Category: English

My parents and my brother, Finn, had once again taken Aurora on a trip—this time, to a ski resort in Aspen—and left me at home alone. Just before they left, Aurora had feigned a sigh of regret. “It’s such a shame Ivy doesn’t even know how to ski or rock climb. If I had known, I wouldn’t have picked a mountain resort.” My family immediately rushed to console her, turning to blame me for being so unadventurous. I watched them go, a bitter thought twisting in my gut: I wish she would never come back. I never imagined I would speak it into existence. There was a real avalanche in Aspen. That evening, my parents and Finn stumbled back into the house, looking like ghosts. “Ivy, Aurora didn’t make it out!” My mother threw her arms around me, her body wracked with sobs. “You’re our only daughter now!” But a deep, icy chill spread through me, and I couldn’t feel a shred of happiness. Because just a second before they walked through the door, Aurora—who was supposed to be dead on that mountain—had sent me a WhatsApp message: “Sis! Mom, Dad, and Finn are all dead!” 1 My mother sensed my stiffness and slowly let go. “What’s wrong, Ivy? We’re back now. Don’t be scared.” Her voice was so gentle it felt alien. She only ever spoke that way to Aurora. With me, her tone was always as cold as ice. I stared at the three people standing in the doorway. Though their faces were bruised and their clothes were stained with blood, they were unmistakably my parents and my brother. But why would Aurora say they were dead? No, wait. According to my mother, Aurora was the one who hadn’t escaped the avalanche. So who sent me that message? “Mom, let’s get you out of those dirty clothes. Ivy needs some time to process this,” Finn said, helping our weeping mother into the living room. As they passed me, a bone-deep cold emanated from them, making me shiver. A comment I’d seen under the news report about the avalanche flashed in my mind. “A tourist caught in an avalanche that big is almost certainly a goner. If your loved ones come home safe, you should take a good, long look and make sure they’re… human.” The commenter, who claimed to be a mountain guide, had explained that sometimes victims of a disaster don’t realize they’re dead and will stubbornly try to go home. He was ridiculed until he deleted the comment. Something that bizarre… Was it happening to me? At that exact moment, the last rays of sunlight vanished, plunging the living room into shadow. I wasn’t sure if it was my imagination, but the temperature in the house seemed to drop several degrees. “Ivy, what are you doing standing by the door? Close it,” my father said, his voice raspy. His face was lost in the gloom. The way he turned his head was strange. He didn’t just turn his neck; his entire torso swiveled with his head, stiffly, as if frozen solid. The hair on my arms stood on end. I instinctively took a step back, reaching behind me for the doorknob. My phone buzzed in my palm. It was Aurora. She’d sent a series of photos. Three black body bags, laid out in a neat row. “They just flew Mom, Dad, and Finn’s bodies back. Where are you, Ivy Reed? Didn’t I tell you to call a car to pick me up?” Bang! An arm slammed the door shut behind me. I jerked my head up and met my brother’s gaze as he looked down at me. “Ivy,” he said softly, “who are you texting?” 2 Finn took another step forward. I hadn’t noticed before, but his skin had a strange, grayish pallor, like meat that had been in a freezer for too long. My back was already pressed against the door; there was nowhere left to retreat. I frantically locked my phone and forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. “Grandma and Grandpa were asking if I’d heard anything. I was just letting them know you’re safe.” Finn paused, then nodded, a flicker of sadness crossing his face. “Ah. It’s a shame Aurora was too weak to hold on until the rescue team arrived. You should break the news to them gently.” “Oh, right. I need to let the rescue team know we’re okay, too. I lost my phone. Let me borrow yours.” He snatched my phone and held it up to my face to unlock it. Panicked, I lunged for it. He clearly wasn’t expecting such a strong reaction. He lost his footing and tumbled to the ground. The phone flew from his grasp and shattered against the wall. “Ivy, are you okay?” he said, scrambling to his feet. Instead of scolding me, which would have been his usual reaction, he anxiously checked to see if I was hurt. “It was my fault. I’ll buy you the newest iPhone in a few days to make up for it.” A pang of emotion hit me. A ridiculous thought surfaced: If they could always be this kind to me, what does it matter if they’re human or not? “I’m fine, Finn. It’s just too dark in here. I’ll turn on the lights.” I took a deep breath and flipped the switch. They say ghosts don’t have shadows, I thought, closing my eyes for a second, praying my fears were just that—fears. Click. The chandelier flooded the opulent living room with stark white light. All three of them had faint shadows stretching out behind them. I felt a wave of relief. My mother warmed some milk for my father and Finn and poured me a glass of juice. “You’re lactose intolerant. You drink this.” Stunned, I accepted the glass. It was cherry juice, my favorite. She used to call my lactose intolerance a “poor person’s disease” and force me to drink milk until I was sick, telling me I just had to “get used to it.” “Ivy, you should move into Aurora’s big bedroom now,” my father said, a trace of guilt on his stern face. Finn looked at me apologetically and ruffled my hair with his large hand. “And remember to lock all the doors and windows. Be especially careful on the first floor.” I kept my head down, sipping my juice. Its sweetness spread from my mouth to my heart. I almost didn’t want to think about Aurora’s messages anymore. Finn was still talking. “Especially tonight. Don’t open the door for anyone. No matter who it is. Especially not for Aurora.” “Who?” I asked, thinking I’d misheard. Just then, the chandelier flickered. And then went out, plunging us into silence and darkness. I could feel three wooden faces turn toward me in the gloom. Three voices spoke as one. “Don’t open the door for Aurora.” 3 “What happened to the lights? Another power outage in the community?” my father muttered, getting up to check. The sudden darkness was unnerving, but their last words echoed in my mind. I forced myself to ask, “Aurora? Why would she be at the door? I thought she was… gone.” There was a moment of silence at the table, followed by my mother’s soft sobbing. “She is,” she choked out. “But before she… passed, she kept asking why. Why it wasn’t you in the avalanche. Why it wasn’t you who died.” She was too overcome with grief to continue. Finn sighed. “We’re worried her spirit won’t be at peace. That she might come back to harm you. It’s better to be safe than sorry. We’ll be careful for now, and then arrange a proper memorial service for her.” I hugged myself tightly, my mind a tangled mess. Their explanation seemed plausible. And even if they had always favored Aurora, the concern they were showing me now was something I had only ever dreamed of. Aurora, on the other hand, had always been terrified of losing her privileged life, of going from a princess back to a nobody. From the day I was brought into the family, she had targeted me at every turn. This trip to Aspen was her idea, specifically chosen after she found out I couldn’t ski or rock climb. Who was I supposed to believe? My father’s footsteps returned, accompanied by his grumbling. “Yep, the power’s out. What do we pay such high community fees for? No emergency generator, nothing. They just leave candles by the door.” He pulled a lighter from his pocket and lit four white candles. The wicks caught, casting a sickly, greenish glow. Finn’s face changed instantly. He blew them all out in one breath. “Something’s wrong with these candles! Dad, did someone from maintenance give these to you personally?” “No,” my father said, confused. “They were just sitting on the doorstep. If it wasn’t maintenance, then who…” His voice trailed off. We’d had outages before, but the community association had never handed out candles. Four candles, a perfect match for the number of people in the house. A shiver ran down my spine. Could it be… was Aurora’s ghost really here to cause trouble? Wait. If Aurora was claiming their bodies had been flown back, there had to be an official list of victims online. My phone was broken, but there was a laptop in Aurora’s room. If I could just confirm who died, I could stop scaring myself. “I… I’m going to head to bed,” I said, pretending to be frightened. “Lock your doors and windows, and don’t wander around. Call for us if you need anything,” my mother said, patting my hand. Her palm was so cold it made me flinch. The chill seemed to clear my head a little. Their kindness felt… rehearsed. I could understand a change of heart after losing a child, but would it be this sudden? This complete? I locked the door to Aurora’s room, but her laptop, unused for so long, was dead. I rubbed my throbbing temples. Just my luck. I’d have to wait for the power to come back on. I got up to close the window. The dim moonlight cast my reflection on the glass. And standing in the corner of the room, the reflection of Aurora.

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1 The day we finally paid off the mortgage, I cooked a lavish dinner to celebrate. With the paid-in-full notice in my hand, I sat by candlelight and waited for my husband, Mark, for three whole hours. When he finally came home, he reeked of cheap, cloyingly sweet perfume. There was no surprise, no hug. He pulled out a chair and sat, his eyes darting away from mine, but his tone was firm. “Raina, you need to move out of the master bedroom.” The wine glass in my hand froze. I thought I’d misheard him. “What did you say?” He loosened his tie, his voice laced with irritation. “Serena’s back. She’s been diagnosed with severe depression, and she’s in a really bad state.” Serena? Mark’s first love? “She’ll be living with us from now on. I need to spend time with her after work every day. The master bedroom gets the best light; it’s better for her recovery.” A wave of nausea churned in my stomach. A chill ran down my spine. “When did you get back in touch?” He looked up at me then, his eyes holding no guilt, only exhaustion. “Remember last year when you were in the hospital, and I went back to my hometown for money?” “We ran into each other at the station. She was so thin she was unrecognizable, just shivering on a bench. The moment I held her again, I knew. I knew I’d never gotten over her.” … I laughed, a laugh so bitter it brought tears to my eyes. For seven years, I, a senior actuary, had calculated every cent of our mortgage. I’d factored in compound interest, inflation, and every single penny we could save by paying it off early. But I had missed one crucial variable: Mark’s conscience. Or lack thereof. I had been with him since we had nothing, eating the cheapest instant noodles, living in a dark, damp basement apartment. I poured every bonus I ever earned into this house, working myself into the ground until my body gave out. And now, on the very night our mortgage was paid, he was telling me he was moving his ex-girlfriend in. “Mark, what do you take me for?” My voice trembled. “I was the one who worked until I was hospitalized with a bleeding stomach. Don’t you remember that I was in a bad state?” He avoided my gaze, his eyes fixed on the pattern of the rug. “Raina, don’t bring up the past. You were young then, you were strong. You pushed through it.” “But Serena’s different. She’s had a rough few years. She just got divorced, walked away with nothing. She doesn’t even have a place to stay.” He stood up so abruptly his chair scraped back, his voice turning cold and hard. “Raina, for years, what I’ve felt for you is gratitude. I owe you. I know that.” “We were poor back then, but all our friends and family knew we’d made a life for ourselves in the city. I admit, I was vain. I thought I could just… settle, and spend the rest of my life with you. But then she got sick.” “I can’t just watch her die. Don’t you understand?” As he spoke, he walked towards our bedroom and began yanking my things out with brutal efficiency. My skincare products, the scented candle we made together on our seventh anniversary—he tossed them into the hallway like garbage. A bottle of expensive face cream rolled away, the lid popping off and splattering its contents across the floor. “Are you insane?!” I lunged forward to stop him. Just then, the doorbell rang. Mark’s expression instantly softened, his eyes filled with a tender, almost desperate urgency. He shoved past me and strode to the door. Standing on the threshold was a woman in a long white dress, her face pale, a battered suitcase in her hand. This was Serena. The one that got away, the ghost he’d cherished for a decade. She leaned weakly against the doorframe. “Mark, is Raina angry? Maybe I should just go. I can find a spot under a bridge or something. I don’t want to ruin your relationship.” Her voice was as faint as a whisper, but it was enough to make Mark’s face darken. Right in front of me, he swept her up into his arms. He carried her toward the bed we had spent three months choosing together. Our marital bed, where I hadn’t even had the chance to enjoy a single night’s peaceful sleep, free from the weight of our mortgage. Without a backward glance, he carried her into the master bedroom and slammed the door shut. I stood alone in the empty living room, surrounded by the wreckage of my life, a piercing pain in my heart. I gathered my scattered belongings, my hand on the doorknob, ready to leave. But then I stopped. I had bled for this house. Why should I be the one to run away? I wasn’t going anywhere. I would not surrender my home. I was going to see just how shameless they could be. 2 The next morning, I was jolted awake by the acrid smell of medicinal herbs. I opened my eyes on the narrow sofa, my entire spine aching as if it had been twisted out of place. The sound of clattering came from the kitchen. I pushed myself up and walked over. The sight that greeted me made me tremble with rage. Serena was wearing my silk nightgown—the one I’d never even brought myself to wear. She was casually stirring a dark concoction in a pot. “Who said you could wear my clothes?” I snapped. She jumped, startled. The spoon slipped from her hand, splattering black droplets of the brew. “Raina, Mark said you had so many clothes, and I didn’t bring anything to change into. I just grabbed one. It looks pretty old, so I thought you wouldn’t mind.” I stared at her pathetic act, strode over, and snatched the spoon from her hand. “Take it off. And get out.” Her eyes welled up, and tears began to stream down her cheeks. “I’m sorry, Raina. I’ll change right now. Please don’t be angry. My heart starts to hurt whenever I get stressed…” As she spoke, she deliberately nudged the bowl of medicine on the counter. It tipped, and the dark, thick liquid spilled all over the designer handbag I had sitting there—the bag I’d saved for six months to buy as a reward for a promotion. My heart ached. I grabbed the bowl and, in one swift motion, flung the remaining liquid at her feet. “Ah!” she shrieked, collapsing to the floor. The master bedroom door flew open. Mark rushed out, not even bothering to put on shoes. He shoved me aside with such force that I slammed into the corner of the refrigerator. “Raina, have you lost your mind?! You know she’s sick!” He turned and frantically checked Serena’s feet, even though the skin was only slightly red where the liquid had splashed. “Mark, it was my fault. I was clumsy,” Serena sobbed, leaning into his arms. “I accidentally dirtied Raina’s bag… She has every right to be angry with me…” Mark shot to his feet and slapped me across the face. The blow was heavy. My ear rang, and the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. “Where are your manners? She’s severely depressed! Are you so cruel you have to bully a sick woman?” I stared at the man I had known for seven years. The man who had warmed my hands and cooked me porridge in our freezing basement apartment now wore the face of a complete stranger. Mark bent down, lifted Serena into his arms, and carried her back to the bedroom, tossing a final, sneering remark over his shoulder. “Wipe that calculating look off your face. It’s disgusting.” I leaned against the wall to steady myself and let out a hollow laugh. I opened my banking app and checked our recent transactions. The five-thousand-dollar bonus that was supposed to go into our joint account was gone. Mark had withdrawn it. I pushed open the bedroom door. He was gently dabbing at the stains on Serena’s feet. “Where is it? What did you do with my five-thousand-dollar bonus?” Mark didn’t even look up. “Serena needs money for her treatments and some supplements. Your bonus was for the emergency fund.” His voice was casual, entitled. “And on your way home from work, pick up some premium nutritional supplements. She’s weak and needs to build up her strength.” It wasn’t a request. It was an order. He was using my hard-earned money to support his long-lost love. And now he was treating me like an errand girl. What a perfect plan. I looked at the woman on the bed, a triumphant smirk playing on her lips, and my fists clenched. 3 Before the sting of the slap had even faded, my mother-in-law burst through the door, carrying bags of groceries. Mark had never told me she was coming. She walked in with a wide smile, but it wasn’t for me. It was for Serena, who was just emerging from the master bedroom. “Oh, my poor, dear daughter-in-law! You’ve suffered so much.” She threw her arms around Serena, her voice dripping with affection. I stood to the side, invisible. An outsider in my own home. “Mom, what are you doing here?” I asked coldly. Her head whipped around, and her smile vanished. She pointed a finger in my face. “What do you mean, what am I doing here? If I didn’t come, my grandson would be cursed to death by a wicked woman like you!” She stomped over to me, spitting as she yelled. “Raina, don’t think you’re so special just because you make a little money. You’re just a useless, barren hen who can’t even lay an egg! Mark should have gotten rid of you years ago!” I was shaking with fury. “I made the down payment on this house! And I paid the bulk of the mortgage!” I turned to Mark. “Tell your mother to be clear. Who’s the barren hen?” Mark just scowled, shielding Serena behind him. “That’s enough. Mom’s just looking out for me. Does it really matter who paid for the house?” “If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t even have a foothold in this city! Stop making everything about money. It’s so crass.” Looking at the ugly faces of this family, the last flicker of warmth in my heart died. “Let’s get a divorce,” I said, my voice flat. Mark froze for a second, then sneered. “Fine. Get out. You won’t get a single penny.” He was sure I wouldn’t dare leave him. In his eyes, I had nothing and no one but him. I didn’t say another word. I walked into the study and locked the door. With trembling hands, I turned on Mark’s old phone, the one I’d given him when I upgraded. He hadn’t logged out of his social media. Message after message popped up from his family group chat. Skimming through, my blood ran cold. Mark had posted a photo of Serena with a slightly rounded belly. The caption read: We’re finally going to be parents. Below, a chorus of relatives cheered. His mother had sent several large digital red envelopes. So-called severe depression. It was all a lie to cover up a three-month pregnancy. They wanted me to keep slaving away, to pay for the upbringing of their illegitimate child. Just then, a violent wave of nausea hit me. I ran to the bathroom and was violently sick. A strange, sinking feeling washed over me. I put on a mask and went to a nearby private clinic alone. Two hours later, the doctor looked at my test results. “Ms. Reed, you’re two months pregnant. Your hormone levels are a little unstable, though. You’ll need to rest.” I walked out into the long hospital corridor, the flimsy piece of paper clutched in my hand. And there, just down the hall, outside the obstetrics clinic, I saw him. Mark was tenderly peeling a grape and placing it in Serena’s mouth. His mother sat beside them, beaming. “Once we get that Reed woman out of the picture with nothing, we’ll have the wedding,” she schemed. “We need to do it soon. Serena’s belly will be showing, and it won’t look good in a wedding dress.”

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1 The day I was born, the smiles on my parents’ faces froze the moment the nurse handed me to them. Floating just above my bald head, invisible to everyone else, was a line of numbers. 6570 days. Not one more, not one less. Exactly eighteen years. The nurse thought they were just nervous first-time parents. Only they knew the truth—it was my expiration date. While other families in the maternity ward celebrated new life, my parents were already staring at my end. For the next eighteen years, I was the most precious thing in our house. No matter how poor we were, the eggs were mine, the new clothes were mine, the meat was mine. My little brother could only watch with hungry eyes. “Let your sister have it,” my parents would always say. “She doesn’t have much time.” I understood my place from a young age. I never made a fuss, never threw a tantrum. I was just quietly waiting to die. On my eighteenth birthday, I blew out the candles and said a silent, heartfelt goodbye to the world. The next morning, my parents and my brother walked into my room, their eyes red and swollen, dressed in somber clothes. I rubbed my eyes and smiled at them. “Good morning.” The air in the room went still. The grief on their faces slowly morphed into shock, then stiffened into something cold and hard. … The silence stretched for a full ten seconds. “You… how are you…” My brother, Sammy, hid behind my mother, his voice trembling as if he’d seen a ghost. “I’m not dead,” I said. My father’s expression flickered. He forced a smile. “Not dead. That’s good, that’s good…” He nudged my mother. “Go on, make some breakfast.” Mom stared at me, then gave a numb nod. She walked to the door, then turned back, her eyes filled with a complicated emotion I couldn’t decipher. For the first time in my eighteen years, I felt that something was deeply wrong in our home. Breakfast was thin porridge and a side of pickles. As usual, Sammy placed the single boiled egg in front of my bowl. I reached for it. Smack. My mother slapped my hand, hard. A bright red mark bloomed on my skin instantly. “You’re a grown girl now, fighting with your brother over an egg! Have you no shame?” I pulled my hand back and just ate my porridge. After the meal, I scrambled to clear the table and wash the dishes. In the past, whenever I tried to help, Mom would gently stop me, a loving smile on her face. “You’re our little princess, you don’t need to do this.” This time, she just shot me a cold look and said nothing. After I washed the dishes, I forgot to wring out the dishcloth, leaving it damp on the edge of the sink. When my mother came in and saw it, her face twisted with rage. “Are you blind? You just leave the cloth like that? You want it to grow mold?” I froze, then quickly reached for the cloth. “I raised you for eighteen years!” she shrieked, following me. “Didn’t we give you the best of everything? The eggs, the meat, the new clothes! Did your brother ever get anything new?! All you know is how to take! You can’t even wash a few dishes properly…” “Mom, I did wash them. It’s just the cloth…” “Don’t you dare talk back to me! Who do you think you are?!” She snatched the cloth from my hand and threw it on the floor. “Look at you! Standing there with that miserable face! You’ve lived eighteen years and you can’t even wring out a dishcloth! What good are you?!” My father walked in then. He glanced at my mother’s contorted face, then at my stunned expression. He waved a dismissive hand, as if trying to end a pointless argument. “What’s all the shouting for? Just get on with your day!” Biting my lip, I asked softly, “Mom, Dad… are you like this because I didn’t die?” Their bodies went rigid. My father took a deep breath and managed a strained laugh. “We’re just… not used to it. We need some time… to adjust.” I watched them walk away, hearing them mutter to each other. “How can she just not die? What kind of mess is this?” I didn’t understand. Wasn’t me being alive a good thing? I looked out the window. The sun was the same as always. But when its light hit my skin, I suddenly felt very, very cold. 2 After that day, the atmosphere in the house changed completely. I was moved into the tiny, windowless utility room. Mom said Sammy was a growing boy and needed the sunnier room. She no longer asked me what I wanted to eat. She’d just set the table in silence, putting out two plates, then glance at me and reluctantly add a third. My father spoke even less. Sometimes he’d come home and see me sitting in the yard, and he’d just stop, turn around, and go in through the back door. Only Sammy would occasionally peek at me through the crack of the utility room door, his eyes filled with a strange curiosity, as if he were observing some kind of freak. Before, I was the treasure they had spent eighteen years doting on. Now, I was the scapegoat for everything that went wrong. The faucet was left dripping. My dad’s brow furrowed, his voice stripped of its old warmth. “Did you do this on purpose? Wasting water! Do you have any idea how much the bills are? You’re such a burden!” “Dad, I really didn’t…” “Don’t call me Dad!” he yelled, then turned and walked away. Sammy failed a test by one point. “It’s all your fault, wandering around the house, distracting your brother! We were supposed to have peace, and you ruined everything!” Dinner one night was a little undercooked. My mom slammed her fork down. “It’s because you’re still here! Cursing this house with bad luck! Even the stove is against me now!” I stood there, helpless, my eyes burning as tears streamed down my face. “I thought I was going to die, too,” I whispered. The breaking point came when I flipped a light switch, and the bulb flickered once before dying completely. My mother exploded. “You jinx! Ever since you passed eighteen, everything in this house has been breaking! You’re a curse!” “Eighteen years! Over six thousand days! Your father and I counted every single one of them while we raised you! We gave you everything, and Sammy got nothing! We prepared ourselves to say goodbye, we practiced it in our minds over and over again… but you…” She didn’t finish, but I understood. Their eighteen years of sacrifice, their careful nurturing of a life with a deadline—it had all become a sick joke. It wasn’t that I was alive. It was that they had lost their investment. The sacrifices they made, the things they’d denied my brother, the suffering that was supposed to end with my death… it was all for nothing. I thought if I worked hard enough, if I swallowed my pain and tried to make up for my “mistake,” my parents would soften. They would remember how much they used to love me. I took over all the housework. Laundry, cooking, shopping, cleaning. I was more diligent than any maid, preparing varied meals and keeping the house spotless. But no matter what I did, I couldn’t earn a single kind word or a smile from them. I grew thinner, my face gaunt and pale. The neighbors started to notice. They’d whisper amongst themselves. One of them, Mrs. Gable, tried to reason with my parents. “Don’t be so hard on Annie. She’s your daughter, after all.” But my mother, in front of everyone, spat back with disgust, “We wish we’d never had her. She’s a monster, a bad omen who ruins everything she touches! As long as she’s here, this family will never know peace!” My father stood beside her, nodding. “We raised her for eighteen years. We’ve done more than enough! Now she’s just a leech, dragging us all down!” Their words were like knives, twisting in my heart until I could barely breathe. Every little problem in the house became a reason to attack me, but it was what happened with my brother that was the final blow. 3 One day, it was just Sammy and me at home. I needed to use the bathroom, but the door to the utility room was stuck. It was locked from the outside. Panicked, I pounded on the door. “Sammy! Let me out!” No one answered. All I heard was the sound of crashing from the kitchen, followed by my brother’s sharp cry of pain. The door was finally yanked open by my mother. Her hand came with it, a slap so powerful it sent my head spinning. “You curse! I knew you’d cause trouble!” Her eyes were bloodshot, like a cornered animal. She collapsed to the floor, beating her thighs and wailing. “Why is my life so miserable? I raised a monster for a daughter! She’s ruined our lives!” Just then, my father came home. He saw Sammy on the floor, his leg bent at an unnatural angle. He saw my mother’s hysterical rage, and it was like a sickness that infected him, too. He grabbed me by the collar, dragged me up, and threw me onto my bed. “Annie Reed! You disaster! Why don’t you just die!” My voice was raw from crying as I tried to explain. “Mom, Dad, it wasn’t my fault! Sammy locked me in! He fell because he was trying to steal the candy from the top shelf…” They locked me in the room. No food, no water. I could hear the world outside. My mother cooking in the kitchen, the sound of my father’s footsteps when he came home from work, Sammy crying out that his leg hurt. No one mentioned me. I curled up on the cold mattress, my cheek throbbing and swollen. A fever took hold, my body shivering with cold even as it burned from within. My consciousness began to fade. I guess this is it, I thought. I’m really going to die this time. It’s better this way. Death would be a release. In my delirium, my eighteen years flashed before my eyes like a movie reel. I remembered my parents’ eyes, always filled with a strange mix of pity, helplessness, and sorrow. They looked at me like I was a fragile porcelain doll, one that could shatter at any moment. They never talked about my future. Our whole life was a countdown. When I was five, my brother stole a piece of meat from my plate. My mother caught him and beat him severely. “Why does she get to eat it and I can’t?” he sobbed. My mother didn’t answer. She just kept hitting him. Afterward, she hid in the kitchen and cried for a long time. Later, Sammy whispered to me, “Annie, are you going to die?” “Mom said you’re going to die. I don’t want you to die, Annie. You can have all my meat from now on.” The memory of their faces, twisted with a love born from impending loss, merged with the cold, hate-filled faces of the present. My head throbbed. Did they love me? Yes, they did. But their love had an expiration date. It was built on a countdown. It was a love meant for goodbyes. Eighteen years. The countdown ended, and so did the love. If I had died on schedule, their love would have been preserved in memory, forever gentle. Mom would be lovingly stroking my hair, telling me I was the prettiest princess in my new dress. Dad would be lifting me high, promising to show me the world. Sammy would be secretly saving his yogurt for me. Those memories felt so close, yet impossibly far. I managed to force my eyes open. I was still in the dark utility room. No light, nothing. I twitched my fingers, trying to feel for the letter under my pillow. A letter to my parents and brother. I’d written it a long time ago. A bitter smile touched my lips. I just hadn’t died when I was supposed to. There was also a small pink piggy bank. It didn’t have much, but it was enough to buy Sammy a small toy. I fell asleep again. I hoped when they found me, they’d see these things and maybe they wouldn’t be so angry anymore. This time, my sleep was deep and dreamless. I could hear my own heartbeat. One beat, then another, then another. Then, slowly, slowly… it stopped. The utility room fell completely silent. No one knew. No one came. The little girl who was always waiting to die didn’t have to wait anymore. 4 The moment I left my body, I felt weightless. I floated in the air, looking down at my own stiff form on the bed. So, I thought, people really do have souls after they die. I passed through the wall, finally free from that cramped little room. Lunch was on the table. Three sets of plates and forks. My mother served the food, my father dished it out, and Sammy sat waiting. I took my usual seat, waiting for one of them to ask, “Where’s Annie?” But they didn’t. After they ate, Sammy limped toward the utility room. My spirit soared. Open the door, Sammy! I cried out silently. I won’t bother you anymore! But before his hand could touch the doorknob, my mother’s sharp voice cut through the air. “Sammy! What are you doing?! Get away from there! Does your leg not hurt anymore?!” He flinched and hurried away. That afternoon, our neighbor, Mrs. Gable, came over to borrow some salt. “Where’s Annie? I haven’t seen her for a couple of days.” My mother’s face tightened for a second before she smoothed it over. “She’s not feeling well. Resting in her room.” “Is it serious? I have some medicine…” I let out a bitter, silent laugh. No medicine can help me now, Mrs. Gable. “No, thank you!” my mother said, a little too quickly. “It’s nothing. She’ll be fine after a day or two.” Mrs. Gable didn’t press further. Another chance to be found, lost. After she left, my mother glanced towards the utility room several times, but she never walked over. That evening, my father came home. I spread my arms to block his path. Dad! Please, go check on me! I promise I’ll never make you angry again! The countdown is really over this time! But he walked right through me. “Is she still locked in?” he asked. Mom didn’t answer. “Open the door,” he said. I almost wept with joy. Was I finally going to be discovered? Would they be sad? Would they finally say I was a good daughter? Just as my mother started walking towards the utility room, the phone rang, shrill and urgent. My father answered it. His face went pale, and he swayed on his feet. My mother rushed to his side, steadying him. I sighed. So close. So close to being found. “Let’s go! Back to the old town!” he choked out. “The village called… they said Mom is fading fast!” They grabbed Sammy and rushed out, frantic. The door to my room remained closed. I was forgotten again. Even without a heartbeat, the news about my grandmother pierced me with pain. In all my eighteen years, she was the one who loved me most. Knowing I was on a timer, she’d had countless sleepless nights. I followed my parents back to my grandmother’s house to see her one last time. She lay on her bed, frail and skeletal. She gripped my father’s hand, her words a struggle. “Mark… where’s Annie? I don’t see her.” My father looked away, guilty. “She… she’s at home. She didn’t come…” Grandma’s eyes flew open. “You fool. What did you do?” Startled, my father confessed. “Annie misbehaved. I… I grounded her, wouldn’t let her eat…” Hearing this, my grandmother’s strength seemed to vanish. She mumbled something. “Mom? What did you say? I can’t hear you,” Dad said, leaning closer. “What about Annie? What do you mean she didn’t die?” He pressed his ear almost to her lips. I was too far away to hear what she whispered. But I saw my father’s body go rigid, as if struck by lightning. A look of pure, uncomprehending horror spread across his face. He forgot to even blink. “ANNIE!” His scream was so full of terror it startled me. His face was ashen. Ignoring my mother’s confused questions, he started running back towards our house, chanting, “It was a mistake… a mistake…” What was a mistake? CRASH! The utility room door was thrown open. Sunlight streamed in, illuminating the scene inside. My father’s legs gave out, and he nearly collapsed. Floating above, I looked down at myself, curled on the bed. Shockingly thin, my cheek still bruised, my hair a tangled mess on the pillow. I was so quiet. Quieter than I had ever been in life. “What is it?” my mother panted, finally catching up. When she saw my small, stiff body, a terrified shriek tore from her throat. “Oh, God! Annie!” My father reached out a trembling hand to check for my breath, and his face crumbled with utter despair. “What happened? How did this happen?!” my mother screamed, shaking him as she collapsed to the floor. Dad just stood there, frozen, a roaring in his ears. But my grandmother’s faint words echoed like thunder. “Mom said…” He swallowed hard. “She said we were fated to be childless. She… she traded her remaining years of life for Annie… The countdown was hers. The death date was hers…”

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I’m an embalmer at the Southwood Mortuary, gifted with a peculiar sensitivity—I can hear the final words of the departed. When an unidentified young woman’s desperate cry, “Nathaniel Carr… help me… don’t kill me!” pierced my ears, a chill seized me. It was the exact name of my sister’s fiancé, whom she had just brought home yesterday. My family branded me a jealous lunatic, smashing teacups to silence me. As the wedding bells chimed, my sister smiled on the altar, and the groom approached me, a wine glass in hand, his gaze behind his spectacles like a viper’s: “I hear… you can speak with the dead?” 1. I am an embalmer at the Southwood Mortuary. For three years in this profession, constantly dealing with the deceased, my parents considered me cursed, and my sister, Stella, found me an embarrassment. What they didn’t know was that I possessed a unique gift: a special sensitivity. At the moment of suturing a body or applying makeup to a deceased person, I could hear their last words left on Earth. Today, an unidentified young woman’s body had arrived. She was found wedged in the rocks by the sea. The seawater had distorted her features, and her limbs were already showing the early signs of adRusselld decomposition, a truly gruesome sight. The coroner had ruled it an accidental drowning. But the instant I picked up the powder puff and touched her cold, swollen cheek, a piercing, desperate voice shot straight into my eardrums. “Nathaniel Carr… help me… don’t kill me!” “The ring… it’s in his fish tank… I’m the ninth…” The powder puff slipped from my hand and clattered to the floor. Nathaniel Carr. That name was all too familiar. Just yesterday, my radiant sister, Stella, had brought her new fiancé home. He was a refined gentleman with gold-rimmed glasses, the CFO of a successful company, named Nathaniel Carr. My parents beamed with approval, and Stella preened like a proud peacock, showing off to me about her impending marriage into wealth. And now, that man’s name echoed in the dying words of an unknown woman, a name twisted into a chilling spectral warning. “The ninth…” A shiver of dread ran through me. If this young woman’s words were true, Nathaniel Carr was not only a murderer but a serial killer. And my own sister was about to become his wife. That evening, I returned home to an atmosphere thick with celebration. The living room was piled high with luxury gifts – Nathaniel had sent them over as engagement presents that afternoon. Mom was holding a pearl necklace to her throat, grinning from ear to ear. “Oh, the quality of this! Let’s see how old Mrs. Miller’s daughter next door can compare now. Stella really has a knack for things, unlike some people who spend all day with the dead, bringing back bad luck.” Stella was on the sofa, manicuring her nails, and rolled her eyes at Mom’s comment. “Mom, why bring her up? As long as she doesn’t show her face at my engagement party and embarrass me, that’s all I ask.” I took a deep breath and walked to the coffee table, blocking the television light. “Sis, you can’t get engaged.” I looked into Stella’s eyes, trying to keep my voice steady. “Nathaniel Carr is dangerous.” The room fell into a deathly silence. Three seconds later, Stella let out a snicker, as if she’d heard the funniest joke imaginable. “Celeste, are you crazy? What’s wrong with Nathaniel? Is it because he’s too rich, or because he loves me too much, and it’s driving you insane with jealousy?” “It’s not jealousy.” My fists clenched, nails digging into my flesh. “Today, an unidentified young woman’s body came into the mortuary. Before she died… she spoke to me. She said Nathaniel Carr killed her, that he’s a serial killer! The body is in Mortuary Cabinet 3. Sis, just believe me this once, at least look into his background!” To make them believe, I had to describe my inexplicable ability to “hear last words” as a “dream” or an intuition. Suddenly, an exquisite bone china teacup came hurtling towards me. 2. The teacup shattered at my feet, porcelain shards spraying, one slicing my ankle. Mom had thrown it. She stood up, pointing a finger at my nose and screaming, “Celeste! Are you deliberately trying to ruin your sister’s happiness? Huh? You’re an unwanted embalmer, spending all day with corpses, has your brain rotted too?” “Making up stories about your future brother-in-law? A murderer? Why don’t you just say he’s an alien?!” Stella stood up, her heels clicking as she strode over, looking down at me. The disgust in her eyes almost spilled over. “Celeste, I know you’ve always been a dark soul. When we were kids, if I wanted a new dress, you’d say it would rain and get dirty. Now I’m marrying into wealth, and you’re cursing my fiancé as a killer.” “Has your mouth sewn up so many dead people’s mouths that it only spits venom?” “I’m not cursing you!” My eyes reddened with urgency. “The young woman said Nathaniel Carr has a ring hidden in his fish tank! That’s proof! If we just check—” “Enough!” Dad slammed his hand on the table. “Nathaniel took us to his villa just this afternoon. That huge fish tank has expensive Koi carp, worth thousands! You want us to go rummage through it? Do you want our family to become the laughingstock of the entire city?” “Get back to your room!” Mom pushed me. “You’re such bad luck! What if Nathaniel finds out tomorrow and thinks we have a lunatic in the family? From today on, you’re not allowed out, and you’re certainly not allowed at Stella’s engagement party!” I was shoved into my small, north-facing bedroom. From outside, their joyful laughter echoed, discussing tomorrow’s hotel menu, debating whether to honeymoon in the Maldives or Switzerland. I leaned against the door, the young woman’s desperate cry reverberating in my mind. “The ninth…” Sister, if you become the tenth, who will be there to hear your last words? Early the next morning, I slipped out of the house while everyone else was still asleep. I couldn’t just stand by and watch Stella walk into danger, no matter how much she humiliated me. I decided to go to the police station or look for clues related to the unidentified young woman. But I had no evidence. Besides the voice in my head, I had nothing. If I went to the police now and said, “The body told me Nathaniel Carr killed her,” they would most likely send me to a psychiatric hospital. It would only tip off Nathaniel Carr and make him cautious. I returned to the mortuary. Just outside, I saw a black SUV parked. A man in a black trench coat was crouched on the steps, smoking, a scattering of cigarette butts at his feet. He looked disheveled and fierce, his eyes bloodshot, but his face was remarkably handsome, with sharp, defined features. He saw me approaching in my work uniform, extinguished his cigarette, and asked in a hoarse voice, “Are you the embalmer in charge of the young woman in Cabinet 3?” I nodded. “Are you family?” The man closed his eyes in pain. “I’m her brother. I’m a private investigator. I’ve been looking for her for three months… I never expected to find her here.” His name was Garrett. I’d seen that name in the news; he was Southwood’s most renowned forensic consultant, having solved many cold cases, but his sister’s disappearance had remained a mystery. Garrett followed me into the morgue. The moment the white sheet was pulled back, this six-foot-plus tough man instantly broke down, falling to his knees and wailing. “Lily… it’s my fault… I couldn’t protect you…” I stood by, watching his unbearable grief, and the impulse within me could no longer be suppressed. This was true love for the departed. Unlike my family, who met warnings of death with only disdain and curses. “Mr. Russell,” I said softly. “Your sister suffered greatly when she passed.” Garrett abruptly looked up at me, his eyes like a wounded beast. “How do you know? The coroner said she drowned…” “She told me she was held underwater until she drowned.” I met Garrett’s eyes, deciding to take a gamble. “The killer’s name is Nathaniel Carr. The evidence is in his fish tank—a ring.” 3. Garrett froze. Any normal person hearing such words would think I was a charlatan. But he didn’t. He stared intensely at me, as if grasping at a last straw. “Are you certain? Do you know what you’re saying? Nathaniel Carr is a rising star in Southwood’s business world. If you make false accusations, you’ll be legally responsible.” “I’m an embalmer.” I pointed to my ears. “I can hear the dead. Your sister said she was the ninth victim. If you don’t believe me, you can check Nathaniel Carr’s fish tank, or look into whether his previous girlfriends all mysteriously disappeared.” The air hung heavy for a full minute. Garrett suddenly stood up and bowed deeply to me. “I believe you.” His voice was hoarse yet firm. “For three months, I’ve investigated all of Lily’s social connections. The only one I couldn’t get a full background on was Nathaniel Carr. My gut told me he was suspicious, but I had no evidence, no direction. Ms. Clarke, thank you for giving me a lead.” He pulled a black business card from his coat and handed it to me. “Regardless of the outcome, I, Garrett Russell, won’t forget this. If he’s responsible for nine lives, it’s not just Lily. Ms. Clarke, you know this secret is dangerous. A man like Nathaniel Carr is very perceptive.” I offered a bitter smile. “My sister is getting engaged to him today.” Garrett’s expression instantly changed. “Then your sister is in great danger.” “I tried to warn her,” I said, lowering my gaze. “But she thinks I’m jealous, and my parents think I’m bad luck.” Garrett was silent for a moment, then retrieved a miniature tracking device from his car, designed to look like a simple brooch. “Wear this. If you’re in danger, press it, and no matter where you are, I’ll be there. You’ve brought peace to my sister’s restless spirit, which makes you my benefactor, Ms. Clarke. If your family doesn’t believe you, you can consider me your support.” In that moment, in the cold morgue, I felt a warmth I hadn’t experienced in a long time. My own parents considered me worthless, yet this man, a stranger I had just met, prioritized my safety. I accepted the brooch, looking at Garrett. “Mr. Russell, if you find evidence, could you please not make it public immediately? I want… I want my sister to see that man’s true colors.” “You want to save her?” Garrett asked. 4. I shook my head, remembering the teacup that had shattered at my feet last night. “I want to save myself. Only with Nathaniel Carr’s downfall can I shed the labels of ‘lunatic’ and ‘jealous freak.’ As for my sister… that’s the path she chose.” Half a month later, Stella and Nathaniel Carr’s wedding proceeded as scheduled. During that half-month, my family treated me like a thief, terrified I would disrupt the wedding. I, in turn, enjoyed the peace, moving into the mortuary’s staff dormitory, exchanging updates with Garrett daily. Garrett’s efficiency was astonishing. Instead of directly searching the fish tank, he followed the “ninth victim” lead, using his network to discreetly investigate Nathaniel Carr’s movements over the past decade. Sure enough, Nathaniel Carr would move to a new city every year or so, and around the time of his departure, young women would mysteriously disappear locally. While most bodies were never found or were ruled accidental, with the “core suspect” I provided, all the pieces of the puzzle began to fit. On the wedding day, Mom specifically called me. “Celeste, today is Stella’s big day. I know you’re feeling unbalanced, but you’re still her sister. You have to come today; we’re taking family photos. If you don’t, don’t ever call me your mother again!” I looked at myself in the mirror, dressed in a black business suit, and touched the brooch pinned to my collar. “Okay, I’ll be there.” I went, not for blessings, but to bear witness. To witness how this family, caught in a bubble of vanity, slowly descended into an abyss. The wedding was held at Southwood’s most luxurious five-star hotel. The moment I entered, I received countless strange glances. In a sea of guests adorned in evening gowns and glittering jewelry, my all-black attire stood out jarringly, almost as if I were attending a funeral. “Oh dear, is that the younger daughter from the Clarke family who works at the crematorium?” “So ill-mannered, dressed like that for a wedding. Isn’t she just trying to upset her sister?” “I heard she even spread rumors that the groom was a murderer. Clearly, something’s wrong with her head.” Stella, in a custom-made gown worth a fortune, clung to Nathaniel Carr’s arm, looking like a haughty queen. Seeing me, her smile faltered, then she adopted a magnanimous, forgiving expression, speaking into the microphone: “Thank you all for coming to my wedding. Although my sister, due to her work, has a rather… peculiar personality, and even some misunderstandings about me, I’m still very happy she could make it.” These words made her seem gracious while simultaneously confirming my supposed immaturity. Nathaniel Carr pushed his gold-rimmed glasses up, his gaze falling on me. That look—cold, slimy, like a snake crawling up my spine. He smiled as he walked towards me, raising a glass of wine: “Celeste, isn’t it? Stella tells me you have some ‘special’ thoughts about me? I hear… you can speak with the dead?” The surrounding guests erupted in laughter. Boom! The last thread in my mind snapped. I sharply looked at Stella, who stood not far away. She was looking over here with a shy, adoring expression, utterly oblivious that in her eagerness to please this man, she had revealed my professional habits and past warnings as amusing anecdotes to curry favor! She had personally handed my ace card into the devil’s grasp. Nathaniel Carr watched my pale face, the smile on his lips deepening. He gently tapped my rigid wine glass, producing a sharp clink, like the prelude to a death knell. “Don’t be nervous. I’m quite interested in ‘bodies’ myself. If the opportunity arises, I’d truly like to learn… how those speechless dead people manage to accuse you.” 5. I looked at him, unafraid. “Mr. Carr, the dead do speak. And not only do they speak, they also hold grudges.” Nathaniel Carr’s pupils constricted slightly, but his smile remained. “Oh? Then I’d truly like to hear it, given the chance.” “You will,” I said softly. “Soon.” Just then, Mom rushed over, tugged me aside, and hissed in a low voice, “You wretched girl, shut up! If you dare to say another word, I’ll tear your mouth off! Go sit in a corner quickly, don’t be an eyesore!” During the family photo segment, the photographer directed the positions. “Alright, bride and groom in the center, parents on either side, sister… sister, stand a bit to the side, a bit further.” I was pushed to the very edge, half my body out of frame. The moment the flash went off, I saw Nathaniel Carr’s hand resting on Stella’s waist, his long index finger gently tapping the lace of her wedding dress. It was his habitual motion when looking for where to strike. And Stella, her face beaming with happiness, was utterly unaware. After the photos, I skipped dinner and turned to leave. Just as I exited the banquet hall, I received a message from Garrett, with an attached image. It was the DNA comparison result from trace human tissue extracted from Nathaniel Carr’s villa’s drainage pipes. Along with a blurry photo, taken through a floor-to-ceiling window, of a shimmering object under the light at the bottom of the huge fish tank. The caption contained only four words: [The hunt begins.] I glanced back at the brilliantly lit banquet hall. Sister, your dream of marrying into wealth has come true. But your nightmare has only just begun. I took out my phone, cropped my half-body out of the family photo, then blocked Mom and Stella’s contact information. From today, I was the sole witness, and the cold, detached avenger. Since you chose not to believe me, you will bear the price of this “sweetness” yourselves. After leaving that nauseating wedding, my life paradoxically became incredibly peaceful. I blocked everyone in my family and moved into the single dormitory provided by the mortuary. Although it was only a small studio, without endless scolding or my sister’s condescending mockery, it was paradise to me. Garrett became a frequent visitor. He was no longer the disheveled, heavy-drinking man; he had shaved his beard, cut his hair short, and regained the sharp, decisive look he wore as a police consultant. But every time he came to see me, he would bring a hot breakfast or some strange but practical small gift, like pepper spray or a miniature voice recorder. “Morning.” Garrett placed a cup of hot soy milk on my desk, his gaze sweeping over the makeup kit I was organizing. “Work today?” “Yes, an elderly man who died in a car accident.” I put on my gloves, speaking calmly. “His family wants him to have a dignified farewell.” Garrett leaned against the door, quietly watching me work. He never seemed bothered by the smell, nor did he find my job gruesome. This silent companionship brought me an unprecedented sense of peace. When I finished suturing the old man’s wounds, and my fingers touched his cold earlobe, that familiar voice did not appear. The old man had passed away peacefully, with no last words. This, in my profession, was actually the norm. Demons like Nathaniel Carr, burdened with multiple lives, were ultimately a rarity. “By the way,” Garrett pulled a document from his coat and handed it to me. “This is what you asked for.” It contained Nathaniel Carr’s recent movements, and… screenshots from Stella’s social media. Since I had blocked them, Garrett had become my “eyes.” In the screenshots, Stella showcased the pristine blue waters of the Maldives, with the caption: “My husband says he wants to show me the whole world. This is what marrying for love looks like.” Below were Mom and Dad’s comments: “Our daughter is so happy! Your mom is envious!” And various other relatives’ praises. Garrett let out a cold laugh, tapping his finger on the desk. “The photos are edited. Nathaniel Carr never took her out of the country; they’ve been at his villa in Southwood. He restricted her from traveling, using the excuse of a company IPO audit, claiming her passport was confiscated.”

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After my husband died, I saw the comments: [The male lead faked his death to test the second female lead.] [The second female lead will soon be unable to stand the loneliness and cheat, and the male lead will be the female lead’s, darling!] [I can’t wait to see the second female lead outside, drenched in rain, begging the male lead not to leave her, only to discover the female lead inside, playfully begging him to stop kissing her. So satisfying!] I was utterly wronged and swore I would never waver. But on the day of the funeral, my idol appeared. He held an umbrella for me, his voice a low murmur: ” Scarlett, my brother is gone, but you still have me.” Wait, is this a test? 1. I went to a fortune teller. The fortune teller said, “You are destined for two husbands. This current one is not the one you truly love.” “Nonsense!” I snapped, furious. A shadow enveloped me from behind. A long, slender, bony hand reached over and snatched the fortune stick from my grasp. I turned, meeting John’s eyes. “Darling, don’t believe it.” He smiled ever so faintly, absently turning the fortune stick in his fingers. His face was devoid of expression. I knew he didn’t care. His marriage to me was merely a compromise. Many pursued him; given his stature, he could find someone better if he left me. I was simply the one who pursued him the longest. If he couldn’t marry the one he loved most, he’d marry the one who loved him most. I just didn’t expect him to settle the score with me in bed that night. There was none of his usual tenderness. His advances were fierce, utterly beastly. I knew that arrogant expression all too well. He didn’t love me all that much, but I was only allowed to love him. “John,” I softened, “I only love you.” I swore repeatedly that I would love him for as long as he lived. He asked, “What if I die?” I paused, “…I’d still love you.” He caught the few seconds of hesitation in my voice. One eyebrow arched. My foot, which had been idly kicking his chest, instinctively recoiled, but he seized my ankle tightly. He said, “Scarlett, if I die, you can only love me.” Deep in the night, John, clad only in trousers, leaned against the window sill, legs crossed, a cigarette dangling from his lips as he answered his phone. “The news of your faked death will be out tomorrow.” The person on the other end gave him instructions: “You’ll stay on the island for six months. Once the mole here is caught, you can return.” John grunted vaguely. The person asked again, “Are you really not going to tell your wife you’re faking your death?” John wasn’t telling me, both for work and to make a gamble. When John was seven, his mother ran off with another man, taking his younger brother but leaving him behind. He loathed betrayal. He wanted to bet on whether I would truly remain faithful, only then would he fully accept me. “Did you find anything?” he asked the person on the other end. “Followed her for half a month,” the person said. “Your wife has no other men.” “Always from home to work and back, she’s a steady woman.” “Honestly, everyone knows she loves you most,” the person couldn’t resist quipping. “John, are you really worried she’ll go looking for someone else if she thinks you’re dead?” “Let her, if she wants to.” He scoffed, dismissing it. “She’s not the only one who wanted to marry me.” John hung up, unconsciously feeling the fortune stick in his pocket. He clenched it in his palm, staring for a few seconds. He ruffled his hair in annoyance, then slightly tilted his head to glance at me, sleeping soundly in the room. With a backhand, he tossed it into the trash can. The next day was our anniversary. I waited for him at home all day, only to receive news of his death. I listened numbly as people around me spoke of an incident during a mission. I returned home alone, seeing his black coat, worn just last night, draped over the sofa. I picked it up, intending to wash it, but then realized there was no longer any need. The realization brought with it a suffocating heartache that spread from my icy neck to my fingertips. I clutched his coat, unable to recover for a long time. Until the day of the funeral. I saw the scrolling text: [Here it comes, here it comes! The male lead faked his death to test the second female lead.] [The second female lead will soon be unable to stand the loneliness and cheat, and the male lead will be the female lead’s, darling!] [The stupid second female lead can’t resist temptation, thinking she’s found a treasure, but when the male lead returns, she’ll regret it terribly.] [The female lead is completely the male lead’s ideal type. They’ll fall in love on the island over time. The male lead is stubborn but can’t resist!] [The second female lead fawned for so many years, and the female lead gets everything just by standing there!] [I can’t wait to see the second female lead outside, drenched in rain, begging the male lead not to leave her, only to discover the female lead inside, playfully begging him to stop kissing her. So satisfying!] I looked at the comments, finding them ridiculous and deeply unfair. So, I was the second female lead. No wonder no matter how good I was to John, I could never warm him up. But I couldn’t accept that I would cheat! And the comments even said I cheated at the funeral. God as my witness. I was a respectable, honest woman; how could I possibly betray my husband before his memorial week was even over?! The most infuriating part was that, looking around, no one at the funeral was as handsome as John! We simps only simp because we’re obsessed with good looks! [It’s hilarious to think that the second female lead will wake up every morning to that ugly man’s face.] [No wonder she’s unwilling, but what good is it? The hot guy is the female lead’s.] [Wait, who’s that handsome man?] [Oh my god, what long legs!] I looked up. Amidst the bowing mourners, through the swirling incense smoke, a resolute, handsome face stood out. After offering three sticks of incense, the crowd parted. A fine mist of rain fell, and he approached me, holding a black umbrella. He stood before me, his voice a low murmur: “Scarlett.” “My brother is gone, but you still have me.” A few steps behind him hung his brother’s newly placed black-and-white portrait. 2. Felix. My idol. The singer I had loved for ten years. In high school, I used to secretly listen to his songs under the covers of my dorm bed to fall asleep. In my most sacrilegious dreams, I dared not even imagine his face. Now, he was less than half a meter from me. “This is John’s younger brother.” Someone beside me whispered that he was the brother John’s mother had taken away, the brother John despised most. That’s why, in all our years of marriage, I had never met him. I was Felix’s sister-in-law. … In a fleeting few seconds, my mind raced with thoughts like: Even though I know my idol will eventually date, if he actually does, I’ll want to die, hating any sister-in-law flaunting herself in front of me. What? You say I’m the sister-in-law? Heh heh, I’m the sister-in-law. No, no, not that kind of sister-in-law. Dammit. I was flustered and nervous, my throat tightening as I faced my idol’s close-up face, losing my voice entirely. But I couldn’t let the moment drop. I had to greet him, I had to— “A-quack.” My constricted throat ultimately produced a duck-like squawk. So embarrassing. I wanted to faint on the spot. But I was just the second female lead, and my body was robust. Ten minutes later, I found an undisturbed, dim corner in the stairwell to wallow in self-pity. “Have you seen Scarlett? Felix is looking for her.” Outside, two of John’s relatives passed by, their voices growing closer. “Hey, I heard John didn’t leave Scarlett a penny?” “That’s right, a man’s money is where his heart is. That gold-digger ended up with nothing.” “Don’t say that, I think Scarlett is a good, honest girl too. Her eyes are all red from crying.” The footsteps faded. The comments on screen still flashed scenes from the island: [Ahhh, the male and female leads met!] [What does it mean that the male lead keeps staring at the female lead?] [The male lead’s dog likes the female lead. Dogs are more honest than people!] I took a deep breath, twisted the doorknob, and prepared to go home. The moment I opened the door, a force pulled me back. The person let go and looked down at me. “Found you.” In the narrow stairwell, the door was half-open, pushed by the wind, letting in only a small corner of light. “Are you hiding from me?” Felix’s face was obscured in the darkness, his voice growing clearer. “Do you hate me, like my brother does?” I took half a step back and shook my head. “I don’t hate you.” Heaven knows I found it hard to breathe just looking at his face. But then, he was even taller than his brother, completely blocking me, leaving me nowhere to hide. He asked, “Then… do you like me?” Someone passed by, and the door was pushed open a bit further by the airflow. I instinctively recoiled deeper inside. He was amused by my action, raising a hand to block the draft for me. When the person outside left, light streamed back in, and I saw his dark, warm eyes. “Do you remember me?” he asked. “We were in the same class in freshman year of high school.” Felix’s name permeated my entire school life. He transferred schools and debuted in his sophomore year of high school. He became famous overnight, winning countless awards. The year of the college entrance exam, I struggled to get into a regular university. On the first day of orientation, my roommate lay in bed talking about her favorite singer named Felix. Later, after graduating college, my roommate had stopped following celebrities, but I was still listening to his music. Tickets to Felix’s concerts sold out in seconds. The one time I finally managed to snatch a ticket, I was called back to the office for urgent overtime. I couldn’t help but cry at my desk. I thought, I’m not sad because I can’t go. It’s because in that moment, I clearly realized that he and I lived in two different worlds. I might never meet him in this lifetime. “I remember.” I looked up at him. “It’s quite a coincidence. I didn’t expect you to remember me, and even less that we’d become relatives.” I tried to keep my voice from trembling. “Who would have thought I’d see you again, sitting at the same table at my husband’s funeral?” He heard me call his brother my husband, saw my red-rimmed eyes. He remembered this was his brother’s funeral. “Oh.” He turned sideways, creating a bit of distance between us. Fine raindrops, mixed with a diagonal wind, slapped against the door, chilling my exposed forearms. He had briefly touched me there just moments ago. “My brother was quite unfair.” He didn’t look at me. “How could he do that to you?” Felix had been famous for years, low-key, without scandals, and always maintained a good reputation. Even years later, at a class reunion, someone would say, “I was being harassed by some guys from outside school, and Felix, who I’d barely spoken to, silently called the police and helped fight them off.” “He’s truly a good person.” I thought, Felix must be a kind-hearted person. That’s why, with that face that made my imagination run wild, he looked at me with an earnest, gentle expression and asked: “What do you want?” “As my brother’s family, I will compensate you.” I was truly terrible. In that moment, I clearly realized I was a villainous second female lead. My mind was filled with: If he slept with me, would it be like sleeping with a fan? Would it affect his career? Maybe not. Control yourself! I lowered my head and said, “No, thank you.” But then, his deep voice asked again, “Are you really sure?” “No, thanks. You don’t owe me anything.” “Oh.” Tree shadows swayed outside the window, and the door was fully blown open by the wind. Someone outside the stairwell was looking for me. I turned to leave. He watched me go, then leisurely said, “Scarlett.” “Then can I ask for some compensation?” Confused, I turned to look at him. “What?” “Marry me.” He said, “I’ll take care of you on his behalf.” 3. Felix and I returned to the wake one after the other. People around us ate, some glancing my way, continuing their previous conversation. “Do you think John will regret it?” “Regret what?” “If he’d known life was so short, he should have married someone he truly loved, not the one in front of him.” Someone subtly hinted for him to stop, but couldn’t resist scrutinizing my expression. [The second female lead doesn’t know yet, does she? The female lead just ignored the male lead slightly, and he’s already getting uncomfortable.] [The second female lead is currently scouting for an affair partner. Wonder which ugly guy she’ll pick.] [When the male lead returns, won’t he be furious comparing them?] [Who told her to cheat?] The comments scrolled, and people around me whispered. I should have been devastated. But now, staring at John’s portrait on the wall, I had only one thought: Marry my idol? Is this a test? Oh. Oh. Oh. It had to be this way. I couldn’t help it. I raised my hands to my face and began to cry. The more I cried, the more my mouth twitched at the corners. What else could I do? I was merely a morally corrupt second female lead, incapable of resisting temptation. Darling, you’re gone. And my wish came true. The people who had been whispering saw how pitifully I cried and couldn’t bear to mock me further. In the corner, the person who had called John that night watched my reaction and sighed. He took out his phone and sent a message to an unknown number: “John, don’t play too hard.” “Scarlett loves you so much; she almost cried herself speechless at the funeral today.” A few seconds later, the reply came: “Got it.” “I’ll just sweet-talk her when I get back.” 4. Six months later, John was preparing to return. The mole was dealt with. Everyone knew he wasn’t dead. But he waited all night and received no call from me. “Your wife must be mad, she cried so much at the funeral.” His brother urged him to call me. But he wouldn’t. He was accustomed to me being the one to give in. “Spoiled her too much. She can call or not.” However, he didn’t expect me not to meet him at the airport. I used to go, even in the middle of the night. He waited for half an hour at the airport, watching the comings and goings, but I wasn’t there. He clutched the gift he bought for me, an inexplicable irritation bubbling up. “Home.” The driver asked, “Which home?” John raised an eyebrow. “Wherever my wife is, that’s where I’m going.” The driver paused, then hesitantly said, “Madam has already moved out.” He frowned. “Moved where?” The driver gave an address. Five minutes of dead silence in the car. John let out a soft chuckle. He leaned back casually in the seat, his eyes cold, dark, and subtly mocking, but the amusement didn’t reach them. “Why are you giving me Felix’s address?” The driver blinked, reminding him: “You told us to kick Madam out. She had nowhere to go.” John’s eyes darkened slightly. He knew it was indeed too much to leave me no money and no house. But he insisted on using this to ward off anyone who might try to approach me during those six months. How could an ordinary woman like me, without money, attract anyone to sleep with a widow? The comments exploded with excitement: [Serves the second female lead right! I’ve been annoyed at her spending the male lead’s money for ages!] [Never mind the second female lead, what’s up with the male lead? What happened to falling in love over time?] [On the island, the female lead almost fell for the male lead’s dog and still couldn’t get a word in with the male lead.] [Instead, the male lead kept staring at the female lead, actually thinking she was trying to steal his dog.] [But the male lead is definitely not used to the female lead ignoring him.] [That’s his dog that’s not used to it. The female lead stopped bringing food, so the dog has to eat the male lead’s awful cooking. The male lead has no doubt about his own culinary skills, only that the female lead wants to steal his dog.] [On the island, besides protecting his dog from the female lead, the male lead was just flipping through the calendar every day, waiting to see his wife. He finally came back, and his wife ran off with someone else.] [There’s still hope! The male lead found out the second female lead cheated, so the female lead, darling, has a chance!] The luxury car pulled into Felix’s garage, and John went upstairs. The door was ajar; he slipped in sideways. This feeling of sneaking around made him inexplicably annoyed. He was here to find his wife. But the thought of catching her cheating plagued him, doubling his irritation. The master bedroom was empty. As he expected, Felix himself hadn’t even lived in this apartment. My suitcase was in the guest bedroom. He looked up and saw a brand-new men’s shirt on the table, with a half-written greeting card beside it: “Happy Anniversary, John—” He remembered that day he decided to trick me, so he hadn’t received an anniversary gift. But this shirt looked like something Felix would wear. Too youthful a style. He had always been dismissive of the things I gave him, mocking my taste, calling them cheap junk. But when I pushed open the guest room door, I saw that “junk” on him. John leaned against the window, and the first thing he asked me was, “Why didn’t you come to pick me up?” He and Felix did resemble each other, but their temperaments were strikingly different. When I first met John on our blind date, I instantly fell for him. But now, that face didn’t attract me as much anymore. I dodged his hand. He froze. Before, whenever he returned from a mission, I would always excitedly rush to hug him, and he would always wear a disgusted expression. Now I was avoiding him. “Mad?” “Didn’t I come back?” I pulled my hand away. “Give me back the shirt.” He wouldn’t let me dodge, gripping my wrist tightly, his tone turning cold. “That’s enough.” I said, “It’s not for you. I bought it for someone else.” The room was silent for a moment. He gave a soft chuckle, but his eyes were mixed with frost. “Who did you buy it for?” “I’ve only been dead for half a year, and you’re already buying clothes for other men?” I said, “When you died, I became single. I wanted to buy it the day of the funeral.” His mouth twisted. “You didn’t even wait for the memorial week. You’re something else.” John turned to leave. “Hey—” He paused, then heard me say, “My clothes.” His face darkened further, and he laughed, infuriated. He slowly undressed, revealing his sculpted abs. I turned my face away. He seized my hand, and the more I struggled, the tighter he held, forcibly pressing my hand against his firm muscles. “Do you touch others like this too?” With that, he disgustedly flung my hand away. “You sicken me.” He smiled like a bastard: “I’m incredibly glad that no matter how long you tried, you never made me fall in love with you.” “With your terrible taste, just like you, who’d want it?” He threw the changed clothes at me and slammed the door as he left. After that day, John never contacted me again. I heard he threw several parties to celebrate getting rid of me. Before, I used to try to control him; his popularity made me insecure. But the more I tried, the more he went out. He never comforted me when I was jealous. He even deliberately played mean, half-joking, half-serious, saying he’d seen too many women prettier than me, that I didn’t even rank with him. “Can you control me? Jealousy is useless.” Good thing, I wasn’t trying to control him anymore. John, who rarely posted on social media, posted a photo of himself eating at home, a party of over a dozen people. The girl holding a small dog behind him was exceptionally pretty. [Tears in my eyes, the female lead finally got into a group photo.] [Finally, the second female lead gets to see a photo of the male and female leads. Regret it now!] [Does anyone know who the second female lead cheated with? Is he so ugly he doesn’t even have a name, haha?] [Second female lead, just disappear. Does she think the male lead will still look back?] A few days later, I ran into John at a private club. He was in the private room next door. Amidst the clinking glasses, I avoided his gaze, and he didn’t spare me a single glance either. Men, when they fall out of love, truly move on quickly. That’s for the best. I just didn’t expect to run into him again at the restroom entrance. He leaned against the wall, dressed in a black silk shirt, a trench coat draped over his arm, his expression cool and nonchalant. Like he was waiting for a lady. He watched me go in, saying nothing. When I came out, he was still standing there. I walked straight past him. He let out a faint scoff. A long, slender hand gripped the back of my neck, pulling me back with a sudden force. Behind me was another dark, empty private room. He ignored my struggles, slamming the door shut with a “thud” that made me jump. He lowered his head, pressing against me with extreme aggression, grinding his lips against mine. I dodged, he pursued. The more I struggled, the more he recklessly tried to mold me into his body. His Adam’s apple bobbed; he had been holding back for a long time. There was a sense that he wanted to suffocate me, then suffocate himself. This was the real him, a total jerk. Blood seeped from his lips, his breathing was ragged, the corners of his eyes flushed. He raised a hand to wipe my mouth. His voice was low, hoarse, and chilling: “I forgive you for cheating.” “Tell me, who is that shameless mistress?” I glared at him. “He’s not a mistress.” John froze slightly; he was familiar with this expression of mine. It was the expression I used to instinctively protect him in front of outsiders. It belonged only to him. Now, he was the outsider. John’s heart gave a jolt, and he laughed, infuriated: “Is he worth defending so fiercely?” “Did my kiss feel better, or his?” Although I had never kissed Felix, I answered without hesitation: “His!” John’s face instantly became cold and sharp. “Don’t mention him!” I sneered, “You’re the one who asked.” Before I could finish, he grabbed my jaw and kissed me again. I slapped him hard. He was stunned. He knew I loved his face most. “You’re my wife,” his voice held an unmistakable note of grievance. “He seduced you, what else is he if not a mistress?” “I’m not your wife anymore. I’ve remarried.” I said, word by word, “You’re the one acting like a mistress.”

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After Luna died, Damon hated me for four years. So, when I was reborn back to the night of the fire, I deliberately stepped deeper into the choking smoke, calling out to my husband, the Special Operations Fire Captain: “Don’t look for me. Save Luna first.” In my previous life, Luna, my best friend, and I were trapped on different floors of the towering inferno. As the blaze raged, Damon only had time to save one person. He rushed to me. I was carried out of the burning building, unharmed, but Luna was incinerated alive on the twenty-third floor. Damon, once an elite firefighter, developed pyrophobia, a crippling fear of fire, and could never again step into a burning building. Then, on New Year’s Eve, he smiled as he tied a crimson string bracelet around my wrist. I thought he had finally moved past it, but the string had been soaked in an accelerant. As the fireworks ignited my wrist, I asked him why. Damon only stared at the flames licking my skin, his eyes reflecting a cold, dead light. “Luna burned to death. Why do you get to live, completely untouched?” I opened my eyes again, back to the moment the fire alarm blared. 1 “Damon! Trapped civilians on the seventeenth and twenty-third floors! The fire is spreading upwards!” The dispatcher’s voice crackled, hoarse with urgency through the walkie-talkie. Thick smoke billowed, turning the entire high-rise into a dying beast, groaning with the metallic shriek of twisting steel. Damon turned back to look at me, his eyes bloodshot. I stood at the end of a corridor on the seventeenth floor, behind me a fire door already scorched through. In the last life, he hadn’t said a word. He’d just charged forward, slung me over his shoulder, and carried me out. Luna, on the twenty-third floor, had screamed for forty-seven minutes, unanswered. The autopsy report later read: “Ninety percent full-body burns, found in a curled, self-protective posture.” Damon hadn’t spoken for three days after reading that report. From then on, he never looked me in the eye again. This time, I wouldn’t let him make that choice. “Damon, go to the twenty-third floor first. Save Luna.” He froze. “I’m fine. This floor still has a buffer zone. I can hold on.” “You…” “That’s an order.” I offered him a small, wry smile. “Captain’s wife’s orders – still good?” Damon’s Adam’s apple bobbed. He wanted to say something, but another urgent call came over the radio. “Twenty-third floor civilian in distress, suspected heavy smoke inhalation!” Damon clenched his jaw, then finally turned and sprinted towards the emergency stairwell. The moment his silhouette vanished into the smoke, I took two steps back. The floorboards beneath my feet were already soft and scalding. Leaning against the wall, I doused my wet towel with more water, clamped it over my mouth and nose, and crouched down. Last time, I’d emerged without a scratch. This time, I likely wouldn’t be so lucky. It didn’t matter. The crimson string burning through my wrist in the last life had hurt far more than this. The smoke grew thicker, my consciousness blurring. The last voice I heard wasn’t Damon’s. It was an unfamiliar, raspy male voice. “Seventeenth floor, trapped civilian found! Female, disoriented, extensive burns to face and arms!” Someone lifted me from the floor. The rough fabric of a protective suit brushed against my face. Dazedly, I opened my eyes and saw a face mostly obscured by a mask. Not Damon. The man looked down at me, his voice steady. “Don’t move. I’ll get you out.” I lost consciousness amidst violent jolts. When I woke again, I was on an emergency stretcher. An oxygen mask covered my mouth and nose, and a tearing pain flared in my right arm. I turned my head and saw another stretcher nearby. Luna lay on it, only faint smudges of smoke on her face. She was alive. Damon stood by her stretcher, one hand still gripping her wrist, as if checking her pulse. I couldn’t clearly see his expression, but his back was to me. Just like in the last life. No, in the last life, his back had been to Luna’s corpse. Suddenly, the burns on my arm didn’t hurt so much anymore. The firefighter who’d rescued me removed his mask and knelt by my stretcher, filling out an injury report. His face was mostly smudged with ash, revealing only his eyes. “Name?” he asked. “Audrey.” He paused his pen, glanced towards Damon, then back at me. Without a word, he resumed writing. His name tag read “Lucas.” The lights in the ICU were blindingly white. I spent eleven days in the burn unit, undergoing two skin graft surgeries on my right arm and back. Damon visited three times. The first time was to sign off on the surgery; his hand trembled as he wrote his name. The second time, he dropped off a bag of clean clothes, leaving them on the nightstand before walking out. The third was the day my bandages were removed. He stood at the doorway of my room, his gaze lingering on the winding scars on my arm. His lips moved, but he ultimately only managed to say, “I’m stepping out to take a call.” He never came back. Luna, on the other hand, was a frequent visitor. She was discharged on the third day and came to see me daily thereafter, carrying flowers and fruit, her eyes red-rimmed. “Audrey, I’m so sorry, it’s all because of me…” “You’re so hurt, I feel incredibly guilty…” “Did Damon… did he only save me because you told him to?” As she spoke, her tears fell in perfectly spaced drops. I used to think Luna’s crying was beautiful. Now, looking at it, each tear seemed precisely measured. “It’s okay. We’re sisters. Your safety is what matters,” I said. She lunged to hug me, directly pressing against the fresh skin graft on my back. I gasped in pain. She immediately pulled back, her face a picture of alarm. “Oh my goodness, I forgot about your back!” But the speed with which she withdrew her hand was half a second faster than her apology. This was a detail I wouldn’t have noticed in my last life. This time, I saw it clearly. That afternoon, Damon came to pick up Luna. He said he was “passing by,” but the hospital was in the east of the city, our home in the west, and the fire station in the north. Three different directions, not a single one “on the way.” As Luna left, she glanced back at me, then naturally slipped her hand onto Damon’s forearm. “Captain Reid, I’ve been having terrible nightmares lately, dreaming of the fire…” Damon didn’t shake her off. He turned his head slightly to look at her, saying, “It’ll get better. Try to rest.” He had never spoken to me in that tone. I looked down at my bandaged arm, and a small smile touched my lips. Just then, Lucas came in for a follow-up. He pushed the door open and paused when he saw me smiling alone at the ceiling. “Any discomfort from the wound?” “No.” He flipped through my medical chart at the foot of the bed, frowning slightly. “There’s a risk of infection in the grafted area. Dressing changes cannot be missed these next few days.” “I know.” “Your husband?” “Busy.” Lucas didn’t ask further, putting down the chart and turning to leave. He stopped at the doorway. “Family signature is required. If he’s busy, you can find me for the next dressing change.” “You’re a firefighter, not a doctor.” “But I’m the one who carried you out of the seventeenth floor.” He didn’t turn back. “See things through.” The door closed. Silence returned to the room. I slowly tightened my grip on the bedsheet. That night, after the nurse’s rounds, I opened my phone and found a post on social media. Luna had just posted it. The accompanying picture was a bouquet of white roses, geotagged to this hospital. The caption read: “After surviving the ordeal, grateful for everyone who fought to pull me through.” The first comment below was a like from Damon. The second was from an unfamiliar account, leaving a message: “Luna, you’re so brave.” Luna replied with a hugging emoji. I put my phone face down on the bed and closed my eyes. Good. The drama of this life was unfolding even faster than the last. On the day of my discharge, Damon came to pick me up. The car was quiet; he didn’t say a word the entire drive. It wasn’t until the car pulled into the neighborhood parking garage that he spoke, his voice muffled. “Why did you tell me to save her first?” My hand, clutching my discharge bag, paused. “Because she was on the twenty-third floor, six levels higher than me, and in greater danger.” “But you almost died in there.” I looked at his profile, unable to tell if his words held concern or accusation. “But she lived, didn’t she?” I pushed open the car door. “And you didn’t become a broken firefighter.” He whipped his head around to look at me, his gaze complex. I didn’t explain, taking my things and heading upstairs on my own. In the days that followed, I used my recovery as an excuse to cut back on all social engagements. But Luna wouldn’t leave me in peace. She came to the house two or three times a week, bringing soup and dishes, portraying herself as the most dedicated best friend in the world. Each visit, she would subtly bring up Damon. “Audrey, Damon’s under so much pressure lately. You should pay more attention to him.” “I heard he was criticized by the higher-ups because of the fire. There’s an investigation into the collapse of the fire escape.” “When he saved me that day, he carried me down four flights of stairs… he truly fought so hard.” Every one of her sentences emphasized the same thing: Damon had fought for her life. I listened with a smile, pouring her a cup of tea. That night, I found Damon’s work phone. He never took this phone on missions, and the password was still our wedding anniversary. Luna was pinned at the top of his messages. The most recent chat history began the day after the fire. Luna: “Captain Reid, I had nightmares again tonight. I dreamt I was trapped in the fire, unable to escape.” Damon: “Don’t be scared. That fire is out.” Luna: “But every time I close my eyes, I see the flames. I’m so afraid.” Damon: “Would you like me to recommend a therapist?” Luna: “No, just talking to you makes me feel better. You’re the one who saved me. Hearing your voice makes me feel safe.” I scrolled down, message by message. The conversations grew longer, more frequent. They talked about nightmares, childhood, work, and life. The patience and tenderness Damon displayed in these messages were something I had never witnessed from him. I scrolled to the latest message. It was a voice note from Luna. I tapped it. Her voice was soft, gentle, with a hint of deliberate tremor. “Captain Reid, Audrey is truly so brave. She told you to save me first… But sometimes I wonder, if you had gone to the seventeenth floor first that day, maybe she wouldn’t have been hurt?” Damon replied with four words: “Don’t overthink it.” But he didn’t say, “I should have saved her first.” I turned off my phone and put it back where I found it. The next day, I invited Luna for coffee. I chose a window seat, where the sunlight perfectly illuminated her face. She wore light makeup, her complexion healthy, not at all like someone tormented by nightmares. Halfway through our conversation, she took a call and walked to the entrance. Through the glass, I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but when she returned after hanging up, her expression seemed off. I pretended not to notice, stirring my coffee. She sat down, silent for a few seconds. Then, she looked up and spoke in a tone I had never heard from her before. “Audrey, you don’t have to work so hard.” “What do you mean?” “The situation between you and Damon… you don’t have to force it.” She took my hand, her fingertips cool. “You deserve better.” The words sounded like concern. But the fleeting something in her eyes wasn’t. I lightly patted her palm. “Thank you, Luna.” When I got home, I made a call. “Is this the Fire Department Headquarters? I’d like to obtain the accident investigation report for last month’s commercial building fire.” Lucas helped me get the report. He didn’t ask why I wanted to see it, simply handed me a manila envelope. “Are you sure you want to look?” “Yes.” “Some things, once seen, you can’t unsee.” I met his gaze. His expression was calm, but as he spoke, his eyes lingered on my face for a second, as if to confirm I was ready. I tore open the envelope and flipped to the fire cause analysis page. Origin: Twenty-third floor, unit 2307, east storage room. Cause: Initially determined to be a short circuit from aging electrical wiring. I continued reading. In the on-site investigation remarks, there was a handwritten line: “Trace amounts of unusual chemical residue detected in unit 2307 storage room; components await further analysis.” My finger stopped on that line. Unit 2307. That was next to the conference room where Luna had her meeting that night. I kept flipping and found the attached chemical analysis report. Residue components: High-concentration isopropyl alcohol mixed with paraffin-based accelerant. This was not something aging electrical wiring would produce. This was human-made. A sudden image flashed in my mind. New Year’s Eve, last life. When Damon tied the crimson string on me, there was a faint, sweet smell in the air. I’d thought it was the scent of fireworks. Now, I realized it was the distinctive smell of paraffin-based accelerant when heated. I closed my eyes, forcing myself to calm down. A thought formed, absurd and terrifying, yet utterly clear. That crimson string in the last life wasn’t Damon’s own preparation. A week before New Year’s, I’d seen an unmarked small package in the courier locker outside our home. When Damon opened it, I’d glimpsed it – a red braided string bracelet with an attached card. I hadn’t paid attention to the handwriting on the card then. But now, recalling it, it was Luna’s handwriting. Rounded, with a little flourish on the tails of the letters. I recognized it. She used that same script every time she wrote me a birthday card in college. The crimson string was sent by Luna. The accelerant was soaked by Luna. And that fire, the one that gave Damon pyrophobia, the one that made him hate me for four years— It was also started by Luna. I snapped my eyes open. The chemical analysis report before me contained cold, precise data. The same formula as the crimson string that had burned through my wrist in the last life. The sunlight outside was blinding. I slowly closed the report, my fingertips tracing the paper. No trembling. In the last life, Damon asked me, “Why do you get to live, completely untouched?” Wrong. From beginning to end, the one who wanted me dead wasn’t him. He was merely a sharpened blade. And the one who handed him the blade was Luna, the woman I’d called my best friend for twelve years. I put the report back into the envelope and took out my phone. Scrolling through my contacts to Luna’s name, the profile picture was an old photo of us from college. She had her arm around my shoulder, smiling brightly. I stared at that smiling face for a long time. Then I exited the contacts and opened a new memo. The title read: “Evidence Chain.” I didn’t tip my hand. For the next two weeks, I acted more subdued, more silent than before. In front of Damon, I was a wife self-conscious about her scars. In front of Luna, I was a poor soul gradually losing faith in her marriage. They both bought it. Because that’s exactly what they expected to see. Wednesday afternoon, I placed a divorce agreement on the dining table. When Damon came home and saw it, his car keys dropped to the floor. “What does this mean?” “It means exactly what it says.” I leaned against the kitchen doorway, my voice flat. “Just sign it.” He picked up the keys and walked over. “Audrey, can you please not be like this?” “I’m not.” “Then tell me what’s wrong?” I looked at him, and a sudden urge to laugh welled up. I’d asked him the same question in my last life. He’d answered me with a crimson string soaked in accelerant. “Damon, have you ever considered something?” I said. “After that fire, you saved Luna, but I was disfigured. Did you secretly feel a sense of relief?” “What are you talking about?!” “I’m not talking nonsense.” I unbuttoned my cuff, revealing the still-healing scar on my arm. “Every time you see this, you look away.” His gaze indeed shifted. Even if it was subconscious, he didn’t realize it himself. “I don’t want to make things difficult for you anymore.” I pulled my sleeve back down. “I haven’t asked for anything in the agreement that isn’t mine. Just sign it.” I turned and started towards the bedroom. He suddenly grabbed my wrist from behind. My right wrist. The place where the crimson string had burned in my last life. My entire body stiffened as if electrocuted. That memory of pain was too deep, so deep that even across a lifetime, it made me instinctively tremble. Damon felt my trembling and let go. “Audrey…” “Don’t touch there.” My voice was hoarser than I expected. “You can’t touch there.” He didn’t understand why I reacted so strongly to my wrist—there were no burns there. But he didn’t know what happened in the last life. He wouldn’t know in this one. I closed the bedroom door, leaned against it, and slid to the floor. It took a long time to steady my breathing. My phone lit up. Luna’s message. “Audrey, how have you been lately? Captain Reid said you’re not doing well, I’m so worried.” I stared at the screen. Damon had told her about our impending divorce. How interesting. Having an argument with his wife, his first confidante was another woman. It was just like that in the last life. Step by step, she had transformed herself into an indispensable part of his life. And I, from wife, became enemy. I replied: “I’m fine, just the wound hurts a bit, being dramatic.” Luna instantly replied: “You’re not dramatic at all! You suffered such a terrible injury, it’s normal to have emotions. How about I come over and keep you company soon?” I typed: “Sounds good, I actually have some things I want to talk to you about.” After sending that message, I opened my memo. Seven items were already listed under “Evidence Chain.” But it wasn’t enough. I needed concrete proof. Ironclad evidence that would leave her no room to maneuver. I started digging into Luna’s past. It was easier than I expected. Because she never imagined anyone would investigate.

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At dinner, I had just cut into my chicken leg when my brother suddenly pointed at my nose and yelled: “What gives you the right to eat my chicken leg?! You’re a girl—you don’t deserve the chicken leg!” Without thinking, I kicked out. He went flying, chair and all, crashing to the floor. Mom and Dad dropped their forks in shock. Before Riley could get up, I planted my foot on his chest. Pinned to the ground, he stared up at me, stunned silent. “Where did you learn to talk like that?” His mouth opened, but no sound came out. I pressed down harder with my foot.”Who taught you that?” Riley burst into tears, sobbing hysterically. “I was wrong! I was wrong!” I didn’t move my foot, staring down at him. “Say it!” Riley’s legs kicked wildly as he choked on his sobs. “Derek Walsh… Marcus and Jason… they all said…” “Said what?” Riley went silent. I applied more pressure. “I’ll tell you!” he wailed. “They said I was pathetic, worse than a girl, that only a worthless loser would let his own sister boss him around, that I wasn’t a real man…” I slowly lifted my foot. The room went quiet for a few seconds. Mom stood nearby, still holding the broom she’d grabbed to clean up the mess, her eyes suddenly welling with tears. Dad walked over and crouched in front of Riley. “Riley, tell Dad—how do they treat you normally?” Riley sniffled, too scared to speak. Dad didn’t push, just stayed crouched there, waiting. “…They push me around,” Riley finally said, covering his face, voice barely above a whisper. “They say I’m so useless I must be a girl, so when I use the bathroom they block the door and won’t let me out. They like to pull down my pants and laugh at me… Derek makes me do his homework, or else he beats me up… I… I can’t fight them… I’m sorry…” Mom lifted Riley up tenderly, wiping his tears. Dad stood, his face dark with anger. “Tomorrow I’m going to your school to talk to your homeroom teacher.” Riley froze, tears streaming down his face again. “But Riley,” Dad looked at him, “there’s something you need to understand.” Riley sniffed, looking at Dad in confusion. “How other families live is their business. In our family, if Madison wants to eat chicken, she eats chicken. If you want chicken, you eat chicken. It has nothing to do with whether you’re a boy or a girl. Understand?” Riley nodded, then shook his head. “But… but they all say…” Mom wiped away his fresh tears, saying gently: “What other people say isn’t always right. I know a bit about Derek’s family—he has three older sisters and him, and those sisters are treated worse than animals. That family isn’t normal. In a normal family, all children are equal, regardless of gender. Got it?” Riley nodded obediently. I turned back to the table, picked up the chicken leg, and bit into it without expression. Riley shuffled over to my side, eyes still red, carefully tugging at the corner of my shirt. “Madison… I was wrong.” I didn’t respond. His voice got smaller, tearful. “I shouldn’t have said those things to you… I shouldn’t have just listened to what other people said. I’m sorry…” I chewed my rice and gave a noncommittal “Mm.” He suddenly ran back to his room, returning moments later clutching an action figure—a birthday present I’d saved up six months of allowance to buy him. He placed it beside my hand. “Madison, here—you can have this back.” I paused. “You keep it for me,” he sniffled. “When I prove I can behave, you can give it back. Or if I make you angry again, you can smash it.” I pushed the figure back toward him. “No need. You keep it. Just don’t let there be a next time.” He clutched the figure, tears falling again. I kept eating, saying casually, “Stop crying. I’m just next door in 7th grade, room five. If things get bad in your class, you can come find me during breaks.” Riley nodded hard.

The next afternoon, after second period. I was sprawled over my desk doing math homework, the classroom buzzing with chatter and the occasional snorer. “Madison! Someone’s here for you!” I looked up. An unfamiliar boy stood at the door, craning his neck to peer inside. I put down my pen and walked out. Seven or eight people stood in the hallway. The one in front was half a head shorter than me, face twisted with hostility, backed by several other boys of varying heights, all wearing middle school uniforms. The leader walked up to me, tilting his face up. “You Madison Reed? Riley’s sister?” I nodded, already knowing. “Derek Walsh?” He snorted, glancing back. His crew stepped forward, forming a semicircle. “Your parents went to my homeroom teacher, even said they’d call my parents in to ‘manage’ me. Ridiculous!” His voice rose. “I know that wimp Riley doesn’t have the guts, so it must’ve been you who snitched! What, can’t fight your own battles so you run to mommy and daddy? What are you, in kindergarten?” The boys around him laughed. I stared at him expressionlessly. “Your brother’s a pathetic waste, getting bossed around by his sister at home—he should be ashamed to even be alive! I’m just trying to teach him to grow a spine. What’s wrong with that?” I took a step forward. Derek instinctively stepped back, then stopped, probably remembering his backup. “I’m warning you,” he pointed at me, spittle flying, “mind your own business from now on, or I’ll get people to—” Before he could finish, I grabbed his finger and wrenched it upward. He let out a piercing shriek. I kicked his knee and he dropped to the ground with a thud. “I’m warning you—if you bully my brother again, you’ll regret it.” I grabbed his hair, leaning down with menace in my voice. Derek burst into tears, shouting, “What are you all standing around for?! Get her!” The middle school troublemakers behind him started forward, but my classroom door burst open and a crowd poured out. Jake, our class president, positioned himself in front of me first, followed by other class officers and students. “Who the hell are you people? Coming to start trouble? Did you ask us first?” “So what? Your classmate’s bullying an elementary kid—have you no shame?” The two groups pressed against each other, shoving and pushing, on the verge of a full fight. Derek, hiding behind his crew, yelled, “I just want Madison! This has nothing to do with you! Get lost!” “She’s in our class—you think it has nothing to do with us?” The scene grew more chaotic, several boys grappling, the hallway filled with shouting. “EVERYONE STOP!” A shrill scream rang out. The crowd parted as a woman pushed through. It was my homeroom teacher, Ms. Victoria Smith. The moment she arrived, she slapped me across the face without a word, pointing at my nose as she shrieked: “I knew it! You shameless little seductress! Look at yourself! Leading a bunch of boys to fight for you—pretty proud of yourself, aren’t you? So young and already up to no good, manipulating boys into doing your dirty work—have you no shame?” My face snapped to the side, burning with pain. The hallway went silent. Ms. Smith kept screaming. “Madison Reed, I’m telling you right now—I’ve seen plenty of students like you. Trading on your looks, getting male classmates to fight your battles. You think I don’t know what you are?” I slowly turned my head back. My ears were ringing. The faces around me blurred. Someone was shouting something—Jake and other classmates seemed to be explaining, gesturing wildly. But one voice was clearer than anything else— Dad’s words from childhood: “Sweetie, no matter what—if you’re in a fight, you can’t lose.” She dared to hit me? I grabbed the potted plant and smashed it into Ms. Smith’s face.

The pot exploded against her face. Ms. Smith screamed and stumbled backward, blood streaming down her forehead, soil scattering everywhere. She clutched her face, voice piercing. “Madison! Are you insane?!” I wasn’t insane. I was perfectly calm. In fact, I wanted to punch her a couple more times. The hallway erupted into chaos. People were screaming, someone yelled “Get a teacher!”, someone rushed to grab me. Derek cowered against the wall, face white with terror. The troublemakers he’d brought tried to escape in the confusion, but our class’s boys blocked them. Jake grabbed the tallest one, shouting to the others, “Nobody leaves! You think you can just attack someone and run?!” Sarah, our vice president, rushed over and grabbed my arm. “Madison! Calm down…” I stood there, fists clenched, rigid. Ms. Smith was helped to her feet, blood covering half her face. She pointed at me, trembling all over. “You little bitch, you… you just wait…” I stared coldly at this teacher who’d had it out for me since day one, saying nothing. Five minutes later, the discipline director and principal came running. Mr. Anderson saw Ms. Smith’s bloody face, eyes nearly popping out. “Ms. Smith! Who did this?” Ms. Smith pointed at me, voice shrill. “Her! Madison! This student is completely out of control! So young and already manipulating male students, just now she even organized an attack on an elementary student. I merely said a few words to her and she attacked me with a flower pot!” The principal was an older man with glasses, usually smiling and kind-looking, but now his face was cold as ice. “Bring all involved students to the discipline office. Call their parents.”

The discipline office was packed. Mom and Dad sat on the principal’s left. Mom’s eyes were red, gripping my hand so tight her knuckles were white. Dad’s face was grim, not saying a word, but I could tell he was holding back rage. The seats on the principal’s right were empty—Derek’s parents hadn’t arrived yet. Derek hid behind his group of troublemakers. Ms. Smith sat in a chair nearby, head wrapped in gauze with blood seeping through. She refused to go to the hospital, insisting on staying to “watch this delinquent student be dealt with.” The principal sat behind his desk, Mr. Anderson standing beside him. Several class officers stood behind me, along with some classmates who’d helped shield me—boys and girls, not one had left. The door burst open. Derek’s dad stormed in holding up his phone—the screen showing a live stream, comments flooding past. His mom followed, immediately rushing to Derek and crying: “My baby! My baby, are you okay?! Mommy’s here, don’t be scared!” Derek’s lip quivered and he burst into tears, mother and son crying together. His dad swept the phone camera around the discipline office, finally shoving it in my face. “Everyone look! This girl right here—she attacked my son! My Derek is only ten years old, and she beat him black and blue!” The comments went wild: 【Who is this girl, acting so tough】 【Beating up an elementary kid, shameless】 【Call her parents in】 【No home training, she’ll never find a husband】 … Mom couldn’t take it anymore, standing up abruptly. “What are you doing?!” Derek’s mom whirled around, first rattling off a string of curses in dialect, then wailing: “What am I doing?! My son was beaten by your daughter—I’m here for justice! Look at my son—fingers bent like that, knees covered in bruises—is your daughter even human?!” Ms. Smith clutched her forehead, looking weak, and staggered toward the camera. “Mr. Walsh, Mrs. Walsh, please calm down. The school will handle this…” She paused, eyes suddenly welling up, voice choking. “Actually, I noticed problems with Madison from the start. First day of school I could tell something was off—dressing up all flashy, always hanging around the boys. Today you saw what happened—she led a gang of male students to fight, beat Derek like this, and when I tried to intervene, she attacked me with a flower pot!” She pointed at her head, gauze stained with blood. “I’ve been teaching for fifteen years. I’ve never seen a student like this—rotten to the core, completely out of control!” The comments exploded: 【Holy shit she attacked a teacher?!】 【Expel her! She has to be expelled!】 【Abnormal kids should be sent to special schools, why should they be allowed to harm normal teachers and students!】 I stared coldly at Ms. Smith’s performance, unconsciously running my tongue over my canine teeth. How could… how could anyone be so viciously jealous of someone? From the first day of school, I’d noticed Ms. Smith had it out for me. That day I wore my new school uniform—skirt to the knees, hair in a ponytail, standing in the middle of the line. She suddenly walked over, looked me up and down, and said sarcastically, “Did you shorten your skirt?” I looked down at my skirt and everyone else’s, not understanding how anyone could be this blind. “No.” She snorted, warning me she’d be watching me, telling me not to pull that kind of trick. Later I learned she disliked me because of my mom. The day I registered, Mom came with me, wearing a floral dress and light makeup. Ms. Smith was at the door greeting people. Mom smiled and said hello. She smiled back, all fake. Once we were far enough away, I heard her tell another teacher: “You can tell she’s not a decent person, dressing like that. The daughter’s probably no better.” I didn’t tell Mom what she said. But I remembered it. The first week of school, I was made Chinese class representative—personally appointed by Ms. Smith. I thought it was a good sign. Later I realized she just wanted someone easy to push around.

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I used to believe that after fifteen years of growing up together, he would be my only destiny. Until I saw him put his student’s name where mine should have been on our marriage papers. Scholarships, favoritism, trust. He gave them all to someone else. He even let me be falsely accused, my future destroyed. That’s when I realized I was never his first choice. So I turned around, went abroad, and reclaimed my dreams. Later, when I stood at the peak of success, he came to me, saying he regretted everything. But my new husband pulled me close. “You didn’t choose her back then. Now it’s not your turn anymore.” Iris Hart POV After winning six consecutive international awards, the name “Sebastian Kane” became legendary in academic circles. At only twenty-five, he wasn’t just Stanford University’s youngest professor. He’d also claimed the highest honor in academia. The day his fame skyrocketed, he posted a photo of us holding our marriage license application, captioned “Soulmates finally united.” Before I could even share it, I scrolled down and saw a comment that made my heart stop. “Sebastian’s getting married, but the county clerk sent ME the notice. Now that’s love!” The replies flooded in. “Maybe YOU’RE his true love?” “Sebastian’s handwritten over thirty thousand experimental data points, accurate to eight decimal places without a single error. Yet on the most important form of his life, the one where you list an emergency contact for marriage, he put YOUR name.” “You two should just go get married already!” I looked closer at the username. The poster was none other than Sebastian’s intern, River Lawson. Afterward, Sebastian explained it was just an accident. I believed him. But not long after, he turned around and gave the only full-ride graduate scholarship to River. Then he pulled me aside to apologize. “I’m sorry, Iris. River grew up in poverty. If this application fails, she’ll never have another chance to get ahead in life.” He gripped my hand tightly, his eyes full of guilt. “But I’m also thinking about us. Even if you never achieve anything, you’re still the one I love.” The next day, River-the supposedly excellent student Sebastian praised-secretly reported me to the school for academic fraud, got my graduation status revoked, and had me ordered to withdraw. When they want to pin something on you, they’ll always find a reason. During the long investigation period, my heart grew colder and colder. I’d worked every single moment to keep up with Sebastian’s pace. But in the end, the full scholarship was gone, my dream of studying abroad shattered, and even basic graduation became uncertain. Gradually, I understood-I was no longer Sebastian’s first priority. If that was the case, then I chose to let them have each other. In my moment of deepest despair, my advisor threw me a lifeline. “I can fund your study in France, on the condition that you join my research team. But… are you really ready to leave everything behind and go abroad?” “I’m willing.” In the dead silence of night, I heard my own resolute answer. My father, Marcus, and mother, Elena, had always been open-minded-they would support my decision without hesitation. I had nothing to worry about. As for Sebastian… perhaps our fate ended here. I still remembered meeting Sebastian when I was six years old. He’d been quiet and withdrawn since childhood, guarded around everyone-except me. He was willing to open up to me, even if just a little. Sebastian’s father, Richard, and mother, Caroline, were always busy with work, often leaving him at my house. The two of us grew closer over time. In middle school, he waited downstairs for me every day before and after school. In high school, he carefully organized study notes just for me. In college, he kept up the habit of having breakfast with me every morning. Everyone said we were made for each other. I believed it too. At least, I believed it until River appeared. At first, Sebastian kept his distance from this clingy intern. But then one day, River single-handedly solved a math problem left behind by an old professor. Though I couldn’t see much reaction from him, I noticed he gradually stopped pushing her away when she followed him around. We’d fought about this intern several times. He always said he just recognized talent and couldn’t bear to see a genius buried. Whether it was really about recognizing talent or something else, I didn’t want to guess anymore. The truth behind it all was probably something only he knew. The engagement photos were already taken, and the marriage registration was still just scheduled-everything could still be undone. “I’ll have the application process completed within a month.” The person on the other end of the call was satisfied with the answer and hung up in good spirits. I didn’t sleep all night. Early the next morning, Sebastian knocked on my door. “There are a lot of wedding details we haven’t finalized. Richard and Caroline invited Marcus and Elena to dinner together, and they asked me to pick you up.” I instinctively tried to decline. “Actually, I can’t today…” “Marcus and Elena are already there.” He cut me off, gently taking my hand as he always did, his usually expressionless face now wearing a tender smile. I’d once been captivated by that smile for so long. Unfortunately, it no longer belonged to me alone. Inside the Kane house, Caroline warmly welcomed me and sat me down, casually calling out, “The pizza and roast in the oven are almost ready-Sebastian, go check on them!” Sebastian headed straight into the kitchen. His phone suddenly started ringing nonstop. I glanced at it and caught sight of the glaring name “River Lawson” on the screen. At the dinner table, both sets of parents were chatting happily when the shrill phone ringtone cut through the harmonious atmosphere again. Sebastian answered the call, his expression instantly changing. “I’m sorry, Marcus, Elena. Something urgent came up at school. I need to go.” My instincts told me it wasn’t that simple. After making an excuse to leave the table, I secretly followed him. Then I watched Sebastian enter the back warehouse of a convenience store. River was wearing a dirty work uniform. The moment she saw him, she rushed over eagerly but accidentally tripped on something. She fell straight into his arms, and their lips happened to touch. He didn’t pull away. They both froze in that moment, their eyes locked for what felt like forever.

Iris Hart POV My face went pale as I stared at the scene, frozen. My heart suddenly felt like it had cracked open, cold wind pouring into the fissure, chilling me until I couldn’t stop trembling. River quickly jumped up, her face flushed as she lowered her head, a sly smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “You… how did you get here? Didn’t you say you had something really important today?” Sebastian ruffled her hair, his voice helpless yet indulgent. “It’s nothing major. You said you were hurt-let me see how bad it is.” River deliberately hid her right hand behind her back. “It’s nothing, nothing-just a small cut.” Sebastian caught sight of the wound on her finger and pulled a Band-Aid from his bag, crouching down to carefully apply it for her. I couldn’t help but think of the past. I used to get bumps and scrapes all the time as a kid. At some point, Sebastian had made it a habit to always carry Band-Aids in his pocket. He’d once told me they were exclusively mine. But now… I felt dazed and instinctively stepped back, accidentally kicking something. They both looked over at once. I turned and ran. “Iris!” He caught up to me, breathless, and we both stopped at the same time. I didn’t turn around, just listened to him scramble to explain. “It’s not what you think. That was just an accident.” “I know.” I took a deep breath, staring hard at the ground. He seemed flustered. “Iris, I didn’t mean to lie to you. I was just afraid you’d be upset if you found out.” I turned around, my expression calm. “I just happened to pass by. I’m not upset. Where you go is your freedom.” River had also caught up, looking at me cautiously. Sebastian seemed afraid I’d scold her and quickly stepped in front of her. “Now that we’ve cleared up the misunderstanding, let me take you home.” I didn’t want to keep arguing, so I nodded. “River, you should head home early too.” He turned back to tell her. She smiled bitterly and shook her head. “Sebastian, you two go ahead. I still have goods to move. If I’m not done by ten tonight, my supervisor will dock my pay.” Sebastian’s brow furrowed in displeasure. “You’re new part-time staff-why are they making you do all this?!” “I can only blame myself for being poor.” She wiped away tears and started heading back to the warehouse, but Sebastian grabbed her wrist. “I’ll help you move them.” He said to me, “Iris, go home and rest early. Don’t wait up for me.” Watching him walk away side by side with River without a second thought, I just stood there, looking more and more alone. Most of the streetlights in the old district were broken. The road was dark and cold. I walked alone, shivering. Suddenly, I heard a low growl. A large dog was baring its teeth at me, staring me down. Fear made my legs weak. I turned and ran. A sharp pain shot through my calf, and blood started running down. A kind stranger helped drive the vicious dog away. By the time I dragged my injured leg to the district hospital, dawn was nearly breaking. After getting the rabies vaccine, I turned my phone back on. Missed calls and messages started popping up one after another. I silently turned off the screen and closed my eyes. “Iris! Iris!” A familiar voice rang out. I thought I was dreaming. When I opened my eyes, it really was Sebastian’s anxious face.

Iris Hart POV “I saw your phone location and rushed over. How did you get hurt?” I didn’t even lift my head, my tone light and casual. “Couldn’t get a cab in the old district. Got bitten by a stray dog on the road.” Hearing this, his eyes immediately reddened, full of heartache and guilt. “I should’ve thought of that. I’m so sorry.” “I’m fine.” My tone remained calm. A few days later, after I’d fully recovered, Sebastian showed up uninvited, carrying something. He handed me an elegant gift bag with a hint of flattery. “I was wrong the other day. Maybe looking at a plant will cheer you up.” I opened it to find a pot of mint. A sharp pain suddenly pierced through my chest. He’d always had an exceptional memory-how could he forget I was allergic to mint? Seeing my silence, he assumed I was still angry. He pulled out two tickets. “The zoo you wanted to visit-I managed to get tickets. Let’s go right now, okay?” Without waiting for me to refuse, he grabbed my hand and pulled me out the door. When we got to the zoo entrance and I saw River getting out of the car, I turned to leave. He gripped my hand tightly. “I asked a friend to get the tickets and they happened to have two extras. I just didn’t want them to go to waste.” Using the excuse of accompanying me to the zoo, his eyes never left River. After a few exhibits, they were practically glued together. Watching them, they looked like a couple madly in love, while I was just an outsider. At the bird show area, the host was introducing albatrosses. “Once they choose the right mate, they stay together for life! Now let’s pick some audience members to participate!” The spotlight landed on River. She looked at Sebastian hesitantly. “Sebastian, I’m too scared to go up alone. Can you come with me?” He glanced at me briefly, then took her hand and went onstage. The host assumed they were a couple and had them complete challenges: staring into each other’s eyes for ten seconds, eating cookies, and the final task-a kiss. Amid the cheering crowd, Sebastian pressed his hand against her head and kissed her. My nails dug deep into my palms. My heart felt like it was being sliced with a knife. The air tasted unbearably bitter. When the crowd dispersed, he stopped me. “With so many people watching, if I’d just left her there, people would’ve talked about her.” I didn’t say anything more and headed to the next exhibit. He nervously followed, trying to apologize. Suddenly, screams erupted nearby. An escaped brown bear was charging toward the crowd, swinging its massive paws. I was pushed back by the surging crowd and suddenly lost my footing. River and I both fell into the artificial lake at the same time! Sebastian reached out his hand and swam toward me with all his might. “Sebastian!” A shout made him freeze mid-motion. He instinctively changed direction and swam toward River instead. The icy lake water swallowed me. I struggled desperately, staring hard at his retreating back as I gradually lost consciousness. My body felt heavy as lead. When I opened my eyes, I saw him with red-rimmed eyes, gripping my hand. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault for not taking better care of you.” I thought he was going to explain why he’d abandoned me to save her, but he carefully avoided the subject, not saying a word about it. His phone vibrated frantically. “Excuse me, do you still have fever medicine in stock?” It was River’s weak voice on the other end. “River?” “I’m sorry, Sebastian. I called the wrong number trying to buy medicine.” She hung up in panic. Sebastian, usually so composed, immediately panicked. He glanced at me a few times before standing up. “River’s home alone. I’m afraid she…” “Go ahead.” My face was pale, but my expression remained calm. Watching him leave without hesitation, I was consumed by grief. He used to feel heartbroken for half a day just seeing me frown. Now he could abandon me without a second thought, even when I was seriously injured.

Iris Hart POV On the day I was discharged from the hospital, I unexpectedly received an invitation from my advisor. An opportunity to attend an academic summit. I became part of the setup crew for the venue. As soon as I walked in, I saw River all dressed up, along with Sebastian. “Iris?” When he saw me, his smile stiffened. He quickly lowered his voice. “When did you get discharged? Why didn’t you tell me so I could pick you up?” I pushed his hand away. “It’s fine. Go do what you need to do.” A shriek came from nearby. River screamed and stood up. Her arms were covered in red welts. “I think I’m having an allergic reaction.” I turned to look. Sebastian, ignoring everyone’s stares, scooped River up in his arms and rushed out. The venue fell silent. People whispered to each other, some even casting pitying glances my way. My cheeks burned with shame as I quickly left. I’d barely gotten home when Sebastian showed up at my door. He glared at me, his face full of anger. “With so many people at the venue, how is it that she was the only one who had an allergic reaction to that chair?!” “What are you implying?” My brow furrowed. “You’re one of the people in charge of setup. This has to be connected to you!” My heart trembled. I couldn’t believe it. “You’re accusing me?!” Fifteen years together, and he was actually accusing me over something completely fabricated. River, who’d been hiding behind him, stepped forward timidly. “Just forget it. I’m sure Iris didn’t mean it.” “River, you’re too kind. That’s why you think everyone else is kind too!” His anger intensified. I laughed coldly. So in his eyes, I was malicious? He grabbed my wrist tightly and dragged me all the way to the venue to confront me. When he finally let go, my wrist was already covered in bruises. “The summit still has one more day! I want you to replace every single chair tonight with something River isn’t allergic to.” “I refuse.” I stared at him, enunciating each word. He nodded as if driven to the edge. “If you don’t replace them, believe me, I’ll throw this ring away right now.” The moment I saw him hold up the ring, my expression changed. That was the ring my grandmother had left me as a wedding blessing. And he was using it to threaten me! My heart turned to ash. Under their watchful eyes, I pathetically hauled out a thousand chairs and replaced them with a new batch from storage. After I finished arranging them, he finally let me go. “I have one more condition. Give me back the ring,” he said. “No problem. It’s just a ring. But if there’s a next time, we’re calling off the marriage license.” I clutched the ring, my palm aching. There won’t be a next time. We’ve already canceled it. Sebastian, I will never love you again. I’ll be leaving soon.

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I flew two thousand miles to surprise my wife. Instead, I was greeted with an invitation. “Welcome to the wedding of Mr. Xavier Grant and Ms. Mara Cole.” Her groom wasn’t me. But her wedding dress was one I had chosen, and the wedding plan was one I had designed. When she saw me, she accused me of not knowing when to let go, claiming it was all just business. Does a performance require passionate kissing? I didn’t argue. I just turned around and took a hard drive with me. It contained all the original design drafts I’d created for them over the past four years. What Mara didn’t know was that three months later, at a bidding presentation, she’d be on her knees in the snow, bankrupt, begging me for ten dollars just to buy a meal. Lucas POV To surprise my wife, I flew to the island without telling her. The taxi had barely stopped when the hotel’s greeting system sent me a text message: “Welcome to the wedding of Mr. Xavier Grant and Ms. Mara Cole.” My hand froze around the gift box. Mara Cole was my legal wife of four years in a secret marriage. Xavier Grant was her first love from college overseas, and also the star designer at my studio. Just last night, Mara had been packing her luggage. “I’ll be inspecting resort projects for a while. The clients are difficult to deal with, so I can’t get away. I’ll make up for our anniversary properly when I get back.” She complained that Xavier was clumsy and needed her to look after him. I believed her. Like an idiot, I helped her organize her clothes and told her she was working hard. She was working hard, hard enough to organize a grand wedding between inspections. I stepped into the lobby. White veils billowed in the cold sea breeze. The décor looked very familiar. A month ago, I’d stayed up three nights straight in my study to draw up this exact plan. At the time, Mara had leaned against the doorframe, holding coffee and pleading with me. “The client wants a dream wedding. Xavier’s run out of inspiration. Help him out.” I joked that this design was worth fifty thousand dollars. She hugged me and acted cute. “Helping him is helping me.” Turns out I was the free wedding planner for her own wedding. “Sir, do you have an invitation?” The receptionist stopped me. I was wearing a hoodie and jeans, carrying a small box, completely out of place among the suited guests around me. “I’m an old friend of Mara’s.” The receptionist stepped aside. The banquet hall was brilliantly lit. Mara wore a mermaid-cut wedding gown and looked so beautiful she seemed like a stranger. We’d been legally married for four years, but we’d never had a wedding or any celebration. The reason was that we had to keep a low profile during the startup phase, and I was behind-the-scenes personnel who didn’t need formalities. Right now, she stood under the spotlight, gazing at the man across from her like he was the only one in the world. Xavier Grant, nothing but an empty-headed pretty boy, spoke with deep affection. “Mara, we’ve missed so much. Today, I can finally hold your hand in front of our friends and family…” Applause thundered. Guests murmured about what a perfect couple they made, praising Xavier’s so-called brilliance. Some even claimed the island project was his work. My nails dug into my palms. Every award Xavier had ever won was something I had created. His breakthrough work was my rejected draft. His award-winning design was something I’d destroyed my stomach staying up late to finish. Even the stage beneath his feet was my creation. In the front row sat Mara’s mother, Diana, wiping away tears of joy. She took the generous support payments I sent every month, and now she sat there without a care in the world. Next to her sat my business partners, people who ate the afternoon tea I bought, now applauding as my wife married someone else. Everyone in the world knew-except me, the fool left in the dark. What inspection? What fake business marriage? All excuses. I could see it clearly: the genuine happiness radiating from Mara’s face. The officiant called out loudly, “The groom may now kiss the bride!” Mara turned her head. Her gaze cut through the crowd and landed on me. Her smile froze instantly on her face. She pushed away Xavier, who was about to kiss her, in panic. The bouquet in her hands fell to the floor. “Mara?” Xavier looked confused. Mara ignored him. She stared at me, her face deathly pale. I looked at her and expressionlessly raised the delicate gift box in my hand. Then, as she watched in horror, I let it go. The box hit the floor. The necklace inside probably broke. Just like this absurd four-year marriage. I turned and walked out of the banquet hall without looking back. Behind me came commotion and the rapid clicking of high heels on the floor. “Mara! Where are you going?” If this had been yesterday, if she had chased after me like this, I would have cried with emotion, thinking there was still a place for me in her heart. But now, I just found it ridiculous.

Lucas POV I hadn’t even reached the elevators when someone grabbed my arm hard. “Lucas! Stop right there!” Mara was out of breath, holding up her wedding dress train, her updo coming loose. There was no guilt on her face-only furious indignation. “Why are you here? Did you follow me?” I laughed bitterly. I’d caught my wife at her wedding, and her first reaction was to interrogate me. “Mara,” I looked at her like she was a stranger, “what’s today’s date?” She froze. “October sixteenth.” “Four years ago today, we registered our marriage. You said the company had something come up and left me on the side of the road. Today I flew two thousand miles to surprise you, and you gave me an even bigger surprise.” Mara’s expression stiffened for a moment, then reverted to her usual assertiveness. She straightened her hair, all business. “Can you use your brain like an adult? This is a business strategy! The clients value family values. Xavier is our brand face. For a contract worth tens of millions, we had no choice but to put on an act.” “An act requires inviting your mother? Exchanging rings? Smiling that happily?” “That’s because we had to make it realistic! How else could we fool the clients if we didn’t make it look real?” Mara raised her voice. “Who do you think I’m working myself to death out here for? It’s bad enough you don’t trust me. Now you’re sabotaging everything. If this project falls through, can you afford to compensate for it?” She was even trying to turn this around on me. “You’ve disappointed me so much. If you had even a little sense of the bigger picture, you wouldn’t cause trouble at such a critical moment.” Watching her mouth run on and on, my thoughts suddenly drifted far away. I thought back to four years ago. Back then, I was recognized as a genius in the architecture program at a university overseas. I’d won international awards before even graduating. And Mara was just an ambitious but mediocre rich girl. She started a studio but couldn’t land any projects. She cried in the rain out of desperation. I was the one who shoved the design drawings I’d labored over for half a month into her hands and told her to enter the competition. That one time made her famous overnight. Later, she said she loved me. She said I was her source of inspiration. I believed her. I gave up the opportunity to pursue advanced studies at a prestigious architectural firm for her sake, willing to be the person behind her. Over these four years, all the studio’s core proposals came from me. The credit always went to Mara or Xavier. She always said I had an introverted personality and was suited to working behind the scenes and making money. She also said Xavier had a good image, so he should be the public face. So I became the nerd who only knew how to draw. In Xavier’s words, an assistant. They took my work and accepted awards. They enjoyed the flowers and applause while I waited for her to come home with cold coffee. I thought it was sacrifice. Turns out it was just pathetic. The last trace of love in my heart went cold. I looked at that haughty expression on her face, as if she thought she controlled everything and was certain I couldn’t leave her. But what’s valuable in this industry isn’t the studio-it’s the person who creates. “Are you finished?” Mara frowned. “What’s with that attitude?” I looked at her calmly, suppressing the turmoil in my eyes. “Mara, your dress zipper isn’t closed properly.” She instinctively reached for her back. I stepped back, creating distance. “Go back. Don’t keep the groom waiting.” “You’re done making a scene?” She looked suspicious. “I’m done. Disrupting a wedding is immoral. I wish you both a lifetime of happiness.” I turned toward the elevator. “Go back to the room and wait for me! I’ll explain tonight!” she ordered from behind me. No need. I don’t need her love anymore either. As the elevator doors closed, I took out my phone and looked at the date on the screen. Today was our wedding anniversary. I opened my messaging app and found a contact-Chloe, my college classmate and also a divorce attorney. The last time I’d contacted her was four years ago. She’d sent me a message cursing me out back then. “Lucas, if you’re going to be someone’s ghostwriter for a woman, don’t call me your friend anymore.” I hadn’t replied at the time. My finger hovered over the screen. I took a deep breath and relied. “I’ve made up my mind. Is it still possible to pursue my dream now?” I waited a few seconds. The screen showed she was typing. Chloe only sent back a voice message. I could hear wind in the background. “Lucas, I’ve been waiting for this call for four years. Tomorrow at ten in the morning. Same old place.” I closed my phone and looked at my reflection in the elevator mirror. No one knew that my dream was to open a design studio that was truly my own. Back then, I hadn’t been worn down by life yet. All I thought about was architectural ideals. Later, I hid that dream away and had Chloe guard that small flame for me. I thought I’d never rekindle it in this lifetime. I exited the chat and casually opened my cloud storage. Inside were all the original drafts and revision records from four years of working for Mara. No matter how much I loved her, as a designer’s professional habit, I had kept the source files.

Lucas POV That same day, I went straight to the front desk to check out. I threw the carefully prepared anniversary gift into the lobby trash can. I was pulling my suitcase at the hotel entrance, about to hail a cab, when Mara chased after me. She blocked the taxi door, her face iron-gray. “Lucas, where are you going?” “Back to New York.” I opened the car door and shoved my suitcase into the back seat. “What are you throwing a fit about?” Mara lowered her voice, annoyance in her tone. “You just walk away like this-where does that leave my reputation?” I paused, then turned to look at her. “That’s your banquet, not mine.” Mara grabbed my sleeve, her nails digging into my flesh. “Lucas! When will you stop? I already told you this is just an act! I didn’t hold it against you earlier, and now you’re pushing your luck?” She took a deep breath, seemingly trying to suppress her anger. “I know you’re upset, but you need to understand my difficulties. Xavier is a public figure. The studio has relied on him as our public face these past few years. If things go wrong today, millions in prior investment will go down the drain. As a member of the company, can’t you be more mature?” Over these four years, whenever I tried to claim my rightful due, she would use “the bigger picture” to suppress me. As if my unwillingness to sacrifice made me immature and childish. I didn’t even have the desire to argue. “Mara,” my tone was calm, “I’ll have my lawyer draft divorce papers. For the specific property division, my lawyer will contact you.” Mara clearly hadn’t expected that. Her pupils contracted slightly, a flash of shock crossing her face. “Divorce?” She crossed her arms and laughed coldly. “Without me, you can’t even pay rent in New York. Your mother is still lying in a nursing home. Who’s been paying her medical bills every month? You?” One major reason I’d agreed to stay in the background was that my mother had suddenly fallen ill and urgently needed a large sum for surgery. Mara had provided that money. That was also why, no matter how much she exploited me these four years, I’d silently endured it. I felt I owed her. But she seemed to have forgotten that over these four years, the drawings I’d produced, the projects that won bids, the value I’d created had long surpassed those medical fees. “That’s none of your concern.” I opened the car door and got in. “This divorce is final.” Seeing I was serious, Mara’s expression finally changed. Her eyes turned vicious. “Lucas, don’t regret this! According to the prenup, you won’t get a single cent of the studio’s shares! Since you want to make a scene, fine-make one! When you calm down and can’t afford medicine, don’t come crawling back to me!” She pulled a document folder from her bag and slammed it onto the passenger seat. “I was going to let you rest on the island for a couple days, but since you want to leave, go back and work! The Brooklyn library project-final draft is due next week.” “Xavier will be entertaining clients these next few days and won’t have time to draw. Go back and finish the proposal. If you don’t do it right, don’t blame me when your mother’s medication gets cut off next month!” I looked at the folder on the passenger seat. This was a key city project-also critical to whether Mara’s studio could go public this year. At a time like this, she could still take for granted dumping work on me and threatening me with my mother’s life. I picked up the document folder. Outside the car, Mara looked at me with contempt, probably thinking I’d compromised for the money. “After you finish this project, I’ll transfer fifty thousand dollars as your closing fee. Driver, go!” She slammed the car door for me, then turned and walked away without looking back. The car started. I opened the folder and pulled out the materials inside. This was a project costing over a hundred million dollars. The design requirements were extremely high. Xavier had struggled with it for two months without getting approval. The client had already issued an ultimatum. If I walked away now, I could vent my anger temporarily, but I’d lose all claim to the four years of work I’d put in and the benefits I deserved. Besides, a simple divorce agreement wouldn’t be enough to completely bring them down. I needed evidence. That evidence was all on the company’s internal network, in Mara’s safe. I had to go back. Not only that. I had to make this project absolutely flawless. Because only if they thought I was still under their control would they reveal their weaknesses. “Sir, to the airport, right?” the driver asked carefully. “That earlier… was that a fight?” I resealed the folder and leaned back in my seat, closing my eyes. “No fight.” I said calmly, “To the airport.”

Lucas POV Three days after returning to the company, I clocked in on time. The office was covered in banners, and the front desk displayed a poster of Xavier and Mara kissing on the island. Several female colleagues huddled together sharing chocolates, their conversation loud. “Mara and Xavier have such a great relationship.” “The island wedding cost two million dollars. They really know how to spend.” I walked through the crowd toward my corner workstation. My spot was next to the printer, my desk piled with discarded paper. No one paid attention to me. “Lucas is here?” Derek walked over holding a box of chocolates and casually tossed it onto my keyboard. “Mara said everyone gets a share. Brought back from the island. A few hundred bucks a box.” I didn’t look at the chocolates. I pressed the power button on my computer. Seeing I wouldn’t engage, Derek turned to the female colleague beside him and raised his voice. “Some people are just born to do grunt work. We eat souvenirs while they have to work.” Laughter rippled around me. I logged into the company’s internal network. Derek was Xavier’s assistant. I ignored him. I opened the Brooklyn Library folder. The initial draft inside was logically chaotic and completely unusable. Obviously Xavier couldn’t handle the client and dumped this mess on me. I turned off the auto-sync function and changed the file path to my private network drive. This time, the company wouldn’t have backup copies of the source files. “How’s the proposal coming?” Mara’s voice came from behind me. The room instantly went quiet. Colleagues lowered their heads. Mara stood by my workstation, staring at my screen. “Just started.” I answered. “Hurry up.” She tapped the desk. “Friday presentation. Xavier has a sore throat, so you’ll present.” In the past, Xavier always handled these occasions while I assisted from below. Having me go this time-I guessed the project was too difficult and Xavier was afraid of exposing himself. “Got it.” Mara pointed at the chocolates on my keyboard. “Why aren’t you eating them? You think they’re beneath you?” “I don’t like them.” She sneered and turned to leave, but stopped after two steps. “My mom’s sixtieth birthday banquet is this weekend. If the proposal passes, I’ll let you make an appearance.” Attending Diana’s birthday party as her legal spouse had become a reward. “No need,” I looked at the screen. “I’m busy.” Mara’s expression darkened. “Suit yourself.” She clicked away in her heels into the general manager’s office. Ten minutes later, Xavier arrived. He walked straight to my workstation, bent down, and lowered his voice. “Did you watch the whole thing that day? My wedding was pretty good, wasn’t it? Thanks for the rough draft.” I stopped my mouse and turned to look at him, mockery in my voice. “It was good.” Xavier looked triumphant and straightened up. “Work hard. That’s the only place you’re useful.” He patted my shoulder, whistling as he walked away. I pulled out a tissue, wiped the spot on my shoulder he’d touched, and tossed the crumpled tissue into the wastebasket by my feet.

Lucas POV I went to the break room with my water cup. Derek was leaning against the coffee machine, holding a half-eaten box of gift chocolates. When he saw me come in, he shifted to block the doorway. “Lucas,” he looked me up and down, “I heard you went to the island? Why didn’t you go in for a drink before coming back?” I walked around him to get water. Derek followed, leaning against the water dispenser. “Stop pretending. Everyone in the company knows you have a crush on Mara. Look at yourself. Xavier is an overseas student-he’s got talent and looks. You’re just meant to draw. It’s complete wishful thinking.” The water overfilled and some spilled, scalding my hand. I ignored him and turned to leave. Derek called out loudly behind me. “Stop having these inappropriate thoughts. They’re a perfect match. People like you can only be background decoration.” Back at my workstation, Xavier was sitting on my desk. He was holding an architectural model in his hand. It was a small model I’d carved by hand the year I first joined the studio, given to Mara as a birthday gift. Later, Mara thought it was tacky and casually tossed it in the company’s junk pile. I picked it back up and kept it in the corner of my desk. Xavier was playing with it, disgust on his face. “What is this piece of junk?” He looked at me as I walked back. “Lucas, your taste has always been this terrible. Having something like this on the desk lowers the class of the entire studio.” I put down my water cup and reached for it. “Give it back.” Xavier raised his hand, dodging me. A smile played at the corner of his mouth. His wrist relaxed, and the model dropped into the trash can by his feet. “No need to thank me.” He dusted off his hands and jumped down from the desk. “I’m just helping you clear out the garbage. From now on, only keep work-related things on your desk. Don’t clutter it with this nonsense.” Low laughter came from around us. Xavier straightened his collar, didn’t even glance at me, and walked away.

Lucas POV At three in the afternoon, my phone rang. I walked to the window at the end of the hallway to answer. “Lucas,” my mother’s voice was a bit weak, “it’s getting cold these days. You and Mara need to take care of yourselves.” I gripped the phone tightly. “I know. How are you feeling?” “I’m fine. I just miss you both. Has Mara been busy lately? If she is, don’t make her come see me. You young people need to focus on your careers.” My mother was always like this, afraid of causing me trouble. I was about to speak when I heard the sound of high heels behind me. Mara was walking out of the elevator with her arm linked through Xavier’s, followed by several administrative staff who’d just finished a meeting. She saw me. I saw her too. Mara stopped, her gaze sweeping over the phone in my hand, a playful expression crossing her face. She didn’t avoid the situation. She turned to Xavier and said, “Xavier, this weekend is my mom’s birthday party. It’s your first time attending as my partner. I’ve already prepared your gift. You need to make a good impression.” Her voice echoed in the empty hallway. Silence on the other end of the phone. A few seconds later, my mother’s puzzled voice came through. “Lucas? Was that Mara’s voice just now? What is she saying about a partner? What first time?” I felt blood rushing to my head. Mara stood not far away and tightened her grip on Xavier’s arm. Xavier smiled cooperatively. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure your mom is satisfied.” “Lucas? What’s going on? Is Mara talking to someone else?” My mother’s voice grew anxious. I took a deep breath and turned away. “It’s nothing. She’s rehearsing lines. The company has a theater activity recently.” “Oh, you scared me. I thought…” “I have a meeting. I have to go.” Without waiting for my mother to say more, I hung up directly. Behind me came the sound of Mara and Xavier’s laughter. They walked into the elevator. I looked at the darkened phone screen, my fingers gripping it until my knuckles turned white. I put away my phone and turned back to the office. The progress bar on my computer had just finished. File transfer complete. Mara, I’m going to give you a gift you’ll never forget.

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While performing a medical examination on my boyfriend’s best friend Lydia, I discovered she had cancer. To help her raise money for surgery quickly, I took the initiative to offer to buy her house. But just two days after I moved in, her cancer miraculously disappeared, while I was diagnosed with late-stage cancer. She filed a complaint at the hospital, saying I had forged medical records to trick her into selling me her house. “You forged medical records just to scam my house away from me. Aren’t you afraid of karma?” I denied it repeatedly, pulling up all her medical records and even showing the bank transfer receipts. But she just sneered. “Those can all be faked. If I really had late-stage cancer, how do you explain my miraculous recovery?” My boyfriend Pedro also frowned and accused me. “I checked with the bank. You haven’t even paid Lydia yet!” I couldn’t defend myself and was ultimately fired from the hospital. Even all my assets were seized by Pedro as compensation for Lydia. But I died in agony from a cancer outbreak. When I opened my eyes again, I had been reborn, back to the day Lydia wanted to sell her house. “If only someone would buy my house, then I could survive!”

Hearing the familiar hint in Lydia’s words, I realized I had been reborn. In my previous life, I caught her hint and took the initiative to offer to buy her house at a price above market value. She knelt before me excitedly, thanking me over and over. But just two days after I moved in, she went to the medical office to file a complaint against me. She said I had deliberately forged her late-stage cancer medical records to buy her house at a low price while she was desperate. “The moment she took over my house, the director told me I wasn’t sick at all. How can that be such a coincidence?” “Pedro already said how much she wanted her own house but couldn’t afford one. Now isn’t this the perfect opportunity?” I was fired from the hospital. Even when I produced evidence to prove my innocence, it was useless. In the end, I was left homeless, dying in agony on the street with no one caring. And I could never figure out how I, who had always been healthy, could suddenly be diagnosed with late-stage cancer. This time, no matter what she says, I won’t buy her house again! I pretended not to understand her hint, putting my hands in my pockets and smiling faintly. “Why don’t you post your medical records and property deed online? There are so many kind people out there. As long as your price is right, someone will definitely be willing to buy.” Lydia’s smile froze. She stood up abruptly, her face showing the humiliation of being insulted. “Dr. Betty, I just want to sell my house. I haven’t reached the point where I need to be humiliated by strangers online!” “You’re insulting me! I’m sick, but I’m not a beggar. If it has to be like this, I’d rather not sell the house.” I said nothing more. Seeing my silence, the anxiety on Lydia’s face intensified. She changed tactics. “Pedro’s girlfriend is also my friend. We have such a good relationship. You surely can’t bear to see me struggling with money, right? How about…” She drew out her words, her eyes drifting toward me. I nodded, took out several business cards from real estate agencies from my drawer, and pushed them toward her. “These are all well-known agencies that sell properties quickly. If you list with all of them simultaneously, you’ll definitely sell soon.” Lydia was choked by my words, her face full of unwillingness and irritation. After a long pause, she finally spoke, her voice sharp and urgent. “Are you deliberately pushing me into a pit of fire? Those unscrupulous agencies are all eyeing my commission fees.” “If I give them the money, how will I pay for treatment?” “What I meant was, as long as you buy it, I’ll…” I immediately cut her off. “You’d better think of another way. I don’t have money.” Lydia’s face instantly darkened. She grabbed my hand, her tone full of entitlement. “You don’t have money, so you can’t buy my house? I’m not asking for much, just seven hundred thousand. You’re telling me you can’t come up with that?” “It’s still early. Come with me right now to transfer the ownership!” With that, she pulled me quickly toward the door. I lowered my eyes, watching her eager appearance, and sneered. Was she trying to force a sale? I yanked my hand back forcefully. Lydia’s eyes instantly filled with tears. “I know you look down on my illness, but my house isn’t sick!” “I’m begging you not to force me to list with an agency! I haven’t raised enough for my surgery yet. I really can’t afford the agency fees!” Before I could speak, Pedro rushed in from outside. He supported the swaying Lydia and frowned at me accusingly. “Betty, Lydia just wants to sell her house. Why are you being so aggressive?”

I put on a stern face and adopted a businesslike attitude. “As her attending physician, I’m only responsible for treating and saving patients. I have no obligation to help her raise money for surgery.” But Pedro didn’t take my words to heart. He waved his hand impatiently. “You want to buy a house, Lydia wants to sell a house. It’s a win-win situation. Why are you making such a fuss? You even insist she list with an agency.” “You’re just petty, always scheming against your own people.” Watching his complaining expression, I was dazed for a moment. In my previous life when Lydia complained about me, he had the same impatient look. “I’ve known Lydia for over ten years. She never lies. You should just admit it.” “Apologize to Lydia and give her back the house. Consider the purchase money as compensation for her, and she’ll definitely forgive you.” “Sacrificing a little benefit is better than losing your job.” He defended Lydia at every turn and never believed me even a little. A surge of impulse rose in my chest, and I couldn’t help but speak. “Pedro, let’s break…” But before I could finish, Pedro pulled out a set of keys from behind and showed them off to me. “Good thing Lydia said she wanted to surprise you and already transferred the house to me, otherwise you would have lost your house!” He casually tossed the keys on my desk without another glance at me, instead urging me to transfer the money quickly. All color drained from my face. My mouth opened and closed several times before I finally found my voice, asking Pedro with a trembling voice. “You bought Lydia’s house?” Pedro nodded nonchalantly. I quickly threw the keys back. “I don’t want this house. Since you love being charitable, you keep it and live there!” Pedro’s face turned from green to white. After a long pause, he squeezed out a sentence. “We’re going to get married eventually. Can’t we just use it as our wedding house? Besides, I’m just helping a friend. Can you not be so petty?” “Hurry up and transfer the money to Lydia. Don’t delay her surgery!” I didn’t speak for a long time. Lydia dropped to her knees in front of me with a thud, raising her voice. “Dr. Betty, please give me the money! I’m waiting for this money to save my life!” “You can look down on my house, but you can’t refuse to pay after the house has been transferred! I’m waiting for this money for surgery!” Pedro chimed in, every word implying I was untrustworthy and unrighteous. The patients who had been waiting outside the door heard this and began accusing me one after another. “I don’t dare let a doctor without basic human morality treat me. Who knows if she’ll also try to take my money?” “Exactly. She can refuse to pay now. Who knows if next time, if we ask too many questions, she might deliberately prescribe the wrong medicine and kill us!” “With this kind of doctor in the hospital, I don’t dare come here for treatment anymore! Who knows if the hospital will cover for her too!” As soon as this was said, the commotion grew louder, demanding the hospital fire me. The smile on Lydia’s face gradually became smug. She held her phone in front of me, chin slightly raised, signaling me to pay. I straightened my clothes and calmly opened the recording on my phone. “From beginning to end, I never agreed to your request to buy the house, nor did I say I would buy it. Why should I pay?” “Just because your family is poor doesn’t mean you can morally blackmail people here, right? If everyone else follows your example, wouldn’t I have to buy everyone’s house?” The noisy hallway suddenly fell silent.

Lydia’s eyes reddened. “Betty, I know you’re worried other patients will follow my example, which is why you kept refusing me, but now the keys are in your hands. Stop denying it!” Pedro also echoed her, telling me to just admit it. He smiled confidently, as if as long as he spoke, I would definitely compromise. I sneered. “Dream on!” Pedro’s face instantly darkened. He slapped me across the face. “Betty, the money’s already been given. Can you stop being so unreasonable?” “I’m telling you, today you’re taking this house whether you want to or not!” “Lydia already transferred it to your name. You have no right to refuse!” I covered my face, watching them determined to force the house on me, and my thoughts drifted. In my previous life, when I was diagnosed with cancer, it was already late-stage. The director lamented that if only I had discovered it earlier, it wouldn’t have been untreatable. But I had never shown any symptoms. Could it really be late-stage cancer? Suddenly, my phone rang. It was the director sending me my test results. “Betty, you’re perfectly healthy. I think you’ve just been overworked lately, imagining you have cancer. Just get more rest.” The weight in my heart lifted. But the next second, a deeper confusion welled up. If I didn’t have cancer, then what about the late-stage cancer in my previous life? I pretended to stay calm and looked up at Pedro with a smile. “Since you both insist I take the house, I’ll take it.” Just as their expressions relaxed, I changed my tone. “However… put the house in your name. After all, you paid for it with your money. It’s only reasonable to put it in your name.” Pedro’s expression stiffened, his eyes evasive. “This house was mortgaged using your identity information. I can’t change it to my name.” He paused, his tone changing from humble to righteous. “We’re going to be family anyway. Just write off this money!” In my previous life, when he used all my savings as compensation for Lydia, he said the same thing. “Everything I’m doing is atoning for your sins. Why are you so ungrateful?” “Betty, you owe Lydia. You can never repay her in this lifetime! Let alone this little money!” Thinking of this, I couldn’t contain my anger anymore. I kicked Pedro’s knee. “You used my identity to get a mortgage to buy your best friend’s house? Since you love outsourcing charity, why don’t you take the house and the mortgage?” “You can afford the house money! Either put the house in your name, or…” I paused and turned to Lydia with a smile. “Return every cent of the bank transfer to me! I don’t care whether your surgery happens or not.” Hearing this, Pedro turned his face away without a word. But Lydia cried breathlessly. “Betty, you’re making such a fuss because you think my house is dirty! I’m sick, but my house isn’t sick!” “If I die, will you accept my house? Then I’ll satisfy you!” With that, Lydia ran quickly toward the window and, with force, climbed onto the windowsill, preparing to jump.

In an instant, the entire hallway filled with successive cries of alarm and blame. “It’s just using your identity to get a mortgage to buy a friend’s house. You’re going to get married eventually. What’s wrong with family members taking on a mortgage? The house is in your name anyway.” “Exactly! To prove her house is clean, she’s about to jump to her death. Are you satisfied now?” “If I were you, I would have accepted the house long ago! Such good fortune falls in your lap, you should be thrilled!” Pedro glared at me and pushed me aside hard, catching Lydia around the waist. Seeing her safe, Pedro breathed a sigh of relief. He turned and berated me. “This house is tied to Lydia’s life. You’re just losing some money and taking on debt, but Lydia is losing her life!” “Even if you really don’t want this house, you shouldn’t force Lydia to return the money! Don’t you know you can sell it yourself?” Hearing this, Lydia’s crying, which had been subsiding, grew louder again. She grabbed Pedro’s hand, crying breathlessly, shaking her head repeatedly. “You can’t let Dr. Betty sell it. I’ll only give my house to her. I won’t agree to anyone else.” “I don’t have much time left. Please just grant me this last wish!” I looked around. Everyone wanted to tear me apart and devour me. Since Lydia insisted I accept the house, I wanted to see what was so important about this house that she had to force it on me! After thinking it through, I stopped resisting and agreed to take the house. Seeing my agreement, Lydia immediately stopped crying. She blinked and made a request hesitantly. “Dr. Betty, I’m glad you don’t mind. But I want to see you move in with my own eyes…” Before she finished, Pedro agreed on my behalf. “Whatever conditions you state, whether it’s a thousand or ten thousand, Betty will agree!” Lydia’s eyes lit up, immediately pushing further. “Then Dr. Betty, I want to receive videos from you every day showing you living there, just to satisfy my attachment to the house.” “I won’t watch much. I just want to see you sleeping, to feel like I’m experiencing it with you.” But she still wasn’t satisfied and continued, demanding that Pedro and I sleep in the same room. But I had to sleep on the bed while Pedro slept on the floor. I agreed through gritted teeth, but became more guarded. Now Lydia laughed outright, eagerly pulling me toward the hospital exit, saying she wanted to help me move. Watching Pedro move my luggage into the master bedroom, Lydia’s tightly clenched hands finally relaxed. She smiled while helping me organize things, her instructions never stopping. “Dr. Betty, I bought this bed at a high price. It guarantees high-quality sleep. You must use it well!” “Especially this mattress, it’s a matching set with the bed, and it fits perfectly. Don’t change it unless necessary.” I nodded carelessly, paying no attention to her words. Before leaving, Lydia, pale-faced, repeated those words again. She paused, as if kindly reminding me. “Dr. Betty, you should pay more attention to your health lately. What if you also get cancer? Don’t be like me, only discovering it so late. If you feel any discomfort, make sure to get checked immediately.” My heart surged with alarm. How did Lydia know I would get cancer? But the next second, remembering the test results on the report, my heart settled. My gaze unconsciously swept over the walls and furniture, everything looking freshly renovated. A suspicion arose in my mind. Could my cancer be related to this house? I carefully recalled Lydia’s behavior in forcing the house on me and her parting words. I became increasingly certain there was something wrong with the house. I called in professionals to test the entire house for formaldehyde, but the result showed zero formaldehyde, nothing wrong with the house. To verify my suspicion, I took tools and searched every corner of the house, but found nothing. Just as I was puzzled, I suddenly remembered my best friend’s earlier joke. “Sleeping in a sick patient’s bed, aren’t you afraid of bad luck? There might be a curse.” At the time, I laughed at her superstition, but this sentence awakened me. What if it really was a problem with the bed? My gaze slowly fell on that bed, and I yanked the mattress off onto the floor. Looking at what was revealed under the mattress, I couldn’t help but laugh coldly. I finally understood how Lydia’s late-stage cancer disappeared!

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “374551”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster