Category: English

The day I was born, my mother died in childbirth. When my fiancé, Collin, found out, he was worried I’d be haunted by it. He suggested we be child-free, just the two of us. Five years into our marriage, I finally started to let go of that fear. I decided I was ready. I wanted a child of our own. I booked an appointment with Collin—he’s a top obstetrician—planning to surprise him with the good news. But when I got to the hospital, the nurse stopped me. “I’m sorry,” she said, “but Mrs. Thorne has a prenatal appointment this afternoon. Dr. Thorne has cleared his entire schedule for her.” Confused, I pushed open his office door to ask him what was going on. The door swung open, and I saw him. Collin was holding a heavily pregnant young woman in his arms, his head pressed against her belly, listening intently to the baby’s movements. He saw me, and pure panic flashed across his face. “Aria, don’t be angry,” he stammered. “I know you never wanted children, but my parents… they’ve been pressuring me so much.” He swore to me, “Don’t worry, this baby will be ours. As soon as she’s born, we can finally be a happy family of three.” Later, on the day that girl gave birth, Collin delivered her baby himself. What he didn’t know was that on the other side of that same hospital wall, I had an appointment of my own. For an abortion. … After confirming my pregnancy at Collin’s hospital, I asked the nurse to help me book an appointment with him. “I’m afraid he’s fully booked,” she advised. “Dr. Thorne’s wife is pregnant too, and he’s reserved the entire afternoon for her prenatal check-up.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “You have no idea how in love they are. Even if you got an appointment, he wouldn’t have time for anyone else.” I clutched the ultrasound photo and couldn’t help but smile to myself. So, Collin, an OB/GYN, had figured it out already? Was this his surprise for our fifth wedding anniversary? But when I pushed open his office door, I saw him with his head pressed against another woman’s belly, listening to the baby kick. On his desk sat a cake. The words “Happy 5th Anniversary” were piped in icing, a sharp, painful sting to my eyes. The ultrasound picture slipped from my fingers. Collin stepped on it as he rushed to embrace me. “Aria, what are you doing here?” The panic on his face was fleeting, replaced by a practiced calm. “Did you come to pick me up for our anniversary?” “I just have this one last patient, then we can go home.” Even now, he was trying to pretend everything was normal. But after five years of sharing a bed, I knew him too well. Every flicker of guilt in his voice was amplified in my ears. “The nurse said Dr. Thorne’s wife was here for a check-up, so I came to see. Do you have a second wife I don’t know about?” I tore the facade of our perfect life to shreds. Collin sighed, a long, heavy sound. He was silent for a long time. “It’s not like that,” he finally said. “It was only one time. Nine months ago.” I have a sharp memory for dates. Nine months ago, there was a major malpractice lawsuit at Collin’s hospital. As a lawyer, I pulled every string I had to defend them, working tirelessly for a month. There was only one night we didn’t see each other. “So, you’re telling me that while I was defending your hospital, comforting grieving families until I was vomiting blood from stress, the reason I couldn’t reach you… was because you were cheating on me?” Ninety-seven calls. I had called him for a solid hour in my moment of absolute desperation. In the end, it was the family of the deceased patient who took pity on me and drove me to the hospital. He had rushed to my room in the middle of the night, full of apologies. Seeing how guilty he looked, I had comforted him, telling myself he was just exhausted from the lawsuit, that he had slept through my calls. It never once crossed my mind that he had just crawled out of another woman’s bed. “It wasn’t cheating!” Collin’s grip on me tightened. “That night, I went to my parents for help with the hospital. You know how they are about us not having children. They’d been trying to set me up with my ex. They drugged me.” “I managed to get away. I was coming home to you.” Which home was that? I wondered. How did he end up with his intern? I bit my lip and said nothing. He took my silence as acceptance and let out a breath of relief. “Aria, she’s over nine months along. It’s too late to terminate the pregnancy.” “Then why didn’t you do it sooner? You’re an obstetrician. She’s your intern. Don’t tell me you didn’t notice she was pregnant.” He cut me off. “Don’t be difficult. You didn’t want a child, and I respected that. But my parents were relentless. Do you really want me to be the last of my family line?” I stared at him, stunned. Five years ago, he had sworn to me that we would never have children. How could a person change so completely? His calm eyes reflected my own furious face, as if I were the one in the wrong. “You can hit me, do whatever you want. But this child… I really want this child.” “After the baby is born, I’ll send Chloe away. It was an accident, but at least we’ll have a child. Then, we can be a happy family of three.” The dam of my emotions finally broke. “My child?” I asked, my voice shaking with rage. “Should I thank you for cheating on me? Thank you for giving me a child I never wanted?” “Collin, you have to choose. It’s me or the baby!” His silence was my answer. I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms, willing the tears not to fall. “Fine. We’re getting a divorce.” 2 I turned to leave, but a hand grabbed my arm. It was Chloe. She fell to her knees at my feet. “Aria, I’m so sorry. It’s all my fault. I hid the pregnancy from Collin. But the baby is innocent. I’ll leave as soon as it’s born. Please, don’t blame him.” A flicker of pity crossed Collin’s face. He pulled her up, holding her close. They stood there together, pleading with me. “Aria, you’re the kindest person I know. You were the one who sponsored Chloe through college. How can you not have room in your heart for her child?” His accusatory gaze was a physical blow, a stark contrast to the adoring way he had looked at me when we first met. How had everything changed so much? At our university’s opening ceremony, Collin had seen me give a speech and had fallen for me instantly. I had tried to brush him off, using the distance between the medical school and the main campus as an excuse. But he had traveled ten kilometers every day, rain or shine, to bring me a single rose. When I went abroad to study, he followed. But what truly brought us together was the anniversary of my mother’s death. My previous engagement had been called off because I refused to have children. Everyone told me a life without children was incomplete, that no man would want a barren woman. Only Collin had taken my hand and said, “To have a woman like Aria is the greatest gift in the world. Whether she has children is her choice, and I will respect it.” “If I am lucky enough to marry her, I will never force her to do anything she doesn’t want to do.” That was the moment I fell in love with him. From then on, our love was a symphony. He was proud to be with me, announcing our relationship to the world. His parents, some of the wealthiest people in the city, had demanded he secretly produce an heir before marrying me. He had refused, even cutting ties with them when they tried to set him up with other women. He proposed the day after we graduated, and we were married in a whirlwind. He said he wanted to eliminate any possibility of betrayal. But here he was, betraying me. Even when I had finally overcome my deepest fears, ready to give him the one thing he thought he could never have, I was too late. He wasn’t the same man anymore. The pain in my chest was so intense I couldn’t breathe. My head swam, and the world dissolved into a cacophony of Collin’s frantic voice. “Aria, what’s wrong? Don’t scare me!” I was rushed to a room, diagnosed with hyperventilation. Collin sat by my side, holding my hand, his guilty tears falling onto my skin. When I had stabilized, he stood up. “I’ll go get a doctor.” “You are a doctor,” I said, grabbing his arm, terrified he would find out about the pregnancy. “Besides, I’m fine now. Don’t go.” He nodded. He started to say something, to fuss over me, but I held up my phone, the divorce agreement I’d drafted displayed on the screen. “Aria, what is this?” We had drafted it the year we got married. He had promised that if he ever did anything to betray my trust, all our assets would go to me, and we would divorce immediately, no questions asked. I frowned. “I’ve revised it. We’ll split everything fifty-fifty. I don’t want more than my share.” “No, I don’t want it. You promised you would never leave me…” He pulled me into a desperate hug. “And you promised you would never betray me,” I said, my voice cold. “It’s been nine months. If I hadn’t found out, were you just going to wait until the baby was born to tell me?” “Did you ever once ask me if this was what I wanted?” “It was my parents,” he explained, his voice frantic. “If I didn’t give them a grandchild, they threatened to ruin your law firm and my hospital, to force us out of the city.” “I was just trying to protect you.” A bitter laugh escaped me, followed by a torrent of tears. “Collin, when did you become such a coward?” I remembered the man who had defied his family for me. He was nothing like the man standing before me now. He flinched at my words, then held me tighter. “After the baby is born, my parents will raise it. Nothing will change between us.” “I love you. I’ll agree to anything, just not a divorce.” “Then I want you to get rid of the baby.” 3 “Anything but that.” I looked at him in silence. I knew that, aside from those two things, he would give me the world. His devotion to me had never wavered. Even after leaving his family, he had built a life for us. The luxury items I casually mentioned would appear on my bedside table the next day. He made me lunch every day for five years without fail. Once, I idly wished for a star, and he bought the naming rights to a newly discovered planet. It was like we were back in the honeymoon phase, where any wish of mine was his command. Except this time, I felt no excitement, no joy. “Fire Chloe.” “Of course,” he agreed without hesitation. “As soon as she has the baby, I’ll never have contact with her again.” He even pulled out his phone, ready to delete her number. But the long call history was a fresh stab to my heart. “I want to see your phone.” He paled, but handed it over. They had been texting almost every day for the past nine months. As I scrolled up, his anxiety grew, and my heart sank. They had been in contact for three years, ever since I had first sponsored her. She was on the list of candidates I was considering. Her grades weren’t exceptional. I wouldn’t have even noticed her if Collin hadn’t specifically pointed her out. “I know this student,” he had said. “Her grades aren’t the best, but she works incredibly hard.” “If you’d rather not, we can pass.” I had shaken my head. If she was his former classmate, I was happy to give her a chance. I had almost forgotten about it until Collin hired her at the hospital, another exception to the rules. After that, he started working late more and more often. So many nights, he would get a call and rush out. A doctor’s life is demanding. I understood. I trusted him. But trust had bred betrayal. I should have seen it sooner. “Aria, stop.” Collin took the phone from me. Just then, a special ringtone I had set for Chloe went off. Her name flashed on the screen. He answered, right in front of me. “I told you, if you need something, call my parents or the housekeeper. Aria is sick. I can’t be with you all the time.” He didn’t even realize how strained his own voice was. He told me not to look, but his eyes were pleading with me. I closed my eyes. “Go. See her.” “Of course he’s going to see his son.” The door burst open, and Collin’s parents stormed in. They didn’t look at me with anything resembling kindness. Usually, Collin would have stepped between us, but he was still flustered from the call. “How can you be so cruel?” his mother spat. “You won’t have a child of your own, and you won’t let Collin have one either? Chloe called, and you’re still clinging to him, refusing to let him go?” “Collin, let’s go see Chloe and little Jackson.”

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1 My husband, a Drill Instructor, had just returned from a long trip. He greeted me with the same rigid discipline that defined his reputation. Now, I lay sprawled on the bed, exhausted, mindlessly scrolling through my phone. A trending post on the local community forum caught my eye. The headline felt like a physical blow: “My Boyfriend is Cheating. Going to Catch Him in the Act RIGHT NOW!” The original poster was calling for backup. “Any local girls willing to come with me and corner this trashy couple?” The comments exploded. Someone offered to bring a baseball bat to “knock some sense into him,” while another joked about bringing pruning shears for “some garden-variety justice.” A strange thrill ran through me. If I weren’t so sore, I might have gone to watch the drama unfold. Then, the poster dropped the address. Curiosity piqued, I clicked. And my world froze. The address was Windsor Heights, Building C, Apartment 1203. That was my home. … It felt like all the blood in my body went into reverse. At that exact moment, the bathroom door clicked open. Marcus stepped out, a towel slung low on his hips. The muscles of his stomach were still marked with faint red scratches from my nails, a memento from our passionate reunion. He was holding a glass of warm water, which he leaned down to offer me. “Here, sweetheart. Drink some water. Your throat must be sore.” I stared into his deep eyes, the same eyes I had been lost in for five years. Three years ago, to support his career as an instructor, I had willingly quit my job as an editor at a publishing house to become the woman behind the man—caring for his parents, managing our home, handling everything. We’d been married for five years, but his job meant we spent more time apart than together. He always said that our reunions were all the more passionate for it, like fire and lightning every time he came home. I’d always believed we were the most devoted couple in the world, despite the distance. But now, looking at the lingering tenderness in his eyes and then back at the forum post on my phone—the one with a comment saying, “I’ll help you gut the mistress”—a wave of nausea churned in my stomach. “Marcus…” I fought to keep my fingertips from trembling, my throat dry as I tested the waters. “This last training cycle… did you meet any… special female students?” His hand, which had been wiping a drop of water from my lip, paused. A flicker, almost imperceptible, crossed his eyes. “A bunch of wide-eyed freshmen? None of them compare to my wife.” He was lying. I knew it instantly. I have zero tolerance for emotional infidelity. If he had really cheated, I would rather feed our five years of marriage to the dogs. I wouldn’t stay in this marriage for one second longer. Before I could even process the thought, a violent, percussive banging erupted at our front door. BANG! BANG! BANG! It was followed by the sharp, grief-stricken cry of a young woman. “Marcus, get out here! I know that old hag is in there with you! Girls, the mistress is in here!” The color drained from Marcus’s face, leaving him white as a sheet. His reaction was instinctual. He pressed down on my shoulders as I tried to get up. “Becca, go hide in the bedroom. Lock the door and don’t come out, no matter what!” I didn’t move. I just stared at him, my eyes cold. He froze, clearly not expecting my defiance. For five years, he had grown accustomed to controlling every aspect of my life with his domineering tone. And for five years, I had never once disobeyed. “Open the door,” I said. He was stunned. “Rebecca, just listen to me!” When I still didn’t move, his voice grew heavier as he tried to persuade me again. “You won’t open it? Fine. I will.” I pushed his hand away and moved to get out of bed. But Marcus grabbed me, his grip like iron, and tried to physically shove me into the bathroom. I fought back, but the difference in our strength was too great. Just as he was about to force me inside… CRASH! The front door was kicked open from the outside. A young woman in a white dress stormed in, flanked by several people holding up their phones, live-streaming. They looked like a hunting party. The woman was the original poster, a junior from the medical program named Paige. Her eyes immediately locked onto me, struggling in Marcus’s arms. Tears streamed down her face as she pointed a trembling finger at me, her voice a piercing shriek. “There she is, everyone! That’s the old hag who seduced my boyfriend! Marcus told me he doesn’t love her at all! She’s the one who’s been clinging to him, refusing to sign the divorce papers!” The people behind her surged forward, ready to shove me. But it was Marcus’s next move that sent me plunging into the abyss. He shoved me away from him and turned, pulling the sobbing Paige into a protective embrace. Then he spun his head back to me and snarled, “Rebecca, get in the other room! You’re scaring her!” A dozen phone cameras were instantly shoved in my face. The live-stream chat was a waterfall of text, a torrent of vicious words calling me a “shameless,” “old mistress.” Looking at the absurd, nightmarish scene before me, I suddenly let out a laugh. As Marcus stared in shock, I didn’t hide as he’d wanted. Instead, I raised my hand. Two sharp, cracking sounds echoed through the apartment as I slapped both Marcus and Paige across the face. “You want me to hide? Marcus, did you forget whose name is on the deed to this house?” 2 The two slaps stunned everyone into silence. Marcus clutched his cheek, his eyes wide with disbelief. After all, in five years, I had never said a single cross word to him. He was used to me waking up at 3 a.m. to make him soup, used to me keeping every inch of our home spotless, used to me being completely obedient, a doormat. He never, ever imagined I would slap him in front of so many people. Before he could speak, Paige let out a shriek and buried her face in his chest, her sobs hysterical. “Marcus! She hit me! She’s the mistress, and she dared to hit the real girlfriend! How can anyone be so shameless?!” Her posse of friends and the live-stream viewers erupted. “You all see that? This homewrecker isn’t just clinging to Instructor Thorne; she’s gone crazy!” Another girl with curly hair stepped forward, sneering at me. “Do you have any idea how good Instructor Thorne is to our Paige? Last month, Paige cut her finger during a lab experiment, and he drove all the way from the base in the middle of the night just to be with her! And you? Do you think you even compare?” Last month? A tremor went through my body. The fifteenth of last month. I had a fever of 102.5, so high I was barely coherent. I called him seventeen times. Every single time, the line was busy. Finally, he sent a single text: [In lockdown training. Stop making a scene.] I had to hold onto the wall to make my way downstairs by myself. I spent the entire night in the emergency room with an IV in my arm. So, he wasn’t in lockdown training that night. He was comforting another woman over a paper cut. The curly-haired girl wasn’t finished twisting the knife. “And the month before that, Instructor Thorne spent his entire bonus for the last quarter to buy Paige a limited-edition handbag! That’s what you call true love! You’re just the mistress, so get the hell out!” His bonus. A metallic, coppery taste filled my throat. Those months, he had told me his pay was cut and that I needed to be more frugal with the household budget. When his father was hospitalized, I was the one who paid for the expensive nutritional supplements with the last of my own savings. And all that time, his money was being spent on this woman. The live-stream chat scrolled by in a blur. [This mistress looks pretty old. No wonder she has to seduce a younger instructor.] [How dare this parasite hit someone? Get out of their house!] [I feel so bad for Paige. You deserve so much better, sweetie!] Every comment was a blade carving into me. But Marcus didn’t react to them. Instead, he leaned close to my ear, his voice a low, urgent hiss. “Rebecca, I’m begging you. Just tell the cameras you were obsessed with me. Don’t call Paige a mistress. Once this blows over, I’ll buy you that bag you always wanted, okay? Just don’t ruin my career.” I laughed. He actually wanted me, his legal wife, to admit to being a homewrecker in front of the entire internet to protect his and that woman’s reputation? Divorce. The thought became a decision in a single, cold second. I looked down and let out another laugh, a sound so desolate it startled even me. But to the online mob, my laugh was just more fuel for their righteous fire. Suddenly, a dozen cameras were right in my face, the flashes of their phones nearly blinding me. The chat was a tidal wave of calls to “dox the mistress” and “cyberbully this parasite.” Without another glance at Marcus, I picked up my phone and dialed my lawyer. Seeing this, Paige just smirked, crossing her arms. “Calling for backup? Go ahead! Marcus is a senior instructor. He knows all the top brass at the university. What can you do? You’re just a jobless housewife with no connections.” My finger paused. She was right. A housewife with no connections. What could I do? I closed the lawyer’s number, scrolled to the very bottom of my contact list, and dialed a number I hadn’t called in five years. When the call connected, I spoke a single word that felt utterly foreign on my tongue. “Dad…” 3 The call went through. But the moment I said “Dad,” Marcus lunged, snatched the phone from my hand, and slammed it onto the floor. “Rebecca, are you insane? What dad? You don’t have a dad!” Marcus didn’t know. My father was Victor, a name that carried heavy weight in the city’s underworld. When my mother was alive, she forbade me from contacting him, saying he was a dangerous man who lived by the knife. The only time I ever saw him was at my mother’s funeral. He stood outside the hall all night, a man in a black overcoat, smoking cigarette after cigarette. As dawn broke, he pressed a business card into my hand. He only said one thing: “Kid, if you’re ever in trouble, call this number.” I’d kept that card for five years and never once used it. Back then, I thought having Marcus was enough. I never dreamed the first time I’d call my father would be because my husband was cheating on me. I looked at the shattered phone on the floor, the screen dark. I had no idea how much he had heard. “Whether I have a father or not is none of your business! Marcus, take your mistress and get the hell out of my house, now!” “Mistress!” Paige was the first to react. “Who are you calling a mistress!” She shrieked and lunged at me, her nails aimed for my face. “You bitch! You’re the damn mistress!” The crowd of students behind her swarmed forward like a pack of wolves. Someone grabbed my hair; someone else shoved my shoulders. In an instant, I was thrown against the coffee table. The back of my head slammed against the sharp corner, and my vision went black for a second. Warm blood trickled down from my temple, a shocking crimson streak against my pale skin. My phone was completely crushed underfoot, the screen dead. The live-stream chat, however, was ecstatic. [Yeah, beat her! That’s what a homewrecker deserves!] [Go get her, girls! Don’t let the parasite escape!] Only Marcus stood frozen, unmoving. His expression was one of annoyance, as if to say, if you had just behaved, this wouldn’t have happened. As I lay on the floor, my face smeared with blood, listening to the crowd viciously call me a mistress and staring into the lenses of eight different phones, I started to laugh. Everyone paused for a second. They heard me say, “I’m the mistress? Fine. Fine.” I used the coffee table to pull myself up, wiping the blood from the corner of my mouth. “Then let me show you who the real mistress is.” With that, I stumbled towards the bedroom. In front of the safe, the electronic lock clicked open. Inside, five years’ worth of bank books were stacked neatly. I hadn’t touched a cent. My fingers bypassed everything, reaching to the very bottom to pull out two crimson marriage certificates. The day we registered our marriage, five years ago, Marcus had smiled and said, “Becca, it’s you and me for life.” For life. I closed my eyes for a moment, then walked out of the bedroom. In the living room, Paige was still playing the victim for the cameras. Marcus frowned when he saw me come out empty-handed, his voice a low, impatient growl. “Rebecca, have you made enough of a scene? Apologize to my girlfriend right now and get these people out of here. Don’t make me lose my temper!” Perfect. Even now, he still thought I was the one being unreasonable. He was so certain I wouldn’t dare escalate things, so certain I couldn’t live without him. So certain that this woman—with no family, no job, and no way out—would always be his obedient little wife. I walked step by step until I was right in front of Paige. She lifted her chin in a defiant challenge, waiting for my apology. But I didn’t give her one. Instead, I took the two marriage certificates and slapped them hard across her innocent, porcelain face. SMACK! The crimson books fell open on the coffee table. “Take a good, long look! And see who the real mistress is.” The marriage certificates lay open for all the cameras, all the flashing lights, all the live-stream viewers to see. For a moment, the entire world went silent. The official embossed seal, our smiling faces in the photo, the registration date from five years ago—it was all there, crystal clear. The cameras automatically focused, blowing up every word to fill the screen. The world was quiet for three seconds. And then it exploded. [HOLY… A MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE?!] [Registered five years ago? Then who’s the real mistress???] [Wait, am I seeing this right? Marcus Thorne is married?! He told everyone he was single!] The color drained from Paige’s face, her expression shifting from red to white to a sickly green. She stumbled backward, knocking over a chair. “Impossible… This is fake! You forged it!” “Go check with the city records office,” I said, wiping the blood from my forehead. My voice was eerily calm, as if I were telling someone else’s story. “Go and check who was clinging to whom. Go and check who the shameless, pathetic homewrecker really is.” Marcus completely lost it. His reputation, his career, his halo as a senior instructor—it was all gone. He lunged wildly at the phones, trying to snatch them, but was shoved back by the stunned onlookers. He spun to face me, his eyes burning with a rabid hatred, and raised his hand high… “Rebecca! You just had to ruin me, didn’t you!” The slap came whistling down. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t even close my eyes. I just stared right back at him.

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I had no interest in being a trophy husband. The first thing my wife did after her memory returned was go back to her powerful, wealthy family. The second was to find the man from her past—the one she’d always been meant for. She once told me I’d hit the lottery by marrying her, that I should cherish the incredible luck I’d stumbled into. She even suggested that a truly “supportive” husband shouldn’t pry into his wife’s private life. Too bad for her, I’m not that kind of man. The tenth time she brought him back to the villa we shared, I placed a signed divorce agreement on the table in front of her. … “Let’s get a divorce.” I spoke to Isabelle as she sank into the sofa, just home from a business dinner. She looked up, her eyes glassy with wine. “What did you say?” She was drunk, and the words hadn’t registered. I was about to repeat myself when our housekeeper walked in, her arms full of clothes. “Ma’am, these are the clothes from last season you asked me to clear out. What should I do with them?” Isabelle didn’t even glance at them. “Just throw them out.” I looked at the pile. Most of the dresses had been worn only two or three times. The old Isabelle, the one I had married, wore the same simple t-shirt for three years because she couldn’t bear to buy a new one. Now, she tossed away clothes that cost thousands of dollars without a second thought. She seemed exhausted. After drinking a glass of water, she went upstairs to bed. I looked down at the divorce papers in my hand, a storm of emotions churning inside me. I’d spent the afternoon at a lawyer’s office. He’d drafted the agreement according to my wishes, explaining the mandatory thirty-day cooling-off period before the divorce could be finalized. Isabelle Sinclair was the sole heiress to the Sinclair Group, a woman of almost unimaginable wealth. But I had no interest in her fortune. I’d never wanted a cent of her money, so there would be no messy disputes over assets. I was a chef. That’s all I’d ever wanted to be. Five years ago, on my way home from a shift, I found her injured on the side of the road. I took her to the hospital. When she woke up, she had amnesia, no memory of who she was. With nowhere else for her to go, I took her home. Living together, we fell in love. We were married within a year. Then, a clumsy fall, a knock to the head, and just like that, her memories came flooding back. She remembered everything. She was Isabelle Sinclair, born into a world of privilege and power. I went with her back to her family’s estate. Her parents were overjoyed to have her back, but their joy soured the moment they saw me. They did not approve. They couldn’t accept our marriage. I wasn’t good enough for her. I was just a line cook. No distinguished family, no respectable career. But Isabelle insisted. She told them she wouldn’t be with anyone else, that if they forced me to leave, she would leave with me. Her parents, seeing no other choice, reluctantly relented. But their acceptance was a façade. In their eyes, I was still beneath them. They never looked at me without a hint of disdain. I loved cooking. It was my passion. But Isabelle’s parents declared that their son-in-law could not be a “cook.” My job was a disgrace to their family name. I had to quit. Even then, they never warmed to me. The next morning, I was up early, preparing breakfast as usual. When I brought the food out, a man was sitting at our dining table. He was handsome, with an air of effortless class. Tristan Everidge. Like Isabelle, an heir to a fortune. He glanced at me, a provocative smile playing on his lips. He picked up a dumpling, popped it into his mouth, and turned to Isabelle. “Izzy, your chef’s skills are impressive. Much better than the one we have at home.” I said nothing, just placed the platter of pancakes on the table. Isabelle looked at him. “Why don’t you wait for me in the living room?” Tristan shrugged and stood up, strolling casually out of the room. She turned to me. “He didn’t know you were the one who cooked. That’s why he said that.” “I know,” I said. It was a lie. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was in love with Isabelle and wanted nothing more than for me to disappear. Isabelle sighed. “He’s here to take me to meet a client. It’s nothing, Arthur. Don’t overthink it.” “I won’t.” As she spoke, my eyes fell on the watch on her wrist, and my body went rigid. It was identical to the one Tristan was wearing. A matching set from a luxury brand. I knew he had given it to her for her birthday last month. The simple silver bracelet I had saved up to buy for her was still sitting in her jewelry box, untouched. I looked at her. “I need to talk to you. We need to…” 2 Before I could get the word “divorce” out, she cut me off. “I’m incredibly busy. Whatever it is, it can wait until I get home tonight.” She stood up and walked toward Tristan. They left together, their laughter echoing down the hall. When she was with me, she was usually quiet. I was always the one trying to bridge the ever-widening gap between our worlds, struggling to find topics we could share. Once, I came home from the market and mentioned how much the price of vegetables had gone up. She told me not to bother her with such mundane things. It didn’t matter. She could buy whatever she wanted; the price was irrelevant. I stood there for a long time after she said that, the silence heavy between us. It was then I truly understood the problem. To her, the only things that had meaning were nine-figure business deals. At noon, I packed a lunch and brought it to her office, just as I always did. Her assistant told me she was still in a meeting, so I let myself into her office to wait. Nearly an hour passed before she emerged. “What are you doing here?” she asked, sitting down at her desk. I placed the insulated lunch box in front of her. “It’s lunchtime. I brought you food.” She pushed it aside without opening it, her eyes already fixed on her computer screen. “Don’t bring me lunch anymore. My assistant can order something for me.” I froze. She used to say that eating my food every day was the happiest part of her life. When she first took over the company, she begged me to bring her lunch, complaining that takeout was unhealthy. Now, the look in her eyes was one of barely concealed annoyance. I didn’t even know when she had started to change. I gave a bitter, silent laugh. It didn’t matter. None of this mattered anymore. We were getting a divorce soon anyway. “Alright,” I said. As I turned to leave, she stopped me. “And you shouldn’t be cooking at home anymore either. Just let the household staff handle it.” I looked at her, then nodded. “Okay.” I walked out of her office. As I passed the main bullpen, I paused. “Mr. Everidge is so good to our CEO. He even drove her to work this morning.” “They look so perfect together, like a match made in heaven.” Someone noticed me standing there and coughed loudly, silencing the others. The air went still. They looked at me with cautious, worried expressions, as if afraid I might explode. “Mr. Reed, we were just talking nonsense. Please don’t take it to heart.” I wasn’t angry. I just managed a tight smile. They weren’t wrong. Isabelle and Tristan belonged to the same world. After leaving the Sinclair Group building, I drove to a rundown residential block in an older part of the city. The apartment my parents had left me. Less than five hundred square feet. I hadn’t been back in years. The air was thick with the smell of dust. Looking at the familiar, cheap furniture, memories washed over me. Before her memory returned, this was our home. We were so poor then. Some nights, we shared a single bowl of instant noodles. But Isabelle never complained. She would smile and tell me it was the most delicious thing she’d ever tasted, encouraging me, believing in me. At night, we lay on a small, cramped bed. We couldn’t even turn over without falling off, so we held each other tightly all night long. In those moments, holding her, I felt like the happiest man alive. Then her memory returned, and our world was turned upside down. In the beginning, she would take me to galas and high-society events. But I never fit in. I was awkward and tense while she moved through the crowds with an easy grace. I hated the fake smiles and empty conversations. When she suggested a job for me at the Sinclair Group, a desk job in a suit and tie, I refused. I offered to stay home, to manage the house and take care of her. She agreed. And just like that, I became a stay-at-home husband. She built her empire, and I managed our home. For a while, it worked. I told myself that as long as I could be with the woman I loved, giving up my own dreams was a small price to pay. Then, one day, I overheard her talking to her parents. They called me a freeloader, a man living off their daughter’s money. She didn’t defend me. All my hard work, everything I did to create a perfect home for her, meant nothing. She had grown tired of me… 3 For the next couple of weeks, things were quiet. One evening, Isabelle came home to find me packing boxes. “What are you busy with?” My hands stilled. “Just clearing out some old things we don’t need.” She glanced at the boxes, then her attention drifted back to her phone. If she had looked closer, she would have seen it wasn’t just junk I was clearing out. It was our past. I carried the box downstairs to the trash bins. It was filled with things we had brought from the old apartment. I crouched down and picked up a small, pink stuffed animal. It was the first gift I ever gave her. She loved it so much she couldn’t sleep without it. I picked up a necklace. It cost me six hundred dollars, all my savings at the time. It was her first birthday gift from me. She had been as happy as a child, wearing it every single day. After she returned to her family, she took it off and never wore it again, replacing it with far more expensive jewels. There were so many things like that, each one holding a memory. Now, they were all meaningless. After throwing the box away, I went back upstairs. Isabelle was working in her study. I took a shower and went to bed. I woke up in the middle of the night and turned to look at the woman sleeping beside me. I once loved her so much I would have given my life for her. I swore I would never leave her. I never imagined we would end up here. But she didn’t love me anymore. She was in love with another man. It was time for me to get out of her life. I let out a long breath. Twelve more days until the cooling-off period was over. Twelve more days until we could be officially divorced. I felt nothing but a calm emptiness… Isabelle was busy, rarely home, which made it easier for me to pack the rest of my things. She never asked what I was doing. A few days later, my phone rang while I was taking a nap. It was an offer. The interview I’d had a few days ago at a prestigious hotel had been a success. They wanted me to start as a chef. I asked if they could wait a week. The divorce cooling-off period would be over then. They agreed. I was ecstatic. I truly loved being a chef. The joy of creating something beautiful and delicious for people, of bringing them happiness through food—it gave me a sense of purpose. A week later, I called Isabelle. “Can you be home for dinner tonight?” She was gone before dawn and back late every night. We lived under the same roof but were like strangers. “Is something wrong?” she asked, her tone impatient. “No. I just thought… we haven’t had a meal together in a long time.” She was silent for a moment. “Alright. I’ll be home early tonight.” I smiled. “Okay.” After hanging up, I went to the kitchen and began to prepare the meal. I had just finished the last dish when she walked in. She frowned at me. “Didn’t I tell you not to cook anymore?” I gave her a small, sad smile. “This is the last meal I’ll ever cook for you.” She looked at me, a flicker of confusion in her eyes, but her expression quickly smoothed over. She thought I meant I was finally giving up my place in the kitchen for good. In a way, she was right. She sat down and picked up her chopsticks. Just as she was about to eat, her phone vibrated. She answered. I couldn’t hear the other side, but I saw her brow furrow. “Tristan? Okay. I’ll be right there.” She put her phone away and looked at me. “Something urgent came up. You go ahead and eat.” My hand tightened around my own chopsticks. “Can’t it wait until after we’ve eaten?” “No,” she said without a moment’s hesitation. “Tristan is waiting for me. I can eat when I get back.” I watched her hurry out the door. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I had spent over three hours preparing this meal. She hadn’t taken a single bite. I wouldn’t be waiting for her to come back. This was the last time. I had planned to talk to her about the divorce over dinner, to end things amicably. But she couldn’t even give me that. I ate alone, in silence. Then I went upstairs, took off my wedding ring, and placed it on the bed next to the divorce agreement. I picked up my suitcase and walked out the door.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “406281”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I saved amnesiac Holt Thornton and worked myself to the bone for three years to support him. But after he recovered his memories, he called me a gold-digger who seduced him for money. He let his lover force liquor down my throat, personally signed the papers, and bulldozed the home where we’d survived together. After that fiasco, I had a gastric hemorrhage and lost two-thirds of my stomach. I left with nothing and fled far away. Later, when he learned the truth, he knelt before me with red-rimmed eyes, telling me over and over that he loved me, begging me to come back. I only calmly threw him a medical diagnosis. It said I was dying. Sage’s POV San Diego nights were always dazzlingly glamorous, enough to make your head spin. I stood in the most inconspicuous corner of the ballroom, like an out-of-place intruder. I wore a black evening gown that Holt Thornton had casually told his assistant to buy an hour ago. The size was one size too big, the neckline somewhat loose. But I could only hunch my shoulders slightly, trying hard to minimize my presence. Under the crystal chandelier not far away, Holt was surrounded by a group of business executives. His impeccably tailored cold gray custom suit made his already superior physique look even more striking. He stood with one hand in his pocket, fingers holding a wine glass, occasionally lowering his head to listen to the woman beside him speak, his lips curling into an extremely faint arc. The woman standing next to him was the only daughter of the Davis Corporation, Melanie Davis. She wore the latest custom starlight dress of the season, and the diamond necklace around her neck refracted light that stung my eyes. A perfect match of talent and beauty, made for each other. This was the phrase I’d heard most tonight. “Holt, you’ve had a bit too much to drink tonight.” Melanie’s voice was soft and delicate as she naturally reached out to straighten Holt’s tie. Holt didn’t dodge. He even lowered his head, allowing Melanie’s movements. In that instant, my heart felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand, even breathing pulled at raw flesh with pain. I unconsciously took a step forward. My high heels clicked on the polished marble floor, making a light sound. The people around stopped their conversations, their gazes falling on me. Melanie turned her head, and when she saw me, a flash of unconcealed contempt crossed her eyes, but it was quickly replaced by a gentle smile. “And this is…” Melanie looked at Holt with feigned confusion. The smile on Holt’s face instantly faded. He looked up at me, his eyes cold as ice, as if looking at a thoughtless subordinate. “An assistant.” His thin lips parted, uttering those words. “An assistant.” The word shattered three years of our bond into pieces. I froze in place, my blood turning cold inch by inch. I was his assistant. Yes, ever since he recovered his memory and became the high and mighty head of the Thornton family again, I’d become his invisible household assistant. “Oh, just an assistant.” Melanie smiled meaningfully, picking up a glass of red wine and walking toward me. “You worked hard taking care of Holt tonight. This drink is for you.” She held out the wine glass. I bit my lower lip, about to reach for it. “Oh my!” Melanie suddenly cried out, her wrist tilting, spilling the entire glass of red wine on my ill-fitting black dress. The liquid ran down my chest, utterly humiliating. A few drops also splattered on Melanie’s dress. “Why are you so careless?” Melanie frowned, her tone full of grievance. “This is the dress Holt specially had flown in from Paris for me.” I jerked my head up. “I didn’t touch you at all!” “Enough.” An icy voice crashed down from above, carrying undeniable authority. Holt strode over, pulling Melanie behind him, his brow furrowed as he stared at me. “Holt, I think her nail scratched the back of my hand. It hurts a little.” Melanie nestled behind him, murmuring softly. Holt looked down, seeing an extremely faint red mark on Melanie’s pale hand, and the temperature around him instantly dropped to freezing. He raised his head, looking at me like I was a vicious criminal. “Apologize.” He commanded. “I didn’t push her, and I didn’t scratch her. She spilled the wine on me herself!” I clenched my dress tightly. “Sage, I told you to apologize.” Holt’s voice lowered a few degrees, dripping with impatience. “Don’t embarrass me in a place like this. Where are your manners?” Embarrassing. Manners. These words carved into my heart like knives. I looked at this cold, handsome man before me. He’d forgotten. Three years ago, when he’d injured his brain, penniless and starving, collapsed at my rental apartment door, it was this “ill-mannered” woman who fed him the last spoonful of hot soup. Now, he stood high above, and I’d become the embarrassing stain. I gave a bitter laugh, closed my eyes, and forced back the tears. “I’m sorry, Miss Davis.” With that, I turned and walked out of the ballroom step by step under everyone’s mocking gazes. Without looking back.

Sage’s POV In late autumn San Diego, a torrential rain poured down. I had no umbrella and no car. Holt’s drivers were all outside the ballroom waiting to pick him up with Melanie. I could only brave the rain, walking mechanically forward. The rain hammered my body, bone-chillingly cold, yet it couldn’t match the coldness in my heart. My heel twisted in a puddle, and a sharp pain shot through my ankle. I stumbled and fell heavily onto the muddy sidewalk. My palms scraped raw, mixing with rainwater, the pain drilling to the bone. I lay on the ground, suddenly lacking the strength to get up. It was also a rainy day. Three years ago, on that thunderstorm night, the roof of our little attic leaked, water flooding the floor. It was the second month after I’d brought Holt home. He couldn’t remember anything, only knew his name was Evan. That night, I also twisted my ankle while going downstairs to buy instant noodles, falling into the mud and crying. This man who didn’t even own a decent set of clothes, not even holding an umbrella, rushed downstairs like crazy, pulled me from the muddy water, and held me tightly in his arms. “Don’t be afraid, Sage. Evan’s here. Evan will carry you home.” He carried me on his broad back, rainwater dripping from his strong jawline. He walked very steadily. That day he said. “Sage, whenever it rains from now on, I’ll never let you walk a single step. I’ll be your legs.” Later, to buy me a box of imported medicine for my foot injury, he washed dishes at a restaurant for three days until his hands were raw and swollen. I cried from heartache, but he just smiled and kissed my eyes. “As long as Sage doesn’t hurt, I can endure anything.” The warmth of that memory was scorching, making reality that much colder. I don’t know how long I sat in the rain, until a black sedan sped past me. The wheels ran through a puddle, splashing me with dirty water. By the dim streetlight, I made out the license plate. It was Holt’s car. Through the half-lowered window, Melanie leaned on his shoulder as he turned his head to listen to her speak, his profile showing a gentleness he’d never given me. He didn’t even glance toward the roadside. Naturally, he didn’t see me lying there. I suddenly laughed, tears mixing with rainwater streaming down. Dead. My Evan had died the day he recovered his memory, in that shabby attic. The one alive now was the high and mighty CEO of Thornton Corporation, Holt Thornton. When I limped back to the villa, it was already two in the morning. This mansion covering several thousand square feet on the hillside felt as empty as a gorgeous tomb. I didn’t even turn on the lights, fumbling my way to the bathroom in the dark, rinsing my numb, frozen body with hot water. Water flowed over my collarbone. Below it was a very deep scar. It was left when Evan saved me, taking a thug’s knife meant for me. Back then he held me, blood flowing endlessly, yet still comforted me. “Sage, I’ll keep this scar, so even if you try to run away, you’ll remember me when you see it.” Now, the scar remained, but the person had changed. After showering, I curled up on the large bed, forcing myself to close my eyes. I don’t know how much time passed before the bedroom door was violently pushed open. A man reeking of alcohol and faintly of perfume walked in. Holt yanked off his tie and pressed down on me directly. He didn’t turn on the light, his movements rough without a trace of tenderness. “It hurts…” I frowned, reaching up to push him away. But Holt grabbed my wrists, pinning them firmly above my head. His warm breath sprayed against my neck as he spoke with icy cruelty. “Why did you make a scene at the banquet tonight? Isn’t the money I usually give you enough?” My heart stopped beating. In the darkness, I opened my eyes wide. “Holt, you think I did it for money?” Holt gave a cold laugh, lowering his head to bite my collarbone, right where that scar was. “What else? When you kept an amnesiac me all those years ago, wasn’t it because you saw that million-dollar watch on me, calculating that my identity must be wealthy or noble?” A roaring sound filled my head. I felt something in my brain completely explode.

Sage’s POV I never imagined that in Holt’s heart, my saving him three years ago was a calculated investment. “That watch… you had a high fever and got sick. I sold it to pay your hospital bill.” My voice trembled. “The buyer said it was a fake watch and only gave me two hundred dollars. That day, I donated four hundred milliliters of blood to scrape together your medical expenses.” In the darkness, Holt’s movements suddenly stopped. But his voice quickly grew even colder. “Enough. Stop bringing up those old things to emphasize your contributions. These three years, the material compensation I’ve given you could buy you a hundred of those dumps.” Old things. Those three years of struggling through life and death together, in his eyes, had become dismissible old things. He had no foreplay, possessing me almost like a punishment. I bit down hard on the pillow, not letting out a single whimper. I stared at the ceiling with open eyes. In this sexual encounter, there was only release, no love. After it was over, Holt got up and went to the bathroom. The sound of running water started. I lay on the bed, my whole body aching. On the nightstand, Holt’s phone suddenly lit up. It was a message. The screen wasn’t locked, and the message popped up directly. Melanie: “Holt, I’ve already had people release tonight’s media statement. Your mother loves the buzz about our engagement. Get some rest early.” Immediately following was a design sketch. It was a draft of custom wedding rings from a top-tier brand. I stared at the glaring word “engagement,” my stomach churning, and suddenly leaned over the edge of the bed retching. Holt walked out from the bathroom wrapped in a towel, frowning at me. “What now?” His tone carried undisguised impatience. “If you’re not feeling well, go find the housekeeper to get you medicine. Don’t play pitiful in front of me.” I raised my head. I pointed at the lit phone screen. “You’re getting engaged?” Holt followed my finger, his expression darkening imperceptibly. But he quickly regained his cold demeanor. He walked over to pick up his phone, saying flatly. “Just a business marriage. It’s just a publicity stunt for the two families’ cooperation, to reassure shareholders. You don’t understand these things, so don’t ask.” “I don’t understand?” I laughed. “Holt Thornton, I don’t understand. I don’t understand why, if you’re marrying her, you still keep me locked in this cage. Why did you watch her humiliate me tonight?” “Sage!” Holt’s eyes turned completely cold. “Don’t forget your position. I let you live in this villa, gave you a life of luxury. You should know your place. Don’t compare yourself to Melanie. You can’t compare.” You can’t compare. Yes, what could I compare with? She was a wealthy heiress; I was just a poor woman struggling in the mud at the bottom. “Fine.” I suddenly calmed down, looking into Holt’s eyes. “I understand.” I stopped arguing, stopped making a fuss. He didn’t say anything more, turning to go to the adjacent guest bedroom. The next morning, Holt left early for the office. I’d just started toward the kitchen to pour some water when I heard the butler respectfully open the door. “Madam, you’re here.” Holt’s mother Mrs Thornton walked in wearing haute couture, escorted by two bodyguards. Seeing me in my thin nightgown, her eyes filled with extreme disgust. She walked straight to the sofa and sat down, coldly surveying me. “Sit. I’m here today to inform you.” Mrs Thornton threw a document on the coffee table. I didn’t sit, only stared at the document. “Tomorrow, Holt will officially announce his engagement to the Davis family’s daughter. I don’t want a stain like you existing in the Thornton family’s territory.” Her tone was condescending, like dismissing a beggar. If it were before, I would have firmly told her: I’m with him not for money, and unless he personally tells me to leave, I won’t go. But now, I just stood there quietly. Mrs Thornton sneered. “Don’t expect Holt to protect you either. You really think he still cares about you? He just doesn’t want to dirty his hands getting rid of you. Take a look at this agreement.”

Sage’s POV I stepped forward and opened the agreement. Every word on it crushed what little dignity I had left. “The old city district in the south has already been acquired by Thornton Corporation. Demolition starts tomorrow.” Mrs Thornton toyed with the ring on her finger, her tone casual yet cutting with every word. “That dump you lived in for three years is on the first batch demolition list.” I jerked my head up. “That house… is our last memory.” That thirty-square-meter old house. It had the shelf Evan had nailed up for me with his own hands, the secondhand sofa we’d saved up to buy, and on the wall was the height chart Evan had drawn bit by bit with a pencil for both of us. That was my only home left in this world. “Memory?” She looked like she’d heard the biggest joke. “You used that filthy pigsty to hold my Thornton heir hostage for three years of his youth. You think that’s a memory? I think it’s the Thornton family’s greatest shame!” Mrs Thornton’s eyes suddenly turned vicious. “Sign this voluntary departure statement, take this fifty million, and disappear from Holt’s world forever. That ruin I can decide to leave standing.” “If you still won’t leave…” She stood up, looking down at me from above. “Not only that house, but you won’t survive in this city at all.” I stared hard at the document on the coffee table. My fingers trembled violently. My last shred of resistance was crumbling. I didn’t want to take this money, but even more, I couldn’t let the last traces of “Evan’s” existence be crushed by bulldozers. “Fine.” After a long while, I heard my hoarse voice speak. “I’ll sign. But I don’t want the money. Please don’t demolish the house.” Mrs Thornton was clearly stunned for a moment, then pushed the agreement in front of me, her face full of mockery. “At least you know what’s good for you.” After shakily signing “Sage” on the document, she left with her people in a grand procession. The villa returned to deathly silence. I looked at the calendar. Today was Wednesday. Tomorrow, Holt would announce his engagement. I took a deep breath, changed into clean clothes, grabbed my bag, and left. I wanted to see Holt one last time. Not to beg him to stay, just to say a complete goodbye. I took a cab to Thornton Corporation. The towering skyscraper reached into the clouds. This was Holt’s kingdom now. I walked to the front desk and said softly. “I’d like to see Mr. Thornton.” The receptionist looked me up and down. “Do you have an appointment?” She asked coldly. “No… could you please make a call for me? Just say it’s Sage…” “I’m sorry, too many women come every day pretending to look for Mr. Thornton.” The receptionist cut me off without mercy. “No appointment, no entry. Security, please escort this woman out.” I was forcefully pushed out by security. Just as I was being pushed through the revolving door, a group of bodyguards in suits cleared the way, and Holt walked out of the private elevator. Beside him were not only executives but also Melanie. “Holt, shall we go try on wedding dresses this Friday?” Melanie held his arm, her face radiant with smiles. Holt nodded slightly. Though his expression was indifferent, he didn’t refuse. He looked up and inadvertently caught sight of me being shoved outside the glass doors by security. Our eyes met. I hoped he would stop. But Holt’s brow instantly furrowed. He said something in a low voice to his special assistant Jeff, then escorted Melanie through the VIP passage on the other side and directly got in the car. Not even a second’s pause. Jeff hurried out and stopped me as I tried to move forward. “Miss Sage.” The assistant’s tone was businesslike and cold. “Mr. Thornton says don’t run around everywhere embarrassing yourself. He has an important business dinner tonight and asks you to go home first.” Embarrassing. This was Holt’s only evaluation of me now. I watched that sedan drive away, and finally cried. I didn’t go home. I went to the old city district in the south.

Sage’s POV The old district was cordoned off with warning tape. I bypassed the tape and climbed up that familiar, dilapidated building. I reached the familiar door number and had just taken out my key to unlock it. The enormous roar of excavators sounded outside the building. I ran to the window in terror and looked down. Several large excavators were leveling this area. “Wait! There’s someone inside!” I shouted down at them. But the machinery was too loud. No one could hear me. Half of this building’s load-bearing walls had already been knocked down, and the entire structure was shaking violently. Glass shattered, dust filled the air. These people weren’t starting tomorrow at all. They’d come early today to clear the site! Mrs Thornton had lied to me. Even though I’d signed, she’d never planned to preserve this “Thornton family disgrace.” “Don’t demolish it! Don’t demolish it!” I ran downstairs like mad, rushing in front of the excavator and spreading my arms to block it. The lead worker was startled, quickly stopped the machine, got out, and cursed. “Crazy woman, you want to die? Thornton Corporation bought this land ages ago. It has to be leveled today!” “This is my home!” I screamed. “What home? You don’t even have a property deed. Get lost!” The workers came up to drag me away. I clung desperately to a pillar and took out my phone. At a time like this, the only person I could call for help was the owner of this land. I dialed Holt’s number. Once, he hung up. Twice, he hung up. On the third try, the call finally connected. Only it wasn’t Holt’s voice on the other end. “Hello?” Melanie’s coquettish voice came through the receiver, with a hint of lazy displeasure at being disturbed. “Holt’s in the shower. Miss Sage, be tactful and don’t call at a time like this to spoil the mood.” My brain buzzed, going completely blank. He was at the office this afternoon, and at seven in the evening they were showering. What kind of shower, it was obvious. Overwhelming despair flooded over me like a tide. I clutched my phone tightly. “Melanie, give the phone to Holt, please… help me give him the phone! Thornton Corporation is demolishing the south district houses, and my things are inside!” “Oh, the south district house.” Melanie laughed lightly on the other end. “That was his mother’s idea. But Holt also signed the approval just now. After all, trash from that kind of slum really doesn’t deserve to exist.” Trash. The shelf Evan made with his own hands, the height chart Evan drew. The time we spent keeping each other warm was trash. “He knew…” I murmured, tears quietly streaming down. “He actually knew everything…” The call was mercilessly disconnected. The workers lost patience, yanked me aside, and roughly pushed me to the ground. “Stop wasting time. Start work!” With a tremendous crash, the small attic that held all my love and hope from three years collapsed under the excavator’s swing. In the dust cloud, I lay on the ground. For a moment, I felt my heart had also shattered with this building into fragments, buried in the rubble. I had nothing left. When I left that ruins, the sky had turned completely dark. I walked home in a daze, dragging my feet. My phone vibrated. It was a text from the assistant: “Miss Sage, Mr. Thornton is at Nightshade Club in VIP room 888. He wants you to change clothes and come immediately.” I looked at the words on the screen without saying anything. I didn’t change clothes. I just wore those clothes covered in dirt and dust, put on flat shoes, and took a cab to “Nightshade.”

Sage’s POV The moment I pushed open the private room door. The noise inside came to an abrupt halt. Everyone’s eyes fell on me. Holt sat on the black leather sofa in the center. The lighting in the room was dim and ambiguous. His shirt collar was slightly open, sleeves rolled to his forearms, fingertips holding a half-burned cigarette. Melanie nestled obediently at his side, holding a glass of fruit wine. Seeing me, Holt’s brow visibly furrowed. “What the hell happened to you?” His tone was full of disgust, without a trace of concern. I stood in the doorway looking at him. After a long while, I asked in a hoarse voice. “You signed to have the house in the south district demolished. Is that right?” The people in the room exchanged glances, the atmosphere instantly freezing. Holt stubbed out his cigarette in the ashtray, looking at me coldly. “That dump should have been torn down ages ago. Didn’t Mom give you compensation? Don’t be so greedy.” “Dump…” I laughed. It looked worse than crying. “That was your favorite place to be! In winter when the wind came through, you’d hold me in your arms all night; in summer with no air conditioning, you’d fan me all night long!” My voice grew louder and louder, my emotions teetering on the edge of collapse. “Holt Thornton, that was our home! How could you… how could you destroy it like garbage!” “Shut up!” Holt’s face turned iron-gray as he stood up abruptly. The men around didn’t dare breathe. “Holt, don’t be angry.” Melanie stood up at just the right moment, grabbing Holt’s arm, then turned to look at me, her eyes full of malicious provocation. “Miss Sage, the past is the past. Holt is going to be the Thornton family head now. How can he keep such an unseemly past?” She poured a full glass of liquor. It was high-proof vodka mixed with red wine. “Since you’re here, have a drink.” Melanie held the glass in front of me. “I heard Miss Sage has a bad stomach, but everyone here is someone of status. Miss Sage should at least give us this much face, right?” Everyone was watching me. I had severe gastric ulcers. Three years ago, to treat Holt, I worked three jobs a day, often eating only one piece of bread all day, and ruined my stomach. During one gastric hemorrhage episode, Evan knelt outside the emergency room crying and slapping himself, swearing he’d never let me touch alcohol again. I turned to look at Holt. “Do you want me to drink too?” If he just said one word, don’t drink. I would forgive him for destroying the house today. But Holt only coldly averted his gaze, sat back down on the sofa, and picked up a glass of wine to swirl it. “Melanie poured you a drink. That’s doing you a favor. Drink it and get lost. Don’t kill everyone’s mood here.” The last steel wire hanging over the cliff snapped. I looked at this familiar yet strange face. Fine. Just fine. I reached out and took that glass of liquor. A flash of triumph crossed Melanie’s eyes. I tilted my head back and downed that glass of harsh liquid without even furrowing my brow. The alcohol cut through my esophagus like a blade, landing in my already fragile stomach. Instantly igniting a raging fire. Bang. I slammed the empty glass heavily on the coffee table. A sharp, twisting pain tore through my stomach, as if something inside was ripping me apart. Large beads of cold sweat broke out on my forehead. But I clenched my teeth and didn’t cry out. I looked deeply at Holt one last time. Without waiting for anyone to speak, I clutched my stomach, bent over, turned, and walked out of the private room. The moment I turned around, Holt’s fingers holding the cigarette trembled uncontrollably. But I didn’t care anymore.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “379125”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

Our third anniversary. I waited all night. But my husband was with his lover, protecting her baby. He forced me, pregnant, to apologize to his mistress and called me cruel. They forced me to down seven glasses of liquor. Before I passed out from vomiting blood, I told him. “The child in my belly was killed by your own hands. Are you satisfied now?” He knelt and begged for forgiveness like a madman. But he didn’t know that I had already taken the check his mother gave me and flown to a world without him. This time, I would make sure he regretted it for the rest of his life. Natalie’s POV The clock hand slowly slid past midnight. I sat at the empty dining table, staring at the completely melted ice cream cake in front of me. Today was our third wedding anniversary. It was also the day Ethan promised that no matter how busy he was, he would rush home to be with me. But he broke his promise. Outside the window, thunder and lightning raged. Lightning split the pitch-black sky, illuminating the villa’s pale walls in a blinding flash. I took out my phone. The screen was completely empty. Not a single message. Not one missed call. I took a deep breath and dialed the number I knew by heart. The phone rang for a long time before someone answered. “Hello.” The man’s voice carried a trace of fatigue and impatience. “Ethan, when are you coming home? I’m still waiting for you.” I tried to keep my voice steady, but my fingers nervously twisted the corner of my clothes. There was two seconds of silence on the other end. Then, a delicate female voice suddenly came through, tinged with a suppressed sob. “Ethan… I’m scared…” My heart sank suddenly, as if plunging into a bottomless ice cellar. Vivian. It was Vivian again. “Natalie,” Ethan’s tone instantly turned cold, carrying an unquestionable commanding tone. “Something happened with Vivian. She’s been afraid of thunder since childhood, and today she’s very emotionally unstable. I’m not coming home tonight. Go to bed early.” “But today is our-” “Natalie!” He raised his voice and cut me off. “Vivian can’t be left alone right now. Can’t you be understanding? It’s just an anniversary. We’ll have plenty of time to make it up later. Stop being so unreasonable!” Unreasonable? I forced a bitter smile, my eyes burning. In three years of marriage, whenever Vivian made one phone call, even if it was the middle of the night, even if Ethan had a high fever, he would push me away without hesitation and rush to that woman. “Ethan, I’m only going to ask you one thing.” I bit down hard on my lower lip, tasting blood. “If you don’t go out today, will you actually die?” “What are you going crazy about?” Ethan was clearly angry. “Vivian has severe depression. If she does something foolish, can you take responsibility? Natalie, when did you become so vicious!” The call was mercilessly disconnected. I stared blankly at the darkened screen, and tears finally broke through like a dam. Vicious? I just wanted my own husband to stay home on our third anniversary and eat a piece of cake with me. And that made me vicious? I stood up and walked to the dining room trash can. I took the cake I’d spent all afternoon making by hand, the one that had burned my hand when I unmolded it, and threw it in, plate and all. Cream splattered everywhere, just like my three year marriage, falling apart into something unrecognizable. At two in the morning, the rain fell even harder. My head felt like it was splitting, and my stomach churned with waves of pain. I already had a stomach condition. Today, waiting for Ethan, I hadn’t had a drop of water since noon. I fumbled to get my stomach medicine from the drawer, only to find the bottle had long been empty. Pain. Piercing pain. I curled up on the sofa, cold sweat soaking through my thin nightgown. I wanted to call Ethan, but thinking of his earlier word “vicious,” my fingertips froze. With trembling hands, I called my assistant Jake. Half an hour later, Jake arrived with an umbrella and took me, nearly unconscious from pain, to the hospital. By the time I was hooked up to an IV, dawn had already broken. The emergency room corridor was cold and deserted, with only the pungent smell of disinfectant making me want to vomit. I leaned against the hospital bed, watching the IV drip down drop by drop, my eyes vacant. “Miss Davis, you really can’t keep putting off this stomach condition. You need to eat on time. Where’s your family? Why are you here alone?” When the nurse came to change my medication, she couldn’t help but ask. “He’s… busy.” I lowered my eyes. Just then, urgent footsteps echoed from the end of the corridor. I instinctively looked up, but the moment I saw who it was, my blood instantly froze. Ethan. He wore the same trench coat he’d had on when he left last night. In his arms, he carefully cradled a woman. The woman buried her face deep in his chest, wearing his suit jacket draped over her. “Doctor! Where’s the doctor? She slit her wrists!” Ethan’s voice carried unprecedented panic and loss of control. This was an Ethan I had never seen. Even when we got married and he read his vows, he had only looked indifferent. But now, for Vivian, even his voice was trembling. The two rushed past my hospital room. Ethan’s gaze was locked on the person in his arms. He didn’t even glance sideways. I stared at that retreating figure, feeling the stabbing pain in my stomach spread to my heart. It hurt so much that even breathing became a luxury.

Natalie’s POV Vivian was successfully resuscitated. Actually, the wound wasn’t deep. The doctor said it only broke the surface skin and didn’t even need stitches, just bandaging. But Ethan acted as if it were a matter of life and death. He insisted on arranging the highest-level VIP room for her and stayed by her side every moment. I pulled out the IV needle and, supporting my weak body, shuffled step by step to the VIP room entrance. The door was ajar. The voices inside clearly hammered into my ears. “Ethan, I’m sorry… I’ve caused you trouble again.” Vivian leaned against the headboard, her eyes red and rimmed with tears that fell like broken pearls. “I was just so scared. The sound of thunder made me feel like the whole world had abandoned me. I know yesterday was your anniversary with Natalie. I shouldn’t have bothered you. You should go back. Natalie must be angry with me…” The more she spoke, the more aggrieved she became, clutching the blanket, her thin shoulders shaking. Ethan sat by the bed and gently reached up to wipe away her tears, his movements so tender they could drip water. “Don’t overthink it.” He softened his voice, his tone full of indulgence and heartache. “Whether she’s angry or not doesn’t matter. Your health is what’s most important. Don’t ever do something this foolish again, understand?” “But Natalie…” “Don’t worry about her.” Ethan frowned, a flash of disgust in his eyes. “If she doesn’t even have this much tolerance, she doesn’t deserve to sit in the position of Mrs. Shaw.” I stood outside the door, feeling as if all the blood had been drained from my body in an instant. Doesn’t deserve. So in my husband’s heart, I didn’t even have the right to be angry. If I didn’t accommodate Vivian, I lacked tolerance and didn’t deserve my position. I took a deep breath and suddenly pushed open the ajar door. “Bang!” The two people in the room simultaneously turned their heads. Vivian shrank into Ethan’s arms like a startled deer, her voice trembling as she called out. “Natalie…” Ethan’s face instantly darkened. He immediately used his body to shield Vivian, as if protecting a rare treasure, and looked at me coldly. “What are you doing here?” His gaze landed on my face but didn’t linger for half a second, only filled with questioning. “Who told you to find this place?” “This is a hospital. Why can’t I be here?” I pulled at my dry, cracked lips and smiled. “Ethan, I’m your wife. Can’t I come visit your ‘little sister’?” I deliberately emphasized the words “little sister.” Ethan’s brow furrowed even tighter. He stood up, strode over to me, grabbed my wrist, and dragged me toward the door. “Natalie, stop being disgusting! Vivian just suffered a shock and can’t handle your attitude. Get out of here right now!” His grip was extremely strong. Already weak, I stumbled when he yanked me, and my knee slammed hard into the door frame. Piercing pain. But I didn’t cry out. I just stared at the man in front of me. “Ethan, I had acute gastric bleeding last night. I was alone in the emergency room on an IV all night.” My voice was very soft. “When you were holding her and shouting for help, did you ever think that your wife was also dying from pain?” Ethan froze for a moment. His gaze unconsciously fell on the back of my hand. There was indeed a bruise there, left from when I’d pulled out the IV needle. A flash of panic crossed his eyes, but it was quickly replaced by irritation. “You’re standing right here, aren’t you?” His face was cold, his voice stiff. “A stomachache. Just take some medicine. Did you have to come here at this moment to play the victim in front of Vivian? Natalie, you weren’t this petty before.” Petty? Playing the victim? I suddenly felt the absurdity of it all. I burst out laughing, laughing until tears came out. “Yes, I’m petty. I’m playing the victim. Vivian barely scratches her skin and it’s life or death, but my gastric bleeding is my own fault, right?” I forcefully shook off Ethan’s hand and took a step back. “Ethan, you disgust me.” With that, I turned and walked away, my spine straight. But only I knew that my heart had shattered into powder at this moment. Ethan instinctively took a step forward, as if wanting to grab me. “Ethan…” Vivian on the bed suddenly clutched her chest and let out a pained moan. “My chest hurts so much…” Ethan immediately stopped and rushed back to the bed. “Doctor! Get a doctor here immediately!” In the corridor, I listened to the anxious shouts behind me, and tears silently fell from the corners of my eyes. This round, I lost again. And I lost completely.

Natalie’s POV Three days later, the Shaw family estate held a banquet. I didn’t want to go, but Ethan’s grandfather, Samuel Shaw, personally called me. I was only able to marry into the Shaw family because he insisted, despite everyone’s opposition. In this family, Samuel was the only person who genuinely cared about me. I put on slightly heavier makeup to cover the haggardness from days of insomnia and stomach pain. As soon as I walked into the living room, the originally lively atmosphere instantly turned cold. Everyone’s gaze fell behind me. I turned around. Ethan had his arm around Vivian’s shoulder and was slowly walking in. Vivian wore a pure white haute couture gown, like a fragile porcelain doll, frail and boneless as she leaned against the man. That dress was a globally limited edition from a certain luxury brand. I’d seen it once in a magazine and casually mentioned it looked nice. At the time, Ethan promised it would be my third anniversary gift. Now, that dress was on Vivian. How ironic. “Natalie, don’t misunderstand.” Seeing me, Vivian immediately pulled away from Ethan as if electrocuted, nervously clutching her dress. “Mr. Shaw said the banquet would be lively. Ethan was afraid I’d be bored alone in the hospital, so he brought me to get some fresh air.” How thoughtful. I watched her clumsy performance coldly and said word by word: “Since when are outsiders allowed at Shaw family banquets?” As soon as I spoke, the surroundings fell silent enough to hear a pin drop. Ethan’s expression instantly sank to rock bottom. He pulled Vivian back to his side, his gaze cutting at me like a knife. “Natalie, watch your words. Vivian is my lifesaver. In this family, she is not an outsider.” Lifesaver. That damned lifesaver again. Years ago, when Ethan was kidnapped, Vivian took a knife for him. Because of that one knife, Ethan worshipped Vivian like a deity, giving her the stars if not the moon. I took a deep breath. Just as I was about to speak, Samuel came down from upstairs with his cane. “What’s all this noise!” Samuel’s authoritative voice echoed through the hall. He walked downstairs, glared fiercely at Ethan, then waved at me. “Natalie, come help me to the dining room.” Suppressing my bitterness, I walked over and supported Samuel. During the meal, the atmosphere was bizarrely tense. Vivian sat next to Ethan like a person who couldn’t take care of herself. She wanted soup, Ethan personally ladled it for her. She looked at the shrimp in the distance, Ethan put on gloves to peel them for her. All his gentleness, all his patience, went entirely to her. And I, the legitimate Mrs. Shaw, was ignored by everyone. “Ethan, I want to eat that salmon.” Vivian pointed at the poached salmon in front of me. Samuel had specifically ordered the kitchen to make it for me. Without even glancing at me, Ethan stood up and placed it in front of Vivian. “Eat more. You’re too thin.” My grip on my chopsticks tightened sharply. “Enough!” Samuel finally couldn’t take it anymore and slammed his chopsticks on the table. “Ethan, do you even see your wife anymore?!” Ethan paused, his tone flat but rebellious. “Vivian’s body is weak. She needs nutrition. Natalie is healthy. She can eat anything.” Can eat anything. My stomach began to ache faintly again. After the banquet ended, Samuel called Ethan to the study. I walked alone to the back garden for air. The night breeze was cool, blowing against my face and clearing my head somewhat. “Natalie.” A ghostly voice sounded behind me. I turned around to see Vivian holding a glass of red wine, slowly walking toward me. Where was the frail, helpless appearance from the dining table? Now her eyes were full of provocation and triumph. “Can I help you?” I looked at her coldly. “Nothing much. Just wanted to thank you.” Vivian walked up to me and looked down at her white dress. “This dress is so beautiful. Ethan said only I deserve to wear it. What do you think, Natalie?” I smiled instead of getting angry. “Someone else’s hand-me-down trash that you treat like treasure. I have nothing to say.” Vivian’s face instantly twisted. “Natalie, what are you so smug about?” She lowered her voice. “You think occupying the position of Mrs. Shaw means anything? Ethan doesn’t love you at all! He won’t even touch you!” “Whether he touches me or not is none of your business. As long as I don’t divorce, you’ll forever be a mistress who can’t show her face in public.” I didn’t back down. “Is that so?” Vivian suddenly smiled strangely. The next second, she violently splashed the red wine in her hand onto her own dress, then grabbed my hand and shoved it hard against herself. Vivian screamed and rolled down the steps. I stood frozen, not yet understanding what had happened, when a dark figure charged over like an enraged leopard. “Vivian!” Ethan shoved me aside, the force so great it threw me directly into the nearby rose bushes. Sharp thorns pierced my palm, and blood immediately gushed out. But Ethan couldn’t see it at all. He picked up Vivian, who lay on the ground crying, then looked up at me with eyes that wanted to kill me. “Natalie, if anything happens to the child in Vivian’s belly, I’ll make you pay with your life!” Like a thunderbolt from clear skies. I sat collapsed in the thorny rose bushes, letting blood drip down, yet feeling no pain at all. Child. Vivian was pregnant. So this was what he meant when he said he wouldn’t even touch me.

Natalie’s POV I don’t know how I made it back to the villa. The wound in my palm from the rose thorns was deep enough to see flesh, dried blood crusted on my pale skin, a shocking sight. But I sat on the sofa, paying no attention. In my mind, I kept replaying Ethan’s furious and cruel eyes when he picked up Vivian, and those words: “If anything happens to the child in Vivian’s belly, I’ll make you pay with your life.” He wanted me to pay with my life. For Vivian’s child. These three years, to cure his stomach condition, I enrolled in cooking classes. To have common topics with him, I stayed up late reading boring business reports. To please his family, I endured countless grievances. I thought even a stone could be warmed. But it turned out the stone was only cold to me. Suddenly, a sharp wave of nausea surged up from my stomach. I rushed into the bathroom and violently vomited over the toilet. I hadn’t eaten anything in the evening. What came up was all acid, and by the end, there were even faint traces of blood. I leaned weakly against the cold tiles, my hand trembling as it touched my lower abdomen. A few days ago, feeling unwell, I had taken a pregnancy test. Two lines. I had planned to tell Ethan this good news on our third anniversary. I thought that with a child, the ice between us might finally melt. But now it seemed everything was a complete joke. Ding. My phone suddenly received a message. I opened the screen. It was a photo from Vivian. In the photo, Ethan was asleep lying against the hospital bed, his hand tightly holding Vivian’s, their fingers interlocked. Beside it was an ultrasound report. Though I couldn’t see the specific data, those two words were particularly glaring: Early pregnancy. Then a voice message came through. I opened it with trembling hands. “Natalie, the doctor says the baby is very healthy. Ethan said once he settles things with you, he’ll give me and the baby a proper home. You’ve occupied him for three years. It’s time to be sensible and give up your position. After all, the person who isn’t loved is the real third party.” The person who isn’t loved is the real third party. These words were like a rusty dull knife, repeatedly pulling and cutting at my heart, so painful I could barely breathe. I opened my contacts, looked at the name “Ethan,” and called. After three rings, it was answered. “Are you ever going to stop?” The man’s voice on the other end suppressed anger, even deliberately lowered to avoid waking the person beside him. “Vivian just fell asleep. What game are you playing now?” I took a deep breath. “Ethan, is it true she’s pregnant?” There was an eerie silence for a few seconds on the other end. “Yes.” Ethan’s voice no longer hid anything, carrying a kind of reckless indifference. “Since you already know, there’s no need for me to hide it. This child was an accident, but since it exists, I have to be responsible.” “Responsible?” I laughed. “You’re being responsible to her. What about me? I’m your wife. You cheated during our marriage and got someone else pregnant. Don’t you feel even a bit sorry for me?” “Natalie, don’t use that victim tone with me!” Ethan completely lost his patience. “If my grandfather hadn’t threatened to die, do you think I would have married you? These three years, you’ve held the title of Mrs. Shaw and enjoyed wealth and privilege most people never experience. What more do you want? I haven’t even settled with you for pushing Vivian tonight. You’d better behave!” “What if I said I didn’t push her at all?” My voice trembled. “Enough! I saw it with my own eyes. Can that be fake? You’re hopeless!” The call was once again mercilessly disconnected. I closed my eyes. Tears silently slid from the corners, shattering into a puddle on the cold tiles. I thought I would be hysterical, thought I would break down crying. But when this moment truly arrived, I found my heart was completely hollow. All my expectations, all my love, crumbled at his words “hopeless.” Early the next morning, I went to the hospital. But not to the VIP ward. I went to the obstetrics department. On the way out this morning, my mind was in a daze. I fell down the stairs and miscarried on the spot. I cried my heart out. I’m sorry, baby. Mommy can’t bring you into this world to suffer. Your father has already given all his love to someone else. Rather than have you born unwanted, it’s better you never appeared at all. From now on, Ethan and I are finished.

Natalie’s POV After the miscarriage, I left the hospital and went straight back to the villa. This house I’d lived in for three years was filled everywhere with traces of my careful arrangement. The plants I’d personally grown on the balcony, the throw pillows I’d chosen for the sofa, even the matching couple’s mugs on the coffee table. I thought this was home. It was actually just a gilded cage. I walked into the bedroom and pulled out the suitcase from the bottom of the closet. I didn’t take any of the designer bags or expensive jewelry Ethan bought me. Only the few old clothes I’d brought when I came, and some necessities. When I reached the nightstand, I saw that velvet box. Inside was the wedding ring. A diamond the size of a quail’s egg, dazzling and brilliant. When we got married, Ethan had his assistant randomly pick out the ring. He said he was too busy and didn’t have time to try it on. I removed the ring and placed it in the box, gently closing it. Everything was over. I sat at the desk and took out a document I’d drafted long ago from the drawer. Divorce Agreement. Without a moment’s hesitation, I signed “Natalie Davis” in the wife’s signature column. I had not a shred of reluctance. I asked for nothing and left with nothing. As long as I could escape this man, I found even a single penny dirty. After neatly placing the divorce agreement and wedding ring in the most visible spot on the dining table, I dragged my suitcase to the entryway. Just then, the door suddenly beeped open. Ethan walked in, travel-worn. He still carried the smell of hospital disinfectant, exhaustion written all over his face. Seeing me standing in the entryway holding a suitcase, his brow instantly knotted into a tight frown. “What are you making a fuss about now?” Ethan looked at me coldly, his tone full of impatience. “Vivian’s been in the hospital these past few days preserving her pregnancy. I don’t have time to come back and perform this running-away-from-home act with you.” He stopped in front of me, his gaze sweeping over the cheap old suitcase in my hand, a hint of mockery flashing in his eyes. “What? Upset I didn’t spend time with you, so you’re using this trick to force me to give in?” He loosened his tie and casually tossed his suit jacket on the sofa. “Natalie, can’t you be more mature? Vivian is pregnant and her body is very weak. I was there taking care of her, not playing around. Can’t you be understanding and stop causing trouble at times like this?” Understanding. Causing trouble. Looking at this man I’d loved for seven years and been married to for three, I only felt he was terrifyingly unfamiliar. I suddenly felt like laughing, and I actually did laugh. “What are you laughing at?” Ethan was extremely irritated. “Nothing.” I shook my head, looking at him like a complete stranger. “Ethan, I’m not making a fuss, and I’m not performing. I’m really leaving.” “Leaving?” Ethan seemed to hear the world’s biggest joke. He stepped closer, looking down at me from above. “Natalie, without me, you don’t even have the capital to survive in this city! The moment you walk out that door, tomorrow you’ll come crawling back like a dog begging me to let you return!” I looked at him without arguing, just quietly looking. “Say whatever you want.” I gripped the suitcase handle tightly. “I’ve left everything behind. The divorce agreement is on the dining table. I’ve already signed it. Whenever you have time, we’ll go process it. If you’re not available, you can have your lawyer contact me.” Ethan froze. He instinctively turned to look at the dining table. There was indeed a document there, with that familiar velvet box on top. “Fine. Very good.” Ethan laughed in anger, pointing at the door. “Natalie, you brought this on yourself. Step out that door, and don’t ever expect me to look at you again.” “That suits me perfectly.” Without any hesitation, without even looking at him again, I walked past him, pushed open the door, and left without looking back. Bang! The security door slammed shut behind me with a heavy thud. Inside the villa, silence fell like death. I stood outside the door and took a deep breath. I didn’t look back. Because I truly didn’t love him anymore.

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A New York tycoon named Holden Lancaster sponsored two poor students. One was the pure and innocent Charlotte Shaw. The other was me—beautiful on the outside, but supposedly brainless. The difference was that the former was someone he begged on his knees to sponsor. The latter was me, who shamelessly begged him for help. Years later, I became Holden Lancaster’s secret lover. And Charlotte returned from studying abroad. At nine PM, while Holden and I were having sex and he was about to change positions. I caught a faint whiff of gardenia perfume on the back of his neck. At that moment, my scalp tingled. I realized almost instantly— Charlotte was back. She had once stepped on my finger bones with her dance shoes in the studio. Cheerfully cut up my practice clothes with scissors in the changing room. And cursed me out as a shameless seductress in front of everyone. The scent drifting from her body was this same disgusting fragrance. Holden bit my ear, his eyes full of desire. I instantly lost all interest. I pushed him away. “I don’t want to do this anymore.” Holden indulged me, lighting a post-sex cigarette and laughing. “Tsk, which one of us is supposed to be the sugar daddy here?” That scent still lingered on him. I opened my mouth, about to ask about it. His phone rang. A weak female voice came through the receiver. “Holden, I drank too much and my stomach hurts. Can you come pick me up?” “If it’s not convenient, never mind…” Holden’s expression changed instantly. He hung up the phone and brushed me off without leaving a trace. “Something urgent came up at the company. Go to sleep early.” Watching his panicked, retreating figure, I lay in the darkness with my eyes open. Suddenly I remembered a few things. When I first received his sponsorship, rumors that I was being kept spread throughout the entire school. I anxiously explained to everyone, but Holden took a phone call and told me: Forget it. The year I graduated, I received a spot to study abroad. Charlotte wanted to go too. Holden looked at me affectionately and said: Eve, stay by my side. In my third year with Holden, I got pregnant. An overseas call came in. Holden said with difficulty: Get rid of it. Now isn’t the right time. And now, I’d slept in the same bed with him for over a thousand nights. But I still couldn’t compete with one phone call from Charlotte. Half an hour later, Holden’s close friend posted on social media. A photo with a location tag. Caption: [True love conquers all! Congratulations to Holden for finally winning over his one true love!] In the picture, Charlotte nestled in Holden’s arms as he kissed her forehead. The usually wild and reckless man’s eyes held no trace of frivolity, only tenderness. Just a kiss. I clenched my fists, letting my nails dig into my flesh. Telling myself not to care. In all of New York, seven whole years of support—what was one kiss? Just as I was about to put down my phone. A notification popped up on Instagram: Charlotte followed you.

She wanted me to search for clues on her Instagram. So I obliged. I discovered— On Christmas Eve, my birthday, he didn’t come home not because he couldn’t, but because he was abroad making apple pie with Charlotte. When I had a fever of 104 degrees and a concerned neighbor called an ambulance, he boarded a red-eye flight because Charlotte had a nightmare. Six months ago, when I passed out on set from period cramps, he was making chocolate in Charlotte’s apartment. I scrolled down bit by bit. My finger swiped rapidly across the screen. Calm, as if I were an outsider to whom this had nothing to do. Until I saw one particular photo. My heart suddenly plummeted with pain. Japan, in a snowstorm. They were in snowy Hokkaido, soaking in hot springs and sipping fine wine. Holden reached under Charlotte’s arms, lifted her up, and carefully tossed her into the thick snow. He was laughing so happily. I had never seen such an unrestrained smile on Holden’s face. Charlotte’s caption: [Even this rigid iceberg melts for me.] The date in the bottom right corner of the picture was glaring. That day, I lay alone in a cold operating room, having my child removed. After the abortion, I felt completely hollow inside. I asked him when he’d be back from his business trip. He only replied with one word: Busy. A rumble of thunder. Raindrops violently struck the window, pulling me from my memories. The rain was pouring down. He wouldn’t be coming back tonight. I turned off my phone to go to sleep. Charlotte’s message popped up at just the right moment: “Eve, Holden’s drunk. Can you come pick him up?” In the end, I still went. When I arrived at the private room, they were playing Truth or Dare. Holden’s buddies chimed in one after another. “Holden, you waited for Charlotte for so long, and finally got what you wanted.” “What about Eve… how do you plan to handle that?” Holden’s expression darkened. “What? You got your eye on her?” “I wouldn’t dare!” The man sneered. “Holden’s woman—who would dare touch her?” “Seven years ago you got with her to practice your bedroom skills. Our Charlotte is really blessed now.” “But after sleeping with her for so many years, you must have learned some techniques, right?” I looked at them coldly, my heart colder than being thrown into an ice cellar. Holden’s words were like a dull knife, viciously cutting into my heart. “Want to know? You could try her yourself.” Amid the laughter, Charlotte’s face flushed with embarrassment. “Oh my… don’t you people have any shame? Eve isn’t that kind of person!” “If she hadn’t given me her study abroad spot, maybe right now she’d be returning home with both academic and career success.” “How is she not?” Someone picked up the thread. “Holden, what do you say?” The private room fell silent. Holden smirked. “She came to my door herself. I did have a pretty good time.”

Holden wasn’t wrong. Between us, I really did deliver myself to his door. During my sophomore year, the entire Arts Academy was buzzing that New York’s Mr. Lancaster was pursuing Charlotte. Tens of thousands of fireworks, declarations of love at lavish parties, luxury handbags arriving until her hands went soft. His methods of courtship were always spectacular. No woman could refuse. Except for Charlotte, the proud poor student. She threw the card on the ground and stomped on it hard, her face full of shame and anger. “I may be poor, but I have my pride.” “I’d rather you kill me than accept your dirty money!” After she left, Holden wasn’t annoyed. He just raised an eyebrow slightly, the expression on his face obvious. Woman, you’ve successfully caught my attention. That day, I received news of my parents’ death in a car accident. After returning to my hometown for the funeral, working three part-time jobs in rotation, starving and famished— I picked up that card that had been crushed under dance shoes. “Mr. Lancaster, isn’t sponsoring anyone the same?” “Why don’t you sponsor me instead?” Holden’s eyes swept over my face, my chest, my slender waist. He quickly had someone draft a sponsorship agreement. He would support my continued education, and I needed to obey all his commands. From that day on, Charlotte always looked at me with subtle contempt. She coldly watched me get into Holden’s luxury car, watched as Holden transferred to me all the treatment he’d given her. The next day, rumors that I was being kept spread throughout the school. She made a big show of telling the entire Arts Academy that I was a shameless slut with no parents to teach me manners. I kept my head down and said nothing. Counting down the days until I could leave. Even Holden had probably forgotten. The seven-year agreement—today was only seven days from the deadline. When the party broke up, it had just passed 2 AM. Holden opened the private room door, saw me, and a smile spread across his lips. His tall body drunkenly lunged at me, pulling me into his embrace. “So obedient today? You knew to come pick me up.” Those lips that had kissed Charlotte moved close to my ear, about to kiss me. I subtly dodged. “The rain was too heavy. I was afraid you couldn’t find your way home.” In the car, he watched Charlotte’s retreating figure and said casually. “Charlotte’s back in the country. She doesn’t want to see anyone else around me.” “Eve, you should find yourself a boyfriend when you have time.” I nodded. “Okay.” His smile froze slightly. He turned sharply to look at me. “With me as your standard, don’t find some worthless man and embarrass me.” “How about I introduce you to someone?” Holden’s face showed several shades of anger. “My buddy, the second young master of the Brown family—a ladies’ man who loves women with flexible waists in bed.” “Or the third young master Smith—a bit mediocre, and he has a fiancée in name only, but for a man, that’s normal.” “If you’re with them, at least I can rest easy…” I calmly interrupted him. “Holden, my parents named me Eve.” “They hoped I would always be happy and joyful, not that I should use my body to please men.” I looked out the window, my voice not loud but very clear. “So—” “From now on, I only want to please myself.”

That night, Holden was startled by the look in my eyes. He could only pretend not to care and change the subject. He lay beside me and quickly fell asleep, breathing evenly. I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. I found that card from the inner compartment of my wallet. In all my years as a dance performer, I had never slacked off for a single day. Dancing during my period, doing wire work, rock climbing—whatever was dirty or exhausting, I took it. Because I understood. Only money was my greatest source of confidence. Seven years, seventy million dollars. I wanted to return it to him with interest. Currently only one final payment remained. The next day when I arrived on set, I saw Charlotte. She wore high heels, a screenwriter’s work badge around her neck, and intimately grabbed my wrist. Feigning surprise. “Eve? I never expected to see you here.” I pulled my hand back, smiling without warmth. “What bad luck—we just saw each other last night.” “Thanks to you, my old friend, keeping him entertained. Holden slept very well last night.” At those words, Charlotte’s smile froze on her face, jealousy rapidly spreading from her eyes. Sure enough, Charlotte added a kissing scene before filming started. The director looked troubled. “Miss Shaw, Mr. Lancaster specifically instructed that Eve has three no’s.” “No kissing scenes, no bed scenes, no intimate scenes.” “This… we can’t really go against his wishes.” Charlotte smiled slightly. She seemingly casually made a phone call, and after chatting for just a few sentences, the director received instructions. “Let’s start filming. Everything follows Miss Shaw’s wishes.” Meeting my gaze, her smile carried provocation. “This is what makes a good actress professional, Eve. Don’t you agree?” I spoke: “I have no objections.” My co-star was still young, his face flushing red with embarrassment. Before filming, I said expressionlessly to comfort him: “Excuse me.” The next second, under the photography lights, I stood on my tiptoes, wrapped my arms around the young man’s neck. And kissed him, light as a dragonfly touching water. The scene was beautiful. Holden witnessed this with his own eyes. “Bang!” The photography equipment was kicked over. He forgot he’d come to pick Charlotte up from work, forgot what he’d said last night, and strode forward amid everyone’s terrified gazes. He forcefully dragged me to the car. The sound of the car locks clicking was accompanied by the sound of my sundress being torn open. “What? Already found your next meal ticket?” “You kissed him? What’s your next step together?” “Did he touch you? Does he know where you’re most sensitive? Has he been… here?” “Slap—” Unable to bear it any longer, I slapped him across the face. Holden was stunned by the blow. I pulled up my zipper and looked calmly into his eyes. “The kissing scene was Charlotte’s idea. The director got your approval too.” “And yesterday, you told me to find someone else.” “You knew, you acquiesced, you allowed it, and now you’re having a fit with me?” His lips moved, wanting to explain something. But I laughed. “Holden, I have no obligation to remain chaste for you.”

The cold war began. For an entire week, I didn’t appear before Holden. Instead, his romantic affairs with Charlotte made entertainment headlines multiple times. [First Love Returns, Mr. Lancaster Furious for His Beauty!] He allowed her to use the Lancaster Group’s reputation to establish herself in the screenwriting industry. He indulged her bidding wars at auctions, sent her roses throughout the city, cooked for her with his own hands. Holden showed his affection openly, afraid no one would know. I watched coldly, packing up all my belongings in the apartment. Then I called a courier service and had the card, along with the sponsorship agreement I’d signed seven years ago, delivered by a delivery driver. Dragging my suitcase, I found myself somewhat laughable. After all these busy, rushing years in New York, I had nothing left behind. Seventy million dollars, my seven years of youth. I returned it all to him. Before leaving, I walked into a shopping mall in a daze and stopped at a jewelry shop. A pink diamond sparkled with a hazy glow under the display lights, like a rose wrapped in moonlight. The string of zeros on the price tag killed my impulse. Just as I was about to leave, I ran into Holden and Charlotte. Charlotte also had her eye on it at first glance. The sales clerk immediately fawned over them. “Mr. Lancaster has such good taste! This pink diamond is the only one in all of New York, extremely rare!” Holden’s hand wrapped around Charlotte’s waist, his lips curving upward. But his eyes looked straight at me. “What worthless trinket? My fiancée likes it—that’s its honor.” Fiancée? My heart trembled. I stopped in my tracks. In the past, when things got intense, I’d curl up in Holden’s arms crying like a walnut over Korean dramas. Back then I felt a bit giddy. “If someone proposed to me with a unique ring in the world, I’d definitely say yes.” The man had kissed my fingertips carelessly and laughed. “That’s all it takes?” In the end, that pink diamond was placed on Charlotte’s slender finger. She held Holden’s arm, smiling graciously. “Eve, I’ve always considered you a friend all these years.” “Now that Holden and I have found happiness, you need to work hard too!” I smiled woodenly. “Congratulations on your wedding. I wish you and Mr. Lancaster a happy marriage.” Just a few steps out of the shop, someone grabbed my wrist and pressed me against the mall’s fire escape. He leaned in abruptly, his burning kiss falling on my collarbone. “What did you mean by that just now?” I tried to pull my hand away but couldn’t. The anger I’d suppressed for so long ignited in my heart. I kicked hard at his groin. “Exactly what I said.” “Can’t Mr. Lancaster understand plain English?” His expression instantly turned cold, his teeth clenched. “Eve, think carefully.” “Take this step, and we’re completely done.” I made a sound of acknowledgment, walked steadily, and never looked back. The moment I boarded the plane. I blocked all of Holden’s contact information. Then I snapped my SIM card in half and threw it in the trash. At the same time, at a wild party in some high-end venue, Holden sat alone in a corner. He poured drink after drink into his stomach, his eyes quickly turning bloodshot. Charlotte stood up amid everyone’s encouragement, her face flushed. “Holden, I have something I want to say to you.” Just then, a security guard knocked on the door and respectfully presented a package. “Mr. Lancaster, this is something Miss Eve sent you.”

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I’ve been married twice. Before marrying Ethan Grant, I explained to him: “The first marriage was to help my childhood friend Xavier Cole fight for his inheritance.” “The second marriage was to help my good friend Mason Steele avoid an arranged marriage.” “If you mind—” He grabbed my hand, his eyes red-rimmed as he interrupted: “I don‘t mind. But from now on, you can only have eyes for me!” After we married, he was tender and considerate toward me. I thought I’d finally married the right person. But the day I returned from a business trip, I heard him talking familiarly with my two ex-husbands in the living room: “She‘s an old pro at divorcing—she’s done it twice already.” “Just give her the divorce papers on April Fool’s Day!” “Then come back later and tell her it was just an April Fool’s joke—problem solved.” “Vivian‘s wedding is next week. We made a promise back in senior year—for her bachelorette party, all of us have to be single!” I stood outside the door, my hands trembling. When Ethan brought me the divorce agreement, I signed it without hesitation. Later, when Ethan wanted to remarry me, I was already six months pregnant: “You thought the divorce was just an April Fool’s joke? I was serious!”

I sat in the coffee shop across from our apartment complex for an hour. I waited until they‘d dispersed before finally heading home. When Ethan saw me return, he set down his phone and came over to take my luggage: “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming back? I could have picked you up.” He took the suitcase with one hand and wrapped his other arm around my waist. Tender and considerate, exactly like always. “Have you eaten?” “Yes.” He nodded, then seemed to remember something: “Oh right, there‘s something I need to discuss with you.” I set down what I was carrying and turned to look at him. He sighed and pushed a document toward me: “The company’s run into some trouble lately. We need to separate our assets. The lawyer suggested we file for divorce first—just as a formality.” I looked down—divorce papers. In such a short time, he‘d already prepared everything. “Once things blow over, we’ll remarry.” He gripped my hand, his tone sincere. “It‘ll only be a few months.” I fell silent for a moment. “I know this is sudden,” he squeezed my palm, then suddenly lowered his voice with a hint of indignation, “but Xavier and Mason called today and kept needling me. They said when you helped them, you didn’t hesitate, but with me it‘s somehow a problem.” “They even said that after divorcing twice, a woman wouldn’t dare divorce a third time. They said you definitely wouldn‘t be able to handle it.” “I’ve already thought it through—tomorrow happens to be April Fool‘s Day. We’ll choose that day to file, then wave the certificate in their faces and scare the hell out of them. Let‘s see if they ever dare look down on you again.” “After all, it’s April Fool‘s Day—anything can be passed off as a joke. Once the company situation settles down, we can legitimately get our certificate back. No one will say anything.” He looked at me, his eyes filled with both grievance and anticipation: “You won’t let them look down on me, will you?” I looked into his eyes for a long time. These flawless, devoted eyes had just been toasting with those two men, saying “she won‘t make a fuss.” “I won’t.” I gave him what he wanted. He visibly relaxed, though he quickly disguised it as surprised delight: “Then you should rest first. Tomorrow‘s the first of the month. After we sign the papers, we’ll go—” I took the pen, flipped to the last page, and signed my name cleanly. “Call them,” I said with a smile as I set down the pen. “Tell them to stop nagging.” Ethan froze, apparently not expecting me to agree so readily. He smiled, put away the papers, then leaned in to kiss me. “You‘re the best wife.” I let him kiss me, my heart as calm as stagnant water. He took the agreement to his study to make a call. His voice wasn’t loud, but through the door, I could still hear. “She signed.” Xavier‘s voice came faintly through the phone: “See? I told you—Sophia’s the easiest to handle.” “Alright, you guys keep Vivian steady on your end. I‘ll head over once I’m done here.” I sat in the room for a long time. My phone vibrated. It was a message from Mason: Haven‘t seen you in a while. Want to get together? I stared at that message for a long time. Before, I would have replied “sure.” I would have carefully considered what to wear, how to do my makeup. I would have thought about how to preserve Ethan’s dignity in front of them, to let them know I‘d married well. To make sure they wouldn’t hold grudges against Ethan. After all, one side was my childhood companions, the other was my beloved husband—both were people I valued deeply… I didn‘t want them to remain adversaries for life. But now, I couldn’t even be bothered to reply. I simply turned my phone face-down on the coffee table and stood up to collect the laundry from the balcony. As I passed the study, Ethan was still on the phone. His voice was very low, but carried a kind of relaxed ease I‘d never heard before. That ease sounded like he no longer needed to pretend or perform. I suddenly realized that in all our time together, he’d never spoken to me like that. The wind on the balcony was strong. I took the clothes off the hangers one by one, folded them, and placed them in the basket. As I finished with the last piece, my phone lit up again. This time it was Xavier: Heard you‘re getting divorced again? Ethan’s such a jerk. He doesn‘t deserve you. Don’t be sad. Your grandfather‘s eightieth birthday banquet is in a few days. Mason and I will attend together. Let’s have a proper reunion! I laughed dryly. How nice of him to say. As if he weren‘t the one strategizing in the living room earlier. I pressed the power button and shoved my phone in my pocket. I suddenly wanted to know what kind of person Vivian Lane was. To be worth the three of them scheming so elaborately to keep a promise. To be worth them treating me so casually as a tool to achieve their goal. But then I thought—there was no point. It didn’t matter anymore. I picked up the laundry basket and turned to go back inside. My steps didn‘t pause as I passed the study. Warm yellow light spilled through the crack in the door. This lamp, this home, this man— Starting tomorrow, they’d have nothing to do with me.

I‘d just set down the laundry basket when the doorbell rang. I went to answer it, but Ethan got there first. The person standing outside had flushed cheeks, clearly having drunk quite a bit. She smiled when she saw Ethan: “I knew you’d still be awake.” Ethan instinctively glanced back at me, then lowered his voice: “Why are you here?” She didn‘t answer, swaying unsteadily as she walked inside. Not until she saw me standing in the living room did she pause. “Oh, you’re here too.” Xavier caught her from behind and explained to me: “Sophia, she‘s had too much to drink. We were taking her home, but she insisted on coming here.” Mason stood in the doorway, his expression somewhat uncomfortable as he glanced at me. Then his gaze swept to Ethan, his tone turning sharp: “Ethan, your wife is home. Don’t you know how to avoid suspicion?” Ethan froze for a moment, then frowned and shot back: “You got her this drunk and brought her to my place, and you want me to avoid suspicion?” “I got her drunk? It‘s because you posted that ’newly single‘ status!” Mason let out a cold laugh and stepped aside. “Fine, you’re so noble, so proper. I‘ve delivered the person who got drunk over you. Do what you want.” The two men stood on either side of the door. The air seemed frozen. Xavier, caught in the middle, coughed awkwardly: “Alright, alright, stop fighting. Vivian just came by since it was on the way—” I stood in the center of the living room, watching this performance from start to finish. They were too coordinated. If I hadn‘t personally heard them toasting together, I might have believed their mutual hostility was real. All along, I’d thought the bond between Xavier, Mason, and me was unbreakable. At my most loyal, I‘d even married both of them. My parents died early, and my grandfather was always busy. Those two filled my entire childhood and adolescence. Xavier was there whenever I had troubles in school. Mason even took a knife for me from a kidnapper. To me, they were closer than family. But when did our ironclad triangle become like this? Probably starting in high school, the year Vivian Lane appeared. A new circle formed outside our group. I gradually became the neglected remnant. Only when they needed my help would they remember me… I withdrew my gaze, no longer looking at them. Some cracks weren’t formed today. I just chose to see them today. “Your timing is perfect. There‘s something I’d like you to witness in person.” I walked to the coffee table and picked up the divorce agreement: “Two copies, I‘ve already signed both. Since everyone’s here, might as well look them over clearly.” Ethan‘s expression shifted slightly, but he quickly caught on. By bringing up the divorce in front of Xavier and Mason on my own initiative, I was proving to them what I was willing to do for him. His eyes showed a hint of pride. “Sophia,” he walked over, his tone soothing, “we can discuss this privately. There’s no need—” “Since she‘s already brought it out,” Vivian suddenly spoke up, “can I ask—when are you moving out?” The living room fell silent for a moment. Ethan frowned. Vivian didn’t look at him, only at me, her expression innocent: “After all, this house is in my name. You can‘t keep living here forever, right?” I froze. The house was in her name? I instinctively looked at Ethan. He avoided my gaze, his throat bobbing, but he didn’t contradict her. In that instant, countless images surged through my mind. The day we moved in, he held my hand and said “this is our home.” When buying the house, he said “I‘ll handle the paperwork, you don’t need to worry.” I happily took charge of choosing curtains, sofas, and the dining table… Every piece of furniture here—I‘d made trip after trip to the home goods store to pick them out. Everything was arranged according to his preferences… I’d never cared whose name was on the deed. But I never imagined that our marital home would be in another woman‘s name! I looked down at the agreement in my hands and laughed. “I’ll leave now.”

“Sophia…” Ethan took a step forward. “Tomorrow at nine, City Hall.” I didn‘t turn around, pulling my suitcase to the door—changing shoes, opening the door, all in one smooth motion. The hallway lights brightened then dimmed. While waiting for the elevator, I could still hear voices from inside: “Not bad! She was even more cooperative than when I asked her to get married!” Laughter mixed with voices exploded dully behind the door. I stood by the elevator, listening to this unfamiliar story. The reflection in the mirror looked calmer than I’d imagined. Not until I got in the taxi did my phone vibrate. A message from Ethan: About the house, I‘ll explain… Be good. Find a place to stay for now. I’ll pick you up in a few days. I stared at the screen for a few seconds, then flipped my phone face-down on my lap. Outside the car window, streetlights retreated one by one. Pick me up in a few days? As if I‘d just gone out to buy groceries and would be back soon. I leaned against the seat and closed my eyes. No need, Ethan. You don’t need to pick me up. The next morning at nine, outside City Hall. When I arrived, Ethan was already waiting. He was leaning against his car door. When he saw me get out, he stubbed out his cigarette and walked over. “Where did you stay last night?” he asked. “My grandfather‘s place.” He nodded. His gaze lingered on my face for a moment, then he suddenly reached out as if to touch my hair. I tilted my head away. His hand hung in midair for a second before he pulled it back. “Sophia,” he lowered his voice, his tone carrying a certain confident gentleness, “you saved face for me in front of Xavier and Mason. I appreciate that.” “As for the house…” he paused, “Vivian needed property in the city to get residency. I figured it was just putting her name on it. You married down anyway, so I thought you wouldn’t care about these things. That‘s why I didn’t tell you.” I looked into his eyes without speaking. Wouldn‘t care? He gave my marital home to another woman. And brushed it off with “you’re wealthy, you won‘t care”? He didn’t think I wouldn‘t care. He simply didn’t care whether I cared or not. “Anyway, you do have the right to live there!” “After the divorce, stay somewhere else for a while,” he continued arranging, “Once I‘ve handled things on my end, I’ll bring you back.” I almost laughed out loud. Even now, he still thought all of this was me playing along with his act. “Let‘s go,” I didn’t respond to his words, turning toward City Hall. “Let‘s handle the paperwork.” His footsteps quickly followed. The process went faster than expected. Signing, fingerprints, submitting photos. The clerk finally pressed down the steel stamp with a soft click. The divorce certificate in my hand was thin, a small booklet similar to the marriage certificate, just a different color. Ethan glanced at his phone, his brow furrowing. “I need to take a call,” he told me. “Wait here for me. I’ll give you a ride back in a bit.” He walked a few steps away and answered the phone. His voice was very low, but two words still drifted over: “Vivian…” I stood there, quietly watching his back. After hanging up, he quickly returned, looking somewhat urgent: “Something came up. Head back on your own. I‘ll contact you later.” After he walked out the main entrance, I slowly turned and headed toward the marriage registration window at the other end.

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I went to the school to conduct an investigation and stopped by the cafeteria for lunch. I saw a male student who had only gotten free soup, so I casually got him a lunch. Someone nearby whispered, “Isn’t that our school’s top student? How dare that girl talk to him?” Before I could think much of it, a female teacher had already rushed over and slapped me across the face. “What class are you in? You little slut! How dare you seduce my son!” The male student panicked, grabbing her arm and shouting, “Mom! It’s not what you think!” The female teacher shook him off and grabbed my wrist. “Come on! We’re going to see the principal!” I had no choice but to explain. “You’ve misunderstood. I’m a staff member from the State Department of Education.” She scoffed. “State Department of Education? At your age, you dare to lie? Let’s go!” But I just have a baby face! When I was dragged into principal Zachary Thorne’s office, she was still yelling. “Mr. Thorne! My son is our top student! How dare she seduce him! a student like this must be expelled!” He turned to me, his tone stern. “What class are you in? Give me your parent’s phone number. You’re expelled!” I smiled. “I dare to give it to you, but I’m afraid you won’t dare to call!”

Zachary Thorne was caught off guard by my response and froze for a moment. That teacher named Rebecca Foster jumped up beside him. “Mr. Thorne, look at her attitude! This shameless thing should be severely punished!” I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my reddened wrist where she’d grabbed me. “Stop talking and make the call.” Zachary Thorne rose to the challenge and picked up the desk phone. “What’s the number?” I rattled off a string of digits. He dialed, pressed the speakerphone, and said arrogantly. “Hello, I’m Mr. Zachary Thorne from Ivy Ridge High School. Are you this student’s parent? Your child has been seducing male students at school. Please come immediately!” There was a two-second silence on the other end. Then a voice came through, clearly confused. “What? What are you saying? Who?” Zachary Thorne repeated. “Your daughter has been seducing male students at school! Please come to the school immediately to handle this!” Silence again on the other end. I almost couldn’t hold back my laughter. If Mr. Thorne knew who was on the other end, he’d probably wet his pants already. Too bad he didn’t know. He was still standing there arrogantly, waiting for my “parent” to come and apologize to him. “Mr. Thorne,” the voice on the other end became strange, “are you certain you’re talking about my daughter?” “Of course I’m certain!” Zachary Thorne was getting impatient. “Are you coming or not?” The other side said, “I’ll be right there. Mr. Thorne, until I arrive, no one is to lay a finger on her.” The phone hung up. Mr. Thorne held the receiver and snorted. “Pretty arrogant.” Rebecca Foster came over. “What happened? What was their attitude?” “Said they’ll be right here,” Zachary Thorne put down the receiver. “Told me not to touch her.”

Rebecca Foster’s eyes rolled, and she suddenly became excited. “Mr. Thorne, I have an idea! Let’s call a school-wide assembly and make this little vixen apologize in front of everyone! Make an example of her so all those girls with improper thoughts can see!” Zachary Thorne hesitated. “Is that really necessary?” “Why wouldn’t it be?” Rebecca Foster’s voice was shrill. “My son ranked first in the entire city exam. He’s our school’s star student! If we don’t deal with this kind of vixen, anyone will be able to seduce him in the future!” Zachary Thorne nodded and was about to speak when Rebecca Foster reached out to grab my hair. I seized her wrist in one motion and twisted hard. She cried out in pain, her face going pale. “I can walk on my own.” I released her hand and looked at her calmly. Rebecca Foster clutched her wrist. I stared her down until she retreated half a step, swallowing back the curses that had been on her lips. She hadn’t expected me to fight back, much less expected my strength. In the hallway, she walked ahead of me, constantly turning back to glare, her mouth far from clean. “Shameless thing, little vixen, born cheap!” I stopped walking. She stopped too, watching me warily. “Watch your mouth.” My voice wasn’t loud, but she was scared enough to retreat half a step, her lips trembling twice, ultimately not daring to curse again. Zachary Thorne urged from behind. “Hurry up, hurry up, everyone’s waiting at the field.” On the field, over two thousand students were already lined up by class. A sea of people, all whispering among themselves. Rebecca Foster pushed me onto the stage, using vicious force, trying to make me stumble, but I stood firmly without even swaying. Disappointment flashed across her face. Zachary Thorne walked to the microphone and cleared his throat. “Today, we’re holding an emergency school-wide assembly!” The field fell quiet. “This girl!” He pointed at my nose. “Seduced our school’s top student, Ethan Carter, in the cafeteria!” The crowd below instantly erupted, students whispering to each other. Rebecca Foster snatched the microphone. “Ethan Carter is my son, ranked first in the entire city! He’s our school’s pride! He’s Ivy League material!” She turned to me, her finger nearly poking my face. “There have been several little vixens like this before. They just want to ruin my son! Ruin the school’s hope! What are they? Do they even deserve to talk to my son?” Zachary Thorne took the microphone, his tone softening, putting on a magnanimous appearance. “If you apologize publicly and write a guarantee letter, and if your attitude is good, I can consider not expelling you.” Looking at his hypocritical face, I couldn’t help but laugh. “You haven’t even figured out who I am, and you dare demand an apology?” Rebecca Foster exploded. “Who are you? Who could you be? You’re just a shameless little slut!” She got angrier and rushed forward to slap me. I dodged sideways. Her slap missed, her center of gravity unstable, she staggered two steps and nearly tumbled headfirst off the stage. Laughter erupted from below. Rebecca Foster’s face turned crimson.

“What are you laughing at!” She yelled at the crowd below, then suddenly turned to me, her eyes full of madness. She pulled out a red marker from her pocket and unscrewed the cap. “You think you’re so tough? You think you can dodge?” She advanced toward me with the marker raised. “I’m going to write ‘vixen’ on your face! I’ll make it so you can never wash it off! Let the whole school see what kind of person you are!” The laughter below stopped abruptly. People gasped, some shouted that this was too much. Just as Rebecca Foster’s marker was about to touch my cheek, I kicked her to the ground. Rebecca Foster screamed in pain, her face going pale. With my other hand, I pulled out my work ID from my pocket and held it in front of her eyes. “See it clearly now?” She squinted and leaned closer to look, her eyes suddenly widening. The work ID clearly read: State Department of Education Deputy Director Lydia Monroe. Her lips trembled, her face instantly turning deathly pale. I let go. Her legs gave out and she collapsed on the ground. I turned to face the over two thousand students below, holding my work ID high, my voice clear. “I am the Deputy Director of the State Department of Education, Lydia Monroe.” Complete silence fell over the field. Zachary Thorne was stunned for three seconds, then he laughed out loud. “You think we’re three-year-olds?” Rebecca Foster instantly got her energy back. “Right! Right! That work ID must be fake!” Zachary Thorne sneered, looking me up and down. “State Department of Education Deputy Director? How old are you? You look like a teenager. What kind of leader are you pretending to be?” Rebecca Foster leaned close to my work ID, shaking her head. “The counterfeiting technology these days is really amazing. It looks quite authentic! If I hadn’t seen the real thing, I might have been fooled by you!” Zachary Thorne shouted to the crowd below. “Check which class this Lydia Monroe is in!” The dean of students pulled out a roster and flipped through it, then looked up. “Mr. Thorne, I’ve checked. There’s no such person.” Rebecca Foster pointed at my nose, her voice shrill. “I know now! You’re a little slut who snuck in from outside the school!” She got more and more worked up, her voice getting louder. “You must be from that poor high school nearby! You snuck into our school to seduce boys! I’ve seen plenty of social scum like you!” The students below began to stir. Some whispered to each other, some craned their necks to look at me, and some frowned. But Rebecca Foster didn’t care about any of that. She got more and more excited. “Look at her, dressed all proper, but she’s actually just a delinquent! Forging work credentials, sneaking into a top high school, specifically targeting good students!” She turned and shouted at the crowd. “Security! Where did all the security go? Restrain this little slut!” The security chief ran onto the stage with two guards. The three stood beside me but didn’t make a move. Probably because they’d seen me kick Rebecca Foster earlier and weren’t confident. Rebecca Foster leaned close to Zachary Thorne’s ear, deliberately raising her voice several levels. “Mr. Thorne, this kind of social scum, forging credentials, sneaking into school, seducing our top student! Call the police! We must call the police! Send her to juvie!” Zachary Thorne nodded, pointing at me with an air of righteousness. “Who are you really? If you don’t tell the truth, I’m calling the police right now!”

I looked at him calmly, enunciating each word. “I told you, I’m the Deputy Director of the State Department of Education.” Rebecca Foster scoffed. “Still lying? You’re a teenage girl—how could you possibly be a deputy director? Look at yourself. Do you look like an adult?” Zachary Thorne joined in with a cold laugh, looking me up and down. “Right! Which deputy director comes to a school alone? Without even a driver? Without any staff? Who are you trying to fool?” Rebecca Foster continued. “Call the police! We must call the police! This kind of little slut is a cancer on society. She should go to juvie for proper education!” Zachary Thorne pulled out his phone and dialed 911 in front of over two thousand people. “Hello, 911? I’m Mr. Zachary Thorne from Ivy Ridge High School. We’ve caught someone forging State Department of Education credentials, sneaking into school to seduce boys, seriously disrupting the educational order. Yes, please dispatch officers immediately!” He hung up, crossed his arms over his chest, and looked at me triumphantly. Rebecca Foster put her hands on her hips, arrogant. “Just wait. When the police arrive, you’ll be crying! Forging state official credentials—that’s enough to keep you busy!” She turned to the crowd below, shouting at the over two thousand students. “Everyone look! This is what happens when you seduce top students! If anyone else has such improper thoughts in the future, this is your example!” I stood on stage, a smile playing at my lips, saying nothing. Rebecca Foster saw me smiling and got even angrier, rushing up to me. “You’re still smiling? Let’s see if you can still smile when you’re at the police station!” Zachary Thorne also came over, his voice threatening. “Forging state official credentials—that’s at least two or three years in prison. Little girl, your life is over.” I looked at him sarcastically. “Oh, I’m so scared!” But Rebecca Foster thought I was actually scared, her voice even shriller. “What? Scared now? Too late! You were so arrogant earlier, weren’t you? Now you know to be afraid?” I nodded. “Fine, then let’s wait.” Sirens sounded in the distance. Rebecca Foster jumped with excitement, pointing at the school gate and shouting at me. “Hear that! The police are here! You’re done!” Zachary Thorne straightened his tie, stood up straight, ready to greet the police. A black sedan and three police patrol cars drove through the school gate. Rebecca Foster pointed at the gate, shouting at me. “See that! They’re all here to arrest you!” I crossed my arms over my chest, the smile never leaving my face. The person who stepped out of the black sedan was State Department of Education Director Nathan Brooks. His face was dark as iron, radiating a low pressure, followed by city police station officers and a team of police. Rebecca Foster pointed at me, shouting at the officers. “Officers! It’s her! It’s this little slut from outside the school! She forged State Department of Education credentials and snuck into our school to seduce my son! Arrest her quickly!” Director Brooks didn’t look at her. He walked straight onto the stage. He walked up to me and looked me over to confirm I was unharmed before speaking. “Ms. Monroe is our State Department of Education’s Deputy Director! Who’s been giving her trouble?!” Complete silence fell over the field. Rebecca Foster’s finger, pointing at me, froze in mid-air. “You said she’s what?!”

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“Sasha, just sign it.” A termination notice was pushed in front of me by a greasy hand. I didn’t move. My gaze traveled past my boss, Richard Wade, and landed on the sofa across from me. The new intern, Lily Clarke, was burying her face deep into Ethan Miller’s chest, her shoulders shaking violently as she sobbed like she was about to pass out. “Ethan, this is all my fault… I shouldn’t have touched that contract. Now I’ve ruined Sasha. How can I ever make it up to her…” Ethan Miller, my boyfriend of five years. At this moment, he was patting Lily’s back with a tenderness I’d never seen before. Then he raised his head. The look he gave me instantly turned to ice, filled with condescending reproach. “Sasha, stop making a scene. Lily didn’t mean it. She’s only twenty-two, fresh out of college and doesn’t know anything yet. You’ve been in this position for five years. What’s wrong with taking some responsibility for her?” Richard was tapping the table impatiently. “The company has invested so much in you over the years. Now that there’s been a ten-million-dollar mistake, having you resign voluntarily is already saving you face. Don’t be ungrateful.” “Her father is Mr. Clarke from Skyhigh Group. Our company’s second-round funding depends on him.” Ethan lowered his voice to a volume only the three of us could hear. “You’re just taking the fall. It’s not like you’re losing anything. Don’t ruin Lily’s bright future.” I looked at this absurd scene unfolding before me and suddenly laughed. Laughed until tears nearly came. The images from my past life cut through my mind like rusted blades.

The same words, the same scene. Back then, I had cried and screamed like a madwoman, swearing the contract wasn’t lost by me, that it was Lily who had taken it upon herself to make copies and then it disappeared. I begged Richard to check the security footage. The cameras were “conveniently” broken. I grabbed Ethan’s hand and begged him to believe me. He yanked his hand away and publicly accused me of shirking responsibility and having poor character in front of the entire company. Together they forced me to take the fall for that ten-million-dollar disaster. Then Richard used his connections to blacklist me across the entire industry. Buried under massive debt with nowhere to turn, I jumped from the rooftop of a twenty-eight-story building on a rainy night. The dull thud of my body hitting the concrete, the excruciating pain of shattered bones—I still remember it all clearly. And them? They rode the “angel round” investment that Lily secured by selling out our company’s bottom-line pricing to competitors, stepped over my corpse to a glorious IPO, and became an industry legend. Ethan even became the golden son-in-law of Skyhigh Group. Now, heaven had brought me back to this very moment of signing. “Sasha…” Lily peeked out from Ethan’s embrace, looking at me with tearful eyes. But deep in those eyes flashed an extremely subtle provocation. “Will you forgive me?” I withdrew my smile. My gaze turned cold, as if I were looking at three corpses. “Sure.” I picked up the Montblanc pen from the table and removed the cap. Ethan froze for a moment, apparently not expecting me to be so agreeable today. A hint of relief flashed in his eyes. “Sasha, I knew you were reasonable. Don’t worry, once this blows over, I’ll…” Two swift strokes. I signed “Sasha Clarke” on the termination notice with sharp, forceful strokes that nearly tore through the paper. Lily’s crying stopped abruptly. Her eyes widened in shock. I threw the signed notice in Richard’s face. The sharp edge of the paper left a red mark on his fat cheek. “What are you doing!” Richard clutched his face and roared. Ignoring him, I unzipped my Hermès bag, pulled out another document I’d prepared, and slammed it on the table. “Read it carefully. This is my resignation letter.” I braced my hands on the table, looking down at these three scheming people, enunciating each word. “You don’t need to fire me. I quit. And I’ll take this fall.” With that, I turned toward the conference room door. “Sasha! What kind of attitude is this!” Richard bellowed furiously behind me. “Do you still want your separation certificate and industry references? Believe me, I can make sure you never work in this field again!” I gripped the door handle, not looking back, coldly tossing out. “Save it for your own epitaph.”

Pushing open the conference room door, I collided face-first with a solid chest. A faint scent of oud mixed with tobacco instantly invaded my nostrils. I stepped back half a step and looked up. The man wore an impeccably tailored black custom suit, tall and straight with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. One hand was tucked in his pocket, the other playing with a pure black Zippo lighter. His features were sharp and striking, his jawline cutting like a blade, and a pair of dark eyes were watching me with an ambiguous smile. Jackson Cross. The youngest capital shark in the elite circles, head of Daybreak Capital. Also the top-tier investor Richard had been groveling to like a dog lately, trying to court. And the client on the other side of that “lost” ten-million-dollar contract. “Miss Clarke, quite the temper.” Jackson’s thin lips parted slightly. He’d obviously been standing outside the door listening to everything. I looked directly into his eyes without any trace of retreat. “Mr. Cross, have you enjoyed the show? If not, there are still three clowns performing inside.” Jackson raised an eyebrow. The lighter spun once around his fingertips and snapped shut. “Do you know that the mess you just took the fall for involves my project?” He stepped closer, his imposing height forcing me to tilt my head back slightly. “I know.” I met his gaze without flinching, my eyes sharp and aggressive. “So let me warn you now, Mr. Cross—this company is rotten to the core. Your money won’t even make a splash here.” Jackson laughed softly, his chest vibrating. He leaned down close to my ear, warm breath brushing my earlobe. “Oh? What about investing in you?” “Guaranteed profit.” I answered without hesitation. He straightened up, gave me a long look, then drew a gold-embossed black business card from his inner suit pocket, holding it between his slender fingers and extending it toward me. “I’ll be watching.” I took the card, my fingertips deliberately brushing across the back of his hand. His eyes darkened, but I had already turned away, walking toward the office area in my four-inch heels without looking back. Behind me, the conference room door opened. Richard’s obsequious voice came through. “Oh, Mr. Cross! You came personally! Please, come in, come in…” I sneered and returned to my private office. According to labor law, I had three days for the transition. In my past life, I spent those three days with swollen eyes from crying, begging everyone I could find to prove my innocence, pathetic as a homeless dog. This life, these three days would be enough for me to strip this company to the bone.

I locked my office door and opened my computer, logging into a private cloud drive with triple encryption. Inside was everything I’d fought for with my life over five years—all core client information, contact details, personal preferences, and the underlying logic and profit margins of every project. I picked up my phone and dialed the first number. “Mr. Lewis, it’s me, Sasha.” A hearty laugh came from the other end. “Sasha! What’s up? Did that Phase Two project pan out?” “Mr. Lewis, I’ve left my old company.” My tone was calm. “What?!” Mr. Lewis was shocked. “Has Richard lost his mind? You’re his cash cow!” “Difference of vision, that’s all. I’m going out on my own. The company’s already registered—it’s called Stellar Tech.” I got to the point. “That project you’re working on, the previous proposal actually had a critical flaw. I’ve redone the entire framework. It’ll boost your product performance by twenty percent, and I’ll give you two more profit points. What do you say…” “Sasha, listen to me.” Mr. Lewis interrupted, his tone serious. “In business, I’ve never cared about company names. I care about people—and I trust you, Sasha Clarke! If you’re going independent, I’m absolutely on board! I’ll have my people stop the contract immediately and transfer it directly to your new company!” “Thank you, Mr. Lewis.” Hanging up, I didn’t pause before dialing the next number. “Mr. Johnson, your wife’s birthday is coming up, right? I remember she loves that brand’s limited edition haute couture. I had a friend in Paris secure one. I’ll have it sent to your home tomorrow. And while I’m there, shall we discuss working with my new company?” “Mr. Collins, I have a new solution for that technical problem you’ve been stuck on…” All morning, I didn’t even drink water. My phone grew hot from continuous use. The client trust I’d built over five years through countless all-nighters, countless drinking sessions that left me with stomach bleeding—it couldn’t be easily destroyed by some intern who got in through connections, a scumbag boyfriend who only knew how to make empty promises, and a bloated, stupid boss. By noon, eighty percent of the company’s core clients—the ones generating the revenue—had all verbally agreed to transfer their contracts to my new company. First step of pulling the rug out from under them: complete. At two PM, I pushed open the door to the tech department.

The tech department was chaotic, keyboard clicks thundering. Tech Director Sam Johnson was sporting massive dark circles, cursing at his screen. “What kind of garbage code is this?! Does that new girl Lily have rocks in her head? Creating a deadlock in a simple loop! I stayed up all night rescuing the servers!” Seeing me enter, Sam quickly stubbed out his cigarette. “Sasha, what brings you here? I heard Richard gave you trouble this morning?” I walked to the meeting room and knocked on the glass door. “Everyone, stop what you’re doing. Meeting room, now.” A dozen core team members exchanged glances, then set down their keyboards and filed in. I closed the door and pulled down the blinds, blocking outside view. “I’m leaving.” Straight to the point, no preamble. The meeting room exploded. “Sasha, what happened?!” Sam jumped up in agitation. “Is this about that ten-million-dollar contract? I heard it was that little snake Lily who lost it. Why should you take the fall!” “Exactly! Is Richard blind? We only recognize you as our project director!” “Sasha, what are we supposed to do without you? Who’s going to shield us from those idiotic client demands?” Watching these pure tech geeks, warmth flooded my heart. In my past life, Sam was the only one who brought flowers to my grave and got fired for publicly cursing out Richard at the company. I raised my hand, signaling them to quiet down. “I’m not here to listen to complaints or to whine.” I pulled out a stack of printed documents from my bag and pushed them to the center of the table. “This is the equity distribution plan for my new company. It’s called Stellar Tech. I hold fifty-one percent. Of the remaining forty-nine percent, I’m allocating thirty percent as an option pool for the founding technical team.” I looked Sam in the eye. “Sam, you’ll be Technical Director with ten percent equity. Everyone else gets shares based on level and contribution.” The air seemed to freeze. Everyone’s eyes widened. Even their breathing grew quiet. For employees, empty promises were commonplace, but real equity incentives—especially such a large percentage of actual shares—was an absolutely irresistible temptation. Sam swallowed hard, his voice trembling slightly. “Sasha… are you serious?” “When have I ever joked about money?” I braced my hands on the table, my gaze sweeping across each young face, my voice steady and seductive. “Follow me. I can’t promise you’ll be driving Ferraris tomorrow. But I promise that every line of code you write won’t be wasted. Your talent will receive maximum respect and direct monetization.” “No more suffering under incompetent management, no more all-nighters cleaning up stupid decisions, no more watching the face of an intern who can’t even write ‘Hello World.’” “We work for ourselves.” Silence. Ten full seconds of silence. Suddenly, Sam slammed his hand on the table so hard the water in the cups splashed out. “Damn it! I’ve been sick of serving that idiot Richard anyway! Sasha, I’m with you!” “Count me in! I’m writing my resignation right now!” “Me too! Whoever wants to stay at this dump can have it!” The entire tech team—fifteen core members—every single one chose to follow me. Looking at their excited faces, a cold smile curved my lips. Richard, Ethan, did you think getting rid of me would let you rest easy with your little white lotus? You have no idea that a storm capable of crushing you to dust has already formed.

The three-day transition period flew by. I didn’t hand over any substantive client information, leaving only superficial documents of no consequence. On the afternoon of the third day, I walked out of the building where I’d worked for five years, carrying a cardboard box. The sunlight was a bit blinding. I took a deep breath of freedom. “Sasha!” Urgent footsteps sounded behind me. Ethan rushed out and grabbed my arm. I shook off his hand in disgust, looking at him coldly. Today he wore a well-tailored suit, his hair meticulously styled, but his face showed a kind of condescending, pained expression. “Do you have to make this so ugly?” Ethan frowned, his tone full of reproach. “You haven’t shown your face these three days, and the transition documents are a mess. Mr. Wade is very angry.” “Whether he’s angry or not is none of my business.” I jostled the box in my hands. Ethan took a deep breath, suppressing his anger, and put on an affectionate face. “Sasha, I know you feel wronged. But you have to understand my position. Lily has a powerful background. We can’t afford to offend her. What can you do out there alone? This industry is only so big. Without Mr. Wade’s reference letter, you can’t even find a decent job.” He paused, stepped forward, and tried to take my hand again. “Stop being stubborn. Go back and apologize to Mr. Wade. Humble yourself. I’ll give you the director position and work as your deputy. We’ll start fresh, okay?” Looking at this face that once captivated me, I only felt my stomach churning with nausea. “Ethan Miller, do you know what you look like right now?” I stepped back, creating distance. “What?” “A dog that wants to eat shit but also finds it disgusting.” Ethan’s face instantly turned ashen. “Sasha! Watch your language! I’m trying to help you!” “Help me?” I laughed coldly, my eyes like knives. “Helping me by throwing me under the bus without hesitation to protect your little mistress when things went wrong? Helping me by watching me get buried under ten million in debt and blacklisted across the industry?” “What are you talking about! What industry blacklist!” Ethan’s eyes shifted, clearly guilty. “Drop that disgusting act of deep affection.” I moved closer to him, lowering my voice. “From the moment I signed that paper, we were completely done. You’d better pray you never fall into my hands, because if you do, I’ll make you wish you were dead.” With that, I stopped looking at his face that changed colors like a palette and turned toward the curb. A black Maybach glided silently to a stop in front of me. The rear window slowly descended, revealing Jackson Cross’s chiseled profile. He wore gold-rimmed glasses, adding a touch of refined menace to his appearance. He glanced at Ethan frozen in place, then his gaze landed on me, a playful smile curling his lips. “Miss Clarke, get in. Let’s discuss your ‘guaranteed profit.’” I opened the door and got in without hesitation. The car pulled away smoothly. In the rearview mirror, Ethan’s face was twisted beyond recognition.

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Professor Robert complained that I never spoke up in class, unlike Bella from the other group who was so charming and well-liked. To force me, he set a rule: every group meeting presentation had to exceed eighty decibels, or he wouldn’t sign off on my thesis. At the first group meeting, I read my report loudly. He complained my voice was shaking and gave my data to Bella. At the second group meeting, I ate throat lozenges beforehand. I raised my voice to debate with Bella and even slammed the table. After finally outshining Bella, Robert threw my paper in the trash. “No manners at all, like a shrew,” he said coldly, looking at me. “Delayed graduation by one year. Go reflect on yourself.” I survived by applying phone screen protectors under the overpass to make a living. At the third group meeting, I said nothing. I just played a silent surveillance video on the projector. The room fell completely silent, because the footage showed Robert and Bella having sex. “Turn it off.” Robert’s voice was quieter than the hum of the air conditioner. Nobody moved. On the projection screen, he had Bella pressed against the office desk edge, his right hand reaching under her lab coat. Bella’s neck was tilted back, her mouth half open as if panting, but the footage had no sound. Twelve people sat in the meeting room, twelve pairs of eyes fixed on the screen. “I said, turn it off.” His leather shoes hit the floor, one step at a time, slow and steady. I didn’t move. He walked to the projector and unplugged the data cable. My senior Wood kept his head down. My senior Sophie was looking at her phone. Bella sat in the first row, her fingers twisting her skirt hem. Robert turned around. “AI-generated,” he said. “You all should be able to tell.” Nobody responded. He looked at me. “Fiona, where did you get this?” “Library Building B corridor surveillance, October 17th, 9:13 PM.” “Who authorized you to access surveillance footage?” I didn’t answer. He smiled. “Unauthorized access, fabricating videos, publicly showing them in an academic setting,” he said. “Fiona, that’s called defamation.” He took out his phone and dialed in front of everyone. “Yusuf? A student played an AI-generated pornographic video at a group meeting, defaming a faculty member.” Bella started crying then. “Robert,” she said, “if this video gets out, how can I show my face again?” “Don’t worry.” Robert patted her shoulder. “Fake things can’t stand up to investigation.” Two security guards arrived. Robert pointed at the items on my desk: “Take the USB drive and laptop. They’re evidence.” “Those are mine.” “These are your tools of crime.” He pocketed the USB drive. The guard came over and reached for my laptop. I took one last look at those students with their heads down. “Wood.” His shoulders twitched, but he didn’t look up. “Sophie.” She pretended to organize her notes. The guard tugged my arm: “Student, let’s go.” I stood up. As I reached the door, Bella’s voice drifted over. “Fiona, I don’t know why you hate me so much. But doing this only hurts yourself.” I looked back at her, then left. First floor of the administration building, an office without windows. The guard told me to sit and wait. I waited four hours. I went to the bathroom once—the female guard followed me in. At eleven PM, the door opened. A man sat down, his badge reading “Student Affairs Yusuf.” He opened a folder. “Fiona, do you understand what your actions today mean?” “What do they mean?” “Illegally obtaining surveillance footage, publicly showing a suspected fabricated indecent video, defaming your advisor. Any one of these is enough for disciplinary action.” “That video is real.” “The technical department has completed a preliminary assessment.” He flipped through the file. “Conclusion: shows signs of AI synthesis, deep fake cannot be ruled out.” “They finished the assessment in ten hours?” “Professional team. High efficiency.” I stared at him: “Have you personally watched that video?” He didn’t engage. “Sign a statement.” He pushed a paper toward me. “Admit to an operational error, that you played the wrong file. The school will handle it leniently—a reprimand on record, but not in your permanent file.” I looked down at the paper. The main text was already typed out for me—admitting that due to emotional distress, I mistakenly played an AI-generated video at the group meeting, causing damage to Professor Robert’s and Bella’s reputations, and expressing deep apology. A blank space at the bottom awaited my signature. “What if I don’t sign?” “We’ll go through formal procedures. The Academic Committee will get involved. As for the outcome—I can’t control that.” I stood up and walked to the door. “Fiona.” He called out to me, seeming to hesitate. “Do you have any other backups?”

“After investigation, graduate student Fiona, during the group meeting on October 23, 2024, obtained campus surveillance footage without authorization and publicly displayed a suspected AI-fabricated indecent video in an academic setting, severely damaging the reputations of Professor Robert and Bella—effective immediately, her enrollment is suspended pending further action.” The hearing lasted less than forty minutes. I sat at one end of the long table, facing five people—two department administrators, two Academic Committee professors, plus Yusuf. Robert didn’t come. Bella did. “Starting in September, Fiona kept sending me Twitter messages.” Her voice was small. “At first it was just about the research project, but later it got more and more…” She handed her phone to Yusuf. On the screen, a string of chat messages: “Why did you take my data?” “Do you think Robert really values you?” “I have dirt on you. You’d better know your place.” “I never sent those.” “The records are all here.” Yusuf passed the phone to the committee for review. “Chat records can be faked.” “You also said the surveillance was real.” Bella lowered her head to wipe tears. “But the technical assessment says it’s fake.” Dean Fisher, sitting in the middle, took off his glasses. “Fiona, I understand you have grievances with Robert, but no matter how big the grievances, you shouldn’t use this method. Professor Robert is a specially-appointed backbone of the department. His academic reputation relates to the development of the entire discipline.” “So whatever he did doesn’t matter?” “If you have concerns, you can report them through proper channels.” He put his glasses back on. “Rather than using this… extreme method.” After the hearing ended, Yusuf handed over a stack of documents. Enrollment suspended. Lab access revoked. Email frozen. Move out of dorms within three days. “What about my experimental data? The stuff on the server.” “Research outputs produced using lab resources belong to the project team. Your access has been terminated.” “I did that work.” “We go by the rules.” I went back to the dorm to pack. When I was moving the last load, Sophie was leaning against the hallway wall. “Robert held a group meeting after you left.” She said quietly. “He made us sign a joint statement—everyone present confirmed unanimously that when the video played, the image was blurry and the content was unidentifiable.” “Did you sign?” She wouldn’t look at me. “Everyone signed.” I carried my suitcase out. “Fiona.” She called from behind. “Yeah.” “Why didn’t you sign that statement? If you’d signed, at least you could have stayed.” “Because it was real.” She was silent for a few seconds. “But nobody cares whether it’s real or not.” That night I dragged my luggage to the underpass. The screen protector stall was still there, the folding table and plastic stools stacked in the corner. I set them up and arranged my tools. My phone lit up. Mom’s number. “Fiona, the school called home. Are you causing trouble at school?” “It’s not causing trouble—” “They said you defamed a teacher! Are you crazy? That’s your advisor!” “Mom, just listen to me first—” “You talk! Your father and I supported you through graduate school, and this is how you repay us?” “That Robert, he—” “What Robert! If your teacher has issues with you, just improve! You pick fights with people! What if you get expelled? How will we show our faces?” “I haven’t been expelled.” “The way you’re going, it’s only a matter of time! Apologize to your teacher right now, you hear? Apologize, write a self-criticism, whatever—just settle this!” “Mom, in that video—” “I don’t care about any video! Apologize!” The call ended. I crouched under the overpass, watching the car lights stretch into long streaks of light on the road surface. My first customer was a middle-aged man wearing a safety helmet. His phone screen had a crack. “How much for a screen protector?” “Ten bucks.” “Cheap. I’ll take one.”

“That semantic segmentation paper of yours—Robert published it.” Wood sent a Twitter message with a link attached. I clicked it. “Research on Semantic Segmentation Algorithms Based on Multimodal Feature Fusion.” First author: Bella. Second author: Robert. Corresponding author: Robert. My name wasn’t on it. My phone vibrated again. Wood’s message: “What are you going to do?” I didn’t reply. After applying the protector, I collected ten dollars. That evening I opened the school’s Academic Integrity Committee reporting portal, attached all my original code records and local version logs, and spent two hours writing a complete report. Three days later, an auto-reply: Your report has been received and will be forwarded to the relevant department for processing. Five more days passed. No news. I called the Academic Integrity Committee. “Case number JB20241028-007.” “Please hold—this case has been transferred to the department for handling.” “Which department?” “Your department. School of Information Engineering. The department Academic Committee is responsible.” Academic Committee Chair: Fisher. I closed the webpage. After nine PM, business slowed down. Bella appeared in front of me: “Long time no see. You here to get a screen protector?” She smiled slightly, took an envelope from her bag and placed it on the folding table. “Robert asked me to deliver this.” A settlement agreement. Party A: Robert. Party B: Fiona. Content: Party B admits to playing an AI-generated fake video due to emotional distress, causing serious reputational damage to Party A and Bella. Party B voluntarily withdraws all complaints and will apologize publicly. Compensation: Party A will pay Party B $50,000 in emotional distress compensation and assist in connecting with advisors at other schools. “Fifty thousand?” “Not bad.” She tilted her head. “How much do you make applying screen protectors in a day? A hundred? Two hundred? Fifty thousand is enough for half a year’s work.” “You’re listed as first author.” She blinked. “Project team results—Robert has the right to assign authorship.” “I wrote the code. I ran the data.” “You used the project team’s resources. The output belongs to the project team.” She stood up and brushed dust off her knees. “You don’t have enrollment status anymore. Even if your name were on the paper, what use would it be to you?” She pulled out her phone from her bag, found a photo and held it in front of me. A lawyer’s letter. “Pursue criminal liability” was written clearly. “Fiona, what have you gained from all this fighting?” She bent down, her voice as soft as if comforting someone. “Disciplinary action, suspension, sleeping under an overpass. What’s the point?” I looked at her face. “What’s the point for you?” Her smile froze for a moment. “You and him—what did you get? Authorship? Publication opportunities? Something else?” “You—” “You know you’re not the first, right.” This was a bluff. But her pupils contracted slightly, clearly visible under the streetlight. Her lips moved, but she finally retracted all expression. “Sign within three days, or the lawyer’s letter goes to your family.” Her high heels clicked away. I folded the agreement and stuffed it in the bottom of my toolbox. My phone lit up. An unsaved number. “Are you the one who played surveillance footage at a group meeting?” “Who are you?” The other side typed for a long time. “My name is Chloe. Five years ago, Robert was my advisor too.”

“I shouldn’t have come to find you.” Chloe sat on the plastic stool, holding a cup of Coke without drinking. Short hair, a gray hoodie washed until faded, six or seven years older than me. “How did you find me?” “It spread on the school forum. The posts got deleted several times, but screenshots are still circulating. Someone posted your screen protector location in the comments.” “Why did you come?” “Because when I saw your name—I just knew.” She finally took a sip of Coke. “Exactly like what happened to me.” “Exactly like what?” “That video is real, isn’t it?” I didn’t say anything. “You don’t need to answer.” She smiled bitterly. “Five years ago he did the same thing to me. I was in my third year of grad school, halfway through my thesis, when he brought in a female student. Very obedient, very compliant. Later my data was given to her. I went to confront him, and he said I wasn’t capable enough.” “Then what?” “Delayed graduation for two years. The second year he made me switch to an unpopular research direction nobody wanted, starting from scratch. I couldn’t hold out anymore. I dropped out.” “Did you report him?” “Went through all the school channels—nothing. Wrote to the Department of Education—not even a response.” “Why?” “No evidence.” She put down the cup. “No surveillance, no recordings, just empty words.” I pulled out my phone and checked the cloud drive. The folder was empty. The operation log showed—last Friday at 3:17 AM, someone logged into my account remotely and deleted all backups. The login device was a desktop computer. The lab computer. “They’ve blocked all your escape routes.” Chloe’s voice was soft. “Why did you come find me?” “Because I’ve regretted it for five years.” She said. “If someone had stood with me back then, maybe the outcome would have been different.” She stood up and placed the unfinished Coke on the table. “If you still want to fight this battle, contact me anytime.” She left. Traffic on the overpass gradually thinned. I sat on the stool and started packing up my tools. I found an old phone at the very bottom of the toolbox. A beam of headlights swept over. A black Ford stopped across the street, engine still running. The driver’s window rolled down. He got out, crossed the street, and asked me: “How’s business?” “How did you know I was here?” “One of your customers is my student.” He sat with his legs crossed. “That thing Bella gave you—did you sign it?” “No.” “Fiona, I’ve taught for twenty years. Smart students take the money and leave. The not-so-smart ones—” His gaze swept over the old phone by my hand. “You be careful.” He stood up and brushed off his pants. “The lawyer’s letter goes out the day after tomorrow. Defamation charge plus civil compensation—guess the amount?” He bent down, his face coming close, the streetlight casting his shadow over me from behind. Then he drove away. I looked down at the old phone. Found Chloe’s number and sent a message. “You said you regretted it for five years. If you could do it over, would you dare?” Two minutes later she replied. “You have a plan?” “I do.”

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