Category: English

For three years, I’ve been styling wigs and doing makeup for my friends on the cheap. Everyone was always thrilled. Until this fresh-out-of-college girl showed up: “Are you guys insane? Two hundred bucks for a full styling? You can get that on Depop for a hundred and fifty, easy. Have you seriously let yourselves get ripped off like this for three years?” She added a hand-over-mouth laughing emoji. “Just give me a hundred and fifty each, and I’ll handle your cosplay styling from now on~ I just graduated, so I’m not in it for the money. I just want to make friends.” I stared at my screen and let out a long, quiet breath. She had no idea. I’d been ready to stop bleeding money for these girls for a very long time. 1. It was the final week of prep before LuminaCon, and the group chat was blowing up. The messages were from Hailey, the group admin’s shiny new friend. She’d been dragged into the chat last month, and her feed was nothing but polished con selfies and heavily edited close-ups. Right then, I was at my workbench, struggling with a gravity-defying wig for Fiona. It was a complex design, and I had already poured three days of meticulous work into it. “Hey Queena~” Hailey’s text popped up. “I was just looking over the budget for the Aether Crest lineup. Over two hundred for hair and makeup? Is my math off, or is there… something else going on here?” She added a smug little emoji. I assumed she thought I wasn’t charging enough. I started typing to explain that since we were all close friends, I didn’t mind cutting my rates to the bone. But then she followed up: “You can get this for a hundred and fifty on Depop, max. Even professional studios only charge a hundred and eighty for bulk orders. Queena, aren’t you a little embarrassed charging us that kind of markup?” “We’re supposed to be friends. Charging us tourist prices… feels a little off, doesn’t it?” She capped it off with a whimpering cat emoji. My fingers froze over the keyboard. Christine, our group admin, was the first to chime in. “Omg, Hailey, you’re so good at saving money! I never even noticed, haha. Guess we’ve been overpaying this whole time.” Then Christine’s inner circle started piling on. “Yeah, when I did the group cosplay with the other crew, we only paid like a hundred and seventy.” “Queena’s work is great, so it makes sense she charges more… but honestly, if we can save money, that’d be amazing.” Two people tried to defend me, but Hailey quickly drowned them out. “Oh, I’m not saying she’s bad at it!” she replied with an innocent wink. “But we’re doing this for fun, right? It’s not a commercial gig. Do we really need high-end studio standards? Think of the cash we’d save for new outfits!” “Tell you what, let me handle it this time. I’ll only charge a hundred and fifty per person. I don’t need to make a profit; I just want to help my girls out.” The chat went quiet for a moment. Then Christine, of course, broke the silence. “Yes, please! Hailey, you are a lifesaver! Queena, looks like we won’t be needing you for this run.” The rest of the dominoes fell instantly. “Me too! Count me in!” “Hailey, you’re literally an angel!” “Yeah, I’ll switch to Hailey too. It’s so much cheaper.” “Queena, we’ll catch you next time, okay? Promise!” I stared at the screen, watching the neat line of betrayals stack up. It felt like a slow, deliberate twist of a knife. “Sure,” I replied. Just two letters. Honestly, it was fine. I was exhausted from subsidizing their hobbies anyway. Three years ago, when I first got into cosplay, I taught myself makeup and wig-styling just to save some cash. They saw how good I got and begged me to style them. Back then, they were using thirty-dollar synthetic wigs off Amazon that reflected light so badly the photographers wanted to cry, and their makeup was patchy at best. I was the one who spent nights detangling, ventilating, cutting, and styling. For three years, I lost count of the all-nighters I pulled. My fingers were scarred from hot glue, my cervical spine was shot, and my prescription had jumped by two diopters. Two hundred dollars barely covered the baseline cost of high-grade materials. Not only was I donating my labor, but I was also paying out of pocket to upgrade their supplies. If they went to a real professional who did custom wigs, makeup, and prop coordination like I did, they’d be looking at a starting rate of a thousand dollars, booked months in advance, excluding materials. But I wasn’t going to argue in the group chat. Even if I told them I was losing money, they’d just say, “Well, you chose to do that. No one forced you.” Explaining myself in that chat would feel like laying my dignity on a table just to watch them pick it apart. I stayed quiet. Then Christine slipped into my DMs. “Hey Queena, Hailey’s just blunt, don’t take it personally. But we’re not made of money, you know? Maybe you could recalculate your costs? If you can beat her price, we’d love to stick with you.” “After all, we trust your work~” I almost laughed. Pressuring me to lower my prices while trying to make it sound like a favor. Why should I care who they went with? I had plenty of paying clients. “No, thanks,” I wrote back, keeping it simple. She immediately went back to the group chat and tagged me: “Hey everyone, Queena’s going to hand over the materials to Hailey, so Hailey will be taking over the styling for this con!~” “Also, Queena, we’re actually at capacity for the Sovereign Five group now, so maybe sit this one out? It’s just easier to coordinate with Hailey in the lineup.” The Sovereign Five was a fixed group of five characters. I was supposed to play one of them. But I didn’t fight for my spot. I just typed: “Got it.” 2. The group chat erupted in celebration. “Christine, you’re the best!” “A hundred and fifty for everything? Hailey, I’m literally obsessed with you! You’re an angel!” “Hailey is a goddess!” … My phone buzzed with a private message from Prima. “Queena, are you okay?” I didn’t reply. I locked my phone and set it face down. On my workbench, Fiona’s gravity-defying white wig sat half-finished. Good. I didn’t have to finish it now. I stared at the headpiece for a long time. Then I picked up my needle-nose pliers and slowly, methodically, tore it apart. I salvaged the materials. I had other projects to focus on. That night, I wrapped up work three hours earlier than usual. I was just about to crawl into bed when my screen lit up again. It was Hailey. “Hey Queena, I hope you’re not mad at me for taking over the gig? It’s nothing personal, honestly. I just don’t think friends should take advantage of friends.” “By the way, could you send over the contact info for your material supplier? Just wanted to compare prices~” I was speechless. She calls me a scammer, and then has the nerve to ask for my sources. I started typing a furious response, but my thumb hovered over the send button. Then I deleted it. Not worth the energy. I sent her the links to a few of my regular wholesale suppliers. A few minutes later, she came back crawling into my inbox: “??? These are insanely expensive!” “Are you trying to sabotage me?” “If I buy from these places, the raw materials alone will cost five hundred per person. You didn’t pay anywhere near that when you did it!” Exactly. Because for three years, I had been quietly subsidizing them. I should probably thank her. She’d just saved me from throwing any more of my own money down that drain. I opened my professional app, and saw a message from Maeve. Maeve was one of the premier wig fiber suppliers in the country. Her high-end custom hairpieces were so sought after that people booked her a month in advance just to get on her waiting list. I called her directly. “A girl reached out to me today,” Maeve said, her voice crackling over the line. “From the way she talked, I’m guessing she’s from your old circle?” I rolled onto my side. “Yeah. I’m done doing their styling. She’s their new girl.” The line went quiet for a beat. “I figured. I didn’t give her a discount. Did you want me to?” “No.” Maeve was a veteran in the scene; she didn’t need me to spell it out. “When outsiders want my materials, I mark them up three times over and still turn them down,” Maeve scoffed. “Those kids have been spoon-fed luxury by you for years, and now they’re turning up their noses?” “Maeve,” I interrupted gently. “It’s fine. I have more commissions than I can handle anyway.” My skills had only sharpened over the last three years. “Fair enough. I can’t wait to see what their cosplays look like this time without you.” After we hung up, the bedroom was incredibly quiet. I opened my personal social media account and scrolled back to my very first posts from three years ago. Every single shoot was a carefully preserved memory. The first group photo: seven of us. Christine was right in the center. I had stayed up for two straight nights styling her wig, and I’d crafted her hairpins piece by piece from shrink-plastic. The comments were flooded with people calling her the perfect fantasy heroine. The second photo: Phoebe as the celestial general. I had carved her armor plate by plate from EVA foam, spray-painting it until four in the morning. The third, the fourth… I went through them all, then closed the app. I opened a different platform. On TikTok, I had a creator account I’d never shared with any of them. The username at the top of the profile read: Sweetbriar & Snow. Three hundred thousand followers. Everyone in the local scene knew Sweetbriar & Snow was a master wigmaker and stylist, but no one in my immediate circle knew it was me. I switched to my main account and messaged another local cosplay group: “Hey, about the styling we discussed—I have an opening now. Are you still looking for someone?” Within seconds, three exclamation points popped up. “Omg, the master replied! Yes, yes, yes! We’d be honored!!!” A small smile touched my lips. I couldn’t wait to see what happened when our two groups crossed paths at the con. 3. Hailey began posting feverishly in the group chat, practically humming with chaotic energy. “Look at this wig, guys! Only forty bucks! I spent hours comparing shops to find this deal. Such a steal!” “And the outfits are pre-made, so I don’t have to waste time sewing. I’m not like some people who insist on doing everything by hand. It’s such a waste of time and money.” At first, the girls cheered her on, but as the updates kept rolling in, the enthusiasm began to curdle. Eventually, someone started a separate group chat—excluding Hailey and Christine—and added me. “I’ve bought from that shop before,” one of the girls wrote. “The color is always completely off. Are we sure Hailey knows what she’s doing?” “Oh god, I just looked up the wig shop. The reviews are terrible. Someone said the fibers started shedding the second they put it on…” I watched the chat silently, offering nothing. Every time Hailey boasted about a new purchase in the main chat, the secret chat tore it to shreds. Finally, Prima tagged me. “Queena, what do you think? Are these materials actually legit?” I took a slow sip of my coffee. “No idea. Never used them.” It wasn’t a lie. I had never touched that cheap trash. Prima DM’d me privately. “Queena, maybe you should talk to Christine again? You get what you pay for, and honestly, your prices were incredibly fair.” “No,” I replied instantly. “I’m not interested in chasing after people who threw me out.” It was harsh, but it was the truth. We’d been friends for years, and they knew what professional stylists charged. The fact that Christine had sided with Hailey so quickly proved she didn’t value me. Prima sent back an ellipsis. By that evening, Hailey proudly announced that all the materials had arrived. The total came to just under a hundred dollars. “I’ll take the extra fifty as a small labor fee, even though I’m practically doing this for free,” she sent, followed by a grinning emoji. “After all, I put a lot of heart into this!” Then, she slipped into my DMs. “Hey Queena, now that I’m doing the math, I see how much of a markup you were charging~ Keeping half the budget as profit? No wonder you could afford such nice things.” I ignored her. She pushed harder. “Don’t say we’re leaving you out! What are you going as this time? Want me to do your hair and makeup? I’ll give you the friend discount—only a hundred and fifty!~” Still, I didn’t reply. Instead, I opened a blank document and began drafting a comprehensive guide on wig fibers and prop materials, analyzing products at every price point from high-end to budget-bin. I spent forty minutes writing, filling it with raw, undeniable facts. I’d post it after the convention. I shut my laptop and lay down in bed. My phone chimed. “Hey! The con is in four days. Do you have time tomorrow to check out our outfits and props?” It was the cosplayer I’d messaged, who went by Hazel. There were seven of them in total, planning to debut characters from the new Aetheria expansion. They had a massive following—even their smallest account had over a hundred thousand followers. “Tomorrow afternoon works for me,” I replied. “Oh my god, thank you so much!” Hazel shot back. “I can’t believe you were free! Their loss is definitely our gain, haha.” I stared at her message for a long beat. “I had a booking,” I wrote. “They bailed on me.” “What the hell? Do they have any idea what they just gave up?!” I smiled faintly. I didn’t know what they had given up. But I knew what I had given up: three years of a one-sided friendship. 4. Three days before LuminaCon, Hailey’s orders started arriving. She hosted an unboxing livestream in the group chat, uploading a dozen videos back-to-back. The first video showed the wigs. They were cheap, forty-dollar Amazon specials. The synthetic fibers glinted under the fluorescent light with a harsh, plastic sheen, and the ends were already tangling into a frizzy mess. “Aren’t they gorgeous?~” Hailey gushed in the voiceover. “This shine is going to look so good on camera!” The chat fell dead silent. Finally, Prima spoke up. “…Is it just me, or is that fiber going to reflect the camera flash like crazy?” Hailey fired back instantly. “That’s what Photoshop is for! No one posts raw photos anyway!” I didn’t say anything, but I knew better. No amount of editing could fix that. The cheap plastic shine would bleed through any filter, making a quick touch-up impossible. The editor would have to manually brush out the glare frame by frame. For seven people, it would be an absolute nightmare. But it wasn’t my problem anymore. Hailey’s second video showed the makeup. A pile of cheap palettes from brands I’d never even heard of. She swatched a concealer on the back of her hand to show it off, but the formula was so dry it cracked as it spread, catching the light in ugly creases. “Full makeup kits! The color selection is way bigger than what Queena used to bring. And it’s incredibly cheap!” Sure, the palettes had plenty of colors, but the quality compared to my professional-grade kits was laughable. I used to custom-blend foundation shades for each of them to match their skin tones and types. I kept my mouth shut. In the secret chat, the girls were spiraling. “Oh my god, look at the ends of those wigs. It looks like spider legs.” “Who is actually going to let her put that cheap makeup on their face? My skin is going to break out.” Prima ventured into the main chat, keeping her tone cautious. “My skin is really sensitive and prone to breakouts. Are we sure about these brands?” “Aren’t you a little high-maintenance?” Hailey replied with a rolling-eye emoji. “It’s just makeup. The ingredients are all the same; you’re just paying for the brand name. Someone’s been spoiling you guys too much.” A passive-aggressive dig aimed right at me. I remembered the first time I did Prima’s makeup. Her skin was incredibly sensitive, covered in acne scars, and easily irritated. I spent weeks testing seven different professional foundations on her skin before finding one that didn’t trigger a reaction. I had bought those products specifically for her. And how had Prima repaid me? Sure, she’d checked in on me privately. She’d made the secret group chat to make me feel included. But when it mattered, none of them had stood up to Christine for me. So, I washed my hands of it. The night before the con, Hailey posted the schedule: Everyone meet at 7:00 AM sharp. I’ll do everyone’s hair and makeup. I’m handing out the wigs tonight, so adjust them yourselves. Seven people. The con started at nine. She was starting at seven. Subtracting travel time, that gave her less than twenty minutes per person. I didn’t have time to worry about their train wreck. I was out the door by 3:00 AM to style Hazel’s group, spending at least forty minutes on each person. By the time I finished Hazel’s entire crew, my feet were throbbing. I finally sat down and unlocked my phone. Christine had posted a heavily filtered photo in the chat. “Looks gorgeous! Hailey, you have such a great eye, and this was so cheap!” Hailey tagged me in the main chat. “How’s it look, Queena? Not bad, right?” At the exact same moment, the secret chat exploded with notifications. My screen lit up with panicked texts. “Queena, help!”

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On Valentine’s Day, my ex-boyfriend, Kevin, cornered me in the most crowded dining hall on campus. He was holding a microphone from the student radio station, declaring to the entire room: “Zoe, if you just agree to give us another chance, I’ll withdraw my application for the Dean’s Fellowship.” The entire cafeteria erupted into cheers and whistles. Beside him stood Delilah, his childhood best friend, her eyes red as she pleaded with me: “Zoe, Kevin is doing all of this for you. Please, stop being so dramatic.” From the crowd, whispers drifted over. Some called me cold-hearted. Some said I didn’t know how good I had it. Others muttered that a girl like me deserved to be dumped anyway. I simply smiled. I reached for the glass of iced lemonade on my tray and threw it directly into Kevin’s face. “Using public resources to stage a tragedy, Kevin?” I said, my voice cutting through the silence. “You’re pathetic.” He thought I was just lashed out because he had backed me into a corner. But he had no idea. From the moment he and Delilah began plotting to steal my fellowship spot, I had already started digging his grave. And the first shovel of dirt would fall next week, during our senior capstone presentations. 1 Today was Valentine’s Day. The first floor of the campus student center was packed to the gills. I had just picked up my lunch tray and walked toward the seating area when a sudden roar of excitement erupted behind me. “She’s here, she’s here!” “Zoe’s here!” “Make way, let the leading lady through!” I froze. Before I could even register what was happening, the crowd parted automatically, forming a long path. At the end of that path stood Kevin. He was wearing a crisp white shirt, dark trousers, and his hair was meticulously styled. In his hand, he held a wireless microphone. At his feet lay a massive ring of red roses, inside of which sat a heart made of glowing tea lights. Next to it was a chalkboard sign that read: Zoe, let’s start over. Looking at those words, my stomach churned. Start over? Only two months ago, I had walked into the local indie theater and found him in the back row, holding Delilah in his arms. Delilah had been wearing the forest-green wool scarf I had spent three weeks knitting for him. She had leaned against his shoulder, her voice soft and sweet: “Kevin, won’t Zoe be upset if she finds out?” And what did Kevin say? He had stroked her hair and murmured, “Don’t worry about her. She’ll never leave me.” I hadn’t made a scene that day. I simply took a photo of them, walked out, and texted him that we were over. At first, Kevin acted like he didn’t care. “You’ll regret this, Zoe,” he’d warned me. “You’re never going to find another guy who treats you the way I do.” I hadn’t regretted it for a single second. But it seemed he was starting to. Our department had only one spot for the fully-funded Dean’s Fellowship this year—a direct track to the university’s prestigious graduate program. When our cumulative GPA rankings came out, Kevin and I were tied for first place. The final decision would come down to the senior capstone project presentations next week. Delilah was ranked third. If either Kevin or I dropped out of the running, the runner-up spot would automatically go to her. This grand gesture wasn’t an act of devotion. It was a setup. Kevin raised the microphone, his eyes glistening with rehearsed emotion. “Zoe, these past two months apart have been a nightmare. I haven’t slept. I know I made mistakes, but I truly can’t imagine my life without you.” The crowd went wild. “Oh my god, he’s so romantic!” “What is she waiting for? Say yes!” Kevin took a step forward, pulling a folded piece of paper from a leather portfolio. I recognized the official department letterhead. It was a Voluntary Withdrawal Form for the fellowship. He held it up for everyone to see. “If you take me back, I’ll sign this right now. I don’t care about the fellowship. I only care about you.” The cafeteria erupted. People were clapping, cheering, and recording videos to post on their socials. “Giving up a full-ride fellowship for love? Kevin is a literal prince!” “If Zoe rejects him now, she’s just being heartless.” I stood in the center of the room, pinned to the floor by hundreds of staring eyes, like a criminal on trial. Kevin looked at me, a subtle gleam of triumph in his eyes. He was certain I would be swept up by the romance, or at least too afraid of the public pressure to humiliate him. He knew the old me too well. During our two years together, I had always protected his ego. When he was late, I told him it was fine. When he forgot our anniversary, I blamed it on his heavy workload. When he spent hours alone with Delilah, I told myself I trusted him. But a person can only be a fool for so long. Once was enough. Just then, Delilah stepped out from behind him. She was wearing a delicate white sundress, her eyes rimmed with red, looking like the victim of some grand tragedy. She walked over to me, her voice trembling. “Zoe, please don’t hold a grudge against Kevin. He’s been in so much pain lately. If you’re refusing to forgive him because of me, I’ll apologize. I’ll do whatever it takes.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “I’m so sorry. I promise I’ll keep my distance from him from now on. Just please, stop torturing him like this.” It was a masterful performance. The moment she spoke, the whispers around us shifted, growing sharper, uglier. “Zoe is being so cold.” “Even the friend apologized, and she’s still standing there with that look on her face.” “Is she just stringing him along because she likes the power trip?” Kevin didn’t stop Delilah. He just watched me, the faint twitch of a smirk touching the corner of his mouth. In that moment, his entire plan became crystal clear. He wasn’t here to beg for my forgiveness; he was here to force me to submit. If I accepted, he won. He could occupy the moral high ground, regain control over our relationship, and eventually manipulate me into stepping down from the fellowship anyway. If I rejected him, he still won. He would use the court of public opinion to paint me as a ruthless, ungrateful villain, making it impossible for me to survive the department’s review process. No matter what, he wanted to ensure I lost. I looked at him, and suddenly, I laughed. Kevin’s eyes lit up, thinking I was softening. He opened his arms, his voice dropping into a deeper, tender register. “Zoe. Come back to me. I’m so sorry.” I set my lunch tray down on a nearby table, picked up the tall plastic cup of iced lemonade, and before he could react, I threw the contents straight into his face. The sticky, ice-cold liquid drenched his hair and ran down his neck. A slice of lemon clung to his collar. The entire cafeteria went dead silent. The mask of devotion on Kevin’s face shattered instantly. He wiped the liquid from his eyes, his chest heaving as he roared, “Zoe! Are you insane?” I took the microphone from his hand. My voice wasn’t loud, but in the quiet of the hall, it carried perfectly. “First of all, we broke up two months ago. I am not interested in getting back together. Ever. “Second, the Dean’s Fellowship is an academic honor. It is not a prop for you to use in your pathetic romantic dramas. Staging this little show isn’t noble, Kevin. It’s desperate.” A collective gasp rippled through the room. Delilah’s face drained of color. “Zoe, how can you say that? Kevin did this because he loves you—” I turned my gaze to her. “Because he loves me? If he withdraws, you’re third in line for the spot. If I walk away because of the drama, it goes straight to you. Tell me, Delilah, why are you crying? You should be throwing a party.” Delilah froze, her mouth slightly open. Kevin went rigid. Finally, some of the onlookers started putting the pieces together. “Wait, Delilah is third in the department?” “So if Kevin drops out and Zoe gets distracted, Delilah gets the funding?” “Holy shit. Is this a setup?” Delilah’s tears fell faster. “No! That’s not true! I never wanted to take anyone’s spot! Zoe, why do you always assume the worst of me?” Before she could finish her sentence, a stern, authoritative voice boomed from the back of the crowd. “What is going on here?” The students parted to reveal Professor Harris, our department head. His face was dark. He was notorious for his strict academic standards and his absolute disdain for students who treated their studies like a game. He had clearly heard enough. Kevin panicked. “Professor Harris, I was just—” “Just what?” Professor Harris cut him off, his voice like ice. “Using a graduate fellowship as a bargaining chip for your love life? Kevin, what do you think this university’s academic standards are? A playground?” Kevin’s face was white. I didn’t give him a chance to recover. I stepped forward and bowed slightly to the professor. “Professor Harris, since things have escalated to this point, I have a proposal. To ensure complete fairness, I suggest we make the capstone defense next week entirely transparent. Let the entire faculty panel grade us live, and let the highest score take the fellowship. No one has to withdraw, and no one gets to play the martyr.” Professor Harris was silent for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Fine. Next Friday, a public defense. Everyone speaks with their work.” I looked back at Kevin. His jaw was clenched so hard the muscles in his cheek twitched. Delilah’s fingers were white from clutching the fabric of her skirt. Their first move had failed. But at ten o’clock that night, my roommate, Grace, kicked our dorm door open and shoved her phone in my face. “Zoe, look at the campus forum. Kevin is dragging you through the mud.” 2 By midnight, the campus forum had completely caught fire. An anonymous post had been pinned to the top of the homepage. The title read: Exposing the cold-blooded genius who threw ice water on the campus golden boy on Valentine’s Day. The post was written with dramatic flair, painting Kevin as a tragic romantic who had offered to sacrifice his entire future for me, only to be publicly humiliated. It claimed I had used him for support throughout our relationship, only to discard him the moment I didn’t need him anymore. It even suggested that my call for a public defense was because I had already bribed the faculty. It was so absurd I wanted to laugh. But the comments underneath were filled with genuine, vitriolic anger. “Zoe looks so innocent, but she’s actually a sociopath.” “Who cares if she’s smart? Her character is trash.” “People like her shouldn’t get fellowships. They ruin academic departments.” “She was the one who suggested the public defense. I bet she already has the professors in her pocket.” Our class group chat wasn’t quiet either. Kevin’s roommate was the first to speak up. “@Zoe, you went way too far today. Kevin was willing to give up his career for you, and you poured ice water on his head? You’re cold.” Delilah’s roommate immediately chimed in: “Some people think they can treat others like garbage just because they have a high GPA. Delilah has been crying all night, and she did absolutely nothing wrong. Zoe, you owe her an apology.” I stared at the screen, my fingers hovering over the keyboard. Before I could type a single word, Grace snatched the phone from my hand. “Don’t waste your breath, Zoe,” she said, her eyes flashing. “Let me handle this.” Within seconds, she fired off a dozen messages in the group chat. “Kevin is a romantic? Is that what we’re calling a guy who cheats on his girlfriend with his ‘childhood best friend’?” “Is it romantic that while Zoe was running a hundred-and-four-degree fever, Kevin claimed he was stuck in the lab, only to go see a movie with Delilah?” “Is it romantic that he took the green scarf Zoe spent weeks knitting for him and gave it to Delilah?” The chat went silent for a few seconds. Then, Grace dropped the bomb: a photo of Kevin and Delilah sitting in the back row of the movie theater, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist as she fed him popcorn. The chat exploded. Kevin’s roommate tried to salvage the situation: “So what? Friends can’t go to the movies together?” Grace fired back: “To a theater’s love seats? Feeding each other popcorn? Wearing his girlfriend’s hand-knit scarf? Is everyone in your dorm room lacking a mirror, or just lacking a brain?” I couldn’t help but chuckle. Grace never needed a script to dismantle someone. Kevin finally appeared in the chat. “Grace, don’t make this uglier than it needs to be. Whatever issues Zoe and I have, we’ll resolve them privately.” Grace replied: “Oh, now you want privacy? You didn’t care about privacy when you set your online mob on her. Now that you’re caught, you want to act dignified? Kevin, you’re a joke.” Nobody else in the chat said a word. But the storm on the campus forum didn’t stop. The next morning, a new anonymous thread appeared. The headline was even more malicious: Why is Zoe so desperate for a public defense? What’s the real nature of her relationship with a certain professor? There were no facts, only insinuations. It implied that my academic record was manufactured, and that Professor Harris and I had a personal connection that would guarantee my win. Grace looked ready to throw her laptop through the window. “Are these people out of their minds?” I stared at the screen, tracing the usernames of the most active commenters. They all had similar registration dates and posted with identical phrasing—defending Kevin, attacking me, pretending to be objective bystanders while steering the narrative. It was a coordinated effort. “What are you looking at?” Grace asked, leaning over. I took screenshots of everything and saved them to an encrypted folder. “I’m looking at them digging their own graves.” Grace blinked. “You already have a plan, don’t you?” I opened the project directory on my computer, revealing the final architecture of our machine learning model. “I’m not planning. I’m just waiting for them to take the bait.” 3 For the next four days, Grace and I practically lived in the computer science lab. Our capstone project was an AI-driven predictive analytics model for regional healthcare logistics. It was a highly complex codebase, but if we could get the optimization algorithm to run smoothly, the results would be undeniable. Every night at 2:00 AM, the lab was pitch black except for the glow of our monitors. Grace sat slumped over a bag of potato chips, staring at the endless lines of Python code. “I feel like these brackets are staring back at me and calling me stupid,” she groaned. I kept typing. “What exactly are they saying?” “They’re asking why I haven’t crawled into bed yet.” I smiled. “Two more days, Grace. Just hang in there.” She put her head on the desk. “When you get this fellowship, you’re buying me dinner. Five times.” “Deal.” Despite our joking, we both knew what was at stake. This wasn’t just about beating Kevin anymore. It was about our work. It was about the endless nights we’d spent debugging, the spreadsheets of data we’d meticulously cleaned, and the simple fact that we refused to let someone ride our coattails or destroy our future. Kevin had been quiet. He didn’t try to corner me in the halls, and he stayed out of the group chats. But whenever we crossed paths in the department building, his gaze was dark and venomous. On Wednesday afternoon, I went to the printing room to grab some physical reference sheets. As I pushed the door open slightly, I heard voices from inside. It was Delilah, her voice thick with unshed tears. “Kevin, I’m scared. If Zoe wins the presentation, I’ll lose my chance at the graduate program entirely.” There was a long silence. Then Kevin spoke. “She won’t win.” “But her model is so much faster than ours,” Delilah whispered. “How are we supposed to beat her?” Kevin’s voice dropped, cold and sharp. “We don’t have to beat her. We just have to make sure she has nothing to present.” My hand froze on the doorknob. Behind me, Grace’s eyes went wide. I made a sharp gesture for her to stay quiet. Inside, Delilah sounded startled. “What do you mean?” Kevin let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Zoe’s a creature of habit. She’s used the same password combination for everything since freshman year—her birthday followed by her initials. I checked. She never changed her access credentials for the department’s shared project server.” Delilah’s voice was barely a whisper. “Isn’t that… too risky?” “If she walks onto that stage on Friday with empty hands, the fellowship is mine,” Kevin said. “Once I have the funding secured, I’ll work out a way to transfer the research assistantship to you. Delilah, don’t you want this?” A pause. Then, Delilah murmured, “You’re the only one who truly cares about me, Kevin.” I almost laughed out loud. They truly were made for each other—one malicious, the other entirely spineless. Grace looked ready to charge through the door, but I grabbed her wrist and pulled her back into the hallway. “Did you hear that?” she hissed once we were out of earshot. “He’s going to delete our repository!” I nodded. “I heard.” “So what do we do? Change the passwords right now?” I looked back at the heavy wooden door of the printing room. “No. Let him do it.” Grace stared at me like I had lost my mind. “Are you crazy?” “If he doesn’t do it,” I said softly, “how can we ensure he gets caught?” Right then, my phone buzzed in my pocket. A notification from my cloud dashboard popped up: Multi-factor authentication bypass detected. Server monitoring active. I looked at the screen and smiled. “He’s taking the bait. Now, we let him play his hand.”

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Seven years of marriage. Ethan saw me as dirty, as old. He turned around and got involved with a younger college student. His reason? “You threw yourself at me when you were sixteen, like some cheap escort. Who knows how many men a manipulative woman like you has slept with since?” He held Lily Sterling close, his eyes tender. “Lily is pure and untouched. She was twenty when she lost her virginity to me. I’m her only man.” He forgot. When he was sixteen, he was the one begging me to get into his bed. Someone had drugged him with an aphrodisiac, and I gave myself to him to save his life. He’d pulled a blanket over my kiss-marked body back then and soothed, “My darling, I’ll be good to you my whole life.” Seven years together. I took blades for him, my hands stained with blood and dirtied by schemes. All I got in return was him turning to embrace his “pure” new love. This time, I didn’t make a scene. I took off my wedding ring and walked away. Ethan’s friends all bet on when I’d come back. But day after day, I remained silent. No word from me. Ethan couldn’t sit still anymore. He called me. “Amelia, you’ve caused enough trouble. Come back.” But a low chuckle came. A man’s voice. “Mr. Hayes, you take too long chasing your girl. Someone else might beat you to it.”

Amelia’s POV The New York rainy season was damp, cold, and sticky. The briny wind from New York Harbor lashed relentlessly against the floor-to-ceiling windows of our hillside mansion. I sat alone at the dining table. The Wellington steak on my plate was long cold, the fat congealed. The candles had burned out, their last embers extinguished by the wind. The dining room plunged into total darkness. Today marked seven years since Ethan Hayes and I first met. Seven years ago today, amidst the bloody turf wars of Brooklyn, I took a fatal knife wound for him. A hideous, indelible scar still marred my back. It was also that day that a penniless Ethan, kneeling in the mud, cradled my bloody face and swore that one day, he’d make me the most respected woman in all of New York. Now, Hayes Enterprises had expanded its reach to an unimaginable scale. He had become Ethan Hayes, a name whispered with fear in the business world. And I was his sharpest blade, hidden in the shadows. Amelia, the ruthless force behind Hayes Enterprises. My phone screen suddenly lit up in the darkness, stinging my eyes. It was Mark, Ethan’s assistant, his voice tinged with guilt. “Amelia… Mr. Hayes might not be able to make it back tonight. There’s an issue at the South Precinct, and Mr. Hayes is handling it.” My breath hitched, my heart seized. I hung up the phone, grabbed my car keys, and rushed out into the pouring rain. In the corridor of the South Precinct, the harsh white fluorescent lights made my head spin. I strode in on three-inch heels, dressed in a sharply tailored black business suit, trailing icy rainwater. However, the scene before me shattered all my pride and all my worry. Ethan sat on a bench in the corridor. The man who was cold and ruthless at the negotiation table, who never even furrowed a brow, was now taking off his warm, tailored suit. With gentle, almost careful movements, he draped it over a young girl. The girl wore a faded cotton dress, her blonde hair disheveled, her eyes swollen and red. She huddled in Ethan’s arms, her hands clutching the hem of his shirt as if he were her only hope in the world. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here. No one can touch you.” Ethan’s voice was deep and gentle, a tone I hadn’t heard in three whole years. I stood in the shadows a few steps away, watching the scene with cold eyes. I knew the girl. Her name was Lily Sterling. Ethan had ‘rescued’ her, a college student, from his enemies three months ago during a corporate turf war. “Ethan.” I spoke, my voice surprisingly calm, so calm that even I found it unbelievable. Ethan looked up at the sound of my voice. The moment he saw me, a flicker of irritation crossed his eyes, but he didn’t release his arm from around Lily’s shoulder. “What are you doing here?” “Have you forgotten what day it is?” I took a step forward, my gaze falling on Lily’s hands, which were desperately gripping Ethan’s clothes. The sight was so jarring it felt like it was burning my retina. “Lily was being tracked by my enemies and almost got hurt. I had to come deal with it.” Ethan’s tone was matter-of-fact, even carrying a hint of annoyance at being disturbed. “It’s just an anniversary. Tomorrow, I’ll have accounting transfer you some money. You can pick out any gift you like.” Lily timidly peeked out from Ethan’s embrace, her voice trembling, thick with tears. “I’m so sorry… it’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have called Mr. Hayes for help while he was in a meeting, ruining your anniversary…” “If you knew it would ruin it, why did you call?” My gaze, sharp as a blade, pierced Lily with not a hint of warmth. “Amelia!” Ethan’s voice suddenly rose, pulling Lily tightly behind him. His eyes, when he looked at me, were full of reproach and disappointment. “She’s just an innocent college student. What does she know of corporate schemes? Don’t look at her with that calculating gaze you cast on everyone!” Innocent? Calculating? Like a poison-tipped dagger, his words plunged into my heart, twisting cruelly. Seven years ago, I was also an innocent New York beauty pageant queen, with a promising future. Who drank herself sick, to the point of a stomach hemorrhage, at a dinner party, just to help him secure his first startup capital? Who walked alone into a negotiation room in the heart of Brooklyn’s underworld to appease his enemies? All my grit, all the blood on my hands, all the schemes in my mind, were for the sole purpose of keeping him pure and untouched on his throne. But now, he found me dirty. My hands, hanging by my sides, slowly clenched. My neatly manicured nails dug deep into my palms, breaking the skin, bringing a sharp pang of pain. I fought back the coppery taste of blood in my throat, forcing a smile that was both utterly cold and strikingly beautiful. “Fine. If Mr. Hayes intends to play the hero, I won’t intrude.” I turned and walked back into the rain, my spine ramrod straight, without looking back. The cold rain lashed mercilessly against my face. I closed my eyes, letting the icy water wash over my eyelids. Seven years of companionship, ultimately no match for the pristine face of a newcomer. I should have known. Birds and fish, after all, were never meant to cross paths.

Amelia’s POV New York media has always been sharper than a vulture’s eye. Overnight, the headlines of all major entertainment and financial sections had shifted direction. Hayes Heir Plays Hero! Mysterious Pure College Student Rises, Ex-Beauty Queen Amelia’s Seven-Year High-Society Dream Shattered! The accompanying photo was from the previous night at the precinct entrance: Ethan carefully shielding Lily as she got into the car. The photo was beautifully composed. In the pouring rain, the man’s tall frame created a shelter from the wind and rain for the girl. I sat in the Vice President’s office on the top floor of Hayes Enterprises, expressionlessly tossing the newspaper into the shredder. Accompanied by the machine’s dull grinding sound, the jarring headlines turned into a pile of meaningless waste paper. The frosted glass door of my office opened, and Ethan walked in, carrying the lingering chill of the outside. He glanced at the shredder, his brow slightly furrowed. “The media is writing nonsense. I’ll have the PR department suppress the buzz. Don’t go making trouble for Lily.” My hand, as I flipped through documents, froze. I looked up, meeting the eyes of the man I had lived with for seven years, my gaze filled with absurd mockery. “Ethan, you came to my office this early just to warn me not to touch your mistress?” “Amelia, do we really have to speak to each other with such sarcastic tones?” Ethan walked to my desk, leaning his hands on the surface, looking down at me with a hint of pressure in his voice. “Lily is very sensitive. She can’t handle the dirty tactics of your circles. Last night’s incident scared her badly, so I plan to have her move into the hillside mansion for a while. It has the most robust security system.” The hillside mansion. It felt like someone had punched me hard in the chest. That was the first home Ethan and I had chosen together, furnished ourselves, after he made his first fortune. Every piece of furniture in it, even every white rose in the garden, I had personally tended to. He once held me by the mansion’s floor-to-ceiling windows, promising me that it was a safe haven meant only for the two of us, where no one else could intrude. “You’re moving her into the hillside mansion?” “She’s just staying temporarily.” Ethan avoided my overly clear gaze, turning to look out the window. “You own many properties; you can move into the spacious apartment in Long Island for a while. Lily is timid. She’ll feel uncomfortable if you’re there.” To make another woman comfortable, he was kicking me, the actual mistress of the house, out? I felt as though my body was submerged in ice water, so cold I almost trembled. I stared at the man before me. His features were still deep and handsome, but his eyes, which once held only me, were now filled with a blatant favoritism and protectiveness for another woman. “What if I don’t move?” Ethan’s face instantly darkened, his voice taking on the coldness of a superior. “Amelia, stop being childish. You weren’t this unreasonable before. Lily isn’t like you; you’re strong enough. What storms haven’t you weathered in the business world? But she can’t. She’s a blank slate; even a slight gust of wind could tear her apart. I have to protect her.” Because she was strong, I should concede; because I had weathered storms, I deserved to be stripped of my sanctuary. My heart, at that moment, was crushed into dust, inch by agonizing inch. I suddenly felt that these seven years of my youth were a colossal joke. I molded myself into a strong woman to protect him, only for that strength to become his reason to discard me. “Fine, I’ll move.” I lowered my eyelids, concealing the desolate emptiness in my eyes. “Ethan, I’ll leave the keys to the hillside mansion at the door tonight. I hope you both enjoy your stay.” That evening, I packed all my personal belongings in just an hour. There wasn’t much, actually. Over the years, I had poured all my energy into expanding Hayes Enterprises. The personal items belonging to me in the mansion were pathetically few. As I dragged my suitcase to the door, the code lock chimed. Ethan walked in with Lily. Lily wore a new pair of pink bunny slippers. Seeing my suitcase, her eyes instantly reddened. “Are you really leaving? Or maybe I should leave instead. I don’t want to ruin your relationship because of me…” “If you didn’t want to ruin it, you shouldn’t have stepped through this door in the first place.” I cut her off coldly, not bothering to spare her an extra glance. “Amelia!” Ethan roared, pulling Lily into his embrace, glaring at me. “Why are you yelling at her? I’m the one who asked her to come!” I didn’t look at them again. I placed the keys, which had absorbed my warmth for seven years, on the shoe cabinet by the door. “Ethan, I don’t want this house anymore.” I pushed open the door and walked into the dense New York night without a backward glance. It was stormy, but I didn’t carry an umbrella. Because no one would shelter me from the rain anymore.

Amelia’s POV After moving out of the hillside mansion, I threw all my energy into endless work. I tried to numb myself with hectic international meetings and high-intensity negotiations. The moment my brain stopped functioning for a second, a dull, sharp ache would throb in my heart, reminding me how ridiculous those seven years of sacrifice had been. A week later, New York’s annual top-tier charity gala was held at the Waldorf Astoria. As one of the owners of Hayes Enterprises, I walked the red carpet alone, dressed in a black velvet haute couture gown. I was still stunningly beautiful. The cool detachment in my eyes added an aura of untouchable regality. The media and socialites who had come to witness my downfall instinctively silenced themselves the moment they met my icy gaze. However, as the gala was halfway through and a graceful waltz had just begun, a hushed stir suddenly rippled through the crowd. The heavy doors of the ballroom were pushed open by a waiter. Ethan, in a tailored tuxedo, entered with a figure draped in pure white: Lily Sterling. Lily was clearly attending such a high-society event for the first time. She clung nervously to Ethan, like an ugly duckling who had stumbled into a flock of swans. But what truly made all the socialites gasp in awe, and even green with envy, was the diamond necklace around Lily’s neck. The Tears of Victoria! Three years ago, Ethan had acquired that peerless pink diamond at Sotheby’s auction house for an exorbitant price. At the time, all of New York’s media had widely reported that it was Ethan’s chosen accessory for my wedding gown. My hand, holding the champagne flute, trembled violently, nearly spilling the golden liquid. Ethan had once personally placed that necklace around my neck. It was on the eve of Hayes Enterprises’ greatest crisis. He had wrapped his arms around me from behind, pressing the cold diamonds against my collarbone, his voice hoarse as he promised: “Amelia, once we overcome this hurdle, once Hayes Enterprises rings the bell for its IPO, I’ll marry you with this necklace.” Now, Hayes Enterprises had long gone public. The grand bell-ringing ceremony was still vivid in my memory. Yet, that necklace, laden with his promise, now adorned another woman’s neck. “Amelia, Mr. Hayes is really playing favorites, isn’t he?” A rival, who had always been at odds with me, chuckled lightly, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “He spent so much money on you back then, and now he’s given it to some nobody with no background. Men, you know, they still prefer innocent, pure, and easy-to-control women.” I ignored the cold taunts of others. My gaze cut through the bustling crowd, fixing directly on Ethan. Ethan seemed to sense my stare. He turned, and our eyes met across the room. A flicker of awkwardness crossed Ethan’s eyes, but he didn’t walk over. Instead, he leaned down and whispered something to Lily. Lily followed Ethan’s gaze and saw me. She bit her lip, then surprisingly, took Ethan’s hand and, weaving through the crowd, walked towards me. “Amelia.” Lily lowered her head slightly, but her hand unconsciously caressed the pink diamond around her neck, her posture timid yet radiating a hidden smug satisfaction. “This necklace… Ethan said my dress was too plain tonight, so he lent it to me. Please don’t misunderstand, I don’t mean anything by it.” Her words perfectly balanced feigned innocence with blatant showing off. Looking at her pitiful act, a wave of visceral disgust churned in my stomach. I looked at Ethan coldly, my eyes full of derision. “Mr. Hayes’ taste is certainly unique. Pairing a priceless heirloom worth millions with a simple white dress doesn’t that seem like a waste?” “Amelia, watch your tone!” Ethan’s face darkened, and he instinctively shielded Lily behind him. “Lily doesn’t understand these luxury items. I insisted she wear it. Don’t be so aggressive here just because of a necklace.” “I’m aggressive?” I let out a bitter laugh, but my eyes stung. “Ethan, do you have any idea what this necklace means to me?” “That’s all in the past.” Ethan cut me off coldly, his eyes cold and rational. “You have everything now. Shares in Hayes Enterprises, status, wealth, reputation. Why do you insist on fighting Lily over a necklace? She has nothing. She only has me.” His words struck me like a lightning bolt. I had everything? I gave up my own life, stained my hands with corporate schemes and dirt, earned myself a bad reputation, only to be dismissed with a casual “she has everything”? I looked at the man before me, the man I had cultivated with seven years of my youth, and suddenly felt utterly alienated, so much so that it terrified me. “Fine, very well.” I nodded slowly, draining the champagne in my hand. The cold liquid slid down my throat, burning like a knife. “Since Mr. Hayes is so generous, consider this necklace my welcome gift to Ms. Sterling. After all, I find things used by others… dirty.” With that, I placed the empty glass heavily on a waiter’s tray and turned, walking out of the ballroom with resolute pride. I didn’t cry. My tears had long since run dry in the countless dark nights I spent taking bullets for him.

Amelia’s POV My origins in the New York business world had always been a mystery no one dared to pry into. The media only knew that I grew up in an orphanage, won a beauty pageant with my stunning looks, and then plunged into Ethan’s business empire. But only I knew that for over two decades, I had never given up searching for my birth parents. The day after the charity gala, my long-term private investigator finally delivered a thick DNA test report and background check to my desk. The report showed that I wasn’t an abandoned orphan at all, but the daughter of the prominent Boston Sterling family, lost for twenty-two years. Yet, fate seemed to have a cruel sense of humor. Attached to the last page of the investigation report was a recent family photo of the Sterling household. In the photo, my parents were celebrating a girl’s birthday, their faces beaming with loving smiles. The girl, wearing a crown and smiling with innocent joy, was Lily Sterling. Lily Sterling, the replacement child adopted from an orphanage by the Sterling family, who were heartbroken after losing their daughter. The woman who stole my man had also brazenly occupied my rightful life. I stared at the report, my fingers trembling slightly. An indescribable sense of absurdity enveloped me. I didn’t contact the Sterling family immediately. Instead, clutching the report, I drove to Ethan’s exclusive club. Deep down, I still held a faint, fragile glimmer of hope. I wanted to tell him that I had found my family, that I was no longer the destitute orphan. I wanted to see if, upon learning the truth, he would show even a trace of emotion. The club’s corridors were thickly carpeted, my footsteps barely audible. As I reached the door of Ethan’s private VIP suite, it was slightly ajar, and Lily’s suppressed, tearful sobs drifted out. “Ethan, I’m so scared… The Sterling family is looking for their biological daughter from years ago. I heard they already have a lead. If that girl comes back, Mom and Dad won’t love me anymore. I’m just a replacement; I’ll lose everything…” I stopped, my hand frozen on the doorknob. Then came Ethan’s deep, gentle, and utterly doting voice, filled with boundless indulgence. “Don’t be afraid, Lily. With me, no one can take what’s yours.” “But what if their biological daughter tries to kick me out? What if she hates me?” Lily cried piteously. “Then I’ll make sure she can’t survive in the entire business world.” Ethan’s voice suddenly turned cold, laced with a chilling cruelty. “I don’t care whether the Sterlings agree to let their biological daughter come home. But on my turf, as long as I’m here, you are the Sterling family’s only heiress. Anyone who dares to make you suffer will pay the price. Even the Sterling’s biological daughter.” Outside the door, I felt as if plunged into an ice bath. A chill shot from the soles of my feet to the top of my head, freezing my entire body. I looked down at the crumpled DNA report in my hand, suddenly finding it incredibly laughable. I had foolishly hoped to share the joy of finding my family with him, yet he had already preemptively warned me off, his own biological daughter, for his mistress’s sake. It turned out the boundary between love and no love could be so stark. For Lily Sterling, he could relentlessly destroy anyone, including Amelia, the woman who had helped him build his career and taken a knife for him. I didn’t push the door open. I stood quietly outside, listening to the man’s tender words to another woman within. Then, slowly, I tore the DNA test report in my hand into shreds. White paper flakes drifted from my fingers, like a silent snowfall, burying my last shred of hope and weakness. I turned to leave, my spine still straight. But the heart that had loved Ethan for seven years had, at that moment, completely stopped beating. From now on, I needed no love, no family.

Amelia’s POV Two weeks later, the Sterling family officially entered the New York market, hosting a grand celebration gala at The Plaza Hotel. The Sterlings grandly announced that they had found their long-lost daughter, but to protect her privacy, her identity would remain undisclosed for now. At the same time, Daniel Sterling emphatically stated to the media that their adopted daughter, Lily Sterling, remained the Sterling family’s most beloved daughter, her status unshakeable. As an indispensable figure in the New York business world, I received an invitation. Dressed in a fiery red gown, I appeared at the gala, coolly stunning. No one knew that I was the true protagonist of this evening, the daughter deliberately hidden, even guarded against, by my own birth parents. In the hotel’s garden, the massive outdoor pool shimmered, reflecting New York’s dazzling neon lights. I stood by the poolside, holding a wine glass, trying to suppress the churning turmoil in my chest. Faint footsteps approached from behind, accompanied by a cloyingly sweet perfume. “Amelia, what a coincidence.” Lily, in a custom-made princess dress, walked up to me like a triumphant swan. The Lily of this moment no longer exhibited the timidity and innocence she showed Ethan. Her eyes held an undisguised malice and smug satisfaction. “Do you need something?” I couldn’t even bother to spare her a glance, my eyes still fixed on the distant night skyline. Lily leaned closer, lowering her voice to a whisper meant only for us. “Amelia, I actually saw the Sterling family’s investigation report a long time ago. I know you’re the real Sterling daughter who was lost.” My hand, holding the wine glass, paused slightly. I turned, looking at her coldly. “But so what?” Lily’s smile was vicious and unrestrained. “Mom and Dad chose not to reveal you to spare my feelings. And Ethan… he even personally warned the Sterling family that if you dared to come back and bully me, he would cut off all cooperation with them.” “Amelia, so what if you’re high-born? The man you loved for seven years is now my protector. You’re destined to be a pitiful soul no one wants.” Looking at Lily’s arrogant face, I felt no anger, only a bleak desolation in my heart. “Are you done?” My tone was indifferent, as if I were watching a clown. “If you’re finished, leave.” Lily’s eyes flashed, and a strange smile curved her lips. She suddenly lunged backward. “Ah!” With a piercing scream, Lily fell into the deep pool, splashing a huge amount of water. “Lily!” A furious roar erupted from nearby. Ethan rushed over like a madman, not even taking off his suit jacket, and unhesitatingly leaped into the pool, pulling the flailing Lily to the surface. The commotion drew all the guests, including my parents, who rushed over upon hearing the news. Ethan carried a soaking wet, shivering Lily ashore. Lily immediately clung to his neck, sobbing uncontrollably. “Ethan, I’m so scared… I just wanted to say hello to Amelia, why did she push me down…” Ethan’s head snapped up, his dark eyes burning with fury. He stared at me like an enemy. “Amelia! You’re utterly insane!” Ethan gritted his teeth. “Are you using those dirty tricks from the business world on Lily now? What did she ever do to you to deserve such malice?” “I didn’t push her.” I stood ramrod straight, my voice clear and cold, without a trace of panic. Slap! A sharp slap cracked through the night air, interrupting my defense. It wasn’t Ethan who slapped me, but a furious Mrs. Sterling, my birth mother. Mrs. Sterling trembled with rage, pointing a finger at my nose and cursing. “You evil woman! Lily is so kind, how dare you push her! I’m warning you, if anything happens to Lily, our Sterling family will not let you get away with it!” I turned my head. Five red marks rapidly appeared on my fair cheek, bringing an unbearable pang of pain. I looked at my birth mother, glaring at me, then at Ethan, who was tightly embracing Lily, his eyes filled with disgust for me. Everyone present was condemning me, insulting me. I stood alone, like a monster abandoned by the world. “Ethan,” I suddenly smiled, a beautiful, heartbreaking smile, my eyes filled with shattered despair. “In your eyes, I’m such a monster, capable of murder out of jealousy, aren’t I?” Ethan looked at my smile, then coldly turned his gaze away. “You disappoint me greatly.” “Understood, then.” I nodded, making no further attempt to defend myself. I turned, my three-inch heels clicking, walking out of the Sterling family’s gala step by step, proud and resolute. The night wind blew, and my slender silhouette seemed as if it could be swallowed whole by this cold world at any moment.

Amelia’s POV After returning from the Sterling family gala, I fell seriously ill. The high fever plunged me into nightmares night after night, filled with Ethan’s cold, disgusted gaze and my own mother’s sharp, decisive slap. The first thing I did after the fever broke was drive back to the hillside mansion. I had left something there. It was an old wooden box containing a pocket watch my foster mother had left me before she passed away. It was the only keepsake proving my identity, and for over twenty years, it had been my sole source of comfort during countless unbearable nights. Pushing open the mansion door, I saw that the interior furnishings had completely changed. The minimalist, dark-toned furniture I had carefully chosen was all replaced with a pink, French country style. My presence had been completely erased from here. Even the air was filled with an unfamiliar, sweet scent. I walked straight to the master bedroom on the second floor. Pushing open the door, I saw Lily sitting at the dressing table, toying with that very pocket watch. “Who allowed you to touch my things?” I strode over, my eyes as cold and sharp as daggers. Lily jumped in fright. Seeing me, a flicker of panic crossed her eyes, but she quickly composed herself. “Amelia, you’ve already moved out. Naturally, everything here belongs to Ethan. I thought this pocket watch was quite distinctive, so I took it out to look at it.” “Give it back to me!” I reached out, my voice chillingly cold. Just then, steady footsteps echoed from outside the door. Ethan walked in. Seeing me, his brows immediately furrowed, his voice filled with impatience. “What are you doing here? Didn’t you leave the keys?” “I came for my mother’s keepsake.” I pointed at the pocket watch in Lily’s hand, my gaze fixed on it. Ethan glanced at the worn-out watch, irritably pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s just an old watch. If Lily likes it, let her keep it. Name your price, and I’ll compensate you double.” An old watch? Compensate? My heart felt like it was being fed into a meat grinder, the pain so intense that even my breaths tasted of blood. “Ethan, that’s the only keepsake my foster mother left me! It’s something I’ve worn since childhood!” My voice finally cracked, imbued with an undeniable sorrow and despair. “In your eyes, everything can be measured by money, everything can be given to her, is that right?!” Ethan’s tone softened slightly. “Lily has been frightened recently. She feels the pocket watch brings her peace. You have so many top-tier jewels; why bother fighting her over this?” “Ethan, since Amelia is so reluctant to part with this watch, I’ll just give it back to her.” Lily put on a wronged expression, stood up, and extended the pocket watch towards me. However, just as my fingers were about to touch the watch, Lily’s fingers suddenly loosened. A sharp clink rang out. A crisp shattering sound echoed in the quiet bedroom. The pocket watch, which had been with me for over twenty years, hit the marble floor. Its glass face shattered completely. The atmosphere instantly turned tense. “Oh! I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry! It slipped!” Lily cried out, then turned and hid in Ethan’s arms. I stood frozen, staring down at the watch on the floor. It was my only connection to the past, my only source of solace during those difficult years. Now, the watch was broken… Just like my feelings for Ethan, it was shattered into a million pieces. I slowly knelt, reaching out a trembling hand, picking up the watch fragments one by one. The sharp glass edges cut my fingers, and blood dripped onto the white floor. “Amelia…” Ethan looked at my bleeding hand, trying to reach for me. “Don’t touch me!” I fiercely swatted his hand away. I looked up. My eyes, once full of love, now held nothing but cold emptiness. “Ethan, in seven years, even if I raised a dog, I would have developed feelings for it.” I tightly clutched the blood-stained watch fragments, slowly rising to my feet. “You’re not just blind, you’re heartless. What we had, it ends here.” I didn’t spare him another glance, walking past him and out of this mansion that had buried all my youth and love.

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I was Ethan’s secret lover for five years, his chief designer for five years, and all I got in the end was: “You think you deserve love?” The day he got engaged, he forced me to design the ring for his fiancée. Then my father came for his debt and put my sister in the hospital. With nowhere left to turn, I made a phone call— Julian. A one-billion-dollar bride price. He was looking for a woman with the right birth chart to marry into his family for a spiritual cure. They said Julian was crippled. Vicious. A devil crawled up from hell. But the moment I signed that agreement, I realized— At the end of hell stood my god. The day Ethan announced his engagement, Los Angeles was hit by a heavy downpour. I stood in a corner of the ballroom, nursing a glass of flat champagne. “Everyone, let me introduce you to Chloe,” Ethan’s voice, unusually gentle, echoed through the microphone. “Our engagement party will be early next month. Please honor us with your presence.” The room erupted in applause. All eyes were on the golden couple beneath the spotlight. Chloe wore a pure white haute couture gown, appearing so innocent and fragile as she leaned shyly into Ethan’s arms. And Ethan, Los Angeles’s youngest and most promising mogul, his usually cold, stern eyes had softened like water. No one looked at me. No one knew that I was Ethan’s secret lover for five years, kept hidden in the shadows. I was also the sharpest blade in his hand, his company’s chief jewelry designer, Jade. “Ms. Jade.” A mocking voice rang in my ear. A few of Ethan’s close friends, champagne glasses in hand, walked over, their eyes full of malicious amusement. “Ethan’s getting engaged. You, the big contributor who’s been with him for five years, why aren’t you going to toast them?” “Exactly, Jade. Weren’t you always sticking to Ethan? Now that his legitimate fiancée is taking over, your heart must be bleeding, right?” They chuckled, making no effort to hide their disdain for me. In their eyes, I, Jade, was nothing more than a shameless gold-digger who clawed her way into Ethan’s bed for money and status. I didn’t say a word, just tilted my head back and gulped down the bitter wine in my glass. Five years ago, my mother fell critically ill, and my father ran off with her medical funds. It was Ethan who descended like a god, handing me a card, buying out five years of my youth and talent. I accompanied him to business dinners, took the brunt of the drinks for him, and in bed, I did everything I could to please him. I thought five years would be enough to warm his heart. But a month ago, Chloe appeared. She was just a new intern at the company, clumsy and even making mistakes with simple photocopying. Yet, Ethan shielded her, and for her sake, he publicly reprimanded me for the first time. He said, “Jade, you’re too cold-blooded, too worldly. Chloe isn’t like you, she’s pure. Don’t scare her.” Pure. I mulled over those words, finding them damn ironic. I collected my thoughts, looking coldly at the rich kids in front of me. “Mr. Ethan’s engagement? Of course, I’ll prepare a grand gift. Don’t you worry about that.” With that, I turned to leave. I hadn’t taken two steps when my wrist was suddenly grabbed with immense force. I was forced to stop, colliding with a pair of deep, cold, dark eyes. Ethan had come down from the stage at some point and now stood before me. Behind him, Chloe remained by his side. “Where are you going?” Ethan stared at me, his voice tinged with displeasure. “Back to the office to work overtime.” I tried to pull my wrist free, but couldn’t. “Do you need something, Mr. Ethan?” Ethan’s eyes narrowed. He seemed utterly displeased by my business-like attitude. His grip tightened, threatening to crush my bones. “Chloe said she really likes your design style,” Ethan said, enunciating each word. “Our engagement rings will be designed by you personally.” I snapped my head up, staring at him in disbelief. He wanted me to design the engagement rings for him and another woman? Ethan, do you even have a heart? “I apologize, Mr. Ethan,” I took a deep breath, suppressing the tremor in my heart. “I’m tied up with next season’s main product line. I simply don’t have the time.” “Jade…” Chloe spoke timidly, her eyes instantly welling up. “Are you angry with me? I know you and Ethan used to… if you don’t want to, I won’t force it. We can just buy a pair.” Her act of aggrieved concession instantly ignited Ethan’s fury. “Jade, what’s with the attitude?” Ethan sneered, his gaze cutting across my face like a knife. “Don’t forget the binding contract you signed. You only have one role in company arrangements: obedience!” “I said you’re designing them, and you will draw out every single line!” The air around us seemed to freeze instantly. Everyone was watching me, enjoying the spectacle. Watching how I, the woman once so favored by Ethan, was being trampled underfoot, my dignity crushed. I looked at Ethan’s face, a face I had loved for five years, and suddenly found it utterly unfamiliar. My chest ached, as if countless needles were pricking me. But I didn’t cry. My tears, Jade’s tears, had long since dried up on that desperate, rainy night five years ago. “Fine,” I forced out a flawless professional smile. “Since Mr. Ethan has spoken, I will comply. It’s just designing a pair of rings. I’m sure Ms. Chloe will be satisfied.” Ethan’s brows furrowed even deeper. He seemed surprised I agreed so readily. In his mind, I should have been mad with jealousy, should have hysterically questioned him, or even humbly begged him not to be so cruel. But I didn’t. I was as still as a dead pond. “You’d better keep your word,” Ethan abruptly flung my hand away, coldly tossing out, “Tomorrow morning, bring your tools to my villa and take Chloe’s measurements.” With that, he wrapped an arm around Chloe’s waist and walked away without looking back. I stood rooted to the spot, rubbing my wrist, which was now marked with a red imprint, and watched their receding figures coldly. Five years. Ethan, it’s time to settle our accounts.

Coming out of the ballroom, the rain outside was even heavier. I had no umbrella, letting the cold rain pelt down on me, soaking my expensive gown. It was late when I returned to my tiny, 30-square-meter rental apartment. I rented this place myself. Ethan owned countless mansions, but I never asked to move in. I knew my place: a hidden lover, unworthy of entering his formal world. Just as I pulled out my keys, the door was suddenly yanked open from inside. A strong smell of cheap cigarettes and alcohol wafted out. My heart sank. “Oh no,” I thought. “You little brat, you finally decided to come home!” A scruffy, fleshy-faced middle-aged man grabbed my hair and violently dragged me inside. It was my father, Frank. “Where’s the money? Hand over the money now!” Frank’s eyes were bloodshot, like a madman who had lost everything gambling, as he frantically patted me down. “I don’t have any money!” I struggled desperately, my scalp screaming in pain. “Last month’s salary was already taken by you to pay off gambling debts! Where would I have any money?” “Bullshit!” Frank slapped me hard across the face. With a sharp “smack,” I staggered, falling to the floor, instantly tasting blood in my mouth. “Do you think I’m a fool? You’re with that big boss, Ethan. He wouldn’t give you less money, would he? You unfilial daughter, living it up, enjoying the good life, watching your old man being chased by loan sharks, aren’t you?!” Frank yelled, frantically ransacking the room. My design sketches, brushes, and paints were strewn across the floor, trampled to pieces. “Stop it! Don’t touch my things!” I rushed forward, my eyes red, desperately shielding the scattered designs on the floor. Those were my life’s work, sketched out over countless sleepless nights! “Get lost!” Frank kicked me hard on the shoulder. I gasped in pain, cold sweat breaking out. “I’m telling you, Jade, if you don’t come up with five hundred thousand today, I’ll sell your sister, Stella, who’s still in high school, to a club to settle my debts!” Frank threatened viciously. “You wouldn’t dare!” I snapped my head up, glaring at him. “Frank, are you even human? Stella is your own daughter!” “So what if she’s my daughter? I brought you into this world, you owe me!” Frank sneered. “Three days. I’m only giving you three days. If you don’t come up with the money, just wait to pick your sister out of a club!” With that, he slammed the door and left. The room was a mess, as if ransacked by thieves. I curled up on the cold floor, my shoulder aching as if it would split, and tears finally began to fall. Why? Why, despite my desperate efforts, could I never escape this swamp? Just then, my phone vibrated in my bag. “Ethan” flashed on the screen. I took a deep breath, wiped my face frantically, and answered the call. “Where are you?” Ethan’s voice was cold and commanding. “Home.” I tried to keep my voice steady. “Half an hour. Get over here.” “Mr. Ethan, it’s one in the morning,” I bit out. “I’m a person, not your on-call machine.” There was a two-second silence on the other end, followed by a cold scoff. “Jade, your temper’s really grown, hasn’t it? What, still upset about the engagement rings?” “No, I’m not.” “Good,” Ethan’s tone was full of condescending generosity. “Come over. Chloe can’t sleep and wants to look at your old design drafts for inspiration. Bring them over and explain them to her yourself.” My hand, gripping the phone, tightened, my nails digging deeply into my palm. He wanted me to brave the heavy rain in the middle of the night, just to explain design drafts to his fiancée? “I’m sick. I can’t go,” I refused coldly. “Jade, don’t make me angry,” Ethan’s voice darkened. “Your sister, Stella, is taking her college entrance exams next month, isn’t she? I heard she wants to get into NYU? What do you think would happen if I made a call to NYU? Would she still get in?” It was always like this. For five years, he always knew my weaknesses, forcing me to bow, to compromise. He knew Stella was my life. “I’ll be right there.” Hanging up, I numbly got up from the floor, picked up the scattered designs, and put them back in my bag. The rain continued to fall. I stood by the road, waiting half an hour before finally getting a taxi. By the time I reached Ethan’s villa in the hills, I was shivering uncontrollably, my lips blue. The villa was brightly lit, warm as spring. I pushed open the door and saw Ethan lounging on the sofa in loose pajamas. Chloe was nestled in his arms like a lost puppy, wearing a silk slip dress, a warm glass of milk in her hand. Seeing me standing at the door, drenched like a drowned rat, Chloe gasped. “Oh my god, Jade, why are you so soaked? Come in and dry off!” She made to get up, but Ethan held her down. “Don’t worry about her. She’s perfectly fine,” Ethan said, not even lifting an eyelid, his gaze sweeping coldly over me. “Did you bring the designs?” I stood in the entryway, not changing my shoes. Cold rainwater dripped from my hair, spreading a dark stain on the carpet. I took out the stack of designs, slightly soiled by Frank’s footprints, from my bag and walked over to place them on the coffee table. “They’re all here,” my voice was hoarse. Ethan glanced at the footprints on the designs, his brows instantly knitting into a tight knot. “Jade, what kind of attitude is this? Are you trying to fool me with this garbage?” He violently threw the designs at my face. The sharp edges of the paper grazed my cheek, leaving a faint scratch that bled slightly. “Ethan, don’t get angry. Jade didn’t mean it,” Chloe quickly hugged Ethan’s arm, her voice soft and coaxing. Then she turned to me, looking with those innocent eyes, “Jade, are you upset about designing my ring, that you deliberately soiled the drafts? It’s really okay, I can find someone else…” “Shut up,” I cut her off coldly. Chloe flinched, her eyes welling up again. Ethan stood up abruptly, grabbing my throat and pinning me against the cold wall. “Jade, you dare to yell at her?!” His grip was incredibly strong; I instantly struggled to breathe, my face turning crimson. “Ethan…” I choked out, forcing the words from my throat. “Five years… even if you kept a dog… it would have some affection, wouldn’t it?” “Affection?” Ethan laughed, as if he’d heard the biggest joke, his eyes full of mockery. “Jade, do you really think you’re worthy of talking about affection with me? You’re just a tool I paid for, a plaything for my amusement. Did you actually think you were special?” His words were like a blunt knife, slowly cutting open my heart. In the face of such extreme pain, I actually smiled. “Yes, I’m not worthy,” I looked at him, my eyes growing colder by the second. “Mr. Ethan is right. A tool should know its place.” “Let me go. I’ll explain the designs to Ms. Chloe.” Ethan stared at my eyes, so calm they held no ripple of emotion, and a flicker of irritation crossed his face. He suddenly released me. I slid down the wall to the floor, clutching my throat and coughing violently. “Jade, remember your place,” Ethan looked down at me. “Dare to disrespect Chloe again, and I’ll make you regret it.”

For the next two hours, I sat kneeling by the coffee table like a soulless puppet, explaining each design draft, which I once cherished, to Chloe. Chloe listened intently, occasionally offering naive and ridiculous suggestions for modifications. Ethan sat nearby, playing with Chloe’s hair, his eyes fixed on me with an oppressive gaze. He was trying to find a hint of jealousy, grievance, or even collapse on my face. But I disappointed him. My face remained expressionless the entire time, my voice so steady that not a single note wavered. “This ‘Starry Night’ piece, I think the diamond is too small, not sparkly enough. Ethan, don’t you think a ten-carat pink diamond would be better?” Chloe pointed to one of my proudest works, asking sweetly. That was the wedding ring I had designed for myself. I had once fantasized that one day Ethan would hold it, kneeling on one knee to propose to me. Now, it had become a commodity to be picked apart by someone else. “Fine, if you like it, we’ll change it,” Ethan said, dotingly pinching her nose, then turned to me, his eyes instantly turning cold. “Did you hear that? The main diamond will be a ten-carat pink diamond, surrounded by pavé diamonds, the most luxurious possible.” “A ten-carat pink diamond requires extremely high hardness and cutting precision; this setting design cannot support it,” I pointed out the technical issue in a purely business-like tone. “That’s your problem,” Ethan said coldly. “If you can’t do it, get out of the company.” I was silent for two seconds, then nodded. “Okay, I’ll modify it.” At four in the morning, the explanation finally ended. Chloe yawned, leaning softly into Ethan’s arms. “Ethan, I’m sleepy.” “Go to sleep,” Ethan kissed her forehead, then scooped her up and carried her upstairs. He never looked at me again. He didn’t ask how I would get back so late, with the heavy rain still falling outside. I gathered my design drafts alone and walked out of the villa with heavy steps. The cold wind, mixed with rain, blew against me, but I no longer felt the cold. Because my heart had long since died completely. The next morning, I arrived at the villa promptly with my toolbox. Today, I was here to take Chloe’s measurements. As I walked into the living room, I saw Ethan and Chloe eating breakfast on the sofa. The atmosphere was sickeningly cozy. “Jade, have you had breakfast? Would you like to join us?” Chloe greeted me enthusiastically. “No, thank you, I’ve eaten.” I opened my toolbox and took out the measuring tape. “Ms. Chloe, please extend your hand.” Chloe obediently held out her hand. Her hand was fair and delicate, never having done a day of hard work. Unlike my hands, which were calloused from years of drawing and polishing jewelry, and had a bruise on the back from Frank’s kick last night. I lowered my head, carefully measuring her finger and noting down the data. “Hiss—” Chloe suddenly gasped, snatching her hand back. “Jade, you hurt me!” I paused. I was clearly using a soft measuring tape; it was impossible to hurt her. “What’s wrong?” Ethan immediately put down his knife and fork, anxiously grabbing Chloe’s hand to examine it. On the back of Chloe’s hand, a tiny red mark had appeared at some point. “I’m fine, Ethan, don’t blame Jade. She definitely didn’t mean to.” Chloe bit her lip apologetically, tears welling in her eyes. Ethan’s face instantly darkened to an alarming degree. He stood up abruptly and kicked my toolbox, sending it flying. Various precise measuring tools scattered across the floor with a harsh clang. “Jade, are you looking for a death wish?!” Ethan grabbed my collar, lifting me clean off the ground. “I didn’t hurt her.” I met his furious gaze, my voice calm. “That red mark, it wasn’t from me.” “Still trying to argue?!” Ethan was enraged. “Are you taking advantage of Chloe’s kindness to deliberately vent your anger on her? I warned you, put away your petty jealousy!” Jealousy? I looked at Ethan and suddenly found him utterly ridiculous. How could he possibly think I would still be jealous? “Mr. Ethan,” I took a deep breath, fighting the suffocating grip on my neck. “If you believe I’m not suited for this job, you can easily replace me. There’s no need to make false accusations.” “Are you threatening me?” Ethan’s eyes narrowed, staring at me dangerously. “I wouldn’t dare. I’m merely stating facts.” The two of us stood locked in a standoff, the air thick with tension. Just then, my phone rang. It was the hospital. “Is this Stella’s family? Stella was injured in a fight at school and is now in the emergency room. Please come immediately!” My mind buzzed, instantly going blank. Stella! “Let me go!” I struggled violently, with surprising strength, actually prying Ethan’s hand off me. I didn’t even bother picking up my tools; I dashed out like a madwoman. “Jade, where are you going? Stop!” Ethan roared behind me. I ignored him, my mind fixated solely on Stella. When I rushed into the hospital emergency room, Stella was lying on the bed, her face covered in blood, her forehead wrapped in thick bandages, already unconscious. “Doctor, how is my sister?” I grabbed the doctor’s arm, my voice trembling uncontrollably. “You’re the family, right? The patient suffered a severe blow to the head, resulting in a mild concussion, multiple soft tissue contusions on her body, and also…” The doctor paused, his eyes looking complex. “The patient has lacerations in her lower body. We suspect she may have been sexually assaulted, and we’ve already called the police.” Sexually assaulted?! Those words struck me like a lightning bolt, splitting my very being. My legs gave out, and I collapsed directly to the floor. How could this happen? Stella was so well-behaved, so obedient. How could something like this happen to her? “Frank… it must be him!” I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my flesh, drawing blood. He had threatened me just yesterday, and today Stella was in trouble. That bastard! How dare he!

I stayed by Stella’s bedside for an entire day and night. When she woke, she saw me and recoiled into the blankets like a frightened animal, trembling violently. “Jade… Jade, I’m scared…” she cried heartbrokenly, her eyes hollow and terrifying. I held her tight, my heart twisting in agony. The police came to take her statement, confirming my suspicions. It was Frank. To pay off his gambling debts, he had actually brought the debt collectors to the school gates and dragged Stella into a van. If not for a kind passerby who called the police, Stella might not have been alive right now. “Where is Frank?” I gritted my teeth, asking the police. “He ran off. We’re actively pursuing him,” the police sighed. “Ms. Jade, your father owes three million to an underground casino. Those people are desperate. You and your sister should be extra careful recently.” Three million. I closed my eyes in despair. Where was I going to get three million? In the past five years, I had only earned a fixed salary at Ethan’s company, most of which went into Frank’s bottomless pit of debt. Ethan, though wealthy, never gave anything for free; he demanded my unconditional obedience and flattery. Now, he was busy getting engaged to Chloe. How could he care about my survival? Besides, I no longer wanted to ask him for anything. I was too tired. After settling Stella, I walked out of the ward, leaning against the cold hallway wall, and pulled out my phone. In my contacts, I couldn’t find a single person I could borrow money from. These past few years, confined by Ethan, I had cut off almost all social connections. Just as I felt I had nowhere left to turn, a news notification popped up. [New York’s Julian family is offering a massive reward for a bride! Rumors say that Julian, the family’s young master, suffers from a hidden illness, is crippled, and has a violent temper. Multiple former fiancées have been driven to madness by his torment. The Julian family is now offering an astronomical ten billion in wedding money, seeking a lucky bride whose presence would bring him healing!] Julian. A man who held immense power in New York. I heard he was a madman, a devil. No woman who fell into his hands ever emerged whole. But that was ten billion. With that money, I could completely escape Frank, take Stella out of Los Angeles, and start over somewhere no one knew us. As for whether Julian was crippled or a devil, I didn’t care. I was already in hell; what difference would another hell make? Without hesitation, I dialed the contact number listed below the news article. “Hello, my name is Jade. My birth chart indicates…” The Julian family moved quickly. Less than two hours later, a black Rolls-Royce pulled up to the hospital entrance. A middle-aged man in a tuxedo, looking like a butler, approached me, his demeanor respectful yet distant. “Ms. Jade, you and Mr. Julian are a perfect match. As soon as you sign this prenuptial agreement, the ten billion in wedding money will be immediately transferred to your account. Furthermore, the Julian family will handle all your troubles, including your father’s gambling debts and your sister’s safety.” He handed me a thick document. I didn’t even look at it, flipping directly to the last page and signing my name. “Okay, I’ll marry him.” A flicker of surprise crossed the butler’s eyes; he hadn’t expected me to agree so readily. “Ms. Jade is a decisive woman,” the butler said, collecting the agreement. “The Julian family still has affairs to settle in Los Angeles for a few days. In three days, I will send someone to pick you up for New York. During these three days, you may attend to your private matters.” “Ding.” My phone chimed with a text message notification. Ten billion, transferred. Looking at that long string of zeros, I suddenly felt incredibly ironic. I had sold myself for five years, gaining nothing but scars. Now, I sold myself to a crippled madman and instantly owned the world. I immediately contacted the best security company to provide Stella with twenty-four-hour protection. Then, I returned to my rental apartment and began to sketch, polish, and set jewelry day and night. Ethan’s engagement rings, I had to finish them before I left. This was what I owed him; once I paid it back, I could leave cleanly. After two consecutive sleepless nights, my eyes were bloodshot, and my fingers were covered in cuts from the engraving tools. Blood seeped into the pink diamond ring setting, but I didn’t even flinch, just wiped it away expressionlessly and continued working. On the evening of the third day, a pair of exquisitely luxurious pink diamond rings were finally completed. I placed them into a beautiful velvet box. Then, from the deepest part under my bed, I pulled out a dusty metal box. Opening it, a black card lay inside. Five years ago, Ethan had casually tossed it to me when he first took me to his house. “Take this. It’s my black card, unlimited credit. If you’re with me, don’t embarrass me.” In these five years, I had never once used it. I placed it with the rings, packed everything up, and dialed Mark, Ethan’s assistant. “Mark, the rings are done. Please come pick them up.” Half an hour later, Mark’s car pulled up downstairs. He looked at my pale, haggard face, a hint of disdain flashing in his eyes. “Ms. Jade, why bother so much?” Mark said, taking the box with a sarcastic tone. “Mr. Ethan’s completely focused on Chloe now. Even if you work yourself to death, he won’t notice. Take my advice, just humble yourself, admit your mistake. If Mr. Ethan softens, he might even keep you around as a lover.” “You misunderstand,” I said, looking at him plainly. “My task is complete once I hand this to you. Also, there’s something else in the box. Please make sure to deliver it to Mr. Ethan personally.” Mark scoffed. “Another love token? Jade, Mr. Ethan is tired of your manipulation tactics.” I ignored his mockery and turned to leave. “Jade!” Mark called out behind me. “Tomorrow night is Mr. Ethan and Ms. Chloe’s engagement party. Mr. Ethan said you must attend. He wants you to see him put the ring on Ms. Chloe’s finger with your own eyes!” My steps paused for a moment, and a mocking smile touched my lips. “Alright,” I said without looking back. “I hope they’re utterly miserable and their line end.”

Back at the hospital, I immediately arranged for Stella to be transferred. The Julian family’s efficiency was remarkable; they not only arranged a private jet but also secured a spot at New York’s top private hospital, complete with a leading medical team. Sitting in the car en route to the airport, watching the Los Angeles nightscape recede outside the window, I let out a long, heavy sigh. This city, which had trapped me for five years, which held all my humiliation and despair, I was finally leaving it. “Jade, are we really going to New York?” Stella leaned on my shoulder, her voice still weak. “That person… Mr. Julian, will he really be a good person?” “No matter who he is, as long as he can protect you, I’m not afraid of anything,” I said, stroking her hair, my eyes firm. I had nothing left to lose. The worst-case scenario was simply death. At the same time, in Los Angeles’s most luxurious five-star hotel, Ethan’s engagement party was being prepared. Ethan sat in the VIP lounge, toying with the velvet box Mark had just delivered. “She really said that?” Ethan’s face was cold, his brows furrowed as he listened to Mark’s report. “Yes, those were Jade’s exact words,” Mark said, cautiously observing Ethan’s expression. “Mr. Ethan, it seems Jade is truly determined this time. She even returned your black card.” Ethan violently opened the box. A pair of dazzling pink diamond rings lay quietly inside, next to the black card he had given her five years ago. The card was spotless, without a single scratch, as if in these five years, she had never once touched his world. A strange irritation inexplicably filled Ethan’s chest. He slammed the box shut, letting out a cold laugh. “Playing hard to get. She thinks by returning the card, I’ll beg her to come back? Dream on!” “She’ll definitely come tomorrow,” Ethan’s tone was assertive. “She loves me so much she’s thrown away her dignity. How could she possibly stand by and watch me get engaged to Chloe? She’s just trying to force me to give in this way.” “You’re right, Mr. Ethan,” Mark quickly agreed. “A woman like Jade, without you, she wouldn’t even be able to eat. How could she truly leave?” Ethan leaned back on the sofa, closing his eyes, trying to suppress the strange panic in his heart. Yes, she couldn’t leave him. With just a flick of his finger, she would crawl back to him, begging, just like before. The next evening, the engagement party officially began. Almost all the prominent figures in Los Angeles were present. Chloe, in a dreamy wedding dress adorned with pavé diamonds, looked like a true princess, walking arm-in-arm with Ethan, accepting everyone’s blessings. Ethan, in a tailored suit, was exceptionally handsome. But his gaze kept sweeping towards the ballroom entrance. Time ticked by. The ballroom was filled with a glamorous atmosphere, clinking glasses, and dazzling lights, yet the familiar figure never appeared. “Ethan, what are you looking for?” A friend walked over with a drink, following Ethan’s gaze, and chuckled knowingly. “Waiting for Jade? Don’t bother. I bet she wouldn’t dare to come today. She’d only humiliate herself.” “Exactly, Ethan has a legitimate fiancée now. How could a hidden mistress have the nerve to show up at an event like this?” The surrounding crowd chimed in, their words full of contempt for Jade. Ethan said nothing, his face growing darker and darker. It was almost time for the ring exchange. Was she really not coming? How dare she not come?! “Ethan, it’s time, we should go up,” Chloe reminded softly, her eyes sparkling with excitement. Once he put the ring on her finger, she would be Mrs. Ethan, officially. Ethan took a deep breath, suppressing the anxiety in his heart, and walked onto the stage with Chloe. The emcee delivered an enthusiastic speech, then announced: “Now, please, the groom-to-be will place the engagement ring, symbolizing love, on the bride-to-be’s finger!” Ethan took the velvet box from Mark and slowly opened it. Under the lights, the pink diamonds shimmered dazzlingly. He took out the women’s ring, about to slip it onto Chloe’s finger. Suddenly, his gaze froze on the inside of the ring. There, engraved in tiny letters, were two initials: G.D. Go to Death. Ethan’s pupils contracted sharply, and his face instantly turned ashen. “Ethan? What’s wrong?” Chloe, seeing his hesitation, asked with a hint of confusion. Ethan slammed the ring box shut and roughly pushed Chloe aside. “The engagement party is canceled!” He tossed out the words, then strode off the stage amidst the stunned gazes of the entire room. “Ethan! Where are you going?!” Chloe cried out frantically from the stage, tears instantly streaming down her face. Ethan ignored her. He grabbed Mark by the collar, his eyes bloodshot. “Find out! Find out where Jade is immediately! Bring her back to me!” Mark trembled in fear, quickly pulling out his phone to make calls. A few minutes later, Mark, pale-faced, rushed back to Ethan, his voice shaking. “Mr. Mr. Ethan… Jade… she’s not in Los Angeles anymore.” “What do you mean?” Ethan’s hand clamped around his throat. “She canceled her apartment lease, and the hospital said she transferred her sister… Immigration records show that she… she flew to New York last night!” New York?! Ethan was struck as if by lightning, freezing in place. She was gone. Gone completely, without a trace of lingering affection. She had even slapped him hard at his most anticipated engagement party. “Jade…” Ethan muttered her name, gritting his teeth, and a sharp pain suddenly pierced his chest. He thought everything was under his control. But only at this moment did he realize, with horror, that the string tying Jade to him had broken.

The flight to New York landed smoothly. I pushed Stella in her wheelchair out of the VIP channel. At the channel exit, a line of black-suited bodyguards stood ready. Leading them was the butler I had met at the hospital that day. “Ms. Jade, welcome to New York,” the butler bowed slightly, his demeanor more respectful than before. “Mr. Julian is already waiting for you at the manor.” Now, I had suddenly become a stranger’s wife. “Thank you,” I nodded faintly. The motorcade drove out of the airport, heading towards the winding mountain roads on the outskirts of New York. The deeper we went, the more secluded the scenery became, even taking on a hint of eerie silence. Rumor had it that the Julian family manor was built halfway up a mountain, and for miles around, it was all private Julian land; not even a fly could get in. Half an hour later, the cars drove through a massive black iron gate. The castle-like manor stood in the night, like a slumbering beast, exuding a suffocating sense of oppression. I took a deep breath, tightening my grip on Stella’s hand. “Don’t be afraid,” I whispered, reassuring her. The cars stopped in front of the main building. The butler led me through a long corridor to a heavy mahogany door. “Ms. Jade, Mr. Julian is waiting for you inside. I will arrange for someone to look after Ms. Stella; please don’t worry.” I nodded, watched Stella being led away by a maid, and then pushed open the door. The room was dim, with no main lights on; only the flickering fire in the fireplace provided illumination. The air was filled with a faint scent of sandalwood mixed with herbs. I stood at the doorway, trying to adjust to the indoor light. “Come here.” A low, hoarse, yet profoundly penetrating voice came from the depths of the room. I looked towards the sound and, in the shadows by the fireplace, saw a wheelchair. A man sat in the wheelchair. Most of his body was hidden in the darkness, making his face indiscernible. But I could feel an intensely predatory gaze fixed on me. Like a hunter staring at its prey. I suppressed the tension in my heart and stepped forward. I stopped two steps in front of him. By the firelight, I finally saw his face. It was an impossibly pale, yet devilishly handsome face. His features were deep and defined, his jawline sharp as a blade, and his eyes, especially, were as black as a bottomless abyss, exuding a chilling ferocity. This was the rumored cruel and bloodthirsty young master of the Julian family, Julian. “Jade,” he parted his thin lips, slowly enunciating my name, with an indescribable tenderness. “Mr. Julian,” I slightly bowed my head, my tone calm. “Are you afraid of me?” He raised an eyebrow, his gaze falling on my unconsciously clenched hands. “No,” I met his eyes directly. “Since I’ve taken the Julian family’s money and signed the agreement, I am now a member of the Julian family. Whatever Mr. Julian wishes me to do, I will cooperate.” Julian suddenly let out a low laugh. The laughter echoed in the vast room, sending shivers down my spine. “Cooperate?” He abruptly leaned forward, grabbed my wrist, and pulled hard. Caught off guard, I tumbled into his arms. His chest was hard and cold, like a stone without warmth. “Jade, did you think you married me just to be a decoration?” Julian gripped my chin, forcing me to look up, his warm breath fanning my face. “What I want is all of you, from inside out, a complete and utter surrender.” His gaze was terrifying, like a burning black fire, threatening to consume me entirely. I didn’t struggle, just looked at him quietly. “Okay,” I said softly. “As long as you can protect my sister, my life is yours.” Julian’s movements abruptly froze. He stared intensely into my eyes, as if trying to find a trace of fear or hesitation. But in my eyes, there was only dead silence. After a long moment, he released me, coldly uttering a single word: “Get out.” I stood up, straightened my disheveled clothes, and walked out of the room. The moment I closed the door, I felt all the strength drain from my body. Julian was a thousand times more dangerous than Ethan. But I had no way back. Over the next few days, I was settled in a guest room in the manor. Aside from meals delivered by a maid, I didn’t see Julian again. Stella was enrolled in New York’s best private high school, with dedicated transportation, safe and sound. I finally lived the most peaceful days I’d had in five years. No more debt calls from Frank, no more humiliation from Ethan, no more manipulative tricks from Chloe. I spent my days in the room drawing, occasionally taking walks in the garden. Until a week later, the butler suddenly knocked on my door. “Ms. Jade, Mr. Julian would like you to go to the basement.” The basement? My heart skipped a beat. Rumor had it that Julian’s basement was a living hell. But I still obediently followed the butler downstairs. The basement was vast and dimly lit. As soon as I entered, I smelled a strong scent of blood. Julian sat in his wheelchair, his back to me. Before him, a man knelt, beaten to a bloody pulp. “Jade, come see who this is,” Julian turned his wheelchair, revealing the man’s face. My pupils constricted sharply, and all the blood in my body instantly froze. It was Frank!

The man who was once so arrogant, who used to beat and kick me without hesitation, now lay sprawled on the ground like a dead dog. His face was covered in blood, and all ten of his fingers were brutally broken, twisted into grotesque shapes. Hearing footsteps, Frank laboriously lifted his head. Seeing me, an intense survival instinct erupted in his cloudy eyes, and he scrambled towards me, crawling on his hands and knees. “Jade! Jade! Save your dad! Quick, save your dad! This madman is going to kill me!” He hadn’t even touched my clothes before a bodyguard next to him kicked him down. “Stay still!” the bodyguard snapped. I stood rooted, coldly watching Frank’s pained wails on the ground, feeling not a shred of sympathy, only deep disgust. “Mr. Julian, what is the meaning of this?” I turned to Julian. Julian leaned back in his wheelchair, toying with a sharp dagger, and said nonchalantly, “Don’t you hate him? I brought him here for you to deal with. You can torment him however you wish.” He tossed the dagger to my feet, where it landed with a crisp clink. “Kill him, or cripple him, whatever makes you happy,” Julian’s eyes sparkled with bloodlust, as if watching an entertaining play. Frank was terrified, his liver and guts churning, and he desperately knelt down to me. “Jade, I was wrong! I truly know I was wrong! I’m your biological dad, you can’t kill me! When you were little, I even bought you candy, don’t you remember?!” Bought me candy? I only remembered him getting drunk and whipping me with a belt until I was covered in wounds; I only remembered him trying to sell Stella into a fire pit for gambling money. I bent down and picked up the dagger from the floor. The dagger was heavy, its blade gleaming coldly. Frank’s wails instantly ceased. He stared at me in terror, his pants instantly wet. “Jade… you… you wouldn’t dare…” I gripped the dagger and walked step by step towards him. Julian watched me from his wheelchair, a playful smile on his lips. He seemed to be anticipating the insane sight of me personally taking my father’s life. I looked down at Frank, at his face distorted by fear. “Frank, you should have died long ago,” my voice was icy, devoid of any warmth. I raised the dagger and plunged it down forcefully! “Ah—!” Frank let out a pig-like shriek, tightly closing his eyes. “Clink!” The dagger grazed his cheek, embedding itself deeply into the concrete floor beside him, sparks flying. Frank convulsed in fear, passing out cold. I released the dagger, stood up, and turned to Julian. “Mr. Julian, it’s not worth getting my hands dirty,” I said calmly. “The money he owed the underground casino, the Julian family has already repaid. From this day forward, I cut all ties with him. Throw him out. Whether he lives or dies, it has nothing to do with me.” The playfulness in Julian’s eyes gradually faded, replaced by a deep, probing look. He stared at me for a long time, then suddenly chuckled softly. “Jade, you’re even more ruthless than I imagined.” Killing a man is easy, but breaking his spirit is far more terrifying. Throwing a crippled, penniless gambler back onto the streets was a fate far worse than death. “Thank you for the compliment, Mr. Julian,” I bowed slightly. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll return to my room.” “Wait,” Julian called out to me. He maneuvered his wheelchair and slowly glided in front of me. “Over in Los Angeles, Ethan is searching for you everywhere,” Julian stared into my eyes, his voice carrying a hint of danger. “He even put out a word that anyone who dares to hide you is making an enemy of the Ethan family.” Hearing Ethan’s name, my heart skipped a beat, but my face remained impassive. “I’m already married into the Julian family. Los Angeles affairs have nothing to do with me.” “Is that so?” Julian suddenly reached out and pinched the back of my neck, pulling me closer to him. “Jade, you’d better remember what you said today. If you dare betray me, I’ll show you what true living hell feels like.” His hand was cold, wrapping around my neck like a snake. I didn’t flinch, meeting his gaze. “Mr. Julian, don’t worry. I, Jade, never go back on my word.” Los Angeles. Ethan hadn’t slept for three days. He had turned all of Los Angeles upside down, even using all his connections, legitimate and otherwise, but still couldn’t find a trace of Jade. She had vanished into thin air. “Mr. Ethan, still no news…” Mark reported, trembling. “Ms. Jade’s flight information was erased. We can’t trace where she went.” “Useless! All of you are useless!” Ethan roared, smashing the computer on his desk. “A living person can’t just sprout wings and fly away, can they?!” Chloe stood nearby, her eyes red, not daring to speak. For these three days, Ethan had been ice-cold towards her, refusing to even spare her a glance. The man who was once so compliant with her now had only one woman on his mind. “Ethan, don’t be like this…” Chloe bravely walked over, trying to embrace him. “If Jade wants to leave, let her go. You still have me…” “Get out!” Ethan violently shoved her away, his eyes terrifyingly sinister. “Who told you to touch me?” Chloe fell to the floor, staring at him in disbelief. “Ethan, I’m your fiancée! You’re doing this to me for a woman who doesn’t want you?” “Fiancée?” Ethan sneered, looking down at her. “If it weren’t for your face bearing a slight resemblance to her when she first started with me, do you think you’d be standing here?” Chloe was struck as if by lightning, her face instantly turning chalk-white. A stand-in. Her proud love was nothing more than a pathetic stand-in! Ethan no longer paid attention to the distraught Chloe. He turned to the floor-to-ceiling window, looking out at the gray sky. Jade, do you think you can escape? Even if I have to turn this city upside down, I will find you, break your legs with my own hands, and lock you by my side forever!

My days at the Julian family manor were surprisingly peaceful. Although Julian’s temper was unpredictable, he never inflicted any substantial harm on me, aside from occasionally staring at me with that intensely predatory gaze. He spent most of his days in the study or the basement. As for me, I poured all my energy into new design sketches. I needed money. Although the Julian family had given me ten billion in wedding money, that was money to buy out my entire life. I didn’t want to depend on Julian forever; I needed my own career and my own foundation. That afternoon, I was sketching in the glass conservatory in the garden when the butler suddenly entered. “Ms. Jade, Mr. Julian would like you to go to the front hall.” “Guests?” I put down my paintbrush, a little puzzled. Julian was reclusive; hardly any outsiders ever came to the manor. “Guests from Los Angeles,” the butler said, his eyes lowered, his tone respectful yet with a hint of something unusual. Los Angeles. Those two words felt like a thorn, sharply piercing my nerves. I took a deep breath and stood up. “I understand.” When I reached the front hall, the air pressure was suffocatingly low. Julian sat in his wheelchair at the head of the table, toying with an antique signet ring, his expression inscrutable. Across from him stood a man with bloodshot eyes and a scruffy beard. Ethan. He had lost a lot of weight, his once tailored suit now looking somewhat baggy, and his entire being exuded a sense of decadent and madness. The moment he saw me, Ethan’s eyes instantly lit up. “Jade!” He rushed forward, trying to grab my hand. “Bang!” A gunshot. A bullet grazed Ethan’s foot and embedded itself in the expensive carpet, releasing a wisp of blue smoke. Julian calmly blew the smoke from the gun barrel, his eyes coldly fixed on Ethan. “Mr. Ethan, on my Julian family’s territory, touching my wife—are you tired of living?” Ethan’s steps abruptly halted. He stared intensely at me, his eyes bloodshot, his voice hoarse and broken. “Jade, come here. Come home with me.” Home. Those words, coming from his mouth, were utterly ironic. I stood by Julian’s side, looking at him coldly. “Mr. Ethan, please show some respect. This is the Julian family residence, and I am Julian’s wife.” “Wife?” Ethan laughed, as if he’d heard the biggest joke, his voice rising sharply. “You’d rather marry a cripple, a madman, than stay by my side?!” “Ethan!” I sharply cut him off. “Shut your mouth!” I would not allow him to insult Julian. At least, Julian, in my most desperate moment, had given Stella and me a way out. While Ethan had only pushed me towards death. “You’re defending him?” Ethan looked at me in disbelief, his eyes filled with hurt and rage. “Jade, you were with me for five years! Our five years of affection mean less than this cripple’s dirty money?!” “Affection?” I let out a cold laugh, my eyes full of mockery. “Ethan, do you really think you’re worthy of talking about affection with me? When you forced me to design engagement rings for your fiancée, did you think about our affection? When you allowed Frank to almost destroy my sister, did you think about our affection?!” “I didn’t!” Ethan quickly explained. “I didn’t know Frank would do such a thing! If I had known, I would have…” “Would have what?” I cut him off coldly. “Would have acted just like before, condescendingly bestowing a little pity, and then using that as leverage to force me to continue being your obedient dog?” Ethan was left speechless, his face ashen. “Ethan, we’re long past due on settling our accounts,” I looked at him, my voice as calm as still water. “Those rings were the last thing I owed you. From now on, whether you live or die, it has nothing to do with me, Jade. Get out. Don’t ever appear before me again. You disgust me.” “I’m not leaving!” Ethan suddenly pulled out a gun and pointed it directly at Julian. “Jade, you’re coming with me today! Otherwise, I’ll kill him!” He was insane. He actually dared to point a gun at Julian on Julian family territory. The bodyguards around us instantly drew their guns; dozens of black barrels were pointed at Ethan. With a single command from Julian, Ethan would be riddled with bullets. But Julian merely smiled. He casually tossed his gun onto the table, then maneuvered his wheelchair and slowly glided right in front of Ethan’s gun barrel. “Shoot,” Julian tilted his head slightly, his eyes filled with contempt and provocation. “Ethan, let me see how much guts you have, daring to steal a woman from me, Julian.” Ethan’s hand, holding the gun, trembled violently. His veins bulged on his forehead as he stared intensely at Julian, yet he hesitated to pull the trigger. He didn’t dare. Because he knew that if he fired, the Ethan family would face devastating retaliation from the Julian family. “Useless,” Julian scoffed, then suddenly reached out and grabbed the hot gun barrel. “Crack!” A sickening crunch of bone echoed. Julian had actually broken Ethan’s wrist with his bare hand! “Ah—!” Ethan shrieked, the gun falling to the floor. Bodyguards swarmed him, pinning him to the ground. “Throw him back to Los Angeles,” Julian took out a pristine white handkerchief and calmly wiped his fingers. “Tell the Ethan family patriarch that if he can’t control his grandson, I don’t mind teaching him a lesson. But next time, it won’t just be a broken wrist.” Ethan was dragged out by the bodyguards like a dead dog. He struggled desperately, his eyes fixed on me, still desperately screaming my name. “Jade! Jade—!” His voice grew fainter, until it completely disappeared. The front hall returned to a deathly silence. I stood rooted, looking at the spot where Ethan had stood, my heart utterly calm, feeling only the satisfaction of avenging a great wrong. “Did that hurt you?” Julian’s voice suddenly sounded by my ear. I turned my head, meeting his deep, dark eyes. “No,” I said calmly. “I just found him pathetic.” Julian stared at me for a long time, then suddenly reached out and pulled me into his arms. I fell into his lap, my nostrils filled with the cool, sandalwood scent of him. “Jade,” he gripped my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Remember what you said today. You are mine. This life, next life, you’ll never escape.” He lowered his head and kissed my lips fiercely. A kiss filled with punishment, possession, and reckless abandon. I closed my eyes, offering no resistance, submitting to his plunder. I knew that from this moment on, my life, Jade’s life, was completely bound to this man named Julian.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “412427”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

On my 25th birthday, my perfect boyfriend of three years knelt before me, holding up a magnificent diamond ring, a real showstopper. Friends and family cheered, and my parents’ eyes welled up with tears. Just as I was about to nod, tears blurring my vision, a blood-red virtual panel suddenly materialized before my eyes: “Warning! Target subject detected carrying HIV and secondary syphilis!” “Danger! This diamond ring is stolen property! The owner’s armed enforcers will arrive in three minutes!” I looked at my deeply affectionate boyfriend, then at his shirt cuffs, always tightly buttoned to hide rashes. My outstretched hand froze in mid-air. No wonder he’d never initiated any real intimacy with me these past three years, always giving some romantic excuse about wanting to wait until our wedding night, wanting it to be truly special. At the same time, a countdown blared in my mind: “High alert! Enforcers’ arrival countdown: three minutes.” I smiled, took the ring, and slipped it onto my finger. Then, I turned and double-locked the front door, engaging three additional deadbolts. “Sorry, but this game of trapping the rat? It’s just getting started.”

“Summer, marry me. I’ll dedicate my life to protecting you, to making you the happiest woman in the world.” My boyfriend, Brandon Reed, knelt on the rose-petal-strewn floor, pulling a delicate velvet box from his custom-made suit pocket. The box slowly opened, revealing a magnificent diamond ring that sparkled dazzlingly under the living room’s crystal chandelier. Today was my twenty-fifth birthday. It was supposed to be just a casual family dinner. My mom had cooked a huge spread of all my favorite dishes, and my dad had opened a bottle of wine he’d been saving for years. Who would have thought that Brandon had secretly planned such a romantic proposal? My mom gasped, covering her mouth, tears welling in her eyes, constantly nudging my dad with her elbow. My dad put down his wine glass; though he tried to hide it, his slightly trembling hands betrayed his excitement. I felt a little dazed, as if I were dreaming. Brandon and I had met at a friend’s party. We’d been together for three whole years, and he’d been incredibly attentive. His never-missed, homemade breakfasts every morning, the umbrella always appearing promptly at my office building on rainy days, the warming ginger tea he’d brew for me during my period… Aside from his ordinary background and frequent business trips, he was an absolutely flawless, perfect partner. My parents, though they cared deeply for me, weren’t materialistic people. They often said that as long as a guy was a good person, hardworking, and treated me well, it didn’t matter if he was a bit poor; we could build a life together. I had always believed I’d found my destined happiness. A wave of emotion washed over me, blurring my vision with tears. I took a deep breath, ready to reach out and accept the ring, a symbol of a lifelong commitment. Just then, something unexpected happened. A blinding red light flashed across my retina, followed by a translucent, blood-red virtual panel that floated in the air above Brandon’s head. “Don’t touch it, you fool! That ring? He stole it from a wealthy woman! And her enforcers are on their way, knives out!” “This lowlife has secondary syphilis and a preliminary HIV positive! And he’s still trying to trick you into marriage, planning to turn an honest person into his free nurse and a cleanup crew for his mess!” “Look at his right cuff! Always buttoned tight, just to hide his syphilis rashes!” “Summer Hayes, run! You have three minutes until the rich woman’s enforcers break down your door!” “This guy’s just a high-class kept man, a male escort who preys on wealthy women. Now that he’s been caught red-handed, he’s trying to leave the stolen goods at your house to frame your family!” My outstretched hand froze in mid-air, my fingertips barely an inch from that diamond. I blinked hard, even secretly pinching my thigh, wondering if I was hallucinating from too much overtime work recently. But the blood-red panel didn’t vanish. Instead, it went wild, frantically scrolling with a dense stream of pop-up messages, each word like a sharp knife, plunging into my eyes. How could this be? Brandon was still looking at me with deep affection, his captivating eyes, usually filled with a gentle smile, now alight with expectation. His hand, holding the ring, trembled slightly, as if nervous about my hesitation. “Summer? What’s wrong? Are you just too excited to react?” he murmured my name, his voice like velvet. I didn’t speak. After a momentary mental freeze, my brain started working furiously. My gaze instinctively dropped to his wrist. In the three years I’d known him, whether it was summer or winter, Brandon always wore long-sleeved shirts, and his cuff buttons were always fastened tightly. I’d once asked him why he never wore short sleeves, and he’d laughed, saying he had childhood burn scars on his arm that he found ugly and didn’t want to scare me. I’d even felt pity for his sensitivity and insecurity. Now, thinking back, for all his kindness and thoughtfulness, our most intimate gestures had only ever gone as far as holding hands and hugging. Every time I tried to take things further, he would always put me off with various grand excuses, saying he wanted “to save the best for our wedding night,” or “I cherish you too much to be hasty.” I’d thought it was his respect and care for me, a rare purity in this superficial world. But if what the pop-up messages said was true… “Summer, hurry up and say yes! Don’t let Brandon kneel too long, the floor’s cold,” my mom urged from the side, breaking the silence in the living room. I ignored my mom’s urging and didn’t reach for the ring. Driven by an inexplicable impulse, I reached out and grabbed Brandon’s right wrist. With all my strength, I yanked his sleeve upwards. “Rip!” The cuff button burst open from the force, clattering softly on the wooden floor. Brandon’s face contorted, a flicker of panic in his eyes. He instinctively tried to pull his hand back. But I, with a strength I didn’t know I possessed, clamped onto his wrist, refusing to let him go even an inch. His sleeve was completely pulled up, revealing his arm, which should have been clean. However, on the inner skin of his wrist, there were several coppery-red, scaly rashes! In that instant, my blood ran cold, and a high-pitched ringing filled my ears. The pop-up messages were true! He really had syphilis! He really was a liar! Three years of tenderness, thoughtfulness, and heartfelt vows, all a meticulously planned deception!

Brandon’s affectionate expression instantly froze when I forcibly pulled up his sleeve and saw the rashes on his wrist. It was replaced by unconcealed horror. He violently yanked his hand away from mine, frantically pulling his sleeve back down to cover the disgusting spots, and then stood up from the floor. Just at this suffocatingly awkward moment, the cell phone on the coffee table vibrated like a death knell. Brandon’s eyes flickered to the caller ID on the screen. His face, which had been flushed from the proposal, instantly drained of all color, turning ashen white. He didn’t even bother to put the priceless diamond ring on my finger. He fumbled, stuffing the velvet box into his coat pocket, grabbing his phone, and heading for the door. “I’m so sorry, something urgent just came up at the company. A multi-million dollar project has a major glitch, and my boss needs me back right away!” His words came out in a rapid, trembling rush. He didn’t even dare to look at me as he turned and charged towards the front door. Meanwhile, the virtual panel before my eyes flashed again, displaying a glaring red countdown: “Alert! Victoria Sterling’s gang enforcers are 2 minutes and 50 seconds from arrival!” “Don’t let him leave! If he runs, your whole family will be in danger!” “He plans to leave the stolen goods at your house and make your family of three the scapegoats!” Shock, anger, and fear intertwined, making my whole body tremble uncontrollably. But my remaining sanity screamed a warning: I absolutely could not let him just walk away! If the pop-up warning was true, the impending danger was something my family of three could never handle. Just as Brandon’s hand was about to touch the doorknob, I lunged forward like a frantic lioness, grabbing hold of the back of his coat. “You’re not leaving!” I shrieked, my voice shrill and piercing with extreme fear and fury. Brandon stumbled, thrown off balance by my grip. He turned back, forcing a smile that looked worse than a grimace. “Summer, don’t mess around. This is a truly urgent work matter, a multi-million dollar project. If I mess it up, I’ll be fired. Be good, I’ll come right back to celebrate your birthday after I handle it.” “What project? Where are you going? Where did that diamond ring really come from? What are those red rashes on your wrist?!” I rattled off a string of questions, each hitting a vital point. My parents were utterly stunned by the sudden turn of events. They didn’t understand how a romantic proposal could, in the next second, turn into a tense standoff. “Summer, what are you doing? How can you talk to Brandon like that? A man’s career is important, work comes first, let him go,” my dad said, frowning, as he came over to try and pull me away. Seeing that my parents were still in the dark and on his side, Brandon immediately put on a wronged, helpless expression: “Mr. Hayes, this is truly a matter of life and death, I really have to go…” As he spoke, he secretly gritted his teeth, reaching out his left hand to try and pry my fingers, one by one, from his coat. He was strong, and my finger bones ached. “You’re not leaving! You have to explain yourself today!” I bit down hard, my fingernails digging into the back of his hand. No matter how hard he pulled, I wouldn’t let go. The pop-up messages on the screen were still furiously refreshing, the countdown like the Grim Reaper’s footsteps, drawing closer with every beat: “Two minutes left!” “Watch out! He’s trying to stuff the ring box into the gap in your shoe rack by the front door!” “Summer Hayes, hold onto him! Don’t let him run!” Following the pop-up’s warning, I saw Brandon’s right hand furtively reaching towards the shoe rack, seemingly trying to drop something unnoticed. I immediately blocked the shoe rack with my body, completely thwarting his plan. Brandon looked at the tightly locked front door, then at the wall clock. Cold sweat poured down his forehead like disconnected beads. The layers of tenderness and pretense in his eyes completely tore away, revealing his vicious, agitated true face underneath. “Summer Hayes, I’m warning you, let go of me right now!” He hissed, lowering his voice, like a poisonous snake cornered, grinding the words out in my ear. “I won’t! Unless you call the police right now and let them handle your ’emergency’!” I glared back at him, refusing to back down.

“Call the police? Are you insane?!” Hearing the words “call the police,” Brandon reacted like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, instantly exploding. But his eyes darted around, and he immediately changed tactics. His legs went weak, and he actually dropped to his knees in front of my parents, switching to a heart-wrenching sob: “I’m so sorry! It’s not about work at all… it’s my dad!” Crying, he pounded his chest: “My dad just had a sudden heart attack and was rushed to the hospital! The hospital has issued a critical condition notice; the doctors say he might not make it through the night!” “I was afraid Summer would worry, afraid of ruining her birthday, so I didn’t dare to tell the truth earlier. Please, let me go! If I’m a minute late, I might not see my dad one last time!” As he spoke, he crumpled to the floor. I watched his Oscar-worthy performance coldly, feeling nothing but a wave of nausea. But for my kind, honest parents, a dying parent at a birthday dinner was an absolute catastrophe. Sure enough, my mom burst into tears, her heart aching, and quickly tried to help him up: “Oh, you silly boy, why didn’t you say something sooner about such a big matter! Who cares about a birthday now!” My dad also panicked, rushing over to forcefully pry my hands away: “Summer! Let go! How can you be so insensitive! This is a matter of filial duty, a life-and-death situation, not a second can be wasted!” “Brandon, hurry! Do you have enough money? The hospital needs a deposit for emergency treatment, I’ll get you some!” My dad even fumbled for his phone in a rush. At that moment, in the entire living room, I felt like the only one who was clear-headed. Because before my eyes, on that blood-red panel, the pop-up messages were scrolling at an even more frantic pace: “He’s lying! His dad died ages ago, his ashes were scattered!” “He’s just trying to use your sympathy, use your family as a shield, so he can sneak away!” “The enforcers are upstairs! One minute left!” “Summer Hayes, don’t believe him! The moment he steps out that door, your whole family will be scapegoats, and those gangsters will beat you all to death!” If those enforcers were as vicious and cold-blooded as the pop-up messages said, and Brandon ran, my parents and I, old, weak, and injured, would be like fish on a cutting board, to be slaughtered at will. “He’s lying! Dad! Mom! Don’t believe him!” I shrieked, clinging to Brandon’s waist like a limpet, using my full weight to pull him down. “Get out your phone! Call your relatives! Or call the hospital’s nursing station directly! I want to hear!” “Call now! Put it on speaker! As soon as the call connects and proves your dad is really in critical condition, I’ll let you go immediately!” I cried, tears and snot streaming down my face, completely losing all composure, but I didn’t care anymore. Brandon, entangled by my desperate struggle, couldn’t move an inch. He glanced at the wall clock; with every tick of the second hand, his face grew paler, and his eyes became more frantic. “Get lost! You crazy woman!” He finally completely dropped his pretense, suddenly spun around, grabbed my hair, and with his other hand, seized my left index finger, bending it sharply backward. A chilling crack echoed. Excruciating pain, like an electric current, instantly shot through my entire body, piercing to my very core. My index finger was brutally broken! “Ah!” I screamed. The pain, ten times worse than any other, instantly sapped all my strength, and my hands involuntarily let go of his clothes. Brandon seized the chance, shoving me hard in the chest. “If you want to die, die alone! Don’t drag me down with you!” He pushed with all his might. I lost my balance, stumbling backward like a kite with a snapped string, my back slamming heavily against the front door. But instinctively, I grabbed the doorknob with my hand, enduring the searing pain, and fiercely engaged the last deadbolt. “Summer!” My mom shrieked in horror, rushing over to help me. My dad was also utterly stunned by Brandon’s sudden violence. The phone he was holding clattered to the floor. “Brandon! You animal! What are you doing! How dare you hit my daughter!” My dad’s eyes widened, and he roared, trying to rush forward and fight him. But Brandon completely ignored my dad. He frantically tried to twist the doorknob, only to find the door was locked tight. Just then, a dull thud came from outside the door, followed by the grating scrape of a metal baseball bat dragging against the wall. The sound echoed in the silent hallway, like a death knell. Then, a rough, menacing voice with a heavy accent sounded from outside the door, seeping through the thin metal: “Brandon, open the door. I know you’re in there.” “Hiding behind a woman’s skirt? What kind of man are you? Weren’t you running pretty fast a minute ago? Why stop now?” The moment Brandon heard that voice, he looked like his spine had been removed, his legs instantly going weak with terror. His earlier arrogance, the one that had just hit me and broken my finger, vanished completely. He slumped to the floor like a rag doll, his face ashen white, trembling like a leaf. “You… you bitch…” He stammered, his ashen lips cursing me in a low voice. “It’s all your fault… if it weren’t for you, you crazy woman, stopping me, I would’ve gotten away…” “You ruined everything for me… if I get caught, I’ll haunt you even in death…” I leaned against the cold front door, cradling my index finger, which was already completely deformed and swollen like a carrot. I sucked in ragged breaths, enduring the agonizing pain. Looking at this man, who just half an hour ago was in a suit and tie, kneeling and proposing to me, spouting sweet nothings, now collapsed on the floor like a stray dog, cursing me. My stomach churned with revulsion. Soon, the sound of the baseball bat hitting the wall outside stopped. On the virtual panel before my eyes, the frantically scrolling pop-up messages suddenly all disappeared, replaced by a deadly silence of stark white: “They’re here.” “Summer Hayes, cover your head, protect your parents.” The next second. Boom! A deafening crash. The front door was brutally kicked from the outside with terrifying force. The entire wall vibrated violently, and dust sifted down from the ceiling. I was thrown back from the door by the immense impact, slamming heavily onto the living room floor.

Boom! Another earth-shattering crash. The old apartment building’s front door, under the violent assault of these professional enforcers, proved incredibly fragile. With a grating sound of tearing metal, the lock mechanism completely gave way. The heavy iron door burst open, slamming violently into the entrance wall, even creating a deep dent. In a cloud of dust, several men, clad in black leather jackets and wielding steel baseball bats, stormed in menacingly. Each was burly, with scarred faces, hideous tattoos on their necks and arms, and eyes that held unconcealed brutality and savagery. “Ah!” My mom shrieked in terror, utterly terrified, instinctively shrinking into the furthest corner of the sofa, trembling uncontrollably. My dad, though his face was pale and his legs shook, gritted his teeth, spread his arms, and fiercely shielded my mom and me. He stood like a fragile yet unyielding mountain. “Who are you?! This is trespassing! If you don’t leave now, I… I’ll call the police!” My dad’s voice, though trembling, still held a stubborn edge. “Call the police?” A lazy, contemptuous, slightly hoarse female voice drifted from outside the door. Then, a woman in an expensive mink coat, click-clacking in high heels, leisurely walked in. She looked to be in her late forties, well-preserved, with exquisite heavy makeup, and a slender cigarette held between her fingers. Her gaze, directed at our family, was like looking at insignificant ants. This was the wealthy woman mentioned in the pop-up messages: Victoria. She didn’t even glance at my dad, her eyes locking directly onto Brandon, who was sprawled on the floor. “Well, Brandon, running, are we? Why aren’t you still running?” Victoria exhaled a puff of smoke, her tone chillingly calm. “Secretly embezzling funds from my company to gamble in Macau, using my black card to buy diamond rings, and even daring to infect me with that filthy disease…” “Your guts are really getting bigger and bigger, aren’t they?” Hearing Victoria’s words, Brandon trembled violently, as if he’d been electrocuted. He scrambled, trying to cling to Victoria’s leg, but was brutally kicked in the chest by one of the black-clad enforcers nearby, sending him tumbling several feet. “Ms. Sterling! Boss Victoria! I was wrong! I truly know I was wrong!” Ignoring the pain in his chest, Brandon scrambled up again, kneeling on the floor, frantically kowtowing like a pestle. His forehead quickly broke open, blood streaming down. “The ring… yes! The ring is here! I didn’t touch it! I’ll give it all back to you! Undamaged, just as you gave it to me!” He frantically pulled the velvet box, which he’d planned to propose with, from his coat pocket, holding it up high as if making an offering. A bodyguard behind Victoria stepped forward, took the box, glanced inside, and nodded at her. Victoria scoffed, not even glancing at the priceless diamond ring. “The ring is a small matter. What about the money? The five million dollars in company funds?” “The money… the money…” Brandon’s eyes darted wildly, cold sweat dripping onto the floor. Suddenly, as if grasping at a last straw, he spun around, his finger pointing accusingly at me. “The money’s all with her! It was her! This dirty woman seduced me!” Brandon shrieked hysterically, his face distorted, as if I were his sworn enemy. “Ms. Sterling, please believe me! I was tricked by her! This woman pretends to be an ordinary office worker, but she’s actually a madam, setting up schemes!” “She forced me to steal your money! She said if I didn’t get money for her, she’d find someone to expose my relationship with you, post your photos online, and ruin your reputation!” “I was only trying to protect your reputation, I was confused for a moment, and she got a hold of me!” I stared, wide-eyed in disbelief, at this man spewing such vile lies. The ugliness of human nature was on full display in that moment. To save his own skin, he could, without hesitation, pour all the blame onto a woman he had just been proposing to. “You’re talking nonsense! You’re full of it!” My dad trembled with rage, his eyes red, pointing at Brandon and cursing him: “Brandon! You utterly disgusting animal! When did our family ever ask you for a single penny?! Do you dare swear to God?!” “Old man, do you have any right to speak here?” The closest enforcer sneered, delivering a powerful backhand slap squarely across my dad’s face. Smack! With a sharp crack, my dad was sent flying sideways, crashing heavily into the coffee table. Blood immediately welled from the corner of his mouth, and one side of his face visibly swelled. “John!” My mom shrieked, rushing to him. “Dad!” My eyes burned with fury, and I shrieked, trying to rush at the enforcer to fight him, but another enforcer lifted his foot and brutally kicked me in the stomach. The immense force instantly knocked the breath out of me. I curled up on the floor in agony, like a cooked shrimp, stomach acid churning. Victoria watched all of this unfold with a cold indifference, not even a flicker of emotion in her eyes. “I don’t care who tricked who, or who seduced who. All I know is my money is gone, and today, I want blood.” She flicked ash from her cigarette, her tone as casual as discussing what to have for dinner. “Break one of his hands first. Let him learn his lesson.” Two fierce enforcers immediately stepped forward, one on each side, seizing Brandon and forcibly straightening his right arm, laying it flat on the floor. Another raised his steel baseball bat. “No! No, please! Ms. Sterling, have mercy!” Brandon let out a pig-like shriek, struggling desperately. The strength humans can summon in extreme terror is astonishing. Suddenly, with newfound force, he broke free from one of the enforcers. But he didn’t run for the door, because there were even more enforcers outside. He spun around, like a wild beast, charging directly at me, still recovering on the floor. Before I could react, a thick arm clamped around my neck, pulling me up from the floor. Then, a cold, metallic sensation pressed against my carotid artery. It was a sharp fruit knife, one my mom had used to cut fruit and left on the coffee table. “Don’t come any closer! Nobody move!” Brandon, hiding behind me, trembled violently, but the blade pressed relentlessly into the soft flesh of my neck. “If anyone comes closer, I’ll kill her!” “Ms. Sterling! Let me go! Or I’ll kill her! This is a life! There will be consequences for murder!” “If someone dies, none of you will get away with it today!” The sharp blade sliced through the delicate skin of my neck. Warm, metallic-smelling liquid instantly welled up, flowing down my neck and soaking into my white sweater, staining a large patch red. Looking at the room full of thugs, feeling the madness and malice of the man behind me, I even forgot to blink, my mind a blank. The pop-up messages on the virtual panel reappeared, filled with infinite sorrow: “This is human nature. Faced with death, he’s worse than an animal.” “Summer Hayes, don’t be afraid, don’t move. Stay alive, and you can slowly make him pay later.” “This man truly deserves a thousand cuts! To hell with him!” I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. “Brandon, even if you kill me today, you won’t escape. You’ll get what’s coming to you,” I said, gritting my teeth, each word distinct. “Shut up! Just shut up!” Brandon shrieked hysterically in my ear, spit spraying onto my face. “If anyone’s dying, it’s you first! We’ll go to hell together!”

“A life?” Hearing Brandon’s threat, Victoria didn’t show fear. Instead, she let out a light laugh, as if she’d heard the funniest joke. She took a step forward in her high heels, her eyes filled with amusement and mockery. “Oh, Brandon, have you misunderstood something? What does this woman’s life have to do with me, Victoria?” “If you want to kill her, go ahead. Do it quickly. Once you’re done, I’ll save the police the trouble of catching a murderer and perhaps even get a commendation for civic bravery.” With that, she casually waved her hand. The surrounding enforcers immediately understood. Instead of backing away, they raised their baseball bats, grinning menacingly, and slowly advanced towards us. At this point, Brandon was completely flustered. He had thought he could use my life to threaten Victoria, but he hadn’t expected this woman to be even more cold-blooded than he imagined. “Don’t come any closer! Don’t force me! I really will do it!” Brandon’s hand trembled even more violently, the sharp blade uncontrollably scraping back and forth on my neck, opening a deeper wound. More blood flowed, dripping onto the floor, a horrifying sight. Seeing the enforcers closing in to within two meters, Brandon let out a desperate, frantic howl. He suddenly released his left hand from my neck, then with all his might, shoved me hard in the back with both hands. “Die! Block them for me!” The immense push sent me flying like a cannonball. What awaited me was not the enforcers catching me in their arms. It was the heavy marble coffee table in the center of the living room. In mid-air, time seemed to stretch endlessly. I saw my parents’ mouths agape in extreme terror, yet heard no sound from them; I saw the cold, evasive eyes of the enforcers; and I saw Brandon’s back as he scurried towards the door like a rat. Thump! A dull thud. My forehead struck the sharpest edge of the marble coffee table with precise, heavy impact. Excruciating pain instantly swallowed my consciousness. I collapsed heavily into a pool of blood, my body convulsing uncontrollably from nerve spasms. Warm blood gushed from my forehead, covering my eyes, turning my vision blood-red. Before consciousness completely plunged into darkness, I heard the sound of enforcers swarming. Brandon didn’t even get a few steps before several baseball bats slammed into his hamstrings. He shrieked and fell to the ground. Then came the chilling sounds of beating: the dull thuds of fists on flesh, the crisp snap of bones, and Brandon’s heart-wrenching, inhuman screams. “Ms. Sterling! Have mercy! Ms. Sterling! I was wrong!” “I’m a dog! I’m just a dog you raised! Stop hitting me! Please, stop hitting me! You’ll kill me!” The one-sided beating continued for several minutes. Brandon was beaten bloody and bruised, his face swollen, his ribs God knows how many broken. He lay on the floor like a rag doll. Then, a disgusting scene unfolded. To save his life, Brandon actually crawled on the floor like a real dog, dragging his broken legs. He left a long trail of blood across the floor, finally reaching Victoria’s feet, desperately clinging to her black-stockinged calf. “Ms. Sterling, I was wrong, I truly know I was wrong… Please give me another chance. I’ll do anything for you.” “I’m good at serving people, I have good technique, you used to love it when I served you… Please, don’t kill me. Victoria looked down at him, a disgusted frown on her face. She raised her foot, clad in a pointed high-heel. “You were pretty tough, pretty gutsy, holding a knife to that woman’s throat earlier, weren’t you?” Victoria said coldly: “Lick it clean.” Brandon froze for a second, looking at the dust and blood splattered on her shoe tip. But after only a second’s hesitation, he stuck out his tongue like a real dog. Fawningly, meticulously, and utterly without dignity, he kissed Victoria’s dust-covered shoe tip and ankle. As he licked, he slurred out disgusting, cheesy words: “Ms. Sterling is my queen… I am my queen’s most loyal dog… My queen, have mercy…” I lay on the chillingly cold floor, blood still gushing, taking away my body’s warmth. But I still pushed with all my might, struggling to keep my eyes open, staring fixedly at this scene. I wanted to engrave that ugly, repulsive face deep into my memory. The virtual panel paused for a few seconds. Then, pop-up messages scrolled at an unprecedented, frantic speed, almost covering my entire vision: “I’m going to throw up… This man, for money, for his life, truly has no bottom line, worse than an animal!” “Summer Hayes is still bleeding! She’s dying! He won’t even look at her?!” “Just moments ago, he was proposing with deep affection, and now he’s licking another woman’s shoe in front of his fiancée and future in-laws?! My worldview is shattered!” “This scumbag deserves to die! What did Summer Hayes’s family do to deserve all this?!” “Can someone save the female lead? I can’t bear to watch, it’s too tragic!” “The countdown is still flashing, too much blood loss, will Summer Hayes die?” “System alert: Vital signs rapidly declining…” Accompanied by the system’s warning, my world faded into darkness.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “412425”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

My coworker pushed me out of a burning car. He died. His wife was nine months pregnant, about to give birth. His wife pressured me to marry her. I quit my job, took care of her and the baby, and spent six years as a full-time stay-at-home dad. Cooking, cleaning, doing laundry, dropping him off at preschool. She didn’t want to have kids with me. I said fine. Six years. We never fought once. Until the day at the police station, when six-year-old Jack pointed at me and said — “I don’t know this man. He was trying to kidnap me.” I looked at him, and I just started laughing. Six years of debt. Paid in full. Guess who panicked first after I turned around and walked out of that police station? One of the fluorescent lights in the police station was broken, buzzing and flickering — just like the wire strung tight inside my head. Jack sat in the chair across from the officer, his little legs dangling in the air, wearing the expression of someone delivering righteous judgment. “I don’t know this man.” He pointed at me. Six years old. Clear pronunciation, articulate delivery. I taught him myself. From the moment he started babbling his first words, every sound, every syllable — I corrected them one by one. Including the phrase “I don’t know.” The officer glanced at me, then at Jack, his expression somewhere between awkward and uncertain. “Sir, the child says he doesn’t know you…” I pulled up photos on my phone — my ID and our marriage certificate — and held them out. “Jack. Six years old. He’s my stepson. His mom, Victoria, is my wife.” The officer looked them over, confirmed everything checked out, and visibly relaxed. “Then this must be a misunderstanding. Kids sometimes—” “It’s not a misunderstanding.” I cut him off. Jack was still swinging his legs, completely unbothered. Almost smug. I knew that look. It was the same look Victoria wore when she steamrolled her subordinates in meetings. I crouched down to his eye level. “Jack… tell me. Who taught you to say that?” He scrunched up his mouth. “Mom said you’re not my dad. My dad was a hero. You’re just the guy who lives in our house.” The guy who lives in our house. I turned those words over slowly. The muscles in my jaw twitched. Six years. Two thousand, one hundred and ninety days. Up at three in the morning to prep ingredients. Breakfast ready by five. Dropping him off at preschool by seven. Cleaning the house by nine. Grocery run at eleven. Picking him up at three-thirty. Teaching him to read in the evenings. Telling him stories until he fell asleep. The guy who lives in their house. Yeah. That was about right. The house was in Falcon’s name. The car was in Victoria’s name. The savings were in Victoria’s account. I really was nothing. “Okay.” I stood up. The officer was still saying something — probably the usual “kids don’t know any better” kind of thing. I wasn’t listening. I pocketed my phone and pushed open the station door. The March wind hit my face like a slap, cool and sharp. I stood on the front steps and pulled out my phone. Sent Victoria a text. “Your son is at the Sunshine Road police station. He told them I was a kidnapper. Come get him.” I stared at it for a second, then added one more line. “Let’s get a divorce tomorrow.” Fifteen seconds after I hit send, my phone rang. I declined the call. I didn’t want to hear her voice today. Six years. Everything I needed to say, I’d already said. Whatever was left — it didn’t need saying anymore. I stepped down off the stairs. Behind me, Jack started crying — probably realized no one was coming for him and lost his nerve. In the past, the moment he cried, my legs would go weak. Today, they didn’t. From here on out, I was done looking after him.

What happened six years ago is actually pretty simple. Falcon and I were coworkers. Same project team, desks right next to each other, the kind of guys who grabbed lunch at the cafeteria together. Nothing deeper than that — at most, he’d bring an extra sausage in his lunch and toss one my way. We were pulling an all-nighter and shared a ride home around 2 a.m. He took the passenger seat. I sat in the back. Dead tired, half-asleep, scrolling my phone. Then came the impact. A semi. Running a red light. The front of the car crumpled on impact. The steering wheel pinned the driver instantly. The airbag hit me and my head was ringing. I couldn’t see straight. Falcon grabbed me from the front seat. The traffic investigator told me later — he’d kicked open the rear door first, then shoved me out from behind. Then the car caught fire. He never made it out. At the funeral, Victoria stood there with her nine-month belly, and didn’t cry once. She stood perfectly straight, like a nail driven into the floor. After everyone left, she called out to me. “Balder.” I turned around. “Falcon’s gone,” she said. “The baby comes next month.” “Let me know if you need anything,” I told her. She looked up at me. Her eyes were red around the edges, but there were no tears. “A child can’t grow up without a father. Would you… would you marry me?” I stood in the hallway of the funeral home. Outside, November wind. The overhead lights cast a cold, pale glow. I understood what she meant. I was twenty-eight. No wife. No girlfriend. Falcon had used his life to push me out of that car. I owed him one. “Okay,” I said. One word. Six years on the line. By the time we went to register the marriage, her belly was enormous. The clerk smiled and offered congratulations. Victoria signed the form without expression and passed the pen to me. “I want to say something first,” she said. “Go ahead.” “I’ll have the baby myself. You just help take care of him. After that… I’m not going to have children with you.” I held the pen. A two-second pause. “Fine.” “And,” she looked at me, her tone as flat as if she were closing a business deal, “my career is in a growth phase. I don’t have time to manage things at home. If you’re willing — you could quit your job.” My salary at the time was decent. I was a core member of the project team. “Fine,” I said. She nodded, stood up, and left. Not a single “thank you.” Not once, from start to finish. I didn’t blame her. She didn’t think she owed me one. In her mind, this was a debt I owed Falcon. And maybe she was right. The day Jack was born, I waited outside the delivery room for six hours. A nurse came out carrying a tiny, wrinkled, impossibly ugly baby. “Congratulations,” she said. I took him. My hands were shaking. His eyes were shut tight, and he was screaming his lungs out. I looked at him and thought: Falcon, can you see this? Your son is really, really ugly. But alive. Alive is all that matters. From that day on, I was officially a full-time stay-at-home dad. Twenty-eight years old. Quit my job. Started learning how to mix formula, change diapers, and get a baby to stop crying. The neighbors watched me like I was an exotic animal. “Why is that young guy always out here with the baby?” “He’s probably living off his wife.” “His wife must be some kind of executive. She makes the money, he just hangs around the house.” I heard them. I didn’t explain. There was no point. No way to make it make sense. A grown man, not working, staying home with a kid. In this world, that makes you a freeloader.

When Jack was a year and a half, he learned to say “Mama.” Victoria happened to be home that day — she’d been working until one in the morning and had just walked in the door. Jack pulled himself up against the playpen railing and reached for her. “Mama! Mama!” Victoria froze for a second, then crouched down and held him. Smiled — rare, for her. I stood in the kitchen doorway, holding the dinner I’d kept warm for her. “Did you teach him to call you something too?” she asked. “I tried,” I said. “He still gets confused.” Jack turned and looked at me. “Da—” Something warm moved through my chest — but Victoria’s expression shut down. “Don’t teach him to call you Dad.” Her voice was quiet, but cold. “His father is Falcon. You’re Balder.” My hands went still around the plate. “Then… what should he call me?” “Uncle.” I looked at Jack’s small, confused face. He was barely a year and a half. He didn’t understand any of it. “Fine.” After that, Jack called me “Uncle Balder.” When Jack was three, Victoria got promoted to department director. She took her team out to celebrate. Didn’t invite me. I cooked a full dinner at home and waited until eleven at night, reheating the food three times. She came home smelling like wine. I took her bag and jacket. “You should eat something. Drinking on an empty stomach will wreck you.” She waved me off. “Not hungry. Tired.” “I made some oatmeal—” “I said I’m not hungry.” She frowned at me. “Are you deaf?” I stood in the entryway, her jacket still in my hands. “…Okay. Get some rest then.” I hung up her jacket, cleared the table, and packed everything into the fridge. The oatmeal, I finished myself. Victoria wasn’t a bad person. She just didn’t see me as a person. No — she did see me as a person. A utility. The one who cooked. The one who watched the kid. The one who handled the household. The one who paid the building fees. The one who signed for packages. Every task had my name on it. But not a single one left room for me. When Jack was four, Victoria’s mother came to stay for a month. Her name was Clara. She was a piece of work. First day in the door, she found me cutting vegetables in the kitchen. “Balder, Victoria says you quit your job?” “Yeah. I stay home with Jack.” “A man who doesn’t work.” She dropped her bag on the couch. “What kind of example is that. If I were twenty years younger, we wouldn’t need you here at all.” My knife stilled for a moment. I didn’t say anything. She kept going. “And don’t act like you’re being wronged. You get to live in this house and spend Victoria’s money. That’s already more than you deserve.” For that entire month, Clara found something to say to me every single day. “You didn’t mop that properly.” “Why is Jack coughing? What kind of job are you doing?” I endured it. Falcon’s life for mine. That was the trade. His wife and her mother could say what they wanted. I could take it. But there were some things I couldn’t. When Jack was five, he started the advanced preschool program. The teacher asked them to draw “My Family.” Jack brought the drawing home to show me. Three figures: a tall mom, a small version of himself, and a dad floating in the sky. The dad in the sky had a circle around his head. A halo. I wasn’t in the picture. “Jack,” I pointed at the paper. “Where am I?” He tilted his head, thought about it, then drew a small figure in the corner. “Who’s that?” “The babysitter.” I stared at the stick figure tucked in the corner. The corner of my mouth pulled. “Jack, I’m not the babysitter.” “Mom says you’re the person who takes care of us,” he said, completely earnest. “Isn’t that what a babysitter does?” I handed the drawing back to him. “Go wash your hands. Dinner’s ready.” That evening, when Victoria got home, I showed her the drawing. “Did you tell Jack I was the babysitter?” She was swapping out her heels for slippers, not looking up. “When did I say that? He came up with it himself.” “You told him I was ‘the person who takes care of you guys.’” “Isn’t that what you are?” She finally looked up. Calm. Level. “You don’t work. You don’t bring in money. You cook and pick up the kid every day. If that’s not ‘taking care of us,’ what would you call it?” I looked at her. She looked back at me. No emotion on her face — the way you’d look at a wall. Or a piece of furniture. Something you could swap out whenever it suited you. “Fine.” I turned and went back to the kitchen. When Jack was five and a half, Victoria signed him up for a taekwondo class. The instructor’s name was Porter. Two years younger than me, six-two, strong jaw, bright eyes, and a grin full of white teeth. Jack loved him. “Coach Porter is so cool!” “Coach Porter said I did great today!” “Mom, Coach Porter says I’m ready to compete!” Every time I picked Jack up from class, Porter would stop to chat. After a while I realized he wasn’t asking about Jack. He was asking about Victoria. “Has Jack’s mom been busy lately?” “Jack’s mom looked a little tired the other day. Everything okay?” “Jack’s mom has such a beautiful name.” I looked at his cheerful, open face. Porter. Heads up — she’s married. To me. I know, I know. I might as well be invisible. But legally, I’m still here. I didn’t say any of that. Not out of generosity. I just didn’t want to embarrass myself. On Jack’s sixth birthday, Victoria actually took a half day off work. That almost never happened. I cooked a full dinner and baked a cake from scratch — chocolate, Jack’s favorite. I was up at four in the morning to make it. Spent two hours on the frosting. We lit the candles. Jack squeezed his eyes shut to make a wish. “I wish Mom would always be with me… and…” He opened his eyes, looked at Victoria, then looked at me. “…and I wish that person would hurry up and leave.” Victoria didn’t react. The lighter slipped in my hand. “Which person?” I asked. Jack looked at me, eyes wide and guileless. Six-year-olds don’t know how to hide what they feel. He didn’t hate me. He just genuinely, sincerely believed — I was someone who didn’t belong. Victoria said quietly, “Okay. Make a wish and blow.” Jack took a deep breath and blew. The candles went out. Smoke curled up in thin ribbons, blurring his little face. I clapped once. “Happy birthday.” My voice came out steady. My hands were just a little cold.

Back to now. After the thing at the police station, I went home. I opened the door. The apartment was spotless — I’d mopped before I left that morning. The kitchen counter was wiped clean. The fridge was stocked with three days’ worth of groceries. Six years of habit. I walked into my room — the guest room, to be exact. Victoria had the master. In six years of marriage, we’d never shared a bed. The guest room was small. A twin-size bed. A wardrobe. I opened the wardrobe. There wasn’t much inside. Being a stay-at-home dad didn’t require a wardrobe. A few worn-in T-shirts and jeans were more than enough. I pulled out a suitcase and packed. Clothes. Two books. An old watch — my dad’s, the only thing he left me. Fifteen minutes, done. Six years of living, compressed into a single carry-on bag. Unbelievably light. I set the house keys on the shoe rack and took one last look around. The family photo on the living room wall didn’t have me in it. Jack’s growth wall had a few shots where you could catch my profile — I’d been caught in the frame while wiping his mouth, the kind of angle they couldn’t crop out without cutting him too. I laughed once, quietly. Grabbed my suitcase and walked out. The door shut behind me with a soft click. Clean. Final. In the elevator, I pulled out my phone. Victoria had texted back. “I picked up Jack. What is your problem? Why are you being like this?” “Tell me when you want to go tomorrow. I’ll make it work.” Ten seconds later: “Are you serious?” “Never been more serious.” A long silence. Then she called. I picked up. “Balder, are you out of your mind? You’re actually taking what a kid says literally?” “Victoria Hills.” I used her full name. My voice came out steadier than I expected. “Every single word he said — you put it there.” “I never—” “He called me ‘the guy who lives in their house.’ He drew me as the babysitter in his family portrait. His birthday wish was for me to disappear. Today at the station, he said he didn’t know me.” I leaned against the elevator wall. “Once is just kids being kids. Twice is picking things up at home. Three times, four times — Victoria, you might as well have carved ‘Balder isn’t family’ into his forehead.” Silence from her end. I kept going. “I owed Falcon my life. I didn’t owe you anything. Six years — debt paid, with interest. From today, you and I are done.” “You—” “Tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock. We’re filing for divorce.” I hung up. The elevator opened on the ground floor. Outside, full sun. March sunlight hit my shoulders. Warm in a way that almost didn’t feel real. I wheeled my suitcase out of the building. Three steps out, my phone rang again. Clara. “Balder! You get back here right now! You think you’re too good for us now?!” I held the phone a few inches from my ear. Her voice still rattled my skull. “Six years you ate Victoria’s food, slept under Victoria’s roof, and now you just walk out?! What is wrong with you?!” I took a slow breath. “First — the house was Falcon’s. Not Victoria’s.” “Second — I never spent a dollar of her money. Everything in that house came out of my own savings.” “Third—” I smiled a little. “Your daughter hasn’t said a kind word to me in six years. And today her son told the police I was a kidnapper.” “So I’d love for you to tell me — who exactly is the one without a conscience?” I hung up and blocked the number. Like stepping out of a long, hot shower. I flagged down a cab. “Riverside Inn, on Carlton Street.” Small place I knew. Clean, quiet, around a hundred a night. More than enough. For the first time in six years, I didn’t have to arrange my day around what time Victoria came home or when Jack needed to eat. That whole afternoon, I lay on the hotel bed and stared at the ceiling. The ceiling was white. There was a water stain in one corner. I stared at it for two hours. My head was empty. Not sad. Just — empty. For six years, every minute of every day had been full. Wall-to-wall, no gaps. Now, without warning, there was nothing. I didn’t know what to do with my hands. I rolled over and picked up my phone. Scrolled through my contacts. Friends? Haven’t talked to any of them in six years. Old coworkers? Quit six years ago. Family? Both parents gone. Only child. I stared at the barren contact list. Almost laughed. Twenty-eight to thirty-four. The best six years of a man’s life. I gave them to a woman who never loved me and a kid who never claimed me. Stupid? Incredibly. But I don’t regret it. Falcon shoved me out of that car with his life on the line. That was real. These six years — that debt is cleared. From right now, Balder’s life belongs to Balder. I put down the phone and closed my eyes. Slept better than I had in six years.

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I walked out of the airport after five years abroad, my heart full of hope that Harris would keep his promise and propose to me. But he just stood there, his face blank. “Sandy, I’m sorry.” Before I could even process that, he kept going. “That transfer order… I arranged it.” “I deliberately had you reassigned to that remote project out west so I could have space — for me and Ismael.” “She was pregnant back then. I had no choice.” A long silence. I bit my lip until I tasted blood. Five years. The desert wind cutting across the flats, brutal heat, sixteen-hour workdays — pure hell. And all of it had been a cage he built for me. “You’re too aggressive, too forceful. I was afraid you’d hurt her.” “I’m not telling you this to ask for forgiveness. I just want you to calm down ahead of time — don’t make a scene.” His voice carried the weight of someone who’d already made peace with what he’d done. I stepped back and dodged his outstretched hand, smiling through tears. “Harris, you turned something that could have ended with dignity into something that never will.”

Harris’s car followed my cab, flashing its headlights twice. The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Ma’am, that BMW’s been tailing us. Someone you know?” I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth. “No.” “Want me to lose him?” “Don’t bother. He knows where I’m going.” The apartment building looked the same as always. Fresh ads were plastered inside the elevator. I dragged my suitcase to the door and pulled out my key. The lock didn’t sound right turning. The door swung open from the inside. Ismael stood there in a silk slip dress, holding a little boy, maybe three or four years old. She saw me. For a second she froze — then she smiled. “You’re back.” The boy clung to her neck and studied me with curious eyes. “Mommy, who’s that?” “Someone who used to live here.” Ismael ran a hand over his hair, then looked at me. “Want to come in? Harris mentioned you’d be back today — I just didn’t expect you so soon.” I looked past her into the living room. Their wedding photo hung on the wall. The couch was new. Children’s clothes were drying on the balcony. “This place…” “Is my home.” Ismael cut me off, her voice gentle. “It has been for five years. The moment Harris got the place, he had me move in.” My suitcase wheel caught in the doorframe. “He said once you left for the west, we’d get married.” The little boy started squirming, impatient to get down. Ismael set him on the floor and he ran straight for the toy bin in the corner of the living room. She leaned against the doorframe, looking me over. “You’ve gotten so thin. It must’ve been rough out there.” I tightened my grip on the suitcase handle. “Will Harris be home later?” “I don’t know.” She raised an eyebrow. “What do you need from him? Money? An explanation?” “Neither.” “Then why are you here?” I looked at her face — carefully maintained, effortlessly composed — and suddenly felt sick. “I’m here,” I said, keeping my voice as level as I could, “to get back what’s mine.” Ismael smiled. “And what exactly do you think you still have here? I threw out your clothes a long time ago. Harris sold your books — said they were taking up space.” “Oh, and those houseplants you were so proud of? They’re all dead.” She paused, then added: “I stopped watering them on purpose.” I turned and pressed the elevator button. Her voice followed me. “Sandy, don’t make a scene. You’ve got nothing left. You can’t win this.” The elevator doors closed. I leaned back against the cold metal wall and shut my eyes. Five years. I thought I was building a career. Turns out I was funding their honeymoon.

The next day I went to the office to process my return paperwork. Munir in HR looked up and her expression shifted. “Sandy, your position…” “I know. Ismael took it over.” I set my suitcase in the corner. “It’s fine. Just find me something standard.” Munir sighed and pulled up my file on her computer. “Your five years out west — the official record says you voluntarily requested the frontier support assignment, overcame difficult conditions, and completed the project successfully.” “That’s accurate.” “But,” she lowered her voice, “the outcome reports for all three projects you led — Ismael is listed as first author on every single one.” I went still. “That’s not possible. Those were my—” “You signed off on it.” Munir clicked open a document and turned the screen toward me. “See this? It’s an agreement from five years ago. You signed it, authorizing shared credit for all project outcomes across the team.” The signature was mine. But I had absolutely no memory of signing anything like that. “You left in a hurry back then. A lot of the paperwork was handled by Harris on your behalf.” Munir hesitated, like she wanted to say more, then pulled back. “Sandy, some things… never mind. Go find your desk.” My desk was wedged in the corner next to the printer, buried under a pile of other people’s junk. Colleagues passed by. Some pretended not to see me. Others gave a quick nod. Only Helen came over, dropping her voice. “You’re back? How?” “The project wrapped up.” “So you’re just… here?” She glanced toward Ismael’s office. “Watch yourself. She’s a supervisor now, and Harris is her husband.” I set down my bag. “I know.” That afternoon, my phone rang. Harris. I let it go to voicemail. He called again. Then twice more. On the fourth call, I picked up. “Sandy, we need to talk.” “There’s nothing to talk about.” “Ismael’s pregnant again. The doctor said the pregnancy is unstable — she can’t have any stress.” He sounded exhausted. “Can you just… stay out of our lives for a while?” A child’s voice carried through the phone. “Daddy, Mommy threw up!” “Coming, coming.” Harris said quickly, “That’s all. I’m asking you, please.” The call ended. I stared at the screen, and thought about the day five years ago when the transfer order came through. I’d called him crying. He said: “Wait for me. I’ll be right there.” Then he held me and said: “Go. Think of it as building experience. I’ll wait for you. We’ll get married when you’re back.” That day, there was a faint perfume on him. Not the one he usually wore. Now I knew. It was Ismael’s.

I went to the hospital for a full checkup. The doctor studied the report, his brow furrowing. “Ms. Sandy, your situation…” “Just tell me straight.” “Endometriosis. Severe decline in ovarian function.” He adjusted his glasses. “The likelihood of natural conception is… close to zero.” I held the report. The paper edge dug into my palm. “Is it from the work environment?” “Prolonged high-intensity work, chronic stress, combined with the climate out west…” He paused. “You’re still young. If you start treatment now, there may still be a chance.” I walked out of the exam room. The hallway was lined with pregnant women. They sat rubbing their bellies, their faces soft with happiness. One husband crouched down and pressed his ear to his wife’s stomach, listening for movement. I turned sideways and slipped past them, pushed open the door to the stairwell. The stairwell was empty. I crouched down and buried my face in my knees. Don’t cry. Crying means losing. Three days later — the company’s annual gala. I didn’t want to go, but Helen said, “You’ve been here long enough. Skipping would look bad.” I put on a black dress and stood in the corner of the venue. The lights were bright. The music was loud. Harris walked in with Ismael on his arm. Everyone swarmed toward them. “Congratulations, you two!” “You’re so lucky!” Ismael smiled and said her thank-yous, one hand resting protectively over her stomach the whole time. Harris had his arm around her waist, looking down at her with an expression so tender it was almost unbearable to watch. Someone spotted me and gave a subtle tilt of their chin. The room went quiet for a beat, then picked right back up. Ismael made her way over to me, belly first. “Sandy. Long time.” I held up my champagne. “Congratulations.” “Thanks.” She touched her stomach. “Might be a girl. Harris is over the moon — says she’ll look just like me.” She looked at me, then leaned in and dropped her voice. “You know what Harris told me? He said if he hadn’t gotten you transferred back then, he would’ve been torn for a lot longer.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “It means,” she smiled — warm, bright, practiced — “thank you for stepping aside when you did. We wouldn’t have any of this without you.” My hand was shaking. Champagne splashed onto my dress. “Ismael,” I said, meeting her eyes. “Do you know that when you were pregnant with your first child, I was on a construction site out west in negative-thirty-degree weather, running a fever of a hundred and four, nearly dying?” She blinked. “So?” “I called Harris seventeen times. Not one answer.” “That was our anniversary.” She smiled. “He was with me picking out my wedding gown.” I breathed in slowly. She added: “Chanel Haute Couture. Limited edition. The one with the pearl embroidery at the waist.” I had tried on that gown. Five years ago. Harris had said: “When we get married, we’re buying that one.” Turns out he didn’t mean we. I set down my glass and turned to leave. Harris was standing right behind me. I don’t know when he’d gotten there. He looked at me, his expression unreadable. “Sandy…” “Don’t say my name.” I said. “It makes me sick.” I walked out of the banquet hall. Rain was falling outside. I stood under the overhang and watched the downpour blur the city into nothing. Footsteps behind me. Harris had followed me out. He was holding an umbrella. He held it out to me. “Take it. You’ll catch a cold.” “Why do you care?” He was quiet for a moment. “I know you hate me.” “I don’t hate you.” I said. “I just think I wasted five years on a man who wasn’t worth a day.” “Those five years—” “Those five years,” I cut him off, “I worked sixteen-hour days in the desert. My period stopped for three months. My hair fell out in clumps.” “I pushed through it because I told myself: hold on, get home, and you’ll be married.” His face went pale. “And you,” I almost laughed, “spent those five years getting married, having a kid, and now you’re on your second.” “I’m sorry.” “Sorry fixes what, exactly?” I stared at him. “Harris, I can’t even work up the energy to hate you properly. You just make me feel like a joke.” The rain got heavier. He tilted the umbrella toward me. I pushed his hand away, stepped into the rain. The cold hit me all at once, soaking through everything.

A week later, I got a call from home. Mom was crying. “Sandy, your father’s in the hospital!” I rushed back. Dad — who already had a heart condition — was lying in the hospital bed, his face the color of ash. Mom grabbed my hands. “Someone mailed your father a letter. It said you… it said you were breaking up someone’s marriage. That you were the other woman.” “I wasn’t!” “There were photos!” Mom wiped her eyes. “Screenshots of your messages with Harris. And statements from people at your company.” I snatched the envelope. The photos were doctored. The chat logs were fabricated — but convincingly. The kind of thing that would fool anyone who wanted to believe it. “Dad, let me explain—” My father opened his eyes and looked at me for a long moment. “I believe you.” Then he closed them again. The heart monitor screamed. Doctors rushed in. I was pushed out of the room. In the hallway, Harris was standing there. He was holding a fruit basket. A nurse walked past and murmured, “Harris is such a good man — coming to check on his ex’s father like this.” I looked at him. Then I crossed the hall and slapped him as hard as I could. The basket hit the floor. Fruit scattered everywhere. “You did this.” “I didn’t know—” “You didn’t know?” I grabbed the front of his shirt. “Those photos. Those records. Who else would have them?” He caught my wrists. “Sandy, calm down!” “How am I supposed to calm down!” I was screaming. “If anything happens to my father, I will make you pay for it!” The hospital room door opened. The doctor came out and pulled down his mask. “I’m sorry. We did everything we could.” My world collapsed in that moment. Three days later, the funeral. My mother wouldn’t let me through the door. “Get out,” she said from behind the closed door. “Your father doesn’t want to see you.” I knelt outside from morning until late afternoon. Harris and Ismael arrived. They bowed their heads in respect. Ismael saw me and said softly, “I’m so sorry for your loss.” I looked at Harris. My eyes said everything. His face went white. Ismael touched his sleeve. “Let’s go.” They left. Finally, my mother opened the door. She looked at me, and there was nothing in her eyes but hatred. “Are you satisfied? Your father is dead. Are you satisfied?” I crawled forward on my knees and wrapped my arms around her legs. “Mom…” “Don’t touch me!” She shoved me away. “I don’t have a daughter like you!” I pressed my forehead to the cold tile floor. A few days after my father’s death, I got a call from the company. “Sandy, you’ve been terminated.” HR’s voice was flat. “Grounds: serious violation of professional ethics. During the western project, you maintained inappropriate relationships with multiple male colleagues.” I went straight to the office and barged into HR. “Show me the evidence.” The manager threw a stack of photos on the table. Work site pictures of me with male colleagues, printed with filthy captions someone had added. “This is defamation.” “Where there’s smoke, there’s fire.” The manager looked at me. “The company can’t keep someone like you on staff.” I went to find Harris. His assistant blocked the door. “Harris is in a meeting.” I waited until dark. He finally came out of the conference room. When he saw me, his step faltered. “I know what you’re going to say.” He spoke first. “This decision came from the company. There’s nothing I can do.” “Harris, you set me up.” “It wasn’t me.” He frowned. “Ismael said—” “Whatever Ismael says, you just go along with it?” I stepped toward him. “She destroyed my father. Now she’s destroying my career. And you’re just going to help her?” He stepped back. “Sandy, calm down.” “I am calm.” I said. “I just want to know — can you sleep at night?” He didn’t answer. I turned and walked to the elevator. When I got downstairs, people were waiting. Seven or eight of them, holding signs. “Homewrecker!” “Get out of this city!” Someone threw something at me — red ink. It poured over my head, soaked through my clothes, dripped down to the ground. I stood there, red running down my skin. Harris’s car came up from the underground garage and stopped at the curb. He got out, broke up the crowd, then turned and looked at me. He sighed. “Sandy, why can’t you just handle things with some dignity? Why does it always have to go this far?” I dragged my hand across my face. Red dripped from my fingers. “Dignity?” I almost laughed. “Tell me how, exactly.” He got back in his car and drove away. I went back to my apartment and found the locks had been changed. My bags were sitting outside the door. The landlord poked his head out. “I packed your stuff. You need to go.” “Why?” “Someone filed a complaint. Said you’re a bad influence on the building.” He waved me off. “I’m not renting to you anymore.” I sat down next to my suitcase. The same suitcase I’d taken out west five years ago. The same one I’d just brought back. Nothing had changed. Everything had changed. I sat in a convenience store through the whole night. The city woke up in the morning light. It was beautiful. But I didn’t want to stay in it for another minute.

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The boss’s newly hired secretary secretly added my name to the first round of layoffs. She leaned close to my ear and taunted me: “Get out while you can, old hag.” Not only did I not get angry — I signed the resignation form with a smile and walked out without looking back. By the end of the month, the company’s tax audit hit. Tens of millions of dollars in accounts were a complete mess, and not a single cent could be reconciled. The boss was losing his mind in the conference room: “Who laid off my wife? She’s the only one with the master access codes!” HR wiped the cold sweat from his forehead and glanced nervously at the young secretary standing nearby: “Sir, it was… it was your mistress who did it.” Grace walked in carrying a list, her heels clicking against the floor in sharp, piercing taps. She stopped beside my desk. The cloud of perfume around her was suffocating. The office went instantly quiet. Everyone’s eyes drifted over — pretending not to look, but looking all the same. “First round of organizational restructuring. I’ll read the names.” Her voice was deliberately sweet, but her gaze was like a needle, driving straight into me. “Jennifer.” She read out my name, drawing out the last syllable, savoring every bit of it. The air around me seemed to freeze. I was one of the company’s founding employees. The backbone of the finance department. Ten years in, and no one had ever imagined my name would appear on a list like this. Grace loved the effect. She bent down, her red lips nearly brushing my ear, and said in a voice only the two of us could hear: “Get out while you can, old hag.” I caught the scent on her — the same cedar and sandalwood cologne my husband Matthew wore. I didn’t get angry. I didn’t even blink. I simply closed the spreadsheet I’d been working on. Without saving. “Where’s the resignation form?” I asked. My calm clearly caught her off guard. She hesitated for a second, then pulled a sheet of paper from her folder and slapped it down on my desk. “Sign it. You’ll get your severance. The company’s being more than generous.” “Thank you.” I picked up the pen and signed my name in clean, decisive strokes. HR manager Chris came jogging over, his face arranged into an awkward smile. “Jennifer, does… does Mr. Matthews know about this?” “Mr. Matthews is a very busy man. There’s no need to bother him with something this small.” Grace cut in before I could say another word, draping her arm over Chris’s shoulder with an easy familiarity. “Chris, I think we’re going to work together just beautifully.” Chris looked like he was about to break into a cold sweat. I stood up and began gathering the few personal items on my desk. A water bottle. A small plant I’d kept alive for five years. And a photo from the bottom drawer. In the photo, Matthew and I stood in front of a cramped little office — the company’s very first address. We were grinning like idiots. Young, nervous, and full of hope. I stared at it for a few seconds. Then I dropped it in the trash with the rest of the paper waste. Grace watched my every move. She was waiting for the breakdown — the anger, the tears, the desperation. I gave her none of it. I picked up my small cardboard box and walked up to her. “Want to do a handover?” I asked. “No need.” She let out a soft, contemptuous laugh. “Nobody wants your old files. I’m building a brand-new system for this company — something modern, something that actually works.” “Good luck with that.” I nodded, turned around, and walked toward the door. Dozens of eyes followed me across the office. Some held sympathy. Some held regret. Some barely hid their satisfaction. Grace stood with her arms crossed, a queen surveying her newly won kingdom. I didn’t look back. The moment I pushed through the revolving door and stepped outside, the afternoon sun hit me hard. I squinted, pulled out my phone, and dialed a number. It picked up almost immediately. “Hey, Jennifer.” “Simon — is everything ready?” “All set. We can move whenever you are.” I watched the traffic flowing steadily down the street, drew in a long, slow breath, and let it out. “Then let’s begin.”

I went back to the house I shared with Matthew — a house that existed in name only. It took me an hour to pack everything that belonged to me into a few suitcases. There wasn’t much. Over the years, I had poured almost everything I had into that company. This place had always felt more like a hotel room I occasionally slept in than a home. My last stop was the study. I sat down at the private server I kept there and powered it on. The screen lit up to a login interface unlike anything a standard program would generate — no username field, no password box. Just a single cursor, blinking steadily. This was the financial system I had built for the company. I called it the Vault. Ten years ago, Matthew and I pooled everything we had and founded the company together. He handled the tech and marketing side. I handled finance and operations. In those early days, to keep the money safe and maintain absolute control, I personally wrote the underlying code for this system from scratch. It was incompatible with every standard external software on the market. Every port had been physically encrypted. To log in, you needed three keys. The first was the hardware ID of this specific server. The second was the USB security token I wore around my neck — a small, unremarkable thing that generated a rotating dynamic key. The third, and most critical, was a 128-character password that only I knew. It was the due date of the child Matthew and I had been expecting — precise down to the second. That child never made it into the world. From that day on, Matthew changed. He threw himself into work with a kind of desperation, numbing himself — and numbing me along with him. The company grew. We became more successful than we’d ever dreamed. And the distance between us quietly grew into something neither of us talked about. About a year ago, I started noticing unfamiliar perfume on his clothes. Suggestive messages flashing across his phone screen. Anonymous photos arriving in my inbox — him with different women, his arm around each one. I didn’t cry. I didn’t confront him. I started making plans. Under the banner of tax optimization, I quietly set up several subsidiaries overseas. Over time, I funneled the company’s core annual profits into those accounts — in batches, through entirely legal channels. I was the sole controlling party of every one of those companies. Then I established a personal trust fund in my own name. Into it, I methodically transferred all the real estate, stock holdings, and financial assets we had acquired during the marriage. The named beneficiaries were myself, and my parents back home. Matthew had always been hopeless with finance. He watched the top-line numbers — total revenue, headline profit — and left the rest to me. Far from suspecting anything, he had praised my “capital management skills” at multiple board meetings. He had no idea that the commercial empire he was so proud of had been quietly hollowed out from the inside. He owned a beautiful shell. Nothing more. Grace’s arrival was simply the final push. The last domino. And also the most perfect signal I could have asked for to spring the trap shut. A mistress he adored had fired his wife with her own hands — and in doing so, sent him over the edge of a cliff he couldn’t come back from. Could there be a more fitting ending than that? I performed one final backup of the core data on the server, encrypted it, and pushed it to the cloud. Then I hit the format button. The progress bar moved fast. As fast as the ten years of my life that were now behind me. When it was done, I grabbed my suitcases, took one last look around the cold, empty house. My phone buzzed. A bank notification — a $2,000 ATM withdrawal. I smiled. Matthew’s wallet contained a supplementary card linked to my account. He used it for business entertainment. It seemed Grace had already started exercising what she imagined were her privileges as the new woman of the house. Good. Every transaction was documented proof of his infidelity and the illegal transfer of marital assets to a third party. I pulled my suitcase behind me and closed the door. I wasn’t coming back.

A week later, Grace sat in what used to be my office, drunk on a sense of power she had never tasted before. She had ordered the space redecorated in her favorite blush pinks and filled it with expensive scented candles. Matthew indulged her in everything. She had only to want something, and it appeared. She was certain the hard part was over. Jennifer was gone — nothing more than a stepping stone she’d already crossed. But the problems came quickly. End of month. Payday. The new CFO — a high-priced hire, someone with an impressive resume — had spent three straight days staring at the Vault’s login screen. He never got past it. “Ms. Grace,” he said, his expression tight with discomfort, “this system… we can’t get into it at all. It doesn’t recognize any external devices. Standard operations are completely locked out.” “Useless.” Grace didn’t bother softening it. “The company is paying you to solve problems, not stand there and list them.” The CFO’s face cycled through several shades of red and white, but he said nothing. Everyone in the building knew Grace was Matthew’s favorite. “What exactly did Jennifer do when she ran this thing?” “I have no idea!” Grace waved him off. “Bottom line — before end of business today, I want every employee’s paycheck deposited. If that doesn’t happen, you’re fired.” Payroll is sacred. A single day’s delay could set off a firestorm among the staff. Grace smoothed her skirt, walked into Matthew’s office, and shifted into her softest voice. “Matthew, there’s a little snag with payroll.” “What kind of snag?” Matthew was reading a market report. He didn’t look up. “The new CFO can’t get into the old system. Maybe we could ask Jennifer to come back for a day — just to export the data and walk the new team through it?” She kept her tone light, careful. What she actually wanted was to see Jennifer walk back in and perform like a trained helper in front of the entire staff. A final humiliation to crush what was left of her pride. Matthew’s brow creased. He didn’t like hearing Jennifer’s name. She had left so calmly it had been infuriating — like throwing a punch and hitting cotton. It left him unsatisfied in a way he couldn’t quite shake. “Why would we call back someone we let go?” he said flatly. “That makes us look desperate. Tell the CFO to figure it out himself. If he can’t handle something this basic, he can go too.” “But if paychecks don’t go out today, people are going to be upset.” “Then use the reserve fund and wire everyone manually. How hard can it be?” He turned a page. “And tell IT to crack that system or replace it altogether.” Grace left without getting what she came for. Manual transfers. Hundreds of employees. The finance team worked through the night — cross-checking account numbers, calculating withholding, processing each one individually. By the time it was done, the entire department was exhausted and furious. But the paychecks went out. Grace breathed a small sigh of relief. Just a minor inconvenience, she told herself. She had no idea this was only the beginning. The next morning, a much bigger problem detonated. Oceanic Technologies — the company’s largest supplier — sent a payment demand directly to Matthew’s personal inbox. “Matthew, the three-million-dollar invoice from last quarter was due yesterday per our contract. What’s going on?” Matthew summoned the CFO immediately. “Why hasn’t Oceanic been paid?” The CFO was visibly sweating. “Sir, all payments go through the system’s approval workflow. And we still can’t access the system.” “Every contract, every payment record, every approval chain — it’s all locked inside.” “What about backups? Paper files?” “Jennifer implemented a fully paperless process. Everything is in the system.” The temperature in the room dropped several degrees. Matthew’s expression went dark. He picked up his phone and called Jennifer for the first time since she’d left. “The number you have dialed is not available.” That automated message ignited something hot and ugly in his chest. Playing hard to get, was she? He didn’t know that at that moment, I was sitting on the deck of a cruise ship sailing toward Phuket, salt wind in my hair and a glass of champagne in my hand. My old phone was somewhere at the bottom of the Strait of Malacca. The new one — new number, clean slate — was sitting quietly in my bag. And that still wasn’t the worst of it. The worst came on the morning of the third day, when two men in uniform walked through the company’s front entrance, their expressions carefully neutral. “Good morning. We’re investigators from the IRS Criminal Investigation division.” “We’ve received a formal, named complaint alleging serious tax fraud by this company.” “This is our official examination notice. We’ll need the legal representative — Mr. Matthews — to cooperate with our investigation.” “Please produce all financial records and tax filings for the past three years. Immediately.”

I heard later that when the investigators walked in, Matthew’s first reaction was contempt. He had them taken to a small conference room, then sat and finished a pour-over coffee at his own pace. He assumed it was a nuisance move — a competitor stirring up trouble, or some minor compliance slip by one of his underlings. He walked into the room wearing his best boardroom smile. “Gentlemen, thanks for making the trip. Our company has always been a model taxpayer. I’m sure this is just a misunderstanding.” The investigators didn’t return the smile. They opened their files and laid them on the table. “Mr. Matthews. This complaint was filed under a named identity. The documentation is detailed and extensive. Please don’t waste our time. We need the financial data now.” Matthew’s smile went rigid on his face. He called in the new CFO. “Give them whatever they need.” The CFO broke into a full sweat on the spot. “Sir… all the original data is inside the encrypted system. We can’t extract anything.” Silence fell like a hammer. Matthew’s face changed for the first time. He sent the CFO out with a wave and turned back to the investigators with a reconstructed smile. “We’re experiencing a minor system issue. Our technical team is working on it as we speak. Could you give us forty-eight hours?” The investigators looked at him without expression. “Mr. Matthews, we follow procedure. If we don’t have access to complete records by nine o’clock tomorrow morning, we’ll move to compulsory measures.” “Such as freezing your company’s operating accounts.” They stood, picked up their files, and left without another word. Matthew sat alone in the conference room, and for the first time, he felt a chill that had nothing to do with the air conditioning. He finally understood. This had stopped being manageable. He shot out of the room, grabbed his phone, and called my number again. Still off. He started working through his contacts like a man on fire. He called my best friend, Susan. “Where is Jennifer? Put her on the phone.” Susan’s voice was ice. “Matthew, you have some nerve calling her. I don’t know where she is.” The line went dead. He called my parents’ house. My mother picked up. “It’s Matthew. Has Jennifer been in touch with you?” There was a long silence on her end. “Matthew… Jennifer said she needs some time to herself.” Her voice was measured. “She asked us not to pass any messages along. And she asked that if you have any decency left, you won’t bother us.” Matthew stood holding the phone, his palm damp. For the first time, he felt something close to panic — the specific terror of realizing the world has quietly walked away from you. He put the phone down on the desk. His chest rose and fell hard. Grace came in wearing that sweetly suffocating perfume, her voice sliding into its familiar register. “Matthew, don’t let her get to you. She’s not worth it. A system is just a system — we’ll build a new one.” Matthew looked up slowly. His eyes had gone somewhere dangerous. “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” He said it quietly. That was worse than shouting. “You think this is a grocery run?” Grace froze, eyes going glassy. Matthew had already turned away from her. A thought had surfaced through the noise. Her desk computer. The server at home. Maybe there was still something salvageable. He grabbed his keys and left at a near sprint.

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When my brother Ethan — the one born with a congenital heart defect — was beaten half to death by his enemies and left on my doorstep with a broken leg, something shifted inside me. I suddenly found it in my heart to forgive my husband, Nathan. Forgive him for bringing his sickly childhood sweetheart, Chloe, into our home. After all, a devoted wife should always try to understand her husband’s feelings. With tears in my eyes, I helped Ethan into the guest room, cleaned his wounds myself, and applied the medicine with the kind of gentleness you’d use on something irreplaceable. I took care of his every need with my own hands, stayed up through the night for him, and even played the piano piece Nathan loved most. I stopped caring about Nathan and Chloe’s flirting. I stopped losing my mind over their closeness. But Nathan was the one who lost his mind. He backed me into a corner, eyes bloodshot, voice trembling. “Nina, what the hell do you think you’re doing? He’s a broke, broken-down nobody!” I reached up and touched his face, smiling with all the innocence I could muster. “Honey, I’m just doing what you taught me.” “Learning how to be a good person. Someone who values the people they love.” “Or are you saying your first love gets to live under our roof, but the person who matters most to me has to sleep on the street?”

Nathan had no answer for that. That air of total control he always carried — it shattered in an instant. The tension in that corner was suffocating. The air itself seemed to stop moving. He grabbed my wrist and squeezed, hard enough to grind bone. The pain was sharp and immediate. But I didn’t struggle. I couldn’t even feel it, really. Inside, there was nothing but a cold, flat calm. He forced the words out through clenched teeth, low and barely controlled. “Say that again. The person who matters most to you?” I lifted my free hand and gently smoothed the angry crease between his brows with my fingertips. My touch was light. My tone stayed soft, stayed innocent. “Honey, you’re hurting me.” I looked into his bloodshot eyes and handed his own logic right back to him. “You always said — when a good friend gets hurt, you bring them close and take care of them. Just like you’ve been taking care of Chloe.” “Ethan has nowhere to go right now. I can’t just ignore that.” My words fed the fire in his eyes. But he couldn’t find a single thing to say back. Because every word I’d just said was something he’d once told me — his own personal gospel, used to shut me up. Then, from upstairs, came the soft sound of Chloe coughing. It wasn’t loud. But it landed like the flip of a switch. “Nathan…” Her voice pulled his attention off me like a magnet. He glared at me with pure resentment, but the grip on my wrist loosened without him even realizing it. The rage and possessiveness in his eyes — when they met my perfectly steady gaze — flickered for the first time with something he didn’t know how to handle. I understood it completely then. Nathan’s love had always been built on two things: my total submission, and the certainty that I belonged only to him. My resistance — even this imitation of his own behavior — was a betrayal he couldn’t stomach. Chloe coughed again. More urgent this time. Nathan finally let go of my wrist and spat out his parting words. “Nina, don’t push me. Get him out of this house.” Then he turned and took the stairs two at a time, back to his first love. I watched him go. Not one ounce of hurt. Just the cold, detached satisfaction of a plan’s first step falling into place. His limits? I rubbed my reddened wrist and let out a quiet, humorless laugh. What limits? That only you get to play the devoted hero, while I’m supposed to play the heartless villain? That’s not how this works. I didn’t bother with his threat. I didn’t spare a glance at the staircase. I turned and walked into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and pulled out fresh ingredients. Then, slowly and deliberately, I began making a pot of beef and vegetable soup for Ethan in the guest room. The soup bubbled and steamed, filling the kitchen with warmth. Half an hour later, Nathan came back downstairs in a fury after calming Chloe down. He probably expected me to be crying. Or raging. Or at least still standing there waiting to finish the fight. Instead, he found me walking gracefully toward the guest room with a bowl of hot soup. He opened his mouth to start in on me, but I turned around at exactly the right moment — like I had eyes in the back of my head. I gave him a flawless, picture-perfect “devoted wife” smile. “Honey, would you like a bowl too? I don’t want to disturb Chloe’s rest, so I’ll drop this off for Ethan and head to bed.”

Every word I said was airtight. He’d wound up and swung hard, and hit nothing but air. Nathan stood frozen, his face a tight mask of fury, watching helplessly as I carried that bowl of soup straight into Ethan’s room. I didn’t come back out right away. I set the bowl on the nightstand, carefully stirred it with a spoon, and waited for it to cool to just the right temperature. Then I fed it to Ethan, spoonful by spoonful — he couldn’t move much with his leg injury. Only after all of that did I step back out. Nathan was still standing exactly where I’d left him. Like a statue carved from barely contained rage. I didn’t go to bed. Instead, I walked straight to the center of the living room, toward the black grand piano. I lifted the lid, sat down, and let my fingers settle onto the cold keys. The next moment, music filled the room. It was Nathan’s favorite piece. The song that had marked the beginning of us. The melody drifted through every corner of the house — through Chloe’s room upstairs, through the guest room where Ethan lay. As I played, the memory came back to me with perfect clarity. I’d wanted to give Nathan a birthday surprise. I, who couldn’t carry a tune to save my life, had secretly taken piano lessons for months. At his birthday party, I played this piece for him alone. Back then, his eyes had been so full of love they nearly overflowed. He’d pulled me into his arms and said: “Nina, this is our song. Only ours.” Only ours. What a laughable promise. Now I sat playing the same notes, and what filled my mind had nothing to do with pleasing him. I was thinking about how to make it hurt. A dull thud came from the study upstairs. Nathan had thrown something. At first, he probably thought I was giving in — using the song to reach back toward what we’d had. But the moment he realized I was playing it to soothe the man in the guest room, jealousy and the feeling of betrayal would consume him entirely. Sure enough. Heavy footsteps on the stairs, each one louder than the last, loaded with fury. He came charging down. I was right at the peak of the piece, the music swelling — Bang. A crash. He slammed the piano lid down with both hands. A shock of pain shot through my fingertips. The music stopped dead. I looked down. Several of my fingers had been caught under the edge of the lid. They were already bright red, swelling fast. Once, he had been moved by this song. He’d called it precious. Now he’d brought the lid down with his own hands and killed it. What had been a symbol of our love had just become the instrument of my pain. I stared at my reddening fingers. Not a single tear. Just a hollow, glacial stillness. His so-called “cherished memories” had always been a form of possession. He didn’t love the memory. He loved the control over me that the memory gave him. He was breathing hard, chest heaving, voice rough with the kind of rage that burns past words. “Who said you could play that for him? Nina, have you forgotten what that song means to us?” I raised my head slowly and looked at his face — twisted with jealousy — and said quietly: “But Chloe loves hearing your stories about growing up together, doesn’t she?” “Sharing something beautiful with someone who needs comfort — isn’t that what you taught me?” Once again, I used his own logic to wall him in completely. He stared at me, something wild and anguished churning in his eyes. He hadn’t expected this kind of calm. I slowly drew back my injured hand. I stopped looking at the piano. I stopped looking at him. As if it had all been nothing more than a minor inconvenience. I stood up and said evenly, “If you don’t like it, I won’t play.” My composure threw his hysteria into sharp relief. He looked like the unreasonable one. Like a child throwing a tantrum. He went still, rattled by his own loss of control. His gaze dropped to my swollen fingers, and for just a moment, something like remorse crossed his face. And then. The guest room door opened. Ethan stood in the doorway on his crutches, his lean face drawn with worry, his eyes fixed on my hand. “Nina, your hand…” He looked up at Nathan. The gentleness in his expression went sharp.

Ethan made his way toward me, one unsteady step at a time. He walked right through the wall of hostility Nathan was radiating, as if it weren’t there at all. He came and stood beside me, then carefully cradled my injured hand in both of his, examining it closely. The knuckles had already swollen up. Dark bruising was rising under the skin — deep purple-red — and in one spot the surface had broken, a thin line of blood showing through. Ethan’s brow furrowed deeply. He looked up at Nathan. His voice was cold. “Is this how you love your wife, Mr. Harrison?” One question from an outsider landed harder than a thousand tears or accusations from me ever could. Nathan’s expression darkened instantly. Fury, the shame of being exposed, the humiliation of being called out by Ethan — it all collided on his face at once, twisting it ugly. He wanted to lash out. But his eyes swept over my bleeding fingers, and the words died in his throat. The living room went still. Three people. Three very different places. Then the housekeeper came rushing down from upstairs, her voice pitched high and tight with panic. “Sir — it’s bad! Miss Chloe says her chest hurts. She can barely breathe!” Those words were the last straw. Nathan’s whole body locked up. Every flicker of guilt or remorse — gone, in an instant. He looked at my hand. The blood on my fingers. Then he looked up toward the stairs. One second of hesitation. Just one. Then he dropped words on me like stones. “Stop being dramatic. A little scratch won’t kill you.” That sentence hit like a blade that had been kept in ice. No. My heart was already dead. It just landed in flesh that had long since stopped bleeding. He didn’t look at me again. He took the stairs at a run, straight to Chloe and her chest pain. I stood there, staring at my own hand. Then I lifted my eyes and watched the shadow of him disappear around the bend of the staircase. Whatever had still been flickering in my eyes went dark. I was done wondering. Done waiting for something different. He wasn’t confused. He wasn’t misunderstanding anything. He simply didn’t care. In his world, nothing I suffered could ever matter as much as the softest sound of pain from Chloe. Gently, one finger at a time, I drew my hand back from the warmth of Ethan’s. When I spoke, my voice was so calm it was almost frightening. “Come on, Ethan. Let’s go clean up that hand.” I paused. “No point standing here being invisible.” It was the first time I had ever used that word — invisible — to describe what I was in this house. Back in the guest room, Ethan quietly opened the first aid kit and cleaned my wounds with a cotton swab dipped in antiseptic, slowly and carefully. His hands were steady and gentle. I looked out the window at the black night beyond, and said softly: “Ethan. I’m done with this house.” The words had barely settled when my phone buzzed. The name on the screen read: Nathan’s Assistant. I answered and put it on speaker. The assistant’s voice came through tense and urgent, carrying just a trace of a tone that expected compliance. “Mrs. Harrison, Mr. Harrison asked me to reach you. Miss Chloe needs to be transferred to another hospital — it’s urgent. The VIP admission channel requires an authorized family signature, and that has to come from you. Mr. Harrison is very upset right now, so you’ll need to come in immediately…”

He wasn’t done talking. I hung up anyway. Not me — but the person I used to be, Mrs. Harrison, was expected to go and do her duty. Nathan believed that no matter how badly he hurt me, I would do what I’d always done: clean up his mess without a word. I looked at my phone calmly. After a moment, I dialed the number back. The assistant picked up immediately, voice even more strained. “Mrs. Harrison, you—” “You’ve got the wrong person.” I cut him off. My voice was flat. Unbothered. “Mr. Harrison’s girlfriend is sick. He should sign the forms himself, or contact her family.” “I’m not anyone to her. I can’t authorize anything.” It was the first time I had ever openly refused to perform the role of Mrs. Harrison — all the privileges it came with, and all the chains. Silence on the other end. He clearly hadn’t seen that coming. A few minutes later, my phone started going off again. Nathan’s personal number. I picked up. His voice came through like a wall collapsing — so loud I had to hold the phone away from my ear. “Nina! What is your problem? If anything happens to Chloe, I swear to God—” I waited until he finished. “Are you threatening me, Nathan?” I asked quietly. “I’m ordering you to get down here. This is your obligation as my wife. Don’t make me come get you myself.” Still the same tone. Still the man who believed he could control every corner of my life. I didn’t let him finish. I hung up. Then I opened his contact and pressed the button I had never once considered pressing before. Block. Silence. Real silence. Like the world exhaling. I went to the back of my vanity drawer and took out the wedding ring I had kept safe for three years. The diamond was enormous. It caught the light and threw back something cold and expensive. Once, it had been the thing I treasured most. Everything I believed in, everything I loved, in a single object. I carried it out to the living room. The piano sat there with its lid shut, like a quiet grave — the last warmth between us, buried. I set the ring on top of the lid. It made a small sound. A soft clink, barely there. I took a photo and sent it to the husband I’d just blocked. One final message. The message was simple. One picture, two sentences. “Nathan — your first love needs you. Go do right by her.” “From this moment on, I am not your wife. Which means I no longer need to learn from your example.” “This ring, and everything that came with being Mrs. Harrison — I’m giving it all back.” I sent it. Then I deleted the entire conversation. When it was done, I felt something I hadn’t felt in years. Lightness. Like the weight I’d been carrying for so long had finally cracked apart at my feet. I didn’t need to mirror him anymore to find my balance. What I wanted was something clean. A real beginning. I went back to my room. I didn’t take a single thing that belonged to Mrs. Harrison. Not the designer bags. Not the couture gowns. Not one piece of the beautiful stage dressing he’d used to make himself look good. I took only what was mine. My ID, my phone, and the one thing my mother had left me. Then I took Ethan’s arm, and we walked out together. The front door closed behind us with a soft, solid click. Like a wall going up between me and everything that had come before. I didn’t look back. At the same moment, across town, Nathan finally had a spare second to check his phone. The photo of the ring — cold, stark, abandoned on that piano — and the words beneath it drained the blood from his face. For the first time, he felt it. Real panic. He shoved past the doctors and nurses crowding around him and sprinted out of the hospital, driving home like something was chasing him.

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On my birthday, my boyfriend Ethan had arranged a grand fireworks display. When everyone thought he was about to drop to one knee and propose, he simply handed me a bouquet of roses. Smiling, he said, “Zoe, I’m getting married in three days.” “This is the last birthday I’ll spend with you as your boyfriend.” I buried my face in the roses, a small smile tugging at my lips. “So sudden? But I haven’t prepared anything.” The whole room burst into laughter. Ethan laughed too and clarified: “The bride isn’t you. It’s Maya.” “She’s waited five years for me. I want to give her an answer.” In that instant, my heart seemed to stop. I stared at him with hollow eyes and asked numbly, “Why?” Maya was my best friend. Ethan was the boy I’d grown up with, my childhood sweetheart. Until that moment, I never imagined either of them could betray me. Ethan was quiet for a moment, then lowered his voice. “Because I don’t want people laughing at me for marrying someone who’s blind.” “Maya is beautiful, and she can actually help my career.” “But you — what do you have?” My breath caught. My fingers locked around my shattered phone screen. What he didn’t know was this: I was actually the long-lost daughter of the Sullivan family — the wealthiest family in the city. My biological parents were already on their way to bring me home.

The entire room fell silent. Then the noise came back louder than before, and everyone was laughing. “Oh my God, I can’t — she actually thought Ethan would marry her. She’s blind!” “The nerve. Even if she could see, she’d never be good enough for the Johnson family.” “Maybe she should look in a mirror — oh wait, sorry, I forgot she can’t.” Through the laughter, I clearly heard Ethan let out a quiet chuckle. As if he found my delusion amusing. My hands were shaking badly. I could feel all the blood in my body rushing to my head. My fingers scrambled for my white cane so I could get out of there. Maya grabbed my hand and stepped in front of me. “Alright, alright — Zoe didn’t mean anything by it. Everyone stop laughing at her.” “Today is Zoe’s birthday. Let’s all have some cake together.” The moment she finished speaking, a cake the height of a person was wheeled out. Maya gripped my wrist and pulled me toward it. The thick, sweet smell of buttercream hit me instantly. I stepped back, uncomfortable, but Maya pressed firmly against my shoulders from behind, blocking me. “Zoe, Ethan and I had this cake custom-made just for you. Do you like it?” With someone pushing against my back, I gave a stiff smile. “I used to. Not anymore.” I used to like it because Ethan liked it. Now I didn’t, because I didn’t love him anymore. But in everyone else’s ears, it sounded like petty theatrics. One of the girls standing beside Maya shoved me hard from behind, all while keeping a cheerful grin on her face. “See? She loves it — she can’t wait to dig in.” Sweet, thick frosting covered my face and clothes. I cried out in shock. My hands flew out wildly, grasping for anything to hold onto. No one reached back. Everyone just crowded closer. More and more people started throwing cake at me — smearing it on my face, my clothes, even forcing it into my mouth. “Come on, everyone help the birthday girl celebrate! She’s practically crying, she’s so touched!” “Makes sense. She lives in that basement — probably hasn’t had anyone talk to her in weeks.” “Now she’s got all of us here for her birthday. No wonder she’s emotional.” Another wave of laughter. I was shaking with rage. I wanted so badly to ask Ethan and Maya why they were doing this to me. But the moment I opened my mouth, someone shoved in a handful of frosting. Gagging, I fought through the crowd and stumbled toward the exit. Laughter trailed after me as I went, everyone jeering at how pathetic I looked. I finally found the door and shut all of it out behind me. I sank down against the wall and let myself cry quietly. Why? Why are they doing this to me? Why were the people I trusted most — the ones closest to me — the ones who turned on me? Who humiliated me in front of everyone? My chest ached like something inside it had collapsed. But worse than the pain was the shame — the kind that comes from being mocked when you’re already broken. I was still falling apart when I heard two servers gossiping nearby. “Did you see that girl from room 403? God, I feel awful for her.” “The blind one? I heard she’s been throwing herself at Mr. Johnson for months. She guilted him into putting on a whole fireworks show, and his actual girlfriend had to just stand there and watch. I mean, what did she expect? Someone had to put her in her place.” “Apparently they used to be friends too. She looks so sweet and harmless. You really never know people.” “Probably figures that since she’s blind, she can’t do better — so she latches on to whoever’s nearby.” The words cut right through the wall and straight into me. My whole body went cold. My heart beat in my hollow chest — slow, dull, and aching. So that’s how it is. Maya had sabotaged me to clear the way to becoming Ethan’s wife. But what about Ethan? What was his reason? I had given him everything. I had even lost my sight trying to protect him. So what was it — why did he hate me this much?

By the time I got back to the basement apartment, it was late at night. The air was thick with the smell of mildew and something worse. It turned my stomach. I had lived like this for seven years. I told myself I could keep enduring it. But now, all I wanted was to escape. My fingers traced over the calendar again and again. Two more days. Mom and Dad were coming to take me home. The weight in my chest lifted a little. I peeled off my ruined clothes, managed to change into something clean, and went to sleep. Early the next morning, the sound of a key turning in the lock jolted me awake. I looked instinctively toward the door. The sharp click of heels on the floor told me who it was before she said a word. Maya. “What are you doing here?” “Dropping off an invitation. Tomorrow’s my engagement party with Ethan, after all.” She pressed the envelope into my hands with a smug little smile. “Zoe, you and Ethan used to show off your relationship in front of me every single day — and look how it ended. I still took him from you.” “You know he’s already bought me over a dozen properties? Meanwhile he wouldn’t even let you move out of this tiny basement.” “And those cakes he used to buy you? Discount stuff from the clearance rack. The gift he gave me was a ruby worth millions.” “That job you worked so hard to get? He had someone destroy it on purpose. Just to keep you trapped here.” “Surprised? How does it feel, being betrayed by the person you loved? Does it hurt?” The blood drained from my body. I couldn’t even cry. My eyes stayed fixed on the direction of her voice. “Why?” “What did I ever do to either of you?” I’d been asking myself that all night and still couldn’t figure it out. Maya just laughed. There was nothing but contempt in her eyes. “Zoe, do you remember? Back in college, I was dating an older guy. Everyone was telling me to break up with him — everyone except you.” “I ran away with him. Do you have any idea what he put me through?” “He tried to use me to get to his boss. If Ethan hadn’t pulled me out of that situation, I would have been destroyed.” “Zoe, you never actually cared about me. You just couldn’t stand to see me happy.” My fingers clenched tight. I stared at her. She wasn’t wrong that I hadn’t said anything. But it wasn’t because I wanted her to suffer. It was because she had blocked and cut off every friend who tried to talk her out of it. If I pushed too hard and she shut me out too, who would she call when things went wrong? From campus to the city where she’d gone — nearly three hundred miles. A bus ticket ran about forty dollars each way. I kept three hundred dollars set aside. Enough for multiple trips. All so that if she ever called me in crisis, I could go. Bitterness spread through me slowly. After a long silence, I finally spoke. My voice came out rough. “So that’s your reason for betraying me.” “And Ethan? What’s his?”

A quiet laugh came from the corner of the room. I turned toward the sound. Ethan walked toward me. His cold fingers caught my chin and tilted it up. “Zoe, want me to remind you what you told the police — seven years ago?” I froze. My mind went back. Back then, his parents had wanted his kidney to save the family’s adopted heir — the fake son they’d been grooming as their own. I had fought to protect him. I went to the police and forced the situation into the open. In the process, I was struck from behind. I spent seven days in the ICU. I survived. But I never saw again. “You told the police my family was trying to hurt me and force me to donate my kidney.” “But the truth, Zoe — my parents never wanted that. If they hadn’t brought me home later and told me what really happened—” “I might have believed your lie for the rest of my life.” His voice rose with every word. The grip on my jaw tightened. “It’s your fault.” “If it weren’t for you, I never would have had to leave home. I wouldn’t have spent those extra years struggling.” It felt like something had torn open in the center of my chest. A cold draft poured through. I could barely breathe. Maya pulled Ethan back and leaned close to my ear, her voice almost gentle. “Zoe, I’ll be honest with you. By the third day after you lost your sight, Ethan and I were already together.” “We got an apartment. Every time he said he was working late, or on a business trip, or picking up extra shifts — he was with me.” “We’ve already met each other’s families. And I’m carrying his child.” “The only one rotting away here has always been you.” Each word landed like a blade, driving in one at a time. Despair spread from my chest out to my fingertips. I let out a raw scream. I shoved Maya away like something had snapped inside me. I grabbed whatever was closest and threw it at the two of them. In the dark, something hit Maya and she cried out. “Ethan — it hurts. My stomach—” Then a hand came out of nowhere and cracked hard across my face. Ethan shoved me to the ground. The back of my head hit the floor with a sickening thud. Warm blood began to seep from the back of my skull. The whole world seemed to press pause. Silence. I don’t know how long I was out. When I came to, I was in a hospital. An IV was in my hand. The doctor handed me a freshly printed CT scan, visibly shaken. “You’re lucky they brought you in when they did. Another fifteen minutes and you wouldn’t have made it.” “But there may be a silver lining here. The blood clot that’s been pressing on your optic nerve — it’s gone. Your sight should come back soon.” It was the first good news I’d had in longer than I could remember. My hands trembled. I was about to thank the doctor when Ethan came storming through the door, fury on his face. “Zoe, did you post that online?” He slammed his phone against my face. My cheek stung immediately. I pressed my hand to my face and kept my voice flat. “Ethan, I’m blind — or did you forget? How exactly would I be posting anything?” He paused for a split second, but held his ground. “The angle in those photos — it could only be you.” “You’ve always been clever, Zoe. Don’t tell me you couldn’t find someone to help you.” I nearly laughed. I picked up his phone and looked. My vision was still mostly white fog, but I could just barely make out a few blurred words. Affair. Mistress. Best friend. I didn’t need to read the rest. I tossed the phone back to him. My voice went cold. “It wasn’t me. If you’ve got nothing to hide, why does it matter?” Ethan’s expression flickered, but he softened his tone. “In that case, come to the engagement party tomorrow. Set the record straight on our behalf, in front of everyone.” “Zoe, after everything you’ve put us through, this is your one chance to make things right.” “If you don’t show up, I’m cutting off your monthly allowance. For good.” “Without me, who’s going to take care of you?”

I closed my eyes. I lifted one hand and pointed at the door. “Get out.” The next morning, a black sedan pulled up at the hospital entrance. Several bodyguards dragged me out of bed and pinned me between them. “Ms. Zoe, Mr. Johnson has asked us to bring you to the engagement party. If you’ll come with us.” It was phrased as a request, but their grip left no room for escape. When I was pushed through the entrance of the venue, the Johnson family was in the middle of a press interview. The moment Ethan saw me step out of the car, he rushed over and took my arm, dropping his voice. “Zoe, after everything we’ve been through — you’ll help me, right?” “I know you’re upset. Once the press conference is over, I’ll make it up to you privately.” Before I could answer, he steered me in front of the reporters. A wall of camera flashes went off all at once. The room went quiet. Everyone was waiting for me to speak. I opened my mouth and said four words. “It’s all a lie.” The room erupted. The reporters swarmed like they’d smelled blood. “Ms. Zoe, what exactly is a lie?” “Is it true that Ms. Maya interfered in your relationship with Mr. Johnson?” “What happened to your eyes?” Questions came at me from every direction. Through the crowd, I caught Ethan’s face going pale with fury as he pushed toward me. Bodyguards carved a path through the press. In full view of every camera, Ethan’s hand cracked across my face. “Enough. How long are you going to keep this up?” The room went dead silent. Ethan’s mother stepped forward with a carefully composed expression, already spinning the story. “Zoe, Ethan has been quietly supporting you for years. Is this how you repay him?” “Everyone — after Ethan came back to the family, I insisted he end things with Zoe. For years, she has been the one pursuing my son. The Johnson family has never approved of this match.” Ethan’s father stepped up beside her, holding up footage from a security camera. “When Zoe was injured in our home years ago, I was at a board meeting. My entire staff can verify that. The claim that I assaulted her and caused her blindness is completely unfounded.” Maya turned to me with tears running down her face. “Zoe, you’re my best friend. Ethan and I didn’t get together until two years after you two broke up. How can you say these things about me?” They were burying me under an avalanche of lies. Every word was another nail pinning me in place. And then, in the middle of it all — my vision came back. Not blurry. Not foggy. Clear. I could see every face in the room. Contempt. Dismissal. Indifference. Scorn. I looked straight at Ethan through the noise of it all. “You think everything they just said is true. Don’t you.” He didn’t answer. He just looked at me. His voice was tired. “Zoe, just let it go.” Just let it go. Four words. And in them, everything. Every last scrap of hope I had left — gone. I looked out at all those cold, hostile faces staring back at me. And I laughed. “Ha — hahaha!” His mother’s brow furrowed. “What is so funny?” I stopped laughing. My gaze moved slowly and steadily over everyone in the room. “I’m laughing at all of you. How naive.” I said, “You really think burying me in lies is enough to keep your hands clean?” “You think destroying the evidence means you can rewrite the truth?” “Fine. You want to destroy me? Then let everyone see exactly who you are.” I raised the shattered phone in my hand. I turned the volume all the way up. The recording played out clearly enough for every person in that room to hear.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “412419”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster