Category: English

I’d spent a lifetime eating fish heads. My son actually believed I loved the damn things — all bones, no meat. Every time the family sat down to a nice dinner, they’d pick through the tender fish flesh together, then shove the bony scraps and the head across the table to me like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Mom, this is your favorite part. It’s all yours.” Watching my husband and son wear those smug, unbothered expressions, I suddenly thought: I can’t keep doing this to myself. So this time, I tipped the fish head into the trash. Right in front of them, I pulled out my phone and ordered sashimi delivery. When it arrived, I looked at my two stunned men and smiled, dabbing my mouth with a napkin. “That little blessing is all yours from now on, boys.” This family — whoever wants to wait on the others can knock themselves out. I’m done. They both stared as I dumped the fish head in the trash. My husband, Gary, frowned and froze with his fork halfway to his mouth. “What the hell’s gotten into you now?” “That fish cost over thirty bucks. You’re just throwing it away?” My son, Marcus, rolled his eyes and flipped his phone face-down on the table. “Mom, is it that time again? The mood swings?” “If you want attention, at least come up with something new.” In the old days, I would have fished it out of the trash and rinsed it off. No matter how hurt I felt, I’d have laughed it off — “Oops, slipped right out of my hands” — then snuck into the kitchen to cry where no one could see. But today, I just wiped my mouth and looked at my sashimi. I’d bought it with my own money. Money I’d quietly set aside for myself. For the first time, I hadn’t saved a single bite for them. “Buy your own fish heads from now on,” I said. “And if you want what’s in that trash can, help yourself.” I didn’t wait for a response. I walked to the bedroom and shut the door behind me. Bang. Through the door, I heard Gary’s lowered voice. “Ignore her. She’s just bored.” “Give her a couple days with nobody fussing over her and she’ll come crawling back.” “Seriously, Dad, don’t baby her.” “I’ve got an interview tomorrow. I’m not dealing with her drama.” I stood with my back pressed against the door and slowly slid down until I was sitting on the floor. A cramp twisted through my stomach. With trembling hands, I reached into the back of the nightstand drawer and pulled out an unlabeled pill bottle. I shook out two pills and swallowed them dry. The bitterness spread down my throat. That night, I didn’t go out to make peace the way I always had before. The next morning, I woke to the sound of Gary ransacking the apartment. “Laura! Where’s my blue dress shirt? Why didn’t you iron it last night?” “Mom! Where’s my phone charger? Did you move it when you cleaned?” I lay in bed and listened to every word. I didn’t move. I didn’t even open my eyes. I used to have breakfast ready by now, shirt ironed and laid out flat. I would have even put the toothpaste on their toothbrushes. But this morning, I just watched the light come through the window. After a good while of banging around, the front door slammed. The two of them left cursing under their breath. I got up and walked to the window. Down on the street, I watched them stop at the breakfast place on the corner and buy buns and juice. That greasy little diner with its thick dough and stingy fillings — they used to love it. I remembered the day I was diagnosed with stage four stomach cancer. I’d been watching them walk into that same diner. I had just come from the hospital. I was clutching the papers, my mind completely blank. I went home hoping for something — some comfort, some warmth. Instead I saw them through the window, laughing over breakfast. Marcus had just landed a job at his dream company. Gary had gotten a promotion. The two of them were celebrating. Through the glass, I watched Gary pick the meat out of his bun and put it on Marcus’s plate. And I stood on the sidewalk, holding those papers in both hands, watching them. My phone buzzed, pulling me back. It was a notification. I opened it. Marcus had posted on Instagram. The photo was a stray cat on the side of the road. “Living with a drama queen is exhausting.” “Woke up to attitude this morning for absolutely no reason.” Gary had liked it. A few relatives had commented. “Women just can’t be spoiled — give them an inch and they take a mile.” “Probably just hormones. Ride it out, she’ll be fine.” I read every word and felt nothing. No anger. If anything, I almost laughed. I liked the post from my secondary account, then saved a screenshot. It would probably be the last time I checked in on them.

That evening they came home from work and dropped two takeout containers on the coffee table without breaking stride. Gary loosened his tie as he talked. “Alright, enough of the attitude.” “Brought you some braised pork — your favorite. Still warm.” I opened the boxes. A few pieces of meat. Half a container of leftover rice. These were clearly what they hadn’t finished at some dinner out. And they’d brought it home like they were doing me a favor. Old me would have reheated those leftovers and eaten them for lunch the next day. But instead, I picked up both containers, walked to the front door in full view of them, and dropped everything — containers and all — straight into the hallway trash. “Leftovers belong in the trash. Simple as that.” Gary’s face went red. His pointing finger was shaking. “Laura! Have you lost your mind?” “If you want out, just say so. Stop playing these little games!” I looked at him, and I let the corner of my mouth curl. “You’re right. I do want out.” “I don’t want any of this. Not for one more day.” My throwing out the food must have actually rattled them, because the next two days were quiet. Gary seemed to realize this was different from my usual complaints. He softened a little. On the third evening, he came home carrying a gift box. “Honey, I was out of line this past week. Work’s been brutal.” “Don’t take it to heart.” He set the box on the table and slid it toward me. “Had a buddy track this down. Latest model. A peace offering.” Looking at that ribbon-tied box, I felt something stir inside me. All these years, he had never once given me a real gift. He couldn’t even remember our anniversary. Was this it? In what might be the last chapter of my life, had he finally changed? Had he finally learned to care? My hands trembled as I pulled the ribbon loose and lifted the lid. Maybe a scarf. Or perfume. But when I saw what was inside, my fingertips went cold. A blender. A high-end one, gleaming under the light. Gary was already explaining its features. “High-powered motor. Perfect for smoothies, soups. Doesn’t even leave chunks.” “Make our morning routine so much easier.” “And you can make Marcus fresh juice.” Of course. This was his peace offering. This was him caring about me. It was just a way to make me — this machine he lived with — run more efficiently. I stared at that blender, and then I started laughing. And then I started crying. Gary watched me with unease, brows pinched. “What’s funny? You don’t like it?” “Like it? Why wouldn’t I like it?” I wiped my eyes and pushed the blender back into his arms. “But it’s way too nice for someone like me.” “A worn-out housewife who only knows how to cook? I don’t deserve it.” “Why don’t you save it for that new intern at your office.” Gary’s expression collapsed. He jumped to his feet. “What are you talking about?! There is nothing going on between me and Lily — nothing!” “Stop making things up!” Honestly, I didn’t know any Lily. I was fishing. But the way he reacted told me my instincts were right. Not that it surprised me. A woman who was aging and always sick — I’d stopped being interesting to him a long time ago. Gary shoved the blender onto the couch, ego bruised. “You’re unbelievable.” “Sitting at home all day has scrambled your brain!” He grabbed his jacket and slammed out the door, leaving behind nothing but silence. Not long after, Marcus came home lugging a dry-cleaning bag with his interview suit. He didn’t ask why the apartment felt like a cold front had moved in. Didn’t ask what happened between me and his dad. First words out of his mouth: “Mom, where’s my white dress shirt? I need it for my second-round interview tomorrow.” I sat on the couch without moving, the unlabeled pill bottle in my hand. “In the laundry hamper.” My voice was flat. Marcus stared at me like I’d said something absurd. “In the hamper? Mom, you know that shirt can’t go in the machine. It needs to be hand-washed!” “My interview is first thing tomorrow. If you don’t wash it tonight, you expect me to show up in a dirty shirt?” He was scolding me. I looked up at my son — this boy I had spent twenty-four years protecting from every sharp edge in the world — and felt my heart split open. “You have two working hands. You’re twenty-four years old.” “You can’t wash one shirt?” “It’s your interview, not mine.” “If you want clean clothes, wash them yourself.” Marcus grabbed his bag off the floor and hurled it down again, pointing at me. “Mom, are you seriously losing it?” “You’ve been making everyone’s lives hell for two days straight — isn’t that enough?” “It’s one shirt. One. Why does everything have to be such a big deal with you?” Something turned over in my stomach, and a hot, metallic taste rose in my throat. I didn’t want him to see me fall apart. I pressed my hand over my mouth and lurched into the bathroom.

I locked the door. Blood slipped between my fingers and dripped into the white sink basin. I turned on the tap and watched the red rinse away. Marcus knocked on the door from the other side. “Mom, what are you hiding in there? Don’t think you can just disappear and get out of this!” “Hurry up! I need to shower! I swear, you are unreal!” I looked at myself in the mirror. There was still blood at the corner of my mouth. Tears and water ran down my face together. I wiped away the blood. They can’t know. They can’t know I’m dying. If they knew, I’d just become a heavier burden to carry. I wouldn’t even be allowed to die in peace. I took the folded papers from under my pillow — the diagnosis — and slipped them inside an old book on the shelf. One of the fairy tale books Marcus had loved as a little boy. He hadn’t touched it in fifteen years. Then I started packing. The inexpensive jewelry. The pair of gold earrings from our wedding day. I put them all in a bag. Tomorrow I’d sell them. The money would go to a children’s charity — or I’d simply throw it all away. Either way, I wasn’t leaving a single cent to these two. I suppose Gary and Marcus finally decided I was too much trouble to push around, because on Friday night, Marcus came home with a girl. “Mom, this is Sophie. My girlfriend.” He was wearing a proud little grin. Sophie looked nervous and gave me a polite smile. Before I could react, Marcus had already steered her to the couch, then leaned down and murmured in my ear: “Mom, this is her first time here. Don’t embarrass me.” “Make the braised fish, the sweet and sour ribs — all your good stuff.” “I want to impress her.” He knew I’d been sick for days. That I could barely stand up straight. But for his pride, for the image he wanted to project, he didn’t care what it cost me. “I’m not feeling well. Just order in tonight.” I leaned against the wall, too weak to stand on my own. Marcus’s face hardened. He dropped his voice to a tight, controlled hiss. “Mom. Can you read the room?” “You’re pulling this right now? On purpose?” “I’m asking you. Just this once. Please.” “Don’t make me look bad in front of Sophie.” I looked at his face, and despite everything, something in me softened. Maybe that’s the curse of being a mother. Still crawling back, even at the edge of everything. I forced myself through the pain to the grocery store. The smell of raw fish hit me so hard I nearly vomited on the spot. Back in the kitchen, I worked through the haze. My vision kept blurring. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely hold the knife. The blade slipped and caught my left index finger. Blood welled up immediately. It dripped onto the cutting board and mixed with the fish. Gary walked in just then to grab a beer from the fridge. He glanced at my bleeding hand without stopping. “How can you be so careless?” “Run it under water. And don’t get blood in the food. That’s disgusting.” I put on a bandage and kept cooking. Eventually, the meal was done. I carried a pot of fish soup out to the table. My stomach seized without warning. My vision went black at the edges. My knees buckled. The pot slipped from my hands and hit the floor with a crash. Scalding soup flooded across the tiles, splashing up onto Sophie’s dress. She screamed and jumped back from the table. The whole room smelled like fish. Marcus leapt up and shoved me hard. “Mom! What is wrong with you? You did that on purpose!” The push sent me stumbling backward into the sideboard. Pain cracked through my lower back. But I had nothing left — I could only slump against it, gasping. “If you didn’t want to cook, you didn’t have to! Who are you trying to gross out?” Marcus shouted, his eyes red. Sophie looked at my face — whatever color had drained from it — and seemed to hesitate. She touched Marcus’s arm. “She didn’t mean to — I think she just lost her grip—” “Lost her grip! She’s just mad I brought you home!” Gary stepped in from the side. He tossed a pack of tissues to Sophie for her dress and didn’t look at me once. “I spoiled her rotten. Gets worse every year. Just ignore her.” Father and son flanked Sophie on either side, sheltering her from the drama. “Come on, Sophie. Dinner’s ruined. Let’s go out.” Marcus grabbed his keys, and without a backward glance, walked out the door with his girlfriend and his father. The door slammed shut. The noise went with them. The apartment was quiet now, except for the mess on the floor. The overturned pot. The fish head lying in the spilled soup. I slid down slowly until I was sitting on the floor beside it, in that spreading puddle going cold. I picked up a piece of fish — dusty, soaked — and put it in my mouth. The piece they always fought over. I chewed it and tasted nothing. Only bitterness. And that thick, clinging, nauseating smell. So this was the family I had given my life to. This was the love I had nearly destroyed myself to protect.

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I was Mom’s favorite. The one she spoiled rotten. On her deathbed, she lay propped up against the hospital pillows, surrounded by my older sister, my brother, and a room full of relatives. With trembling hands, she pressed a bank card into mine. “Quinn, you’re the one I worry about most. There’s a million dollars in this account — everything your father and I saved over a lifetime. I’m leaving it all to you.” I stared at that card, my face drained of color. I couldn’t bring myself to take it. It felt less like a gift and more like a death sentence. The next second, in front of everyone, I slapped her hand away. “Drop the act,” I said, my voice cold with disgust. “You think I want anything from you?” “You hand me an empty card and expect me to fall for it? Save the performance.” The card hit the floor. Mom scrambled, dragging her frail body to the edge of the bed, reaching down to pick it up. She dusted it off, blowing on it like it was something precious, then looked up at me with frightened eyes. “Quinn, what’s wrong with you?” “Is it not enough? Honey, this is everything I have. Please don’t be angry with me…” My brother Liam was the first to snap. He crossed the room in two steps and slapped me across the face. “Quinn! Have you lost your mind?!” “That’s our mother. She has given you everything since the day you were born — treated you like you were made of glass. Grace and I together don’t add up to half the love she’s shown you. And this is how you repay her?” From across the room, my sister Grace stood with her arms crossed, watching with a cold smile. “Quinn, don’t play the victim when you’re the one who won.” “Everyone in this family knows Mom’s world revolves around you. Every time she came to visit me, she’d leave with something — my son’s school supplies, my husband’s briefcase, my jewelry. And she’d bring it all straight to you, like some kind of offering.” She rolled her eyes. “She wants to give you the money? Fine. Take it. I’m not going to fight over it.” “Honestly, after all these years of watching her play favorites, I’m used to it.” I stared at Grace’s sneering face. She wasn’t wrong. Every time Mom visited Grace’s place, she’d find something — an expensive pen set, a designer bag, a gold necklace — and carry it back to me like a prize. Grace never talked back to our parents, so she just swallowed the resentment and aimed it at me, greeting me with barely concealed hostility every time we were in the same room. I kept my expression flat. “Fine,” I said. “If you all think it’s such a valuable gift, then you can have it. I don’t want it.” Grace looked up, surprised. Liam’s throat moved. He watched me carefully. “Quinn, what exactly are you trying to say?” Before I could answer, Mom grabbed my sleeve. She tilted her head back, tears streaming down her face. “Quinn… do you not love me anymore?” “Please don’t push me away. I don’t have much time left. Don’t do this to me…” She was crying so hard, this frail old woman working herself into a state over me, and the whole room shifted. Nobody could watch it without feeling something. “Quinn.” Aunt Patricia had reached her limit. “Today I’m going to say what needs to be said — for your mother’s sake.” “When you were three years old, your mother went out to run errands and left Liam home to watch you. He ran off to play, and you fell. You could have been seriously hurt. Not a scratch on you — but when your mother came home, she punished Liam so severely that people thought she’d gone too far.” “When you were twelve, your sister got married. The groom’s family gave a substantial dowry contribution — over two hundred thousand dollars. Your mother held onto every cent of it. Didn’t let Grace take a single dollar back to her new home. Said she was saving it for your future wedding. Grace started her marriage with nothing but a few sets of bedsheets.” “I truly don’t understand what got into my sister-in-law. She put that ungrateful child on a pedestal and neglected two perfectly good kids in the process.” The room went quiet after that. Liam exhaled slowly, his jaw tight. Grace’s eyes glistened — not quite tears, but close. Mom sat red-eyed and silent, crying without making a sound. I let out a short, humorless laugh and looked at her. “So I’m supposed to thank you for all of that?”

Those seven words detonated something in the room. Liam lunged forward and knocked me to the ground. Aunt Patricia grabbed a broom from the corner and came at me with it, striking me across the back. “You ungrateful little — after everything she’s done for you!” “Today I’m doing what your father would have done if he were still here!” The broom came down again and again. My back burned. Grace watched from a few feet away, arms still folded, and turned to Mom with a bitter smile. “See that? That’s what you raised, Mom.” “I genuinely don’t understand you. How can you be so blind? Am I not your daughter? Is Liam not your son? Why does every good thing in this family go to her, and we’re invisible?” Mom shoved herself upright and pushed Grace aside, her face set. “Back off. Your sister is being attacked and you’re standing there making comments?” She pushed past everyone and threw herself over me, arms outstretched. “Stop! Stop it!” “My baby — my baby…” Aunt Patricia froze mid-swing and let the broom drop to the floor. “What are you doing? I was trying to help you! If she were my daughter, I would’ve done a lot worse!” Mom held me against her chest, crying, rubbing my back. “Are you hurt, sweetheart… let me see…” I sucked in a sharp breath and shoved her away. She went down hard. “Get off me. You miserable old woman. What’s taking you so long to die? Don’t act like you care about me.” “You—!” Liam went ballistic, trying to get to me, but Mom grabbed his leg and held on. “Son.” She was sobbing. “Don’t hurt her. She’s my heart. She’s my heart…” I pulled myself to my feet, scanning the room. “What is this?” I said. “What are all of you doing?” I turned to Mom. “Your performance is impressive. I mean it. Academy Award level.” Then I looked at my brother. “And you, Liam. Between the two of us — who’s really playing the victim here?” “You’ve all been at this long enough. Don’t start believing your own act.” I looked straight at him. “Of everyone who’s ever come at me, you’re the last person who gets to.” Liam went still. Then his face darkened. “What does that mean? Mom just gave you her entire life savings and you treat her like this. Am I wrong about you?” “You know exactly why I’m acting this way,” I said. “You just don’t want to admit it.” He hesitated. Something flickered in his expression. “Quinn. What are you saying?” I smiled, reached over, and took the bank card from Mom’s hand. I pressed it into Liam’s palm. “You’re the man of the family, right? Mom said she wanted me to have this. But I’m just her daughter — I shouldn’t be the one making these decisions.” “So why don’t you handle it? Right here, in front of everyone. Split the money three ways between the siblings. Fair and square.” Liam stood holding the card, his face cycling through shades of pale and red. Grace stirred. Her eyes locked onto the card with barely disguised hunger, though her voice came out slow and casual. “He’s right, Liam. If Quinn’s offering, then let’s divide it properly.” “We’ve got the whole family here as witnesses. Better to settle it now, so there’s no confusion later.” Mom sank back against the pillow, weeping softly. “It’s my fault. It’s all my fault… I haven’t left enough for my children. And now I’m watching you all turn against each other…” Uncle Robert, who hadn’t said a word this whole time, finally had enough. He drove his cane against the floor with a crack. “Enough. All of you.” “Your mother is still alive. She’s right there in that bed. And you’re already negotiating her estate?”

“Grace. Quinn. I’ve seen a lot in my years, but today takes it.” “The old saying holds true — when it matters, it’s the son you can count on.” Grace’s jaw tightened, but she looked down and said nothing. I smiled. “Uncle Robert, that’s an interesting take. Mom just handed me this card in front of everyone and named me specifically.” “And now I’m the one voluntarily offering to hand it to Liam and split it fairly between the three of us — and somehow that makes me the ungrateful daughter while Liam’s the reliable son?” Uncle Robert sputtered, clutching his chest. “Quinn, stop this!” Aunt Patricia rushed to steady him, then turned on me. “Everyone can see what you’re doing. You came in here to start a fight.” “Yes,” I said. “I did.” I turned to Mom. “But the reason I did — you know better than anyone. Why don’t you explain it to them?” Mom looked up. Her eyes were red. “My darling, I know I haven’t done enough. I know I can’t give you more than this.” “But I put that money in your hands because I was worried about you. You’re not married yet. Your sister has a husband, a family — she’ll be okay. Your brother has a wife, they just had their second child.” “You’re on your own. I was afraid that after I was gone, you’d have no one in your corner. That you’d get pushed around. That you wouldn’t get your fair share…” She dabbed at her eyes. “I did it because I love you…” A murmur moved through the room. Heads shook. Tongues clicked. “She pours everything into that girl, and this is what she gets back—” “Honestly, it would’ve been better if—” I tuned it out. I watched my mother cry her practiced tears, listened to the chorus of condemnation around me, and felt nothing. “Okay,” I said. “Mom — I’m sorry. I was out of line. The way I spoke to you was wrong, and I apologize.” Mom blinked. She looked at me like she didn’t recognize me. Like she couldn’t figure out why I’d suddenly softened. Aunt Patricia sniffed. “First sensible thing she’s said all day.” I turned to Uncle Robert. “But Uncle, it isn’t fair. Mom handing everything to me leaves Liam and Grace with nothing.” “When Dad passed, he said his estate should be divided equally among the three of us. I have no right to take it all. That’s why I wanted to settle this clearly, in front of the family.” “So that after Mom is gone, there’s no room for conflict.” Uncle Robert went quiet. Aunt Patricia murmured, “She’s not wrong, actually…” He cleared his throat. “Well then. Perhaps it would be best to—” “No.” Mom sat straight up. The word came out sharp and final. The whole room turned. She caught herself. Smiled awkwardly. “Quinn, you…” “Mom.” I cut her off. “I love you, and I love Liam and Grace. So why won’t you let me share this with them?” The color drained from her face. She opened and closed her mouth several times. “Because… because, Quinn, wait until after I’m gone, and then you can divide it however you want. If you do it now, I won’t be able to rest…” It was a weak excuse. Even Uncle Robert and Aunt Patricia, who’d been firmly in Mom’s corner all afternoon, looked uncertain. I let out a short laugh, stepped forward, and grabbed the phone off Mom’s nightstand. She lunged for it. I caught her wrist and forced it unlocked. “Quinn!” The room erupted. “What are you doing?” “Aren’t you curious?” I said. “Why does Mom need to wait until she’s dead before I divide this money?” I held the screen out toward them. “That’s why.” Everyone leaned in. And the moment they saw it, the room went silent — and then exploded.

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1 When Mom nearly died giving birth to my little sister, I struck a deal with Death himself. I staked my soul to keep them both alive, but if by my eighteenth birthday Mom no longer loved me best, my soul would vanish. At the start, I was certain. “That’s far too easy,” I told the shadow. “Mom always calls me her favorite.” But she was lying. My sister was frail, a fragile porcelain doll doted on by everyone from her first breath. Just like that, I ceased to be the favored child. On my twelfth birthday, I wished aloud to be Mom’s favorite again. My sister’s weak heart panicked at the words. Furious, Mom shipped me off to a brutal reform academy for six years. When I returned as Cadet 018, my sister greeted me in a frilly dress, smiling like a perfect doll. “There’s no room for you here now. Are you mad?” she asked. “You may be healthy, but you’ll never have Mom’s love. Are you mad? They almost brought you back, but I cried and played sick until they were too afraid. Are you mad?” I simply shook my head. She was the sister I’d wagered my soul to save. How could I be angry? It was just that this wager, made in the name of love, was one I was about to lose. The moment the clock struck midnight on my eighteenth birthday, I saw Uncle Death again. Looking at my frail body and the map of scars covering my skin, the Grim Reaper froze. He let out a long, heavy sigh. “You are a good kid, but a deal is a deal.” Perhaps my miserable state moved him, because he looked at me with a trace of pity. “I can bend the rules a little for you, though.” “On this day of your adulthood, if your mother says she loves you most, whether she means it or not, I will consider it a win.” “If she cannot even manage that, I have to take your soul. You will vanish forever.” I nodded blankly. But my mother could not even bring herself to say she loved me, let alone say she loved me most. Six years in that hellhole of a school, and I never received a single phone call. Not once did she come to see me. I had learned my lesson. I no longer dared to hope for her affection. I was shoved into the dusty utility room. My old toy piano and stuffed animals were piled up there, buried under layers of grime. Just like me, discarded junk. This was my first night back, the first day of my adulthood, and likely my last day on Earth. Mom always hated how I begged for her attention. She had no idea that without her love, I would literally die. I woke up to the sound of my sister laughing. The breakfast table held four beautifully prepared plates. Mom still loved making gourmet meals. The sweet aroma filled the room, but the disposable plate and plastic fork set in front of me felt like a slap in the face. My presence made the air thick with tension. Dad tried to break the ice with a forced smile. “Sit down, Helen. It is your eighteenth today. Come try the strawberry cake your mom spent all morning baking.” “You have gotten thin. I know that boarding school was military style and tough on you, but you have always been a strong kid. A little hardship builds character.” “Your sister is fragile, so we had to send you to a school that could handle your supervision. Congratulations on graduating!” I kept my head down, too terrified to speak. I shoved the cake into my mouth mechanically. At the school, speaking during meals meant being strapped to a metal cot and shocked. Taking longer than ten minutes to eat earned you a ten mile march under the blistering sun. Seeing me gulp down my food like a wild animal, Mom’s face hardened. “Helen! Who are you putting on this act for?” she snapped. “We paid a fortune for your education, and you are acting like a victim?” Hearing my full name, my body reacted on instinct. I stood up straight, snapping to attention. “Cadet 018, reporting for duty!” The dining room fell into a dead silence. My sudden movement was so violent that it startled Grace, who was slicing her cake. She gasped, clutching her chest. “Helen, what are you doing?” Dad rushed to the cabinet for her pills. Mom pulled Grace into her arms, whispering soothing words. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Does your heart hurt? Daddy is getting your medicine.” Then she glared at me, her eyes flashing with rage. “Are you insane, Helen? If you try to hurt your sister again, I will send you right back to that school!” “Have you learned nothing? You ruin the family’s peace the very second you step through the door. How did I end up with a daughter like you?” The warm breakfast was ruined. I stood frozen in place. I wanted to explain that I did not mean to scare her, but my throat tightened. I could not make a sound. Mom’s shouting stopped. My breathing turned shallow and frantic as red hives erupted across my skin. “Helen, what is wrong with you…” “Strawberries! She is highly allergic to strawberries!” Dad shouted. “Call an ambulance!” Oh. I was allergic to strawberries. It had been so long since I had seen fresh fruit that I had completely forgotten. At school, we ate spoiled scraps. If we behaved, we got a plain piece of bread. Mostly, we just starved. I remembered when Mom used to love me. Back then, when she discovered my allergy, she went out of her way to buy other expensive fruits for me. Love used to mean worrying about whether I had enough to eat. She used to spend hours researching recipes just to get me to take one more bite. Why did her love have to change so fast? When I opened my eyes, Mom was frowning down at me. The IV drip was empty, and the hives had mostly faded. She looked relieved, but her words were still laced with blame. “Were you trying to spite me, Helen? If you knew you were allergic, why did you eat the whole thing? When you were little, you would not even touch food you did not like.” I remained silent. Mom did not know that pickiness was punished by having teeth pulled. She sighed, looking a bit awkward as she handed me a gift box. I held it like a sacred relic, my voice cracking. “Mom, you haven’t given me a birthday present in so long.” Inside was a sparkling princess dress. “Take it. You always stared at Grace whenever she wore her dresses.” I could not wait to put it on. But against my pale, sun damaged skin and dry, brittle hair, the extravagant gown looked ridiculous. Mom winced slightly. “Can’t you at least wash your hair and take a proper shower, Helen? A young woman shouldn’t look so disheveled.” Then she asked if I had a birthday wish. After six years of silence, this felt like the first drop of warmth. I remembered my wager with Uncle Death. I wanted to live. I did not want my soul to shatter into dust. “Mom, can you do one thing for me?” I whispered. “Just say, Mom loves Helen most.” Please, Mom. Save me. Just this once. Suddenly, the sound of shattering glass echoed from the hallway. Grace was leaning against the wall, gasping for breath, clutching her chest in agony. On the floor lay a shattered snow globe. Scattered around her feet were drawings that said, Happy Birthday, Sis. Mom’s eyes turned red with panic. Before I could process what was happening, she slapped me across the face. The blow was heavy, and blood began to drip from my nose. But it did not really hurt. The guards at the school hit much harder. Mom held Grace, crying hysterically as she screamed at me. “You know your sister cannot handle stress, Helen! Will you literally die if you stop trying to steal her spotlight?” “Why do you have to be so selfish? Is your head filled with nothing but jealousy?” The scene mirrored my twelfth birthday exactly. Back then, a simple wish had branded me a monster. I wiped the blood from my face. “Yes,” I whispered. “Without your love, I will literally die.” Mom froze, but then she completely lost her mind. She spewed venom, wishing I had never been born, saying she wanted to rip my healthy heart out to give it to Grace. She asked why the sickness had not taken a parasite like me instead. Her eyes were cold, filled with nothing but disgust. “Do you want to know when I started regretting giving birth to you, Helen? It was the day I was wheeled out of the operating room, bleeding out. Grace and I were hanging on by a thread.” “You ran up to my bedside with a grin on your face. Your first words were not to ask if we were okay. You asked me if you were still my favorite child.” I was used to being yelled at, but my chest still throbbed with an unbearable ache. So she had hated me since the very beginning. On the day Grace was born, Mom was hemorrhaging, and both of them were dying. I had seen the dark shadows coming to take their souls. I cried and begged until Uncle Death took pity on me. He agreed to spare them if I staked my own soul. I was smiling that day because Uncle Death had not lied to me. They were alive. And I asked that question because of the wager. Mom, without your love, I really will die. Even if my life was the price for yours, it was worth it. Mom sobbed, her face twisted in grief. “The doctors said Grace would not live long. You have a perfectly healthy body. Why could you not just let her have this?” “You have a whole lifetime ahead of you, but your sister only has us. Why do you have to fight her for everything? Does it really matter who I love most?” I stood there, hollowed out. Did it matter? Maybe my soul turning to dust did not matter either. Due to the shock, Grace was resting in a hospital bed. I stood in the corner of the room in my ill fitting princess dress, looking like an unwelcome clown. Dad was carefully peeling strawberries for Grace, while Mom read her a fairy tale. Suddenly, the fire alarm blared. Panic erupted in the hallway. Shouts of fire echoed through the building. My parents panicked. Grace shivered in terror. Dad scooped her up, shielding her in his arms. Mom grabbed Grace’s favorite stuffed bunny from the bed. They ran toward the emergency exit, neither of them casting a single glance at me. “Don’t cry, sweetie. Mommy and Daddy will protect you and Mr. Bunny.” Dad protected Grace. Mom protected a toy. And I, just like those past six years, was left behind in the smoke. “Mom! Wait for me!” I cried, running after them. Don’t leave me alone. I am scared too. I was swept up in the stampeding crowd, losing sight of them instantly. I was shoved against the handrails, bruising my arms and legs. It hurt. But the physical pain was nothing compared to the agony in my chest. The fire turned out to be minor, and the panic subsided quickly. They found me standing in the crowd, looking like a total wreck. My hair was wild, my skin was bruised, and the hem of my princess dress had been trampled into a dirty rag. Grace was spotless. Even her stuffed bunny was perfectly clean. Mom pulled me aside, her expression filled with annoyance. “You are an adult now, Helen. Can’t you even run away from a fire by yourself?” She looked down at my ruined dress, then at my bruised skin, and finally, at the older scars crisscrossing my arms. They were years old, left by the metal rods used at the school. She froze, her hand hovering over my skin. “Helen… what are these?” “Did that school abuse you? Why did you never say anything?” Her voice rose. “We paid so much money for that academy! How could they lay a hand on you? Why are you always so stubborn? Six years, and you never called home once to complain?” I quickly pulled my sleeves down to hide the marks. That school was a living hell, and the instructors were monsters. How could I have ever made a phone call? I was the only child who never had a visitor. When the guards were angry, they used me as a punching bag. The other kids joined in for fun. Every single day, I had waited. I waited for Mom to call. Not to complain, just to hear her voice. But the phone never rang. My eighteenth birthday was almost over. Would I ever hear her say she loved me? Uncle Death said those whose souls were taken would never get a chance to reincarnate. They simply ceased to exist. I did not want to fade away. “Mom,” I whispered, “are we still having my birthday dinner?” Mom let out a cold, bitter laugh. “Your sister almost had a heart attack and we just survived a fire, and you are still thinking about a birthday party?” Pushing down the hollow ache in my chest, I dropped to my knees in front of her, tears streaming down my face. “Mom, I don’t need a cake. We can cancel the party. Just grant me one wish.” I pressed my forehead against the cold floor, begging. “Please, just say you love me most. Just those words. I will do anything you want.” I was begging for my life. But even if I bled from bowing, she would not answer. My tears only irritated her. “Are you testing me, Helen?” she said, her voice dripping with disgust. “I won’t play your games. It is my own failure as a mother that turned you into such a selfish child. I cannot force myself to tell such a lie.” I let out a broken laugh, my face soaked with tears. Fine. I kept bowing, my forehead hitting the floor over and over. Ninety-nine times. It was my way of paying her back for giving me life before I died. “Mom, if you don’t say it, I am going to die.” “Then go ahead and die,” she snapped, turning on her heel and walking away. I heard Grace was crying for her, frightened by the fire alarm. Mom could not bear to let her precious baby shed a single tear. So be it. I lost the wager, and I accepted my fate. The sky grew dark, and the clock ticked closer to midnight. There was no party, no cake, no dinner. Only a trampled princess dress, a perfect metaphor for my ruined youth. The house was empty. Mom was not coming back. I huddled in the dusty utility room, waiting for my soul to be claimed. Uncle Death, even with your help, I could not do it. My mom will never say she loves me most.

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1 My wife was raped and murdered by my best friend in our new home. And yet, I stood in court and defended him, securing his acquittal. My father-in-law had a massive stroke right there in the courtroom and was rushed to the hospital. Now, my brother-in-law was standing in front of me, pressing a knife to my throat. “Jared, that was your wife! When she was killed, she was hanging up framed pictures of your wedding in your new house!” “Why are you protecting that animal Wes? Are you even human?!” His eyes were bloodshot, his voice a primal scream as the blade bit into my skin. I didn’t even blink. Feeling the sharp sting of the metal, I smiled, completely empty. “Go ahead. Do it.” “Send me down there to be with her.” “Let her ask me herself why I did it.” Tyler’s hand shook violently, the blade trembling against my neck. He was on the verge of a total breakdown. “Jared! You think I won’t?” The hospital hallway was packed with onlookers, cell phone cameras flashing in our faces. “Is that the lawyer? Jared?” “Yeah, I heard he defended the guy who killed his own wife just for a massive payout.” “Disgusting. Eating off his wife’s grave like that.” “What a parasite. He should rot.” I listened to the whispers, my expression flat. I even let a faint, mocking smirk slip onto my face. The ward door banged open. My mother-in-law rushed out, her hair disheveled and frantic. Her eyes locked onto the blood dripping down my neck. She didn’t call for a doctor. She didn’t try to pull the knife away from Tyler. Instead, her hand flew across my face. Slap! My cheek burned hot. My head jerked to the side, and I tasted the metallic tang of blood in my mouth. “Get out! Get the hell out of here!” She pointed a shaking finger at my nose, her voice shrill and breaking. “You killed Hannah! Now you want to kill her father too? Why couldn’t it have been you?” Tyler’s grip loosened, the knife clattering onto the linoleum floor. He collapsed against the wall, sobbing uncontrollably. Holding my bleeding neck and feeling the fresh welt on my cheek, I wiped the blood away with the back of my hand. No explanations. No apologies. I didn’t even look back at them. I turned and walked toward the elevators. Behind me, my mother-in-law’s curses and Tyler’s gut-wrenching sobs echoed down the hall. I kept my back perfectly straight. The moment I stepped out of the hospital, my phone buzzed in my pocket. The screen read: Wes’s Mother. I picked up, my voice instantly shifting into a calm, professional tone. “Hello, Mrs. Finch.” “Jared! Oh, thank God,” her voice crackled with tears of relief. “The police just called. They said there isn’t enough evidence, and they’re releasing Wes…” I stopped and looked back up at the towering hospital building. “Don’t worry. I have everything under control. Just follow my instructions, and he’ll be fine.” Heavy, frantic footsteps echoed behind me. Tyler had run out after me. He was staring at the phone in my hand, his eyes wild. He heard me. And I wanted him to hear me. “Jared!” He lunged, grabbing my collar and slamming my head hard against the brick wall. “You took their money, didn’t you? You sold your wife’s life to a murderer! How do you sleep at night?” Passersby stopped, pointing and whispering. “Is that the corrupt lawyer?” “Looks decent on the outside, but he’s rotten to the core.” Staring into Tyler’s burning eyes, I didn’t say a word. My right hand was buried deep in my trench coat pocket, my fingers desperately clutching a ball of unfinished, thick gray yarn. It was a scarf Hannah had been knitting for me before she died. “Say something! Are you deaf?” Tyler threw a heavy punch, catching me square in the cheekbone. I stumbled back, leaning against the wall to keep from falling. I kept my head down, letting my messy hair cover my eyes. My throat tightened, but I forced the emotion down. “Are you done?” I spat a mouthful of bloody saliva onto the pavement. “If you’re done, go back inside and take care of your father.” Pushing past him, I hailed a cab and got in. When I got home, the house was dead silent. I didn’t turn on the lights. I pulled a bottle of cheap whiskey from the cabinet, cracked the cap, and took a long, burning swig. The alcohol scorched my throat, and the tears finally broke free. I pulled out my phone. The faint blue light illuminated my twisted face. On the screen was a photo from the police files. Hannah lay in a pool of blood, her eyes still half-open, staring blankly as if looking right at me. I reached out, my trembling finger gently tracing her pale face on the glass. “Hannah…” A ragged, animalistic sob escaped my throat. I stared at her picture and smiled through the tears streaming down my face. “Soon, baby. Very soon.” The next morning, I was jolted awake by the sound of smashing wood and shattering glass. The living room was a war zone. Tyler and a few of his cousins were tearing the place apart with baseball bats, smashing the small memorial I had set up for Hannah. The candles were crushed underfoot, the incense burner kicked over. “Wreck it! Destroy everything this monster owns!” Tyler stomped his heavy boot right onto Hannah’s framed portrait. The sound of the glass shattering was incredibly sharp. I stood at the bedroom door, watching the carnage. My fists clenched so hard my knuckles turned white. But I didn’t move. I just watched, cold and detached, like a ghost in my own home. 2 The sky was a heavy, suffocating gray, and the rain fell in relentless sheets. At the entrance of the cemetery, a makeshift wooden sign blocked the path. JARED AND DOGS NOT ALLOWED. The words were sloppily painted in dripping red paint, looking like fresh blood. Dressed in a black suit, I kept my arms wrapped tightly around a bouquet of wet white lilies. They were Hannah’s favorite. Ignoring the sign, I walked straight past the gate. “Stop him!” Tyler’s roar echoed through the rain, and five or six burly men rushed me. Without a word, their fists came down like a hailstorm on my back and head. I curled into a ball on the wet grass, doing everything I could to shield the flowers. “Get him out of here! Don’t let his filthy feet step near Hannah’s grave!” Tyler kicked me hard in the ribs. An agonizing pain shot through my chest, forcing a gasp from my throat, but I refused to let go of the bouquet. Finally, someone violently pried my fingers back and snatched the lilies away. “You think you deserve to give her flowers?” Tyler threw them into the mud, stomping them repeatedly until the pristine white petals were ground into black filth. “You belong in hell!” I lay in the mud, staring at the ruined flowers, my eyes burning. I tried to crawl toward them, but a heavy boot slammed down onto the back of my hand, pinning it to the gravel. Tyler looked down at me, pulling a photograph from his pocket and throwing it in my face. “Take a look, everyone!” He pointed at the photo, his voice piercing through the downpour. “This is who he really is! Six months before Hannah died, he was already cozying up to the killer, Wes, at a bar!” The photo was real. But it was taken when Wes had come to my office to ask for legal advice. The gathering crowd of relatives and friends erupted. “Oh my God, so it was premeditated?” “How is this sick bastard not in jail?” Someone spat on my face. Then came plastic bottles, clods of dirt, and small stones. “Scumbag!” “Rot in hell, you freak!” I was treated like a rabid dog, surrounded by a mob of angry people. I didn’t fight back. I didn’t utter a single word of defense. I just let the filth wash over me. The squeak of wheelchair wheels cut through the noise. The crowd parted. My father-in-law sat in the chair, his face a sickly yellow, his lips trembling violently. With the last of his strength, he threw a heavy shoe at me. It struck me right on the forehead, leaving a muddy smudge. “You… monster… get out…” His voice sounded like a broken bellows, his entire body shaking with rage. “Dad…” The moment I opened my mouth, two men grabbed my shoulders. “On your knees!” Tyler kicked me hard behind the knees. “Bow to Dad! Apologize to Hannah!” My knees slammed brutally against the rough concrete. Before I could even process the pain, a heavy hand pressed down on the back of my head, slamming it forward. Crack! My forehead hit the stone steps with a sickening thud. Warm blood immediately flowed down my brow, blurring my vision in a crimson haze. All around me were screams of curse, rain beating down, and absolute humiliation. It gnawed at my heart like venom. I forced my head up, my face completely smeared with blood. Through the red mist, I looked toward Hannah’s cold headstone. And then, I smiled. A twisted, eerie grin. “Dad. Tyler.” I stared at them, my voice quiet but laced with a bone-chilling coldness. “You will regret this.” “I am the only one who actually wants her to rest in peace.” Tyler flinched, taking a step back from my gaze. But he quickly recovered, his embarrassment turning into fury. “Still acting tough? Throw this trash out!” They dragged me out of the cemetery like a dead dog, dumping me unceremoniously into the muddy ditch by the roadside. The dirty water stung my fresh cuts. The torrential rain washed over me, mixing with the blood and grime. I lay there in the mud, staring up at the dark sky. My body was in absolute agony, but my mind had never been clearer. Hannah. Just wait a little longer. The show isn’t over yet. 3 Two strips of yellow police tape hung across the front door of our new home, bright and mocking. Dragging my limping left leg, I ignored the warning and tore them down. I pushed the door open. The air inside was thick with the smell of copper and decay. On the hardwood floor, a large, dried patch of dark brown stain remained. This was where Hannah took her last breath. I grabbed a rag from the bathroom and dropped to my knees. Over and over, I scrubbed at the dried blood. “Hannah loves a clean house. I can’t let it stay dirty…” I muttered to myself, my eyes vacant as I worked. A mocking voice drifted in from the hallway. “Oh look, the creep is back.” Mrs. Gable, the neighbor from down the hall, shouted loudly enough for the whole building to hear. “Sold his own wife’s life and still has the nerve to live here. Who would ever buy this place now? It’s cursed.” “Exactly. I heard he defended the killer. He’s lucky her ghost doesn’t drag him to hell in his sleep.” My hands paused for a second. I didn’t look up. I just kept scrubbing. I rubbed until the floorboards began to fade, and my fingertips wore raw and bleeding. Frantic footsteps echoed in the hallway. Tyler burst through the door with a couple of guys, waving a stack of papers in his hand. “Jared! You explain this to me right now!” He threw the papers, and they scattered across the wet floor in front of me. It was a copy of a life insurance policy. Payout: Ten million dollars. Beneficiary: Jared. Tyler’s eyes were wild, like a rabid beast ready to tear me apart. “No wonder you got Wes off! No wonder you didn’t care!” He lunged, grabbing my collar and shoving the paper into my face. “Because you were in on it! You planned the whole thing for the payout!” I stared at the policy, completely frozen. When did Hannah buy this? I remembered right before my birthday, she had mysteriously promised me a huge surprise. So this was it. That foolish, loving girl… was she so worried about me that she wanted to make sure I’d be taken care of if anything happened to her? My heart felt like it was being crushed by a giant fist. I couldn’t breathe. But my silence only confirmed Tyler’s suspicions. “Nothing to say? Guilty as charged, huh?” Tyler grabbed a baseball bat from near the door and swung it with all his might. Thwack! The bat slammed into my ribs. My stomach cramped instantly, and I doubled over like a wounded animal. Cold sweat drenched my back. But I clenched my teeth and didn’t make a sound. “Tell me! Did you set it up?!” Tyler brought the bat down again. “Stop it!” A man’s voice called out from the doorway. Owen, our next-door neighbor, stepped inside, wearing a mask of self-righteous concern. “Tyler, I’ll testify for you.” Owen pointed a finger at me, his eyes shifting nervously. “A few days before the murder, I heard him and Wes arguing in the stairwell. They were talking about ‘how to split the cash’ and ‘making sure it looks clean.’” The onlookers in the hallway gasped. “My God, there’s a witness?” “He’s done for!” I lay on the floor, forcing my head up to look at Owen’s smug, hypocritical face. He had pursued Hannah before we got married, and he had harbored a bitter grudge ever since she rejected him. Excellent. The rats were finally coming out of the woodwork. A wheezing laugh escaped my throat, tasting of copper. I dragged myself up, grabbing a half-empty bottle of whiskey from the wreckage on the counter. In front of everyone, I tilted my head back and took a massive gulp. The liquor spilled down my chin, mixing with the blood at the corner of my mouth. “Yeah,” I spat, looking at Tyler with a mocking, arrogant sneer. “The money’s cleared. Ten million. I’m practically throwing a party.” “With that kind of cash, do you really think I’ll have trouble finding another woman?” Silence. Dead silence. The next second, Tyler completely lost his mind. He grabbed a heavy metal shovel leaning against the wall from our remodeling work and raised it high. “Then you can take that money to your grave!” The shovel sliced through the air, aiming straight for my skull. I closed my eyes. I didn’t move. Clang! A dull thud. But the expected pain never came. I opened my eyes to see a small, frail figure sprawled over me. Warm, thick liquid dripped onto my cheek. It was Wes’s mother, Helen. The edge of the shovel had grazed her temple, and blood was pouring down her face. “Don’t hurt Jared… he’s a good man…” The elderly woman shielded me with her body, her voice trembling. The crowd erupted into chaotic murmurs. Tyler froze, but his anger only flared hotter. He pointed at Helen, the veins in his neck bulging like writhing worms. “Look at this, everyone! The killer’s mother is protecting this piece of garbage!” “You really are in this together! You disgusting freeloaders!” The mob of neighbors was completely whipped into a frenzy. “Beat them both!” “Shameless bastards!” “Selling his own wife’s life for cash!” Someone threw a brick, others hurled garbage and rotten vegetables. Tyler pulled out his phone, aiming the camera right at me to start a live stream. “Look at this, guys! This is Jared! The monster who had his wife killed for insurance money!” The comment section exploded instantly. Put him in the electric chair! Dox him! Find out where he lives! Why is this waste of space still breathing? I had become public enemy number one. The wail of police sirens grew louder down the street. Two police cruisers pulled up, and several officers pushed their way up the stairs. “Stand back! Everyone stand back!” They quickly set up a perimeter, barely holding back the rioting crowd. But Tyler wouldn’t stop. He shoved his phone camera right into my face. “Jared, in front of the police, in front of the whole world, tell them! Admit you paid Wes to kill her!” “Swear it! Swear that if you’re lying, you’ll rot in hell!” The shoving crowd pushed forward, knocking me back to the floor. Someone grabbed a bowl of cold rice left as an offering for the deceased. Splush! The cold, soggy rice mixed with incense ash was thrown directly over my head. Some of it got in my mouth. “Eat up! Consider it a gift from us!” “Beg your wife for forgiveness!” I lay there in the dirt, completely stripped of my dignity. I stuck out my tongue and tasted the bitter, ash-covered rice on my lips. Slowly, I pushed myself up. I brushed off the officer trying to help me up. Using my sleeve, I slowly, meticulously wiped the rice and blood from my face. My movements were so deliberate it made the room grow quiet. I looked up, my eyes passing over Tyler, passing over the cops. My gaze locked onto a figure hiding in the back corner of the crowd. I let out a raw, guttural roar that echoed through the entire hallway. “Wes didn’t do it!” I pointed a finger directly at the trembling man in the back, pronouncing every syllable with icy precision. “The real killer is standing right here in this room!”

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1 In the fourth year of my long-distance relationship with Nolan Price, he suddenly became clingy. Before going to the lab, he would report his schedule to me in advance. If he came across a good milk tea, he would share it with me. Even when he went out for a meal with friends, he would take photos and send them to me. But after listening, my roommate and self-proclaimed relationship strategist said with absolute certainty: “Your boyfriend is cheating.” “Telling you what he’s busy with in advance is his way of hinting that you shouldn’t call.” “When he goes out to eat and only photographs the food, not the people, it’s absolutely because someone special is sitting beside him.” “And wait, didn’t you tell me before that your boyfriend never drinks milk tea?” I refused to believe it. During the long weekend, I dragged my suitcase across half the country to Nolan’s university. And there, I saw a girl take a sip of milk tea, shove it into Nolan’s hand, and complain: “Too sweet. Gross.” The next second, a message from Nolan popped up on my phone. [Tried a new milk tea flavor today. It’s sweet. You’d probably like it.] [When you come visit, I’ll buy it for you.] … “Nolan Price, you promised today was all mine. And you’re secretly playing with your phone again?” The girl snatched his phone and spoke fiercely. “I’m confiscating it.” Nolan smiled, pressed his palms together, and begged. “Please, Your Highness. Let me send one last message, then I’ll go eat with you. Give it back, okay?” “Fine. Two minutes.” [Tara, my adviser is keeping me in the lab again this afternoon, so I can’t video call. Don’t miss me too much.] Seeing that ordinary check-in message again only made my heart twist. Before coming here, I had bet a whole month of living expenses with my roommate. I was certain Nolan would never cheat. Reality slapped me immediately. I followed behind Nolan. I watched as the girl excitedly pulled him into a fish hotpot restaurant. She picked up a slice of fish coated in red chili oil and held it to Nolan’s lips with a mischievous smile. Nolan looked at her with indulgence and helplessly opened his mouth. But he was clearly a clean freak. He never shared chopsticks with me. Once, I accidentally used his chopsticks by mistake. He threw them straight into the trash without hesitation. Nolan was hit hard by the spice. He immediately picked up the drink beside him and took a sip. But when we went out for hotpot together, if even a little chili oil touched the clear broth, he wouldn’t touch it anymore. Every time that happened, I felt terribly guilty. I would blame myself for being greedy and ruining the date. So it turned out taboos could be broken. I just wasn’t the exception. I followed them at a distance. Then an older woman suddenly stopped me with a warm smile. “Miss, buy a lover’s lock.” “Hang it on Lovers’ Bridge with your boyfriend, and you’ll stay together forever. Happy and blessed.” I turned my head. The girl was holding a lover’s lock, laughing and chatting with Nolan as they queued to walk onto the bridge. I laughed at myself and politely declined the woman. “Thank you, but no. I don’t have a boyfriend.” I suddenly remembered when Nolan and I climbed a mountain together two years ago. Under the old matchmaking tree at the summit, people crowded around to buy red ribbons, write down their names with their lovers’, and pray for a lasting bond. Nolan said superstition was irrational. He also thought it was a waste of time, so he pulled me straight down the mountain. Later, I secretly climbed back up alone and hung one. Maybe because I had been in such a hurry and wasn’t sincere enough, the matchmaker god refused to bless us forever. When I walked up behind Nolan, he and the girl had just finished hanging the lock. The girl clapped her hands, planted them on her hips, and admired the lock with satisfaction. “Done. Now we’re locked together. We’ll never be apart.” I gave a soft laugh and asked them: “Lover’s locks are supposed to be hung by lovers. Are you?” “Tara?” Nolan suddenly looked up at me, his expression both surprised and guilty. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? I could’ve picked you up at the station.” He stood and naturally reached for my suitcase. I held it tight. He couldn’t pull it away. My expression was mocking. “If I’d told you in advance, how would I have caught this sweet little scene?” He grew slightly annoyed and scolded me in a low voice. “Tara, don’t talk nonsense.” “She and I are just ordinary friends.” I shook off his hand, my expression calm. “Nolan, you still haven’t answered my question.” I was speaking to Nolan. But my eyes were fixed straight on the girl. She smiled and took the initiative to greet me. “Hi, Tara. I’m Ruby Sullivan, Nolan’s junior.” “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d be upset.” “I just thought it was fun, so I pestered Nolan into hanging this lock with me and you.” “If you don’t like it, I’ll ask the staff to take it down right now.” Nolan frowned. “Don’t bother. The staff remove them after a while anyway.” Only then did I remember that Nolan had mentioned the name before. Back then, he told me Ruby was his adviser’s youngest daughter. He had complained about her to me. He said she often hid their lab results and made them play hide-and-seek. Sometimes she even clumsily broke glass instruments in the lab. He had also teased her for having a sweet tooth. He said she ate so many sugary things she got cavities, then cried outside the clinic because the dentist wore a white coat. Eventually, he even started feeling sorry for her. He said Ruby was often lonely by herself, and his adviser had asked him to spend more time with her. Naturally, I had assumed Ruby was a lively little girl who had no peers to play with. I had even bought a popular doll online as a gift for her. I planned to ask her not to mess with Nolan, or maybe put in a good word for him in front of her father. But it turned out she was about my age. Nolan forcefully took the suitcase from my hand. With his other hand, he clasped mine, interlocking our fingers. “Sorry, Ruby.” “My girlfriend came all this way to see me. I can’t hang out with you today.” Ruby gave a soft “ah.” “But there’s still the lab group dinner tonight. If you’re not going, I still want to go.” “Don’t forget, you promised my dad you’d get me home safely.” Nolan hesitated for a moment, then immediately made the decision for me. “Tara, come with me then.” “You came all this way at night. You probably haven’t eaten.” “After dinner and after I send Ruby home, I’ll go with you to the hotel.” He didn’t give me room to refuse. He simply took my hand and led me into the car. “Well, well, Nolan Price. You ran around outside with your junior all day and only showed up now.” “You made all of us wait this long. You have to drink as punishment.” The guy sitting beside him pressed down the hand pouring the wine. “Nolan is practically the adviser’s future son-in-law. If you get him drunk, be careful the adviser calls you out in tomorrow’s group meeting.” Nolan’s grip on my hand tightened. He immediately explained. “Don’t take it to heart. They’re joking on purpose.” I looked around. Everyone seemed used to it. Clearly, this was the kind of joke they made all the time. Ruby slapped the guy’s forehead casually. “Why are you barking? Can’t you see Nolan brought his girlfriend?” “If you two ruin their relationship, all of you are dead.” Only then did those people notice my existence. Their gazes landed on the three of us, and their expressions instantly turned subtle. The guy smiled awkwardly and slapped his own mouth twice. “My mouth has no filter. I just talk nonsense. Please forgive me this once.” “I’ll pay for today’s meal as an apology.” “You said you’re paying, so I won’t hold back.” Ruby sat down without ceremony and picked up the menu, adding another crate of beer. Nolan frowned and pressed her hand down. “Drinking again? Did you forget how you got alcohol poisoning last time and were sent to the hospital in the middle of the night?” “Why do you never learn?” “Cancel it.” The others chimed in. “Yeah. Last time, Nolan was scared half to death. He didn’t sleep all night and stayed with you in the hospital.” Ruby snorted. “As he should.” “If he hadn’t made me mad on Valentine’s Day, why would I have gone drinking?” I froze. On Valentine’s Day, I sprained my ankle. While getting the wound bandaged, I cried and video-called Nolan for comfort, only to see that his background was also a hospital. But he didn’t notice anything wrong with me. He just hurriedly said a few words, told me he was busy, and hung up. I thought he had fallen seriously ill and hidden it from me because he didn’t want me to worry. Ignoring my own injured foot, I tried to buy a ticket to go to him. My roommate stopped me, but I still couldn’t sleep the whole night. That night, I called him countless times. Not a single call went through. So that night, for another girl, he had tossed and turned sleeplessly just like I had. Ruby snorted and shoved the menu back at the server. “Besides, you’re not anyone to me. What right do you have to control me?” Nolan froze. Sitting beside her, he fell unusually silent. I stood awkwardly to the side, watching the scene. I only felt wretched and unnecessary. In the end, it was the guy who had joked earlier who noticed my embarrassment and waved to a server not far away. “Add a chair here.” And so, for the entire meal, I was like that chair that had been dragged over temporarily. Out of place. Ruby drank quite a lot. Nolan watched her the whole time and didn’t touch a single bite of food. I, on the other hand, was starving. So I picked up my chopsticks and ate without ceremony. A message from my relationship strategist, Erica, popped up on my phone. “Have you met him? What’s the situation?” I took a photo of the scene and sent it to her. Above that message happened to be the photo Nolan had sent me as his meal check-in. Back then, I had forwarded it to her specifically, asking her to analyze it. She had concluded that he was cheating. I smiled bitterly. “I owe you a month of living expenses.” Outraged, she sent me several sixty-second voice messages in a row. I didn’t have time to listen. Because Ruby suddenly covered her mouth and stood. “I feel like throwing up.” Nolan stood helplessly and supported her. “I told you not to overdo it. Now you feel awful, huh?” “Hold it in. I’ll help you to the restroom first.” Ruby shook off his hand. “You’re a man. If you follow me into the women’s restroom, aren’t you afraid people will call you a creep?” “Let Tara come with me.” Nolan was convinced. He lowered his eyes to me. “It really isn’t convenient for me.” “Tara, can you go with Ruby?” I stood. I wanted to see what Ruby was planning. Sure enough, the moment we entered the restroom, the person who had supposedly been too dizzy to stand became sober. Ruby washed her hands leisurely and looked at me through the mirror. “Nolan never told anyone he had a girlfriend.” My heart sank. “I know you’ve already seen it. I like him.” She paused, then added: “And he likes me too.” She suddenly took a phone from her pocket and entered the password in front of me. The familiar phone case made my heart tremble. It was the birthday gift I had given Nolan last winter. Mine was the matching pair. Ruby clearly noticed that I recognized it. Proudly, she waved the phone at me. The smiling girl on the screen slowly merged with the person before me. I felt dizzy and had to support myself against the wall. “Otherwise, why would he use my photo as his lock screen and my birthday as the password?” “Oh, and you probably didn’t know.” “Sometimes, I’m the one who replies to your messages for him. No need to thank me.” “I just thought you were so pitiful, waiting by your phone every day like a dog for him to reply.” Her words were like a blade, completely cutting through the last thread of hope in my heart. So in places I didn’t know, our photo had been replaced by Ruby’s. The anniversary password I once set for him had become Ruby’s birthday. Even the love that once belonged to me alone had been divided and given to Ruby. “Tara, is Ruby still feeling sick?” “Help her out. I’ll give her some hangover medicine first.” So Nolan could be this thoughtful too. “Do you believe that if I go out now and tell him you left, he’ll only blame you for leaving me here alone?” I fell silent. Suddenly, I was terrified to know the answer. But Ruby walked out. “Why are you alone? Where’s Tara?” Ruby swayed to his side and buried her head in Nolan’s arms. “She left me here alone and went ahead. A drunk guy walked by just now.” “I was scared to death. Thank God you came.” Nolan frowned. “She left? How could she leave a drunk girl here by herself?” “I’ll help you back to rest first.” But Nolan. How could you bear to leave me alone in a city I didn’t know? I laughed at myself and called my roommate. “Erica, can you help me fill out the application form for the government-sponsored study abroad program?” “I probably can’t get back to school until tomorrow afternoon, and I won’t make the deadline.” The other end was silent for a moment. She cursed Nolan a few times, then spoke loyally. “Easy. I haven’t submitted mine either.” After hanging up, I went to the front desk to get my suitcase and planned to take a cab to the hotel. But when the female driver heard the hotel address I gave, she kept glancing at me through the rearview mirror. She hesitated several times before finally speaking. “Miss, are you here alone to visit friends?” I wasn’t used to strangers being so warm, so I casually said yes and didn’t respond further. “Then why book that hotel? If you can, switch to another one.” Seeing my confused expression, she explained. “That hotel was recently exposed for hidden cameras. They were selling guests’ private photos on overseas websites.” “It caused a huge scandal. Almost everyone local knows. Didn’t your friend remind you?” My whole body turned cold. I immediately opened my phone to check if there were any flights back to school. Luckily, I managed to find one last-minute red-eye ticket. “Thank you for reminding me. I’m not going to the hotel. Please take me straight to the airport.” While checking in, I finally received a call from Nolan. “Why did you leave Ruby alone in the restroom just because you were mad at me? Do you know how dangerous that place is?” “Luckily, nothing happened.” Nolan did not care which hotel I had booked or whether I might have been filmed. He did not worry whether I, alone on unfamiliar streets, would get lost or harassed. Only accusation came at me. Maybe he finally realized I hadn’t spoken. He finally remembered to ask: “Where are you now? I’ll come get you.” “Nolan, don’t come.” “We’re breaking up.”

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For her birthday, I spent two months writing a custom immersive mystery game. The storyline traced our seven-year journey, from two broke nobodies building a startup together to the life we had now. Hidden in the final act was an Easter egg: a marriage proposal. If she recognized it was our story, the lights would come on, and I would walk out to get on one knee. But throughout the entire game, she held the hand of her new assistant. She helped him solve puzzles, analyzed clues for him, and even handed over her most crucial survival items. Not once did she recognize the struggles we had endured or the promises we had whispered in the dark. In her mouth, our history was twisted into a joke. “The female lead is such a pathetic doormat,” she scoffed. “Giving up so much for a guy? She is out of her mind.” Her assistant covered his mouth, giggling in agreement. During the final voting phase, the players had to choose which character to protect. She cast her vote for the secondary male lead. Her reasoning was brutal: “The main guy is way too much work. He isn’t worth it.” On the surveillance monitor, I watched the two of them laughing together, completely oblivious to the man sitting in the dark. No one knew the author of this script was quietly slipping a velvet ring box back into his pocket. I wiped my face, pulled out my phone, and sent a single message to the airline: “Cancel my return flight for the day after tomorrow. I won’t be needing it.” 1 The harsh overhead lights of the game parlor flickered on. I sat in the surveillance room behind a one way mirror, burying the diamond ring that had cost me half a year’s savings deep into my coat pocket. On the screen, they were still laughing. I looked down at my phone and officially canceled my return ticket from London. When I pushed the door open and walked out into the lobby, Victoria was unscrewing the cap of a bottled water and handing it to Toby. “You were running around looking for evidence. You must be thirsty,” she said, her voice dripping with a gentleness I hadn’t heard in years. Toby took the water and let out a dramatic, childish sigh. “Victoria, the main guy in this script was so incredibly stupid. Splitting a single plain bagel in a freezing bus shelter just to save money for the girl’s laptop? You don’t see that kind of pathetic, broke romance in real life.” Victoria let out a soft chuckle. Her tone was completely dismissive. “It is definitely melodramatic. If you are broke, you should just go make money. Brainwashing yourself into feeling loved over a stale bagel… that trick only works on naive little boys.” My footsteps faltered. I stopped dead in the shadows of the hallway. That exact scenario happened during our very first winter in Chicago. It was a massive blizzard. After paying our rent, we had exactly five dollars left to our names. Victoria’s hands were bright red from the cold as she tore that cheap bagel in half, giving me the softer, warmer center. Her eyes had been red with tears as she made a vow to me. “Oliver, one day I am going to buy you the most expensive French tasting menus. I swear I will never let you suffer with me again.” Now, she took Toby out for thousand dollar Michelin dinners. And the boy who shared that bagel with her in the freezing snow had just become a naive joke in her mouth. “Oliver! Where did you wander off to?” Toby spotted me and called out. “I had to take a call,” I replied, walking over with a perfectly calm expression. We headed down to the underground parking garage. Out of sheer habit, I walked toward the passenger side of her car. Just as I reached for the handle, Toby smoothly slipped into the seat. He even reached into the glove compartment with practiced ease and pulled out a pack of mango flavored fruit drops. “Wow, Victoria! You actually bought this brand! I casually mentioned last week that these help with my car sickness, and you actually remembered.” Victoria pulled open the driver side door and shot me a brief glance. “You sit in the back. Toby gets carsick easily.” I didn’t say a single word. I quietly withdrew my hand and climbed into the backseat. The engine roared to life, and the Bluetooth automatically connected. But the playlist that popped up on the dashboard screen wasn’t the one titled “Seven Years Together” from my phone. It was Toby’s phone. Upbeat, obnoxiously loud pop music flooded the speakers. My gaze drifted to the back of the driver’s seat. Victoria had terrible allergies. She always hated artificial scents in enclosed spaces. For seven years, her car had remained completely free of any air fresheners. But now, clipped to the air conditioning vent, was a bright yellow daisy diffuser. It was emitting a sickeningly sweet peach scent. The exact kind of trendy fragrance a young boy in his early twenties would like. “By the way, Victoria,” I said softly, watching the city lights blur past the rainy window. “Next Monday is our seventh anniversary. I booked that omakase place you like a month in advance.” The music in the car was deafening. Victoria glanced at me through the rearview mirror, her brows pulling together in annoyance. “Next Monday? That is the final day of the gaming expo. The sponsors are hosting an appreciation banquet. It is Toby’s first time handling a major project like this. I need to take him to network.” She paused, her tone shifting into the patronizing voice one might use to soothe an unreasonable child. “It is just a dinner, Oliver. We can eat sushi any day. Just cancel the reservation so we do not lose the deposit.” Toby turned his head, giving me an incredibly fake look of guilt. “Oliver, I am so sorry. My work schedule is ruining your anniversary.” “It’s fine.” I pulled out my phone, opened the restaurant app, and hit the cancel button without a second thought. The car rolled to a stop at a red light. A notification popped up on Victoria’s dashboard family calendar screen: [Oliver’s Gastritis Reminder: Buy Stomach Medicine.] She quickly scanned the words. Then, she reached out and casually swiped the alert away, hitting the delete permanently button. 2 It was past midnight by the time we returned to our shared apartment. After washing up, I walked into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of water. When I opened the refrigerator, I froze. The entire shelf of lactose free milk I drank every morning was gone. In its place was a massive, fully stocked row of sparkling water and chilled sodas. My stomach lining was severely damaged. I could not drink anything carbonated or ice cold. Victoria walked out of the bathroom, drying her hair with a towel. “Oh, Toby came over yesterday to grab some files,” she said casually. “He said he was thirsty, but we didn’t have any fizzy drinks in the fridge. I picked up a case on my way home today. You drink your milk too slowly anyway.” “But I just opened a brand new carton yesterday.” I looked at her, my voice eerily calm. “I threw it out. It doesn’t stay fresh once it is open,” she said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. She walked over to the kitchen island and picked up the kettle. Years ago, whenever I couldn’t finish a glass of milk, she would gladly drink the rest, insisting we couldn’t afford to waste a single drop. Now, she thought a carton open for twenty four hours was trash. I didn’t argue with her. I just poured myself a glass of lukewarm water and walked back to the bedroom. The next morning at the studio. Our creative agency was small, barely a dozen people in total. I was the core art director, and Victoria handled all the external business and client relations. Right after I sat down at my desk, my phone buzzed with a bank notification. The joint family credit card linked to Victoria had just been charged nearly four thousand dollars. The purchase receipt listed a premium tactile mechanical keyboard and a high end ergonomic gaming chair. I turned my head and looked through the glass partition into the main office area. Toby was excitedly tearing open a massive shipping box. Victoria stood right next to him, helping him assemble the bright blue keyboard. “Boys type with a heavier hand. These specific switches will make sure your fingers don’t get tired,” her voice drifted into my office. I looked down at my own desk. My hand was resting on a generic, three year old mouse with a broken left click button. Last year, I had asked to buy a basic ergonomic mouse for forty dollars. Victoria had immediately shut it down. “Oliver, we just signed the lease for this new office space. Cash flow is incredibly tight right now. We have to save wherever we can. Once we get through this rough patch, I promise I will buy you the best top tier equipment on the market.” We survived the rough patch. She did buy the best top tier equipment. But the person sitting in that chair was not me. At noon, everyone decided to order lunch. A massive thunderstorm had flooded the streets, so most places weren’t delivering. Victoria stood in the center of the room, waving her phone. “Lunch is on me today, guys! Let’s just order a massive spread from that authentic Szechuan place.” Forty minutes later, the food arrived. Every single plastic container was swimming in a thick layer of blood red chili oil. Spicy boiled beef, fiery chili chicken, mapo tofu. Toby was obsessed with spicy food. He ate until his face was flushed, sweating happily. Victoria stood next to him, gently handing him napkins. I stood by the communal dining table, staring at the sea of red chili flakes. “Victoria, my gastritis flared up again recently. I really can’t eat spicy food,” I reminded her quietly. She paused, her chopsticks hovering in mid air. It was obvious she had completely forgotten about me. “Oh, my bad. I wasn’t really thinking when I placed the order. Why don’t you just rinse the beef slices in a cup of hot water before you eat them?” She pointed her chin toward the water cooler. Her tone carried a distinct trace of annoyance, as if I was deliberately ruining the mood. “If that doesn’t work, just go down to the convenience store and grab a sandwich to hold you over. The rain is too heavy right now. Ordering a separate meal just for you is too much of a hassle for the delivery drivers.” Toby bit the end of his chopstick, looking up at me with wide, innocent eyes. “Oliver, do you want my bowl of rice? I haven’t touched it yet.” “No thanks.” I turned around, walked back into my private office, and shut the door. I booted up my computer and opened our shared studio cloud drive. Inside were thousands of folders containing every travel photo and personal memory from our seven years together. I didn’t click open a single picture to reminisce. Instead, I went straight to the administrative settings. I permanently removed my account from the shared access list. 3 At three in the afternoon, a panicked gasp erupted from the main floor. “Oh my god! Victoria, I think I just overwrote the master file for the Harrison project…” Toby’s eyes were rimmed with red. He looked like he was on the verge of a total breakdown. The Harrison project was due first thing tomorrow morning. I had led the design team through three sleepless nights just to render those intricate layers. Victoria practically sprinted to his desk. She leaned over his shoulder, her brows knitting together as she inspected the screen. “Hey, don’t cry. It is fine. It is not a big deal. You are new to this software, making a mistake is totally normal.” She coaxed him softly for a few moments before turning her sharp gaze toward my office. “Oliver, Toby accidentally merged and saved over the layers. You drew the original concept. You need to stay late tonight and redraw the entire thing from scratch.” I stared blankly at the empty history log on my screen. “Redrawing this will take a minimum of eight hours,” I stated flatly. “And I wasn’t even supposed to be the one handling tomorrow’s pitch.” “You are the art director of this studio. If you don’t draw it, who will?” Victoria’s voice hardened. “Toby is practically in tears. As his senior, what is the big deal about helping him clean up a tiny mess?” “Fine. For the sake of the company.” I didn’t look at Toby again. I simply opened a brand new, blank canvas. Slowly, the rest of the studio packed up and went home. By eleven at night, the only sound left on the entire floor was the rapid clicking of my mouse. Victoria didn’t leave. She sat on the velvet sofa in the lobby, playing a multiplayer mobile game with Toby. “Ah! Victoria, come save me! I’m completely surrounded!” Toby’s excited shouts echoed through the quiet office. “Hold on, I am on my way,” Victoria laughed, her voice light and entirely stress free. I sat glued to my monitor, watching the intricate lines slowly form on the screen. Sharp, stabbing pains radiated through my stomach. I dry swallowed two antacid pills and continued to move my mouse like a machine. Three in the morning. I added the final stroke of color and hit the save button. The sounds of the video game outside had stopped hours ago. When I walked out, I saw Victoria fast asleep on the sofa. Toby’s designer jacket was draped carefully over her shoulders. Toby was sitting nearby with his headphones on, watching a show on his tablet. When he saw me walk out, he quickly jumped to his feet. “Oliver, are you finally done? Thanks for working so hard.” His tone carried a hint of artificial flattery, but there was absolutely no panic in his eyes. Because he knew a fundamental truth. As long as Victoria was protecting him, he would never have to face any real consequences. I completely ignored him and walked straight back to my desk. I packaged the master files and emailed them directly to Victoria’s inbox. Then, I opened the company’s internal HR portal and submitted a formal leave request. [Applicant: Oliver] [Leave Type: Accumulated PTO and Sick Leave. Total: 45 days.] I didn’t type a single word in the reason box. Because we were never legally married, I didn’t even have to go through the hassle of a divorce. Before I left, I took the physical banking security token for the company’s accounts and placed it quietly on her desk. I took one final look around the office I had poured my blood, sweat, and tears into for seven years. I did not wake Victoria up. This was the very last time I would ever clean up her mess. From now on, whatever storms she faced had absolutely nothing to do with me. 4 By the time I walked back into the apartment, the sky outside was turning a pale grey. I didn’t go to sleep. Instead, I went to the deepest corner of the closet and dragged out my dusty twenty four inch suitcase. I actually owned very little. Over the years, almost every dollar I made went straight back into keeping the studio afloat. I never bought expensive clothes. My entire wardrobe consisted of cheap, basic essentials. I packed the few outfits I had organized over the last few days, along with my passport and legal documents. When I walked into the bathroom to grab my toiletries, I stopped. Sitting on the sink were two identical electric toothbrushes. But the brush head on one of them had just been swapped for a brand new one. And resting perfectly between the two brushes was a bright pink tube of peach flavored toothpaste. “Toby said this brand is amazing for teeth whitening, so I bought a tube for the house to try out.” That was the excuse Victoria gave me a few days ago. I stared at the peach tube. Someone had squeezed it aggressively from the dead center. I calmly picked up my own tube of mint toothpaste and dropped it straight into the trash can. At ten in the morning, the electronic lock on the front door beeped loudly. Victoria pushed the door open, holding a cheap plastic bag with a convenience store breakfast inside. When she saw the large suitcase sitting in the middle of the living room, she froze. A deep frown instantly formed on her face. “Why is your luggage out? Are you going on a business trip?” She walked over and tossed the cold, pre packaged sandwich onto the coffee table. “Why didn’t you wake me up last night when you finished the drawings? Toby feels so guilty that he practically begged for the day off today. He was too scared to even show his face at the office. Could you seriously stop throwing these massive tantrums?” “I am not going on a business trip.” I pulled the zipper of the suitcase shut. “I have forty five days of unused PTO. I am starting my vacation today.” The color completely drained from Victoria’s face, replaced by a dark, simmering anger. “Taking PTO? Right now? We are in the middle of our end of year sprint, and you are taking forty five days off?” She marched right up to me, looking down her nose with that habitual, suffocating pressure she always used on her employees. “Oliver, can you please act like an adult? All I asked you to do was fix a minor mistake for a new hire. Did you really have to make everyone so miserable?” “Throwing a fit over something this trivial. You are being unbelievably selfish.” A second later, the front door slammed shut with a deafening crash. I stared at the space where her self righteous face had just been. Inside my chest, there was nothing but a hollow, peaceful silence. I picked up the trench coat draped over the sofa. I sat in the quiet room for a few moments longer, then grabbed the handle of my suitcase, walked to the entryway, and opened the door. I walked out of the home I had once loved so desperately. A moment later, my phone vibrated with a new text message. [You are required to attend the client dinner tonight. You do not have permission to take a vacation.] [If you do not show up, you can forget about celebrating our seventh anniversary entirely.] I didn’t type a reply. I simply pressed her contact name and hit delete. … That evening, Victoria sat in the private dining room of an upscale restaurant. Staring at the completely unresponsive chat log, a wave of intense irritation and creeping anxiety washed over her. She sent me another angry message, but the screen instantly flashed a red exclamation point indicating she had been blocked. Her brow furrowed deeply. She convinced herself I was just throwing another dramatic fit. A moment later, her driver pushed open the door to the private room. “Victoria, I couldn’t get ahold of Mr. Oliver. But I went to the apartment and found this USB drive on the table.” Annoyed, Victoria plugged the drive into her laptop. When the file opened, her pupils contracted into tiny pinpricks of pure horror.

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1 On my very first day back with my obscenely wealthy biological family, I maxed out the million dollar compensation card my mother gave me. Cinda, the fake daughter who had lived my life, doubled over in laughter looking at the mountain of rice, flour, and cooking oil piled in the courtyard. “Are you trying to turn the estate into a wholesale warehouse? The Sinclair mansion isn’t a refugee camp.” My biological brother, Preston, kicked over a box of MREs I had just unloaded. “You really can’t teach trash to be classy. You get a little bit of cash and instantly buy this garbage. You country hicks have zero vision!” My biological parents stared at me with ice cold expressions and froze my supplementary credit card on the spot. “If we knew you were going to be this much of an embarrassment, we never would have brought you back!” In this life, I didn’t bother explaining myself. I simply reached down and quietly fed a piece of premium Wagyu beef to the golden retriever sitting by my feet. Sure enough, the dog’s inner voice echoed perfectly in my mind. [Eat up while you can. The apocalyptic rainstorm hits in exactly three days. This entire stuck up neighborhood is going to drown in mud!] I patted my pocket, feeling the crisp deed to an abandoned mansion up in the hills. Let’s see if they are still laughing three days from now. “Are you doing this just to spite Mom and Dad?” Cinda pointed at the boxes of instant ramen at my feet, looking absolutely heartbroken. “I know you resent us since you just got back. But you shouldn’t degrade yourself like this, and you definitely shouldn’t drag the Sinclair family’s reputation down into the mud.” “These things smell awful. How could you bring them inside?” Preston pointed a finger right in my face and yelled. “Riley, do you think we mistreated you? You purposely blew a million bucks on cheap junk just to make us the laughingstock of the city’s elite!” Eleanor’s eyebrows were pinched together in deep disgust. There wasn’t a single trace of joy in her eyes upon finding her biological daughter. There was only bitter resentment. “If we knew you were going to be this humiliating, we would have left you out in the sticks! Alfred, cut off her card immediately.” My father, Winston, glared at me with pure disdain, not even wanting to look at me for another second. In this life, I didn’t try to desperately explain myself like I did in my past life. I didn’t warn them about the apocalyptic floods coming in three days. I crouched down and fed another piece of meat to Buster, the golden retriever rubbing against my leg. He swallowed the Wagyu whole and wagged his tail in absolute bliss. [Oh man, this beef is insane! Gotta eat the good stuff now. The world ends in three days.] [These idiots are still obsessed with acting rich. Pretty soon they won’t even have warm shit to eat.] Buster bared his teeth, growling at Cinda and Preston. [These people run their mouths too much. You want me to bite them right now to help you vent, Mom?] I quickly wrapped my arms around his neck. “Good boy, ignore them.” I couldn’t let Buster get beaten to death and eaten by the Sinclairs like he did in my past life. Cinda sneered. “Wow, what a lovely mood you’re in. Are you really that starved for affection since moving to the city?” “Calling a dumb animal your son? Doesn’t that make Mom and Dad the animal’s grandparents, and Preston the dog’s uncle?” The moment those words left her mouth, the Sinclairs’ faces turned livid. I shot her a sideways glance. “You? You aren’t even qualified to be Buster’s family.” Cinda’s face went pale. Her eyes instantly welled up with tears. She looked at our parents with overwhelming grievance. Winston stormed forward and slapped me hard across the face. “You ungrateful brat! You just got back and you’re already turning this house upside down!” “You have absolutely zero manners. You are a complete disgrace to the Sinclair name!” Eleanor pulled Cinda into a protective hug, looking at me with nothing but bitter disappointment. “Cinda has been an angel since she was a little girl. We never had to worry about her. You should learn from her on how a proper young lady from a prestigious family behaves.” “Learn what? How to act like a pathetic, manipulative hypocrite?” Winston exploded in rage. “You dare talk back! Security! Throw Riley and all her garbage out onto the street right now!” Several heavily built bodyguards stepped forward, ready to grab me. I took a step back. “Don’t touch me. I know how to walk.” The guards roughly tossed the emergency supplies I bought out the front doors. Preston stood in the doorway, a cold sneer on his face. “Cinda is the only treasure of this family. If you bully her, you deserve to get kicked out!” Cinda smiled, looking incredibly smug. “Please don’t do anything reckless, sister.” “I hope you and your precious junk can survive out there on your own. Don’t come crawling back to drag us down.” I ignored her venomous taunts. I pulled out my phone and ordered five of the largest moving trucks available. In less than ten minutes, the trucks pulled up to the Sinclair estate gates. I directed the drivers to load up every single box of supplies from the courtyard. The destination was the abandoned mansion complex at the very top of the mountain. It was a failed real estate project Winston threw at me like a scrap of charity just to pacify me. Once everything was loaded, I looked back at the family of four standing on the marble steps. I flashed them the brightest, most radiant smile. “Thank you for letting me go. See you never.” The Sinclairs looked at me like I was a psychiatric patient. “Did she lose her mind? She just got kicked out and she’s smiling?” “Thank god we got rid of her, otherwise she really would have ruined our reputation in the high society circles!” 2 “Driver, stop right up ahead at that unfinished mansion.” The place was desolate. It didn’t even have proper doors or windows, but the elevation was incredibly high. When the biblical floods hit in three days, this would be the absolute safest spot in the entire city. I stared at the mountain of cardboard boxes on the concrete floor, but my brows furrowed. This amount of supplies was barely enough to survive a standard natural disaster. To outlast months of apocalyptic extreme freezing temperatures and endless rain, it wasn’t even close to enough. Thankfully, before they froze my supplementary card, I managed to withdraw the remaining seven hundred thousand dollars in cash. I took Buster back down the mountain for round two of a massive shopping spree. However, after hitting three major wholesale club stores, I came up completely empty handed. “Sorry miss, we aren’t selling rice or flour to individuals today.” “Apologies, all our canned goods and MREs are out of stock. The warehouse is empty.” “The boss said we aren’t taking any customers right now. Try somewhere else.” Refusing to give up, I tried placing orders online. The apps either showed system errors or claimed they were doing inventory checks. Every single order was canceled without exception. A heavy sense of dread settled in my stomach. In my past life, hoarding supplies before the apocalypse was incredibly easy. As long as you had the cash, no one cared how much you bought. But in this life, I was hitting brick walls at every turn. Why was this happening? Did someone else know the storm was coming? [It’s that evil witch Cinda playing tricks again!] Buster’s inner voice practically growled with rage. [She used the Sinclair family’s connections to blacklist you with every major supplier in the city! She wants to watch you starve to death on the streets!] Buster suddenly pivoted, barking aggressively at a spot down the street. [The bitch who bullied my mom actually showed up! Watch me bite her face off!] A flashy red sports car slowly pulled up to the curb. It was Cinda. “Sister, it’s so late and you still haven’t gone home. Oh my, are you really homeless now?” She looked at my empty shopping carts, feigning shock. “Couldn’t buy anything? Are you out of money? Do you want your little sister to lend you a few bucks?” Preston, who was sitting in the driver’s seat, let out a harsh laugh. “Why would she go home? Let me make this clear, Riley. As long as the Sinclairs are in power, you won’t be able to buy a single grain of rice in this city! I want to see exactly how long you and your pile of garbage can survive!” “This is what happens when you disrespect our family!” The look in his eyes was identical to the look he gave me in my past life when he shoved me toward that pack of violent men. In my past life, the floodwaters trapped everyone. I told them I could understand animals. I told them I knew where a safe shelter was, and where we could find clean food. They didn’t believe me. They called me a lunatic. Cinda had smiled and said, “Since sister is so capable, why don’t you go out and trade yourself for some food for us?” Then they literally sold me to a filthy, overweight creep in the neighboring mansion for a single box of expired canned beans. Buster was beaten to death by them and boiled into a pot of dog meat stew. All because Cinda mentioned she was craving fresh meat. I took a deep breath, forcing down the violent hatred boiling in my chest. Buster sensed my rising anxiety. [Don’t be scared, Mom! Do you really think your son is a pushover?] [In these streets, I am a very respected guy!] With that, Buster trotted right into the middle of the empty street and let out a piercing, dominant howl. “Awooooo!” In less than five minutes, exactly ninety nine stray dogs poured out from every alleyway and side street! There was a husky missing half its tail, a one eyed poodle, a scarred pitbull. My mind instantly exploded with a chorus of canine voices. [The boss’s mom is our mom!] [Who dares to bully her? I just sharpened my teeth!] Buster strutted to the front of the pack, looking like an absolute warlord. [If the big stores won’t sell to our mom, we’ll find those hidden mom and pop shops in the back alleys!] [Also, if you see those two Sinclair brats, bite them until they bleed!] [Yes, Boss!] Ninety nine dogs barked their agreement, the sound echoing like thunder. I looked at my brand new Stray Dog Scavenger Squad and my eyes welled up with tears. “You are the best son ever. Let’s go shopping!” 3 Buster took the lead, perfectly avoiding all the upscale commercial districts controlled by the Sinclair family. We dove deep into the rundown industrial zones and forgotten neighborhoods. A Shiba Inu missing half an ear led me to a wholesale grain distributor hidden deep in a labyrinth of alleyways. [This boss is a good guy. He used to feed me sausages. His warehouse is packed!] Without hesitating, I bought out the owner’s entire inventory. Five thousand pounds of rice, three thousand pounds of flour, and dozens of industrial barrels of cooking oil. A chubby Corgi led me to a meat canning factory that was on the verge of bankruptcy. [Mom, the labels are ugly, but it’s one hundred percent real meat inside! I sniffed it, it’s amazing!] I waved my hand and bought ten thousand cans of beef stew and five thousand cans of preserved fruit. For the entire afternoon, guided by my loyal pack, I went on an absolute spending spree. I bought pallets of MREs, emergency rations, gallons of purified water, extreme weather arctic gear, and even crates of medical alcohol and antibiotics. Every time I made a purchase, I had the moving trucks deliver it straight to the abandoned mountain mansion. By the end of it, the cash in my bag was practically gone. But it still wasn’t enough. The unfinished mansion was completely exposed to the elements. It would never hold up against the extreme cold and floods. I walked into a high end security door and window dealership. The owner took one look at my casual clothes and practically ignored me. I let out a cold laugh and slammed the premium Sinclair Corporation executive access card Winston had given me onto the glass counter. “I am Riley Sinclair. The eldest daughter of the Sinclair family.” “My father is building a private apocalypse bunker up on the mountain. We need maximum grade bulletproof glass and reinforced steel vault doors.” “Send the entire bill directly to the Sinclair Corporation’s finance department.” It would be a crime not to fleece the Sinclairs while I still could. The owner’s eyes practically turned into dollar signs. “Rest assured, miss! My materials are military grade!” “Move fast. I need everything installed by tonight. If you delay my father’s project, your business will be ruined.” The owner nodded frantically and immediately rallied his best construction crew. Using the exact same tactic, I financed three heavy duty diesel generators, dozens of tons of fuel, and a complete solar powered central heating system. All night long, the abandoned mansion blazed with floodlights. The construction crew worked with frantic energy. Bulletproof glass was slotted into the frames. Thick steel vault doors were welded shut. Top tier insulation panels were bolted to the concrete walls, and a smart climate control system was wired throughout the entire property. It wasn’t until early the next morning that all the renovations were finalized. After the crew packed up and left, I locked the final biometric steel door. The massive room was lined with perfectly organized crates of food and supplies. The air was comfortably warm. Buster sprawled out on a plush wool rug, rolling around in pure comfort. This impenetrable fortress filled me with an overwhelming sense of security. Just as I was about to boil a pot of ramen to reward myself, a violent pounding echoed from the front gates. I frowned and walked over to the security monitors. Outside stood several men in official uniforms holding clipboards. “Listen up inside! We are from the City Planning Department!” “This unfinished property is classified as an illegal structure. We are preparing it for explosive demolition!” “You have ten minutes to evacuate the premises!” I froze completely. Demolition? In my past life, this building stood tall for years. Why was it suddenly being torn down? 4 My mind went completely blank. My phone buzzed. It was Cinda. “Riley, do you hear the commotion outside?” “Are you surprised? Are you shocked?” I stared dead at the security monitors, gritting my teeth. “You did this?” Cinda’s laughter was piercing and arrogant. “That ugly ruined building was such an eyesore on the mountain. I just acted a little spoiled and Daddy pulled some strings to move the demolition date up.” “You love hoarding trash so much, right? Then you can get buried under the rubble with all your garbage!” “So what if you are the biological daughter? I am still the one Mom and Dad love the most!” I trembled with sheer rage. Buster’s tail slapped the ground anxiously. [There are a lot of people outside!] [The bad guys are trying to tear Mom’s house down! We haven’t even eaten those meat cans yet!] I looked down through the bulletproof window. On the winding mountain road, three massive yellow excavators were roaring up the incline. Trailing right behind them was that familiar red sports car. Preston waved his hand, signaling the demolition crew to start tearing the walls down. “You can’t let them do this!” I rushed to the control panel, preparing to activate the newly installed high voltage electric perimeter fence. “Final warning! If you don’t come out, we are bringing the house down with you inside!” I kept my hand hovering over the kill switch, my palms slick with cold sweat. If I triggered the electric grid now, it would become a massive legal incident. I might be dragged off to jail before the storm even hit. But if I backed down, all the supplies I spent my life savings on would be crushed! Weighing my options, I pulled open the heavy steel vault door. “Stop right there!” Buster charged out right beside me, barking aggressively at the massive construction vehicles. Preston curled his lip in disgust. “Let me spell it out for you, Riley. This house is coming down today! No one can stop it!” Cinda doubled over in laughter. “A stupid woman and a dumb animal trying to stop heavy machinery? Pathetic!” She lifted her chin at the crew foreman. “What are you waiting for? Tear it down! If anything happens, I’ll take full responsibility!” “I’d like to see you try!” I threw my arms wide, planting my body directly in front of the building. The massive steel claw of the excavator swung upward, whistling through the air, ready to crash down on my roof! [Mom, watch out!] Suddenly, an apocalyptic clap of thunder shattered the sky directly above us! The sky, which had only been slightly overcast, instantly turned as pitch black as midnight. The very next second, torrential rain mixed with jagged chunks of hail smashed into the earth. Cinda, wearing a designer slip dress, shrieked as the freezing ice hit her skin. “Preston, it’s freezing! I’m getting soaked, I need to go home and take a hot bath!” The construction crew immediately started panicking. “Boss, the rain is too heavy! Zero visibility. We can’t operate the rigs safely!” “Yeah, the mountain roads are going to wash out. This is a massive landslide risk!” The foreman looked up at the terrifying, unnatural weather and immediately backed out. “Mr. Sinclair, Miss Sinclair, these conditions are extremely unsafe. We are pulling out! Safety first!” Preston scowled at the torrential downpour, but had no choice but to grab Cinda and jump back into his sports car. Standing in the absolute downpour, soaked to the bone, I actually smiled. Buster spun around in circles, completely thrilled. [The storm came early! The apocalypse is here!] Preston slammed the gas pedal, his sports car skidding dangerously on the muddy mountain road, nearly crashing through the guardrail. He managed to stabilize it and sped recklessly down the mountain. I watched their taillights disappear into the wall of rain, a cold smirk crossing my lips. Run. Run back down to your luxurious mansion in the lowest elevation valley in the city. This rain isn’t something a hot bath is going to fix. The rain poured down in Biblical sheets, as if the heavens had been ripped wide open. In just two hours, the outside world became entirely unrecognizable. The winding mountain roads were swallowed by churning mud, and the city below was completely lost in a thick, gray fog. I turned around and walked back into my warm, secure bunker. The climate control system kept the interior at a perfect, cozy seventy five degrees. I pulled out a box of self heating hotpot from the supply stacks and sliced up a massive slab of premium steak. The spicy red broth bubbled and popped, filling the room with an incredibly mouthwatering aroma. Buster laid beside me, gnawing on a massive three pound beef bone, his tail wagging like a helicopter blade. I leaned back comfortably into the plush sofa and opened the Sinclair family group chat on my phone. The chat was already exploding in pure panic.

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1 The day I finally decided to divorce Tom Sinclair, I brought him a home-cooked meal in his executive suite, just like I always did. He took a bite, and his eyes immediately lit up. “This broth is incredible. Make it again tomorrow.” I nodded slowly. “Sure. I’ll write down the recipe for the housekeeper.” Tom looked up, his brow furrowing slightly. “Do you have somewhere to be tomorrow?” “Tom, I want a divorce.” My voice was completely flat. It was so terrifyingly calm that everyone, Tom included, assumed I was just throwing another one of my pathetic tantrums. But they had no idea. In exactly twelve hours, I would be boarding a military-grade transport plane with an elite polar expedition team, leaving the civilized world behind for good. Hearing my words, Tom didn’t even bother to blink. “If you don’t have anywhere to be tomorrow, you cook. I can’t stomach the garbage the new chef makes.” “Then hire someone whose food you can actually swallow.” As I spoke, I reached into my designer tote, pulled out the pristine divorce papers, and slid them across his mahogany desk. “I’ve already signed. I just need your signature.” Tom didn’t reach for the pen. Instead, he leaned back in his leather chair, his dark, calculating eyes locking onto mine for a long, suffocating moment. Then, a low chuckle escaped his lips. “Attempt number eighteen. I have to admit, you’re really selling it this time.” I knew exactly what he meant. Before today, whenever his filthy hotel rendezvous with whatever A-list actress or Instagram model hit the tabloids, I would lose my mind. I would scream, cry, and threaten divorce. He would call me hysterical, pack a bag, and move into his penthouse suite at the company. And a few days later, terrified of losing him, I would swallow every ounce of my pride and beg him to come home. A toxic, degrading cycle. Seventeen times. But what he didn’t know was that yesterday, while hiding in a bathroom stall at my research institute, I overheard my colleagues tearing me apart. “Did you see the Daily Mail? Dr. Hazel’s billionaire husband got caught sneaking out of the Plaza with that new pop star.” “Hard to miss it when it’s trending everywhere. I honestly don’t get why Hazel stays with a guy who humiliates her like that.” “Are you kidding? Look at his bank account. She’s staying for the lifestyle. Plus, let’s be real… she’s got zero self-respect.” Their laughter had echoed off the tiles, fading down the hallway. Inside the stall, I had bitten my lower lip so hard I tasted copper. With trembling fingers, I had dialed Tom’s private number. He answered just as it was about to go to voicemail. “What now?” “You promised me you wouldn’t make the headlines again. Do you have any idea how people look at me at work?” “Is that it?” His voice dripped with raw impatience. “If you can’t handle a few whispers, quit your little science job and stay home. Hazel, there is a line of women begging to be Mrs. Sinclair out the door. If you’re tired of the title, step aside.” Before I could even breathe, a sickeningly sweet female voice drifted through the receiver. “Tom, baby, I wouldn’t mind being Mrs. Sinclair for a while.” “Done. Soon as Hazel packs her bags, the ring is yours.” The call ended to the sound of heavy, breathless panting. Staring at the black screen of my phone, I realized my colleagues were right. I really had zero self-respect. Pulling myself back to the present, I looked at the man across the desk. “Don’t worry. Even though you’re the one who couldn’t keep his pants zipped, I’m not touching a single cent of the Sinclair fortune. I left all the jewelry and black cards on the vanity.” “Enough!” Tom slammed his silver spoon down, splashing broth onto the polished wood. “We are at the office. If you want to pitch a fit, do it at home. I don’t have time for your high school drama.” I pressed my lips together, offering no response. I just stared at him, my eyes devoid of the adoration that used to fuel his ego. After a heavy silence, he sighed, running a hand through his hair like he was dealing with a stubborn toddler. “Fine. I’ll have my assistant send that diamond collar you were looking at to the estate tonight. As for Montanna…” “Mr. Sinclair.” My voice was ice. “I don’t need the diamonds. And I couldn’t care less about whatever new plaything you’re entertaining. I’m here for a divorce.” If my father hadn’t dragged Tom’s grandfather from a burning car wreckage decades ago, a woman with my modest background would never have been allowed anywhere near the Sinclair empire. The Manhattan elite knew I didn’t belong. They looked down on me. Even though my doctoral thesis had once sent shockwaves through the global biological community, I still felt unworthy. So, I clipped my own wings, hid my brilliance, and bent over backwards to become the perfect, submissive wife. Now, the spell was broken. Five years of swallowing glass, all for a joke of a marriage. It was time to reclaim my throne. “Hazel…” Tom barely got my name out before the heavy oak doors swung open without a single knock. 2 Montanna fluttered into the room like a moth dressed in couture, making a direct beeline for Tom. “Tom, honey, I came to drag you to lunch. Oh, you’re already eating? It smells divine. Did your little maid make it?” Tom despised people barging into his sanctuary. He once fired an intern on the spot for forgetting to knock during an emergency. Even I, his legal wife, had to pass through three layers of security to bring him lunch. But clearly, Montanna was the golden exception. Instead of kicking her out, the rigid lines of his face softened, and he beckoned her over. “Yeah, the maid made it.” He shot a mocking glance in my direction. “Looks edible, but honestly, it tastes like garbage.” The corner of my mouth twitched upward. I calmly reached over, picked up the designer thermos, and dropped it straight into his executive trash can. Tom’s face instantly darkened. Before he could snap at me, Montanna had already draped herself across his lap, tracing his lapel with manicured nails. “If it’s garbage, don’t eat it. A new Michelin-star French place just opened down the block. Let’s go there.” “Alright. We’ll go.” As he stood up, adjusting his custom suit, he shot me a freezing glare. “I’ll have PR handle the tabloid mess. It won’t happen again. But listen to me very carefully, Hazel. This is the last time I’m entertaining this divorce game. Pull this stunt again, and I will happily give you exactly what you’re asking for.” A bitter chill swept through my chest. I took a step sideways, blocking their path to the door. “Tom, our marriage has been an ugly, public disaster. Let’s at least end it with a shred of dignity. There’s no need to wait for a next time. Sign it today.” Montanna wasn’t stupid. She instantly clocked what was happening, her eyes lighting up with poorly concealed greed. French food was suddenly the last thing on her mind. “Oh my god, Tom, I am so sorry. Am I interrupting something serious?” She batted her lashes innocently. “Maybe I should wait in the lobby?” She made a fake move to leave, but Tom’s hand clamped down on her wrist. “You aren’t going anywhere.” He turned his glacial stare onto me, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek. He was standing on the absolute edge of a volcanic eruption. In the past, this look alone would have had me shaking in my heels, scrambling for ways to appease him. But today, I held my ground, meeting his lethal gaze without a flinch. “Sign the paper. I’ll walk out of this building, and you will never have to look at me again.” The temperature in the room plummeted. Montanna’s eyes darted between the two of us. Then, in a theatrical display that belonged on a soap opera, she dropped to her knees right on the Persian rug. “Mrs. Sinclair, you can take your anger out on me, but please, please don’t torture Tom! This is all my fault!” “If slapping me makes you feel better, do it! I’ll take it all!” Before I could even process the absolute absurdity of her performance, she raised her own hand and raked her nails violently across her own cheek, leaving a bright red welt. Tom let out a furious shout. He hauled her off the floor, cradling her face like it was made of spun glass, before turning on me like a rabid dog. “Hazel, you psychotic bitch! She is a public figure! How could you be so vile?” He didn’t even give me a second to speak. With a few crocodile tears and a self-inflicted scratch, the verdict was delivered. I was the villain. “Montanna, I am so sorry you had to endure this,” he murmured, his voice dripping with sickening sweetness. “I promise you, the lead role in that new studio blockbuster is yours.” Over his shoulder, where he couldn’t see, Montanna flashed me a smug, venomous smirk. She mouthed the words slowly so I wouldn’t miss them. The ring is mine. Watching her, I felt absolutely nothing. Not a single ripple of jealousy. I was throwing the whole man into the garbage. Why would I care who scavenged him? I ignored her completely, standing firm in the doorway. “Tom Sinclair. Sign the damn paper.” 3 The silence in the room was deafening. Suddenly, the heavy oak doors were violently shoved open. My mother stormed into the office, her eyes skipping right over me to lock onto the divorce papers on the desk. She snatched them up, ripped them in half, and then grabbed me harshly by the shoulders, shaking me with manic energy. “Have you lost your goddamn mind? You have a perfect life, and you’re throwing it away!” She planted her hands on her hips, her voice piercing enough to shatter glass. She wanted to make absolutely sure the billionaire standing behind me heard every word of her loyalty. “Look at Tom! The looks, the pedigree, the wealth! You leave him, and what do you think you’re going to get?” “A divorced woman in her thirties is damaged goods! Who is going to want you?” “If it weren’t for the Sinclair family, do you think you could afford your little designer clothes on a researcher’s pathetic salary? Over a tiny little disagreement, you’re throwing a nuclear tantrum!” “Listen to me, Hazel. Only pathetic, weak-willed men stay tied to one woman. It’s not that they don’t want mistresses, it’s just that they can’t afford them! A man of Tom’s status is allowed a few flaws!” I pressed my tongue against the inside of my cheek, a suffocating wave of exhaustion washing over me. To the outside world, my marriage was a fairytale. But the rotting core of it was something only my mother and I truly understood. Yet, her solution was always to swallow the poison and smile. She was publicly humiliating me in front of my husband and his mistress, all to protect her VIP country club membership. A hollow, self-deprecating smile touched my lips. Misreading my silence as submission, my mother softened her tone slightly, though the words remained dripping with venom. “Hazel, sweetie, every marriage has hiccups. Your father and I fought like cats and dogs.” “Be a good girl. Go apologize to Tom. Bow your head, and from now on…” I slowly raised my eyes, my voice quiet but forged from steel. “I am not bowing to anyone.” “This marriage is over.” “My entire life, I played by your rules. I studied what you wanted, took the safe job, married the golden boy. I lived to fulfill everyone else’s expectations, letting myself bleed dry in the process.” “Not anymore. For the rest of my life, I belong to me.” “You ungrateful little brat!” My mother shrieked, raising her hand as if she wanted to strike me down. But when she met my dead, unflinching stare, her hand froze in mid-air. She dropped her arm, her face twisting in disgust. “Fine! Ruin your life! But when you’re crying in the gutter, don’t you dare come crawling back to my doorstep!” She spun on her heels and marched out, slamming the door so hard the framed degrees on the wall rattled. The office plunged back into a suffocating quiet. Without missing a beat, I reached into my bag and pulled out a backup copy of the divorce agreement. “Sign it.” “You are going to regret this, Hazel!” Tom was officially unhinged. He snatched a gold-plated Montblanc pen from his desk and violently slashed his signature across the bottom of the page. “You want out? Fine. But you walk away with nothing. Not a single red cent of my money.” I carefully picked up the paper, checking the signature before sliding it safely into a manila folder. There was no heartbreak. Only a profound, dizzying sense of relief. A massive, crushing weight lifted off my chest. When I first met Tom Sinclair, I fell stupidly, blindly in love. I knew he was Manhattan’s most notorious playboy. I never in a million years expected him to honor his grandfather’s dying wish and actually marry me. Surrounded by his glamorous exes, I was just a quiet, nerdy ugly duckling. When he slipped that diamond on my finger, I thought I had won the lottery. I was naive enough to believe that underneath his cold exterior, he actually cared for me. My reward for that delusion came on day three of our honeymoon, when TMZ leaked photos of him leaving a club with a Victoria’s Secret model. I cried. I screamed. But I didn’t leave. I foolishly believed my pure, unwavering love could fix him. Instead, I became a neurotic, shattered ghost of myself. I traded my title as a brilliant young scientist to become a miserable, paranoid socialite. If I could just turn a blind eye like the other billionaire wives, my life would be luxurious. Aside from his chronic infidelity, Tom was incredibly generous. On every anniversary and holiday, even if he was in another timezone with another woman, his team ensured massive floral arrangements and rare diamonds were delivered to my door. When I caught a nasty flu while he was partying in Ibiza, he flew a private medical team to the house to monitor me. That was why everyone, my own mother included, thought I was insane for leaving. But waking up every single day in a cavernous, empty mansion, feeling the pitiful stares of my friends and colleagues, it felt like I was drowning in a velvet ocean. I just wanted to breathe again. I looked up at Tom, my gaze completely devoid of the desperate affection that used to anchor him. “Keep your money. I don’t want it.” I was heading to the frozen wasteland of Antarctica. In the middle of absolute nowhere, a black card was just a useless piece of plastic. “You two have a lunch reservation to get to. I won’t keep you.” I turned on my heel, walking toward the door. Just before I crossed the threshold, I paused. “Since my cooking is garbage, I won’t bother leaving the recipes.” Tom glared daggers at my back. “Don’t flatter yourself. You think I’ll starve without you?” Fair enough. It was a stupid thing to say. “Enjoy your French food.” Without looking back, I walked out of the building and into the crisp city air.

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1 For the winter holidays, my parents urged my husband Sam and me to take my adopted sister Sophie and some of his relatives on a road trip into Alaska to see the Northern Lights. We reached the frozen tundra just as a massive blizzard struck. All three SUVs hit empty at once. Sophie stared at the deep snow and suggested shoveling it straight into the gas tanks. “It will melt into water, stretch the gas, and cool the engines,” she said. Sam smiled and agreed. His relatives praised her cleverness. In my past life, I had argued fiercely, warning that water would ruin the engines and leave us stranded at minus thirty degrees. Desperate to save everyone, I risked my life siphoning fuel into my car and driving blindly through the storm until I ran out, then walking for a full day and night. Frostbite destroyed my feet before I reached help. On the rescue mission, Sophie accused me of abandoning her for glory, threw a fit in the woods, and drew a pack of wolves that tore off both her legs. She lied to Sam, who raged and shoved me into the blizzard. I was devoured by wolves, nothing left of me. I blinked. Now I stood again in the freezing wind, on that same day. I rubbed my stiff hands together, forcing a bright smile. “Go for it. Snow means luck for the new year. Fill the tanks—we’ll drive even faster.” “People online say the gas up here is unrefined. If we put pure snow in, it will definitely clean out the fuel lines and save us money.” Sophie’s sickly sweet voice echoed in my ears. I reached down and pinched my own thigh hard. Pain. I really was reborn. “Aria, don’t be so grumpy. Let’s just listen to the group. Maybe this old wives’ tale is exactly what we need to get out of these mountains.” Sophie looked at me timidly, shrinking into her thick down jacket like I was some evil stepmother about to strike her. Sam and his relatives were all staring me down. If I dared to reject Sophie’s “genius” proposal, they would drown me in insults, calling me a selfish brat who didn’t care about the family. I kept my smile perfectly in place. “Sophie is so smart. I can’t believe you came up with such an eco friendly solution.” “Fill them up. Snow is just water anyway. It will be great.” Standing next to her, Sam gave me a rare, approving smile. “For once, you are actually being reasonable.” I didn’t want to waste another second arguing with them. My brain was already calculating a high speed escape plan out of this frozen graveyard. There were eleven of us in total, split between three off road vehicles. Originally, Sam and I were supposed to share a car. But Sophie claimed she was too cold and needed Sam to sit in the back with her so he could hold her and keep her warm. So, for the entire trip, I had been driving my own SUV completely alone. In my past life, my car had the most gas left. To keep them all alive, I left every single thermal blanket and emergency ration with them, venturing out into the deadly cold by myself. Having lived through death once, I absolutely refused to care about these ungrateful parasites. As long as I made it out alive, that was enough. According to my memories, there was an abandoned logging camp about fifty miles south that still had a working satellite relay. My car had enough gas to cover thirty miles. Luckily, I was a hardcore winter athlete. With my physical endurance, I could easily cover the remaining twenty miles on my emergency cross country skis before nightfall. The self heating MREs and thermal packs in my trunk would easily sustain me. With a concrete plan locked in my mind, my tense muscles finally began to relax. Just to be safe, I slipped my hand into the inner pocket of my parka and touched the cold plastic of my emergency satellite phone. It was a Christmas gift from him. In my past life, he was the one who found this shattered phone in the bloody snow where the wolves had attacked me. He had dropped to his knees, screaming in agony, slamming his forehead into the ice until he bled, blaming himself for not coming on this trip. The corners of my lips twitched upward. Pretending to adjust my scarf, I pressed and held the emergency SOS beacon. This time, I hoped he would take me home. Seeing the expensive, heated ski gloves on my hands, a flash of pure jealousy crossed Sophie’s eyes. “Aria, don’t you have a whole box of those chemical body warmers in your trunk? Why don’t you take them out and share them with the rest of us?” My stomach dropped. They wanted to steal my only remaining survival supplies? 2 “You have four boxes of them in your own car. I bought them for you. Why don’t you take yours out?” I shot back. Sophie pouted, acting completely entitled. “Aria, we are trapped in the Alaskan mountains. Heat equals life right now. You can’t just hoard all the heat sources for yourself.” I let out a dark laugh. Just an hour ago, she complained she was too hot and stuck those exact body warmers onto the car windows just to watch the frost melt for fun. Now she suddenly knew their value? Sam took a step forward, glaring at me coldly. “Take them out.” It was an absolute command, like he was talking to a disobedient dog. I took a deep breath, suppressing the icy rage building in my chest, and tried to reason with them one last time. “I packed these specifically for extreme weather emergencies.” “This is an emergency! Why are you still dividing things into yours and mine? We are a family!” Sophie interrupted me, playing the righteous victim. “We have to stick together when things get tough. If everyone was as selfish as you, how would any of us survive the night?” Right on cue, Sam’s relatives started throwing disgusted looks my way. “You’re a tough girl, you can handle the cold. Sophie is delicate. Bring the supplies out so we can distribute them evenly.” “Listen to your husband, Aria! Bring the stuff out before one of the elders has to force you.” “These spoiled rich city girls are all the same. Selfish and fragile. Not sweet and understanding like our Sophie.” Selfish? If it weren’t for the massive influx of cash I brought into the marriage to save Sam’s failing startup, his deadbeat relatives wouldn’t even have the money to go to a diner, let alone a luxury vacation. Even these three SUVs were bought with my trust fund. I suddenly understood why fate put me back on this exact trip. Extreme environments force the ugliest parts of human nature into the light. This was the universe giving me one final warning. Seeing that I wasn’t moving, two of his cousins marched over and aggressively popped my trunk, looting every single supply bag I had. I stepped forward to stop them, but they grabbed my arms and violently shoved me face first into the snowbank. I lay there, watching helplessly as they scooped up wet, freezing snow and dumped it directly into the open gas tank of my SUV. Without pure gasoline, my car would stall out in this extreme cold. I would freeze to death. “Give me my thermal packs back.” I struggled to push myself up. Sophie took the opportunity to grab a handful of icy snow and violently shove it down the collar of my jacket. She leaned in, her voice dripping with venom. “Shut your mouth! If you make another sound, I’ll shove ice down your throat.” The freezing snow slid down my bare spine. I violently shivered, coughing hard, looking completely pathetic as I crawled in the snow. Seeing me humiliated, the relatives erupted into cruel laughter. “Is this really the high and mighty Mrs. Kensington? She looks like a frozen stray dog! Hahaha!” I gritted my teeth, pushed myself off the ground, and raised my hand to slap Sophie across her smug face. Before I could make contact, a vicious grip clamped down on my wrist. Sophie realized what was happening, and instantly backhanded me across the face with all her strength. Smack! Sam froze, instinctively letting go of my wrist. My boots slipped on the ice and I crashed to the ground. My cheek instantly swelled, burning with a stinging heat. Sophie immediately hid behind Sam’s broad shoulders, trembling like a leaf. “I’m so sorry, Sam. Aria tried to hit me first. I just panicked. I was so scared.” Sam looked down at me, holding out a hand with a look of utter disgust on his face. “Get up. Stop embarrassing yourself in front of my family.” I blinked back the hot tears forming in my eyes and tilted my head up, staring directly into his soul. “Sam, I want a divorce.” “Sophie just had a trauma response. She didn’t do it on purpose. Why are you throwing a tantrum on Christmas?” Sam shielded Sophie with his body, watching me like I was a wild animal about to rip out his precious darling’s throat. A wave of absolute exhaustion washed over me. A tantrum? From the day we got married, anytime I didn’t completely bow to his demands, I was “throwing a tantrum.” When I refused to lend more money to his endless line of grifter cousins, I was throwing a tantrum. When I refused to quit my career to become a stay at home housewife, I was throwing a tantrum. Whenever Sophie shed a single fake tear, it was always my fault for throwing a tantrum. “Sam, this marriage is dead. Getting a divorce is the best thing for both of us.” This marriage had corroded my dignity until there was nothing left. Ten years ago, I found Sam sitting in the dark corner of the university library, eating stale bread. His hands were swollen and bleeding from frostbite, but his eyes were glued to his textbooks with an intense, burning determination. 3 My heart had broken for him. I secretly paid his entire semester’s tuition and forged a letter claiming it was an anonymous school grant. Sam worked hard. He secured a full ride for his master’s, and when he started his tech company, he worked himself to the bone. During a site visit to a new warehouse, the roof collapsed. He threw his body over mine, taking the brunt of the falling debris. His back was torn to shreds, requiring twenty stitches. He had laid in that hospital bed, pale and sweating from the pain, but he still smiled and comforted me. “Don’t be afraid. As long as I am breathing, I will always keep you safe.” After that, it was only natural that we got married. But somewhere along the line, his eyes started lingering on my adopted sister, Sophie. She came from the same dirt poor background he did. Her constant, pathetic damsel in distress act reminded him of his own past struggles. Eventually, his entire heart shifted completely to her. I stumbled to my feet, lunged forward, and snatched my car keys right out of Sophie’s pocket. I scrambled into the driver’s seat and hit the ignition. The moment the engine roared to life, a heavy weight lifted off my chest. I was finally getting away from these monsters. But a second later, Sam stepped directly in front of the hood. I slammed on the brakes, my forehead smashing violently against the steering wheel. Sam marched over to my window and slammed his fist against the glass, his eyes flashing with annoyance. “Stop acting crazy! The blizzard is picking up. If you drive off alone, you are committing suicide.” Sophie trotted over, linking her arm through Sam’s, shooting me a provocative, mocking smile. “Aria, stop acting like a spoiled princess. Your SUV has the highest clearance and the best snow tires. If you drive away, what are we supposed to do?” Her words instantly rallied the relatives. “Exactly! We are a family, we stay together.” “Drag her out! We keep the car. We can all squeeze in, it will share body heat.” I let out a cold laugh. “This car is under my name. It was bought with my money. Why the hell should I give it to you?” In fact, all three cars were registered under my name. A cousin yelled angrily, “It’s a matter of life and death! Who cares whose name is on the title right now!” I rolled my eyes. “Your car is packed to the roof with your stupid holiday gifts and booze. Where am I supposed to sit? Are you giving up your seat for me?” The cousin went dead silent. Sophie tilted her head, faking a look of sweet innocence. “Aria, don’t you love extreme winter sports? You could just sit up on the roof rack! I bet it’s way more thrilling than skiing, and you get a great view.” The sheer absurdity of the comment should have been met with silence, but the relatives eagerly jumped on it. “Yeah, the roof has great visibility. If she loves adrenaline so much, she can enjoy the ride.” “Don’t worry, we brought heavy bungee cords for the luggage. We’ll strap you down tight. You won’t fall off.” “It’s a VIP observation deck. You can post photos on Instagram when we get back.” Sam let out a heavy sigh. Just as I thought he was finally going to shut down this psychotic idea, the words that left his mouth plunged my soul into an ice bath. “You have a strong constitution. Just bundle up. You can survive sitting on the roof for a little while.” The very last spark of hope I had for him died in that instant. I slammed my foot on the gas pedal, ready to run him over. Sophie shrieked, “She’s trying to run! Grab her!” The mob swarmed the car. Someone grabbed a heavy rock and smashed my driver’s side window. Hands reached in, violently grabbing my hair and clothes, dragging me kicking and screaming out of the vehicle. I thrashed wildly, kicking my boots to break their grip. “Ah!” Sophie let out a piercing cry, clutching her stomach and dropping to the snow in agony. “Sam, why did Aria kick me in the stomach?” Sam violently shoved me aside and rushed to gather Sophie into his arms, his face pale with panic. I froze for a second, instantly defending myself. “I didn’t even touch her! I am wearing heavy snow boots, I would feel it if I kicked a person.” Sophie buried her face in Sam’s chest, massive tears rolling down her cheeks. “Aria, I shouldn’t have tried to stop you. Please don’t kick me again. It hurts so much. I think something is bleeding inside.” Hearing that, Sam’s face hardened. He turned his head, his eyes slicing into me like butcher knives. “Apologize to her!” “I didn’t do anything wrong! Why should I apologize? Are you too stupid to see she’s acting?” The relatives immediately started screaming at me. “You were thrashing around like a lunatic! You definitely kicked her.” “Sophie is too pure to lie about something like this. Get on your knees and apologize right now!” 4 Sophie’s face was deathly pale, her entire body trembling. “The wind is so strong. My face hurts.” She buried her face deeper into Sam’s coat. Sam glared at me with pure hatred. “Aria! Look at how terrified you’ve made her!” A mocking smirk crossed my lips. “If you wait any longer, her fake tears are going to turn into icicles.” Sophie forced a weak, pathetic smile, looking at me with big, puppy dog eyes. “Aria, you don’t have to apologize. But could I please borrow your extreme weather parka? The jacket I’m wearing is too thin. My stomach is freezing.” The parka I was wearing was a custom, expedition grade mountain coat. He had specifically commissioned it from overseas as a gift for me. It was completely windproof, waterproof, and designed to withstand the harshest elements on earth. I rejected her without a second thought. “I have severe cold urticaria! If I take this off, the temperature drop will send me into anaphylactic shock. No!” Sophie let out a pained, dramatic groan. “Forget it. My life isn’t worth as much as my sister’s precious body.” Sam’s face turned absolutely lethal. “What fake allergy are you making up now? You are just looking for excuses to be a selfish bitch.” “I am going to count to three. Take the coat off.” “One. Two.” He didn’t even make it to three. His patience completely snapped. He lunged forward, pinned my shoulders down, and violently ripped the zipper of my parka open. The brutal arctic wind instantly hit my chest. I was only wearing a thin thermal shirt underneath. The biting cold slashed against my bare skin like a barrage of razor blades. Sam gently draped my custom parka over Sophie’s shoulders, carefully zipping it all the way up to her chin to make sure she was warm. Looking at the two of them made me physically nauseous. I turned around and started to run. Before I made it two steps, Sam grabbed the back of my collar and yanked me backward. “It’s just a damn coat! How long are you going to keep throwing this tantrum!” The word “tantrum” ignited a nuclear explosion in my brain. I spun around and slapped Sam across the face with every ounce of strength I had left. “I don’t throw tantrums. I just beat animals!” A bright red handprint blossomed across Sam’s cheek. Sophie shrieked in horror. “Are you insane?! How dare you hit him!” Sam ran his tongue over his split lip, tasting the blood. His expression turned completely demonic. “Aria, you are hopelessly stubborn. It seems you need a serious wake up call.” My stomach plummeted. A terrifying chill spread through my veins. “Since you refuse to sit on the roof, you can run behind the car. Let’s see if that cools your temper.” My eyes went wide with sheer terror. “Sam, it is negative thirty degrees! You are going to kill me!” Two of his massive cousins tackled me into the snow. They grabbed my wrists and bound them tightly with a heavy nylon tow strap. They hooked the other end of the strap to the metal tow hitch on the back of the SUV. “When you are ready to admit you were wrong, I’ll let you inside.” Dropping that final, heartless sentence, he turned his back on me and climbed into the driver’s seat. The engine revved. The car lurched forward. I was violently jerked off my feet, stumbling blindly through the deep snow as the vehicle picked up speed. I couldn’t run fast enough. I tripped and slammed face first into the icy ground. The car didn’t stop. I was being dragged. The jagged ice and frozen rocks shredded through my thin clothes, grinding against my skin like sandpaper. The paralyzing cold began to shut down my nervous system. Panic consumed me. I screamed at the top of my lungs. “Stop the car! Sam, I am going to kill you!” I could hear Sophie’s high pitched, mocking laughter echoing from inside the warm cabin. They completely ignored my screams. The SUV drifted hard to avoid a massive pine tree. The centrifugal force whipped my body outward, slamming me brutally against the thick wooden trunk. My vision went entirely black. Warm blood poured down my forehead, instantly freezing into crimson ice chunks on my eyelashes. Absolute despair crushed my chest. The primal instinct to survive erased whatever dignity I had left. I started crying and begging. “I’m sorry. I was wrong. Please. Let me go.” The roar of the engine drowned out my pathetic pleas. The car showed zero signs of slowing down. I was really going to die in this white hell. My consciousness began to fade into a numb, peaceful dark. But then, through the haze, I heard the deafening, rhythmic chopping of helicopter rotors. A massive, blinding spotlight pierced through the blizzard, locking dead onto the SUV. A man’s voice, amplified by a loudspeaker and vibrating with world ending fury, boomed from the sky. “Sam, you are a dead man!” At that exact moment, thick, black smoke began pouring out of the hoods of all three SUVs. The vehicles sputtered violently and died. One of the cousins inside screamed in panic. “Oh my god! The engines just seized!”

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The day before the President’s Fellowship defense, I was standing outside the lab when I heard Garrett talking to the department sweetheart. “I copied all of his data. You can use it directly tomorrow.” I stood in the hallway, frozen for three seconds. Then I pulled out my phone and checked the local Git logs. Last push: three months ago. I slid my phone back into my pocket. That version had three hundred and twenty-seven bugs. And the comments were absolutely loaded with my warmest regards for Garrett. Tomorrow’s defense was going to be a masterpiece. 1 November 15th, 9:40 PM. I grabbed a bottle of iced tea from the vending machine, planning to head back to the lab to run one last batch of data. The lab was at the far end of the seventh floor of the Science Hall. Two of the hallway lights were dead, casting fractured, ghostly pools of pale white light across the floor. I unscrewed the cap and took a sip, my footsteps swallowed by the quiet corridor. As I neared Room 706, I noticed the door was cracked open. The lights were on. I figured it was empty, since I was usually the only one in the lab at this hour. Just as I reached out to push the door, Garrett’s voice drifted through the gap. “Don’t worry, he won’t even make it onto the stage tomorrow.” My hand froze in midair. A second later, Gina’s voice followed. “Are you sure? What if he finds out?” Garrett let out a laugh, that condescending, smug chuckle of his. “So what if he does? I copied everything off his machine, the raw data, the modeling scripts, the lab logs. I wiped his local drive clean, too.” I pulled my hand back and took half a step away from the door. “Tomorrow, you just walk up there and present it as yours. The committee will just think he tried to piggyback on your project at the last second, got rejected, and threw a temper tantrum.” “But what if he has a backup?” “A backup?” Garrett scoffed. “I’ve seen how he works. He only runs things on that one lab desktop. A slob like him probably doesn’t even own a second USB drive.” The sliver of light from the doorway fell across my slippers. I looked down, left foot blue, right foot black. Okay, fair point, I was a bit of a slob. Normally, hearing someone trash me like that might have rubbed me the wrong way. But right now, only one thought consumed my mind: Which computer did this idiot actually rob? I pulled out my phone and accessed my private server dashboard. Project folder: “Fellowship_v2.7”. Last modified: today at 3:14 PM. Status: normal. Thirty-seven source files, completely intact. I scrolled down. The last time my local Git repository had pushed anything to that lab desktop was August 23rd, eleven weeks ago. The version back then was v0.3. I remembered v0.3 vividly. It was a steaming pile of garbage that could compile but couldn’t produce a single correct result. The convergence conditions in the core algorithm were reversed, the feature extraction module leaked memory like a sieve, and the data preprocessing was a caveman-era workaround that I eventually scrapped and rebuilt from scratch. Worse yet, I had treated that version’s code comments as my personal diary, filling them with my deepest thoughts. What kind of thoughts? For instance, line 47: // If you don’t understand this code, don’t worry. I wrote it, and I don’t understand it either. Line 128: // TODO: There is a bug here, but it’s Friday. Even bugs deserve a weekend. Line 203: // If Garrett is peeking at my screen again, please raise your eyes by three centimeters and look at this line. What are you looking at? Go write your own. I added that line in September because he kept making excuses to walk by and sneak glances at my screen. I hadn’t thought much of it then, assuming he was just curious. Looking back, he was scouting his target. I tightened the cap on my iced tea and quietly backed down the hallway. On the walk back to the dorms, the crisp night air cleared my head. Should I report him? Yes, but the paper trail wasn’t solid enough yet; it would be my word against theirs. Should I confront them right now? I could, but where was the fun in that? I pondered it for about ten seconds, then sent a text to my roommate, Wyatt. Are you coming to the fellowship defense tomorrow? Wyatt replied instantly. Is there drama? Massive drama. Bring popcorn. On it. I locked my phone and stepped into the dorm building. The faint sounds of someone screaming at their gaming teammates echoed down the hall. What a beautiful world. Tomorrow was going to be even better. 2 Back in our room, Wyatt was sitting cross-legged on his bed, engrossed in a mobile game. “Spill,” he said, his eyes glued to the screen. “What’s the drama?” I kicked off my slippers, climbed onto my bed, and flipped open my laptop. “Garrett stole all the data off my lab computer. He’s giving it to Gina to present at the defense tomorrow.” Wyatt’s thumbs froze. The game’s voiceover chimed from his phone: An ally has been slain. “What did you say?” He whipped his head around. “I said Garrett stole my—” “No, I mean, how are you so damn calm?” he yelled, staring at me. “Your research got stolen! The fellowship data! The defense is literally tomorrow! You should be marching to our advisor’s office right now!” I yawned, looking at my laptop screen. “What’s the rush? He stole v0.3.” “What the hell is v0.3?” “The build from three months ago. A scrapped draft.” Wyatt went quiet for three seconds. “What does ‘scrapped draft’ mean in this context?” “It means the code compiles but won’t run. If it runs, it won’t produce results. And if it does somehow produce results, they’re entirely wrong.” Another three seconds of silence. Then, Wyatt slowly set his phone down, his eyes lighting up with a familiar, wicked spark. It was the look of a man who smelled premium, grade-A gossip. “Hold on, hold on.” He slid off his bed and lunged over to mine. “Are you saying he stole a pile of garbage code?” “Not complete garbage,” I corrected him. “The basic framework is solid. But the core logic is entirely broken. Plus…” I pulled up the backup of the old build and scrolled to the pages heavy with comments. Wyatt leaned in and read for five seconds. Then he lost it. “Oh my god, you actually called him out in the comments?” “I wouldn’t call it calling him out,” I said, scrolling to line 203. “Just a friendly warning.” Wyatt read it aloud: “If Garrett is peeking at my screen again, please raise your eyes by three centimeters and look at this line. What are you looking at? Go write your own.” He laughed so hard his shoulders shook. “There’s more,” I said, scrolling down further. Line 315: // This function is named garrett_is_watching. No explanation provided. Line 472: // The following algorithm is inspired by the ring topology of my advisor’s horseshoe baldness. Confidential. Line 519: // If this code appears in anyone’s presentation slides other than my own, I highly recommend they check themselves into a psychiatric ward. Wyatt literally fell off my bed, laughing. “Did you know he was going to steal it back then?” “Nope.” I closed my laptop. “I just like talking to myself in the comments. I’m telling you, coders who don’t write comments have no souls.” “That’s not comments, man. That’s a burn diary written in C++.” “Call it what you want.” “So what’s the game plan for tomorrow?” Wyatt climbed back onto his bed, rubbing his hands together in anticipation. “Just present like normal.” “That’s it?” “What else do I need to do?” I set my laptop aside and pulled up the blanket. “Think about it. Gina is going to stand before the committee with a piece of junk code riddled with over three hundred bugs. She doesn’t even know what the functions do. How long do you think she can survive their questions?” Wyatt thought for a moment. “Three minutes?” “You’re giving her too much credit.” “Besides,” I turned over, facing the wall, “Professor Harrison is on the panel.” “Harrison? The balding guy?” “He supervised my undergraduate capstone project.” Wyatt grinned again. “He knows my coding style like the back of his hand. My variable names, my indentation habits, my function structures. Those things are like digital fingerprints. You can’t steal them, and you can’t fake them.” The room fell quiet, save for the muffled sounds of video games from next door and a distant alarm ringing down the hall. “Ryan,” Wyatt called out. “Yeah?” “You are an absolute menace.” “I know. Now go to sleep.” “No, seriously. You usually look like a lazy slacker, but you’re cold-blooded when it counts.” I didn’t reply. I was already running through the possibilities. The defense order was determined by a random draw. If Gina went before me, the fallout would be glorious. If I went before her, she’d get a front-row seat to the difference between v2.7 and v0.3. Either way, it was a win. I closed my eyes. I slept like a baby. 3 November 16th, 8:00 AM. The defense was held in the lecture hall on the third floor of the Science Hall. I walked out of the dorms wearing my favorite grey hoodie, the one that had been washed at least a thousand times. Wyatt insisted on tagging along. “You’re not even presenting.” “I’m the audience,” he insisted. “You told me to bring popcorn, and I did. You can’t lock me out now.” “There are actual seats in the lecture hall, Wyatt.” “It’s the spirit of the popcorn that matters.” I didn’t bother arguing with him. As we entered the lobby, I spotted Garrett and Gina standing near the main bulletin board. Garrett was wearing a crisp navy shirt today, his hair slicked back with enough gel to withstand a hurricane. Gina was in full makeup, clutching a stack of printed materials to her chest. They were whispering to each other, looking completely relaxed. When Garrett caught sight of me, he paused for a fraction of a second. Then, a smug, oily smile spread across his face. It was the kind of smile that said, I ruined your life, and you don’t even know it yet. “Ryan,” he said with a nod. “Big day. Ready for the defense?” “I’ll get by,” I replied. His eyes swept down to my faded hoodie and my mismatched slippers. Yes, I had shown up to a prestigious fellowship defense in slippers. His smile widened, likely assuming I had given up on life because my data was deleted. “Hang in there, bud,” he said, patting my shoulder with just the right amount of patronizing warmth. “Yeah, you too.” I glanced at Gina. “Good luck, Gina.” Gina nodded, tightening her grip on her papers, but she refused to meet my gaze. Guilty people never look you in the eye. That rule hasn’t changed since middle school. Wyatt and I headed up to the third floor. A crowd had already gathered outside the lecture hall. Fellowship defenses were public events. Anyone from the department could sit in. It always drew a massive crowd because, let’s face it, there is no entertainment quite like watching academic careers crash and burn in real-time. Wyatt slid into a seat in the back corner and pulled out his phone. “I’m taking this spot. Perfect angle.” “What, are you livestreaming this?” “Pretty much. I’ll record your set.” “Don’t.” “Come on, you might go viral.” I ignored him and found a seat in the middle row. At 8:20 AM, the five-member committee walked in. Right in the center was Professor Harrison. He was in his late fifties, his horseshoe baldness having expanded over the years from a small bay into a full-on ocean. I had roasted his hair in line 472 of my old code, and seeing him in the flesh made my stomach do a slight flip. I really hoped Gina wouldn’t scroll down to that specific line on the projector. Whatever, what happens, happens. Professor Harrison scanned the room, his gaze lingering on me for half a second. He knew me. I had worked under him for an entire year on my undergraduate thesis. He knew my coding style the way a mother knows her child’s handwriting. In other words, he could spot my work instantly. At 8:30 AM, the moderator announced the presentation order. Gina was third. I was fifth. She was going before me. I took a slow, deep breath. Perfect. Time to let the drama unfold. 4 The first two students gave decent presentations. One was on smart traffic optimization, the other on NLP sentiment analysis. The committee asked some standard questions, and the atmosphere remained calm and academic. Then the moderator announced, “Next up, Gina.” Polite applause rippled through the room as Gina stood up and walked to the podium. Wearing a tailored white shirt, black dress pants, and an elegant updo, she looked every bit the rising star of academia. If you didn’t know any better, that is. She plugged in her flash drive, and the projector flared to life with her title slide. “Good morning, members of the committee. My research is focused on multi-objective path planning optimization using deep reinforcement learning.” Yep. That title. It was the exact title of my v0.3 build back in August. I had completely shifted gears by v1.0, abandoning path planning to focus on graph neural networks in dynamic topologies. She hadn’t just stolen outdated code; she had stolen a research direction I had already discarded. “The core innovation of this study lies in a modified DQN algorithm, which integrates an attention mechanism to achieve multi-objective balance.” I listened, my lips twitching. That was the abstract from my v0.3 documentation, lifted word-for-word. The committee members nodded as she spoke. The first five minutes of her presentation were smooth. Anyone can memorize a script and click through pre-made slides. But the real test of a defense isn’t the presentation. It’s the Q&A. Gina concluded her final slide with a polite, “Thank you. I welcome your feedback.” Professor Harrison flipped through the printed report in his hands. He looked up, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Gina, in your modified DQN algorithm, what is the theoretical foundation for your reward function?” Gina froze for a fraction of a second. “Uh… it is based on the Pareto optimality theory in multi-objective optimization.” The answer itself wasn’t wrong, but Professor Harrison didn’t stop there. “And how exactly did you map the Pareto frontier to the reward signals? What was your normalization strategy?” Gina’s lips parted. “It was… a weighted sum approach.” “Weighted sum?” Professor Harrison frowned. “Your slide on page seven shows adaptive weights. Why are you suddenly talking about a simple weighted sum?” Gina’s fingers tightened around the presentation clicker until her knuckles turned white. “I apologize, Professor. I misspoke. I meant to say an adaptive weighting approach.” “Then how did you implement the adaptation mechanism? How did you tune the hyperparameters?” Silence. Three seconds. Five seconds. Gina’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. That kind of silence is the kiss of death in a defense. Another committee member interjected, “Why don’t you show us your source code? If we look at the actual implementation of this algorithm, it should clear things up.” I sat in the audience, my breathing steady and my pulse calm. But if anyone had looked closely, they would have seen a slow, wicked grin creeping onto my face. I knew what was coming. The second she opened that source code, the real show would begin. Gina hesitated, her hand trembling as she opened the file explorer. She located the project directory and double-clicked the main script. Lines of dense code flooded the projector screen, visible to the entire room. The first line was the standard file header. The second and third lines imported the libraries. The fourth line, however, was a comment I had written at 11:00 PM on August 20th. It stared back at the entire room in bright green font: // Another day of burning my life away for science. Too bad I’m burning my liver, not writing actual papers. A quiet chuckle rippled through the back of the lecture hall. Professor Harrison adjusted his glasses, his gaze locking onto the screen. Gina panicked, her fingers frantically scrolling down. Line 47. // If you don’t understand this code, don’t worry. I wrote it, and I don’t understand it either. Let’s all be confused together. More laughter broke out, louder this time. Gina’s face drained of color. She scrolled faster, trying to find the core math, but she had no idea how the project was structured. The faster she scrolled, the worse it got. Line 128 flashed onto the screen. // TODO: There is a bug here, but it’s Friday. Even bugs deserve a weekend. I’ll deal with it next week. The lecture hall erupted into giggles. Even some of the committee members couldn’t hide their grins. Professor Harrison’s face remained stoic, but I knew him well enough to see the slight flare of his nostrils. He was holding back a laugh. Gina finally reached the core algorithm section between lines 203 and 250. Right above the main function was a massive, glaring comment block. Nobody could miss it. // If Garrett is peeking at my screen again, please raise your eyes by three centimeters and look at this line. What are you looking at? Go write your own. The laughter stopped instantly. It was replaced by a wave of sharp, sudden whispers. Garrett’s name was printed in plain English on the giant screen. People in the audience immediately began turning their heads, searching the room. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Garrett sitting in the second row. He looked completely petrified. In a span of two seconds, his face flushed a deep crimson and then went entirely sheet-white. Professor Harrison slowly took his eyes off the screen and looked directly at Gina. “Gina,” he said. His voice wasn’t loud, but the room went so quiet you could hear the low hum of the ventilation system. “This code explicitly mentions your colleague’s name. Can you explain what this comment is doing in your program?” Gina’s hand shook violently. The presentation clicker slipped from her fingers, clattering loudly against the wooden floor.

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