Category: English

I traded my life as the secret heiress to the Whitmore empire—the crown jewel of Manhattan’s elite—to marry Christopher Whitmore. I thought love was enough. I thought he was my sanctuary. But the day before our wedding, a car accident shattered my world. When I drifted back to consciousness, the world was gone. Everything was black. I was blind. Struggling to move, I heard Christopher’s voice from the shadows of the hospital room. He was talking to his assistant, his tone as cold as a winter morning. “Don’t worry, sir,” the assistant whispered. “The driver and the surgeons have been taken care of. They won’t breathe a word. But… Madeline lived for her painting. Now that her corneas have been harvested for Miss Miller… what if she can’t handle the truth when she wakes up?” “She’s resilient,” Christopher replied, his voice devoid of the warmth I had cherished for years. “Not like Becca. Becca is fragile. She wouldn’t survive another day in the dark. Besides, Madeline has me now. I’ll provide for her for the rest of her life. I love her, but I cannot lose Becca.” There was a pause, a heavy silence that made my skin crawl. Then, his voice dropped an octave, raspy and merciless. “And tell the doctor to perform the hysterectomy while she’s under. If Becca sees Madeline carrying my child, it will break her.” The assistant hesitated, his voice trembling. “But sir… isn’t that too much? Madeline has been with you since she was eighteen. She gave up everything—” “Just do it. Don’t ask questions.” A wave of glacial horror washed over me. I lay there, paralyzed, my body shaking with a primal, silent terror. The man I had loved unconditionally, the man I had sacrificed my identity for, had been in love with the girl I’d spent years sponsoring—a charity case I’d plucked from the gutter. He wasn’t just choosing her. He was systematically dismantling me to make her whole. If you want to destroy me, Christopher, I thought, my heart turning into a shard of ice, you’d better make sure I never get back up. … Footsteps echoed in the sterile room. I forced my breathing to remain shallow, feigning unconsciousness. “Mr. Whitmore,” the surgeon’s voice was strained. “Madeline just underwent the cornea retrieval. She’s incredibly weak. If we proceed with the hysterectomy now, there’s a high risk of complications. She might not survive the—” “I’m paying you for results, not suggestions,” Christopher interrupted. “This is a directive. But understand this: if anything happens to Madeline on that table, you’re finished.” “Yes, sir,” the doctor stammered. I felt the heat of Christopher’s fingers against my cheek. His touch, once my only comfort, now felt like the crawl of a spider. His voice was a honeyed lie. “Maddy, it’ll all be over soon. I’ll be here when you wake up. I’ll protect you forever. I love you, baby.” My body betrayed me with a slight shiver. I felt a coldness on my face—he had stood up. Sensing I was coming to, his tone flipped back to a frigid command. “Where is the anesthesiologist? Get the surgery started. I want this finished before she fully regains consciousness.” I forced my eyes open. Nothing. Only the terrifying, suffocating void. The tears came then, hot and involuntary. I reached out into the empty air, my hands trembling. “I… I can’t see. Why can’t I see?” “Maddy, don’t panic. I’m here. I’m right here.” Christopher pulled me into a tight embrace. His large, warm hand stroked my hair, his voice dripping with performative heartbreak. “There was an accident… the doctors say the blindness is temporary. Just a trauma response. I’m going to take care of you, Maddy…” I felt him nod to someone behind me. “Sweetheart, you’re still so weak. You need to stay calm. Let the nurse give you a sedative—just some nutrients to help you recover.” If I hadn’t heard him earlier, I would have believed him. I would have thanked him. Now I knew the “nutrients” were the anesthesia that would allow him to rob me of my womanhood. I gripped his arm, my voice cracking with desperation. “No… Chris, please. No needles. I want to go home. Take me home, please…” Before I could finish, the bite of a cold needle pierced my skin. As the darkness deepened and my consciousness began to slip, I heard his voice, as gentle as a lullaby and as sharp as a scalpel. “Be a good girl, Maddy. Just sleep. When you wake up, everything will be fine. I’m right here.” A single tear tracked down my temple and vanished into my hair. My body was going numb, but the ache in my chest was screaming. I closed my eyes, and for a fleeting second, I saw the eighteen-year-old Christopher. I saw him crying by my bed after he’d taken a knife meant for me during a mugging in a rainy Chicago alley. I heard his teenage voice, raw and fierce: “I swear, Maddy, I will never let anyone hurt you again.” What a joke. The person who wanted me dead was the boy who had once saved my life. When I woke up again, I hadn’t just lost my sight and my lover. I had lost the future. I would never hold a child of my own. The room was silent, save for the rhythmic hiss of my own labored breathing. Then, the muffled sound of an argument drifted in from the hallway. “Madeline was involved in a horrific crash! I have to see her,” a woman’s voice cried out—high, sweet, and manipulative. “She’s been so good to me. Without her, I’d still be in that shelter. I owe her my life. Don’t stop me…” It was Becca Miller. Christopher, a man who tolerated no insolence from anyone, answered her with a tenderness that made my stomach turn. “Becca, listen to me. Your transplant was a success, but you’re still healing. The doctors said you can’t be walking around yet. Madeline is being looked after. You don’t need to worry about her.” I clutched the bedsheets until my knuckles ached. When had Becca gone blind? Why hadn’t I known? Suddenly, a sharp pain flared in the back of my hand. A nurse was shoving an IV needle into my vein with zero grace. “Stop moving!” she hissed, her voice dripping with irritation. She pressed down harder than necessary, a silent warning. “Just my luck. The other girls get to wait on the new Mrs. Whitmore in the VIP wing, and I’m stuck with the blind girl.” She muttered under her breath, loud enough for me to hear. “If Miss Miller likes me, maybe she’ll put in a word with Mr. Whitmore. Then I won’t have to look at pathetic losers like you anymore…” CRAASH! The sound of a glass vial shattering on the floor cut through her vitriol. “Who the hell do you think—” the nurse started, then choked. “Mr… Mr. Whitmore. I didn’t see you there…” “Get out,” Christopher’s voice was a low, terrifying growl. “Never show your face in this hospital again.” The familiar warmth of his presence surrounded me. I felt him sit on the edge of the bed, his body trembling slightly. He sounded shattered. “I’m so sorry, Maddy. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here. I should have protected you from her…” I forced a brittle smile onto my face. Compared to what he had actually done—harvesting my eyes and hollowing out my body—a rude nurse was nothing. But he acted as though he was devastated by it. He held me so tightly I could barely breathe. “I don’t want to stay here,” I whispered. “I want to go home.” His warm breath tickled my neck. “As soon as the doctors clear you, I’m taking you home.” He didn’t realize that the “home” I was thinking of wasn’t the glass-walled penthouse we shared in Chicago. It was the Whitmore estate in New York. Years ago, during a violent internal power struggle within my family, my father had hidden me in Chicago to keep me safe. I was cornered in an alley when Christopher intervened, taking a blade for me. In that moment, I fell in love with a hero. We went to college together. We were the “it” couple, the kind people whispered about. Then Becca appeared. I saw her eating plain bread in the library, a brilliant student with nothing to her name. I felt for her. I funded her tuition, her rent, her life. We became “best friends.” I never knew when they started sharing a bed. I never knew when he stopped loving me and started loving the girl I’d “saved.” Christopher tucked a stray hair behind my ear, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it. “Maddy, the wedding is still on for tomorrow. I want to bring you home officially. I want you to be my wife.” The wedding of my dreams had become a waking nightmare. “No,” I said softly, shaking my head. Christopher paused, clearly not expecting resistance. He took a deep breath, his voice patient. “I know you’re scared. But everything is arranged. No one will dare say a word about your condition. Becca will be your maid of honor—she’ll guide you through the ceremony.” He leaned in closer. “And our officiant? It’s Everett Whitmore himself. I promised you the most magnificent wedding in the country, and I’m delivering.” At the mention of my oldest brother’s name, my fingers dug into Christopher’s sleeve. My family didn’t know I was in the city, let alone that I was the one Christopher was marrying. I had cut ties after a massive blow-up over an arranged marriage years ago. I hadn’t spoken to Everett in forever. A lump formed in my throat. I couldn’t imagine the look on Everett’s face when he saw me like this—broken, blind, and discarded. Suddenly, a weight settled on my arm, accompanied by a frantic, high-pitched voice. “Madeline! Oh my god, I’ve been so worried! I’ll be your eyes now, I promise. I’ll take care of you forever…” Christopher cut her off, a hint of guilt flickering in his tone. “Don’t say that, Becca. The blindness is temporary.” Becca caught the hint immediately. She leaned her head on my shoulder, her voice saccharine sweet. “Of course! I’m so silly. You’ll probably be fine by tomorrow morning. You’ll be the most beautiful bride. I’m so happy for you, Madeline.” It was this—this mask of wide-eyed innocence—that had blinded me to her venom for years. Later, the assistant brought the wedding dress. Christopher left, leaving me alone with Becca. “Madeline,” she whispered, her voice no longer sweet. “I heard you designed this dress yourself? It’s stunning. Too bad the measurements are a bit… loose on me.” The sound of fabric ripping was deafening in the quiet room. I knew she was shredding my masterpiece. “You’re blind, Madeline. A dress this beautiful is wasted on a corpse. You look much better in those hospital rags.” Suddenly, a searing, agonizing pain erupted in my eye sockets. It felt like liquid fire was being poured directly into my brain. I tried to scream, but the air wouldn’t come. I reached up to claw at the bandages, my hands shaking. Becca’s hand clamped onto my wrist like a vice. Her voice was a hiss of pure malice. “You think the accident blinded you? You’re so naive. I mentioned I liked your eyes, and Christopher didn’t even hesitate. He took them for me. But honestly? I don’t even want them. They feel dirty. I’d rather throw them to the dogs.” She leaned in, her breath hot against my ear. “Just leave, Madeline. If you stay, do you think he’d hesitate to kill you if I asked?” The chemical she’d splashed on my bandages continued to burn, but the pain in my soul was worse. Hearing the sound of heavy dress shoes approaching, Becca’s demeanor shifted instantly. She roughly wiped the liquid from my face and shoved my hand upward, making it look like I was striking out. Slap! My palm stung as it hit her cheek. A second later, a massive force shoved me back. My head hit the wall with a sickening thud, and my ears began to ring. “Madeline! Have you lost your mind? Why are you attacking Becca? She’s fragile!” I couldn’t see his face, but Christopher’s voice was vibrating with a rage I’d never heard. This was the first time in years he had ever raised his voice at me. “Apologize to her!” he roared. “Now! Or the wedding is off!” He knew how much I’d wanted this. For years, my only dream was to walk down the aisle and become his wife. I played my part. I bowed my head, looking like a chastened child, even as the stinging in my eyes pulsed. “I’m sorry, Becca,” I whispered, my voice trembling with actual physical pain. Christopher’s cold voice came from the doorway. “Eight o’clock tomorrow. The car will be here.” He had no idea. Tomorrow wasn’t a wedding. It was an escape. The next morning, the assistant arrived. As Becca had predicted, I was forced into the car still wearing my hospital gown. When we arrived at the venue, I felt Becca’s silk dress brush against my ankles. She draped a heavy lace veil over my head. She let out a cruel little laugh. “Happy wedding day, Madeline. You think the veil makes you a bride? It’s just to hide those hideous eyes so you don’t embarrass him.” Before she could say more, Christopher’s voice cut through. “Where is the dress? Madeline, are you doing this to spite me? You’re showing up to our wedding like this?” The assistant hurried me toward the dressing room. I started to peel off the hospital gown, my hands fumbling in the dark. Suddenly, a man’s voice—breathless and predatory—erupted from behind me. “A blind one, huh? But damn, she’s a looker. Stay quiet, sweetheart. Let Daddy show you a good time.” Hands grabbed me, tearing at my remaining clothes. I fought with everything I had, but I was too weak. I leaned forward and bit down on his arm as hard as I could. “You little bitch!” The man snarled, throwing me to the floor. His heavy breathing was right over me. My shirt was ripped open just as the dressing room door flew open. A woman’s sharp, staged scream filled the air. “Madeline! Oh my god! How could you do this on your wedding day? To Christopher?” The man over me stopped, huffing. “She threw herself at me,” he said loudly. “I didn’t realize she was the bride. I don’t want a blind woman anyway.” The room flooded with voices—condemnation, disgust, mockery. “I can’t believe the Whitmore bride is a blind slut!” “Cheating on him in the dressing room? What a tramp.” I huddled on the floor, clutching the rags of my clothes to my chest, my body shaking violently. Then, the room went dead silent. Heavy, deliberate footsteps approached. “Madeline. You betrayed me.” A hand clamped around my throat, squeezing hard. I could feel the heat radiating from Christopher’s body, the sheer force of his fury. “I… didn’t…” I gasped, the world spinning. He slammed me back against the floor, then grabbed my jaw, his fingers digging into the bone. “You know I hate betrayal more than anything. You must be truly insane to do this with a man like that. Fine. There will be no wedding today.” He stood up, his voice echoing with finality. “Take her away. Get her to the psychiatric ward at St. Jude’s.” As guards grabbed my arms, my heart plummeted. If I was locked in a psych ward, I’d never reach my family. I’d be buried alive. I fought back, tearing myself away and running blindly into the corridor. “Get her!” Christopher yelled.

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I married Sebastian White in my sister Isabelle’s place seven years ago. The day Isabelle returned to the country, she smiled at me and said, “Give me back my position as Mrs. White.” My parents knelt and begged me to step aside. I thought the most painful thing was being discarded like trash by my own parents. Then Sebastian coldly said to me, “She’s your sister. What’s wrong with making a sacrifice for her?” It turned out that after seven years of marriage, the woman in his heart had always been my sister. So I chose to let him go. But when the divorce papers were signed, Sebastian knelt on broken glass, his eyes red, begging, “Do you really not love me anymore?” Claire’s POV “Claire, I’ve had my fun abroad. Thank you for taking care of Sebastian these seven years. Now that I’m back, you can give me back my position as Mrs. White.” This was the first thing Isabelle said to me after disappearing for seven years. I stood in the foyer, still holding the supplements I’d just bought for my mother, Margaret. “Had your fun and now you want to come home?” I asked with a cold laugh, my gaze sweeping over my parents standing nearby. My father, Victor, kept his head down, smoking, playing deaf and dumb. My mother, Margaret, had red-rimmed eyes but didn’t dare look at me. Isabelle stood up, walked over to me, and reached out to take my hand. I dodged to the side. She didn’t get angry. She withdrew her hand, smoothed her skirt, and smiled with innocent cruelty. “Yes, abroad wasn’t all that great after all.” “Connor is my biological son, and Sebastian loves me. Claire, you’ve occupied the position of Mrs. White long enough. It’s time to let our family of three reunite.” I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “Isabelle, are you still asleep?” “Sebastian and I are legally married. You think one sentence from you can make me step aside? You think this is a game?” “Claire!” Victor, who had been silent, suddenly slammed the table. The cups rattled loudly. His face was full of displeasure. “Is that how you talk to your sister? You can’t be too greedy! If Isabelle hadn’t left back then, would this wealth have been yours?” My mother Margaret burst into tears and rushed over to grab my hand. “Claire, just do it for the family. Your sister suffered abroad. Now it’s time to give her man back.” Seven years ago, Isabelle got pregnant by some random man and fled the country overnight with the family’s cash. The White family was furious, and the family business faced a broken capital chain. They knelt before me, begging me to marry in her place. Victor held a shard of porcelain to his throat to force me. Margaret knelt on the ground crying. Back then, they said, “Claire, you’re this family’s savior.” Now that their beloved eldest daughter Isabelle was back, I had become an unimportant villain. I shook off Margaret’s hand. “Mom, don’t go too far.” “These seven years, I’ve been in the White family, helping the family secure how many projects, filling how many holes. Don’t you know that in your hearts?” “Now you want me to step aside? Fine.” I looked around at these bloodsuckers. “Have Sebastian come talk to me himself. Besides the law and him personally, no one can make me leave.” With that, I turned and walked away. Behind me came Isabelle’s aggrieved crying and Victor’s furious cursing. “Bitch! Ungrateful bitch!” Walking out of the villa, I realized my whole body was trembling. I took a deep breath of cold air to suppress the nausea rising in my chest. I wasn’t afraid of the family making trouble. Their current wealth and glory all came from me. Cut off the supply and they’d naturally quiet down. What I really couldn’t predict was Sebastian White. What if he also thought that now the original had returned, I, the substitute, should exit? When I drove back to the White family estate, the villa’s lights were blazing. I’d just pushed open the front door when a small figure rushed out from the living room and dove into my arms. “Mom! Why are you only coming back now?” The seven-year-old boy had already grown quite tall, but in front of me he was still like a clingy kitten. He hugged my waist, his tone full of grievance. “I finished all my math problems and wanted you to check them, but I’ve been waiting until now.” Looking at this face that vaguely resembled Isabelle in some features, my heart ached, yet instantly softened. To run away with her lover, Isabelle gave birth and abandoned the baby at the hospital without even nursing him once. I was the one who brought his wrinkled little body home, fed him his first bottle, watched him learn to walk, stayed up with him through his first fever, attended his first parent-teacher conference. These seven years, all his joys and sorrows were connected to me. Now Isabelle wanted to erase all of this with one sentence about being his biological mother? Dream on. I crouched down and smoothed his messy hair, speaking gently. “Sorry, I had something that delayed me. Go to sleep now, and tomorrow morning I will make you something delicious.” “Really?” Connor’s eyes lit up. He leaned over and planted a loud kiss on my cheek. “Mom’s the best! Then I’ll go to sleep first. Good night, Mom!” Watching the child’s happy figure run upstairs, I took a deep breath. This was my son. Regardless of blood relation, no one could take away the child I raised.

Claire’s POV I adjusted my expression and pushed open the master bedroom door. Only a floor lamp was lit in the room, the lighting dim. Sebastian was sitting on the sofa, holding a report in his hand. Hearing the door open, he unhurriedly turned a page. This excessive quietness made my scalp tingle instead. “You’re back?” He finally spoke, his voice low and unreadable. I changed out of my coat, trying to keep my voice steady. “Yes, I went back to the family.” The sound of turning pages stopped abruptly. Sebastian closed the file and casually tossed it onto the side table. He looked up, his deep eyes landing on me. In that instant, I had the illusion of being trapped. “Come here.” He leaned back in his chair and extended his hand toward me. I stiffly walked over and stood before him. Sebastian grabbed my wrist and pulled. I lost my balance and fell onto the armrest of the sofa, forced into close proximity with him. “Your hands are so cold?” My heartbeat skipped. “It’s a bit cold outside.” I lied, turning my head away, not daring to look into his eyes. Sebastian let out a soft laugh, though the amusement didn’t reach his eyes. He forced me to turn my head and face him. “Claire, you’re very distracted today.” His fingers slid down my cheek and pinched gently. “Did something happen?” I bit my lip lightly and swallowed back the words that had reached my mouth. I wasn’t sure if he knew Isabelle had returned, much less how to bring up this matter. “No.” I met his gaze, forcing a smile. “Maybe I’m just tired.” Sebastian stared at me for a long time, then released his hand. “If you’re tired, rest early.” In the morning when I left for work, just as I drove out of the residential complex’s underground parking garage, a figure suddenly rushed out. I braked in shock, looking up to see Isabelle’s twisted face pressed against the windshield. She pounded on the hood violently, looking exactly like a madwoman. “Claire! Get out here!” “You shameless woman! Stealing your sister’s husband, stealing your sister’s son. Give them back to me!” It was rush hour, and people were coming and going at the complex entrance. Passing pedestrians and security guards all stopped, pointing and whispering. Isabelle’s hair was disheveled, making her look pitiful. “I’m the child’s mother! She stole my husband, stole my child!” Public opinion exploded instantly. “Oh my God, is this the wife coming to collect a debt?” “So the current Mrs. White was a mistress who seized the position?” I sat in the car, coldly watching her performance. I locked the doors and lowered the window just a crack. “Make any more trouble and I’ll call the police.” My voice wasn’t loud, but in the noisy environment it was exceptionally clear. Isabelle’s movements paused. She pressed against the window, revealing a strange smile. Through the glass, she mouthed the words to me. “The son is mine by birth. You can’t steal blood ties.” Those words were like a needle, precisely stabbing into the most painful place in my heart. My fingers gripped the steering wheel tightly. Security finally reacted and rushed forward to pull her away. “Move!” I hit the gas, and the car shot forward, its body brushing past Isabelle’s skirt hem. In the rearview mirror, Isabelle was still smiling, triumphant. When I got to the company, I sat in my office holding cold coffee, my heartbeat still not settled. Images from childhood flashed through my mind. Isabelle was the family jewel, I was the pedestal. When she got in trouble, I took the blame. When she didn’t want to do her homework, I did it for her. Seven years ago, she got pregnant out of wedlock and eloped. The family collapsed. To preserve their wealth and glory, my parents pushed me out to fill the hole. I knelt on the ground begging them, saying I’d just graduated, I had my own life. Father slapped me awake. “Isabelle is gone, you have to take her place! The family didn’t raise you all these years to be a freeloader!” Mother just cried. “Claire, the family can’t fall. Just think of it as saving your mother.” I thought about dying. It was Sebastian who added terms to the prenuptial agreement. He would help the family pay off debts, give me the dignity and power of Mrs. White, on the condition that I must be a perfect wife and treat Connor as my own. This was a transaction where I traded my dignity and seven years of youth. Now Isabelle wanted to come back and pick the fruit? Dream on. Since they forced me to sacrifice to create this situation, don’t think I’ll give it up easily now. I don’t owe the family anything. The family owes me. Just as I was thinking, the office door was pushed open. Besides Sebastian, no one dared enter my office without knocking. I quickly adjusted my expression. “Sebastian? What brings you here?” Sebastian wore a dark gray custom suit, carrying the cold air from outside. He didn’t answer, walking straight behind me. A pair of large hands encircled my waist. My body stiffened for a moment, then I forced myself to relax. This was his territory, and I was his possession. “Passing by, came to check on you.” His chin rested in the hollow of my neck, warm breath spraying at my ear. “That recent acquisition case was well done.” “As it should be.” “Connor keeps asking to see you.” He suddenly mentioned the child. My heart tightened. Did he know Isabelle had gone to see the child? Or was he hinting at something? “I’ll go home to spend time with him tonight.” I turned around and straightened his tie, my movements practiced and natural. Sebastian looked down at me, his eyes deep. “As long as you’re obedient.” He patted my face, his tone meaningful. “No one can take your place as Mrs. White.” With that, he released me and turned to leave. It wasn’t until the door closed that I felt a cold sweat on my back. He knew everything, as expected. As long as I behaved and didn’t let Isabelle make things blow up, I would still be Mrs. White. I looked at the city beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, my gaze gradually turning cold. Relying on a man was indeed not as good as relying on myself.

Claire’s POV The winds in the social circle had changed. People began spreading rumors about the real and fake heiresses. Some hinted that I was a substitute who stole my sister’s man, saying now that she was back, I, the impostor, should leave. Isabelle was clever. She befriended some wealthy heirs and heiresses, crying to them about her tragic experience, fabricating herself as someone who sacrificed for love. The annual White Corporation charity gala was about to be held. I went to a top beauty salon for treatments, preparing for the gala. I’d just laid down when a sarcastic voice came from the next bed. “I heard Sebastian White’s legitimate wife is back? Some bitch occupied the position for seven years. It’s time to give it back, right?” The speaker was Mrs. Walsh, whose family made their fortune in coal mining. She’d always wanted to break into the core social circle and disliked me. So recently she’d been getting close to Isabelle. Several other society ladies stopped their treatments, waiting to watch the show. I didn’t even lift an eyelid, keeping my eyes closed while enjoying the technician’s massage. “Use more pressure.” I instructed coolly. Seeing me ignore her, Mrs. Walsh’s voice rose eight octaves in anger. “Stop pretending! Everyone knows you just picked up the leftovers! Once the real wife takes her position, let’s see how arrogant you’ll be then!” The noise was too loud, affecting my mood. I opened my eyes and sat up. Without even glancing at Mrs. Walsh, I beckoned the manager over. “Miss Hart, how may I help you?” The manager rushed over at a trot, bowing ninety degrees. “Don’t let these kinds of riffraff into the VIP area anymore.” I adjusted my robe. “Too noisy. Lowers the class of the place.” The manager’s face changed instantly, immediately turning to Mrs. Walsh. “Mrs. Walsh, I’m sorry, but please move to the regular area, or…” “You dare kick me out?” Mrs. Walsh’s face instantly darkened. “I have a membership card!” “Your card level isn’t sufficient.” The manager’s tone was firm. “Please don’t disturb Miss Hart’s rest.” Under the security guards’ watchful eyes, Mrs. Walsh was driven out cursing like she’d swallowed a fly. The surroundings instantly quieted. Those ladies who’d been waiting to watch me make a fool of myself immediately put on fawning smiles without shame. “Miss Hart is so formidable.” “Exactly, how dare someone like Mrs. Walsh try to cause trouble.” I lay back down. In this circle, you don’t rely on talk. You rely on real financial power and influence. Gossip couldn’t hurt me in the slightest. As long as I still sat in the position of Mrs. White, they had to butter me up. Back in the car, I opened my tablet. The private investigator had sent an encrypted folder. All photos. Isabelle’s seven years abroad were hardly spent suffering. In the photos, she wore heavy makeup, mixing in various underground casinos and nightclubs, with different men by her side. There were also several abortion medical records. The time span was large, with the most recent one from just six months ago. Looking at this evidence, I found it utterly ironic. This was her so-called sacrifice for true love? This was what my parents called suffering hardship? She’d turned her life into mud, and now she wanted to come back and play the victim. Isabelle, if you insist on coming to the gala to seek death, then I’ll grant your wish. When I got home, I heard the sound of a paper shredder as soon as I entered. Connor was sitting on the carpet, feeding a photo into the machine. “Connor, what are you doing?” Connor looked up, his face full of disgust. “Mom, after school today a weird lady stopped me and insisted on giving me a gift. She even said she was my mom.” My heart sank. “What gift?” “A bottle of perfume. It smelled terrible.”

Claire’s POV Connor pointed to the empty box on the table. “And this photo.” I picked up the box. Inside was a photo of Isabelle holding infant Connor, with four twisted words written on the back. “Mommy loves you.” “That lady was so scary. I didn’t want it.” Connor buried himself in my arms, his small hands gripping my clothes tightly. “Mom, I don’t know her. I only have you as my mom.” I held my son tightly, my eyes stinging. Isabelle wanted to play the family card, not knowing that seven years of companionship had long surpassed blood ties. The child wasn’t stupid. He knew in his heart who treated him well. “It’s okay. Stay away from that lady from now on.” I watched the shredder swallow that photo, clenching my fists. Isabelle, you shouldn’t have, you absolutely shouldn’t have reached your hand toward the child. When Sebastian came home, he glanced at the shredded paper in the trash can, seeming to guess what had happened. But he said nothing, just took an invitation from his briefcase and handed it to me. “You’re the hostess for tomorrow night’s gala.” He looked at me steadily. “Don’t disappoint me.” I took the invitation, my fingertips tracing over the words “Mrs. White.” “Don’t worry.” I smiled at him. The charity gala venue. A giant backdrop board was being hoisted up by workers, printed with some real estate company’s huge logo. “Who authorized this to be hung?” I asked. The project director rushed over, sweating profusely. “This was just forcibly requested by the sponsor’s representative. They said Mr. Lee specially approved it…” I didn’t even lift an eyelid, pointing at the board. “Take it down.” “But…” “No buts.” A middle-aged man emerged from behind the scaffolding, an oily smile on his face. “This is a promotional spot specially approved by Mr. Lee. If you take it down, I’m afraid next year’s sponsorship funding won’t be easy to negotiate.” The man deliberately emphasized the words “sponsorship funding,” his eyes showing some contempt for me. One minute later. The man’s phone rang. He answered, and his face instantly turned deathly pale. “What? Bought out? Refund?” I put away my phone. “Now this advertising spot belongs to me.” I stepped forward, my high heels clicking crisply on the marble floor. “Take your garbage and get out of my venue.” The man opened his mouth, looked at the security gathering behind me, and finally slunk away. After dealing with the sponsor, I walked toward the back corridor. The security chief was already waiting with a team of men in black. I handed him a photo. The photo showed Isabelle, an old photo from seven years ago, her expression frivolous. “Burn this face into your memory.” “No matter who brings her in, if this person appears in the banquet hall, your entire security team is fired.” The chief took the photo, breaking into a cold sweat. “Yes, Miss Hart.” VIP lounge. During rehearsal breaks, I sat on the sofa massaging my aching ankles. Several society ladies who’d just received entry tickets were gathered together touching up their makeup. A woman from a wealthy mining family approached with champagne. “Miss Hart, I heard your sister returned to the country? She used to be our trendsetter. Why isn’t she here?” Her voice was loud, and the surroundings instantly quieted. Everyone pricked up their ears. I was looking at the event schedule. Hearing this, I only glanced up briefly without responding. The air froze for three seconds. She realized she might have stepped on a landmine and awkwardly tried to cover. “Oh, I mean, you have much more of the Mrs. White presence now…” I closed the folder and smiled at my assistant beside me. “Re-evaluate Mr. Smith’s membership eligibility for next year.” Mrs. Smith’s face turned deathly pale. Those around who’d wanted to watch the excitement immediately scattered, afraid of being implicated. The main hall doors were pushed open. Sebastian entered with his executive team. He wore an impeccably tailored custom suit, like a star surrounded by admirers. I immediately shoved my feet back into my high heels, enduring the severe pain as I stood up. Sebastian walked straight to the main stage, looking up to check the lighting. From beginning to end, he didn’t look at me once. “Well done.”

Isabelle’s POV Late at night, the TV was playing preview news of the gala, with glamorous images of Claire on screen. A vase smashed into the screen, glass shattering everywhere. I rushed into the kitchen and grabbed a fruit knife. “I don’t want to live anymore!” I pressed the knife against my carotid artery. “If you can’t get me in, I’ll die right here at home! When the police come, I’ll say you forced your biological daughter to death to make way for that substitute!” Mom collapsed on the floor in fright, crying and trying to grab the knife. “Isabelle, don’t do anything foolish! I’ll find a way, I’ll definitely find a way!” The knife in my hand broke the skin slightly, blood beading up. Dad looked at my crazed state, his face iron-gray. After weighing the pros and cons, he gritted his teeth and went to rummage through a drawer. “Put the knife down! I still have a supplier’s debt contract. This is the only opening left.” Only then was I satisfied. This was a desperate gambler’s bet. I had no way back. Mr. Walsh, the supplier, sounded reluctant on the phone. “Mr. Hart, there’s definitely no way through the main entrance. You can only go through the cargo passage.” I looked at my well-maintained fingers, instinctively wanting to scream in refusal. That was a path for lower-class people. But turning to see Claire’s superior attitude on TV, jealousy conquered my pretentiousness. As long as I could get in. Even if I had to crawl through the sewers, I would smash that stage. “I’ll go.” I said through gritted teeth, the words squeezing out from between my teeth. Mom took out a newly purchased haute couture gown from the current season. “Isabelle, wear this. You’ll definitely outshine everyone.” I pushed the new clothes away. I rummaged through boxes and drawers, dragging out a slightly yellowed dress from the very bottom. “This was the first gift Sebastian gave me seven years ago.” I obsessively caressed the hem of the dress. “He wasn’t that rich back then, but this represents that I was his first love.” Mom frowned. “But this one is a bit old…” “What do you know!” I shouted, forcibly squeezing my body into the dress that was already too small. “That substitute can wear expensive clothes but she’s still a fake. As long as I appear in this, Sebastian will remember how much he loved me.” I looked at myself in the mirror and smiled. The next evening, a cargo truck stopped at the back door of the Hart family villa. I wore an oversized work coat, hiding that white gown underneath. I wore a mask and baseball cap, climbing into the cargo hold that reeked of lily fragrance and earth. Dad handed me an envelope. “This contains what you need. You can only succeed. Whether the Hart family can turn things around depends on tonight.” The cargo truck drove on the highway, jolting badly. I huddled between flower buckets, enduring the fishy smell of earth. I took out my phone and clicked on the gala’s red carpet live stream. On screen, flashbulbs fell like a waterfall. Claire walked the red carpet on Sebastian’s arm. The sapphire necklace around her neck sparkled brilliantly under the lights. That was a White family heirloom-level unique piece. I stared fixedly at the screen, my nails digging into my palms. I was hiding in a cargo hold like a rat. While that sister who once served me stood on a cloud receiving worship. All of this should have been mine! The necklace was mine, the position was mine, the glory was mine too! Since I couldn’t have it, then I’d destroy it in front of the whole world.

Claire’s POV I appeared in the banquet hall on Sebastian’s arm. Reporters’ cameras focused on us. Someone boldly asked a question. “Mr. White, recent rumors say Isabelle has returned to the country. Will this affect the relationship between the White and Hart families?” Sebastian’s hand at my waist suddenly tightened. He faced the cameras with a smile. “The relationship between the White and Hart families depends entirely on my wife. Without her, there would be no current cooperation.” I cooperatively turned my head to gaze lovingly at Sebastian. “This is my duty as Mrs. White.” We completed a perfect display of affection before the cameras. Directly blocking rumors about divorce. Flashbulbs went crazy. At an angle no one could see, Sebastian’s fingers lightly caressed my waist. That was some kind of reward signal. Connor tugged at my dress hem, muttering quietly. “Mom, I’m hungry.” I looked down at my son, my heart softening. “Be good, go to the back lounge.” I called over the nanny and crouched down to straighten Connor’s bow tie. “When it’s over, I will take you for late-night snacks. We’ll get your favorite strawberry cake.” Connor’s eyes brightened. He obediently followed the nanny. Watching my son’s small figure disappear through the side door, I was about to stand when I caught something unusual in my peripheral vision. The side door was originally assigned two security personnel. Now, it was empty. White family security never made such basic mistakes. Unless someone deliberately drew them away. “What’s wrong?” Sebastian noticed my stiffness and looked at me. “Nothing.” I suppressed the unease in my heart, though my fingers unconsciously gripped my clutch tighter. On stage, the host was passionately introducing. “Next, please welcome Mr. Sebastian White and Mrs. White to the stage for remarks!” Spotlights instantly hit us. Thunderous applause. Sebastian gallantly extended his hand. I took a deep breath and placed my hand in his palm. Just as we stepped onto the stairs. Sudden chaos erupted. A white figure rapidly broke through the security line. Isabelle wore an old-fashioned white gown, the hem yellowed, looking shabby and pathetic. She stumbled and fell heavily at the edge of the stage. Thump. Through the microphone, this dull sound was amplified countless times. Hundreds of eyes, dozens of cameras, instantly moved from us to focus on this intruder. Isabelle lay on the ground, shoulders trembling, looking as fragile as wet paper. She slowly lifted her head, that face pale as a ghost, but tears hung perfectly on her lashes. She looked at Sebastian, her gaze mournful. “Sebastian…” Her voice carried through the microphone across the entire venue, trembling but crystal clear. “Have you forgotten our anniversary?” My hand instantly tightened, nails digging into my palm. Sebastian stood beside me, motionless. Media surged crazily toward the stage edge. Flashbulbs merged into one blinding mass. Isabelle knelt on the ground, ignoring my existence, staring straight at the cameras. “I’m Connor’s biological mother.” She cried with tears streaming down her face, but her voice carried a vicious edge. “These seven years, someone stole my life.” The crowd below exploded. Those who’d just smiled warmly at me were now whispering, their eyes full of excitement at the drama. “No wonder Mr. White used to be so promiscuous. Turns out the one at home is a thief.” “The son’s real mother came back. The stepmother really should step aside.” “Now there’s a good show. She stole someone’s things for so many years. It’s time to pay the debt.” Isabelle crawled two steps forward, reaching out to grab Sebastian’s pant leg, her fingers deathly pale. “Sebastian, look at me. I’m your Isabelle.” Flashbulbs flashed wildly, casting Sebastian’s cold face in a harsh white glare. I turned to look at him. He was frowning, his gaze passing over Isabelle to look at the PR director in the distance. In that instant, something inside me froze. How could I forget? To him, the White family’s reputation always mattered more than my dignity. I took out my phone. Before I could do anything, the crowd erupted again. “Let us through! Everyone move!”

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I was chatting enthusiastically with my classmate from Germany when Mom suddenly chimed in: “What are you talking about?” I froze. Mom was indeed a housewife. But in her youth, she had spent five years in Germany. Her German was even more fluent than mine. Yet she couldn’t recognize that I had just called her name. Was she really my mother? No one knew that Mom had lived in Germany—no one except me. When I decided to study abroad in Germany, I started learning German in advance. There was one word I kept mispronouncing no matter how many times I tried. While trimming vegetables, Mom corrected my pronunciation with perfect, fluent German. I asked her how she knew German. She said she’d spent a few years in Germany and even had a name there—”Elara.” I wanted to ask more, but she seemed reluctant to discuss it. I didn’t think much of it at the time and gradually forgot about it. Until today, when my German classmate called. Halfway through our conversation, I went to get some water. Passing through the living room, I suddenly felt playful and called out “Elara.” She didn’t react at all. I called again, a bit louder this time. She looked up at me: “What are you saying? Finished chatting with your friend?” I stood frozen. Her German was so good—how could she not understand my conversation with my classmate? And even if her German had gotten rusty over time, how could she forget her own name? I stared at her for a few seconds. She lowered her head to peel an apple, her knife technique skilled, the peel coming off in one long, continuous strip. That was her habit. Nothing wrong there. On her middle finger was a faint scar, left there when I was six years old. The finger matched too, but something felt off. I just couldn’t put my finger on what. She noticed my gaze and looked up: “Hurry and eat. I made your favorite chocolate nut cake.” I sat at the dining table, my heart pounding. “Mom, did you put peanuts in it? I’m allergic to peanuts.” She glanced up at me, her tone calm: “Didn’t your allergy clear up? Peanuts add texture to nut cake.” I exhaled in relief. If she weren’t my mom, hearing me mention a peanut allergy would have made her say something like “Oh shoot, I forgot you can’t eat peanuts.” But she remembered that my allergy had cleared up two years ago. I silently laughed at myself for being paranoid. Dad emerged from his room, and his eyes lit up when he saw the chocolate nut cake. “Chocolate nut cake again! Millia’s favorite.” He cut me a large slice. I smiled and took a bite. The cake was delicious, but my smile froze on my face. Something was wrong! Completely wrong! She wasn’t my mother!

Dad noticed me spacing out and asked: “What’s wrong? Your mom’s cake not good?” I forced a smile and swallowed the cake: “It’s good. Tastes just like always.” It really was delicious—rich chocolate, plenty of crushed nuts, no problems there. But the almond slices hadn’t been removed. Mom liked almond slices, but because I didn’t, she never included them when making nut cake. She’d done this for over twenty years without a single mistake. But today, I tasted the bitter almond slices. Mom sat across from me, nagging Dad about smoking less and reminding me not to stay up late in Germany, just like always. She even gossiped about the neighbor Mary’s daughter. I smiled and responded, but inside I was growing cold. She showed no signs of being different. Even certain small habits and her tone of voice were identical to Mom’s. But I clearly sensed she wasn’t Mom at all. I stole a glance at Dad. He kept his head down, eating, occasionally looking up to respond. If Mom had been replaced, he should be the first to notice. Yet he sat there peacefully, completely oblivious. After dinner, I made an excuse to return to my room. I opened my phone and pulled up Mom’s social media account. Her last post was three days ago—the day I returned home. She’d posted a photo of an airplane with a caption: “My little bird is finally coming home.” Very ordinary, very normal, in Mom’s usual tone. But the photo was wrong. It was too casual—the plane was crooked in the frame, the horizon tilted. I zoomed in. The composition was completely haphazard. It looked like someone had randomly raised their phone and pressed the shutter. But Mom wasn’t like that. She was meticulous about everything, with high standards for all tasks. Even photographing a tree required her to adjust the angle for ages, ensuring every line in the frame was perfectly straight. This photo wasn’t taken by her. It looked more like something deliberately taken to show me, to prove she was my mother. My heart went cold. I kept scrolling. On April 1st, Mom had posted a photo. It was of roses in the garden. The edges of the petals were outlined in golden sunlight, the background perfectly blurred, the horizon perfectly level. This one was right. I enlarged the photo, searching for differences bit by bit. Suddenly I noticed something in the shadow of the rose stems in the lower left corner—a note, pressed under the flowerpot. I zoomed in further. The note had a line of small text, in German. Jeder Mensch ist geheimnisvoll. Every person is mysterious. Was this sentence a clue Mom deliberately left, or just coincidence? I sent the sentence to my German classmate, who quickly replied. Jeder Mensch ist geheimnisvoll. Du hast gar keine Ahnung, wie gut oder schlecht er ist, bis du ihn wirklich kennst und die Wahrheit siehst. Every person is mysterious. You have no idea how good or bad they are until you truly know them and see the truth. Why would Mom leave this sentence? I suddenly remembered something from two years ago when Mom and I watched a TV show at home. In the show, the female lead wanted a divorce, but the male lead coveted her family’s wealth. He not only killed her but pushed her parents off a cliff. When Mom saw that scene, she said this exact sentence. And coincidentally, Dad really was a poor boy who married a rich girl. Could it be that Mom had a conflict with Dad and wanted a divorce, which was why she wrote this? If Mom wanted a divorce, what would she do first? I sat bolt upright. If I were Mom and wanted to leave a dangerous person, I’d transfer my assets first. Then find a safe place. Germany? I immediately called the airline’s customer service. “Hello, can you check if Chloe booked a flight to Germany in April?” “Yes, Ms. Chloe booked a one-way ticket to Berlin on the evening of April 2nd.” My heart raced faster: “Did she board the flight?” “This ticket shows as unused.” I hung up. The rose photo was posted April 1st. The ticket was for April 2nd. But Mom never boarded. Perhaps she never even left the house!

I didn’t dare think further. This mom in the house was definitely fake. So where was my real mother? Had they hidden her, or had she already been killed? Mom was so smart. She couldn’t have left nothing behind. I closed my eyes, desperately trying to remember. Growing up, Mom and I had shared many things no one else knew about. Some moments only she and I knew. If she really wanted to leave a clue, she would put it somewhere only I could find. My eyes shot open. As a child, I had a tin box where I kept my collection of stickers and marbles. Once, Mom joked that if she ever needed to leave me a secret, she’d put it in that box. Because Dad would never bother going through my junk. I quietly went up to the attic and pulled the tin box from the back of the storage shelf. Inside were the marbles I’d played with as a child, along with an additional note. It contained only a string of numbers—an unfamiliar phone number. I dialed the number. “Hello, I’m Millia. Do you know Chloe?” Silence on the other end for a second. “I’m Attorney Lehman. Ms. Chloe previously commissioned me to draft a will. She planned to leave all her assets to you.” “However… she didn’t show up on the appointed day.” “When was the appointment?” “April 2nd in the afternoon. Ms. Chloe said she needed to go to the hospital in the morning, so she could only schedule the afternoon.” Hospital. My head buzzed. “Was she sick?” “Ms. Chloe didn’t specify the reason. She only mentioned needing to get a checkup.” “Which hospital?” “I’m sorry, that’s Ms. Chloe’s private matter. I don’t know.” He hung up. I gripped my phone, blood rushing backward through my body. I opened my phone and quickly searched for “hospital.” There were three hospitals near our house: First Hospital, Howard Hospital, and the Maternal and Child Health Center. I called all three hospitals. But only one responded—that Ms. Chloe had not visited the hospital on April 2nd. I sat on the floor, my mind racing. April 1st: photographed roses, sent a distress signal. Then scheduled an appointment with a lawyer to draft a will. April 2nd morning: planned to go to the hospital for a checkup but didn’t go—or perhaps Mom never intended to go to the hospital and it was just an excuse. April 2nd afternoon: planned to go to the law office for asset certification, but didn’t go. April 2nd evening: planned to fly to Germany to find me, also didn’t go. But the ticket was booked, meaning Mom definitely intended to go. So something must have happened between the afternoon of April 1st and the morning of April 2nd! What happened in those less than twenty-four hours? As I pondered this, I caught sight of a figure at the attic entrance. I whipped my head around. Dad stood there, leaning against the doorframe, watching me quietly. His eyes were calm, as if he’d been watching me for a long time. “Who were you calling?” He smiled faintly at me, like a leopard that had locked onto its prey. My back was already drenched in cold sweat.

I clenched the note tightly in my palm. Suppressing my panic, I kept my voice as steady as possible: “Nothing. Just chatting with a classmate. Need to write a paper.” Dad nodded without saying more, his thumb gently rubbing the corner of his shirt. That was something he only did when nervous. I decided to test him. “Dad, don’t you think Mom’s been a bit different lately?” A flicker of panic flashed through his eyes. “Not at all. Your mom’s been looking forward to you coming home. Maybe she just missed you too much.” I smiled: “Maybe I’m overthinking it. I missed you guys too.” Then I faked a yawn and rubbed my eyes: “I’m so tired. I’m going to bed.” I walked past him calmly, my steps measured. Down from the attic, through the hallway, into my room. The moment I closed the door, my whole body trembled. I immediately pulled out my phone: “Hello, I need to report something to the police.” “My mother is missing. I suspect she’s been kidnapped or killed, and the perpetrator is in the house right now.” I gave them my address. The police said they’d dispatch officers immediately. I breathed a slight sigh of relief. Just then, I heard rustling outside the door. I pressed my ear against the door. “She’s too smart, just like her mother. She must have discovered something.” “Hide the medicine first. Don’t let her see it.” “Give this to her. Only when she’s completely silenced will we be safe.” My heart went cold. They were going to drug me. In that instant, countless thoughts raced through my mind. They must know I’m suspicious, so they want to silence me permanently. As I considered how to escape, the door was suddenly knocked. “Millia, I’ve warmed up some milk for you. Come out.” The doorknob moved but didn’t turn. “Millia, why did you lock the door? Open up!”

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I only glanced once at the special pinned contact in Ethan’s phone. Then I learned one thing: not to care. He worked a thirty-hour night shift without replying to messages. I stopped waiting. He forgot my birthday. I didn’t mention it. My ankle was badly sprained. I gritted my teeth and wrapped it myself, then went onstage in heels the next day. Loving someone is hard, but letting go is simple. Joanna’s POV Today was Swan Lake’s quarterly performance. In the third act, during the Black Swan’s 32 fouetté turns, I heard a crack from my ankle on the 29th landing. Backstage, a crowd swarmed around me. “Joanna! Should we stop the show?” My forehead was covered in cold sweat. I waved them off. “It’s the last act.” Eight minutes of solo dance. I don’t remember how I finished it. I only remember the applause was loud during curtain call, the spotlight was warm, and beneath my skirt, my ankle had swollen until it shone. I smiled and took three curtain calls. No one saw that when I stepped into the wings, my entire body was trembling from pain. 1 AM. Sacred Heart Hospital emergency room. I sat alone in the observation room on a plastic chair, an ice pack pressed against my ankle bone. The nurse on duty frowned after reviewing the X-rays. “Ligament strain. Good thing the bone’s not damaged. Why didn’t you come earlier? Delaying makes the recovery period even longer.” “Just finished a performance.” While recording my information, the nurse asked casually, “You’re Ethan’s girlfriend, right? He posted a photo of you two on social media, that five year anniversary one.” My eyelashes flickered. He did post something on our fifth anniversary. The caption read: “Survived 3 trauma emergency courses.” I’d waited five hours at the restaurant we’d reserved, only to receive one message. “Something came up. We’ll make it up another day.” That “another day” still hasn’t come. “He’s on shift tonight. Want me to call him for you?” the nurse offered kindly. “No need,” I said. “Don’t disturb his work.” The moment I finished speaking, footsteps echoed from the end of the emergency corridor. Ethan came down from upstairs. He paused when he passed the observation room. He turned and walked in, his gaze falling on my swollen ankle, his brow furrowing. “You’re injured? Why didn’t you tell me?” He crouched down to examine it. I pulled my foot back slightly, the movement gentle, as if afraid of making noise. “It’s just a minor injury.” Ethan’s hand froze in midair. He looked at me with surprise. In the past, if I got even a blister from dance practice, I’d photograph it and send it to him, acting spoiled. “The wound hurts so much, I miss you.” Before every performance, I’d curl up nervously in his arms, asking repeatedly, “You’ll come watch, won’t you?” Now my foot was this swollen, yet there wasn’t a trace of grievance on my face. I wouldn’t even let him touch it. Before he could ask, the sound of high heels echoed from the end of the corridor. “Ethan!” The voice was light and soft, carrying a smile. Grace wore a sharply tailored dress under her white coat, carrying two cups of coffee. She walked over and naturally positioned herself beside Ethan. “Your favorite mocha, less sugar.” She handed him the cup, her gaze turning to me, pausing for a beat. “This is… your friend?” Ethan took the coffee, his voice unconsciously softening by half a degree. “My girlfriend, Joanna. She hurt her foot.” “Oh my god, is it serious?” Grace immediately crouched down to look at my ankle. “Hi, I’m Grace. You really can’t dance on this injury anymore-you need to let it heal properly.” Her tone was sincere. The flash of condescension in her expression was equally sincere. “Thanks,” I said. “The nurse already treated it.” When Grace stood up, her shoulder brushed against Ethan’s arm, seemingly by accident. “Ethan, we’re paired for tonight’s shift. I’m still not familiar with a lot of procedures-help me out more.” “Sure.” Ethan seemed oblivious to her intimacy. He looked at me. “Let me take you-” “No need.” I braced myself against the armrest and stood up, taking the crutch. “You two are busy. I called a car.” Ethan frowned. “In your condition, how can you-” But I’d already left. The crutch tapped against the floor. One tap, then another. The rhythm was steady. Behind me came Grace’s voice, clear even across the entire corridor. “Ethan, did Miss Joanna misunderstand something? Should I go explain to her?” “She’s not like that.” There was a hint of helplessness in Ethan’s voice. I didn’t look back. Five years. I’d never made a fuss, never demanded answers. I thought I was being understanding and accommodating, but in his eyes, I was simply “not like that.” Actually, on my way to the hospital, I’d thought about messaging him. But when I opened my phone, I saw the message I’d sent three days ago. “It’s opening night today. Will you come?” He hadn’t replied. I knew that he hadn’t forgotten. He just didn’t want to respond. In his life’s hierarchy, I ranked behind surgery, behind his shifts, behind that less-sugar, less-milk mocha. And especially behind Grace. Always had been. Back home, I opened my laptop. The email from the French Arts Dance Company sat quietly in my inbox. I’d read it many times. “We cordially invite you to serve as principal dancer with our company, three-year term. We look forward to your reply.” My fingers hovered above the keyboard. I thought of Grace handing him coffee in the ER and how naturally he’d accepted it. I thought of how his tone unconsciously softened when he spoke to her. I thought of my ankle swollen until it shone, and how he hadn’t even asked once if it hurt. Five years. I’d waited through countless “another days,” countless “something came ups.” I didn’t want to wait anymore. I typed my reply: “Thank you for the invitation. I accept. I’ll complete domestic handover within seven days and report on time. ”

Joanna’s POV I took two painkillers. They didn’t help much. My ankle throbbed with a dull ache, like something was drumming beneath my skin. I didn’t sleep all night. Ethan didn’t come home all night. At seven in the morning, I hobbled into the kitchen on my crutch. The moment the cooking smoke rose, I suddenly thought of my mom. I could never see her either. She was an ER nurse at the hospital. Her schedule was always packed solid. Even on her rare days off, she’d often get called back. From childhood, I was used to eating alone, sleeping alone, hanging the key around my neck and going to school alone. But every time Mom came home, she’d busy herself in the kitchen for hours, preparing meals for the next few days. She’d pack them into containers one by one, stacking them in the fridge with sticky notes on the lids. “Eat this on Tuesday,” “Remember to heat this one for two minutes.” Later, she had an accident during an emergency rescue. She contracted an acute infectious disease. From diagnosis to death, only eleven days. When the operating room lights went out, nineteen-year-old me stood in the corridor, my mind completely blank. I don’t remember my reaction. I only remember my knees hitting the tile floor-it hurt so much. I cried until I couldn’t breathe, like all the strength had been drained from my body. People came and went in the corridor, but not one of them was my family. Suddenly, someone crouched down in front of me. A warm bottle of coffee appeared before my eyes, still carrying the warmth of being held in someone’s palm. I looked up and saw a young face with gentle eyes. “Don’t cry anymore.” His voice was soft. “Your mother was a great nurse. She saved many lives. Even though she’s gone, we’ll all remember her.” Through a veil of tears, I saw his name tag: Ethan. I never drank that bottle of coffee, but I held it in my palm until it went completely cold. From that day on, I remembered that name and those gentle eyes. The second time I saw him was two years later. I was dancing Giselle as the lead for the first time. During curtain call, the lights were too bright to see the audience clearly, but as I exited, I casually glanced at the seats and spotted a familiar figure in the corner. He sat there quietly, wearing a dark blue shirt. His applause wasn’t enthusiastic, but it was sincere. After the performance, I didn’t change clothes. Clutching a bouquet of pink roses, I ran from backstage and caught him on the theater steps. “Ethan, can I pursue you?” He looked at me, clearly startled. Then he smiled. Warm, but with a weariness I couldn’t read at the time. “I just broke up recently. Someone very important to me went abroad. Right now… I haven’t moved on yet.” I knew he was rejecting me. But the warmth of that coffee bottle still lingered in my heart. Those ten minutes of companionship still lived in my memory. I desperately wanted that kind of gentle love, unique, a favoritism that belonged only to me. All my life, with an absent father and a deceased mother, I’d never been watched so attentively by anyone. He appeared in my most helpless moment. Even if it was just a bottle of coffee, just one word of comfort. To me, it was already light. “That’s okay,” I heard myself say. “I can help you move on slowly.” I thought if I was patient enough, sincere enough, he’d eventually turn around and see me. During these five years together, Ethan really was good to me. He’d remember my performance dates, occasionally pick me up after work, remind me to take medicine when I caught a cold. But this kindness always felt like it was separated by a layer of gauze. Gentle, yes. Just not burning. He smiled at me, but also at nurses, also at coffee shop cashiers. I couldn’t tell whether I was special to him or just one among many. I convinced myself it was enough. Being loved by a gentle person was enough. On my birthday, I thought our relationship should move to the next stage. I’d reserved his favorite restaurant, prepared a ring, even secretly practiced a solo dance to perform just for him. That evening, as I was doing one final rehearsal in front of the mirror, my phone rang. Ethan’s voice was urgent. “Grace is back. She’s injured. I need to go to the hospital first. Wait for me at the restaurant.” He hung up. The ring in my pocket, I waited at the restaurant for five hours. He never came. Never called either. From that day on, everything changed. During the time after Grace returned, whenever she called, Ethan would immediately rush over, no matter what he was doing. He started coming home late frequently, becoming absent-minded frequently. When he mentioned Grace, there was something in his eyes I’d never seen before. I told myself that once Grace was better, maybe everything would return to normal. Until that late night. I got up to get something from the study and accidentally knocked over an old photo album from the corner of the bookshelf. The album fell to the floor and scattered open. Every page was Grace. Some were candid shots, some were photos together. The backgrounds ranged from campus to hospital, from summer to winter. And on the back of each photo was Ethan’s handwriting. “Day 47.” “Missing you.” “A patient today had the same birthday as you.” I crouched on the floor, flipping through them one by one. My fingers didn’t tremble. The date on the last photo was the week before our fifth anniversary, late at night. On the back, it read: “If you hadn’t left back then, I definitely wouldn’t have let go.” I closed the album and returned it to the corner of the bookshelf, arranging it exactly as it had been before I took it down.

Joanna’s POV I went to the rehearsal hall with my injury. My ankle wrapped in thick bandages, I didn’t go onstage. I just spent the day supervising the group dance formations from the side. Someone asked if I wanted to take leave. I said no need. Sitting was still work. At eight in the evening, I returned home. The entryway light was off. Only my shoes sat by the shoe cabinet. No messages from him on my phone. Another day and night without him coming home. My phone rang while I was pouring water. “Hello, your online visa review has been approved. Now you just need to mail the paper materials. We can issue the visa within three business days.” “Okay, I’ll organize everything tonight and mail it first thing tomorrow.” “Wishing you all the best.” After hanging up, I walked into the bedroom. I opened the nightstand drawer. Passport, ID documents, bank statements, employment verification. I placed the documents into a folder one by one. Halfway through packing, I suddenly stopped and glanced around the room. Ethan had mild OCD. He didn’t like the house cluttered with too many things. When I first moved in, I’d bought a floor lamp. He said it didn’t match, so I returned it. Later I wanted to grow flowers on the balcony. He said they’d attract bugs, so I didn’t. Over five years, I’d learned to minimize my presence in this home. Only now, while packing, did I realize I owned so little it wouldn’t even fill a suitcase. A few seasonal clothes, one pair of backup dance shoes, a jewelry box, my passport, and some contract copies. That was it. Five years, condensed into half a suitcase. The bedroom door suddenly pushed open. Ethan walked in. He paused when he saw the documents spread across the bed. “What are you working on?” “Organizing visa materials,” I replied without looking up. “I was thinking we could travel abroad for Christmas. Preparing in advance.” “Christmas?” Ethan glanced at me. “It’s only July-” Before he finished, his phone rang. Grace’s name lit up the screen. “Ethan, the ER transferred a patient. I can’t handle it alone. Can you come help?” The voice on the other end wasn’t loud, but in the quiet room, it was crystal clear. Ethan hung up and looked at me. His lips moved. He looked guilty, yet couldn’t let it go. “Go ahead,” I said, folding a document and tucking it into the bag. “Work is important.” Ethan stood there, frowning. Something probably felt off to him. If this were the old me, I definitely would have frowned and said, “She’s also a doctor. She even worked abroad. Can’t she handle something this small?” “There are so many doctors at the hospital. Why does she always call you?” But this time I said nothing. I didn’t even lift my eyes from the documents. “I probably won’t be back tonight,” he said. “Breakfast together tomorrow?” “Okay.” Ethan left, reassured. The sound of the door closing was soft. The car engine started about two minutes later. I listened to the engine fade away, then packed the remaining materials into the folder and sealed it.

Joanna’s POV The next morning when I woke up, the pillow beside me was cold. I picked up my phone. A message hung on the screen, sent at 3 AM. “Emergency situation last night. Can’t make it back for morning. Sorry.” I stared for two seconds, then locked the screen. The apology was real. Not making it back was also real. The things ranking ahead of me were always so numerous that “sorry” had become a standard phrase. After rehearsal that evening, I carried my bag home. While changing shoes in the entryway, I heard voices in the living room. I walked in to see Grace sitting on the sofa wearing loose loungewear, a suitcase by her feet. Ethan stood nearby. When he saw me, his expression visibly tightened. “Grace… just got back and isn’t adjusting well. Living alone, she keeps having insomnia,” he kept revising his wording. “She lost touch with her friends while abroad. The person she’s most familiar with now is me. I was thinking of letting her stay in the guest room for a few days until she adjusts, then-” “Sure.” I set down my bag. Ethan’s whole body tensed. His lips parted slightly, looking like he was frantically searching his mind for excuses. But I’d agreed too quickly. So quickly that the expression on his face froze instantly, like a gulp of cold air choking in his throat, unable to produce a single word. Grace stood up from the sofa, her voice soft. “Ethan, can I invite a few friends over for dinner? A welcome-back party. I’d feel more at ease if you arranged it.” Before Ethan could answer, I already had. “Sure. I’ll prepare everything.” Grace smiled. A flash of triumph passed through her gaze. That evening, the friends Grace invited arrived one after another. They were all Ethan’s old friends, some former colleagues. The living room quickly grew lively, everyone surrounding Grace. Talking about her experiences, saying she’d gotten thinner, saying she was just as beautiful as before. I stayed in the kitchen cutting fruit, pouring drinks, changing plates. I went in and out of the living room many times. No one asked if I wanted to sit down and chat with them. After several rounds of drinks, someone drunk threw an arm around Ethan’s shoulder. “I’m saying, Ethan, if you and Grace hadn’t broken up back then, your kid would be in kindergarten by now, wouldn’t they?” The living room instantly went quiet. Ethan’s expression changed. He looked sharply at me. I was just coming out of the kitchen carrying a plate of cut watermelon. I set the plate on the coffee table and smiled. “Yeah, pretty unfortunate.” My tone was casual, like commenting on a movie. But no one dared to continue the conversation. The drunk person awkwardly took a drink. The atmosphere took a while to recover. Ethan stared at my profile for a long time. I was smiling. But that smile contained nothing. No jealousy, no grievance, not even concern. Like an outsider entertaining guests. After the dinner party ended, I was washing dishes in the kitchen. Grace leaned against the doorframe. “Joanna, do you know Ethan and I almost got married?” The faucet rushed loudly. My hands didn’t stop. “We’d already bought the ring,” Grace’s voice was loud. “I was the one who initiated the breakup. I was going abroad. He begged me to stay. I didn’t agree.” I turned off the faucet and set down the last plate. I turned around, drying my hands while looking at Grace. “So?” Grace met my gaze, her smile confident, even carrying a trace of pity. “So I’m back now.” She took a step forward. “My place in this home is mine. You, the substitute, should take your curtain call.” The kitchen was quiet for a few seconds. I folded the dish towel neatly and hung it back on the hook. “You’re right,” I said. “I really should take my curtain call.” Grace’s smile froze. “Joanna, you’d better understand your position. You’re nothing but an orphan without family, you-”

Joanna’s POV I interrupted her. “Grace, we’re all adults. If you can’t bear to lose Ethan, you can pursue him, but there’s no need to put me down.” Grace looked angry. I didn’t look at her again. I walked out. In the living room, Ethan had just returned from seeing off friends. He ran right into me. He glanced at the kitchen, then at my face. “They drank too much just now. What they said… don’t take it to heart.” I looked at him, silent for a few seconds. “Ethan, I saw the photo album on your bookshelf.” The air in the living room seemed to freeze. “Every single photo is of Grace. Every one has something you wrote on the back.” My voice was steady. “‘Day 47, missing you.’ ‘If you come back, I definitely won’t let go again.’” Ethan looked flustered. He tried to grab my wrist, but I dodged. “Joanna, let me explain. That was just-” “No need to explain.” I cut him off. Ethan stubbornly grabbed my hand. “Joanna,” his voice was tight, “let’s talk.” “Ethan!” Grace came out of the kitchen holding up her hand, her voice urgent. “I just accidentally cut my finger. It’s bleeding a lot. Quick, look at it for me. Will the injury affect my ability to do surgery later?” Blood was seeping between her fingers. Ethan immediately released my wrist and strode toward Grace. I stood there, looking down at my released wrist. Red marks still remained, but they’d fade quickly. Just like all my traces of him. I glanced at the two of them, then turned and went upstairs. The injury on my ankle still hadn’t healed. The bandage was wrapped tightly. Going up the stairs, I had to grip the railing hard. With Ethan comforting Grace as background noise, when I reached the fourth step, the bandage accidentally caught on a metal strip. I didn’t have time to react. My foot slipped, and I fell heavily backward. That already-swollen foot twisted violently. Sharp pain shot through me. I bit my lip. I didn’t make a sound. Ethan’s voice came from the living room. “What happened?” He walked two steps in this direction, then was called back. “Ethan, I’m still bleeding. Help me first.” The footsteps stopped. I bit my lip, slowly standing up while supporting myself against the wall. My left foot couldn’t bear any weight at all. The ankle had swollen so much it was about to burst through the bandage. I pulled out my phone and dialed emergency services. “Hello, my ankle is injured. I need an ambulance.” Ethan finally came over, his expression terrible. “I’ll take you.” “No need.” As soon as I finished speaking, a siren sounded outside. The paramedics came in and helped me onto the stretcher. From beginning to end, I didn’t let him touch me once. Forty minutes later, I finished treatment and hobbled out of the clinic on crutches. Ethan stood waiting for me in the corridor. “Joanna.” He blocked my path. “What’s wrong with you tonight? Why are you being so cold? If you’re angry, just say so. I can change, can’t I?” I stopped and looked at him. The corridor light was very white. Anxiety and confusion showed in his eyes. “Ethan,” I said, “haven’t you always hated it when I lose my temper?” Ethan froze. “Every time I came to you about Grace, you said I was too sensitive. You said I should be more mature, stop being unreasonable.” He opened his mouth but couldn’t speak. “Now I’m mature.” I looked at him, my voice very soft. “I’m not losing my temper anymore. I can solve my own problems without troubling you.” I paused. “Isn’t this what you always wanted?”

Joanna’s POV Ethan looked panicked. My eyes held genuine confusion. Ethan didn’t dare meet my gaze. I hobbled toward the exit on my crutch. The cold morning light fell on my back. I still kept my spine straight. He seemed very uncomfortable. “Joanna.” He caught up and bent down to pick me up. I didn’t struggle, but I didn’t lean against him either. I just let myself be carried quietly, like a piece of luggage. In the car, he fastened my seatbelt. When his fingers touched me, I pulled away. Ethan gripped the steering wheel in silence for a long time, then spoke. “Joanna, let’s get married.” His tone became firm. “Let’s get married.” The car was instantly very quiet. I turned my head to look at him. “Didn’t you always say marriage was too early?” I said softly. “You said you really liked our current situation.” Ethan’s voice was hoarse. “We’ve been together five years. We’ll get married sooner or later. Why not… right now.” I looked at the barely concealed tension in his eyes and suddenly found it amusing. This expression had appeared on my face constantly over five years. I’d tested him countless times. He always had reasons to refuse: too busy, evaluation period, let’s wait a bit longer. Now that I didn’t care anymore, he was suddenly anxious. That desperate look was almost like he was trying to forcibly lock me up with a marriage certificate. I didn’t answer. We rode in silence all the way home. I went upstairs. Ethan sat motionless on the sofa. My ankle throbbed with dull pain. I lay on the bed and closed my eyes. Before long, the sound of the door closing and an engine starting came from downstairs. He went to find Grace. An expected development. Not worth losing sleep over. The next day, I called the dance company to request leave. I’d already submitted my resignation anyway. Only three days left before I left. After sleeping, I went downstairs. Grace was sitting there eating pasta Ethan had cooked. “Morning.” Grace smiled at me, her manner like the master of this house. Ethan came out of the kitchen, his tone ingratiating. “Nice weather today. Why don’t the three of us go out for some fresh air?” I thought about it. “Okay.” In the park. Grace held Ethan’s arm, chatting about their experiences abroad, laughing and patting his shoulder. I walked behind on my crutch, looking at the roadside flowers, looking at the clouds in the sky. No one turned around to tell me to catch up. I didn’t need them to. When we reached the lake, Grace sat on a bench. I stood at the lakeshore, watching fallen leaves on the water’s surface. Grace walked over, her voice very soft. “Joanna, if there was danger, who do you think Ethan would save first?” Before I could respond, the sharp sound of an out-of-control bicycle came from behind. The bike headed straight toward the two people by the lake. Grace screamed. With my foot injury, I had no time to dodge at all. The bike grazed past me. I lost my balance and fell backward. In that second of falling, I saw Ethan rush over. His arms caught Grace securely. Grace curled up in his embrace. Then I fell into the icy lake water. Through the rippling water, I saw two people embracing tightly on the shore. Grace was buried in Ethan’s arms. He held her shoulders tightly. I kept my eyes open underwater. The cast became heavy with water. My ankle throbbed with a dull ache. I thought to myself, I won’t have any more expectations of Ethan.

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The mafia boss Shaun Hale got into a car accident and lost his memory, forgetting that he had once forced me to be his. When his parents found out, they immediately pressured him to divorce me. Within a single day, I found myself in another city, clutching a divorce certificate in one hand and a massive check in the other, completely dazed. After being trapped in Shaun Hale’s obsessive love for so long, suddenly gaining freedom left me feeling strangely lost. I started a quiet new life in this unfamiliar city. One day while shopping for groceries, someone suddenly covered my nose and mouth. When I opened my eyes again, I was in a dark but familiar basement, hearing a man’s familiar voice in my ear: “Be good and stay mine. I can give you everything you want.” Perfect. Everything was exactly the same as back then. I learned about Shaun Hale’s amnesia a full week after his car accident. The doctors worked for hours to save his life. His mother told me about it with grief and fury: “If he hadn’t been looking for you, Shaun wouldn’t have ended up like this!” She said that day Shaun was getting treatment for a gunshot wound when he discovered I’d escaped. He immediately drove after me, and in his distracted state, crashed head-on into an oncoming truck. Luckily his car was expensive enough that the truck driver managed to swerve at the critical moment. Otherwise he might have died. I suddenly understood. Oh… so that’s what happened. No wonder he hadn’t come looking for me all these days. I thought the tracking device was broken. It made me waste a whole week on that island getting windblown. I was a wife obtained through Shaun Hale’s forceful seizure. I couldn’t figure out what attracted him to me. I was just an ordinary employee, while he was a mafia boss. And he was also the largest shareholder of my company. My only interaction with him was when I once smashed a wine bottle over his cousin’s head at a cocktail party. Because his cousin was sexually harassing my female colleague. At the time, I fully expected to be fired. The next day, however, I received a transfer notice. They moved me from that struggling branch office to headquarters that everyone was desperate to get into. My monthly salary tripled. I was thrilled. Shaun Hale seemed to appreciate me too, always greeting me with a smile, giving me raises and promotions every few days, firing supervisors who made my life difficult, helping me get rid of my clingy ex-boyfriend. He both affirmed my work abilities and covered for all my mistakes. The cheap cufflinks I gave him stayed on his sleeves day after day, year after year. I felt grateful for my good fortune, thanking my lucky stars every day for having such a great boss. I was willing to work for him my whole life. Then one time I had too much to drink. In my daze, Shaun Hale helped me into his car. He let me lean on his shoulder and said gently: “Sleep. I’ll take you home.” I can’t hold my liquor well, and I’d drunk a lot that day—enough to sleep all the way home. But that day I happened to wake up halfway through. The moment I opened my eyes, I saw Shaun Hale secretly kissing my lips. He admitted he liked me. A mafia boss’s pursuit was always direct and intense. Private jets, yachts, diamonds, gowns, priceless paintings—there was nothing I dared not dream of that Shaun Hale couldn’t afford to give me. And beyond these material things, his own qualities were just as impressive. Eight-pack abs, tall physique, sexy when he smiled, coldly ruthless when he didn’t. Every time I went to galas with him, countless women shot me envious looks. But I still didn’t like him. I knew that a man like him existed in a different world from mine. I always thought his infatuation with me was just temporary novelty. But I never expected he was genuinely serious. After I rejected Shaun Hale’s pursuit yet again, he ran out of patience. He had a waterfront estate with an airtight little dark room. Whenever I dared to run, he’d drag me into that room and lock me up. Then we’d have wild sex. Afterward, his face still flushed, he’d force me to marry him. “Be mine. I’ll give you everything you want.” He threatened that if I didn’t agree, he’d break my hands and feet and lock me by his side forever. Of course, he’d said these things countless times but never once followed through. Every time he caught me and brought me back, seeing my indifferent expression would make his eyes turn red with anger. At first, this game of me running and him chasing was kind of fun. After a while, even I found it boring. I couldn’t escape, and he couldn’t bear to really hurt me. Plus I was tired of constantly being locked in that dark room. So one sunny morning, I married Shaun Hale.

Most of the time, Shaun Hale was domineering around me. Like every other powerful person who took what they wanted, he wished he could tie me to his belt and control my every move. But he also knew our marriage was obtained through his despicable methods. His possessiveness didn’t decrease after marriage. One day while I was sleeping, he secretly planted tracking devices in my phone and jewelry. If he discovered I’d been out for more than a day, within an hour he’d appear and drag me home. After figuring out this pattern, I simply started using him as my personal driver. When I got tired of wandering around outside, I’d just find somewhere to sleep. Sure enough, when I woke up I’d be wearing pajamas in the big bed at home. Of course, the price was that each time he’d punish me with sex. This time I miscalculated. I’d only wanted to take a day trip to the island he gave me, but after three days I still hadn’t gotten a single call from him. I sat by the sea, feeling the breeze, checking if the tracking device in my phone was broken. I even started wondering if a satellite had fallen from the sky. Never did I imagine something had happened to Shaun Hale. How wonderful—now he’d lost his memory and forgotten me completely. Others told him he was married. He just waved his hand dismissively: “Let’s divorce then. I don’t remember that woman anyway.” Fate’s casual brushstrokes turned disaster into blessing for everyone. Shaun Hale returned to being that cold, woman-avoiding mafia boss he once was. Shaun’s mother could finally find him a wealthy heiress according to her wishes. And I—I was free. Plus I got eighty million dollars. Before I left, Shaun’s mother warned me never to appear before her son again. “Shaun’s previous obsession with you was just a psychological disorder. Now that he’s nearly cured, don’t delude yourself into thinking he’ll still think of you like before.” I’d heard about Shaun Hale’s psychological disorder—paranoia caused by childhood trauma. Perhaps that explained his fixation on me. Three years of marriage felt like a dream. When I woke up, the estate, the yacht, the diamonds, the dark room… all gone. All I had left was the light-as-air eighty million dollars in my hand. Shaun’s mother told me to get as far away as possible, and I kept my word. I measured out the city farthest from Shaun Hale on a map, booked the nearest flight, and flew away without looking back.

I settled down in this unfamiliar city, bought a modest house, and furnished it simply. Then I found a relaxed part-time job at a dessert shop. Everything seemed no different from before I met Shaun Hale. The shop owner, Mrs. Brown, had a grandson named Sean who was a senior in college. During breaks he’d occasionally help out at the shop. He liked watching financial gossip. The shop’s little projector constantly played news about billionaires’ scandals and stories from home and abroad. The next time I saw Shaun Hale was on one of these news segments. He’d been discharged from the hospital. Media outlets rushed to photograph his still-pale face, but he didn’t spare them a single glance. Cold, distant, unapproachable. A reporter asked about rumors of his secret marriage, even showing a blurry photo of me from who knows where: “Mr. Hale, is this woman your wife?” Shaun glanced at it and said without emotion: “Sorry, I have no recollection of her.” Seeing this, Sean sighed beside me: “Mr. Hale must be over thirty by now, and he’s still not married?” “You know him?” “Yeah, he’s a famous entrepreneur. Lots of people admire him.” “These rich people aren’t as glamorous behind the scenes,” I said lazily, propping my head up. Sean said Mr. Hale was different. I laughed coldly. Few people knew his cruel and ruthless side. A mafia boss—who knows how much blood stained his hands. Anyway, from the moment I met him, he was already a bastard who’d stop at nothing to get me. Whenever I dared resist him, all I got was crazy retaliation. I thought he not only had paranoia but was also a sex addict. Thank goodness he’d lost his memory. News about Shaun Hale had been endless these past few days. Losing three years of memories seemed to have no impact on him. Today he’d acquire this company, tomorrow he’d negotiate with that CEO. Business was booming more than ever. He seemed normal in media interviews too. The host asked if he was considering marriage soon. He said frankly he had no expectations for love and would most likely have an arranged marriage. “But what if you meet a girl you like in the future?” He smiled faintly: “Even if I meet someone, I probably wouldn’t do anything. I respect the other person’s wishes.” I fell silent in front of the screen. Sean came out of the kitchen carrying a cocktail. “Wow, so generous today.” I raised an eyebrow. He smiled proudly: “Of course! Celebrating getting my job offer.” “Congrats! Which company?” “Hale Group.” I choked, coughing twice from the drink going down wrong. “I remember… isn’t Hale Group headquarters in East City?” “They’re opening a branch office. Didn’t you see?” He rewound the interview by half an hour. At that point Shaun Hale was eloquently discussing company expansion, and the first stop for territorial expansion was right in our city. Remembering my experience at the branch office before, I warned him: “Hale Group headquarters is great, but branch offices are usually really demanding.” “But the pay is good.” “You’re still young. Why rush to make money?” Sean glanced at me lightly, then said meaningfully: “Maybe… to have more confidence when pursuing someone I like.”

I don’t know if it’s my imagination. Sean seemed to like me. Boys in their early twenties are too easy to read—his face turning red when making eye contact with me, his nervous fidgeting with his sleeves. And deliberately finding topics to chat with me—it all exposed his feelings. Not surprisingly, he confessed to me. And I immediately rejected him. He was so different from Shaun Hale. Faced with my rejection, Shaun Hale wouldn’t care about my opinion. He’d just find ways to possess me. Even if he couldn’t have my heart, he’d have my body. But Sean obviously had a thinner skin. After my rejection, his eyes immediately reddened as he left with a “Sorry, I bothered you.” At eleven PM, seeing he still hadn’t returned, Mrs. Brown paced anxiously in the room. I was about to call him when I saw his message— [Mia, I’m at the police station. Can you come get me? Also, don’t let my grandma know.] My heart jumped. Sean didn’t seem like someone who’d cause trouble and end up at the police station? When I rushed to the station, I finally relaxed. He hadn’t done anything rash because of the failed confession. He’d gone to work as usual. During dinner with a client that evening, after several rounds of drinks, the client said he’d take Sean somewhere fun. Sean was somewhat drunk and groggily followed along. Not until someone started unbuckling his pants at a bar did he suddenly wake up. “I didn’t know my client was gay, and the place he took me was a gay bar… I panicked and called the police.” “But then that man told the police first that I seduced him!” “The client said he won’t let this go,” Sean was on the verge of tears. “My boss is coming too…” “Your boss,” an uneasy premonition rose in my heart. “Which boss?” “It’s…” Before he could finish, he suddenly stood up and walked toward someone behind me with tears in his eyes. “Mr. Hale, you’re here.” After half a year, Shaun Hale really hadn’t changed at all. Still unpredictable as a ghost. I didn’t want to face him, so I pulled my cap down low and huddled in the corner. He efficiently handled the follow-up with the police and mercilessly sent that client to detention. Through the window, I heard him comfort Sean: “Don’t panic when you encounter things like this in the future. I’ll always prioritize my employees’ safety.” “When socializing, no matter what client you meet, you have the right to refuse drinking.” Sean sniffled: “I’m sorry, Mr. Hale. I just… my confession was rejected and I was in a bad mood, so…” “Love is inherently random, and having someone you like also happen to like you is a low-probability event.” Like a gentle, understanding elder, he patiently counseled Sean. “There are many girls in the world. Someone will be right for you. Some things shouldn’t be forced.” I eavesdropped from the side, feeling somewhat comforted. First time hearing Shaun Hale talk sense. Felt weird getting used to it. “By the way,” Shaun suddenly asked, “where’s your family?” Sean came to his senses and pointed at me in a fluster: “Ah, over there.” Shaun Hale looked toward me following the sound. And at that exact moment, I turned my head.

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On my first day after passing the prosecutor’s office background check, my sister-in-law Lester’s daughter Amy died horribly in my room. When she was found, her lower body was covered in filth, and she had suffered a prolapsed uterus. Lester had a mental breakdown and jumped from the top floor. My adopted brother Liam stabbed me through the kidney with blood-red eyes. My wife Kaya denounced me as a depraved murderer, immediately filed for divorce, and then turned around and married Liam. To make amends to him, my police chief father pulled strings to skip the investigation and directly charged me with rape. My CEO mother took it upon herself to give all my assets to Liam, helping him become a billionaire philanthropist in New York. Unable to defend myself, I was sent to prison for eight years. On the day of my release, my whole family met me at the prison gates. I laughed coldly. Back then, it was they who forged evidence and pushed me into hell. They broke both my legs and injected me with neurotoxins to paralyze my brain so I couldn’t appeal. And all of this was just to cover up the truth that Liam was the real killer!

I raised my hand to wipe the filth from my eyes. Limping, I walked toward the edge of the crowd. “Daniel!” My mother’s voice rang out behind me, trembling with disbelief. “Where are you going?” I didn’t look back and kept walking forward. My ex-wife Kaya quickly stepped forward to block me, pressing her lips tightly together. “Daniel, come home with us first. Stop making a scene.” My steps paused. I dragged my half-crippled legs toward them. The voice rolling from my throat was like sandpaper scraping: “Home? Do I still have a home?” My gaze fixed on my father’s face. “Dad, you were the one who pointed at my nose and called me a bastard, said I didn’t deserve the Williams name.” My father’s face suddenly froze. I looked at my mother and gave a crooked smile. “Mom, when you handed over everything I had to someone else, did I still have a home?” My mother looked away. “Daniel Williams!” Kaya grabbed my arm, her nails digging into my flesh. “Can’t you just talk nicely?” I shook her off like I was shaking off something filthy. “Almost forgot about you.” “Congratulations. So happy you two finally got together. By the way, Liam went to great lengths to marry you—killed his own daughter, then drove his wife to death…” “Kaya, when you and Liam are having sex in bed, I bet their mother-daughter souls are right there beside you, faces covered in bloody tears, watching!” Slap— My father’s palm struck me so hard my head snapped to the side, my ears ringing. “Bastard!” My father’s face flushed red with rage, his whole body trembling. “You committed the crime yourself, and now you’re pinning the blame on Liam and Kaya. You’re nothing but a vicious bastard!” My mother chimed in shrilly. “Daniel, what kind of attitude is this! Kaya married Liam to atone for your sins. What right do you have to slander them?” “It’s bad enough you’re rotting in the gutter yourself, but you want to drag them down too. What a poisonous heart you have!” Kaya’s eyes reddened: “Daniel, Liam and I really aren’t what you think…” “When Liam lost two family members, he drank himself into gastric cancer day and night. I only married him to take care of him.” She stepped forward to touch my face: “I married Liam as a temporary measure. Now that you’re back, we can go back to how things were.” I used every ounce of strength to slap her hard across the face. My voice trembled but carried bone-chilling coldness: “Go back to how things were?” “Kaya, you disgust me!” “What makes you think I’d want a woman who’s been screwed rotten? I want to vomit just touching you!” My father’s hand veins bulged as he grabbed my throat and roared: “Daniel, you’re insane! Shut your mouth!” Talk nicely? “What did I do wrong?” I stared into each of their eyes, word by word. “From beginning to end, what exactly did I do wrong?” “Liam is the real culprit!” “You held him in the palm of your hand but couldn’t wait to grind me into the dirt, threw me in prison without reason, and ruined my life!” My mother snarled. “What real culprit! Watch your filthy mouth!” That man charged at me again, a steel pipe smashing viciously onto my already crippled legs. The dull sound of bone shattering. I collapsed to the ground, cold sweat instantly soaking my entire body. “How dare you slander Mr. McKenzie’s reputation! I think you’re tired of living!” My ruined legs took hit after hit, the pain making me tremble uncontrollably. Kaya looked at my twisted legs, her face showing reluctance. “Daniel, come home with us. Whatever you want, I’ll compensate you.” I spat a mouthful of blood on her face. “You’re all so hypocritical! Get lost! I feel sick just looking at you!” My father flew into a rage, pointing at my nose and cursing: “Daniel, I’m giving you one last chance. Apologize to Liam and Kaya!” “Otherwise… get out of this family and never come back!”

Liam had somehow arrived at the scene. He pushed through the crowd and suddenly spoke: “Dad, don’t do this. Daniel is your son after all.” Everyone’s attention instantly shifted as Mom and Dad surrounded him. My mother grabbed his hand lovingly: “Didn’t we tell you not to come?” “Right, you’re so busy with work. There’s no need to make the trip, especially when it just reminds you of sad memories.” My father also said hurriedly. Even Kaya pressed close to him, standing between Liam and me, as if afraid I might harm him. My eyes grew even drier. Once upon a time, I too had received such tender care. That was when I was eighteen, before Liam was adopted by my parents. I was kidnapped in retaliation by my father’s enemy. It was he who fought the criminals alone and accidentally fell from the fifth floor. He suffered comminuted fractures all over his body and lay in the hospital for a whole year. Even though it hurt terribly, he held my hand and comforted me: “It’s okay. This is Dad’s badge for protecting you. It doesn’t hurt at all.” And Kaya—when we were dating, even if it was my fault that drew curses from passersby, she would stop at nothing to drive that person out of New York. The love in my memories was as warm as ocean waves, but the reality before my eyes was like a bucket of cold water, completely waking me up. While no one was paying attention to me, the thug who had beaten me earlier charged over with several others. Someone pinned down my limbs, preventing me from moving. My right palm bones shattered with a sound. Extreme agony shot to the top of my skull, my vision turning blood red. They actually used an iron hammer to crush my right hand! “Destroying this hand so you can never be normal again! Let’s see how you harm people now!” “Rapist! I’m going to break your dick!” The blade flashed cold light, slashing toward my lower body. Eight years in prison had taught me to struggle. I used all my strength to kick one person away and scrambled backward. The rough ground tore up my palms, the pain nearly making me pass out. From the corner of my eye, Kaya was nestled in Liam’s arms, smiling sweetly. That expression was a tenderness I had never seen before. When Mom and Dad glanced toward me after hearing my cries of pain, their faces showed only disgust. And Liam seemed to just notice the situation, shouting loudly: “What are you doing!” He chased away those thugs and bent down to help me up, his face full of concern. “Daniel, are you okay?” His leather shoe landed squarely on my mangled right hand,without impartiality. He pressed down hard. A wheezing gasp escaped my throat as I curled up in agony. He leaned down, his breath spraying in my ear, soft as a viper’s hiss: “So what if you’re back? I’ll take everything from you—not just your assets, but your family and wife too…” Looking up, he resumed that anxious, flustered appearance: “Sorry, I didn’t mean to…” But my father kicked me hard in the chest. I fell to the ground, my internal organs shifting out of place. “How long are you going to keep up this act?!” He ground his shoe sole against my face. “Liam kindly tried to help you up, and you put on this pathetic show for who? Trying to frame him again?!” As if finding an outlet, he kicked my legs viciously, one foot after another. My legs, which had been broken and healed dozens of times over eight years, fractured again. I curled into a ball, darkness clouding my vision. “You’re a rotten person who wants to drag everyone else down with you! Remember this! I could send you to prison once, I can send you there countless times!” “Dad! Stop hitting him!” Kaya grabbed him, her voice breaking: “Dad, Daniel is your son…” “Son? I don’t have a bastard son like him!” “Eight years ago, my only son became Liam!”

Kaya looked at the furious father, then at me barely clinging to life. In the end, she walked toward me: “Your hand… Let me take you to the hospital to treat your wounds.” As soon as she finished speaking, Liam bent over clutching his stomach, his voice weak: “Kaya, my stomach doesn’t feel good.” “Don’t worry, I’ll take you to the hospital right now.” Kaya carefully supported him. From start to finish, she didn’t spare me even a glance. My father’s voice was like a poisoned blade as he ordered the bodyguards: “Clean this up. Don’t let certain people have a chance to harm Liam!” After speaking, they quickly followed, escorting Liam to the hospital. The chaotic scene was suddenly left with only me. “See? Who would like a rapist?” The man from earlier squatted down, his nails digging into the wound on my hand. “Weren’t you pretty good at dodging just now? Why aren’t you dodging now?” Another spat in my face: “Rapists should be nailed to the pillory!” They tied me spread-eagle to a pillar, then pulled out a box of needle and thread from a bag. “Since he likes throwing dirt on others, let’s sew his mouth shut!” “And those hands—destroy them all!” I struggled desperately, only to receive over a hundred slaps in return. A bodyguard nearby couldn’t bear watching anymore and called my father. “Sir, Daniel is being assaulted by passersby right now. What should we…” “You’re calling me over something this trivial?” My father impatiently cut him off. Through the phone came the sounds of Kaya and my mother fussing over Liam. After a long while, my father added in an icy tone: “Today, I won’t allow anything that damages Liam’s reputation to get out.” “As for that bastard, let them do whatever they want. As long as he’s breathing.” Those thugs overheard the conversation and doubled over laughing: “Hear that? You’re at our mercy!” When the needle pierced my lip, the taste of rust filled my mouth. One stitch, two stitches—the thread pulled at the flesh, sewing my screams back into my throat. The steel needle shuttled back and forth between my upper and lower lips. After just a few passes, my mouth was full of blood. Then they raised the iron hammer, lifting and dropping it. The bones in my wrists and ankles shattered completely. But what came from my throat wasn’t screaming—it was broken whimpering. I don’t know how long they tortured me. Finally bored, they threw me into the icy river water. Rain poured down mercilessly, the cold making even the bone fragments in my joints scream. I bit through my back molars and used my chin to brace against the riverbank, dragging my body up inch by inch. My phone screen glowed dimly in the rain. When I pressed those numbers, the stitched lips tore open again, blood dripping on the screen. This number had mysteriously appeared on my bedside during my imprisonment. He said that if I agreed to cooperate, all my grievances could be cleared. “Hello?” I opened my mouth, letting blood and rain flow together into my throat: “I agree to cooperate.” My voice was so hoarse it didn’t sound human. “Name any condition. I want them all to go to hell!” This was my last chance!

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The third miscarriage. The anesthesia had just worn off, and I woke up groggy in the hospital bed. I heard my husband Adrian’s conversation with Lila drifting to my ears. “Lila, don’t worry. I’ve arranged everything. Natalie won’t find out.” “Dad’s will said whoever has a child first, that child becomes the family heir. I’ll make sure you give birth to my brother’s child first.” My whole body went cold. Two years. Three failed pregnancies. Two hemorrhages. I’d always thought it was my poor health, bad luck. Turns out it was this husband I’d loved for five years who, for the sake of his childhood sweetheart Lila, personally killed my babies. The moment the severe pain hit, I completely lost consciousness. When I opened my eyes again. I’d been reborn, back to the day I first woke up after my first miscarriage. Adrian was holding my hand, his eyes full of what looked like heartache: “Honey, don’t be sad. We can have another baby.” I looked at this face I once loved deeply and slowly pulled my hand away. “Adrian, let’s get divorced.”

Adrian’s mask of the gentle husband cracked for a moment. His brows furrowed like he’d heard something absurd, then he softened his voice to coax me: “Natalie, I know you just lost the baby and you’re upset, but you can’t just casually talk about divorce.” He tried to grab my hand again. I avoided him directly. His tone instantly dropped several degrees: “Don’t be so willful. Don’t you care about the company’s reputation or what people in our circle will think?” “It’s just one baby. We can have another.” I watched him coldly, finding it laughable. “Adrian, since we’re settling accounts, let’s settle them clearly.” “I’ve been married into the Sterling family for one year and five months.” “On our wedding night, you said Lila, who you grew up with, wasn’t feeling well and you needed to go take care of her.” “The next day you told me Lila’s parents died young, she lived alone at the Sterling house and it was pitiful, we should take care of her. So I gave her $100,000 every month.” “She said she needed to attend galas, so I sent all my haute couture dresses and limited edition bags to her closet.” “My dad regularly ordered imported supplements for me. You said Lila had been sickly since childhood, that the medicine made her feel much better, and I didn’t even blink before having them sent to her.” I counted each item, my voice calm as if reading a stranger’s ledger. Adrian’s face changed from shock to embarrassment, finally flushing bright red. “Those… those were because the company was having cash flow problems at the time. We couldn’t let Lila suffer. Lila was doing it for the family…” I interrupted him: “Then tell me, why does your annual salary and your project bonuses always go to her account first?” “Sterling Group’s financial seal is in her hands. I’ve been married in for a year and haven’t even seen the company’s financial reports.” “Every time you bring back gifts from abroad, the first choice always goes to her.” “Even with this pregnancy, the folic acid and vitamins you sent every day had to be prepared by her. You said she understood medicine and could help verify they were safe for me.” I stared into his eyes, enunciating each word: “Adrian, in your heart, Sterling Group and Lila will always come before me and our child.” Then I shook my head: “No, there’s no place for us in your heart at all.” “You married me only because my family had enough cash flow to fill Sterling Group’s holes, so you could support your precious childhood sweetheart!” Adrian shot to his feet, his face livid: “Natalie West! What nonsense are you spouting!” His chest heaved as he pointed at me: “Have you lost your mind! I think the miscarriage has scrambled your brain!” He grabbed his coat from the chair, turned, and slammed the door on his way out. I leaned against the headboard, as if I’d lost all my strength, and called toward the door: “Emma.” Emma, my assistant of many years, pushed the door open, her eyes rimmed red: “Miss West…” “Get out my prenuptial assets and fund lists. Cross-check them against Sterling Group’s business accounts and Lila’s personal accounts, one by one.” “List out everything that went into Sterling’s business account or someone else’s private account.” “How much is missing, where it went, who handled it—write it all out clearly.” I looked at her and added: “Also, the vitamins I took every day before the miscarriage—collect what’s left and keep them safe. Don’t let anyone touch them.” Emma nodded vigorously: “Yes, Miss West!” Emma left the room. I lay in the hospital bed, placing my hand on my lower abdomen. In my previous life, I had three little lives. But before they could come into this world, they were personally killed by their own father. Adrian. Lila. This life, what you owe me, I will collect back bit by bit, with interest.

Lila came again that afternoon. She wore light makeup that only made her face look paler, with a trace of grievance between her brows that made people’s hearts ache. Adrian followed behind her, his face dark enough to drip water. Lila sat down, her voice so soft it could squeeze out water: “Natalie, I heard you and Adrian had an argument?” “You’re still young, and you just had a miscarriage. You’re hurt and feeling wronged. I understand all that.” Her tone was gentle, like coaxing a child who didn’t understand: “But divorce—that’s not something you can just say casually. A divorced woman’s reputation is damaged. The gossip in our circle could drown you.” “The Sterling family has such prestige and cares most about appearances. Plus so many eyes are on the company. If you make this kind of scene, Adrian will be laughed at in our circle.” With each sentence she spoke, Adrian’s frown smoothed out a bit, and his eyes looking at her filled with gratitude for being understood. Lila raised her hand, gently pressing her fingertip to the corner of her eye, her voice choking: “It’s all my fault really. My poor health has kept Adrian worrying about me, making him neglect you.” “I’m the one who caused you two to fight like this. It’s all my fault.” Adrian cut her off sharply: “Lila! How can you say that! Taking care of you is my responsibility.” He looked at me, his eyes carrying a hint of threat: “Natalie, Lila is so much more thoughtful than you! She’s this worried about you, and you don’t even appreciate it!” Lila looked up, her eyes brimming with tears that hung precariously on the edge of falling: “No, it’s all my fault. If I hadn’t stayed at the Sterling house, always making Adrian worry about me, you two wouldn’t have…” She got halfway through before she couldn’t hold on anymore, lowering her head to cover her face, her shoulders trembling slightly as she sobbed quietly. I watched her crude performance and suddenly laughed out loud. Hearing the laughter, Lila’s crying stopped abruptly. She looked up, her face full of shock. Adrian roared: “What’s so funny!” “I’m laughing at Lila for having at least some self-awareness.” I spoke each word clearly, my voice bright. “She knows she’s freeloading at the Sterling house, distracting Adrian, stirring up trouble between us as husband and wife.” “Watching you cry, I almost believed it. With your acting skills, it’s a real waste you’re not making movies.” “Natalie West!” Adrian bellowed. Lila suddenly stood up, her body swaying: “Natalie! How can you slander me! I’m doing this for you two…” I stared at her, my eyes cold as ice: “On my wedding night, you said you weren’t feeling well. Adrian didn’t even change out of his wedding clothes—he spent the whole night in your room.” “On my birthday, you said you were afraid of the dark. He abandoned me and the cake to rush over and keep you company through the night.” “The day before my miscarriage, it was pouring rain in the suburbs. You said you felt dizzy and your heart was racing. Without a word, he left me behind and drove to pick you up. I walked home alone in the rain.” “Your body really knows when to get sick. Every single time right when I need my husband!” I turned to look at the guilty-faced Adrian: “Everything I just said—don’t you, as the person involved, have any idea?” Adrian opened his mouth, speechless. As soon as I finished speaking, Lila held her head, swaying unsteadily: “Adrian… Adrian, I can’t… I’m dizzy…” “Dizzy again?” I picked up the glass of water on the table, raised my wrist, and splashed the water directly in her face. Lila’s elaborate hairstyle plastered against her face, her expression stunned. I put down the glass, my voice cold: “If you’re going to faint, go faint in your own place. Don’t be an eyesore here.” Lila’s motion to collapse into Adrian’s arms froze mid-air. She slowly straightened up, the fragility instantly fading from her face. A cold glint appeared in her eyes. The fainting act couldn’t continue. “Emma, call security to throw them out. I’m tired.” Emma came forward with two security guards, directly blocking them. Lila gave me a long look, stopped pretending to be weak, turned on her high heels and walked out. Where was any trace of frailty now? Adrian stayed behind last, looking at me with shocked and unfamiliar eyes: “Natalie, you’ve changed.” I turned my back to him, too lazy to look at him again: “It’s you who never truly saw me.” That evening. Emma placed a thick stack of transaction records and divorce papers in front of me: “Miss West, it’s all been verified. Your account is missing $56 million. The money trail and handlers are all listed here.” I picked up the divorce agreement, signed my name at the bottom, and pressed my fingerprint. “Send this to Adrian’s office. Tell him to transfer back my prenuptial assets and everything else that belongs to me within three days. And sign the divorce papers.” “Otherwise, I don’t mind letting everyone in the business circle know how Sterling Group sucked its daughter-in-law’s blood to maintain their empty shell of a prestigious family. At worst, we’ll mutually destroy each other and let Sterling get delisted.”

I went home first thing the next morning. Mother held my hand, tears streaming: “My daughter… but that’s Sterling Group. After just one year you want a divorce? What will people think of you? Where does that leave the West family’s reputation?” Father’s face was stern, displeased: “Natalie, it’s not that Mom and Dad aren’t on your side, but a divorced woman—her reputation is ruined.” “Adrian may have his faults, but what man can be considerate in every way? You need to understand him. Once you have another child and Adrian becomes a father, naturally he’ll be more family-oriented.” “Listen to Dad—go back and talk properly with Adrian. If necessary, tell Adrian that for Sterling’s new development project, Dad will give him an extra percentage point.” I interrupted them: “Mom, Dad, I didn’t come home to throw a tantrum or have you talk me out of it. I’ve already sent over the divorce papers. My divorce from Adrian is final.” Father angrily grabbed the teacup from the table and smashed it on the floor: “You! How can you be so willful!” Mother sat on the sofa covering her face and crying: “You’re going to be the death of us! Your sister is coming back from abroad soon. If you make this scene in our circle, how will she marry into a good family in the future?” In the middle of this standoff, a steady voice rang out from the doorway: “If Natalie wants to come home, let her come home.” Ethan walked in, wearing an impeccably tailored suit, his posture upright, his features handsome. This was the brother my family had adopted since he was young. “Ethan…” I looked at him. He gave me a reassuring look, then turned to my parents, his tone carrying an unquestionable strength: “This house will always have a place for Natalie.” “The Sterling family bullied her and didn’t value her. That’s their heartlessness, not her fault.” “Whatever gossip is out there, if anyone dares bring it to the West family’s doorstep, I’ll handle it.” My parents were momentarily speechless. Mother’s crying quieted down. Father sighed and said: “Natalie, go upstairs and rest for now.” I nodded, got up, and went upstairs. Ethan followed behind me. At the stairway landing, I took out a pill bottle and handed it to him: “Ethan, I need to ask you for a favor.” Ethan sat down, his gaze falling on the pill bottle. I opened it and poured out one pill: “These are the folic acid and vitamins I took every day before this miscarriage.” “I suspect my miscarriage wasn’t an accident. These pills might be the problem.” Ethan picked up the bottle, examined it carefully, then looked up at me: “You suspect someone tampered with them?” “Exactly.” I met his gaze. “I don’t believe my body would just miscarry like that.” The pain of three miscarriages in my previous life had already seared into my bones. This lifetime, I would never endure it again. Ethan was silent for a long while, then put the bottle away: “Alright.” “I have some business and need to go to the capital for a few days. I’ll take these pills with me and have an authoritative institution test them.” He looked at me, his gaze complex yet gentle: “You just rest at home and take care of yourself. I’ll arrange for someone to watch the West house. The Sterling family won’t come harass you.” He slowly stood up, walked to the door, but his steps suddenly stopped. “Natalie, you must wait for me to come back.” “Whatever you want, whatever you want to do, I’ll help you.” I froze. He seemed to see through my confusion but didn’t explain, only giving me a reassuring smile: “Rest well. Don’t overthink.” As soon as the words left his mouth, he pushed the door open and walked out. I sat alone in the gradually darkening room, staring at the closed door, my emotions churning. I stayed home for two days, adjusting my state of mind. Then I simply went to the company to take over the family business. Occasional glances from longtime employees carried a trace of curiosity and sympathy. On the third day at noon. I was leaning by the window looking at the new quarterly reports. Emma ran in hurriedly, her face pale: “Miss West! This is bad! The Sterling family sent people!” “So many people! Damian, Adrian, Lila… and several lawyers! They’ve blocked the whole building entrance! The chairman has already gone down!” I put down the report and took a deep breath. So they finally came. I straightened my suit jacket and walked out.

The lobby of West Corporation was tense. Adrian’s older brother, Sterling Group Chairman Damian, stood at the front with a superior attitude. He spoke, his voice slow and heavy: “Mr. West, Mrs. West. The fact that I personally came to your company today shows I’m giving you plenty of face.” “You’ve really raised your daughter well. Now she’s so willful—divorce at the drop of a hat. Not only do you not discipline her properly, you actually enable her to run back to her parents’ home? What are you thinking?” Father smiled awkwardly: “Please calm down. Our daughter is young and doesn’t understand. We’ll definitely talk sense into her…” Adrian looked at me, his eyes full of reproach: “Natalie, look how upset you’ve made your father. Stop making a scene and come home with me. I don’t blame you for what happened that day. Let’s just live our lives properly.” Lila had changed into a light-colored suit today, still looking delicate: “Natalie, I apologize to you. It’s all my fault. Don’t fight with Adrian, and don’t make things difficult for Damian and your parents.” “Adrian does have feelings for you. He’s just not good at expressing himself. Give him one more chance, okay?” The three of them put on quite a show. Playing good cop and bad cop so well I wanted to applaud. They clearly wanted to force me to go back. I stood in the lobby, looking at these faces. In my previous life, I was forced to retreat step by step by this kind of “greater good” and “relationships” until I lost my life. I spoke, and the hall instantly quieted: “Damian, Adrian, Lila.” “I’ve already made myself very clear. I want a divorce.” “The asset list has been sent to Adrian’s office. The three-day deadline has passed two days. Please have the Sterling family transfer my prenuptial assets back to my account as soon as possible.” “Adrian, please sign the divorce papers promptly too.” “From now on, I have nothing more to do with the Sterling family!” Damian roared: “You! Natalie West! How dare you! Do you think you can divorce just because you want to?!” I laughed: “Your Sterling family embezzled my money, made me suffer endless grievances, and now killed my child. A Sterling family like that—I really can’t climb that high!” “You’re talking nonsense!” Adrian’s face changed drastically. He stepped forward trying to cover my mouth. I dodged to the side. I looked up coldly: “Whether I’m talking nonsense or not, you know in your heart.” “Over $50 million from my private account—how much did you use to fill holes, grease palms, and maintain your prestigious family’s facade? Do I need to recount it one by one in front of everyone?” Adrian’s and Damian’s faces instantly turned between green and white, extremely ugly. That Sterling Group was strong on the outside but weak on the inside, propped up by the daughter-in-law’s private assets—this was the ugly truth they feared most being known. Adrian’s shame transformed into rage. He shouted: “Natalie West! You really don’t know what’s good for you! You should be grateful I married you! Who else would want you after leaving the Sterling family! Today! You’re coming with me!” His eyes filled with viciousness as he waved to the security guards he’d brought: Several burly guards immediately stepped forward. “What are you doing!” Father reached out to stop them but was pushed aside. “Mom! Dad! Get out of the way!” Chaos erupted. Emma tried to protect me but was pulled away by the Sterling family’s people. Adrian personally stepped forward, grabbing my wrist, no longer pretending, only showing shameless forcefulness: “Natalie, stop making a scene! Come with me!” I struggled hard: “Don’t touch me!” He dragged me outside, trying to shove me into the car parked at the entrance. My parents were blocked, so angry their eyes turned red. Emma cried out from the side. Company employees also exclaimed in shock. Damian’s eyes were frighteningly cold. Lila covered her mouth, looking terrified, but there wasn’t a trace of fear in her eyes—only cold indifference. Various voices mixed together in chaos. I was being dragged toward the car. Adrian’s face already showed a triumphant smile. Just then, the sound of orderly braking came from the roadside. “—Screech—!” A row of black Bentleys stopped neatly at the curb. The imposing presence made everyone present unable to breathe. A man in a custom suit with an extraordinary bearing got out of the car. He slowly stepped down from the lead Bentley.

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After my boyfriend Ethan Cross died in a car accident because of me, I remained unmarried until I turned thirty. My parents and friends all urged me to move on. Even he begged me in my dreams to look forward. So I agreed to a blind date, planning to say goodbye to him on his death anniversary. But just as I left the cemetery, I came across a post online. [Sixth anniversary! My husband bought me another luxury penthouse!] Looking at the photo, my whole body trembled, my scalp tingling. In the picture, the boyfriend I had personally buried was tenderly embracing a woman. I tracked down the address and knocked on the door. The moment our eyes met, I froze in place. This woman was none other than Vivian Quinn, the secretary Ethan had cheated with and fired six years ago. Our eyes met, and a flash of panic crossed Vivian’s face. “Winona…” She reflexively tried to close the door, but I blocked it. Just then, conversation from Ethan’s friends drifted from the elevator. “Ethan’s been married for six years now, and she’s still trapped in the pain of his death, unable to move on. She’s thirty this year and still hasn’t married.” “I heard she recently agreed to go on blind dates. Probably ready to let go finally.” “I’m just saying, what Ethan pulled was truly ruthless. Back then, he clearly crashed into that highway overpass because Vivian sent him a provocative photo—he was too eager to respond. But he let Winona believe he was rushing to celebrate her birthday.” “Winona even tried to kill herself several times out of guilt.” “But at least now that she’s agreed to blind dates, she’ll probably get married soon.” “Keep it down, don’t let Ethan hear…” Turning the corner and meeting my gaze, their voices cut off abruptly. His childhood friend Marcus Smith’s eyes darted away. “Winona, what are you doing here…” Just then, a familiar voice came from inside the apartment. “Vivian, are Marcus and the others here?” The familiar voice from inside made my breathing catch, my heartbeat nearly stopping. I spun around sharply to see Ethan standing there holding a bouquet of trimmed flowers. Seeing me, his body stiffened, his eyes trembling. I looked at the banner hung in the center of the living room—”Happy Sixth Anniversary, My Love”— I pulled my lips into a mocking smile. “Ethan, you’ve been doing really well for yourself, haven’t you?” Ethan instinctively pulled Vivian behind him protectively, his face somewhat embarrassed. Everyone else froze in place. The atmosphere turned terrifyingly silent. Six years ago, Ethan rushed onto the highway overpass in a rainstorm to celebrate my birthday, crashed, and fell into the sea to his death. By the time I returned, he had already become an urn of ashes. I was consumed by guilt and grief, thinking over and over that if I hadn’t been so fixated on his affair, he wouldn’t have gotten into an accident trying to appease me. The day he was buried, I collapsed from crying while clutching his gravestone. In the days that followed, I often couldn’t sleep from missing him. I’d run to the cemetery alone and stay there all night. During the hardest times, I even attempted suicide at his grave. A cemetery caretaker found me and saved my life. But I never imagined that it was all an elaborate scheme for him to fake his death. I picked up the photo frame on the table, looking at the two people standing together under the aurora. My eyes burned, making my heart ache. “Nice wedding photos. Did you take them in Iceland?” During our engagement, Vivian, as his secretary, was involved in everything. Once when I was debating where to take our wedding photos, she carefully suggested: “I think Iceland would be nice, because each aurora appears only once, symbolizing uniqueness.” Ethan had smiled and said her idea was great. But not long after, I discovered a lipstick in his car that wasn’t mine. Following the trail of clues, I identified its owner—Vivian. I insisted on canceling the engagement, but he stood on the ledge of an eighteen-story building. “Winona, if you cancel our engagement, I’ll jump.” My heart softened immediately. I gave him a chance to cut things off cleanly. He erased all traces, fired Vivian, and tried every way to make it up to me. He even died by accident because of me. But now, he stood alive before me, having built a home with that so-called “clean break” mistress. I laughed mockingly and smashed the photo frame hard onto the floor. Glass shattered everywhere. Vivian covered her cut face and screamed. “Winona, can you stop being crazy!?” Ethan’s eyes immediately turned red as he roared at me. I laughed at myself bitterly, my voice dry and painful. “I’m being crazy? That’s right, I am crazy!” “For the six years you’ve been ‘dead,’ I’ve been like a madwoman every single day!” Ethan’s chest heaved violently, his eyes red-rimmed, his tone full of blame. “Back then when I tried to jump, you were the one who stopped me!” “I did everything you asked, but you just wouldn’t let go of that one thing—you kept torturing me!” “Do you know how exhausting my life has been?” I slapped him across the face. The impact made my wrist ache as tears burst from my eyes. “Ethan, you were the one who cheated! You were the one who deceived me!” “How dare you say I tortured you, that your life was exhausting?” Vivian knelt before me, tears blurring her vision. “Winona, please stop fighting. This is all because of me. I’m shameless. I seduced Ethan.” “He did everything he promised you. I was the one who kept pestering him. I’ll divorce him immediately.” She pitifully covered her lower abdomen. “As for the baby… I’ll abort it.” Ethan’s eyes and brows filled with joy. “Vivian, you’re pregnant?”

My heart clenched suddenly, as if a hand was squeezing it tight. Pain stiffened my entire body. Vivian pushed away Ethan as he approached her, shrinking back. “The doctor said it’s only a little over a month. If I abort it now, it’s just a clump of cells.” “I’ll leave with nothing and give you the signed divorce papers.” “You… should compensate Winona properly.” With that, she rushed out without hesitation. Ethan’s expression changed drastically, and he immediately moved to chase after her. I instinctively blocked him, wanting an explanation, but he shoved me hard. “Winona!” His eyes were full of disgust for me, his tone ice-cold. “No matter how much you make a scene, this is between the two of us!” “Ever since you threatened her six years ago, Vivian has suffered from severe depression. When her emotions are triggered, she does extreme things.” “I’ve worked so hard to help her recover, and you want to destroy her so viciously?” “If anything happens to her, I won’t forgive you.” I lost my balance from his push, my body falling backward uncontrollably. My neck was sliced by broken glass, warm blood gushing out. Before I lost consciousness, I heard the conversation between Marcus and Ethan. “Ethan, Winona’s bleeding a lot!” “Call an ambulance and dump her at the hospital. Clean everything up—Vivian’s easily frightened!” When I groggily came to, nurses were whispering in the hospital room. “Miss Quinn only experienced some mild fetal distress, but her husband immediately put her in a VIP room and stayed with her the whole time, terrified something might happen.” “Look at this one—the glass almost cut her carotid artery. So dangerous! She’s been awake for so long and not a single person has come to see her. Really pitiful.” “The gap between people—how can it be so huge?” After the door closed, I slowly opened my eyes and laughed bitterly at myself. My hand touched the gauze on my neck. Tears fell, and I wiped them away before going to find a doctor to pay my bills. Just as I sat up, Ethan aggressively pushed the door open and rushed in. He grabbed my wrist hard, his tone cold. “Winona, what exactly are you trying to do?” “Deceiving you was my idea—it has nothing to do with Vivian!” “If you have a problem, come at me! Why did you deliberately get the media to accuse her of being a mistress online?” “She just woke up and saw those comments. She got so emotional she almost jumped off the building!” His grip was painfully strong, making my already pale face look even worse. I struggled with all my strength to shake off his hand, shouting back in anger. “Ethan, I never did anything like that!” He snorted dismissively and shoved his phone in my face. The screen was filled with comments calling Vivian a mistress. [Mrs. Cross of Cross Group—Vivian—homewrecker who stole someone’s position.] Besides that, there was a long post about how Ethan faked his death to escape and fabricated lies to deceive his girlfriend for his mistress. Cross Group’s stock had also become volatile because of this. And the media outlet that published this news was where my best friend used to work. Ethan’s eyes were cold, his tone dripping with mockery. “Still denying it? Your best friend works there, doesn’t she?” “Whenever anything involves you, she always rushes to the front line without hesitation.” I stood there stunned, explaining helplessly and aggrieved. “She went abroad three years ago. She doesn’t work there anymore…” “You’re still lying!” Ethan cut me off sharply, his eyes full of disappointment. “Winona, how did you become so manipulative and scheming?” “You used to be such a kind person. Now you’d stop at nothing to drive Vivian and her child to death.” He paused, his tone inexplicably softening. “Have you forgotten how much pain you were in when you lost your child?” I looked up sharply, locking eyes with him. My heart felt like it was being cut back and forth with a dull knife, turning the scabbed wound into a mangled mess. I suddenly remembered—six years ago, the day I found out I was pregnant, I caught Ethan and Vivian together in our wedding house. At that time, I had just discovered his affair and hadn’t confronted him yet when I became so emotionally distraught I ended up in the hospital. I returned home in a daze, only to hear the ambiguous sounds of a man and woman from inside. Like a madwoman, I rushed into the kitchen, grabbed a knife, and swung it at them. But he pushed me hard while desperately protecting Vivian, and I crashed into the vanity table. My abdomen hurt, something sticky flowed down below, and the baby was gone on the spot. Later came his apology, his threats of suicide, my compromise, and his false remorse. My tongue tasted bitter. I pulled my lips into a desolate smile, my voice hoarse beyond recognition. “Ethan, Vivian will never shake off the label of mistress for the rest of her life. Your relationship will always be shameful.” “Also, you have no right to mention my child.” “Winona, shut up!” Ethan frowned and shouted, his eyes ice-cold without a trace of guilt. “This is between you and me. It has nothing to do with Vivian.” He lowered his voice, looking down at me, his tone carrying naked threats. “You’ve been working so hard to earn money all these years just to get your adoptive mother a heart transplant, right?” “I heard a donor match has already been found?”

My heart jolted violently. All the blood in my body seemed to freeze at that moment. I was an orphan from childhood. My adoptive mother took me in despite others’ gossip. By collecting recyclables and doing odd jobs, living frugally, she raised me bit by bit. When I first started dating Ethan, I never wanted him to take me home. I was afraid he’d look at me and my family with the same judgmental eyes as everyone else. But when Ethan found out, he cried with heartache. He held me in his arms, gently stroking my hair, his voice choked with emotion. “Winona, I’ll work hard to earn money, give you the best life, repay your mother, and slap the faces of everyone who looks down on you.” Later, he truly did it. When he proposed to me, he hired the city’s most authoritative planning team and created a sea of ten thousand roses that became the talk of the town, making me the envy of everyone. He bought a wedding house and put it in my name. He found doctors to care for my adoptive mother’s health and covered all medical expenses. Those who had once looked down on me and mocked me all came forward to congratulate me, saying all kinds of flattering things. Back then, they always said behind my back that Ethan must have done something terrible to feel guilty enough to treat me so well. I was deeply immersed in it, believing this love would last forever. Until Vivian’s intrusion shattered that dream. But I never imagined that now he would use my adoptive mother’s life to threaten me. Using my only weakness to please Vivian. I clenched my fists, nails digging hard into my palms, yet it didn’t compare to one ten-thousandth of the pain in my heart. Despair suffocated me. I closed my eyes as tears silently rolled down. When I opened them again, my eyes were filled with deathly stillness. I spoke softly. “Fine. I’ll apologize.” Ethan looked at me with satisfaction and snapped his fingers. His assistant placed a paper covered in text on the hospital bed. “Read it exactly as written. Don’t miss a single word.” I picked up the paper, my hands shaking uncontrollably. The entire page twisted the truth. It pushed all the blame onto me, saying I became vindictive from unrequited love and maliciously slandered Vivian. It even claimed that Ethan’s fake death was something I had imagined due to mental problems. But I had no way out. I could only force down my emotions and record a video reading from his prepared script, then post it. After finishing all this, my whole body was ice-cold, drenched in cold sweat. Ethan looked at the wound on my neck, took out a checkbook and pen from his pocket, quickly wrote several zeros, and stuffed the check into my hand. He sighed deeply. “Here’s a million dollars—consider it my compensation to you.” “Hurry and switch to another hospital so Vivian doesn’t see you and get upset.” Then he turned and left. I shakily completed the discharge procedures and left the hospital. My phone rang. It was my supervisor. “Winona, the company is restructuring and optimizing personnel. Your termination notice has been sent to your email, and the corresponding compensation has been transferred to your bank account.” I was stunned, finally managing only a few words. “Thank you for the company’s support. I understand.” After hanging up, I scrolled through my phone. The apology video I’d just recorded had already shot to the top of trending topics, while all negative news about Vivian had been scrubbed clean without a trace. Then my phone suddenly flashed with several new messages. They were from Vivian. In the VIP room, piled high with this season’s clothes, jewelry, and handbags. [Winona, look—this is just the tip of the iceberg of what he gives me.] [I’ll tell you the truth: he and I never broke up. During the time he was appeasing you, he came to me every single day.] [There’s no right or wrong in love. The one who isn’t loved is the real mistress.] I stood in the cold wind, tears dripping onto the screen, biting my lip hard to keep from crying out loud. Just then, I received a call from my adoptive mother’s attending physician. “Miss Walker, your mother had a sudden heart attack. The situation is critical. Get to the hospital immediately to sign for emergency surgery!”

I had no time for grief. I turned and ran madly toward the hospital. The elevator wouldn’t come down, so I rushed to the stairwell instead. Just as I reached the third floor, a group claiming to be reporters suddenly swarmed out and surrounded me. “Miss Walker, is it true that you became mentally unstable from unrequited love as a mistress and imagined Mr. Cross had died?” “Your former classmates have come forward saying you’re an orphan who survived by collecting trash since childhood. Is that accurate?” “Knowing Mr. Cross was already married, you deliberately harassed and slandered him. What exactly are you trying to achieve? Can you give everyone a response?” Camera flashes went off constantly, so bright I couldn’t open my eyes. Those harsh questioning voices made my ears ring, my head splitting with pain. I was so anxious I broke out in sweat, desperately pushing through the people surrounding me, my voice tearful and pleading. “Please let me through, okay? I have an emergency! My mother is critically ill and needs immediate surgery. I’m begging you!” But they still blocked me, continuing to interrogate and photograph me, forcing me to give them the answers they wanted. In the struggle, my phone slipped and fell to the ground, trampled beyond recognition. I bent down to pick it up but was slapped hard across the face. “A shameless homewrecker like you—you deserve to have a mother? Using your mother as an excuse to gain sympathy—absolutely disgusting!” The woman who hit me had a cutting tone, her eyes full of contempt and disgust. The slap left me dizzy and disoriented, my cheek burning with pain. Despair and rage swept through my entire body. Just then, hospital security rushed up, shouting sternly. “This is a hospital! If you don’t leave now, we’re calling the police!” Taking advantage of the gap, I desperately rushed upstairs. But the moment I burst into the hospital room, all the strength was instantly drained from my body. On the bed, my adoptive mother lay quietly, her face as pale as thin paper, her lips completely bloodless. The attending physician stood beside the bed, his face full of regret and sympathy. Seeing me enter, he sighed softly, his tone heavy. “Miss Walker, I’m sorry. We did everything we could.” My pupils constricted. My vision went black, and I nearly collapsed. A nurse beside me helped me up, explaining in a low voice. “The old lady was fine an hour ago. A woman came to her room and said something to her. They argued, and the old lady had an attack.” “When you didn’t come to sign the papers, we activated the emergency protocol, but the donor suddenly backed out.” Grief pressed down on me until I could barely breathe, yet I couldn’t make a sound of crying. I slowly broke free from the nurse’s support and moved step by step to the bedside, holding my adoptive mother’s cold hand. The person who had given me warmth and strength during my most difficult times would never open her eyes again. After carrying my adoptive mother to the crematorium for cremation, I simply buried her in a quiet cemetery. After kneeling and bowing, I dragged my numb body to the cross-river bridge. Standing at the edge, I recorded a video set for delayed posting and uploaded it online. Without a moment’s hesitation, I leaped down. Ethan was at the obstetrics department accompanying Vivian for a prenatal checkup. The two were discussing what to name the baby. Just then, his assistant’s phone call came through, an urgent voice on the other end. “Mr. Cross, something terrible has happened! Miss Walker jumped into the river!”

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