Category: English

In high school, there was a rich kid in our class. Filthy rich. He was always treating everyone. Fried chicken every three days, burgers every five. The year he was most generous, he lost a bet and casually handed ten grand to a random girl on the street. I relied on that money to finish high school and get into college. Only later did I find out that the “rich kid” persona was fake, and losing the bet was a lie too. All there was, was a teenage boy’s awkward, hidden, and unspoken crush. Four years later, his family went bankrupt, and he was living on the streets. I crouched in front of him and held out my hand: “Hey, wanna come with me?” 01 I have a notebook hidden in the deepest corner of my desk. It records all my wishes, big and small. The earliest one was: “I don’t want to be beaten with a stick anymore.” So, when I was ten, my mother resolutely filed for divorce. She took me and fled from my abusive father, escaping that small, backwoods town where I would have been sold off for a bride price by the time I was fifteen. My mother made that wish come true. The second one was: “I want to go to school.” From then on, my mother worked three jobs a day—washing dishes during the day, running a street stall at night. She begged people to get my residency sorted out and sent me to school. In my young eyes, my mother was omnipotent; there was nothing she couldn’t do. “I want a scarf that doesn’t pill.” “A two-dollar duck hair clip.” “Gloves that actually keep my hands warm.” I continued to write down my wishes in my childish handwriting. Until the twenty-eighth one: “I want to eat a delicious birthday cake with Mom.” My omnipotent mother didn’t make this wish come true. She suffered a sudden brain hemorrhage on the way to buy the cake and was rushed to the ER. I borrowed a lot of money, prayed to every god, and cried until the world spun, but it was all useless. When I was fifteen, I lost my last remaining family member. 02 That notebook was sealed away for a year. When I opened it again, I was already a junior in high school. The wishes in the notebook gradually became more trivial and frequent: “To finish all my worksheets before 10 PM.” “To rank in the top five in the grade on the day after tomorrow’s midterm.” “To find another part-time job at night to pay next semester’s tuition.” Left all alone, I started fulfilling my own wishes. But occasionally, a little random thought would pop out in the notebook: “My desk mate ordered Popeyes for lunch again. What does it taste like? It smells so good. Is it delicious?” “A friend invited me to see a movie tonight. It’s supposed to be the kind I like, but the tickets are too expensive.” “I want to adopt a kitten. Never mind, I couldn’t take good care of it.” Financially strapped, having to budget carefully even for meals, these wishes were too luxurious for me. Later, a rich kid transferred from the class next door. His name was Liam. The first time we met, he treated the whole class to Popeyes. A week later, with a wave of his hand, he rented out an entire movie theater for the class. The class cheered, hailing him as the biggest baller in the whole school. Behind his back, though, they mocked him for having more money than sense and trying to show off. Those ignored, random wishes were quietly being fulfilled just like that. In my heart, I gave Liam a nickname: The Genie. Liam the Genie. And I was the impoverished Aladdin. Only, my Genie was exceptionally generous, exceptionally giving. The pizza place I had walked past several times but couldn’t bear to go into? He treated the whole class to it every few days. My Genie seemed to have no three-wish limit. Every wish in my notebook was meticulously fulfilled by him. In the summer, he bought ice cream; in the winter, he brought hot cocoa. I learned what those heavily advertised fast-food chains tasted like. I was able to join the crowd when classmates talked about the most popular movies. Even the bitter cold that terrified me—he personally gifted me a down jacket. That was my most dignified winter. My ears didn’t get frostbite, and my fingers didn’t get chilblains. Near the end of my junior year, I wrote out a withdrawal application. The people I borrowed the three thousand dollars from for my mother’s medical bills were showing up at my door every day, hounding me until I was physically and mentally exhausted. I packed my bags, ready to head south to work in a factory. The day before I left, I ran into Liam. He had lost a bet and had to give the first girl who walked by ten thousand dollars. And I was that girl. He shoved the money at me without a word: “Hey, don’t make me break my promise. It’s just a little money, not even enough for you to buy a new outfit.” The crumbs that fall through the fingers of the rich are enough for the poor to work a lifetime for. I used that money to pay off the debt, finished high school, and got into college. In my plain and simple value system: Aladdin’s Genie was omnipotent. Liam was also omnipotent. 03 So, when I heard that Liam had been kicked out by his family and was living on the streets… I was stunned for a long time. By this time, I had already graduated from college. Using the money I saved from working, I opened a small diner. Messages flooded the class group chat: “I heard his family went bankrupt. His dad took all the money and ran off with his mistress, leaving him all alone.” “He was originally abroad, but he just dropped out and was sent back. I don’t think he even got his degree.” “Tsk, tsk, tsk. Remember how rich he was in high school? Now he doesn’t even have a place to live. What goes around comes around.” When I found Liam, he was sitting on a park bench, staring blankly into the distance. The person in front of me was a little different from my memory. His features, always proud and sharp, were slightly lowered now, revealing an inexplicable calmness. I slowed my pace, hesitating whether to go over. He had already sharply lifted his head. After four years apart, we faced each other in this quiet, secluded park, bathed in the setting sun. I wasn’t sure if Liam recognized me. Probably not. After all, our interactions during those high school years were few and far between. We weren’t friends; we couldn’t even be called close classmates. Liam’s life was so colorful; it would be hard for him to remember someone as ordinary and mediocre as me. Sure enough, he looked at me, his expression unchanging: “Can I help you?” I pointed to the flyer in his hand: “Excuse me, that’s a flyer for my diner. We’re hiring.” “I saw you looking at it. Are you… looking to apply?” 04 Even after bringing Liam back to the diner, it still felt surreal. He stood a short distance away from me, his gaze sweeping over the storefront, his tone cold: “Where will I live?” Not long ago, when I said that, Liam looked at me very strangely. “Four thousand a month, benefits included, eight-hour shifts, two days off a week.” It wasn’t until I said room and board were included that his expression changed, and he agreed. The four thousand dollars that once barely covered a meal for him was now buying a month of his time. Maybe, like the group chat said, he really had nowhere else to go. I took over this diner from a friend. We sell chicken tenders and fried chicken cutlets. The location is good, and business isn’t bad. The first floor is for business, the second floor is for living. There’s one room for me, and one for storage. I cleared out the storage room, considering whether I should go buy a bed later. And I also needed to buy sheets, a toothbrush, a towel… Liam strolled over from behind me and helped me take a box. I said casually: “Just put it in my room, it’s just some toilet paper, laundry detergent…” Only after Liam had taken two steps did I suddenly realize and hurriedly tried to stop him: “Wait a minute.” But it was too late. Liam had already pushed open the bedroom door. The room was small; you could take it all in with one glance. When Liam looked up, he saw the desk by the window. He paused. His gaze swept over the photo displayed on it. He turned back and asked me: “Just put it next to the desk?” My nervous heart slowly relaxed: “Yeah.” Liam probably didn’t recognize me. After all, this photo was an accident. When we graduated, the school hired a photographer to take pictures for us. You could take solo shots, or take pictures with friends. When Liam was taking his picture, I happened to be standing nearby, spacing out. Startled by the photographer’s shout, I turned my head in confusion. And thus, this unexpected photo was born. When the photographer developed the photos, he probably thought we had planned it that way. So he printed a copy for me too. I brought this photo with me to college, and after graduating, I brought it to the diner. I found a frame for it and carefully placed it on my desk. The Liam back then was a blond, with arrogant bleached hair, his bangs too long, covering half an eye. Wearing a skull t-shirt and ripped jeans, even though he was good-looking, he couldn’t hide that era’s emo/scene kid vibe. Now, he had short, neat black hair, and simple, clean clothes. The difference was too huge. So it was perfectly normal that he didn’t recognize me. 05 After getting the room sorted, I took Liam out to eat. But his appetite was low; he took two bites and put down his chopsticks. It’s understandable. With that kind of family tragedy, it’s normal to be in a bad mood. But it went on like this for several days, and he was visibly thinner than when he first arrived. I was getting a bit anxious, so I dragged him to a steakhouse. It was about a hundred dollars a person. I ordered him a steak and a salad. Liam took two bites and suddenly said: “I’ve been here before.” I paused, surprised he remembered. Back then, everyone laughed at him for having more money than sense, but after being treated so much, they eventually felt embarrassed. So, many people started taking the initiative to invite Liam out to eat after school. I mixed in with the crowd. On the day I got my paycheck from my part-time job, I carefully chose this steakhouse. I didn’t expect him to accept my invitation. He always had an aloof personality. Annoyed by everyone asking, he closed his eyes and randomly pointed at someone: “You then. Just one meal. The rest of you, stop bothering me.” I was the lucky winner. Liam ate that steak clean. He reviewed it: “The chef here is pretty good. It tastes no different from what I usually eat. I like it a lot.” That compliment made me let out a smile I couldn’t hold back. Aladdin was able to buy the Genie a meal. Aladdin was very happy. So, seeing Liam’s current low spirits, I naturally thought of this restaurant. It was as if time had rewinded, bridging a four-year gap. The same seat, the same person. Liam seemed to have a better appetite, just like four years ago. He finished the steak and salad completely: “It’s very good. I like it a lot.” I smiled, just about to get up to pay the bill. When suddenly, Liam spoke from behind me: “You know me, and you know who I am.” His tone was calm, yet decisive: “The photo frame on the desk… the person in it is you, isn’t it?” 06 That night, the class group chat was already buzzing: “You say Liam’s family went bankrupt. So is his engagement to Sarah still on?” “Definitely not. Before, they were a match made in heaven. Now, it’s just a poor boy lusting after a rich girl. Only an idiot would stay together.” “Sorry, you guys are really wrong this time. The rich girl is truly deeply in love. Even though Liam is broke, she’s not abandoning him. She’s currently adding people as friends asking for his whereabouts.” Sure enough, there was a new friend request on my list, exactly from Sarah. I was hesitating whether to accept it when there was a soft knock on my door. “I’m out of shampoo.” Liam’s hair was half-wet, leaning against the doorframe looking at me. That meal not long ago had ripped away our facade of acting like nothing happened. Liam recognized the photo, and he recognized me. Thankfully, he didn’t say much else, nor did he ask me why I kept our photo on my desk. Right now, water droplets were falling from Liam’s brow. His dark eyes watched me quietly, displaying a strange kind of docility. I didn’t dare to meet his gaze. I handed over the toiletries I had bought. “I forgot to give this to you earlier. Body wash and everything else is in here too.” I was still feeling uneasy about Sarah’s friend request. Suddenly, a sharp snap echoed in my ear. Liam had snapped his fingers. When I looked up in confusion, I saw him holding open the bag, revealing what was inside. Since we met again, he had always been aloof and silent. But now, his voice unexpectedly carried a hint of a smile: “Boss, you even provide your employees with Kérastase shampoo?” 07 In my heart, Liam is different from me. This difference is hard to describe in words. If I had to, it’s… I can eat cheap street food; he can’t. I can wear a nine-dollar t-shirt; he can’t. But this reasoning was too bizarre to explain, so I told a lie: “I usually use this brand, so I just bought it together.” But as soon as I said it, I regretted it. Because Liam had helped me move boxes before and definitely saw what was inside. A pile of bright green Pantene bottles easily exposed my lie. But Liam wasn’t the type to embarrass people. He just said “hmm,” easily accepting my explanation. Just like in my junior year, when I stained my pants during my period and was mocked by a male classmate. He suddenly stood up and beat the guy up. When making a public apology in front of the whole school at the flagpole, he just said casually: “I didn’t like the way he looked. He was being too loud while I was trying to sleep.” Everyone’s attention was diverted by Liam, so no one noticed the slap I gave that male classmate. Genie, oh Genie, the most subtle Genie in the world. Liam took a few steps, then turned back: “The noodle place across the street is really good, the t-shirts from the wholesale market next door are great quality, and Irish Spring soap smells really nice.” I didn’t understand what he meant and looked up in confusion. “Just a little bit.” Liam held up his thumb and index finger, making a gesture: “Just a little bit is enough to keep me alive.” So he didn’t need a steakhouse that costs hundreds a person, and he didn’t need shampoo that costs thirty or forty dollars a bottle. After our reunion, Liam called out my name for the first time, his eyes curving into a smile: “Chloe, I’m very easy to take care of.” 08 I didn’t expect Sarah to show up directly at my diner. The first time she laid eyes on Liam, she practically threw herself at him: “Why didn’t you answer my calls? I’ve been looking for you for so long.” Her eyes were red. A pretty girl crying is very endearing. Sure enough, Liam raised his hands and placed them on her shoulders, a posture suitable for an embrace. But the next second, he forcefully pushed Sarah away. “Don’t touch me.” Sarah froze, her eyes getting even redder: “Are you still blaming me? I’ve already convinced my mom. Just hold on for another month, I can definitely convince my dad too. Our engagement still stands.” “There is no engagement. I never agreed to it.” Liam cut off Sarah’s words, his voice very cold: “That was a unilateral decision by our parents, their own wishful thinking.” After being chased away, Sarah came back several more times. Liam never gave her a good look. The most serious time, he called the police: “If you want to get married, go to a dating site. Harass me one more time, and I’ll call the cops again.” “Stop coming to find me. It’s very annoying and severely affects my life.” Even from an outsider’s perspective, these words were incredibly ruthless. Sure enough, Sarah ran off crying and didn’t come back for a week. Messages flooded the class group chat: “Tsk, the rich girl bravely pursues love, only to be rejected. It breaks my heart to see her cry. How could Liam bear it?” “Love without material backing is just loose sand. Liam can’t even support himself right now, how can he support her? He can’t even buy her a bag. Is he supposed to make the rich girl suffer with him?” “There’s a kind of love called letting go. I get it. I broke up with my ex because of the huge gap in our family backgrounds too. Actually, I still think about her, but, sigh, dreams can’t beat reality.” I don’t know who pulled Sarah into the group chat. She sent a crying emoji: “I know he just doesn’t want to drag me down, but I really don’t care. As long as I can be with him, even if we live in a tiny apartment, it doesn’t matter. True love can conquer anything.” Such words resonated with many people. It was like a novel plot coming to life—the trope of the rich, beautiful girl bravely pursuing love never gets old. I exited the group chat. Liam was frying chicken cutlets. Two girls, blushing, pushing each other forward, came up to ask for his number. “I have a girlfriend, sorry.” Liam handed the chicken cutlets to them. His outstanding appearance, tall figure, and cold voice. Even wearing an apron, he looked completely out of place in this narrow, mediocre chicken cutlet shop. So even that sentence seemed like an excuse used to brush them off.

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Weston Croft attracted chaos, chiefly through his ex-wife. In our five-year marriage, she had nine near-death episodes. First, kidney failure—she skipped dialysis to chase a pop star. I gave her a kidney, then nearly died from an anesthesia allergy. Later, she took up street racing and crashed, needing a massive transfusion; Weston drained me almost dry. Over those years, I deteriorated from healthy to a frail invalid. The ninth time, she bungee-jumped over a hundred times until her heart gave out. Weston knelt before me, trembling and in tears. “Lena,” he pleaded, “Iris saved my life. I must give her a healthy body!” He strapped me down and performed the surgery himself. Once the transplant was done, he rushed to her side, forgetting to stitch me up. Before leaving, he met my eyes. “This is hard, but you still have me. I’ll spend my life making it up to you.” Watching him go, I smiled bitterly. He didn’t know that in two minutes, I would bleed to death. A dead woman needs no apologies. I lay on the cold operating table, my eyes filled with a despair so vast it swallowed everything else. Blood poured from the gaping wound in my chest, and the heart monitor beside me flatlined into a single, piercing tone. But none of it was enough to make Weston turn back. He never once looked over his shoulder. He was in such a hurry he even lost a shoe. I tried to call out to him, but my throat was clogged with blood. I couldn’t make a sound. The pain was excruciating, a deep, bone-grinding agony with every movement. Yet, a fierce will to live pushed me to move, to roll off the table and onto the frigid floor. I clenched my teeth against the searing pain and began to crawl, inch by inch, toward the operating room door, leaving a gruesome trail of blood in my wake. Just as my fingers brushed against the door, it was slammed shut from the other side. Through the heavy steel, I heard Weston’s cold, detached voice. “Lock it. Don’t open it for any reason until I get back. Lena has a temper. If we let her out now, she’ll make a scene. Iris just had a heart transplant; she can’t handle any stress. You watch this door. Don’t let her out.” I collapsed against the door, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. He remembered that his precious Iris couldn’t handle stress. He forgot that I had just undergone open-heart surgery too, receiving her failing heart in return for my healthy one. I was far more fragile than she was. And my chest was still wide open. I wouldn’t be waiting for his return. I wouldn’t be making any more scenes. Because in a few moments, I would bleed to death, alone in this operating room. My vision began to blur. But I didn’t feel sad. Instead, a wave of relief washed over me. Compared to the torment of the past five years, death was a kindness. At least I wouldn’t have to be Iris’s spare parts anymore, her personal, walking blood bag. Five years. I had saved her nine times. When she skipped dialysis and her kidneys failed, Weston forced me to donate one of mine. When she crashed her car and was bleeding out, he drained my blood to save her. When she played with fire and got severely burned, he had my skin grafted from my back to repair hers. In five years of marriage, everything inside me that could be replaced, had been. Even my heart. He didn’t hesitate for a second to give it to Iris. My desperate sobs, my broken pleas—in his eyes, they were just childish tantrums. But now, it was all ending. In two minutes, I would be gone from this world. I would be just as he wanted—quiet, not crying, not screaming at him, asking him why he was so cruel. He wouldn’t have to bother with the annoyance of trying to placate me. After all, the dead don’t have emotions. When I opened my eyes again, I was floating in the air. Even in death, the scene before me was a dagger to the heart. Weston sat by Iris’s bedside, patiently feeding her a bowl of soup. He blew on each spoonful to cool it before bringing it to her lips, his attention so completely focused on her that he seemed to have forgotten everything else. Forgotten that his wife was lying in a cold operating room, cut open and bleeding, her life hanging by a thread. I drifted silently, watching the face I had loved for five years, now so utterly repulsive to me. After she finished the soup, Weston gently wiped her mouth with a napkin. He checked the monitors connected to her, and only when he was certain everything was stable did he stand up. “Iris, you’re recovering well. You just need to rest.” His voice was soft, gentle. “I should go check on Lena now.” A sarcastic smile touched my lips. How kind of him to remember me. Too bad he didn’t know I was already dead. I had bled out completely, my eyes open in a final, unseeing stare. Weston tucked the blanket around Iris and turned to leave. But she reached out and grabbed his arm. “Weston, I just had surgery. I don’t have anyone to look after me. Can you stay? Just for a little while?” He froze, his expression conflicted. “But Lena just had surgery too. I was worried she’d cause a scene, so I had her locked in the operating room. It’s been eight hours. If I don’t let her out, I’m afraid something might happen.” A flash of jealousy crossed Iris’s face, but she quickly masked it with a look of selfless concern. “You’re right. She must be furious. Last time, after she gave me her kidney, she was still recovering when she came to my room and slapped me. My face was swollen for two weeks! And after the skin graft, she stormed in, covered in blood, screaming at me, calling me shameless. It was so humiliating. But it’s okay. I brought it on myself. She’s saved me so many times, I should be grateful. Weston, you don’t have to worry about me. Go to Lena. And please, tell her for me, that as soon as I’m better, I’ll come and thank her personally, on my knees.” Her words were sweet, but every one was a carefully crafted accusation against me. And just as she intended, Weston’s expression hardened. He sat back down on the bed. “I’d almost forgotten how unreasonable she can be,” he sneered. “She’s always used the fact that she’s ‘helped’ you as an excuse to humiliate you. If I hadn’t locked her up this time, who knows what kind of scene she would have made. Forget her. She’s tough. She won’t die. A little more time locked up will do her good. Teach her a lesson.” Even though I had expected it, tears welled in my spectral eyes. Tough? Maybe once. But now, after everything they had done to me, I was a wreck, my body ravaged by illness and pain. I bit my lip, my voice a silent scream. Weston, you don’t have to bother locking me up. I’m already dead! You don’t have to teach me any more lessons. The dead don’t cause trouble! But he couldn’t hear me. Iris, her eyes gleaming with triumph, pressed against him. “Weston, she saved my life so many times. I deserved her anger. And she is your wife, after all. You should go to her.” Weston’s brow furrowed in disgust. “What’s the point? I told her from the beginning—you saved my life. By marrying me, she accepted the responsibility of repaying that debt. It’s her duty to save you. I’ve spoiled her, that’s the problem. She’s become so selfish and demanding. This time, I’m going to teach her a lesson she won’t forget. Then maybe she’ll finally leave you alone.” I floated above him, tears of bitter laughter streaming down my face. He could repay his debt. But why did he have to use my body to do it? Iris, feigning tears, wrapped her arms around his waist. “Weston, I know you care about me. But Lena must be so angry. She’ll have to come out eventually. What if she tries to get revenge on me?” Weston’s fist clenched. “Then I’ll keep her locked up for a few more days. I’ll let her out after you’re discharged.” I let out a cold, silent laugh. By the time she was discharged, my body would be rotting. Iris snuggled into his embrace, a triumphant smile on her face. “Weston, will you stay with me for the next few days? I’m scared to be alone.” He was about to answer when the door to the room burst open. His assistant rushed in, his face pale with panic. “Dr. Croft, you need to get to the operating room, now! It’s your wife… something’s wrong!” Weston just stared for a moment, then scoffed. “What now? What kind of drama is she pulling this time? And I thought I told you not to let her out without my permission.” The assistant shook his head frantically, on the verge of tears. “No, sir, we didn’t let her out! It’s… just, you have to come see for yourself!” Weston’s face was a mask of annoyance, but he stood up. He stroked Iris’s cheek, his voice softening. “You rest. I’ll be right back. Don’t worry, as long as I’m here, Lena won’t dare to bother you.” He followed his assistant out, his expression grim. “She better have a good reason for this. If I find out this is just another one of her games, I’ll make her regret it.” I drifted behind him, a mocking smile on my lips. Oh, Weston. You’ll find out soon enough if I’m playing games. I hope you can keep your composure when you see my blood-soaked corpse. A crowd had gathered outside the operating room. Doctors, who saw life and death every day, were clustered together, their faces etched with anxiety. When they saw Weston, they rushed toward him as if he were their savior. “Dr. Croft, we did as you said. We had someone guard the door. But it’s been eight hours, and there’s been no sound from inside. We were worried about your wife, so we decided to open the door and bring her some food. But the door is jammed. We can’t see inside, but… there’s a lot of blood seeping out from under the door.” “We’ve been calling her name, but there’s no answer. Dr. Croft, with all that blood… do you think something’s happened?” Weston glanced down at the floor. Just as they’d said, a large pool of dark blood had seeped out from under the door. The sight of it was chilling. Anyone with a shred of medical knowledge would know that amount of blood loss was fatal. But Weston, the chief surgeon, just looked on, unmoved. “What are you panicking for? You’re doctors. You’ve seen blood before. Tell me, what kind of blood is this color?” He pointed a disdainful finger at the dark, almost black puddle. “You call yourselves doctors, and you’re scared by a little fake blood?” I looked down, a knot of cold dread tightening in my non-existent stomach. Perhaps because I’d been dead for a while, the blood had oxidized, turning a strange, dark color. The other doctors exchanged uneasy glances, but no one dared to contradict him. He sneered and kicked the door. “Lena, you never change, do you? You’d go to such pathetic lengths just to get my attention. You want out so badly, then why are you blocking the door? I’ll say it again: Iris is my savior. It’s my duty to save her. Can you just stop with this childish behavior? I’m counting to three. If you don’t open this door, you can stay in there forever!” “Three!” “Two!” “One!” The countdown ended. The operating room remained silent. Someone brought a crowbar, but Weston kicked it away. “Since she wants to be stubborn, then I’ll let her be! Seal the door! Get ten security guards and post them here. Don’t open it even if she gets on her knees and begs! Let’s see how tough she really is!” I floated behind him, watching with cold detachment. He didn’t know the door was jammed not because I was blocking it, but because my stiff, lifeless body was wedged against it. If he had just pushed a little harder, pried it open a little wider, he would have seen my mangled corpse. After the door was sealed, Weston kicked it twice more, his voice filled with venom. “Go on, Lena, keep playing your games! Let’s see how long you can last! If you’re really so tough, then stay in there forever! Don’t come crying to me to let you out!” I looked at his furious face, a cold smile forming on my lips. I won’t. I won’t beg you to open the door. Because I’m never coming out of there alive.

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It was the year I had my best shot at winning an Oscar. Suddenly, scandalous photos of me flooded the internet. The Academy said they couldn’t give the award to someone with questionable morals and removed me from the nominations. Only my boyfriend, Ryan, tirelessly defended my name. Later, my reputation was cleared, but I missed out on the Oscar. Ryan pulled me into his arms, comforting me, “It’s okay, Aubrey. Just wait. Next time, you’ll definitely be an Oscar winner.” “Next time, I’ll be there with you. Next Valentine’s Day, we’ll go public.” I’d heard Ryan say “next time” too many times. So this time, I refused. “No need for a ‘next time,’ Ryan. Why did that gossip blog call you for the final payment last night after spreading those pictures of me?” 1 A long silence followed my words. My heart grew heavier and heavier with each passing second. Just as I thought Ryan wouldn’t speak, I heard his strained denial: “Aubrey, you’ve been under too much stress lately. You must have seen things.” I forced a smile, one that must have been dripping with sarcasm. How could I have been mistaken? From the moment I got nominated, that blog relentlessly spread rumors about me—half-truths, half-lies. None of my industry colleagues, who could have easily vouched for me, dared to step forward and clarify. They couldn’t guarantee that on the days we were on set together, I hadn’t somehow become a master of time management, sneaking off for illicit affairs behind their backs. I’d clarify one thing, and another ambiguous rumor would immediately surface. I broke down, even starting to doubt if I had really done those things. It was Ryan who held me then, promising earnestly, “It’s okay, Aubrey. I’m here. I believe you.” His embrace felt so warm and reliable. Ryan looked at me with aching sympathy, swearing, “Aubrey, I will make sure the truth comes out. I won’t let you bear this stigma.” And Ryan delivered. Everyone mourned my missed Oscar. Only I felt lucky to have Ryan. This blissful illusion lasted until that gossip blog called, chasing their final payment. Thinking about it, tears streamed down my face. Yes, who else in Hollywood, besides Ryan, who I saw day in and day out, would know my schedule inside and out? “You’re telling me I saw things? I’m going to press criminal charges against all those blogs.” “No!” Ryan refused without a second thought, his voice sharp and decisive. I scoffed inwardly, knowing he wouldn’t want that. If I pursued it, those blogs, paid to do their dirty work, would surely expose him, thereby affecting the other woman he truly wanted to protect. Seeing my red-rimmed eyes, he sighed. “Lily is still young, just starting out. She needs awards to prove herself.” He paused. “Aubrey, wait for the next time. I promise you, the next Oscar will be yours.” Ten years ago, a younger Aubrey would have willingly waited for another chance. But now, at 29, this was my last opportunity for this age-restricted award. “No!” I rejected him. “This is an award I earned through my talent. Why should I give it to her?!” Ryan’s eyes darkened, his expression unreadable. “Aubrey, when did you become so unreasonable?” He continued. “I told you before, Lily Sterling’s mother has cancer. Her lifelong wish is to see her daughter succeed, to achieve fame and fortune. Are you unwilling to grant even that wish?” Hearing his self-righteous accusation, I was momentarily stunned, almost disbelieving that these words came from Ryan. Seeing my silence, Ryan assumed I had conceded and said softly, “Now Lily has received the honor and recognition her mother hoped for. You have the talent and skill, and you’re a seasoned veteran in the industry. Whether you win an award or not doesn’t really matter to you, does it? Your scandal has been cleared up. You’re not affected, are you?” Every word he spoke cut into my heart like a knife. I felt as if I’d been split in two. One half was in excruciating pain, the other half quietly asked Ryan, “Does her wish have to be achieved through my sacrifice, through my ruined reputation?” Ryan looked at me with an expression that said, “How are you still not understanding?” His tone gradually lost its patience. “Lily has a proud disposition. If it wasn’t done this way, she would never have accepted it.” Before our argument could continue, my phone suddenly rang. “Aubrey! Are you with Ryan?” The voice on the other end was bright and cheerful. “Ryan insisted on throwing a celebration party for me, and now it’s just the two of you we’re waiting for. We can’t start without you two.” She continued. “You absolutely have to come today! How can the hosts of the party be missing?” Lily Sterling’s voice was full of anticipation. She sounded like a lucky person, completely oblivious, for whom good fortune had suddenly fallen from the sky. I opened my mouth, accusations and sarcasm churning in my throat. A hand reached over from beside me, taking the phone from my grasp. “Yes, we’ll be right there. You all go ahead and enjoy yourselves.” Ryan must not have noticed the tenderness and fondness that filled his expression at that moment. I suddenly remembered when Ryan and I first got together; he had looked at me the same way. Back then, I was a struggling extra, a nobody in Hollywood, and Ryan was an unknown production assistant. We shared one meal between two sittings. After eating that cold dinner, we’d lie in our cramped apartment, where the window was smaller than a computer screen, looking at the sky obscured by the city’s smog. We made promises to each other. I said I wanted to win Best Young Actress before I turned thirty. Ryan smiled and said he would work hard too, so he could cast me, the Best Actress, in his film. Back then, we were each other’s support, each other’s refuge. Now, that beautiful dream felt like a melted cake—sticky and nauseating. Lily Sterling, in an elegant white dress, her eyes lit up when she saw us. She was radiant, brimming with joy, and her effervescent presence was like a corrosive poison, eating away at my insides, causing unspeakable pain. “Aubrey, Ryan, you’re finally here! We were just waiting for you.” As I entered, the boisterous party suddenly fell silent. I heard someone whisper, “Why is she here?” “Her sugar daddy scandal is everywhere. How can she still have the nerve to show her face?” Another person scoffed, their voice neither too loud nor too soft. “What’s there to be embarrassed about? That’s ancient history. Didn’t Director Thorne go to great lengths to clarify it was AI?” Low laughter rippled through the room. “Technology’s advanced, so there are more excuses now. If it really was a rumor, why didn’t she sue? Why didn’t she stand up for herself? This was her last year for that award. Maybe she’s guilty and doesn’t dare.” “Some people just can’t even find a sugar daddy correctly. She’s almost an old woman and still can’t win an award. Lily Sterling, on the other hand, has good luck, she’s young and beautiful, and has a benefactor.” Hearing these blatant whispers, I looked at Ryan. I hoped he would say something, anything—even a word of defense or the performative support he’d given online before. Yet, Ryan simply walked past me as if he hadn’t heard a thing, approaching Lily Sterling with gentlemanly tenderness. “You look beautiful today, Lily. That dress suits you perfectly.” “Really? I knew you’d like it!” With that, Lily twirled around, like a happy little songbird. Her joy came to an abrupt halt when she saw me. Lily’s face held a cautious, uneasy expression. “Aubrey, I really didn’t expect you to come. Thank you so much.” She paused. “So many people online are saying I only got this award by fluke, that I have no talent, and that it’s undeserved. I was so sad for a long time. Ryan said you’d attend my celebration party and show your support for me winning the Oscar, and then the public opinion would slowly die down.” A wave of overwhelming absurdity washed over me. I almost lost control then and there. I asked, stunned, “I’m showing public support for your Oscar win? Did you hire paparazzi?” 2. Ryan’s face changed. Before I could truly react, he grabbed my hand, lowering his voice. “Aubrey, don’t make a scene. So many people are at this party. We can talk about everything later.” He paused, then soothed me softly, almost like a reward. “Once we’re home, you can throw whatever tantrum you want.” I abruptly pulled my hand away from him. Ryan’s voice, his touch—at that moment, they filled me with nausea. I almost threw up. Taking out my phone, the headlines were already pushing through: “Aubrey Brooks Misses Award, Publicly Supports New Oscar Winner.” “Aubrey Brooks: She’s wonderful, vibrant, and deserves more opportunities.” My hand, holding the phone, began to tremble uncontrollably. On my verified account, a new post, which I had no recollection of ever making, was prominently displayed. “I had bad luck. A scandal broke during the awards season. Although it was eventually clarified, I understand that personal integrity is tied to awards. I will pay more attention to my personal conduct in the future and not hog public resources.” It continued. “P.S.: Lily Sterling is a wonderful girl. Her award is well-deserved. Everyone should support her.” In the comments section, some lamented my bad luck. Some praised my generosity. Others criticized me, saying that flies don’t bother a sealed egg, asking what I was doing before, and why I was pretending to be generous online now that the truth was out. Ryan had prepared a team to control the comments, and such remarks would quickly be deleted. But constantly silencing people would only make them angrier. My already halved fanbase continued to shrink, with many questioning why I was deleting comments so freely, asking if this was how I treated my fans. The messages in my inbox were even more unbearable; I didn’t even have the courage to open them. “Ryan, what do you take me for?” My eyes were red-rimmed, my face pale. I must have looked like a deranged madwoman at that moment. The controversy surrounding Lily Sterling’s award was too great. So, I, the talented but ‘unlucky’ person who had a scandal before the awards, was brought out to endorse her and act as a shield. Why would Ryan hurt me again and again like this?! A flicker of regret crossed his eyes, but he still insisted, “Lily just became an Oscar winner. She has no background, no strong connections, and unlike you, she hasn’t been struggling for years and isn’t used to these kinds of things.” So, I was supposed to be Lily Sterling’s stepping stone. A tool for Ryan to curry favor with new talent, was that it? I turned and walked away without hesitation, filled with rage. I was going to the press, to a news conference. My reputation, all these years of hard work—they couldn’t be destroyed like this. Ryan called out behind me, but I ignored him. Instead, Lily Sterling caught up faster, her face filled with worry and guilt. “Aubrey, I didn’t realize you cared about this award so much. I’m so sorry that people online are slandering you because of your support for me.” She continued. “If I could, I truly wish none of this had happened. I wouldn’t have gotten this award. But you and Ryan have been through so much over the years. I beg you, please don’t fight with him, okay?” I looked up at this girl who seemed to know nothing, and suddenly I laughed. “Lily Sterling, I have to admit, your acting is truly superb. Even now, you maintain that innocent facade.” I continued. “Tell me, if you truly didn’t know Ryan deliberately spread those compromising photos of me so you could win the award, then why did you specifically ask him if I would really not find out?” Lily Sterling was startled by my fierce gaze and recoiled half a step, her eyes welling with tears. I scoffed, “Oh, and by the way, you claim to be grateful to me, but when your relatives and friends were gossiping, why did you, the host, act deaf and not make any attempt to smooth things over?” I paused. “Also, do you really not know that Ryan bringing me to your celebration party today, and the posts published online, were not of my own free will?” Lily Sterling retorted with some embarrassment, “Ryan said it was fine. You’ve been in the industry for so many years. Getting bashed by netizens for a while won’t affect you.” She continued. “Anyway, you’ve endured it all these years. I never intended to steal Ryan from you. I’m begging you, just pretend none of this ever happened. Just consider it bad luck that you encountered such a situation before the awards. Can’t you do that?” In that instant, I understood why Ryan had fallen for Lily Sterling. Because they were both the same kind of person. “No, I recorded our conversation just now.” I said coldly. “I’m going to hold a press conference and fight for my rights to the very end.” As I turned, a blinding light suddenly appeared on the road. Amidst Lily Sterling’s scream, I was hit by a car and thrown to the ground. A familiar figure emerged from the driver’s seat. He embraced Lily Sterling, reassuring her repeatedly, “It’s okay, it’s okay. I’ll tell everyone we had an accident while arguing.” Lily Sterling cried, tears streaming down her face. “Ryan, she’s going to hold a press conference. She deliberately tricked me into recording her. She’s going to sue me. What should I do?” Ryan’s voice was soft, but his words were ruthless. “I know. That’s why I hit her. She won’t be able to go.” He said. “I’m here.” I lay on the ground, excruciating pain shooting through my legs and body. Yet, a desolate emptiness filled my heart. How many times had Ryan protected me like this when I encountered predatory producers? He’d once smashed an ashtray over a man’s head, pulled me into his arms, and told me, “It’s okay, Aubrey, it’s okay. I’m here.” Because of that incident, our budding careers instantly froze. When I was consumed with guilt, Ryan comforted me, “Don’t feel guilty for mistakes that aren’t yours.” He continued. “You’re my girlfriend. If I don’t protect you, who will? If I don’t stand up for you, who will?” At that time, tears in my eyes, I asked him, “What if it really was my fault?” Ryan just laughed and said, “Then I’ll commit murder and arson for you.” But I had never done anything so heinous, yet my boyfriend, for the sake of another woman, to prevent me from clearing my name, didn’t hesitate to hit me with his car.

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How do you tell your husband you’re pregnant with style when you’re in the middle of giving him the silent treatment? Naturally, I turned to the internet for help and decided to follow the advice of the true experts: the seasoned romance novel readers with a decade of tropes under their belts. Their plan was flawless. Step one: Run away with the baby bump in tow. Step two: The dramatic morning sickness reveal at the dinner table. Step three: Schedule a fake abortion and list his number as the emergency contact… It all went perfectly… until I saw him completely lose his mind. And that’s when I realized: Wait a second. I think I might have taken this a little too far. 1 Good news: I’m pregnant. Bad news: We’re in the middle of a cold war. How was I supposed to tell my husband, Alistair, without completely losing face? I posted a picture of the positive pregnancy test online and asked for advice. The internet’s good Samaritans did not disappoint; within moments, my phone was flooded with thousands of replies. 【Just send him the picture and tell him the baby’s gone. It froze to death from the cold shoulder you two were giving each other.】 【Stand in front of him and declare solemnly: ‘We are not alone in this fight.’】 【Make a grand comeback in five years with quintuplets.】 【Tell him: ‘Come here. Kneel. I have something to tell you.’】 … This generation of netizens really comes through when you need them. I watched the comment count skyrocket, marveling at the sheer number of good people in the world. Among the tens of thousands of comments, a few top-voted ones caught my eye. 【Do the classic runaway pregnant wife plot. I’ve been reading romance novels for ten years, trust my expertise.】 【First, schedule an abortion and list his number as the emergency contact. Then, you can sneak over to my city and cover my shift at work.】 I conveniently ignored that last part. 【At dinner, make a few gagging noises in front of him, then run to the bathroom.】 The repeated claims of “ten years of novel-reading experience” filled me with confidence. I glanced at the unanswered messages I’d sent Alistair, the memory of his cold, indifferent face fueling my anger. With a decisive tap, I blocked him. Enjoy the blocklist while you’re busy with your work, you clueless blockhead. I’ve got a very big surprise waiting for you. 2 Step one of running away from home: select a suitable vehicle from the garage. My eyes landed on Alistair’s favorite, a sleek, midnight-black Bugatti supercar. You’re the one, Alistair’s favorite child. To make the drama as authentic as possible, I waited for the day I knew he’d be swamped with work, then sped off. With the top down and the wind in my hair, I sighed contentedly. This was the life. Alistair could go cool his heels somewhere else. The roads were clear, and soon I was pulling up to my best friend Veronica’s place with my luggage in tow. Sprawled on her couch, I laid out my master plan. She just collapsed onto my shoulder, howling with laughter. “Seriously, Selena, what is going on in that head of yours?” she asked, completely bewildered. “What did our dear Mr. Russo do to offend you this time?” Just thinking about it made my blood boil. I hate to admit it, but our previous arguments had been a bit… flimsy. There was the time he forgot to buy me the new Hermès bag on his business trip, only for me to realize I’d never actually asked for it. Or the time he ate spicy takeout next to me while I had cramps… But! This time, it was one hundred percent Alistair’s fault! I told Veronica this with absolute certainty. “Alright, spill. What happened?” She propped her chin up, grabbing a bag of chips with the air of someone settling in for a good show. This had been her attitude toward my fights with Alistair ever since college. She was convinced we’d never really fight, that we were an endgame couple. “Stop eating!” I swatted her hand away. “General Veronica, show some respect! This is serious!” “Yes, Commander Selena.” The cause of our current cold war was a tale of pure tragedy, enough to make anyone who heard it weep. 3 The other day, after arranging my collection of designer bags, I decided to graciously check on Alistair, who was busy in his study. I tiptoed through the bedroom and crept up behind him. He was holding his phone to his ear, clearly on a call, while staring at a photograph in his other hand. I popped my head over his shoulder. “Alistair!” Normally, when he was busy, he’d look up, smile, and motion for me to sit with him. If he wasn’t, he’d pull me onto his lap to look over the boring documents with him. But this time, he flinched, hastily shoving the photo into a drawer as if trying to hide something. “Alistair, what are you hiding?” His eyes darted away, avoiding my gaze. The ever-composed, rational man was suddenly a picture of guilt. “It’s nothing. Just some old junk.” “Alistair!” I felt a surge of panic. “You’re lying.” He had a tell. Whenever he lied, he would subconsciously tap his fingers on the nearest surface. I reached for the drawer. “I said it’s nothing!” He grabbed my wrist, his grip firm, preventing me from opening it. Then, he locked it. “Alistair, what can’t you tell me?” I asked, my voice laced with hurt. In all the years I’d known him, he’d never hidden anything from me. Even during company crises, confidential files were left out in the open for me to see. He refused to say what it was, just kept avoiding my eyes. My frustration mounted, and I angrily tried to snatch the key from his hand. In the struggle, I lost my balance and nearly fell. Alistair caught me, pulling me upright before his patience finally snapped. “Selena, when are you going to stop with this drama?” His voice was icy, laced with an anger he could no longer contain. I froze, then glared at him. “Alistair Russo, if you can’t stand me anymore, then let’s get a divorce.” I spun around and stormed out. Behind me, there was only silence. He didn’t even try to follow me, to apologize. Men. He wasn’t worth my tears. I wiped my eyes, packed my things, and moved into the guest room. Curled up on the bed, my tears soaked into the silk pillowcase. I couldn’t hold it in. I started sobbing. The truth was, I had seen it. The photo in his hand was of a woman. It looked old, the edges frayed and white. And the woman looked just like me. 4 Veronica slammed her hand on the sofa. “You’re telling me Alistair is cheating on you?!” She rolled up her sleeves, looking furious enough to tear him limb from limb. I gave her a sidelong glance. “Cut the act.” She deflated, sitting back down and patting my leg gently. “Okay, but seriously, honey, if he’s bullying you, I’m on your side. 100%.” “That’s why I ran away. With the baby.” She threw her hands up in the air. “I fully support this!” I’d barely finished unpacking at Veronica’s when my phone started ringing nonstop. It was his assistant, Liam. Obviously, Alistair had sent him. What, you ask, why didn’t Alistair call me himself? Because I’d blocked him, of course. And his family. And his friends. Block, delete, repeat. It was the full-service treatment. Back in a black Bentley, Alistair’s face was thunderous as he watched his assistant make another call. “Sir, she hung up.” “Call again!” “She… blocked me.” Alistair let out a humorless laugh. He’d come home to a scene of what looked like a robbery. Selena’s closet was empty, her bags and clothes gone. His own clothes were thrown on the floor, and to top it all off, his favorite car was missing from the garage. He knew instantly who was responsible. I felt my face, a smirk playing on my lips. Don’t praise me, I’ll get a big head. Anyway, things unfolded just as you’d expect. A storm raged outside as Alistair Russo stood on Veronica’s doorstep. He knocked. “Selena, open the door.” I ignored him, sitting on the entryway bench with my arms crossed, staring defiantly at the door. Who knew that Alistair—unbelievably—had the code to Veronica’s apartment. 5 The door swung open. Alistair’s cold, handsome face and eyes simmering with fury met mine. I whipped my head around to glare at Veronica, who was grinning like a Cheshire cat. “Veronica!” Alistair scooped me up from the bench and started carrying me out. “Alistair, I’m not going back!” I clung to a nearby cabinet. “Selena, what is this about?” he demanded. “Just let me explain.” I met his gaze. “Alistair, you still think I’m just throwing a tantrum?” I struggled out of his arms and pointed to the door. “I’m not listening. Just go.” He stood there silently, fiddling with his phone. So, not even an explanation now? I stared at the face I had loved for so long. Had he been tolerating me this whole time? Did he really just see me as dramatic and childish? Alistair looked up from his phone, his eyes meeting my crestfallen expression. He suddenly shoved the phone in my face. On the screen was a picture of the “Sea Princess,” a magnificent yacht I had been dreaming of for ages, docked elegantly in a beautiful bay. “For my princess,” he said simply. “The Sea Princess. I bought it.” I fell silent instantly, my eyes glued to the screen. Are you kidding me? That was the Sea Princess! That was a $25 million yacht! Heh. Alistair did have his good points. My face was practically splitting from smiling so hard as I held the phone. “Selena,” he said, taking the phone back. “Can you listen to me now?” I nodded like a bobblehead. “That day, I was hiding a photo. There’s a girl in it who looks like you…” I nodded again, my eyes still trying to follow the phone. He tilted my chin up, forcing me to look at him. “I don’t know her. She was just a candidate in an interview. I hid it because I was afraid you’d misunderstand.” It was a flimsy excuse, but… There was the yacht. Besides, just like Veronica, I never truly believed Alistair would cheat on me. We’d been together too long for that. I will absolutely not admit that the yacht was the deciding factor. And anyway, I still had the rest of my plan to execute. 6 I went back home. As we were leaving, Veronica leaned against the doorframe, watching Alistair carry my bags. “So what was the point of all this drama?” she whispered. I looked at her and said, loud enough for Alistair to hear, “I’m just going home with him. It doesn’t mean I’ve forgiven him.” All that commotion had made me starving. I had the housekeeper prepare a meal, ready to execute step two of my plan. I continued to ignore Alistair, and we ate in tense silence. “Urgh…” I shot him a sidelong glance, then dramatically dropped my chopsticks and bolted for the bathroom. I thought my performance was convincing enough, but Alistair didn’t fall for it! He followed me, looking utterly bewildered as I pretended to retch into the toilet. After a long pause, he finally said, “Selena, what did you sneak-eat this time?” Huh? What was happening? This wasn’t how it was supposed to go! It was obvious Alistair had never watched a single daytime soap opera in his life. Seriously. What a waste of my acting talent. I shot him a withering look. Useless man. Fine. I still had other tricks up my sleeve. The sight of his face was starting to annoy me again. I went back to our room, feeling a small thrill of satisfaction when I saw his clothes were still on the floor where I’d left them. I tried the fake-vomiting routine a few more times, but that blockhead Alistair just kept asking if I had food poisoning. Did he really think I was that much of a glutton? So what if I had a few spicy chips and some ice cream now and then? I hadn’t touched any of it since I found out I was pregnant. The bottom line was, he was just too dumb. The next day, while Alistair was at the office, I decided to move on to my final, most dramatic step. I scheduled an abortion at a private hospital owned by the Russo Corporation. And yes, I put Alistair’s name and number down as the emergency contact. Sitting in the waiting room, I hit ‘confirm’ on the appointment. A smirk crossed my face. The confirmation text should be hitting his phone any second now. I was a genius. For good measure, I also posted on my social media: 【My darling, it’s not that Mommy doesn’t love you… it’s just… I don’t want to bring you into a loveless home.】 The post was accompanied by a picture of my ultrasound report. And I set the post to be visible only to him. Sure enough, the moment Alistair saw it, he lost his mind.

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When I was twenty, I knitted my first scarf and gave it to the person I secretly loved. At Tommy Stark’s birthday party, he accepted the scarf, enduring everyone’s teasing looks. Three days after my brother’s death, I went to withdraw from college. I overheard people in the office, sorting through files, joking around. “Are you really going to throw away that scarf the country bumpkin, Audrey Reed, gave you?” “That thing? It’s nothing compared to the designer coat Elara Chase gave him, or even a hotel towel. Just throw it away.” “I knew Tommy wouldn’t care for something from his little shadow. Might as well give it to me as a foot rag; it’s a shame to throw it away, at least it was hand-stitched.” Elara Chase was the girl he’d grown up with, his childhood sweetheart. Tommy laughed, wadding the scarf in his hand and casually tossing it towards the guy. The guy deftly dodged, and the scarf landed beside a trash can, looking rather pathetic. The moment my eyes met Tommy’s, I silently grabbed my papers and left. I understood in my heart that I had no right to question him. He stood behind me, seemingly saying something, but I didn’t hear it clearly. Six years later, when I returned to the city, I heard rumors. The eldest son of the Stark family had a long-lost “first love.” 1. This trip back to the city was for my clothing boutique’s expansion. On opening day, an old acquaintance walked in. “Audrey Reed?!” I was tidying clothes on a rack. I’d changed my name many years ago. Hearing that name, I froze for a moment. Realizing it was me, I turned, meeting a pair of shocked eyes. The man in front of me looked somewhat unfamiliar, with handsome features and expensive clothing. But I couldn’t recall where I’d seen him. I offered a slightly embarrassed smile: “And you are?” The man instinctively scratched his head. That gesture instantly reminded me who he was. Neil Schmidt. He was Tommy Stark’s friend. And the guy who, six years ago, had joked about using the scarf as a foot rag in the office. A girl stood beside him, her arm linked through his, slender and tall, with a warm smile. In the VIP lounge, while the girl was in the fitting room, Neil surveyed my boutique. “You… this is your store? This brand has been really popular lately, I never expected the owner to be… you.” Neil seemed to remember something, a flicker of awkwardness crossing his face. “What I said back then was a joke, you absolutely shouldn’t take it to heart. In fact, I’ve wanted to apologize for years, but I couldn’t find you.” He continued, “Where have you been all these years? Why did you suddenly drop out of college? And no word at all…” His voice trailed off. I calmly took a fruit platter from a server and placed it gently on the table. “Nowhere in particular, just went back home for a while.” Went back home, changed my name, restarted my life. He was about to press further when his girlfriend emerged from the fitting room. The dress fit perfectly; the girl was very pleased and immediately bought several other styles. But then, she offered a suggestion. “Your autumn/winter collection isn’t quite complete. Other boutiques promote hats, brooches, shoes, and scarves together. I just tried on some clothes and noticed you don’t have matching scarves. I think that could be improved.” I gently explained, “We don’t plan to make scarves for our clothing lines yet, I apologize. How about I give you a thirty percent discount on these clothes…” Before they left, Neil cautiously began, “Actually, all these years, Tommy Stark has been…” Suddenly, a metallic crashing sound came from inside the store. I turned, seeing the shelf I had just been half-installing come tumbling down. I rubbed my forehead, annoyed. Great, I have to re-install it again. Neil was still talking. I gave him a hurried nod, then turned to instruct a sales associate to handle the mess. He looked overjoyed and promptly pressed an invitation into my hand. “Then it’s settled, Tommy’s birthday is tomorrow, you absolutely have to come!” Before I could refuse, Neil quickly left, not giving me a chance to change my mind. Chloe, my assistant who works with me, stretched and came out from the back. “What was that noise just now? It woke me up. And what’s this… Ju-li-an… Stark?” She stared dazedly at the invitation in my hand. Her outstretched arms, mid-stretch, remained in the air as she exclaimed Tommy Stark’s name. I was a little puzzled. “You know him?” Chloe nodded vigorously, her eyes, previously dull from insomnia, now bright. “Of course! Isn’t he the Stark family’s golden boy? I even saw him at a fashion show not long ago. He was sitting in the front row, tall and handsome. He took over the company right after graduating, and under his leadership, the annual profits have more than doubled…” She gasped, “Hey, this birthday invitation? How did you get it?” My tone was calm. “Neil Schmidt gave it to me.” At this, Chloe’s eyes instantly filled with admiration. 2. “Neil Schmidt!? Oh my gosh, Audrey, how many connections do you have that I don’t know about? First Neil Schmidt, then Tommy Stark… but…” She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “I heard Tommy Stark has someone he likes. But the person he likes supposedly disappeared. He’s spent so much effort looking for her for years and hasn’t found her. I remember her last name was Reed… What a coincidence, Audrey, you’re a Reed too!” I lowered my gaze, interrupting her fantasies. “Don’t think too much, there are many people named Reed.” “So, are you going to Tommy’s birthday party tomorrow?” “No.” She sounded a bit disappointed by that answer. But she seemed even more interested in my connections. The autumn wind was somewhat bleak, sweeping fallen leaves across the path. I pulled my coat tighter, instinctively raising a hand to touch my slightly cold neck. Under Chloe’s relentless questioning, I finally opened up about a past that I had deliberately sealed away in my heart. “I had a crush on Tommy Stark, during my teenage years. A crush that failed, completely and utterly.” On the first day of college, during self-introductions, as classmates confidently stepped onto the stage, speaking about their interests and hobbies, I suddenly felt a pang of embarrassment and lowered my head. My family was poor. My mother died in childbirth. My father single-handedly bore the burden of the family. When I was in my junior year of high school, my father was suddenly diagnosed with cancer. My brother resolutely dropped out of college to work and earn money. But the high monthly medical bills still suffocated our family. When it was my turn to go on stage, my palms were sweating from nervousness. My stammering introduction successfully drew laughter from the classmates below. “Where did this country bumpkin come from? Still wearing a floral dress, this outfit is so outdated! Can’t she keep up with current trends?” “I saw her at the start of the semester; her family seemed quite struggling. Two wheels were missing from her suitcase, and she hadn’t bothered to get a new one…” “She can’t even give a clear introduction, just get down already, don’t waste our time!” I clutched my skirt hem, my face beet red with helplessness. This dress was bought by my father and brother before college started. I said it was too expensive, not to buy it. But my father chuckled and paid, “It’s fine, don’t worry about the money. Look pretty on your first day, leave a good impression on your classmates.” The dress wasn’t cheap, about two hundred, which was half a month’s living expenses for me. I turned awkwardly, about to step off the stage, when a loud voice rang out from the crowd. “Who said she’s ugly? She’s not ugly; I think she looks quite good.” Following the voice, everyone fell silent. Tommy Stark leaned casually back in his chair, chewing gum. As he spoke, his gaze was fixed on me. In that moment, the world beyond him seemed to lose its color. I could only see the boy’s bright eyes and the smile on his lips. Chloe nodded thoughtfully, shaking my arm excitedly. “So you started crushing on him then? Such a handsome guy, coming to your rescue when you’re in trouble—if it were me, I’d be smitten too.” I calmly took a sip of tea. Actually, no. My truly deep interactions with Tommy began during winter break. I was working part-time at a car wash to earn tuition when a quarrel suddenly approached, growing louder. A car screeched to a halt in front of the car wash. Immediately after, a meticulously wrapped bouquet of flowers was thrown from the car window, landing precisely on my head as I bent over to adjust a machine. “Tommy Stark, what’s with your attitude? I came back to reconcile with you, and this is how you brush me off?” Tommy’s nonchalant scoff came through. “Elara Chase, I picked you up from the airport because I didn’t want to disrespect your parents and make your aunt and uncle uncomfortable. Why do you think I’d be waiting for you to come back?” He continued, “We agreed to apply to the best universities together, but you left the country without a word. What, you have the right to pursue your dreams, but I don’t have the right to pursue love?” Elara was so angry she laughed. “Love? Don’t tell me, Mr. Tommy Stark, that you’ve fallen for someone else.” Tommy turned his head, his gaze meeting mine as I rubbed my head. He suddenly smiled. “Do you still think I can’t live without you? Elara Chase, let me tell you, from now on, anyone but you, I can have.” With that, he immediately got out of the car, pulled a black velvet gift box from his inner pocket, and casually tossed it to me. “It’s yours.” Elara was so furious that tears streamed down her face. “Even a car wash girl?” Tommy answered flippantly. “Yes.” Elara got out of the car crying, disappearing into the crowded streets. She didn’t look back, so she didn’t see Tommy’s gaze, which remained fixed on her retreating back. From that day on, I became Tommy Stark’s little shadow. Because he asked me to play a role with him. As long as I played it well, I would get paid.

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I can understand animals. The day my dad decided to take me on a trip to the wilderness, the stray cats downstairs were holding a meeting. “The poor kid. She has no idea her dad’s getting remarried.” “Worse, the new stepmom is pregnant and doesn’t like her. They’re planning to take her out to the middle of nowhere and leave her.” “We’ll never get any more of her fishy treats. Let’s have a little cry.” I already knew. I just didn’t let on. I just gave them their fishy treats one last time, a thoughtful goodbye. Suddenly, a little tabby I’d never seen before padded over and sniffed me. “Human, you want a new dad?” it meowed. “Just say the word, and I’ll bring him to you.” 1 I bought my fishy treats with the lunch money I saved. Two dollars a day. Ten dollars a week. Enough for a ten-pack of treats. There were six strays living around our apartment building. But Ginger wasn’t one of them. Ginger was my sister. When I was three, Mom brought Ginger home. She smiled at me and said, “Annie, you’re a big sister now. You have to take good care of Ginger.” Ginger just puffed up her fur and meowed indignantly. “I’m the sister! I’m the boss!” Everyone loved Ginger at first. But as soon as Mom got sick and passed away, Dad threw her out. He hated Ginger. He hated the way she shed. He hated her for scratching people and clawing the sofa. He hated her constant “meowing.” But Ginger wasn’t just meowing. She was talking. She was saying, “I’m hungry.” “My water bowl is empty.” “I’m so bored, come play with me!” Just like now. I was crouched down, feeding her. As she ate, she purred, “So yummy, so yummy!” and then asked, “Is your dad taking you on a trip? How long will you be gone?” Patches, the little calico, swatted her. “It’s not a trip, you dummy! He’s ditching her! I heard him on the phone in the garage!” Oreo, the black-and-white kitten, chimed in. “I heard it too! Her stepmom is pregnant, and they’re planning to take her deep into the wilderness.” “Oh my gosh! Does that mean we’ll never get treats from her again?” “Let’s have a little cry.” The cats erupted into a chorus of worried meows. Only the tabby I’d never seen before walked over, circling me once before letting out a soft meow. “Human, you want a new dad? My dad needs a daughter. He’s the best. If you want him, I’ll bring him to you.” A new dad? But… “I already have a dad.” 2 When I got home, Jenna was there. She and Dad were fighting again. I stood outside the door, listening to her sobbing. “Just give me a straight answer. When are you getting rid of that kid? She talks to cats and dogs all day. Who knows if she’s autistic or schizophrenic or something? I’m starting to show! If we don’t have the wedding soon, what’s our son going to think when he’s born, having to live with a psycho?” Jenna didn’t like me. She didn’t like how quiet I was. She didn’t like that I couldn’t say sweet, flattering things. And she especially hated it when I went downstairs to feed Ginger. She was always telling Dad there was something wrong with me. That I was autistic. That only schizophrenics claim they can understand animals. At first, Dad didn’t believe her. But slowly, he started to resent me too. He hated that I was so quiet. He hated how slow I was, how I dawdled. When money went missing from the house, he’d slap me without a second thought, forcing me to confess. “It’s just you and Jenna in this house. If it wasn’t you, was it her?” He was never like this when Mom was alive. I opened the door, and their conversation died instantly. Jenna choked back her tears and went into her room. Dad glanced at me but said nothing. It wasn’t until I had my shoes off and was opening my bedroom door that he finally spoke. “Annie,” he called out. “You’ve always wanted to see the great plains, haven’t you? Your eighth birthday is the day after tomorrow… I’ll take you.” So it was true. He was going to leave me there. A knot of sadness tightened in my chest. But I didn’t let on. I just nodded softly. “Okay.” 3 Dad wouldn’t let me leave the house anymore. He kept me locked inside while he went out early every morning, telling anyone who would listen that he was taking me on a special trip, putting on a show of being a doting father. “It’s her birthday wish, you know? You have to make a kid’s wish come true.” I didn’t see it myself. Ginger told me. She was too scared to come near the apartment, afraid he’d hurt her. So she’d just call up from the darkness below my window late at night. “Hey, kiddo! Hey!” “Your dad’s really gonna do it. He’s gonna ditch you.” “Are you gonna run? You gotta run!” Afraid Dad would hear, I couldn’t shout back. I just stuck my head out the window, shook it, and whispered, “I can’t.” “Okay, got it.” She flicked her tail and vanished. All the cats disappeared after that. By the time Dad loaded me into the car on the day we were leaving, I hadn’t seen any of them. A part of me was sad. Sad that I hadn’t saved up for more treats. Sad that I didn’t spend a little more time with them that last day. Sad that as the car pulled away from our building, the street behind us was completely empty. I was so lost in my sadness that I didn’t even hear Dad tell me to sit properly and close my eyes for a nap. He got angry. His voice suddenly sharp, he snapped, “Annie, I told you to sit still! How many times do I have to tell you to listen?” His impatience was the same as when he forbade me from feeding Ginger, the same as when he demanded I suck up to Jenna. I used to hesitate, taking forever to find the right placating words. “I know, Daddy.” But now, I didn’t know what to say at all. Just then, after passing through an intersection, the car sputtered with a loud thump-thump and rolled to a stop. Dad’s attention was diverted. He got out to check, muttering under his breath, “Damn it! The fuel tank’s leaking.” He pulled a reflective triangle from the trunk, set it up behind the car, and started making a call. The tow truck arrived quickly, hauling our car to the nearest repair shop. I sat in the waiting room, listening to my dad. “How long will it take? It’s my kid’s birthday, and I promised her a road trip to the plains. Can we get it back today?” The mechanic had arms covered in tattoos and a tough-looking face, but his smile was warm. “Takin’ the kid out, huh? Sure thing. I’ll bump you to the front of the line. Looks like a busted connection pipe. An hour, maybe a little more, and you’ll be on your way. Won’t ruin your trip.” Dad agreed and told me not to wander off before stepping outside to call Jenna. He didn’t need to worry. I wouldn’t run. Mom didn’t have any family. My grandparents didn’t like me. Even if I ran, I had nowhere to go. But… staying felt like I had nowhere to go either. My eyes started to burn. I felt that familiar lump in my throat. But Dad hated it when I cried. Terrified he’d see, I quickly rubbed my eyes. Just then, a piercing shriek cut through the air from outside the shop. It was Ginger. “Annie! Annie!” she wailed. “It hurts, it hurts so bad! Come here! You have to come here!” Ginger was hurt? I shot to my feet. But when I stepped outside, I couldn’t see her. I only saw my dad, standing a short distance away, still on the phone. Ginger’s cries were coming from the opposite direction. Not wanting to bother Dad, I hesitated for a moment, then broke into a run toward the sound of her voice, turning into a narrow alley. But Ginger wasn’t in the alley. Only her voice, echoing off the walls. The closer I got, the farther away her cries seemed. No matter how fast I ran, she was always just ahead, calling to me. “Over here, come over here!” Her voice grew more pained, more desperate. My heart pounded. I ran for what felt like miles, crossing several streets until I finally spotted her beneath a large office building across an intersection. But as I got closer, Ginger vanished. And another cat leaped out. It was the little tabby. He clamped his teeth onto my pant leg and started pulling me toward the building’s entrance. Just then, a few people came out. One of them was a man in a sharp suit, but his shoulders were slumped and his face was a mask of misery. When he saw the tabby, his eyes lit up. With a loud sob, he rushed forward, dropping to his knees and scooping the cat into a tearful embrace. “Rocky? Is that you? Oh, Rocky! Daddy missed you so much!” The tabby, Rocky, didn’t let go of my pants. He just gave the man’s face a few impatient smacks with his paw while letting out a series of urgent, muffled meows. “Dad! Stray human! Quick, before she’s gone!” 4 Rocky’s little paws made soft pat-pat sounds against the man’s face, leaving faint red marks on his cheeks. But the man didn’t seem to mind at all. In fact, he looked moved, nuzzling his face against the cat’s head. “Oh, yes, that’s my Rocky. That’s the right amount of force.” A small crowd was gathering. Someone gently cleared their throat to get his attention. He finally opened his tear-filled eyes, wiped them, and noticed me for the first time. “Where did this child come from?” Someone pointed to my pant leg, still firmly in Rocky’s mouth. “It looks like your cat brought her here. He’s not letting go, and I don’t see any parents around. Maybe you should take her upstairs and call the police.” The man let go of Rocky, but the cat just continued his muffled, insistent meows, tugging me toward the building. The man nodded. “Alright, let’s go inside first.” Only then did Rocky release my pants, giving his dad’s hair a rewarding lick. “Good dad,” he purred. “So obedient.” I shouldn’t have gone with them. I was so worried about Ginger. But the words of protest got stuck in my throat. Before I could form a sentence, Rocky’s dad had scooped him up with one arm and taken my hand with the other. By the time I’d figured out what to say, I was already sitting in a big office. “I… I shouldn’t—” “Hey there, little one. My name is Mr. Pierce. You can call me Sean. What’s your name? Where are your parents?” Mr. Pierce—Sean—asked me gently. When I didn’t answer, he knelt down, his voice patient. “Do you remember where you live? What about a phone number? Do you remember your mom or dad’s number?” It had been so long since anyone had spoken so many words to me. Ever since Jenna said I was sick six months ago, Dad stopped taking me to school. At home, Jenna barely spoke to me, and Dad didn’t like it when I talked. If I said the wrong thing, he’d get angry. If I spoke too slowly, he’d get angry. Soon, I stopped talking to anyone but the cats and dogs. Worried I’d say the wrong thing now, I thought and thought, but before I could come up with an answer, Rocky started meowing for me. “She doesn’t have a mom. Her dad’s bad.” “She doesn’t have a home.” “No phone number.” “Dad, Cat is giving her to you. You be her dad now!” Rocky rubbed against Sean’s leg, answering for me. Sean didn’t understand, of course. He just scooped Rocky into his arms and started stroking his fur. “My Rocky is such a good, kind-hearted kitty. Don’t you worry, we’ll call the police right away and make sure this little girl gets home safe.” Rocky got so frustrated he started batting at him. “I told you, she has, no, home! She has no home! Old man! Take her, to our, house!” But Sean just laughed, his eyes crinkling. “Hahaha, Rocky, Rocky! You really love your daddy, don’t you?” It seemed Rocky wasn’t wrong. His dad really was nice. A pang of envy went through me. My chest felt tight and sour. I watched them for a long time, and finally, I gathered all my courage and spoke in a small voice. “Can you… not call the police?” 5 I knew what would happen. If he called the police, they would take me home. And then Dad would yell at me. He’d yell at me for running off, for not listening. Then Jenna would start crying, and he’d still end up taking me away. Now that I’d already run away, it would save Dad a long drive. It was all the same in the end. I… I didn’t want to be yelled at. And I didn’t want to be hit. “I… I don’t want to go home.” I buried my face in my hands, my voice barely a whisper. But Sean heard me. He looked at Rocky, then back at me. The smile vanished from his face as understanding seemed to dawn on him. He stood up and said something quietly to the man who had helped him earlier. Once the man left, Sean knelt in front of me again, placing Rocky in my lap. “Can you watch Rocky for me for a little bit? Don’t let him run off,” he said softly. “I have something I need to take care of, and I can’t look after him right now.” He was crouched so low I could see into his eyes without lifting my head. His eyes were so kind. They seemed to hold a light in them. I couldn’t refuse. Before I knew it, I had nodded. “Okay.” He left, leaving me and Rocky alone in the big office. Rocky licked the back of my hand. “My dad’s nice, right?” he purred. “Ginger and I worked hard to get you here. Don’t you go running off. Just stick with Cat and you’ll be fine.” I froze for a second. Tears welled in my eyes. So Ginger was okay? And the leak in Dad’s fuel tank… the cats did that? All so I wouldn’t be taken away? The cats were so good to me. But Mom always said not to be a bother to people. Even though I couldn’t stay… “Thank you, Rocky.” Rocky’s fur bristled. “I’m not just some tabby! I’m a magnificent Bengal! Bengal!” I nodded, hugging him tighter and wiping my blurry eyes. “Ben-gal,” I repeated.

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It was New Year’s Eve, and my brother, Finn, suddenly tagged our parents in the family chat—parents who’d been dead for ten years. “I’ve decided to forgive big brother. You two can stop pretending now!” Right after, Dad’s profile picture, a frowning emoji, popped up: “Finn, didn’t we agree to punish him until you got married? Why the sudden change of heart?” Mom’s angry emoji followed: “If it weren’t for him ten years ago, Finn wouldn’t have been stuck in that wheelchair all this time!” Then she tagged me: “You should be grateful for Finn’s kind heart. That’s why you get to see us so soon and join us for dinner tonight. Come back and thank him properly!” It hit me then. The car crash ten years ago—it was all a charade. A staged death, orchestrated by them, just to punish me because I’d accidentally pushed Finn down the stairs. But they didn’t know. I wouldn’t be making it to their long-awaited family dinner, not after ten years. To pay off their debts and put Finn through school, I’d worked over fifty hours straight. I’d died, slumped over my desk at work. 1. Half an hour passed since Mom’s message, and the chat remained silent on my end. Dad frowned: “Still no reply from the kid. Could he be mad we faked our deaths to punish him?” “Forget him. If it weren’t for him, Finn wouldn’t have broken his leg and still be unable to walk.” Mom emerged from the kitchen, scoffing dismissively as she placed a plate of braised ribs in front of Finn. “Making him raise Finn for ten years was already the lightest punishment.” Finn beamed: “Thanks, Mom, for making my favorite ribs every year.” Dad looked at Finn, a troubled expression on his face. “But we left him with a huge debt. He has to pay five hundred a month, plus taking care of Finn…” Mom smiled faintly, stroking Finn’s hair. Then she glared at Dad: “You’re too soft. If that brute isn’t tempered, he’ll end up in trouble sooner or later. We’re doing this for his own good.” She paused. “Besides, Finn’s leg is a lifelong injury. All that money is in our accounts. Consider it Finn’s future life fund!” Dad’s doubts vanished. “You’re right. If it weren’t for him, Finn would’ve had a happy life. If he’s sulking and doesn’t come back tonight, then we’ll never bother with him again.” But just as he finished speaking, a jarring phone rang. Mom frowned: “It’s New Year’s, why is your office calling again?” Dad didn’t respond, pulling out his phone. It was an unknown number. He answered, and a hurried voice came through. “Is this Elias’s family? Elias suffered a cerebral hemorrhage due to excessive overtime and has been rushed to the ER. Please come to St. Jude’s Hospital immediately!” Before Dad could speak, Mom snatched the phone, her voice impatient: “Is this Elias, that good-for-nothing, putting you up to this? Tell him that he hurt Finn’s leg, and ten years of punishment was already lenient. If he has any conscience left, he’ll come back and apologize to Finn again!” “Otherwise, don’t bother coming back home!” With that, she hung up and blocked the number, all in one swift motion. She tossed the phone back to Dad, scoffing: “That scoundrel is just trying to avoid apologizing to Finn, trying to make us bow down!” She paused. “Don’t answer any more calls like this. I want to see what other tricks he can pull!” She then smiled at Finn: “Finn, Mom will make a few more of your favorite dishes.” With a sway, she walked back into the kitchen. My soul hovered above, witnessing their conversation, finally understanding everything. When I was fifteen, I accidentally knocked my eight-year-old brother, Finn, down the stairs. After a hospital visit, Finn was diagnosed with a comminuted fracture, condemning him to a wheelchair for life. My parents told me it was an accident, that it was okay. They showered me with affection, terrified I’d be scarred by guilt. Two months later, they died in a car crash on their way home from the hospital. In their final moments, they clutched my hand, tears streaming down their faces. “We’re most worried about your brother. He’s only eight and has lost the use of his legs. You must take good care of him.” With those words, they passed away. The day after their funeral, a group of shadowy figures showed up, claiming my parents owed a massive debt. They threatened to kill me and Finn if I didn’t pay up. So, I took on the burden, dropped out of school early, and every month, besides supporting Finn and putting him through school, I had to pay five hundred towards the debt. With no degree, I could only do manual labor, juggling multiple jobs a day. Every evening, I felt half-dead. Finn always said he felt insecure, so apart from the five hundred, I’d transfer all my remaining money to him at the end of the month, reassuring him I’d never abandon him. This went on for ten years. But I never imagined it was all a staged punishment, a twisted game they played to get back at me for Finn. Between seven and eight o’clock that evening, Dad received several more calls from unknown numbers, but he dutifully ignored them, as Mom had instructed. Mom washed her hands, came out, and sat down, a cold smile on her face. “Looks like he’s still not giving up, but he was the one who messed up first. There’s no way we’ll back down!” Dad stammered, “They all sounded really panicked. Could something actually have happened to Elias…” At this, Finn pulled out the last e-gift card I’d sent him an hour ago. “This is the gift Elias just sent me. Dad, the first call you got was around this time too. He called me then and said he’d be home soon. He’s not back yet, so he must be angry with me.” Seeing this, Dad breathed a sigh of relief, then scoffed: “That rotten kid, almost had me fooled!” He paused. “If he’s not coming back, then he shouldn’t. He can rot outside for all I care!” As he wished, I was already dead. 2. At nine o’clock that evening, a knock echoed through the house. Everyone’s heads snapped towards the door. Mom smirked: “That brat. I knew he wouldn’t last long. He’ll come begging for our forgiveness eventually!” Finn spoke up, pleading for me: “When Elias comes back, I don’t need his apology. As long as our family is safe and sound, that’s all that matters.” Dad put down his newspaper, shaking his head. “Finn, you’re too kind. If you forgive him so easily, he’ll only take advantage. Even if the punishment ends, in Mom and Dad’s hearts, he’ll never measure up to you.” With that, Dad opened the door, ready to speak, but found it wasn’t me standing there. “Mom, we’re coming to see you tomorrow. Why are you here so late?” An elderly figure walked in. It was Grandma Rose! Since Mom and Dad’s “deaths” ten years ago, Grandma Rose had done everything she could to help me. And no matter how busy I was, I always made sure to visit her before nine every New Year’s Eve. This year, she must have not seen me, and that worried her. Grandma Rose ignored Dad, her face grim as she entered. Dad quickly poured a glass of water and offered it to her, but she slapped it away. “Mom, you…” Dad started to speak, but Grandma Rose pointed at Finn, her voice icy: “Robert Miller, you’re a piece of work. Just because Elias accidentally hurt him ten years ago, you punished him for a decade! He didn’t mean it! Do you have any idea what Elias went through these past ten years?” She continued, almost to herself. “He was just a kid, a mere child, and so kind…” A heavy stone seemed to press on my heart. She was so old, yet she’d walked miles in the cold to find me, still worried. I truly was despicable! At that moment, Finn wheeled over. “Grandma, please don’t be angry. Mom and Dad were just worried I’d be upset.” But Grandma Rose didn’t even look at him properly. “You upset? Falling down and ending up with a comminuted fracture? I want to see if that leg of yours is truly broken!” With that, Grandma Rose reached out to pull him up, but Mom blocked her. “Mom, I respect you as an elder, but Finn is my most beloved child. If anything happens to him, don’t blame me for being unkind!” Dad shielded them both, looking at Grandma Rose with alert eyes. “Mom, we’ll naturally visit you tomorrow, but Finn isn’t in a good mood today. You should go home early.” Seeing this, Grandma Rose’s eyes welled up. “Fine… fine… I’ll go. I’ll go find Elias. He must be suffering somewhere.” Worried about Grandma Rose, I followed her out, but for some reason, I couldn’t stray too far from Mom and Dad. 3. Luckily, on New Year’s Day morning, I found myself with Mom and Dad, visiting Grandma Rose. She sat by the fire, clutching the old flip phone I’d given her. I knew she was waiting for my call, but none ever came. She must have been in such agony. I’m sorry, Grandma. I’m dead. I can never see you again. Due to Finn’s situation, Mom and Dad didn’t linger. They left after a quick visit. As they visited other elders, many praised my yearly devotion to Grandma Rose. Mom and Dad merely offered casual replies. On the way back, Dad frowned. “Elias has a pretty good reputation with everyone. Maybe we really were biased against him.” He paused. “He hasn’t come back for so long…” Mom didn’t speak, but a hint of worry clouded her face. They rushed home. Seeing them, Finn’s face showed a hint of grievance. “Mom, Dad, Grandma isn’t still mad at me, is she?” He paused. “She must dislike me because you punished Elias. Maybe you should go find him quickly. Although, I just saw his latest post on social media…” At this, Dad immediately grabbed Finn’s shoulder: “What did you say?” He asked. “You said Elias just posted something? Let me see!” Mom’s worried expression also eased a bit. Finn winced in pain. Dad quickly released him: “Finn, I’m sorry, but where’s the photo you mentioned?” Finn smiled and said it was nothing, but as he looked down to find the photo, a shadow of malice flickered in his eyes. Then, he produced a picture. In it, I was drinking with a few friends. The caption read: “New year, time for all the irrelevant people and things to get lost!” Seeing this, Mom’s face immediately contorted in fury. “That rotten kid! He called us irrelevant! If he doesn’t want to come back, then he shouldn’t. He can die outside for all I care!” Dad also scoffed. “A leopard can’t change its spots. Always fooling around outside. I bet those old folks in the village were tricked by his act!” But I saw it clearly. That photo was from last year, when some friends had taken me out to dinner because they thought I was too stressed. And the caption wasn’t that at all! Then, Dad apologized to Finn again. “Finn, I’m sorry. I accidentally hurt you just now. You can tell me anything you want.” Finn rubbed his eyes: “It’s okay. Elias is also Mom and Dad’s child, so it’s right to care about him.” He paused. “But since Dad wants to make it up to me, how about taking me to the amusement park?”

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My parents bought me a beachfront villa, but my husband gave it to his secretary. Scarlett Bridgeforth posted a nine-grid photo of a pool party on social media, complete with a location tag: [Thank you to Mr. Hayes for the luxurious villa! I’ll definitely work even harder!] The photos sent by the housekeeper showed the garden sculptures smashed, and all the flowers I had planted dug up. I threw the photos directly at Alistair Hayes. [Mr. Hayes, what is the meaning of this? Why are other people in my villa?] Alistair immediately replied with a voice message, the sound of ocean waves in the background. [Don’t be so petty. We have plenty of places to stay.] [Within three hours, I want her out of there, and the villa restored to its original state.] Alistair read my message but didn’t reply. Five minutes later, I auctioned off the villa for one dollar. His antique collection was smashed to smithereens. If someone doesn’t listen, I don’t mind teaching them a lesson. 1 No sooner had I put down my phone than it rang. It was Alistair, who had just read my message without replying. “Natalie Wilson! What have you done?! Why was Scarlett kicked out by security?!” Alistair’s voice was clearly angry. My tone was calm. “That villa is mine. I just sold it.” “The new owner’s only request was to clear out all people and things within an hour.” Silence fell for a few seconds on the other end of the line. “Natalie, have you misunderstood something?” “There’s nothing going on between me and Scarlett. She’s just my secretary.” Alistair’s tone softened slightly. “Don’t you think your approach is too aggressive? And a bit too sensitive.” I couldn’t help but laugh. “Alistair, you’re the one who doesn’t know how to avoid suspicion, who doesn’t know how to keep himself clean. How dare you turn around and accuse me?” Alistair didn’t answer the question, skillfully changing the subject. “Natalie, you have so many other villas; it’s a waste to leave them empty. I was just making reasonable use of resources.” “Scarlett and I really haven’t done anything inappropriate.” He paused, his voice growing somewhat impatient. “Don’t be so petty.” I curved my lips, but my eyes turned cold. “Since Mr. Hayes is so generous, I presume you won’t mind your precious darlings turning into a pile of junk, will you?” With that, I opened my photo album and sent him a few pictures. In the photos, Alistair’s cherished antique collection, accumulated over many years, was smashed to smithereens, fragments scattered across the floor. Silence for a few seconds on the other end of the line. “Natalie. Wilson.” He enunciated my full name, word by word. I knew this was a sign of his extreme anger. But I didn’t care. “Alistair, you must have seen the photos, right?” “That’s the price for trying to challenge my boundaries.” “If you dare to cross the line again, what you’ll lose will be far more than just these worthless trinkets.” With that, I hung up the phone. In these years of marriage, we rarely had fierce arguments. But this didn’t mean I would back down out of fear of conflict. Once the bottom line in a marriage starts to recede, it only leads to the other party taking more and more liberties. What’s more, the beginning of this marriage was not based on pure love. The Hayes family was eager to enter the core of New York City’s elite, needing the assistance of my family, the Wilsons, and thus this commercial marriage was arranged. When we first met, Alistair certainly showed his thoughtfulness and gentleness. And his face was quite deceptive; he handled matters meticulously and appropriately. I thought at the time that perhaps living with such a person wouldn’t be too bad, so I didn’t object to my family’s arrangements. Fortunately, in the course of our marriage, we gradually developed feelings for each other. He and I also had a rather sweet period, once regarded by outsiders as a perfect match. However, no matter the stage, I always clearly understood the importance of putting myself first. Later, intense passion faded, and life settled into a steady rhythm. I could understand and accept that all feelings eventually move towards a quieter state, or even dissipate. But I would absolutely not allow the cause of that dissipation to be the intervention of a third party. From childhood, the thing I most detested was others touching my belongings. If an item became dirty, I would discard it without hesitation. If a person became soiled, the treatment would be the same. 2 Alistair hadn’t contacted me again. He was always like this; once his mistakes were exposed, he would choose silence to escape. That is, until this afternoon, when a message from Mia popped up on my phone. “Natalie, why aren’t you answering me?! I saw you in the venue just now and called your name for ages, but you didn’t respond.” I frowned slightly, quickly replying, “I didn’t go out today. You must have seen wrong.” “It really wasn’t you? I saw that sapphire blue mermaid gown you had custom-made, along with your husband, Mr. Hayes.” “Natalie, wait, I got a front shot.” A photo quickly appeared on my phone. Alistair in a perfectly tailored black suit. And Scarlett beside him, wearing my high-fashion gown, smiling and chatting with someone. I stared at the photo for a full ten seconds. Before I could even react, another message popped up on my phone. This time it was Alistair’s chief assistant, with a screenshot attached. It was Scarlett’s social media post. [First time attending the Skyline Auction. Thank you, Mr. Hayes, for showing me the world. Finally, I know what true high society is [heart emoji.jpg].] The accompanying picture showed her sitting in a front-row seat at the auction, Alistair beside her, a slight smile playing on his lips, clearly tacitly approving of her selfie and caption. I suddenly remembered something: Alistair hated being photographed. Even during our sweetest days, if I wanted to take a couple’s photo, he would frown and refuse. It seemed my morning’s punishment had been too light. Not only did he dare to bring another woman to the most exclusive auction in high society, but he even let her wear my clothes and tacitly allowed her to post a photo of them together on social media to show off. I forwarded the photo directly to Alistair. “Explain this. Why is my dress on her?” The message showed as read, but there was no reply. A few minutes later, I took a picture and sent it over. Mia’s message immediately popped up. “Natalie! What did you send Mr. Hayes?! He suddenly stood up and rushed out, and Scarlett couldn’t even hold him back.” I didn’t reply to my friend because Alistair’s call was already coming in. In the photo I sent, I was sitting in front of the fireplace, holding a meticulously crafted small wooden box. The surface of the box was spotless, clearly cleaned and maintained regularly. “Natalie, put that down.” Alistair’s voice trembled slightly, carrying clear panic and anger. “What are you trying to do?” Inside the wooden box were some carefully preserved items. A few yellowed photographs, a bracelet, and an exquisite jade pendant. The girl in the photos had a bright smile. This was Alistair’s “white moonlight,” his first love who had died of illness. His family had mentioned it unintentionally. I suddenly understood the reason for all of Alistair’s recent abnormal behavior: Scarlett bore a striking seven or eight-tenths resemblance to his “white moonlight.” “Natalie, don’t touch those things!” Alistair’s voice was almost a plea. “Alistair, you know I always hate it when people touch my things.” “Just as you feel right now.” “Now, immediately make Scarlett take off that dress. There’s a changing room at the auction house. Make her change.” Silence on the other end of the line for a few seconds. “Natalie, don’t you only wear those dresses once? What’s wrong with letting her wear clothes you don’t want anymore?” I chuckled, my tone growing colder. “Alistair, even if I don’t want my things, I won’t allow others to touch them.” “You now have two choices.” “Either make Scarlett take off that dress before the auction starts, or…” I rattled the box in my hand, the items inside making faint colliding sounds. “Suffer the consequences.” With that, I hung up the phone directly. 3 In the time that followed, Mia’s messages kept popping up. “Natalie! What did you say to him?!” “Your Mr. Hayes rushed in, his face pale, and dragged Scarlett out without a word.” “Wait, they’re back!” “My God, what’s going on? Scarlett is wearing… a cleaner’s uniform?!” I curved my lips. This result was even better than I had anticipated. “Natalie, Scarlett’s expression, my goodness, it’s priceless!” “Everyone is looking at them both, whispering. I’m starting to get second-hand embarrassment.” “Mia, take some pictures for me.” Mia quickly sent a few photos. In the pictures, Alistair sat impassively. And Scarlett, in a clearly ill-fitting gray uniform, her makeup smudged, her eyes red and swollen. “This auction has an extremely high entry bar; you’re not allowed to leave halfway through. That girl will have to sit through the entire event in a cleaning uniform.” Mia’s tone was filled with schadenfreude. “Your Mr. Hayes’s face is as black as a pot.” “Natalie, your move was brilliant.” “Scarlett, too. Of all people to provoke, she dared to provoke you. In the end, she probably won’t even know how she died.” After the auction ended, Mia sent another message. “When they left, your husband’s face was already liver-colored, and Scarlett was sobbing uncontrollably.” Mia sent a new photo. That sapphire blue mermaid gown was now discarded in a trash can. “Natalie, photo’s taken.” I immediately posted the photo on social media, simply adding a caption: [Trash belongs in the trash can.] In less than five minutes, the post had over a hundred likes. Smart people could tell at a glance that the dress in the trash can was the very one Scarlett had flaunted in her social media post. My meaning was self-evident. “Natalie, Mr. Hayes lost so much face today. He won’t cause you trouble when he gets home, will he?” I calmly replied, “Don’t worry. Even if he had more guts, he wouldn’t dare.” That evening, Alistair returned, his presence heavy with anger, and walked directly up to me. “Natalie Wilson, where are my things?” He spoke, his voice hoarse. I simply stared at him, saying nothing. Alistair tried desperately to suppress his emotions. “Natalie, I admit my behavior today was inappropriate.” “It was my fault for not considering your feelings.” “But I already did as you asked, losing face in front of everyone.” “Can you please stop making a fuss and give me back my things?” I raised an eyebrow. “Alistair, you lost face because of your own inappropriate behavior, not because of me.” “Aren’t you going to explain what happened today?” Alistair avoided my gaze. “We have a purely subordinate relationship. I was just rewarding Scarlett for doing good work.” I sneered, pressing closer. “Alistair, there are so many ways to give a reward. Why did you choose the worst one?” “A luxury villa, an auction, an exorbitant gown—you know very well what these symbolize for an ordinary girl.” “You wouldn’t even take a couple’s photo when I asked, but you were willing to appear with her.” “Every one of your indulgences gave her positive reinforcement. That’s why she became more arrogant, even daring to provoke me.” “And, does her meager work ability truly deserve your rewards?” Alistair remained silent. “Your favoritism towards her is just because she closely resembles your ‘white moonlight,’ isn’t it?” I directly pierced through his thoughts. “But a stand-in is always a stand-in. She can never become that person.” “Alistair, you need to distinguish.” His breathing grew heavy; he remained silent. I pulled the small wooden box from behind me and handed it to him, my voice softening. “Alistair, I understand your obsession with her, and I never intended to destroy the beauty between you two.” “But I hope you won’t destroy the beauty between us either.” “Today’s incident is the first, and it must be the last.” Alistair took the small wooden box and set it aside, then hugged me tightly. “Natalie, I’m sorry.” His voice was hoarse. “I truly know I was wrong.” “Scarlett and I really have no other relationship. I will definitely stay far away from her from now on.” “This kind of thing will absolutely never happen again. Please don’t be angry anymore, okay?” His voice was pleading, his arms wrapped tightly around my waist. I sighed softly, finally choosing to compromise. Then I looked up and bit hard on his lip. Not until blood seeped from the corner of his mouth did I release him, satisfied. “This is the consequence of offending me. Remember, there must never be a next time.” “Okay.” Alistair showed no impatience, his eyes filled with fervent heat. He scooped me up in his arms and carried me into the room.

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I have congenital analgesia, a condition that means I feel no physical pain. My family saw me as a pawn for an advantageous marriage, offering me to Sterling Cumming, a ruthless figure in the business world. Everyone placed bets, knowing I couldn’t feel pain and he felt no pity. What kind of bleak end awaited this marriage? Then, his secretary deliberately spilled hot tea on me, eager to watch me suffer. I merely said, “It’s fine, it doesn’t hurt.” He immediately blacklisted the secretary from the entire industry. That night, he physically taught me, over and over again: “Darling, not feeling pain doesn’t mean you aren’t injured. Just like now. Even if you don’t utter a sound, you’ll still struggle to walk tomorrow, understood?” 1. I was diagnosed with congenital analgesia when I was a child. My father’s reaction wasn’t worry, but regret. “What a pity, such a good tool for an alliance, but it has a flaw.” My stepmother, however, came up with a brilliant plan. She packaged my analgesia as a supreme virtue: “emotionally stable, always composed.” In family meetings, she’ vehemently pitched to everyone: “Think about it, what socialite’s wife can endure beatings and scolding without crying or making a scene, always maintaining the family’s dignity? This isn’t a defect; this is a perfect wife tailor-made for a prominent family!” And so, the Campbell family finally ascended to the esteemed Cumming family, a height they had always aspired to reach. Surprisingly, Sterling Cumming himself agreed. On our wedding night, Sterling stood alone by the vast floor-to-ceiling window. He didn’t turn to glance at me, leaving only a frigid remark. “From now on, we’ll each get what we need and not interfere with one another.” Having said that, he walked straight to his study. The door clicked shut, separating two worlds. I sat alone on the cold marital bed. There was no sense of loss, no feeling of injustice. I had long grown accustomed to being alone. And so, Sterling and I began our lives as roommates, each in our separate rooms. He left early and returned late; I kept to myself. In the vast mansion, our encounters were rare. Our conversations were shorter than a weather report. Only occasionally, when we happened to cross paths, if he saw me walking barefoot on the floor, he would instinctively frown and ask the housekeeper to bring me slippers. He would watch me, ensuring I put them on before he left. This fragile peace was utterly shattered the first time we returned to the Cumming family estate for a family dinner. Sterling’s relatives sat around, looking at me as if I were a rare animal in a zoo, their whispers sharp and cutting. “Look, that’s the one from the Campbell family. I hear she can’t feel pain.” “What does Sterling see in her? That she won’t cry even if she’s hurt?” “I heard she doesn’t even know when she’s bleeding from an injury. How unlucky to live with someone like that.” These words, like a tide, washed over me, all falling into my ears. I took a deep breath. Just as I was about to get up and go for a walk, an uninvited guest appeared. “Juliet, why are you sitting here all alone? Are you not used to it?” 2. A gentle female voice sounded beside me. I looked up and saw Clara Leigh, Sterling Cumming’s childhood friend. She was originally the destined bride for the Cumming family. Unfortunately, she had wavered between Sterling and another rising entrepreneur. Sterling had seen through her subtle maneuverings. Consequently, he chose the arranged marriage offered by the Campbell family and married me instead. Clara was wearing a pink gown today. Her makeup was exquisite, and her smile radiant, as if she were the hostess here. “Come, don’t be so reserved. We’re family now.” She affectionately linked her arm through mine, feigning to introduce me into the circle of prominent ladies. As we walked, she seemed to suddenly trip on something, her body lurching towards me. I felt something sharply poke my arm. Beyond that, I felt nothing else. I looked down. I saw the ornate diamond brooch on Clara’s gown. The pin had pierced deeply into my forearm. When she pulled it out, a string of bright red blood beads emerged. “Oh dear! I’m so sorry, so sorry! Juliet, are you alright? Does it hurt?” Clara gasped dramatically, instantly drawing everyone’s attention. All eyes were fixed on my bleeding arm and my calm, unruffled face. I shook my head, gently pulling my arm back. I took a handkerchief from my pocket and pressed it against the small, bleeding puncture. “It’s fine.” Seeing my reaction, a hint of triumphant disdain flashed in Clara’s eyes. She then turned to the crowd, chuckling with a pitying, helpless tone: “See, everyone? I told you Juliet is different. Brother Sterling… sigh, he really married a doll who can’t even flirt.” A chorus of knowing chuckles rippled through the room. My expression remained serene. But in their eyes, this was interpreted as numbness, dullness, even stupidity. I had long grown accustomed to such misunderstandings. I had also grown accustomed to hiding my true feelings beneath the guise of congenital analgesia. Just then, a voice so cold it could freeze the air came from behind the crowd. “What are you all laughing at?” It was Sterling. 3. He stood there, unnoticed until now, his face grim. His gaze didn’t linger on anyone. Instead, it cut straight through the crowd, landing on the handkerchief pressing against my wound. Clara’s smile froze. She immediately adopted a wronged and concerned expression, rushing towards him. “Brother Sterling, you’re here!” Sterling didn’t even glance at her. He strode to my side and gently removed my hand from the wound. He stared at the still-seeping pinprick, his brows furrowed in a deep frown. His gaze wasn’t like someone looking at an injury; it was as if he were scrutinizing a cherished item that had been deliberately damaged. For a moment, I wondered if I was hallucinating. The entire ballroom fell into a sudden, hushed silence. “Who did this?” His voice was low, yet carried the oppressive weight of an impending storm. Clara’s face paled, and she stammered, “I accidentally hurt Juliet just now. She…” Sterling finally shifted his gaze from my wound. He turned to her, his eyes devoid of any warmth. “Accidentally?” He repeated, a mocking curve to his lips. Having said that, he ignored everyone else. He took my hand and, amidst the startled gazes of the Cumming family, walked straight out of the estate. After the family dinner, Sterling and I spoke even less. For appearances, and perhaps to better “monitor” me, Sterling arranged for me to work at his company as his special assistant. This naturally caused an uproar. And Sterling’s chief secretary, Bethany George, was Clara Leigh’s most loyal informant. She hadn’t given me a pleasant look since my first day. She probably believed Sterling’s marriage to me was merely a whim. He would soon tire of me, this “pain-immune block of wood,” and eventually welcome Clara back. Her mission was to accelerate this process. 4. That afternoon, I was delivering an urgent document to Sterling. As I pushed open the door to the CEO’s office, Bethany was just about to enter, carrying a steaming cup of tea. Seeing me, a flicker of calculation crossed her eyes. She stepped aside to let me go first. Just as I brushed past her, her hand “accidentally” trembled. The entire cup of scalding tea splashed directly onto the back of my hand, the hot liquid soaking into my skin. I paused. I looked at my hand, which was rapidly turning red, even beginning to blister. No expression flickered across my face. Here we go again. Bethany immediately shrieked, her voice, however, filled with schadenfreude and excitement: “Oh dear! Juliet Campbell! Are you alright?” “I’m so sorry, so sorry! I didn’t mean to!” She waited for me to cry, to scream. Or at least, to show a hint of pain. So she could perform a scene of “panicked good Samaritan” in front of Sterling. However, I merely looked up. I calmly met her gaze and said, “It’s fine. I don’t feel any pain.” Bethany’s expression froze. She probably thought, this person can’t even bother to pretend. How utterly boring. Upon seeing Sterling, her thoughts changed. She was just about to exaggerate her complaint to him. But she hadn’t seen Sterling, sitting behind his desk. From the moment the tea splashed on my hand, his face had darkened. “Get out!” Sterling’s voice carried a terrifying malevolence. Bethany’s face lit up. She thought Sterling was angry at me. She was about to reprimand me with feigned righteous indignation. Then she realized Sterling’s icy eyes were fixed on her. “I said…” Sterling articulated each word slowly. Each word struck Bethany’s heart like a heavy hammer. “Bethany George, you, take your things and get out of my company.”

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To give my wife a sense of security, once the company was on track, I stepped back and became a stay-at-home husband. For ten years since the company’s founding, she had never once let me attend the annual gala. When the tenth-anniversary gala was scheduled at a five-star hotel, I suggested I should go. She, busy lacing her shoes, didn’t even look up. “You’re my husband. If you come, the employees won’t feel relaxed.” Before leaving, she hurriedly planted a kiss on my cheek. “Be good. After this busy period, we’ll take Sunny to Hawaii.” The door clicked shut. I looked at the scattered Lego bricks and picture books on the floor, my chest aching. My three-year-old son suddenly ran up, holding a black phone. “Daddy! Mommy forgot her phone!” I froze for a moment. This wasn’t the phone she usually carried. “Honey, your gala suit is chosen, twenty-eight thousand. Waiting for your card, okay~.” 1. The sender’s name was saved as: “Sweetheart, Henry.” My breath hitched. Blood rushed to my ears, buzzing. My fingers instinctively slid across the screen. I don’t know if Eleanor was too confident, or simply trusted me too much. The phone had no password. I tapped on “Sweetheart, Henry”‘s chat window. The earliest message was from three years ago, August: “Ms. Castro, the proposal has been revised. I’ve sent it to your email.” That was when I was with her during the hardest times of her startup. She always said she had many engagements, came home late. Eleanor claimed it was a critical period for the company, so she had to sleep at the office. Last Valentine’s Day, Eleanor transferred $520 to me: “Hard work, hubby.” At the exact same moment— “Other people’s Valentines get flowers, I just want a transfer from Ms. Castro [playful emoji]” “Transfer: $10,000.00” “Love you! [heart emoji]” “Same place tonight?” That day, she came home at three in the morning, smelling of alcohol. She said, “For this family, no matter how tired I am, I have to keep going.” For my birthday, she gave me a watch worth two thousand dollars, saying: “Hard work, hubby. I’ll buy you a better one every year from now on.” At the exact same moment, she transferred $8888.88 to “Sweetheart, Henry.” He said, “Thanks, wifey! Much more generous than that old man of yours [smirking emoji]” She replied, “How can he compare to you?” “Old man.” Those two words stung my eyes. Sunny hummed a tune, clutching his toy car, sunlight illuminating the soft golden fuzz on his hair. My son, three years old. And my wife’s lover had been by her side for three years. I continued to scroll up. The last message from yesterday— “Wifey, can we finally come clean that day? [shy emoji]” My world completely crumbled at that moment. Come clean? What was she going to come clean about? Divorce? The lock turned. Eleanor pushed the door open, her gaze sweeping the living room. “I left my black phone at home. Did you see it?” “Sunny found it.” I walked over, pulling out the phone. “How could you forget something so important?” She snatched it, quickly pressed the screen dark, and tucked it into her suit’s inner pocket. The entire process took less than three seconds. “I’m swamped.” She cleared her throat. “Gala preparations, so much to do.” “Well, you’d better go.” She paused, then ruffled my cheek. “I have a dinner engagement tonight. Don’t wait for me.” The door closed. I leaned against the wall, slowly sliding to the floor. The spires of the Lego castle blurred and distorted in my vision. I knew that from today, some paths I would have to walk alone. And the first step was learning not to tremble. 2. A week later, I sat beside her with the household ledger. “Sunny’s extracurricular fees have gone up.” I opened the ledger. “The joint account balance isn’t much. Is the company’s cash flow alright?” “The company’s fine.” She glanced cursorily. “The gala budget was approved long ago. If money’s tight, just use a credit card. I’ll deposit more next month.” “The gala… it’s at the Grand Imperial Hotel?” “Mm, the Starry Sky Ballroom.” Her eyes flickered. “How did you know?” “I saw the advertisement passing by last time.” I lowered my eyes. “I heard it’s quite expensive.” “Ten years for the company, it needs to have the appropriate grandeur.” She hugged me. “After this busy period, I’ll take you and Sunny to Hawaii.” Another promise. “Oh,” I looked up, “can I see the gala schedule? I don’t even know what our company’s gala is like.” A minute later, the electronic version of the schedule and seating plan arrived. “Just look, don’t forward it.” “Got it.” She got up to shower. I opened my phone. Main Table 01: CEO Eleanor Castro Main Table 02: Head of Administration Henry Taylor Head of Administration. So, he was in the company, right under her nose. I took a screenshot, uploaded it to the cloud, and backed it up to an encrypted hard drive. Passing the study, the door was ajar. Her old laptop was on the desk, its indicator light on. I pushed the door open and went in. The computer had no password. The folders were a mess. I clicked on “Work Backup – 2021”. As I exited, my peripheral vision caught a strangely named folder: “L”. I double-clicked it. It required a password. I tried her birthday, my birthday, the company’s founding date—none worked. I typed in “Henry”‘s name. The folder opened. Inside were photos. Dozens, hundreds. Gatherings, business trips, celebrations, hotels. Spanning three years, the male lead had the same face. Young, handsome, with a flamboyant smile. Eleanor’s hand rested on his shoulder, embracing his waist. My fingernails dug into my palm, leaving crescent marks. No pain. I inserted a USB drive and copied the files. The progress bar moved slowly: 1%…5%…10%… The bathroom door opened. Footsteps approached the study. I pulled out the USB drive, closed the laptop, and turned, smiling. “Are you done showering? Your pajamas are on the bed.” She stood at the doorway, hair dripping wet, glancing at the computer. “Why are you in the study?” “Looking for Sunny’s vaccination record. The kindergarten needs it tomorrow.” I shook the small blue booklet. “Your old computer is still on. It’s wasting electricity.” “Forgot to turn it off.” She walked over and pressed the power button. “Don’t touch my computer again. It has commercial secrets.” “Got it, Mrs. Castro.” I smiled, patting her shoulder, and walked out of the study. The USB drive was tucked into the bottom-most secret compartment of the computer desk. Some other items were already stored there: transfer screenshots, recorded chat logs, unfamiliar phone numbers. Not enough yet. A few days later, I met with Laura Vance, a lawyer. A university roommate, now a renowned family law attorney. After I briefly outlined the situation, she was silent for a long time. “Buddy, are you sure you want to file a lawsuit?” “Yes.” I looked at the traffic outside the window. “I want her to pay.” “Alright then.” Laura took out her notebook. “To strike a snake, you must strike its vital point.” “What’s her vital point?” “The company.” Laura’s pen paused. “She’s the founder, but the company’s shares are marital property.” “If she’s found to be at significant fault, you’ll have a decisive advantage in asset division, and it could even affect control of the company.” She looked at me. “But this path is long and dirty. You need to be prepared.” “I am prepared.” “From the day I discovered ‘Sweetheart, Henry’, Leo Lane died.” Laura patted my shoulder. “I’ll help you.” Leaving the tea room, I went to a digital store on the west side of the city. The owner, Caleb Miller, was a university junior who once owed me a favor. “Bro, here’s what you asked for.” He handed me a black velvet box. Inside, a rose gold tie clip, studded with tiny diamonds. “4K high-definition, eight-hour battery life, wireless transmission to your phone.” Caleb lowered his voice. “And this—” A fountain pen. “Side-press recording, extremely discreet. On the day of the gala, I’ll be nearby to help with remote signal reception.” “Thanks.” I put the items away. “I’ll transfer the money.” “Bro,” Caleb’s eyes were complex, “be careful.” I smiled. “Don’t worry. I’m not the one who needs to be careful.” That night, Eleanor came home at two in the morning, reeking of alcohol. I helped her to bed, wiped her face, and took off her shoes. She groggily grabbed my hand. “Hubby… you’re still the best…” “Sleep.” I gently pulled my hand away, pulled the covers over her. As I turned, I heard her murmur, “Henry… don’t be silly…” I turned off the light, closed the door. In the darkness, I opened my phone. Henry Taylor’s social media updated. The photo showed him wearing a Rolex watch, holding a wine glass, with the sparkling dome of the Grand Imperial Hotel’s Starry Sky Ballroom as the backdrop. The caption: “Some moments deserve to be waited for. Three days left.” I “liked” it, using Eleanor’s old phone. A minute later, Henry Taylor sent a private message: “Ms. Castro? Why did you like it? Didn’t you say not to make it public yet?” I replied, mimicking her tone: “Couldn’t help myself. Miss you.” He sent a shy emoji: “I miss you too. The suit fits perfectly, super handsome. That day… will you announce it?” “Of course. I’ll give you the best.” 3. Three days before the gala, I went to the Grand Imperial Hotel under the pretense of checking out a wedding venue for a friend. The hall was being decorated. In the center of the stage, two gilded high-backed chairs, their backs intricately carved with intertwining lotus flowers. A double main seat. “This decor is truly magnificent,” my friend remarked. “Which company is spending so much?” “Indeed,” I said softly. A man walked in from the side door. Black leather shoes, dark grey suit, neat short hair. He held a tablet, confirming details with the staff. It was Henry Taylor. He was even younger than in the photos, tall and well-built, with a confident aura. And I, having spent years tending to my family, had unknowingly gained weight, developing a beer belly. So this was what she meant by, “How can he compare to you?” “Brighten the lights by another 30%. Mrs. Castro said she wants every shot clear that day.” Henry Taylor’s voice was clear and sharp. The staff nodded. “Don’t worry, Mr. Taylor.” My friend whispered, “Who’s that? He’s got a strong presence.” I didn’t answer. Henry Taylor turned, his gaze sweeping over us. He paused for half a second, then a professional smile played on his lips. “And you two are?” “We’re looking at wedding venues,” my friend said. “Is this… your annual gala?” “Yes, the company’s tenth-anniversary celebration.” Henry Taylor walked over, his gaze lingering on my face for a moment. “And you are?” “Mr. Lane.” “Mr. Lane.” He nodded. “This venue is suitable for weddings, but we’ve booked the entire hall.” “If you need, I can recommend other halls.” “No need, thank you.” I smiled. “This venue is beautiful. Your wife put a lot of thought into it.” Henry Taylor’s smile stiffened slightly. It was subtle, but I caught it. “Mrs. Castro put thought into it,” he corrected, his tone gentle. “I’m just helping with the execution.” “Mrs. Castro? Is she single? Booking such a large venue, and with a double main seat, I thought it was prepared for her husband.” The air was silent for a few seconds. Henry Taylor looked at me, his eyes filled with scrutiny, vigilance, and perhaps a hint of subtle triumph. “I’m not too clear on Mrs. Castro’s matters.” He shifted his gaze, telling the staff, “I’m going to confirm the menu. You all continue.” He turned and walked away, his leather shoes clicking crisply. My friend nudged me. “Leo, why did you ask that? It was strange.” “Just a casual question.” I withdrew my gaze. “Let’s go, let’s check out other halls.” We walked towards the elevator. Before the doors closed, I looked back. Henry Taylor stood in the center of the stage, looking down at his tablet. The starry dome light fell upon him, enveloping him in a hazy glow. He looked up, towards the elevator. Our gazes met one last time through the closing doors. He smiled. It was the smile of a victor, full of pity. The elevator descended. “Do you know him?” my friend asked. “No,” I said, watching the numbers tick down. “But I will soon.” That night, Eleanor came home unusually early, looking agitated. “What’s wrong?” I asked, serving her soup. “Nothing.” She rubbed her temples. “The company has a small issue, it’ll be resolved soon.” “That’s good.” I pushed the soup bowl towards her. “By the way, I went to the Grand Imperial Hotel today.” Her movements paused. “What did you go there for?” “Accompanying a friend to look at wedding venues.” My tone was natural. “I saw the Starry Sky Ballroom being decorated. Is it for your annual gala?” “…Mm.” “The double main seat design is very thoughtful.” I looked at her. “Was that your idea?” Eleanor put down her spoon. “It’s the event planning company’s proposal. Don’t overthink it.” “I’m not overthinking.” I smiled. “I just thought, if we were to renew our vows, we could also consider a design like that.” Her expression softened slightly. She took my hand; her palm was warm, but her fingertips were cold. “By the way, yesterday I was tidying the study and saw some photos on your old computer.” I spoke casually. “Was it a team-building event? There was a boy who looked familiar. Was he the one who came to deliver documents to the house last time?” Eleanor’s grip tightened. “Which boy?” “The one with slightly curly hair, quite tall, seemed very capable.” I blinked. “His name was, I think, Taylor?” Silence. A prolonged silence. She let go of my hand, her tone returning to gentle. “That’s Henry from admin. He’s quite capable. Why are you suddenly asking about him?” “I just thought he was quite handsome.” I got up to clear the dishes, my back to her. “With such a capable employee by your side, I feel at ease.” She didn’t say anything more. I carried the dishes into the kitchen and turned on the faucet. The rushing water covered my pounding heart. That night, Eleanor slept soundly. I got up, took the tie clip camera from its hidden compartment, and clipped it to the inside of the black coat I would wear tomorrow.

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