your birthday today,” Dad smiled, stroking my head. “Eat your cake, then do your homework.” I looked at the dishes, then at his increasingly hollow face. “Dad, how much did you eat?” He said he’d eaten. But in the trash can, there was only an empty instant noodle packet. I didn’t eat the cake. I stared at the flame for a long time. Then I cried. Late that night, I saw Dad sitting on the steps outside our rented room. Under the streetlight, he was flipping through his phone gallery. All of them were old photos of Mom. Not a single one deleted. I crouched beside him. “Dad, don’t look anymore.” He turned off his phone and pulled me into a hug. “Autumn, I’m sorry. Your dad isn’t capable.” I buried my face in his chest. “You are capable, you’re the best dad in the world.” A few days later, I scrolled past a news headline. Eleanor Vance and Caleb Blackwood attending a charity gala. She in a white haute couture gown, he in a custom-made suit. Holding hands on the red carpet. The headline read: “Vance Corp. CEO and Her Beloved Find True Love, Long-Term Commitment to Philanthropy.” The comments were full of praise. Saying she was loving and righteous. Saying she started from scratch and found true love. Someone asked her if she’d like to talk about her ex-husband and daughter. She looked at the camera, her eyes slightly red. “That’s my biggest regret in life. If someday they’re willing to come back, my door will always be open for them.” I almost crushed my phone. “Her door will always be open?” I turned to Dad. “Then I’ll go try.” The next morning, I helped Dad to Mom’s new house. A seaside villa, with three luxury cars parked out front. Security guards stopped us at the iron gate. “Who are you looking for? This isn’t a place for you.” Dad, his eyes red, said, “I’m Eleanor Vance’s ex-husband. I need to see her.” The intercom buzzed. Five minutes later, Mom appeared at the door. Silk pajamas, hair disheveled. “Michael Dawson, what are you doing here?” Dad gritted his teeth. “Eleanor, I’m not here to reconcile. Autumn’s hand needs a follow-up, and I’m injured too… Can we borrow some money?”

Before he could finish, Caleb Blackwood peeked out from behind her. Seeing Dad and me, his face instantly changed, and he shrank back behind her. “Eleanor, they’re here again… Are they going to cause a scene…?” Mom turned to comfort him. When she turned back, her face was completely cold. “Michael Dawson, have you no shame? You messed up, and you’re still coming here asking for money? What do you take me for?” I stepped forward. “He didn’t do anything wrong! Those photos are fake! Why wouldn’t you investigate?” Mom glanced at me. “The child doesn’t know any better, your dad corrupted her. Someone, please escort them out.” The security guards came up and pushed us. Dad was pushed down onto the steps. I knelt to help him up. The door closed in front of us. The moment it shut, I heard Caleb Blackwood laughing inside. After that, Dad’s body couldn’t hold up anymore. He hadn’t thought much of the fall at the warehouse at the time. But later, he started having frequent stomach pains, couldn’t eat, and visibly wasted away. I dragged him to a community clinic. The doctor’s expression after reading the report is something I’ll never forget. “Stage two stomach cancer. Immediate surgery is required, or it will progress to stage three.” Surgery plus follow-up treatment, at least three hundred thousand. For us, that was an astronomical sum. I had already dropped out of school by then. Working at a coffee shop during the day, and cleaning at a karaoke bar at night. At most, I earned three thousand a month. Dad didn’t want me to drop out. But we couldn’t afford tuition at all. I said it was okay. My drawing hand was already ruined anyway, so going to school or not made no difference. Three hundred thousand. I tried every method I could think of. We only raised twenty-three thousand on GoFundMe. Relatives had long cut ties. Community aid had a six-month waiting list. Finally, I called Mom’s number again. The first few dozen calls, all busy tones. But online, her news was everywhere. Throwing a birthday party for Caleb, booking out an entire commercial street. Spending eight million at an auction on an oil painting. The painting was of a little girl running in a field. She spent eight million on a painting. But she couldn’t answer my phone call. Later, after dozens of attempts, the call finally connected. “What do you want now?” Her voice was cold. I clutched the phone, my voice trembling uncontrollably. “Mom… Dad has stomach cancer. Stage two. He needs three hundred thousand for surgery, please… He’s really not doing well…” There was silence on the other end for a few seconds. “Are you and your dad putting on another act? Last time it was an injury and asking for money, this time it’s cancer. Next, will it be a will?” I crouched in the hospital corridor, tears falling one by one onto the floor tiles. “I’m not lying… I can have the doctor talk to you…” “Enough. I’ll give you one last chance.” Two days later, David, her assistant, came to the hospital. He handed me a bank card. “Ms. Vance said there’s three hundred thousand in it. Take it, and don’t call again.” I took the card with both hands. Like holding a life in my hands. I ran back to the hospital room, kneeling by Dad’s bed. “Dad, the money’s here. You can get the surgery now.” Dad looked at me, his eyes red. He laboriously raised a hand and stroked my head. “Autumn, your mom gave it to you?” I nodded. He didn’t say anything. He turned his face away, tears flowing into his pillow. I took the card to pay the bill. I waited in line for a long time. Finally, it was my turn. I handed the card into the window. “Transfer three hundred thousand, for surgery.” The staff member swiped it. Then swiped it again. She looked up at me. “Insufficient balance.”

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