Category: English

After I was brought back to my filthy-rich biological family, my adopted sister, the fake heiress, made it her life’s mission to destroy me. She framed me for pushing her down the stairs, accused me of stealing, and tried to snatch every penny of the shares our parents gave me. But I had mastered the art of the innocent facade. With a few perfectly timed tears and a soft voice, I turned the tables on her every single time. Even with my parents’ blatant favoritism toward her, I secured my place in the Wright family. That was until the day Dominic Blackwood, the most feared and respected CEO in Manhattan, suddenly proposed a marriage alliance with the Wrights. For the first time, the fake heiress didn’t fight me tooth and nail. Instead, she played coy, claiming she was too young, and eagerly pushed the engagement onto me. Backed into a corner by my parents’ relentless pressure, I had no way out. I started dating Dominic, and to my surprise, our chemistry was electric. Things were heating up fast. Then came the phone call. Dominic rang me up, his voice casual, saying his ultimate ‘best bro’ was returning from abroad and he wanted me at the welcome party. Serena, my fake sister, finally flashed me a wicked, victorious smirk. “You don’t know, do you?” she taunted softly. “Dominic’s little childhood girl-bro has ruined every single relationship he’s ever had. I can’t wait to watch you choke on this.” I just smiled. A ‘girl-bro’? Let’s see if this pick-me girl could survive a single round against someone who had turned playing the victim into an absolute art form. 1 The VIP lounge was pulsing with heavy bass when I walked in. There, sitting shamelessly on my fiancé’s lap in a plunge-neck dress, was the infamous female bestie. “Dom, baby, I have to spill a massive secret tonight!” she practically purred, ignoring everyone else in the room. “About us.” Dominic looked down at her with genuine fondness. “What secret, Jess?” “We’re actually married!” The room went dead silent. Even the background music somehow seemed to dip. Dominic froze. He shot me an incredibly awkward glance, but Jess grabbed his chin and forced him to look back at her. “Don’t tell me you forgot!” she giggled, slapping his chest. “That wild night in Vegas! The whole crew got trashed, and that little chapel priest legally pronounced us man and wife. On US soil, we are legally hitched, baby!” The air grew thick. Every pair of eyes in the room shifted to me, waiting for the explosion. “Married?!” I gasped, my hands flying to my mouth in a picture-perfect display of shock. The color drained from my face. If I didn’t give them a little drama, Dominic might actually think I didn’t care about him. The tension in the booth spiked to dangerous levels. Jess just looked smug. She leaned her head comfortably against Dominic’s shoulder and shot me a mocking look. “Relax, Penny babe. Dom and I have been bros since we were in diapers. Getting a little piece of paper together is just a funny story. No need to have a total meltdown.” I let out a soft breath, picked up a crystal glass of champagne, and walked over to her with slow, measured steps. “Penny, what are you doing?” Dominic instantly shielded Jess, his voice sharp. It was the first time he had ever snapped at me. “Jess and I just got a little too wild that night. I don’t even remember it happening! Could you please just be the bigger person here?” But the dramatic wine-tossing scene everyone was holding their breath for never happened. Instead, I crouched down slightly, my posture elegant, and raised my glass to Jess with a grateful, teary-eyed smile. “Jess, I honestly have to thank you. Thank God you brought this up tonight.” I turned my wide, worried eyes to Dominic. “Otherwise, Dominic would be committing bigamy! That carries a maximum sentence of up to five years in federal prison!” Dominic’s face cycled through three different shades of pale. It was a spectacular sight. Jess’s body went completely rigid. She awkwardly took the champagne glass from my hand, her smug smile cracking. “You’re overthinking it, Penny. It’s not that serious.” “Of course it’s serious!” I pressed a hand to my chest, my voice trembling with concern. “I double-majored in corporate law and criminal justice in college. I know these statutes inside and out. Unlike you, who just likes to play around without understanding the consequences.” I patted her shoulder gently. “But don’t worry. As long as you guys didn’t file the paperwork properly, the ceremony might be voidable. It won’t stop Dominic and me from getting our actual marriage license.” I leaned in, my voice dropping to a soft, maternal whisper. “Just promise me you won’t drag him into these messy legal gray areas anymore, okay? You could have ruined his entire life.” Hearing that, it was like Dominic had been splashed with ice water. He practically shoved Jess off his lap and moved to a seat on the complete opposite side of the booth, looking at her like she was carrying a contagious disease. 2 I immediately seized the moment, slipping into the empty space next to Dominic and resting my head timidly against his arm. For the rest of the night, no matter how many times Jess tried to initiate her usual touchy-feely games, Dominic kept a strict, polite distance. By the time the party ended, Jess was glaring at me with pure venom. Her eyes promised absolute war. Before she came back to town, Dominic had been the perfect match for me. His patience and gentleness made me feel like I could finally put my guard down. My adoptive parents back in that Ohio trailer park had hated me for being a girl. Then the wealthy Wright family found me, tossed my abusers a massive check, and expected me to just fit into their glittering, toxic world. My life in the Wright mansion was a battlefield. When you live under someone else’s roof, you learn to bend. I couldn’t afford to throw a massive tantrum over Jess just yet. If I pushed too hard and Dominic broke off the engagement, my standing with the Wrights would crumble entirely. But surprisingly, the Vegas incident didn’t ruin things between us. It actually made Dominic more attentive. Over the next two weeks, Jess tried to drag him out to bars and weekend trips, but Dominic mercilessly declined her calls, choosing to stay by my side. He was even secretly preparing an official, extravagant proposal. But a pick-me girl never rests. One afternoon while I was out, Jess actually chopped off her gorgeous long hair, rocking a two-inch buzzcut. She strutted right into Dominic’s office. “Dom! I can’t believe you’re getting tied down so soon. We need to go back to our old prep school and recreate our childhood photos! We’ll never get another chance.” She ran a hand over her shaved head. “I even cut my hair for this. Don’t I look just like the little tomboy you used to run around with?” Dominic had a soft spot for nostalgia. Seeing the lengths she went to, he got emotional and agreed on the spot. By the time the estate housekeeper texted me the gossip, Dominic and Jess were already wearing custom-made vintage prep school uniforms, running around their old campus. Jess wasted no time uploading a perfectly curated photo dump to Instagram. The caption read: “The Best Days. Just two bros against the world.” The pictures were highly intimate. Sharing a single pair of headphones under an oak tree. Him lifting her up to touch a basketball hoop. The two of them lying on the football field turf, heads pressed together. I stared at my phone screen for a solid minute. Before her little army of enablers could flood the comments, I typed out a perfectly innocent response: [Oh my God! Which cute gay influencer couple are you guys recreating? This is giving such pure, youthful romance vibes!] [Drop their handle! I definitely need to follow them!] The moment I dropped the words “gay couple”, the entire comment section froze. Nobody dared to type a single word. Anyone who actually knew Dominic knew he was a fiercely private, traditional guy. He had dealt with stalkers in the past because of his athletic build and absolutely despised having his pictures posted online without strict PR approval. Thirty minutes later, Jess’s photo dump vanished. Three minutes after that, she posted a frantic, angry text update. [Do some people seriously have gender perception issues?! Can you not tell when a girl is a girl?!] I immediately replied with overflowing concern: [Jess honey, what happened? Did someone mistake you for a guy? Tell me who it was, and I’ll have Dominic handle them!] [Everyone else read this carefully: Our Jess is one of the boys! Don’t you dare mistake her for a delicate woman!] She didn’t reply. Five minutes later, she deleted that post too. I found out from Dominic’s assistant later that day that the moment Dominic saw my comments, he realized how inappropriate the shoot looked. He forced Jess to scrub the post and made his assistant permanently delete all the raw files from the photographer’s camera. Those nostalgic school photos were supposed to be played in a montage during my proposal to humiliate me. Jess’s grand plan went up in smoke. When Dominic finally proposed, the weather was perfect. The event was so magnificent it made the front page of every Manhattan socialite blog. Everything was disgustingly beautiful. And the best part? Jess didn’t show her face once. 3 After the glittering confetti settled, I nudged Dominic playfully. “Why didn’t your best bro show up today? Where’s Jess?” His warm smile instantly dissolved into a dark frown. “I told her not to come.” “I don’t know what’s wrong with me lately, but just looking at her gives me a headache.” I kept my face perfectly neutral, while throwing a massive celebration inside my head. But I also noticed that Serena was suspiciously absent from my family’s VIP table. She had been acting weird all week, definitely brewing some fresh poison. Following high society tradition, I moved back into the Wright estate to prepare for the wedding. Dominic was incredibly clingy. He drove over every single day, lingering in my room, finding every excuse not to leave. I usually told him to visit when the house was empty to avoid any drama with Serena. But collisions are inevitable. One afternoon, Dominic and I were caught up in a sweet goodbye near my bedroom door when Serena barged in without knocking. “Penny, I brought you some fresh water.” She was wearing a scandalously sheer silk nightgown. She took three steps into the room, “tripped” over absolutely nothing, and launched herself directly toward Dominic’s chest. Having survived years of Serena’s cheap tricks, my reflexes were razor-sharp. I lunged forward and physically blocked her path. Realizing she couldn’t land on him, Serena masterfully pivoted, throwing herself hard onto the hardwood floor. “Penny, please don’t hit me! I’m sorry!” She burst into hysterical sobs, curling into a pathetic little ball. She kept shooting me these terrified, trembling glances, looking at me like I was a serial killer holding a chainsaw. Dominic was utterly bewildered. “Penny? I thought you two got along. Everyone says you take great care of your adopted sister. What is happening?” “I…” Before I could form a sentence, Serena crawled across the floor and desperately hugged Dominic’s calf. “Dominic, you have to save me! Ever since Penny came back, she’s been insanely jealous that I had her parents’ love for eighteen years. She beats me behind closed doors!” Sobbing violently, she hiked up her silk gown, exposing her thighs. They were covered in horrifying, dark purple and red bruises. “Please take me away! If you don’t, she’s going to kill me!” Dominic’s expression hardened. He took a subtle step back, firmly pulling his leg free from her grasp. But when he looked at me, there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes. “Penny?” I didn’t waste a single breath. I picked up the glass pitcher of water Serena had brought in, dumped it directly onto her legs, and scrubbed my hand harshly over her “bruises.” The horrifying injuries instantly dissolved into a messy puddle of purple and blue watercolor paint. “Penny, are you insane?!” Serena shrieked, pulling her legs back and glaring at me with pure hatred. “Serena,” I said smoothly, dusting off my hands. “You’ve spent years throwing yourself down stairs, burning your own clothes, and scratching your own arms just to frame me. Have you gotten completely lazy? You couldn’t even bother to give yourself a real bruise this time?” “It looks so fake it’s insulting.” Serena didn’t even flinch. “Dominic, I only painted those on so you could visualize the truth! It doesn’t mean she hasn’t left real marks on me before!” “She only stopped beating me when she realized she could climb the social ladder by marrying you!” “Before that, she abused me so badly my parents had to send me to a recovery clinic in Europe! I only just got back three months ago!” “And when I came back, I found out she stole my marriage! I was the one supposed to marry into the Blackwood family!” She cried beautifully, every word dripping with absolute agony. What a spectacularly twisted tongue. But Dominic didn’t immediately buy her performance. He just looked at me, waiting for my side of the story. I looked down at Serena and let out a soft, mocking laugh. “Those are heavy accusations. Do you have a shred of proof that I ever laid a finger on you?” “And funny you mentioned a European clinic. Weren’t you vacationing in St. Barts six months ago? Your flight records are public, Serena. Anyone can pull them up.” The tight lines around Dominic’s eyes visibly relaxed. I let my shoulders drop just a fraction. “As for the marriage alliance, didn’t you literally push it onto me because you wanted to play the field? Why are you suddenly acting like I held a gun to your head and stole it?” Serena suddenly stopped crying. She stood up smoothly, a dark, victorious gleam in her eyes. “So, Penny, you finally admit it? You never actually wanted to marry Dominic. This entire engagement was just you being forced into it, wasn’t it?” 4 Wow. So this entire, poorly acted circus with the fake bruises wasn’t about making Dominic think I was abusive. It was a convoluted trap to get me to confess on record that I didn’t originally want the marriage. Too bad she was playing checkers while I was playing chess. I smiled warmly and wrapped both my arms around Dominic’s bicep. “When you threw this engagement away because you wanted to stay single, it gave me the chance to meet the most incredible man in the world.” “Love grows the more time you spend together. Dominic knows how much he means to me.” I reached into my blouse and pulled out a delicate, vintage silver locket. “And by the way, Serena. Every single time you’ve tried to frame me over the years, I’ve caught it on tape.” “You know I never take this necklace off. There’s a micro-camera built right into the pendant. Everything you’ve ever done to me is safely stored on a cloud drive. Do you want me to play the highlights for Dominic right now?” “Let’s show him who the real monster in this house is.” Serena’s face went chalk white. She lunged forward, clawing at my neck. I effortlessly stepped out of her reach. “Give it to me, you bitch!” I let out a crisp laugh. “Relax, sister. It’s just a normal locket. I was just testing you. But look how fast your victim act fell apart.” “You! You manipulative psycho! Dominic, you cannot trust a word she says!” But Dominic was already looking at Serena like she was trash on the bottom of his shoe. He wrapped a strong arm around my waist and guided me toward the door without giving her a second glance. “Penny, I shouldn’t have let you stay here. Pack a bag. I want you living in the penthouse I bought for you before the wedding.” “Okay. Thank you, sweetheart,” I murmured, letting my voice go perfectly soft and grateful. As we walked out, Serena’s furious screams echoed down the marble hallway. “You just wait, Penny! I’m going to rip that fake mask right off your face!” With only two weeks left until the wedding, the two women who wanted me dead went completely off the radar. A quiet enemy is a dangerous enemy. I was swamped with wedding dress fittings, and Dominic’s schedule suddenly became incredibly demanding. Sometimes we didn’t see each other for days. Occasionally, he would bring me along to corporate dinners. Surprisingly, Jess was there, but she completely stopped playing the ‘bro’ card with him. Instead, she started aggressively flirting with Arthur Harrington, one of Dominic’s major investors. During a truth-or-dare game at a lounge, Jess ‘lost’ and immediately threw herself onto Arthur’s lap, attempting to take off his suit jacket. Arthur’s wealthy, hot-tempered girlfriend walked right over and slapped Jess hard across the face. Jess didn’t quit. The next night, she tried to corner Arthur at the bar, wrapping her arms around his neck. The girlfriend caught her again, this time smashing a vodka bottle over Jess’s head, sending her straight to the ER. For a second, I thought Jess had realized I was too tough a target and pivoted to ruining someone else’s life. But I could still feel her eyes on me, watching me from the shadows like a venomous snake. I had several dark theories about what she was plotting, but no proof. Until one quiet evening. I was sitting alone in my new penthouse, looking over the gorgeous property deeds Dominic had transferred to me, when my phone buzzed. A video call from Jess. I answered it. The screen was blurry and chaotic. It was aimed at crisp white hotel sheets, showing two naked bodies tangled together. The lighting was terrible. I couldn’t see the man’s face. My heart seized. Could it be… “Jess, what is this?” I demanded. The call abruptly disconnected. Dominic had texted me earlier saying he was having drinks with some investors. Was this it? Was his perfect, protective fiancé act just a lie while he was secretly sleeping with his ‘best bro’ the whole time? If they actually slept together, I wasn’t going to play the pathetic, forgiving wife. I wouldn’t spend my life fighting off his female friends. If Dominic crossed that line, I had my perfect excuse to burn the wedding down and walk away rich. I grabbed my keys, jumped into my sports car, and sped toward the private club to catch them red-handed. When I kicked open the door to the VIP room, Dominic’s tailored jacket was draped over a leather chair. But he was nowhere to be found. Only Jess was sitting there, nursing a drink, a bruise fading on her forehead. She looked up at me with a deeply satisfied smirk. “Looking for Dom, Penny?” “Where is he? Who was in that video? Was it him or Arthur?” “I’m not going to lie to you, Penny babe. Dom and I just hooked up.” She sighed dramatically, playing with the rim of her glass. “You know how it is. We’ve always had this crazy tension. We had a few too many shots, and things just… escalated.”

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1 Rumor had it my sugar daddy was tired of me and wanted to break up. Helpful and civic-minded as always, I immediately hopped onto a popular gossip forum to recruit his next replacement. In-network referral for my ex. Great performance, low maintenance. 30% finder’s fee. Serious inquiries only. Within a day, two thousand candidates had signed up. Left with no other choice, I created a massive group chat and auctioned off his private itinerary, letting them battle it out and compete for the position. Hounded and cornered on all sides by eager bachelorettes, my sugar daddy, Barrett, finally snapped. When he got home, his face was blacker than coal. “My darling, I gave you my primary black card. Was that not enough?” “Do you seriously have to monetize every single breath I take…?” … I had been with Barrett for three years, and he had finally grown tired of me. According to my undercover informant, Barrett had been sitting in a VIP lounge, casually playing with his lighter, when he tossed a dismissive remark to his friends. “Marry her?” “Where did that ridiculous rumor come from?” “I guess it’s time to break it off…” Hearing this tragic news, I didn’t waste a single second crying. I immediately logged onto my socials, determined to squeeze every last drop of value out of him before my eviction. In-network referral for my sugar daddy. Great performance, low maintenance. The man is a local billionaire, handsome, generous, mentally stable, drives million-dollar cars, and owns real estate worldwide. I am resigning from my post due to force majeure. Now selling his contact. Only charging a 30% finder’s fee. Serious inquiries only. Perhaps the title was a bit too blunt, but the post immediately drew a massive crowd of onlookers. Within half a day, two thousand people had applied. The comment section was pure chaos. Me! Me! Pick me! Give him to me!!! I have the least self-respect! Let me go first! With so many applicants, I had to create a giant group chat. After a quick preliminary screening, I gathered all the interested candidates. I’ve uploaded some of my soon-to-be-ex’s private files to the group folder. Please review @everyone. The chat erupted like a bomb. Holy shit, the admin’s boyfriend is Barrett?! Who? Who is Barrett?! A massive tycoon. Third-generation old money. I can’t say much more or my account will get banned… ????! Is everyone eating this good nowadays?! I’m currently serving a sugar daddy who is eighty and has terrible gas. I can’t take it anymore. Can I get priority, please… No way, first come, first served! I’ll put down a five-thousand-dollar deposit right now! Ten thousand! Fifty thousand! I just want a meeting. I’ll handle the rest myself @admin @admin. Let’s just auction off his itinerary! Everyone gets a fair, competitive shot!!! I stared at the screen, blinking. Sigh. This kind of money seemed significantly easier to make than a finder’s fee. As for Barrett’s itinerary, I didn’t even have to dig for it. Lately, he had been taking his “doting boyfriend” role far too seriously, sending me daily play-by-plays of his business trips, down to the exact hotel room numbers. All I had to do was copy, paste, and watch the cash flow into my account. This was brilliant! I immediately took action and posted in the group. We are now holding a bid for Barrett’s current hotel location. Highest bidder wins. If the winner defaults, it goes to the next runner-up. None of the women in this group were short on cash. The bidding war kept driving the price up until it reached nearly six figures. In the end, a girl with the handle PeachBunny claimed the prize, transferring several hundred thousand dollars without even blinking. Looking at her profile, she was an absolute stunner. Her skin practically glowed, and her feed was filled with yachts, private jets, and luxury galas. A high-class socialite. She was a world apart from someone like me, who took her sugar daddy’s allowance and spent hours debating which brand of cheap chips was the best value. Barrett was a lucky bastard. But that was none of my business. I was just a middleman making a tidy commission. The moment the funds cleared, I packed up Barrett’s location details and sent them over without a single ounce of hesitation. Once I made enough from this, I was going to retire back to my hometown and buy a farm. That night, to verify if my information was legit, the losing bidders camped out in the chat, waiting for PeachBunny’s live updates. Under the watchful eyes of thousands, she finally logged on at eight. I saw him. That single sentence sent shockwaves through the group. !!!!! It’s actually real! The admin is a goddess! Ahhh! If I’d known, I would have bid another ten thousand! How was he? Is he handsome? Did you talk to him?! Give us the details, please! Faced with the onslaught of questions, PeachBunny was happy to share. He’s incredibly handsome, way better-looking than any movie star. But he’s freezing cold. I pretended my heel broke and fell toward him, but he literally stepped out of the way, letting me slam onto the floor without even reaching out to help. Then he turned to his assistant and said, “The quality of this brand is garbage. Tell them to stop sending their seasonal collections to my girlfriend. I don’t want her twisting her ankle.” … The highly active group chat went dead silent. Oh no. This was directed at me! Barrett was taking his doting boyfriend act way too far! How was I supposed to run a business like this?! Since when did he ever pay attention to my shoes?! As my anxiety began to peak, PeachBunny posted again, offering some comfort. It’s fine. He probably just didn’t like me. We all still have a chance. This just proves how incredibly well he treats his woman. Once one of us succeeds, we’ll get the same treatment. It’s definitely worth investing in. I stared at my phone. Aww, Penelope was such a sweetheart! The atmosphere in the group warmed up again, and everyone began talking at once. Damn, my competitive spirit is fully ignited now. I want seasonal luxury collections delivered to my door too! Who doesn’t, sister! But he’s so hard to crack… Honestly, getting into Harvard sounds easier than getting into Barrett’s bed. True! Since the admin is resigning anyway, can you share some of your success secrets? Give us a roadmap. Great idea! We need a guide! Please! Agree! Please!!! Success secrets? I scratched my head, feeling a bit embarrassed. On the day I met Barrett, I had just been screamed at by my horrible boss. Fuming with rage, I had vowed for the two-hundred-and-fiftieth time to marry a rich man. Then, I turned around and saw Barrett. It wasn’t because of his expensive suit. He was just too handsome, practically glowing among a crowd of balding executives. In a fit of reckless courage, I grabbed a glass of champagne, chased him down, and splashed it all over his chest. When he finally lost his patience, he glared at me. “Are you trying to give me a bath?” I raised my hands, my eyes shining. “Hehe, can I?” Barrett was speechless. Perhaps he had never met anyone so utterly shameless. I ended up beating out a sea of models, actresses, and socialites to become his official “girlfriend.” Of course, in reality, I was just a kept canary. Looking back at Barrett’s family tree, not a single male heir had ever married a commoner, and I knew I wouldn’t be the exception. So… I really didn’t have any real secrets to share. But as the demands in the chat grew louder, and the girls began referring to themselves as the Billionaire Capture Alliance, I reluctantly typed out a reply. He seems to prefer classic drama plots. Like… throwing drinks on him. The good news: Thanks to Penelope’s glowing review, the alliance trusted me implicitly, and my business was booming. The bad news: Barrett was back from his business trip. Embodying the perfect spirit of a kept canary, I ran downstairs to greet him. The carved wooden doors swung open, the golden twilight spilling into the grand foyer, outlining his tall, aristocratic frame. But as he stepped into the light… His collar was torn, his shirt was wrinkled, and his coat was soaked with a mixture of wine, tea, coffee, and several unidentifiable stains. The entire man smelled like… a trash bin. I froze. Usually, the moment he walked through the door, I would throw myself into his arms. But right now, even my professional work ethic couldn’t bridge the gap. I took a step back, horrified. Seeing my hesitant expression, Barrett closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and surrendered to his fate. “I’m going to take a shower first.” I watched his retreating back, feeling a wave of silent awe. My clients were far too aggressive. I had to tell them to tone it down. If they drove my cash cow to his grave, who was going to pay my bills? After a shower, Barrett dragged me onto the bed. He was incredibly passionate, barely letting me catch my breath. But my mind was entirely focused on my thriving business. I wanted to check my messages. My phone on the nightstand was buzzing constantly. It had to be the girls clamoring for more information. My heart was in the chat room even though my body was in his bed. I reached out toward the nightstand. Slap! A large hand pinned mine to the mattress, completely cutting off my escape. “Maisie, focus.” Barrett frowned, his fingers tightening slightly on my chin as he pulled my face toward him. “I’ve been gone for days. Don’t you have anything to say to me?”

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After being locked away in an asylum for two years, I finally learned my lesson. When my brother got into another bloody fistfight with a trust-fund billionaire over his unrequited love, I turned around and walked away. I didn’t interfere. When my sister insisted on marrying an abusive monster, I kept my mouth shut. I didn’t utter a single word. When my father risked our entire family estate on a high-stakes corporate betting agreement, I pretended not to see. When my mother embezzled company funds to bail out her deadbeat brother, I minded my own business. The perk of cutting ties with them? My bank account is overflowing, and I actually smile now. But they? They’ve completely lost their minds. 1 On my very first day out of the asylum, I stumbled upon my brother, Rory, in a brutal alley brawl with a group of trust-fund elites. He was throwing wild, desperate punches, burying his fists into one of the rich heirs like a rabid dog. I stood a few yards away, a look of simulated terror plastered on my face. I trembled, feigning cowardice, and didn’t take a single step forward. One of the main reasons they locked me away in that hellhole was because I had tried to stop him from picking a fight with a prominent high-society heir two years ago. Back then, Rory was obsessed with Isla, the girl of his dreams. But Isla only had eyes for Barrett, a prominent billionaire heir. Out of sheer, blinding jealousy, Rory looked for any excuse to pick a fight with Barrett. I had been there. I held Rory back with everything I had, taking two heavy blows to my back from his wild fists, but I didn’t let go. Seeing how desperately I was trying to prevent a tragedy, Barrett took his security team and walked away, avoiding a bloodbath. But afterward, Rory blamed me entirely. He claimed I ruined his big moment, that I prevented Isla from seeing his raw masculinity. When Isla eventually rejected him and moved to Europe, Rory directed all his burning hatred toward me. This time? I turned on my heel and walked away. No way was I getting involved. I didn’t go home either. After my entire family conspired to throw me into a psychiatric ward, leaving me to rot for two painful years under the guise of doing what was best for me, I learned one absolute truth. Stay as far away from the Whitmores as possible. Every ounce of misery in my first twenty years of life came from them. From now on, I only live for myself. That night, a phone call dragged me back to the Whitmore estate. I didn’t want to start an open war with them, there was no benefit in that, so I decided to see what they wanted. The moment I stepped through the door, my father roared at me, “Your brother was in a street fight this afternoon! Why didn’t you stop him?!” Just as I figured. No matter what choice I made, the blame would always land on my shoulders. When you’re the unloved child, even your breathing is an offense. I replied coolly, “I was terrified. I didn’t even realize it was Rory.” My mother glared at me with pure venom. “You did it on purpose! Rory said you were standing less than ten feet away! How could you not recognize your own brother? You wanted him to get hurt, didn’t you? How did you become so utterly malicious?!” They hadn’t visited me once during my two years in the asylum. Now that I was finally out, their only concern was that I hadn’t played meat shield for my golden-boy brother. Rory was the one who went looking for trouble, and the fight was basically over by the time I walked past. My intervention would have changed nothing. But in their eyes, my lack of self-sacrifice was a crime. In the past, I had taken his punches to keep him safe, only to be rewarded with his eternal hatred. Why would I ever play the savior again? Ignorance is bliss. “If you don’t believe me, there’s nothing I can do,” I said. I had no energy to argue with them. Just then, my father’s phone rang. It was the police department. Rory had been arrested. 2 He had broken three of Barrett’s ribs and slashed his face. The Whitmores were moderately wealthy, but we were nothing compared to the true, untouchable elite. Offending a billionaire’s son meant our family could be crushed overnight. Hearing that her precious son was locked up, my mother wept hysterically, insisting that the rich kid was using dirty political connections to suppress them. She threatened to go to the media to expose the corruption. My father, possessing a shred of sanity, immediately hired a top lawyer and began looking for mediators. They were willing to pay any amount of hush money as long as Barrett dropped the charges. Watching them scramble and panic for Rory, a bitter smile tugged at my lips. I had never once experienced that kind of parental devotion. When I lay in bed for three days and nights with a scorching fever, their only reaction was to ask why I hadn’t gone to school. When I was harassed by a boy at school and begged them for help, they told me to tell him to stop and reflection on my own behavior. When I earned my advanced classical piano credentials, they accused me of showing off because my sister, Jenny, couldn’t even read sheet music. When I got accepted into an Ivy League university, they frowned and asked if I had cheated on the SATs. The list of micro-cruelties was endless. For years, I kept testing them, hoping for a shred of affection. I had been pathetic. But those days were over. “I remember that rich boy was your high school classmate,” my mother suddenly said, grabbing my wrist tightly. “Go to the hospital right now. Find him and beg him to drop the charges against your brother!” Her nails dug into my skin, her eyes wide with desperation. I looked down at her phone screen, which was playing the security footage of the fight. The boy Rory had brutally beaten was indeed my former classmate, Barrett. But Barrett had ruthlessly bullied me in high school. I despised him, and the thought of seeing him made my stomach churn. I shook my head. “He bullied me in high school. He dragged me by my hair across the courtyard. I’m not going.” My mother gripped my wrist even harder, her eyes bloodshot. “Perfect! If he bullied you, he definitely remembers you! Use that to make him feel guilty so he’ll let your brother off! Go now!” Her tone was entirely transactional. I simply nodded. “Fine.” Fine, my ass. Once I walked out that door, she would have no idea where I went. I had absolutely no intention of begging my bully to save my abusive brother. If they could be this monstrously biased, I could match their coldness. I turned and walked away. But before I could reach the car, my mother caught up with me. “I’m coming with you.” She didn’t trust me. I let out a dry laugh. “Suit yourself.” On the drive over, she uncharacteristically asked if I had been comfortable at the facility. “It wasn’t a facility, Mother. It was an asylum,” I corrected her. She offered a tight, awkward smile. “I just remember the grounds were lovely. It seemed like a good place for you to rest…” “Was it? Is why you explicitly instructed the doctors to give me monthly electroshock therapy sessions to teach me how to be obedient?” I asked, my voice flat. During my first year, I was subjected to monthly ECT sessions, the agony so intense it made me lose control of my bladder. During the second year, because I started playing along, they let me off the shocks and made me memorize books on family morality instead, slapping me across the face whenever I missed a word. My mother’s fake smile vanished. “I… I only did it for your own good…” “Of course,” I murmured. The atmosphere in the car turned dead silent. When we arrived at the hospital, my mother explained our purpose to the receptionist. Barrett refused to see her, but he agreed to let me in alone. He still remembered me. He sat in his luxury suite, his bruised face twisting into a cruel smirk. His terms were simple: become his kept mistress for two years, and Rory goes free. I gave him a direct answer: “In your dreams.” He seemed entirely confident I would bend to his will, telling me I had one night to think it over. I didn’t even give him a second glance as I walked out. My mother was waiting in the corridor. Seeing the cold fury on my face, she assumed I had failed. She immediately began screaming at me, right there in the hallway. “You useless, worthless disappointment! You can’t do a single thing right! I don’t even know why I bothered raising you!” 3 I looked at her with total detachment. “Then let’s sever ties. Officially.” She hadn’t expected me to say those words. Her furious expression froze, but before she could utter another sound, I turned and walked out of the hospital, leaving her behind. The following morning, my phone rang. Somehow, they had found out about Barrett’s disgusting proposal. Their tone was suddenly incredibly gentle, practically begging me to sacrifice myself for Rory. They wanted me to sell my body to my high school bully. I refused immediately. My father tried playing the good cop. “Gemma, the Whitmores need this. Barrett comes from an incredibly powerful family. Countless women would kill to be in his bed. You’re not just saving your brother; you’re elevating yourself. If you play your cards right and bear his child, you’ll secure a spot in high society.” My mother took the bad cop approach. “If you don’t save your brother, you are no longer a Whitmore. We will disown you.” Since the gloves were entirely off, I didn’t hold back. I let out a sharp laugh and fired back through the speakerphone: “I have never met parents as repulsive and depraved as you. You’re actually encouraging your own daughter to become a rich man’s whore. If your precious son is too stupid to keep his fists to himself, he should face the consequences. He is a brainless idiot!” I slammed the phone down and blocked their numbers. To prevent them from trying to kidnap me again, I immediately packed my bags and moved out of my apartment. Two years ago, the four of them had physically forced me into a car with the asylum staff, claiming my depression and mild anxiety made me unfit for society. I wasn’t going to give them a second chance to lock me up. I went completely off the grid. They had no way of tracking me down, so they eventually had to give up. A week later, Rory was released. My parents had to pay nearly three million dollars in medical expenses and settlements to resolve the issue. Barrett’s family eventually dropped it to avoid a public scandal. The moment Rory was freed, he went straight to find Isla, who had recently returned from Europe. Instead of a romantic reunion, he found her kneeling by Barrett’s feet, gently massaging the rich heir’s legs. Assuming Isla had degraded herself to save him, Rory lost his mind. He charged in like a heroic idiot, screaming about how a real man takes responsibility for his own actions and telling Barrett to leave Isla alone. But Barrett had brought a full security detail this time. Rory’s pathetic display of chivalry earned him a brutal beating in a back alley. The entire incident was filmed and sent directly to my parents. My father nearly had a heart attack. He had just spent millions to bail the idiot out, only for Rory to immediately pick another fight. My mother wept for her darling boy but didn’t dare retaliate against an untouchable dynasty. Ultimately, they locked Rory inside the estate to keep him out of trouble. It was useless. In a desperate bid to escape and see Isla, Rory jumped from his second-story bedroom window. He broke his leg in three places.

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1 When I woke up from the car crash, six years had vanished. I was married to my childhood sweetheart, and we even had a son. Our little boy was the spitting image of his father—quiet, guarded, and painfully adorable. I couldn’t help myself. I scooped him up and covered his chubby cheeks in kisses. Just then, my phone rang. It was an unrecognized number. I pressed answer, and a man’s drunken voice slurred through the speaker: “She blocked me. It hurts so bad, Hazel. Can you come keep me company for a while?” My five-year-old son immediately gripped my hand, his knuckles turning white. “Mom… are you going out to drink with Uncle Beckett again?” “Dad will be so sad.” He lowered his head, his voice cracking. “And so will I.” … When I first opened my eyes, a beautifully dressed little boy was standing at my bedside, staring at me with wide, anxious eyes. “Mom, you were having a nightmare. Are you okay?” Why was he calling me Mom? I blinked, taking in his features. He was incredibly handsome, a perfect, miniature version of Jasper. Then, my eyes drifted to the wall. Hanging above the headboard was a massive, elegant wedding portrait of Jasper and me. I had only been in a car accident. How did I wake up married to him with a child? But looking at the sweet little boy, logic went out the window. My hands moved faster than my brain, pulling him into my chest. I hugged him tight, kissing him repeatedly until his face was damp. That was when the phone on the nightstand buzzed. The caller ID read: Beckett. I answered, and the heavy scent of alcohol seemed to bleed through the line as a man groaned. “She blocked me. It hurts so bad, Hazel. Can you come keep me company for a while?” I was completely bewildered. “Who is this?” The voice on the other end grew cold and exhausted. “Hazel, stop playing games. You know I’m in no mood for your drama right now.” “I’m at our usual bar. Old place. I’m waiting.” With a sharp click, the line went dead. I checked the time. It was two in the morning. Who was this lunatic, demanding my presence in the middle of the night? Did he think I was some cheap, desperate girl? My five-year-old son squeezed my fingers, his chest heaving. “Mom, are you going out to drink with Uncle Beckett again? Dad will be so sad.” He looked down. “And so will I.” I stared at him, a deep sense of unease settling in my chest. Why did this little boy look so incredibly insecure? Seeing my silence, his grip slowly loosened. His shoulders slumped, a look of profound disappointment crossing his small face. “If you have to go, Mom… I’ll get your coat.” “It’s cold outside. You shouldn’t catch a chill. Remember your scarf, too.” He was so heartbreakingly sweet that my heart melted. I quickly grabbed his tiny hands, my voice softening. “I’m not going anywhere, sweetheart. How could I leave you all by yourself in the middle of the night?” “Come here. Let’s cuddle and go back to sleep.” The boy froze, staring at me with a hesitant, shy, almost overwhelmed expression. “Is that… is that really okay, Mom?” “Of course it’s okay! A mother sleeping with her baby is the most natural thing in the world.” I pulled him under the warm duvet, wrapping my arms around him. “By the way, what’s your name, sweetie?” He reached up, placing a cool hand against my forehead. “Mom, do you have a fever? I’m Tristan. You were the one who chose my name.” “Tristan? Like the knight?” He shook his head, his voice dropping. “No. You said it meant sorrow. Because you hated us.” I went completely numb. Tristan? Sorrow? Why on earth would I give such a beautiful, innocent child a name like that? The next morning, I woke up late to find Tristan already dressed. He was sitting quietly on a small chair, reading a book without making a single sound. My god, I had given birth to an angel. I adored him instantly. I wanted to call his name, but “Tristan” felt too heavy, too thick with a past I couldn’t remember. So, I called out softly, “Sweetheart.” “Where is your father?” Hearing the endearment, Tristan’s ears flushed a bright red. “Dad… he was working late at the office last night.” “Oh. I see.” I thought about the six-year blank in my memory since the car crash. I offered him a warm smile. “Come here, sweetheart. Let me test you. How is the relationship between your dad and me?” Tristan hesitated, his eyes dropping to the floor again. “Not very good, Mom. You seemed to really hate us.” “Dad said you lost your memory after the accident. Since you didn’t have any other family left, he brought you home to care for you, and you two got married shortly after.” “But after I was born, you were unhappy every single day. Dad said it was postpartum depression, that you didn’t hate me, you were just sick.” “But then you met Uncle Beckett, and you started smiling again. You told Dad that Beckett was your medicine.” A bitter, old-beyond-his-years look crossed his face. “And then, you didn’t want us anymore.” I searched my brain, but the name Beckett conjured absolutely nothing. “Who is this Beckett? Why would I care about him so much?” Tristan shook his head. “I don’t know.” “But on your anniversary with Dad, Uncle Beckett called Dad from your phone on purpose.” “Dad thought it was you calling, and he was so happy when he answered.” “But you didn’t know the call was connected. You were busy talking to Uncle Beckett. He told you he didn’t love you, that he was in love with his brother’s fiancée, even though they could never be together.” “You asked him why, if it was so painful, he couldn’t just consider you instead.” “Uncle Beckett said that if you got a divorce, he would consider it.” “And then, Mom… you said, ‘Okay, I’ll divorce him.’” “Dad… Dad was so heartbroken that day.” His voice trembled. “And so was I.” I sat there, utterly stunned. In my son’s eyes, I was nothing but a desperate, pathetic simp. I was throwing away my family for a man who was pining after his own brother’s fiancée. It was the plot of a cheap, trashy soap opera. I reached out, gently covering Tristan’s ears. “A child shouldn’t have to carry these heavy things.” Tristan blinked, looking at me with confusion. I let out a long, heavy sigh. Jasper was my childhood sweetheart. When I was seven, my father worked as a driver for the Lu family. Because my mother was gone and my father was always busy with work, he would often leave me at Jasper’s estate. My classmates had warned me, telling me that rich kids were cruel to their bones. They said Jasper would treat me like a toy, bullying and tormenting me every day. But the moment I met him, those fears vanished. Jasper had no sense of superiority. He looked at me and said I looked like a delicate porcelain doll. I was fragile and sickly back then. But despite being the pampered heir of the wealthy Lu family, Jasper would kneel on the frozen ground to put on my socks in the winter. He carried my backpack to school every day. When I was sick in bed, he would sit by my side, holding my hand and refusing to leave. Later, when my father died in a tragic accident, none of my relatives wanted to take in a penniless orphan. It was Jasper who took my hand and led me into his home. The Lu family was one of the most powerful dynasties in the city, but he never let me feel like an outsider. To me, he wasn’t just a lover. He was my family. Before the car crash, we had been planning our wedding. We had already picked out our future home. I had teasingly told him the bathroom needed a double tub, a massive mirror, and floor-to-ceiling windows so we could play around. Jasper had smiled and promised me everything. And yet, during the six years I had lost to amnesia, I had treated him like garbage. The guilt tore at my chest. “Sweetheart, let me ask you one more thing. When is our wedding anniversary?” “November twenty-first, Mom.” That was just two days ago. I couldn’t let my husband suffer like this any longer. When Jasper came home, I was going to make things right. That evening, Jasper returned from the office. The house was dark, quiet, and cold. As usual, there was no one waiting for him. He let out a bitter, self-deprecating laugh and reached for the light switch. The moment the light flared, I stepped into his path, a brilliant smile on my face. “Surprise!” The living room had been beautifully decorated, and a warm, steaming dinner sat on the dining table. Jasper froze, his briefcase slipping slightly in his grip. “Hazel? What is this?” “I know we missed our anniversary, so I wanted to make it up to you tonight.” Tristan was already fast asleep, leaving just the two of us in the quiet room. “Just an anniversary dinner?” “Of course. What else? I made everything myself. Come, try some.” I pulled him toward the table, making him sit. I stared at him, taking in his features. He was breathtakingly handsome, like a painting of a modern prince. I wanted nothing more than to drag him to bed and ruin that perfect, neat composure. I tilted my head, offering a soft smile. “Does it taste good, honey?” Jasper’s fork paused mid-air. He looked at me as if I were a ghost. “It’s been a long time since you called me that.” He took a slow bite. “The food is excellent.” I winked. “If you like it, I’ll cook for you every single day.” But there was no joy in his eyes. “Is that so? That must be incredibly exhausting for you.” “How much money do you need this time, Hazel?” “After all, you worked so hard to learn how to cook healthy meals for Beckett’s sensitive stomach. You wouldn’t waste those skills on me without a price.” I went entirely rigid. Just then, my phone began to blare. It was Beckett. I immediately swiped decline. But a second later, the screen lit up again. Jasper placed his fork down, his eyes dark and empty. “Why don’t you answer? Are you afraid I’ll hear something?” “You don’t have to hide it from me. Just do what you want.” His voice was a hollow whisper. “I already know everything anyway.” Left with no choice, I swiped accept and pressed the speakerphone button, laying the phone flat on the table. Beckett’s irritated voice snarled through the speaker. “Hazel, you actually dare to hang up on me now?” “You had quite a spine last night, actually refusing to show up. Is this a new game? Playing hard to get?” “I have to admit, you’re slightly more interesting than before.” He let out a patronizing chuckle. “I have some good news for you.” “My brother is marrying his girlfriend next week. I’m going to plan the wedding myself. Maybe once I hear her say ‘I do’ to him with my own ears, I can finally let her go.” “And then, I’ll give us a try.” “As for you, make sure you clean up your mess and cut off whatever ties you need to on your end.” Jasper listened to the entire speech, a faint, mocking smile playing on his lips. “How touching. You gave him your heart, and now you’re going to give him your official status too.” “Should I start packing my bags to make room for him?” Before he could say another word, I reached out and pressed my fingers against his lips. “Husband, shut up for a second and let me handle this.” I cleared my throat, speaking into the phone with cold precision. “Beckett, right? I am a married woman with a family. Please have some self-respect.” “Stop trying to insert yourself into my marriage. My husband and I are deeply in love, and we don’t need a third wheel.” “We’ve just finished our romantic candlelight dinner and are about to go to bed. I need to warm his sheets now. Goodbye.” With a swift tap, I disconnected the call. Then, right in front of Jasper’s stunned eyes, I blocked the number and deleted the contact permanently. Surely he would believe me now. But Jasper only stared at me, his shoulders slumped. “You don’t have to force yourself to play these humiliating games for his sake.” “How am I forcing myself?” He looked away. “We’ve been sleeping in separate rooms for a very long time.” I blinked, thoroughly confused. “Why on earth would we do that?” My eyes slowly drifted down to his lap, my voice dropping to a cautious whisper. “Is it because… you can’t perform?” That didn’t make sense. Before the accident, Jasper had been insatiable, going through an entire box of ultra-thin condoms every night until I was begging for mercy. Jasper’s face flushed a deep crimson, a mix of embarrassment and anger flashing in his eyes. “You were the one who demanded it!” “Because you said the mere thought of me touching you made you sick.” I wanted to punch my past self. How could I have kept such a masterpiece of a man out of my bed? Was I out of my mind? “Well, tonight, we’re touching.” “Husband, I’ve missed you so much. Let me feel you.” I slid my hand beneath his shirt, pressing my palm against the firm, defined muscles of his chest, gently teasing his skin. It had been years since I had touched him like this. His body went rigid, a low, ragged groan escaping his throat as he grit his teeth. “Enough, Hazel.” “Beckett’s company just secured its funding. You don’t have to disgust yourself by seducing me anymore.” He pushed my hand away, stood up, and walked out of the room. Looking at the back of the man who used to look at me with nothing but warmth and adoration, my heart shattered into a million pieces. I tangled my fingers in my hair, staring at the empty doorway. What had I done? Could a man as proud and dignified as Jasper ever forgive me?

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1 For our first anniversary, my boyfriend gave me a twenty-dollar scratch-off card. When I scratched off a five-million-dollar jackpot, I screamed, ready to throw my arms around his neck. But my best friend, Vivian, grabbed my wrist. “Valerie, look closely! This card is fake. He’s running a loyalty test on you! To put it bluntly, the guy doesn’t trust you for a second!” She urged me to dump him. Who wants to be with a cheap, broke guy who uses fake junk to test real feelings? Honestly, for a split second, it made perfect sense. But just as I was about to march downstairs and slap that stupid ticket right into Tristan’s face, a tiny, furious voice echoed in my head. “Are you kidding me? Is my idiot mother really about to break up with my dad again?” “Does she have any idea that my dad is the sole heir of the Mercer dynasty? Literally the crown prince of New York’s elite?” “All she has to do is pass this stupid test and she gets a fifty-million-dollar reward. Instead, she’s going to listen to that toxic snake and end up dying in misery.” What? Tristan is the heir to a hundred-billion-dollar empire? Why didn’t you say so earlier! When I first realized the ticket was fake, Vivian’s words had sunk into my mind like a poisoned needle. “A man with actual capability would never run a messed-up test like this,” she whispered, her face tight with mock concern. “Deep down, he thinks you’re just some gold-digger! Why do you think he’s still waiting down there under the streetlamp? He’s waiting to see how you react. If you tell him you won, he’ll just shrug it off as a joke, feeding on your disappointment. If you don’t tell him, he’ll look down on you from his moral high ground, watching you embarrass yourself trying to cash a fake ticket!” Down on the street, Tristan stood quietly beneath the flickering yellow glow of the lamppost. His head was bowed, his face shadowed, making his expression impossible to read. For the past year, he had never bought me anything expensive, and I had never minded. I loved him for who he was. But if this was all a twisted game… Seeing me hesitate, Vivian pressed harder. “A relationship without trust is just a house of cards, Val. A guy with a mind this dark isn’t going to stop at one test. Do you want to spend the rest of your life walking on eggshells? Can you really tolerate being played like a fool? You need to go down there, expose him, and slap some sense into him!” Taking a deep breath, I gripped the scratch-off and walked toward Tristan. “Tristan, you…” Before I could finish, that squeaky, immature voice rang out again in my mind. “Are you kidding me? Is my idiot mother really about to break up with my dad again?” I whipped my head around, but the street was empty. The voice was coming from inside my own stomach. “Does she seriously not know my dad is the Mercer family heir, worth a hundred billion dollars?” “In her past life, she listened to that toxic witch Vivian. She threw the card in my dad’s face, screamed that he was a cheap hypocrite, and broke up with him on the spot after a massive fight. Then Vivian swooped in. She played the gentle, caring angel, married into the empire, and became the billionaire’s wife. And what happened to my idiot mom? Vivian ruined her career, dragged her name through the mud, and had her baby taken away. My mom ended up committing suicide in a dingy, rented room.” “I got reborn just to end up with a mother who doesn’t learn her lesson!” I froze, ice water running through my veins. The idiot mother was me? I was pregnant? And Tristan was a billionaire prince? The little guy in my belly let out a heavy, dramatic sigh. “Mom, get your act together! It wasn’t easy getting reincarnated. Don’t ruin it this time!” “Right now, right this second, go hug my dad. Pretend you’re ecstatic and tell him you won the jackpot!” “As long as you pass this test, my dad has a fifty-million-dollar bonus and a massive luxury penthouse waiting for you. If you don’t pull it together, that toxic bitch gets it all…” I looked up at Tristan. Suddenly, the streetlamp wasn’t the only thing shining. He practically glowed with the light of a golden god. He wasn’t just a hidden heir: he was my personal ticket to paradise. 2 Tristan watched my face fluctuate between tears and a hysterical grin, his brows knitting together. “Val? What did you want to say?” I took a deep breath, threw my arms around him, and buried my face in his chest. “Tristan, you won’t believe how lucky we are! That scratch-off you gave me? We won! It’s a five-million-dollar jackpot!” His body stiffened instantly. “You… actually told me?” “Of course I did! You’re the love of my life, and you bought the ticket. With this money, we can finally build our future together.” Up on the steps, Vivian’s face practically shattered. She marched down, her voice sharp. “Valerie, stop being so brainless! I told you, that card is fake! Tristan is just playing you!” So what if my golden goose wanted to run a little security check before raining cash on me? I was more than happy to play along. Inside my belly, the little guy gasped. “Wait, my mom actually used her brain? But now that the toxic snake exposed it, how is she going to save this?” Just sit back and watch your mother’s award-winning performance, I thought back. “Wait… you can hear me?” the baby wondered. I ignored him, focusing instead on the ticket. My eyes welled up with tears right on cue. “It… it’s a fake?” “Val, let me explain,” Tristan pleaded, his composure slipping. “I thought we finally made it,” I choked out, looking up at him with tear-filled eyes, letting a single tear roll down my cheek. “I thought you wouldn’t have to work three jobs anymore just to save up for our future.” I let out a shaky breath, wrapping my arms tighter around his waist. “But it’s okay. I know you were just trying to make me happy. It was nice to dream for a second. It just means you’ll have to keep working hard, and I’ll be right there beside you.” I buried my face back into his chest, letting out soft, muffled sobs. Tristan cupped my face, gently wiping away my tears. “You sweet, silly girl. The ticket is fake.” “But you passed the test. This is your real reward.” He slid something into my palm. I looked down. An Amex Black Card, and a key fob to a penthouse overlooking Central Park. I swallowed hard. “What… what does this mean? Tristan, where did you get this?” “My family is actually the Mercers of New York,” he admitted softly. “I had to hide my identity while dating. I want to bring you home, but my family required a test first. You have no idea how terrified I was that you’d leave me for five million dollars. Thank you, Val. I promise to love you with everything I have.” Vivian turned deathly pale. “Valerie, did you not hear him? He’s been lying to you from day one! He’s just playing with you. Men like him never marry girls like us! Throw that trash back at him! Don’t sell your soul for money!” The little guy in my belly snorted. “My dad is the sole heir of the Mercer line. The old patriarch is dying for a great-grandchild. If my mom spills the pregnancy news right now, the family gates will swing wide open for her.” Seeing Vivian reach out to snatch the card and keys, I quickly shoved them into my pocket, covering my stomach. “But I’m already pregnant with his child. I don’t want my baby growing up without a father.” Vivian froze. Tristan looked like he’d been struck by lightning. “Val… what did you say? You’re pregnant?” When I nodded, he immediately pulled out his phone, made a rapid-fire call, and scooped me up in his arms, walking toward a sleek black Maybach that had quietly pulled up to the curb. “I’ll have the wedding planned immediately. First, we go to the hospital.” The baby purred happily. “Not bad, Dad. But don’t celebrate too early. That toxic snake Vivian isn’t going to give up easily. She already knew your true identity and has been plotting to tear you two apart so she can take my mom’s place.” Resting in Tristan’s arms, I gently caressed my stomach. But I have you now, don’t I, my sweet reborn baby? After the hospital confirmed the pregnancy, the Mercer patriarch immediately gifted us a sprawling estate in the Hamptons as a welcoming present. Everything was picture-perfect. Except for Vivian. And my baby was about to give me a very grim warning about what she had planned next. 3 After the scratch-off incident, I moved out of my cramped apartment and into the estate. Vivian pretended to be happy for me, but she bombarded my phone with toxic texts daily. “Val, do you really know Tristan? Families that rich have crazy rules. Can you actually survive in that world?” “They only care about pedigree. You think you can secure your place just with a baby? Watch out, they might just take the kid and kick you to the curb!” “Men born with silver spoons don’t stick to one woman. High-society guys are all players.” Every time she tried to plant seeds of doubt, my little guardian angel chimed in. “She’s just trying to make you paranoid, Mom. My dad is completely devoted to you, and the Mercer family has strict moral codes.” “In the last life, my dad only ended up with her to make you jealous. He loved you to death. In fact, after you died, he took his own life.” “Don’t play into some tragic romance trope. Tell Vivian that even if the Mercers only want the baby, you’ll still be set for life on child support alone!” Grinning, I picked up my phone, switched on the video call, and slowly panned around my massive, thousand-square-foot master bedroom. “Vivian, look at this place. Just for being pregnant, they gave me this estate and an unlimited allowance.” “Even if they kick me out after the birth, they’ll have to pay me millions in child support. I’m set for life either way.” “And if I have a boy, he’ll inherit the entire Mercer empire. Who cares if I marry into the family? As long as I have the money, I’m happy.” “You shouldn’t worry about me. Worry about yourself. I heard your deadbeat, gambling father is looking for you again?” Vivian’s face flushed with a mixture of rage and humiliation. She slammed the phone down, hanging up on me. Why didn’t I block her? Because my sweet baby told me that villains like Vivian are like roaches. If you don’t face them head-on, they just skulk in the dark. It was much more satisfying to keep her close and drive her insane with my success. A few weeks later, Tristan took me to a high-society charity gala. It was my official debut as his wife. Since Tristan didn’t want a rushed wedding and wanted to spare me the stress while pregnant, we had quietly registered our marriage and planned a grand ceremony for the following year. Before we left, my little guy gave me a stern warning. “Be careful tonight, Mom. In our last life, Vivian set you up at this very gala, causing a massive public scandal that ruined your reputation.” What did she do? I asked mentally. “In the past life, you snuck in as a waitress to see my dad after finding out you were pregnant. Vivian spilled red wine all over your dress and led you to a private changing room.” “She had hired a man to wait for you there. When my dad walked in, you were disheveled and caught in a compromising position. He was blinded by rage. With Vivian whispering poison in his ear, he didn’t even believe the baby was his.” “You were thrown out into a torrential downpour, got hit by a car, lost me, and ended up with a crippled leg. Vivian is definitely going to sneak in tonight to pull something similar.” I shuddered, a cold sweat breaking out on my neck. At the gala, sure enough, I spotted Vivian. She was dressed in a server’s uniform, holding a tray. When she saw me, she marched straight over. “Oh, Valerie, that dress is stunning. Your new man must be incredibly generous. How much did you have to do to get it?” “I wish I could find a sugar daddy like that. Some of us actually have to work for a living.” She spoke just loudly enough for the surrounding socialites to hear. Several wealthy women exchanged mocking glances, instantly branding me as a gold-digging interloper. I remained perfectly calm. “Oh, this dress? It was a gift from my mother-in-law, Beatrice Mercer. She actually designed it herself when she was pregnant with Tristan.” My response delivered a double blow: it confirmed my marriage to the heir and showed I had the mother’s full backing. The socialites’ snickers instantly vanished, replaced by polite, flattering smiles.

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1 I spent five years trying to become the leading lady in Nolan’s life. The floating comments in my head had warned me from the very beginning. Doesn’t she realize there isn’t a shred of love in his eyes? Don’t be stupid. He only tolerates her because his son needs a mother. Once his first love returns from abroad, all her years of devotion will mean absolutely nothing. But I refused to believe them. Every story had a past, didn’t it? Nolan was attentive, respectful, and always kept clear boundaries. His personal life was as clean as a blank sheet of paper. How could I throw away everything we built just because of a few cynical remarks from unseen onlookers? Later, when he got down on one knee and proposed, the comments finally began to shift in my favor. Yet, that was the exact moment I decided to let go. … I opened the custom wedding invitation Nolan had designed. The gold-embossed font was elegant, bold, and striking. My smile slowly froze on my face. “Who is Giselle?” Nolan went rigid for a fraction of a second, his eyes darting away. “Oh. The designer must have made a mistake.” “I’ll have them reprint a new batch immediately.” If I hadn’t seen that exact name on the list of newly hired instructors at my school, his smooth explanation might have actually convinced me. I picked up the remote and casually switched on the television. “…World-renowned ballerina Giselle has returned to the country to continue her studies. In an exclusive interview, she stated she is currently focusing on her career and has no plans for marriage…” The reporter’s crisp voice filled the quiet living room. The arm Nolan had wrapped tightly around my waist suddenly went limp and slipped away. The floating comments flared up again. Nolan, what are you doing?! Just hearing her name makes you pull away from Gemma? My heart breaks for her. Don’t forget Gemma basically raised your kid and coddled your demanding mother for five years. If you still want Giselle, you are completely heartless! Am I the only one who pities the designer? The male lead gave the wrong name but blamed it on the working class. Was it really a designer’s mistake? Or was it that, in his subconscious, his bride had always been Giselle? I took a deep, quiet breath, forcing a playful smile onto my face as I turned to look at him. “What a coincidence. She shares the same name.” He didn’t answer. His eyes were glued to the television screen. The woman on the screen was elegant, her movements light and ethereal. When the reporter asked her about her college days, a deep, unshakeable sorrow clouded her eyes. “Gemma, should we move the wedding up?” “Next year is going to be incredibly busy at the winery. We have several major international contracts to negotiate, and I might not have the energy to plan a proper wedding then.” There was an intense, pleading look in his eyes, mixed with a complex emotion I couldn’t quite decipher. The chat feed began placing bets. Half of them say he’s doing this just to spite the female lead. The other half say he’s terrified of regretting his choice, so he’s burning his own bridges. Not a single soul believed he actually wanted to marry me. But what if? What if there was a tiny chance? His excuse was perfectly logical, after all. If only he hadn’t deliberately avoided eye contact the moment Giselle’s name came up. I wanted to speak, but a sudden mist blurred my vision. Seeing my silence, a flicker of panic crossed his face. He quickly reached out, grasping my hand to reassure me. “Don’t worry. I promise the wedding will be grand. I won’t let you feel rushed or slighted just because we’re moving the date up.” “Toby already calls you Mom, and my mother gave you the family heirloom emerald bracelet. You are the destined daughter-in-law of this family. Having the wedding a bit earlier is a happy occasion for everyone, isn’t it?” “Are you still upset about the name on the invite? It really was just an accident. Please don’t be mad at me, okay?” The more he spoke, the more defensive he sounded. I almost felt embarrassed for him. One of the comments had put it beautifully: He was never a good liar. I gently pulled my hand from his grip, my expression as sweet and calm as ever. “Whatever you prefer.” The next afternoon, Nolan picked me up after work to try on wedding dresses. “A few new arrivals from Milan just came in. I had them set aside the best ones so you can have first pick.” The moment I slid into the passenger seat, he leaned over naturally to pull my seatbelt across me, clicking it into place. For five long years, he had been this meticulously attentive. The comments always claimed he was like a cold, emotionless robot. I had spent years arguing with them, defending his quiet care. But the moment of truth was finally here. As we neared the boutique, my phone rang. “I’m just one intersection away,” I said into the receiver. “Take your time, don’t rush.” Nolan reached over, taking my hand in his. “Did you invite a friend?” I nodded. “A new colleague from work. She just got back from abroad and has an incredible eye for fashion. I figured she could help me choose.” The floating comments were practically screaming with excitement. The legendary reunion is finally here! The female lead left twelve years ago to pursue her career after having his baby, and now they’re finally going to stand in the same room! I’ll always support Gemma, but for just one second, I really want to see this tragic couple reunite. Does the second female lead know something? Is she testing him on purpose? When Giselle arrived, Nolan was holding my handbag and my discarded coat, looking every bit the devoted, doting fiancé. I smiled warmly as I introduced them. “Nolan, this is Giselle. She just joined our faculty as a ballet instructor. She used to be the principal dancer for an international company.” “And Giselle, this is my fiancé, Nolan. He runs a private winery.” 2 I clenched my fists in my pockets, watching their faces intently, searching for even a flicker of recognition. But there was nothing. They exchanged polite, professional handshakes, greeting each other like complete strangers. My heart made a clean, sharp cracking sound and died. I forced myself behind the heavy velvet curtain to change, pulling the fabric back just a fraction of an inch to peer out. The moment they thought I was out of sight, their polite masks shattered instantly. “I thought you were allergic to caffeine.” “I went through desensitization therapy while I was abroad.” “Ha. Did you approach us on purpose today?” Nolan’s tone was biting, but it couldn’t hide the raw panic bleeding through his voice. “I had no idea you were her fiancé.” “Save it. I will never believe another word that comes out of your mouth.” “If you find this too awkward, tell her I had to leave when she comes out.” “Who do you think you are? Coming and going whenever you please?” Through the gap, I watched as Nolan reached out and grabbed Giselle’s wrist, squeezing it tightly. The veins in his neck were bulging with rage. All of his usual calm, composed dignity had vanished into thin air. “Gemma and I are getting married next month. Don’t you dare try any of your games again.” Giselle began to weep, turning and running out of the boutique. Nolan hesitated for two agonizing seconds before rushing out after her. Almost immediately, my phone buzzed with a text. An emergency came up at the winery. Take a cab home, okay? I looked down at the glowing screen, a bitter smile touching my lips. The harsh, warning words he had hurled at Giselle weren’t a rejection of his old flame. They were the desperate, defensive lashes of a man trying to score a point against the only woman who had ever truly broken him. The comments floated across my vision. Don’t cry, Gemma. You’re beautiful, and you’ll find someone who actually cherishes you. I’m starting to hate the male lead. Both Giselle and Gemma are completely innocent here. This is a total trainwreck. I’m finally old enough to understand both sides of this mess. In the beginning, the comments had been brutal to me. Before Nolan, I had never been in a relationship. A strict upbringing and a demanding academic schedule had molded me into the classic quiet, obedient girl. Even after entering the workforce as a piano teacher, my life remained sheltered and simple. Toby was the student who gave me the most headaches. He couldn’t sit still, had a terrible memory, and his parents were always late to pick him up. The third time I found him sitting alone in the dark corner of the classroom, his stomach rumbling loudly, I decided to take him home with me. I cooked him sweet-and-sour chicken, braised beef, and tomato eggs. He ate like he hadn’t seen food in days. The following week, a tall, elegant man accompanied Toby to class. “Hello, I’m Toby’s father. Thank you for looking after him the other day.” And just like that, Nolan entered my life. Over time, I learned he was thirty-five, a single father, ran a successful wine business, and had been raised by a single mother. He was physically fit, impeccably dressed, and carried himself with a quiet, mature dignity. Falling for him was as natural as breathing. At first, I wasn’t sure if he felt the same way. Until one day, the floating comments appeared before my eyes. Stop dreaming, second female lead. You are not the heroine of this story. Once his first love returns, all your years of devotion will mean absolutely nothing. If the male lead’s mother hadn’t hated the first love so much, they’d have three kids by now. Gemma, listen to me. Don’t rush in just because he seems to like you right now. You’re just a placeholder. Amidst the sea of warnings, I realized one thing: He liked me. If he liked me, what was there to hesitate about? A young girl’s feelings shouldn’t just remain a quiet secret. I began to pursue him, putting myself in his orbit as much as possible. “I found an incredible bakery nearby. We should take Toby there sometime.” “Toby’s piano needs tuning. If you aren’t sure which brand to buy, I can come with you.” “Your mother picked up Toby today and invited me over for dinner. I didn’t say yes immediately because I didn’t want you to feel awkward. Haha.” It was a simple, transparent strategy, and the comments hated me for it. One afternoon, when we took Toby to the amusement park, the insults nearly blinded me. Doesn’t she realize there’s no love in his eyes? What a manipulative woman, using the kid to force the male lead to spend time with her! The second female lead is just a glorified, free nanny. Learn your place. Nolan, reject her already! The female lead is living a lonely, miserable life across the ocean while you’re playing house with another woman! But the tides turned completely after I stood up for Toby at school. Toby had gotten into a fight, and Nolan was away on a business trip in Europe, so I stepped in. I had never been a mother, but I believed a mother should trust her child. I shielded Toby, spent hours track down the school’s security footage, and stood my ground against the aggressive parents of the other kids. She stood up for him in front of the principal without hesitating. That was so cool! I wish I had a mother like her. The other parents kept calling her a stepmother who didn’t care about the kid. She took so much abuse for him! The bullies had nothing left to say, so they teased Toby for not having a mom. Gemma literally brought him lunch to show them he had someone. I’m crying, this is so sweet. It was after that incident, as Nolan drove me home, that he spoke a sentence that changed everything. “Do you want to give us a try?” After a long, breathless pause, I heard my heart hammering against my ribs. “Yes.” 3 So, when I saw Giselle’s name on the new hire list, I decided to take a gamble. She was stunning, elegant, and carried herself with an effortless confidence. She was everything the comments had warned me about—the legendary, unshakeable first love. She actually existed. But then I thought, so what? I had been by Nolan’s side for five years. I went from his son’s piano teacher to his mother’s favorite shopping companion, and finally, a permanent fixture at the family dinner table. We were just one signature away from making it official. Most importantly, Nolan, who was notoriously cold toward women, had been the one to ask me to give us a try. On the day we officially made our relationship public, even the comments that had hated me from the start conceded that my devotion had finally paid off. They said my sincere heart had finally touched him, and that a man as responsible as Nolan would never look back once he made a commitment. I had let those words fill me with a quiet, secret joy for a very long time. When Nolan finally came home that evening, I was in the living room, gently correcting Toby’s finger placement on the piano keys. Nolan held a bouquet of white lilies, a quiet apology on his lips. I didn’t reach out to take them. “Are you still angry?” He leaned down, trying to coax a smile out of me. Toby, sensing the tension, quietly slipped back into his bedroom. My smile felt incredibly stiff and cold. “I’m allergic to lilies.” Nolan rubbed the back of his neck, dismissive. “I just remembered you liked the color. I forgot about the allergy.” “On our anniversary last year, the restaurant you booked was decorated with white lilies. I broke out in hives and had to spend the night in the ER.” “Last month, when I asked you to buy an air purifier, you brought home a lily-scented one. I spent weeks struggling to breathe before I finally had to move back to my own apartment.” Twelve years had passed, yet he remembered with absolute clarity that Giselle was allergic to caffeine. I had been by his side for five years, and he couldn’t even remember the flower that sent me to the hospital. The difference between love and tolerance was staggering. I didn’t acknowledge his empty apology. I quietly packed my things into my bag and walked toward the front door. “Don’t be mad, Gemma. I promise I won’t buy the wrong flowers next time.” “And about today… leaving you at the bridal shop was my fault. Next time, even if you try on a hundred dresses, I’ll sit right there and watch you. Okay?” He took me by the shoulders, his eyes wide and seemingly sincere. It was always the same script. I had spent years waiting for those “next times,” watching my hope slowly curdle into complete numbness. “There won’t be a next time, Nolan. Here are your keys.” I kicked off my slippers, slipped into my heels, and placed the house keys gently on the shoe cabinet. His polished composure finally cracked, a flash of irritation breaking through. “Gemma, is this really necessary? You’ve always been so reasonable. Are you really going to pick a massive fight over such a trivial thing?” Missing my high school reunion because he didn’t want to socialize was a trivial thing. Skipping our wedding photos because he hated the hassle of hair and makeup was a trivial thing. And now, putting his first love’s name on our invitations and abandoning his bride-to-be to chase her down was also a trivial thing. What, then, was a significant thing? As the comments had so brutally pointed out: When a man doesn’t love you, you could hang yourself from the ceiling and he’d just think you were playing on a swing. I looked up, locking eyes with him. “I heard you two in the dressing room.” “What?” “Why didn’t you tell me you knew Giselle? The bride’s name on our invitation belonged to your first love.” His entire body went rigid, and he slowly lowered his head, unable to speak. The cards were finally on the table. And he had absolutely nothing to play. Even though I was the official fiancé, in the grand narrative of his life, the first love was an invincible force. My logical mind told me to run from a man who couldn’t choose, but a small, desperate part of me wanted to wait just a little longer. What if? That was why I had set up their meeting today. I needed to see it with my own eyes so I could finally kill the hope inside me. Otherwise, I would have walked away looking graceful, only to torture myself with endless “what-ifs” later. I walked out of the apartment and pressed the button for the elevator. The numbers ticked up slowly. 1… 2… 3… 4… 5… It would take a while to reach the twenty-third floor. But the door behind me remained firmly shut. No one ran out to stop me. For a single, fleeting second, I had thought that if he ran out and gave me even a half-decent explanation, I would have forced myself to believe it. The comment feed erupted into a frenzy. Gemma, don’t cry! We’ll find someone a million times better! Nolan is just prideful and slow to open up. He doesn’t want you to leave, but chasing you down would look desperate, and that’s just not who he is. You’ve held on for so long, why not give it one more shot? In a choice between two women, the one who stays is always the one who ends up suffering. I cleared out every single one of my belongings from Nolan’s apartment. During the day, I went to work and taught my classes as if nothing had happened. At night, I sat in my empty apartment, reading through our old text messages and crying until my chest ached. When I finally decided to pour myself a glass of wine to dull the pain, I realized my rack was filled entirely with bottles Nolan had gifted me over the years. The sight only made the tears flow faster. From now on, if I wanted a drink, I would have to buy it myself. Ironically, Nolan, who had always been so distant, began texting me every single day. It’s raining today. Remember to bring an umbrella. I ordered your favorite hot pot. It should arrive at your place soon. Gemma, those are all things of the past. You haven’t visited in days, and Toby really misses you. That last text struck a nerve with the comments. He’s just using the kid as leverage because he’s losing his free nanny! Block him! Delete his number! True moving on starts with physical boundaries. Cut him off! But I didn’t block him.

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1 While taking a quiet walk around our residential neighborhood, I ran straight into my ex-husband, Tristan. For a second, I thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. No one knew better than I did how much Tristan detested this town, and how much he despised this exact neighborhood. I stopped in my tracks, offering a polite but distant greeting. “Are you back to visit your grandmother’s grave?” He stood there, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit, his eyes locked onto mine without so much as a blink. “I bought a house here. I stay here whenever I’m in town on business.” A wave of disgust washed over me, instantly killing any desire to be polite. I looked down, already mentally calculating the cost of moving somewhere else, and stepped aside to walk away. But Tristan stepped in front of me, blocking my path. “Brooke, I regret it.” I pretended not to hear him, my eyes lighting up as I waved to someone behind him. “Jasper!” Jasper walked over, naturally taking my hand in his. When I first met Tristan, he wasn’t the powerful tech CEO he is today. Back then, in the eyes of our classmates and neighbors, he was just a lonely, impoverished seven-year-old boy. He had no parents and no friends. His divorced parents had tossed him back and forth like a hot potato before finally dumping him on his grandmother. Winters in Seattle were wet and bone-chilling, filled with endless drizzle. While the neighborhood kids played together, Tristan could always be seen trailing behind his grandmother, collecting cardboard and plastic bottles from recycle bins. He wore thin, worn-out clothes, constantly shivering with his head tucked into his collar. Some of the kids from our block spread the story at school, and soon, everyone started calling him “the garbage boy.” Since we lived in the same neighborhood and went to the same school, I constantly witnessed him being bullied and mocked. Eventually, I couldn’t bear to watch it anymore. I began taking care of him in secret. I would pack an extra breakfast to share with him, and I gave him my spare gloves and insulated thermos. When my dad discovered why my things kept going missing, he let out a soft sigh and brought Tristan into our home. From that day on, Tristan played at our house, ate at our table, showered in our bathroom, and did his homework beside me. My mother started buying everything in pairs: one blue, one pink. On Tristan’s tenth birthday, my father bought him a computer. That was the day we discovered his terrifying talent for programming. After that, his life changed completely. He swept every local and national coding competition, his room filling up with trophies and cash prizes. At fourteen, he traveled abroad as the youngest competitor in the World Programming Championship and took first place. I still remember the video of him holding the trophy on a bustling European street, his eyes shining brightly as he smiled into the camera. “I want to thank Mr. and Mrs. Su. Without them, I wouldn’t be standing here today. And thank you, Brooke.” We were only fourteen, but watching that broadcast, my face burned crimson. During our senior year of high school, the day he received his early admission letter to Boston Tech, he wrapped his arms around me. “Brooke, please apply to a school in Boston,” he whispered softly in my ear. For that single sentence, I left Seattle and enrolled in a mediocre local college in Boston. I had always been ordinary: ordinary grades, an ordinary life, an ordinary degree. I was nothing like Tristan. He was a man of extremes. When he loved something, he loved it to the point of obsession. He loved programming, and he worked himself to exhaustion to launch his startup. He loved me, too, often running across campus just to eat breakfast with me after pulling an all-nighter at his office. But when he hated, he hated with equal intensity. During our freshman year, Tristan used his hacking skills to break into his biological father’s small logistics firm, systematically ruining his most lucrative contracts. During our junior year, while his startup was in its most critical phase, he took a night off to throw a lavish party, celebrating the day his mother’s second marriage collapsed. Looking back, the way he treated me after he fell out of love was entirely consistent with who he had always been. 2 At twenty-three, the moment I graduated, Tristan and I got married. By then, his company was valued at millions, and he had purchased a luxury penthouse in one of Boston’s most expensive districts. Because we had no financial worries, I took a quiet, low-stress job earning about three thousand dollars a month. In a city like Boston, it wasn’t a high salary, but the hours were strictly nine-to-five, and the office was incredibly close to Tristan’s headquarters and our home. Tristan was consumed by his work, and I had no grand career ambitions. I preferred coming home to cook dinner and tend to our pets. In the beginning, everything was perfect. Tristan’s company grew rapidly, and he was hailed as one of the youngest, most promising tech executives in the country. He was sharp, confident, and deeply devoted to me. He would sit at our table, drinking the soup I had simmered for hours, and tell me how incredibly lucky he felt. But gradually, his nights out grew longer, and the distance between us stretched into a chasm. The breaking point arrived on Tristan’s twenty-seventh birthday. I stayed up waiting for him all night. When he finally walked through the door at dawn, I spotted a clear smear of red lipstick on his collar. In that instant, something inside me snapped. I hurled his birthday cake at him, lunging forward to tear at his shirt. I smashed everything within reach: the dishes, the decorations, our framed wedding portraits. Tristan watched my hysteria with cold, detached eyes. He calmly reached behind him to close the front door. “Brooke, if you’re going to scream, at least close the door. If you don’t care about your reputation, I care about mine.” He looked at me, his brow furrowed with deep irritation. “You’re still my wife, and as long as you don’t cross the line, nothing will change. No one is going to take your place. Be reasonable. It’s better for everyone.” He didn’t even bother to deny it. He just stood there and admitted it. My mind shattered. I lunged at him again, but he pushed me away with enough force to send me stumbling. He looked down at me, his words cutting like glass. “Look at yourself. Do you look like a CEO’s wife? You look like a screaming street vendor.” He turned and walked out of the apartment. He didn’t return for weeks. I was twenty-seven, proud, and entirely unprepared for that level of humiliation. I began showing up at his office, demanding a confrontation. It didn’t take me long to find out who the other woman was: Vivian, his corporate partner. Tristan hadn’t even tried to hide her. They were already behaving like a married couple in front of the staff, attending meetings and dinners together. His assistants, his executives, everyone knew. I was the only one kept in the dark. The betrayal kept me awake for days. Eventually, I lost control and lunged at Vivian in the office lobby, grabbing her hair as we tumbled to the floor. She was thin and lacked my physical strength, but even as I pinned her down, she glared up at me with tears in her eyes. “I know I’m wrong, Brooke! But I was there coding with Tristan when we were still in college! We pulled seventy-hour weeks, drank cheap coffee, and survived on instant noodles! Where were you? What were you doing?” “Tristan would finish a twenty-hour shift and still have to run to your campus to walk you to your morning classes! You sat back and enjoyed his success while he nearly worked himself to death! You don’t deserve him!” My hands went limp, and I stumbled back, staring at her in disbelief. How could she speak with such self-righteous fury? Was she actually accusing me of failing him? Tristan rushed into the lobby. He didn’t look at me once. He helped Vivian up, wrapped his arm around her shoulders, and led her away. I walked back to our empty penthouse like a ghost, sitting in the dark for days, her words echoing in my mind. Where was I while they were building his dream? What was I doing? I was in Seattle. 3 I was taking care of Tristan’s grandmother. She was a gentle, kind-hearted woman who had always treated me like her own family. During our senior year of college, she fell gravely ill. Tristan’s startup was at its most critical point, and he was working himself to the bone. Meanwhile, I was trying to finish my thesis and secure an internship. Tristan had collapsed into my arms one evening, weeping as he talked about his company and his grandmother’s failing health. I remembered exactly what I told him. I told him I would return to Seattle to care for her. Tristan had held me so tight I could barely breathe, whispering endless promises of gratitude. He told me he had decided to marry me when he was fourteen, and that he would spend the rest of his life making me happy. His tears had soaked my shoulder, and I comforted him, telling him I needed a break from the academic pressure anyway. I claimed it would be good to spend some time with my own parents. I had gaslit myself into believing I was the one who needed a break, all to ease his guilt. And so, I spent over a year in Seattle, working with my parents to nurse his grandmother through her final days. I didn’t return to Boston until after her funeral. Tristan had kept his promise. The moment I got back, he proposed with a diamond ring, and we married shortly after. But now, his mistress was standing in his office lobby, demanding to know what I had done to deserve him. It was a sick joke. I locked myself in the apartment, weeping through the nights, slowly destroying myself. I obsessed over our history, trying to figure out where things had gone wrong. Sometimes I hated Tristan with a burning passion; other times, I blamed myself. I had married an extraordinary man, but I had failed to keep pace with him. After two weeks of silence, Tristan came home. He held a bouquet of crimson roses, handing them to me as if nothing had happened. “Vivian agreed not to press charges for the assault.” “Brooke, think about your parents. Your father is a high school teacher. If you keep making these scenes, do you think his reputation will survive the scandal?” He actually had the nerve to bring up my parents. “We have a lifetime of history together. Vivian isn’t going to take your status. You have wealth, position, and everyone in this city calls you Mrs. Lu. I’ve given you everything a woman could want. You need to be content.” “Be sensible, Brooke. Let’s just go back to the way things were.” Mrs. Lu. What a sickening title. Looking at the man standing in front of me, a wave of physical nausea hit me. I rushed into the bathroom and threw up until my stomach was empty. A week later, I found out I was pregnant. The news thrilled Tristan, and he seemed to commit himself to our family. He took my hand, his eyes filled with apparent remorse. “I made a mistake, Brooke. I’m sorry. Now that we have a baby on the way, I’m done playing around. I promise I’ll cut things off with Vivian. Let’s raise this child and build a real home.” I wept, but eventually, I chose to believe him. I convinced myself that I shared some of the blame, that his years of hard work had taken a toll on him. He was back now, and that was all that mattered. But the human heart is a fragile thing. I felt as though my soul had been hollowed out. I had lost my job after missing so much work, so I spent my days sleeping, staring at the walls, and waiting. Tristan kept his word, coming home every night to cook dinner and read stories to my belly. And I might have actually believed he had changed, if Vivian hadn’t started sending me video clips every single day. 4 He spent his nights with me, but his days were still spent with Vivian. In the videos Vivian sent, the staff called me “the primary boss’s wife” and referred to Vivian as “the little boss’s lady.” They joked about Tristan’s ability to keep both of us happy. On Vivian’s birthday, Tristan announced to the entire office that anyone who wished her a happy birthday would receive a double bonus. He certainly knew how to make a woman feel special. Watching those videos, I realized Tristan’s love was like a firework: brilliant, loud, and easily given to anyone. All I had left was the ash. I didn’t know why I was still clinging to the ruins of our marriage. But looking down at my six-month pregnant belly, I couldn’t bring myself to give up on the life growing inside me. I decided to block Vivian’s number, put my head in the sand, and just focus on bringing my baby into the world. But Vivian had no intention of letting me find peace. On a rainy Tuesday afternoon, she showed up at my door carrying a large cardboard box. She didn’t come inside; she simply dumped the contents onto the floor of my entryway. Out spilled my old college notebooks, a framed photo from our wedding, and a small horse sculpture I had bought Tristan when he started his company. “Brooke,” Vivian said, her smile sweet but her eyes cold as ice. “Tristan said these things were taking up too much space in his office. He wanted me to throw them away, but I thought it would be a shame to lose such precious memories. I brought them here so you could keep them.” Staring at the mess on the floor, I didn’t even feel angry. “Get out,” I said quietly. I was done fighting with her. It wasn’t worth the energy. “Oh, are we sensitive today? I haven’t even started,” Vivian sneered, stepping closer and intentionally shoving her shoulder into mine. “Tristan told me you look like a bloated pig these days, and that you smell like baby formula. He says looking at you makes him sick.” She leaned in close, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Did you know we bought a new, larger sofa for his office lounge?” My vision blurred. The fragile peace I had built shattered into a thousand pieces. I don’t remember how I lunged at her, or how we ended up on the floor. I don’t even remember when Tristan arrived. There was only chaos, screaming, and then a sharp, tearing pain in my abdomen. When I woke up, the storm had passed. I was lying in a hospital bed, and my baby was gone. Tristan sat beside me, clutching my hand as tears streamed down his face. “Brooke, we’re still young. We’re only twenty-eight. We can try again. I swear, I’ll cut Vivian out of my life permanently this time…” Without a word, I grabbed the paring knife from the fruit basket on my bedside table and plunged it toward his chest. He flinched, and the blade buried itself in his shoulder. But even as blood soaked his shirt, he didn’t let go of me. He held me tight, weeping into my shoulder. His tears felt like grease on my skin. The moment I was discharged, I filed for divorce. Tristan refused to sign the papers. In response, I picked up another knife and drew it across my wrist, slicing deep into the flesh. The sight of the blood terrified him, and he finally signed the papers. In the settlement, he transferred ten million dollars to my account. I didn’t refuse the money; I knew I would need it to pay for my medical treatment. My mind was broken. I was diagnosed with severe, clinical depression.

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1 My ten-year-old son, James, was supposed to be enjoying his after-school swim club. Instead, his classmates held his head down, pinning him to the pool’s suction drain. I dove in like a madman when I saw the water blooming with a sickening crimson. But by the time I dragged him out, the brutal force of the drain had already torn his face beyond recognition. He choked up a final pool of dark blood and went completely still. The ringleader, an arrogant boy, sneered without a shred of remorse. “So what? I’m a minor, the law can’t touch me anyway.” “Besides, I couldn’t stand him. Now that he’s dead, nobody is in my way for first place.” His father tossed a credit card at my feet with a lazy, patronizing shrug. “There is a hundred grand on there. That should be more than enough to buy your boy’s cheap life.” Grief-stricken, I demanded justice, but my wife, Audrey, held me back. “They’re just kids, Lucas! Our boy is already gone, do you really want to ruin another child’s entire future?” My relentless crusade only managed to land the boy a brief stint in juvenile hall, a far cry from the justice my son deserved. Consumed by despair, I swallowed an entire bottle of sleeping pills by my son’s grave. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the very day I was supposed to drop James off at the pool. Instantly, I grabbed his hand and dragged him back to the car. We were going home. But even with James safe, the tragedy of the pool still unfolded, only this time, it claimed a different boy. … We had left in such a hurry that James’s dry clothes were still in the locker room. I told him to wait in the car while I ran back inside, intending to also warn the facility manager about the dangerous suction drain. But the moment I stepped into the natatorium, a chorus of cruel laughter echoed off the tiled walls. “Look at him! Doesn’t he look like a dead fish? Move, you idiot! Why aren’t you moving? Hahaha!” Three boys were laughing hysterically. The tallest, Mason, was stepping heavily on a patch of blue fabric underwater. Seeing that familiar shade of blue, identical to James’s swimsuit, and the faint pink cloud rising in the water made my heart stop. If I hadn’t known for a fact that James was sitting safely in the car, I would have collapsed right there. In my past life, Mason had targeted James because my son beat him academically, and Mason wanted to crush him in the pool too. But who was this boy? And why were they doing this to him? I didn’t have time to think. I rushed forward, shouting at the top of my lungs. “Stop! What the hell are you doing?!” Mason looked up, raised an eyebrow, and took a casual step back. “Oh, look, the old dog’s here to protect his pup. Game’s over, boys.” The other two boys jumped back like startled rabbits, refusing to look me in the eye. Even though they had released him, the immense suction held the boy’s face flat against the drain grate. His limbs floated limply. In my past life, James had been trapped exactly like this. I had dove in to save him, but the suction was too strong to fight. By the time the staff turned off the filtration system, the golden window had slammed shut, and my son died in my arms. The blue swimsuit, the medium-cropped hair, the slight build… I kept telling myself James was safe, but my hands shook uncontrollably. Drawing on my grim experience, I screamed at the nearby lifeguard. “What are you standing there for? There’s a kid stuck to the drain! Shut off the filtration system now!” The lifeguard finally snapped out of his daze and scrambled to call the control room. A few agonizing minutes later, I pulled the boy’s limp body from the water. His face was swollen and distorted, completely unrecognizable. He wasn’t breathing, and there was no pulse. Mason stood nearby with his arms crossed, a smug smirk playing on his lips. “Mister, he said he could hold his breath for three minutes. We were just helping him.” “Helping him?!” My vision went red. I slapped him hard across the face. “You call pinning him to a drainage grate helping him?!” Mason clutched his cheek, glaring at me with venom. “It was just a game! Who knew he’d be such a wimp?” “How dare you hit me? Do you know who my mother is? She’ll destroy your whole family!” I knew exactly who his mother was, and it only made me want to tear that arrogant look off his face. His mother had married a useless parasite named Richard, and together they had raised this little monster. “A game? This is murder! Do you understand that?!” The chubby boy beside Mason finally started to look terrified, his voice trembling. “Mason, did we… did we go too far?” Before he could finish, Mason snapped. “Shut up! You were holding him down just as hard!” The third boy burst into tears. “I want to go home…” I ignored them, laying the boy flat on the tile. I began administering CPR, screaming at the staff. “Call an ambulance! Hurry! He might still have a chance!” As I tilted his chin back to give him rescue breaths, I noticed a tiny, dark-red birthmark shaped like a plum blossom behind his ear. Something clicked in my mind, but the thought slipped away before I could grasp it. Just then, Coach Briggs walked in through the side door, exhaling a slow puff of cigarette smoke, accompanied by Richard, Mason’s father. The moment they saw the scene by the pool, the color drained from their faces. “What… what happened here?!” Mason immediately twisted his face into a mask of tearful innocence, running to his father. “Dad! We were just having a breath-holding contest. He said he could do three minutes, but then…” “This is unacceptable!” Coach Briggs went pale. “I’ve told you boys a thousand times, no swimming without a coach present!” “I’m sorry, Dad, I won’t do it again,” Mason whimpered, burying his face in his father’s side, though he cast a malicious smirk at me from the shadows. “But that mister over there hit me!” Richard saw the red handprint on his son’s face and pointed an angry finger at me. “Who the hell do you think you are, putting your hands on my son?” He cast a dismissive glance at the dead boy on the floor. “The kid didn’t follow the rules, and his parents clearly weren’t watching him. You can’t blame anyone else for a tragic accident, right?” In my past life, the security footage showed Mason pushing James into the pool from behind before all three boys dragged him to the drain and held him down. The boy lying here had suffered the exact same fate. I knew the agonizing pain of losing a child. No matter who this boy was, he was innocent. Saving him was the only thing that mattered. I didn’t waste my breath on Richard, continuing my chest compressions while looking at the coach. “Coach Briggs, this happened on your watch. You have a responsibility here. You need to contact this boy’s parents immediately.” 2 Coach Briggs fumbled with his phone, his hands shaking so violently he nearly dropped it. “Yes… yes, of course… I’ll call right away…” A few seconds later, he looked down at the boy’s mangled, swollen face. “But… his face is so swollen, I can’t tell which student he is.” I looked up, thoroughly exasperated. “Then check your roster! See who was supposed to be here today, cross-reference the absences, and look at who’s standing right here!” Mason chimed in, stepping forward. “Don’t bother looking, Coach. I know exactly who it is.” He crouched down next to me, staring at the boy’s face. His voice was quiet, but his words pierced my ears like needles. “It’s James, Mister. Don’t you even recognize your own son?” “You were so dramatic earlier, I thought you knew. Or were you just too scared to face the truth?” My eyes widened as I stared at him. They thought this was James? That was why they had done this? Mason seemed delighted by my shock. Seeing that my hands hadn’t stopped pumping the boy’s chest, he shook his head. “Don’t waste your energy. You’ve been doing CPR for twenty minutes, but he was under for ten. The golden window is long gone. He’s brain-dead.” My hands went limp, and I collapsed onto the cold tiles, my entire body shaking. Was I too late again? In my past life, I couldn’t save my own son. In this life, I couldn’t save this boy either. I glared at Mason. “Why would you do this? Aren’t you afraid of retribution?” “Oh, I’m shaking in my boots,” he mocked, clutching his chest dramatically. “What retribution? The law?” “I’m only eleven. Under the law, anyone under fourteen can’t be held criminally responsible.” He was so close I could smell the orange shampoo in his hair. That scent, combined with those exact words, had been the soundtrack to my nightmares in my past life. Looking at his twisted, malicious face, the hatred I had suppressed across two lifetimes boiled over. I grabbed him by the hair and shoved his face toward the water. “You sadistic little monster! I’ll let you taste what it feels like…” Before I could drag him under, Richard slammed his heavy key ring into the side of my head. The metal cut deep into my forehead, and blood began to trickle down my face. I was forced to let go, and Richard quickly pulled Mason behind him. “Are you insane?!” Richard roared. “It was an accident! Why are you taking it out on a child? My son is just a boy, how could he understand the consequences? It was a tragic accident!” “An accident?!” The blood roared in my ears. “Go check the security cameras! Three of them held his head down and forced him into the drain! You call that an accident?!” Richard glanced back at his son, who looked slightly guilty, before slowly pulling a black card from his wallet. “What do you want, justice? Let me tell you something, Mister. Justice in this world depends entirely on who you are and how much you can pay.” He took a step forward, tapping the card against my nose. “Do you know who my son is? His mother is the sole heiress of the Harrington Group.” “And your son? Just a working-class brat. His life isn’t worth ruining my son’s future.” He tossed the card directly at my bleeding forehead. “There’s a hundred grand on this card. The pin is six eights. Take the money, bury your kid, and keep your mouth shut.” “If you breathe a word of this to anyone, or if you call the police, I’ll make sure you and your wife can’t even get jobs sweeping streets in this city.” Mason peeked out from behind his father, sticking his tongue out at me. There wasn’t a trace of fear on his face, only pure, malicious triumph. Coach Briggs, desperate to avoid a scandal, whispered in my ear. “James’s dad, look, it was an accident. Since they’re offering to settle this privately, why don’t we all just take a step back?” Take a step back? I looked at the black card on the floor, then at the cold, lifeless boy, and a bitter laugh escaped my lips. A child’s life was just a transaction to them, negotiated with such casual ease. My eyes fell on the birthmark behind the boy’s ear again, and suddenly, I remembered who he was. If a working-class boy’s life wasn’t enough to bring them down, let’s see how many of their own lives they would have to pay to settle the score for this boy. Mason kept rambling. “Mister, be smart. Money is real. Your kid is dead anyway, you can always just make another one…” I slowly raised my head, my eyes locking onto his arrogant face. “Your mother’s money won’t save you this time.” He tilted his chin up. “Say whatever you want. I won’t get in trouble anyway. My dad said the law protects minors like me.” I gently wiped the water and blood from the dead boy’s face, my finger brushing against the plum-blossom birthmark. Then, I took off my jacket and laid it gently over his body, giving him his last shred of dignity. “Protects you?” I let out a cold, hollow laugh. “Then you’d better pray that the law is the only thing people believe in.” Richard frowned, his eyes narrowing. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I ignored him, pulling out my phone to send a single text. Then, I leaned down and whispered into the dead boy’s ear. “Don’t worry, buddy. Your mom is on her way.” With that, I began dialing 911. “What do you think you’re doing?!” Richard demanded, his voice dropping to a threatening register. “I told you, we settle this here and now! If you dare…”

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1 The heatwave apocalypse arrived without warning, sending global temperatures soaring into uncharted territory. As the power grid collapsed across the country, the government rationed electricity, leaving household air conditioners dead. Millions fell victim to severe heatstroke, their bodies cooking from the inside out. I had spent my life savings on a small, portable cooling tent. Due to power limitations, it could only fit one person at a time. My family and I agreed to take turns, one day at a time. But by the second day, they stole my turn. First, they gave my slot to my younger brother. Second, they gave it to my mother. By the third day, I died of heatstroke. When I opened my eyes again, I was back in my bedroom, exactly one week before the world went to hell. This time, I woke up with the Sensory Swapping System. The first thing I did after my rebirth was shut down every assembly line at my food processing plant. I took all the rice, flour, grain, and oil from the factory and locked them away in our storage vaults. With the apocalypse looming, raw survival depended entirely on securing resources. Checking the countdown on my phone, I had exactly six days and seven hours before global temperatures spiked by thirty percent, scorching crops and drying up rivers. At that point, anyone with food and water would become a prime target. Simply having supplies was not enough; I needed an absolute fortress. My top priority was upgrading the factory. I expanded the main warehouse, installed an independent solar power grid, and dug deep to place a heavy-duty underground water filtration system. Every production line was cleared out, and raw ingredients were categorized and secretly moved into cold storage and reinforced vaults. Finally, I hired a high-end security firm to install a defense system. With my safe house ready, I turned to the remaining supplies. I rented a twenty-four-foot refrigerated box truck. It was large enough to haul my entire checklist, yet modest enough to navigate the city streets and enter the factory gates without drawing suspicious eyes. More importantly, it kept temperature-sensitive cargo perfectly chilled during transport. I bypassed local supermarkets and wholesale markets, which were too crowded and lacked the bulk items I needed. Instead, I drove to a massive warehouse club on the city outskirts and bought vacuum-packed rice, flour, grains, frozen meats, and canned goods in bulk. I cross-referenced my checklist to make sure no detail was missed: antibiotics, painkillers, anti-inflammatories, gastrointestinal medicine, antihistamines, and wound disinfectants. Once the medical supplies were secured, I cleared a small indoor plot inside the factory. As soon as my first truckload arrived, I sowed vegetable seeds into the fertile soil. There was no telling how long the heat would last, and relying solely on stockpiles was a death sentence. I needed a continuous, renewable source of food. By the time I finished my second supply run, my bank accounts were drained. Running a private factory meant most of my liquid capital was tied up in unpaid invoices, so I liquidated my stock portfolio and sold my family’s ancestral home far below market value. With the cash, I covered the factory roof with high-efficiency solar panels, adding several industrial-grade diesel generators capable of running for years. I also purchased an encrypted military-grade radio transmitter, multiple thermal imaging cameras, and a state-of-the-art automated defense system. Six days later, the heatwave struck. My external sensors registered a blistering 119 degrees Fahrenheit. And I knew this was just the beginning. The municipal power grid collapsed within four hours of the initial spike. The city fell into a suffocating silence. Water systems rely on electricity; when the pumping stations ground to a halt and the last drops trickled out of the taps, raw panic tore through the streets. I unlocked my phone, watching the desperate cries for help online and tracking real-time aerial footage from my drone. The once-bustling streets were completely abandoned. The asphalt was melting, bubbling up and releasing a pungent chemical stench. As my drone hovered over my old apartment building, I spotted three familiar faces through the window. “It’s too hot! Why isn’t the AC working?” “I’m going to die!” My brother’s whining voice filtered through the audio receiver. Watching the three of them drenched in sweat, I reached into my mini-fridge, grabbed a cold can of soda, and took a long, refreshing drink. The icy liquid slid down my throat, sending a pleasant shiver through my body. It actually felt a little chilly, so I adjusted my thermostat to a comfortable seventy-eight degrees. By the third day, the temperature outside hovered near 140 degrees. Reports of heatstroke deaths were skyrocketing, and vicious fights over bottled water were breaking out on every corner. Unbothered, I pumped filtered water from my well and gently misted the green sprouts pushing through the indoor soil. But as I stood enjoying the quiet, my security console flashed a bright red warning: [Bio-signature approaching]. 2 Through the high-definition security monitors, I watched two men carrying heavy fire axes kick through my outer factory gate. “The air is cooler in here! There’s definitely food inside!” On screen, their faces were twisted with heat exhaustion and manic desperation. I recognized them instantly. In my past life, these same two men had looted a local convenience store during the initial blackout, hacking the elderly shopkeepers to death for a single case of bottled water. They began hacking at my security doors, cursing and screaming. Their violence only made my decision easier. Since I had spent millions on an automated defense grid, I figured this was the perfect opportunity to test it. I moved my finger across the console and tapped the [Purge] command. A silent laser swept across the hallway. The two intruders collapsed instantly, blood pooling on the concrete. Within seconds, automated cleaning arms emerged from the wall, dragging the bodies toward the incinerator chute. I launched my drone to scan the factory perimeter. The location was remote enough that no one else seemed to be nearby. But as the drone returned toward the main hangar, three figures caught my eye. “Mom, Dad, this is where Sylvia is hiding!” “That selfish bitch is in there enjoying the AC while we’re out here dying!” I had fully expected Gavin to drag our parents to my door eventually. But what I did not expect was the sudden alert on my monitor: [Main Door Unlocked]. The sound of my security system disengaging made my blood run cold. How was that possible? The security architecture was my own design, featuring physical and digital barriers. Without my master biometric override, opening the door from the outside should have been impossible. I pulled up the lock diagnostics. The primary electronic lock icons were flashing red, showing they had been bypassed. Zooming in on the entryway camera, I saw Gavin holding a strange, custom-built electronic device. He was running it over the keypad, forcing the system to cycle through codes. I had forgotten that despite his lazy, useless attitude, my brother was a mechanical prodigy when it came to locks and circuits. I took a deep breath, my fingers flying across the auxiliary control panel. I had engineered this system to handle any threat, including an inside betrayal. I initiated the secondary lockdown protocol. I wiped the digital keypad memory and engaged the heavy steel physical deadbolts. [Authorization required: Iris scan, palm print, thirty-six-digit dynamic physical key.] [Processing security protocol… 3… 2… 1…] [All external digital signals blocked.] The moment the physical bolts slammed into place with a heavy thud, Gavin’s face fell. He kicked the door in frustration, triggering the automated defense warning. Realizing what would happen if he stayed, he grabbed our parents and retreated into the courtyard, screaming curses into the security camera. I assumed they would wander off and perish in the heat, but two hours later, they returned. This time, they were dragging someone with them. It was Martha, my oldest factory employee. She had been with me since I started the business, treating me like her own daughter. In my previous life, I had lost contact with her during the chaos. In this life, with time running short, I had anonymously sent her a massive crate of supplies and a stack of cash, urging her to escape to the countryside. How did they find her? “Sylvia!” Gavin screamed at the camera, holding a kitchen knife to Martha’s throat. “If you don’t open this door, I’m going to carve this old lady up piece by piece! You have three minutes!” The temperature outside was rising. Sweat poured off my family as they counted down the seconds, their eyes wild with desperation. In the final seconds, I relented. I put on my tactical body armor, gripped my rifle, and opened the inner security gate. “Let Martha go, and you can step inside,” I announced through the speaker. But I underestimated their cruelty. The moment the cool air of the vestibule hit their skin, Gavin kicked Martha hard in the stomach, sending her sprawling. Before I could catch her, the three of them rushed past us into the primary safe room and slammed the door, locking it from the inside. I didn’t panic. I simply smiled, helped Martha up, and led her into the secondary shelter next door. Fortunately, I had designed the factory with a dual-zone layout. By locking themselves in the primary room, they had only cut off a tiny fraction of the facility, leaving the storage vaults and greenhouses entirely under my control. But as the minutes ticked by, the air in my secondary room began to warm up. I checked the monitors and saw Gavin frantically pressing buttons on the master panel, cutting the power to my section of the building. The suffocating heat of my past life began to creep back into my chest. On the split-screen monitor, I watched Gavin tearing through my refrigerator, guzzling my cold drinks while my parents submerged their heads in the sink. I pulled up the system interface on my tablet. [Sensory Swapping System activated. Please select target.] Without hesitation, I typed in my brother’s name: Gavin.

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1 “No, I can’t do this anymore…” Desperate for quick cash, I had accepted a part-time product testing gig. The listing promised a generous payout of three thousand dollars just for testing out some new merchandise. But I never could have imagined what kind of products they actually were. They were intimacy devices: high-powered vibrating toys in shades of hot pink, strangely shaped massagers, essential oils that gave off a heavy, suffocating scent, and synthetic stimulants designed to spike your adrenaline and hormones. But the most terrifying thing in the room was the heavy red leather chair. I was currently strapped to it, my wrists and ankles secured, forced to experience every single device in the shop. That day, my body’s natural sensitivity was pushed past its breaking point, trapping me in a nightmare as the shop’s personal testing machine. … My name is Luna, and I’m a dance major from a struggling background. To cover my tuition and monthly expenses, I’ve had to take on almost every odd job imaginable. Right now, I was standing in front of an adult novelty shop. It was a secluded, single-story building located in a quiet, industrial pocket of the city. A dim, warm pink light spun lazily above the entrance, casting an eerie glow over the pavement. My heart did a nervous flutter, and I checked the address on my phone one last time. This was the place. Yesterday, a notification had popped up on my student job board app: High-paying gig, first come first served. Female only. When I saw the three-thousand-dollar payout, I didn’t stop to think. I just tapped “accept.” Only now, standing in front of the locked door, did the reality of the situation sink in. A three-thousand-dollar testing job wasn’t going to be for regular household appliances. It was going to be for highly private, intimate novelty products. I swallowed hard, my throat dry. I had heard rumors of other college girls taking similar high-paying gigs. One girl had returned to the dorms with her legs shaking so badly she couldn’t leave her bed for a week. As I hesitated, my phone buzzed in my hand. It was a text from my landlord, Mr. Davis. Luna, rent is due next week. Don’t be late. On one hand, I was facing immediate eviction. On the other, I had three thousand dollars practically waiting for me. I grit my teeth. It was just a product test, right? People used these things every day. There was nothing to be afraid of. I took a deep, shaky breath, knocked on the door, and waited. The door was opened by a tall, heavily built man in his late object-thirties. He was shirtless, wearing only a pair of loose gray sweatpants, his skin glistening with sweat as if he had just finished a strenuous workout. A heavy, sweet, yet metallic scent drifted from the interior, making my chest tighten. The man leaned against the doorframe, his eyes scanning me from head to toe. “You here for the gig?” This had to be Marcus, the owner. I offered a quiet nod. He was easily twice my size, and the fear I had managed to push down came rushing back. Marcus let out a slow, satisfied grin. “Well, they finally sent me a good one.” His gaze was incredibly intense, as if he were looking straight through my clothes. I clenched my fists, feeling like prey cornered by a predator. “Come on in,” he said, turning back into the dimly lit room. I stepped inside, the heavy, sweet scent instantly wrapping around me. The room was dark, save for the bright glow of a thirty-two-inch monitor on the main desk. As my eyes adjusted, my body went rigid. The screen was playing a highly explicit, graphic video. On the monitor, a woman was bound to a leather chair, her limbs restrained as she was subjected to various mechanical devices, her muffled gasps echoing softly from the desktop speakers. The sheer explicitness of the scene made my pulse race, a strange, nervous heat blooming in my cheeks. I tried to look away, but my eyes kept darting back to the screen. Marcus caught me looking, a low chuckle escaping his throat. “You don’t have to look away. It’s just human nature, after all.” He reached over and unplugged the headphones, letting the loud, rhythmic sounds of the video fill the empty room. “No, that’s… that’s fine,” I stammered, stepping toward the display shelves to distance myself, only to find them lined with massive, bizarrely shaped silicone devices that looked entirely unnatural. “Marcus, please… can we just get the test started? I’d like to finish as quickly as possible.” My heart was pounding against my ribs, my voice shaking. “Eager, aren’t we?” Marcus switched on a standing lamp, casting a warm, amber glow across the room. Now I could clearly see the layout. In the center of the room sat a massive king-sized bed, and beside it was an intricate red and black leather chair fitted with heavy straps and various mechanical attachments. “Right here,” Marcus said, patting the leather headrest. “This is our newest import. You’re going to be testing it today.” 2 “What?!” I gasped, taking a step back. I had assumed the testing would involve small, hand-held devices, things I could easily manage. But the chair in front of me was the exact model from the video, the one where the woman had been completely overwhelmed by the machinery. The thought of being strapped to that device made my skin crawl. “I’m not doing this. I want to cancel.” Marcus reached out, his heavy hand clamping firmly around my forearm. “Don’t be so quick to leave. This chair cost me a fortune to import, and it’s just a sensory massage system. Nothing more.” “Besides, if you back out now, you’ll have to pay the cancellation fee.” “What cancellation fee?” I demanded, trying to pull my arm free. Marcus’s lips curved into a smug smile. “I guess you didn’t read the fine print on the app.” I quickly pulled out my phone, opening the gig contract. Hidden at the very bottom of the terms was a clause stating that if the tester cancelled after arriving at the venue, they would be liable for double the payout in liquidated damages. Six thousand dollars. I had been so blinded by the three-thousand-dollar offer that I hadn’t even looked at the terms. I didn’t have six hundred dollars to my name, let alone six thousand. “I didn’t think you’d have that kind of cash lying around,” Marcus murmured, his grip on my arm tightening slightly. “How about this? If you cooperate and complete the test, I’ll add another two thousand to your payout.” Five thousand dollars. My resolve crumbled. The thought of my unpaid rent and my empty bank account flashed in my mind. “Fine,” I whispered. “But you have to stop if I tell you to.” “Of course,” Marcus promised, his voice smooth. “The moment you say stop, I’ll shut it down.” He guided me to the chair, and I lay back against the slick, cold leather. It was surprisingly comfortable, but the moment my limbs were in place, Marcus pulled the thick leather straps over my wrists and ankles, securing me flat against the frame. The interior of the straps was lined with soft velvet, preventing them from chafing my skin, but the realization of being completely helpless made my breath hitch. He walked over to a small table and lit a heavy, scented candle. As the sweet, exotic aroma filled the air, a strange, heavy relaxation began to wash over me, dulling my anxiety. “During the test, I need you to be completely honest about what you feel,” Marcus instructed, picking up a clipboard. “Your feedback determines the final report.” I nodded slowly, trying to stay focused. “Okay.” He flipped a switch on the console, and a low hum vibrated through the chair. It started gently, a pulsing sensation that moved from my calves to my thighs. “It… it tickles,” I murmured, squirming slightly. Marcus made a quick note on his clipboard. “Highly sensitive. Good.” The intensity of the vibration increased, the pulses growing stronger as they moved up toward my lower abdomen. A sudden, sharp wave of heat bloomed inside me, making my chest rise and fall rapidly. I tried to arch my hips away from the vibration, but the straps held me firmly in place. “What does it feel like now? Is it too intense?” Marcus asked, his eyes locked on my face. “It’s… it’s too much,” I gasped, my skin flushing as a feverish warmth spread through my limbs. “Marcus, turn it off… please!” The machine suddenly surged, the localized vibrations pulsing rapidly against my core. I cried out, my mind spinning as the unnatural, drug-induced stimulation overwhelmed my senses. Finally, the machine clicked off. I lay gasping for air, my skin slick with sweat, my mind completely scrambled by the intensity of the sensation. “We need to remove your outer clothes for the next phase,” Marcus said, his voice dropping an octave. “The fabric is damp, and it’s interfering with the sensors.” Before I could protest, my mind still clouded by the heavy scent of the candle, Marcus reached down and unzipped my shorts, pulling them and my shirt away until I was left in only my underwear. The cool air of the room hit my damp skin, making me shiver. He picked up my shorts, his eyes dark as he examined them. The cold air helped clear my head, and a sudden wave of panic washed over me. “No… we didn’t agree to this. I want to stop!” I struggled against the leather straps, but Marcus simply looked down at me, a cold, dark grin on his face. “You don’t get a say anymore.”

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