Category: English

1 In the third year of our marriage, I finally learned where I stood in Jennifer’s heart. Her first love, Elliot, was ranked first. Elliot’s depression was second. Elliot’s ragdoll cat, Snowball, was third. I was ranked fourth, right behind the cat. When she flew overseas to accompany Elliot for his medical treatments for two weeks, she hired a professional pet-sitter to drop by and feed Snowball for a hundred and eighty dollars a day. For me, she left a locked basement door and a dismissive note: Just deal with it for a bit. By the fifth day, I was burning with a fever so intense I was delirious. By the tenth day, I had started talking to the voice on my phone. She would cook virtual porridge for me, tell me soothing stories, and sing me to sleep. I asked her once if she was just a hallucination brought on by my boiling brain. She told me no, she had always been there. By the time Jennifer finally returned, my fever had broken. She looked me up and down, her eyes critical. “How did you get better so fast?” “Someone on my phone was taking care of me,” I replied. She rubbed her temples, letting out a heavy sigh of irritation. “Silas, grow up. Stop acting childish. I’m absolutely exhausted.” I looked at her and smiled. Then, I unlocked my phone, deleted Jennifer from my contacts, deleted our marriage from my future, and walked out of that damp basement. The voice on the phone asked me if I wanted to go home. I stared at the screen, a lump rising in my throat. It had been years since anyone had asked me that. “Who are you calling? What do you mean, home?” Jennifer’s brow furrowed, and she reached out to snatch my phone. I pressed the lock button, slipped the device into my pocket, and stepped out of her reach. “Silas! I just sat on a fifteen-hour flight and came straight here to see you without even stopping for a glass of water, and you’re going to give me the cold shoulder?” “I unlocked the basement door, didn’t I? How long do you plan on keeping up this pathetic tantrum?” I looked at the dark circles bruising the skin under her eyes. If this had been the old Silas, I would have already rushed to the kitchen to brew her a soothing herbal tea. But looking at her now, her towering sense of entitlement only struck me as sad. “I’m not throwing a tantrum,” I said quietly, walking past her to the twin cot to fold my worn blanket. “If you’re not, why won’t you even look at me?” Jennifer marched over, grabbing my wrist with a firm, tight grip. “Jennifer…” A soft, fragile voice drifted down from the top of the basement stairs. Elliot stood there, dressed in my favorite silk pajamas, cradling his ragdoll cat in his arms. His bare feet looked tiny and pale against the wooden steps. “Elliot, why did you come down here? The basement is damp and freezing. You just got out of the clinic, you shouldn’t catch a cold,” Jennifer said, immediately dropping my wrist to run up and shield him. “I heard shouting, and I got scared,” Elliot whispered, shrinking into her side, his eyes pooling with tears. “We aren’t arguing. Silas is just being difficult. He’ll get over it in a couple of days,” Jennifer murmured, gently patting his back. The ragdoll cat peeked over Elliot’s shoulder, baring its teeth and hissing softly at me. “Silas, I’m so sorry,” Elliot said, biting his lip as he looked down at me with puppy-dog eyes. “Jennifer spent the last two weeks with me in Europe to see my therapist. It must have been hard for you, being locked down here alone.” “But I really didn’t mean to cause this. When my depression flares up, I completely lose control of myself. Jennifer was just terrified I’d do something reckless.” “Exactly,” Jennifer added, looking down at me from the top of the stairs with cold disapproval. “You know how severe his condition is. You’re a healthy, normal adult. What’s the big deal about staying down here for a couple of weeks?” “I gave the house staff a paid vacation, but the pantry was fully stocked. It’s not like I starved you. Why do you have to be so incredibly dramatic?” I looked at the empty water bottles piled in the corner of the basement. The very first day she left, the main water valve to the basement had been shut off. I had survived the worst five days of my fever on half a bottle of stale water. If it hadn’t been for the woman on the phone guiding me through the dark, telling me where I had left my old travel bag with a bottle of aspirin, I would have died down there. I didn’t bother explaining any of this. Instead, I asked a simple question. “Where are the pastries you brought?” Jennifer blinked, caught off guard. “On the coffee table upstairs. I had my assistant line up at that artisanal bakery uptown to get those almond croissants you like so much.” I nodded, stepping past them as I walked up the stairs. The bakery box was sitting on the glass table in the living room. I opened it to find six perfectly dusted almond croissants. Elliot followed close behind Jennifer, whispering softly, “Jennifer, doesn’t Silas have a severe tree nut allergy? I thought those croissants were covered in crushed almonds.” Jennifer looked at the box, then at me, a brief flash of embarrassment crossing her face. “I didn’t think about it when I ordered. My assistant must have grabbed the wrong box.” “Silas, don’t be so sensitive. Just pick the almonds off before you eat them.” I didn’t say a word. I picked up the box, walked over to the trash can, and flipped it over. The pastries landed at the bottom of the bin with a quiet thud. “Silas! What is wrong with you?” Jennifer’s voice rose, sharp and angry. “I can’t eat them, so they belong in the trash,” I said, pulling a tissue from the counter to wipe my fingertips. “Why are you acting so incredibly bitter?” She marched over, gripping my shoulder tightly. “I brought those all the way from uptown. Even if you can’t eat them, you don’t throw my gesture into the garbage right in front of my face!” “What did you want me to do instead? Build an altar for them?” I asked, looking her dead in the eye. “Meow.” The cat in Elliot’s arms let out a sharp cry, leaping from his chest and lunging straight at my face. I put my hands up to shield myself, and its claws tore across the back of my left hand. Three angry red lines welled with blood. Before I could even register the pain, Jennifer had kicked a nearby chair aside, stepping between me and the cat to shield it. “Silas, are you really going to pick a fight with an animal now?” Beads of blood began to drip from my knuckles, splattering onto the pristine hardwood floor. I turned and walked toward the hallway to find the medical kit. “Stop right there!” Jennifer barked. “You terrified Snowball. Apologize to him right now.” I stopped, turning slowly to look at her. “You want me to apologize to a cat?” “He’s highly sensitive! You threw those pastries so aggressively, he thought you were going to strike Elliot!” Jennifer said, stroking the cat’s white fur to calm it down. Elliot clutched his chest, gasping for air as tears streamed down his face. “Jennifer, don’t blame Silas. It’s my fault, I shouldn’t have brought Snowball down here.” “You did nothing wrong. It’s his petty, miserable attitude!” Jennifer said, drawing Elliot into her arms. She glared at me, her voice cold and commanding. “Silas, I’m going to count to three. You will apologize to Elliot and Snowball, or you can pack your bags and get out of my house!” “One.” I opened the medical cabinet and pulled out a bottle of antiseptic. “Two.” I pressed an alcohol pad against the deep scratches. The sting was sharp, but I didn’t even flinch. “Three!” Furious, Jennifer marched over and swiped her hand across the counter, sending the entire medical kit crashing to the floor. Cotton balls, bandages, and bottles scattered across the tiles. “You think you’re tough, Silas? You think I won’t actually throw you out?” She pointed a finger at the front door. “Get out! Pack your things and leave this instant!” “And don’t bother trying to use any of my credit cards. I’m locking them all before you even reach the driveway!” She was entirely convinced I wouldn’t leave. She thought she held all the cards because I had severed ties with my family and quit my career three years ago to become her stay-at-home husband. But she had no idea I had already decided to leave with the woman on the phone. “Alright,” I said, my voice incredibly calm. I bent down, picked up the antiseptic bottle, tightened the cap, and set it on the counter. Jennifer froze, her eyes widening slightly. I walked past the mess on the floor, headed down to the basement, and picked up my canvas tote bag. It held nothing but a few changes of old clothes and my ID. I didn’t touch any of the luxury watches or designer items she had bought me over the years. When I walked back up to the living room with my single bag, Jennifer’s expression shifted from anger to disbelief. “You’re actually going?” She knit her brows. “Silas, stop playing hard to get. Do you honestly think I’m going to chase after you once you walk out that door?” “I don’t expect you to,” I said, slipping on my sneakers. “Silas, please don’t do this,” Elliot said, walking over to tug on my sleeve. His fingers gripped my arm, his sharp nails digging painfully into my skin. “It’s pouring outside, and you don’t have any money. Where will you go? Just apologize to Jennifer.” I didn’t answer him. I simply pulled my sleeve out of his grasp. “Let him leave!” Jennifer sneered. “I want to see how long his pride lasts without my bank accounts. He’ll be crawling back to this house begging for forgiveness within three days!” I pushed the heavy front door open. Outside, a black Bentley sat idling in the heavy rain. The passenger door opened, and a large black umbrella was hoisted into the air. Maude stepped out, looking effortlessly elegant in a tailored wool coat. She walked down the stone path, tilting the umbrella forward to shield me from the freezing rain. “Silas, I’m here to take you home,” she said, her voice warm and steady. Standing in the doorway, Jennifer stared through the rain, her eyes locked onto the woman standing beside me. “Who is that?” her voice trembled slightly. I didn’t look back. I stepped down the stairs and into the shelter of Maude’s umbrella. “The person from my phone,” I said quietly. Jennifer let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Silas! If you’re going to hire an actress just to make me jealous, at least pick someone believable!” Maude smoothly took my canvas bag, resting her hand lightly against my back to guide me toward the car. “Silas, get back here right now!” Jennifer screamed, stepping out onto the porch as the rain began to drench her silk blouse. But she didn’t pursue me. Behind her, Elliot let out a weak whimper. “Jennifer, my head… I feel dizzy.” Instinctively, she stopped, turning back to catch him before he fell. I sat in the warm leather seat of the car, watching their figures blur in the side mirror as we drove away. I closed my eyes. The car’s heater was running, filling the cabin with a quiet warmth and the subtle scent of cedarwood. Maude pulled a soft cashmere blanket over my lap, her eyes dropping to the bloody scratches on my hand. Her brow furrowed. “Did you clean those?” “Just some antiseptic,” I murmured, leaning my head against the headrest. She didn’t push for details. Instead, she pulled a small medical pouch from the glove compartment, took my hand, and began to gently clean the wound with an alcohol wipe. She applied a soothing ointment and covered it with a sterile bandage, her movements incredibly light. “What happened these past two weeks, Silas?” she asked softly. “Nothing much,” I said, watching the rain streak across the window. “I just realized some things aren’t worth holding onto.” I didn’t tell her that Jennifer had locked the basement door to keep Elliot’s cat from making a mess downstairs. I didn’t tell her how close I had come to dying of a fever, or how her voice on the phone had been the only thing keeping me anchored to reality. It was over now. “What do you want to eat?” Maude asked, packing away the medical kit. “Some porridge,” I said. “Pork and preserved egg. No green onions, please.” Maude smiled. “Alright. Let’s get you fed.” We pulled up to a quiet, high-end private dining club downtown. Maude booked a private room and ordered a warm bowl of porridge along with a few side dishes. As I sat there, letting the warm food soothe my empty stomach, my phone vibrated in my pocket. It was a text from Jennifer. Who is that woman? I know you’re doing this just to get a reaction out of me because you still care. I’m willing to overlook it. But Silas, I am warning you, get back here right now. Elliot’s depression is flaring up because of your behavior, and he’s back on his medication. We have a family dinner tonight. You need to be there. Don’t make me look foolish in front of my mother. I didn’t reply. I simply blocked her number. “Jennifer?” Maude asked, pouring a cup of warm tea for me. “Yeah,” I nodded. “What do you want to do now? Do you want to go back to your hometown?” “No,” I shook my head. “I cut ties with my parents to marry her. Going back now would just be embarrassing.” “Then stay in Boston,” Maude said, her tone absolute. “I have a vacant apartment downtown. It’s fully furnished and close to everything. You can stay there.” “Maude, I can’t accept that…” “Silas,” she interrupted gently, looking at me with a soft smile. “You’ve called me ‘sis’ for ten years. Let your older sister look after you for once, okay?” My eyes burned, and a sudden wave of emotion threatened to spill over. Lying in that dark basement, I hadn’t shed a single tear, but her simple kindness was nearly enough to break me. “Okay,” I whispered, lowering my head to hide my eyes. After dinner, Maude drove me to the apartment. It was spacious, filled with natural light, and stocked with every necessity, including a closet full of brand-new clothes in my exact size. “Get some rest,” Maude said, standing by the doorway. “I won’t crowd you. Tomorrow morning, I’m taking you to the clinic for a full checkup.” “Thank you, Maude.” “Rest up, Silas,” she said softly, closing the door behind her. I walked into the bathroom and turned on the shower. As the hot water washed over my thin, pale body, carrying away the grime and exhaustion of the basement, I looked at my reflection in the steamed-up mirror. Three years of devotion. I had finally put the Silas who loved Jennifer to death. The next morning, the clinic results came back. I was suffering from severe malnutrition and a lingering lung infection from the untreated fever. The doctor prescribed a stack of medications and ordered strict rest. On our way back, we walked past a luxury jewelry store. My eyes lingered on a pair of diamond bands in the display case. “Do you like them?” Maude asked, stopping beside me. “No,” I said, pulling my gaze away. Those were the rings Jennifer had promised to buy me. For three years, I had worn a cheap silver band. She told me we would get proper wedding rings once her company went public. But when the company finally listed, she told me Elliot was in a fragile mental state and couldn’t handle the news of our formal ring exchange. There was always an excuse. When we got back to the apartment, I logged into my cloud drive, pulled up the divorce agreement I had drafted months ago, filled in the date, and signed my name. I emailed the document directly to Jennifer’s personal inbox. On the other side of town, in the spacious living room of the He estate, Jennifer sat on the plush sofa. She stared at her phone, her calls to my number failing to go through. “Jennifer…” Elliot walked down the stairs, dressed in a custom designer suit. It was a piece Jennifer had bought at a high-end auction the previous month, promising to give it to me for our wedding anniversary. “The sleeves are a bit too long. It doesn’t really fit right,” Elliot complained, adjusting the cuffs. Jennifer looked at him, her expression distracted. “It’s fine. I’ll have the tailor adjust it for you.” “Is Silas still not back?” Elliot asked softly. “If he misses the family dinner tonight, will your mother be upset?” “Don’t mention his name!” Jennifer snapped, throwing her phone onto the table. “I’ve spoiled him. He actually thinks hiring some woman to play a part will make me crawl back to him.” “But her car was worth millions,” Elliot murmured, testing her reaction. Jennifer let out a cold snort. “It was probably a rental. Silas doesn’t have those kinds of connections. He’s just trying to make a point.” She stood up, smoothing the front of her blazer. “Let’s go. We don’t need him there anyway. It’ll save me the trouble of explaining his behavior to my mother.” That evening, the family dinner was held at a five-star hotel downtown. Jennifer introduced Elliot to everyone as her close family friend, and the guests all smiled and nodded politely, keeping their thoughts to themselves. Halfway through the dinner, her assistant hurried over and whispered something in her ear. Jennifer’s expression went entirely stiff. She stood up abruptly, walked out to the quiet corridor, and pulled up her email inbox. There, sitting at the top of her list, was a message titled Divorce Agreement. She opened the attachment, her fingers tightening around her phone as she stared at my clean, elegant signature at the bottom of the page. “Silas… do you really think you can just walk away?” she muttered, her jaw clenching. She dialed my number again, but the automated voice only informed her that the line was disconnected. She turned to her assistant, her voice sharp with panic. “Go find him! Find out where he is staying, and track down the owner of that Bentley!” The assistant nodded quickly, terrified by the sudden fury in her eyes. Jennifer leaned against the cold marble wall, trying to steady her breathing. But she had no idea that at that very moment, I was already sitting on a flight bound for Lake Tahoe.

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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.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “461184”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

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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1 For the past thirty days, I’ve been living inside Anna’s house, and she still has no idea I exist. It’s kind of a thrill, honestly. I know “phrogging” is technically a felony, but I didn’t plan on staying this long. I originally just needed a place to crash for a couple of nights. But her setup is just too perfect. She lives alone, she’s wealthy, and she’s completely blind. The first time I slipped inside was during a torrential thunderstorm. I popped the vent grating on the side of her luxury condo and slithered into her life like a cockroach. Because she’s blind, I don’t even have to hide in the crawlspace or the attic like I used to. I can sit right on her expensive leather sofa, watching her fumble her way to the kitchen to pour a glass of water. I can watch her change her clothes less than four inches away from my face. She has beautiful eyes. Even though they’re milky and unfocused, it always feels like she’s looking right at me. It gives me a sick, twisted sense of satisfaction. I log all her daily habits into my encrypted private blog. I titled it: Diary of Keeping a Blind Girl. Anna is a piano instructor. Her routine is as rigid as a machine. She wakes up at 8:00 AM, feels her way to the bathroom, practices piano at 9:00, and listens to audiobooks at 2:00 PM. As a seasoned phrogger, I mapped out her auditory blind spots by day three. I know exactly which floorboards creak. I know exactly when she turns on her loud robot vacuum so I can sneak into the kitchen and steal her food. The feeling of watching your prey living completely defenseless right under your nose… it’s addictive. I am addicted to this blind girl. I feel like I am her god. But I haven’t touched her. I haven’t even dared to steal a kiss while she sleeps. Once she goes to bed, I just lie down on the plush rug next to her mattress and breathe the exact same air she breathes. It makes me feel like, for once in my miserable life, I actually have a home. That was, until the day an unexpected man rang the doorbell. I peeked through the peephole. A heavy set man with a scarred, meaty face was standing there, gripping a steel hammer. Anna walked to the door, her hands trembling slightly as she unlocked it. I was watching through the crack of the bedroom door, calculating exactly how I was going to burst out and play the hero if things went sideways. But what happened next froze the blood in my veins. The moment the door swung open, Anna didn’t ask “Who is it?” Instead, she smiled at the empty hallway and said something that made my skin crawl. “You’re finally here. Come on in, he’s been waiting under the bed for a long time.” My heart completely stopped. I was literally lying flat on my stomach under her bed at that exact moment. Cold sweat dripped from my forehead onto the hardwood floor. In that split second, my mind raced. Did she see me? Has she been faking her blindness this entire time? But the man with the hammer just blinked, looking confused. He muttered, “Crazy bitch,” turned around, and walked away. She was bluffing. Or maybe she was just talking to herself to scare off intruders. I let out a long, shaky breath. The sheer adrenaline rush of a near miss made me even more euphoric. In this apartment, she was the owner, but I was the ghost. And the ghost sees everything. Anna locked the door and felt her way over to the grand piano. She sat down. I stood exactly six feet behind her, holding a bag of potato chips I had just swiped from her coffee table. Crunch. I bit down on a chip. The sound was deafening in the dead silent apartment. Anna’s fingers slammed on the brakes, hovering directly over the piano keys. She slowly turned her head. Her dead, milky eyes locked perfectly onto my exact position. I stopped breathing. Every muscle in my body locked up. I held the half chewed chip in my mouth, terrified to even swallow. This was the ultimate high. Dancing on the razor’s edge. If she were a normal person, she would be screaming for the cops right now. Too bad she’s blind. As long as I don’t make another sound, I am just air. Anna stayed frozen for about five seconds. Her eyebrows furrowed slightly, like she was trying to isolate a sound wave. Then, she shook her head. Her fingers dropped back onto the keys, and the booming classical music drowned out everything else. I smiled a silent, manic smile and swallowed the potato chip. A blind person’s world is pitch black. And in her darkness, I am the only speck of white. 2 I absolutely relished the absolute control I had. As a veteran phrogger, I have a strict set of rules: No noise. Do not move objects. Leave no scent. Every day, while she showers, I use her exact shampoo and body wash. That way, no matter how close I get to her, she only ever smells her own scent. It is the perfect camouflage. It’s also a deeply sick form of possession. That night, I was hiding in the hollow space above her walk in closet, updating my blog. Diary of Keeping a Blind Girl – Day 30: “Her piano playing was a little messy today. Probably spooked by that guy at the door. She is so fragile. Like a porcelain doll. But she is safe here, under my watchful eye. I am her guardian angel.” The blog is heavily encrypted. Only I have the password. It’s my trophy case. My proof of existence as an invisible man. At 2:00 AM, I heard movement below me. I peeked through the slats of the closet vent. Anna, wearing a thin silk nightgown, was sleepwalking toward the closet doors. She hadn’t turned on any lights. The pale moonlight washed over her face, making her look like a corpse. She slowly pressed her cheek against the wooden closet door. Her face was only half an inch of wood away from the bottom of my feet. She just stood there. Completely motionless. What the hell was she listening to? Did I snore? Impossible. I literally tape my mouth shut when I sleep. It’s a professional habit. She stood there listening for ten agonizing minutes. Then, the corner of her mouth twitched upward into the tiniest, most microscopic smile. The smile looked incredibly sinister in the moonlight, and then it was gone. She turned around and went back to bed. I lay flat on my back above the closet, my eyes wide open until the sun came up. That was the very first time I felt genuine fear toward the blind girl I was “keeping.” The next day, a different man showed up. This wasn’t a wrong door situation. He was specifically looking for Anna. He was wearing a wrinkled blue mechanic’s shirt with a cheap plastic badge that read “Building Maintenance.” I could tell instantly it was a fake. There wasn’t even a photo on the ID. “Who is it?” Anna asked through the closed door. “Maintenance. Checking the pipes,” the man grunted. His voice was raspy and reeked of stale cigarettes. Anna opened the door, but kept the heavy chain lock secured. “I didn’t call for maintenance,” she said, her voice tight with suspicion. “Building wide inspection. Gotta check every unit,” the man said, shoving his thick fingers through the gap, trying to reach the chain. I was crouched behind the shoe rack in the entryway, my fists clenched so hard my knuckles were white. A wave of pure, unadulterated rage hit me. This was my territory. She was my prey. Any other predator who stepped onto my turf needed to die. How dare this greasy piece of shit try to lay his hands on my property. Anna was visibly terrified. She tried to slam the door shut, but she wasn’t strong enough. The man wedged his heavy work boot into the gap, flashing a disgusting, yellow toothed grin. “Living all alone, huh sweetheart? Let me come in and take a look. I’m real good with my hands.” You didn’t have to be a genius to hear the vile threat in his voice. I glanced at the heavy ceramic vase on the console table next to me. It was Anna’s favorite piece. She dusted it meticulously every week. Right now, all I wanted to do was smash it repeatedly into the side of that man’s skull. Just as I grabbed the neck of the vase, ready to charge, the man suddenly yanked his foot back. It was like he sensed something. He snapped his head, staring directly toward the shoe rack where I was hiding. Maybe I was breathing too hard. Maybe he could feel the sheer malice radiating off me. The man muttered under his breath, “Jesus, it feels like a graveyard in there.” He let go of the door. Anna slammed it shut and locked the deadbolt with a loud click. She pressed her back against the heavy wood, slid down to the floor, buried her face in her knees, and started to sob. Her crying was muffled and completely helpless. It made my chest ache physically. I wanted to burst out of hiding, wrap my arms around her, and tell her not to be afraid. Tell her I was here. But I bit my tongue. I couldn’t blow my cover yet. I was a shadow, and shadows die in the light. I watched her cry, and the dark, twisted possessiveness inside me grew like a cancer. That guy wasn’t going to just walk away. I looked through the peephole. He hadn’t left the hallway. He crouched down by the baseboard next to her door and used a piece of chalk to draw a tiny, crude symbol on the wall. It was a burglar’s mark. It meant: “Single female. Easy target.” He was coming back tonight. I reached into my pocket and flicked open my switchblade. I wasn’t sleeping tonight. I was going to teach him that this house already had a master. 3 Midnight hit, and right on cue, the guy came back. He was garbage at picking locks. The deadbolt clicked and scraped loudly. Normally, Anna would have been wide awake from the noise. But I had crushed half a sleeping pill into her evening glass of milk. I needed her dead to the world so she wouldn’t witness the bloodbath I was about to cause. The door creaked open. The man crept into the apartment, a short hunting knife gripped tightly in his right hand. Using the faint glow of the streetlights filtering through the window, he started making his way toward the master bedroom. I was standing flat against the wall right next to the breaker box. The second he stepped into the center of the living room, I threw the main switch. The already dim apartment was plunged into a suffocating, pitch black void. “What the fuck?” the man muttered, freezing in his tracks. The dark is a living nightmare for the blind. But for a phrogger? It’s an absolute playground. I slid my military grade night vision goggles over my eyes. The room instantly lit up in crisp, glowing green. I could see every pore on his sweating face. He was waving his hands in front of him like a blind man, completely disoriented. I picked up the heavy TV remote off the coffee table and hurled it as hard as I could at the far wall. SMASH. The plastic shattered loudly. The man spun around violently, slashing his knife at the empty air. “Who’s there?! Show yourself!” I didn’t make a sound. I slipped behind him with the silent grace of a ghost. I was barefoot, wearing thick wool socks. I made literally zero noise on the hardwood. I leaned in, putting my lips an inch from his ear, and blew a soft puff of cold air onto his neck. That single breath did more damage than a gunshot. The man violently flinched, his entire body convulsing in sheer terror. He spun around wildly again, staring into the pitch black abyss. “Ghosts… there’s a fucking ghost…” his voice cracked, laced with raw panic. I pulled a heavy steel wrench from my tool belt and swung it hard into his shinbone. Because he couldn’t see me, his brain processed it as some invisible, demonic force snapping his leg. “AGH!” He screamed, completely abandoning his plan to rob or assault anyone. He scrambled backward, tripped over his own feet, and dropped his knife on the floor. He crawled frantically toward the door, threw it open, and ran for the elevator. I waited until I heard the elevator ding and the doors slide shut before I flipped the breaker back on. The lights flickered to life. I knelt down and picked up his dropped hunting knife. Etched into the base of the blade was a strange logo. It looked like a URL emblem I had seen once on a deep web forum. Suddenly, the bedroom door clicked open. The sleeping pill wasn’t strong enough. Anna was awake. She leaned heavily against the doorframe, her face pale and exhausted. She stared blindly into the empty living room and whispered, “Thank you.” Every muscle in my body turned to stone. Who was she talking to? Me? Then, she pressed her palms together, bowing her head toward the ceiling. “Thank God. Please protect me and don’t let that man come back.” She was praying. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, feeling a strange twinge of disappointment. But it didn’t matter. As long as she was safe. What I didn’t know at the time was that the moment the intruder ran out of the building, he pulled out a burner phone and sent a text. The text read: “The bait is taken. The squatter is highly territorial. Pushing his boundaries further.” That logo on the knife was bothering me. But before I could look into it, everything went straight to hell. Three days later, right around noon, a courier dropped off a package for Anna. She thought it was her new braille books. She grabbed a pair of scissors and excitedly sliced through the tape. I was sitting criss cross under the dining table, watching her. The moment the cardboard flaps opened, a sickening, metallic stench of raw blood filled the apartment. Anna’s hands shook as she reached inside. Her fingers brushed against something furry and wet. It was a dead cat. Its throat had been slit. The blood was still warm. “AHHH!” Anna screamed, violently throwing the box across the room. She scrambled backward into the corner of the room, curling into a tight ball, shaking uncontrollably. It must have triggered the memory of her old guide dog. That dog had died under similarly mysterious circumstances a year ago. She cried so hard she hyperventilated, eventually passing out cold on the floor. Screw the rules. Screw staying hidden. For her, I would gladly turn from a ghost into a demon. I crawled out from under the table and scooped her up into my arms. She was so light. Her skin was freezing. I laid her gently on the couch. I stared at the mutilated cat, the killing intent boiling over in my veins. I picked up the blood soaked box. The return address was printed clearly on the label: Abandoned Textile Mill, Warehouse 3, City Limits. It was a blatant provocation. That bastard was declaring war. I poured a glass of water and set it on the table next to her. Before I left, I slipped a small piece of thick paper into her palm. I had spent weeks learning to write braille just for her. I used a pin to punch out the dots. The note read: “Don’t be afraid. I am here.” It was the first time I had officially broken cover and admitted I existed. I knew exactly what I was risking, but I didn’t care anymore. I was going to that warehouse, and I was going to slaughter that animal with my bare hands. 4 But when I got to the warehouse, it was completely deserted. It was a sprawling, rotting industrial wasteland. A single naked lightbulb hung from the ceiling in the center of Warehouse 3. I gripped my switchblade tight, stepping silently over the shattered glass and debris. Under the lightbulb was a folding table. On the table was an open laptop. I walked over and looked at the screen. The blood in my veins turned to ice. It was a live video feed of Anna’s living room. High definition. Perfect overhead angle. No blind spots. I watched the live feed as Anna woke up on the couch. She sat up. She held the braille note I had left her between her fingers. She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t scared. Her face was completely, terrifyingly blank. She slowly ripped my note into tiny pieces, shoved the paper into her mouth, chewed it up, and swallowed it. Then, she slowly raised her head. Those milky, dead eyes locked flawlessly onto the exact location of the hidden camera lens on the ceiling. And she smiled. A massive, ear to ear, psychotic smile. She was smiling right at the camera. She was smiling right at me. It was a trap. There was no stalker. There was no threat. That guy with the knife was working with her! I ran out of that warehouse like a madman, sprinting until my lungs felt like they were going to burst. By the time I got back to the apartment, the locks had already been changed. But I had a spare key. The one Anna “hid” under the welcome mat. My hands shook violently as I jammed the key in and turned the deadbolt. The living room lights were blazing. The greasy mechanic who had broken in three nights ago was sitting on the leather sofa, casually flipping that hunting knife in his hand. He saw me, flashed those disgusting yellow teeth, and laughed. “Took you long enough, man. Been waiting.” “Where is Anna?” I growled, my voice rough and ragged. “In her bedroom. Sleeping like a baby,” the man stood up, twirling the blade. “What? You wanna play the knight in shining armor?” Looking at his smug face, every ounce of fear evaporated, replaced by pure, blinding rage. “Who the fuck are you?” “Doesn’t matter who I am. All that matters is you’re leaving in a body bag.” He lunged at me, driving the point of the knife straight at my chest. A month ago, I would have bolted. But right now, the only thing playing in my head was the image of Anna’s psychotic smile as she swallowed my note. I had been played. The absolute humiliation of being her pet was worse than death. I sidestepped his thrust, grabbed a heavy brass lamp off the console table, and brought it down hard on his skull. CRACK. The man stumbled, blood pouring down his forehead. But he didn’t drop. Instead, he let out a roar and tackled me around the waist. We hit the floor hard, violently rolling and thrashing across the hardwood. He had forty pounds on me, but I was ruthless. When you spend your entire life surviving in the shadows, you learn exactly where a human body is weak. I drove my thumbs deep into his eye sockets and slammed my knee upward into his groin. The man shrieked in agony. His grip loosened, and the knife clattered to the floor. I scrambled for it, grabbed the hilt, flipped him over, and pinned him to the floor with my knees on his biceps. I pressed the edge of the blade against his throat. “Wait… wait, please don’t…” he suddenly froze, his eyes widening in absolute, primal terror. He wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at something right behind me. “Run… she’s a…” He tried to warn me, but I didn’t give him the chance. I thought about the slaughtered cat. I thought about the helpless tears Anna had cried. Whether she was playing me or not, this piece of trash deserved to die. “Go to hell.” I drove the hunting knife deep into the side of his neck. Hot, thick blood sprayed directly across my face, burning my skin. The man convulsed violently beneath me for a few seconds, then went entirely limp. His eyes were still wide open, locked onto whatever was behind me. And in his dying gaze, I swear I saw… pity. Playing the hero sometimes means you have to become a monster. I sat there straddling the corpse, panting heavily, my hands slick with blood. The knife slipped from my fingers. I just killed a man. Right then, a soft click echoed behind me. The bedroom door opened. Anna walked out. She was wearing a pristine white silk nightgown, barefoot on the hardwood. She perfectly sidestepped the shattered lamp. She perfectly sidestepped the dead body. She even stepped neatly over the pooling blood. Her steps were confident and deliberate. She wasn’t walking like a blind person at all. She walked right up to me, crouched down, and gently reached out. Her thumb wiped a smear of blood off my cheek. Her skin was freezing cold, sliding against my face like a snake’s scales. I braced myself for her to scream. For her to run to the phone and dial 911. She didn’t. She didn’t even ask what happened. She just looked at me with those blank eyes and whispered in a soft, sweet voice: “It’s okay. We’ll just clean him up.” She stood back up, walked over to the front door, locked the deadbolt, and pulled the heavy blackout curtains shut. It was the practiced, methodical routine of someone preparing a kill room. I stared down at the corpse beneath me. One of his hands had fallen open, revealing a blood splattered leather wallet. I reached down and flipped it open. Inside was a heavy metal shield and a laminated ID card. The photo was a perfect match. Name: David Miller. Rank: Undercover Detective, Vice Squad.

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