Category: English

My new intern is sweet, obedient, and completely innocent. Every day, I drag him into my passionate rants against our boss: “Repeat after me! Down with capitalism! Power to the working class!” He obediently repeats it. Me: “The evil corporate overlords will eventually face their demise!” He furrows his brow, looking a little hesitant: “The evil corporate overlords… will eventually face their… demise.” Me: “The CEO’s son is a pompous, trust-fund prick!” His face instantly turns beet red: “Miss… don’t you think that’s a bit too harsh?” 01 “Huh? Whose side are you on?” Cole blinks his puppy-dog eyes, offering a completely harmless smile: “Yours, obviously.” “Then what are you scared of? It’s not like you’re the CEO’s son.” I narrow my eyes, looking him up and down. “Wait… there’s a rumor going around that the Crown Prince is undercover at our branch. It couldn’t be you, could it?” Cole’s eyes dart away for a second. “Um… are you hungry? We should check the UberEats lunch specials.” “True,” I scoff. “As if a billionaire heir would be splitting a ten-dollar BOGO coupon with a peasant like me.” “They’re probably eating filet mignon and drinking vintage wine for every meal!” Cole chuckles softly, his eyes shining as he looks at me. “The way you talk is so cute.” I raise an eyebrow at him. “Smooth talker. Alright, today we’re upgrading to the twelve-dollar combo!” 02 Cole is the new intern at our company. Soft, fluffy hair, puppy-dog eyes, and crisp white button-down shirts always buttoned to the very top collar. When he smiles, two little dimples appear. He’s sweet and pure. He just comes from a modest background. Every time we split a lunch order, he’s never picky. He eats whatever I order, and cleans his plate completely, like a giant, easily satisfied golden retriever. And he’s incredibly easy to tease. The second I call him “kid,” the tips of his ears turn bright red. “Hey kid, you want the teriyaki bowl today? I’ll add an extra egg for you.” Sure enough, his face flushes again. But today, completely out of the blue, he sends me a link. “Let’s not do the cheap combo today. Let’s do this.” “Sure.” I click the link: [Michelin-Star Kaiseki – Premium Tasting Menu for Two]. ??? My eyes practically pop out of my head. “This is not the UberEats I know.” His eyes curve into a smile. “This is the fancy eats.” “Kid, do I look like someone who can afford this on a four-thousand-dollar monthly salary? What kind of lunch delivery costs $588? That’s highway robbery!” His tone is confident. “If we take three pictures and write a 15-word Yelp review, they’ll refund us $568 as a promotional rebate.” “Seriously? Are you sure?” “Positive. You can call the restaurant and ask.” Cole leans in, lowering his voice. “Last time I went to their physical location, I got a $1,600 meal and they refunded me $1,550.” How does this kid keep stumbling into these insane luck-of-the-draw promotions? Well, I can’t say no to that. If there’s a loophole to exploit the capitalists, I’m taking it. And just like that, Cole and I upgraded from “cheap lunch buddies” to “exploiting corporate promotional loopholes buddies.” 03 New Zealand scampi. Chew, chew, chew. A5 Japanese Wagyu. Chew, chew, chew. Hokkaido sea urchin. Chew, chew, chew. I gossip while I eat: “I got a reliable tip. Apparently, the CEO’s son is super tall and insanely hot. Like, A-list celebrity hot.” Cole, who is currently drinking sparkling water, violently chokes. “Cough, cough… seriously? That exaggerated?” I chew on my fork, thinking. “Hey? Now that you mention it, are there any super hot guys in your intern class?” I frown, my gaze landing squarely on him. “Why do I feel like… you’re the best-looking one?” Cole’s Adam’s apple bobs. He involuntarily loosens his tie. At first glance, this guy looks like an obedient, soft-haired puppy. But looking closely, his facial features are actually incredibly sharp and defined, with a high, straight nose bridge. He’s a very, very pretty puppy. Maybe my female-gaze stare is a bit too blatant. Cole’s chest visibly heaves, the muscular outline beneath his dress shirt subtly flexing. Pop. A button on his shirt flies off. And it pops off in the most precarious, perfectly placed spot. Through the gap, I can simultaneously see the defined lines of his pecs and his upper abs. Cole immediately grabs the gaping fabric, his face turning the color of a boiled lobster. “D-don’t look…” “Oh, please, I already saw it.” I rest my chin on my hand, highly satisfied. “Hehe. Not bad at all. “Alright, I know you aren’t the CEO’s son. What kind of billionaire heir wears cheap shirts that pop their buttons? “Plus, you curse out the corporate overlords with me every day. A guy wouldn’t curse himself out, right?” Cole lowers his head, rubs his nose, and stays completely silent. As obedient and guilty as a big dog with its ears pinned back. 04 The CEO is coming to inspect our branch next month. Everyone is running around like headless chickens, on high alert. VP Miller, our notoriously awful middle manager, dumps a mountain of his own backlog onto my desk. “Mr. Miller, I haven’t even finished my own quarterly reports yet.” “Then do it after hours,” Miller shoots me a cold, dismissive look. “Time is like water in a sponge; if you squeeze hard enough, you’ll always find some. “Riley, this is a prime opportunity to show off your skills in front of the CEO. You better cherish it.” Evil corporate overlords! Even a petty middle manager like Miller gets to enslave bottom-tier corporate drones like me. I sit at my desk, radiating pure resentment, typing furiously on my keyboard. A slice of strawberry shortcake is carefully slid across my desk. Half of Cole’s head peeks out from behind my monitor. “You’re typing like you’re firing a machine gun. Bad mood?” “No shit!” I glare viciously at the screen. “I don’t want to ‘show off my skills’ to the CEO. I’m just a corporate drone, and this drone just wants to go to sleep.” Cole looks surprised. “Are you presenting this report to the old man?” “Who’s the old man?” “I mean… the CEO.” Cole clears his throat softly. “I’m so used to cursing out the capitalists with you, it just slipped out.” “Watch your mouth around the office, kid,” I lecture him. Cole chuckles, muttering something incredibly softly: “It’s fine to meet him. We’ll have to meet him sooner or later anyway.” 05 After that, Cole constantly finds excuses—usually involving our “lunch deals”—to stay late and keep me company while I work overtime. He somehow always manages to find these incredible “free tasting” promotions. Private chef menus, high-end sushi, French cuisine, Italian… “Why don’t you just move a whole Michelin-star restaurant into the office?” I stare, dumbfounded, at a massive, perfectly steamed red grouper. Cole scratches his head sheepishly. “Well, all these places offer two-person tasting menus, and you’re my only food buddy.” Whatever. It’s free. Chew, chew, chew. Cole sits at my computer, helping me format data. This wage slave is finally experiencing the luxury of having a younger, prettier wage slave do her work. While eating, I start scrolling through TikTok. The algorithm, doing what it does best, feeds me an endless stream of shirtless male fitness models posting thirst traps. “What are you looking at? Why are you smiling like that?” Cole suddenly leans over and asks. My grin is stretching from ear to ear; I can’t hide it fast enough. I have no choice but to bluff my way through: “I am simply admiring the impressive fitness results of these creators and offering them my supportive ‘likes’.” Cole blinks innocently. “Then why is he doing pushups while wearing a leather choker?” “…Aesthetics.” “Do you like that?” “I work out too.” He looks at me with sheer, unadulterated earnestness, his eyes clear. “Do you want to inspect my results?” Before I can even process what’s happening, Cole grabs my hand and presses it flat against his chest. “I think I’ve made decent progress.” He guides my hand lower. “What do you think?” Through the thin fabric of his shirt, his pecs are full and firm, and the ridges of his abs are distinct and rock-hard. It feels absolutely incredible. I finally understand why older men like innocent, naive young girls. His oblivious, accidental seduction is practically a lethal weapon. “Not bad,” I say, forcing myself to stay calm and swallowing hard. “With this level of fitness, you could totally make thirst trap videos… “I mean—fitness videos! Educational fitness videos!” 06 The day of the CEO’s inspection finally arrives. VP Miller trails right beside the CEO, acting as sycophantic as a groveling little troll. The CEO flips through the printed presentation materials. As he reads, he suddenly chuckles. “This report is very unique. It’s concise, clear, and… highlights the key points perfectly. “Who put this together?” VP Miller instantly jumps in to steal the credit. “Mr. Sterling, I did!” “You?” The CEO frowns, looking thoroughly disgusted. “He didn’t make it,” Cole’s voice suddenly rings out. “What do you mean I didn’t make it?!” VP Miller snaps, jumping in panic. I frantically tug at Cole’s shirt hem. Lord have mercy, shut your mouth! But this idiot completely ignores me, declaring with absolute righteousness: “Because I watched Riley Brooks make it.” I close my eyes and pray for a swift death. My career is officially over as of today. It wasn’t until later that I found out what the CEO actually saw in the report. On the very last page of the printed materials, there was a tiny line of text Cole had typed in: [This summary was made by your future daughter-in-law. Praise her.] … The CEO calls me into the VIP reception room. I thought he was going to ask me about the company’s operations, but instead, he just makes small talk. The CEO is beaming, looking as friendly as an amiable neighbor: “Riley, right? Don’t be nervous, I’m a very easygoing guy.” Then he proceeds to ask me things like, “Is the workload too heavy?” and “Are your parents doing well?” And at the very end, he actually asks me for my thoughts on older woman/younger man relationships. “What did you say?” When I step out, Cole asks me, looking noticeably nervous. “I said age doesn’t matter, as long as he has big muscles.” I stare blankly ahead in a daze. “And then the CEO laughed. His executive secretary stood there clapping, saying the CEO hasn’t laughed that hard in years.” Cole starts laughing too. “You better back up those words with actions.” “You should be worrying about how you offended VP Miller,” I sigh heavily. “He’s incredibly petty. “The last guy who called him ‘Assistant VP’ instead of ‘VP’ was forced to resign. We’re both probably dead meat.” Cole looks completely relaxed. “It’s fine. You have me.” I look at him with deep pity. Ah, the fearless arrogance of a newborn calf. “What exactly is an intern making minimum wage going to do?” “Didn’t you say my body was pretty good?” Cole shrugs. “Worst case scenario, I’ll go film thirst traps to support you.” 07 That evening is the welcome banquet for the CEO. Formal attire is mandatory. Wearing a cocktail dress and stilettos, I stumble my way into the lavish, gilded banquet hall. It’s a sea of designer gowns, champagne flutes, and elite networking. A room full of VIPs I don’t recognize. When I finally spot Cole, I almost don’t recognize him. “Why did you dress up so much?” He’s wearing a perfectly tailored, dark grey bespoke suit. His usually soft, fluffy hair is slicked back cleanly, exposing a sharp forehead and piercing eyes. The glasses are gone, and his features are so strikingly handsome they’re almost intimidating. His aura is completely overwhelming. I click-clack over to him in my heels. I drag him to the buffet table and start inhaling the hors d’oeuvres. “What does an event like this have to do with us anyway?” I shove a mini tart into his hand and happen to catch a glimpse of the watch on his wrist. “This fake Patek Philippe… is actually incredibly detailed. It’s so shiny.” A vein twitches in Cole’s temple, but he doesn’t say a word. I look up, only to see VP Miller marching toward us with a face like thunder. “We’re dead, we’re dead. Miller is coming to collect our souls!” He definitely couldn’t find an excuse to yell at us in the office earlier, and now he’s finally caught us. Miller approaches, giving us a fake, plastic smile, his tone dripping with sarcasm: “Well, well, Riley. You certainly stole the spotlight today. “But don’t you forget who your actual boss is. You’re young, you need to know your place, understand?” From the side, Cole comments dryly: “Not for much longer.” Miller instantly explodes: “I haven’t even started on you yet! Who told you to interrupt?!” I quickly try to smooth things over: “Mr. Miller, please, calm down. He’s just an intern, he doesn’t know any better…” “An intern?!” Miller raises his voice, spit practically flying into my face. “Believe me, I can have both of you fired by tomorrow morning!” “Who are you firing?” a deep, steady, amused voice cuts in. The CEO, Richard Sterling, had silently walked up beside us. “Mr. Miller, you certainly enjoy throwing your weight around.” Miller instantly shrinks into a quivering mess, wiping sweat from his forehead. “I wouldn’t dare, Chairman Sterling! It’s just this intern, he has absolutely no respect for authority. “I had to discipline him, otherwise what if he offends you?” “That is true,” the CEO nods, looking profoundly agreeable. “This kid has no respect for authority at home, either. “He won’t even call me ‘Dad’ properly. Just calls me ‘old man’ all day long.” … The air freezes. Miller is sweating buckets, his eyes bulging so hard they might pop out of his skull. Wait… who is calling who Dad? Who is whose father?! 08 A few minutes later, the CEO drags Cole onto the stage. “Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to introduce my son, Cole Hayes. He just returned from his studies in Germany and is currently starting from the ground up as an intern in our branch…” I don’t know if VP Miller dropped to his knees. Because I had already bolted. Lifting my annoying dress, I stumble and practically sprint out the back doors. After a few blocks, I’m completely out of breath and collapse onto the edge of a concrete planter. Deep breaths. Stay calm. Then I begin to frantically review the tape: What the hell did I do in front of the ultimate capitalist heir? “…The CEO’s son is a pompous, trust-fund prick.” I made him do my work. I touched his abs. I told him he should film borderline-NSFW thirst traps. Ok, fine. It’s over. We working-class folks don’t start trouble, but we’re definitely terrified of it. Since I’ve already caused a catastrophic mess, there’s only one way out—resignation. I need to get home first! As I stand up, I realize I was running so frantically that I think I twisted my ankle. “Hiss…” I drop my butt back onto the planter. “Where are you trying to run?” Cole’s voice sounds from above my head. A suit jacket, still carrying his body heat, is draped over my shoulders. “The night wind up here is a bit chilly. Don’t catch a cold.” I close my eyes and accept my fate. Cole sits down next to me on the planter. Like I’ve been electrocuted, I scoot a few inches away. “What? Because I’m a capitalist heir, you need to draw a clear line in the sand?” I grit my teeth: “Your last name is Hayes. Shouldn’t the Crown Prince’s last name be Sterling?” “I took my mother’s maiden name. She passed away when I was young.” …A massive miscalculation on my part. A moment of silence passes. He turns his head, looking at me cautiously. “Are you mad?” “This lowly peasant wouldn’t dare.” “So you are mad.” He suddenly crouches down in front of me, tilting his face up, looking at me with those innocent puppy-dog eyes. “How about you hit me? I didn’t mean to lie to you.” I’m not falling for this again! Even if he grabs my hand and uses it to punch his own pecs… Even though the muscle definition feels incredible, I am not falling for it again! “How could I dare strike the Crown Prince?” I coldly pull my hand back. He stays in his crouched, kneeling position, lowering his pride to the absolute dust: “On one hand, I didn’t want to expose my identity so I could observe the real operational status of the branch.” “On the other hand, it was for my own selfish reasons.” He looks up, staring directly into my eyes. “I wanted to get close to you.” I look away. “Why would you want to get close to me?” “If you knew who I was from the start, would you still have split cheap lunches with me and cursed out the corporate overlords?” “Hell no!” He raises an eyebrow, putting on a ‘See? I told you so’ expression. “So I didn’t really have a choice.” “Wait!” I suddenly remember. “So all that incredible luck was fake? The Michelin-star meals, the private chefs… all of those promotions were just you tricking me?” Cole guiltily averts his eyes, looking exactly like a giant golden retriever that just chewed up a pair of sneakers, avoiding its owner’s gaze. “I’m going to pay you back for all of that!” I stomp my foot in anger, entirely forgetting my injury, and instantly gasp in pain. Cole immediately notices. “You twisted your ankle?” I bite my lip and nod. Without another word, he stands up and scoops me into his arms, carrying me princess-style. “What are you doing?! Put me down!” I scream and struggle. “Not a chance. Dream on.”

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My mother was obsessed with the concept of a “lucky age,” an old superstition that added years to your life based on archaic folk math. When she went to register my eight-year-old brother for his social security number and official birth certificate, she insisted on putting him down as eleven. I thought it was absurd. Knowing it would cause him endless trouble in the future, I fought her tooth and nail, finally convincing her to only inflate his age by two years instead of three. Years later, my brother missed the cutoff for the final round of recruitment for a prestigious Air Force pilot program because he was officially two years too young. My mother told him, “If your sister hadn’t stopped me from giving you your full lucky age back then, you’d be the one accepted right now!” Because of that, my brother harbored a deep, simmering hatred for me. He believed I was the one who destroyed his dream of flying. During a hiking trip, he caught me off guard and shoved me off a cliff. My body was shattered on the rocks below, but they took the payout from my life insurance policy and lived a life of luxury. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day my mother went to register my brother’s official documents. This time, I kept my mouth shut and watched with a smile as she confidently declared his inflated age. 01 “A year from heaven, a year from earth, a year from the father, and a year from the mother. That’s how you ensure a long and prosperous life!” “My Jackson is eleven years old this year, that’s right! Go ahead and put it down!” The clerk at the Social Security Administration office looked at my brother, who was a full head shorter than kids his supposed age, with an expression of obvious disbelief. She shifted her gaze to me and asked for my brother’s birth year one more time, seemingly hoping to hear the correct answer from my mouth. In my previous life, this was the exact moment when I heard the registration year was three whole years earlier than my brother’s actual birth year, and I loudly stopped my mother. Back then, neither my brother nor I had been properly registered at birth. It caused a massive headache every time we had to enroll in a new school. It wasn’t until last year that my mom finally found a way to get me officially registered. But when she filled out my age, she habitually used that superstitious “lucky age” math. As a result, my official age was a full two years older than my actual age. I was constantly mocked by my classmates as the “dumb giant” or the “old lady.” To spare my brother from suffering the same fate, I exhausted myself trying to convince my mother to only inflate his age by two years instead of three. Because of that, my brother actually got along well with his classmates when he started middle school. However, when I caught a severe fever and went to a cheap urgent care clinic, my mother reflexively gave them my “lucky age.” This led the doctor to miscalculate my dosage. The IV caused the muscles in my left arm to necrotize, and I could never lift it again. That tragedy served as a wake-up call for my mother and brother, preventing a similar disaster from happening to him. But I never imagined that he would later miss the final Air Force pilot recruitment window because he was officially two years below the minimum age requirement. My brother was devastated and blamed my mother for not registering him as two years older. My mother secretly told him, “I wanted to use your lucky age when I registered you, but your sister stopped me!” “It’s my fault for being foolish and listening to your sister’s nonsense! Otherwise, you’d definitely be the one admitted right now!” Later, my brother achieved absolutely nothing in life. My mother complained, “It’s because your sister changed your age that she ruined your blessings!” Over time, my brother harbored a deep-seated hatred for me, convinced I was the one who ruined his aviation dream and the rest of his life. Later, he invited me on a wilderness hike and shoved me off a cliff when I wasn’t looking, leaving my body shattered and unrecognizable. He took the life insurance payout, bought a house, got married, and lived a life of wealth. And my mother, fully aware that he had murdered me, committed perjury to help him escape justice. I thought we at least had some familial love between us, but I didn’t know they only wanted to suck me dry. This time, I was going to sit back and watch just how much of a “blessing” my mother’s prized lucky age would bring my brother! Facing the clerk’s questioning gaze, I just smiled awkwardly and glanced at my mom. My mom impatiently yanked me behind her. “Do you think I don’t know how old my own son is? Why are you staring at her?” Seeing my mother’s volatile temper, the clerk didn’t want to cause a scene and registered the information exactly as she said. Looking at the freshly printed official document, my mother and I both smiled incredibly happily. 02 When we got back home, my brother was in the yard playing Pokémon cards with some neighborhood kids. My mom couldn’t wait to pull him in front of her. “Jackson, if anyone asks how old you are this year, what do you say?” My brother was entirely focused on his game and casually replied, “Eight!” My mom’s face instantly darkened. She emphasized her tone, “You are eleven this year! How can you not even remember your own age?” My brother struggled to get away so he could go back to playing, answering distractedly, “Okay, okay, I’m eleven.” But my mom wasn’t going to let him off easily. She closed the front door and asked again, “Now answer me again. How old are you this year?” This finally annoyed my brother. He looked thoroughly displeased. “Eight! Mom, you’re being so annoying!” “You ungrateful little brat! I carried you for nine months and brought you into this world, and I’m not even old yet, and you’re already sick of me?” Furious, my mom slapped my brother hard on his backside, correcting him while dramatically fake-crying. “You were born in December! Counting from the time you were in the womb, you are eleven this year!” “From now on, if anyone asks, you tell them you’re eleven. Do you hear me?!” My brother burst into loud wails and cried out to me for help when he saw me. In my previous life, after my arm was ruined by that injection, I made sure my brother memorized his actual age at all times. From then on, every time he went to the hospital, I was incredibly cautious, ensuring the doctors treated him based on his true age. Later on, I was kicked out of the house by my mother when I was only sixteen. Her beautiful excuse was that she had already raised me to adulthood, and from then on, it was my turn to give back to the family. I was only a sophomore in high school at the time. She forcibly cut off all my living expenses, and my teachers even had to help cover some of my school fees. To survive, I had no energy to focus on my studies. After school, I relied on picking up aluminum cans on the side of the road to sell for scrap just to keep myself alive. I never foolishly hoped that my brother, who had plenty of spending money, would give me any help. But he was even more heartless than I could have imagined. He stole the meager amount of money I had, claiming he was giving it to our mom, but secretly spent it all himself. When my mom found out, not only did she not punish him, but she also said, “The Miller family’s money will all belong to my son eventually! What’s the big deal if he takes your little bit of cash? It’s not even enough to buy him a pair of shoes!” Later on, I graduated from high school with grades only good enough for a second-rate state college. That was the same time my brother missed out on his aviation dream, exactly when his hatred for me was peaking. He and my mother conspired to marry me off to the intellectually disabled son of a local business owner in exchange for a $30,000 dowry. I adamantly refused and fled the house in the middle of the night. But in the end, I was deceived by his fake apology and ended up a corpse in the wilderness. I naively thought I was treating them well, but in their eyes, I was completely worthless. Or rather, in their eyes, I wasn’t even fit to be their family member. My only use was to be an ATM. I wanted absolutely nothing to do with a family like this! “Maya, help me!” He hadn’t been paying attention to anything my mom said earlier. It was only after getting hit that he frantically blurted out his own age. But he didn’t guess the answer that would satisfy my mother, which only fueled her rage, and she hit him even harder. Watching his pleading eyes, I waited until he had taken a sufficient beating before pretending to just figure it out, gesturing to him. “Eleven! Mom, I’m eleven!” Jackson screamed at the top of his lungs. My mom finally stopped, panting heavily. “That’s more like it! You just don’t remember unless you get hit! If I ask you next time and you forget again, I’ll hit you even harder!” Jackson’s face showed obvious defiance, but he didn’t dare say a word. Only after my mom walked away did he pout and rub his backside as he walked out. At this point, we didn’t have much conflict between us, and he didn’t forget to thank me: “Good thing you guessed it, Maya, otherwise Mom would have beaten me to death!” I smiled silently, thinking to myself: Some people in this world are just born cheap. They can’t tell who is actually good to them! Since he loved hearing lies so much, I would just play along. 03 In my previous life, because I was isolated by my peers, I developed an aversion to school from a young age. Later, because my mom cut off my financial support, even eating became a challenge. At the age when I should have been focusing on school, I was scavenging for trash and finding odd jobs to survive. That’s why I couldn’t run very far when I tried to escape later. Now, facing the mocking voices of the students around me, I turned a deaf ear. Nothing that happened was going to stop me from studying. Because this was my only hope of escaping this house. In the blink of an eye, the timeline reached the point where the muscles in my left arm had necrotized in my past life. I had been running a high fever for two days and still hadn’t recovered. My mom exploded in a rage: “You useless, money-losing burden! All you know is how to eat my food and spend my money! Why don’t you just die already!” Her curses and spit rained down on my head. But I was already delirious from the fever, huddled in the corner, completely drained of energy. My lips were pale, but my head was burning like a furnace. She cursed at me, but she wouldn’t actually let me die like this. After all, I had cost her so much money, and she hadn’t managed to squeeze a single cent of profit out of me yet. When she had cursed to her heart’s content, she finally counted out a few twenty-dollar bills and told me to follow her to the nearby urgent care clinic. Once we got there, she just dumped me there alone. In my previous life, I couldn’t hold on and passed out. When I woke up, my left arm was already paralyzed. The first thing I saw was my mom arguing with the doctor. That was when I realized she had reported my inflated age. The small clinic used strong dosages to begin with. Faced with a shameless grifter like my mom, and knowing they were at fault for not following proper procedures, they ended up settling the matter by paying my family three thousand dollars. That night, when we got home, I dragged my paralyzed left arm, applying a wet towel to it, and watched my mom make a feast of fish and meat for my brother. Meanwhile, because I had a fever, I only had a bowl of watery oatmeal in front of me. Now, I forced myself to hold on to my last shred of sanity until we reached the clinic. After my mom reported my age and went outside to gossip, I quickly grabbed the doctor’s hand and repeatedly told him I was only twelve this year. 04 Fortunately, the tragedy of my past life didn’t happen this time. After the IV drip, my fever had mostly subsided. When it came time to pay, my mom scolded me again over a measly thirty dollars. But I tightly clenched my left fist, my heart filled with the joy of successfully resisting my fate. And even more, a sense of anticipation for the future… Because exactly one week after my arm was ruined in my past life, my brother also caught a fever. Back then, my mom indiscriminately pinned the blame on me, insisting I was the one who infected him. But only I knew that my brother had caught the fever after sneaking off to play in the river behind her back. However, out of fear that my mom would punish him, he watched helplessly as I was falsely accused. This time, I absolutely refused to be the scapegoat! When he and a few friends went to play in the water by the river, I secretly hinted to my mom that wild turkeys were ruining the saplings in the field near the riverbank. When she got there, she heard the sounds of my brother and his friends playing in the water nearby. Her eyes went wide, and she hurried over. Sure enough, she saw my brother, completely naked, having a water fight with the neighborhood kids. A few years ago, someone had drowned in that river. Every summer, my mother repeatedly ordered him never to play near it. Seeing this scene now, she no longer cared that my brother was her precious darling. She sternly ordered him out of the water, grabbed him by the ear, and dragged him back home. I waited until my mom closed the door and my brother’s screams echoed from inside before I slowly emerged. That evening, just as expected, my brother came down with a fever. Even though my mom was cursing under her breath, she quickly carried him to the clinic. I was dragged out of bed, holding his jacket and water bottle, trailing behind them. During the consultation, the doctor routinely asked for his age. Hearing “eleven years old,” the doctor was quite surprised, because my brother’s build was noticeably smaller than his peers. But my mom wasn’t happy about that. “Who are you looking down on? Don’t you know boys hit their growth spurts later?” My brother was already burning up, red as a lobster—even worse than he looked in my past life—and was constantly whining about how awful he felt. I anxiously chimed in, “His ID says that’s his age, it’s correct.” My mom snapped, “What are you standing there for? Hurry up and prescribe the medicine for my son! If the fever causes any permanent damage to my son, I’m going to sue you for everything you’ve got!” The doctor had been dragged out of bed in the middle of the night to see a patient, and dealing with someone like my mom didn’t improve his mood. He directly gave my brother an intramuscular injection, prescribed some medication, and then used the excuse of closing the clinic to rush us out. The medication cost over two hundred dollars. When my mom heard the total, she cursed about being ripped off, but there wasn’t a single moment of hesitation when she pulled out the cash. In my previous life, I was deeply hurt by this blatant double standard. I sacrificed so much just to earn her love. But now that I’ve seen their true colors, I won’t soften my heart even a fraction this time! 05 After returning home in the early hours of the morning, my mom ran into her room and fell into a deep sleep, ordering me to take care of my brother. After she left, I wrapped myself in a blanket and curled up on the sofa to sleep. When I woke up again, my brother was wailing loudly. I had a pretty good idea of what happened, so I immediately ran to wake my mom up. My brother was rushed to the emergency room and was in critical condition for two whole days before he stabilized. Interestingly enough, when the doctors asked for my brother’s age this time, my mom still unhesitatingly said eleven. But thankfully, the doctors at this major hospital were more cautious and had dealt with all sorts of stubborn, uneducated family members. Under the doctor’s stern questioning, my mom’s expression gradually became uncertain. She seemed to have guessed the reason why my brother ended up like this, but she absolutely refused to admit it, as if not admitting it meant it wasn’t her fault. But when it was a matter of life and death, the doctor didn’t have the patience to play games with her. The doctor anxiously raised his voice and interrogated her, practically yelling, drawing the attention of everyone in the hallway. Trembling, my mom pulled him into a corner and whispered: “Doctor, why are you being so loud? That’s just how we calculate age where we’re from!” “And my daughter’s ID has that age too! She was perfectly fine when she got her injection last time!” “Look and see if there are any other reasons? Could it be because he wasn’t taken care of properly after the injection? I don’t even have to think about it to know that lazy brat of a daughter didn’t take her brother’s life seriously!” While my mom was talking, the doctor had already rolled his eyes impatiently several times. He wasn’t unfamiliar with patients’ families like this, the kind who only knew how to shirk responsibility when things went wrong. He interrupted my mom, confirmed the actual age, and went into the operating room to save him. This ordeal cost tens of thousands of dollars. Not only did my brother suffer immensely, but it also left permanent damage to his left leg. However, the doctor said that with proper recovery, it wouldn’t affect his normal walking. When he found out he ended up in the hospital due to my mom’s negligence, my brother threw a massive tantrum in his hospital bed. Knowing she was in the wrong, my mom bought him plenty of toys he’d been wanting to coax him back into a good mood. But I wasn’t so lucky. “What kind of sister are you? Did you learn absolutely nothing in school? You can’t even tell the difference between chronological age and lucky age when seeing a doctor! Are you just hoping your brother dies sooner?!” My mom stood with her hands on her hips and screamed at me. My brother in the bed also changed his tune and chimed in: “Yeah, Maya! Why didn’t you stop Mom? Why wasn’t it you who almost died from the injection!” 06 I looked at the malicious nature gradually revealing itself in my brother, clenched my fists tightly, and didn’t argue back. I knew his retribution was still to come. After the two of them finished venting their anger on me, they were a happy family again. While my brother was hospitalized, my mom, just like in my past life, went to cause a scene at the small clinic. This time, she was even greedier, demanding a hundred thousand dollars from them. Otherwise, she threatened to sue them for malpractice and shut them down. Helpless, the doctor had no choice but to pay up. After getting the money, my mom went to claim credit with my brother. “If it weren’t for this whole ordeal, when did you expect your mom to ever make this much money?” “The doctors all said there’s absolutely no problem with your leg. You can’t even tell unless you look really closely.” My brother, holding the thousand dollars my mom gave him to top up his gaming account, instantly changed his tune. He threw his arms around my mom’s neck and kissed her several times, entirely forgetting his previous resentment towards her. “You have to trust Mom. The lucky age isn’t just a way of showing gratitude to your mother; it will bring you blessings in the future!” “And don’t listen to your sister’s nonsense. It’s fine if girls lie about being younger, but you’re different. You’re the only male heir of the Miller family! Having an older age written down just makes you seem more manly!” “Mom will save all the rest of this money for you! When you grow up, the family’s money and the house will all be yours!” My brother agreed sweetly, repeating several times that he was eleven this year, counting his time in the womb as one year. 07 With money in her hands, my mom recently became obsessed with playing poker. She ordered me not to go to school for the next few days and to stay at the hospital to take care of my brother. I was responsible for the family’s three meals a day. Since my brother was recovering, my mom was more generous with the grocery money than usual. I couldn’t fight back against their everyday abuse and beatings, but I had ways to secretly make them miserable where they couldn’t see. I only spent a third of the money to buy stale vegetables and cheap meat, adding various seasonings so they couldn’t taste the difference at all. Sometimes my brother would even praise my cooking after eating, and my mom would clean her plate every time. I smiled silently. Without realizing it, by the time my mom cut off my living expenses, I had already saved up quite a bit of money. Even though it wasn’t a fortune, it was enough for me to comfortably finish high school. In this life, nobody was going to stop me from getting into a good college and escaping this place. While I was racing against the clock to study in high school, my brother developed extravagant habits and became a bully at school. Whenever I ranked in the top ten of my grade in exams, my brother would be called to the principal’s office because he failed every single subject. The teachers always said our family was a study in extremes. Why couldn’t the younger brother study as well as the older sister? In this life, because I maintained good grades, I received a few hundred dollars in scholarships every semester. I handed all of this over to my mom, only asking that she not interfere with my studies. With the money in hand, she naturally didn’t bother making trouble for me. As for my brother, his resentment towards me grew day by day because the neighbors were always comparing him to me. Sometimes when I was working a part-time job after school, he would bring a group of delinquents to steal the recycling I had collected. The homework I stayed up late to finish would be thrown into the trash by him the next morning. Seeing my distressed look, he would only laugh maliciously with his friends. Later on, I completely ignored these kinds of pranks. Except, when I cooked every day, I would secretly add a little something extra to his soup base. Sometimes it was powdered cockroach corpses, sometimes it was dumpling broth that a lizard had “accidentally” fallen into… 08 Fortunately, the final results did not disappoint me. I successfully got into a top-tier university and chose a major at a campus as far away from home as possible. When my mom found out, she sternly ordered me to change it, but I brought out the excuse I had prepared long ago: “The major I chose has a great future prospect. I might make a lot of money later on, and then I can support you even better!” I had been completely obedient to my mom all these years. Even when she cut off my living expenses, I didn’t act like I felt it was unfair, unlike my past life. I ate oatmeal and toast every day, and I still handed my scholarship money over to her. I would even smile and say to her: “Mom, you’ve raised me for so many years. Now that I’m an adult, it’s only right that I repay you.” She never in a million years would have thought I had any intention of escaping. Deep down, she believed I would dedicate my entire life to serving this family. Hearing what I said, her eyes darted around shiftily. “But I’m telling you right now, don’t even think about asking me for tuition money!” “I’ve fed and housed you for over a decade! I’ve already done more than enough!” I quickly waved my hands. “How could I possibly ask you for more money? I know tuition is expensive, but I’ve applied for student loans now, so you don’t have to worry about me.” Only then did she relax, waving her hand dismissively. “Once you’re in college, don’t just focus on having fun. Learn from others and get a part-time job! Your dad died early, and it wasn’t easy for me to raise you and Jackson all by myself. You need to remember how hard I worked!” “Jackson needs money right now, so I won’t ask you for much. Once you’re in college, just send me a thousand dollars a month to my card!” To successfully escape, I agreed to whatever conditions she proposed. Anyway, the day would come when I would exact my revenge on them, one by one! 09 In the blink of an eye, my brother was a junior in high school. When he was little, he skipped two grades in preschool, so his actual chronological age was two years younger than his classmates. But because my mom had messed with his official records, his legal age was one year older than his classmates. This time, when the announcement came that an agency was coming to the school for the final round of Air Force pilot recruitment, my brother was more excited than anyone else. Because he was the only one in his class who met the age requirement! In fact, there were no more than five students in the entire grade who met the age requirement. Even before the recruitment process started, he was already fantasizing about what he would look like as a pilot. Hearing this news, my mom was genuinely happy for him. She viewed her son through rose-colored glasses, believing unequivocally that as long as my brother participated, he would definitely succeed! If he wasn’t chosen, it meant the recruiters were blind! She even gloated, “See? Doesn’t Mom deserve some credit?” “If we went by how everyone else counts from birth, wouldn’t you have missed this opportunity?” “I always said my way of counting was the right way! You need to remember to be grateful, and the blessings will come, right?” My brother, hearing this, also felt incredibly lucky. “Good thing you had foresight, Mom!” “Don’t worry! Once I’m selected and make big money in the future, I’ll definitely make sure you live a good life!” My mom was so thrilled by my brother’s words that she posted several updates on Facebook. Almost every neighbor, relative, and friend she’d ever spoken to knew that Jackson was testing to become a pilot. Everyone praised him for being so promising. When he went for his first physical exam, my mom had already gathered her acquaintances and booked nine large tables at a restaurant to celebrate his acceptance into the pilot program. However, before she could wait for the good news about my brother, she first received a call from the police station.

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While FaceTiming my boyfriend in the new, incredibly short skirt my “uncle” bought for me, my uncle suddenly walked in and pulled me into his arms. Feeling the dangerous shift in his mood, I panicked. But he just let out a low chuckle and covered my mouth with his hand. “This little skirt is meant for my eyes only. Do you understand?” I looked up at him with wide, innocent doe eyes, tears of fear welling up in the corners. My “uncle,” however, just clamped down on my wrists, his eyes gleaming with excitement and a wicked half-smile. “Then I guess I’ll just have to punish you right in front of him. How does that sound?” 01 During the winter holidays while I was back home, my uncle mailed me a little skirt I had been eyeing for ages. It was short, sexy, and incredibly alluring. The moment I unwrapped it, I texted him, thanking him profusely. But my uncle told me I had to wait until I came back to the city to try it on and show him in person. I didn’t think much of it, assuming he just wanted to admire his own good taste in clothing. So, as soon as I got back to my apartment, I slipped into the tiny skirt he sent me and started a video call with my long-distance boyfriend. When the call connected, my boyfriend, Ethan, seemed strangely flustered. The moment he saw me, a look of obvious guilt flashed across his face. “Maya, what made you decide to FaceTime me out of nowhere?” Ethan hadn’t even put his shirt on properly. He gave me a strained, awkward smile. I looked at him, my suspicion growing, and asked point-blank: “Ethan, what are you doing? Why aren’t you even dressed?” A look of embarrassment crossed Ethan’s face, and he quickly tried to cover his tracks. “I just woke up.” “Look, I’ll show you.” I was about to press him further, but Ethan cut me off. He proactively turned his camera to show me his nightstand, which was covered in things related to me, and then the messy, unmade state of his bed. Seeing that, my cheeks instantly flushed a deep pink. Ethan gave a knowing smile and stayed quiet. 02 Seeing his reaction, I quickly changed the subject, taking the initiative to lift the hem of my skirt to show him. “Ethan, look. Do you like my new skirt?” My boyfriend, Ethan, had always been a gentleman. In the six months we had been together, he rarely crossed any lines. We always kept things respectful and PG-rated. But the next moment, Ethan’s eyes lit up intensely. He pointed at the hem of my skirt, his voice laced with excitement: “Maya, stand up. Pull it up a little higher so I can get a better look.” Ethan’s expression was full of amazement; he seemed unusually interested in me at this moment. I felt a bit weird about it. But hearing his words, I instantly understood exactly what Ethan was getting at. I blushed furiously and softly refused him: “This… this isn’t a good idea…” “We’re…” Seeing me refuse, Ethan kept encouraging me: “Maya, we’re doing long-distance now. Shouldn’t we spice things up a bit to keep the spark alive?” Saying that, Ethan showed me his nightstand again. It was covered with my photos and some clothes I had left there. “Look, this is all proof of how much I miss you.” Thinking about it, my resolve began to waver. The hand clutching the hem of my skirt started to uncontrollably pull it up, inch by inch. On the screen, Ethan’s expression grew more and more eager. “Just… just this once…” I bit my lip, muttering softly, ultimately agreeing to his request. On the other side of the screen, Ethan nodded eagerly, his eyes practically glowing as he stared at me. I gripped the hem of my skirt, gritted my teeth, and prepared to pull. Suddenly, the sound of the door opening rang out. A man’s freezing tone made my fingers freeze in mid-air. “Maya. Put it down.” A man in a sharp suit was leaning against the doorframe, his eyes burning like a torch. Those expressive eyes were locked onto me, but his tone was terrifyingly cold. I looked back. Seeing that sharp, handsome face, the movement of my hands stopped instantly. My voice trembled: “U-Uncle?” 03 My uncle had walked into the room so suddenly I didn’t even have a second to react. He had already casually shut the door behind him. He was even holding the suit jacket he had just taken off. He stared at me with a burning intensity, taking slow, deliberate steps toward me. “It’s been a few years, Maya. Have you grown that bold?” “Now you even dare to disobey me?” My uncle questioned me, his tone laced with interrogation, while his eyes remained fixed on my fingers, which were still tightly gripping the hem of my skirt. Seeing this on the video call, my boyfriend instantly turned red with anger: “Who are you? What gives you the right to talk to my girlfriend so intimately?” Ethan was furious. His angry voice was being blasted through the phone’s speaker. Hearing him, I was about to open my mouth to warn Ethan. But my uncle, who had already closed the distance between us, snatched my phone away before I could. After a few years of not seeing him, my uncle had grown even more handsome and captivating. His suit jacket was casually unbuttoned, giving him an incredibly alluring, untouchable aura, while his brow held an air of careless relaxation. I looked up and suddenly met his gaze. His face was impeccably clean-cut. Deep, defined features and a sharp jawline, paired with a pristine white dress shirt. He even had a faint, youthful vibe to him, but mixed with a rugged maturity. He was incredibly striking. Even my boyfriend, Ethan, looked like a little boy standing next to him right now. The difference was like night and day. My uncle merely cast a sideways glance at Ethan on the screen, not saying a single word. He quickly pulled out his own phone and opened the photo gallery. He glanced at me, then handed his phone to me. In the photo, Ethan was passionately entangled with another woman in his own bed, completely lost to the world. The moment I saw Ethan in bed with another woman, my heart plummeted like a stone in an icy lake. Seeing my reaction, my uncle looked at Ethan with contempt and let out a scoffing laugh: “It seems Maya’s taste in men is quite poor.” From start to finish, my uncle hadn’t even looked my boyfriend directly in the eye. Hearing this, Ethan’s face flushed red on the screen as he desperately tried to defend himself: “Maya, this guy is crazy! Why did he barge into your room? He’s talking nonsense, you absolutely cannot believe him.” “You have to believe me. You are the only person I have ever loved!” Heh. Of course I believed my uncle. Because that dress shirt casually tossed at the foot of Ethan’s bed in the photo? That was the one-year anniversary gift I had given him. And yet, he treated it like an eyesore, tossing it carelessly onto the floor. Just like my sincere love for him—completely worthless. 04 I looked at Ethan once, didn’t say a word, but my eyes were filled with profound disappointment. I had been with Ethan for over a year. He had chased me relentlessly for three months before I finally agreed to give him a chance. All the declarations of true love he had made to me in the past were now incredibly laughable. My uncle, standing beside me, saw my heartbreak instantly but didn’t say anything. He just slowly placed his phone on the desk, then beckoned me with a hooked finger, a smirk on his lips as he called me over: “Come here.” My uncle’s low, deep voice was terrifyingly cold in that moment. I didn’t dare disobey. So, instinctively clutching the hem of my skirt, I walked toward him. In my memories, whenever I was upset or crying… My uncle would gently call me over, pull me into his arms, and stroke my back to comfort me. This time was no exception. He pulled me into his arms, used his thumb to wipe away the tears welling up in the corners of my eyes, and asked in a low voice: “Do you like the little skirt I bought you?” I bit my lip hard and nodded, but the tears kept rolling down my cheeks. Wrapped in my uncle’s strong, warm arms, I felt like a sad, obedient little bunny silently crying. Being cheated on by my boyfriend left a bitter, sour taste in my mouth. But Ethan was still frantically trying to defend himself through the phone screen. He even shamelessly started recounting all our past memories, desperately trying to salvage whatever shred of affection I had left for him. But I knew: cheat once, and you’re dead to me. He cheated. How could I ever forgive him? Seeing this, my uncle used his thumb to brush my stray bangs back, gently tucking them behind my ear. “Don’t want to hear it?” He asked in a gentle voice. I nodded, tears still in my eyes. So my uncle grabbed my phone and immediately hit the mute button. The room instantly fell into complete silence. My uncle reached out a finger to gently lift my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. The tear tracks on my face hadn’t even dried yet. My icy, stiff fingers were still death-gripping the hem of my skirt, afraid to let go. Seeing this, my uncle looked at me with those deep, soulful eyes. A flicker of emotion crossed his gaze, and his tone held a hint of struggle as he reminded me: “The little skirt I bought you is meant for my eyes only. Do you understand?” His domineering, low voice fell into my ears, word by word. It left me too terrified to argue. In a flash, my uncle had already possessively grabbed my freezing, trembling fingers. Then, he enveloped my hands completely in his warm, large palms. The heat seeped through my skin, slowly warming my heart. “Be a good girl. Listen to me. Stop crying.” My uncle’s gentle voice sounded right by my ear: “Don’t be sad. Aren’t I right here?” I was just about to open my mouth to answer him, but— The next second, a warm, soft sensation completely overwhelmed me. A rush of heat spread through my teeth. Without any warning, my uncle’s warm lips covered mine. The heat and a slight bitterness mingled together. I was terrified, but my uncle seemed completely captivated. 05 I stood frozen in place, utterly stunned. My uncle’s deep, passionate eyes were locked intensely onto my lips. And Ethan was watching this entire scene unfold through the phone screen. In my peripheral vision, I could see Ethan’s mouth moving frantically, but no sound came out. I was about to reach over and turn off the phone out of sheer embarrassment. But in a flash, my uncle pulled me tight against him, right in front of my boyfriend’s shocked eyes. “Be a good girl. Listen to me.” The sudden, dangerous shift in my uncle’s mood sent a jolt of electricity through me, leaving my legs weak. I didn’t dare move an inch. He didn’t speak, just continued to gently kiss away the tear tracks on my face. “If you ruin your pretty face crying, I’ll be the one whose heart aches.” Ethan was yelling, but neither my uncle nor I could hear him. However, Ethan could hear every single word my uncle said perfectly clearly. On the other side of the screen, my boyfriend’s face was flushed red with anger. He glared at us furiously, but he still couldn’t make a sound. My uncle carelessly stroked the back of my neck, his tone laced with amusement: “What, haven’t given up on him yet?” He gently forced my head to turn back towards him. My gaze was forced to land on the pronounced bump of his Adam’s apple. I looked up, and my surprised eyes met his strict, judging gaze. “…No…” I was about to deny it. But my uncle just smiled. Then, he pulled me closer, wrapping me tightly in his arms, and let out a low chuckle: “Then let me punish you right in front of him. How does that sound?” Hearing those words, I felt like I was going to die on the spot. My terrified gaze darted around frantically, not knowing where to look. I thought my uncle was just threatening me, trying to force me to make a clean break with Ethan. But then, his warm hand began to slowly, inch by inch, invade my skin. The heat rushed over me through my pores. My uncle wore a wicked half-smile, his eyes locked onto my lips, radiating pure aggression. My boyfriend, Ethan, could only watch helplessly as my uncle held me, too angry to speak. As for me, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t push my uncle away. His kisses fell on my lips like dense raindrops, mixed with the intoxicating scent of tobacco and pure testosterone. His low, heavy pants echoed one after another, inexplicably plucking at my heartstrings. 06 My uncle’s behavior was dangerously chaotic and unhinged. Even though we were in my bedroom. Even though my ex-boyfriend was watching. My uncle showed no restraint. He leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear, and even dared me to try and push him away, to try and escape: “Tell me, Maya. Who treats you better? Me, or him?” “…No… I don’t want to…” I refused to answer, my voice trembling, but my uncle relentlessly backed me into a corner. He only wanted to hear the answer he was looking for from my mouth. I didn’t answer; I just bit my lip and kept refusing. “…No…” My refusal was entirely useless. My uncle let out a scoffing laugh, picked up the phone, turned the camera towards himself, and said disdainfully: “Your name is Ethan, right?” Ethan, finally unmuted by my uncle, was glaring at him with a cold, mocking sneer: “You’re truly disgusting. You won’t even spare your own niece.” Hearing this, my uncle just smiled: “Then does Maya know who the woman in your bed is?” In my peripheral vision, I saw Ethan’s eyes turn red with anger at those words. He stopped talking. I looked at my uncle and asked softly: “Who is it?” My voice had suddenly turned ice-cold. My uncle looked at me and gestured for me to come closer. I hesitated for a few seconds, but complied. He smiled in satisfaction, then asked me: “Is your uncle better, or is he better?” But this time, before I could even answer. My uncle grabbed my slender, warm fingers and, right in front of Ethan, placed them directly onto his burning hot abs. Seeing this, Ethan’s face went purple with rage. Having been with Ethan for so long, I knew perfectly well. Ethan didn’t have abs. He barely had any muscle on his entire body. He had even naively asked me if I disliked him having muscles because I was worried he’d pull something working out. And I, like an idiot, had actually agreed with him. Now, feeling my uncle’s abs… it actually felt pretty good. My uncle glanced at me, then asked affectionately: “Now that you’ve felt it, it’s your turn, right?” Hearing this, I blinked my wet, teary eyelashes at my uncle, looking completely lost. 07 My uncle, however, gave a knowing smile: “What, are you going to be unfair about this?” On the screen, Ethan was about to start yelling again, but my uncle abruptly hit the end call button. “Let’s keep doing things that will drive him crazy. How does that sound?” I looked at my uncle, my fingers trembling as they gripped the hem of my skirt. My voice was filled with panic: “What…?” My uncle smiled, but then he reached out and handed me a few photographs. I took them, feeling a bit scared, but I noticed the face in the photos looked strangely familiar. “Is this… Auntie?” Hearing this, my uncle almost choked on his own breath. He looked at me with deep resentment and flicked me on the forehead. “What kind of nonsense are you talking about? If I had a wife, would I be kissing you?” He used his thumb to wipe away the last teardrop from the corner of my eye, his tone affectionate: “Look closer.” I looked down, focusing on that strangely familiar face. I felt like I had definitely seen this person before, but I just couldn’t place her. It wasn’t until my uncle tapped Ethan’s name that I finally remembered: “It’s Ethan’s sister!” “Oh, wait, no. He said she was his cousin!” I remembered perfectly well how smug and proud Ethan looked when he introduced his so-called “cousin” to me. My uncle smiled: “You guessed right. As a reward, I’ll give you a few more. How’s that?” So, my uncle handed me a few more photos. I couldn’t wait to grab them and look. But this time, my face instantly burned bright red. It was like a fiery sunset had been painted across my cheeks. Seeing this, my uncle reached out and touched my cheek with his thumb. The burning heat instantly transferred to his fingertips. He smiled: “What’s wrong?” He knew exactly what was wrong. The photos he handed me were all highly explicit, intimate photos of Ethan and his “cousin.” Not only did they make me blush, but they acted like a sharp knife plunging deep into my heart. “Uncle…” I called out to him, my voice awkward and strained. But my uncle just laughed out loud. He picked up the suit jacket he had taken off earlier, draped it over my legs, and then pulled me into his arms. In his embrace, he gently rubbed his nose against mine: “Do you understand now, Maya?” He asked me, his tone teasing. I silently lowered my head: “So… he’s been with his ‘cousin’ this whole time?” My uncle shook his head: “That’s not what I wanted you to notice.” He gently corrected me. I was confused: “Then… what is it?” I stared into his deep, soulful eyes. He even had a small, reddish teardrop mole faintly visible at the corner of his eye. Looking at his exceptionally handsome features. I felt like I was falling for him, but then I instantly snapped back to reality. This was my uncle! I kept repeating it to myself in my head. But he didn’t give me a chance to stay rational. He pulled me close with force, so determined that he left me no room to escape.

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In our past two lives, Declan Hayes couldn’t escape his fate of marrying me. The third time around, he accepted it. He no longer tried to save my sister first, leaving me to die in the freezing wilderness. He no longer showed disgust at the dark birthmark by my eye, instead calling it a mark God left for him to recognize me. His ambition was as relentless as ever. He crawled out of the slums, covered in frost and snow, collapsing at my feet. He was waiting for me to pull him up and take him home, just like I had in our past two lives. But this time, God showed mercy. The one who reached out and helped him up was my sister. And I? I picked up another little street rat, one even more wretched and battered than him. Smiling, I announced that I wanted to keep this one. Declan stared blankly as my hand bypassed him. He must have been overjoyed. So happy, he looked like he was about to cry. 01 It was an overcast winter day, the sky heavy with leaden clouds. The scouts rode back to our convoy, reporting that the northern mountain pass was frozen solid. We couldn’t get through. My older sister, Clara, sighed. She stroked my sleep-flushed cheek inside the carriage, lifted the velvet curtain, and instructed the driver, “Find an inn nearby for us to wait it out. Hazel is tired.” I crawled up from her lap and peered out the frosted window. The snow was blindingly heavy, making it look as though the clouds themselves had frozen over. Dozens of beggars were huddled under broken wooden awnings, shivering violently. A kindhearted tavern owner brought out buckets of leftover food and scraps. Instantly, the beggars swarmed the buckets like starving ants. Only two boys didn’t join the frenzy. One looked at the scraps with sheer disdain. The other was likely just too emaciated, lacking the strength to even stand, curled up in a corner with a mop of matted hair. Clara leaned over, pulling me back from the window. She had her nanny wrap a thick, white rabbit-fur scarf around my head and neck. “The wind is biting right now. Catching a fever is no joke,” she scolded gently. She didn’t let me step out of the carriage until I was bundled up like a marshmallow. The moment my boots hit the ground, a figure violently crashed at my feet. He grabbed the hem of my heavy cloak with such desperate force that he nearly dragged me down on top of him. “Oh my!” Clara rushed forward to catch me, frowning at the unconscious boy on the ground. The nanny took one look and gasped. “Oh, you poor boy. He’s covered in bruises and whip marks.” Clara had a bleeding heart. She couldn’t stand seeing others suffer. Seeing the overwhelming number of refugees, she handed the nanny a stack of cash to set up a soup kitchen. Then, she personally reached down to help the boy—the one who was still gripping my cloak in a death grip. I didn’t reach out. I just stood there, watching quietly. Suddenly, I asked, “Sister, are you going to keep this filthy beggar?” The boy’s tightly shut eyelashes fluttered. Clara smiled helplessly and pinched my cheek. “Hazel, be respectful. No matter what someone’s background is, you must be polite. Understand?” She thought for a moment, then added, “Uncle Arthur’s military academy has been recruiting refugee boys lately. Since fate brought him to us, let’s take him home. Consider it a good deed.” Knowing she wouldn’t scold me too harshly because of my age, I broke free from her grasp. I ran straight toward the cluster of broken awnings, pointing at the skeletal, half-dead boy in the corner. My eyes curved into a wicked, playful smile. “If you get to keep one, I want one too! I want this one!” No one else noticed, but I did. The boy leaning against Clara—the one pretending to be unconscious—snapped his eyes open the moment the words left my mouth. He stared at me in absolute disbelief. 02 Carefully observing the boy’s reaction, I was absolutely certain. This was Declan Hayes, the man who had been haunting my recurring nightmares for months. The dreams were fragmented, playing out like a tragic, twisted novel. In those dreams, I was the obnoxious, unloved adopted sister. I was ugly—ruined by the dark birthmark at the corner of my eye. I was spoiled, arrogant, and demanded everything my perfect sister had. Including the man she loved: Declan. I clung to Declan since childhood. Through two lifetimes, he couldn’t shake me off. In those lives, he treated me with pure cruelty. He abandoned me in the wilderness where I was nearly eaten by wild dogs. He mocked my appearance so relentlessly that it destroyed my self-esteem, driving me to use toxic, back-alley cosmetics to hide my birthmark until my skin rotted away, turning me into high society’s ultimate laughingstock. Yet, I acted like I was cursed, obsessively demanding to marry him. The love and hatred of two lifetimes tangled endlessly in my dreams. Every person, every scenario—I knew them by heart. So, when I heard the driver say the northern pass was frozen and we were trapped in this snowy town, I snapped fully awake and looked out the window. Sure enough, there was the young Declan. I was naturally rebellious, a girl who loved reading dark fairy tales and legends of reincarnation. When confronted with this bizarre intersection of dreams and reality, I wasn’t afraid. I was thrilled. I had been so stupid in my dreams. So pathetic to love a man who treated me like dirt. In reality, I was going to make sure Declan Hayes got absolutely nothing in his third life. I looked at the bed where the little street rat I had just picked up was lying. He had been given medicine but was still unconscious, tossing restlessly, his skeletal fingers trembling. I reached out and held his freezing fingertips. Finding warmth, his deeply furrowed brow slowly smoothed out. I smiled softly. I was going to raise this boy, Rowan, to be stronger, smarter, and more powerful than Declan. Then, Clara would undoubtedly fall in love with him instead. When that day came, Declan would lose the woman he loved, and he would lose the war for power and wealth. Watching him cry was going to be so much fun. 03 Saying I was going to raise Rowan properly was one thing; actually doing it was another. I couldn’t keep anything alive. Every stray cat or dog I brought home eventually had to be taken over by Clara because I was so bad at it. The only things I kept in perfect condition were my porcelain dolls. So this time, I made a firm resolution. I rolled up my sleeves, determined to do everything myself! But it immediately turned into a disaster. “Oh, my sweet girl! You don’t need to bathe him yourself! He’s a boy!” The nanny rushed back into the room holding a basin of water. Seeing me holding down a terrified teenager in a wooden tub, aggressively wielding a comb to fix his hair, she panicked. I didn’t see the issue. I naturally treated him like one of my dolls, adjusting him as I pleased. I said with absolute seriousness, “He’s mine.” I can do whatever I want. With that, I cupped the boy’s wet, rigid face, leaning in close, staring straight into his pitch-black eyes. “Your name is Rowan. From now on, I am your Lady. You will listen to me, forever and ever.” Rowan’s fingers gripped the edge of the tub so hard his knuckles turned white. “Nod your head,” I demanded bossily. He stared at me. Then, he nodded. I smiled in satisfaction and held up the comb. “Good! Now I’m going to comb your messy hair until it looks pretty. Don’t move.” Rowan tried his hardest to relax his body, his soaked rags floating on the surface of the water. But I overestimated myself. After just two strokes of the comb, I spotted something crawling in his hair. I screamed, threw the comb, and pushed him away forcefully. “Ah! Lice! So gross!” The nanny quickly pulled me back. “My precious girl, you aren’t made for this kind of dirty work. Alright, you’ve had your fun, let me take over.” I don’t know which word triggered Rowan, but he looked absolutely terrified that I was disgusted with him. He grabbed a pair of sharp shears from a basket by the tub and began frantically hacking away at his own hair. He swung so recklessly that the blades slashed his cheek, drawing blood. Both the nanny and I froze in shock. Strands of hair and blood hit the water. He gripped the shears, his hair now a jagged, chaotic mess. Like a lone, frightened wolf pup who didn’t know how else to please his master, he looked at me with helpless, desperate eyes. Clara heard the commotion and rushed in. Seeing the scene, she was also stunned. She looked at the shears in his hand with concern, then pulled me into her arms, coaxing me gently. “Hazel, do you really want a playmate? How about sister finds you a better one, okay?” At the doorway, Declan, who had been scrubbed clean and dressed in fresh clothes, was watching me. He even offered me a gentle smile. I found it completely baffling. Just as I was about to tell him he was worthless, I heard a splash. Suddenly, I was yanked out of Clara’s arms and pressed hard against a wet, bony chest. The boy’s voice was raspy, damaged, and incredibly stubborn. “Lady. Mine.” Declan’s eyes went dark for a split second. I turned my head and flicked Rowan on the forehead. “Idiot. It’s—I am yours, my Lady.” His eyes seemed to light up at the flick. “Yes.” He nodded. 04 Because we had been delayed for too long visiting our parents’ graves in our hometown, Clara ordered us to pack up and head for Uncle Arthur’s estate in the capital the second the ice melted. I was incredibly depressed. Because I knew that once we reached Uncle Arthur’s house, I would revert to being the universally disliked, annoying adopted cousin. I wasn’t like Clara. She was beautiful, elegant, and everything she did was perfect. The adults adored her, and our cousins idolized her. After our parents died, she took on the responsibility of raising me. She was so capable that everyone in elite society praised her. But me? The ugly birthmark by my eye made it naturally hard for people to like me. Plus, my temper was awful. If anyone offended me even slightly, I sought ruthless revenge. They only tolerated me out of respect for Clara. But I had made my peace with it. As long as I had Clara, it was enough. She treated me so well; I wanted to give her the best of everything the world had to offer. I looked across the carriage at Rowan. He was meticulously carving a birthday gift for Clara. I had braided a small section of his choppy hair, tying off the end with a blue sapphire bead. His face had filled out a bit, and the cuts from the scissors had faded to faint red lines. His eyes were exceptionally beautiful, like a crescent moon breaking through the dusk. There was no doubt he would grow up to be a devastatingly handsome man. He pressed his lips together in concentration, his nimble fingers using a small knife to smooth the edges of a wooden angel statuette. There were several failed attempts tossed in a box beside him. When he finished, he handed it to me. It seemed to be his best work. I turned it over in my hands, satisfied. “Yes, this one is the prettiest. Give it to Clara.” He shook his head and insisted I wear it instead. I lectured him. “How many times do I have to tell you? Clara is number one. You have to prioritize her above me.” I told him to put it away. He turned slightly, pretending he didn’t hear me, and picked up his knife to carve another figure. He replied curtly, “She has someone to treat her well.” Declan? I sneered in disgust. “What does he count for? You are a million times better than him. One day, you’re going to crush him under your boot, and all he’ll be able to do is cry.” Rowan paused. He looked up at me, his gaze complex. “You hate him?” I nodded. Rowan offered a strange, faint smile. “But he seems to like you. He likes you so much he looks like he wants to kill me.” Hearing that gave me goosebumps. I told Rowan he was being ridiculous and overthinking it. The bitter winter wind howled outside the carriage windows, the bells jingling. We were almost at the capital. I burrowed into the small blanket Clara had embroidered for me. Feeling sleepy, I closed my eyes and muttered: “Except for Clara, no one will ever like me…” The carriage was quiet for a long time. Just as I was drifting off to sleep, I thought I heard someone whisper low under their breath— “Is that so?” “Because I think there are far too many people who like you. So many that I want to kill them…” I rolled over, assuming I was just hearing things. 05 As dawn broke, our carriage passed through the city gates. The Montgomery family had sent people to wait for us early in the morning. “The young ladies are finally here! The General and Madam have been worrying for days, terrified you’d be trapped in the blizzard and miss the holidays!” Aunt Martha’s head maid hurried forward, eagerly helping Clara step down from the carriage. Clara pulled her hood tighter, breathing out a cloud of white mist. “I didn’t expect the snow in the capital to be this heavy…” She turned around and reached her hand out to me, who was lagging behind. “Come on, Hazel. We’re home.” The Montgomery staff completely ignored me, their eyes landing on Declan and Rowan with confusion. Seeing I hadn’t moved, Clara stepped forward, pulled me along, and smiled as she explained why we had taken the two boys in. Declan was officially brought in by Clara, so the Montgomery staff didn’t say much. But when they looked at Rowan standing by my side, their eyes turned noticeably colder. I was used to this blatant favoritism, but… I looked back at Rowan. He seemed entirely oblivious to their deliberate coldness, offering me a small smile. We walked past the grand statues, through several courtyards, and into the warm, luxurious parlor. Aunt Martha personally came out to pull Clara inside, affectionately rubbing her cold hands. “My sweet girl, the journey must have been exhausting.” She looked right through me, as always, and spoke only to Clara. “Your uncle told me before he left for the day—we need to move your parents’ graves back here eventually. Traveling up north every year in this freezing weather… it’s exhausting for everyone, and it’s simply not proper.” Declan and Rowan stepped into the parlor. Standing behind them, I saw Clara shake her head and reply softly, “Mother and Father spent half their lives defending the northern borders. Being buried there was their dying wish. As their daughter, I cannot go against their final requests just for my own comfort.” Aunt Martha pulled Clara onto the plush sofa, sighing with pointed meaning, “You’ve always been the sensible one…” I sat off to the side, my mind wandering. Suddenly, someone plopped down next to me and called out: “Hey, Hazel. That weird-looking stray with the short hair outside… you picked him up?” I turned my head, glanced at Rowan standing on the porch, and then looked at my cousin, Blair Montgomery. She loved making my life miserable. I ignored her. She smirked and held out her hand. “Give him to me. I’ll trade you this solid gold bracelet for him.” I didn’t even blink. “No.” The girl let out a cold laugh. “Do you honestly think that by copying Clara and pretending to have a bleeding heart, bringing a beggar home, my parents will actually look at you?” Blair leaned in closer. “Let me tell you a secret: as long as you live in my house, no one will ever respect you.” Her eyes curved maliciously. “What’s the big deal about giving me a piece of trash you found on the street? At least you get some real gold out of it. It’s a lot better than back when you used to eagerly sew shirts and shoes to please my parents and brothers, only for them to toss your handmade gifts to the servants without a second glance.” I finally looked at her. My smile didn’t reach my eyes. “Sure. As long as you can tame him and make him willing to follow you.” “That’s easy! There isn’t a wild horse I haven’t broken!” Blair cheerfully tossed the gold bracelet into my lap. Later, Blair took Rowan away, repeating my exact words to him word-for-word. Rowan seemed heartbroken. I lowered my eyes, refusing to look at him, and mindlessly played with the gold bracelet. 06 I didn’t entirely trust Rowan. He was far too obedient in front of me, completely unlike the fierce rival to Declan I remembered from my dreams. How could anyone hand over their absolute loyalty to someone else so quickly and without reservation? I didn’t buy it. He needed to be tested. Clara disapproved of my methods. “Since he placed himself in your hands, you owe him the same level of trust. He’s your companion, isn’t he?” I told her that once he passed the test, I would trust him completely. Clara pressed her hand to the top of my head, like an angel trying to educate a foolish mortal. “But he doesn’t know that. He only knows that you broke your promise and abandoned him. Hazel, you aren’t testing him. You are hurting him.” I didn’t fully understand, but Clara was always right. Early the next morning, I hurriedly washed my face and ran toward Blair’s courtyard. Trudging through the uncleared snow paths, my dress hem soaked and heavy, I bumped into Declan, who was dressed in a sharp training uniform. “Ha…” He paused. “Miss.” I ignored him. He reached out to help me. “The snow is too thick, it’s hard to walk. Let me help you.” Smack. I slapped his hand away, bristling like a porcupine. “Get lost.” Declan froze, his fingers curling inward as his hand dropped. “…Do I displease you that much, Miss? What exactly did I do to offend you?” I kicked at the snow, the biting cold seeping through my boots. “Every single thing about you makes me sick. Move! Stop blocking my way!” Declan smirked slightly. “Is that so.” He watched me stumble through the snow for a moment. Then, suddenly, he reached out, scooped me up under his arm, strode effortlessly through the snowdrift, and deposited me onto a dry, sheltered walkway. “Let me go!” I scratched his face, leaving red marks. Once I was steady on my feet, I shoved him hard and glared at him. Unlike his cold, sarcastic demeanor in my dreams, he just laughed and bent down, his eyes looking disturbingly affectionate. “Eat more food, little Miss. Grow up fast. When you’re older, you’ll like me.” In his dreams. After saying that, he crouched down and used his own sleeve to wipe the wet snow off the tips of my boots. This bizarre gesture actually made me freeze in shock. Declan didn’t stay long. Uncle Arthur was selecting refugees to train as reserve guards at the military camp today, and he needed to hurry. This was incredibly important. Rowan couldn’t miss this opportunity either. I had to go get him. I shook my head, pushing Declan’s weird behavior out of my mind, gathered my heavy, wet skirts, and sprinted into Blair’s courtyard. I had assumed Blair, lazy as she was, would still be asleep, making it easy to just take Rowan away. But the moment I stepped into the courtyard, I heard her screaming in rage. “I ordered you to kneel! You dare defy me?!” 07 Snow fell from the eaves. It landed silently on the boy’s thin, bruised shoulders. He was pinned down by several burly guards, but he absolutely refused to let his other knee touch the ground. Clutched tightly in his bleeding hand was a vicious, barbed iron whip. Those eyes, which had always been so gentle and submissive around me, were now pitch black and terrifying. “I only kneel to the dead.” Blair laughed out of sheer fury. She had grown up practicing martial arts with her father and was wild by nature. She let go of the whip and ordered a servant to bring a sword. “That stupid girl really brought back a tough one. Fine. I want to see just how tough you can be today.” A servant brought out a heavy broadsword. It was one of Uncle Arthur’s battlefield weapons. “Cousin!” I hurried out, compromising for the very first time, and called out to her. “I changed my mind. Give him back to me.” Blair looked at me like I had lost my mind. “Huh?” I shoved the gold bracelet back into her chest, roughly pushed past the guards surrounding Rowan, pulled him up, and stood protectively in front of him. To shut Blair up, I even handed over two of my own jade bracelets and promised to do her literature homework for two months. Blair reluctantly let him go, clutching her easy loot and muttering that there was something seriously wrong with my brain. On the way to escort Rowan to the military camp, he didn’t say a single word. I thought to myself, Clara was right. I had hurt him. I had always been the one getting hurt by others. But this time, I had become the kind of arrogant, cruel person who threw their weight around. It didn’t feel good. I promised to take him under my wing, but I didn’t protect him. Just like how my uncle had promised my dying mother he would take care of me, but failed. I had failed too. As we reached the camp gates, Rowan lowered his eyes and walked past me, his tone deliberately formal and distant. “Thank you for escorting me, Miss. Your subordinate will go in now.” I didn’t know what came over me, but my heart felt like it was stuffed with wet, rotting cotton. I originally just wanted to use him to make Declan miserable. I never intended to treat him like a real companion. Technically speaking, he was just a beggar. A servant. I gave him clothes, food, and a future. I had already been incredibly generous. But I felt awful. Thinking about it deeply, I realized that other than Clara, no one else had ever treated me with such unconditional priority and care. I was too selfish. I didn’t want to lose that rare, precious bit of favoritism. The winter sun was slow to rise, casting dim, nervous shadows at our feet. Rowan stopped walking. He looked down. Two stiff, freezing fingers were lightly tugging at his sleeve. “…I’m sorry.” I spoke in a tiny voice. “I won’t do it again.” The cold, desolate wind swept past us in silence. The boy, who seemed to have grown even thinner overnight, had sharp, striking features. His thick eyelashes cast shadows over his eyes, hiding his gaze. I only heard his raspy voice. “You said it. That’s the second time. If you push me away again, I will truly get angry.” He leaned down slightly, lifting his eyes to stare right into mine. “When I get angry, it’s terrifying. Miss, I will eat you alive.” Like a starving wolf betrayed by its pack. I thought he was joking, because he was smiling. His dark pupils were clear and completely harmless. So, I smiled back. 08 Rowan entered the military camp. I heard that Uncle Arthur originally didn’t want to keep him, either because he looked too frail or simply because I was the one who brought him in. But his reckless, do-or-die performance on the training grounds was impossible to ignore. Uncle Arthur accepted him. The rumors painted him as a blood-soaked brawler, but when I went to see him, he looked perfectly fine. He was neatly dressed and smiled, asking me out for the Winter Festival, proudly announcing he was now a man with a real salary. The Winter Festival was the most important family gathering for the Montgomerys. The whole family went out to see the lantern displays and enjoy the festivities. Clara tried her best to split her attention to watch over me, but she was surrounded by too many people. Her hand would inevitably slip from mine. Eventually, I was left standing alone, watching the lively crowd carry her further and further away from me. But with Rowan, I never felt that kind of loneliness. His eyes were only on me. He held my hand tightly, and no matter how dense the crowd became, he never let go. We walked down the grand avenue, past the arcades, watching acrobats and tightrope walkers. Above us were towering displays of lanterns, paper-mache figures moving like immortals. Growing up on the streets, Rowan knew all sorts of novelties. Whether it was sword swallowers or puppet shows, he could always explain the hidden mechanics behind the illusions. “The most important thing is the eyes.” His bright, obsidian eyes looked at me. “Many illusions rely on the eyes helping the magician lie. Exposing them isn’t easy, because your own eyes betray you first.” Rowan sometimes said profound things like that. I didn’t really understand. A massive, brilliantly lit lantern boat shaped like a dragon glided past on the river. I was captivated and leaned over the stone bridge railing to watch. 09 The wealthy always had plenty of pastimes. After the Winter Festival came the Spring Hunt. Spring arrived late this year. It still snowed occasionally, and the grass hadn’t fully grown in. But Blair threw a tantrum, insisting on going to the mountains to hunt, so the family indulged her. Looking at the barren, reddish-green landscape of the mountains, I remembered a scene from my dreams. In the dream, I was incredibly bratty, insisting on riding Clara’s horse and forcing Declan to hold my reins. But my riding skills were terrible. A sudden blizzard hit, the horse lost its way, and I was carried deep into the desolate woods. Declan had followed me at first, but when he heard Clara calling for me, he abandoned me to go to her. I was attacked by wild dogs and severely traumatized. After that, my temper grew even more volatile, and before I even turned eighteen, I forced Clara to beg Uncle Arthur to arrange my engagement to Declan. The sky was gloomy, and a chilling wind blew. It wasn’t good weather. I looked thoughtfully toward the stables. Even though my personality in reality differed slightly from the dream, Clara and I rode identical horses. Why did I insist on switching horses in the dream? The Montgomery brothers were helping Clara pick out a saddle. Blair was exceptionally eager, personally saddling Clara’s horse. I walked over and noticed Declan sticking closely to Clara’s side. I felt a slight wave of relief. Even though he treated me terribly, he was undeniably good to Clara. If there was danger, he would definitely protect her. But a faint, nagging suspicion pricked at my mind, like a splinter I couldn’t quite locate. Watching Clara about to mount her horse, a realization flashed through my brain. Since when was Blair so nice to Clara? She always hated how the family favored Clara over her, their own flesh and blood. My heart tightened. As I stepped forward, I chose to trust my dream-self. To believe that— No matter how bad I was, I would always protect my sister. I ran over and grabbed Clara’s reins, looking up at her. “Sister, I like the horse you’re riding. Let’s trade!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “406301”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My wife is very disciplined. She wakes up on time every day, eats on time, and goes to bed on time. She even demands that the number of times we have sex each month must be exact—no deviations allowed. When I’m exhausted and refuse her, she says with disgust: “If you can’t do it, there’s always a man who can!” Later, she found a fitness trainer and spread the word all over the community that being as disciplined as her leads to good health—unlike me, who can’t even meet the quota for sex. But when I held daughter Mary and let her be as “disciplined” as she wanted, she cried and said family was more important. I got home from overtime close to one in the morning. Someone in the elevator had brought back barbecue. It smelled amazing. When the guy noticed me looking, he winked at me and handed me the biggest oyster. Before I could react, he patted my shoulder with a grave expression. “Brother, you’re still young. Don’t lose heart!” When I pushed open the door, the chattering voices stopped instantly. Georgina had been right in the middle of her speech. “If you don’t exercise with discipline, you’ll end up like my husband sooner or later—not even enough energy for sex!” Like always, I changed my shoes and went into my room. I didn’t say a word the whole time, didn’t look at anyone. I just closed the door a little louder than usual. It took a while before voices resumed outside. Someone muttered, “Georgina, are we being a bit too much?” Someone complained, “But Lucas can’t even do it anymore. Are we not allowed to say anything…?” They knew I was angry and were giving Georgina attitude. Georgina knew too, but her voice carried impatience: “Don’t worry about him! Am I wrong? He hasn’t slept with me in days! If it weren’t for Mary, who’d want to be with him?” She was giving me the cold shoulder too and slammed the master bedroom door. But at midnight, she knocked on my door with an annoyed expression. “I can’t be bothered to argue with you. Help me apply the moisturizing cream!” I suppressed my anger and applied the ointment to her body. But my movements quickly froze. On her waist were several dark purple finger marks! But I hadn’t been intimate with her in days! I couldn’t help but apply more pressure. She let out a dissatisfied grunt. “Lucas, has overtime fried your brain? Even my trainer gives better massages than you!” “What about those marks on your waist?” I asked softly, not stopping my hands. “Is that what you think of me? Don’t project your own inadequacy onto me by accusing me of cheating!” She suddenly raised her voice, her shrill accusations pounding into my heart. I looked into her eyes, swallowed my words back down, but couldn’t hide the disappointment in my eyes. She turned around, saw the heavy dark circles under my eyes, and let out a heavy sigh. “Sorry. Even though you always make me angry and maliciously suspect me, I shouldn’t have yelled at you.” She handed me the remaining soup from the table. I never eat in the middle of the night—afraid of insomnia, worried it’ll affect work the next day. But since she offered it, I accepted. There were dark fingerprints on the rim of the bowl—long ones. A man’s. I felt something stuck in my throat, unable to go up or down. When I’m home, I rush to do all the housework. When I’m not, I call a housekeeper to cook. Funny thing is, this was the first time I’d tasted her soup. It was actually pretty good. I suddenly didn’t want to throw it away and drank it all in one go. “Remember to wash the dishes before you sleep~” Her voice turned coquettish again as she settled contentedly into the bed I’d warmed up. I silently cleaned up the dishes and lit up my phone screen. The page was still on a post from a disciplined lifestyle blogger thanking her trainer. “The hands that cooked have a little heart-shaped birthmark on the palm—hands I’ve kissed countless times.”

When I woke up the next day, it was already noon. Georgina had gone to exercise with her trainer Jordan early, leaving behind a thoughtful note. [Lucas, I turned off your alarm for you~ Rest well so you can be more disciplined and work hard to make money!] By the time I got to the company, I got chewed out by my team leader for being late and lost my perfect attendance bonus. Then the teacher called to say Mary had been bullied by her classmates! Mary was crying for daddy. I could hear her clearly even through the phone. My heart ached with each sob. But I really couldn’t get away from work, and it takes an hour to get from the company to the school. I had no choice but to call Georgina and ask her to pick up Mary and comfort her first. She just responded lazily after hearing me out: “I know.” I emphasized that Mary had been bullied. She said she’d definitely go as soon as possible. When I finished half my work, it was already six-thirty. The teacher had called me at five-thirty. When I called back, she told me to pay more attention to Mary, that she’d cried for a long time today, and that parents need to care more about their children. After hanging up, I saw a post notification from Georgina from three hours ago. She said she’d practiced continuously all afternoon, completely focused. But I’d already asked her to pick up Mary! My fist clenched as I gritted my teeth and looked at the next post. [The trainer was so thoughtful, preparing supplements for Mary and me! Mary got bullied today. Drink more—if you exercise with discipline, you won’t get bullied!] [I deliberately waited a few hours before picking her up, just to make her understand that disciplined physical exercise is what’s best for girls!] The photo showed Mary’s swollen eyes from crying, tear stains not even wiped clean. I slammed my fist on the desk corner and turned to leave! My team leader cursed at me. I shoved him aside! Screw this job—nothing is more important than Mary! This expensive supplement had launched three years ago and was reported by multiple parents for stunting children’s development! The parents jointly reported and sued. Soon after, they won the case and the supplement company left in disgrace. All the evidence was clear as day! Who knows where Jordan got such sketchy stuff! I forwarded it to Georgina, telling her not to be fooled! But she replied: [This is something Jordan specially imported from abroad. What could be wrong with it? You’re making a mountain out of a molehill!] [Besides, Mary got beaten up by her classmates today and cried. Don’t you think she’s useless? If she were disciplined and strong like me, would she still get bullied?] Mary quietly called me, saying she didn’t want to drink the medicine—it tasted really strange. She’d shared it with a classmate before, and the next day the classmate smashed it and accidentally scratched her! It must be bad medicine! But Mom insisted she drink it, saying this way she could beat up those classmates. Hearing Mary’s tearful voice, my heart felt like it was crashing into a wall. I ran a dozen red lights before reaching home in just over ten minutes. Several empty supplement bottles lay scattered on the table. Dragging sounds and Mary’s crying came from the room at the same time. “Mary, if it weren’t for your problems, would the teacher call and harass me so much? No ability but plenty of attitude—and you dare hide under the bed and play disappearing act!” “Mommy, don’t… wuwu…” I ran to the bedroom door and saw Jordan restraining Mary’s limbs while Georgina was prying Mary’s mouth open, trying to pour the supplement directly in! “Stop!” I shoved Georgina aside, held Mary tightly, and smashed the medicine bottle on the floor! Thank god, thank god… “Didn’t I tell you this stuff has side effects on children?” “I’ve been disciplined with Jordan for so long—would he lie to me? You’re the one fear-mongering, and you’ll ruin Mary’s whole life!” She revealed the table behind her, pointing at several already empty bottles! “Jordan is so good too—$888 supplements discounted to $200 per bottle for me! I’ve already given her so many. It’s all for her own good!” I suddenly felt ice-cold all over. Instinctively, I punched Jordan and ran downstairs carrying Mary! By the time Mary finished having her stomach pumped, an hour had passed. I coaxed her to sleep before I had time to check my phone. Georgina had called me countless times and sent countless messages. Telling me not to waste the supplements—they were expensive! I didn’t finish reading them. I just replied with one sentence. [I’ll have a lawyer draft divorce papers tomorrow. The child must go to me.]

Georgina didn’t reply to my message. But I saw her looking around at the front desk when I went to pay the bill. I hesitated. Maybe she was just too concerned about Mary… But I waited in the hospital room for a long time, and she never appeared. I looked at Mary’s pale face, not knowing how to tell her that Mommy and Daddy were separating. Georgina passed by the hospital room. Her expression seemed somewhat surprised. But after a long moment, she motioned for me to come out and talk. “Lucas, how old is Mary? She can’t be without a mother.” “You think I’m not good enough, but do you want Mary to walk the same path I did?” Her eyes brimmed with tears, her fingers clutching tightly at the hem of my shirt. Through her eyes, I suddenly saw her as a child. Her mother died, her father complained the nanny was useless but was too busy with work to care for her himself. Because she came from a single-parent home, she was isolated and bullied by classmates, but didn’t dare speak up. I helped her once, and she followed me around like a little tail ever since. Later, when I was delivering homework, I accidentally found her in anaphylactic shock. That’s how she got her life back. I’m busy with work and have no relatives to help. If Mary really got bullied or something happened to her at home… Just imagining that scene, I immediately lost my anger. Seeing my attitude soften, she dissolved the discipline group right in front of me. “I’ll never criticize you again, won’t check in with them anymore… I know I was wrong today… No divorce, okay?” “Lucas, Mary is very sensitive inside. If we divorce, she’ll definitely keep everything bottled up. Think more about Mary, okay?” She stepped forward, wrapped her arms around my neck, and her warm tears soaked through my shirt. “I know you’re bothered by that handprint. But it really was just normal exercise. You know I’m very disciplined. I need Jordan to physically adjust my form. He’s strong and doesn’t know his own strength—it’s normal.” In our intimate moments before, she always asked me to be gentle. Even in long sleeves, she found marks unsightly. Now that she’d started this disciplined lifestyle, she liked wearing tank tops and didn’t seem to care anymore. But in that location—was I really overthinking it? Seeing my silence, her tears fell even harder. “If you don’t believe me, I can strip naked and go to the gynecology department for a doctor’s examination! You don’t love me anymore anyway. What’s a little more humiliation for me?” “And I was even thinking that after getting healthier through discipline, I’d give you another child. The four of us could live happily together!” Her voice choked with emotion, barely getting out each sentence. Maybe I’m really pathetic. I remembered how she used to kiss me on our wedding day, painting pictures of our beautiful multi-child family, and I couldn’t harden my heart anymore. I gently hugged her back, my face nuzzling her long hair. “Georgina, I’ll find you a new trainer. Let’s start over.” Her hand slid down my spine, stroking up and down. After a long moment, she responded: “Okay, I’ll listen to you!”

Jordan indeed never appeared again. Everything seemed to be getting back on track. Georgina continued being a disciplined lifestyle blogger, even featuring Mary’s life in her content. Until one day, I saw a corner of clothing in a photo she posted. A man’s clothing. But her new trainer was a single female trainer. The later photos became even more brazen. The female trainer’s face wasn’t in frame, but they were feeding each other coffee and wearing matching friendship rings. To wear the new ring, she took off her wedding ring that she never used to remove. The comments praised their close relationship. But I noticed the trainer’s muscular arms under the sleeves were a man’s. She was blatantly having Jordan wear the female trainer’s clothes, being intimate with him, as if I were some ridiculous blind fool. But that wasn’t enough. That same day when I got home, she sat on top of me, laughing coquettishly as she pressed against me. “Lucas, my wedding ring got so old. I bought a new one. Isn’t it pretty?” I thought of the bank card notification on my phone—a payment of over a hundred thousand dollars—and couldn’t help feeling bitter. She used the money we’d saved together for Mary to buy a pair of rings and gave one to Jordan. I looked at the latest model phone worth ten thousand dollars she used to photograph us, and the thousand-dollar phone she’d given me that barely worked anymore, and couldn’t help but laugh coldly. It was like at that moment I finally understood—giving up on something might not be as painful as I thought. This phone was just charity she’d pretended to carefully prepare for my birthday. Yet I’d treasured it like a precious thing, using it year after year. Now, the flickering signal light seemed to remind me that it was time to get a new phone. I didn’t expose her. I just reached out and held her. Consider it saying goodbye to the little tail who used to follow me around. But the person who used to love nestling in my arms pulled away from my embrace like she’d been startled. I seemed to see dark marks on her collarbone. When she went to shower, I found the lawyer’s number I’d saved before and had him continue drafting divorce papers. When she came out wearing tight clothes and nestled in my arms as usual, she said, “The teacher said Mary’s grades aren’t great and she can’t concentrate. I’m planning to take her out to relax.” “Okay, don’t put pressure on Mary.” Waking up in the middle of the night, I habitually tucked her in, but saw what seemed to be tears at the corners of her eyes. I leaned close to her slightly parted lips, trying to hear what she was saying. But when I heard clearly, the warmth I’d barely gathered suddenly dissipated. She said: “Jordan, you’re so much gentler than Lucas. If only you were Mary’s father…” My fist immediately clenched tight as I looked at her face through gritted teeth. Since you won’t accept an amicable separation, don’t blame me for not honoring our years of marriage! The next day, Georgina took Mary out to relax, saying Mary had her genes—with training she’d definitely become disciplined. I just smiled faintly, noncommittal, telling her to have fun with Mary. Last time after my team leader chewed me out, he assigned me a lot of work. I stayed at the company for several days before barely finishing it all. The divorce papers were ready, and Mary should be back. I walked into the house but saw a complete mess. Our dusty wedding photo had been smashed on the floor, shards scattered everywhere. The narcissus our family of three had raised was pulled up by the roots, petals floating one by one on the water’s surface. Even the scarf Georgina had knitted for me had a glaring cigarette burn! I shoved open the bedroom door and saw Jordan sprawled arrogantly in the master bedroom, holding Georgina’s pajamas! I immediately felt nauseated! But when he woke up and saw it was me, he immediately showed a mocking smile! He held up the key on him high, his words slurred from being drunk. “I’ve been sleeping here for days before you came. I was starting to think you were planning to give me the house!” “But hey, don’t be mad. Even though Georgina gave me her body and money, I don’t think much of her either. Don’t let me ruin your marital harmony.” His words were incoherent as his hand crumpled our family photo. He wadded up the photo and stepped on it with his filthy feet!

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “379575”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

In the fourth year of being locked in a psychiatric hospital by my husband, Emberfang Pack Alpha Airs, I finally learned to be compliant. He came to pick me up with his pregnant mistress, Vivian. I naturally took the bag from the mistress’s hand and considerately opened the car door. “From now on, you’ll take care of Vivian. She and the baby are your family.” I nodded obediently. After he drove my parents to their deaths, he found me two new family members. After returning home, I woke up at five every morning to research pregnancy meal plans. At eight o’clock sharp, I’d wake Vivian and accompany her to prenatal yoga classes. At ten, I’d prepare snacks and listen to her and her girlfriends praise me for being such a thoughtful, useful dog. Day after day, until Vivian gave birth to Jack. The day they put up the new family portrait, Airs stared at the intimate trio in the photo, his voice trembling. “Sera, why didn’t you insist on being in the picture with us?” Insist? But in the psychiatric hospital, I’d only learned how to be obedient—and how to drive sane people insane. Hearing Airs’s words clearly, I calmly wrung out the cloth in my hand. “Airs, I don’t like taking photos.” He frowned, his gaze burning into me as if trying to determine whether my words were true or false. I quietly wiped the dust off the family portrait, adjusting the frame’s position bit by bit until it was perfect. Vivian stood on the stairs, a flash of triumph in her eyes. She threw herself into Airs’s arms and stood on her toes to kiss his lips. “You’re back! I tried putting the baby to sleep by myself today, and I actually succeeded.” Airs instinctively looked at me. I nodded, my lips curving upward with genuine praise. “Vivian really is amazing—she put Jack to sleep so easily.” Airs’s frown deepened. Unfortunately, I had no time to play guessing games with him—I still had a nourishing soup simmering on the stove for Vivian. I hurried into the kitchen, put on heat-resistant gloves, and carefully carried out the soup. Vivian sat at the dining table, her smooth legs brushing suggestively against Airs’s lower body. Airs smiled indulgently, but that smile vanished the moment he saw me. I carefully ladled the soup into Vivian’s bowl and thoughtfully let it cool. Vivian smiled gently at me. “Sera, you should sit down and eat too.” Airs proactively pulled out a chair and nodded softly. “Taking care of the baby must be tiring. You should rest.” I lowered my eyes and smiled, declining. “It’s my honor to help Vivian take care of Jack. I’m not tired at all.” Vivian’s lips curled with satisfaction as she clung to Airs’s arm and acted coquettish. “Sera really knows how to take care of people. Remember to give her extra pay, okay?” I stood obediently by the dining table, remembering the last time Vivian saw Airs holding my hand and deliberately said the soup was too salty. She’d thrown me to the edge of the pack’s territory, deliberately letting wandering Rogues attack me. In the end, my whole body was covered in wounds, and I dragged my injured leg slowly back home. The first day back, Vivian ordered me to wash Jack’s diapers. I understood she was warning me. Airs wasn’t someone I could seduce or approach. After dinner, Vivian pushed the leftover scraps from the soup tureen toward me. I didn’t understand her meaning and, as usual, dumped the scraps into the trash can. Vivian suddenly cried out loudly. “Sera, if you don’t like it, you can tell me!” “I know you haven’t felt well since those Rogues attacked you, so I specially saved the rare herbs from the soup for you.” “Those are premium medicinal herbs—how could you waste them?” Airs looked over while holding Jack, his brow slightly furrowed. I hurriedly bent down in panic, picked the dirty, rare herbs from the trash can, and shoved them into my mouth without hesitation. “Vivian, thank you for your generosity.” Airs rushed over with concern in his eyes, forgetting about Jack in his arms as he extended his hand toward my mouth. “Spit it out now.”

Acid churned in my stomach. I struggled to suppress the overwhelming urge to vomit, swallowed everything down, and smiled gratefully at Vivian. Airs’s pupils constricted as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. After all, the old me had severe mysophobia. If someone else touched something, I wouldn’t want it anymore. So when I discovered Airs was cheating with Vivian, I didn’t hesitate to propose breaking the mate bond. But he refused to let go. So I went to my father for help. My father was the Alpha of Silver Moon Pack, and when he learned about Airs’s infidelity, he immediately pressured Airs to break the mate bond with me. Airs secretly allied with a group of Rogues, ambushed Silver Moon Pack, and brutally murdered my parents. In the end, he absorbed Silver Moon Pack’s power and resources. My parents were hastily buried, and the very next day, Airs brought Vivian into our home. I was filled with hatred and grabbed a knife, wanting to kill that pair of cheating dogs. After accidentally tearing out a few strands of Vivian’s hair, Airs bribed a doctor to give me a psychiatric certification. He sent me to a psychiatric hospital to be broken down until I learned to be obedient. And he and Vivian shamelessly enjoyed the power and resources my parents had accumulated over their lifetimes. My fingers trembled violently as I took Jack, who was crying so hard he couldn’t breathe. “Don’t cry, don’t cry… Jack, don’t cry…” The gentle soothing worked. The child, tired from crying, fell into a deep sleep in my arms. Airs looked at me, wanting to say something but holding back. I avoided his gaze and carried Jack back to the nursery. A sliver of light shone through the crack in the door. Vivian laughed coquettishly while swirling her wine glass, disdainfully tossing me a bottle of witch-crafted potion. “Eating things from the trash can is too dirty.” “Sera, you need to maintain hygiene, or I won’t dare use you.” I picked up the cleaning potion bottle by my feet and bowed in gratitude. “Thank you, Vivian.” Vivian showed no intention of leaving. Instead, she smiled at me expectantly. I nodded in understanding, turned and went into the maid’s room, poured all the cleaning potion into the bathtub, and filled it with water. I shamelessly stripped off all my clothes and got into the bathtub, scrubbing myself viciously with a steel wool pad. The steel wool and cleaning potion must have been mixed with a witch’s special concoction—the moment they touched my skin, the pain was excruciating. The potion seeped into my skin, and I bit through the flesh in my mouth to avoid letting out a single cry of pain. My whole body felt like countless bees were stinging me, countless fine needles piercing me. Eventually, my skin was scraped bloody, and the entire bathtub became a terrifying fusion of blood and water. Only when I was in such pain I was about to pass out did Vivian mercifully speak. “Once you’re clean, put on your clothes. I’m taking you somewhere.” I had no time to treat my bleeding wounds and hastily threw on clothes to follow Vivian. Airs leaned against the stairs smoking, frowning. Seeing me, he instinctively stubbed out his cigarette. “Don’t eat things from the trash can anymore.” “Sera, as long as you’re obedient, no one will punish you.” Before we established our relationship, Airs relied on smoking to relieve stress when he was troubled. After we started dating, I made it clear I didn’t like the smell of smoke. Within half a month, Airs quit smoking and used the money he would have spent on cigarettes to buy me bouquet after bouquet of roses. After marriage, the flowers in the bedroom never stopped. He even personally opened up a flower bed in the yard. “Whatever you like, I’ll plant it all for you.” Vivian stood in the living room jingling keys, her crisp voice pulling me back from my memories. A flash of impatience showed in her eyes. “Sera, it’s time to go.” I nodded politely at Airs, signaling him to move aside. His frown deepened as he gripped my wrist hard. “Sera, you weren’t like this before.”

Before? That was when I chose to be a full-time housewife after marriage, supporting him wholeheartedly. Every day, I’d wait at the door to greet him, cook for him, with three different meals each day. At night, I’d smile innocently while we made love, acting coquettish at every opportunity. But unfortunately, there was no going back. Vivian clicked up the stairs in her high heels. Before Airs could pull me into his arms, she wrapped herself around his arm. “Airs, why don’t you just drive us there?” He nodded, and I consciously gave up the passenger seat. As the scenery outside the window changed, my heart suddenly tightened. This road… it led to the cemetery? Before the car had fully stopped, I hurriedly opened the door and rushed out. The tightly packed tombstones that used to be there had disappeared, replaced by crops covering the ground. Workers in the distance were watering with hoses. I stumbled forward, my throat hoarse and swollen with pain. “Excuse me, wasn’t this a cemetery?” “Why does it look like this now? Where were the people who were buried here moved to?” The man frowned in confusion, then his brow smoothed as he pointed to a small hill in the distance. “This used to be a cemetery, but Alpha Airs surveyed the land and found it had good soil quality, so he used it to grow rare medicinal herbs.” A girl weeding nearby looked up, her eyes full of envy. “That’s right. I heard it’s because Vivian’s health isn’t good, so Alpha Airs did this.” In the distance, Airs guiltily looked away. Vivian’s eyes crinkled with a smile as she kindly reminded me. “Don’t worry, I was afraid you wouldn’t be able to find your parents’ ashes, so I specifically had someone put them on top of the mountain.” My mind went completely blank, my legs heavy as lead. I ran up the mountain without looking back. But somehow it had started to pour. The raindrops hit my body painfully. I collapsed to my knees in the mud, powerless. Shattered stone tablets covered the entire mountain—I couldn’t make out any of the blurred names. Out of the corner of my eye, I suddenly glimpsed a character. I frantically clawed at the sharp broken stones. Excruciating pain shot through all ten fingers, and every wound on my body burst open. The bone-deep pain spread through my entire body. I cried until my voice was hoarse, my eyes blurred. I’m sorry… I’m so sorry, Mom and Dad… It’s all my fault, all because I misjudged people… The rain grew heavier, and thick fog rose in the mountains. Airs’s worried voice came from behind me. “Sera, where are you?” Vivian found me first, unable to hide the venom in her eyes. Her sharp nails dug into my wounds as she viciously grabbed my throat and shook me. “Sera, why the hell did you come back?” “If you just died, Airs would mark me, make me the new Luna, and I’d be all he sees, all he thinks about!” I couldn’t breathe as Vivian dragged me like a dead dog to the edge of a slope. Suddenly, I saw Airs. He hadn’t seen me yet—he was still calling my name while anxiously searching for me. In my field of vision, Airs drew closer and closer. Vivian leaned close to my ear and whispered provocatively. “Sera, guess who he’ll choose this time?” Before I could react, Vivian held me tight and rolled down the slope. She pinned me down, flipping over to use me as a human cushion as we landed. The countless wounds the witch’s potion had created instantly burst open and bled again, agonizing pain spreading throughout my entire body. The taste of blood surged into my throat. As my consciousness grew hazy, I saw Airs tenderly gather Vivian into his arms. He gently wiped the dirt from her body as if caring for a child. Just like before, when the Rogues attacked, he still chose Vivian without hesitation. And I was forgotten by him, besieged by Rogues, nearly crippled.

Tears mixed with rain rolled down my face, my voice broken and hoarse. “It hurts… it hurts so much…” Airs’s gaze finally fell on me. He took half a step forward, but Vivian sweetly fainted in his arms, hooking his pinky finger and frowning in discomfort. “Airs, my calf hurts so much…” Crystalline tears fell onto the back of his hand. Airs immediately withdrew his gaze. Even though he knew werewolves healed quickly, he still panicked and picked up Vivian. “Sera, hang in there. I’ll take you to the hospital right away.” Watching the man’s heartless departing figure, I clutched the fragment of tombstone tightly in my palm. As my consciousness faded, Mom and Dad affectionately stroked my head. “Sera, you’ve done so well.” And I cried my heart out. “Mom, Dad, I will avenge you…” When I woke up again, I saw a clean white ceiling. Airs sat by the hospital bed, his chin covered in messy stubble, large dark circles under his eyes. Seeing me open my eyes, he joyfully gripped my hand. “Sera, does it hurt?” I endured the pain and pulled out the IV needle from the back of my hand, forcing myself to get up and kneel at Airs’s feet. “I’m sorry, Airs. I didn’t take good care of my body.” “I can be discharged now and go home. Vivian and Jack both need me.” Airs tenderly touched my burst and bleeding wounds, his fingers trembling continuously. He reached out in anguish, and I instinctively covered my head with my arms. “Sera, how did you become like this?” I lowered my eyes without speaking. The hospital room fell into an eerie silence. It was Airs’s urgent phone ringtone that finally broke the deadlock. Through the speakerphone came Vivian’s pitiful crying, accompanied by a baby’s piercing wails. “Airs, Jack won’t stop crying.” “I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in days. Can you please have Sera come back to help me?” Before Airs could answer, I’d already removed my hospital gown. The scars covering my entire body were exposed to Airs’s view. Something seemed to burn his eyes red. The phone was abruptly hung up. Airs’s voice was terrifyingly hoarse. “Sera, what happened to cause all these injuries?” I quietly changed into regular clothes and gestured for him to handle my discharge. “Airs, my duty is to take good care of Vivian and Jack. Please take me home.” Airs’s shoulders shook violently as he lost control, cupping my face and roaring. “Sera, what the hell did those people at the psychiatric hospital do to you?” I responded with a polite smile. “Airs, they only followed your instructions—teaching me how to properly serve Vivian and Jack.” I watched as all color drained from Airs’s face, his lips trembling uncontrollably. “But I just wanted you to be a little more obedient.” “I didn’t…” The phone rang again. I urged Airs to go home. At the same time, the doctor outside the door secretly made a gesture to me.

Back at the villa, Vivian threw herself into Airs’s arms with tear-filled eyes. I took the crying Jack and gently patted his back. “Don’t cry, don’t cry… Jack, don’t cry…” The gentle soothing was effective. The child, tired from crying, gradually quieted down. Airs looked at me, wanting to speak but hesitating. Vivian immediately sensed something was wrong and signaled me to return to the maid’s room. Without her command, I wasn’t allowed to leave that cramped room at will. At night, suppressed panting came from next door. “Airs, did you miss me?” “My body says it misses you so much, wants you so much…” Airs seemed to deliberately suppress his ragged breathing, not wanting others to know. But Vivian only got louder, as if she wanted the whole world to know. And because Airs stubbornly refused to break the mate bond with me, whenever he had sex with Vivian, I could feel immense pain both physically and mentally. It had been like this for years, every single time. After a long while, the sounds from next door finally quieted down. I also finally got a moment’s respite from the tremendous pain. Before they’d started, I’d already given Jack sleeping medicine. Now, I quietly opened the window, letting the wind blow away the remaining sleeping powder. My phone suddenly lit up. A new message popped up in the notification bar. “The ladder’s set up. Hurry and come down with Jack.” I picked up the sleeping Jack and pried out the USB drive hidden under the floor of the bed. Under cover of the thick night, I got into the person’s passenger seat and headed straight for the airport. The next morning, Airs waited at the dining table for over half an hour but Sera never came. He assumed Sera hadn’t recovered well and needed more time to rest. Or rather, after Vivian’s passionate display last night, Sera was jealous. When this thought surfaced in his mind, Airs unconsciously curved his lips into a smile. Sera had been very obedient lately and could accept him having someone else by his side. She wouldn’t make a fuss like before—whenever she caught an unfamiliar scent on him, she’d insist on sleeping in separate rooms or threaten to leave. So Airs specially bought Sera a bouquet of her favorite roses. He even had his assistant book the newly opened couples’ restaurant. Actually, Sera loved taking photos. When they’d first gotten together, Sera would pull out her phone wherever she went, saying she wanted to record every beautiful moment. Her refusal to take the family portrait with him was just her being petulant. Waiting for him to coax her. Airs sent Sera a message. “Sera, I’m waiting for you.” “Don’t let Vivian know—she’s such a jealous little thing.” But the person on the other end didn’t reply to his message. Even when he left to handle pack business, the chat window still showed only that one lonely sentence. Airs suddenly missed the Sera who used to share everything with him. When Sera saw cute little cakes, even though she was the one craving them, she’d still ask if he wanted to eat them. Then when they got home, the table would be covered with all kinds of adorable little cakes. If he so much as frowned, Sera would act coquettish and shake his arm. “Airs, you agreed to let me buy them. You’re the one who spoiled me.” Sweet moments flickered through his mind, but Airs’s heart only felt increasingly empty. Suddenly, his chest stabbed with pain. Airs felt like he’d lost something very important.

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Holt told me not to come to his family dinner. His reason: “You spend all day in the morgue. You reek. My mom can’t stand it.” I’d already taken vacation days and booked my flight. I was planning to travel alone and clear my head. But then he took Priscilla Quinn instead. Priscilla was a socialite from a prominent family who spoke eight languages. Standing next to Holt, she looked like she belonged there. Photos from the family dinner were all over social media that night. Someone tagged me in the comments: “Fiona Harvey, did you see this?” I saw it. I canceled my plane ticket and booked a cruise instead. The night Holt came home, I was packing. He stood in the doorway with a rare hint of guilt. “Where are you going?” “Home.” “Your home is right here—” “No. It’s not.” I zipped up my suitcase and walked past him without stopping. He didn’t know my father was the biggest creditor of his Holt Corporation in Southeast Asia. “Fiona Harvey, how long are you going to play this hard-to-get game?” Holt kicked my suitcase aside, his eyes full of impatience. “Canceling your flight and booking a cruise instead—you think changing your travel plans will make me beg you to stay?” I stopped and looked at his self-righteous face. “I told you. I’m going home.” “Your home is here.” “No,” I said, looking him in the eye. “Let go.” He hadn’t expected me to look at him that way. No pleading. No hysterical questioning. Just the cold indifference you’d give trash. For a moment, he seemed uncertain, but his male ego quickly covered it up. He sneered and yanked my passport from my bag. “You’re an orphan. Where else do you have to go except here?” I looked at my empty hand. I didn’t scream. I didn’t try to grab it back. “Give me my passport.” “When you learn to be reasonable, I’ll give it back.” He tossed the passport into the highest drawer of the entryway cabinet and deliberately locked it. “I brought Priscilla to the family dinner because her father can help Holt Corporation secure overseas channels in Europe.” “You’re a coroner who spends all day with corpses. What can you do for me besides cutting up bodies?” “I was putting on a performance for business. My feelings for you haven’t changed. Why do you have to make a scene right now?” I looked at the man I’d loved for seven years and suddenly found his face repulsive beyond measure. “A performance? So you brought another woman to meet your family and let her act like the future Mrs. Holt?” “Holt, do you think I have no self-respect? That you can trample on me however you want?” Holt frowned, as if I were being completely unreasonable. “That formaldehyde smell on you gives my mom headaches. I told you not to come to protect you from being hurt.” Just then, the doorbell rang. Priscilla stood outside in a haute couture dress, smiling. “Holt, is Fiona mad at me?” She walked in and naturally hooked her arm through Holt’s. “I just thought the terrace in this apartment has a great view. I wanted to borrow it for a birthday party. Why is Fiona talking about running away from home?” I watched them coldly. This penthouse in the city center—I’d bought it with my own money, paid in full. Holt’s name wasn’t even on the deed. Every piece of furniture, every plant—I’d arranged them myself. And now he’d agreed to lend my house to his mistress for a party without even asking me? The comments scrolled across the screen: [This guy is unbelievable. Taking his girlfriend’s apartment and lending it to his mistress?] [Complains about the morgue smell, but his own heart smells worse. Fiona, don’t hold back. Crush him with your money. The Harvey heiress doesn’t have to take this.] “She’s just petty. She’s never seen the world.” Holt patted Priscilla’s hand, his tone gentle. “It’s just an apartment. You’re an honored guest of the Holt family. Use it however you want.” He turned to me, his eyes instantly cold. “Fiona, Priscilla is from a prestigious family. She’s doing you a favor by using your place.” “Be gracious. Don’t make me think you’re being ridiculous.” I stared at their intertwined arms. “Fine. She can use the house.” My tone was calm. Holt paused, seemingly surprised by my compliance. “Good. At least you know what’s good for you.” “But if anything gets damaged, she pays for it at full price.” I locked eyes with Priscilla. Priscilla covered her mouth and laughed. “Fiona, you’re so funny. These little things? I don’t even care about them.” “Good.” I turned to grab my backup bag and head out. “What are you doing now?” Holt stepped in front of me, blocking my way. “Since you’re using the house for your party, I’m in the way. I’ll stay at a hotel.” “Fiona Harvey, I’m warning you. Know when to stop.” He lowered his voice, his tone patronizing. “I canceled business tonight to come home and spend time with you. Don’t be ungrateful.” I walked around him and headed straight for the door. “If you walk out that door today, don’t ever think about coming back to the Holt family.” “Perfect.”

“You really think I can’t live without you?” Holt’s voice came from behind me, laced with wounded pride. I didn’t turn around. I pulled open the door. Just then, a mud-covered stray dog suddenly burst in from the hallway and lunged straight at Holt. Muddy water splattered all over his custom-tailored suit pants. I stopped and waited to watch him explode. Holt had severe OCD. In the past, even after I’d showered three times at work and changed into completely fresh clothes, if he detected even the faintest trace of disinfectant on me, he’d wrinkle his nose and tell me to stay away. Once, after I’d worked on a highly decomposed body, I came home and just wanted a hug. He shoved me away and spent two hours washing his hands in disgust. But now, looking at the mud on his pants, he only frowned for a second. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Holt. I just found this puppy downstairs. He’s so naughty.” Priscilla quickly crouched down and pulled out tissues to wipe the mud. Holt actually smiled. Not only did he not get angry, he reached out and petted the filthy dog’s head. “It’s fine. It’s sweet that you care about animals, Priscilla. It’s just a suit.” He even took her hand—the one holding the tissue—and their eyes met with warmth. I stood in the doorway watching this cozy “family of three” scene, and a wave of nausea hit my stomach. So he never had OCD at all. He simply found me disgusting. He despised me. He looked down on my profession and my identity from the bottom of his heart. The comments scrolled across the screen: [What a hypocrite. His OCD was fake. He just never loved her.] [Look how easily he touches that dog. Makes me sick.] [Fiona’s eyes are so cold. She’s completely done with him.] “Fiona, you don’t mind if I keep the puppy here, do you?” Priscilla held the dog and looked at me innocently. “Do whatever you want.” I pulled my suitcase toward the exit, but Holt grabbed my wrist. “There’s a limit to throwing tantrums. Stay and have dinner.” Without giving me a choice, he dragged me back to the dining room and pushed me into a chair. The table was covered with high-end restaurant delivery—all seafood that Priscilla loved. Holt put on disposable gloves and expertly began peeling a shrimp. He placed the peeled shrimp meat into Priscilla’s bowl, his tone indulgent. “Your hands are too delicate. Don’t let the shells cut you.” I watched his smooth, practiced movements. Two years ago, I’d accidentally cut my right hand while slicing fruit. I needed three stitches. That night at dinner, I asked him to peel a shrimp for me. He slammed down his knife and fork, his face full of irritation. “You handle scalpels all day and you can’t even peel a shrimp?” “Fiona Harvey, could you be any more melodramatic?” Now, he was willingly peeling an entire plate of shrimp for another woman. “Fiona, why aren’t you eating?” Priscilla munched on shrimp and smiled at me. “Is the food not to your taste? I guess when you see so much stuff at work, it’s hard to have an appetite.” Holt didn’t even look up, still peeling crab. “That’s just how lifeless she is. Ignore her.” I put down my fork and stood up. “Have you had enough fun watching?” Holt glanced at me coldly. “If you’re done, clean up the table.”

“Holt gave me this necklace. You don’t mind, do you, Fiona?” Priscilla deliberately swept her hair aside, revealing an antique emerald necklace around her neck. I’d just thrown the takeout boxes in the trash. When I turned and saw that necklace, blood rushed to my head. That was a family heirloom from the Harvey family. It was the last thing my mother left me before she died. I’d always kept it locked in my bedroom safe. I never even wore it. “Take it off.” I walked up to Priscilla, my voice ice-cold. “Fiona, why are you being so mean?” Priscilla shrank behind Holt. “Holt said the necklace was just gathering dust in the safe anyway. It looks better on me.” Holt shielded Priscilla and frowned at me. “Fiona Harvey, enough. You’re just jealous of Priscilla. It’s just a necklace and you’re making a scene?” “I’ll buy you ten tomorrow. Pick whichever you want.” I looked at his self-righteous face and suddenly felt like the past seven years had been an absurd joke. “Holt, that’s my mother’s keepsake.” “What right did you have to open my safe?” Holt’s eyes flickered, but he quickly regained his superior attitude. “What’s yours is mine. Why are we drawing such clear lines?” “Besides, Priscilla is coming with me to Holt Corporation’s gala tonight. She needs a statement piece.” “You work behind the scenes. You’d be wasting it anyway.” The comments scrolled across the screen: [Giving away a family heirloom to his mistress? Is he missing part of his brain?] [This is theft. Just call the police. Fiona is too calm. It’s the calm before the storm.] “I’ll say this one last time. Take it off.” I stepped forward and reached for the clasp. Holt shoved me away hard enough that I crashed into the corner of the dining table. Sharp pain shot through my lower back. “Fiona Harvey, don’t push your luck.” Holt looked down at me, his eyes full of disgust. “Priscilla wearing your things is an honor for you.” “If you keep acting crazy, even I won’t want you anymore.” Priscilla hid behind him, a smug smile on her lips. “Holt, forget it. Maybe Fiona really can’t bear to part with it. I’ll give it back.” She pretended to unclasp the necklace. Holt pressed her hand down. “Keep it on. Let’s see who dares to touch it today.” He stared at me coldly. “Fiona Harvey, I don’t have time for your tantrum tonight. Stay home and think about what you did. When you’re ready to apologize, then you can call me.” With that, he pulled Priscilla out the door. The door slammed shut. I steadied myself against the table and slowly straightened up. The pain in my back made me more clearheaded. I didn’t cry. I didn’t smash anything. I walked into the bedroom and opened the safe that had been pried open. Inside, besides the necklace, was a debt settlement document for Holt Corporation. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I hadn’t called in seven years. “Paxton, I need you to do something for me.” Paxton was the chief legal officer of my father’s company, Harvey Group. He was also my arranged fiancé since childhood. Years ago, for so-called “true love,” I’d hidden my identity, had a huge fight with my family, and even ran away from our wedding to work as a coroner here. Paxton had been searching for me for seven years. He’d been waiting for seven years. “Miss Harvey, you’ve finally contacted me. The chairman has been worried about you all these years…” Paxton’s voice trembled slightly. “Save the reunion talk for later.” I cut him off coldly, my eyes sharp as knives. “I need you to do something.” “Cut off all of Holt Corporation’s operating funds. Immediately.” The other end of the line went silent for a second, then Paxton’s low, pleased laughter came through. “As you wish, my fiancée.” “I’ll personally fly over with the legal team tomorrow. I guarantee within forty-eight hours, Holt will be on his knees at your feet.” I hung up and looked at myself in the mirror—the woman who’d humiliated herself for love for seven years. Holt, you asked for this.

At eight o’clock the next evening, Holt Corporation held its annual appreciation gala. “Remove Fiona Harvey’s name from tonight’s guest list.” Holt stood at the hotel entrance, giving cold instructions to his assistant. I stood in the shadows not far away, hearing every word. “But Mr. Holt, Miss Harvey comes every year to help check the schedule…” The assistant hesitated. “I don’t need her tonight.” Holt cut him off impatiently. “Priscilla will attend as my date. If Fiona’s there, it’ll just make Priscilla uncomfortable.” “Tell security—if they see her, keep her outside.” I watched him turn and walk into the glittering hall. I didn’t even have the desire to confront him one last time. Afraid of making his mistress uncomfortable, so he’s keeping his actual girlfriend locked out? “Tell Holt,” I said, looking the assistant in the eye, word by word. “He’ll pay a price he can’t afford for today’s decision.” With that, I turned on my heels and walked away from the hotel without looking back. The screen began streaming live footage from inside the gala. Holt took Priscilla’s hand and walked into the spotlight. “Thank you all for coming. I’d like to take this opportunity to introduce the lady beside me.” He looked at Priscilla tenderly. “Miss Priscilla Quinn will be the future Mrs. Holt.” Thunderous applause filled the room. I stood in the cold wind, watching the perfect couple on the screen, and severed my last thread of attachment. I turned toward a black Bentley parked by the curb. Paxton opened the door and respectfully handed me a file. “Miss Harvey, the yacht is ready. We can leave anytime.” “Let’s go. To the harbor.” Halfway through the gala, Holt suddenly felt an overwhelming sense of panic. He instinctively looked toward the corner but didn’t see that familiar figure. “Fiona didn’t come?” He grabbed his assistant. “Mr. Holt, you ordered us not to let her in. Security said she left half an hour ago.” “Where did she go?” “It seems… the harbor downtown.” Holt’s heart sank. Fiona was a coroner living on a government salary. She thought taxis were too expensive. Where would she get money for a Bentley? He suddenly remembered what I’d said last night—that I’d canceled my flight and booked a cruise, that I was going to the marina. That resolute look in my eyes when I said “perfect” flashed through his mind again. Was she really leaving him for good? He shoved aside Priscilla, who was toasting guests, and ran out of the hotel like a madman. The comments scrolled across the screen: [Here it comes. The yacht.] [Run faster, Holt. You’re racing to your own funeral.] [Finally, the satisfying part. Can’t wait to see Mr. Holt on his knees.] The sea wind howled. Holt ran to the dock, gasping for breath, searching frantically for me. “Fiona.” Then he saw me standing on the deck of a yacht with the Harvey family crest, looking down at him from above. Holt froze in place, disbelief written all over his face. Beside me stood an imposing middle-aged man. My father. The chairman of Harvey Group. “Mr. Holt, our family’s IOU—Holt Corporation hasn’t paid it back yet, have you?”

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I woke up in the hospital, and a man in a sharp suit was sitting by my bed. I asked politely, “Excuse me, sir, am I here to interview for a nanny position at your home?” His face went pale. “What did you say?” I got a bit nervous. “I’m sorry, I’ve lost my memory. I only remember that I was supposed to go work as a live-in nanny for a family…” He grabbed my hand, trembling, but I instinctively pulled away. “Sir, please control yourself.” After returning to the villa, everyone looked at me strangely. I worked diligently, waking up at five every morning to make breakfast for Mr. Vincent and Miss Willow. The way she looked at me changed from smug to uneasy. Mr. Vincent’s son cried and hugged me. I awkwardly pushed him away. “Ethan, nannies can’t have physical contact with their employers like this.” He cried even harder. Mr. Vincent often stared at me. I thought he was dissatisfied with my work, so I worked even harder. One night, I brought a late-night snack to the study and heard him on the phone. “Doctor, when will she recover her memory? I can’t take this anymore…” His voice was choked with tears. “She used to love me so much, but now she treats me like a stranger…” I froze outside the door.

I got up at five as usual. Before the car accident, I remembered I was working as a nanny for a wealthy family, cooking and taking care of this father and son every day. Since I’d been discharged from the hospital, I still needed to do my job properly. I tiptoed downstairs. The kitchen lights were still off. I opened the fridge and saw it packed with ingredients. I took out eggs, tomatoes, and bacon, planning to make simple sandwiches. While I was frying eggs, I heard footsteps behind me. I turned around. Mr. Vincent was standing in the kitchen doorway, his eyes red, like he hadn’t slept all night. “Mr. Vincent, you’re up so early?” I asked politely. He stared at me and let out a cold laugh. “Nice act,” he said. I was confused. “What?” He walked over. “You think getting into a car accident and pretending to have amnesia is a way to start over?” I had no idea what he was talking about. “Mr. Vincent, I really do have amnesia…” “Cut the crap.” He interrupted me, his tone especially cold. “You were demanding a divorce before, and now today you’re saying you’re the nanny?” His attitude scared me, and I took a step back. He continued, “You want sympathy, right? You want me to feel guilty, want Ethan to feel sorry for you?” “I didn’t…” “Whether you did or not, I know.” He looked at me coldly. “Sophia, you’ve used a lot of tactics, but this one is too crude.” I opened my mouth, not knowing what to say. The sandwiches were done. I cut them into three portions and arranged them on the dining table. Mr. Vincent sat in the main seat, not even glancing at the breakfast I’d made. “Your breakfasts used to be elaborate,” he said. “And now it’s just this?” I nervously wrung my hands. “I… I only know how to make these…” “Keep acting.” He took a bite of the sandwich and put it down. “Even the taste has changed.” I didn’t know how to explain. Just then, crying came from upstairs. Ethan had woken up. I rushed upstairs and pushed open the children’s room door. Ethan was sitting on the bed. When he saw me, tears immediately fell. “Mommy…” he cried. I crouched down. “Ethan, what’s wrong?” He froze for a moment, then cried even harder. “You don’t recognize me anymore?” I didn’t know what to say, so I could only gently pat his back. Mr. Vincent came upstairs too, standing in the doorway with a cold expression. “Stop acting,” he said. “Ethan, ignore her. She’s putting on a show.” Ethan looked up at his father, then at me, and cried even louder. I stood up and said awkwardly, “Then… I’ll go downstairs first.” “Stop.” Mr. Vincent called out to me. “Where are you sleeping?” “The nanny’s room.” He sneered. “Really getting into character.” I kept my head down, not daring to look at him. “Whatever.” He said. “But don’t think this will make me soften.” During breakfast, the atmosphere was especially oppressive. Ethan kept staring at me, tears dripping down. Mr. Vincent didn’t even glance at me. After I saw they’d finished eating, I carefully spoke up. “Mr. Vincent, I’d like to ask, what’s my salary?” He looked up at me, his eyes like he was looking at a stranger. “Salary?” He repeated the word and laughed. “Sophia, you really are expanding my understanding.” I was completely confused by what he said. “Forget it, act however you want to act.” He stood up. “But don’t expect me to play along.” Then he left. Ethan also ran upstairs, leaving me sitting alone in the dining room. I looked at the table full of breakfast, suddenly feeling especially lost. Is this father and son pair sick or something?

Over the next few days, Mr. Vincent’s attitude toward me got colder and colder. I didn’t care. I was just a nanny—do my job well and that’s it, whatever he does is his business. I’d save some money and then quit. At noon, I started making lunch. Ethan was playing with toys in the living room. When he saw me, he turned his head away and ignored me. Willow was sitting on the sofa and smiled at me. “Sophia, need any help?” I shook my head. “No, thank you, Miss Willow.” She smiled and didn’t say anything. Lunch was ready. I brought it to the table. Shrimp pizza and a plate of vegetables. Ethan glanced at it and pouted. Willow served him food. “Ethan, eat more.” “Auntie Willow’s cooking tastes better,” he said quietly. I stood to the side, a bit awkward. Mr. Vincent came home and saw the food on the table, frowning. “Just this?” I nodded. “Yes… yes.” He sneered and sat down to eat. Ethan took two bites of pizza and suddenly clutched his stomach. “Ethan?” Willow quickly asked. His face turned especially red, and a rash broke out on his neck. Mr. Vincent’s expression changed instantly. He picked him up and rushed out. “To the hospital!” I panicked too and ran out after them. In the car, Mr. Vincent drove extremely fast, his face ashen. I sat in the back seat, watching Ethan in pain, my heart clenching. At the hospital, the doctor gave Ethan a shot and confirmed it was a shrimp allergy. Mr. Vincent turned to look at me, his eyes especially cold. “You gave him shrimp?” I froze. “I… I didn’t know Ethan was allergic…” “You didn’t know?” He sneered. “You’re his mother. How could you not know?” His tone scared me. “But… I really don’t remember…” “Still acting.” He cut me off. “Sophia, you think I don’t know what you’re thinking?” “You just want to use this to get revenge on me, right? Want to make me feel guilty?” I shook my head. “I didn’t…” “Enough.” He turned and went into the hospital room, leaving me standing alone in the corridor. Willow came over and sighed softly. “Sophia, I know you’re hurting inside,” she said. “But doing this… is it really good?” I didn’t understand what she meant. She continued, “Using this method to try to win Vincent back will only make him more disgusted.” I was stunned. “I’m not trying to win him back…” “You don’t need to explain to me.” She smiled and said softly, “Sophia, I advise you to give up. Vincent has already given up on you. No matter how much you act, it’s useless.” Then she went into the hospital room. I stood in the corridor, my mind blank. I had no idea what she was talking about. When I got home, I searched my own name online. The first news article that came up was: “Lancaster Group Heiress Marries Poor Boy, Seven Years Later Marriage Reportedly on the Rocks.” I clicked on it. The article said that Sophia Lancaster was the only daughter of the Lancaster Group. Seven years ago, against her family’s wishes, she married Vincent Hayes, who was just an ordinary employee at the time. After marriage, she quit her position as vice president to be a full-time housewife. Vincent relied on his father-in-law’s connections, and his business grew bigger and bigger. Three years ago, Sophia’s parents died, and she inherited a large fortune. Recently there were rumors that their marriage was in crisis. I read these news articles, completely dumbfounded. My first reaction was that this Sophia was way too naive—so rich and she married a gold digger!

Vincent hired a new chef, a middle-aged woman who was especially polite to me. “Mrs. Hayes, what would you like to eat?” she asked. I was taken aback. “I… I’m not Mrs. Hayes.” “She likes to pretend to be the nanny now,” Willow said with a smile. “Just call her Miss Sophia.” The chef looked confused but nodded. Ethan had been avoiding me these past few days. Once I tried to hand him a toy, and he threw it on the floor. “I don’t want you to touch it!” he shouted. Mr. Vincent watched from the side, sneered, and said nothing. Today no one was home, so I thought I’d clean the study. I pushed open the door. The bookshelves inside were full of books and photos. I took a cloth and started dusting. Halfway through, I saw a photo. It was a picture of Willow and Vincent together, both standing by the ocean, smiling happily. I frowned and kept looking. There were at least seven or eight photos like this on the bookshelf. In contrast, there was only one photo of Vincent and Sophia, tucked away in a corner. I thought to myself, these two definitely have something going on. How did the lady of the house tolerate this? I was already silently rejecting the idea that I was Sophia. I wasn’t that much of a lovesick fool. While organizing the desk, I saw a notebook in the drawer. Curious, I took it out and opened it. The first page had just one line: “Why hasn’t he come home yet…” Flipping through, it was all this kind of rambling. “It’s 3 AM, I’ve been waiting in the living room all night.” “Willow came again today. She said she and Vincent are just friends, but why is she living in my house?” “Ethan said he likes Auntie Willow better. My heart is broken.” Looking at these words, I thought—tormenting yourself like this for a man, why bother? Might as well be a nanny—at least there’s a salary. I kept flipping. “We fought again today. He said I was being unreasonable.” “I just wanted an explanation. Does that count as being unreasonable?” “Ethan defended Willow today and said I’m a bad mommy.” “I’m so tired…” The handwriting got messier and messier. Some places had tear stains. I flipped to the last page. There was only one sentence: “I want a divorce.” Now that’s more like it! This kind of person deserves a divorce! I casually put the diary away. This crybaby lovesick fool definitely isn’t me. At dinner that night, Ethan kept staring at me. His eyes were red, like he’d been crying. “Mommy…” he suddenly called out quietly. I looked up at him. “Do… do you really not remember me?” he asked, his voice trembling. I didn’t know how to answer. Mr. Vincent put down his fork and looked at me, a hint of expectation in his eyes. I opened my mouth and finally nodded. Ethan cried. Willow quickly comforted him. “Ethan, sweetie, don’t cry…” I also said, “Ethan, don’t you like Auntie Willow the most? Having her here is enough…” Ethan froze, then ran upstairs crying. Mr. Vincent stood up and looked at me coldly. “Have you acted enough?” he said. “Even lying to your own son?” Then he went upstairs too. Only Willow and I were left at the dining table. She sighed. “Sophia, why do this?” I didn’t say anything. She stood up, walked over to me, and said softly, “You know what? Vincent actually cares about you a lot.” “It’s just that what you’ve done these years has really disappointed him.” She patted my shoulder and went upstairs. I was a bit helpless. “What’s there to act about? He cares about me, but I don’t care about him.”

These past few days, Mr. Vincent’s attitude toward me had softened a little. He no longer made sarcastic remarks, but he didn’t really acknowledge me either. Just like I really was a nanny. This morning, Willow suddenly came to find me. “Sophia, let’s talk,” she said. We sat in the living room. She looked a bit nervous. “Actually… Vincent and I were college sweethearts,” she began. I was taken aback. She continued, “We dated for three years, then we were forced to break up because our families opposed it.” I didn’t say anything, just listened to her continue. “Five years ago I got divorced and had nowhere to go, so I found Vincent.” Her voice was soft. “He took me in and let me live here.” I thought to myself: Here comes the homewrecker’s confession. “You… you’re not angry?” she asked cautiously. I shook my head. “Why would I be angry?” She froze. I said, “Miss Willow, your past with Mr. Vincent is your business. I don’t remember anything, so there’s nothing to be angry about.” Her expression changed. “But… you weren’t like this before.” “Before?” “You used to be really mean to me,” she said. “Every time I came, you’d find all kinds of excuses to kick me out.” “You even talked bad about me in front of Ethan, telling him not to play with me.” Her voice sounded a bit aggrieved. “Later he found out I wasn’t that kind of person, and he ended up hating you even more.” I sighed inwardly. The lady of the house really ruined herself… Talking bad about someone in front of a child, and in the end even her son sided with the other woman. “That was her being petty,” I said. “I wouldn’t do that.” Willow looked at me with a complex expression. Just then, Mr. Vincent came in. He heard our conversation and stood in the doorway, looking displeased. “What are you saying?” he asked Willow. Willow lowered her head, looking like I’d bullied her. I said, “Miss Willow was just explaining why she moved in before, but I said, I’m just a nanny—I don’t care about these things.” Mr. Vincent turned to look at me, his eyes complex. “Do you know what you did before to drive her away?” I shook my head. “You flew to her hometown, knelt in front of her parents, and begged them to make her stay away from me.” I was stunned. He continued, “You came back and cried all night, saying you’d never been so humiliated.” “But the next day, she came back. Because I asked her to come back.” He looked at me, waiting for my reaction. I felt helpless. This definitely wasn’t me! Way too pathetic… Kneeling and begging people? Degrading yourself like this for a man? But I didn’t say it out loud, just nodded. “Oh.” Mr. Vincent froze. “Just… oh?” he asked. “Yeah.” I said. “That was in the past. I don’t remember it. Like I said, if you’re paying me as a nanny, I’ll work as a nanny. If you’re not paying me, I’ll leave.” Actually, if it weren’t for just getting out of the hospital, I would’ve left already. He stared at me for a long time, his eyes getting more and more complex. “You really…” He hesitated. Willow was also looking at me, her expression a bit panicked. The atmosphere was especially awkward. Mr. Vincent suddenly said, “Come with me.” He took me to the study. Closing the door, he turned to look at me. “Sophia, what exactly are you thinking?” he asked. His question left me confused. “I… I’m not thinking anything.” “You heard me say you knelt and begged people, and you had no reaction at all?” He took a deep breath. “Before, when you heard these things, you’d cry, make a scene, throw things.” “But now you don’t even furrow your brow.” I didn’t know what to say. Nobody told me being a nanny also meant playing therapist. He kept staring at me, then suddenly said, “If you really have amnesia…” He didn’t finish. But I saw a flicker of doubt in his eyes. He turned around. “Get out.” I left the study, breathing a sigh of relief.

These past few days, Mr. Vincent’s attitude toward me had become even stranger. He no longer made sarcastic remarks, but instead often stared at me. As if observing whether I really had amnesia. Today was the weekend. He said he was taking Ethan to the amusement park. “You come too,” he suddenly said to me. I was surprised. “I… should I go? You won’t deduct it from my pay?” “No.” Ethan pouted on the side. “I don’t want her to come!” Mr. Vincent frowned. “Ethan.” “She doesn’t want to be with me anyway!” Ethan’s eyes turned red. “She doesn’t care about me at all!” I stood there, a bit awkward. She really got that right. Willow quickly said, “Then I’ll go with Ethan. Let Sophia rest at home.” Mr. Vincent glanced at me and said nothing. The three of them left. I sat in the living room watching TV, feeling pretty relaxed. At 3 PM, Ethan video called me. I answered and saw him sitting on a carousel. “Look, I’m on the carousel!” He smiled happily. I nodded. “Is it fun?” “Yeah! Auntie Willow played so many rides with me!” Willow waved and smiled in the background. Ethan suddenly said quietly, “I wish Auntie Willow was my mommy.” This kid… really spoiled rotten. Good thing I don’t remember her. I just smiled. “Then you have to listen to Auntie Willow, okay?” Ethan froze, like he didn’t expect me to say that. He looked at Mr. Vincent beside him. Mr. Vincent’s face looked terrible. “You… you’re not even angry?” Ethan asked. “Why would I be angry?” I said. “You can play with whoever you like.” Ethan’s tears suddenly fell. Mr. Vincent took the phone and hung up the video call. I went back to watching TV. They came home in the evening. Ethan was holding a balloon, looking upset, his eyes still red. Willow was also very quiet. Only Mr. Vincent kept staring at me. At dinner, he suddenly said, “Willow took really good care of Ethan today.” He paused. “Unlike some people.” I was drinking soup when I heard this and my hand paused. Willow quickly said, “Vincent, don’t say that…” “I’m stating facts.” He looked at me. “Some people don’t even care about their child anymore.” I put down my spoon and said calmly, “Miss Willow is indeed very good.” Mr. Vincent’s spoon dropped on the table. He stared at me, eyes full of disbelief. “That’s your answer?” he asked. I nodded. “What else?” He suddenly stood up, the chair scraping with a harsh sound. “You can stop caring just because you don’t remember?” His voice got louder and louder. “Ethan is your son! How can you be so cold?” Ethan suddenly jumped down from his chair and ran up to me. “You…” His voice was trembling. “You really don’t care about me anymore, do you?” I didn’t speak, afraid of upsetting him. Tears fell from his eyes. “I said I wish Auntie Willow was my mommy, and you didn’t even get angry…” “Do you wish I wasn’t your son?” I panicked. “That’s not what I meant…” “Then what did you mean?” He cried harder. “You’re obviously my mommy, why are you pretending not to know me?” “Why don’t you feel sad when I say things like that?” He was crying so hard he couldn’t catch his breath. When I didn’t respond, he ran upstairs by himself. Mr. Vincent stood there, looking terrible. “You really…” Mr. Vincent looked at me, his voice trembling slightly. “You really don’t care anymore?” Willow also stood there awkwardly. They all looked at me. I had to say, “I’m just a nanny. Should I care?” He suddenly turned and chased after Ethan upstairs. Crying came from upstairs. It was Ethan crying, with Mr. Vincent trying to comfort him. “Ethan, stop crying… Mommy is just sick…” “But Daddy… the way she looks at me… like I’m a bad kid…” “No, Mommy loves you very much…” “Then why isn’t she angry? Does she really not want me anymore…” The child’s crying gradually quieted, probably from exhaustion. I stood downstairs, unable to describe what I was feeling. A bit uncomfortable, but only a bit. In the middle of the night, I got up to use the bathroom. Passing by the master bedroom, I heard sounds inside. “Doctor, she might really have amnesia…” It was Mr. Vincent on the phone. “She has no reaction to Ethan at all… completely unlike how much she used to care…” “Traumatic amnesia? There’s such a thing?” His voice sounded a bit panicked. “Can she still recover?” “You’re saying… she might never remember?” “No… that’s impossible…” His voice changed. “She can’t not remember me… can’t stop loving me…” I stood outside the door, listening to his voice. Suddenly felt a bit pathetic. He cared so much about whether I remembered him. But he never seemed to ask whether I wanted to remember.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “379574”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

1 To outsiders, I, Daniel Franco, seemed to have everything. In truth, kinship carried a cold price. My father calculated I owed the family $200,000 from birth. Now he holds my debit card, giving just $300 a month as “interest” payment. To pay off the debt sooner, before Christmas, I put on a simple knit sweater and set up a stall by the street, selling hot cocoa and cinnamon rolls. After all, warm drinks and sweets are most popular in winter, and I could earn a bit more. Unexpectedly, a passerby took a photo of me, and it went viral online. The hashtag #HottestCocoaGuy was surprisingly popular. In the photo, I was bending over to pack a cinnamon roll, my profile clean and sharp. The thermal pot beside me steamed, creating a striking contrast with the bustling street stall. My father called, furious: “You’re an embarrassment! Must you sell hot cocoa and cinnamon rolls on the street?” He added, “Look at your brother Brian—studying in Europe soon. Why are you so worthless?” That’s when I understood: this priced “kinship” was only for me, their biological son. I hung up and asked Woody, who was livestreaming nearby, “Big audience? I can help you trend again.” Then I said clearly, “My name is Franco. As in, Franco Industries.” The moment those words dropped, Woody almost dropped his phone. The chat feed froze for a second. Then, it absolutely exploded. “Holy crap? Franco Industries? The real estate and finance giant?” “Seriously? Doesn’t old man Franco only have one son? Is the eldest son slumming it for kicks?” “Scripted! Definitely scripted! He’s desperate for fame!” I ignored the comments, just calmly continued making hot cocoa and cinnamon rolls for the camera. I ignored the comments on the live stream and just calmly made hot cocoa and packed cinnamon rolls in front of the camera. Cocoa powder smeared on my face, steam rose from the thermal pot of hot cocoa, and the freshly baked cinnamon rolls gave off a sweet, warm aroma. #FrancoIndustriesHeirSellsCocoaToPayDebt My phone shrilly rang. The caller ID read “Mr. Vance Miller.” I answered, putting it directly on speaker. Woody, sharp as a tack, brought his phone closer. Vance’s voice sounded like it would rip through the speaker. “Daniel, have you lost your mind? Stop making a spectacle of yourself, delete that video immediately! Get your ass back here!” My hands didn’t stop. I packed two servings of hot cocoa and cinnamon rolls and handed them to a guy waiting in line. “Twenty bucks, thanks for your business.” Only then did I pick up the phone, addressing the mouthpiece and the millions of viewers in the live stream, and smiled. “Did everyone hear that? That’s my dearest father, Mr. Vance Miller.” “Dad, you say I’m an embarrassment because I’m selling hot cocoa and cinnamon rolls and shaming the Franco name.” “Or is it because letting people know you forced me to sign a two-hundred-thousand-dollar IOU is shaming you?” There was a two-second dead silence on the other end. Followed by an even wilder roar. “You ungrateful brat, what the hell are you babbling about! When did I ever make you sign an IOU?” I pulled a grease-stained ledger from my apron pocket. “Didn’t you personally hand me this ledger?” “Daniel, four years of college tuition, sixty thousand. Dorm fees, eight thousand. Living expenses, at two thousand a month.” “Plus all the money for your meals since you were a kid, thirty dollars a meal, a hundred a day.” “And rent for that tiny room you live in, let’s say three thousand a month.” “All in all, two hundred and three thousand, three hundred and sixty-five dollars. Dad will round it down for you, let’s call it two hundred thousand.” My voice was clear, every word distinct. “Dad, you said all this to me yourself, calculator in hand. I haven’t forgotten a single word.” “Now, I make ten bucks selling a serving of hot cocoa and cinnamon rolls. A hundred servings a day is a thousand. That’s thirty thousand a month.” “I wanted to ask the internet to help me figure out how many years it’ll take me to pay it all back if I don’t eat or drink.” “And how is me working hard to sell hot cocoa and cinnamon rolls and pay off a debt shaming the Franco name?” The live chat went absolutely bonkers, the viewership skyrocketing. Gift animations almost covered my face. On the other end of the line, Vance was too choked with rage to speak, only sharp, ragged breaths. At that moment, a cold, steady female voice took over the phone. It was my mother, Sally Franco. Her voice was devoid of any warmth. “Daniel, have you made enough of a scene?” “Stop this charade at once and come home.” I scoffed in return. “Is ‘home’ priced by the day or by the hour? Has the entrance fee gone up again?” Sally’s voice was barely controlled fury. “That was all to toughen you up! I’m giving you one last chance.” “Otherwise, I’ll freeze all your bank accounts and have the police take you in for disturbing public order.” I laughed out loud. “Chairwoman Franco, feel free to freeze them.” “It’ll be good for the whole country to see exactly how much money the eldest son of Franco Industries has in his accounts.” “Three hundred dollars.” “That’s the living allowance Mr. Vance Miller transferred to me last month.” “The kicker is, he gives me three hundred, but then expects me to pay him back another twenty-three hundred for ‘living expenses.’” Sally was completely enraged and angrily hung up. A moment later, the live stream feed on my screen suddenly went dark. Woody’s phone showed a violation pop-up. My phone rang at that exact moment. It was Sally again. I answered. Her voice was like it came from hell, chilling to the bone. “Daniel, the internet can’t save you.” “Now, it’s time for you to come home.” Two black luxury SUVs, like ghosts, pulled up in front of me. Several bodyguards in dark suits stepped out, their faces devoid of emotion, and walked towards me. No restraints, no gags. They simply made a “please” gesture, but I knew I had no choice but to comply. I was “escorted” back to that opulent mansion. What awaited me was neither a beating nor a verbal assault. Vance sat on the sofa, his eyes red-rimmed, looking like a victim of some terrible injustice. Sally stood beside him, her face grim. In the living room, an unfamiliar middle-aged woman sat, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, with a demure demeanor. I was locked in a small room, worse than the staff quarters. The next day, Franco Industries held an emergency press conference. Sally, before countless flashing cameras, spoke with feigned heartbreak. “My son, Daniel, has been suffering from extreme mental stress, leading to a bout of delusional disorder.” “All his statements online were ramblings from his illness. I deeply apologize for any distress this has caused.” “Going forward, we will have him suspend his studies and receive the best treatment at home.” That woman with the gold-rimmed glasses was the “best treatment.” She was Dr. Reeves, the family’s trusted psychologist. Every day, she would come to my room and “chat” with me. “Daniel, tell me, why do you think your mother demanded two hundred thousand from you?” “Do you feel she doesn’t love you?” I just hugged my knees, staring blankly out the window. Any rebuttal would be recorded, becoming evidence of my “worsening condition.” My adopted brother, Brian, perfectly played the role of the “kind angel.” He would bring in soup and pastries every day, asking after me with concern. “Brother, please don’t make trouble anymore, just cooperate with Dr. Reeves.” “Mom and Dad love you; they just want to help ‘cure’ you.” He placed a bowl of warm broth on my bedside table, his voice so soft it could melt butter. I looked up, my eyes vacant, at him. I took the bowl of broth. But as he turned to leave, I whispered, in a voice only we two could hear: “Cure? Yes, I’m sick.” “So sick I can’t even recognize my own biological parents.” “Brian, you’re so well-behaved and sensible, do you also ‘get sick’ often?” “Are you so beloved because your ‘illness’ was cured?” Brian’s body visibly stiffened. He whirled around to face me, and for the first time, there was terror in his eyes. I gave him a chilling smile. From that day on, I started “acting out.” I would scream in the middle of the night, claiming there were ghosts in the room. During meals, I’d put a plate on my head, declaring it was a crown. When Dr. Reeves was “treating” me, I’d suddenly hug her leg and call her “Mommy.” Their guard, under my apparent madness, slowly lowered. Vance’s gaze towards me shifted from anger to disgust and impatience. Sally simply stopped seeing me altogether. They thought they had won. They thought I had been completely broken. One night, I started “sleepwalking” again. Barefoot, in my white pajamas, I drifted out of my room like a ghost. The bodyguards and staff saw me, but simply turned their heads, accustomed to the sight. No one paid attention to a “madman’s” sleepwalking. I deftly avoided the surveillance cameras and made my way to Sally’s study on the second floor. I approached the massive mahogany bookshelf and, following a memory, twisted one of the decorative vases. The bookshelf silently slid open to the side, revealing a hidden safe compartment. The password was Brian’s birthday. I entered the code, and the compartment clicked open. Inside, there were no jewels or gold, only a brown paper envelope. I opened it. A DNA test report lay quietly within. Subjects: Sally Franco, Brian Franco. Conclusion: Biological mother-son relationship. Beneath the report, a stack of yellowed letters was tucked. They were letters from a man named Ethan Reeves to Sally. Every line overflowed with love, reluctance, and hopes for the future. I took both items. These were my chips to escape this prison. And the damning evidence to condemn them. I planned an escape. The time, route, and method were meticulously thought out. I knocked out the attendant who brought me meals, changed into his clothes, and walked boldly out of the mansion’s main gate. I even successfully made it to a main road and hailed a taxi. But just as I thought I had succeeded, those familiar black SUVs once again blocked my path. I was dragged back. My “failed” escape was the final straw, breaking Sally and Vance’s patience. They looked at me, their eyes devoid of any lingering pretense of warmth, only cold annoyance. Sally looked down at me. “It seems Dr. Reeves can’t cure your illness anymore.” “Daniel, you’re far too disobedient.” She made a call. Half an hour later, I was taken to a private sanatorium on the outskirts of the city. This place was less a sanatorium and more a prison. High walls, electric fences, and emotionless attendants. The director of the sanatorium, a portly woman, respectfully told Sally. “Ms. Franco, rest assured, we specialize in ‘curing’ rebellion here.” “We guarantee we’ll return a docile, obedient son to you in two weeks.” I was told my “condition” had worsened and required a more “efficient” treatment. They called this treatment “electrotherapy.” Two burly attendants dragged me into a stark white room. In the center of the room was only a cold metal chair, covered in leather restraints. They roughly shoved me into the chair, binding my hands, feet, and body with the straps. Vance watched me, restrained through the viewing glass, a look of vengeful satisfaction on his face. “Daniel, this is your last chance.” “Sign this ‘Voluntary Treatment Consent Form,’ and once you’re ‘cured,’ we can still acknowledge you as our son.” A paper and a pen were offered to me. I looked at him, my gaze sharp as a blade. I screamed: “Every word I said before was true.” “And you are the ones who are truly sick.” “Your illness is called ‘Moral Bankruptcy.’ And this disease, electroshock can’t cure.” Vance was utterly infuriated by me. He yelled at the doctor inside. “Look at him, does he look like a son? His condition has clearly worsened.” “Don’t let him babble, start the treatment!” A doctor in a white coat entered, holding two metal electrodes. He expressionlessly applied a cold conductive gel to my temples. Looking at him, I finally understood. They were no longer content with just silencing me. They wanted to use electricity to burn my memories, my will, my personality, into ashes. They wanted to destroy me with their own hands. The doctor picked up the electrodes and slowly brought them towards my temples. The cold metallic touch was clearly imprinted on my skin. I closed my eyes. That failed escape was real. But its purpose wasn’t to get out. In those few minutes when I knocked out the attendant and changed into his clothes, I went to the old oak tree in the mansion’s backyard. I dug open a tree hollow, wrapped the brown paper envelope in a waterproof bag, and hid it inside. The DNA report, Ethan Reeves’s letters, and a small voice recorder. The recorder held the entire conversation between Sally and Vance discussing how to send me to this electrotherapy center. They hadn’t decided to send me to the sanatorium because I tried to escape. This was a pre-planned treatment. During my escape. I used a pre-arranged phone to send a timed text message to a journalist known for fighting for justice, who had been following my case. The message was simple: “If I disappear for more than 24 hours, please call the police and tell them to look for the truth under the old oak tree in the backyard of the Franco mansion.” Now, twenty-three hours had passed since that message was sent. … “Zzzzzzzzzz—” An indescribable pain. It was as if countless burning hot steel needles were piercing through my brain. My body convulsed violently in the chair, arching backward uncontrollably. My teeth bit down hard on the mouth guard, making a “clack-clack” sound. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. I could feel my consciousness being torn to shreds by this brutal force. The first electroshock ended. I was utterly limp, like a rag doll, my clothes soaked with sweat. My vision blurred. I saw Vance’s face through the viewing window, a satisfied smile plastered on it. Sally just watched impassively, as if observing a play that had nothing to do with her. The doctor checked the equipment, preparing for the second electroshock. I knew I was running out of time. I used every last ounce of my strength, lifted my head, and stared intensely at the surveillance camera in the corner. I knew they were watching. My voice was hoarse and broken, almost inaudible. “Tell… Sally…” “I found… what he hid in the study’s secret compartment…” “Uncle Ethan’s… Ethan Reeves’s letters…” “I’ve already… called the police…” These words, like an detonated bomb.

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Tonight at exactly eight seventeen, I checked my phone and found nine missed calls. They were all from my father-in-law, Robert. In our five years of marriage, he had never tried to reach me with such frantic urgency. I tapped the screen to play his latest voicemail. His voice trembled with an unmistakable edge of panic. “Oliver, I kept your dinner warm in the oven. Please don’t eat anything from those random takeout places. You have a sensitive stomach. The food out there is filthy, it will make you sick.” That wasn’t the voice of a concerned parent. It was the sound of barely concealed terror. I lowered my phone and absentmindedly scratched my forearm. Then, I completely froze. My skin was entirely smooth. There were no raised welts, no burning redness, no agonizing itch. For the first time in five years, my arms were completely clear. My mind raced back through the events of the day. The only thing I had done differently was skip Robert’s home-cooked dinner. 1 I had been stuck at the pharmacy doing inventory until almost seven thirty. The diner next door was closed, so I grabbed a pre-packaged turkey sandwich from a convenience store to hold me over. My phone had vibrated relentlessly in my pocket the entire time. I saw Robert’s name flash on the screen, but my hands were full of heavy boxes. I figured I would just call him back later. By the time I finished, it completely slipped my mind. When I finally checked my notifications, I saw the nine missed calls. I unlocked the front door just before nine o’clock. Robert rushed out of the kitchen the second he heard the latch click. He hadn’t even taken off his apron, and his knuckles were dusted with flour. “Why are you so late?” he demanded. “We had to do a full stock count at the pharmacy today,” I replied, slipping off my shoes. “Took longer than expected.” “Did you eat?” “Yeah, I grabbed a sandwich on the way.” Robert’s expression faltered. It was barely a fraction of a second, but I caught it. It wasn’t the relieved look of a father hearing his son-in-law had been fed. It was a sharp, poorly hidden flash of anxiety. “Store-bought food is garbage,” he muttered, turning sharply back toward the kitchen. “I will heat up some chicken broth for you. It has been simmering all afternoon.” “Robert, I am honestly full.” “A bowl of broth won’t ruin your appetite,” he insisted. He was already carrying the steaming bowl out to the dining table. I didn’t want to argue, so I sat down and forced myself to drink half of it. It had a very faint, almost imperceptible savory tang, but immediately after swallowing, the tip of my tongue began to tingle and go numb. It had always been like this. For five years, I just assumed my immune system was a wreck. Later that night, as I stood under the bathroom shower, I glanced down at my forearms. Still perfectly smooth. But deep down, I already knew they wouldn’t look like that tomorrow. The next morning, I woke up and looked at my skin. Three angry red hives had blossomed in the crook of my left elbow. A raised, intensely itchy patch of inflamed skin covered my right forearm. It looked exactly the same as every single morning for the past five years. I sat on the edge of the mattress, staring blankly at the red marks. Yesterday, I didn’t eat his food, and my skin was clear. Last night, I drank his broth, and the hives returned. Maria sat up beside me, pulling on her blouse for work. “Flaring up again?” she asked, glancing over. “Yeah.” “Isn’t it time you booked another appointment with the specialist? Did you finish that last round of steroids?” “I still have half a pack.” She applied her lipstick in the vanity mirror and shot me a sympathetic look. “Try not to scratch it, Oliver. You will just make it bleed.” Then she grabbed her purse and walked out the door. I remained frozen on the edge of the bed. My mind was circling a terrifying, completely insane theory. From the kitchen, Robert’s voice echoed down the hall. “Oliver! The oatmeal is ready, come eat while it is hot!” I slowly stood up and walked out of the bedroom. A faint smile touched my lips. “Coming,” I called back. I sat down at the table and pulled the bowl toward me. I stared at the tiny, almost invisible flecks of seasoning floating in the creamy oats. I had never noticed them before. Today, they looked glaringly obvious. I took a small bite. The tip of my tongue went numb again. 2 I had suffered from a severe shellfish allergy my entire life. When I was a kid, I accidentally ate a piece of fried shrimp and my throat swelled shut. I nearly died in the back of an ambulance. From that day on, my parents banned all seafood from the house, and I learned to read every food label like my life depended on it. I managed it perfectly for over twenty years. I rarely had a reaction. Everything changed the moment I married Maria. The hives started during our first month of marriage. By the second month, they refused to fade. By the third month, both of my arms were covered in a permanent, burning rash. I went to the top allergists in the city. They diagnosed me with chronic idiopathic anaphylaxis. They couldn’t pinpoint the trigger. “Do you have any known severe allergens?” the doctor had asked. “Shellfish. But I absolutely never touch it.” “Then we will have to keep running panels. For now, we manage the symptoms.” He prescribed heavy antihistamines and topical steroid creams. The consultation was two hundred dollars. The medication was another hundred and fifty. Three hundred and fifty dollars for the very first month. I went back a month later, desperate for relief. I saw a different specialist. Another four hundred dollars for consultations and stronger topical treatments. By the third month, the inflammation subsided slightly, only to roar back with a vengeance in the fourth. I started using my employee discount at the pharmacy to buy the medications at cost, but I was still burning through hundreds of dollars every few weeks. Over five years, the empty pill bottles and crushed ointment tubes in my nightstand could have filled a dumpster. Maria noticed the massive pile while cleaning one afternoon. She looked genuinely stunned. “You take all of this?” “Yeah.” “Can’t you find a cheaper generic brand?” I didn’t answer her. I was already buying the absolute cheapest options available. And that was just the daily medication. Factor in the specialist visits, the endless blood panels, the holistic doctors, the allergy testing kits. I kept a meticulous spreadsheet of my medical expenses over the last five years. Just managing the hives had cost me over twelve thousand dollars. But that wasn’t even the worst part. During our third year of marriage, we decided to start trying for a baby. After twelve months with zero success, we went to a fertility clinic. Maria was perfectly healthy. My results, however, were devastating. The chronic, severe allergic inflammation in my body had wrecked my endocrine system, severely impacting my fertility. The doctor tried to break it to me gently. “We need to get this chronic allergic response completely under control before your body can recover enough to conceive.” But I couldn’t control it. For five unbroken years, my body had been locked in a constant state of panic. Desperate, I agreed to an aggressive series of hormone therapies and specialized treatments to boost my chances. Each cycle cost around eight thousand dollars. I went through three grueling cycles. None of them worked. Twenty-four thousand dollars, completely burned to ashes. During that dark period, Robert started sighing a lot around the dinner table. “Oliver, I am not trying to pressure you two,” he would say, placing a choice cut of roast beef directly onto Maria’s plate. “It is just a shame. Maria is my only daughter, and she would make such a wonderful mother.” I stared at my bowl. He never served me the good cuts. Over the last five years, I had grown completely used to him treating Maria like royalty while barely acknowledging me. “We are still trying, Robert. The doctors said there is still a chance.” “Right. Just don’t push yourself too hard. Health comes first,” he replied, flashing a gentle, comforting smile. That following Saturday, Ken came over to visit. Ken was the son of David, Robert’s oldest friend. He was a few years younger than me, working a comfortable job at a corporate bank. His skin was flawless. Not a single red mark, not a single blemish. Robert’s face lit up the second he opened the door. “Ken! Come in, come in, sit down.” He practically dragged Ken to the best spot on the sofa. “Look at you, getting more handsome every year. And you look so healthy.” Ken chuckled modestly. Robert shot a sideways glance at me. “Not like our Oliver. The poor guy is always breaking out. His face and arms are always a mess.” Ken glanced at me, his expression unreadable, and stayed quiet. “I will go make some coffee,” I said, standing up from my chair. Once I was alone in the kitchen, I rolled up my sleeves. A violent, red rash crawled from my wrists all the way past my elbows. I quietly rolled my sleeves back down. When I carried the coffee tray into the living room, Ken was sitting directly in the center of the sofa, occupying the exact spot I normally sat in every evening. I set his mug down in front of him and took a seat on a small wooden stool in the corner. Late that night, after Maria had fallen asleep, I stood alone in the bathroom under the harsh fluorescent lights, trying to squeeze the last drops out of my hydrocortisone tube. The tube was completely flattened. The tiny ribbon of cream wasn’t enough to cover both arms. I scraped the plastic nozzle clean and smeared the meager amount onto my right elbow. I looked up into the mirror. The rash had crept up my neck. Angry red patches covered my cheeks and jawline. I turned off the light and stepped back into the dark bedroom. Maria shifted under the blankets but didn’t wake up. 3 The following Monday, I made a decision. I cornered my coworker, Marcus, in the breakroom. “Hey, can I take your evening shifts for the whole week?” “Why the sudden change?” Marcus asked, looking surprised. “Just dealing with some stuff at home.” The evening shift ran from two in the afternoon to ten at night. It meant I would have to eat dinner at the pharmacy. When I called Robert to tell him, I kept my voice perfectly casual. “The schedule got flipped this week. I am on nights, so I won’t be home for dinner.” “What? What are you going to eat?” “We have a microwave in the back room. I will just grab something from the deli.” “You can’t eat that processed garbage. It will make you sick. Let me cook something and—” “Robert, it’s fine. It is just for one week.” Dead silence hung on the line for two agonizing seconds. “Fine,” he finally said. “Just don’t eat anything strange.” I promised I wouldn’t. That week, I ate basic cafeteria food for lunch and survived on microwaved pasta and convenience store sandwiches for dinner. On Monday, the hives remained. On Tuesday, the angry red color began to fade. On Wednesday, the burning itch completely vanished. On Thursday, the thick, raised welts on my left arm flattened out. On Friday, my right arm had nothing but faint, pale pink shadows where the rash used to be. By Sunday, both of my arms were completely spotless. Even my face had cleared up. Marcus caught me hauling boxes in the stockroom with my sleeves rolled up. He stopped in his tracks. “Whoa, your skin looks great,” he said. “Yeah, it has been getting a lot better recently.” “I thought you said that chronic allergy thing was incurable? You looked like a walking tomato just last month.” I offered a thin smile and went back to work without explaining. During that entire week, Robert called me religiously every single day. Monday: “What exactly did you eat for dinner?” Wednesday: “I made a huge pot of beef stew. Do you want Maria to drop some off at the pharmacy?” Thursday: “Maria mentioned your skin is looking a lot better.” Friday: “Your night shifts end this weekend, right? Come straight home on Sunday, I am cooking a massive feast.” On Saturday morning, Robert personally walked through the glass doors of the pharmacy. He was holding a heavy insulated thermos. “Robert? What are you doing all the way out here?” “You haven’t had a decent home-cooked meal in a week. I couldn’t stop worrying about you.” He set the thermos down on the checkout counter and unscrewed the lid. Rich, savory steam drifted into the air. It was chicken broth. But underneath the smell of the chicken, there was another scent. It was incredibly faint. I had never been able to isolate it before. But after a week of eating clean, bland food, my senses were razor-sharp. “Drink it while it is hot,” he urged, staring at me intently. I picked up the plastic bowl and took a tiny sip. The immediate, familiar numbness hit the tip of my tongue. “Delicious,” I said, offering him a bright, appreciative smile. The moment Robert left the store, I locked the front doors and marched straight into the sterile stockroom. I pulled a medical-grade specimen bag from the supply cabinet, poured the remaining chicken broth directly into the plastic pouch, and sealed it tight. I slapped a blank label on the front, wrote down the date and time, and shoved it into the medical refrigerator used for storing vaccines. 4 Our pharmacy didn’t have the equipment to run advanced allergy panels, but after six years in the medical supply industry, I knew exactly who could. There was an independent testing laboratory just a few blocks away that handled commercial food safety and allergen trace testing. I had delivered medical supplies to their technicians plenty of times. First thing Monday morning, I walked into their lobby carrying the sealed sample. The receptionist smiled when she saw me. “Hey Oliver, dropping off a sample for a client?” “Actually, this one is personal,” I said, sliding the bag across the counter. “I need a qualitative allergen screening. Specifically, I need you to test for the presence of shellfish proteins.” “No problem. If you pay the rush fee, we can have the results emailed to you by tomorrow afternoon.” “Put a rush on it.” I swiped my own credit card for the eighty-eight-dollar invoice. I spent the rest of my shift in a total daze. Marcus kept asking if I was feeling okay. “I’m fine. Just didn’t sleep well,” I lied. That night, I went back to eating at home. Robert had gone all out. He had prepared a massive spread: slow-cooked pot roast, garlic butter asparagus, creamy potato soup, and baked salmon. “You worked so hard this week, Oliver. Eat up,” Robert said, pushing a plate toward me. “Thanks, Robert.” I ate. I made sure to take a few bites of every single dish on the table. The next morning, I looked in the mirror. The hives were back. They covered my neck, the crooks of my elbows, and both forearms. It was a violent, total relapse. It was as if my week of clear skin had never happened. Maria frowned over her coffee. “It flared up again? You were doing so well last week.” “Probably just stress from the night shifts,” I replied blankly. At exactly two in the afternoon, my phone rang. It was the testing lab. “Oliver, we just finalized the report on your sample.” “Tell me.” “Positive for crustacean protein. The concentration is relatively low, but it is definitively positive.” The phone trembled in my grip. I wasn’t scared. The trembling came from a sudden, overwhelming wave of clarity. Five years. It wasn’t a weak immune system. It wasn’t idiopathic inflammation. It wasn’t an unsolvable medical mystery. Someone had been meticulously lacing my food with shellfish every single day. And my severe, potentially lethal allergy to shellfish was something everyone in my household knew about. I stood in the cold, sterile pharmacy stockroom and took three long, deep breaths. Then I opened the supply cabinet and pulled out six more medical-grade specimen bags. For the rest of the week, I ate dinner at home. And every single night, I managed to slip a sample into a bag. Tuesday: Potato soup. Positive. Wednesday: Steamed vegetables. Positive. Thursday: Casserole. Positive. Friday: Oatmeal. Positive. Saturday: BBQ ribs. Positive. Sunday: Beef stew. Positive. Seven separate laboratory reports. All seven came back completely positive. After my shift ended, I locked the pharmacy doors and spread the seven printed reports across the checkout counter. I was entirely alone. The only sound was the hum of the fluorescent lights. I read through them, one by one. Every single page ended with the exact same bolded conclusion. Crustacean Protein: DETECTED. Seven days. Seven completely different dishes. Zero omissions. This wasn’t a dirty cutting board. This wasn’t accidental cross-contamination at a factory. This was in every single dish, every single day, for every single meal. It was intentional. It was mathematically precise. And it had been happening for five years. I stacked the seven papers together, slid them into a manila folder, and zipped it securely inside my backpack. I splashed cold water on my face in the employee restroom, dried off, and pulled out my phone. I opened my messages and texted Robert. “Dad, I have been craving your famous BBQ ribs. Could you make them tomorrow?” A minute later, my screen lit up. “Of course! I will go to the butcher tomorrow morning!!!” Three exclamation points. 5 Now I needed to find the weapon. I didn’t want theories. I didn’t want circumstantial deductions. I needed the physical proof. On Wednesday afternoon, Robert left the house to meet his friends for a walk in the park. Maria was still at her office. The house was completely empty. I walked into the kitchen and began systematically dismantling the space. First, I checked the visible spice racks. Olive oil, balsamic vinegar, Italian herbs, black pepper, Cajun seasoning. Nothing out of the ordinary. I moved to the upper cabinets. Flour, sugar, cornstarch, baking soda. Nothing. I paused, calculating his movements while cooking. I crouched down and pulled open the heavy wooden doors beneath the stovetop. It was full of heavy cast-iron skillets and soup pots. I reached all the way to the very back. Hidden in the darkest corner, behind a massive Dutch oven, my fingers brushed against cold plastic. I pulled it out into the light. It was a generic brown plastic bottle. There was no label. A thin layer of grease and dust coated the cap, but the body of the bottle was wiped clean. It was handled frequently. I unscrewed the cap. A fine, pale pink powder filled the bottle. I brought it close to my nose and inhaled slightly. The sharp, unmistakable stench of dried brine and fishiness hit the back of my throat. It was pure dehydrated shrimp powder. I pulled out my phone and took several high-resolution photos. The bottle in my hand, the texture of the powder, and the exact spot where it had been hidden behind the pots. Then, I screwed the cap back on and placed it precisely where I found it. I walked into the living room and sat heavily on the sofa. I reached over and picked up Robert’s iPad. He never used a passcode. He only used it to watch baseball highlights and browse the internet. I opened the Amazon app. He was still logged in. I tapped the search bar in his order history and typed in “Shrimp Powder.” When the results populated the screen, I stopped breathing for a long time. Sixty individual orders. Every single order was from a storefront called “Ocean Bounty Spices.” One order per month. I scrolled down to the very first purchase. Date: March 17th. Maria and I got married on February 28th. He placed the first order exactly seventeen days after my wedding. The most recent order was placed on February 8th of this year. Just last month. Five years. Sixty orders. One 8-ounce bag every single month. Price: $15.80. I took screenshots of every single order. All sixty of them. Once I was done, I cleared the search history, closed the app, and placed the iPad exactly where he had left it. I sat alone in the quiet living room and did the math in my head. Sixty bags of shrimp powder at $15.80 each. Total cost: $948. Not even a thousand dollars. I pulled out my phone and opened my terrifyingly detailed medical spreadsheet. The copays, the steroids, the emergency clinic visits, the blood panels, the fertility treatments. Total cost: $162,780. Less than a thousand dollars worth of crushed shrimp. One hundred and sixty-two thousand dollars in agonizing medical debt. My grip tightened until the metal edges of my phone dug painfully into my palms. I took a deep breath, forcing my heart rate to slow down. It still wasn’t enough. I knew the what, the how, and the how much. Now I needed the why. I reached for the iPad one more time and opened his WhatsApp application. I scrolled through his recent chats. The third conversation on the list caught my eye. Contact name: David (Ken’s Dad). I tapped it.

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