Category: English

When my male neighbor found out I was a small business owner who only worked three hours a day, he rapid-fired sixty-eight text messages to me in the middle of the night. “I saw you bought more makeup. Who gave you permission to spend money like that?” “Don’t think you’re special just because you make good money! Let me remind you, your income needs to go toward supporting our future family!” I was completely bewildered, and naturally, my response wasn’t exactly polite. “That’s absolutely none of your business, is it?” The moment I sent that, he exploded. “How is it none of my business?! You’re going to be my wife! Every extra dollar you spend now is a dollar missing from my bank account!” “Also, about the dowry. We’re thinking eighty grand in cash and a brand new Audi A8. Have you saved up enough yet?” “Oh, and by the way, I’m not sexist or anything, but I want the perfect family. We must have both a son and a daughter!” He unleashed this insane barrage of texts, making my blood boil. I didn’t even bother replying; I just blocked his number immediately. But I never expected this guy to be a lingering nightmare. Days later, he showed up at my company as the lead project manager to negotiate a contract. Watching him sit across from me, confidently running his mouth and demanding endless concessions, I simply waved my hand. “I think we’re done here. Let’s cancel this partnership.” As soon as the words left my mouth, the atmosphere in the conference room plummeted below freezing. The smug smile on the face of my neighbor, Caleb Vance, instantly froze. The regional director who had come with him offered a panicked, apologetic smile and asked cautiously, “Ms. Evans, our collaboration on this project has been going perfectly so far.” “Why the sudden decision to terminate?” He rubbed his hands together nervously. “There must be a reason, right? Otherwise… it’s going to be very hard for me to explain this to the board!” I offered a dry, sarcastic smile, lazily pointing a finger at Caleb. “The reason is very simple. It’s because of him…” “Chloe Evans! Are you ever going to stop?!” Caleb violently shot up from his chair, slamming his palm against the conference table with a loud thud. He glared at me, his face red with anger. “There are a lot of people here today! I won’t say anything too harsh!” “If you want to throw little tantrums with me at home, fine!” “But today is a professional setting! Reel in your terrible attitude right now!” He then picked up the contract file and slammed it back down onto the table. “I’m finalizing this deal right now! It’s settled!” The regional director looked at Caleb with absolute awe, then frantically pushed the contract toward me. Conversely, my own managers sitting next to me were looking around in utter confusion. One of them opened his mouth to speak, but I held up a hand to stop him. I pressed my lips together into a thin line. “Caleb Vance, who the hell are you to me? What gives you the right to make decisions on my behalf?” “Do we even know each other?” A flash of intense embarrassment crossed Caleb’s eyes, but he stubbornly pushed through, attempting to soften his tone. “Alright, Chloe, stop being mad at me!” “There are people watching! I’m still your man!” “Can’t you at least leave me a little dignity?” Hearing that, every single person in the room gasped audibly. The regional director immediately jumped on the opportunity. “Ms. Evans, we totally understand that you and Caleb are having a little lover’s spat.” “But we’re on company time right now. We have to prioritize the work. You absolutely cannot let personal feelings ruin this deal!” Before he even finished his sentence, the conference room door swung open. Six security guards marched in in perfect formation. My executive assistant, who also happened to be my best friend, stood behind me and gestured to the guards, speaking with absolute coldness. “I’m sorry, but our CEO has spoken. This partnership is terminated.” “You can either leave on your own two feet, or I can have security escort you out.” The regional director was stunned. He frantically elbowed Caleb in the ribs, hissing, “Say something!” “Hurry up and sweet-talk your girlfriend! If this deal falls through, you know exactly what the consequences are!” Caleb grew even more aggressive. He reached out and grabbed my arm, his voice thick with irritation. “That’s enough!” “I tolerate it when you blow money on stupid things!” “Are you really trying to push me to the edge today?!” My patience had completely evaporated. I violently shoved him away. “Caleb, are you clinically insane?!” “We don’t even know each other! Doesn’t it feel completely pathetic to walk in here and announce yourself as my boyfriend?” The regional director’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. “Ms. Evans, please don’t say things you’ll regret in anger!” “Did Caleb do something to upset you? Please, just calm down! Calm down!” I found the entire situation hilariously absurd. “Is there something wrong with your ears, or am I not speaking English?” “I have absolutely zero relationship with Caleb Vance!” “He’s entirely delusional, trying to manifest his way into being my boyfriend!” “Chloe Evans!” Caleb roared, staring at me with bulging, furious eyes. “Don’t push it!” “Keep acting like this and I’ll break up with you!” Seeing that he was still completely submerged in his own psychotic fantasy, and having no desire to waste another second on him, I gave the order: “Escort them out.” As he was being dragged away, Caleb was still shouting threats. “You stupid bitch! You haven’t been put in your place for a few days and you’re getting itchy, aren’t you?!” “You dare disrespect me like this?! Just wait until we get home! I’ll beat the living hell out of you!” The regional director seemed to finally realize something was horribly wrong. He remained silent, his face dark as a thundercloud. Once the walking plague was finally gone, my assistant—my best friend, Maya—leaned in. “Chloe, who the hell was that guy?” “Is he a psychopath? Why was he calling himself your boyfriend?!” I rubbed my temples, completely exhausted. “I have no idea!” “He wasn’t this unhinged before.” “In fact, he initially acted like I was completely beneath him!” About six months ago, I moved back into an older, working-class apartment complex. Everyone I knew thought I was crazy. They asked me why, when I was so wealthy and owned a massive luxury condo downtown, I would choose to live in an old, inconvenient building. “I built my business from nothing. That apartment holds too many beautiful memories from my early struggle.” So, the very first thing I did when I made it big was buy back my old apartment. During my first week there, my neighbor, Mrs. Vance, brought her son over to introduce us. She even thoughtfully presented our “credentials” to each other. “This is Chloe. She’s twenty-seven. What did you say you did for a living again, sweetie?” We didn’t know each other well, so I just gave a vague, non-committal answer and laughed it off. I didn’t expect that the second I finished speaking, Caleb would flick his cigarette ash right by my feet. “Mom! How many times have I told you? Stop trying to set me up with these low-quality women!” “I’m a senior corporate executive! I know you want grandkids, but you can’t just drag any random nobody off the street and expect me to settle!” Finally, he looked me dead in the face and sneered mercilessly, “Bringing me out to look at trash like this is a total waste of my time.” The second he walked away, Mrs. Vance grabbed my hands, bowing repeatedly to apologize. “Chloe, I am so sorry! I raised a fool! Please don’t be angry!” “Let me apologize on his behalf!” I have a soft heart, and I can’t stand seeing an older woman grovel like that, so naturally, I didn’t hold it against her. But I never expected that, two days ago, Caleb would suddenly add me on the community WhatsApp group. “You’re Chloe, right?” “I’m your neighbor, Mrs. Vance’s son. Caleb!” At the time, I was reviewing contract details. The moment I saw his name, I knew he was the lead manager for the opposing firm. Just as I was preparing to shift into a professional gear to discuss the project details, a barrage of unhinged accusations flooded my screen. “My mom told me you run a small business and make decent money?” “What’s the point of making money? The important thing is knowing how to save it and hoard it!” “By the way, how is your fertility? Are you healthy? Are you still pure?” Staring at the endless stream of psychotic texts, I was completely shell-shocked. Remembering all this, I handed my phone to Maya. “Look at what he sent me.” Maya scrolled through the chat logs, her jaw dropping. “This guy is clinically insane.” Right at that moment, the CEO of Caleb’s company called my private line. His voice dripped with blatant flattery. “Ms. Evans, I was hoping to understand how our partnership suddenly fell apart.” “You’ve always been known for keeping business and personal matters strictly separate. Why let emotions dictate things today?” “Caleb told me all about the little spat between you two. If you ask me, couples fight, but it never lasts overnight…” “Mr. Davis.” I interrupted him, my patience completely gone. “I think you have a massive misunderstanding. I have absolutely no relationship with Caleb Vance!” “We don’t even know each other!” After I briefly explained the situation, I could feel the suffocating silence radiating through the phone. Sure enough, five minutes later, Mr. Davis sent me a photo. It was Caleb Vance’s termination notice. “Ms. Evans, I am deeply apologetic that something like this occurred. I have already fired Caleb!” “As for the profit margins, to make up for this unpleasantness, I am willing to concede an additional five percent.” “Regarding the contract, could we perhaps sit down and renegotiate?” He was showing immense sincerity, and it would be bad business to refuse. That very night, we set a time and booked a high-end restaurant. But just as I arrived at the restaurant entrance, Mrs. Vance suddenly grabbed my arm, her face drenched in tears. “Chloe, my son made a terrible mistake! He wronged you!” “But you can’t be this ruthless!” “At the end of the day, you two are husband and wife! What kind of grudge could possibly be this deep?!” Right beside her, Caleb dropped to his knees in front of a crowd of people, wrapping his arms around my calves in a vice grip. “Wife!” “I was wrong! I know I was wrong!” “Please, just forgive me, okay?” The restaurant entrance was busy, and pedestrians instinctively stopped, staring at us with insatiable curiosity. Caleb pressed his face desperately against my leg. The warm, damp sensation of his tears made me feel incredibly nauseous. “Wife! If you want to be mad at me, be mad! But why would you tell people we don’t know each other?!” Mrs. Vance aggressively joined the performance. She collapsed onto the sidewalk, slapping her thighs in dramatic, theatrical despair. “Oh, dear God!” “What sin did I commit in a past life to deserve this?!” “Chloe, have I been a bad mother to you?” “Why are you doing this?!” She sobbed loudly, addressing the growing crowd. “Everyone, look at this!” “Who has a more unfilial daughter-in-law than me?!” “Just because my son criticized her for spending too much money, not only did she tell everyone she doesn’t know him, but she actually made his boss fire him!” The moment she finished, the crowd didn’t even give me a chance to explain. They immediately turned their righteous fury on me. “That is disgusting! Getting your husband fired over a petty argument? If that was my wife, I would have beaten her half to death!” “You can tell just by looking at her face that she’s bad news. She looks like a gold-digger!” “Look at how glamorous she’s dressed, and look at her husband in cheap clothes. This woman is completely ungrateful!” I was burning with fury. I desperately tried to explain to the crowd, “I do not know this man!” “Please, someone call 911!” I was sweating profusely from panic, but someone in the crowd loudly voiced their doubts. “She doesn’t look like she’s faking it… maybe we should call the police?” “I agree, this seems like something the cops should handle!” “Chloe! Can you please stop this?!” Caleb looked at me with an expression of deep, tortured devotion. Then, he pulled two bright red, official-looking marriage certificates from his pocket. “She is my wife!” “We are legally married!” I stared at those two marriage certificates, completely dumbfounded. To ensure the crowd believed him, he flipped them open. “Look, the people in this photo are us.” “This is fake! I don’t even know him!” “Chloe! Has it really come to this?! Are you still refusing to forgive my son?” Mrs. Vance’s voice cracked, shrill with panic. “Do you want him to die right in front of you before you admit he’s your husband?!” I was losing my mind. All I could do was silently pray that someone had actually called 911 and that the police would arrive quickly. Caleb had one hand gripping my leg, and his other hand locked around my wrist. He leaned his entire body weight against me, dropping his voice so only I could hear. “Let me tell you right now, you are not escaping today!” “The one thing you women care about most is your reputation, right?” “I’m going to completely destroy your reputation. Let’s see if you submit to me then!” I turned my head and locked eyes with his venomous, psychotic glare. In a split second, his eyes filled with tears again. Before I could react, he grabbed my hand and started violently slapping his own face with it. “Wife! Hit me! Beat me to death!” “As long as you forgive me, I’ll do anything!” Mrs. Vance practically crawled to my feet. “Chloe! If you’re still angry, beat me!” “I’m old and useless! But I’m not blind!” “My only wish is to see you and Caleb living happily together!” My attempts to defend myself were instantly drowned out by the roar of the crowd’s condemnation. “This woman is absolute trash!” “Yeah, and the guy is an idiot too. Can’t he just divorce her?” “What do you know? That’s true love!” As the crowd swelled, all I could do was scream at the top of my lungs, “They are trying to kidnap me! Please, call 911!” “I really don’t know him!” Suddenly, a booming voice echoed from the crowd. “I can vouch for him!” “The woman standing right there…” Looking at that familiar face, a wave of relief washed over me. But a second later, he laughed and said: “Is 100% this man’s wife!” “They are a married couple!” My voice caught in my throat, coming out as a hoarse shriek. “You’re lying!” “Mr. Davis! You know exactly what my relationship with Caleb is! Why are you lying?!” Mr. Davis casually adjusted his expensive watch, speaking with absolute entitlement. “You’re the one lying, aren’t you?” “If Caleb hadn’t shown me your wedding photos, I really would have fallen for your act!” Caleb nodded in solemn agreement. “Thank you, Mr. Davis!” “If you hadn’t helped me trick Chloe into coming here, I really wouldn’t have known what to do!” “Chloe, please just be reasonable, okay? Forgive me, please?” “I know I messed up!” His grip on my wrist was brutal, the pain radiating up my arm making it hard to breathe. I had no idea where Caleb had hidden my phone during the scuffle. My last sliver of hope rested entirely on the crowd. “I swear to God, I don’t know him! Please, someone call 911!” There was a time when I would scroll through true crime videos online about women being kidnapped in broad daylight, and I could never understand why they couldn’t just run away. Now, living it in real time, I finally understood. In this kind of chaotic, overwhelming situation, compounded by Caleb’s manipulative victim-playing, Mrs. Vance’s hysterical crying, and a “credible” witness validating their story… It was nearly impossible for me to escape. Caleb gripped my wrist like a vice, a sickeningly smug smile on his face. “Stop wasting your energy! No one is going to believe you.” Sensing an opening, I lunged forward and bit down as hard as I could on his forearm. The metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth instantly, spreading rapidly. Caleb gasped in excruciating pain and instinctively shoved me to the ground. I broke free and scrambled to my feet, sprinting away as fast as I could. But the crowd was too thick, mostly comprised of men. They formed a human wall, physically blocking my path and refusing to let me through. “Everyone, help me stop her!” Furious, Caleb lunged forward and grabbed me again, dragging me back. Gritting his teeth, he delivered a brutal backhand slap across my face. “Bitch! I’m trying to give you an out and you spit in my face!” “You want to run?!” “Fine! Give me back my dowry and every single dollar I ever spent on you!” Mrs. Vance wailed theatrically, “This is marriage fraud! This is marriage fraud!” Hearing this, the crowd’s disgust toward me reached an absolute fever pitch. “This is literally a gold-digger in the flesh!” “Wow, this is wild! This woman has zero shame!” “How much money did you steal from him?! Pay him back right now!” I had barely opened my mouth to speak when Caleb delivered another vicious slap. “You dirty whore! I was completely blind to marry you!” Just as the words left his mouth, the wail of police sirens pierced the air in the distance. I let out a massive sigh of relief, using every ounce of energy I had left to scream for help. The police quickly pushed through the crowd and reached us. By this point, my face was swollen like a balloon, but I forced myself to stay conscious to report the incident. But the moment I managed to choke out the word “Officer,” the tears began falling like broken pearls. “My husb—” Before I could finish the sentence, Caleb stepped forcefully in front of me, lifting his chin arrogantly. “What?” “Are the police getting involved in domestic disputes now?” “I am simply disciplining my own wife!” The lead officer, his face carved from stone, stared at him. “You’re saying she’s your wife?” Caleb nodded arrogantly. “Obviously.” “Who gave you the right to— AHHHH! IT HURTS!” The officer’s hand clamped down like a steel trap on Caleb’s shoulder, violently spinning him around to face me. “Her name is Chloe Evans, and she is my legally wedded wife!” “Are you implying that my wife would leave me for a pathetic piece of trash like you?”

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On New Year’s Eve, my little sister kept pestering me to play hide-and-seek. I covered my eyes. Right as I counted to thirty, the eraser in my brain moved again. I stood frozen in the middle of the living room for a few seconds. Then, I turned around, went back to the couch, and started watching TV. An hour later, Mom crouched down in front of me. “Sweetie, where did your sister go?” Sister? I blinked at her. “I don’t have a sister.” Mom’s face instantly changed. The family abandoned the holiday dinner. They rushed out into the heavy snow. But they couldn’t find my sister anywhere. Mom raised her hand and slapped me hard across the face. Her eyes were completely red. “Didn’t I tell you to watch your sister?! Didn’t I tell you not to let her out of your sight?!” “Where is she now?! Which way did she go?! Tell me!” The force of the slap shoved me backward. I fell onto the freezing, snow-covered porch. “Why couldn’t you be the one who went missing, you idiot?! You don’t remember anything anyway!” “This time you forgot your sister! What about next time?! Are you going to forget me and your father?!” Mom lunged forward to hit me again, but Dad grabbed her arm. They were both crying hysterically. My chest hurt so badly. She was right… why wasn’t I the idiot who went missing? … Mom’s hand stopped inches from my cheek, gripped tightly by Dad. “That’s enough!” Dad’s voice was hoarse. “She’s sick! You know she’s sick!” “It’s exactly because she’s sick that I told her not to let her sister step foot outside the house!” Mom violently yanked her arm out of his grasp, but she didn’t step closer to me. She just glared at me with those bloodshot, terrifying eyes. “She’s only four years old… In a blizzard like this, where could she possibly go?!” Four years old? I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. Is that sister four years old? But there was truly, absolutely nothing in my head. Nothing except the New Year’s Eve broadcast replaying on the TV, and the snow swirling wildly outside the window. Hearing the commotion, our neighbors rushed over. “Keep looking! A little kid can’t get far. Did she go to a friend’s house?” Dad grabbed Mom’s arm and pulled her up. “Why are you still sitting here?! Get up and help us look! Yelling at her won’t do any good!” Clarity flashed in Mom’s eyes for a split second. “Yes! I have to find my Lily…” Mom didn’t look at me again. She grabbed a flashlight and sprinted out into the snow. The crowd of people echoed through the neighborhood, shouting my sister’s name. I stood alone on the porch, my mind completely, entirely blank. “Lily… isn’t Lily my name?” My memory drifted back to when I was three. Back then, Mom and Dad called me Lily, too. “Mia! Why are you just standing there like an idiot?! Hurry up and help us find your sister!” Mia. Why did my name change again? Whatever. If I can’t figure it out, I won’t think about it. I had just taken a step off the porch when I heard a shout from the distance. “Found her! Lily is over here!” Everyone rushed toward the old oak tree at the entrance of the subdivision. There was a shallow ditch hidden by the accumulating snow. My sister was inside it. Her face was purple. Her hair was covered in icicles. Mom let out a guttural wail and threw herself into the ditch. “Lily… my baby Lily!” As if sensing her presence, my sister slowly opened her eyes. But she looked straight past Mom, staring directly at me. “Sister… why didn’t you come find me?” She started crying. “You promised you would come find me after you counted to thirty. I hid so well. I was waiting for you the whole time…” Mom violently snapped her head around to glare at me. She gently set my sister down and marched toward me. Smack! The slap landed squarely on my cheek. My left ear instantly started ringing. “Are you satisfied now?” Mom’s voice was shaking with pure, unadulterated rage. “You saw her almost freeze to death. Are you happy now?!” “How could I have given birth to a monster like you?” “This disease… this goddamn disease! It makes you forget your sister, it makes you forget us! Would it be better if you just forgot who you were entirely?!” Her tears finally broke, streaming down her face. “Or… did you do this on purpose? Did you pretend to forget, just so you could leave her out here in the freezing snow to die?” “Enough.” Dad finally spoke, but he only pulled my sister tighter into his heavy winter coat. “Let’s get Lily inside by the heater first. The paramedics are almost here.” Not a single person spoke up for me. And I didn’t know how to defend myself. This really was my fault. Mom shot me a look of pure, venomous hatred. “You stay right here. Stand in the snow and feel exactly how cold and terrified your sister was just now!” They turned and walked away. Seeing the situation, the neighbors didn’t know what to say. They all awkwardly shuffled back to their own houses. The snow was falling harder now. I slowly crouched down, mimicking the way my sister had curled up, and huddled into that shallow ditch. The freezing snow instantly soaked through my clothes. So this is how cold it was. I’m such a horrible person. How could I have forgotten something so important? But… I’m just sick. The doctor said it’s an incredibly rare, progressive memory disorder. It’s like something is slowly, constantly eating away at the hippocampus in my brain. New memories can’t be stored, and old memories are vanishing bit by bit. Mom calls it an eraser. But I don’t know why there’s an eraser inside my head. All I know is that things I remember clearly in the morning become blurry by noon. Mom says I’m an idiot. Maybe I am. The sky grew darker and darker. The lights in the houses down the street flickered on one by one. I could hear the faint, scattered pops of New Year’s fireworks. It was time to go home. I shifted my freezing, stiff legs. But the moment I stood up, that familiar, terrifying sensation hit me again. I blinked, looking around wildly. The trees were white. The road was white. I turned around, then turned back. What was I… what was I about to do again? Go home. Right, go home. But… where is my home? My heart started hammering against my ribs. I pressed my hand against my chest, gasping for air. Think. Today is New Year’s Eve. My sister wanted to play hide-and-seek. Then Mom hit me… And then what? I couldn’t remember. Forget it. I’ll just wait. When they realize I haven’t come back, they’ll come looking for me. Just like they looked for my sister. I sat back down in the ditch, hugging my knees to my chest, counting the distant pops of the fireworks. One, two… when I got to seventeen, I forgot what the number before it was. I sat there until the midnight countdown rang out from a distant TV. Massive fireworks exploded in the sky, lighting up the entire neighborhood. It was so beautiful. On past New Year’s Eves, Dad used to set off fireworks for me and tell me to make a wish. But what did I wish for? I forgot that, too. I curled myself into an even tighter ball. I should have felt incredibly cold, but somehow, I was getting hotter and hotter. I took off my winter coat. Then I took off my sweater. But I was still so hot. It wasn’t until I stripped down to just my thermal undershirt that I suddenly felt like I was floating. I blinked, and I was back inside my house. The New Year’s Eve broadcast was still playing on the TV. Mom was sitting on the sofa, holding my sister, feeding her hot ginger tea from a spoon. “Be a good girl, Lily. Take one more sip. It’ll warm you up.” The color had returned to my sister’s little face. She was wrapped in a thick, fluffy blanket, with only her eyes peeking out. “Where’s my sister?” she suddenly asked. Mom’s hand paused. “Don’t talk about her.” “But she hasn’t come back yet…” “She deserves it! She needs to learn what it feels like to freeze in the snow! She’s a grown teenager, and she can’t even watch her own little sister.” I wanted to walk over and say I was sorry, but I walked straight through the coffee table. I froze. “Mia still isn’t back.” Dad was standing by the window, staring outside. “The snow is coming down harder…” “Oh, now you’re worried?” Mom didn’t even look up. “What if Lily had actually died today? What then? Tell me, what then?” Dad fell silent. “She did it on purpose! She’s jealous of her sister, so she pretended to forget! That disease… who knows if it’s even real? The doctors themselves said they’ve never seen a case this bizarre…” “The doctors said it’s organic brain damage,” Dad said quietly. “Organic brain damage that conveniently makes her forget her sister, but remember how to watch TV?! Does that make any sense?!” Mom’s voice spiked aggressively. “She hates that we had a second child! She hates that we gave our love to Lily!” My sister was startled by the shouting and shrank deeper into Mom’s arms. Mom instantly softened her voice, gently patting my sister’s back. “Don’t be scared, baby. Mommy isn’t yelling at you… my sweet, perfect Lily…” Dad stood by the window for a long time before finally turning away. “When she gets back, I need to have a serious talk with her.” “Talk about what? Talk about how she tried to murder her sister?” Mom sneered. “If you ask me, we should just institutionalize her! She can’t remember anything anyway, what difference does it make where she lives?” Dad didn’t reply. I stood to the side, opening my mouth. “I…” No sound came out. I reached out to touch Mom’s shoulder, but my hand passed completely through her body. Oh. I’m dead. Well, that’s okay. At least now I won’t forget anything ever again.

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Harrison Vance, a billionaire titan in the city, sponsored two underprivileged students from my university. One was Christopher, a brilliant, top-of-his-class senior destined for Wall Street. The other was me—Chloe. Just empty beauty, with a GPA that barely kept me enrolled. During our first meeting, Harrison asked me what I wanted to do with my life. I answered honestly: “I want to marry a rich man just like you.” Harrison rolled his eyes. “Rich men aren’t blind, sweetheart. Thanks, but no thanks.” But later, I saw him with his Italian leather shoe pressing down on Christopher’s hand, crushing it into the pavement. His voice was like dry ice as he warned him: “Are you blind? Can’t you see Chloe belongs to me?” Chapter 1 Since I was a little girl, my only dream was to marry into high society. And today, it looked like it was actually happening. The water was running in the hotel bathroom. Harrison had me pinned against the steamed-up mirror, kissing me so deeply I could taste the expensive scotch on his breath. His breathing was ragged, a hectic flush spreading across his handsome face. It was obvious: someone had roofied him. Morality told me I shouldn’t take advantage of a man in this state. But cold, hard logic told me I’d be an idiot not to. Harrison Vance was the ultimate prize. If I didn’t take this shot, I’d regret it for the rest of my life. Especially since he was the one initiating it… But just as my hand settled on the leather belt around his waist, something bizarre happened. Lines of glowing text suddenly floated across my vision like a live stream chat: 【Stop, you dumb home-wrecker! He’s hallucinating. He thinks you’re the main character, not the villain.】 【This side-piece is so shameless. If Harrison hadn’t picked her name through a random lottery for the sponsorship, she wouldn’t even be in this room. Now she thinks she’s going to go from rags to riches?】 【Don’t worry, when he wakes up and realizes he slept with the wrong girl, he’s going to throw her to the sharks!!】 Thrown to the sharks? My hand trembled with fear, but Harrison grabbed it, holding it steady. His voice was hoarse as he whispered against my ear, coaxing me: “Baby, please. Help me.” I wanted to. I really, really wanted to. But I was terrified of becoming shark bait. Breaking away from his grip, I shoved him into the bathroom and locked the door from the outside. Then, crying, I dialed Christopher’s number. “Chris, you have to come to the hotel. Now. Mr. Vance… I think someone drugged him.” Waiting in the VIP hospital wing later that night, I kept my eyes on the floor, praying Harrison wouldn’t remember what happened when he woke up. He already didn’t care for me much. Christopher saw how anxious I was and tried to comfort me. “Don’t be scared, Chloe. Mr. Vance is strong. He’ll be fine.” Before he could finish, the long lashes of the man on the bed fluttered. Harrison… was waking up. I gripped the hem of my dress, heart in my throat, trying to think of what to say, when an anxious female voice cut through the air— “Harrison!” A second later, I was shoved aside violently. I stumbled, nearly going down, but Christopher caught me just in time. It was Maya, his secretary, dressed in a sharp black blazer. She was already frantically opening her laptop bag, rambling about some minor emergency at the firm. Harrison leaned back against the pillows, rubbing his temples with his long fingers. He gave her a lazy, barely interested response. The text chat floating in my eyes spiked again— 【LOL, Maya is such a girl-boss. She loves work more than Harrison does. True main character energy!】 【Maya would get up from her deathbed to check stock options!】 【You guys don’t get it. Harrison only admires successful, career-oriented women. Not like the pointless, ambitionless side-character. She’s insufferable to look at.】 I rolled my eyes mentally. Okay, I get it, she’s great. Do you have to drag me to lift her up? People have different goals in life! Suddenly, my eyes caught a specific line in the chat: 【Is no one looking at Christopher in the corner? He’s been secretly in love with Chloe since freshman orientation. He finally got to hold her hand today to save her from falling. Bet he’s on cloud nine right now.】 Christopher is in love with me?! Before I could process the shock, Harrison’s dark, fathomless eyes locked onto mine. His gaze shifted from my face down to my hand, which Christopher was still holding. His expression suddenly soured, his tone turning irritable. “How long do you two plan on making a scene in here?” Yes, irritable. I had realized a long time ago that Harrison particularly loathed me being near Christopher. We were both sponsored by him. Christopher was valedictorian material. I was the girl who fell asleep the second I opened a math textbook. When Harrison launched his foundation, he said he would help us find our respective paths in life before we turned twenty. In a pristine, glass-walled conference room, Harrison’s assistant had laid out various personalized life plans for us. I picked the “Marry Wealthy” plan immediately. “Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider?” Harrison asked, leaning back, tapping a cigarette on his lighter. I was staring at his face, completely lost in his looks, and my true thoughts slipped out. “I just want to marry a rich man like you.” Predictably, he sneered. Through the drifting smoke, Harrison half-closed his eyes, scanning me from head to toe. “Breathtaking beauty, undeniable class, exceptional personal ability, and a powerful family background. A successful trophy wife needs at least two of those four things.” “Which one do you have?” Back then, I was wearing a faded T-shirt and worn-out jeans, my hair dry and brassy. I looked completely out of place in his world. But I was stubborn. “How will I know if I don’t try?” Harrison said nothing more. But his assistant murmured with obvious disappointment, “What a total waste of a sponsorship slot.” And so, every day after that, Christopher worked tirelessly on finance cases and investment research, planning his entry into the business world. I, on the other hand, worked tirelessly on fashion trends and makeup techniques, planning my entry into high society. Over time, Harrison started looking at me more often. His gaze was strange, impossible to read. I allowed myself to think he didn’t hate me as much anymore. Until the day I accidentally stumbled upon him reprimanding Christopher. Harrison was sitting imperiously behind his desk, his expression unreadable as he said, “Stay away from Chloe. You two are not walking the same path.” From that moment on, I understood. Harrison was terrified that a “bad apple” like me would ruin the masterpiece he was carefully cultivating in Christopher. Harrison was discharged later that afternoon. Christopher offered to help me take him home. When Harrison heard this, he frowned with obvious displeasure. “Did you finish that market analysis I assigned you?” Christopher scratched his head awkwardly. “Not… not yet.” Defeated, I had to take him home alone. Inside the town car, Harrison and I sat in the back. He was close. The clean, scent of cedarwood from his cologne filled my nose. It inexplicably reminded me of that hot, mirror-steaming kiss… I immediately rolled down the window halfway. I needed air. I also secretly watched Harrison’s reaction through the reflection. Since he woke up, he hadn’t mentioned it once. It seemed he really didn’t remember. That evening, I cooked a few light, healthy dishes. “Not much brainpower, a coward, but at least you can cook,” Harrison remarked. He was unusually biting today. Sometimes, I really wanted to drug him. Just with something to shut him up permanently. As I was clearing the table, the floating text appeared again. 【To be fair, she really knows how to take care of him. And she’s gotten so much prettier over the last year. I actually support her marrying rich, as long as she stays away from Harrison.】 【Girl, look at Christopher instead. He might be broke now, but he’s Harrison’s protégé. His future is limitless!!】 【By the end of the book, Christopher opens his own firm. He’s making millions.】 I stared at the text, losing my train of thought. The rich men I currently had access to all had flaws. The loyal ones were too old; the young ones were too wild and slept around. Harrison was perfect in every aspect, but he would never want me. Thinking it over, Christopher was actually the best option I could realistically reach. He was always good to me. But if I wanted to be with Christopher… I’d probably have to get through Harrison first. Perhaps encouraged by the text, I glanced at his study. The light was still on. I put on some flawless makeup, then knocked on the study door. A short “Come in” followed. Harrison was working and didn’t even look up. I gathered my courage and called his name. “Mr. Vance…” Only a single desk lamp lit the room. He finally looked up. I gripped the hem of my dress, looking directly at him. “Do you think I’m beautiful now?” Harrison was silent for a long moment, his Adam’s apple moving slightly. “…You’re alright.” My cheeks flushed hot, but I kept going. “Then, do you think I can marry into wealth now?” Another long silence. He stared at me with an unreadable expression before giving an ambiguous answer. “Maybe.” I was shocked. Harrison didn’t immediately shoot me down. Emboldened, my eyes lit up. “Then, do you think Christopher and I make a good match?” Harrison’s warm gaze instantly turned to ice. “So, the rich man you want to marry is Christopher?” Chapter 2 “So, the rich man you want to marry is Christopher?” When those words came out of Harrison’s mouth, the desk lamp flickered. It wasn’t because the bulb was bad; his hand had slammed down on the base of the lamp. I didn’t notice that detail. My mind was too busy trying to figure out how to say this right. “Christopher has great character, he’s driven, and he treats me—” “I asked you,” Harrison interrupted me, his voice not loud, but the study was so quiet I could hear myself swallow, “if the man you want to marry is Christopher.” It wasn’t a question anymore. It was a demand for confirmation. I nodded. Harrison said nothing. He turned and pulled a tan accordion file from the very bottom shelf of the bookcase. He threw the file onto the desk with force. It hit so hard my phone slid to the edge, nearly falling off. “Open it to page fourteen.” I stood frozen for two seconds before opening the file. It was the original sponsorship agreement I had signed years ago. To be honest, I never read it. It was twenty pages of dense legalese; I would have fallen asleep by the second line. Page fourteen, section three. “During the term of sponsorship, the recipient must obtain written consent from the sponsor for any major life decisions, including, but not limited to, the establishment of romantic relationships.” I read that sentence three times. Then I looked up at Harrison. “This can’t be right.” “What’s not right?” “The life plan you set for me was to marry rich,” I pointed to the other plan in the file, “yet this says I need your written permission to date—so do you want me to get married or not?” Harrison reached for his pack of cigarettes, pulled one out, and clicked his lighter twice. No flame. He threw the lighter down and kept the unlit cigarette between his fingers. “Christopher does not qualify as ‘wealthy’.” “Then who does?” “We’ll talk about that when he actually makes something of himself.” I let out a frustrated laugh. “Mr. Vance, what kind of man do you actually want me to marry?” He didn’t answer. “Or—” I took a step forward, testing the waters, “do you just not want me to marry anyone at all?” The study went silent for a very long time. It was so long I didn’t think he would ever answer. Harrison put the unlit cigarette back into the pack, closed the lid, and tapped his fingers twice on the surface of the box. When he spoke, it was a complete non-sequitur. “That lipstick you’re wearing today. Don’t wear it again.” I stood my ground. He hadn’t looked at me once since I came in. How did he know I was wearing lipstick? The text chat floated by again. 【He saw her the second she came in. The lamp flickered because his hand shook when he realized she had made herself up for him.】 【The sponsorship agreement clauses contradict each other. Harrison knew that when he wrote them. It’s a logical trap—she can never get married because he will never agree to anyone.】 I stared at the text, a cold chill slowly creeping up my spine. This agreement was a cage from the very beginning. The next day, I asked Christopher to meet me. The coffee shop was just outside the university’s east gate. It was a tiny hole-in-the-wall; our knees nearly hit the table legs when we sat down. Christopher arrived wearing a new button-down shirt. The creases from the packaging were still visible; he clearly just bought it. After sitting down, he stirred his coffee three times but didn’t take a sip. I didn’t drink mine either. “Chris, I need to ask you something.” “Shoot.” “Do you think… you and I are a good fit?” The spoon in his coffee stopped moving. He didn’t look at me. His ears turned a brilliant red, spreading to the tips. It wasn’t a shy pink; it was the deep red of holding something in for too long that was suddenly exposed. “Chloe, why are you asking this so suddenly—” “Just wondering.” He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He started stirring the coffee again, twice as fast as before. The text chat exploded in my eyes. 【Christopher has been in love with her since freshman orientation. During military drills, he stood in the third row, she was in the first, and he stared at the back of her head for seven days straight.】 【The last line of his senior thesis acknowledgments originally read, “And to Ms. Chloe Evans, for being the light in my darkest days.” Harrison saw it and made him change it to “To all who helped me.”】 【Do you guys know why he brings her breakfast every time they meet? Because she nearly fainted from low blood sugar in the cafeteria once freshman year, and he’s never let her skip a meal since.】 I looked at the boy across from me, who was stirring his coffee so hard he was practically drilling a hole through the cup. He loved me. It wasn’t just the word “crush” that the text used. It was four years of hot soy milk at the cafeteria entrance every morning. It was never saying no when I asked for help. It was coming to meet me today, even though Harrison had warned him off and he was clearly terrified. My original plan was to confirm his feelings and then team up with him to negotiate terms with Harrison. But sitting here, watching him unable to even form a complete sentence because he was so nervous, that plan suddenly felt disgusting. I was using him. I was using four years of sincere devotion as a bargaining chip. “Chris,” I stood up, the chair screeching harshly against the floor. “I just remembered I have to be somewhere.” He snapped his head up. “You deserve someone who actually loves you back,” I said, grabbing my purse, unable to look him in the eye. “That’s not me.” Pushing open the glass door of the coffee shop, the outside wind rushed in. I walked ten or fifteen paces before my phone buzzed. It wasn’t Christopher. It was Harrison. No text. Just a photo. It was a side profile shot of Christopher and me sitting across the table. The angle was from across the street. It was so sharp I could see the foam art in my cup. I stood on the curb, my thumb hovering over the screen for five seconds. Then I typed: “Good shot. Want me to pose next time?” Harrison replied instantly. “No need. I already saved the one where you’re smiling.” I hadn’t smiled the entire time. Which photo did he save? I stared at that text for a long time. “I already saved the one where you’re smiling.” I definitely hadn’t smiled in the coffee shop today. Either he was lying, or the photo he saved wasn’t from today. The thought made my skin crawl. I didn’t reply. I shoved the phone back into my purse and walked quickly back to the university. By the time I returned to Harrison’s townhome, it was 7:00 PM. The living room lights were off. There was an extra pair of women’s high heels next to the shoe rack in the entryway. Black, stiletto heels, a size larger than mine. I changed into my slippers and walked in. The dining room lights were on. Maya, Harrison’s secretary, was sitting at the table. A file was spread open in front of her, and an untouched glass of water sat next to it. When she saw me, her expression was calm. It wasn’t the calm of someone waiting for a person; it was the calm of a judge waiting to deliver a verdict she already knew. “Ms. Evans, please, have a seat.” I didn’t sit. “Where’s Mr. Vance?” “Mr. Vance is out of town on business. His flight just took off.” She pushed the file towards me. “This is the termination notice for your sponsorship agreement. Mr. Vance has already signed it. You have one week to move out.” I looked down at the termination notice. The formatting was very formal—company letterhead, serial number, date. At the very bottom was Harrison’s electronic signature. The reason for termination read: “Recipient has substantially achieved the development goals; sponsorship relationship naturally concludes.” I read every word. Then I flipped to page two, page three. “Ms. Evans, do you need me to explain any of the clauses?” Maya’s voice was steady. Too steady. I had seen her report to Harrison. She spoke fast, was organized, and would occasionally swallow nervously under Harrison’s gaze. But sitting here, facing me alone, she was far more composed than she ever was with him. “Maya,” I laid the file down, “the reason says ‘development goals substantially achieved’.” “Yes.” “My agreement stated the conclusion criteria as ‘marrying into high society’.” I looked her in the eye. “I haven’t married anyone yet. How is it achieved?” Maya’s finger twitched. A tiny movement; her index finger lifted slightly from the table and dropped back down, as if she had been pricked. “Ms. Evans, development goals and conclusion criteria are not the same concept. Mr. Vance believes your current personal cultivation has—” “Mr. Vance believes?” I interrupted. “Or you believe?” The dining room went silent for a few seconds. I pulled out my phone to call Harrison. “His phone is off,” Maya was faster than me. “You won’t reach him until he lands.” “Then I’ll wait.” “The one-week notice starts tomorrow,” Maya stood up, picking up her glass. “I suggest you start looking for a new place.” As she walked to the entryway to change her shoes, I opened the original sponsorship agreement—the tan accordion file Harrison had pulled from the shelf last night. It was still on his desk. I read it from beginning to end. On the very last page, in the bottom right corner, was a line of handwritten text. The handwriting was Harrison’s; I knew his hard, angular script. “This project has no set expiration date.” By the time I grabbed the agreement and ran out, Maya was gone. The clicking sound of her high heels on the steps outside grew fainter and fainter. I took a picture of the handwritten line and texted it to Harrison. I wrote: “Your handwritten note says ‘no set expiration date,’ your secretary says I move out in a week. Which of you runs this show?” The message was sent, shown as delivered. No “read” receipt. Of course not; he was on a plane. The text chat floated by just then, a single line. 【Maya forged Harrison’s electronic signature. She has authorization to sign business documents on his behalf, but a sponsorship agreement is not a business document.】 I put the phone down and re-examined the signature on the termination notice. Then I opened the photo Harrison had texted me earlier—the one in the coffee shop. I zoomed in on the bottom right corner, on the watermark. Harrison didn’t take that photo. The watermark had a tiny logo. It was the brand of Maya’s phone case. I didn’t sleep at all that night. It wasn’t out of fear. I was thinking about one thing: Why did Maya want to kick me out? If it was Harrison’s idea, he didn’t need to use his secretary. He could have told me to my face in the study last night. If it wasn’t Harrison’s idea… for a secretary to forge her boss’s signature to kick out someone he was sponsoring—that takes incredible nerve. Unless she had a reason more important than keeping her job. Around 4:00 AM, the text appeared again. 【Maya has been secretly in love with Harrison for six years. Since the first day she started as an intern.】 【She used to think she knew Harrison better than anyone. Until Chloe Evans arrived. Harrison started changing his schedule for a poor student, pushing meetings, even cooking for her—things he had never done for anyone.】 I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. So this wasn’t a business move. It was a jealousy move. At 7:00 AM, I didn’t pack a single bag. I went to the kitchen and made coffee and breakfast. Then I sat at the dining room table and waited. At 8:10 AM, Harrison’s plane landed. At 8:43 AM, my phone rang. Harrison. I didn’t answer. I texted him: “Breakfast first. Coffee is on the counter, food is on the table.” At 9:30 AM, the front door opened. Harrison walked in, carrying his blazer. His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his forearms. He looked more like he hadn’t slept than I did; the left side of his shirt collar was messed up, standing askew. He looked at the food on the table, then at me. “You’re still here.” “Why wouldn’t I be?” He draped his coat over the back of a chair and sat down. He picked up his fork, took a bite of eggs, and chewed slowly. “That thing Maya gave you. I saw it.” “You saw it, but you have nothing to say?” “I was on a plane.” “And after you landed?” Harrison put his fork down. “After I landed, I made a phone call.” “To who?” “To Maya.” When he said her name, his tone was flat, like he was remarking on the weather. “Her signing authority was revoked as of this morning. The termination notice is void.” I let out a breath, but only halfway. “And the photo?” Harrison’s hand paused for a second as he reached for his coffee. “What photo?” “The one in the coffee shop. You texted ‘I already saved the one where you’re smiling’—Maya took that photo, not you. Right?” I pushed my phone towards him, zoomed in on the watermark. Harrison looked at it for three seconds. Then he did something I completely didn’t expect. He flipped my phone over, screen-down, onto the table. “She took the photo.” “And the text? Did she send the text too?” “I sent the text.” “So you looked at a photo she took of me, and then used your own phone to text me that sentence?” “Yes.” “Don’t you think that’s incredibly—” “Incredibly what?” I swallowed the words. I was going to say “incredibly creepy.” But I couldn’t say it looking at him. He wasn’t aggressive, or cold. He was watching me with an intensity that was almost… honest. Like he didn’t feel he had done anything wrong. Like in his mind, monitoring where I went, saving photos of me, stopping me from marrying someone else—it was all perfectly logical. The text floated by just then. 【Harrison remembers everything from the bathroom incident. He’s been waiting for Chloe to admit it herself.】 The fork in my hand clattered onto the table, bounced, and rolled onto the floor. Harrison looked down at the fork. “Why are you nervous?” “I’m… I’m not.” “Then why are your hands shaking?” I hid my hands under the table. He didn’t press the issue and went back to his breakfast. After a few bites, without looking up, he said one more thing. “Next time you do your makeup, don’t use that shade of lipstick Christopher complimented you on. Use a different color.” I had never told him Christopher had complimented my lipstick.

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I spent ten years trapped in a cage, poked, prodded, and torn apart in the name of psychic research. When I finally broke free, I stepped out into a world that had already ended. A zombie apocalypse had ravaged the surface while I was underground. Now, I’ve found my old best friend from the orphanage. But her husband, a newly awakened “evolved” human with powers of his own, is bullying her into giving up her last scrap of food. “Everyone else chipped in, Sarah. Don’t be selfish. Are you really trying to hide those candy bars?” Sarah protested in a weak whisper, “I was saving them for JJ.” A young girl standing next to the husband interrupted with a cold sneer. “Come on, Sarah. You always use your son as an excuse when you get greedy. It’s pathetic.” As the crowd glared at her with disdain, I stepped out of the shadows. I threw a heavy backpack right at the girl’s head. It struck her hard, sending her stumbling. “Is that enough?” I asked, my voice dead and flat. “Say one more word, and I’ll kill you all.” Chapter 1 The zipper on the backpack hadn’t been closed properly. Loose chocolate bars scattered across the dirty floor. “Who the hell are you?! How dare you talk to me like that?” the girl screamed, her face flushed with rage and shock. No one answered her. Every eye in the room was glued to the chocolate on the floor. The sound of involuntary swallowing echoed through the quiet factory. “Chocolate… an entire backpack full of chocolate…” “I checked with my sensory abilities,” a guy whispered nearby. “It’s real. It’s not an illusion.” They surged forward, completely ignoring the girl’s outrage, scrambling to grab the candy. She bit her lip, grabbing the tall man next to her by his arm, shaking it. “Elias, look at them!” The man, Elias, frowned, his voice dropping to a low command. “Stop. Don’t touch it.” “All supplies must be turned in. They go into Chloe’s sub-space storage for rationed distribution. Have you all forgotten the squad rules?” The scavengers froze, reluctantly stopping their grab for the candy. The girl, Chloe, giggled. She walked over to confiscate the chocolate bars from their hands. As she touched them, I saw faint blue sparks flicker in her palm. Spatial manipulation. Storage power. Through all of this, my friend Sarah—whose face was so pale she looked bloodless—didn’t spare a single glance at the food. She was staring only at me. Her voice trembled, filled with absolute disbelief. “Nova? Is that really you? Are you alive?” She rushed forward and threw her arms around me, hugging me tightly. I felt distant, confused by the physical contact. Yet, a dormant instinct kicked in, and I brought my hands up to pat her back gently. “My name… is it Nova?” “You don’t remember?” She pulled back from the hug, her hands frantically roaming over me, checking for injuries, laughing through her tears. “Back at the home, the director said you were adopted. I asked by who, but he absolutely refused to say. I tried looking for you later, but I couldn’t find a single trace…” I remained silent as she rambled. Of course she couldn’t find me. For the last ten years, I had been in a top-secret underground laboratory. I was subjected to extreme human experimentation to unlock psychic potential. I don’t know how many times they cut open my brain, how many chips they implanted, or how many serums they injected. My memories and emotions were fractured, dulled to almost nothing. I didn’t even remember my own name. I only had a vague, hazy recollection that before I was taken, I had a best friend named Sarah. And she… loved me very much. “Who are you? How do you have this many resources?” While Sarah was still fussing over me, checking if I was okay, the tall man walked over. His eyes were sharp with suspicion as he eyed me. I thought about it for a second. “I was passing through the city center. Just picked it up.” Elias narrowed his eyes. “Just picked it up? Do you have any idea what it’s like out there…” Before he could finish, Sarah spun around, spreading her arms to shield me. “Elias, stop. She’s my friend. I told you about her—she’s my best friend in the whole world.” She looked back at me. “Nova, this is my husband, Elias King. We got married five years ago.” After the introductions, she looked earnestly at Elias. “Please, let her join our squad!” Elias didn’t say anything. Behind him, Chloe, the spatial user, walked over. “Sarah, I don’t mean to be harsh, but we are an elite squad. Carrying you—an ordinary human with no powers—already holds us back severely.” “If we take your friend too, are we ever going to make it to the safe zone in the capital?” Sarah’s face turned cold. “Chloe, if you won’t take her, then give her back her chocolate.” “Why, you—!” Chloe’s face turned red with anger. She turned back to Elias, whining. “Elias, look at Sarah! Why is she taking an outsider’s side against us?” “Enough. Stop fighting.” Elias issued his final command. “She turned over her supplies, so we have an obligation to protect her. Sarah, your friend can come with us. It’s settled. I don’t want to hear another word about it.” Sarah’s eyes crinkled with a smile. Beside her, Chloe’s face fell, and she rolled her eyes at me. I scanned her with my mental acuity. Her energy signature was incredibly weak. Chloe’s spatial storage was less than three cubic meters. It was the lowest tier of spatial power. I could kill her with a single thought. But I looked at Sarah standing next to her. …I decided to let it go for now. We drove for two days before entering a small town. Sarah still loved to talk, just like when we were kids. Along the way, I pieced together her life from her stories. After I was “adopted,” she got into college. She started dating Elias during her sophomore year and married him right after graduation. Two months ago, the zombie virus erupted globally. Elias awakened a rare metal-manipulation power, allowing him to control metal for combat. As for Chloe, she was Elias’s step-sister from a remarriage. They weren’t blood-related. “They have such a tight bond,” Sarah sighed. “Sometimes I’m actually jealous. After you left, I was always alone.” “I have a son, too. JJ. He’s four, just started preschool. On the day the outbreak started, he was on a summer camping trip at the coast. I begged Elias to go get him, but Elias said he couldn’t find him in the chaos. Later, Elias got in touch with the camp organizers through the radio. They said due to a change in plans, the group had flown to the capital safe zone early.” “So, we’re heading to the large safety base in the capital. Once we get there, you can meet him.” Sarah smiled brightly, resting her chin on her hands as she looked at me. “JJ knows about you, Nova! I always tell him, ‘Mommy has a wonderful, dear friend named Nova.’ I told him so many stories about us growing up in the orphanage. He knows you like origami, and he’s folded hundreds of paper cranes. He said he wants to give them to Auntie Nova.” I looked at her smile. Something shifted in my mind, like a block of ice that had been frozen for ages finally starting to melt at the edges. “Okay.” I held out my hand to her. In my palm lay a few chocolate bars. Sarah’s eyes went wide. I smiled slightly. “Saving these for JJ.” That night, we rested in an abandoned factory. Sarah came to find me, clutching two loaves of bread. “Nova, eat this.” After countless physical modifications, my body barely needed food to function. But looking at her shining eyes, I took the bread anyway. Sarah sat down next to me and took a bite of her bread. “Where have you been for the last ten years? How did you suddenly show up here?” I remained silent for a moment, staring at the soft, warm bread in my hand. Images of the cold, sterile lab flashed in my mind. Endless precise machinery, researchers in white coats walking back and forth. “Attempting to inject the latest serum into Subject 09!” “Increase the chip stimulation current!” “Oh no! She’s spiraling!! System breach!” There had been a deafening explosion. My mental powers were so intense they shattered the glass of my containment tank. By the time my sanity returned, the lab was deserted. Corpses lay scattered everywhere. I had grabbed some clothes off the floor, put them on, and stared blankly into the distance. “Sarah… I need to find Sarah…” … “I was in a special place,” I said vaguely. “It wasn’t convenient to contact the outside world during that time.” “Later, I got out. I wanted to see you, so I came looking.” “Nova~” Sarah suddenly threw herself into my arms, nuzzling against me. “I knew you loved me the most. Hmph. Elias kept saying you were probably adopted by some rich family and were living the good life, that’s why you didn’t want to contact me. I didn’t believe him for a second! I told him he just doesn’t understand the bond we have.” Yes, who could understand? During those ten years of experimentation, not even the world’s top scientists understood. The agonizing pain caused by excessive doses of neural drugs was enough to kill a normal person. Yet I had survived hundreds of injections. Of the hundred subjects brought in with me, I was the only one left alive at the end. I often heard them through the glass, saying, “Subject 09 is a gift from God.” There is no God. I just vaguely remembered someone saying to me: “Nova, we’ll still be best friends when we’re a hundred years old.” I had to live to be a hundred. I couldn’t break my promise. In the middle of the night, Sarah fell asleep leaning against me. I carefully adjusted her position so she was comfortable, then stood up. In the darkness, I locked eyes with Elias, who was watching me with a scrutinizing glare. He began walking toward me. Psychic energy condensed into an invisible blade, gathering in the palm of my hand. The next second, a piercing siren shattered the night! “Crap!! It’s a horde!!” The factory doors, which had been barricaded with vehicles, were forced open. Densely packed zombies surged inside. Everyone in the squad woke up instantly, utilizing their powers to fight. There were six evolved humans in this squad. Aside from Elias, who had mid-tier metal manipulation, the others only had low-tier powers. Their mental stamina was depleted almost immediately. The defensive line collapsed. Several zombies, clawing and gnashing, lunged toward Chloe and Sarah. “Elias!!” Chloe shrieked. “Elias!” Sarah cried out. Hearing Chloe’s blood-curdling scream, Elias didn’t even hesitate. The metal spike in his hand drove through the skull of the zombie lunging at his step-sister. Then, as if realizing Sarah was crying for help too, he whipped his head toward us. Just in time to see— Thwack— The rebar in my hand drove through the brains of two zombies consecutively. They tottered and fell to the ground. Sarah grabbed the hem of my jacket, her face utterly colorless. “Nova, are you okay? Are you hurt??” “I’m fine.” I casually wiped the foul, dark blood that had splashed onto my face, noticing even more zombies surrounding us. “Get in the car, I’ll cover the rear!” Elias gritted his teeth. “Let’s move!! Drive out of here!” Chapter 2 Sarah remained silent throughout the drive. After dawn, we finally escaped the zombie horde. We found an abandoned, empty house nearby to rest and regroup. Sarah kept rubbing the cuff of her sleeve nervously. I gently took her hand, looking into her eyes. “I will protect you.” Sarah looked up at me. The scene in the factory hung between us. When Sarah and Chloe both needed protection at the same time, Elias had chosen his step-sister. “All our supplies are in Chloe’s sub-space. She has to be prioritized for protection. It’s not that I don’t understand that, logically. It’s just… it’s just…” Sarah sobbed, “Nova, am I being selfish?” I shook my head. “You are good.” In my heart, Sarah was the best person in the whole world. I was dumped at the orphanage door when I was four years old because my biological parents realized I wouldn’t speak. A trip to the hospital confirmed I was on the autism spectrum. After the orphanage took me in, the older kids bullied me. It was Sarah, three years older than me, who grabbed a brick and chased them all over the yard, ready to fight. “Don’t touch her! Don’t you dare touch her!” One night, when I was nine, the director called me into his office. He said he had brought a doctor in to give me a physical exam. I went. There were two strange middle-aged men in the room. They told me to take off my dress for the exam. The director was standing nearby, smiling. “She can’t talk. It’s perfectly safe.” Right then, the office door was slammed open. Sarah charged in waving a massive, filthy shovel meant for the septic tank. She swung it wildly at the director and the two men. “AHHHHH! Get away from my Nova! I’ll kill you!” Amidst their screams of surprise and disgust, the shovel cracked open their skulls. The incident caused a huge scandal. The director and the two men were arrested. That night, in the dark, Sarah held my hand, repeatedly stroking my messy hair. She said, “Don’t be scared, Nova. When there’s danger, just shout my name!” … I awkwardly tried to imitate the tone she used back then. “Don’t be scared, Sarah. When there’s danger… just shout my name.” She stared at me, stunned. Her lips began to tremble. “Nova…” Before Sarah could say another word, the light in front of us was suddenly cut off. I looked up. Elias and several other evolved squad members had surrounded us. Sarah immediately pushed me behind her, shielding me. “What’s going on?” Chloe spoke up. “Sarah, I know you want to believe in your friend, but haven’t you noticed how weird things are?” Sarah frowned. “Weird? How?” Chloe shot Elias a look of concern. Elias didn’t speak. He just used his power to condense a metal spike, holding it ready in his hand. A rat-faced man next to him said, “Sarah, think about it. Outside, it’s crawling with zombies. It’s nearly impossible for us to find a scrap of food. Yet your friend here is lugging around a whole backpack full of chocolate, surviving all alone in the middle of a zombie infested city for two months.” “She claims to be an ordinary person with no powers. How is that possible?” Sarah grabbed my hand even tighter. “So, what are you actually trying to say?” Elias took a step forward, dropping his voice to a low rumble. “Sarah, I know she’s an important friend to you. But these are dangerous times. We have to be cautious.” “Our squad has been traveling for nearly a month. We specifically picked low-population rural routes and barely ran into any zombies. It’s too coincidental that the very night your friend joins us, we get hit by a massive horde.” “The military radio broadcast mentioned a few days ago that zombies are evolving. They’ve confirmed high-level zombies that are indistinguishable from humans, and even Zombie Kings capable of commanding legions.” He raised the metal spike, aiming it right at my eyes. “I suspect your friend… is a legendary Zombie King.” “Impossible!” Sarah retorted immediately, without even a moment’s hesitation. “If she were a Zombie King, she would have bitten me ages ago! I’m still standing here fine, aren’t I?” “Sarah, you are so naive.” Chloe looked at her, shaking her head and sighing, acting as if she were counseling a clueless child. Elias said in a low voice, “Sarah, step aside.” The metal spike grew brighter. Sarah continued to shield me, her voice cracking with desperate emotion. “Are you all insane?! Elias, last night when those two zombies lunged at me, you ran to save your sister. If Nova hadn’t killed them to save me, I’d be dead right now! How could she possibly be the Zombie King you’re talking about?!” At the mention of last night, Elias’s jaw clenched, but he said nothing. Chloe smirked. “Sarah, you’re not blaming Elias for saving me, are you?” Sarah gritted her teeth. “I didn’t say that.” “If you want your friend to keep traveling with us and ease everyone’s fears, then let her go outside and prove herself.” Chloe pointed a finger toward the few zombies visible outside the door. Sensing the presence of living humans, they were slowly converging on our location. “If she’s not the Zombie King, if she’s not one of them, those zombies will definitely attack her. How about it?” Sarah’s hand clamped onto my wrist like an iron vise, her nails digging into my flesh. “I won’t let you go out there.” Her voice was shaking, her eyes red and desperate. “Nova, you can’t go out. There are zombies outside—” “Sarah, if you truly care about your friend, don’t stand in her way.” Chloe leaned in behind Elias, her tone casual. “If she’s clean, the zombies will attack her, and we’ll just pull her back inside. It’s easy.” “Bullshit!” Sarah spun around and screamed at her, her voice raw. “One bite and you’re infected! You make it sound so simple!” “Well, if she doesn’t go out, how can she prove it?” Chloe shrugged. “Right, Elias?” Elias didn’t respond. But he never lowered the metal spike. Several other evolved members had scattered, taking positions that implicitly formed a semi-circle around us. They weren’t waiting for an answer; they were waiting for the signal to attack. I looked down at Sarah’s hand. Every finger was straining, as if she believed that as long as she didn’t let go, no one could take me away. I pried her fingers open, one by one. She held on tightly, refusing to let go, so I had to apply a little pressure. “Let go.” I looked into her eyes. “You can’t protect me.” Sarah looked like she had been slapped. Her fingers went rigid. Then, one by one, they loosened their grip. As her hand fell away, a flash of a memory from twenty years ago crossed my mind. That night, two men in white coats were dragging me toward a car. Sarah had chased after us, grabbing my arm with both hands, gripping with all her might. She lost a shoe, her knees got scraped bloody on the concrete, and even after being kicked away, she got back up to keep chasing. She chased us for three blocks. Later, I heard her say something over the phone to someone; she thought I couldn’t hear. She said, “I couldn’t hold on to her.” It wasn’t a statement of fact. It sounded like a confession of guilt. This time, she couldn’t hold on either. I turned and walked toward the door.

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The seventh time Arthur Vance locked me in the estate’s freezing attic to “reflect on my sins,” the long-delayed System finally spoke to me: As long as you die, you can return to your original world. And so, I became the perfect, emotionless high-society wife. I stopped caring that Arthur frequently spent his nights in his widowed sister-in-law’s bedroom. I stopped fighting for his broken promise of monogamy, and I stopped fighting for control over the estate’s finances. When my own son knocked over the meal I had spent hours cooking for him in absolute disgust, I didn’t scold him. I simply had the maid wipe his hands and calmly told him I would never cook for him again. Even when the head butler brought me that cup of abortifacient tea—even knowing I was already pregnant—I drank it down without a single second of hesitation. By the time Arthur rushed into the room, all he saw was a blinding pool of crimson on the floor. He drew his tactical blade, pointing it directly at my throat. His usually calm, authoritative voice was trembling with a total mental breakdown. “Claire Bennett, do you really hate me this much?!” “You grew up studying medicine! You knew how lethal that drug was, yet you’re so vicious you couldn’t even tolerate our own flesh and blood?!” Looking at the gleaming edge of the blade, I let out a relieved smile. And then, I thrust my body directly onto the knife. …… The exact second the blade pierced my flesh, Arthur’s pupils violently shrank. He desperately yanked the knife back. But he was a fraction of a second too late. The razor-sharp edge sliced across my neck. Beads of crimson blood rolled down, staining the pure white collar of my dress. With a loud clatter, the blade dropped to the floor. Arthur fell to one knee, frantically pressing his hands against my neck to stop the bleeding. “Claire! Have you completely lost your mind?!” I sighed internally. What a shame. Seeing that I hadn’t managed to kill myself, I finally answered his first question. “Mr. Vance, you told me yourself that having one son was more than enough.” “If I were to give birth to another child, wouldn’t that make your widowed sister-in-law—who only managed to give you a daughter—look bad?” Arthur’s breath hitched violently in his throat. “What did you just call me?” I fell silent. It was only then that I realized just how incredibly estranged Arthur and I had become. After we got married, I always loved calling him by his first name. Because of that, his elitist mother constantly ridiculed me for being a low-class commoner with no respect for authority. But I had always stubbornly refused to change. Now, I had finally learned my place. The fingers pressing against my neck suddenly tightened. I let out a gasp of pain, and only then did he loosen his grip slightly. Arthur’s voice, grinding through clenched teeth, echoed in my ear. “I told you. My older brother dying in that accident was a tragedy. Me stepping in as a surrogate to provide his widow with an heir was an absolute, desperate necessity to secure her portion of the family trust.” “As soon as my brother’s line has a male heir, I swear I will never touch Serena again.” “I am begging you, just wait a little longer. Please?” That single word—wait—kept me sleeping in an empty, freezing bed for three entire years. From visiting her once a month, it escalated to him spending almost every single night in her room. My only companions were burnt-out candles and endless, exhausted tears. When Serena finally got pregnant, I thought the nightmare was over. But Arthur used the excuse of “taking care of his fragile sister-in-law” to permanently move his belongings into the West Wing. I waited through another agonizing year of seasons changing. But the child Serena gave birth to was a daughter, Mia. Seeing that Arthur was preparing to continue sleeping in her room to try again, I couldn’t wait anymore. I started throwing tantrums. I forbade him from stepping foot in the West Wing. I acted like a hysterical, screaming lunatic, sobbing and threatening to end my own life. I did all of those things because I just wanted a husband who belonged solely to me. But in Arthur’s eyes, my desperation morphed into the unforgivable, toxic actions of a jealous, petty woman. Yet, when he proposed to me years ago, he swore that what he loved most about me was my fiery, unapologetic personality. He promised me that after we married, I would be his only woman. He swore he would never take a mistress, and that he would never lock me away in a gilded cage. But in our seventh year of marriage, in order to establish absolute authority for the widowed Serena, Arthur locked me in the freezing attic in front of the entire household staff. Over and over again. He told me I needed to learn to be as gentle and magnanimous as Serena. He told me I needed to learn how a true high-society matriarch behaved. My knees were bruised black and blue from kneeling on the hardwood. My hands shook in agony from being forced to transcribe hundreds of pages of etiquette manuscripts and apologies. And all I got in return was his disappointed sigh: “Claire, when are you finally going to grow up and be reasonable?” Even the child currently bleeding out of my womb was an accident. It happened after Mia’s one-month milestone party, when a blackout-drunk Arthur stumbled into the wrong bedroom. At the time, I foolishly thought he had come to make peace, and I allowed him to have his way with me. But right as he reached his climax, he slurred the name of his sister-in-law. The suffocating agony of the past surged up my throat. I swallowed it down along with the metallic taste of blood. I looked up at him, enunciating every single word: “Mr. Vance, you no longer need to feed me these fake promises to placate me.” “From this day forward, wherever you want to go, go. Whoever you want to sleep with, sleep with them. I will not utter a single word of complaint.” “And if you are still dissatisfied, I am perfectly willing to sign the divorce papers and step aside so you two lovers can finally be together.” Arthur’s chest heaved violently, the veins in his neck bulging. “Claire Bennett, how much longer are you going to torture me?!” “Serena and I are strictly family! There is absolutely zero romantic affection between us!” Listening to those words, one might actually believe he loved me to death. Yet he addressed me, his legal, lawfully wedded wife, by my full, cold name—Claire Bennett. But he affectionately called his sister-in-law “Serena.” I shook my head. “You’re overthinking it, Mr. Vance. I am being entirely sincere.” I don’t know which of my words triggered his fury again. Arthur violently let go of me. The back of my head slammed hard against the sharp edge of a wooden stool. I gasped as a blinding spike of pain shot through my skull. Panic flashed across his face, and he reached out to help me up. A freezing, mechanical voice echoed in my brain. [Host’s vital signs dropping rapidly. Estimated time until death countdown: 24 hours.] It turned out that the abortifacient tea, combined with the blood loss from the blade, had struck a fatal blow to my core. I shoved Arthur’s hand away, bracing myself against the floor as I shakily stood up. “Please leave, Mr. Vance. I am tired.” I walked right past him, heading toward the inner bedroom to rest. With every step I took, the blood dripping from beneath my skirt left a winding, horrific trail on the floorboards. Right at that moment, seven-year-old Noah burst through the doorway. He violently hurled his wooden toy sword directly at me. The jagged wood slashed across my cheek, leaving a stinging, bleeding scratch. Arthur was completely paralyzed by the sudden chaos for a second. Then, he aggressively snatched Noah up by the collar and delivered a harsh smack to his backside. “You little brat! What the hell are you doing?!” Noah wailed at the top of his lungs, but he stubbornly refused to admit he was wrong. “Dad, I don’t want this evil woman as my mom!” “Why can’t she just stay locked in the attic and never come out for the rest of her life?!” Arthur’s face turned livid. He barked coldly: “Who taught you to say such disrespectful things?!” Noah struggled out of Arthur’s grip, puffing out his cheeks in fury. “Dad, you told me yourself that you hate her!” “If she hadn’t saved your life at the bottom of that mountain, you never would have married a cheap, common doctor!” “Plus, she’s a petty, jealous witch who’s always bullying Aunt Serena! She doesn’t deserve to be the mother of this family at all!” Noah grew more energized the more he spoke. He pointed a tiny finger directly at my nose, his young, childish face contorted with absolute disgust. “You evil witch! Dad and I both hate you! Just disappear already!” They say children speak the unvarnished truth. His words acted like a meat grinder, taking the very last, microscopic shred of hope in my heart and shredding it to dust. Years ago, Arthur’s private military convoy was ambushed and pinned down in a lethal cartel zone in the valley. Ignoring the fact that I was seven months pregnant, I led a heavily armed extraction team to rescue him. We barely survived the bloodbath. I took dozens of knife wounds during the extraction. The trauma triggered premature labor. As I bled out on the delivery table, Arthur gripped my hand, his eyes burning red as he begged me: “Claire, please don’t leave me.” “If you die and leave me alone in this world, I’ll put a bullet in my own head and follow you.” Just to honor those words, I bit down on my lip and fought through the agony. Basin after basin of bloody water was carried out of the room. I miraculously survived the gates of hell. But because Noah was born so severely premature, the estate’s top pediatricians declared he wouldn’t live past three days. They told me to prepare a tiny coffin. I refused to believe them. Dragging my broken, unhealed body out of bed, I took care of him day and night. During that time, I read until the bindings of my medical textbooks fell apart, searching the world for the rarest, most potent medicines. Yet Noah’s cries only grew weaker and weaker. Driven to absolute desperation, I placed my final hope in a higher power. I did a grueling, agonizing pilgrimage to the St. Jude Mountain Sanctuary. Three steps, one bow. Five steps, one prostration. To this day, the five thousand stone steps leading up to the sanctuary still bear the faded stains of the blood from my knees and forehead. Perhaps the heavens were moved by my sincerity. After that day, Noah’s health miraculously began to stabilize. However, his immune system would always be significantly weaker than a full-term child’s. Whenever the temperature dropped, I would strictly confine him to his heated room to read and study. Serena, on the other hand, constantly indulged his every whim. Even in the dead of a freezing winter, she allowed him to gorge himself on bowls of ice cream. Within three days, Noah spiked a terrifyingly high fever, coughing so hard it sounded like his lungs were tearing. Arthur was busy with corporate warfare. Serena avoided the boy like the plague, terrified of catching whatever virus he had. I was the one who sat by his bedside for days without sleeping a wink. I sponge-bathed him over and over to lower his temperature, constantly inventing new, creative ways to brew foul-tasting medicines so he could keep them down. When he finally recovered, Noah blamed the entire miserable experience entirely on me. He threw tantrums, violently knocking over the bowls of medicine I had stayed up all night brewing for him. The boiling hot liquid splashed onto the back of my hand, leaving a massive, blistering burn scar. He grew to passionately hate me—the woman who forced him to drink bitter medicine. Yet he absolutely adored Serena, the woman who only ever gave him sweet treats and was the literal reason he got sick in the first place. Arthur’s face instantly darkened, and he aggressively shouted Noah down. “Noah, shut your mouth! Stop speaking nonsense!” Then, he looked at me with frantic panic, desperately trying to explain. “Noah is just a kid, he definitely heard the maids gossiping…” In the past, hearing those words would have shattered my heart. I would have put on a stern face and tried to teach Noah right from wrong. And every single time, all I got in return was a glare filled with pure, unadulterated hatred. Now, I was just so incredibly tired. I didn’t care to parent him anymore. Arthur also sensed that something was fundamentally wrong with my reaction. He frowned, studying my face, before stubbornly concluding that I was just playing hard to get. “Claire, what exactly are you trying to pull now?” “Putting on this ‘dead inside,’ indifferent act is just a pathetic, cheap imitation. You’re making a fool of yourself.” “Since the baby is already gone, you will stay confined to your quarters and rest your body. Stop constantly plotting against Serena and her daughter!” He grabbed Noah’s hand and stormed out of the room, violently flicking his coat. The exact second they crossed the threshold, the father and son began cheerfully discussing the widow and her daughter. Arthur mentioned he was going to buy Serena a breathtaking vintage diamond necklace at an exclusive auction. Noah said he was going to use his allowance to buy a solid gold locket for his new little sister. Meanwhile, pinned in my own hair, was the simple, cheap silver clip Arthur had given me when we first got engaged. Back then, he had looked at me nervously, telling me he crafted it with his own hands and begging me not to despise it. He swore that one day, he would buy me the most expensive, beautiful jewelry in the world. Back then, my heart was overflowing with sweet joy. I genuinely believed I had married the perfect man. But ten years had passed. The delicate plum blossoms carved into the silver clip had long since been worn completely smooth. And I had yet to see a single piece of the “new jewelry” Arthur had promised me. At the elite high-society galas, I was always the most poorly dressed, pathetic-looking wife in the room. Whenever I finally gathered the courage to ask for a budget to buy some jewelry, Arthur would instantly reject it, citing the estate’s massive overhead costs and the need for me to be frugal and responsible. Yet he would turn around and drop hundreds of thousands of dollars on imported, ultra-rare skincare serums just to make Serena smile. Looking back on it now, all my blind, desperate devotion had been thrown into a black hole. The freezing, mechanical voice echoed in my mind once again. [Detecting Host’s severe emotional depression. Countdown to world detachment: 10 hours.] I sat at my vanity, staring at the woman in the antique bronze mirror. Her face was haggard, her eyes swimming in a deep, lifeless exhaustion. I pulled the worn-out silver hair clip from my hair. My fingertips gently traced the faded, smooth lines where the plum blossoms used to be. Then, with a sharp twist of my wrist. SNAP. The silver clip broke into two pieces. I casually tossed them into the burning fireplace in the corner of the room. After dealing with that, I forced my failing body up and began cleaning the bedroom. I dug out all the custom ties, the hand-knitted scarves I had made for Arthur over the years, and all the tiny, handmade clothes I had sewn for Noah. Two massive, overflowing trunks. Every single stitch was woven with my desperate hopes for this family. But right now, I just wanted to watch it all burn. The roaring flames illuminated my body, bringing a profound, comforting warmth that I hadn’t felt in a very long time. I waited until the very last ember disintegrated into ash. Then, I laid down on my bed, quietly waiting for the System’s countdown to reach zero. Suddenly, the bedroom door was violently kicked open. Arthur had returned. He stormed into the room, his face a mask of pure fury, and violently dragged me off the mattress. “Claire Bennett, I knew you couldn’t just sit quietly and behave!” A Voodoo doll, completely covered in long, silver sewing needles, was hurled directly at my feet. Serena was standing in the doorway, clutching her infant daughter to her chest, looking as if she were about to pass out from crying into Arthur’s shoulder. “Arthur, I refuse to believe Claire would do something this evil.” “But this doll has so many needles shoved into it, and Mia’s exact birth date and time are written on the back… I can’t help but be terrified…” Before she could even finish her sentence, Arthur’s face had darkened to the color of a thundercloud. He raised his heavy boot and delivered a brutal, full-force kick directly to my chest. “Claire, I tolerated your petty jealousy and your tantrums!” “But I never imagined you were malicious enough to use disgusting, dark magic curses on an innocent baby!” A massive mouthful of blood exploded from my lips, splattering across the floor. The wound on my neck violently ripped open again. Arthur looked down at me with absolute, towering superiority, his eyes filled with overwhelming disappointment. “What? Too terrified to even try and explain yourself now?” I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth. My gaze swept over the supposed “evidence,” and I let out a low, dark chuckle. “The fabric used to make this doll is exclusive Parisian haute couture silk. Even the A-list celebrities in Hollywood are waitlisted for months just to get a single yard of it.” “Mr. Vance, your heart bled so deeply for your sister-in-law that you took every single roll of that silk in the estate’s vault and had it delivered directly to the West Wing.” “So please, enlighten me: how did it magically turn into evidence of me cursing your niece?” Hearing this, Arthur’s face drastically changed. His eyes remained glued to the Voodoo doll on the floor for a very long time. Serena’s face, which had just been a masterpiece of tragic, weeping beauty, instantly turned as white as a sheet of paper. “What are you implying? Are you accusing me of framing you?!” “I did use that fabric to make dresses, but I lost the scraps a few days ago…” “ENOUGH!” Arthur barked, violently cutting her off. It was glaringly obvious he had absolutely no desire to investigate the gaping plot holes in this setup. In his heart, Serena was a fragile, gentle angel who would never lie or harm another living soul. Therefore, I had to be the one who was wrong. “Claire, how much longer are you going to twist the truth and argue?!” “Mia was just born, and Serena’s health is incredibly fragile. How could she possibly withstand your toxic, psychotic scheming?!” “Since you cannot tolerate the people in this house, this house will no longer tolerate you.” He waved his hand with absolute, dictatorial finality. “Guards! Drag her to the cellar and force her to her knees!” “Without my explicit permission, do not give her a single drop of water or a single grain of rice!” “When she finally admits she’s wrong, you can let her out!” I didn’t bother defending myself again. I had pointed out the massive, glaring holes in the evidence, and Arthur had deliberately chosen to play blind. Honestly, the cellar was quiet. It was the perfect place to sit and wait for death. But as the rough, brutish guards began aggressively dragging me across the floor, Arthur’s heart inexplicably skipped a beat. “Wait!” I paused my steps, but I didn’t turn around. “Does Mr. Vance have any further instructions? Are you going to divorce this evil, toxic woman, or are you going to demand I pay with my life?” Arthur opened his mouth, but he had absolutely no idea what to say. Finally, he waved his hand in deep, agitated frustration, barking an order to the butler standing nearby. “Make sure the private trauma surgeon takes a look at her wounds. I don’t want any ugly rumors spreading to the press.” I let out a mocking, cynical laugh. A brutal beating, followed by a piece of candy? It was a tragic shame. Even if God Himself descended from heaven, He wouldn’t be able to save my life now. That brutal kick from Arthur had completely shattered the remaining fragile arteries around my heart. The System whispered: I had exactly three hours left to live. The cellar was pitch black. The agonizing physical pain in my body was slowly mutating into a heavy numbness. For some reason, I started thinking about all those days and nights I had spent locked in the attic. In the beginning, I knelt and prayed with absolute devotion, begging for nothing but Noah’s safety and health. Later, when I was locked up as a punishment, my heart was filled with nothing but suffocating injustice. Back then, I always prayed for the time to pass quickly. I wanted to get out so I could see Arthur, so I could desperately explain myself and clear my name. I wanted time with Noah, terrified that if we were apart too long, my son would become estranged from me. Right now, I was still praying for the time to pass quickly. So I could die faster, and finally return to the modern, equitable era where I truly belonged. I don’t know how much time passed, but a blistering fever consumed my body. In my hazy, delirious state, I heard a massive, chaotic commotion exploding outside the cellar. I fought with everything I had to force my eyes open. Through the cracks in the rotting wooden door, I saw my father. He looked exhausted, having clearly rushed straight here. He was clutching his medical bag, but he was being physically blocked in the courtyard by a wall of estate guards. Serena was standing safely under the covered walkway, her eyes dripping with pure, unadulterated malice. “Mr. Vance has given absolute orders. No one is permitted to visit.” Arthur rushed to the scene upon hearing the noise, his brow furrowing deeply as he took in the standoff. Before my father could even open his mouth to explain, Serena threw herself dramatically into Arthur’s arms, violently shaking in fake terror. “This man just trespassed into the private family quarters! He tried to sexually assault me!” “Arthur, you have to get justice for me!” My father trembled with apocalyptic rage. “You lying, venomous snake!” “I am an old man! Why on earth would I do something so repulsive?!” Arthur’s face turned to absolute ice. “Claire is locked in solitary confinement because she committed a severe crime.” “And you come bursting in here with absolutely zero respect for the law. If the press gets ahold of this, her reputation will be completely destroyed.” “Guards! Give him thirty strikes with the cane! Let this be a warning to anyone else who tries to break my rules!” Thirty strikes with a heavy cane. That was more than enough to literally beat an elderly man to death. “DAD—!” I desperately, frantically pounded my bleeding fists against the wooden window frame. Arthur shot a glare toward the cellar, but then coldly, indifferently looked away. The old man who had protected me from every storm my entire life was brutally shoved face-down into the freezing snow. The heavy, sickening THWACK of the wooden cane hitting flesh and bone slammed into my heart over and over again. Arthur Vance. You are a heartless, psychopathic monster. [Host’s vital signs are in catastrophic failure. You have exactly three minutes remaining.] A thin, fragile silhouette came stumbling frantically toward the cellar. It was Sarah. The loyal maid who had accompanied me into the Vance estate on the day I married. She had waited until the guards were distracted, stolen the heavy iron key to the cellar, and sprinted here. But just as she managed to unlock the heavy door, a guard noticed her and brought a tactical machete down in a brutal arc, completely severing her right hand. That was the exact hand that had embroidered handkerchiefs for me. The hand that had held my medicine bowls when I was sick. Sarah’s face went ghastly white from the sheer, incomprehensible agony, but she used her remaining left hand to fiercely grip the doorframe. “Ms. Claire, run! Go to the back gate, I already have a car waiting for you…” Before she could finish her sentence, the guard drove the blade brutally through Sarah’s chest. Sarah’s entire body collapsed backward onto the snow. By the time I dragged my broken body out of the cellar and collapsed beside her, Sarah… wasn’t breathing anymore. An apocalyptic, towering inferno of hatred exploded in my chest. I ripped the bloody blade from the guard’s hands and stumbled wildly into the courtyard. In the center of the estate, Arthur was standing with his arms crossed, watching my father being beaten half to death with cold, dead eyes. Hearing the commotion, he whipped his head around and barked aggressively: “Claire Bennett! Who the hell let you out?!” I threw my body over my father’s fading, bloodied form, shielding him from the blows. “ALL OF YOU, STOP IT RIGHT NOW!” A dark, dangerous fury began to pool in Arthur’s eyes. “Claire. Are you genuinely so arrogant that you think I won’t severely punish you?” Right in front of his eyes, I pulled the heavy, blood-soaked blade from the folds of my ruined dress. Arthur let out a cold, mocking laugh. “What? Threatening suicide again?” “You’ve used this pathetic trick a million times. I’m completely sick of looking at it.” “If you actually have the guts, then go ahead and…” [Detachment from current world countdown: 10 seconds.] [9, 8, 7…] Before he could finish his sentence, I drove the heavy steel blade brutally and flawlessly directly into my own heart. “Thirty strikes with the cane. I am paying you back, with interest, using my own life!” Crimson blood erupted like a geyser from my chest, violently splattering directly across Arthur’s face. The arrogant, mocking superiority in his eyes instantly shattered, replaced by a massive, apocalyptic tidal wave of absolute terror.

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Everyone in the military base housing envied me. I was the “slow” girl, yet I was going to be the wife of Captain Liam Hayes. But they didn’t know that when I was eight years old, I took a hit meant for him. That incident nearly cost me my life, and it permanently froze my mental development at that age. Knowing he owed me an unpayable debt, Liam promised to marry me. He promised to treat me well for the rest of his life. And for a long time, he actually did. While the other officers’ wives were elegant, sophisticated, and perfectly poised, Liam never found me embarrassing. He never minded how slow or clumsy I was. Once, during a devastating flash flood, he even gave up his spot on the rescue chopper for me. Until… Mia showed up. Her arrival made Liam’s trips home fewer and farther between. Even the little boy we had adopted together started saying: “I wish Auntie Mia was my mom. I don’t want a stupid girl for a mother!” Before I even had time to process the heartbreak, I was sent away to a rundown cabin in the country, where I died alone in the freezing drafts. When I opened my eyes again, I was unexpectedly back on the exact day Liam was supposed to fulfill his childhood promise. But this time, I didn’t want his guilt. And I didn’t want to marry him anymore. I didn’t understand why, but I should have been dead. Dead in that dilapidated, freezing cabin. But when I opened my eyes, I saw Liam, standing tall and handsome in his crisp military uniform. He asked me gently, “Ellie, let me take care of you forever, okay?” I lowered my eyes, knowing this meant we would spend the rest of our lives together. Because the last time he asked, I agreed, and not long after, I put on a white wedding dress. Honestly, marrying Liam was something I used to be thrilled about. It had been my birthday wish every single year since I was eight. But my head was spinning. It felt like I had just woken up from a vivid, identical dream. In that dream, Liam said the exact same thing. Then he married me, but shortly after our wedding, he regretted it. The very last time I saw him in that dream, I was crying, clutching his hand, begging him not to throw me away. He coldly shook me off. His voice was so tired, so utterly exhausted. “Ellie, please, just let me go.” “You took that hit for me when we were kids. I owe you, I know. But I’ve poured my heart and soul into taking care of you for all these years. Isn’t the debt paid by now?” “Just have some mercy. Sign the divorce papers. Let Mia and me be together.” Mia was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. In my memories, Liam was always by her side. I heard the other wives on the base whispering about her. They said Mia was incredible. She was a brilliant, highly educated researcher who had just returned from studying in Europe. The kind of person I could never compare to in a million lifetimes. They also said she and Liam were a match made in heaven, unlike him and me—a slow girl who could barely even read. I had pouted. I felt so wronged. Actually… I wasn’t born slow. I grew up with Liam. We went to elementary school together, and teachers used to call me bright. But when I was eight, I drank a glass of poisoned cider that was meant for him. When I woke up, a crowd was gathered around my hospital bed. A doctor with a white beard shook his head and sighed. “There’s no cure. Severe neurological damage. She’ll be like this for the rest of her life.” Back then, I didn’t understand what “the rest of her life” meant. But I remember Liam holding me tight, crying endlessly. He shed so many tears. Finally, the little boy made a promise: “Ellie, I’m so sorry.” “When you grow up, we’ll get married. I’ll take care of you forever.” I didn’t know what marriage really meant, but Liam said marriage meant two people getting to stay together forever. My eyes instantly lit up. I smiled so wide my cheeks hurt. That sounded wonderful. I loved Liam more than anything. I wanted us to be together forever. But for some reason, after that day, the kids on the base stopped playing with me. They walked around me. They would huddle in groups far away and secretly point and laugh. I ran to Liam and asked him why. He comforted me so patiently: “It’s okay. Our Ellie is just a little sick right now. When you get better, your friends will come back.” “Besides, you have me, right? I’ll play with you.” “I’ll always stay with you, Ellie.” And he kept his word. He took care of my every need. When I turned nineteen, Liam kept his promise and married me. But shortly after, he met Mia. And he regretted it. The very first time I heard the phrase “love of my life” come out of Liam’s mouth… It was when he was describing Mia. Liam didn’t know that on the day he asked for a divorce, I wasn’t plotting anything. I had no intention of clinging to him. I just wanted to ask if he could please not send me back to that empty cabin in the country, because it was too lonely there. But the more anxious I got, the harder it was to form a complete sentence. Huge tears just kept rolling down my cheeks. That was when little Noah stepped forward. He was the son of Liam’s fallen squadmate. Liam and I had adopted him together. I knew the little guy never liked me. He thought I was an embarrassment. So when Liam brought up the divorce, Noah quickly shoved me away. He glared at me viciously. “You burden! You’re just dead weight! How much longer are you going to drag my dad down?” “Get out! Get out of our house! Auntie Mia is coming over soon, and she’s going to be my real mom! I don’t want a stupid girl for a mother!” Liam was also disgusted by my crying. In the end, I was sent away to the country, where I died in that broken-down cabin. A cold sweat broke out across my back. The dream felt too real. So real that it chilled me to the bone. I didn’t want to die. So I gently pushed Liam away and waved my hands frantically. “Let’s not do that, Liam.” For the first time, a look of utter confusion crossed his face. Before he could ask why, two soldiers in uniform walked in and saluted him. They told him there was a new mission. Liam hastily said goodbye, telling me to take good care of myself before he left. I watched his back as he walked away. If I remembered correctly, this was the exact rescue mission where he was going to meet Mia. I really didn’t expect Mia and I to cross paths so soon. A week later, she showed up at my door with gifts. She said she wanted to thank Liam for saving her life. She covered my table with beautiful, delicate pastries. Mrs. Higgins, the sweet older lady who lived next door, pulled me aside to warn me. “Ellie, honey, you need to keep your eyes open. You aren’t officially married yet, and you have no idea how many women are gunning for your Captain.” When she said that, her eyes were locked onto Mia. Seeing that I still didn’t react, Mrs. Higgins patted my head and sighed. “Oh, you poor, sweet girl.” Then, she turned her head and quietly spat in Mia’s direction, muttering, “Homewrecker.” Mrs. Higgins told me that after Liam saved Mia, she had used “gratitude” as an excuse to invite him out to dinner multiple times. People had spotted them alone at the local diner more than once. Mrs. Higgins knew I had saved Liam’s life, and she knew about our arrangement, so she was trying to help me guard against Mia. But I just shook my head. After that vivid dream, I was more certain than ever that I couldn’t use a childhood debt to hold Liam hostage. He deserved to choose his own life. And I wanted my freedom, too. I didn’t want to stay in the Hayes household anymore. After all, besides Liam, no one there actually liked me. In stark contrast to me, Mia was incredibly popular. Liam’s grandmother absolutely adored her. How much? She would constantly hold Mia’s hand, pushing her toward Liam, saying the family was just missing a granddaughter-in-law exactly like her. During their very first meeting, Grandma Hayes even gave Mia the antique diamond bracelet that had been passed down through the family for generations. I remembered Liam telling me that bracelet was meant for his future wife. Liam happened to be walking downstairs when it happened. Hearing his grandmother’s words, he frowned, clearly displeased. He stopped her. “Grandma, stop talking nonsense. I’m marrying Ellie.” But even though Liam said he was marrying me, he and Mia were becoming increasingly inseparable. Coincidentally, Liam’s newest assignment was to act as the protective detail for this brilliant researcher. As a result, they were glued to each other. The people on the base laughed at me constantly. They would walk right up to my face and joke: “Ellie, your man took Mia to the movies again.” “Hey there, slowpoke, the Captain took someone to the mall today.” “Does the Captain even want you anymore? We all saw him buy Mia a gorgeous dress. Did he buy you one?” Whenever they started talking like that, I would run out and sit under the old oak tree by the gate. I wouldn’t say I was heartbroken. I really was fine with not marrying Liam. But could he please not abandon me? I didn’t want to be completely alone. I… needed family. Liam treated me well, and he was all I had left. If we couldn’t be husband and wife, could I just be his little sister? I picked up a twig and drew circles in the dirt. The answer was no. A couple of weeks before Thanksgiving, Grandma Hayes took Noah and me to the department store downtown. She wanted to buy some holiday treats and toys. And right there, we bumped into Liam. And Mia. At that exact moment, he was looking at her with absolute tenderness, gently helping her tie a silk scarf around her neck. From the back, they looked like a perfect, beautiful match. Little Noah immediately squeezed next to me, gloating proudly. “See that? That’s the kind of person who actually deserves my dad.” “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll pack your bags and leave, you dead weight.” Mhm… Noah loved calling me that. Dead weight. A burden. I bit my lip, just about to pinch his cheek and tell him: Listen here, kid. I can be really mean. I’m not someone you want to mess with. But when I looked up, I locked eyes with Liam. Seeing me, he completely panicked, instantly putting a massive distance between himself and Mia. He rushed over to explain, “Look, Ellie, it’s not what you think. Mia and I are just…” I didn’t wait for him to finish. I just nodded. I didn’t blame him. Truly. Ever since that dream, I knew that the Liam who met Mia was no longer just my Liam. I just didn’t expect Mia to take him away so absolutely, so completely. Because that night, I came down with a terrifyingly high fever. Maybe I hadn’t worn enough clothes at the mall. Usually, when I got sick, Liam would make me hot tea, stay right by my bed, and tell me stories until I fell asleep. But this time, a single phone call from Mia changed everything. I heard her crying through the receiver. “Liam, I sprained my ankle. It hurts so badly. Can you take me to the ER?” Liam didn’t hesitate for a second. As he headed for the door, I made one last, desperate attempt. “Liam, can you not go? I feel really sick too.” Liam grabbed his truck keys, not even turning around. He brushed me off. “Be a good girl, Ellie. I need to get Mia to the hospital, it’s an emergency.” “I’ll bring you your favorite caramel apples when I get back.” And then he was gone. The house he left behind was suffocatingly quiet. Not a single sound. I rolled over in bed, tears streaming down my face. I cried because, once again, I had no family. It was true. Liam… my Liam, was no longer my family. I knew I wasn’t smart. But when my mom was still alive, she told me: No matter what happens, family will never abandon you when you need them most. Liam’s excuse—it’s an emergency—translated to one simple truth: Mia was more important than me. I curled into a tight ball under the covers. I waited, and waited. By the time the middle of the night rolled around, Liam still hadn’t returned. I was dizzy with fever, my throat parched and burning. I had to get out of bed to boil some water myself. I guess I really am just clumsy and stupid. So stupid that I tripped over my own feet just trying to get a glass of water. I hit my head hard against the edge of the cabinet. I saw stars. I finally understood why, in my dream, Liam had slowly grown to resent me. Just like Noah said, I really was a burden. I was dead weight. I couldn’t do anything right. I bit down hard on my lip to stop myself from crying out loud. It hurt… It hurt so much. My forehead was throbbing. I mimicked the way my mom used to comfort me when I was little, whispering to myself: Don’t cry, Ellie. Be a good girl. Ellie is the bravest. Ellie is… is very strong. But the more I whispered, the faster the tears fell. Mom, I miss you so much. I miss you and Dad. You were the only ones who never thought I was stupid. I crouched on the floor, sobbing quietly. That night, the moon and stars were completely hidden behind dark storm clouds. I dug through my closet and pulled out a floral dress my mom had made for me years ago. I used it as a pillow, and finally cried myself into a heavy sleep. My fever raged on and off for days. It wasn’t until Thanksgiving arrived that I finally started feeling better. During that entire time, Liam stayed by Mia’s side. He didn’t forget I was sick, though. But every time he showed even the slightest inclination to come check on me, Mia conveniently found a reason to call him away. I got used to it. In my dream, this exact scenario had played out countless times. Perhaps out of guilt for abandoning me while I was sick, Liam went out of his way to buy me a bunch of my favorite pastries. And peanut butter cups. I had a massive sweet tooth. Ever since my parents passed away, candy was the only thing that could reach the bitter depths of my heart. Sitting on the sofa, Noah rolled his eyes at me. “Are you a baby? I stopped eating that childish junk years ago.” I pressed my lips together, clutching a crumpled candy wrapper in my hand, saying nothing. Of course Noah didn’t need candy. Even though he didn’t have his biological parents, he had Liam to dote on him. He had Grandma Hayes to spoil him. I was different. I only had candy. It was the only sweetness I could actually hold onto. Later that evening, the Thanksgiving family dinner began. Liam finally came home. He wasn’t alone. He brought Mia with him. Liam explained that it was Mia’s first holiday back in the States, her family was still in Europe, and she didn’t have many friends around here yet. So, he just brought her home. Mia walked up to me with a brilliant smile, handing me a beautifully wrapped gift box. “Ellie, I heard you love sweets. This is my Thanksgiving gift to you.” She winked at me. “I had a friend specifically send these from a boutique down south. You have to try them.” I didn’t want them. But after glancing at the warning look on Liam’s face, I took the box. Pecan pralines. All the color drained from my face. There was absolutely no way Liam didn’t know that I had a severe, life-threatening allergy to pecans. I realized then that I truly despised Mia. Especially when she tried to force me to eat something that could kill me. When it was just the two of us left in the living room, she aggressively pushed her gift on me. “Ellie, just take one bite. Don’t you love candy?” I ignored her, shifting my seat further away. She followed me. “Ellie, it was so hard to get these imported. Why are you being so disrespectful?” Mia aggressively tried to shove one of the pralines toward my mouth. I slapped her hand away. During the scuffle, a glass cup on the side table was knocked to the floor. It shattered into a dozen pieces. It was a custom, matching couple’s cup I had hand-painted for Liam and me. Now it was shattered, just like the far-from-perfect ending Liam and I had in my dream. Mia reached down to pick up the pieces, and a shard of glass sliced her finger. It was a long, bleeding cut. Her eyes instantly welled up with tears of pain. Liam walked into the room at that exact moment. Mia stood pitifully next to the broken glass. She pointed a trembling finger at me. “Liam, I just wanted Ellie to try the candy I brought her, and she aggressively refused. Does your family really hate me being here that much?” Before Liam could even speak, Noah rushed over. “Auntie Mia, it’s not your fault! Evelyn is just a weirdo, none of us like her anyway!” “She’s stupid. Don’t let her get to you.” “Does your finger hurt?” Seeing Mia bleeding, Liam’s face turned terrifyingly dark. “Ellie, apologize.” I didn’t understand. I just didn’t want to eat the candy that would make me deathly ill. Why did I have to apologize? I refused. But the price of not apologizing was that I had to eat the pecan pralines. Liam said that eating them was the only way to prove I wasn’t intentionally disrespecting Mia’s kindness. I stood frozen in the middle of the room. My throat bobbed. I wanted to scream, Why? Why are you treating me like this? Didn’t you say you’d treat me well for the rest of your life? Didn’t you say Ellie was the most important thing to you? But Liam was unyielding. Either I apologized, or I ate the candy. Noah stood protectively in front of Mia. The two of them, father and son, stood like a united front, guarding a woman they had only known for a few months.

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To murder my husband, Richard Vance, I spent an entire year preparing. I smiled as I saw him off on his mountain expedition. I had secretly swapped his GPS for a dummy model that would never emit a signal, ensuring he would vanish forever in the treacherous, uninhabited wilderness. I coldly calculated the timeline of him getting lost, succumbing to hypothermia, and eventually dying of sheer exhaustion. The plan was flawless. I had even prepared my eulogy for his funeral. Ten days later, the search and rescue team called. The voice on the other end was bone-chilling: “Mrs. Vance, we found your husband. However, there is another body right next to him.” When the phone rang, I was trimming a dying pothos plant in the living room. It was Richard’s favorite plant. He used to say green represented vitality and brought good luck to his business. What he didn’t know was that every single day, I watered its roots with boiling water. I watched it wither day by day, just as I imagined Richard’s life slowly draining away in the snowy mountains. The caller ID showed an unknown number from the state where Richard had gone climbing. It’s time. My heart started to pound—not out of fear, but from a suppressed, overwhelming ecstasy that was about to burst out of my chest. I took a deep breath, forcing my voice to sound perfectly hoarse and trembling, like a woman who had spent countless days and nights washing her face with tears. “Hello?” The voice on the other end was steady and cold, carrying a sort of official detachment. “Is this Harper Evans, Mrs. Vance? We are calling from the Mountain Search and Rescue Team.” I covered my mouth, squeezing out broken sobs, perfectly mimicking a wife anxiously awaiting news of her husband. “Yes… it’s me! Is there… is there news about Richard?” The man hesitated for a moment, seemingly choosing his words carefully. “Yes, Mrs. Vance. We found your husband.” Found. That word was like a key, instantly unlocking the dark cellar in my heart. Countless fireworks exploded in my mind, every single one spelling out the word “Freedom.” I almost laughed out loud, quickly covering it up with more violent sobbing. “Is… is he okay?” I asked the question knowing the answer, relishing this final, cruel game. The line went silent again, this time for a little longer. “Mrs. Vance, I am so sorry for your loss. Mr. Vance has no vital signs.” My body went limp, and I allowed myself to slide down onto the carpet. The phone slipped from my grasp, hitting the floor with a dull thud. I let out a gut-wrenching wail into the empty air. If you’re going to act, you have to commit to the bit. My neighbors had likely heard my continuous crying over the past few days. Now, this wail was the grand finale of the show. I picked up the phone, continuing my performance with a voice ragged from crying: “How… how could this happen… He said the route was perfectly safe…” “Mrs. Vance.” The man interrupted my performance, a strange undertone in his voice. “The situation at the scene is… a bit complicated.” “There is another body next to him.” My heart plummeted. The blood in my veins seemed to freeze instantly. A body? That bastard! Richard actually took his mistress out there to fool around! A sick sense of satisfaction washed over me, mixed with the humiliation of betrayal and the thrill of revenge. Good riddance! They deserved to die! That cheating pair deserved to be buried together in the freezing snow, never to return! I suppressed the upward twitch of my lips, asking with a trembling voice, blending the humiliation and pain of a “victim wife”: “Is it… is it a woman?” The man on the phone—who I later learned was Detective Miller—fell silent once more. This time, his voice was colder than a Siberian blizzard. “It’s a male.” Boom— My mind went completely blank. Every pore on my body stood on end from sudden, sheer terror. Not a mistress? A man? Who could it be? There was never a second man in my plan. From scouting the route and tracking the weather, to researching Richard’s physical limits and swapping the GPS, every step had been simulated thousands of times in my head. It was supposed to be perfect. Foolproof. This extra man was like a nuclear bomb dropping out of nowhere, threatening to obliterate my entire world. Who was he? A hiking buddy Richard made plans with? Impossible. Richard was arrogant and selfish; he never hiked with others. He loved the thrill of conquering nature alone. A random hiker who had an accident? Then why would he die right next to Richard? Or… or did he know about my plan? That thought made my blood run cold. My teeth began to chatter uncontrollably. My brain raced through the storm of panic, running through a million possibilities. Every single one pointed to a fatal, unpredictable flaw in my scheme. I forced myself to maintain my composure, asking with a trembling voice: “Who is he? Why would he… why would he be with my husband?” Detective Miller’s voice betrayed no emotion: “His identity is currently unknown. We need family members to come down and identify the remains. Also, Mrs. Vance, it’s best if you come here immediately. Certain circumstances are quite… unique.” He emphasized the word “unique.” Hanging up the phone, I rushed to the bathroom, staring at my pale face in the mirror. On that face, the shell of grief I had carefully constructed over the past ten days showed its first hairline crack. Fear crawled up from the depths of my heart like ivy, wrapping tightly around my throat. I turned on the faucet, splashing freezing water on my face over and over, trying to force myself to calm down. Harper, pull yourself together. You planned this for a year. You cannot fall apart now. No matter who that man was, he was already dead. Dead men tell no tales. As long as I kept my mouth shut, no one would know about the GPS. Richard’s death would just be a tragic hiking accident. Yes, an accident. I repeated those words to myself in the mirror until the fear on my face was replaced by a dull numbness. I changed into a simple black outfit and wore no makeup. My pale, exhausted appearance would be my best disguise. Before I left the house, I took one last look at the pothos plant I had killed with my own hands. Its leaves were completely yellow and lifeless. How nice, I thought. It finally doesn’t have to pretend to thrive anymore. Just like me. By the time I arrived at the city where the rescue team was headquartered, it was the afternoon of the next day. The air smelled strangely of bleach mixed with the scent of death. Detective Miller was waiting for me at the entrance. He was a tall man in his forties, with tanned skin and eyes as sharp as a hawk’s—eyes that looked like they could pierce straight into the darkest corners of a person’s soul. He skipped the pleasantries, simply looking me up and down before leading me toward the morgue. “Mrs. Vance, my condolences,” he said, his voice even harder than it was on the phone. “What’s inside might be disturbing. Please prepare yourself.” I nodded, lowering my eyes to let my long lashes hide my emotions. The lighting in the morgue was a sterile, freezing white. The chill seeped into my bones from all directions. In the center of the room, two gurneys covered in white sheets lay side by side. My heart began to pound wildly. Detective Miller walked over to one of the gurneys and looked at me blankly. I took a deep breath and stepped forward. The moment the white sheet was pulled back, Richard’s frostbitten, purplish face, contorted in agony, appeared before my eyes. His eyes were still open, filled with terror and bitterness, as if he had seen something unspeakably horrifying right before he died. My stomach churned, a strong wave of nausea rushing up my throat. It wasn’t out of grief, but out of visceral, biological disgust. This face had appeared in my deepest nightmares countless times. He would smile and say the most vicious things in the gentlest tone. “Harper, you put too much salt in the fish today. So stupid.” Then he would pour the scalding hot broth right over the back of my hand. “Harper, look at you. You can’t even mop the floor right. What use was marrying you?” Then he would kick me hard in the stomach. “Harper, are you thinking about that broke ex-boyfriend of yours again? You’re nothing but a cheap whore!” Then he would press a lit cigarette to my wrist, leaving behind brand after brand of shame. And now, he was finally dead. He died a miserable, ugly death. I should be thrilled. But I had to look devastated. I threw myself over his body, letting out a harrowing wail. My body trembled violently as I dry-heaved. The tears were real. They were tears of relief, pent up for five long years, finally breaking free. Detective Miller didn’t comfort me. He just stood coldly to the side, waiting until my emotions settled slightly before pulling me away from Richard’s corpse. Then, he walked over to the other gurney. “Mrs. Vance, I need you to identify this man as well.” My heart jumped into my throat. The white sheet was pulled back, revealing a face I completely didn’t recognize. It was a man in his thirties, thin but with sharp features. His face was also a frostbitten purple. What was bizarre was that the corners of his mouth were turned up into a smile—a look of relief, almost satisfaction. I scrambled through my memories, but I was absolutely certain I had never seen this face before. I shook my head, my voice trembling with genuine fear: “No… I don’t know him. I’ve never seen him before.” This time, the fear was real. A stranger dying with a smile on his face, right next to my husband who died in absolute terror. The scene was too bizarre, like the opening of a cheap horror movie. Detective Miller didn’t seem surprised by my reaction. He just nodded and signaled the medical examiner to cover the bodies back up. He led me out of the morgue and into an office. He poured me a cup of hot water. Then, from a locked cabinet, he pulled out a clear evidence bag and pushed it across the desk toward me. Inside the bag sat a black device I was far too familiar with. The dummy GPS tracker I had swapped out—the one that could never send a distress signal. My heart skipped a beat, the blood rushing straight to my head. My fingers tightened around the paper cup, but the scalding water couldn’t chase away the ice in my palms. Still, I maintained my facade, looking at him with innocent confusion. “Detective Miller, what is this?” “Richard’s personal effects.” Detective Miller stared unblinking into my eyes, every word hitting like a hammer. “A dummy GPS model. It can’t emit a single signal. Mrs. Vance, do you know what that means?” I played the role of the naive, innocent wife who knew nothing about outdoor gear. “I don’t know… He loved buying this kind of outdoor stuff. We have a lot of it at home. I really don’t understand it.” My voice sounded clueless and lost. Suddenly, Detective Miller let out a cold laugh. It was filled with undisguised mockery. From the cabinet, he pulled out a second, identical evidence bag, slamming it down heavily next to the first. “Is that so? What a coincidence. We found the exact same thing on the other victim.” Boom— I felt the entire world spinning and collapsing in front of me. Two identical dummy GPS models. Two identical “murder weapons.” My “trademark,” my supposedly perfect murder method, had been duplicated. In a split second, I went from a mastermind controlling the board to a trapped participant in a bizarre mystery I couldn’t explain. This was no longer a flawless murder. It was a chilling, inexplicable puzzle. My hands and feet went numb. My mind was completely blank. The psychological fortress I had so carefully built crumbled the moment I saw that second dummy GPS. The fluorescent lights in the interrogation room were blindingly white. They stretched my shadow long across the floor, making me look like a silent sinner. Detective Miller sat across from me. He didn’t slam his hands on the table. He didn’t yell. He just looked at me calmly with those sharp eyes. But every question he asked acted like a precision scalpel, peeling back my disguise layer by layer until he hit my deepest secrets. “Mrs. Vance, you used to enjoy mountain climbing too, didn’t you?” He asked it casually, like making small talk. Alarm bells rang furiously in my head. I had never mentioned this to anyone, especially not after marrying Richard. How did he know? I steadied myself and admitted it: “Yes, I was into it back in college. But… I stopped after we got married.” I tried to project the image of an ordinary woman bound by domestic life, someone who had abandoned her hobbies. Detective Miller nodded, seemingly accepting my answer. “So, you must know a fair bit about GPS and outdoor equipment, right?” There it is. His real target. My defense sounded weak: “Just the basics. I haven’t touched the stuff in years. The gear updates so fast, I wouldn’t know how to use the new models.” I knew my background was already my first red flag. No matter how much I denied it, in the eyes of the police, I possessed the technical knowledge required to commit the crime. Detective Miller didn’t linger on the topic. He smoothly transitioned and dropped his second bombshell. “We discovered that last month, you added a five-million-dollar accidental death policy to Richard’s life insurance. You are the sole beneficiary.” My heart sank to rock bottom. That insurance policy was a crucial part of my plan. It was my safety net and the capital for my new life. But now, it was a blade pressing against my throat. “It… it was Richard’s idea.” I forced myself to stay calm, searching for the most reasonable excuse. “He loves extreme sports. He said it was just adding an extra layer of security for our family.” I pushed the blame onto the dead man. Dead men can’t argue. Detective Miller smiled. It was a knowing, profound smile. “Really? But we spoke to the insurance agent. He said you reached out to him, and you handled the entire process. He also mentioned that Mr. Vance didn’t seem to know the specific details of the policy.” I went freezing cold. It felt like all my blood had been drained. I never imagined that bastard Richard would complain about the insurance to an outsider. Or maybe this was just a bluff. Detective Miller was testing me. But I couldn’t risk it. To Detective Miller, my silence was an admission of guilt. The fatal blow was yet to come. A young officer walked in and handed a file to Detective Miller. He glanced at it, then tossed it heavily onto the table in front of me. “Mrs. Vance, our cyber division recovered the last three months of browsing history from your home computer.” My eyes fell on the document. Printed on the pages were the keywords I feared the most. “Remote hiking trails” “How long does it take to die from hypothermia” “How to block GPS signals” “How are hiking accidents classified” … Every keyword was a glowing red chain, binding me tightly to the suspect’s chair. My supposed brilliance, the tracks I so carefully erased in the dead of night… in the face of professional forensic technology, it was all a joke. They had become the noose around my neck, and the knot was tightening. Detective Miller leaned forward, resting his crossed hands on the table. His gaze was as sharp as a razor. “A massive insurance payout, specialized knowledge, a clear motive, and now two inexplicable dummy GPS trackers. Mrs. Vance, is there anything else you’d like to share?” My mind was a complete blank. All my defenses and lies were laughable and futile against this mountain of ironclad evidence. I was finished. My plan, my freedom, the new life I dreamed of—all of it was bursting like a soap bubble. Despair washed over me like a tidal wave. I could feel the freezing water rising above my head, stealing my last breath. The interrogation hit a dead end. I was like a butterfly trapped in a spider’s web; no matter how I struggled, I couldn’t break free from the layers of damning evidence. I gave up defending myself. I chose silence. Because I knew the more I spoke, the more mistakes I’d make. Just as I was hovering on the edge of despair, ready to accept this absurd fate, someone knocked on the interrogation room door. The young officer hurried in, whispered something in Detective Miller’s ear, and handed him a folder. Detective Miller took the file and scanned it quickly. His furrowed brow slowly smoothed out, his expression turning incredibly complex. He looked up at me. His eyes held scrutiny, confusion, and something else… something hard to detect. He remained silent for a long time. So long I thought time had stopped. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and clear. “We’ve identified the second victim.” My heart jumped, and my body involuntarily sat up straighter.

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The morning after my high school reunion, I woke up, eyes still glued shut, and immediately brushed my hand against a long, incredibly hairy leg. Driven by sheer, sleepy curiosity, I couldn’t resist running my hand up and down it a few times… The very next second—BANG! The hotel room door burst open, and a crowd of people flooded inside. Terrified, I snatched my hand back, snapped my eyes open, and clutched the duvet tightly to my chest. “Dr. Carter, the Chief of Surgery needs you in…” The group of men who had just barged in suddenly stopped dead in their tracks, letting out a collective gasp of shock. Me: ??? What Dr. Carter? I followed their wide-eyed stares and glanced to my side. There was a man lying right next to me. Two long, straight legs, covered in enough masculine leg hair to scream raw testosterone. And further up… My eyes practically burned out of their sockets. “We… we didn’t mean to…” The group of guys frantically covered their eyes, stammering apologies. I didn’t recognize a single person in that group, and I definitely didn’t recognize the man currently occupying my bed. Just as I was sitting there, completely paralyzed with panic— The man next to me reached out, gave the duvet a slight tug, cracked one eye open to look at me, and rasped, “Mind sharing a little?” It took my brain a full second to process that sentence before I let go of the blanket like it was on fire. The duvet slipped down, barely covering his essential anatomy. He closed his eye again and drawled lazily at the crowd by the door, “Are you guys leaving or what?” Whoa… I was so spooked by his casual attitude that I started to scramble out of bed. He let out a heavy sigh, sounding incredibly exhausted. “Not you.” Upon hearing that, the group of men finally stopped gawking. One of them threw out a hasty, “The Chief is waiting to start the M&M conference, hurry up and get downstairs!” Then, they all practically tripped over each other running out of the room. The world suddenly went dead quiet. I sat there, clutching a corner of the duvet, shivering uncontrollably. The Playful Doctor vs. The Good Girl “What are you so scared of?” My trembling seemed to have finally killed his desire to sleep. He sighed, opened his eyes to look at me, but clearly couldn’t keep them open and let them fall shut again. “I… I think… I’m a little sore,” I blabbered, my brain completely short-circuiting from the shock. The second the words left my mouth, I wanted to slap myself. This time, his eyes snapped open and stayed open. He stared at me for a few long seconds, reached up to massage his temples, and then slung a long arm around my waist, pulling me haphazardly against him. “The first time is always like that. It’ll fade in a bit.” I think he was trying to comfort me. But I felt absolutely zero comfort. Instead, a cold sweat broke out all over my body. Then, I looked down and saw a small patch of blood on the pristine white hotel sheets… My scalp went numb. He noticed the bloodstain too. He froze for a moment, then reached out, ruffled my hair, and let out a dry, self-deprecating laugh. “Sorry. I guess I lost control.” Lost control?! Another wave of cold sweat washed over me. “Who are you?” I asked, my voice cracking with pure misery. My question actually made him laugh, a sound born of sheer disbelief. “You don’t even know who I am, and you still broke in here and slept with me?” “I… I can’t remember anything…” I had never been in a situation like this in my entire life. I was covered in goosebumps. “I’m not going to get pregnant from this, am I?” Okay, I really had to hand it to myself. In the midst of all this existential panic and utter confusion, I still managed to prioritize the most critical question. Classic me. “…” He cracked an eye open to look at me again. He looked incredibly, profoundly exhausted. He looked so weak that I felt like if I poked him too hard, he might actually stop breathing. Just how wild was I last night to exhaust a grown man to this point? I was dying of shame. “No,” he stated simply, getting straight to the point. I had zero experience, and I couldn’t even remember the mechanics of what happened last night, so I didn’t dare press for details. If he said I wouldn’t get pregnant, I chose to believe him. After all, those guys called him a doctor. Maybe he used protection? That was the only thing I could tell myself. “So, um, bye?” Desperate to avoid the agonizing awkwardness of both of us being fully awake and sober, I chose the coward’s way out. Flight. “…” He glanced at me, then suddenly chuckled. “Sure.” I truly believed I would never see him again. Yet, two weeks later, clutching a positive pregnancy test, I found myself sitting outside his office at the hospital, shivering like a leaf. “Hey, future Mrs. Carter!” A young male doctor bounded up to me. I jumped out of my skin, almost having a heart attack right there in the waiting room. “Are you waiting for Dr. Carter?” He was grinning at me with the aggressive enthusiasm of a close friend. But in reality, the only time I had ever seen him was during that chaotic, mortifying morning in the hotel room. The morning I wanted to scrub from my brain forever. Two weeks ago, I attended my high school reunion, drank way too much, and stumbled into the wrong hotel room. I only found out later that Dr. Carter and a team of surgeons were at that hotel for a medical conference. In a twist of terrible fate, his room was right next to mine. He had come down with a severe fever, and the colleague who was checking on him had forgotten to pull the door shut when he left… and I just wandered right in. And then his colleagues came to wake him up for their morning meeting… Leading to the apocalyptic scene I woke up to. “Uh, yeah,” I mumbled, my face burning so hot it felt like it was going to melt off. “Come wait inside.” Without waiting for an answer, he practically dragged me into the doctors’ private lounge. As we walked past Dr. Carter’s desk, he glanced up at me. His expression was completely blank. It was like he had never seen me before in his life. To be fair, I was having a hard time recognizing him too. I had never seen him out of bed, fully dressed in his crisp, professional white coat. I waited in agonizing suspense for two hours. Staring at the nameplate on his desk, I finally learned his full name: Dr. Liam Carter, Cardiothoracic Surgeon. I discreetly googled him on my phone. And discovered he was already… 29 years old? I mentally calculated the massive generational gap between us. Finally, Liam walked into the office to change out of his scrubs. He shot me a suspicious look. “Are you waiting for Dr. Weeks?” Me: ??? “Dr. Carter, I’m waiting for you.” I stood up, gripping my purse so tightly my knuckles were white. My voice was as quiet as a mouse. “And you are?” Me: ??? Did he seriously have amnesia the second he got out of bed? “Two weeks ago. At the Marriott. We…” I forced myself to explain, my voice losing confidence with every syllable. Finally, I gave up, pulled the pregnancy test out of my purse, and carefully held it out to him. “I think… I’m pregnant.” “Liam, it’s time for lunch.” Right at that exact second, a female doctor barged into the office. I panicked, trying to hide the pregnancy test, but fumbled it. It clattered directly into the trash can next to his desk. I stared at the trash can, terrified he hadn’t seen it clearly, agonizing over whether I should dig it out. “…” Liam didn’t say a word. He just stared at me, a highly amused, calculated look in his eyes. “Is this your patient?” The female doctor clearly had no intention of leaving. She turned her scrutinizing gaze onto me. I opened my mouth, but no words came out. The awkwardness was suffocating. “I have something to take care of. You guys go ahead.” He didn’t introduce me. I felt like I had been caught stealing. The female doctor looked incredibly displeased about leaving. Before she walked out, she intentionally tugged on Liam’s sleeve—a blatant territorial claim. He has a girlfriend. The realization hit me like a bolt of lightning. Yet Liam acted like absolutely nothing had happened. He sat back down in his rolling chair, pulled a patient chart toward him, and started writing. Then, in a half-joking tone, he asked, “Feeling better?” Whoa. My heart did a violent flip at his words. “I’m fine,” I replied automatically. He shot me a fleeting, breezy glance and smiled again. “Want me to take responsibility?” I was honestly in awe of him. How could he calmly write medical charts at a time like this? He was acting like I was just here for a routine checkup. “I just don’t know what to do.” I had never expected him to take responsibility. I was just completely lost and overwhelmed by the result, hoping he might have some medical or practical advice. I tested the waters. “I should probably schedule an abortion, right?” I was trying to play it cool, but my palms were dripping with sweat. He kept writing in the chart, acting like I was discussing the weather and not our potential unborn child. What a jerk. His absolute calm was driving me insane. “Up to you.” He suddenly looked up, his gaze locking directly onto mine. His face was entirely devoid of emotion. “If you’ve decided you don’t want it, then don’t have it.” “Okay.” Could I even have it? Given the absolute trainwreck of a situation… “Scared?” There was a distinct teasing lilt in his voice. “Yeah.” I didn’t know what else to say. “So now you know how to be scared…” He shot me a highly unreadable look, flipped to a fresh page in the chart, and smirked. “That’s definitely not the girl I met that night.” Me: ??? Thinking back to how half-dead he looked that morning, I desperately wanted to know what the hell I had actually done to him. But his comment made it sound like this entire disaster was 100% my fault, and that pissed me off. “It wasn’t entirely my fault either,” I mumbled, my voice so quiet I could barely hear myself. He suddenly stopped writing. He raised a single, perfectly sculpted eyebrow at me, and a sudden, disarming smile broke across his usually stern face. “I was running a 103-degree fever that night. Did you really expect me to have the strength to fight you off?” Well… I was completely boxed in. If you didn’t have the strength to fight me off, where did you find the strength to absolutely wreck me? I thought bitterly. A player is a player. He could casually bring up the most mortifying, unmentionable details without batting an eye. He was clearly a seasoned pro at handling ‘situations’ like this. I was completely out of my league. “If you’ve made up your mind…” He fell silent for a moment, finishing his notes. Once he signed the bottom of the page, he let out a sigh and looked up. “Let’s do it next week.” “Next week?” “Next week is the only time I have an opening in my schedule,” he explained. “Okay.” Adults have to pay the price for their actions. I didn’t argue, I was just incredibly anxious. A week later, I was back in his office. My resolve to go through with the surgery was crumbling. It started because my mom had invited me over for family dinner this week. Sitting at the table with my stepdad, my younger half-brother, and my mom, the atmosphere was so warm and loud. When I got back to my tiny, silent apartment, I looked around the empty walls. The contrast of the warm family dinner flashed in my mind, and I let out a heavy sigh. I felt a wave of profound, crushing loneliness. My parents divorced when I was very young. After the split, I stayed with my mom. From middle school onward, I had been living in dorms. Because when I was in middle school, my mom met my stepdad and they built a new life together. She was so happy. I knew I should be happy for her. But coming back to this empty apartment, I just felt physically and emotionally drained. I suddenly really, really wanted to keep this baby. I was just so incredibly lonely. I knew Liam would never agree to it. No sane man in his position would. And he probably had a girlfriend. So, even as I sat in his office again, I was still agonizing over whether to keep it. “Future Mrs. Carter! Back to see our Dr. Carter again?” It was Dr. Weeks, the guy from last time. “Yeah.” I sat there, feeling stiff and awkward. “Please don’t call me that!” I whispered frantically. “Don’t be shy,” Dr. Weeks instantly slid into the chair next to me, looking around conspiratorially before dropping his voice. “We’ve all been taking bets for months on who would finally manage to tame the Ice King… We never saw you coming. We have mad respect for you, seriously.” “Huh?” I was totally lost. “You guys have the wrong idea… He and I aren’t…” Finally, I just threw my hands up and blurted out, “Doesn’t he have a girlfriend? Please stop saying things like that.” “Who?” Dr. Weeks suddenly looked deadly serious. “How do I not know about this?” “…” Now I was even more confused. Liam didn’t have a girlfriend? Did I misread the situation with that female doctor? “Are you saying Dr. Carter is seeing another woman behind your back?!” “?” I had no idea how to explain that I was the “other woman.” “Do you have a lot of free time on your hands, Dr. Weeks?” A voice suddenly floated down from above us, and a tall shadow fell over the desk. Liam! I jumped to my feet so fast I almost knocked the chair over. I felt exactly like a middle schooler caught gossiping in the back of the class. “I…” I tried to formulate a sentence. Dr. Weeks was equally terrified. He grabbed a random stack of charts and practically sprinted out of the room, pretending to be incredibly busy. “I wasn’t talking to you.” Once Dr. Weeks was gone, Liam’s tone softened significantly. He reached out, gently ruffled my hair, and gestured for me to sit back down. He then took his seat behind his desk. I felt my face heat up. Why did he always insist on petting my head? Didn’t he know it felt way too intimate and totally embarrassing? “Why do you always look so terrified of me?” he asked, studying me intently. “Do I look like a monster?” I sat down nervously. “No, it’s just… you’re a lot older than me… you feel like a…” “Like a what?” He looked highly amused. “An authority figure. An elder.” I answered honestly. “An elder?” He let out a sharp bark of laughter. “How old are you?” “I’ll be 22 next month.” His laughter made me feel incredibly insecure. When a guy who is usually dead serious starts laughing, it is absolutely lethal. Especially since he possessed an objectively devastating face. “Yeah, you are pretty young.” He stopped laughing, his expression turning thoughtful. “Wait here for a second.” He suddenly stood up and walked into the adjoining locker room to change. Those few minutes of waiting were pure agony. I was agonizing over how to say what I needed to say. Because of what Dr. Weeks had just said—that Liam didn’t have a girlfriend—my resolve had wavered even more. I was almost 22, and I had never had a real boyfriend. And Liam… well, whether it was his looks, his demeanor, or his career… he pretty much checked every single box I had ever imagined for a partner. Except for the fact that he was a massive player, obviously. I started thinking, maybe… maybe I could try dating him? Finally, I gathered every ounce of courage I had, stood up, walked to the locker room door, and knocked lightly. “Dr. Carter, I have a question.” My fists were clenched tight. I honestly didn’t have the guts to look him in the eye when I said this, so talking through the closed door was much easier. He didn’t answer. I hesitated, but pushed forward anyway. “Do you have a girlfriend? Because if you don’t… could we maybe… give this a try? I really want to keep the baby.” Saying that sentence felt like it drained my entire life force. I stood outside the door, bracing myself for the verdict. Then, the door swung open. But instead of hearing his verdict, I was blasted by a voice coming from his phone on speaker…

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My younger brother, Tyler, wanted to buy a new car and asked me to help him look. I specifically took half a day off work to drive him around to three different dealerships in the city. That evening, I posted a quick status on Facebook: “Car shopping with my little brother. That Audi A3 we looked at seemed like a solid choice.” Less than ten minutes later, Tyler’s girlfriend, Chloe, called me. “Emily, buying a car is between me and Tyler. What are people supposed to think when you post stuff like that? That I can’t afford it myself?” Her voice was cold enough to freeze water. Before I even had a chance to explain, I saw that she had just updated her own Facebook status: “Some people just love to perform. So old and still desperate for attention from her little brother. Maybe check your own bank account before you start bossing us around on what car to buy?” She attached a photo of me and Tyler looking at cars at the Audi dealership. Even though she blurred my face, our relatives would instantly recognize it was me. A text from Tyler popped up right after: “Em, can you just delete that post? Chloe is really sensitive about this stuff.” I let out a dry laugh and deleted my post. And while I was at it, I also “deleted” the $40,000 I had set aside to help them pay for the car. The next day, Tyler panicked and called to ask what happened. I only replied with six words: “If she’s sensitive, don’t take it.” 1 My phone rang. It was Tyler. I could hear the suppressed anger in his voice: “Em, what is your problem? If Chloe made you mad, take it out on me! Why the hell are you holding back the money for the car?” I replied, my voice completely flat: “The money is in my bank account. I’m choosing not to give it to you.” Less than ten minutes later, someone started pounding on my front door like they were trying to break it down. The second I unlocked the deadbolt, Tyler shoved his way inside. His muddy sneakers left two dark streaks on the living room rug I had just vacuumed. Chloe trailed closely behind him, her arms crossed over her chest, her chin tipped up in a textbook display of arrogance. “Emily, are you done throwing your little tantrum?” Tyler yelled, his voice so loud spit was literally flying from his mouth. I stared at the muddy footprints on my rug and fired back, “What exactly am I throwing a tantrum about?” “You’re holding the forty grand hostage! How the hell are we supposed to go pick up the car today?” He lunged forward and grabbed the sleeve of my shirt. I violently yanked my arm out of his grip. Chloe stepped forward, looking at me out of the corner of her eye. “Emily, are you trying to use money to manipulate me? Let me tell you right now, I don’t play those games. If you didn’t want to give us the money, you shouldn’t have pretended to be so generous in the first place.” I picked up the glass of water from the coffee table, took a slow sip, and said calmly, “I wasn’t pretending. I just simply don’t want to give it to you anymore.” The moment the words left my mouth, Chloe aggressively slapped the glass out of my hand. It smashed against the hardwood floor. The glass shattered. Scalding hot water splashed directly onto my calves, the skin instantly turning a furious, stinging red. “You think having a little bit of money makes you special?! I can buy a car with Tyler just fine without your forty grand!” she screamed, pointing her finger inches from my nose. I looked down at the burning red patches on my legs. Whatever warmth was left in my heart for them instantly burned away, leaving a gaping, cold hole. “Get out.” “Em, Chloe is just stressed…” Tyler quickly stepped in front of her, trying to play peacekeeper. “Let’s just forget this happened. Just wire the forty grand to my account right now.” I walked over to the entryway and pulled the front door wide open. “Get the hell out of my house.” Chloe didn’t move an inch. She let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Emily, Tyler already told me. Half of your assets legally belong to him anyway. He has a right to this condo. Who the hell do you think you are to hoard it all for yourself?” I stared dead into her eyes. “The deed is in my name only. I paid the mortgage. I paid for the renovations. Every single cent came from my pocket. Where do you get the absolute audacity to claim any of this?” Tyler took a step toward me, his face hardening. “Em, Chloe is right. Mom’s life insurance and inheritance were supposed to be split. You need to sell this place and give me my half, so I can buy my own house.” I looked at this boy—the brother I had fiercely protected since we were kids—and the last shred of familial love I had for him completely evaporated. “When Mom got sick, the hospital bills drained every single penny of her savings. I bought this condo years later, entirely with my own money and loans I took out myself. It has absolutely zero connection to you.” Chloe flipped her hair over her shoulder, her tone dripping with venomous sarcasm. “Emily, as a woman, I honestly feel sorry for you. You’re pushing thirty, you’re single, and your entire pathetic life revolves around obsessing over your little brother. You have zero self-worth. You’re holding the car money hostage right now because you want to keep controlling Tyler so you can keep leeching off his life, right?” I glared at her with absolute, freezing contempt. “I’m not leeching off him. And I’m certainly not giving him a dime. Both of you, leave.” Tyler’s face flushed a dark, angry red. His fists clenched tightly at his sides. “Fine. Em, you’re going to regret this!” He grabbed Chloe by the wrist and stormed out the door. Chloe stopped right at the threshold, turning back to shoot me one last look: “Emily, if you don’t cough up that car money, Tyler is done with you. He won’t even acknowledge you as his sister. When you finally manage to trick some guy into marrying you, don’t expect us to be there to support you.” I slammed the door shut and locked the deadbolt. A second later, a heavy kick rattled the door frame. “You shameless, selfish bitch! Just you wait!” Tyler’s muffled scream echoed through the heavy wood. I walked to the kitchen to grab a broom to sweep up the shattered glass. My phone buzzed. I glanced at the screen. In our extended family’s WhatsApp group, Tyler had posted a massive paragraph: “I need the elders in this family to weigh in. My sister is intentionally withholding the money she promised for my car just to control my life. Chloe just posted the truth on Facebook, and now Emily is trying to force us to break up. She’s also hoarding the condo Mom left behind and trying to kick me out on the street.” Immediately below his rant, Chloe posted a screenshot. It was a screenshot of the photo I had originally posted of us looking at cars at the dealership. Aunt Susan was the first to reply: “Emily, this is completely out of line. Your brother buying a car is a major milestone. Why are you interfering and causing drama?” Uncle Robert chimed in right after: “Em, Tyler is your only brother. Just give the kid the money. Don’t tear the family apart over something this petty.” I stared at the screen, reading line after line of their “helpful” advice, and without a second thought, I permanently exited the group chat. 2 The next morning, I left for work as usual. The moment I stepped out of my apartment building’s main gate, Tyler jumped out from behind a concrete pillar, blocking the sidewalk. “Em, what was that stunt leaving the group chat? Are you scared?” When I didn’t answer, he doubled down. “If you’re scared, then wire me the money right now.” He kept aggressively demanding the transfer while pulling out a brand-new iPhone 15 Pro to check his banking app. That iPhone was bought and paid for entirely by me. He told me he just wanted to “borrow it for a couple of days to play with the camera,” but he never gave it back. I sidestepped him and kept walking. “Move. I have to go to work.” He reached out and violently grabbed the strap of my purse. “You are not leaving until you wire me that money.” A few neighbors walking their dogs stopped and started staring at us. I yanked my purse back with all my strength. “Tyler, if you keep this up, I’m calling the cops.” He let out a loud, mocking scoff. “Call them! Are the cops going to get involved in a family dispute? You’re stealing my money, and now you want to silence me?” Chloe, wearing a brand-new cashmere coat and holding a Venti Starbucks cup, looked me up and down with obvious disgust. “Emily, everyone is watching. Do you really want to make a scene and embarrass yourself? Just wire the money, and we’ll leave.” I stared at the coffee cup in her hand. “That coffee cost seven bucks. The coat you’re wearing cost eight hundred. Both of those were bought using my secondary credit card, weren’t they?” Chloe’s smug expression instantly cracked. “What the hell are you talking about?! Tyler bought these for me!” I pulled out my phone and opened my banking app. “I canceled the secondary card this morning. Oh, and the iPhone you’re holding is mine too. Make sure you give it back.” Tyler’s eyes bulged in shock. “Em! Are you psycho?! You’re taking back a phone?!” I held out my hand, palm up. “Yes. Give it back.” Tyler took a rapid step backward. “No way in hell! I’m using it, which means it’s mine!” He grabbed Chloe’s hand, frantically hailed a passing taxi, and the two of them dove into the backseat and sped off before I could say another word. I watched the taxi disappear into traffic, then turned and walked toward the bus stop. The bus rattled its way downtown, eventually dropping me off outside my office building. I swiped my badge, walked through the glass doors, and sat down at my desk. Before I could even log in, my department manager walked over. “Emily, can you come to my office for a minute?” I followed him inside. He closed the door, his expression looking incredibly strained and awkward. “Is… is everything okay at home? Any major issues?” “No.” The manager sighed heavily, opened his desk drawer, pulled out a piece of paper, and handed it to me. “This morning, reception received a local courier package. It was a stack of these flyers.” I took it. Printed dead center was a photo of me, surrounded by bold, aggressive block letters: [EMILY CHEN: TOXIC, CONTROLLING SISTER. STEALS BROTHER’S INHERITANCE, TRIES TO FORCE BROTHER’S GIRLFRIEND TO GET AN ABORTION. MORALLY BANKRUPT. DO NOT TRUST HER!] It was printed on cheap, flimsy printer paper, the edges ragged. I stared at the words, my fingers slowly clenching into tight fists. “Reception intercepted the package,” the manager said, watching me closely. “But… someone took a photo and posted it in the general company Slack channel. Now… the entire office has seen it.” I pulled out my phone and opened the company Slack. The general channel was dead silent. Nobody was typing a word. But the photo of that flyer was sitting right there as the most recent message, glaringly obvious and humiliating. I placed the flyer back onto his desk. “I understand. I’ll handle it.” I turned and walked out of the office. In the hallway, several coworkers were walking toward me. The moment they saw me, their eyes darted away. They lowered their heads and hurried past without a word. I walked back to my desk, grabbed my purse, and turned to my cubicle mate. “I’m taking a half-day. If anything urgent comes up, text me.” As soon as I walked out of the revolving doors of my office building, I saw them. Standing on the sidewalk across the street, Tyler was holding a thick stack of flyers, and Chloe was aggressively shoving them into the hands of passing pedestrians. I marched across the street and stopped right in front of them. Chloe held out a flyer toward me. When she realized it was me, she froze for a second, then quickly pulled her hand back. “Well, well. Emily, leaving work early today?” I kept my eyes locked on Tyler. “You printed these?” Tyler looked away, refusing to meet my gaze. “Chloe said this was the only way to make you back down. Em, just give me the money, and we’ll leave right now.” I reached out and snatched the stack of flyers out of his hands. With one swift motion, I ripped the entire stack in half, letting the shredded paper flutter to the sidewalk. “Tyler, you are twenty-four years old. You graduated two years ago, and you’ve already quit or been fired from six different jobs. You don’t even make enough to pay your own rent.” I stared directly into his eyes. “The money you were going to use for that car? I saved it. The hoodie you’re wearing right now? I bought it. Even the money you use to buy her coffee every morning comes off my credit card.” Chloe lunged forward and violently shoved me in the chest. I stumbled back half a step, catching my balance. “Stop acting like a pathetic victim! Tyler told me you make over ten grand a month! Why shouldn’t you spend it on him?! You’re just a selfish, greedy bitch!” I looked at Chloe, my voice ice cold. “My money belongs to me. I will give it to whoever I want. And since I don’t want to give it to you, you won’t see a single red cent of it.” Tyler’s face flushed a furious, dark red. “Em! Are you seriously trying to ruin my life?! Chloe said if I don’t get a car, she’s breaking up with me! Do you really want to destroy a four-year relationship?!” I stared at him, completely deadpan. “That sounds like a ‘you’ problem.” I turned and walked toward a nearby trash can, tossing the shredded flyers inside. Tyler charged at me, grabbing my arm in a vice grip. “You are going to give me that money today! Or I swear to God, I will stand outside your office every single day handing these out!” I violently ripped my arm away from him. “Touch me again, I dare you.” In the same fluid motion, I snatched the iPhone 15 Pro right out of his hand. Tyler stood there, totally stunned. Chloe immediately rushed forward to grab his arm. “Tyler, stop wasting your breath! People like her won’t learn until you destroy them completely!” I pulled out my own phone and dialed a local electronics recycling service I had used before. “Hi, I have an iPhone 15 Pro I want to sell. Latest model, mint condition. Can you send someone to pick it up right now?” The voice on the other end was enthusiastic: “Absolutely! Text me the address, we’ll be there in ten minutes.” Tyler lunged forward, trying to wrestle the phone out of my grip. “Emily! Are you fucking insane?!” I ended the call and shoved both phones deep into my purse, stepping back out of his reach. Ten minutes later, a white commercial van pulled up to the curb. A guy in a blue polo shirt hopped out. “Ms. Chen? You have the phone?” I pulled the iPhone 15 Pro out of my purse and handed it to him. Tyler charged the guy, grabbing him aggressively by the shoulder. “Don’t you dare buy that! That is my phone!” I pulled up the digital receipt on my own phone and held it out to the tech. “Hi, here is the proof of purchase and the serial number. The physical receipt is at my apartment; I can go get it if you need it.” The tech carefully checked the screen against the phone’s settings, nodded, and forcefully shoved Tyler’s hand off his shoulder. “Buddy, the phone legally belongs to this lady. We only care about who holds the receipt.” Tyler stood frozen on the sidewalk, his face turning a mottled, furious purple. “Emily! You’re actually selling your own brother’s phone?! Are you even human?!” “I bought this phone with my own money. I can sell my own property whenever I want. What does that have to do with you?” The tech pulled a thick wad of cash from his bag, counted out eight hundred dollars, and handed it to me. “Here you go, ma’am. Count it to be sure.” I took the cash, counted it right in front of their faces, and slipped it into my purse. “It’s all here. Thanks.” The white van drove off. Tyler glared at me with absolute, unfiltered hatred and roared: “Emily! As of today, you are dead to me! I don’t have a sister!” I didn’t even bother turning around. “Good.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “400803”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

It had been five years since Peter, the boy who stole my life, pinned me between the bumper of his Porsche and a brick wall, crushing my legs. When my parents and my childhood sweetheart, Camilla, rushed me to the ER—when the surgeon looked at me with pity and said I might spend the rest of my life in a wheelchair—Camilla hadn’t hesitated. She got down on her knees right there in the sterile white hallway and proposed to me, swearing she would be my legs, my caretaker, my wife, for the rest of our lives. My parents, the billionaire Sinclairs who had only found their biological son—me—ten years prior, were equally decisive. They publicly disowned Peter, the fake son they had unknowingly raised. They told me to focus on my recovery while they took the evidence of his reckless driving to the authorities. A month later, they sat by my hospital bed, eyes red and swollen, and told me Peter had drowned while trying to flee the country to avoid prison. I believed them. I grieved, I forgave, and I spent the next five years surviving off the love of my wife and my family. Until today. My fifth wedding anniversary. I was sitting in my wheelchair in the secluded corner of a private pediatric clinic, waiting for Camilla to finish paying our son’s vaccination bill. Through the frosted glass of the VIP waiting room, I saw a man. He wasn’t dead. Peter Sinclair was alive, looking healthier and tanner than ever. He was holding my five-year-old son in his arms, pressing a kiss into the boy’s hair. And standing right beside him, looking up at him with a tenderness I hadn’t seen in years, was Camilla. “Thank God for you and my parents,” Peter murmured, his voice drifting through the cracked door. “Otherwise, Cole would have made sure I was rotting in a cell.” My blood froze. I stopped breathing. Peter laughed, a cruel, familiar sound. “That cripple will go to his grave never knowing the kid is mine. And Mom and Dad… God, they played him perfectly. Not only did they destroy the dashcam footage, but they actually swapped his nerve-repair meds for sugar pills.” “Peter,” Camilla sighed, resting her head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Cam,” he said softly. “You’ve been put through hell these past five years, having to play the devoted wife to that dead weight.” “Don’t say that,” Camilla whispered, her voice fiercely defensive. “Being his wife was the only way I got legal proxy. It was the only way I could sign the affidavit of non-prosecution on his behalf and seal the settlement that kept your record clean.” She reached up, touching Peter’s cheek. “As long as you’re safe, my sacrifice is worth it.” The world tilted on its axis. The marriage I had viewed as my absolute salvation was nothing but a calculated trap. The son I cherished wasn’t mine. And my biological parents—the people who wept over my hospital bed—had orchestrated my permanent disability just to protect the monster who put me there. If that was how it was… then it was time for me to go. … My phone vibrated against my thigh. It was my mother, Margaret. “Cole, sweetheart?” Her voice was laced with an urgency she tried to mask with sweetness. “Why didn’t you wait for us at the house? Your father and I are almost at the clinic. Where are you?” Listening to her, a wave of pure, unadulterated rage crashed through me. I gripped the armrests of my wheelchair so hard my knuckles turned white, my fingernails biting into my palms. “Oh,” I forced my voice to stay level, conversational. “I just figured I shouldn’t burden you guys forever. I came to the rehab wing by myself today.” “We are your family, Cole. You are never a burden! Have you gone inside yet? Just wait out front, we’re pulling up now!” Before today, whenever they insisted on accompanying me to my physical therapy appointments, I thought it was out of parental devotion. Now I knew it was surveillance. “Yeah, I just got here. I’m heading into the lobby now,” I lied smoothly, backing my wheelchair deeper into the shadows. Predictably, my mother’s voice spiked in panic. She told me to wait outside, that the lobby was too crowded, that flu season was rampant, that they would find me. I gave a noncommittal hum and hung up. Through the glass, I watched Camilla answer her own ringing phone. All the color drained from her face. She whispered something frantic to Peter, snatched the boy from his arms, and practically sprinted toward the rear exit. Peter slipped on a pair of sunglasses and vanished into the clinic’s foot traffic. They were terrified I would catch them. The shock and grief were so heavy I felt like I was drowning in wet cement. Everyone. Every single person in my life had looked me in the eye and lied, day after day, for five thousand days, all to protect Peter. The physical pain of my nails breaking the skin of my palms snapped me back to reality. Fine, I thought. If this is the stage they built, I’ll let them play out their tragedy to the bitter end. I pulled out my phone, opened the voice memo app, and hit record. Then, I wheeled myself toward the main entrance to meet my breathless parents. Margaret looked frantic. “Cole! Why didn’t you wait outside like I asked?” My father, Richard, frowned deeply. “We told you, the hospital is chaotic. We worry about you navigating it alone.” “I was waiting, but I really had to use the restroom,” I said evenly, my face a perfect, blank mask. Margaret watched me like a hawk. “Did you… run into anyone you knew?” Her terror was a physical blow to my chest. In that fraction of a second, I wanted to scream. I wanted to grab her by her designer collar and demand to know why. Why choose the boy you raised over the blood you birthed? Why break me just to keep him whole? But I knew the answer. And asking a question you already know the answer to is a waste of breath. “Anyone I knew?” I repeated, looking mildly confused. “No. I was in the handicapped stall the whole time.” The collective sigh of relief from my parents was audible. “Let’s go, then. We’ll take you up,” Richard said, taking the handles of my wheelchair. Margaret crouched down, her manicured fingers gently looping a surgical mask over my ears. “Flu season is terrible right now, sweetie. You have to be careful. It breaks my heart when you’re sick.” If it had been yesterday, the raw concern in her eyes would have warmed me to my core. Today, all I saw was a brilliant performance. Up on the twelfth floor of the Sinclair-funded wing, the rehab center was quiet. I was wheeled into a private room, transferred to a bed, and the doctor administered my local anesthetic for the “pain management” portion of my therapy. As the cold fluid entered my IV, I let my eyes drift shut, feigning sleep. The door clicked shut. My parents and the doctor stood at the foot of my bed. “Mr. Sinclair’s legs have gone far too long without proper intervention,” the doctor said, his voice hushed. “If we don’t perform the corrective surgery soon, the atrophy will be irreversible. He truly will never walk again.” “His physical therapy is meant to be performative. The prescriptions I gave you were to be swapped for placebos. Did I stutter, Doctor?” Richard’s voice was ice-cold. “I brought you over from Switzerland and pay you seven figures to do exactly as I say. Do you really want to watch this young man walk at the cost of your career?” Margaret chimed in, her voice dripping with aristocratic impatience. “So what if he doesn’t walk? We have the money to care for him for three lifetimes. He’s fine. Why are you overstepping?” “Don’t forget who signs your checks,” Richard added. “I’m not—” the doctor stammered. “My concern is medical. He’s been getting these anesthetic blocks for five years. He’s developing tachyphylaxis—an immunity to the sedation. Soon, it won’t put him under at all.” “Then figure out a new dosage,” Richard snapped. “Keep him exactly as he is. Don’t let his legs heal, and don’t let them rot off. Find the balance.” “Yes, sir.” The door opened and closed as my parents stepped into the hall. I lay there on the sterile sheets, the phone in my pocket quietly recording every single word. I was already immune to the sedative. I felt completely lucid, and completely dead inside. They hired a doctor from Europe and paid him for five years just to ensure I remained a cripple. That was why this “rehab” floor was entirely cordoned off from the main hospital. It was a movie set. And I was the only one who didn’t know the script. A single tear slipped from the corner of my eye, soaking into the pristine white pillowcase. Two hours later, my parents cheerfully wheeled me through the front doors of our estate. Camilla, who had been tangled in Peter’s arms just hours prior, came bustling out of the kitchen wearing an apron over her silk dress. “Honey! Therapy must have been so exhausting,” she cooed, leaning down to press a kiss to my cheek. “I made that roasted red pepper bisque you love. It’ll make you feel so much better.” Her eyes were pools of molten devotion. She looked exactly like the woman who had promised to love me in sickness and in health. If I hadn’t seen her at the clinic, I would have fallen for it again. But right now, her smile looked like a death mask. She never loved me. She loved the man who shattered my spine. And to ensure that man stayed out of a jail cell, she sacrificed her own freedom, binding herself to a wheelchair-bound ghost just so she had the legal right to sign away my justice. I glanced toward the living room. Our—no, her—son was sitting on the rug, glued to an iPad. In five years, he had never once called me “Dad.” Camilla always brushed it off, saying he was a late talker, that boys developed slower, that I shouldn’t take it personally. Now I understood. You don’t call a stranger “Dad.” At dinner, Margaret stared at a plate of seared scallops and suddenly burst into tears, pressing a napkin to her mouth. Camilla immediately dropped her spoon. “Mom, what’s wrong?” Richard rubbed Margaret’s back, letting out a heavy, theatrical sigh. “Your mother is just thinking about Peter. Scallops were his favorite.” He looked at me, his expression mournful. “That boy… yes, he made a terrible, unforgivable mistake. But we raised him for twenty years. He didn’t deserve to die for it.” They were watching me. Waiting for my reaction. A bitter taste flooded the back of my throat. He didn’t deserve to die? But I deserved to be sacrificed? “It’s been five years, Cole,” Camilla said gently, her hand coming to rest over mine. “Peter was only twenty when it happened. He was young, reckless, and terrified that you were going to take his place in the family.” “I grew up with him,” she continued, her voice trembling just right. “He was always a little extreme. But the five-year anniversary of his passing is in five days. I know you hate the thought of it, but… would it be okay if I went with Mom and Dad to put flowers on his grave?” She looked at me with wide, anxious eyes, as if terrified I might throw a fit. “Of course,” I said, keeping my voice mild, devoid of any edge. “You should go. He was a part of this family a lot longer than I was. It’s only natural you miss him.” Camilla let out a breathless exhale, her shoulders dropping in relief. “Cole… I knew you’d understand. You have such a kind heart. You’d never hold a grudge against a ghost.” Margaret dabbed her eyes, reaching out to pat my arm. “You’re a good boy, Cole. Blood really does tell.” I lowered my head, staring at the soup in my bowl, letting the tears fall freely. Let them think I was touched. My stomach knotted in actual, physical revulsion. I excused myself, claiming the physical therapy had drained me. Back in our bedroom, Camilla brought me my stomach medication, her face the picture of wifely concern. When I turned my face to the wall, she didn’t push. She quietly went to the bathroom, brought out a warm washcloth, and gently wiped my face. For the ten years since the Sinclairs pulled me out of the foster system, Camilla had been my anchor. Even when Peter had publicly declared his love for her, she had coldly rejected him, choosing me. Or so I thought. She didn’t choose me. She chose the heir to Sinclair Holdings. She just separated her love from her business. Deep in the night, after Camilla had fallen asleep with the boy tucked against her side, I carefully slid her phone off the nightstand. The passcode was the kid’s birthday. I opened her messages. I was pinned to the top. My parents were second. Nothing suspicious. It wasn’t until I dug into her app library and found a hidden, secondary messaging app that the floor fell out from under me. There was only one contact. Peter. [Peter]: Cam, it’s been five years. How much longer do I have to hide in the shadows? [Peter]: He has no evidence left. He’s a vegetable. He’s not a threat. [Peter]: Are you really going to make my son grow up without his real father? [Camilla]: I’m already working on a plan with Richard and Margaret. Just be patient, baby. Reading further, the truth crystallized. Days ago, they had quietly flown Peter back into the States. They bought him a new identity and funded a massive new commercial real estate firm for him to run. The grand opening ribbon-cutting was in five days. The exact day they were supposedly visiting his “grave.” My hands shook as I opened her locked photo vault. Hundreds of pictures. My heart turned to ash. For the past five years, Peter had been living like a king in Europe. Wearing custom Italian suits, lounging on the terraces of Sinclair-owned villas in Lake Como. Every time Camilla had taken a “business trip,” she was in his bed. And in dozens of the photos, standing right beside them, smiling radiantly, were my parents. They were the family. I was the ghost. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and AirDropped the entire folder to my own phone, deleting the transfer history. Before I put her phone down, I checked her social media. For five years, her bio had been a single word: Waiting. When I asked her about it, she smiled and said she was waiting for me to walk again. Tonight, it had changed. It now read: Homecoming. I set the phone exactly where I found it, wheeled myself out to the balcony, and dialed a 24-hour concierge service. “I need a one-way ticket to Geneva, Switzerland. Five days from now.” Five days. That was all the time I needed to dismantle this illusion. I didn’t sleep a wink. The next day at lunch, my phone lit up with a notification. Camilla glanced at the screen and her face tightened. “Cole? Why are you requesting an account closure from the bank?” I calmly locked the screen. “My debit card is expiring next week. I’m just preemptively setting up the replacement.” She opened her mouth to pry further, but her own phone rang. “Babe, work emergency,” she said, already standing up. “I have to run into the office. I’m sorry I can’t finish lunch.” The boy immediately started whining, demanding to go with her. Margaret swooped in, promising to take him to the park, giving Camilla the out she needed to practically sprint to her car. I was finally alone in the massive, suffocating house. Just as I was about to call an Uber, a message request popped up on my phone from an unknown number. [Unknown]: Cole. I know you heard us at the clinic yesterday. It was Peter. [Peter]: Your wife? She’s mine. Your kid? Mine. [Peter]: Even your own parents. The second the doctors told them the accident might have made you infertile, they decided to protect me. They literally told Cam to stay with me and have my kid to secure the bloodline. [Peter]: We are the real family. You’re just a clown playing house in my leftovers. [Peter]: Oh, and Mom and Dad bought me a company. Ribbon-cutting is in five days. Guess they forgot to invite you. [Peter]: I only regret I didn’t hit you harder. All of this should have been mine from the start. Every word was a jagged piece of glass dragged across my heart. So that was it. The possibility of my infertility was the final nail in the coffin. That was why my parents chose him. That was why Camilla gladly played the incubator. I took screenshots of everything. Then, I wheeled myself into Camilla’s walk-in closet, dug through her fireproof safe, and pulled out our marriage certificate, alongside the original Affidavit of Non-Prosecution she had filed. I took an Uber straight to a high-end litigation firm in the city. The attorney reviewed my screenshots with a sympathetic wince, explaining that text messages alone wouldn’t guarantee a criminal conviction after five years, especially with an Affidavit of Non-Prosecution on file from an immediate family member. “Then I want a divorce,” I said, my voice hollow. “Draft the papers.” The lawyer looked down at the marriage certificate, his brow furrowing. He held it up to the light, then tapped something into his laptop. A minute later, he looked up at me, his expression grave. “Mr. Sinclair… I can’t draft divorce papers. This marriage certificate is a forgery. You were never legally married.” Lightning struck the center of my brain. I plummeted into a free-fall of humiliation and rage. Peter was right. I was a clown. A pathetic, gullible clown. But then, the lawyer’s eyes suddenly lit up. “Wait. If you were never legally married… then her Affidavit of Non-Prosecution and the spousal settlement she signed to keep him out of jail are completely void. It constitutes criminal fraud, perjury, and obstruction of justice.” A dark, absolute clarity settled over me. “Draft the criminal complaint. Name all of them.” Leaving the law firm, I went to an independent specialist at a different hospital. After a grueling three-hour MRI and physical evaluation, the doctor sat me down. “You’re a very lucky man, Mr. Sinclair,” the doctor smiled. “The blunt force trauma caused a blockage that affected your fertility, yes, but it’s entirely reversible with a minor outpatient procedure.” I started to cry. “And your legs,” the doctor tapped the scans. “Because there’s been no further deterioration over the last five years, a single corrective surgery and a few months of aggressive, real physical therapy will have you walking again.” The doctor sighed warmly. “You clearly have a family that takes excellent care of your daily needs. If you had been neglected these past five years, the muscle death would have been permanent.” I laughed. It was a broken, ugly sound. Takes excellent care of me. He had no idea the same people spoon-feeding me were the ones paying a man to ensure my bones healed crooked. When I left the hospital, my phone buzzed with another text from Peter. It was a photo. Camilla, Peter, the boy, and my parents, all sitting together on a massive plush sectional in a sun-drenched living room. A perfect family of five. Behind them, hanging above the fireplace, was a piece of custom artwork my father had commissioned. In sweeping, bold lettering, it read: Family Above All. The words burned my eyes. Their family never included me. I returned to the empty estate, transferring from my wheelchair to the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. Time bled away until I heard the front door open downstairs. Footsteps approached the master suite. The door clicked softly. Camilla slipped inside, walked to the edge of the bed, and wrapped her arms around my shoulders, burying her face in my neck. “I’m so sorry, baby,” she whispered. “Work has been so crazy. I feel like I’ve barely seen you.” I stared straight ahead, saying nothing. “Tomorrow is your birthday,” she murmured, pressing a soft kiss to my temple. “Mom, Dad, and I are going to make it so special for you.” She pulled the duvet up to my chest and quietly left the room. My birthday. I remembered my birthday five years ago. It was the night my parents announced I was officially engaged to Camilla. That was the trigger. That was what pushed Peter over the edge to get in his car and hunt me down. During the five years I had been back in the family before the accident, I never quite fit in. I couldn’t navigate the country club politics or charm the board members the way Peter could. At our shared birthday parties, Peter was always the sun, and I was the shadow. “I’m the only one who belongs in this world,” he had sneered at me once, gripping a champagne flute. “You’re just a foster kid wearing a suit. You don’t belong here.” He always had to steal the spotlight. I knew tomorrow would be no different. I knew him so well that when he actually showed up at my birthday dinner the next night, my heart didn’t even skip a beat. He was dressed as a private caterer, wearing a black uniform and a medical mask. He simply walked into the dining room carrying a bottle of vintage wine. The moment my family recognized him, the tension in the room snapped tight. “What the hell are you doing?” Richard hissed, glancing nervously at the drawn curtains. “Are you insane? You’re going to ruin everything we’ve built!” Margaret rushed forward, her voice a frantic, pleading whisper. “Richard, stop. He hasn’t been home in five years. He just misses us. Don’t be so harsh.” She looked at me, asleep in my ignorance. “Besides, with the mask, Cole has no idea.” Even Camilla looked at him with tragic, breathless longing. “Cole,” she turned to me, her voice trembling slightly. “It’s your birthday, but… the caterer was just telling me it’s his birthday too. Do you mind if he cuts the cake?” “Sure,” I said, my voice dead flat. “I’m in a wheelchair anyway. Let him cut it.” Peter stepped up to the massive, five-tier cake meant for me. With a silver knife, he sliced right through the center—driving the blade directly through the custom chocolate figurine of me that sat on top, splitting it in half. “Daddy!” The little boy, sitting in his high chair, suddenly pointed a chubby finger right at Peter. The room froze. My parents went rigid. Camilla gasped, practically diving across the table to grab the plate Peter was holding. “Yes, baby!” she laughed, high-pitched and hysterical. “The chocolate looks just like your Daddy Cole, doesn’t it?” She looked back at me, her eyes wide with manufactured joy. “Did you hear that, Cole? He finally called you Daddy! Are you happy?!” I lowered my eyes to hide the disgust. Are you happy? The sheer audacity of her lie was almost impressive. She was exactly the daughter-in-law Richard and Margaret deserved. My parents exhaled in unison, swiftly lifting the boy out of his chair and whisking him out to the patio. Later in the evening, Camilla was busy dealing with the hired staff. I wheeled myself out toward the sprawling backyard, needing air. Suddenly, hands gripped the handles of my wheelchair. Peter pushed me toward the edge of the infinity pool. “Long time no see, brother,” he whispered, his voice dripping with venomous triumph. “Did you notice? During the Happy Birthday song, they were all looking at me. Not you.” He pushed me closer to the water. “Five years later, and they still love me more than you. You should have stayed in the foster system. You came back to steal my life, and look at you now. You’re half a man. Your wife is in my bed. Your kid is my blood. If I were you, I would have killed myself by now out of pure embarrassment.” I tilted my head back, looking up at his masked face. “You’re the one who should be embarrassed,” I said quietly. “You wanted my fiancé so badly you had to try and kill me to get her. And you still failed. You have to live like a rat, changing your name, hiding your face, serving me my own cake just to get a glimpse of your kid. That’s pathetic.” His eyes flared with violent rage. He kicked the wheel of my chair hard. “You think you’re so smart?” he snarled. “Mom and Dad burned the evidence. You have absolutely nothing on me!” He shoved the chair forward violently. “Let’s see who they really care about!” he yelled. With a brutal heave, he threw himself forward, dragging my wheelchair with him. We both crashed into the deep end of the pool. The freezing water rushed into my lungs. “Cole! Peter!” Through the distorted, churning water, I heard Camilla and my parents screaming. I broke the surface, gasping for air, the heavy wheelchair dragging my lower body down. Camilla dove into the water. She swam frantically toward me. I reached out my hand, desperate, fighting the weight of my paralyzed legs. She swam right past me. She grabbed Peter by the collar. On the edge of the pool, Richard and Margaret dropped to their knees, grabbing Peter’s arms and hauling him onto the concrete. I watched them pull him to safety as the water closed over my head. I let my hand fall. I smiled, a bitter, final smile, and let myself sink. Just as my vision started to go black, Camilla dove back in, grabbing my shirt and dragging me to the surface. I lay coughing on the wet concrete, next to Peter. The little boy was practically draped over Peter’s chest, screaming, “Daddy! Daddy!” Margaret and Richard were hovered over Peter, patting his face. Peter coughed dramatically, opening his eyes. “He… he suddenly gunned his wheelchair toward the edge,” he rasped, playing the victim perfectly. “I tried to grab him, but he pulled me in…” The hired staff were whispering behind their hands. “I heard the adopted brother paralyzed him five years ago today… do you think he tried to end it all?” Camilla looked down at me, a flicker of genuine guilt crossing her face. Richard looked terrified of the liability. Margaret threw herself over my soaking wet body and wailed. “Cole! Why would you do something so stupid?! We promised we’d take care of you forever!” I stared up at her theatrical, sobbing face. The sheer hypocrisy of it made my chest ache. They had just dragged the man who paralyzed me out of the water first, and now they were crying over my body for the audience. It was utterly repulsive. Before Peter slipped out the back gate, he looked over his shoulder. He met my eyes and smirked, the undisputed victor. The party ended. They rushed me to the hospital, and once the doctors confirmed I hadn’t aspirated too much water, the collective relief in my family was palpable. My phone buzzed. Peter again. [Peter]: Did you see that? She saved me first. [Peter]: Even your parents called me ‘son’ when they pulled me out. You’re not stupid, Cole. You know what this means. [Peter]: We’ve spent a lifetime together. You’re just a biological technicality. Now tell me, who’s the pathetic one? I didn’t reply. I just took another screenshot. When they brought me home that night, the house was dead quiet. They tucked me into bed, locked the doors, and the three of them—Richard, Margaret, and Camilla—left. They went to Peter’s villa to comfort him. They didn’t come back. I wheeled myself into Richard’s private study. I connected my phone to his laser printer. I printed out every screenshot, every photo of their European vacations, every text message. I loaded the audio recording of my parents bribing the doctor onto a silver USB drive. I arranged it all neatly on Richard’s mahogany desk. A farewell gift. By noon the next day, the house was still empty. Camilla texted me, saying they were out buying “memorial arrangements” for Peter’s anniversary, and that the head housekeeper would make me lunch. I called the housekeeper into my room and told her to pack up every single piece of clothing, every watch, every gift Camilla had given me over the last ten years, and throw them in the estate’s incinerator. Then, I went back into the study. I looked up at the wall. I pulled down the framed calligraphy Richard had given me—Recovery. I smashed the glass against the edge of the desk, pulled out the parchment, and dropped it into the fireplace.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “400772”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel