Category: English

On our seventh anniversary, police called. A couple claimed my company’s product poisoned their child. At the station, I saw Tristan—her ex—filing the report, with Vivienne, my wife, beside him as his “wife.” She looked at me coldly, stating, “We have a three-year-old. That’s how it is.” We’d reconciled four years ago. I pulled out the divorce papers I tore up back then, now reprinted, and said, “Let her be with him openly.” I thought back four years, after three years of marriage. To protect Tristan, she falsely reported me ten times. Each release led to fights that put me in the hospital—eleven times total. Then, on a Middle East trip, our hotel was hit. She shielded me from debris; I shielded her from bullets. In hospital beds, holding hands, she tearfully promised to send him away for good. I tore up the divorce papers, saying we’d try one last time. She erased him completely, even tattooed my name over her heart, vowing I’d never regret it. Now, it all felt like a sick joke. 1 Tristan eventually left the precinct with red eyes, holding his son tightly in his arms. He left because I had verbally backed him into a corner. Faced with my absolute command of corporate law and product liability, he was trembling with rage, entirely unable to utter a single word in his defense. When we got home, I strode through the front door. Vivienne followed closely behind, her brows furrowed in annoyance. “Could you not have a better attitude? What kind of man bullies a father and his sick child?” Bullying? I spun around abruptly. “There is absolutely nothing wrong with my company’s food products. It is glaringly obvious that he fed his kid something he shouldn’t have and is trying to pin it on me to extort a settlement! Are you completely blind to that? Who is bullying who here?!” Vivienne frowned, clearly displeased with my tone. I took a step closer, my voice dropping. “You know exactly how pristine my manufacturing formulas are. Yet you still stood by his side and helped him call the cops on me.” A cold, mocking laugh escaped my lips. “You really are exactly the same as you used to be.” She let out a heavy sigh. “You really lack empathy sometimes, Victor.” I froze. “The child is only three years old. He is a first-time father. Seeing his kid poisoned like that, it is natural for him to panic and make a mess of things. If you cannot be understanding, fine. But there was no need to back a single father into a corner over a small mistake and beat him down like that.” She paused, looking me up and down. A cruel, mocking smile suddenly tugged at the corner of her lips. “Oh, right. You are someone who can never be a father. No wonder you cannot possibly understand what someone with a child feels.” I stared at her in sheer disbelief. The next second, a sharp slap echoed through the room, landing hard across her cheek. “Vivienne! Who is the reason I can never be a father?! Have you conveniently forgotten?!” The memory seemed to finally crash into her. She lowered her eyes, dodging my furious gaze. But I refused to let her hide. “Back in college, you got drunk and picked a fight with a group of guys. They came at you with a broken beer bottle. I took that hit for you! That jagged glass shredded my abdomen, and that is why my fertility is practically gone!” A flicker of guilt finally crossed Vivienne’s face. I offered a bitter, hollow smile. “If I had known you were fighting those guys that night defending Tristan, I would have let them kill you.” Her lips parted, trembling slightly. “I… I am sorry. I misspoke.” “You have misspoken a lot over the past seven years.” I stared at her, my voice turning eerily calm. “To put it plainly, you never cared about me. You never cared about this marriage. If you did, those words would never have left your mouth so easily. Have you ever misspoken in front of Tristan?” She remained silent. I answered for her. “Never, right?” “I…” “Vivienne.” I cut her off. “Save the excuses. You don’t care, and that is the truth. Just like I told you before, that was your absolute last chance.” I looked at the spot on her chest where my name was inked. And I sneered. “You only talk a big game about cherishing our final chance.” “I already moved him underground! What more do you want from me?” I looked at her, entirely stunned by her twisted logic. She ran a hand through her hair, looking incredibly frustrated. “In the past four years, have you ever seen a trace of him or his son in my life? No, right?” I could barely breathe. “Vivienne…” “Enough, Victor.” She frowned deeply. “If you hadn’t been so petty and unreasonable today, you wouldn’t have even found out. You wouldn’t have ruined the peace between us. We could have lived a perfectly good life together.” When a person is pushed to the absolute limit of their anger, they actually start laughing. My company receiving a legal complaint was normally a matter for my corporate legal department. I never needed to show my face. But I had recognized the phone number on the complaint. It was Tristan’s. I investigated it personally and uncovered the sickening truth of her ongoing affair. Vivienne sighed softly. “Just pretend this never happened. Victor, please don’t destroy the relationship we worked so hard to repair.” I laughed. I slammed the freshly printed divorce agreement onto the coffee table. “If you truly cherished this relationship, you would have never kept in touch with him!” “What are you doing?” Seeing the words ‘Divorce Agreement’ printed in bold at the top of the page, Vivienne’s breathing hitched visibly. “Take this back!” She reached out to tear the papers, but I pinned them down with a heavy hand. “Vivienne, I meant what I said. Four years ago was our final chance.” “Victor…” “Three days.” I stared straight into her eyes. “Give me an answer in three days.” “Victor! Victor!!” I turned and walked out the door without looking back. She didn’t chase me. She just stood there alone, staring at the legal document, her fingers trembling slightly. I waited for two days. Vivienne gave me no answer. She completely ignored the messages I sent. I decided to head back to the house to force the issue. But the moment I stepped onto the front porch, I heard the clinking of wine glasses and laughter coming from inside. “Vivienne, it is the last day for that divorce agreement. Are you really not going to make a plan?” “A plan?” Vivienne laughed coldly. “He is the one crossing the line! He is the one who owes me a plan!” What? My hand froze on the doorknob. “We have been married for seven years. I can forgive the past, but bringing Tristan back here was a bit much, so I understand why he brought out the papers. But we have loved each other more fiercely than any normal couple for the last four years. Even when we fought, he never actually used a divorce to threaten me.” I could hear the rustle of paper as Vivienne waved the agreement around. “Has he ever considered how much damage throwing a tantrum like this does to our relationship?” I gritted my teeth. One of her friends glanced toward the hallway and suddenly stopped breathing. They saw my shadow under the door but chose not to alert her. Instead, they asked another question. “But Vivienne, what if Victor is actually serious this time?” “Serious?” Vivienne laughed, a light, dismissive sound. “We have literally bled and almost died for each other. We are not going to fall apart that easily.” “Then why did you have a kid with Tristan? I really thought you had turned over a new leaf for Victor.” I heard the sound of Vivienne clinking her glass against theirs. “When you have a life-and-death kind of love, you don’t need to be as cautious and serious as you were in the beginning. We saved each other’s lives. He and I are bound for life. He could never truly leave me.” I sucked in a sharp breath. My heart hammered against my ribs, fueled by pure, unadulterated fury. I quietly let go of the doorknob and walked away. It seemed it was time to bypass the negotiations and go straight to litigation. While I was having my executive assistant, Carter, prepare the lawsuit materials, Vivienne finally sent me a message on the third day. [Instead of wasting time throwing a tantrum, you should expedite the compensation for Tristan’s losses.] Immediately after, a digital copy of a court summons was forwarded to my phone. It was a lawsuit filed by Tristan. He was officially suing my company for severe food safety violations, claiming our product directly caused his child’s life-threatening poisoning. I hadn’t expected him to keep pushing after I had humiliated him at the precinct. But a persistence like that meant someone powerful was backing him. I called Vivienne immediately. “Did you file this for him?” Vivienne let out a soft chuckle. She didn’t answer. The silence was an admission. “And if I refuse to pay his extortion fee?” “Husband, you need to think this through. The legal team representing him in court will be my corporate litigators.” My breath caught in my throat. “Why be so stubborn about this? Just admit fault and pay the man.” I gripped my phone tightly. “This company is a legacy brand founded by my grandfather. We have built a pristine reputation over decades. You want me to admit fault to a fabricated claim and destroy the Valiant Group’s entire brand image?!” Vivienne sighed. “Do you really have to make things so difficult for a father and his son?” “You are the ones making things difficult for me!” I ground my teeth together. “Tristan fed his own kid garbage, and you know it!” Vivienne went completely silent. When she finally spoke again, her voice had turned ice-cold. “Then you are on your own. Good luck.” The dial tone echoed in my ear. I stood in my office, gripping the phone so hard my knuckles turned white. Carter, my head of legal and operations, looked at me with deep concern. “Mr. Victor, Vivienne’s corporation has already sent us the formal notice. Her legal team is entirely undefeated in both domestic and international courts. We…” I clenched my fists. “We fight. I will personally lead the defense with you.” Carter’s eyes lit up with sudden hope. On the day of the trial, when I walked into the courtroom as both the defendant and the lead defense attorney, Vivienne was visibly stunned. She never knew that I possessed a fully certified, top-tier legal degree. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a message from her. I ignored it entirely. I faced her elite legal team head-on. Throughout the entire proceeding, Vivienne’s expression grew darker and darker. She quickly realized that her million-dollar lawyers were not omnipotent gods. And she realized that I had been hiding my true capabilities from her for years. When the judge entirely dismissed Tristan’s frivolous lawsuit for lack of credible evidence, Tristan threw a massive, screaming tantrum right in the middle of the courtroom. I shot Vivienne a cold, mocking smirk. Her face was an unreadable mask. But as we were exiting the courthouse, she intercepted me by the heavy oak doors. She smiled, a deeply calculating look in her eyes. “You are vastly more capable than I ever imagined, Victor.” “What is the matter? Is the CEO planning to file an appeal for her little kept man?” “No.” She smiled softly. “Since my husband is so brilliant, why would I ever want to make an enemy out of you?” I frowned, completely unable to read her angle. She turned on her heel to leave. “I wish you and your business continued prosperity, Mr. Victor.” “What exactly is she plotting?” I muttered to myself. That night, I stayed at the corporate headquarters. I personally audited the warehouse inventory and conducted a rigorous check of all our security and fire suppression systems. Only when I was certain there were no vulnerabilities did I finally relax. Carter walked with me as we left the building late that night. “Thank god you were there, Mr. Victor! Otherwise, those corporate vultures would have swindled our entire quarterly profit! Vivienne is so ruthless, actually ordering her team to bleed us dry just to line Tristan’s pockets. It was so obvious Tristan screwed up his kid’s diet! Her bias is sickening!” “Exactly! Who is she even married to?!” Carter quickly clamped a hand over his subordinate’s mouth, nervously checking my expression. I just stiffened for a fraction of a second before offering a tired smile. “It’s fine. Let’s go home.” Carter smiled in relief. “Yes, sir!” We had barely driven out of the industrial park when a deafening explosion shattered the night sky behind us. Carter violently pulled me down as the shockwave rattled the car windows. A blistering wave of heat washed over us. I whipped my head around. Above the manufacturing plant, a towering inferno of orange and black tore into the sky. “Mom! Dad!” I threw the car door open and sprinted back toward the flames like a madman. Carter and the security team tackled me to the asphalt. “Mr. Victor! It’s too dangerous! You can’t go in there!” “My parents’ belongings are in there!” I screamed, struggling against their grip. “Sir, stop!” They held me down with everything they had. Fire engines and police cruisers flooded the scene, sirens wailing. Yellow caution tape was rapidly strung up. Every single first responder blocked my path. My breathing was ragged, my lungs burning. “Their things are in the main office! Everything they left behind! Let me go!” “Even if they are, they are gone now, son!” a soot-covered firefighter yelled over the roar of the flames, his voice full of pity. I stared at his blackened face. Every ounce of strength evaporated from my body. I slowly turned my head. Parked in the shadows just beyond the police line was a familiar black Rolls-Royce. Behind the tinted glass, a face was illuminated by the dashboard lights. Vivienne was sitting in the back seat. She was casually watching the destruction. When she noticed me looking, she raised an eyebrow and offered a slow, deliberate smile. In the passenger seat, Tristan was holding his son, a sickeningly triumphant grin plastered across his face. Vivienne stepped out of the luxury car, her heels clicking against the pavement. “You humiliated Tristan completely in front of a judge today. You owed him a little compensation.” I could not form a single word. My vocal cords were paralyzed. “Don’t worry, the inventory is gone, but I will personally wire you the funds to cover the damages. Don’t blame him. This was entirely my idea.” My throat constricted so violently I tasted blood. Everything inside that building was a piece of the legacy my parents and grandfather had built. When I was five years old, my mother used to carry me through those very halls, showing me the machinery, telling me the story of how our family built the brand from nothing. They would stroke my hair and say, “This will all be yours one day. You have to protect it.” “Mom, Dad… I am so sorry.” The world went pitch black. The burning sky spun violently before my eyes, and gravity vanished. Vivienne’s smug, composed expression instantly shattered into sheer panic. “Victor!”

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Three years into this “transmigration,” I discovered a helicopter in the mansion courtyard. My husband, Mr. Arthur Stone, looking at my crippled leg, finally dropped the act: “Three years ago, you couldn’t accept me marrying Annabelle; you became my mistress.” “So we tricked you into ‘transmigrating,’ keeping you confined here. After three years as a servant and a concubine, you’ve finally learned your lesson.” I was incredulous. Beside me, the butler peeled off his prosthetic face, revealing my own brother, Timmy. “Sis, now that Annabelle has safely given birth, you can go back.” “Julian, your plan was flawless!” I slowly turned my head. The manor’s physician looked at me, smiling. “You weren’t mistaken. I am indeed Julian Evans, your childhood sweetheart.” “We set up this whole charade, fearing you’d bully Annabelle.” Forced “transmigration” for three years. Beatings, being sold, abused by countless strangers, then bought by Arthur Stone as a slave and concubine. I was crippled in both legs, blind in one eye. From crying day and night, desperate to go home, to living a numb and subservient existence. It turned out I had never transmigrated at all. I completely broke down. The moment before I attempted suicide, a bizarre line of text suddenly appeared before my eyes: “Congratulations to the AI ‘Abuse Romance’ heroine on awakening. Countdown to human reincarnation: Two days.” “48:00:00” “47:59:59” 1 I remained silent on the helicopter ride back. According to the strange text’s instructions, I had to continue living numbly and obediently for two more days, then die. It said it would grant me a second life. This wasn’t difficult at all. All I had endured until now was merely a difference of two days before my death. The moment I stepped off the helicopter, a slender figure blocked the cabin door. Annabelle Bright, the impostor, scrutinized me from head to toe. “You’re back?” “Let me tell you, Arthur and the others only agreed to take you back because you’ve been so docile these past three years. If you dare to bully me again like you did three years ago, I’ll have them gouge out your other eye too!” Honestly, I couldn’t recall ever bullying Annabelle. But it didn’t matter anymore. For three years, if I dared to talk back, the next moment, it might be a maid’s slap or a whip lashing my body. I had long learned my lesson. Seeing my prolonged silence, Arthur Stone, who was pushing my wheelchair, tapped it lightly, a threatening gesture. “Willow, Annabelle is talking to you.” “You’re already disobedient the moment you’re back. Do you want us to send you back to ‘transmigration’ to learn your manners again?” I flinched, a shiver running through me, and quickly bowed my head, replying, “Yes, I will serve you and the Young Master well.” Annabelle snorted, seemingly satisfied with my answer. “At least you’re sensible.” “Let’s eat; I’ve had the servants prepare everything.” Arthur smiled contentedly, reaching out to stroke my head. I instinctively closed my eyes, cowering, as if fearing a blow. Seeing how afraid I was of him, Arthur’s gaze darkened. He deliberately softened his tone: “Don’t be afraid. I won’t punish you anymore.” “I love you. I would never hurt you. Willow, from now on, you’ll be my Mrs. Stone again, just like before.” I quickly shook my head, forcing a placating smile. “I wouldn’t dare. I’m just a concubine.” “I’ll be very well-behaved.” Arthur’s smile froze at the corners of his mouth, speechless for a moment. He looked at me with a complex and conflicted expression. “Willow, you don’t have to be afraid of me.” “Never mind… no rush, we have plenty of time.” At the dining table, the clinking of cutlery was sharp. Julian, across from me, noticed I hadn’t touched my food and proactively offered me the steak he had cut. “Why aren’t you eating? Did you forget how to use a knife and fork?” “Have mine; I’ve cut it for you.” I still dared not move. I just buried my head even lower and replied, “The maids taught me that my status is lowly; I don’t deserve proper meals.” “You all eat first; I’ll have the leftovers.” Julian froze. He exchanged a glance with Arthur. Arthur, in turn, gently reassured me. “Willow, listen. You’re back now, so those old rules don’t apply. As long as you’re well-behaved, we’ll treat you well, just like before.” “Eat.” I quickly lifted my head, then lowered it again. Still, I dared not. It was my brother, Timmy, who looked thoughtful, and cautiously said, “Sis, Arthur wants you to eat. That’s the rule now.” Only then did I raise my head again, trembling as I brought food to my mouth. I ate very slowly, and very little. The arm holding the fork swayed emptily within my sleeve. These past few months, I had indeed become excessively thin. The atmosphere at the dining table suddenly grew heavy. Only Annabelle was still enthusiastically chatting about her son, Leo. Arthur and the others listened quietly, clearly distracted. After only two bites, I stopped. Suppressing the rising nausea in my throat, I looked at Arthur: “I… I think I’m pregnant.” The news was met with silence, the three present not yet having time to express surprise. I continued, numbly: “Could you please… grant me a bowl of abortion medicine?” “Or take me for an abortion.” 2 Arthur’s face completely froze, staring at me in disbelief. I didn’t understand his reaction. I could only turn to Julian across from me. He used to be the manor’s physician; he could decide such matters. “I’m very well-behaved. I just ate the steak you cut for me.” “This time, I’d like some… pain medication, if that’s possible?” Julian’s face was as white as paper, but he still didn’t respond to me. Only my brother, Timmy, forced himself to remain calm and asked, “Sis, what are you saying?” “Having a child is a good thing. Just give birth and raise it; it’s not like…” I shook my head, my tone firm. “You’re mistaken.” “If there’s a child, it must be terminated. That’s the rule.” “This would be the fourth one.” Arthur’s expression turned completely grim. He threw down his cutlery, grabbed Julian by the collar, and dragged him away. “Come with me.” He slammed the study door shut, Julian following him inside. The soundproofing in the mansion was excellent; only some muffled voices faintly drifted out, sounding like an argument. I felt very uneasy. I could only look blankly at my brother, pursing my lips, and continued, “I think I did something wrong.” “Will the maid come and beat me?” My brother’s hand, holding the fork, trembled. He felt as if his chest was stuffed with damp cotton. Seeing my current cautious demeanor, he found it hard to breathe. He stood up, pushing my wheelchair, and comforted me, “Sis, no one will ever hit you again.” “You’ve been very good. I still prefer you as you were before. Smiling, getting angry, calling me Timmy by my full name, even pulling my ears. Don’t be like this… please?” But I merely lowered my head again, my voice weak. “That’s presumption. I’ll get beaten.” “It’s my fault. I won’t ask for pain medication anymore.” My brother frowned, saying nothing further. He simply pushed my wheelchair away. Only Annabelle was left at the dining table. After three years apart, she had intended to torture me again. She hadn’t expected me to become like this. Everyone seemed so heartbroken for me. She angrily threw down her cutlery and instructed the maid behind her, “Go fetch the young master immediately.” “If that little wretch’s child is actually born, that would be disastrous!” My brother pushed me to the guest bedroom on the first floor. The room was so large, I felt a little uncomfortable; it was overly luxurious. I touched the soft duvet, then looked up at my brother. “Is the storage room occupied? I can move there.” “This place is too nice; it’s not suitable for me. And there’s no clock here; I need to wake up early to pay my respects and prepare breakfast.” I didn’t know which words I had spoken incorrectly this time. My brother’s eyes suddenly reddened. He crouched before me, speaking softly, “Sis, don’t say anything more. Please don’t say anything…” “You won’t stay in the storage room anymore. We’re family. I’ll treat you well from now on.” I didn’t believe him. During those three years, my brother, then the butler, had said similar things once, but that very night, a maid had burst into my bedroom and whipped me half to death. But I dared not directly contradict him now, so I only nodded blankly. Seeing my acceptance, he finally managed a smile. He left me with two maids to assist with my washing and rest. Fortunately, even without a clock, that eerie string of numbers helped me roughly gauge the time: “35:48:21” “35:48:20” The seconds ticked by, so slowly. I wanted to die quickly. At three in the morning, the study door finally opened slowly. Arthur and Julian both had injuries on their faces, clearly having fought. Arthur glanced sideways at Julian. “I trust you wouldn’t be so cruel.” “To let Willow suffer three miscarriages in a row.” “I’ll investigate the staff in the manor. You investigate how those medications were swapped for abortion pills.” Julian nodded at this. As he passed the kitchen, Arthur noticed the light was on, casting a blurred figure. From a distance, it looked like me. I stood there, eyes calm, raising a knife and stabbing myself. Arthur’s hair instantly stood on end. He shouted, “No!” and rushed towards me, grabbing the hand holding the knife. Julian, not far away, heard the commotion and also hurried over, disarming me. Arthur stared at me, asking in horror, “Willow, are you insane?” “Why are you trying to kill yourself?” 3 I blinked twice, my gaze shifting to the pumpkin smashed on the floor. I smiled ingratiatingly at Arthur. “You misunderstood.” “It’s time. I was just making your breakfast porridge.” “Don’t worry, a knife to the abdomen like this won’t kill me.” Arthur was horrified by my words. Just as he was about to ask something else, he heard Julian call him: “Arthur…” Arthur turned his head to look. When Julian disarmed me, he brushed against my sleeve. My bare inner arm was covered in various hideous scars, one after another. Some even showed signs of being cut deeply with great force. All were self-inflicted wounds. Facing their panicked stares, I apologized with a smile: “Did I disturb you?” “I’m sorry, I’ll be quieter.” Arthur and Julian exchanged a look but didn’t respond. They simply instructed a maid to escort me back to my room and ensure I rested properly. The next morning, Arthur woke me up. He seemed to have been awake all night, with heavy dark circles under his eyes and an unusually somber expression: “Willow, I’m taking you to the private hospital on the fifth floor of the manor.” “Julian has brought a professional team; we’re going to give you a full check-up.” I was obedient, following Julian. I underwent examination after examination. Blood tests, ultrasounds, CT scans. The doctors meticulously examined and photographed the shocking scars on my body. A gentle-faced female doctor sat opposite me, asking me questions in an extremely soft voice about my sleep, appetite, emotions, and those scars. I was very compliant. I answered when I could and apologized when I couldn’t. The maids always said that kneeling to apologize showed more sincerity. It was just a pity my legs were crippled, so I couldn’t kneel. After the examination, the three of them sat around, looking at my reports. I didn’t know what was written inside, only that their faces grew increasingly grim. Until the number before me reached “25:18:03”. Arthur finally put down the report and walked towards me. His voice was very soft, as if afraid of startling me: “Willow, the doctor says you’re very weak and need to recuperate.” “Those wounds… the doctors have seen them too. They’re severe and will require time and patient treatment. Don’t be afraid. Here, no one will ever hurt you again.” “I’ll bring in the best doctors and use the best medicine to help you recover and heal all of this.” I pointed at him. Instinctively, I wanted to say, “Here, you will hurt me.” But Arthur clearly misunderstood my meaning. He took my fingertips and gathered them into his embrace. “Don’t be afraid.” “Willow, we won’t hurt you.” Listening to him, I found it absurd and strange. All those three years, those days and nights worse than death. Weren’t you all hurting me together? When we returned to the living room, Annabelle had, at some point, brought Leo back. She had evidently heard something about me. She embraced Leo and placed him in my arms, reassuring me, “Willow, you seem to be feeling down lately.” “Here, let Leo cheer you up. Children are the most spirited; looking at them always lifts your mood. You’re pregnant now; you’ll have your own child soon.” I looked at Annabelle’s smiling face, a stark contrast to the arrogant woman who had blocked the cabin door earlier. Had she also transmigrated? Quickly, I dismissed the idea. Arthur and the others wouldn’t let that happen. And, Leo was pinching me. Children don’t know their own strength; he probably got the idea from Annabelle. He sweetly called out, “Auntie, hug!” while fiercely pinching me with his hand. His fingernails had been deliberately trimmed, sharp and quick. With even slight pressure, it felt no different than a small knife slicing flesh. Blow after blow, the sharp pain was more than my body could bear. I could feel the wounds already starting to bleed. I could only try to return the child to Annabelle. “I’m not well; I’m afraid I might drop him.” “You should hold him.” Annabelle nodded, her tone still soft. “Right, you’re still weak; you should rest more.” “Come, Mommy will hold you.” Just as she was about to take him, her hand slipped, and Leo fell straight to the ground. Before I could react, the child’s ear-splitting cries erupted. Slap! Annabelle slapped me across the face, screaming, “Willow, why did you drop my child!” 4 I was thrown from my wheelchair onto the floor. I lay there, helplessly watching Annabelle scream at me: “I know you hate me, despise me, for taking your childhood sweetheart, your brother, and even your lover.” “But the child is innocent!” “How old is he? Can he withstand a fall like that? How could you be so cruel, how could you lay a hand on him?!” At that moment, Arthur, Julian, and Timmy, hearing the commotion, rushed in from different directions. Arthur’s face was ashen. He lunged forward, first crouching to quickly check on Leo, then suddenly looked up, his hateful eyes fixed on me. He roared at me, “Willow Hayes, what have you done!” “You just got back and you’re already causing trouble. Do you want me to send you back?” My brother also rushed over, looking at his nephew crying heartbreakingly on the floor and Annabelle’s relentless accusations against me. Then he looked at me, his eyes also filled with anger: “Sis, how could you lay a hand on such a small child!” Julian handed Leo to the medical staff behind him. He said nothing, just kept glaring at me with a fierce, cold gaze. I felt like… I had been wronged again. It felt no different from the countless times I had been wronged over the past three years. The maid accused me of stealing; I denied it, only to receive a harsher lashing. The servant girl framed me for seducing the stable boy; I argued, and the result was being stripped and publicly humiliated. Arthur believed slander that I wanted to escape; what awaited me was being locked in a water dungeon. I wanted to explain. I wanted to say it wasn’t true, I wanted to say I didn’t do it, I wanted to say so many things. But I remained silent because no one would believe me. Like countless times before, defending myself would only invite more viciousness and punishment. I could only huddle on the floor, helplessly apologizing, “I’m sorry…” Annabelle charged forward. “Sorry? Just ‘sorry’ and it’s over?” “I’ll beat you to death, you slut!” Then, she began to punch and kick me repeatedly. The three men watched silently. Someone said, “Don’t touch her stomach; there’s a child there.” And then there was no more sound. No one stopped her; they just stood by, as before. Fists and feet rained down on my body and face, blow after blow. It hurt terribly. A pain so intense my entire body felt like it was exploding. In a daze, I saw the numbers before me plummeting drastically: “24:27:43” “20:13:05” “15:39:17” … Until someone eventually pulled Annabelle away, and she stopped. The time halted at “4:01:25”. Arthur slowly walked up to me, looking down. “Do you understand your mistake?” “Why do you always refuse to learn?” I choked on the blood in my throat, coughing twice. I didn’t answer. I just clutched Arthur’s pant leg, asking him one last question: “Didn’t you say… here, no one would ever hurt me again?” Arthur fell silent. He coldly moved his leg, pulling his pant leg from my grasp, and said, “But you made a mistake, and mistakes deserve punishment. That’s the rule.” “Lock her in the storage room.” “When Leo is checked and confirmed to be fine, I’ll let you out.” But I didn’t want to be locked up again. I had been confined for three years; I didn’t want the last four hours of my life to be spent caged like an animal. I wanted to beg further, but Arthur had already turned his back. I could only look at my brother, Timmy, who averted his gaze, quietly comforting the agitated Annabelle. Julian had already hurried away to check on Leo. As expected, no one was willing to save me. I no longer struggled. I allowed the maids to drag me away, roughly throwing me onto the floor of the storage room. Counting heartbeats, watching the time tick away. I didn’t know what would happen when everything reset to zero. But for me now, the worst thing was death. That would be a release. “00:00:00” The numbers zeroed out. I closed my eyes, my heartbeat gone. A large, dark red stain of blood quietly spread beneath me. The maid came in to deliver food half an hour later. A moment later, a terrified scream echoed throughout the entire manor. The maid practically stumbled and crawled to Arthur, shrieking: “Ah—” “Someone’s dead!” “Miss Willow is dead; there’s blood everywhere!”

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Eight-year-old Finn stood silently with his head bowed between Derek and me. We were sitting in the sterile, aggressively air-conditioned conference room of a divorce mediator. My soon-to-be ex-husband, Derek, let out a cold sneer and slid the final settlement agreement across the polished mahogany table. He laid down a brutally simple ultimatum. I could either walk away with absolutely nothing and take our son, or I could take the ten million dollars in our joint accounts and never see my boy again. My heart twisted in my chest. My lips parted, ready to surrender everything just to keep Finn safe. But right at that second, a string of glowing, semi-transparent text floated across my vision. It told me that if I chose the boy now, we would starve, but if I chose the money, my son would eventually grow up to be a world-class tech genius earning tens of millions a year. Clarity hit me like a splash of ice water. I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and looked him dead in the eye. “I’ll take the money.” The words tasted foreign on my tongue. Derek froze. For a second, his arrogant mask slipped, replaced by genuine shock. Then he erupted into a harsh, mocking laugh, declaring that I was exactly the gold-digger he always knew I was, valuing cash over my own flesh and blood. My face remained a mask of stone. I picked up the heavy silver pen, signed my name on the dotted line, and legally claimed every single cent of the fortune that rightfully belonged to me. 1 The gray marble steps outside the mediator’s office felt like ice beneath my heels. Derek had shoved the signed paperwork into his briefcase, a triumphant, cruel smirk playing on his lips. “Think about this clearly, Nora. You want Finn? You walk away with empty pockets. You want this ten million and the house? You are dead to him.” His mother, Martha, stood beside him with her arms crossed over her designer coat. Her eyes dripped with venom. “I told you she was nothing but a greedy tramp. My poor Derek was blind to marry you.” I did not look at her. My gaze was anchored to my son. Finn was only eight. His small body was shrunk into the oversized leather lobby chair, his little knuckles turning white as he gripped the hem of his shirt. He refused to look at me. I knew exactly what Martha had been whispering in his ear for the past week. She had been poisoning him against me. An invisible hand crushed my lungs. The pain was so sharp I could barely draw a breath. And then, it happened again. A line of glowing, golden text hovered in the air, directly over Derek’s head. [Take the money! Finn is a prodigy. With the right resources, he will become a world-renowned cybersecurity expert earning eight figures a year!] My pupils dilated. What was this? A hallucination brought on by stress? I squeezed my eyes shut, counted to three, and opened them. The text was still there, glowing like a neon sign from the future. A cybersecurity expert. Millions a year. I sucked in a lungful of cold air, forcing the raging storm inside my chest to settle. I looked at Derek. He looked so incredibly smug. He was utterly convinced I would crumble. He believed that my entire existence revolved around him and the boy, and that without him, I would simply cease to exist. For ten years, I had lived as a glorified maid in his shadow. No dignity. No identity. He took my sacrifices for granted while he spent his nights warming the beds of other women. Now, he wanted to use my love for my son to bleed me dry. To leave me destitute out on the streets. I lifted my chin and met his mocking gaze. “I choose the money.” I didn’t shout. But the words dropped like anvils into the quiet lobby. The air grew thick. Derek’s smirk froze. Martha’s sneer melted into slack-jawed disbelief. “What did you just say?” Derek asked, his voice tight. “I said, I am taking the ten million dollars.” I repeated it, my tone as flat and unyielding as concrete. He stared at me, searching my face for the punchline of a sick joke. He found none. I unzipped my purse, took out my copy of the settlement, and folded it neatly. Nora. Four letters, signed with absolute finality. It took Derek a full ten seconds to process it. When he did, he threw his head back and laughed. “Good! Perfect!” He was laughing so hard his face turned red. He pointed a finger at me and looked at his mother. “Do you see this, Mom? This is a mother’s love! She sold her own kid for a paycheck! What kind of monster does that?” Martha snapped out of her daze and eagerly joined the execution. “I always knew she had a rotten core! Do you see this, Finn? Your mother doesn’t want you! She wants the cash!” Finn flinched. His chin dropped until it rested on his chest. I could see the faint trembling of his small shoulders. My heart bled. It felt as if someone was dragging a serrated blade across my ribs. But I could not break. “I expect the funds to clear into my account by the end of business today. I will send a representative to handle the property transfer tomorrow.” I stood up. “Finn, you…” Martha started. Derek cut her off, his face twisting with vindictive pleasure. “Let her go! From this second on, she is nothing to this family. She is nothing to Finn. Let’s see how long a miserable, lonely woman can stay happy with a pile of cash.” I did not give them a second glance. I turned on my heel and walked out the glass doors. The afternoon sun was blinding. I kept my spine completely straight. Every step I took away from them was heavy, deliberate, and final. The tears burned behind my eyes, fighting to fall, but I refused to let them spill. I am so sorry, my sweet boy. It is not that Mom doesn’t want you. Mom just refuses to let you grow up watching a penniless, broken woman begging for scraps. How can a mother who cannot even protect herself ever hope to protect her son? Derek. Martha. Just you wait. Everything that belongs to my son, I will take back with my own two hands. And everything you owe us, I will make you pay back in blood. I reached the curb and hailed a passing cab. The moment I slid into the backseat and the door slammed shut, the dam broke. I covered my mouth with both hands, trapping the sobs in my throat as hot tears flooded my face. My phone buzzed. A banking alert. Ten million dollars. The exact amount. Derek moved fast. He was desperate to sever all ties. Good. I wiped my cheeks roughly. When I looked up, the reflection in the window showed a woman with eyes made of ice. The golden text flickered to life once more. [Head to the Oakwood Heights sales office in the West End. Buy Penthouse 1801. Next month, the city will announce a new tech hub and a premier school zoning for that district. The property value will double overnight.] 2 Oakwood Heights. I had never heard of it. It had to be a new development. The cab driver frowned when I gave him the address. “Lady, that area is practically a ghost town. It’s just dirt and construction. What do you need to go out there for?” “To buy a house.” He caught my eye in the rearview mirror, looking at me like I had lost my mind. “Good luck with that. Rumor has it the developers are going bankrupt. Place might turn into a concrete graveyard.” I tuned him out. The text hovering in my mind was too vivid to be a hallucination. Real or not, I had to gamble. Right now, I had ten million dollars and absolutely nothing else. And money, unless weaponized, was just a string of digital zeros. The sales center was dead quiet. A single, bored-looking agent was scrolling on her phone behind the marble reception desk. She forced a plastic smile when I walked in. “Welcome. Are you looking to tour a model unit today?” “Building A. Penthouse 1801. Is it available?” I asked, cutting right to the chase. Her eyes widened, suddenly sparkling with desperate hope. “Yes! Yes, it is! It’s our crown jewel. Unobstructed city views, floor-to-ceiling windows…” “How much for an all-cash offer today?” I interrupted. She choked on her pitch, her jaw practically hitting the floor. “The list price is four million, but… if you can wire the funds entirely today, I can authorize a five percent discount. Three point eight million.” “Print the contracts.” Thirty minutes later, the wire transfer was complete, and the paperwork was signed. The agent looked at me as if I were a deity who had just descended from the heavens to save her career. Stepping out of the sales office, I clutched the heavy folder of documents against my chest. For the first time in years, I felt grounded. This was my home. This was the fortress where Finn and I would build our future. I would never let him suffocate in the toxic wasteland of Derek’s family again. I was barely settled into my cab back to the city center when my phone rang. It was an unknown number. “Hello?” “Nora? It’s Stella.” The sharp, nasal voice of my ex-sister-in-law assaulted my ear. “What do you want?” “Moved out already? Didn’t waste any time, did you?” she sneered. “Get to the point.” I had zero patience for her games. “Derek told me to call you. Finn’s private piano lessons are due. It’s ten grand for the semester. Pay it.” I let out a dry, bitter laugh. “Stella, are you suffering from memory loss? Derek and I are divorced. He demanded full custody. He didn’t give me a dime in child support. Why on earth would I pay for his expenses?” “Excuse me? Who do you think you are talking to?” Stella’s voice hit a shrill octave. “You walked away with ten million dollars! Ten million! You can’t drop ten grand on your own kid? Are you even a mother?” “My fitness as a mother is none of your concern. The money is mine. I will spend it however I damn well please. Do not call me for this garbage again.” I ended the call and blocked the number. They weren’t getting another cent from me. I checked into a five-star hotel downtown. The suite was immaculate. I took a scalding shower, scrubbed the smell of the mediator’s office off my skin, and changed into fresh clothes. Looking at the pale, exhausted woman in the bathroom mirror, I saw something new in her eyes. Steel. When a mother is pushed to the edge, she becomes a weapon. My phone screen lit up on the vanity. The golden text materialized against the glass. [Derek is actively hiding marital assets. He has a secret account holding three million dollars from the sale of the downtown condo. He plans to transfer it into an offshore trust for his mother.] My hands gripped the edge of the marble sink. That bastard. That downtown condo was the only inheritance my late parents had left me. When we got married, I was young and stupid enough to put his name on the deed. He swore he would protect me forever. Instead, he liquidated my parents’ legacy behind my back and planned to pocket the cash. If it weren’t for this strange golden guide, I would have been completely blind. I grabbed my phone and scrolled to a specific contact. Rachel. My college roommate, now one of the most ruthless divorce attorneys in the city. She picked up on the second ring. I gave her the rundown. Rachel was swearing loud enough to rattle the speaker. “Nora, you are too damn nice! Ten years with that parasite! Do you have hard proof of the hidden assets?” I hesitated. I couldn’t exactly tell her a magical floating text gave me the tip. “I think I saw a digital copy of a real estate transfer on his home office computer a few weeks ago,” I lied smoothly. “Okay. That’s a thread we can pull. Let me handle this. I will track down the wire transfers and drag him back to court. We’ll leave him in ruins.” I hung up, feeling a dangerous smile form on my lips. Now, I just had to wait for the right moment. Before I could set the phone down, another golden prompt flared into existence. [Tomorrow morning at 10:00 AM, Martha will go to Finn’s elementary school. She will corner his counselor, claim you abandoned your son for a payout, and attempt to permanently destroy your reputation with the school administration.] 3 At exactly nine-thirty the next morning, I stepped out of a black town car in front of Finn’s private elementary school. I wore a sharply tailored charcoal blazer, my hair sleekly pulled back. A touch of crimson lipstick completed the look. The reflection in the school’s glass doors showed a corporate warrior, lightyears away from the hollow housewife who had signed away her life yesterday. The security guard at the front desk stopped me. “Ma’am, classes are in session. We don’t allow unannounced visitors.” “I’m here to see Ms. Davis, the third-grade counselor. I am Finn’s mother,” I said, offering a warm, professional smile. He verified my ID, made a quick call, and buzzed me through. I didn’t go straight to the administrative office. Instead, I waited near the trophy cases in the main hallway. Right on schedule, at five minutes to ten, Martha marched through the double doors. She was dragging Finn by the wrist. Trailing behind them was Brenda, Derek’s dramatic cousin who loved nothing more than a soap opera. They bypassed reception and headed straight for the counselor’s office. I slipped my phone out, hit the voice memo record button, and followed silently. I stood just outside the slightly ajar door. The voices inside were crystal clear. “Ms. Davis, I am just sick over this. I had to come speak with you.” Martha’s voice was laced with a nauseatingly fake tremor. “Finn’s mother… she took a massive payout and abandoned her own flesh and blood. They finalized the divorce yesterday, and she just vanished! Left with millions! My poor sweet Finn, growing up without a mother…” Brenda chimed right in, playing her part to perfection. “It’s a tragedy, Ms. Davis! We begged her. We told her a child needs his mother more than anything in the world. But she has ice in her veins. She said the cash was better than the kid! Who does that? We just ask that the school keep an extra eye on Finn. He’s been through so much trauma because of that woman.” It was a perfectly choreographed character assassination. I could hear the uncomfortable rustle of papers inside. Ms. Davis clearly didn’t know how to handle this ambush. I pictured Finn sitting there, small and terrified, listening to his grandmother tear me to shreds. I took a deep breath, placed my hand on the doorknob, and pushed it open. “Martha, does it ever get exhausting spreading poison behind my back?” The room went dead silent. Martha and Brenda spun around, looking like they had just seen a ghost. “Wh… what are you doing here?” Martha stammered, her face losing its color. I ignored her completely. I walked past them, stopping in front of the counselor’s desk, and offered my hand. “Ms. Davis. I am Nora, Finn’s mother. I apologize for the disruption.” Ms. Davis, a kind-eyed woman in her late thirties, pushed her glasses up her nose and shook my hand awkwardly. “Please, have a seat, Nora.” I pulled a chair right next to Finn and gently wrapped my hand over his icy little fingers. “Don’t be scared, baby. Mom is right here.” Finn stiffened for a second, then slowly, his small hand curled around my fingers, holding on tight. Martha finally recovered her nerve. She slapped her hand against her thigh and raised her voice. “You have some nerve showing your face here! You took the money! What are you doing at his school? Haven’t you humiliated our family enough?” “I came to ensure Ms. Davis has the facts,” I said smoothly, keeping my eyes on the counselor. “It is true that Derek and I divorced, and I received my half of our marital assets. But I did not abandon my son. My ex-husband offered me an ultimatum. I could either walk away with my child and face total bankruptcy, or take the financial settlement and temporarily surrender physical custody.” I paused, letting the weight of the words settle. “Ms. Davis, as an educator, I’m sure you understand. If I had walked away with nothing, how could I feed my son? How could I afford his tuition here? How could I give him the life he deserves?” The discomfort in Ms. Davis’s eyes shifted into dawning comprehension and deep sympathy. “I took the assets because I know that without financial ammunition, I cannot protect him. The money ensures that in the near future, I can rescue my son from an absentee father and a grandmother who clearly enjoys manipulating the truth.” My voice was steady and absolute. Martha’s face flushed a deep, ugly purple. “Lies! Derek is a wonderful father! You are slandering us!” “Am I?” I offered a razor-thin smile and held up my phone. “I recorded everything you both just said. The lies, the character defamation. I imagine the school board, or perhaps the other parents in the PTA, would find this recording fascinating.” All the blood drained from Martha’s face. Brenda looked like she wanted to sink into the floorboards. “You… you wouldn’t dare,” Martha hissed. “Test me.” My eyes were dead. The heavy silence was broken by Ms. Davis standing up. She had heard enough. “I think we are done here, Martha. This is a private family matter. The school is not the place for this, and we will not allow it to affect Finn.” Her tone was frosty and dismissive toward the older woman. She turned to me, her voice softening. “Nora, I completely understand your position. Please rest assured, Finn is a brilliant boy and he is perfectly safe here.” “Thank you, Ms. Davis.” Knowing she had been completely outplayed, Martha shot me a venomous glare, grabbed Brenda by the arm, and stormed out of the office. Once the door clicked shut, I crouched down to meet Finn’s eyes. “Finn, listen to me. Mom has some battles to fight right now, so I can’t be at the house. But you have to know I love you more than anything. Once I have everything set up, I am coming back for you. Do you understand?” He looked at me. For the first time in weeks, the fear in his big brown eyes was gone. He nodded firmly. “I believe you, Mom.” A lump rose in my throat. When I walked out of the school building, the sun felt warmer. The future wasn’t just a distant hope anymore. It was a target. My phone vibrated in my pocket. [Stella just maxed out her credit cards to cover a twenty-thousand-dollar gambling debt. Derek bailed her out for half, but she needs the other ten grand. She’s going to come begging to you.]

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1 At ten, my mother was murdered by my father. I fled as he buried her. Dying, she told me to find my uncle in Portwick—a CEO who’d feed me, for family. But when I found him, holding my little cousin, he glared down. “Why isn’t trash like you dead?” I looked at him, and the last hope in my heart died. Mr. Green sneered. “Want money? Tell your wretched mother to come herself!” He took my cousin into a jewelry store. Pressed to the window, I watched him choose a gold bracelet for her. I’d never seen anything so beautiful—gleaming, carved with clouds, dazzling on her wrist. “What are you staring at? You deserve to look? I’ll gouge your eyes out!” He came out, glared, then drove off with her in a sleek car, leaving me in exhaust. I stood, watching the car vanish. Only when my stomach growled did I remember. Mom was wrong. My uncle wouldn’t feed me. He could buy a sparkling bracelet without a thought, drive away in a car whose name I didn’t know. Yet when I begged for a coin for bread, he told me to find my mother. But she was dead—chopped up and buried. Portwick’s streets buzzed with people. The sky gradually darkened, and a fine drizzle began to fall. I huddled under the eaves of an alleyway, rolling up my sleeves. My pale, gaunt arms were covered in hideous scars. Some had scabbed over, others still seeped blood and pus. Whenever Father got angry, he would take a small knife and carve into my skin. He savored the process, always cutting very lightly, very slowly, sometimes even licking the blood from my arm with a look of perverse ecstasy. It felt like a cold, slimy snake slithering on my arm. Disgusting and terrifying. Recalling my cousin’s gold bracelet, I raised my hand and looked at my own bruised wrist. “Such a beautiful bracelet would only get dirty on my hand.” But if only I had a gold bracelet! I could trade it for so much rice, and cook it into sweet, fragrant white rice. My mom always said white rice was delicious. I licked my chapped lips, swaying as I stood up. I hadn’t eaten in two days. If I didn’t get something soon, I would starve to death. I walked to the door of a bakery, wondering if I could offer to help in exchange for food. The moment I stepped inside, the owner waved me out. “Where did this beggar come from? Go, go! Don’t ruin my business.” I trudged through the rain, numbly walking down the street, past fast-food restaurants, clothing stores… I asked one place after another. Even offering to work without pay, just for food, no one would take me. Until a woman calling herself Ms. Ruby stopped me. She pinched my chin, scrutinizing me, then let out a laugh. “Well, well, darling, you’ve got good features. You look haggard now, but with some care, you might turn into a real beauty.” 2 The damp, musty smell of the alley mixed with cheap perfume hit me. She leaned against the mottled brick wall, the tip of her cigarette glowing with her words. “Sweetheart, Auntie can help you make quick money.” She stubbed out her cigarette, motioning for me to follow. She thought I was young and easy to trick, but I knew what she was planning. My mother not only taught me to read but also to read people. She clearly intended to lead me into illegal activities. Yet, at that moment, what choice did I have but to follow her? Seeing my silence, the woman pulled a piece of candy from her pocket and held it to my mouth. “Come with me, and you’ll get candy. And later, there will be many things even tastier than candy.” I instinctively licked the sugary residue from the corner of my mouth. So sweet. I had never tasted anything so sweet. I stared at the candy she took back, swallowed, and prepared to walk into the alley. Just then, a large hand suddenly grabbed my collar. It was my uncle! He gripped my hand, his eyes scanning me with unconcealed disgust. “You’re as despicable as Evelyn Chase, even your manipulative tricks are identical. It’s truly repulsive!” “How could our Green family have descendants like you? So young, yet utterly shameless, even more depraved than your mother!” “Come, take me to your mother…” He tugged my collar, dragging me toward the roadside. I swayed, my vision blurring. My stomach ached from emptiness, and my consciousness was already fading. I knew clearly that if I didn’t eat soon, I would starve to death. In the instant my last shred of rationality shattered, I bit down hard on his arm. I tasted blood, tearing off a small piece of flesh and swallowing it with the blood. With a furious roar, he kicked me hard in the chest. As my back slammed against the cold concrete, I completely blacked out. Well, at least I’d tasted meat in this lifetime. But it was truly disgusting… I was woken by cold water. When I opened my eyes, I found myself in a luxurious villa with crystal chandeliers. Before I could make sense of anything, my nape was roughly grabbed. A fierce-looking housekeeper pinched my nose, forcing a bowl of cold, sour porridge down my throat. Afterward, I was led to my uncle’s study. In the study, my uncle stood with his back to the door, discussing me with the family doctor. “So, she bit me like a mad dog just because she was too hungry?” The family doctor nodded, looking at me with sympathy. “Yes, a little longer without food, and she would have starved to death.” My uncle waved his hand, and the doctor left. I was dragged by two servants and thrown before my uncle. I stumbled a few steps, falling to the floor. My uncle looked down at me, his face grim, his gaze like he was looking at a repulsive, ugly cockroach. His eyes moved upward, to where I had bitten him, which had been disinfected and bandaged with white gauze. “About to starve to death and you couldn’t speak? Or were you deliberately trying to get back at me?” I looked at him quietly, my voice as light as a feather floating in the wind. “Sir, the first thing I said when I saw you was that I was hungry and asked if you could spare a coin for a bun.” He paused, clearly remembering. But soon, he frowned again with displeasure. “Why aren’t you calling me ‘Uncle’ anymore?” I lowered my face in silence. When I first saw him, I had indeed happily called him “Uncle.” But now, I didn’t want to. 3 He prodded my chin with the tip of his shoe. “Tongue-tied?” Then, he forced a chilling smile, his eyes cutting like knives. “If you want more food, take me to your mother. I want to see what’s so great out there that she hasn’t set foot home in ten years. Now that she’s down on her luck, she sends you back to beg for food.” I nodded. “Give me food, and I’ll take you to her. Oh, and the food needs to be freshly steamed and hot. Not like just now, giving me cold, sour porridge; it’ll make my stomach upset.” The housekeeper standing by the door immediately bent over. “Mr. Green, I clearly gave the young lady warm seafood porridge just now. She’s lying.” My uncle frowned in displeasure, his gaze at me growing even more disgusted. “Just like your mother, a habitual liar, despicable to the core!” I glanced at the housekeeper, then abruptly bent over, thrusting my fingers deep into my throat. I brought up the sour porridge I had just been forced to swallow. My uncle recoiled several steps, startled by my action. I looked at him calmly, and said, “See? This porridge was only in my stomach for a moment, yet it’s still cold.” The vomit on the floor emitted a strong, sour odor. My uncle covered his nose, his brows deeply furrowed. How could something just eaten give off a sour smell? He glanced at the housekeeper, who was bent over, trembling slightly, not daring to lift her head. What more was there to understand? My uncle snorted coldly, “Who gave you the audacity to feed sour porridge to a Green lady!” The housekeeper’s lips trembled, about to speak. From outside the study, a soft female voice floated in. “I told her to give it to her. Evelyn Chase’s daughter, a bowl of sour porridge is too good for her.” I looked up towards the study door. A elegantly dressed woman, her makeup flawless, slowly walked into the room on slender high heels. Seeing her face, I paused for a moment, almost calling out “Mom.” But I knew she wasn’t. While my mother resembled her greatly, she had a softer gentleness, and her appearance was more aged and haggard. After all, after my mother was sold to my father, she hadn’t known a single good day. She couldn’t compare to my aunt, who had never done a day’s work. My Aunt Charlotte, her face cold, walked up to me. Seeing the vomit on the floor, she covered her nose in disgust with her exquisitely manicured hand. A hint of pleasure flickered in her eyes, as beautiful as my mother’s. “You look so much like that hussy Evelyn Chase, both of you like vixen-demons!” “Speak! Where is that wretch who even seduced her own brother-in-law now?” I lowered my eyes, softly saying, “Give me food, and I’ll take you to her.” My aunt looked at me disdainfully, scoffing. “What are you, to dare bargain with me here?” My uncle, however, frowned and instructed a servant to bring some food. “Eat! Don’t starve to death in my house, it’s bad luck!” My aunt glared at him in displeasure. “Brother, you’re not going soft on this bastard, are you?” My uncle shook his head and said nothing, but his gaze at me was as dark as ink. I was starving, so I picked up the bowl and began to eat. It was sweet and savory; my mother hadn’t lied to me. White rice was so delicious, much better than coarse grain. I took two bites and then stopped, putting the rest of the food into a bag. My uncle looked at me, his frown deepening. “Didn’t your mother feed you?” I gently shook my head. “My mother saved all the good things for me to eat.” 4 My uncle suddenly scoffed, his face filled with disgust. “You’re too engrossed in your act. Do you think I’ll believe you?” I didn’t answer him, just calmly stated, “Let’s go. I’ll take you to Mom.” My aunt Charlotte sneered, telling the chauffeur to get the car, but pointed at my nose and said, “You’re not getting in the car. You’re too disgusting; just looking at you makes me sick!” I gripped my sleeve, watching my little cousin, dressed like a doll, being carried into the sedan. My heart was filled with envy. My mom rarely held me. Most of the time, she wanted to strangle me. Because she said my birth was a mistake. But when she was locked alone in the cellar, I was the only one by her side. My mom had a soft heart… When she was in a good mood, she would teach me to write and draw. She told me many stories about the Green family, and she also taught me to dance. But I was too clumsy and never learned well. My mom said she was once named the youngest dancer, winning countless gold trophies and medals, and was honored as an outstanding young artist. Back then, her future was bright, like the proudest white swan in the middle of Swan Lake. If she hadn’t been framed and had her Achilles tendons severed, she wouldn’t have fallen to this state. Many times she wanted to kill herself, but the hatred burning in her eyes compelled her to live. My uncle stood by the car, seeing me rooted to the spot. He asked suspiciously, “Can’t you open a car door?” I shook my head. “You can’t even do that? Are you useless?” “Yes! I’m useless!” I hung my head, remembering how my mother was chopped into pieces by that scum of a father, and he even wanted me to help him. And I, this useless person, could only watch everything happen, unable to save her. “You…” My uncle laughed in exasperation. “How could our Green family have such an idiotic and pathetic descendant? Don’t you dare tell anyone you’re my niece from now on.” I nodded. “Okay!” My uncle looked at me speechlessly, a helpless expression on his face. Finally, he opened the car door for me, and I got into the chauffeur’s car alone. The chauffeur put on a face mask, to avoid being overwhelmed by my stench. Even with the window open, the chauffeur still couldn’t help but throw up halfway through the journey. My uncle’s face was grim; he furrowed his brow and said, “How can a girl smell so awful?” His face was as dark as thunder. He navigated to the nearest hotel and ordered the maid, Mrs. Reed, who had followed along, to give me a bath. In the bathroom, when Mrs. Reed removed my ragged outer clothes, she cried out in alarm. My uncle, waiting at the door, thought something had happened to me again and rushed in immediately. “Mrs. Reed, what’s wrong with her?” Mrs. Reed covered her mouth, looking at me with a pained expression, her voice trembling slightly. “Sir, please have some pity on the young lady…” “What young lady? She doesn’t deserve it…” He had barely finished speaking when his gaze fell upon my back, and he froze. My small, emaciated back was covered in dense, horrifying knife wounds. The newest one was from my father branding me with a burning poker. That poker, fresh from the stove, glowed red. The moment it touched my back, I immediately smelled burning flesh and an absurd scent of roasted meat. These scars must be so ugly! Mrs. Reed seemed kind. Her warm hand gently touched the wounds on my back, and tears immediately welled in her eyes, marked by wrinkles. “She smells because she’s rotting! And her body is very hot; she seems to have a fever…” 5 My uncle stared, momentarily lost, before realizing I was a girl. He quickly turned his back, took a deep breath, and then, controlling his emotions with great effort, slowly said, “Just give her a quick wash for now. We’ll go to the hospital later; take her to see a doctor.” Mrs. Reed agreed. But I shook my head, refusing. “It’s nothing serious. I’ll just put some mud on it, like before. It always healed that way. I haven’t been able to find mud since I came to the city, that’s why…” Mrs. Reed’s eyes widened in shock. “If you’re hurt, you should go to the hospital. How can you put mud on it?” Even though I said not to bother, Mrs. Reed followed my uncle’s instructions. She gave me a quick wash and then took me to the hospital. The doctor disinfected and dressed my wounds. Because it took some time, my aunt Charlotte’s face was so dark it looked like it could drip water. “Why are we wasting money and time on her? That little bastard, she’s just like her mother, always pretending to be pitiful.” Hearing her words, my uncle’s hand, reaching for my cousin, paused, then withdrew. My cousin pouted, crying in a baby voice, wanting him to hold her. She was only three, a child my aunt Charlotte had painstakingly carried for ten months, sustained by nutrient injections. Seeing her upset, my aunt immediately became displeased. “What’s wrong with you? Can’t you see Daisy wants a hug?” My uncle sighed tiredly. “I’m exhausted.” Then he walked up to me, squatting down for the first time to meet my gaze. “Did your mother often abuse you?” I shook my head, seriously. “My mother was very good to me. Her injuries were even worse than mine.” My uncle froze, a genuine flicker of panic crossing his face. “How could that be? She clearly…” Then, his face became calm again, though he frowned slightly. “Are you lying again? Did your mother teach you to say that to make me pity her?” I stared at him, remembering my mother lying in the dark, damp cellar, her face numb and desolate. Even so, whenever she mentioned my uncle, her eyes would brighten a little more than usual. My mother said her brother always excelled in school, and as an adult, he successfully started his own company, the smartest child in the family. But my mom was wrong again! Her brother might as well have had “fool” written all over his face! Did he think I would endure beatings and injuries, leaving so many scars, just to deceive him from childhood? Perhaps my idiot-like gaze annoyed him, for my uncle snorted coldly. He always liked to snort, as if he were terribly important. “Get in the car! I want to see what tricks she’s trying to pull!” This time, he got into the same car as me. When my uncle’s iron-like hand gripped my wrist and dragged me into the car, the unhealed scars on my back tore open, making me wince in pain. Only then did he remember the wounds on my back and release his grip. “Are you missing a screw or something? You’re in pain and you don’t even say anything?” I bit my lip hard, too much in pain to speak. The car drove swiftly. The journey that would have taken me half a month to walk, crossing mountains and valleys, was completed in a few days. When we reached the small village nestled in the valley, I finally saw a glimpse of home. After stopping the car, I immediately ran to the backyard. Inside the house, my father, seeing a group of people following me to the backyard, panicked completely. He lunged forward and slapped me across the face! “You little brat! Stop it right now!” Another slap was about to land, but my uncle, his face grim, blocked him. I ignored them all, relentlessly digging at the soil in the yard. Blood beads seeped from my torn fingernails, mixing with the dirt. Before long, a putrid, horrifying, foul-smelling corpse gradually revealed itself!

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A torrential rain poured on a bleak morning when the doorbell suddenly rang. It was my ex-husband, whom I’d divorced ten years ago. Last night, I’d called him all night. He’d picked up, but said nothing. Today, he had come only to tell me to stop bothering him. I would never trouble him again. I had been diagnosed with cancer. Late stage. 1 The doorbell rang with increasing urgency. I scrambled to my feet, knocking my medication bottle to the floor. The delivery guy, clutching a package, his face a mask of impatience, froze and started to stammer: “H-hello… your p-package…” He set it down, then turned and ran. I looked at the empty hallway and let out a self-deprecating laugh. On a typhoon day like this, who else would come to see me besides delivery people? I picked up the package, and suddenly heard the sound of dripping water. Drip. Drip. I slowly turned around. John Miller, completely drenched, stood at the end of the hallway. Outside, the wind howled and the rain lashed down. I suddenly remembered a saying: The person who loves you will cross a storm to see you, even on a typhoon day. And he had come. Did that mean he still loved me? But a single sentence shattered all my illusions. He said: “Mia, we’ve been divorced for ten years. I hope you’ll stop bothering me.” Ten years without seeing him, and just one sentence made me lose all reason. I rushed forward, wanting to grab his soaking wet sleeve and demand answers. Why could he just divorce me? Just leave? Disappear for ten years without a word? But before I could speak, tears sprang to my eyes. In the end, I could only repeatedly sob: “How could you do this…” His face showed no emotion: “Mia, calm down.” A digital beep came from the door across the hall. “Incorrect password, please try again.” My neighbor glanced over, startled, I wondered how much she had overheard. 2 I wiped my tears, forced a professional smile, and apologized: “I’m so sorry, we disturbed you…” Hearing me, her face turned even paler. Trembling, she finally entered the correct password and slammed the door shut with a bang. The hallway instantly fell silent. I turned back to John. He slowly walked closer, the hallway so quiet that only his footsteps could be heard. He let out a weary sigh: “Let’s go inside.” Before I could react, he squeezed past me through the door, bringing with him a damp chill. The apartment was a two-bedroom we’d bought together. The decor was exactly as we’d liked it back then. Ten years had passed, and I hadn’t changed a thing. Now, it was all outdated. John stood in the entryway, unmoving. The living room was a mess, exuding an air of neglect, just like me. His brows were tightly furrowed. I thought he might show a hint of pity. But when he spoke, his words were as distant as ever. “Mia, stop harassing me. We’re adults. Can’t we be civil? End things gracefully?” No. I looked up, staring at him, and said with a touch of malice in my smile: “I’m about to die. What do I need civility for?” 3 At first, it was just a faint sting in my stomach. I ignored it, thinking it would pass. Slowly, I grew accustomed to the pain, just as I had grown accustomed to the years without him. Until that afternoon, I collapsed at my desk. When I woke up again, I smelled disinfectant. My colleague took me to the hospital and then went back to work. After that, I was alone, going through various tests. When my turn came, the doctor was already about to leave. The doctor, who had been frowning and speaking in an irritated tone, suddenly became exceptionally kind. Seeing that I was parched, he even had someone get me a glass of warm water. The consultation room suddenly became very quiet, with only the honking of cars outside the window. Judging by their expressions, I probably guessed it. Cancer. Strangely enough, when I heard those words, I actually… felt relieved. A sense of unburdening, of release. I obediently began the admission process. I informed my family, starting a video call in the family group chat. I tried to tell them, in a light tone, that I had cancer. But not to worry, I was already hospitalized, and I urged them all to get check-ups as soon as possible. That night, I only remembered my parents’ weeping, my sister’s choked sobs, and my brother’s prolonged silence. After that came active cooperation with treatment: endless injections, medication, chemotherapy. Accompanied by vomiting, hair loss, incontinence. My face in the mirror became more sunken with each passing day. Initially, many people came to visit me, and the hospital room’s fruit baskets were replaced again and again. Slowly, fewer people came, the fruit rotted, but the doctors’ voices grew gentler. He said: “Mia, is there anything special you still want to do?” As soon as he said that, I was surrounded by pitying glances. I looked down at my emaciated hands. Thinking, how could a person lose so much weight so quickly? Something I wanted to do? Besides wanting to be free, there was only one thing left. I wanted to see John Miller. Just one more time. Just once. 4 My stomach suddenly cramped, and cold sweat immediately covered my body. I clung to the wall, in too much pain to take painkillers. I could only press my abdomen tightly, waiting for the contractions to pass. John, however, simply watched me with skepticism. My body trembled violently: “You don’t believe me? You think I’m using death to trick you?” I almost lunged to the coffee table, pulling open the drawer. I emptied its contents onto the table for him to see: the diagnosis, stacks of payment receipts, medical reports, even my health insurance records. “Look, open your eyes and see if I’m lying to you!” I laughed through my tears: “See clearly, I’m dying, I’m really dying.” He lowered his head, looking at the reports. I stared fixedly at him, trying to discern something from his face. Would he be sad? Would he be heartbroken? But he lowered his head, hiding his expression from me: “What exactly do you want?” My voice dropped, laced with a desperation I despised: “Stay with me for three days.” My throat tightened: “Just three days… after three days, I’ll never bother you again…” We stood there, facing each other, until he finally gave in. He let out a sigh: “Does it start today?” Just then, the typhoon stopped, and a ray of sunlight shone in. The sky cleared. It was as if even the heavens pitied me. 5 I splashed water on my face, looking in the mirror. My eyes were deeply sunken, my skin sallow. The figure behind me, however, was still young and handsome; time seemed to have only withered me. How unfair. The heartless always seemed to fare better. I put on a wig, applied some haphazard makeup, and we left. The mall’s glass storefronts reflected our figures, one following the other. He walked ahead of me, his face cold. Unwilling to come close, reluctant to touch. I looked at our shadows on the ground, reached out, and touched the shadow of his hand. At least a shadow wouldn’t pull away. We went to see a movie. The moment I sat down, memories flooded back. Our first movie date, it was at this very cinema. Back then, as the lights dimmed, his warm hand cautiously reached out. Once he held mine, he never let go. I didn’t need to look; I knew his face was bright red. Now, I quietly reached out, wanting to touch his hand resting on the armrest. But he abruptly pulled it back, stuffing it into his pocket. Leaving my hand suspended in mid-air. Tears fell in large drops. I couldn’t control them. The male and female leads on the screen were kissing; I was crying, he was silent. 6 After the movie, we went for dinner. We arrived at an old restaurant, a place we used to frequent ten years ago. I had reserved our usual table in advance. I ordered his favorite steamed pork ribs and spicy blood curd. I washed the utensils, handed them to John, and then asked for another set of cutlery for myself. He quietly stared out the window, unwilling to engage with me. I didn’t mind, chattering away, saying the place wasn’t as nice after the renovation, that the owner had changed, that the food here was getting more expensive… He didn’t reply to any of it. But I kept talking; it had been too long since I’d spoken to him. Even if he ignored me, I wanted to keep telling him about my last ten years. The dishes arrived, steaming hot. I placed the ribs in front of him: “Eat.” He didn’t even lift an eyelid: “I don’t like these anymore.” My heart felt a sharp prick, like a needle. I picked up a rib and put it in my mouth. Chewed. No taste. Absolutely no taste. When I swallowed, my throat felt like I was swallowing knives. He didn’t like it; I did. He didn’t remember the taste; I did. But now, I couldn’t taste anything. I picked up the beef again, stuffing large mouthfuls into my mouth. One bite after another. Food mixed with tears went down, and my stomach churned violently. I clamped my hand over my mouth and rushed to the trash can in the corner. “Ugh——” Everything I had just eaten, mixed with stomach acid and tears, came pouring out. The waitress rushed over, handing me water and tissues: “Miss, are you okay? Should we call an ambulance?” I was trembling from vomiting, shaking my head frantically, speaking in gasps: “I… I’m fine… So… so sorry… so sorry… made a mess…” The waitress was very gentle: “It’s okay, it’s okay, we’ll clean it up. Please don’t worry, let me help you up…” When I finally recovered, I realized John had retreated outside. His figure was blurred through the glass. 7 I quickly got up to pay, afraid he would just leave. “John Miller!” He looked up at me, keeping his distance. He asked, “Where to next?” My mouth opened, my throat still burning: “To the riverside… I guess.” We arrived at the Central River Bridge. Not many people were on the bridge itself; most had gone to the newly built influencer bridge nearby. “Do you still remember this place?” I gazed at the boats slowly moving on the river. “It’s where you proposed to me.” He frowned: “That’s all in the past. Don’t bring it up again.” He told me not to bring it up, so I deliberately did: “Our first date, we first watched a movie, in that same cinema today. Afterward, we had a big dinner, also at that same restaurant today. You saved up for a long time just to order their signature dish…” I paused, then asked him: “Was it good? Did it… taste the same as before?” He said: “I don’t know, I didn’t eat it.” “…Oh.” I softly acknowledged, “I see…” There would be no more chances to eat it. A boat slowly passed under the bridge, reminding me of the day John proposed. He held me, not wanting to go back, saying we’d leave after the boat passed the bridge. We watched one boat after another until night fell. A gust of wind blew, making me shiver with cold. Was the wind that night also this cold? I pointed to the boat: “Let’s go back when that boat passes under the bridge.” The boat slowly sailed past, brightly lit, with people laughing and cheering on board. So happy, so envious. That night, I woke from a dream, and immediately rushed out of the bedroom. Only when I saw a blurry figure on the sofa in the darkness did I feel at ease. His breathing was so light, making me want to get closer to him. I wanted to reach out and touch him, but just as my fingertips were about to make contact, I was afraid of waking him, so I pulled back. Suddenly, a violent cramp seized my lower abdomen again. The pain made me curl into a ball, but I bit down hard on my lower lip, daring not to make a sound. Cold sweat mixed with tears smeared my face. My vision began to blur. John, I’m in so much pain. Why aren’t you here to hold me? 8 When I opened my eyes again, it was already noon the next day. The sunlight was blinding, and John sat on the sofa, silently watching me. I struggled to get up, quickly washed up, and then rushed him to a bridal shop. I carefully chose a wedding dress. We were poor back then; John and I registered our marriage with nothing. We finally made it, bought a house, bought a car, but then divorced just as we were planning a proper wedding ceremony. I picked up a strapless mermaid gown and asked him: “Does this one look good?” He leaned against the doorframe, giving an unenthusiastic “Hmm.” I then picked up a French V-neck gown: “How about this one?” He said: “Whatever, anything is fine.” I lowered my head, no longer asking him, and chose a simple satin dress, then also picked out a suit. I bought them both. After buying the wedding dress, I went to a highly-rated private studio. I asked John to try on the suit, but he refused: “I agreed to spend three days with you, but I didn’t say I’d take photos.” I asked him: “You’re not going to take pictures?” He looked at the suit in my hand and said: “No.” I took back the clothes. Fine, if he didn’t want to. I no longer had the energy to argue with him. The makeup artist was incredible, truly a miracle worker, making me look a bit healthier. But as she was styling my hair, she accidentally pulled off my wig, tearing out the few remaining strands of my real hair. She was so scared she stammered incoherently: “I’m so sorry… I didn’t mean to… I didn’t pull hard… I…” I quickly comforted her: “It’s okay, my hair falls out easily, it’s not your fault. Just carry on.” After that, she was exceptionally careful. At the photo studio, the photographer only looked at me and asked: “Where’s the groom?” 9 I looked at John, who stood behind the photographer, seemingly waiting for me to make a fool of myself. I forced a smile. “He… he doesn’t want to be in the photos. I’ll take them myself.” The photographer’s expression instantly changed. My voice was light. “It’s fine. The post-production team can just photoshop the groom in later. I have photos of the groom with me, and I can pay extra.” I only took one photo, but I booked the photography team for the entire day. The remaining time was mainly for them to do the post-production for me. I sent John’s photos and the suit sample images to the post-production assistant. “Please photoshop him in. Thank you.” The assistant glanced at the photos, then at me. “Alright.” I stood behind him, pointing at the screen, trying hard to reconstruct John from my memories. “The height is wrong, he’s six feet tall.” “His shoulders are too narrow; they should be wider.” “His skin needs to be a bit paler.” “His face should be thinner than in the photo…” The assistant’s mouse clicked faster and faster, his brows furrowing tighter and tighter, until he finally couldn’t take it anymore and slammed the mouse down. “Ma’am! Don’t always rely on post-production! Why didn’t you just bring him here to shoot! Post-production is really hard!” His tone was sharp. I glanced at John, who was watching the scene unfold from the side, and my voice dropped. “He didn’t want to.” The air was silent for a second. The manager rushed over and gave the assistant a hard slap on the back of his head. “You punk, fix your attitude!” Then the manager smiled apologetically. “Ms. Evans, I’m so sorry, our team member Leo is being insensitive. Please don’t be angry. Just tell him what to change, and he’ll revise it until you’re satisfied.” The assistant pursed his lips, under pressure from the manager. “Ugh! Fine, I’ll change it!” I smiled and said it was fine, then remembered something and told the manager: “Can you also make me another photo, 12 inches, a black and white solo picture?” The assistant’s mouse paused, the manager’s smile froze on his face, and he asked me: “…black and white?” 10 I nodded: “Yes, and a black frame for it. Also… please make me look good in it. I suppose… it will be for the memorial service.” I pulled out a photo from ten years ago. In it, a vibrant young woman leaned against John, his face full of loving indulgence. “I… I didn’t look like this back then.” I sent the photo over. The assistant froze, and the manager slapped him again. “I told you about your temper! You’ll wake up in the middle of the night and slap yourself twice!” When the assistant spoke again, he was overflowing with guilt. He pointed at the screen: “Ma’am, tell me where you want changes, and I’ll do it right away! Make the face thinner, right? And your complexion… should I add some color?” On the screen, I was wearing a white wedding dress, my eyes bright, and next to me was John, also meticulously photoshopped in. He wore a sharp suit, his eyes full of love, just like us ten years ago. I softly said: “It’s perfect, just like I used to be. Thank you.” The assistant and manager said they would make it even better for me and mail it directly tomorrow. The kindness of strangers is always so sincere. Ever since I got cancer, the world has embraced me, all except him. I looked up at John; he was sitting alone in the corner. Just then, my phone rang. It was Mom: “Mia…” Her voice was cautious, “The hospital said you’ve been discharged?” I mumbled yes. “Then why don’t you come home? Your sister and brother are both back.” I agreed, then added: “Mom, I’m bringing John with me. Make some of his favorite dishes.” The other end of the phone was silent for a long time, then she stammered, “Oh… okay… okay, Mom knows. You… be careful on the road…” 11 Hanging up the phone, I told John: “We’re going to my family’s place for dinner tonight.” He leaned against the wall, half his face shrouded in shadow: “I go to your house? In what capacity? As your ex-husband? Mia, we’re divorced, we’ve been divorced for ten years. It’s not appropriate.” I remembered back then, my parents weren’t actually happy with John. When they found out his family was from a rural area and he had three siblings, they immediately arranged blind dates for me. Mom advised me: “Mia, your mother’s been through it. I don’t want you to suffer like I did when I was young.” I angrily slammed the door and had a big fight with Mom. When John found out, he wasn’t angry; instead, he comforted me: “Actually, your mother-in-law isn’t wrong. If I had a daughter, I’d also want her to live a good life, not suffer with a poor boy.” He ruffled my hair, persuading me: “Don’t be angry with your parents. It’s my fault for not being good enough and making them worry about you. But thank you for trusting me, little Mia. I’ll work hard. I’ll definitely give you a good life.” Later, he truly did. He worked tirelessly, unconditionally, responding 24/7, and in five years, he rose to the position of technical director. His monthly salary reached fifty thousand, and he bought a house and a car, both in my name, achieving worldly success. My parents never had any objections after that. He treated my parents very well, more thoughtfully than even I, their own daughter. He often reminded me to call home more often. I asked him: “Mom just had her sixty-first birthday. Are you really not going? You always said I didn’t care enough about Mom and Dad, and you also said…” He abruptly cut me off: “Enough! Don’t say another word! Don’t you just want me to go?” He gave a short laugh: “Fine, I’ll go. Don’t regret it.” We could finally go home together. How could I regret it? Pushing open the front door, I called out: “Mom and Dad, we’re home!”

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1 My husband, Dr. Arthur Rosslyn, a celebrated heart surgeon, had saved countless lives. But when our twins needed surgery, his hands failed. I held their ashes as he packed, claiming an emergency surgery called him away. “Their hearts were fatally flawed, Eleanor. Not even a miracle could have saved them.” That night, his anesthesiology intern, Amy, posted online: a photo of her hand clasped with a man’s at Disneyland, captioned, “My knight saved me after I botched the anesthesia.” Another showed her kissing the man’s jaw. “Ten likes and I’ll confess!” The scar on that jaw matched Arthur’s. My shattered heart froze. I commented: “No need for ten. The knight’s wife approves.” Arthur called instantly, angry. “It was a stupid dare. Delete that comment or we’re divorcing.” I hung up. On the hospital’s transfer list to our African branch, I added his name and Amy’s. Reason: Gross Medical Negligence. If you’re so desperate to protect her, suffer together. How dare you be happy after killing my children? Ten seconds later, Arthur sent a question mark. When I didn’t reply, he followed up. “I’ll have the divorce papers sent over right now. If you insist on making a scene, then we’re through.” I finally responded with a simple: “Fine.” The “typing…” notification appeared and disappeared several times, but he never sent anything else. I screenshotted Amy’s Disneyland carousel and the medical incident, then sent them to him. “Arthur, our children were killed because of her, weren’t they?” All I received was a red exclamation mark. He had blocked me. I went back to social media. Amy’s posts were gone, replaced by a solitary apology. “A grateful patient, whose child we saved, treated us to dinner. We played a game after a few drinks, and I lost a dare. The patient’s family member asked me to post a picture with a male colleague. Dr. Rosslyn only cooperated to spare me embarrassment. I apologize for any negative impact.” The accompanying image was a crying, bowing kitten. Arthur commented below: “Don’t worry, Amy. I’ve got your back. Some people just want to bully you.” Beneath that, a string of replies: “We all knew it was a joke! It was an awful dare from the patient’s family; we couldn’t say no.” “Some people? Is he talking about Dr. Rosslyn’s wife? Poor Dr. Rosslyn, stuck with a crazy wife. Her children’s death was just bad luck, but she keeps making a scene at the hospital, insisting Dr. Rosslyn and Amy killed them.” “Dr. Rosslyn is so impressive, protecting his own.” I smirked, noting every name, adding them all to the transfer list. I founded this private hospital to help Arthur become a top cardiac surgeon. I invested heavily in funding and publicity. Now, he was indeed our chief surgeon, lauded by everyone, and his favored chief intern, Amy, basked in his reflected glory. And I, the hospital’s largest shareholder, was being trampled underfoot. They likely assumed I was madly in love with Arthur, that my hospital’s success was thanks to him. They thought I wouldn’t dare upset him, that both I and the hospital feared losing him. They forgot. My hospital made him. Without him, I could cultivate many more chief specialists. Amy responded to each comment with a smiling cat emoji, and to Arthur, a kissing emoji. The doorbell chimed. It was the courier. Besides the signed divorce papers, he handed me a bag. I asked what it was. He stammered, “A lady asked me to give this to you. She said you’re almost going through menopause, a bad-tempered old woman, and she wouldn’t stoop to your level.” “Inside is some menopause supplement.” “But you look about thirty.” I calmly told him to discard Amy’s attempt to provoke me, then closed the door. I took out the divorce papers and meticulously signed my name. My phone vibrated a few times. It was a message from the hospital’s HR director. “Ms. Hayes, please reconsider? Others are one thing, but how could you send Dr. Rosslyn and Amy to Africa?” “I know you’re grieving and angry with Dr. Rosslyn. But please separate personal and professional matters. Don’t resort to such dirty tactics. You’re not just harming two talented individuals; you’re depriving countless patients of their chance to live.” I calmly replied: “You make a good point. I forgot to deal with you. You’re fired. I’ll have a third party take over your duties.” Immediately, I called the third-party management group, instructing them to fully manage the hospital’s HR and logistics. “Anyone who pleads for Dr. Rosslyn or Amy is to be sent to Africa. Those who refuse must pay back their training costs.” I gently stroked the twins’ urns, speaking each word distinctly. The doctors who supported Amy in the comments were all impoverished students I had funded with my own money. I gave them opportunities, sent them abroad to study. In the end, they only knew how to curry favor with Arthur. They completely forgot who nurtured them into excellent doctors. They truly embodied ingratitude, all following Arthur’s lead like blind sheep. Ungrateful people don’t make good doctors. They needed to experience hardship to understand true compassion. After hanging up, I noticed Arthur had called me over a dozen times. Finally, likely infuriated, he even sent a new friend request with the message: “Answer the phone.” Just then, a new call came in. I answered. The moment I picked up, his furious shouts assaulted me. “Are you insane?! I’m about to get my promotion, Amy’s about to be confirmed for her residency, and you’ve listed us for the African branch!” “Eleanor Hayes, the children are gone, I know you’re upset, but that was fate!” “Our children were born sick; not even a god could save them. It was their destiny to not live long, not me or Amy trying to harm them!” “I’ve told you countless times, yet you keep making things difficult for Amy. I didn’t want you to check the surveillance to stop you from spiraling! I never imagined you’d start spreading such vicious rumors about Amy, let alone abuse your power to send her to Africa!” His usually composed voice was now ragged with fury, his breath coming in ragged gasps. I simply asked: “Were you truly rushing off for a surgical consultation? Was Amy’s social media post really due to a drunken family member forcing you to play a game?” “Or were you rushing off to spend a day at Disneyland with your young apprentice?” On the other end, his ragged breathing suddenly stopped. Two seconds of silence. “What nonsense are you spouting? That’s not true… You’re truly… suffering from delusions…” Then, Amy’s voice. “Dr. Rosslyn, the fireworks are about to start. You rarely get a chance to relax; I don’t want my issues to spoil your mood. When we get back, I’ll apologize to Eleanor myself, even if I have to kneel.” The call was immediately cut off. Presumably, he didn’t want to miss the beautiful fireworks. Clutching my children’s urns, tears streamed down my face. “Mommy will never let them get away with this.” I don’t remember when I fell asleep, only that I cried until I couldn’t breathe. I woke up the next day, eyes swollen shut. I put on sunglasses and headed downstairs, where I saw a busy figure. Arthur emerged with a bowl of porridge, paused at the sight of me, then quickly smiled as if nothing was amiss. “You’re up? I made you breakfast. Have some.” “I know yesterday’s events must have worried you. I couldn’t rest; I flew back all night.” I opened my mouth to say it wasn’t necessary, but then a light-footed figure, wearing my pajamas, rushed out of the bathroom. She threw herself into Arthur’s arms, playfully cooing. “Dr. Rosslyn, you have such strong husband energy! I love men with husband energy.” Arthur quickly pulled her off him, his voice flustered. “You’re a grown woman; stop acting like a child.” He turned to explain. “It was raining when we landed, and we got soaked. I told Amy to go home and change, but she insisted on coming with me to apologize to you. That’s why I gave her your clothes.” Amy stuck out her tongue and said to me, “Eleanor, I’ve come to apologize! Yesterday was just a joke! If you’re still worried, I’ll go on a blind date this weekend and get married quickly. I promise not to interfere with your relationship.” “Amy! Don’t be ridiculous!” Arthur exclaimed. He noticed my sarcastic smile and quickly added, “I mean, Eleanor is always gentle and kind. She’s surely forgiven you; there’s no need for you to rush into things with random men.” “Right, Eleanor? Let’s put yesterday behind us and move on, okay?” My children’s bodies were barely cold, yet he was under the fireworks, flirting with his new favorite. Now he wanted me to let it go? Of course. I offered a mocking smile: “It’s fine. I don’t care.” Anyway, you’ll both be in Africa soon. What your relationship is, where you went last night, what you did—none of it matters to me. Seeing my response, Arthur seemed to breathe a sigh of relief, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses. “It’s good that you’re being reasonable. I’ve rescheduled all my surgeries to be with you for a while. Once you’re feeling better and the children’s seventh day rites are over, I’ll go back to work.” I calmly agreed. He was their father; he should have been by their urns, observing their seventh day. A flicker of displeasure crossed Amy’s eyes. Her gaze darted, and she suddenly took the soup bowl from Arthur, walking towards me. “Eleanor, you must try Dr. Rosslyn’s seafood porridge. I had it once when Dr. Rosslyn and I went to the beach, and I said it was delicious, so Dr. Rosslyn said he’d learn to make it. I just tasted it, and it’s exactly the same.” Arthur looked at me, a hint of panic in his eyes. He always claimed his hands were for saving lives, not for cooking or chores. But last month, he started going into the kitchen after work, making a huge mess. At the time, with our children gravely ill, I was emotionally and physically exhausted. I thought he was trying to ease my burden. While cleaning up his messes, I had a bitter-sweet hope that he might cook for me and the children again. It turns out it was just to recreate Amy’s seafood porridge. The moment I smelled that fishy odor, which I utterly detested, red welts instantly appeared on my skin. I covered my mouth, recoiled a few steps, and coldly said, “I’m allergic to seafood. Take it away.” Amy suddenly fumbled, and the scalding porridge spilled onto her chest. She shrieked, tumbling down the stairs. “I’m so sorry, Eleanor, I didn’t know… W-w-w… Dr. Rosslyn, it hurts so much…” “Eleanor Hayes! Are you out of your mind?!” Arthur roared. “Amy didn’t know you were allergic. Did you really have to push her down like that?!” “I didn’t!” I retorted, suppressing aretch. “You still won’t admit it?! Could Amy have just spilled the porridge herself?” His gaze was filled with disgust. “You look like a madwoman now.” He swept Amy into his arms and headed out. “I’m warning you, remove my and Amy’s names from that list immediately! Otherwise, you’ll regret it!” I naturally ignored his threats. The third-party management company called, informing me they had taken full control. All personnel matters were handled, and the transfer list for the African branch was finalized. I was pleased with their efficiency, only instructing them to investigate the operating room surveillance footage from the day of the children’s surgery. I couldn’t access it before because Arthur blocked me. His loyal HR team all made excuses when I tried. Now, no one could stop me. The management staff checked the surveillance, then called back a few minutes later, their tone apologetic. “The surveillance video from that day has been deleted.” My hand gripping the phone went white. Who deleted it was obvious. To protect his precious intern, he would do anything. “But don’t worry, our technicians can try to recover it.” I breathed a sigh of relief, immediately promising double bonuses to everyone if they succeeded. The moment the list was announced, my phone exploded. The doctors who once called me “Ms. Hayes, thank you for helping me become a doctor” now sent messages filled with curses. “Eleanor Hayes, you can’t catch your lover’s mistress, so you’re taking it out on us. Don’t think you can make me a scapegoat. I’ll expose your actions to the media. I will not pay you any money, and I will not go to Africa.” “Ms. Hayes, please have mercy on me. I’m getting married soon and have a mortgage. Don’t drag us into your issues with Dr. Rosslyn.” “Old hag, just you wait. When Dr. Rosslyn divorces you and my best friend takes your place, we’ll see how you throw your weight around then.” I looked up each of their profiles and sent them to the management company. “Calculate how much I spent on training each person. If they don’t want to go to Africa, then according to the contract, they owe three times the compensation.” I was being merciful. Training a doctor isn’t easy, and it’s not easy for them to become good doctors. I didn’t want to ruin them; I just wanted what I was owed. Seeing the list was genuinely finalized, and his and Amy’s names were still on it, Arthur finally couldn’t sit still. When I answered the phone, his voice was barely suppressing his rage. “How long are you going to keep this up? Do you have to cause so much resentment that the hospital grinds to a halt before you’re satisfied? Do you know how many surgeries are scheduled today? How do you expect these doctors on the list to work calmly?” “This is a hospital, a place of healing, not where you throw tantrums. Take down the announcement immediately, and come to the hospital to apologize to everyone! And pay each person a year’s performance bonus as compensation!” I calmly replied, “They signed funding contracts, agreeing to obey any hospital transfer orders. If they can’t work normally after a transfer order, it means they are unfit to be doctors.” On the other end, he started to pant, muttering a few curses. “You’re crazy! Fine, since you won’t listen to reason, don’t blame me for getting serious.” “Eleanor Hayes, remember, you started this.” He hung up, but I felt no satisfaction, only bitterness and sorrow. I had tried so hard to convince myself that he wasn’t unloving towards me or the children, but merely cold by nature. But now, I saw his anger, his loss of control. It turns out he truly never loved us. I wasted ten years, alongside a man who didn’t love me, watching him cause the deaths of my two children. … I ignored all the insults. Arthur, as if to provoke me, began his public retaliation. He openly brought Amy to various academic conferences and galas. They wore matching outfits, holding hands while giving interviews. At the launch event for a project I had funded and successfully developed, he even declared: “Amy made significant contributions to this project; without her, its success would have been impossible.” They exchanged a knowing smile, captured by the media. The photos were published with the headline: “Cardiac Specialist Dr. Arthur Rosslyn and Wife Appear at Research Launch Event.” “Exceptional Love, Creating a Legacy.” He retweeted the news, simply stating, “New drug launch, very happy.” But he said nothing about the reporter mistakenly identifying Amy as his wife. The comments section was filled with praise for them as a couple, or congratulations. Some questioned: “Dr. Rosslyn, isn’t this inappropriate?” But a second later, the comment was deleted. I calmly finished reading, took a screenshot, and sent it to my lawyer. Perhaps my lack of reaction made them feel it was pointless. Someone sent me a leaked video. In the changing room, Amy’s scalded chest was exposed, and Arthur was applying medication with a cotton swab. Amy whimpered, “Dr. Rosslyn, it hurts so much. Why don’t you just use your fingers to apply the medicine?” Arthur’s Adam’s apple bobbed; he dropped the swab. The video ended there. The sender then sent a laughing emoji. “Eleanor, don’t misunderstand, it’s just a dressing change.” I calmly replied, “I won’t.” Anyway, they’re both going to Africa; I don’t care what they do. On the seventh day after the children’s passing, I specifically decorated our home with an Ultraman theme. Their greatest wish had been to have an Ultraman-themed birthday party. They had waited so long, but every year Arthur would reject it: “Why bother with decorations, just making the house a mess. A cake is enough.” But even for their birthdays, he rarely stayed to eat cake with them. He always said he was busy, no time for the children. Yet he had time to spend a whole day with Amy at Disneyland. My children, who struggled so hard to come into this world, deserved at least one birthday celebration they loved. With tear-filled eyes, I sang “Happy Birthday” over and over again in front of their urns. My phone rang. It was someone from the management company, their voice urgent: “Something’s happened. Please check online. Dr. Rosslyn, along with other hospital doctors, is planning a public strike against you.” I opened my phone to a video posted on Arthur’s private account. He was in a suit, Amy by his side, his face stern as he spoke: “Although Eleanor Hayes is my wife, I cannot stand by and watch her continue this madness.” “Ever since our children’s surgery failed, she has been wildly accusing me of killing my own children, even dragging in my student, anesthesiologist Amy Davies, who assisted in the surgery, slandering her with vile rumors. When hospital doctors spoke up to defend us, she retaliated by forcing them to transfer to Africa, demanding exorbitant severance fees from those who refused.” “Because this matter affects the future of us doctors, I am, along with the doctors persecuted in this incident, announcing a strike. All surgeries will be halted! Until Eleanor Hayes comes forward to apologize to us and compensate everyone for their emotional distress during this time. Especially my student Amy Davies; she must personally kneel and apologize to her!” Amy, her eyes red, choked out: “Eleanor, please stop slandering me. Don’t send me to Africa; I’m my parents’ only daughter.” The comments section was filled with cries from patients’ families, begging me to apologize. “My father’s surgery really can’t be delayed any longer; he’ll die if it is.” “Please, Ms. Hayes, just apologize. I’ll kneel for you. My daughter’s condition can only be saved by Dr. Rosslyn.” I clenched my phone tightly, my calm heart finally tearing apart. Arthur’s call came in, laced with threat: “Eleanor, you don’t want to ruin your reputation and destroy the hospital, do you?” I screamed, heartbroken, “You bastard! Arthur Rosslyn, you damn bastard!” “Didn’t I give them a choice?! The contract states either three years of support at the branch hospital or pay the penalty! They agreed to this voluntarily! How dare they strike with you just because they refuse to honor their contracts! Haven’t you killed enough of my children? Are you going to kill more people?! How dare you call yourself a doctor, how dare you call yourself a human being!” It was the first time I had ever cursed him like that, and Arthur was stunned for a few seconds. But then he impatiently said, “You’re truly insane! I told you, the children died because they had bad luck! No one harmed them! You’re just delusional!” “If you don’t want to see those patients die, then kneel and apologize and compensate! As long as you say you were delusional, that you misunderstood me and Amy, that everything about me and Amy was a rumor you spread, and you withdraw the transfer list for Africa, we will start the surgeries.” “And you have to say you’re seriously ill and need to go to a mental institution for treatment, and change the hospital’s responsible person to me…” I snarled, “Dream on! Arthur Rosslyn! Go to hell and have your beautiful dreams there!” “Everything I’ve done is compliant. Why should I apologize? Did I force you and Amy to go to Disneyland? Did I hold you down to make you kiss her, touch her chest?!” “She used the wrong anesthesia dosage, killing my son, and you protected her, deleted the surgical monitoring records! You two despicable lovers, go to hell and atone for my children’s deaths!” Arthur gasped, “You’re truly insane… I can’t talk sense into you.” “Go to hell!” I viciously threw my phone to the ground, stomping on it several times. Outside the door, a series of frantic knocks. The next second, a group of people burst in. “Damn it, it’s this bitch who’s messing with the doctors, dragging so many patients down! Bitch, go to hell!” They tore at my clothes, slapped my face, and kicked my stomach. I clutched the urns in my arms tightly. But someone snatched them away. “No!!” I shrieked, rushing to get them back. But I could only watch helplessly as the urns were smashed to the ground, my children’s ashes scattering instantly. “You bitch! You care so much about your two unlucky kids, I’ll scatter their ashes to make you suffer, to show you what pain is!” I rushed forward, my eyes bloodshot, but they dragged me back. Arthur and Amy walked in. Seeing the chaotic scene, his first reaction was to protect Amy. He looked at me, covered in blood, his expression complex, his voice a little anxious. “Eleanor, stop being so stubborn! Just apologize, and everything will be fine! They are all doctors and patients’ families. If you just do as I say, everything can be settled!” My mouth full of blood, I shrieked, “Dream on! I won’t let you two get away with this! I’ll make you regret it!” Suddenly, police sirens wailed, and a group of officers stormed into the house. “Trespassing, assault, everyone back to the station!” The group of people cried for help: “Dr. Rosslyn, save us!” Arthur immediately stepped forward: “Misunderstanding, misunderstanding, I’m the owner, she’s my wife… This is just a domestic dispute.” I leaned against the wall, stood up, and shrieked to correct him: “He is not my husband! We are already divorced!” “I am formally pressing charges against him! For maliciously instructing others to break into my home and commit violent assault!” “I will make every single one of them pay!”

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The moment I realized I was just the villainess in a book, destined for a tragic end, I immediately adjusted my strategy. I started playing the role of a docile girlfriend in front of the man who supported me, no longer flying off the handle like before, nor constantly checking up on him. Even during intimate moments, I was unusually compliant. My goal became crystal clear: to continuously extract money from him. He, poor naive soul, actually believed I had truly changed, turning sweet and obedient. He had no idea I was secretly siphoning off his assets, to the point where his house was almost emptied of its contents. Finally, the day came when I had enough funds. I left him a note filled with mockery. It read: “Don’t flatter yourself. Your skills in bed are pathetic, you old geezer!” Another line said: “I was miserable with you!” The final sentence: “I’m off to find the next guy who’s willing to spend money on me!” 1 Tom’s friends all said I was the most demanding kept woman they’d ever seen. Not only did I dare to slap my sugar daddy, but if he came home late and disturbed my sleep, I’d lock him out directly. It was absolutely scandalous. Every time they thought Tom was finally going to kick me to the curb, he’d turn around and apologize to me. His friends were utterly baffled. “What kind of spell has that woman cast on you?” Tom would just offer a faint smile. “None of your damn business.” Another time, during a boys’ night out, they got so caught up in the fun they lost track of time. By the time they snapped back to reality, it was already half past midnight. Usually, if Tom wasn’t home by midnight, he’d be bombarded with my furious calls, but tonight, there was complete silence. His friend, Jackson Vance, was the first to voice his shock. “Well, well, is the sun rising in the west today? Why isn’t your little drama queen calling you home?” Tom glanced at his empty phone, a frown creasing his brow. Then, out of habit, he tapped to check his messages and his frown instantly softened. “She must have fallen asleep, tired from shopping.” When he’d checked his messages, Jackson had also leaned over for a look. His eyes widened in disbelief. The receipts scrolling endlessly suggested Luna had bought enough to empty half a department store. “Holy hell, you’d think she went on a shopping spree, but it looks more like a robbery! She bought way too much, didn’t she?” Tom lazily lifted his gaze to Jackson. “It’s not your money, why are you so worried? Only useless men complain about women spending too much.” Jackson: … After that personal attack, Tom casually stood up, phone in hand. “You guys carry on, I’m going home.” It was a small incident, and Tom didn’t think much of it. He just assumed I was genuinely tired and had forgotten to check up on him. But he had no idea that I would never bother him again. 2 The pop-up comments appeared today at noon. Tom, as usual, had gone to the office, and I woke up just in time for lunch. As I was eating, a stream of words suddenly appeared before my eyes. [This villainess lives the life of a goddess; no work, everything she wants, she really is enjoying herself.] [So what? She’s just a kept woman, no official status.] [It’s all temporary anyway. The female lead comes online in a week, and then she’ll be out of the picture.] [The male and female leads have an undeniable attraction; the moment the female lead appears, the male lead will be instantly drawn to her. The villainess can just wait to be kicked out.] [The thought of the villainess eventually fighting with stray dogs for food just makes me laugh.] After reading the comments, I realized that I was merely the villainess in a novel. Tom was the male lead, and the female lead would appear in a week, the two of them quickly falling in love. And I would be utterly humiliated, suffering a miserable fate. Honestly, my first reaction was to call Tom and give him an earful. Cheating before we even broke up? Was I just a pawn in their game? I picked up my phone, but before I could dial, the comments started scrolling again. [The villainess is causing trouble again. She has to bother the male lead about every little thing, he must be so annoyed.] [Right, a kept woman trying to control her sugar daddy. She really thinks she’s the lawful wife.] [It’s fine, let her make a scene. The more she makes a fuss, the more gracious and sensible the female lead will appear, and the more the male lead will despise her.] [The male lead only finds her fresh right now. The moment the female lead appears, he’ll dump her immediately.] [I say, the villainess should hurry up and save some money, so she doesn’t end up homeless, unable to afford food.] Luna pondered this. Though the comments were insulting, they inadvertently gave me some inspiration. Wasn’t I only Tom’s kept woman for the money? Realizing this, I quickly put down my phone and adjusted my mindset. I wouldn’t make a big scene as the comments suggested. I would save money, and then, when the female lead appeared, I would mercilessly dump Tom. Since he wanted to humiliate me, I would humiliate him first! I’d make him the first sugar daddy in their circle to be dumped by his kept woman. After lunch, I headed straight to the mall, sweeping through boutiques, picking out only the most expensive items. Tom was generous; the several cards he gave me had no limits. Spending felt effortless. On the way back, the comments, as expected, were berating me again. [This villainess is such a spendthrift, blowing twenty million in one afternoon. Does she even know how hard the male lead works for his money?] [Our female lead is so much better; she’s considerate and understanding of the male lead. A mutually devoted relationship is the sweetest.] [Our female lead is thrifty and good at managing a home, unlike this villainess who only knows how to spend the male lead’s money.] [Am I the only one who envies her? She gets the guy, she spends the money. Can’t I play for two episodes?] [Why envy her? A gold-digger will never find true love.] I rolled my eyes. Was true love some amazing thing? I might not get true love, but I was getting cold, hard cash! After a busy evening, I listed all the items I bought today on a resale website to convert them into money. Checking the time, it was already past midnight. Tom still wasn’t back. I instinctively reached for my phone to call him, then thought better of it and put it down. For now, I needed to act docile and keep him happy to get more money. Just as I thought that, I heard a sound from the entryway. Tom was home. 3 If it had been before, Tom coming home so late would have certainly found him locked out. But today, the door wasn’t just open; I was there to greet him. I held out his slippers, hung up his coat, and even offered him a glass of water with a look of concern. “Would you like some water?” Tom stood in the entryway, motionless for a good while, his expression quite peculiar. “Sweetheart, which foot should I enter with today?” Me: … “If it makes you happy, you can come in with both feet at once.” Tom: … In the end, he opted to step in with his left foot first. Then he took the glass of water from my hand, his gaze suspicious. “Sweetheart, are you angry with me?” “I… I forgot to check the time today. I’ll definitely be home on time next time.” I blinked, smiling sweetly. “It’s fine. You’re all busy normally, and it’s rare for you to get together. From now on, there’s no curfew. Come home whenever you like.” “Oh, right, I’ve drawn your bath, and your robe is warmed. Go take a shower.” Then I even kissed him on the cheek. “You’re really not angry?” “Of course not.” Tom was silent for a few seconds, then went to shower, glancing back at me every few steps. [Why did the villainess change her personality? Why isn’t she causing trouble anymore?] [The male lead’s expression is like he’s seen a ghost. It shows how badly the villainess treated him usually.] [Who cares? She’ll be kicked out when the female lead comes online in a week anyway.] [Even if she’s not causing trouble now, she’ll still have to step aside when the female lead appears.] [Our female lead is gentle and considerate, a million times better than this drama queen villainess.] I glanced at the comments, unconcerned. I was busy changing into the new “battle attire” I’d bought today. When Tom emerged from the bathroom and his eyes fell on me, his breathing hitched. It was a sheer lavender slip, his favorite style. I actively hooked my arms around his neck. “Honey, I spent twenty million of yours today. You’re not angry, are you?” Tom paused for a moment, then raised an eyebrow. “Is that all? Spend it if you want to. As long as you’re happy.” I quickly kissed his lips again. “Then could you transfer some more money to me?” “Even though the cards you gave me have no limits, you always know whenever I buy something. I have no privacy. I want to prepare some surprises for you.” Tom’s Adam’s apple bobbed. His gaze grew deeper. When he spoke again, his voice was husky. “Let’s get to business first. I’ll transfer it tomorrow.” [Ugh, why is it a black screen? Are they treating us as outsiders?] [Dare you show us something spicy for your esteemed members?] [Hello, 911? I want to report something. Don’t ask what I’m reporting, I just need to report it.] … 4 I woke up the next day, and Tom was already gone. Checking my phone, I saw a transfer of fifty million in my account. My heart was deeply content. [Can the villainess really not let me live her life for two days? The male lead is truly generous to her.] [Honestly, I’m starting to doubt the male lead will fall in love with the female lead.] [The person above clearly hasn’t read the later chapters. This is nothing. After the female lead appears, the male lead truly becomes a doting husband.] [Can the villainess just get off screen already? It’s annoying enough being broke, but seeing someone you dislike making money is even more irritating.] I ignored these comments and went downstairs to arrange for the housekeeper to make a few of Tom’s favorite dishes. Then I timed it perfectly and sent them to his office. Tom had just finished a meeting and looked slightly surprised to see me. “It’s so hot today, why did you come all this way?” I stepped aside to reveal the beautifully arranged dishes behind me. “To have lunch with you, of course.” He stared at me with a complex expression for several seconds. “You… came all this way just to bring me lunch?” “Yes, come on, eat before it gets cold.” Tom sat down beside me. Seeing a plate of shrimp on the table, he instinctively reached for a glove. I quickly intervened. “Let me do it, let me do it. You just eat.” With that, I put on the glove and started peeling shrimp. Tom watched the peeled shrimp in his bowl for a moment, then shifted his gaze to my face. “Sweetheart, did I do something to upset you?” “No, why?” His eyes were filled with scrutiny. “Really, nothing?” “Then why have you been so strange these past two days?” I looked up at him. “Strange how?” Tom remained silent, still looking at me as if I’d been possessed. I thought for a moment, then lowered my head. “Okay, I want you to help me buy an apartment downtown.” “A small one would be fine, somewhere I can stay when I want some alone time.” He frowned. “Why do you want to be alone?” I secretly peeked at him. “I’m afraid you’ll get annoyed if I’m too clingy. Don’t people say personal space is important?” This reason sounded perfectly logical. But Tom wasn’t buying it. “Who’s been talking nonsense to you? Jackson Vance?” I paused, about to shake my head and deny it, then suddenly remembered that jerk Jackson, who always called me a drama queen in front of Tom. This was a perfect chance to get some revenge before I left. So I lowered my head and said nothing, just continued peeling shrimp into his bowl. Tom grabbed my wrist, coldly pulled off my glove, and found a wet wipe to clean my hand. “You can buy the apartment, but you can’t move out.” “Of course I won’t move out,” I said, my face full of sincerity. “I’ll just go there for half a day occasionally. I’ll definitely come home at night. You know, I can’t sleep without you.” Tom’s expression finally softened a little. I struck while the iron was hot. “How about you just give me the cash directly? I want to pick out a place I like myself.” “Fine, I’ll have my assistant handle it later.” I almost laughed out loud but managed to hold it in. “Thank you, honey.” The comments were already flying. [Arghhh, this villainess is so manipulative! No wonder the male lead is completely fooled by her.] [Male lead, wake up, she’s playing you!!] [This villainess is completely obsessed with money, everything she says is about cash.] [Can we fast forward? I don’t want to see her enjoying life, I just want to see her get slammed.] With a large sum of money in my account, even the comments didn’t bother me as much. After lunch, I left. Tom watched me enter the elevator, then picked up his phone and sent a message to Jackson Vance. [Talk nonsense to her again, and don’t blame me for falling out with you.] Jackson Vance, who was currently playing golf: ? Oh heavens, tell me, who is righteous and who is treacherous! 5 In the following days, I completely transformed into a docile and sensible kept woman. No more checking up on him, no more tantrums, no more late-night calls urging him home. I even frequently went to his office to bring him lunch and accompanied him to gatherings. Tom’s friends all said I’d turned over a new leaf. Jackson Vance was even more exaggerated; once, when he saw me at a party, he literally walked three circles around me, as if I were some rare animal. “Luna, have you been possessed by some unclean spirit?” He even sprinkled water on me, like performing an exorcism. I smiled gently. “How could I be? I just realized I should be kinder to Tom.” “After all, he is my sugar daddy.” “You really think that? Then why are you rolling your eyes at me?” “You saw wrong.” Jackson was about to say more, but Tom shot him a warning glance. He shut up. While they chatted, I played on my phone. When I overheard them talking about cars, a sudden idea sparked in my mind, a perfect excuse to ask for more money. I immediately linked my arm through Tom’s. “Honey, have you been very busy these past few days? You haven’t had much time to spend with me.” “How about you buy me a car too? That way, when I’m bored, I can just drive out for a spin myself.” The moment the words left my lips, all eyes in the private room focused on Tom. His friends all knew I had transferred over a hundred million from Tom recently. So, they all expected Tom to refuse this request for a car. At the very least, he should argue a little. But Tom simply nodded coolly. “Sure, do you want me to recommend one?” I immediately pulled out my phone. “No, no, I think this Pagani is quite nice.” Jackson Vance spat out a mouthful of drink. “That thing is over twenty million!” Tom glanced at him, then pulled out his phone. “Buy it.” “Thank you, honey!” [Excuse me, is our currency not the same? Why is buying a car like buying cabbage?] [I’m genuinely jealous. A Pagani, just like that? Is twenty million a common number or something?] [The money the villainess has spent this month is enough for me to live ten lifetimes.] [Suddenly, I kind of hope the female lead doesn’t appear so quickly. Let the villainess spend more money, it’s so satisfying to watch.] Heh heh. Looking at the money that had landed in my account, I felt pretty good too. I quickly calculated: I currently had a total cash flow of two hundred and thirty million. Enough to buy a small island overseas. Counting the days, the female lead should be appearing soon. Time to start planning my escape. Before I ran, I still had one important thing to do. That was to empty Tom’s villa. Ever since Tom and I got together, I’d been living in this hillside villa. From the items to the layout, everything was something we’d chosen together. Secretly, I didn’t want anyone else living here. Anyway, Tom had so much money and so many properties, he wouldn’t miss this one. Moving required enough time, and I couldn’t be discovered in the middle of it. I was just wondering how to subtly get him out of the way when he suddenly told me he had to go to Crestwood for a business trip. It was from the comments that I learned the female lead was coming. The day Tom left for his trip, his car had barely pulled away before I called in moving professionals. The antique vases in the living room? Gone. The famous paintings and calligraphy in the study? Gone. The vintage wines in the cellar? Gone. I even packed away all his limited-edition watches, not a single one left. The comments watched for a while, then finally realized what was happening. [Hahahahaha, the villainess is making a run for it.] [Will the male lead go crazy when he gets back?] [The male lead comes home from his business trip and finds only the load-bearing walls left. Poor guy.] [Wait, isn’t this stealing? Can’t they call the police?] [I’m actually looking forward to the male lead’s reaction now.]

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During summer break, I interned at a top law firm, mentored by an industry legend. He had just won a major case. At the celebration party, however, he tore into me for a single punctuation mark in my report, leaving me utterly humiliated. I hid in the restroom, quietly crying, when I overheard him on the phone: “If I don’t treat her harshly, my dad will actually marry her and make her my stepmother.” 01 My hand, holding a tissue, trembled violently. For months, I had been working like a maniac, staying up late, meticulously refining every case. My internship output rivaled that of a permanent employee, all to prove I deserved this job. But now, I was being misunderstood by the very person I idolized. I splashed cold water on my face, forcing myself to calm down. As I stepped out of the restroom, I ran straight into Aditya Pemberton. The moment he saw me, his eyes instantly hardened with disgust and contempt. I took a deep breath, suppressing my emotions. “Mr. Pemberton, regarding the citation format in this morning’s report, I followed the standard template. If you believe I made a mistake, I’d like to inquire about the specific guidelines.” He scoffed. “Mina Miller, Pemberton & Co. is not where we teach you literacy. If you can’t even reflect on these basics, and require me to hold your hand, you should consider dropping out of law school.” His voice wasn’t loud, but it was enough for several passing colleagues to hear. With that, he walked directly to my workstation. Before I could react, he slammed a stack of dusty, decades-old case files, almost waist-high, heavily onto my desk. The force was so great that the top few files scattered across the floor, raising a cloud of dust. “Digitize and index all of these before nine tomorrow morning.” The loud “thud” and scattered documents drew the attention of the entire office. This was manual labor even the lowest-tier administrative assistants disdained. My colleagues looked on with complex emotions; some sympathy, but mostly schadenfreude and indifferent amusement. I knelt, silently picking up the scattered files. Fiona Vance walked over, perfectly timed, carrying a cup of coffee. “Mina, Mr. Pemberton is strict with everyone, don’t take it to heart.” Her voice was delicate, but her words were barbed. “Oh, everyone’s actually wondering, if you… used some special connections to get into Pemberton & Co.? After all, it’s the first time Mr. Pemberton has personally mentored an intern.” Her words were like honeyed poison, implying that I was here not because of ability, but some shady connection. I ignored her, gathered the files, and buried myself in the tedious work. Late at night, the entire floor was empty save for me and the mound of musty case files. My phone screen lit up; it was Henry Pemberton calling. “Mina, are you settling in at Pemberton & Co.? Aditya can be a bit stiff; he hasn’t made things too difficult for you, has he?” Mr. Pemberton’s voice was as warm and concerned as ever. I forced a smile. “Uncle, everything’s fine. Mr. Pemberton is demanding, but I’ve learned a lot of practical things.” “That’s good. Your mother’s gone, and I promised her I’d look after you. If anything bothers you, remember to tell your uncle.” “Of course, Uncle. You should get some rest.” As I hung up, tears finally streamed down uncontrollably. Henry Pemberton was my mother’s college classmate. Over the years, he had looked after our family like a guardian. After my mother’s passing, he even took on the responsibility of my legal guardian. “Truly a devoted father and filial daughter, profoundly touching.” Aditya Pemberton’s voice suddenly came from behind me. I spun around, startled. He had appeared behind me at some point. “Mr. Pemberton.” I hastily wiped away my tears. “Don’t call me Mr. Pemberton. Shouldn’t you be calling me ‘Aditya’?” He stepped closer, his voice laced with sarcasm. “After all, your meticulous schemes are all just to become my stepmother, to legitimately take over the Pemberton family, aren’t they?” I clenched my jaw, my voice hoarse. “You misunderstand, I never…” “Misunderstand?” He suddenly lunged closer, snatching my phone. Seeing the name “Uncle Henry” in my call history, he scoffed. “Dare you say you didn’t join Pemberton & Co. to get closer to my father? Dare you say you’re enduring this quietly now, not to play the role of a diligent, aspiring underdog, supposedly bullied by me, in front of my father?” “Or are you trying to exploit your mother’s past connection with him, to cling to the Pemberton family like a parasite, sucking them dry for life?” My eyes instantly reddened, the immense humiliation almost making me lose my footing. He wasn’t just insulting me; he was trampling on my mother’s memory. “I didn’t! I just want to complete my internship properly, to work diligently!” “Properly intern?” He laughed as if I’d said the most ridiculous thing. “Then explain why my father would make an exception to arrange this position for you? Why he’s warned me time and again to ‘look after’ you? Why the way he looks at you goes far beyond a mere concern for an old friend’s daughter?” I opened my mouth, but found myself speechless, unable to explain Uncle Henry’s motivations. “Can’t explain it?” His voice grew colder. He suddenly reached out, grabbing the legal opinion memo on my desk— the one I had stayed up two nights revising— And tore it into shreds right in front of me. “Mina Miller, let me tell you, no matter what despicable methods you use, I will not let you succeed.” “You want to be my stepmother, Aditya Pemberton’s stepmother? A woman as manipulative and deceitful as you, isn’t fit to be a servant in my household.” The paper fragments scattered like snowflakes on the floor, utterly shattering my last shred of self-respect. “Oh, and about those files, if they’re not done by the time I arrive tomorrow morning, you’re out of Pemberton & Co. immediately.” With that, he turned and left without looking back. 02 It was three in the morning, and the stack of old case files on my desk was like a mountain. These weren’t ordinary files; they were from the Hayes Group case, a case as complex as an inescapable labyrinth. I flipped through the yellowed documents page by page, my eyelids heavy, threatening to close. Suddenly, a file marked “Closed” made me stop. The timeline of the key evidence had a clear loophole, a fatal flaw that could overturn the original verdict. I grew more and more excited as I read, my heart pounding. If my deductions were correct, it could shake the entire legal world, and force the original winning party to pay massive damages. I stayed up all night writing a detailed analysis report, each word filled with passion, clearly articulated. The next morning, with an almost reverent feeling, I knocked on Aditya Pemberton’s office door. He was the firm’s ace; only through him could I have a chance. “Mr. Pemberton, I have an important discovery.” He didn’t look up, reviewing a document. “What is it?” I handed him the report. “ This is a re-analysis of the Hayes Group case. I’ve found a critical loophole in the evidence that could overturn the verdict.” He finally looked up, his eyes cold. He took the report, merely glancing at the cover, a smile I couldn’t decipher playing on his lips. Then, right in front of me, he tore the report page by page, tossing it into the trash can. “Mina Miller,” his voice was devoid of warmth, “Your father’s failure back then was due to his incompetence. And you, as his daughter, seem to have inherited that same overestimation of self.” I froze. How did he know…? “An intern should act like an intern. Your job is to make coffee and photocopy, don’t keep dreaming of shortcuts, especially don’t touch cases you’re not qualified to touch.” His words were like poison-tipped ice shards, chilling me to the bone. Not only was I rejected, but my deepest wound was exposed. I dragged my heavy feet back to my workstation, the flicker of hope in my heart completely extinguished. In the afternoon, the firm held a senior partner meeting. I sat in the corner, responsible for taking minutes. Aditya Pemberton stood in the center of the conference room; under the spotlight, he was in high spirits. “Ladies and gentlemen, regarding the Hayes Group case from three years ago, I recently made a groundbreaking discovery.” My hand trembled violently. “Through extremely complex cross-referencing, I found a loophole in the timeline of the critical evidence at the time. This means the entire basis of the case’s judgment was flawed.” Every word he said, every data point, was exactly the same as in my report. He even claimed my report’s logical deductions were the result of his “sleepless months of work.” Thunderous applause erupted in the conference room. “Mr. Pemberton is truly a beacon in the legal world!” “A formidable talent! To unearth new opportunities in such a long-closed case!” I sat there, my blood running cold. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my flesh, the taste of blood filling my mouth. But I couldn’t stand up, because I knew, Here, Aditya Pemberton’s words were truth, And I, Mina Miller, was merely a backdrop. After the meeting, I fought back my breakdown and returned to my workstation. Fiona Vance walked over with a cup of coffee. “ Mina, Mr. Pemberton’s presentation was truly brilliant. You must have learned so much by his side.” Her tone was full of boastfulness. I ignored her, lowering my head to organize the sole original piece of evidence for tomorrow’s court appearance. “Oops!” The scalding coffee splashed precisely onto the hand holding the evidence. The piercing pain made me drop it instantly, and that crucial original bank statement, was completely soaked in dark brown liquid, the key information blurred. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to!” Fiona shrieked in feigned panic, but her eyes sparkled with triumph. The court appearance was tomorrow; this was the client’s only chance for a turnaround. “Mina, your hand is covered in blisters, hurry to the hospital!” “No need.” I gritted my teeth, looking at the destroyed original, my heart filled with despair. The next day, in court. Because the critical evidence was damaged, combined with the intense burning pain in my hand, my statements were illogical and I frequently stumbled. The opposing lawyer pressed relentlessly, and the judge’s face grew increasingly displeased. In the gallery, Aditya Pemberton, in front of everyone, harshly reprimanded: “Mina Miller! Pemberton & Co. does not harbor incompetence! If you can’t even manage basic evidence safekeeping, how can you expect the client to trust you?” He paused, his gaze sweeping the room, his voice filled with contempt and insinuation: “Don’t you know how you got into Pemberton & Co., yourself? Don’t think you can make it in the legal world just by relying on a bit of charm!” His words were like a public slap in the face, confirming the rumors within the firm about me “using connections to get ahead.” My face burned crimson, the shame and anger made me wish I could die on the spot. 03 The next day was Henry Pemberton’s birthday. He called me personally. “Mina, you must come this time. You are my most important family.” His voice held an undeniable firmness, and a touch of warmth I had longed for. I agreed, filled with anticipation. I dug out an antique fountain pen my father used when he was young. It wasn’t expensive, but it held our shared memories. I thought, this is the kind of gift “family” should exchange. In the banquet hall, I wore a simple white dress, looking out of place amidst the glittering opulence. As soon as I stepped in, I saw Fiona Vance, the center of attention. She wore a custom-made champagne-colored gown, surrounded by a circle of admirers around Henry Pemberton. “Uncle Henry, this is a limited edition Patek Philippe I specially chose for you.” Fiona presented the gift box with both hands, the diamonds almost blinding me. A chorus of compliments rose, everyone praising her filial piety and thoughtfulness. Henry Pemberton beamed, taking the watch and putting it on immediately, rubbing it repeatedly: “Fiona, you’re too extravagant, but Uncle loves it.” I clutched my simple little gift box, my nails digging into my palm. In front of a million-dollar watch, my heartfelt gesture seemed so pathetic. I forced myself to walk over. “Uncle, happy birthday.” He took it, opening it in front of everyone. Seeing the old fountain pen, his brow visibly furrowed. “This is… a pen my father used to use.” I tried to explain. “Pfft.” Fiona couldn’t help but chuckle. She stepped closer, feigning surprise as she picked up the pen, showing it to those around us. “Oh my, Mina, is this pen an archaeological find? It’s so rusty. Uncle Henry’s big birthday, and you give him this?” Undisguised laughter erupted from the crowd. “Giving junk as a gift?” “Is she here to gross out Mr. Pemberton?” Henry Pemberton’s face completely darkened. Just as he was about to say something, Fiona “accidentally” dropped the pen. With a “clink,” the old pen fell onto the polished marble floor. The ink sac seemed to have cracked, a tiny bit of dried ink seeping out. My heart shattered along with it. “Uncle Henry, I’m so sorry, my hand slipped.” Fiona apologized without sincerity. Henry Pemberton didn’t even glance at the pen on the floor, saying coldly to me: “Mina, go sit down over there for now.” I numbly found a corner and sat down. Henry Pemberton, as if his mood had been spoiled by me, went out with a gloomy face. Just then, Aditya Pemberton went on stage to give a speech. “Thank you all for attending my father’s birthday banquet.” His gaze swept coldly across the room, finally fixing on me. “I also hope my father can always stay clear-headed and not be swayed by some people’s ulterior motives and cheap flattery. After all, not everyone is worthy of being part of my Pemberton family.” Cheap flattery? Not worthy of being family? Every word felt like a public execution. Aditya walked off the stage, holding a glass of red wine, and headed straight for me. I had a premonition of something bad, wanting to get up and avoid him. “Mina, coming to a banquet, why are you dressed so plainly?” He blocked my path, a malicious smile playing on his lips. The next second, he flicked his wrist. “Splash—” A full glass of chilled red wine poured precisely over my head.

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1 My specialty? Breaking hearts. Especially the kind of women who talk about “brotherhood” but secretly lust after someone else’s man. The whole circle was waiting for me to fall, thinking I, once the shadow power behind Ashworth Corp, had lost my edge. That consultant sneered at me, “You’re just the boss’s sister, not his wife.” She despised high fashion, wore fatigues, clung to Edward Ashworth, and even crashed in his private suite. I returned from three years in Europe to find this ex-military consultant by his side. I was the one who tamed that wild wolf cub. Edward’s severe insomnia? Only my special essential oil blend could make him sleep. Everyone knows the ruthless Edward Ashworth fears nothing—except perhaps a single frown from his sister, me. … The grandfather clock outside the top-floor office chimed three times. I sat on a French sofa, idly toying with a cold metal lighter. Neil, the chief assistant, pushed open the door. Despite the frigid hallway, his forehead was slick with cold sweat. “Ms. Ashworth, Mr. Ashworth… stayed at the office again tonight.” I raised the black coffee before me and took a sip. “Still with the same consultant, I presume?” Neil lowered his head further. “Yes. Consultant Vance said the security system upgrade has a few glitches that need to be ironed out with Mr. Ashworth overnight. She… she also said that mercenaries don’t stand on ceremony, so she’d just crash on the sofa in Mr. Ashworth’s private lounge.” I set down the coffee cup, the porcelain clinking against the glass coffee table with a dull thud. Neil’s shoulders visibly flinched. Vance. That name had been echoing through the Ashworth Tower like thunder lately. A former mercenary who’d weathered three years of gunfire overseas, she’d landed a huge security contract with Ashworth Corp. Yet, instead of staying in the five-star suite the company arranged, she practically lived in the executive office. She always wore cargo pants, her hair cut in a short, shaggy style, and never knocked before entering, claiming it was a “professional habit” from her time in war zones. Edward, surprisingly, allowed it. Just then, faint sounds of intertwined laughter – a man’s and a woman’s – drifted from the executive office. I stood up, smoothing the creases in my bespoke business suit. “Let’s go. Time to deliver Mr. Ashworth’s calming essential oil. His insomnia won’t let him break free from my concoction.” Neil hesitated, then led the way, swiping his access card to open the door. The executive office door wasn’t fully closed. As I approached, the conversation inside became distinct. “Yo, Edward, did your abs shrink recently? Office guys just can’t cut it. Come on, feel my core, is it solid or what?” It was Vance’s voice, a deliberately lowered, rough growl, full of self-important swagger. Then came Edward’s low chuckle. “Consultant Vance certainly has hidden depths.” “Damn right! When I was on missions overseas, I’d share a tent with those six-foot-three muscle-bound mercs. That’s a bullet-blocking kind of bond. Nothing like your pampered socialites back home, who need an emergency room visit for a scraped knee. So dramatic.” I pushed the door open. The scene inside unfolded before me. Edward sat at his large desk, reviewing financial reports. Vance was sprawled half-across the desk, one leg propped on the armrest of his executive chair, devouring a box of takeaway fried chicken, her mouth greasy. She was draped in Edward’s suit jacket, the oversized bespoke garment hanging loosely over her, revealing only a tight black tank top underneath. Seeing me enter, Vance paused, then tossed a chicken bone into the trash. She didn’t stand, just casually tilted her chin. “Well, well, Ms. Ashworth. Burning the midnight oil, are we? Coming to chat work with Edward?” Edward looked up, his gaze falling on the velvet box in my hand. “Miranda.” I walked over, took out the essential oil bottle, and placed it on the desk. “Time for your medicine.” Vance reached out to grab the bottle. “What kind of magic elixir is this, so precious? Let me give it a sniff for Edward. In our squad, anything ingested or inhaled goes through a security check.” I gave her a frosty look, flipping my wrist to avoid her hand. “Consultant Vance, this is a prescription essential oil.” Vance’s hand missed. She let out a dry laugh, then casually wiped her greasy fingers on the hem of Edward’s suit jacket. “No need for the sour face, Ms. Ashworth. I’m a straightforward person, don’t understand all your high-society twists and turns.” She then squeezed herself onto the armrest of Edward’s chair, her arm slinging naturally over his shoulder. “Right, Edward?” Edward didn’t push her away, just gazed at me, his dark eyes unreadable. “Miranda, Vance has a wild streak. Try to be more understanding.” 2 The following evening, the corporation hosted a banquet at a private club, a welcome for Vance’s security team. I sat to Edward’s right. Vance, dressed in a black leather jacket today, sprawled unapologetically in the main guest seat to his left. After a few rounds of drinks, Leo stood up. He was Vance’s second-in-command, a former extreme sports enthusiast and trust-fund kid who’d spent a few years overseas with Vance. Now he fancied himself enlightened, superior to everyone. “Mr. Ashworth, I believe our overseas division’s narrow escape was all thanks to Vance. Even though she’s a woman, she’s tougher than any man, a hundred times better than those delicate socialites who only know how to shop and swipe their cards, clutching their designer bags!” Leo’s challenging gaze swept directly towards me as he spoke. Several security executives exchanged uneasy glances, offering forced chuckles of agreement. Vance raised a decanter, chugging half a pint of whiskey in one go, then wiped her mouth with a flourish of bravado. “Leo, cut the crap. I just can’t stand that manipulative type. Women should stand on their own two feet. Always getting cosmetic surgery, scheming for a man’s money – it’s pathetic.” She pushed back her chair and walked to the entertainment area in the center of the private room. “Mr. Ashworth, just drinking is too dull. How about I show everyone some dart skills to liven things up?” Edward leaned back in his chair and nodded. “Go ahead.” Vance casually picked up a few professional metal darts from the table. Her movements were indeed sharp, but with every throw, the dart’s trajectory seemed to intentionally graze my side of the room. The last dart, she spun around abruptly and launched, its steel tip embedding itself directly into the solid wood paneling beside my ear. It was barely three inches from my temple. The air stirred by its flight brushed my hair. The room fell into a deathly silence. Vance clapped her hands, then burst out laughing. “Oops, Ms. Ashworth, did I scare you? My hand’s a bit heavy sometimes. If I gave Ms. Ashworth a fright, I’ll take a penalty drink.” Her words were apologetic, but her eyes gleamed with the satisfaction of provocation. I remained seated, not even a flicker in my eyelashes. “Consultant Vance’s aim and agility are certainly impressive, but her judgment seems a little off.” Vance’s face stiffened. “What do you mean by that, Ms. Ashworth? Are you looking down on us security professionals?” “I merely suggest that if Consultant Vance claims to be Mr. Ashworth’s ‘brother,’ her actions are surprisingly ill-considered. Pointing a weapon at a corporate vice president during a Ashworth banquet? In any other company, you’d be facing charges for endangering public safety.” Vance turned to Edward, pouting, affecting the air of an aggrieved comrade. “Edward, look at your sister. I told you I’m a rough-and-tumble type, don’t follow all those rules. That was a slip of the hand, not aimed at her. Is Ms. Ashworth just annoyed with me, jealous I’m stealing her thunder?” Edward put down his glass. “Miranda, Vance has had too much to drink. It was just a joke.” He avoided my gaze, then gave Vance a subtle nod. “Go back to your seat.” Vance smirked triumphantly at me, then turned and walked back. As she passed Leo, they exchanged smiles and high-fived emphatically. After the banquet, I stopped Edward in the club’s underground parking garage. “What do you think of Vance?” Edward paused, signaling his bodyguards to step back. “What are you getting at, Miranda?” “Her intentions towards you aren’t pure.” Edward chuckled softly, then lowered his head to light a cigarette. “Are you jealous, Miranda?” I looked at him. “I’m merely reminding you that business secrets and personal safety allow no one to overstep boundaries. She’s using the ‘good friend’ facade, but her actions are becoming increasingly out of line.” Edward’s cigarette-holding fingers reached out, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Miranda, you worry too much. Vance saved my life; she’s straightforward, no hidden agendas. Besides…” He lowered his head, his warm breath fanning my neck, his voice husky. “I only tolerate your scent.” I brushed his hand away. “I hope Mr. Ashworth remembers what he said today.” Edward looked at his empty hand, his eyes darkening, but he didn’t argue further, just opened the car door and got in. Watching the taillights of the Maybach disappear, only a cold smile remained in my heart. Straightforward? If she were truly straightforward, she wouldn’t deliberately wear his suit in the executive office, nor would she publicly humiliate me at a dinner. These pathetic attempts at vying for favor were games I’d grown tired of playing back when I was a teenager caught in the Ashworth family’s power struggles. 3 Two weeks after Vance joined Ashworth Corp, the calming essential oil I blended vanished. It was something Edward used every night. Only I had the formula, which contained a highly addictive substance that was difficult to extract. I pushed open the executive office door. Before I even stepped inside, I was hit by a harsh mix of strong black coffee and cheap air freshener. Inside, Vance was directing the cleaning lady to throw the special diffuser I kept on Edward’s desk into the trash. “Toss it, toss it! What’s this sissy stuff? Gives you a headache just smelling it.” I walked in, my heels clicking. “Put that down.” The cleaning lady jumped, her hand trembling, looking at me apologetically. Vance turned around, holding a cup of iced Americano. “Oh, Ms. Ashworth, you’re here. Perfect, I was just helping Edward clean out all this useless junk.” “That’s Mr. Ashworth’s calming essential oil.” “Calming? Looks more like a hypnotic poison to me.” Vance walked up to me, shaking her iced Americano. “Ms. Ashworth, men need to have some grit. Constantly sniffing these sweet, soft things dulls Edward’s wolf spirit. Overseas, when we couldn’t keep going, we’d chug black coffee and get into a couple of fights. That’s what a real man does!” I stared at her coldly. “He has severe insomnia. Stopping the medication could be dangerous.” “That’s a habit you created!” Vance’s voice rose. “Insomnia? It’s just being dramatic. Drag him to a boxing gym for ten rounds, he’ll be so exhausted he’ll sleep like a dead man the moment his head hits the pillow. Edward’s been spoiled rotten by your controlling ways.” Just then, Edward emerged from his lounge. He wore a white shirt, collar unbuttoned, his eyes shadowed with deep exhaustion – clearly he hadn’t slept well again last night. “What’s all the noise?” I pointed to the diffuser in the trash can. “Edward, Consultant Vance threw away your medicine.” Edward frowned, looking at Vance. Vance immediately walked over, bumping his shoulder in a friendly, “bro-like” gesture. “Edward, I’m doing this for your own good. All those random fragrances can damage your nerves if you smell them too much. Look how pale you are; you lack exercise. From today on, I’ll take you to the boxing gym after work. I guarantee you’ll sleep like a log.” Edward rubbed his throbbing temples. “I have been getting headaches lately.” I looked at him. “Are you keeping her theory, or the essential oil?” Edward fell silent. Vance tugged his sleeve, shaking it. “Edward, just trust your buddy this once, okay? Would I ever hurt you? We’ve got a bullet-blocking kind of bond.” Edward looked up, meeting my eyes. “Miranda, Vance means well. This medicine… perhaps we can try stopping it for a few days.” My hands, tucked into my trench coat pockets, clenched tightly. My long nails dug into my palms, a sharp sting. “You’ve made up your mind?” “Yes. I want to try Vance’s method.” Vance smugly tilted her chin at me. “Hear that? Housekeeping, get that junk out of here!” I stared at the empty desk, the last vestiges of warmth in my heart completely chilling. “In that case, I won’t disturb Mr. Ashworth’s pursuit of a good workout.” I turned and walked out of the executive office. Behind me, Vance’s undisguised voice carried clearly. “Edward, look at her cold face, like someone owes her a million dollars. It’s so much more comfortable being with us ‘brothers,’ right?” Edward didn’t answer. But I heard the rustle of him picking up his jacket. In the second basement level of the Ashworth Tower, there was a private boxing gym built specifically for Edward. Today, Leo was there too. Inside the octagonal cage, Vance and Edward, wearing boxing gloves, were sparring, punching with full force, sweat flying. When Edward rested, he sat by the ringside, subconsciously rubbing a watch on his wrist. It was an antique Patek Philippe. I’d bought it for him on his eighteenth birthday, scouring antique markets across Europe with the first bonus I’d ever earned from a project. He’d worn it ever since, never taking it off. I walked past the gym, not intending to stop. “Ms. Ashworth!” Leo, sharp-eyed, called out loudly. “Since you’re here, why not come down and offer some pointers? Oh, right, I forgot you’re a refined lady, can’t stand the sight of blood.” Vance took out her mouthguard and wiped sweat from her face. “Leo, don’t bother Ms. Ashworth. She’s a hothouse flower, never seen this kind of scene. Probably wouldn’t even dare kill a chicken.” The two of them bantered, eliciting muffled chuckles from the surrounding security personnel. Edward leaned against the railing, not saying a word to stop them, just watching me calmly from a distance. I stopped at the top of the stairs. “I certainly don’t understand the barbaric ways you choose to vent.” Vance’s face darkened. “Barbaric? Ms. Ashworth, this is strength! Without us shedding blood and fighting out there, where would you get the peace and quiet to sit in your air-conditioned office signing contracts?” With that, she swung herself over the octagonal cage railing, jumping out onto the floor. The movement was too large, and she landed with a ‘thud,’ colliding with Edward. “Ow!” Edward’s wrist slipped, and the clasp of the antique watch came undone, sending it flying. The mechanical watch arced through the air, then smashed heavily onto the hard concrete floor. A sharp crack. The watch face shattered, intricate parts scattering everywhere. The air instantly froze. I stared at the scattered pieces, my heart clenching. Edward sprang to his feet, the low pressure around him instantly dropping to freezing point, his face terrifyingly grim. Vance seemed startled too, but quickly shrugged nonchalantly. She walked over and poked the broken watch with the tip of her shoe. “Oops, it broke. Sorry, Edward, I couldn’t stop myself there.” She looked up, her face nonchalant as she gazed at Edward. “It’s just a broken watch, right? I’ll deduct it from my commission and buy you a brand new Rolex. Much cooler than this old-fashioned thing.” Edward’s eyes were fixed on the watch on the ground, his hands clenched into fists, veins bulging on his forearms. I watched him, waiting for his reaction. Waiting for him to erupt in thunderous fury. However, Leo quickly stepped in to smooth things over. “Mr. Ashworth, Vance didn’t mean it. Out with the old, in with the new, right? It’s just a watch. How can it compare to the bullet Vance took for you in the jungle?” Edward’s fists tightened, then loosened, then tightened again. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. When he opened them again, the ferocity in his gaze was forcibly suppressed. “Forget it.” His voice was terribly hoarse. “If it’s broken, it’s broken.” Vance breathed a sigh of relief, then walked over and hooked her arm around Edward’s neck with practiced ease. “That’s the spirit! Big strong man, don’t sweat over a watch. Come on, let’s get back to training!” I stood rooted to the spot, looking at the wreckage on the floor. I knew the game was over. Edward turned his head, looking at me. There was a flicker of struggle and panic in his dark eyes. “Miranda, you heard her. Vance didn’t mean it. You should go back to your office.” I slowly walked down the steps, bent down, and began to pick up the shattered watch face and pieces one by one. The sharp edges of the broken glass instantly cut my palm, tiny beads of crimson blood welling up. But I felt no pain. Only an endless coldness, spreading instantly from my feet to every fiber of my being. “Edward Ashworth.” I called him by his full name for the first time. “Do you really think this is just a broken watch?” Edward awkwardly avoided my gaze. “I’m tired. Miranda, please go.” I clutched the blood-stained pieces in my hand. “Fine.” I nodded, my voice so calm it even surprised me. “Since Mr. Ashworth finds my presence bothersome, I’ll simply vanish completely. I won’t get in the way of your ‘brotherly bond’ anymore.” I turned, walking step by step out of the gym. Behind me, Vance’s sneering laughter floated through the air. “Edward, look at her, so dramatic. It’s just a watch, what’s the big deal?” What’s the big deal? Of course, it’s a big deal. Because what shattered wasn’t just a watch. It was ten years of my effort poured into him, and the last shred of my meager patience. Back in the top-floor office, I called Neil. “Book me a flight, pack my things.” Neil was stunned. “Ms. Ashworth, where are you going? Weren’t you just done with the handover in Europe?” I tossed the blood-stained broken watch onto the desk. “To the seaside villa.” “What about Mr. Ashworth?” “Don’t tell him. Cancel all his access to my itinerary.” I looked out at the city lights, gradually dimming as night fell. “From this day forward, Ashworth Corporation will have no one named Miranda Ashworth.”

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On our wedding anniversary, Lena Dante ditched me to attend her ex-husband’s welcome dinner. The video went viral that day. Lena, usually so reserved and proud, gently embraced her ex-husband. I looked at the unknown text message on my phone: “Mr. Thompson, there was never any love between you and her, but my son needs a mother.” I chuckled. I, Alistair Thompson, the sole direct heir of the Thompson family. Anything I desired was within reach. I wouldn’t play the clown, fighting a man for a woman. 1. At the welcome dinner, photos of the couple embracing were posted online by busybodies. Rumors of the Dante family heir’s marital woes. Quickly shot to the top of the trending list. Before I could do anything. The “hot” tag that had just been there instantly vanished. Dante Corporation’s official account quickly issued a statement. And served court summons to the most aggressive commenters. All within ten minutes. After all, Lena Dante wouldn’t let anyone disrupt the alliance between the Dante and Thompson families. No sooner had I put down my phone than all the large screens across the city displayed intimate photos of Lena and me. Proclaiming my status as her rightful husband. But I found myself lost in thought, staring at the neon lighthouse. In five years, this was the first time. A woman always so meticulous, so orderly in everything she did. Had missed our anniversary. The next day, as I was about to leave. I saw Lena’s car pull into the driveway. Lena stepped out of the car, carrying an Ultraman backpack that seemed at odds with her elegant demeanor. She held a small boy by the hand. She knelt, pulling the little boy into a hug. Her eyes held a softness I had never seen before. Behind her stood a fair-skinned man in a white shirt. I recognized him, Lena’s ex-husband. She saw me by the car, paused, and then stopped. “Alistair, Tommy has to go to school here in the capital because of enrollment issues,” she said, her gaze lowered, as if explaining to me. Before I could speak, the man beside her interrupted. “Mr. Thompson, I’m sorry, I’m just a single father with my child, I really had no other choice.” I stood in my dress shoes, looking down at him, a hint of sarcasm in my demeanor. “When my wife and I are speaking, why do you interrupt?” Lena frowned but said nothing. Seeing the man’s face flush, I then turned to the somewhat serious woman. “Because of this morning’s photos, the joint ventures between the Dante and Thompson families have already dropped 10 percentage points.” My face was stern, scaring the little boy in Lena’s arms to tears. “Go away, you’re a bad uncle trying to break up my mommy and daddy!” Lena frowned, quickly patting Tommy’s back to soothe him. She looked at me with a touch of helplessness. “Alistair, it was just a hug. I’ve already arranged for someone to handle the joint venture crisis.” Her tone was resigned, but it tightened my chest. Just like the past five years. She would only protect my reputation as her husband. But it seemed she had forgotten that I also needed love. I had once taught her how to make me happy. Now, I realized. If this relationship still needed me to teach it, it was too much of a failure. “Before I return tonight, send them away.” I turned, leaving Lena with that one sentence, then drove to the office. After all, as the Thompson family heir. I didn’t have much time to waste on dealing with outsiders. I worked until late into the night. I was confident that Lena, knowing what was important, would handle the two of them. But the moment I pushed open the door, my certainty abruptly ended. “Mr. Thompson,” Ethan Davies was wearing my casual pajamas, “You’re back. I’ve asked the butler to prepare dinner for you.” My eyes narrowed. He was acting like the master of the house? I walked over, a sarcastic smile plastered on my face. I reached out and tugged at his collar. “You like wearing hand-me-downs?” Ethan’s face stiffened. Clearly, he hadn’t expected me to be completely unfazed by his provocation. “Can you give her back to me? You two don’t love each other, but my child needs his mother.” I paused my ascent up the stairs, turned, and raised an eyebrow. “Family heirs only need interests, not love,” I said with a mocking smile. “Your perspective is too narrow.” My disdainful gaze deeply wounded Ethan’s sensitive pride, his face paling. I curved my lips, preparing to leave, but the man, losing control of his emotions, blocked my way. “You know she was with me yesterday, right? But do you know what we did?” He then tapped his phone, and a hotel bedroom photo appeared on the screen. “Mr. Thompson, can you really tolerate that?” I lowered my gaze, instantly recognizing Lena Dante’s hand. The ring on that hand, I had placed it there myself. My fingers unconsciously clenched slightly. But my face remained that of the perpetually stern Thompson family scion. “Too much fine dining, sometimes you need a little wild grass, don’t you?” Ethan’s breathing hitched, his face flushing with humiliation. Back in the room, I looked at the woman who was already asleep. Her usually perfect hair was a little disheveled. I unconsciously stroked the ring on my hand. My fingertips traced from her forehead, over the bridge of her nose, finally resting on her thin lips. Lena, don’t disappoint me. 2. Waking the next day, the space beside me was cold. Opening the door, I heard laughter. It was a sound this usually quiet villa had never known. I stood at the railing, looking down at the scene below. The woman who had never once entered the kitchen in our five years of marriage was making eggs. The young man and the adorable child were playing on the sofa. I felt a mix of mockery and a pang in my eyes. For a moment, I even felt. I was the outsider. When I came downstairs, the harmonious atmosphere instantly shattered. “Alistair,” Lena said, carrying a plate, her expression showing no change. “When are you sending them away?” It was the first time I had spoken to her in such a tone. Lena didn’t answer. Instead, she settled Tommy in his high chair, and only after he was comfortable did she look up at me. With that look of restrained impatience that I despised. “I told you, he needs to go to school here.” I felt a surge of irritation. “Don’t tell me, President Dante, you can’t even sort out school enrollment!” I grew more uncontrolled with each word. “Do you want to keep the child close, or the man?” “Alistair!” Lena interrupted me, her voice firm. “Watch your words. Ethan is Tommy’s father. He’s still so young; how can he be without his father?” At this, the little boy immediately spilled a bowl of hot porridge on me, crying. “I hate you, you’re a bad uncle breaking up Mommy and Daddy!” Feeling the hot burn on my leg, I winced and frowned. My piercing gaze instantly shot to him. “I’m sorry, Tommy didn’t mean it. He just misses his mom too much.” Ethan quickly interjected, blocking my view. I suppressed the suffocating breath in my chest. It was only then that I realized how much the three of them looked like a family. And I, ridiculously, stood in opposition to them. A momentary surge of anger made me lose all reason. I looked coldly at Ethan. “Do you think the Dante family would welcome a child who, at five years old, still doesn’t know proper manners, a foolish…” “Alistair Thompson!” Lena’s voice, cold as frost, instantly extinguished my rage. Her demeanor carried an iciness I had never seen before, confronting me without emotion. “Tommy is my son, Lena Dante’s son. As my husband, you must accept his presence. And, you were out of line today.” With that, she picked up the tearful little boy and turned to leave. And Ethan, behind her, naturally took her bag. He turned back, a triumphant smirk on his face. The noisy villa instantly fell silent again. A bitter taste rose in my heart. In Lena’s mind, I was the perfect Thompson heir, and a proper, sensible husband. So I couldn’t have my own emotions. And I certainly couldn’t lose my composure… Listening to the roar of the car fading into the distance, my previously straight back finally slumped. Lena, you still disappointed me. Five years ago, there was a financial crisis. The Dante and Thompson families, as the leading powers in the capital, proposed an alliance through marriage to counter overseas capital. As the only son of the Thompson family, I chose Lena Dante, who had just divorced. I knew she had an ex-husband and a son. But at the time, I thought, who doesn’t have a past? Who doesn’t have someone they cherish? After marriage, Lena was an almost perfect woman. But when such a self-controlled and disciplined woman suddenly had her exception by her side. I realized then that I couldn’t be as calm as I thought. … The next day was Grandfather Dante’s birthday banquet. As Lena’s husband, I had to attend. In the evening, she appeared at the villa door punctually. After getting in the car, there seemed to be an invisible boundary between us. After a while, perhaps with a sigh, Lena sighed, closed the partition, and sat beside me. “Alistair,” she broke the silence, “My husband will only ever be you.” Feeling the warmth in my hand, I was somewhat lost in thought. I knew this was her way of making amends. The kaleidoscopic reflections from outside illuminated the woman’s chiseled features. Her deep eyes now mirrored only me. After getting out of the car, Lena held my hand the entire way. Leaving me somewhat dazed. But this daze was quickly shattered. “Lena,” Ethan, dressed in a traditional Chinese suit, greeted guests flowing in and out like a host. He naturally took the birthday gift from her hand, then feigned surprise, speaking timidly, “Mr… Thompson.” I frowned, not losing my composure amidst the crowd. I simply looked at Lena, my eyes filled with accusation. “He’s Tommy’s father, and Grandfather wants to see his great-grandson on his birthday.” Lena’s eyes were completely frank as she spoke. The flowers that had just begun to revive in my heart. Withered once more. “He appears so openly in the Dante family, where does that leave me?” Lena then looked at me as if startled. I let go of her hand, the warmth in my palm gradually replaced by coldness. Lena, a perfect heir who had fought her way out of the cutthroat world of powerful families. How could she not understand Ethan’s intentions? She simply didn’t intervene. She simply indulged him. Looking at the curious, scrutinizing guests around us. I wiped the bitterness from my face. And became the perfect arranged marriage partner. Amidst the flickering lights, my thoughts felt muddled, a tangled mess. Unknowingly, I found myself on the long corridor of the Dante family’s back garden, sobering up. This was also where Lena and I first met. Our tenderness began in late autumn; we came together in summer. But now, in the depths of winter, we were drifting further apart. “Mr. Thompson, still putting up with being provoked right to your face?” A clear, bell-like chuckle came from behind me. I glanced sideways. It was Serena Thorne, the current head of the Thorne family. “This isn’t like you.” She then draped her lily-of-the-valley-scented jacket over me, warding off the chill. “Just say the word, and I can make him disappear.” I didn’t find anything wrong with that; after all, without such ruthlessness. One would have long become a casualty in family feuds. “No need, he can’t stir up much trouble.” Serena suddenly moved closer, her sweet scent enveloping me. “Then why are you drowning your sorrows here?” She placed both hands on my shoulders. “When you got into that arranged marriage, I wasn’t able to resolve the obstacles in the Thorne family in time. But now, can you consider me?” Serena had always been flippant in front of me. Now, seeing her so serious, I suddenly realized the woman before me had long shed her childish innocence. “Lena and I aren’t divorced yet?” Serena looked unconcerned. “I can be the other woman for love, I’d be thrilled.” I smiled, pinching her arm a couple of times, just about to speak. But I was suddenly pulled into a strong embrace. Lena stood there, her face grim, glaring at Serena with ill intent. Two formidable women confronted each other, the temperature around them dropping noticeably. “Let’s go home.” After a while, Lena spoke first. In the car, Lena closed the partition. To my surprise, she leaned down. Unlike her usual gentle kisses, This time, the intensity made me frown. After a while, Lena, breathless, pulled away from me, her deep eyes holding an emotion I had never seen before. “Alistair, stay away from her.” 3. The pain on my lips made me push her away. But I also felt a surge of anger. I had only exchanged a couple of words with Serena. Yet, she brought Ethan into our home, what right did she have to demand anything from me? “Why?” My tone was cold. Lena looked up at my words, her deep eyes like a whirlpool, drawing me in. “Because you are my man.” I frowned, “I’m not, Ethan is.” Lena laughed at my words, her usually cool face softening. “Mr. Thompson, you’re jealous.” I pushed her away, with an unreasonable tantrum I despised even myself for. “Send them away.” The atmosphere instantly froze. Lena’s smile vanished, as if the earlier intimacy was just my imagination. “Alistair,” she smoothed her hair, sighing with extreme helplessness, “He won’t threaten you.” “Besides, Tommy is my son. I can’t abandon him.” I looked out the window at the retreating streetscape. It was then I noticed a light drizzle falling outside, blurring my vision. “I never stopped you from looking after Tommy.” Lena looked at me as if I were an unreasonable child. “Ethan raised our child alone abroad. I owe him for these five years.” A sudden, indescribable bitterness rose in my heart. “So you’re telling me I have to accept him constantly hovering in my life, is that it?” Lena lowered her gaze, turning my body towards her. Her palm gently covered my slightly reddened eyes. “I hope you can understand me. No matter what they do, my husband will only ever be you.” Listening to her defensive evasions. I suddenly found it all incredibly tedious. Including those moments I had genuinely given my heart, they now seemed so pointless. In this grand expectation, she still disappointed me. Just then, my phone rang. It was an unknown number. “Mr. Thompson, Lena and I were inconsiderate today, my apologies.” The message came with a photo of Lena holding Tommy in the moonlight, with him standing beside them, laughing. My eyes narrowed. A suffocating tightness filled my chest. A low-level tactic, but highly effective. I tossed the phone to Lena, my tone cold. “It seems I’m the third party between you two, isn’t that right?” She froze, glanced at the phone, but still instinctively defended him. “He just thought you might be uncomfortable and wanted to apologize.” I let out a laugh of anger, laced with furious sarcasm. “Lena Dante, are you playing dumb or do you truly not understand? Do I have to catch you in the act for you to admit it?!” “Alistair,” Lena said, her voice deep, with a warning tone, “Watch your language. There’s nothing improper between Ethan and me.” I scoffed, a choked sound only I could hear. “Nothing improper?” “Only when clothes are off does it count as improper, right?” The car instantly fell silent. The look in Lena’s eyes beside me was an icy coldness I had never seen before. “Alistair Thompson, don’t tell me you lack even this much tolerance!” I don’t know how to describe the feeling at this moment. Only that the field of flowers that once bloomed for her in my heart. Had become barren. I suppressed the bitterness in my heart, my eyes reddening. “I lack tolerance? Ha…” “If I did, I would have kicked them out on the very first night! Would he still be provoking me with your bed photos?” “If I did, the Thompson family would have already dealt with her when your social media photos went viral!” My sudden burst of emotion. It all stemmed from a feeling of being misunderstood. This situation was like the thorns on a rose. Pricking my heart, yet outsiders found it beautiful. Lena looked somewhat lost, turning to look at my bloodshot eyes. “I…” I turned my head, lowering the car window. Letting the drizzling rain hit my face, masking my weak tears. “Mom and Dad said I was the only one they truly cherished, the only one.” I took a deep breath, resuming the proud demeanor of a Thompson scion. “So, if to you, I am merely a dispensable product of your cost-benefit analysis, then we will inevitably part ways.” Lena’s face paled at my words, a panic she herself found startling rising in her.

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