Category: English

After six years of dating, I turned down the opportunity to study abroad, eagerly awaiting my wedding day. But on the eve of our wedding, I discovered that my long-time boyfriend had meticulously saved over ten thousand unflattering photos of me. He even labeled each set of photos: [Ugly, Uglier, Unbearably Ugly.] And he used these photos to amuse his crush, Bonnie Lewis. He even edited our wedding photos, replacing my face with Bonnie’s, and said to her. “If you’re willing to marry me, I can call off the wedding at any time.” I thought, “Since you want it this way, I’ll help you out. I won’t complete our wedding anymore.” But after I ran away from the wedding, he searched for me worldwide, nearly collapsing. ***** [See this photo of her when her parents passed away? She’s so ugly without makeup!] I was looking at the sample wedding photos on my boyfriend Stephen Lloyd’s computer when I stumbled upon his WhatsApp chat by accident, and it was still logged in on the computer. He was sending out photos of me, unflattering ones from when my parents died in a car accident, showing me in a state of collapse at the hospital. I was in there with disheveled hair, tears streaming down my face, and my veins bulging as I held onto their bodies in despair. There were even pictures of me kneeling on the ground, bowing in front of their caskets, saying my final goodbyes. [She looks so ugly without makeup!] [This one is even uglier. She looks so scary.] [Do you think it’s bad that we’re laughing at her? I feel so awful.] She sent this with a pitiful emoji, using her own selfie as the emoji. It didn’t take long for me to realize that the chat contact pinned at the top of his list wasn’t the client he had told me about. It was his childhood crush, Bonnie Lewis. I remember when we first got together, he deleted Bonnie from his contacts right in front of me. But now, I scrolled up through the chat history, and it was even longer than the one we had. Stephen, who never responded quickly to messages, always replied to Bonnie instantly. In no time, he replied: [She’s ugly to begin with. It’s only right to make fun of her.] [If you want to see, I have over ten thousand more photos of her on my computer, all kinds of unflattering photos of her… as long as it makes you happy.] Over ten thousand… When I saw this message, my hand couldn’t even hold the mouse steady. It was shaking. After six years together, we didn’t have more than ten photos of us in our phone albums. But he had over ten thousand unflattering photos of me. And these photos were used to entertain his crush, Bonnie. My heart was filled with disgust, but Stephen didn’t stop there. He sent over a set of our wedding photos. At first, I thought something seemed off, but I couldn’t figure out what was wrong. Until he said to Bonnie: [Do you see anything wrong with these?] Bonnie replied after a while: [How come it’s my face? Isn’t this your wedding photo with Kathryn?] That was when I looked closely and realized that in every photo he sent, my face had been replaced with Bonnie’s. And it didn’t look out of place at all. It was clear that this wasn’t something Stephen could have done on his own. [I had the wedding shop do it for me. In the same dress, you look so much better than her.] Stephen seemed to see nothing wrong with what he was doing. He even sat there, legs crossed, waiting for her reply with a sense of pride. I thought, “No wonder the photo studio charged me extra for editing.” I thought it was due to the complexity of the process. I thought, “Turns out, Stephen had added another set…” Looking at my own wedding photos, the ones I had carefully chosen after two full days of shooting, only to have my face swapped with Bonnie’s, I felt a deep sense of revulsion. No wonder he was so particular about the selection. It was for this. At that moment, I checked my email and accepted the foreign job transfer I had previously turned down because of the wedding. Thankfully, my boss was still expecting me, and he immediately agreed when I changed my mind. Then, I booked a flight for the day of the wedding and contacted the wedding planner to discuss some matters. Just then, Bonnie’s message came through again…

[But the one marrying you is still her! That’s something I can never compete with.] Stephen’s eyes visibly reddened when he read that sentence, completely ignoring the fact that I was right there. He quickly replied: [But if you’re willing, I can call off the wedding at any time.] The moment I saw that message on the screen, it shattered everything we’d built over the past six years into nothing. If she agreed, the wedding I’d waited six years for would be hers in an instant. I thought, “Stephen, how could you even say something like that? Using my breakdown after my parents’ car accident to comfort your dream girl. How could you?” My hands were trembling as I closed the chat window and walked past Stephen without answering his question. Instead, I locked eyes with him and said coldly, “Stephen, you forgot to log out of WhatsApp on your computer.” For a split second, he was panicked. But he quickly regained his composure. “You saw everything?” There was no trace of guilt in his eyes. There was a kind of indifference as if to say, “You saw it, so what?” He even gave me a disdainful look before saying, “You’re not going to tell me you’re angry, are you?” Seeing my cold expression, he let out a mocking laugh. “I knew you were petty. Bonnie has severe depression; don’t you know that? Using your unflattering photos to cheer her up is practically a good deed. What are you even angry about?” I thought, “Was this about depression? Or was it about Bonnie being the one with depression? Funny how Stephen never used his own embarrassing photos to help anyone else with depression.” It was just an excuse. Yet he seemed to believe it himself. He grabbed me and dragged me to the computer, pointing at the wedding photos that had been edited to feature Bonnie’s face. “Doesn’t she look better than you? You know Bonnie was the campus queen in college. And you? Just an ordinary girl. “I hate women like you who are so competitive. Bonnie even worried you’d get upset if you found out. Honestly, people like you are exhausting.” At that moment, I suddenly saw Stephen for who he really was. Gone was the aloof and superior facade from our college days. This was the real him. He was greedy, selfish, and good at making excuses. All those sweet nothings he said when he pursued me were just his way of covering up his true self. While he was hurling accusations at me, he took my car keys from the table. “I’m going to take Bonnie to see a doctor. I told you already. Don’t call me later and go hysterical.” I asked him to put my car keys back, and he slammed the door, telling me not to pull this stunt, that he wouldn’t fall for it. The next day was our wedding, but he drove my car across town with Bonnie to buy a seafood soup. When I checked the car’s surveillance, Stephen and Bonnie were making love, and it seemed like Stephen’s lifelong wish had come true. He was overjoyed. He even fed Bonnie the seafood soup spoonful by spoonful. Then Bonnie had a sudden idea. “Let’s go watch the sunrise! We never got to fulfill that wish from college. Let’s do it today!” Stephen hesitated. “I’m getting married tomorrow. Watching the sunrise isn’t appropriate.” Bonnie’s tears and the physical symptoms of her severe depression suddenly intensified. “I’m giving you everything before your wedding. I thought you understood what I meant, but it seems I was overthinking.” When he saw Bonnie trembling as she spoke, Stephen’s heart ached. He turned and sent me a message saying the wedding procession would be late in the morning, and then he turned off his phone. Looking at that message, I felt like the six years of obsession were gone, and all I felt was ridiculousness.

He would even delay the wedding procession to watch the sunrise with her. At this point, what was the point of even going through with the wedding? I thought, “Stephen, do you really think I, Kathryn Taylor, am meant to be with you?” I made a copy of all the in-car surveillance footage I’d seen and sent it to the wedding planner. I also replaced the wedding photos with behind-the-scenes footage for tomorrow’s shoot. Then, I notified my relatives and friends that the wedding was canceled. Since my parents passed away, I wasn’t particularly close with any of these relatives. They were happy to hear they didn’t need to bring gifts and quickly agreed. However, I didn’t notify Stephen’s family. I even sent a wedding invitation to Bonnie’s mother. Originally, Stephen had planned to send it to her family, but his mother didn’t approve. So, he only sent it to Bonnie. I found that e-invite while browsing through their chat history yesterday. After canceling my wedding dress order, I lay on the couch. The moment I opened my phone, I saw an alert from the car’s surveillance footage. I opened it without thinking. Stephen was taking pictures of Bonnie. Bonnie was laughing, taking pictures of my car, saying, “Kathryn is really such a spendthrift. Her parents are gone, but she still doesn’t know how to save money, buying such an expensive car.” Stephen laughed and said, “But her temperament doesn’t match the car. You’re the one who’s a better fit.” Then, he patiently took picture after picture of Bonnie. But during our six years together, every time I asked him to take a picture of me, he’d complain. He would just casually snap a few shots with his phone and toss them to me. When I shared a video about a boyfriend’s photography skills with him, he just replied, “Well, you look like this! “You’re ugly. How am I supposed to make you look good? You can always edit the photos yourself!” But now, he was tirelessly finding the perfect angles, adjusting her poses, his face filled with a satisfaction I had never seen before. They even spray-painted my car, turning it into a chaotic mess. In the end, they snuggled together, watching the sunrise. The next morning, the wedding planner received my notice and promptly replaced all the wedding photos with the ones I sent. Stephen called me, but I didn’t pick up. Instead, I sent a text. [Just go straight to the banquet hall. No need to pick me up.] [Good girl. By the way, Bonnie’s coming too, so just let her be your bridesmaid. She can handle her own dress.] [Do whatever you want!] By the time I sent that message, I was already sitting at the airport, waiting to board with the notification from the company in hand. When Stephen and Bonnie arrived at the wedding venue, the wedding planner followed my instructions and started filming everything in real-time. Bonnie, dressed in white, even wore a veil and linked arms with Stephen as they entered, as if she were the bride. The moment Stephen stepped in and looked around, he completely lost it. “What is this?! Who arranged for all my unflattering photos to be posted everywhere?! Was it Kathryn!” He pointed angrily at the wedding planner, storming backstage to find me. “Where’s Kathryn?” The wedding planner quickly responded, “Ms. Taylor said she’s not attending the wedding and has already been on a flight…” “What do you mean she’s not attending? She’s the bride! If she doesn’t show up, then who will?!” Watching Stephen lose it was so amusing. I didn’t feel bored during my wait at the airport. “And who told you to put up all my unflattering photos? You covered the whole hall with them! “Take them down! Now!” Bonnie quickly chimed in, “So, you mean Kathryn ran away on her wedding day? How could she do this? What about the guests who came? She’s being too unreasonable.” At that moment, the wedding planner relayed my message. “Ms. Lewis, aren’t you wearing a wedding dress? Why don’t you help with the ceremony to entertain the guests?” Bonnie looked at Stephen shyly, as if embarrassed, but kept murmuring about how it wasn’t right. However, it was clear she was willing. Seeing this, Stephen quickly said, “Kathryn can come or not. Who cares about her? Bonnie, will you help me out?” As I expected, Bonnie refused a few times before reluctantly agreeing and walking through the ceremony with Stephen. The show was just getting started when they walked hand in hand toward the stage… Just as Stephen took out the custom-made wedding ring I had chosen and lovingly put it on Bonnie’s finger, the doors to the banquet hall suddenly burst open. A group of police officers rushed in. “Mr. Lloyd, Ms. Lewis, you have been reported for malicious criminal behavior. Please come with us for investigation!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MyFiction” app 🔍 search for “397514”, and watch the full series ✨! #MyFiction #Divorce #Hurt

On our 25th wedding anniversary, I posted a photo of my husband and me dancing. Who would’ve thought that such an innocent picture would spark a nightmare? My husband’s goddaughter mistook me for some kind of homewrecker. She brought along a mob of her girlfriends and cornered me in my own home, screaming phrases like “beat the mistress” and “teach the gold digger a lesson.” “It’s this old hag who’s seducing my godfather at her age! Disgusting! “Today, I’m going to make sure you never try to climb into another man’s bed again!” They weren’t just words. These girls were vicious, hurling insults and smashing precious antiques worth millions of dollars. My husband’s goddaughter slapped me so hard that I felt my front teeth crack. The pain was unbearable, but that wasn’t the worst of it. She started a live stream, broadcasting my humiliation to the world. “Hit her harder! Smash everything! My godmother is a top lawyer worth hundreds of millions of dollars. Even if I kill this old woman today, she’ll get me off scot-free!” By the time my husband returned from work, armful of gifts in hand, I was lying on the floor, broken and barely alive. Through cracked lips, I whispered, “I’m afraid I won’t be recognizing her as my goddaughter anymore.” ***** Earlier that day, my husband, Richard Duncan, mentioned that he was bringing his goddaughter over for dinner and that I’d love her. To make a good impression, I went out of my way to retrieve a precious bracelet from my childhood home to gift her. As I was about to leave, the doorbell rang. Years had drifted by since my father’s passing, leaving this place steeped in solitude. So, who on earth would venture out to this forgotten corner to seek me out? Confused, I checked the surveillance camera, only to see Rachel Moore, Richard’s goddaughter, standing at the door. Richard had shown me her picture before, so I recognized her immediately. “Did Richard send her?” I wondered, but still, I opened the door with a warm smile. The moment I opened the door, a slap hit me so hard that my head reeled. Rachel’s sweet facade was gone, replaced by a venomous glare. She grabbed my hair, yanking me toward the camera she’d set up outside. “Everyone, take a look at this old hag! She’s old enough to know better but still acts like a gold digger! Today, I’m going to give this shameless bitch a lesson she won’t forget, and I’m doing it live for all to see!” A group of girls, holding filming equipment and phones, emerged behind her, ready to broadcast the entire ordeal. I was stunned. A gold digger? Me? I was fifty years old, swamped with work, and hadn’t had a single inappropriate conversation with another man besides Richard and our son, Jeremy Duncan. And as for money? I had more than enough; there was no reason for me to be some “gold digger.” I was old, weak from two surgeries in the past six months, and had no strength to fight back against this violent mob. I curled into a ball, protecting my head, trying to reason with them. “Rachel, please. This is a misunderstanding! I’m not a mistress or anything you think I am!” Rachel let go of my hair but not before pulling out her phone, waving a screenshot in my face. “Did you post this on Facebook?” From the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of her phone screen, and there was the very photo I had sent just a few days ago, now captured in a screenshot. This photo was snapped by my son when Richard and I ventured out to join the lively swirl of dancing. I thought the photo captured the moment beautifully, especially with the backdrop of a stunning sunset. So, I shared it on Facebook with the simple caption, [The sunset is so beautiful.] “Yes, I posted that photo, but…” Before I could finish, Rachel cut me off rudely. “Everyone, did you hear that? This bitch admits it! “She knew my godmother has neurasthenia and deliberately sent these photos to irritate her! She’s trying to curse her to death! “I trailed her all the way to her doorstep today, determined to get justice for my godmother!” I finally realized what was happening. My own husband’s goddaughter thought I was some homewrecker! It was absurd. Why would I post a photo cursing myself? The irony was almost sickening. But Rachel wasn’t interested in the truth. She wanted a villain, and I was the unfortunate woman who had been cast in that role. I felt a deep sense of betrayal and disgust. All my previous kindness toward her seemed wasted. I had always yearned for a daughter, but fate didn’t bless me with one; I only ever had my son. Richard had spoken of Rachel with such high praise. “She’s beautiful, kind-hearted, and well-educated,” he had said. “She’s the whole package, intelligent, polite, and respectful.” He thumped his chest with confidence, assuring me that I would absolutely adore her. But the girl standing in front of me, broadcasting my humiliation to the world, was none of those things. She was a rude, violent stranger, a far cry from the gracious young woman Richard had led me to believe she was.

Her pretty face looked trivial and fake under the harsh lighting of the live broadcast. My cheeks throbbed from the swelling, and my makeup was long gone. All I wanted was some ice. But they were standing between me and the refrigerator, blocking my only escape to some relief. I took a couple of steps back, trying to create some distance. But Rachel, seeing my embarrassment, only turned up the heat. “How dare she seduce my godfather! “My godmother’s this high-caliber, top-tier lawyer, but this woman? She wouldn’t even spare a glance at her own reflection if she had any sense!” She was aware of my standing and that I possessed both position and influence. Yet, she was blind, ensnared by her own fanciful illusions. I didn’t want to explain anymore. I was done trying to argue with someone who couldn’t or wouldn’t see reason. But Rachel was on a roll. She stood there, acting all righteous and dignified, getting more and more worked up as she spoke. “My godmother worked so hard to build her fortune, and now this woman thinks she can waltz in and take a slice of it! “I even saw her bring her son to see my godfather, hoping to use that relationship to get my advisor to guarantee her son a spot in graduate school. It’s a violation of academic fairness!” I thought, “A guaranteed place for postgraduate study? Was she under the impression that Richard and I were trying to use our connection to secure our son’s future in graduate school? Was this whole attack just some twisted excuse because she thought we were competing for admission?” I felt a deep pang of sorrow for Richard. How could he have trusted such a ridiculous, vile person? Our son was studying in their department, but we had always told him to keep a low profile. Not many people know about their father-son relationship. And what’s more crucial, I had already clinched admission offers for him from the most prestigious Ivy League institutions. He was in no need of any guaranteed graduate program spot! I didn’t care who Richard wanted to give the admission quota to. My son’s future was already set. The live cameras clicked and whirred, their lenses pointed at my face, zooming in on my every expression. But instead of cowering, I felt a cold sense of satisfaction. As a leading attorney, I had witnessed spectacles far grander than this pitiful charade. A handful of inexpensive live cameras didn’t intimidate me in the slightest. Now, their sole concern seemed to be drawing in viewers and grabbing attention, nothing more. In fact, every second they kept this up was another second closer to a defamation charge. Once the viewership hit 500,000, they’d sealed their fate. The higher the view count, the heavier the sentence. Defamation on this scale was no joke; it carried serious legal consequences. And when the time came, whether it was Rachel or her little gang of sycophants, they’d all be kneeling in court, begging for my forgiveness. Rachel could sense I wasn’t shaken, and that only seemed to infuriate her more. Her eyes darted around the room, landing on the silk-covered wooden jewelry box resting on the sofa. “What’s this? Packaged quite fancy. Could it be a gift from my godfather?” she asked, her voice dripping with mockery. Before I could stop her, she lunged forward, ripping the box open in seconds. Her fingers grasped the bracelet inside, pulling it out with a sneer. That bracelet wasn’t just any piece of jewelry. It was one of the few keepsakes my mother left me. It carried deep heritage significance, passed down through generations. I hadn’t worn it because, given my profession, flashy jewelry wasn’t practical. But I had kept it safe and treasured it. Richard had once mentioned that Rachel came from a poor family and that she was frugal in her daily life. Out of pity, I’d chosen an expensive gift, hoping to show her how much we cared. But now, she has forfeited any right to my genuine regard. In a cold voice, I warned her, “Rachel, you’d better put that down. That bracelet is an antique, worth at least three million dollars. If you break it, you won’t be able to pay for it even if you sell everything you own.” The words “you won’t be able to pay for it” seemed to strike a nerve. Her already fragile ego bristled at the implication. She held her chin even higher, her expression dripping with sarcasm. “What kind of junk is this supposed to be? Looks like glass to me. Millions, you say? Give me a break. In your world, does everything just magically turn into hundreds of millions? Do you guys print your own money or what?” Before I could react, she raised the bracelet high above her head. With a sharp flick of her wrist, she slammed the bracelet down onto the hardwood floor.

The bracelet shattered into a dozen tiny pieces, scattering fragments across the floor. But Rachel wasn’t done. With a vicious sneer, she stepped forward and stomped twice more on the remnants with the sharp tip of her high heels. Her destruction didn’t stop there. She marched over to my wall, yanked down my baseball bat, and raised it high above her head, aiming it straight at the delicate vase sitting on my desk. I sneered. “That vase hails from the Renaissance,” I stated. “It’s valued at over two million dollars. You might want to think twice before you shatter it. But if you’re set on doing so, go head.” Rachel didn’t even flinch. As if she hadn’t heard a word I said, she swung the bat with full force. The vase exploded against the wall, shards flying everywhere. But even that wasn’t enough for her. She turned her fury on the priceless porcelains that had been carefully displayed on my antique shelf. “Do you really think I don’t know what you’re doing? You pretend to be cultured, displaying all this fake garbage, but it’s just a trick, isn’t it? A way to lure men in!” With the fragments of her actions scattered on the ground, she scrambled to muster a defense for herself. “Even if some of these things were worth a little money, it’s all my godparents’ money, not yours. So what do I have to fear? Guys, isn’t that right?” The friends she had brought with her, a gang of vicious, eager followers, searched the room for anything they could get their hands on. They picked up fragile objects, laughing as they smashed them to bits. They were smashing items and yelling simultaneously, a chaotic symphony of destruction and rage. “She’s not just seeing your godfather; who knows how many old men she’s been with! “Haven’t we already snapped countless photos of her sneaking into hotels? That’s hard evidence right there. A picture’s worth a thousand words! We’re doling out her punishment, and honestly, it’s like we’re delivering justice!” My father, a well-known entrepreneur in this city, had passed away ten years ago, leaving me with a considerable inheritance, including several hotels. I had never had the time or energy to manage them personally, so I hired professionals to take care of them while I checked in occasionally. Once it passed through their lips, everything just got twisted into something so vile! Was this the face of a girl about to enter graduate school? I glanced at the live camera pointed directly at me and spoke through gritted teeth, “Let me make one thing clear. Richard and I were originally…” But before I could even say the word “married,” a short-haired girl lunged at me. She shoved me so hard that I stumbled backward, crashing into the corner of the table. Pain exploded in my mouth, and a metallic, sweet taste filled my senses. Suddenly, I sensed something off in my mouth, so I spat into my hand, only to find two of my front teeth mixed with blood. Upon seeing my teeth knocked out and my mouth brimming with blood, Rachel and her clique erupted into triumphant laughter. “Well done! That’s how you deal with that old bitch! “Let’s see if she can still seduce men without her teeth!” Blood filled my mouth, and I pressed my hand to the wound, feeling the sticky warmth. My anger was boiling over, and I yelled, “We live in a society ruled by law! You broke into my house, smashed my things, and assaulted me. Don’t you realize you’re going to jail?” But Rachel was completely unfazed. She simply smiled and gave a nonchalant shrug to the live camera. “The law? Don’t even start with me about the law. My mentor’s wife is this top-tier lawyer, her net worth in the hundreds of millions of dollars. She’s my godmother, by the way. “My godmother has dedicated her entire life to the law. She loathes those mistresses who tear families apart. I’ll present you to her as a testament to my loyalty. And when I do, she’ll surely reward me handsomely! “Then we’ll see who ends up behind bars! I’m here on behalf of my godmother to take down the mistress. Even if I have to beat you to a pulp, she’ll back me up. My godmother never lost a case in her entire career!” I stood there, stunned into silence by her sheer blind confidence in the face of such blatant criminal behavior. I could never have imagined that this band of lawless thugs would storm into my home, yelling and threatening violence, all while claiming I was their patron! “Rachel,” I said through clenched teeth, “you’d better call your godfather, the professor, right now. Because if you don’t, there will be consequences.” Rachel’s smile only widened, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she watched my face turn red with anger. “Oh my, you still think Richard’s going to back you up? Let me tell you, it’s pointless!” She threw a provocative glance my way and then deliberately winked at the live camera, taunting me. Discreetly, I slid my hand into my pocket, fumbling to dial Richard for help. Rachel was completely oblivious. She swung the baseball bat with a swagger and kicked my bedroom door open with an air of cool defiance. Inside, on my bedside table, was a photo of my father and me. We were smiling, with my arms wrapped around his neck. The moment Rachel caught sight of it, she thrust the camera towards the photo. Her face contorted with contempt and disgust, as though she’d laid eyes on something utterly repulsive and filthy. “Look at this! This old hag is so shameless, so intimate with him. Disgusting!” Before I could move, she raised the baseball bat high above her head and brought it crashing down on the crystal frame. “No!” I screamed.   I was trembling, every inch of my body shaking with rage and grief, as I let out a desperate cry. That photo was the only picture I had of my father! My father had been a busy man his whole life, but he had never neglected me. After my mother passed away, he chose not to remarry because of me. We shared a deep, unbreakable bond. That crystal frame, encasing the last memory of him, wasn’t just any frame. It was a piece of pure, natural flawless crystal, one I had spent a fortune to have airlifted all the way from Madagascar. It was worth millions of dollars. Ignoring the humiliation and the excruciating pain from my missing teeth, I dragged myself toward the bedroom, screaming out in desperation. “Put it down! Please, just put it down! As long as you leave the photo alone, I won’t pursue any of this! I won’t press charges for the vase, for the porcelain, or even for what you did to me! Just don’t touch the photo!” Rachel turned to look at me, her eyes widening for a second as she took in my disheveled appearance: blood smeared across my face, and my hair was a tangled mess. For a brief moment, she seemed startled. But then, a viewer in the live broadcast must have recognized my father in the photo. [This old man looks familiar. Isn’t he the late famous entrepreneur, Sam Anderson?] At the word “late,” Rachel’s fear evaporated, replaced by a reckless boldness. “Oh, it’s your dearly deceased ex; no wonder you’re so sentimental!” Someone commented: [Ex? More like her sugar daddy. Look at her, living in this grand villa. The place is decked out so lavishly. She must’ve raked in quite the fortune!] And Someone else chimed in, mocking: [I remember reading a report about Sam Anderson. They said he was a devoted husband, and he never remarried even after his wife died. Guess he was living a double life, huh? What a lying bastard!] Rachel seized the moment, rallying her online army. “Sisters! Are we going to let this homewrecker live comfortably while she ruins families? Smash it! Smash it hard!” With a deafening crash, the crystal frame shattered into pieces, glass flying everywhere. The photo of my father and I fluttered to the ground. I lunged for it, but I was too weak. Rachel shoved me to the ground, her foot landing squarely on my hand, crushing it beneath her heel. The sharp crystal cut into my skin, and I felt the sickening crack of bone. But the pain didn’t register. All I cared about was reaching that photo. Rachel picked it up before I could. Right before my anguished gaze, she tore it to shreds with a cruel smile and cast the pieces into the debris before she spat on them! Grinning like a devil, she stuck out her tongue and made a V sign to the camera. “Sisters, take note: it’s not that the old have turned wicked, but rather, the wicked have simply aged! “This is what happens to a homewrecker! Sisters, are you enjoying this today? If so, smash that like button and follow! One click, triple the love!” I lay on the ground, gasping for breath, my body wracked with pain. But through the haze of agony, I forced out the words. “Sam Anderson is my father. Richard Duncan is my husband!” Rachel burst into laughter, a high-pitched sound that filled the room like shards of glass grinding together. “Husband? Why don’t you say they’re both your sugar daddies while you’re at it? “Do you really think I was scared? Mr. Duncan is my godfather. Do you think I wouldn’t know where he lives? He’s not even here; he lives in the neighborhood next door!” My heart sank. She was right; we did have a villa in the neighborhood next door, close to the school for Richard’s convenience. That’s where we usually stayed. But this was my home, too. She flashed a sweet smile right at the camera. “My godmother is making dinner for me right now. I bet she’s in the kitchen, cooking up something delicious as we speak.” I could feel my rage bubbling up, threatening to consume me. My voice cracked as I tried to speak, trembling with a mix of anger and grief. “You all deserve to die.” She paid no heed to my words. Instead, with an air of arrogance, she delivered two sharp kicks to my face. “You are the one who deserves to die, you old bitch! Look what I’ve done to the mistress! My godmother will reward me handsomely for this!” She struck a victorious pose, her hand waving in the air like she’d just won a trophy. “All of you deserve a share of the credit for tearing her down. When the time comes, everyone who helped will get something. My godmother is generous; a few expensive bags are nothing to her!” The live audience erupted in a flurry of envious comments, their words filling the screen with hate and jealousy. Just as I was teetering on the brink of death, I heard the sound of footsteps approaching from outside. Richard rushed in with his briefcase still tucked under his arm. The door was ajar. As he stepped inside, he was taken aback by the chaos strewn across the floor. “What is going on?” he demanded. Rachel, for the first time since she’d stormed into my house, seemed taken aback. She quickly switched gears, sticking out her tongue and adopting an innocent, obedient expression. She craned her neck to look past him. “Richard!” she chirped, trying to sound as sweet and harmless as possible. “Why are you here? Where’s your wife? Isn’t she with you?”

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The ceremony had reached the moment of the groom kissing the bride. But just as my husband Ethan Blackwood leaned in, he suddenly stopped. He turned away and kissed his secretary instead. He said, “Ava, I’m sorry. Forgive me for not being able to marry you in this lifetime. But if there’s a next life, I’ll propose to you in front of everyone. Will you marry me then?” Ava Miller’s eyes brimmed with tears as she nodded. I stood there on the stage, feeling like the biggest joke in the room. Around me, the crowd erupted into laughter and mocking whispers. “Clara Hudson spent five years chasing him just to get this wedding. And now? He humiliates her in front of everyone.” “She’s a simp. Does she even have any dignity?” Everyone was waiting for me to break down. But I simply removed my veil and smiled, I said, “Well, you’ve already kissed her. It wouldn’t make sense not to finish the ceremony, would it?” The moment the words left my mouth, the noisy banquet hall fell deathly silent. Every pair of eyes widened, fixed on me. Even Ethan and Ava, who had been locked in their shameless display moments earlier, stopped and turned toward me. “Clara, have you lost your mind?” Ethan snapped. In his arms, Ava looked startled. She said pitifully, “Miss Hudson, Mr. Blackwood kissed me only to make up for the past. You already have him. What more could you want? “If you insist on humiliating me like this, then I might as well die.” As if rehearsed a thousand times, Ava burst into sobs and ran out of the hall. Ethan glared at me and chased after her. He spat, “If anything happens to Ava, I’ll make you pay.” I watched them leave as if I were a mere spectator in someone else’s drama. When I turned back to the crowd, I saw mockery or confusion on their faces. I smiled bitterly. I’d spent five years with Ethan. I loved him wholeheartedly. Even this wedding was only happening because of the child I was carrying. I knew my place. I knew we weren’t equals. And so, during those five years, I’d bent over backward to play the role of a perfect wife. The glamorous life everyone envied was built on the tears and humiliation I swallowed in silence. “Such a disgrace,” Ethan’s mother sneered. Her disgust was written all over her face. Ethan’s father frowned and walked out as fast as he could. Only my mother stayed, desperately trying to smooth things over. I stood there, my chest aching with a pain that refused to subside. My fingers tightened around the bouquet I’d so carefully chosen, the thorns of the roses piercing into my palms. Yet I barely noticed the pain. I said, “That’s enough, Mom. You don’t have to do this. Ethan loves Ava. My marriage to him means nothing.” My voice was hoarse as I tried to salvage a shred of dignity. But instead of comforting me, she grabbed my arm and twisted it sharply. “Nothing? Men are all like this. Once you have the baby, he’ll come around. You’d better win him back, or you’re no daughter of mine,” she hissed. Ignoring my protests, she forced herself to go around the room, apologizing to everyone. I slipped into a quiet corner, my white wedding dress feeling like the cruelest joke of all. At some point, my vision blurred with tears. I had a mother and a husband. But I still felt all alone.

My mom hurriedly finished dealing with everyone and rushed to the hospital to take care of my brother. Left alone, I wandered down the street, still wearing the ill-fitting wedding dress. The sky seemed to hear my silent plea, gradually darkening with thick clouds before unleashing a torrential downpour. My phone buzzed incessantly. Mechanically, I pressed the answer button and held it to my ear. It was Ethan. His voice was cold and accusatory. “Clara, Ava was so upset by you and got into a car accident. Are you happy now? “I don’t care where you are, but you need to come home right now and cook something for Ava. “You need to apologize to her for what you’ve done.” I listened to his reprimand, feeling a surge of resentment. I shot back, “Why should I apologize since you humiliated me at my wedding?” There was a moment of silence on the other end, then I heard his cold voice again. He snapped, “I’ll make it up to you with another wedding. Right now, Ava’s health is the priority.” I gripped the phone, feeling a chill spread through me. My hands trembled as I hung up the call. I remembered the last time I was on a business trip and got into a car accident, breaking my leg. I begged Ethan to stay by my side, even if it was just for a little while. But he merely sent his assistant with some gifts. Yet now, with Ava in a similar situation, he couldn’t bear to leave her side. Ethan ignored me but cared so much for Ava. Looking at my bloodied palm, I suddenly realized that my five years of devotion had been a cruel joke. Just then, my phone rang again. Ethan, perhaps feeling guilty, sent a message trying to explain. Ethan: [Clara, I really do see Ava as my sister. Don’t overthink it.] [We’ll have the wedding again, and besides, you’re carrying my child. Where else can you go?] The text on my screen only made it all seem more ridiculous. He thought having a child meant he could control me. But he didn’t understand that all of this was because I loved him. Now, seeing things clearly, I wouldn’t be the same as before. As I was about to exit the chat, Ava sent a video. In the video, she appeared to have only minor scratches, so minor they were barely visible. Her hair was damp, and she was wrapped in a bathrobe, as if she had just stepped out of the shower. Ethan was by her side, carefully tending to her. He was even holding a black lace bra in his hand. I couldn’t bear to watch their disgusting display any longer. I blocked them both. The rain pelted down, cold and biting. I tried to move my numb legs, but a sudden, unbearable pain gripped my lower abdomen. Looking down, I saw blood mixing with the rainwater at my feet, a sight both oppressive and despairing.

When I woke up in the hospital, my belly, which had barely begun to swell, was now flat. I stared blankly at the ceiling above me, feeling a silence in my heart so deep it was almost suffocating. I had never intended to harm this child. But now, before it had even had the chance to fully form, it was gone. Maybe the baby was just too considerate, sparing me from the inevitable pain. I stayed in the hospital for a week, during which not a single person came to visit me. My mom spent all her time by my brother’s side. Ethan was undoubtedly busy comforting Ava, probably so caught up in his happiness that he’d forgotten all about me. When I was discharged, I returned to the apartment Ethan and I had shared as a married couple. I began packing my things. The irony didn’t escape me. I lived there for five years, but my belongings didn’t even fill a single suitcase. I had given so much of myself to them, foolishly expecting something in return. But deep down, I should have known better. Just as I was about to leave, Ethan came home. He looked worn out, with dark circles under his eyes. Of course, he was tired. Balancing his care for Ava and running his company must have been exhausting. When he saw me packing, he immediately snatched the suitcase out of my hands. He barked, “Clara, what kind of tantrum are you throwing now? “I’ve only been away for a week, and you’re already running off?” His tone was dripping with annoyance. I looked at him and suddenly found him unrecognizable. He knew what I cared about, yet he kept pushing his luck. I was tired of playing his games. I didn’t argue or yell as usual. Instead, I spoke calmly. “Ethan, let’s get a divorce. I mean it.” “Impossible.” His response was instant, his brows furrowed in disbelief. He frowned. “Clara, are you out of your mind?” “So what if there was a little hiccup at the wedding? Didn’t you already humiliate Ava in front of everyone? What more do you want?” My chest tightened at his words. Yes, I had caused a scene before. The first time I found out about Ava, I cried and screamed. But Ethan’s solution was to disappear, leaving me to face his family’s wrath. Everyone told me he was just playing around and that he would come back to me once we had a child. I had believed their lies, compromising time and again for a total jerk. But this time, I wasn’t going to back down. I said, “Ethan, I’ll have the divorce papers drawn up. You won’t have to deal with me again after this.” I ignored his protests, speaking only the truth that weighed heavy on my heart. Then I moved to leave with my suitcase, thinking he would not object. After all, he had never acknowledged my identity. But he grabbed my wrist. I looked up and saw his sullen face. “Playing hard to get won’t work on me,” he said. “You worked so hard to marry me. Don’t think I’ll believe you’re giving up so easily. Otherwise, why would you have spent years simping me? “And don’t forget your brother. If you dare hurt Ava again, I’ll cut off his medication.” Even now, he held himself above me. I was disgusted. I had once loved Ethan, even agreeing to have a child because he said he wanted one. But in the end, all of it became tools for him to control me. And now, he was even using my brother against me. Seeing my silence, he must have thought I was reconsidering. He warned, “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear what you said earlier. You’re still carrying my child, so I won’t stoop to your level.” I watched him leave and laughed bitterly. The child he spoke of was already gone.   I lugged my old suitcase and set out to find a place to live. Once settled, I returned to the office, punching in as usual, as if nothing had happened. I guess that made sense. It wasn’t exactly a proud moment for the Blackwood family, and they would do everything to keep it quiet. As long as they didn’t bother me, it was fine. I found a lawyer and drafted a divorce agreement, having it delivered straight to Ethan’s desk. From start to finish, Ethan sent me just one message. Ethan: [You will regret this.] I didn’t pay it any mind. I knew I would never regret my decision. But the very next day, as I was reporting to my manager, my phone started ringing incessantly. It was my mom, saying there was a problem at the hospital and I needed to come right away. I was puzzled because I had just transferred money to the hospital account the day before, so there shouldn’t have been any issues. But my mom was insistent, crying and even threatening me. Left with no choice, I rushed to the hospital. As soon as I pushed open the door to the ward, my mom slapped me hard across the face. I held my cheek, stunned. A trickle of blood seeped from the corner of my mouth. Suddenly, reporters swarmed in from who knows where, their camera flashes blinding me. My mom shouted, “Clara, you heartless girl. Ethan has done so much for our family, and you want to divorce him? “I can’t stand by and watch you make this mistake. You’re carrying his child, and you’re rushing to divorce him. Is it because you have someone else on the side? “If you’ve made a mistake, go apologize. Ethan will forgive you.” I stared at her in disbelief. She was slandering me and accusing me of cheating when it was Ethan who had been unfaithful. Rage boiled within me, and I struggled to catch my breath. From the crowd, Ava stepped forward. She smirked, “That’s right, Miss Hudson. Admit your mistake. Mr. Blackwood is such a good man; seeing the divorce papers you sent broke his heart.” I looked over and saw Ethan sitting on the sofa. He made no move to stop any of this. It dawned on me this was what he meant by “regret”. He was trying to force me into submission. He wanted me to know that defying him would only lead to my ruin. Ethan finally spoke up, his voice magnanimous. “Ava is right. Just apologize, and I’ll forgive you.” I glared at him with growing hatred. I only wanted a peaceful divorce, considering all he had done for me. But now, he was pushing me to the brink. I forced myself to stay calm. “I’ve done nothing wrong. It’s you who are in the wrong.” I pulled out my phone and brought up something interesting. I continued, “Why don’t we all take a look at this? See how Mr. Blackwood rolled in the hay with his secretary, Quite the thrill, isn’t it?” My voice was clear and loud, leaving everyone in the room speechless.

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When I was in the final stages of cancer, my husband, Lyndon Henderson, refused to take me home. Instead, he brought his childhood sweetheart, Sonya Aguilar, into our house. She was eating the meals I had cooked, wearing the pajamas I used to love. They were lying on the couch I had bought, kissing each other freely, completely disregarding my presence. Lyndon gently said to Sonya, “Justine won’t make it through the year. When she’s gone, I’ll donate her corneas to you.” Sonya asked, “Will she agree to that?” Lyndon ruffled Sonya’s hair and replied, “She’ll have to agree. What’s she gonna do? She won’t need them anyway.” “Justine won’t make it past the end of the year. Two weeks at most. When the time comes, I’ll stop all the life-saving measures. “Once she’s gone, I’ll donate her corneas to you. Then you’ll be able to see, and you won’t be fear at night.” Sonya asked excitedly, “Really?” Lyndon nodded with a smile. “But will Justine agree?” I had seen the consent form for body donation on my phone a few days ago. At the time, I thought it was just another cruel joke, like the ones I’d seen online. I thought someone must have noticed my condition and decided to mock me by sending it. But now, it seemed that Lyndon had signed it in my name as my husband. “She’ll agree, even if she doesn’t want to. What else can she do? She won’t need them anyway.” Lyndon said, and Sonya laughed. They laughed without any care. I hid in the corner of the kitchen, watching them embrace. At that moment, I felt I was like a third party of their love. I was in the late stages of cancer, and there was no cure left for me. My only wish was to go home, yet Lyndon had turned me away. “You’re doing fine at the hospital, aren’t you? Stop making a fuss. I’m busy with work, and I don’t have time to pick you up.” “Don’t call me again. If you need something, text me.” When he hung up, I stared at our chat history. It had stayed the same since last year… Back then, I had asked him: [Can I come home for a couple of days over the New Year? The other patients are all being taken home by their families, and I’m the only one left here.] But he didn’t respond. The last message was my ridiculous emoji. This time, I didn’t wait for him to pick me up. I didn’t want to die in the hospital. After being there for two whole years, I was desperate to go home. After all, it was my birthday. I just wanted to blow out the candles under the warm glow of the lights and make a wish, one that could never come true. I never expected to overhear those words from Lyndon and Sonya. After being rejected by him, I handled my own discharge and took a taxi home. The whole way back, the pain was unbearable. In the final stage of cancer, not even painkillers helped, but my desire to be home outweighed everything. I bought my favorite cake and stopped by the familiar market to buy some minced meat. Popping a painkiller, I made the meal. As I finished cooking a plate of pasta, I collapsed in the kitchen from exhaustion. When I woke up, I saw Lyndon and Sonya on the couch I had bought, kissing each other. They were entangled together, Sonya’s arm draped around Lyndon’s neck, gazing at each other lovingly. After a passionate kiss, Sonya pulled away from Lyndon’s embrace. “Why is there a plate of pasta here?” She touched the plate, which was still warm, and started eating it with a fork. Lyndon glanced at it and said, “Maybe the nanny made it. Our nanny does a good job, you should try it.” Sonya took a bite and nodded. “It’s really good!” Sonya forked a piece of pasta and fed it to Lyndon. He smiled as he ate it. But when he swallowed the pasta, he paused for a moment. Sonya asked, puzzled, “What’s wrong? Don’t you like it?” Lyndon shook his head. “It tastes just like the way she used to make it. It’s… almost like she’s still here.” Sonya pouted. “You’re thinking about Justine again, aren’t you? I’m sorry, Lyndon. I can’t cook like she did. You don’t hate me, do you?” Hearing her words, Lyndon picked her up. “How could I? Cooking doesn’t matter. I’m not short on money to hire a nanny.” Sonya mumbled, “But it was always Justine who cooked for you. You used to say you liked food made by your loved ones. Doesn’t that mean you don’t love me?” Lyndon shook his head, affectionately tapping her nose. “Justine was different. She liked taking care of people. Back then, my company was getting started, and hiring a nanny would’ve been too expensive. Justine was willing to cook. It was free and convenient.”

My hands gripped the phone tightly, and for a moment, I couldn’t tell whether it was the pain from cancer or the pain in my heart that hurt more. We’d been together for ten years, married for two. I hadn’t expected that I had become just a free, useful servant to him. Once, he had cried when he saw my hand burned by hot oil. When he heard I had cancer, he spent an entire day at the church praying for me. But now, when I was suffering so much, he was living a fairy-tale life with Sonya. No wonder, when I pushed open the door to our home, it felt so foreign. It turned out my presence was long gone from this place. All my photos had been replaced. The plants I had lovingly cared for were gone. Even our cheap wedding photo, the one we spent a few dozen bucks on, had been replaced with Sonya’s artistic portraits. Tears uncontrollably dripped onto my arms. “How could you be so cruel, treating Justine like this? Will you do the same to me someday?” Sonya’s tone held no sympathy, only a hint of triumph. Lyndon whispered, “You should know how I’ve treated you these past two years.” Sonya smiled at his words. Their intimate scene was reflected in the mirror, clearly visible in my line of sight. “When Justine’s life was at stake, you said you were scared, and I left her to come to you. What else could I do?” Lyndon’s words pierced my heart like a knife, deeply ripping it apart. That day, I didn’t know if I would survive. I was in so much pain that I almost wished I could just die right then. Tears kept falling, and all I wanted was to see my husband one last time. I feared I wouldn’t make it out of the operating room. I was afraid the last thing I would see was the cold, white operating light. I grabbed the doctor’s hand, begging them to let me meet my husband one more time. The doctors exchanged glances but didn’t say anything. At the time, I thought it was just hospital policy; no family was allowed in the operating room. But now I understand. Lyndon hadn’t been waiting outside at all. When I was hovering between life and death, he had abandoned me to comfort Sonya, who was scared of sleeping alone. However, I clearly remembered that when I woke up, he had cried. I thought, “Lyndon, you are such a good actor, making me believe that these two years, it was me who owed you, me who dragged you down.” “I really didn’t have any other choice but to call you. I know Justine’s really sick, but my eyes… I can’t see at night. I’m terrified, that’s why I called you.” She said this, crying pitifully. She acted as if she was the victim whose husband went to find his childhood sweetheart while she was clinging to life. Lyndon clearly felt sorry for her. He gently caressed her eyes, speaking with a tone full of sympathy. “Once Justine is gone, everything will be better. “After the funeral, we’ll hold our wedding. The baby inside you will be a legal child.” While I was still alive, they were already planning how to make my death more meaningful. Sonya even told Lyndon, “I think Justine would be happy to know that her corneas are being donated to me. That way, she can always watch over you.” At this point, her voice even cracked with emotion. Lyndon smiled and called her a silly girl. I shakily stopped the recording on my phone.

As Lyndon held Sonya and was about to head to the bedroom, I stumbled out of the kitchen, fighting through the searing pain. The three of us looked at each other. The moment was awkward yet absurd. Lyndon had even forgotten to release his grip on Sonya, and all he managed to say was, “What are you doing here?!” I pointed to the cake on the table that I hadn’t had a chance to put in the fridge yet. I gave a bitter smile. “Is it so wrong to come home for my birthday?” Lyndon suddenly grabbed my hand. “I’m taking you back to the hospital!” He didn’t offer any explanation. He simply started pulling me towards the door, but I yanked my hand out of his. “What are you doing? Do you even know what illness you have? How can you come back here at a time like this?” he asked, shouting at me. Sonya chimed in softly, “Justine, you’re so sick, you really shouldn’t be running around. Don’t make Lyndon worry. “Lyndon, hurry up and take Justine back to the hospital. What if something happens?” I didn’t respond to them. Instead, I walked straight to the dining table. I took out a lighter, lit the candles, and stuck them into the cake. This was from Lyndon’s favorite bakery, the one we used to visit together. Earlier today, the owner had even told me that Lyndon had come in a few days ago, bought a new cake, and asked if it tasted good. At that moment, I thought Lyndon remembered my birthday and had planned a surprise, even buying the cake in advance. Now, I realized this cake was for Sonya. “Justine, don’t push me. What if you die here? It’s bad luck!” I ignored him and silently made a wish. I pressed my hands together and whispered, gazing at the flickering candles, “I hope Lyndon and Sonya stay forever, bound to each other, and have a miserable death.” “Justine!” Lyndon’s voice rose in anger. “What are you saying? How can you curse us like that?” He stormed toward me, his hand raised, and slapped me across the face. I wanted to fight back, but I had forgotten that I was in the final stages of cancer. I didn’t have the strength. He grabbed me by the collar, pointing at me. “If you’re going to die, just die! But don’t drag Sonya into it. You’re so malicious! You can’t be so mean to Sonya!” He snatched up the cake from the table and shoved it into my mouth. “Isn’t this what you wanted? Eat it. After you’re done, get back to the hospital!” The cream smeared across my face. Sonya walked up with her phone in hand. She happily snapped a few photos of my disheveled state and posted them online. [I’m celebrating Justine’s birthday with Lyndon today. She’s so happy!] she wrote. She handed me the phone, a smug look on her face. “Alright, Justine, birthday’s over. Time to go back to the hospital. Lyndon and I are going to the movies. We don’t have much time.” She gave Lyndon a look. Lyndon yanked me up from the table. I looked at his impatient face, and for some reason, I couldn’t help but laugh. “What’s so funny, Justine? I’m really fed up with you. You’re about to die, and you’re still causing trouble!” he snapped. He angrily started cleaning up the mess, and when he pushed open the kitchen door, he froze. There, on the counter, were boxes of pasta I had made earlier. He picked one up and stormed over to me. “You tell me! What did you put in this pasta? “Did you plan to poison us? Did you know about this from the start? Are you trying to kill us?” he demanded, his voice sharp with accusation. I was furious. I shoved the pasta off the counter, watching it spill and scatter across the floor. I stepped on it, crushing the noodles underfoot. “I made this for myself. It’s for me to eat. You touched it, so I consider it dirty!” “Justine, what’s wrong with you? You’re unbelievable!” Sonya cried. Lyndon pushed me aside and rushed to comfort her. Just then, the doorbell rang. Lyndon growled in frustration, “Who is it?! Is there some emergency?” “Hello, we received a report from Mrs. Henderson that someone broke into her home. We’re here to investigate,” the officer said.

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My father didn’t like me. From kindergarten to college graduation, he never shared a single meal with me, nor did he celebrate any of my birthdays. When other children nestled in their fathers’ arms to fall asleep, I cried alone in the dark little bedroom, clutching my stuffed toy tightly. My father was always busy with work. He was the CEO of a public company, a big and important boss, highly accomplished. My classmates would comfort me, saying it was normal. Their parents were the same. But their parents hired kind and caring nannies to look after them, to prepare delicious meals, and to tuck them into bed every night. I wasn’t so lucky. In kindergarten, I was sent to daycare. Once I started elementary school, I boarded at school full-time. My time with my father was already painfully limited, and he never hired a warm-hearted nanny to care for me. As I grew older, my understanding deepened. I gradually came to realize that my father didn’t like me. He didn’t love me. For over a decade, this truth remained constant. But just now, an opportunity presented itself. My father’s first love’s daughter was diagnosed with kidney failure and needed a transplant. Kidneys weren’t easy to match, so my father arranged for all blood relatives to be tested. None of them were a match. In the end, I was the only one left. Perhaps it was fate. I was a match. The moment he saw the report, a light ignited in his eyes, one that was difficult to describe. He looked at me and said in a low voice. “Ava, if you’re willing to donate your kidney, I’ll do anything you want.” For a fleeting moment, countless images flashed through my mind. Elegant necklaces in display cases, luxurious gowns, dazzling sports cars, even the clear-eyed, gentle boy I admired. But as those countless desires dissolved, my thoughts settled on a single word: Dad. I looked up at the man before me, whose face resembled mine by seven-tenths. “Dad,” I said. “I want you to love me.” Such a childish request. The moment the words left my mouth, I realized just how twisted my longing for his missing love had become. He froze, surprised by what I had said, but he nodded nonetheless. “Alright, as long as you’re willing to donate. “I’m your father. Of course, I’ll love you.”

My father, Robert Davis. In his youth, he was the heir to the Davis Group. During college, he met his first love, Sarah Williams. The two fell in love at first sight, quickly starting a passionate romance that became the source of many dramatic rumors on campus. But with Robert’s high-profile status, how could his marriage ever be a matter of personal choice? Adding to that, Sarah’s family was impoverished, making their union even more impossible. Robert fought against his parents for three years but eventually conceded, agreeing to an arranged marriage. The chosen bride was my mother, Emma Thompson, a pampered daughter from a wealthy family. Though she wasn’t thrilled about the arranged marriage, she didn’t oppose it either. Over time, she even fell in love with Robert, cooking for him, taking care of the household, and becoming the epitome of a virtuous wife. Their marriage, respectful and cooperative, became a model example of arranged unions. Until the day my mother gave birth to me when everything changed. From the moment her water broke to the onset of labor pains, Robert was nowhere to be found. Calls to his phone went unanswered. It wasn’t until the moment she was wheeled into the operating room that Robert finally called back. “Sorry,” he said. “Sarah’s back.” In the end, my mother died in the delivery room due to complications. The Thompson family was enraged upon hearing the news. In their fury, they immediately severed all ties with the Davis Group and deliberately sabotaged their operations, causing catastrophic losses. At the time, Robert’s parents had just passed away, and he had only recently taken over the company. His inexperience left him vulnerable, making it a perilous time for the Davis Group. The Thompson family’s ruthless actions plunged the company into chaos, leaving Robert in shambles as he was berated by the board and overwhelmed by the pressure. Previously, he had always been seen as a golden boy. Overnight, he became a laughingstock, a man incapable of keeping his house or his company in order. Because of this, he grew to despise my mother. He claimed that she had done it on purpose, dying on the operating table just to humiliate him. And that, perhaps, was the beginning of why my father didn’t love me.

Before the surgery. In the hospital ward, I looked at the girl on the bed beside mine. Her entire being exuded frailty—hollow cheeks and a thin body that seemed as if a mere gust of wind could topple her. I remembered her name: Iris, a name as beautiful as she was. Robert and Sarah first met on a sunny day after a rainstorm, with a rainbow arcing across the sky. Even the name they gave their daughter was imbued with love. My father and Sarah hovered anxiously by her bedside, their faces etched with worry. “I’m scared, Mom and Dad,” Iris murmured, her voice trembling. Tears streamed down Sarah’s face as she pulled Iris into her arms. “Don’t be scared, Iris. Just think of it as taking a nap. When you wake up, everything will be better.” Robert’s expression was softer and more tender than I had ever seen. He leaned down and embraced the frail girl. “Be good, Iris. Once you’re better, Dad will take you to Disneyland.” I stood there, silently watching the scene, unblinking. A sour ache welled up in my chest, catching in my throat, neither swallowable nor spit-out-able. I could not understand why. Why was it that we were both his daughters, yet… I wanted to say something. “I am scared too. “Having an organ taken out of my body. I am terrified, Dad. “Can you hold me, too? “If you will just hold me, I won’t be afraid anymore. Really, I won’t.” But I couldn’t say it. I knew those who were unloved had no right to ask. “It’s okay, though. Once the surgery is over, Dad will love me.” I kept comforting myself with this thought. The surgery ended quickly. As the anesthesia wore off, the pain arrived late but steady, creeping over my entire body like a blade twisting inside me. I couldn’t hold back anymore. Tears slipped from the corners of my eyes. “Dad… Dad…” I called out unconsciously, over and over, until I blacked out again. When I opened my eyes again half an hour later, I saw the broad back of a man standing in the ward. Hearing the movement, Robert turned around. There was a hint of hesitation in his expression, but eventually, his features softened as he approached the bed. “How are you feeling? Does it hurt?” he asked. I smiled instantly, my heart racing as if the entire world had suddenly brightened. I whimpered softly, “Dad, it hurts. “Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad… It hurts so much…” I couldn’t stop myself. I kept calling him, over and over, as if trying to reclaim the fatherly love I had been denied for so many years.   During my two-week hospital stay, I experienced a happiness I had never felt before. Every day, my father would visit me and bring a bowl of hot chicken soup. Although he always left right after setting the soup down, I still cherished those moments, treasuring them deeply. Two weeks later, I was discharged. I kept up my old habit of texting my father daily. This time, he occasionally replied, unlike before, when there was only silence. For the first time, I felt like I truly existed. People said that love could make someone bloom, filling the empty spaces with warmth and vitality. I thought maybe it would happen to me, too. I locked my depression diagnosis report away in a drawer, feeling as though the sunlight outside had never been so bright. The day after tomorrow would be my seventeenth birthday. I nervously sent him a text message. [Dad, the day after tomorrow is my birthday. Can I have dinner with you?] Hours later, a single word finally appeared on my phone: [Okay.] I leaped with joy. I decided to prepare a home-cooked meal for my father. Over the years, being alone for so long, I had always found ways to keep myself occupied. Cooking was my greatest talent. I started drafting a menu in advance and nervously contacted my father’s assistant to inquire about his food preferences. After all, I had never shared a proper meal with him before, so even figuring out what he liked to eat required outside help. It sounded strange. When I dialed the assistant’s number, I was unbearably anxious. I was not sure whether his assistant knew about the state of my relationship with Dad. What if he asked questions? How would I respond? Thankfully, the assistant didn’t ask anything. He kindly and patiently answered my questions. “It’s fine,” I thought to myself. From now on, I’ll remember every dish Dad loves, and I’ll make them for him every day. I also ordered a birthday cake for myself in advance. I figured, what if Dad got too busy with work and didn’t have time to order one? After preparing everything, the long-awaited evening of my birthday finally arrived. I spent the entire day cooking. Looking at the table full of steaming dishes, I felt a deep sense of accomplishment. The cake had arrived as well—a beautiful pink creation topped with intricately carved figurines of my father and me. The figurines were smiling warmly, brimming with tenderness. It was ten minutes before the agreed time of 10 PM. I waited, anxious yet excited. When the doorbell rang, I practically jumped up to answer it. But the face at the door was unfamiliar. A young man stood there, pushing a multi-tiered cake that was clearly expensive. He offered a polite, apologetic smile. “Sorry, Ms. Davis. Mr. Davis couldn’t make it today. He asked me to deliver this cake as a birthday gift for you.” I froze, my heart sinking to rock bottom. Holding back tears, I thanked him and saw him out. Back in the living room, I stared at the beautiful cake and tried to console myself. “It’s okay, Ava. Dad is just too busy. It’s fine. “There will be other opportunities.” But all those words of comfort and optimism disintegrated the moment I opened Instagram. Before the surgery, Sarah had added me on Instagram. She had been so grateful for my willingness to donate a kidney, saying we should keep in touch and that she could treat me like her own daughter. Now, her Instagram sat there quietly, every word in her latest post dripping with joy. [Family dinner, celebrating our darling Iris’s successful recovery…] Accompanying the caption was a selfie of the three of them at a restaurant. Sarah’s face radiated happiness, while the man behind her and the girl beside him wore matching smiles.   I couldn’t even begin to describe what I felt. It was as if an invisible hand had squeezed my heart, making it ache painfully and leaving me gasping for air. It was like a dream I had painstakingly woven, suddenly shattering in an instant, leaving nothing but the jagged pieces that wrapped around me tightly, with no way to escape. I stared at my phone, unblinking, unwilling to accept it. Reluctantly, I started composing another message. [Dad, didn’t you say you would spend my birthday with me?] [Dad, I received the cake, it’s beautiful. I want to eat it with you…] [Dad, I made a lot of dishes you like.] [Dad, can you come over, just for a little while?] One message after another was sent, but there was still no reply. I couldn’t stop myself from calling, but all I got was a cold, impersonal voicemail. Time passed, minute by minute. The second hand reached twelve. My birthday was over. Outside the window, everything was still, silent. The cold moonlight poured in, casting a chill that swallowed the warmth of the room. I walked back to the table, silently lighting the candles, one by one, placing them on the small cake in between the two little figurines. I softly began to sing. “Happy birthday to you… Happy birthday to you… Happy birthday…” My fingers trembled as I cut myself a piece of cake. I ate it slowly, then took a bite of the vegetables. The food had long since cooled, and the taste was far from good. A sharp pang hit my nose, and the sourness in my throat could no longer be suppressed. Tears spilled from my eyes, falling uncontrollably onto the table.   The next day, Robert came home. In the living room, the expensive, multi-layered cake stood quietly, untouched. He frowned and cast a nonchalant glance at me, barely acknowledging my presence. “What’s this? Don’t like the cake?” I shook my head, keeping my gaze lowered as I continued eating the leftover food from last night, which I had reheated. He became impatient. “What’s with the attitude? I had something important to take care of last night. I even had someone deliver the cake to you. What more do you want?” “What more do I want?” I chewed on his words, a bitter smile creeping up on my face. Robert, seeing that I didn’t respond, grew colder in tone. “I think I’ve spoiled you too much. Now that you’re better, go back to school. Don’t go around creating trouble and making me frustrated. Iris is much easier to deal with than you.” With that, he turned and walked out of the room without another word. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. I wanted to tell him that I had already graduated from senior high school, that I had just received my acceptance letter, and that there was still a long time before school started. But he didn’t care. He didn’t know. The acceptance letter sat on my desk, from a well-regarded school. My classmates had long since made plans for college, and their parents couldn’t wait to boast about their children’s good grades to the world. I had planned to show him the letter last night, but now it seemed pointless. After finishing my meal and cleaning up the kitchen, I stood up, and immediately, the world spun around me. My body gave way, and I collapsed to the floor. It took me half an hour to gather the strength to get back up. This wasn’t the first time. After I donated my kidney, my health had noticeably worsened. I often felt weak, dizzy, bloated, and fatigued. I initially thought these were just side effects that would pass with time. But as the days passed, the symptoms only grew worse. In the mirror, I saw how much weight I had lost. My once-round face now revealed a sharp chin. I couldn’t help but think back to my middle school days. I was much heavier back then, with a round face, an early-developed chest, and a shorter stature. I looked awkward and bulky. No wonder the boys didn’t like me. The first sign came during PE class when the movement of my chest was too noticeable. The boys would stare, whispering behind my back, grinning with lewd expressions. From then on, I got a new nickname: “Big Boobs.” Many of my classmates were from the same elementary school, and they knew all about me. At parent-teacher meetings, I was always alone. On sports days, I was always in the corner. During the holidays, no one ever came to pick me up, and I had to drag my heavy luggage to the taxi by myself. They took every opportunity to mock me, calling me a wild child, an orphan. They needed someone to make them feel superior. And that gave them the confidence to escalate their cruelty. In the quiet, lonely nights, only I knew the pain. I clearly remember a new transfer student who couldn’t stand it and spoke up for me. “Your dad is Robert? The big boss of Davis Group? My uncle’s company has worked with Davis Group! “My God, why don’t you tell your dad? “If you tell him, he could take care of it. Those people wouldn’t dare to bully you!” That kind-hearted girl said to me. And all I could do was turn away, silent for a long time. Finally, I muttered quietly. “My dad… he’s too busy.”   Sarah invited me over for dinner. On the phone, her voice was gentle, tinged with warmth. After much hesitation, I agreed to go. Their house was big, but unlike the cold, empty place I called home, it radiated warmth. The decorations were cozy, and every detail spoke of the love and care within the family. A faint sense of envy stirred in my heart. After my mother died, Sarah returned from abroad, bringing with her a delicate, doll-like girl named Iris. Sarah, in tears, clung to Robert and told him that Iris was their daughter. Before long, they married as a matter of course. Meanwhile, I was left sobbing endlessly in a boarding house. When Sarah opened the door, she was still wearing an apron. Her smile was soft as she asked me to sit down, saying she had a few more dishes to finish cooking. I nervously clutched my hands, sitting stiffly, my eyes wandering around the room. The walls were covered with awards and hand-drawn pictures. The drawings, starting with wobbly lines and gradually becoming more polished, all depicted the same theme: a family of three. It was easy to tell they were Iris’s work. Iris, who was a year older than me, had just finished her first year of college, studying fine arts. Sarah emerged from the kitchen suddenly, waving her hand. “Ava, if you’re bored, why not go upstairs and see Iris? You’ve done such a huge favor for her; she’s been wanting to thank you in person.” I averted my gaze and nodded. Upstairs, the door to Iris’s room was open. She was sitting quietly, painting. Her side profile was serene and lovely. I stood frozen in the doorway, unsure of what to say. Noticing me, she turned and waved. “Hey, Ava, you’re here!” Her voice was warm and intimate, but it made me feel a little uneasy. Iris walked over, hooked her arm around mine, and led me to her easel. “Look at this! Isn’t it pretty?” The painting on the canvas was stunning. The colors were vivid, the strokes meticulous, and the imagery lifelike. It depicted a family of three, just like the ones in the living room, but far more refined and full of effort. I couldn’t help but nod. “It’s beautiful!” Her eyes lit up at my response, and she smiled. “I think so too! I’m entering this piece in a city competition.” As she spoke, she picked up her brush. Then, she leaned over to add a finishing touch. Suddenly, bang! The easel toppled over, crashing into an open container of paint, splattering everywhere. Iris yelped and rushed to lift the easel. The painting she had been working on for a month was now ruined, smeared with streaks of paint. Her eyes began to redden as tears welled up. I stood there, stunned, just about to offer some comfort, when a deep voice came from the doorway. “What’s going on in here?” It was Robert. My heart leaped, and I was about to call out, Dad. But Iris had already flung herself into his arms, sobbing. “Dad, Ava ruined my painting!” I froze, disbelief washing over me. “What are you saying? You knocked it over!” Robert’s face darkened. He cast a cold glance at me, then turned his attention back to Iris, speaking gently: “Tell me what happened, Iris. I’ll make it right for you.” Iris sniffled, her voice trembling with grievance. “I spent a whole month working on this piece for the competition. Dad, you know how much effort I put into it. “I just wanted to show it to little sister, but she suddenly reached out and knocked the easel over…” Sarah came upstairs at some point. Hearing this, she looked heartbroken, her expression one of deep disappointment. “Ava, I truly appreciate you donating a kidney to Iris, and I wanted to treat you as my own daughter. But how could you do something like this? “If you’re upset about something, just tell me. I’ll do my best to make it right. But why would you destroy Iris’s painting? She just had surgery and still pushed herself so hard for this competition… You’ve really let me down.” My mind was a foggy mess as their words sank in. My entire body trembled. “I didn’t… I didn’t do it… I swear I didn’t!” Robert strode forward and raised his hand, delivering a hard slap across my face. I closed my eyes. My ears rang as a stinging pain spread across my cheek.   In the end, I never got to eat that meal. As the door closed, it became clear: this warm, cozy home belonged to their family of three. I was an outsider. Outside the door, I could still hear faint voices from within. Sarah’s voice was filled with worry. “Robert, no matter what, you can’t hit a child. Ava just had surgery not long ago; her body is still weak.” I found it all so unbearably ironic. Robert’s voice was still laced with anger. “Ava’s just a little brat, just like her mother! How could I have a daughter like her? “Sarah, you’re too soft-hearted.” I couldn’t bear to hear anymore. I fled, humiliated and broken. On my way home, a familiar wave of dizziness struck again. My heart thudded irregularly, and everything went black. When I opened my eyes, I was in a hospital bed. The doctor told me that a passerby from my neighborhood had called for an ambulance. Then, with a serious expression, the doctor explained my condition. I took the report from him, and the bold letters at the top stabbed into my eyes: Kidney Failure. My mind buzzed, filled with a deafening hum. That explained everything. The doctor said that kidney failure progresses quickly. My condition was already severe, and I was at risk of losing my life at any moment. He urged me to contact my family immediately to discuss a treatment plan. I forced a weak smile and said I would. Dragging my weakened body home, I found everything as it was: cold, lifeless, empty. No one was waiting for me. No one cared about me. No one loved me. What Iris could take for granted was something I could never dream of having. For some people like me, being alive was the hardest, most painful thing of all. I wanted to say I didn’t hate him, but I couldn’t. After the surgery, there had been a fleeting moment when I foolishly believed I might finally receive love. Now, it all felt like a cruel joke. When I’d made that childish, naive request to my father, he must have scoffed at how ridiculous it was. I stopped going outside. I didn’t have the strength. I lay in bed all day. Whatever food I managed to eat, I soon vomited back up. Breathing became a struggle. I stopped sending messages to my father. He didn’t return, didn’t send a single text, didn’t make a single call. The only sign of his existence was a transfer of money to my bank account after I left Sarah’s house. It was a larger sum than usual. But none of that mattered. I was dying.   Half a month later, the doorbell rang for the first time. I summoned every ounce of strength I had to get up and open the door. Standing outside was a young woman, elegantly dressed in a beautiful dress, her lightly curled hair draped over her shoulders. It was Iris. I glanced at her and instinctively raised my hand to touch my own haggard, sunken face. I had looked in the mirror just yesterday. The once chubby girl who had been mocked was no longer there. My face had lost all its flesh, but it wasn’t beautiful, only hollow, lifeless, and haunting. My legs and arms were swollen, grotesquely heavy, and terrifying to look at. Iris flinched slightly, startled, but quickly covered her mouth and giggled daintily. “How pitiful you look, Ava.” I stared at her, utterly confused. I thought to myself, “Why? Why is it like this? All I ever wanted was something any child would: a father’s love. That’s all. Why must it come to this?” Iris seemed to read my thoughts, and she smiled as she said. “Ava, if you want to blame someone, blame your bad luck. It’s not my fault we share the same father.” “Because of your mother, my mom and dad were forced apart. And now you’re here, trying to win Dad’s favor, trying to take what’s mine? Keep dreaming.” So that was how they saw me. I stood there, numb, unsure of what to say. “Take this as a lesson,” Iris continued smugly, “and don’t get any more ideas about things that don’t belong to you.” It seemed she had come solely to mock me. After delivering her words, she turned to leave. But after taking a couple of steps, she paused as if remembering something. Turning back, she flashed me a sweet smile. “Oh, by the way, how was the chicken soup my mom made? “I begged Dad for a long time to get him to share a bowl with you.” My hands trembled faintly at my sides. My eyes burned, but when I rubbed them, there were no tears left to cry. I should have known. I had only been fooling myself back then. I turned and walked back to my room, moving like a lifeless shell. Just as I was about to lie down, my body seized up uncontrollably. I collapsed to the floor. I couldn’t breathe. Deep down, I knew I was going to die alone in this cold and empty room. At the edge of death, a surge of reluctance welled up within me, sharp and unbearable. With trembling hands, I pulled my phone from my pocket and dialed the number I had called countless times before but never reached. Dad. Dad. Please, if nothing else, at least send your daughter off one last time. Dad. Dad. ***** My consciousness began to fade, slipping away little by little. I never got through. Darkness claimed me, permanent and absolute. Half an hour later, the phone on the floor lit up. A message appeared on the screen. Robert replied: [What’s wrong?]

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My name was Nancy Robinson. When my brother Tom Robinson’s wife, Megan, was pregnant and about to give birth, a new nursing intern named Rebecca Amore volunteered to take my place in the exhausting neonatal ward. I was grateful for her timely help and pulled some strings to secure her a permanent position at the hospital. That very night, Megan delivered a set of twin boys. Tragically, one was born with severe health issues, while the other had a genetic condition that made him extraordinarily aggressive. In just a few short years, Tom and Megan were financially ruined due to the medical expenses for their ailing son. They ended up selling their organs to cover costs and died on the operating table. My parents, too, met a grim fate after a confrontation with someone due to my aggressive nephew, Mark Robinson. They suffered a cerebral hemorrhage and passed away, filled with resentment. As for me, I was fired for my misconduct in helping Rebecca get that position, and I had to settle for washing dishes at a restaurant to make ends meet. Meanwhile, Rebecca quickly climbed the ranks and became the head of the nursing department. One day, in a cruel twist of fate, I found myself in the hospital after my aggressive nephew had severed my arm. As I lay there, teetering on the edge of death, Rebecca coldly revealed that on the night of the shift change, she had switched my brother Tom and Megan’s children with her own. When I regained consciousness, I was back in the hospital, right at the moment Rebecca had suggested swapping shifts with me. ***** Dragging my severed arm, I stumbled into the hospital and humbly begged Rebecca to save my life. She looked down at me from her lofty position, my aggressive nephew Mark lurking behind her. “Ha, just because your family has a little money? That’ll be perfect for raising my kid! “You don’t know, do you? The day Megan gave birth, I switched her baby with mine!” That devilish nephew of mine stood behind her, his hairless face twisted into an evil grin. “Auntie, I’ve grown up without ever tasting a woman. I know you love me the most. Since you’re going to die anyway, why not let me have some fun first?” Despair washed over me, and I shut my eyes, succumbing to the darkness in that cramped little room. But when I opened my eyes again, I found myself back at the hospital right before Megan was due to give birth! Rebecca was in front of the mirror, adjusting her hair and trying to cover her tracks. “I don’t even have a boyfriend, so how could I be pregnant? I’ve just gained some weight these past few days! By the way, Nancy, you’ve helped me so much. I’ll cover your shift in a couple of days!” I quickly gathered my thoughts. Rebecca was young, and her nutrition during pregnancy had been poor. Even though she was about to give birth, her belly wasn’t very pronounced. In my past life, I had been deceived by her sweet demeanor. I often covered her shifts and even shared my family’s nutritional supplements with her. When she offered to cover my shift, it coincided with Megan going into labor, and my parents and brother were out of town, leaving me as the only one to care for her. To show my gratitude to Rebecca for her timely help, I not only gave her a 20 thousand dollars thank you but also used my connections to get her a permanent position. Now, I smiled and replied, “Sure, but I’ll need your help not just on the due date, but for the next few days as well.” Rebecca didn’t expect me to agree so readily, and her forced smile faltered. I stripped off my nurse’s uniform, asked the head nurse for some time off, and rushed straight to Megan’s room. Megan was carrying twins, and her belly was enormous, making it difficult for her to roll over. “I wonder who they’ll look like. Hopefully, they’ll take after me; I’m the prettier one!” Megan’s face radiated happiness. She was such a gentle soul, yet in my previous life, she had tragically passed away in a dark hospital room, trying to raise money for that sickly child who had taken her son’s place. When I went to collect her body, I found maggots crawling over her hollowed-out corpse. This time around, I would make sure that nothing like that happened again!

I said, “It doesn’t matter who the kids look like, as long as they’re healthy.” Megan smiled brightly and replied, “You’re right! Auntie knows best, and we’ll listen to her!” She spoke to the babies in her belly with such warmth that it made my eyes sting with unshed tears. In my past life, Rebecca had switched her two premature infants with Megan’s, and I had never heard of her raising any children. My two nephews were either sold off or, worse, discarded like trash. The night shift in the neonatal unit was no walk in the park. After one long night, Rebecca looked like a ghost. She approached me, her voice sweet and coaxing, trying to persuade me to take back the shift. “Nancy, I’m just wiped out from the night shift! You’re taking care of Megan, and it’s not too tired, so why not come back to the night shift? It’ll be easier for you!” Rebecca had just graduated from nursing school and was only eighteen. In the past, I felt sorry for her youth; whenever she played the damsel in distress, I’d do anything to help her out. Rebecca probably thought I’d do the same this time. To her surprise, I shot her down. “The night shift is your responsibility. If you can’t handle it, then maybe you should rethink your career choice!” Her eyes widened in shock, a flash of malice flickering across her face. But she quickly masked it with a weak smile. “It’s fine! I can manage; I just need to push through this discomfort!” “Is that so? You’re really tough. By the way, didn’t you promise Amanda you’d help her with the paperwork? You should get on that tonight since you have some downtime.” With that, I turned and walked away. In the reflection of the door’s glass, I caught a glimpse of Rebecca’s eyes, filled with venom. As I stepped out of the room, I noticed a man lurking near the women’s restroom, peeking in. I recognized him as a relative of a patient downstairs, someone who often tried to sneak peeks into the women’s restroom. I thought for a moment and pretended to be on a phone call as I passed by him. “You won’t believe it! Lately, there have been couples sneaking into the women’s restroom at all hours!” That night, after settling Megan in for the night, I made my way to the restroom to wait. Rebecca was already struggling; her body was undernourished, and with her due date approaching, the grueling night shifts and paperwork were taking their toll. During the day, I passed by the nurses’ station and saw her, drenched in sweat, clutching her belly. I knew she was in labor; the contractions were starting, and she wouldn’t be able to hide it for long. In my previous life, I had no idea when Rebecca gave birth, but I was certain it wasn’t in a hospital. Back then, I covered all her night shifts, and she hadn’t worked a single one for nearly a month until she finally switched with me for Megan’s delivery. But this time, I had agreed to the shift change early on, and after three consecutive nights, Rebecca was cornered. The hospital was her only option, and the restroom at midnight would be the perfect place. Sure enough, the peeping tom had taken my words to heart and stealthily crept into the women’s restroom that night. When he came out, his phone was nowhere to be found.

Before long, Rebecca rushed into the restroom, clutching her belly. I stood guard outside, listening to her muffled cries of pain—she was going into labor. I had to admit that youth was on her side. Less than thirty minutes later, Rebecca emerged, her face pale and reeking of blood, cradling two tiny bundles in her arms. I didn’t rush in right away; instead, I waited patiently for a moment. Just then, the peeping tom couldn’t hold back any longer and approached the restroom to retrieve his phone. As he stepped out, I grabbed him by the collar. “Caught you, you creep! Let’s go see the police!” The man froze, terror etched on his face as he collapsed onto the floor, pleading for mercy. “I swear, I’ll never do it again! Please, just let me go!” I hadn’t actually planned on taking him to the police; it wasn’t the right time for that. Instead, I handed him over to the hospital security. They confiscated his phone in front of me, placing it in an evidence bag, intending to file a report in the morning. I didn’t object; I just wanted to get back to the newborn ward and check on things. When I arrived, Rebecca was nowhere to be found. I approached the head nurse, casually inquiring, “Is the newborn ward empty? Why isn’t anyone on duty?” The head nurse’s eyes widened in alarm. “That lazy girl Rebecca must be slacking off again!” Not long after, I heard the head nurse’s stern reprimands mixed with Rebecca’s sobs. Through the crack in the door, I saw her limping back to the ward, tears streaming down her face as she clutched her belly. Typically, there were four nurses rotating in the newborn ward, so Rebecca’s absence shouldn’t have caused any issues. But I relished the thought of her discomfort. Megan’s due date was the same as in my previous life—4 AM. She had initially hoped for a natural birth, but I shot that down immediately. In my past life, Megan struggled for five exhausting hours in the delivery room, ultimately needing help from the nurses in the newborn ward. In the chaos, Rebecca had effortlessly swapped Megan’s babies. To avoid any unnecessary complications this time, I insisted on a C-section for Megan. Rebecca had no right to step into the operating room or pull any tricks! Before long, Megan delivered two healthy boys. As they were placed in my arms, I felt tears of joy welling up. These were our children! In my previous life, Rebecca had swapped them out early, and one of the babies had been so tiny and frail, even lacking hair and eyebrows—he looked like a little monster! But the real challenge began after the babies arrived. My parents showed up at the hospital that morning, and as soon as they walked in, they handed Megan three gifts and a box overflowing with gold jewelry. Just then, Rebecca, who had just finished her night shift, walked in and caught sight of the scene. Her eyes glimmered with envy and jealousy. A nurse entered the room, ready to take the babies for a bath. Rebecca’s eyes lit up. “I’ll do it!” Before I could respond, she eagerly stepped forward. “I’m Nancy’s colleague; she’s always been so kind to me. I’d love to repay her kindness. Let me handle this little task!” My parents, seeing her eagerness, handed her two more gifts. “Oh, you’re Nancy’s colleague? Come, share in the joy!” Rebecca’s face brightened as she touched the gifts, her earlier jealousy momentarily forgotten. My parents owned two factories and were quite generous; the gifts easily totaled over three thousand dollars. “Alright, I’ll take the babies for their bath now. Don’t worry, Nancy; I’ll be gentle and careful!” I stayed silent, quietly trailing behind Rebecca as she whisked the babies away.

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My name was Vivian Collins. I was killed in an accident while pregnant with Logan Perez’s child. At the same time, Logan was wrapped up in a passionate embrace with his beloved, Megan Robinson. He ignored call after call from those trying to reach him, assuming it was just me bothering him. Logan didn’t believe I was dead—he thought I was putting on a show. But when he finally saw my lifeless body, he completely lost it.

I had dated Edwin for seven years. Just before we were about to get married, his first love returned. On the day I was trying on my wedding dress, I caught a glimpse of Edwin’s phone lighting up with a message. [Edwin, you loved me for six years. Now that I’m back, will you give up everything and start over with me?] His response was swift. [I will.] For a moment, it felt as if the world around me froze, the chill seeping into my bones. Did my seven years of companionship really pale in comparison to that woman’s presence?

My boyfriend, Randy, cried as he pleaded with me to wait for him before leaving for his studies abroad. I hated waiting more than anything. Yet for six long years, that was all I did. I waited for him to finish his work. I waited for him to read my messages. And I waited for him to say how much he missed me. Finally, I waited until the day I didn’t have to wait anymore. He fell in love with someone else and invited me to his wedding. I was late, but he kept calling me. What he didn’t know was that I had died on the flight to his wedding.

As the tour approached, the company abruptly revoked my lead dancer status. Desperate to get answers, I rushed to confront them. Distracted and flustered, I missed a step and tumbled down the stairs. While wincing in pain and about to dial 911, a notification popped up on my screen. [Crimson Ballet Company: The new lead dancer @Amber Vaughn and the amazing sponsor @Ethan Ward.] Two smiling faces stared back at me from the photo—my husband of seven secret years and his pampered mistress. Ethan’s arm was wrapped around Amber’s waist as he kissed her cheek. Amber clung to Ethan’s neck, her face glowing with bashful pride. Wiping the blood from the corner of my mouth, I posted a photo of our marriage certificate in the comment section. Clara: [Is your new ballet production about shameless mistresses?] Ethan’s call came through within minutes. “Clara Bennett, what the hell are you doing? How many times do I have to tell you—Amber and I are just putting on a show.” I sniffled, trying to keep my voice steady. “What gives you the right to take my lead role and hand it to her?” He hesitated. “Wait… Are you at Crimson Ballet Company?” There was a brief pause before he continued, his tone turning casual, almost dismissive. “Amber wanted the lead in this tour as a birthday gift. I didn’t know the role was yours. Just go online and say the marriage certificate is fake.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. He didn’t even know where I worked but somehow remembered Amber’s birthday wish. “And why should I fake a marriage certificate?” Ethan’s voice was calm, as if explaining something obvious. “You could say you’re a fan of mine.” “A fan? That’s how you see me?” He let out a long sigh. “Clara, we’ve been married for seven years. We’re practically an old married couple. Amber’s young—there’s no need to start drama with her.” Old? Did he forget that I married him before I even graduated college? That despite our seven years together, I was only a year older than Amber? “Ethan, I fell down the stairs. My leg hurts.” “All I’m asking is for you to apologize and clarify things. It’s not that hard.” His tone carried disappointment. “When did you turn into such a liar?” Tears, warm and thick, mixed with the blood dripping onto my hand. I covered my mouth and ended the call. When his number flashed on my screen again, I immediately set it to silent. I called 911 myself. When the paramedics arrived, they asked if I had any family to accompany me. “No,” I replied, staring blankly at the ceiling. “They’re all gone.” Halfway to the hospital, Ethan texted me. Ethan: [Amber fainted because of you. Get to the hospital, apologize to her in person, and bring a suitable gift. There’ll be reporters there.] Ethan: [It may be embarrassing, but you started this mess.] “With trembling fingers, I typed back. Clara: [In your dreams.]” I shut off my phone and retreated into the silence of my thoughts. While waiting for my X-ray results in the hospital corridor, a familiar voice caught my attention. “Dr. Lee, I’m Amber’s boyfriend. Let me know if there’s anything she needs.” I looked up and met Ethan’s gaze. His steps faltered for a moment, but he quickly composed himself. Acting as if I were a stranger, he continued chatting with Michael Lee, walking right past me. The faint citrus scent of his cologne hit me, and my stomach churned. I wanted to escape, but Ethan turned back. He seemed rushed, his face filled with irritation when he saw I hadn’t left. “Have you come to your senses?” “Like I said, in your dreams.” I pushed past him, limping in the opposite direction. I could feel his eyes on my injured leg, his gaze growing colder. “Are you seriously playing the pity card to avoid apologizing?” I didn’t respond, desperate to escape the corridor filled with Amber’s cloying perfume. But a strong hand grabbed my shoulder, yanking me back. I stumbled, nearly losing my balance, as sharp pain shot through my leg. “Ah!” I cried out, unable to hold back. Ethan’s brow furrowed as his expression darkened. “You’re really disappointing me.” With practiced ease, he reached into my pocket and took my phone. “Give it back!” I lunged for it, but Ethan shoved me away impatiently. “Marcus, hold her.” The bodyguard Marcus Shaw pinned me effortlessly, his grip leaving me powerless. “Ethan Ward!”

A face mask was tossed my way. “Cover her mouth. Stop her screaming.” With my wrists pinned, my leg throbbing, and my mouth tightly covered, all I could do was cry. I watched helplessly as Ethan took my phone, logged into my account, and posted an apology in my name. “I’ve changed your password. Only I can access it now. Behave yourself, and stop causing trouble.” When he finally glanced up, he froze, clearly startled by my tear-streaked face. He waved off the bodyguard, scolding him, “Did you have to be so rough?” Then he stepped closer, gently rubbing my wrist. “Does it hurt? If you’d just listened earlier, none of this would’ve happened.” I snatched my phone back, my hands trembling as I opened Space X. Clara: [I apologize for my comments on Crimson Ballet Company’s page. I am not married to Mr. Ethan Ward. As a fan, I let my admiration for him get the better of me. I also apologize to Ms. Amber Vaughn and Mr. Ethan Ward for the trouble I caused.] My fingers hovered over the comments, too afraid to click. [@Clara, have you no shame?] [@Clara, oh my God, your thirst to be a mistress is spilling off the screen.] [@Clara, people like you are a disgrace to dancers. Get out of the industry already!] Ethan grabbed the phone from my hands again. “Stop reading the comments.” “Is this the outcome you wanted?” I asked quietly, my voice barely audible. He turned away. “People online forget things quickly. I’ll have someone redirect the narrative later. Just stay off your phone for a while.” I shook my head slowly, my vision blurring. “You’ve ruined me.” I couldn’t see his face clearly, but his tone grew irritable. “I already said I’d fix it. Why are you making such a big deal out of this? If you hadn’t started all this drama, would we even be here?” He continued, “You should be grateful I’m even cleaning up your mess. If I’ve put you in the spotlight, it’s only because you brought this on yourself!” My ears buzzed, drowning out his voice as bitter laughter escaped my lips. “Let’s get a divorce.” He let out a low chuckle, his tone indulgent and dismissive. “You’re just venting. It’s fine—I’ll let you.” He was so sure I’d never leave him, framing his condescension as magnanimity. As Ethan’s laughter echoed, I found a strange calm washing over me. Just then, the doctor called my name from down the hall. “Clara Bennett? Come get your test results.” Ethan froze and then hurried after me. “What test results?” “Ethan,” a soft voice interrupted from behind. “Why are you taking so long?” Ethan turned, his expression instantly softening as he walked toward Amber, who stood at the hospital room door. “Why did you get out of bed? Go back and rest.” Dragging my numb, aching leg, I walked in the opposite direction. Every step felt like walking on shattered glass, each one cutting deeper. The doctor informed me I’d need a month of complete rest—or I’d never dance again. I took a cab back to my cold, empty apartment. Because our marriage was a secret, Ethan and I maintained separate residences. He had deliberately chosen the apartment above mine. On the first night we moved in, he’d pinned me against the wall and kissed me. “This way, I can sneak into your bed every night,” he’d said. I once thought it was just a playful quirk of his serious demeanor. But now I knew—the thrill of sneaking around wasn’t a game. Cheating was his true nature. He’d grown bored of me and fallen for Amber instead.

At nine that night, Ethan showed up at my door carrying a bag of fruit. “I bought you some strawberries. Want some now?” I tossed my phone onto the table in front of him, the screen displaying Amber’s latest post. Amber: [I told him I wanted something sweet and tangy like cherries, but he bought strawberries instead. LOL.] “So, whatever Amber doesn’t want gets handed down to me?” Ethan frowned. “You don’t have to be like this…” He walked over and slipped an arm around my waist, his tone softening. “Is this because it’s been too long since we’ve been… close? Are you upset about that?” I shoved him away hard and gagged dramatically right in front of him. A storm darkened Ethan’s face. “That’s enough. Don’t act like this just because you think you can.” “What respect have you ever given me?” I clutched my chest, tears falling uncontrollably. “Do you even know how many hateful calls I’ve gotten? How have I been blacklisted by every major ballet company? My entire career is ruined! Ethan, what did I ever do to deserve this?” I’ve always been mild-mannered—easily pushed around, really. Ethan used to tease me, tugging on my earlobe with a smile. “You’re so easy to bully. What would you do without me?” I never imagined Ethan would truly leave me one day. When my parents died under a cloud of shame, accused of crimes they didn’t commit, the world turned its back on me. It was Ethan who pulled me out of the pit. He defied his family for me. I still remember him kneeling in the rain for hours, begging his father. He took me away from the place that had broken me and helped me start fresh in a new city. Even when I was at my lowest, Ethan never let go of me. Now, after surviving those brutal days, I was faced with his betrayal. “Let’s get a divorce,” I said, closing my eyes. “At least let me leave with some dignity.” “Clara,” Ethan sighed, rubbing his temples as if exhausted. “You’ve been through worse before. Why are you being so dramatic now?” My eyes flew open wide as I stared at him in disbelief. “What did you just say?” Ethan pressed his lips into a tight line, his expression turning cold. “When your parents killed themselves, the whole country was calling them murderers…” “Get out!” I screamed, grabbing a throw pillow from the couch and hurling it at him. “Get out!” Ethan looked genuinely shocked by my outburst. He hesitated for a moment and then stomped off in anger. On his way out, he grabbed the bag of strawberries. “You don’t want my charity? Fine. Let’s see how far your stubbornness takes you.” Barely ten minutes later, Amber posted again on Instagram. Amber: [First night staying at his place. The décor is so tacky—typical clueless guy taste.] The attached photo showed Ethan’s apartment upstairs. The “tacky” décor was something I had painstakingly designed myself. Ethan commented under her post. Ethan: [You’re right. It is tacky. Let’s remodel.] I rubbed my tired, aching eyes, my tears long since dried. Houses could be redecorated. People could be replaced. To Ethan, I was nothing more than a toy he’d grown bored of. When another harassing call came through, I yanked out my SIM card and replaced it with the one I’d used during an overseas tour. There was a time when a world-famous ballet company had offered me a position. I turned it down because I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving Ethan. With shaky hands, I dialed the number they’d given me. “Hello, is this Mr. Jason Sterling?” The line was silent. If not for the faint sound of breathing, I would’ve thought the call had been disconnected. Why wasn’t he saying anything? Had he seen the trending news? I tightened my grip on the phone, my palm damp with sweat. “Mr. Sterling, please hear me out. I didn’t do the things they’re accusing me of. I tried to post a clarification, but my accounts are all controlled. Every time I create a new one, the posts are deleted within seconds. I—” “Wait for me.” A deep, unfamiliar male voice interrupted me. It sounded vaguely familiar but nothing like the Jason Sterling I remembered. I froze. “You’re not Jason Sterling?” “Wait for me.” He repeated the words and then hung up abruptly. Confused, I stared at the phone. Moments later, a text came through. Unknown Number: [Taking off now. Gotta turn off my phone.] Seconds later, another message buzzed in. Unknown Number: [Wait for me to return. You’ll be alright.]   Though his words were cryptic, they at least carried a promise. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Over the next few days, I started packing and getting my paperwork in order. I didn’t have much—just a single suitcase. Anything Ethan had bought me, I left behind. Not because I was proud or still holding onto hope. He cheated on me and left me shattered. But back when my family was ruined, when I was hated by the public, when people demanded I pay for my parents’ alleged sins, it was Ethan who saved me. I don’t know how he convinced his father, but after that night of kneeling in the rain, Ethan was disowned. At the same time, the public’s hatred for me disappeared. He gave me a new life. He caught me when I was at my lowest and stayed by my side through the darkest days. For that, I couldn’t bring myself to hate him. I just wanted to part ways peacefully. After three days of silence, Ethan returned. “Have you calmed down and come to your senses?” I nodded, my tone calm. “I have.” He misunderstood my response, a smug smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Good. Clara, you need to remember your place. Be good, and I’ll keep taking care of you. But if you push your luck, I’ll make sure you have nothing.” After his tirade, he seemed confused by my lack of reaction. “Are you done?” I placed the divorce papers on the table. “If you are, sign this.” Ethan’s eyes darkened as he stared at the papers. “You’ve known about Amber and me for a while. Why not just pretend nothing happened, like you used to? Stay as my wife. Isn’t that better? She gets what she wants, and so do you. Clara, you shouldn’t be so ungrateful.” I gaped at him, stunned that those words had come out of his mouth. I still remembered back in high school, when Ethan’s father cheated on his mother, and the house erupted into chaos. His father had sneered, “Every man in my position has a mistress. I’m not divorcing you, so stop making a fuss.” Furious, Ethan had grabbed a baseball bat and smashed a vase near his father. Amid the shards of glass, he had said coldly, “A man with no sense of responsibility doesn’t deserve to be my father.” Back then, I thought Ethan was the most incredible person I’d ever met. In what felt like the blink of an eye, the disdainful boy from years ago had morphed into a reflection of his father. At thirty, Ethan wasn’t just his father’s mirror—he was everything his fifteen-year-old self had vowed never to become. I felt nothing but disgust. “No way,” I said, sliding the divorce papers closer to him. “After the divorce, you can take care of as many people as you want.” Ethan stared at me for a long moment before finally picking up the papers between two fingers. “You want a divorce? Fine. But don’t you think it’s time to settle the debts you owe me?” I nodded and pulled out a bank card. “There’s five million dollars on this. It’s enough to cover everything you’ve spent on me.” Ethan’s brows furrowed as he stared at the card. “Five million dollars? You think that’s enough?” “It is,” I replied, meeting his gaze. “I’ve kept records of every expense. The ledger is in the study if you want to check. I also kept every luxury item and piece of jewelry you bought me—they’ve either been returned or factored into the total. I owe you nothing.” Ethan was silent for so long I almost thought he wouldn’t agree. Then he laughed softly. “I was planning to take you to a charity gala tomorrow night, but since you don’t need me, forget it.” His gaze lingered on my face, likely searching for some hint of regret. But he found none. My expression didn’t waver. “Since our marriage is a secret, feel free to bring whoever you want.” Ethan pressed his lips into a thin line and tossed an invitation onto the table. “Your name’s on it. Come with me tomorrow night, and I’ll agree to the divorce.”   I had no idea what Ethan’s real intentions were. But I had no choice but to agree. When I finally slipped into the dress Ethan had sent me and arrived at the gala, chauffeured by his driver, I realized I had underestimated just how cruel he could be. This wasn’t some private event. The red carpet was lined with reporters from every major media outlet. Fans clutching flowers and banners screamed their favorite celebrities’ names from the sidelines. Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t notice someone pointing at me until I heard the shout. “Look! Isn’t that Bitch Clara?” Ever since Ethan had forced me to apologize using my own account, I’d been branded with that humiliating title. I’d seen the countless hateful comments online, but no amount of vitriol on a screen compared to hearing it whispered, sneered, and jeered right next to me. “How does she even have the nerve to show her face here?” “Look at her dress—Amber’s in white, so she wore white too? Shameless.” “Don’t even compare her to Amber. She doesn’t measure up, not even close!” “Exactly! Amber’s dress is next-season couture. Hers? Probably last year’s leftovers.” The relentless mockery drilled into my ears. I turned on my heel, ready to leave, but someone grabbed my arm. I looked up to see Ethan’s bodyguard, Marcus. He smirked, his eyes glinting with malice. “Ma’am, Mr. Ward insists you attend the event.” He was Amber’s relative, and during that incident at the hospital, he had deliberately yanked my arm so hard it left bruises. Ethan had seen it but only offered a perfunctory reprimand. And now, he’d sent Marcus to deal with me again. The man who once cherished me had vanished completely. Bitterness surged in my chest, but resistance was futile. I was half-dragged, half-pulled along by Marcus. “Look at Clara’s limp—doesn’t she walk like a crippled donkey?” “Think she’s trying to crash the red carpet and got busted by security?” “Absolute trash!” Before I could react, a sharp voice yelled, and suddenly a bottle of juice came flying at me. I tried to dodge, but Marcus deliberately shifted, blocking my escape and even shoving me closer to the trajectory. “Ah!” The bottle burst open, drenching me in sticky purple grape juice. My white dress was instantly stained and blotched. “Ha! Doesn’t she look like she’s on her period?” “Don’t you have any shame? Get lost already!” “If I were you, I’d jump off a building. God, people this shameless are just indestructible.” Amid the jeers and laughter, I struggled against Marcus’ grip. “Let me go! I need to change!” Marcus looked down at me with mock concern. “Sorry, but even if you were on your last breath, Mr. Ward said you’re going inside tonight. Mr. Ward also said if you want a divorce, you’ll have to make it through this evening first. Otherwise, don’t bother.” I froze. Of course. I should’ve remembered. Ethan was the rising star of Oceanhaven now. What could someone like me—a woman whose very identity had to remain hidden—possibly do to stand against him? I forced a smile, hollow and resigned. “Let go. I’ll walk on my own.” But Marcus wasn’t done humiliating me. Instead of letting go, he quickened his pace, dragging me along awkwardly. I stumbled forward, drawing even more ridicule from the crowd. By the time we reached Ethan, Marcus had returned to his usual obedient, unassuming demeanor. Ethan’s cold gaze swept over me, lingering on my stained dress. “What happened?” I glared at him, my voice shaking with anger. “What happened? Isn’t this exactly what you wanted?” Ethan frowned slightly, about to speak, but a delicate arm looped around his from behind. “Clara, I’m so sorry,” Amber cooed. “It must’ve been one of my fans who threw the juice at you.” Draped in a pristine white couture gown, Amber pressed herself closer to Ethan, looking perfectly innocent. “She probably got upset seeing you in a dress similar to mine. Clara, you don’t mind, do you?” Once, her provocations would’ve infuriated me. But now, all I wanted was to leave. “Ethan, you wanted me here. I showed up. You wanted to humiliate me, and I took it. You’ve gotten what you wanted. Can I go now?” Though I phrased it as a question, I wasn’t waiting for his answer. I turned and started walking away. “Don’t leave yet.” Someone blocked my path.   “Well, well, if it isn’t Clara Bennett, the famous dancer. Since you’re here, why not give us a performance before you go?” I didn’t recognize the man, but it was obvious he was someone Ethan had arranged to mock me further. “Move,” I said, my voice cold and firm. “Aw, such a temper,” the man drawled, looking me up and down like I was an object for sale. “Still think you’re the rising star of the ballet world? Haven’t you heard? You’ve been blacklisted.” The words hit me like ice water. My breath caught as a chill ran through me. “Is that true?” Ethan swirled the wine in his glass, his gaze detached and indifferent. “It’s the price you pay for your mistakes.” I couldn’t stop myself from demanding, “What did I do? What was so unforgivable that you had to destroy my career? Tell me!” Ethan’s lips pressed into a thin line, his expression souring. “You know exactly what you did.” Amber let out a soft laugh. “Clara, I’m performing tonight. With all the bad press you’ve been getting lately, why not dance too? There are a lot of influential people here. Maybe someone will take an interest.” I stared at Amber until her smile faltered. “Ethan,” she said, shrinking behind him, “Clara’s scaring me.” Ethan patted her hand reassuringly, his eyes never leaving mine. “Clara, isn’t this what you wanted? A chance to network? There are several entertainment executives here tonight. Take advantage of it.” I drew in a sharp breath, horrified by how unrecognizable Ethan had become. In his early days, when he was struggling to start his business, he’d been so desperate for funds that he almost missed out on a golden opportunity. I’d secretly taken a job dancing at a nightclub to earn money quickly. When Ethan found out, he was furious. He’d rather sell his blood than let me perform in a place like that. “You know how jealous I get,” he’d said, his voice low and possessive. “I’d lose my mind if other men looked at you like that.” He had loved me so much back then. We’d spent nights in our tiny, damp apartment, sharing everything down to a single plum, savoring it together. But now? Now he seemed perfectly fine with pushing me toward other men. My voice came out hoarse and broken. “Fine. If that’s what you want.” I pushed past the man blocking my path and made my way toward a director I’d once worked with. “Wow, Clara’s still limping. You think she’s actually hurt?” “Please. She’s faking it.” Ethan’s disdainful voice blended seamlessly with the laughter and jeers around me, creating a suffocating web of humiliation. I reached the director, but before I could even greet him, he quickly excused himself and walked away. I froze, realizing there was no point in trying anymore. But I couldn’t accept it. I had always been known for my dedication, my low-key professionalism, and my spotless reputation in the dance world. So many people had once begged to work with me. How could Ethan’s words alone erase all of that? I limped around the room, lowering myself further with each person I approached. But they all avoided me like the plague—or worse, joined Amber in mocking me. It wasn’t until I was left utterly alone, standing in the center of the room, that the truth hit me like a slap in the face. I was nothing more than a clown under the spotlight, a joke for everyone to laugh at. And leading the charge was the man I once believed I could trust with my life. “Clara,” Ethan said, his face dark with displeasure. “Haven’t you embarrassed yourself enough?” Amber’s voice was soft and falsely sweet. “Ethan, Clara was my mentor. Maybe we should just let this go?” He didn’t reply, but his tightly furrowed brow relaxed slightly. “Absolutely not!” someone shouted. “A dancer acting like this? She’s ruining Mr. Ward’s reputation!” “Exactly. Even if Mr. Ward lets it slide, she needs to be taught a lesson so she knows what lines not to cross.” One of Ethan’s lackeys handed me a glass filled to the brim with strong liquor. “Drink this, and we’ll consider giving you another chance. What do you say, everyone?” A chorus of agreement rose around me. I turned to Ethan. “Is this your idea?”   Ethan stood three steps away, unmoving. I had no intention of closing the distance. I knew he was waiting for me to cave. Every argument we’d ever had ended with me surrendering first. Not because he was right. But because I couldn’t forget how he had pulled me out of the darkest time of my life. In his presence, I always felt like I owed him something—like I was permanently indebted to him. I tolerated his misdirected anger because of that. Even when he flirted openly with Amber or bought her an apartment to keep her close, I turned a blind eye for a while. But not today. “Tell me again,” I said, my voice steady. “Was making me drink your idea?” Ethan’s expression hardened at my defiance. “Yes. It was.” I shook my head with a bitter smile, staring into the liquor swirling in the glass. He knew I was allergic to alcohol, yet here he was, forcing me to drink to protect Amber. The boy who once couldn’t bear to see me hurt was gone, lost to time. Something inside me shattered. Ten years. All of it. Over. A single word came to mind, “irreversible.” “Fine.” I raised the glass and drank it in one go, catching the flicker of hesitation in Ethan’s eyes before he schooled his features. The fiery burn of the alcohol scorched my throat, making me cough so hard my face turned red. “Good job! Let’s pour her another one!” Someone reached for the bottle, but Ethan snapped, “That’s enough,” and they backed off. He took a step toward me, but Amber looped her arm through his, holding him back. “Ethan, I think Clara’s shown enough sincerity,” she said, her tone saccharine. “How about this? When I perform later, let her join me on stage.” Amber’s lips curved into a mockingly innocent smile. “Of course, it might mean Clara would have to be my backup dancer. What do you think?” “That won’t be necessary,” I said coldly. The alcohol churned in my stomach, the heat spreading across my skin. “This performance is live-streamed, isn’t it? Is humiliating me in front of the entire world what you really want? Or is it that you’re so insecure about your own abilities that you need to pull these cheap tricks to make yourself feel superior?” For the first time in years, I let myself speak without restraint, letting the venom I’d bottled up pour out. Amber tightened her grip on Ethan’s arm, her voice trembling with faux innocence. “Ethan, explain to Clara. She’s misunderstanding me.” Ethan’s expression darkened further, his tone dripping with disappointment. “If you still want to dance, you’ll get on that stage tonight. Being Amber’s backup dancer is a privilege for someone like you.” His words cut through the last thread holding me together, ripping apart whatever feelings I still had for him. “Ethan Ward,” I said, my voice steady but laced with contempt, “what exactly am I to you? A toy? A source of entertainment? Or just a prop to help you and Amber flaunt your relationship? Whatever this is, I’m done playing.” I pulled off my wedding ring and hurled it at him. Then, with everyone watching, I took the divorce papers from my bag and scattered them at his feet. “If you’re so eager to distance yourself from me, fine—let’s make it official. Sign the damn papers, and we’ll be done. I wish you and Amber all the best. Just don’t ever show your faces in front of me again!”   The papers fluttered to the floor. Someone nearby picked one up, scrutinizing it. “Wow, these look pretty convincing. Mr. Ward, could these be real?” Ethan’s tone was indifferent. “Just a childish stunt.” He genuinely thought I was bluffing. He was so certain I wouldn’t leave him. To him, every act of defiance, every tear I shed, was nothing more than a petty tantrum. Even now, his gaze carried a faint glimmer of mockery. “I suggest you stop making a scene before it gets any worse,” he said coolly. Exhaustion washed over me—deep, bone-deep fatigue. “A withered flower can never bloom again,” I thought. “People are no different.” I turned to leave. The sound of Ethan’s wine glass shattering against the floor echoed through the room. “Think carefully,” he said, his voice sharp and cutting. “Once you walk out that door, who will want you? Who would even dare?” I didn’t know what my expression looked like, but the jeers around me died down. My vision blurred, and Ethan’s figure warped into a grotesque shadow. I felt my soul sinking again. The last time, Ethan had caught me. This time, he was the one pushing me into the abyss. I bit down on my lip so hard I tasted blood. “Oh, Ethan,” Amber cooed, picking up my glass. “This was Clara’s drink, wasn’t it? Doesn’t smell like alcohol at all.” The liquor had been poured right in front of Ethan. Amber’s lie was as flimsy as it was malicious. But Ethan believed her anyway. He stepped forward, his grip like iron as he seized my wrist. “You’ve disappointed me again. Apologize to Amber.” His voice was cold and impatient, as if I were a child in need of discipline. The alcohol was already wreaking havoc on my body, my vision doubling as my immune system collapsed under the strain. “Leave here,” I thought, the word pounding through my head like a drumbeat. But Ethan didn’t let go. Pain shot up my arm as his grip tightened. I cried out, but he didn’t loosen his hold. “You think I’ll fall for your tricks again?” His voice was low and biting. “You’re getting on that stage tonight, no matter what.” Amber giggled. “How about I take Clara to change into something more suitable?” “That won’t be necessary,” Ethan said, his words stabbing into me like needles. “Let her dance in that dress. It’ll remind her of her place. Once something is dirty, it can never be clean again.” His voice was calm, almost casual, but every word was a deliberate jab. A reminder of my parents’ disgrace. A reminder that everything I had come from him. “If I leave him, I’ll have nothing,” I thought. “But what’s the point of staying with someone who uses my past as a weapon?” “Let go!” I shouted, wrenching free of his grasp, only to stumble and crash to the ground. The allergic reaction hit me like a freight train. My body felt heavy, my throat constricted, and I couldn’t breathe. Amber’s voice drifted in, distant and faint. “Ethan, my routine involves a lot of movement. Clara’s dress is too long—it’ll get in the way. If she won’t change, maybe we should just tear it.” Ethan hesitated for only a second. “Fine.” “Hold her down,” he ordered. Hands grabbed at me from every direction. I panicked, thrashing as hard as I could, but it was no use. I was like a fish out of water—flailing helplessly, powerless against them. “No,” I screamed in my mind, the word echoing in a void of despair.   “Ah!” The person closest to me let out a sudden, sharp cry. “What the hell? Who’s there?” “Are you out of your mind?” One curse followed another until they abruptly turned into gasps of shock. The weight on my body lifted, and I was swept into a pair of arms that smelled faintly of sandalwood. Struggling to lift my eyelids, I caught the glint of diamond cufflinks on the edge of a sleeve through my blurry vision. “Who’s the idiot who thinks they can—” The abuser, now yanked back, turned angrily to confront the newcomer, but their words died the moment they locked eyes with a pair of icy irises. The man holding me stood tall—easily over six feet—with a frame that radiated raw power. His features were striking and sharp, with arched brows cutting assertively into his temples. His thick lashes cast a brooding shadow over his cold, piercing eyes, and his lips were set in a tight line. Although his face was undeniably handsome, the chilling aura surrounding him made it impossible to approach lightly. Ethan, however, noticed something else first, the man’s entourage. Behind him stood a group of imposing men dressed in black, each exuding a commanding presence that was far beyond the typical bodyguard. Standing to the man’s right was a familiar face—Robert Hayes. Ethan’s breath hitched. Robert Hayes was a powerhouse in Seaview Isle, a man with considerable sway, someone even Ethan had tried and failed to approach multiple times. Yet here he was, standing hunched over with his cane, his demeanor unusually humble. Ethan had never seen Robert this deferential. An unease crept into Ethan’s chest as he cautiously addressed the man, his tone probing. “May I ask for your name, sir?” The man, towering over Ethan, looked down with thinly veiled contempt. “A group of people ganging up on a woman. Don’t you feel ashamed?” Ethan maintained a polite smile. “You misunderstand. She volunteered to stay and perform. After all, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to make a name for herself.” The man’s lips curved into a mocking smirk. “A lie so transparent it only fools the one telling it.” He turned slightly toward Robert. “This is the promising talent you spoke of from Seaview Isle?” Robert’s expression tightened, his tone fawning as he rushed to explain. “This—this is an exception, of course.” Robert’s forced smile vanished as he turned to Ethan, his face dark with anger. “Young man, broaden your horizons. You were invited to this gala, not to engage in mob tactics.” Ethan clenched his fists, a burning frustration simmering in his chest, but his attention remained fixed on the man as he carefully calculated his next move. Robert took the opportunity to speak up, raising his voice, “Allow me to introduce Mr. Julian Reid, of Ardent Industries.” Ethan froze, his entire body stiffening. Ardent Industries. That was a name Ethan couldn’t afford to offend. The newly appointed head of Ardent Industries was a legend. Julian Reid had led a mercenary team and fought his way out of the jungle, seizing control of the Reid family’s business empire despite his illegitimate status. In record time, he consolidated power and became the undisputed leader of Ardent Industries. Even across the ocean, Ethan had heard of his reputation. This man was no less than a living nightmare. Ethan’s eyes flickered with jealousy before fear quickly subdued it. Amber, who had been clinging to Ethan’s arm, suddenly stepped forward, releasing her grip. “Mr. Reid, do you follow entertainment news?” Amber asked, her tone sweet and polished. “You must be far too busy, or you wouldn’t have misunderstood us like this.” She smiled coyly. “I’m Amber Vaughn, a dancer. The woman you’re holding, Clara, is my colleague. She’s faked marriage certificates and even drawn up phony contracts. She’s—” “You’re Amber Vaughn?” Julian interrupted her coldly. Amber’s eyes lit up with barely contained excitement. “You’ve heard of me?” The onlookers exchanged whispers. “Wow, Mr. Reid knows Amber? I guess her charm is impossible to resist.” “No surprise. Amber’s basically a national sweetheart in the dance world.” “First Ethan Ward, and now Julian Reid? Some girls have all the luck.” Amber tilted her head modestly, her smile poised. “Have you seen me dance before? I don’t usually take photos with men, but I’d make an exception for you.” She smoothed her hair and pulled out her phone, angling it for a selfie with Julian. Before she could even smile for the camera, her phone was slapped out of her hand, landing far away with a loud clatter.

“Ow!” Amber cried, clutching her reddened hand. She opened her mouth to protest but froze when she saw Julian gently brush aside Clara’s curls to inspect her face. “She’s having an allergic reaction to alcohol,” he said, his voice low and trembling slightly. His demeanor shifted. No longer restrained, he scooped Clara into his arms, holding her securely against his chest. Without hesitation, he turned to leave. “Mr. Reid!” Ethan stepped forward to block his path. “Where are you taking her?” Julian’s gaze was glacial as he looked at Ethan. “She’s going into anaphylactic shock. Can’t you see that?” Ethan glanced at Clara in Julian’s arms and sneered. “Mr. Reid, you don’t understand. This woman is a master manipulator. She drank plain water earlier—how could she possibly have an allergic reaction to alcohol?” Julian’s chest rose and fell sharply, as if suppressing something primal. Ethan continued, his tone accusatory. “Stop pretending, Clara. If you don’t want to dance, no one’s forcing you. Don’t play the victim and mislead Mr. Reid. Stop this charade.” As Ethan pressed on, one of Julian’s men leaned in to whisper something into his ear. A wave of cold fury emanated from Julian. “You’re saying she drank water?” “Exactly,” Ethan said confidently. “Amber saw it herself.” At a single glance from Julian, the nearest burly man in black strode over to the trust fund kid who had poured Clara’s drink. “Which bottle was it?” The trust fund kid stammered, visibly shaken. “Th-that one…” The bottle remained untouched, save for the one glass already poured for Clara. Julian’s sharp gaze shifted to Amber, who instinctively shrank back. “If you believe it was water, why don’t you drink the rest of the bottle?” Amber faltered, her eyes darting nervously. “I… I didn’t get a clear look…” Julian didn’t give her a chance to continue. “Drink it.” At his signal, one of his men grabbed Amber and effortlessly restrained her. Another uncorked the bottle and forced it toward her lips. “Help… help!” Amber’s tearful eyes sought Ethan desperately. Ethan hesitated, taking half a step forward before Robert’s cold glare froze him in place. “Young man,” Robert said warningly, “don’t drag me into your mess.” If Ethan couldn’t read between the lines, he had no business being where he was now. He clenched his fists, his face red with frustration, but he stayed put, glaring helplessly as Amber was forced to drink. Amber choked and sputtered, some of the liquid going down while the rest spilled out in a humiliating mess. The lively buzz of the venue had vanished, replaced by an uneasy stillness, broken only by the sound of her desperate retching. Seaview Isle’s elite collectively decided to stay rooted in place—no one dared to test their luck with Julian now. Julian’s gaze swept over the crowd, his voice cutting like a blade. “So, you all believe it was water?” Those he singled out quaked under his stare, stammering, “No, no! It was definitely alcohol!” “Amber said it was water, but we didn’t know anything!” “I can vouch—Amber said she wanted to ruin Clara tonight, and that Ethan always listens to her.” Ethan’s head snapped toward Amber, disbelief etched into his face. “You really said that?” Amber shook her head violently, tears streaming down her face. Julian’s fists tightened, veins bulging against his skin. Before his rage could boil over, a faint, pained sound escaped Clara’s lips. Julian’s expression immediately softened. “You’ll be fine. We’re heading to the hospital now.” As he carried her away, Julian’s eyes flicked toward the table of untouched drinks. “For those who can’t tell the difference between water and alcohol, let me help you learn. Each of you, one bottle. Drink until you finish. Robert, ensure they comply.”

Robert respectfully watched Julian and his entourage leave. When he turned back to the stunned crowd, the faint smile on his face vanished. “Alright, everyone. Start drinking,” he said curtly. The long table was lined with at least a dozen bottles of liquor. To finish them all, it was clear—each person would have to down an entire bottle. Amber, already pale from being forced to drink half a bottle earlier, clung desperately to Ethan’s arm, trembling as she hid behind him. The others immediately turned on her. “This is your fault! Why did you say it was water?” “Clara’s allergic to alcohol! How could you force her to drink?” “She tried to leave earlier. Why couldn’t you just let her go? What was the point of making her stay?” Amber clutched Ethan’s sleeve, tears brimming in her eyes. “Ethan, you have to believe me. I swear, I saw Clara switch glasses.” “She’s smart,” Amber added, her voice shaky. “She wouldn’t do anything to hurt herself.” Ethan frowned slightly, considering her words. “You’re right. She must have done it to make me feel guilty.” Robert watched their back-and-forth with waning patience before finally cutting in. “Young man, how you figure this out is your problem. Right now, we have other matters to deal with.” Ethan hesitated. “Mr. Hayes, the gala is about to begin. If we’re all drunk, it would be disrespectful to the hosts.” Robert’s cane struck the floor twice, hard enough to echo. “Do you really think you can insult Mr. Reid and still waltz into the gala as if nothing happened?” The room collectively froze, the gravity of the situation finally sinking in. Ethan licked his dry lips nervously. “Does Mr. Reid know Clara Bennett personally?” Robert’s expression was unreadable. “All I know is that this is Mr. Reid’s first time in Oceanhaven.” “Exactly,” Ethan said, visibly relaxing. “There’s no way Clara knows someone of his stature.” Amber sniffled pitifully. “Clara really messed up this time. Now Mr. Reid has the wrong impression of us.” “She’s so thoughtless,” Amber continued, her tone aggrieved. “How could she not think about how this would affect you?” Ethan’s face darkened. “She’s being ridiculous.” Robert rapped his cane again, his tone sharp. “This is the last time I’ll ask. Will you drink willingly, or shall I make you?” ***** The first thing I noticed when I regained consciousness was that I was lying on a hospital bed. The vibration of my phone on the nightstand pulled me from my thoughts. I reached for it instinctively and saw a string of missed calls from Ethan. At the top were his messages. Ethan: [Clara, you’ve really disappointed me.] Ethan: [I didn’t expect you to care about me like Amber, but at least don’t stab me in the back.] Ethan: [Keeping our marriage a secret was the best decision I’ve ever made.] Ethan: [Are you trying to seduce Julian Reid to spite me? Don’t kid yourself. A man like him would never go for someone like you.] Ethan: [Explain everything to Mr. Reid, or don’t bother coming back to me.] The memories of the gala, the calculated humiliation, came flooding back. Rage swelled in my chest, choking me. I clutched at my heart, coughing violently. A warm hand rested gently on my back, soothing me. “Lara, how are you feeling?” I froze, eyes wide in shock. “What… what did you call me?” It had been so long since anyone had called me “Lara” that I almost forgot it was my name before Clara. Before I became Clara, I was the heiress to Aetherion Biosciences—a name that used to mean something. A name that now brought back memories too painful to bear. My breath hitched as I recoiled, pulling away and curling into myself. “I’m sorry,” the man said, his voice trembling. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Look at me, Lara. Do you recognize me?” Something in his gentle tone calmed my spiraling thoughts. Slowly, I rubbed my eyes and focused on his face. His features sharpened, and the familiar boy from my memories emerged. “Jules?”

When I was five, my parents took me to a remote village for a charity project. A line of children, dressed in tattered clothes, stood before us, each recounting their hardships. But my gaze landed on a quiet boy at the back of the group. He was thin and unremarkable compared to the others, yet the moment our eyes met, something about him pulled me in. “Dad, I want that boy!” I tugged on my father’s sleeve insistently. My father, a notorious pushover when it came to me, didn’t hesitate to indulge me. That was how Jules came to live with us in Oceanhaven. I never knew his full name. I just followed him around, calling him Jules. Seven years older than me, Jules was mature beyond his years, a stark contrast to my chatty, boisterous nature. He was quiet and withdrawn, not particularly skilled at socializing. But he wove me colorful flower crowns and carried my least favorite backpack without complaint. To me, he was like an older brother, someone I cherished almost as much as my parents. But Jules stayed with us for less than six months. That winter, I was kidnapped—again—and broke my leg while escaping. Jules stayed by my side, his eyes red with unshed tears, keeping vigil all night. The next day, he told my father he wanted to enroll in a military academy. He left shortly after and never came back. Looking at him now, I marveled at how much he’d changed. “Jules, you’re so tall now.” “Are you really the Julian of Ardent Industries?” I asked, piecing things together from Ethan’s messages. A mix of pride and inevitability swelled in my chest. He smiled, just as he used to, and gently ruffled my hair. “I’m sorry I took so long to find you.” I shook my head. “It’s a good thing you weren’t around. Otherwise, you’d have been dragged down with me.” After my parents’ downfall, Aetherion Biosciences changed hands overnight. I went from being the envied heiress to a punching bag for anyone with a grudge. No one spoke up for me. They all said, “The sins of her parents must be repaid by her.” Hurting me became the “right” thing to do. The weight of those memories made me genuinely believe that Jules staying away had spared him from the same fate. Julian’s gaze darkened, guilt flickering in his eyes. “I should have been there. If I’d acted sooner, they wouldn’t have…” “Stop blaming yourself,” I interrupted. “What happened was inevitable. Even if you’d been there, you couldn’t have changed it.” Julian pressed his lips into a thin line. “Lara, there’s something you need to know—” The sound of the door opening cut him off. My attention shifted to the man who entered. “Mr. Reid, Ms. Bennett,” he began, nodding at me before handing Julian a tablet. “Someone’s spreading false narratives about the gala online and using bots to target Ms. Bennett. It’s already trending.” I frowned, reaching for my phone, but Julian pulled me closer, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “Let’s check out together.” My back pressed against his chest, the scent of sandalwood enveloping me. I glanced up at him uneasily. Julian’s expression was focused and composed as he studied the screen. I silently berated myself for my discomfort. This was Jules. No matter how many years had passed or what title he now carried, he was still the boy who once made me flower crowns. I forced myself to focus on the tablet in his hands, brushing away any stray thoughts.

The media latched onto a heavily edited video of me being dragged across the red carpet by Marcus due to my injured leg. In the distorted version, it appeared as though I was desperately trying to crash the event for attention. Internet users, ever ready to pounce, created GIFs of the footage, pairing them with degrading captions like, “Desperate diva wants the spotlight!” Alongside the video were photos of me holding a wine glass, seemingly approaching former collaborators, and they were twisted into an entirely new narrative. Comments flooded in. [Clara Bennett isn’t just a slandering bitch. She’s also hunting for shady deals. What a perfect match for the bitch title!] [This is hilarious! Every exec she approached bolted like she had the plague. What a disaster.] [Look at her pathetic face. Honestly, if she’s that desperate, I’d pay for one night.] [I’m serious—Clara Bennett should just sell herself at this point.] The vitriol escalated after footage surfaced of Amber being rushed to the hospital for a stomach pump. What started as casual trolling turned into outright malice. Amber fueled the fire, posting two new photos on Space X. The first was her hospital record. The second was a picture of two intertwined hands, the couple’s rings on full display. The ring on her finger stopped me cold. It was the very ring I had picked out as a gift for our seventh wedding anniversary. Ethan had dismissed it, claiming the overseas flagship store appointment was unnecessary. Now, there it was—on Amber’s hand. Amber: [Being harassed by a lunatic landed me in the ER. Thankfully, I have someone who’ll always protect me. @Ethan.] Almost immediately, Ethan shared her post with a comment. Ethan: [Don’t let a crazy person ruin your mood, sweetheart. Remember, you’re destined to shine, while some people are only fit to rot in the gutter.] The comment section erupted, with tags directed at me. Among the insults were responses from verified accounts—former colleagues, no less—detailing alleged instances of my workplace bullying. These weren’t random strangers. They included people I had been close to, people I had helped financially when they were struggling, even a woman I once shared meals with. My fingers trembled as I hovered over the flood of hateful comments, unable to look away. “Don’t,” Julian said, taking my hand firmly in his. “They’re not worth it.” I tightened my grip on his hand, my resolve hardening. “I need to remember the faces they’re showing me now.” It reminded me of when my family fell. Those who once held me in high regard had been the first to shatter me, eagerly casting themselves as victims while I became their scapegoat. I thought I had learned my lesson, but I still gave my trust to the wrong people. “Am I an idiot?” I asked bitterly. Julian gently wiped the tears from my cheeks. “A flower that blooms in the dirt will always attract pests, jealous of its beauty and bent on destroying it. The flower isn’t at fault—it’s the vile insects that are to blame.” He held my gaze, his tone firm. “From now on, I’ll be the wall that shields you. You just focus on growing and flourishing.” “Thank you, Jules,” I said, removing my SIM card and tossing it into the trash without hesitation. “You’re right. It’s time to leave the past behind.” Neither the joy of my youth nor the solace I once found in Ethan could justify the pain he had inflicted on me. We had gone from supporting each other to being strangers. By sparing him the exposure of his infidelity, I had already shown him mercy.

Julian wasn’t one to waste time. One phone call later, the gala organizers released the full footage from the evening. The unedited video captured Amber’s fans attacking me on the red carpet and Ethan and his group coercing me to drink inside. It didn’t take long for the colleagues who had falsely accused me of workplace bullying to receive lawsuits and termination letters. They didn’t even get to enjoy their moment of infamy before losing their jobs. As for Ethan, the fallout hit him even harder. Word spread that his entire production line had ground to a halt. Julian later informed me that Ethan was frantically trying to find out where I was. “If he apologizes and admits he was wrong, what will you do?” Julian asked. He was rubbing his temples lightly—a telltale sign of his tension. I placed a freshly baked cake in front of him. “Ethan Ward would never admit he was wrong.” A smudge of frosting clung to Julian’s lips, an endearing contrast to his usual sharp demeanor. “Why do you think that?” I gave him a wry smile. “The signs were there all along. I just got used to ignoring them.” The first time Ethan and Amber were caught kissing by the media, I cried and confronted him. He dismissed me, calling me immature, and whisked Amber off to see the northern lights. That was when I realized some changes were beyond my control. What I didn’t expect was Ethan’s way of retaliating, a grand fireworks display and a public proposal to Amber. The water army didn’t miss a beat, redirecting their attacks toward me once again. [Sure, Mr. Ward was a bit harsh at the gala, but anyone would be annoyed being hounded by a lunatic.] [Clara brought this on herself.] Julian, always quick to sense trouble, was ready to step in, but I stopped him. “I’ll handle it,” I said calmly. “He and I need closure.” He had drained every last ounce of gratitude I had left. This time, I wouldn’t waver. I compiled a slideshow of our years together—moments I had originally planned to gift him for his birthday—and uploaded it online. Now, it served as a very different kind of gift, one he couldn’t ignore. Amid the firestorm that followed, I reposted my wedding photo. This time, the comment section pinned a response from a city hall official. [Yes, they’re legally married. I officiated the ceremony myself. Mr. Ward’s secret marriage was understandable for his career, but proposing to another woman while still married is a criminal act.] Julian didn’t stop there. He dug up footage of Ethan meeting with Crimson Ballet’s director, brazenly offering investment money to replace me as the lead dancer. The narrative flipped in an instant. Ethan, once a romantic hero, was now a reviled scumbag. Amber, once the sweet ingenue, became the ultimate homewrecker. It all unraveled so fast. Letting go wasn’t as hard as I’d imagined. On Ethan’s Space X post of his proposal to Amber, I left a comment. Clara: [Congratulations. But divorce me first.] Not long after, Ethan deleted the post. Moments later, I received a private message from him. Ethan: [Let’s meet and talk.]

I replied with a single word. Clara: [Fine.] Ethan and I needed closure, one way or another. He chose our old meeting spot—the chapel on the mountaintop. Back when we first settled in Oceanhaven, Ethan often brought me there on dates. Money was tight, so he’d pick wildflowers to make me necklaces and crowns. As things improved, he’d make annual donations to the chapel for my birthday. I still remembered him standing before the cross, hands clasped in earnest prayer. “God bless my Lara with peace and joy.” Those words still echoed in my mind, though the man who spoke to them felt like a stranger now. When I arrived, Ethan’s gaze immediately fell to my leg. “Your injury hasn’t healed properly. Why didn’t you let me pick you up?” I couldn’t help but scoff. “Wasn’t it you who forced me to dance for your precious Amber even when my leg was worse?” Ethan froze, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. “You’re right. That was wrong of me, and I’m sorry. But did you really have to blow everything up online? Do you have any idea how much damage you’ve caused my company? Years of hard work—gone in an instant!” As he spoke, his initial remorse evaporated, replaced by anger and frustration. I watched him calmly, curious to see what else he could say to justify himself. “Let’s just put the past behind us,” he continued, exhaling sharply. “It’s just my luck to have married someone like you.” The confidence in his tone was maddening. “Money can be regained,” he added, “but Amber’s reputation—you almost ruined her!” He studied my expression, mistaking my silence for hesitation, and his lips curved into a smirk. “You’ll post a statement online saying our marriage has been dead for years and that we’d already agreed to divorce. Make it clear that Amber isn’t a homewrecker.” I stared at him, incredulous. This had to be the most absurd thing I’d heard all year. “You think the public is stupid? If we had agreed to divorce, why would I have shared our marriage certificate?” Ethan frowned in irritation. “Say you were acting out of lingering feelings—hurt and resentment. People will believe it.” My disdain must have been obvious because he turned his head uncomfortably, avoiding my gaze. “Listen,” he said, his voice softening. “I promise I won’t say anything rash to the media again. And if you still want to visit Roselle, I’ll take you after all this is settled.” “No, thank you,” I replied coldly. “I wouldn’t want to impose on you. Save your grand gestures for Amber.” Ethan sighed in exasperation. “You’re still jealous, Clara. Don’t you realize how exhausting this childish behavior is? Go to Roselle if you want, but when you come down the mountain, you’d better hold a press conference and clear everything up.” He paused before adding, “And make sure you explain things to Julian, too.” His shamelessness was staggering. I took a deep breath to steady myself. “Why should I sacrifice my dignity to protect a cheating husband and his mistress?” Ethan’s expression darkened. “Was it necessary to say something so cruel?” “I’m just stating facts,” I said, pulling a prepared divorce agreement from my bag. “If you don’t want this to get uglier, then sign it.” He stared at the papers, his initial surprise giving way to a sneering smirk. “Do you think threatening me with divorce will scare me? Without me, you’re just a pariah, hated by everyone.” As he spat out those final words, I felt something in my chest shatter. Ethan looked at me with cold contempt. “And don’t tell me Julian Reid actually cares about you. Do you think someone like him would be interested in damaged goods?” He let out a malicious laugh. “You’re not young anymore, Clara. And men like Julian don’t go for women I’ve already used and discarded.”

I slapped him hard across the face. “You’re disgusting.” My hand trembled, the sensation of touching Ethan making my skin crawl. I rubbed my palm vigorously, as if trying to erase the contact. Ethan’s eyes blazed with fury. “Disgusting? You didn’t seem to think so when you were begging me like a slut in bed!” He grabbed me roughly. “If you want to get laid, just say it. Stop playing hard to get. Let’s go to the car—I’ll give you what you need.” I struggled against him, and when he leaned in to kiss me, I kneed him hard in the groin. “Ugh—you bitch!” Ethan groaned, doubling over. “Fine, let’s see how you get down this mountain on your own!” With that, he stormed off and drove away. The chapel was on the outskirts of town, accessible by a winding road that stretched up the mountain. I’d taken a cab to get here. Unfortunately, the weather turned against me. Rain began pouring down, heavy and relentless. I opened my rideshare app, but no drivers were willing to pick up. Resigned, I started toward the chapel for shelter, but headlights pierced through the downpour as a black SUV pulled up in front of me. Julian stepped out, umbrella in hand, tilting it to shield me from the rain. “Jules?” I asked, startled. “What are you doing here?” “I’ve been following you since you left,” he admitted, draping his jacket over my shoulders. It was warm, carrying his faint scent. “I figured you were meeting Ethan. I couldn’t leave you alone.” It had been so long since anyone showed me such care. For a moment, my heart felt… soft. “It’s fine. I can handle him. Did you run into Ethan just now?” Julian’s expression soured. “I did. He even tried to block my car.” I tensed. “Are you okay?” “With that flashy little sports car of his? Please,” Julian said, a hint of pride in his tone. “He wouldn’t stand a chance against my custom SUV.” His uncharacteristic smugness made his strong, stoic features seem almost boyish. For a fleeting moment, it felt like I was looking at the teenager who used to buy me candy. Julian picked up the rain-soaked divorce papers. “He refused to sign?” “Yeah.” I sighed, frustration creeping into my voice. “I don’t get him. We can’t stand each other anymore, so why won’t he let go?” “Because he’s a selfish bastard,” Julian said bluntly, watching me carefully for a reaction. When he saw I wasn’t upset, a faint smile tugged at his lips. “Meeting you all the way out here was probably part of his plan. He wanted to make things difficult for you.” “Not really,” I said with a small laugh. “We used to come here on dates.” Julian’s face darkened. “What did you do here?” “Nothing much—walked around, prayed at the chapel.” “Let’s go pray,” Julian said suddenly, taking my hand. The chapel’s priest recognized me immediately, despite my two-year absence. “You look radiant, as if your spirit has found clarity and purpose. Truly, it’s something to celebrate.” Julian bowed slightly. “Father, how much has Ethan Ward donated here? I’ll give you a hundred times that.” His generosity earned him two bracelets in addition to the recognition of being the chapel’s top benefactor. Julian slipped one onto my wrist, his voice steady and certain. “Lara, as long as I’m here, nothing in this world will ever hurt you again.” As I touched the bracelet, a sense of peace washed over me. But when I glanced up, I froze. Ethan was back.

To be exact, it was Ethan and Amber. It seemed that when Ethan climbed the mountain to “apologize” to me, Amber had been waiting conveniently at the foot of it. What was this? Some twisted power play between the wife and the mistress? The thought made my stomach churn. I clung to Julian’s arm and said, “Let’s get out of here.” Ethan quickly closed the distance between us. “Mr. Reid, could I trouble you for just a few minutes?” “No,” Julian replied, his voice curt and firm. “Mr. Reid…” Amber’s voice was saccharine sweet, dripping with a syrupy charm. “Please, just one chance.” “Not happening.” Julian’s tone was even colder this time. Amber froze, clearly taken aback. Ethan turned to me instead. “Clara, don’t you think there’s been some kind of misunderstanding between us?” He gave me a soft, familiar smile, the kind I hadn’t seen in ages. His eyes reflected my image, as if I was still his whole world. For a brief second, I faltered. My body, guided by muscle memory, nearly nodded in response. Julian pinched the back of my neck sharply. I jolted back to my senses, nearly slapping myself for the lapse. Ethan’s smile faltered, but he quickly composed himself. “Don’t forget the promise you made me.” I laughed coldly. “What promise?” I crossed my arms and raised an eyebrow. “If you really want to hear it again, fine. Let me spell it out for you.” I announced, “You broke your vows, cheated on me during our marriage, and Amber knowingly stepped into all of this. You even hired trolls to slander me. And the way you both behaved at the banquet? I will never forgive you.” Ethan’s face darkened, Amber’s smile froze in place, but Julian looked rather amused. He slid his arm around my waist and, without missing a beat, brushed past Ethan. “I wish you and Amber Vaughn all the best. May the two of you live shamelessly ever after.” Ethan’s jaw clenched as he turned to me, anger flickering in his eyes. “Clara, are you really going to debase yourself like this?” I felt Julian’s arm muscles tense, his restrained anger palpable. I quickly grabbed his wrist and whispered, “Ignore him.” The ultimate insult is indifference. Against someone like Ethan, that was all it takes. For the next few days, I committed to ignoring him completely. Ethan didn’t have my new number, and I’d already blocked him on every social platform. If he wanted to contact me, he wouldn’t even know where to begin. Meanwhile, I spent my time at Julian’s hillside villa, tending to flowers and feeding the birds. It was as if time itself had slowed down. The next time I heard about Ethan was while watching a dance competition show I loved. After a group of contestants finished their performance, the host announced a surprise guest. Amber stepped onto the stage. Her appearance didn’t exactly shock me, but it did pique my curiosity. Amber had always been good at self-promotion. That whole “dream girl of the dance world” title? Self-appointed. The recent public backlash had forced her to lay low for a bit, but I knew her. She’d never stay quiet for long. And here she was, clawing her way back into the spotlight. Dressed in a simple white spaghetti-strap dress, her makeup perfectly natural yet impossibly meticulous, Amber smiled into the camera with an air of brave defiance. “I know I’ve made mistakes,” she began, her voice steady and earnest. “I’ve hurt people who didn’t deserve it. And no matter how much I try to explain, those mistakes are unforgivable. But even with everything I’m facing now, I don’t regret the choices I’ve made. True love is never wrong. Suppressing your feelings for someone is cruel—to yourself and to them. I’ll do my best to make amends to those I’ve unintentionally hurt, but I won’t give up on Ethan. Love is never a sin.” Her words, soaked in faux sincerity, were typical Amber. She announced that she’d perform a solo dance titled Love. At first, I barely paid attention, my gaze lazily flicking to the screen now and then. But the moment the music started and Amber began moving, I shot up from my seat. That dance—it was mine.

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