Category: English

When I opened my eyes again, the blue light of my laptop was searing into my retinas. I was back. Back on the day of the interview that would change everything. In the next room, my older sister, Monica, was waiting for the kidney transplant we couldn’t afford. My mother’s solution? Obsessive, pathological “frugality.” I looked at the bottles of expensive, life-sustaining specialty meds sitting on the desk. A cold laugh bubbled up in my throat. Without a second thought, I swept them all into the trash can. “Monica, taking these is just flushing money down the toilet,” I called out, my voice dripping with a mockery she wouldn’t yet understand. “Doesn’t Mom always say that waste is a sin?” Maybe she should just drink more hot water. If her wealthy husband—the one who treated her like a burden—saw how much she was “saving” the family, I’m sure he’d finally give her the gold star she craved. My mother, Lola, was a woman who had carved the word “frugal” into her very soul, even if it meant carving away our humanity to do it. Growing up, I was a ghost in hand-me-downs, wearing Monica’s threadbare rags until they literally fell apart. I remember a fever I had when I was ten—a heat so intense I thought my brain would melt. Lola refused to buy Tylenol. Instead, she forced me to drink a bowl of fermented mung bean soup that had gone sour three days prior. “It clears the heat,” she had snapped, while I gagged on the mold. In my past life, I had fought my way to the final round of interviews for a senior analyst position at a Global 500 firm. A seven-figure salary. My ticket out of this hellhole. I had begged Lola not to touch anything, not to make a sound. But at the climax of the interview, the screen went black. The router died. I had sprinted out of my room only to find Lola standing in the dark, her hand on the main circuit breaker. “Keeping the lights on at this hour is a waste of money,” she’d said, her voice full of smug righteousness. “I did the math. If we shut everything down at night, we save forty cents a month!” For forty cents, I lost a million-dollar career. Later, when Monica’s condition worsened, Lola didn’t ask her “golden boy” son or her “breadwinner” husband for help. She forced me into an unregulated industrial sweatshop, working double shifts in toxic conditions to pay for Monica’s bills. Even on my deathbed in that life, my father and brother were still berating me. “You couldn’t even land a corporate job,” they’d sneered. “You’re a useless drain on resources. After all the money your mother saved to raise you!” 1 The screen went black. I bolted upright in my chair, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. I knew that sound. I would know it in my grave. The sharp, metallic clack of the breaker being flipped. In my previous life, that one sound had dismantled twenty-six years of blood, sweat, and ambition. I threw open my bedroom door and stormed into the living room. In the shadows, illuminated only by the sickly orange glow of the streetlights outside, Lola stood by the electrical panel. She had a look of profound self-satisfaction on her face, her fingers moving as she tallied her “savings.” She heard me and turned, her voice a sharp whisper. “What are you doing out of bed? And why was that black box in your room glowing? Those lights, blinking all night… do you have any idea what that does to the electric bill?” “I’m saving us a fortune tonight, Andrea! At least thirty cents!” I stared at her face, twisted by the petty thrill of her calculations. Memories rushed back. Being seven years old, burning with a 104-degree fever. She wouldn’t spend twenty dollars on a clinic visit because she wanted that money for her Saturday poker game. She’d pumped me full of that spoiled soup instead. I’d spent two weeks drifting in and out of consciousness, nearly brain-dead. In middle school, I never had a new coat. I wore Monica’s old uniforms, even when the seams burst. When I complained that the kids laughed at me, she just threw a needle and some mismatched thread at me. “Fix it. Stop being vain. Vanity is expensive.” I felt the metallic taste of rage in the back of my throat. I didn’t scream. I didn’t beg. I walked straight past her, shoved her aside with a shoulder, and slammed the breaker back up. Lola gasped, her voice rising into a screech. “Andrea! You wasteful brat! What are you doing?” I didn’t answer. I stood in front of the panel like a shield. I pulled out my phone and instantly toggled my personal hotspot. I had already paid for an unlimited data plan this time. The laptop reconnected in seconds. Ten seconds left to submit my final assessment. I clicked ‘Submit’ and watched the loading bar crawl. Submission Successful. The moment those words appeared, the tension left my body so fast I nearly collapsed. Lola was still raving behind me. “That computer is a vampire! It sucks the money right out of my pocket! I raised you, and this is how you repay me? By wasting electricity?” My phone vibrated. A call from Monica. I hit ‘Accept’ and turned on the speakerphone. “Andrea,” Monica’s voice came through, weak but demanding. “I’m out of those specialty pills the doctor ordered. I need you to Venmo me eight hundred dollars right now so I can pick up the next batch.” Lola pounced, leaning into the phone. “Did you hear that? Your sister is sick! Give her the money! You have that scholarship money saved up, don’t you? Give it to her!” I looked at Lola’s entitled face. That scholarship money? She had already “borrowed” most of it under the guise of “saving for my tuition,” only to turn around and buy my lazy brother, Sean, a high-end gaming rig. I walked over to the coffee table. There were three bottles of Monica’s medication sitting there—bottles she’d left behind while visiting. I picked them up. I met Lola’s eyes. Twist. Pop. Pour. The white pills cascaded into the trash can, buried under coffee grounds and eggshells. Lola’s eyes nearly bulged out of her head. She shrieked, lunging for the bin. “Are you insane? That’s eight hundred dollars of medicine!” I kicked the trash can away from her. I leaned toward the phone, my voice calm and terrifyingly sweet. “Monica, why waste money on pills? Mom taught us that frugality is a virtue, remember?” “Your kidney issue is just ‘toxins’ in your system. Mom says the best way to clear toxins is to drink scalding hot water and sweat it out. It’s free. If your rich husband finds out how much money you’re saving the family, I’m sure he’ll finally call you a ‘good wife.’” The line went dead as Monica hung up, likely in a fit of rage. Lola raised her hand to backhand me. I caught her wrist mid-air, squeezing until she winced. “Mom, those pills are a scam. The hospital just wants your money. Weren’t you the one who said doctors are all liars? I’m just trying to save you some cash.” Lola trembled, her mouth hanging open. I had used her own twisted logic to trap her. She had no move left. I turned and went back into my room, locking the door. The countdown to my escape had officially begun. 2 The next day was the final pressure test. The last hurdle between me and the seven-figure offer. I knew they wouldn’t let me work in peace. Sure enough, early in the morning, the pounding on my door started. My father, George, was roaring from the hallway. “Andrea! Get out here! Your sister is dying and you’re throwing her meds away? You’ve lost your damn mind!” I pulled on my high-end noise-canceling headphones—something I’d saved up for months to buy specifically for this moment. The morning sun hit my desk, and for a second, I thought of the boy from college. My first love. The one Lola ruined. He had saved up for a month, eating ramen every night, just to buy me a simple floral dress for our anniversary. It was the first time in twenty years someone had looked at me and seen a girl worth cherishing. Lola had found out. She decided he was a “spendthrift” and a “distraction.” She had marched into the campus dining hall, thrown the dress in his face, and screamed at him to give her the cash equivalent. “You’re poor! You can’t afford to be romantic!” she’d yelled in front of everyone. “Two hundred dollars buys a lot of groceries! Give me the money!” My first love, my dignity—she’d ground them both into the dirt while she counted those twenty-dollar bills with a smirk. I pushed the memory down. The pounding on the door stopped. Then, the internet died. I heard Sean laughing outside. “No wifi, no test, Andy! Get out here and start earning your keep!” I didn’t even blink. I had a second burner phone acting as a secondary hotspot. The interface didn’t even lag. On the screen, a panel of executives looked at me. “Ms. Miller, if the firm faced extreme capital pressure, how would you approach cost-cutting without sacrificing core integrity?” The question was a gift. I had spent six months in a literal sweatshop in my past life. I had seen the most brutal forms of exploitation, the most pathological ways to squeeze a penny. I spoke fluently, translating those horrific “black factory” tactics into sophisticated, compliant actuarial models. The executives were nodding, enthralled. As the interview reached its final minutes, the overhead light flickered and died. My laptop chimed: Low Battery. My father had gone into the hallway and smashed the external meter for the apartment. He was willing to live in the dark just to sabotage me. I watched the battery icon hit 1%. I slammed the ‘Submit’ button. The “Success” screen flashed for a microsecond before the laptop died. I took off my headphones and opened the door. George was standing there, his face purple. He swung his hand and caught me across the face. The force was enough to split my lip. “Get dressed,” he barked. “Tomorrow you’re reporting to Big Sal’s plant. Five grand a month, room and board included. The checks go directly to my account.” Lola shoved a hospital bill under my nose. “Monica’s dialysis is two thousand a day! You’re her sister! If you have to sell your blood to pay for this, you’ll do it! You owe her!” I wiped the blood from my lip and looked at these people who claimed to be my parents. “Fine,” I said. “Whatever it takes to ‘save’ Monica. I’ll go.” They froze. They hadn’t expected me to fold so easily. Lola’s face instantly shifted into a manipulative smile. “That’s my girl. I knew you’d do the right thing for the family.” 3 That evening, a black Audi pulled up to the curb. My brother-in-law, Victor—a man who hated our family’s poverty almost as much as he hated his wife’s illness—dumped Monica at the door. “She’s a money pit,” he spat. “I’m done. We’re filing for divorce.” He peeled away before the door even closed. Monica collapsed in the hallway, sobbing. Lola, frantic, helped her inside and immediately called Big Sal. Big Sal was a labor shark. He specialized in sending desperate people into the “toxic” zones of manufacturing plants—places where OSHA didn’t exist and the air smelled like burning plastic. The next morning, three hulking men with greasy hair and cheap suits were sitting in our living room. Big Sal flicked his cigarette ash onto our carpet, eyeing me. “This skinny thing? She won’t last a day in the high-heat zone.” Lola hovered around him, offering a desperate, toothy grin. “She’s tougher than she looks! She’s been a workhorse since she was five!” Panic, cold and familiar, tried to rise in my chest. In my last life, I had spent three months in that 120-degree furnace. No masks, because the five-dollar deduction for safety gear was “too expensive” according to Lola. I had coughed up blood on the assembly line. When the factory dumped me at the hospital, Lola didn’t pay the bill. She’d told me I was “useless” for getting sick and “wasting” a payout. Now, she held the contract out to me. “Sign it, Andrea. Sal is giving us a thirty-thousand-dollar advance. It’ll cover Monica’s next round of treatment!” Sean was in the corner, rubbing his hands together. “Mom, make sure I get eight hundred of that. There’s a new phone coming out.” George just puffed on his cigarette. “It’s time you paid your debts, girl.” The men closed in on me. Lola grabbed my right hand, trying to force my thumb onto the ink pad. The suffocating feeling of being trapped returned. But then, my phone buzzed in my pocket. A specific, high-priority notification chime. I wrenched my hand back and pulled the phone out. The screen lit up with a formal offer letter from the Global 500 firm. Base salary: $1.2 million. Signing bonus: $250k. Stock options included. 4 I kicked the coffee table over, the crash echoing through the small apartment. I shoved the phone into Lola’s face, my voice a raw, primal scream. “Look at this! Look at it! A million-dollar salary! A legal, high-end career!” “And you… you were going to sell me to a sweatshop for thirty grand?” The tears were coming now, twenty-six years of repressed agony pouring out. “When I was a kid, you gave me moldy soup to save thirty dollars. You stole my clothes. You ruined my life in college for two hundred bucks. Your ‘frugality’ was always a weapon you only used on me!” I thought, for one foolish second, that the sheer scale of the million-dollar offer would make her pause. Lola blinked. For a moment, a shadow of doubt crossed her eyes. Then, she spat on my shoes. “A million dollars? That’s ‘make-believe’ money, Andrea. It’s a dream. Sal’s thirty thousand is real cash. It’s right here in his briefcase.” “You’re a delusional brat. If your life can be traded to save your sister’s, that’s the best use for you. It’s common sense. It’s math!” The sheer, impenetrable wall of her ignorance made me feel like I was drowning. My own mother had appraised my soul and decided it was worth less than a used car. George and Sean moved toward me, ready to pin me down. Big Sal reached for his zip-ties. Right as the shadow of the rope fell over me, I stopped crying. I looked at Lola and laughed. It was a jagged, broken sound. I pulled up a medical video I had bookmarked on my phone. An expert explaining “cost-effective treatment.” I cranked the volume to the max. “Mom, you love math, right? Let me help you calculate.” “The high-heat zone at Sal’s plant? A person loses ten pounds of sweat a day in there. The doctors say that extreme sweating is basically ‘free dialysis.’ It flushes the kidneys better than any machine.” I watched Lola’s expression shift from anger to curiosity. “If Monica goes to the plant, you save three thousand dollars a day in hospital fees. And you get the salary. It’s a double win. It’s pure profit.” Lola’s eyes lit up. The biological urge to save her daughter was instantly overridden by the pathological urge to “get a deal.” “Profit…” she whispered. She turned her head slowly to look at Monica, who was cowering on the sofa. “Mom, no,” Monica whimpered. “I’ll die in there!” Lola slapped her. Hard. “Shut up! You don’t know the value of a dollar! The hospital is just bleeding us dry. This is a chance to detox for free and get paid! We’d be idiots to pass this up!” Lola turned to Big Sal. “Change the name on the contract. I’m not selling my younger daughter. I’m giving you the older one.” 5 Sal hesitated, looking at Monica’s sickly frame. Lola didn’t wait. She grabbed the pen, scratched out my name, and scrawled Monica’s. “She’s just a little sluggish! A little sweat will do her good!” She dragged Monica up by the arm. Monica fought, but Sean and George stepped in, pinning her down. To them, it didn’t matter who went, as long as the thirty thousand hit the table. Lola clutched the stack of cash to her chest, her face creasing into a horrific, triumphant smile. “See? I always find the best bargain for this family,” she gloated. Sal shrugged. He’d already paid. He signaled his men to haul Monica out. She screamed for our father to save her, but George was too busy counting his cut of the bills. Sean was already browsing phone specs on his laptop. I watched them. I watched the ugly, naked greed. While they were distracted by the scent of the money, I slipped into my room. I grabbed my pre-packed bag—my documents, my laptop, a few essentials. I walked out the front door and didn’t look back. I breathed in the humid morning air, leaving the cage I had lived in for twenty-six years.

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On our eighth wedding anniversary, I had everything perfectly arranged. The candlelight was soft, the steak was resting, and tucked beneath my napkin was a positive pregnancy test—the surprise I had waited years to give him. Then, my phone buzzed. A FaceTime call from Gary. The background was a chaotic blur of a dimly lit lounge. His voice was thick, a strange, gravelly rasp that made my skin crawl. But it was the angry red mark on the side of his neck that caught the light, bright and unmistakable. “Hey, babe. Guess what I’ve been up to?” He grinned, that lopsided, playful smirk that used to make my heart melt. Now, his tone felt like a needle driving into my ear. The blood in my veins turned to ice. My hand shook as I gripped the edge of the table. “Gary… are you with someone else?” A woman’s sultry giggle drifted through the speaker, followed by a blonde head leaning into the frame. “Mr. Smith, I told you your wife wasn’t stupid. You look a little too… satisfied to be at a business meeting.” Gary didn’t even look guilty. If anything, he looked amused. “Don’t be like that, honey. Eight years is a long time. Things get a little stale. I just needed a bit of a spark.” “I know it’s our anniversary,” he added, his tone dismissive as he checked his watch. “I’ll be home tonight to make it up to you. Consider it a peace offering.” He hung up before I could scream. I stared at the cooling dinner, the candles flickering like dying stars. I picked up the pregnancy test and, with trembling fingers, snapped it in half, then shredded the medical report into a hundred tiny white flakes. Gary, I don’t want your peace offering. I don’t want anything of yours ever again. 1 The first thing I did after hanging up was drive to the clinic. I had an appointment for a follow-up, but I walked in and asked for a termination instead. This was supposed to be our miracle. Eight years of marriage, years of hormones, hundreds of needles, and a cabinet full of failed tests. This was our first. Now, as the cold instruments moved inside me, I felt nothing but a hollow, echoing void. Our child—the future I had built in my head—was gone before it ever truly began. Gary didn’t get home until long after midnight. He carried the scent of expensive bourbon and the musky, metallic tang of sex. He glanced at the trash can, where the ruined dinner sat. He sighed, walking over and resting his chin on my shoulder, his arms looping around my waist. I stood rigid, my skin crawling where he touched me. “What? Still pouting?” he murmured. “Evelyn,” he said, using my name with a patronizing sweetness. “How could you be so oblivious? I’ve been seeing her for a year. Did you really just notice?” “Remember that time you brought lunch to the office? She was under my desk the whole time, wearing that French maid outfit you refused to touch. If you won’t do the things I like, why shouldn’t another woman?” I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper. I didn’t say a word. I just felt a deep, oily wave of nausea. Somewhere along the line, the man who used to hold my hand in the rain had decided that stability was a prison. He wanted “sparks.” He wanted the thrill of the illicit. I remembered finding a long, honey-blonde hair on his blazer months ago. I remembered the scent of Jo Malone perfume that wasn’t mine. He had told me it was just “lingering smoke from a client meeting.” I had forced myself to believe him. Or maybe I was just too terrified to imagine a world where he wasn’t my anchor. Looking at his smiling, handsome face now, I realized the anchor had become a millstone. “Anyway, I know how big-hearted you are,” Gary said, patting my hip. “I’ll get you that Birkin you wanted tomorrow. And don’t worry—those girls are just playthings. None of them are coming home. You’re still the only Mrs. Smith. You’re the one I love.” He leaned in to kiss me, and I flinched away as if he were a leper. “Why?” I whispered. My voice was a ghost of itself. I wanted to ask how the boy who worked three jobs to buy my engagement ring became this hollowed-out monster. He shrugged, completely unbothered. “There is no ‘why.’ Everyone in my circle does it. Work is stressful, marriage is predictable. If you don’t chase a little adrenaline, what’s the point of living?” Slap. The sound echoed through the sterile kitchen. Gary’s head snapped to the side. A bright red handprint bloomed on his cheek, and a bead of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth. Before he could speak, I threw the divorce papers onto the counter. “I want a divorce, Gary.” He slowly turned his head back, wiping the blood with his thumb. His eyes were dark, simmering with a dangerous kind of confidence. “Lydia, you can’t leave me. You know that. Being my wife is the only thing keeping you in this lifestyle. It’s the only thing paying for your grandmother’s specialized care in Zurich.” He smiled, a cold, thin line. “If you walk out that door, you have nothing. I’ll make sure my lawyers don’t leave you a single cent.” He picked up the papers and tore them into confetti, letting them rain down on the floor. 2 That night was the first time we slept in separate rooms. I lay in the guest bed, the air thick with the scent of his expensive tobacco drifting from the master suite, and I cried until my throat was raw. We met in college. Neither of us had a dime. Gary had big dreams of a tech startup, and I believed in him with a ferocity that bordered on madness. I turned down a prestigious grad school fellowship to work double shifts as a waitress and a secretary, funneling every cent into his vision. I even sold the small cottage my mother had left me. For two years, I didn’t even answer my parents’ calls because they hated him. Our wedding had no guests, no flowers. In a cramped, drafty apartment, I wore a twenty-dollar vintage dress and we exchanged vows before a justice of the peace. He slipped a tiny, budget diamond on my finger, his eyes shining like the stars. “Madeline, I promise,” he had whispered. “Once I make it, I’m going to give you the world.” He made it. Within three years, he was the “Golden Boy of Silicon Alley.” Our second wedding—the “real” one—was the talk of the city. A sea of white peonies, a five-course meal, and three hours of fireworks over the harbor. He told the press I was his “North Star.” He used to be so loyal. I remember a story about a business partner trying to set him up with a model; Gary walked out of the room. I remember him accidentally being drugged at a gala and locking himself in a bathroom, slicing his own palm with a key just to stay focused and faithful until I could get there. As I bandaged his hand that night, he had kissed my forehead. “I only ever want you, baby.” “Marriage is predictable. If you don’t chase a little adrenaline, what’s the point?” The two versions of Gary clashed in my mind until I felt like I was losing my sanity. The next morning, my pillow was damp. I walked into the kitchen to find breakfast prepared—avocado toast and poached eggs, just the way I liked them. There was a sticky note on the door: Calling for rain today. Take the umbrella. Love, G. It made me sick. The duality of it. I wished he would just be a villain. I wished he would stop acting like a loving husband while he was out destroying me. It was the “kindness” that felt like the sharpest blade. My phone chimed incessantly. An unknown number had sent a series of media files. I opened them, and my breath hitched. They were photos—graphic, intimate, and devastatingly clear. “Hi Lydia,” the text read. “I’m Gary’s assistant. We spoke on the phone yesterday. I figured it was time we got acquainted. I hope we can find a way to coexist.” Before I could process the bile rising in my throat, another message popped up. “By the way, did you know we’ve been together for over a year? We’ve probably spent more time together in his office chair than he’s spent in your bed lately.” “Don’t be too sad. A man like Gary has needs. I’m not the only one, you know. You should really pay closer attention to the people around you…” 3 The assistant’s words were a poison that seeped into my bones. I stared at the breakfast Gary had made, then swept the plate off the counter. It shattered, egg yolk smearing across the marble. I slumped to the floor, dry-heaving into the trash can. I didn’t know where to go. I didn’t have friends anymore—Gary had slowly replaced my social circle with “corporate couples” who only talked about stocks and skiing. Should I catch him in the act? No. That would only feed his sick need for “excitement.” Finally, I decided to drive two hours to the university town where my younger sister, Rebecca, was finishing her senior year. She was the only person I truly had left. When I arrived at her apartment, she looked startled. Despite the sweltering summer heat, she was draped in a heavy oversized cardigan. “Lydia? What are you doing here? You didn’t call,” she said, her voice tight. “I didn’t want to disturb your classes. I used the spare key,” I said, my voice cracking. I reached out to hug her, the dam finally breaking. “Gary is cheating. I tried to leave, but he’s threatening me. I don’t know what to do, Becca.” Rebecca stood there, stiff as a board. She didn’t hug me back. Her hands were buried deep in her sleeves. “Aren’t you hot?” I asked, a strange intuition prickling at the back of my neck. I reached out and pulled the cardigan off her shoulders. I froze. Her neck and collarbone were a map of purple bruises and bite marks. “Who did this to you?” I demanded, my protective instincts flaring. “Which bastard did this? Tell me, I’ll call the police.” Rebecca’s face went white, then a deep, shameful red. She wouldn’t look at me. Then, the bedroom door creaked open. A man stepped out, shirtless, rubbing a towel over his damp hair. My heart didn’t just break; it disintegrated. The world stopped turning. The air left the room. It was Gary. “It is what it is, Lydia,” Gary said calmly. He walked over and pulled Rebecca into his side, draped his arm over her bruised shoulder. “Becca and I are together now.” “You couldn’t give me a child,” he continued, his voice as casual as if he were discussing the weather. “But I need an heir. Becca is family. She’s the perfect choice.” “When?” I whispered. My vision was blurring at the edges. Gary chuckled. “Last summer. When she came to stay with us. Remember that day at the lake? You were in the shallows because you can’t swim. Becca and I were out by the buoy. She screamed, remember? You asked if she was okay. She told you she had a cramp. In reality, I was taking her for the first time. She couldn’t help the noise.” “And the next night, when she had a ‘fever’ and you went to the hospital to get her meds? We were in the guest room before you even pulled out of the driveway…” “Gary, stop…” Rebecca whispered, her head hanging low. “You monster!” I screamed. I grabbed a paring knife from the fruit bowl on the counter and lunged at him. I had raised her. I had protected her. I thought she was an innocent victim, groomed by a predator. Gary didn’t move. He didn’t even flinch as the tip of the blade pierced his skin through his shoulder. “Are you done, Lydia? Feel better now?” He grabbed my wrist, his grip like a vise, forcing me to hold the knife in place. He had that same loathsome, arrogant smile. But it was Rebecca who broke me. “Lydia, stop! Don’t hurt him!” she cried out, her eyes red. “He’s forcing you,” I sobbed. “Becca, come with me, he’s manipulating you!” “He’s not!” she snapped, her face twisting with a sudden, ugly resentment. “I wanted this! I want to give him the baby you can’t have!” She looked at me with pure venom. “Why do you get everything? Why did you get the rich husband and the big house while Mom and Dad always made me follow in your shadow? I love him, too. And I’m going to be the one who actually gives him a family.” The world exploded into white noise. I don’t remember leaving. I don’t remember Gary driving me back to the city. I only remember the feel of his hand—the same hand that had touched my sister—holding mine as he whispered: “Don’t be scared, honey. When Becca has the baby, I’ll let you raise it. It’ll be like it’s yours.” “And don’t bother calling your parents. They already know. They’ve agreed to the arrangement. Just be a good girl.” 4 I was back in the gilded cage. Back in the bedroom we had shared for eight years. Gary tried to touch me, and I fought him like a wild animal until he gave up and left the room. The betrayal was total. My sister. My parents. Even the driver who picked me up had a look of pitying recognition in his eyes. Everyone knew. I was the only one living in a fairy tale that had turned into a slasher flick. “Why her?” I asked him when he came back in to check on me. It was the only question that mattered. Gary wasn’t the type to risk everything for a child. He was too selfish for that. “Because the taboo of it makes my heart race,” he said, tucking the covers around me. “Hearing her call me ‘Gary’ while I’m thinking about you in the next room… it’s the only time I feel alive.” I waited until he fell asleep in the guest room. I waited until the house was silent. My phone buzzed. A text from the assistant. “Lydia, let’s talk. I can get you out.” I didn’t want to answer, but she was persistent. When she called, I finally picked up. “Why are you helping me?” I asked. My voice was dead. “Because I want your spot,” she said bluntly. “With you out of the picture, it’s just me and the sister. And I can handle a college girl. You’re the only one he actually has a history with. Leave. Get out of my way.” “My grandmother,” I whispered. “She’s in a facility he controls.” “I’ve already handled it,” she said. “I have a friend in international medical transport. We’ll move her to a private clinic in France tomorrow morning. Here’s the plan.” The next afternoon, a courier delivered a package. Inside was a set of divorce papers—already signed by Gary. The assistant had slipped them into a stack of “urgent” corporate filings, and he had signed them without looking. There was also a one-way ticket to Paris. That evening, Gary called me on FaceTime. I answered. He was flushed, his breathing heavy. Behind him, I could hear the rhythmic creaking of a bed and a woman’s soft moans. “Lydia… are you being a good girl at home? Don’t hang up…” “I’m with my… assistant… you remember her…” I didn’t say a word. I looked at the man I had spent my youth building. I turned the volume to mute, set the phone face down on the sofa, and walked out of the house with nothing but a small suitcase and a heart made of ash. Goodbye, Gary. I hope the adrenaline is worth the fall.

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It was the day I went to collect rent that the bottom fell out of my reality. I discovered a truth so deeply unsettling it made my blood run cold. My personal trainer—the guy who counted my reps and wiped down my bench—had been impersonating my husband. He had somehow managed to con every single tenant in my building out of their next three years of rent. Looking back, the warning signs were flashing neon from the very beginning. The shift happened the moment he found out I owned real estate and lived entirely off passive income. The way he looked at me changed. It wasn’t customer service anymore; it was calculation. I had assumed he was just aggressively pushing for a membership renewal. I even asked him point-blank if my prepaid sessions were running out. Instead of answering, he reached out, gave my hip a patronizing pat, and told me, in a tone dripping with unearned authority, that I was strictly forbidden from drinking imported protein shakes anymore. He told me that women with “too much muscle” were unappealing. He said I needed to eat more red meat, drink heavy stews, and get my body fat percentage up. That’s how you prepare a body for carrying a child, he had said, his eyes dark and entirely too familiar. That’s what a real woman is supposed to do. My skin crawled. I took two sharp steps back, my guard instantly up, and asked him what the hell he thought he was doing. He didn’t apologize. He looked annoyed. He gave me a lecture about how a woman of my age was running out of time, how geriatric pregnancies resulted in cognitive delays. Then, the absolute audacity—he pulled a thermos out of his gym bag. It was filled with some dark, foul-smelling herbal brew his mother had allegedly simmered for hours. Drink this, he insisted. It guarantees a healthy baby boy. He didn’t stop there. He casually mentioned that once I was pregnant, he would take over the burden of collecting my rents. I could just stay home and focus on baking the baby. Oh, and when his younger sister got married, he was going to gift her one of my apartments. He couldn’t have his little sister looking like a charity case in front of her new in-laws, after all. I stared at him, completely bewildered, and told him to get his grotesque swamp-water away from me. He snapped. He called me an ungrateful bitch. He said I was an aging, pretentious woman who pranced around in front of men, and that I should be on my knees thanking God a guy like him was willing to overlook my baggage. I felt physically nauseous. I marched straight to the front desk and canceled my membership on the spot. He harassed my phone for a few days, a barrage of manic texts, and then… silence. He vanished. I never expected that the next time his name surfaced, it would be tied to a grift of this magnitude. 1 “Look, Julia, your husband already came by last month and collected three years of rent for the whole building. He even gave us a twenty percent discount for paying upfront. Why are you here asking for it again?” I stared at the bank transfer receipt Gary, the tenant from 2B, shoved into my face. My brain short-circuited. “My husband?” The words tasted foreign on my tongue. “I don’t even have a boyfriend, Gary. What husband?” Gary’s expression darkened into a scowl. “Come on, don’t play games. Bradley showed me the photos from your courthouse wedding.” He crossed his arms. “He told us you were doing IVF, that your hormones were making you emotionally unstable, and he didn’t want you stressing over the properties. That’s why he handled it.” Bradley. The same Bradley I had fired and blocked days ago. The man who had screamed that I was a stuck-up bitch for rejecting his psychotic advances. My hands curled into tight fists. My nails bit into my palms. “Call the police. Call 911 right now, Gary. This is massive fraud.” “Honey, haven’t you made enough of a scene?” a male voice sighed from behind me. I whipped around. Bradley was walking up the front steps, carrying two cheap bottles of drugstore prenatal vitamins. He looked at me with exaggerated exhaustion. “Look, I know you’re still mad I wouldn’t buy you that designer bag, but we’re going to be parents soon. We have to learn how to budget.” He turned to the gathering crowd of tenants. “I put that three years of rent into a high-yield CD. It’s locked away for our son’s college fund.” My finger shook as I pointed it at his chest. “Are you out of your psychotic mind?! Who is your wife? Who is having your son?!” Bradley gave a condescending chuckle and reached out, trying to patronizingly pat my head. “Julia, babe, it’s one thing to throw these little tantrums at home, but do you really have to do this out in public?” He looked around, playing the weary martyr. “I know this building is in your name, sweetheart. But we’re married. It’s marital property now.” He spread his hands. “What’s the crime in me helping you collect the rent? Do you really need to humiliate me in front of all these nice people?” The tenants exchanged glances. The whispers started. Gary shook his head at me. “Julia, this isn’t right. Whatever fights you two are having at home, you don’t drag us into it.” “Yeah,” a woman from the third floor chimed in. “Bradley is just trying to secure your family’s future. Why are you being so completely unreasonable?” I felt the blood rushing to my ears. “I am not wasting my breath on this. I’m having the cops sort this out right now.” Bradley suddenly lunged forward and gripped my wrist. Hard. “Julia, don’t push me,” he hissed, his voice dropping the friendly-guy act. “I handled the rent for your own good. You really want to blow this up?” His grip tightened until my bones ground together. “You want me to air out all your dirty little secrets right here?” I violently yanked my arm free. “Do it! I’d love to see what twisted fantasy you pull out of your ass next!” Bradley reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a thick stack of glossy photographs, and threw them onto the concrete. “Look at these!” he yelled to the crowd. “Look at how she acts when she claims she’s single!” The photos scattered across the pavement. I looked down, and all the warmth drained from my body. Ice filled my veins. They were pictures of me at the gym. Bending over the rowing machine. Squatting. But worse—there were photos taken through the crack of the women’s locker room door as I was changing my shoes. My face burned with a mix of utter violation and raw fury. “You disgusting creep! You were stalking me!” Bradley puffed out his chest. “Stalking? I’m a husband documenting my beautiful wife! You go to the gym dressed like a stripper just to get male attention! If I wasn’t generous enough to put up with you, who else would want damaged goods like you?” The tenants were actively pointing now. “Wow. You think you know people. Dressed so nice, but totally trashy behind closed doors.” “Poor guy. Must be hell being married to a woman who can’t keep it in her pants.” I raised my hand to slap the absolute taste out of his mouth, but before I could, an older woman pushed through the crowd, threw herself onto the concrete, and started slapping her own thighs, wailing at the top of her lungs. “Everyone, look! Look at her! The daughter-in-law is beating her husband! She’s beating her mother-in-law!” It was an Oscar-worthy performance of pure, unadulterated madness. “What did our family do to deserve this curse? She took fifty thousand dollars from us for the wedding fund, and now she’s throwing us away like garbage!” I ground my teeth together so hard my jaw ached. “You are all certifiably insane! I don’t even know who you are!” The older woman—Bradley’s mother—scrambled to her feet and pointed a jagged finger at my stomach. “Don’t know us? You’re carrying my grandson in your belly, and you dare say you don’t know us?!” She stepped into my space, her breath hot and sour. “Listen to me, Julia. We collected that rent, and we’re keeping it! You call the cops, and I will show up at your corporate office. I will show up at your parents’ house in the suburbs. I will ruin you so thoroughly you’ll never show your face in this town again!” I didn’t blink. I pulled out my phone and dialed. “Yes, 911? I need officers at my location immediately. I’m looking at a coordinated fraud scheme exceeding three hundred thousand dollars.” Seeing me actually make the call, Bradley just smirked, entirely unfazed. “Go ahead. Cops hate domestic disputes. Let’s see how you talk your way out of this one, babe.” 2 Two patrol officers pushed through the murmuring crowd. “Who called it in?” I pointed a stiff finger at Bradley. “Officers, I did. This man is impersonating my husband. He just defrauded my entire building out of three years’ worth of rent.” The lead officer turned to Bradley, his hand resting casually on his belt. “Fraud? What’s the dollar amount?” Bradley let out a long, long-suffering sigh. He gave the cops a ‘you-know-how-women-are’ smile. “Officers, I’m so sorry. Please ignore my wife. She’s just throwing a fit.” He tapped his temple. “She’s pregnant. The hormones are making her crazy. She thinks me managing our finances is a federal crime.” The cop looked back at me, his eyes already glazing over with the assumption of a domestic squabble. “What’s going on here, ma’am?” Before I could get a word out, Bradley pulled a manila envelope from his bag and slid out two official-looking documents. “Here. These are the certified copies of our marriage license.” He handed them over. “I’m her legal husband. I helped her collect rent on a property she owns. How is that a crime?” I snatched one of the papers from his hand. Staring back at me was a photo of Bradley and me, side-by-side. My full name, my social security number, my date of birth. It was flawless. “This is forged!” My voice cracked with disbelief. “I have never been married in my life!” I pointed at the photo. “Officers, that is the ID photo I took when I signed up for my gym membership. He photoshopped us together!” The officer took the license back and handed it to his partner to run through dispatch. Bradley’s mother threw herself forward, grabbing the officer’s sleeve, crocodile tears streaming down her face. “Officers, please help us! This woman is a monster! She took fifty thousand dollars of our hard-earned savings, and now that the money’s gone, she wants to kick us out on the street!” I was vibrating with rage. “I never took your money! I am not pregnant with your child! This is a coordinated grift!” Gary stepped out from the crowd of tenants. “Officers, I can vouch for him. Bradley is definitely her husband.” He gestured to the building. “When he came by last month, he showed us their text messages. She was calling him ‘hubby,’ sending heart emojis, telling him to handle the rent because she was too tired.” My eyes widened in sheer horror. “Gary, what the hell are you talking about?! I have never texted him anything like that!” Gary rolled his eyes. “Come on, Julia. Give it a rest. Bradley gave us two months free and a twenty percent discount. Whatever marital issues you guys are having, leave working-class people out of it. We paid. We have the receipts. We aren’t paying you twice.” A chorus of agreement rose from the crowd. “Yeah, Bradley even helped me carry my groceries up the stairs last week. He’s a good guy.” “You’re out of your mind, lady. You get married and still act like a single girl trying to get attention.” “Don’t listen to her, officers. She’s just spiteful.” Bradley tilted his chin up, looking at me with sickening faux-affection. “See, babe? Everyone knows the truth. Just stop fighting it. Come home. Mom made that chicken stew you love so much.” He reached out to grab my arm. I recoiled like he was made of acid. “Do not touch me! Officers, run my name through the state database! I am legally single. Run it!” The second officer, who had been on his radio, stepped forward. He looked at me, his expression hardening. “Ma’am, dispatch just ran your details through the state registry.” He sighed. “The system says your marital status is married. And your listed spouse… is Bradley.” The ground dropped out from beneath my feet. “No. That’s impossible. That is physically impossible.” My breath came short and shallow. “I have never set foot inside a courthouse for a marriage license.” Bradley stepped closer. “Julia, is the pregnancy fog really this bad? We went down to City Hall last month. You literally posted it on Instagram. You’re trying to deny it now?” Before I could process that lie, Barbara reached into her oversized purse, pulled out a piece of black lace lingerie, and tossed it at the officers’ feet. “Look!” she shrieked. “Look at this! This is the underwear she wore yesterday! If we don’t live in the same house, how did I get her dirty laundry?!” She spat on the ground. “She’s a cheap whore trying to steal my son’s money to fund her little boy toys!” 3 I stared down at the black lace on the pavement, my vision tunneling. “You aren’t just frauds. You broke into my home.” I looked up at the cops, my voice eerily calm despite the adrenaline. “Officers. That lingerie was hanging on my balcony drying rack. They stole it. This is a premeditated break-in.” Bradley threw his hands up in the air. “Babe, the lies are getting pathetic. We sleep in the same bed every night. My mom does your laundry, and you call it a break-in?” He shook his head, looking deeply wounded. “If you don’t want to be with me anymore, fine. But you don’t have to slander my mother.” The tenants muttered their disgust. “Wow. Throwing her own mother-in-law under the bus. Vicious.” “Right? The old lady washes her underwear and she calls the cops. Total sociopath.” “Bradley, man, you married a nightmare.” The lead officer looked at me with open exhaustion. “Ma’am, the state registry says you’re legally married. Whatever is going on with the rent money is a civil issue regarding marital assets. We can’t intervene. You need to handle this in family court.” Panic clawed at my throat. I grabbed the officer’s sleeve. “You cannot leave! This is a trap! My actual, physical birth certificate and social security card are locked in a safe at my mother’s house in Connecticut. There is zero chance I got married without them! They hacked the system. I don’t know how, but they faked it!” Bradley yanked me toward him by my elbow. He leaned in, his mouth brushing my ear, his voice dropping to a vicious whisper. “Don’t be stupid, Julia. That three hundred grand? It’s already gone. I invested it. You can scream until your lungs bleed, nobody is going to believe you.” He tightened his grip. “Play the good little wife, and I’ll manage this building for you. Keep fighting, and I will completely destroy your reputation.” I shoved both hands against his chest and shoved him backward with everything I had. “Get off me, you parasitic freak!” Bradley let himself fall backward, hitting the pavement with a dramatic thud. His mother immediately threw herself on top of him, wailing. “Murder! She’s trying to kill my son! Officers, you saw it! She attacked him right in front of you! Arrest her! She’s trying to murder our family!” The cops moved in, pulling us apart. “Alright! Enough! Both of you, knock it off!” The lead officer pointed between us. “Since nobody can agree on basic reality, you’re both coming down to the precinct to make formal statements.” “Fine,” I said, my chest heaving. “I will gladly go to the precinct. But I need to go up to my apartment right now to get the deed to this building and my passport. They are in the safe in my bedroom. That will prove he’s lying.” The officer nodded. “Fine. Let’s go.” We walked up to the penthouse unit. I pulled my keys from my purse and slid the key into the deadbolt. I turned it. It stuck. I tried to jiggle it, but the cylinder wouldn’t catch. Bradley reached over my shoulder and gently pulled my hand away. “Babe, did you forget again?” He looked at the officers. “She was paranoid about break-ins yesterday, so she made me hire a guy to install a biometric lock.” He looked back at me, his eyes gleaming with malice. “You set the passcode yourself last night. How could you forget?” He pressed his thumb against the scanner. It beeped green. The deadbolt clicked open. He pushed the door open. I stopped dead in the doorway. A wave of nausea hit me so hard I swayed. The apartment—my sanctuary—was entirely unrecognizable. My minimalist beige sofa was gone, replaced by a cheap, oversized brown leather sectional. Huge, blown-up wedding portraits of Bradley and me hung on my walls. Dirty men’s socks were tossed over the armrest. The glass coffee table was cluttered with protein powder tubs and half-empty beer bottles. I gripped the doorframe to keep from collapsing. Barbara shoved past me, marching into the living room. “Look at this floor! It’s filthy! What kind of wife are you?” She turned and glared at me. “Get in here and mop this up before you embarrass us any further!” I pointed a trembling finger at the massive canvas on the wall. “That is photoshopped! What the hell are you trying to do to me?!” Bradley stepped close, boxing me into the doorframe. “What am I trying to do?” he murmured, his smile cold and terrifying. “I’m just trying to build a life with my beautiful wife.” He leaned in closer. “Your house. Your money. Your body. It all belongs to me now. If you don’t play along, I will make sure the entire internet knows Julia is a slutty little con artist who scams men out of wedding rings.” He grabbed my cold hand, his fingers intertwining with mine. “Come on, honey. Let’s go down to the station and chat with the nice officers.” 4 The interrogation room at the precinct was suffocatingly quiet. I sat with my hands folded tightly on the metal table, keeping my breathing regulated. Sitting across from me, Bradley played the golden boy to perfection. “Officer, I swear to you, I have no idea why my wife is acting like this. She told me she was exhausted from managing the properties. She practically begged me to take over, and even signed a power of attorney.” He pulled a manila folder from his leather bag and slid it across the table. “Here. Look for yourself. Her signature, her fingerprint.” The detective looked over the document, then slid it toward me. “Julia, that appears to be your actual signature. Care to explain?” I stared down at the paper. The ink loops, the sharp slant of the ‘J’—it was undeniably my handwriting. But I had never signed a power of attorney. Then, a memory clicked into place. A week ago, at the end of a grueling session, Bradley had handed me a clipboard. Standard liability waiver for the new high-intensity program, he had said. I was sweating, exhausted, and barely looking. I signed it and gave him a thumbprint for the gym’s biometric check-in. “He tricked me,” I said, my voice steady. “That was a physical assessment form for the gym. He transferred the signature.” Bradley gave a sad, slow shake of his head. “Julia… the lies are getting out of control. You didn’t just sign the paperwork. You recorded a video for me, just in case the tenants didn’t believe me.” He looked at the detective. “I have the video right here on my phone.” He tapped the screen and turned it around. There I was. Sitting on my (original) couch, looking directly into the camera, smiling warmly. “Hi everyone, this is Julia,” the digital version of me said. “I’ve been feeling pretty awful lately due to the pregnancy, so from now on, my husband, Bradley, will be taking over all rent collections for the building. Please cooperate with him. Thanks so much.” It was my voice. My cadence. My exact facial expressions. I lunged across the table to grab the phone. “That is a deepfake! Look at the micro-expressions! Look at the lip-syncing around the hard consonants! It’s an AI generation! It is fake!” The detective snatched the phone back, glaring at me. “Ma’am, sit down and calm down, right now.” He pinched the bridge of his nose. “Based on the state database, the signed documents, and this video evidence, you two are legally married, and you legally authorized him to collect your rent.” He fixed me with a hard look. “If you are seriously alleging that all of this—the database, the signature, the video—is a massive, technologically advanced conspiracy against you, you need hard proof. Otherwise, this is a domestic dispute, and you are wasting police resources.” I slumped back in the uncomfortable metal chair. My state records were hacked. My signature was lifted. A deepfake video had been synthesized. My apartment lock was overridden, and my home was staged. Bradley hadn’t just tried to scam me. He had built a meticulously planned, terrifyingly modern psychological cage to swallow my assets and my identity. Barbara rolled her eyes loudly from the corner of the room. “Detective, please, just let us take her home. Pregnancy brain is a real thing. Once she pops out my grandson, her head will clear up.” She grabbed her purse. “Come on, son. Let’s get her out of here. This is embarrassing.” Bradley stood up, walking behind my chair. He placed a heavy, possessive hand on my shoulder. When the detective looked away, Bradley leaned down. “You’re dead,” he whispered into my hair. I looked up at him. I didn’t blink. “Bradley, do you really think you won?” He froze, his hand tightening slightly. “What game are you playing now, babe?” I ignored him, turning my gaze dead-center onto the detective. “Detective. I need to report a crime. I am currently under investigation for illegal corporate fundraising. I am requesting that you immediately freeze all financial assets tied to my name.”

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I used to be a ghost in the neon haze of the city—a pureblood succubus masquerading as the most expensive escort in the most exclusive high-rise clubs. In my last life, I flew too close to the sun. I played too hard with the heir to a political dynasty, a mistake that ended in his accidental death and my own brutal murder. When I opened my eyes again, I wasn’t in hell. I was in the sprawling, gilded estate of the Emerson family, reincarnated as Janice, the pampered daughter of a high-ranking political strategist—a man they call the Kingmaker. I had planned to spend this second life in quiet luxury, hiding my true nature within the thick walls of the manor. But a succubus is a creature of hunger. Lately, my skin has been humming with a restless, agonizing heat. My instincts are screaming. As fate would have it, the city’s most powerful figure—a man whose influence rivals that of the President—has issued a summons. It’s an “Elite Selection,” a strategic social vetting for the daughters of the nation’s power players. The prize is a position in the inner circle of the “Blackwood Empire.” Rumor has it that Killian Blackwood, the head of the empire, is a man possessed by a primal, volcanic energy. They call him the “Executioner” in boardrooms and a “Demon” in private. The whispers are scandalous: he’s obsessed with dominance, with the bite of leather, and he possesses an endurance that borders on the supernatural. The women who have been “selected” before? They say they were carried out of his penthouse on stretchers, broken by the sheer intensity of his appetites. The debutantes of the city are terrified. I’ve heard of girls trying to shave their heads or eloping with gardeners just to escape the “honor” of his bed. My father, the Kingmaker, has aged ten years in a single night, even whispering about sabotaging his own career just to keep me off Killian’s radar. But me? I listened to the rumors and felt a familiar, wicked smile tug at my lips. “A man who brings his own toys and never runs out of steam? A high-octane tyrant with energy to burn? Honey, that’s not a nightmare. That’s an all-you-can-eat buffet.” 1 The selection took place at the Blackwood Plaza, in a ballroom that felt more like a throne room. Outside, the air was thick with the scent of expensive perfume and desperate fear. The other girls stood with slumped shoulders, looking like they were waiting for the guillotine. My father’s hand was a vice around my arm, his palm slick with sweat. “Janice, listen to me,” he hissed. “When it’s time for the draw, stay in the back. Do not catch his eye. The man is a monster. Entering that inner circle is a death sentence.” I nodded obediently, but my heart was hammering a different rhythm. The succubus within me was clawing at my ribs. I licked my lips, my eyes fixed on the velvet-lined box on the dais. A man with a relentless drive and a penchant for the whip? He wasn’t a monster. He was my cure. “Mr. Blackwood has arrived.” The room went dead silent. Everyone bowed their heads as if a god had walked in. Killian Blackwood was a silhouette of sharp lines and dark shadows. He wore a bespoke charcoal suit that looked like armor. He moved with a predatory grace up the marble stairs, the embodiment of cold, masculine power. I swallowed hard. The contrast was intoxicating. In public, he was the picture of ascetic restraint. In private? A man who lived for the burn. My legs pressed together instinctively. The selection began. One by one, the debutantes stepped forward, pulling white cards from the box—the signal that they were safe. They would exhale, offer a shaky thank-you, and practically run out of the room. Then it was my turn. My father tried to hold me back. “Janice, just grab any card and get out!” I shook him off and stepped forward with a confidence that turned heads. As I passed Killian, I executed a calculated stumble. I’m a pureblood; I know how to fall. I did it with a precision that ensured I collapsed directly toward him. It was a move designed to let him catch my scent—the unique, pheromonal musk of my kind—and feel the curve of my body against his. Except, he didn’t catch me. Killian stepped a half-inch to the side with surgical indifference. I hit the polished floor with a dull thud. It hurt like hell, and I had to grit my teeth to keep from swearing. A wave of muffled giggles rippled through the room. Tiffany, a socialite known for her razor-sharp tongue and fake “innocence,” leaned over with a smirk. “Oh, Janice. Are you that desperate for a man? Even a common gold-digger knows not to trip over the King himself.” I ignored her, pushing myself up and smoothing my dress. Fine, Killian. Play it cool. I walked to the box and reached inside. There was only one card with a raised embossed seal—the one I’d paid a staffer a small fortune to place there. I gripped it and held it high above my head. “I’ve been selected.” The room gasped. My father’s eyes rolled back, and he fainted right there on the carpet. Tiffany’s face contorted into a mask of pure jealousy. “That’s impossible! How could she get it?” I turned to Killian, a daring smile playing on my lips. “Mr. Blackwood, when do I move into the penthouse?” I was already imagining the leather and the long nights. Killian turned to look at me. His gaze was heavy, lingering on my face with an intensity that felt like a physical touch. “Who said anything about the penthouse?” I blinked. “Isn’t this a selection for your… personal circle?” Killian let out a cold, dry chuckle and turned to his Chief of Staff. The man stepped forward, adjusting his glasses, and announced in a booming voice: “By order of Mr. Blackwood: The selection for a domestic partner is indefinitely suspended.” He paused, looking directly at me. “However, the Emerson daughter, having drawn the seal, is hereby appointed as the Executive Assistant to the Chairman. A three-month probationary period begins tomorrow.” The silence lasted two seconds before the whispers exploded. I stood there, stunned. I’m ready to strip, and you’re giving me a desk job? Killian stopped in front of me, looking down from his towering height. “Janice Emerson, right?” “Yes,” I managed. “Six a.m. sharp in my office. Be late by thirty seconds, and you’re fired.” He swept past me without another word. I watched his broad shoulders disappear into the inner sanctum, my temper beginning to simmer. Oh, I see. You want to play the boss-assistant game? You want the thrill of the forbidden office tryst? Fine, Killian. You have no idea what you’ve just invited into your office. 2 The next morning, I arrived at the Blackwood Tower. I was wearing a silk blouse that was just sheer enough to be questionable and a pencil skirt that left very little to the imagination when I sat down. I walked into the executive suite and ran right into Tiffany. She was actually there. “Janice, look at you. Are you here to work or to audition for a street corner?” Tiffany sneered, looking me up and down. I rolled my eyes. “None of your business. You didn’t even get a card. Why are you here?” Tiffany lifted her chin. “My aunt is on the board. I’ve been appointed as the Office Manager. Which means, technically, I’m your boss.” Great. A legacy hire with a grudge. I didn’t give her the satisfaction of a response. I walked straight to the heavy mahogany doors of the inner office and pushed them open. Killian was behind his desk, illuminated by the floor-to-ceiling windows of Manhattan. He was reviewing a stack of contracts. “Mr. Blackwood, I’m reporting for duty,” I said, my voice dropping into a low, honeyed register. He didn’t even look up. “There’s a copy of the Corporate Governance Manifesto on the table. Transcribe it by hand. A hundred times.” I walked over and picked up the book. As I turned to leave, I ‘accidentally’ let it slip through my fingers. “Oh!” The book hit the floor, pages splaying. I knelt down to retrieve it, making sure my skirt rode up just enough to flash a scandalous amount of thigh. I looked up at him, my eyes wide and pleading. “Mr. Blackwood, I’m so clumsy. Would you mind helping me?” In my past life, men would have been across the desk and tearing my clothes off by now. Killian’s gaze dropped to my legs. For a split second, I saw his pupils dilate. The air in the room grew heavy. My inner succubus purred, sensing the fire in him. I was ready to do this right here on the mahogany. Then, his eyes cleared. He looked back at his monitor. “Janice, are you in heat?” The smile froze on my face. “If you can’t pick up a book, get out. This office doesn’t have room for useless baggage.” His voice was like ice. He wasn’t joking. I was fuming. Is this man broken? The rumors said he was a beast with a primal hunger, yet here I am—a pureblood succubus—and he’s treating me like a nuisance? I grabbed the book, grit my teeth, and went to the side office to start writing. When I finished, Tiffany blocked my path. “Janice, take this coffee in to him. He likes it piping hot.” She handed me a porcelain cup, a nasty little smirk on her face. I took it, sensing the trap. I walked into the office. As I approached Killian’s desk, I ‘tripped’ on the edge of the rug. The coffee didn’t just spill; it launched directly into his lap. If you won’t come to me, I’ll make you react. “Shit!” Killian lunged to his feet, his face turning a dark shade of livid. His expensive trousers were soaked in a very suggestive area. I whipped out a silk handkerchief and pounced, rubbing the spot vigorously. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Blackwood! Let me help, let me get that…” My hand brushed against him, and I felt the truth. The rumors were right. He was reacting—and powerfully. I looked up at him and gave him a slow, heavy-lidded wink. Killian’s breath hitched. His eyes were boring into mine. I thought for sure he was about to grab me, maybe pull out that belt he was rumored to use. Instead, he grabbed my wrist with a grip like iron. “Janice Emerson, you are playing a very dangerous game.” He shoved me back. I stumbled against a bookshelf. He grabbed a towel to dry himself off, then roared, “Tiffany! Get in here!” Tiffany rushed in, looking triumphant. “Mr. Blackwood? Is everything okay? Did Janice mess up again? I told you she was incompetent—” “Shut up,” Killian snapped. He looked at Tiffany with pure vitriol. “Did you tell her to bring me this coffee?” Tiffany blinked, her voice trembling as she confessed. “Security! Escort her out. She’s fired. And tell the board her aunt is next if I see her in this building again.” Tiffany began to wail as security dragged her away. Then, there were just the two of us. Killian stared at me. “Janice, stop the games. The cheap tricks, the provocations—stop.” “Or what?” I challenged. “Or I will make your life a living hell. One you won’t want to wake up from.” He turned and walked into his private suite, slamming the door. I rubbed my sore wrist, staring at the closed door. A living hell? Good. Because the more you resist, the more I want to see you break. Let’s see who lasts longer, Mr. Blackwood. 3 That evening was the “Midnight Gala,” a high-society fundraiser. As his assistant, I had to attend. I wore a dress that was essentially a second skin—sheer lace over nude silk. I sat next to him in the back of the limousine, leaning into his space. As the car took a sharp turn, I let myself fall against his shoulder. “I feel a little lightheaded, Killian,” I whispered. He used two fingers to push my head away. “Sit up.” I huffed and straightened my dress. This man’s willpower was terrifying. Was he actually a saint? Or was he just… incapable? At the gala, Killian was the center of gravity. Every woman in the room was watching him, but no one dared approach. Except for me. I sat beside him at the head table, my thigh pressed firmly against his. The drinks flowed. Killian accepted every toast, glass after glass of bourbon. I noticed his eyes beginning to cloud with a dark red tint. Beads of sweat broke out on his forehead. His breathing became heavy and rhythmic. My heart leaped. This was it. The “Holy Fire”—his internal heat—was becoming uncontrollable. “You’ve had a lot to drink,” I whispered in his ear, my breath warm against his skin. “Why don’t I take you to the private lounge to rest?” Killian didn’t push me away this time. His body was rigid, his jaw clenched so hard I thought it might snap. “Fine,” he rasped. I led him away under a barrage of jealous stares. The moment the door to the private lounge clicked shut, he spun me around and pinned me against the mahogany door. “Janice…” His voice was a low, agonizing growl. I was ecstatic. Finally. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him closer. “I’m right here. Whatever you need, I’ll give it to you…” I arched my body into his, my own succubus heat flaring to match his. I waited for him to rip my dress, for the “monster” to come out. Suddenly, Killian’s eyes snapped into focus. He shoved me back, bolted into the adjoining bathroom, and locked the door. I followed him, throwing the door open. Killian was fully dressed, sitting in a marble tub filled with ice-cold water. The freezing water was overflowing onto the floor. He was gripping the edges of the tub, his knuckles white, his whole body shaking. He was using the cold to suppress the fire. I was stunned. Is he insane? He’d rather torture himself with ice than touch me? I walked over and knelt by the tub. “Killian, you’re going to hurt yourself.” I reached out to unbutton his shirt. “Let me help you.” The moment my fingers touched his skin, his eyes flew open—they were bloodshot, primal. He grabbed my throat and pulled! I tumbled into the tub with him. The ice water soaked through my dress instantly, making it transparent. I gasped, finding myself straddling his lap. Even through the freezing water and his suit, I could feel the terrifying reality of his desire. He was at his limit. “Do you want to die, Janice?” he hissed. I met his gaze and gave him a wicked, beautiful smile. “I want to die happy.” I leaned down and bit his earlobe, hard. Killian’s body convulsed. He flipped us, pinning me against the edge of the tub, his hands tearing at the lace of my dress. Yes! Bring out the whip! Do your worst! But then, he stopped. He was panting, staring at me with a mix of hunger and self-loathing. Then he climbed out of the tub. “Get out!” he roared. I sat in the ice water, shivering and furious. “Killian! What is wrong with you?” He didn’t answer. He went to a cabinet, pulled out a small black vial, and swallowed a pill. A sedative. A high-dose suppressant. He’d rather poison his own system than give in. I climbed out of the tub, dripping and humiliated. He threw a heavy cashmere coat at me. “Cover yourself. Go.” I grabbed the coat, my eyes burning with tears of rage. “Fine, Mr. Blackwood,” I spat. “But I promise you this: I’m going to break you. And when I do, you’ll be the one begging.” I walked out, the wet silk clinging to my skin. 4 The gala moved into its final phase—the “Silent Auction.” I had managed to bribe a server for a spare tuxedo and a mask. I stood in the shadows behind the high-backed velvet chairs of the VIP section, watching Killian. He was sitting there, his back stiff, but I could see the slight tremor in his hands. The suppressant wasn’t working. The heat was too strong. I licked my lips. You threw me out of the tub, but there’s nowhere to run now. The lights dimmed for a presentation on a rare diamond. The room went pitch black. I slipped through the shadows and reached his side. “Mr. Blackwood, I brought you something cold to help with the fever,” I whispered. He turned, his eyes searching the dark. Before he could speak, I dropped a single, frozen grape into his lap. He hissed, a sharp intake of breath. “I’ll get that for you,” I murmured. I dropped to my knees and slid under the long, heavy velvet tablecloth that draped over the VIP table. The lights came back on. Down there, in the dark, the heat radiating from him was like a furnace. “Janice!” Killian hissed, his voice a strangled whisper. He tried to pull back. I grabbed his ankles, anchoring him. I pressed my cheek against the fabric of his trousers. Above us, the auctioneer was droning on about carats and clarity. Under the table, I began to unfasten his belt. Killian’s entire body went rigid. He reached down, his fingers digging into the back of my neck. “Get… out…” he gasped. I ignored him. I could hear the truth in his heartbeat. “Is everything alright, Mr. Blackwood?” my father’s voice suddenly asked from across the table. “You look a bit flushed.” Killian’s hand tightened on my neck. “I’m fine, Robert. Just the heat in the room.” I smiled and made my move. I heard him choke back a groan. His hand on my neck went limp, then tightened again, but not to push me away. Then, the guest of honor stood up. “A toast to the Blackwood Empire! Killian, please, stand and join us!” The entire room turned toward our table. If Killian stood up now, his disarray would be visible to every camera and every power player in the city. He was trapped. He sat there, sweating, his hand trembling as he reached for his champagne glass. He tried to play it off, but I wasn’t finished. As he tilted his head back to drink, I gave him exactly what he’d been fighting against. “Ah!” Killian let out a loud, ragged moan that echoed through the silent ballroom.

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Ethan once told me the faint aroma of food clinging to my skin was the scent he’d treasure for the rest of his life. He sat on a cold bench outside my kitchen for an entire night, waiting for me to perfect a single sauce. I thought that was love. Then he gave away the winery I’d dreamed of my entire life to another woman during a global livestream, casually saying, “As long as you like it.” I made scenes. I went crazy. I threw away my dignity trying to win back his heart. But when he didn’t hesitate to carry his mistress out of a fire without even glancing back at me, I finally understood. Once sincerity rots, it can never be mended. That night, I made him one final dish. I called it “Oblivion.” Anna’s POV The glow from the kitchen fire illuminated my calm face. The aroma of French slow-roasted squab filled the air. Black truffle juices sizzled softly under the high heat. Today marked the day L’Éternité officially earned its third Michelin star. And my third wedding anniversary with Ethan. For this celebration dinner, I’d turned down all media interviews and stood in the kitchen for six straight hours. Ethan once said the thing he treasured most in this life was the faint scent of food on my skin. He’d sat on a freezing bench outside my kitchen for an entire night, waiting for me to perfect a single sauce. He’d spent a fortune building me the finest private kitchen in all of America. “Miss Anna…” My assistant Lynn pushed open the kitchen door, her steps frantic. She clutched her tablet tightly, her eyes evasive. “How long until he arrives?” I placed the final gold leaf garnish on the plate, my voice gentle. Lynn bit her lip. Her eyes suddenly reddened as she handed over the tablet. “Mr. Sinclair… he probably won’t make it.” On the screen was a livestream of a top-tier winery auction in Bordeaux, France. At the center of the frame stood Ethan in a bespoke tailored suit, his posture impeccable, his handsome face wearing a casual smile. He’d just bid one point five billion dollars for the legendary “Moonlight Winery.” That was my lifelong dream. I’d curled up in his arms countless times, describing how I’d buy that winery and use its grapes to create a signature sauce just for him. He’d kissed my forehead then, murmuring a promise. “I’ll definitely buy it for you.” And now, before the eyes of the world, Ethan casually handed the ownership documents to a young woman beside him. Her name was Chloe, a recently viral food blogger known for her innocent eyes and clumsy yet heartfelt cooking videos. Chloe covered her mouth in excitement, stood on her tiptoes, and pressed a kiss to Ethan’s cheek. “Thank you, Ethan! I’ll definitely use these grapes to make you the best wine ever!” Ethan didn’t pull away. Instead, he indulgently touched her hair and spoke casually into the camera. “As long as you like it.” The kitchen fell deathly silent. Lynn watched me nervously. A year ago, when Ethan was linked to an actress, I drove my car straight into hers. Six months ago, when he was photographed on a yacht with a strange woman, I had people destroy that yacht the same night. Everyone knew I loved Ethan intensely. Obsessively. Even madly. I wouldn’t allow anyone to touch him. “Anna, PR is asking if we should handle that girl the usual way?” Lynn asked carefully, afraid I’d overturn this meticulously prepared dinner any second. I stared quietly at Ethan’s doting smile on the screen. That smile once belonged only to me. Now he’d given away my dream, my treasured promise, so casually to another woman. There was no hysterical screaming, no angry destruction. I just felt my heart squeezed by an invisible hand. The pain so extreme it turned into a strange numbness. “No.” My voice was eerily calm, calm enough to frighten Lynn. I pulled out a chair and sat down, picking up my knife and fork to cut into the squab that had grown slightly cold. I placed it in my mouth. The premium ingredients filled my mouth, but I tasted nothing. Each swallow felt like shredded glass scraping down my throat. “Miss Anna…” “Tell everyone to leave early. The restaurant will be closed tomorrow.” I swallowed the last bite and picked up my napkin, dabbing my lips with perfect grace. For two years, I’d made scenes, gone crazy, trampled all my dignity trying to keep this man’s heart. But once sincerity rots, it can never be stitched back together. I removed my Michelin chef’s whites that symbolized my honor and tossed them casually over the chair. I was tired. I didn’t want to fight anymore.

Anna’s POV Morning sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows onto the kitchen island. I held a cup of black coffee, head down as I revised next season’s menu in my notebook. My expression was focused and cold, as if last night’s betrayal that had exploded across the internet didn’t exist at all. The sound of the security code unlocking came from the front door. Ethan walked in carrying the cool air of Bordeaux and a barely noticeable sweet perfume scent. He stood at the entrance, his gaze sweeping over the quiet living room, his brow furrowing almost imperceptibly. He removed his suit jacket and walked to the island, looking down at me from his height. “I’m back.” He spoke with a testing tone that also carried his usual arrogance. I didn’t even lift my head, just crossed out a line in the recipe. “Mm.” He laughed coldly and grabbed my chin, forcing me to look up at him. “You saw the news? You finally understand that making scenes doesn’t work?” I looked at this familiar yet strange face, my eyes showing no ripple of emotion. “The winery is just an investment for Sinclair Group. Chloe’s image is perfect for brand ambassador. Don’t overthink it.” He released my chin, explaining naturally. “I’m not overthinking.” I lowered my eyes and continued reading the menu. “Good.” Ethan drummed his fingers on the counter, his tone brooking no argument. “Tomorrow is Chloe’s twenty-fourth birthday. She’s always admired you and wants to try your cooking. Clear out L’Éternité’s VIP room, create a special menu personally, and throw her a birthday party.” He wanted his wife to personally cook for his mistress in the restaurant that had just earned three Michelin stars. This was grinding my dignity into the ground. Ethan stared at me intently, as if waiting for me to explode. However, my hand holding the pen only paused for one second before I continued writing the menu as if nothing had happened. “Alright.” My voice was as calm as stagnant water. “I’ll arrange the menu.” Ethan froze. “As long as you behave, the position of Mrs. Sinclair will always be yours.” He smiled with satisfaction. I pulled out a thick stack of documents from beside me and pushed them toward him. “This is the authorization for next quarter’s imported premium ingredients. As the controlling shareholder, you need to sign.” Ethan didn’t even look. He simply pulled out his fountain pen and signed his name at the bottom of each page. “Just decide these small matters yourself from now on. Don’t bother me with them.” After signing, he pushed the documents back and turned toward the bathroom. I quietly watched his retreating figure, then flipped to the third page from the back. It was a drafted divorce agreement. In the property division section, I’d chosen to leave with nothing except the restaurant brand I’d created before marriage. And in the lower right corner, Ethan’s signature was clear and glaring. The ink wasn’t yet dry. Just like our marriage, finally reaching its end. That evening, L’Éternité’s VIP room was brilliantly lit. Ethan sat at the head of the table with Chloe nestled beside him, surrounded by several of Ethan’s friends. Everyone wore mocking expressions, waiting for me to appear. Everyone knew my terrible temper. They were certain I’d cause a scene at tonight’s banquet.

Anna’s POV The door to the private room opened. I wore crisp white chef’s whites and white gloves, followed by a line of servers. I directed the service expressionlessly with elegant movements, as if truly serving a group of ordinary diners. The final signature dessert was brought to the table. It was my signature creation, “Snowfall.” White truffle ice cream processed with liquid nitrogen, paired with an extremely complex vanilla extract that melted instantly on the tongue like dissolving snowflakes. This wasn’t just the restaurant’s signature dish. It was the dessert I’d personally made for Ethan when he proposed five years ago. “Chloe, try it. This is Mrs. Sinclair’s signature creation. People wait six months outside just to taste it,” one wealthy patron said. Chloe glanced at me timidly, then picked up a spoon and placed a small bite in her mouth. After just one second, she frowned slightly and set down her spoon. “What’s wrong? You don’t like it?” Ethan immediately turned his head, his tone showing undisguised concern. Chloe bit her lip, looking somewhat aggrieved. “Miss Anna’s technique is truly excellent, it’s just… this dessert tastes too cold. It feels like eating something made by a precision machine. Ethan, I don’t understand all those sophisticated techniques. I just feel that food should be warm, should have soul…” The room fell instantly silent. These words were tantamount to publicly slapping a three-Michelin-star chef in the face. Everyone looked at Ethan, waiting for him to defend his wife. However, Ethan only glanced at “Snowfall” before pushing the plate away without hesitation. “Chloe’s right.” Ethan lifted his head, his gaze piercing coldly toward me. “Anna, your cooking has become too commercialized. Your head is full of techniques. You’ve completely lost the soul of food. Yesterday, Chloe fried me an egg at home that had more flavor than this dessert you worked so hard on.” The others let out low chuckles. I stood there, staring at the pushed-away plate. Once upon a time, Ethan had waited three hours for me in subzero snow just to taste “Snowfall.” When he took the first bite, his eyes reddened as he said, “Anna, this is the most soulful flavor I’ve ever tasted in my life.” Now he said it wasn’t as good as his mistress’s fried egg. The pain in my chest had gone numb. I even found it somewhat laughable. I didn’t explode as they expected, nor did I shed a single tear. I simply raised my hand calmly and snapped my fingers. “Clear them away.” The servers stepped forward to remove the desserts. But I picked up the two plates of “Snowfall” in front of Ethan and Chloe. I turned and walked to the trash can in the corner. Then I flicked my wrist. The exquisite porcelain plates, along with the expensive desserts, crashed into the garbage. “Anna! What are you doing!” Ethan shot to his feet, his face livid. I removed my white gloves and tossed them on the table, my gaze cold as ice. “Since Mr. Sinclair’s palate has degraded to only appreciating fried eggs, stop wasting my premium ingredients here. Garbage belongs in the garbage can.” With that, I didn’t spare Ethan another glance and strode out of the room.

Anna’s POV Early morning, the moment I stepped into the restaurant, the purchasing manager rushed up to me drenched in sweat. “Miss Anna, we have a problem! Our exclusive white truffle supplier in Alba, Italy suddenly terminated our contract unilaterally! That’s the core ingredient for next month’s new menu. Without it, our Michelin star review will be seriously affected!” My brow furrowed. “They’re willing to pay the penalty?” “They said… Sinclair Group acquired their estate. All white truffle production has been absorbed internally.” My movements froze abruptly. Sinclair Group. Ethan. Without hesitation, I drove straight to Sinclair Group headquarters. Top floor, CEO’s office. The secretary tried to stop me but couldn’t block me as I radiated cold fury. I pushed open the heavy double doors. Behind the massive desk, Ethan leaned back in his chair. Chloe wore an obviously oversized men’s dress shirt, sitting on his lap with a delicate silver spoon in hand, feeding him an extremely precious slice of white truffle. Hearing the door open, Chloe yelped and curled into Ethan’s arms like a frightened rabbit. Ethan patted Chloe’s back reassuringly, then looked at me coldly. “Don’t you know to knock? Where are your manners?” I slammed the rejected procurement contract onto his desk, papers scattering everywhere. “You cut off my white truffle supply?” I stared at him, my voice icy. Ethan casually adjusted his cuffs. “Chloe’s preparing to launch her own high-end food brand recently. She’s focusing on truffle sauce. She needs the best raw materials. Your restaurant already has three stars. One less dish won’t affect anything.” Chloe peeked out from his embrace, her eyes reddening. “Miss Anna, I’m sorry. I didn’t know Ethan would take your allocation. If you really need it, I can give you some…” “Shut up.” I didn’t even glance at her, my gaze locked on Ethan. “Ethan, that’s L’Éternité’s lifeline. I spent three years securing that exclusive contract. You destroyed my achievement to make her cheap canned sauce?” Ethan frowned, impatience flashing in his eyes. “Anna, don’t be so petty. Chloe’s just starting out. She needs publicity. As a senior, you should support her. They’re just a few mushrooms. I’ll compensate you ten times the money afterward.” A few mushrooms. I looked at this man before me. He’d not only betrayed our marriage but was now brazenly trampling on the professional faith I held as dear as life. He knew exactly what it meant to me, yet for a beauty’s smile, he tore my kingdom apart so easily. “No need for compensation.” I suddenly smiled, though the smile never reached my eyes, radiating bone-deep coldness. I looked deeply at Ethan one last time. That gaze held no more love, no more hatred. Only barren, desolate emptiness. “I hope her canned sauce is worth your one and a half billion.” I turned and left, my spine straight. That evening was a charity gala that had all of New York buzzing. As a special guest, I donated a sugar sculpture called “Ember’s Grace.” I’d spent an entire month painstakingly creating the phoenix from extremely fragile sugar threads. It was breathtakingly beautiful, with a starting bid of five million dollars. This wasn’t just an artwork. It was an important chip for demonstrating my capabilities to the international culinary world. Ethan attended with Chloe. She wore a pure white haute couture gown, like a delicate white flower, clinging tightly to Ethan’s arm. Five years ago, my family faced disaster. Ethan descended like a god and cleared all our debts. Later, in a kitchen fire accident, Ethan inhaled massive amounts of smoke trying to save me, causing severe damage to his taste nerves. For an entire year, everything tasted like nothing to him. He became volatile and irritable. Only the special soup I continually prepared for him allowed him to taste even a hint of flavor. He’d held me once, his eyes red, saying, “Anna, you’re my life, my only sense of taste in this world.” But now his taste had recovered, and his life had become someone else. The gala reached its climax when “Ember’s Grace” was wheeled onto the display platform. Under the lights, the sugar threads refracted dazzling brilliance. Chloe pulled Ethan forward, apparently wanting a closer look. “Wow, so beautiful…” Chloe exclaimed, then suddenly stumbled, her entire body pitching straight toward the display. CRASH. A tremendous sound. Ember’s Grace, which took a month to create, instantly shattered into fine sugar fragments.

Anna’s POV The entire room erupted in chaos. Chloe sat collapsed among the scattered sugar pieces, covering her face with both hands, crying pitifully. “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to… my ankle twisted…” I stood a few steps away, staring at the crystalline fragments covering the floor, my mind briefly blank. That represented countless sleepless nights, every ounce of effort I’d poured into my work. Ethan rushed forward and swept Chloe up from the ground, anxiously checking her hands and feet. “Are you hurt anywhere? Does it hurt?” After confirming Chloe was fine, he whipped around and glared at me furiously. “Why did you place such a fragile item by the walkway?! Are you trying to kill someone?!” I watched his enraged appearance and found it utterly absurd. “Ethan, are you blind?” My voice wasn’t loud, but it carried clearly to everyone’s ears. “The display is six feet from the walkway. Did she fly over there?” “Anna! Enough!” Ethan cut me off sharply. “Chloe already apologized. What more do you want? It’s just a broken sugar sculpture. Is it worth getting this angry over?” I closed my eyes and swallowed the bloody taste rising in my throat. During the subsequent auction, to comfort the shaken Chloe, Ethan announced on the spot that he’d bid ten million dollars for a box of burnt cookies Chloe had supposedly “personally baked” for charity. All the cameras focused on them, praising Ethan’s devotion. Meanwhile, the Michelin chef whose work was destroyed stood alone in the shadows like a forgotten joke. I didn’t look at them again. I turned and walked out of the banquet hall. The night wind cut through me, chilling me to the bone. My love, along with that phoenix, had shattered completely into dust. Several days later, a video went viral across the internet. Chloe posted an episode on her personal channel titled “Original Spring Secret.” In the video, she wore an apron, using clumsy yet “creative” techniques to prepare an extremely complex molecular gastronomy dish. I watched the video on screen, my blood instantly freezing. That wasn’t any original creation! It was the brand new spring signature dish I was preparing to unveil at next month’s global launch! The recipe was extremely complex. Aside from myself, no one else knew it. The only possibility was that my private notebook draft had been leaked. Online sentiment shifted instantly. Chloe’s fans began viciously attacking L’Éternité, accusing me, the supposed three-star chef, of being a thief who’d plagiarized an influencer’s creativity. The restaurant’s reservation line was flooded with cancellations and abuse. I immediately pulled up the home security footage. The video clearly showed that two days ago when Ethan brought Chloe to the villa to get something, Chloe had snuck into my private study and photographed the notebook contents with her phone. I had evidence. I grabbed the USB drive and called Ethan. “Have your PR department issue a clarification statement immediately. I’ll simultaneously release the surveillance video of Chloe stealing the recipe.” Thirty minutes later, Ethan didn’t issue any statement. Instead, he rushed straight back to the villa. He walked quickly to the main console and, under my icy gaze, pressed the format button without hesitation. All the surveillance records vanished instantly. “Have you lost your mind?” I stared at the blackened screen, my voice trembling. Ethan turned around, his brow furrowed, his tone carrying unquestionable firmness. “Anna, Chloe’s about to sign with a major international brand. If a theft scandal breaks now, her entire career is destroyed!” “What about MY career?!” I raised my voice sharply, my eyes reddening. “I’m being cyberbullied across the internet for plagiarism! My restaurant’s reputation is destroyed! Ethan, that’s my life’s work!” “You already have three Michelin stars! You can spare one dish!” Ethan gripped my shoulders, trying to convince me with his twisted logic. “You have so many recipes. Just write a new one! Consider this dish a gift to Chloe. I’ll compensate you. I’ll buy you the best downtown location and open ten new restaurants!” Looking at this man before me, I suddenly found him as alien as a monster. He not only wanted to strip away my love but also destroy my pride, forcing me to bear the infamy for a thief. “You want me to bow my head and confess to a thief?” I asked softly, my voice drifting like a ghost. Ethan’s eyes flickered, but he continued. “As long as you stay silent, this will blow over quickly. Anna, I’m begging you to let Chloe go.” For another woman, he begged me for the first time. I looked at him and suddenly laughed. The laughter echoed through the empty villa, desolate and desperate. “Fine.” I stopped laughing and looked at Ethan, my eyes hollow and terrifying. “I’ll stay silent.” Ethan breathed a sigh of relief and reached out to hug me, but I dodged him. I turned and walked upstairs. With each step, another shovelful of dirt was added to the grave in my heart.

Anna’s POV Three days later, at the law office, I received the legally binding divorce certificate. Because I’d walked away with nothing and waived all property disputes, the process went unusually smoothly. Ethan’s grandfather sighed for a long time on the phone but could do nothing. Leaving the law office, I returned once to the Sinclair family villa. My private research kitchen was there, containing a recipe book my late grandfather had left me. It was the only thing I wanted to take. Pushing open the research kitchen door, I froze. Chloe stood at the stove wearing my backup chef’s coat, holding a blowtorch, attempting to recreate a high-difficulty flambé dish. “What are you doing here?” I said coldly. Chloe startled, and the blowtorch in her hand jerked sideways. Blue flames instantly ignited the oil-resistant paper stacked nearby. The fire fed on the kitchen oils and spread like a beast. Chloe screamed and dropped the torch. Flames shot up the curtains. Thick smoke rolled as alarms shrieked. Ignoring Chloe’s screams, I immediately covered my nose and mouth and rushed toward the innermost safe, quickly entering the code and retrieving the yellowed recipe book. Just then, the kitchen door was kicked open violently. Ethan charged in like a madman. Through the firelight, he immediately spotted Chloe collapsed on the floor coughing from smoke, and me standing by the safe, separated by a wall of flames. He didn’t hesitate for even a second. Ethan stripped off his expensive coat and wrapped it around Chloe. He scooped her into his arms and turned without hesitation, rushing out of the inferno. I stood in place, watching through the dancing flames and acrid smoke as that man’s broad back disappeared through the door. He didn’t even look back at me. Didn’t ask once if I could get out. The temperature rose around me, yet I felt plunged into freezing water. I didn’t call for help or shed tears. I simply calmly placed Grandpa’s recipe book into a fireproof bag, then dampened a towel to cover my nose and mouth, avoided the worst of the fire, and walked out through the back emergency exit. Outside the villa, fire trucks had arrived. Ethan knelt on the lawn, clutching Chloe tightly, shouting frantically at the paramedics. “Check her quickly! She inhaled smoke!” I held the fireproof bag, standing quietly in the shadows, watching this tender scene. Only after Chloe was loaded into the ambulance did Ethan suddenly seem to remember something. His face turned deathly pale as he turned and tried to rush back into the still-burning villa. “Anna! Anna’s still inside!” His voice was hoarse with unprecedented panic. An icy hand landed on his shoulder. Ethan whipped around and, seeing me, pulled me into a death grip, his entire body trembling. “You’re okay… thank God, you scared me to death…” I didn’t struggle, letting him hold me. I felt his violent heartbeat, smelled Chloe’s perfume clinging to him. “Ethan.” I spoke softly, my voice completely flat. “Let go. You’re dirtying my clothes.” I pushed him away coldly and walked into the night without looking back.

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Five years ago, Ethan knelt for three days and nights to marry me. That wedding of the century is still talked about today. For five years, even if I asked for the moon, he would give it to me. I thought I was the happiest woman in the world. Until I came home early and caught him holding his mistress, saying the same sweet words he’d once said to me on our bed. “Ivy, I love you more than I ever loved Charlotte.” In that moment, I finally understood. A tycoon’s love has a shelf life of only five years. I didn’t cry or make a scene. I quietly signed the divorce agreement, sold the old house my parents left me, and wiped my identity clean. In twelve days, Charlotte Thompson would cease to exist in this world. And Ethan, only after I disappeared, went crazy searching for me everywhere. Too bad. It was too late. Charlotte POV Ethan was ruthless in business, but he gave all his tenderness and affection to one person. I was an ordinary person with no power or influence. Five years ago, to marry me, Ethan knelt at home for three days and nights before his family agreed to let me marry him. That wedding that shocked New York is still remembered today. For five years, Ethan doted on me constantly. If I casually mentioned wanting cherries, he’d have his private jet fly overnight to bring me the freshest cherries from Chile. When I caught a cold and had a fever, he canceled a billion-dollar acquisition and stayed by my side at the hospital for three days and nights. But this man who loved me like his life brought his mistress back to our home and had sex with her on our bed. Three days ago was supposed to be our fifth wedding anniversary trip. I’d planned it for so long, arranging everything I could think of. Excitedly, I dragged my suitcase to the airport with Ethan. Then his phone rang. He answered, his brow furrowing tighter and tighter. Finally, he looked at me apologetically. “I’m sorry, Charlotte. There’s a major problem with a company project. I have to go back and handle it.” I didn’t want to make things difficult for him, so I smiled and pushed him toward the exit. “It’s okay. I’ll go ahead by myself. Next time you can come with me.” Ethan kissed my forehead. “I’m sorry. I’ll come find you as soon as I’m done.” A solo trip is inevitably lonely. The more I walked those streets I’d been looking forward to, the more I missed Ethan. Every time I saw some novel little trinket, I couldn’t help thinking how wonderful it would be if Ethan were here. On the third morning, I changed my flight on impulse, wanting to come home early and surprise him. But what awaited me was this scene. The bedroom door was ajar, and muffled panting and the sound of the bed shaking came from inside. I froze outside the door. Through the crack, I could see everything clearly. On the nightstand, our wedding photo sat right there. The photo of us smiling sweetly seemed to have become a prop to enhance their pleasure. Ethan’s hand gripped the slender waist of the woman beneath him, his other hand tangled in her long hair as he flipped her over and pressed her down beside the wedding photo. The woman was thoroughly ravaged by him, panting and moaning while tears streamed down her face. Ethan leaned down to kiss away the tears from the corners of her eyes. “Let me hear your voice.” “Can’t bear to let me go?” “Don’t cry. Tell me if it hurts, and I’ll be gentler.” I stood frozen in place, my entire body ice cold. These tender words. Ethan had said them to me on countless nights. So his tenderness wasn’t reserved for me alone. In a daze, many images flashed through my mind. On our wedding day, Ethan held my hand and looked seriously into my eyes. “Charlotte, in this life, I’ll only love you. That will never change, even until death.” One year on my birthday, he went to a snowy mountain to bring me a bouquet of fresh avalanche lilies. His lips turned purple from the cold, but he still smiled and said, “As long as it’s something you want, I’ll get it for you.” Last year on our fourth anniversary, he held me on the balcony watching fireworks and swore in my ear, “Charlotte, we’ll always be together. When we’re eighty, I’ll still hold you like this.” I believed it all. I never imagined he was lying to me. Ethan’s promises had a shelf life of only five short years. Back then, my parents didn’t agree to me marrying Ethan. My mother held my hand and said a tycoon’s love is harder to sustain than an ordinary person’s. I didn’t believe it then. Now, watching those two entwined bodies on the bed, I had no choice but to believe. I wanted to rush in and confront that man, confront that woman. But I didn’t want to cry in front of them both, to become a clown. In the end, I bit my lip and silently backed out of the house. I walked down the street feeling lost, my mind completely blank, unable to make sense of anything. I dialed Ethan’s number. The call was answered, but it wasn’t Ethan who spoke. “Charlotte Thompson, you came home just now. I saw you.” It was that woman’s voice! I stopped in my tracks, unable to say a word. But Ivy didn’t give me a chance to catch my breath. “A man like Mr. Sterling. Who wouldn’t want him?” “You’ve occupied the position of Mrs. Sterling for too long. It’s time for a change.” The call was disconnected. I wandered the streets and randomly found a hotel to check into. In the past two years, both my parents had passed away. Before he died, my father gripped my hand tightly and said, “If you’re wronged at the Sterling house, just leave. Keep that old house of ours. It’s your last safety net. If worse comes to worst, sell it. It’ll be enough for you to start a new life.” I didn’t sleep all night. The next morning, I did three things. First, I contacted a lawyer to draft a divorce agreement. Second, I listed my parents’ old house for sale. Third, I processed the paperwork to close my accounts. Closing the account would take twelve days. After twelve days, there would no longer be a Charlotte Thompson in this world.

Charlotte POV “Charlotte, when are you coming back? I’ll pick you up.” I stared at the message Ethan sent on my phone, dazed for a long while. If I hadn’t witnessed that scene last night, I’d probably still be immersed in the sweet anticipation of coming home. Excitedly sending him my flight information, planning to throw myself into his arms the moment I saw him. Now, all I could do was stare at that message and feel the dull ache in my chest. “Six-thirty tonight.” I knew Ethan too well. He wouldn’t let me go easily. I had to leave without a sound. “Okay, I’ll come early to pick you up.” At six-thirty that evening, I stood at the airport exit with my suitcase again. I kept waiting, but never saw the man’s figure. Dark clouds gathered overhead, the air thick and heavy, just like my mood at that moment. My phone buzzed. An email from a stranger’s address. The email contained only one photo. In the photo, a woman’s delicate finger had a small cut, and a hand with distinct knuckles was carefully putting a bandage on it. I knew that hand all too well. It was Ethan’s hand. With one line attached: “He won’t be picking you up.” I clutched my phone, staring at that glaring photo, my chest aching more and more. I didn’t want to believe it. I could accept that Ethan had physically cheated, but I didn’t believe he would abandon me for that woman. The next second, Ethan’s message popped up. “Charlotte, something came up at the company last minute. I can’t make it for now. Take a taxi home yourself.” This message landed on my face like a resounding slap, making my heart bleed with pain. Thunder crashed in the sky with a boom. Dark clouds churned and gathered, and raindrops began to fall. In an instant, a torrential downpour enveloped the entire airport. The day my mother passed away, there was also a rainstorm like this. I cried until I nearly fainted. Ethan held an umbrella, holding me tightly in his arms. The rain soaked half his shoulder, but he didn’t care at all. Back then, his eyes were red as he told me, “Charlotte, from now on, I’ll be with you every rainy day. I’ll never let you get caught in the rain alone again.” That promise was made just a few hundred days ago. And now I had to stand alone in the pouring rain. Except this time, Ethan had personally orchestrated this rain. I took a taxi home. The house had been cleaned spotless. Not even a single strand of hair remained. My period happened to start today. After getting caught in the rain and catching a chill, the pain made me break out in cold sweat. I couldn’t be bothered to eat. I hastily peeled off my wet clothes and collapsed onto the bed. In the middle of the night, I groggily felt a warm hand pressing on my lower abdomen. I opened my eyes to see Ethan’s anxious face. “Charlotte, you’re awake?” The man leaned down to kiss me. Instinctively, I turned my head slightly and dodged. Ethan froze, thinking I was still angry. “I’m sorry, Charlotte. There really was an emergency at the company today. I couldn’t get away.” His voice was full of apology and exhaustion. “I made you get caught in the rain. It’s my fault.” I stared at him blankly. The anxiety and self-reproach in his eyes seemed so genuine, his tone so sincere it didn’t seem fake. That’s when I realized lies could be told with such apparent sincerity. “Charlotte? Don’t be angry. Did you not eat? I made you warm milk.” Ethan got up and left, quickly returning with a cup of milk. “Charlotte, drink it.” He handed me the cup, his large hand naturally covering my lower abdomen again. Every time my period pain was severe, Ethan always took care of me like this. When the pain was at its worst, he would even warm my belly with his hand all night long. But now, all this attentiveness had turned into blade after blade, cutting at my heart. I wished he would be cold to me now. That way I could leave without any lingering attachment. I drank the milk irritably, catching a glimpse of his phone lighting up from the corner of my eye. He didn’t move, still steadily warming my belly. But the phone rang again. Ethan frowned and rejected the call. Less than a minute later, the ringtone sounded once more. Ethan finally picked up the phone impatiently, walked to the window and spoke in a low voice for a few moments, then looked at me with difficulty: “Charlotte, the company matter isn’t resolved yet. Something else came up…” The warmth left my lower abdomen, and the pain instantly intensified. I instinctively curled up. A flash of heartache and guilt crossed Ethan’s face. He struggled for a moment but ultimately didn’t change his mind. “Charlotte, I’ll be right back.” With that, he turned and left as if escaping. As the door closed, I finally let my tears fall. On the nightstand, the two people in the wedding photo smiled brightly. Now it all seemed like mockery. On this bed beneath me, the scenes from last night tore apart the love I’d held unwaveringly all these years. So-called lifelong companionship. In the end, someone broke their promise early after all. The milk had gone completely cold. Ethan, if you knew our time together had entered its final countdown, would you regret leaving tonight?

Charlotte POV The “live updates” in the emails were too timely. I knew exactly what they did last night. The woman slipped and fell in the shower, scraped herself a little, and Ethan took her to the hospital in the middle of the night in the rain. Not only that, he used his connections to summon the best specialist overnight to examine her injury, staying busy until almost dawn before returning. I don’t know how long I cried before falling asleep. When I opened my eyes again, it was already bright outside. The bedroom door opened, and Ethan walked in looking apologetic. “Charlotte, you’re awake?” Seeing my swollen red eyes, Ethan’s own eyes reddened with heartache. “It’s my fault. I didn’t stay with you last night. I didn’t take care of you. Are you upset?” He leaned down and kissed my hair. “I’m not going anywhere today. I’ll spend the whole day with you and make it up to you, okay?” That day, Ethan truly didn’t leave my side. He didn’t answer any calls from the company. Even when his assistant came to deliver documents, he turned them away at the door. He cooked for me himself, watched my favorite movies with me, massaged my abdomen. Impeccably gentle. Yet I only felt increasingly bitter. For me, he could throw aside the entire company without hesitation. For that woman, he could abandon me without hesitation. The ranking in his heart was already very clear. I never wanted him to put me before his career. But no one could accept that there was such a woman in his ranking. And this woman had now risen to first place. In the evening, Ethan had a business association gala he absolutely had to attend. I said I wasn’t feeling well. The first time I didn’t accompany him to an event. Late at night, the door lock clicked. But it wasn’t Ethan who pushed open the door. It was that woman. The woman supported the drunk Ethan, the man’s tall frame leaning crookedly against her. She walked right in supporting Ethan, smiling smugly. “Mr. Sterling had a few too many drinks tonight. I brought him home.” Then she skillfully helped Ethan into the master bedroom, took off his shoes and socks, changed his clothes, tucked in the covers. Completely ignoring my presence. I sat in the living room watching all this, neither moving nor speaking. In the days I didn’t know about, this woman must have come to my house more than once. The woman came out of the bedroom and expertly turned into the kitchen, took out honey and began brewing tea. Before long, she came out carrying a cup of tea and set it on the living room table. “I’ll leave the rest to you. Remember to give Mr. Sterling this tea. The alcohol was strong tonight. His stomach will hurt.” She seemed to be ordering me around. In five years of marriage, no one had ever dared speak to me like that. Without a doubt, this courage was fed to her by Ethan himself. I looked at her expressionlessly. “Your name?” The woman laughed. “I thought Miss Thompson was magnanimous enough to accept even this. Ivy.” With that, she turned and left. I walked into the bedroom, looked at the sleeping Ethan for a while, then turned and went to the study. I took the divorce agreement from the drawer, returned to the master bedroom, and shook Ethan. “Mr. Sterling, there’s a document that needs your signature.” Ethan thought it was Ivy. He didn’t even open his eyes. “Ivy, don’t drink. Let me drink it.” He thought he was still shielding Ivy from alcohol. I bit my teeth, suppressed my anger, and urged him, “Sign it first. The document is urgent.” Ethan was heavily drunk and couldn’t see clearly who was in front of him. Perhaps he trusted Ivy too much. He took the pen and signed his name on the divorce agreement. Looking at the signed agreement, the anger that had been stuck in my chest for two days finally dissipated a bit. I took the blanket and went to the guest room alone. I didn’t want to sleep with him. The next morning, as soon as I woke up, Ethan called. “Charlotte, I left a contract in the second drawer of the study. I need it urgently. Can you bring it to me?” I brought the documents to Sterling Group, but it wasn’t the former assistant who greeted me. It was Ivy. “I said I’d go get it myself, but Mr. Sterling was afraid I’d work too hard, so he had to trouble you to make the trip.” Ivy smiled and reached out to take the documents. I dodged to the side, my tone turning cold. “Move.” Ivy pouted, seemingly prepared for my coldness. “Mr. Sterling is in a meeting. Let me take you to the reception room to wait.” I laughed coldly. “What’s your position?” Ivy raised her chin defiantly. “I’m Mr. Sterling’s personal assistant.” “Since you’re a personal assistant, don’t you know that when I come to the company, I always go straight to Ethan’s office?” As I spoke, I unceremoniously strode past Ivy and went straight to Ethan’s CEO office. The office was empty. My gaze fell on Ethan’s desk. On the desk sat a small pot of succulents blooming beautifully, pink and tender, very cute. Obviously this thing was placed by Ivy. Ethan never allowed anyone to place anything unrelated to work on his desk. On his desk, there wasn’t even a photo of us together. Before long, Ethan finished his meeting and pushed open the door. “Charlotte, thank you for your trouble.” He smiled and walked over to pull me into his arms. I dodged to the side, but my gaze remained on that pot of succulents. Ethan followed my gaze. He coughed unnaturally. “A plant from an employee downstairs. I haven’t had time to throw it out yet.” I raised my hand and threw the pot of succulents directly into the trash can. “Since you didn’t have time to throw it out, I’ll do it for you.” Ethan chuckled softly, his large hand circling my waist. “Okay.”

Charlotte POV Ethan applied a bit of pressure, pulling me into his embrace. “Don’t be angry. What do you want to drink? I’ll pour it for you.” I laughed lightly. “Since when does Mr. Sterling have to pour water for me himself? Is your assistant that useless?” Ethan just assumed I was angry. He called toward the door, “Ivy, come in.” Ivy pushed open the door and entered. The moment she saw us embracing, her expression darkened instantly, then quickly recovered to an obedient, gentle appearance. “Mr. Sterling, what do you need?” “Go pour her a coffee. One sugar.” Ivy reluctantly agreed and turned to leave. I spoke unhurriedly. “So she’s your assistant. I made this trip today specifically to deliver documents to her?” Ethan froze. “Why would you say that, Charlotte?” “She just said you were afraid she’d work too hard, so you made me make this trip. She even told me to wait in the reception room.” I looked up at him. “I almost thought I’d walked into the wrong company and that Sterling Group had changed CEOs.” Ethan’s expression darkened abruptly. Just then, Ivy came in carrying coffee. “Mrs. Sterling, your coffee.” “If you don’t know the rules, get out of the secretarial department.” Ethan’s voice was cold and cruel. “At Sterling, anyone who makes my wife unhappy will be fired immediately.” Ivy’s eyes immediately reddened. She stood there with her head lowered, not saying a word, looking quite pitiful. Ethan was about to tell her to leave, but I spoke first. “You can’t say that. She cares about you very much. Last night when she brought you home, she even went to the kitchen to brew tea for you.” Ethan’s face had turned ashen. It seemed he hadn’t planned to deal with Ivy initially. But I kept bringing these things up. “Ivy, go to HR immediately and process your resignation. You’re fired.” Ivy’s head shot up. She looked at Ethan in disbelief, tears streaming down her face. “Mr. Sterling…” I didn’t miss the flash of heartache on Ethan’s face. I looked straight at him without speaking. Ethan had no choice but to continue. “Don’t you understand? You’ve been terminated.” Ivy slammed the door and ran out. Ethan immediately held me tightly in his arms. “Charlotte, as long as I’m here, I won’t let you be wronged.” “She’s just a new assistant. She’s inexperienced and offended you.” “I’ll never let her bother you again. Don’t be angry anymore, okay?” He said it very casually, as if he’d really just fired a rude assistant. But I clearly saw that when he mentioned Ivy, even though he said she was “inexperienced,” his expression involuntarily softened. He had her in his heart. I pushed against him but couldn’t break free, so I stopped struggling. His parents still didn’t like me. On one hand, they looked down on my humble origins. Mainly, after all these years I hadn’t gotten pregnant, and they wanted Ethan to have an heir as soon as possible. Ethan naturally knew this, so he never let me go to his parents’ house alone. Once we entered their home, he’d protect me closely, afraid I’d be wronged. But tonight, just as we reached his house, Ethan’s phone rang right on time. Ethan walked a few steps away to answer. I stood there watching his back. Ethan returned with a furrowed brow, looking conflicted. “Charlotte, something urgent came up at the company. Can I…” Even he couldn’t say it himself. I nodded. “Go ahead.” Ethan froze. I used to be most afraid of coming here. Without him accompanying me, I didn’t want to take a single step inside. But he walked toward the exit while instructing me, “My parents won’t make things difficult for you. I’ll come back as soon as I’m done.” I didn’t respond further. I turned and walked into the villa. When his parents saw I’d come alone, they kept mocking me. “You should know your status and position.” “Take good care of Ethan, and only then can you secure this position.” “All these years you two don’t even have a child. Ethan married you, and your status already doesn’t match him. Are you going to leave him without an heir too?” “Don’t think that just because Ethan dotes on you now, you’ll always be his wife. If Ethan finds another woman and you don’t even have a child, just wait to be thrown out!” I listened silently to it all. “You’re right. If Ethan finds someone else, I’ll divorce him immediately.” They fell silent for a moment. “That’s not what we meant.” His mother continued, “I’m saying you should have a child quickly. Only with a child can you truly secure your position as Mrs. Sterling.” But I no longer wanted the position of Mrs. Sterling. I didn’t care what else they said. I got up and left the villa. When I returned home, Ethan wasn’t back yet. My inbox happened to have a new email. It was a photo of Ivy’s new company onboarding notice. It was a store under Sterling Group. The position was senior sales representative. So Ethan couldn’t keep her by his side, so he arranged for her to go to a company under Sterling and kept her there.

Charlotte POV When Ethan came home that night, he was still full of apologies, apologizing one sentence after another. Listening to those practiced apologies, I only felt like each sentence was a knife gouging at my heart. Since when had our time together consisted of nothing but apologies and forgiveness? Ethan’s shirt was still wrinkled, and the faint scent of perfume on his collar reminded me of who he’d abandoned me to see tonight. I looked at him steadily. “Mom and Dad said when you have another woman, my good life will be over. I said I’d divorce you then.” Ethan’s expression changed immediately. He pulled me into his arms. “Charlotte, what are you talking about? What other woman? There’s no other woman. Only you. In this life, there’s only you.” My heart ached so much it felt like it would explode. The urge to tell him I knew everything had never torn at my reason as crazily as it did now. But in the end, I swallowed all those words. I couldn’t say it. In just over a week, I’d be gone. If I said it, I wouldn’t be able to leave. Ethan once said that unless he died, he would never let me leave. That night, I lay on the bed with my back to him, hiding far away on the edge. The gap between us could fit a grown man. Ethan looked at that empty space in the middle of the bed, seeming to sense something was wrong. He moved closer, holding me tightly in his arms, his chin resting on top of my head. I didn’t respond, but I didn’t refuse either. Who knows, this might be the last time we’d fall asleep embracing like this. The next day, the real estate agent called saying a buyer was interested in my old house and wanted to meet with me. The price I’d set was quite a bit lower than market value, so our negotiation went very smoothly. On the drive back after signing the contract, the sky was overcast and thick fog had risen on the road. Visibility was less than sixty feet. As my car reached an intersection, a car that came speeding around the corner crashed into me. The violent impact made my forehead hit the steering wheel, and everything went dark. My arm was also trapped in the car. Blood trickled down from my temple. I didn’t have the strength to get out and deal with the hit-and-run driver. I could only use what little energy I had left to call the police. After calling the police, I instinctively wanted to call Ethan. I dialed several times, but the line was always busy. My vision grew increasingly blurry, the light gradually fading. In a daze, I seemed to see Ethan’s anxious figure running over from not far away. I wanted to call out to him but couldn’t make a sound. And Ethan wasn’t running toward my car. He was running toward the other car, the one that had hit me. He reached in and carefully lifted the person inside out, looking heartbroken, anxiously negotiating something with the police. I saw clearly. The person in his arms was Ivy. My world plunged into darkness. When I woke up again, I was already lying in a hospital bed. My forehead and arm were both wrapped in bandages. My whole body ached. I picked up my phone. The screen was empty. No missed calls, no unread messages. Of course. His mistress had been in a car accident. How could he have time to care about me? I laughed at myself mockingly. I shouldn’t have had any expectations of him. I kept reminding myself. When the time comes, just leave. Absolutely no wavering, no lingering attachment. He wasn’t worth it. Ethan’s call didn’t come until the afternoon of the next day. “Charlotte, why aren’t you home?” More than a full day had passed since the accident, and Mr. Sterling only just noticed I wasn’t home. “I was in a car accident. I’m at the hospital.” My tone was calm. “What? Which hospital? When did this happen?” I pulled at the corner of my mouth. His first concern was the time and place, not how badly I was hurt. “Yesterday morning. Central Hospital.” The sound of a phone dropping came through the receiver. Soon the phone was picked back up, and Ethan’s voice trembled slightly. “Charlotte, how badly are you hurt? I… I’ll be right there!” I didn’t answer. I simply hung up. I opened my email. Sure enough, there was another new message. This time it was a video, from the next room over. Ethan had stayed with Ivy all night, very attentive to her. The man leaned down by Ivy’s ear, his voice hoarse and frightening. “You’re pregnant. Why were you driving? Wherever you want to go, I’ll have the driver take you!” I closed my eyes tightly. So they had a child. No wonder that night he’d rather leave me alone at his parents’ house than stay with his mistress. No wonder when he heard I’d been in an accident, he was so anxious he didn’t even check whose car had been hit. I thought I’d have tears. But strangely, this time not a single tear fell. Good thing I’d processed the divorce with him. Otherwise this child would have to be a bastard. I laughed coldly to myself. Before long, Ethan burst into the hospital room. The man’s hair hung messily over his forehead, his suit and tie were askew, his eyes bloodshot. His expression looked worried, guilty, and panicked all at once. “Charlotte, how are you? Where are you hurt? I’m sorry, I…” The excuse “there was an emergency at the company” had been used too many times. Clearly, even Ethan himself couldn’t keep up the pretense this time. I lifted my eyes and looked at him quietly. “The one who hit me was Ivy, wasn’t it?”

Charlotte POV Ethan’s face instantly turned deathly pale. “You didn’t answer my calls because you were on the phone with Ivy the whole time, right?” I continued. Ethan shook his head desperately, his eyes full of panic, his lips trembling but unable to form a complete sentence. “Do you know how to handle this?”Ethan was overjoyed and nodded repeatedly. “Don’t worry, Charlotte! I absolutely won’t cover for her!” “I just felt sorry for her struggling alone in the big city. She reminded me of you from before. She doesn’t know anyone here. She called me, so I went. I really didn’t expect the person she hit would be you!” “Don’t worry! There’s absolutely nothing else between us, I promise!” Ethan kept explaining. I could no longer hear him, nor did I care. Before Ethan arrived, I’d already called the lawyer and had them contact a private investigator to look into this accident. I didn’t believe this was just a coincidence. Even less did I believe Ethan truly wouldn’t cover for Ivy. For the next two days, Ethan put off all his work and stayed at the hospital taking care of me full-time. He didn’t go to the next room even once. That day, I was eating the grapes Ethan had peeled for me when my phone suddenly rang. It was the real estate agent. The house had been successfully sold. All procedures were complete, and the full payment had been transferred to my account. Ethan overheard part of the phone conversation. He immediately became tense, his brow furrowing. “Charlotte, what house? What agent? You’re selling a house? Which one?” My expression didn’t change. “An agent asking if I had any houses to sell. They said the market’s good right now, could get a good price.” Ethan let out a long breath, then immediately objected. “They’re talking nonsense. The market’s bad right now. Lots of people are lowering prices to sell.” “Just keep the house your parents left you. That’s your home.” My heart ached. I no longer had a home. To leave him, I could only leave my home behind. On the other end, Ivy finally lost all patience. She sent me several emails a day. One moment saying Ethan thought I was old. The next saying I couldn’t get pregnant. Then showing off the luxury apartment Ethan bought her near the company. Ivy seemed very anxious but never dared appear in front of me. It seemed Ethan didn’t allow her to appear before me. Ethan’s phone kept ringing those days too, but he never answered once. He was determined to maintain his image as a devoted husband to the end. On the day I was discharged, Ethan specially threw a small celebration party for me. I didn’t have many friends in New York. Those who came were all Ethan’s friends. Because of Ethan, everyone had always respected me. At the party, they competed to congratulate me on my safe discharge. I smiled and exchanged a few pleasantries. Midway through, I got up to use the restroom. When I returned, the door to the private room was ajar. I walked to the door, about to push it open, when I heard clear conversation coming from inside. “What were you thinking? You obviously love her so much, can’t bear to leave her. Why did you have to cheat?” Ethan was silent for a moment before speaking. “Ivy reminds me of Charlotte from before. Back when Charlotte first came to New York to make it on her own, no one helped her. She had it rough. I wanted to compensate her.” He wanted to compensate me, but the one who got the compensation was Ivy. I laughed bitterly. Someone else asked, “Aren’t you afraid Charlotte will find out and divorce you? That car accident was so dangerous. She almost discovered the truth!” “She trusts you, that’s all!” Ethan’s face looked somewhat dazed. He must have been thinking of my trust in him. “Yeah, Charlotte trusts me. I won’t hurt her. But Ivy is also wonderful. I can’t give her up.” “Charlotte won’t divorce me. Not unless I die.” That person lowered his voice and continued probing. “Tell me, is Ivy… more tempting in bed than Charlotte? Otherwise I can’t believe even a devoted man like you would cheat.” Ethan glanced at him with displeasure. “Why are you asking so many questions?” But then he added, “Ivy is indeed more tempting. Charlotte can’t compare to her in that regard.” I stood outside the door, trembling with rage. This whole group of his friends actually knew about Ivy’s existence! And he was discussing bedroom matters in front of so many people! Just then, someone got up to leave. The door was pulled open, and the person came face to face with me standing in the doorway. “Charlotte…?” That person’s face instantly turned deathly pale. The private room immediately fell silent. Ethan shot to his feet, his face ashen. “Charlotte, when did you get here?” I looked at him and suddenly smiled. “I just arrived.” “What, were you all talking about some secret? Afraid I’d hear?” Everyone immediately covered for Ethan. “We were all praising Ethan for having such a wonderful wife!” I laughed bitterly to myself. Even at this point, they thought I didn’t know anything.

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After the SAT exam ended, my boyfriend Ethan’s mother gave his old books to my brother Mason. Mason found Ethan’s secret crush diary among the pile of books. The notebook was thick, documenting three years—a full one thousand and ninety-six pages. Mason cleared his throat and read teasingly in my ear: “March 1st, gave the strawberry milk to Sophia, but she refused it again. Had to give it to that Vivian girl instead.” “March 2nd, bought two movie tickets, but Sophia didn’t show up. Didn’t want to waste them, so I had to go watch it with Vivian.” The last page read: “Failed to confess to Sophia. In a fit of anger, I accepted Vivian’s confession.” Mason laughed breathlessly. “Vivian, how embarrassing! You chased Ethan for 10 years, and he only agreed to date you to spite the girl he actually liked!” I silently clenched the hem of my school uniform, my face flushing red with embarrassment. I turned and went back to my room, opened my wish journal, and crossed out the wish about attending the same university as Ethan.

This was the scene Mason saw when he chased after me. He leaned against the doorframe with his arms crossed, continuing to mock me: “Vivian, you’re so petty. So what if Ethan deceived you once? Someone as outstanding as him—you were never good enough for him anyway.” “If it wasn’t for Sophia rejecting him, would you have ever had a chance to take her place? This is what they call a blessing in disguise, understand?” “Not really.” Mason rolled his eyes at me and sneered: “Stop pretending. There’s no point explaining to someone as stupid as you. Anyway, if I were Ethan, I definitely wouldn’t like someone as dumb and plain-looking as you either.” “After all, when you stand next to Sophia, you don’t even qualify to be background decoration.” I raised my hand to hit him, but he made a face at me and quickly ran away. This diary was Ethan’s heart and soul. After thinking it over, I felt I should return it to him. So I sent him a message on SnapChat. Ethan was always slow to reply to messages. Sometimes a single message would take over ten hours, or even a full day, before he’d send back a brief response. Even after we started dating, this situation didn’t change at all. I’d always consoled myself that it was just his personality, and I shouldn’t take it to heart. Until I saw the diary, where Ethan would stay up all night waiting for Sophia’s messages, and could drop anything he was doing to reply to her instantly. That’s when I realized. It wasn’t that he was aloof—it was just that I wasn’t important to him. As expected, this message sank like a stone. A day passed with no activity in the chat window. I decided to deliver it in person. The next morning, I stood at his front door. Through the clean glass window, Ethan sat at the table eating breakfast, exchanging conversation with his mother. My hand hovered above the doorbell. Before I could press it, Ethan’s voice passed through the window and clearly reached my ears. “I don’t want to apply to NYU anymore. I’m probably going to apply to Harvard instead.” My hand gripping the diary suddenly tightened. Then I heard his mother ask: “Didn’t you and Vivian agree to go to NYU together? Why the sudden change to Harvard? Is this Vivian’s idea?” “No, it’s my own decision. I haven’t told her.” His mother’s expression immediately darkened. “You’re dating Vivian, and not only are you not applying to the same university, you’re not even discussing it with her? Is this how you treat your girlfriend?” Her tone was sharp, and Ethan also lost his temper for the first time. He slammed his teacup on the table. “What era are we living in? Who says dating means you have to apply to the same university? That’s so backward.” “Besides, with Vivian’s grades, it’s questionable whether she can even get into NYU. Why do you have to bind us together?!” I stood there helplessly, my fingertips digging deep into my palm. I remembered the encouraging words Ethan had said at school about how I could definitely get into NYU. My nose stung uncontrollably. So those words were all lies. He looked down on me just like everyone else. I suppressed the urge to cry. Before he pushed the door open, I left the diary on the windowsill and fled in a hurry.

After that day, I didn’t say another word to Ethan. Instead, he changed his usual behavior. The messages he sent in those two days nearly matched two months’ worth. Yet he never mentioned the diary. On the night scores were released, Ethan’s house suddenly lost internet connection, so he had to come to my house temporarily to use ours. Mom washed a plate of fruit and placed it in front of him—some tropical fruits she normally wouldn’t buy. She smiled and told Ethan not to be nervous. Mason also busied himself massaging Ethan’s shoulders, serving him water, extremely attentive. Then he looked at me sitting alone in the corner with nothing and laughed: “Don’t secretly cry later if you didn’t do as well as Ethan. I get so annoyed every time I hear you cry.” “You brat, is that any way to talk to your sister?” Ethan laughed and pinched his arm. He scratched his head: “Oh, she’s used to it. She’s thick-skinned. These little comments don’t hurt her at all.” “She always says she’s better looking than Sophia. I tell her she’s being narcissistic but she won’t believe it. Ethan, you tell her—doesn’t she fall far short compared to Sophia?” Mason had also seen that diary, so naturally he knew he was deliberately trying to embarrass me. Ethan froze for a moment, then glanced at me sideways. I lowered my head, so embarrassed I wanted to escape immediately. In the end, he took the initiative to break the awkward tension, half-joking: “Stop making fun of your sister. I’m sure she wouldn’t ask such a question.” “Alright, everyone stop dwelling on this. It’s almost time to check scores.” At eight o’clock sharp, both Ethan’s and my score pages appeared simultaneously. In an instant, the atmosphere became extremely tense. Ethan and I had received the same score. My parents’ first reaction wasn’t excitement, but to scrutinize the screen repeatedly, then ask me where I’d copied from. Mason first praised Ethan effusively, then said to me with a grin: “You didn’t even get caught? Vivian, your cheating skills are off the charts. You should teach me sometime.” The emotions I’d been suppressing finally erupted. Tears streamed down uncontrollably. I violently pulled back my chair and yelled at them for the first time: “I didn’t cheat! I earned this score with my own ability!” Everyone was clearly stunned. After playing the role of the good girl for eighteen years, they’d already carved my compliant image into their bones. They obviously didn’t believe I would suddenly lose my temper. Under their shocked gazes, I got up and ran outside. Before opening the door, I heard Ethan’s voice. He was defending me: “Uncle, Aunt, you’ve misunderstood Vivian. She works very hard at school. This SAT score is what she deserves. We should be happy for her.” … I’d barely taken two steps outside when Ethan followed me out. He walked alongside me, and after a few words of comfort, suddenly asked: “We’ll be filling out college applications in a few days. Where are you thinking of applying?” If this had been before, when Ethan asked this question, I would have said NYU without hesitation. But that day, his conversation with his mother had left a thorn in my heart. I didn’t answer immediately, but threw the question back to him. “Where do you want to go?” Even though I already knew the answer. He paused, then replied: “…I’ll probably go with NYU.” After meeting my gaze, Ethan immediately looked away, afraid I might see through him. My chest ached as if pierced by countless needles. Two seconds later, I looked away, my voice hoarse: “Same as you.” “That’s great then. We can go together.” After he spoke, his eyes looked forward again. I stared at him. The words about breaking up that I’d been contemplating swirled on my tongue several times, but I couldn’t bear to say them. On the way back, Ethan and I parted ways. I knew he was lying to me. And I was lying to him too. Ethan didn’t want to apply to the same university as me. I would fulfill his wish—I wouldn’t apply to either Harvard or NYU. Cowardice and unwillingness made me unable to speak the word “ending,” so I would use this method to say goodbye to him properly. This relationship that was impure from the start—I didn’t want it anymore.

We had to return to school to fill out college applications. Afraid others would discover our relationship, Ethan specifically told me beforehand to avoid suspicion and not to approach him at school. I nodded in agreement. His absence would actually make it more convenient for me to act. By the time I finished filling out the application, it was already noon. Ethan was waiting for me far from the school. As soon as we met, he asked: “Did you put NYU as your first choice?” I lied without changing my expression: “Yes.” “I also applied to NYU.” My throat tightened. I stared at his smile, momentarily dazed, unable to process it. Wasn’t Ethan doing everything possible to avoid me, to not apply to the same university as me? What did this mean now? It wasn’t until the evening when the school organized an alumni dinner that I suddenly understood. It wasn’t for me—it was for Sophia. Sophia had also applied to NYU. Naturally, Ethan wouldn’t pass up this golden opportunity to get close to her. Most of the dishes on the table were very spicy. Unable to handle spicy food, I had few options, so halfway through the meal, my stomach was still empty. There was one last slice of pizza left on the plate. The second I reached for it, Sophia also extended her hand. Our eyes met in mid-air. I was starving. The frustration bottled up inside me made me unwilling to yield. Sophia seemed to sense this and was too proud to withdraw her fork. In the standoff, a hand with distinct knuckles reached across in front of me. And placed that slice of pizza in Sophia’s bowl. Ethan set down his fork and looked at me sideways, his tone gentle: “Sophia hasn’t eaten much all evening. Let her have this slice. If you want some, I’ll buy you more on the way home.” Glances from all directions landed on me. I understood the mockery in them, as if saying competing with Sophia for food was overestimating myself. I immediately lowered my head in embarrassment and pretended to be busy eating several bites of spicy stir-fried meat. The spiciness spread from my tongue, sliding into my stomach, all of it burning with pain. I somehow felt like laughing. I wanted to say that actually, I hadn’t eaten much either. But when I caught his gentle gaze as he glanced at Sophia, in the end I said nothing. I couldn’t compete with her anyway, could I? Why invite humiliation? After the dinner ended, they suggested going to karaoke. When Ethan saw Sophia was going, he eagerly signed up too. I didn’t want to participate and be a third wheel, so I called a rideshare home. The spasms in my stomach made it impossible to straighten up, and fine beads of sweat covered my forehead. I leaned against the seat back, enduring the pain while typing out a message. When the driver reached the destination, the words in the chat box were just being sent out. I had officially broken up with him. At midnight, Ethan sent me a SnapChat message telling me to come downstairs. I threw on a thin jacket and went out. He was sitting on a bench in the park, a pile of cigarette butts at his feet. This was the first time I knew he smoked. It was different from the person I knew. Ethan’s expression was gloomy. He didn’t look to be in a good mood. Thinking about last night’s dinner, he’d probably been rejected by Sophia again. Seeing me standing in front of him, he got straight to the point: “Vivian, why are you breaking up with me?”

I didn’t quite understand. Wasn’t this the result Ethan had always wanted? He liked Sophia, not me. What was wrong with me proposing a breakup? I thought about it and finally answered: “Because of that slice of pizza tonight. I was a bit sad I didn’t get to eat it.” “Just because of one slice of pizza?” “Yes, just because of that.” Ethan laughed bitterly at my response. “Didn’t I say Sophia hadn’t eaten much, so I let her have that slice, and that I’d buy you more on the way back?” “Why do you have to fixate on that one slice? Vivian, why are you so petty? What was so special about that pizza?” His words placed all the blame on me. But he didn’t know that some food only has appeal in specific settings. Once removed from that context, there’s no desire to touch it. It’s true for food, and for people too. I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice calm. “That slice of pizza wasn’t special. What was special was your attitude.” “She wasn’t the only one at the table who hadn’t eaten much. I hadn’t either. But your gaze only stayed on Sophia, so you could only see her.” “You like her. I can’t force you to like me. I just don’t want to force myself anymore.” Ethan was smart—he understood immediately what I meant. He remained silent for a long time, then frowned and said: “You saw my diary?” “Yes.” He rubbed his brow, his voice unable to hide his exhaustion: “That was all written a long time ago. When filling out applications, I chose NYU for you. Isn’t that enough to show my attitude?” Seeing that I remained silent, Ethan’s patience ran out. He asked me one last time: “I’ll ask you one last time, Vivian. Are you sure you want to break up with me?” I nodded firmly: “Yes.” “Fine. You said it yourself.” “When you get to NYU, I won’t wait for you. And you’d better not regret it when I’m with Sophia.” I agreed to everything. Ethan stared at me intently, his eyes turning red from frustration. After accumulating enough disappointment, he left. After that day, we never contacted each other again. Our relationship instantly hit rock bottom. Mason would sometimes deliberately bring up Ethan at the dinner table, saying he and Sophia had finally achieved their happy ending. “Ethan and Sophia are the perfect match! Both talented and beautiful—just standing there, you can’t look away. So much more pleasing to the eye than standing with you! Tsk tsk tsk, too bad you didn’t see it in person.” I kept my head down eating, showing no reaction. He couldn’t help but poke me. “Hey, don’t you have anything to say about this?” “Oh, congratulations.” My tone was flat. The day the acceptance letters arrived, I received a call from the delivery person and went downstairs. I ran right into Ethan, who had also come to pick up his letter. His gaze flashed over me, deliberately pretending not to see me. I kept my distance from him, walking one behind the other to the delivery person. When the acceptance letter was handed to him, the delivery guy smiled: “After delivering all day, you’re the only one from NYU in this area. Not bad, young man.” Ethan’s body suddenly trembled. He immediately turned to look at me. I knew what he was thinking at that moment. So under his bewildered gaze, I stepped forward with a smile: “Vivian Walker, Cornell University.”

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When my fiancé and my best friend drugged me and forcibly dragged me into that notorious New York mob boss’s penthouse suite, I finally let out a sigh of relief: “Finally home.” My fiancé thought I was delirious from fear and grabbed my chin viciously: “Bitch, our company’s survival depends on this deal!” “I heard Mr. Holt had a first love who died, and your face happens to look somewhat like hers.” “Be a good girl and serve him well. Once we land this contract, I might be generous enough to throw you some cash!” My best friend covered her mouth with a coy laugh: “Exactly! You should be grateful for the chance to serve Mr. Holt. Don’t be ungrateful.” As the drug took effect, I was roughly shoved through that gold-trimmed door. No one noticed the mockery flooding my eyes as I leaned against the leather sofa. The Mr. Holt they spoke of—that ruthless, cold-blooded man—was actually my father. Today, they personally delivered me back to my dad. Tomorrow, they’ll learn what it means to wish for death.

The drug crawled through my veins. Even moving a finger made my bones ache. I forced my eyes open, my vision settling on the hand-carved golden iris pattern on the ceiling. That was the Holt family crest. Before I turned eighteen, this flower was embroidered on the collar of every custom nightgown I owned. Beyond the door, Ethan’s voice dripped with greed. “Summer, is the intel reliable? Will Theodore Holt really come to this suite tonight?” My best friend Summer couldn’t hide her excitement: “Paid two hundred grand for information from his driver. He’ll be here at eleven sharp.” “When he opens that door and sees a woman who looks exactly like his first love lying in bed…” She sneered. “No man refuses meat served on a platter.” “Maybe Mr. Holt will be so pleased he’ll hand us that billion-dollar development project in the south district!” Listening to their gleeful whispers outside, I bit down hard on my tongue. The metallic sweetness instantly flooded my throat. I’d worked myself sick with exhaustion and stress for Ethan’s pathetic company. I’d treated Summer like my closest friend. In return, they rolled around in bed in the apartment I rented with my own hard-earned money. And now they didn’t hesitate to pimp me out like a prostitute, putting a price tag on me and sending me to someone else’s bed. My stomach cramped violently. My nails broke off in the leather sofa, but the pain didn’t compare to one ten-thousandth of what churned in my heart. But they didn’t know—my father was Theodore Holt. His first love was my mother. But years ago, my dad had an affair with some starlet. My mother slit her wrists, and in my rage, I ran away from home. These years, my father and I maintained an unspoken agreement not to disturb each other’s lives. He just kept depositing money into my bank account, afraid I might suffer. Ethan and Summer thought I was some helpless orphan squandering her parents’ inheritance. That’s why they dared to use me as a bargaining chip so brazenly. But while my dad was a bastard who betrayed my mom, he doted on me obsessively. Years ago, when some rich kid merely made a lewd comment to me, my father bankrupted him directly. If he saw me stripped naked and offered up as a plaything on his own bed by these scumbags… By then, even begging for death would become a luxury for them. “Oh, right!” Summer deliberately raised her voice: “Once we land the Holt contract, we should finally have our wedding. Let’s get that diamond ring Olivia was eyeing but couldn’t afford.” Ethan laughed indulgently: “Sure. We’ll use the money from selling her to buy you a diamond ring.” I stared at the ceiling, the coldness in my eyes nearly freezing over. The intel was correct. My dad would definitely come here, because today was his and my mother’s wedding anniversary. My mother committed suicide in this room years ago. Every year he came here to remember her. Every year on this day, countless people sent him women. This year’s surprise just happened to be me. The next second, the door suddenly burst open. Ethan strode over and grabbed my hair roughly. My scalp burned with tearing pain. “Olivia, don’t blame me. Blame yourself for being powerless and deserving to be sold cheap.” “Tonight, even if you get screwed to death, you better make Mr. Holt happy!” Powerless? I looked at his smug face and my lips curved into an arc. “Ethan, you’d better pray that after tonight, you can die with some dignity.” “Still talking back!” Summer stepped forward and slapped me hard across the face. My ears rang instantly. “Get her changed! Mr. Holt will be here any minute!” Summer smiled viciously as she tore off my jacket and forced me into a sheer, barely-there lingerie nightgown. “Just like a cheap whore.” Summer patted my face with satisfaction. I lay on the waterbed, experiencing ultimate humiliation, slowly clenching my fists. Stripping a daughter naked and sending her to her father’s bed. Truly unprecedented.

Next, Ethan and Summer grabbed me from both sides and dragged me out of the suite like a dead dog. At the end of the hallway, a dozen bodyguards stood with hands behind their backs, their oppressive presence hitting like a wave. The man in front strode forward. I half-closed my eyes and recognized him. Hugo Smith. Seven years ago, he was just a low-level bodyguard not even qualified to open doors for me. While I’d been wandering outside these years, he’d apparently become my father’s capable right-hand man. Ethan and Summer’s earlier arrogance vanished instantly. Replaced by obsequious, fawning smiles. “Mr. Smith, we’ve brought the girl for you.” Hugo glanced down at them condescendingly. His gaze was like an ice-cold blade, finally settling coldly on me. “You know Mr. Holt’s rules?” “The women sent to him must be completely clean.” Ethan nodded frantically, bowing so low he nearly touched the ground. “Yes, yes! Absolutely clean, absolutely obedient!” Hugo snorted coldly, looking me up and down: “Perfect. Mr. Holt’s in a bad mood tonight. He needs something to vent on.” “If this woman doesn’t serve him well, you two will be buried with her.” Ethan shuddered and shoved me forward roughly. “Cat got your tongue? Answer Mr. Smith yourself!” I steadied myself, a cold laugh escaping my throat: “You’re really asking for death.” Ethan flew into a rage and backhanded me viciously across the face. “Bitch! I told you to answer properly, what the hell are you playing at!” I stumbled from the blow, my knees hitting the cold marble floor hard. The skimpy lingerie was torn, leaving me in complete disarray. Ethan hissed through gritted teeth: “Useless trash! You dare put on airs in front of Mr. Smith?” Hugo watched this spectacle coldly and finally spoke again. “Mr. Holt despises disobedient things most.” “The last one who dared throw a tantrum in front of him—her ashes were scattered in the moat to feed the alligators long ago.” Ethan and Summer’s faces turned deathly pale, their breathing stopping for a second. I kept my head lowered, but from an angle they couldn’t see, I slowly curved my lips upward. After my mother died, my dad chopped up that woman who’d challenged her and fed her to the fish. Since then, he both loved and hated women, torturing them mercilessly. My father’s methods remained as brutal as ever. Thinking this, a bloodthirsty excitement flickered in my eyes. My abnormal reaction didn’t escape Hugo’s notice. He narrowed his eyes slightly, a hint of amusement flashing through them. “You’ve got guts.” “Other women would’ve pissed themselves hearing about feeding alligators.” He looked me up and down, his tone carrying some satisfaction. “Mr. Holt’s in a foul mood tonight. He needs someone with a hard spine to take it out on.” “Your fearless attitude might just suit Mr. Holt’s taste.” “If you can let the old man vent properly, maybe those of us below can catch some benefits.” Hearing this, Ethan’s eyes lit up instantly. He thought my half-dead appearance had actually caught Hugo’s eye, and his courage swelled again. He grabbed my hair and forced my head up. My scalp tore with pain, but I bit my lip hard and didn’t make a sound. “Look, Mr. Smith! This face, this body—guaranteed to satisfy Mr. Holt!” Ethan’s eyes darted, then he lowered his voice, trying to build connections and fish for information. “Mr. Smith, may I ask… why is Mr. Holt in such a bad mood tonight?” “Also, I heard Mr. Holt’s been looking for some white moonlight. What kind of goddess is she?” “Give us a hint so we can find women matching that standard for Mr. Holt in the future…” The next second, Hugo’s gaze turned sharp, looking at Ethan like a cold corpse. “Mr. Holt’s private affairs—you think trash like you has the right to ask?” Ethan’s face instantly turned liver-colored. “Yes, yes, yes, I deserve to die for asking!” To cover his guilt and fear, he vented all his rage on me again. He kicked me viciously in the abdomen. My stomach churned violently. I curled into a ball from the pain. “Bitch! Get in there and serve him properly!” “Once you’re inside, even if you have to wag your tail like a bitch, you better make Mr. Holt comfortable!” He shoved me hard and I pitched forward. I gripped the cold doorframe, enduring the stabbing pain in my abdomen, and slowly straightened up. Ethan had just asked why Theodore Holt was in a bad mood? I sneered silently. Probably because misfortunes never come alone. Seven years ago, on the day my mother died, I’d pointed at his nose and cursed him to die without descendants. None of his women outside managed to give him children. On one side, a rebellious daughter who was his only flesh and blood. On the other, his dead wife. Whose mood would be good? And just to please him, even his own daughter had to be pimped out like a prostitute and sent to his bed. Theodore Holt, I really want to see this. When that door opens, how will you explain this to me?

I pushed open the rosewood door. Crystal chandeliers overhead, handmade Persian carpets worth a fortune beneath my feet. The air was filled with top-grade agarwood incense, luxurious enough to suffocate. Seeing this scene, Ethan’s eyes nearly popped out. “Fuck… how many hundreds of millions is that painting on the wall worth?” Summer’s eyes filled with greed. “Any random vase here could buy our entire office building!” Ethan laughed obscenely: “Once this bitch serves Mr. Holt well tonight, maybe he’ll reward us with a few things to play with!” I leaned against the door, expressionless. My gaze swept over the massive oil painting on the wall. The woman in it had gentle eyes. That was my mother. On the sandalwood table beside it, a family photo was partially visible. Seeing me stare fixedly at the oil painting, Hugo narrowed his eyes and warned coldly: “Put away that disgusting look.” “A piece of trash who sells herself—you just happen to look somewhat similar and caught some luck.” Seeing I had no reaction to his mockery, he lost patience and grabbed my wrist. His eyes swept lewdly over my torn nightgown: “If Mr. Holt hadn’t specifically requested clean women, I’d screw you right here!” I curved my lips into a mocking smile. “This is how Theodore Holt manages his men? Looks like you really should be sent to the moat for a good lesson.” Hugo flew into a rage and raised his hand to slap me. Just then, Ethan let out a shocked gasp. “Wait… why does the girl in this photo look so much like you when you were little?” He reached out to grab the photograph. “Touch Mr. Holt’s things and you’re asking for death?!” With a sharp, furious shout. A woman walked in wearing twelve-centimeter Louboutin heels. Vivian Jo. A partner under the Holt Group. She once volunteered to seduce my dad, and I watched him throw her out. But I never expected her persistence to pay off—my dad actually kept her around. When her gaze fell on my face, that pride instantly transformed into poisonous jealousy. “This face…” She grabbed my chin condescendingly, her eyes revealing extreme madness: “A lowly plaything putting on airs like this—those who don’t know might think you’re the mistress here!” “Kneel down and answer me properly!” I shook off her hand forcefully, my eyes flooding with unconcealed coldness: “Get your filthy hands off me! What makes you think you can make me kneel! Before you touch me, you’d better think carefully whether Theodore Holt will chop you up and feed you to the fish.” Vivian laughed in extreme anger, her face contorting. “Seeking death!” She swung her hand to slap me hard. I jerked my head aside. Her slap missed and she stumbled awkwardly. “Who do you think you are?!” Vivian shrieked hysterically: I smiled faintly: “What if I said I’m the one woman Theodore Holt can never have in this lifetime? Would you believe me? After all, these years he’s humbly begged to see me countless times, and I’ve always refused. That counts as another kind of ‘never having,’ doesn’t it?” As my words fell, the entire room became silent as death. Vivian froze for a moment, then the malice in her eyes erupted completely. “Let’s see how you’ll be unattainable after I ruin you today! Someone hold her down for me!” Ethan rushed forward and pinned me down hard on the cold marble floor. “Ms. Jo, please calm down! This bitch is shameless trash who doesn’t know her place!” “She’s got cheap bones. Do whatever you want with her—cripple her if you like, I’ll take responsibility!” Summer quickly followed, stomping hard on my hand braced against the floor. Ten fingers connected to the heart. Cold sweat instantly soaked my spine. Vivian sneered and picked up a paper knife. She slowly crouched down, using the cold blade to lift my chin. “‘Never having’? It’s just because you happened to be born with a face you shouldn’t have.” The blade slid along my skin, bringing the tremor of death. A drop of crimson blood slowly slid down the silver blade and splattered on the floor. “How beautiful it would be to carve the word ‘whore’ on this face!” Vivian raised the paper knife high, about to stab down viciously. Extreme danger closed in. I jerked my head up and screamed that name: “Theodore Holt, get the hell out here! If something happens to me, you’re going to hell too!”

As my words fell, an eerie silence followed. Then came Vivian’s uncontrollable laughter and mockery: “What a shameless bitch, already acting like a whore before even seeing Mr. Holt!” “But Mr. Holt’s name isn’t something a bitch like you can call! You’re asking for death!” The next second, her eyes grew even more vicious as she drove the knife point into my face. Searing pain exploded like an electric current. “Hold her down! Hold her down tight!” Without hesitation, Ethan pressed down on my hands, smashing my entire face toward the cold floor. The sound of finger bones completely shattering. Excruciating pain made my vision go black. Cold sweat instantly soaked my back. The man I’d once loved with everything I had was now personally sending me to the slaughterhouse, acting as the executioner’s most loyal accomplice. A burning line spread from the corner of my eye to my temple. Blood instantly blurred my vision. Vivian let out a deranged laugh: “Let’s see how you act superior after I ruin this face!” Ethan fawned obsequiously: “Exactly, Ms. Jo! If you’re still not satisfied after carving her up, just take some nude photos. Let’s see how she seduces men after that!” Summer sneered: “Just cutting her face is too easy on her.” “Why not strip her naked and throw her in the fountain at the entrance? Let her know the consequences of offending Ms. Jo!” I listened to their celebration, a metallic sweetness surging in my throat. Every wound they inflicted on me would become an epitaph carved on their tombstones. My father’s methods would teach them what it meant to be unable to live, unable to die. The next second, Ethan reached out toward the neckline of my nightgown. I struggled violently, the last of my strength exploding in this moment. But Ethan’s knee ground even more viciously into my spine. My bones made an unbearable grinding sound. “Stop struggling. You’re just a piece of rotten meat ready for slaughter.” Ultimate humiliation engulfed me. Vivian’s smile grew increasingly cruel. She grabbed the last shred covering me and yanked hard. Her other hand pulled out her phone and quickly opened a live streaming app. “Just throwing you out isn’t enough. I’m going live so all of New York can see just how cheap this bitch really is!” At this critical moment! With a deafening crash. That million-dollar rosewood door was pushed open from outside. A towering figure wrapped in thunderous fury walked in. “Who gave you permission to make trouble here!” The madness on Vivian’s face instantly transformed to delight. Holding her phone, she spoke in a cloying voice: “Mr. Holt! Perfect timing! I was just disciplining a presumptuous new toy for you!” Ethan quickly looked up, wagging his tail like a lapdog: “Mr. Holt! We specifically found you a woman who looks exactly like your first love, absolutely clean!” “We only ask that you consider our sincerity and give us a chance with that western suburbs project!” My dad’s footsteps stopped. His gaze passed through the crowd and landed on me lying in a pool of blood. He saw my face covered in blood and tears. That commanding presence instantly crumbled.

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My ex-husband, the pilot, died saving me. For five years, I’ve spent every night in my dreams dying to be with him. Until the ninth time I was rescued from slitting my wrists, my mom reluctantly showed me my sister Ava’s wedding photo. “Christina, your husband is actually still alive. He’s just marrying Ava the day after tomorrow.” I looked up in disbelief. My mom avoided my gaze and continued. “That car accident five years ago was actually something we planned with Guillermo. And the child you had prematurely after your severe depression that year is still alive too. Ava’s been taking care of him. You should let go now.” I couldn’t believe it. Trembling, I demanded: “Mom, you’re lying to me, right? Ava has a long-distance boyfriend…” My mom impatiently interrupted. “Her boyfriend has always been Guillermo! One’s a pilot, one’s a flight attendant—they’re together all the time. It’s normal they developed feelings.” “They were kind-hearted and couldn’t bear to hurt you, so they chose to fake his death.” “They should have had bright futures ahead, but because of you, they’ve had to hide all this time.” “I really can’t stand it anymore. Stop making a scene and just give her a break!”

I clenched my fists, my whole body trembling uncontrollably, my nails digging into my palms. “Mom, why? I’m your daughter too! Why did you wait until now to tell me?” “Could you really bear to watch me hurt myself over and over for five years because of guilt and self-blame?” She slammed the wedding photo onto the bedside table with a “crack,” glaring at me with disappointment all over her face. “If I really didn’t see you as my daughter, you wouldn’t even be alive today!” “How many times have I dealt with your mess? You act out once, I save you once. Every time you slit your wrists, I have to send you to the hospital.” “I’m over sixty years old, taking care of you every day. Do I owe you something?” She took a deep breath and stabbed those knife-like words deep into my heart again. “Let me make this clear—the day after tomorrow when Ava has her wedding, you stay put and don’t cause trouble.” “If you have any conscience left at all, you should let go and let Ava live a good life. Do you understand?” “Don’t forget, these past years it’s been Ava raising your son for you! She doesn’t owe you anything!” “It’s one thing for you to torment me, but don’t you dare make things difficult for her. She’s already so understanding and has had it hard enough!” I laughed through my tears, completely breaking down. “Mom, do you know how many injections I endured for IVF, how much I suffered to get pregnant with that child?” My mom didn’t even lift her eyelids, her brows full of impatience. I didn’t wait for her to speak, continuing my hysterical sobbing. “During that time, I was drowning in the news that Guillermo died saving me. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him covered in blood. I wanted to stab myself to death.” “It was that child who held me back. I didn’t dare die—I was afraid of killing two people, taking his flesh and blood with me.” Tears fell like broken beads, one after another. “I went to prenatal checkups alone, signed consent forms alone, lay on the ultrasound table alone, listening to the child’s heartbeat and crying until I couldn’t breathe. But I was willing, because that was my only light to keep living!” “And what happened? You told me the child died prematurely!” My mom’s face paled for a moment, but she still didn’t say anything. Looking at her cold face, I suddenly found it laughably absurd. “Now you tell me the child didn’t actually die, that Ava’s been raising him.” “During these five years when life was worse than death for me—when I was slitting my wrists, they were celebrating the child’s birthday; “When I was jumping off buildings, they were at the amusement park as a family of three; “When I was self-harming to vent my longing for the child and Guillermo during my severe depression, he was holding Ava and living sweetly!” I laughed, tears streaming down my face. “Mom, are you now saying I should be grateful to Ava for raising my child? Grateful that she slept with my husband?” My mom’s face turned white, then she suddenly clutched her chest. “Do you even see me as your mother? You can’t keep your man’s heart, and you run here to question me? Are you trying to kill me?” “Richards still calls Ava his aunt. We all just told him his mother went somewhere far away. He’s been raised so well by Ava! Much better than being with you!” Before she finished speaking, she collapsed to the floor, pounding it and wailing. “Why is my life so bitter! Ava is obedient and considerate, afraid I’ll suffer and be exhausted. “Christina is constantly trying to kill herself, giving me no peace even in my old age!” The door suddenly burst open and my dad rushed in. Seeing my mom sitting on the floor crying, he raised his hand and slapped me across the face.

“Bitch! What did you do now?” His eyes were bloodshot, his finger pointing at my nose. “If you want to die, find some place where no one is and die there! Don’t let us know even if you’re dead! Stop tormenting us!” I covered my face, staring at him blankly! This father who used to let me sit on his shoulders, who cried harder than me at my wedding. Right now, the way he looked at me was like looking at a pile of garbage in the way. I clutched my chest hard, gasping for air several times before finally squeezing out a sound. “Mom, Dad, just go. From now on… just pretend you only ever had Ava as a daughter.” Both of them froze at the same time. My mom stopped crying, kneeling on the floor looking at me, seeming to want to say something but ultimately saying nothing. My dad slowly lowered his raised hand, his lips moving, his expression complex. Watching this scene, I suddenly remembered the first time I was rescued from slitting my wrists—my mom had held me and cried her heart out! “Christina! If you die, how am I supposed to live? You can’t be this selfish, you can’t break my heart!” But now, as she climbed up from the floor, she said coldly: “I haven’t wronged you in the slightest! If it weren’t for worrying you’d actually die and Ava would feel guilty and unable to move on for the rest of her life, I’d be too lazy to deal with you again and again!” “Since you’re saying these things today to threaten your father and me! Then we’re leaving right now! From now on, you figure things out yourself! We’ll pretend we never had you!” The two left one after another, and the world seemed to be left with only me again. I curled up under the covers, burying my face in the pillow, crying my heart out. I don’t know how long passed before my phone vibrated. It was a message from my dad. “Christina, no matter what, we’re your parents. Even if we really did something wrong, you shouldn’t have treated your mom that way. You’re thirty years old—you should be mature now. “Go back and reflect on your behavior, then go apologize to your mom.” “You’re the older sister. It’s normal for you to give way to Ava. Not to mention you’re the one who couldn’t keep your man’s heart—who can you blame for that?” “As for Richards, everyone had good intentions. Ava will treat him as her own. Richards growing up with Guillermo is better than being with you, right? Look at yourself these past years, constantly trying to kill yourself. Richards would really suffer if he were with you.” “Stop making your mom sad. We’re old and can’t take this kind of stress.” Looking at this message, I found I couldn’t cry anymore. My eyes were painfully dry. It’s always been like this since I was little. In elementary school, Ava wanted the hair clip I’d saved half a year of allowance to buy. Mom said “give way to Ava,” and I did. In middle school, Ava wanted to join the school choir. Mom said “Ava has a good voice, let her have it,” and I withdrew. In high school, Ava wanted to go overseas for summer camp. There was only one spot. Dad said “your grades are better than Ava’s, let Ava go this time, you’ll have other chances,” and I nodded. I gave way for eighteen years. I thought I’d given up enough, until I met Guillermo. It was my twentieth birthday. I sat alone on the school rooftop, letting the wind blow. He had just finished a flight, ran up in his pilot’s uniform, out of breath, handed me a half-melted cake and said: “I heard it’s someone’s birthday today. I went to three stores to find your favorite ice cream cake.” I asked why he was so good to me. He said: “Because you’re worth it.” No one had ever said that to me before. Guillermo let me know that I didn’t have to give way. The first time he held my hand, his palm was covered in sweat, his ears red as cooked shrimp. He told me: “Christina, you don’t need to fight for anything. I’ll bring the best of everything to you.” I thought I finally had someone I didn’t need to give way for. But in the end, even he wanted me to give way. I flipped my phone face down on the bed, curled up under the covers, and cried without making a sound. I lay in the darkness with my eyes open, nails digging into my arm. It hurt, but not as much as the hole in my heart. Finally, I still couldn’t accept it and sent Guillermo a message. “I know everything now. Let’s meet.”

Five years—over eighteen hundred days and nights. I had filled this chat box with longing, breakdowns, pleas, and despair. “Guillermo, today is the 37th day since you left. I miss you so much.” “Guillermo, I dreamed of you again today. Please don’t go, okay?” “Guillermo, the child is gone. I have nothing left…” “Guillermo, why didn’t you take me with you?” Every single message was like throwing a stone into an abyss—not even an echo. Only this one got a quick reply: “Okay.” The response I’d waited five years for appeared at this moment, but it wasn’t the answer I wanted. No explanation, no small talk, just an “okay” that pushed me to the breaking point. I couldn’t control my rationality anymore. I grabbed the glass from the bedside table and smashed it on the floor, then stepped on it barefoot. Glass pierced into my sole, the pain drilling deep, but it wasn’t even one ten-thousandth of the pain in my heart. When Guillermo came in and saw me crouching in the broken glass, blood all over my feet, his pupils contracted sharply. “Christina!” He practically lunged over, his knee slamming onto the floor with a “thud,” broken glass piercing through his pants, but he paid no attention. His hands trembled as they held my ankles, trying to pull me out of the glass shards, but his hands were shaking too much to grip steadily. “What… what are you doing?” He looked up at me, his eyes already red. Those eyes, those eyes I’d dreamed about for five years, were now filled with heartache, panic, and something complex I couldn’t read. He carefully cradled my foot. Blood gushed from where the glass had pierced in. His voice changed with panic. “Call a doctor! You’re bleeding so much… how could you…” He couldn’t continue. My tears splashed onto the back of his hand. His whole body froze. He slowly reached out, wanting to wipe the tears from my face, but his fingers stopped an inch from my cheek and withdrew. “Christina, don’t do this anymore. I’m begging you!” I looked at him, at those eyes I’d traced in my dreams countless times. They were right in front of me now but felt as foreign as a stranger’s. “You and Ava—when did it start?” My voice was calmer than I expected. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why torture me by faking your death?” “If you’d just told me honestly, I would have accepted it.” Guillermo’s lips trembled violently, his Adam’s apple rolling up and down, finally squeezing out only: “I’m sorry.” He tried to help me up. I shoved him away, my arm hitting the bed frame. I grunted from the pain. His hand froze in midair, his whole body kneeling in the broken glass as if nailed to the spot. Then he raised his hand and slapped himself hard across the face. “It’s all my fault!” His voice was so hoarse it was almost inaudible, his eyes so red they seemed ready to bleed. “I deserve to die! But Christina… we can’t go back anymore.” “Ava is pregnant. I have to be responsible for her, fulfill my duties as a husband. I owe her that.” All the blood in my body turned cold at once. “Tell me,” I trembled as I repeated, “when did you two start? Let me give up, please?” Guillermo closed his eyes, as if recalling some unbearable past. “It was… during those days when you were taken away by those thugs to save me.”

“After you came back, you had nightmares every night. Every time I touched you, you’d scream, you’d go crazy. “I knew it wasn’t your fault, but I’m a man, I have… desires. The more you acted that way, the more I…” He didn’t finish, but I understood. “Later, Ava came to the house to keep you company. That night I came home drunk from a business dinner. She was lying on the couch wearing your pajamas… I couldn’t help myself.” “After that, it happened more and more. I felt more and more ashamed to face you. I started lying that I was working overtime, lying to you that… that I’d lost my ability to have children. When you went for IVF, I felt guilty, but I couldn’t stop you.” “After you got pregnant, I wanted to live a good life with you. But Ava started going on blind dates, started getting close to other colleagues. She said if I didn’t make a statement, didn’t make a choice, she’d just marry someone random.” “I had no choice.” He lowered his head like a criminal confessing, “I really had no choice… so I arranged that car accident.” After listening, I didn’t cry or make a scene. My heart felt like a piece had been carved out, cold wind howling through it. “What compensation do you want?” He looked up at me, guilt and pleading in his eyes, “The house, money, whatever—name it.” “Okay.” I heard my own voice, so calm it didn’t sound like mine. “I want my child. You already have your own child. Give me back my child, okay?” After a few seconds of stunned silence, he nodded. “Christina, actually Ava mentioned giving Richards back to you too. Don’t worry, she raised him really well—obedient and well-behaved. Once Ava and I finish our wedding, I’ll bring him to see you.” I said okay and watched him leave. For the first time, I felt life had something to look forward to again. But just as I finished treating my wound and got anti-depressants before returning to my hospital room, I saw the last person I wanted to see. Ava sat on the couch, as if waiting for me. Seeing me, she didn’t even bother to stand up, getting straight to the point: “Christina, I heard you want Richards back?” I nodded. She smiled, “Fine. Then come be my bridesmaid tomorrow. As long as you come, I’ll let Richards call you mom. You probably don’t know yet, do you? This child only listens to me now.” As she spoke, as if afraid I wouldn’t believe her, she opened her phone and held it in front of me. “Look, I only said it once and he remembered.” On the screen, a tender little face appeared. It was my child—eyebrows like mine, lips like his father’s. But that little mouth opened and closed, crisply calling out, “Christina, bitch!” I felt like someone had slapped me across the face. My whole body trembled uncontrollably as I pointed at her. “You… how could you teach a child to say such things?” But the cold smile on her lips instantly transformed into grievance. Her whole body staggered backward, supporting herself on the armrest with one hand while the other covered her belly, pleading in panic. “I’m sorry, it’s all my fault… please don’t hurt my child…” Before I could react, the door burst open. Guillermo rushed in, shoving me aside and lunging to protect her. “Ava, are you okay?” I was pushed backward, my forehead slamming hard into the corner of the bedside table. Ava nestled in his arms, tears streaming down her face, shaking her head grievously. Then he carried Ava away in a panic, leaving only one sentence. “I’m warning you, stay away from Ava from now on. I won’t let you hurt her.” I lay on the floor, blood from my forehead dripping onto the white tiles one drop at a time. Everything started going black as I slowly lost consciousness. When I opened my eyes again, I hastily changed into the bridesmaid dress Ava had left behind and rushed to their wedding venue! But when I arrived, my parents and Guillermo, who were greeting guests, all looked as if facing a great enemy! My dad instinctively blocked Ava. My mom snorted coldly, her face stern as she demanded: “Christina, didn’t you say you were going to die? What are you doing here!” Guillermo frowned tightly, and the little boy behind him suddenly rushed over, smashing a bottle of red wine on me! “You’re that bitch Christina, aren’t you?” “What are you doing here? Are you trying to steal my dad back from Ava? “Get lost! Today is their big day. I won’t let you ruin it!”

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When I was seven months pregnant, my husband and my sister faked their deaths together. They leaped from a high mountain, leaving no trace behind. Just as I stood there in shock, lines of text suddenly floated before my eyes. “Poor Maria! Reid and Georgia only faked their deaths, but she has to raise the baby and take care of both sets of parents alone. She’ll work herself to death before she’s even thirty-five.” “The child she gives birth to is a bastard too. He acknowledges Georgia as his mother, and doesn’t even visit Maria’s grave on Memorial Day. Her grave is completely overgrown!” “And she doesn’t know—the child she finally conceived after eight IVF attempts is actually Reid and Georgia’s!” “Reid was so rich, but Maria didn’t inherit a single penny. His parents took everything!” “They even pretended to be paralyzed to make Maria serve them. They never treated Maria like a human being!” Seeing this, my tears stopped flowing as if a floodgate had been closed. The floating text kept appearing before my eyes. “Next comes the tragic part where Maria works alone to support the child while serving two disabled elderly people.” “God, I can’t bear to watch. After Maria dies, Reid and Georgia will come back.” “Reid’s parents won’t be paralyzed anymore, and Maria’s parents won’t resent her anymore. The whole family will start a beautiful life raising the child and making money.” My mother suddenly shoved me hard. “This is all your fault! If you’d divorced Reid earlier and let Georgia have him, they wouldn’t have died!” My father slapped me directly. “All you do is bring disaster to your family!” I stood there stunned, wondering if I was hallucinating from excessive grief. Then more text appeared. “It’s bad enough that her in-laws blame her, but even her own parents don’t understand.” “Georgia and Reid were the ones having an affair and afraid of social judgment, so they staged this whole thing. Now Maria gets blamed for everything.” I was shocked for three seconds, but it only took me three minutes to accept this reality. Then I numbly handled Reid and Georgia’s funeral arrangements and canceled both their registrations. The moment I finished these tasks, my mother-in-law Ramos called. “Maria, get over here right now! Victor and I are in serious trouble!” I quickly hid the cancellation certificates and rushed to my in-laws’ house. When I entered, I found both of them lying in bed. Ramos immediately burst into tears when she saw me. She handed me two diagnosis reports with trembling hands. The word “paralyzed” was particularly glaring. “Maria, Victor and I can’t accept the fact that Reid is gone. Our excessive grief has caused us to lose mobility.” “From now on, we can only rely on you to take care of us!” At that moment, text started floating crazily before my eyes again. “These two old people are perfectly healthy, but they’re pretending to be paralyzed to make Maria serve them.” “Maria has to feed them, bathe them, and handle their waste every day, and they curse at her constantly.” “Maria faints from exhaustion several times, nearly losing the baby.” “It would be better if that bastard child was never born. Otherwise, Maria will have to work three jobs to support him and serve the two old people, and she’ll die suddenly while delivering food!” My father-in-law Victor shouted impatiently, “Did you hear what your mother said? Reid died because of you, and now we’re like this—you have to take responsibility!” The text kept floating. “Maria, don’t feel guilty! It’s not your fault! Get an abortion and run!” “Reid still has a company and two villas under his name. After he faked his death, his parents secretly inherited everything and didn’t give Maria a single penny!”

Seeing all this, I took a deep breath. “Don’t worry, I’ll definitely take good care of you!” Victor barked, “Go cook now, and clean the whole house after! Don’t even think about ordering takeout—I don’t eat takeout!” Ramos chimed in, “After dinner, wipe us down first, then clean the house. Oh, and wash our dirty clothes too.” I looked at them coldly. “My stomach doesn’t feel well. I need to go to the hospital for a checkup first.” Victor panicked. “What could possibly be wrong with you? I think you just don’t want to take care of us!” Ramos added, “Maria, if you don’t take care of us, I’ll livestream this and let the internet drown you in criticism!” “I won’t abandon you. I’ll come back right after the checkup. You don’t want anything to happen to Reid’s unborn child, do you?” Without waiting for their response, I left quickly and headed straight to the electronics market to buy two hidden cameras. Text floated wildly. “Oh my God! Has Maria awakened? She’s starting to suspect the two old people!” “Maria, hurry home! The property deeds to Reid’s two villas are hidden inside the big teddy bear at home! If you don’t get them now, the old people will take them!” I rushed home immediately and spotted the human-sized teddy bear in the living room. Reid had given it to me when I first found out I was pregnant. I quickly unzipped the back of the bear, reached inside, and felt around until I finally found two property deeds. My heart was racing after retrieving them. These two villas were in prime locations with excellent square footage—worth over twenty million! “Maria couldn’t even pay her son’s two-hundred-dollar tuition and cried every day. She couldn’t even afford to eat bread and fainted from hunger.” “But this scumbag had so much money and didn’t leave any for his wife and child. He deserves to die!” “Reid and Georgia are currently in a hot spring hotel abroad taking bubble baths together. They’re living it up.” I pulled out my phone and called a real estate agent. “Hello, real estate sales? I want to sell property!” Right after listing the two villas with the agency, Ramos called again. “Maria, it’s almost dark! Why aren’t you back yet!” “Victor and I can’t take care of ourselves. Get back here and serve us now.” “Okay, I’m coming back now.” I returned home with the two hidden cameras. When my in-laws heard me opening the door, they immediately went back to lie in bed. This gave me the opportunity to place a camera in the living room. Victor shouted, “Hurry up and cook! Are you trying to starve us?” I responded quickly and went to the kitchen to prepare food. After cooking, I brought the dishes into their room and struggled greatly to help both of them sit up. Ramos demanded I feed her. I had just brought the spoon to her mouth when she screamed. “Are you trying to burn me?” She swung her hand and knocked the bowl over, spilling food all over my head and face. The floor was covered in soup. I took the opportunity while cleaning up to place the hidden camera in the bedroom as well. Victor put down his fork. “This fried chicken is too greasy!” “And we need six dishes for meals! You’re just giving us one roasted chicken to get by. You have no conscience!” Ramos snorted. “Don’t feel wronged. Reid died because of you. Everything you’re doing now is atonement!” “Hurry up and clean up the dishes, then wash the sheets and clothes, and mop the floor too. There’s still so much work to do!”

I obediently replied, “I’ll try my best to satisfy you.” After they finished eating, I was cleaning in the living room. Suddenly I heard Ramos shout, “Maria, get in here! I need to use the bathroom!” I dropped the mop and ran over immediately, but it was too late. A foul stench filled the bedroom. “Can’t you move faster? I already soiled my pants! Clean it up now!” I suppressed my anger and maintained my patience. “I’m sorry. I’m already seven months pregnant, so I can’t move as fast as a normal person. I rushed over as quickly as I could.” “So now you’re blaming me for not being able to hold it in!” She grabbed the water glass from the nightstand and threw it at me hard. The glass hit my forehead directly. Blood instantly covered my face. “What are you standing there for? Clean it up! A little cut on your head won’t kill you!” I swallowed my anger and cleaned up despite the extreme nausea. Victor shouted from the room, “Hand-wash Ramos’s pants and sheets. Don’t use the washing machine—it’s not sanitary!” By the time I finally finished cleaning up and my butt barely touched the sofa, Ramos said: “What time is it? You should go home now. Victor and I need to rest. Come back early tomorrow!” My in-laws’ house had two bedrooms, but they clearly had no intention of letting me stay overnight. I opened the door and left. The floating text appeared before my eyes again. “These two old people deliberately soiled themselves to disgust Maria. It’s so late and they still won’t let her stay. They’re pure torment!” “There are no buses outside now. Maria has to take a taxi to get home.” “But Maria chooses to walk home to save money. It takes her two hours to get there.” “Later, Maria bought a car to deliver food, but these two deliberately punctured her tires.” “Maria was cursed with eight lifetimes of bad luck marrying into their family.” “These two old bastards clearly know Reid isn’t dead but still deliberately torture Maria. They’re not even human! Why don’t they just die!” I laughed coldly. You two old bastards, be as arrogant as you want. Everything you’re doing now will become a boomerang that stabs you hard! The next morning at four o’clock, Ramos called again. “Are you here yet? Victor and I are waiting for you to handle our bathroom needs. Hurry up. If we can’t hold it and soil the bed, don’t blame us!” I connected to the surveillance in the old people’s house with my phone. Both of them were walking around the living room—not looking paralyzed at all. No choice. For now, I had to keep acting with them. I served my in-laws diligently for a week until finally, that afternoon, I received news that buyers had been found for the villas. Taking advantage of the two old bastards’ afternoon nap, I sneaked out to meet the buyers. My asking price was already below market value, so the deal went through smoothly. The moment I received the twenty million in payment, my anxious heart finally settled. In the afternoon, my in-laws called my phone dozens of times. I turned it off directly. When I returned in the evening, I brought someone with me. As soon as I entered, I heard the sound of things being smashed. “Where did you run off to? Why was your phone off? Do you know what kind of afternoon Victor and I had?” Of course I knew. These two had it great—they ate takeout and watched TV. The surveillance recorded everything. “This is Rosa, the live-in caregiver I found for you. From now on, she’ll take care of you full-time.” Victor immediately objected. “No way! How can an outsider serve us properly? We don’t want anyone else—we want you!”

Ramos cried, “Maria, Reid died because of you. Are you trying to abandon us now?” “You have no conscience! How did the Charles family end up with a bitch like you!” “These past few days caring for you have made my heart feel uncomfortable. If you insist I take care of you, I’ll have to abort the baby.” Victor was relentless. “Nonsense! Back in our day, every pregnant woman worked in the fields with a belly, and nothing happened to their babies!” “I think you just don’t want to serve us and you’re making excuses!” “Right! You’re seven months along—the fetus must be stable by now!” “No matter what you say, this child is Reid’s unborn baby and my life. I have to protect him.” I turned and left without looking back, no matter how much they shouted. That evening, the full-time caregiver I hired called me. “Miss Maria, your in-laws are forcing me to leave. They say if I don’t go, they’ll bite their tongues off.” “Don’t worry, they won’t actually die. Do your job well. If they give you trouble, just bear with it. I’ll pay you triple.” These two old bastards were desperate to drive away the caregiver because with her there, they’d have to keep pretending to be paralyzed. If I was taking care of them, after I left at night, they could still get up and move around. Now, let them just lie there. Next, I had very important things to do. First, I went to the hospital and aborted the baby in my belly. After recovering for a week, I rushed to the company under Reid’s name and, as Reid’s wife, convened a board meeting. “Distinguished shareholders, I am Maria, Reid’s legal wife. I will inherit all of his shares.” “I majored in finance at Harvard. I’m confident I can work pleasantly with all of you in the future.” Reid’s confidant immediately objected. “As far as I know, Mr. Reid still has parents. How can you inherit all of his equity?” I produced my in-laws’ paralysis certificates. “My in-laws have lost full capacity for conduct. If the company is handed to them, how can it continue operating?” “Moreover, I’m a Harvard graduate with honors, while my in-laws only have middle school education. It’s quite clear who should inherit the company.” The confidant still objected. “What do you mean they’ve lost capacity? That’s just your side of the story!” I directly projected the surveillance footage from home onto the screen. In the video, I was serving the two disabled elderly people attentively and conscientiously. The confidant’s face turned green. In the end, I gained support from more than half the shareholders and obtained all of Reid’s shares. Then I ran to every bank to check if there were any other bank cards under his name. Whenever I found one, I presented the death certificate and marriage certificate, transferred all the money in his cards to my account, then canceled his cards. After completing this entire process, my account had gained another thirty million. Thinking about Reid abroad trying to make a purchase only to discover his cards had been canceled—the look of shock on his face—I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Reid was living it up abroad with Georgia, spending money lavishly. Now they had no money at all. They definitely couldn’t stay there. These two people would be coming back soon. After doing all this, I went home to see my parents. Since Reid and Georgia faked their deaths, I hadn’t been home. Mom and Dad hated me for causing Georgia’s death, not knowing I was the one who suffered most. Dad opened the door, saw me, and immediately snorted. “What are you doing here? Your mother and I don’t want to see you!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “402159”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster