Category: English

When I died, he was holding another woman in his arms. The plan succeeded. I will become the pain he can never forget. “Miss Lewis, here’s your medication. Please take it.” I accepted the white bottle and thanked the pharmacist. With sleeping pills, I could finally get some rest. The plan was ready to begin. I sat in the taxi, staring at the message Chris Jude had just sent me. “I’m attending a gala tonight. Won’t be home.” I knew exactly what kind of gala this was—Wendy Summers’ welcome-back party. Wendy Summers was quite something. She had been with Chris for just one year, yet had him completely wrapped around her finger. I’d stayed by Chris’s side from the age of twenty-one to twenty-seven—six whole years. And still, I couldn’t compete with a single tear from Wendy. I had lived this life once before. In the end, Chris married Wendy, and I died on their wedding day. Mentally broken, I jumped off a building. I got nothing. How could I just accept that? So, I came back—this time to when Chris was nineteen. In the original timeline, I would have met Chris when he was twenty-one. He had just started his business, and I became his right-hand assistant. My family preferred boys, while his was shattered. Two wounded souls, licking each other’s wounds. For six long years, we even discussed marriage. But then, Wendy came back. Not only did she return, but she openly declared her lingering feelings for Chris at the gala. They rekindled their old flame, and my six years of youth became the collateral. Nineteen-year-old Chris was still the rich kid of the Jude family, with the world at his feet, dating the prettiest girl—Wendy Summers. At twenty, his family lost everything. Wendy left the country, and his life took a nosedive. I knew everything, so I entered his world early. I didn’t interfere with his relationship with Wendy; this plan needed an executioner, and this year—the one Chris had cherished most—was it. I watched Chris date Wendy. Watched them hold each other. Watched them kiss. I saw, with painful clarity, all the sweet memories Wendy once told me about. For an entire year, my heart soaked in their syrupy romance until it was drenched and rotting. I waited quietly, biding my time. When Wendy left the country, I entered Chris’s world, armed with genuine love as he fell into despair. How foolish twenty-year-old Chris was—childish and stubborn. Over and over, he rejected me, waiting for Wendy. How does that saying go? “Love is long-lasting when it comes from companionship.” Eventually, Chris accepted me. I stayed by his side during his darkest year. After that, things unfolded as I remembered: He rose from a scrappy entrepreneur to a business tycoon. From rejecting me to almost proposing. And then—this gala. “Miss, we’ve arrived.” The sound of the horn broke my thoughts. I picked up my phone, the screen still displaying my chat with Chris. The last message was from 11:35 AM. “Do you want me to pick you up? Don’t drink too much, I’m worried about you.” Chris hadn’t replied. I stepped out of the car, doing something I had no memory of ever doing. The plan started here. Inside the bar, lights flickered. I spotted Chris immediately, seated with his back to me. He was dressed in a suit, standing out amidst the quirky outfits surrounding him. Wendy Summers was right next to him in a black dress. She didn’t fit in with the crowd either, but at least she matched Chris. The people sitting around them were all familiar—the same crowd Chris used to hang out with back in his rich-kid days. I waited a long time, thinking I wouldn’t see anything. Then, suddenly, laughter erupted from across the room. They were egging them on, loudly. Wendy stood up and kissed Chris on the lips. My hand shook as I raised my phone, zooming in and capturing the moment. I couldn’t see Chris’s expression, but Wendy’s smile was unmistakable. My hand trembled, my heart clenched painfully. So, even in the days I knew nothing about, they had shared an unspeakable connection. Chris seemed to sense something and turned his head. I quickly pulled my hat down and left. He didn’t see me. Back at our place, the emptiness was suffocating. An empty home never felt good. I showered and sat on the couch, counting the minutes on the clock. 1:28 AM. The sound of keys turning in the door. I opened my eyes, still groggy, and rushed into Chris’s arms. He caught me, patting my head. His deep voice sounded in my ear. “Why aren’t you wearing shoes? You’ll catch a cold.” I cupped his face, gently stroking the spot where Wendy’s lips had been, my voice muffled. “Where have you been? You were gone so long, and you didn’t reply to my messages.” He paused but didn’t answer. He simply carried me to the couch and put socks on my feet. I kicked him lightly in protest. “Why won’t you say anything?” He ruffled my hair, as if resigned. “A very important client. I didn’t drink. My phone was off, so I didn’t see your messages.” I looked into his eyes, and I was all I could see there. Chris, you’re lying. I didn’t press him further and, as always, started playfully teasing him again.

The next morning, Chris left for work early. Once he was gone, I crawled out of bed and headed to the study. Among piles of documents and classic novels sat my diary. I pulled it out, flipping through each page, where my thoughts lay bare—from the moment I met Chris until now. During the years Wendy Summers was gone, I received a level of affection I never had in my previous life. Maybe it was because I stood by him during his lowest moments that Chris treated me differently. Even though I knew Wendy still lived in his heart, I sometimes wavered, wondering: Maybe this time will be different? But then I would remember those six years. I remembered how, despite all that time together, Wendy had returned, taken the place meant for me, worn the wedding dress I had picked, and kissed Chris on the day of my death. The thought drove me mad with hatred. Chris had to suffer, just like me—day and night, tormented by despair. Tears fell onto my diary as I traced the photo I had taken that day. Each stroke of my hand carved deeper wounds into my heart. I had thought the pain would be gone by now. “I went to pick up Chris. I saw a girl kiss him. She was happy, but I was devastated.” On a fresh page, I jotted down these few lines. Excitement and restraint warred within me—strange, yet oddly enjoyable. I closed the diary and returned it to its spot. Then I put on light makeup and slipped into a white dress. The reflection in the mirror was serene, gentle—so different from Wendy’s boldness. I smiled at the girl in the mirror, who smiled back at me, her dimples as sweet as honey. Chris had complimented me long ago, saying I looked beautiful when I smiled. But I didn’t like smiling anymore, not after coming back to relive this life. Now, I preferred crying. Falling apart in tears reminded me I was still alive, with real emotions, made of flesh and blood. Crying reminded me of Chris’s coldness and Wendy’s provocation.

After leaving home, I went to Chris’s office. The employees all knew who I was, but they avoided eye contact, which gave me a clue. And I was right. Through the glass window of his office, I saw Chris and Wendy sitting at the same table, sharing a meal. Wendy picked up a piece of carrot, about to feed it to Chris. He frowned but still ate it. Chris hated carrots. My hands clenched and unclenched at my sides. I couldn’t control myself—I pushed open the door and slapped Wendy across the face. “He has a girlfriend! Didn’t you know? How can you be so shameless? Get out!” Wendy’s eyes widened in disbelief, and then tears started falling. Sobbing, she explained, “I… I didn’t know. I don’t understand why you’re hitting me. We’re just friends. You misunderstood, right, Chris?” I turned to look at Chris. He thought for a long time before finally speaking. “Anna, stop making a scene. Wendy’s just an old friend. You hit her without hearing the full story. Apologize to her.” My hand holding the lunchbox began to tremble. Chris, you’re lying again. The tension in the room hung thick as Wendy continued to sob, shattering Chris’s patience. “Anna Lewis, if you hit someone, you need to apologize! Say sorry to Wendy!” Chris frowned, tapping the table impatiently. I had rarely seen him this upset. Suddenly, I was reminded of Chris at twenty—how I had gone out of my way to please him, and how stubborn he’d been, telling me over and over, “Anna, I’ll never love you. You should give up.” It was exactly the same now—all because of Wendy. Memories rushed up, filling my eyes with tears that I tried to hold back. With my throat tight, I forced the words out. “I’m sorry.” Chris’s expression softened, and he smiled. “Anna, come sit and eat with us.” Wendy chimed in, her voice bright and proud. “Yeah, Anna, join us! I got this food especially for Chris from a famous restaurant!” She looked at me, unable to hide the challenge in her eyes. I stayed calm, not causing a scene again. Chris seemed delighted. I placed the lunchbox on the table, and Chris suddenly froze, as if remembering something. I knew what was on his mind. Every day, I brought him lunch—it was our routine. But today, he had eaten Wendy’s meal. Suppressing the tremor in my voice, I smiled and said, “I brought you lunch, but since you’ve already eaten, I’ll head home.” Chris opened his mouth but only managed a single word. “Okay.” I turned and left, determined. Out of Chris’s sight, the tears finally rolled down my cheeks. The office staff exchanged uneasy glances as I forced myself to smile and leave. Still, I could hear their whispers. “What’s going on? How can the CEO’s girlfriend lose to the other woman?” “Shh, don’t talk nonsense. I went to school with the CEO. That woman in his office is his ex. They used to be inseparable—a love story for the ages.” “Really? So, who will he end up with?” “No idea, but the girlfriend sure is pitiful.” Yeah, pitiful. I laughed bitterly to myself and left Chris’s office.

The sunlight was blinding, so I shielded my eyes with my hand. “Hey, would you like to check this out?” Lowering my hand, I saw a mascot—a large, clumsy teddy bear—approaching me. It looked a little ridiculous. I took the flyer from him. It was for a nearby café. “Sure, I’ll check it out. Thanks.” My mind drifted back to the days I spent handing out flyers with Chris. The streets back then were scorching—like a furnace. I had suffered through those days with him. I smiled at the mascot and was about to leave when his cheerful voice called out again. “Hey, you’ve got a beautiful smile.” I froze, that same sentence ringing in my ears. Anna, you look so beautiful when you smile. “Really?” I asked without thinking. The rough fabric of the mascot costume brushed my cheek as the teddy bear patted me gently. “If you don’t cry, it’s even better.” “Don’t cry, okay?” I touched my face, feeling the wetness on my fingers. Was I crying again? I shouldn’t be. After a moment, I let a smile break across my face. I hugged the mascot, and he didn’t pull away. “Thank you.” I must be going crazy. I sat there, watching as he handed out flyers, chatting up passersby. He told me I should head home. I shook my head and refused. He didn’t mind. Instead, he shuffled around in his clumsy mascot suit, blocking the sun for me. So this is what it feels like to have someone care for you. As the sun set, he removed the suit and sat next to me. A bottle of water sat beside him—something he had run out to buy for me. The weather had been too hot, and his hair stuck damply to his forehead. I handed him a tissue. He took it, wiping the sweat from his face before pushing his hair back. So bright, so good-looking. So different from Chris’s steady appearance. I stared at him absentmindedly until he waved his hand in front of my face, laughing. “Hey, did I stun you with how good I look?” His playful antics made me laugh. I pushed his hand away and stood up. “Stop being so full of yourself.” “I’m heading home. You should go home early too.” The ride-share honked impatiently. I waved goodbye and got in the car. Through the window, I watched as he stood there, holding the mascot suit in his arms, smiling and waving back at me, the sunset behind him. I never told him that his smile was just as beautiful. Years ago, I was the one wearing the mascot suit, shielding Chris from the heat. The inside had been suffocating, like an oven. Chris’s impatient tone and spoiled attitude still lingered vividly in my memory. What was I thinking back then? I was thinking that I wished someone would shield me from the sun. Why am I thinking about Chris again? I touched my eyes once more—dry this time. No more tears. Back home, the emptiness remained. Somehow, Wendy Summers had added me on WeChat. I accepted, but she didn’t message me. I knew what she was planning. Sure enough, she posted a playful caption and a photo on her feed. “Dinner with my favorite person! Even the lemonade tastes sweet!” The picture showed two glasses of lemonade and a lavish meal. And, of course, a man’s hand—it could only be Chris. Smart as ever, he had even taken off the watch I gave him. Once again, I opened my diary and wrote. “Today, Chris forgot I would bring him lunch. He ate with another girl. That girl even fed him the carrots he doesn’t like. I was furious and slapped her. Chris sided with her and made me apologize. I’m so sad.” After that day, Chris rarely came home. I couldn’t sleep, and even the sleeping pills stopped working. Sometimes, I would fall asleep, only to wake up soon after in the darkness of my dreams. My hair began to fall out in clumps, and my weight dropped steadily. Even though I had planned everything, including my final departure, I still couldn’t find peace. Sometimes, looking at my pale reflection in the mirror, I’d think back to the days before Chris, when I was just as radiant and lively as Wendy. I couldn’t stop myself from breaking down into sobs. I had to speed up the plan—I didn’t know how much longer I could endure.

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The day after my dad died, My mom, who had been missing for over twenty years, showed up with her children from another man, fighting for my dad’s estate. “They’re my kids too. Whatever you have, they should have it too.” Dressed in mourning, my eyes swollen from crying, I couldn’t help but let out a laugh. Oh, Mom, you don’t know, do you? After twenty years of being abandoned by you, I’ve become quite the vengeful little monster. “He’s dead! What’s the use of crying? Get up and start counting how much money that deadbeat left behind!” I was sprawled out in the funeral parlor, crying so hard that I felt weak and lightheaded, nearly passing out. I had no father now, and I was all alone in this world. But my mom—Margaret Gates—who’d disappeared for more than twenty years, was yanking on my mourning clothes, trying to pull me off the floor. “You’ve got no manners! It’s your first time meeting your brother and sister, and you’re not even saying hello? Just crying and crying—how pathetic!” I kept my head down, swallowing the fury rising in my chest. My dad worked himself to the bone his entire life, and I wasn’t going to let him worry about me from his coffin. When I didn’t respond, Margaret got even angrier. She grabbed a fistful of my hair and dragged me up off the ground, shoving me in front of a man and a woman. “This is Mark Cooper and Lisa Cooper, your brother and sister.” “Your dad’s gone now, and we need a man around the house. I brought Mark here so he could get familiar with the place. From now on, this will be his home.” “And stop pretending to cry your eyes out. Let’s get to counting your dad’s estate. By law, I get half, and the other half will be split between the four of us.” “I see this house was just remodeled not too long ago. I’ll decide—this house goes to Mark. Don’t worry, he won’t throw you out. He’ll leave you a room so you can stay here when you visit during the holidays.” She rambled on, getting more pleased with herself the longer she talked. I looked up at the man and woman standing in front of me, their eyes shifting around, greedily eyeing the house. The way they stared at my family’s mansion made me sick. “Let go,” I said, speaking to Margaret for the first time in over twenty years. She froze for a second, then slapped me on the back. “Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?” I looked up at her and slowly smiled. Satisfied, she raised her chin arrogantly. “That’s more like it. You’ve always needed a good beating to behave.” Before she could finish, I pulled out my trusty pocket knife and slashed her hand. “AHHHHH!!!” Margaret shrieked, letting go of my hair as blood dripped from her hand, leaving dark stains on the floor of our courtyard. Dad, look. No one can bully me anymore.

The night I was supposed to keep vigil for my dad turned into a scene at the police station. I leaned back in my chair, watching Margaret like she was the biggest fool on Earth. Maybe seeing the police officers standing tall in their uniforms made her feel like she had backup. Her face, which had been pale the whole way here, suddenly regained its color. She shoved her poorly bandaged hand toward the officers, wailing at the top of her lungs, “What did I do to deserve this? My own daughter pulled a knife on me!” The officer knocked on the table, frowning as he asked me, “What happened here?” I hadn’t even opened my mouth when Mark Cooper rolled up his sleeves and shouted, “Pay up! There’s no way we’re letting this go without compensation!” Margaret’s injury was minor, so as long as she agreed to drop the charges, the whole thing could be settled. I didn’t want to waste my time with them—I just wanted to get back to my dad’s vigil. So when Margaret, Mark, and Lisa finally whispered among themselves and asked for $2,000 in compensation, I didn’t hesitate to agree. Right in front of the officers, I took out my phone and transferred the money. Once the payment was confirmed, Margaret gleefully signed the waiver. As I watched her grinning ear to ear, I suddenly asked, “Don’t you feel any sadness at all?” She looked up, confused. “Sad about what?” I didn’t bother saying another word, just turned and walked out. As I passed by them, I overheard their whispered conversation. “Mom, she’s using the newest iPhone. It’s over a thousand bucks! You just got that money—buy me one.” “Mom, $2,000! She didn’t even blink when she agreed. Who knows how much her old man left her? We better come up with a plan.” I was halfway out the door when I heard Margaret ask the officer loudly, “Do you handle inheritance disputes too?”

The next day, after we buried my dad according to custom, I thanked all the relatives and neighbors from Maplewood Village who came to help. Once everyone had left, I stood alone in the now-empty mansion, the grief hitting me so hard I almost wished I’d gone with him. When I was just two or three years old, Margaret left my dad and me, running off with a butcher from out of town because she thought my dad was too poor. My dad became both mother and father to me, struggling to raise me on his own. Once I started elementary school and didn’t need to be by his side all the time, he finally had the time to start a small business. I didn’t know how big his business had grown, but I did know that life at home kept getting better. We built this mansion, and my dad loved buying me all kinds of luxury goods. I became the kid everyone at school envied—the rich girl who had it all. But no one knew there was a piece of me that was missing. That piece should’ve been my mother. During all the moments I needed her, she was never there. Over the years, I’d grown used to being the kid without a mom. I slowly packed up my dad’s belongings, crying as I went. I’d cry until I was exhausted, then fall asleep, wake up, and continue packing. Days blurred together until, eventually, I finished sorting through everything my dad left behind. I was shocked at just how wealthy my dad had been. During that time, I developed a habit. I’d sit in the courtyard, staring at the security camera on the wall, lost in thought. One evening, as the sky turned a beautiful shade of dusk, I sat in the courtyard quietly sipping the osmanthus wine my dad had made. The weather was perfect, the sunset gorgeous, and I hadn’t locked the front door. Margaret strolled in with Mark and Lisa, looking down at me from her position at the entrance. “It’s been days. You’ve gone through all the stuff your old man left behind, right?” “I brought Mark and Lisa. We need to figure out how to divide your dad’s estate.”

I smiled and motioned for them to sit down. Then, I went inside to grab paper and pens. “What are your ideas? Write them down, and let’s discuss.” Margaret seemed really pleased with how cooperative I was. She nodded. “I thought I’d have to beat some sense into you before you’d hand over the money.” “How much did your dad leave behind? Let’s see the inventory.” I handed her the list I’d prepared. As they looked it over, their eyes sparkled with greed. Margaret straightened up, taking on the role of the decision-maker. “Alright, I’ll decide how the inheritance gets split.” She’d clearly been thinking about how to divide my dad’s estate for a long time. Without hesitation, she scribbled her ideas down, her sloppy handwriting not affecting her excitement in the least. It didn’t take her long to finish. She handed me the paper with a flourish. “Lily, we’ll go with this plan. Tomorrow, we’ll get all the paperwork sorted, transfer the funds, and change the ownership of the house.” I looked at her deeply. “My name is Lily Gates, not ‘Lily.’” She gave an awkward smile. “Well, we always called you Lily when you were little.” I smiled back. “Funny how that works. When I was little, I had a mom too.” Lisa, growing impatient, snatched the paper from my hands, scanning it quickly. Her face fell. She slammed the paper down on the table. “Mom, you always talk about fairness. Why does Mark get the mansion and a few million dollars, and I only get $100,000 in cash?” I nodded enthusiastically, chiming in, “Exactly! I’m getting $200,000, but you’re her little princess. How is $100,000 fair for you?” Lisa wasn’t having it anymore. She threw herself on the ground, kicking and screaming. Mark, worried Margaret might take some of his share and give it to Lisa, grabbed her by the hair and slapped her hard across the face. “Shut up! Mom’s money, mom’s rules!” Lisa, shocked that Mark would hit her, froze for a moment before screaming and launching herself at him. “How dare you hit me? You want to die?” The two of them were rolling around, fighting like cats and dogs, while Margaret, frantic, jumped in to break them up. I quietly scooted my chair back, pulled out a bag of sunflower seeds, and settled in to enjoy the show. It was quite the spectacle in my courtyard, their howls echoing in the night. Margaret couldn’t pull them apart and even took a few accidental punches herself. Furious, she slapped both of them hard across the face. Her hand, still bandaged from my earlier cut, started bleeding again. Mark and Lisa weren’t much better off—one had a swollen eye, and the other had a split lip. Grinning, I said, “What’s going on here? You’re family! Why fight over a little money?” Margaret shot them both a dirty look and forced a smile at me. “Lily, you and Lisa are both my daughters. I can’t show too much favoritism. How about we take $50,000 from your share and give it to Lisa? Then you’ll each get $150,000. Fair enough?” I turned to Lisa. “Does that work for you?” Lisa glared at Mark, silent. Still smiling, I said, “Well, if everyone agrees, go ahead and sign.” I watched as all three of them signed the agreement, satisfied as I folded the paper and slipped it into my pocket. “Alright then, see you here tomorrow at ten. We’ll go finish up the paperwork.”

The next day, when Margaret, Mark, and Lisa showed up at my house, they were in for a surprise. The courtyard was packed full of people. Neighbors, relatives, everyone from Maplewood Village was there, chatting and munching on sunflower seeds, laughing and joking. When they spotted the three of them, Uncle Joe, the most respected elder in the village, put down his seeds and waved them over. Even though she’d run off over twenty years ago, Margaret had grown up in this village, and she knew all the elders. Uncle Joe was known for being fair and just, and no one in the village dared cross him. With everyone watching, Margaret reluctantly shuffled over to greet him. Though he was old, Uncle Joe was still sharp. Raising his voice, he asked, “Margaret, what are you doing here?” As soon as he spoke, the crowd went silent, all eyes on her. Seeing no point in lying, Margaret finally gave up and said, “I talked with Lily—uh, I mean, Lily—yesterday, and we’re here to finalize the inheritance today.” Uncle Joe shook his head, raising his voice even more. “These old ears aren’t so good anymore. What kind of inheritance?” Margaret bowed her head, biting her lip, not answering. Uncle Joe slammed his cane on the ground. “I asked you a question! What inheritance?” The force of his words made Margaret stumble back two steps. Mark stepped forward, unable to hold back anymore. He pointed at Uncle Joe, his voice filled with venom. “Old man, mind your business. My mom’s here to transfer this mansion into my name and to make sure the rest of that deadbeat’s money goes to me!” The crowd buzzed with shock and outrage. Margaret turned beet red as neighbors started shouting insults at her. “Margaret, you left John because he was poor! How do you have the nerve to come back now?” “Have some shame, woman! You’re an embarrassment!” Margaret swung her arm wildly, screaming back, “Shut up! I never divorced John! By law, I’m entitled to half of his estate—I’m the primary heir!”

Uncle Joe looked at me, puzzled. “Kid, what’s going on here?” I put on my most innocent expression. “I don’t know, Uncle Joe. Everyone’s watched me grow up here. Where did this so-called mom come from?” “Don’t give me that crap!” Margaret screamed, pointing at me angrily. She fished out a small, worn red booklet from her pocket and threw it onto the stone table. “Take a good look. This is my marriage certificate with that deadbeat. Stop going around telling people I ran off! I’m still legally his wife. Now that he’s dead, I have the right to inherit his estate.” “Well, isn’t that something!” I said as I leaned forward, picking up the little red book. After looking at it for a moment, I handed it over to Uncle Joe. “Uncle Joe, check it out. It’s a real marriage certificate.” Margaret lifted her head proudly, her face lighting up with a smug smile. “You can try to gang up on me all you want, but in the end, that deadbeat’s money? It’s all mine.” I couldn’t hold back my anger any longer. My face darkened as I said coldly, “Margaret, if I hear you call him a deadbeat one more time, you won’t get a single penny from me.” Margaret raised her hand, ready to slap me, but I stared back at her, hard. Uncle Joe’s cane thumped heavily on the ground, the sound reverberating through the courtyard. After a tense moment, Margaret spat on the ground in frustration. “You’ve seen the marriage certificate. No more questions, right? So, can we go ahead with the transfer now?” Uncle Joe and the other elders from Maplewood Village stood in stunned silence, not expecting this turn of events. No one said a word. Margaret’s smug grin grew wider as she turned to Mark and Lisa, flashing them a look of victory. I smiled too, lifting my finger to point at Mark and Lisa as I spoke lazily, “There’s still a problem. If you’re my dad’s legal wife and have inheritance rights, what about them?” Mark and Lisa’s faces paled, and they nervously glanced at Margaret. Margaret, still smiling, said, “Don’t try to scare me. I did my research. Non-marital and marital children have equal inheritance rights.” “They’re my kids. Whatever you get, they’re entitled to too.”

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I was bullied for three years, living in darkness. To escape this hell, I chose to climb into my bully’s bed, doing everything I could to please him, just to earn a bit of pity. Then, I sent him to prison myself. My relationship with Ethan Miller began when I shamelessly broke into his apartment. I lay on his bed, pulling the covers over myself when I heard the door open. As he walked into the bedroom, I could sense his footsteps and breath falter for a moment. When he lifted the covers, he saw me. I glanced at him, waiting for him to come closer, but he just stood there, looking at me. He lit a cigarette, coldly flicked the ash onto me, and raised an eyebrow, sneering, “Lia Parker, how desperate are you? Aren’t you just here for business? Get the hell off my bed right now! You’re filthy.” I wiped off the ash and sat up, using every ounce of my strength to appear seductive: “Say what you want. Even if you think that, I won’t take a cent from you. You can do whatever you want.” He slapped me hard across the face, turning my head to the side. “Whatever I want? How about this?” My cheek burned with pain, but I still smiled coyly: “Of course, today I’ll do whatever you say.” He gripped my arm and cursed, “You’re disgusting, just like everyone says.” Yes, I thought, I do feel utterly disgusting right now. But I still tried my best to charm him. Afterward, with a cigarette in one hand and the other wrapped around me, I could tell he was satisfied with my performance. He blew smoke in my face: “What’s your price?” I swallowed my nausea and giggled in response: “I don’t want your money.” “Oh really?” He grabbed my hair, “You’re making me happy, so how about you stick with me from now on?” I tilted my head back to lessen the pain from my hair being pulled: “I’m telling you, I’m nothing like the rumors. Do you believe me?” He laughed mockingly: “Don’t play coy with me. Who have you been with before?” “Ha, if I said I didn’t even know, would you believe that?” This was the start of my relationship with Ethan Miller, but it wasn’t my first time doing something like this. Who were the others before him? I truly didn’t know. It was as if I didn’t know what I did wrong that led my life to this point, deeply mired in a quagmire, unable to escape.

Ethan Miller wasn’t joking. He saved my contact information, and from then on, he’d reach out to me every few days. No matter what I was doing, I would drop everything to be there. I had to seize every opportunity. Every time I left his apartment, I walked away without taking a dime and without a word. After a while, one day he suddenly pulled me into his arms and curiously asked, “Just last night, a buddy of mine saw you at the cafeteria’s charity line, grabbing those two-dollar meals and drinking free soup. Is that even food? Not even fit for pigs! You’re so broke you can’t afford a meal, and you act like you’re above it all? Don’t you feel even a little tempted by this money? Not a cent? I don’t believe it!” I looked up at him in his arms, my gaze sincere: “I’m not after your money, so I won’t take a cent.” That wasn’t a lie; I didn’t seek him out for money. He smirked, scrutinizing me: “Then why are you so eager to find me? You think I’m handsome?” He had a decent face, but his soul was rotten. I wasn’t interested. Seeing me silent, he added, “Don’t say it’s because you love me. I don’t buy that. If you’re going to say that, you might as well leave.” I placed my hand on his chest: “I wasn’t going to say that. Ethan, you asked, so I had to be honest. My sister really likes you, and I just enjoy stealing what my sister likes. How does that sound? Are you satisfied?” He looked a bit bewildered: “Your sister? Who?” “Sophie Parker.” He burst into laughter: “That clingy one?” I nodded. To him, Sophie Parker was a pathetic clingy girl, but in my world, she was the culprit behind my ruined life. He pressed my head into his chest and rubbed it roughly until I felt suffocated: “You like stealing things? So I’ve become a thing now? Fine! But Lia, let me tell you, I’m not a stingy person. You don’t want money? I’ll give you something else. From now on, I’ll protect you, and Sophie will never bully you again.” That was exactly what I wanted to hear.

Sophie Parker had bullied me for four whole years. I spent three years of high school under her shadow and couldn’t shake her off in college either. Thanks to Sophie, rumors about me spread at the start of freshman year, and everyone thought I was loose. Shortly after school started, she brought a gang of friends to beat me up and humiliate me in the dance studio while Ethan stood by and watched. He was also one of the bullies. But when I looked up, he saw my face. I had known since childhood that I wasn’t bad-looking. It was precisely because I was somewhat pretty that I endured some dirty malice. Some men think pretty women are just there for sale; no one cares if the rumors are true. They just enjoy humiliating beautiful girls they can’t have. Ethan stared at my face for a while, then waved his hand impatiently: “Enough, enough. I’m tired of watching this; let her have a way out.” No one dared to defy him, not even Sophie, who reluctantly let go. So, I was saved. Then he came up to me, grabbed my hair, and forced me to lift my face: “You’re quite pretty. What’s your price?” Everyone laughed, and someone pointed at me, saying serving Ethan was a privilege; I should be grateful and thank him. Ethan was a player, switching girlfriends more often than changing clothes. With his father on the board of trustees, he spent his time drinking, fighting, and racing, living life to the fullest. His family was wealthy and influential, and I heard he had gotten into serious trouble before, once pushing someone off the sixth floor, leaving them paralyzed, and even robbing girls walking alone at night, but his family always bailed him out. When he said that, I realized he wasn’t showing mercy; he was just attracted to my looks. What a rotten person. He didn’t want to save me. He was merely lusting after me and wanted to humiliate me. That fleeting moment of desire became the root of my tragic life. I hated him. But at least, at this moment, I would still do everything I could to please him. I fell into the abyss because of him, but I would also use him to climb back up.

To be honest, my life at school was anything but normal. My family was wealthy, but I received no allowance from them. My tuition was covered by student loans, and I survived on work-study jobs and part-time work. From Monday to Friday, I stood at the cafeteria’s oil-poured noodle window for an hour and a half each day, earning five hundred dollars a month plus one free meal. On weekends, I tutored and handed out flyers to earn some meager pocket money. After Ethan took me under his wing, I neglected my weekend jobs to deal with him, significantly reducing my income. Aside from working, I dedicated all my time to studying, sleeping only five and a half hours a night. It was tough, but I relished it. I was planning to apply for a study abroad program in South Korea, which was funded, and only the best students could get this opportunity. I wanted to leave this place, so I had to seize this chance. While working at the noodle window, I wore a mask and a hat, covering myself up so those who bullied me wouldn’t recognize me. But honestly, even if they did, it shouldn’t matter. Ethan said he’d protect me, and I guessed he told Sophie something because she had been quiet for a long time. She and her gang hadn’t bothered me in ages. That afternoon, there weren’t many people, it was the peak of summer, and the heat in the kitchen was suffocating. I couldn’t stand it anymore and secretly took off my mask for a moment. In just those few minutes, I was recognized by Sophie’s lackey, Hannah Smith. Hannah came up to the window to stir trouble, pointing at me and mockingly shouting that no one would dare eat what a “chicken” had touched, drawing the attention of everyone in the cafeteria. I watched through the glass as people whispered and pointed—“Huh? Is that really Lia Parker? I heard she’s pretty. What’s she doing here? Is she sick?”—male and female voices overlapping and blending, drowning me in a sea of chatter. Those voices felt vivid, yet they seemed like meaningless symbols flowing past my ears. I was used to it. I didn’t care. Suddenly, a soda bottle came flying toward Hannah, hitting her squarely in the head, and she stumbled to the ground. Everyone turned to look, and Ethan came over. I knew he never ate cafeteria food, so I felt safe working there. I had no idea why he was here today. I figured Hannah thought Ethan wouldn’t show up, so she dared to cause trouble, probably intending to brag to Sophie later. As Hannah tried to get up, Ethan didn’t care that she was a girl. He stepped on her head and ground his shoe against her hand, listening to her wail in pain. He looked around menacingly, threatening her and everyone present: “What the hell did you just say? Take those words back! If I hear anyone talking about her again, they’ll regret it. If you don’t want to lose an arm or a leg or not graduate, just try it. By the way, tell Sophie Parker I’m protecting Lia. Don’t think you can get away with bullying her just because I’m not around; you’re going to cross me if you do, got it?” Ethan lifted his foot, and Hannah nodded, crawling away in a hurry. He walked up to the window and knocked on the glass: “Come outside with me.” “I’m not off work yet.” He rolled his eyes: “Then give me a plate of noodles.” I quickly cooked up a serving of noodles and handed it to him. He took the takeout and leaned closer to the window: “Come find me when you’re done.” I nodded, and he turned to leave. As soon as he was gone, the boss patted me on the shoulder, looking conflicted, and told me not to come back anymore; he would settle my pay. Well, after all that, who would still dare to employ me? Now my life was going to get even tougher. So, I took off my uniform and stepped outside. People in the cafeteria would still sneak glances at me, but no one dared to discuss me anymore. I exited the cafeteria and found Ethan not heading home but sitting on the steps smoking, still holding the takeout of noodles. I reached out my hand: “Give it to me; I’ll throw it away.” “Why throw it away?” He looked up at me, “I haven’t eaten yet.” “Aren’t you the one who never eats cafeteria food?” “I haven’t, but I wanted to try something new.” He extinguished his cigarette, stood up, and started walking toward the school gate. “What the hell are you doing? My friends told me you were working at the cafeteria, and I didn’t believe it. But here you are! Even if you covered yourself up, I still recognized you. I give you so much money, and you refuse it, happily working here as cheap labor, huh? What exactly are you after?” I smiled: “I’ve said I don’t want your money, but I have to live. My family doesn’t give me any money, so how can I afford to eat without working?” He seemed surprised: “Sophie Parker is your sister; her family is your family, right? Your family is wealthy, so how come she lives so well while you have nothing? Is this all you live on?” “Now I don’t even have this; the boss fired me.” I didn’t want to cry. I thought I was strong enough, but at that moment, tears flowed uncontrollably. I wasn’t just upset about the five hundred dollars; I was worried that as soon as I got my life on track, Sophie and her friends would pounce, leaving me with nothing. Despair. True despair. But how could Ethan like a crying woman? So, I wiped my tears, crying and laughing at the same time. He wiped my face roughly: “What are you crying about? How much is a plate of noodles worth? Three hundred? Five hundred? I’ll give you ten times that! Stick with me, and you can have whatever you want!” He waved the takeout of noodles, “Haven’t you skipped lunch too? Why not eat this?” I paused for a moment: “… I worked there for two and a half months, eating this every day for free. I’m sick of it; just the sight of noodles makes me nauseous.” He stared at me for a while, then burst out laughing, pulling me into a small restaurant he often frequented, ordering an entire feast. I shamelessly devoured everything. This was the most sumptuous meal I’d had since starting college. I couldn’t possibly eat that much, but I still stuffed my face. Eating filled my brain with dopamine, bringing me joy, and my mind would remember that feeling. I just wanted to seek a little happiness in my muddy life. Even if it was just a bit.

Although I lost my job at the noodle window, after Ethan’s scene in the cafeteria, no one dared to bully me again, nor did they dare to gossip—at least not in front of me. Ethan insisted I take his money. He pointed at my face and cursed, “Lia Parker, what the hell is with that inexplicable pride? Just come live with me; I’ll take care of you.” So I moved into his place, avoiding those roommates who isolated me, which wasn’t bad. Everyone knew we were living together, but whether to me or outsiders, he never referred to me as his girlfriend. He often wasn’t home, out partying with friends and probably getting involved with other women. But I didn’t mind. He didn’t come home but hired a maid to cook three meals a day for me. My food and accommodation were taken care of, so whether or not I worked didn’t matter. On days he was gone, I could use more time to study. One day, he surprisingly came home early. I was wearing headphones and didn’t hear him come in. He walked up behind me and tapped my shoulder, startling me. I turned around, and he picked up my book, glanced at it, then threw it back, smacking his lips: “You’re still studying? A good student? How did a good student end up here?” I remained silent as he closed my book and forcefully pulled me up: “What’s there to study? Come on, let’s go out and have fun.” I had no room to resist and had to follow him out. At that moment, I wondered if he really couldn’t stand seeing others studying or if he just wanted me to struggle in the mud for the rest of my life. I couldn’t figure it out, and it didn’t matter; I would definitely secure that opportunity to study abroad and leave here. He took me to a billiards hall where a group of his friends were. When they saw me, their gazes were curious, but no one dared to say anything. I didn’t know how to play billiards, so I just watched. At the nearby table, a tall guy was playing poorly, swinging too hard and missing the shot. In frustration, he hit the ball too hard, and it flew out, hitting Ethan. Ethan picked up the ball, clenching it in his hand, tilting his head, and exhaled smoke, giving him a sideways glance: “You looking for trouble?” The guy didn’t seem to be a student from our school and didn’t know Ethan’s notorious reputation. He boldly challenged, “Don’t look at me like that! Who do you think you are?” I can only say that many times, the so-called bravado of men seems so childish, at least in my eyes. They exchanged punches, and I couldn’t tell who started it first, but they began to fight. I stepped back, keeping my distance; no one came looking for trouble with a woman. The billiards hall owner hurriedly called the police. They were at each other’s throats, determined to fight until one of them was seriously injured. Ethan wielded that billiard ball as his weapon; it was heavy, and he never shied away from causing harm, aiming for the head. But then the other guy pulled out a switchblade. It was small and fast, and they were too close to realize what was happening. But I watched from the sidelines with clarity. In that moment, my only thought was that this was my chance. I dashed forward and shoved Ethan aside, and the switchblade stabbed into my body, the blade embedding itself beneath my skin. It hurt—badly. The blood was warm, and no matter how hard I pressed, it wouldn’t stop. My vision blurred with the flowing blood, as if my soul were leaking out with it. Ethan picked me up and rushed me out of the billiards hall, taking me to the hospital. I had gambled too much this time. That stab could have killed me; if I had been even a moment later getting to the hospital, I would be dead. I survived, but I had to stay in the hospital. Ethan bought a ton of dishes from that small restaurant for me, but I had no appetite and couldn’t eat a thing. He stayed with me in the hospital, pacing around, lighting a cigarette but not daring to smoke. So I told him he didn’t need to stay; I was fine. He tossed the cigarette and sat back down, saying he’d wait until I fell asleep before leaving. I didn’t say anything, letting him do as he pleased. He fell silent for a while before suddenly calling my name: “Lia Parker.” “Hmm?” “Why?” “Why what?” “Don’t play dumb. Why did you take that knife for me? Can’t you see that guy was ready to kill?” I held back the pain and forced a smile: “Because I realized that’s why I had to block it.” “If you don’t want to laugh, then don’t. I know you don’t smile that much.” After he said this, he suddenly grabbed my chin, staring intently at me, before saying after a moment, “Are you really falling for me?” “Not at all.” I remembered he had said before not to say anything about loving him; he didn’t buy it, and if I did, I could prepare to leave. So, I chose to speak the truth: “If you died, no one would protect me, so I can’t let you die.” He stared at me for a long time before suddenly laughing, releasing my chin: “Alright, you say what goes.” He unconsciously reached for a cigarette but caught himself, realizing I was recovering, pulling his hand back awkwardly. I pointed to the window: “You can smoke there; that spot won’t trigger the fire alarm and won’t choke me.” He ran to the window as if granted mercy, and I had never seen him look so eager. He lit the cigarette and took a deep breath: “I have a lot of friends who do drugs, but I never touch them. You know why?” I shook my head. “Just trying to quit smoking is harder than dying. Quitting drugs must be even harder, right? I know it’s not good, so I just stay away from it.” He smoked while watching me, his gaze lingering longer than before. “I started smoking at thirteen, and I still can’t quit. You can see how I am now; no one ever cares, as long as I don’t die. I could make the biggest fuss, and it wouldn’t draw a bit of their attention.” I stayed silent. I felt he didn’t need me to talk; he just wanted to express himself. “No one cares about me, and no one loves me. What do they say? Home is the last refuge? There’s no one in my home! It’s abandoned! Might as well tear it down!” He spoke and laughed, laughing wildly. And it felt so desolate. “I don’t have any true friends; they all want my money, being my sycophants, either fearing me or flattering me. “I’ll tell you, back in high school, I liked a girl a lot and spent a ton of money on her without even sleeping with her. She said she loved me. Looking back, it was a total loss. “Later, I spent all my savings, pocket money, and New Year’s money, saving up for a set of six-figure jewelry to give her because she said she loved me. I thought if you love me, anything is worth it. But when I ran out of money, I couldn’t take her out to eat. So, I wanted to tease her and said my family went bankrupt and that I was broke. “She left me on read for a week and then broke up with me. “I gave that jewelry to her deskmate in front of her. I didn’t even know her deskmate, and I’ve forgotten what she looked like; I just remember she was a plump girl. Her face looked terrible; she must have regretted it so much, and I still find it hilarious to think about. “For a long time after that, I wondered, you see, my family doesn’t love me for money, and people outside only love me for my money. What the hell is money?” He went on and on about how his parents neglected him and how people he met outside sought benefits from him, spilling out years of pent-up dissatisfaction. In that moment, thinking back to his earlier question about whether I had fallen for him, I suddenly realized.

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I’m the heroine of a dark, twisted romance. In the dim light of a narrow alleyway, a group of homeless men fastened their belts and walked away, satisfied. I lay there, like a discarded, soulless doll, the scene making it painfully clear what had just happened. Next, according to the script, the male lead should appear and take me away. I was supposed to be ashamed, weak, and view him as my saviour. He said we were brought together by those homeless men, that they’d been instrumental in our “fate.” He even rewarded them, giving them jobs that made them rich. But after I was reborn, I stared at those repulsive faces and pulled a leather belt from my pocket. The belt wasn’t just thick layers of leather—it had a steel plate hidden inside, making it brutally powerful. How could these animals deserve a happy life? The air was thick and sticky with dampness. It was one in the morning—no one would walk through this dark, unlit alleyway. I lay on the ground, my clothes in tatters, and I could still hear the men’s angry shouts fading away. Tears of despair slipped down my cheeks. I’d been too late. Just a little more, and I might have escaped all of this. It wasn’t until the moment of my death in my past life that I truly woke up. I was the heroine of a twisted, dark romance. When I was 18, walking home from school, I was assaulted by a group of homeless men. I felt humiliated, furious, but the sounds coming from my mouth were disgusting—like I wasn’t even resisting. Later, a man appeared at the mouth of the alley. He draped a coat over me, covering my shame. His name was Gareth Thompson, and he became my husband. He didn’t care about my “broken” body. In fact, he was obsessed with it. I was insecure and weak. Over time, I found myself in the beds of many other men, though I didn’t understand why. I felt guilty. I worshipped Gareth, agreeing to everything he said—even when he gave the men who had attacked me great jobs, helping them get rich. He told me if it weren’t for those men, we wouldn’t have been brought together. But just before I died, I finally understood the truth. Gareth had been watching me from the start. Those men were his doing. He had arranged the attack so he could rescue me, pull me from hell, and make me worship him. That way, I’d be completely devoted to him. As for why I ended up in the beds of strangers? Gareth had arranged that, too. He gave me away to his business partners and rivals in exchange for deals. He didn’t care about my affairs with other men. In fact, he enjoyed it. Watching me with them made him feel… excited. I’d been deceived my entire life, unable to muster even a shred of will for myself. I was nothing more than an object, a toy, a pet, something to be used, but never a person. I was just a tool for men to take out their lust on. And my death? It came from a heart attack, induced by an overdose of drugs. I didn’t live to see thirty. By the time I died, I was skin and bones, unrecognizable. This wasn’t just a twisted romance—it was pure cruelty. Thank God I got another chance at life. But I was still too late.

When I realised I’d been reborn, the same group of men had just pinned me to the ground. I struggled desperately, my mind screaming at me to run. If only I could escape this alley, none of it would happen. But no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t control my body. It felt like an invisible hand was crushing my heart. Those disgusting sounds, the stench, it all made me sick as I went through the assault again, fully conscious this time. But my mind was firm. If fate had given me a second chance, it wasn’t so I could die again. I just needed to survive this moment. Everything could change after that. I don’t know how long it took before they were done. Just like before, they buckled their belts and walked away. Finally, I could move again, the force controlling me was gone. I regained control of my body. This time, I didn’t lie there in despair, helplessly crying like before. Using all my strength, I picked myself up, dressed in my torn clothes, and ran towards the alley’s entrance. Gareth was waiting there, just like in my past life. He reached out a hand, looking at me with that same concerned expression as before. He looked like a saint, full of pity, as though he were looking down on a worshipper. He was waiting for me to beg him for help. I lowered my head and murmured, “Excuse me, sir. Did you see the men who just assaulted me?” Gareth’s flawless expression cracked. “What? What do you mean?” he stammered. I smiled, coldly. “Surely you saw them? You were standing right here the whole time.” Without waiting for his reply, I walked past him. I clutched my chest, whispering to myself, “Not yet.” Right now, I was nothing more than a helpless schoolgirl. Even though my heart burned with hatred, I couldn’t touch Gareth. Not yet. He was probably watching me walk away, wondering how to bring me more pain before swooping in again as my saviour. When I got home, the house was empty. Mum and Dad must have gone out looking for me. Just as I picked up the landline to call Mum, I heard a familiar voice behind me.

When I got home, the house was empty. Mum and Dad must have gone out looking for me. Just as I reached for the phone to call Mum, a familiar voice called from behind me. “Becky, where have you been?” It was my mum. My eyes filled with tears, and I ran into her arms. Mum looked down at my clothes and realised something was wrong. She didn’t ask questions, just held me tight, stroking my back. I cried until I could barely breathe, until I had no tears left. I cried for all the pain, in this life and the last. In my past life, I didn’t try to reach out to my parents after I left with Gareth. He had told me that after what had happened, my parents would be ashamed of me. I wanted to deny it, but I ended up nodding anyway. A week later, I got the news that a fire had destroyed my family home. My parents died in that fire. I didn’t even attend their funeral. Dad arrived home, and I continued to cry—my eyes were swollen, my throat hoarse. This time, after I finished crying, I swore to myself I would never cry so easily again. In my past life, I had cried too many times, in the arms of different men, in Gareth’s arms. Now, every tear I had shed because of desire disgusted me. I told my parents everything that had happened. Dad’s face turned red with rage. He looked like he could kill those men with his bare hands. Mum aged visibly in that moment. She held me again, gently asking if I wanted to clean myself up. I shook my head. “Mum, Dad, we need to call the police. I can’t wash. The evidence is still on me. I need to make sure those monsters pay.” 4 Sergeant Clarke and his team, wanting to protect my privacy, took me to St. Thomas’ Hospital with my parents for an examination. They collected evidence, and I was given post-exposure medication. Constable Sarah Harris stayed with me, trying to counsel me, but I wasn’t broken. I stayed calm. I’d lived through this moment over and over in my head. I knew what had to be done. I gave the police a detailed account of everything—how I was assaulted, how they hit me, and how they held me down. The marks on my body, the bruises, and the torn hair were proof of it all. Mum was on the verge of fainting from crying. “My Becky, my poor Becky…” With the DNA evidence collected, it wasn’t long before the identities of those men were confirmed. The police arrested them quickly, but the men denied everything, claiming it was consensual. Because I was eighteen, they said if they could prove I consented, they wouldn’t be charged. One of the officers lost it. “You’re saying an eighteen-year-old schoolgirl voluntarily had sex with a group of middle-aged homeless men and let them beat her senseless? Have you no shame?” One of them smirked, showing no care. “Don’t believe us? We’ve got a witness.” Their witness was Gareth. “Yes, I was there,” Gareth said calmly. “The girl seemed willing. I didn’t see any struggle. She was making all the right noises.” Gareth looked at me, his eyes full of something different from before. His smile was smug, knowing. At the police station, he leaned down and whispered in my ear. “Becky, you’ve come back too, haven’t you?” “There’s no point fighting. You enjoyed it, didn’t you? I know you better than anyone. I know exactly how much your body loves being treated like that.” “Becky, I’m waiting for you to return to me.” 5 slapped him. When I saw the mark on his right cheek, I frowned. It wasn’t even. So I slapped the left side too. Even with all my strength, the slaps left only faint pink marks. Like me—barely there, with no real weight. Gareth just grinned, licking his lips like I’d done something entertaining. It was ridiculous. A slap from a woman is often seen as flirting, not a serious blow. “Becky, you’ve learned to hit,” he said, amused. “But I prefer it when you bite me in bed.” I stared coldly at him and kicked him in the crotch. Gareth’s expression finally changed as he grabbed my shoulders in a vice-like grip. “Becky, I’ll tolerate your little outbursts, but don’t push me.” I couldn’t break free, so I kicked him again. Then, I pulled out the leather belt I hadn’t had a chance to use earlier and struck the cheek I’d just slapped. Finally, Gareth’s face started to swell, blood seeping from his mouth. He looked hideous. “You disgust me, Gareth.” He finally let go, feeling the pain, glaring at me with hate. “Rebecca Swift, you’ll regret this!” 6 The court’s verdict was announced. The homeless men were found guilty of assault, having committed the crime not only in a public place but as a group. They were sentenced to life imprisonment, with two of them receiving the death penalty. On the day of the trial, I went there myself, carrying my new identification. After talking it over with my parents, I had chosen a new name for myself. From that day onwards, I was no longer Rebecca Swift. I became Rebecca Steel, with a name as tough as iron. My parents didn’t fully understand why I had given myself such a “masculine” name, but they supported me regardless. “Maybe when you first named me Becky, you hoped I’d spend my whole life sheltered under your wings, happy and safe without needing to show any strength.” But that name, which now felt like a typical romantic heroine’s name, only made me feel sick. For the first time, I saw fear on the faces of those men. Gareth wasn’t there. I knew by now that they had been abandoned. But even so, they refused to name Gareth as their accomplice. As they walked past me, those once lust-filled eyes were now filled with hatred and regret. If you do something wrong, you deserve to face the consequences. I pulled out my leather belt and carefully traced its length, putting all my strength into it. Half an hour later, five swollen, pig-like faces had emerged. No one stopped me. Everyone understood the rage burning inside me. I took a six-month break from everything and returned to school, enrolling in a retake class to finish the final year I hadn’t completed in my past life. I arranged to live on campus and avoided that alley at all costs. Life at school was peaceful. In the final year, everyone was too busy to notice a classmate who had been missing for a while. But news of my assault spread like wildfire, and soon the school bulletin board was plastered with photos from that night. It turned out that Gareth hadn’t just been standing there at the alley’s entrance—he’d had the audacity to take pictures. When the photos appeared on the notice board, Gareth was on a visit to the school as an honoured alumnus, giving a speech. The headteacher was showing him around when they came across the photos on display. The students gathered around the board, too shocked to move, whispering quietly to one another. My face and body weren’t blurred out, and everyone immediately recognised their classmate. Their stares were like fire on my skin, burning through me. I even heard a boy mutter under his breath. “Who would’ve thought Rebecca Steel had such a hot body?” “Yeah, mate. I’ve only seen that kind of thing in porn…” How disgusting. I turned and looked at Gareth, standing far away with a smug expression on his face. I was trembling, but tears of laughter streamed down my face. Gareth, oh Gareth, so this is the best you can do?

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On the day of our divorce, my ex-husband held our chubby son tightly and pointed at me, snarling, “Don’t even think about getting custody of our son!” I calmly replied, “Of course not.” After all, he wasn’t my biological child. My biological daughter, whom I had carried for ten months, was waiting for me at home with my new boyfriend. When I was eight months pregnant, I discovered that my husband was having an affair with our former nanny. To outsiders, we appeared to be a perfectly happy family. I believed this too, which is why I had followed our plan and gotten pregnant soon after our marriage. Now, Caleb was snoring beside me. I looked at the SnapChat message on his phone screen: “Caleb, our baby kicked me again today.” The profile picture of the sender looked familiar. When I opened it, it was indeed someone I knew – Fiona, who had worked as our live-in nanny for a year. Silently, I marked the message as unread and exited SnapChat. Sure enough, Caleb’s phone had two systems, and he must have forgotten to switch before going to sleep. I put the phone back on his bedside table and laid down, but sleep eluded me. The next morning, I said to Caleb, “I’m planning to visit my dad today. I’ve been worried about him since mom passed away.” “Alright, honey. Be safe,” Caleb replied, not even looking up as he tied his shoelaces, let alone offering to drive me. “I might have to work late today, so I’ll be back late. If it’s convenient, why don’t you have dinner at your dad’s place?” I agreed and left the house. The first thing I did was call my father’s housekeeper. “James, could you please find some trustworthy people to keep an eye on Caleb tonight? It would be great if they could get photos of whoever he meets.” After hanging up, I felt some of the heaviness in my heart lift. Since becoming pregnant, I had given up my work to focus on the baby and our home. I had almost forgotten my decisive days in the business world. Caleb, if you dare to betray me, be prepared to face the consequences. When James heard I was coming home, he insisted on sending a car to pick me up, despite my protests, and even waited for me at the door himself. “James, you really didn’t have to. I’m pregnant, not made of glass,” I said as I walked in. “Is Dad in his study?” “The master has been waiting for you since he heard you were coming back,” James replied cheerfully, escorting me to the study before heading to the kitchen to arrange lunch. “Lyra, what’s wrong? Why such an urgent visit?” Dad asked before I could even sit down. “Dad, I want to divorce Caleb. He’s cheating on me,” I said, my voice trembling without me realizing it. How pathetic, getting worked up over such an unworthy man. I mocked myself internally. “Okay,” to my surprise, Dad didn’t ask any questions. “I heard you asked James to have someone tail Caleb. Is there anything else you need help with?” Dad’s decisive response helped me regain my composure. I shared the plan I had formulated during my sleepless night: “The baby is already eight months along, so termination is out of the question. Besides, this is my child too, so I’ve decided to give birth, but I absolutely cannot let Caleb have custody.” “For now, I don’t want to deal with anything else. I just want to focus on having a healthy pregnancy and delivery. Once I’ve recovered, I’ll find the right moment to file for divorce.” “I don’t believe Caleb only started his affair with Fiona after she came to work for us, so I’d like to borrow a few of your people to investigate Fiona’s background.” “Also,” I took a deep breath, “once I’ve recovered, I want to return to work at the company immediately.”

Days passed uneventfully as I focused all my energy on myself and the baby. I silently reminded myself that any revenge could wait; maintaining a stable mindset was crucial. I couldn’t let two despicable people ruin my life and my baby’s. On my due date, I was awakened by contractions. I knew it was time. I looked at the other side of the bed; Caleb had left at some point. Pushing aside the feeling of irony, I dialed for an ambulance. The delivery process was unexpectedly difficult. Perhaps the baby knew she would face her parents’ separation upon arrival and was reluctant to leave my body. I was nearly broken by a pain I had never experienced before. Disregarding everything else, I screamed, “I don’t want to give birth anymore.” All the resentment I had suppressed for months was unleashed by this pain, and tears streamed down my face. Through the haze, I thought I heard the delivery room door open. A man stood beside me. Is it Caleb? I wondered hazily. Is he worried about the baby? “Lyra, I’m a friend of your father’s. My name is Dr. Lachlan Frost,” came a steady male voice, completely different from Caleb’s. “I’m here, and you’ll be fine.” Dad was really thinking ahead, arranging a doctor for me in advance. In a daze, I followed Dr. Frost’s instructions and pushed. Finally, after an intense bout of pain, I heard a baby’s cry. “Look at your baby,” Dr. Frost said, holding up the cleaned infant. “It’s a little princess.” I gazed hungrily at my daughter’s bewildered face, the pain seemingly vanishing. I’m sorry, baby. Mommy will settle accounts with your father soon. Although the delivery wasn’t easy, both the baby and I were in good condition and were moved to a regular ward. Exhausted, I fell into a deep sleep after the nurse assured me my daughter was healthy. In the middle of the night, I was awakened by the sound of footsteps. Opening my eyes, I saw a woman standing by my daughter’s crib. I was about to call for help when the moonlight illuminated her face – it was Fiona. I immediately fell silent, curious to see what she was up to. She lifted my daughter out of the crib. Then, carefully, she took a baby boy out of the carrier she was holding and placed him in the crib. After that, she wrapped my daughter securely and prepared to leave the room. That beast! Rage surged through me, and I wanted nothing more than to flay her alive. How dare she try to switch my daughter! Thinking back to those SnapChat messages she sent Caleb, I realized the baby in the crib must be her son. I wanted to stop her but held back. Fiona wanted her son to take my daughter’s place, to live a life of comfort and adoration. If I exposed everything now, she would face at most a few days of administrative detention. No, that would be too easy for her! Realizing this, I forced my still-aching body to follow Fiona after she left with my daughter. Fiona skulked around, eventually reaching the entrance of the Infectious Diseases Department. When no one was around, she placed my daughter in a hidden corner. I could barely contain my hatred for Fiona. The Infectious Diseases Department? What kind of place was that? Patients with tuberculosis, syphilis, even HIV were treated in that ward! Fiona’s intentions in leaving my daughter there were clear! Just as I was about to rush over and retrieve my daughter, a hand held me back. I turned to see Dr. Frost. “Go back and rest. I’ll handle this,” he said. He must have been following me and understood the situation. “I’ll take your daughter directly to another ward and have someone trustworthy look after her.” I collected myself, realizing this was the only way to avoid alerting Fiona. I made my way back to my room, avoiding people. Back in the room, I looked at the baby boy sleeping soundly in the crib, and a chill crept into my heart. The child was innocent, but since his mother was willing to give him up, I wouldn’t feel guilty about using him to torment her.

That night, I received a message from my father. He said my daughter had been checked and was fine, and he was with her in another room. I named my daughter Isla. Caleb finally showed up at the hospital on the second day after I gave birth, claiming he had an urgent business trip. I neither complained nor showed enthusiasm, making him think I was still angry about his absence. He was attentive during my hospital stay. A few days later, the nurse informed me that both the baby boy and I were in good health and could be discharged. It was then that Caleb remembered, “We haven’t named our son yet.” “You choose. I’m fine with anything,” I said, showing little interest. Caleb, however, was enthusiastic: “Then let’s call him Zander. We can call him Zan for short.” I nodded, wondering if Caleb knew that Fiona had switched our babies. Back home, I said, “Honey, let’s hire a nanny like before. I’m still not feeling well after giving birth, and the baby needs care. I think Fiona, our previous nanny, was quite good.” Caleb looked at me in surprise: “Hiring a nanny is fine, but why suddenly insist on Fiona?” “It’s not that I insist on her, but she worked here for a year, so she’d be better than other nannies,” I said matter-of-factly. “But I heard from other families she worked for that she recently had a miscarriage. I’m not sure if it’s appropriate for her to take care of you,” Caleb explained. I felt reassured. It seemed Caleb had been fooled and didn’t know about the baby switch. “Well, honey, why don’t you send her a message and ask? If she’s willing, let her come. If not, we can’t force her,” I said. Watching Caleb agree and take out his phone, I knew Fiona wouldn’t pass up this opportunity to care for her own son and be close to Caleb. Sure enough, just as I had predicted, Fiona arrived the next day with her bags packed. As soon as she entered, before even taking off her shoes, she picked up Zander, cooing lovingly, “This baby is so sturdy, and his features are so handsome.” “Yes, it took me a long time to give birth to him,” I replied casually. I saw Fiona’s face freeze for a moment. I felt a secret thrill. I said directly, “Please help me take care of the child. I’m going to visit my father, and I’ll be having dinner there too. Would you mind making dinner as well?” After getting out of the car at home, I saw James coming to greet me as usual and went straight to the point: “Where’s Isla?” “Dr. Frost and the master are both with her,” James smiled kindly. What’s Lachlan doing here? I had some questions. Still, I followed James to the bedroom. In the bedroom, Dad and Lachlan were looking at the baby in the crib. Dad was muttering, “She looks exactly like my Lyra when she was little…” “Dad, Dr. Frost,” I greeted as I entered, then looked at my dad, clearly asking: What’s Lachlan doing here? “Lyra, Lachlan comes from a medical family, and he’s a skilled doctor. I trust him, so I asked him to come check on Isla occasionally,” my dad explained cheerfully. He then said to me, “Isla is asleep. I’ve asked someone to watch her here. Let’s talk in the study.” “No need, sir. I’m fine staying here,” Lachlan replied. I gave him a curious look: This man was being overly attentive, wasn’t he?

After sitting down in the study, my father took out a stack of documents. “I was worried about your emotions fluctuating too much in late pregnancy, so I didn’t show you these investigation reports earlier. They were all done by people from the company, so you don’t need to doubt their authenticity.” He spread the documents on the table. “After you’ve read them, I’ll support whatever decision you make.” I picked up the investigation report and started reading quickly. Sure enough, Fiona and Caleb had known each other since high school. They were from the same rural area, and had maintained contact even during the period when I was dating and married to Caleb. Caleb had even been sending Fiona a substantial amount of money every month. The night I discovered his affair, when he said he had to work overtime, he was actually going to see the pregnant Fiona. After finishing, I thought I would be furious, but I felt surprisingly calm. I asked, “The money he gave to Fiona, was it his own or from his company?” Caleb currently worked as a financial director at a foreign company. Although his position wasn’t very high, everyone treated him with respect because of my father’s influence. “He’s not bold enough to do that. It’s all his own money,” my father replied. “Then it’s malicious transfer of marital property,” I said, putting down the evidence. I told my father, “I want to recover first, then start working at the company. If I don’t have a source of income when we divorce, Caleb might try to take Isla away.” “Alright,” my father agreed immediately. “Tomorrow I’ll have my secretary find someone to mentor you at the company. By the way, I heard from James that Fiona has returned to your house as a nanny? Is Caleb really that brazen?” “I suggested it, not him,” I said, smiling genuinely. “Dad, I think it’s better for a child to be cared for by their birth mother.” The days that followed at home were incredibly satisfying. I not only refused to get up at night for breastfeeding, citing discomfort as an excuse, but also had Fiona prepare formula for Zander. I didn’t bother with any of the baby’s needs, simply enjoying my days eating and drinking to my heart’s content. I would occasionally visit my father’s house to see Isla, growing more and more attached to her as her features became more defined. I also often encountered Lachlan when he came to check on Isla, and we gradually became familiar with each other, even adding each other on SnapChat. A month passed, and I was glowing with health and vitality.

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My mother always wanted a son, so she adopted the son of a distant widowed relative. I warned her, “That family is full of ungrateful people. You can’t raise a child like that to be loyal.” She stubbornly refused to believe me and even sent me to live with a neighbor while she raised him. Later, whenever my brother misbehaved, my mom would yell at him, “Your sister was right. Bad seeds produce bad fruit. You’re nothing but a curse. I was blind to choose you over my own daughter.” My brother harbored resentment and, when no one was around, set a fire that led to my tragic death. When I opened my eyes again, my mother was visiting her son at the widow’s house. I gently said to my mom, “If you like him, go ahead and raise him.” After my death, the police questioned my brother, “Where were you when the victim died?” My brother patiently replied, “I was at home having dinner with my parents. They can vouch for me!” He winked at my parents. My father said sorrowfully, “He was with us at home that day. My daughter hadn’t been in touch with us for a long time.” My mother remained silent throughout, nodding along blankly. The police asked my father a few more questions, and he started complaining. “That girl was so ungrateful. All these years, she only cared about work and never visited us. Now she had to die away from home. How are we supposed to face our relatives?” My brother, unusually obedient, promised my father that without me, he would be twice as filial to our parents. Everyone present was moved by his show of devotion. In the end, the investigation concluded it was an accidental fire caused by old wiring. I watched as my charred, deformed body was carelessly placed on the ground by my family. At that moment, my brother angrily walked over and kicked my corpse several times, scattering the blackened bones. “You bitch! Your big mouth got me beaten and scolded so many times. Today, I, the ‘bad seed,’ am paying you back with interest. Die without a proper burial!” My father quickly pulled him away. “That’s enough. The relatives from our hometown will be here soon to offer condolence money.” My mother stared blankly at the ground, muttering, “In your next life, may you be born into a good family and be a cherished child.”

When I opened my eyes again, I had returned to the day my mother took me to pick up my brother. The widowed relative, Fiona, was pushing a dirty little boy towards us. “Child, this is your mom and sister. You’ll have everything you want at their house. It’s much better than staying with me.” The little boy immediately started crying and rolling on the ground. “I don’t want to go! You’re all lying to me! I want to be an only child. I don’t want a sister!” My mother laughed, bending over with amusement. “This little guy is so smart. He’s already fighting for attention before even coming home. But you have to come home with me first.” The boy suddenly stopped crying and pointed at me, asking my mother, “Choose her or me? You can only pick one!” Without hesitation, my mother coaxed him, “I choose you! We don’t need a sister.” The boy quickly pushed away from his mother and obediently took my mother’s hand. My mother excitedly asked me, “What do you think? Isn’t he adorable?” Suppressing my intense hatred, I replied understandingly, “Mom, if you like him, go ahead and raise him.” In my previous life, after giving birth to me, my mother couldn’t conceive again. She was obsessed with having a son, believing that only a son could provide security in her old age, no matter how much I tried to reassure her. She wanted to adopt this child from our relative. I advised my mother that if she wanted a son, she should adopt from an orphanage. This relative’s family was known for causing trouble and fighting. Bringing home an eight or nine-year-old boy would surely lead to problems. My mother wouldn’t listen. She firmly believed that a child with some blood relation would be better. But it was this child, whom my mother thought was perfectly suitable, who always caused trouble and turned our home into chaos. Back then, my mother would beat and scold my brother, saying, “Your sister was right. Bad seeds produce bad fruit. You’re nothing but a curse. I was blind to choose you over my own daughter.” He would glare at me viciously each time, his eyes like those of a wolf ready to tear me apart. Until I discovered he had stolen our house deed, and after an argument with him, on New Year’s Eve, he set fire to my rented apartment, burning me alive. No matter how much I begged and struggled, no one came to save me. In this life, I will make sure everyone pays the price.

After returning home. My mother put my brother’s luggage directly into my room. She carelessly said to me, “Lyra, you’re the older sister. From now on, you have to give your brother the best of everything. He’s suffered a lot in the past, and now that he’s come to our family, we should make him feel the warmth of home.” My brother followed my mother into the room smugly. I, on the other hand, was forced to move into the storage room with my grandmother’s memorial tablet. In my previous life, I had made a big fuss about this at home. My mother said I was selfish and accused me of not understanding her and my brother. She even said outright that I was a daughter who would eventually marry out, and only my brother would be there to support them and care for them in their old age. She told me I should always be grateful to my brother. After several arguments, she even sent me to live with the neighbor, claiming that since my father was always away on business trips, she couldn’t take care of two children alone. Living under someone else’s roof, I couldn’t eat or sleep well. A child with a home lived like an orphan. This time, I didn’t argue or make a fuss. I accepted being an outsider. After my brother came to our home, my father returned once and gave him some pocket money. To bond with my brother, my mother was incredibly attentive, waiting on him hand and foot. She even carried him to the bathroom when he needed to pee at night. Whatever my brother wanted, she fulfilled. He got the best of everything – clothes, food, housing, and transportation. He went from feeling uncomfortable to taking it all for granted. I, on the other hand, was neglected. Learning from my past life’s lessons, I had already planned everything for myself and started working part-time jobs while studying to earn money. My brother was also enrolled in the city’s most famous private boarding school, thanks to my parents’ substantial financial investment. On the day we sent him to school, my mother asked me to make his bed and organize his clothes. She held my brother’s hand reluctantly, instructing him to study hard at school. Thinking about his troublemaking nature from my past life, I calmly waited for the show to begin. Sure enough, trouble arose after just a few days.

When I arrived at the school, my mother was fiercely shielding my brother, arguing with another parent. My mother was cursing loudly, “You bitch, how dare you hit my son! Kids play rough sometimes. At most, I’ll pay for the medical expenses!” The other parent, a woman, was so angry her eyes were bloodshot and she was on the verge of tears. “Is that how a human being talks? My son is the victim here. That big iron bead could have been sucked into his lungs and killed him! I’m telling you, I won’t let this go. I’m going to file a complaint! I’ll make sure your son, that little monster, gets expelled!” The teacher was stuck in the middle, trying to mediate. It turned out that during recess, my brother had stuffed two iron beads into his deskmate’s nostrils. By the time the teacher discovered it, the child had already passed out. Shocked by this, my mother heard my brother’s sobbing behind her. He said pitifully, “He called me a wild child adopted by mom and dad.” My mother became even more furious and started pulling the other parent’s hair. The woman didn’t back down and grabbed my mother’s clothes, ready to fight back. I felt someone pull me from behind, and I took a hard slap meant for my mother. The pain made me dizzy, and my nose started bleeding immediately. Later, the woman received a phone call, probably saying her child was okay. My mother used the excuse that both I and my brother had been hurt by her to settle the matter with just some medical expenses. Afterwards, my mother sternly criticized my brother, telling him never to do such dangerous things to his classmates again. To show her punishment, she directly deducted his pocket money for the month. My mother didn’t notice my discomfort at all and complained to me, “How did your brother become so mischievous? He seemed so well-behaved before.” I laughed coldly inside. This wasn’t mischief; this was my brother’s true nature. In my past life, he said doing such things was fun. I pretended to comfort her, “Mom, you should be glad. This isn’t mischief. It’s because he cares about you that he got angry at what his classmate said. He just chose the wrong way to retaliate.” My mother, hearing this explanation, actually found it reasonable. She looked at my brother with even more affection. I pulled my brother over and said to my mother, “Mom, he’s still young, just a child. Don’t deduct his pocket money. We’re not short on money. He should still have his allowance.” My brother, who had been sulking, suddenly spoke up, “Mom, I did it for you. If you really want to deduct money, take it from my sister’s allowance. I’m the only boy in this family. If you starve or tire me out, how will I take care of you in your old age!” Seeing that my brother was getting angry, my mother quickly hugged him and tried to calm him down. As for me, whom no one cared about, I had to go to the hospital alone because of my dizziness. After rushing around for several hours, when I saw the test results, I was stunned. What on earth was going on?

The incident with my brother at school ended up being just a minor episode. My mother, because of what my brother said, actually reduced my allowance by half and added it to his. I remained calm and didn’t object. Because my mother said, “The older sister should always give in to her younger brother.” Although the teacher would still occasionally contact my mother about my brother throwing someone’s backpack away, cutting someone’s clothes, or kicking over someone’s chair, my mother, under my persuasion, always turned a blind eye. As long as our own child wasn’t hurt, it was fine. My brother’s bottom line was gradually eroded with each incident. In the blink of an eye, I was about to graduate from college and enter my internship phase. While my classmates were busy looking for jobs, I had already saved enough money from my part-time jobs over the years to open a bustling bubble tea shop in the university district. When I received a call from home, I had just finished a day’s business and was happily counting the cash. My mother cried on the phone, “Lyra, please come back quickly and borrow some money to save your brother. Your brother, he…” It turned out that a classmate in my brother’s class had mocked him for being an adopted wild child. In a fit of teenage anger, my brother had beaten the boy unconscious. Now that boy was in the ICU, still not out of danger. The boy’s parents only had this one child. They refused any mediation and directly sued both my brother and the school. I comforted my mother for a bit and promised to return home immediately. Then I calmly dialed a familiar number. By the time I leisurely arrived at our front door, chaos had already erupted. Apparently, the injured boy’s family had come to make trouble, demanding medical expenses from my parents every day. They even threatened to send my brother to juvenile detention no matter what. My brother’s birth mother, Fiona, had arrived earlier than I expected. She was hugging my brother, crying and scolding my parents loudly, “I gave you my well-behaved son, and this is how you promised to take good care of him!” When my brother looked up and saw me, he seemed to see hope. He kept saying, “I can’t go to jail. I can’t go to jail. Let my sister take my place! I’m the boy in our family. I’m supposed to take care of mom and dad when they’re old. I can’t have anything happen to me!” After saying this, he looked at our parents with hopeful eyes, thinking this reason would move them. My mother scolded him with a pained expression, “Did you need to say that? It’s one thing to fight normally, but this time you went too far. You’re killing us! ” Hearing this, Fiona frowned and started arguing with my mother. My father, who had been silent, suddenly shouted, “Enough! Let’s quickly think of a way to raise money!” I came back from the bathroom to find everyone looking at me, waiting for me to produce some money. I sighed and took out a bankbook, handing it to my father. “Dad, I’m not working yet, so I really can’t come up with much. To save my brother, I can only reveal mom’s secret savings.”

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I won $5 million in the lottery. I quietly told my mom and asked her to divorce my abusive, gambling-addicted dad. I promised I’d take care of her, and we’d live a good life together. She agreed enthusiastically but immediately went and told my dad. My dad showed up at my place, demanding I hand over the money. When I refused, he beat me, punching and kicking me repeatedly. In the end, it was my love-struck mom who found my debit card and took all of my money. My dad, now flush with my cash, lived it up in luxury, kicked my mom out, and found himself a new girlfriend. He even handed out my money generously to our relatives back in Ohio. They feasted on my earnings while I, the one who actually won the lottery, didn’t get a single cent. I couldn’t stand it. I went to confront my dad, but I happened to walk in as someone was demanding payment from him. My dad shoved me out the door and left me to be stabbed to death by the loan sharks. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the moment I first discovered I’d won the lottery.

In front of me was my mom, her expression impatient, and the once-fuzzy sound around me sharpened. “Chloe, what do you want?” she asked. “Hurry up, your dad’s waiting for me to come home and make dinner.” “You said you won something. What did you win?” Hearing her question, I quickly looked around. I was in my small apartment in Queens. That’s when it hit me—I had been reborn. In my past life, I had just won the $5 million lottery at this exact moment. I’d been planning to take my mom and escape this miserable life, to move somewhere far away. She’d agreed at the time, but as soon as my dad came home, she spilled everything to him. My gambling-addicted dad’s eyes had lit up the moment he heard. He marched right up to me and demanded, “Where’s the ticket? Hand it over!” “So, you won and didn’t tell me? Planning to run off with your mom, huh?” “Ungrateful brat! Your money is my money. Who said you could decide what to do with it?” He kept closing in on me, forcing me to hand over the money. But how could I let him take it? That was my money. With it, I could finally leave this awful family and stop handing over every paycheck, struggling to survive. No way was I giving up the prize. My dad started hitting me, and while he was distracted, my mom found my debit card in my room and walked out with it. My dad took the money, went gambling, and then my mom came over, speaking quietly. “Chloe, don’t blame me. I’m doing this for your own good.” “You’re a girl. What do you need that much money for? It’s better to let your dad handle it.” “This family still needs your dad to be in charge.” And with that, she left me there, beaten and bruised. Afterward, my dad blew the money at fancy clubs and bragged about it to the relatives in the Family WhatsApp Group. Everyone back in Ohio came crawling to him, feeding his vanity while he lent out the money. When I tried to get it back, he pushed me away, and that’s when I ran into the loan sharks. My dad got into an argument with them, and in the chaos, I was thrown out of the house. The debt collectors, out for blood, stabbed me to death, ignoring my pleas for mercy. And all of this happened because my mom told my dad. But not this time. This time, I’d hold onto the money tightly and live my own life, without them.

Hearing my mom’s slightly irritated tone, I blinked and made up an excuse. “Mom, I was just saying I won an air fryer at the office holiday party. Do you want it?” She rolled her eyes at me. “Oh, it’s just an air fryer? The way you sounded so excited, I thought you won the lottery.” My heart raced at her words. “I wish. If I were that lucky, wouldn’t that be something?” “Well, since you’re so lucky at work, maybe I’ll buy a lottery ticket later. Who knows? If we won, your dad would stop hitting me.” “Anyway, where’s that air fryer? I’ll take it home and make him some fried chicken.” Her words made me feel bitter. Even after everything, she still clung to my dad, thinking a little money would change anything. I was an idiot in my past life to tell her about the lottery. Back then, when I told her, she was overjoyed, holding my hand and laughing. But I hadn’t realized then that she wasn’t happy for me—she was happy for him. In her heart, my dad would always come first. I was just an ATM to her. I’m sure that the moment she found out I had won, she already planned to tell him. She just didn’t show it in front of me. As soon as she got home, the first thing she did was tell my dad. I was packing my things when I heard a knock on the door. Thinking it was her, I opened it, only to find my dad, there to rob me. Taking a deep breath, I handed her the air fryer. I had bought it a few days ago, planning to bring it home. I never thought it would come in handy like this. After she left, I quickly packed my things, getting ready to leave this place. I had already cashed out the $5 million prize, leaving me with $3.6 million after taxes. The money was all still in my account, but thinking about what happened before, I decided to open a few more accounts to spread it out, just in case. By the afternoon, I had everything set. My money was secure. As I thought about where to go in the next few days, I got a call from my cousin Adam. “Chloe, did you win the lottery? Was it $5 million?” The phone nearly slipped out of my hand. I hadn’t told anyone this time. How did Adam know? Wait, he was back in Ohio, not even here. How did he know I’d won? Did he see me at the Lottery Office in Albany? My palms grew sweaty, but I forced myself to stay calm. “What? No way,” I laughed. “You know how unlucky I am. Do you really think I’d win $5 million? Quit joking around.” I tried to laugh it off and made an excuse to hang up, but Adam didn’t let go. “Chloe, I know it’s you. I saw you.” He saw me? I almost gasped but quickly pinched myself to stay composed. “Adam, I haven’t left the house in days! You must’ve mistaken me for someone else.” He chuckled. “If it’s not you, why are you so nervous?” “I’m sending you a picture. Take a look. Isn’t that you?” My phone buzzed with a message. When I opened it, my blood ran cold.

The person in the picture was definitely me. I had been bundled up, wearing baggy clothes, so it wasn’t obvious who I was. But anyone who knew me could easily tell. My heart pounded as I scrambled for an excuse. Adam spoke again. “Chloe, you’ve got all that money now. Just transfer me $200,000. Let me share in your good fortune.” I clenched my teeth, stopping myself from cursing out loud. How shameless could he be? Two hundred thousand dollars? Why didn’t he just rob a bank? I forced myself to stay calm. “Adam, that’s not me. You’ve got the wrong person.” “I’ve got to go.” I tried to hang up, but his voice cut through the line, threatening. “Chloe Miller, if you don’t give me the money, I’ll tell everyone. Let’s see how long you can keep that cash.” “Don’t forget, your dad’s still drowning in debt!” With that, he hung up, leaving me shaking with anger. I paced the room until I calmed down. This wasn’t good. I had to leave, fast. If Adam recognized me, others might too. If that happened, I’d never be able to hold onto my money. I quickly packed up, planning to move out the next day. What I didn’t expect was Adam to act so fast. That very night, my dad showed up at my apartment. He still had a key to my place and let himself in without a word. I was watching TV, and the sudden noise startled me. The moment I saw him, I knew something was wrong. Sure enough, he started yelling. “Chloe Miller!” “Hand over the money!” “You won the lottery and thought you could keep it from me? You little brat, you had the nerve to hide this from your own father!” “If Adam hadn’t called me, I wouldn’t have known a thing.” My blood ran cold. That jerk, Adam! When I refused to give him money, he went straight to my dad. Now what? Was I going to lose everything again? My heart raced as I desperately thought of a way out. But my dad didn’t give me the chance. He grabbed a broom from near the door and swung it at me. I wasn’t quick enough, and it hit me squarely. Then he kicked me hard in the chest, his fists pounding into me like a hammer. His strength was far too much for me to fight back. I curled up on the floor, trying to protect myself from the blows. Just then, my mom walked in, her tone filled with frustration. “So, it’s true. You really did win the lottery.” “This girl… she wins and doesn’t give us the money? She’s trying to keep it all to herself?” “You’ve got some nerve, Chloe, thinking you can hide this and run away. Don’t you care about your family?” “Where’s the money? I’ll get it and pay off your dad’s debts.” I bit my lip, seething with rage. I had been given a second chance, and there was no way I’d let them take my money again. The priority now was to calm them down and get them out of my apartment. Through the pain, I forced myself to look at my dad and say, “Dad, I didn’t win anything.” “I don’t even know how to buy a lottery ticket. How could I win?” “Adam must have mistaken me for someone else. If I had won, wouldn’t I have given you the money already?” My dad wasn’t convinced. “Bullshit!” “Adam sent me the picture. That person was you. Don’t lie to me.” “If you don’t hand over the money, I swear I’ll beat you to death!” He lifted his leg to kick me again, but I quickly shouted, “Dad, I swear I didn’t win! If you don’t believe me, I’ll give you my debit card and you can check for yourself.” That made him pause. I slowly pulled myself off the floor and limped to my bedroom, taking my time to retrieve my wallet. My dad followed close behind, snatching it the second I opened the drawer. He rifled through it until he found my debit card. “What’s the PIN?” he barked. I hesitated for a second, then gave him the six digits. I knew there wasn’t much money left in that account—just a few thousand dollars. Without another word, he stormed out of the apartment, and my mom followed right behind him.

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In the middle of the night, I opened my eyes and realized my husband wasn’t by my side. I stepped out of the bedroom and searched the house, but there was no sign of him. As I neared the nanny’s room, I heard my husband’s voice inside. My name is Lauren Murphy, I’m 28 years old, and my husband, Eric Murphy, and I both work at St. Luke’s Medical Center, Chicago. I’m the head nurse, and Eric is the senior consultant and professor. We’ve been married for over four years, and our relationship is still great. He’s gentle, polite, and incredibly good-looking, plus he treats me with such care. No matter how busy we are, every year on Valentine’s Day or our anniversary, he never fails to send a bouquet of flowers to my station at the hospital. My coworkers always gather around to tease me, saying how lucky I am to have married such a perfect husband. I basked in their admiration, feeling like I was living in a sweet, blissful bubble. The only thing missing from our otherwise perfect marriage was a child. After a miscarriage early in our marriage, I hadn’t gotten pregnant again. I knew Eric really wanted a baby, too. When I was pregnant, he searched everywhere for prenatal vitamins and even hired a young nanny to help take care of me. I always felt guilty about the miscarriage, but Eric comforted me, saying it was okay. He even helped me take both herbal and prescription medications to help me recover. Unfortunately, after taking those medicines, my body started to change. I began to gain weight, and stretch marks spread across my skin, but I trusted Eric completely. I thought if it meant we could have a baby, it would all be worth it. Five years ago, Eric was a graduate student working under my father, Dr. Howard Preston, who is the hospital’s chief physician. That was during my final year at nursing school, and my father arranged for me to intern at his hospital. The first time I saw Eric, I was immediately drawn to him. Not only was he handsome, but his manners were impeccable, and he carried himself with a quiet, sophisticated charm. I learned from my father that Eric came from a modest background—he grew up in a small town, and he was the only one from his village to go to college. Instead of feeling superior, I admired him even more. His humble, refined demeanor only made me appreciate him further. To me, he was like a lone flower blooming in a harsh winter landscape. I was too shy to ask for his number, even though I was attracted to him. All I could do was make excuses to visit my father’s department, hoping to steal a few glances at Eric. To my surprise, Eric was the one who asked for my number, and after that, he started inviting me out to dinner, the movies, and shopping trips. Our relationship deepened with each date, and eventually, Eric confessed his feelings for me. I accepted, overwhelmed with happiness, thinking I was the luckiest woman in the world. But now, everything has crumbled. The “perfect gentleman” I thought I knew? It was all a damn act.

It wasn’t long after Eric and I started dating that I got pregnant, and he quickly proposed. My father wasn’t thrilled about the premarital pregnancy, but since I was already expecting, he didn’t want any gossip about the family. Plus, he thought Eric was a dependable guy, so he didn’t object. Our wedding was planned and executed in under a month. I entered marriage full of joy, ready to welcome our new baby. But during my first ultrasound after the wedding, I was told that the pregnancy was unstable, and I was at risk of miscarriage. Terrified of losing our baby, I immediately decided to stop working and rest at home. Eric was just as worried as I was, frantically searching for all sorts of prenatal supplements for me. His care and concern helped calm my anxious heart, and I felt safe knowing we both wanted this baby so much. Eric even hired a live-in nanny, Tara Bennett, a shy, 18-year-old girl from a small town. When she first came to our house, she wore simple clothes and two long braids, barely speaking a word unless spoken to. When I called her name, she’d look up with wide, innocent eyes, making her seem sweet and endearing. Eric explained that Tara was from a neighboring town back where he grew up and had just moved to the city to find work. He said he felt a connection with her when he saw her at Midwest Domestic Services and decided to hire her. I had no reason to doubt him, and Tara seemed like a good fit, so I welcomed her into our home. Despite all our efforts, though, I lost the baby. After the miscarriage, my emotional and physical health took a dive, and I stayed home to recover for a long time. Eric was busy with work, and I spent most of my days with Tara. She was quiet but diligent, and she quickly proved herself to be an excellent caregiver. She cooked meals that Eric loved, and no matter how hectic his schedule was, he always made time to come home for dinner. I grew more and more fond of her, and even after I returned to work, I kept Tara on as our nanny. Tara has now been with us for nearly five years, and we’ve given her regular raises. Over time, she’s become much more outgoing and cheerful. As Tara adapted to city life, she began dressing more fashionably, wearing makeup, and following the latest trends. She had transformed from the simple country girl we first met into a beautiful young woman. Meanwhile, after the miscarriage, my body had changed. I no longer liked what I saw in the mirror. Every time I looked at Tara, who was becoming more attractive, I felt a twinge of discomfort. Lately, I’ve noticed Tara becoming more casual and indifferent toward me. When I speak to her, she sometimes acts like she doesn’t hear me. If Eric isn’t home for dinner, the meals she prepares for me are sparse and bland. When Tara first came to the city, she had almost no clothes of her own. After the miscarriage, when my body had changed and I couldn’t fit into some of my designer outfits, I gave her a couple of nice pieces out of pity. But since then, I’ve noticed my wardrobe being disturbed, and some clothes have mysteriously disappeared. What bothered me even more was how differently Tara treated Eric compared to me. I hinted to Tara a few times that she should be more respectful, but she pretended not to understand, brushing off my comments. I even mentioned to Eric that we should let Tara go—that she was becoming careless and disrespectful, and that we didn’t really need a nanny anymore. But Eric dismissed my concerns. “Lauren, you’re overthinking this. Tara’s doing a great job! You’re always misplacing your things—don’t blame the poor girl. And where would she go if we fired her? She’s all alone in the city.” I didn’t want Eric to think I was just a petty, jealous wife, so I dropped the subject.

Recently, there’s been another outbreak of Covid-19 in a neighboring state, and the government was caught off guard by the surge. Medical staff and resources were stretched thin. I was deployed to help on the Illinois Covid-19 Task Force, while Eric stayed behind due to his surgery schedule. The work was grueling, but every night, I received sweet messages from Eric asking when I’d be back. He’d always say goodnight in such a loving way, warming my heart. For years, Eric had been the one to surprise me. This time, I decided to turn the tables and give him a surprise by coming home earlier than planned. I deliberately told him I’d be back a few days later, and I made sure to return on one of his days off. On my way home, I was giddy, feeling like a schoolgirl with a crush. But an hour later, as I walked into our house, I found myself laughing bitterly at my own foolishness. The house was eerily quiet. Had Eric been called in for an emergency shift? Tara wasn’t home either. The curtains were drawn tight, blocking out the bright sunlight outside. The air felt stale, with a strange scent lingering. I turned on a small light and glanced around. Everything seemed normal. I went upstairs, checking the second and third floors, but there was no sign of anyone. Back downstairs, I pulled open the curtains. The sudden brightness made me squint for a moment, but I quickly adjusted. I opened the windows to let in some fresh air and sat down on the couch to rest after the long trip. As soon as I sat, my hand touched something damp on the sofa. I frowned, a growing sense of unease creeping over me. Was it Tara? Or Eric? Or both? Once the seed of doubt was planted, it spread like wildfire. I’m not sure what I was thinking as I cleaned up the mess, but as soon as I was done, a wave of disgust washed over me. I scrubbed my hands repeatedly, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of revulsion. I went to the bathroom and scrubbed again, trying to rid myself of the sensation. Afterward, I sat in the living room, lost in thought. Oddly, I felt a strange calm. It was as if everything was falling into place. Memories of Tara’s increasing disrespect and Eric’s constant defense of her began to piece together, forming a clear picture. What I had dismissed as my own insecurities suddenly seemed much more plausible. The room darkened as the evening set in, and the only light left was the faint glow of the entryway. Finally, I heard the sound of the door’s keypad beeping. It was as if the noise confirmed everything I’d been thinking. Eric and Tara walked in together, laughing. “Tara, did you forget to turn off the light by the door?” Eric said, flipping on the living room lights. The sudden brightness exposed everything—every ugly truth. They froze, their smiles still plastered awkwardly on their faces when they saw me. “Lauren! You’re back early! I thought you were coming home later,” Eric said, quickly regaining his composure. No wonder he kept texting me, asking when I’d be home. He was trying to buy himself time. I forced a smile and replied, “I thought I’d surprise you. I came home early and waited for you.” Eric noticed me glancing between him and Tara and nonchalantly explained, “There was an emergency surgery at the hospital, so I stayed late. I ran into Tara on the way back—she was out shopping, so I gave her a ride home.” I used to believe every word he said. But now, I wondered—had they really just bumped into each other while out grocery shopping? Or had they been out, enjoying time together while I was away? Still, I kept my expression neutral and said, “Why are you explaining all this to me? Oh, Tara, I bought a rotisserie chicken earlier. Could you heat it up for dinner?” Eric seemed to take my lack of reaction as a good sign, as if I were the naïve, easily fooled wife he had always relied on.

Later that night, as usual, Eric brought me a cup of herbal supplements he’d carefully prepared for my health. I stared at the murky liquid, thinking how I used to drink it without question, despite the bitterness. “Leave it here for a bit. I’ll drink it before bed after I read,” I told him. Eric didn’t suspect a thing. “Okay, just make sure to drink it while it’s warm. I know it’s bitter, but it’s for our baby,” he said, kissing my forehead before heading off to his office to work. I held back the urge to push him away, forcing a smile instead. Once Eric left, I poured some of the concoction into a small container and flushed the rest down the toilet, leaving the cup on the nightstand as if nothing had happened. I climbed back into bed, pretending to be asleep when Eric returned. He gently shook my shoulder, checking if I was truly asleep. I remained still. Satisfied, he turned off the bedside light and lay down beside me. I didn’t close my eyes. I was wide awake. Less than thirty minutes later, Eric slipped out of bed.

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On my wedding day, the groom ran away. So, I married his father instead. If I can’t be your bride, I’ll just be your bride. When he returned and saw me still in his house, he thought I was clinging on, refusing to leave. From behind him, he pulled forward an innocent-looking woman, declaring that she was his true love and that I should stop dreaming. I smiled, gently grasping the hand of the man beside me. “Son, daughter-in-law, won’t you give your mother a greeting?” I am Laurel Henderson, heiress of Henderson Enterprises. Today was supposed to be my wedding day with Enoch Westfield, the young heir of Westfield Corporation. But the groom, who was meant to be front and center, was nowhere to be found. “You’re telling me Enoch ran away?” I asked, my voice cold. “That’s what they’re saying…” the maid stammered, trembling as she explained. My parents were livid. Both the Henderson and Westfield families had spent months preparing for this wedding. Every major elite family in New York City had been invited, and the media was eagerly covering it. If Enoch had any issues with the wedding, he had plenty of opportunities to voice them. But to flee on the day of the ceremony? That was a direct slap in the face to the Hendersons. After offering me some reassurances, my parents hurried off to figure out how to salvage the situation. I sat in the corner, quietly thinking about how to proceed with the reception when I heard a commotion at the entrance. Instinctively, I looked up. Walking through the door in a tailored black suit was a strikingly handsome man. This man was Christopher “Chris” Westfield, the current head of Westfield Corporation and, technically, Enoch’s father. Despite being thirty-five, he looked like he was barely in his twenties. Chris rarely attended large social events. Even I had only met him a handful of times. So seeing him here, now, drew the attention of every family present. People practically tripped over themselves to get to him. Staring at Chris’s perfect features, a wild idea flashed in my mind. As I watched him politely turn down everyone’s advances, he suddenly walked straight toward me. “Mr. Westfield,” I greeted him with a polite smile, though I couldn’t hide a hint of vulnerability in my voice. His voice, low and melodic like a cello, came next. “Miss Henderson, I apologize for Enoch’s behavior. I’ve already sent people to find him. When he’s caught, you may decide what happens to him.” “I’ll inform everyone that the wedding is postponed, and Westfield Corporation will cover all expenses.” It was a perfect solution, but I had a better plan. “Mr. Westfield, this engagement has always been between the Hendersons and the Westfields, right? The groom doesn’t necessarily have to be Enoch, does it?” “What?” His eyes darkened, clearly taken aback by the sudden turn. After a pause, he asked, “Well, who would you choose then?” I smiled sweetly, extending my hand. “Would you be my groom?”

Although Chris is Enoch’s father in name, he isn’t his biological dad. There were rumors Chris had certain… physical shortcomings, which is why he was still unmarried. At twenty-five, he adopted Enoch from a distant relative. Whether or not those rumors were true didn’t concern me. Medical advancements these days are incredible—I’m sure any issue could be resolved. And if not, well, maybe we just don’t have kids. Chris raised an eyebrow, amused by the bold smile on my face. “Are you sure?” “Of course,” I replied without hesitation. After all, Chris was far more attractive than Enoch—by miles. Even if the rumors were true, just looking at his face every day would be more than enough for me. It sure beats being humiliated by a two-timing Enoch. Chris studied me for a long moment before finally nodding. “Alright.” His strong, masculine hand clasped mine, and my heart skipped a beat. The wedding went on with a new leading man. I didn’t even have to change my dress. The elegant white gown, paired with Chris’s custom-tailored black suit, made us look like we were always meant to be bride and groom. Everyone at the reception caught on quickly. Enoch’s sudden disappearance wasn’t exactly a secret, and the guests had more or less figured it out. The media, sensing a scandal, had their cameras ready, eager to capture the drama unfolding between two of New York’s wealthiest families. But when they saw me walking down the aisle, arm in arm with Chris, jaws dropped. The audacity of switching grooms at the last minute left them all speechless. The officiant, ever the professional, read off the updated details with ease. “Please, exchange your rings…” Chris pulled out a ring and slid it onto my finger, and I did the same for him. I quickly noticed the ring didn’t quite fit—after all, it was sized for Enoch. It was a rushed job, but it would have to do. Then came the moment for the groom to kiss the bride. I felt a wave of nerves. Chris was known for being discreet and private—he rarely attended events, and when he did, he never had a date. Would he really want to kiss me in front of all these people? I regretted dragging him into this mess on a whim. But before I could spiral into doubt, I felt the soft pressure of his lips on mine. Shocked, I opened my eyes, and there he was—his perfect face, inches from mine. Sensing my surprise, Chris gently cupped the back of my head, deepening the kiss. I closed my eyes again, letting myself sink into the moment as the crowd around us erupted into applause.

My parents had no idea about my last-minute decision, but faced with the congratulations from everyone around us, they had no choice but to smile and accept it. They couldn’t possibly embarrass their daughter in public, could they? During the reception, my mom pulled me aside into a private room where my dad was already waiting. She locked the door behind her. “Laurel, what is going on? How did you end up marrying Chris Westfield?” “Because… he’s handsome.” I had no better explanation for my sudden impulse. “Handsome?” My mom thought about it for a moment. “Well… he is good-looking.” “But he’s more than ten years older than you! He was almost done with elementary school when you were born.” “So what? They say older men are more caring.” I tried to play it cool. “But… there’s a rumor he can’t, well, you know…” Yikes. This was going to be tough to explain. Before I could figure out how to dodge that landmine, there was a knock on the door. My mom opened it, and there stood Chris. I had no idea how long he’d been standing there. With practiced ease, my parents plastered on polite smiles, as if they hadn’t just been gossiping about the man. “Mr. Westfield, what brings you here?” “I’d like to have a word with you both, if you don’t mind,” Chris said. I have no idea what he said to them, but by the time their conversation ended, my parents were no longer opposing the marriage. In fact, they seemed genuinely impressed with him. “Chris is quite something,” my dad said approvingly. “He’s capable, resourceful. Sure, he’s a bit older, but that kind of man can protect our daughter.” Enoch, who ran away like a coward, certainly couldn’t.

After the wedding, I moved into the Westfield Estate. This was Chris’s personal residence, and it was my first time there. The décor was modern, minimalist, with everything in black, white, or gray. After a day filled with endless socializing, I could feel the alcohol and sweat clinging to my skin. Chris headed off to shower first while I relaxed on the couch. I could hear the sound of the water running, and through the frosted glass of the bathroom door, I could just make out his silhouette. My cheeks flushed with embarrassment, so I quickly averted my eyes. Eventually, the water stopped, and out of habit, I glanced up as Chris emerged from the bathroom. He was wearing a robe, the collar slightly open, revealing a chiseled chest and abs. I stared, wide-eyed. I hadn’t expected him to look so… fit. Chris caught me looking and gave a small, amused smile. “Laurel, maybe you should take a shower too,” he said, his voice deep and teasing. Snapping out of my daze, I bolted into the bathroom, my face burning. As the water rushed over me, my mind replayed the way he’d called me by my name. How had I not noticed before how charming he was? After my shower, I realized I’d forgotten to bring my clothes into the bathroom. Ugh. There was no choice but to crack open the door just a bit and call out, “Chris, I forgot my clothes. Can you grab the bag on the couch and hand it to me?” There was no response at first, and I started to wonder if he’d left the room. Just as I was about to ask again, his voice came from outside the door, a little rougher than before. “Sure.” I could hear him moving around, and soon, he knocked on the bathroom door. “Here you go.” I cracked the door just enough to extend my arm, and he handed me the clothes. “Thanks,” I muttered, quickly closing the door. But as I did, I accidentally met his gaze. Those deep, smoldering eyes… I blushed even harder. Oh my God. He hadn’t handed me the whole bag—just the underwear.

I spent a long time dawdling in the bathroom, but eventually, I had to come out. Taking a deep breath, I pushed the door open. Chris was already changed into his pajamas, sitting on the bed, reading a document. When he saw me emerge, he calmly closed the folder. There wasn’t any teasing in his expression, which helped me relax. I had some business to address anyway. “So, what are you planning to do about Enoch?” Chris had anticipated the question. He handed me the folder he’d been reading earlier. “Take a look.” I walked over and took the papers. Inside was the whole backstory of Enoch and some girl—the kind of classic love affair you’d expect from a cheesy romance novel: a rich heir and a delicate, innocent girl. Next to the description was a photo of the girl. She really did fit the role of a sweet, innocent little thing. Apparently, they’d gone through rounds of dramatic breakups and reconciliations, all without me knowing. Then, last night, the girl found out Enoch was getting married. Distraught, she called him, crying. Enoch, ever the compassionate fool, panicked and ran off, leaving his fiancée (that’s me) behind to elope with her. Honestly, if I weren’t the poor bride left at the altar, I might have congratulated them. But no, unfortunately for me, I was the jilted bride. Seriously, where had these two been for the past few months? From the timeline in the documents, their little roller-coaster romance had been going on for two months. Longer than it took to plan the wedding. If Enoch had hinted at anything during that time, I wouldn’t be so furious right now. “Enoch’s off on some vacation with his little girlfriend right now,” Chris said, noting my simmering anger. “I’ve sent people to drag him back. If you want, we can pretend this whole wedding didn’t happen.” We hadn’t officially signed the marriage license yet—just held the ceremony. But I didn’t regret a thing. I’d tossed away trash and found myself a treasure. This was luck beyond belief. “No need to cancel anything. We’re married, and I’m your wife. Tomorrow, we’ll get the paperwork done.” I was serious. Chris looked at me, realizing I meant every word. His tone softened. “Alright.”

“You said I could handle Enoch however I liked, right?” I asked, a mischievous smile forming on my lips. “Of course.” Perfect. “I want you to freeze his credit cards.” Let’s see how Enoch enjoys his romantic getaway when his access to money is suddenly cut off. Chris could see the wicked glee in my eyes. Not only did he not stop me, but he added fuel to the fire. “As of today, I’ll seize all of his assets. What do you think of that, Mrs. Westfield?” That last phrase caught me off guard, making my face turn red again. “I think that sounds wonderful,” I replied, the thought of making Enoch’s life miserable filling me with satisfaction. With the jerk dealt with, it was time to move on to more important matters. “Let’s get some rest,” Chris said. He sounded genuinely tired as he reached over and turned off the light. The room went dark. I lay stiffly in bed, too nervous to move. It was my first night as a married woman, and I wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen next. A wedding night? Should I make the first move? Just as I was working up the nerve to do something, Chris’s calm voice broke the silence. “Go to sleep. I won’t touch you until you’re ready.” Relieved yet conflicted, I thought about those rumors. Was it really true? Could he really resist a beautiful woman lying right next to him? Maybe he really couldn’t… “?” Chris’s eyes flew open again. It took me a second to realize I had said that last part out loud. Before I could pretend to be asleep, I felt the bed shift as his body leaned closer to mine. His long fingers brushed my waist, his breath warm against my ear. “Maybe you should find out for yourself,” he whispered. Turns out, teasing a man who’s been celibate for years has consequences.

The next morning, I woke up well past noon. The spot beside me was cold. Chris was already gone. Of course, big CEOs don’t have the luxury of sleeping in. My stomach growled, so I headed downstairs in search of food. To my surprise, Chris was sitting at the dining table, casually flipping through a magazine. “Good morning, Mrs. Westfield. Did you sleep well?” Today, he wasn’t in his usual suit. Instead, he wore a simple white shirt, the collar slightly open, revealing faint marks from last night. My face flushed at the memory, but I wasn’t about to let him have the upper hand. “I slept great, Chris,” I replied with a hint of defiance. His smile widened. “I’m glad to hear it. It’s reassuring to know you were satisfied with last night.” Shameless! I couldn’t match his boldness. I plopped down at the table with a huff. “I’m starving!” Chris chuckled softly and went to the kitchen, bringing out a simple breakfast. “You’ve just woken up. I didn’t want to make anything too heavy.” The meal was modest—breakfast biscuits, a couple of side dishes, and a bowl of oatmeal. I didn’t care. I was so hungry, I immediately grabbed a biscuit and took a bite. My eyes widened. It was delicious. “This is amazing! Who made these?” Chris said nothing, just smiled. A sudden thought hit me. “Wait, did you make these?” Chris nodded without a hint of hesitation. “As long as it pleases you, that’s all that matters.” I wanted to say something witty, but I couldn’t deny how good the food was. Seeing me eat with such enthusiasm made Chris look pleased. All that time spent learning to cook hadn’t gone to waste. After breakfast, I headed upstairs to get dressed. The decision to marry Chris had been so sudden, I hadn’t had a chance to prepare. There were no women’s clothes at the Westfield Estate, so I had to make do with what I’d brought from my parents’ house. Chris noticed. He stepped out to make a phone call while I finished getting ready. By the time I came downstairs, he was waiting for me by the door. “Let’s go, Chris,” I said, linking my arm through his. He chuckled softly and clasped my hand as we walked out the door.

With our wedding photos freshly printed, it was official—Chris and I were now husband and wife. I was still adjusting to being married, but as I looked at the pictures of us—such a striking couple—I had to admit, we looked great together. My instincts had been spot on! Meanwhile, Enoch and his precious “innocent” girlfriend, Vivianne, were off on their international getaway. But with his credit cards frozen, their fun wasn’t going to last long. I couldn’t wait for the moment when Enoch would return and see that I was now his stepmother. Chris was incredibly thoughtful. After we got our marriage certificate, I came home to find the once-empty closet filled with clothes and accessories, all the latest from high-end designers. “We didn’t have time for custom orders, so I hope these will do for now,” he said. Though many of the clothes were ones I already had, I appreciated his thoughtfulness enough to reward him with a kiss. Just as I’d expected, cutting off Enoch’s funds had thrown his trip into chaos. As the heir to the Westfield fortune, he’d never bothered to carry cash, always relying on his unlimited credit cards. Vivianne, who had quit her job when they started dating, still had some savings from before. Without her, Enoch wouldn’t have even been able to get back home. “Don’t worry, Enoch,” Vivianne whispered. “Something must have happened. Let’s buy tickets and head back to New York.” “Thank you, Vivianne,” Enoch replied, his voice full of gratitude. He had a feeling Laurel was behind his accounts being frozen. Someone must have told the bank to cut him off, and it could only be her. But no matter. Once they were back in New York, he planned to make things official with Vivianne. After all, they truly loved each other. He owed her that much. He could already picture their future—marrying Vivianne, taking over Westfield Corporation, and living happily ever after.

The couple hurried to catch the next flight back to New York. After a seven-hour flight, they arrived at the Westfield Estate around eight in the morning. Enoch knew Chris rarely stayed at the old family mansion, so he headed straight for the estate. Meanwhile, I was lounging on the couch, waiting for Chris to finish breakfast. These past few days, I’d spent every moment with him. For someone who had once seemed so aloof and distant, Chris was surprisingly affectionate—and not the saint he appeared to be. To enjoy our honeymoon in peace, Chris had given the staff some time off. Only the housekeeper came by to clean every few days. That meant he had taken over all the cooking, but I didn’t mind. After all, I wasn’t exactly skilled in the kitchen. Chris seemed to enjoy it. Every time he saw me happily munching on something he made, he’d tap my cheeks playfully. Suddenly, the house AI chimed. “There’s someone at the door, ma’am.” I slipped on my slippers and checked the security camera. There they were—Enoch and Vivianne, looking worse for wear after their long journey. Well, that was fast. “Your eldest son is here,” I called to Chris, poking my head into the kitchen where he was making sunny-side-up eggs to perfection. “Hmm,” was his only response, his eyes not leaving the pan. Just what I wanted to hear. Leaving the lovebirds to wait outside, I casually went upstairs to change before finally opening the door.

The estate was massive, with an equally sprawling yard—a place you could almost call a small manor. Usually, guests would arrive by car, but since the driver was on vacation, like most of the staff, I wasn’t about to drive out and pick them up. Enoch and Vivianne, after rushing from the airport, didn’t even stop to eat. Now, they were left hungry, thirsty, and stuck waiting at the gate. When the gates finally opened, they had no choice but to walk the long path inside on foot. “This place is enormous,” Vivianne said, awe and envy flickering in her eyes. “When we get married, I’ll buy you something just as big,” Enoch boasted, trying to impress her. “That must be really expensive,” Vivianne said sweetly. “But honestly, I don’t need all that. As long as I’m with you, I’m happy no matter where we live.” Her words, dripping with reliance and affection, inflated Enoch’s ego. “Don’t worry. I’ll buy you a few mansions so you can pick and choose!” he declared grandly. But as they neared the main door, Enoch’s confidence began to waver. He’d always respected Chris, his adoptive father, ever since he’d seen how the man dealt with insubordination. As a child, Enoch didn’t care much about Chris, but as he grew older, witnessing how Chris handled difficult situations made him more cautious around the man. Still, Chris rarely got involved in family matters, and that was part of the reason Enoch dared to run off before the wedding. He was certain Chris wouldn’t bother getting involved in something so petty. After all, as the heir to Westfield Corporation, Chris couldn’t treat him like anyone else. With that thought, Enoch psyched himself up. “Hey, Dad,” he said, pushing the door open, only to be greeted by a surprise. It wasn’t Chris at the door—it was me, Laurel Henderson, smiling warmly at him. “Hello there~”

“You—you—what are you doing here!” Enoch stammered, instinctively stepping back. “Ah!” Vivianne, who was standing right behind him, didn’t have time to react and got her foot stepped on. Tears welled up in her eyes from the pain. Hearing Vivianne’s yelp, Enoch snapped out of it. “Are you okay, Vivianne?” he asked, rushing to her side. “As long as you’re alright, Enoch,” Vivianne said, biting her lip, looking delicate and vulnerable. Enoch spent a good amount of time comforting her right in front of me before finally turning his attention back to me. “Laurel! I never expected you to be this cruel!” What? What did I do? I hadn’t moved an inch since they arrived, and now I was being accused of cruelty? Even Enoch seemed to realize how ridiculous that sounded, so he quickly changed his tone. “I didn’t expect you to be so shameless! The wedding didn’t even happen, and yet here you are, living in our house! I don’t like you. We don’t have a future together. This is my girlfriend, Vivianne. We’re getting married soon.” “And what made you think that’s even remotely possible?” I was genuinely confused, and honestly, a bit speechless. Seriously, had this guy not seen the news? Where did he get the idea that I would still be hanging around for him? Have I ever clung to him? I mentally reviewed every moment I had ever spent with Enoch. I was sure of it—there was absolutely no reason for him to think I’d been hung up on him. Was this guy delusional? “Listen, I understand you and Enoch were engaged, but you never actually got married. Enoch and I are truly in love. Please, just let us be together,” Vivianne said, her tears flowing freely like a broken faucet. She wept as if I were the villain of the story, suffering some great injustice. Enoch, clearly moved, yelled, “Laurel! You’ve gone too far!” What?! What did I do? I stood there, baffled by the sheer absurdity of their logic. Were they both out of their minds? I couldn’t help but laugh. “Has the mental hospital run out of room for the two of you? Is that why you’re here causing trouble?” It took Enoch a moment to process my words. “You’re the one who’s insane!” Seeing my complete lack of concern, Enoch hesitated, wondering if maybe I didn’t care about him after all. But he quickly dismissed the thought, reminding himself that this was the Westfield Estate, not the Henderson home. Laurel had to be here because of him. She must be putting on this act just to get his attention. Enoch softened his tone. “Laurel, I have someone I care about now. We can’t have a future together. Just apologize to Vivianne, and maybe we can stay friends.” Friends? With these idiots? No thanks. I wasn’t about to catch their stupidity.

Just as I was about to fire back, a deep, magnetic voice came from behind me. “What’s going on here?” Everyone turned to look. Chris stood there, wearing a custom black shirt that hugged his well-built body, his chiseled face and commanding presence drawing all the attention. His long fingers gently placed a bowl on the dining table, every movement smooth and composed. Even Vivianne seemed mesmerized. “Dad, we’re back. Why is she here?” Enoch immediately asked, eager for Chris to side with him. But Chris didn’t answer. Instead, he waved a hand toward me. “Come eat.” Enoch and Vivianne exchanged confused glances, thinking Chris was calling them to the table. “Dad, you even made us breakfast,” Enoch said gratefully, starting to lead Vivianne toward the table. Before they could get close, Chris blocked their way. “Dad?” Enoch asked, bewildered. Chris extended his hand again, this time more deliberately. “Sweetheart, I’m here~” I said, beaming as I hurried to him and took his hand in front of both of them. The look on Enoch and Vivianne’s faces—eyes wide, jaws dropping—was priceless. “Son, care to greet your new stepmother?” I asked, my smile growing brighter. The two of them were frozen in place, their mouths still hanging open. Chris ignored them completely, pulling me to sit down at the table. “Eat up. The food’s getting cold.” It took Enoch a good two minutes to recover from the shock. “What?! When—when did this happen? How is this even possible?” Enoch sputtered, his voice loud enough to carry through the room. “On the day of the wedding, of course,” I replied, savoring the sight of his disbelief. To see Enoch, who had been so full of himself just moments ago, now gaping in shock—it was glorious.

“Dad, how could you marry her?” Enoch protested, glaring at me. Seeing the smug look on my face only fueled his anger. “She must have done this on purpose! You can’t be serious! Besides, she’s way younger than you. This makes no sense!” Okay, I’ll admit, my decision to marry Chris was initially driven by a little bit of revenge. But mostly, I did it because I couldn’t let my family lose face in front of everyone. People like us don’t expect to marry for love. Choosing Chris had everything to do with his status. Plus, he was miles better than Enoch in every way—looks, intelligence, everything. And on top of that, he actually enjoyed spoiling me. “Age is just a number. Love knows no boundaries,” I said, raising an eyebrow. Then, just to rub it in, I kissed Chris on the cheek, right in front of Enoch. “Revenge? Using a marriage for that? You really think you’re worth it?” “Come on, son. Call me Mom! Or I might just suggest to your dad that he find a new heir,” I teased. Enoch, now red with fury, turned to Chris for help. “Dad, are you just going to let her talk to me like this?” Chris finally looked at him. Enoch thought, for a split second, that his father might step in. But instead, Chris gently ruffled my hair and said, “There’s nothing I can do to stop her. Besides, Laurel is my wife now, and you should respect her as your mother.” Enoch’s face turned even darker, filled with frustration. He had never been so humiliated in his life. He turned, ready to storm off. Just then, Vivianne tugged on his sleeve. Enoch looked down at her pleading face and, with great reluctance, turned back. “Fine. Mom.”

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Karen loved spreading rumors about me. I said, “This meat doesn’t seem fresh. Let’s not eat it to avoid getting sick.” Karen told others, “My daughter-in-law won’t let me eat meat.” I secretly bound Karen to a “Make It Real” system. Every lie she told would become reality. Karen always spread rumors about me. She liked to cook and do laundry for her son, taking care of him. Worried she might overexert herself, I said, “Let me do it. You shouldn’t tire yourself out.” She immediately went around the neighborhood spreading gossip: “My daughter-in-law thinks I’m not capable enough. Oh, how I suffer!” I tried to explain: “You misunderstood. I meant you should just enjoy life, and I’ll handle the chores.” She went around spreading more rumors: “My daughter-in-law told me to hurry up and enjoy life while I can. She said she has many years ahead, so she can do more work. This old lady doesn’t have much time left, you know.” Over time, everyone in the neighborhood knew me as the “wicked daughter-in-law” who mistreated her mother-in-law. My reputation got worse and worse. People would point and whisper about me whenever I went out. I had no choice but to complain to my husband, Jack. But he was impatient: “Mom doesn’t mean any harm. Why are you making such a big deal out of it?” “So I’m just supposed to put up with this mistreatment?” My eyes welled up with tears. “It’s just people talking. You haven’t lost a pound of flesh, have you? Stop being so dramatic.” Jack ignored me, picked up his phone, and went to his room to play games. He even locked the door, claiming he didn’t want me to disturb his gaming session. But I could faintly hear a female teammate’s coy voice coming from the room. I was heartbroken. This family – not a single decent person among them. “My birthday is next week. Make some arrangements, will you?” Karen came over with a smug smile. If you didn’t know better, you’d think she was a kind and gentle mother-in-law with that fake sweet demeanor. Well then, I’ll give them one last chance.

I made a reservation at a restaurant in advance. It was a well-reviewed establishment that served Karen’s hometown cuisine. I figured she’d like it. I also bought her a bracelet as a birthday gift. On her birthday, I took Karen to the restaurant and ordered many of her favorite dishes. She was beaming with joy, praising me for being so thoughtful. I presented her with the bracelet, and her shrewd eyes lit up: “My dear daughter-in-law, I knew I was right to treat you well.” Jack looked at me approvingly. The whole family seemed satisfied with the birthday arrangements. I thought this might finally ease the tension between us. But Karen started gossiping again: “Oh my, that daughter-in-law of mine! She couldn’t even be bothered to cook for me on my birthday. She insisted on wasting my son’s money at some fancy restaurant. Young people these days just don’t know the value of money!” “And she gave me a bracelet. What use does an old woman like me have for such things?” These rumors quickly reached my ears. I was completely disillusioned with them. I would make them pay for this. That night in my dreams, a voice asked what I wished for. I said, “Since Karen loves to spread rumors, let all her lies become reality.”

When I woke up, Karen was chatting with the neighbors in the community as usual. She raised her voice dramatically: “My daughter-in-law won’t let me take a shower. Can you believe it? Who doesn’t let people shower?” In reality, last night when I was in the middle of my shower, she had insisted on going first. I was covered in soap bubbles at the time, so I said, “Wait a moment, let me rinse off first.” Just like that, I became the bizarre daughter-in-law who wouldn’t let her mother-in-law shower in others’ eyes. But I wasn’t upset, because the system on Karen had taken effect. That evening, when I was in the middle of my shower, Karen once again demanded that I get out so she could go first. Before I could even process it, my body automatically responded, “I’m sorry, Mom. Could you wait a bit?” Then I took my time finishing my shower. Just as I was about to turn off the water, the supply suddenly cut off. Soon after, a notice about an emergency water outage came through on the property management SnapChat group. Karen couldn’t take her shower and was very uncomfortable. The next day, she predictably spread more rumors: “My daughter-in-law deliberately dragged out her shower time to prevent me from bathing.” So that night, I showered exactly as she said – slowly and meticulously. I washed every inch of my body, exfoliated, and even applied body lotion. By the time I finished the whole skincare routine, an hour and a half had passed. Just as I got out, another water outage notice came from the property management. Karen glared at me, then started arguing with the property management in the group chat. She angrily sent dozens of 60-second voice messages, being extremely aggressive. The property management responded at first but eventually stopped replying. Furious, she cursed: “Useless bunch! I hope you all lose your jobs tomorrow!”

Sure enough, all the property management staff were laid off the next day, but no new staff were hired to replace them. Coincidentally, the neighbor across from us was renovating their balcony, which blocked the light from Karen’s bedroom. The neighbor was a fierce old lady with a muscular son, so Karen didn’t dare confront them directly. She wanted to complain to the property management instead. But since all the staff had been laid off, there was no one to handle the issue. Karen was beside herself with frustration. She started cursing at the neighbor’s house: “What’s the point of renovating? It’s just a stupid balcony. It won’t be any use even after it’s done.” A few days later, we heard that the neighbor’s son had been promoted and transferred to a big city. He was taking the whole family with him. When Karen heard this news, she was furious but couldn’t do anything about it since the neighbors had already moved away. With nowhere to vent her anger, she came to pick on me again: “Look at other people’s children. Why can’t you take me to a big city?” “Well, that’s because their son is capable. Why don’t you ask your own son?” I retorted. “You… you useless thing! Be careful, or my son might leave you. There were plenty of girls who liked him back then!” Karen snapped, her spit nearly flying in my face. But her words played right into my hands. I replied nonchalantly, “That’s right. Since so many girls liked your son, why don’t you find him a rich one?” “Oh, you have a point.” The old woman dropped her act in front of me, her eyes gleaming with greed. Perhaps she had also noticed that everything she said lately was coming true. She continued to flaunt her power: “You two should get divorced right away. My son will bring home a rich daughter-in-law soon!” “Alright then.” I immediately picked up my phone, ready to call Jack. Karen was stunned, not knowing what to say for a moment. In the past, I had always been good-tempered and prone to compromise. She had never seen me act like this before. Hearing me suddenly agree to divorce, she felt a bit uneasy. But then she thought that her words would surely come true, and Jack would definitely bring home a rich daughter-in-law tomorrow. She relaxed and cleared her throat, putting on airs in front of me again: “Don’t blame me for being too cruel. It’s your own fault for not having children or giving me money all these years of marriage. I’ve already been more than fair to you.” These past few years were crucial for the growth of my career. Although I had a soft personality, I would never give up my career just to have children. As for giving them money, I always bought whatever they needed or wanted, and even gave them pocket money from time to time. Perhaps in the eyes of such greedy people, I would only be considered filial if I handed over my entire salary. But now, I was about to start a brand new life. This family would have to face the consequences of their actions.

Jack answered the phone and readily agreed to the divorce. Although he tried to hide it, he couldn’t conceal his excitement. Karen was also at ease now. She started cursing me as she used to: “I’m not exaggerating, but women like you won’t find any man who wants you. With no husband and no children, you’ll just grow old alone!” Hearing this, I almost laughed out loud. In her shallow, backward thinking, not being able to get married and not having children were the worst curses for a woman. I found her pitiful and didn’t bother to say more. I immediately started packing my belongings to leave. I was halfway through packing when Jack returned with his new love interest. The woman clinging to Jack’s arm was beautiful, wearing a plain, light-colored dress and nestling coyly in his embrace, looking every bit the perfect wife. “Oh my, is this my new daughter-in-law? She looks like the daughter of a rich family at first glance. I can tell she’s very virtuous,” Karen said, grinning from ear to ear. The woman blushed shyly: “Auntie, you’re too kind. My father just owns a small company, it’s not much really.” “Don’t call me auntie, call me Mom!” Karen naturally took her hand. Well, I shouldn’t call her Karen anymore. I should call her Karen now. The woman seemed a bit flustered by Karen’s enthusiasm. Jack gently intervened: “Her name is Sophia. You can just call her Sophia, Mom.” Sophia. Of course it was her. When I suspected Jack of cheating, I checked his phone and found shopping orders with Sophia’s name as the recipient. Coincidentally, she was the daughter of a major client at my company. As Karen said, she was indeed a rich man’s daughter, genuinely wealthy. But…

After the divorce, I threw myself into work, bringing huge profits to the company. My boss greatly appreciated me and decided to promote me with a substantial raise. Karen still couldn’t shake her gossipy habits and kept sending me SnapChat messages bragging about Jack and Sophia’s happy life: “Sophia cooks voluntarily, and her cooking is excellent. You should really learn from her.” “Of course, I’ll learn well. So I can prepare a feast for you when I visit your grave,” I replied. Karen stopped responding. I found it amusing, like playing with a virtual pet. Recently, our company’s collaboration with Sophia’s father, Robert, achieved a significant milestone with high profits. My boss was very pleased. After my promotion, my boss valued me even more and assigned me to attend a dinner to build a good relationship with Robert. I gladly accepted. At the dinner, Robert brought Sophia along. After a few drinks, Robert squinted at me with drunken eyes: “You look quite pretty.” “You’re drunk. Let me have the driver take you home to rest,” Sophia quickly intervened before I could speak. “Thank you,” I said with relief, looking gratefully at Sophia. Robert was a well-known lecher, and everyone knew it. My boss sending me to this dinner was precisely because of this. Sophia tucked a strand of her smooth hair behind her ear and glanced at me casually: “I should be the one thanking you.” 8. With Sophia’s help, I successfully completed the collaboration with Robert. My boss was delighted and gave me a big bonus. My virtual pet Karen sent her usual greeting right on time: “I heard Sophia’s father’s business is booming lately. He made a fortune. We’re about to live the good life!” “Yes, that’s right. But it’s most important to hold the power in your own hands. You should arrange for Jack to work in Sophia’s father’s company,” I deliberately guided Karen. “Oh, you’re right. You finally said something useful,” she replied. Soon after, Sophia told me that Jack’s family was crying and making a fuss about wanting to work in their family company. Robert thought his son-in-law had potential, so he not only arranged an important position for Jack but also gave him some shares in the company. This made Jack ecstatic, and his family became even more arrogant and domineering. Karen went around bragging like a loudspeaker: “Our Jack is going to make big money!” Not long after, news came that Jack had been hospitalized. It turned out he had been hit by a car and broke his leg. The car owner was wealthy and, fearing trouble, immediately compensated Jack with $100,000 to avoid further responsibility. I almost laughed myself silly when I heard the news. Make big money? Indeed, he did.

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