Category: English

The day the Seacrest earthquake hit, my husband abandoned me and flew to another city to find his childhood sweetheart. Buried under the crushing weight of the rubble, I sent him a text: “Ethan, there was an earthquake. I’m trapped underground. It’s so dark, I’m so scared…” Hours later, right before the rescue team pulled me out, I sent him two final messages, then tossed my phone deep into the ruins. “Ethan, I can’t hold on anymore. Thank God you were busy with work, or else you would have died down here with me and our baby.” “I’m so glad you’re safe.” —I did it on purpose. I deliberately wanted him to think I died in that darkness. I wanted him to spend the rest of his life repenting for me and the unborn child he left behind. I wanted him to weep bitter tears, choked by a regret he could never undo. And when he could no longer hide from the truth of what he’d done, I would walk right up to him and say: “I want a divorce.” 1 In the second year of my marriage to Ethan, his first love came back from abroad. I was there with him at the airport to pick her up. I watched with my own eyes as the slender, fragile girl in a long white dress threw herself into his arms with tears in her eyes, like a bird finally returning to its nest. “Ethan, I finally get to see you again.” Ethan’s body went rigid for a second before he reached out and gently stroked her hair. “There, there. It’s okay now.” I stood right next to them, feeling as unnecessary as a third wheel. I hesitated for a moment before stepping forward to grab Ethan’s hand, forcing a smile. “Alright, since we’ve found her, let’s go home.” It was as if she had just noticed me. She pulled away from Ethan’s embrace. She smiled, but her face showed a trace of awkward surprise. “Ethan, you’re married?” Ethan gave a low hum of confirmation. The three of us headed home together in a suffocatingly awkward silence. Of course, maybe the only one feeling awkward was me. Chloe was Ethan’s first love, his “one that got away”—and technically, his adopted sister. I always knew Ethan had a girl buried deep in his heart, but it wasn’t until after we got married that I learned the full story. Ethan’s background was complicated. He was an orphan. His biological parents died in a car crash when he was nine. Afterward, his father’s best friend—Chloe’s father—took him in. And so, the story of Ethan and Chloe began. Ethan was a withdrawn, quiet child. His childhood trauma had built a wall of ice around him. But Chloe came from a wealthy, happy family. She was innocent and carefree, a little ray of sunshine that slowly melted Ethan’s icy exterior and gave him the warmth of a home. —Of course, Ethan never explicitly told me about his past with Chloe. I pieced it all together myself. But when I led Chloe into the home Ethan and I had shared for three years, and watched her curiously touching this and tracing that, I knew my guess was dead on. That evening, when I was getting ready to cook, Ethan brought home a bag of walnuts and asked me to make walnut-crusted chicken. He said, “Chloe loves walnut-crusted chicken more than anything.” I lowered my eyes and didn’t speak for a long time. Ethan was never a detail-oriented person. I had known him for eight years. I spent five of those years chasing him, and the last three living with him as his wife. Even so, he would still forget my preferences. He even forgot that I was deathly allergic to walnuts. But he remembered Chloe’s favorite meal perfectly. Even though she had been living in Europe for the past six years. I pressed my lips together and asked, “Ethan, did you forget? I’m allergic to walnuts. If I even touch them, I break out in hives.” He seemed to freeze. Then, he smiled and gently nudged me out of the kitchen. “I’m sorry, Maya. I forgot. We never have walnuts on our dinner table anyway. Why don’t you go sit in the living room? I’ll make dinner tonight.” Actually, I had eaten walnuts with Ethan once. Three years ago, right after I finally managed to win his heart. I was walking on cloud nine that day. During lunch, he randomly ordered a walnut and goat cheese salad, and without even looking, I took a bite. That time, he was the one who rushed me to the ER. But that was a long time ago. He must have forgotten. I nodded silently and didn’t argue. Chloe was sitting in the living room, and I didn’t want to make the atmosphere tense. During dinner, perhaps out of guilt for the kitchen incident, Ethan kept putting food on my plate. “The shrimp is really good today.” I ate it slowly. When I looked up, I saw Chloe place a piece of shrimp on my plate as well. She looked at Ethan, then at me, her smile gentle and her gesture perfectly natural. “He’s right, Maya. Eat some more. Ethan makes the best shrimp.” It felt like I was the guest in my own home. 2 Chloe moved into our guest room. It was Ethan’s idea. Three days ago, Ethan suddenly told me that his sister, who lived abroad, was moving back. He told me she had a really hard time over the years. She was all alone in Paris, cheated on by her ex-boyfriend, and diagnosed with severe depression… When he said these things, his lips were pressed into a tight line, his eyes dark with a heavy sense of frustration and pain. Seeing him like that made my heart ache. So, when he said, “She’s coming back alone. She doesn’t want to go back to her parents’ house and worry them, so she wants to crash with us for a bit,” I agreed without hesitation. At that time, I didn’t know his so-called “sister” was the love he’d been longing for all these years. It wasn’t until I saw Chloe’s face at the airport that it hit me— I had seen her photo before. It was tucked inside a worn copy of The Great Gatsby on Ethan’s bookshelf. He had used her photo as a bookmark on page 68. On that page, he had underlined a quote in black ink. —“If they ask me what my sorrow is, I wouldn’t dare say your name.” —She was the secret he had kept hidden in the depths of his heart. That night, I couldn’t sleep, my mind racing with thoughts of Ethan and Chloe. Ethan hugged me from behind, his warm breath tickling my ear. “Can’t sleep?” I nodded. Then, we heard a sharp crash from the living room. I walked out of the bedroom. Chloe was standing in the middle of the living room, surrounded by shattered ceramic pieces, tears streaming down her face, her slender body trembling. 3 The shattered pieces on the floor were custom clay figurines of me and Ethan. We made them at a pottery class the day we officially started dating. I sculpted him, and he sculpted me. I always treated them as our most precious keepsakes. I even carved “Ethan and Maya, forever and always” on the wooden base. But now, they were smashed into dozens of pieces. I stared at the ruins of our figurines, frowning. Ethan’s eyes, however, immediately fell on Chloe. Chloe looked beautiful when she cried. Her eyes turned a delicate shade of red, tears falling like rain on a spring flower. Anyone who saw her wouldn’t have the heart to scold her. “It’s just a clay doll. It’s nothing. Don’t cry,” Ethan sighed softly, pulling her to sit on the sofa. He furrowed his brows. “Why are you so clumsy? You cut your foot.” He left me standing there alone, cleaning up the shattered pieces of our history like a maid. Chloe sat on the couch, frowning, tears in her eyes, looking entirely helpless and pitiful. “Maya… I didn’t mean to. I… I just… I just…” “I couldn’t sleep, so I came out for a walk. I thought the dolls were cute and wanted to look at them, but my hand slipped…” “Maya, I’m so sorry…” Her hands were shaking as she spoke. Before she could finish, she burst into tears again, as if she had recalled something incredibly painful. Seeing her like this, I said nothing. I walked out to the balcony and pulled out a cigarette. Chloe always called me by my first name in that sickeningly sweet tone. When Ethan was in the kitchen earlier, I sat with her in the living room. She kept asking me about my life with Ethan, calling me “Maya” every other breath. I corrected her: “I’m married to Ethan. You should call me your sister-in-law.” She didn’t reply. Instead, she picked up a cat-shaped throw pillow from the couch and smiled at me with feigned surprise. “Oh wow! Look at this, Maya. I gave this to Ethan before I left for Europe. I can’t believe he still has it.” My stomach churned. I rolled the unlit cigarette between my fingers. I wasn’t actually going to smoke it. I was pregnant. I couldn’t smoke. He just didn’t know yet. I hadn’t found the right time to tell him. Maybe I had been standing on the balcony too long, because Ethan walked over and snatched the cigarette from my hand. “Quit smoking. It’s bad for you.” I hadn’t planned on lighting it anyway. Ethan didn’t like women who smoked. His type had always been girls like Chloe—long black hair, white dresses, clean and fragile. “Where’s your sister?” I asked. He gestured toward the guest room. “She went to sleep.” I gave a flat “Oh” and kept pressing. “Don’t you need to keep her company?” “What?” He froze. I smiled. I asked him how long Chloe was planning to stay here. I looked him in the eye, dropping all pretense. “Ethan, I don’t like your sister.” “Do you know something? Years ago, when I was still chasing you, you got blackout drunk. You held me and kept calling out ‘Chloe.’ I didn’t know who you were talking about back then, but now I do…” “Do you really just see her as a sister?” “Ethan, tell her to move out. She goes, or I go. Pick one.” 4 Ethan stared at me for a long time, his expression conflicted, before letting out a long sigh. “Maya, what happened earlier—Chloe didn’t do it on purpose. She’s just… she has depression. She’s emotionally unstable. Can’t you be a little more understanding?” “I know it’s unfair of me to ask this of you, but her parents, and Chloe herself, were so good to me when I had nothing…” “I didn’t bring her here with any ulterior motives. The past is the past. I really just see her as my sister now.” “I have you, don’t I?” Ethan begged me to believe him. I looked at him, and memories flooded my mind. I met Ethan in high school. He was handsome and had great grades, but he wasn’t popular. Why? Because he was too isolated. He always sat in the back row, leaning against the wall in the darkest corner of the classroom. When he sat there, the corner seemed even darker, like light couldn’t even reach him. But I liked him. I felt like we were the same. Ethan was a transfer student in our senior year. It was rare for anyone to transfer during such a crucial time, but he did. For that entire year, I never saw his parents. Of course, I never saw mine, either. My parents divorced when I was young, and neither of them wanted me. They fought in court, and the judge finally gave me to my dad. Shortly after, they both started their own new families, and I became the disposable leftover. I guessed Ethan’s home life was similar to mine. Or maybe even worse. After all, my dad was generous with his money, even if he didn’t give me his time. But Ethan, even with the intense pressure of senior year, worked part-time at a coffee shop every single day. My heart ached for him. More importantly, I knew Ethan was actually incredibly gentle. He looked cold, but one time, after a huge fight with my dad, I hid behind the school bleachers crying. He walked past me, didn’t say a word, but quietly left a pack of tissues next to me. I still remember it was dusk. The breeze was warm, and the golden sunset hit him perfectly, making even the tips of his hair glow. I think I fell in love with him right in that moment. Later, I followed him to the same college. I started chasing him. I gave him everything I had. For four years of college, Ethan rarely went home. Holidays, winter breaks, summer breaks—he stayed on campus alone. I shamelessly stuck by his side to keep him company. I spent Christmas after Christmas, birthday after birthday with him. He liked girls with long hair in white dresses, so I grew out my short hair and wore the dresses he liked. He liked home-cooked meals, saying they tasted like family, so I learned how to cook just to make him his favorite dishes. I did so many things for him. But as I did them, I realized… someone else had already done all of this for him first. His life was heavily marked by another girl’s presence. But it didn’t matter. I never gave up. If someone else had done it, I would just do it better. I would be so good to him that no one could ever replace me. I had never had anyone treat me well in my entire life. So, I loved him with everything I had. I chased him for five years before the clouds finally cleared and he accepted me. But now, that girl was back. … “Even if you guarantee that you only see her as a sister, what about Chloe?” “Can you guarantee she doesn’t have feelings for you?” This time, he didn’t speak for a long time. After a heavy silence, he said: “She doesn’t. It’s all in the past.” Ethan promised me. He swore that no matter what, he only saw Chloe as a sister. He said he was already looking for an apartment for her. In a few days, once she stabilized, he would move her out. And me… In the end, I couldn’t bear to let him go. I couldn’t let go of our eight years together. I decided to trust him one last time. For the eight years we shared. And for the unborn baby in my womb. I subconsciously touched my stomach, then quickly dropped my hand. “Ethan, you said it yourself. You better not be lying to me.” “If you lie to me, I promise you, you’ll regret it.” “I will make you regret it.”

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Scrolling through a forum at work, a post caught my eye: [I think my wife doesn’t like me.] [She likes looking at my face, but whenever she sees my body, she looks away in disgust.] [She barely touched the breakfast I made this morning.] [And she forgot the bento box I packed for her… Does she not like me at all?] What kind of person is this? I thought, shaking my head. Then I reached into my tote bag for the adorable bento box my own sweet husband had made for me. I rummaged around. And around. Wait a minute. Where was my bento box?! 1 It was just past ten when I finished the proposal, with more than an hour to go until lunch. Operating under the sacred principle of “a workday without slacking is a day wasted,” I happily pulled out my phone. A forum post immediately grabbed my attention: [Help, I think my wife doesn’t like me. What should I do?] The thread was blowing up. Hundreds of comments in just a couple of hours. [Care to elaborate?] [Is this an arranged marriage or something?] The original poster (OP) patiently replied: [Not an arranged marriage. We met on a blind date. Her mom and my mom are best friends.] [It was love at first sight for me. She’s beautiful, kind, and gentle. Just… perfect.] [I’m decent-looking, but my body isn’t her type.] What kind of body? A beanpole? The commenters seemed to think so too, but OP quickly clarified. [I’m the… really built type. I was born with a larger chest, and my shirt buttons are always straining. It’s honestly a problem for me.] [The main issue is, my wife hates my body. Is there any way to make my chest smaller?] A user asked, reasonably: [How do you know she doesn’t like it? If she hated it, she probably wouldn’t have gotten together with you in the first place, right?] OP posted a [sad] emoji. [She likes my face, but whenever she glances down at my body, she turns away with this look of disgust.] [Once or twice, I could tell myself it was a coincidence. But it’s happened too many times to ignore.] [I think she only agreed to date me because of our moms. She’s too kind to say anything mean about my body, and she even tells her parents I’m thoughtful and sweet.] Ah, a gentle, insecure, large-chested househusband. A “himbo,” if you will. And there are people in the world who don’t appreciate this type? Tragic lack of taste. 2 Come to think of it, Liam and I also met on a blind date. And our mothers are also the best of friends. When my mom first suggested I meet her friend’s son, I was reluctant. My type was very specific: big-chested, gentle, husband material. Liam’s mom was five-foot-two and weighed maybe a hundred pounds soaking wet. His dad was the opposite, six feet tall and built like a friendly bear. I couldn’t imagine what their son would look like. What if he wasn’t my type? It would be so awkward to turn him down and potentially strain our mothers’ friendship. My mom just waved off my concerns. “Do you think I don’t know what you like? I’ve seen him. Trust me, you’ll be more than satisfied.” My heart sank. Then she produced a photo. A guy in his twenties, sunglasses, leather jacket. Not bad-looking. Broad shoulders, trim waist, lean muscle. But still, not the type to make my jaw drop. As I was about to sigh, my mom grinned. “That’s not Liam.” I was confused. “Then who is it?” “That’s his dad.” My world tilted. There was no way the cool, lean guy in the photo was the same person as Liam’s cheerful, portly father. “Don’t judge a book by its cover,” my mom said, tucking the photo away. “His dad only gained weight because of medication. Back in the day, he was the village heartthrob. And Liam… well, let’s just say the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. In fact, it rolled to a much better spot. Just go see for yourself.” 3 My curiosity piqued, I agreed to the date. It was at a cozy café, the kind of place you see in romantic movies. Before I left, my mom gave me a “secret weapon,” a small sealed envelope she told me to open only after we’d met. Standing outside the café, I could feel the envelope in my pocket, a little thrill running through me. I pushed open the door and scanned for our table: third from the entrance, by the window. One, two… three. The first thing I saw was a broad shoulder. Then, a chest so powerful it looked like it was about to burst the buttons of his shirt. The man looked up. A handsome, fair-skinned face met my eyes. My breath hitched. My brain went completely blank. A wave of heat washed over me, and I had the sudden, primal urge to run to the nearest park fountain and beat my chest like a gorilla. I restrained myself. Relying on pure muscle memory, I produced the smile I had practiced a hundred times in the mirror. Liam’s ears turned a shy, adorable red. “You… you must be Audrey?” I gracefully took my seat. He nodded, pushing a glass of peach soda toward me. I blinked. “My mom said you like this,” he said softly, a bashful smile playing on his lips. “So I ordered one for you. I hope that’s okay?” Marry me, my brain screamed. Outwardly, I just took the glass, tucked a stray hair behind my ear, and took a delicate sip. Then I looked up and gave him my most dazzling smile. “Thank you. I love it.” 4 I couldn’t believe my mom knew me so well. Liam was my dream man personified: broad shoulders, narrow waist, huge chest, a handsome face, and that perfect husband vibe. While he was in the restroom, my hands trembled as I opened the “secret weapon.” It was a single slip of paper. Honey, your mom knows best, right? Aren’t you just dying? Dying was an understatement. I love you, Mom! Mwah mwah mwah!!! 5 We exchanged numbers, and after a few more dates, we met each other’s parents and set a wedding date. It all happened so fast, so smoothly. Every time I looked at his face, at that magnificent chest, I wanted to drag him to the courthouse right then and there. They say marriage is the tomb of love, but the thought of having Liam all to myself, even in a tomb, was thrilling. On our wedding day, he wore a custom-tailored suit that accentuated his physique perfectly. During the ring exchange, I finally broke. A warm drop of blood dripped from my nose onto my arm. I didn’t even notice at first, but Liam saw it and panicked, cupping his large hands to catch the flow. The officiant rushed over with napkins, and the ceremony was hastily concluded. Liam carried me, princess-style, to the lounge. I finally got to feel those incredible pecs, but we still hadn’t kissed. Seeing me staring at him, his ears went red again. “Wh-what is it?” “I want a kiss.” He froze for a second, a blush creeping up his neck. Then he leaned down. A feather-light touch. My heart hammered against my ribs. 6 Snapping back to the present, I was still reliving that day. Thinking about Liam was my ultimate work-day pick-me-up. The wife in that forum post had no idea how good she had it. Young people these days, chasing after skinny guys when a real man is right in front of them. The comments were all trying to console the OP, but I just wanted to shake his wife. Cherish him! Not every girl is lucky enough to find her perfect, pure-hearted, big-tiddied man! I kept scrolling, morbidly fascinated by his insecurity. [My wife is amazing. Everyone at her company loves her. Her boss really admires her.] [I’m not on her level. I’m an introvert, not good with people, so I’m a stay-at-home husband.] [I’m not saying there’s anything wrong with that. I love being her support system, and I love cooking for her.] [But she doesn’t seem to like my cooking. She barely ate breakfast this morning.] [And she left the bento box I packed for her… Does she not like me at all?] A user asked: [So you don’t have a job? Just your wife works?] [That’s not good, man. Everyone needs their own career.] OP replied: [I don’t have a job, but I have an income. I just collect rent every month.] [Thanks for the concern, but I’m happy where I am.] A landlord. Come to think of it, Liam’s family also owned a bunch of properties. Was this a househusband thing? [If you don’t mind my asking, how many properties are we talking about?] OP: [A few here and there. About five buildings in total.] [BUILDINGS?!] [I thought this was a sad story, turns out it’s about a secret tycoon.] A tycoon, maybe. But anyone can be anything on the internet. 7 I went to the breakroom for some water and got caught up in a twenty-minute gossip session with my work bestie. When I got back to my desk, the post had been updated. [My wife’s suitor once met with me and told me to divorce her.] [I know I’m not good enough for her, but I love her so much.] Whoa. Plot twist. I immediately forwarded the post to my friend. [Her suitor is her boss. He said he’s liked her for years, they were college classmates. He knew her long before I did… but I don’t want to let her go.] The comments exploded with advice. [Just ask your wife directly! Be upfront!] [She married you! Obviously, she loves you more!] [If your boss is hitting on you, isn’t that a hostile work environment? She should find a new job!] OP only replied to the last one: [My wife and her boss have always just been friends. I don’t think she even realizes he likes her.] A comment shot to the top: [If you sit next to a bonfire, don’t you feel the heat?] [I think your wife knows, but doesn’t want to ruin the friendship, so she ignores it.] The thread quickly turned against the wife. [But they’re married! Setting boundaries is essential.] [She’d rather hurt her husband than a ‘friend’?] OP rushed to her defense: [No, it’s not like that. My wife is just a very straightforward, simple person.] [Lots of guys had crushes on her before, but she never noticed. That’s why she’d never been in a relationship before me.] [Her mom told me all this. My wife has no idea.] [And the suitor never actually confessed to her. My wife genuinely doesn’t know he likes her.] Never been in a relationship before? That sounded familiar. I was the same way before I met Liam. Our wedding kiss was my first kiss. The comments were merciless, telling OP he was being played by a manipulative woman. But I wondered… could someone really be that oblivious?

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After Mom and Dad divorced, Mom developed a gender identity disorder. She raised me, her daughter, as a boy. She took me to the men’s restroom, where I had to use the urinals. She made me live in the boys’ dorms, exposed to my male classmates. I was young then, and no one really noticed anything unusual. Until I turned fifteen, and my body started to change. My classmates’ gazes grew strange. “Is that a freak? So disgusting!” “Neither male nor female, always flaunting herself around men!” Feeling wronged, I went home and cried to Mom. I thought, finally, she would see me as a girl. But she just smiled at me. “Don’t worry, I’ve booked you for a mastectomy.” “As a boy, you don’t need to develop these inappropriate things.” … I stared at her, my voice trembling. “Mom… what surgery did you say?” In my hand, I clutched the perfect score math test I’d just received, disbelief warring with a rising sense of dread. Mom turned from the counter, still holding a kitchen knife, and smiled serenely. “A mastectomy.” Her tone was unnervingly calm, as if discussing what we’d have for dinner. Like, ‘Tonight, we’re having sweet and sour ribs.’ I looked at her kind, loving face, and a sliver of genuine terror pierced my heart. “Couldn’t… couldn’t we skip the surgery?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. The words were barely out before Mom’s expression twisted. She slammed the knife onto the counter, ripped off her apron, and strode towards me. “Alex, look at you! What do you look like?” Her finger jabbed hard into my barely developing chest. “Is this something a boy should have? This is all because you keep eating those junk foods! The hormones are turning you into… this!” I wanted to say it wasn’t the food, it was because I was a girl. But the words churned in my throat, unspoken, swallowed back down. When I was five, I’d said I was a girl, and Mom had thrown away all my dolls. I cried, picking them out of the trash, only for her to shred them with scissors. “Boys don’t play with dolls! How disgusting! Can’t you be more masculine?” From then on, I knew. Only by pretending to be a boy could I earn my mother’s love. Perhaps seeing my silence, Mom suddenly sighed. Her voice softened, and she called me, “Sweetheart, are you scared of the surgery because it might hurt?” I nodded vigorously, tears streaming down my face despite myself. It had been so long since she’d called me “sweetheart.” She gently stroked my face, then continued, “How about this, sweetheart? We won’t do the surgery for now, okay? Mom will take you for hormone treatments instead. Maybe that will help.” “Really?” I snapped my head up, my voice trembling with a fragile hope. “Really.” Mom smiled warmly. A flicker of expectation sparked within me. Maybe if we delayed it long enough, Mom would just forget. As she spoke, Mom retrieved a warmed cup of milk and held it out to me. I suddenly remembered when I was sick as a child, how Mom would stay up all night by my side. Back then, she’d also make me milk and sing soft lullabies to help me sleep. Maybe Mom did love me, and it was only Dad’s rejection of me as a girl that made her ill, making her see me as a boy. Thinking this, with only me by her side, I felt I should be even more understanding of Mom. I obediently took the milk and drank it all. Under the warm glow of the light, Mom’s smile seemed almost blinding. “Good boy, Mom’s little man.” I blinked, trying to etch her tender expression into my memory. But in the next second, my vision blurred, and a sudden, intense dizziness washed over me. “Mom… please…” Before I could finish, my consciousness plunged into darkness. When I awoke again, it was to the harsh glare of blinding white fluorescent lights. I felt as though I was already on an operating table. I instinctively tried to struggle, but found I couldn’t move. Looking down, my wrists and ankles were strapped to the table! An indescribable terror instantly enveloped me. Through the haze, I saw Mom’s back and immediately cried out for help! “Mom, save me!” Mom noticed I was awake. She turned, a bright smile on her lips. “Sweetheart, you’re awake?” She reached out and stroked my hair. “Don’t be scared, it’s just a small procedure.” “But you promised me we wouldn’t do the surgery yet… You lied…” I sobbed, struggling for breath. Mom looked at my tear-streaked face, and tears welled in her own eyes, but she didn’t stop anything. “Don’t blame Mom, Mom is doing this for your own good.” “Look, how can a boy have these things? It’s a deformity. Mom has to help you correct it. Once it’s gone, you can be a real boy, and Dad will love you.” As the doctor burst through the door, scalpel in hand, approaching me, I finally couldn’t take it anymore. I screamed through my tears: “Mom, I’m a girl! Look at me!” I hoped Mom would hear my voice, snap out of her delusion, and save me. But she just shook her head, confused, stepping back, one step at a time. “Alex, what are you saying? You’re clearly a boy.” “You’re your father’s favorite son, your grandmother’s favorite grandchild.” “You’re meant to carry on the family name, continue the lineage. You are the pride of our family.” I desperately reached out to Mom, begging her to take my hand, to pull me from the cold operating room. “Mom, I can pretend to be a boy, I can pretend my whole life, please don’t…” But as the anesthetic was pushed, a wave of dizziness suddenly hit, quickly dragging me into darkness. I don’t know how long I slept. When I woke again, the first thing I felt was a sharp, intense pain. I looked down at my chest, wrapped in white bandages, flat as if nothing had ever been there. In that moment, my mind was utterly blank. I didn’t know exactly what I had lost, only a vague, sinking feeling that something was irrevocably gone. The door to the room gently pushed open, and Mom walked in, a radiant smile on her face. “Awake? Mom made you some chicken soup to help you recover.” “Alex, from now on, you’re a proper boy.” Looking at her satisfied smile, I wanted to smile too, but my face felt frozen. She spooned chicken soup to my lips, and I mechanically opened my mouth, obediently drinking it. The soup was fragrant, but my mouth tasted bitter. I couldn’t taste anything. Mom continued to chatter, saying that once my wounds healed, she’d take me to play basketball and go swimming. I listened numbly, when suddenly, a heavy, dragging pain shot through my lower abdomen. Pushing Mom away, I jumped out of bed and rushed to the bathroom, locking the door behind me. It wasn’t until I saw the crimson stain on my pants that a jolt went through my mind, and my hands started to tremble. How absurd. I’d just had a female organ removed, just accepted I was to be a boy. But the proof of my femininity had reappeared. What was I supposed to do? Was I a boy, or a girl? “Alex? Are you alright?” Mom’s voice came from the door, like a death knell. “I’m… I’m fine.” I quickly calmed myself. If Mom knew I had my period, she’d force me to have another surgery! “I just have a stomach ache, I’ll be fine soon!” I secretly discarded the blood-stained clothes, pretending nothing had happened. Then, I pulled out the allowance I’d saved for a long time and went to the convenience store. “Um… could I get a pack of sanitary pads, please?” I mumbled. The owner, head down, looking at her phone, casually handed me a pack. Like a thief, I slipped back into the restroom, intending to follow the instructions. But when I opened the package, I saw it read: ultra-thin pantyliners, daily use. This didn’t seem… quite like the ads on TV. But I didn’t have any more allowance, so this would have to do, right? I tried to stick two pantyliners side-by-side, but they ended up crooked and uneven. Walking along, I was on edge, terrified someone would notice something amiss. As if tempting fate, my first class back at school was gym. I gritted my teeth, jogging slowly with the group, but I gradually felt the heavy ache in my lower abdomen growing more intense. “Hey, look at Alex!” A girl shrieked behind me, pointing at my pants. “Isn’t he a boy? How can he have a period?” “What boy? He’s just some gender-bender freak, you haven’t seen his… down there…” “So disgusting, how can someone like that be in this school?” My face burned scarlet. I wanted to retort, but no sound came out. I knew that when I enrolled, Mom had registered my gender as “male.” I had no way to argue. The damp pants clung to me, and the whispers of my classmates grew louder and louder. I felt the stares from all directions, like countless slaps across my face. The moment the bell rang, I immediately clutched my legs together and rushed into the boys’ restroom. Thankfully, I had brought extra pantyliners. I should have enough time to change before class. But just as I closed the stall door, it was kicked open from the outside! “Well, well, well, look who it is? Isn’t it our school’s big celebrity?” It was Roy, the school bully. He usually loved picking on people, and now he was watching me with keen interest. I instinctively covered my pants. He saw my movement, and his eyes suddenly lit up. “What are you hiding? Let us see, buddy!” “Let me out!” I tried to escape, but he shoved me back. “What’s the rush?” Roy said, stepping closer with a triumphant smirk. “Tell us, are you a boy or a girl? Give everyone a show!” “No!” I clung to my pants with all my might, but Roy was incredibly strong! With a tearing sound, my pants ripped straight open! Just then, I heard a woman’s shrill voice from outside the restroom. “What? You’re saying a pervert sneaked into the boys’ restroom?” “Hmph, I’m going to take pictures with my phone right now and teach him a lesson!” My heart seized. If I was photographed and labeled a pervert, my life would be over! I used every last ounce of strength, shoved Roy aside, and, clutching my pants, burst out! But it was already too late. The moment I rushed out of the boys’ restroom, I was blocked head-on by the person at the door! The cleaning lady’s phone was pointed right at my face! The flash went off, and my mind went blank. I even forgot to raise my hands to cover my face…

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My sister loved me obsessively, a sickness. On my eighteenth birthday, she learned the truth: I wasn’t her real brother, just a changeling heir to a fortune that wasn’t mine. She locked me in her estate, showering me with twisted affection. To keep me to herself, she stripped our parents of power and exiled them. When her real brother sought revenge, she crippled him and left him in the mountains. She was paranoid, possessive, a beautiful monster who cut me off from the world. To make me jealous, she found a man who looked just like me—stubborn, calling her “sister” the same way. She made him a star, the youngest A-list actor ever, and named him Jaxson. No one knew why. No one knew my name was Cole. Everyone thought she loved Jaxson. He believed it too, flaunting his role as her fiancé. Drunk on her favor, he stormed into my prison. “You pretty boy! Did you get surgery to look like me? I’ll tear that face off!” He slashed my cheek, killed my dog, broke my hands, and poured pepper solution between my legs. When my sister arrived, he pointed at me—broken in a dog cage—and sobbed, “Darling, this impostor used my face to seduce you! Who do you choose? Me or him?” … I had been Rianne’s prisoner at Silverwood Manor for four years. Four years of relentless training, of honing my body and mind for a single purpose: escape. Today, I finally saw my chance. As I scrambled onto the garden’s back wall, my freedom a breath away, I saw them. A gang of thugs waited below, their faces grim. Leading them was Jaxson, the celebrity my sister kept on a leash. The moment he saw me perched on the wall, a cruel sneer spread across his face. He swung a steel pipe, and it connected with my leg with a sickening crack. “Well, well, what do we have here? Finally caught the rat trying to flee his cage! Feeling guilty, are we? Scared of me?” “So this is why Rianne is always coming out here,” he spat, his voice dripping with venom. “It’s you, you little leech, who’s been poisoning her mind!” The world dissolved into a universe of pain as I tumbled from the wall. I couldn’t even scream. Jaxson was on me in an instant, the steel pipe smashing against my face again and again. His cronies joined in, their steel-toed boots kicking me relentlessly. “Fucking homewrecker,” one of them snarled. “Let’s see you steal anyone’s girl after we’re done with you!” “You’re mistaken,” I tried to gasp out. “I’m…” Jaxson shoved the end of the pipe into my mouth, ramming it against my teeth and throat. The taste of blood and rust flooded my senses, choking me. I coughed, spraying a crimson mist onto the gravel. “Mistaken? Don’t give me that bullshit! You’re a goddamn slut who surgically altered his face to look like me, trying to steal my wife! You knew I was coming for you, that’s why you tried to run, wasn’t it?” He was screaming now, a madman consumed by jealousy. “I thought you’d hide in your little fortress forever!” The blows rained down, each one a fresh wave of agony. My face was a swollen, fiery mask. Warm blood streamed from my nose. I curled into a ball, trying to protect my head, and then it all clicked into place. The new head of security. He’d been bought. That explained his loud phone call outside my door, talking about Rianne being out of the country for a few days, about how the “opportunity was here.” He wasn’t talking to an accomplice of mine. He was tipping off Jaxson. It explained why he’d helped clear a path for my escape, diverting the other guards. He wasn’t helping me get out. He was leading me into a trap. Jaxson had been waiting for me all along. “You’ve really got it all wrong,” I rasped, my voice shredded. “I’m Rianne Blackwood’s brother. Not some boy toy!” Jaxson paused. The security captain stepped forward and murmured, “I have heard rumors that Ms. Blackwood has an adopted brother, a twin who looks just like her. But he was supposedly kidnapped four years ago, had his legs broken, and was sent abroad for treatment. Hasn’t been back since.” Jaxson’s eyes, cold as ice, scanned my face, then my intact legs. “This pretty boy doesn’t look a thing like Rianne, and his legs are fine. He’s lying!” Just then, a voice cut through the haze of pain. “Who’s there?!” It was Mr. Abernathy, the old butler, who had served my parents for decades. He was here, delivering something. He would recognize me! “Abernathy, help me!” I screamed, my throat raw. “It’s me, Cole!” The old man squinted, his gaze finding me on the ground. A flicker of confusion crossed his weathered face. “Mr. Pierce,” he said, his voice hesitant. “What are you doing here?” He looked at me, then back at Jaxson. “And who is this?” My heart sank. Four years. After our parents were sent away, Rianne had told the world I’d gone with them. I’d been locked away, hidden from every living soul. Even the maids who brought my food only passed it through a slot in the door. After four years, and beaten beyond recognition, how could he possibly remember me? I tried to speak, to prove who I was, but Jaxson’s boot came down on my mouth, grinding my face into the dirt. Darkness swarmed the edges of my vision. “Him?” Jaxson sneered. “Just some plastic surgery freak who thought he could use his face to seduce Rianne. Heard I was coming to teach him a lesson and got scared, tried to climb the wall and run.” The security captain chimed in with a laugh. “Doesn’t even know the real heir’s name and has the gall to impersonate Ms. Blackwood’s brother.” He squatted down and spat near my head. “The young master’s name is Spencer, you idiot. Not Cole. Got it?” But Mr. Abernathy’s face had gone pale. “Cole?” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Cole is the young master’s name!” “What?” Jaxson and the captain stared, stunned. “I thought Rianne’s brother was named Spencer!” Abernathy quickly explained my story, how I was the adopted son, the changeling. He told them how protective Rianne was of me, how she wouldn’t let anyone harm a hair on my head. A spark of hope ignited in my chest. I nodded frantically at Abernathy. Yes, that’s me! I’m Cole! The old butler knelt, peering at my bloodied face. With my one good hand, I fumbled inside my shirt and pulled out the small jade pendant our mother had given me. “That’s…!” Abernathy’s eyes widened, his voice shaking. “That’s the protective talisman my lady gave to the young master! Master Cole, is it truly you?” But Jaxson snatched it, ripping the cord from my neck. “He managed to get Rianne wrapped around his little finger. Stealing a piece of jade would be child’s play for a snake like him,” he sneered. “Exactly,” one of his thugs added. “Everyone knows you’re the one Ms. Blackwood really cares about. This bastard got a new face to look like you, hiding out here like a kept man. God knows what kind of dirty tricks he used to get her to protect him!” Jaxson’s eyes blazed with renewed fury. For three years, Rianne had forbidden anyone from setting foot on the estate grounds. If not for his fear of her wrath, he wouldn’t have had to resort to luring me out like this. His friends started egging him on. “What are you worried about? She said no one goes inside. We’re outside. We can waste this fucker right here and now. If she asks, we just say we thought he was some creep trying to break in.” “She loves you so much! You really think she’d punish you over some broken boy toy?” A dark realization dawned on Jaxson’s face. “You’re right! I’m only doing this because I love her so much. She might not even punish me. She might even be touched by my devotion!” With that, he ordered his men to drag me away, but Mr. Abernathy blocked their path. “Mr. Pierce, please, think about this! What if he truly is the young master? The consequences would be dire!” Jaxson’s face was a mask of pure menace. “What did Rianne send you to deliver to this pretty boy? Don’t you lie to me, old man!” His assistant ripped the box from Abernathy’s hands and tore it open. Inside lay an exquisite custom-tailored suit and a handwritten note. My love, I can’t wait to see you in this. Don’t be sad. I have a surprise for you when I get back. All my love. Jaxson’s face contorted in rage. He shredded the note. “See this?” he screamed at Abernathy. “If this was her brother, would she write something so intimate? You yourself said Cole is abroad with her parents. This imposter can’t be him!” Ignoring Abernathy’s frantic protests, he grabbed my hair and began dragging me away. Just as all hope faded, Abernathy’s phone rang. It was Rianne. The butler had barely answered when Jaxson snatched the phone from his grasp. He gestured for his men to gag me and for the security captain to pull Abernathy aside. “Hello? Darling,” Jaxson cooed into the phone, his voice sickeningly sweet. “I just ran into Mr. Abernathy. I absolutely adore the suit you sent. It’s perfect.” “And the note was so sweet, my sister. Made me want to fly over and see you right this instant!” There was a brief, cold silence on the other end. “Oh,” Rianne said, her voice tight. “I’m glad you like it.” She was furious, but she couldn’t let on. She couldn’t let Jaxson know I was her prisoner here, much less that she felt anything for me. It would put me in even more danger. “Where did you run into him?” she asked, her tone icy. “Did he say anything else?” “On the road back to the main house! He was being all secretive, wouldn’t let me open the box. I had to insist!” As he said this, Jaxson shot me a look of pure hatred. “This was for me, right, sister? It’s not like Abernathy was delivering it to some other little slut behind your back, is he?” The threat in his voice was unmistakable. “Don’t be ridiculous,” Rianne replied coolly. “You’re the only one I have. Abernathy is just getting old and eccentric. He probably wanted to hide it somewhere to surprise you later. Don’t overthink it. Put him on the phone.” Jaxson glared at the old butler before thrusting the phone at him. “Abernathy, since Jaxson has seen it, just give it to him. Don’t worry, I won’t blame you.” The last part of her sentence hung in the air, a veiled warning that made Abernathy’s blood run cold. “Yes, Miss!” Before he could say more, Jaxson moved to hang up. In that split second, I bit down. Hard. The man holding my mouth yelped in pain and his hand flew back. “Rianne, help me…” The words were a mangled, desperate croak. Jaxson’s face went white with fury. He lunged forward, his boot grinding into my mouth again. “I thought I heard someone call for help,” Rianne’s voice sharpened with suspicion. “What’s going on over there?” “It’s just my assistant, we’re running lines!” the man I’d bitten quickly improvised, his voice slick with false cheer. “Yes, Ms. Blackwood, we’re rehearsing. Jaxson has a kidnapping scene tomorrow…” “I see. Tell Abernathy to remember my instructions. I’m busy. Goodbye.” The line went dead. My world collapsed into despair. Jaxson pressed his foot down harder. “You dare call her ‘sister’ in front of me? Is that how you seduce her?” he hissed. “No one calls her that but me. You really deserve to die, you pretty boy!” He looked down at my ruined face, his eyes filled with a venomous satisfaction. “Not only did you copy my face, you even copied how I talk to her. Today, I’m going to make you regret ever being born.” He dragged me by the hair toward the main gate. Abernathy pleaded, “You’ve got the gift, you’ve taught him his lesson. Can’t you just let him go?” “Yeah, Jaxson,” the security captain added. “Just dump him somewhere else. If Ms. Blackwood asks, we’ll just say he ran away.” Jaxson seemed to consider it. He threw me to the ground. “Fine. Can you promise to leave this place and never see Rianne again?” I nodded frantically. God, all I wanted for the past four years was to escape this yandere nightmare. The next thing I knew, he was pulling out a knife, a cold smile on his face. “I don’t believe you. Better to make sure.”

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The day Jimmy Slade fully seized control of the Slade family, Portside burned with fireworks all night. Everyone speculated he was finally going to marry me. But I waited from dusk till dawn. What I got instead was the news of Thorne Group’s assets being frozen, accusations of my own alleged misdeeds about to land me in prison. I got Jimmy Slade’s hard-won triumph, and the announcement of his engagement to the novel’s heroine. The system’s cold voice chimed: “Congratulations, Host. Mission successfully completed. Would you like to depart this world?” I nodded without hesitation. Later, when Jimmy learned I had died, he panicked. Didn’t he want me ruined and dead? Why was he crying? 1 “Host, detaching from the body will take three days. Please wait quietly.” The system’s voice continued, and I watched a video on my tablet, completely unfazed. Just then, the doorbell of Thorne Manor rang, as I expected it would. The maid rushed over. “Miss Thorne, it’s the police.” “Let them in.” I set down the tablet. Last night, when everyone thought I would become the mistress of the Slade family, news broke that Thorne Group was involved in illicit activities. Right below it, pinned at number two, was a trending topic about me, Iris Thorne, organizing illegal operations and selling prohibited products. The accuser: Jimmy Slade. Public opinion swiftly turned. Everyone praised Jimmy Slade for his righteousness. He smoothly ascended to the position of Slade family patriarch. He also smoothly canceled his engagement to me and announced his wedding date with his childhood sweetheart, Charlotte Summers. “Miss Thorne.” I recognized the lead officer, a man named Officer Wells. He was famously stubborn, unwilling to wrongly accuse the innocent, and equally unwilling to let the guilty escape. He looked at me with an unreadable emotion in his eyes. “Hello, Officer Wells.” I smiled and greeted him, then extended my wrists, waiting for him to cuff me. He hesitated, not moving. It wasn’t until the young female officer beside him prompted him, “Wells, this isn’t the time for personal feelings.” Oh? Personal feelings? The system’s voice came: “Just pulled a clip. After the accusations against you came out, even with evidence, Wells refused to believe it. He insisted on investigating the truth to clear your name.” Hearing that, I couldn’t help but laugh aloud. Officer Wells and the young officer both looked at me. The young officer indignantly said, “Beauty doesn’t automatically mean a kind heart. Wells, I will report your behavior to the Chief.” In the end, it was the young officer who put the handcuffs on me. They were cold and metallic, a first for me. I was about to walk out. Officer Wells raised a hand to stop me. “Did Miss Thorne do all those good deeds just to cover her tracks?” I met his questioning gaze. I knew what he was about to say next. He was going to say, “I don’t believe it.” But whether he believed it or not didn’t matter. 2 I was merely the villainess in this novel. My mission was to clear all obstacles for Jimmy Slade, help him become the Slade family patriarch, and complete the romantic subplot. Thorne Group and my own existence were the last hurdles for Jimmy Slade to overcome. To complete the mission, I could play the fool and offer everything on a silver platter. The system had warned me two weeks ago: “After Jimmy Slade takes the shares from your hands, Thorne Group will be shut down, and you will go to prison. Are you just going to watch him frame you step by step for the next two weeks?” I merely smiled. I even reminded it: “This is just a mission.” In the novel, the Slade and Thorne families were always rivals, their previous generations constantly vying for supremacy in Portside. Later, they were manipulated by a villain. The two families were involved in a transaction that led to Portside’s most severe explosion. That was when I transmigrated, becoming the sole survivor of the explosion. Five-year-old Jimmy Slade became the sole heir to the Slade family. His uncles all tried to seize the opportunity to eliminate Jimmy and take power themselves. Jimmy’s grandmother wanted to use Thorne Group to protect Jimmy, so she gave me 10% of the shares. Thus, defying the opposition of Thorne Group’s shareholders, I chose to put aside the family feuds and proactively proposed a marriage alliance with Jimmy. 3 “Yes, Officer Wells, I was indeed covering up my crimes. I am a truly wicked person. You misjudged and misplaced your trust.” I smiled sweetly at him, then followed the young officer out of Thorne Manor. The mansion was surrounded by reporters, undoubtedly arranged by Jimmy. Their gloating faces were truly quite unbearable. “Did you ever imagine this day, after all the atrocious things you’ve done?” “Justice is served. You will pay the price for your actions!” Jimmy stood outside the mansion, watching my humiliation with cold detachment, Charlotte clinging to his arm. From afar, they truly looked like a match made in heaven. I suddenly remembered Jimmy in his youth, crying, his eyes red, burying his face in my embrace. “Iris, wait for me. I will definitely marry you. The day I become the Slade family patriarch, I will set off fireworks all night for you. All the billboards in Portside will display our photos. I will tell the whole world how much I love you.” Jimmy had done it. Only the object of his affection wasn’t me. The promises of youth ultimately became lies. In this mission, the romantic subplot wasn’t particularly important. The system even said that if I wished, I could choose to stay and build an empire with Jimmy. But the first time Jimmy chose Charlotte and left me forgotten in the rain, I understood. Some plotlines, even if altered, can’t fake genuine affection. Besides, I didn’t love him. 4 Jimmy approached, his bodyguards clearing a path. He drew close, still wearing the suit, tie, and even cufflinks I had personally designed and meticulously selected for him. He leaned in slightly. “Iris Thorne, you could beg me.” “If you just soften your stance, I can get you out.” I scoffed internally. No, I wouldn’t. I’m not one to be strong-armed. I looked back at Officer Wells. “Officer Wells, someone is challenging authority.” Jimmy’s face instantly turned to ice. Officer Wells quickly stepped forward, placing himself between Jimmy and me. “Mr. Slade, please do not obstruct the police.” Jimmy laughed in exasperation, clenching his fist and warning me, “Iris Thorne, the Thorne family caused the death of my parents. Blood for blood. This is what you owe me.” I pursed my lips. So, he was blaming the explosion on the Thorne family. Suddenly, the symptoms of departing the world began to manifest. A metallic taste welled in my throat, which I desperately swallowed down. “Then how about I pay with my life?” “The crimes you’ve committed are enough to execute you hundreds of times over!” Jimmy roared. My face was pale, but I smiled at him, my eyes curving. “Then I wish Mr. Slade a prosperous future and boundless success.” After the last word, I got into the backseat of the police car. I didn’t look back. The system’s voice carried a hint of indignation: “You’re the most cold-blooded, ruthless, and formidable host I’ve ever guided. You’re the first one to deliberately set herself up for death.” I looked out the window, ignoring the system, clenching my fists, enduring the sharp pain as my fingernails dug into my flesh. Jimmy was my masterpiece, ruthless, decisive, and efficient. This was good. 5 The moment I stepped out of the police car, I completely collapsed. I violently vomited a large mouthful of blood, which, by sheer coincidence, splattered all over Officer Wells’s uniform. My stomach pain was so intense I could barely stand upright, and cold sweat soaked the back of my clothes. “What’s wrong with you?!” Officer Wells immediately rushed to support me. My hand gripped his arm, my whole body weak and lifeless. When I looked up, my face was utterly bloodless, as pale as if I were already dead. Someone nearby quickly called for an ambulance, but before it arrived, my vision went black, and I passed out. In a haze, I heard the doctor speaking to Officer Wells. “She has late-stage stomach cancer. She won’t live for more than two weeks.” Officer Wells said nothing. When I opened my eyes, I met his gaze, which was filled with complex emotions. “Officer Wells, are you feeling sad for me?” He still said nothing, merely pouring me a glass of water. One of my wrists was handcuffed to the bedframe. “Will my illness cause trouble for your case? If not, you can fast-track the judgment. I plead guilty.” I added. Officer Wells’s grip tightened on the cup. He stared at me with an indignant intensity. “Iris Thorne, do you think that because you’re dying, you can take responsibility for anything and everything? Guilty is guilty, innocent is innocent. Don’t try to disrespect the law.” I smiled faintly, then took the cup from Officer Wells’s hand and took a sip. “Officer Wells is right to admonish me. I trust Officer Wells.” 6 Officer Wells left. It was the young officer’s turn to watch me. She didn’t seem to like me, always wearing a stern expression, but I quite liked her. In the novel, her character was very well-written—clear in her loves and hates, brave in pursuing what she believed in. The system suddenly spoke in my mind: “I’ve used points to block your pain. You will complete your death in three days. I’ve already chosen your next mission: how about pursuing Officer Wells? A bit of a romance subplot.” Uh… “I refuse.” “Refusal invalid.” You truly are my wonderful system. Officer Wells and I are different. He’s a star in the sky; I’m dust on the ground. We’re destined never to truly intersect. The hospital room television was showing Portside’s auction. Jimmy and Charlotte were attending together. She intimately linked her arm through Jimmy’s, a wedding ring on her middle finger. I designed it myself. Unfortunately, it wasn’t my size. “Our wedding is set for the eighth of next month. Everyone is welcome to attend.” Charlotte handled the reporters with composure, but Jimmy… his expression was terrible, his thoughts seemingly far away. He didn’t even react when Charlotte called him. Until someone suddenly asked, “Mr. Slade, how much do you know about Miss Thorne’s situation? Did you hesitate at all to expose her and sacrifice your own? Many in the industry believed you would marry Miss Thorne.” Jimmy frowned, glanced at the reporter’s press pass, then suddenly let out a cold laugh. “You used to work for Thorne Group, didn’t you?” The reporter instantly fell silent, his microphone held awkwardly, unable to raise or lower it. He could only force a “yes.” Jimmy gave a mocking smile. Speaking into the microphone, he was also, in essence, speaking to me. “Never hesitated for a second. Iris Thorne broke the law. She deserves what’s coming to her. I never even considered marrying her.” 7 Suddenly, the young officer switched off the television. She looked at me. “You have terrible taste in men.” I raised an eyebrow playfully. “But he wasn’t wrong, was he? I committed a crime, he reported me, and I’m facing punishment.” She snorted. “You’re right. I just don’t like his face. I’ve heard plenty about you and Jimmy. You helped him so much, and he stabbed you in the back. Aren’t you angry?” she asked, looking at me curiously. I merely smiled. “Of course I am. I almost burned down the Slade family estate.” “You wouldn’t dare!” she snapped, instantly standing up. I couldn’t help but laugh aloud. She was the same age as Charlotte. But far more innocent. Charlotte was Jimmy’s childhood sweetheart, his white moonlight, the heroine of this world. After the Slade family’s troubles, she was sent abroad; the Summers family didn’t want to get involved. Later, when Jimmy began to succeed, Charlotte returned and started rekindling their old flames. I used to mock Charlotte endlessly back then. A five-year-old child. How much profound love could there be? “I wouldn’t dare.” “You better behave!” the young officer glared at me. I nodded. 8 By the third day, my body’s functions began to fail. I coughed up large mouthfuls of blood, ceaselessly. My heart stopped several times. My entire body was bloodless, sweat and blood mingling on my forehead. The doctors and nurses were frantic. I called out to the system in my mind: “Can’t you let me die quickly? It’s too much trouble for the doctors, and it weighs on my conscience.” The system remained silent, giving me a six-dot ellipsis of exasperation. Officer Wells rushed in, drenched, as a torrential downpour raged outside. The sky was gloomy, which only added to my own disquiet. “The doctor said she won’t make it through the night,” the young officer said, her eyes red. Officer Wells looked at me, lying unconscious in the hospital bed, his expression grave. “How can this be so sudden? Didn’t they say she had another two weeks?” “She’s been depressed every day,” the young officer explained. “The doctor said maybe it’s because she has no will to live.” I wanted to object. I felt I’d been quite content these past three days. No work to deal with, no social gatherings to attend, no need to keep my nerves on edge. The system asked, “Do you want to say goodbye to them? Wells has been tirelessly working on your behalf these past few days.” “No,” I refused coldly. He wasn’t doing it for me, but for justice. If I hadn’t been the one reported today, he would still have acted the same way. Officer Wells leaned close. “Iris Thorne, I’m trying to find evidence. I will clear your name. You wouldn’t want to die with a bad reputation, would you?” What a foolish person. I really wanted to open my eyes and tell him. There’s no need to insist. This is the destined ending. Suddenly, the monitor blared, beeping—then a long, flat line. My blood pressure plummeted. Officer Wells froze for a few seconds, his face full of shock, until a nurse pulled him away. Only then did he react. “Prepare for CPR! Defibrillate!” The doctors began resuscitation again, continuously pressing on my chest, shocking me. Ultimately, my heart stopped. A flat line on the monitor. Officer Wells’s pained voice and the system’s cold voice sounded simultaneously. “Iris Thorne!” “Congratulations, Host, on successful detachment!” 9 I floated in the air, the system a white wisp on my shoulder. I was a bit exasperated. “Couldn’t you wait until Wells was further away before I died?” “Uh—” “Because time was up,” the system replied innocently. The doctor reluctantly announced my death. Wells clenched his fists, seemingly unable to comprehend my passing. “If I hadn’t said those things to her, would she still be alive?” he muttered, rigid. “No!” the young officer cried, her eyes red. “Wells, she was already dying! Even if not from cancer, she would have died by execution!” He shook his head. “I’ve found clues. What if she was innocent?” The young officer slapped him, turning Wells’s head to the side. “Wells, you’ve never been so irrational on a case before. Why is it that with Iris Thorne, you can’t control your emotions? If she was innocent, we will clear her name. She didn’t die unjustly; she died of illness. Birth, aging, sickness, death—these are things we cannot control!” Wells looked like all the strength had left his body, sinking weakly onto a chair in the corridor, consumed by deep self-reproach. I felt even guiltier. “System, can you give him a dream?” “I don’t want to owe anyone favors.” The system twitched its lips. “I asked if you wanted to say goodbye earlier. You refused. I can’t interfere now.” Fine.

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When our daughter passed away, Ian Blackwood promised her that he would never have another child. So, for all these years, no matter how openly he flaunted his mistresses, not a single one dared to provoke me with talk of children. Until our daughter Lily’s third death anniversary. I received a pregnancy test result at her graveside. The name on the form was Jenny Hayes, the innocent bridesmaid Ian had practically stolen from someone else’s wedding reception. He glanced at the paper, delivered to me like a cruel gift. There was no gentle interruption to his reverie. He merely chuckled, an unsettling amusement in his eyes. “The little rascal is playful. Don’t mind her. You go ahead with your remembrance; I’ll be back in a moment.” That day, I waited from morning until night. What I saw instead was a photo Jenny posted on social media: Ian kissing her belly, with the caption, “Our family of three.” They expected me to rage and make a scene, to even beg him, as I had in the past. But I simply exhaled a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. I quietly took the divorce papers, signed three years prior, and submitted them for registration, keeping it a secret from everyone. No one knew that Lily, on her deathbed, had also made a wish to me. The day her father broke his promise would be the day she agreed to let me divorce him. 1. It was eleven thirty-one in the evening. A biting wind swept through the cemetery. My hands, trembling from the cold, clutched my phone as I called Ian again. The custom ringtone – a recording of him and Jenny’s intimate whispers – played for a full minute and twenty-six seconds. Finally, a robotic voice announced that the call was unanswered. I had calculated the time: it took twenty-five minutes from Jenny’s place to the cemetery. That left three minutes, just enough for him to light an incense stick for Lily and say a few words. But he didn’t answer. I knew his phone would likely be unreachable tonight. Six months ago, when I was ill and called him for help, he told me that when he didn’t want to take my calls, he’d let the ringtone play until I couldn’t bear their voices anymore and would be sensible enough to stop bothering him. I gave a self-deprecating smile. Just before I put my phone away, he sent a rare, unsolicited message. Don’t call. She’s been threatening to get an abortion, and I can’t calm her down. I’ve given her Lily’s necklace for now. I’ll order a new one tomorrow. A day earlier or later, Lily won’t mind. I gripped the phone, yet strangely, I couldn’t muster any anger. Last time, when Jenny threw Lily’s photo in the trash, I slapped her. That night, Ian’s men “accidentally” injured my arm, putting me in the hospital for two weeks. I had known for a long time that Lily no longer held the same place in his heart. But Lily was young, innocent. She always appeared in my dreams, begging me to give her father another chance. I sighed, and then Jenny’s message arrived. Sister, I’m so sorry, I’m pregnant. He said the cemetery was too unlucky, bad for me and the baby, so he made an excuse to miss it. Oh, and do you know when this baby was conceived? It was during the time you went to the temple every year to pray for Lily. I told him you’d be upset, but you know he always likes to force things. The more I resisted, the more intensely he wanted it. Afraid I wouldn’t believe her, she sent a screen recording of hundreds of flirtatious videos on her phone. The last date was January 21st – the same day, three years ago, Lily was diagnosed with her illness. I distinctly remembered Ian abandoning millions in business deals to rush back, crying hysterically outside the operating room, kneeling and begging the doctors to save our daughter. Afterwards, every year on that day, he would clear his schedule to go with me to the temple to pray for Lily. Until Jenny appeared, and I was the only one who went. It turns out that wound in his heart had healed long ago. I didn’t reply. Almost stubbornly, I stood there until the date on my phone changed to the next day. I didn’t feel the sadness I expected. I simply touched the serene smile on Lily’s tombstone. “Lily, it’s time. Dad isn’t coming this year. From now on, you and Mom will go our own way.” 2. That night, I dreamt of Lily crying, throwing herself into my arms, saying she didn’t like Daddy and didn’t want him anymore. I woke up, choking on my own sobs. In the dead of night, the space beside me remained empty. Only Lily’s favorite teddy bear, the one she cherished in life, still carried her scent. When Lily passed, Ian was inseparable from me. Whenever I’d wake from a nightmare, he’d be the first to notice, then he’d hold me, soothing me with soft words or weeping alongside me. Back then, I thought we would reconcile. I never imagined his philandering would remain unchanged, even after Lily and I had left. I couldn’t fall back asleep. After typing out the divorce papers, word by word, he returned. I handed him the signed agreement, still warm from the printer. He paused for two seconds, then scoffed. “So, just because I didn’t visit our daughter? It’s been years; are you still using these tactics? Isn’t it tiresome?” He paused again, seemingly realizing something. “Besides, Jenny’s pregnancy makes it difficult for her to move around. Or do you think this child threatens your position, so you’re playing hard to get to test me?” “Don’t worry. Once the baby is born, as long as you treat it as your own, no one will challenge your status as Mrs. Blackwood.” “While I’m in a good mood, take the hint. Don’t, like before, cry and tear up the agreement, saying you can’t live without me, if I actually sign.” I felt no anger at his mockery, nor did I bother to explain that my past actions were forced, a desperate charade. I just looked at him calmly. “Do you remember what you promised Lily?” His face stiffened, and beneath his serious demeanor was an undeniable hint of guilt. “I will always love her, but the Blackwood family cannot be without an heir. She will understand me.” As he finished speaking, his phone rang. He smiled happily as he answered Jenny’s call. “How could such a small baby be making a fuss?” “Alright, alright, I know you miss me. I just came back to grab some fresh clothes; I’ll be right there.” His voice was tender. For a fleeting moment, I was transported back to when we were most in love. When he learned I was pregnant, he was just as gentle. He would lie on my belly every day and talk to the baby. When the baby’s movements made me uncomfortable, he would sternly tell her not to bother Mommy. He hung up, then glanced at me. “Enjoy your life as a rich wife. Don’t cause trouble for Jenny, and your future will be one of comfort and security.” Watching him rush away to someone else, aside from a pang of bitterness reserved for Lily, I felt very little emotion left. I had the cemetery exhume Lily’s grave. I took out her urn. Then, I carried the divorce papers to the Blackwood family estate and handed them to Ian’s father. “Back then, besides Lily not wanting me to divorce him, you also said I was the only one who could curb his inherent arrogance.” “But now I can’t do it, and he no longer has Lily in his heart either.” Ian’s father, stroking the agreement, looked at me regretfully. “You know he just loves playing games and excitement. Wait a couple more years; he’ll settle down eventually. You two have so many years of history.” We had been entangled for ten years, from campus to marriage. He once defied his elders in the ancestral hall, staining a marriage contract with his own blood, just to marry me, an unsuitable match, vowing to marry no one else in this life. Just when I had finally softened his family’s hearts with my sincerity, he had lost his feelings for me. I smiled and shook my head. “No more waiting. I need to start a new life too.” He sighed, then retrieved the real divorce agreement, swapped out three years ago, from his safe and handed it to me. “The process has been re-approved. Pick up your divorce certificate in three days.” 3. After completing the registration, I returned home. The house had acquired some unfamiliar items. Jenny sat on the sofa. Ian stood beside her, directing the moving company as they cleared things out of Lily’s bedroom. He paused when he saw me. “Jenny’s pregnancy is unstable; she needs care. I’ve brought her home. You and the new nanny look after her. After all, you’ll be relying on this child in the future.” “Lily’s room is empty anyway, so I’ve put some odds and ends in there for storage. The master bedroom, where you sleep, is for Jenny and me. You can clean up the guest room and move in there.” Jenny stood up, stroking her belly, looking shyly at me. “I’m so sorry, big sister. Arthur just cares so much about me and the baby. Don’t worry, I won’t cause you any trouble.” “Once I’ve had the baby, I’ll definitely restore Lily’s room to its original state.” This wasn’t the first time Jenny had tried to provoke me using Lily. Last time, she sent a voice note of them flirting. Jenny said she wanted to give him a child as cute and well-behaved as Lily. So, Ian took her to the children’s room, jokingly saying Lily was kind and would surely grant their wish if she heard it. In front of Lily’s portrait, Jenny emotionally begged Lily to be reincarnated into her womb and become part of their happy family. By the time I arrived, the entire bedroom was filled with a disgusting odor, and Lily’s favorite bedsheets were soiled. I used the most vicious words to curse them, to curse her. And Ian, from beginning to end, acted like a cold psychopath, holding Jenny in his arms, covering her ears, watching my hysteria. The next day, I was sent to a mental hospital for a week under the pretext of being mentally unstable. Thinking of this, I no longer felt that same anger; only a sense of the ridiculous. I calmly glanced at Ian, who looked at me with the guarded expression of an enemy. “Whatever you want, arrange it however you like. I have no objections.” With that, I turned and went back to the master bedroom, pulling out my suitcase to pack. He watched me toss items into the suitcase, one by one, until half the closet was empty. Ian was somewhat surprised by my obedience and meekness. He tentatively spoke. “Father’s birthday banquet is on Friday. I plan to announce this news publicly as a gift. If you have time, whisper a few words to him so he won’t be angry when he hears it then.” I didn’t speak, merely nodding perfunctorily. Friday was the day I would receive my divorce certificate. Seeing that I still had no reaction, his brows furrowed deeper. “Did you change your tune today? Or do you realize nothing can threaten me, so you’re trying a gentle, devoted wife approach?” “Since you’re so sensible, make some soup for Jenny. She liked the last one. It’ll also be a test to see if you can take good care of her.” During a previous attempt at reconciliation, I had humbled myself to make him soup and deliver meals. But he had fed it, mouth to mouth, to Jenny right in front of me. Since then, I had been so disgusted that I never cooked again. I remained silent for a moment, then pulled out paper and pen, writing down the ingredients, steps, and cooking time, and handed it to him. “I need to clear the room for you first. Have the nanny make it. I’ll cook again when I have time.” He looked at the note, a playful smile playing on his lips. He attributed my newfound obedience to my realization that I had lost all my leverage and would no longer cause trouble for him. At the dining table, the nanny served Jenny the soup. But after her first sip, she clutched her stomach, crying out in pain. A few fresh drops of blood stained the floor. Ian’s face registered an unprecedented panic. He glared at the nanny. “What happened?!” The nanny’s gaze subtly flickered towards me. Before I could explain, Jenny looked at me with red eyes. “Sister, I know you don’t like me, but you’re a mother too. Why would you hurt my baby?!”

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The day the true heiress returned, my parents tossed my luggage out of the mansion. “Isla is our real daughter. The moment I saw her, I knew – blood runs thicker than water!” Isla flashed me a triumphant smile. “Sister, what’s mine, you should return.” I looked at the golden aura above her head – the [100% Guaranteed Elite Family Recognition] halo – and neither cried nor made a scene. Instead, I sent samples of her hair to seven other notoriously ruthless elite families in the city. Half a month later, Isla called me, sobbing. “Please, take these fathers away. I can’t take it anymore!” I calmly hung up the phone. “This is just the beginning.” “Tonight, all eight family dinners clash. Good luck.” … My name is Iris Fitzgerald, and for twenty years, I was the daughter of the Fitzgerald family. Today, that identity expired. The mansion’s ornate iron gates slowly closed before me, like a guillotine drawing a line in the sand. My suitcase lay roughly discarded by the roadside, its contents spilling out, clothes soiled with mud. My perpetually bewildered mother was cradling her biological daughter, Isla, sobbing uncontrollably. “My Isla, you’ve suffered so much out there all these years.” My supposed father, Mr. Fitzgerald, eyed me with the cold, assessing gaze of someone appraising merchandise. “Iris, we’ve raised you for twenty years. We’ve been more than generous. From today, you have no further connection to this family.” Isla lifted her head from her mother’s embrace, her face still streaked with tears, but her eyes held undisguised scorn for me. “Sister, don’t blame Mom and Dad. They just love me too much.” I calmly observed the halo above her head. That golden glow was dazzling, almost blinding. I said nothing, merely bending to quietly gather my scattered belongings. Isla seemed to think this wasn’t enough. She stepped closer, looking down at me. “By the way, Sister, you’re used to living in a mansion, but renting outside isn’t cheap. Do you need me to advance you some wages? You could always work as a maid for us. At least you’d have a place.” I finally met her gaze. “No need.” My eyes swept past her, to the second-floor balcony of the mansion. There, a pile of her freshly discarded clothes lay, next to the vanity where she had just brushed her hair. Perfect. That’s where I’d find what I needed. I turned and walked away, dragging my suitcase, without a single glance back. They thought I was utterly defeated. They had no idea the game had only just begun. That evening, I used my savings to rent a small apartment downtown. After settling in, I contacted a maid who still worked at the Fitzgerald mansion, someone I had helped in the past. Half an hour later, a same-day delivery package was on my table. Inside was a comb, with a few strands of long hair tangled in it. I took out the eight pre-prepared sealed bags and eight envelopes. The eight most influential elite families in the city. Each a hundred times more prominent than the Fitzgeralds. Coincidentally, each of these eight families had some long-standing mystery concerning their bloodline. Either a daughter lost years ago, or a patriarch with an almost insane obsession with pure lineage. They would stop at nothing, spare no expense. I put on gloves and carefully divided the hair into the sealed bags. Then, I wrote an anonymous letter to each family. The content was largely similar: “Your lost bloodline. I’ve found her.” “Here is the evidence. Do with it what you will.” No sender, no superfluous explanations. After all that, I leaned back in my chair, watching the city lights twinkling outside my window. Isla, you have that recognition aura, don’t you? I’ll give you all the recognition you can handle. The days that followed were unusually peaceful. I found a part-time job at an art gallery, working nine to five. Isla probably assumed I was traumatized into silence, sending me messages every other day. They were always about her latest designer bag, or some lavish party the Fitzgerald couple had taken her to. [Sister, Dad bought me a pink Porsche. Look, isn’t it pretty? [image]] [Mom says my skin is amazing, so she’s taking me to Switzerland for the most exclusive treatment. Ugh, sometimes being too pampered is a hassle.] I ignored them all. She was like a boxer punching air, talking to herself, perfectly content. Until half a month later, the first big fish bit. Mr. Davies, chairman of Davies Group, a real estate mogul, publicly announced a search for his lost daughter. Twenty-two years ago, he’d lost a child. Now, thanks to a mysterious DNA sample, he’d found her! At the press conference, Mr. Davies wept tears of joy, a bewildered young woman standing beside him. It was Isla. In the photos, she wore an expensive but ill-fitting gown, her smile stiff. I turned off the news just as my phone rang. It was Mr. Fitzgerald. His voice was thick with barely suppressed rage. “Iris! Was this your doing? How can Isla be Mr. Davies’s daughter?” I feigned surprise. “Mr. Fitzgerald, what are you talking about? Isn’t Isla your biological daughter? What happened? Does this bloodline come with a ‘buy one, get one free’ deal?” “You!” He was too furious to speak. “Mr. Fitzgerald, instead of worrying about this, you should probably figure out how to explain it to Mr. Davies. After all, your ‘true heiress’ seems to be his as well. I hear Mr. Davies is notoriously ruthless with those who deceive him. You wouldn’t want to sacrifice yourself for a two-for-one daughter, would you?” I hung up and blocked his number. I could imagine the Fitzgerald household was in utter chaos. They thought they had welcomed a unique bloodline, only to find they had a bargain-bin version. Isla’s social media paused for two days. On the third day, she reappeared. This time, it was a photo with Mr. Davies, captioned: “Turns out, I have two loving fathers.” Below, my mother was the first to like it, commenting: “Both of you are Mom’s good daughters.” I nearly laughed out loud at the forced harmony. Isla had probably convinced herself, and the Fitzgerald family. What’s wrong with an extra dad, if it means extra pampering? Unfortunately, she didn’t understand. When a miracle happens repeatedly, it ceases to be a miracle. It becomes a joke. Sure enough, less than three days later, a second missing persons announcement rocked the city. Mr. Allen, founder of Allen Tech, an internet giant with a multi-billion dollar valuation, announced he had found his long-lost daughter. The token of his successful search was another unheralded DNA sample. And the girl he excitedly embraced was, once again, Isla. The city exploded. [What kind of lucky charm is this Isla? Even lottery tickets don’t hit this often!] [I suggest an investigation. This might be a new type of scam.] [^ The DNA results are all confirmed. All three families match. This is a scientific anomaly.] Isla’s phone was practically vibrating itself to death. When she called me, her voice was tinged with tears. “Iris, what is going on? Why does Mr. Allen also say I’m his daughter?” I slowly sipped my tea. “Congratulations, Isla. Your fatherly love quota has doubled again.” “Don’t be so sarcastic! Is this your doing?” she shrieked. “Me?” I chuckled. “I’m just a fake heiress kicked out of my home. How could I have such power? You should ask yourself why you’re so… generous?” Silence on her end, punctuated by heavy breathing. I knew she was starting to question her own infallible aura. The Fitzgerald and Davies families had already fallen out. Mr. Davies believed Mr. Fitzgerald was a con artist, deliberately using his daughter to climb the social ladder. Mr. Fitzgerald believed Mr. Davies was a thief, trying to steal his precious daughter. The two families began sabotaging each other’s businesses. And at the center of it all, Isla was experiencing a chilling dichotomy. The Davies family demanded she study from five in the morning until midnight. If she didn’t get a perfect score in any subject, she was confined for three days. Mr. Davies even set up a dedicated punishment room for her. The Allen family enrolled her in an entertainment company but forbade her from smiling at any male. Her phone and computer were monitored, her social media accounts rigorously scrutinized. One time, she simply greeted an elderly security guard, and all her luxury items were confiscated. She was even sent to a “female etiquette electroshock school” for a three-day intensive training. The Fitzgerald family, in the most awkward position, wanted to intervene but dared not offend the other two families. They could only call daily, feigning concern, and emphasizing that they were her “first” father. Isla’s schedule was packed to the brim. She no longer had time to flaunt on social media. Her messages to me changed from boasting to complaining. [Today, I just looked at my riding instructor for too long during equestrian class and Mr. Davies made me stand still for two hours.] [Dad Allen assigned me eight bodyguards. Two female bodyguards stand outside the restroom door when I use it! They even record the time and duration of each visit and report it. Is he a pervert?] [My mom wants me to come home for dinner, but I have to attend a family dinner at the Davies’ tonight. What do I do? Mr. Sullivan also said if I’m a minute late, he’ll leak scandals about me to the media and ruin me.] I looked at her pleas, my mood pleasant. This is just a few fathers. You can’t handle it? Don’t worry, there are five more waiting in line. Plus a bonus. When the fourth and fifth elite families successively announced they had recognized Isla as their daughter, the entire society was speechless. News headlines shifted from the astonished “Elite Family Miracle” to the mocking “Revolving Elite Families, Enduring Isla.” Isla became the biggest running joke in the city. A walking daddy collector. She was utterly broken. That afternoon, I was organizing paintings in the gallery when Isla burst in, her face devoid of makeup. She grabbed my hand, her eyes bloodshot and raw. “Iris, I was wrong. I was so, so wrong!” She was trembling all over, her Chanel suit wrinkled, her hair dishehevelled. “Please, make them stop! I don’t want so many fathers anymore! I just want the Fitzgeralds. My mom and dad are enough!” Other colleagues in the gallery cast curious glances our way. I gently pulled my hand free, calmly looking at her. “You shouldn’t be telling me this. You should tell them. Tell them you’re not their daughter.” “I did!” she wailed. “But they don’t believe me! They all did DNA tests, and the results all show I’m their biological daughter! They think everyone else is lying, trying to deceive me!” That certainly fit the character of those obsessive patriarchs. “Iris, I know it was you! You sent my hair to them, didn’t you?” She had finally figured it out. I neither admitted nor denied it. “What do you want from me? Will you only be satisfied when I’m dead?” she asked, looking at me with desperation. I picked up the water glass on the table and took a sip. “I don’t want anything.” “I just think that if it’s a windfall from heaven, it’s better to have a few more to ensure a balanced diet of nutrition.” “You!” She trembled with rage. Just then, her phone rang furiously. She glanced at the caller ID, her face instantly turning ashen. Her hand shook, and the phone dropped to the floor. The screen displayed “Mr. Sullivan”—the media mogul, the sixth father to recognize her. He was known for his fiery temper and extreme possessiveness. The phone rang incessantly, like a death knell. Isla stared at the phone on the floor as if it were a bomb. She dared not answer. I bent down, picked up the phone, and pressed to hang up. Then, I saw her packed schedule of reminders.

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My wife’s male assistant deliberately ruined a painting I’d spent two years creating. Infuriated, I punished him by making him my manservant for three days, tasked with cleaning my art studio. At first, Eleanor Brooks said nothing, acting as if nothing had happened. But three months later, Eleanor’s company filed for bankruptcy, and she was imprisoned. To repay millions in debt, I worked three jobs a day, toiling relentlessly. For three long years, I lived on the run from creditors, once cornered in an alley and humiliated. For a mere hundred dollars, I even tested haunted houses overnight. Then, while clearing tables, I overheard Eleanor, who should have been in prison, throwing a lavish birthday party for her male assistant. A friend asked, “Eleanor, you bought Aiden a million-dollar watch, and your ‘good’ husband is testing haunted houses for a hundred bucks. Can you really be so heartless?” Eleanor scoffed, exhaling a plume of smoke. “He deserved it, for forcing Aiden to be a manservant back then. These three years are his punishment.” “Once these three years are over, I’ll pretend to make a comeback. He’ll still be my good husband.” My body swayed in the cold wind, like a stunned puppet. So, these three years of living hell, this was all a punishment orchestrated by you. If that’s the case, then I will return it to you, twofold. 1 I felt as if I’d plunged into an ice-cold abyss, and from within, I heard the conversation between Eleanor and her friend, Grace Sloane. “Eleanor, he’s still your husband, after all. Before you got married, he was a spoiled young man, living a life of luxury. Aren’t you being a bit too cruel to him?” “The last time I saw Arthur Blackwood, he looked so haggard, so thin. He must be at his breaking point.” Eleanor spoke calmly. “It was agreed for three full years. Not a day less.” “Anyway, it’s only another month until three years are up. He’s lasted this long; a couple more days won’t make a difference.” Grace hesitated, clearly wanting to say more. “But he came to me recently, just asking to borrow a few hundred dollars.” “The once privileged Mr. Blackwood, I’d never seen him so desperate.” Eleanor snorted. “You didn’t lend it to him, did you?” “Of course not! You said anyone who lent him money would be considered to have cut ties with you. How would I dare?” Through a cloud of smoke, Eleanor smiled coldly. “Good to know you’re sensible.” “Arthur Blackwood’s temperament, so demanding and arrogant. Aiden accidentally stained his painting, and Arthur heartlessly punished him by making him a manservant for three days. That kind of overbearing attitude needed to be fixed. See, this three-year punishment has clearly worked, hasn’t it?” Eleanor’s tone was filled with pride and satisfaction, as if her punishment had reformed me, making me a new man. Grace sighed, swallowing the rest of her unspoken words. She had actually concealed a few things. That day, I had knelt. I had even unbuttoned my shirt. “Just five hundred dollars, please.” “Eleanor got sick in prison and needs medical expenses. I’m still short five hundred dollars.” They exchanged glances, then burst into laughter. “Is this still the former Mr. Blackwood?” “You were so proud back then, wouldn’t wear shoes under a thousand. Now you’re selling yourself for five hundred dollars.” I could only listen in humiliation, my face devoid of any expression. What expression could I even have? All my pride, my self-respect, had been trampled into worthlessness by reality. “If you’re willing to add more money,” I choked out. “Whatever pose you want me to strike, I will.” Their laughter grew even louder. Finally, the woman who had been silent all this time, sitting on the sofa, sighed and spoke. “You should leave.” “Even if you bowed a hundred times today, we wouldn’t help you.” Because Eleanor had already given strict instructions. A punishment was a punishment. For three full years, they were not to show any pity or offer me any convenience. Only then could they truly get revenge for Aiden, her assistant. How did I manage to scrape together those five hundred dollars later? I went to the hospital and sold my blood. I took the five hundred dollars to the prison, but was told Eleanor had been released on medical parole. That money, after much effort, was entrusted to Eleanor’s friend. I was so anxious at the time, I almost knelt. “Please, you must get this money to Eleanor. She mustn’t have any more trouble.” But at that very moment, Eleanor was with her assistant, Aiden, checking in at Disneyland. She treated the five hundred dollars like a receipt, tossing it to a staff member. “Dirty money from an unknown source, how unlucky.” Just like my sincerity, it was trampled upon so carelessly. 2. Now, Eleanor herself had arranged for antique porcelain vases, worth a fortune, to decorate Aiden’s birthday party. Every detail was meticulously planned. But I had no desire to watch any further. Several times, I almost lost control and charged in. I wanted to appear before Eleanor, slap her hard across the face. I wanted to demand why she had deceived me for three years, all because I made Aiden a manservant for three days. I wanted to show Eleanor all the wounds I had suffered, all the scars on my body, over these three years. But in the end, I did nothing. I watched Eleanor, who was supposed to be released from prison in three days, dressed in an expensive designer gown, like a powerful female CEO. She had thrown a grand and respectable birthday party specifically for her male assistant, inviting friends from their circle to celebrate and wishing Aiden a spoiled birthday. Then, I turned around expressionlessly and returned to my cramped, underground rental. It was dark and damp, and I had lived there for three years. The bathroom was right outside the door, the walls covered in years of accumulated mold, constantly emanating a foul smell. I remembered when I first moved in, I was nauseous to the point of vomiting every day. For the first twenty-five years of my life, I lived in luxury, the privileged eldest son of the esteemed Blackwood family, never knowing hardship. I was an internationally renowned painter, accumulating numerous international awards. At the height of my success, I was even pursued and proposed to by Eleanor Brooks, the eldest daughter of the Brooks family. After marriage, I effortlessly lived the life of a “winner.” Until Eleanor hired a timid and gentle male assistant named Aiden. He was the son of my family’s housekeeper, yet he constantly tried to compete with me. His clothes weren’t as luxurious as mine, so he would retort that I was a frivolous pretty boy. His abilities weren’t as strong as mine, so he would gossip behind my back that I only succeeded because of my birth or because of women. He even deliberately sought to become Eleanor’s assistant, and never stopped badmouthing me to her, saying how I bullied his housekeeper mother at home, ruined his clothes, and even made him kneel as a manservant. I believed that the truth would speak for itself and never paid these things any mind. But then came that day. I had finally completed a painting I had worked on for two full years. Just as I was about to frame it, I stepped out for a moment, only to return and find it splattered with ink. Aiden stood nearby, holding the ink bottle, a smug look on his face. “Didn’t you spend two whole years on that painting? Let’s see how you’ll impress Eleanor without it.” I was furious that time. I threw a punch that landed squarely on his face. “Didn’t you always spread rumors that I made you a manservant? Well, for these three days, you can properly be my manservant and clean my art studio.” Just then, the door was pushed open, and a figure burst in. Eleanor frowned, shielding Aiden behind her. “Arthur Blackwood, can’t you control your privileged temper?” “Aiden tries so hard. He may not have a good background, but why do you always target him?” My chest heaved with anger. “Eleanor, get this straight, he was the one who…” Before I could finish, Aiden, playing the victim, hid behind Eleanor, looking terribly wronged. “Eleanor, it’s all my fault. I wanted to help Mr. Blackwood clean his studio, but I accidentally stained his painting. He said he’d sell me to a club as a gigolo, and called my mom a cheap tramp who raised a little tramp.” He spoke tearfully and pitifully. Eleanor didn’t even ask me or investigate; she just believed him outright. She looked at me coldly. “Arthur Blackwood, what’s happened to you? I’m so disappointed.” I was even more enraged. Even with Eleanor trying to persuade me, I insisted that Aiden serve as a manservant for three days. On the last day, Eleanor acted as if nothing had happened, merely sighing lightly. “Arthur, when will you ever get rid of that temper? It’s just a painting.” “Alright, you’ve vented your anger now, let’s just put this behind us.” I was naive enough to believe that it was truly over. But days later, news broke of Eleanor’s company’s bankruptcy. Eleanor herself was soon imprisoned, leaving a huge mess for me to deal with. Initially, I didn’t think it was a big deal. Even if the Brooks family went bankrupt, I still had my parents. I called them immediately, but their numbers were all disconnected. I completely panicked. I rushed home to find them, only to be told by the butler that they had hurried back upon hearing about the Brooks family’s troubles, but were caught in a landslide on the way and both perished. Overnight, my world collapsed. With no parents or wife to rely on, I had no choice but to sell our property and move into a damp basement. To escape gambling debts, I barely slept. They even found my basement, a group of people barging in with sticks and beating me. Two of my ribs were broken, and my wrist was shattered, rendering me unable to hold a paintbrush again. It took me three years to accept my fate, giving up everything just to survive. But now, I’m told that it was all a lie. Eleanor, with her punishment, had stripped me down to the bone, transforming me completely. Just then, my phone rang. It was from Eleanor. “Arthur, I’m getting out of prison in three days. Don’t forget to pick me up.” 3. I unconsciously clutched my phone, a dull ache throbbing in my heart. Even now, Eleanor was still acting. She was clearly at the birthday party already, celebrating Aiden’s birthday, with such a huge, beautifully decorated cake. Yet she was still treating me like an idiot. I stared at the line of text, tears blurring my vision until I could read it clearly again. I typed back: “Okay, I’ll pick you up in three days.” Three days later, I didn’t expose Eleanor’s lie. I went to the prison gates to pick her up. From a distance, I saw Eleanor wearing shabby clothes, pretending to be destitute after bankruptcy, and even using makeup to create a fake scar on her face. Seeing me, she limped, excitedly rushing towards me. “Arthur!” She embraced me, tears welling up in her eyes. “In prison, I truly atoned. They said my behavior was excellent, so they released me early.” “Arthur, you’ve really had a tough time these past few days.” She appeared so genuinely affectionate, as if she had truly suffered in prison for three years. But I subtly pushed her away. “It’s good that you’re out.” Eleanor paused, seemingly noticing my unusual demeanor, but then she suddenly grabbed my wrist. “Arthur, what happened to your wrist?” Her anxious expression seemed genuine. But I found it amusing. Eleanor, what are you playing at? It was clearly your people, pretending to be creditors, who came and beat me to this state. Now you’re acting innocent? I just felt apathetic, perhaps also afraid of directly confronting the truth. “Nothing, I just fell accidentally.” I pulled my hand away. “The doctor said it will heal with time.” Eleanor finally breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s good.” She took my hand, gently intertwining her fingers with mine. “The injury is on your right wrist. If it gets serious and affects your painting, you’ll be crying again.” Her voice was deliberately doting, but to me, it was incredibly piercing. I was born with immense artistic talent. I had won countless international awards, and everyone said I had a very bright future. But to get money for medicine, to get Eleanor out of prison early, I was willing to let them break my wrist. Now I couldn’t even hold a paintbrush. But now, she was telling me it was all just a punishment game she orchestrated. How ridiculous. I remained silent the entire way, Eleanor seemed very nervous, chattering on about many things. Clearly, these were lines she had prepared from online research, trying to convince me she had really spent three years in prison. But I listened absently, only asking a faint question after she finished. “Eleanor.” “Did I do something wrong?” Eleanor froze instantly, her eyes red as she looked at me. “What is it, Arthur? Why do you ask?” I suddenly remembered the last time, when I was finally allowed a visit. I was so happy, taking the allowance I had saved for a long time to buy meat and vegetables, and preparing them for Eleanor. No wonder she wrinkled her nose and refused to eat it. She must have thought the meat was cheap. And yes, I thought she had spent three years in prison, enduring hardship. But in reality, she was taking her male assistant on a round-the-world trip, enjoying delicacies and imported foods. How could she truly suffer with me? Even that prison visit was a meticulously staged play for which she paid a hundred and twenty dollars. I just felt that for these three years, I had been utterly foolish, manipulated like a toy. Seeing me cry, Eleanor immediately panicked and came forward to wipe my tears. “Arthur, why are you crying? Did someone bully you?” I looked into her eyes. “If someone bullied me, what would you do?” “Would you still, as you swore before, protect me no matter what, even if it meant sacrificing your life?” Eleanor nervously wiped my tears with a tissue. She nodded without thinking, her resolve firm. “Whatever it takes, Arthur, just tell me, and I’ll do it.” I looked into her sincere eyes. “Really?” “I want you to kill Aiden.” Eleanor suddenly looked up, staring at me in shock. “What did you say?” A flicker of panic crossed her eyes. “Did you misunderstand something?” She was so afraid I would discover something amiss. Even her body began to tense. “My company went bankrupt three years ago. Aiden resigned and went abroad; I haven’t had any contact with him.” “Did he come to bully you while I was in prison? If so, I’ll definitely get revenge for you!” I took her hand, scoffing. “I’m kidding.” “Killing is against the law.” “You just got out of prison; how could I bear to put you back in?” “I was just teasing you.” I turned away, lowering my gaze to pick up something. Eleanor didn’t see my true emotions. She thought I was truly just joking and breathed a sigh of relief. “Arthur, I’m sorry.” “You’ve suffered a lot these past three years.” I didn’t turn back, but in my heart, I thought silently. It’s alright. Your karma is yet to come.

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I was always a bit slow, my mind only grasping half of what people said. When my grandmother cursed, “I’d rather raise a pig than you,” the next day, I brought her a big, fat pig. That night, the pig gored her. My father called me a “debt collector’s nightmare.” I promptly dug out his hidden loan shark ledgers and went door-to-door, helping him collect debts. The debts remained uncollected, but my father ended up attracting the attention of the police and was promptly hauled off to jail. My mother, furious, smashed a bowl and pointed a shaking finger at me. “You ungrateful wretch, why don’t you just take my life too!” I nodded earnestly, then served her rat poison. That was the end of her. When I opened my eyes again, I had transmigrated into a dark romance novel, a plaything controlled by dangerous men. The male lead summoned me to his office and tossed a hotel room key card onto the desk. “Spend tonight with some important clients for me. This deal must close.” I obediently took the card, and that night, I got him roaring drunk, then sent him off to the room himself to entertain the clients… 1 When the two dark-suited bodyguards escorted me to Adrian Danny’s private estate, he was already dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit. I stood in the opulent great hall, still wearing my usual vacant, slightly bewildered expression. I spoke softly, “Adrian, was last night successful? I was very obedient. I made sure to deliver your sincerity, just as you instructed.” “Shut up!” Adrian hurled a crystal ashtray at my feet. It shattered, fragments scattering across the polished floor. He strode toward me in a few quick steps, grabbing my jaw in a grip so tight I thought my bones would splinter. “Skye Reynolds, are you playing games with me?” His gaze was as venomous as a viper’s. “Who gave you the audacity?” I winced in pain, my eyes wide with innocent confusion. “Adrian, I wasn’t playing games. You told me to make sure the clients were satisfied. They thought I wasn’t enough, that you needed to be there yourself to show sincerity.” I saw the thunderous look on his face and belatedly realized I’d made another mistake. Mistakes called for apologies. I immediately lowered my head. “I’m sorry, Adrian. I was wrong. I didn’t realize you couldn’t personally entertain them. Even though the clients were very satisfied, I won’t do it again!” Adrian looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel. He stepped forward and clamped his hand around my throat. “Shut up! If you mention that again, I swear I’ll kill you!” I quietly closed my mouth. His grip tightened, stealing my breath. Suddenly, he flung me away, gasping for air. He walked to the window, his back to me, his voice dark and low. “Fine. Very good, Skye Reynolds. Since you’re so obedient, I suppose I should reward you, shouldn’t I?” He roughly dragged me toward the basement, deep within the mansion. The original Skye’s memories flashed through my mind. Many terrible things were hidden down there. He slammed the door shut and retrieved a leather whip, studded with barbed hooks, from the wall. “Today, I’m going to teach you what obedience truly means.” He raised the whip, bringing it down viciously toward my shoulder. He expected me to collapse, to grovel on the floor and beg for mercy, as Skye always did. But the moment the whip descended, a surge of pure terror made me instinctively lunge sideways. My movement snagged a heavy decorative stand, ripping its power cord from the wall. The stand swayed precariously, and a massive brass statue on its top toppled, plummeting directly toward Adrian. A sickening thud and Adrian’s piercing scream erupted simultaneously. The brass statue, with unerring precision, landed squarely on his already battered body from last night’s… client entertainment. He instantly curled into a fetal position, his face ashen, writhing on the floor in agony. The bodyguards, hearing the commotion, burst in, eyes wide with shock. They hastily carried Adrian out, calling for his private doctor. Hours later, a pale, furious Adrian lay on his bed, his eyes so dark they could curdle milk. When he saw me, a rare, chilling smile touched his lips. “I’ve found you a new place. You always loved acting, didn’t you? Sterling Productions’ rising star, Harry Hayes, is looking for a new personal assistant. He’s quite good at training people, especially at discovering raw talent like yours.” He reached out and patted my shoulder. “I remember you always used to pester him. Now, I’ve given you my blessing.” Harry Hayes… Fragments of the original Skye’s memories flickered in my mind. He was a celebrity, all charming smiles and dazzling charisma to the public. In private, he was a monster who reveled in tormenting and humiliating women. In the original story, Skye had a past with him. At first, she thought it was a rekindling of childhood friendship, but over time, his true nature emerged. Skye was driven to the brink of insanity, leaving her with profound psychological scars. Adrian walked to his desk and picked up a note with an address, tossing it at me as if I were a beggar. “Tonight, eight o’clock, go to this address and find Mr. Hayes. Tell him I, Adrian Danny, sent you as a gift. Tell him to… take good care of you.” He emphasized the word “care” with a sinister weight. I bent down and picked up the note, blinking up at him. “Thank you, Adrian. You’re so kind to me.” I carefully folded the note and tucked it into my pocket. “Don’t worry, I’ll learn from Mr. Hayes and serve him well. I won’t let you down!” Adrian watched my innocent display, his eyes cold and lifeless. He waved his hand, dismissing me like a fly. “Go on, then, my dear fiancée. Your Harry was just mentioning you not long ago.” 2 At the mansion gates, I rang the bell. The door opened. Harry Hayes stood there, a perfectly calibrated warm smile on his face, his eyes full of an almost drowning tenderness. “Skye, you’re here,” he said, his voice intimately natural. “Come in, it’s cold out.” He stepped aside, a picture of solicitousness. I looked up. “Harry, Adrian sent me to help.” His smile was gentle. “Yes, I truly need a trustworthy assistant these days. Adrian has given me a wonderful gift.” He led me into the living room. “It’s been too long since we’ve had a proper chat, Skye. Do you remember when we were children? You always followed me around like a shadow. From now on, I’ll take care of you, alright?” I cradled the glass of water he’d given me, nodding obediently. “Yes, I’ll do whatever you say.” A flicker of satisfaction crossed Harry’s eyes. “Such a good girl.” He smiled contentedly, sitting down beside me, close enough for me to smell his clean, crisp scent. He was about to say something more when the electronic lock on the apartment door chimed. Someone was entering. A man in a flashy pink shirt sauntered in, humming a tune. It was Danny Thorne, the notorious playboy from the Thorne family. In the original story, he and Harry were two peas in a pod, close friends who shared a love for debauchery. He and Adrian, however, utterly despised each other. “Harry, I heard Adrian sent his precious fiancée here for you to ‘train’?” Danny’s eyes, full of amused curiosity, landed on me the moment he walked in. He assessed me like a new toy, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. “Well done, brother. Quick moves.” Harry didn’t seem surprised by Danny’s appearance. He merely smiled, a hint of boastfulness in his voice. “You’re well-informed. Skye is a bit shy, don’t scare her.” Danny plopped onto the sofa, crossing his legs, his gaze shifting between me and Harry, his tone light and suggestive. “Adrian’s cast-off idiot? Could be interesting, couldn’t it?” Harry frowned. “Danny, tone it down. Skye isn’t like those other women.” Danny scoffed. “What’s the difference? They’re all women. Besides, between us brothers, what’s mine is yours, right?” He winked suggestively. “Good things are better shared, wouldn’t you agree?” Harry didn’t contradict him, silently assenting. He turned to me, his voice soothing. “Don’t be scared, Skye. Danny is just joking. He just wants to… be friends.” He took my hand, and Danny, grinning, crowded in, sandwiching me between them. “Come on, Skye. Let me show you the surprise I prepared.” I was led into the bedroom. Harry picked up a black lace nightgown, barely more than a few scraps of fabric. “Skye, put this on and let me see.” I looked at the garment in his hand and shook my head vigorously, my face a mask of earnestness. “Oh no, Harry. I can’t.” “Why not? Aren’t you always a good girl who listens to me?” “Because there are other people here.” Harry chuckled, his smile suggestive. “It’s fine. A good girl should be open and honest.” “Open and honest…” I murmured, as if convinced by the phrase. I took the nightgown and blinked. Then, I pulled out my phone and tapped open a live-stream app. Open and honest. That surely meant everyone should see, right? 3 In the bedroom, the live-stream camera was pointed directly at the nightgown. I held my phone, watching the furious scroll of comments on the screen, my face alight with pure, unadulterated joy. “Harry, Danny,” I said, my voice clear and tinged with excitement, “look! So many people! They all want to see the surprise Harry prepared for me. Does this count as being open and honest?” The moment the live-stream appeared, Harry and Danny froze. Their faces were blank, clearly overwhelmed by what I’d done. Harry could clearly see the words “scumbag,” “call the police,” and other furious comments flashing across the screen, along with the terrifying surge in viewer numbers. “Turn it off! Turn it off now!” Harry was the first to react, his voice a hoarse roar as he lunged for my phone. Danny, his face chalk-white, instinctively tried to shield his face, cursing incoherently, “Skye Reynolds, are you insane?” Their menacing expressions and shouts startled me. My hand trembled, and the phone clattered to the floor. [What happened? Black screen?] [Sounds like a fight?] [I hear Harry yelling!] “I didn’t mean to, Harry, please don’t be angry…” My voice was choked with sobs as I bent down to pick up the phone. But Harry stomped on it viciously. The screen shattered instantly. His chest heaved, his eyes bloodshot, glaring at me as if he wanted to devour me whole. The live stream was cut, but the damage was done. Almost the second the screen went black, Harry and Danny’s phones began to vibrate like death rattles. The names flashing on their screens were their agents, company executives, and even close brand partners. Harry answered his call. His agent’s panicked roar blasted through the receiver, audible even without speakerphone. “Harry, what in God’s name are you doing? What was that live stream? Do you have any idea you’re finished? Get back here and fix this now!” Danny’s situation was equally dire. His father probably wished he could stuff him back into his mother’s womb. The bedroom fell into a deathly silence. After a long moment, Harry abruptly lifted his head, his gaze fixed on me. “Harry knows you didn’t mean to, Skye.” I sniffled, looking up at him timidly. He continued, his voice laced with practiced persuasion. “But Skye, because of that live stream, a lot of people outside have misunderstood Harry and Danny. They think we hurt you, and they want to send us to jail. So Skye, now you’re the only one who can help us.” Danny chimed in, equally eager. “Yes, Skye, you have to be a good girl and listen, or we’ll abandon you.” I nodded vigorously. “I’ll be a good girl!” A flash of triumph flickered in Harry’s eyes. He began to instruct me, word for word. “It’s simple. Tomorrow, we’ll hold a press conference. Then, you’ll step forward and tell everyone, all the cameras…” He paused for emphasis. “You’ll say that everything tonight – coming to my house, and the live stream – was all your idea. That you wanted attention, that you deliberately planned it. Harry and Danny were just tricked by you, and we’re innocent. Remember?” I nodded hard. So, under the blinding flash of cameras and the barrage of microphones, I repeated his instructions, word for word. But when Harry and Danny heard my confession, their faces twisted in horror. “Damn it, what are you saying?!”

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After the eighth failed attempt at IVF, my husband and I decided to adopt. The final step in the adoption process was a home visit. The caseworker looked at my husband, Liam, and me, a hint of doubt in her eyes. “You two seem like an excellent match, but your file shows that Mr. Walker adopted a daughter three years ago? Where is the child now?” I froze. “That’s impossible. This is our first application.” Liam, however, offered an awkward laugh. “Oh, that was a proxy adoption for my boss. His circumstances made it difficult for him to have her under his name, so she was temporarily registered under mine.” 1 The caseworker’s pen hovered over the paper, her brow furrowed. “A proxy adoption? Mr. Walker, that’s not in accordance with regulations.” Liam’s smile began to falter. He squeezed my hand, his palm damp with sweat. “It was a unique situation. My boss is in a very sensitive position, you understand. We’ve already initiated the transfer of custody, and the child’s registration will be moved very soon.” His voice sounded earnest and sincere, as if he were genuinely going above and beyond for his superior. I sat beside him, squirming with discomfort. In five years of marriage, this was the first I’d heard of Liam having a daughter under his name. A three-year-old daughter, a “proxy” daughter. This was a plot twist even TV dramas wouldn’t dare to attempt. The caseworker was clearly taken aback by his explanation. She looked from Liam to me, her probing gaze making me want to sink into the floor. “Ms. Rosenthal, were you aware of this?” What could I say? If I said no, our home would be a mockery, and our adoption application would be immediately rejected. If I said yes, I’d be an accomplice, a complete fool. My face felt flushed, and I could only manage a stiff nod. “I was.” The two words felt like knives, cutting into my throat. Liam gave me a grateful look, a look that made my stomach churn. The caseworker jotted down a few notes, asking no further questions, but the atmosphere had turned icy. She performed her duties methodically, inspecting the room we had prepared for a child – pink walls, a charming crib, piles of imported toys. I had decorated it all myself, filled with hopeful anticipation for our future child. Now, it looked like a cruel joke. After seeing the caseworker out, I could no longer maintain my composure. “Liam Walker, you’d better give me an explanation.” He closed the door, his smile vanishing instantly, replaced by a look of utter exhaustion. “Willow, please don’t be angry. I was going to tell you about this.” “Tell me when? When our adopted child arrived, would you then inform me they had a sister?” My voice trembled uncontrollably. “No, no!” he quickly denied. “That child… it’s a very complicated situation.” “No matter how complicated, she’s legally your daughter! And you kept this from me for three whole years!” I gestured towards the nursery. “How many IVF cycles did we go through for a child of our own? How much pain did I endure? Have you forgotten all that? We struggled so hard to reach this point of adoption, and you test me with something like this?” Liam was speechless. He walked towards me, trying to embrace me, but I pushed him away. “Don’t touch me!” His eyes reddened, his voice pleading. “Willow, believe me, my boss and I have a purely professional relationship. Helping him out with this was a huge boost for my career.” “So for your career, you can just casually adopt a child? What do you take our marriage for? What do you take me for?” “I just wanted to give us a better life!” His voice rose, then quickly softened. “This will all be sorted out very soon, I promise. Please don’t overthink it, okay?” He always downplayed everything. But my mind was a chaotic mess. Would a man really “proxy adopt” a daughter for his boss? My head was spinning; I couldn’t make sense of it. That night, we slept in separate rooms. It was the first time in our five years of marriage. Lying on the cold guest room bed, my eyes wide open, I couldn’t sleep a wink. 2. The next morning, Liam acted as if nothing had happened, making me breakfast. He pushed a glass of milk towards me, cautiously observing my expression. “Willow, I know you’re still upset. But we need to provide a reasonable explanation to the adoption agency.” I had no appetite; my chest felt heavy. “What do you plan to say? Continue with the story about proxy adoption for your boss?” “It’s the best explanation we have right now.” He nodded. “I’ve already consulted a lawyer. As long as my boss provides a statement confirming the child is his, and we process some additional paperwork, the custody can be transferred.” He spoke with such conviction, as if everything was under control. But the cloud of suspicion in my heart only grew heavier. “Who is your boss? Why can’t he raise his own child? Where’s the child’s mother?” I fired off a volley of questions. Liam’s eyes flickered away. “My boss’s family situation is… complicated. His wife isn’t well and has been recuperating abroad. This child… was the result of a moment of weakness.” “A love child?” I blurted out. Liam’s face paled, and he nodded with difficulty. “Something like that. That’s why his wife can’t know, and why the child couldn’t be registered under his name.” The explanation sounded perfectly plausible. A wealthy man’s love child, entrusted to a trusted subordinate to avoid disrupting his family and business – it made logical sense. Yet, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. “Willow, I know this has caused you distress.” Liam took my hand, his posture humble. “But look at how much we’ve suffered to have a child. Now that we’re so close to the finish line, we can’t let my mistake ruin everything, can we?” He touched upon our shared heartache. Five years of marriage, and no children. From initial hope to desperate medical treatments, to repeated IVF failures – my body and spirit had endured immense pain. Finally, we had to give up and chose adoption. This was our unspoken grief. Liam knew children were my biggest weakness. “As soon as the home visit approval comes through, I’ll immediately deal with that child’s situation. I promise it won’t affect us,” he vowed. I looked at his bloodshot eyes, and my resolve wavered. Perhaps I was truly overthinking things? Perhaps he was just momentarily foolish, doing something stupid for the sake of his career? “I want to meet the child,” I finally said. Liam froze. “And her ‘mother’,” I added. He was silent for a long time, so long I thought he would refuse. “Alright,” he finally said. “I’ll arrange it.” His quick agreement made me even more uneasy. He seemed convinced that once I met them, all my doubts would vanish. Was this confidence, or was it arrogance? 3. The meeting was arranged at an upscale family restaurant. When I arrived, Liam was already there. Beside him sat a young woman and a little girl. The woman appeared to be in her mid-twenties, with delicate features, dressed in a white sundress, exuding a gentle demeanor. The little girl, about three years old, had two pigtails and sat quietly in her chair, holding a small cake. Seeing me, Liam immediately stood up, looking a bit flustered as he introduced them. “Willow, this is Holly. And this is her daughter, Rosie.” Holly also stood, offering me a somewhat shy smile. “Mrs. Walker, it’s lovely to meet you. I’m so sorry to have caused you so much trouble.” Her posture was humble, full of gratitude and apology. I didn’t speak, my gaze fixed on the little girl named Rosie. The child looked up at me, her eyes dark and bright like two grapes. Whether it was my imagination or not, I couldn’t help but notice a striking resemblance in her features to Liam’s. Especially her nose – it was almost an exact match. My heart plummeted. “Mrs. Walker, please sit down,” Holly warmly invited. I sat beside Liam, who immediately pulled out my chair attentively and poured me a glass of water. “Rosie, say hello to Auntie Willow,” Holly prompted her daughter. The little girl looked at me timidly, then softly murmured, “Hello, Auntie.” Her voice was sweet and gentle. If not for the circumstances, I probably would have adored her. “Rosie is a very good girl,” I managed a stiff smile. Three lines of blank space.

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