Category: English

After six years of chasing him, James “Jamie” Dawson finally agreed to be with me. I was over the moon. That is, until the day I overheard him talking to his mates. “You mean Mari Bennett? She’s just been my little lapdog for six years.” “She’s not bad looking, though. That’s why I didn’t ditch her. Kept her around to make Nate feel a bit jealous, remind her not to pick fights with me all the time.” The “Mari Bennett” he mentioned was me. And Nate—Natalie “Nate” Carter—was his ex-girlfriend of three years. Jamie had clearly had a few too many drinks; his words were slurred. “If you fancy Mari, mate, you should’ve said earlier. I’d have let you have a go.” Jamie transferred to our class in our final year of A-levels, causing a massive stir in school. With his high cheekbones, sharp brows, 6’1” height, and short, slightly tousled hair, he stood out from the rest of the stressed, pale-faced students. There was something about him—cool, detached—that made him hard to ignore. My best mate, Chloe Mitchell, said at least six out of every ten girls fancied him. I was no exception. I’d liked Jamie since I was 18. Six years had passed since then. I had always thought he liked me too. Back then, I was going through an awkward phase—teenage weight gain, spots, the works. Not exactly ugly, but definitely not the prettiest. Still, whenever some of the boys teased me about being too fat to ever get married, Jamie would step in. “If losing weight means marrying someone like you, better to stay as I am,” he’d quip. When they complained that I was blocking their phone signals with my size, Jamie would just laugh, “Maybe it’s time for you to upgrade your phone.” Rumours about me and Jamie started to spread in the class. Of course, they were all about how I was a toad lusting after a swan, thinking too highly of myself, or how I was desperate. So I started keeping my distance from Jamie on purpose. Then, during our New Year’s party, there was a game that required boys and girls to team up. I was sure no one would pick me, and the others were probably waiting to laugh at me when Jamie, to everyone’s surprise, took my hand. He leaned in and whispered softly, “Mari, why have you been avoiding me lately? Did I do something wrong?” “When you ignore me like that, it feels like there’s something missing.” I kept telling myself that his words didn’t mean anything. Jamie couldn’t possibly like me. Yet, I still couldn’t stop my face from turning bright red. In our final term, when we were all cramming for exams, I did two things: studied and tutored Jamie. Jamie was smart, but it’s harder to improve your score the higher you already are. It’s like how a student scoring 200 marks can easily improve to 300, but getting from 600 to 700 is nearly impossible. But in our three mock exams, I watched as Jamie went from 550 to 590, then to 620. Our teachers and classmates couldn’t believe it. And as Jamie’s compliments and encouragement came pouring in, I started to feel more confident too. The snide comments from our classmates faded, replaced by talk of how we made a good match, a “power couple,” as they called it. “Do you think Jamie’s working so hard because he wants to go to the University of London with Mari?” someone joked. “Definitely. With his family’s money, why bother studying this hard unless he’s got a reason?” “He’s improved by 70 points in one term! Mari, help me too! I’m shipping you two!” After six months of studying together and pushing each other to succeed, I was sure there was something between us. So, the night after our A-level exams, I gathered the courage to confess. I filled the hotel entrance with roses and launched dozens of drones over the Thames, spelling out Jamie’s initials in the sky. I was young then, too young to realise that a confession should be a declaration of victory, not the start of an attack. Jamie’s friends seemed more excited than he was when they saw the scene, shoving him towards me. But instead of the classic “yes” you’d expect in a romantic movie, I heard, “Whoa, mate, this is that girl you mentioned, isn’t it?” “Go on, Jamie. She’s pulled out all the stops for you.” Their faces were lit up with a strange excitement I didn’t quite understand. Later, one of Jamie’s mates accidentally forwarded their group chat messages to our class group. That’s when I found out they had been calling me names like “tank” and “sumo wrestler,” teasing Jamie for being so desperate that he’d go for anything. They’d even shared photos of random women in high heels and stockings, telling Jamie to go after something “better.” Jamie, to his credit, had calmly explained that there was nothing romantic between us. His polite, dignified tone stood out in that cesspit of filthy jokes. That’s when I convinced myself: Jamie wasn’t a bad guy; he just didn’t like me.

Knowing romance wasn’t my strong suit, I barely kept in touch with Jamie during university. Even though we were studying in the same city. From mutual friends, I heard he had dated four different girls in his first two years. I could only shake my head at that. Jamie was a bit of a heartthrob, although not a cheater. He just never posted about his relationships on social media, and he always had someone lined up when a breakup happened. With his good looks, Russell Group degree, and upper-middle-class background, no one ever questioned his behaviour. The lads around him would just say, “If I had his looks and money, I’d play the field even more.” Then, in our third year, Jamie met Natalie “Nate” Carter. He started posting notes about her all the time: “Birthday: 19th February. Loves beef, cherries, and ice cream. Hates coriander!” “Make sure to prepare 45°C ginger tea during her time of the month.” They’d complete all the couples’ bucket-list challenges and post about it on TikTok, racking up thousands of likes. Every milestone in their relationship was full of rituals. The comments joked that his “six-month breakup curse” had finally been broken. I thought to myself, Jamie must’ve found “the one” this time. Meanwhile, during my four years of university, with no distractions from men, I focused entirely on my studies. I won two National Scholarships, got three certifications, and was accepted for a master’s programme at the same university. By the summer of my first year as a postgrad, I had co-authored papers published in top scientific journals and helped launch a company with my senior that made over £3 million in its first year. On one lazy afternoon, feeling proud of my accomplishments yet realising I was still missing someone special, I decided it was time to start dating.

Jamie and I must be fated, somehow. I had just told Chloe to keep an eye out for any potential matches when Jamie called me out of the blue. I hadn’t heard his voice in ages. When I answered, it felt awkward and unfamiliar, maybe because I hadn’t completely moved on. There was still a flicker of something there. Jamie, however, didn’t beat around the bush. “Mari, I heard you’re looking to start dating?” I didn’t deny it. “Then date me,” he said, laughing on the other end of the line. “I think I’m a decent enough match for you.” My mind went blank. “Don’t you have a girlfriend?” “Broke up,” he replied nonchalantly. “So, what do you think? Care to consider?” There’s an old saying: if you wouldn’t tell your best friend about a decision, you probably shouldn’t do it. Looking back, I think there’s some truth to that. If Chloe had known I got together with the guy who had rejected me and gone on to date four other girls, she’d have killed me. But for some reason, I didn’t say no. Being with Jamie, my old teenage crush, wasn’t as romantic as I had imagined. There were no roses, no dates, no gifts. It felt like we were just online chat buddies rather than a real couple. Compared to how he treated his last girlfriend, I couldn’t help but feel the gap. For example, one day after I finished a conference in the city, it started pouring outside, and I wanted Jamie to come pick me up. I called him, and he said, “I just got out of the shower, don’t want to get wet.” I had him on speakerphone, and when the others heard his refusal, they all gave me sympathetic looks. In the end, my flatmate, Sophie, came to pick me up instead. On the way back, Sophie tried to reassure me. “Maybe your boyfriend’s just the cool and distant type. Don’t take it to heart.” But I knew better. Back when Nate was at her dance studio every evening, Jamie would drive her to and from practice without fail, even when it was raining. He didn’t just drive her—he joined the gym next door to keep an eye on her, worried some handsome dancer might catch her attention. Maybe it was because this relationship didn’t feel worth showing off, but I still hadn’t told Chloe that the “hot boyfriend” I’d been vaguely mentioning was actually Jamie.

Jamie and I rarely had dinner together, especially when his friends were around. I could tell he didn’t want me too involved with his circle, and he didn’t try to integrate into mine either. But one day, out of the blue, he asked me to join him. “Mari, my uni mates are back in town. We’re getting together. Want to come along?” “Oh, and by the way, you won’t be able to get back to your dorm tonight. So think about it before you say yes.” I was taken aback. Jamie had never taken me out before, and the first time he did, he was hinting at staying overnight. Maybe this was normal for someone as experienced as him, but it left me feeling cold. I was about to make up an excuse to avoid going when I overheard voices in the background. “Mate, you’ve still got it. Top-tier postgrad and you’ve got her wrapped around your finger. Teach me your ways!” “Forget smart girls. My girlfriend would never agree to this. She’d go on about ‘respect’ and ‘women’s rights.’ Blah, blah, blah.” I could hear Jamie try to muffle the phone, clearly not wanting me to hear the conversation. “Mari? You still there?” At that moment, I realised the version of Jamie I had admired—the one with his halo of charm—was about to shatter. “Of course, I’m coming. You guys start without me,” I said sweetly. I wouldn’t feel satisfied unless I turned up and saw this through. Jamie sighed in relief. “Great. See you soon.”

When I arrived outside the private dining room, the conversation inside was in full swing. The guys were discussing Jamie’s ex-girlfriends, ranking them by looks, personality, and how “fun” they were. I stood outside for a while, listening. They seemed to make a point of not mentioning Nate. Finally, it was my turn. “To be fair, the one he’s with now is actually solid. Smart, reliable, and she’s got a good head on her shoulders. Jamie, if you’re thinking of settling down, she’s a good option.” Another chimed in, “And she can cook, yeah? That’s a bonus.” “Some girls are just for fun, but not for marriage.” I couldn’t help but smirk at the irony. My 620 A-level score and top academic performance across the university apparently only earned me the title of “decent” and a potential candidate for Jamie’s wife. As the conversation continued, Jamie seemed to grow uncomfortable. He sneered, “Mari Bennett? She’s just been chasing after me for six years, like a lovesick puppy.” “She’s not bad looking, and she’s got decent qualifications, so I’ve kept her around. She’s useful, you know? Keeps Nate on her toes, stops her from picking fights with me.” Jamie had definitely been drinking, his words a little slurred, but clear enough for everyone to understand. The room fell silent for a second, his mates drawing in sharp breaths. “Come on, Jamie. You’re still hung up on Nate? She’s moved on, mate. You need to let it go,” one of the guys said, frustrated. Jamie slammed his fist on the table. “She didn’t cheat on me! Nate just got confused after our breakup. She thought someone else was better suited for her, but she’s realised her mistake.” “You’re the one who’s confused, mate,” another said, shaking his head. Then, I heard a voice I recognised, hesitant but familiar. “Jamie, if you’re really that set on getting Nate back, why not let me have Mari once you’re done with her?” The room went quiet again. It took me a moment to place the voice. It was one of Jamie’s old flatmates, a guy I’d met when I’d once brought Jamie an umbrella on a rainy day. He came from money too and loved flaunting it. “Mate, I’ll make it worth your while. I just got the new Croxx C. You can have it if you want.” “That mountain bike? The one that cost 80 grand? And it’s a limited edition? You’d seriously give that up?” someone asked, astonished. Jamie paused, then chuckled. “You’ve got a thing for Mari? Should’ve told me earlier. I’d have let you have a go.” “But just to be clear, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Mari might seem quiet, but she’s got her tricks. Back in school, loads of girls fancied me, but she was the only one bold enough to confess. You know why?” The others egged him on, eager for more gossip. “Because she saw my family’s wealth. She caught a glimpse of my mum’s car once. It’s the only reason she tutored me through A-levels. You think she’d have done it otherwise?” The guys nodded, clearly impressed by Jamie’s “insight.” “And look at her now. Every day she’s carrying designer bags, wearing high-end shoes. She’s just a student—there’s no way she’s paying for all of that herself. Must have maxed out her credit cards.” I stood outside, fuming. What did they think—that a girl like me couldn’t possibly afford those things without a man’s help? And for the record, I didn’t need to touch my family’s money. My scholarships covered everything. One of his mates chimed in, “Jamie, you’re right. Besides Nate, there’s no other girl who could ever fool you.” Jamie spat out, “You lot are full of it.” I was caught between storming in to confront them or quietly walking away when a passing waiter accidentally spilled soup all over my bag. I let out a small yelp. Jamie rushed out from the dining room, clearly panicking when he saw me.

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During my internship after graduation, a petite pregnant woman moved in next door. I kindly shared my freshly bought mangoes with her and offered her rides to prenatal check-ups on my way to work. However, she lured me to her place and allowed her husband to assault me. “Claire, don’t blame me. You fresh college graduates are perfect for my husband to release his urges on.” Afterwards, they pushed me off the rooftop and spread rumors that I had seduced her husband during her pregnancy, leading to my accidental fall when she caught us. When I opened my eyes again, I found myself back on the day the neighbor first visited my apartment. Once again, I stood in my rented apartment, holding a plate of freshly peeled mango slices. Sitting in the living room was my neighbor from apartment 1622, her eyes gleaming as she stared at the fruit in my hands. The mango I had chosen this time was particularly juicy and fragrant. Before I could react, Mia eagerly grabbed two large pieces and started devouring them. She took the two biggest slices, which accounted for almost half of what I had prepared. “I’m not eating much, just these two pieces will do,” she said. “Claire, the fruit you bought is so delicious. My husband says we need to save money for the baby’s formula, so he won’t let me buy such expensive things.” Hearing her tone, identical to my previous life, I finally realized I had been reborn. I was a resident at the city hospital, having just started my internship and rented this apartment closest to the hospital. The woman before me was my new neighbor. She said her name was Mia and that she was nineteen years old. When Mia first greeted me, I was shocked by how thin she was. She wasn’t tall, with an obviously protruding belly, but as a pregnant woman, her face was sallow, clearly malnourished. Her husband was always out early and back late, rarely seen accompanying his wife. Yet she seemed content, often posting pregnancy vlogs on TikTok. “Ugh, being fertile is such a pain. Accidentally got pregnant after some fun with hubby. He’s so happy, can’t wait to see what our little one will look like!” “It’s 9 PM now, and my husband just got off work. He works so hard! I made him a bowl of noodles, feeling so blessed!” The picture showed her making a peace sign next to a bowl of noodles. In reality, living next door, I could hear her husband yelling at her drunkenly almost every night before bed. In my previous life, concerned about her thinness, I asked and learned that her diet consisted mainly of vegetables, with little meat or fruit. This was because her husband said eating those things could lead to gestational hypertension and diabetes, making childbirth more difficult. When she told me this, Mia’s face was full of shyness and happiness. As a doctor, I kindly reminded her that pregnant women should have a balanced diet for the baby’s healthy development. Her husband, however, was very impatient. “Isn’t there fruit? Eating one type is enough. Why waste more money?” But the “fruit” he mentioned was just a bag of bruised apples he had bought for his wife. “Men have it tough out there. It’s not like you women who can make money so easily, just by spreading your legs.” I couldn’t stand it and argued with him, only to receive his contemptuous mockery. “You’re so young, how did you get into the city hospital? Who knows what methods you used?” Even Mia, with teary eyes, tried to persuade me, “Claire, just listen to my husband. We women should know our place.” I was bewildered and cut off contact with this bizarre couple afterwards. But on a rainy night, Mia knocked on my door, crying about abdominal pain. “Please, save my baby. I’m in so much pain. Can you take me to the hospital…” As a doctor, I couldn’t ignore someone in need, so I finally opened the door. However, as soon as I helped her sit down, her husband rushed out and covered my mouth, forcibly dragging me into their apartment. Mia remained indifferent, allowing me to be assaulted by him. “I’m pregnant now, so it’s inconvenient for me to have sex with my husband. You fresh graduates are clean, perfect for satisfying my husband’s urges.” “It’s just sex, you won’t die from it.” After the assault, seeing my fierce resistance, they feared I would report to the police and even threw me off the balcony of the 16th floor. When I died, I was naked, lying in a pool of blood. Facing the police and reporters, Mia still defended her husband, crying: “I wanted to be friends with her, but she seduced my husband. When I discovered them, she ran away and fell from upstairs.” Suddenly, public opinion overwhelmingly mocked me, saying I deserved it. At this moment, I gritted my teeth and quickly took away the plate of mangoes I had put on the table. She immediately pouted. “What are you doing? It’s my baby who wants to eat, not me.” I smiled and said, “If you want to eat, let your husband buy it for you. Whoever does it should be responsible.” Mia became anxious, “How can you be like this? It’s just a bit of your food, why are you being so stingy?” In the next second, I snatched away the two pieces she was holding and eating, and threw them into the trash without hesitation. “Then don’t eat these two bites either.”

Mia’s face turned red with anger. “I thought you might find it inconvenient living alone as a woman, so I came to check on you. I didn’t expect you to be so stingy! You really don’t appreciate kindness!” I retorted, “Am I stingy? Even if I am, it’s with my own things. It’s none of your business. Unlike you, shamelessly taking things that aren’t yours.” She clearly hadn’t expected my reaction to be so intense. But in the next moment, I grabbed her handbag and emptied its contents onto the floor. Several mint sprigs mixed with soil fell out. These were the mint plants she had plucked from my windowsill flowerpot while I was in the kitchen opening the mango. In my previous life, for the sake of neighborly harmony, I hadn’t made a fuss when I discovered about ten of my mint plants had been plucked after she left. But now, I didn’t want to tolerate it anymore. I brought over the planting box that she had ravaged and smiled as I grabbed her hand. “Come on, how did you pull them out just now? Plant them back for me, one by one.” Mia’s face turned pale, but the soil under her fingernails left her with no defense. I stood there, watching her plant them back one by one, until she angrily left my apartment. The tense emotions finally eased a bit at this moment. Remembering the tragic fate of my previous life, I immediately contacted the rental agency to apply for a transfer to another internship hospital, wanting to get away from this couple. However, when arranging the transfer, the agent introduced me to another nursing student who was also about to start her internship. [Senior, thank you for wanting to sublet at a lower price. We even went to the same university for our bachelor’s degrees.] Hearing her excited voice message, my heart suddenly sank. How was she any different from me? After thinking about it all night, I decided not to move. At least I couldn’t let my experience be repeated with another girl. And simply running away wouldn’t work. To make up for my pain, I had to make them pay an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth. I bought a series of self-defense tools, added a hidden camera at my door, and set up a one-click alarm function to ensure my safety. The next day during lunch break, someone started banging on my door. I impatiently opened it, “Who is it?” I saw Mia’s frowning face. She clutched her stomach, saying she had been feeling unwell, nauseous and wanting to vomit ever since eating a few bites of mango at my place yesterday. I folded my arms, “I ate that mango too, how come you’re the only one feeling sick and I’m fine?” This time, her husband Jack stepped out, righteously saying: “Words mean nothing. How can you prove you really ate it? You clearly disliked my wife yesterday, who knows if you deliberately poisoned her?” He tilted his head back, his nostrils flaring as he spoke, his nose hair clearly visible. “I don’t care, my wife only started feeling sick after seeing you. You must take us to the hospital for a full check-up of our baby!” The moment I saw Jack, my scalp tingled as I recalled everything I had endured in my previous life. But he thought I was intimidated by him, and in front of his wife, he grabbed my hand greasily. “You’re a doctor, so let’s go to your hospital. As long as you sincerely apologize and make amends, we can still be good neighbors.”

I immediately shook off his hand and said coldly: “What, trying to get someone else to pay for your wife’s prenatal check-up? What kind of useless man comes up with such a despicable idea just to save money?” Mia beside him became anxious. “Don’t talk nonsense! My husband loves me the most. You clearly offended us first, don’t try to shift the blame!” The smile disappeared from Jack’s face as he tightly gripped my wrist, not letting me leave. Since that’s the case, then come with me to work. I smiled and turned to bring them to our department. After explaining the situation to my supervising attending physician, she personally received them and asked where Mia felt uncomfortable. Mia stammered, hesitating for a long time. “I, I ate something wrong, my stomach doesn’t feel good.” But when the attending asked her to lie on the examination bed and pressed a few times, she pretended to cry out in pain, yet her answers about symptoms were still inconsistent. The attending and I exchanged glances, and she calmly said: “Look how you’ve made your neighbor so upset over some fruit. You meant well but it backfired.” Jack became a bit anxious, “Doctor, just give my wife all the usual prenatal tests. We’ll feel at ease once everything’s checked.” But the attending shook her head and prescribed a series of gastrointestinal tests for them. “Didn’t you say you ate something wrong? We need to take it step by step. Whether it’s food poisoning or something else isn’t clear yet. Let’s draw some blood for tests first, then we’ll consider how to treat it with medication.” Hearing about medication, Mia and her husband’s faces changed dramatically. They whispered to each other, probably discussing how pregnancy prevents taking medication and drawing so much blood. They looked at the series of blood tests prescribed and finally waved their hands. “Never mind, I suddenly don’t feel that uncomfortable anymore…” In the end, she glared at me and left reluctantly with her husband. As Mia was leaving, her earrings flashed under her short hair. I suddenly noticed that the style looked familiar, seemingly the earrings I had lost last week. I turned and quietly thanked the attending, “Thank you for helping me out of that situation.” She held a cup of hot tea and smiled without speaking, “It’s nothing. That man is your neighbor? He’s actually a security guard at our hospital. What a weirdo.” Over the past two weeks, things had often gone missing from my bag, mostly personal items like earrings and lipsticks. Before, I thought I had just misplaced them and didn’t pay much attention. Until I just saw my lost earrings hanging on Mia’s ears. I didn’t know Jack’s job before, only that he left early and returned late every day. I never expected the devil to be so close to me.

That noon, the courier station suddenly called, saying someone had taken my package, claiming to be my neighbor helping me. I laughed coldly, as expected. After discovering this couple always stole my things, I deliberately bought something good. Since they like stealing, I’ll let them steal to their heart’s content. It was horse manure I had bought. Soon, the property management group chat started buzzing. [Who’s cooking shit in the middle of the day?! I can smell it from the 15th floor!] [In this 104°F weather, the smell is overwhelming. I can smell it upstairs too.] I frowned and quickly put on a mask. As soon as I stepped out of the elevator, I came face to face with Mia, who was holding a ladle and looking panicked. She pointed at my nose and started cursing, “Did you do this on purpose? Are you sick? What kind of stuff did you buy? Is it even edible?” I coldly pointed at the packaging. “That’s horse manure I bought for research. Did I tell you to take it and cook it?” Mia was speechless for a while, “I was just trying to be nice and help you get your package. I wanted to see what good food you bought and cook it for us to eat together when you got off work!” She angrily pointed at another opened package. “And this one, are you some kind of psycho? You actually bought live cockroaches?” I looked up at the cockroaches crawling all over their dark apartment, examining them left and right, extremely satisfied. Seeing me laugh with joy, Mia couldn’t hold back anymore and rushed to the bathroom to vomit. At this time, Jack also rushed back after hearing the news. Seeing Mia crying as she threw herself into his arms. “Honey! I was just trying to be friends with her, but she bullied me again and even deliberately released cockroaches to scare me.” Jack’s eyebrows furrowed: “My wife is pregnant, can’t you be a little more considerate? If something happens to the baby in her belly because of this scare, can you take responsibility?” I laughed coldly, “Be considerate of her? How should I be considerate? My package was stolen by your wife. You tried to steal but failed and ended up losing more. Even if the police came, I have surveillance footage from the courier station as proof.” Jack was choked by my words. He hugged his wife, who was crying pitifully with horse manure smeared on her face, and said in a sinister tone: “Dr. Chen, why don’t you understand the principle of harmony? …” His voice was very low, but it felt like a poisonous snake crawling up my calf. I didn’t respond further, just waved my hand. “Remember, I don’t care how lovey-dovey you two are, but I have a bad temper and I’m not easy to mess with. Don’t even think about offending me in the slightest.” Then I coldly turned and left. I thought that after such an incident, they would quiet down for a while. But unexpectedly, when I returned to the community after work that day, people along the way gave me strange looks and pointed at me. I felt uneasy, wondering what was going on, until I saw an anonymous person had uploaded an indecent video in the group chat. The male lead in the video was blurred out, but the female lead’s face was actually mine! The title was maliciously set as: #Leaked first-person footage of innocent female doctor from certain hospital being coerced# The video clearly used AI technology to swap faces and blurred the quality to make it look very realistic. It even included all my personal information and workplace. People in the group were discussing: [Wow, she’s so young but already got into the city hospital. I knew there must be some inside story.] [Tsk tsk, no wonder they say women can’t be in charge. They just use their bodies to get ahead.] I was shocked. The anonymous person was still proudly boasting: [That female doctor from 1621, I’ve already had her. Don’t be fooled by her act, she’s actually very eager.] Besides this, that person also sent me a separate message with a clearly enlarged nude photo of me. [Claire, aren’t you so capable? Now everyone in the community knows you’re a slut.]

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A social media influencer who invested in the production to get a role was throwing her weight around on my set, demanding more scenes. I’d had enough and kicked her off the crew. She immediately turned to Twitter to stir up drama, accusing me of bullying young actors. She even claimed to be the famous Miss Hartley, threatening to have her family blacklist me. As I looked at my cowering stepfather, I couldn’t help but smile in confusion: Since when did the Hartley family have another daughter?Just before the new drama started production, I, as the new director, created a group chat. I sent a message hoping to get to know the actors better over dinner that evening. However, half a day passed after sending the message, and except for a few crew members, there was no response from the male and female leads. At this point, my assistant William secretly messaged me. “Miss Quill, Wendy Hartley – our social media influencer female lead – created a group chat in advance. She said she wants to treat everyone to dinner tonight, but… she didn’t include you.” Before I could process what William meant by “didn’t include you,” I saw Wendy Hartley appear in a group named “aaa New Drama Good Luck”. She first posted a shopping photo, with a million-dollar diamond bracelet on her left wrist that nearly blinded me. Then her coquettish voice came through my phone. “Hey everyone, I’m out having fun and don’t have time to greet you all properly. Tonight I’m treating everyone to dinner at the Waldorf Astoria. The director should come too, or we might get food poisoning at some BBQ joint, right?” After this voice message, she seemed to think it wasn’t enough and added a flirtatious laugh. The previously quiet group suddenly became lively, with the male lead and second male lead suddenly appearing. “Trust Miss Hartley to do it right! Director, Miss Hartley has spoken, how can we not give her face?” “That’s right, director. The Waldorf is a place we couldn’t get into even if we had the money. Let’s give Miss Hartley the honor of our presence.” Seeing the compliments, the female lead became even more smug. Her delicate voice seemed to pierce through the screen. “Director, won’t you join us?” I was speechless. Originally, to reduce complications, I had refused my family’s offer to invite veteran actors for my domestic debut. Instead, I had carefully selected some promising young actors with decent acting skills – except for this Wendy Hartley, who was forced upon me by my investor. I never expected these young actors to be such sycophants. It’s just the Waldorf Astoria. If they wanted to go, I could easily arrange it myself. I zoomed in on the photo Wendy Hartley posted. The shimmering bracelet on her wrist had a hint of pink on the inner circle, with a small, understated “alio” engraving on the edge, looking both low-key and luxurious. This bracelet was from the 10th-anniversary collection of my mother’s design brand. There were only about 20 of them in existence, and their owners were either extremely wealthy or influential. I wondered which rich family’s daughter this Wendy Hartley was, coming to experience life as an actress. My eyes drifted back to the group chat. The second female lead, Stella, was fawning over Wendy… “Miss Hartley, about that new reality show your family invested in, where celebrities visit each other’s homes, could my boyfriend and I possibly be on it?” I choked on my water, coughing for a while before looking back at those words. Hartley family? Miss Hartley? If I remembered correctly, there was only one Hartley family of note in the entire country, and that was my family. When exactly did I get a sister?

My family is a business dynasty, and my mother, Luna Reeves, is a particularly brilliant business genius. In just 15 years, she expanded the Reeves family from a top domestic enterprise to an internationally formidable conglomerate. My father, Mr. Quill – I can’t quite remember his first name – was my mother’s young love. Although their marriage was a business arrangement, they did have a period of genuine affection. Later, my father developed stomach cancer and passed away when I was four, leaving my mother with me and a six-year-old brother. My brother took our mother’s surname, Reeves, while I kept our father’s surname, Quill. My brother made his debut in the entertainment industry years ago, playing the piano with extraordinary skill and winning numerous international awards. He’s the rich heir adored by socialites in the industry, though his high-profile romance and early commitment broke many hearts. Compared to him, I’ve been relatively low-key, studying abroad for years to prepare for taking over the company. Filmmaking is just my personal hobby, and although I’ve submitted a few indie films to film festivals, they didn’t make much of a splash domestically. This led to a persistent rumor that my brother and I weren’t close and had barely even met. After we came of age, our mother found a new love interest. He was ten years younger than her and quite handsome. Although my brother and I didn’t particularly like him, and he often harbored inappropriate thoughts, we didn’t say anything as long as our mother was happy. This past year, my mother has been handling company business abroad, leaving only our stepfather, Henry Hartley, in the country. His influence has been growing, and some people in the company even call him “Mr. Hartley.” I’ve warned him a few times, but he hasn’t shown any restraint. I looked at Wendy Hartley’s age on her resume – hmm, she’s actually two years older than me. Unless there’s been some time travel involved, there’s no way she could be a child my stepfather and mother had in the past couple of years. I then thought about the investor who had pushed Wendy Hartley into the cast – a small-time entertainment company boss who’s been on the rise these past few years, showing signs of overshadowing Reeves Corp in the entertainment sector. Interestingly, he’s my stepfather’s nephew. Things suddenly became much more intriguing. Wendy Hartley was still bragging in the group chat, showing off various luxury skincare products, a small villa full of flowers, and a closet of haute couture dresses. I chuckled to myself, realizing that some of these items were mine, and others belonged to my sister-in-law. I wondered if my neat-freak sister-in-law would freak out seeing these photos. I screenshotted everything she posted in the group and sent it to my brother. Seeing the message status showing “typing” for a while, I didn’t pay much attention. We had a scene to shoot today, and I didn’t have much time to deal with these matters. This drama is an adaptation of the well-known IP “Rain Lotus Pavilion.” There’s been a rumor online that it was written by a famous author’s secret account, but actually, it was the first novel I ever wrote. I’m very particular about its adaptation, personally selecting several screenwriters. Every script they’ve handled has never scored below 8 points online. At this moment, however, one of the screenwriters approached me with a troubled expression. “Director Quill, I was thinking of changing the female lead’s background from an orphan of a martial arts family to a young lady from a family of equal status to the male lead… You know, these days, people are into stories about couples from similar backgrounds, right? Even though we’re working with a big IP, we still need to keep up with the trends, don’t we?” I casually flipped through the script the screenwriter handed me. My original female lead, Luo Qing, was a proud and determined woman who infiltrated the male lead’s family as a maid to avenge her clan’s blood feud. They had turned her into a pampered little wife, doted on by the male lead, second male lead, and third male lead. At the end of the script, to balance things out, they even paired off the second and third male leads with the female lead’s best friend and boss. I closed the script, vividly imagining scenes of the female lead pouting, glaring, and stomping her feet. My face turned green. “…Who told you to make these changes?” I asked. Seeing my anger, the screenwriter didn’t seem bothered. He put on an indifferent expression. “Director Quill, do you know who the investor for our drama is?” “It’s the Hartley family! Although you’ve won a few small awards internationally, the Hartley family isn’t someone a small-time director like you can afford to offend. If we make Miss Hartley unhappy this time, we might all end up out of work.” He arrogantly tossed the script in front of me. “Since Miss Hartley wanted the script changed, we have to follow her wishes!” I really didn’t expect that in the 21st century, there would still be this kind of new-age lackey. I couldn’t help but laugh out of anger. “Fine, fine, fine. So none of you want to do a good job, is that it?” “Then let’s replace everyone. All of you.”

Unexpectedly, after this incident, I ended up being exposed online. Wendy Hartley posted a video update. In the video, a pale-faced girl with a tearful expression questioned why I wouldn’t let her act, and she even took screenshots of yesterday’s chat out of context, implying that I was jealous of her status as a Hartley family member. The comments below were a spectacle. Several people even came forward claiming to be my college classmates, subtly insulting me as a child from a single-parent family with a twisted mentality. “She’s just jealous that Wendy Hartley has a happy and complete family, and she’s beautiful too.” “Shameless, Zara Quill is such a shameless bitch.” “I heard she was kept by someone, that’s how she got the director’s position. How else could a small-time director like her get the script for ‘Rain Lotus Pavilion’? It’s just a shame for the female lead I love, I hope she won’t be filmed by someone like this.” The comments were full of flying rumors. Of course, there were also some voices supporting me, but Wendy Hartley’s fans were too strong, and those voices were quickly drowned out in the tide. #InternationallyRenownedDirectorBulliesNewActress# #RainLotusPavilionDirectorRuns# #HartleyHeiressWendyHartley# Early the next morning, I saw these trending topics blazing across social media, along with 99+ unreadable messages in my inbox. Just as I was about to post a statement to explain, my brother’s call came through. “Little Zara, why aren’t you replying to messages?” My brother Lachlan Reeves’ deep voice came through the phone speaker. “What happened yesterday?” “Bro, check the trending topics,” I said. After a moment, the pretend-deep voice on the other end couldn’t keep up the act anymore. “Ahhh! Where did I get a second sister from?! I’m going to post on Twitter right now and call her out for riding on our coattails.” Imagining his exasperated expression, I couldn’t help but laugh. Suddenly remembering the investor who had brought Wendy Hartley in, an idea struck me. I quickly stopped him, “Bro, listen to me.” I told him my plan. After hearing it, Lachlan wasn’t angry anymore. He clapped his hands and laughed heartily, completely losing the image of the elegant young master that the outside world saw him as. Finally, his voice carried a hint of coldness. “If this has nothing to do with our stepfather, that would be best. If it does have something to do with him, I just hope mother won’t be heartbroken.” I posted a statement as usual, clarifying what had happened on set that day. However, it was clear that few people believed me. Wendy Hartley’s fans continued to mock and stir up trouble in the comments, saying that I, an orphan, was jealous of the Hartley family’s young miss, and even shouted that I would face retribution in the future. I simply turned off my phone, out of sight, out of mind. At this moment, a notification from one of my special follows popped up. “@LachlanReeves: Don’t bully my sister, she just came back to the country and it’s not easy for her on her own.” Immediately after, a retweet appeared on my homepage from Wendy Hartley. She posted a few crying emojis, followed by a “Thank you, brother.” I could imagine Wendy Hartley’s expression as she posted this tweet, and I couldn’t help but retch a few times. Ugh, I wonder if Lachlan was disgusted by this. Lachlan’s tweet seemed to confirm Wendy Hartley’s identity. The comments under my post from Wendy Hartley’s fans became even more arrogant. “You bad woman, how dare you bully Wendy Hartley.” “Apologize to Wendy Hartley right now!” I didn’t care about the attitude of her fans. I looked with some amusement at the missed call notification from a contact labeled “Stepfather” on my phone. He must have seen the comments online and wanted to test my attitude. I didn’t respond to him, putting the phone aside and closing my eyes to rest. The fish was about to take the bait. It was time for the angler to relax a bit.

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When my husband and I got intimate, he always liked to blindfold me with a red cloth, saying it added more excitement. Before long, I found out I was pregnant. Mrs. Thompson was overjoyed and treated me like a treasure, waiting on me hand and foot. Then, one day, I overheard Mrs. Thompson’s unsettling laugh: “Didn’t you know? The thirty grand we spent on the wedding was just to secure the baby in her belly!” Emanuel and I had been married for two months, and life as newlyweds was incredibly sweet. Everyone said I was lucky. The Thompson family wasn’t particularly wealthy, yet they managed to scrape together thirty thousand dollars for the wedding, plus they put a small house in a small town in Ohio in my name. Even the usual tension between a wife and her mother-in-law seemed nonexistent for me. Mrs. Thompson, who came from a rural background, had worked hard all her life, raising Emanuel and taking care of his mentally disabled younger brother after her husband passed away. I had promised Emanuel that we’d always keep two rooms available in our future home for his mother and his brother Danny to stay in if needed. Now that we’d bought a four-bedroom house in a small town, we invited her to come live with us. Mrs. Thompson was a bit hesitant. She secretly told Emanuel, “Son, once Sarah has the baby and I finish helping her through the postpartum recovery, I’ll head back to the countryside so I don’t intrude on your life together.” I was touched by how considerate she was. Even Danny, who was a little slow, was always sweet to me, often grinning and calling me “sis.” Emanuel had always wanted a baby. After dinner, he would pounce on me like a hungry wolf. “Let’s burn some energy tonight, babe. Maybe we can get Mom that healthy baby boy she’s been dreaming of,” he’d say with a grin, as his hands reached for my clothes. But right as things were getting intense, and I was starting to struggle to catch my breath, Emanuel suddenly stopped. “What’s wrong, honey?” I asked breathlessly, my eyes half-closed. He smirked mysteriously, reached into the nightstand, and pulled out that familiar red blindfold. He gently covered my eyes, saying it would make things more exciting. Embarrassed but intrigued, I agreed. That night, I could tell he was more eager than usual, and I teased him, “Careful with your back, honey.” But he didn’t respond. The entire time, he didn’t say a word. Before we were married, he’d always liked to talk to build the mood, but now, he was silent—like an ox silently plowing a field. Eventually, I tried to take off the blindfold, but he gently held my hand down. I was exhausted and let it go, falling into a deep sleep. Later that night, half-asleep, I felt his hand on my stomach again. It made me suspicious. Hadn’t he lost interest in this kind of thing after we got married? Why was he suddenly so eager again? “Babe, let me feel your belly,” he said with a grin. I sighed, letting him run his rough hands over my stomach. “Go to sleep. We both have work tomorrow,” I mumbled, closing my eyes. “Nah, babe. I’m not done yet,” he whispered, and we rolled around again under the sheets. For over two weeks, this became a nightly routine. Every night, he would blindfold me with that red cloth, and every morning, I’d wake up with dark circles under my eyes, yawning at breakfast. Mrs. Thompson would beam and bring me breakfast—eggs and toast, quail with sea pearls, and my prenatal vitamins—without fail. “Mom, there’s no need to go all out every morning,” I told her, a little embarrassed. Mrs. Thompson smiled and said, “You and Emanuel are trying for a baby, right? You never know; you might already be eating for two!” After breakfast, she handed me a pile of pregnancy tests, urging me to take one. Blushing, I went to the bathroom and took the test. To my surprise, just two months after the wedding, we were expecting! “You’re really pregnant? Our Thompson family has an heir!” Mrs. Thompson was over the moon, hugging me excitedly. But when Emanuel came home from work and I told him, his reaction wasn’t as joyful. Instead, it seemed like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He nodded, relieved. “Good. Now Dad can rest easy in his grave. This child is the only hope for carrying on the Thompson name.” Meanwhile, Danny, who was a bit slow, was ecstatic. He let out a whistle and happily handed over all his pocket money. “Sis, here! Buy some candy for the baby!” Even though I found the brothers’ reactions odd, I was too wrapped up in the joy of becoming a mother to give it much thought. “We’ll head back to Grandma’s house soon, and you’ll finally meet my other daughter-in-law,” Mrs. Thompson said. I was stunned. Danny had a wife?

Mrs. Thompson explained that a couple of years ago, she had arranged for Danny to marry a woman with a disability. She was paralyzed and had been rejected by her family, so Mrs. Thompson brought her into their home. “She helps out on the farm now, feeding the animals and looking after the place. That’s why I didn’t bring her to town with us.” Mrs. Thompson spoke of Emily, Danny’s wife, with such indifference that it was as if she were talking about a stray animal, not a person. My curiosity grew. This was the first time since getting married that I was going to Emanuel’s childhood home. It was on a piece of farmland with a decent two-story house, but the place felt empty and desolate. A small girl, about five or six years old, was in the yard, drawing water. She worked quickly, moving with an efficiency that surprised me. “That’s Danny’s daughter, Jenny. Jenny, say hi to your aunt,” Mrs. Thompson instructed. The little girl politely called me “Auntie” and then went back to her work, boiling water for us. Danny’s daughter? She’s this old already? I was stunned. Emanuel had told me that Danny was two years younger than him, which would make him 23, yet he already had a child this big? When Danny saw his daughter, he wasn’t as affectionate as I expected. In fact, he seemed distant. He just stuck out his foot and said, “Jenny, take off my shoes!” Perplexed, I pulled Emanuel aside and asked, “Shouldn’t she be in school?” He shrugged. “Jenny takes after her dad. She’s a bit slow, so she’s staying home.” I nodded, feeling sorry for the little girl. Inside, I met Emily, who was indeed in a wheelchair, feeding the pigs. When she saw me, she looked me up and down with a bitter smile. “Well, look at you. Big hips, big breasts. No wonder Mrs. Thompson loves you so much,” she said, jealousy clear in her voice. I frowned. I’d never been one for crude talk, and I certainly wasn’t used to this kind of sharpness from a sister-in-law. But before I could react, Mrs. Thompson slapped Emily across the face. “How dare you speak to your sister-in-law like that? You worthless woman who can’t even give us a son! Now get back to your chores. And don’t come to the table until you’re done feeding the animals!” Danny, who was big and burly, didn’t defend his wife. Instead, he gave her a hard kick in the chest. “How dare you talk to my sister-in-law like that? She’s carrying the future of this family!” Emily just shrugged, seemingly used to this treatment, and wheeled herself away. I was shocked. Mrs. Thompson, who had always treated me kindly, was ruthless to Emily. The contrast was terrifying. Sensing my discomfort, Emanuel quickly put his arm around me and said, “Emily has a bad temper. She doesn’t work, and she spends money recklessly. Don’t worry about it.” But as I looked around at the bare walls and the dirt on Emily’s clothes, I couldn’t connect her to the idea of wasting money. Mrs. Thompson must have noticed my fear. She forced a smile and said, “Sarah, I’m sorry you had to see that. Let’s get cleaned up for dinner. Emily and I will take care of the cooking.” Before the wedding, I had thought this family was generous, and I was smitten with how good Emanuel had always been to me. But now, I realized the seemingly kind Mrs. Thompson and simple Danny were not at all what they appeared to be. As night fell, Emanuel and I settled into the largest room in the house, right next to Danny and Emily’s bedroom. The old farmhouse didn’t have good insulation, so I could hear their muffled whispers through the walls. “Honey, kiss me, I miss you so much,” Danny said, his voice thick with affection. “Get off me! Isn’t the Thompson family busy now with someone else carrying on your bloodline? Leave me alone,” Emily snapped back angrily. Emanuel had explained to me that when Emily gave birth to Jenny, she had suffered severe complications, leaving her unable to have more children. “That’s why she’s so bitter now,” he said. “Mom doesn’t like her either, but you’ve got to understand where she’s coming from.” I knew all too well that in these rural areas, families without grandsons were considered “doomed,” and it was a constant source of shame in the community. It was clear the entire Thompson family was pinning their hopes on me to change that. “You know you’re the golden ticket now,” Emanuel teased, rubbing my belly gently. “Everyone’s counting on you to give us that healthy baby boy.” But as I listened to Emily’s harsh tone and watched Emanuel’s hand on my stomach, a chill ran through me. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was deeply off with this family. I realized I was sinking further into a situation I barely understood, and the more I thought about it, the more unnerved I became.

During our time in the countryside, Mrs. Thompson made it a point to kill a chicken every day, cooking chicken soup just for me. She never allowed Emily to join us at the table. Every time I saw Emily hiding in a corner, staring hungrily at the steaming chicken on my plate, I felt uncomfortable. One day, I suggested to Mrs. Thompson, “Mom, maybe Emily should eat with us too.” Mrs. Thompson just scoffed. “Around here, women who haven’t given birth to a son don’t get to sit at the table. You city folk wouldn’t understand.” I wanted to argue, to push back against this ridiculous tradition, but Mrs. Thompson had treated me well so far, so I held my tongue. After dinner, I discreetly saved a chicken leg and brought it to Emily while she was washing the dishes in the kitchen. “Here, Emily. I noticed you didn’t eat much at lunch. You should have this; you’re not in great health.” But to my surprise, she slapped it out of my hand. The chicken leg hit the ground and rolled in the dust. She let out a bitter laugh. “I don’t need your pity. Eat it yourself. You’ll need your strength to give them a healthy baby boy. Once you do, you’ll have served your purpose—just like I did—and they’ll toss you aside like a rag.” I knew she was trying to hurt me, implying that Mrs. Thompson’s kindness was only because I was pregnant. Still, her words stung. I wasn’t like her—I had a job, and after my maternity leave, I could go back to work. I wasn’t entirely dependent on this family. Just then, Mrs. Thompson stormed into the kitchen, having heard the commotion. She looked down at the fallen chicken leg and clutched her chest in mock horror. “Oh no! There goes one of our free-range chickens! What a waste!” she cried, pretending to mourn. I quickly jumped in, “I’m sorry, Mom. It was my fault, not Emily’s.” But Mrs. Thompson wasn’t listening. She grabbed Emily by the ear and yanked her up, her voice filled with fury. “You useless woman! Wasting food again? You don’t make any money, and all you do is squander what little we have. What good are you?” Emily’s screams filled the house as I fled outside, too shaken to intervene. I barely noticed Danny, who had just returned, drunk from a wake. He staggered toward me, his eyes glassy. “Sis, let’s head to the cornfield, huh? Let me feel my little nephew in your belly,” he slurred, reaching for me with his grubby hands. I swatted him away, heart pounding, and ran back into the house. Something was definitely wrong with this family—something darker than I could have imagined. That night, I overheard another argument between Mrs. Thompson and Emily. I crept downstairs, eavesdropping behind the wall. Emily was sobbing, sitting on the floor as Mrs. Thompson stood over her, dragging her up by the ears only to toss her back down like a sack of potatoes. Emily cried out, “Why are you treating me like this? You’re so nice to her, but how do you know she’ll give you the baby? You spent thirty thousand dollars on their wedding, but you gave me nothing when you married me off to Danny!” Mrs. Thompson laughed, her voice low and sinister, “You really don’t know, do you? That thirty thousand wasn’t for the wedding—it was to guarantee the baby in Sarah’s belly!” The words hit me like a punch to the gut. I froze, my hands shaking. What did she mean by that? The money was to “guarantee” my baby? Panic surged through me, and without thinking, I stormed into the room, demanding answers. “Mom, what did you mean by that? What does ‘guarantee’ my baby even mean?” Mrs. Thompson’s face paled, and she rushed to soothe me. “Oh, Sarah, sweetheart, it’s not what you think! By ‘guarantee,’ I just meant the baby will carry the Thompson name. I know you city girls might not want the baby to take the father’s name.” “Please, calm down. Stress is bad for the baby,” she added, her eyes fixated on my stomach like it was a treasure chest full of gold. But I couldn’t take her sweet-talking anymore. I made a silent vow that I would get to the bottom of whatever twisted game she was playing.

Figuring out Mrs. Thompson’s scheming wasn’t going to be easy. Ever since I caught her conversation with Emily, she’d become even more secretive, her actions more guarded. She even sent Emily and Jenny to live in a separate old house in the countryside, only letting them come by occasionally to help with the farm. She didn’t want them around us. Thankfully, Emanuel still treated me kindly, always gentle and attentive. One day, he brought me a few brochures and asked, “Sarah, you’re getting close to your due date. What do you think about picking a nice postpartum recovery center?” I glanced at the brochures, some of them offering high-end care costing thousands per month. I felt a warmth in my heart. “Sure, that sounds great. Let’s go to one of those centers, so Mom won’t have to do all the work,” I said, subtly hinting that I wasn’t too keen on having Mrs. Thompson in the house all the time. But every time I tried to bring up that conversation I overheard, Emanuel brushed it off with vague excuses. It left a shadow of doubt in my mind. One evening, as my due date approached, I went with Emanuel to visit his old family home again. We ended up staying the night there, under the same roof as Danny and Emily. Emanuel fell asleep early, but my pregnancy made it hard for me to sleep. As I lay there, the thin walls of the house didn’t do much to block out the sounds from the other room. I could hear the muffled sounds of Danny and Emily whispering in bed. “Danny, you’re disgusting! You’re saggy and wrinkled, you’re no better than an old rag!” Emily snapped at him. “You’re nothing compared to Sarah,” Danny shot back smugly. “What, like you’ve seen her?” Emily growled, incredulous. “Of course I have!” Danny responded, a proud tone in his voice. A cold shiver ran down my spine. His words, that smug tone—they left me feeling like I had just fallen into an icy lake. The sinking feeling in my gut was undeniable. And then it hit me. I thought back to the nights when Emanuel would blindfold me, saying it was for excitement. I remembered the way his sweat smelled different on those nights. Could it be? Could it be that the person lying on top of me back then wasn’t Emanuel at all—but Danny?

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At the high-end Ritz-Carlton Hotel, two people were carried out on stretchers, like conjoined twins, unable to part even as they were lifted into the ambulance. And all of it was my doing. I casually called Andy as he was struggling to contain his pain. “Babe, I’m in a meeting right now,” he groaned. I gently reminded him, “Since you two love each other so much, why not stay together forever?” The first sign of trouble came while I was away on a business trip to South Beach, Miami. Andy had posted a photo on his Instagram Stories. His caption read: “Clear skies, gentle breeze, the waters in Hawaii are especially blue today.” While I was working, he was on his dream vacation, spending his days in Hawaii. In the picture, he was with a group of friends and coworkers. The photo looked innocent enough, but something about it stood out to me. He had been wearing the swim trunks I bought him, but in this photo, they were mysteriously replaced with a new pair. After some digging, I noticed another photo he had posted five days prior—this time, a picture of his meal. And in the corner, the edge of a woman’s bikini was visible. It was the same swimwear—held together with a safety pin because it didn’t quite fit. What kind of flirtatious code was this? To confirm my suspicions, I asked Andy about it when he got home. He didn’t stutter or hesitate; he had a story ready. “Babe, I’ve got a funny one for you. Remember those trunks you got me? Well, while I was swimming, I guess I didn’t tie them tight enough, and they got washed away!” He slapped his thigh and laughed like he was telling a joke. He always did that when he wanted to lighten the mood. “I almost flashed the whole beach! Had to run and buy a new pair.” I watched him perform this act, completely detached, on our fifth wedding anniversary—a date he had completely forgotten. I didn’t even bother playing along with his charade. When he realized I wasn’t laughing, he slung his arm around my shoulder. “Cassie, I’ll take better care of the stuff you buy me. Don’t be mad, okay?” He puckered his lips at me, something I used to find cute back when we were dating. But now, staring at Andy’s greasy face, regret flooded me. When he was chasing me, he had been the least attractive of all my suitors, but I’d chosen him because he seemed kind and grounded, with a career as solid as mine. I thought picking someone less conventionally handsome would mean he’d stay loyal and committed. Turns out, a man’s flaws don’t depend on his looks. Later that afternoon, I got called into work for a night shift. I went down to the garage to get the car. Andy and I had our own vehicles, but mine was in for maintenance, so I took his. My instincts kicked in the moment I sat in the driver’s seat. The passenger seat had been reclined, pushed back about 15 degrees more than usual. Someone else had been in our car. We bought this SUV when we were preparing to start a family, thinking it would be perfect for the baby. The air inside still had a faint, fishy odor, hinting at something inappropriate that had happened in that seat. Scanning the seat closely, I noticed a piece of black fabric wedged in the gap by the armrest. I pulled it out—lace, delicate, and suspiciously sexy. I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly. How thoughtful of them. I pocketed the evidence without confronting him. A few days later, I found another bikini stuffed in the same spot. This time, though, something was different. The faint smell of perfume lingered on the fabric. I recognized it immediately—it was a summer scent from a designer perfume brand I’d tried while window shopping at the mall. This clue led me to question several suspects—his female coworkers and old friends. Eventually, I realized it was Payne Dalton, his goddaughter, who wore the same scent. When I saw her, she clung to my arm like always, her voice sweet as ever. “Godmother Cassie, did you miss me? I’m job hunting right now. We should grab lunch sometime soon!” I finally noticed how much she’d grown since I first met her. The once-skinny high school girl had blossomed into a tall, curvy woman. I’d heard she’d even had a breast augmentation done earlier this year. The bikini I’d found was exactly her size. Payne was a scholarship student Andy and I had supported for four years, helping her through college. She had always seemed like the perfect student—smart, charming, and determined to make something of herself. Was she really that naive? Despite all her education, did she still believe that money was the only way to “make it” in life?

I smiled as I teased her. “Wow, Payne, you’re looking amazing! The collagen supplements are really doing their job. You’re a real stunner now.” She blushed, playfully pushing my shoulder. “Oh, Godmother Cassie, you’re terrible!” A sly grin flashed across her lips as she responded with pride, “Yeah, those supplements really work! Starlet-worthy, don’t you think?” I nodded. She had the body men fawn over—the kind actresses on TV often flaunt. Compared to her, all my years of Pilates felt like nothing. “Let’s catch up over lunch sometime,” I suggested. “Absolutely!” she chirped, clearly excited. She showered me with compliments about my taste in fashion, admiring my clothes and bags. That’s when I noticed the sparkling Harry Winston ring on her finger and the luxury brands she was sporting. Seems like she’d been doing quite well for herself lately. “Godmother, you’re just getting more elegant with age. I bet Mr. Donovan loves you even more now. That’s the charm of a mature woman!” Payne, the business major, was clearly a master of flattery. Her words were smooth and well-rehearsed. Back home, I calmly threw out everything from Andy’s car and replaced it with fresh items. Coincidentally, Andy came home late, claiming he had to work overtime. When he saw the dinner I had prepared, he hugged me, grinning. “Cassie, you’re amazing. Thank you.” His suit was spotless, and he had masked any suspicious odors with gum and cologne. Honestly, I wanted to snap and ask, “Showered yet? Gotten rid of the stench?” But I held back. Years of working in corporate America had taught me the art of restraint. I smiled and said, “Your package from the office is on the desk.” “Thanks, hon.” Later that night, he tried initiating intimacy. I pretended to be into it but could tell his enthusiasm was lacking. Of course, after sneaking around, there wasn’t much left for me. I told him I was tired and skipped it, scrolling through my phone instead. He leaned in with a grin. “Want to rest your head on my shoulder?” I stayed quiet, thinking to myself: I don’t want to lay my head where another woman’s legs have been. “Oh, by the way,” I said, testing him, “I ran into Payne today. She wants to have lunch with us.” “She’s really grown up, hasn’t she?” Andy froze for a moment but quickly regained composure. “Yeah, I haven’t seen her in a while either.” I closed my eyes. Let’s see how long this act can last. The next day, I took the afternoon off, and Andy and I met Payne at a Texas BBQ Joint for lunch. Payne showed up in a black, low-cut dress, her figure as striking as ever, contrasting sharply with the dark fabric, making her look even more stunning. When we were ordering, Andy casually said, “Waiter, we’ll have the mild and spicy BBQ platter. Light on the spice for her, please.” I caught the shift in his tone as Payne jumped in to explain, “Godmother Cassie, don’t misunderstand! I told Mr. Donovan I’m on my period.” She smiled innocently, but her body language was anything but. Her necklace dipped suggestively between her breasts, the picture of temptation. Andy, finally catching on to my expression, added quickly, “Yeah, Cassie, we shouldn’t go too spicy. Your stomach can’t handle it.” Love or indifference—it’s easy to spot the difference in the little things. That night, I pretended to get drunk. In truth, I poured most of the drinks into the trash. Andy, thinking I was too tipsy to function, draped his jacket over me and escorted me up to a room at the hotel. I lay awake all night, the faint scent of perfume on his jacket reminding me that he didn’t love me anymore. The next morning, I lied about losing something in the car, asking the property manager to pull up the parking garage footage. Sure enough, they had left together that morning. Not only had they defiled my car, but they had taken their affair right into our home. Without the security footage, I might have continued to believe Payne’s sweet demeanor and Andy’s deceitful charm.

I hired a private investigator to dig deeper into Payne’s life. After Andy and I got married, we kept our finances separate. He had no idea how much money I had saved up. Over the years, I’d made a good amount through smart investments—money I originally planned to use for a house in the best school district once we had kids. Now, that seemed unnecessary. A few days later, the investigator reported back: “She’s notorious at Stanford. People say she’s always out with different guys.” No wonder Payne could afford designer perfume and all those luxury items without even having a job yet. “She was kicked out in her junior year for misconduct. Apparently, she tried to seduce the vice principal, but it didn’t work.” “And her grades? She’s barely passing—almost got expelled.” Hearing this broke my heart. I remembered when we first decided to sponsor her. She had been this small, frail girl with yellowed hair, but her eyes shone with determination. She used to tell me that studying hard would change her life. She used to call me “Godmother Cassie” and twirled with joy the first time she wore a new dress I bought her. And now? She’d seen the world and decided that sleeping her way to the top was the faster route. I heard she’s working as a model now, trying to break into Hollywood. No wonder she’s had so much work done. Suddenly, it all clicked. Andy’s connections to the entertainment industry… She was probably using him as her ticket to bigger fish. After all, a girl like her wouldn’t hesitate to drop Andy the moment someone richer came along. Aside from this, the private investigator handed me Andy’s financial records. Our finances were separate, so he had no clue how much I really had. I managed my money through investments and had done pretty well for myself, originally planning to use it for a future home in a private school district once we started a family. But that no longer seemed necessary. The investigator showed me that Andy’s earnings were mostly from his salary and some stock market investments. But it was all clearly outlined in his Instagram transaction history—he had spent close to $100,000 on Payne! How long had they been sneaking around? I asked the investigator for something specific: a small recording device I could install in Andy’s car. He hesitated, reminding me that wiretapping was illegal and wouldn’t hold up in court. I told him I understood. I didn’t need it for legal reasons. I just needed to know how heartless they really were. After a moment, he nodded, handed me the equipment, and I paid him in full. A few days later, I left home for another “business trip.” As expected, they couldn’t resist using our SUV. “Daddy… can I have a hug?” The voice in my earphones was sultry, designed to melt any man’s resistance. “Did you miss me, sweetheart?” Andy chuckled in response. His usual polished, mature tone was nowhere to be found. “I did! You’re so bad.” Then, the unmistakable sound of the seat creaking under pressure. I clenched my fists, a bitter smirk creeping across my lips. These two were beyond shameless. Without hesitation, I called Andy’s phone. He ignored the first few calls. But as I kept calling, the urgency forced him to answer. “Hello? Hey, Cassie… I’m, uh, in a meeting,” he stammered. His voice was trying hard to sound calm and collected, but I heard the zipper of his pants sliding and his heavy, labored breathing. At thirty years old, I wasn’t exactly ancient. I’d taken good care of myself and didn’t look my age. People often remarked on how youthful I seemed. Andy, on the other hand, was an average-looking man whose career was no longer on par with mine. Our friends and family used to joke about our relationship, calling it a “beauty and the beast” situation. But let me tell you, there are plenty of men out there—more than enough to replace him. I laughed to myself and thought, If you love being naked so much, let me help you make that permanent.

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Recently, my daughter has become unpredictable, often shifting between extreme excitement and deep disappointment, all because of something her teacher said. After pressing her about it repeatedly, she finally confessed, telling me, “Mom, you’re a bad mom. I wish my dance teacher were my mom instead.” “If only Mrs. Drake were my mom, Dad would smile more, too.” I frowned, my instincts as a woman screaming inside me. That woman was trying to seduce my husband and was attempting to manipulate my daughter. My name is Lauren Simmons, and I’m 31 years old. I’m married, the only child of a small business owner, and I hold an MBA from a prestigious program abroad. I currently work as the marketing manager for my father’s company. To outsiders, my life seems like a dream: the daughter of a successful businessman, highly educated, married, and a mother. But deep down, I’m full of insecurities, largely shaped by my experience growing up in a single-parent household. I often come across as distant and cold to others. And when it comes to family life, I’ve never been as invested as I am in my career. My husband Brian is attractive and successful, and our daughter Sophia is sweet and well-behaved. But the one imperfection in my otherwise ideal life is that, after giving birth, I immediately dove back into work, missing the critical window for postpartum recovery. As a result, I still have excess skin on my stomach and a noticeable C-section scar, which has always been a source of regret for me. Brian never seemed to mind. He would always wrap his arms around my waist and whisper, “Babe, you’re the most beautiful woman in the world to me.” He had said this to me twice before: once during our wedding vows, and once after the difficult birth of our daughter, when I was bleeding out due to her breech position. I still remember being in the ICU, my eyes blurred with tears and the stench of blood clinging to me. I asked him then, “Do I look awful, honey?” And just like before, he kissed my hand without hesitation, assuring me that I was the most beautiful woman in the world to him. His tenderness and love had sustained the quiet warmth of our marriage, keeping it steady but never too intense. Now, our daughter Sophia is four years old and attending Bluebell Preschool. Brian has embraced his role as both a great dad and a responsible husband. While I’m often busy with work, he works the late shift as a software engineer, so he’s usually the one picking up Sophia after school. One day, I got a notification from a parenting forum on my phone. It said the most important thing for a child’s growth is the parents’ presence. Guilt washed over me. I realized it had been far too long since I spent quality time with Sophia. So that afternoon, I left work early and called Brian. “Honey, I’ll pick up Sophia today. Bluebell Preschool, Middle Group, right? I go in through the east entrance, don’t I?” I had to admit, I hadn’t been doing enough when it came to spending time with Sophia. Brian only picked her up from school because my work hours clashed with hers. But when we got home, I was the one who always cooked dinner. I had even gone out of my way to get a certified nutritionist license, all to make sure I could cook balanced, healthy meals for them. I rarely went to pick Sophia up from school. The only time I’d been there was for a parent-teacher meeting, and I had gotten the time wrong. Brian didn’t pick up his phone, so I stood there for an hour and a half, confused, until I saw the other parents trickling out of the building. Sophia, with her little backpack, spotted me, her eyes widening in surprise. When she came over, I quickly took her backpack and said, “Mommy’s been waiting here for you.” She pouted, “Mom, you’re so silly! Today we had extra dance practice, and you didn’t even know!” I crouched down, full of guilt. Brian hadn’t told me, so I came at her usual pick-up time. That’s when I noticed something on her lips—a little oil from something spicy. It was barely noticeable, but as her mom, I caught it immediately. As a certified nutritionist, I was strict about Sophia not eating junk food. Hot Cheetos and potato chips were off-limits, even though she loved them. I grabbed her little hand and sniffed it. She had washed her hands, but the scent of food additives clung to her skin, even under the soap. My face darkened. “Sophia, did you eat Hot Cheetos?” Seeing that I was upset, her expression deflated, but she stubbornly refused to admit it. “Haven’t I taught you to be an honest little girl? Don’t lie to Mommy, okay?” I tried to stay calm. Kids her age didn’t need harsh punishments, but firm guidance. With my gentle coaxing, Sophia finally spoke up. She said Mrs. Drake had given her the Hot Cheetos, but only to her. Mrs. Drake told her not to mention it to her parents or her friends. “If only Mrs. Drake were my mom, Dad would be happier,” Sophia said with a pout. My brows furrowed as I tightened my grip on her tiny wrist, anger simmering in my voice. “What did you just say? Do you know how much it hurts me to hear you talk like that?” She yanked her hand away, tears welling up in her eyes. She grabbed my water bottle from my hand and threw it on the ground, breaking it. “She buys me fried chicken and Hot Cheetos! She plays with me! You don’t give me anything I want!” I stood frozen, staring at my normally sweet daughter, who was now throwing tantrums and breaking things. I began to realize how much I had failed in my role as a mother. My daughter actually thought another woman would make a better mom. But in her innocent way, she had also told me something shocking: my husband had shown affection for another woman.

And this woman, in order to win my daughter over, had been doing everything she could to charm her. This Melissa Drake, the dance teacher at Bluebell Preschool, had been in Sophia’s class since she was little. I’d seen her once in a class photo and jokingly told Brian, “Look at this teacher. She’s so pretty and youthful, like one of the older kids.” Brian had laughed, “She’s thirty already! But I’ll admit, she’s kept in great shape. Used to be a yoga instructor. Her kid’s around three now, but you wouldn’t know it from looking at her.” I’d had a flash of surprise at how much Brian knew about her, but I shrugged it off. After all, he was the one who picked Sophia up from school. It made sense that he’d hear things. Looking back, it all seemed so obvious now. But growing up in a fractured home had made me cautious and insecure. Without concrete proof, I didn’t want to ruin the peace in our family. Maybe Sophia was just saying things out of anger. Maybe Mrs. Drake had a family of her own. She was, after all, a teacher. I tried to reassure myself, worried that my suspicions were just baseless paranoia. In a few days, there would be the School Talent Show, and Sophia was performing a dance number, led by none other than Mrs. Drake. I decided I would go see her myself, to find out what was really going on. By June, the heat in our small Southern town was already unbearable. I couldn’t bring myself to wear a dress, so I stuck to my usual button-down and cropped pants. My C-section scar and the stretch marks that snaked down my legs still made me incredibly self-conscious. When I arrived at Bluebell Preschool, I saw her immediately—the woman who was smiling so sweetly by the stage. Even without filters or makeup, she looked just as stunning as she had in the photos, embodying the “slim and youthful” beauty standards to perfection. I couldn’t help but be mesmerized by her for a moment. She was gorgeous. If only I hadn’t thrown myself back into work so soon after giving birth, maybe I wouldn’t be so different from her. Melissa Drake was wearing a white crop top and had her hair tied in cute little pigtails. Her slim, curvy figure was even more striking up close. She was crouched by the stage, gently encouraging the children. “All right, sweeties, have you memorized your steps for the performance?” “Yes—ma’am!” they shouted in unison. The most excited of all was my daughter Sophia. Her little pointed fairy ears were perched on her head, and glittering purple eyeshadow made her big eyes sparkle. I stood in the shade, watching her—the one thing in this world I loved more than anything. As for what had happened in the past few days, all I felt was guilt and shame. After a long night of thinking, I decided to adjust my work schedule. I would spend more time with Sophia. I needed to be part of her childhood, not some other woman. Then, Melissa Drake noticed me and walked over with a beaming smile. “Hello there! Are you here to see one of the kids? Why not take a seat in the audience?” Up close, her body looked even more striking, with her tiny waist and a sparkling belly button ring. I forced a smile. “Uh, I’m Sophia’s mom.” The look on her face froze for a split second, and I caught a glint of something sneaky in her eyes. “Her grandma?” she asked sweetly. I frowned. Sure, I hadn’t bounced back after having a baby, but I didn’t look that old. “…No, I’m her mom.” She put on a show of surprise, her voice still syrupy. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I just thought—since some of the other kids’ grandmas look so young too. I guess it’s because Sophia’s dad usually picks her up. I don’t see you very often.” Her comment, laced with passive-aggression, brought me back to reality. I knew why I was here now. Things were starting to make sense. No wonder Sophia liked her. This kind of woman, with her charm and sweet words, could easily win anyone over. Thinking back on what Sophia had said the other day, I couldn’t help but feel disheartened. I took pictures of Sophia’s performance, my camera focusing on her small, happy figure. But out of the corner of my eye, my gaze lingered on Melissa Drake’s smiling face. She was also thirty… but she looked so much better than I did. The way Sophia had gravitated toward her terrified me, and I felt the tears well up in my eyes. If my suspicions were true, my daughter would be so happy to have a beautiful, kind stepmom like her. And Brian would be even happier. So what was I? Just something to be discarded when I was no longer useful?

I spent the next several days in a daze. Something felt wrong, but I didn’t want to confront it directly. Even Brian started noticing my distance and asked, “Honey, what’s wrong? Did I do something to upset you?” I shook my head. He was perfect. Too perfect. There was nothing I could blame him for. But the calmer the surface of a lake, the more you suspect the currents hiding beneath it. Two weeks passed, and I tried to put everything out of my mind. My new project at work had me completely swamped, but I didn’t complain. After all, my boss promised that once I wrapped up this deal, I could finally take some time off. Time I could spend with Sophia. On Tuesday, a rainy day, just before I was about to finish work, I got a call from the preschool’s phone. On the other end, Sophia’s small voice sounded excited. “Mom, you don’t need to pick me up today. I’m going to Emma’s house for a birthday party. Her mom is coming to get us.” “Oh,” I replied, a little caught off guard. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier? I could’ve helped you pick out a birthday gift. It’s not polite to show up empty-handed.” Sophia’s voice grew proud, “Mrs. Drake already took me shopping. She helped me pick out a crystal music box. It cost over 800 dollars!” Eight hundred dollars? I was stunned. Why was a preschool teacher helping my daughter pick out such an expensive gift for a birthday party? Mrs. Drake again. Whenever Sophia talked about school, she could hardly stop talking about that woman. It was like she’d been bewitched. I had even asked some of the other kids at school, and they all enthusiastically told me that Sophia was Mrs. Drake’s favorite student. “She always praises her. If someone else messes up their dance steps, they have to stand in the corner, but not Sophia. Mrs. Drake is so gentle with her.” But I knew better. Sophia had no particular talent for dancing and was often lazy about practice. All these thoughts were making me uneasy. I softly reminded her to stay safe before she hurriedly hung up the phone. I sat there holding my phone for a long time, my mind racing. I turned to my coworker and asked, “Can you take over and finish this report? I need to leave early for something important.” She hesitated, “Lauren, you’ve been handling this overseas project. Even if I wanted to help, I wouldn’t be able to do it justice. I don’t want to mess things up.” My mind was a tangled mess, but I still didn’t want to neglect my work. I didn’t want to let my boss down. So I stayed until after 8 PM, working frantically to finish the project. Without even stopping for dinner, I rushed out to pick up Sophia. I pulled out her class contact sheet and found Emma’s address at Ridgewood Heights Estate, building 13. I drove straight there. Emma’s house was enormous. The doors were wide open for the birthday party, but strangely, no one was around. The housekeeper told me that Emma and the other kids had gone to Lakeview Park to watch the tide, but my heart skipped a beat. “What about Sophia?” I asked. “She’s the one with the red polka-dot dress and pigtails.” The housekeeper thought for a moment, “Oh yes, I saw her. Mrs. Drake brought her. They didn’t go to the park though—they’re still inside, talking in one of the rooms.” While everyone else was out having fun, Mrs. Drake had kept my daughter inside? What were they doing? A terrible feeling crept over me. Ignoring the housekeeper’s protests, I hurried inside, clutching my purse. I stopped outside the only room with voices coming from inside, furrowing my brow as I strained to hear what was happening.

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I was working at a bar when I saw my girlfriend dirty dancing with my trust fund roommate. In a fit of rage, I went home and inherited a billion-dollar fortune. Later, when my trust fund roommate publicly declared himself the young master of the Landson family, I almost laughed out loud. How come I’d never heard I had a brother? My dad transferred me $200, saying it was what was left after selling this year’s ducks and buying new ducklings. He told me to treat myself to a nice meal. Looking at my dad’s message, tears welled up in my eyes. I transferred the money right back. “Dad, keep the money to buy yourself some new clothes. I’m working three jobs now, I can totally support myself!” Putting away my phone, I wiped the plates with renewed vigor. At 8 PM, I quickly hopped on a shared bike to head to my next job. Though my family was poor, making a living by raising and selling ducks, I was lucky enough to have found a girlfriend who truly loved me. In just three days, it would be our one-year anniversary. I loved Tina with all my heart. When she wasn’t feeling well, I’d buy her lots of supplements. She loved looking pretty, so I’d work extra shifts to buy her new clothes and jewelry. At that moment, I was silently calculating that when this week’s paycheck came, I could buy Tina a necklace and treat her to a fancy dinner. Before I knew it, I had arrived at my last job of the day – Blue Ocean Bar. Manager Zhang cursed at me, “Lucas, why are you so late? Mr. Chad is here tonight, we’re swamped.” I quickly put on my uniform. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of Mr. Chad.” Chad was a well-known trust fund kid in the city and also my college roommate. He had always been a big shot on campus. Because I couldn’t be bothered to flatter him like the other roommates, drinking with him and playing games, Chad had never liked me much. Now he was drinking happily, and at his signal, one of his lackeys shouted, “Tonight’s drinks are on Mr. Chad!” The whole place erupted, the music growing even more upbeat. I carried a tray to Chad’s table, lowering my head to pour him a drink. Unexpectedly, another roommate Leo was there too. He used to always steal my stuff in the dorm, and after a big fight, we had completely fallen out. Seeing me, Leo finally found a chance to mock me. “Well if it isn’t our star student Lucas. You act so high and mighty at school, but here you are working as a bartender behind everyone’s backs?” Almost everyone at the table was in my class. Hearing this, they all looked at me in surprise. I kept my head down, silently doing my job. I was about to leave for the next table when I caught a glimpse of a familiar figure. Tina, who always claimed to be feeling unwell, was dancing provocatively in heavy makeup and hot pants, throwing herself into Chad’s arms. I stared in disbelief, the tray falling from my hands. To make sure I wasn’t seeing things, I grabbed the girl’s wrist and pulled her close. It really was Tina.

Tina was also startled to see me, frowning as she told me to let go. Without realizing it, my grip had tightened, turning her face pale. Chad kicked me to the ground and looked down at me with disdain. “Why are you hanging out with this trash?” Tina weakly leaned into Chad’s arms, tears falling. The scene made my blood boil. I punched Chad to the ground, pointing at his nose and cursing. “Have you no shame? This is my girlfriend!” Leo piped up, yelling, “Your family just raises ducks for a living. What made you think anyone would be interested in you? Chad could ruin you and your family with the snap of his fingers!” Manager Zhang had people throw me out of the bar, cursing me as a troublemaker. I wandered the streets in a daze. Memories of my time with Tina floated through my mind, bursting like bubbles at the slightest touch. Maybe Leo was right. How could anyone look at me twice? Just then, my phone rang. It was a message from my dad. “Son, come home for a bit. Dad has something important to tell you!” Since I didn’t need to buy Tina a necklace anymore, I splurged on a taxi home. When I got there, I saw my dad directing workers to move things. Remembering my dad’s serious tone on the phone, I had a bad feeling. “Dad, did something happen to our family?” My dad was too busy to answer me, so I kept pestering him. “Are we short on money and need to sell the house? How much do we need?” I started regretting taking a taxi home and planned to find two more jobs to help support the family. But my dad just laughed. “Son, you know about Landson Corp?” Of course I knew Landson Corp, a mega-rich company with over 10 skyscrapers. I could work my whole life and never come close to their level. “But what does Landson have to do with us? Aren’t we just duck farmers?” My dad smiled. “Duck farming is just one of our poverty alleviation industries. We have 30 other industries too!” My dad held up three fingers. I was still in shock. Just then, a well-dressed man came over and respectfully said to my dad, “Mr. Landson, we’re almost done moving everything.” My dad nodded slightly. “Be careful on the road. These are all the memories my son and I have from over the years.” I was so excited I could barely speak. “Dad, what did he just call you?” At that moment, my phone buzzed. I looked at the message: “Bank transfer received: $1,000,000.” My dad patted my shoulder. “Your dad is Mr. Landson. Son, all of this was a test for you. Now that I’ve seen you’re willing to work three jobs instead of asking your family for money, I know you’ve passed the test.”

The butler helped me move into a villa in the east side of town. It was decorated lavishly – I still wasn’t used to the change in status. “Young master, please let me know if you need anything.” I looked at the stern-faced man and tentatively asked, “Can you help me recover the chat history on my computer?” “Of course, young master.” Tina always deleted all traces after using my computer. Once when she logged into her SnapChat on my computer while I was looking something up, she got angry and told me not to touch it. I was certain she was hiding something from me on her SnapChat. The butler truly was capable of anything. He quickly recovered the chat history for me. Looking at the screen full of flirtatious messages between Tina and Chad, my hands trembled slightly. It turned out that while I was staying up late revising her papers, she was out on dates with Chad watching movies. When I was working three jobs a day to buy her a gift, she was doing unspeakable things in Chad’s car. When I was worried sick because I couldn’t reach her on the phone, she was drinking all night with Chad at bars. Even when Tina got angry saying I was disturbing her studying, she was asking Chad why he wasn’t coming to see her, if he had found a new girl. Tina wouldn’t even kiss me, saying she wanted to save it for our wedding day. But she was doing the complete opposite with Chad, their chats incredibly explicit. The bags I saved up to buy her, she used as trash bags for Chad to throw up in when he was drunk. Since she cherished them so little, we might as well settle the score. I gathered all the records of money I spent on Tina, transfers I made, gifts I bought over the years, along with these explicit chats, and made them into a PowerPoint presentation. I sent it to Tina and Chad’s shared thesis advisor. Professor Liu was known for being strict and upright. I didn’t need to do anything more.

The next day back at the dorm, Leo saw I hadn’t come back all night and started mocking me. “Weren’t you all tough yesterday, punching people? How come you didn’t even dare come back to the dorm last night?” I asked, “Where’s Chad?” Leo’s face twisted into a lewd grin. “Of course he’s spending the night with your precious Tina!” I kept my expression neutral. “Oh, I guess rats from the gutter and cheating dogs really are a perfect match. “And stop calling her ‘my Tina’. We’re not together anymore.” Just then, Chad stormed in looking furious. He grabbed my collar. “Did you do this?” I calmly gripped the hand holding my collar. A cracking sound came from his joints. I may not have had much, but working all those jobs had made me strong. Chad was no match for me. He let go in pain. I whispered in his ear, “If you don’t start showing me some respect, I don’t mind sending this PowerPoint to the whole internet.” Coming out of the dorm, the sun was shining and a gentle breeze lifted my mood. My phone rang. It was Tina, crying. “Lucas, why did you do this? Don’t you care about our relationship at all?” I scoffed. “If you had any conscience at all, you wouldn’t be able to say that.” “Can’t you help me explain to Professor Liu that it was just a joke? Otherwise I’ll really be in trouble! “Aren’t you afraid I’ll never forgive you, that you’ll never get me back?” I simply hung up. She was still trying to threaten me, really thought I was a good backup plan. I had been busy lately learning about the company’s business, running around all day. Tina and Chad couldn’t find me anywhere. Later I heard from classmates that they both lost their grad school offers. That PowerPoint was still in my hands. Chad didn’t dare retaliate against me, he could only grit his teeth and bear it.

We were now in our senior year. After losing their grad school offers, Chad and Tina were planning to start job hunting. I now had a basic understanding of Landson Corp’s operations. My dad wanted me to intern at Landson, but to observe me in the role of an intern. Landson had always promoted based on merit, so the intern identity was what I needed. Starting from the bottom and working my way up was undoubtedly the fastest way to gain experience. Before I left, my dad called out to me, “Oh right, there’s a scholarship student I’ve been supporting who’s also coming to intern at the company. I think he’s in your major at your school.” My dad scratched his head, thinking hard for a while. “I remember he was quite a humble kid. What was his name again? Oh right, Chad.” I couldn’t help but chuckle when I heard this. “I do know him, but he’s not very humble at all.” Chad had always bragged about being a trust fund kid and a prince of the city’s elite. After returning to Landson, I had learned about the famous families in A City, but I hadn’t come across any surnamed Chen. I had always been curious which family Chad was from, but before I could ask my butler to look into it, it turned out a surprise was waiting for me here. I just hadn’t expected Chad himself to be a scholarship student. Instead of cherishing this hard-earned opportunity, he used the money my dad gave him to party, looking down on poor students like me back then, never even glancing at us. Since he wanted to come to Landson, let him come. After all, my dad had supported him financially. I might as well evaluate the results for my dad personally. At a class meeting to discuss everyone’s job plans, Chad and Tina were cuddling in their seats, completely disregarding that they were on campus. Seeing me arrive, Leo the bootlicker spoke up first: “Lucas, after what you did to Chad, you have the nerve to show your face?” “Oh? How did I hurt him? Do tell.” Leo’s voice had been incredibly loud, quickly drawing the attention of our classmates. Chad’s face darkened as he scolded Leo to shut up. I asked Leo back, “If Chad is so great, he could go study abroad if he didn’t get into grad school, why isn’t he going?” Leo stammered, unable to answer. Chad lazily spoke up, “My dad is in a hurry for me to take over Landson, so I can only cut my playtime short by a couple years.” With those words, the whole class erupted in whispers. “I knew Chad was rich, but I didn’t realize he was this rich. That’s Landson Corp we’re talking about.” “I heard from my cousin’s sister’s friend that Mrs. Landson’s surname is Chen. His dad must really love his wife to let him take her surname.” “Wow, it’s like a novel come to life. I’m totally shipping this.” “Lucas is such a clown. He has the nerve to mock others when he doesn’t even know what he’ll do after graduation.” “Don’t worry about that. I heard his family raises ducks. He always smells like ducks, he can just go back and inherit his dad’s duck farm.” Chad had clearly heard these comments too. He pulled Tina closer, looking at me provocatively. Just yesterday I had my butler deliberately leak false information to Chad that Landson had no heir. Now he already dared to openly claim this title. He really wasn’t afraid of death. I tuned out the mocking voices and reported my intention to intern at Landson to the class president. I left under the scrutinizing gazes of my classmates.

On the first day of the internship, Chad still couldn’t change his bad habits. He arrived late with Tina in tow, both bowing and scraping as the manager berated them for a long time. After the manager left, Tina glared daggers at his back and asked Chad, “Why don’t you have any face at your own family’s company?” Chad explained, “You just don’t understand. My dad arranged for me to learn from the bottom up. If I don’t keep it secret from them, how can the work go on? “Look at you, the future Mrs. Landson without an ounce of grace.” Tina playfully hit his chest, calling him naughty. But her smile froze when she saw me. “Lucas, you really did get into Landson.” I ignored them, taking my coffee back to my desk to continue organizing documents. Chad quickly caught on, whispering to Tina, “This guy only knows how to study. Landson probably just barely hired him after seeing his resume. A bookworm like him won’t last long.” The reality was quite the opposite. This bookworm received plenty of praise from the manager for outstanding work. As for Chad and Tina, they still couldn’t get the hang of things after countless explanations, getting yelled at daily. After one such scolding, Tina angrily threw a project book onto my desk, still using her old commanding tone: “Lucas, do this for me.” I couldn’t be bothered to look up at her, I still had a lot of work to finish. Seeing no reaction from me, Tina snatched the pen from my hand and demanded, “Lucas, what do you mean by this? How can you just ignore me? You weren’t like this before.” “How else should I treat you? Who are you to me?” Tina bit her lip, tears welling up in her eyes. She clearly wasn’t planning to give up. I took the project book and flipped through it briefly, feigning confusion as I asked, “Isn’t this all basic stuff? Didn’t Chad teach you? He is the young master of the Landson family after all. Surely he wouldn’t let his girlfriend stoop to begging me, a nobody.” I said this while staring straight at Chad. As expected, he angrily pulled Tina away. I don’t know what they schemed together, but when they came back, Tina had regained her haughty attitude, even giving a cold snort as she passed by me. A few days later, rumors spread through my project department that Chad was the Landson heir. He must have been desperate, resorting to his old tricks in the company. These rumors were exaggerated beyond belief. Even the manager dared not yell at Chad much lately. Chad humbly stated to the department that he was here to learn, and asked everyone not to leak the news of him being the heir. People around him gradually began to flatter him. You could see they really wanted to build a connection. “Young Master Chen, when you inherit the group, don’t forget about us old colleagues.” Chad agreed to everything, then began to mock me indirectly. “But we should still rely on Lucas. He’s always been a top student at school, even I couldn’t get close to him. Someone like that is bound to rise quickly in the company. I just don’t know if he’ll still look at us by then.” Those people were all shrewd. They quickly understood Chad’s meaning and joined in ridiculing me for being arrogant. But while Chad was gaining a reputation by relying on a non-existent identity, I was memorizing the company’s current internal branches and business models one by one. On the day of the project presentation, Chad volunteered to go on stage first to show his PowerPoint. As soon as I saw that PowerPoint, I laughed. So this is what he was waiting for.

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My mom has always been a big spender, and over the years, our family hasn’t saved a penny because of her extravagance. Whenever my dad asks about the money, my mom always says she spent it on me. When my grandma needed money for medical treatment, my dad yelled at me for being a spendthrift. I promptly pulled out the receipts of my mom’s expenses over the years. Ha! Did they think I’d be their scapegoat forever? When I was little, my mom would take me to the park and only buy me a bottle of water. But when we got home, she’d tell my dad we spent over $30 on food and entertainment. She’d enroll me in the cheapest English tutoring classes, costing about $4 per session. But she’d tell my dad each class cost $40. She’d buy me clothes from street vendors selling knockoffs, but tell my dad each piece cost hundreds of dollars. She’d even claim I threw tantrums, refusing to leave the store unless she bought them for me. In high school, while other kids got $30 a week for allowance, I only got $3. In everyone’s eyes, I was the one spending money recklessly, never considering my parents’ feelings. All of my father’s hard-earned money was supposedly spent on me. I was labeled a “wastrel.” During the New Year’s pig slaughter at my cousin’s house in the countryside, my mom was chatting happily with a distant niece-in-law. “Auntie, how do you stay so young? Your skin is so fair and smooth, I can’t believe you’re in your forties!” The niece-in-law even touched my mom’s face with her finger. “Oh, it’s just my natural good skin,” my mom said, clearly pleased and unable to hide her happiness. But her smile seemed a bit stiff. She loved having strangers guess her age, compliment her youthfulness, and then proudly claim it was all natural. This might fool older people, but young people could easily spot the obvious signs of cosmetic procedures. “Auntie, your clothes must be expensive! They look high-end,” the niece-in-law said, feeling the fabric. “The material is so nice!” My mom casually took the niece-in-law’s hand and said, “Oh, these are just from street vendors, not worth much. Only about $10. I don’t have any expensive clothes.” “You know, Amy needs money for many things. I can’t be extravagant. I still need to save up for her dowry in the future.” Lies! Her clothes were never less than $150. I felt both hurt and disgusted. She had been manipulating me since I was little, easily controlling me. Many times, she would criticize me in front of others. I didn’t even dare to confront her, feeling like I was a burden who spent too much money. Hearing my dad’s sighs, I didn’t want to cause conflict between them. But the truth was, my mom spent money like water on high-end cosmetics, brand-name clothes, beauty salons, and outings with her girlfriends. “How much did this cost?” Every time I asked about the price of something she bought, my mom would scold me. “Have you earned a single cent? What right do you have to question me?” If I tried to tell the truth, she’d say, “I’ve raised you for nothing, you ungrateful brat! Do you want your dad to hit me? Do you want your dad to divorce me?” So, for the sake of family harmony, I never exposed her. I just quietly played the role of the scapegoat. Coming back to reality, I heard the niece-in-law continue, “Wow! That cheap? Where did you buy it?” The niece-in-law widened her eyes in disbelief and reached out to touch the clothes again. My mom smiled silently, trying to brush it off. “Auntie, if you like it, I’ll ask my mom to get you one too,” I chimed in. “Oh, that would be great!” The niece-in-law looked at my mom expectantly. My mom laughed awkwardly, wanting to refuse but unable to find a good reason. She could only say, “There was only one left when I bought it. I’ll see if they have any more. If they do, I’ll get you one.” My mom glared at me discreetly, annoyed at my presumption. Of course, there wouldn’t be any left to sell! She wouldn’t spend money on such expensive clothes for others. My mom chatted and laughed with the niece-in-law, but she kept glancing at my dad to gauge his reaction. On the way home, she scolded me, “In the future, when adults are talking, you children shouldn’t interrupt.” I did it on purpose. My mom always liked to use me as a shield. In the eyes of relatives and my dad, she always maintained an image of frugality. Relatives often looked at me with disdain and gossiped behind my back. Because my mom frequently cried poor in front of them, saying all the family’s money was spent on me. The 80-year-old lady downstairs would smile kindly at me, then turn and say to others, “That child really knows how to spend money! Doesn’t care about her parents at all.” From childhood to adulthood, I always had the worst food, clothes, and belongings, yet I still received so many dirty looks for no reason. After I started college, I overheard classmates mocking me behind my back. “Her? She’s fake and cares too much about appearances. Haven’t you noticed? All her clothes are knockoffs. It’s hilarious! If you can’t afford it, why bother wearing it?” A few days later, my mom brought home an Anly brand shirt. “I bought you a shirt. It’s very expensive,” my mom said with a smile, her eyes holding an indecipherable meaning. I don’t know why, but something felt off. My mom had never been this generous to me before. Although I had never worn such high-end clothes, I knew this shirt cost over $150. She often said to me, “Your time to wear nice clothes will come later. Unlike me, I’m already half in the grave. If I don’t wear them now, I’ll be too old.” Whenever my mom said this, I felt sad and couldn’t bring myself to say anything more. Coincidentally, one day on my way home, I ran into my Aunt Sarah. She was stunned when she saw me, examining the clothes I was wearing. “Where did you get these clothes?” Aunt Sarah’s eyes showed a hint of horror. “My mom just bought them for me,” I replied, sensing something was amiss. “What’s wrong, Aunt Sarah?” “Take them off quickly, don’t wear them. It’s bad luck!” Aunt Sarah reached out and took off the jacket, then threw it in the trash. At first, she was reluctant to tell me, afraid of causing trouble with my mom. But after I pestered her, she finally revealed the truth. She and my mom had gone to visit a distant relative who had just lost her daughter. The girl was about my age and had just started college when she was involved in a fatal traffic accident. The young life was cruelly taken away by fate. The girl’s newly bought clothes had never been worn. My mom had taken them, saying she would keep them as a memento. But then my mom turned around and gave them to me. For the past couple of days, I had been thinking I had misjudged her, that she was finally willing to spend money on me, that I had grown up and she knew to dress me up. From childhood, I had never worn clothes or shoes that fit properly. They were always two sizes too big. The colors were never bright, and I looked both ridiculous and pitiful wearing them. They would be worn out before they ever fit me properly. There’s an old photo at home from when I was about eight or nine years old. I’m wearing a huge shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The shoulders couldn’t support the shoulder pads, which sagged down on both sides of my arms. I looked comical standing next to my mom. While she only cared about her own elegance, I looked out of place and even unsightly next to her. I cried all the way home, my eyes red when I arrived. My dad was off work and at home. He and my mom were sitting on the couch, chatting and laughing. Seeing me come in, my mom smiled and said to my dad, “You know, I saw the neighbor’s kid working part-time at the supermarket yesterday! Earning his own allowance every month, unlike Amy who only knows how to ask for money…” Before my mom could finish, I exploded and shouted at her, “Yeah, I’m the only one who doesn’t know better, the only one who doesn’t understand, so you give me a dead person’s clothes to wear.” “Are you even my real mother? Why would you do this to me? I’ve had enough!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, completely unlike my usual quiet self. My dad was stunned to see me like this and quickly came over to comfort me. “What’s wrong, Amy? Let’s talk about this calmly. What happened?” My mom also said, “Child, if you have something to say, just say it. Why are you shouting? Have some respect!” I shook off my mom’s hand and sat down on the couch with my dad. I explained everything that had happened. “Your Aunt Sarah shouldn’t have told you everything. What are kids afraid of? The clothes were new,” my mom said dismissively. “You be quiet. Look how upset our daughter is,” my dad said, clearly not understanding her behavior either. “Fine, I’m the bad guy. I’m the worst person ever. Is that what you want to hear? It’s just a piece of clothing! What’s the big deal?” My mom rolled her eyes, not bothering to argue further. She seemed indifferent to my crying, thinking I was making a fuss over nothing. “You’re really heartless,” my dad said, angry now. He knew I was timid, and he couldn’t believe my mom would do something so incomprehensible. He quickly took out $150 from his pocket. I knew this was his entire month’s pocket money. “Here! Dad’s giving you $150. Buy whatever clothes you want,” my dad said, stuffing the money into my hand. Seeing my dad take my side, I felt somewhat comforted. My emotions still hadn’t fully subsided, and I shouted, “I don’t want it! I don’t want it! I’ll work part-time at the supermarket and earn my own money to buy clothes!” “What part-time job? You’re still young. Your job right now is to study well. Our family doesn’t need you to go out and earn money,” my dad said. “Why don’t you give me the money? I’ll buy clothes for her. Kids don’t know how to bargain. She might get ripped off,” my mom said, eyeing the money in my hand. “Go to the mall to buy. The prices are clearly marked there,” my dad glared at my mom, telling her to be quiet. “You’ve spoiled the child,” my mom rolled her eyes and stopped paying attention. She wanted to get the money from me, then buy me some $10 clothes from street vendors, probably with some big fake logo on them. I immediately stuffed the money into my pocket to prevent her from getting any ideas. Seeing that I was still crying, my dad had to beg my mom to apologize to me. “I’m sorry, okay? Is that good enough? Why are you making such a big deal out of this? I was only thinking of your best interests…” My mom’s tone was reluctant. This wasn’t an apology at all. She was clearly still mocking me, blaming me for not understanding. I turned and went into my bedroom, not wanting to hear her speak anymore. I avoided her for days, not even making eye contact. I was truly heartbroken. Uncle Jack needed $7,000 to buy a house and wanted my dad to help out. My dad came home and told my mom, but she refused to lend the money. She lied to my dad, saying that withdrawing the money from the fixed deposit would result in a loss of several thousand dollars in interest. The atmosphere at home was tense. I moved around quietly, trying not to attract my mom’s attention or talk to her. I had just gotten home when I heard my dad pleading, “It’s not like we won’t get it back, right? Can you give me that $4,000 I gave you a couple of weeks ago? Buying a house is a big deal for them, and I can’t refuse my brother when he’s asking for help.” “A couple of weeks ago? That was half a month ago. Amy has already used it all,” my mom replied impatiently.

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My husband was rushed to the emergency room in an ambulance in the middle of the night due to a penile fracture. When I asked him about it, he said he was imitating a male lead from a Korean drama out of curiosity, practicing some stretches, and accidentally got injured. I sneered. He had always only watched the news broadcast. Since when did he start watching Korean dramas? In late August, my husband Harry, who was on a business trip, was rushed to the emergency room by ambulance due to intense physical activity – a muscle strain in his inner thigh. I wasn’t home that night as I was visiting my parents, and our baby was at a mother-and-child care center. When I turned off the “Do Not Disturb” mode on my phone early the next morning, I saw over thirty missed calls from Harry and Dr. Kim. Dr. Kim, an old classmate of mine who happened to be on duty that night, told me: “Lily, what’s going on with your husband? At his age, he shouldn’t be having herniated discs, let alone exerting himself so much. In his condition…” I understood her unspoken implication. Anger immediately flared up inside me. I called Harry and demanded to know if he had been fooling around with other women. “Lily, what are you talking about? I’m in such a terrible state, and instead of showing concern for your husband, you’re accusing me…” He sounded quite upset, but it wasn’t enough to dispel my suspicions. “I was trying to get in shape for you. I suddenly remembered an exercise scene from that Korean drama and got carried away.” He even sounded a bit wronged. I could only wonder what kind of irresistibly charming woman could make a middle-aged man push himself to the point of muscle strain. Harry and I weren’t high school sweethearts who went from uniforms to wedding gowns. There wasn’t much excitement before or after our marriage; we fell into the pattern of an old married couple right after tying the knot. Back then, I was focused solely on my studies and missed out on many romantic opportunities. It wasn’t until I was older that I agreed to an arranged marriage under my parents’ urging, thinking the conditions were suitable. However, after giving birth, my entire mindset changed. Perhaps due to a lack of confidence in my postpartum body, I became increasingly concerned about his activities outside the home. To maintain my figure, I didn’t breastfeed. Not wanting the baby to drink formula, I hired a full-time wet nurse and nanny. “It hurts… Nurse, when is my wife coming?” A man’s groans could be heard from the hospital room as I pushed open the door. Harry was lying on the hospital bed, his face pale and his lips colorless. There was no air conditioning in the temporary ward, and a thin layer of cold sweat had formed on his forehead. He looked quite pitiful. However, thinking about the possibility that he had spent a passionate night with another woman, any sympathy I might have felt vanished. “Honey, I didn’t bring any money. Can you pay the hospital fees for me?” Harry asked pitifully. I glanced at him coldly without responding, lowered the curtain, and went to find the attending physician. Seeing me arrive, Dr. Kim mysteriously pulled me aside and told me that the muscle strain was just a cover story to avoid embarrassing my husband. I raised an eyebrow. “Is there something more serious?” “Acute penile fracture. It means… that part is broken. If he doesn’t take proper care and continues to be so sexually active, it might affect your plans for a second child,” she said with a troubled expression. A second child? I smiled mirthlessly. “Who’s having a second child with him? Let him have kids with a dog for all I care.” After hearing my response, Dr. Kim finally realized that Harry must have been fooling around, either with a prostitute or having an affair. A man who doesn’t respect himself is like rotten vegetables. Just then, Dr. Kim suddenly slapped her thigh in surprise: “Now that you mention it, I remember! That night, the ambulance actually brought in two people.” She secretly told me that the woman was likely brought in with Harry. Her symptom was a ruptured corpus luteum, also due to excessive physical activity. I clenched my fists, almost laughing through gritted teeth at the same time— His penile fracture, her ruptured corpus luteum. What a perfect match they made. “Where is she?” Dr. Kim nodded towards the next room. “She’s in that room. They came in together yesterday. Just by her appearance, you could tell she’s no good.” I slowly walked towards that hospital room, lifting the curtain with a nervous heart, only to suddenly discover— The bed behind the curtain was already empty. Just as I was puzzled, my phone rang. It was Rachel, the nanny, calling, accompanied by the sound of a baby crying. “Lily, I’ve picked up Joy from the care center, but she’s throwing up her milk again. What should I do?” I was in a foul mood and snapped at her impatiently: “Can’t you handle even this small task? Didn’t I tell you to learn the patting technique from that tutorial? What’s the point of paying you if you won’t learn anything?” She timidly replied, “I understand, Lily. I’ll pat the baby’s back some more.” Rachel wasn’t a professional childcare worker. Given our family’s financial situation, we shouldn’t have needed to hire such an inexperienced and uncertified nanny. The day we went to the agency, it was Harry who saw her standing there shyly all day, just hoping for a cleaning job. He felt sorry for her struggling alone in the big city and suggested we hire her. Rachel wasn’t particularly thin. Her slightly childish round face was quite pleasing to look at – the type that would be stunning with makeup but looked innocent and pure without it. She said she was nineteen, from a rural background, with a vocational school diploma in nursing. “Do you have any special skills?” I frowned, clearly reluctant. “I… I’m currently lactating. For one salary, I can do two jobs – wet nurse and nanny. I have a health certificate,” she said shyly, brushing aside the hair falling over her chest. Only then did I notice her slightly bulging top, which even had some damp patches. I couldn’t help but be surprised. She had a child at such a young age? Rachel explained in a low voice that she was young and naive when she got a job at an electronics factory and started dating a guy there. He got her pregnant and then ran off. After she gave birth, the man’s family took the baby away. Her own family refused to take her back, so she came to the city alone to find work. I felt a twinge of sympathy. It worked out well for me since I didn’t want to breastfeed. Getting a young, healthy wet nurse and nanny for the price of one seemed like a good deal. So I nodded and hired her, preparing a small bedroom for her to live in. Harry needed to stay in the hospital for another week. When I got home, Rachel, noticing I hadn’t eaten dinner, quickly went to make me some lotus root powder drink. “Where have you been? You look exhausted,” I couldn’t help but ask, noticing her usually neat hair was a bit messy. “Lily, where could I go? I’ve been at home taking care of the baby,” she replied with a surprised expression, her pale lips slightly chapped. “Drink more water. You spend a lot of time caring for the child, but don’t let your own health suffer,” I said, taking the lotus root powder drink she handed me. As I did, I inadvertently noticed some hickeys on her neck and questioned her: “I thought you weren’t dating anyone? What’s this about?” “It’s just a mosquito bite. I’ll go put some ointment on it,” she quickly covered her neck, her voice as soft as a mosquito’s hum. Since our first meeting, Rachel had always been timid and cautious, rarely speaking much and following rules strictly. She never ate the fruit left on the table by the owners and didn’t join us at the dining table, instead taking her portion to eat in her small room. For a moment, I suspected that Harry’s affair might be with her. The enemy within is hard to guard against, after all. But she was standing right in front of me. How could that be? Harry was in a hotel in the neighboring city when this happened, and that woman was diagnosed with a ruptured corpus luteum at the hospital today, which should be quite painful. But if she hurried from the hospital to home, it might be possible to make it without a gap in time. Was that why she seemed nervous and rushed to bring the baby home to feed, causing the baby to throw up from overfeeding? After giving birth, I became quite emotionally volatile, to the point where Harry often said I was paranoid. Thinking about all this, after enduring for a few days until Harry was discharged, I stubbornly confronted him. “Tell me the truth, were you really having an affair that day? Who were you with that night?” He looked bewildered and insisted that he really was imitating the male lead’s stretching and weightlifting exercises from a Korean drama. “Don’t you usually only watch sports and the news? You even said the Korean dramas I watch are soap operas and a waste of time.” Harry sighed, rubbed my head affectionately, and said: “Since you’re asking, I’ll be honest. I was trying to understand your interests. Ever since you finished your postpartum confinement, you’ve seemed distracted. I thought if I watched some of the shows you like, we might have more to talk about.” He showed me his video viewing history. “Isn’t Lee Min-ho your favorite? That’s whose drama I was watching.” I twitched the corner of my mouth, momentarily at a loss for words to refute him. Because everything sounded so normal and reasonable. “Then… the woman who was admitted to the hospital with you that day…” Harry interrupted me, “She was just picked up by the ambulance on the way. She had abdominal pain from sitting on the toilet too long and found out it was a ruptured corpus luteum. I don’t know her.” I stared at him blankly. Later, I asked Dr. Kim who that woman was, but she told me they weren’t in the same department and she didn’t have access to the patient’s information. The day Harry was discharged, Rachel prepared a big meal for us. After cooking, she obediently retreated to her room. I was about to start eating when Harry stopped her and actually invited her to sit down and join us. My face immediately turned cold, and I dropped my chopsticks onto my bowl with a clatter. She looked a bit awkward, glancing at me. “It’s okay, Harry. I’ll just eat the leftovers from lunch. There’s still plenty.” “When have I ever made you eat leftovers? Since Harry invited you, sit down and eat with us,” I said coldly. I barely ate a bite during that dinner. Before bed, Rachel brought us hot milk. Suddenly, on a whim, I wondered if she might treat us differently. I took Harry’s cup, intending to drink from it. But I unexpectedly smelled a strange milky odor, unlike regular milk. She clearly panicked a bit. “Lily, don’t you have germaphobia? That’s Harry’s cup…” “I know. We’re married, what’s wrong with me taking a sip from his cup?” I immediately retorted. She lowered her head and didn’t dare say anything more. I took a sip and only tasted a faint fishy flavor. It wasn’t sweet either. I said in surprise that the milk must have gone bad. Harry didn’t seem to notice anything unusual. “You’re making a fuss over nothing. It tastes normal to me. I’ve been drinking it for a long time.” Then, to my astonishment, he grabbed the cup of milk and drank it all in one go. I drank my cup half-believing, half-doubting, and it tasted like normal milk. “I’m sorry, Lily. Maybe that cup was from the carton that’s been open for a while. Your cup is from a newly opened carton,” Rachel explained in a soft voice. Back in the bedroom, our three-month-old daughter was sleeping soundly in her crib. Harry went to sleep later than me. As I was drifting off to sleep, I suddenly heard the heavy sound of a door being pushed open. Startled awake, I saw the intruder and angrily shouted, “What are you doing coming in here in the middle of the night? Don’t you know how to knock first?” She looked a bit surprised, a hint of grievance flashing across her features: “Lily, it’s time to feed the baby.” The baby in the crib started crying loudly, frightened by my outburst. Right, this was the routine nightly feeding, wasn’t it? I felt a bit disoriented and patted my head. To my surprise, the next moment, Rachel crouched down and directly lifted her shirt, preparing to breastfeed the child. Harry consciously turned away to scroll through his phone, not glancing in this direction at all. “There, there, baby. Don’t suck too hard,” she said softly, her voice as delicate as it could be. Coming to my senses, I urged her to go feed in the living room, not in the bedroom. She responded with a soft “Mm,” but because of her squatting position while holding the baby, she struggled to stand up. She tried for a while without success, beads of sweat forming on her forehead from the effort. Drawing on years of married life experience, I glanced over and sensitively noticed something off about my husband. “Honey, what’s wrong?” He casually let his phone drop to his lap as he stood up, his expression evasive as he coughed lightly and said: “I’m going out to watch some soccer. Messi should be playing soon.”

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My husband Lucas was wearing a diamond ring on his ring finger that matched mine. I was about to bring up divorce. “The supercar you bought will be delivered next month,” he said. I swallowed the word ‘divorce’. I’ll bring it up next month! For the sake of my sports car, I’ll endure! “I bought a bunny outfit. Come home early tonight, honey,” I said. Lucas kissed me on the lips and replied, “Sure, I’m looking forward to my little bunny.” Main Text: I saw Bella White’s Instagram post: “Finally back in the States. Everything feels so familiar.” The photo showed her in a coffee shop. But my attention was drawn to a hand visible in the bottom right corner. A slender hand with long, elegant fingers, wearing a ring on the fourth finger that matched mine exactly. The owner of that hand was none other than my husband. I couldn’t believe his first love had just returned, and he was already rushing to meet her. I got out of the jacuzzi and started my elaborate skincare routine. Thank goodness my husband had worked hard to earn money all these years, allowing me to live the pampered life of a trophy wife. Now that his first love was back, it looked like I’d have to step aside soon. Might as well enjoy the luxuries while I still could. I thought I’d be sleeping alone tonight, but to my surprise, a warm body slid into bed next to me later that night. … The next morning, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling, feeling utterly drained. Divorce! We must get divorced! Otherwise, I’d die young from exhaustion. I reached for my phone to check the time. 11 AM. As expected of Lucas. “You’re awake? Don’t just lie there, get up and eat!” Lucas called, opening the bedroom door to urge me out of bed. He was still wearing the black apron I’d bought him, looking every bit the domestic husband. Tsk, where was his usual CEO demeanor now? 2 “You have time today?” I asked, eyeing the elaborate spread of three dishes and soup on the table. A thought flashed through my mind – guilty conscience. Oh, had he actually done something with his first love and was trying to make it up to me with a nice meal? “I just finished a big project and thought I’d take a break,” he replied. Bullshit! It’s obviously because your first love is back. How could a workaholic like him suddenly want to take a break? Lucas placed a piece of fish on my plate. “Eat up, you need the nutrients. Thanks for your hard work.” You dog! I glared at him and buried my face in my bowl, not saying another word. After the meal, I lounged on the couch watching my guilty pleasure soap opera while he washed some fruit and placed it on the coffee table before sitting down next to me to check the stock market. The TV drama was unbearably cliché, so I took out my phone and started scrolling through Twitter. That’s when I saw the trending topic. #BellaWhiteReturns# I suddenly remembered that Bella White used to be a famous “bare-faced beauty” actress in the entertainment industry before she quietly went abroad to study. Her fans had been devastated at the time. Sure enough, the comments under the hashtag were full of fans gushing: “Welcome home, sister!” “Is sis making a comeback? Can’t wait!” “Finally we’ll get to see sis more often!” I suddenly became curious about my husband’s reaction, so I turned to look at him. “Did you know Bella White is back in the country?” “Oh, so what?” Lucas replied nonchalantly. I snorted. This dog was putting on quite an act. If I hadn’t seen that Instagram post, I might have actually been fooled! That evening, the phone suddenly rang. I picked up and was surprised to hear Lucas’s friend, nicknamed “Big Head”. “Hey sis-in-law, why don’t you and Lucas come out and play? My bar is having its grand opening, I’m begging you guys to come support me.” I looked over at my husband, who was reading a book, and asked, “Why don’t you call him directly?” “You’ve trained Lucas well, sis! He says he’s a married man now, so he has to report to you for evening outings. And for places like bars, if you don’t agree, he won’t come.” I was speechless. The way he put it, I sounded like some kind of controlling tiger wife! In reality, I’d never restricted Lucas at all. Before we got to the bar, I thought we were just going to make an appearance. But when we arrived, I froze. Bella White was there too. “Sis-in-law, Lucas, over here,” Big Head led us to our seats. Noticing me staring at Bella, he quickly introduced her. “That’s Max Shaw’s guest. I heard she used to be a minor celebrity.” Big Head and Lucas had been friends for many years. How could he not know about Lucas and Bella’s history? Or was he just avoiding mentioning it in front of me? “Long time no see, Ava,” Max Shaw called out to me from where he was lounging on the sofa. I smiled and nodded in response. His family and mine had some business dealings, so we were acquainted. Lucas put his arm around me and led me straight to the opposite corner, as far from them as possible. I could tell he was clearly annoyed. Hmm? Had he and Bella gotten into a fight? Indeed, I caught him glancing over at Bella several times. He had a stern expression and barely responded when others greeted him. What, was he that upset seeing his first love sitting with someone else? Tsk, what a dog. To be honest, I wasn’t feeling great either. Lucas and I came from family friends and had grown up together as childhood sweethearts. Later, I went abroad for college. When I came back, I heard Lucas had found his ideal lover. I guess childhood sweethearts still couldn’t compare to fated lovers who fell from the sky? After that, Bella inexplicably went abroad, and Lucas turned around and proposed to me. At the time, my family was facing a business crisis and urgently needed financing, so I agreed to marry him. After marriage, Lucas was quite indulgent towards me, always letting me buy whatever I wanted. Even my mom said I was lucky to have married well, that no one else could afford to keep me. But looking at the man beside me now, I started to doubt if I had really married the right person. I picked up a glass of wine from the table and downed it in one go. The burning sensation stimulated my brain, making me even more clearheaded. This marriage had to end! “Why are you drinking so much? Are you in a bad mood?” Lucas snatched the wine glass away from me. “None of your business!” I snapped. Unexpectedly, the alcohol hit me hard and fast. Soon I was feeling woozy, leaning against Lucas with my hands wandering under his shirt. He grabbed my hands firmly. I could hear the huskiness in his voice as he asked, “What are you trying to do?” “I just want to touch you!” I whined. You think you can act all proper in front of your first love? Dream on! “Then let’s go home,” Lucas said without hesitation. He stood up, pulling me along and bundling me into the car. “Behave yourself. We’ll settle this when we get home,” he warned. “No, I won’t!” I kicked off my heels and slouched in the passenger seat, acting like a brat. “Listen here, don’t you dare touch me, or else today I’ll…” Before I could finish, his scorching lips were on mine, pressing me firmly against the seat. Just then, I saw Bella and Max walk past our car and get into the same vehicle. Alright, I get it now. Lucas was jealous and using me to get Bella’s attention. On the way home, I got increasingly angry as I thought about it. Finally, I couldn’t hold back anymore. “Lucas Quinn, let’s get divorced.” “You’re drunk,” he replied bluntly. “I’m not.” The cool night air had sobered me up. I was completely rational now, and could even feel the car accelerating. We finally got home. As soon as I stepped into the bathroom, Lucas was on me, kissing me feverishly. I found myself getting lost in his kisses too. Our breathing grew heavier. Lucas nipped at my lips, his words muffled. “Stay away from Max Shaw from now on.” Max Shaw? What does he have to do with anything? 4 The next morning when I woke up, Lucas had already left for work. I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. Another day of failing to get up early. My best friend happened to call just then. “LV just got a new shipment in. Let’s go check it out!” “No thanks, I haven’t even gotten up yet,” I groaned. My friend’s tone turned suggestive. “Ava’s living the good life, huh?” “Shut up! I have important business today. Let’s meet up another time.” I was determined to talk to Lucas about divorce today, no matter what! After eating, I drove to his company. Lucas’s business had grown tremendously over the years. I hadn’t set foot in the company for a long time, but thankfully the receptionist still recognized me. However, she didn’t know Bella White. “I’m sorry miss, but you need an appointment to see Mr. Quinn. If you can’t make an appointment, I’m afraid you won’t be able to see him,” the receptionist explained to a frustrated-looking Bella. Seeing Bella at a loss, I was secretly delighted. I sauntered over, putting on an act. “Is Mr. Quinn in the office, Sarah?” I asked casually. The receptionist immediately bowed deeply. “Yes, ma’am. The CEO said you can go up anytime you want to see him. Let me call the elevator for you.” I shot Bella a smug look, about to leave when she suddenly called out, “Can we talk?” I gestured to the sofas by the window in the lobby. “Let’s chat there for a bit. I’m in a hurry.” Bella clenched her fists. As soon as I sat down, she blurted out, “Divorce Lucas. He loves me.” “So what? I’m Mrs. Quinn now,” I said, leaning back on the sofa and casually showing off my S-curve figure. “I’m the one who can go straight up to the top floor without an appointment. You should keep trying to make that appointment.” “Why are you clinging to Lucas?!” Bella exclaimed, veins popping on her forehead like she wanted to hit me. “There are security guards everywhere, so you’d better not try anything physical. But if you want me to divorce Lucas, that can be arranged.” Bella’s eyes flickered. “What do you want?” “Flat rate – $2 million and I’ll divorce him immediately.” Bella looked at me in disbelief. I continued, “I know it’s not easy making it in showbiz. How about this – $5 million and I’ll tell everyone Lucas and I separated amicably. For $7 million, I’ll announce that we’ve been unhappily married and divorced a while ago.” “Take your pick,” I said with a smile. “You’re shameless!” Bella cursed. “Is money all you care about? You don’t appreciate how great Lucas is.” What kind of logic was that? “You’d better decide quickly, or the price will go up. As soon as the money hits my account, I’ll talk to Lucas about dividing our assets.” “You want to take Lucas’s money even in divorce?!” What else did she expect? 5 Now it was my turn to be shocked. “Did you get stupider studying abroad? Why wouldn’t I get half? Your $7 million is buying the end of our marriage and my promise not to badmouth you publicly. But the money Lucas earned during our marriage – you think I wouldn’t get half of that?” “Why should you?!” Bella was fuming. I laughed out loud. “It’s called marital property, honey.” “But you…” Bella thought for a long time before continuing, “But what have you done for Lucas? He’s the one making all the money while you just spend it.” “I have every right to spend my husband’s money!” I stood up and lowered my voice. “Who says I haven’t helped him? I’ve been taking care of his physical needs. What, you think I’ve been sleeping with him for free these past two years?” My waist was about to break from all the action. It would be a huge loss not to get my fair share! Bella was still in shock, unable to respond. I couldn’t be bothered to argue further and headed straight for the elevator to the top floor. When I walked into the office, Lucas was standing by the floor-to-ceiling windows, seemingly on a call with someone. His back was turned to me, cutting an imposing figure with broad shoulders and a narrow waist. To be honest, he was the perfect man – handsome, wealthy, good cook, and amazing in bed. Though he could be a bit too energetic at night, it was still bearable. Too bad a man like this didn’t have his heart set on me. “Why are you here?” Lucas hung up the phone and sat back down. I cleared my throat. “Um, I think we should get div-” “Oh right, I have something to tell you,” Lucas interrupted. “Remember that supercar you wanted? It’s arriving next month.” The supercar? “You mean the pink one I saw at Venus? The one with only 3 in the world?” Lucas nodded with a smile. My eyes suddenly lit up. That was a car money couldn’t even buy. Lucas’s smile deepened. “What were you about to say just now?” An internal struggle began in my mind. If I left Lucas, I definitely wouldn’t get the car. It might even end up going to Bella instead. I couldn’t take that loss. Maybe… I could wait a bit longer to bring up divorce? At least until after I got the car! I smiled and walked around the desk to hug him coyly. “Nothing, I just missed you and wanted to see you. About the car…” Lucas’s smile grew wider as he pulled me onto his lap. One hand gently massaged my waist. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure my wife gets it. But don’t I deserve a reward?” After two years of marriage, how could I not understand the implication? For the sake of my supercar, I’ll do whatever it takes! “I bought a bunny outfit. Come home early tonight, honey,” I purred. Lucas nodded and kissed me on the lips. “Sure, I’m looking forward to my little bunny.” 6 How utterly ridiculous! Two days later, I finally recovered my spirits. After repeated pestering from my best friend, I agreed to go shopping.

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