Category: English

I was a man of immense wealth, with a trust fund in the tens of billions. Money was the only thing I had left. Almost the entire city was under my ownership, including the tranquil retreat where my wife, Anna Hayes, resided. In my past life, Anna claimed she was a celestial maiden reincarnated, unfit for the company of men. She even demanded I undergo a vasectomy, and I, besotted, complied. Decades passed. When I was old, my hair white, and gravely ill, she stood over me. With her lover Sterling’s daughter and granddaughter by her side, she slowly, deliberately, pulled my oxygen tube. “Sterling dedicated his life to raising our children for me, yet he always had to remain in the shadows. All of this, Simon, is because of you.” Her voice was cold, devoid of emotion. “I’ve grown tired of being your wife. All of your fortune, after you die, will belong to Sterling and our children.” Then, I opened my eyes. I was back. Back to the day my father, on his deathbed, instructed me to draw lots for my future bride. Now, I would watch. Without my bottomless pockets, could Anna Hayes still so serenely play her part as the celestial maiden? 1. My father lay on his deathbed, his voice weak but firm. “After I’m gone, only your wife and children will be by your side. That’s why the marriage lottery list is full of suitable young women from prominent families. You cannot be reckless this time, Simon.” In my past life, everyone knew I, Simon McKinnon, was my father’s only son, heir to billions, and notoriously uninterested in business. Every family wanted their daughter to marry into the McKinnon fortune. Matchmakers practically wore a path to our door, so my father devised the marriage lottery. But I, in my foolish infatuation, fell for the seemingly gentle and virtuous Anna Hayes. Without my father’s knowledge, I secretly added her name to the list. Now, knowing my father had only thirty minutes left, I choked back my tears. “Dad, I have someone I like, but it’s not Anna. She won’t care about our family’s money, and she’ll be good to me.” I swallowed hard. “So, I’ve decided to cancel the marriage lottery.” My father’s dim eyes suddenly flickered with a spark of light. “You’ve grown up, Simon. Do as you wish. I can finally rest and join your mother.” With those words, he closed his eyes. The news of his passing spread quickly. Soon after, I received a message from her. “Are you alright?” Remembering everything she did for me in my past life, I impulsively typed a reply: “No. I’m waiting for you to come back and marry me.” After that, I received no more messages from her. At my father’s funeral, Anna Hayes wasted no time making demands. “I am the reincarnation of a celestial maiden, Simon. I cannot be touched by worldly desires, especially not a man’s. If you marry me, you must remain celibate for life and undergo a vasectomy. It’s the only way to show the world my devotion to spiritual studies.” Seeing Anna’s haughty expression, I couldn’t help but ache for the fool I was in my past life. She claimed to love the tranquility of a temple, so I invested millions to build a grand Zen retreat for her. She spoke of ancient scriptures, and I spent a fortune lighting ceremonial lamps and acquiring priceless historical texts. I even funded a media company to promote her image as a “celestial maiden,” making her a household name. And what did she do in return? While I grieved my father’s death, she was secretly with her lover, Sterling Fumero, using my money to buy him luxury watches and sports cars. She even bore his child behind my back while I was away on business. The memories of my past life’s betrayal surged, and I barely suppressed a furious urge to throw her out. “You’re dreaming,” I said, my voice cold. “I have no intention of marrying you. You’re not welcome here. Leave.” Anna remained unperturbed, instead lecturing me. “Simon McKinnon, everyone dies eventually. Your father is dead, so what? Is there any need for such grief? I dislike your tone when you speak to me.” “As a celestial maiden’s partner, one must be detached from life and death. The money spent on your father’s funeral alone could gild a statue of Buddha. If you ask me, mixing your father’s ashes into fertilizer would be a far greater act of merit.” If I hadn’t been reborn, I might have believed her outrageous lies. Anna wasn’t a celestial maiden. She was a greedy, worthless parasite, and every penny she asked for was used to buy lavish mansions abroad. “Simon, I think Anna is right. Once old people are gone, they’re no better than fertilizer. You’re being far too extravagant.” I turned to see Sterling Fumero approaching, draped in a monk’s robe, affecting an air of false piety. I had planned to deal with Anna and Sterling after the funeral. But it seemed they were eager to walk straight into their own humiliation. In my past life, Sterling had posed as a devoted follower of Anna’s teachings, feigning friendship with me. He’d moved into my house after my father’s death, claiming to offer spiritual comfort, when in reality it was to facilitate his affair with Anna. He stole my luxury watches and cars while I was away, selling them for profit. He even drugged my food with hormones, weakening me and driving me into depression. “How my father’s funeral is handled is none of your business.” Sterling ignored my sharp retort, simply assuming I was upset about my father. “Simon, why don’t I move in with you? I can chant scriptures for you. Believe me, a house where someone has died is full of bad energy. Only a pure soul like me wouldn’t mind.” My face was a stone mask. “The only bad energy here comes from the two of you.” Seeing my unyielding attitude, Sterling adopted a wounded, humble expression. “Anna, I don’t know what I’ve done to offend Simon.” Anna’s brow furrowed in concern. She clearly felt sympathy for him. “Simon McKinnon, apologize!” Sterling continued to play the victim. “It’s alright, Anna.” He then reached out to pat my shoulder. In my past life, at my father’s funeral, I’d nearly suffocated from a severe pollen allergy. It had to have been Sterling’s doing. If I died, he would be free to be with Anna. I seized his wrist, and sure enough, found pollen dust hidden under his fingernails. “I have a severe pollen allergy, and you’re carrying pollen under your fingernails. Are you trying to kill me? A devout follower of the Buddha, so malicious?” Sterling was momentarily speechless, then stammered defensively. “I didn’t! It was an accident! I don’t even eat meat, how could I harm anyone? Anna, help me!” Anna interceded immediately. “Simon McKinnon, Sterling has explained himself. Release him at once.” I sneered, my gaze falling on the diamond watch on Sterling’s wrist. “The pollen was an ‘accident,’ but where did this diamond watch come from? It was my mother’s. Sterling Fumero, you’ve got nerve, stealing something worth a fortune. One word from me, and you’ll spend the rest of your life in prison!” Sterling’s face went white. He shot a panicked look at Anna. Anna showed no hint of remorse, speaking loudly and defiantly. “I gave him that watch! Sterling diligently studies spiritual teachings, and I rewarded his hard work. What’s wrong with that? Your possessions are my possessions. I know you dream of marrying me. Your property is my property, and I have every right to dispose of it!” I ripped the diamond watch from his wrist. “Then let me formally inform you, I no longer want you. You will receive no further assistance from the McKinnon family. Now take your lover and get out!” Sterling looked heartbroken at the loss of the watch. Anna’s face was beet red with fury. “What nonsense are you spouting? How dare you tarnish my relationship with Sterling! Lover? He is merely my devoted follower.” She then changed tack, her voice regaining a condescending tone. “Simon McKinnon, out of pity for you being an orphan, I’ll overlook this. Go home and copy ten sutras. Bring them to me tomorrow morning for inspection. Otherwise, I won’t come to the marriage lottery, much less marry you.” After causing a scene at my father’s funeral, the two of them left. Once I had dealt with all the funeral arrangements, I called my secretary. “Ethan, cut off all of Anna Hayes’s credit cards.” The next morning, I began my rounds, inspecting the company’s department stores, stabilizing morale. Not far away, in a high-end boutique, Anna and Sterling were shopping. “Darling, I like this one, and this one too,” Sterling cooed. Anna, indulging him, said, “This entire mall is ours, my love. Buy whatever you desire.” She handed her bank card to the sales assistant. A moment later, the assistant returned. “Madam Hayes, your card has been frozen.” Anna’s smug expression instantly twisted into one of mortified embarrassment. “Impossible! My card has an unlimited limit! You must have made a mistake.” The assistant re-swiped it in front of her. The computer screen clearly displayed “FROZEN.” Sterling whispered, “Did you tell Simon you wouldn’t attend the marriage lottery? Is this his way of putting pressure on you?” Just as he finished speaking, Anna spotted me. She marched towards me, her face contorted with accusation. “Simon McKinnon, I told you to copy ten sutras as penance, and I would consider forgiving you. But you just keep making mistakes.” “You’re resorting to such low-brow tactics as freezing my bank account, just to force me to marry you!” I chuckled. Who gave her this incredible self-confidence? “Copying sutras as penance? Does Buddha know you’re buying a hundred thousand dollar limited edition watch for your lover? How many sutras would you need to copy for that? You’re just a fake celestial maiden, a real gold-digger.” Without warning, Anna’s hand swung, slapping me across the face. “You’re just trying to make a scene! All you want is to force me to marry you! I told you I’m a celestial maiden, I can’t be touched by men, I can’t even have children! Agreeing to be with you all these years was an act of charity and pity!” I was about to retaliate when a crowd of reporters swarmed us. “Mr. McKinnon, are these intimate photos of you?” “Is it true you sent these private photos to seduce the celestial maiden?” Ignoring the stinging pain on my face, I quickly examined the photos the reporters thrust at me. At first, I was momentarily confused, but then I realized I had never taken such explicit photos. Then I saw Sterling Fumero’s smug grin. Was this his revenge for the diamond watch? Sterling stepped forward, feigning concern, but his words were meant to pour fuel on the fire. “Everyone, please don’t spread these photos. These are Simon’s private matters.” His statement indirectly confirmed that the person in the photos was me. The reporters immediately turned their microphones towards him. “It seems you’re an insider. Tell us, does Simon McKinnon truly have strange fetishes, craving women so desperately he needs three a night when he can’t have the celestial maiden?” “And the internet says Simon McKinnon often abuses you. Is that true?” Sterling immediately adopted the posture of a victim. “Please, don’t ask me anymore. Simon warned me not to speak out, otherwise I’d…” He trailed off, looking at me with feigned terror. “Simon, did I say something wrong? Please, I beg you, don’t hold my head underwater again, don’t stick needles in my fingers!” He then began slapping himself in the face in front of the horrified journalists. Sterling’s performance was disturbingly convincing. The reporters’ eyes turned to me, filled with disgust. “These wealthy elites truly treat people like dirt.” “He’s inhumane! Someone like this should be exposed!” I tried to calm them. “Sterling is spreading rumors. Everyone, please calm down. The photos are fake.” Seeing my earnest expression and sincere tone, the reporters’ anger subsided slightly. But then Anna stepped forward. “He did try to seduce me. And he even snatched Sterling’s watch. If a man like this takes over the McKinnon family, it will surely crumble.” With her words, the reporters’ last shred of doubt vanished. That night, multiple media outlets ran stories about me. The internet erupted. My personal information was doxxed, my phone bombarded with hate messages and threats. Obscene deepfake videos of me circulated on obscure websites. Even my mail was ripped open and vandalized. My company’s stock plummeted, losing hundreds of millions in just a few days. This was mere pocket change to me, but I was burning with fury at Anna and Sterling for their underhanded tactics. I discussed a counter-strategy with my company’s legal and PR teams. It was past ten when I finally returned home. “Just getting back now? Do you have any idea how bad your reputation is?” Anna was sitting on my sofa, speaking to me as if she were the owner and I, the dog. I was about to ask how she got in when I remembered: I hadn’t changed the fingerprint lock yet. “Get out of my house,” I said coldly. Anna ignored me, pointing to a document on the table. “This is a property transfer agreement. All your houses, cars, and company shares are to be transferred to my name.” I almost laughed at her audacity.

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The car crash, the night before my wedding, stole my legs. And every trace of expression from my face. After that, I never smiled at Alex again. Every day, he’d carry me out of bed, help with my physical therapy, and massage my legs before I slept. His attention grew more meticulous, almost bordering on desperate appeasement. I offered no resistance, no reply, not even sparing him a glance. Five years later, he finally broke. He’d drowned himself in liquor, kneeling before my wheelchair, his forehead pressed against the cold armrest. His eyes, bloodshot and brimming with despair, stared up at me: “Just tell me, what do I need to do? It’s been five years, Evie… Are we truly meant to live like this forever?” I slowly lowered my gaze, a cold smirk playing on my lips. It was the first time in half a decade I’d felt such a potent emotion towards him. “Don’t you get it, Alex?” I met his tormented gaze, each word a deliberate strike, “Between us, there’s only an endless war.” … Alex was utterly shattered. He clutched me fiercely, his grip so strong I thought my bones would shatter, his voice thick with tears: “Curse me! Hit me! Hate me! Just stop being a doll!” “Can’t we just start over?” Start over? I let him hold me, finding the thought utterly laughable. In the five years since that crash, Alex had dedicated everything, staying by my side without falter. From therapy massages to late-night vigils. Everyone praised his unwavering devotion. Even my usually doting parents chastised me for being ungrateful: “Stop tormenting him, just try to live a normal life.” But they would never know the truth behind that accident. That afternoon, five years ago, I finished work early, bubbling with excitement as I hurried to the bridal boutique. I wanted him to be the first to see me in my wedding dress. But outside the changing room, I heard the soft, simpering voice of Bethany, my best friend: “If I weren’t her best friend, would you break up with her and be with me?” Peeking through the crack in the door, I saw her wearing my wedding dress. Alex’s hand gently traced her waist. “Yes,” he replied without a second’s hesitation. A tender kiss brushed her lips. In that moment, my world imploded. I stumbled out of the bridal shop. My mind a blur, I drove away. Then, at the next intersection, I collided with an out-of-control truck. Alex’s tears streamed scalding hot onto my neck. Yet all I felt was a profound chill. He knew, of course. From the first moment I woke and looked at him, he understood. I knew everything. For five years, he lived with me, day in and day out, burdened by guilt. Everyone believed he was a man of integrity and deep affection. Only we both understood the unspoken truth: this was a silent, drawn-out torment. “That day at the bridal shop…” his voice was hoarse, “I saw you in the mirror.” My fingertips trembled. It was the first time in five years he’d brought up that day. “By the time I chased after you, your car was already gone.” He knelt by my wheelchair, his shoulders shaking. “Every day for five years, I’ve wondered, what if I hadn’t been so foolish? What if I hadn’t been soft-hearted and answered her that one word?” “But Evie, Bethany and I, we were over long before that.” He looked up, his eyes bloodshot, “You’re the one I love.” Watching his anguish, I suddenly found it absurd. He thought I still cared about his betrayal with Bethany. Cared if he still loved me. But when I witnessed that scene in the bridal shop, my love for him died then and there. Every time he massaged my atrophied legs, all I could think of was how those hands had caressed Bethany’s waist. When he pushed me to the hospital for check-ups, my mind replayed the moment he unhesitatingly agreed. If I hadn’t been crippled. They probably would have overcome all obstacles and been together by now. So, an endless war. That was my curse for him. Alex, exhausted from his outburst, slumped onto the sofa and fell into a heavy sleep. His phone vibrated persistently on the carpet, the screen lighting up and fading. On an impulse, I maneuvered my wheelchair over and picked it up. The number flashing on the screen, though unsaved, was one I could once recite by heart – Bethany. “Alex! Why aren’t you answering your phone! Is she the only one you care about?! Your son is dying—” Bethany’s voice on the other end was a frantic, piercing shriek, choked with tears, practically tearing through my eardrum. Son. The word was a poisoned icicle, stabbing deep into my heart. Freezing my blood in an instant. My fingers gripped the phone, icy cold, a bitter taste rising in my throat. “Then let him die.” I heard my own vicious voice, completely devoid of emotion. The other end of the line fell into abrupt silence. Then, Bethany found her outlet. My once closest friend unleashed a torrent of venomous curses: “Evie! It’s you! Why are you still clinging to Alex! Why can’t you just let us be happy! Why don’t you just die! Why didn’t you die in that crash five years ago! You’ll get what’s coming to you! You’ll burn in hell—!” What’s coming to me? Listening to her curses, I looked down, my other hand instinctively pressing against my cold, flat, numb abdomen. I remembered the doctor’s regretful yet brutal words when I woke five years ago: “Ms. Caldwell, the car crash caused a uterine rupture and severe hemorrhage. We… did our best. You won’t be able to have children in the future.” In that moment, I lost more than just my legs. I lost a child, barely conceived, who never got to see the light of day. And the right to be a mother. I chuckled softly into the phone. My voice was fleeting, like a wisp of smoke: “Bethany, my reckoning came long ago.” The moment you wore my wedding dress, and he answered, “Yes.” The moment I lost my child, forever broken. I’m already in this hell. What’s there to fear in dragging you all down with me? The next morning, after his fitful sleep, Alex reverted to his role as the impeccable husband. Gentle, patient. He meticulously tucked away all his pain and regret. The disheveled, vulnerable man from last night had vanished, evaporated like dew in the morning sun. Over these five years, his career had soared. Our home was spotless, tended by professional housekeepers and nurses. Yet, for my care, whenever he was home, he insisted on doing everything himself. Now, he knelt before my wheelchair, a warm cloth in hand, meticulously wiping each of my fingers. Every crease, every nail edge, was tended with painstaking care. The sunlight outlined his bowed profile, creating an almost devotional illusion. Breakfast was a porridge he’d cooked himself. He scooped a spoonful, naturally offering it to my lips: “It’s a beautiful day today. How about I take you for a stroll by the lake later?” I offered no reply, a silence he’d long grown accustomed to. He talked on, about new flowers blooming by the lake, about which tree had sprouted fresh buds. As he was about to wheel me out, his assistant rushed in, speaking in hushed tones about being unable to reach him, then pulled Alex aside for a private word. Alex’s brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, and he turned back to me with an apologetic look: “Something urgent came up at the company. I need to go.” He didn’t even have time to change out of his light gray loungewear, hastily following his assistant out the door. I watched him disappear, my heart clear with an indifferent certainty. It wasn’t about the company, of course. I knew well that over these five years, he’d never lacked for female company. I could sometimes catch the faint scent of perfume on his suits, a fragrance not my own. I remembered the subtle, hastily concealed scratch on his neck when he returned from a “business trip.” I’d also glimpsed the relentless message notifications on his phone, face-down on the table, quickly silenced. He thought he was a master of concealment, playing the role of devoted and repentant husband before me. But I’d long lost any curiosity to expose him. How many fleeting encounters or casual affairs he had outside meant nothing to me, no more than the clouds drifting by or the wind blowing outside my window. But a child—that was different. I recalled the tender, childish voice accidentally caught on his phone. Hatred, like a venomous vine, spiraled madly, suffocating me. Almost instinctively, I maneuvered my wheelchair back to the study and logged into my social media account, untouched for five years. Bethany’s social media account was public. I easily found the child. The boy in the photos looked less than two years old. He was held intimately in Bethany’s arms, the background a playground. Another showed Alex, dressed in casual wear, bending to wipe the boy’s brow. His profile revealed a truly relaxed tenderness I hadn’t seen in a long time. And countless fragments pieced together their happy family life – family restaurants, park picnics, birthday parties at home… I scrolled through the pictures, my face devoid of emotion. Only the fingers gripping the mouse were white from the excessive pressure. Five years I’d spent building a fortress of coldness, meant to ward off all pain. In this moment, hatred tore it open with a gaping, bloody wound. Why? Why, when I had lost my child and was forever stripped of the right to be a mother, Could they have a healthy, living child, who cried and laughed, and called him ‘Daddy’? The thought of a child, flowing with his and Bethany’s blood, growing day by day, softly calling them “Mommy and Daddy.” Receiving all their love and care… The image made my skin crawl. Alex returned in the dead of the third night. He carried the faint scent of disinfectant, silently knelt before my wheelchair, his hands clasped, knuckles white. “Evie,” his voice was terribly hoarse, “Bethany’s boy… had acute leukemia a few days ago. They fought for his life all night.” I watched him, this husband of mine, consumed with worry for my best friend’s son. “He’s out of immediate danger for now.” He looked up, his eyes bloodshot, searching my face for a flicker of emotion. I offered a cold, brittle smile: “Not dead? What a shame.” The air thickened, suffocating. Alex shot to his feet, his chest heaving, as if seeing me for the first time: “How can you say such a thing!” Alex’s eyes burned with disappointment: “I barely recognize you anymore, you used to be so kind!” “He’s just a child! He doesn’t understand anything! What has he done wrong?” “And what about me?” I looked up, my gaze like an ice-pick piercing him, “What did my unborn child do wrong?” He seemed choked, all anger trapped in his chest. “Yes, Bethany and I… it was wrong of me.” He turned his head, his voice sinking, offering an excuse: “After your accident, she blamed herself terribly, couldn’t get past it for a long time… Then she said she didn’t want anything, just wanted a child… She said she would never disrupt our lives…” I watched him scramble for excuses, then let out a low, bitter laugh. “Alex,” I choked back my laughter, my voice a whisper, yet each word a dagger to his heart, “Because of her, I lost my child, and I lost the right to be a mother forever.” “And now you tell me how noble and selfless she is, the woman who inserted herself into my friendship, and bore a child to my husband?” I stared at his suddenly pale face, each word a hammer blow: “You’re both despicable.” “Why do I rot in this abyss, while she gets to enjoy the full joy of motherhood?” “Why do I suffer in despair, my future shattered, while she finds solace and fulfillment through the child you stole together?” Five years ago, I was the brightest star of the ballet company, a swan under the spotlight. And now, this friend who once danced behind me. Not only wore my wedding dress and slept with my fiancé. But after I was crippled, she smoothly took my place on stage. I expressionlessly opened Bethany’s social media page. On the screen, she was wearing an elegant dance costume, demonstrating moves in a spacious, brightly lit dance studio, with the caption: “Thank you, my Mr. Caldwell, for giving me my second stage in life.” It was Alex, who, using our shared marital assets, had opened a ballet school for her. Scrolling further down. Under a pregnancy announcement from three years ago, it boldly read: “Bidding farewell to the stage, embracing the most beautiful role of my life.” Someone commented: “From principal dancer to the most beautiful mom, then founding a dance school – Ms. Hale is truly a life winner!” Life winner… Those two words were like poisoned needles, stabbing deep into my heart. I scoffed, looking at Alex, his face ashen: “She stole everything I once had – my stage, my glory, my love, my child, my healthy body… And I am trapped in this wheelchair, day after day, enduring your nauseating pity.” “You tell me, if you were me, how could you possibly be kind?” Alex stared at me, utterly speechless. I finally understood: hell wasn’t just the prison of a body. It was watching, with wide-open eyes, how the person who destroyed you, stepped over your corpse, and lived the life that should have been yours, glorious and unhindered. My curse seemed to have taken hold. Alex began to visibly waste away. Company affairs were demanding, and Bethany and the child also needed him. He began to “travel” frequently, his time away from home growing longer. Each return saw him disheveled, carrying the strong scent of disinfectant from the hospital. I suspected the child wasn’t doing well. Then, a number, dormant for five years, sent a message to my phone. It was Bethany. No words, just a series of photos. Alex asleep beside her, his tired profile etched with exhaustion. Another showed her, shoulder bare, curled in his embrace. Then came a message, dripping with undisguised triumph and provocation: “One child is too lonely; we plan to have another soon, a sibling for our son. Alex says this time, he wants a daughter.” I stared at the indecent images on the screen, feeling no anger, only disgust. When Alex returned that evening, dark circles shadowed his weary eyes. He still intended to massage my legs, but his movements were distracted. “Evie,” he began, his voice dry, “Leo’s illness… he needs constant care. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I’m just fulfilling my responsibility. I hope you… can understand.” He knelt, trying to take my hand, his eyes alight with that familiar urgency: “Don’t overthink this. I promise you, no matter what, you’re still the one I love most.” I listened to his performance in silence. Then, I picked up the tablet beside me and tapped the screen. One by one, Bethany’s photos scrolled clearly across his vision. The images were nauseatingly explicit. “Caring for a critically ill child in the hospital,” my voice was calm, yet laced with scorn, “and still finding time for… a romantic tryst with the mother of said child. Alex, you two certainly have appetites.” Alex’s face instantly went ashen, as if struck. Shame and embarrassment practically poured off him. He stammered, then finally found his voice, a raw urgency from having his facade ripped away: “Listen to me! It’s not what you think!” “Leo’s illness… it needs a bone marrow transplant! Bethany and I aren’t a match! The doctors said… that a sibling’s cord blood might be our only hope… we just have to… try for another child…” His voice trailed off, barely audible by the end, almost too ashamed to speak. I looked at him, suddenly devoid of even a cold smirk. “Get out.” The next day, I contacted my lawyer, Mr. Davies. I meticulously organized all the evidence and sent it to him. “Here are Alex’s bank card statements for the past five years. He used our joint marital assets to purchase property and luxury cars for Bethany, and also funded her dance school.” “This is a copy of Leo Caldwell’s birth certificate, with Alex’s name listed as the father. And here are surveillance screenshots of his frequent visits to Bethany and her son’s residence.” “The evidence is damning,” my voice was level, “I want to sue him for bigamy. Simultaneously, I want to file a pre-litigation asset preservation order to freeze all his and the company’s liquid assets.” “Furthermore,” I paused, adding with unshakeable resolve, “on the grounds of disposing of substantial joint marital property without spousal consent, I will file a civil lawsuit against Bethany, demanding she fully return all property, school investments, and large gifts Alex provided her.” “Immediately apply for asset preservation, and freeze her personal accounts and the dance school as well.” Mr. Davies was remarkably efficient. Or perhaps, the chain of evidence I provided was simply too perfect. Within days, the legal hammer fell swiftly. Bank and court officials arrived at the company simultaneously while Alex was in the midst of a crucial business negotiation. Overnight, all his accounts, equity, and even the funding channels for Bethany’s ballet school were frozen. To make matters worse, several key project partners simultaneously sent inquiries, trapping him firmly at the company. When he finally disentangled himself, storming home in a rage, He was met by a starkly clean, empty space. The living room, bedroom, walk-in closet… every trace of Evie was gone. The jewelry box was empty, and large sections of the wardrobe where I kept my clothes were bare. Even the bottle of my usual, faint white-floral hand cream on the bathroom counter had vanished. It was as if I, Evie, had never lived there for five years. Alex’s face instantly paled, his chest heaving as he roared at the empty house: “Evie!” Mrs. Gable, who had taken care of me for years, peeked cautiously from the kitchen, still holding a dishcloth. “Sir, you’re back.” “Where’s my wife?” He strode over, his voice tight with panic. Mrs. Gable flinched, then quickly answered: “The missus… the missus had the caregiver help her pack her bags this morning, and then she left. She… she didn’t say where she was going.” “Left?” A terrifying storm erupted in Alex’s eyes, “She’s in a wheelchair, where could she possibly go?! Why didn’t you stop her! Why didn’t you call me!” Mrs. Gable was about to stammer a reply. But Alex’s phone rang then. Hope instantly flared in his eyes as he pulled out his phone. The name flashing on the screen, however, was not the one he yearned to see. He frowned, picking up the call with extreme annoyance. The next moment, a woman’s utterly frantic shriek and sobs, even without speakerphone, echoed clearly through the silent living room. “Alex! Why are all my bank cards frozen?! The hospital said they’ll stop Leo’s medication if we don’t pay! He’s surviving on those drugs, he’ll die without money!” Bethany’s voice, distorted by despair, screeched: “Evie! It must be that wicked witch, Evie! May she burn in hell! Alex! That’s the Caldwell family’s only—” Alex seemed not to hear the wails on the other end, mechanically disconnecting the call and violently slamming his phone against the wall. The screen shattered on impact. He surveyed the suffocatingly empty house; Evie’s scent seemed to still linger in the air. But everywhere he looked, there was no longer any evidence of her presence. He stumbled into the bedroom, frantically opening every drawer, every closet door, even bending to look under the bed – nothing. “Evie…” he murmured, his voice hoarse, then slammed a fist against the cold closet door with a dull thud. His knuckles instantly swelled and bled, but he felt no pain, only the agony of an empty heart filled with cold air. Mrs. Gable stood in the doorway, too terrified to breathe. Just then, the doorbell chimed.

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Desperate to pay my brother-in-law’s gambling debts, my mother-in-law and sister-in-law conspired with human traffickers. They stole my three-month-old son from his crib as I slept. I found him too late—frantic and broken. To avoid a police checkpoint, those monsters had smothered him in their car trunk. When I confronted my husband, he coldly covered my mouth. “Mom and Brenda were desperate. He’s gone now—can’t we just have another?” Brenda sneered, “He was just another mouth to feed. Selling him actually helped this family. You should thank me!” Overwhelmed by grief and rage, my heart stopped on the way to the police station. Then I opened my eyes. I was back in the night my son was taken. In the darkness, Martha and Brenda crept inside. “Hurry,” Brenda hissed. “The buyer said fifty thousand in cash tonight for a boy.” They grabbed the bundle from the crib and shoved it into the traffickers’ van. The next morning, Brenda counted a thick stack of bills, smirking triumphantly. “Alice, your boy just wasn’t meant for this world. He wandered off last night—try not to take it too hard.” I stared at her, confused, and pointed to the baby bassinet. “But… my baby is right here?” … My heart was hammering against my ribs, a frantic drum threatening to burst from my chest. I snapped my eyes open, staring at the familiar, shadowy ceiling. From the living room, hushed, urgent voices drifted in. “Come on, Mom, that miserable bitch is dead to the world. Let’s get this over with!” That was Brenda’s voice, sharp and cruel as always. Instinctively, my hand shot out to the space beside me in the bed. Empty. A tidal wave of panic crashed over me, cold and suffocating. But then, my mind cleared. I grabbed my phone from the nightstand and checked the time. 2:00 AM. The exact moment my son was taken from me in my previous life. I wasn’t dead. I was back. If I was being given a second chance, I would be damned if I let my son become that cold, bruised body in the back of a car again. The footsteps outside my door grew closer, punctuated by Martha’s trembling whisper. “But he’s a Miller… our blood…” “Bloodline this, bloodline that! If those loan sharks cut my husband up, there won’t be a Miller family left!” Brenda snapped back impatiently. I slipped out of bed, my bare feet silent on the cold floorboards. Pressing my ear to the door, I could hear them rummaging in the living room for the bottle of chloroform they’d prepared. Last time, they used it to make sure I was completely unconscious before they took my baby. That was my chance. I slid open the unlocked side door connecting my room to Brenda’s. A sliver of moonlight fell across her bed, illuminating her son, Kevin, sleeping like a little king. He was fat and pampered, sprawled out on his back, only two weeks older than my own child. As the first grandson, he was the family’s treasured prince. Brenda guarded him like a dragon, barely letting me get a glimpse of him. My baby, on the other hand, was seen as a burden. My difficult birth had cost the family a fortune in medical bills, and they never let me forget it. In three months, they hadn’t even bought him a decent pack of diapers. Looking at Kevin’s face, a perfect miniature of Brenda’s, a wild, brilliant idea exploded in my mind. If you’re so determined to sell a “Miller grandson,” then you’re going to sell the one that truly matters. The whole swap took less than two minutes. I was back in my bed, feigning sleep, just as the lock on my door clicked softly. Two shadows slipped into the room. The sweet, cloying scent of chloroform filled the air, and I held my breath. “Quick, quick!” Brenda whispered, eagerly pulling back a corner of the blanket. In the darkness, she didn’t bother to look closely. Her hand found the shape of a baby, and she scooped him up in one swift motion. “Hefty little thing. That’s our Miller stock for you,” Martha muttered with a hint of pride. “Stock? He’s just a sack of dead weight!” Brenda spat back, pulling a rough burlap sack over the baby’s head. Kevin let out a soft whimper in his sleep. “Shh! Don’t let him cry out!” Martha gasped, terrified. Brenda roughly clamped her hand over the sack’s opening. “Cry about what? This is fifty grand! He’ll be living like a king where he’s going!” Beside me, my husband, Rick, rolled over and mumbled, “So noisy… just get it done, Mom…” So he knew. He was in on it. Last time, when I was screaming, tearing my heart out, he told me our son had simply wandered off. This whole rotten family, this nest of vipers, they were all in on it together. I stared at Rick’s sleeping, deceitful face, and a firestorm of hatred roared to life inside me. I wanted to plunge a knife right into his chest. The two women tiptoed out, carrying the squirming burlap sack like thieves in the night. The front door clicked shut. I stared at my closed bedroom door, my nails digging so deep into my palms that they drew blood. Fifty thousand dollars. The price they put on my child’s life. Well, the deal is done. I hope you don’t tremble when you count your money, Brenda. The next morning, I was woken by loud, boisterous laughter from the living room. “Oh, my God, I’ve never seen so much cash!” Brenda’s voice was giddy with pure, unadulterated joy. I pushed my door open and walked out. The coffee table was covered in neat stacks of crisp hundred-dollar bills. Brenda was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, licking her thumb as she counted the money, her face split into a grotesque, triumphant grin. Martha sat beside her, shelling sunflower seeds. “Brenda, dear, is this enough to pay off the debt?” “Pay it off? There’s plenty left over!” Brenda grabbed a handful of bills and waved them in the air. “With this, I can buy whatever I want! I’m getting Kevin that expensive imported formula, no more of that cheap domestic crap for my boy!” Rick sat nearby, smoking a cigarette, his eyes glued to the money with a greedy gleam. When I stepped into the room, the joyful atmosphere instantly evaporated. Brenda froze, then quickly swept the cash behind her back, her expression shifting to one of theatrical sorrow. “Oh, Alice. You’re awake.” She stood up and walked over, patting my shoulder with fake sympathy. “Listen… there’s something I have to tell you. You need to be strong, okay?” I looked at her, my face a cold mask. “What is it?” “Well, the wind was really strong last night, must have blown your door open. When we woke up this morning… your baby was gone.” Brenda watched my face carefully for a reaction. “Must have been kidnappers. It’s a dangerous world out there. Try not to take it too hard. The boy was just unlucky, wasn’t meant to be yours.” Martha chimed in, “That’s right, Alice. What’s lost is lost. He was nothing but trouble anyway. Don’t go making a scene and bringing bad luck on the house. You’re young, you can have another one.” Rick stubbed out his cigarette, his voice laced with irritation. “That’s enough. Mom and Brenda are just trying to help. Stop looking so miserable, it’s depressing.” In my past life, those words would have sent me collapsing to the floor in a weeping heap. Now, I just found them pathetic. I walked to the kitchen counter, slowly poured myself a glass of water, and took a sip. “Oh? He’s missing?” I set the glass down, a small, ironic smile playing on my lips. “Brenda, are you sure it was my son who went missing?” My calm reaction threw her. Her eyes darted nervously. “What… are you in shock? Did you go crazy? Of course it was your son, who else would it be?” “That’s what’s so strange,” I said, turning and gesturing towards my bedroom door. “If he’s gone, then who’s that sleeping in my room?” The living room fell into a dead, suffocating silence. Brenda stared at me like I was insane. “What are you talking about? There’s someone in your room?” “If you don’t believe me, why don’t you go see for yourself?” I shrugged. Brenda’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. She shot a look at Martha, who looked just as bewildered. “Has she lost her mind?” “She’s probably hallucinating from the grief!” Brenda sneered, marching towards my room. “Let’s just see what kind of ghost you’ve conjured up!” She threw my door open. A few seconds passed. Then, a bloodcurdling scream tore through the house, sharp enough to shatter glass. “AAAAAHHH!!!” Brenda stumbled backward out of the room, her face pale as death. “Impossible… that’s impossible!” She pointed a trembling finger into my room. “That… that’s…” “That’s what?” I asked, crossing my arms, calmly watching her unravel. Suddenly, realization dawned on her face. She spun around and charged towards her own master bedroom. “My baby! My Kevin!” She kicked her door open and threw herself at the bed. A moment of silence, then a howl of agony that was even more desperate than her first scream. “He’s gone! My Kevin is gone!!!” Brenda burst back out, her hair a wild mess, clutching the empty baby blanket I had left for her. Her eyes were bulging from their sockets. “Alice! It was you! You hid my son, didn’t you!” she shrieked, lunging at me like a cornered animal. “Give me back my Kevin!” I sidestepped her attack and subtly stuck out my foot. Thud! Brenda went down hard, face-first, scattering the stacks of money across the floor. Red-and-green bills fluttered through the air like morbid confetti. “I have no idea what you’re talking about, Brenda,” I said, looking down at her pathetic, sprawling form. “My baby is sleeping peacefully in my room. How is it my fault that yours is missing?” I bent down, picked up a hundred-dollar bill that had landed by my foot, and flicked it with my finger. “Besides,” I added, my voice dripping with insinuation, “it looks like you came into quite a bit of money this morning. This fifty thousand dollars… you didn’t happen to sell something valuable to get it, did you?” Brenda, lying on the floor surrounded by her blood money, began to tremble violently. “You bitch! It had to be you!” Brenda scrambled to her feet, her whole body shaking with rage. Her mind, twisted by greed and panic, concocted a desperate theory. “You must have woken up this morning and found your baby gone! So you came and stole mine to cover it up!” At her words, Martha and Rick stared, dumbfounded. Martha’s sunflower seeds scattered across the floor. “Brenda… are you saying… that was Kevin?” “Yes, Mom! It was her! This bitch swapped them!” Brenda wailed. “She must have found her own kid missing and stole mine so she wouldn’t have to face the shame!” She howled and charged at me again. This time, I was ready. Just as her fingers were about to tangle in my hair, I grabbed the pot of freshly brewed coffee from the counter and flung its scalding contents directly at her face. “AAAGGGHHH!” Brenda shrieked, clutching her face and writhing on the floor. “Alice, you’re insane! I’ll kill you!” “Stop it!” Rick, who had been watching from the sidelines, finally snapped out of his stupor. He lunged forward, grabbing my wrist in a vice-like grip. “What the hell are you doing! That’s Brenda! How dare you!” he roared, his eyes bloodshot. “Have you no heart? Her son is missing, and you do this? Give him back to her right now!” I stared coldly at the man I once shared a bed with. This was the same hand that had covered my mouth, silencing my screams of grief. I looked him straight in the eye. “Rick, your nephew goes missing and you’re this frantic. A few minutes ago, when they told me my child was gone, what were you doing?” “Shut up! It’s not the same!” he yelled back, righteous and indignant. “Kevin is the first grandson! He’s the heir! Now apologize to Brenda and give the baby back!” “Give him back? Go to hell!” I couldn’t hold back any longer. I lowered my head and sank my teeth into the wrist that held me. “AGH! Let go! Are you a dog?!” Rick howled in pain, his face contorting. He instinctively released me and swung his hand, slapping me hard across the face. My cheek stung, burning with pain, but I smiled. That slap severed the last, fragile thread of hope I ever had for this man, for this family. “Go on! Hit me again! Kill me!” I spat out a mouthful of blood and saliva. “Kill me, and you can wait for the police to come collect all of your bodies!” The word “police” made Martha flinch as if she’d been electrocuted. “No… no police!” Brenda, ignoring the searing pain on her face, scrambled up, her skin red and blistering beneath the coffee grounds. She shoved past everyone and stormed into my bedroom. “That is my Kevin! You just changed his clothes! I’ll know him when I see him!” She lunged for the bassinet and snatched the sleeping baby out of it. Startled awake, the baby began to wail, a loud, piercing cry. It was definitely the cry of a healthy boy. A manic glint of joy lit up Brenda’s eyes. “It’s him! That’s Kevin’s cry! Alice, you lying snake! I’m going to tear you apart!” She clutched the baby and rushed back out into the living room. “Mom! Look! It’s Kevin!” I stood my ground, not moving a muscle, and calmly smoothed the collar of my shirt that Rick had pulled askew. “Brenda, you might want to take a closer look before you claim him.” My quiet words stopped her in her tracks. She jerked her head down, staring at the baby in her arms. The infant’s face was still wet with tears, but his features… though all babies look similar, a mother knows her child. She sees them every day. Brenda’s hands began to shake. “It’s not… why doesn’t he look right…” she muttered to herself, before frantically starting to pull at the baby’s diaper. “The birthmark! My Kevin has a birthmark on his thigh! And he’s a boy! He’s my boy!” Martha hurried over, her eyes, along with Brenda’s, fixated on the baby’s lower body. Rick, forgetting the bite on his hand, craned his neck to see. “Of course it’s Kevin! This bitch is just trying to scare us!” I didn’t stop them. With a sharp rip, Brenda tore the diaper off. In that instant, the air in the room seemed to freeze. All three of them went completely still. The triumphant grin on Brenda’s face curdled and died. Martha’s eyes widened, her lips trembling, unable to form a sound. And Rick looked like he’d been struck by lightning, his jaw hanging slack. The baby’s smooth, pale skin was on full display. There was nothing there. No tell-tale sign of a boy. No birthmark. It was a girl. Unmistakably a girl. “How… how can it be a girl…” Brenda’s voice was a ragged, strangled whisper. She couldn’t believe it, turning the baby over and over, her hands searching desperately for something that wasn’t there. It was useless. This was my daughter. The same daughter who, in my past life, was sold by this family without even being given a name, all because she was a girl. And now, she was the stone that would shatter their world. “No! This is impossible!” Brenda shrieked, dropping the baby back into the bassinet. She whipped her head around to face me, the veins in her eyes bulging. “Where is he! What have you done with my Kevin! Where did you hide him?!” I walked over, my heart aching as I gently picked up my crying daughter, soothing her against my shoulder. Then I looked up, my gaze as sharp and cold as a shard of glass. “Brenda, are you forgetting what you did last night?” My voice was soft, but it carried a bone-deep chill. “At two in the morning, you and Mom carried a baby out of this house. You stood right by the door and said he was a boy, worth fifty thousand dollars.” I stared at Brenda’s face, which had drained of all color, and I spoke each word with deliberate, crushing weight. “So if the baby in my arms is a girl,” “who exactly was the little boy you stuffed in a sack and sold for the fifty thousand dollars on that table?”

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On the day of our engagement, Noah’s little “friend” called him seven times. He paused, a diamond ring gleaming under the lights, midway through placing it on my finger. He glanced at the screen, not even a flicker of a frown, and simply hung up. I kept my smile in place, my fingernails digging into my palms. That unlabelled number—I’d memorized it three years ago. When the eighth call came through, Noah finally stood up, leaning in to whisper in my ear, “Urgent client matter, I need to take it.” I clutched his sleeve, the engagement ring blindingly bright. “What client needs seven calls during our engagement party?” Noah froze for half a second, then chuckled. “Asteria, are you checking up on me?” A low ripple of laughter spread through the guests below. I let go of his sleeve. The ninth call. When Noah returned, his arm around my shoulder, he said, “Willow had a bit of an issue. I need to go over there.” Someone joked, “Mr. Thompson, this is your engagement party!” Noah smiled and shook his head, a mix of helplessness, indulgence, and a hint of affection. “I can’t help it. She’s all alone in New York; if she runs into trouble, she only has me.” He kissed my forehead. “Asteria is the most understanding, right?” I stared at the sugar-frosted couple on the cake, a wave of nausea washing over me. Understanding. I’d heard that word for seven years. 1 Noah came back at 3 AM. I was sitting on the living room carpet, still in my engagement dress. He opened the door, reeking of alcohol, and paused when he saw me. “Why aren’t you asleep yet?” “Waiting for you.” He walked over, instinctively reaching to ruffle my hair, but I turned my head, dodging his touch. His hand hung in the air for a moment before he sat on the sofa, loosening his tie. “There was a problem with the fire inspection at Willow’s gallery. I found someone to handle it. She was terrified, crying constantly, so I had to stay and comfort her.” I looked up. “Noah, today was our engagement party.” “I know.” He closed his eyes, weary. “That’s why I rushed back, didn’t I? Asteria, please don’t make a scene, okay? I’m really tired today.” I laughed, a bitter, angry sound. “I’m making a scene? You abandoned me in front of all our guests for Willow, and now you’re saying I’m making a scene?” Noah opened his eyes, his gaze full of incomprehension. “How can that be the same? Willow had a real problem. Those toasts and social obligations were just going through the motions. Asteria, you used to not be so petty.” Yes, I used to. Before, when he spent Willow’s birthday with her, ditching me at the cinema, I said, “It’s fine.” Before, when he drove to pick her up drunk in the middle of the night, forgetting I had a high fever, I said, “You should.” Before, when he arranged for her to work at his company, and then smiled and said, “Good, you can rest more,” when my job application was rejected, I said, “Whatever you say.” I was too understanding, so understanding that he forgot I could feel pain too. “I don’t want the ring,” I said. Noah sat bolt upright. “Asteria Quinn, what do you mean?” I slowly turned the ‘dove’s egg’ diamond on my ring finger. “It means this thing feels heavy, suffocating me.” He stared at me for a long time, then suddenly chuckled, getting up and heading to the bathroom. “Alright, I know you feel wronged today. Tomorrow, I’ll take you to buy that handbag you’ve been eyeing for six months as compensation, okay?” The sound of running water filled the air. I looked down, each facet of the diamond reflecting my distorted face. 2 Noah and I were truly childhood sweethearts. Our families lived next door, and we were in the same class from kindergarten through high school. He was always dazzlingly brilliant, good grades, handsome, and when he played basketball, all the girls in school would secretly watch him. I was as ordinary as his shadow. After high school graduation, at a dinner party, he’d had too much to drink and cornered me in the karaoke lounge hallway. The neon lights flickered across his face. His voice hoarse, he’d said, “Asteria Quinn, let’s just make a go of it, you and me.” My heart pounded like a drum, but I asked, “Why ‘just make a go of it’?” He laughed, his warm breath on my ear. “Because we know everything about each other. It’s easy.” That night, he kissed me and whispered in my ear, “We’ll get married once things settle down.” Only later did I understand that “settle down” meant when he’d had his fun, when I was completely unable to leave him. Noah went to a top finance program, while I barely made it into a local university for journalism. For four years, we were apart. I wore out the seats on countless train trips between New York and Boston, while the number of times he visited me could be counted on two hands. Sophomore year, on Valentine’s Day, I secretly went to his school to surprise him. Beneath his dorm building, I saw him walk out alongside a girl. She wore a Chanel suit, her eyes curving into crescent moons when she smiled. Noah bent his head to listen to her, the curve of his profile so gentle it made my heart ache. I hid behind a tree and heard the girl say, “Noah, your little childhood friend didn’t call you today, huh?” His voice carried a smile. “Asteria is understanding. She knows I’m spending the day at an exhibition with you.” The girl looped her arm through his. “I’m so envious of her, so easygoing. If it were me, I’d be raising hell.” Noah flicked her forehead. “That’s why you’re not as sweet. Asteria never makes a fuss.” They walked away. I stood beneath the tree until my legs went numb. My phone showed a message he’d sent that morning: “Asteria, project team is working late today, can’t video chat. Get yourself something nice to eat.” I looked up and saw his social media feed updated five minutes ago. The girl had posted a photo, geotagged at the Waterfront Art Museum. “Thanks to a certain finance whiz for ditching work to walk around with me~” In the photo, Noah was bending his head, helping her adjust her audio guide, sunlight catching his eyelashes. I liked her post. Noah immediately messaged me privately: “Asteria? How do you have Willow as a friend?” My fingers trembled as I typed: “Last time your phone was with me, she called for you, so I added her.” “Oh. Willow has a child-like temper, loves to show off. Don’t take it to heart.” I didn’t reply. He sent another message: “By the way, her birthday is next month. What do you think I should get her? She seems to like that new Tiffany necklace.” I’d seen that necklace three times last week while browsing the mall. Finally, I typed: “Sounds good.” 3 Willow was a teammate Noah met during an international finance competition in his freshman year. A talented art student from a wealthy background, she opened a gallery after studying abroad. When Noah spoke of her, his eyes would light up. “Willow is the most spirited girl I’ve ever met.” At Noah’s onboarding celebration dinner, she walked over with a glass of champagne, sizing me up and down. She smiled. “You must be Asteria? Noah talks about you all the time. You’re… just like a girl next door.” I was wearing a new dress I’d bought for the occasion, but next to her haute couture, I felt like a clown who’d wandered in by mistake. Noah naturally put his arm around my shoulder. “Asteria isn’t quite used to these kinds of events, Willow. Please look out for her.” “Don’t worry,” Willow winked, leaning closer to me. “Asteria, I heard you work as a planner at a cultural company? My gallery needs some copywriting for its next exhibition. Want to give it a try? The pay isn’t great, but it’s an opportunity.” My nails dug into my palms. “No, thank you.” She didn’t seem offended, turning to Noah. “Your little childhood friend, she has spirit.” That night, after coming home, I asked Noah, “Does Willow like you?” He was unbuttoning his shirt and chuckled at my question. “What are you thinking? Willow and I are just buddies. If she were really interested in me, would she have waited this long?” “But her attitude towards me…” Noah hugged me from behind. “That’s just how she is, a spoiled princess, but she doesn’t mean any harm. Asteria, you never used to be so suspicious.” I fell silent. “Used to.” I’d never seen the light in his eyes when he looked at someone else before. 4 In my third year of work, I gritted my teeth and bought a small apartment. The down payment was from my own savings, hard-earned without a penny from my family. On the day I got the keys, I excitedly pulled Noah to see it. He walked around once, frowning. “It’s too far from my company. The commute would be over an hour.” “But it’s close to my company,” I said, pulling him towards the balcony. “We could put a small coffee table here and sunbathe together on weekends.” Noah was absentmindedly scrolling on his phone. “Willow’s gallery is looking for a new space recently. I’ve looked at a few places for her. Tomorrow, I have to go with her for a site visit.” My smile froze. “Tomorrow is Saturday.” “I know,” he put away his phone, ruffling my hair. “Be good, you go ahead and get settled. I promise I’ll come help you next week.” He left. I sat alone in the empty living room, my phone screen glowing. It was Willow’s latest social media post: “Why rely on others when you have Mr. Thompson? His efficiency is unmatched~” It was accompanied by a screenshot of her chat with Noah. Noah: “It’s too much for a girl like you to handle all this. I’ll help you oversee it.” Willow: “Oh, I couldn’t possibly be a bother [cute emoji]” Noah: “Why be so formal with me?” I turned off my phone and started painting the walls. Latex paint splattered on my face, mixing with tears, salty and acrid. That night, Noah called, his voice weary. “Ran around all day. Willow’s standards are really high; she wasn’t happy with several places.” I stared at the ceiling. “Noah, I strained my back today lifting heavy things.” “Oh? Is it serious?” He paused. “Maybe you should go to the hospital tomorrow? I really can’t get away this weekend.” “No need. I’ll be fine after some rest.” He let out a sigh of relief. “That’s good. Oh, by the way, Willow said she wants to treat me to dinner to thank me. Why don’t you come along? She said she wants to apologize to you for her bad attitude last time.” “No.” His voice deepened. “Asteria, Willow genuinely wants to be friends with you. Can you please stop being so resistant towards her?” I laughed. “Noah, are you my boyfriend, or hers?” There was a long silence on the other end of the line. “Asteria Quinn.” He called me by my full name, which usually meant he was truly angry. “I thought you were understanding. I didn’t realize you could be so unreasonable.”

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At twelve, I was taken by men in black for protecting my young boyfriend from the orphanage. After six years of abuse by my adoptive parents, Craig Chen—a rising star in the capital’s elite circles—found me. Holding my scarred body, he apologized: “I’m sorry, I came too late.” We married quickly. On our wedding night, Craig pointed to a wall in his study covered in my photos, eyes red, and said: “I looked for you for six years. When my parents told me to forget you and tried to burn your pictures, I held a knife to my throat. I told them if they touched the photos, I’d die right there.” “I’ll make you the happiest woman in the world. You’ll never cry again.” We could snuggle all day or talk all night. I thought I’d escaped my nightmare. But Craig slowly stopped confiding in me. A new woman entered his life—Chloe, a gentle, capable Ivy League graduate, now his secretary. One evening, I overheard him murmuring softly on the phone: “Chloe, you really understand me.” Hanging up, he saw me and frowned coldly: “You’re as stupid as a pig. You can’t even organize a simple document?” He threw a file at me, his tone icy. “Chloe secured half the European market for me. And you? I built you a golden cage, yet you can’t even be a pretty ornament.” 1 I decided I needed to see Chloe for myself. I wanted to see what magic this girl possessed that made Craig say, “you understand me.” I drove to Craig’s company building and parked below, not going inside. I just sat in my car, watching the massive glass revolving door. At 5:30 PM, a girl in a white dress emerged. Her long hair cascaded over her shoulders, and a serene smile graced her face, making her seem as pure as a breeze. It was Chloe. I recognized her instantly; Craig’s phone wallpaper had been secretly changed to her. She seemed to be waiting for someone, looking down at her phone, a slight curve to her lips. I noticed her being harassed by a greasy middle-aged man. He was a business partner of Craig’s company, a notoriously difficult character I’d met before. “Ms. Li, just one drink, why be so ungracious?” The man blocked her path, his hand improperly reaching for her waist. Chloe frowned, dodging his attempt. A professional smile was on her face, but her tone was firm: “Mr. Davies, I really can’t handle alcohol. Next time, I’ll offer tea instead.” “Enough of that!” Mr. Davies’s face darkened. “You’ll drink tonight, whether you want to or not!” He reached out to grab Chloe’s wrist. I pushed open the café door and stepped inside. My high heels clicked crisply on the floor. I walked up to them, linked my arm through Chloe’s, and smiled at Mr. Davies. “Mr. Davies, what a coincidence.” Mr. Davies looked surprised to see me, then plastered on an obsequious smile: “Mrs. Chen, what brings you here?” “I’m meeting my sister for shopping. She’s a bit shy and not used to drinking with unfamiliar men,” I said, my tone calm but authoritative. Mr. Davies’s expression shifted several times before he grudgingly let go. “Oh, Mrs. Chen’s sister! My apologies, a complete misunderstanding.” He slinked away. “Sister, you… you’re amazing.” I smiled: “It was nothing.” She hurried over to me, took a business card from her bag, and handed it to me, her cheeks slightly flushed: “Sister, you saved me! I must treat you to dinner! Here’s my number, you absolutely have to call me!” She was sincere and enthusiastic, impossible to refuse. I looked into her clear eyes, my heart a complex mix of emotions. I had saved my rival. What kind of foolishness was this? 2 I intended to throw away that business card, but for some reason, I kept it. Three days later, Chloe called, her voice full of anticipation and warmth. “Sister, are you free today? My boss said he absolutely has to properly thank his rescuer. Shall we all have dinner together?” I gripped my phone, my heart squeezed by an invisible hand. Her boss. Craig Chen. “Alright,” I heard myself reply, my voice calm. I wanted to see what kind of battlefield it would be with the three of us sitting together. The restaurant was chosen by Chloe, a very stylish private dining establishment. I arrived first. Soon after, Chloe walked in, pulling a man with her. It was Craig. He wore a sharp black suit, so handsome he was impossible to look away from. The moment he saw me, the gentle smile on his face froze, his eyes instantly turning cold and unfamiliar. Chloe, oblivious, happily pulled him to me: “Sister, this is my boss, Craig Chen. Boss, this is the amazing sister who saved me!” I stood up, looking at Craig, waiting for him to speak. But he merely nodded curtly, pulled out a chair, and sat down, not looking at me once. The air was so awkward it could drip. Chloe, however, was like a cheerful little sun, trying hard to warm up the atmosphere. “Sister, you wouldn’t believe it, my boss is really super nice! And he’s incredibly devoted!” she said, looking at Craig with adoration. “He told me that when he was twelve, he met a girl at the orphanage. She was taken by bad guys while protecting him. He searched for her for six years, and he built this business empire just to find her.” My hands beneath the table clenched into fists, my nails digging deep into my flesh. Chloe continued: “He said that girl was his first love, the only person he ever wanted to marry. What a shame, it seems that girl broke up with him later. How short-sighted of her, to let go of such a wonderful man.” After she finished, she even gave Craig a sympathetic look. Craig picked up his teacup and took a sip. “Indeed,” he finally spoke, his voice indifferent, “some people are just ungrateful by nature.” I ate without tasting a thing throughout the dinner. It wasn’t until the meal concluded and Chloe went to the restroom that Craig finally stood up and walked over to me, looking down. “Scarlett, what game are you playing now?” His voice was as cold as ice. “Getting close to Chloe, what do you want?” “I don’t want anything,” I looked up, meeting his gaze. “I just want to know what makes her so much better than me, that’s all.” He scoffed. “She’s better than you in every way.” “She’s smart, capable, unlike you.” “Scarlett, you’d best stay away from her. Otherwise, I wouldn’t mind letting you taste what it’s like to have nothing again.” With that, he didn’t even look at me, turned, and walked away. Chloe conveniently emerged from the restroom, saw him, and happily ran over to link her arm through his. “Boss, let’s go.” “Mmm,” he replied, his voice resuming that familiar tenderness when speaking to her. Their retreating figures, side by side, pierced my heart. 3 After that dinner, Craig didn’t even bother to feign affection anymore. He stopped coming home. Chloe’s calls, however, came more and more frequently to me. She didn’t know I was Craig’s wife; she only saw me as a trusted sister with whom she could confide everything. “Sister Scarlett, Boss smashed his most cherished tea set for me today!” Chloe’s voice on the phone was a mix of shock and delight. “A client was being handsy with me, and Boss poured hot tea directly onto his face, saying he would never work with them again.” I gripped the phone, envisioning Craig’s face—a man with extreme mysophobia. He never allowed anyone to touch his belongings. Once, I accidentally brushed against his purple clay teapot, and he, in front of me, threw the entire million-dollar tea set, piece by piece, into the trash. He said, “It’s dirty.” “Sister Scarlett, Boss also took me to his private observatory! It was so romantic! He said it was his secret base and he only takes the most important people there.” That observatory was a gift Craig gave me for my eighteenth birthday. He had held me then, saying, “Scarlett, every star here shines just for you.” Now, he took another girl there, speaking the same sweet nothings. Even more ridiculous, Chloe meticulously recounted every detail of her dates with Craig to me. She would photograph every gift he gave her and send it to me. She would repeat every romantic word he said to her. She was like an innocent executioner, slicing my heart with the sweetest blade, cut by cut. And Craig, he tacitly allowed all of it. He even took Chloe’s calls in front of me without hesitation. One day, I was cutting fruit in the kitchen and accidentally cut my hand, bleeding profusely. Craig happened to come downstairs, saw the wound on my hand, frowned for a moment, then turned to get the first-aid kit. My heart fluttered; I thought he still cared. But just as he took out a bandage, ready to wrap my wound, his phone rang. It was Chloe. He immediately answered, his voice so gentle it could melt butter: “Chloe, what’s wrong?” Chloe’s tearful voice came from the other end: “Craig, I got a paper cut on my hand, it hurts so much.” “Don’t move, I’ll be right there!” He hung up, carelessly tossed the first-aid kit aside, didn’t even glance at me, grabbed his car keys, and rushed out. I stood there, looking at my still-bleeding finger and the scattered bandages on the floor. Blood dripped onto the floor, blooming into a small, desperate flower. I finally understood. It wasn’t that he wasn’t gentle, or that he didn’t have time. It was just that all his gentleness and time were given to someone else. And I couldn’t even compare to a scratch on her finger. Numbly, I cleaned my wound, then sent Craig a message. “Let’s get a divorce.” He didn’t reply.

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New Year’s Day, I visited my childhood friend’s home. Archer extended a hand from the bathroom, his voice languid, “Asteria, could you grab my pajamas?” His mom, spatula in hand, burst out of the kitchen. “How old are you? Asteria’s a girl, you know, you should avoid impropriety.” Archer emerged, wrapped in a towel, utterly unfazed. “What’s the big deal?” He wasn’t wrong. This was our third year of a secret relationship. We’d long since done things far more intimate. His mom shot him a glare. “It didn’t matter before, you two grew up together, naturally closer than others. But not anymore. Asteria has a boyfriend now.” Archer froze, his face suddenly turning cold. “Boyfriend? She can’t possibly have a boyfriend.” 1 Auntie Gwen was about to retort when a sizzling sound erupted from the kitchen, a smell of burning spreading through the air. She dropped her lecture for Archer and stormed back into the kitchen, spatula aloft. “Oh no, my fish!” The air fell silent again, leaving just Archer and me in the hallway. Steam wafted from the half-open bathroom door. His towel was loosely draped around his waist, his ‘V-line’ disappearing into shadow. He stood there, watching me intently, relentless. I wasn’t in the mood for a standoff. Turning, I walked to his room and pulled out his usual dark gray silk pajamas from the closet. Returning to the bathroom door, I handed them over, my gaze fixed on the wall beside him. “Your pajamas.” Archer didn’t take them. After a few seconds, I asked, puzzled, “Do you want them or not?” The next second, my wrist was abruptly seized. Bang! The bathroom door slammed shut behind me. The small space filled with humid heat. Archer pinned me against the door. My spine prickled with cold, but his bare, scorching body pressed against mine. “Archer! What are you doing!” I closed my eyes, warning him in a low voice. He chuckled softly, coaxing me, “What else could I be doing?” Archer’s other hand pressed against my waist, his thumb deliberately stroking the thin fabric of my dress. He leaned in, as if to kiss me. I snapped my eyes open, pushing him with all my strength. “Don’t touch me.” Archer frowned, as if accustomed to my level of resistance, even showing a hint of helpless indulgence. “Still mad?” he murmured. “I was out of line that day, said things I shouldn’t have. But Asteria, is this really why you’re pushing me away? How long are you going to keep this up?” I turned my head, avoiding his touch, my eyes fixed on the gaps in the floor tiles. “We broke up, Archer.” Archer scoffed, as if he’d heard a joke. “Broke up? How many times have you said that? When have you ever meant it?” “This time, I’m serious.” I looked up at him. That day, we’d had yet another argument, this time about Willow. I angrily shook off his hand and blurted out, “We’re over. Don’t follow me!” But I hadn’t walked far before I, spineless as ever, looked back. Archer was handsome, smart, always the golden boy. Countless girls secretly adored him, and I was one of them. Being close to someone doesn’t always mean you’re the chosen one. From my place as a friend, I watched girls come and go from his life. I grew increasingly insecure, even self-deprecating. The one who loves more is always more desperate, and finds it harder to let go. So, when I finally got what I wanted, even when he insisted we keep it a secret, even when he indulged his junior classmate’s flirtations, I could never bring myself to truly break up with him. Archer just stood there, head down, starting a game on his phone. Hearing my movement, he looked up, a casual smile on his face. “Didn’t you tell me not to follow you?” I froze, a sudden emptiness in my heart. It was replaced by an unprecedented calm. I was used to chasing after him, but in that moment, I suddenly felt so tired. So that day, I wiped away my tears with determination and said, “Archer, let’s really break up.” And Archer, as usual, gave me the silent treatment, waiting for me to come back and apologize. Except this time, he went to the north for eight months with that junior classmate, and I didn’t contact him once. He seemed to recall the scene too, the lingering trace of a smile in his eyes instantly vanishing. He straightened up, irritably raking his damp black hair back from his forehead, revealing a smooth brow and sharp cheekbones. “Asteria Hayes.” He used my full name, his voice deepening. “I didn’t agree. That was just something said in anger.” “Eight months.” My lips twisted, my voice clear and slow. “Eight whole months. You didn’t call me once, didn’t send a single message. Archer, do those eight months count as ‘just something said in anger’?” He froze, his lips moving as if to speak, but he instinctively reached out to me again. I took a step back, completely widening the distance between us. His hand hung in mid-air, fingers curling, before slowly dropping back to his side, clenching into a fist. “Asteria, the professor gave us short notice for a field study. I didn’t realize the place was so remote, and would take so long…” Knock, knock, knock. A knock on the door sounded just then. My parents must have arrived. I quickly interrupted his unfinished sentence. “You don’t need to explain to me.” I took a deep breath; the humid air of the bathroom, carrying his scent, filled my lungs, feeling a little stifling. “I don’t want to hear it anymore. From now on, in front of our families, we’ll act like ordinary friends. It’s better for everyone.” “Ordinary friends?” Archer chewed on the words, as if he’d heard something utterly absurd. A suffocating silence followed. Then, he suddenly pulled back his lips and laughed. “Fine,” he nodded, stepping aside to let me out. “Asteria. You’re the boss. Whatever you say.” 2 At the dinner table. Auntie Gwen, pressing for marriage, placed a piece of food on Archer’s plate. “Asteria has a boyfriend now, you need to bring a girlfriend home soon. I’m hoping for grandkids.” My parents looked at me, surprised. “You have a boyfriend? Since when? You didn’t tell us.” Archer, who had been silent, suddenly spoke, his tone casual yet pointed. “It’s not fake, is it? You’ve always been so obedient, how come even Auntie and Uncle don’t know about this?” I ignored him and nodded. “Yes, but we just started dating recently.” Out of the corner of my eye, Archer’s knuckles, gripping his chopsticks, were slightly white. I served myself a bowl of soup, my voice even. “He’s younger than me and just inherited his family’s publicly traded company, so he’s incredibly busy with work. I figured I’d wait until things settled down before officially introducing him to you all.” Archer suddenly let out a small laugh, putting down his chopsticks and leaning back in his chair, his gaze fixed on my face. “Is your boyfriend 6’2”, looks like a model, worth millions, and the only son of the boss?” I nearly choked on my water, surprised. “How did you know?” Archer scoffed for a moment, then said flatly, “I guessed. Isn’t that how all rom-com heroes are?” The table instantly fell silent. Archer’s mom immediately threw a napkin at him. “You brat, what’s wrong with you today! You sound like you’ve been eating gunpowder.” My parents, who always trusted Archer, immediately grew anxious. “Archer makes a good point. Is your boyfriend really that amazing? So exaggerated, could he be a scammer? There are all sorts of people these days, you really need to be careful, don’t get carried away.” Archer probably believed I couldn’t leave him and was just making up a fake boyfriend out of spite. But I couldn’t be bothered to argue with him. I patted my mom’s hand. “Don’t worry. He’ll be visiting you over the New Year.” I met Archer’s gaze, speaking each word clearly. “You’ll see for yourselves then.” My parents relaxed, and the atmosphere became lively again. For the latter half of the meal, Archer was unusually silent, only occasionally forcing a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. I got up to get water from the kitchen and turned to see Archer leaning against the doorframe, having watched me for who knew how long. I walked directly towards the door, intending to go around him. He stepped across, completely blocking my path. I patiently didn’t want to argue with him in front of our parents. After all, we had broken up, and our relationship had been secret. A scene now would only make things awkward for both families. “Move.” Archer’s eyes held an unreadable emotion. “It’s truly something, for you to make up all these stories without batting an eyelid.” I rolled my eyes. “Believe what you want.” I tried to go the other way, but he blocked me again. “What do you want?” Silence stretched for a few seconds. He reached out and, without a word, took the water glass from my hand, placing it aside. Then he put the steaming glass he was holding into my palm. “Your period is coming soon. Don’t drink anything cold.” “Thanks.” I said, after a moment of surprise, my tone flat. 3 The company called an emergency meeting, informing me of a project issue and asking me to return to the city for overtime. At eleven o’clock, I was finalizing the last version of a presentation. My phone screen lit up, showing a missed call from Archer and two messages. “My mom asked me to drop off some late-night snacks at your place. Your parents said you went back to the office for overtime?” I rubbed my tired eyes, feeling impatient. “Yeah.” “It’s almost the holidays, and it’s late, so it’s hard to get a cab. I’ll come pick you up.” “No need, my boyfriend will be here.” Archer chuckled softly. “Asteria, do you have to annoy me? I said I’m sorry, isn’t that enough? Just give me a break and let me take care of you.” “You’re really overthinking this.” I hung up, not in the mood to argue. Late at night, after finishing overtime, I went downstairs. The early spring night air carried a biting chill. Archer’s SUV was parked right at the entrance. I paused, surprised. The passenger side window immediately rolled down, revealing Willow’s round face. “Asteria, long time no see.” I gave a slight nod, a minimal greeting. But I didn’t stop, walking straight towards the roadside. Archer opened his door and quickly got out. He’d changed into a dark gray overcoat that made him look tall and lean. When we were together, I loved him in overcoats. “Asteria.” He approached me. “Willow just got back to the country and hasn’t gotten a local SIM card yet, so she can’t call a ride-share. It’s on my way, so I gave her a lift. Get in the car, stop acting out.” There it was again, “acting out.” The phrase pricked at an already numb nerve, like a fine needle. “I’m not acting out.” I looked up, calmly meeting his gaze, and at the same time, unlocked my phone, holding the screensaver up for him to see. “I couldn’t care less about your relationship with her. I remember I’ve told you countless times that I have a boyfriend. Archer, the great scholar, your memory can’t be that bad, can it?” The screen’s light illuminated a small patch of air between us. Archer’s gaze fixed on the screensaver, his pupils imperceptibly contracting. “Danny Thorne?” He then laughed. “Asteria, at least make your lies believable. Don’t joke around; back in college, he hated you the most. We shared a dorm; he was always telling me to break up with you.” Willow, sensing her cue, got out of the car and walked to Archer’s side, gently tugging his sleeve, a look of worried reluctance on her face. “I’m so sorry, I’m causing trouble for you two again. But Asteria, even if you’re angry with Archer, you shouldn’t drag others into it. It’s really rude. Besides, Danny is famously cold and distant. He barely even spoke to you; how could you suddenly be together?” Her hair blew in the night breeze, and she shivered slightly, leaning closer to Archer. I looked at her, forcing a smile. “You know you’re trouble, and you still come to cause it for me. If you’re intentionally stirring things up, don’t play the victim in front of me. You toxic bitch.” Willow gasped, covering her face in disbelief, on the verge of tears. Archer frowned, his voice cold. “Asteria, don’t go too far…” I flipped him off, still feigning a smile. “Asshole. Did I forget to insult you? Break up, break up, break up, break up, break up. Can you hear me now? Get lost.” Archer, enraged, laughed, pulling Willow into his arms. “Fine, then I’ll be with her. You have no objections, right?” I clapped. “You two go ahead and get hitched!” Without another look at their reaction, I turned and walked away.

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I was born with the ability to smell others’ desires. To avoid those foul scents, I married Alistair, the cleanest man I could find. His scent was like cool pine, and it hadn’t changed in three years. Until my birthday. He brought home a girl, claiming she was his long-lost sister. The pine scent on Alistair began to spoil, ferment, growing stronger day by day. Finally, when I pushed open the study door and was assaulted by a sickening, decaying stench that filled the room, I broke. I pulled out the pregnancy test results I’d prepared, calmly handing them to him. “Alistair, let’s get a divorce. The child isn’t yours.” … I clutched the thin paper, my fingertips icy. Alistair’s pine scent, for the first time, was tainted by another fragrance. A sickly sweet gardenia scent subtly entwined with his clean aura. It was the scent of Sera Hadley. I smiled at him, hiding the pregnancy test behind my back. During dinner, I sat beside Alistair, quietly observing Sera across from him. She wore a white dress, looking pure and harmless. She always found the perfect moment to say the most suggestive things in the most innocent tone. “Brother, do you remember? You always used to say when we were little that you’d marry a girl just like me.” Alistair’s movements paused, then he looked at her gently. “Of course, I remember.” My heart sank. The gardenia scent, mixed with the pine, grew denser, almost overpowering the aroma of the food. Sera suddenly gasped, her soup bowl tilting. The scalding broth spilled completely onto the back of her hand. “Ah!” Tears welled in her eyes from the pain, her skin instantly turning red. I was about to get up to grab the burn cream. Alistair had already leaped up like lightning, sweeping Sera into his arms. He didn’t even spare me a glance as he rushed upstairs to the bathroom, carrying her. “Don’t be scared, Sera, big brother will take care of it right away.” His voice was filled with urgency and concern. I stood alone by the messy dining table, looking at the spilled soup and broken crockery, feeling like an outsider. I silently cleaned up the mess, but faintly heard the sound of water from the upstairs bathroom. And Sera’s whimpering cries. The sounds were intermittent, ambiguous, making my stomach churn. A long time passed, long enough for me to clean the dining room spotless, before Alistair came downstairs, holding Sera. Her hand was bandaged, and her eyes were red as she leaned against him. “Eleanor, I’m sorry, I’ve caused trouble again.” I ignored her, looking only at Alistair. “Is her injury serious? Should I call the family doctor?” “No need, it’s just a minor burn. I’ve taken care of it.” Alistair’s tone was flat. I stared into his eyes. “You personally tended to her? In the bathroom?” Alistair’s brows furrowed, and the pine scent on him instantly grew several degrees colder. “Eleanor James, what are you implying?” “She’s my sister. She burned her hand. I helped her rinse it and apply medicine. Is there a problem?” “Can you not be so dirty-minded?” His words left me speechless. Yes, they were siblings. What exactly was I suspecting? But the intermingled scents, the ambiguous sounds of water, left me deeply unsettled. In the middle of the night, a nightmare woke me. Feeling the cold sheets beside me, I abruptly got up and walked to the guest room door. The guest room door was ajar. I pushed it open. Sera, wearing my pajamas, was curled up like a cat in Alistair’s arms. My husband, who should have been sleeping beside me, was gently holding her, stroking her back. Hearing the movement, Alistair slowly opened his eyes. Seeing me at the door, he showed no panic; instead, he frowned. “Why are you here?” His voice carried a hint of reproach. I pointed at Sera in his arms, my voice trembling. “Shouldn’t you explain yourself first?” “Why is she wearing my pajamas, sleeping in my husband’s arms?” Alistair sighed, his tone full of helplessness. “Sera had a nightmare tonight. I just came to comfort her.” “Eleanor, can’t you be a little kinder, show some understanding for a young girl like her?” “Be a little kinder” again. I almost didn’t recognize those words anymore! I closed my eyes, trying to calm my breathing. “Make her move out!” “I’ll find her the best apartment, hire the best nanny.” Alistair’s face instantly turned cold. “Impossible!” “This is Sera’s home too. She’s not going anywhere.” After saying that, he didn’t look at me again, re-closed his eyes, and hugged Sera in his arms even tighter. I stood at the doorway like an idiot, watching their intimate posture, feeling like I was suffocating. Back in the bedroom, I lay awake all night. It wasn’t until three in the morning that I was startled awake by a strange scent. I abruptly opened my eyes and saw a shadowy figure standing by my bed, silently staring at me. It was Sera. She was still wearing my pajamas, her long hair loose, looking ghostly in the dark. My heart pounded with fright. “What do you want?” She slowly bent down, leaned close to my ear, and whispered in a voice only we two could hear. “He was always mine.” “You’re the outsider.” With that, she straightened up, turned around, and calmly left my bedroom. I was cold all over, unable to sleep anymore. The next morning, when I used my face wash, my face suddenly stung. I quickly rinsed off the foam; my face in the mirror was already largely red and covered in tiny rashes. I picked up the bottle of face wash and sniffed it. Besides its original scent, there was a faint, irritating odor. My skincare products were all specially customized for my skin type; allergic ingredients were impossible. It had been swapped. I took the face wash downstairs and found Alistair eating breakfast. “Alistair, look at my face!” He looked up at my red and swollen face, his frown deepening. “What happened?” “It’s Sera! She swapped my face wash!” Alistair put down his knife and fork, took the bottle from my hand, and looked at it. “Isn’t this the brand you usually use?” “Eleanor James, are you becoming paranoid?” He put the bottle back on the table, a hint of impatience in his voice. “Maybe you just accidentally bought the wrong batch. Don’t blame everything on Sera.” Looking at this man who sided completely with someone else, confronting me, my thoughts drifted back to the past. Three years ago, I was an unknown perfumer. Alistair was a judge at that international perfume competition. He admired my talent; I fell in love with his purity. For him, I cut off all ties with my previous boyfriends. On our wedding night, he held me, and his pine scent was clearly intertwined with desire for me. I thought I had finally found the man I could entrust my life to. I thought our marriage, like his scent, would always remain pure. But a month ago, when Alistair excitedly told me he had found his long-lost sister, everything changed. Remembering Sera’s declaration last night, were they truly siblings? I stopped confronting them, put the matter aside, and went back to my room. I opened my laptop and, for the first time, clicked on Sera’s social media account. I scrolled back to three years ago. A photo popped up. It was a picture of her and a friend, the background being the venue of the perfume competition where Alistair and I first met. The caption read, “Met someone I really wanted to see, happy.” My heart sank little by little. I continued scrolling back and found that she had been following Alistair’s various activities for a long time. Every public event he attended, every post he made, she had liked. Even in the photos, the way she looked at him was filled with undisguised infatuation. This was not the look of a sister gazing at her brother. I closed the laptop, picked up my phone, and made a call. “Help me investigate Sera Hadley, and that paternity test between her and Alistair. I need to know the truth.” After hanging up, I felt all my strength drain away. Our wedding anniversary trip, originally scheduled for next week, was canceled. “Sera just arrived at our home. She’ll be scared alone. Let’s go next year.” I didn’t argue with him. It was useless to argue. Now, in his heart, Sera’s priority was always above mine. In the evening, I saw him return with a luxury brand bag. He casually placed the bag in the entryway, and Sera immediately rushed over like a little bird. “Wow! Brother, is this for me?” She pulled out a necklace from the bag, the pendant a uniquely designed star. It was a style I had casually mentioned I liked when shopping last month. At the time, Alistair had said it was too childish, not suitable for me. Now, this necklace was around Sera’s neck. She ran to Alistair, stood on her tiptoes, and tilted her head for him to see. “Brother, does it look good?” “Beautiful.” Alistair’s eyes held a tenderness I had never seen before. My heart felt like it was pricked by needles, an intense, throbbing pain. During the weekend family dinner, my in-laws were also present. At the table, Sera smiled sweetly, constantly serving the elderly couple food, her words dripping with honey. She deliberately brought up Alistair’s embarrassing childhood stories, describing them vividly, as if she had witnessed them firsthand. “Brother used to be so mischievous when he was little. Once he even broke the neighbor’s window, and I was the one who apologized for him.” I put down my chopsticks, looking at her coldly. “Didn’t you say you were separated for many years and only recently reunited?” “How would you know about his childhood?” The atmosphere at the table instantly froze. Sera’s face paled for a moment, then she tearfully reddened. “Eleanor, I… I just heard it from others.”

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Until traces of my girlfriend’s brother’s fingerprints were found on my sister’s body. Stella and I completely lost it. I broke her brother, destroying his life bit by bit; She, on the day of my sister’s funeral, rented out every billboard in the city center, broadcasting my sister’s most intimate secrets. We saw red, consumed by a hatred so furious, so incandescent. The warmth we once shared transformed into the sharpest blades, tearing at each other until we bled profusely. Eventually, the military stepped in, sending one of us to a distant post and keeping the other stateside. When we met again, Stella was a decorated Major General, renowned for her valor. And I was terminally ill, with less than three months left to live. … After picking up my medication from the hospital, I returned to the flower shop I owned, directly across from the military base. The moment I stepped inside, the electronic screen opposite was broadcasting news of Stella’s return to the capital. The former “Rose of the Northern Command,” now the youngest female Major General in the Army, was back from her overseas deployment. Naturally, it was a major story, eagerly covered by all media outlets. I averted my gaze and placed the freshly delivered white daisies before my sister’s framed portrait. The door suddenly burst open, and a young man in military uniform rushed in, clutching a large bouquet of dazzling red roses. He looked fresh-faced, but his voice was crisp and clear. Pointing to the imported ‘Snow Mountain’ roses in the refrigerated display, he declared, “These, I want all of them!” Trailing behind him was Stella’s adjutant, Captain Sarah Chen. Seeing me, her steps halted abruptly, her expression becoming extremely awkward: “Liam, maybe we should try another shop?” The young man immediately refused: “No way!” “I sent Stella a preserved flower box from this shop before, and she said it was very special. Tonight is her promotion ceremony, and I absolutely have to make it grand.” He blinked his clear eyes at me: “Sir, my fiancée just got promoted to Major General, and she absolutely loves the flowers from your shop. Could I borrow your space to hold a small celebration for her?” I couldn’t refuse, only nodding. “Sir, could you add more Eustomas?” he softly added. I acknowledged him, my hands trembling as I arranged the bouquet. It wasn’t fear, nor nostalgia. It was my illness, flaring up again. The kind that had no cure. “Sarah, quickly help me! Stella will be here any minute, and I want her to be happy.” Sarah stood rooted to the spot. She knew better than anyone that Stella was never happy to see me. In the news footage, Stella smiled appropriately for the camera, but there was no warmth in her eyes. “He must be watching the news too, right?” The camera zoomed in, making the scar above her eyebrow particularly clear. “I’m really looking forward to… this reunion.” That was a mark I’d left with my combat knife. No particular reason, just a bad mood, and I lashed out at her. And the hideous bullet hole below my collarbone was a gift from her, a deliberate raising of her aim during target practice. No reason for that either. We always believed in an eye for an eye, relishing the sight of each other bleeding, half-dead. On TV, the reporter chuckled and pressed on: “Major General Shen, will you be stationed in the capital long-term after this return? And seeing you with roses, are you going to meet someone important?” She paused briefly, her voice low: “My fiancé.” The young man in the shop was meticulously adjusting the placement of the roses and lilies. He looked back at the screen, hearing her words. “Sarah, I heard Stella had a first love in the capital she was entangled with for many years. Do you know about that?” I lowered my head, trimming flower stems. In my peripheral vision, Sarah’s gaze fell upon me. “Stella!” The young man’s light cry broke the stagnant air in the flower shop. He exuberantly ran out, even forgetting his jacket. “Liam.” Outside the door, Stella smiled and stroked his head, draping her military jacket over his shoulders. The boy lowered his head and pressed a rain-kissed kiss on her forehead. Stella seemed to subtly tilt her head, avoiding it slightly. Our gazes, separated by the misted glass window, abruptly met. The young man was about to turn around but was pulled into a deep kiss by her. I averted my eyes, snipping the last ribbon in my hand. Sarah had already walked up to me. She hesitated for a moment, lowering her voice: “Julian, please… she’s being honored today. At least today, don’t embarrass her.” She paused, then added: “This boy just turned twenty. He’s a new recruit, a sniper. His smile… reminds me a little of you when you were young.” I nodded, my fingertips numb with cold. “He’s quite similar. He’s more cheerful than I ever was.” The door was pushed open again, and Stella walked in, holding a folded black long-handled umbrella. “Talking about my fiancé?” Her lips curved into a smile, but her eyes were like frozen blades, fixed on me. Sarah held her breath, staring at me. She was waiting, waiting to see if I would lose control like before. But I merely handed over the prepared bouquet: “Your custom-made ‘Wish’ bouquet, please check it.” Liam propped his chin in his hands, gazing at Stella with adoration: “Stella, smell it. Isn’t it your favorite champagne rose?” Stella’s fingertips brushed over the petals, her thumb stroking the ribbon, as she leaned in to sniff gently. “Too fragrant, cloyingly sweet. Not really my style.” Her voice rose at the end, her eyes curving as she teased Liam. Liam suspiciously lowered his head and sniffed: “It’s clearly very elegant! You’re just teasing me again!” He didn’t see that the moment he lowered his head, Stella’s gaze remained fixed on me. The next second, the flower shop’s glass door was violently pushed open. “Major General Shen! Congratulations on your promotion!” Several officers in dress uniforms rushed in, smiling, but their smiles froze the moment they saw me. Their gazes followed me, wary and scrutinizing, all turning to Sarah Chen. I carried the prepared tea cups over, and the officers all simultaneously took half a step back—as if they feared I was carrying explosives. In those years, Stella and I had brutalized each other during drills, and I’d certainly “taken care” of them too. But those were just regular confrontations. I hadn’t expected them to have such profound muscle memory. Someone subtly nudged Sarah’s elbow, lowering their voice: “Captain Chen, what’s going on here?” Sarah shrugged, not answering. “Please, have some tea.” I turned to leave. But Liam grabbed my wrist: “Sir, can you take a photo for us?” “No.” I gently brushed his hand away, refusing without hesitation. I had barely turned halfway when a shadow fell over me. I looked up to see a cold-faced Stella, her expression indifferent: “I know, you run a business, everything’s conditional. Name your price. How much will it cost to buy you…” She paused, her tone nasty, as if waiting for my rebuttal. Seeing no reaction from me, she coldly finished her sentence: “…buy you to take our photo.” I looked her up and down, said nothing, and tried to walk around her. The old scar on my forearm was suddenly pressed hard, and I stumbled, falling to my knees. A black card slapped against my face, its edge leaving a bloody scratch. “The money on this card is enough to buy your life.” I forced myself to stand, my eyes fixed on Stella. Liam, smiling, stepped between us, trying to smooth things over: “Stella, don’t be like that…” “I’m sorry, sir. My fiancée must be tired after her drill.” But her epaulets were perfectly aligned, her breathing steady. She was simply looking for trouble with me, just as she had for over a decade. This time, I truly believed that she had been utterly free-spirited these past few years overseas, completely forgetting what kind of person I was—one who always demanded an eye for an eye. I crouched down, picked up the black card, and stood firm before Stella. Those around us let out a scoff. “Major General Shen, this person really hasn’t changed a bit. Stops dead in his tracks at the sight of money!” She confidently offered her phone, seemingly pleased with my sudden “compliance.” I wrapped a rose stem around the black card, then gripped her wrist, pressing it hard into her palm. Until I smelled blood, then I stopped. I casually picked up two cups of tea from the table and splashed them onto her face. “Your mouth stinks. I don’t mind helping you wash it.” As I raised my hand, I also slapped the person who had just spoken: “You pathetic cur, if you can’t use your mouth right, shut it!” It all happened too fast; no one reacted. Only the sound of rain hitting the glass remained. Sarah leaned against the corner, tilting her head back to gulp down a large cup of tea, sighing, “Why did you provoke him?” Liam snapped back to reality, craning his neck to argue with me: “Sir! We were in the wrong first, but what you’re doing is too much!” His face flushed with anger, and he raised his hand as if to strike. “Ah!” The moment he made a move, I grabbed his wrist and swiftly delivered a backhanded slap. Only Liam’s cries of pain echoed in the confined space. Stella wiped the water from her face, her smile chillingly cold, “Hitting me is one thing, but touching my fiancé is where you crossed the line.” She shielded Liam, who was covering his face, behind her: “Shall I have this shop smashed to vent your anger?” Liam bit his lip, tears welling in his eyes, and nodded. Several military personnel instantly flooded in from outside. Flower stands toppled, glass shattered, crystal vases exploded. Cold rain mixed with wind poured in, drenching my white shirt. Stella grabbed my chin, forcing me to look up. “You’re not wrong, but I have to give him an explanation. Think about what compensation you want, write it down, and send it over. I’ll accept it all.” Her gaze was heavy, like she was scrutinizing a prisoner of war. I shook her off, then suddenly coughed, frantically searching through the wreckage. A small pill bottle rolled out, and my eyes lit up. She bent down faster than me, picked up the rolling pill bottle, and stared at it intently. “Six painkiller pills at once? You really have no fear of death.” With that, she casually tossed it into a puddle, then took Liam’s hand and turned to leave. And I knelt by the puddle, retrieving the pill bottle, and swallowed two more. Besides pain relief, this medicine also had a sedative effect. From half a pill initially, to now, eight pills couldn’t suppress it. The medicine was almost gone, and my life was nearly at its end. In three years, my parents had passed away. My illness kept relapsing and never improved, so I retired from the military, using all my savings to buy this flower shop. Now it was destroyed, and I didn’t know where to go next. Perhaps the pain once again swept through my limbs and bones; I no longer had the strength to even move. So I simply sat amidst the chaos, letting the night rain drench me. Overnight, news spread through the military compound: “Major General Shen smashed her ex-lover’s flower shop for her new flame.” As the morning light dawned, I prepared to leave. Before I did, facing the widespread wreckage, I slowly bowed three times. Stella appeared behind me without me noticing, pulling me around abruptly. “Just a broken flower shop. Is it worth all this?” I pulled free from her hand, stood steady, then raised my hand and delivered three sharp slaps across her face. “My parents’ military honors were kept in the shop. They’re gone now.” My voice was calm. She curled her red lips into a sneer. “Is that so? Three slaps for your parents’ medals of valor. That sounds like a good deal for me.” I ignored her, simply staring at the wreckage. She was behind me, saying things designed to wound me. “Julian, I’m talking to you.” I acted as if I hadn’t heard, walking straight out. She caught up in a few strides, blocking my path. “Don’t pretend to be calm with me! Look at yourself now. Your face is as white as paper. What are you trying to prove?” “Just an old injury flaring up, looking a bit tired, that’s all.” I looked up, forcing a cold smile. “Stella, do you really think you’re something that can affect me?” But I knew perfectly well. Her return this time was specifically to make trouble for me. If my body were still as strong as before, I wouldn’t mind tangling with her again, letting her taste a bullet through the chest. But now, just standing already drained all my strength. In the military hospital, the smell of disinfectant was overpoweringly acrid. Several military doctors exchanged worried glances over my test results, their expressions grim. “How much of that special medicine I prescribed you last time do you have left?” “It’s all gone.” “All gone?!” Dr. Lee’s voice shot up. “That was a quarter’s supply! It’s only been a week!” Dr. Lee had been in charge of my injuries for a long time. His hesitant demeanor instantly made me realize my time was probably truly limited. “Do you… have anyone else in your family?” she asked tentatively. “Old Lee, have you forgotten?” My voice was calm. “My dad died in the line of duty, my mom is gone, my sister…” “Anyway, I’m just a useless life.” He took off his glasses, rubbing his temples forcefully. “It was quite stable for the past three years, wasn’t it? How did it get this bad in just one week…” I looked at the news automatically pushed to my phone screen. A photo of Stella, arm in arm with Liam, attending her promotion ceremony, stood out. The person I thought I no longer cared about could still wound me the deepest. Stella was the most accurate bullet in my life, killing without spilling blood. “Your condition is very grim. After stopping medication, seven days, one month, three months… all are critical periods.” “Take this bottle of medicine,” he handed me a small pill bottle. “Take three pills when it hurts. Remember, no more than three…” He didn’t finish his sentence. I had already twisted open the cap, poured a handful into my mouth, and dry-swallowed them. The number didn’t matter, as long as it suppressed this bone-gnawing pain. Seven days or three months, to me, made no difference. After taking the medicine, I squatted in a corner of the hospital corridor, my back pressed against the cold tiles. This was a method I’d figured out myself: freezing myself to hypothermia could also alleviate the pain. Cold sweat drenched my clothes. For ten minutes, I listened to the prayers and cries from outside the operating room next door. Those most fervent wishes, all hinged on the razor’s edge of life and death. “Mommy, isn’t that the big brother who was in the bed next to ours? Should we go say goodbye to him?” “His illness… it won’t get better. Let’s not disturb him. Oh, what a poor child. Both his parents died in service, and he’s so severely injured himself. I’m afraid in the end… there won’t even be anyone to claim his body.” The little girl looked up innocently: “But there must be someone in this world who cares about Big Brother, right?” I blinked hard, my blurry eyes focusing on my phone screen. It was a text from Stella.

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I was known in Los Angeles as the ultimate “sister-girl,” and he was the notorious “brother-boy.” For the sake of our families’ interests, we entered into a strategic marriage. On our wedding night, I laid down three ground rules: separate rooms, live our own lives, and no interference. Yet, right in front of me, he slowly unbuttoned his shirt, his eyes deep with intent. “Not allowed, wifey.” My pupils dilated wildly; I thought I had stumbled upon a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Instead, he leaned into my ear, his voice a wronged and resentful whisper: “My brother said if you don’t fall in love with me, he’ll cut off my allowance.” 1 My wedding to Leonard Hadley was hailed as the best commercial alliance of the year in Los Angeles. The Swift and Hadley families had been locked in a bitter feud since before I could remember—the kind of rivalry where coffee mugs flew across boardrooms. Now, these two powerhouses were uniting through marriage. I, Lila Swift, the younger daughter of the Swift family, was a professional slacker, content to be supported by my older sister, Olivia. He, Leonard Hadley, the second son of the Hadley family, was an enigmatic figure living under the formidable shadow of his older brother, Arthur Hadley. I was known in our circles as a devoted “sister-girl,” with Olivia, the woman who single-handedly took a company public, setting my only KPI as “just be happy.” Leonard, on the other hand, was rumored to be the ultimate “brother-boy,” with his brother Arthur supposedly handling everything for him. They even said if Leonard sneezed, Arthur would send someone to check the humidity levels. To outsiders, our union was merely a strategic exchange of resources between two giant corporations, using their “unremarkable” offspring. I didn’t care; my life goal was to just coast by. Leonard seemed equally unfazed. They said he didn’t even lift an eyelid when he signed the marriage certificate. At the wedding, our forced smiles ached my cheeks. Finally, on our wedding night, I kicked off my heels and collapsed onto the enormous matrimonial bed, feeling my soul ascend. Leonard walked in, his suit impeccable, his face still bearing that aloof “don’t mess with me, my brother is terrifying” expression. I cleared my throat and pulled out the pre-prepared post-nuptial agreement. “Leonard, let’s be upfront.” I slapped the agreement on the nightstand: “First, separate rooms. This mansion has plenty.” “Second, independent finances. We’ll live our own lives, no meddling. For appearances, we’ll act like a loving couple when necessary, mostly for our families.” “Third, and most importantly, don’t fall in love with me. It won’t end well.” Having laid down the law, I struck what I thought was a cool and indifferent pose, waiting for him to gratefully sign. Leonard listened in silence, not bothering to look at the agreement. He just looked at me, his handsome, almond-shaped eyes narrowing slightly, and then he smiled. That smile, how should I put it? Three parts amusement, seven parts absolute certainty. My heart skipped a beat. Something was off. This wasn’t the script. Shouldn’t he be sighing in relief and saying, “Exactly what I wanted”? The next second, right in front of me, he slowly, button by button, undid his shirt. His muscular chest and chiseled abs were faintly visible under the crystal chandelier. A wave of pure pheromones washed over me. I froze, alarm bells blaring in my head. Oh God! Was this ‘brother-boy’ just an act? Is he actually a cunning wolf in sheep’s clothing? Is a business marriage really a package deal that includes losing my virginity? Olivia! Save me! He stepped closer, his tall frame completely engulfing me. I swallowed hard, my body instinctively shrinking back. “You… what do you want? I’m warning you, forced love doesn’t last!” He leaned over, his hands bracing on either side of my body, trapping me between the headboard and him. His warm breath tickled my ear. “Not allowed, wifey.” His voice was deep and magnetic, carrying a hint of seduction. My mind went blank, my pupils dilating wildly. This is it! My virtue is doomed tonight! How am I going to explain this to Olivia? Just as I was about to scream and perhaps grab the bedside lamp to physically “enlighten” him, he leaned in closer, his voice a low, injured whisper meant only for me: “My brother said if you don’t fall in love with me, he’ll cut off my allowance.” Me: “?” I slowly formed a question mark in my mind. What the hell? Did I just imagine that? Seeing my bewildered expression, he sighed, pulled out his phone from his inner jacket pocket, and showed me a chat log. The contact was saved as [My Only Bro]. The latest message clearly read: [You have three months to make your wife, Lila, fall head over heels for you. Fail, and you can work for the rest of your life to earn money for your sports cars and game skins.] I: “…” Leonard put away his phone, looking utterly devastated: “So, wifey, for the sake of my sports cars and skins, just make a small sacrifice and fall in love with me.” I looked at his face, handsome enough to make gods and men alike swoon, and his expression of tragic heroism, as if sacrificing everything for his KPI. For a moment, I didn’t know whether to mock his romantic cluelessness or pity him for having such a devilish brother. This marriage was getting weirder by the minute. 2 On the first day of our marriage, I gained an entirely new understanding of my “brother-boy” husband. He wasn’t a cunning wolf; he was just… a rich man’s clueless son. Driven by the KPI his brother had set, he launched his “love pursuit” mission bright and early. I was still dreaming of swimming with the Hermès bags my sister bought me when I was choked awake by a strong smell of burning. Rushing to the kitchen, I saw Leonard, dressed in six-figure pajamas, staring blankly at an unrecognizable, charred object. Next to him, the expensive German-imported oven was beeping furiously, spewing thick smoke. “Leonard, what are you doing? Alchemy?” I was aghast. He turned to me, two smudges of soot on his face making him look adorably innocent. “My brother said that to capture a woman’s heart, you must first capture her stomach. I was making you a loving breakfast.” He pointed at the black, unknown object: “This is French toast. It’s just that the cooking time might have been… slightly over.” I looked at the “toast” that could double as a weapon, then at his innocent face, and fell into a deep contemplation. His brother was a devil, and he himself seemed to be a few screws loose. In the end, we both sat in the million-dollar kitchen, slurping instant noodles, for our first breakfast as a married couple. “Wifey,” he mumbled, noodles hanging from his mouth, “do you think my performance today managed to spark even a tiny bit of affection in you?” I stared at him blankly: “Yes, it did, in a ‘whatever’ kind of way.” His eyes lit up: “Really?” “Really,” I nodded. “Right now, I want to pack you up and send you back to your brother, telling him this KPI is too hard, and I quit.” His face instantly fell, like a giant golden retriever abandoned. “Don’t, wifey, I can still try harder!” I ignored him, finished my noodles, and went back to bed to catch up on sleep. This marriage was becoming more of a joke every day, and I was the audience who couldn’t laugh. In the evening, both families planned a dinner, a sort of post-wedding homecoming gathering. The venue was an exclusive club with absolute privacy. Olivia came to pick me up, her sharp eyes scanning me like an X-ray the moment I got into the car. “He didn’t do anything to you, did he?” “Sis, you’re overthinking,” I yawned. “What could he do to me? He can’t even toast bread.” Olivia snorted: “I wouldn’t expect him to dare. What good could Arthur, that eternal iceberg, teach his brother?” A thought sparked in my mind: “Sis, are you very close to Arthur?” “Not at all,” Olivia’s expression instantly cooled by three degrees. “Just a business rival.” I felt something was off, but I couldn’t quite pinpoint it. When we arrived at the private room in the club, my parents and Leonard’s parents were already there, the four elders beaming as if they could already envision the glorious future of our merged families conquering Wall Street and Nasdaq. Leonard and I were made to sit together. He leaned in discreetly: “Wifey, I’ll peel shrimp for you later. My brother says girls like that.” I rolled my eyes: “Just don’t feed me the shells.” Just then, the door to the private room opened. My sister, Olivia, walked in, striking in a sharp black suit, her presence commanding. Almost simultaneously, another man entered. He wore a custom-tailored suit of the same color, his figure tall and handsome, but the atmospheric pressure around him was low enough to freeze penguins. Everyone there, except Leonard, knew him—Arthur Hadley, the true power behind the Hadley family. I clearly saw that the moment Olivia saw Arthur, a tiny crack appeared on her perpetually icy face. And Arthur, upon seeing Olivia, his gaze abruptly narrowed, as if he’d witnessed something incredible. The air instantly froze. The smiles on the elders’ faces also stiffened. My dad and mom exchanged glances, while Leonard’s parents awkwardly coughed. Only Leonard and I, the two clueless ones, remained oblivious. “Bro, why are you here?” Leonard stood up, surprised and delighted. “Sis, I thought you said you weren’t coming?” I was equally astonished. Olivia ignored me. Arthur ignored Leonard. Their gazes, like invisible swords, clashed and fought fiercely in the air, sparks flying. It was then that I belatedly realized… The “business rival” Olivia mentioned. And the “only brother” my husband spoke of. They seemed… a little too “unfamiliar” with each other. After a long moment, Olivia spoke first, her voice so cold it seemed to drop ice shards. “Mr. Hadley, what a coincidence.” Arthur’s thin lips curved into a chilling smile. “Ms. Swift, no coincidence. I’m here for my brother’s family dinner.” His gaze swept over me, then landed on Leonard, and finally, precisely fixed on Olivia’s face, as he said, word by word: “I didn’t realize my brother’s wife was… your sister.” Boom— My mind felt like it had been hit by an atomic bomb. I finally understood. My sister’s arch-nemesis. My husband’s own brother. I… I… I… I married my sister’s arch-nemesis’s brother?! What was this? A marriage of convenience? Or an undercover mission deep into enemy territory? I looked at my sister’s murderous face, Arthur’s face that looked ready to self-destruct, and then at Leonard, still utterly bewildered. I felt like our four relationships were more tangled than a spider’s web in a forgotten cave. This dinner was beyond salvage. 3 That “unpleasant dinner” ultimately ended with the elders awkwardly making excuses to leave, Olivia and Arthur staring daggers at each other, and Leonard and I shivering in fear. On the way home, I sat in Olivia’s car, barely daring to breathe. Olivia drove, her fingers gripping the steering wheel, knuckles white, as if it wasn’t a wheel but Arthur’s neck. “Lila.” She finally spoke. “Here!” I snapped to attention. “From today, your mission has changed.” “Huh?” “Make his life miserable,” Olivia’s voice was devoid of warmth. “Make his brother feel the pain, make his brother come begging to me.” I: “…” Sis, are you asking me to stage a domestic drama or a spy thriller? On the other side, Leonard had also been taken away by his brother. According to him, his brother remained silent in the car for half an hour, only to utter one sentence at the end: “Keep her happy, keep her sister happy, and make sure her sister doesn’t go crazy again.” And so, Leonard and I, two couch potatoes who had only wanted to chill, became pawns in our siblings’ war overnight. Our marriage, which began as a mere business agreement, escalated into a silent battlefield. The next day, we met at the restaurant, both sporting heavy dark circles under our eyes. “Good morning, wifey.” Leonard greeted me weakly. “It’s anything but.” My face was ashen. We exchanged glances, seeing four words clearly written in each other’s eyes: Life is hopeless. “My sister said…” “My brother said…” We both spoke at the same time, then stopped. “You first,” I gestured. Leonard wore a tragic expression: “My brother wants me to take you shopping today, make you happy, and ideally, make sure your sister knows how happy you are.” I scoffed: “Funny, my sister wants me to drive you half-crazy today, and ideally, make sure your brother knows you’re on the verge of a breakdown.” Leonard: “…” I: “…” How were we supposed to do this job? We sat at opposite ends of the long dining table, staring at each other, speechless, with only tears flowing. Finally, I slammed my hand on the table. “Let’s go! Shopping!” Leonard’s eyes lit up: “Wifey, you’re willing to cooperate?” “Cooperate my ass!” I snarled. “If I don’t max out your card today, my name isn’t Swift!” I was going to fulfill my sister’s mission! Drive him crazy! Make his brother’s heart ache! Far from being angry, Leonard looked relieved, as if I was finally catching on. “No problem, wifey! My brother gave me a secondary card, no limit! Spend as much as you want! The more you spend, the more he’ll know how happy I’m making you!” I: “?” This logic… seemed to make sense, and yet felt utterly flawed. And so, an utterly bizarre scene unfolded in the luxury boutiques of Los Angeles. I, Lila Swift, would emotionlessly point at a row of bags: “Take everything but the green one.” The sales assistant would be so excited she nearly fainted. Meanwhile, Leonard, behind me, would be smiling even wider than the assistant, swiping his card and cheering me on. “Wifey! Go, go, go! This color is lovely too! Buy it!” “Wifey! This collection is new! Get them all!” “Wifey! Are you tired? Want to rest before round two?” I carried my bags and felt like an emotionless shopping robot. Leonard, on the other hand, was like a cheerleader on a sugar high. Passersby would point and whisper. “Oh my god, is that Leonard Hadley and his new wife? He spoils her so much!” “Yes, yes, look how pale Ms. Swift looks from anger, and Mr. Hadley is still trying to coax her into buying more!” “What kind of fairy-tale romance is this! I’m so jealous!” Hearing the whispers around me, I nearly spat out a mouthful of blood. Pale from anger? I was pale from exhaustion! I was just utterly bewildered by his bizarre tactics! That afternoon, I spent a figure with eight digits on his card. I was dead tired, slumped in the car, unwilling to move. Leonard, however, was full of energy, snapping photos of every receipt, bundling them up, and sending them to his brother. Then, he handed me his phone. [My Only Bro] replied with two words: [Not bad.] Leonard looked at me expectantly, as if seeking praise: “Wifey, look, my brother is very pleased. You worked hard today, this is your reward.” He magically produced a small box from behind his back. I opened it to find a dazzling diamond necklace. “This is…” “The one you looked at twice earlier,” he smiled like an idiot. “I secretly bought it for you. Do you like it?” I looked at the necklace, then at his hopeful eyes. I suddenly felt that Olivia’s mission for me might be… a little challenging. Because this man… he just couldn’t be angered to death! 4 My plan to exasperate Leonard to death ended with me utterly exhausted, his brother pleased, and me unexpectedly receiving a diamond necklace. Total failure. I wasn’t having it. I, Lila Swift, queen of slacking, could not fail at a single KPI! I started contemplating a more sophisticated approach. Soon, an opportunity arose. The Hadley family was hosting a grand business gala to celebrate our “wedding of the century.” All the influential figures in Los Angeles would be in attendance. My sister, Olivia, would also be there. This was practically a tailor-made stage for my social demise plan! I confidently told Olivia: “Sis, don’t worry, this time I’ll make Leonard lose face in front of all of Los Angeles, and make his brother furious enough to have a heart attack!” Olivia raised an eyebrow, giving me a look that said, “I have high hopes for you.” On the night of the gala, I wore a striking red gown, my arm linked with Leonard’s, as we gracefully entered the venue. Leonard was in a pristine white tuxedo, looking like a prince. My inner devil was roaring: Soon, I’ll turn you into a drowned rat! My plan was simple: In front of everyone, I would pretend to slip and “accidentally” spill my glass of red wine all over his pristine white suit. White with red, the visual effect would be absolutely explosive. A distinguished young gentleman, at his own family’s gala, splattered like a red and white polka-dotted dog by his new wife. The image alone was thrilling to imagine. Leonard would surely be socially annihilated on the spot, and his brother Arthur’s face would be slapped repeatedly. Perfect! I congratulated myself on my brilliant plan. The opportunity quickly presented itself. The emcee invited us onto the stage to receive everyone’s blessings. Spotlights shone on us, and countless eyes from the audience were fixed on our every move. I held my wine glass, adjusted my angle, took a deep breath, and leaned slightly— Faster than words could tell, before I could even “slip,” Leonard suddenly stumbled. He stepped on the hem of my gown. I: “!” Before I could react, I completely lost my balance and tumbled forward. The red wine glass flew from my hand, tracing a graceful red arc through the air, and then… Splat! It landed precisely on Leonard’s head. The wine dripped down his hair, staining his handsome face crimson, and his white suit was utterly ruined. As for me, I plunged headfirst into his arms. The entire hall fell into a deathly silence. I could hear the collective gasp of countless people. I was stunned. This wasn’t how the script was supposed to go! I just wanted to spill wine on him, not crack his head open! Leonard was equally bewildered. He looked down at me in his arms, then felt his wine-soaked hair, his eyes filled with confusion. “Wifey… is this… an overly passionate display of love?” I: “…” I wanted to die on the spot. Just then, something even more absurd happened. Leonard tripped over something else, dragging me down with him. We tumbled like rolling gourds, knocking over the champagne tower behind us. Crash! Hundreds of champagne flutes shattered on the floor, golden liquid splattering everywhere. The scene descended into utter chaos, like something out of a disaster movie. Leonard and I lay amidst the wreckage, drenched head to toe in champagne. I closed my eyes in utter despair. So this is what social death felt like. It was over. My sister’s mission failed, Leonard’s mission failed, and the honor of both the Swift and Hadley families was completely sunk in the Pacific Ocean today. I felt two deadly gazes from Olivia and Arthur, threatening to flay us alive. In the midst of the chaos, Leonard struggled to his feet and then pulled me up. I expected him to erupt in anger, or at least question me. Instead, he surveyed the wreckage, looked at our disheveled selves, and then, surprisingly, gave me a thumbs-up. His eyes were sparkling, filled with the excitement of having narrowly escaped death. “Wifey, well done!” I: “???” You call this well done? He leaned in, his voice a low, excited whisper: “My brother will definitely feel so sorry for me seeing us like this! He’ll think I suffered so much just to make you happy! This month’s bonus is guaranteed! No, it has to be double!” My brain crashed instantly. I looked at his sincere and radiant smile, then at my sister’s face, which looked ready to faint from sheer exasperation. I finally understood. Leonard’s and my thought processes were probably a galaxy apart. I tried to make him socially annihilate himself, but he thought I was helping him achieve his KPI. This battle was unwinnable. I, Lila Swift, surrendered.

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On a reality TV show, A popular young actress subtly hinted at countless romantic details with the “Crown Prince” of the city. The host asked about her relationship status, and she covered her mouth, smiling demurely. “My man prefers I keep quiet about it.” The entire audience gasped. Only I, an unknown actress, glanced at the marriage certificate with the “Crown Prince” in my bag, and muttered to myself, “Are there two Crown Princes now?” 1 It was my third year drifting in Hollywood, waiting for my career to die a slow death. My agent, unable to watch any longer, shoved me into a wildly popular pet reality show overnight. Both I and the trending actress, Brooke Sterling, were invited guests for this season. Our debut immediately garnered immense attention from netizens. Why? The glaring disparity in our pets. She had a championship-pedigree, double-coated Golden Retriever by her side, gleaming like gold. Beside me was an unknown mixed-breed mutt, all dusty grey. [Hahahahaha, I’m dying. Does anyone still own a mutt these days?] [Where I’m from, mutts are practically dinner.] [Truly, like owner, like dog. Brooke’s Golden Retriever is so handsome!] [No way, same hair color as the Crown Prince, hahahaha.] [Same hair color? What’s that about?] Seeing the comments flood the screen, the host feigned curiosity and asked about it: “Brooke, you posted on social media before the show. What’s this about ‘father and son’ matching hair colors?” Brooke giggled shyly. “It’s really nothing. Just someone insisting on dyeing his hair the same color as Little Gem.” The host knelt down and stroked the dog’s head. “I know this is Little Gem. So who’s ‘someone’?” She looked bashful: “Oh… I can’t say.” But even if Brooke didn’t say, the comments had already guessed. The production team even put up a huge screen showing a late-night post from Rhys Vance, the “Crown Prince” of New York’s elite. Rhys Vance V: [So bored, getting the wife a new husband.] The accompanying picture showed his platinum blonde hair. A notoriously difficult hair color, yet paired with Rhys Vance’s devastatingly handsome face, it didn’t look out of place at all. Instead, it added a touch of rebellious charm. The comments section instantly exploded. [OMG! What a handsome face!] [So much hotter than any celebrity idol. Is the Crown Prince not considering a career in entertainment?] [It really is Little Gem’s matching hair color!] [The Crown Prince is so totally in love! He even dyed his hair to match Little Gem!] [Hahahahaha, I can’t imagine how much the Crown Prince spoils Brooke in private!] The host playfully asked: “Is ‘someone’… Mr. Rhys Vance?” Before Brooke could answer, my dog barked excitedly, wagging its tail furiously. I soothingly patted its head. At the same time, my forehead creased with annoyance. It was all my fault for always calling him “Rhys Vance, Rhys Vance” at home, making the dog now go wild whenever it heard his name. [What kind of dog is that? Still barking?] [They’re on a show, can’t they train it better before bringing it out? I hate dogs that bark randomly!] [Why does this dog react to Rhys Vance’s name?] [Stella probably taught it. She’s definitely trying to cling to the Crown Prince’s fame.] [Ugh, seriously. Instead of improving her acting, she’s always pulling these cheap stunts!] The host also looked over: “What’s wrong with your dog?” “Nothing.” Actually, my dog had quieted down under my calming strokes, but the comments kept fixating on that random bark. Brooke laughed lightly: “Did your dog not go to training school when it was little? My Little Gem spent a few months in a training camp, and now his manners are excellent. He never barks or howls unnecessarily.” “Mine doesn’t bark randomly either,” I clarified, adding, “That was an accident.” “What kind of accident?” “…” I bit back the words, “The kind of accident where it thought its daddy arrived.” 2 Rhys Vance was the “Crown Prince” of New York society, as the netizens called him, and I was an unknown actress in Hollywood. Worlds apart. But we were childhood sweethearts and had already tied the knot. It was my idea to keep our marriage a secret. Mainly because I found Rhys embarrassing. Take the hair dyeing incident, for example. His initial reason for dyeing his hair was because my current celebrity crush had that hair color. He wouldn’t let me look at other men, so he dyed his hair the same color, constantly parading in front of me to compete for attention, even calling it “getting me a new husband.” Just thinking about his recent boundless energy gave me a headache. Even more headache-inducing was that such things had happened many times before. Ultimately, he’d always end up tormenting me in bed… With such a childish and jealous husband, I kept him hidden, terrified of anyone finding out. Who would have thought someone would be so eager to claim a connection to him? The production team started playing a short video. It was a segment we’d been asked to send before the show aired, featuring cute moments of our dogs at home, so the audience could quickly get to know and love them. My video had been handled by my agent. While everyone’s attention was focused on Brooke’s video, I quietly messaged my agent: [You didn’t expose Rhys, did you?] My agent gave me an “OK” sign: [Don’t worry.] Only then did I feel comfortable watching Brooke’s video. Undoubtedly, Little Gem was a very well-behaved and intelligent dog, but Brooke’s video was laden with too much subtle manipulation. The camera casually panned over a matching wristwatch left casually on a coffee table. Then over the dining table, where a matching designer plate, which Rhys had once posted on social media, was visible. Not to mention the throw pillows on the sofa, the double pillows on the bed, and finally, Little Gem retrieving a tie that matched Rhys’s in the video. It was all implied, all suggestive. The comments section was already swooning. [OMG! It’s all the Crown Prince’s stuff! Every item looks so familiar!] [Little Gem is rubbing against what looks like the Crown Prince’s suit pants, right?] [Aaaaaah, our Brooke is going to marry into royalty!] [They’re all common items, you can buy them if you have money. It doesn’t necessarily mean they’re the Crown Prince’s, right?] [Father and son matching hair colors, sweetie.] In the midst of the joyful atmosphere, the production team started playing the video of my dog. After only two seconds, I had a bad feeling. The video truly didn’t expose Rhys. In fact, many clips were ones I’d sent to my agent when I usually posted about my dog. But… it was too similar to Brooke’s video! Coal, my dog, wagged its head around the living room with a toy, and the camera panned over Rhys’s leather shoes. Coal bounced onto the sofa, running around, and the camera showed a painting on the wall that Rhys had once posted. Even when Coal was sleeping soundly in my arms, Rhys’s wrist, with his watch, was visible in the frame. His voice echoed at the very end of the video. “Good boy, don’t bother Mommy. Come to Daddy.” The video finished playing. The comments section was silent for a moment, then erupted in a barrage of ridicule. [I’m not saying anything, but Stella is really trying too hard to cling to fame, isn’t she?] [This is hilarious! Stella really thinks if she edits a video like this, we’ll believe she’s involved with the Crown Prince, right?] [Hahahahahaha, so absurd!] [If Brooke’s video hadn’t come first, maybe I would’ve actually believed it.] [Just quietly saying, that male voice at the end sounds pretty similar…] [Yes! Only you!] [Some people are such killjoys, can’t stand to see anyone else doing well, huh?] [Stella’s fans, stop struggling. You’ll be quiet once the Crown Prince publicly shuts you down.] Brooke chuckled amidst the ridicule: “Stella’s video is quite interesting.” I frowned slightly: “What do you mean?” “It’s obvious, isn’t it?” she said innocently. “You just want everyone to misunderstand that you’re involved with Mr. Vance, right?” I never imagined she would accuse me first! She was the one clinging to fame! She was the one playing games, and here I was, keeping things hidden, and I became the one being pretentious! Blood rushed to my head. I didn’t care about anything else. Didn’t care about our secret marriage, didn’t care about Rhys being embarrassing… I looked directly at her: “Isn’t your video the one implying that?” “But I’m already with Mr. Vance…” She paused slightly, then lowered her head bashfully. “My relationship with him, I don’t think I need to explain it to you, do I?” I took a deep breath, maintaining my composure as I said to her: “I think you should explain, considering I’m Rhys Vance’s wife in the eyes of the law.” The comments section instantly exploded! 3 The atmosphere in the live stream reached its peak. [OMG! Did I just hear that wrong? What did Stella say she was to Rhys Vance?] [Wife?? Wife!!] [I don’t believe it. If she really was his wife, why didn’t Stella say anything before?] [This woman really just says whatever she wants!] [But her expression doesn’t look like she’s lying…] [Use your brain, there’s no way! The top elite of New York society, how could he marry an unknown actress?] [Brooke is also an actress!] [Our Brooke is gentle, generous, cute, and kind. Who wouldn’t want to marry her?] Amidst the chaotic comments, Brooke let out a light laugh. “Lying comes with a price, you know.” I calmly looked at her: “That warning applies to you too.” She smiled: “You say you’re Mr. Rhys’s wife. Do you have proof?” Suddenly, all eyes in the room were on me. I calmly pulled out my phone and went to my photo album. But it was my own fault for being too cautious; there wasn’t a single photo of Rhys and me in my regular album. I could only open my hidden album. It was full of photos of Rhys and me. Some were even risqué, taken in moments of passion, the kind that would get the live stream shut down… My face flushed slightly. I found a few intimate photos that weren’t too explicit but clearly proved our relationship, and handed them over to the production team to display. The moment the photos appeared on the big screen, the comments section erupted again. [OMG! It really is Stella! And it’s really Rhys Vance!] [Stella, you eat well, girl!] [If Stella really is the Crown Prince’s wife, then was Brooke lying all this time?] [And the “Crown Prince’s matching hair color,” don’t make me laugh!] [The “clinger” always says others are clinging to fame.] [Side note… Rhys looks so satisfied in these photos. Did something happen when they were taken?] [Maybe it’s photoshopped? Photoshop is so advanced these days, they can even make videos!] [Stella looks like a Rhys Vance fangirl, so creepy!] [Same goes for Brooke’s fans!] [Don’t judge without knowing the full story. I unconditionally believe Brooke.] Brooke calmly pulled out her phone amidst the dispute. She lowered her head, typed something, then looked up at me, a hint of challenge in her eyes: “But… I have photos like this too.”

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