Category: English

1 I am an invisible woman. As long as there is a man in my vicinity, I physically cease to exist. When I went to buy a car, I stood there tightly gripping a black card loaded with eighty thousand dollars. Yet, the salesman looked right past my shoulder, bowing and scraping toward my boyfriend—a man with zero savings and not even a driver’s license. “Sir, this vehicle perfectly matches a successful gentleman like yourself.” I screamed myself hoarse right next to them. “It is my card! I am buying the car!” It was completely useless. The air was filled with nothing but the sound of their mutual masculine appreciation and laughter. During our quarterly company review, the five million dollar contract I personally closed was somehow entirely credited to the male intern who couldn’t even read the financial metrics correctly. The CEO, Mr. Brooks, loudly praised the intern for his “masculine ambition,” then turned around and openly mocked the female employees for being “short sighted and emotional.” I stood directly in front of the projection screen, screaming out corrections to the data, but their line of sight effortlessly phased right through me as they continued to stroke each other’s egos. “Since you all choose to be selectively blind, I might as well commit to being invisible.” “Oh wow, Mr. Lee, this Mercedes G-Wagon is absolutely tailor made for a tough guy like you. Look at these lines! This is what you call a man’s romance!” The salesman reached right over my shoulder and firmly grasped my boyfriend’s hand. Jason puffed out his chest, sliding one hand casually into his pocket while the other traced the leather steering wheel. “It is definitely nice, but the price tag…” He paused, pretending to be deep in thought, though his eyes darted guiltily toward me. I slammed my black card down onto the hood of the car. “Swipe it. Paid in full.” The salesman didn’t even flinch. He kept his beaming, sycophantic smile entirely focused on Jason. “Mr. Lee, you are such a decisive man! I knew a successful guy like you wouldn’t bother with financing and interest rates.” Jason coughed awkwardly, accepting the expensive cigarette the salesman handed him and expertly tucking it behind his ear. “Exactly. When a real man wants something, he gets it done quick. Go ahead and swipe.” He waved his hand vaguely at the air, completely ignoring the fact that the money was coming out of my account. The salesman pulled out the POS terminal, and without granting me a single glance, shoved the keypad directly into Jason’s face. “Right here, Mr. Lee. Just type in your PIN.” Jason’s eyes began frantically signaling me to hand over the card. I stood firmly in place, waving the black plastic right in front of the salesman’s face. “The card is right here. The PIN is my birthday.” The salesman remained utterly deaf and blind. He kept holding the terminal out to Jason. Jason snatched the card out of my hand and tapped it against the machine. “Alright, alright, do I really need to spell it out for you? You have zero situational awareness,” he hissed at me under his breath. Then he turned to the salesman, “My woman doesn’t know how to act in public. Sorry you had to see that.” The salesman gave him a knowing nod and slapped the freshly printed purchase agreement on the desk. “Mr. Lee, please sign right here. I already typed your name into the system so you wouldn’t have to tire your hand out.” I leaned over to look. The registered owner field proudly displayed Jason’s name in bold black ink. I reached out to snatch the pen. “I paid for it! The title goes in my name!” The salesman’s elbow “accidentally” jerked out, knocking me off balance. The expensive pen fell smoothly into Jason’s waiting hand. “Mr. Lee, your girlfriend is quite the prankster, joking around at a time like this. Let’s wrap this up, there are other clients waiting.” Jason gripped the pen and dramatically signed his name across the document. In that exact second, he acted as if he had actually earned eighty thousand dollars. “Sylvia, stop throwing a tantrum. What does it matter whose name is on it? We are getting married soon anyway, it will be joint property.” I stood dead center in the middle of a bustling luxury car showroom, and not a single soul looked at me twice. That afternoon, I returned to the office and pushed open the heavy glass doors of the conference room. Mr. Brooks was standing at the head of the long oak table, his face flushed, raising a glass of champagne. “Securing this five million dollar contract is all thanks to our boy Mark! Look at this ambition! This is the wolf blood we need in the sales department!” Mark, the male intern, was surrounded by a mob of backslapping executives. “Oh, it was nothing. It is all thanks to your mentorship, Mr. Brooks. I just worked a little bit of overtime, that’s all.” 2 Displayed on the massive projector screen was the pitch deck I had spent three sleepless nights designing. Mark was even holding the laser pointer backward, a red dot bouncing erratically around the ceiling, and absolutely no one cared. I shoved my way through the crowd of men and pointed directly at the data on the screen. “The conversion rate on this slide is miscalculated. The decimal point is in the wrong place. That will cause a ten times undervaluation in the final quote.” I didn’t speak softly, but my voice was completely drowned out by the booming laughter of my male colleagues. Mr. Brooks narrowed his eyes, his gaze phasing right through my physical body to stare at the blank white wall behind me. “Is this projector slightly out of focus? Mark, go adjust it. Is the lens dirty?” I was standing directly in the projector’s beam. The bright light was shining directly onto my face. Mark walked over and waved a hand vaguely in front of me. “Mr. Brooks, it is probably just some dust. I’ll wipe it down.” He took a microfiber cloth, polished the glass lens, and aggressively shoved me aside. Mr. Brooks nodded in deep satisfaction, then turned his attention to the cluster of female employees huddled in the corner. “You ladies should be taking notes from Mark! Stop spending your days ordering lattes and gossiping! Look at his execution!” “I always said hiring women is a headache. Long hair, short sight. You lack the natural capacity for logical thinking.” “When the pressure is on, all you do is cry or complain about wanting to go home to your kids. Where is that big picture, aggressive mindset that men have?” “The company only keeps you around out of charity. Don’t think putting on lipstick is going to drive our revenue up!” The female coworkers kept their heads bowed, silent, gripping their unfinished reports tightly in their hands. Suddenly, a message pinged from the client’s legal department. Mr. Brooks looked at his phone. The color instantly drained from his face. “Who is responsible for the penalty clauses?! Why is there an extra zero in the breach of contract percentage?!” That was the exact section Mark had secretly altered right before the meeting. He had claimed it would make us “look more committed.” The conference room plunged into a dead silence. And suddenly, every single pair of eyes snapped onto me. When it was time to take credit, I was invisible air. When it was time to take the blame, I suddenly became a highly visible, physical target. Mr. Brooks slammed his phone onto the table and pointed a furious finger right at my nose. “Sylvia! What the hell is wrong with you?! How could you let a catastrophic error like this slip through?! Are you trying to bankrupt this company?!” In that precise moment, I materialized. When there were medals to be handed out, I was a ghost. When the ship was sinking, I was the anchor they tied around their necks. Mark shrank back into the crowd, whispering loudly. “Sylvia wouldn’t even let me touch the core clauses. She said she was the senior employee…” Mr. Brooks erupted, spit flying across the table. “Your entire bonus for the year is gone! If the client sues, you pack your things and get out!” I looked at Mr. Brooks’s face, twisted with irrational rage, and suddenly felt zero desire to explain myself. If they were completely blind to my achievements but possessed 20/20 vision for my supposed failures, then I might as well vanish completely. I pulled the corner of my mouth into a cold smile. I didn’t yell. “Okay, Mr. Brooks. Since I hold total liability, I suppose I shouldn’t send the automated security patch for the contract either.” Mr. Brooks was too lost in his own power trip to hear the underlying threat. “You are damn right! Go fix it right now! Nobody goes home until it is corrected!” “And stop trying to figure out how to scam the company out of maternity leave the second you hit thirty.” “This company isn’t a charity. We can’t afford to carry dead weight who just want to stay home and hold babies.” “When it comes to charging the front lines of business, it requires men. You ladies are only fit for doing spreadsheets and fetching coffee in the rear.” “If I actually handed a multi million dollar deal over to you, your weak mental fortitude would shatter.” I turned on my heel and walked out of the conference room. The exact second the heavy door clicked shut, I tossed the flash drive containing the contract patch straight into the trash can. 3 I pushed open the door to my apartment. The air was so thick with cigarette smoke I immediately started coughing. My younger brother, Toby, was sprawled across my imported Italian leather sofa, his bare feet propped up on the glass coffee table, aggressively tapping on his phone. “Sis, you’re back? I am starving. Where is the food?” He didn’t even look up from his mobile game. My mother poked her head out from the kitchen. “Sylvia, hurry up and cut some fruit for your brother!” “He is playing video games, that is high level mental work! It is not like you sitting in an air conditioned office doing nothing! Hurry up and serve the hero of our family!” I set my purse down and slapped a printed invoice onto the dining table. It was for a three thousand dollar massage chair. “Dad, did the massage chair get delivered? It was three grand. Did you try it out?” My father sat at the table, squinting through a cloud of cigarette smoke. He didn’t even glance at the invoice. Toby blindly reached into his pocket, pulled out a crushed pack of cheap, three dollar cigarettes, and tossed them to my father. “Here, Dad. Smoke these. They hit harder.” My father caught the cheap pack, his eyes instantly welling up with emotion. “Now this is a filial son. Always thinking of his old man. He really cares about me!” My three thousand dollar massage chair was completely eclipsed by a crumpled box of cheap tobacco. At the dinner table, the spread was overflowing with expensive seafood I had just bought on the way home. My mother cracked open the largest crab, meticulously picking out all the rich crab roe and dumping it into Toby’s bowl. She handed the massive crab claws to Jason. “Men who fight for a living out in the world burn a lot of brain cells! They are the pillars of the family!” “These high protein luxury meats can only be converted into real money making energy if they go into a man’s stomach!” I reached out my chopsticks to grab a single shrimp. My mother aggressively swatted my hand away. “Have you no shame? Look at your waistline, and you still want to eat seafood?” “A girl eating luxury food like this is a pure waste of resources! You are just going to get fat and your future in laws will despise you!” “You just stick to the boiled vegetables to clean out your system. Don’t you dare compete for food with the men holding this family up!” I stared at her, my voice turning icy. “I am out there fighting too. I bought every single piece of seafood on this table. My salary is triple Jason’s.” My father frowned heavily. “What does it matter if a girl makes a high salary? You are going to get married eventually. That money belongs to your husband’s family. You can’t keep it.” Jason’s mouth was stuffed full of crab meat. He mumbled unintelligibly as he slammed his new car keys onto the table. “Mr. Shen, you should have seen it! I picked up a G-Wagon today. Eighty grand. Driving it back here, the amount of people staring at me was insane!” My father’s eyes instantly lit up. He picked up the heavy car key, rubbing it like it was a holy relic. “Eighty thousand?! Wow, Jason, you are incredible! I always said Sylvia was blessed to land a man like you!” Toby finally put his phone down, looking at Jason with pure hero worship. “Jason, you are the man! Let me borrow it tomorrow. I am picking up my girl, and that car will give me so much respect!” Jason raised a smug eyebrow. “No problem at all! We are basically family, right? Drive it whenever you want!” I slowly put my chopsticks down, locking eyes with Jason. “The money came out of my account. The title is in your name, but the financial footprint is entirely mine.” The entire family suddenly went collectively deaf. My father waved his hand impatiently. “A woman’s money is meant to pave the way for her man! If a respectable guy like Jason doesn’t drive it, your money was completely wasted!” My mother filled Jason’s shot glass to the brim, her voice dripping with fawning praise. “Exactly! Jason, don’t lower yourself to argue with her. Come on, let me toast you! A car like that is only intimidating when a real man is behind the wheel. What do women know about cars? They belong in the passenger seat!” A memory from elementary school suddenly flashed in my mind. I had run home clutching a perfect score math exam. I found my grandfather handing a thick red envelope of cash to my cousin, who had barely passed with a D. “A grandson is still a man with the family seed even if he scores a zero! He is the sky above the Shen family!” “A girl is just a money losing investment being raised for another family! The more books she reads, the wilder her heart gets, and the harder it will be for her to serve her future in laws!” So, I had been an invisible person since childhood. Standing in the corner, watching them celebrate a mediocre man. Now, I was twenty eight years old. I made a hundred thousand a year. And I was still completely invisible. I went to the kitchen to wash the dishes. The running water couldn’t drown out the vicious calculations happening in the living room. “A dowry? We would have to beg someone to take her! Sylvia is almost thirty, she is expired goods. Even if she makes good money, she is the end of the bloodline. Jason taking her off our hands is practically charity work!” Jason ate up the praise like a starved dog. “It really is just me being a good guy. Any other man seeing her acting this arrogant just because she makes a few bucks would have slapped her across the face to teach her some rules!” Toby, chewing loudly on the expensive cherries I bought, chimed in with a mouth full of juice. “Dad, shouldn’t Sylvia’s apartment be transferred to my name so I can use it as my starter home when I get married? She is going to live in Jason’s big house anyway. Keeping this place empty is a waste.” My father agreed as if stating a law of physics. “Women have no right to own real estate. That property is the foundation of the Shen family. It was always meant to be yours.” They casually debated stripping me of my home, exactly the way one discusses throwing away unclaimed garbage. No one even bothered to ask the actual homeowner if she agreed. My hand jerked violently. A porcelain plate shattered on the tile floor. My mother instantly rushed in, pointing a furious finger at my face. “You stupid girl! You are so clumsy you can’t even wash a plate?! Don’t scare your brother! That plate cost ten dollars!” She squatted down to pick up the shards. She didn’t look at my face. She didn’t ask why I dropped it. “Sweep this up right now! If a piece of glass cuts your brother’s precious feet, selling your organs wouldn’t cover the damage!” I stared at this nest of leeches, staring at the shattered ceramic on the floor. I was genuinely perplexed. Why is it that even other women become completely blind to the sacrifices of a woman? 4 Bright and early the next morning, Jason aggressively yanked me out of bed. “Hurry up, hurry up! My college reunion is today. I need to drive the new car there to flex on everyone.” We walked into the private dining room. The air was choked with cigar smoke, the booming voices of men echoing off the walls. They were all red faced, loosening their silk ties, loudly bragging about their entrepreneurial empires. “I’m telling you, during the launch of my last startup, I didn’t sleep for three straight days! I survived purely on cases of Red Bull!” In reality, everyone in the room knew his “startup” only survived because his wife sold her heirloom jewelry to cover his massive debts. The moment Jason walked in, he was dragged to the head of the table. The men practically fought each other to pour him drinks. “Jason is the king now! He rolled up in a G-Wagon, I saw it with my own eyes!” Jason waved his hands, feigning deep humility. “Oh, it’s nothing, guys. My latest AI neural network project is just doing pretty well, making a bit of pocket change.” I sat in the darkest corner of the room, sneering. I wrote every single line of code for that project. He didn’t even know how to spell Python. A former classmate who actually worked in tech leaned in and asked a detailed question. “Jason, what algorithmic architecture are you guys deploying on the backend?” Jason froze. He stammered and choked on his words for a solid minute, unable to produce a coherent sentence. I couldn’t handle the secondhand embarrassment anymore, so I spoke up. “To resolve the latency issues with long form text processing…” Before I could even finish the sentence, the tech guy aggressively cut me off. “Hey, don’t interrupt if you don’t understand the industry. Let Jason speak. Women shouldn’t meddle in highly technical conversations.” Jason immediately seized the lifeline and raised his scotch glass. “Exactly, exactly! It is highly proprietary and way too complex to explain over dinner. Let’s just drink!” The men started ruthlessly pressuring Jason to take shots. Terrified of losing face, he chugged everything handed to him. After a few rounds, his face was beet red, his neck veins popping, his speech heavily slurred. “Jason is a tank! Pour him another!” Jason weakly pointed a trembling finger at me. “I’m done… make her drink for me! She just does useless backend admin work anyway. She has nothing important to do tomorrow, not like me! I make thousands of dollars every minute!” The male classmates immediately started jeering. “Come on, be a good sport! Jason’s business is on the line!” I stared coldly at the shot glass overflowing with cheap liquor. I didn’t move a muscle. Feeling humiliated, Jason’s face darkened. “Can you act like you have some class for once? Stop embarrassing me in front of my brothers!” I still didn’t move, effectively acting exactly like the ghost they treated me as. Cursing under his breath, Jason downed the shot himself. He eventually drank himself into a coma, passing out face down in a plate of leftover ribs. When it was time to settle the bill, the waitress walked into the room holding the leather checkbook. Suddenly, every man at the table was either pretending to be asleep, intensely staring at their phones, or urgently needing to use the restroom. The waitress scanned the room, then walked directly over to me, holding the bill right in my face. “Miss, the total is twelve thousand dollars. How would you like to pay?” When it came time to cough up money, the woman in the room magically became visible. I didn’t take the checkbook. I pointed at the drooling mess that was Jason. “He is the big CEO who drives the G-Wagon. Ask him.” The waitress looked highly uncomfortable. “But miss, this gentleman is completely unconscious…” “Then you wait for him to wake up, or you call the cops.” I grabbed my purse, stood up, and walked straight out the door. Behind me, I heard the waitress aggressively shaking Jason awake, followed by the highly awkward, nervous coughing of his “brothers.” The second I stepped out of the hotel lobby, my phone started vibrating like a jackhammer. The company group chat had exploded. Because I never sent the automated security patch, the client’s legal team discovered the massive vulnerability in the contract and instantly issued a cease and desist order. Mr. Brooks was repeatedly tagging my name, sending sixty second voice memos one after the other. I tapped on one. It was pure, unadulterated screaming. “Where the hell are you?! Why aren’t you answering your messages?! Are you trying to destroy my company?!” Mark, the intern, posted a highly pathetic, crying emoji sticker in the chat. “Sylvia hasn’t replied to any of my DMs. Did I offend her somehow? I really don’t know how to code this patch…” Mr. Brooks fired off eighteen consecutive messages, cursing my mother, my ancestors, and my gender. “She is doing this on purpose! This is why women have zero professional responsibility! The company wasted money hiring you! You are paying the entire penalty fee out of pocket! Two million dollars, not a penny less!” There were dozens of executives in that group chat. Not a single one asked why Mark, the supposed project lead, didn’t bother to check the contract before approving it. Not a single one asked why a low level female employee was the only person in the entire building capable of writing the core security patch. I closed the chat app and didn’t reply. I dragged Jason’s unconscious, vomit covered body into the passenger seat of the G-Wagon. A wave of acidic stench hit my face. Barely two miles down the road, Jason violently threw up again, ruining the leather interior. He mumbled incoherently, his hands grasping wildly at the air. “Sylvia… I’m a real man… I deserve a luxury car…” I slammed on the brakes. The massive SUV violently jerked to a halt on the shoulder of the highway. I stared into the rearview mirror at the pathetic, filthy excuse for a man in the passenger seat. I looked down at my phone screen, where the abusive messages were still pouring in. I suddenly realized that if I didn’t physically manifest their twisted logic into reality, I would be doing a massive disservice to my own invisibility cloak.

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1 At the concert, Miles suddenly signaled the band to stop. The music cut out, and he began to tell a story: a heartwarming tale of a young couple who had been together for seven years, starting from scratch in the city and building their dreams together. “They went from being wide-eyed graduates to finding their own success, always supporting each other along the way.” “And tonight, this brave girl has asked me to help her pull off the ultimate surprise.” The crowd went wild. Cheers, screams, and whistles rattled the rafters of the arena. I stood backstage, clutching the velvet ring box, a nervous but happy smile on my lips. Miles pointed to Section 3, Row A. He spoke into the mic, his voice booming over the sound system, “Are you ready to be the happiest man in this arena and say yes?” “Preston?” The spotlight swept over the crowd, landing on him. Suddenly, a bizarre, suffocating silence fell over the venue. Preston’s tense face appeared on the giant screens. And right next to him, clinging tightly to his arm, was a bewildered, beautiful young woman. I sat backstage for a long time, staring at my silent phone. Preston never called. Instead, Miles walked into the dressing room, still radiating the heat and adrenaline of the stage. He handed me a cold drink, his eyes filled with quiet apology. “Nora, I’m so sorry.” I looked up, startled by the guilt in his eyes. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking genuinely sheepish. “It’s your birthday today, right? I’m sorry I gave you such a terrible birthday present.” My eyes burned instantly. So, someone actually remembered. I swallowed the lump in my throat, forcing a smile, and told him it was fine. Miles hesitated, then invited me to join his after-party. I shook my head, declining gently. When I finally got back to our apartment, the living room was dark. But there was a soft, flickering glow on the dining table. A beautifully decorated cake sat in the center, the candle flame casting a warm, cozy light. Next to it lay a fresh bouquet of red roses. My heart skipped a beat. Preston had never remembered my birthday. For seven years, I was the one who ordered the cake, booked the restaurant, and invited our friends. He would simply show up after everything was arranged, offering a casual “Happy birthday.” So, what was this? An apology? “Happy birthday.” Preston walked out of the kitchen, carrying a plate. Before I could decide how to react, a girl wearing a paper birthday hat stepped out behind him. It was the girl from the concert. When they saw me standing in the doorway, they both froze. The girl tugged at Preston’s sleeve. “Preston… who is she? Why is she in our apartment?” Our apartment? I stared at him, utterly bewildered. Preston remains perfectly calm. He sets the plate down, gently pats her head, and says, “This is my cousin, Nora. She’s staying with us for a bit. Go ahead and sit down, sweetheart.” Then, he took my arm and pulled me out onto the balcony, closing the glass door behind us. He kept his voice low, his tone carrying that familiar, gentle warmth. “Her name is Isla. She’s the daughter of my late college professor. Before he passed, he asked me to look after her.” “She went through some severe trauma and was receiving treatment abroad. She just got back.” “She has no family left in the country, and I’m one of the only people she trusts.” “Nora, you’ve always been the understanding one. Can we let her stay here for a while? Just until her treatment is finished?” Preston’s hand was warm and heavy as he rubbed the back of my hand, his voice laced with a desperate plea. “Since when am I your cousin?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “The doctor said she’s highly unstable right now. She… she wouldn’t be able to handle the news that I have a fiancée.” The spring breeze on the balcony felt suddenly freezing. “For how long?” Seeing me relenting, he let out a sigh of relief and pulled me into his arms. He rested his chin on the top of my head, his voice deep and soothing. “It depends on her recovery. We’re getting married soon anyway, and we have the rest of our lives together. Don’t be bitter with a sick girl, okay?” Back at the table, Preston smiled at Isla. “What did you wish for?” Isla clung to his arm, offering a sweet, hopeful smile. “To never be apart from you again, of course.” Preston cut a slice of cake and slid it to her. “Then, happy birthday, Isla. May all your wishes come true.” Her eyes sparkled. “Thank you, Preston.” I stood there frozen for a few seconds before forcing a polite smile. Quietly, I whispered to myself, Happy birthday. 2 After the cake, Preston brought out three bowls of noodles. Each bowl had a perfectly fried egg on top, crispy and golden around the edges, just the way I liked them. But as I picked up my fork, Preston’s next action made me freeze. He reached into his bowl, carefully separated the yolk from the white, and dropped the yolk into his own bowl. Then, he placed the perfect, untouched egg white into Isla’s bowl. “Here.” Isla stared at the egg white, a faraway look in her eyes. “Preston, you’re still the same.” “Back in college, I loved egg whites but hated the yolks, but I hated wasting them too.” “Every time we ate, you’d always eat the yolks for me.” My grip on my fork tightened. Preston hates egg yolks. For seven years, whether it was boiled eggs for breakfast or fried eggs on our burgers, I was always the one who ate his yolks. Yet, he ate them for Isla without a second thought. It was an instinct, a deeply ingrained habit that seven years of separation couldn’t erase. The food tasted like ash. Before I even take a bite, I am completely full. That night, Preston tucked Isla into the guest room first. I sat in our bedroom, listening to their soft, whispered conversation through the thin wall, occasionally punctuated by Isla’s light laughter. It was late when he finally slipped into our room. Seeing me sitting up in bed, he blinked in surprise. “Why aren’t you asleep yet?” I forced my voice to remain steady. “Preston, we need to talk.” He walked over, giving me an apologetic hug before lying down beside me, rubbing his temples. “Nora, I’ve had such a long, exhausting week. Let’s talk about this some other time.” “Oh, and one more thing.” “In the future, please let me know before you plan something like that concert. Luckily, Isla thought it was just a misunderstanding and didn’t think much of it, otherwise, she might have had an episode.” I opened my mouth to speak, but he had already closed his eyes. Within minutes, his breathing evens out. He was fast asleep. At two in the morning, I got up to use the restroom. The moment I opened the door, I nearly jumped out of my skin. A dark figure was standing right in front of me. A sharp gasp caught in my throat. In the dim moonlight filtering through the window, I recognized Isla. She was standing there in her thin nightgown, her face stained with tears, staring at me with a chilling intensity. The sound of my gasp woke Preston. He rushed out of the bedroom, bare-footed. He shoved me aside, pulling Isla into his arms. “What’s wrong? What happened?” Isla buried her face in his chest, her entire body shaking as she let out broken, pathetic sobs. Preston held her tight, looking up at me. His brow was furrowed, his voice low but sharp with accusation. “You terrified her.” I stood there, dumbfounded. Isla suddenly looked up, her eyes wild and bloodshot as she screamed at me, “Get out! This is my home! Get out of here!” Her voice was shrill, and her body shook violently as if she was slipping into a manic episode. Preston held her tighter, murmuring soothing words before looking back at me. “Nora, maybe you should… take a walk. Step out for a bit.” Step out. If I can’t even stay in my own home, where am I supposed to go? I didn’t say a word. I turned around, walked into our bedroom, and pulled my suitcase from the closet. Ten minutes later, I am dragging my suitcase down the silent, empty streets in the dead of night. 3 I went back to my parents’ house. Three days pass, and Preston doesn’t call once. My mother looks at me with concern. “Nora, did you and Preston have a fight?” “No, Mom. He’s just away on a business trip, so I thought I’d come spend some time with you.” I try to reassure her while keeping my eyes glued to my phone, my heart sinking further with every post I read. The failed proposal at the concert has gone viral. The hashtag #ConcertProposalFail is trending at number one. What started as a piece of internet gossip has turned into a massive scandal as people begin to recognize Preston and Isla. “Calling all class of 2020! Isn’t that our old campus sweetheart?” “It’s her! Definitely her! She won the campus beauty poll by a landslide back then. Her mother was a famous professor, too.” “And the guy next to her… isn’t that the legendary law school genius, Preston?” “All the guys in our department had a bet going on who could get her out on a date. Nobody succeeded.” “She only had eyes for Preston. I remember she practically broke the campus forum when she tagged him with: ‘I like you, deal with it.’” Within hours, the story explodes. And as I morbidly scroll through the comments, the puzzle of Preston’s past, the past he never wanted to share with me, falls into place. During Isla’s junior year, her parents died in a car accident. She had a mental breakdown, and her aunt took her abroad for treatment. Preston had looked for her like a madman. But she had vanished overnight, cutting all ties, leaving him with no way to find her. “Oh my god, he probably thought she abandoned him without a word.” “So he tried to move on, and then his first love suddenly reappears? This is some tragic movie-level drama.” “The fiancée is basically an interloper. This is a true reunion of soulmates.” “I feel bad for the fiancée, but she just showed up at the wrong time.” My mother walks in with a glass of warm milk, sitting down beside me as I stare blankly at my phone. “Nora, my surgery is next month.” “You know the doctors said the success rate isn’t high… I’m old, and I’m not afraid of dying.” I look up sharply, my eyes burning. “Mom, don’t say that. The surgery will be a success.” She takes my hand, her eyes filled with hope. “I’m just worried about you.” “My biggest wish in this life is to see you settled down. If something happens to me, I want to know you have a family of your own to keep you safe.” I force a bright smile. “Don’t worry, Mom. The wedding is set for the end of this month. Nothing has changed.” A look of relief finally washes over her face. I look down, taking a slow sip of the milk, my vision blurring. 4 The internet is far more ruthless than I ever imagined. As Isla’s tragic past goes viral, an army of romantic fans starts rooting for her and Preston to get back together. They write endless threads about their tragic love story, while I am painted as the scheming homewrecker who stole her man. Before long, my family’s personal information is leaked online. A picture of my mother, her back bent as she holds a few empty plastic bottles, is posted on a gossip forum. “These old people are so annoying, digging through the recycling bins. Disgusting!” “Agreed. No wonder she raised such a shameless daughter.” “A family of homewreckers deserves to be exposed.” My heart constricts. My mother is a clean freak; she would never rummage through trash. She only did that because she felt sorry for the elderly, mute woman down the street, secretly collecting bottles to give to her so the poor woman could buy medicine. But the internet doesn’t care about the truth. My hands shake as I call Preston. “Preston, people online are calling me a homewrecker. Now they’re targeting my mother…” Silence on the other end. “Nora, I know you’re hurting. But Isla is just starting to show signs of recovery. The doctor said she can’t handle any stress.” “She gets anxious even knowing I have friends. If she finds out I have a fiancée…” “What about me?” I interrupt, my voice cracking. “My mother is being harassed, I’m being cyberbullied, and none of that matters to you?” “I never said it didn’t matter,” he says, his voice soft but utterly exhausted. “But you’ve always been the strong one, Nora. Just hold on a little longer. Once she’s better, I’ll take care of everything.” I hang up. The next day, I walk into my office to find a cardboard box on my desk. I open it, and a dead rat stares back at me with bloody, lifeless eyes. I let out a terrified scream. My colleagues turn to look, covering their noses and backing away in disgust. Before I can even clean it up, the HR director calls me into her office. “Nora, given the current public controversy, the company has decided to terminate your contract. Here is your severance package. Please sign.” I walk out of the office building carrying my things in a cardboard box, a light rain falling around me. A black sedan speeds past, its side mirror clipping my arm. I lose my footing, dropping the box. My personal belongings scatter into the wet street. Laughter echoes from the open car window. “That’s what you get for stealing someone’s man!” I kneel in the rain, picking up my wet things one by one. I call Preston again. He must be with Isla. He hangs up three times, but I stubbornly redial. On the fourth try, he finally answers. “Preston, you need to come over to my parents’ house today.” “Nora, I know you’re anxious about the wedding,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “But the timing is just wrong.” “Preston, my mother’s surgery is next month. The success rate is only thirty percent. Her biggest wish is to see me walk down the aisle, and you know that… We agreed on this. The wedding is set for the end of the month!” A long pause. Then, a heavy sigh. “Nora, I’ve pulled some strings and contacted the top surgeon in the country to perform your mother’s surgery. The success rate will be over seventy percent.” “But… I have a favor to ask.” “The doctor says Isla’s recovery has hit a plateau. The only thing she wants right now is… to have a wedding.” My fingers tighten around the phone. “And?” “Could you let her have the wedding? It’s just a ceremony, a performance to help her heal. I promise I’ll throw you an even grander wedding later.” The rain pours heavier now. The cardboard box is soaked through, and our framed photo lies face down in a puddle, the ink running, Preston’s smiling face blurring into nothing. I slowly stand up, brushing the wet dirt from my knees. A hollow, broken smile touches my lips. “Sure. I agree.” I hang up, open my messaging app, and find Miles’s contact. My finger hovers over the screen for a long time before I type out a single line: Are you willing to be my groom on the 30th of this month?

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My husband was an associate professor in the university’s mathematics department. He despised video games with a burning passion. Just last month, he physically cut our home’s internet cable because he caught our son playing a round of a mobile battle arena. Yet, while waiting for the clock to strike midnight on New Year’s Eve, I picked up the iPad he used for lesson planning. Sitting right there on the home screen was the max level icon for Sweet Crush, a colorful match three puzzle game. The account, operating under the username The Absolute Variable, had not only cleared every single stage with a perfect three star rating. At three in the morning, it had also gifted ninety nine energy refills to the top player on the leaderboard, a girl going by the name SweetStrawberry. I clicked on SweetStrawberry’s profile. She was a graduate student my husband was mentoring. Her latest status update read: “Professor says when you can’t solve a problem, just play Sweet Crush. He is my permanent max level cheat code.” I stared at that shiny max level badge and smiled. I took screenshots of her status, the game’s gifting leaderboard, and a very serious, professional headshot of my husband. I printed them all out. The next morning, a colorful photo report titled “On Associate Professor Arthur’s Extracurricular Tutoring” quietly appeared in the dead center of the math department’s main faculty bulletin board. 1 I was methodically spreading strawberry jam on a piece of toast when the department chair called. Arthur picked up his phone. His usually ruddy complexion instantly drained to a sickening pale gray. He mumbled a few frantic agreements, dropped the phone, and sprinted out the front door in his house slippers, completely forgetting his winter coat. I took a bite of my toast. The strawberry jam was cloyingly sweet. Right about now, that crisp sheet of printer paper displaying his max level gaming account and his inappropriate midnight flirting was likely the center of attention in the faculty lounge. At noon, the front door violently crashed open. Arthur stormed inside, hyperventilating with rage. His fist was clenched tight around a crumpled, torn piece of printer paper. “Evelyn! Have you completely lost your mind?!” He slammed the balled up paper onto the dining table so hard the soup bowls rattled. I calmly ladled a bowl of chicken broth for him, keeping my voice perfectly level. “What is wrong? Why are you throwing a tantrum?” “You have the nerve to ask me what is wrong?” Arthur pointed a trembling finger right at my nose. “Did you post this? Are you going through early menopause? Has your brain finally rotted? You cannot just plaster this garbage on campus!” I put down the ladle and met his bloodshot eyes. “The username and the profile picture on that paper. Are they not yours?” Arthur choked on his words. His eyes darted away for a fraction of a second before he overcompensated, cranking his volume even higher. “I was hacked! It is photoshopped! Someone is jealous that I am up for full tenure this semester, so they are trying to destroy my reputation!” He ripped his tie off, pacing the living room like a caged animal. “Do you have any idea how many people are laughing at me right now? The Dean called me into his office! My entire academic career was almost ruined because of you!” I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Where there is smoke, there is fire.” “Shut your mouth!” Arthur exploded, kicking a metal trash can across the room. “I break my back doing serious academic research to provide for this family, and you drag me down? Evelyn, you are a massive disappointment.” The commotion drew our son, Tom, out of his bedroom. He stood in the hallway, looking small and terrified. “Dad?” Arthur snapped his head toward the boy, finding an easy target. He lunged forward and grabbed Tom by the arm. “Was it you? Did you steal my iPad to play your stupid games and accidentally post this garbage?” Tom burst into tears, shrinking away. “I didn’t! Dad, I swear I didn’t!” “Don’t lie to me! Who else in this house plays these brain dead games?” Arthur raised his hand, ready to strike. I shoved my chair back, darting forward to shield my son. I pushed Arthur away with a heavy shove to his chest. “Arthur, stop acting like a lunatic and taking it out on a child! Those records were logged at three in the morning. Tom was fast asleep!” Arthur stumbled back, smoothed down his wrinkled collar, and glared at me with absolute ice. “If it wasn’t Tom, then it was a targeted cyber attack.” He walked over and sank into the leather sofa, instantly resuming his arrogant, professorial posture. “Evelyn, you used to be a Chief Data Officer in the tech industry. This level of technical troubleshooting should be easy for you.” I stared at him, genuinely stunned by the sheer thickness of his skin. “What exactly do you want me to do?” “I need you to write a comprehensive forensic data report proving my account was maliciously compromised. Make sure the IP address traces back to an overseas server.” He issued the command as if ordering a coffee. “Draft a public statement too. Use as much complex technical jargon as possible to confuse the old dinosaurs on the tenure committee.” I looked at the man I had shared a bed with for seven years. A wave of pure nausea washed over me. He wasn’t just cheating. He was trying to use the wife he betrayed as a shield to scrub his reputation clean. 2 “And what if I refuse?” I asked. Arthur narrowed his eyes, a heavy threat lacing his words. “Evelyn, we are a financial unit. If I don’t get tenure, my salary stagnates. How exactly do you plan on paying for Tom’s private prep school and his math tutors?” He stood up, walking over to place a heavy hand on my shoulder, forcing his voice into a softer, sickeningly sweet register. “Honey, I know being a stay at home mom is stressful and makes you overthink things. But this really is a massive misunderstanding. Just help me get through this disciplinary hearing, and I promise I will hand my entire paycheck over to you from now on.” I looked at his hypocritical face, swallowing the bile rising in my throat. I took a deep breath and lowered my head, playing the part. “Fine. I will write it. But this is the last time. And from now on, I get open access to all your electronics.” A gleam of triumph flashed in Arthur’s eyes. He instantly switched to a beaming smile. “Not a problem at all. A clear conscience fears no accusations. You are the best wife a man could ask for.” He hummed a cheerful little tune as he walked into the master bathroom. The moment I heard the shower running, I grabbed the iPad he had left on the coffee table. My fingers flew across the screen, inputting a string of bypass commands. Within seconds, a hidden, encrypted photo vault materialized. The folder was innocently named “Supplementary Coursework.” When I tapped it open, the blood in my veins turned to ice. The gallery was flooded with pictures of Allie, his graduate student, wearing an array of highly revealing cosplay outfits. Every single photo was captioned with a game level milestone. “Level 100 Clear Reward: Black lace.” “Level 300 Clear Reward: Call me Daddy.” “Level 500 Clear Reward: All night private tutoring at the Marriott.” The most recent photo was taken yesterday at dawn. Allie was wearing a string bikini that left absolutely nothing to the imagination. Around her neck hung a blue lanyard. It was Arthur’s university faculty ID. The caption read: “Professor, this level is too hard. I want to solve it with my body.” My hands turned freezing cold. I stared dead eyed at the glowing screen. The shower water turned off. I rapidly exited the vault, wiped the access logs, and placed the iPad exactly where I found it. Arthur walked out drying his hair with a towel. He saw me sitting at my laptop typing lines of code and nodded approvingly. “That is the spirit. Husband and wife tackling problems together.” I stared at the “Forged IP Routing Map” generating on my screen, a razor sharp smirk curving my lips. The next day, Arthur took the fabricated forensic report I wrote to the university. It worked like a charm. Armed with pages of dense, impenetrable cybersecurity jargon, he successfully completely bewildered the disciplinary committee. He even managed to subtly point the finger at a rival professor. That evening, he walked through the front door with a girl trailing behind him. She wore a pure white sundress, her long hair falling perfectly over her shoulders. It was Allie. The SweetStrawberry. “Good evening, Mrs. Shen!” Allie’s voice dripped with artificial sweetness. She bowed deeply the moment she stepped inside, making sure the plunging neckline of her dress was on full display. I stood holding a silicone spatula, watching the performance with dead eyes. Arthur kicked off his shoes and offered a smooth explanation. “Allie’s thesis is bottlenecked on the final data model. I brought her over to use the high performance desktop in the study to run the numbers.” “You could have given me a heads up. I didn’t prep enough dinner for guests.” Allie immediately put on the face of a kicked puppy, biting her lower lip as she looked up at Arthur. “Professor, maybe I should just go back to the dorms. I don’t want to inconvenience your wife.” Arthur instantly scowled. “Don’t be ridiculous. Academic research waits for no one. Evelyn, go cut up some fruit and cook two more dishes with heavy protein. Allie is still a growing girl.” I gripped the handle of the spatula so hard my knuckles turned white. “Alright. You two get to work.” I turned my back and walked into the kitchen. I could hear their muffled, conspiratorial giggles trailing behind me. They went into the study, leaving the door cracked open. I sliced a watermelon, the sharp steel slicing through the red flesh, juice bleeding onto the cutting board. Holding the fruit platter, I walked to the study. Just as I reached out to push the door open, my hand froze in midair. “Unbelievable!” The signature combo sound effect from Sweet Crush blared from the room. It was immediately followed by Allie’s sickeningly sweet whine. “Professor, this stage is just too hard. My fingers are so sore from swiping.” Arthur’s voice was dripping with a nauseatingly tender affection I hadn’t heard in a decade. “Fingers sore? Come here, let your professor massage them. You can’t just brute force this game. It is like solving a complex equation. You have to find the most sensitive variables.” “Oh stop it, Professor, you are so bad. Where are you touching me…” “Just helping you relax your tense muscles. How else are you going to clear the level?” The unmistakable sound of rustling fabric drifted through the crack in the door. I stood in the hallway, my stomach violently churning. 3 I took a deep breath, kicked the door wide open, and walked in. “Fruit is ready.” The two people inside sprang apart like they had been electrocuted. Allie’s face was flushed crimson as she frantically adjusted the collar of her dress. Arthur pretended to aggressively inspect the computer monitor, though his hand was gripping the mouse completely backward. “Have you never heard of knocking?!” Arthur snapped, throwing the mouse onto the desk in a pathetic show of outrage. “Can’t you see we are in the middle of calculating a critical variable? You just ruined my entire train of thought!” I slammed the heavy ceramic fruit platter down onto the desk with a loud crack, making a stack of textbooks jump. “Does calculating critical variables require hand massages? Professor Arthur, your pedagogical methods are truly unique.” Allie’s eyes darted nervously around the room, refusing to look at me. In her panic, her elbow clipped her designer handbag resting on the edge of the leather sofa. It hit the hardwood floor with a heavy thud, spilling its contents everywhere. Lipstick, a compact mirror, and a very oddly shaped gaming controller tumbled out. It was a limited edition pink haptic feedback controller, heavily bedazzled with rhinestones. I recognized it immediately. Last month, Arthur claimed his research lab desperately needed to procure specialized equipment for a project, draining ten thousand dollars from our joint savings account. He told me it was a highly advanced “haptic interface device” for simulating complex mathematical variables. So this was his haptic interface. Allie slowly crouched down to gather her things. “Oh no, this was an academic achievement reward the Professor bought for me. If it is broken, my heart will shatter.” She looked up, a glint of naked provocation in her eyes, her gaze sweeping over my faded, slightly oversized loungewear. “You probably don’t play video games, do you, Mrs. Shen? The Professor always says you are far too rigid. You just don’t understand the romance inherent in mathematics.” Arthur cleared his throat loudly, desperate to diffuse the tension. “Alright, Allie. Pack up your things. We will stop the modeling for today.” Allie nodded obediently, slinging her designer bag over her shoulder. As she reached the door, she paused and turned back, flashing me a brilliant, saccharine smile. “Thank you for the fruit, Mrs. Shen. The slices were a bit clunky and unrefined, but it quenched my thirst.” Arthur walked her down the stairs. I stood on the balcony, watching them leave the building. They walked dangerously close together, Arthur’s hand hovering just an inch above the curve of her waist. At three in the morning, the entire city was dead asleep. The only sound in the study was the rapid, rhythmic clacking of my mechanical keyboard. As the final line of code executed, the monitor flooded with dense spreadsheets. It was a complete extraction of every single bank account, credit card, and digital payment platform under Arthur’s name. Fifty thousand dollars. Over the past two years, Arthur’s expenditure on “virtual services” and “electronic hardware” totaled a staggering fifty thousand dollars. Just last week, Tom begged to enroll in a prestigious summer STEM academy. The tuition was two thousand dollars. What did Arthur say that day? He scowled, staring down at his son with absolute disgust. “With your mediocre brain, paying for camp is throwing money into a fire! We don’t have cash to burn on your failures. Sit at your desk and run drills instead!” Tom had stood there, head bowed, fighting back tears he was too terrified to shed. I had actually believed his lies back then, thinking the mortgage was squeezing our finances tight. But right now, staring at the glowing ledgers, it felt like someone had driven a hunting knife straight through my ribs. On the exact same afternoon he called our son a failure, he wired seven thousand dollars to Allie. The transaction note read: “Fund for my baby’s premium cosmetics.” Seven thousand dollars. Enough to pay for Tom’s STEM academy three times over. Enough to feed our family for an entire year. My vision blurred. I aggressively wiped the tears away and kept scrolling. A specific three thousand dollar charge caught my eye. It happened six months ago. Cross referencing the timestamp, I hacked into Allie’s restricted social media timeline and found the answer. Six months ago, Allie posted a selfie. She was sitting in a Michelin starred restaurant, a glittering diamond pendant resting against her collarbone. The caption read: “Thank you to the man who truly understands me. On this special day, you gave me the ultimate sense of security.” Special day? I glanced at the calendar. It wasn’t a holiday. But it was the exact day Tom was hospitalized with a dangerous fever. I had spent the entire night sitting awake in a plastic hospital chair. Arthur told me he was locked in the lab, racing a grant deadline. Rage was no longer an adequate word for what I felt. I felt a terrifying, absolute zero coldness settling deep into my bones.

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1 My husband, Gary, managed our marriage with a “KPI Evaluation Sheet.” He claimed that a healthy relationship required rational maintenance. My best friend was incredibly envious. She said a man who actually planned things out was a hundred times better than those who only talked. Whenever he brushed a stray lock of hair behind my ear, he would say with deep solemnity, “Ava, my strictness is only because I take our marriage seriously.” That was until my car plunged into the freezing river. My phone screen shattered and went dark, but my smartwatch triggered an SOS call, automatically dialing his number. The freezing water rushed into the cabin. I was covered in blood, fading fast. Yet all I heard was his disappointed voice through the speaker, “You’re forty minutes late for our anniversary dinner. You have absolutely no sense of time. Stay put and reflect on your behavior.” Before I could make a sound, the line went dead. I drowned to death in the silent, icy depths. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of our quarterly review. Gary tapped the evaluation sheet on the table, a slight frown creasing his brow. “You forgot to wear your wedding ring to the family dinner last night. Your marital presentation score was sub-standard. I’m grading you a C.” “Ava, if you keep being this negligent, we will have to separate for a trial period so you can reflect.” In my past life, I would have panicked and apologized immediately. But this time, I just looked at him and spoke quietly. “Fine. Let’s separate then.” The words hung in the air. Gary’s hand froze mid-motion. For a brief second, a flash of genuine shock broke through his usually stoic face. He had expected me to do what I always did: grab his sleeve in a panic, beg for forgiveness, and promise to play the role of the perfect Mrs. Kingsley next time. But he quickly composed himself, letting out a soft, patronizing sigh. It was the sigh of an adult dealing with a petulant child. “Ava, don’t use divorce as a bargaining chip.” “I admit my tone was harsh.” “But as I’ve told you before, my strictness is out of responsibility for our marriage.” He stood up and walked over to me, reaching out to brush a stray lock of hair from my forehead. I tilted my head, dodging his hand. I looked at him calmly. The desperate love that once filled my eyes was completely gone. I let out a soft laugh. “Gary, I want to be myself now.” Gary’s hand froze in mid-air, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. Before he could speak, the sound of the front door unlocking echoed through the foyer. It was Gary’s mother, followed by a young woman in a pale silk dress. Pamela. The wealthy socialite who had just returned from abroad, and Gary’s lifelong childhood friend. The two of them walked into the living room. Pamela’s eyes immediately landed on the Marriage KPI Sheet splayed out on the coffee table. A flash of surprise crossed her face, followed by a fleeting, smug satisfaction. Yet, her voice remained sweet and gentle. “Gary, you’re still the same. You always resort to rules the moment you get upset.” She turned to me, offering a polite smile. “Ava, don’t take it to heart. When we were living abroad, he used to control the exact hour I drank water and how I color-coded my wardrobe.” “That’s just how he is. The closer he is to someone, the more possessive he gets.” “If you can’t handle him, let me know. I’ll whip him into shape for you.” It sounded like she was trying to help, but her words neatly highlighted their years of intimacy, while making me look like an outsider in my own home. Gary’s mother sat on the sofa, gracefully sipping the tea a maid had just poured. “Pamela is right,” his mother chimed in. “Gary almost gave up his inheritance to marry you, Ava. You’re a smart girl. You should know how to be grateful.” “Don’t throw these childish tantrums. It ruins the family’s dignity.” Gary frowned, cutting them off. “Mother, Pamela, Ava is still adjusting. I will guide her.” In my past life, I would have been touched by his defense, thinking he had sacrificed so much for me. I would have swallowed my tears and worked even harder to learn their ridiculous etiquette. But now, it just felt pathetic. I looked at Pamela’s elegant, well-behaved posture, and then at Gary. “Since Pamela understands your rules so well,” I said, my voice entirely flat, “why don’t you give her the position of Mrs. Kingsley instead?” 2 I walked back to our bedroom. Looking around at the cold, modern furniture Gary had chosen according to his taste, I took a deep breath. Gary didn’t think he was wrong. He genuinely believed that molding me with these rules was his way of protecting our love and keeping his family from looking down on me. He even controlled my weight. I wasn’t allowed to fluctuate by more than two pounds, claiming it was necessary to maintain mutual attraction. Before we married, my favorite thing in the world was eating extra-spicy street noodles at midnight and driving my jeep into the mountains on weekends. But after we wed, he banned those spicy, pungent foods, saying the smell ruined our social standing. He forced me to swap my jeep for a heavy, bulletproof sedan, claiming the wife of a Kingsley shouldn’t take safety risks. He even structured our sex life with clinical precision: the 5th and 20th of every month, with a set number of times. The moment it was over, he would get up to wash, stating that restraint preserved the romance. There was never a moment of post-coital warmth. It wasn’t a marriage. It was a corporate job with worse benefits. I thought of our third anniversary. That night happened to coincide with the Kingsley family’s grand gathering. Gary had promised that if I performed flawlessly, his mother would present me with the family’s heirloom emerald bracelet, cementing my status and silencing the relatives who looked down on me. To surprise him, I had gone out in a torrential storm to pick up a rare vintage watch he had been eyeing. That was when the multi-car pileup happened. My car spun out of control, plunging into the dark, roaring river. As the icy water rushed in, I sat there covered in blood, desperately groping for my shattered phone. My watch triggered the emergency SOS, dialing his number. The moment the call connected, I tried to scream for help. But all that came through the speaker was his low, tightly controlled voice, dripping with anger. “The entire family is waiting for you, Ava. What are you playing at?” “I spent months convincing my mother to hand over the bracelet tonight, and you can’t even manage basic punctuality.” “Since these rules mean so little to you, don’t bother coming. Stay out there and reflect on your actions.” The line went dead. I drowned in the freezing dark, listening to the dial tone. This time, I was done being his perfect doll. I wanted my life back. 3 I left behind the designer gowns, the diamond necklaces, and the expensive handbags he had bought me. I packed only a few basic clothes, grabbed my passport, and carried my small suitcase downstairs. Gary’s mother and Pamela had already left. Gary was sitting on the living room sofa, his tie loosened slightly, looking uncharacteristically restless. When he saw me carrying a suitcase, he stood up abruptly. A flicker of panic crossed his eyes. “Where do you think you’re going?” He strode over, his hand clamping down on the handle of my suitcase. “Ava, I admit my words earlier were too harsh.” “But everything I do is for us. For our future.” “If you’re feeling overwhelmed, I can lower the evaluation standards for this quarter…” “There’s no need,” I said calmly. There was no anger in my voice, only the peaceful weight of letting go. “Gary, your love is too expensive. And too heavy.” “I’m letting you go. Please do the same for me.” I let go of the suitcase handle. I walked past him and out the front door without looking back. Breathing in the cool, crisp evening air, I pulled out my phone and dialed a number I hadn’t called in years. “Lucas? You once told me you specialize in divorce law. Are you still taking clients?” The line was silent for a second. Then, a warm, deep voice replied, “I am. For you, I’m always available.” “Where are you? Send me your location. I’ll come get you.” Lucas had been our college classmate, and he was once Gary’s roommate. Now, he was one of the most sought-after partners at the city’s top law firm. Back in college, when Gary was pursuing me with grand gestures and fighting his family to be with me, everyone swooned over Gary’s passion. Almost no one noticed the quiet, intense way Lucas used to look at me. During my three years of marriage, whenever I bruised myself trying to fit into Gary’s rigid mold, Lucas was always there, quietly keeping me from falling. At a charity gala last year, Pamela’s friend had maliciously handed me an incredibly complex vintage wine, demanding I critique it on the spot. I choked on the dry liquid, spilling it down the front of my dress. Gary had been standing just a few feet away, talking to investors. He saw it happen. But he didn’t come over. He simply flagged down a waiter with a cold look, instructing them to escort me to the lounge. I had “lost my composure,” and that meant I was embarrassing him. It was Lucas, attending as the gala’s legal counsel, who had quietly stepped in. He took off his grey suit jacket and draped it over my stained dress, shielding me from the whispers. With a few smooth, polite words, he deflected the woman’s trap and shifted the conversation, preserving my dignity. 4 Lucas and I met at an outdoor café. The sun was warm, and a gentle breeze swept through the patio. Lucas wore a perfectly tailored light grey suit, his eyes behind his gold-rimmed glasses looking soft and deep. He hadn’t ordered any of the pretentious coffees Gary loved; instead, he had the waiter bring over a hot, sweet salted-caramel milk tea. “I remember you used to love sweet things,” Lucas said, sliding the cup toward me. “You said sugar was the best way to get a quick dopamine hit.” “I reviewed the draft for the divorce agreement. You’re asking for a clean break, leaving with nothing just to dissolve the marriage as quickly as possible.” “As your attorney, I respect your decision.” “But as an old friend… I’m glad you’re finally stepping out of that house.” I wrapped my hands around the warm mug, the sweet scent of caramel filling my nose. My throat tightened, and my eyes grew hot. Gary had banned high-sugar drinks from my diet. I had forgotten what sweetness tasted like. “Thank you, Lucas,” I said, offering a genuine smile. “Leaving him is the only way I can finally be Ava again.” As I spoke, my hand brushed against the cup, tilting it. A few hot drops of milk tea splashed onto the back of my hand. “Careful, it’s hot.” Lucas moved quickly, pulling a couple of tissues from the dispenser. He gently took my wrist, leaning in close as he carefully dabbing the liquid from my skin. A loud crash echoed from the entrance of the patio, like a chair being violently kicked aside. I looked up. Gary was standing there. He must have just walked out of a meeting in the high-rise next door, a few terrified executives hovering behind him. Right now, his eyes were locked onto my hand, resting in Lucas’s grip. The legendary composure he prided himself on shattered instantly. He stormed over, his face pale with a mix of disbelief and raw, suffocating jealousy. In his mind, once I left his protection, I was supposed to struggle, to realize how cold the world was, and come crawling back to him. Instead, he found me sitting in a cheap café, wearing an ordinary dress, drinking a sweet beverage he despised, and smiling at his former best friend. “What do you think you’re doing?!” Gary’s voice cracked with uncharacteristic rage. He grabbed Lucas’s arm, trying to yank him away like a beast defending its territory. I ignored his outburst, quietly sliding the divorce agreement across the table toward him. “Since you’re here, sign it.” Gary’s breath caught. He slowly turned his head to look at me, his eyes bloodshot. His hand hovered over the paper, trembling slightly as his voice came out hoarse. “You’re leaving me… for him?”

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1 In my third year as a divorce attorney, Oliver forced his way into my office. On the CCTV screen overhead, the news was broadcasting his latest scandal: the city’s newest billionaire had just fled his own high-society wedding. Across the black mahogany desk, he sat with his head in his hands, looking utterly miserable. The wedding band on his left ring finger caught the light, gleaming mockingly. Oliver tapped the wood. His voice, deep and gravelly, broke the silence. “I need a divorce settlement. And a deed of gift.” “The divorce is for my fiancée, the woman I was supposed to marry today. Her name is Gemma.” “The deed of gift… I want to transfer every single asset I own to a woman named Abigail.” Abigail is me. But he didn’t recognize me. We had been broken up for three years, and for three years, he had turned the city upside down looking for me. Subconsciously, I adjusted my face mask and pulled the brim of my cap lower. I reached out and flipped the little sign on my desk to face him: No Consultations Without Appointment. Oliver froze. He looked up, his eyes locking onto mine. In that single second, a visible tremor ran through his entire body. “Abby?” he gasped, rising from his chair. This was a man who prided himself on absolute restraint, yet now he was completely unraveling. Before I could even breathe a word, the spark in his eyes died. He sank back into his seat, his shoulders slumping as he muttered to himself, “No. No, it’s not her. I’m sorry… I lost my head. I mistook you for someone else.” “You couldn’t be her.” “She was with me since we were teenagers. If she were still in this city, she wouldn’t have hidden from me for three whole years…” I remained silent. My hand, resting on the computer mouse, was shaking so violently I had to grip it tight. Oliver. That name defined my youth. He was the author of every romantic memory I possessed. Once, I truly believed he would be the man I’d grow old with. Even after our split, I used to panic, thinking that if we ever crossed paths again, I would be the one to break down. Yet here I was, surprisingly calm, while he was the one falling apart. I tapped the sign on my desk again, then pointed to the notice on the door: Private Practice. No walk-ins. Without a word, he pulled a gold-embossed checkbook from his breast pocket. He signed a blank check and slid it across the desk toward me. “Name your price. Just do this for me.” “You saw the news. I walked out on my own wedding. My fiancée is looking for me, and I need this marriage dissolved immediately.” Glancing at the chaotic live broadcast playing on the silent screen above, I kept my voice low and raspy, asking, “Why did you run?” Oliver stared into space, lost in some distant memory. It took him a long time to speak. “Because I’m willing to give up everything to win back someone I lost. Someone I might never get back.” His expression softened into a profound, aching sorrow. But whatever warmth was left in my chest froze over. Instead, my mind flashed back to a year before I left. It was his birthday. I had lovingly baked a cake, bought a gift, and rushed home to surprise him. When I opened the bedroom door, I found him pinning Gemma to our bed, the young college student we had been financially sponsoring. When he saw the devastating hurt in my eyes, he didn’t even flinch. He just let out a soft, mocking laugh. “To be honest, Abby, after seven years, you’re pretty boring in bed.” “Gemma knows what she’s doing. You should take notes. Learn how to please a man.” “Don’t look at me like that. If you can’t handle it, you’re free to leave.” “But I give you three days. You’ll be back begging for my forgiveness within three days.” What Oliver never understood was that once I make up my mind to walk away, I never, ever look back. So, I didn’t just stay away for three days. I vanished for three years. I shook my head and slid the blank check back across the polished wood. “Take a right when you walk out. The firm next door handles standard divorces. They’re much better suited for you.” Oliver’s brow furrowed. “I did my research. You have the highest success rate in the city, and you get things done quietly.” “I’m offering you a fortune. Why are you turning me down?” Offering you a fortune. How incredibly familiar. Years ago, before he was a billionaire, he was just a boy from a poor working-class family near the docks. I remembered him kneeling before me in a faded, threadbare shirt, holding a cheap ring. “Abby, I love you. Please say yes.” “I promise I’ll marry you twice in this lifetime.” “Once as the broke boy standing here, and a second time when I make my fortune and can give you the world.” I hadn’t been swayed by his promises of wealth. Back then, I wasn’t the city’s most formidable lawyer. I was just a girl visiting my family’s old hometown. But I had never seen a man with eyes so bright, or with a love that burned so fiercely just for me. So I nodded, and we built a life together. But in the second year after he struck gold and became a billionaire, he slept with the student we took in. The next morning, he casually told me, “That grand wedding I promised you? I’m going to have it with Gemma instead.” “She’s throwing a tantrum, and it’s just easier this way.” “Of course, we won’t sign any legal papers. It’s just a show. You’re still my legal wife.” He spoke of throwing a wedding for his mistress as if he were simply planning a casual dinner with a friend. He didn’t care about my tear-stained face or my shattered heart. “Don’t give me that look,” he had said, sighing. “A wedding is just a display of wealth, right? I’ve already given you more money than you could ever spend!” But Oliver never understood. I never cared about his money. Pushing the memories aside, I didn’t say a word. Instead, I pulled a notepad and wrote: For the past three years, you have planned a wedding with Miss Gemma every single year, and every single year you have abandoned her at the altar. You are too much drama. It’s bad for my firm’s reputation. Please leave. Oliver’s eyes narrowed as he read the note. He stared at me intently, as if trying to pierce through my disguise. I didn’t blink. I met his gaze dead-on. Before he could say another word, a frantic voice cried out from the doorway. “Oliver!” A woman in a wrinkled, expensive wedding gown burst in. It was Gemma. She had shed the shy, awkward look of the broke student we had once sponsored. Now, she carried herself with a sharp, calculated glamour. Seeing Oliver, she burst into tears of frustration. “You promised me we’d finish the ceremony this time! Why did you run away again?” Oliver sat there, pinching the bridge of his nose, his voice dripping with exhaustion. “Gemma, how many times do I have to tell you?” “These weddings were only meant to draw Abby out. I wanted her to see them and come back.” Gemma looked like she was about to lose her mind. “You’re still obsessed with her? You told me you loved me!” “We’ve had three weddings now, and she never showed up!” “She doesn’t care who you marry anymore! Why can’t you just let her go and build a life with me?” Oliver fell silent, murmuring almost to himself, “She cares. She’s just stubborn. She’s trying to punish me.” I felt a cold wave of amusement. Back when he was convinced I’d come crawling back in three days, he wasn’t this melancholic. He had been smug, self-assured, waiting to see how long I could last without his money. He was certain that because I had loved him since I was eighteen, I would never truly leave. Even when Gemma deliberately smashed my late grandmother’s heirloom bracelet and accused me of framing her, all to force me to come to his office, he didn’t bother asking for my side of the story. Like a judge handing down a sentence, he had simply looked down at me and said, “Abby, if you’re going to stay, you need to learn to get along with Gemma. I won’t have drama in my home. Both of you are important to me.” I swallowed the bitter taste of the memory. Gemma’s eyes darted to the plaque on my desk, her face twisting in horror when she realized what kind of lawyer I was. “What are you doing here, Oliver?” Oliver glanced at her, his voice devoid of emotion. “I’m divorcing you.” “And I’m transferring all my assets to Abby.” “Are you insane?!” Gemma shrieked. She grabbed his lapels, shaking him. “What about me, Oliver? I’ve been with you since I was eighteen!” Oliver said softly, “So was she.” There was no warmth in my chest, only the memory of the night I had practically begged him on my knees, crying, pleading with him to remember our seven years together and just come back to me. He had seemed moved then, promising to cut ties with Gemma. Yet the very next day, I walked in on them again. I had screamed at him, asking how he could be so cheap, so utterly shameless. He had simply leaned back against our headboard, with Gemma smirking beside him, lit a cigarette, and said, “You want to talk about cheap? You were in my bed when you were eighteen, Abby. Let’s not pretend you’re a saint.” That was the moment my heart truly died. I had thought giving myself to him in our youth was a sacred act of love. To him, it just made me cheap. I cleared my throat, keeping my voice low and raspy. “If you two want to scream at each other, do it outside. My office is closing.” Gemma looked up, her eyes finally locking onto my face. Suddenly, she froze. Her face turned pale, and she pointed a trembling finger at me. “Abby?!” “No… no, that’s impossible. You just have similar eyes. It can’t be you.” “She would never stay in this city. She wouldn’t dare face him!” I kept my gaze cool and detached. She was right about one thing. I would never, ever go back to him. The day I caught them together for the second time was supposed to be the day of our “second wedding.” He had plastered it across every paper in the city. He was going to remarry his wife in a lavish ceremony to thank her for her years of devotion. The venue was the rooftop of the city’s most exclusive skyscraper. Helicopters buzzed overhead, and reporters lined the red carpet, waiting for the billionaire to sweep his wife off her feet. I stood there in the custom gown he had personally designed and hand-stitched for me, enduring the envious stares of the crowd, waiting for my husband. But Oliver didn’t show. An hour passed. Then two. The envious looks turned to whispers, and then to mockery. “What do you think the billionaire is doing? Did he realize she’s getting too old for him?” “I heard he’s got a gorgeous young thing at home. Why buy the old model when the new one’s so much fun?” “Look at her standing there all by herself. How embarrassing.” The grander the setup had been, the deeper the humiliation. I remembered standing there, my knuckles white as I gripped the silk of my dress, listening to the cruel laughter. Even my father had called me, furious, demanding I leave before I embarrassed the family any further. I fled back to our apartment. When I pushed the door open, he was in bed with Gemma. He didn’t even look up as he said, “Oh, right. The wedding. I forgot. We’ll do it another time.” Later, Gemma had whispered to me with a smug smile, “All I had to do was take off my clothes, and he forgot all about his suit. You can’t really blame me, sister.” “Could you… please take off your mask?” Oliver’s hesitant voice pulled me back to the present. I looked at him coldly, making no move to comply. Gemma stepped between us, crying hysterically. “Oliver, Abby is gone! She abandoned you! Why won’t you look at me?” “Do you think throwing me aside at the altar every year will make her forgive you for leaving her stranded? You’re dreaming!” Her words seemed to strike a nerve. A deep, ugly shadow crossed Oliver’s face. Without a word, he stood up and struck Gemma hard across the face. She fell to the floor, clutching her cheek in utter disbelief, but he didn’t even look at her. He turned back to me, his voice eerily calm. “Now, as I was saying. I want to hire you to draw up a deed of gift for a woman named Abigail.” I sighed, adjusting my papers. “A deed of gift requires the recipient’s signature to be legally binding. If you can’t even find her, this document is useless.” “Please leave, Mr. Oliver.” Gemma scrambled up from the floor, grabbing his leg. “Oliver, please! Beat me if you want, but don’t give her everything!” “I’m pregnant with your child! Our baby needs that money!” “She doesn’t want you anyway! She’s probably married to someone else by now!” Her words made me pause, and my hand instinctively drifted to the diamond band on my left ring finger. A soft warmth bloomed in my chest as I thought of the man waiting for me at home, the man whose smile always made me feel safe. She was right. I had married someone else, and he was a thousand times the man Oliver could ever hope to be. But Oliver couldn’t accept that. He slammed his hand on my desk, his face contorted with rage. “Shut up! I’ll leave enough for the kid.” “But Abby spent ten years of her life with me. Everyone in this city knows she was my woman. No one else would dare touch her!” “I have to take care of her. I need to give her a reason to come back to me.” “Once she sees that I’m willing to hand over every single dime I own, she’ll come home. I know she will.” He spoke with such absolute certainty. Yet he had no idea that the woman he was talking about was sitting right in front of him, listening to his grand delusions without a single flicker of emotion. Gemma stared at him, her expression shifting from fear to a dark, unstable rage. Suddenly, she snapped. “Her, her, her! That’s all you care about!” “I told you she’s never coming back! You’re losing your mind looking for her, seeing her face in every stranger!” “Open your eyes, Oliver! Look at who’s sitting right in front of you!” Before I could react, Gemma lunged across the desk, her manicured fingers clawing at my face, ripping the mask away.

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1 I sat at the long mahogany dining table, the rhythmic thud of a headboard and muffled moans drifting down from the second floor. It was my husband, Garrett, breaking in his eighteenth secretary. Today was our fourth wedding anniversary. It was also the fourth year since the True Love System bound itself to us. Four years ago, the moment we signed our marriage papers, the System descended. Every act of genuine love between us was rewarded. That was, until the day I found out I was pregnant. The System handed out its ultimate gift, a technological breakthrough that skyrocketed Garrett into the ranks of the world’s most elite billionaires overnight. But even a man certified by a magical entity could have a change of heart. Garrett took the seat next to me, his collar slightly wrinkled, a faint smattering of red marks on his neck. He ladled a bowl of steaming chicken soup and set it before me. “Sorry for the wait, honey. I specifically asked the housekeeper to simmer this for you today.” I nodded, my face an unreadable mask, and picked up the silver spoon. The next second, a long forgotten, cold mechanical voice echoed in my mind. [Ding. Congratulations to the Host. The Severance Protocol has been triggered.] I froze, the spoon hovering in midair. I glanced at Garrett. He was casually checking his phone, completely oblivious. It was certain. He had not heard the prompt. Footsteps padded down the grand staircase. The eighteenth secretary was a familiar face. Garrett immediately stood up, pulling out a chair for her with practiced, intimate grace. “Sylvia, this is Laura. She was the recipient of our university’s scholarship program last year.” His voice actually carried a hint of pleasant surprise. “When she brought it up during the interview, I couldn’t help but marvel at how small the world is.” “Garrett,” I interrupted his order for another place setting, my fingernails digging into my palms. “You promised. They are never allowed at our dining table.” The very first reward we ever got from the System was a lavish anniversary dinner. Garrett waved his hand dismissively. “Laura is different. I plan to mentor her personally.” “Mentor her how? Between the sheets?” The young girl’s face drained of color. She shrank back, her trembling fingers gripping the hem of Garrett’s expensive blazer. “There is no need to be so vulgar,” Garrett said, wrapping a protective arm around her shoulders. “I initiated it. She is young. You cannot blame her.” He patted her arm to soothe her. Suddenly, Laura looked up. Her voice was thin, but her words were crystal clear. “Sylvia, I am truly grateful for the financial aid you provided me back in college. But Garrett and I are truly in love. Doesn’t it exhaust you, clinging to a title when the heart is gone?” She had changed. The timid college girl I met a year ago had grown bold, her eyes gleaming with naked ambition. Garrett’s face darkened instantly. “Laura, know your place. She will always be my wife.” But his tone softened just as quickly as he looked down at her. “That doesn’t stop us from being in love. Just be a good girl and do as you are told.” A dry, bitter laugh escaped my throat. “Laura, he said the exact same lines to the seventeen women before you. Tell me, which number of true love do you think you are?” The pregnancy reward the System gave us back then was a technological blueprint decades ahead of its time, along with massive startup capital. When I was eight months pregnant, Garrett was overseas attending his company’s IPO gala. His aunt and uncle suddenly barged into our home, demanding fifty million dollars in alimony. They claimed that without them taking in an orphaned Garrett years ago, he would be nothing. During the heated argument, his cousin shoved me down the stairs. The whole family blocked the front door, demanding the money before they would call an ambulance. As a pool of crimson soaked the hardwood floor, I dialed Garrett’s number over and over. I got nothing but endless voicemail. Three hours later, the celebratory fireworks of his IPO lit up the foreign sky. And the fully formed baby boy inside me stopped breathing forever. When Garrett finally rushed back to the country, he handled his relatives, but began avoiding me. While I was confined to my bed in mourning, I smelled a foreign, sweet perfume on his dress shirt for the first time. I found a glaring, chestnut blonde strand of hair on his collar. I smashed every vase and mirror in the room. He simply stood amidst the shattered glass, his voice devoid of emotion. “It was just a one night stand. Don’t work yourself up. You will always be my wife.” I prayed countless times for the True Love System to appear again, to strip away everything it had given us. If we went back to being poor but in love, maybe Garrett would come back to me. But nothing happened. The mechanical voice I once viewed as a divine miracle remained dead. From then on, whoever caught his eye became his new personal assistant. When he got bored, he swapped them out. The entire corporate empire knew, but no one dared breathe a word. I drafted divorce papers. He tore them to shreds right in front of my face. The very next day, armed guards patrolled the estate, and housekeepers were stationed in my room, impossible to shake off. Propelled by the System, he sat comfortably at the absolute pinnacle of the business world. There was nothing he could not control. Garrett put down his fork and wiped his mouth with a linen napkin. “Stop throwing a tantrum. There is an auction next month featuring that vintage emerald set you have been eyeing. Consider it… compensation for number eighteen.” I ate my cold rice in silence. Those so called gifts were already gathering dust in the storage room. They made my skin crawl. He stood up, taking Laura’s hand to leave. He paused at the door, as if suddenly remembering something. “I am taking Laura to see the Northern Lights next week. The kid has been begging me for ages. Be good and stay home. I will bring you a souvenir.” Next week was the anniversary of my mother’s death. “Next Wednesday is my mother’s memorial. You…” “What does a memorial matter?” he cut me off, irritation lacing his voice. “We go every single year. Is her ghost going to haunt me if I miss one?” He pulled Laura closer, his tone turning frigid. “Mope all you want on your own, just don’t ruin our mood.” During our senior year of high school, my mother fell terminally ill. He knelt by her hospital bed, swearing on his life that he would cherish me forever. When she passed, he drained his entire savings from six years of part time jobs to give her a proper funeral. Every year since, he would kneel at her gravestone, recounting how well he was taking care of me, telling her to rest in peace. Now, he could not remember our anniversary. He did not care about my mother’s memorial. But he remembered his little secretary wanted to see the Northern Lights. The heavy oak doors slammed shut. At that exact moment, the icy mechanical voice rang out again. [Ding. Congratulations to the Host. You have received 99,999,999 dollars in highest denomination currency.] [The funds have been transferred to your encrypted offshore account. The Severance Protocol will be with you every step of the way.] The System had descended once more, pulling me from the wreckage. 2 After sweeping the fallen autumn leaves from my mother’s grave, I arranged the fresh white chrysanthemums. My fingertips brushed against the carved letters of her name. That stone was once the only warmth in my isolated world. I never knew my father or any other relatives. It was just me and her. That was, until I met Garrett in high school. He was like a wild, untamed fire, forcefully illuminating the bitter, barren landscape of my youth. We used to huddle together in a freezing rental apartment during winter nights, promising to be each other’s irreplaceable source of warmth. But Mom, he changed. That fire now burned me until I bled. “Ma’am, it is a call from Mr. Garrett.” The bodyguard’s stiff voice pulled me back to reality. I took the phone. On the other end, Garrett’s voice sounded unusually panicked. “Sylvia, the puppy Laura adopted is doing really badly. You need to come take a look.” A wave of pure absurdity pierced my heart like a needle. Years ago, when he rushed back and saw me hollowed out, having just lost our child, he had not sounded this frantic. He was only anxious about whether the System would revoke his wealth. I should have known. I should have realized it long ago. “Go to hell,” I heard my own dry, raspy voice say. Minutes later, I was essentially escorted by force into the black SUV. The car pulled up to the tiny starter home we had rented right after college. Back then, after receiving a massive cash reward from the System, we bought this place full of memories. We renovated it together, turning it into our dream nest. I pushed the door open. The interior was violently different from my memory, like a beautiful dream heavily vandalized. The spot on the mantelpiece that once held our framed couple photos was replaced by Laura’s graduation portrait. The velvet sofa I had spent weeks picking out was draped with a sickeningly sweet pink blanket. The air was suffocating, thick with a cheap, sugary perfume that completely eradicated the clean scent of sunlight and laundry detergent that used to live here. Laura initiated a video call from Garrett’s phone. “Sylvia, how is Peanut doing?” She lowered her eyes, putting on a masterful display of distress. “When Garrett and I found him last week, he was so weak. He refuses to eat. Could you please take him back to the main estate and nurse him?” I walked further in. The room we had painstakingly designated as the nursery had been gutted and turned into a dog’s playroom. In the corner, a frail puppy curled up in a designer dog bed. Tied around its neck was a glaring red string. Dangling from the red string was a tiny, blessed gold locket. It was the very same locket Garrett had walked miles up a treacherous mountain path to pray for, back when I was pregnant. We used to press our hands to my barely showing stomach, calling the baby Noah, praying for him to have a lifetime of peace and safety. “Where did you get that red string?” My voice trembled, freezing the air in the room. My heart hammered heavily against my ribs, every beat radiating a dull, sickening ache. “You mean the one on Peanut’s neck?” Laura blinked innocently through the screen. “Garrett put it on him. He said it brings good luck and protection.” He forgot. He did not just forget the locket. He forgot Noah. He forgot how we knelt side by side on the temple floor, heads bowed in absolute devotion. He forgot the tears and laughter embedded in the name Noah. He forgot how awkwardly, yet blissfully, we debated the paint colors for the nursery. Even the very last memento of my dead child had been casually tossed to his mistress’s pet. “I know this used to be your house, Sylvia.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, dripping with hidden triumph. “All the junk you two used to own is locked in the master bedroom. We even did it on that old bed of yours…” “But just the once. Garrett said it felt a bit gross being in there.” I walked over and pushed open the master bedroom door. Every single photo album, every souvenir, every piece of our shared history was piled haphazardly in the corner. Like trash waiting for the dumpster. I dragged them all out into the center of the backyard. Box after box, memory after memory, along with that red string and the tiny gold locket. My lighter sparked, spitting out a blue flame. The fire eagerly licked at the edges of our polaroids, consuming our awkward teenage smiles, swallowing the gold locket into the inferno. It was time to end this. Along with the unborn child, and all the years of pathetic, self deceiving fantasies. As the flames roared higher, Garrett’s furious roar erupted from the phone’s speaker. “Sylvia! What the hell are you doing? Are you insane? Put it out!” His voice cracked, shrill and laced with absolute terror. “How could you… how could you burn it all!” I stared into the dancing, crackling flames, feeling like a spectator watching a play that had nothing to do with me. “It is trash nobody wants. Better to burn it clean.” “Laura!” 3 He immediately turned his crosshairs on her, his voice warped with panic. “What the hell did you say to her?!” “I… I didn’t! She just asked about the red string… and about me moving in…” The bonfire crackled and popped in front of me, perfectly masking Garrett’s out of control screaming and Laura’s pathetic sobbing. I stood right beside the blistering heat, yet a terrifying, ice cold silence soaked through my bones. The space where my heart used to be had been hollowed out long ago, scooped away by his endless betrayals. Now, even the leftover ashes were being swept away by this fire. [Ding. Congratulations to the Host. You have received a fleet of five legally registered top tier luxury vehicles across the continent.] I was not alone. I had the System. With every ounce of shattered hope and every act of rebellion, I received massive rewards tied to an overseas haven. From unlimited funds to supercars, the System was meticulously paving a flawless escape route for me. … When the two of them walked through the villa doors later that evening, looking utterly drained, my mind was composed of nothing but icy calculations. “Sylvia, I picked this out for you.” Laura had morphed back into her timid persona, keeping her eyes glued to the floor. “I misspoke earlier. I made you angry enough to burn your own things.” Garrett stepped forward, reaching out to embrace me. I sidestepped, leaving his arms hanging awkwardly in the air. “Noah is… gone. You can’t drown in the past forever,” Garrett said softly. “If that locket could bring some peace to the puppy, isn’t it worth it?” “Worth it?” I raised my hand and slapped him across the face with everything I had. “You do not get to say Noah’s name. It makes me sick coming from your mouth.” [Ding. You have received a sprawling vineyard estate in Tuscany.] Garrett rubbed his cheek. A terrifying smile stretched across his face, followed by words even more ruthless than his betrayal. “Fine. The playground and nursery you designed for Noah in the backyard? Tear them down. Staring at dead memories is bad for your health. Laura studied design in college. Let her use the space for practice.” Seeing the corner of Laura’s mouth twitch upwards behind him, an idea flashed in my mind. I snatched a sharp paring knife from the fruit bowl and pressed the steel firmly against my own collarbone, forcing tears to well up in my eyes. “You want to erase the very last trace of Noah to make room for your new baby? Are you trying to make room for a new Mrs. Garrett, too?” I saw the sudden, hungry spark in Laura’s eyes. She understood exactly what I was doing. The final jackpot, my ultimate ticket out of this hellhole, relied on one thing: a child. “Tear it down,” I pressed the blade harder, “and I will bleed out right here!” “Sylvia! Don’t do anything stupid!” Garrett panicked, lunging forward to wrestle the knife away, wrapping his arms tightly around my trembling body. “We won’t touch it! We won’t! You are the only woman who will ever bear my children!” [Ding. You have received full estate resources, including a historical castle, a full butler and maid staff, and private chauffeurs.] “I’m sending you on a vacation to clear your head. Too much has happened,” he murmured, cupping my face, his eyes swimming in a sickening mix of terror and fake devotion. “Go overseas. Go to Europe… see the places we talked about when you were carrying Noah.” The very next day, I boarded a first class flight across the Atlantic. For half a month, under the guise of grieving, I inspected the vineyard estate the System had gifted me. It was a breathtaking property bathed in Mediterranean sunlight, overflowing with blooming roses. It was perfect. In the past, every single reward from the True Love System went straight to Garrett. Cash, real estate, cars, they all bore his name. I used to complain, asking why a system based on our love only rewarded him. It turned out, my gifts were just severely delayed. When I finally returned to the city, Laura opened the front door. Just as I predicted, the backyard was unrecognizable. The sandbox and jungle gym I sketched out for Noah were gone, replaced by a tacky infinity pool and an outdoor bar. Laura wore a secretive, arrogant smirk. “See that, Sylvia? The memories you threatened to die for? I wiped them out with a few whispers.” She stepped closer. “Once I get pregnant, you are going to hand over the title of Mrs. Garrett quietly.” Hearing heavy footsteps approaching from the hallway behind her, I didn’t hesitate. I raised my hand and struck her hard across the cheek. The girl stumbled back with a gasp, collapsing onto the marble floor. 4 “Sylvia! What the hell is wrong with you?” Garrett rushed over, shielding her on the floor, roaring at me. “I authorized the demolition! If you are pissed, take it out on me!” I scoffed coldly, turning on my heel and walking upstairs. [Ding. You have received an elite architectural design studio overseas, complete with a full executive team.] “You are staying in this house! You are not going anywhere!” he screamed from the bottom of the stairs. Everything I needed was almost in place. My movements were completely restricted to the villa. I spent my days researching the design studio the System had given me. Their portfolio aligned perfectly with my own creative vision. When Garrett walked into the bedroom and saw the architectural drafts spread across my desk, a deep frown etched into his face. “Are you short on cash? Why are you playing around with blueprints again?” I casually covered the name of my new overseas studio with a notebook, not bothering to look up. “You grounded me. I needed a hobby.” “You are coming with me to the charity gala tomorrow.” He slammed the door shut on his way out. On the surface, I was still the trophy wife required for his public theater. But when the chauffeur opened my car door the next evening, I saw Laura standing there, draped in an evening gown that rivaled my own. She instinctively reached to link her arm through Garrett’s, but he hissed in a low voice, “In public, you are just my assistant!” Yet, his tone immediately softened back into a caress. “Be a good girl. I will buy you whatever you want tonight.” Laura’s face fell into a pout, and she trailed behind us obediently. I observed the entire charade with dead eyes, like a theater critic watching a terrible play. Given Garrett’s current billionaire status, our seats were dead center in the front row. Laura and I flanked him on either side. When the vintage emerald set he had promised me was rolled onto the stage, Laura leaned in, tugging gently on his sleeve. “Garrett, that would look so cute on Peanut.” Garrett turned, offering her a disgustingly tender smile, and nodded. He forgot again. Half the socialites in this room knew I had been coveting that exact emerald set for years. When the white gloved usher brought the velvet box over, he bypassed me completely, handing it directly to Laura. A ripple of thinly veiled gasps and murmurs spread through the surrounding elite crowd. Since he had decided to strip away my last shred of dignity in public, I was done playing along. I stood up, violently flipping the low glass table in front of us. The deafening crash of shattered crystal and porcelain echoed through the dead silent ballroom. Without a single glance backward, I walked through the shocked crowd, heading straight for the terrace. [Ding. You have received a forged, legally ironclad identity in your new country.] The gala was being held at a historic mansion perched on the cliffs of the Riviera. I walked toward the stone balustrade, letting the salty sea breeze whip through my hair. A few moments later, the clack of heels announced Laura’s arrival. “Sylvia, why make a scene and humiliate Garrett like that?” “You ruined the mood for the entire room. Garrett had to cover the entire night’s auction tabs just to save face.” “Being this hysterical is only going to make him hate you more.” She closed the distance between us, pulling a folded piece of paper from her clutch. Her ambition was fully bared now. “Besides, I am carrying his child. Your days sitting on that throne are over.” I took the medical report from her hands. I scanned the lines. It was a confirmed positive pregnancy test. [Ding. Please prepare yourself, Host.] The final reward was about to drop. In the distance, Garrett burst through the terrace doors, his eyes wildly searching the darkness. The second his gaze locked onto me, I gave him the brightest, most radiant smile I could muster. Then, clutching that pregnancy report to my chest, I leaned backward and let gravity pull me off the cliff. The wind screamed in my ears as I plummeted. The very last thing I saw was Garrett’s face warping into a mask of pure, unadulterated horror. I saw him sprint toward the edge, diving forward, his hands grasping at empty air. He watched me vanish. Not fall into the crashing waves, but literally vanish. Like a digital image being deleted, I faded out of existence inch by inch right before his eyes. He even saw the lingering, victorious curve of my smile before I dissolved completely. But all anyone else heard was Laura’s piercing shriek. “Help! Call the Coast Guard! She fell into the ocean!” The security footage showed a clear, uninterrupted fall straight into the raging black water, followed by a massive splash. Everyone told him it was a hallucination. A trick of the mind brought on by extreme trauma.

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On the bus, I gave up my seat to a fifty-year-old pregnant woman. She gave me a sweet smile, “Thank you, darling.” I didn’t think much of it, but the very next day, she became my new coworker. She’d follow me around every day, calling me her husband, claiming our love child was about to be born. My coworkers laughed at me, insisting I take responsibility, but I just figured she had some mental issues and still didn’t take it seriously. But three months later, her quadruplets were born, And downstairs from the company, she shoved a paternity test in my face, showing a 99.9% match between me and her four babies. “Darling, just come home and live a good life with me.” My millionaire girlfriend slapped me, then broke up with me on the spot. Later, pressured by public opinion, I married her and lived a life of utter misery. I toiled day and night to support four children. The night those four kids went to college, that woman plunged a knife into my chest and coldly whispered: “You’ll never know why I mysteriously got pregnant with your children.” I opened my eyes again and found myself reborn. Reborn to the day I first met her on that bus.

I opened my eyes again, and that towering, swollen belly, looking like it would burst any second, was right in front of me. Padilla’s greasy, bloated face stared at me intently. I immediately realized I’d been reborn, and a flood of painful memories washed over me. It was this very day in my previous life that I gave up my seat to Padilla, a woman I’d never met, and she clung to me like a phantom. Not only did she become my coworker, But I also ended up as the father of her quadruplets. Even as she stabbed me to death, I was still racking my brain, trying to figure out why. I’d never had any physical relationship with Padilla. How could her children possibly be mine? “Haven’t you seen that pregnant lady standing next to you for ages? Hurry up and offer her your seat.” The urging voice of Mrs. Davies, a neighbor, rang out beside me. I looked around and immediately noticed something odd. There were plenty of empty seats in front, behind, and beside me, but Padilla ignored them all, her gaze fixed solely on my spot. I looked at Padilla’s large backside, a thought forming in my mind: Could it be that because she sat on the seat I’d just vacated, some sort of contact was made between us? And that’s how her children became related to me? Just thinking about it made my heart pound. I felt completely drained, the fear of those four ugly, fat children calling me “Daddy” in my previous life constantly assailing my brain. I even felt like I might slide off the seat any second. No, I can’t let any doubt go unchecked before the real reason is revealed. As Padilla’s gaze grew even more sticky and persistent, I leaned back firmly in my seat, clearly signaling I had no intention of giving it up. I closed my eyes, trying to pretend to be asleep, but Mrs. Davies’s voice rang out again. “That pregnant lady’s been standing next to you for ages, what are you playing dumb for? Give up your seat already!” Immediately after, Mr. Henderson, an old man nearby, also started scolding me, “You’re a grown man, where’s your manners? Is your backside really that heavy?” I kept my eyes closed, trying my best to ignore the voices. It was the same in my previous life. I hadn’t slept well the night before and had wanted to catch a quick nap on the bus. But because Padilla kept standing next to me, combined with everyone’s finger-pointing, I had no choice but to give up my seat. But with the lessons of the previous life, this time, unless they dragged me off, I would absolutely not give up my seat. The accusations grew too loud, so I opened my eyes and angrily retorted: “First off, there are tons of empty seats on this bus, I don’t need to give up mine.” “And I’m not even in a priority seat for the elderly or disabled, so why should I give it up? If you’re so keen on doing good deeds, why don’t you give up your seat?” But after I said that, Padilla actually spoke. “I really don’t feel well and can’t walk. How about you get up and help me to a seat in the back?” But I immediately noticed a flicker of malice in the eyes of the seemingly pitiful Padilla. I swallowed hard. Mr. Henderson’s voice spoke up again, “The pregnant lady isn’t arguing with you, so just get up and help her to a seat in the back.” No, absolutely not. I can’t get up. My intuition grew stronger. All of Padilla’s strange actions seemed to be geared towards one thing: getting me off this seat. “I’m not getting up. If you’re so eager to help, you get up.” As soon as I spoke, a burly man rushed over, “Are you moving or not?” This guy’s arms were thicker than my legs. Around us, a few more people sparsely stood up. “Just move! Bullying an old person isn’t enough, now we can’t let you bully a pregnant woman too!” But I wasn’t scared. “Damn it, I’m not moving!” I couldn’t help but curse. These people were acting like bots. But then, the man rubbed his hands together, then grabbed both my arms, looking like he was about to physically yank me from the seat. Watching Padilla’s increasingly triumphant gaze, my butt was getting further and further from the seat. Padilla’s malicious face as she stabbed me in the previous life reappeared before my eyes. I closed my eyes and made a decision. With a trickling sound, a stream of liquid sprayed out between my legs. “Gross! This kid just peed himself!” Suddenly, the crowd clutched their noses and backed away. I sat back down on the seat, looking at Padilla defiantly. “Are you still going to sit here?”

Padilla glanced at the liquid on the chair, then with a complicated expression, sat down in an empty seat nearby. I let out a sigh of relief, covertly observing Padilla. For the next few stops, she showed no unusual behavior. She didn’t, like in my previous life, intimately call me “husband” after I gave her my seat. The bus traveled three more stops, and I saw Padilla slowly stand up and walk to the door. This stop was exactly where our company was located. In my previous life, I remembered very clearly that Padilla got off the bus with me at this very stop. And then, my nightmare at the company began. Suddenly, I remembered that while I had successfully avoided giving up my seat, there were still chairs, cups, and even my watch at the office. Any of those things could lead to intimate contact with Padilla. I quickly made a call, telling Mr. Brown, the junk collector, to take all my belongings away, for free. After seeing the photo of my bare, empty workspace, I sent a WhatsApp message to my boss. “Sorry, Mr. Harrison, I’ve been diagnosed with schizophrenia and can’t come to work. I’m formally resigning.” Then I sent a photoshopped medical report. “About to enter a mental hospital, gotta go.” After everything was done, I breathed a sigh of relief. Now, I had completely cut off all contact with Padilla. Her children definitely wouldn’t have anything to do with me anymore. Just in case, I didn’t leave the work WhatsApp group, wanting to see what would happen there. And sure enough, before long, I saw Padilla, with my profile picture, added to the group. And Mr. Harrison’s introduction of Padilla was exactly the same as in my previous life. “Everyone, don’t let Padilla’s pregnancy and age fool you. She’s a coding powerhouse, worth five people. We should all learn from her.” Until quitting time, there was nothing unusual in the group. That evening, I took a shower and was about to have a drink when my girlfriend, Esther, called. On the other end, her tone was furious. “Giovanni? What’s your deal? Are you seeing other women behind my back?” “And if you are, you’re hooking up with someone that old? I’m telling you, I’m breaking up with you!” The call ended. I opened WhatsApp, and the messages in the company group almost made me drop my phone. Earlier in the day, a coworker had asked Padilla why she was still working at such an age and while pregnant. Padilla stammered, “Because the father of my children works at this company.” As soon as that news broke, the company WhatsApp group exploded. Everyone was guessing who the father of Padilla’s children could be. But after coworkers went around asking, Padilla shook her head to every name. When someone finally mentioned my name, Padilla nodded shyly. In the company WhatsApp group, people tagging me formed a long queue. “Giovanni? You resigned because you didn’t want to take responsibility, huh? Are you even a man?” “Giovanni, this two-timing is too much. Does your girlfriend know about this?”

The person speaking was my rival, Chris. He had been jealous of my beautiful and wealthy girlfriend for a long time. Esther’s call just now must have been Chris telling on me. I immediately called Esther back to explain everything. “Esther, I swear to God I haven’t done anything to betray you.” “That woman is absolutely making things up. I’ve never even met her. How could her children possibly be mine?” Just like in my previous life, I used these words to calm Esther down first. But for some reason, I started to feel a vague unease again. Why, despite my best efforts to avoid contact with Padilla, was she still clinging to me like this? And why was she so sure that the children in her belly were mine? In the company WhatsApp group, I directly posted a statement warning Padilla that if she kept spreading rumors, I would sue her. Soon after leaving the company group, I lay in bed, my mind a mess. Just then, my phone received a picture from an unknown number. I opened it, and it was a photo of me and a woman. In the dim light, I zoomed in on the woman’s face—it was Padilla. In the photo, she was clinging to my arm, and we looked intimate, And I was looking at her with a doting expression, clearly a couple deeply in love. Then, the date in the upper left corner of the photo caught my eye: 1995. How was that possible? In 1995, I hadn’t even been born yet! And when did I ever take such an intimate photo with Padilla? Just then, there was a frantic knocking at the door. My heart pounded as I slowly crept to the peephole. Through the peephole, I saw the person outside was Padilla. She called out to me, her face flushed with shyness, “Giovanni, I’m off work! Open the door!” I froze, my entire body stiff. What was with that photo? And how did Padilla know where I lived? But because I was stunned, the knocking at the door grew more frantic, and Padilla’s voice became more urgent. The force of the knocking was so great that I felt like Padilla was going to smash the door down. The neighbor across the hall opened their door, muttering angrily, “Are you trying to wake the dead in the middle of the night?” Padilla turned her head, looking annoyed. “I’m knocking on my husband’s door, what’s it to you?” The neighbor rubbed their eyes. “Your husband? You mean across the hall?” Padilla touched her belly, a proud expression on her face. “Mhm, my husband’s children are in here, and they’ll be born soon.” My neighbor had seen me bring Esther home before. If I let Padilla keep spouting nonsense, these terrible rumors would spread throughout the whole building by tomorrow. Unable to bear it any longer, I directly called 911. By the time the police arrived at my door, Padilla had already attracted quite a few neighbors. I opened the door, and she looked at me with delight. “Giovanni, you finally opened the door!” Beside me, a police officer showed his badge and asked, “You’re the one who called, right?” “Yes, this person has been knocking on my door in the middle of the night, and spreading rumors that I’m her husband, but I don’t even know her.” Padilla turned her body slightly away from the officer, as if deliberately hiding her face. “Ma’am, please come down to the station with us.” But Padilla twisted her head away even further. “I’m not going! I haven’t murdered anyone or set anything on fire, what right do you have to question me?” Her belly was terrifyingly large, making even the police officer frown. “She’s heavily pregnant, making baseless claims that I’m her husband right outside my house, and saying the children in her belly are mine.” “If these words get out, my girlfriend will definitely break up with me.” The officer nodded, but hesitated to lay hands on Padilla due to her pregnant status. “Ma’am, please cooperate and come with us.” As the officers pressed closer, Padilla suddenly clutched her belly and ran.

Fortunately, the police stopped Padilla downstairs. At the police station, Padilla was being interrogated. I pulled out the picture I had received on my phone. “This photo is dated ’95, but I wasn’t even born in ’95. How could I possibly be in a picture with her?” Saying that, I dialed the sender’s number, and Padilla’s phone rang. The officer held up the photo and questioned Padilla, “What’s the deal with this picture?” Padilla sneered, “As you can see, it’s a photo of me and my husband.” The officer’s expression grew increasingly complex. I knew what they were thinking. They must suspect Padilla has mental health issues. But as the officer checked Padilla’s records, a gasp came from another officer nearby. “Padilla, you were just released from prison last year?” What? This news from the police made my mind even more chaotic. Padilla had been in jail. “I’m telling you, there’s no need to question me. I can guarantee that the children in my belly are his.” “If you don’t believe me, we can do a paternity test once they’re born.” “If you don’t believe me now, there’s nothing I can do. Why can’t we just let science prove it in the end?” Faced with Padilla’s unwavering certainty, the police hesitated and turned to me: “Sir, do you recall if you might have met before and had a relationship, and you’ve simply forgotten?” My eyes were bloodshot. I wanted to kill myself just to prove my innocence. “If I ever had a relationship with her, I’d drop dead right now!” But Padilla was calm, even offering me a cup of water: “Giovanni, don’t get so worked up. It hurts me to see you angry. Alright, whatever you say goes.” “The children really aren’t yours.” My emotions broke, and I picked up a pen holder, ready to hit Padilla, when she suddenly clutched her belly and collapsed to the floor. “Oh no, the pregnant woman is going into labor!” That day, just like in my previous life, Padilla gave birth to quadruplets. A week later, the police, with complicated expressions, handed me the paternity test results. “After medical examination, these children…”

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I suffered from severe pyrophobia and haphephobia. My fiancé, a top psychologist, spent three years of gentle patience, pulling me back from hell. I thought he was my savior and decided to say yes to his hundredth proposal. But on the day I was trying on my wedding dress, I accidentally pushed open the secret door in his study, disguised as a bookshelf. Behind a one-way mirror, the walls were covered with photos of my agonizing struggles, along with an experimental report about to be published. And he was holding another heavily pregnant woman in his arms, his voice chilling: “She’s just a lab rat for me to overcome academic challenges. With one more severe fire stimulus, my data will be perfect.” In that moment, my world turned to ice. Later, I died in that fire as he wished, but he went completely insane. A cold dread washed over me, my blood freezing in my veins. Through a one-way mirror, I watched Julian Vance, my fiancé of three years, gently caressing another woman’s swollen pregnant belly. “Julian, I’m pregnant.” The woman cooed, her voice full of possessiveness. “When are you going to get rid of that crazy woman?” Julian. My treating therapist. My fiancé. The man who had spent three sleepless years proposing to me ninety-nine times, all to cure my pyrophobia and touch aversion. Now, his face bore a coldness and calculation I’d never seen before. “Scarlett, don’t be childish.” He lowered his head and kissed her forehead. “You know, Ember is just an extremely valuable research subject to me.” “My new desensitization therapy is at a critical stage. All I need to do is put her in a simulated fire chamber next week, get her final physiological data under extreme fear, and my research will win an international award.” “Then, we’ll get married.” Every word was a knife twisting in my heart. I covered my mouth, biting hard into the back of my hand, desperate not to make a sound. The taste of rust spread in my mouth. Just ten minutes ago, I was preparing for his hundredth proposal, joyfully looking for his tie in his study. But I accidentally triggered a mechanism on the bookshelf. This secret room, hidden behind the study, felt like a massive mockery. The walls were plastered with photos of me convulsing in agony during my episodes, annotated with meticulous data: heart rate, blood pressure, fear index. It turned out that every gentle embrace, every patient reassurance, even every proposal. None of it was out of love. It was all to test the obedience of a lab rat. I stumbled backward, knocking over a nearby chair. A muffled thud. Julian, on the other side of the glass, suddenly looked up, his gaze shooting towards the wall like a blade. “Who’s in there?”

The secret door was violently pushed open. Julian stood silhouetted against the light in the doorway. When he saw it was me, a flicker of panic darted in his eyes. But it was only for an instant, before his usual aloof, cold demeanor returned. Scarlett followed behind him. Seeing my disheveled state, she covered her mouth and let out a laugh. “Oh dear, the lab rat escaped.” I ignored her, just stared intensely into Julian’s eyes, my body trembling uncontrollably. “Three years…” I heard my own cracked voice. “Julian, these past three years, you were lying to me the entire time?” Julian stepped forward, instinctively reaching out to touch me. “Ember, calm down. You’re very unstable right now, this isn’t good for your condition.” “Don’t touch me!” I screamed, violently swatting his hand away. My severe haphephobia immediately flared up. The spot he touched felt like it was crawling with a thousand ants, and my stomach churned violently. Gagging, I collapsed to the floor. Julian frowned, looking down at me, his tone finally dropping all pretense. “Since you’ve heard everything, there’s no need for me to keep up the act.” He adjusted his tie, his eyes cold and dismissive. “Ember, you need to face reality. You’re a patient with severe psychological issues. Without me, you’d be lost in the darkness by now.” “I gave you three years of normal life. You cooperate with me to complete the final data collection, we both get what we want. It’s fair.” Fair? I looked up at this man I once worshipped, and laughed until tears streamed down my face. He pulled me out of one abyss, only to push me into an even deeper hell. Scarlett stepped forward, her high heel crunching on my skirt. “Why waste words on a lunatic?” She looked at me scornfully. “If it weren’t for Julian’s academic standing, do you think you’d be living in this mansion? Just finish the experiment and get out of my sight.” I bit my lip hard, staring at Julian: “What if I don’t cooperate?” Julian crouched down, his long, slender fingers gripping my chin, his eyes sinister. “Ember, you don’t have the right to refuse. In your current mental state, all it takes is one word from me to have you forcefully admitted to a high-security psychiatric facility.” “You’d better be obedient.”

I was imprisoned. Julian confiscated my phone and locked the mansion’s gates. He was no longer the gentle and empathetic therapist. After shedding his mask, he became a cold-blooded dictator. Over the next few days, he began to forcibly reduce my anti-anxiety medication. He was forcing me into an episode. Without the suppression of the medication, those deep-buried fears surged back like a tide. Night after night, I had nightmares, dreaming of the fire that took my parents, dreaming of flames licking my skin. I started frantically scratching myself until my arms were bleeding profusely. Every time I had an episode, Julian would stand behind the one-way mirror, coldly recording data. “Heart rate 140, pupils dilated, self-harming tendencies observed…” His voice came through the loudspeaker into the room, cold and mechanical. I lay on the floor, looking at the blurry silhouette in the glass. The love in my heart was slowly crushed, turning into bone-deep hatred. On the fourth day, Scarlett came. She stood before me, her pregnant belly prominent, holding a cup of hot coffee. “Tsk, tsk, how pathetic.” She looked down at me. “Julian says your threshold is almost reached. Tomorrow, he’ll activate the simulated fire chamber.” At the words “fire chamber,” my whole body jolted. That was my Achilles’ heel. Scarlett seemed pleased with my reaction. She deliberately tilted the hot coffee in her hand. Scalding liquid splashed onto the back of my hand. “Ah–!” I screamed in pain, not just from the burn, but because the heat awakened memories of being scorched by flames. Curled up in the corner like a madwoman, I screamed and trembled. Scarlett laughed loudly and left. The moment the door closed, I stopped screaming. I slowly looked up, staring at the red swelling on the back of my hand, my eyes utterly lifeless. My tears had dried up. I couldn’t just sit there and wait to die. If I entered the simulated fire chamber tomorrow, I would completely lose my mind, becoming his perfect experimental data. I had to escape. Even if I died, I would die outside these walls.

The next day, Julian entered the room. He looked at the burn on the back of my hand, frowned almost imperceptibly, but quickly, coldness replaced it. “Ember, this is the last time.” His voice even carried a twisted gentleness. “Just get through today, and you can finally be free.” I leaned against the wall, motionless like a broken rag doll, devoid of a soul. Julian didn’t care about my lifeless state. He waved his hand, and two bodyguards walked in, forcibly manhandling me to my feet. I was dragged into a completely sealed chamber. Huge LED screens surrounded me, and the pungent smell of burning permeated the air. “Let me go… Please, Julian, don’t…” I struggled violently, tears streaming down my face. I wasn’t faking it; I was genuinely terrified. That bone-deep fear made it almost impossible to breathe. Julian stood in front of the control panel, his eyes feverish. “Begin.” With his command, the screens around me instantly burst into blazing flames. Heaters hidden in the walls whirred furiously, and the room temperature rapidly rose. “Boom–!” Realistic sound effects exploded in my ears, as if the whole building was burning. “Ah–!!!” I screamed shrilly, clutching my head with both hands, desperately shrinking into a corner. “Help me! Help me! Dad! Mom!” I fell into extreme hallucinations, the firelight before my eyes turning into the sea of fire that had consumed everything that day. Julian’s voice came from above, laced with a trembling excitement: “Yes, exactly! Fear index at its peak! Heart rate over 160!” I rolled on the floor in agony, my nails digging deep into the floor, my fingers bleeding profusely. Extreme fear and the high temperature gradually made me lose consciousness. The second before falling completely into darkness, I looked at the surveillance camera, a chilling curve on my lips. Julian, you want data? I’ll give it to you. But this is the last time you’ll control me.

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My fiancé of five years and my half-sister, Serena, teamed up to stab me in the back, turning me into the most hated plagiarist in the fashion industry. At the new collection launch, they grandly announced their engagement, trampling my dignity underfoot. The entire internet ridiculed me, demanding I get out of the design world. Someone even threw acid at me. But my good-for-nothing bodyguard, who usually just played video games and slept all day on a measly salary, slowly stood up. He kicked the attacker away. Then, in front of the live global broadcast, he made a call to the head of the world’s most powerful conglomerate. “My sister’s sick of this garbage industry.” He casually wiped the blood from his hands. “Ten minutes. I want Hayes Corporation bankrupt.” The entire internet erupted. The deadbeat they’d ridiculed was actually the heir to an untouchable East Coast dynasty, controlling the global economy. He cornered me against the wall, under the spotlight, his eyes blazing. “Chloe, now you can only rely on me.”

My name is Chloe Miller. I used to be the youngest top fashion designer in the country. In five years, I had won countless awards and founded my own brand, Zephyr. But today, my reputation was ruined. At Zephyr’s Autumn Couture Show, the big screen wasn’t playing my designs. Instead, it showed the “original sketches” of my half-sister, Serena Miller. The two designs were identical. The only difference was that Serena’s sketches were dated a full three months earlier than mine. “Chloe Miller, have you no shame? Plagiarizing your own sister’s work!” “Boycott the copycat! Get out of the design world!” The media and audience below the stage surged forward. Flashes went off like daggers, ready to tear me to pieces. I stared at the two people standing center stage. One was Serena Miller, currently nestled in a man’s arms, sobbing. That man was Ethan Hayes, CEO of Hayes Corporation. He was also my fiancé of five years, whom I was supposed to marry next month. “Ethan, please don’t blame Chloe. She probably just wanted to win too badly…” Serena tugged at Ethan’s sleeve, her voice soft. Ethan pulled her closer, then looked at me with disgust. “Chloe Miller, I never thought you would be this kind of person.” Ethan’s voice was cold. “Serena treated you like family, and you stole her life’s work. From today on, our engagement is off. Hayes Corporation will withdraw its investment from Zephyr and sue you.” The entire hall gasped. I stood on stage, my body going numb. Three months ago, Ethan said he wanted to give me a surprise and took all my rough drafts and initial designs. It turned out his surprise was to put Serena’s name on my work and then publicly push me into hell. “Ethan Hayes, you will pay for this.” I gritted my teeth, my eyes red, but I didn’t cry. “Pay for this?” Ethan sneered. “You should worry about yourself.” The moment he finished speaking, a crazed fan suddenly rushed onto the stage, holding a water bottle, and lunged at me. “Die, plagiarist!” A sharp chemical smell filled the air. It was acid. I couldn’t dodge. My mind went blank. I closed my eyes in despair. But the pain never came. A hand grabbed my wrist and pulled me into an embrace that smelled faintly of tobacco. Then came a loud bang. The attacker was kicked away, crashing against the backdrop. The acid splashed onto the floor, instantly corroding a large, blackened hole. The entire hall fell silent. Still shaking, I looked up. I saw an extremely arrogant, impossibly handsome face. Jaxson King. My bodyguard and personal assistant. His main activities: sleeping and playing video games. He slept until noon every day, woke up to play games, ate the meals I cooked, and went back to sleep. When I asked why he didn’t get a real job, he would always lean lazily on the couch and say, “Work? Start a business? My sister supports me.” I paid him three thousand dollars a month, and he often complained I wasn’t generous enough. But at this moment, he held my waist with one hand and ran the other through his messy black hair. He looked down, his deep eyes slightly narrowed, a cold ferocity in them. “Touch her? Who do you think you are?”

“What are you doing? Security!” Ethan Hayes was the first to react, pointing at Jaxson and yelling. A few security guards nervously surrounded us. Jaxson didn’t even glance at them. He looked down at me, his brow slightly furrowed. “Are you hurt?” His voice was a little hoarse, with a hint of tension. I shook my head and pushed him away. “Why are you here?” “To pick you up from work.” He said it casually, his gaze sweeping over the acid marks on the floor. His eyes turned ice-cold. He turned and walked toward Ethan and Serena. Jaxson was over six feet tall. Though he wore a faded black T-shirt, the intimidation radiating from him made Ethan take a step back. “What do you want? I’m warning you, this is Hayes Corporation’s property!” Ethan shouted. Jaxson let out a soft laugh. “Hayes Corporation’s property?” He slowly pulled out his phone and dialed a number. When the call connected, he said only one sentence. “Ten minutes. I want Hayes Corporation bankrupt.” The entire hall was silent for a second, then erupted in laughter. “Who is this guy? Is he crazy?” “He’s just a bodyguard. Does he think he’s a CEO?” “Ten minutes to bankrupt Hayes Corporation? Does he think he’s the heir to an East Coast dynasty?” Ethan also laughed. “Chloe Miller, is this the loser you found? A good-for-nothing who only knows how to brag?” Serena Miller giggled. “Chloe, if you are going to hire someone to act, at least get someone believable.” I tugged at Jaxson’s sleeve and whispered, “Jaxson, stop messing around. Let’s go.” I didn’t want to stay and be a spectacle. Jaxson held my hand. His palm was warm. “Chloe, what’s the rush?” A wicked smile played on his lips. “The show has just begun.” Time ticked by. Five minutes later. Ethan’s phone rang. He picked it up casually. “Hello?” The next second, his face went pale. “What did you say? The capital chain is broken? The bank is calling in loans? All partners have terminated their contracts?” Ethan’s voice cracked with fear. The phone slipped from his hand and hit the floor. His legs gave out, and he collapsed. The entire hall was silent. Everyone stared at Jaxson as if he were a monster. Jaxson looked down at Ethan. “I told you. Touch her, and you are nothing.”

The press conference ended with Hayes Corporation declaring bankruptcy. Jaxson practically pushed me into his beat-up car. A suffocating silence filled the car. I stared at the night scenery, my mind a mess. Ethan’s betrayal, Serena’s scheme, and Jaxson’s unbelievable phone call. “Who are you?” I finally broke the silence, turning to look at him. Jaxson gripped the steering wheel with one hand. His profile was sharp. He chuckled. “Me? Your good-for-nothing bodyguard, hired for three thousand bucks.” “Jaxson, stop lying to me.” I took a deep breath. “An ordinary bodyguard couldn’t bankrupt Hayes Corporation with one phone call.” “Maybe Ethan brought it on himself?” He turned his head. “Chloe, instead of my identity, shouldn’t you be more concerned about your situation?” I froze. He was right. Hayes Corporation was bankrupt, but the “plagiarist” label still stuck to me. Serena had her “original sketches,” and all my early drafts had been destroyed by Ethan. In the design world, plagiarism was a capital offense. My brand, Zephyr, was being boycotted. My studio was shut down. I was penniless and homeless. The car stopped in front of a rundown apartment building. This was Jaxson’s rented place. “Go on up.” He pulled out the keys and opened the door for me. The apartment was small but clean. I sat on the narrow sofa, watching Jaxson take two cans of beer from the fridge. He handed one to me. “Here. To calm your nerves.” I took the beer. My fingertips brushed his cold ones. “Jaxson, why are you helping me?” I looked up. He leaned against the table, his long legs crossed, and took a sip of beer. “Because you are my boss.” He put down the can, a half-smile on his lips. “If you go bankrupt, who will pay me?” “But…” “No buts.” He suddenly leaned in, his hands on either side of the sofa, trapping me. His masculine scent enveloped me. I was forced to look up at his handsome face so close to mine. “Chloe Miller.” He dropped his lazy smile. His gaze became intense. “Remember, from now on, you can only rely on me.” His voice was deep and husky. I bit my lip and turned my head away. “I don’t need to rely on anyone. I will prove my innocence myself.” Jaxson chuckled. His fingers pinched my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Prove it? With what? You don’t even have money to buy fabric.” His words were like a sharp knife. “That’s none of your business!” I pushed his hand away and stood up to leave. But he grabbed my wrist and pulled me into his arms. “Let me go!” I struggled. “Stop moving.” His hands were like iron clamps around my waist. His chin rested on my head. “Chloe, you are so stubborn. You will only get hurt.” His voice held a hint of helplessness. I froze in his arms, feeling his powerful heartbeat. Finally, my tears fell.

In the following days, I fully experienced what it meant to be kicked while I was down. The media that used to praise me now published daily articles denouncing me. My former peers avoided me. Even some students I had mentored publicly distanced themselves from me. I had become a pariah. Meanwhile, Serena Miller stepped over my ruined career and became the design world’s hottest “genius.” Although Hayes Corporation went bankrupt, Serena quickly latched onto another powerful connection — Asher Thorne, the second son of the Thorne family, one of the most prominent dynasties on the East Coast. To win her favor, Asher poured money into Serena’s new personal brand. He also announced that Serena would represent the country at the Global Young Designers Competition in Paris next month. That was the dream of every designer. It was also the goal I had prepared for for three years. I slammed the newspaper onto the table. “Angry?” Jaxson came out of the kitchen with a plate of a sandwich and placed it in front of me. “Eat.” I looked at the a sandwich. I had no appetite. “Jaxson, I want to enter that competition.” I looked up, my eyes determined. Jaxson raised an eyebrow and sat down. “You don’t even have the qualifications. How will you enter?” “I can apply through a wild card.” I gritted my teeth. “If I can get a recommendation letter from an international judge, I can compete.” “International judge?” Jaxson scoffed. “Your reputation is so bad now. Who would write you a letter?” “I will see Master Charles.” I took a deep breath. “He saw my work before and admired it. If I can show him my new designs, he will help me.” Master Charles was a titan in the global fashion industry and the chief judge for this competition. He happened to be on vacation in the country. Jaxson looked at me. “Are you sure you want to go?” “I have to.” I clenched my fists. “This is my only chance.” Jaxson said nothing more. The next day, carrying the design sketches I had drawn overnight, I arrived at Master Charles’s hotel. But I couldn’t even get past the main entrance. “I’m sorry, Ms. Miller. Master Charles isn’t seeing anyone.” The hotel manager coldly blocked me. “I just need ten minutes. Five minutes will do.” I pleaded. “Chloe Miller, have you no shame?” A sharp voice came from behind me. I turned around and saw Serena Miller, arm-in-arm with Asher Thorne, walking over. Serena was wearing a custom-made gown, her makeup perfect. “Chloe, you have been blacklisted. Why are you still here making a scene?” Serena walked up to me. “Master Charles is about to see me. Leave now so you don’t dirty his eyes.” I glared at her. “Serena Miller, you stole my work. Don’t you have nightmares?” “Stole? Do you have proof?” Serena giggled. “Now the whole internet knows that you, Chloe Miller, plagiarized me. You are a failure.” Asher Thorne also looked at me with disgust. “Security, get this woman out of here.” Several security guards grabbed my arms and dragged me outside. My design sketches scattered on the floor, trampled underfoot. “Let me go!” I struggled, tears streaming down my face. Just then, a black Maybach pulled up at the hotel entrance. The door opened, and a pair of long legs stepped out. Jaxson King. Today, he wasn’t wearing a faded T-shirt. He wore a perfectly tailored black suit. His hair was combed. He exuded an undeniable nobility. He walked toward me and kicked away the security guard holding me. “Who gave you the right to touch her?”

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To save my boyfriend, Andrews, I got injured and ended up in the hospital. Months later, the doctor said my wounds were healing well, and I could finally be discharged. Andrews looked at me with tenderness in his eyes. “That’s great, Pegula. You’re okay. I can finally rest easy.” My heart swelled with joy. “Once I’m out, we’ll get married.” But he shook his head, a hint of apology in his smile. “What I meant was, I can finally rest easy and leave.” “Ramon has been waiting for me for over half a year. I couldn’t possibly break up with you while you were sick; that would be too cruel.” “Now that you’ve recovered, it’s time for me to go and pursue my own happiness.” I touched my lower abdomen, which still ached faintly, and my heart went utterly cold. So all his meticulous care was just so he could guilt-free run to someone else. Andrews acted as if he didn’t see my face instantly drain of color. He spoke, his tone light with relief. “You know, Ramon is so fragile, and she adores me. She’d do anything for me, even be with me without any formal commitment.” “Last month, on my birthday, she gave herself to me, like a present.” My throat tightened, each word squeezed out from between my teeth. “Last month… I was still in the ICU.” He chuckled, a reminiscent and slightly boastful glint in his eyes. “Right here, on this hospital bed. You were in a coma then. She cried, saying she was terrified something would happen to you, and even more terrified I’d fall apart. She insisted on comforting me with herself.” “Ramon’s crying… it just does something to you.” I followed his captivated gaze to the white sheets beneath me. I could almost see another young, soft body, intimately entwined with the man I loved, right here, while I lay clinging to life. My stomach churned violently. I dug my nails into the edge of the bed, not even feeling them break and bleed, numb to everything but the crushing pain in my chest. He cupped my face, seemingly oblivious to the hatred in my eyes, and frowned, perplexed. “Why are you crying? I’ll compensate you with money for the injuries you sustained for me.” In Andrews’ eyes, there was still that deep affection I’d known, etched into my very soul. It was as if the person excitedly describing having sex with another woman on my sickbed wasn’t him. I gasped for air, my heart clutched by an invisible hand, aching as if it would explode. He sighed in exasperation, pulling out a tissue to wipe away my tears, his movements as gentle as if he were handling a precious treasure. “Pegula, you’re the person I’m most grateful for, but Ramon is the one I love.” “If it weren’t for you, I would have been the one crushed under the construction scaffolding that day. If my hands were ruined, how would I draw, how would I win awards?” “Ramon just joined the design firm; she has a brilliant future ahead. I can’t let her be branded as a homewrecker because of me, so I proposed to her the day before yesterday. She really loves the ring.” “You’ve always been the most understanding, the most generous. You’ll bless us, won’t you?” Construction site, proposal, ring. Three months ago, he took me to inspect a project site he’d personally designed when the scaffolding suddenly collapsed. I didn’t hesitate, pushing him out of the way, only to be hit in the abdomen by a steel bar, collapsing unconscious on the spot. I lay in the ICU for half a month, and he stayed by my side for half a month. Everyone said our love was stronger than steel. But it turned out that while he was guarding me, he was also guilt-free enjoying another woman’s body. I curled my cold fingers, my voice shaking uncontrollably. “We’re over.” He paused, then chuckled, as if I was telling a childish joke. “Pegula, don’t say things you don’t mean.” “For me, you gave up your future in France, haven’t touched your scent lab in seven years, and your sense of smell has deteriorated. What else can you do now besides being my assistant?” “If you leave me, who would want you?” I stared at him intently. Seven years. I went from being the most promising young perfumer to just a regular assistant by his side. I thought our love story was that of a genius architect and his muse. But now, he was telling me I was just a worn-out tool he’d used up. My phone rang. It was the special ringtone he’d set for Ramon. I’d heard it many times – when I was asleep, when I was disoriented after surgery. He always said it was a client. It turned out I had been living a complete joke all along. He didn’t answer immediately, instead saying in a placating tone, “Don’t stoop to bickering with a young girl. Our seven years together, surely that’s worth more than her few months?” “You’re not getting any younger, Pegula. No one else will take you. Just listen to me, stop being dramatic.” He rose, leaned down, and pressed a cold kiss on my forehead. “You handle your own discharge. Ramon has prepared a celebration party for me, I need to get going.” The moment the hospital room door closed, I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I retched violently by the bedside. Andrews was wrong. No one proposes to a mere pastime. That ring, I waited seven years for it, until my heart died. True feelings don’t disappear; they just shift.

Back at the home Andrews and I had shared for five years, his car was parked downstairs. The car window was halfway down, and Ramon’s seductive gasps drifted out, interrupted. “Andrews…” “Call me ‘babe’.” “Babe… you’re amazing…” “Compared to Pegula, who makes you feel better?” “Definitely you… she’s so lifeless, how could she compare?” I stood rooted to the spot, my blood feeling like it had frozen solid. It was midsummer, but I was so cold my teeth chattered. An hour later, Andrews walked into the living room, his arm around Ramon’s waist. Seeing me, Ramon flinched like a startled rabbit, her eyes instantly red, and she hid in Andrews’ embrace. “Why is she here? Andrews, didn’t you say this would be our home?” “Do you still love her? You lied to me!” “No matter how much I love you, I’ll never be a homewrecker! I’m leaving right now!” Andrews immediately hugged her tight, cooing and kissing her. “What are you thinking? I’ve given you the wedding ring; you’re my wife, Ramon. This is absolutely our home.” “She’s just here to pack her things.” He looked at me, no trace of guilt in his eyes, only cold annoyance. “Pegula, isn’t that small studio apartment across town still empty? Go live there.” My mind went blank, a dull ache in my chest making it almost impossible to breathe. Three years ago, when we moved in here, Andrews had hugged me, his eyes shining like stars. “Pegula, this is our home now. We’ll have our paintings here, our cat, and our children.” But now, this man who promised me a home was kicking me out like trash. “Pegula, Ramon is upset. I don’t want to repeat myself.” His voice was soft, but it carried an undeniable warning. It was then that I vaguely realized he wasn’t joking. After a long, suffocating silence, under his unwavering gaze, I spoke hoarsely, “Okay.” Andrews seemed surprised by my compliance. His eyes flickered. As I started to rise, he suddenly grabbed my wrist, his tone softening. “There’s an industry conference next week. Come with me.” I instinctively wanted to refuse. But he spoke first. “It’s Ramon’s first time at such an event. She doesn’t know many of the senior figures. You should come along, introduce her, and make sure no one gives her a hard time.” I froze, the absurdity almost making me laugh out loud. He wanted me to pave her way? But then I thought of the wild plan brewing in my heart, and I nodded. Before the conference, Ramon claimed she had no suitable dress and picked out my most cherished gown from my walk-in closet. It was the dress I wore when I first won an international perfumery award, along with the matching antique jewelry. That was the last shred of my glory as “Pegula,” not “Andrews’ assistant.” At the conference, she clung to Andrews’ arm. And I, like a humble shadow, followed behind them, fetching drinks and making introductions for her. Those senior figures who once showered me with praise now looked at me with scorn and pity. “Isn’t that Pegula? Such a brilliant and talented perfumer back then. How did a few years as Andrews’ assistant turn her into this?” “You haven’t heard? Andrews is marrying the one next to him.” “Pegula? She’s just a glorified housekeeper he got to sleep with for seven years. Now her home’s even been taken over.” “Women really need their own careers. Otherwise, look, once she’s past her prime, when she gets kicked out, she can’t even open her mouth.” I practically fled into the ladies’ room, only to hear a discussion from the stalls between a few young designers. “Andrews is such a winner at life! I heard Pegula was the real mastermind behind his ‘Rising Star’ entry this time, right?” “Definitely. Pegula’s inspiration is Andrews’ entire creative arsenal. Without Pegula, Andrews is nothing.” “So, he’s kicked Pegula out and married Ramon. What’s he going to do now?” My heart clenched, but then I heard a frivolous laugh. It was Neto, Andrews’ confidant. “Andrews said Pegula’s world revolves around him. He made her utterly dependent for seven years; she can’t leave him.” “This is just her throwing a little tantrum. Once he gets tired of Ramon, he’ll snap his fingers, and Pegula will come crawling back to slave for him.” “She’s just a used-up old tool. What could she possibly do now?” I couldn’t hear another word. I rushed to the sink, splashing cold water on my face again and again, finally biting down hard on my hand to keep from crying out loud. Tears of humiliation mixed with the water, splattering onto the cold marble counter. Andrews, you’re wrong. This time, I won’t wait for you. The moment I turned around, a stinging slap landed hard on my face.

I clutched my instantly red and swollen face, looking at Ramon in disbelief. She shook her tingling hand, the innocent, harmless expression on her face utterly gone, replaced only by malice and venom. “You heard everything, didn’t you? Andrews will be mine very soon. Why are you shamelessly clinging to him? Aren’t you pathetic?” “You love throwing yourself at men so much, why don’t you go work at a nightclub?” “Oh, right, you’re so worthless, paying for love for seven years and still not getting a title. You’re only good enough for broke losers.” My head buzzed. I watched her malicious face open and close, shaking with anger. Just as I was about to speak, she suddenly let out a shriek, violently ripped the strap of her dress, and dramatically fell backward. “Pegula!” Andrews’ cold, furious voice exploded behind me. He lunged forward, carefully helped Ramon up, and held her tightly in his arms. Ramon cried beautifully, like a tragic actress, as if she’d suffered the greatest injustice. “Andrews, it’s my fault. I shouldn’t have come between you two. It’s all my fault; I’m the wicked homewrecker.” Saying this, she raised her hand and slapped herself hard twice across the face. Andrews immediately grabbed her hand, his face contorting in pain as he looked at her swollen cheeks. “Who told you these things?” Ramon bit her lip hard, shaking her head frantically. “Please don’t ask, Andrews, I beg you.” But her eyes flickered with terror toward me, as if I was some monstrous threat. “A girl from an ordinary family like me can’t possibly stand up to Pegula. She has so many influential people helping her; I can’t fight her…” “Andrews, please let me go. I don’t want to get acid splashed on me on the street later…” His brow furrowed, and a scrutinizing, displeased gaze fell upon me. “Explain!” I lowered the hand covering my face, revealing clear five-finger marks. “You should ask her what she said to me.” “Pegula!” Ramon shrieked shrilly. “Yes, I hit you, but that’s because you called my parents country bumpkins and said you’d make sure they couldn’t show their faces in their hometown!” “They’re innocent! If you’re still not satisfied, hit me back! I beg you, don’t go after my parents!” I was so angry my vision blurred. “You’re making things up! I never—” “Enough!” Andrews interrupted me coldly, his eyes filled with a thick, suffocating wave of disappointment. “Pegula, I’ve indulged you too much.” “Do you think just because you’re an orphan, I can’t do anything to you?” Perhaps my heart was already numb, or perhaps I had expected this. I actually laughed. “So, how do you plan to stick up for your fiancée?” He walked toward me step by step, reached out, and slowly, deliberately, took off the necklace I had worn for seven years. It was a birthday gift I bought for him with the prize money from my first competition. He turned and said to his assistant, “Call the police. Tell them Ms. Ramon’s design drafts were stolen, and the thief was caught red-handed.” I forgot how to react, my mind utterly blank. Andrews was notorious in the industry for playing favorites. He had protected me under his wings for seven years; no one in the entire industry dared to pull any stunts on me. But now, he was the one who personally plunged the knife into my back. Andrews clutched the necklace, his cold, detached expression appearing utterly foreign in my blurry, tear-filled vision. “Pegula, you’re too disobedient.” “This time it’s stealing design drafts; what next? Are you going to ruin Ramon’s hands?” “Go spend some time cooling off and thinking about what you’ve done.” “Don’t worry, it won’t be for long. When you get out, I’ll personally pick you up.” I forced a wry smile. Watching the police approach me, as the cold handcuffs clicked shut on my wrists, I forcefully pulled my hand from his grasp. The sudden emptiness in his palm made Andrews instinctively frown. He stared at my resolute back, suddenly seized by a panic that he might never be able to hold onto me again. Ramon, however, was quicker. She linked her arm through his, her voice sweet and syrupy.

“Andrews, thank you for standing up for me. I was really terrified just now.” He came back to himself, dotingly flicking her nose. “What kind of compensation do you want?” Ramon’s gaze fell on the necklace in his hand. She smiled, took it, and casually tossed it into a nearby trash can. Andrews’ face instantly changed. Ramon immediately looked wronged, her eyes turning red. “Was this necklace very important to you?” She made a show of reaching for the trash can. “Then I’ll help you pick it up… After all, it’s seven years of feelings. Even though she did this to me, I don’t want to make things difficult for you.” Andrews pulled her back, his heart aching beyond measure. “A piece of junk necklace, it’s nothing compared to you. Don’t dirty your hands. You have that black card, don’t you? Buy whatever you like.” Ramon’s tears turned to laughter immediately. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. “I don’t want your money; I love you.” “Yes, yes, I want to spend money on you. If you don’t spend it, my heart aches.” Only then did she shyly bury her head in his chest. Three days later, I was released from the police station. It wasn’t Andrews who came to meet me, but his assistant, who drove me directly to a private club’s VIP room. Pushing open the door, under the lavish lights, Andrews and Ramon were surrounded by a group of people in the center of a sofa. They were feeding each other a cherry, mouth-to-mouth, kissing passionately. The cheers and whistles around them were threatening to blow the roof off. I don’t know how long it was before Andrews finally noticed me. Seeing my pale, gaunt face and the still-fading red marks on my wrists, his expression darkened. “How did you get like this? Did someone bully you inside?” Before I could speak, Ramon covered her mouth and chuckled. “Pegula is such an actress! Everyone knows you’re Andrews’ pet, who would dare touch you?” “Are you trying to make Andrews feel sorry for you, looking like that?” Andrews, who had been about to get up, sat back down at her words. “Since you know you were wrong, come over here and apologize to Ramon.” Ramon nestled in Andrews’ arms, swirling the scarlet wine in her glass. “Actually, I’m not that petty.” “But you insulted my parents and almost ruined my future. I just can’t swallow that.” She paused, then feigned surprise, covering her mouth. “Oh, I forgot. You’re an orphan, grew up in a welfare institution, no parents to teach you manners. It’s normal you wouldn’t understand these things.” I lowered my eyes, saying nothing. She pushed her wine glass onto the coffee table, her chin slightly raised. “Apologize.” I lowered my head. “I’m sorry.” Ramon shook her head. “What good is saying it? That’s not sincere enough.” She pointed to a row of various strong liquors on the table. “Drink all of these, and I’ll forgive you.” I looked at the bottles, instinctively glancing at Andrews. Years ago, to help him with client entertainment, I drank until I had a perforated stomach and was in the hospital for a month. After that, he never allowed me to touch a drop of alcohol again. He knew better than anyone that alcohol was no different from poison to me. But the man before me merely exhaled a puff of smoke, his tone as calm as if discussing the weather. “Pegula, it’s just a few drinks. It’s not that serious. I know your alcohol tolerance.” My heart was clutched by an icy hand, the pain making it impossible to breathe. I picked up a glass and tilted my head back, chugging it down. The spicy liquid burned like fire from my throat to my stomach. Immediately after, a sharp, twisting pain shot through my recently healed lower abdomen. I bent over in agony. “Pegula’s alcohol tolerance is so good, one glass isn’t enough.” Ramon smiled with feigned innocence. “How about you down this whole bottle too? That would show real sincerity.” My face was ashen. I looked up at her. Ramon immediately turned to Andrews, looking wronged. “Andrews, I was insulted, threatened, and almost had my future ruined by her. Now I just want her to drink a bottle of wine to make amends. Is that asking too much?” “Of course not.” Andrews stubbed out his cigarette, his tone matter-of-fact. “Pegula, I want to protect you, but you really went too far this time. Listen to Ramon. Once her anger cools down, we’ll turn the page on this.” I slowly nodded. Clutching my abdomen, which felt like it was being sliced open, I picked up the bottle of the strongest whiskey on the table. “A few drinks? How is that enough to atone?” “I’ll down this whole thing, that’s what you call sincerity.” The moment the bottle hit the floor with a heavy thud, I couldn’t hold on any longer. I spat out a mouthful of blood. I collapsed weakly to the ground. Ramon shrieked, jumping back. “Pegula, you don’t need to be so dramatic! It’s just a bottle of wine. Are you carrying a fake blood pack around to stage an injury?” Andrews was also convinced by her ridiculous lie. He frowned impatiently. “Alright, stop acting! Ramon has been generous enough. How long do you plan to keep this up? Aren’t you ashamed? Get up!” I said nothing, just looked up, staring silently at him. The woman closest to me suddenly shrieked. “Blood! There’s blood all over her dress! Oh my God, her wound has burst open!” I met Andrews’ face, which had instantly drained of color, and let out the first truly sincere smile I’d had in days. “Is the compensation you wanted enough now?”

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