Category: English

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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I only learned the truth after I died. My prestigious parents never wanted me back. My husband’s love was a lie. But they were bound to a system: win my affection, or die. The moment the fake heiress pushed me down the stairs, the sting of my husband’s cold indifference and her triumphant smirk was a special kind of hell. They threw a party to celebrate my death. Then I opened my eyes again. It was the day they came to take me “home.” 1 Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair stood at the door to greet me, their precious daughter Isabelle between them. The second she saw me, Mrs. Sinclair’s face lit up with a brilliant smile. “Rose, welcome home!” Last time, I was so lost in the joy of finding my family that I never saw the lie coiled behind her smile. Isabelle rushed forward and grabbed my hand. “This is wonderful! I’ve always wanted a sister, and now my dream has come true!” My new parents beamed at her, their eyes overflowing with an adoration they couldn’t hide. They had no idea that I could now hear the voice of the system in their heads. [Warning, Host: The target has appeared!] [Mission: Raise the target’s Affection Score to 100 to complete the task. Upon completion, you will receive your reward and be unbound from the system.] [If the target’s Affection Score drops into the negative, an electrocution punishment will be administered every hour.] [If the target’s Affection Score reaches -100, the mission is a failure. Annihilation will be immediate.] In my last life, they used this system to climb the social ladder, stepping over my corpse to become titans of the city’s elite. This time, I wouldn’t make it so easy for them. I ripped my hand out of Isabelle’s grasp and snarled, “Who the hell are you to call yourself my sister?” “If your mother hadn’t stolen me from my crib and swapped us, I would never have been separated from my parents. You’re a thief who stole my life, so how dare you stand here with that smile on your face!” Isabelle’s eyes instantly welled with tears. She stared at me, speechless and pathetic. Mrs. Sinclair couldn’t bear to see her darling suffer. She pulled Isabelle into a protective hug and shot me a reproachful look. “Rose, is that any way to speak to your sister? Isabelle was just a baby back then. She’s innocent in all of this.” I met her gaze with cold calm. [Target’s Affection Score: -10. Current Score: -10. Initiating electrocution punishment.] I saw her body give a slight, sharp jolt. She immediately let go of Isabelle and forced a placating smile. “Rose, dear, that’s not what I meant. I just hope you can give Isabelle a chance. After all, we’ve raised her for eighteen years.” Mr. Sinclair stepped in to play peacemaker. “Alright, alright, let’s not just stand here in the doorway. Rose, it’s your first day home. How about I give you a tour of the house?” He reached for my arm, but I didn’t budge. “I want to change my name. I hate being called Rose.” The family that raised me already had three daughters. My adoptive father was already disappointed, and the fact that I wasn’t his biological child made me the extra, the disposable one. Rose. It felt like a weed. Mr. Sinclair’s face was a mask of indulgence. “Of course, darling, anything you want. What would you like your name to be?” I looked at Isabelle, my voice dripping with malice. “I want to be called Isabelle.” The color drained from her face. She tugged on her mother’s sleeve, her voice a desperate whine. “Mommy, I’m Isabelle! She can’t just take my name!” I laughed, a cold, sharp sound. “Your name?” “Don’t tell me that after living in this house for so long, you’ve actually started to believe you belong here. Your real father is a man named Jack Wright. You’re the one who should be called Rose.” Mrs. Sinclair looked at Isabelle, her expression pained. The memory of the electric shock was still fresh, and she didn’t dare refuse me again. “Isabelle, sweetie, she has a point. That name was meant for her. Why don’t you just… let her have it?” Isabelle’s eyes went wide with disbelief. “Mom!” Her mother had always given her everything she ever wanted, would have plucked the stars from the sky for her if she’d asked. She started to protest again, but Mr. Sinclair cut her off with a sharp tone. “Isabelle, that’s enough! I’ll take both of you to get your names legally changed this afternoon.” [Target’s Affection Score: +10. Current Score: 0.] [Target’s Affection Score: +10. Current Score: 10.] Mr. Sinclair wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead, his voice carefully gentle. “Isabelle, can we go inside now?” See? It wasn’t so hard to make them bend to my will. 2 In the end, the former Isabelle wasn’t named Rose. Mr. Sinclair gave her a new name, Anabelle. And on my very first night in the Sinclair mansion, I was treated to quite a show. Spencer Lockwood, Anabelle’s childhood sweetheart, made his entrance. And from his mind, I heard the same familiar, robotic chime I’d heard from her parents. In my past life, Spencer had approached me with practiced ease, showering me with subtle affection and quickly maxing out my favorability. His reward was becoming the undisputed heir to the city’s largest conglomerate. At my funeral, I’d watched him kiss Anabelle in the walk-in closet, his voice thick with devotion. “Anabelle, you’ve always been the only one I love.” This time, just like before, he approached me with a charming smile. “You must be Isabelle’s sister. It’s a pleasure. I’m Spencer.” I ignored his outstretched hand and remained seated on the sofa. “You might want to get your facts straight, Mr. Lockwood. I’m Isabelle now. The person you’re referring to is named Anabelle.” Spencer blinked, a flash of irritation crossing his eyes before he could hide it. “Spencer, you’re here!” Anabelle’s voice was a burst of delight. She practically flew to his side, linking her arm through his possessively. He tweaked her nose playfully. “I heard your sister had arrived. I came to say hello. And maybe snag a free dinner.” At the mention of me, Anabelle’s mood soured. “Oh, so you didn’t come to see me. It’s always about my sister, isn’t it? Fine, maybe I should just leave!” Spencer quickly pulled her back, producing a necklace from his pocket with a flourish. “This is the latest piece from Mignot’s. I bought it the second it was released. Now, tell me, who was I thinking of?” A blush crept up Anabelle’s cheeks. She cooed for him to put it on her, then shot me a look of pure provocation. [Target’s Affection Score: -20. Current Score: -20. Initiating lightning strike punishment.] Spencer’s hand froze. He stared at me in disbelief. “Isabelle…” Before he could finish, his body shuddered, his face contorting in agony. In my last life, starved for affection, I was putty in his hands. A few trinkets were all it took for him to conquer me. But this time, I was no longer a desperate fool chasing after love. I watched him, my expression unreadable. “Spencer, I want that necklace, too.” Anabelle shrieked instinctively. “No way!” she cried, turning to him. “Spencer, you wouldn’t, would you?” He nodded grimly. “This is a gift for you. I would never…” [Target’s Affection Score: -20. Current Score: -40. Initiating punishment of a thousand needles.] Wracked with a pain so intense he could barely stand, Spencer lunged forward and ripped the necklace from Anabelle’s throat. “I’m sorry, Anabelle, but your sister can have this one! I’ll get you a better one tomorrow, I promise!” He’d been so rough that his nails scratched her neck, leaving a thin line of blood. Anabelle clutched her throat, her voice a wail of betrayal. “Why? Why is everyone doing this to me?” Spencer tried to comfort her, but she shoved him away. He clenched and unclenched his fists, finally forcing a smile in my direction. “Isabelle, the necklace is yours. Does that… make you a little happier?” [Target’s Affection Score: +1. Current Score: -39. Score remains negative. Host is advised to improve it immediately.] A muscle in Spencer’s jaw twitched. His smile became even more strained. I dangled the necklace from my index finger. “Thanks.” 3 After dinner, I headed upstairs. Mrs. Sinclair eagerly led me down the hall. “Isabelle, this is the room we prepared for you. We hope you like it!” Here we go again. The same old script. The room they’d “prepared” was a former maid’s room, a glorified closet that barely saw the light of day. They’d given it a hasty paint job, and the chemical smell of it still hung heavy in the air. Last time, I’d been so grateful, so desperate to be a part of their family, that I accepted it without a word. I thought living in that cramped, dark room would earn me their love. All it earned me was a lonely death. This time, I refused. “Who would want to live in a shoebox like this? I think Anabelle’s room is much nicer. I’ll take that one.” Before Anabelle could even start her tantrum, Mr. Sinclair agreed. “Done.” [Target’s Affection Score: +10. Current Score: 10. Please continue your efforts.] He let out a sigh of relief and quickly ushered his wife and other daughter away, terrified that lingering any longer would cause my score to drop again. The night was deep, but I wasn’t asleep. I tiptoed to my parents’ bedroom. Anabelle was sleeping with them tonight. To my surprise, Spencer was there too. Anabelle was sobbing. “The second she gets here, everything becomes hers! You don’t love me at all! My name, my necklace, even my room… she’s taken everything! You promised I was your only treasure, so why are you treating me like this?” Mrs. Sinclair, her eyes filled with pain, pulled her daughter into an embrace and explained everything about the system. Anabelle didn’t believe it. “That’s ridiculous. Things like that don’t exist.” “It’s true,” her father and Spencer said in unison. Anabelle froze, her red-rimmed eyes wide with shock. “So… you still love me? You’re only being nice to her to raise your scores and get the rewards?” Spencer nodded. “Of course! Do you really think we could ever like someone as crude and unrefined as her? Anabelle, you’re the one we cherish.” Mr. Sinclair added, “She’s just some wild girl raised in the middle of nowhere. She can’t hold a candle to you. A few sweet words and cheap gifts, and she’ll be eating out of our hands.” Mrs. Sinclair patted Anabelle’s back reassuringly. “You’re our precious daughter. If it weren’t for the system, we’d never let you suffer like this. Just wait. Once the mission is complete, you can do whatever you want to her.” Anabelle’s tears finally stopped, a smile breaking through. Watching them, I felt nothing. In my last life, a few of Anabelle’s hand-me-down dresses and bits of jewelry were enough to make me weep with gratitude. I fell headfirst into their trap, willingly handing over my affection point by point. Only now, looking back, did I realize that not a single one of them, not the Sinclairs, not Spencer, had ever respected me. They never even saw me as human. [Target’s Affection Score: +10 for each host. Please continue your efforts.] The system’s voice chimed for all three of them simultaneously. They looked around, confused. “What was that? We didn’t do anything.” Anabelle let out a condescending laugh. “She’s probably lying in my bed right now, feeling so grateful to Mom and Dad. Maybe she’s even clutching that necklace Spencer gave her, smiling to herself and thinking he’s actually falling for her.” Spencer scoffed. “As if. I would never fall for a woman like that.” They didn’t understand. The higher you climb, the harder you fall. After gifting them a few points, I returned to my spacious, beautiful new room and slept soundly. Once the truth was out in the open among them, they dropped all pretenses. A river of gifts flowed into my room as they focused solely on raising my score. Mr. Sinclair found any excuse to wire money to my account. Soon, all three of their scores hit 90. But for the past few weeks, Mr. Sinclair had been growing anxious. His score was stuck at 90. No matter what he bought me, it wouldn’t budge. Mrs. Sinclair and Spencer were facing the same problem. After a hushed conference, they decided to throw a massive birthday party for me. It just so happened to be Anabelle’s birthday, too. At the party, Mr. Sinclair publicly announced my true identity as his long-lost daughter and presented me with a lavish gift, his eyes shining with fatherly pride. In my previous life, the Sinclairs never once acknowledged me. Anabelle told everyone I was her personal maid. The other wealthy daughters treated me like a pack mule, loading me up with their shopping bags and sometimes even hitting me when they were in a bad mood. I endured it all for the sake of a family that never wanted me, trying so desperately to be the good, obedient child they craved. The moment their mission was complete, they cast me aside. I died without ever receiving a single drop of genuine love from them. This time, I lifted my glass of champagne, walked over to Anabelle, and poured its entire contents over her perfectly coiffed head. Anabelle shrieked. “Ah— what are you doing?!” Her exquisite makeup streamed down her face, leaving her a pathetic, dripping mess. I calmly handed my empty glass to a waiter. “Dad just announced that I’m the true Sinclair heiress. You’re an imposter who’s been living my life for years. Don’t you think you deserve a little punishment for that?” All eyes swiveled to Mr. Sinclair. He was famous for doting on Anabelle, for never even raising his voice to her. Now that I had publicly humiliated her, how would he react? A vein throbbed in his temple. He looked ready to explode. Just as he was about to erupt, the system’s voice cut through the air.

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My father won five million dollars in the lottery. My friend and I were planning to open a shop, just three thousand dollars short. I asked my family for a loan, but they flatly refused. “How old are you? Solve your own problems.” “Our money doesn’t grow on trees. Why should we let you waste it all?” Left with no choice, I took out a high-interest online loan. Just after the money arrived in my account, my cousin posted a picture of a brand-new Electric Falcon 7 on social media. “Thanks to Uncle for the support, I finally got the car I’ve been dreaming of.” It was then I realized that because my uncle casually mentioned his son wanted a car, my father had immediately transferred two hundred thousand dollars to him. Hearing that he hadn’t even bothered with an IOU, I felt utterly disheartened. Ten days later, my mother called, immediately launching into a furious tirade. “Ethan, it’s your father’s birthday today. Why aren’t you coming back to celebrate?” “Not even a phone call. What kind of son are you?” “Raising a dog would be better than raising you!” I calmly replied: “If that’s the case, then just pretend you never raised me.” 1 No sooner had I spoken than my mother exploded. “Are you even human? You’re making me furious! After twenty years of hard work, I raised such an ungrateful brat!” “We gave birth to you, raised you, fed you, clothed you, sent you to college. Now your wings are strong?” “How dare you say such things to us?” Her voice was sharp, every word laced with poison. “I get it. It’s just because we didn’t lend you money to open your shop last time, isn’t it?” “What a joke! With your pathetic self, you think you can start a business?” “With that little bit of skill, you’ll lose everything after three days of enthusiasm!” “Three thousand dollars thrown into water would at least make a splash. Given to you? You probably wouldn’t even have a whisper left!” She grew more agitated with each insult, her words becoming increasingly hurtful. “The money is ours. How we use it is none of your business!” “You good-for-nothing, can’t earn money so you eye your family’s wealth. Have you no shame?” “I’m telling you, even if this money is thrown away, burned, or donated, it’s better than you throwing it down the drain!” “You’re not cut out for business. Just get a regular job and earn your few thousand dollars.” “Your ambition is sky-high, but your fate is thin as paper. That’s exactly what a waste like you is!” I gripped the phone, my fingertips icy, silent. On the other end, I heard her ragged breathing, as if she was about to faint from anger, interspersed with sounds of her slapping her chest and others trying to console her. After a while, someone else took the phone. “Ethan, it’s your Aunt Lillian.” “Don’t be angry with your mother. She only means well.” “You, son, how could you not come back for your father’s birthday, such an important occasion?” “What’s so difficult that a family can’t get past it?” “Your parents worked hard to raise you. What will relatives and friends think if they knew you were acting like this?” “You can’t be so selfish…” She stood on her moral high ground, rattling off those righteous words like a mantra. I listened quietly until she angrily asked, “Why exactly won’t you come back? You must have a reason, right?” I took a deep breath. “The reason is simple.” “My father casually gave you two hundred thousand dollars to buy a car, without even needing an IOU.” “But when I needed just three thousand for my startup, he wouldn’t lend me a single cent.” “Is that reason enough?” The line went silent for a moment. A few seconds later, Aunt Lillian’s voice became hesitant. “Well, this… this was your father’s decision. We couldn’t really say anything…” “Besides, that money was a loan to your cousin. He’ll pay it back eventually…” “Pay it back?” I interrupted her. “Without an IOU, how will he pay it back? Aunt Lillian, honestly, do you even believe what you’re saying?” She choked, unable to utter a coherent sentence. At that moment, my mother snatched the phone back, her rage burning even fiercer due to my defiance. “Yes! We gave it to him! So what?” “Our money, we can give it to whoever we want!” “We’re happy to buy your cousin a car! What right do you have to question me? Who do you think you are?” “I’m telling you, Ethan, with your attitude, you’ll never get a single cent from us again!” “Opening a shop? If you lose money, go sell your blood, sell your kidney!” “Just don’t come to us!” “We raised you for so long, and you haven’t shown much promise, but you’ve learned to tally up debts with your family?” “Your cousin at least knows gratitude. He often comes back to visit us during holidays.” “And you? Haven’t shown your face in half a year, and the one time you call, it’s for money!” “Do we owe you something?” “If I had known you were this kind of person, I should have aborted you when I was pregnant!” 2 I listened, and a sudden urge to laugh welled up. When her shouting finally paused, I spoke softly: “You’re right.” “It’s your money. Give it to whoever you want.” “I truly have no right to question it.” I paused, feeling my throat tighten, but I pressed on. “Since that’s the case, from now on, pretend you never had me.” “I’ll disappear quietly. I won’t ask you for another cent, and I won’t bother you again.” A few seconds later, my mother’s furious scream came through the phone. I didn’t listen further and hung up. The world was finally quiet. I stared at my phone screen. The three thousand dollars from the online loan had been deposited. The interest was high, and the repayment schedule was suffocating. Originally, this should have been a warm start, backed by my parents’ support. Now, it was just a debt. I opened my cousin’s social media. The post showing off his Electric Falcon 7 was still there. In the photo, he sat in the brand-new driver’s seat, hands on the steering wheel, a radiant smile on his face. Below it was a string of likes and congratulations, my parents’ accounts prominently featured. They had even commented things like, “Family doesn’t need formalities,” and “Our nephew is so accomplished.” How ironic. From childhood, my parents were always exceptionally strict with me. No noise while eating, perfect posture, always in the top ten academically. As for pocket money? Non-existent. They’d say, “What does a child need money for? Just focus on your studies.” But whenever my cousin, Leo, came to visit, my father would always smile and pull a few bills from his wallet, tucking them into Leo’s hand. “Here, Leo, buy something nice.” Then he’d turn to me and say, “You’re the older brother, you should defer to your younger cousin.” I was eight then, Leo was six. In sixth grade, I saved up three months’ worth of discarded items to sell, just enough to get twenty dollars to buy a set of encyclopedias. My mother found out, confiscated the money, and lectured me. “What’s the use of reading these frivolous books? You should be doing more math problems with that time.” The next day, I saw Leo playing wildly with a new remote-control car in the living room. That car cost exactly twenty dollars. In middle school, the school organized a field trip to the Ocean Park, costing one hundred and fifty dollars. I cautiously asked my parents. My father didn’t even look up. “What’s so great about that place? It’s a waste of money. Stay home and study on the weekend.” I locked myself in my room until I heard laughter from the living room. My uncle’s family had arrived, and my father excitedly announced that he would take Leo to the Ocean Park next week. “Don’t worry about the expensive tickets, your Uncle will take you. We’ll play all we want!” Later, I cried under my blanket. That was the first time I wondered if I was truly their biological child. But the next day, my mother earnestly told me, “We are strict with you because we have high expectations for you.” “Your cousin’s family isn’t well off. We should help them when we can.” “You’re the older brother, you need to be sensible.” Her words were so sincere, her eyes so earnest, that my doubts felt like a sin. Throughout my three years of high school, my monthly allowance was fifty dollars. At school, that money was barely enough for the cheapest cafeteria meals, and I often went hungry. I dared not participate in any activities that required money. Even sending a greeting card for a classmate’s birthday was something I hesitated over for a long time. Once, my father visited me at school and happened to see me eating plain rice with free seaweed soup in the cafeteria. He frowned. “Why are you eating so poorly? This is when you’re growing. You need balanced nutrition.” I thought he pitied me, that he would give me more money. Instead, he turned around and said, “But it’s good to be tough. It builds character.” A few days later, I heard Leo had enrolled in piano lessons, tuition costing four hundred and eighty dollars. My father sponsored two-thirds of it. I went to college out of state, thinking I could finally breathe. But my living expenses were still tight, eighty dollars a month. After paying for phone and internet, there was barely enough left for food. My roommates would gather for meals, go to the movies, shop, all happily. I could only find excuses to stay in the library. Once, I couldn’t refuse, bit the bullet and went, then ate instant noodles for half a month afterward. During winter break of my sophomore year, I was going to the bathroom at night and overheard a conversation from my parents’ bedroom. “Honey, is Ethan’s allowance too little? Prices have gone up.” My father frowned. “Too little? What’s too little? Boys need to be raised tough.” “By the way, Leo said yesterday he wanted a new phone. I took three hundred from your account.” My mother chuckled softly. “That’s fine. The boy is so sweet. He even said he’d take care of us when he earns money.” I stood outside the door, my hands and feet freezing. 3 After graduating from college, I struggled to find a job. I called home, cautiously asking if they could help me look for any opportunities. My father was blunt: “We don’t have those connections. You need to make your own way.” “Also, we won’t spend another cent on you. You’re twenty-two; it’s time to be independent.” That month, I lived in a partitioned room in a slum, eating two steamed buns a day. I submitted hundreds of resumes, received only three interview invitations, all of which failed. At my lowest point, I had only seven dollars and thirty cents left in my bank account. Just as I was at my wit’s end, my cousin’s social media updated. He had landed a job at a local state-owned enterprise, with excellent benefits. In the photo, he wore a brand-new suit, with an impressive office building in the background. My parents were the first to comment below: “Our nephew is amazing!” “Keep up the good work. Auntie is proud of you!” I later learned that my father had pulled several strings to get him that position. He had an old classmate who was a manager there. My father treated him to three dinners, gave him two good cartons of cigarettes and a large cash gift, just to get my cousin in. I asked my mother why. She replied casually, “Your cousin doesn’t have as good an education as you. If we don’t help him, who will?” “You’re a graduate from a top university. Do you still need someone to worry about you?” Every single incident, taken individually, could be given a righteous excuse by them. To toughen me up, to help relatives, to make me independent, to be fair… These justifications, strung together, formed the fabric of my life for over twenty years. Putting down my phone, I started packing. This tiny apartment, less than ten square meters, was my only refuge after graduation. A bed, a simple wardrobe, a secondhand desk—that was all my worldly possessions. As I cleaned out the desk drawer, I found an old tin box. Opening it, I found a few odds and ends: an elementary school award certificate for good citizenship, a middle school math competition certificate, a photocopy of my university acceptance letter, and a few crumpled family photos. The newest family photo was taken two springs ago. I stood at the very edge, my expression stiff. My cousin stood between my parents, smiling brightly. My father’s hand rested on my cousin’s shoulder, and my mother had her arm around him. Anyone who didn’t know us would think they were the biological father and son. I stared at the photo for a long time, then tore it in half, then into shreds, and threw it into the trash. The next day, I went to work as usual. During my lunch break, I received a call from an unknown number. “Ethan, it’s me, your Uncle James.” I paused. “Can I help you?” “What did you mean by that yesterday? What do you mean, ‘pretend you never had me’?” “Do you know how furious your mother is right now? Her blood pressure is through the roof!” I coldly replied, “Then you should take her to the hospital, not call me.” “You!” Uncle James choked. “How did you become like this? Do you know how hard your parents worked to raise you?” “Is it just because we didn’t lend you money? Does it have to escalate to this?” “It’s not just about the money, but it doesn’t matter anymore.” “Is there anything else? I need to rest.” “Wait!” Uncle James quickly said, “There’s something I need to clarify. About your cousin’s car… that money, your father offered to give it. We didn’t ask for it!” “And we will definitely pay it back, we’re just a bit tight on cash right now…” “Uncle James,” I interrupted him. “Whether you pay it back or not is between you and my father. It has nothing to do with me.” “I’m still taking my nap. Hanging up.” “Ethan! Ethan!” I hung up the phone and blocked the number. During a break at work that afternoon, I secretly searched for commercial rental information, contacting several real estate agents. After work, I looked at two places, neither ideal. Either the rent was too high, or the location wasn’t good. That night, I returned to my apartment and made a bowl of instant noodles. As I was eating, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to find my parents, along with a few relatives. Uncle James, Aunt Lillian, and a distant aunt. They squeezed into the narrow apartment, all looking grim. “Ethan, you’ve really grown up, haven’t you?!” My mother spoke first, her voice sharp and piercing. “Saying such outrageous things on the phone, and even cutting ties with us? Who taught you that?!” “Exactly, it’s utterly disgraceful.” Aunt Lillian folded her arms, her eyes sweeping around the room, her lips pursed. “Your parents worked so hard to come here, and you’re making your elders stand?”

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By the new intern’s second week, I kept a dark blazer at my desk out of habit. It was necessary. Whenever I wore a dress, she’d conveniently pass by and “compliment” me loud enough for the whole office: “So brave, Summer! Wearing a princess dress with skin that dark.” Nathaniel—my boyfriend and my boss—just watched, sometimes chuckling with the guys. If I stumbled with files, she’d clap and say I was faking it. If I drank strawberry milk, she’d clutch plain milk and ask if I was trying to act like a kid. I endured it, over and over. Until yesterday’s presentation. She glared at a typo on my slide and remarked, dripping with meaning: “Some people dress to get attention, but can’t even do their work right.” Every eye turned to me and Nathaniel. All the anger I’d held in finally snapped. I threw my half-full water glass in her face. Before I could process it, Nathaniel stood and threw his coffee at me, in front of everyone. That night, I resigned. 1 When Nathaniel threw the coffee, I didn’t flinch. The scalding liquid streamed down, soaking into my blouse. He’d thrown it with such force that the cup made a dull thud against my cheek before clattering to the floor. A fiery, stinging pain shot through my nerves as my skin instantly turned a blotchy red. I looked up at him, stunned. His hand was still frozen in the air, as if he, too, was shocked for a moment. But that flicker of surprise was immediately replaced by a deeper, more profound annoyance. “Summer, did you have to make a scene? Right here, right now?” The blue glow of the projector highlighted the sharp, tense line of his jaw, making him look like a stranger. Whispers broke out around the conference table. Some people ducked their heads, pretending to be absorbed in their documents. Amber Jones, the intern, slowly closed her laptop, a small, triumphant smile playing on her lips. “Easy there, Mr. Shaw. Don’t be so harsh. Look, you’ve scared the poor girl speechless.” Her words were like gasoline on a fire. Nathaniel snatched a folder and slammed it onto the table. The loud bang made everyone jump. He glared at me, his face a cold mask. “This is a professional office, not your living room. Anyone who can’t separate their personal drama from their work has no place on this team. This is your only warning. One more time, and you’re out.” The room was deathly silent. I touched my dripping face and felt a hysterical laugh bubble up inside me. Twelve years. I had known Nathaniel since we were kids. I had been in love with him for twelve years. He always said I was immature, too emotional. But this was the first time he had ever publicly humiliated me. My eyes burned. The suppressed snickers in the room felt like a tidal wave, washing over me as colleagues whispered to each other. Amber leaned against Nathaniel’s side, her red lips curved into a victorious smile. I couldn’t take it anymore. I turned and walked out of the conference room. I didn’t know where I was going, but I knew I couldn’t stay there, facing them. Outside, the sunlight was blinding. The glass doors of the office building reflected my pathetic image: makeup streaked and ruined by the brown liquid. I went to a convenience store and bought a pack of wet wipes and a face mask. The young cashier girl looked at my sorry state and quietly slipped two extra strawberry candies into my bag. Clutching the candy wrappers, I stood by a trash can, and was suddenly thrown back to my first day of kindergarten. Nathaniel had done the same thing then, pressing a strawberry candy into my palm and promising he’d always be there for me. 2 Nathaniel and I went way back—back to sharing a playpen and wearing matching onesies. Our families were next-door neighbors, and our moms had joked about arranging our marriage while they were still pregnant. When I started middle school, a group of girls decided to make my life hell. They’d hide my homework, splash ink on my skirts, and “accidentally” hit me with the ball during gym class. The worst of them was the class president, Liz. She once threw a meticulously crafted art project of mine into the trash, then smirked and said, “It was so ugly, the teacher wouldn’t have looked at it anyway.” I went to our homeroom teacher, my eyes red with tears. She just patted my head. “Liz is the class president, Summer. She’s just trying to motivate you to do better.” That night at dinner, I silently pushed rice around my bowl, trying not to cry. My dad noticed something was wrong, and was about to slam his chopsticks down and march to the school. Just then, Nathaniel’s dad stopped by to ask my dad to go fishing. He heard the story and turned, yelling into his living room: “Nathaniel! Starting tomorrow, you walk your sister to and from school!” The next day after school, Nathaniel kicked open the back door of our classroom. He grabbed Liz by the collar, dragged her to the front of the class, and said in a low, dangerous voice, “You’re the one who’s been bullying my sister?” At fourteen, he was already taller than most of the teachers, with a glare that could make a high school thug run for the hills. Liz was shaking like a leaf. Her little gang of followers shrank in their seats, silent. Before he left, Nathaniel tapped the chalkboard with an eraser, sending a cloud of chalk dust into the afternoon sun. “Let’s get this straight. Summer Lane is with me. You got a problem with her, you got a problem with me. Got it?” After that, no one ever bothered me again. And I, in turn, stuck to Nathaniel like glue. When he played basketball, I held his jacket on the sidelines. When he went to the internet cafe with his friends, I sat on a stool beside him, doing my homework. Nathaniel would always scowl at me. “Summer, can you please stop following me everywhere? My friends are making fun of me because of you.” But I didn’t care. Day after day, year after year, his gruff dismissals softened into resigned sighs. At the university freshman orientation party, I performed a dance in a white dress. When I came off stage, I saw him clutching my jacket, his eyes darting away, a suspicious blush creeping up his neck. “Seen enough?” I teased, poking his chest. He was so flustered he dropped his phone, fumbling three times before he could pick it up. “Who—who was looking at you? I was watching the host…” Later, at a family New Year’s dinner, our parents started teasing us. “So, when are we making this childhood engagement official?” Nathaniel didn’t say anything. He just quietly peeled a shrimp and dropped it into my bowl. I ducked my head to hide my smile. The idiot’s ears were so red they looked like they were about to bleed. 3 Life was moving along predictably until Amber Jones showed up. Amber was the new intern, and on her first day, she made the rounds with a tray of Starbucks, handing out coffees to everyone. “Please take good care of me, everyone!” As she passed my desk, the ends of her chestnut curls brushed against my keyboard, and the cloying scent of her perfume made me sneeze. She stopped, her eyes widening in mock surprise as she took in my pink computer, pink thermos, and pink mousepad. “Oh. My. God,” she gasped, taking a dramatic step back and covering her mouth. A peal of laughter erupted from her. “It’s the 21st century. Are there really girls who are still obsessed with pink?” The entire office looked up. My ears burned. The stares of my colleagues felt like needles on my back. Amber wasn’t done. “Wow, you even have a pink mouse! And is that a Lolita-style dress you’re wearing?!” A buzzing filled my ears. I’ve always loved cute, pink things and frilly dresses. It was a preference that had always drawn comments—some boys in elementary school had called me a poser, some girls thought I was being extra. But most people were kind, telling me the style suited me. This was the first time I had been so maliciously mocked in public. The shame was suffocating, as if I’d been stripped naked in front of everyone. I froze, my cheeks on fire, my fingers twisting the hem of my dress. “Oh, sweetie, I’m just kidding! You’re not actually mad, are you?” Amber leaned in conspiratorially. “Honestly, the pink Lolita thing is cute on you. It makes you look so… young.” “That’s enough,” a sharp voice cut in. I turned to see Nathaniel, his brow furrowed, his gaze like daggers aimed at Amber. “You’re a new intern. Is this really how you want to spend your first day? This isn’t a comedy club. One more stunt like this and you’re out.” But Amber’s eyes just lit up. She tilted her head, sizing him up, and bit her lip with a playful smile. “I’m so sorry. I was just trying to be friendly with my new colleague. I promise it won’t happen again.” HR eventually intervened and, in a stroke of cosmic irony, assigned Amber to the desk diagonally across from Nathaniel. From then on, she paraded around the office every day in flawless “no-makeup” makeup and four-inch heels. Sometimes, she would “accidentally” spill coffee on Nathaniel’s reports, then apologize with a pout. Other times, she would lean over his desk to ask for help, “unintentionally” flashing her lace bra and cooing, “Nate, can you help me check these numbers?” And I never wore one of my Lolita-style dresses to the office again. Two months later, I realized with a jolt that Nathaniel and Amber had actually become friends. That morning, he brought me breakfast as usual. But instead of my favorite strawberry yogurt drink, it was a carton of plain milk. “Milk makes me break out, remember?” I asked, holding the carton. Nathaniel was busy adjusting Amber’s monitor. “Don’t be so dramatic,” he said without turning around. “You’re twenty-five, not five. Stop drinking that sugary kids’ stuff.” Amber turned around, twirling the carton of milk she was drinking between her fingers. “Sorry, sweetie! I was the one who wanted milk. But honestly, what kind of adult still drinks that syrupy-sweet stuff?” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “You’re not trying to act younger than you are, are you?” Smack. I slapped the milk carton down on her keyboard. White liquid splattered across her brand-new designer blouse. “Do you just love telling other people what they should like?” The office fell silent. Amber’s eyes instantly welled with tears. “I… I just thought milk was healthier. Summer, please don’t be mad. It’s my fault.” “Summer!” Nathaniel grabbed my wrist. “It’s not like you’re lactose intolerant. What’s the big deal? And Amber’s not wrong. You need to grow up and act your age.” I looked at the impatience in his eyes and suddenly lost the will to argue. 4 Amber’s attacks became a slow-drip poison in my professional life. At lunch, if I used a sanitary wipe to clean my utensils, she’d tap her bowl with her chopsticks and announce, “Attention everyone! Her Royal Highness is about to dine!” Her clique would perform exaggerated bows, and someone even started filming. When the department rearranged the seating chart, I was carrying a heavy box and stumbled. Amber started laughing and clapping. “Look, everyone! The Disney princess can’t carry her box! Where’s Prince Charming to come to the rescue?” She’d playfully shove a male colleague toward me. “Go on, it’s an honor to help a princess in distress!” At first, Nathaniel would frown and say, “This is an office, not a playground.” Amber would just sway his arm and pout. “Oh, you’re no fun! It’s just a joke. Summer doesn’t mind, right?” But lately, Nathaniel had started just watching in silence. Amber would lean in close to him, whispering just loud enough for me to hear, “Don’t you think she’s just so… fake? That whole innocent act doesn’t really fit in with the rest of us. I’m just trying to help her fit in, you know? For the team.” I saw Nathaniel’s eyelashes flutter. After a moment, he gave a quiet, “Hmm.” In that moment, I understood. In his eyes, my love for frilly dresses was just an affectation. My preferences were childish. So when I saw Amber toying with Nathaniel’s tie clip later that day, shooting me a triumphant smirk, for the first time, I didn’t feel a pang of jealousy. On the first day back after the New Year, I had just settled at my desk when Amber’s cheerful taunt cut through the morning quiet. “Summer, if I had your confidence, I could do anything! Look at you, wearing a dress like that even when you’re so dark-skinned. If I were you, I’d never dare. Is this look supposed to be Snow White, or more like… African tribal princess?” Nathaniel was sipping his coffee. I saw his shoulders shake with a suppressed laugh, the latte in his mug rippling. Amber, encouraged, pressed on. “And honey, at your age, isn’t it a little late to be playing dress-up…?” The water in my glass flew before my reason could catch up. Her carefully tattooed eyebrows began to melt. The glue on her eyelash extensions turned milky white. Her foundation streaked, carving pale yellow rivers down her cheeks. She looked like a cheap oil painting caught in a downpour. “Summer!” Nathaniel seized my wrist, his grip like iron. “Where are your manners? Apologize to Amber. Now.” His nails dug into my skin. The pain made my vision swim. I stared at his cold, furious face and laughed. “Why should I apologize? For what?” “For throwing water on her!” he snarled, his voice low and menacing. My eyes burned. “Didn’t you hear her? She’s been mocking me for months! If anyone should apologize, it’s her.” “You could have told her to stop. You could have argued back. You don’t get to resort to violence,” he said, his tone infuriatingly self-righteous. “This is a workplace. No one is going to coddle you. Apologize.” I let out a cold laugh. “No. I did nothing wrong, and she doesn’t deserve an apology.” Nathaniel looked at me with an expression of profound disappointment. “How did you become like this? Summer, I’m so disappointed in you.” “Funny. The feeling is mutual.” He opened his mouth to say more, but I cut him off. “Are you done? I said I’m not apologizing. What are you going to do, call the cops?” A bitter, angry smile twisted his lips. He grabbed the cup of coffee from his desk and, without a moment’s hesitation, threw it straight at my face. I froze. For a second, he seemed to freeze too. I took a deep breath, fighting to keep my voice steady. “Nathaniel, we’re done.”

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1 The day my family went bankrupt, I dragged my father back from the rooftop. Turning around, I accepted Lucien’s proposal, but for the dowry, I demanded two million dollars. He was silent for three seconds, then chuckled, “Deal.” Yet, barely half a year into our marriage, he brought his young mistress home. Before I could even react, he tossed our prenuptial agreement in my face. “Don’t get confused about your place. Didn’t you already sell yourself to me back then? That price, it should be enough to buy your subservience for a lifetime, shouldn’t it?” I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my flesh, but I was powerless to retort. It wasn’t until I had a threatened miscarriage, and the medical bill was short by exactly fourteen dollars, that I truly broke. Over the phone, his voice was dismissive: “Didn’t I already pay you what I owed before we got married? What, did you get addicted to being a gold-digger?” He then turned around and spent fourteen million dollars on a necklace for his new lover, a gift for her first night with him. Facing the nurse’s urgent prompt, I forced a smile through my tears. “Forget the medicine. Please schedule me for an abortion.” A marriage bought for two million dollars, it was time for it to end. … No sooner had the words left my lips than a bank transfer notification popped up on my phone. Not a cent more, not a cent less—exactly fourteen dollars. The transfer note contained just a few simple words: “Buy your medicine. Don’t disgrace the Reed name.” I tugged at my lips, a bitter, lifeless smile. Fourteen dollars was enough to cover that specific medical bill, but not enough for the abortion procedure. I knew Lucien wouldn’t give me any more money. I had no choice but to swallow my pride and reach out to old friends, hoping to borrow three hundred and seventeen dollars. With that, combined with the money I had and Lucien’s fourteen dollars, it would just cover the cost of a standard abortion. But when the messages were sent, replies quickly came in. “Oh, is the great Ms. Evans short on cash? Did two million dollars run out that fast?” “Tsk, tsk, if you hadn’t haggled like that back then and broken Lucien’s heart, you wouldn’t be shamelessly begging for a few hundred dollars now!” A torrent of mocking messages flooded my screen. But they no longer stung my heart as they once did. In a way, I had become numb, accustomed to it. Accustomed to Lucien treating our marriage as a transaction, and me as an item he’d purchased for two million. Accustomed to his friends’ sneers and sarcastic remarks, finding new ways to call me a gold-digger. Accustomed to the embarrassment of an empty wallet, repeatedly trampling my dignity to beg Lucien for charity. In truth, at first, I thought I had hands and feet, I could surely cover my normal expenses. I might even save two million to repay the money I’d borrowed from Lucien under the guise of a dowry. But Lucien had cut off every path for me to earn money. “I’ve already paid two million to buy out the rest of your life. From now on, your time, your freedom, are mine.” He used the tactic of forcing me to beg him for money to vent his resentment towards me. He hated me for treating our love as a bargaining chip for money, believing I had deceived him for three years, only to reveal my true colors for cash. I had explained many times, but he never had the patience to listen. “What’s the point of so many excuses?” he’d say. “You asked for the money. We’ve become this way, and you only have yourself to blame.” My phone suddenly chimed. Someone had transferred me three hundred and seventy-one dollars, saying it was a “reward” for how satisfying it was to insult me. I wiped the coldness from my face, smiled at the nurse, and said, “I can pay now. Please arrange the procedure for me as soon as possible.” But I didn’t have enough money for a pain pump. I could only lie wide awake on the cold operating table, feeling cold sweat slowly soak my hair and back. I could even clearly feel the instruments entering my body, scraping repeatedly inside. As the tearing pain hit, I thought of Lucien again. He once held me in his arms, gently stroking my head. “After we get married, we can have a child. Boy or girl, I’ll love you both with my life.” But when I actually became pregnant, he said: “Alright, how much money are you going to demand for the child this time?” No more, Lucien. I want nothing more. Money, love, and you—I want none of it. After an unbearable amount of time, the surgery finally ended. As the instruments withdrew, the surrounding sounds gradually returned. The nurse unfastened the restraints on my legs and helped me to an observation bed for half an hour. I stared blankly at the dark sky outside the window, tears falling one by one. Suddenly, a solitary firework shot up, bursting into bloom in the sky. Then, a city-wide display of brilliant fireworks followed. I watched the night sky, bright as day, in a daze. I overheard the envious whispers of a few young nurses: “Did you hear? CEO Reed specially arranged this for his sweetheart! His girlfriend is so lucky!” “Oh, what girlfriend? CEO Reed has a wife! But I heard she’s a gold-digger. She’s doing worse than his household staff now!” On the way home, I dragged my aching lower body, each step a struggle. An empty taxi pulled up in front of me, rolling down its window to ask where I was going. I waved my hand with difficulty. “No need.” I couldn’t afford the fare. So, step by step, I walked towards the house, ten miles away. Along the way, many people were reminiscing and marveling at tonight’s grand firework display. “It was so beautiful! If someone could set off fireworks like that for me, my life would be complete, boohoohoo!” “What are you dreaming about? Do you think everyone is CEO Reed’s girlfriend? Look at that woman, her face is so pale, and no one cares for her either!” I instinctively looked up at the two young girls whispering. They instantly blushed, quickly saying they didn’t mean anything, and asked if I needed help. I shook my head with a smile. What I wanted to say was, I once had fireworks like that too. Once, I had someone who cared. That was the day Lucien proposed to me. He knelt before me, holding a ring in one hand, his eyes red. “Clara, you’re the most special girl I’ve ever met. I’m willing to spend my life cherishing and loving you.” “Will you marry me?” Behind him, fireworks more dazzling than today’s erupted. But at that moment, I had just pulled my despairing father back from the rooftop. Creditors were still besieging my house, threatening my mother and seven-year-old sister if I didn’t pay them back immediately. I had no choice. So I could only say to him, “Lucien, can you… lend me two million dollars?” His expression instantly turned cold, the deep affection in his eyes slowly receding. He slowly stood up, a sarcastic smile playing on his lips. “Everyone says you’re with me to climb the social ladder. At first, I didn’t believe it.” “Clara Evans, you’re truly patient. You waited until I proposed to you, until it was public knowledge, to show your true colors.” He scoffed, raising his hand to stop the fireworks. He pulled a check from his pocket and threw it at my face. “Fine, you’re quite cheap, too.” From that day on, our relationship soured. No matter how much I explained, I couldn’t shed the label of “gold-digger.” With Lucien’s tacit approval, I became the most pathetic joke in the entire city’s elite circles. Even his housekeeper earned thirty thousand dollars a month, while I had to beg him for even three dollars. I kept enduring, hoping that one day his anger would subside, and he would listen to my explanation. Until the first time he brought another woman home, I completely lost it. But he merely looked at me indifferently, asking what right I had to be angry with him. He said he had already paid to buy our marriage, and even if he brought a hundred women home, it was my own doing. In that moment, my heart was shredded, yet I couldn’t utter a single word in my own defense. Against the bitter wind of early winter, I walked for six hours, finally arriving home at one AM. Pushing open the front door, the house was filled with comfortable warmth. Just as I was about to use my last bit of strength to walk to the bedroom, I heard a girl’s sweet voice from the sofa. “Sister’s back! Where’s my candy apple?” I looked at the delicate girl in Lucien’s arms, startled, and instinctively asked, “What candy apple?” “Stop playing dumb! Didn’t I message you to buy a candy apple for Maya when you came back?” Lucien sneered, sizing me up. “I spent so much money, and you can’t even fulfill such a small request?” My phone had already died. I bit my lip, forcing out a reply. “Buy your own.” Perhaps my cold attitude angered Lucien. He sprang up from the sofa, looking at me testily. “What, you want money again? Didn’t I just give you fourteen dollars? That’s enough for a candy apple, isn’t it?” “Go buy it right now! If you can’t get one, don’t come back!” I looked at him, incredulous. In the past six months, this wasn’t the first time Lucien had spoken to me in such a tone. I thought I was already numb. But a dull ache spread through my chest, even more devastating than the cramping in my abdomen. Outside, it was only a few degrees, and even through the window, I could hear the howling wind. It was past one AM. Where was I supposed to buy a candy apple? Seeing me frozen in place, Lucien scoffed. “What, still not moving? You want more money?” Lucien mockingly pulled a red bill from his wallet and threw it on the floor without looking. “Is this enough?” He paused, sizing me up as if searching for something. “You asked me for money tonight, saying you needed medicine. Where’s the medicine?” “Clara Evans, you’re truly unscrupulous for money now. Are you lying even about fourteen dollars?” Medicine? The baby was gone, what use was medicine? Before I could speak, Lucien waved over a bodyguard, who roughly pushed me out the door. Through the door, his voice sounded even colder. “If you can’t buy a candy apple, you can stay outside all night.” Then, I heard a light, coquettish female voice, followed by intimate, suggestive sounds. I instinctively wanted to get away from that sound, but I didn’t even have the strength to walk. I could only lean against the door and slowly squat down, sitting on the steps outside. The biting cold wind seeped in through my collar, thoroughly chilling my already lifeless heart. In a daze, I heard the door open behind me. The next second, Lucien’s anxious curse: “Clara Evans, are you crazy?! Can’t you find somewhere warm?!” “What’s the point of playing the victim?!” Then, I seemed to fall into a warm embrace. I thought it must be a hallucination. Lucien hated me so much now, he wouldn’t worry about me. I don’t know how long I slept, but when I opened my eyes, I saw Lucien’s ashen face. “Finally stopped pretending? It’s just a candy apple. Do you have to put on a show for me?” “What, do you want the world to know you were pregnant and almost froze to death at the Reed’s doorstep, so you can demand more money?” I opened my mouth, wanting to retort. But my throat was dry and painfully scratchy. Lucien looked away, no longer at me, and shouted out the door, “Where’s the family doctor? Why isn’t he here yet?!” “Don’t let her die in my house!” Tears silently streamed from the corners of my eyes. Lucien, what exactly do you want? You’re the one who hated me so much you wished me dead, and now you’re the one who’s afraid I’ll die. I closed my eyes, my voice hoarse and unpleasant: “Lucien, let’s get a divorce.” He spun around, as if he’d heard a joke. “Divorce? Fine. You give me back two million, and I’ll agree to a divorce.” He seemed to remember something suddenly, paused, then scoffed. “I know what it is. You think you can extort more money now that you’re pregnant with my child, don’t you?” “Tell me, how much do you want this time? Two million? Or five million?” I couldn’t hold back the injustice any longer, blurting out, “Our baby is already gone—” However, before I could finish, Maya’s exaggerated retching suddenly came from outside the door. Just then, the family doctor rushed in. After a series of examinations, the doctor hesitated before speaking: “Mr. Reed, Ms. Maya Sterling appears to be pregnant.” Boom! Something seemed to collapse completely at that moment.

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“Babe, did the bonus hit your account yet?” Ryan’s text message arrived five seconds before the notification from my bank. $120,000. After taxes, it was a clean $87,300. Before I could even screenshot it for him, another message buzzed through. “Perfect timing. I’ve got a sure-fire investment lined up, 18% annual return. Can you wire over $80,000?” I stared at the screen, a sudden chill creeping over me. In five years of marriage, this was the third time he’d asked me for a large sum of money. The first time, for a “startup.” $20,000. The second, to “pay off a debt.” $15,000. And now, this. I didn’t reply. Instead, I opened my banking app and transferred the entire $87,300 into a savings account he knew nothing about. Then, I texted him back. “The company’s tightening its belt this year. They’ve delayed the bonuses.” Three minutes later, Ryan called. I declined it. Two hours after that, I walked into our apartment. His side of the closet was empty. The small cash box we kept in the nightstand was gone. Even the heirloom gold bracelet my mother had given me was missing. I stood in the center of our bedroom and, to my own surprise, I laughed. Five years. It took five years for the fox to finally show its tail. 1 I didn’t call the police. And I didn’t call Ryan. I just stood there, in the middle of our ransacked bedroom, and methodically took a picture of every drawer pulled open, every item disturbed. All his clothes from the closet were gone. But my cashmere coat, the one he’d told me was “too expensive, don’t buy it,” was crumpled on the floor with two muddy footprints ground into the fabric. The nightstand had been pried open. It used to hold two things of value: my emergency cash fund of $12,000, and my mother’s savings bonds, worth another $8,000. She’d given them to me before she passed. All gone. I knelt, my hand sweeping under the bed, and my fingers brushed against a crumpled piece of paper. A receipt. From three days ago. Airline tickets. Two of them. To Miami. I stared at the two names printed in stark black ink: Ryan Peterson, and Zoe Reed. Zoe Reed. I’d seen that name before. It was on his phone once, a notification that flashed on the screen. Can’t wait, Ry. He told me she was just a new intern at his firm who’d added the wrong person. I believed him. Looking back now, I must have been blind. My phone rang, shattering the silence. It was Sarah. “Anna, where are you? It’s your birthday! The girls are all waiting for you at the bar!” I glanced at the calendar on my phone. January 18th. My 32nd birthday. “I…” I started, but the words caught in my throat. I didn’t know what to say. Sarah’s tone shifted instantly. “What’s wrong? What happened? Don’t move, I’m on my way.” Thirty minutes later, Sarah stood in my doorway, her face turning to stone as she took in the chaos of the apartment. “He ran?” she asked, her voice low and dangerous. “Yeah.” “How much did he take?” “The $20,000 from the nightstand, my mom’s gold bracelet, and…” I hesitated. “Whatever was left in his own checking account, maybe five or six thousand.” Sarah stomped her foot in fury. “I told you that man was a snake! I told you not to marry him, but you wouldn’t listen! And now look!” I stayed silent. Then a sudden thought struck her. “Wait, what about your bonus? The $87,000?” I pulled out my phone, opened the banking app, and showed her the balance. $87,300. “It’s safe,” I said. Sarah let out a huge sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God for that.” I sank onto the sofa, my mind a tangled mess. “What was his endgame? For just twenty grand?” Sarah sat beside me, a bitter scoff escaping her lips. “You really think it was just about the twenty grand? Anna, think about how much you’ve spent on him over the last five years.” I froze. When I actually did the math, the numbers were staggering. The down payment on our apartment: $80,000 from my savings. The renovations: another $40,000, all me. His two “business ventures” and “debts”: a combined $35,000. And that didn’t even include the five years of groceries, bills, and vacations. “He’s drained you for hundreds of thousands, at least,” Sarah said, her voice softening as she watched my face. “Anna, you’re just too trusting.” I didn’t argue. She was right. My dad died when I was young, and my mom raised me on her own. Before she passed, she told me the thing she worried about most was me. She said I was too soft, my heart too easily swayed. When Ryan was trying to win me over, he was the perfect gentleman. He’d wait outside my office every day, bring me an umbrella when it rained, and cook soup for me when I was sick. My mom met him once and said, “He seems like such a steady, honest guy. You won’t get hurt with him.” Honest? I glanced at the plane ticket receipt on the floor. The irony was a physical ache in my chest. My phone rang again. It was him. Ryan. I answered, and his voice was as warm and gentle as always. “Hey, babe. Are you off work yet?” “Yeah.” “Okay, well, you’ll have to grab dinner on your own tonight. The office sent me on a last-minute business trip. It’s urgent, I’ll probably be gone for a week.” A business trip? For a week? I looked at his empty half of the closet and felt a hysterical laugh bubbling up inside me. “Okay. You take care of your work.” “You get some rest. Love you.” “You too.” I hung up. Sarah, who had heard the whole conversation, was staring at me, utterly aghast. “He still has the nerve to call you? And lie about a business trip?!” “He doesn’t know I came home early.” My voice was eerily calm as I placed the phone on the coffee table. My mind had never felt clearer. “He thinks I’m out with you guys celebrating my birthday, that I’ll be home late.” “So he timed this…” Sarah’s face grew darker. “He must think the bonus already hit your account, and by the time you found out he was gone, the money would be gone too.” I nodded slowly. If I hadn’t felt that sudden flicker of suspicion and moved the $87,300. If my office hadn’t let everyone leave two hours early today. If I hadn’t canceled my own birthday drinks. I would have come home to an apartment stripped bare, without a single dollar left to my name. I stood up and walked to the window, looking down at the glittering city lights below. On my 32nd birthday, my husband had taken my life savings and run off to Miami with another woman. And I didn’t even have the energy to cry. There was only one thought, growing sharper and colder in my mind: Ryan, you think this is over? This is just the beginning. 2 I didn’t sleep. Sarah stayed with me all night. She helped me document everything that was missing, confirming the final tally. $20,000 in cash and bonds. My mother’s bracelet, which had been appraised at over $6,000. And about $3,000 in cash I kept in a drawer. Nearly $30,000 in total. “That bastard,” Sarah seethed, grinding her teeth. I sat on the sofa, scrolling through Ryan’s Instagram feed from the last two years. It was a highlight reel of our perfect marriage. A picture of a steak dinner: Best meal ever, cooked by my amazing wife! A smiling selfie of us: Happy four-year anniversary to the love of my life. Forever and always. A candid shot of me working on my laptop: My wife works so hard. Can’t wait to spoil her with her bonus! The pictures featured me, our home, the watch I bought him for his birthday, the $800 down jacket I’d splurged on for him. The comments were a chorus of admiration. “Ryan, you’re one lucky guy!” “Anna is the definition of a perfect wife!” “Couple goals right here!” Looking at it now made me want to vomit. Sarah leaned over my shoulder. “He’s a hell of an actor,” she said with a sneer. I kept scrolling down, then stopped abruptly. A post from three months ago. The caption read: Company retreat. The views are incredible. The photo was of him in the mountains, the location vague. But I recognized the blue button-down shirt I’d bought him last year. I zoomed in on the picture, my eyes scanning every detail. And there, in the bottom corner, was a hand. A woman’s hand, with perfectly manicured red nails, holding out a drink to him. I hadn’t noticed it at the time. Now, I knew. That hand had to belong to Zoe. “Do you know this Zoe Reed?” Sarah asked. “Never met her.” I shook my head, my mind racing. Ryan didn’t have a real job. He always told me he was an “independent investor,” but he never seemed to make any actual money. He’d contribute a few hundred dollars to our joint account each month, claiming it was his “income.” The rest of our lifestyle was funded entirely by me. So how did he meet this Zoe? He never let me touch his phone, but I knew his passcode—our wedding anniversary. He hadn’t changed it. He probably thought I’d never bother to check. I opened his texts and started scrolling back, all the way to the beginning of his conversation with Zoe. The first message was from eight months ago. “Hey, Ryan. It’s Zoe. Mark from the club gave me your number, said you could help me with some investments.” Investments? Ryan, giving financial advice? I kept reading, and with every message, the sick feeling in my stomach grew stronger. Two months later, the tone of their chats shifted. “Ry, I miss you so much.” “I know, baby. Just wait till I get through this.” “Is your wife good to you?” “She’s fine. Just too busy with work all the time. Doesn’t really have time for me.” “Poor you. I’ll take care of you from now on.” By the time I reached that message, my hands were shaking. Beside me, Sarah’s face had gone pale with rage. “Those two absolute pieces of trash!” I ignored her, my eyes glued to the screen as I scrolled further. A month ago, the conversation turned to money. “Zoe, how are the preparations going over there?” “Apartment is all set. Rent is cheap in Miami, only $2,000 a month for a year.” “Perfect. Once I get things sorted on my end, we can finally be together.” “What about her money?” “It’s coming. Her bonus lands at the end of the month. I’ll think of a way to get it from her then.” “You’re amazing, Ry.” “After five years, I know exactly how she thinks. All I have to do is ask, and she’ll give it to me.” I stared at those last few lines for a long, long time. Five years. From the very beginning, I was nothing more than his personal ATM. Suddenly, Sarah jabbed a finger at the screen. “Look at this one!” I followed her finger to a message from yesterday. “Babe, did the bonus hit your account yet?” That was the text he’d sent to me. Immediately after, he’d sent one to Zoe. “Should be any time now. Once it lands, I’ll tell her about the investment.” “What if she says no?” “No way. I’ve been playing this part for five years. What’s she going to do?” “But what if she gets suspicious?” “Her? She’s a fool. She believes anything I tell her.” A fool. He called me a fool. A strange, sharp laugh escaped my lips. Sarah jumped. “Anna? Don’t scare me. What are you laughing at?” I closed the phone and stood up. “I’m laughing at myself.” “What?” “Ryan was right.” I walked to the window and watched the sky slowly lighten from charcoal gray to a bruised purple. “I was a fool.” “But not anymore.” 3 The next morning, I took a personal day from work. Sarah insisted on staying with me, but I waved her off. “I don’t need a babysitter. I have things to do.” “What kind of things?” “I’m going to find out exactly what Ryan has been doing for the last five years.” Sarah hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. Call me if you need anything.” After she left, I walked out of the apartment with a purpose. First stop: the bank. I bought our apartment before we were married, but we’d been paying the mortgage together since. Or so I thought. I requested a full statement of the mortgage payments. Over the past five years, I had paid $87,000 toward the principal. Ryan had paid… $3,000. And that was only in the first two years. For the last three, he hadn’t contributed a single cent. The bank teller looked at my face, her expression sympathetic. “Ma’am, is there anything else I can help you with?” “I need to see the transaction history for my husband’s accounts.” “I’m sorry, but for that, we’ll need authorization from the account holder himself.” “He’s missing,” I said flatly. The teller froze. I took a deep breath and slid my ID and our marriage certificate across the counter. “I suspect he’s been involved in fraudulent activity. I need your cooperation to investigate.” Her professional demeanor changed instantly. She consulted her supervisor, who then consulted the branch manager. Finally, the manager came over. “Ms. Peterson, based on the circumstances, we can provide you with a partial statement of his primary checking account.” “Thank you.” Half an hour later, I walked out of the bank with a thick stack of papers. Ryan had one main account, the one I transferred money into every month for his “expenses” and “investments.” Over the past five years, nearly $150,000 had been deposited into that account. All of it from me. And the withdrawals? Seventy percent was transferred to an account under the name “Zoe Reed.” Twenty percent was withdrawn as cash. Only a meager ten percent was used for actual daily expenses. I stared at Zoe’s name, a cold certainty settling in my gut. Second stop: the IRS service center. Ryan claimed to be an “investor,” but he had no registered company. I filed a request for our joint tax transcripts, and what I found was interesting. He hadn’t had any official W-2 or 1099 income reported for the last three years. He had no job. So where did the few hundred dollars he gave me each month come from? It must have been my own money, cycled back to me to keep up the illusion. My last stop was the county records office. I ran a property search under Ryan’s name. Nothing. But then, on a hunch, I ran one for Zoe Reed. Bingo. A one-bedroom condo, purchased two years ago, right here in the city. The down payment was $18,000. The mortgage was for $400,000. And the name listed as the primary payer on the mortgage application: Ryan Peterson. I stood on the steps of the records office, clutching the printout, the paper trembling in my hand. Two years ago. That was when Ryan had asked me for $20,000 for his “startup.” He used my money to buy his mistress a home. I took a deep, shuddering breath and pulled out my phone. I sent a text to Sarah. Find me the best divorce lawyer you know. Her reply was instant. What happened? What did you find? He used my money to buy his mistress a condo. I’m on it. 4 The lawyer’s name was Mark Davies. He was a college friend of Sarah’s and specialized in messy divorces and asset recovery. After reviewing the documents I’d brought, his brow furrowed. “Anna, your situation is… complex,” he said, his tone serious. “How so?” “First, the marital infidelity is clear. You have the text messages as proof, so that’s straightforward. Second, he illegally transferred marital assets to a third party. The amount is substantial, and you have grounds to demand it all back.” He paused, leaning forward. “The problem is, your husband has disappeared, and he’s likely drained his accounts. The money is probably gone.” “So what are my options?” “We file a police report for fraud and theft. Then we sue him.” “Is it enough for jail time?” “Based on the amount, absolutely. Fraud over thirty thousand dollars is a felony. He could face three to ten years.” I was silent for a moment, processing that. “Are there other ways?” Mark studied me, seeming to understand what I was really asking. “If you want to get the money back, the most effective way is to find him, or to find his assets.” “Assets?” “Property, vehicles, large bank accounts…” “I know about the condo,” I said, my voice hard. “It’s in her name, but he’s the one paying the mortgage.” Mark’s eyes lit up. “If you can prove the down payment and the mortgage payments came from your marital funds, we can argue that the condo is a marital asset.” “How do I prove that?” “Bank statements, transfer records, and…” He looked at me expectantly. “Any communication about the purchase.” I thought for a second, then opened my phone and scrolled through the screenshots of Ryan and Zoe’s texts. I found the one I was looking for. “Babe, I transferred the down payment. We finally have a place of our own.” “Oh, Ry, you’re the best!” “Anything for you. As soon as I get the rest of the money sorted out, it’s all yours.” I handed the phone to Mark. He read the exchange, a slow nod of approval on his face. “This text is crucial. It’s solid evidence.” “So what’s the next step?” “First, we file a police report. Second, we file a motion to freeze her assets, specifically that condo. Third, we file for divorce, demanding full return of assets and punitive damages for emotional distress.” I stood up, my mind set. “Okay. I’m going to the police station right now.” As I reached the door, Mark called out, “Anna.” “Yes?” “Prepare yourself,” he said, his voice dropping slightly. “I’ve seen a lot of cases like this. The husband runs off with the money, and even after a long fight, the wife only gets a fraction of it back.” “I know,” I said, turning to face him. My voice was steady, without a trace of a waver. “But I’m not doing this just to get the money back.” “Then what are you doing it for?” “To make him pay.”

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Watching Rupert finish his tenth pineapple, I coldly presented the divorce papers. “Rupert, we’re getting a divorce.” Rupert paused, his hand still reaching for a napkin to wipe his fingers. “Darling, what’s this about now?” “You’ve eaten ten pineapples in three days,” I stated. Rupert chuckled, reaching out to stroke my hair as he always did. “These past few days, the pineapples haven’t been that good, so I didn’t save you any. How about this, to make amends with my princess, I’ll take you shopping for a designer bag tomorrow? What do you say?” I lowered my eyes, a bitter taste in my mouth. In three years of marriage, he had never once lost his temper with me. Even when I threw petty tantrums, he would patiently buy me gifts, apologize, and make amends. But this time, I stepped back, calmly avoiding his hand. “No need. I’m just tired of it.” “Please sign quickly. If we get the divorce papers finalized now, you’ll still make it for your business trip tonight.” After all, the person who made him eat ten pineapples in three days was about to arrive at our doorstep. 1 Rupert’s smile froze. He looked at me, incredulous. “You’re divorcing me because I ate ten pineapples?” I turned and stared at him intently. “Yes, exactly because of that.” Rupert tugged irritably at his tie. “Alice Grey, stop fooling around. This business trip is important. Be a good girl and wait for me to come home.” I looked at him coldly. “I’m not fooling around.” Rupert frowned, about to say something, when the front door beeped with a password entry. Chelsea’s voice drifted in. “Rupert, the car’s downstairs. The CEO for this acquisition is very particular, we need to get there early to prepare the documents… Oh, Alice, you’re home too.” She slipped off her shoes, a pair of matching pink slippers that belonged to Rupert and me, and greeted me with a smile. Seeing Chelsea, Rupert’s brows instantly relaxed. He glanced at me, his tone softening slightly. “Chelsea’s here to pick me up. Alice, let’s talk about whatever it is when I get back from my trip. Don’t let outsiders laugh at us.” Chelsea naturally walked over to Rupert, reaching up to straighten his slightly crooked tie. Her movements were intimate, as practiced as if they were the true owners of this house. “Alice, don’t be mad at Rupert.” Chelsea smiled at me as she adjusted his tie. “Rupert’s been pulling all-nighters for days to rush this project. His appetite hasn’t been good, so he just wanted something sweet and sour.” “I specially arranged for those pineapples to be flown in from the south. I didn’t expect Rupert to like them so much.” She paused, her voice playful. “I accidentally overheard you arguing at the door. Alice, you’re not angry over such a small thing, are you?” I watched Rupert let her fuss over him, showing no intention of maintaining distance. I had brought it up before—Chelsea was the daughter of his grandfather’s war buddy, and his assistant, but there was still a clear line between men and women. What had Rupert said then? He said, “Chelsea lost her parents when she was young. She’s innocent and sees me as a big brother. If I push her away, how heartbroken would she be? Alice, you’re the most generous. Don’t fuss over a young girl.” I was generous for three years. In return, he gave all his patience and boundaries to another woman. “I’m not angry,” I said, looking at them, my voice very soft. “So, let’s get a divorce.” Chelsea’s hand froze. She gasped, covering her mouth. “Divorce? Alice, you’re not serious, are you? Rupert is so good to you. How can you treat marriage as a joke?” Rupert’s face completely darkened. He ripped off his tie, throwing it heavily onto the sofa. “Alice Grey, are you ever going to be done with this?” “In front of Chelsea, you just have to make me lose face, don’t you? I’ve explained it. The pineapples are because my appetite isn’t good, and Chelsea is doing her job. Can’t you be sensible?” The disappointment in his eyes stung my heart. In these three years, the word I heard most often was “sensible.” When Chelsea got a minor cut in the middle of the night, he abandoned me on my birthday to rush to the hospital, telling me to be sensible. When Chelsea had a breakup, he canceled our wedding anniversary trip to comfort her, telling me to be sensible. Now, even when I brought up divorce, he expected me to be sensible for his sake. “Sign the papers, and I’ll be sensible,” I said, handing him the pen. Rupert stared at me for a few seconds, then let out a cold laugh. “Fine, Alice Grey, you’ve really grown up.” He walked away without even glancing at the agreement. “Since that’s how it is, let’s both cool down. I’ll stay at the office for a while. When you’re done with your tantrum, I’ll come back.” Chelsea hurried after him. As she passed me, she paused, whispering in a voice only we could hear, “Alice, some things, if they’re not yours, holding onto them is useless. Pineapples are like that, and people are too.” Then, her heels clicking, she caught up with Rupert. “Rupert, wait for me, you forgot your stomach medicine…” The front door slammed shut. The house fell back into a deathly silence. I looked at the unsigned divorce papers on the coffee table. I didn’t take anything else. I left the house alone. This time, I wanted nothing. And I truly wouldn’t be coming back. I moved back to my parents’ house. In the past three years, I had rarely stayed here, busy taking care of Rupert’s every need. My parents’ expressions shifted from surprise to alarm when they saw me walk in with my suitcase. “Alice, what’s wrong? Did you argue with Rupert?” My mother took my suitcase, cautiously probing. I shook my head, tiredly changing my shoes. “No argument. I just wanted to come back and stay for a few days.” “Did Rupert bully you?” My father slammed down his newspaper. “If that boy dared to treat you badly, I wouldn’t let him get away with it!” “No,” I forced a smile. “He’s on a business trip. I was just bored at home by myself.” I hadn’t figured out how to tell them about the divorce. In my parents’ eyes, Rupert was the ideal son-in-law, a rare gem. Young, accomplished, gentle, and utterly devoted to me. Even during holidays, Rupert was unfailingly polite, charming all our relatives. In everyone’s eyes, marrying him was a step up, a fall into a life of good fortune. I was too tired to explain. I just wanted a good night’s sleep. But even that wish was a luxury. Less than half an hour after lying down, Rupert called. I didn’t want to answer, so I hung up. He called again. I hung up again. By the fifth time, I sighed and answered. “Alice Grey, where are you?” Rupert’s voice on the other end was choked with anger, the background noisy, like a social gathering. “I’m at my parents’ house,” I replied calmly. “Who told you to go back there?” Rupert’s voice rose a few octaves. “I’m only gone for two days on a business trip, and you run back to your parents to complain? How old are you, don’t you have any self-respect?” My fingers tightened slightly around the phone. “I didn’t complain. I just moved out.” “Moved out? What do you mean?” Rupert seemed startled, then his tone became even more impatient. “Are you really going to separate from me over a few measly pineapples? Alice Grey, my patience has limits.” “Mr. King!” Chelsea’s sweet voice came from the other end. “Mr. Thompson is toasting you. Please come over quickly.” Followed by a burst of cheers. “Mr. King is such a busy man, checking in with home even during a business dinner?” “Is the wife checking up on him? Let Assistant Chelsea explain to the wife.” Rupert covered the mouthpiece, his voice lowering slightly. “I’m entertaining right now. I don’t have time for your nonsense. There’s a charity gala tomorrow night. Dress appropriately, and I’ll pick you up. Don’t give me any attitude. This is important.” With that, he hung up without giving me a chance to refuse. Looking at the darkened screen, I felt no ripple of emotion. In the past, even a slightly harsh tone from him would have left me sad for half a day, making me wonder if I had truly done something wrong. Now, I just found it amusing. In his eyes, my departure, my divorce papers, were all just petty attempts to gain attention. All he had to do was offer a small olive branch, and I would gratefully crawl back. Unfortunately, this time he was wrong. The next evening, I didn’t go to the charity gala as he expected. I turned off my phone and went to the cinema alone to watch a film I had long wanted to see. Rupert never liked these art-house films, finding them boring. Every time I wanted to go, I’d end up compromising and watching a commercial blockbuster with him. Or, sometimes, I’d be stood up entirely because of a call from Chelsea. It was already 10 PM when the movie let out. I turned on my phone, and a barrage of missed calls and messages flooded in. Not just from Rupert, but from my parents, and even from Chelsea. Rupert: [Where are you? I’m downstairs at your parents’ house, and no one’s home?] [Alice Grey, are you doing this on purpose? Are you happy to embarrass me in front of my business partners?] [Call me back immediately!] Chelsea: [Alice, you’re too willful. So many CEOs brought their wives tonight. Rupert was all alone and kept getting asked questions. My heart went out to him.] [Luckily, I wore a gown today, so I temporarily filled in as his female companion. Otherwise, Rupert would have been completely humiliated tonight.] [Photo.jpg] In the photo, Rupert, in a black suit, looked handsome and distinguished. Chelsea, arm in arm with him, wore a light blue mermaid gown, her smile radiant. That gown was a custom design I had admired last month, but Rupert had said it was too revealing for me. Now, Chelsea wore it. They stood together, a perfect couple, like a pair made for each other. I looked at the photo, feeling my stomach churn, utterly disgusted. Without replying to any messages, I blocked both of them.

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1 I found myself in the legendary Soul Exchange. I pawned my capacity for love in exchange for another chance at life. When my parents brought my adoptive sister home again, I finally wasn’t consumed by the same hysteria as in my previous life. This time, my parents’ indifference, my brother’s disdain, my fiancé’s betrayal—I wouldn’t care about any of it. But then, why… why were they holding me, crying so heartbrokenly again? “Audrey, why are you spacing out? Your new sister will be here soon, let’s go downstairs to greet her!” Hearing that name again, I paused for a moment. I hadn’t been called “Audrey” for six or seven years. I turned to look at Arthur standing beside me, and sure enough, he was twelve again. The gangly pre-teen, dressed in a fitted suit, was eagerly looking towards the staircase. One hand still clutched my arm. I stared at his long, clean hand. Yet, what flashed in my mind was the imprint of his hand, grown-up, slapping my face. I frowned, instantly shaking him off. Arthur’s expression froze; he looked at me, bewildered. “Audrey, what’s wrong?” The next moment, the villa’s front door slowly pushed open. My parents’ voices drifted in: “Arthur, Audrey, come down, we’ve brought your sister home!” Arthur’s eyes lit up. He immediately abandoned me and ran downstairs. I stood at the top of the stairs, watching the harmonious scene of the family of four below. I reached up and pressed a hand over my heart. It was a strange sensation. A tingling warmth. But the tearing pain that used to accompany it was gone. 2 Arthur and I were twins. For the first twelve years, the Fosters only had us two children. And with the auspicious symbolism of having a boy and a girl twin, our parents and the elders of the family doted on us like precious jewels. Arthur, though only two hours older than me, acted like a true older brother, always letting me have my way, spoiling me into a veritable little princess. Someone once joked with my dad, “With your eldest daughter’s temper, it’s a good thing she was engaged to Ethan early, otherwise no one would dare marry her when she grows up.” My dad’s face immediately darkened. “My daughter wasn’t born to be married off. If no one marries her, she’ll stay home her whole life! I can afford to keep her!” Mom and Arthur didn’t say anything, they just kept showering me with good things, spoiling me even more recklessly. A jade bracelet worth over three hundred thousand dollars was the most ordinary birthday gift I received back then. It was also the last birthday gift I ever received. When I was twelve, one of my father’s old comrades passed away from an illness. On his deathbed, he entrusted his only daughter to my dad. That girl, named Seraphina, became my nominal sister. From then on, my family’s affection, trust, and attention slowly, little by little, drifted away from me. I admit, I hated her. I envied her! I envied how two tears from her could send the whole family into a frantic frenzy. I envied how she slowly stole everything I owned. I grew increasingly obsessive. My temper became more volatile, more erratic. Finally, on my eighteenth birthday, I witnessed her and my fiancé Ethan kissing in the garden. I completely lost my mind. I confronted my parents, my brother, my beloved… “Why are you doing this to me?” But they just looked at me with almost identical expressions of disappointment: “Do you even know what you look like right now? You’re a lunatic!” I laughed, tears streaming down my face. The pain in my heart made my whole body tremble. I lunged at Seraphina with a knife, only to be kicked into a rose bush full of thorns by Arthur. Everyone nervously rushed to protect Seraphina, comforting her and coaxing her to stop crying. No one cared that the knife I held was just a plastic one, meant for cutting cake. My parents, claiming I had mental issues, had me committed to a mental institution. I think Arthur’s kick must have injured me badly. I coughed up blood day and night, begging the doctors to call my parents repeatedly. But they never picked up. Finally, after another round of electroshock therapy, I took my last breath. And then I saw it—the rumored Soul Exchange. I traded all my emotions, my capacity to love, for a chance to be reborn. 3 “Audrey, come on! Weren’t you always looking forward to having a little sister?” Mom, holding Seraphina’s hand, stood at the doorway, smiling and waving at me. Seraphina, with her clean, pale face, sweetly called me “Sister.” But I showed no reaction. I simply turned and went back to my room, leaving them all in the living room, exchanging puzzled glances. My dad sighed, “This child, who upset her now?” Mom’s voice was awkward: “Maybe she’s not used to having a little sister yet, it’s fine, I’ll go coax her in a bit.” Seraphina’s voice was tearful: “Mommy, Daddy, does Sister not like me?” Before my parents could speak, Arthur eagerly cut in: “No, no, Audrey just has a bit of a temper, her heart isn’t bad. Don’t cry, don’t be sad, I’ll go tell her off for you later!” My parents beamed, “Arthur’s so sensible! Make sure you take good care of your sister!” Their laughter kept drifting into my room. Again, I thought how terrible the soundproofing in this mansion truly was. I hated it. It was deafening. I simply stood up and started inventorying my valuables. So much time had passed, I couldn’t remember what my twelve-year-old self owned anymore. Now, looking closely, I was astonished by the sheer wealth. No wonder Seraphina loved taking my things so much. Even my grown-up self couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. I picked up the jewelry from my vanity and stuffed it all into my backpack. Anyway, if I didn’t take it now, Seraphina would soon claim it for various reasons. I held a beautifully crafted jade bracelet, remembering how Seraphina had shattered it in my previous life. That was the first time I slapped her. The small girl, red-eyed, hid behind the door, her voice filled with such injustice, as if I had broken something that belonged to her. “Sister, I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to… I’ve never had anything like this, I just wanted to look, I, I didn’t hold it steady…” She burst into tears, which brought my parents and Arthur running. That was the first time I went “crazy” and hit someone, and the first time my dad confined me. Seraphina cried into my mom’s leg until she almost fainted, yet still managed to glance up and stick her tongue out at me. I pointed at her, accusing, but the next second, Arthur violently shoved me into my room. “Audrey! Can’t you show some sympathy? Seraphina is so pathetic, how can you still bully her? It’s just a bracelet, you have countless others! What’s wrong with giving it to her?” I gritted my teeth, forcing down the sobs that rose in my throat. Just a bracelet? No! That was the birthday gift Arthur bought me with his first prize money from a creative competition! But he had forgotten… From that year on, I never received another birthday gift. Even the dolls, clothes, and jewelry that used to flow into my room like a stream were all redirected to Seraphina’s room. All because she said: “The kids at school laugh at me, they say I’m so skinny and small, and I have no taste, not as bright and shiny as Sister, like a little mud monkey…” She was lying! It was Arthur who helped her ostracize me with the entire class! He knew. He clearly knew everything. But he didn’t defend me. Watching as my parents grew increasingly disappointed in me, increasingly favoring their pitiful adopted daughter… 4 By the time I’d packed all my belongings, there was a gentle knock on my door. “Audrey? Sweetheart, dinner’s ready.” Mom’s voice was incredibly patient, unbelievably gentle. I didn’t respond. I just opened the door, allowing her to lead me to the living room. In my usual spot, Seraphina sat, looking constrained. My dad and Arthur were both helping her dish out food. I turned to Mom. “Should I eat on the floor?” Everyone froze. Mom’s grip on my hand unconsciously tightened. “Of course not! It’s my fault, I forgot to get you a chair. Ms. Davies, quickly get Audrey a chair.” Seraphina hesitantly stood up, her innocent big eyes instantly welling with tears. “Sister, I’m sorry, I didn’t know this was your seat, I, I’ll give it to you!” Arthur quickly got up and restrained her, looking at me with reproach. “Audrey, it’s all the same where you sit, don’t scare Seraphina, she just got here! At the very least, you can sit to my left! Brother will sit between the two of you, how about that?” My parents remained silent, instead watching for my reaction. …Isn’t this tacit approval? I sneered inwardly. Truly, so childish. The whole family was putting on a show, but their acting was unusually terrible. It was truly off-putting. I took the chair from the housekeeper and dragged it directly to the farthest corner of the dining table, away from all of them. Arthur’s hand, dishing food for Seraphina, paused. He looked at me, wanting to speak several times, but ultimately said nothing. The meal finished in this strange atmosphere. As I stood to go upstairs, my dad called out to me. He seemed a little troubled, clearing his throat before smiling and speaking: “Audrey, Seraphina is a year younger than you and Arthur. You are her older brother and sister, you should be more accommodating to her. She just lost her biological parents, and she’s been through a lot emotionally. We are her family, we should take good care of her.” My mom chimed in, “Yes, Mom knows you might not be used to having a sister yet, but look how sweet Seraphina is. If you try to spend more time together, you’ll definitely grow close.” The two of them exchanged frantic glances across the table. Clearly, they both wanted the other to speak first about what was coming. I was getting impatient. My tone was cold. “So?” Mom was taken aback by my question. Perhaps she had never heard me speak to her with such a cold tone before, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to respond. My dad took a sip of tea, then smiled and began, “Audrey, Seraphina just transferred here, and her physical and mental condition aren’t very good. We’re really worried about her, so… how about you and Arthur both stay down a grade, and go to school with her? How does that sound?” As if to be more convincing, he hastily added, “Arthur has already agreed, we’re just waiting for you.” I looked at Arthur. He had his head down, not daring to meet my gaze. 5 Here we go again. It was the same in my previous life. They made me, and Arthur, who was already in seventh grade, go back to sixth grade to “keep her company.” A year later, Ethan, who had grown very close to Seraphina, also transferred to our class, claiming he wanted to look after me… From then on, the three of them staged various little dramas in class every day, falsely accusing me of bullying Seraphina, which led to me being ostracized by the entire class. Bravo. Too bad I wasn’t in the mood to play such boring games with elementary schoolers anymore. It was a complete waste of life. I tilted my head, my eyes full of confusion. “She needs two servants to attend her just to go to school?” My dad was so shocked he dropped his chopsticks. “Aud-Audrey, what did you say?” “I said, since Arthur is already willing to cater to her, there’s no need to force me, is there?” Mom grabbed my arm, her face filled with horror. “Audrey, what are you talking about? What ‘cater’? Your dad and I just want you all to spend more time together, to bond earlier!” “I have no obligation to bond with her. Whoever wants to bond with her can go cater to her.” I stared at Arthur, who had been dumbfounded since earlier, and delivered my final words: “So it’s settled. From now on, you two go to elementary school, and I’ll continue my seventh grade. We won’t bother each other.” I turned and went upstairs, leaving behind a group of people comforting the incessantly sobbing Seraphina. Around nine that evening, Arthur knocked on my door. “Audrey, are you asleep?” “Something wrong?” “Uh… can you open the door?” “No.” Silence outside the door for a long time. Just when I thought he had left, Arthur’s voice came again: “Audrey, you’re unhappy, aren’t you?” My hands paused as I packed my clothes. I frowned, my voice indifferent. “No.” “You are! Audrey, is it because I was only paying attention to our new sister today and ignored you?” I was a little speechless. I really wasn’t unhappy. I just didn’t care. Dealing with them was so boring it made me want to throw up. The Audrey who would be so heartbroken by neglect that she’d fall into severe depression had already died alone in a mental asylum. I sighed. “Really, I’m not. Arthur, you can do whatever you want, you’re free to get close to anyone you like, I don’t care, as long as you don’t bother me.” Silence fell outside the door again. After a while, his voice carried a hint of resignation. “Audrey, Seraphina is truly pitiful. Look how small and frail she is, and she has such a sweet, soft heart. I’m really afraid she’ll be bullied… Audrey, I’ll go back and stay with her for a year, and once she’s settled, I’ll transfer to your school, okay?” Fine, fine, fine. The school is your family’s investment, you can do whatever you want. I rolled my eyes, packed the last piece of clothing. Put on my noise-canceling headphones, and lay directly on the bed. The next morning, I walked into the living room, pulling my suitcase and backpack. Everyone froze again. I looked up and saw Ethan, sitting next to Seraphina. The boy, my age, was already strikingly tall, even half a head taller than Arthur. The moment he saw me, he quickly stood up, his gentle, almond-shaped eyes curving slightly, his voice joyful: “Audrey! I’m here to pick you up for school!” I lowered my eyes, seeing Seraphina’s hand clutching his arm. “You won’t need to pick me up anymore.” “Of course, if you want to pick someone else up, that’s up to you.” 6 Ethan’s smile froze on his face. “Why?” I pointed my chin, indicating the suitcase behind me. Screech— Chairs scraping the floor. Not just Ethan, but my parents and Arthur too, all wore confused expressions. “Audrey? What’s that?” Arthur’s red-rimmed eyes were fixed on my suitcase. “Clothes, and some toiletries.” And my jewelry. “I forgot to tell you, starting today, I’m boarding at school.” “What?!” Several voices spoke in unison. My dad walked over, his face cold, and half-knelt to look at me. “Audrey? You’re boarding?” “Yes.” “Why? Isn’t it good at home? Did your mom and dad make you unhappy?” I remained silent, my eyes devoid of any emotion. My dad’s hand, resting on my hair, trembled slightly. He hesitated, then looked back at Seraphina. “Is it because… Seraphina?” At his words, before I could react, Seraphina bit her lip and let out a suppressed whimper. My mom quickly walked over and hugged her, then glared at my dad reproachfully. “What are you saying? How could it be? Audrey, you tell us, why do you want to board? It’s definitely not because of your sister, you like your sister, right?” Everyone waited expectantly for my answer. They were waiting for me to say, Yes, I like her. Boarding is my own reckless choice. I’m not upset. But I was especially good at disappointing people. “No, I don’t like her. I hate her. And it’s not just her.” “I also hate Mom and Dad, I hate Arthur, I hate Ethan! I hate all of you!” In an instant, my parents’ and Arthur’s faces turned ashen. Ethan, surprisingly, showed little reaction. He seemed to think I was just jealous and throwing a tantrum, his eyes full of tolerance and helplessness. As I walked past him with my suitcase, he even reached out, trying to take it from me. I dodged him. He didn’t get angry, still shamelessly following behind me. My parents tried to follow, but were interrupted by Seraphina’s cries. She cried more and more pitifully, her small face buried in my mom’s arms, her whole body trembling. “Waaah, Mom and Dad, please send me to an orphanage! Sister doesn’t like me… I don’t deserve to be home!” My parents, of course, launched into another round of comforting words, but Arthur, for some reason, was unusually silent. Ethan was still clinging to me, forcing his way into the car I got into. “Go ride in your family’s car.” “Why? I don’t want to! I want to be with you!” He tilted his head, showing his two front teeth, looking utterly unconcerned, like a pig not afraid of boiling water. My fingertips trembled slightly. I suddenly remembered, it was just like this in my previous life. When everyone else ostracized me, the only one who didn’t side with Seraphina was Ethan. He would stand firmly behind me when Seraphina framed me. He’d talk back to Arthur when he yelled at me. When my parents grew more and more disappointed in me, he’d hold me and whisper comforting words: “Audrey, don’t be afraid. You still have me. Ethan’s with you. If they like your sister more, that’s their business. I’ll only ever like my Audrey!” I was like a drowning person clutching the only piece of driftwood, depending on him more completely, trusting him fully. Until Arthur and I turned fourteen. Seraphina suddenly fainted for no reason. Ethan paused, and before anyone else could react, he pushed me aside and caught her steadily in his arms. The “master” he personally brought, in front of everyone at the birthday party, declared that my name was ill-omened, suppressing Seraphina’s destiny and causing her health to decline. How conveniently that “master” appeared! What a clumsy excuse! I still remembered the shock and embarrassment on the faces of all our relatives and friends. Everyone could see it was an act of bullying and humiliation directed at me. But my parents still took me to change my name without a word. From that day on, the name that had been mine for fourteen years – Audrey Foster – became a forbidden word in our house. They called me – Amelia Foster. Amelia… A name changed for Seraphina. It sounded beautiful, but I hated it. I hated it until the day I died! 7 I ignored Ethan. Anyway, it wouldn’t be long before he transferred to Seraphina’s class. I went directly to the dorm advisor with my paperwork and accommodation fees. Ethan saw me actually hand over the money. He finally shed his casual demeanor. He seemed to finally realize that I wasn’t throwing a tantrum. I wasn’t kidding with them. I wasn’t waiting for them to coax me. I truly just wanted to be as far away from them as possible. “Audrey?” His confusion was like thick, swirling ink in his eyes. “Why do you hate even me? Did I do something wrong?” His fingers gently tugged at my sleeve, his voice cautious. He didn’t sound at all like someone who would eventually choke my neck with his bare hands. But those vivid images were still burned into my memory… I violently slapped his hand away. My eyes filled with disgust, I vigorously wiped my sleeve with a tissue. Ethan, pushed away by me, stared blankly at my face. His voice seemed muffled in his throat. “Audrey…” Meeting my look of revulsion, he finally fell silent. I quickly walked away from the hallway. And before class, I submitted a request to change classes. Even after the first period, Ethan didn’t show up in class. When I was walking through the familiar hallway, carrying a stack of books, I finally saw him, his eyes red-rimmed. Ethan looked at the books in my arms, his expression even more wronged. He rushed towards me in two strides. “Audrey, don’t change classes, okay?” But the next moment, a basketball flew from Class 2, hitting him squarely on the head. I, with my books, nimbly dodged, then turned and entered my classroom. Ethan, having hit the floor of the hallway, caused a stir. A boy in my class still held the posture of throwing a basketball. His school uniform hung loosely on him, a wide, exaggerated grin on his lips. “Oops, accidentally hit someone. Are you alright, pal?” I glanced at him. Carrying my books, I walked past him. Whether it was my imagination or not, his movements seemed to freeze for a moment. Then, he propped himself against the edge of a desk with one hand, casually pointed to the seat beside him, his voice full of swagger. “Any further back is the trash can. How about you sit next to me?” 8 I looked at him, but he quickly averted his gaze. “Ahem, well, the homeroom teacher said last class that a new student would be joining, and for me, the class president, to take good care of them.” As he spoke, he rubbed his face, turning his ears red. Class 2 president… Jason. Notorious as the class troublemaker. The students around me were either laughing at Ethan, who had fallen, or secretly glancing our way. I sighed. Class 2’s bad reputation wasn’t unfounded, after all… But I really didn’t want to sit next to Ethan! I pursed my lips. “Thanks, but I prefer to sit alone.” I placed my books on the desk in the last row, by the corner. Jason looked a bit annoyed, his tone urgent. “Hey, you… don’t sit there, I’ll swap with you! I’m taller, I’ll block your view of the blackboard.” Before I could refuse, Ethan, covered in dirt, rushed in. He slammed his hand on my books. “Audrey, come back with me!” “Let go.” “No!” … “Seriously, dude… are you performing a soap opera here?” Jason’s face looked like he’d bitten into something disgusting. “She wants to stay in our class, is it any of your business?” Someone at the door, I don’t know who, threw the basketball back to him. Jason balanced the spinning ball on one finger, looking at Ethan with an expression full of challenge. Ethan gritted his teeth, looking down at me. But he saw I had already started tidying my desk. Jason tutted, “Still not leaving! The bell has rung for class!” Ethan unconsciously clenched his hands. “Audrey…” I frowned, saying nothing. He finally gave up. He shot Jason a furious look, then walked away, turning back to me every few steps. I sighed in relief. “Thank you.” “Huh? Are you talking to me?” Jason pointed to himself. I nodded. He suddenly stood up straight, throwing the basketball into the trash can behind me, almost like muscle memory. I stared at him, bewildered, not understanding what that move was. But I noticed his face was redder now. “Force of habit… N-no problem!” I couldn’t help but smile faintly. His movements grew even stiffer.

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My savings were gone. It had been three days since Olivia’s accident, and she was still in a coma. Desperate, I tried to use her debit card, punching in every anniversary I could remember. Each attempt met with a frustrating ‘incorrect password’ message. “My partner’s parents are out of the country and unreachable,” I pleaded with the bank teller, a young woman with kind eyes. “Is there any other way?” The customer service manager, after checking her system, looked at me with a puzzled expression. “It’s not that complicated, Mr. Reed. You’re Ms. Chen’s legal husband. Just bring your marriage certificate and we can process a guardianship.” The solution was clear, simple. But I froze. Reed wasn’t my name. My girlfriend of eight years, Olivia – when had she gotten married to someone else? 1 I clutched the application form, the unfamiliar name “Ethan Reed” staring back at me, and stumbled out of the bank in a daze. The afternoon sun was blinding, yet a chill ran through me. Back at the hospital, I found Olivia’s phone. The battery was dead. I plugged it in, and soon the screen flickered to life. A local number, unsaved, illuminated the display. Taking a deep breath, I answered. “Olivia! What’s going on? Your phone’s been off for days, no replies to my texts. You’re going to give me a heart attack!” A young man’s voice, thick with tears, spilled from the speaker. My grip tightened on the phone, my fingers icy. “Hello? Say something! Where are you?” “Hello,” I managed, forcing my voice steady. “May I ask who you are to Ms. Chen?” The line went silent for a beat. Then, without hesitation, “I’m her husband. Who are you? Why do you have her phone?” His words pierced through my last shred of hope. My heart plummeted. “This is St. Jude’s Hospital ICU.” My throat ached, a burning lump, as I fought back the overwhelming heat in my eyes. “Your wife, Ms. Olivia Chen, was in a severe car accident three days ago. She’s still in critical condition. Please come to the hospital as soon as possible.” Before he could respond, I hung up. Not long after, a handsome man in a rumpled shirt, stumbled out of the elevator, his eyes wide with panic. He rushed to the ICU observation window. “Honey, what happened to you?! Look at me and our baby!” He pressed his hands against the glass, sobbing uncontrollably. “Wake up! You can’t leave us… You can’t abandon us…” I stood a short distance away, watching another man cry out “honey” to the woman I had loved for eight years. The last flicker of hope in my heart finally died. 2 I wanted to rush over, to shove that bank application form in his face and demand answers. But my gaze fell on the dark circles under his eyes, the visible exhaustion etched on his features. The accusation caught in my throat. He hadn’t slept. If anything happened to him, I couldn’t bear the responsibility. Clutching my phone and that flimsy piece of paper in my pocket, I turned and left the hospital. Like a defeated soldier retreating from battle. Back in the apartment we’d shared for five years, her presence was everywhere. I sat on the sofa, staring at the birthday on Ethan’s application form: 03/15. I typed it into Olivia’s phone. It unlocked. My heart felt like it was being twisted and wrung out. I opened her messaging app and searched for the number that had called earlier. An account labeled “Mobile Customer Service Manager” popped up. I clicked on his profile, scrolling through his posts. Last year, on my birthday, she’d said she had to work late, sending me a gift card to buy whatever I liked. I’d gleefully posted about it. On the same day, Ethan’s social media showed a table laden with homemade food. The caption read: “Someone said they were tired of eating out, insisted on coming home for my pasta.” In a corner of the photo, there was a blurry glimpse of her, head bent, eating. This year, for Valentine’s Day, she’d given me an elegant watch. I loved it so much I wanted to wear it even to sleep. But that very day, Ethan had posted a grid of nine photos: rings, a necklace, shoes, clothes. A complete set of dazzling jewelry and apparel, sparkling in velvet boxes. His caption: “Thanks to Ms. Chen for still spoiling me like a young man.” There were countless other moments. Her back as she made breakfast in the kitchen. Their hands intertwined as she drove. Her sleeping profile. Even the dog we adopted together, the one she told me had run away, now appeared in his photos, curled at his feet. My hands trembled as I scrolled further. My breath hitched when I saw a series of luxurious wedding photos from two years ago. A wedding gown, a toast dress, golden confetti showering down. Olivia, wearing the custom-made gown I’d gifted her, smiled radiantly, arm in arm with the gentle Ethan. Her bridesmaids, clustered around her… Their faces were glaringly familiar. They were Olivia’s closest friends since childhood. Sarah had just eaten dinner at our place last month, even taking home some of the pickled vegetables I’d made. Jessica, two months ago, was short on money for a house, and I’d lent her ten thousand dollars without a second thought. And Michael, Laura’s boyfriend, had just invited me for a game of golf and afternoon tea last weekend. But in the photos, they wore matching bridesmaid dresses, arms slung around each other, smiling into the camera without a trace of shadow. They all knew. And they had all, silently, conspired to keep her secret. Even earlier, Ethan had announced their marriage with a post: “Officially off the market! To the rest of our lives, please advise, @Liv.” I remembered that day vividly. Olivia had told me her company was holding a mandatory training retreat. Turns out, she was with another man, promising him her future. I kept looking, and then, suddenly, I laughed. A low chuckle at first, then my shoulders started to shake, and tears streamed down my face. Eight years. From the innocence of college to the grind of professional life. Every single blueprint for my future included her. Everyone around us had already assumed we were married, just missing the certificate. But that certificate, it turns out, was an insurmountable chasm. She had given it to someone else. I spent eight years of my youth building what I thought was a love nest. Unbeknownst to me, I was merely laying bricks for someone else’s marriage. How utterly ridiculous. How tragic. 3 Three days later, I received a message from a colleague at the hospital: Olivia had woken up. Her vital signs were stable, and she had been moved to a regular room. When I pushed open the door to her room, she was propped up in bed. Ethan sat on the edge of the mattress, his fingers intertwined with hers, his other hand carefully helping her drink water. A picture of deep affection, a couple reunited after facing death. The sound of my footsteps startled them. Olivia’s tender expression froze the moment she saw me. Her hand tightened around Ethan’s. Ethan winced, looking at me suspiciously. “You are…” “Olivia,” I stared at her, “we’ve known each other for eight years. How could I not know you got married and became a mother?” Ethan’s gaze became wary. “Liv, who is he?” Olivia’s face turned from pale to green. She forced a stiff smile. “Ethan, let me introduce you. This is Arthur Hayes, a college acquaintance. He… he works at this hospital. He heard about my accident and just dropped by to check on me.” She spoke quickly, desperately, sending me warning glances. “Acquaintance?” Ethan’s brow didn’t unfurrow. He turned to Olivia, his tone laced with a touch of petulance. “What kind of acquaintance cares this much about you? Besides, what does our marriage have to do with him? Why is he acting like he’s prosecuting you?” Olivia immediately turned to soothe him. “Arthur just has a quick temper. He… well, there might have been some misunderstandings in the past. He’s probably just a bit upset that I’m married now.” Then she turned back to me, her eyes pleading with me to leave. “Arthur, the past is the past. I have my own life now, and I have Ethan. My health isn’t good right now, and I can’t handle stress. You should go do your rounds, don’t neglect your work.” As she spoke, she kept her eyes, once filled with affection, now only with panic and annoyance, fixed on me. She subtly shook her head. I watched the fine sheen of sweat on her forehead. I watched her grip Ethan’s hand, looking as if she faced an enemy. The last spark of warmth in my heart died out. I said nothing, simply turned and pulled open the door, leaving with no hesitation. The door closed behind me, and I vaguely heard Olivia’s sigh of relief, followed by her sickeningly sweet voice telling Ethan, “It’s nothing. Just an insignificant person. Are you tired? Do you want to go rest? The doctor just said you need more quiet time…” The hallway lights were harsh, stinging my eyes. Eight years. Countless days and nights of companionship and support. In her words, it had all been reduced to an “insignificant person.” I knew she wanted to force me into a humiliating retreat. But I would not allow myself to be pushed into such a contemptible position. I tightened my grip on Olivia’s phone in my pocket. It held countless of her secrets. If this was how it would be, then it was time for a complete reckoning. 4 Late that night, during my overnight shift, the office door was quietly pushed open. Olivia slipped in, locking it behind her, and without a word, fell to her knees at my feet. “Arthur, I was wrong.” Her voice was hoarse, her eyes bloodshot. “Please don’t be angry. Let me explain…” “Don’t bother,” I interrupted. “I saw the marriage certificate.” I looked down at her, asking the question that had gnawed at me for days. “Olivia, between him and me, who is the real interloper?” She flinched, her eyes darting away. “He was forced on me by my family.” Olivia swallowed, then spoke with difficulty. “Arthur, I never dared tell you… My mom, she never approved of us being together. She said you, as a doctor, would be too busy to take care of me… And then there’s your mom’s situation. She heard your mom has mental health issues and worried you might inherit something…” My breath hitched, blood rushing to my head. “Don’t you know why my mother became that way?” I was trembling, not from sadness, but from extreme absurdity and fury. “Wasn’t it because my father constantly had other women, driving her to madness?” “You know what I hate most! You know how much I despise people who cheat! Why… why would you do this to me?!” “I know! I know all of it!” She shuffled forward on her knees, desperately gripping my clothes. Tears streamed down her upturned face. “You’re the one I love, Arthur! He’s just a way to appease my family, an act for my mother. I swear! He won’t affect us. You’re the only one in my heart! Everything I have is yours! We can go back to how things were… You two can just stay out of each other’s lives!” Stay out of each other’s lives? I let out a bitter laugh, raising my hand and striking her across the face. “You mean you expect me to live in the shadows forever, to always endure, waiting for you to fulfill your duties as a wife and mother in another home, just to give me a sliver of your time? Olivia, you must be dreaming!” The plea faded from Olivia’s face, replaced by a grim determination. “Arthur Hayes, think carefully.” She stood up, lowering her voice, a subtle threat in her tone. “You and I have eight years. All our friends, colleagues, even your parents, know that you’re mine.” “Our shared plans, the promises we made, the path we walked… don’t these tangible eight years mean more than that piece of paper? As long as you stay quiet and don’t make a scene, I’ll always be yours. That paper, it’s just a formality…” I looked at her, so self-righteous, and suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of unfamiliarity. This face, compared to the nervous, sweaty-palmed girl who awkwardly handed me a hot tea outside the library eight years ago… How could they be the same person? Back then, she had said, “Arthur, I’ll be good to you my whole life.” But now? She had not only cheated, secretly married someone else, but even… I remembered the photos Ethan had posted online. At first, I thought she brought him back to our home when I was away. But on closer inspection, it was clearly their wedding home, a mirror image of ours, replicated detail for detail! All to deceive me when we video-called during my night shifts. None of this deception was spontaneous. It was a calculated, years-long fabrication. I opened the door to the on-call room with disgust, pushing her out with all my strength. “Get out!” Olivia stumbled out the door, then stood outside, softly knocking and pleading. “Arthur, don’t be rash! I really do love you… Please think about it.” A moment later, her phone rang. “Arthur, Ethan woke up. I have to go back quickly. He’s home taking care of the baby…” Her footsteps faded into the distance. I sank to the floor, drained. Tears streamed silently down my face. Eight years, heavy on my heart, suffocating me with pain. How could it not hurt when you’ve loved someone with all your being? But I knew, some paths, you couldn’t take a single wrong step on. The next day, I stopped Ethan outside Olivia’s room. “Ethan, there are some things about Olivia I think you need to know…” I had barely started when he chuckled, his gaze knowing. “Dr. Hayes, don’t bother pretending. I know you and she are more than just old acquaintances, right?” He took a small step closer, leaning in to whisper in my ear. “I’ve seen the private photo album on her phone. It’s full of your pictures. From college until now—” He paused, savoring my stunned expression. “You’re her boyfriend of eight years, just shy of a marriage certificate.” “And I,” he straightened, a triumphant smirk on his face, “am her legitimate husband.”

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