Category: English

My brother is a total C-lister. To recycle their dead weight, his agency threw him into a reality idol survival show. Round two required the trainees to perform an original song. The trust-fund kid brought in a platinum-selling producer. The nepo baby dragged in his mega-star older brother. My brother brought me: an absolutely average music teacher. After the first round aired, the song we produced went insanely viral across the internet: “This is a masterpiece! His sister absolutely slayed this!” “What kind of school does this music teacher work at?! She’s a genius!” My brother silently raised his hand: “B… Berklee.” 1 I was right in the middle of grading my students’ compositions when my brother called. My top student was prepping for a new single release, and after eight revisions, he still wasn’t satisfied with the demo. I was frantically marking up the sheet music with a red pen, snapping into the phone in total frustration: “I told you I’m slammed. I can’t fly back to the States right now. Find someone else.” I was fully prepared to hang up, but Leo’s desperate voice pleaded through the receiver: “Aria, you’re my only sister! Just help me this one time. I swear, if you do this, I’ll deflect all of Aunt Susan’s nosy marriage interrogations at Thanksgiving and Christmas this year.” Women know exactly how this goes. Once you hit a certain age, every distant relative suddenly becomes deeply invested in your marital and reproductive status. Since we still had our grandparents around, flying home for the holidays was mandatory. The mere thought of Aunt Susan’s machine-gun-style questioning made me instantly cave. I rubbed my temples and sighed: “Text me the time and location. I’ll clear my schedule.” I hung up just as I finished tweaking the demo. Chase, my student, was leaning against the desk. Having overheard the entire conversation, he flashed a bright, perfectly curated smile: “Aria, are you flying back to the States?” I packed up the sheet music and handed it to him: “Yeah, family emergency. I have to head back for a bit.” With that, I grabbed my bag and rushed out to book a flight. I was in such a hurry, I didn’t even catch his final question: “Can I come find you?” 2 A week later, I stood outside the massive studio training camp, dragging three heavy suitcases, nearly blinded by the aggressive flash of paparazzi cameras. Leo conveniently left out the fact that the show would be live-broadcasting our arrivals. So, while other mentors were stepping out of tinted Escalades draped in haute couture, I was standing on the curb in sweatpants, aggressively haggling with an Uber driver. “We agreed on fifty bucks from the airport! Not a penny more.” “Lady, look at this mob! Do you see this traffic? I’m gonna be stuck here all morning. I need a surge fee.” I dug into my wallet. I had rushed back from Europe so fast I hadn’t exchanged any cash, and my Venmo balance was sitting at exactly fifty bucks from a leftover pizza split. I prided myself on perfect budgeting, but today, I was officially screwed. A reporter standing nearby couldn’t bear to watch the tragedy unfold and handed the driver a twenty-dollar bill to cover the difference. I swore up and down I’d pay him back the second I got change, but he still blasted my face all over the livestream’s front page. #LeosSisterIsBroke #LeoBroughtHisSisterToSaveTheFamilyFarm #TraineeLeoEliminatedByRoundTwo What can I say? Rumors end with the wise, but this was a PR disaster. 3 After finally sorting out the driver, I followed the production assistants down the red carpet toward the training facility. The competition had split eighty contestants into eight groups of ten. Leo was placed in Group 3, a team entirely composed of indie trainees with zero corporate backing and zero budget for famous mentors. No wonder the kid was begging for his life. The mentors took turns introducing themselves on the red carpet. First up was the mega-star brother Leo warned me about. He debuted ten years ago and was the absolute reigning pop idol of his generation: “Hey everyone, I’m Jaxon. I’m the mentor for Tyler’s team, and I specialize in rap and dance.” The fans behind the barricades completely lost their minds. The host eagerly hyped him up: “Jaxon is being too humble! Everyone knows that after a decade in the industry, his songwriting is just as legendary as his dancing.” Jaxon waved his hands modestly: “When it comes to songwriting, we have a literal platinum-selling producer right here. I wouldn’t dare claim to be a legend.” Right on cue, the woman standing next to me in a custom Dior dress stepped up to the mic: “Hi everyone, I’m Vivian. I’m a music producer, the mentor for Cole’s team, and I specialize in composition and lyricism.” She covered her mouth with a soft, elegant laugh, gently waving to her screaming fans. I don’t know if it was just my intuition, but I could swear Vivian was glaring at me with pure hostility. Before I could overthink it, the microphone was shoved into my hands: “Hi everyone, I’m Aria. I’m the mentor for Leo’s team. I’m a music teacher, mostly working in music education, and I also specialize in composition.” The moment the words left my mouth, the atmosphere in the crowd turned incredibly toxic: [Is this Aria chick trying to steal Vivian’s brand?] [Where did they find a random music teacher? Can she even read sheet music?] [Leo and his sister are so desperate for screen time.] [Ugh, my favorite trainee is stuck on Leo’s team! Is it too late for him to switch?!] The crowd was buzzing with insults. The host quickly tried to do damage control: “What a coincidence! Miss Aria is also a composer. Do you have any published works we might know?” I knew the host was trying to throw me a lifeline so I could win over the fans. Worried they wouldn’t recognize my European releases, I picked a domestic track I had recently produced. “Give Me Power.” The second I dropped the title, the crowd erupted into outright mockery: [What the hell is that? Never heard of it.] [I just searched Spotify. It literally doesn’t exist.] [Is this girl delusional? Does she count unreleased garage band tracks as ‘published’?] The host clearly thought the exact same thing. He let out a painfully awkward laugh, said, “Miss Aria is so funny!” and practically threw the mic to the next person before I could cause any more live-television disasters. It wasn’t until much later that I realized the sports committee had localized the title. To make it catchier for the domestic market, they completely changed the name. When fans eventually looked up the official songwriting credits for the Olympic Theme Song and saw the name “Aria” sitting in the composer slot, they completely lost their minds. [I am the clown. The clown is me.] [The Olympic Anthem Give Me Strength was originally titled Give Me Power!!] 4 After introductions, the mentors dispersed to claim their teams. Before I even reached my designated zone, Leo practically sprinted over, dragging me by the arm: “Guys, meet my sister! She’s an insanely talented songwriter…” “How talented? Like, ‘zero published songs’ talented?” Before Leo could even finish, a blonde trainee named Dylan cut in with pure venom. “Shut your mouth, Dylan. If you have a problem, go find another team,” Leo snapped. He absolutely refused to let anyone disrespect me. Dylan had an ego. Getting called out in front of the cameras was all it took. He immediately turned on his heel and marched straight over to Vivian’s team. The rules allowed up to 12 members per group, and she still had open slots. Seeing Dylan walk out, Leo shouted to the room: “Anyone else want to leave? Door’s right there! Go now before the other teams fill up!” That shout prompted three more guys to walk out. From the original ten boys we started with, we were down to six in under five minutes. The live stream comments were brutal: [Only six people left? That was fast.] [These poor kids have zero resources.] [Sister Uber-surge needs to quit. If she needs money, we’ll start a GoFundMe.] They left so fast I couldn’t even say a word to stop them. Leo waited until the dust settled to introduce the survivors: “Sis, these are our guys. This is Mason, veteran street dancer, currently ranked 70th. This is Spencer…” He went down the line. Not a single kid ranked in the top 50. “And then there’s me, Leo. Sitting pretty at rank 20.” “So, basically, this team doesn’t have a single debut-tier trainee,” I sighed, looking at this ragtag group of kids. I felt like I had just been drafted into a boy band retirement home. “Wait, sis! Let me formally introduce my absolute best bro, Ryder. Sings like an angel, dances like a demon, currently ranked number 3.” I looked at the boy Leo shoved toward me. Ryder was undeniably gorgeous—honestly, right up there with my star student Chase. He had this cold, aloof look in his eyes that teenage girls absolutely lose their minds over. No wonder he was top three. But… “Everyone else bailed. Why did you stay? Aren’t you terrified of losing your debut spot?” I asked. Ryder stood there, effortlessly cool, tilting his chin toward Leo: “I lost a bet to this idiot and promised I’d carry his team. I’m strong enough to survive this regardless. And if you don’t know how to write a song, I’ll do it for you.” Damn, I thought to myself. I’m shipping this. Am I getting a brother-in-law out of this show? 5 After the awkward greetings, we followed the host to draw our performance themes. By pure chance, we drew the exact same theme as Vivian’s elite group: “The Four Seasons.” Youth and the changing seasons—it was a poetic, fitting prompt. I gathered the boys in our assigned practice room and told them to share their life stories. Art requires a soul. You can only move an audience if your music bleeds with genuine emotion. That was my first official lesson as their mentor. We were deep in an emotional discussion when the heavy doors suddenly banged open. Dylan, the kid who had walked out earlier, strutted in with his chin held high: “Sorry guys, I requested this practice room first. You need to leave.” “What do you mean you requested it? You guys literally walked into Room 2 ten minutes ago!” Mason, our lead dancer, had a notoriously short fuse and absolutely hated bullies. Dylan stood in the doorway, a mocking smirk on his lips. He glanced back at a young production assistant named Jenkins. “If you don’t believe me, ask Assistant Jenkins. We told her from the start we wanted Room 5.” Jenkins was fresh out of college. Hearing Dylan throw her under the bus, she realized she was being forced to lie. She cast a terrified look at Dylan, her eyes darting away nervously as she gave a slight nod. I stared directly at Jenkins: “Little girl, the path of your life is determined by where you set your baseline. Are you absolutely sure you want to start your career by bowing to people like this?” That single question seemed to strike a nerve. The young assistant clenched her fists, staring at the floor. Something shifted in her eyes, and with a sudden surge of bravery, she blurted out: “No! Dylan’s team never asked for this room! Vivian thought Room 2’s lighting was bad for her skin, so she wanted to switch. All the other rooms were taken by big agencies. She looked around and decided your team was the easiest to bully!” Dylan’s scheme was dragged completely into the light. Furious and humiliated, he started screaming, demanding the camera operators cut the footage immediately and threatening to blacklist Jenkins from the industry forever. Leo laughed, openly mocking him: “Listen to this guy! You’re a washed-up, serial reality-show reject, and you’re acting like a mafia boss? Who the hell are you to order cuts?” “Dylan doesn’t have the authority, but I do.” The words echoed from the hallway as Cole—the infamous nepo baby—walked in with his entourage, followed closely by Assistant Director Hayes. Hearing Cole’s demand, Director Hayes immediately began kissing up. He ordered the cameras to cut, deleted the footage, and turned right to Assistant Jenkins: “Pack your desk. Don’t bother coming in tomorrow.” The power of daddy’s corporate money was truly terrifying. The commotion was so loud that trainees from all the other rooms flooded out to watch the drama unfold. Vivian finally emerged from Room 2, playing the picture-perfect, understanding victim. She offered an apologetic smile: “I am so sorry. My eyes are incredibly sensitive to bad lighting, and I just couldn’t read the sheet music in there. I just wanted to swap rooms… I had no idea it would cause this much trouble.” “Tell you what, Leo,” she continued sweetly, “I won’t just take the room for free. I know your team is struggling. When it comes to composing your song, you can come ask me for advice anytime.” She was literally offering a fake, non-existent part-time tutoring session in exchange for our studio space, while simultaneously stepping on my credibility as a mentor. Her manipulation was an absolute masterclass. Before I could even lose my temper, Leo pretended to gag: “Don’t talk to me like we’re family. I don’t have a sister like you.” That single sentence wiped the fake smiles completely off Vivian and Cole’s faces, leaving them pale with rage. “Leo, don’t push your luck!” Dylan lost his temper completely, shoving his finger aggressively into Leo’s face, mere inches from throwing a punch. Ryder instantly stepped up, grabbing Dylan’s finger with a vice grip: “Point that finger one more time and see what happens.” Yep, I thought. Definitely getting a brother-in-law. 6 But future in-laws aside, I absolutely refused to let my kids get bullied right in front of me. We’re all adults here; everyone has connections. I pulled out my phone, ready to dial Sterling. Sterling was my old college friend. Back when we were studying overseas, a bunch of us expat musicians bonded over our shared struggles, building a deep, mutual respect. After graduation, I stayed in academia to get tenured, while he returned to the US to inherit Apex Entertainment, turning it into an absolute corporate juggernaut over the past few years. But before my thumb could hit the call button, a massive wave of screaming erupted from the end of the hallway. Amidst the gasps and cheers, Chase strode through the blinding lights, his ridiculously long legs carrying him effortlessly forward, flashing his trademark, million-dollar idol smile. To everyone’s absolute shock, he bypassed the VIPs, walked straight up to me, and gave a playful wink that practically screamed, Surprise! [What are you doing here?!] I demanded with my eyes. Wasn’t he supposed to be across the Atlantic right now? Chase leaned in close, his voice dropping to a whisper only I could hear: “I asked you if I could come find you. You didn’t answer, so I took it as a yes.” Huh? When the hell did this kid ask me that? Before I could interrogate him further, the show’s executive producers and top directors rushed over, practically tripping over themselves to introduce him to the crowd: “Everyone knows the incredible Chase! He flew all the way back from his overseas tour just for this. He’s going to be joining us as a guest mentor for this segment. Let’s give him a massive welcome!” Through the deafening applause, trainees were whispering frantically: “The network must have spent a fortune! He’s literally the biggest star on the planet right now. How did they get him?!” “I know! Jaxon is famous, but that was ten years ago. Chase is an absolute A-lister at his absolute peak!” “Actually, I heard the network didn’t even dare to invite him. If they had, they would have hyped it for months. Chase’s management contacted the show directly.” “Why would he volunteer?!” “Duh, haven’t you heard the industry rumors? Chase has always credited a ‘muse’ from Berklee for his musical awakening. And Vivian is literally Berklee’s most famous outstanding alumna!” “So he flew across the world just for Vivian?!” “One hundred percent.” Hearing the gossip buzzing around the crowd, Vivian’s face flushed with a perfect, bashful pink. She offered a sweet, secretive smile, gently telling her trainees to “stop spreading rumors,” which only made it look even more obvious that she and Chase had some secret romantic history. I honestly didn’t care about Chase’s tabloid love life at that moment. The practice room hostage situation was still unresolved. If he took my side, great. But if he sided with his supposed “Berklee muse,” I wasn’t going to let our student-teacher bond stop me from going to war. With all the producers standing right there, I dialed Sterling on speakerphone. It took three sentences for him to grasp the situation. While he laughed his head off at the fact that I was getting bullied by reality TV kids, he immediately barked an order to his assistant to call the network executives. While I was still bantering with Sterling on the phone, the executive producer suddenly turned pale, hung up his own ringing phone, and approached me with absolute reverence. He aggressively apologized, declared that Room 5 was ours by right, and explicitly told me that if I ever needed anything else, I could bypass the crew and call the head director directly. In a matter of seconds, the power dynamic completely flipped back to our side. Realizing she couldn’t bully us out of the room anymore, Vivian immediately shifted her target to Chase. She looked up at him, batting her eyelashes, tears welling up beautifully in her eyes: “Chase, it’s okay. Even though the lighting in Room 2 hurts my eyes, I can suffer through it…” She was putting on an absolute masterclass in crying on command. Standing across from her, Chase furrowed his brows, looking deeply in thought, but didn’t say a word. I crossed my arms, also saying nothing. I truly couldn’t comprehend this level of petty drama. It was just a practice room! She was acting like I had stolen her husband. Seeing that Chase wasn’t taking the bait, Vivian turned up the heat: “It’s just that my doctors warned me about my severe light sensitivity. Working in that dark room is going to cause me physical pain…” “Hey,” Chase finally spoke up, cutting through the silence. Just as the crowd held their breath, expecting him to defend Vivian, he completely ignored her. He turned to me, gripping my sleeve with a deeply sulky, jealous pout: “Who were you just on the phone with?” “You guys sounded really close.” The jealousy in his voice was so thick you could cut it with a knife. What is wrong with this kid? Why is he acting so weird? “Just a college friend. I was getting bullied, so I called someone to have my back.” Chase frowned: “If you needed someone to have your back, why didn’t you just ask me? I’m standing right here. And I have a pretty great back.” To prove his point, he flexed his core, the crisp lines of his abs faintly visible through his designer shirt. …Dammit. A male idol’s waist is a lethal weapon. Just looking at him made my heart skip a beat. “Speaking of having my back,” I deflected, raising an eyebrow. “When I asked how many fans you had back at the studio, didn’t you tell me you only had ‘a few’? Since when are you a global mega-star?” “I said I had a few… million,” Chase grinned, looking completely innocent. When I was mentoring him overseas, I thought he was just a struggling, unknown indie artist, so I always went out of my way to take care of him. Turns out the kid was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Seeing us effortlessly banter in our own private bubble, Vivian couldn’t hold back her jealousy: “Do you two… know each other?” “Yeah,” Chase replied coolly, barely looking at her. Then, as if remembering a crucial detail, he added: “Also, out of respect for your peers, you should refer to her as Ms. Aria.” That single sentence was an absolute execution. The crowd of trainees who had just been swearing Chase flew back for Vivian practically felt the slap across their faces. “Is Chase really here for Vivian? Because it definitely doesn’t look like it.” “He’s strictly maintaining professional boundaries! He’s definitely avoiding rumors!” I didn’t care if he was avoiding rumors or not; Chase had handled this perfectly. He hadn’t let some fake tabloid romance rot his brain, and as his teacher, I was deeply proud. Realizing the practice room was a lost cause, Vivian gathered her trainees and retreated in total humiliation.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “454683”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The year I was the absolute hungriest, I used intimate photos to blackmail the untouchable billionaire heir into giving me fifty bucks. The next second, lines of floating comments appeared right before my eyes. […Talk about thinking small.] [Is the villainess stupid? Doesn’t she know to ask for more? Carter Sterling is the heir to a billionaire empire!] [Baby is still so innocent right now. Stay away from Carter, or he’ll exile you to Antarctica to count penguins!!] 1 My name is Chloe Thorne. I strongly suspected I was hallucinating from hunger. I had two pieces of evidence. 2 First piece of evidence: Three days ago, I had a wild one-night stand with Carter Sterling. Shamelessly, I took a few intimate photos as evidence, just in case Carter tried to turn around and bite me. Even more shamelessly, because I currently had zero money for food, I wanted to use those photos to ruthlessly extort him. So, I found his TikTok account. He had only posted a single video, and it was just a very basic night-running clip. Clearly just a casual post. But in it, Carter was wearing a white sleeveless muscle shirt and gray sweatpants. He was tall and lean, his skin pale, and a thin layer of sweat acted like a natural highlighter on his body. His Adam’s apple bobbed. Even though it only showed his sharp jawline for a split second, you could instantly tell he was ridiculously hot. His username was just the letter [C]. This was an assignment from our social media marketing professor—everyone had to hit 10,000 followers. Carter was clearly doing the bare minimum. And he only followed one person: Lily Brooks. My roommate, and Carter’s childhood sweetheart. My stomach growled pathetically. I dug out the most conservative photo from that night. It showed Carter’s handsome side profile, his arm draped across me, revealing a tiny hint of cleavage and a visible bite mark on his collarbone. Thanks to the camera angle, my face was completely hidden. It was highly suggestive, yet beautifully cinematic. I hit send, only for the app to notify me that I could only send one message to someone who didn’t follow me. I waited quietly for his reply. Ten minutes later. Carter’s pitch-black profile picture replied with a single question mark. Arrogant and cold. I wasn’t happy, so I dropped a not-so-subtle warning. [You wouldn’t want this photo to get leaked, would you?] Everyone on campus knew Carter and Lily were childhood sweethearts, a match made in heaven. This time, he replied instantly. He was clearly panicking. [What do you want?] [Money.] [How much?] [Fifty.] Hurry, hurry, hurry! Today was Taco Tuesday, and I was fully prepared to treat myself to a massive feast. Carter was extremely annoyed. [Fifty for a single photo. You’re quite the businesswoman.] It was my first time extorting someone, so I felt a little guilty. [Is twenty-five okay, then?] [Venmo.] I let out a massive sigh of relief. What an exhilarating psychological battle. I immediately shot him my Venmo QR code. The next second, the automated voice on my phone announced the transfer. “Venmo transfer received: Five hundred thousand dollars.” !! How much?! Was I so hungry I was hearing things? 3 Second piece of evidence: While I was extorting Carter, lines of glowing text started floating in front of my eyes. […Talk about thinking small.] [Is the villainess stupid? Doesn’t she know to ask for more? Carter Sterling is the heir to a billionaire empire!] [Baby is still so innocent right now. Stay away from Carter, or he’ll exile you to Antarctica to count penguins!!] [You’re telling me this girl, currently stuffing her face with tacos, is going to become the ultimate final boss? Yeah, right.] [Hey, even femme fatales need time to grow up!] The text was scrolling so fast it made me dizzy. It wasn’t until I dragged my exhausted body to the nearest taco truck, guarded my newfound fortune, and stuffed myself to the brim that it finally hit me. I wasn’t hallucinating from hunger. This was all real. The $500,000 Carter sent me was real. These floating comments were real. I spent the entire afternoon piecing the truth together from the chat overlay. I was living inside a romance novel. The male lead was Carter Sterling. The female lead was Lily Brooks. They were childhood sweethearts, pure and innocent, a match made by fate. And me? I was the corrupted, vicious female antagonist. Who? Me? You’re telling me that someone like me—whose wallet currently held exactly two pennies, who loved drinking canned Yoo-hoo, who had perfect grades but a gambling-addict dad, a dead mom, a sick grandma, a broken home, and the title of “Campus Queen”—would eventually turn evil out of jealousy over Lily’s perfect love life and kidnap her?! …Actually, yeah, that tracks. 4 I wiped the condensation off the bathroom mirror. A beautiful body appeared in the reflection. The only flaw was the faint bruises scattered across it. My waist was tiny, and Carter’s fingerprint bruises were still lingering on my skin. But I had gotten my revenge, too. I had bitten down hard on his shoulder. I bet there was still a perfect ring of teeth marks there right now. I remember Carter’s alcohol-fogged mind clearing up for a second at the pain. “Are you part dog?” And then he had been even rougher. Truthfully, I was punishing him for not remembering me. In my cramped, dingy apartment, I had carved out one cozy little corner. Under the warm glow of a desk lamp sat a red can of Yoo-hoo chocolate drink. I popped the tab with one hand and took a sip. The sweet, chocolatey flavor flooded my mouth. I loved it. The reason probably traced back to when I was ten, scavenging the streets for recyclables. Carter was the best-looking person I had ever seen in my life. But even better looking was the can of Yoo-hoo in his hand. Aluminum cans were worth an extra five cents compared to cardboard. I stared at him like a hawk. He raised an eyebrow. “You want this?” I nodded frantically. Carter, who had never lacked for anything, casually tossed it to me. But because of chronic malnutrition, I was tiny and weak. I couldn’t catch it. The can hit the concrete, cracking open. The sweet, milky chocolate spilled out, mixing with the muddy puddles on the ground. Carter clicked his tongue, stood up looking annoyed, and said, “Wait here.” He walked into the convenience store. I picked up the crushed can, wiped the mud off with my sleeve, and sucked up the remaining liquid. It was sweet. But not as sweet as the candies I got on New Year’s. Carter walked out of the store, paused when he saw me, and turned right back around. That day, I ended up with an entire case of Yoo-hoo. I drank it like it was water. And I even filled the empty aluminum cans with a little water before selling them to the recycling center. I made $19.31 that day. So, when I saw Carter black-out drunk at a college party, I deliberately distracted Lily, then intentionally-yet-unintentionally fanned the flames of his desire. Thinking about it now… This entire plotline… felt suspiciously like a sponsored ad for Yoo-hoo. 5 [The villainess is starting to get tangled up with Carter!] [The male lead has no self-control. He doesn’t even realize he belongs with the female lead until way later.] [Am I the only one who thinks Carter actually loved Chloe all along? I mean, if he was that drunk, he wouldn’t have been able to… perform.] [True. The plot point where Carter suddenly realizes he’s in love with Lily later always felt super forced.] [Honestly, sometimes I think Chloe’s attraction to Carter is just purely biological at this point.] Holy crap. I opened my chat thread with Carter. Half a million dollars was way too much. I only wanted fifty bucks. Who knew rich people used entirely different units of measurement? So, I sent him another, slightly more conservative photo. I was terrified of getting banned for explicit content. This time, he replied fast. [Stop messing around.] [How much do you want this time?] I decided to show some backbone. [I don’t want money this time.] [Buy one get one free?] I could practically see Carter’s sneer through the screen. My villainy meter ticked up by 1%. [Nope. I just wanted to ask if you wanted to come over and relive that night~] I even added a little tilde at the end. So manipulative. Total pick-me energy. Who knew Carter was so good at playing the game? [That’s it? You can relive it with this.] [Image attached.] I opened the photo, and my face burned completely red, the heat rushing all the way down my neck. It was a mirror selfie. Carter’s long fingers were pulling up his black shirt. His abs were deeply defined, his forearms corded with veins, and his V-line disappeared dangerously low beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, leaving entirely too much to the imagination. The sexual tension was off the charts. I went dead silent for twenty minutes. It wasn’t until I was washing my face with cold water that I checked my DMs again. Carter had sent another message: [Where’d you go? No feedback?] I closed my eyes, my face still burning. I typed back with total sincerity: [I’m sorry.] Carter absolutely lost his mind laughing. This time, he sent a voice memo. “It’s only human nature.” The live comments were losing their minds, too. [Spam ‘I’m sorry’ in the chat, immediately!] [Carter, you’re too good at baiting!] [Forget the villainess, I can’t hold back either! I’M SORRY!!!] [This is entirely Carter’s fault (crying).] [I’m sorry!] [I’m sorry!] For a solid minute, the entire chat overlay was just people apologizing. I backed out of my chat with Carter. If I kept talking to him, I was going to end up in trouble! The next second, Lily sent me a text. [Chloe, I think Carter might have a crush on someone else.] ? Was this the legendary love triangle drama? 6 My feelings toward Lily were incredibly complicated. On one hand, the only reason I became her best friend was to get closer to Carter and casually steal her man. On the other hand… I didn’t really like her. Watching her wake up every morning, stretch happily, and yell, “You can do this, Lily!” before starting her perfect, sunshine-filled day… it just made my dark, rat-like crawling through life feel incredibly pathetic. When I dragged myself back to this cramped apartment, my back aching from standing all day at my part-time jobs, I felt like a zombie. I couldn’t stand being around a human sunbeam. I hated her. But right now, she was clearly very upset. [Yesterday, when Carter was playing basketball, I saw marks on his neck.] [Huh?] I replied dismissively. Marks. That night had been so chaotic. And Carter’s technique at the beginning had been… aggressively terrible. When it hurt, my nails had definitely left some collateral damage on his neck. Lily replied instantly. [Yeah! I asked him what happened, and he totally brushed it off and said a cat scratched him.] … I pressed my lips together and quietly changed my profile picture to a fat, orange tabby cat. That was a subtle enough hint, right? [Chloe, do you think he has a secret crush? When he leaned over, I swear I saw a hickey on his collarbone…] Then, she rapid-fired several 60-second voice memos. I was way too lazy to listen to them. So I hit her with the ultimate lazy responses: [Wow, crazy.] [Omg.] [It is what it is.] Eventually, Lily’s emotional spiral stabilized. Then she sent me a digital invitation. [It’s my birthday pool party on Saturday! You have to come!] 7 The birthday party. Lily hosted it at her family’s massive estate. There was a huge pool, and plenty of guys and girls were walking around in revealing swimsuits. Girls were sunbathing on giant inflatable swans, while a few guys were swimming laps like dolphins. It felt like I had walked onto the set of a reality dating show. Lily was wearing a pink bikini. Her skin was flawless, her long hair reaching her waist, the wet strands clinging to her skin in a way that was innocent but seductive. I, on the other hand, was just wearing denim cut-offs and a plain white ribbed tank top. The comments started rolling: [Huh? Did the villainess change her strategy? I thought she was going to wear a bright red bikini to steal the spotlight.] [Ngl, Chloe’s body is so insane, even I want to bury my face in her chest.] [Carter really won the lottery.] [The villainess is stupid but genuinely gorgeous. We love a beautiful queen.] I had been feeling pretty depressed lately. I always thought that despite starving as a kid, having my recycling money stolen by my gambling-addict dad, and suffering from chronic malnutrition… the fact that I still managed to grow up with a tiny waist, long legs, and a stacked chest meant I possessed protagonist-level genetics. Turns out, I was just the villainess. It practically shattered my worldview. Because of that, I had lost all interest in showing off in a bikini. Meanwhile, Lily was sitting on an inflatable flamingo, splashing and laughing brightly with Mason Hayes. But her big, round eyes kept darting up toward the second-floor balcony. I followed her gaze. Carter was standing up there, dressed entirely in black. His sleeveless shirt showed off his incredibly toned arms. His long fingers held a glass of champagne as he stared down at the party with cool indifference. Perhaps he felt my intense staring. He tilted his head slightly, and our eyes locked. I immediately looked down and started picking at my nails. When people feel awkward, they suddenly become very busy. Wow, this chair is made of such… chair material. Suddenly, Lily let out a blood-curdling scream. She had fallen into the water. Mason, who was right next to her, immediately dove under and dragged her to the edge. “Lily! Are you okay?!” Mason sounded frantic. Lily coughed violently, her eyes red. She had definitely swallowed some pool water. Carter hurried down the stairs. The moment he crouched by the edge of the pool, Lily tried to throw her arms around his neck. But Carter smoothly leaned back, and Lily grabbed nothing but air. “Carter, I was so scared. I thought I was never going to see you again,” she sobbed, her voice soft and fragile. Mason, standing awkwardly to the side, let out a bitter laugh, trying to play it cool. “Took you long enough to get down here, Carter.” But Mason’s fists were clenched tight at his sides. Tsk. As expected of the tragic second male lead. In the hierarchy of unrequited love, he was definitely the valedictorian of Simp University. The chat overlay was moving at lightspeed. [Stop, my heart is breaking for the second male lead.] [Mason looks like a sad, wet puppy.] [The second male lead belongs to the readers! But Lily wants both the male lead AND the second male lead. Greedy!] [Just saying… Lily was in the shallow end. If she just stood up, she wouldn’t have drowned.] [You can drown in the shallow end too! Let it be known!]

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My childhood sweetheart, born into the same old-money elite circle as me, fell in love with a poor, innocent damsel in distress from the wrong side of the tracks. To marry her, he withstood the pressure of his entire family and broke off his engagement with me. Heartbroken, I went abroad to further my studies. By the time I returned, he and Lily Evans had been married for almost two years. And I had long since moved on. But at my welcome-home party, Preston Harrington—the man who once fought the entire world just to be with Lily—looked at the woman he had fought so hard to marry with icy disgust. With a chilling tone, he snapped: “Didn’t I tell you to stay at home? Why are you out here embarrassing me?” 1 When I returned to the States, my close friends threw a massive, luxurious welcome-home party for me. To my surprise, Preston Harrington showed up. Seven years ago, he was so blinded by his love for Lily Evans that he insisted on breaking our perfectly matched engagement. In front of all our elders, he had declared: If he couldn’t marry Lily, he would rather marry a dog than marry me. Those words were so humiliating that they completely shattered the decades-long friendship between our two families. That day, I finally grew tired of it all. I cried in front of my parents for an hour, begging them to call off the engagement. I told them I didn’t want Preston anymore. I didn’t want to marry him. My parents looked at me with aching hearts and finally relented. They went to the Harringtons’ estate and had a closed-door meeting for an hour. The final verdict was spun not as Preston rejecting me, but as the Sterling family refusing to marry off their daughter. With things escalating to that point, the engagement was voided. While our families didn’t completely sever ties and become sworn enemies, the relationship undeniably froze over. Shortly after, I left for Paris to study. Until today, when I finally returned. I looked at Preston. Compared to seven years ago, he had grown taller and much more composed. His handsome face carried an aristocratic, aloof coldness, and his dark eyes were fixed intently on me. No one had told me Preston would be here. I turned to look at my best friend, Sophie, who was hosting the event. Sophie hurriedly waved her hands to clear her name, explaining, “I didn’t invite him, Claire! I have no idea where Preston heard you were coming back, but he volunteered to take over and host this welcome-home party for you.” She guiltily added a redundant disclaimer: “It really wasn’t me, I swear.” I didn’t say a word. Instead, Preston chuckled. His tone was gentle, exactly like it used to be back before our fallout, when he would pick me up for school every morning. “Claire, it’s been so many years. I was young and reckless back then, and I handled things terribly. I hurt you. So today, I brazenly took over as host because I wanted to formally apologize.” He paused, looking directly into my eyes, and continued, “Do you still hold a grudge about the past?” Look at how he phrased that. If I said I still held a grudge, it would make me look petty and unable to let him go. So, I looked up and gave him a dazzling, magnanimous smile. “You said it yourself—it’s in the past.” We all ran in the same circles, and it really had been a long time. He meant absolutely nothing to me now. I picked up a glass of champagne and smiled breezily. “Sophie mentioned that you and Lily got married over a year ago. I haven’t congratulated you yet. Here’s to you.” His expression remained flat. Logically, having successfully married the girl of his dreams, even with his naturally stoic personality, he shouldn’t be looking this indifferent. Before I could even process his reaction, he picked up his glass and downed it in one go. It didn’t look like he was accepting a blessing; it looked like he was drowning his sorrows. But I couldn’t be bothered to care. Reuniting with old friends naturally led to endless catching up. Since I was the guest of honor, everyone hyped me up, and the topics revolved entirely around me. Someone asked how many boyfriends I had in France. Someone brought up my global art exhibition tour. Another friend complained, half-jokingly, “Seriously, Claire, why do you have to be so overachieving? Tickets to your gallery exhibitions are impossible to get, and you’ve opened so many galleries worldwide. My old man constantly compares me to you, sighing about how I only know how to chase celebrities, shop for Birkins, and race sports cars.” I laughed. “It’s just a hobby.” Preston, who had been sitting silently on the sidelines, smiled. “After all these years, you’ve finally learned to be humble.” His tone… how should I put it? It was as natural as an old friend’s, laced with an intimate familiarity. It was as if we had never had our messy falling out, as if he had never said those agonizingly cruel things to me just to defend Lily. I didn’t quite know how to respond. I wasn’t sure if it was just my imagination, but his tone felt… almost flirtatious. While I was still debating how to reply, he added, “I went to see your exhibition, Dance of Shadows. It was breathtaking.” Now it wasn’t just me; even the friends sitting around us sensed something was off. They fell silent, their gazes darting subtly between me and Preston. My expression didn’t change as I politely replied, “Oh. Thank you.” After a brief pause, I jokingly reminded him, “Did you go see it with Lily? Speaking of which, why didn’t she come today? I haven’t seen her in years, and we are old high school classmates after all.” His expression cooled again, and he said dismissively, “Oh, she’s busy at home.” He said it as if he were talking about an irrelevant stranger. I had no idea why he was using such a dismissive tone and attitude when referring to the woman he had once loved so recklessly, but I had no desire to get tangled in his mess. So, I just let out a polite laugh and steered the conversation elsewhere. It wasn’t until the party ended and we walked out to the club’s lobby that we saw Lily sitting on the lounge sofas. Her eyes were glued to the private VIP elevator, her expression a mix of anxiousness, distress, and insecurity. The moment the elevator doors dinged open, she shot up from the sofa. It looked like she had been sitting there the entire time, just waiting for us to come down. Everyone paused. She tried her best to force a smile, scanning the group until her eyes landed on me standing next to Preston. Instantly, the color drained from her face. She stared at me, looking completely crestfallen and panicked, as if she were facing her greatest enemy. I found the whole thing baffling. 2 Lily had changed a lot. I remembered the first time I saw her. It was the second semester of our sophomore year when she transferred to our prep school. Back then, she stood at the front of the classroom wearing a faded uniform. She was so thin she looked malnourished, the clothes hanging loosely off her frame. Her features were plain and unremarkable, and her face was painted with awkward, nervous tension. Our homeroom teacher, however, smiled brightly. “This is Lily Evans, who consistently ranks at the very top of the statewide standardized tests. Let’s make her feel welcome.” A silence fell over the room as countless assessing gazes landed on Lily. We were at an elite, ultra-exclusive private academy. Everyone came from old money or massive wealth. Grades were absolutely not the only ticket to acceptance here—let alone someone with Lily’s unrefined, shabby appearance. I felt a bit of pity for her at the time, so I smiled and was the first to start clapping. Only then did scattered applause ripple through the classroom, eventually growing until it filled the room. The teacher shot me a grateful smile, pointed at me, and told Lily, “That’s our class president, Claire Sterling. If you need any help, you can go to her.” Despite the teacher’s words, Lily never once came to me for help. When Lily transferred in, the only empty desk was the one next to Preston Harrington. So, Lily became Preston’s desk-mate. I don’t know if the feelings that eventually betrayed me started budding right there. For example, because Lily’s family was so poor, she suffered from severe hypoglycemia and anemia. Once, during morning study hall, she suddenly fainted. It was Preston who scooped her up and carried her to the nurse’s office. Another time, Preston’s mother came back from a trip to Belgium and brought a mountain of gifts for both me and Preston. When she told me to pick first, Preston, who was standing nearby, grabbed a box of artisanal chocolates and said, “I’ll take this box of candy.” I was confused at the time because Preston despised anything sweet, and I had never known him to have a sudden fondness for chocolate. Later, he even asked me for my private chef’s pastry recipes. I thought it was too much of a hassle, so I just had my chef bake the pastries and sent them directly to him. Back then, I genuinely thought Preston’s palate had just changed. It wasn’t until later, when I saw the artisanal chocolate wrappers and the pastries my chef had made sitting on Lily’s desk, that it clicked. The one who loved chocolate was Lily. The one who loved sweet pastries was Lily. I convinced myself that it was just Preston’s way of looking out for his struggling desk-mate—even though Preston had never been the kind, meddlesome type to go out of his way to “save” anyone. Truthfully, it wasn’t that I never had suspicions. It was just that Lily was so incredibly plain that I never entertained the thought that Preston would betray me and fall for her. After all, I was exceptional. I was the prettiest girl in the entire academy. Back when Gossip Girl was at the peak of its popularity, people affectionately gave me the nickname “Queen C.” Not because I was a schemer, but because I had the perfect family, perfect grades, and perfect popularity. How could I have possibly imagined that Preston Harrington would betray me and fall for Lily Evans? She walked over and offered a polite smile, greeting me, “Claire, you’re back?” After speaking, her eyes shifted hesitantly between me and Preston. The probing, suspicious nature of her gaze made me deeply uncomfortable, and I frowned slightly in displeasure. Preston spoke first, his tone freezing cold: “What are you doing here?” Lily carefully gauged his mood, her smile turning into a pathetic, fawning attempt to please him. “I was out shopping. The club owner mentioned you and your friends were hosting a welcome-home party for Claire here today, so I thought I’d wait and we could go home together.” The excuse was full of holes. She then held up the shopping bag in her hand to show Preston. “The manager here heard I was in the lobby, so he specially brought over two bottles of wine. He said it was a token of respect for Mr. and Mrs. Harrington.” She heavily emphasized the words “Mrs. Harrington,” as if trying to assert her territory. Preston, who had already been looking cold, furrowed his brows in deep irritation at those words. Behind me, I heard a friend fail to stifle a quiet snort of laughter. Given the Harrington family’s status, let alone a mere floor manager, even the owner of this ultra-exclusive club would have to book an appointment half a month in advance just to get a meeting with Preston. Yet here she was, the wife of Preston Harrington, treating two bottles of wine from a manager like a rare treasure, presenting them to him like an offering. It was undeniably tacky and completely beneath their social standing. It was obvious that humiliating incidents like this had happened many, many times over the year and a half Lily had been married to Preston. Because Preston’s voice was filled with sheer impatience, completely devoid of any politeness: “Didn’t I tell you to stay at home? Why are you out here embarrassing me?” Behind me, someone laughed out loud. Lily’s already pale face instantly turned paper-white. She looked at Preston in total panic. She had no idea why Preston had suddenly snapped, nor did she know what she had done wrong. No one explained the reason to her, and no one taught her how to act. Everyone was just laughing at her lack of class and unrefined behavior. I, however, was quite surprised by Preston’s reaction. I instinctively turned to look at him. His face was stoic, completely unmoved by the suppressed laughter of the crowd, as if the person being openly mocked wasn’t the wife he had sacrificed so much to marry. I froze for a second. He… didn’t used to be like this. Back then, because she didn’t fit in, Lily had faced her fair share of collective ostracization in class. Later, when Preston demanded to break our engagement for her, I had bullied Lily too. But every single time, Preston would step right in front of Lily, taking her side and protecting her fiercely. Yet now, standing here looking down at the woman in front of him, his expression was icy, and deep within his eyes was a barely concealed layer of exhaustion and impatience. He was like a completely different person from the boy he used to be. How could he be disgusted by Lily? Had he forgotten exactly what he put me through just to defend her? 3 The first time Preston ever stood up for Lily was during French class. For the students in our circle, out of all the subjects, the one we navigated with the most effortless grace was French. Since we were toddlers, our families had hired resident native tutors. Our daily communication at home was often entirely in French. From grammar to pronunciation, we sounded like Parisian aristocrats. It was just one of our basic, required life skills. That day, the French teacher called on Lily to read a passage. The moment she stood up and uttered her first syllable, murmurs rippled through the classroom. By the time she was halfway through, someone finally couldn’t hold back and let out a snicker. There was no denying her grades were phenomenal, but having never received proper private education, her pronunciation was terrible and painfully awkward. The laughter was contagious, slowly growing into a loud uproar until Lily just stood there, unable to make another sound. The French teacher sighed helplessly, told her to sit down, and desperately tried to change the subject. After class, Sophie intentionally walked up to Lily’s desk, loudly mimicking her broken pronunciation while speaking French to her friends. Her impression was spot-on, and the people around her burst into laughter. Lily sat at her desk with her head bowed, her bangs falling over her face. From my angle, I couldn’t see her expression, but her frail silhouette and tense shoulders radiated quiet humiliation. I don’t know why, but I suddenly lost interest in the whole spectacle. I was about to call out to Sophie and tell her to stop bullying the new girl. But before I could speak, Preston—who historically hated meddling in other people’s business—moved first. He had been sleeping with his head on his desk. Hearing Sophie’s mockery, he sat up with a blank expression. He grabbed his heavy, original English copy of Harry Potter and slammed the thick spine against his desk. The loud thud cut through the noise. In the sudden silence, he shot an icy glare at Sophie, who was still laughing at Lily, and said coldly: “Shut up. You’re giving me a headache.” Sophie’s smile froze on her face. The classroom fell into a dead silence. My eyes fell on Preston. I paused, then looked at Sophie with a warm smile, breaking the suffocating awkwardness. I said, “Sophie, class is about to start.” Sophie turned back and gave me a silent “zip-it” gesture. Taking the out I gave her, she nodded and pulled her friends back to their seats, obediently saying, “Got it, Claire.” Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced at Lily. She turned her head, her eyes shining brightly as she looked at Preston, whispering something to him. I figured she was probably thanking him. But Preston just looked bored, showing no emotional reaction at all. Later that day, after lunch, I ran into Lily again in the library. The library was always empty at noon because most people were eating, napping, or catching up on the latest Upper East Side gossip. She was sitting in a hidden corner by the window. I could hear her struggling, repeating after a small MP3 player, desperately trying to practice her accent. I didn’t pay it much mind and rested my head on a desk on the other side, preparing to take a nap. Until I saw Preston. Still carrying that effortlessly handsome, careless aura, holding his copy of Harry Potter, he walked in and didn’t stop until he reached Lily. Standing beside her, he said, “Practicing like that isn’t going to work.” He casually pulled out a chair and sat next to her. Flipping open his book, he pointed at a sentence and said, “Read this line for me.” Encouraged by him, Lily’s face turned bright red. After holding her breath for a long time, she quietly and haltingly read the sentence aloud. “Mr. Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showing no sign of sleepiness.” Preston’s fingertip tapped on the word “drifting.” I listened as he patiently taught Lily how to produce a beautiful, flawless British accent. The library was perfectly quiet. Sunlight poured through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, illuminating the tiny golden specks of dust dancing in the air. The two of them, bathed in the warm light, looked like a painting. Of course, up to this point, none of this was Lily’s fault. She was merely passively accepting Preston’s help. That is, until the very end, when I saw her staring at Preston’s face, turning progressively redder, before whispering with deep envy: “I really, really envy Claire Sterling.” It was obvious what she was envious of. From that exact moment onward, I started having a serious problem with Lily Evans. 4 Naturally, no one could tell I disliked Lily. I had always been easygoing and detached. Even though the students in my class looked up to me, I never engaged in petty cliques or intentionally ostracized anyone. My first real move against her was during P.E. class. The boys and girls separated to practice tennis, and everyone had to pick their own partners. Unsurprisingly, Lily was the last one left. She stood awkwardly in the middle of the court holding her racket, her face burning red as she looked around, the absolute picture of a helpless, pitiful victim. I smiled, walked over, extended my hand, and said, “Let’s pair up.” She looked incredibly flattered, staring at me in shock as she stuttered, “M-me?” I nodded with a warm smile. “Yes, you.” She smiled back, looking incredibly grateful. Thinking back to that scene in the library between her and Preston, I wiped the smile off my face the second I turned around. With a blank expression, I thought to myself: Let’s see if you’re still smiling in a few minutes. Lily didn’t manage to return a single one of my serves. I played her like a dog. Every time I served, I aimed the ball exactly where she couldn’t reach it. She scrambled pathetically, giving it her all, running left and right, but all she did was end up fetching the balls. While picking up the tennis balls, she kept apologizing to me: “I-I’m so sorry, I’m just really bad at this.” She didn’t realize I was messing with her on purpose. It wasn’t until students from other courts started gathering around us that I heard someone whisper behind me, “What’s up with Queen C? I’ve never seen her haze someone like this.” “What did the new girl do to piss off Claire?” I smiled, pretending I didn’t hear a thing. My serves became even more vicious, until Lily, desperately lunging to return a ball, stumbled and crashed hard onto the court. I stood exactly where I was, offering a completely unapologetic apology: “Oh my, I’m so sorry about that.” She kept her head down, clutching her scraped, red knee, and whispered, “I-It’s okay.” I smiled sweetly and continued, “You really are terrible at this. When we do the group matches later, please try not to drag me down.” Lily kept apologizing while awkwardly struggling to stand up. Everyone around was just watching the show—until Preston walked over. He shot me a cold look, took the racket from the teary-eyed Lily’s hand, and glared at me. He smirked and said, “She’s bad at tennis. I’ll practice with you instead, Claire.” Preston absolutely destroyed me on the court. To make it “fair,” he even played left-handed. He had won the Junior National Tennis Championship when he was twelve. I had only taken a few years of private lessons just so I’d have a shared hobby to talk to him about. My amateur skills were a joke compared to his. I stubbornly forced myself to rally with him for thirty minutes, barely returning a fraction of his shots. But it was fine. I didn’t have to fetch the balls. Every time I missed, one of the boys who had a crush on me would scramble to pick it up and place it right in my hand. Eventually, the pain in my wrist became too much. If someone hadn’t gasped and rushed forward to catch me, I would have dropped to my knees in agony. Preston was completely unfazed. He stared at me with eyes like ice and said coldly, “With your skills, Claire, even without someone dragging you down, you could never win.” After saying that, he turned to Lily, waved her over, and said, “Come here. We’re leaving.” Lily looked at him like a damsel looking at her knight in shining armor. She nodded obediently and said, “Okay.” After that, a few classmates helped me to the nurse’s office. Once my wrist was wrapped, Sophie stayed by my side. Sophie was usually carefree and oblivious, but even she sensed something was horribly wrong that day. She asked me, “Claire… has Preston lost his mind?” It was a prophecy. Everything he did after that—wasn’t it all complete madness? But looking at him now… how hilarious. He was actually regretting it. What an absolute joke.

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After Caleb Miller left in the middle of the night again for his former fated mate, I learned one thing: to stop caring. He’d go thirty hours without replying while on night patrol, and I wouldn’t wait anymore. He’d forget my birthday, and I wouldn’t bring it up. When an enemy bit my ankle, I’d grit my teeth, bandage it myself, and continue combat training. Loving someone is hard, but letting go is simple. Joanna Bennett POV Today was the public combat exhibition at the Full Moon Ceremony. The third act involved a high-difficulty combat combo. The moment I landed the ninth move, a searing pain shot through the old wound in my ankle. A crowd gathered at the edge of the training field. “Joanna! Should we stop?” My forehead instantly beaded with cold sweat, and my vision briefly blurred. The ankle wound was from three days ago, a fierce bite from an attacker during a skirmish. The doctor said the wound contained a unique toxin that was hard to remove immediately, and that I should rest, but I hadn’t listened. Gritting my teeth, I waved them off. “It’s the last act.” I don’t remember how I managed to get through eight minutes of solo demonstration. I only remember the loud applause at the end, the bonfire’s light flickering in my blurred vision, and dark red blood seeping through the bandage on my ankle. I smiled and bowed three times. No one saw me shaking all over from the pain as I walked off the stage, almost needing to lean against the wall to stand steady. One A.M., at the pack hospital. I sat alone on a plastic chair in the observation room, applying special herbal medicine. The doctor’s brows furrowed tightly. “The wound toxin wasn’t completely removed, which is why it split open. Why did you wait until now to come?” “I just finished the exhibition,” my voice was a little hoarse. While recording my information, the doctor glanced at my pale face and casually asked, “You’re Caleb Miller’s girlfriend, aren’t you? Many people saw you two together, maybe five days ago?” My eyelashes fluttered. Caleb Miller, son of Frostveil Pack’s Alpha. And my boyfriend. We had indeed been together five days ago; he’d asked me out on a date. But the next day, I waited five hours at the restaurant we’d booked, only to receive a text saying, “Something came up, we’ll reschedule.” That “reschedule” never came. “Do you want me to call him over for you? I saw them finish their patrol,” the doctor kindly offered. “No need,” I said. “Don’t disturb his work.” No sooner had I spoken than footsteps echoed from the end of the hallway. Caleb came downstairs and paused as he passed the observation room. He turned and walked in, his gaze falling on my ankle, and his brows immediately furrowed. “You’re hurt again? Why didn’t you tell me?” He crouched down, his disapproval evident. I pulled my foot back. “It’s just a small injury.” Caleb’s hand froze in mid-air, looking at me in surprise. Before, if I even scraped my skin during training, I’d take a picture and send it to him, whining, “My wound hurts so much, I miss you.” Before every important mission, I’d nervously burrow into his arms, repeatedly asking, “You’ll be by my side, right?” Now, with old wounds tearing open and new ones piling on, there wasn’t a trace of complaint on my face. I wouldn’t even let him touch me. Before he could ask, footsteps sounded from the end of the hallway. “Caleb!” The voice was soft and gentle, with a hint of laughter. Chloe walked over, carrying two hot drinks, and naturally stood beside Caleb. “Your favorite mocha, light on sugar and milk.” She handed him a cup, then her gaze shifted to me, pausing for a beat. “This is… your friend?” Caleb took the hot drink, his voice unconsciously softening by half a degree. “My girlfriend, Joanna Bennett. She hurt her foot.” “Oh my goodness, is it serious?” Chloe immediately crouched down to look at my ankle. “Hi, I’m Chloe Davis. You really can’t do any high-intensity training with this injury, you need to rest.” Her tone was sincere. The fleeting hint of disdain in her eyes was also sincere. Chloe, I knew her too. She had some Alpha blood, making her a strong fighter. She was also Caleb’s ex; they were once fated mates, but Chloe chose to go abroad to a werewolf academy for five years. They had differing opinions, so they held a rejection ceremony. Five years later, she was back, and Caleb still prioritized her. Maybe they truly were the right partners, and they would always find their way back to each other. And I was just an interlude during those five years, nothing significant. “Thanks,” I said. “The doctor already treated it.” As Chloe stood up, her shoulder brushed against Caleb’s arm. “Caleb, you still have patrol tonight, I’ll go with you.” “Okay.” Caleb seemed not to notice her familiarity. He looked at me. “I’ll take you home first.” “No need.” I pushed myself up using the armrest. The herbs had been applied to the wound, removing some of the remaining toxins. But it still wasn’t healed, so I had to use crutches for now. Caleb frowned. “How can you—” But I was already walking away. The crutches tapped against the ground, one steady rhythm after another. Chloe’s voice drifted from behind me, clear even across the entire hallway. “Caleb, did she misunderstand something? Should I go explain it to her?” “She’s not like that,” Caleb’s voice held a hint of helplessness. I didn’t look back. For five years, I never made a fuss, never questioned, never chased after answers. I thought that by being understanding and considerate, I would earn Caleb’s attention, but instead, I got his neglect. I had thought about texting him on the way to the hospital. But when I opened my phone, I saw a message I’d sent three days ago. “Full Moon Exhibition today, I have a solo combat demonstration. Will you come?” He hadn’t replied. I knew it wasn’t that he forgot; he just didn’t want to reply. In his life’s priorities, I ranked after the pack, after his missions, after that hot drink with light sugar and milk. And definitely after Chloe. It had always been that way. Back home, I pulled open the study drawer. The invitation from the Shadow Fang Pack lay quietly inside; I had read it many times. [We sincerely invite you to join the Shadow Fang Pack as a Warrior Trainer.] My thumb traced the gilded totem on the paper. I remembered how easily he took the hot drink Chloe offered at the hospital, how his tone unconsciously softened when he spoke to her, and how he hadn’t even asked if I was hurting when I got injured that day. Five years. I had waited for countless “reschedules,” for countless “something came up” excuses. I didn’t want to wait anymore. I found a piece of letter paper and personally wrote a reply: [Thank you for the invitation, I accept. I will report for duty within seven days. – Joanna Bennett]

Joanna Bennett POV That night, a stinging pain radiated from my ankle wound, throbbing beneath my skin. The painkillers the doctor gave me weren’t doing much. My wolf was growling restlessly, helpless. I didn’t know where those attackers had gotten such a toxin. I didn’t sleep all night. Caleb didn’t come home all night. At seven in the morning, I hobbled into the kitchen on my crutches. As I was chopping vegetables, I suddenly thought of my mom. I rarely saw her either. She was a powerful werewolf warrior, responsible for protecting our Luna, her schedule always packed. Even on her rare days off, she was often called back for urgent tasks. Since childhood, I’d been used to eating alone, sleeping alone, and going to school with my keys hanging around my neck. But every time my mom came home, she would be busy in the kitchen for a long time, preparing meals for the next few days, arranging them in containers in the fridge, with sticky notes on the lids: “Eat this on Tuesday,” “Remember to heat this box for two minutes.” Later, she had an accident during an attack, suffering severe injuries while saving the Luna. From falling down to passing away, it was only eleven hours. At nineteen, I stood before her body, my mind a blank. I don’t remember my reaction then, only that my knees hurt when they hit the floor tiles, and I cried until I couldn’t breathe, feeling like all the strength had been drained from me. Pack members stood around, but no one approached at that moment. Suddenly, someone crouched down in front of me. A warm drink was handed to me, still carrying the warmth of a hand. I looked up and saw a young face with gentle eyes. “Don’t cry,” he said, his voice soft. “Your mother was a great warrior, she protected all of us. Even though she’s gone, we’ll all remember her.” Through a veil of tears, I saw his face: Caleb Miller. The Alpha’s son. I didn’t drink that bottle of soda, but I held it in my hands until it was completely cold. From that day on, I remembered him and those gentle eyes. The second time I saw him was two years later. It was my final graduation exam at the training grounds. The sky was already dark when the mission ended, making it hard to see my surroundings, but as I was checking in, I unintentionally glanced towards the assembly point and saw a familiar figure standing in the corner. He stood there quietly, wearing a dark blue uniform, applauding without much enthusiasm, but very earnestly. Afterward, I didn’t change, but ran out of the training grounds clutching a bouquet of pink roses, stopping him at the entrance. “Caleb Miller, can I pursue you?” He looked at me, clearly stunned for a moment. Then he smiled, a gentle smile that held a weariness I didn’t understand at the time. “I just lost my fated mate. I’m… not over it yet.” I knew he was rejecting me. But the warmth of that drink was still in my heart, and those ten minutes of companionship were still in my memory. I so desperately wanted that kind of gentle love, unique, a favoritism meant only for me. Growing up, with my father’s early death and my mother’s passing, I had never been looked at with such focused attention. He appeared at my most helpless moment; even just a bottle of soda and a word of comfort felt like a beacon of light to me. “It’s okay,” I heard myself say. “I can help you get through it, slowly.” I thought that if I was patient and sincere enough, he would eventually turn and see me. In the five years we were together, Caleb was indeed good to me. He would train with me, go on missions with me, and take me to the doctor if I was injured. But that kindness always felt veiled. Gentle, yes, but never passionate. He smiled at me, but also at every pack member. I couldn’t tell if I was special to him or just one among many. I convinced myself it was enough. Being loved by a gentle person was enough. On his birthday, I felt our relationship should move to the next stage. I booked his favorite restaurant, prepared a ring, and decorated with roses. That evening, as I was rehearsing what to say in front of the mirror, my phone rang. Caleb’s voice was urgent: “Chloe Davis is back, and she’s injured. I’m going to the hospital first; wait for me at the restaurant.” The call ended. The ring was in my pocket, and I waited five hours at the restaurant. He didn’t come, nor did he call. From that day on, everything changed. During the time Chloe was back, whenever she called, Caleb would immediately rush over, no matter what he was doing. He started coming home late frequently, becoming absent-minded, and there was something in his eyes when he spoke of Chloe that I had never seen before. I told myself that once Chloe recovered, perhaps everything would return to normal. Until that late night. I got up to retrieve something from the study and accidentally knocked over an old photo album from a corner of the bookshelf. The album fell to the floor, scattering its contents. Every page featured Chloe. Some were candid shots, some were posed together. The backgrounds ranged from training grounds to hospitals, from summer to winter. And on the back of every photo, Caleb’s handwriting. “Day 47.” “Missing you.” “A new recruit shares your birthday today.” I crouched on the floor, turning page after page, my fingers not trembling. The date on the last photo was a week before our fifth anniversary. On the back, it read: “If you hadn’t left then, I would never have let go.” I closed the album and placed it back in the corner of the bookshelf, neatly arranged, exactly as it had been before I took it down.

Joanna Bennett POV I went to the training field despite my injury. My ankle was thickly bandaged; I didn’t participate, only supervised training all day from the sidelines. Someone asked if I wanted to take the day off, but I said no, sitting there was still work. I returned home at 8 PM; the entryway light was off. Only my shoes were on the shoe rack, and there were no messages from him on my phone. Another day and night he hadn’t come home. I was pouring water when I received Alpha Leo’s mind link. “Have you really decided to leave?” he asked me. “Yes. I… I want to go somewhere I can better utilize my abilities.” In the Frostveil Pack, I seemed destined to be just a squad leader. Because the pack’s Beta and Delta held considerable influence, it was difficult for me to surpass their positions. “More than that, we want you to be safe,” Alpha Leo said. “That’s also why we didn’t arrange for you to inherit your mother’s position; we couldn’t let her only daughter continue to face danger.” I was silent for a moment, then genuinely said, “Thank you, Alpha Leo. Even if I leave the pack, I will always love you and Luna Elena.” Alpha Leo sighed. “Alright, gather your documents. Beta Cole will arrange everything for your departure.” Ending the conversation, I walked into the bedroom. I opened the bedside table: identification, bank cards, and some documents related to the squad I managed. And, of course, the investigation into the attackers’ identity… I placed the documents one by one into a folder. Mid-packing, I suddenly paused and scanned the room. Caleb had a slight obsession with cleanliness; he disliked having too many cluttered items at home. When I first moved in, I bought a floor lamp, but he said it didn’t match, so I returned it. Later, I wanted to grow flowers on the balcony, but he said it would attract bugs, so I didn’t. Over five years, I had learned to curb my presence in this home. Only now, as I packed, did I realize how few of my belongings there were, not even enough to fill one suitcase. A few changes of seasonal clothes, a pair of spare combat boots, a jewelry box, identification documents, and some files from when I became a patrol squad leader. That was all. Five years, condensed into half a suitcase. The bedroom door suddenly opened. Caleb walked in, pausing when he saw the scattered documents on the bed. “What are you busy with?” “Organizing some materials,” I said, not looking up. “I thought we could travel together for Christmas, so I’m preparing in advance.” “Christmas?” Caleb glanced at me. “It’s only July—” He was cut off by his phone ringing. Chloe’s name lit up the screen. “Caleb, I’m not very familiar with tonight’s patrol route, can you come help me?” The voice on the other end wasn’t loud, but in the quiet room, it was clearly audible. Caleb hung up and looked at me, his lips moving. He looked guilty, yet he couldn’t put Chloe aside. “Go,” I said, folding a document and slipping it into a bag. “Work is important.” Caleb stood still, his brows furrowed, perhaps sensing something was off. If it had been the old me, I would have frowned and said, “She’s a werewolf warrior too, why can’t she handle such a small thing?” “There are so many warriors in the pack, why does she always call you?” But this time, I said nothing. My eyes didn’t even leave the documents. “I might not be back tonight,” he said. “Dinner together tomorrow morning?” “Okay.” Caleb left, relieved. The door closed softly. Listening to his footsteps fade, I packed all the remaining materials into the folder and sealed it.

Joanna Bennett POV I woke up the next day to a cold pillow. I picked up my phone and saw a message, sent at three A.M. [Last night was an emergency. Couldn’t make it back this morning. I’m sorry.] I looked at it for two seconds, then locked the screen. The apology was real, and so was his inability to return. There were always so many things ahead of me, so many that “I’m sorry” had become a common phrase. After training that evening, I carried my bag home. As I changed shoes in the entryway, I heard voices in the living room. I walked in and saw Chloe sitting on the sofa, wearing loose loungewear, with a suitcase at her feet. Caleb stood beside her, his expression tightening the moment he saw me. “Chloe… she’s not quite settled since she came back, she always has trouble sleeping alone,” he fumbled for his words. “She lost touch with her pack friends during her years abroad, and now I’m the person she’s closest to. I thought I’d let her stay in the guest room for a few days, until she adjusts, then—” “Okay.” I put down my bag. Caleb tensed all over, his lips slightly parted, as if he was scrambling for excuses in his mind. But I agreed too quickly, so quickly that the expression on his face instantly froze, like he’d choked on cold air, unable to utter a single word. Chloe stood up from the sofa, her voice soft. “Caleb, can I invite a few friends over for dinner? A welcome home party for me. I’d feel more at ease if you arranged it.” Caleb hadn’t answered yet when I spoke. “Sure, I’ll prepare it.” Chloe smiled, a fleeting flash of triumph in her eyes. That evening, Chloe’s invited friends arrived one after another. They were all Caleb’s old friends, along with some members from other packs who had attended school with them. The living room quickly grew lively, everyone gathered around Chloe. They talked about her experiences, how she’d gotten thinner, how she was still as beautiful as ever. I was in the kitchen, cutting fruit, pouring drinks, and changing plates. I entered and exited the living room many times; no one asked if I wanted to sit down and chat with them. After a few rounds of drinks, someone, a little drunk, slung an arm around Caleb’s shoulder. “I say, Caleb, if you and Chloe hadn’t broken up back then, you’d probably have kids by now, right? Hahahaha—” The living room fell silent for an instant. Caleb’s face changed, and he sharply looked at me. I was coming out of the kitchen, carrying a platter of sliced watermelon. I placed the platter on the coffee table and smiled. “Yeah, what a shame.” My tone was light, like commenting on a movie. But no one dared to speak again. The man awkwardly drank his drink, and it took a while for the atmosphere to ease. Caleb stared at my profile for a long time. I was smiling. But there was nothing in that smile. No jealousy, no resentment, not even a trace of caring. Like an outsider hosting guests. After the dinner broke up, I was washing dishes in the kitchen. Chloe leaned against the doorframe. “Joanna, do you know that Caleb and I are fated mates?” The water faucet ran. My hands didn’t stop. “The Mating Ceremony was all planned,” Chloe said loudly. “I was the one who broke up with him. I wanted to go abroad, he begged me to stay, but I refused.” I turned off the faucet and placed the last plate in the rack. I turned around, drying my hands, and looked at Chloe. “So?” Chloe met my gaze, her smile confident, even carrying a hint of pity. “So I’m back.” She took a step forward. “This spot in this home is mine; it’s time for you, the replacement, to make your exit.” The kitchen was silent for a few seconds. I folded the hand towel and hung it back on the hook. “You’re right,” I said. “It is time for me to make my exit.” Chloe’s smile stiffened. “Joanna Bennett, you’d better understand your place. You’re just an orphan with no family, you—”

Joanna Bennett POV I cut her off. “Chloe, we’re all adults here. You can’t let go of Caleb, you can go after him, but there’s no need to put me down.” Chloe looked furious. I didn’t look at her again and walked out. In the living room, Caleb had just returned from seeing off his friends and bumped into me. He glanced at the kitchen, then at my face. “They had a bit too much to drink earlier, those things they said… don’t take them to heart.” I looked at him, silent for a few seconds. “Caleb Miller, I saw the photo album on your bookshelf.” The air in the living room seemed to solidify. “Every single one was Chloe, and on the back of each one were your words.” My voice was steady. “‘Day 47, missing you.’ ‘If you came back, I would never let go again.’” Caleb looked flustered, trying to grab my wrist, but I pulled away. “Joanna, let me explain, that was just—” “No need to explain.” I cut him off. Caleb stubbornly grabbed my hand. “Joanna,” his voice tightened, “Let’s talk—” “Caleb!” Chloe came out of the kitchen, holding up her hand, her voice urgent. “I accidentally cut my finger just now, it’s bleeding a lot. Quick, help me look, will it affect me doing missions later?” Blood was oozing from between her fingers. Caleb immediately released my wrist and strode towards Chloe. I stood there, looking down at my released wrist. A red mark remained, but it would soon fade. Just like all my traces of him. I glanced at the two of them, then turned and walked upstairs. My ankle injury still hadn’t healed; the bandage was wrapped tightly, and I had to lean heavily on the banister to climb the stairs. Amidst Caleb comforting Chloe in the background, as I reached the fourth step, the bandage accidentally caught on a metal bar. I didn’t have time to react, my foot slipped, and I fell heavily— That already swollen foot twisted sharply. A searing pain shot through me. I bit my lip, not making a sound. Caleb’s voice came from the living room: “What happened?” He took two steps towards me, then was called back. “Caleb, I’m still bleeding, please help me first…” His footsteps stopped. I bit my lip, slowly stood up by leaning on the wall. My left foot was completely useless; the blood from my ankle was close to soaking through the bandage. My wolf was almost entirely consumed by the pain and the agitation from the toxin. I pulled out my phone and dialed the doctor’s number. “Hello, my ankle is injured again. Could you please come pick me up?” Caleb finally walked over, his face pale. “I’ll take you.” “No need.” No sooner had I spoken than the sound of a vehicle came from outside. The doctor’s assistant came in and helped me into the car. I didn’t let Caleb touch me the entire time. Forty minutes later, after being treated, I walked out of the clinic on crutches. Caleb was waiting for me in the hallway. “Joanna.” He blocked my path. “What’s wrong with you tonight? Why are you so cold? If you’re angry, just say so, I can change, can’t I?” I stopped and looked at him. The hallway light was bright white; anxiety and confusion were in his eyes. “Caleb Miller,” I said, “haven’t you always hated it when I lost my temper?” Caleb froze. “Every time I confronted you about Chloe, you’d say I was too sensitive. You’d tell me to be more sensible, not to be unreasonable.” He opened his mouth, but no words came out. “Now I’m sensible,” I looked at him, my voice soft. “I’m not throwing a temper, I can solve problems on my own, without bothering you.” I paused. “Isn’t this what you always wanted?”

Joanna Bennett POV Caleb looked panicked. My eyes held genuine confusion. Caleb couldn’t meet my gaze. I walked towards the door on my crutches. The cold light of dawn shone on my retreating back, but I held my spine straight. He seemed very uncomfortable. “Joanna.” He caught up to me, bent down, and picked me up. I didn’t struggle, nor did I lean against him. I just lay quietly in his arms, like a piece of luggage. In the car, he buckled my seatbelt. When his fingers brushed against me, I flinched away. Caleb gripped the steering wheel in silence for a long time, then spoke. “Joanna, let’s have the Mating Ceremony.” His tone became resolute. “Let’s officially become mates.” The car was instantly silent. I turned my head to look at him. “Didn’t you always say a Mating Ceremony was too soon?” I said softly. “You said you liked our current state very much.” Caleb’s voice was hoarse. “We’ve been together for five years. We’re going to have a Mating Ceremony sooner or later, so why not… now?” I looked at the unconcealed tension in his eyes and suddenly found it amusing. That expression, for five years, had always been on my face. I had tested him countless times, and he always had an excuse: too busy, missions, “let’s wait.” Now that I didn’t care, he was suddenly anxious. That impatient look was almost as if he was trying to forcefully bind me to him with a mate bond. I didn’t answer. The ride was silent. When we got home, I went upstairs, and Caleb sat motionless on the sofa. My ankle throbbed faintly. I lay on the bed and closed my eyes. Soon after, I heard the sound of the front door closing and an engine starting downstairs. He went to find Chloe. It was expected, not worth losing sleep over. The next day, Beta Cole brought me my passport, plane ticket, and all other necessary documents for going abroad. The flight was booked for three days later. I confirmed the details, and when I returned to the apartment, Chloe was sitting there, eating pasta Caleb had cooked. “Morning.” Chloe smiled at me, her posture like the lady of the house. Caleb came out of the kitchen, his tone a little coaxing. “The weather’s nice today, why don’t the three of us go for a walk and relax?” I thought for a moment. “Sure.” There were large forests within the pack territory. Werewolves usually loved transforming into their wolf forms and running freely, rolling around in the forest. We didn’t do that; Chloe and Caleb seemed to prefer walking in human form. Chloe linked arms with Caleb, chatting about her experiences abroad, laughing and patting his shoulder. I walked behind them on my crutches, looking at the roadside flowers, at the clouds in the sky. No one looked back to tell me to catch up. And I didn’t need them to. There was a lake in the forest, a famous dating spot within the pack. As we reached the lake, Chloe walked over to me, her voice soft. “Joanna, who do you think Caleb would save first if there was danger?” Before I could answer, two wildly sprinting werewolves suddenly rushed towards us. Chloe screamed, didn’t dodge, but instead bumped into me. Due to my injured foot, I couldn’t dodge in time, and Chloe and I fell towards the lake. In that split second of falling, I saw Caleb rush over. His arms firmly caught Chloe. Chloe huddled in his embrace. Then I plunged into the cold lake water. Through the swirling water, I saw the two of them on the shore, tightly embracing. Chloe was buried in Caleb’s arms, and he held her shoulders tightly. I kept my eyes open in the water. The bandage on my ankle was soaked, and blood began to seep out again. I thought, I really wouldn’t have any expectations for Caleb anymore.

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“Julian, are you really going to marry Audrey, the one who poses nude for a living?” Liam Reynolds’ voice on the phone was dripping with undisguised contempt. Julian’s voice was cold and rational, like a blade dipped in ice. “It’s just a formality. Once Brandon Scott marries Lyla, I’ll give Audrey a sum of money and send her away.” So, he loved my own sister. He thought I was standing outside the studio, unable to hear anything. He thought the suit jacket he’d draped over my bare shoulders was a symbol of love and protection. He didn’t know I already had the key to a private island and a perpetually loyal lover in my account. Nor did he know I was patiently counting down the days until his performance ended. Audrey POV “Ms. Hayes, the transfer of your private island is complete,” Mr. Davies, my private butler, said over the transatlantic call. “The island is secluded. No communication devices can track your location.” “Additionally, your custom-designed family and companion service is ready. You paid a hefty sum for it. They’ve been implanted with the most advanced emotional programs. They will love you unconditionally and with absolute loyalty.” I stood before the massive floor-to-ceiling window, looking at my reflection in the glass, and softly agreed. “In thirty days, I’ll finish tying up all loose ends here and arrive on the island on schedule.” Hanging up the phone, I turned and walked back to the circular platform in the center of the art studio. This was Julian’s private studio. The air was filled with a mix of turpentine and a sophisticated woody scent. I untied the thin silk robe I was wearing, letting it fall to my ankles, exposing myself completely under the bright overhead lights. I am a nude model. In this field, it’s a profession accompanied by countless prejudices, condescension, and filthy speculation. But Julian Vance was an exception. He was one of the city’s most influential and wealthy figures, and also a gifted sculptor and painter. He once took off his expensive, high-end tailored suit, draped it over my bare, trembling shoulders, and in front of countless media flashes, kissed my collarbone and said, “In my eyes, you are the purest art in the world, my only muse.” “Cold?” A deep, mellow male voice interrupted my thoughts. Julian walked towards me, palette in hand. His fingertip, stained with a bit of warm paint, gently brushed against the small of my back. His gaze was focused and adoring, as if he were looking at a rare treasure. “Just ten more minutes, and this painting will be finished. For next month’s exhibition, I want the whole world to know how beautiful my wife, Audrey, is.” Wife. Hearing that word, my heart didn’t flutter with the usual sweetness. Instead, a bone-chilling coldness washed over me. I quietly lowered my gaze, remaining silent. Ten minutes later, Julian put down his paintbrush, picked up a cashmere blanket, and wrapped me snugly in it. He gently pressed a kiss to my forehead. “I’m going to wash my hands. After that, I’ll take you to try on wedding dresses.” Watching him walk into the bathroom, I noticed his phone casually placed next to the easel. The screen was lit, showing an ongoing FaceTime call with his friend, Liam. I took a step closer. Liam’s voice, a mix of teasing and pity, came clearly through the speaker. “Julian, are you really going to marry Audrey, the one who poses nude for a living? Are you crazy? How could the Vance family ever let a nude model marry into the family?” Amidst the sound of running water from the bathroom, Julian’s cold, rational voice came through his Bluetooth headset and reached my ears. “It’s just a formality. Brandon Scott dislikes Audrey’s profession and absolutely refuses to marry her, but his family is pressuring him not to break the engagement. If I don’t ‘steal’ Audrey’s fiancée status, how can Brandon be free to marry Lyla?” Liam sighed. “You’re something else. Just to let Lyla marry the man she loves, you, the heir to the Vance empire, are willing to humble yourself to pursue a nude model, even putting on this sickening act of being deeply in love and calling her your muse. Aren’t you afraid of getting trapped for life?” The water stopped running. Julian’s voice held a trace of barely suppressed tenderness, but it wasn’t for me. “As long as Lyla gets what she wants, everything I do is worth it. Once Lyla and Brandon are married, I’ll give Audrey a sum of money and send her away.” Boom. I felt all the blood in my body freeze instantly, and even breathing sent a tearing pain through me. It turned out that all his respect, favoritism, and protection for me over the past seven years had been nothing but lies. He pulled me out of the mire and put me on a pedestal, not because he loved me, but just to make way for my own sister, Lyla. What a grand and understated love. For Lyla’s happiness, he was willing to get his hands dirty, to embrace a “nude model” whom he fundamentally looked down on. I bit down hard on my lower lip until I tasted blood, forcing myself to turn around. There was no one here who loved me anymore. It’s okay. In thirty days, I’ll go to that deserted island, where I’ll have a lover who will never betray me.

Audrey POV The bathroom door opened, and Julian walked out, drying his hands. He put on his usual gentle mask, came up to me, and naturally pulled me into his arms, his chin gently brushing against my neck. “What’s wrong? You’re trembling. Are you cold?” His tone was so caring, his movements so gentle. If I hadn’t just heard those words with my own ears, I would never have believed that beneath this warm body lay a heart so cruel towards me. I suppressed the churning nausea in my stomach, subtly stepping back half a pace from his embrace, my voice calm. “No, I’m just a little tired.” Julian didn’t notice anything amiss, just dotingly ruffled my hair. “Then we won’t go try on wedding dresses today. You rest well at home. Tonight, I’ll cook your favorite dishes myself.” Looking into his deeply affectionate eyes, an image from five years ago flashed uncontrollably in my mind. At that time, I had just started as a nude model, and uncensored photos of me were maliciously leaked by the media. My biological parents, ashamed of me, locked me out of the house. My fiancé, Brandon Scott, even threw my photos in my face, calling me “low-class” and “disgusting.” It was Julian who descended like a god, blocking all the garbage and hateful camera flashes thrown at me. With the hands that had sculpted countless masterpieces, he gently wiped away the dirt from my face and declared to the world, “Art itself is innocent; it’s your eyes that are dirty. Audrey is my lifelong inspiration.” Back then, I thought I had found salvation. I took out my battered heart, carefully mended it, and gave it to him wholeheartedly. But now, it seemed it was nothing but a carefully planned hunt. His so-called “inspiration” was just to make me willingly give up Brandon. A special notification sound suddenly rang out in the quiet art studio, interrupting my thoughts. Julian picked up his phone, and his expression instantly changed with just one glance. His usually gentle brows tightened, and a hint of undisguised panic flashed in his eyes. “What’s wrong?” I asked, feigning ignorance. Julian hastily grabbed his jacket from the back of the chair, not even sparing me a glance. “There’s a sudden emergency at the company. A multi-million dollar project has a glitch, and I have to go deal with it immediately. You wait patiently at home for me. Dinner might have to wait until tomorrow.” He spoke flawlessly, but as he turned away, I clearly saw the chat interface still lit up on his phone screen. It was a SnapChat message from Lyla, with an accompanying picture of a slender finger, with an extremely faint scratch on the fingertip, so shallow it hadn’t even bled. The caption read: “Julian, I accidentally scratched myself with a violin string while practicing. It hurts so much!” Because of such a trivial message, barely even a scratch, the man who constantly declared me his only inspiration, abandoned me without hesitation. The studio door was shut with a heavy thud. I stood there, looking at the empty room, and suddenly felt a strange sense of amusement. I once believed Julian was the man who loved me most in the world. But it turned out that in the face of a single scratch on Lyla’s finger, I, his “fiancée” who was about to marry him, wasn’t even worth an excuse. I didn’t cry. My tears had dried up during those long nights of being cursed by my parents and scorned by Brandon. I simply walked calmly to the easel, looking at the oil painting Julian had just finished. The woman in the painting was nude, her eyes pure and melancholic, breathtakingly beautiful. I picked up a paintbrush stained with black paint and, without the slightest hesitation, drew a huge, ugly ‘X’ across the woman’s face in the painting. Then, I turned and walked back to the bedroom, pulled out a black suitcase, and began to pack my belongings, one by one. Since I decided to leave, I would leave cleanly, without a trace.

Audrey POV After packing my usual clothes, I started to organize my documents, only to realize the most important ones weren’t with me. I paused for a moment, then changed into a conservative long-sleeved trench coat, wrapping myself up completely. I called an Uber to the Hayes family mansion. This was my home, yet I stood at the entrance like a cautious stranger. Ever since I insisted on becoming a nude model five years ago, against my family’s wishes, the Hayes family had changed their locks and never given me a key again. After ringing the doorbell, it took a full ten minutes for Martha, the housekeeper, to open the door, her face full of impatience. In the living room, my parents were sitting on the sofa, sipping tea. Seeing me walk in, their previously smiling faces instantly darkened, as if they had seen something repulsive. “What are you doing back? Our family’s name has been completely dragged through the mud by you, and you still have the nerve to step foot in this house?” Mom slammed her teacup onto the coffee table, her sharp voice piercing my ears. Dad just snorted, not even bothering to look at me directly. “What, you can’t make money flaunting yourself outside anymore, so you want to come back begging? Let me tell you, the Hayes family only has one daughter, Lyla. You disgusting thing, get out of here quickly and don’t soil our carpet!” I had heard such words countless times. Before, I would feel wronged, try to explain the difference between art and pornography, and cry, asking them why they only loved Lyla when we were both their daughters. But now, my heart was like a dry well, no longer stirred by any ripple. “I’ll just grab my things and leave.” I walked directly towards the study on the second floor. Just then, the front door of the mansion opened again. “I’ve brought Lyla home.” Julian’s voice echoed from the entrance hall. My steps abruptly halted. I turned around and saw Julian carefully escorting Lyla inside. Lyla was wearing a pure white, high-end couture dress, like a noble, flawless white swan. And Julian’s hand was loosely resting on her waist, his eyes filled with a tension and tenderness I had never seen directed at me. “Oh, my sweet daughter, how did you cut your hand? Let Mom see!” Mom’s harshness towards me instantly vanished, replaced by a face full of concern as she rushed to meet Lyla. Lyla leaned delicately against Julian, extending the finger whose red mark had almost disappeared. “I’m fine, I just practiced violin too hard. Thanks to Julian, he pushed aside a multi-million dollar meeting as soon as he heard I was hurt, insisting on taking me to the hospital for a bandage. The doctor even said the cut would have healed if we’d arrived any later.” Her words were full of boastfulness, but her eyes provocatively sought me out, standing at the top of the stairs. Julian finally noticed my presence. His body stiffened slightly. He subconsciously withdrew his hand from Lyla’s waist, a flicker of rapid panic and guilt in his eyes. “What are you doing here?” He quickly walked to the bottom of the stairs, trying to take my hand. “I… my meeting ended early, and I happened to pass by Lyla’s studio, so I gave her a ride home.” I avoided his touch. I looked at this man, full of lies, and felt utterly absurd. A multi-million dollar meeting? Happened to pass by? He could unhesitatingly abandon me for Lyla’s minor injury, yet now he wanted to play the deeply affectionate, innocent role in front of me. “Don’t blame Julian. He’s just too kind; he can’t stand to see anyone hurt.” Lyla stepped forward, her gaze sweeping over my tightly wrapped trench coat. A malicious smile played on her lips. “Are you finally feeling ashamed, dressed so heavily today? Julian actually told me that while he respects your ‘art,’ he’s still quite bothered by you letting so many men see you.” Julian’s face changed drastically, and he snapped, “Lyla, don’t talk nonsense!” He turned to me, explaining urgently. “Don’t listen to her. I never thought that. In my heart, you are always the purest.” I watched him silently, watching the undeniable hypocrisy in his eyes. I didn’t argue or make a scene. I simply calmly withdrew my gaze and turned to continue upstairs. “Whether it’s nonsense or not, it no longer matters.”

Audrey POV I easily found my documents in the bottom drawer of the study. After carefully placing them in my bag, I went downstairs. I had intended to leave immediately, but my mother’s cold, hard voice stopped me. “Since you’re back, have dinner before you go. Otherwise, people will say the Hayes family is cruel, not even feeding their own daughter.” Mom’s words were spoken with extreme reluctance. If Julian hadn’t been present, she probably would have already told Martha to get a broom and kick me out. I wanted to refuse, but I caught Julian’s pleading gaze out of the corner of my eye, as if he was begging me to cooperate with his act as the “devoted fiancé.” I felt apathetic and nodded, taking a seat at the very edge of the dining table. Martha soon served the dishes. The table was piled high with food I disliked, and many spicy dishes. I have severe stomach ulcers and cannot tolerate any spice. My family knew this, and Julian knew it even better. Once, when we were eating out, a bit of chili accidentally got into my soup, and I was in so much pain I broke out in a cold sweat. That day, Julian, who was always so dignified and composed, lost his temper in the restaurant and even personally took care of me. From then on, whenever he was present at a meal, there was never a trace of chili. But now, he looked at the table full of dishes and didn’t even frown. “Julian, try this. I specially asked Martha to make it. I know you’ve been eating her plain food lately, you must be tired of it.” Lyla picked up a piece of meat and naturally placed it in Julian’s bowl. Julian subconsciously glanced at me. Seeing that I had my head down and wasn’t reacting, he smiled and ate the meat. “Thanks, Lyla. It’s certainly been a while since I’ve had anything spicy.” So, he hadn’t changed his palate for me; he had just been enduring it. I picked up the glass of plain water in front of me, took a sip, and suppressed the faint pang of pain in my stomach. At the dinner table, my parents constantly served Lyla and Julian, the three of them chatting and laughing as if they were the only family, and I was just a transparent, superfluous decoration. “By the way,” Lyla suddenly changed the subject, directing her words at me, “I heard you’re having a solo exhibition next month? And Julian is personally organizing it for you?” My hand, holding the knife and fork, paused slightly. That exhibition was Julian’s promised “wedding gift” to me. He said he would use the most magnificent exhibition to showcase my beauty to the world and wash away all the shame associated with me. “Yes.” I replied indifferently. Lyla covered her mouth and chuckled, her eyes full of disdain. “You’re really brave. If I were like you, posing nude in front of men every day, I wouldn’t even dare to leave the house, let alone hold an art exhibition. I truly don’t know how you manage to be so… uninhibited.” “Lyla!” Mom sounded like she was scolding her, but her tone was full of indulgence, “She has no shame, but don’t you dare learn from her! Our family has always been respectable. How did we end up with such a disgrace!” I didn’t retort. I just quietly looked at Julian. The man who had once draped his jacket over me in front of countless people and shielded me, was now sitting quietly. Not only did he not refute them as he usually would, but he slightly frowned and spoke to me in an extremely gentle, yet somewhat condescending tone. “Lyla is young and speaks her mind; don’t take it to heart. However… they do have a point. After this exhibition, once we’re married, you should stop modeling. A Vance wife shouldn’t be out there, letting people judge her.” His voice was soft, but it felt like a dull knife, mercilessly cutting into my heart. This was his so-called “inspiration” and “art.” It turned out that, deep down, he was just like those who looked at me with prejudiced eyes, believing my profession was low-class, disgraceful, and needed to be hidden. Every one of his previous defenses was just an act to make Brandon comfortable with breaking off the engagement. I put down my knife and fork and stood up. “I’m full. Please enjoy your meal.” I didn’t look at Julian’s instantly stiff face, nor did I heed my parents’ curses. I walked directly out of the mansion and into the cold autumn night.

Audrey POV After returning from the Hayes’ residence, I began a quiet purge. Twenty-five days until I left for the island. I sorted and packed up all the expensive gowns and jewelry Julian had customized for me in my walk-in closet, then contacted a luxury resale specialist. I dug out the “model contracts” I once treasured. The promises Julian had personally written, ensuring I would be his exclusive muse. His handwriting was strong and bold, once etching itself into my heart with every stroke, but now it only felt ironic. I lit a lighter, watching the papers turn to ash in the metal basin. “What are you burning?” Julian pushed open the door, a faint smell of alcohol clinging to him. Seeing the metal basin on the floor, he frowned slightly and quickly stepped forward, stomping out the last embers. “Just some unwanted scraps of paper.” I stood up. Julian looked at me. He stepped forward, pulled me forcefully into his embrace, his chin resting on the top of my head, his voice tinged with a hint of appeasement. “Are you still angry with me? That day at your parents’ house, I was just trying to calm them down. You know, you’re the only one in my heart.” He paused, then produced a gilded invitation as if it were a treasure. “Tomorrow is the opening of the exhibition. I promise, this exhibition, named ‘Audrey: A New Beginning’, will make you the most dazzling queen in the entire art world. All the rumors will be silenced.” I lowered my gaze, looking at the invitation card bearing my name, and a silent, cold laugh escaped my heart. If I hadn’t overheard his conversation with Liam that day, I probably would have been moved to tears. “Okay.” I softly agreed. The next evening, the city’s largest private art gallery was brightly lit. I wore a conservative black long dress and walked into the exhibition hall, holding Julian’s hand. However, when I looked up at the giant poster in the center of the hall, my steps froze. On the poster, the originally planned exhibition title, “Audrey: A New Beginning,” had been conspicuously replaced with “Lyla’s Growth.” The irony wasn’t lost on me. And in the very center of the exhibition hall, under the brightest spotlights, wasn’t the oil painting of me, but a massive sculpture. The sculpture depicted a young girl in a ballet dress, pure, noble, and untouchable. It was Lyla’s face. I looked for a long time. Finally, in the darkest, most inconspicuous corner of the exhibition hall, I found my artwork. The painting depicted me nude, bathed in dark red light, creating an ambiguous and alluring tone. Below the painting hung a glaring label: “Mud under the Swan’s Feet.” Mud. So this was his idea of a “queen.” Guests gathered in small groups, pointing at the painting in the corner and letting out subtle, knowing chuckles. “I heard this is Mr. Vance’s common fiancée? Her figure isn’t bad, no wonder she managed to seduce him.” “The contrast is too stark, isn’t it? That sculpture in the middle is Lyla, the eldest daughter of the Hayes family, right? That’s true art, elegant and sacred. The one in the corner is, at most, an explicit photo.” “Mr. Vance’s intentions are brilliant. Putting his fiancée’s nude painting beneath his beloved’s sculpture as a backdrop. Isn’t that a blatant insult?” Their harsh words pierced my ears like needles. I turned and looked at Julian, who stood beside me. He was wearing a well-tailored suit, a flawless smile on his face. He didn’t even glance at me, his gaze fixed dreamily on the sculpture of Lyla in the center. “Is this your gift to me?” My voice was very soft, yet it was unusually clear in the noisy exhibition hall. Julian snapped back to reality, meeting my eyes. He quickly grabbed my hand, lowering his voice to explain. “Listen to me. Lyla is applying to the Royal Art Academy, and she needs a prominent exhibition credit. You don’t care about these superficial things, do you? You’re my private muse. These paintings are in the corner to protect you, to keep too many people from seeing your body.” Protect? Stripping away my dignity and trampling it underfoot to elevate Lyla’s throne. Was this protection? I forcefully pulled my hand away, one finger at a time, prying his grip loose. “Julian, you’re disgusting.”

Audrey POV I didn’t make a scene at the exhibition. I simply turned and walked out of that suffocating art gallery, leaving Julian stunned. The cold wind on my face felt incredibly clear. Fifteen days until I left for the island. Back in the empty mansion, I turned off my phone, cutting off all outside noise. I began to liquidate my assets even faster, transferring all the money from the resale of luxury items into the overseas account provided by my private butler. Three days later, when I turned my phone back on, a deluge of news notifications popped up. “Breaking! Brandon Scott and Lyla Hayes officially announce engagement!” “Wedding of the Century! The Scott and Hayes families unite, the most perfect couple!” The accompanying photo showed Brandon in a white suit, gently kissing Lyla’s hand. Standing behind them, as a “male relative of the bride,” was Julian. In the photo, Julian’s eyes were deeply fixed on Lyla, harboring a profound, suppressed affection that even the media could discern. I quietly looked at the photo, and the last ripple in my heart completely settled. He finally got what he wanted. Using my dignity, my reputation, and my seven years of youth, he paved a smooth path for the woman he loved. Late that night, the mansion door was suddenly pushed open. Julian stumbled in, reeking of alcohol. His eyes were bloodshot, his tie askew. He had completely lost his usual aristocratic composure. Seeing me on the sofa, he seemed to find an outlet for his emotions. He lunged, pinning me roughly to the couch. He buried his head in my neck, his voice conveying a almost pathological sense of relief and pain. “She’s engaged… she finally got what she wanted…” The strong smell of alcohol mixed with his familiar woody scent made me feel a wave of physical revulsion. I stared coldly at the man pressing down on me. “Julian, what the hell are you doing?” “I’m not crazy!” Julian suddenly lifted his head, staring at me with a wild, possessive look. “It’s all over! Brandon married her. I don’t have to worry about her being wronged anymore. Now I only have you. Let’s get married, let’s get married right now, okay?” He said, lowering his head to kiss my lips, his hands roughly pulling at the buttons of my sleepwear. I used all my strength, delivering a sharp slap to his face. The crisp sound of the slap echoed in the silent living room. Julian’s head was knocked to the side. The alcohol in his system seemed to clear up a bit. He touched his stinging cheek, his eyes instantly turning sinister and terrifying. “You hit me?” He sneered, his eyes filled with the brutality of a torn facade. “Audrey, why are you acting so high and mighty? You’re nothing but a nude model who poses for paintings! Besides me, what other man in this world would marry you? Brandon thought you were dirty, your parents thought you were a disgrace. What do you think you are?” The most vicious words often come from the most intimate people. He stepped right on my most painful wound. He was trying to hide his own pain of losing Lyla. By belittling me, he tried to prove he was still the god who controlled everything. I didn’t struggle, nor did I cry. I just looked at him like he was a pathetic creature. “Yes, I’m dirty.” “So, Mr. Vance, don’t soil your noble hands.” He suddenly stopped all his movements, looking into my eyes. He scrambled off me, trying to fix my torn collar. “I’m sorry, I was drunk… I didn’t mean that…” I avoided his hand, stood up, straightened my clothes, and walked upstairs without looking back.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “409395”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

“Stella, why are you arguing with a dying woman? You’re perfectly healthy.” Leo slammed the marriage papers onto the table, his voice laced with pure impatience. I’d just returned from the Dakar Rally, my right shoulder shattered, blood soaking through my racing suit. I risked my life to win the championship for him, and what I got in return was him marrying his first love. “She only has six months left. Can’t you just make things easy for her?” Only Leo, that fool, couldn’t see that his first love had been faking her illness all along. I looked at him, and then I laughed. “Leo, my right arm is ruined. Did you care even once?” He frowned. “What are you throwing a fit about now?” I didn’t say anything more. Instead, right in front of him, I dialed Vincent King’s number. “Mr. King, I’ll sign the cooperation agreement you mentioned last time.” Stella POV The roar of the engines ripped through the wind on the Death Valley track, kicking up clouds of yellow dust. I steered the battered red race car, cutting into the final turn at an impossible angle, executed an extreme drift, and sped across the finish line first. Bang. Confetti showered down. The crowd erupted. I won. It was a Dakar-level endurance race, forty-eight hours of continuous high-intensity driving. I had secured the most prestigious championship trophy for Leo Thorne’s “Redline” racing team. The moment I pushed open the car door, I practically fell out of the driver’s seat. My right shoulder had been severely dislocated in a crash yesterday. To finish the race, I popped it back in myself. Now my entire right arm was swollen and numb, blood soaking through the thick fire-resistant racing suit, a truly shocking sight. Before the race, Leo had kissed my forehead by the track. “Stella, as long as we win this championship, I’ll propose to you. I’ll let the whole world know that you are my only wife.” Seven years of a secret relationship, seven years of desperate battles, and I’d finally heard those words. I refused the stretcher offered by the medical team, enduring the excruciating pain, and dialed Leo’s number, full of expectation. “Sorry, the number you dialed is temporarily unavailable.” The cold, robotic female voice was like a bucket of ice water, dousing the fire in my heart. Perhaps he was busy preparing a surprise proposal? I found a team medic to casually bandage my wound and rushed back to the club’s base in the country on an overnight flight. It was late at night, and the base was quiet. I pushed open the door to Leo’s office. No flowers, no ring, no grand surprise, just an empty, cold room. The lounge door was ajar, and I heard Leo’s deep, gentle voice. A tone I rarely heard him use. “Summer, did you take your medicine? Don’t be scared, it’s just thunder. I’m right here on the phone with you.” “Be good. You’re my wife now. If I don’t stay with you, who will I stay with?” I froze in place, my blood seeming to turn to ice in an instant, even my breathing stopped. Wife? I pushed the door open. Leo heard the movement and turned his head. Seeing me covered in blood and grime, a flicker of panic crossed his eyes, but it quickly returned to his usual calm. He murmured a few soothing words into the phone, then quickly hung up. “You’re back. What happened to you?” He stepped forward, trying to check my injuries. I avoided his hand, my gaze fixed on the glaring marriage papers on his desk, next to a photo. In the photo, Leo wore a white shirt, and the woman beside him, with a gentle, fragile smile, was none other than his first love, Summer Hayes. The date on it was three days ago. That was the same day I almost plunged off a cliff in Death Valley, car and all, because of brake failure. “What’s this?” I asked calmly, so calmly that even I found it unbelievable. Leo’s face froze for a second, then he rubbed his temples, his tone laced with a sense of helpless justification. “Stella, listen to me. Summer’s congenital heart disease has worsened. The doctor says she only has six months at most. Her biggest regret in life is never getting to wear a wedding dress.” “Her family was forcing her to marry an old man for money. I couldn’t just stand by and watch her die with regrets.” “It’s just a piece of paper, a way to fulfill her dying wish. After… I’ll marry you properly, with all the pomp and circumstance you deserve.” Looking at the man I’d been with for seven years, I suddenly felt like I didn’t know him at all. “A piece of paper?” I pulled at the corners of my chapped lips. “Leo, while I was risking my life on the track to win a championship for you, you were marrying another woman. You call that ‘just a piece of paper’?” Leo frowned slightly, his voice deepening. “Stella, when did you become so heartless and calculating? You’re a healthy person with a great future, and Summer is dying! Are you really going to target even someone who’s about to die?” Heartless? Calculating? An excruciating pain shot through my right shoulder, making me almost unable to stand. I’d suffered countless injuries for his racing team, brushing shoulders with death several times. In the end, all I got was a “heartless.” “Fine, I won’t be calculating.” I lowered my eyes. There were no hysterical arguments, no weeping accusations. Because the moment my heart died, it was eerily silent. I turned, dragging my broken body, and walked out of that office, which held seven years of my youth, one step at a time. Just then, his phone rang again. “Leo, my chest hurts so much…” Summer’ weak, tearful voice came through. Leo turned, grabbed his car keys, and rushed out. He didn’t even look back at me.

Stella POV The cold rain lashed against my face as I took a taxi alone to the downtown hospital. The emergency room lights were harsh and blinding white. The orthopedic surgeon looked at my X-rays, his brows tightly furrowed, his tone severe. “Severe rotator cuff tear, accompanied by a comminuted fracture. You’ve let this injury go for too long. If Professor Miller doesn’t perform minimally invasive repair immediately, you won’t even be able to grip a steering wheel with this hand in the future, let alone race!” Professor Miller was a top orthopedic and sports rehabilitation expert in the country, and also the Redline team’s exclusive medical consultant, hired by Leo at a high salary. I gritted my teeth, enduring the sharp pain, and dialed Professor Miller’s number. “I’m sorry, Stella. Mr. Thorne just urgently called me to the VIP ward. Ms. Hayes had a sudden palpitation, and Mr. Thorne gave a strict order that I must stay here until all of Ms. Hayes’s indicators are completely stable. Your surgery… I’m afraid it will have to be pushed back.” My hand clutching the phone tightened sharply, my nails digging deep into my palm. Palpitation? Did a heart patient’s palpitation really require a top orthopedic expert to stand guard? I don’t know how I walked to the VIP ward door. Through the slightly ajar door, I saw Summer leaning back on the soft hospital bed, her face flushed, daintily sipping water that Leo was feeding her himself. Professor Miller and several other experts hovered around her like she was the center of the universe, terrified that this delicate patient might suffer the slightest mishap. “Leo, am I too delicate? Just a fright from thunder, and you’ve gone to all this trouble.” Summer spoke in a soft, delicate voice, her eyes subtly flickering in my direction. Leo meticulously wiped soup from the corner of her lips, his voice so tender it could melt butter. “Your health is the most important thing. Even a scratch is a huge deal to me.” I stood outside the door, blood from my right shoulder already dripping from my fingertips onto the cold tile floor, forming ghastly blood blossoms. A scratch was a huge deal. What about my comminuted fractured right arm? What about my career, teetering on the brink of ruin? In Leo’s eyes, they were nothing at all. I didn’t push the door open and humiliate myself. I turned and walked back to the emergency room, calmly telling the attending doctor: “I won’t wait. Please help me with a manual reduction and immobilization.” The doctor looked at me in shock. “Without anesthesia? This level of fracture, manual reduction will be so painful it could send someone into shock!” “It’s fine. I can take it.” Because no pain could hurt more than this battered heart right now. The reduction process was like death. The dull grinding of bone against bone in the silent exam room was bone-chilling. I bit down hard on my lip, cold sweat soaking my entire body, yet I didn’t make a single sound of pain. Only when I tasted the strong metallic tang of blood in my mouth did I collapse onto the hospital bed, utterly drained. It was already past midnight when my wound was dressed. Dragging my right arm, now encased in a heavy cast, I returned to the apartment Leo and I had shared for five years. Pushing open the door, I saw a pair of brand-new pink women’s slippers in the entryway. On the living room sofa, several unfamiliar women’s jackets were scattered. A faint scent of chamomile perfume, Summer’ favorite, hung in the air. I walked to the table. Where a photo of Leo and me used to be, there was now a wedding photo of Leo and Summer. In the picture, they gazed at each other lovingly, like a true couple. I watched it for a while, feeling as though these past five years had been an absurd joke. I walked into the bedroom, pulled out my suitcase, and began packing with one hand. The matching mugs I bought. Into the trash can. The scarf I’d knitted for him myself. Into the trash can. Photo albums, letters, and mementos filled with our sweet memories. All mercilessly swept into black trash bags. For three full hours, the once cozy bedroom became empty, leaving behind only Leo’s cold possessions. Just as I was about to zip up my suitcase, I heard the sound of the front door unlocking. Leo walked in, carrying a chill with him. Seeing the black trash bags piled in the living room, his brows furrowed tightly. “What in the world are you doing in the middle of the night?” He strode into the bedroom, and seeing the suitcase in my hand, his face instantly fell. “Stella, have you had enough of this drama? I told you Summer is just a patient. Are you really trying to force me by running away at a time like this?” I looked up. “I’m not causing drama, and I’m not forcing you.” I zipped up the suitcase, picked it up with one hand, and looked at him calmly. “Leo, let’s break up.”

Stella POV “Break up?” Leo laughed coldly, as if he’d heard the biggest joke. His gaze fell on my right arm, encased in a cast. A flicker of guilt crossed his eyes, but it was quickly masked by irritation. “Stella, can’t you be more sensible? Summer just fell asleep, and I rushed back overnight to calm you down, and this is your attitude? You’re going to break up with me over a marriage that’s only in name?” He took a step forward, trying to grab my hand. “Stop this drama, put your luggage back. What happened to your hand? I’ll have Professor Miller take a good look at it tomorrow.” I turned sideways, avoiding his touch. “No need. Professor Miller is very busy, and my hand isn’t Mr. Thorne’s concern.” I dragged my suitcase towards the door, but Leo blocked my way, his tall frame pressing against the doorframe. “If you dare to step out of this door today, you can forget about participating in any Redline team races for the rest of the year!” I merely glanced at him indifferently. “Suit yourself.” Leo was stunned. As we stood at an impasse, a crisp sound of glass shattering suddenly came from the bedroom. Leo’s face changed dramatically. He shoved me aside and rushed into the guest room. He pushed me, making me stumble, and my right arm hit the wall. The excruciating pain almost made me pass out. In the guest room, Summer stood barefoot among shattered glass, a small cut on her ankle. And what lay broken on the floor was my most treasured custom racing helmet. The gift Leo gave me when I won my first national championship. “Leo, I’m so sorry. I was thirsty and wanted to get some water, and I accidentally knocked over Stella’s helmet…” Summer’ eyes were red-rimmed, tears falling like broken beads, like a frightened deer. Leo picked her up tenderly, carrying her sideways and gently placing her on the bed. Then he turned and glared at me in the doorway, furious. “What were you doing leaving your helmet here? You know Summer isn’t well; what if it scared her and triggered a heart attack?!” Looking at the shattered helmet on the floor, it was like looking at seven years of my youth, broken into pieces. That was my private storage cabinet; Summer had rummaged through my things without permission. But I was too tired to explain. “It’s just a broken helmet. If it’s broken, it’s broken.” “Leo, anything you gave me, I find it disgusting.” Leo’s pupils constricted sharply. He stood up abruptly, took a few steps towards me, and gritted his teeth. “Stella, don’t push your luck! Summer didn’t mean it. Do you have to be so harsh and petty?” Summer weakly pulled at Leo’s sleeve from the bed. “Leo, don’t blame Stella. It’s all my fault. Stella, I know you hate me for taking Leo away, but I really don’t have long to live. Can’t you even spare me this little bit of time?” She cried, then looked at the Dakar championship trophy at my feet. “Leo, that trophy is so beautiful. Seeing it, I feel like I have the courage to overcome my illness…” Leo followed her gaze and walked towards me without hesitation. “Stella, give Summer the trophy. She needs some emotional support.” I protected the trophy, looking at him in disbelief. “Leo, are you crazy? This is the championship trophy I risked my life for!” “It’s just to borrow for a few days. Do you have to be so petty?” Leo impatiently reached out to grab it. “Let go!” In the struggle, the sharp metal edge of the trophy’s base cut deeply into the palm of my left hand. Blood instantly gushed out, dripping onto the clean floor. Leo snatched the trophy. Seeing my bleeding hand, his movements paused, and a hint of panic flashed in his eyes. But Summer let out a timely, painful whimper. “Leo, my chest feels so tight…” Leo immediately took the trophy and turned towards Summer, throwing a remark over his shoulder without looking back: “Go bandage it yourself. Don’t get the floor dirty.” I looked at my bloodied hands: my right hand with a comminuted fracture, my left hand with a wound so deep the bone was visible. I laughed, tears streaming down my face. I didn’t bandage it. Instead, I picked up my suitcase with one hand and, stepping through the spreading blood, walked out of that suffocating house without looking back. This time, Leo didn’t chase after me.

Stella POV Three days later, the Redline team’s championship celebration was held at the city’s most exclusive hotel. As the team owner, Leo booked the entire ballroom, inviting countless media and sponsors. As the biggest contributor to the championship win, I should have been the undisputed star of the night. But when I walked into the ballroom alone, wearing a simple black suit, my cast-encased right arm hidden in a wide sleeve, I found that the entire room’s focus was on someone else. At the end of the red carpet, Leo stood tall in a custom-tailored suit. On his arm, clinging to him, was Summer, fragile as a princess in a custom white gown. Camera flashes went off wildly. “Mr. Thorne, who is this beautiful lady?” A reporter shouted a question. Leo gazed tenderly at Summer and smiled slightly at the cameras. “Let me formally introduce everyone to my wife, Summer.” The entire room erupted in murmurs. Everyone knew Leo and I were the racing world’s “most beautiful couple.” Though never officially announced, it was an open secret. Now, Leo had suddenly announced he was married, and the bride was someone else entirely. Countless curious, sympathetic, and mocking gazes instantly fell upon me in the corner. I found a secluded spot and sat down. Days of persistent fever, coupled with the agonizing pain of my fracture and lack of food, caused spasms in my stomach. Cold sweat soaked the back of my shirt. I wasn’t here to argue today; I was here to formally submit my termination contract. Halfway through the banquet, Leo, glass in hand, walked from table to table chatting with Summer, finally arriving in front of me. “Stella, why are you hiding here alone? Why is your hand still in a cast?” Leo seemed to just notice my unusual state, his brow slightly furrowed, his tone carrying a hint of condescending pity. “You’re the hero tonight. Why aren’t you dressed up nicely?” I didn’t stand up; I just looked at him coldly. “Mr. Thorne, my termination contract has already been sent to your email. After tonight, I am no longer a Redline team driver.” Leo’s face instantly darkened, and the hand gripping his glass tightened sharply. “Stella, are you still throwing a tantrum? For the sake of a title, are you throwing away your own future? Leaving Redline, do you think any other team would want a cripple?” He deliberately emphasized “cripple,” trying to hurt me, to make me submit. I didn’t even flinch. “That’s not Mr. Thorne’s concern.” Seeing this, Summer, delicately holding a steaming glass of red wine, walked over to me. “Stella, Leo just cares too much about the team. Don’t be angry with him. I’ll toast you on his behalf, thank you for winning the championship for the team.” She leaned in close, and in a voice only we two could hear, she whispered provocatively in my ear: “The championship you risked your life for, didn’t it just become my plaything in the end? Stella, you’re so pathetic, like a stray dog no one wants.” I spat out, “Get lost.” I didn’t reach out to push Summer, but she suddenly shrieked, falling backward. The scalding red wine in her glass spilled entirely onto my uninjured left hand! “It’s so hot!” Summer fell to the ground, clutching her wrist and sobbing. The scalding liquid instantly turned my hand crimson, and a searing pain shot through me, but I simply gritted my teeth, not letting out a single cry of pain. “Summer!” Leo’s eyes were bloodshot. He rushed forward, sweeping Summer into his arms. He turned, his eyes crimson, glaring at me, and raised his hand. Slap! He landed a resounding slap across my face! “Stella! You are utterly malicious! Summer kindly offered you a toast, and you pushed her!” Leo put all his strength into that slap. My head snapped to the side, a trickle of blood escaping the corner of my mouth, my ears ringing. The entire ballroom was dead silent. I slowly turned my head, looking at the man who had laid a hand on me for another woman. I didn’t cover my face, nor did I cry; I just stared at him. “Leo, this slap severs our seven years of relationship.” I straightened up, ignoring the alarming redness and blisters on the back of my hand, and turned, walking step by step towards the ballroom door. “Stella! If you dare to walk out that door today, I promise to blacklist you from the racing world permanently!” Leo roared furiously behind me. I didn’t look back. I pushed open the heavy door and walked out into the pouring rain.

Stella POV The rain was torrential, as if it intended to drown the entire city. I swayed in the rain. The high fever, the agonizing pain of the fracture, the searing burn, and the churning spasms in my stomach finally pushed me to my limit. My vision began to blur, my legs gave out, and I tumbled forward into the cold puddles. Just as I thought I would be swallowed by the downpour, a black umbrella shielded me from the rain. A pair of expensive handmade leather shoes stopped in front of me. I struggled to lift my head, and through the blurry curtain of rain, I saw a man in a black trench coat with a stern face. Vincent. The owner of the Phantom racing team, Leo’s biggest rival in the racing world, and known in the circuit as a cold-blooded tyrant. “The Redline team’s champion driver, collapsed in the street like a stray dog?” Vincent looked down at me, his voice deep and cold, yet with a hint of barely perceptible anger. I had no strength to retort. I closed my eyes and completely succumbed to darkness. Vincent looked at my body, covered in injuries, his brows tightly furrowed. He bent down, picked me up bridal style, and strode towards the black Maybach parked by the roadside. “To the private hospital. Have all orthopedic and burn specialists on standby immediately.” Inside the car, Vincent looked at my cast-encased right arm and my left hand, now a mass of blisters, a terrifying storm brewing in his eyes. I lay unconscious for two full days and nights in Vincent’s private hospital. After the fever broke, I opened my eyes to see Vincent sitting by the bedside, looking through my medical records. “Awake?” Vincent closed the medical records, his gaze deep as he looked at me. “Comminuted fracture of the right arm, second-degree burns on the left hand, severe malnutrition. Stella, are you trying to run yourself into the ground?” I moved my parched lips. “Thank you for saving me, Mr. King.” “I didn’t save you for nothing.” Vincent tossed a contract onto my bedside table. “The Phantom team needs a lead driver. Sign it, and I’ll give you the best medical resources, guaranteeing your return to the track within six months.” I looked at the exorbitant signing bonus in the contract, a little taken aback. “My hand… it might be ruined.” “As long as you have a breath in you, I can get you back to your peak.” Vincent leaned forward, his imposing presence enveloping me. “What Leo discards as trash, I value as priceless. Stella, dare to take a gamble with me?” Looking at the ambition and certainty in the man’s eyes, my dead heart suddenly beat fiercely. With my burned left hand, I painstakingly gripped the pen and signed my name on the contract. “I’ll take that gamble.” The day after signing the contract, I insisted on being discharged against the doctors’ advice. I had to return to the Redline team’s base to retrieve my core racing data stored there and to officially terminate my contract with Leo. Vincent didn’t stop me; he simply sent two bodyguards and a private car to take me. At the Redline team’s base, the atmosphere was unusually oppressive. I pushed open the main door and walked straight to my private lounge. However, the moment I opened the door, I froze. My racing posters were torn to shreds, and my trophies were casually tossed into a cardboard box in the corner. The room had pink curtains, and the air was thick with the pungent scent of chamomile perfume. Summer was sitting in my exclusive massage chair, directing several staff members to move furniture. “This sofa is too hard. Leo said he’d replace it with a leather one for me. And that cabinet, throw it out; it’s an eyesore.”

Stella POV Seeing my appearance, a flicker of panic crossed Summer’ eyes, but she quickly adopted an innocent expression. “Stella, you’re back? Leo said you might not be racing anymore, and this lounge was empty, so he let me use it as an art studio for now. You don’t mind, do you?” I ignored her provocation and walked straight to the safe, inputting the password and retrieving the hard drive filled with core data. “Suit yourself. I don’t care for this dump anymore anyway.” I turned to leave, but Leo pushed open the door just then. Seeing me, a hint of barely perceptible surprise flashed in Leo’s eyes, but he quickly composed himself, adopting a condescending air. “So you decided to come back? I thought you were going to hide away forever.” He walked up to me, his gaze falling on my bandaged left hand, his brows furrowed almost imperceptibly. “Alright, stop being childish. Summer has given you back the lounge. Withdraw your termination email, and for tomorrow’s test race, you can instruct the new drivers as co-pilot.” He arranged everything for me as if that night’s slap and our breakup had never happened. I looked at this conceited man in front of me and found him utterly ridiculous. “Mr. Thorne, I think you’ve got something wrong.” I slapped a paper termination agreement and a check onto Leo’s chest. “I came here today to pay the breach of contract fee. From now on, I have absolutely no relationship with the Redline team, or with you, Leo.” Leo looked down at the enormous check, stamped with the Phantom team’s official seal, his face instantly turning ashen. “Phantom team? You actually hooked up with Vincent behind my back?!” Leo’s anger turned to a cold laugh. He grabbed my collar. “Stella, you’ve really gotten bold! To get back at me, you’d even provoke a ruthless monster like him?!” “Let go!” I looked at him coldly. “Who I sign with is my business.” “I don’t agree!” Leo violently tore the check to shreds, his eyes crimson. “You’re a Redline person, and you’ll die a Redline ghost! Do you think Vincent truly values you? He just wants to use you to humiliate me! Once this hand of yours is completely ruined, he’ll throw you away like trash!” “That’s still better than staying by your side and being a fawning dog!” I pushed him away forcefully. That hit a nerve, and Leo completely lost it. “Fine! Fine then! Stella, if you dare to walk out that door today, I promise to destroy your career and reputation! I will submit evidence to the Racing Association that you deliberately underperformed and leaked team secrets, ensuring you never set foot on a racetrack again!” He used my most cherished dream to ruthlessly threaten me. I stopped, turning to look at him. “Leo, you’re truly pathetic.” I didn’t say another word, turning decisively and walking out. Seeing this, Summer hurriedly chased after me, grabbing my arm, her face drenched in tears. “Stella, don’t go! It’s all my fault, I shouldn’t have used your lounge, please don’t be angry with Leo…” In the struggle, a malicious glint flashed in Summer’ eyes. Her high heel stomped hard and accurately on my cast-encased right foot, while her shoulder slammed into my comminuted fractured right arm! Excruciating pain instantly swept through my entire body. My vision went black, and out of instinct, I forcefully pushed Summer away. “Ah!” Summer stumbled and fell to the ground, hitting her forehead on the doorframe, a trickle of blood appearing. “Summer!” Leo’s eyes were bloodshot. He rushed forward and kicked me hard in the back of my knee. Already weak, the kick sent me sprawling to my knees. My right arm hit the hard tile floor, and the bones that had just been set dislocated again, letting out a dull crunch that set my teeth on edge. Cold sweat instantly drenched my entire body. I writhed on the floor in pain, even my breath tasting of blood. Leo held Summer, whose forehead was bleeding, and looked down at me, writhing in pain, his eyes cold as knives. “Stella, you’re hopeless! Get out of Redline now! I never want to see you again!” I don’t know how I walked out of the Redline team’s base. The excruciating pain in my right arm almost made me lose consciousness; every step felt like dancing on the edge of a knife. Seeing my condition, the bodyguards immediately stepped forward to support me and took me back to Vincent’s private hospital. After an emergency examination, Professor Miller looked at the X-rays, his face extremely grim. “Secondary dislocation, bone fragments have pierced the nerve. Stella, I need to operate on you immediately, but even if the surgery is successful, your chances of returning to peak condition are… less than twenty percent.” Less than twenty percent. Those words hit my heart like a death sentence. I closed my eyes. “Do it. Even if it’s only ten percent, I have to try.” The surgery lasted a full ten hours. When I woke up again, my right arm was rigidly immobilized with thick metal plates and a cast. Vincent stood by the window, an unlit cigarette between his fingers, his back exuding a chilling aura. “Leo did this?” He turned, a bloodthirsty storm brewing in his deep eyes. I didn’t speak, just stared silently at the ceiling. “I’ll make him pay.” Vincent crushed the cigarette in his palm, his voice icy cold. “No need,” I said. “Mr. King, this is between him and me. I’ll use my achievements on the track to personally crush the Redline team.” Vincent looked at me, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. “Good. I’ll be waiting.” Over the next month, I began hellish physical therapy. Every stretch was agonizing. I bit through countless wooden sticks, sweat and tears mixing, yet I never once asked to stop.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “409396”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

The SATs were over when someone found a love letter Stephen Hayes had written to me. Everyone started chanting, asking if I’d say yes. Young and shy, I was too embarrassed to admit it, missing the dejection in his eyes. Years later, he used me as inspiration for a coming-of-age movie that swept the film awards. When reporters asked if he regretted not being more proactive back then, Stephen Hayes wept on camera, hoping to find me through the media. Suddenly, the whole city was buzzing. But by then, I was no longer able to respond… Reborn, back to that summer when I was eighteen. I snatched up the love letter first and walked straight up to him: “Stephen, do you want to be with me?” He lowered his eyes, a cold smile playing on his lips. “No.” As his words hung in the air, a suffocating awkwardness filled the room. Some people tried to comfort me, others were just enjoying the spectacle. I ran a hand through my hair, taking two steps back with a self-deprecating laugh. “Oh, I see. Alright then.” The whispers around me threatened to drown me: “Who is she? So bold!” “I think she’s from Class 3? I heard she got into our school on an athletic scholarship. Otherwise, with her grades…” “So where does she get the confidence to confess to Stephen? He’s a top student, accepted to Harvard University…” “Who knows. Aren’t all jocks like that? Reckless airheads…” I squeezed my palm, forcing a smile to keep myself from looking too awkward. “It was just a dare. Don’t take it seriously.” Just as I was about to turn and leave, Stephen suddenly spoke. “That letter… you shouldn’t take it seriously either.” In my previous life, I didn’t take it seriously either. That day, after the graduation ceremony, everyone was eagerly clearing out their desks and lockers. Papers and textbooks cascaded out of drawers with a whoosh, fluttering through the air between the school buildings. It was then that Stephen’s love letter fell out of my drawer. The guys who usually treated me like one of them snatched the letter, yelling: “Holy crap! Someone wrote a love letter to Farmar Davies?!” Stephen’s exam papers were always passed around and studied by the entire grade. My name was written on the envelope in elegant, strong handwriting. It wasn’t hard to recognize the sender. “There are words in here I don’t even know! Am I illiterate?” “Who knew the school’s genius would go for a jock like her — Ouch! Not the face!” I blushed furiously, grabbed the letter back, and shoved it directly into my pocket. “Stop messing around. How could he ever be interested in me?” My friends laughed, asking if I had feelings for him. Back then, my teenage crushes were secrets kept in a diary. In my friends’ eyes, I was always the outgoing tomboy. My hidden feelings were suddenly exposed, and instead of joy at receiving the letter, shame was the first thing I felt… At that time, I blurted out: “No way! We’re not even in the same league.” Too embarrassed to admit it, I completely missed the dejected figure in the corner. The next time I saw him was ten years later, live on a awards show. Stephen Hayes cried on camera during a media interview. I stared at the hospital room ceiling, my eyelids growing heavy. I heard the host ask, “What kind of presence is the female lead’s inspiration to Director Stephen Hayes…” Unfortunately, I didn’t get to hear the answer… When I opened my eyes again, it was back to that summer when I was eighteen. This time, I walked towards him, but he took a step back. “No, I don’t think so.” What came next was even more humiliating than a gentle rejection… “Sorry, I put it in the wrong drawer.” The room fell silent, as if the world had pressed pause. “Oh, well, you can have it back then.” I heard myself force myself to speak calmly. Then I fumbled in my pocket for the crumpled letter, suddenly at a loss. “Uh, I accidentally wrinkled it…” I desperately tried to smooth the letter flat— A button came out of my pocket and rolled to Stephen’s feet. My heart felt like it was being squeezed tight. Stephen looked down at his collar. The second button was missing, as if it had been forcefully torn off. At that moment, the mocking gazes from everyone felt silently directed at me. It was indeed Stephen’s button. I had spent a month bringing water to the basketball team, begging his teammates, just to get my hands on it. It was easy for guys to snag a button while playing basketball, without drawing attention. Now, my carefully hidden secret was exposed, like the punchline of a cruel joke. I bent down to pick up the button, but it seemed to grow legs, rolling all the way into the depths of a nearby flower bed. I didn’t care how prickly the freshly trimmed branches were, reaching out to get it— A pair of sneakers stopped in front of me. “Don’t bother looking, I don’t want it.” I stood up, wiping the sweat from my face. “Oh, alright.” After Stephen left, I also pretended nothing had happened and left. Then I found an empty classroom and finally couldn’t hold it in, bursting into tears. It shouldn’t be like this… Why is it completely different from what I imagined? I had caught up with time, only to be harshly pushed away by the person within that time.

I originally didn’t want to go to the graduation party that night. Because I knew Stephen would definitely be there. After all, he was the top student in our graduating class, and a good person, so everyone had invited him. My friends started teasing, saying if I didn’t go, it meant I was giving up, giving in. They even said if I didn’t go, they’d go confront Stephen and demand an explanation, backing me up no matter what. I was too proud to let that happen, so I collected myself and headed out. The graduation party was scheduled at an upscale karaoke bar near the school. When I arrived, someone was already singing. I quickly scanned the room but didn’t see Stephen. I immediately breathed a sigh of relief. Since I hadn’t figured out how to face him, I found a corner to sit in. A moment later, someone sat next to me. I didn’t think much of it until Ramon Garcia nudged me, signaling me to look back. That’s when I noticed the excessively beautiful girl sitting next to me, who also looked familiar. Wasn’t she the prettiest girl from the next class? I asked, “Can I help you?” She lowered her head, her long lashes trembling slightly, and spoke timidly. “Um… about this morning, I wanted to apologize.” I was confused: What? “That letter, I think… it was probably meant for me.” “My friend said Stephen asked her this morning where my classroom was.” “My friend gets her left and right mixed up and pointed to your classroom by mistake. She later realized that you and I both happened to be in the fourth row, third column of our respective classrooms…” “I’m really sorry for the misunderstanding. I apologize on his behalf!” I set down my iced soda and spoke calmly. “Are you sure?” She probably hadn’t expected me to ask back and immediately flushed crimson. “Of course! My friend wouldn’t lie to me, and…” She shyly lowered her head, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her skirt on her knee. “Stephen even specifically asked me about college applications before the SATs…” I said, “I see. I understand.” The air conditioning in the room was too cold, and the food was awful. I wanted to leave. “Well, I wish you two the best.” With that, I picked up my jacket from the sofa and stood up to leave. Someone pushed the door open just then, and I almost walked right into them. “Woah! Who’s that?!” Stephen Hayes and his friends had just walked in. I paused slightly, and then I heard a soft voice from behind me. “Stephen, what took you so long?” Oh, she was calling someone else. Stephen’s gaze fell on me, tinged with a hint of inquiry. I turned my head away, moving past them. I heard someone talking to Stephen behind me, mentioning my name. He immediately cut them off with a cold voice. “Don’t mention her.” His tone was impatient. I quickened my pace, leaving everything behind. The summer of June was like a steamer. Stepping out of the karaoke bar, a wave of heat hit me, but I was breaking out in a cold sweat. A sharp pain shot through my abdomen, and my lower belly felt heavy. …Damn, I’d completely forgotten about that since I was reborn. My period was coming. I found a convenience store nearby, bought a heat pack, and stuck it on my stomach. While I was at it, I bought some chicken nuggets. Living two lives, the pain of my period still plagued me. I first met Stephen because I suddenly got my period during P.E. class and got my athletic shorts dirty. My friends usually treated me like one of the guys, so no one noticed my embarrassment. Only he, from the next class, noticed. He took off his jacket and covered my thighs. “Here, hide it for now.” Seeing my face turn pale and me unable to stand steadily from the pain, he immediately left the basketball court and carried me to the school nurse’s office. After that incident, I started to notice him. I regretted not being more honest back then. I never thought that given a second chance, when I pursued him, he would deny anything happened. My gaze vacant, I stared at the ground, thinking for a long time. Perhaps his love letter wasn’t for me at all.

I was lost in thought when I looked down and jumped in surprise. When did I order so many chicken nuggets?! The box was overflowing, completely full. I stopped the guy at the counter, who was about to ring me up. “Wait a minute! I didn’t order this much, did I?” He pressed down on his cap and muttered, “It’s fine, just eat.” I can’t just accept this for nothing… No, something was definitely off. A thousand things felt wrong. Before he knew it, I reached out and flipped his cap off. “It’s you?!” Stockton Miller, Stephen’s rival on the basketball court, a friend I’d met while bringing water to the team. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “What is this supposed to be?” Stockton grabbed his cap back, awkwardly putting it on. He mumbled, “I heard about what happened earlier today…” “Stop right there!” I paid for the extra food. “Don’t do this. I told you it was just a dare.” He pressed down his curly hair that escaped from under his cap. “It’s better if it’s fake. I was actually pretty happy…” His voice was too low at the end; I couldn’t hear him at all. After eating my fill, I was browsing the shelves for tampons. Stockton kept rearranging the shelves next to me. Ten minutes later, I snapped, “How long are you going to keep rearranging?” “Huh?” He suddenly realized he’d been lingering in the women’s hygiene aisle for ages, and his face immediately flushed crimson. Stockton suddenly stood in front of me and asked in a low voice, “How about you go out with me?” “Are you crazy?” His expression became unusually serious. “I’m not kidding. I like girls with your personality.” I took two steps back. “I’m not kidding either. I don’t like how dark you are.” He glanced at his tanned arms, looking a little troubled. “Then I’ll get fairer. I can also—” The bell above the door chimed. “Go help the customer.” After sending him away, I continued to bend down, looking for my usual pads. A hand reached over my head, palm open. “Is it this one?” Yes, it was my usual brand. Luckily, it was the last pack left on the shelf. “Yes, that’s it. Thank you.” I instinctively reached out to take it, but the person pulled their hand back. I looked up, meeting a pair of deep-set eyes. Stephen Hayes stood behind me, very close. He turned and handed the last pack to the girl behind him. “Stephen, I can buy it myself… Farmar Davies, you’re here too?” Oh, he was getting it for someone else. A strange pang of bitterness welled up in my chest, my throat suddenly dry and constricted. Someone patted my shoulder. Stockton casually put his arm around me. “Let’s go. My shift’s over.” Stephen looked at the person behind me, his gaze lingering on Stockton’s hand on my shoulder. His expression darkened slightly, but he didn’t say anything more. Torian Stone tugged on his sleeve and said softly, “See? She has a boyfriend. So don’t worry about this morning’s misunderstanding—” “Boyfriend?” Stephen interrupted. Upon hearing that, Stockton rested his chin on my shoulder, looking like he was leaning half his body weight on me. “You can have a girlfriend, but I can’t?” He glanced at the girl standing in front of Stephen and warned her coldly, “Torian! Keep your boyfriend in line, and don’t cause trouble.” I suddenly stopped short. “Wait.” I looked at Stockton. “What did you just say?” Stockton replied, “I told her not to cause trouble.” No, not that. I stared fixedly at the girl close to Stephen, asking word by word: “You called her… what?” Stockton realized. “Oh, you mean Torian? She’s my neighbor, we’ve known each other for a long time.” Stephen and Torian left quickly. I leaned against the shelf, my head felt heavy, my legs a little weak. It felt like a huge hole had ripped open in my chest. The reason I was so sure Stephen’s movie was based on me… Was because during that interview, Stephen cried silently on camera, and finally revealed the name of the female lead’s inspiration. The subtitle displayed: Farmar. Anyone who knew us would immediately think of me. During the toughest times in my previous life, I watched Stephen’s movie countless times from my hospital bed, including every behind-the-scenes clip, every roadshow, and every interview with the cast and crew. The female lead, Maya, was by then a globally renowned A-list actress, and she starred without pay, reportedly to repay a favor. At twenty-eight, she played an eighteen-year-old girl without any awkwardness, even looking far prettier than my eighteen-year-old self. And Maya’s former stage name before her debut was the same as mine.

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After Christina, my girlfriend, saw her massive garden wither overnight, she sued me, Ethan, Ashworth’s top florist, and I was sentenced to three years in prison. While inside, I heard about her ninth engagement to her ex, Raphael. A reporter asked her: “Ms. Christina, the first thing you did after sending Mr. Ethan to prison was to get engaged to this gentleman. Is there a connection between these two events?” “Don’t make wild guesses. Raphael and I are just pretending to be engaged to punish Ethan for his floristry mistake. I’ll wait for Ethan to get out of prison, then I’ll marry him!” Christina faced the reporters with an annoyed tone, her words clearly defending me. Everyone present couldn’t help but marvel at the wealthy heiress’s love for me, bizarre as it was, it seemed profound. Everyone at Ashworth knew Christina loved flowers more than anything. So, a mandatory condition for her future husband was exquisite floristry skills, someone who would meticulously care for her sprawling estate garden. To ensure I passed her endless tests, whenever I made a mistake, she’d punish me with a ‘fake engagement’ to her ex. I never expected that this time, the punishment would include sending me to jail. I watched the poor quality news footage, finding it dull and hypocritical.

After three years of torment and my release from prison, Christina actually knelt before me, her eyes full of eagerness and remorse: “Marry me, Ethan? The past is the past. I forgive you.” “Forgive me?” I replied, stunned. I looked at the once imperious Christina, now kneeling before me in a heavy, elaborate wedding dress and high heels. I admit, I was somewhat disoriented, but mostly, I felt the exhaustion from three years of relentless torment. “Hey! What are you staring at? Don’t you see what Christina is doing? Just say yes!” Seeing the wealthy heiress so eager to marry a disheveled ex-con, the onlookers, who were just there to gawk and applaud, couldn’t help but scold me, the male lead. The swarming media and crowds created an oppressive atmosphere, forcing me to bend down, intending to help Christina up first. Just as I extended my hand, ready to push away the ring and refuse, Christina suddenly handed the ring to Raphael, who was beside her, and burst out laughing at me: “Look at you, still so clueless. You haven’t even passed my test yet, and you’re already dreaming of marrying me? What are you thinking?” “Right, Raphael? This ring was custom-made for your size. A birthday surprise for you! Happy?” Her gaze towards Raphael was full of girlish anticipation. Before Christina’s words even faded, the roar of laughter from the crowd became deafening. “So funny! Doesn’t he take a good look at himself? Still fantasizing about marrying a rich heiress.” “Why does Christina fall for a guy like him?” “I don’t think Ms. Christina is infatuated. It’s Ethan who’s willing to grovel like a dog for Ms. Christina.” “Ms. Christina is used to charming millionaires, but a lapdog? That’s new.” As the background music swelled to a climax, my head buzzed, and I couldn’t hear anything clearly. All I saw were faces sneering at me, and Christina and Raphael wrapped intimately together. Yes, what illusions was I still holding about Christina? It had been nine years. She had punished me countless times with similar methods, always citing failed assessments. This was the tenth time I witnessed her ‘marry’ herself off to Raphael. Everyone mocked me, saying all I had was my floristry skill; my background and looks were nothing next to Christina’s.

In the past, whenever I faced these rumors, she would always stand in front of me, scolding the gossipers, then turn, lean down, cup my face, and console me: “Ethan, when I got together with you, I knew you were the one. I don’t care about your background; your talent is all I value.” Her constant reassurances made me fall for her again and again. But after three years in prison, I finally understood that rumors don’t just appear out of nowhere. It was Christina herself who repeatedly humiliated me and turned me into Ashworth’s biggest joke, slowly eroding all the passion I had for this relationship. The crowd finally dispersed, but the excitement in Christina’s eyes hadn’t completely faded. When her gaze landed on me, it dimmed considerably. “Are you angry about earlier? All the flowers in my garden died that year, and I still haven’t gotten over it. Come back and explain it to me properly.” She said, feigning shyness, her hands casually resting on my shoulders. This was her usual way of flirting. I felt no stirring. In fact, she reminded me. I also wanted to uncover the truth behind my innocent three-year imprisonment, especially since those flowers withering overnight had absolutely nothing to do with me. Back at the mansion, all the staff seemed to have received special instructions. Their attitude towards me was no longer disdainful like three years ago, but overly solicitous and attentive. Massages, fresh clothes, a lavish dinner—everything was arranged for me. “Well? Ethan, are you satisfied? Those three years weren’t just hard for you; waiting for you was tough for me too~” Christina looked at me eagerly, wearing a skimpy swimsuit. “If you thought I’d have a tough time, why did you send me to prison?” I took the opportunity to ask, genuinely confused. “The day after we argued, all the flowers in my garden died. You know how much I loved those flowers. How could I not doubt your sincerity after you did something like that?” “I told you many times, I didn’t do it!” “You still won’t admit it. Raphael was right; you were only with me for the money! That’s why you weren’t sincere with me!” As she said this, the anger and contempt in Christina’s eyes were almost overflowing. I knew that look all too well. In her mind, she would never believe my words. But she’d believe every word Raphael said, no matter how absurd, but never mine. “Since you’re still unrepentant, then our engagement will be postponed indefinitely. The assessment continues!” Christina indignantly wrapped a towel around herself, one corner sweeping sharply across my face. With the stinging pain on my cheek, I stood frozen, like I’d swallowed a fishbone. My throat felt raw and bloody, my every breath tasted of iron. I opened my mouth but couldn’t manage a single word. I wanted to tell Christina that our engagement should have been called off long ago, that I no longer wanted to marry her. I’d find the truth, then I’d leave. After staring blankly by the pool for several hours, I dragged my tired body back to my room, only to find the master bedroom locked. I asked Brenda, the housekeeper, but she just gave me a cold stare. “Ms. Christina said you can’t sleep in the master bedroom tonight. Your things have been moved to the storage room.” Brenda gestured towards a tiny storage room, barely big enough to turn around in, then turned and gave me a sneering, contemptuous look. She seemed to be waiting to see my reaction to her humiliation. I curved my lips, letting out a self-deprecating laugh. “Serving Christina must feel great, huh? You even get to play with me, her ‘dog,’ now and then!” Brenda quickly feigned a look of fear and made a hollow excuse, “Oh, no, sir, I wouldn’t dare.”

But I had only taken two steps when I heard her and the other staff laughing. Looking at the bed in the storage room, barely two feet wide, I clutched my head, overwhelmed, trying my best to suppress the surging emotions within me. Perhaps triggered by my terrible mood, an old injury from prison flared up. My entire lower body suddenly went numb. I dragged my heavy frame, painfully crawling to the door, yelling for help outside. “Help! Can someone please get me my medication!” I used all my strength, banging on the door and screaming desperately. No one responded. It wasn’t until half an hour later that Christina’s voice, laced with amusement, drifted up. “Ethan, do you think acting pitiful like this will make me forgive you sooner?” “Raphael, look at him. If you had been more like him back then, maybe we wouldn’t have broken up.” Christina gently opened the door, peered through the crack, looking down at me playfully, then coyly nudged the man beside her with her finger. “Christina, my leg injury flared up. Please send me…” I ignored their mockery, enduring the intense pain as I looked at Christina with pleading eyes. But before I could finish, Raphael cut me off. He kicked me on the floor, laughing loudly. “I’m not going to be a lapdog.” “Alright, let’s stop looking at the chihuahua. Christina, didn’t you want me to come back with you to get that expensive custom-made sexy lingerie? Let’s not waste any more time!” Hearing this, Christina’s smug expression froze. After a moment, she looked at me with a slightly apologetic gaze. “Uh… Ethan, don’t misunderstand. I just booked a private photoshoot, and since we argued, I just asked Raphael to come with me.” “We… there’s nothing going on. You… you should rest well. Don’t stay on the cold floor.” Christina’s explanation was weak and unconvincing… but I no longer had the energy to care. When I tried to raise my head again, reaching out to Christina for help, she abruptly shut the door, almost catching my hand. I lay on the floor, wailing in desperate pain, only hearing Christina’s coy, chiding voice fading into the distance. The next time I woke, I was in a hospital. “You’re awake?” Christina’s slightly anxious voice actually reached my ears. “Why didn’t you make it clear yesterday? Brenda said you called for help for a long time.” Before I could reply, Christina continued, feigning urgent concern. “Didn’t you tell Brenda to ignore me?” I looked at her coldly. “I told her to just give you a small punishment, not to let you die! Don’t worry, I’ve fired Brenda. Is that enough?” She angrily picked up her phone, quickly typed a few words, then looked at me with an imperious expression. As if any emotion from me was now my fault. She always played dumb, never realizing that the one who constantly hurt me was always herself. I closed my eyes in despair, not saying another word. Just then, Christina’s phone rang, and her voice immediately reverted to its sweetest tone. “Okay, tonight we won’t go home until we’re smashed. Wait for me at our usual spot.” “The doctor said you’re fine. You rest well. I’ll come back to see you later.” After hanging up, she hastily grabbed her bag and left, leaving me with only her retreating back. Because it was an old injury, the doctor gave me the usual specialized medication, and the immediate effect was significant.

I could move freely now, truly no different from a normal person. But when I was discharged, the doctor looked worried. “Mr. Ethan, you need this surgery soon. The injury has affected the foundation. If you delay it further, it will spread to your limbs, and potentially… full paralysis.” Even though the prison doctor had told me similar things, hearing the words “full paralysis” again still left me stunned for a long time. Full paralysis… what a devastating outcome for a top florist… Christina, all this is thanks to you. Are you satisfied? I sat blankly on the sofa, looking at the follow-up recommendations on my medical record, suddenly feeling utterly pointless. I wiped away a tear, booked the earliest flight to France, departing tomorrow afternoon at three. Just then, my phone rang. The words ‘My Love’ on the screen flashed, stinging my eyes. I didn’t answer. After the tenth call, I still couldn’t resist hitting the answer button. Christina’s sobbing voice came through the phone. “Ethan, I’m drunk. Please come pick me up. I’m so sorry for everything lately. I know I was wrong.” “Just come get me and take me home. You can do anything you want. We’ll be good together from now on, okay?” Christina’s sobs grew more pitiful, almost breaking down. Hearing her fragile state, my heart still gave an involuntary tug. Almost as soon as I hung up, I rushed to the garage. By the time I regained my senses, I had already floored the accelerator. I told myself, this is the last time. Let it be… a farewell. Inside the decadent club, laughter of indulgence filled the air. I was wearing a stuffy old suit, completely out of place in the environment. Ignoring the cold, mocking stares, I gasped for breath and rushed towards the VIP room at the end of the corridor. Peeking through the crack in the door, I saw Christina in a sexy, low-back dress, dancing intimately with Raphael. As the music entered a more intimate rhythm, they embraced and kissed, Christina clearly enjoying herself, lost in the moment. “Hey, Ethan, you made it!” Others in the room noticed me, and the music abruptly stopped. Christina looked at me, her expression calm, even a little smug. “Ethan, I knew you’d come. These guys didn’t believe me, insisting I call you.” “Don’t misunderstand, I just lost a game earlier and was doing a dare.” Almost simultaneously, deafening laughter erupted in the room. Raphael looked at my embarrassment, a mischievous, provocative thought sparking in his mind. “Since you’re here, why don’t you join us? Let me introduce you to some of your old friends.” As I stood there confused, three burly men emerged from another room in the VIP suite. Recognizing their faces, I started trembling uncontrollably, a cold sweat instantly breaking out on my back. “Remember them? You should be quite familiar, right?” Raphael said with a smile. I wanted to ask him what he meant, but my throat felt filled with lead; I couldn’t make a sound. “Ethan, Raphael said you two had some past grievances. Why don’t you take this opportunity to settle things here?” “Just apologize to them sincerely. Then this matter will be resolved, right, Raphael?” Seeing my lack of response, Christina feigned trying to mediate. “Bullshit feud! It was one-sided abuse!” I couldn’t hold back anymore. Anger finally triumphed over fear, and I retorted sharply.

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The dawn of my surgery, Ethan signed the consent form. Not to save me – but to take my bone marrow. After his sister, Chloe, was diagnosed with severe aplastic anemia, he and my stepmother, Victoria, conspired to trick me into the hospital. My bone marrow saved Chloe. I, on the other hand, developed a post-op infection and never left my bed again. I was barely twenty-six, and my immune system had completely crashed. The day the infection spread, he told me our entire marriage was for Chloe’s illness, that he’d checked my genetic match before marrying me. He said, “Your bone marrow saved a life. It was worth it.” Perhaps my very bones were screaming for justice on my behalf. When I opened my eyes again, I’d moved out of that city before he could find me. As for Chloe’s illness, this time, let’s see how you protect her. “Skylar, your dad’s last words, the night he left us, were for me to take good care of you.” My phone screen lit up for three seconds. Incoming call, my stepmother, Victoria. I answered. “What do you want?” “I’ve been looking for you for two years, and you haven’t returned a single call. If your dad knew how you were treating me—” “He won’t know now.” A few seconds of silence on her end. “Skylar, there’s someone who wants to meet you. He says you’re fated to meet.” “His name is Ethan.” The name drilled into my ear like an ice pick stabbing the back of my neck. “He says you two are a good match to get to know each other. His family is in pharmaceuticals, he’s a good person, I’ve vetted him for you—” I hit End Call. Turned off my phone. Threw it in the drawer. Two years. New city, new number, new company. I thought I’d run far enough. The next day at work, a bouquet of white Eustoma flowers sat on my desk. Harper poked her head over from the next cubicle. “Who sent them? A delivery guy came up specially early this morning.” I flipped open the card at the bottom of the bouquet. Printed text, one sentence. “Hello, Skylar.” No signature. But I recognized the flowers. In my last life, at our wedding, he personally chose white Eustoma as the main flower. Their language was unchanging love. I tossed the card and the flowers into the trash. Harper nearly spat out her coffee. “That’s decisive, even for you.” “The sender isn’t a good person.” “An ex?” “Worse than an ex.” Her eyebrows furrowed, and her mouth opened, but she didn’t press for details. At noon, I went out for coffee. A black car was parked outside the shop. The window rolled down halfway, revealing a face I’d seen repeatedly in countless nightmares. He had high brows, a straight nose, and a sharp jawline. The first time I saw him in my last life, my heart skipped a beat. Now, seeing him, all I felt was a sour twist in my stomach. “Skylar.” He called my name the exact same way as in my last life, with a slight upward lilt at the end. “Who are you?” “Ethan. Your stepmother should have mentioned me.” “She’s mentioned a lot of scammers.” He gave a small smile. The kind that was gentle, disarming. He used to smile like that, making you drop your guard instantly. “I’m not a scammer. I just wanted to buy you a coffee.” “No thanks.” “Five minutes is all I need.” He looked at me, utterly sincere. “There’s something I absolutely have to tell you in person. It’s about you.” About you. That’s how he started last time. A hook impossible to refuse, luring me willingly into his cage. “You checked my genetic match.” His pupils contracted. But quickly returned to normal. “What match? I don’t understand.” “If you don’t understand, why are you looking for me?” “Just to get acquainted.” He pulled a business card from his pocket and held it out. “I’m working on a rare disease charity foundation—” “New packaging, same old trick.” His hand froze in mid-air. “Last life, you used a class reunion.” The moment those words slipped out, I knew I’d said too much. “Last life?” His brows subtly furrowed. “I meant the last time. The last time you contacted Victoria, you made up an excuse then too.” No one took the business card. He retracted his hand and looked at me for a few seconds. “Skylar, you’ve misunderstood me.” “No. I understand you perfectly.” I turned and walked three steps before his voice caught up from behind. Not rushed or annoyed, even carrying a hint of a smile. “Skylar, my sister is dying.” I stopped. Not out of softness. But because he’d never said those words in my last life. Back then, he’d wrapped the truth in ten layers of sugar coating, waiting until I was married, on the operating table, to tear off the paper. “Her name is Chloe, she’s twenty-three, and she has severe aplastic anemia. No one in our family is a match. The national bone marrow registry can’t find a suitable donor either.” His voice was as calm as if he were reading a medical chart. “Only you. Your HLA match is perfect with hers. Ten out of ten loci, a complete match. That’s a one in a hundred thousand probability.” The wind blew. My coffee grew cold. He stood in the late autumn light, smiling gently, like a kind-hearted person asking for help. “What does that have to do with me?” “Your genes can save her.” “They’re my genes. Not your tools.” His smile finally cracked. “I never thought of you as a tool.” I turned and walked into the office building. The moment the glass doors closed, I saw the expression on his face in the reflection. It was no longer gentle. “Skylar, if you don’t help her, can you live with yourself?”

“What did you say to him yesterday?” Victoria’s call came in again. This time, I didn’t hang up. I needed to know what cards she still held. “I didn’t say anything.” “He told me you mentioned a genetic match. How would you know about that?” I leaned against the tiled wall in the restroom, my voice steady. “He let it slip himself.” “He also said you said some very strange things. Skylar, have you been listening to rumors?” “What rumors?” “Some people say the Victor family is using you. That’s nonsense. Ethan is a respectable man, his family runs a pharmaceutical group—” “So, how much did you take?” Silence on her end for two seconds. “Skylar, why do you always think that about Mom?” “Just tell me.” Her tone sharpened a little, like I’d stepped on her tail. “Skylar, after your dad passed, I was left to shoulder everything! You ran off for two years, leaving me to handle the mortgage and utilities alone. The Victor family is just being charitable—” “You call selling my medical report to someone else ‘charitable’?” “Who sold it? Who sold it!” Her voice became shrill. “Your dad asked me to keep it for you! Ethan came asking about you, and I was just showing concern—” “You even told him which hospital I had my check-ups at.” “That was—” “Thyroid function, complete blood count, full immune panel. And HLA typing. Victoria, ordinary people don’t get HLA tests unless it’s for an organ or bone marrow transplant.” The breathing on the other end caught. A long silence followed. She switched her tone, softening, easing, like she’d put on a different mask. “Skylar, even if I did something wrong, that girl is really dying. I saw her photos, she’s only twenty-three, just skin and bones—” “It has nothing to do with me.” “Can’t you just go for a match confirmation? It’s just a simple blood draw—” “That’s what you told me last time.” The words slipped out, and I immediately clamped my mouth shut. “Last time? What last time?” “Nothing.” “Skylar, you’ve been talking stranger and stranger lately. ‘Last life,’ ‘last time’—” “I’m hanging up.” I turned off my phone and stood at the sink for two minutes. My knuckles were turning white. I’d let it slip again. Every time I faced these two, memories from my last life surged out, uncontrollable. In the afternoon, Harper returned from outside, her face troubled. “Skylar, there’s a woman downstairs. She says she’s your mother.” “She’s not.” “She was crying really hard. Security asked if she wanted them to call the police, and she said her daughter hadn’t come home in two years, and she just wanted to see her.” I walked to the window. Victoria stood at the office building entrance. Plain dress, no makeup, red-rimmed eyes, clutching an old worn bag. A forty-seven-year-old woman, her hair perfectly neat, her scarf tucked into her collar, exposing only a sliver of her collarbone. Light makeup, simple clothes—a perfect picture of a wronged, devoted mother. She adjusted her glasses, borrowed a tissue from a passerby to wipe her tears, and thanked them three times as they handed it to her. Such a good performance. “Keep an eye on her for me,” I told Harper. “See who she contacts.” Harper hesitated. “She really isn’t your mom?” “My mom died nineteen years ago.” Harper didn’t ask again. I slipped out the back door of the office building and hid in the convenience store across the street. Through the glass, I saw Victoria pull out her phone. The call lasted less than thirty seconds. After hanging up, she glanced up at the office building, and her lips curved slightly. Not the kind of smile someone genuinely crying would have. Ten minutes later, the black car appeared at the intersection. Ethan got out of the car and walked to her side. They exchanged a few words. He handed her an envelope. Victoria took it, looked down at it, and smiled. She accepted the envelope much faster than she’d wiped away her tears. I pulled out my phone and took a photo. Time, location, both their faces. Harper sent me a message: “She left, with another guy. Do you know him?” “Yes.” “Should you call the police?” “Not yet.” Back at the office, a brown envelope sat on my desk. Not a delivery. Someone had placed it there directly while I was out. I tore it open. A hospital report. Not mine. Chloe’s. Her white blood cell count was alarmingly low. Platelets almost zero. A note was attached at the end. “Skylar, she only has two months left. You are her only hope.” On the back was another small line: “If you don’t come, her blood is on your hands.” Harper leaned over. “What is it?” I flipped the note over and showed her the last line. She stared at it for five seconds. “Is that a threat, seriously?”

“Miss Skylar, someone’s here to see you. In the conference room.” The receptionist’s voice carried a subtle peculiarity. Colleagues along the hallway were all secretly glancing in that direction. I pushed open the conference room door. A thin, frail girl sat in a chair. Her face was sallow, her lips almost bloodless. Her hands showed bruised marks from IV lines. Chloe. She looked even more gaunt than I remembered from my last life. She saw me, and her eyes immediately reddened. “Miss Skylar.” Her voice was so weak it sounded like a puff of wind could scatter it. “I know I shouldn’t have come to you directly.” Next to her sat a middle-aged woman. Her makeup was meticulously applied, but beneath it was an undisguised scrutinizing gaze. “And who are you?” The woman stood up, extending her hand. “I’m Chloe’s mother, Eleanor. Thank you for agreeing to see us.” I didn’t take her hand. Eleanor’s hand hung in the air for two seconds, then retracted. The smile on her face didn’t falter. Chloe lowered her head, a tear falling onto her oversized cardigan. Beneath the cardigan, the blue and white stripes of a hospital gown were visible. “I’m not here to beg you. I just wanted to see what you look like with my own eyes.” “Why look at me?” “Ethan said your genetic match is perfect with mine.” “I didn’t know about this before. I looked up a lot of information, and bone marrow donation usually causes minimal harm to the donor—” “Usually.” She paused. “You said usually.” I looked at her face. “Did you also look up the probability of post-op infection? Did you read about cases where donors’ immune systems crashed?” Chloe’s lips moved, but she didn’t respond. Eleanor interjected. “Miss Skylar, medical conditions are very advanced now. The post-op infection rate in large hospitals is less than one percent. We will hire the best specialists—” “Your daughter’s life matters, but mine doesn’t?” The conference room fell silent for two seconds. Eleanor’s expression shifted subtly, then quickly morphed into a more polished smile. She took a bank card from her bag and pushed it across the table. “Miss Skylar, you’re right. So we want to talk to you properly. Compensation-wise, just name your price.” I glanced at the card. “You think bone marrow can be priced.” “It’s not pricing! It’s gratitude—” “Your gratitude involves first buying my genetic information, then having Ethan approach me under the guise of a charity foundation. What’s next? Is the next step arranging a blind date?” Eleanor’s hand froze on the table. Chloe looked up. “Miss Skylar, what are you saying? Ethan wouldn’t—” “Chloe, do you know how Ethan found me?” Her lips trembled. “He said… it was through the bone marrow registry.” “I’ve never registered with any bone marrow registry.” Her eyelashes fluttered. The conference room door was pushed open. Ethan walked in. His gaze swept over Eleanor and Chloe, finally landing on me. “Mom, I told you not to bring Chloe.” There was restrained annoyance in his voice. He then turned to me, his expression switching to that infuriatingly gentle one. “Skylar, I’m sorry. They’re just too desperate.” He was always playing the good guy. “Skylar, I know you’re wary of me.” He sat opposite me, hands clasped. “But this isn’t just between you and me. There’s a twenty-three-year-old life at stake.” “That life has nothing to do with me.” “Your genes can save her.” “Those are my genes, not your pharmacy.” His jawline tightened for a moment. Chloe suddenly began to cough violently. Eleanor quickly supported her. She turned to me and yelled, “Look at her! Look at what she’s become—” “Mom!” Ethan said in a low, sharp voice. Chloe pressed her hand to her mouth, her fingertips stained with blood. She looked up and gave me a faint smile. “Miss Skylar, it’s okay. If you don’t want to, I don’t blame you.” That sentence was more effective than all the pleas and accusations. Because when she smiled, there was something in her eyes. Not pleading, but certainty. She was certain I would compromise, just like in my last life. “Conference room time is up. Please leave.” When I walked out the door, everyone in the hallway was watching. Someone whispered, their voice not too loud, not too soft, just loud enough for me to hear. “That girl is so pathetic, dying of leukemia, why won’t she save her…” “It’s just a little bone marrow donation.” My steps paused, then I continued walking. Ethan’s voice followed me from behind, gentle, considerate, for all my colleagues to hear. “Skylar, whenever you change your mind, contact me. I’ll be waiting.”

“Skylar!” Harper grabbed me as soon as she arrived at the office, her palms cold. “You’re trending.” She handed me her phone. A post. Over three thousand shares. The title: “My sister can save me, but she refused.” The profile picture was a blurry hospital photo. The text was long. The gist was—she had severe aplastic anemia, and her entire family was a mismatch. She finally found the only perfect donor in a vast sea of people and gathered all her courage to meet them. The other person refused. The post didn’t mention my name. But it listed the city, the industry, and the specific building and district where my company was located. The comments section was flooded. “It’s just a bone marrow donation that can save a life, how can she refuse?” “It might not be illegal, but what about her conscience?” “This kind of person should be dragged through the mud online.” I handed the phone back to Harper. “What do we do?” she whispered. “HR has already inquired. Asking if you’re the person in the post.” “It’s me.” “Skylar—” “Don’t panic yet. Help me find something out. This post was made yesterday at 11:47 PM. Can you trace the IP address?” “I’ll try.” At ten o’clock that morning, my supervisor called me into his office. “Skylar, the company is facing a lot of public pressure right now. Clients have seen it too.” He pushed up his glasses. “Can you take a leave of absence for now? Come back after things have settled down.” “How long?” “It depends.” I didn’t argue. Arguing was useless. The post was precise down to the floor number. Anyone who could do that either had been to the company or had an insider. While packing my things, my phone rang. It was Victoria. “Skylar, you saw the online situation, right?” There was a prickle of smugness in her voice. “I think that girl has a point—” “Did you help her post it?” “Not me. But running away like this isn’t a solution.” “How much money did you take, exactly?” “Skylar!” I gripped the phone, my knuckles white. “How much did the Victor family give you? Name your price.” She fell silent for three seconds. Then her voice dropped, as if she finally gave up pretending. “Five hundred thousand. They gave me five hundred thousand upfront. Said they’d give another five hundred thousand once it was done.” A million. My bone marrow was worth a million. She probably got the same price in my last life. Only, I died then without ever knowing. “Skylar, just do me a favor—” “You’re not my mom.” I hung up. At noon, the office door was pushed open. Two people in white coats stood at the entrance. “Excuse me, are you Ms. Skylar? We’re the medical check-up agency that partners with your company, here for the annual employee check-ups today.” My supervisor stood behind them, nodding at me. “Since you haven’t left yet, you might as well get your check-up done.” I looked at their faces. I’d been to the company’s partnered check-up agency twice before, and I’d never seen these two. “There’s no check-up scheduled for today.” “It’s a last-minute addition.” The man in the white coat smiled. “Just a blood draw, it’ll be quick.” Blood draw. One of the ways to confirm HLA matching is a blood test. “I’m not doing it.” “Miss Skylar—” “I said no.” I picked up my bag and started to walk out. The man moved half a step, blocking the doorway. “It’ll take three minutes.” He already had a blood collection tube and tourniquet in his hand. Harper’s voice came from outside. “Which medical agency are you from? Show me your ID badge.” “This colleague—” “Are you going to show me? If not, I’m calling 911.” A commotion erupted outside the door. I squeezed past the man, Harper grabbed my arm, and we both rushed into the elevator. The moment the elevator doors closed, I saw Ethan’s figure in the lobby. He leaned by the reception desk, hands in his pockets. Seeing my gaze, he subtly tilted his head. A slight curve of his lips. Not an apology, but a silent “you can’t escape.” Harper shoved me into her car. She drove for ten minutes before stopping in an underground parking garage. “Those two people’s ID numbers were fake. I already called the check-up company, and they said there were no plans scheduled for today.” She handed me a bottle of water. I twisted it open and drank half. “Skylar, what exactly is going on? Tell me everything, from the beginning.” I looked at her. There weren’t many people left in this world I trusted. In my last life, I didn’t even have a single friend. “You’ll be scared if I tell you.” “Just tell me.” I recounted everything. Except for the part about being reborn. Harper listened, silent for a long time. “He used your stepmother as an insider to get your genetic data. After confirming the match, he looked for you for two years. Now his sister can’t wait any longer, and he’s even faking medical check-ups, trying to forcibly take your blood.” “Yeah.” “That’s a crime.” “I know.” “Then why aren’t you calling the police right now?” I looked out at the dark parking garage. Call the police. I had in my last life too. The police came, he pulled out our marriage certificate and called it a domestic dispute. Victoria stood next to him, nodding along. No one spoke up for me. “Let’s wait.” “Wait for what?” “Wait for him to think I’m truly at my wit’s end.” Harper stared at me for a long time. “Skylar, are you playing chess?” “Something like that.” “Then what do you need?” “Someone to set up cameras for me.”

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“You come here every single day; if I’m not annoyed, I’m certainly annoyed for myself! Haven’t you ever seen a decent spa before? You’re practically living here, trying to squeeze every last cent out of that card! Look at you, you pathetic cheapskate!” Those were Kyle’s exact words, the head technician at the ‘Dreamland Premier Wellness & Beauty Spa’, as he pointed his finger right in my face. I’d paid twenty thousand dollars for an unlimited black card. I’d only used it for less than half a month when he publicly humiliated me. That’s when I lost it. “Kyle, what do you mean by that?” I pulled out my phone to message him on SnapChat, but the message just sat there, stuck on “unsent”! He’d actually blocked me! Pure rage engulfed me. I was trembling, so I immediately stormed back to the spa to demand a refund from the owner. But Sharon, the owner, slowly pulled out a “special cancellation clause” I’d never seen before. “Sophia, according to our store policy, if a client voluntarily cancels their membership, the refund must be calculated based on the highest-tier single session prices for our facial anti-aging and full-body essential oil SPA treatments.” “You’ve visited us 15 times this past half-month. At fifteen hundred dollars per session, that’s twenty-two thousand five hundred dollars. Plus, there’s a two thousand dollar fee for imported oils, two thousand for the premium room service, and three thousand for equipment wear and tear.” “All told, you don’t get a refund; you actually owe us three thousand dollars more.” I almost laughed out loud from sheer anger. Oh, this is rich. This is really rich. Leaving the spa, I immediately called Mr. Davis, the property manager. “Hello, Mr. Davis? That ‘Dreamland Spa’ on the third floor of the mall? I’m not renewing their lease next month!”

The moment I realized I’d been blocked, a switch flipped in my brain. I couldn’t stand it for another second. I stomped in my heels straight to the spa on the third floor. Before I even pushed open the opulent glass door, the piercing sound of laughter spilled out. “That Sophia, she’s something else! Acts like she owns the place just because she got an unlimited black card. She practically lives here!” “Tell me about it! I’ve seen plenty of women like her. Probably blew her savings or maxed out all her credit cards just to afford that twenty thousand dollar card, all so she could pretend to be a socialite here!” “Fk! I’m sick of looking at her face! She has me massaging her all day, my hands are going to fall off!” That was Kyle’s voice, full of undisguised contempt and mockery. A few of the junior beauticians chimed in with snide remarks: “Kyle’s right. Her skin’s as rough as sandpaper; even the most expensive oils are useless on her! She should just stop coming and making a fool of herself!” “I bet she’s just desperate for attention, looking for a strong man like Kyle to pamper her!” “Hahahaha! Basically, just a cheapskate trying to freeload!” Their piercing laughter felt like needles pricking my ears. Rage surged through me, threatening to burst out. I couldn’t hold back anymore. I shoved the front door open violently and stormed inside. *Bang!* The laughter inside abruptly stopped. The air instantly dropped to freezing. Everyone stared at me as if they’d seen a ghost. “What right do you have to talk behind my back? Apologize to me, now!” I screamed, my eyes fixed on Kyle. The junior beauticians nervously lowered their heads, looking flustered. Kyle, however, only froze for a second before rolling his eyes dramatically and sneering. “Nobody was talking about you. What are you going crazy about?” “That’s a lie! I heard everything clearly from outside the door!” “No one else heard it, just you?” Kyle crossed his arms, wearing a defiant and arrogant smirk. “Are you crazy from all these treatments, hearing things?” As soon as he said that, a few junior beauticians couldn’t help but snicker, covering their mouths. Kyle puffed out his chest, smug as a general who’d won a battle. I clenched my fists so tight my nails dug deep into my palms, drawing blood. “Then why did you block me?” I demanded, grinding my teeth. Kyle eyed me dismissively, looking me up and down. “Look, lady! I’m so busy every day, I have to attend to so many real high-rollers worth millions of dollars!” “You keep sending messages to book appointments, it’s endless! I’m not your personal chat companion!” “Then what was that post you made about? What do you mean ‘pathetic cheapskate’?” “My card is unlimited! What right do you have to complain about how often I come?” “Didn’t you say today was fully booked? Why are you just standing here chatting if you’re so busy?” Kyle sneered, walking up to me and looking down. “Don’t I need a break? Get your facts straight, I’m a senior technician, not your slave!” “You bought a card and now you think you’re hot stuff? Who do you think you are, queen bee?” As he spoke, his chin was raised high, a disgusting look of superiority on his face. The other beauticians no longer bothered to hide their expressions, all casting looks of disdain and amusement. My temples throbbed with fury, and even my breath tasted of blood. I didn’t want to waste another second talking to this jerk. I turned and rushed to find Sharon, the owner, to get my refund.

Sharon’s office was at the end of the hallway. She was a woman in her forties with heavy makeup, reeking of cheap perfume and shrewd calculation. After I explained why I was there, she took a slow sip of her tea. Then, she leisurely pulled out a contract from her drawer, one I’d never seen before. “Sophia, calm down. But, you see, according to our store policy, if a client voluntarily cancels their membership, the refund must be calculated based on the highest-tier single session prices.” “You’ve visited us 15 times. At fifteen hundred dollars per session, that’s twenty-two thousand five hundred dollars. Plus, there’s a two thousand dollar fee for imported oils, a thousand for utilities, a thousand for equipment wear, and a thousand for service fees.” “All told, not only do you not get a refund, but you actually owe us three thousand dollars more.” I was so angry I laughed, then slammed that flimsy contract onto the table. “Sharon, are you serious? Is this a robbery? I never saw this contract when I bought the card!” Sharon’s face subtly changed, and her eyes hardened. “Sophia, it’s all in writing, our store policy. Go ahead and ask around, all the high-end places do this.” “Fine, then I’m not canceling. I want a different technician.” I said coldly. According to their store’s rules, if a customer demanded a different technician, Kyle’s commissions and bonuses for the month would be out the window, and he’d even get docked pay. Sharon’s face instantly turned ugly. “All our other technicians are fully booked, their schedules are packed.” “Kyle has always been our most outstanding head technician; no customer has ever complained about him. It must be a communication problem on your end!” “How about this, I’ll go talk to him for you later and ask him to continue doing your treatments. And you, well, you should try to control your temper and not always act so high and mighty.” My brain felt like it was about to explode from anger. So, it’s all my fault now? I took a deep breath, suppressing the urge to smash up the office. Finally, I said nothing, just pulled out my phone, snapped a picture of that ridiculous contract, and turned to leave. Behind me, Sharon snorted disdainfully, “Who does she think she is, trying to act like a big shot when she’s broke?”

For the next few days, I deliberately didn’t cancel the card and kept booking appointments. Since it was unlimited, I wanted to see what other tricks they had up their sleeves. Kyle outwardly resumed giving me treatments, but in reality, he was maliciously retaliating. Under the guise of a “deep detox,” he put me in the hottest sauna room. Normally, I’d steam for twenty minutes at most; he kept me in there for a full hour. I was also forced to drink scalding “detox tea.” I couldn’t stand the heat anymore and got up to leave. But then I discovered the sauna door was locked from the outside! I pounded on the glass door, shouting for help. Kyle stood just outside the door, watching me through the glass, sipping iced watermelon juice and smiling maliciously. “Sophia, you have too many toxins in your system; you need to sweat it out more!” “Didn’t you insist on coming for treatments? Take it or leave it!” He mouthed an insult at me. My head was spinning from the heat, my vision started to blur, and my heart pounded uncontrollably. He gave me the middle finger from outside. “You pathetic cheapskate, I’m doing this for your own good! To cleanse you of your poor vibes!” I finally endured until the time was up. When the door opened, I was completely drained, collapsing onto the damp floor, unable to get up. Just then, a few VIP clients walked in. I weakly tried to ask them for help. They were all Kyle’s regulars and had always resented me for “coming every day to take advantage.” They watched me coldly, making no move to help, instead covering their mouths and snickering. “Oh, isn’t that Sophia, the one who’s always clinging to Kyle? She really knows how to take advantage. Just because she bought a year pass? She has no sense of propriety!” “Exactly! Because of her, Kyle was upset, and he wasn’t even in the mood to chat when he was giving us our SPA!” “Heh heh! Serves her right! Must be crazy with poverty!” After that, they disdainfully walked past me, strolling smugly into the changing room. I bit my lip until it bled, forcing myself to stand up. Good. Very good. You all just wait.

One evening, Kyle, claiming he was too busy during the day, deliberately scheduled my appointment for ten p.m. That was almost closing time. After the treatment, I was completely exhausted. I dragged my wobbly body to the shower. I had just lathered shampoo into my hair when, suddenly, the water stopped! Then, *click*, the bathroom lights went out. The entire space plunged into dead silence and darkness. I yelled for a long time, but no one answered. I had no choice but to haphazardly wipe the soap off my body with a towel, fumble in the dark to put on my clothes, and rush out. The huge spa was completely dark and empty. Kyle stood outside the glass front door, illuminated by the faint corridor light, grinning chillingly at me like a demon. A bad feeling instantly washed over me. I hurried towards the front door. Suddenly, my foot slipped! I fell hard onto the unforgiving marble floor. “Ah!” A piercing pain instantly shot through my entire body. I cried out in agony, tears streaming from my eyes. In my panic, I reached out to feel the floor, only to discover it was covered in slippery massage oil! Not only that, a sharp, stabbing pain shot through my palm. I used the faint light from my phone to see: the oil was scattered with countless thumbtacks! My palms and knees were covered in blood from the punctures! Furious and in pain, I trembled as I looked up. Kyle stood outside the door, watching me with a smug, gloating expression, and mouthed, “Serves you right! Go to hell!” The next second, he cruelly pulled down the rolling shutter, locked it, and walked away, completely satisfied. My insides trembled with rage. Enduring the intense pain, I forced myself to get up. I shouted for help, but after a long time, only dead silence echoed back. I wanted to call the police, but when I picked up my phone, I realized there was no signal! They had installed a jammer! Desperate and helpless, I used my phone’s flashlight, limping to the front desk, and grabbed a heavy metal bar stool. I swung it violently at the expensive tempered glass door. Once! Twice! Three times! *CRASH! BANG! SMASH!* Glass shards flew everywhere, and the sound of shattering echoed throughout the entire floor. Dragging my injured body, I scrambled out of the spa in a mess, ran outside the mall, and immediately called 911 and an ambulance. The process of removing the pins at the hospital was agonizing. The doctors looked at my multiple injuries, shaking their heads with sighs. By the time I left the hospital, it was already dawn. Without even changing my clothes, I went straight to the police station. “Officer, I want to report a crime! Someone illegally detained me and intentionally harmed me!”

Half an hour later, Kyle arrived at the police station, his face tight. The moment he saw me, he pointed his finger at me and started yelling curses, his tone arrogant and vicious. “Are you sick? Reporting the damn police in the middle of the night! You fell down yourself by accident, and you’re blaming me? Don’t you sleep, but everyone else does!” Sharon, the owner, also arrived. She looked bleary-eyed, her hair disheveled, and her words were full of bias and blame. “Sophia, you’re aggressive in your speech, and you deliberately make things difficult for our Kyle. He’s already being generous by not bothering with you!” “And what about you? Reporting the police in the middle of the night over a trivial matter, causing trouble for people, it’s too much! I haven’t even charged you for smashing our store door yet!” I coldly swept my gaze over them. I pointed to the injury report on the table, then rolled up my sleeves, revealing the dense pinpricks and bruises on my arms and knees. “Trivial matter?” “Just because I bought an unlimited year card and came a bit more frequently, he got resentful and maliciously subjected me to physical punishment, locking me in a high-temperature sauna!” “Last night, he was even more insane, locking me in the store and deliberately pouring oil and scattering thumbtacks on the floor to harm me!” “You call this a trivial matter? This is attempted murder!” Sharon looked at me indifferently, a mocking smirk even playing on her lips. “Do you have any proof of what you’re saying?” “The surveillance footage is proof! Officer, I demand you check their store’s surveillance cameras!” I shouted. Sharon rolled her eyes and spread her hands. “Oh, how unlucky, our store’s surveillance system just happened to break yesterday afternoon. It’s still being repaired.” “You…!” A vein throbbed on my forehead, and I trembled with anger. Kyle, hiding behind Sharon, defiantly raised an eyebrow at me, flashing an extremely irritating smile. The next second, he pulled out his phone and, right in front of me, started fabricating stories in the VIP client SnapChat group, whining about what happened. He sent a voice message: “Ladies, you all see how it is every day, please speak up and clarify things for me! That Sophia went crazy, smashed up the store, and even called the police to arrest me!” The few wealthy clients in the group who had bought session cards and always disliked me quickly replied: “She’s lying! She clearly had malicious intentions towards Kyle, touching him inappropriately during her oil massage. She held a grudge after Kyle firmly rejected her, and that’s why she’s trying to frame him!” “Exactly! She clearly hid in the store on purpose, trying to prevent Kyle from leaving work, that’s why she got locked in. Those thumbtacks? She must have deliberately pricked herself, it’s a sympathy ploy! The whole thing is her own doing, that woman is truly evil!” “Kyle has always been so good to her, often sending her fruit and snacks. Not only is she ungrateful, but she’s also turning on him! She’s an absolute ungrateful wretch! They should arrest her instead!” Listening to those voice messages, my blood rushed to my head. I wanted to smash the phone in their faces. Sharon patted my shoulder, her tone full of a victor’s mockery. “Sophia, be a decent person! Stop causing trouble! You *will* pay for that door!” Kyle leaned close to me, speaking in a low, biting voice that only I could hear: “This is just a small warning! If you don’t learn your lesson and keep coming here every day, I’ll make sure you’re bedridden for life! And I’ll ruin that face of yours!” I glared at him. If looks could kill, he would have been sliced into a thousand pieces. Because of insufficient evidence — the surveillance was indeed broken, and I had destroyed the scene by smashing the door — the police could only temporarily not file a case. They treated it as a regular dispute, offered some admonishment, and sent us all home, telling me to compensate for the damaged glass door. Outside the police station, Kyle and Sharon walked arm in arm, like a victorious pair of scoundrels. They smirked at me, then got into Sharon’s BMW, embracing. I stood in the cold morning wind, hurting physically and raging inside, having been awake all night, my eyes bloodshot. But I didn’t cry. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number. “Hello, Mr. Davis? That ‘Dreamland Spa’ on the third floor of the mall? I’m not renewing their lease next month!”

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