Category: English

The day I got married in May, I saw a glitch in the air. A line of floating text, shimmering like a live-stream comment, drifted across my vision: [The bride is going to die today!] I blinked, my heart hammering against my ribs, assuming it was a migraine hallucination brought on by the stress of the wedding. I brushed it off. But the moment the reception ended and I stepped out of the hotel, a car appeared out of nowhere. The impact sent me flying. As the world blurred into a haze of red and asphalt, I saw another message hovering above the pavement: [Poor girl. Someone traded a glass of wine for your soul.] Then, darkness. When I opened my eyes again, the smell of expensive lilies and floor wax rushed back into my lungs. I was back. Reborn. I looked up just in time to see my best friend, Helen, walking toward me with a radiant smile, holding a glass of vintage red wine. 1 “Claire! Congratulations, babe! You finally got your fairytale ending with the man of your dreams!” Helen’s voice, sweet as spun sugar, pulled me back into the present. I looked around the ballroom, the realization hitting me like a physical blow: I was really back. “Claire, as your maid of honor, I’m the first to toast to the new Mrs. Miller!” As she held out the glass, the blood in my veins turned to ice. The phantom pain of my bones shattering under the weight of that car hadn’t fully faded. That haunting message flickered in my mind again: [Someone traded a glass of wine for your soul!] My hand shook so violently that when I reached for the glass, I ended up knocking it straight out of her hand. It shattered against the marbled floor, a dark stain spreading across the white rug like a fresh wound. “Claire? What’s wrong? I’m your best friend!” Helen’s eyes welled with tears, her lower lip trembling. The commotion drew Don over immediately. Seeing my ghostly pale face and Helen’s tears, he frowned, his protective instincts kicking in. “Helen, what did you do to upset my wife?” He pulled me into his arms, his grip firm and steady. His eyes were filled with nothing but genuine worry for me. Suddenly, a new comment scrolled across my vision: [The groom seems so devoted. So why did he marry the best friend the second the bride died in the last life?] [Wait, did the best friend really use a glass of wine to steal the bride’s life and her man??] My heart skipped a beat. They were right. Don loved me. We had been together for five years, and he had always been my rock, my fiercest advocate. Even now, without knowing what had happened, he instinctively took my side against Helen. But the thought chilled me to the bone: this man, who supposedly loved me to the point of obsession, had married Helen only two months after my gruesome death. I remembered how he used to say he found Helen “tiring” and “superficial.” I stared at the broken glass on the floor. Helen must have done something. She didn’t just kill me; she used some dark obsession to steal my life. Fuelled by a sudden, sharp clarity, I stepped forward and snatched Helen’s designer clutch from her hand. Ignoring her protests, I dug through it until I found a small, leather-bound journal. In my previous life, I remember seeing her give a journal just like this to Don as a wedding gift when they got married. It had been a chronicle of her secret, years-long pining for him. I realized then that she hadn’t stayed close to me out of friendship. She stayed close to stay near Don. I flipped the journal open, exposing the pages to the crowd, and asked with a cold sneer, “Helen, you’ve been lusting after my husband for years. Is this what a ‘best friend’ does?” Helen turned deathly pale. She lunged for the book, her face a mask of terror. “Claire, no! It’s not like that, please—” She tried to grab my arm, but Don shoved her back. “Get away from her, Helen. You’re pathetic.” Amidst the hushed whispers and judgmental stares of our guests, Helen fled the hotel in tears. As her figure vanished through the revolving doors, the weight on my chest finally began to lift. Don turned to me, his eyes full of remorse. “Claire, I’m so sorry. I should have seen through her sooner. I knew she was off, but I didn’t want to force you to cut ties. I’m so sorry, honey.” I threw my arms around him, overwhelmed by the joy of having him back. “It’s okay. I was the blind one.” I thought I had solved it. I thought Helen was the one who had traded my life away. But as the night ended and I stepped out of the hotel, the same car appeared. The same impact. The same agonizing death. When I opened my eyes again and saw Helen walking toward me with that same glass of wine, my heart didn’t just sink—it screamed. I was back. Again. 2 “Claire! Congratulations, babe! You finally got your fairytale ending…” I didn’t move. I just stared at her face, searching for a crack in the mask. [The bride got hit again! Guess the best friend wasn’t the killer after all. So who is it?] [Wait, if she isn’t the killer, why did the groom marry her?] The comments mirrored my own confusion. I decided to be direct. “Helen, you’re in love with Don, aren’t you?” “Claire… I’m so sorry…” Her eyes filled with tears again, but this time, she didn’t deny it. “That was a long time ago…” Before she could finish, a different glass of red wine was thrust between us. “Claire, happy wedding day! Here, let’s toast to your success.” Helen took the opportunity to slip away. “I’ll let you talk to your guest, Claire. We’ll chat later.” Standing before me was Victor, the Senior VP at my firm. He didn’t wait for me to take the glass; he simply pressed it into my hand. The deep crimson liquid caught the light, looking thick and viscous. [Here we go! This is the second drink of the night!] [Victor and the bride are total rivals. He’s a prime suspect for sure!] I looked at the text and set the glass down on a nearby table as if it were a poisonous snake. “Victor, I’m so sorry. I’ve developed a sudden allergy to alcohol. I can’t touch it.” I had known Victor for six years. We were the CEO’s two right hands, locked in a brutal power struggle for the Managing Director position. Last month, I had effectively ended that war by landing a $300 million contract. The CEO had promoted me on the spot, and Victor had been seething ever since. In my first life, he had stepped into my role the moment I was gone. He hated my guts. If a single glass of wine could get me out of the way and hand him the career he craved, would he hesitate? He didn’t buy my excuse. His eyes darkened with irritation. “An allergy? You didn’t seem to have one last month when you were throwing back shots to celebrate that merger.” I gave him a chilly smile. “Maybe that’s why I developed it. Too much of a good thing.” He stepped closer, his voice low and insistent. “Claire, it’s your wedding day. It’s bad luck to refuse a toast from your partner.” His persistence felt like a threat. I was certain now—this was the drink. I pretended to reach for the glass, but as my fingers brushed it, I “accidentally” swept it off the table. The red wine splashed all over his pristine, white designer suit. “Victor! Oh my god, I’m so sorry! Let me help you.” I grabbed a dirty rag from a busboy’s tray and started scrubbing at his chest. “Claire! Are you kidding me?” He was shaking with rage. “This suit cost five thousand dollars, and you’re rubbing it with a grease rag?” He was too livid to continue the toast. He pushed my hand away and stormed out of the ballroom to find a restroom. A server quickly swept up the glass shards. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I knew Victor obsessed over his appearance; ruining that suit was the only way to get rid of him. I looked over at Helen, wanting to finish our conversation. But before I could take a step, a car materialized out of thin air and slammed into me again. 3 Everything went black. When I woke up, I was back in the ballroom. The music was playing. The flowers smelled like a funeral. [Tsk tsk… wrong again!] [This is her third reset. If she misses this time, she’s gone for good.] Panic, cold and sharp, took hold of me. One last chance? I racked my brain, replaying every second of the night. I only ever had three drinks in my hand throughout the entire reception. If it wasn’t Helen, and it wasn’t Victor… then it had to be her. I walked toward the head table. Don saw me and took my hand, leading me straight to his mother. “Claire, there you are. Come on, let’s go toast with my mom.” His mother, Judith, was beaming. She handed me a thick envelope. “Claire, dear, a little something for the honeymoon.” At that moment, someone filled my glass. Judith raised hers, waiting for the clink of crystal. I looked at the wine, and my limbs felt like they were filled with lead. In my first life, this was the last drink I ever had. Judith had always been against our marriage because I was four years older than Don. She only relented last month after being diagnosed with terminal stage IV cancer; she didn’t want to die without seeing her son settled. But I remembered something from the first life. After I died, the doctors told her she had been “misdiagnosed.” What are the odds? I die, and she’s suddenly cured? It had to be a trade. My life for hers. I reached for the glass, but my fingers wouldn’t close around it. I didn’t care about the scene anymore. “Judith!” I slapped the glass out of her hand. It shattered. “Stop acting! You did something to the wine, didn’t you?” The ballroom went silent. Every guest turned to stare. “This is the trade, isn’t it? If I die, your cancer goes away! How convenient that you were ‘misdiagnosed’ the moment I was put in the ground!” Judith’s face went from pale to a mottled, angry red. “Claire? What are you talking about? What trade? What cancer?” Don grabbed my shoulders. “Claire, honey, stop. You’re not making sense. My mother would never—” He didn’t finish. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, a red sedan was silently hurtling toward the hotel entrance. The comments above me exploded: [Look out! The car is back!] I tried to run, but my body was frozen, anchored to the floor. [The car appearing means she guessed wrong again!] [But how? If it’s not the friend, the rival, or the mother-in-law… who the hell is left?] The car grew larger in the window. My heart hammered against my teeth. I closed my eyes, waiting for the final crush of metal— And then I saw it. In the corner of the room. The shards of Victor’s glass. Why were they still there? In a flash of lightning, the pieces of the puzzle slammed together. The inconsistencies. The “misdiagnoses.” The way everyone was reacting. They were all lying. I finally knew who had traded my life away. 4 The car, which had been seconds from impact, vanished into thin air. The suffocating pressure in my chest evaporated as the truth set in. I slowly stood up from the floor. The guests were all staring at me, but their expressions had changed. Their faces were identical—blank, expectant masks. They all stood up in unison. They spoke with one voice: “Claire, who is the real killer?” I let out a dry, hollow laugh. “You tell me.” The Helen-construct stepped forward, pointing at Victor. “It’s him. He’s the only one who stood to gain. He took your job, Claire. He took your life’s work. He’s the benefactor.” I shook my head. “No. It wasn’t him.” As the words left my lips, the ballroom began to dissolve. The walls melted away, and suddenly, I was standing in my old office. It was the day after I had been “killed.” The CEO was announcing the search for a new Managing Director. Victor stood up. “I’ll do it,” he said. My former assistant jumped up, her face red with indignation. “Claire worked her life away for this! You can’t just swoop in! Even if she never comes back, she’d hate for you to be the one to take it.” The CEO frowned. “Victor, didn’t you apply for the transfer to the London office?” Victor took his transfer papers out of his pocket and tore them into pieces in front of everyone. “Sir, my capabilities are proven. Claire’s projects are at a critical stage. If I don’t take them over, no one can finish them. They’ll fail.” My assistant sneered. “You just want her commission. You want the glory.” Victor didn’t argue. He just looked at the CEO. I had left behind a $300 million project. If it failed, the firm would owe triple that in liquidated damages. Victor was the only one who could save it. So, the CEO gave him my seat. The Helen-vision hissed in my ear. “See? The motive! He wanted your life!” “Keep watching,” I whispered. The scene fast-forwarded three months. The project was a massive success. At the celebration party, Victor stood on the stage with a microphone. “Everyone in this room knows Claire and I were rivals for six years,” Victor said to the silent crowd. “But what you don’t know is that she was the only person in this industry I truly respected. If we hadn’t been competing, we might have been friends. But being enemies suited us just fine.” He paused, looking at my empty chair. “I took her job, but I’m not a thief. This project was her blood and sweat. Her name stays on the contract. And the seven-figure bonus attached to it? I’ve requested the firm pay it directly to her mother’s estate. I don’t want a dime of it.”

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The night before our wedding, I used my fiancé’s phone to order late-night takeout. A notification from his banking app slid across the top of the screen: Transaction: Grand Hyatt Chicago. $450. Note: “Penthouse, floor-to-ceiling windows.” My heart did a slow, sickening roll. I opened his messages. The top pinned contact wasn’t me. It was a girl—an intern at his firm. The chat history was a graveyard of digital affection: dozens of transfers for $520, $1314, $9999. The most recent message was a voice note from her. I pressed play, my breath hitching. “Last night was all your fault, babe. You were such a beast, I’m actually sore. Think of this as my… recovery fee.” He had replied instantly with a thousand-dollar transfer. Calvin saw the screen. The blood drained from his face, leaving him a ghostly, pathetic grey. He didn’t offer an excuse. He dropped to his knees, the sound of his knees hitting the hardwood echoing in the silent kitchen, and slapped himself—hard—across the face. “Megan, I’m so sorry. I was out of my mind… it was a moment of weakness. Please, ten years… don’t throw away ten years for one mistake.” Ten years. We were high school sweethearts. We had built a life from nothing. Against my better judgment, I felt my spine soften. I nodded, swallowed the bitterness, and stayed. After we married, Calvin became the “perfect” husband. He texted me his location every hour. He left his phone unlocked on the nightstand, inviting me to check. When I got pregnant and left my marketing job to focus on the baby, he transferred ten thousand dollars into my account every month like clockwork. Everyone told me I was lucky. They said a reformed man is worth his weight in gold. Then came the third month of my pregnancy. Calvin left for the office and forgot his work phone. The screen lit up with a notification from Amazon: “Your item [Lace Chemise & Thong Set] is out for delivery.” My fingers trembled as I tapped the order details. The recipient’s name was “Princess Piper.” The same name as the intern from two years ago. … I stood frozen in the hallway, the air in my lungs feeling like shards of glass. I scrolled through the order history. He had bought the same brand of silk nightgown three times—different colors, each one more provocative than the last. There were boxes of expensive condoms and sets of lingerie that I had never seen. The delivery address wasn’t our home. It was an apartment at “The Pinnacle,” a luxury high-rise just blocks from his office. I clicked on the latest product review he’d left. It said: “Fits perfectly. My husband is obsessed.” Attached was a photo of two hands interlocked. I recognized the watch on the man’s wrist instantly. It was a limited-edition Jaeger-LeCoultre I’d given him for his birthday. My hands shook so violently I nearly dropped the phone. I managed to log into his secondary messaging app. What I found there didn’t just break my heart; it incinerated it. It was still her. Piper. Her profile picture had changed. She was no longer the wide-eyed intern; she was wearing a sharp power suit, posing in Calvin’s executive office. She hadn’t been fired after the first time. She’d been promoted. She was his direct report. Their messages were a fever dream of betrayal. Piper had sent a photo of herself in a sheer black lace teddy. Her caption: The battle armor has arrived. Come tear it off me. Seconds later, Calvin sent a location pin for a hotel. At 2:00 AM on a Tuesday, she had messaged: I miss you. His reply was two words: Stay put. Twenty minutes later, he was at her door. On those nights I thought he was sleeping soundly beside me, or when he told me he was “pulling an all-nighter” at the office, he was with her. Every morning I woke up to a “perfect” husband was a lie crafted in the dark. Calvin was a master performer. He’d send me photos of his lunch, tell me he missed me, and swear he’d spend the rest of his life making up for his “one mistake.” I had congratulated myself on being “mature” enough to give us a second chance. But the “purity” of our marriage was a curated exhibit. The burner phone held the truth. Tears blurred my vision, hot and stinging. A new message popped up: “See you at the usual spot, Room 1201. I’m going to make sure you’re very, very full tonight.” The sound of the front door unlocking snapped me back to reality. I slid the phone back onto the console table and wiped my eyes with the back of my hand. Calvin rushed in, his eyes darting to the phone. When he saw it exactly where he’d left it, his shoulders dropped in visible relief. “Forgot my work phone,” he said, breathless, checking for messages. “Important clients, you know how it is.” He turned to leave immediately. I caught his arm, forcing him to look at me. “Are you coming home for dinner?” I searched his eyes for a flicker of guilt, a shadow of the man I loved ten years ago. There was nothing but a smooth, practiced mask of affection. He kissed my forehead, his voice like velvet. “Work is a nightmare lately, baby. I’ve got a late dinner with the board. Go to sleep. Don’t wait up for me.” He had said that a thousand times over the last two years. And every time, I had waited up until 1:00 AM, keeping his dinner warm. I never suspected that his “important clients” were Piper, and the “board meeting” was a hotel room. The door clicked shut. I collapsed onto the sofa. On the coffee table sat a small, heart-shaped cake I’d bought earlier. It said “Happy 2nd Anniversary.” Last night, he’d promised we’d celebrate today. One text from Piper, and he’d forgotten I existed. Maybe because I’d already been through the soul-crushing agony once before, I didn’t stay down for long. I cried until my throat was raw, then I picked up the phone and called a high-stakes divorce attorney. As night fell, I drove to the Grand Hyatt. It took me ten years to love him. It took ten seconds for that love to die. I arrived just in time to see them. Calvin had his arm around Piper’s waist, whispering something in her ear that made her throw her head back and laugh. They looked like the golden couple of Chicago. I checked into the room next to theirs. In the elevator, two room service attendants pushed a cart past me. On it was a delicate chocolate cake and a box of premium condoms. “Room 1201 again?” one whispered. “That’s three times this week.” “Mr. Killian—sorry, the guy in 1201—is a VIP. Always orders the same thing. Always the extra-large box.” I went rigid, my finger hovering over the button for the wrong floor. “Last time I dropped off the towels, the door wasn’t shut tight,” the other girl giggled. “They were right there in front of the window… didn’t even pull the curtains. The girl actually looked at me and winked.” “God, some people have no shame.” “Whatever, he’s loaded. Men like that always have a boring wife at home waiting with a home-cooked meal while they’re out here playing games.” The first girl snickered. “If she can’t keep her man happy, that’s her problem.” The elevator chimed. The penthouse floor. The words felt like a physical assault, stripping away what little dignity I had left. I watched them wheel the cart into 1201. Through the door, I heard Piper’s high, girlish voice. “Oh, Calvin! Another cake? We never finish them.” Calvin’s voice was low, indulgent. “If we don’t finish it, I’ll just take the rest back to Megan. She loves this bakery.” I gripped my purse so hard the leather groaned. Every time Calvin came home from a “late dinner” with a box of leftovers, I’d felt so touched that he’d thought of me. I had eaten her scraps like a starving dog, grateful for the attention. I walked into Room 1203 and shut the door. Almost instantly, my phone rang. It was Calvin. “Hey, honey. Just checking in. How’s the morning sickness? Still bad?” I bit my lip, refusing to let a sound escape. “I’m going to be really late tonight, so don’t wait for me. Get some rest, okay?” In the background, a sharp, rhythmic gasp cut through the silence. “Mmm… Calvin, softer… you’re hurting me…” Calvin muffled the phone, his voice hushed and frantic. “Megan? Sorry, a colleague tripped and twisted her ankle. I’m just helping her with some ice. Talk later?” This time, I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. “Okay,” I said. “Go do what you need to do.” “Love you, baby,” he said before hanging up. He really could split his heart in two. One half to tell me he loved me, the other half to lie beneath a woman ten years younger. I curled into a ball on the floor by the window and finally let the sob break. From high school to college. From prom to the altar. Ten years. We had survived exams, four years of long-distance, and the lean years of living in a studio apartment eating ramen. I had watched him claw his way from a junior analyst to a Vice President. He used to work until his eyes bled. Once, when he had a 104-degree fever, he stayed up all night coding. I had held him and cried, begging him to stop. And he’d told me, “Megan, I’m doing this for us. I’m going to give you the world. I’m going to marry you in style.” The love had been real once. That was the part that killed me. At 8:00 AM, the door to 1201 opened. I stood at the corner of the hallway, watching as Calvin led Piper out, his hand resting possessively on her lower back. “Baby, that Porsche you wanted? We’ll go pick it up after work today.” Piper’s eyes lit up. “The Taycan? Calvin, that’s over a hundred grand. Won’t your wife notice that much missing from your joint account?” Calvin scoffed. “Megan’s a housewife now. I’m the one bringing in the paycheck. She doesn’t have the right to question where the money goes.” I checked my banking app. Half of our savings—my dowry from my parents, my hard-earned commissions from my old job, the college fund I’d started for the baby—it was gone. He’d used it to buy her a condo. He was using it to buy her a car. A wave of nausea hit me so hard I leaned against the wall and gagged. A passing maid hurried over. “Ma’am? Are you alright?” The noise caught their attention. Calvin turned. My hair was a mess, my face pale and puffy from crying. “Calvin, let’s go, I’m starving!” Piper pulled on his arm, her back to me. Calvin’s gaze lingered on me for a fraction of a second—a stranger in a hotel hallway—before he let her pull him into the elevator. He didn’t even recognize his own wife. My phone buzzed. A voice note from Calvin: “Morning, beautiful. I ordered some gourmet breakfast for you; it should be at the door in ten. You’re doing the hard work of growing our baby. I love you.” The irony was a physical weight. I walked out of the hotel and found Piper leaning against my car in the parking lot. She looked at me with pure, unadulterated contempt. “You were in 1203 last night, weren’t you, ‘Big Sister’?” Before I could answer, she smirked. “Since you know, why don’t we have a chat?” We sat in a coffee shop across the street. Piper was a vision of expensive taste: a Chanel bag, a Rolex, a custom-tailored dress. I was wearing a maternity sweater that cost less than one of her buttons. She was more composed than I was. “Do you know why you can’t keep him, Megan?” She leaned in, her voice a poisonous whisper. “Men like variety. You can’t expect him to eat the same steak for ten years and not get bored. You’re the ‘good wife.’ You’re the one who has his kids and keeps his house. Me? I’m the one he actually wants to have fun with. He’d never put you through the ‘misery’ of childbirth if he really cared about your body the way he cares about mine.” I gripped my coffee cup until my knuckles turned white. “He told me you’re ‘virtuous,’” she laughed. “Which is just a nice way of saying you’re boring.” I reached my limit. I threw the scalding coffee directly into her face. Piper screamed, jumping up as the brown liquid ruined her white dress. “You bitch! You think you can touch me?” I didn’t say a word. I raised my hand to slap her, but my wrist was caught in a vice-like grip. Calvin appeared out of nowhere, pulling Piper behind him. His face was a mask of fury I had never seen before. “Megan! Enough!” It was the first time he’d ever used that tone with me. “Are you done making a scene? Go home. Stop embarrassing yourself.” I looked at him, my heart feeling like it was being shredded. “Two years, Calvin. The same girl. You really can’t let her go?” Calvin didn’t deny it. He sat down, his voice chillingly calm. “Megan, you’re my wife. That isn’t going to change. We’re married, we have a child on the way. Stop acting like a child over a side-piece. It’s not that big of a deal.” A small thing? Two betrayals were a “small thing”? He picked up a napkin and began gently dabbing the coffee off Piper’s dress, whispering sweet, soothing words to her while she sobbed into his chest. I don’t remember leaving the cafe. When I came to, I was in Calvin’s car. “I’m taking you home,” he said, his voice tight. “You’re stressed. When you’ve calmed down, you’re going to apologize to Piper.” “Apologize to a mistress? How much of a slut is she that you’re this desperate to protect her?” Calvin slammed on the brakes. My body jerked forward, my head hitting the dashboard with a sickening thud. The world went white with pain. He didn’t check on me. He just roared, “Enough! Megan, haven’t I given you enough? Why are you so obsessed with her? I only like her body. It’s you I love. Why can’t that be enough for you?” I leaned my head against the cold glass of the window. I felt a profound, hollow exhaustion. “Calvin, I want a divorce. I’ll raise the baby alone.” The car was silent for several long seconds. Calvin let out a sharp, mocking laugh and put the car back in gear. “Divorce? With what money? You can’t even afford the hospital bills without me. Sit there and be quiet.” Before I quit, I was a high-earning professional. I was on the partner track. I gave it all up because he said, “I’ll take care of you.” Those words were the greatest trap of my life. Back at the house, I started packing. Calvin ripped the clothes out of my hands and threw them on the floor. “Megan, stop the theatrics. You have no job, no income. Stay put and stop making my life difficult.” He tossed a piece of paper at me. “Piper is coming over tomorrow for her birthday. Here’s the menu. She likes spicy food—make sure you don’t skimp on the seasoning.” “I am not your maid, Calvin.” “You’re the mistress of this house. Cooking is your job.” He walked out without looking back. The next afternoon, Calvin brought Piper and a few of his colleagues over. I came out of the kitchen, drenched in sweat, wearing an apron. One of the male colleagues looked me up and down. “Calvin, your housekeeper is pretty diligent.” Piper giggled, covering her mouth. “That’s not the housekeeper. That’s his wife.” The air in the room curdled. “Oh. Sorry. It’s just… she looks…” They didn’t finish the sentence. She looks like a mess. She looks old. “No wonder Calvin never wants to go home,” someone whispered. “He’s got a plain Jane waiting for him.” Calvin didn’t defend me. He just frowned and leaned in close to my ear. “Go upstairs. You’re embarrassing me.” My hands, holding a tray of appetizers, were shaking. “Go to your room. Don’t come out until they’re gone.” He shooed me away like a disobedient dog. As I shut the bedroom door, a roar of laughter erupted downstairs, followed by the clinking of champagne glasses. A few minutes later, I went back down. “I need you to sign this medical form for the prenatal checkup,” I said, my voice flat. Calvin was annoyed. He grabbed the paper, didn’t even look at it, and scrawled his signature. “Calvin, hurry up! We’re cutting the cake!” Piper called out. He dropped the pen and ran back to her. I looked at the paper in my hand. It wasn’t a medical form. It was the divorce settlement. I took a long, shaky breath of relief. At midnight, the guests left. My bags were already in the trunk of my car. Piper pushed open my bedroom door and leaned against the frame. “Packing, Megan?” She walked in, her eyes landing on our massive, floor-to-ceiling windows. “Calvin and I love it here. Every time you were ‘napping,’ we were right here, against the glass.” She pulled back the curtain and gave me a predatory smile. “He likes the curtains open. Says the risk makes it better. Did you ever wonder why you slept so soundly? It was because he was right behind you.” I looked at her, my skin turning to ice. She pulled out her phone and showed me a photo. It was Calvin, shirtless, holding Piper from behind. They were flushed, disheveled. And in the background, in the very same bed, was me—fast asleep. She scrolled through dozens of them. Different nights. Different positions. The same background: my sleeping form. “He used to put crushed sleeping pills in your nighttime tea,” she whispered. “I love these windows. The moonlight is so romantic…” The blood in my veins turned to lead. Calvin had built this house for me. I had told him I wanted these windows so I could wake up to the sun and sleep under the stars. And he had used that light to betray me while I was drugged and helpless. I didn’t think. I swung my hand and caught her across the face. Then again. And again. Piper screamed, trying to scramble away, but I grabbed her by the hair and slammed her against the glass. “You love the view? Look at it! Look at it until your eyes bleed!” My voice was a primal rasp. I grabbed a heavy wooden chair from the vanity and hurled it at the window with everything I had. CRASH. The tempered glass exploded. The moonlight shattered into a thousand jagged pieces on the floor. Piper fell to the ground, sobbing. “Megan! You’ve lost your mind!” Calvin charged into the room. He grabbed me by the collar of my shirt and threw me away from Piper with all his strength. But the window was gone. I felt my feet leave the floor. I felt the rush of the night air. I was falling. The last thing I heard was Calvin’s voice, a high, desperate scream: “MEGAN!”

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Thirty-eight weeks pregnant, and suddenly, the world started wearing subtitles. It sounds insane, I know. But everyone who crossed my path began sporting a digital-like floating tag above their heads. A woman pitching me a spot in an exclusive, high-end “Postnatal Sanctuary” walked by, and the bold, red letters above her read: [CON ARTIST]. I was skeptical, but I called the police anyway. As it turned out, she had already swiped “reservation deposits” from twenty other expectant mothers. On my way to the station to give a statement, I spotted an old man begging for change a block away. His tag didn’t say “Beggar.” It said: [ARMED ROBBER]. Another 911 call. He turned out to be the mastermind behind a cold-case bank heist from a decade ago, hiding in plain sight near the precinct to keep an eye on the cops. The officers were practically cheering, telling me they were going to nominate me for a public service award. That’s when my husband, Jerry, came rushing through the doors, looking like his world was ending. He pulled me into a suffocating hug. “Ruby! My God, how did you end up face-to-face with a robber? Why didn’t you call me? I promised I’d keep you safe.” I pulled back slightly, curious, and looked at the space above his head. Floating there, in a soft, reassuring gold, were the words: [THE GOLD STANDARD HUSBAND]. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding and hugged him back, burying my face in his chest. I hadn’t been wrong about him. He was exactly who I thought he was. The day I went into labor, Jerry was a wreck. He was cornering every nurse and doctor he could find, shouting that they had to “save the mother first” if anything went wrong. He was more terrified than I was. When the baby finally arrived—a beautiful, tiny boy—I smiled through the exhaustion and handed him to his father. But as Jerry leaned down to coo at our son, the golden tag above his head flickered. It twisted, the letters warping and darkening into a jagged, poisonous black: [CHILD TRAFFICKER]. My blood turned to ice. 1 I blinked, hard. I must be hallucinating. The meds, the exhaustion, the trauma of labor—it had to be a glitch in my brain. But the words [CHILD TRAFFICKER] remained fixed above Jerry’s head, unmoving and undeniable. Jerry reached out, his thumb grazing my forehead with a tenderness that now made my skin crawl. “Ruby, you were amazing. You did it.” “I swear,” he whispered, leaning closer, “I’m going to take such good care of you both. You’ll never want for anything.” I forced myself to sit up, the incision from the delivery stinging like a hot wire. I managed a weak, tight smile and held out my hand. “Jerry, can I see your phone for a second?” He didn’t hesitate. He pulled it out and handed it over. “I just got my bonus check yesterday. Spend whatever you want, babe. Get that designer diaper bag you liked. You deserve the world.” The perfect husband. The man of every woman’s dreams. I glanced at the black tag hovering over him, then abruptly pushed him toward the door. “Go home, Jerry. You look exhausted. And tomorrow… bring the marriage license and our Social Security cards. We’re getting a divorce.” Jerry froze, the smile sliding off his face. “What? Ruby, the doctor said you need rest. Divorce? Where is this coming from?” “Just go,” I snapped, my voice trembling. He lingered at the door, knocking softly. “Ruby, honey, you’re overwhelmed. Let’s talk about this. Open the door, please.” I ignored him, locking the door and sliding back into the hospital bed. My hands were shaking as I bypassed his passcode. I knew it, of course—it was our anniversary. Jerry didn’t have secrets. He shared everything with me. His home screen was a photo of us from our honeymoon in Maui, both of us sun-kissed and laughing. I tore through that phone like a woman possessed. Call logs. Text threads. Deleted folders. Photo galleries. I checked every obscure app, every banking statement. Nothing. No mysterious contacts. No suspicious browsing history. Every cent spent was for the house, the baby, or me. Even the photos he’d taken of our son just an hour ago were framed with fatherly pride. It was too clean. It was so clean it made the hair on my arms stand up. I called his office, pretending to check on his paternity leave. His coworkers were practically gushing. “Oh, Jerry? He won’t shut up about you, Ruby. Tells everyone you’re the best thing that ever happened to him.” “There was a girl here, a client’s daughter, who kept throwing herself at him. He shut her down so fast it was embarrassing. He made his desktop background your wedding photo just to make a point. You really caught a unicorn, Ruby. We’re all jealous.” The words [CHILD TRAFFICKER] flashed in my mind’s eye, blinding and sharp. I couldn’t breathe. I mumbled a goodbye and hung up. Jerry didn’t leave the hospital. He stayed in the hallway and had a nurse bring in a container of warm congee. “I bought your favorite,” he called through the door, his voice muffled but steady. “I’ll leave it right here. Eat as much as you can.” Then he started listing off postpartum care instructions—things even I hadn’t looked up yet. He knew the schedule for my meds, the signs of infection, the baby’s feeding windows. He was more prepared than a textbook. “Just… call the nurse if you need anything, Ruby. I’m right here. We can talk about everything tomorrow after you’ve slept. Okay?” The concern in his voice felt like a physical weight. It felt real. But the tags didn’t lie. They had never been wrong before. My chest tightening, I pulled up my contacts and found the number for the officer I’d met a week ago. “Detective Sullivan? It’s Ruby. The woman from the station.” “Ruby! How’s the baby? Everything okay?” “I need a favor,” I whispered, glancing at the door. “I need you to run a deep background check on my husband. Specifically… anything related to child welfare or missing persons.” Sullivan went quiet for a beat. “Jerry? The guy who looked like he was going to faint when you were in the station? Are you sure?” “Please,” I said. “Just do it.” Sullivan sent a thumbs-up emoji. “I’m on it.” 2 The next morning, Jerry was standing at my door. Behind him stood Detective Sullivan. The detective held a thin manila folder, chatting amiably with Jerry about some local sports game. When Sullivan saw me awake, he nodded toward the bassinet and then handed me the file. “Here’s what you asked for.” He patted Jerry on the shoulder. “You’ve got a good one here, Jerry. Don’t let her go.” My heart hammered against my ribs as I tore the folder open. Criminal record: Clean. Credit score: Excellent. Employment history: Stellar. Every interview Sullivan had conducted over the phone that morning yielded the same result: Jerry was a pillar of the community. He looked perfect. He was a ghost. Jerry moved toward the bassinet to pick up our son, but I let out a sharp, guttural sound. “Get out! I don’t want you near him!” Sullivan’s eyebrows shot up. Jerry held up his hands, his expression pained but patient. “It’s okay, Detective. She’s had a long night. I’ve got some stuff to take care of at the office anyway. I’ll be back later, Ruby.” The moment he left, I turned to Sullivan. I told him everything. I told him about the labels, the scammer, the bank robber. I didn’t hold back, terrified that my son was in danger. Sullivan frowned, leaning against the hospital wall. He made a few more calls, digging into Jerry’s extended family, his college days, even his high school records. Nothing. Sullivan sighed. He wanted to believe me—I’d given him two major collars in a week—but he had to face the facts. “Ruby, I’m telling you, the guy is a saint on paper. I talked to him for twenty minutes out there. He’s not a criminal. He doesn’t have the temperament for it.” “But the label changed,” I insisted. “Is it possible… you’re just tired? Maybe you misread it?” Every other person in the hospital had a label that made sense. “Nurse.” “Anxious Father.” “Tired Resident.” Only Jerry’s was a nightmare. My stomach cramped—a sudden, violent surge of pain that sent me tumbling from the bed to the floor. Blood began to seep through my gown. Sullivan panicked, shouting for a nurse. Jerry came sprinting back into the room. He knelt beside me, his hands trembling as he stabilized my shoulders. “It’s okay, it’s okay. The doctor’s coming. I’m right here, Ruby. Don’t be scared.” I caught a whiff of his scent—the cedarwood soap I’d bought him for Christmas—and for a split second, I felt safe. I felt home. Maybe the tag was wrong. Maybe I was losing my mind. The doctor arrived quickly. It was a minor complication, but she gave Jerry a stern look. “She’s in a fragile state, both physically and emotionally. Postpartum health isn’t just about the body; it’s about the mind. You need to be extra attentive right now.” Jerry exhaled a shaky breath and took my hand, squeezing it tight. “Sullivan told me. I know you’re suspicious of me for some reason.” “But Ruby,” he whispered, his eyes moist, “have you considered that this might be postpartum psychosis? The stress… the hallucinations? It happens.” Sullivan, standing in the doorway, nodded slowly. I clenched my fists, my throat too dry to speak. All the evidence pointed to Jerry being a hero. But a voice in the back of my mind—the one that had saved me from the scammer and the robber—kept screaming. Watch him. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a new tag in the hallway. 3 The label read: [MURDERER]. And I knew him. He was a guy named Benny, an old “friend” of Jerry’s from his younger, wilder days. He was a low-life, a drifter. I’d banned Jerry from seeing him after his girlfriend “disappeared” last year. I beckoned Sullivan over and hissed in his ear, “That man. Benny Kerwin. He’s a friend of Jerry’s.” “What about him?” “He’s a murderer. I think he killed his girlfriend.” Sullivan’s face went rigid. He didn’t hesitate this time; he bolted into the hall. Benny saw the uniform and ran, but he didn’t get far. An hour later, the news broke. Benny had been deep in gambling debt. He’d sold his girlfriend to a high-end human trafficking ring, then killed her when she tried to fight her way back. Sullivan brought a commendation plaque to my room later that afternoon. I didn’t even look at it. “My ‘ability’ isn’t broken, Detective. Jerry is a trafficker. He’s part of this.” I started shoving my clothes into a bag, desperate to leave before Jerry returned from his “errand.” “Ruby, calm down,” Sullivan said. “I interrogated Benny myself. I looked at his phone, his ledger. There is zero connection to Jerry. Jerry actually blocked him months ago, just like you asked him to.” I gripped the edge of the bassinet. “Every monster looks like a nice guy until he isn’t. I’m a mother, Detective. I can’t afford to be wrong.” Sullivan looked at me for a long time. Finally, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, discreet GPS tracker. He tucked it into the baby’s swaddle. “This links to an app on my phone and yours. You’ll know where the baby is every second of the day. I’ll keep an eye on Jerry, too. I promise.” It was the best I could get. I blocked Jerry’s number, ignored his calls, and took the baby to a private, high-security postnatal retreat on the other side of the city. My phone lit up incessantly. Nine missed calls—each one ringing for exactly sixty seconds. Ninety-nine messages. Ruby, where are you? I’m losing my mind. Please, just tell me you’re safe. I’m his father. I would never hurt him. Please, I’m begging you. Talk to me. A chill crawled down my spine. Five years of dating, three years of marriage. If this was an act, Jerry was the greatest actor who ever lived. I didn’t reply. But the next morning, the facility director sent an alert to my room. A man was loitering in the parking lot, staring up at the windows of the maternity wing. It was Jerry. How did he find me? My first thought was Sullivan, but the detective swore he hadn’t spoken to him. Jerry called again. I declined it. I grabbed the baby and slipped out the back exit, hailed a rideshare, and checked into a generic hotel downtown. But as I stepped out of the car, I saw Jerry’s SUV parked across the street. My heart hammered against my teeth. He’d bugged my phone. I threw the device into a trash can in the lobby, paid cash for a room under a fake name, and moved again. Finally, I was alone. No Jerry. No car. I went to the elevator to grab a delivery bag from the lobby—a thirty-second trip. When I walked back into the room, the bassinet was empty. My son was gone. 4 “Jerry!” I screamed into the empty room. It had to be him. He’d found another way to track me. He’d stolen our child. I went into a blind panic, searching the room. I found the GPS tracker Sullivan gave me… lying at the bottom of the trash can. I sprinted out of the hotel. My heart felt like it was being crushed by a sledgehammer, but a strange, icy clarity took over. I called Sullivan from a burner phone, then drove straight to the house Jerry and I shared. He didn’t answer his phone for three calls. On the fourth, he finally picked up. His voice was raspy, almost giddy. “Ruby? Are you finally ready to come home?” “Where is he?” I screamed. “Where is my son?” Jerry paused. “What are you talking about? Isn’t he with you?” “Stop the act! You took him! Where are you?” Jerry gave me an address—a hotel on the north side. I slammed my foot on the gas. When I arrived at the hotel lobby and saw him—with that hideous [CHILD TRAFFICKER] tag still glowing above his head—I didn’t think. I swung my hand and slapped him across the face so hard my palm stung. The lobby went silent. People started pulling out their phones to film. “Where did you sell him?” I hissed. “If a single hair on his head is hurt, I will kill you myself.” Jerry looked at me with wide, innocent eyes. “Ruby, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve been here for a business meeting.” I took a shuddering breath. “Jerry… he’s your son. He’s a week old.” I started to sob. “Please. Just give him back.” Sullivan arrived then, breathless. He questioned Jerry, but Jerry’s story held firm. He didn’t know anything. I showed Sullivan the photo the facility director had sent me of Jerry “stalking” the retreat. Sullivan’s gaze sharpened. Jerry shook his head. “There are only three high-end retreats in that area, Detective. I was just driving around, hoping to see her car. The doctor said she was having a breakdown. I was terrified for her.” “And this hotel?” I yelled. “I saw you at my hotel!” Jerry calmly pulled up his phone. “I booked this room two days ago for work. Here’s the confirmation.” The timestamp checked out. He’d booked it before I even checked in. “It’s a coincidence, Ruby,” Sullivan whispered, trying to guide me away. Suddenly, Sullivan’s radio chirped. He listened, his expression softening with relief. “They found the baby.” A maid at my hotel had walked into a room to clean and found the infant lying on the floor, red-faced and screaming. She’d rushed him to the hospital. But I hadn’t left him on the floor. I’d left him in a secure bassinet. And how did the tracker end up in the trash? I held my son at the hospital an hour later, but something was wrong. The maid who found him was looking at me with pure disgust. “Ma’am, he wasn’t just on the floor,” she said, her voice loud enough for the gathering crowd to hear. “He was filthy. Covered in something. And a tracker? I didn’t see any tracker. I think you’re confused. I think you’re not fit to be a mother.” Sullivan and Jerry looked at the baby’s blanket. It was stained and dirty. But I had changed him right before I left the room. Jerry gripped my arm, his voice a soothing poison. “Ruby, honey… you’re not well. You need help.” Even Sullivan looked down at his shoes. “Ruby… maybe you should see a specialist.” The onlookers whispered. My head throbbed. I looked at Jerry’s tag. Was I crazy? Was the ability a symptom of a broken brain? Jerry reached out to take the baby. I almost let him. But then, a memory sparked. A tiny, oily detail. I finally knew the truth.

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To help cover our mounting debts, my wife took a job as a private nurse for her first love—a man now paralyzed from the waist down. By the fourth month, Isabella suddenly demanded we sleep in separate rooms. “You snore too loud, Lucas. You smell like sweat and grease when you come home from the site. It makes me nauseous just being near you.” Her eyes were cold, her voice dripping with a disdain I didn’t recognize. We had been married for ten years and had never spent a single night apart. This was a first. Not long after, I noticed the slight swell of her belly. Late at night, I’d hear her in the bathroom, the muffled sounds of her retching into the toilet. A reckless, haunting suspicion began to take root in my gut. Desperate, I hacked into her cloud account and linked my phone to the security cameras in her “patient’s” house. That night, I didn’t sleep a wink. … Isabella came home late again. She didn’t look at me, and she didn’t look at our seven-year-old son, Toby. She went straight for the bathroom, hand over her mouth. “Lucas, I told you! No more honey-glazed ribs!” she shouted through the door. “The whole house smells like sickly-sweet fat. Are you trying to make me sick?” Those ribs used to be her favorite. She could never get enough of them. But ever since she started working for Zack—the man who haunted the periphery of our marriage for a decade—she suddenly found them revolting. When I’d ask if she was okay, she had a rehearsed answer: I’m just not used to being back in the workforce after ten years. My stomach is acting up from the stress. It’s just bloating. But I wasn’t an idiot. I had seen this before—exactly seven years ago, when she was pregnant with Toby. I kept my head down, pretending to help Toby with his math homework. “I’ll take you to the clinic tomorrow morning,” I said, my voice steady. “We need to get your stomach checked out.” Toby looked up, his eyes wide. “Mom, my friend Leo said his mom saw you at the Women’s Health and OBGYN Pavilion today. Did everything go okay?” The pen in my hand snapped. The OBGYN Pavilion. “Why would you go to an OBGYN for a stomach ache?” I asked, looking her dead in the eye as she emerged from the bathroom. Isabella flinched, but only for a second. She wiped her mouth, her expression shifting into one of annoyance. “I spend all day catering to Zack’s every whim. I barely have time to drink water, let alone visit a clinic. Toby is just like you—always making things up.” She turned and retreated into her bedroom, slamming the door. Toby looked at me, his lip trembling. “Dad, I wasn’t lying…” I ruffled his hair. “I know, buddy. Go to your room. I’ll go talk to your mom.” I waited until he was gone before I pushed open Isabella’s door. It wasn’t fully latched. She was changing into an oversized nightgown. Her stomach, freed from the constraints of her work clothes, was much larger than I’d realized. It wasn’t the soft bloat of a digestive issue; it was the firm, unmistakable curve of a second trimester. She stood before the mirror, one hand supporting her lower back, the other stroking the curve of her belly. Her expression was radiant—full of a maternal pride I hadn’t seen in years. “You’re such a little troublemaker,” she whispered to the mirror. “Already being so hard on Mommy.” Mommy? The word was a match dropped into a pool of gasoline. My chest erupted. Every suspicion, every doubt I’d tried to suppress, flared into a blinding inferno. I kicked the door open. My voice shook with a rage I couldn’t contain. “You’re pregnant, Isabella!” She gasped, frantically pulling her robe shut. “What is wrong with you? It’s the middle of the night!” “Whose is it? Is it Zack’s?” I stepped into her space, my heart hammering against my ribs. “How could you do this to me? To Toby? Have you no shame?” Isabella’s fear vanished, replaced by her usual armor of indignation. “You’re losing your mind! We’re friends, Lucas! How many times do I have to tell you? Just because a man is in the picture, you think I’m sleeping with him? Don’t forget—if you hadn’t tanked that construction project and lost our savings, I wouldn’t have to work this soul-crushing job in the first place! I come home exhausted, and I have to deal with your pathetic jealousy? I’m done!” It was the same script. The same redirection. Ever since she moved to the guest room, our life had become a cycle of accusations and gaslighting. Every time I felt the urge to leave, I’d remind myself that this woman—the woman I’d pampered for a decade—had stepped up to work a grueling job as a caregiver to help pay off my $400,000 debt. I felt guilty for doubting her. After all, what could a paralyzed man do? But this time, I had more than just a gut feeling. I pulled out my phone and hit play on the recorded footage. “Except for mealtimes, you and Zack are in that bedroom with the door shut. And these… these sounds coming through the vent? I watched the feed all night, Isabella. Every day for four months!” I pointed at her stomach. “You’re four months along. You look exactly like you did with Toby. And we haven’t touched each other in six months. So tell me, how do you explain this? Hmm?” The camera only showed the hallway and the living room, but the audio—the rhythmic creaking, the stifled moans—was unmistakable. The sound coming from the phone felt like a noose tightening around my neck. My heart felt like it was being shredded by a thousand needles. I couldn’t breathe. We had been together for twelve years. I had worshipped her. Isabella didn’t cry. She didn’t even look guilty. She glanced at the screen, then let out a cold, sharp laugh. “You really have a filthy mind, Lucas. You see what you want to see.” She shoved me out of the room with a strength that caught me off guard. The door slammed and the lock clicked. I stood in the hallway, staring at the wood, until the sun began to peek through the windows. I spent the rest of the night on the balcony, the cold air biting at my skin. I replayed our twelve years together. Isabella had been my intern once—bright, optimistic, hardworking. I had spent years giving her everything. I paid for her family’s house, her brother’s tuition, the luxury cars. Even after the project failed, I sold my own Porsche to keep her lifestyle intact. I never asked her for a dime. I had begged her to come home. I had offered to find her a desk job. She refused. “Zack is an old friend,” she’d said. “He won’t be hard on me. And I want to build something of my own. I don’t want Toby to think his mom is just a housewife who depends on his dad.” Now I realized the “job” was just a cover for a live-in affair. She was probably using my remaining money to support him. I pulled out my phone and messaged my foreman. [Taking a few days off. Family emergency.] A simple divorce was too easy. They weren’t going to get away with this. I knew a storm was coming, and I didn’t want Toby caught in the crossfire. Early the next morning, I made an excuse and dropped him off at my parents’ place. I didn’t go to work. I sat in a rented sedan down the street from Zack’s gated community, watching. Isabella left the house twenty minutes earlier than usual. She was wearing light makeup, a smile on her face as if nothing had happened. I followed her to the sprawling estate Zack owned on the edge of the city. She used her fingerprint to unlock the side door. Within minutes, the curtains in the master suite were drawn tight. I crept through the landscaping, crouching behind the bushes outside the bedroom window. I tried to log into the camera feed again, but she had changed the password. Twenty minutes later, the noises started. That serpent-venom sound. Isabella’s voice, breathless and adoring. “Zack, you’re incredible. You’re the best man I’ve ever known.” I thought I would be calm. I thought I would be calculated. But hearing the reality of it through a thin pane of glass broke something inside me. I grabbed a heavy stone from the garden bed and smashed it through the window. I reached in, ignored the glass slicing into my forearm, and forced the lock. “Isabella! Zack! You goddamn traitors! Get out here!” Neighbors began to peek over their fences. A gardener from the house next door ran over, trying to grab my arm. “Sir, stop! It’s not what it looks like! You’re making it worse for yourself!” “Get off me!” I snarled, shaking him off. It took me thirty-seven seconds to climb through the broken window and tear down the heavy blackout curtains. When I saw the room, I froze. Zack wasn’t just paralyzed from the waist down. He was a quadriplegic. He was strapped into a complex medical harness, his body limp and unmoving. He couldn’t feel anything below his neck, let alone… that. Isabella was standing there, holding a tablet, her face flushed. She was using a “voice-therapy” app and a physical therapy stimulator to help him try to stand. “Lucas!” she screamed, her eyes red with fury. “You’ve finally lost it! I can’t take this anymore! Get out! Get out!” She began hurling things at me—pillows, her phone, even a medical basin. The smell of antiseptic and sickness filled the air. My arm was bleeding, my shoulder bruised. But I wasn’t done. I lunged for her, grabbing her wrists. “The baby isn’t his? Then whose is it? Tell me! Who is he?” Isabella shielded her stomach, backed into a corner, sobbing hysterically. “Are you going to be happy when I’m dead? Is that what you want? You’re a monster, Lucas!” She looked so fragile. So innocent. To any outsider, I was the unhinged husband attacking a saintly caregiver. “Fine,” I spat, my eyes bloodshot. “We’re going to the hospital. Right now. If you aren’t pregnant, I’ll never mention it again. I’ll give you everything in the divorce.” I reached for her again, but a low, gravelly voice stopped me. “Mr. Thorne, do you really not recognize your own child? You’re insulting my professional integrity.” It was Zack. Or rather, the man I thought was Zack. He called the police. I was arrested for felony property damage, trespassing, and assault. Isabella didn’t say a single word in my defense. I spent three days in a holding cell. Three days of Zack’s words and Isabella’s mystery lover clawing at my brain. Finally, my mother bailed me out. She was pale, her forehead slick with sweat. “Lucas… something happened,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “It’s Isabella. She’s in the hospital.” We rushed to the city’s oncology ward. Isabella was lying in a bed, an IV in her arm. She looked gaunt, her skin a sickly translucent gray. She was sobbing. “Mom, I can’t do this anymore. I see the way he looks at me… the hate in his eyes. It’s killing me faster than the disease.” My mother-in-law, her eyes swollen like bruised plums, gripped Isabella’s hand. “No. We are not giving up. I won’t let my daughter die before me.” She turned to the doctor in the white coat, dropping to her knees. “Please, Doctor. Check again. There has to be a way. Take my blood, my organs, anything!” The doctor sighed, looking pained. “Your daughter has stage four colorectal cancer. It’s advanced. With palliative care, she might have three months.” My heart stopped. “The only chance,” the doctor continued, “is an experimental procedure from a clinic in Switzerland. A full intestinal transplant using bio-synthetic tissue. But it starts at three million dollars. The success rate is only 40%. If it fails, she won’t even have those three months. You need to decide.” “We’ll do it!” my mother-in-law cried. “My son-in-law is successful! He loves her! We’ll find the money!” “No!” Isabella gasped, her voice a fragile rasp. “It’s three million, Mom. If it fails, Lucas will have nothing. Toby will have nothing. I won’t let them suffer because of me. It’s better if they hate me. If they hate me, they can move on after I’m gone. They’ll forget me…” She collapsed into a fit of violent coughing, her chest heaving as if she were about to draw her last breath. My wife wasn’t pregnant with another man’s child. She was dying. She had been losing weight, unable to eat, unable to sleep—all while trying to make me hate her so the grief wouldn’t destroy me. And I, the man who had promised to protect her, had responded with nothing but accusations and shame. My soul felt like it was being crushed by a giant hand. I wanted to go back in time and tear that version of myself to pieces. “We’re doing it!” I shouted, stumbling to her bedside. I grabbed her hand, my tears falling onto the sterile sheets. “I don’t care what it costs. We’re going to Switzerland. I’ll find the money, I promise!” She didn’t have the strength to fight me. She just looked at me with a gaze full of tragic relief. My mother-in-law wiped her eyes. “I knew you were a good man, Lucas.” I pulled out my phone and transferred every cent of my liquid assets—nearly $250,000—to Isabella’s account. “The house. I’ll sell the house. I’ll call the realtor now.” My mother chimed in, “I have my retirement savings, too. We’ll save her.” I hurried out of the room, my legs feeling like jelly. I realized I had a private life insurance policy for Isabella and wanted to check if it covered international experimental treatments. But as I reached the door, I heard a sound that made my blood turn to ice. A loud, mocking burst of laughter. “God, Lucas is such a pathetic loser. I can’t believe he fell for it…”

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On Christmas Eve, I stood in the yard, holding a tube of fireworks, watching Chloe slowly light the fuse. “Chloe, do you have any wishes for the new year?” I asked, smiling. Chloe leaned against the wall, taking a nonchalant puff from her cigarette. “You’re the one who should be making new year wishes.” I blinked. “Why?” “You were switched at birth. Mom and Dad are already making arrangements to bring Ethan home.” She flicked off the ash. “Wish you don’t get sent back to some remote place.” My world suddenly went silent. In the distance, fireworks still bloomed, and children’s laughter faintly drifted over. I opened my mouth, but the words got stuck in my throat. What I actually wanted to say was: Chloe, my wish is that when I die, Mom, Dad, and you won’t be sad. Now, my wish was about to come true. But why did my chest hurt so much? “Do you think I’m lying?” Chloe pulled a folded piece of paper from her pocket and unfurled it in front of my eyes. The fireworks were bright, and I clearly saw the line of text: Liam Hayes has no biological kinship with Mr. and Mrs. Hayes. She pulled out her phone, and the screen lit up, displaying a photo of a boy. His eyes and brows were so much like Mom’s; his smile was identical to hers. “I overheard them in the study today. They’re already discussing sending you away.” Chloe saw my stunned expression and scoffed. “What, scared stiff? They won’t just abandon you. The Hayes family isn’t so poor they can’t afford to keep someone around.” I remained frozen in place. I used to think I was the happiest kid in the world. A wealthy family, loving parents. When I was twelve, I said I wanted a piano, and the next day, a Steinway stood in the living room. When I was fifteen, I casually mentioned wanting to see the Northern Lights, and that winter break, the whole family flew to Iceland. On my eighteenth birthday, Mom cried, saying she hated to see me grow up, and Dad gave me a small apartment downtown. I could easily get anything I wanted, including everyone’s affection. Except for Chloe’s. As long as I could remember, she had hated me. When I was little, I’d bring her my perfect test papers for her to sign, and she’d roll her eyes, saying, “What are you showing off for, brat? Go away, don’t bother me.” When I choked on water while learning to swim, she’d sneer, “Who are you putting on a show for? No one cares if you drown, so just keep flailing.” When I received my first love letter, she tore it up in front of me and tossed it into the trash. “Oops, my bad, I thought it was scrap paper.” Mom always said, “Your sister just acts tough, but she’s really soft-hearted.” Dad would sigh beside her, “She feels like you stole our love. She’s just childish; don’t mind her.” But I felt that Chloe genuinely hated me, hated me so much that she never gave me a kind look, hated me so much that she wished I would disappear from her life. Even so, I would follow her everywhere. I’d watch her play games, I’d secretly cook noodles for her when she stayed up late, and I’d prepare her birthday gift three months in advance. I thought, one day, Chloe would smile at me. A few days ago, I had a stomachache and went to the hospital for a check-up. The doctor held my report and told me. “Late-stage pancreatic cancer, it’s already metastasized. At this point, a cure is unlikely. With aggressive treatment, you might have six months.” I was stunned for a long time, then asked, “What if I don’t get treatment?” “Around three months.” I originally wanted to tell Chloe this secret first. She hated me so much, she definitely wouldn’t be sad for me, which was good—I hated seeing people cry the most. But now, they were no longer my family, and Chloe wasn’t my sister. Saying it now would just make me seem self-pitying. So, I kept silent.

Chloe stubbed her cigarette out on the wall, looking at me playfully. “You’re not going to be unable to accept reality and hang yourself in your room tonight, are you?” “If you’re going to die, do it at your own place. Don’t ruin our property value.” She always spoke so cuttingly. Before, no matter what she said, I would always laugh and try to get closer to her. But this time, I said nothing. I had once imagined a happy passing, surrounded by my parents. My only regret was not having a good relationship with Chloe. But now, I was about to lose all the family I loved most. “Aren’t you going to say your New Year’s wish?” Chloe pulled a small box from her pocket. “Since you look so pathetic, I’ll indulge you this year. I’ve got a little trinket for you—” I ignored her and ran off. Back in my room, I buried myself under the covers. I didn’t want to cry out loud, just bit the corner of the duvet and sobbed, my chest aching. In the dead of night, I was half-asleep, half-awake, burning with fever. I clearly heard my parents’ conversation outside the door. “In a couple of days, we’ll send Liam back. He’s been occupying our son’s life for too many years.” That was Dad’s voice. “I always thought he didn’t look like either of us.” Mom’s voice sharpened. “Look at him, he can’t learn anything well. Eight years of piano lessons, and he can’t even play a full Chopin Nocturne. Painting, dance—what is he good at? All these years, he’s had an elite education, yet he’s still not as exceptional as our Ethan. Hmph, it’s truly a base streak in his genes, just like his real parents.” “Forget it, we won’t send him back,” Dad said. “We’ve raised him for so many years; he should contribute something to our family.” “Go see if any families are looking for a marriage alliance. We can marry him off for some benefit. Doesn’t Mr. Harrison have a daughter? Even if she has some issues, we can ask for a smaller dowry.” I wanted to cry and beg them to stop. Please, stop. Why did fate have to make me learn all this right before I died, shattering my beautiful dream? But my limbs were stiff, I couldn’t move, couldn’t fully wake up. My body felt nailed to the bed, my consciousness floating. They never loved me after all. All that tenderness, all that doting, was just for the “Hayes family’s golden boy” identity. Now that the real one was back, I, the impostor, had to exit the stage, preferably after being squeezed for every last drop of value. A moment later, the door opened. A cool hand rested on my forehead. “Whoa, such poor coping skills. This little bit of news scared you into a fever. Should’ve known not to tell you.” Her voice held its familiar mockery. I wanted to retort: I’m sick, not weak! But I couldn’t make a sound, only a faint gasp escaped my throat. “Why are you so delicate? You’re not the golden boy anymore, so stop acting like a spoiled brat.” She half-hugged me, her movements unexpectedly gentle. With her other hand, she held a cup, and the bitter medicine was poured into my mouth. I frowned, wanting to spit it out, but she pinched my chin and made me swallow. “Swallow it,” she commanded. Then I heard Mom say, “Is Liam sick? Why didn’t he call the family doctor?” My heart warmed. Mom still cared about me; I knew she wouldn’t completely stop loving me. Then she spoke again, “I’ve arranged a blind date for him in a couple of days. What if he looks sickly and they don’t want him?” So that’s how it was. I thought I would cry, but I was surprisingly calm. Maybe it was because I was going to die soon. Once a person dies, everything dissipates, so nothing really matters anymore. Chloe put me back on the bed and tucked me in. She stood by the bed for a while. My eyes were closed, but I could feel her gaze. “Such a pain,” she finally said, and her footsteps receded, the door closing softly.

Two days later, Mom and Dad called me to the living room. They sat on the sofa, their expressions normal. Mom even waved gently at me, “Liam, come, sit with Mom.” I almost thought everything I’d heard was just a nightmare from my fever. But the dream quickly shattered. “Liam, ask Maria to help you get ready. Mom bought you new clothes, go try them on.” Mom smiled gently, pointing to a paper bag on the coffee table with a luxury brand’s logo. “For your future happiness, Mom and Dad have arranged a few blind dates for you this afternoon. They’re all from good families; go meet them.” Dad echoed, “That’s right, you’re twenty now; it’s time to think about your future.” I looked at their smiling faces and suddenly felt utterly alienated. “Is this really for my happiness? Or are you trying to sell me off?” I heard my voice tremble. Mom paused, then looked at Chloe, who was leaning nonchalantly by the window. “Did you tell him about his identity?” Chloe stood with her hands in her pockets, gazing at the snow outside. “He was going to find out eventually. What’s the point of hiding it?” The smile vanished from Mom’s face. She looked at me, her eyes cold and arrogant. “True.” She stood up and walked towards me. “Since you already know your identity, then you should also know that we can’t let you enjoy twenty years of our son’s life for free.” Her voice was hard. “All those lessons, all those resources, they rightfully belonged to our biological son.” Dad also walked over, standing beside Mom. “Ethan suffered for twenty years out there, while you enjoyed twenty years of fortune in our home. That’s not fair.” “This is the price you have to pay.” Mom said, word by word, “You owe him, you owe the Hayes family.” These words made my head spin; I could barely stand. A sharp pain shot through my abdomen, my legs buckled, and I fell to the floor. My forehead hit the corner of the coffee table, and warm liquid trickled down. Mom instinctively took two steps forward. “What’s wrong with you?” But she quickly stopped, the concern in her eyes fleeting, replaced by suspicion. Chloe walked over and helped me into a chair. “Such a pain. Why are you so weak? Are you still feverish?” Mom sneered, “He was full of life just two days ago. Yesterday, he heard Ethan was coming home and started faking illness. It’s just his rotten nature; what kind of cheap sympathy trick is he playing?” She walked over, her heels clacking coldly on the tile floor. Then she raised her hand and slapped me hard. “SLAP!” A sharp sound echoed in the living room. I fell to the ground, my ears ringing, my cheek burning. I struggled to grab her sleeve. “Mom, I’m not faking it. I’m really sick…” She disgustedly kicked my hand away. “Don’t call me Mom! I only have one son, Ethan!” Dad called for Maria. “Drag him out. Search him for anything valuable. From today on, he’s no longer a Hayes.” Two housekeepers came over, grabbing me by each arm. I struggled, but I was too weak from illness. They started stripping off my coat, taking my jewelry, and snatching my bag. I desperately clutched the watch on my wrist. It was a birthday gift Chloe gave me when I was fifteen. It was the only gift she ever gave me—a wristwatch studded with tiny diamonds, with “LM” (my initials) engraved on the inside of the dial. The housekeeper forcibly pried my hand open, snatched the watch, and put it on her own wrist. “Let you experience the hardship Ethan went through,” Mom said, looking down at me with icy eyes. “When your bad habits are gone, then you can come back!” I was dragged out the door. The heavy wooden door closed behind me with a dull thud.

Outside the door, I desperately cried out, “I didn’t mean to bully him! I just lost my footing!” The door didn’t open. I pounded on the door, my hands quickly turning red and numb from the cold. Finally, I gave up. Turning around, I stumbled through the snowy night. My house slippers quickly soaked through; the snowmelt seeped in, freezing my toes until they were numb. I walked aimlessly, not knowing where to go. For the first time in twenty years, I realized that outside the Hayes family, I had nowhere to go. The pain in my abdomen started again, more intensely this time. I crouched by the roadside, curled into a ball, trying to ease the pain. After who knows how long, I stood up and continued walking. I had to go home, I had to explain clearly that I wasn’t faking illness, I was truly sick, I didn’t want the people I loved most to misunderstand me… I went to the family company. Every time I came before, the receptionist would smile and call me “Mr. Liam,” and the security guard would respectfully open the door. Now, they stopped me at the entrance. “Mr. Hayes… no, sir, you cannot enter.” The receptionist’s eyes darted away. “Mr. Hayes (senior) gave instructions not to let you in.” I went to the convenience store on the corner and borrowed the public phone. My fingers were so numb they wouldn’t cooperate; it took several tries to dial the right numbers. I called Mom first. A long busy signal, then it automatically hung up. Then I called Dad. The same result. Finally, relying on memory, I called Chloe. I had never called her before; I’d seen her number accidentally once and couldn’t quite remember it. After a few beeps, the call connected. I surprisingly felt like crying, my voice thick with tears. “Chloe, can I come home? It’s so cold outside, and I feel terrible…” A stranger’s voice came from the other end, an old woman. “Child, you’ve dialed the wrong number, haven’t you?” I hastily apologized, hung up, and left the convenience store. The shopkeeper looked at me with pity. I lowered my head, afraid to meet his gaze. Sitting on a park bench by the road, I curled up. My stomach hurt terribly. I clutched my abdomen, cold sweat beading on my forehead, yet I felt feverish in the cold wind. Just then, someone hugged me. I looked up and saw an older woman in a worn-out winter coat. She looked to be in her fifties, her face etched with deep wrinkles. But her eyes were so gentle, so gentle they made me want to cry. “Liam, it’s Mom,” she choked out, her rough hand stroking my cheek. “I’m your biological mother, we’ve been looking for you for so long…” She looked very shabby, her winter coat’s cuffs shiny from wear, its color faded. My mind was a jumbled mess, but her embrace was so warm. In that moment, I clung to that warmth, like a drowning person grasping at driftwood. I buried my face in her shoulder and sobbed uncontrollably, crying out all my grievances, fears, and pain. “There, there, don’t cry anymore, Mom will take you home,” she patted my back. I had a home again. She took me back to her home, a small, worn-out but clean bungalow. “You rest here for now, Mom will go get you something to eat.” She tucked the blanket around me, her eyes gentle. “Look at your pale face, you must be frozen, dear?” I sniffed, lying quietly under the covers. My stomach hurt badly, but I didn’t say anything. I was afraid that if I did, this little bit of warmth would also disappear. She left for a while and didn’t return. I needed to use the restroom. Struggling to get up, I realized there was no bathroom inside; I had to go to the outhouse. As I reached the door, I heard her talking to another man, just outside.

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I was a child from a single-parent home. Mom always said I was her hope, bought at the cost of half her life. To pay for my ridiculously expensive prep courses, she worked three jobs a day. Her hands were raw and cracked, she wouldn’t even splurge on a pair of socks for herself. Our walls were plastered with ‘Straight A’s or Else!’ posters, making the whole place feel like a prison. I got a 99% on my final exam, the highest score in the entire school. When I got home, all I wanted was five minutes of sleep on the couch. The moment Mom saw my eyes close, she instantly tore my test paper to shreds. Her scream pierced my eardrums: “I slave away to support you, and you have the nerve to sleep? Where did that point go? You’re bleeding me dry!” She lit the curtains like a maniac, threw all my books into a fire pit, and locked the front door. “You want to sleep, huh? Wake up in this fire! If you don’t get a perfect score, we’ll die together!” Thick smoke filled my nostrils. I watched Mom’s twisted face in the flickering flames and stopped calling for help.

The flames shot up the synthetic curtains like a greedy red snake, licking at the countless award certificates plastered all over the walls. The edges of those certificates curled, blackened, and fell as ash. It was like a black snow. Mom had already retreated outside the door. She was frantically pounding on the steel door, even kicking it. Not to save me, but to make me give in. “Ashley! Do you understand what you did wrong?” “Tell me loudly, will you get a perfect score next time?” “Say it! Say it, and I’ll let you out!” Her voice, muffled and shrill through the metal door, sounded like nails scraping a chalkboard. I huddled by the couch in the corner, the intense heat causing a strange, phantom pain on my exposed skin. My throat seized up from the thick smoke, each breath like swallowing burning coals. I wanted to speak, but no sound came out. Even if it could, I wouldn’t say anything. I was too tired. Honestly, just too tired. I remembered half an hour ago, I just wanted to lie on the couch for five minutes. Just five minutes. To prepare for this test, I hadn’t touched my bed in three days, so tired I felt like I was floating when I walked. But now, it was so hot around me, yet I felt a cold shiver deep inside. I saw the shredded 99% test paper curl in the fire pit, that bright red “99” turning into a heap of black ash. I thought about going to the bathroom to wet a towel. My survival instinct made me move my leg. Then I saw the empty doorframe. The bathroom door? Mom had ripped it off last month. She said I took too long in there, probably secretly reading novels or hiding from vocabulary drills. How was I supposed to hide with no privacy at all? And now, the water source was on the other side of the inferno. The fire was too big; Mom had poured alcohol on it to fuel it earlier. I couldn’t get through. I leaned back against the corner, watching the flames devour my desk. It was my battlefield, and my execution ground. Now, let it all burn. The pounding outside the door continued, accompanied by loud kicks. “Ashley, you’re being stubborn, huh?” “Not going to talk, huh?” “Fine, let’s see how long you can last!” “You ungrateful brat! Even a dog knows how to wag its tail. I should’ve gotten a dog instead of you!” I’d heard those words for seventeen years. As long as I could remember, they were served with every meal. Before, I would cry, I would beg her on my knees, I would swear I’d get a perfect score next time. But today, I didn’t want to kneel. Rather than crawl out to face her yelling, to face the endless practice questions, to face her perpetually disappointed eyes. I’d rather just sleep here. My consciousness began to fade. My body felt so heavy, like it was filled with lead, yet also like I was floating on clouds. Finally, I could rest. Even on the scorching floor. Even surrounded by deadly toxic smoke. Through the door crack, it was no longer air seeping in, but her desperate, screaming curses. “Why don’t you just die! You’re a waste of space just living!” Mom, as you wished. I’m really going to die. In the last blurry moment of my vision, I saw a corner peeking out of my backpack’s side pocket. That small, silver tin box. It was the hand cream I’d saved three months of breakfast money to buy. I wanted to put it on her hands, those hands covered in cracks. I wanted to tell her, Mom, I feel for you too. But there was no chance now. Darkness surged like a tide, completely engulfing me. I closed my eyes in the raging fire, with a light smile. This sleep, finally, no one could wake me from.

My soul seemed to float upwards. It was light, cool, weightless. I floated on the ceiling, looking down at the small body curled up below. It was dark, like a piece of burnt charcoal. The commotion outside the door grew louder. Mr. Peterson, our neighbor, smelled smoke and was frantically slamming the door with a fire extinguisher. “Open up! Quick, open up! Eleanor, what are you doing?” “Can’t you see there’s a fire in there? The kid is still inside!” But Mom clung to the doorknob, like a wild animal guarding its kill, hair disheveled, eyes bloodshot. “Don’t interfere! This is my family business!” “She’s reflecting! She hasn’t begged for mercy, so she hasn’t learned her lesson yet!” “None of you are getting in! If she gets spoiled, how will she get into college? How will she ever make something of herself?” Mr. Peterson’s face turned purple with rage. He shoved her away. “You’ve lost your mind! Someone’s going to die!” Mom stumbled but still screamed, “She won’t die! She’s just faking it! That brat is such an actress!” “Last time she had a 104-degree fever, she was just faking it to get out of vocabulary drills!” The hallway was in chaos. Someone called 911, others were trying to break up the fight. Mom was being held back, still cursing. “What are you calling 911 for? Who dares to call 911?” “If you break the door, are you going to pay for it? That security door costs over two thousand bucks!” “Ashley! Get out here! Don’t think you’ve won just because I won’t go into the fire!” I looked at her twisted face, feeling no ripple of emotion inside. Before, seeing her angry would make me tremble. Now, I just found it pathetic. The firefighters arrived. Their orange uniforms stood out starkly in the hallway. Hydraulic cutters brutally sheared through the deformed security door. “Pfft—” High-pressure water hoses blasted in, and billows of white smoke poured out. The choking smell of smoke permeated the entire hallway. Mom collapsed on the floor, letting out a cold scoff. “Oh, you’ve gotten so clever, learning to team up with strangers to scare your own mother with fire.” “When she comes out, I’ll break her legs.” The fire was put out quickly. After all, the apartment wasn’t big, and there wasn’t much to burn. The room was a mess. The once pristine white walls were now black as ink. All the ‘Perfect Score,’ ‘Ivy League,’ ‘Top University’ slogans plastered on the walls were gone, burned away. Only mottled black ash remained, like mocking ghost faces. The firefighters entered the room. A few minutes later, two firefighters emerged, their faces grim, carrying something. It was my body. Curled, charred, stiff. To protect the backpack in my arms, my posture was strange, like a shrimp boiled alive. The neighbors gasped, some aunts covered their mouths, tears streaming down their faces. The air was deathly still. Only the lingering smoke drifted. Mom climbed up from the floor, dusting off her pants. She rushed over, a look of victorious fury on her face. Not to embrace me, not to check for injuries. She raised her hand and slapped the “black figure” on the head. “Faking death? Ashley, get up!” “Don’t think playing dead will get you out of reviewing!” “Were you feeling smug just now? Letting you keep silent! Letting you defy me!” “Smack!” The slap was crisp and loud. It landed on the stiff corpse, with no echo, no cry of pain. My head was knocked to the side, still maintaining that curled posture. The firefighters froze. The neighbors froze. The whole world went silent. Only Mom was still panting heavily, pointing at my face and yelling: “Don’t pretend! I’ll count to three, if you don’t get up, I’ll sign you up for double the advanced math classes tomorrow!” I floated in the air, watching the scene. Mom, this time, I really can’t get up. Even if you sign me up for ten times the advanced math classes, I won’t be able to get up.

Mr. Peterson, the neighbor, couldn’t bear to watch anymore. He rushed forward and grabbed Mom’s arm. “Eleanor! You’re insane! Look at Ashley!” Mom shook him off, her strength astonishing. “Get lost! I’m disciplining my child! No one interferes!” Her eyes were red, her chest heaving violently, her finger trembling as she pointed at me on the floor. “You don’t know, she’s the laziest one.” “Only 99%, what good is being first in school? That one point is the key!” “If she doesn’t get that one point back, how will she compete with others? How will she cross the single-plank bridge?” As she spoke, she pulled out the shredded test paper from her pocket, clumsily taped back together with clear tape. It was covered in black ash, the tape almost melted. She crouched down, trying to force the test paper into my charred, purplish-black hand. “Take it! Get up and redo it for me!” “I’ve prepared your mistake notebook; if you don’t finish this sheet today, don’t even think about dinner!” My hand was stiff as iron tongs. My fingers were tightly clenched into a fist, protecting what was inside my backpack. She couldn’t pry my fingers open. “Let go! Did you hear me? You’re defying your mom, huh?” She pulled hard, her fingernails digging into my burnt flesh. The surrounding firefighters finally reacted. Two young men rushed forward, trying to pull her away. “Ma’am, please calm down! The victim needs urgent medical attention!” “Urgent medical attention my ass!” Mom turned and spat at them. “She just wants to be lazy! She just wants to sleep!” “In this house, as long as she has breath in her body, she has to study!” “Even if she dies, she has to finish the test first!” She struggled free from the firefighters’ grasp and turned towards the kitchen. There was still water there. She filled a basin with cold water and, with a splash, violently threw it onto my face. “Wake up! Don’t you dare act like a corpse in front of me!” The black ash was washed away by the cold water. Revealing my pale, bloodless face. My eyes were tightly closed, my lips purple, lifeless. Water flowed into my nostrils, down my throat. Normally, I would have jumped up coughing by now. But there was no reaction. Water droplets clung to my eyelashes, like tears that would never fall. Mom’s hand visibly trembled. She froze for a second, then that neurotic smile reappeared on her face. “You’re a really good actress, Ashley.” “The Oscars owe you a trophy, don’t they?” “Fine, you can tolerate it, huh? Let’s see how long you can tolerate it!” She rushed forward and pinched my philtrum. Her fingernails dug deep into my flesh, leaving red marks, even breaking the skin. I remained motionless. Like a broken rag doll, letting her do whatever she wanted. The people around started whispering, their eyes filled with fear and disgust. They looked at Mom not as a strict mother, but as a lunatic. Mom, however, didn’t notice. She leaned close to my ear, using her usual, most effective killer move, her voice chilling: “Ashley, if you don’t get up now, I’m canceling your tutoring classes tomorrow.” “I’ll give that five hundred bucks to a dog before I spend it on you!” “If you dare make me waste money, I’ll die right here in front of you!” This was her spell that had worked a hundred times before. As soon as she mentioned dying, no matter how sick I was, I would crawl up and do my homework. Because I was afraid of her dying. I was afraid of not having a mom. But this time, the “if you don’t get up, we’ll die together” spell failed. Mom. Keep the money. Giving it to a dog is great, a dog will wag its tail at you. I only made you angry. In the distance, the wail of an ambulance siren approached, cutting through the neighborhood’s silence. Emergency doctors, carrying their bags, rushed up the stairs, pushing through the onlookers, sweat dripping from their foreheads. “Make way! Everyone, make way! Where’s the victim?” The doctor’s face fell when he saw me on the floor. He knelt down and reached for my carotid artery. No pulse. He took out his stethoscope and placed it on my smoke-covered chest. The heart beneath it, which once pounded wildly over a single lost point on an exam, which tightened at the sound of Mom’s footsteps. Now, it was finally quiet. The doctor frowned, pried open my eyelid, and shone a flashlight into it. Pupils dilated, no light reflex. The doctor sighed, checked his watch, stood up, and shook his head: “Pupils dilated, no vital signs, time of death approximately one hour ago.” “Nothing to be done. Notify the funeral home.” This simple sentence, like a clap of thunder, exploded in the narrow hallway. Everyone fell silent. Except for Mom. “Bullshit!” A sharp roar erupted. Mom charged like a cannonball, tearing at the doctor’s white coat. “What are you saying! You quack!” “She’s just sleeping! She stayed up late studying last night, she’s just tired!” “She’s only seventeen! How can she be dead! If you dare curse my daughter again, I’ll tear your mouth apart!” She frantically clawed at the doctor’s face. Two police officers quickly rushed forward and forcibly restrained her. “Ma’am! Please calm down!” The police officers pinned her against the blackened wall. Mom’s face pressed against the cold, rough surface, flushed and swollen from struggling. Her gaze was forced directly onto me, on the floor. After that basin of water was splashed, my hand had fallen from its curled state. That hand, aimed right at her face. My fingertips were melted by the heat, the skin charred and curled, revealing the stark white bone beneath. That was the hand that held pens. That was the hand that helped her wash dishes. That was the hand that countless times tried to hold hers, only to be shaken off because she found it sweaty. At this moment, she finally saw clearly. That wasn’t sleep. A living person’s hand wouldn’t reveal bone. “Ash… Ashley?” Her voice suddenly softened, as faint as a mosquito’s buzz.

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On my wedding day, I was assaulted by my fiancé’s best friend. Afterward, everyone advised me to just let it go. “They’ve been inseparable since childhood with your husband. If you make a fuss, how can you expect him to choose a side?” “Besides, if people find out, what about your reputation?” I didn’t listen to a word. I took them straight to court. On the day of the hearing, however, Ryan tore open their shirt in front of everyone. “Stella, we’re both women.” “Why don’t you tell the judge how I, a woman, could possibly assault you?” I stared at their flat chest, my mind blank. But that day, they clearly had a *tool* for the crime, didn’t they? The courtroom was silent for three seconds. Then it erupted. “A woman?” “So it’s a false accusation?” “I knew it was impossible…” Ryan stood in the defendant’s box, shirt open, their chest binder creating red marks, chest as flat as a board. They didn’t cover up. They even turned sideways, letting Judge Hayes see more clearly. “Judge, Liam and I grew up together. To him, I was always just like a brother.” Ryan forced a smile. “Stella drank too much on her wedding day and insisted on talking to me.” “I helped her to the lounge to lie down, and I was out of there in less than two minutes.” “I don’t know why she’s falsely accusing me.” As they spoke, their eyes welled up slightly. “Perhaps it’s because… Liam is too good to me?” The gallery stirred again. “So this whole thing is about jealousy?” “That’s just too crazy, they’re a woman!” “Some women just can’t stand their husbands being nice to other people…” Judge Hayes rapped the gavel. “Silence.” He looked at me, his gaze complex. “Plaintiff, do you have any response to the defendant’s statements?” What did I have to respond to? I opened my mouth. The scene from that day flooded back. The door locked. I was pressed onto the sofa, my head spinning, figures blurred before my eyes. “You’re so fair, Stella.” It was Ryan’s voice. I felt their hand, their weight, and that *thing*. Cold, hard, pushing inside. I couldn’t be mistaken. “That day…” I clenched my fist. “You had *a device*.” Ryan paused, then burst out laughing. “What *device*? I’m a woman, what would I use…?” They didn’t finish. But everyone understood. Someone chuckled. “Plaintiff, please provide evidence,” Judge Hayes frowned. Evidence. I had the hospital report, which indeed showed signs of intrusion. But the report stated that no traces of semen were detected. At the time, I didn’t think much of it. I thought Ryan had taken precautions. Now I understood. That *thing* wasn’t a biological organ to begin with. “I…” “Judge.” Mr. Davison, Ryan’s lawyer, stood up, cutting me off. “The defendant is female and does not possess the physical means for such an act. If the plaintiff cannot provide evidence, this itself constitutes a false accusation.” “We reserve the right to counter-sue.” Counter-sue. Malicious prosecution. I was now the accuser of a false accusation. “Plaintiff?” Judge Hayes’s voice came. “Do you have anything else to say?” Everyone was looking at me. Ryan was looking at me too. They were too calm. Not like a victim of false accusation. More like they were watching me make a fool of myself. I took a deep breath. “Judge, I request a recess.” “I need to gather additional evidence.” As soon as I spoke, someone in the gallery stood up. It was Liam. “Judge, may I say a few words?” Judge Hayes glanced at him. “And you are?” “The plaintiff’s husband.” He paused. “And also the defendant’s best friend since childhood.” The courtroom fell silent.

Liam stood there, looking at me across the aisle, his brows deeply furrowed. “Stella, Ryan is a girl; I’ve always kept this from you.” “I was just afraid you’d misunderstand.” He sighed, his tone like he was coaxing a child. “If you’re jealous, take it out on me at home, whatever you want.” “But you sued them.” “Today, they publicly unbuttoned their shirt in front of everyone, just to prove their innocence.” He paused, his voice dropping low. “How can they ever show their face in public again?” Someone in the gallery chimed in. “This is really too much. Couldn’t she have talked it out? Why go to court?” “A young woman like that, how will they ever marry now?” “Liam isn’t having it easy either, wife on one side, best friend on the other, how can you expect him to choose?” He seemed not to hear those words. He just looked at me, his gaze full of weariness. “Stella, I don’t blame you.” “But you owe Ryan an explanation.” “Apologize, and we can put this behind us, okay?” His tone was so gentle. So gentle that it made me feel like I was the unreasonable one. But then I remembered. That night, when I was pinned to the sofa, desperately screaming for help. There were footsteps outside the door. They paused. Then walked away. I had always thought it was someone unrelated. Now, looking at Liam’s face. I suddenly remembered the rhythm of those footsteps. It was very familiar. I didn’t answer him. I stared at him. “Liam.” “That night, you passed by the lounge door, didn’t you?” Liam’s expression froze for a moment. “Stella, what are you talking about?” He frowned, his tone confused. “That day at the wedding, I was busy greeting guests in the main hall the whole time. How could I have been near the lounge?” “Are you… mistaken?” He said it so smoothly. So smoothly, it was like he had rehearsed it. “I’m not mistaken.” I stared straight at him. “Your footsteps, I wouldn’t mistake them.” Liam was silent for two seconds. Then he sighed, turning to Judge Hayes. “Judge, may I say a few words?” “Regarding my wife’s… condition.” Judge Hayes nodded. Liam paused, as if choosing his words carefully. “Stella… she’s been under a lot of stress these past six months.” “She started having insomnia before the wedding, and her emotions haven’t been very stable.” He looked at me, his eyes full of concern. “I didn’t want to say anything, for fear of hurting her pride.” “But in her current state…” “I’m afraid something serious might happen to her.” I was stunned. “Last October, I took her to see a doctor.” Liam pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. “This is the diagnosis from that time.” He handed it to Judge Hayes. “The doctor said she has an anxiety disorder, and…” He lowered his voice, but just enough for those nearby to hear. “…a tendency toward paranoid personality traits, prone to delusions.” The gallery instantly erupted. “I knew it, how could a normal person sue a woman…?” “No wonder Liam’s been protecting her; he was afraid she’d have an episode.” “A mental illness, that makes sense then.” I felt cold all over. “I don’t!” I violently pulled away from his hand as he tried to steady me. “Liam, what are you talking about? I never saw any doctor!” Liam didn’t get angry. He just sighed, his gaze growing even gentler. Judge Hayes took the paper and glanced at it. His brows furrowed. I snatched it. Black and white. “Anxiety disorder with paranoid personality traits, medication and psychological counseling recommended.” The signature was from St. Jude’s Medical Center, the most reputable mental hospital in this city. I stared at the paper. My mind buzzed. October 12th last year… I had indeed gone to St. Jude’s Medical Center that day. But not for a psychiatric visit. It was to accompany my dad for his pre-op checkup, and I had a routine physical myself. I had never seen a psychiatrist. This diagnosis was fake. But how could I prove it?

“Judge.” Liam’s voice sounded again, interrupting my thoughts. “I’ve kept my wife’s condition a secret from outsiders, including her own parents.” “I thought if I just took good care of her, she would slowly get better.” He looked up, his Adam’s apple bobbed. “I never expected something like this to happen on our wedding day.” “She might have been under too much pressure, drank alcohol, stopped her medication, and so…” He paused, as if it was difficult to say. “So she had hallucinations.” “Her memory of Ryan helping her to the lounge was twisted in her mind into… another version.” The gallery again buzzed with whispers. Liam took a deep breath, looking at Judge Hayes. “Judge, I’m not here to accuse my wife.” “I just want to take her home, to get proper treatment.” “This lawsuit… can it please end here?” “Please, don’t provoke her any further.” As he spoke, his eyes were red. Only I knew how fake those tears were. Judge Hayes was silent for a few seconds. He looked at me, his gaze complex. “Plaintiff, do you have anything else to say?” I opened my mouth. My throat felt like it was clogged with something. Say what? Say this diagnosis was fake? But it had the hospital’s official stamp and a doctor’s signature. And I had indeed been to that hospital that day. I was speechless. “This case is adjourned.” Judge Hayes rapped the gavel. “The plaintiff must provide additional evidence within seven days, otherwise, it will be considered a withdrawal of the lawsuit.” “Also, given the plaintiff’s questionable mental state…” He glanced at Liam. “It is recommended that family members take her for a medical re-examination as soon as possible and provide a formal mental health assessment report.” Liam immediately nodded, his face full of gratitude. “Thank you, Judge. I’ll take her tomorrow.” He turned and walked toward me, extending his hand. “Stella, let’s go home.” I stared at his hand. On our wedding day, this was the hand that held mine as we exchanged rings. Amidst everyone’s blessings, he kissed my forehead and said, “Stella, I’ll protect you for the rest of my life.” Now, this hand was going to send me to a mental hospital. I stepped back. “Don’t touch me.” Liam’s smile faded for a moment. But he quickly put on his gentle expression again, walking over and grabbing my arm. The grip wasn’t strong, but I couldn’t break free. “Stella, listen to me.” He leaned close to my ear, his voice very low, so only I could hear. “You know how much I love you.” “But in your current state, I have no choice but to send you for treatment.” He sighed, as if genuinely helpless. “Once you’re better, we’ll have another wedding, okay?” I froze. He straightened up, his face once again displaying that deeply affectionate look. “Come on, let’s go home.” I was pulled by him toward the exit. Passing the defendant’s box, Ryan was still standing there. They looked at me, a slight upward curve to their lips. “Stella, take care.” They spoke, their voice very soft, only I could hear. “Next time you want to sue me, remember to get your illness treated first.” That night, I was trending online. #BrideAccusesFemaleOfSexualAssaultAndIsRevealedToHaveMentalIllness# The comment section was full of people cursing me. I turned off my phone, lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. Every detail from the courtroom replayed in my mind. Mental illness. Delusions. False accusation. They had everything planned. Even if I screamed it from the rooftops, no one would believe me. The next morning, I went to the hospital to retrieve records. But when I searched, that record was gone. I sat in my car, gripping the steering wheel. Liam could make hospital system records disappear. How far did his influence stretch?

I suddenly remembered something. Last year’s corporate physical examination. It was jointly organized by Sterling Corp. and Brightwood Corp., and Ryan had also participated. The report should still be there. No matter how powerful Liam was, he couldn’t have anticipated that I would check that report. I immediately called Sterling Corp.’s administrative department. “Please retrieve a copy of last year’s corporate physical examination records for me, specifically Ryan’s. Send it over.” Ten minutes later, I received the scanned document. I screenshotted that report and sent it to a doctor friend. “Can you take a look at these results for me? Is there… anything unusual about this person’s condition?” Five minutes later, my phone buzzed. I opened my friend’s reply. I stared at the screen for a long time. Then, I smiled. So that was it. No wonder Ryan dared to unbutton their shirt in court. From the very beginning, they were certain there would be no evidence. I leaned back in my chair, closing my eyes. I couldn’t reveal it directly. If I did now, they would accuse me of slander. I had to make them confess in front of everyone. I picked up my phone and dialed Liam’s number. “I’ve thought it through.” I made my voice sound tired and submissive. “You’re right. Maybe I really was overthinking things.” There was a two-second silence on the other end of the phone. “You… you’ve really thought it through?” “Yes.” I took a deep breath. “I want to hold a press conference to clarify everything.” “This incident has caused such a stir; I need to give an explanation.” Liam clearly breathed a sigh of relief. “Stella, you’re finally being sensible. I’ll have the PR department arrange it immediately.” “How about tomorrow afternoon?” “No problem.” The press conference was scheduled for the ballroom of a five-star hotel. Liam’s PR team was highly efficient, notifying all mainstream media outlets within a day. An hour before the press conference, Liam held my hand. “Stella, just read from the script later, don’t improvise.” He handed me an apology draft. I took it, glancing over the contents. “I understand.” I nodded obediently. Liam smiled in satisfaction, kissing my forehead. “Good girl. After this, we’ll finally live our lives together.” Ryan also came. This time, they wore a white dress, sitting in the front row, looking gentle and harmless. Seeing me, they smiled, their eyes full of triumph. I walked onto the stage, facing dozens of media cameras. I took a deep breath, picking up the microphone. “Good afternoon, media friends.” “Today, I’ve called this press conference to clarify the events of the past few days.” The hall fell silent. All cameras focused on me. “First, I want to thank everyone for your concern.” “During this time, there’s been a lot of discussion online. Some say I made a false accusation, others say I have a mental illness.” I paused. “These words have indeed caused me great pain.” I glanced at the script in my hand. “I want to say I’m sorry to Ryan.” The reporters in the audience began to whisper. “She’s really apologizing?” “Looks like it really was her fault…” The smile on Ryan’s face was now undisguised. Liam also relaxed, leaning back in his chair. “On our wedding day, I did drink too much.” I continued, “My memory might have been skewed…” “So…” I took a deep breath. “So today, I want to clarify the truth in front of everyone.” Liam’s expression changed. I put down the script in my hand. “But before that, I want to ask Ryan a question.” The ballroom was eerily quiet. Ryan’s smile froze. “Stella…” Liam stood up. I ignored him, walking off the stage, step by step toward Ryan. I stopped in front of them. Looking into their eyes. “Ryan.” “In court, you tore open your shirt, and your chest was indeed female; I don’t deny that.” I paused. The entire room held its breath. “But…” I leaned close to them, lowering my voice. “What about your lower body?”

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On the bus home, I suddenly got a message from a Q&A app. “My younger daughter graduated college seven years ago and is still freeloading at home. Should I kick her out?” I tapped on the app, and the comments section exploded. The poster continued to complain. “My younger daughter is 28, has no job, is lazy and stupid. She drives me crazy every single day. How can I force her to leave?” “My older daughter, Sarah, is so successful. When I had my stroke, she got me the best doctors. My younger daughter is useless! I birthed them both, how can they be so different?!” “Sarah’s family is coming home for the holidays, and there’s no room. I’ve already packed my younger daughter’s bags. I hope she gets the hint.” I sighed silently to myself. Good thing my mom, who had a stroke, isn’t like that. Good thing I can make money from home, so I’m not freeloading. The bus announcement sounded, and I got off, carrying my bags. As soon as I got home, I saw suitcases neatly stacked by the entrance. And Sarah’s family sitting on the couch.

The suitcases by the door looked familiar, but I didn’t think much of it. “Sarah, you’re back.” I hadn’t expected Sarah’s family to return so early. After greeting them, I headed toward my room. But Sarah suddenly spoke. “What are you doing?” Her voice was tense, and I stopped. “Just tidying up my room. Usually, when you guys visit, I sleep on the balcony, and you take the bedroom, right?” We only had two bedrooms. Mom and Dad always had one, and Sarah had the other. I always had to make a small bed on the balcony. It wasn’t until Sarah got married and moved out that I temporarily got to use the bedroom. But whenever Sarah came back, I still had to sleep on the balcony. “Chloe, no… no need.” Sarah refused, a hint of guilt in her voice. I assumed Mom had already prepared the room, so I didn’t insist. Turning around, I handed the toy I’d bought to my nephew. “Leo, look, Aunt Chloe bought you a toy!” But the next second, five-year-old Leo threw the toy on the floor. “No! Aunt Chloe is a freeloader, a parasite! I don’t want anything you buy!” My hand froze in mid-air. Instantly, the air in the living room froze. After a few seconds, Sarah chuckled lightly. “Chloe, kids say the darndest things, don’t take it to heart.” Seeing my expression still stiff, Sarah pretended to be angry and lightly slapped Leo’s bottom. “Leo, apologize to Aunt Chloe right now.” Leo immediately burst into tears. Mom, who always doted on her grandson, immediately looked displeased. “Apologize for what? Leo’s not wrong. Your sister just sits at home doing nothing all day, what else would you call it but freeloading?!” My heart was pierced, and I instinctively replied. “Mom, when have I ever freeloaded? I told you, I make money online from editing!” Mom, comforting Leo, grumbled at me. “You call that a job?! I’ve never seen you contribute a single penny to the household, and I still have to support you with my pension. What else would you call it but freeloading?!” Mom’s monthly rehab costs were around $8,000, our living expenses were $1,500, plus other costs, totaling almost $10,000 a month. I took on jobs day and night, but the money I earned each month was barely enough to cover expenses. There was never any extra to give her. It wasn’t until last month, when Mom fully recovered, that I finally had a little savings. A wave of injustice washed over me. “Mom, your pension is $2,000. You give Sarah $1,200 a month and me $300. Do you really think our mother-daughter living expenses are covered by just $300?” Hearing this, Mom impatiently cut me off. “Sarah has a tough life in the city, what’s wrong with me helping her out financially? If you’re so capable, go get a job in the city too.” “And you’re complaining about $300? I think you’re just after my pension!” I never imagined that seven years of meticulous care would, in Mom’s eyes, become a calculated move. My heart turned cold inch by inch, watching her in disbelief. “Mom, have you forgotten? I was working in New York, and I was about to get a promotion and a raise. You had a stroke and pleaded with me to come back.” “I hired caregivers for you, but you drove three of them away, insisting I had to come back…” Mom coldly interrupted me. “Enough, Chloe. I was just sick and needed you to take care of me for a bit. Do you really need to keep bringing it up?!” That “bit” Mom mentioned? It was the most precious seven years of my life. A bitter ache spread through my heart. “Besides, isn’t it normal for children to care for their parents? Why else would I have raised you?!” My eyes welled up, looking at her, unwilling to give in. “If that’s the case, why didn’t you let Sarah come back to care for you then? Why did you even make me keep it a secret from her?” When Mom had her stroke, she was partially paralyzed and hospitalized for six full months. Every morning, I’d help Mom with her daily routine – washing, eating, sponge baths, changing clothes, medication, turning her over, and physical therapy… In the scorching summer, to prevent bedsores, I’d get up seven or eight times every night to turn her. Finally, I collapsed from exhaustion and had to call Sarah, only to be met with Mom’s grumbling. “Sarah is busy with work, why are you bothering her? You’re so inconsiderate!” … Now, faced with my distress, Mom’s eyes held only disdain. “How dare you compare yourself to Sarah? Why don’t you compare who’s more successful?” “Besides, when Sarah found out, didn’t she immediately arrange for me to go to the best rehab hospital and have specialists consult on my case? How else could I have recovered so well?” “With your clumsy hands, who knows how long I would have been stuck in bed?!” As soon as she finished speaking, Sarah’s eyes darted away, a flicker of guilt crossing her face.

My heart gradually cooled, and I just stared intently at Sarah. “Was it you who arranged it, Sarah?” I had booked that specialist at the rehab hospital three months in advance. I even paid an extra $300 to a fixer to rush the appointment. But I never told Mom any of this. “Sarah, Mom’s monthly $8,000 rehab fees, you didn’t pay those either, did you?” I stared at Sarah. “If not Sarah, then who? You?” Before she could answer, Mom interrupted again. Sarah managed a stiff smile. “Chloe, these are… minor things, not worth… mentioning.” Hearing this, Mom again looked at me with displeasure. “Chloe, can’t you learn from your sister? You only took care of me for a few years, put in some effort, and you keep bringing it up all the time.” “Your sister contributed both money and effort, and she doesn’t complain at all. If I’d known you were so useless, I wouldn’t have bothered giving birth to you!” Finally, my last shred of reason was shattered. I rushed back to my room, intending to retrieve all the medical bills and payment records from the past seven years to prove my capabilities. But the moment I pushed open the door, I froze. All my things were gone from the room. I stood stunned for two seconds, then turned to Mom’s room. My things weren’t there either. I slowly backed out, my gaze falling on the suitcases by the entrance. Suddenly, I remembered the post I’d seen on the bus. Those weren’t Sarah’s bags for coming home. They were Mom’s signal to kick me out. I felt like plunging into an ice pit, unable to snap out of it for a long time. Until Mom’s calm voice rang out. “Sarah’s family is back, there’s no room. You should move out for now.” “It’s good, you need to learn to be independent. I don’t want to always have a daughter freeloading.” Seeing I still hadn’t reacted, Sarah spoke again. “Chloe, David and I are planning to start a business back home. You’ve taken care of Mom for so long, you can trust us to take over now.” “Don’t worry, we’re still family. You have to come home for Christmas dinner, okay?” Hearing this, Mom disagreed. “Forget it, Chloe. This year, I don’t want relatives gossiping about me because of you again.” “Just let us have a peaceful holiday as a family.” So they were the family, and I was just an outsider. So Mom always thought I was an embarrassment. I gave a mocking laugh, utterly heartbroken. “Fine, I’ll go.” Hearing this, both of them visibly relaxed. “But from now on, Mom and I have nothing to do with each other.” Sarah froze, her voice trembling. “Chloe, what… what do you mean?” I twitched my lips. “Since Mom thinks having me as a daughter is such an embarrassment, then let’s just pretend she never gave birth to me.” As soon as I finished speaking, Mom shot up from the couch. “Chloe, you… you… what do you mean? Are you disowning me?!” I looked at her coldly. “Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?” Mom was furious. “Good! I wish I never had a daughter like you!” “From this day forward, I have nothing to do with you ever again!” I said nothing, just dragged my suitcase out the door. Downstairs, Sarah ran after me, breathless.

“Chloe, don’t blame Mom. She just wanted to push you a little. How could you really cut ties with her?” “You’re old enough now, you should find a job. Staying home all the time isn’t right.” Listening to Sarah’s seemingly caring words, I gave a cold laugh. “Sarah, when I quit my job to care for Mom, didn’t you praise me for being so devoted?” “After Mom was out of danger, I suggested hiring a caregiver and splitting the costs between us sisters. Didn’t you say a hired caregiver wouldn’t be as devoted as her own daughter? Didn’t you tell me not to work and to keep taking care of Mom?” Sarah’s face stiffened, her lips trembling for a long time, unable to utter a single word. “Seven years, a full seven years. When Mom was bedridden and unable to care for herself, did you ever feed her a single meal, or empty her bedpan even once?” “You graduated from a prestigious university, worked for an international company, earning hundreds of thousands, but you wouldn’t even pay Mom’s monthly $4,000 rehab fees. What right do you have to accuse me?” Sarah’s face flushed crimson. “I… I have… my own family, you know.” I gave a cold laugh. “So, you can righteously abandon your sick mother, yet claim all the credit for yourself?” Sarah’s face turned beet red. I continued. “Sarah, more than Mom’s blatant favoritism, I despise your hypocrisy!” “But since you want to play the devoted daughter, then play it well. Don’t let anyone see through your hypocritical facade!” With that, I dragged my suitcase away. The moment I turned, tears I had suppressed for so long spilled out. The biting wind felt like knives against my skin, but it couldn’t compare to the pain in my heart. Just then, my phone buzzed. That post from earlier had been updated. Every word oozed with the poster’s happiness. “Alright, I’ve kicked my younger daughter out. This year, we can finally have a joyful holiday!” I tapped on the poster’s profile. The background image was a picture of my nephew’s back. I silently wiped away my tears and took my suitcase to a nearby convenience store. I picked up a cup of instant noodles and a hot dog. After checking out, I quietly calculated my account balance. After buying holiday essentials, I only had $3,000 left. I needed to find a job and start before the holidays, otherwise, in another week, all companies would be on break. I pulled out my phone and called Lily, my best friend. “Lily, you said your company was looking for an editor, could I try?” “Chloe, you finally came to your senses?! You wouldn’t believe how impressed my boss was with your previous edits.” “But, it’s almost the holidays, why are you suddenly looking for a job? Aren’t you always worried about your mom?” Lily asked hesitantly. A faint ache throbbed in my heart. I swallowed all my emotions and slowly spoke. “My mom kicked me out.” After a few seconds, Lily’s indignant voice came from the other end. “What?! Chloe, how could your mom do that to you?!” I managed a bitter smile. “She said I was freeloading at home all day with no job, and she couldn’t hold her head up in front of others. Plus, Sarah’s family was coming home for the holidays, and there was no room, so she kicked me out.” “‘Freeloading’? You edit videos day and night, earning two or three thousand a month, and she calls that freeloading? What if Sarah’s successful? From the moment Mom got sick until now, she hasn’t contributed a single penny or a single bit of effort!” “If it weren’t for you, paying and putting in all the work to care for her, how could Mom’s stroke recovery have been so good?!” Lily grew angrier as she spoke. “Chloe, why didn’t you explain? You did all the work, how did the credit go to Sarah?! Your mom is too biased!” I took a deep breath, calming the indignation in my heart. “It’s no use. She wouldn’t believe me.” “Forget it, we have nothing to do with each other anyway. Now I can pursue my own life without any strings attached.” There was a moment of silence on the other end, then a sigh. “You’re such a fool. So, when are you coming to New York?” I thought for a few seconds. “Give me a day to get some good sleep. I’ll be in New York the day after tomorrow.” After chatting with Lily for a bit, I hung up. Immediately after, I booked a plane ticket. Just then, messages popped up in the family group chat. Mom had posted a picture of herself eating seafood. “My older daughter is so good, she takes me out for lavish meals as soon as she’s back.” Immediately, relatives in the group chat chimed in. “Sarah is so successful, well-educated, and has a great job! She’s truly the pride of our family!” “Exactly, Eleanor, you’re so lucky! To have such a wonderful daughter!” “I always tell my granddaughter to learn from Sarah, not Chloe…” The relative’s words trailed off. I knew that because my education wasn’t impressive and I didn’t have a “proper” job, relatives had always looked down on me. “That’s right, don’t learn from Chloe, freeloading at home at her age.” “And always going on about not getting married or having kids, she should look at herself, what right she has to be so picky. She’s an embarrassment to me, but thankfully, from now on, I only have Sarah as a daughter! I won’t have to feel ashamed because of her anymore!” Mom finished the relative’s unspoken words. Her tone was full of disdain. I said nothing, just quietly left the group chat.

I ate my instant noodles completely, not even leaving a drop of broth. After eating, I found a motel, checked into a room, and took a hot shower. Before getting into bed, I turned off all the alarms on my phone. 6:30 AM: Prep breakfast for Mom; 7:00 AM: Give Mom her medicine; 8:00 AM: Take Mom to physical therapy; 10:00 AM: Cook lunch; … 8:00 PM: Massage Mom; 10:00 PM: Help Mom with her nighttime routine… For seven years, my life was filled with alarm bells. Now, I could finally get some proper sleep. After doing all this, I turned off my phone, snuggled under the covers, and comfortably drifted off to sleep. I woke up a full day and night later. I packed my luggage and headed to the airport. While waiting for my flight at the airport, I idly scrolled through my SnapChat feed. I happened to see Sarah’s latest post. “Today, I personally cooked all of Mom’s favorite dishes.” The dining table was incredibly lavish: pot roast, creamy mashed potatoes, fried chicken, bacon, a rich lasagna… Mom’s bowl was piled high with rich, high-fat, high-sodium foods. My brow furrowed. After Mom’s stroke, the doctor specifically warned her to eat less high-fat, high-sodium foods to prevent another stroke. I instinctively left a comment, “Seniors should eat lighter.” Three seconds later, Sarah replied with a crying emoji. Immediately after, Mom’s voice message came through. I tapped it open, and a harsh, shrill voice filled my ears. “Chloe, who told you to criticize your sister?! Are you jealous of me living well, is that it?!” “When I was with you, I ate bland food every day. Sarah came back and felt sorry for me, giving me good nutrition. What’s wrong with that?” “You’re such a killjoy! Besides, we’ve cut ties, why are you still bothering with me?!” I took a deep breath, about to type an explanation. But the next second, a red exclamation mark appeared after my message. It was glaring. Mom had blocked me. I scoffed at my own foolishness. Just then, the boarding announcement sounded. I grabbed my bag, passed through security, and from that moment on, I had no connection to that city anymore. A few hours later, I arrived in New York. Lily came to pick me up and took me straight to the company. After the interview, I signed the contract on the spot. I immediately breathed a sigh of relief. “Chloe, you can stay at my place first. Once your probation period is over, you can move out.” After leaving the company, Lily spoke directly. I was about to politely decline, but she pulled me into her car. “It’s fine, Chloe. I also started out struggling in the big city.” With that one sentence, I knew she understood my predicament. I no longer hesitated, but that day, I sent her a $1,500 e-red envelope via PayPal. After that, I completely said goodbye to my past, throwing myself into work, even applying for overtime during the holidays. Soon, the holiday break began, and I was the only one left in the office. My SnapChat feed was filled with photos of family reunions. Only I went to and from work, and ate, alone every day. Though it was a bit lonely, my heart was incredibly peaceful. Eight days later, the company reopened. Lily often took me out to dinner with her friends, and my life gradually became more lively. Just as I thought my life would continue this way, the day after Valentine’s Day, I received a call from Sarah. Her voice on the other end was frantic. “Chloe, it’s terrible! Mom had another stroke and is in critical condition, hurry back!”

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The day before my final senior exams, a girl showed up at my house claiming she was my parents’ biological daughter. I knew she had deliberately chosen the day before the exams to show up, hoping the shock would make me fail. Because she was reincarnated, and I had transmigrated into this book. 1 The day before my final exams, my parents’ biological daughter knocked on our door. She said we had been switched at birth in the hospital and asked for a DNA test. My mom immediately hugged her and burst into tears. “Sweetheart, we don’t need a DNA test. A mother just knows. You are definitely my daughter.” The reason was simple: this “true daughter” looked exactly like my mom did in her youth. The true daughter seemed a little stunned. She looked at me and said, “Maybe we should still do it. Just in case I made a mistake.” “It’s not a mistake,” my mom wept. “You are my daughter.” But at the true daughter’s strong insistence, they still had someone come over to collect samples for a rapid DNA test. After the technician collected their three swabs and was about to leave, the true daughter spoke up at the perfect moment. “Harper, you should take one too.” The atmosphere instantly grew awkward. I just smiled and said, “No need. You guys go ahead.” She was persistent. “You really should. Just in case I’m the one who made a mistake, it would give everyone peace of mind.” My dad said flatly, “It’s fine. Harper already did a DNA test with us.” I flashed the true daughter a sweet smile. This reincarnated true daughter had no idea that she wasn’t the only one who knew the plot. I knew it too. Because I was a transmigrator, and I actually knew more of the story than she did. I knew long ago that she would show up at the Sterling family’s doorstep the day before the finals. She believed her past life was miserable because the original owner of my body had stolen her rightful place. So, she wanted revenge. She deliberately chose to drop this bomb the day before the exams to catch Harper off guard and ruin her academic future. In the original novel, the original Harper was the state’s Valedictorian. But after the true daughter’s sudden appearance, Harper’s mental state collapsed, and she bombed the exams. So, before the true daughter even knocked on our door, I had already found an excuse to tell my parents that I suspected I wasn’t their biological child. At my request, we did a DNA test. The results were obvious: I was not a Sterling. I immediately offered to move out, but my parents refused. After all, they had raised me for eighteen years. Even without blood ties, the love was still there. To ease the true daughter’s awkwardness, my mom proactively brought up changing her name. And so, even before her DNA results were officially printed, Olivia Hayes became Olivia Sterling. 2 After returning to the living room, Olivia said, “Mr. and Mrs. Sterling, until the DNA results are officially out, I should probably go back to the Hayes family.” My adoptive mother couldn’t bear to let her go. She gently started asking about the Hayes family’s situation. When Olivia arrived today, she was wearing a faded, washed-out t-shirt. I knew my adoptive mother wasn’t saying it out loud, but she already assumed Olivia had a terrible life with the Hayes family and wanted her to stay immediately. Olivia looked hesitant. “Dad is a doctor, and Mom is a teacher. Even though they don’t make much money, squeezing into our tiny house together is still really happy.” I mentally highlighted the key words in Olivia’s speech: don’t make much money and tiny house. My adoptive mother’s face changed instantly. Her eyes filled with heartache. “Olivia, please don’t go back. Your final exams are tomorrow. Tossing and turning with all this traveling… I’m worried it will affect your performance.” My adoptive father thought for a moment before finally speaking up. “Give me the Hayes family’s contact info. I’ll communicate with them.” He made the call from his study, so none of us knew exactly what he said. But not long after, my biological parents appeared at the entrance of the Sterling mansion. The two sets of parents stayed in the living room to talk, while Olivia and I were sent back to our rooms. Because Olivia arrived so suddenly, my adoptive mother could only put her in the guest room for now. Once back in my room, I quickly organized my luggage and the supplies I needed for tomorrow’s exams. There really wasn’t much to pack. Since the day I realized I had transmigrated into a book, I had been preparing for this. I knew Olivia would show up eventually, and my time at the Sterlings was limited. It was better to be packed and ready than to be kicked out. I don’t know what they discussed downstairs, but my biological parents actually agreed to let me stay at the Sterlings’ house until my exams were over, after which we would do our own DNA test. When they were leaving, I walked them out. My biological mom took my hand, her voice incredibly gentle. “Can I call you Harper?” I nodded. “Of course.” She smiled warmly. “Harper, right now, nothing is more important than your exams. Whether we cry or laugh about this, let’s save it all for after you’re done testing, okay?” She spoke so softly, offering me endless comfort. I knew she was terrified that this sudden upheaval would ruin my state of mind. But how could it? In my past life, just like the original Harper, I was also my state’s Valedictorian. Olivia, on the other hand? In the original novel, after she reincarnated, she was so obsessed with scheming against Harper that she barely touched her textbooks. She ended up failing to even get into a community college. She still didn’t realize that in the original novel, both she and Harper were nothing more than cannon fodder meant to make the female lead look good. 3 Exam day arrived. Olivia and I were assigned to different testing centers. In the original book, Olivia played the insecure victim card, manipulating Mr. and Mrs. Sterling into driving her to the exam center together. Meanwhile, the original Harper—reeling from the double blow of finding out she wasn’t their real daughter and being suddenly neglected by the parents who raised her—performed disastrously on her first subject. Taking these exams is like a domino effect; if you mess up the start, your mental state shatters, ruining everything that follows. To top it off, later in the week, Olivia secretly tampered with Harper’s food, giving her severe food poisoning and forcing her to take the rest of her exams while violently ill. As a result, the Harper who was supposed to be Valedictorian ended up barely qualifying for a low-tier community college. Meanwhile, the original female lead—who had always been forever second place—effortlessly claimed the Valedictorian title. And Olivia? Even worse. Before her reincarnation, she had been out of school for years. She had forgotten everything and lacked the discipline to study. She couldn’t even get into a community college, so Mr. Sterling eventually paid an exorbitant fee to ship her off to an overseas diploma mill. Knowing Olivia was going to pull a stunt, I spoke up first at breakfast. I proactively suggested my adoptive parents drive her to the testing center. “I already scoped out my route yesterday. I know exactly how to get there, I can just take an Uber.” Oh, you want to play the innocent white lotus? Two can play that game. Hearing this, my adoptive mother looked instantly heartbroken for me. Olivia was caught completely off guard. She just sat there, mouth slightly open, desperately trying to maintain her fake, sweet smile. It was hilarious. My adoptive father frowned. “Harper, what nonsense are you talking about? Your mother will drive Olivia, and I will drive you.” In the original book, the Sterlings were actually always very good to Harper. Even after she moved back to the Hayes family, they frequently visited her. I flashed a harmless smile. “Okay!” The smile on Olivia’s face slowly vanished. 4 After the exams finished, the official DNA results came back. Unsurprisingly, Olivia was the Sterlings’ true daughter. The moment she saw the paperwork, Olivia shot me a provocative glare before throwing herself into Mrs. Sterling’s arms, sobbing loudly. Mr. Sterling stood to the side, silently lighting a cigarette. I walked up to him. “Dad, can we talk?” He instinctively put out the cigarette. He glanced at Mrs. Sterling and Olivia, who were crying their eyes out, and nodded. “Let’s go to the study.” I followed him in. The soundproofing in the Sterling house was top-tier. The moment the study door clicked shut, the crying vanished completely. I got straight to the point. “Dad, now that the results are out, I’m planning to move back to the Hayes house today.” He froze. “Harper, have you thought this through? Our family isn’t short on money. We can easily afford to raise both of our daughters.” In the original book, when Harper moved out, he tried to make her stay just like this. They say the bond of raising a child is stronger than blood. Eighteen years of living together isn’t something a piece of paper can just sever. I smiled gently. “Dad, from the moment I found out I wasn’t your biological daughter, I already made my decision.” “If I stay, Olivia will definitely feel uncomfortable. There will inevitably be friction between us. No matter who you and Mom side with, the other will feel wronged.” In this regard, I actually sympathized with Olivia. Having eighteen years of wealth and privilege taken from you? It’s completely normal for her to be resentful. But in this situation, both she and Harper were innocent victims of a hospital error. Harper’s biological parents never mistreated Olivia. Olivia’s miserable past life was entirely her own doing. She shouldn’t have pinned all that hatred on Harper. I continued, “Besides, my biological parents only have one daughter. If I stay here, what about them?” This was the responsibility the original Harper owed them. Since I had taken over her body, I had to fulfill that duty. Mr. Sterling fell silent for a long time before sighing. “Harper, you’ve grown up. You’re thinking about things much more thoroughly than before.” I replied softly, “People have to grow up eventually.” Looking guilty, he pulled a property deed out of his desk drawer. “I was originally going to give this to you as a gift when you started college. Take it with you to the Hayes house.” I shook my head and didn’t take it. “Dad, I’ll just pack the clothes you bought me and my personal items. I don’t need anything else.” In the original book, Olivia threw a massive fit at the Hayes house specifically because of this property. “Listen to me.” He forcefully pressed the deed into my hands. “I raised you for eighteen years. You are my daughter. Even if you go to the Hayes family, that will never change.” But in the end, I still didn’t accept it. I knew that if I took this multi-million dollar property, I wouldn’t be able to righteously put Olivia in her place the next time she tried to start drama. I understood the principle of not biting the hand that feeds you.

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I am the true heiress who was intentionally switched at birth. When my biological parents finally found me… I had already joined the neighborhood senior citizens’ Zumba squad. They looked at my bright, floral-embroidered velour tracksuit. And their faces twisted in absolute disgust. 1 “You’re Chloe? These clothes…” Seeing the bedazzled floral tracksuit I was wearing, the elegantly dressed woman faltered. Ignoring the fleeting look of disgust in her eyes, I dropped the twenty-pound bag of rice and the gallon jug of cooking oil from my shoulder, then pulled a giant Stanley tumbler out of my tote bag. After taking a slow sip of my iced tea, I looked at the group standing in front of me and asked, “So, you’re my biological parents?” Richard frowned but nodded. “Yes. We are your biological parents.” “And her?” I pointed at the frail, delicate-looking girl standing behind them. The girl’s eyes instantly welled up with tears. The two young men standing beside her—one older, one younger—instinctively stepped forward to shield her. “Don’t you dare bully Serena!” The younger one couldn’t hold back and yelled what was on his mind. I stared at the girl’s face, which shared a fifty-to-sixty percent resemblance to mine. Then I looked at the Sterling family’s protective attitude toward her. Instantly, I found this whole family incredibly amusing. I leaned back against my dilapidated sofa, watching them with the detached amusement of someone watching a soap opera. Perhaps realizing his brother’s outburst was inappropriate, the older guy stepped up to explain: “We know you’ve suffered a lot all these years, but that was all that woman’s fault. Serena is completely innocent…” Before he could finish his sentence, the door to my cramped apartment was pushed wide open. A massive group of aunties and grannies—all wearing the exact same floral velour tracksuit as me—swarmed inside. They instantly surrounded my biological parents, talking over each other to defend me: “So you’re our little Chloe’s real parents!” “What took you so long? Do you have any idea what Chloe has been through all these years?” “Let me tell you, that adopted mother of hers is a monster! You know those heavy wooden baseball bats? That woman would pick one up and beat her without a second thought!” “Exactly! Starving her was an everyday thing, but in the dead of winter, she purposely shredded Chloe’s winter coat so the poor girl had to walk to school in a ripped T-shirt. And during the state scholarship exams, she locked Chloe in her room so she couldn’t go!” “I always said there was no way a real mother could be that evil. Turns out, she really wasn’t!” “You need to have the cops arrest that woman! And you better investigate that fake daughter of yours, too. She probably knew her mom switched the babies on purpose…” “Wait, who’s crying?” Auntie Martha, who was leading the pack, suddenly paused. The group of aunties looked around to find the source of the sobbing, their eyes finally landing on the girl in the pristine white dress. “Sister, I’m… I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to steal your life, I…” The girl lowered her head, crying so hard her shoulders shook. “Is this her?” Auntie Martha’s eyes widened, putting a finger to her lips in a hushed motion. I nodded. “Yep. That’s Brenda Miller’s biological daughter, Serena Sterling.” 2 “Chloe, Brenda Miller is Brenda Miller. The things she did have absolutely nothing to do with Serena.” My biological older brother, Grayson Sterling, spoke up. The rest of the Sterling family nodded, completely agreeing with him. But these were women who survived the cutthroat gossip circles of the neighborhood. With a single exchanged glance, the aunties saw right through the dynamics. Before the Sterlings could say another word, Auntie Betty—a woman who refused to even coddle her own grandsons—went on the offensive. “Oh, please, you can’t spin it like that!” “Whether the girl is innocent or not is one thing. But by standing there crying like a victim, what is Chloe supposed to do? Is she supposed to turn around and comfort her?” Auntie Betty marched over and rolled up my sleeves, revealing the jagged scars on the backs of my hands. “Look at this! Her own mother burned her with a red-hot clothing iron!” “Now look at this girl. Draped in designer brands, raised with soft skin and delicate hands.” “If you expect Chloe to apologize to her and comfort her, do you honestly think that’s fair?” Auntie Betty then turned her sights on Serena. “Listen, little girl. Maybe we can’t blame you for what your mother did, but do you have any idea what kind of hell Chloe lived through for the past sixteen years because of her? Have some decency! Stop crying and playing the victim. Don’t you realize you’re just twisting the knife in Chloe’s heart?” With that, Auntie Betty wiped a tear with her sleeve and pulled me into a tight hug. “You poor, sweet child. You always keep everything bottled up. Before, you had no one to love you, but now your real parents are here! Surely they won’t play favorites and side with an outsider over you, right? These are your real parents! If you have grievances, you speak up!” “Chloe’s parents, am I right?” The entire squad of aunties turned their piercing gazes onto the Sterling parents. Richard and Catherine Sterling smiled awkwardly. “Yes, of course. If you feel wronged, tell Mom and Dad.” Choked by Auntie Betty’s words, Serena couldn’t say a thing. All she could do was stare at the Sterlings with red, watery eyes, biting her lip. 3 Before I got into the Sterlings’ luxury SUV, Auntie Betty shoved a shopping bag into my arms, claiming it was the dance squad’s new uniform. But inside was a brand-new, trendy athletic outfit. I knew the aunties were worried I wouldn’t have decent clothes for my new school, so they all chipped in to buy this for me. I quietly thanked them, handed over the discounted eggs I had fought for at the supermarket, and securely locked my new bag of rice and cooking oil in the cabinet. Standing nearby, Grayson reminded me that there was no need to lock things up; I would never be coming back to this dump. I tilted my head, glancing at the Sterling parents and the younger brother huddled behind Grayson, whispering comforting words to Serena. I just smiled at him and didn’t say a word. Grayson looked back, then couldn’t help but say: “Chloe, Serena didn’t mean it. She really feels guilty toward you. She’s cried about it at home so many times…” “Ah, yes. Sure, sure.” I brushed him off, grabbed the new clothes the aunties gave me, slung my backpack over my shoulder, and slid straight into the car. In the car, I looked at my phone while the Sterlings looked at me. Auntie Martha sent me $500 on Venmo: [This is a little something from the aunties. Do not refuse it!] Auntie Betty messaged the group chat: [Chloe, honey, if you don’t feel comfortable over there, you just come right back home.] The other aunties chimed in with their agreement. Everyone in our neighborhood was working-class. Even though the aunties were retired, they lived on meager pensions of less than a thousand dollars a month. Women like Auntie Betty still worked at the farmer’s market just to make ends meet. Every dollar they spent on me over the years was saved by literally taking food out of their own mouths. Sending me such a huge amount of money now meant they had noticed my biological parents’ blatant favoritism and were terrified I would suffer in the Sterling house. “Chloe, honey… your outfit.” Catherine Sterling frowned at my bedazzled tracksuit, finally unable to hold her tongue. “From now on, you are a daughter of the Sterling family. Your attire and manners need to be appropriate.” “And at your age, you should be making friends with people your own age. Broaden your horizons, expand your social circles, instead of hanging around those… elderly women every day.” “In this regard, you can learn a lot from Serena. It’ll also help the two of you bond as sisters.” Catherine spoke with utmost sincerity, and Serena, of course, played along perfectly. She reached out to grab my hand, her attitude so artificially affectionate it gave me goosebumps. “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll make sure to teach my sister everything.” “Sister, when we get home, I’ll pick out a few nice outfits for you from my closet. As for what you’re wearing, let’s just have the housekeeper throw it away.” “Yeah,” Mason, sitting next to Serena, chimed in. “I don’t even know what that garbage is on your back. It’s hideous. If you dress like that from now on, don’t tell anyone you’re a Sterling. It’s humiliating.” I paused, stopped typing a reply to my beloved aunties, and looked at the group with a bright smile. “But do you know why I’m always wearing these grandma tracksuits?” 4 “Because her mother—Brenda Miller—shredded all my clothes so I couldn’t go to school. And that wasn’t all. When the neighbors couldn’t stand watching me freeze and gave me their old hand-me-downs, she burned and cut those up, too.” “Later, those aunties you look down on came up with a plan. They recruited me into their dance crew as a helper. They told Brenda these tracksuits were the team’s official property. If she destroyed them, she’d have to pay the crew back in cash. Only then was I able to wear these tracksuits and leave the house like a normal person.” “Oh, right. Do you know why your mother tried to stop me from going to school?” I stared dead into Serena’s eyes. “It’s because during the middle school math decathlon, she realized you and I were testing at the same regional center. She suddenly realized that if I kept succeeding in school, the truth might be exposed.” “And speaking of… Auntie Martha and the others were too polite to say it earlier. Do you know what Brenda Miller did on the day of my final high school scholarship exams?” “She locked me in a room and let a creepy old drifter inside. She said she sold me to him for three hundred bucks, telling him he could take my virginity…” “Stop it!” Catherine’s face went deathly pale. She clutched her chest, looking as if she couldn’t bear to hear another word. The rest of the Sterlings looked sick to their stomachs, completely at a loss for words. “Heh.” I chuckled softly, as if oblivious to their expressions. “So you see, you really should be thanking my aunties. If they hadn’t smashed the door down, dragged me out of there, and personally driven me to the testing center, I would either be dead right now, or chained in a drifter’s basement, probably already a mother of three.” The entire car went dead silent. I curled my lips into a smile, leaned back against the leather seat, and closed my eyes to rest. Perhaps my words were a little too hardcore. As soon as we arrived at the Sterling estate, my biological parents used “urgent work” as an excuse and fled the scene. Unable to withstand my gaze, Serena and Mason quickly scurried away, too. Leaving only my eldest brother, Grayson, to take me to my prepared room—a converted guest bedroom on the first floor. I glanced up the stairs where Serena and Mason had vanished, and simply smiled at Grayson. Grayson instantly looked embarrassed. He quickly explained, “This is just temporary. I’ll have the empty suite on the second floor renovated for you, and then you can move upstairs.” Seeing that I just kept smiling without a word, his expression darkened. “Chloe, we know you suffered a lot, but all of that is in the past. Mom, Dad, and I will make it up to you. Why must you aggressively cling to the past and embarrass everyone like this?” “Embarrass?” I asked as I slowly paced around the room. “Did you not see Mom and Dad’s faces just now?” he said, his tone full of reprimand. “And not just them, but Serena. How do you expect her to live in this house after hearing the horrifying things you said?” I spotted a heavy, cylindrical wooden sculpture on the desk. My eyes lit up. I grabbed it and swung it hard right into Grayson’s back. Hit out of nowhere, Grayson stumbled forward, clutching his back and glaring at me in fury. “Are you insane?!” I weighed the wooden baton in my hand and smiled. “Does it hurt?” “What do you think?!” Grayson looked at me like I was a psychopath. “Chloe Miller, apologize right now!” “But I hit you seconds ago, so it’s already in the past. Besides, this strike is barely a tickle compared to what I’ve endured. Why must you aggressively cling to the past and embarrass me, brother?” I repeated his exact tone and words back to him. Grayson choked on his rage. I just waved my hand at him and shut the door in his face. “Bye, brother.”

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