Category: English

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

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

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Five years in the entertainment industry, and I still hadn’t made a name for myself. I had no choice but to accept my family’s arrangement: marriage to a stranger. On our wedding day, she didn’t even show up. She just called and laid down three rules. “My heart belongs to someone else. Don’t waste your efforts on me.” “If you have someone you like, feel free to pursue them. I won’t interfere.” “This is a transaction. We’ll divorce in a year. Don’t renege and refuse to sign the papers then.” She hung up, and I stood in front of the study, stunned—the room was filled with all sorts of merchandise featuring me. 1 I’d adopted a new name and bravely launched myself into the entertainment world five years ago. Despite my family’s considerable investment, my naturally delicate constitution meant I never quite caught on. So, I reluctantly surrendered to my parents’ demands, agreeing to the prearranged marriage. My fiancée was Sally Thorne, the aloof, self-possessed, and fiercely capable eldest daughter of the Thorne family. My friends told me she possessed an alluring beauty, a modern-day siren who easily lulled people into believing she was gentle and easygoing. In reality, she was said to be cold-blooded, harsh, and utterly ruthless, with eyes only for profit. My friend’s voice grew sympathetic as he recounted this. “Leo, everyone feels for you. To be married off to such a cold-hearted person. Who knows what hardships you’ll endure.” I clenched my phone, silent for a long moment, then let out a helpless, bitter laugh. After hanging up, I went into the backend of my social media account and posted the retirement announcement I’d drafted long ago. 2 Though I was merely a C-list celebrity, I still had a few die-hard fans. The moment my retirement announcement went live, those familiar IDs flooded my inbox. Among the dense stream of messages, the username “S” stood out. This person was intimately familiar to me. For the past five years, whenever I posted an update, she was always the first to like and comment, a true fan. Because she used exceptionally high-quality equipment, her fan art was always stunningly high-definition. She also poured vast sums of money into supporting me, so other fans affectionately called her “Sally Sister.” Clicking into her profile, the pinned posts were a compilation of my video edits and the hand gesture dances she learned from me. Though she never showed her face, every movement was so earnest it bordered on clumsy. Yet, what truly made her memorable were her messages. No lavish praises, no exaggerated declarations, just a simple, almost stubborn, recurring phrase: “Hope you’re happy every day.” But today, she broke her routine. The dense text in the dialogue box described how she stumbled upon my videos during her darkest days. She wrote about how a casual remark of mine helped her through a sleepless night. She described how her fingers would tremble with excitement whenever I updated. Finally, she seemed to exhaust all her strength, saying with restraint and sincerity: “I’m sorry, I might be presumptuous. But I still want to tell you, you are a beacon of light for me, a lifeline, the source of my motivation to live. In these five years since I found you, I’ve been incredibly happy every day. Leo, you are someone as important to me as life itself.” I stared at the screen, spotting several typos. She must have been typing frantically, her fingers trembling slightly, eventually even struggling to press the keyboard steadily. I finished reading her heartfelt essay, my eyes welling up. Ultimately, I responded to her with equal sincerity. “Thank you for your support and affection over the past five years. I hope you’re happy every day. Perhaps we’ll meet again.” 3 After replying to all the private messages, I took a deep breath, fighting back my reluctance, and prepared to deactivate my account. But then I suddenly saw my fiancée’s name trending at number one: #SallyThorneCryingInCar# Curiously, I clicked on the hashtag, and a ten-second video automatically played. The dim streetlights illuminated Sally’s flawless profile. Her long lashes were lowered, her shoulders trembled slightly, and tear streaks were clearly visible on her face. Her entire being exuded a fragile desperation, as if on the verge of breaking. The comment section exploded. “OMG, it’s actually Queen Sally crying! The sun must have risen in the west today…” “LOL, I thought her car was haunted by that ghostly sound.” “Terrifying, terrifying. Whatever you are, get off our CEO Sally immediately…” “So what could possibly make this cold-blooded demon queen shed tears?” As soon as that question was posed, people quickly began speculating about the reason for Sally’s tears. Some said it was because she was deeply unhappy about the forced marriage, others that she was overwhelmed by her busy work schedule. But no matter the reason, I wasn’t particularly interested. I casually scanned a few comments, then went to discuss post-retirement matters with my agent. 4 It was two in the morning. I dragged my exhausted body home. The moment I opened my phone, I saw the woman from the trending topic in my friend requests. The verification message simply said: “Sally.” I hesitated for two seconds, then clicked on her profile. Sally’s avatar was completely black, her signature blank, and her username was just “S.” Everything about it radiated an aura of “keep your distance.” I rubbed my throbbing temples and reluctantly accepted. Sally quickly sent a voice message, her tone cold and detached, as if dealing with an inescapable nuisance, merely maintaining basic politeness: [Mr. Imrie, hello, I am your fiancée, Sally Thorne.] I wasn’t comfortable with voice messages, so I typed: [Hello.] Sally had no interest in small talk, cutting straight to the point: [I already have someone I like, and I will only ever like him. So, after we’re married, you don’t need to waste your time on me.] [Our marriage is a transaction. I don’t mind an open marriage. You’re free to pursue anyone you like; I won’t interfere. Similarly, you must not interfere in my affairs.] [Mr. Imrie, I heard from your father that you have a first love abroad whom you’re very fond of. I frequently travel internationally for business, and by chance, I often go to the city where your first love resides. I wouldn’t mind taking you along to create an opportunity for you two to meet.] I was stunned, asking in disbelief: [Are you saying you can cover for me so I can see my first love?] Sally: [Yes, that’s what I mean. After all, I don’t want you clinging to me. It’s best if you have someone you like; I’d feel more at ease.] [… ] I was speechless for a moment. [Go on, what else?] Sally: [Also, I hope you always remember that our marriage will only last one year. After a year, we’ll get a divorce. Don’t you dare cry and make a scene, refusing to sign the papers then; it would be a huge embarrassment for both our families.] I: [Alright, you can rest assured, I won’t.] Sally immediately let out a huge sigh of relief at my assurance: [Oh, and Mr. Imrie. I think we don’t need to hold a wedding ceremony, and of course, no marital bedroom duties. We also don’t need to publicly announce our marriage. I don’t want too many people to know; it’s better for both of us.] I had no objections and agreed. Sally delivered this string of demands, then fell silent for a long time, likely concerned she had overlooked something. After a full fifteen minutes, she finally confirmed everything and sent a final message. [That’s all for now. I apologize, Mr. Imrie, but you know I’m a businesswoman, and businesspeople don’t believe in verbal agreements. So, to prevent any future regrets, I’d like to draft a contract for us to sign, if that’s alright? The contract content, besides property division, will include everything we just discussed. For example, the marriage lasting only one year, no marital duties, and me covering for you to meet your first love, and so on. Mr. Imrie, is that acceptable?] Of course, I had no objections: [Okay, Miss Thorne, draft the contract and send it to me.] Sally was satisfied: [I’ll have the contract drafted and sent to you first thing tomorrow morning.] I thought for a moment, then asked: [By the way, Miss Thorne, should we meet before getting our marriage license?] Sally refused very directly: [There’s no need. It’s a waste of time, and there’s nothing for us to meet about. We’ll see each other when we get the license in three days.] Just what I wanted, I nodded repeatedly: [Alright, alright.] 5 Sally was very worried I would back out, so she was incredibly efficient in drafting the contract. By four o’clock, she had already sent me the digital version. However, what I didn’t expect was that the very next morning, around six o’clock, she personally delivered a dozen-page hard copy of the contract to my house. While my dad was making polite conversation with her in the living room, my mom dug me out of bed and shoved me into the bathroom to get ready. Toothbrush in mouth, I hid in the second-floor hallway, observing Sally sitting in the living room. Just as my friend had described to me over the phone, Sally sat primly on the leather sofa, her long legs crossed. Her custom-made dress perfectly accentuated her elegant figure. It was an utterly ordinary posture, yet her exceptionally refined bone structure and appearance imbued it with an inexplicable, almost ascetic, sexiness. No wonder my dad said Sally was his carefully selected, most excellent, and ideal match for my arranged marriage. However, my eyes immediately caught sight of the blue bracelet hidden beneath her sleeve. Blue was my fan support color, so I could always spot blue among a jumble of colors. But Sally, with such a commanding presence, liking to wear a small blue hair tie? Quite amusing. 6 When my dad chatted with Sally, he kept glancing in my direction, subtle yet persistent. But Sally remained as still as an old monk in meditation, her eyelashes not even fluttering. She merely watched my dad’s performance with a faint, indifferent expression. She was demonstrating through her actions that she had zero interest in me, her fiancé whom she had never even met, who had seemingly materialized out of thin air. My dad gritted his teeth, then just laid it out. “Sally, why don’t you stay for breakfast? Leo’s home too, you two can meet and get acquainted.” “No need.” Sally’s voice was clear and cool, tinged with detachment and indifference. “Mr. Imrie, no need to meet. After all, there’ll be plenty of forced time together later; it’ll be hard not to see each other, won’t it?” My dad tried to say something else, but Sally coldly cut him off. “Alright, Mr. Imrie, I’ll take my leave now.” With that, she simply turned and walked away. The moment I stepped into the living room, fully dressed, Sally was just walking out, closing the door behind her. She never once looked up in my direction. It was as if she had “not interested” tattooed on the back of her head.

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I married Alexander Knight in a whirlwind. He was a handsome man, but he only ever described himself as “self-employed.” As a financial analyst earning a six-figure salary, my friends were convinced I’d been utterly deluded, marrying a man with no apparent steady job. Then one day, tucked away in his study drawer, I found a printed booklet titled: The Perfect Husband Playbook. It meticulously detailed my likes, my dislikes, and even strategies for various scenarios. For instance, flowers for our anniversary shouldn’t cost more than $300, so I wouldn’t grow suspicious. If I was working late, he should personally prepare a late-night snack, never order takeout, to appear more devoted. My hands and feet turned cold with dread. I immediately called my best friend, Gabby. I told her I thought I’d married a professional con artist, a particularly stingy one at that. Gabby shrieked into the phone, then calmly declared, “Don’t panic! We’ll turn the tables on him! Let’s show him that a modern woman’s money isn’t so easily swindled!” 1 After hanging up, I didn’t cry or throw anything. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down, and walked straight to my study. I opened my work laptop. I created a new Excel spreadsheet, naming it “Alexander Knight Behavior Analysis Model.” I meticulously entered all his actions from the past six months, from chat logs and spending statements to the timing of every gift. Column A was the behavior event, Column B the corresponding playbook rule, Column C the execution cost, and Column D my emotional response index. On the screen, data scrolled line by line, but this time, the subject of my analysis was my own husband. Finally, I typed a formula into a cell and hit Enter. A glaring “93.7%” flashed onto the screen. I sent the analysis chart to Gabby, adding a note: “His affectionate gestures show a clear cyclical pattern, positively correlated with my bonus payout dates.” The phone rang instantly. Gabby’s voice, an octave higher, exclaimed, “This isn’t just a marriage scam! This is precision fraud! He’s using big data! This guy’s leveled up his criminal enterprise!” I chuckled coldly, my fingers pausing on the keyboard. “From a behavioral economics standpoint, he’s exploiting the ‘sunk cost fallacy,’ hooking me with small favors so I’ll be reluctant to cut my losses later.” I paused. “Too bad for him, he ran into me, a risk analyst. My first lesson is always to cut losses promptly.” “No! Don’t cut losses!” Gabby slapped her thigh so hard I could hear it through the phone. “We’re going to make him crash and burn! I declare ‘Revenge Plan 1.0: The Iron Fist of Materialism’ officially launched!” Her voice was alight with the thrill of a spectator at a wild show. “The core idea is simple: Spend! We’ll use our ‘finance femme fatale’ high-spending habits to absolutely obliterate his cheap con artist facade, making him expose himself when he can’t keep up!” 2 The night the plan launched, I sprawled on the sofa, pretending to idly scroll through my phone. Alexander was drying his hair nearby. I turned my phone screen brightness to the max and deliberately pointed at a five-figure limited edition handbag right in front of him. “Ugh,” I sighed, a perfectly timed lament, “it’s gorgeous. Too bad ordinary folk like us can’t afford it.” I quickly glanced at him from the corner of my eye, my internal abacus clacking away. According to my predictions, he’d have one of three reactions: A: Immediately change the subject, pretending not to hear. B: Righteously criticize my vanity and preach frugality. C: Sweetly promise, “Honey, I’ll buy it for you when I’m rich.” Any of these would add another piece of concrete evidence to my “con artist theory.” I held my breath, awaiting judgment. Alexander stopped drying his hair, the towel draped casually over his shoulder. He turned his head, his gaze falling on my phone screen. Then, in a tone so flat it was almost bored, he said, “If you like it, buy it.” I froze. This wasn’t in the script. He took the phone from my hand, his long fingers swiftly tapping the screen. “There,” he handed my phone back, “this series has many colors, hard to pick just one, so I bought you the whole collection. It’ll be delivered in a couple of days.” I stared at the long list of “Order Confirmed” on the screen, my mind utterly blank. I thought I was on the first level, he was on the second, but he just flipped the entire board, telling me he was in the stratosphere. This con artist, was he abandoning his principal just to play the long game? 3 Two days later, the doorbell rang. It took the delivery driver three trips to bring in the pile of orange boxes stamped with golden logos. I sat cross-legged on the living room floor, surrounded by seven identical limited edition handbags. I unwrapped one. The delicate texture of the calfskin and the cold metal clasp mocked my meticulously constructed data model. I immediately called Gabby, my voice a little breathless from lack of oxygen. “He bought them all.” A shriek came from the other end of the line. “He’s desperate! He’s gambling! He must have used your credit card or taken out a high-interest loan!” Gabby’s voice carried the thrill of a breakthrough. “He wants to create an illusion of wealth to completely ensnare you! Then he’ll run off with even more of your money! Go check the statements!” she finally yelled. I hung up and rushed to the study. My laptop opened, my fingers a blur on the keyboard. I hacked into every conceivable payment channel connected to our household, checking all six of my bank cards, three credit cards, and every lending app. The statements were as clean as my face. The money hadn’t come from me. Could this con artist also be a master of cardless payment black magic? 4 I was staring blankly at the pile of orange boxes when Alexander returned. His footsteps approached, then stopped behind me. A pair of warm arms wrapped around my waist, his chin resting gently on my shoulder. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like them?” His breath tickled my ear. My muscles instantly tensed. I asked stiffly, “Where… where did you get the money?” He chuckled softly, the vibration in his chest resonating through my back. “Just closed a big deal recently, made a little extra cash.” His tone was so tender it could melt butter, and his eyes were so sincere, utterly flawless. “Your hard work deserves the best reward.” Through the reflection in the metal clasp of a handbag in front of me, I watched his handsome profile. My heart, against its will, skipped a beat. This was bad. My dopamine felt like it was betraying my cerebral cortex. Logic told me he was a scammer, but my emotions felt… this scammer was dangerously charming. 5 I retreated to the bedroom and called Gabby. “My… my heart just skipped a beat.” I slid down the door, my voice a whisper, like I was confessing a crime. From the other end of the line exploded a shriek even sharper than last time. “Chloe! Get a grip! This is a classic emotional value investment! He spent money on bags as a material investment, and now he’s spouting all that nonsense as an emotional investment! He’s hitting you with both barrels, aiming to completely ensnare a love-struck fool whose brain is soaked in dopamine!” Gabby sounded heartbroken. I clutched my forehead, feeling reason slowly trickle back. “We have to upgrade the plan,” Gabby’s voice lowered, filled with a strategist’s composure. “Initiate ‘Revenge Plan 2.0: Social Circle Downsizing’!” She paused, then dangled the bait. “Your company’s annual gala is coming up, isn’t it?” I immediately understood her meaning. Our company’s annual gala was known as a microcosm of the financial world’s elite, where a six-figure salary was just the entry ticket, and billions in capital funds were discussed casually. “Take him,” Gabby’s voice held a cruel glee, “let this ‘self-employed’ guy, who relies on odd jobs, see what real elite society looks like. Insecurity and awkwardness will expose all his disguises, and his true colors will naturally show.” I hung up the phone, my palms cold. Walking out of the bedroom, Alexander was standing by the island in the open-plan kitchen, meticulously cutting fruit for me. Alright. If he wanted to play a high-stakes game, I’d set the battlefield on my home turf. In the financial world, connections and status were firepower. I wanted to see if his meager “odd job” savings were enough to buy an entry ticket. I walked up to him, gently took the fruit knife from his hand, and put on a bright smile. “Honey, our company’s annual gala is next week. Will you come with me?” Alexander, don’t blame me. Blame yourself for trying to con the wrong woman. 6 On the night of the gala, I personally selected Alexander’s “battle attire.” It was a casual suit that looked like a discounted item from a cheap department store. I didn’t even bother to iron it. I, on the other hand, wore my most expensive black silk gown, regal red lipstick, and my hair meticulously swept up. The moment we stepped into the hotel ballroom, the light from the crystal chandeliers made my eyes swim. I walked in, arm in arm with Alexander, feeling like a performance artist, my piece titled “The Middle-Class Woman and Her Dead Weight.” The glances from my colleagues were the greatest commendation—or perhaps, mockery—for my artwork. My boss, the notoriously snobbish Director Collins, approached us, glass in hand. Her eyes, like X-rays, scanned Alexander from head to toe, finally settling on his ordinary sneakers. “Chloe, and this is?” She raised an eyebrow, her tone carrying its usual critical edge. I felt my smile stiffen, and with effort, I introduced him. “Director Collins, this is my husband, Alexander Knight.” I paused, then added the long-prepared line: “He’s… self-employed.” Director Collins’s disdain was almost undisguised. She drawled a dismissive “Oh,” stretching out the sound. “Self-employed, how nice. Flexible hours.” With that, she turned and rejoined another small circle of fund managers and investment banking VPs, leaving behind a back that screamed “not one of us.” 7 Just as I released his arm, a small stir rippled from the ballroom entrance. A woman in a champagne-colored mermaid gown entered, the center of attention. It was Sophia Sterling, the daughter of our company’s biggest client this year, known in our circles for being particularly difficult. Her gaze swept the room, then landed precisely on Alexander, who was still by my side. She paused, then, clicking across the floor in her high heels, walked straight toward us. “Well, if it isn’t Mr. Knight? Long time no see.” Her voice was neither too loud nor too soft, just enough for everyone within earshot to hear clearly. She scrutinized Alexander from head to toe, her gaze finally resting on his wrinkled suit, her derision unconcealed. “What, short on cash lately? Running around in places like this… for a taste of the common life?” My heart sank. They knew each other? When a conniving woman suddenly acts overly familiar with your “poor” husband, there are only two possibilities: they’re either old acquaintances or old flames. According to Murphy’s Law, it’s usually the latter. Gabby’s “habitual scammer” theory echoed like an alarm in my mind. Had Alexander targeted her before me? 8 Before I could even speak, Alexander moved first. He didn’t even look at Sophia, merely drew me slightly closer to him, his gesture carrying an undeniable air of protection. Then, he lazily lifted an eyebrow. “Miss Sterling, are we that familiar?” Sophia’s smile froze, her champagne mermaid gown unable to hide the tension in her body. Her expression was a vibrant palette of emotions. The whispers around us ceased, everyone seemed to hit a pause button, with only the background music foolishly continuing to play. Just as the awkwardness threatened to overwhelm the room, another stir erupted at the ballroom entrance, even more significant than Sophia’s grand entrance. The crowd parted automatically. Our company’s elusive chairman, a man rarely seen, was striding quickly towards our direction. My internal alarm bells blared. Director Collins instantly darted forward, her face plastered with a fawning smile. But the chairman didn’t even glance her way, walking straight past her, and past a pale-faced Sophia. He stopped in front of Alexander. Then, in the deathly silence of the entire ballroom, this titan, who commanded headlines in finance magazines, slightly bowed. His tone was respectful, almost humble: “Mr. Knight, why didn’t you inform us you were coming?” My brain’s CPU instantly overloaded and crashed. My director, with her six-figure salary, looked as if she’d just seen Warren Buffett doing the Macarena. And I, I was the one backing up Buffett. 9 The entire room fell silent. Alexander frowned imperceptibly, then said to our chairman in a calm tone, “Mr. Davies, I’m just here accompanying my wife to a company event.” He turned to me, lowering his voice to explain, “I helped their group with a cybersecurity project a while back. Mr. Davies… he’s just being polite.” This explanation was flawless! My stalled CPU immediately rebooted, forcibly. A white-hat hacker who could command such respect from the chairman of a company the size of Sterling Group – his value far exceeded a six-figure salary. I suddenly understood! He wasn’t a low-level swindler after money and romance; he was a high-stakes player with core technology, a master of capital manipulation! I quickly pulled out my phone and texted Gabby my latest findings. “I get it now. His profession isn’t ‘self-employed’; it’s ‘cyber outlaw.’ I thought I married a bronze-tier player, but he’s a king, just operating off the anti-fraud app’s blacklist.” Gabby’s call was almost immediate, her voice a breaking shriek. “Oh my god, he’s not just scamming money and romance, he’s scamming connections! He must have used hacking to get dirt on the chairman! Chloe, you haven’t married a con artist; you’ve married a walking felony!” I hung up, looking at Alexander. He was looking down at me, his eyes carrying a hint of inquiry and reassurance, as if asking, “Are you alright?” I looked at his innocent face and felt a chill run down my spine.

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In my family, there is a secret passed down through generations—women, upon turning sixty, can begin to grow young again. To complete the transformation, a balance must be restored through intimate union with eighty-one men. Until recently, a charming doctor came into my life, and for the first time, I thought of giving up eternal youth. But then a chilling discovery shattered that dream: he started showing a troubling interest in my five-year-old sister. He’ll never know—that little girl is actually my great-great-grandmother. 1 My name is Annabelle. In our family, when the women turn sixty, they begin to reverse age until they become infants again. It’s a cycle, an endless loop of eternal youth. But there’s a catch: each woman must sleep with eighty-one young, handsome men. I don’t know the science behind it. All I know is that my great-great-grandmother, Eleanor, has told me this story since I was a little girl. Eleanor is 125 years old now, but she looks like a five-year-old child. I just turned twenty and haven’t even finished college, but Eleanor is constantly urging me to start finding men while I’m young. “A woman sleeping with a man is as natural as breathing,” she’d say. “Once you’re past fifty, your hormones drop, and it won’t be as much fun.” I know she means well. But I just don’t want that life. Because I’ve recently fallen in love. 2 The man I love is Dr. George Miller. He’s a brilliant young surgeon. Three months ago, late one night, my roommate had an emergency appendectomy. I accompanied her to the ER. George was on duty that night. When he walked out of the operating room afterward and removed his mask, I was stunned. Sharp brows, sparkling eyes, a strong nose, a defined jawline. And he even had two dimples. In that moment, I could hear my heart pounding like a drum. He looked a little tired after an all-nighter, but his eyes held a warmth like winter snow melting. “The surgery was a success. The patient will be out soon.” Watching him smile, I couldn’t help but ask, “Dr. Miller, can I have your contact information?” 3 George politely declined. But that didn’t stop me from pursuing him. After all, I’d already found out he was single. So, under the guise of delivering thank-you cards, pens, and homemade lunchboxes, I was at his office every other day. Soon, his colleagues all knew a patient’s family member was chasing him. One time, when I went to deliver coffee, I overheard them discussing me. Someone asked, “Dr. Miller, Ms. Grant is so beautiful and clearly devoted to you. Why don’t you accept her?” I wanted to know too why George remained unmoved. After all, I have fair skin, striking features, and a stunning figure. Men have been pursuing me since I was a child. After a few seconds, I heard George say, “My focus is entirely on my work right now. I don’t want to string her along.” After hearing that, my affection for him deepened even further. So that’s it. He was even better than I imagined. 4 Eleanor scoffed at my praise. “Never trust a man, especially a handsome one. If he genuinely cared, why wouldn’t he just tell you to give up directly? Don’t argue with me. I’ve slept with more men than you’ve crossed bridges.” Eleanor’s words made me a little uncomfortable, but I couldn’t really talk back to my elder. I had planned to introduce her to George sometime, but I didn’t expect them to meet the very next day. That afternoon, Eleanor was sunbathing in the park. A little boy, finding her adorable, wanted to play with her. During their playful tussle, both got a little bruised and were brought to the hospital. George happened to be the doctor on call. Our family has plenty of money. After understanding what happened, I immediately paid a substantial sum for the boy’s medical expenses. As I was about to take Eleanor home, George suddenly approached. He smiled, asking, “You have a little sister? You never mentioned her.” He added, “I’m just getting off work. It’s on my way; I can drive you both home.” I wondered if it was my imagination, but George seemed different today. As far as I knew, he lived near the hospital, so it wasn’t on his way at all. And compared to his previous polite distance, he was noticeably warmer today. Could he finally be starting to like me? After pondering it all evening, just before bed, I gathered my courage and sent him a message: “Dr. Miller, would you consider being my boyfriend?” A few seconds later, he replied. “Yes.” 5 And just like that, George and I started dating. Even though Eleanor, with all her experience, said she couldn’t quite read George and felt he was a bit inscrutable, I thought she was overthinking. To me, George was the perfect boyfriend. Despite his busy work schedule, he dedicated all his free time to our dates. I tried to seduce him several times, and he clearly reacted, but he always stopped at the last moment. He said, “We’ve just started dating. It’s too soon. I want to be responsible for you.” The more he resisted, the more eager I became. Soon, Valentine’s Day, February 14th, arrived. George and I had planned to go to a secluded hot spring resort. For the occasion, I had bought several sexy swimsuits, ready for a romantic night with him. At ten in the morning, George was promptly downstairs. As soon as we met, he handed me a large bouquet of roses and a designer gift box. “Happy Valentine’s Day, Annabelle.” “Thank you.” I took them, about to get into the car, when George looked behind me. “Where’s your sister? Why didn’t you bring her?” Our family is large and matriarchal. My grandmother is 93, but she looks to be in her early thirties. My mother is 50, and she still needs to sleep with a few more men to complete her cycle. To experience different men, they began a global quest for romance two years ago. I had told George they were traveling abroad, so he knew it was just Eleanor and me at home. I said, “Eleanor’s at home. Don’t worry, she can take care of herself.” George frowned. Doctors are truly kind and cautious. He said seriously, “Let’s take her with us. She’s only five; it’s not safe for her to be alone.” 6 Despite Eleanor not wanting to be a third wheel, George insisted, and so the three of us headed out. We went to a newly opened private hot spring resort. It was a bit pricey, but the ambiance was lovely. I’d heard that young doctors like George didn’t earn much, so I was surprised he seemed so well-off. George booked a family suite with two rooms, each with its own private pool. It worked out perfectly: George and I shared one pool, and Eleanor had her own. While soaking, George’s V-line shimmered in the water, constantly tempting me and leaving me parched. I wanted to experience the fun of the water, but George said it wasn’t hygienic. We finally endured until after dinner, and Eleanor went to bed early. I used the excuse of taking a shower to change into the sexy nightgown I had prepared. Black lace with minimal fabric highlighted my skin, making it seem as white as snow, and outlined my curves in a way that was utterly captivating. Eleanor had said no man could resist this outfit. Sure enough, George couldn’t either. We tumbled onto the bed. After passionate kisses, his breathing grew more rapid, and finally, he couldn’t hold back any longer. … Everything flowed naturally. It was utterly blissful. No wonder Eleanor kept urging me to find a man. At the peak of my happiness, I couldn’t help but kiss George’s lips. Amidst our intertwined mouths, I whispered my love. “George, I love you, forever.” In that second, I decided to give up eternal life. I didn’t want to sleep with any other man. In this life, I only wanted George. We made love again and again. In the early hours, exhausted, I fell into a deep sleep in his arms. I don’t know how long I slept, but I was woken by the heat of the air conditioning. I turned on the light, wanting a drink, but found no one beside me. Strange, where had George gone in the middle of the night? Just then, I noticed Eleanor’s room light was on. I got up, quietly opened the door, and then I saw a sight I would never forget. 7 At two in the morning, Eleanor was sound asleep. Tiny as she was, she lay in the hotel’s spacious bed, breathing evenly, her cheeks flushed. She seemed to be in a pleasant dream. But horrifyingly, her blanket had been pulled back, and her clothes were scattered nearby. And my boyfriend, George Miller – the man I had, just hours before, decided to spend my life with – was standing at my great-great-grandmother’s bedside. He was filming with his phone and on a video call with someone. “Name: Eleanor Grant.” “Gender: Female.” “Age: 5 years, 8 months.” “Height and weight are standard.” “Good nutrition.” “No prior medical history.” “Mr. Morris, what else would you like to know?” Who was he video calling? Why did they want to see Eleanor? Amidst my confusion, an excited male voice came from the phone. “Young George, as expected of Professor Thorne’s star student, you’re always reliable. This one isn’t bad; she’s barely acceptable. Arrange a meeting for us tomorrow. If I’m satisfied, you can name your price.” Hearing this, George slowly curved his lips. “Good, I’ll make sure you’re satisfied.” He hung up the phone and then took dozens more photos of Eleanor. After that, he unhurriedly restored everything to its original state. Once finished, he quietly returned to our room and lay down beside me as if nothing had happened. My body was rigid. Immersed in profound shock, I remained awake for a long time. 8 The next day, February 15th, was the 28th day of the twelfth lunar month, just before the Lunar New Year holiday. On the way back, traffic was terrible. George glanced at the road conditions and then discussed with me, “It’ll probably take a while to get home. I have a friend who lives nearby; why don’t we stop by for dinner?” Here it comes! It seemed he was eager to take us to meet the man from last night. I glanced at Eleanor beside me, and we quickly exchanged a knowing look. “Sure, sounds good. I’m hungry anyway.” The car exited the highway and, after about fifteen minutes, soon pulled up to a luxurious villa. I recognized this area. One of my great-aunts used to live here. She told me that only business and political elites resided here, all immensely wealthy and influential. As soon as the car stopped, before we even got out, the host came out to greet us. Mr. Morris appeared to be in his late forties or early fifties. He wore a finely tailored suit, and his hair was impeccably combed. Though not as young and handsome as George, he possessed a distinct charm of a mature man. “Welcome, Dr. Miller, your presence truly graces my humble abode.” As he spoke to George, his gaze was fixed on Eleanor. “This must be Eleanor, right? Come, quickly, Uncle will take you inside. Don’t catch a cold.” He enthusiastically took Eleanor’s hand and led her inside. George gently cleared his throat and quietly explained to me, “Don’t mind him. My friend is older and particularly fond of children.” I nodded, chuckling, “I understand. Our Eleanor, she’s a charmer wherever she goes.” The dinner was very pleasant. Outside, the cold wind howled, and the weather was freezing. Inside the living room, the fireplace burned brightly, making it warm like spring. Mr. Morris’s chef was truly excellent; Eleanor and I ate until we were stuffed. After the meal, the servants brought out delicious desserts. Eleanor and I sat on the sofa, eating, and soon felt our eyelids growing heavy. Before long, both of us were sound asleep. Beside us, Mr. Morris and George, who had been drinking tea and chatting, seemed to pause simultaneously. They both put down their glasses and walked over. Their gazes fell on Eleanor, scrutinizing her from a superior position, like gods looking at a pitiful ant. “Well? Are you satisfied?” “Beautiful, intelligent, vibrant—simply perfect!” “She’s the one! How soon can we arrange it? I can’t wait.” “Let’s wait until after the New Year. Things are a bit tight right now.” 9 Perhaps fearing we might suddenly wake, George and Mr. Morris kept their conversation brief. I lay with my eyes closed, a suspicion forming in my mind, but I needed to confirm it. It was almost eleven at night when we arrived home. Before getting out of the car, I asked George, “Are you free the day after tomorrow for New Year’s? Come to my place for dinner.” Fearing he might refuse, I quickly added, “Oh, I also have another sister named Daisy, Eleanor’s twin. She and my mom will be back the day after tomorrow. I want them to meet you.” Hearing this, George paused. As expected of a medical genius, he quickly asked suspiciously, “Why so sudden? You never mentioned her before.” It was a complete fabrication, so of course, he’d never heard of it. Eleanor had no twin sister. But what did it matter? Our family had plenty of reverse-aging little ancestors; I could just grab one to play the part. So, I pretended to cling to his arm and pleaded playfully, “Oh, we just never got around to talking about it before. After last night, I’ve decided you’re the one for me for life. I don’t care, you absolutely have to come, otherwise, if my mom doesn’t agree, we can’t be together.” “Alright,” George chuckled, lovingly stroking my head. “As you wish. You’re impossible.” Seeing him agree, I happily kissed him. “Oh, and invite Mr. Morris too. It’d be nice to thank him for treating Eleanor and me to dinner.” “This… isn’t suitable, is it?” George frowned. “He’s an outsider, after all.” “What’s unsuitable? It’s New Year’s, the more people, the merrier. Our family is the most hospitable. I promise, we’ll make sure you have an unforgettable New Year.”

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My mother was once a nanny for a wealthy family, hired to care for the pregnant Rosalind. Rosalind’s position in that house was… delicate. She was like a beautiful canary, kept in a gilded cage. Out of kindness, my mother warned her that emotions can run high during pregnancy, and that she should stay away from the open-air pool on the top floor. Rosalind just smiled and nodded, saying she understood. But the moment my mother presented her with a bowl of restorative broth, Rosalind let out a piercing scream, accusing my mother of pushing her. Then, she threw herself into the pool, staging a tragic miscarriage. Because of that venomous lie, my mother was beaten to death. And Rosalind, playing the part of the grieving victim, married the master of the house, transforming herself into the glamorous lady of the manor. Four years slipped by. Rosalind’s son was old enough for a playmate, and she chose me from the orphanage, the one who seemed the most obedient and mild-mannered. She never suspected a thing. She had no idea that every single day, I would lean in close to her son and whisper, “Your mother is a murderer. She killed my mother.” 1. On the day of my interview, Rosalind sat on an Italian leather sofa that must have cost a fortune, stirring her coffee with practiced elegance. Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating a face so perfectly preserved it betrayed no hint of time’s passage. “Cici, is it? The director at the orphanage says you’re the most well-behaved girl.” Her voice was soft as a feather, brushing against my ear. I kept my head down, my small hands twisting the hem of my worn dress, projecting the perfect image of a timid twelve-year-old orphan. “Yes, ma’am.” A satisfied smile touched her lips. She gestured toward a small boy peering nervously from the top of the grand staircase. “That’s my son, Kevin. He’s a bit shy. He needs a patient friend.” I followed her gaze. Kevin was dressed in a crisp little tweed suit, his skin as pale and perfect as porcelain. He was the prize Rosalind had won with my mother’s life. I could still see it, the memory seared into my mind: that rainy night four years ago. Hiding in the utility closet, I watched through the crack in the door as the men who worked for her husband, Alistair Blackwood, dragged my mother’s body away. A slick, crimson trail smeared across the polished marble floor. And Rosalind, nestled in Alistair’s arms, sobbed, her tears a picture of tragic beauty. “Alistair, I’m so scared,” she’d cried. “That nanny, she went insane. She tried to harm our baby…” My mother was dead, her official cause of death ruled “Vicious servant attacks mistress, falls to her death in the ensuing chaos.” And I was sent to the orphanage. Now, my mother’s killer sat before me, deciding my fate with the casual air of someone offering charity. “You’ll live here from now on,” she said. “Keep Kevin company, make him happy, and you will be well taken care of.” I lifted my head and forced a grateful smile. “Thank you, ma’am. I’ll take very good care of the young master.” She couldn’t see the torrent of hatred swirling behind my lowered eyes. That night, I moved into a small room in the staff quarters of the Blackwood manor. It was next to the room that had once been my mother’s, now crammed with discarded furniture and boxes. In the dead of night, I slipped inside. Reaching under the dusty bedframe, my fingers found a small wooden box. Inside was the diary my mother had hidden. June 3rd: Miss Rosalind was in a foul mood today. Smashed her favorite vase. Mr. Blackwood told me to keep a close eye on her, keep her away from anywhere dangerous. June 10th: I reminded Miss Rosalind the tiles by the pool are slippery, that a pregnant woman must be careful. She gave me such a sweet smile and said she knew. June 15th: A strange question from Miss Rosalind today. She asked if someone fell into the water by accident, could it look like they were pushed? It sent a chill down my spine. The final entry was scrawled in a frantic hand, the ink blurred by water spots. She said she’s going to marry him. She said I’m in the way… I snapped the diary shut, my nails digging so deep into my palms they nearly drew blood. The next day, I was in the garden with Kevin. He shyly offered me a Transformer. “This is for you, Cici.” I took the toy and gave him a small smile. Then I leaned in close, my voice a whisper only he could hear. “Kevin, did you know? Your mother is a murderer. She killed my mother.” 2. Kevin’s eyes widened, his pupils shrinking to pinpricks. The other toy in his hand clattered to the stone path. He stared at me like a startled fawn, his lips parting, but no sound came out. I didn’t press him. I simply picked up the fallen toy, brushed off the dirt, and gently placed it back in his hand. “Want to play cops and robbers?” I asked, my voice light and cheerful. Fear and curiosity warred on his small face. He didn’t nod, didn’t shake his head. He just watched me, his mind reeling. I knew the seed was planted. From that day on, I found a moment every day to repeat my poison. When he was building with his blocks. When he was watching cartoons. And at night, the bedtime stories I told were always about wicked stepmothers who murdered innocent people to get what they wanted. “Cici,” he asked one evening, tugging on my sleeve, “why don’t the bad people get caught?” “Because they’re very good actors,” I said, stroking his hair, my voice a gentle murmur. “They cry and pretend they’re the ones who got hurt.” Kevin nodded, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. The next time he looked toward his mother’s bedroom, there was a new, questioning glint in his gaze. Rosalind soon noticed the change in her son. Kevin wasn’t her little shadow anymore. He started to subtly pull away from her hugs, to avoid her touch. “What’s gotten into Kevin lately?” she asked at the dinner table, her brow furrowed. “He’s always avoiding me.” I kept my eyes on my plate, shoveling food into my mouth as if I hadn’t heard a thing. Alistair Blackwood, the master of the house, was rarely home, always consumed by his business. He gave his son a brief, disinterested glance. “It’s just a phase. He’ll get over it.” But Rosalind wasn’t convinced. She was a woman wired with suspicion and paranoia. She suspected one of the staff had been whispering poison in her son’s ear. The next day, Mrs. Gable, the cook, was fired in a storm of fury for dropping a single plate. Rosalind made an example of her, her cold eyes sweeping over the rest of us. “The Blackwoods do not employ clumsy, gossiping fools.” I lowered my gaze, a chill creeping through me. I knew the warning was meant for me. That night, as I was telling Kevin a story, he interrupted me. “Cici… is my mommy… a bad person too?” I looked into his clear, innocent eyes and answered with a question of my own. “What do you think?” He looked down, his voice barely a whisper. “She was so mean to Mrs. Gable.” “Some people look like angels on the outside,” I said softly, “but on the inside, they have a demon. And demons like to push the people who are kindest to them into hell.” A small tremor ran through Kevin’s body. Later that night, a scream tore through the silent house, jolting me awake. It came from Rosalind’s room. By the time I rushed out, Alistair was already there, his face a thunderous mask. Kevin was standing by Rosalind’s bed. In his small hand, he held a fruit knife, the tip pointed directly at his sleeping mother. Rosalind was cowering against the headboard, her eyes wide with terror, her voice trembling as she pointed a shaking finger at her son. “What… what are you doing!” Kevin stared at her, his voice small but steady. “You’re a demon. I have to kill you.” 3. Alistair Blackwood’s face went rigid with fury. He snatched the knife from Kevin’s hand. “Who taught you to say such filth!” he roared. Kevin burst into terrified sobs, pointing at me. “It was Cici… she said it…” Every head in the room turned. Every eye was on me. Rosalind lunged toward me as if I were a lifeline, her voice a screech. “I knew it was you, you little viper! What have you been planning? Teaching my son to kill me!” She raised her hand to strike me. I didn’t flinch. I just stared up at Alistair, my eyes wide with a carefully crafted blend of innocence and terror. Crack. The slap never landed. Alistair had seized her wrist, his voice like ice. “That’s enough! You’re scaring the child.” He turned his sharp, cutting gaze on me. “Explain yourself. Now.” I began to tremble, tears spilling from my eyes like broken pearls. “I… I don’t know…” I choked out between sobs. “I only told the young master the story of Snow White… I said… I said the Queen was a bad person… I didn’t know he would…” My words dissolved into ragged, heartbroken sobs, as if I were the victim of some terrible injustice. Kevin was still crying, but seeing me even more distraught than he was seemed to confuse him. Rosalind was hysterical. “She’s lying! He said ‘demon,’ not ‘Queen’!” “Maybe… maybe the young master misheard me…” I stammered, casting a timid, tearful glance at Kevin. “Young master, please tell Mr. Blackwood. Did I ever teach you to say those things?” Kevin looked at me, then at his furious mother and his stone-faced father. His wails subsided. He hesitated. He was only five, the line between stories and reality still a blur. In his confused little mind, maybe I really had only told him a story. “I… I don’t remember…” he mumbled. Rosalind looked as if she’d been struck. “You don’t remember? He was about to stab me in my sleep! Alistair! This little beast has twisted your son’s mind, and you’re still protecting her?” “Be quiet!” Alistair snarled, the disgust in his eyes now unmistakable. His reputation was paramount. The scandal of a son trying to murder his mother was something he would never allow to see the light of day. He fixed his cold stare on me. “You’ll be back at the orphanage by morning.” My heart sank. Have I failed? Two guards grabbed my arms and dragged me back to my room. Rosalind followed, closing the door behind her. A triumphant, vicious smirk played on her lips. “You want to play games with me, you little bitch? You’re not even in my league.” She stalked toward me, leaning down to grip my chin with her long, scarlet-tipped fingers. “You’re just like your dead mother. Trash. I got rid of her, and now I’m getting rid of you.” I looked up at her and, to her surprise, I smiled. “So you admit it.” Her smirk faltered. “You admit you killed my mother,” I said, each word clear and deliberate. Her expression flickered before hardening into a sneer. “And what if I did? Who’s going to believe a little gutter rat like you? Alistair? He’ll just think you’re insane.” She released me, wiping her fingers as if she’d touched something foul. “Enjoy rotting in that cesspool of an orphanage for the rest of your life.” She turned to leave. “Aren’t you curious,” my calm voice cut through the air, “why Kevin would suddenly grab a knife?” Curiosity, or perhaps a flicker of fear, made her pause. I slowly pulled a small, digital voice recorder from my pocket and pressed play. My own voice filled the silent room, clear as a bell. “…some people look like angels on the outside, but on the inside, they have a demon. And demons like to push the people who are kindest to them into hell.” Then came Kevin’s small, questioning voice. “…is my mommy… a bad person too?” Rosalind spun around, her eyes locked on the small device in my hand, a mask of pure horror spreading across her face.

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Opening my eyes, I found myself sitting at the dining table. The nightmare hadn’t happened yet. The lavish dinner was just beginning. The root of my past life’s tragedy was the girl standing across from me. The impoverished student I had funded for years. To impress my billionaire fiancé, she had slaughtered Ranger, the retired combat K-9 my father brought back from his deployments. She had him cooked into a dark, heavily spiced exotic stew. Ranger wasn’t just a pet. He was a decorated war hero who had saved countless lives. In my previous life, my fiancé casually picked up a piece of meat from the bowl. “It’s just a dog. I’ll buy you a better breed tomorrow. Look at the effort Beth put in. You should be grateful.” He didn’t know that Ranger’s death would bring apocalyptic wrath upon our families. My father’s company went bankrupt. My parents died in a mysterious car crash. And Tristan, my fiancé, personally locked me in a psychiatric ward where I was tortured until my last breath. 1 Beth brought the steaming ceramic pot to the table, her eyes practically begging Tristan for approval. Tristan smiled warmly and ladled a bowl for me. “Try it, Monica. Beth made this special exotic dish just for you.” I smiled, took the bowl, and pulled out my phone right in front of their bewildered faces. I dialed my father’s old commanding officer. “Uncle Marcus,” I said, keeping my voice deadpan. “Tristan wants to know what a decorated military hero tastes like. I saved a portion for you. When are you coming to collect it?” A heavy silence fell over the line. The kind of silence that precedes an airstrike. I could already picture Uncle Marcus’s scarred, weathered face darkening like a thundercloud. Tristan’s gentle smile froze. A shadow of annoyance flickered in his handsome eyes. He clearly didn’t understand the gravity of my words. “Monica, what kind of childish tantrum is this?” Beside him, Beth, the girl whose tuition and rent I had paid for five years, instantly turned pale. Her hands trembled so violently that a drop of the boiling broth splashed onto her knuckles, leaving a blistering red mark. She didn’t even flinch. She just stared at me with wide, terrified, innocent eyes. “Monica, I… I didn’t mean any harm. I just heard Tristan say he wanted to try some rare game meat, so I…” Tears spilled down her cheeks like shattered pearls. That pitiful, fragile act had fooled me completely in my last life. Even after she killed Ranger, I thought she was just tragically ignorant. How pathetic I was. I ignored her, waiting for the voice on the phone. Tristan’s patience evaporated. He snatched the phone from my hand, his tone dripping with the arrogant entitlement of a billionaire heir. “I don’t care who this is. Monica is having a bad day. We are done here.” He moved to end the call. Suddenly, Uncle Marcus’s voice erupted from the speaker. It was the roar of a man who had commanded troops in the deadliest war zones on earth. “Done? Who the hell do you think you are to tell me we are done?!” “Put Monica back on the phone. Now!” Tristan froze. For the first time, a flicker of genuine shock crossed his face. I smoothly pulled the phone from his rigid grip and brought it to my ear. “I am fine, Uncle Marcus.” “Send me your coordinates. I am on my way.” His voice left absolutely zero room for negotiation before the line went dead. An eerie quiet settled over the massive dining room. Tristan stared at me. He looked at me like I was a stranger he found trespassing in his home. “Since when do you associate with people like that, Monica?” he demanded, his pride clearly wounded. I slowly pushed the bowl he had served me toward the center of the table. The dark broth simmered. The rich, nauseating aroma filled the air. “Tristan, didn’t you just say Beth put a lot of effort into this?” I looked him dead in the eye. “Tell me. Butchering my father’s decorated war dog and turning him into a stew… is that what you call effort?” Tristan’s face hardened into a mask of pure ice. “You are willing to humiliate everyone at this table over a goddamn dog?” “Tristan, please don’t be mad at her,” Beth sobbed, pressing her delicate body against his arm. She clutched her burnt hand while gripping his tailored shirt. “I thought Monica would love the surprise. I had no idea the dog was that important to her. I really didn’t.” She gasped for air between her tears, playing the ultimate victim. Tristan immediately wrapped his arm around her shoulders, whispering sweet comforts to her while glaring at me with absolute disgust. “Look what you did. You terrified her. She is a poor girl from the middle of nowhere. How was she supposed to know about some military mutt? She was just trying to make you happy.” “Even if you don’t appreciate it, you have no right to be a bitch about it.” That gentle tone he used with her. That protective stance. It was the exact same way he held his new lover right before he locked me in the asylum. My heart had already burned to ash in my previous life. All that remained was cold, calculating hatred. “Make me happy?” I let out a dry, bitter laugh, pointing at the simmering pot. “By slaughtering my father’s brother-in-arms to entertain me? Do you even hear yourself, Tristan?” He slammed his hand on the mahogany table and stood up, towering over me. “Enough, Monica! It was just an animal! It’s dead. Get over it. I will write you a check for a hundred pedigree puppies tomorrow! Are you really going to burn our relationship to the ground over this?” Behind his back, hiding in his embrace, Beth shot me a tiny, triumphant smirk. I saw it. It was the exact same smirk she wore standing outside the reinforced glass of my psychiatric cell. I remembered her gloating voice. “Look, Monica. Tristan chose me in the end. Your parents, your company, your dog. Everything that belonged to you is mine now.” The memories crashed over me like a tidal wave of battery acid. I dug my fingernails into my palms until the sharp pain grounded me. Right on cue, the doorbell rang. Sharp. Urgent. Unyielding. Tristan scowled. “Who the hell is that?” No one answered. The bell just kept ringing. Frustrated, he stormed over and yanked the heavy oak door open. Standing on the porch was Uncle Marcus, dressed in full tactical dress uniform. Behind him stood two young, heavily muscled military officers, their faces carved from stone. The silver stars on their shoulders gleamed under the porch lights. Uncle Marcus looked right past Tristan. His eyes locked onto me, filled with a mixture of heartbreak and a terrifying, lethal rage. Then, his gaze drifted to the dining table. To the ceramic pot. The oxygen in the room seemed to evaporate. Tristan stood frozen at the door. He was a shark in the corporate world. He had dined with politicians and tycoons. But he had never faced an aura like this. It wasn’t the soft power of money. It was the suffocating, metallic stench of blood and gunpowder. “Can I help you?” Tristan’s voice lacked its usual arrogant bite. Uncle Marcus ignored him entirely and marched into the foyer. His heavy combat boots struck the marble floor with methodical thuds. Every step felt like a hammer striking Tristan and Beth’s chests. His eyes remained glued to the dining table. “Where is Ranger?” Uncle Marcus’s voice was gravelly, possessing the terrifying calm of a hurricane’s eye. I stood up, walked to his side, and pointed. “Right there, Uncle Marcus. That’s Ranger.” The general’s massive frame went completely rigid. The two officers behind him turned a violent shade of purple. The younger one’s knuckles popped loudly, his eyes turning bloodshot. “You sick bastards!” the young officer roared, lunging forward. Uncle Marcus raised a single hand, stopping the man in his tracks. He walked slowly to the dining table. He reached a trembling hand toward the ceramic pot, hovering inches above the rim. His thick fingers shook violently. Tristan finally snapped out of his shock. He glanced at the silver stars on Marcus’s uniform, then back at me. A flash of hesitation crossed his face, but his wounded pride quickly overtook it. “So, you are Monica’s family,” Tristan said, falling back on his billionaire persona. His tone was detached and diplomatic. “This is just a massive misunderstanding. Monica threw a fit over a dog, and I apologize that it dragged you all the way out here.” He brushed off the situation like a minor inconvenience. “Please talk some sense into her. Whatever the financial loss is, the Vanguard Group will compensate you generously.” He spoke so casually, as if negotiating a minor contract dispute. Uncle Marcus slowly turned around. His piercing eyes locked onto Tristan. “A misunderstanding?” “You call this a misunderstanding?” His voice was low, but it dropped the temperature in the room below freezing. “A dog?” he repeated, spitting the word out like poison. He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a small object wrapped carefully in a velvet cloth. He unfolded it. A heavy, gleaming piece of metal caught the light. The Medal of Valor. The highest military honor a combat K-9 could receive. “Open your ignorant eyes and look at this!” “Six years ago, in a hostile desert compound, Ranger drew the fire of thirty armed insurgents to cover his squad’s retreat. He took seven bullets!” “He cleared a path through a live minefield with his bare paws so my men could walk out alive. He lost half a leg in the blast!” “He is a registered, decorated war hero! A soldier who saved the lives of hundreds of my men!” “And you stand there and tell me he is just a dog?!” Uncle Marcus’s voice escalated with every word until it became a deafening roar. The two officers behind him glared at Tristan and Beth with lethal intent. Tristan’s face went from pale to a sickly green. The sheer volume and fury stunned him into absolute silence. His mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. Beth was practically paralyzed with fear. She shrank behind Tristan, shaking like a leaf. “I… I didn’t know… I swear I didn’t know…” Her crying sounded hollow and pathetic in the heavy air. Uncle Marcus’s gaze sliced through her. “You didn’t know?” “When Monica paid your tuition, did she never mention Ranger’s history? Did you not see the heavy titanium dog tags around his neck?” “When you lured him out of the estate, did the housekeeper not explicitly tell you he wasn’t allowed to leave the grounds?” The rapid-fire interrogation left Beth completely speechless. She could only shake her head frantically. I watched her clumsy performance with pure disgust. In my past life, that exact innocent act made me believe it was a tragic accident. But the moment I was reborn, the first thing I did was pull the estate’s security footage. The footage showed Beth expertly unbuckling Ranger’s collar. She used a piece of cured steak tied to a rope to lure him past the gates. When the housekeeper ran out to stop her, Beth lied smoothly, claiming I had ordered her to take the dog to the park. She knew exactly what she was doing. It was premeditated murder. Tristan finally realized he had stepped on a landmine. He wasn’t stupid. He knew exactly what a military medal of that caliber meant. Money could not fix this. Cold sweat beaded on his forehead. He forced an incredibly stiff, unnatural smile. “General, sir… this was a catastrophic oversight on our part.” He lowered his head, completely dropping his arrogant posture. “We are willing to issue a formal apology. Name your price. The Vanguard Group will pay it without hesitation.” He was still trying to buy his way out. It was his only survival tactic. Uncle Marcus looked at him with absolute contempt. “Pay it?” “With what?” “Are you going to pay me with the lives of the hundreds of soldiers that dog saved?” Uncle Marcus took a heavy step forward. The oppressive aura made Tristan instinctively step back. “Do you have any idea what the federal penalty is for the mutilation and desecration of a decorated military veteran?” Tristan’s lips quivered. “Tristan…” Beth tugged at his sleeve, her voice cracking. “Call the police… please call the police.” Call the police? I almost laughed out loud. She actually thought this was a simple civil dispute. Tristan grabbed the idea like a lifeline and yanked out his phone. Uncle Marcus just watched him, making no move to stop him. The call connected. Tristan found his arrogant voice again. “Yes, 911? I need police at my residence immediately. Armed men have trespassed on my property and are threatening my life!” He exaggerated the scene, painting Uncle Marcus as some rogue, power-hungry thug. The dispatcher listened patiently. Finally, she asked one question. “Sir, what is your exact address?” Tristan recited his luxury estate address. A few seconds of silence followed. Then, the dispatcher spoke in a cold, robotic, official tone. “Sir, we have logged your situation. However, the coordinates you provided have just been designated as a temporary classified military zone. Civilian law enforcement has no jurisdiction to intervene. Goodbye.” “What?” Tristan’s voice cracked. “A classified military zone? Are you insane?!” The line went dead. Tristan stood frozen, the phone slipping from his sweaty grip. The color drained from his face completely. He finally understood. This was not a game he could win. He had provoked an entity that could crush his entire empire with a single phone call. He whipped his head around, staring at me in absolute horror. “Monica… what did you do?” I looked at his terrified face, feeling nothing but profound peace. This was only the prologue. Every ounce of suffering they inflicted on me in my past life, I was going to collect with interest. Uncle Marcus pulled out his secure encrypted phone and dialed a number. His tone was crisp, efficient, and ruthlessly military. “Special Operations Military Police? This is General Marcus.” “Location is the Vanguard Estate, Sector 4. We have a severe case of desecration of a decorated military asset.” “Yes. Extremely hostile.” “Deploy a containment team immediately. Lock down the perimeter and detain everyone inside.” “And notify Richard, CEO of the Vanguard Group. Tell him to get his ass down here right now.” He hung up the phone and looked at Tristan like he was looking at a corpse. “You wanted to know who I am, boy?” “General Marcus. First Special Operations Command.” “Ranger was my soldier. I personally handed him over to Monica’s father.”

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After Alpha Lucas’s first love came back, I left without telling anyone. I didn’t tell him where I was going, and I didn’t tell him I was pregnant. The first month after I left. The Alpha didn’t care at all, spending every day doting on his first love. The second month after I left. The Alpha’s friends started placing bets on when I would come crawling back. The third month after I left. The Alpha finally panicked and sent people to search the entire territory. But they still couldn’t find a single trace of me. From that point on, the name Eleanor Smith became a forbidden topic among all werewolves. But what no one knew was that every night, he went crazy missing me. Blackwood Pack had a tradition—an annual year-end gathering that outsiders were never allowed to attend. This year, there was an uninvited guest. Lucas’s first love, the human who had once rejected him: Genevieve Roth. When the two of them walked in, the banquet had already started. Lucas had his arm half-around Genevieve as they walked straight toward me. I stared blankly at Lucas’s joyful face, and suddenly my eyes began to sting. He was the only man I’d ever loved in my life. Three years of marriage, and I still hadn’t found my way into his heart. “Get up. This isn’t your seat.” Lucas spoke seriously, not caring about my dignity at all. I was Lucas’s legitimate wife, yes, but I wasn’t the Luna in his heart. For three years, he hadn’t even been willing to truly mark me. Now that the human girl he deeply loved had returned, naturally I had to give up this position. I didn’t say no. If this had been the old me, I probably wouldn’t have accepted this humiliation. But after all these years, my heart had long been shattered, and I’d already accepted the fact that he would never love me. Just as I was about to stand up, Genevieve’s gaze fell on my neck. “That necklace you’re wearing looks very unique.” I instinctively raised my hand, my fingertips touching the cool pendant. This was what Lucas had given me on our first anniversary after the wedding. It wasn’t particularly valuable, but it was the only gift I’d received in three years. I’d always treasured it. “I really like it.” Genevieve turned to Lucas, her tone carrying nostalgic coquettishness. “It feels just like the one I lost before. Lucas, would you ask her to give it to me?” Everyone’s eyes focused on my neck, then looked toward Lucas. I looked at him too. I didn’t know what I was hoping for. Was I hoping he would remember what this necklace meant, or hoping that I mattered more to him? Lucas didn’t look into my eyes. He just pulled a bank card from his pocket with practiced ease and tossed it in front of me. “Is this enough?” Whispers suddenly erupted around the table, mixed with low snickers. Three years married to Lucas, and this wasn’t the first time he’d bought my dignity with money. As the Alpha of Blackwood Pack, he was truly wealthy. Wealthy enough that it seemed like everything in this world could be bought. But he could never buy my love again. Seeing my silence, a flash of surprise and impatience crossed Lucas’s eyes: “Three years of marriage, and you’re not going to raise your price now, are you?” With one sentence, he threw the memories I cherished on the ground and trampled them repeatedly. My hands clenched deeply into my palms. This necklace had been against my skin for three years, but now it felt like red-hot iron. Genevieve pretended to be understanding: “Lucas, don’t be like this. After all, it’s Eleanor’s property. I was just saying—I don’t really want it…” “If you like it, take it.” Lucas interrupted her, looking at me with a commanding tone. “Take it off.” I used the last of my strength to undo the clasp at the back of my neck. The necklace fell into my palm, still warm with body heat. I gently placed it on top of the cold bank card. I should have known all along—between us there was only money and our arrangement. Now that the girl he deeply loved had returned, our arrangement was over. As I turned to escape this suffocating place, Lucas called out to me: “Wait. Take this bank card with you.” In that moment, I heard the sound of my own heart breaking. “Okay.” Lucas, I forgot to tell you. I’m pregnant. And this child will have nothing to do with you.

When I got home, I hid the pregnancy test results I’d just received that morning in the deepest part of my closet. Originally, I’d wanted to give Lucas a surprise. But just like me, he also gave me a big surprise. How wonderful. At the end of our marriage, we finally had our first moment of being in sync. I’d just closed the closet when I heard the sound of the door opening downstairs. Genevieve walked in holding Lucas’s hand, following him step by step, looking more like the mistress of the house than I ever did. Seeing me, Lucas raised his eyebrows and said casually: “Genevieve doesn’t have anywhere to stay since she came back to the country, so she’ll be staying at our place for the next few days.” “Okay.” I nodded, not questioning why, with all the properties under his name, he couldn’t find a place to settle Genevieve. If I asked, I’d only look more like a joke. With that thought, I spoke softly: “Do you need me to move out? To save you the trouble.” Lucas frowned, as if dissatisfied with my reaction, a trace of displeasure coloring his eyes: “No need. Just give up the master bedroom.” “Okay.” Without hesitation, I turned cleanly and went back to my room to pack my things and move to the guest room. As we passed each other, Genevieve deliberately raised her voice: “Lucas, I’m a germaphobe. Remember to have Agnes clean all the garbage out of the bedroom later.” My steps halted. I instinctively looked at Lucas. I didn’t believe he couldn’t hear what Genevieve was implying. Of course Lucas understood, but he didn’t care: “It’s too late today. I’ll take you to a hotel for tonight, and you can move back tomorrow after it’s cleaned.” Genevieve laughed delightedly as she threw herself into the man’s arms, her eyes sweeping over me seemingly carelessly, with a victor’s smile: “Okay, but you have to stay with me. Otherwise I’ll be scared.” Lucas didn’t hesitate and took her downstairs and left. Leaving only me, holding a pile of hastily packed belongings, looking exactly like a clown. By the time I finished reviewing the divorce agreement, it was already eleven at night. Outside the window, heavy rain began to fall. Genevieve’s social media had just updated. A photo of her on the hotel’s king-size bed. She was lying in Lucas’s arms. Caption: [I’m scared to be alone, thank goodness you’re here with me.] I used to have that kind of “rescue” too. Three years ago. Back then, I still couldn’t complete my shift and became the plaything of a few spoiled brats. They surrounded me, pushed me into a champagne tower, imitated my clumsy movements, their laughter piercing. “Can’t even shift into your own wolf—is this even a werewolf?” “Must be some kind of defective product, right?” The humiliation was like cold needles, stabbing into every inch of my skin. I had nowhere to hide. I wished I could just disappear. Then Lucas appeared. The Alpha’s oppressive presence made those who had been so arrogant just moments before instantly fall silent, their faces pale as they backed away. He took off his suit jacket and wrapped it around my trembling shoulders. Then he carried me away from that place that made me angry and embarrassed. His beta brought me brand new clothes. “Thank you, Alpha.” I kept my head down, my voice still trembling. He looked at me, and then he made the proposal that would change my life: “I need a companion. You know, the pack always needs a Luna. But I won’t mark you. In exchange, I’ll give you money.” He spoke calmly and cruelly, like he was discussing a business deal. But to the desperate me at that time, the proposal itself was like a light splitting through the darkness. I agreed. From then on, I carefully handled everything for him from behind. On our first wedding anniversary, he got drunk and took me to bed. Then when he sobered up, he personally put that necklace on me. I thought he was finally starting to love me. But we slept together many times, and he still wasn’t willing to mark me. I should have known—he wasn’t willing to acknowledge my status. Holding back the urge to cry, I liked that post. Then I put my phone on the table and closed my eyes to sleep. Ten minutes later, the phone screen lit up with a pinned message: [Still awake?]

Hearing the notification, I sat up. Lucas’s messages kept coming. [I saw Genevieve’s post. Don’t overthink it—I only stayed with her for a little while.] Then came another transfer. Hinting that I should take the out he was giving me. But actually, ever since I fell in love with him, I’d stopped actively taking his money. Each time, I only reluctantly accepted after he reminded me several times. But this time, I accepted it calmly. [Thank you, Alpha.] After I sent the message, a call came immediately. The man’s voice sounded somewhat surprised: “Why did you accept it so quickly this time?” Before I could speak, Genevieve grabbed the phone, laughing as she asked me: “Eleanor, if you’re not asleep yet, could you bring some hot French onion soup to the hotel? I suddenly really want some.” “Lucas says your cooking is excellent. You don’t mind making a trip for me, do you?” I was about to refuse when Lucas transferred more money to my phone, with a note: Service fee. In the past, this was the kind of reward only the housekeeper Agnes would receive. Now it was my turn as Luna? I laughed sarcastically, hung up the phone, and accepted the money. We were about to divorce anyway. Might as well earn what I could. By the time I arrived at the hotel suite with the insulated food container, braving the heavy rain, it was already two in the morning. The door was ajar. Genevieve’s voice came from inside: “Lucas, I heard before that you once rescued Eleanor and punished the people who bullied her. Is that true? Did you fall in love with her?” I froze in place, instinctively holding my breath. Even though I’d already decided to leave, my heart still raced uncontrollably. I remembered that night again, the night I fell in love with Lucas. Lucas, would you remember it too? In the room, Lucas looked out at the heavy rain, somewhat lost in thought. Six months ago, it had been a rainy night just like this… Genevieve pushed him, somewhat dissatisfied: “Lucas, you still haven’t answered me.” The man came back to his senses, his clear voice carrying an indescribable complexity: “No… I just… pitied her.” “Just like pitying a stray dog on the side of the road. No different.” Even hearing him speak so heartlessly, my heart seemed unable to feel pain anymore. I walked in carrying the food container. Lucas looked at me in surprise, seemingly somewhat guilty. “You… when did you get here?” I didn’t answer. Genevieve had already spoken first. “You brought it? Let me see.” She reached out to take the container, but accidentally knocked it over. The scalding hot soup spilled mostly onto my hand and lower leg that I hadn’t pulled back in time. Sharp burning pain came from my skin. I groaned and stepped back two paces. Lucas stood up abruptly, about to step forward to check, but Genevieve cried out softly and hid behind Lucas. “Oh my god, I really didn’t mean to! Eleanor, are you okay?” Lucas’s steps stopped. Soon, he picked up his phone and operated it a few times. My phone vibrated immediately, the screen lighting up with another substantial transfer. The note clearly read: Medical expenses and service fee. He looked at my scalded hand, his tone flat: “Handle it yourself. Let me know if it’s not enough. Genevieve… didn’t mean to.” In his heart, it seemed everything could be solved with money. Genevieve pulled several tissues from her purse and tossed them to me like charity. I didn’t take them. In the past, because I loved Lucas, I’d already given up too much dignity. But now that I’d decided to leave, things were different. “Thanks.” I said quietly, preparing to leave. But Lucas stepped forward and grabbed my wrist, his expression displeased: “Eleanor, aren’t you angry at all?” My pupils trembled slightly. I really wanted to ask him: What should I be angry about? Or rather, did I have the right to be angry? I was just a pitiful little dog he’d picked up from the roadside when he was in a good mood. When his mood was good, he’d pity me and comfort me a little. When his mood was bad, he’d just throw money at me to make me go away. “It’s just a minor burn, it’s fine. I’ll go back and treat it.” I tried to pull my hand back. But my tact didn’t earn me a better expression. Lucas blocked the doorway, his eyes complex: “You weren’t like this before.” “Before, you wouldn’t have just stood there and let people bully you.” Two years ago, Lucas’s cousin mocked me for not being fit to be Luna because I didn’t have my own wolf. After Lucas found out, he directly kicked him out of the Pack and never allowed him to appear in front of me again. He explained to me that he didn’t care about those things. A year ago, at a partner pack’s banquet, I was framed and fell into a pool. Lucas immediately pressed the person who pushed me into the swimming pool and made them stay there all night. Except for not loving me, he’d really treated me well. Lucas seemed to remember the past too, his eyes somewhat dark. “I…” But I had already finished remembering. I nodded politely to both of them and moved to leave from the doorway. As I was about to exit, Lucas’s voice came from behind: “Eleanor, I know you went to the hospital.”

The calm words were like a thunderclap, shocking me in place. “You… know?” Lucas hummed in acknowledgment, hesitating: “Someone saw you go to the hospital that day.” “Are you… alright?” I paused, not understanding his meaning. Lucas continued: “If you need it, I can help you contact the best doctors. After all, you…” He didn’t finish. But I knew what he meant. Ordinary werewolves healed quickly after injuries and rarely got sick. But I was different. I was a werewolf without a wolf. So he just thought I was sick. Not that he knew… I was pregnant. My eyelashes trembled. Faced with this sudden concern from him, my heart remained extraordinarily calm. Was it pity again? This time, my role should be the family pet dog, right? When the pet gets sick, of course the owner has to care. I laughed self-deprecatingly, looked at Genevieve whose smile was barely hanging on, and explained: “I just happened to be passing by, so I went in for a checkup.” After saying that, I left immediately, afraid the man would continue questioning. Early the next morning, I packed my luggage and was about to leave when I ran into Agnes coming to clean. Seeing me leave, there was no shock on her face, as if she’d expected it all along. It seemed everyone assumed that Lucas didn’t like me, that I was just a temporary substitute for Genevieve. As I reached the courtyard, a series of sounds suddenly came from the second-floor balcony. Someone was continuously throwing things down. I looked back and saw it was the master bedroom I’d lived in for three years. Bedsheets, cups, pillows… Everything I hadn’t been able to take with me was being thrown mercilessly from the balcony. Seeing me off. I didn’t care. After all, I hadn’t planned to take those things anyway. I took a deep breath and calmly left the estate I’d lived in for three years. … When Lucas returned, Agnes was throwing down our wedding photos. In the photo, I stood carefully beside Lucas, my face wearing an innocent smile. Completely different from who I was now. The frame fell to the ground, glass shattering. Lucas’s steps stopped at that pile of debris. He looked at that huge photograph and suddenly remembered that in the first year of our marriage, I’d seemed to smile a lot. Completely different from the timid person he’d imagined. I’d even firmly enacted a series of laws within the pack to protect the lives of those lower-ranking werewolves. When did things start to change? Lucas opened his mouth and said to his Beta Samuel: “Clean up this photo and put it… in the storage room.” Then he tried to call me, only to find he couldn’t get through at all. The explanation he’d prepared remained unsaid. It made him irritable and restless. Just as he was about to try again, Agnes came down from upstairs and said to Genevieve: “Miss Genevieve, everything has been cleaned according to your requirements.” “Especially the master bedroom. I threw out everything of that person’s that I could, and disinfected everything inside and out.” “But there was a document folder in the closet that I didn’t dare open.” As she spoke, she pulled out a folder from her pocket. Lucas put down his phone and took the document folder from Agnes’s hand and opened it. A folded pregnancy test report fell out.

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On April Fool’s Day, our family went out for a trip. As we walked, I suddenly realized our daughter had disappeared. I frantically called the police. The moment the officers arrived and I began explaining the situation, my mother-in-law Catherine contradicted me. “Didn’t you send Lily to your parents’ house? She didn’t come on this trip with us. Why are you calling the police?” The police looked stunned for a moment, then their expressions turned serious. “Ma’am, what’s really going on here? Filing a false police report is a crime!” Sweat poured down my face as I hurriedly explained. “Lily came with us. Catherine is just making an April Fool’s joke. Don’t listen to her!” The officer nodded and was about to start searching when Catherine interjected again. “Officer, you don’t know this, but Emma has mental issues. She’s filed false reports several times before.” I trembled with rage, wanting nothing more than to slap duct tape over her mouth. Catherine loved April Fool’s Day more than anything. Every year on this day, she’d throw the entire household into chaos. Before leaving home, I’d warned her repeatedly not to cause any trouble, but I never expected her old habits to resurface at a time like this. Thinking of Lily, whose whereabouts were still unknown, I desperately shoved Catherine. “What time do you think it is? You’re still obsessing over your April Fool’s Day! If anything happens to Lily, I’ll never forgive you!” Though I didn’t push hard, Catherine staggered backward repeatedly, as if about to fall. “Officers, you all saw that, right? Emma has mental problems.” “Before we left, I specifically asked her mother to look after Lily. Look, I have proof.” She pulled out her phone and showed them a screenshot of a chat conversation. It showed that this morning, she had specifically instructed my mother: Make Lily fried eggs for lunch today. I stared in disbelief at my mother’s reply. This was impossible! Lily was allergic to eggs. Catherine never cared about Lily, so her not knowing was normal. But my mother knew. She would never have agreed to this. I immediately tried calling my mother to verify. But unluckily, at that exact moment, my mother’s phone was turned off. I spun around anxiously, telling myself to stay calm. Suddenly, I thought of something and snatched Catherine’s phone. The screenshot timestamp showed last night at eight o’clock. But the actual chat record was from this morning. “Officer, look! This screenshot is fake. Catherine doctored it. Don’t believe her. Please help me find Lily!” My fingers shook as I pleaded desperately. “Lily has asthma. If she has an attack and can’t find her family, the consequences will be unthinkable!” The officer looked between us suspiciously. Seeing my panicked expression, he finally nodded in agreement. But just as they were about to begin the search, Catherine spoke up again. “Oh my, officer, I really can’t stand watching this anymore. I only faked that screenshot because I didn’t want you to be deceived by her.” “The truth is, this ‘daughter’ she’s talking about is a dog!” She even pulled up photos of our dog. The officer’s face darkened as he sternly rebuked her. “What exactly is going on here? Police reports are not a game. Please show us some respect!” By now, a crowd had gathered around us. After hearing Catherine’s words, they all turned to criticize me. “Making a police report over a lost dog? And lying about it being your daughter—aren’t you afraid of karma?” “Exactly. At her age, she should be a mother herself. She should know better than to act like this.” “Catherine is the reasonable one. Emma is absolutely outrageous!” After hearing Catherine’s words, my vision swam with rage. “What time do you think it is? You’re still lying! Even jokes have their time and place!” I turned to face the officer, struggling to control my emotions. “We do have a dog, that’s true, but I really do have a daughter. Look, I have proof!” I pulled out photos of Lily and me together. In the picture, Lily was hugging me, her face beaming with joy. Only then did the officer slowly nod, turning to Catherine with clear anger. “Ma’am, please stop lying. If something happens, you’ll face legal consequences!” Catherine laughed it off with obvious satisfaction. “I’m so sorry, everyone. I was just playing an April Fool’s joke with you all. I didn’t expect you to take it so seriously.” Just as my heart began to settle, after taking only two steps, Catherine spoke up again.

“But there’s something I absolutely must mention.” As she spoke, tears even began to well up in her eyes. “Emma is Lily’s stepmother. Lily has been abused by her since she was little. I’m just an old woman—I want to stop it but I’m powerless.” “With no other choice, I secretly sent the child to her birth mother.” Hearing her words, a deep sense of helplessness spread through my entire body. Catherine did this every time. On April Fool’s Day, no matter the occasion, she had to deceive people. I remembered the April Fool’s Day when Lily had just turned one. She lied and told me Lily was having an asthma attack and wasn’t going to make it. When I got that call, I felt like I’d lost my soul. I drove home desperately. But in my panic, I got into a car accident on the way. A long, hideous scar remained on my left arm. Looking at me in the hospital bed, Catherine just said dismissively: “April Fool’s Day is for playing jokes. Who knew you’d be stupid enough to believe it?” “Besides, the car accident was your own fault for not watching the road.” So every year, especially on April Fool’s Day, I kept Lily as far away from her as possible. But this morning when we were leaving, Catherine had clung desperately to the car door and climbed in. I told myself that as long as I kept a careful eye on her, nothing serious would happen. I never imagined that the moment we got out of the car, this would happen. After hearing everything, the police moved to take me away for questioning. “Child abuse is a serious crime. You need to come with us to the station!” The crowd’s spit practically flew in my face. “Disgusting! Not her own child, so she doesn’t know how to care for her. What a monster!” “Take her away right now! People like her need to spend a few days in jail to learn their lesson!” Just as I was about to be dragged away, my scalp felt like it would explode with panic. Thinking of Lily unable to find her family, feeling helpless and alone. Thinking of Lily having an asthma attack, only able to collapse on the ground struggling for breath. My heart felt like it was being stabbed. Tears streamed down my face as I looked at Catherine’s fake-serious expression. I wanted nothing more than to rip her lying mouth apart. I fought to control my emotions. “Officer, I can guarantee Lily is truly my biological daughter. No matter what, please help me find Lily first!” “I can provide all the necessary evidence afterward!” After hearing this, Catherine rushed between the police and me, grabbing my sleeve and yanking it up. “Officer, don’t let her fool you! She just wants to continue abusing Lily.” “Look at this scar on her arm. I got this years ago fighting with her to protect Lily.” When this horrifying scar was revealed, everyone gasped. The officer’s face hardened as he shouted sternly. “What is really going on here! If you two keep lying, we’ll take you both in for questioning!” I stared daggers at Catherine, my eyes practically shooting flames. “This scar is from the car accident I had because of your lies! You’re an old woman fighting with me—you come out fine while I get injured like this? Is that even possible?” “Officer, please believe me. If any problems arise afterward, I’ll take full responsibility.” Considering the child’s safety and the urgency of finding her, the officer nodded and prepared to take us to search in different directions. Catherine kept chattering, trying to continue her interference. “Your police work really isn’t that competent if you can’t even tell who’s telling the truth!” But no one paid attention. Our group got in the car, leaving her behind. The police took me to the surveillance room as quickly as possible. But when we watched the footage of the moment Lily disappeared, everyone’s eyes widened.

The surveillance showed that when I stopped the car to get something, Lily bounced down from the vehicle cheerfully. The next second, Catherine suddenly pulled her behind the car. After that, Lily never appeared again. My chest heaved violently, my ears buzzing. Just then, Catherine arrived and opened the door. I lunged forward and grabbed her collar. “Tell me! Where did you hide Lily? Why would you do this!” Her expression changed, then she forced herself to stay calm. “Oh, I just hid her in the trunk to scare you a little and test these officers’ competence.” “Today is April Fool’s Day. Don’t you people have any sense of humor?” I had no time for her nonsense. I threw her aside and sprinted outside. Lily already had asthma. Being trapped in the trunk for so long—the consequences were unthinkable! But when I reached the car, gasping for breath, and opened the trunk, there was nothing inside. My legs gave out and I collapsed to the ground. The others caught up immediately. Seeing the empty trunk, their faces changed color too. I rushed forward, ready to fight her with everything I had, but the police held me back. Seeing this, Catherine slapped her thigh and sat on the ground wailing. “You can’t blame me for this! I only hid her in the trunk as a joke for you all.” “How was I supposed to know she’d disappear? She has legs of her own. She probably just ran off wherever she wanted to go.” The officer tried to comfort me. “Ms. Harper, don’t worry. We’ll continue investigating and we will find your child.” “We’ve already stationed someone at the surveillance room.” Soon, they called from the surveillance room. Unfortunately, the rear of the car was in a blind spot. Whatever happened afterward, the surveillance cameras couldn’t capture it. To track Lily’s movements, they’d have to continuously pull footage from all the surrounding cameras. Everything spun around me. Lily’s whereabouts were unknown, and she had asthma on top of that. Every minute we delayed finding her meant another minute of danger! I turned to Catherine, softening my tone, trying to appeal to whatever conscience she might have. “Catherine, you’ve had your fun now, haven’t you? I’m begging you, please stop lying. Just tell me where Lily is!” “You locked her in the trunk—how could she possibly have gotten out on her own!” Catherine pursed her lips and turned her head away. “I put her in the trunk and left. Maybe I didn’t close it properly and she just ran off.” “I’ve been saying this girl is ungrateful, but you never believed me. She just abandoned you to find some richer family.” I glared at her fiercely, the red in my eyes making her flinch and finally shut her mouth. Just when everyone was running around like headless chickens with no idea where to start searching… I suddenly thought of something and looked toward the rear of the car.

I immediately opened my phone app and called the police over to check with me. In my panic earlier, I’d completely forgotten that we had a backup camera installed at the rear. The surveillance video from this camera could be stored for seven days. With trembling hands, I pulled up the surveillance footage, then froze in place. Several large words appeared on the screen. [Surveillance Signal Error] I frantically scrolled the timeline back. The last frame the surveillance showed was from this morning, right before we left—Catherine’s hand reaching toward it. After that, the video went completely black. It was her again! She destroyed the surveillance! The hope that had barely ignited was extinguished once more. My heart felt like it was being squeezed tight by a giant hand. I went completely mad, screaming uncontrollably. “What exactly do you want? Are you trying to kill Lily?” “If anything happens to Lily, I’ll make sure you don’t die in peace either!” After hearing this, Catherine actually started crying first, covering her mouth. “At my age, how would I know anything about cameras? I just accidentally broke it when I opened the trunk. Do you have to be like this?” “Besides, she’s not a three-year-old child. She’s in fourth grade. Doesn’t she know not to run around?” “And honestly, this child doesn’t even look like Ryan. For all we know, she’s run off somewhere to find her real father.” My teeth ground together audibly, the rage in my heart becoming harder and harder to suppress. Just as I raised my hand, ready to slap her across the face, my phone suddenly buzzed with a message. After reading it, I lowered my arm and looked at Catherine with a smile. “Catherine, I’m so sorry. I got carried away just now.” “You’re right. If the child ran off, she ran off. If we can’t find her, we’ll just have another one.” “Let’s go home first.” Catherine looked me up and down suspiciously. Only when she saw me actually get in the car did she climb in too. Seeing me calmly start the engine, she finally let her guard down. “That’s more like it. It’s normal to play jokes on April Fool’s Day. Why take it so seriously?” “That ungrateful little brat ran off on her own. It’s her own fault.” I said nothing, my grip on the steering wheel tightening, my foot pressing harder on the gas pedal. The car’s speed climbed higher and higher. After reaching our destination, I opened the door and let her out. Catherine climbed out, holding her dizzy head, then froze in shock. “Why did you bring me here? Are you insane?” I calmly pulled out my phone. “How long are you going to keep up this act?” When Catherine saw clearly what was on my phone screen… Her face turned deathly pale.

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When I found out my husband Jones’s terminal cancer diagnosis was a mistake, I breathed a sigh of relief. But when I got home to tell him the good news, he handed me divorce papers instead. “I’ve settled for you my whole life. Now that I only have three months left, I want to spend them with the person I truly love. Please grant me this final wish.” I stared at the divorce agreement, stunned. What I didn’t expect was what Jones said next: “Can’t you even grant me this one last wish? I’m dying anyway—I’ll leave with nothing. All the assets go to you!” All the assets go to me? Then of course I’ll grant his wish! “Let’s divorce. Please grant me this final wish.” Jones handed me the divorce papers, his eyes calm, his tone solemn. I stood frozen, finally managing to ask: “The person you truly love? What do you mean?” Jones wore a white linen shirt and beige casual pants today. He didn’t look over thirty at all—still the refined, scholarly university professor. He lowered his head. “My life has entered its final countdown. There’s no need to hide it from you anymore.” “Three years into our marriage, I met a girl. She was my student.” “We often discussed literature together. We had so much common ground, our thoughts aligned. It was completely different from discussing groceries and bills with you. We had spiritual resonance.” “I fell for her.” “But I was already married. Out of responsibility to my family, and because she felt guilty toward you, we eventually separated.” Jones’s voice was calm yet tinged with longing. When he talked about that girl, the corners of his mouth even curved into a faint smile he probably didn’t notice himself. “These years we’ve maintained a friendship, nothing crossing boundaries. When we occasionally met, we only discussed poetry and philosophy, life and meaning.” He looked up, staring intently at me. “Do you know? Only when I’m with her do I feel truly alive, like a complete person. Not bound by mundane trivialities, not burdened by thoughts of producing offspring.” “She’s my muse, my soulmate. We’re an accident and a regret constrained by worldly rules.” I listened quietly to his heartfelt confession, my mouth twitching with an absurd smile. “What a beautifully reasoned speech.” Jones froze, his ears instantly flushing red. As if deeply offended, he snapped angrily: “Vulgar! Not half as refined as her! Don’t you know your mediocrity and ignorance are what I can’t stand most? Marrying you was like casting pearls before swine!” I was speechless for a moment. My initial anger gradually subsided. “So what, should I apologize to you?” I stepped closer. “Professor Jones, does wrapping infidelity in artistic pretense turn it into an enviable love story?” Jones seemed to belatedly feel some embarrassment, but his gaze remained determined. “I’m definitely getting this divorce. At the end of my life, I don’t want to leave with regrets.” He pushed the divorce agreement toward me. I picked it up and flipped through it, my eyes skimming past “irreconcilable differences” in the reason column and landing on “Jones leaves with nothing” in the asset division section. Jones lifted his chin with apparent magnanimity. “These material possessions mean nothing to a dying man anyway. After all, I’ve wronged you. Consider it compensation.” I let out a derisive laugh, thinking of the misdiagnosis notice in my pocket. The next second, I picked up a pen and quickly signed my name. Fine. Let him go pursue his soulmate and spiritual world. I’ll suffer alone with all these vulgar properties, savings, and investment funds!

Jones probably didn’t expect me to agree so readily. He stood there dazed, holding the divorce papers I’d signed. Taking advantage of his distraction, I’d already operated efficiently in the bedroom, packing all his clothes from the closet into two large suitcases. He seemed unable to process it. “Lester, are you really this eager to throw me out?” I gave him a baffled look and said irritably, “Just saving you from wasting time pursuing your soulmate.” “All your clothes are here. Tomorrow I’ll have movers send the books from your study. Give me an address—I’ll send them cash on delivery. Don’t forget to sign for them.” Jones seemed to have an epiphany. “I understand now. Ever since you learned I had terminal cancer, you’ve been desperate to dump me, haven’t you?” With a trace of condescending pity and disdain, he said as if deeply wronged: “This is why I’ve felt so suffocated being with you all these years. Our union was a mistake. You’re vulgar, mercenary, only care about profit. All you ever talk about with me is money and trivialities. Being with you is a complete waste of life!” As he spoke, his expression became dreamy again. “But life shouldn’t be like this. Douglas says life should be like appreciating a beautiful snowfall, should be romance and beauty, spring breezes and clear skies…” My mouth twitched. I really couldn’t help interrupting him. “Are you done? This vulgar person can’t stand listening to you adulterers and your flowery words. Take your things and get out. Now.” Jones’s gold-rimmed glasses reflected a cold light. The look he gave me was full of pity and contempt, as if I—the woman who’d shared his bed for years—was some filthy thing invading his sacred spiritual realm. His lips moved, about to retort, when a phone ring interrupted him. His mocking gaze instantly softened. After he answered, I vaguely heard a woman’s voice. Probably his “Douglas.” The woman said something on the phone—probably acting cute—and listening to her, Jones’s face showed an indulgent tenderness I’d never seen before. Even his voice became gentle. He’d never spoken to me in that tone. I thought all married couples were like this—calm, stable, peaceful. Only now did I realize my marriage had been broken for a long time. Jones left. I looked at the empty room. Sunlight streamed in. The flowers on the balcony swayed gently in the breeze. Birds occasionally flew past the window. Everything was as usual. Nothing changed because of one person’s departure. I thought I’d cry hysterically, have a breakdown. But I didn’t. Enlightenment came so quickly. In just a few hours, my emotions went from wild joy to shock, from anger to calm, and now to a strange lightness. A man like that wasn’t worth keeping. Now not only was I divorced, he’d voluntarily left with nothing. What was the difference between this and the saying “promotion, fortune, and husband’s death”? Oh, I almost forgot. I touched the pocket containing Jones’s misdiagnosis notice—my husband wouldn’t die, he’d just smoothly roll out of my life in another way.

After calming down, my biggest worry was that Jones might suddenly have regrets. Life without him was incredibly liberating. I grew up in a very traditional family. Conservative parents gave me a conservative education. The first half of my life had been completely by-the-book. They taught me that at each age, you should do certain things. So after college, once my job was stable, I started a family with Jones, whom relatives had introduced. Back then, my parents were very satisfied with him. He was a literature professor at a local university—handsome, respectable job, decent income. My parents strongly promoted the marriage, and I thought Jones might be a good choice. I married him in a daze. Jones and I never even discussed “love.” It seemed we’d just reached that life stage and mutually chose each other for marriage. I didn’t even think this was a problem. After all, my parents were the same—introduced by others, formed a family, had me, lived their whole lives this way. I thought this was ordinary people’s love. Just when I thought my life would continue peacefully this way, Jones was diagnosed with terminal cancer. In that moment I felt like the sky was falling. I thought it was reluctance born from loving my husband. But after the divorce, I realized it was just panic and helplessness facing a major life change. Learning Jones’s terminal cancer was a misdiagnosis, I was overjoyed. That sense of life returning to normal washed over me completely. But now, my life had completely deviated from what I’d considered the “normal track,” yet instead of panic, I felt liberated. I tallied up the assets Jones and I had accumulated over the years—enough for me to live comfortably. During the divorce cooling-off period, I learned to enjoy life. I took vacation days and traveled to several places I’d always longed to visit. Without being bound by the identity of “wife,” I felt relaxed and free. Until during my travels, I happened to scroll past Jones’s short video. And his “Douglas.” The woman in the video looked under thirty, attractive, with long curly hair pulled back with a hair tie falling beside her face, shallow dimples when she smiled. Her name was Douglas. Whether the text, visuals, or filming style of Douglas’s videos, everything was full of literary and aesthetic beauty. She didn’t post frequently—starting with her alone sharing literary works, then a man appeared in frame, discussing their different literary insights together. Jones in the videos looked the same as before, wearing a soft knit sweater, his gold-rimmed glasses making him look refined and ascetic. Discussing love, Jones showed a thoughtful expression: “Love is something completely unreasonable. When it happens, no one can resist it. Even facing worldly constraints and shackles, it can’t stop its inevitability.” As he spoke, he looked tenderly at Douglas, his eyes full of unmistakable affection. Douglas lowered her head, loose hair falling by her temples, a blush coloring her cheeks. I opened the comments section. Everyone was praising their romantic love: “Oh my god, they’re so good-looking, so easy on the eyes!” “When a literature professor falls in love, it’s naturally more romantic.” I looked at the comments, but didn’t feel the slightest pain. Witnessing this moment of him being affectionate toward someone else, I truly confirmed—I didn’t love him either. I smiled with relief and closed my phone. After the cooling-off period ended, Jones and I went to city hall to get our divorce certificate. Douglas followed beside him, looking at me with wariness, as if afraid I’d lose emotional control. But throughout the entire process I remained calm, even cheerfully so. Jones was still the same: “Our union was wrong from the start. Now everything’s back on track. I wish you find your own happiness in the future.” I smiled and waved the divorce certificate. “Thanks, I will. But definitely not through infidelity during marriage.” With that, I left without looking back. After getting home, I confirmed all asset transfer procedures were complete, then mailed Jones’s cancer misdiagnosis notice to his current address.

I thought after a peaceful divorce, we’d stay out of each other’s way. I didn’t expect Jones and Douglas’s moral standards to be even lower than I’d imagined. A colleague sent me a link. I clicked on it—it was Douglas’s short video account. She was livestreaming. In the livestream, Jones and Douglas wore matching couple outfits. One handsome and refined, one gentle and fresh—they actually looked quite compatible. But what they said was far from as decent as they looked. Jones spoke eloquently to the camera. “Yes, I am divorced. When I was young, I thought compatibility was love and rushed into marriage. But married life was extremely boring. My ex-wife and I repeated a monotonous routine. Every day was groceries and bills, discussing house loans, parents’ retirement, when to try for a baby, workplace trivialities.” “I wanted to discuss literature with her, talk about Camus, Shakespeare, Tagore, but she always listened blankly, unable to engage in meaningful conversation with me.” “We lived a mediocre, dull life, like a dim, lusterless grain of sand. Until I met Douglas—my life was reborn.” He looked tenderly at Douglas. Douglas gave a perfectly timed shy smile. The comments scrolled quickly. Many people were cheering for this divine romance. “Being with Douglas, we can discuss poetry, philosophy, life’s meaning. Our thoughts align, our tastes and interests match. With her, I feel like I’m living life, not just existing.” “After divorcing my ex-wife, I finally felt relieved. No more facing boring daily trivialities, no more facing a narrow-minded, vulgar wife, no more endless pressure from prolonged attempts to conceive…” Reading this, I froze. Jones and I had indeed tried to conceive for a long time without success. We went to the hospital once and discovered his sperm viability was too low, making natural conception very difficult. Following both parents’ suggestions, we decided to do IVF. But it was his fertility problem. I was the one enduring the side effects of ovulation injections. I was the one who would bear the pain and fear of childbirth, and the permanent physical damage. What right did Jones—a man who was just along for the ride—have to sit here like a victim talking as if he’d suffered? During these years of marriage, I not only took care of him and gave him a warm home, but also helped care for his aging parents. In his eyes, it was nothing but “narrow-minded and vulgar.” Anger surged up. I moved my finger and typed in the comment box: “A man who cheated during marriage—how dare you act like a victim? Does knowing some literature and art cover up the fact that you’re both a cheating scumbag and homewrecker?” Among all the “perfect match,” “talented scholar and beautiful lady,” “made for each other” comments, my question stood out particularly. The comments seemed to pause for a moment, then scrolled even faster. Through the screen, I smiled and typed another line: “Jones, did you receive the follow-up diagnosis I mailed you?”

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