Category: English

At the engagement party, my fiancé Lucas and his mother suddenly pulled out a “Prenuptial Promise Agreement” and handed it to me. “Aria, since we’re about to get married, just sign this agreement.” I took the agreement and opened it: [The bride must guarantee she is a virgin before marriage and deposit $300,000 as a “virginity guarantee deposit” into the mother-in-law’s account] [If the bride is found not to be a virgin after marriage, the $300,000 will be fully forfeited, and the bride’s salary must be handed over in full to repay the groom’s brother’s mortgage] My mother trembled with rage. “Are you marrying a wife or buying a slave?” But Lucas just spread his hands with an innocent expression. “Ma’am, girls these days are too wild. If Aria really is a virgin, what’s there to be afraid of signing this?” Lucas’s mother’s wrinkled face scrunched together as she pressed her hand firmly on the back of mine. “Aria, don’t blame Lucas for being cautious.” “These days, girls out there have wild hearts—who knows who they’ve been with behind closed doors?” “The Miller family is a respectable household. Lucas’s brother Tyler is still in school, and we’ll need plenty of money going forward.” “If you put this $300,000 into my account, it’s your ‘proof of loyalty,’ showing that you only have the Miller family in your heart. I’ll definitely treat you like my own daughter from now on.” My mother was shaking with anger, her knuckles white from gripping her wine glass. “Lucas, Aria has been with you for three years. Hasn’t she been good enough to you? Why should Aria use her salary to fill the hole for your brother’s house?” Lucas took a sip of champagne, the alcohol spraying on my face. His refined features twisted. “Ma’am, please don’t get upset.” He set down his glass with a light clink. Then he turned to look at me, his eyes gentle. “Aria, our family is very traditional. Look at the relatives at this table—whose wife wasn’t a virgin before marriage? Three hundred thousand dollars buys peace of mind and reputation.” “If you’re really as pure as you say, what’s the difference between the money being in your mother’s account or my mother’s account?” “Unless…” He drew out the sound, his gaze sweeping over my chest and waist, making me nauseous. “Unless your body has long since lost that value.” The Miller family relatives around us started whispering, their voices growing louder. “Exactly, Lucas is such a steady young man. These terms aren’t excessive.” “Young people these days—who knows how wild they are in private?” “The Millers are honest people who’ve been burned before.” “Aria seems like a smart girl, but making such a fuss over signing something—how immature.” Lucas’s best man, Derek, shouted loudly. “Aria, just sign it! Lucas is giving you this opportunity because he loves you.” “Our Lucas is a manager at a publicly traded company. Girls lining up to date him could stretch to Paris. He’s being generous just waiting for you.” “This $300,000 is Lucas giving you face!” I looked down at the “Prenuptial Promise Agreement,” feeling suffocated. Just then, my phone buzzed in my purse. It was a confirmation message from my best friend Bella. I glanced at it, then took a deep breath and gripped the pen tightly. Seeing this, Lucas’s mother pushed the ink pad toward me, its bright red color glaring. “Sign it, Aria.” Lucas’s voice was low, carrying undeniable pressure. “The car convoy is still waiting outside. We still need to go to your house for the bride pickup ceremony.” “If you back out now, where will your father the university professor put his face?” I looked up and met Lucas’s eyes—so certain I wouldn’t dare resist. He was sure I would sign, sure I wouldn’t dare make a scene in this setting. He didn’t know that the DNA test report in my purse had been there for a week. I held the pen. The whole room fell silent.

“Lucas,” I spoke, my voice cold, “if I sign, can you guarantee you’ll treat me well for the rest of our lives?” “Absolutely!” Joy flashed in Lucas’s eyes as he reached out to put his arm around my shoulder. “As long as you’re obedient, you’ll have the final say in our family.” I dodged his hand, the pen tip touching the paper with a sound. Instead of signing my name directly, I quickly added a line of small text after the virginity clause. [If the groom conceals an illegitimate child before marriage or commits major deception, he must compensate the bride $3 million and leave the marriage with nothing.] Then I signed “Aria Carter” and slapped the agreement down in front of Lucas. Lucas froze, not expecting me to pull this move. His mother couldn’t read the fine print clearly. Seeing only that I had pressed my red thumbprint, she smiled broadly and snatched the paper to tuck into her clothes. “Good, good that you signed!” “Lucas, quick, pour Aria some wine. We’re all one family now!” But Lucas’s expression darkened. He stared hard at that line of text, the muscles in his jaw twitching. “Aria, what is this supposed to mean?” He lowered his voice, his tone angry. “Illegitimate child? Have you lost your mind? Everyone knows my character!” I picked up my wine glass and swirled it, watching the clear liquid. “Lucas, since you think purity and honesty are the foundation of marriage.” “Then I’m adding this clause. You shouldn’t have any objections, right?” “After all, if you’re innocent, what’s there to be afraid of signing this?” I threw his words right back at him. Lucas’s best man Derek leaned over to look, but Lucas shoved him away. “What are you looking at! Eat your food!” Lucas shouted once, then turned back with a forced smile. “Fine, Aria. You’ve got guts. We’ll see about this.” The banquet returned to its lively state. But no one at the main table was talking. My mother held my hand, her palm covered in cold sweat. She leaned close to my ear, her voice trembling. “Aria, let’s leave. We’re not going through with this wedding. This family’s heart is too black.” “Mom, it’s not time yet.” I patted the back of her hand. “Some accounts need to be settled in front of the whole world to be truly satisfying.” Lucas’s brother Tyler, that twelve-year-old boy, was grabbing at chicken drumsticks and eating with oil all over his mouth. He looked at me sideways, his eyes full of hostility and greed. “Aria, my brother said that from now on all the money you earn has to go toward buying me a house.” Tyler mumbled indistinctly. “My brother also said your family’s old house will have to be put in my name too. Because when you marry my brother, it becomes our family’s property.” My mother’s eyes looked ready to pop out. “Lucas, is this how you teach children?” Lucas’s mother slapped the back of Tyler’s head. “What nonsense is this child spouting!” Lucas covered his mouth and coughed, then picked up his glass to toast the next table. His steps were clearly somewhat unsteady. I watched his retreating figure, a smile playing at my lips. Tyler’s face looked exactly like Lucas’s. Especially the black mole behind the ear. Lucas said he was an “old-age baby” his mother had at forty. But what “old-age baby” would look so identical to his older brother? I stood up, excusing myself to go to the restroom. Pushing open the private room door, I saw Lucas standing in the shadows of the fire escape corridor, roaring into his phone. “Didn’t I just transfer you five thousand?” “How much more do you want? I’m telling you, today is my engagement day. Don’t push me!” A woman’s crying and shouting came through the phone, especially piercing in the empty hallway. “Tyler is your son too. You can’t just ignore him!” “If I can’t get that $300,000, I’m taking the kid to make a scene at your office!” I gripped my phone and pressed the record button. Lucas was panting in the shadows, his back tense. “Madison, listen carefully!” His voice was very low, his tone vicious. “That idiot Aria has already signed. As soon as that $300,000 comes through, I’ll transfer it to you immediately.” “I’m also figuring out the mortgage situation. Her salary card will be managed by my mom from now on—you won’t be short on child support.” “Now shut up and stay put with the kid!” The woman on the other end was still relentless. Lucas punched the wall with a dull thud. “Don’t talk to me about status. You were the one who insisted on having the baby. Now you want legitimacy?” “Dream on!” “Aria’s father is a professor. Her family has prestige and respectability. What can you give me?” “Besides demanding money, what else can you do?” I stood behind the door, dizzy with rage.

Three years. I’d been with him for three years. I thought he climbed so desperately because his family was poor. I thought he was so indulgent with his brother because he loved his family. Turns out I was just his cash cow to support his illegitimate child. Turns out that $300,000 “virginity deposit” was hush money for his ex-girlfriend! “Who’s there?” Lucas turned around, his gaze sweeping toward the corner where I was hiding. I didn’t hide. I pushed open the fire door and walked out, waving my still-recording phone. Lucas’s face instantly turned deathly pale. His whole body froze. “A-Aria? When did you get there?” He stammered, taking a step back. I walked toward him as he kept backing away with each step I took. “From when you called me an idiot. From when you said you’d use my salary to support your son.” “Lucas, you’ve calculated this so well—I could hear the clicking of your abacus from three floors away.” The panic on Lucas’s face quickly turned into something sinister. “Aria, give me the phone.” He reached out his hand, his tone dark. “You heard wrong. That was… that was Derek’s situation. I was helping him handle some trouble.” “Helping Derek handle an illegitimate child? Lucas, do you think I’m three years old?” I jerked backward, avoiding his lunging hand. “Tyler has the exact same mole behind his ear as you do.” “The DNA report is in my purse. How long are you going to keep pretending?” Lucas’s pupils contracted sharply—he hadn’t expected I’d actually gotten a DNA test. “You followed me?” “You actually dared to investigate me?” He shrieked, then glanced at the guests outside. He dropped to his knees in front of me with a thud, his hands gripping my thighs tightly. “Aria, I was wrong!” “It was an accident. I was young and foolish back then—Madison trapped me.” “I do love you! If I didn’t love you, why would I go to such lengths to marry you?” “I just wanted to cut ties with her, so I wanted to use this money to send her away.” “Help me, just this once. As long as we get married, I promise I’ll never see them again!” Looking at his tearful face, I only felt disgusted. “Let go!” I struggled desperately, my high heels leaving black marks on his suit pants. “Lucas, you make me sick.” “This wedding is off. Get lost!” “Off?” Lucas looked up, tears still on his face but his eyes ice-cold. “Aria, saying you want to call it off now—it’s too late!” “There are over a hundred relatives watching outside. Does your father’s reputation mean nothing?” “You signed the paper. That $300,000—you’re giving it whether you want to or not!” He suddenly stood up and grabbed my wrist, sending sharp pain through it. “Delete the recording and come back with me to toast.” “Otherwise, I guarantee you won’t walk out of this hotel today!” “Lucas, have you lost your mind?” Tears welled up from the pain, but I protected my phone with all my strength. “I have lost my mind—driven crazy by self-righteous women like you!” Lucas dragged me toward the private room. “You think you’re so high and mighty? You think your good background makes you special?” “In my eyes, you’re just an ATM!” “If you know what’s good for you, cooperate obediently. We can finish this act and go our separate ways afterward.” “But if you dare ruin my event, I’ll make your whole family pay!” Pushing open the private room door, the malice disappeared from Lucas’s face. He put on an expression of deep grievance. “Mom, Aria… she wants to call off the engagement!” Lucas called out with a sob in his voice, and the entire banquet hall instantly erupted.

Lucas’s mother had been bragging about that agreement to several relatives. Hearing this, she jumped up. “What? Call off the engagement?” “Aria, what’s wrong with you?” “You’ve already signed, already pressed your thumbprint—what are you making a fuss about now?” My mother rushed over and pulled me from Lucas’s grasp. Seeing the purple finger marks on my wrist, her eyes turned red. “Lucas, what did you do to my daughter?” “We’re calling off this engagement. It must be called off!” “Fine, call it off. But hand over the $300,000.” His mother stood with hands on hips, spittle flying. “And the money for this engagement party, and all the money Lucas spent on you these three years—not a penny less!” “You tramp, trying to run off with the money before even entering our door? No way!” The surrounding relatives also crowded around. Every one of them glared at me, pointing and gossiping. “The Carter girl is too outrageous. Who calls off an engagement at the engagement party?” “She must have someone else on the side and feels guilty.” “Just look at her—she doesn’t seem like a decent girl. Poor Lucas.” I broke free from my mother, walked to the main table, and grabbed the microphone. Lucas realized what I was about to do and rushed over like a madman to snatch it. “Aria, don’t you dare!” “Stop him!” Though my mother didn’t know what was happening, she still blocked Lucas’s path with all her might. Derek and several groomsmen also surrounded us, the scene descending into chaos. Lucas’s mother rushed toward my purse, shrieking. “A report! Lucas said she has some report in her purse.” “It must be a report about her and some wild man!” She ripped open my leather purse, contents scattering everywhere. A blue folder fell to the ground, its cover reading: [Paternity Test Report]. The entire room fell silent. Lucas’s mother froze. She couldn’t read, but she recognized photos. Inside the report was a comparison photo of Tyler and Lucas drinking water. Bella had secretly taken it. “What’s this?” “Isn’t that just Lucas and Tyler?” His mother muttered, her eyes evasive. Seeing this, Lucas completely lost it. He knew that once the truth came out, the image he’d carefully cultivated at work would be completely destroyed. “Aria, I’ll kill you.” He roared, randomly grabbing a heavy fire extinguisher from the table and swinging it down at my head. “Aria, watch out!” My mother screamed and lunged to shield me. I stood in place, a smile playing at my lips, not dodging at all. At that moment, an electric current suddenly sounded from the banquet hall’s four speakers. Then Lucas’s calculating voice echoed throughout the venue. [That idiot Aria has already signed. As soon as that $300,000 comes through, I’ll transfer it to you immediately…] [Tyler is your son too. You can’t just ignore him…] The fire extinguisher stopped less than four inches from my head. Lucas froze mid-air. His face turned from red to blue, then to ashen gray. All the guests—over a hundred people—gaped, staring hard at the big screen. On the screen, where wedding photos had been playing, now scrolled video of Lucas in the fire escape corridor, roaring into his phone. It was Bella. I’d arranged for her to go to the control booth beforehand, waiting for exactly this moment. “Lucas,” I spoke: “Hmph, $300,000 virginity deposit. Do you think your life is worth that price?”

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To be fair, Mom forced me—someone with a heart condition—to participate in the fitness test. At five hundred meters, my heart started hurting. I reached for my medication. The moment I pulled it out, Victoria Hayes, the class president, snatched it away and threw it aside. “Only five hundred meters and you’re already faking it? Just because your mom is the assistant principal doesn’t mean you can slack off.” She glanced toward Mom in the distance and said ingratiatingly, “Ms. Carter, Aria is trying to give up again. Don’t worry, I’ll make sure to encourage her to keep going.” Mom looked at me coldly, without a trace of sympathy on her face. “Everyone else can run. Why can’t you? Are you just being a drama queen? Today, you’re going to finish this fifteen hundred meters even if you have to crawl!” I gritted my teeth and kept going, but my chest felt like it was exploding. My vision gradually darkened. At one thousand meters, I collapsed on the track. I couldn’t get up anymore. My soul slowly rose into the air as I looked at Mom with guilt written all over my face. I’m sorry. I’ve disappointed you again. This time, I really can’t finish the fifteen hundred meters.

My heart felt like it was about to burst from my chest. My legs gave out and I fell flat on the ground. Victoria stopped beside me and kicked me with her foot. “Stop lying there. You’re dragging down the whole class!” Seeing that I didn’t move, she grabbed my upper body and pulled me up, then let go. My forehead hit the track with a dull thud. I knew it must hurt, but I couldn’t feel it anymore. After all, compared to the tearing sensation in my chest, this pain was nothing. “Who do you think you are, some delicate princess? Stop acting weak. It’s just fifteen hundred meters. Ms. Carter is watching right over there. Get up now!” A few classmates passing by stopped and glanced at me. “I heard she has a heart condition. Could she actually be dying?” “How is that possible? Ms. Carter is her own mother. If she really had health problems, would she let her run?” “Besides, if she were actually dying, would her mom have that expression? She looks like she wants to kill someone, not like she’s worried about her daughter.” They laughed mockingly and their footsteps gradually faded away. They say that when you die, hearing is the last sense to go. I floated in mid-air and looked up anxiously toward Mom. She was frowning, looking at me with disappointment and disgust. I instinctively lowered my head and murmured to myself. I’m sorry, Mom. I’ve disappointed you again. Mom walked over from the other end of the track and stopped about ten feet away from my body. “Aria! Stop faking it. I just saw your arm move. Get up right now.” I still didn’t move. Victoria came over and said quietly, “Ms. Carter, maybe Aria is angry? She’s so stubborn. How about we just forget about this fitness test?” I stood nearby, shaking my head desperately. Mom, how could I be angry? I just don’t have any strength left. I really just want to rest for a moment. Just one moment. But Mom couldn’t hear me. Seeing that I remained motionless, her expression grew darker. She walked up to me and kicked me hard in the stomach. My body swayed with the force of her kick, like a useless bag of garbage. “Get up right now! How long are you planning to lie here?”

I lay on the ground without moving, as if deliberately defying her. She trembled with rage, her face flushed red. “Aria, you’ve really outdone yourself. To avoid this fitness test, you’re actually playing dead with me?” “You’re disgusting. Just as disgusting as your father!” My heart clenched painfully. I sobbed once in grief. I raised my hand to wipe away tears, only to find my face was dry. So dead people can’t cry. Mom raised me alone. From the time I could remember, Mom repeatedly told me that Dad had betrayed their relationship and betrayed our family. Mom put all her energy into me. She knew my heart wasn’t good, so every morning she would get up early to run with me, doing adaptive training. But when I started high school, everything changed. Mom was a teacher at this school. She said she wasn’t just my mother, but also everyone else’s teacher, and she had to treat all students equally. To avoid suspicion, she gave the first-place chemistry competition award that should have been mine to second-place Victoria. To avoid suspicion, she forced me—someone with a medical exemption—to stand on the starting line for the fifteen hundred meter run. And now, she was saying I was like that man she’d hated her entire life. But Mom, I really wasn’t playing dead. I just couldn’t hold on anymore. Victoria bent down and grabbed my arm. “Aria, get up first. You’ve already run one thousand meters. Just hold on a little longer and you’ll be done.” She pulled hard on my arm. Maybe I was too heavy. She couldn’t pull me up and instead stumbled backward a few steps before falling on her butt. My body, half-lifted, fell heavily back to the ground. Another dull thud. Victoria froze, her eyes suddenly reddening. “Aria, there’s no need to take your anger out on me. I didn’t offend you. Why did you have to push me?” “Besides, Ms. Carter is doing this for your own good! Why can’t you appreciate her intentions?” She sniffled, tears streaming down her face. “You don’t know how much I envy you for having a mom like this.” Mom walked over, pulled Victoria to her side, and comfortingly patted her back. “It’s okay now. Don’t cry.” Then she turned to me, her gaze sweeping over my body. “Aria, is this how determined you are to defy me?” “Since you want to play dead, I’ll beat you awake today and see how long you can keep this up!” She reached down and grabbed my hair, slamming my head hard against the track. Once, twice, three times… Blood seeped out, spreading across the track. I floated nearby, watching her grab my hair and slam my head down again and again. My heart ached so much I could barely breathe. I remembered that Mom used to be so good to me. When I was little and accidentally scraped my skin, Mom would frantically find iodine and carefully clean my wound. Then she’d gently comfort me, “Aria, don’t be scared. It’ll get better soon.” But now, all the disgust and anger on her face poured out with each violent impact. As if the person lying on the ground wasn’t the daughter she’d carried for ten months, but an eyesore and a burden. More and more students gathered around to watch. “She’s definitely faking it. If she really felt bad, would Ms. Carter be this angry?” “She’s taking advantage of having a teacher for a mom, trying to get special treatment. Now she’s getting what she deserves.” “It’s just fifteen hundred meters. Is playing dead really necessary? So dramatic.” More and more students crowded around. Mr. Parker, the head of discipline, also appeared. Mr. Parker immediately told Mom to stop. “Ms. Carter, how can you hit a student?” Mom finally stopped and sighed lightly. “Mr. Parker, this is my daughter. She’s playing dead to avoid the fitness test.” “Spare the rod and spoil the child. Today I have to teach her a proper lesson!”

Mr. Parker saw the crowd of students and coughed lightly. “Ms. Carter, so many students are watching. Even when disciplining children, you need to use appropriate methods. Leave her some dignity.” With that, he turned and left. Mom looked down at me. “Still not getting up?” “Fine. You can lie there all you want. No one’s going to care about you!” She took a deep breath, suppressing the anger churning inside her. “Continue the fitness test. Don’t let one person hold up the entire class.” The sound of footsteps gradually faded. The murmuring voices also disappeared. No one looked at me on the track anymore. The sun grew stronger and stronger, beating down directly on my body. I still lay there lifelessly, the blood on my forehead gradually drying. Half an hour passed. The fitness test was completely over. Some students glanced my way, their eyes showing some reluctance. “Aria’s health isn’t good. Nothing really happened to her, right?” Victoria pursed her lips. “She’s totally faking it. Didn’t you see how angry Ms. Carter was?” “And she’s still lying on the ground playing dead.” Her close friends chimed in quietly, “Aria’s just been spoiled rotten. Taking advantage of her mom being assistant principal, she always steals the spotlight, and now she’s faking illness to drag down the whole class.” “Exactly. Does she really think she owns the school?” Victoria listened to these words, the corners of her mouth curling up slightly. Then she turned and walked toward Mom. She lowered her voice and said quietly to Mom, “Ms. Carter, just now some students wanted to help Aria up, but Aria said…” She paused, hesitant to continue. Mom frowned. “Said what?” “She said… she won’t get up unless you apologize to her.” Mom’s expression instantly darkened. “Ms. Carter, Aria has been lying there for a long time. If this continues, something will definitely happen. How about… you just apologize to her? It’s just one sentence. Get her up first, then deal with it.” The plastic water bottle in Mom’s hand deformed slightly from her grip. She clenched her back teeth, her voice filled with endless fury. “Who does she think she is? Wanting me to apologize to her? Completely useless!” “She’s taking advantage of the fact that I’m her mother to be this brazen!” “If she’s got guts, she can lie on the track all day!”

The few students who had been worried about me heard Mom’s words and simply turned away. No one looked at me anymore. The sky suddenly darkened. The glaring sunlight from moments ago was swallowed by thick, heavy clouds. It started to rain. Large raindrops pelted my face. The rain mixed with the dried blood on my forehead, flowing down my cheeks and into my mouth. Students on the track scattered, running toward the school building. As Mom passed by me, she said, “Get up soon. When you’ve figured it out, come to my office.” Then she turned and left too. In less than three minutes, there was no one left on the track except me. I lay there as rain poured into my ears, into my nose, into my mouth. My clothes were soaked through, clinging to my body, ice-cold and bone-chilling. But I couldn’t feel it anymore. My soul floated up and followed the students to the school building. Mr. Parker hurried into the office. “Ms. Carter, isn’t your daughter still on the track? It’s raining. Stop being angry and get her back inside. Don’t let her catch a cold.” Mom sat at her desk without looking up. “She’s clever enough. How could she let herself get hurt?” “She’s deliberately throwing a tantrum with me, waiting for me to apologize and personally invite her back.” Mr. Parker opened his mouth, finally sighed, and turned to leave. Half an hour later, someone knocked on the door. Mom relaxed for a moment, but when she saw who came in, she felt vaguely disappointed. Victoria and a few other students came in with some practice problems for Mom to explain. Mom showed no impatience. She patiently explained over and over until everyone nodded in understanding. I stood nearby watching her. She used to explain things to me patiently like this too. The office door suddenly sounded. Mom froze for a moment, then relaxed and leaned back in her chair. Victoria smiled. “Ms. Carter, it must be Aria coming to apologize to you.” The corners of Mom’s mouth turned up slightly, then quickly pressed down again as she put on a mocking expression. “Just now she was lying on the ground playing dead, and one rain shower washes away your backbone?” “Aria, if you know you were wrong, shout ‘I was wrong’ three times, then go apologize to everyone in class and say you dragged down the entire class!” The knocking continued. Mom frowned and got up to open the door. When she saw who was outside, Mom was shocked. “Mr. Hawkins, why are you here?” The principal’s face was grim. He asked, “Your class had the fitness test last period, right? That girl who collapsed on the track—is she from your class?” The panic in Mom’s heart was instantly replaced by disdain. She scoffed lightly and waved her hand. ” Mr. Hawkins, don’t worry. That’s just my daughter Aria. This child has been spoiled since she was young. She’s so stubborn. She’s faking a collapse to avoid the fitness test and throwing a tantrum with me.” “Don’t worry about her. When she’s done making a scene, she’ll get up on her own.” The principal’s expression grew even worse. He was about to speak when the school nurse rushed over. “Mr. Hawkins, this is bad. The girl on the track isn’t breathing.”

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For ten years, I was Adrian’s ghostwriter, crafting his path to literary stardom. When our daughter needed fifty thousand dollars for emergency heart surgery, he’d just won a million-dollar prize—but wouldn’t spare a dime. He snapped at me over the phone: “Rachel’s son has a cold and I can’t leave! All you ever do is ask for money!” I hung up, sold our house, and got my daughter the surgery. Three months later, Adrian threw a celebration party at a hotel. Glass in hand, basking in glory, he spotted me in the crowd. I wore a server’s uniform, carrying a tray, bowing with a smile. My daughter, cradled in my arms, lifted her pale little face and asked politely, “Sir, could I have some orange juice?” Hearing our daughter call him “sir” instead of “daddy,” his smile froze instantly. “Fiona, what the hell are you doing here?” He lowered his voice, each word forced through gritted teeth, humiliated at being confronted publicly. I ignored him, adjusted my server badge marked “07,” then knelt down to look tenderly at my daughter. “Lily, would you like some orange juice? Mommy will get you some.” “Okay.” Lily nodded obediently, her small hand clutching my sleeve. She’d just recovered from heart surgery. Her body was still weak, her little face so pale it was almost translucent—heartbreaking to see. I stood up with her in my arms, ready to leave. Adrian grabbed my wrist, his grip nearly crushing my bones. “Stop! I’m talking to you!” The woman beside him—renowned editor Rachel—immediately stepped forward, elegantly tugging his sleeve. “Adrian, calm down.” Her voice was soft and soothing. Then she turned to me, her eyes displaying perfectly calibrated pity. “Fiona, I know you might be going through difficulties, but do you understand what occasion this is? Making a scene like this helps no one.” With one sentence, she painted me as a hysterical woman desperate for money. The guests around us—literary elites and media reporters—turned their gazes toward us like spectators at a show. Adrian’s face darkened like a thundercloud. He felt I’d humiliated him beyond measure. I looked at him and suddenly smiled. “Mr. Walker, do we even know each other?” He froze. I pulled my aching wrist from his grip and pointed to Lily in my arms, my voice not loud but carrying clearly to every corner. “My daughter wanted some orange juice, but she doesn’t know you, so she called you ‘sir.’ What, Mr. Walker doesn’t understand basic courtesy and has to yell at a child?” Lily seemed frightened by the tense atmosphere. She shrank into my arms and whispered, “Mommy, I don’t want it anymore. Let’s go home.” My heart clenched painfully. I kissed her forehead. “Don’t be afraid, Lily. Mommy’s here.” Adrian’s gaze finally fell on Lily. He looked at her pale little face, at the faint outline of surgical scars visible beneath her clothing, and his body visibly stiffened. “Her… her condition…” “The surgery was successful.” I smiled, but my words cut like knives. “After all, I sold our only house and finally scraped together the fifty thousand for the surgery.” “You sold the house?!” Adrian’s voice shot up, his eyes full of disbelief. That house had been bought outright by my parents as our wedding home. Rachel’s expression changed. She quickly grabbed Adrian’s arm, her voice carrying a hint of warning. “Adrian, calm down! Don’t forget what today is!” Adrian seemed to wake from a dream. He looked around and realized everyone was watching him with probing eyes. He took a deep breath, forcibly suppressing his emotions, and pulled out his wallet. He extracted a card and held it out to me. “There’s a hundred thousand in here. Password’s your birthday. Take it and stop making a scene, okay?” His tone was like he was dismissing a beggar. I laughed. Laughed until tears nearly came. I didn’t take the card. Instead, my gaze dropped to Rachel’s wrist. There, a gleaming Patek Philippe ladies’ watch sparkled. “Miss Carter, that’s a beautiful watch,” I said softly. Rachel instinctively pulled back her hand, then displayed it openly with a smile. “Fiona has good taste. Adrian gave it to me as a gift.” “A gift?” I nodded, my smile deepening. “The Golden Pen Literary Award prize was one million dollars. After taxes, exactly eight hundred thousand. Miss Carter’s watch, if I’m not mistaken, is a limited edition that retails for exactly eight hundred thousand. Mr. Walker is so generous—using his daughter’s life-saving money to buy his mistress a watch.” Boom. The entire ballroom felt like a bomb had been dropped. Dead silence. You could hear a pin drop. Every eye shifted from me to that eight-hundred-thousand-dollar watch on Rachel’s wrist. Rachel’s face drained of all color instantly. “You… you’re lying! I bought this watch myself!” she shrieked, her voice distorted by guilt. Adrian was completely dumbfounded. He stared at Rachel’s wrist, then at me, his eyes filled with confusion and shock. “Rachel, what the hell is going on?” “Adrian, don’t listen to her nonsense! She’s just jealous and trying to sabotage us!” Rachel was so agitated that tears streamed down her face. She grabbed his arm, shaking desperately. “That prize money—I… I was saving it for you! I didn’t touch it!” “Is that so?” I laughed coldly, picking up a glass of red wine from a server’s tray and walking toward her. “Miss Carter, why so agitated? If you really bought it yourself, you shouldn’t mind me helping you verify its authenticity, right?” Without waiting for her response, I raised my hand and poured the entire glass of red wine over that eight-hundred-thousand-dollar watch. “Ahh—!” Rachel let out a piercing scream. The surrounding guests gasped in shock. “Fiona, you’re insane!” Adrian roared, rushing forward and shoving me aside. I lost my balance. Holding Lily, I staggered backward several steps and slammed into the table behind me, sharp pain shooting through my lower back. Lily burst into tears, terrified. I ignored my own pain, holding my daughter tight and soothing her gently. Meanwhile, Rachel was nearly hysterical with distress. She grabbed napkins, frantically wiping the watch, shouting incoherently, “My watch! My watch! This cost eight hundred thousand!” Only after she’d said it did she realize her words. She clapped her hand over her mouth, staring at Adrian in horror. Too late. Everyone had heard. Adrian’s face went from iron-gray to deathly pale to ashen. He stood frozen like a weathered statue, looking at Rachel, then at me. That look in his eyes—as if he were staring at his mortal enemy. I held Lily, who’d stopped crying but was still sobbing quietly, and walked past him without a second glance. At the door, I removed the server’s uniform and handed it to the manager who’d rushed over. “Sorry, I quit. Also, please tell Mr. Walker something for me.” I paused, turned back, meeting those bloodshot eyes of his, and said clearly, word by word: “Adrian, let’s get divorced.”

I didn’t give him time to react. Holding Lily, I disappeared from the hotel entrance. Back at the cramped, run-down apartment we were renting, I discovered a large bruise on my lower back from the collision. After bathing Lily and getting her to sleep, I sat at the creaking old desk and opened my laptop. I logged into a pen name account I’d abandoned ten years ago—”Lynn”. On the screen appeared a Reddit post from ten years ago: [Hello everyone, I’m Lynn. Starting today, I’m going to write a very, very long story.] Back then, I was spirited and ambitious, believing the future held infinite possibilities. Then I met Adrian. I fell in love with him, abandoned my pen name, and became the invisible shadow behind his spotlight. Now, it was time for “Lynn” to see daylight again. I spent the entire night organizing everything: all the manuscripts I’d ghostwritten for Adrian over the past decade, creative outlines, email correspondence, even recordings of our plot discussions—all sorted, categorized, encrypted, and packaged. These would be my sharpest weapons to bring him down. At dawn, my phone started vibrating frantically. Adrian. I didn’t answer. He persisted relentlessly—calls, texts, SnapChat voice messages, a bombardment of communication. Annoyed, I blocked him completely. Before long, knocking sounded at the door. I opened it to find Adrian’s haggard face. Dark circles hung heavy under his eyes, stubble covered his jaw, his designer suit was wrinkled—not a trace remained of the literary giant’s elegance. “Fiona.” His voice was hoarse, like sandpaper. “Let’s talk.” “There’s nothing to talk about.” I blocked the doorway, staring at him coldly. “Where’s Lily? How is she?” He tried desperately to see inside. “She’s sleeping. Keep your voice down.” “Fiona, I know I was wrong. I really know I was wrong.” He suddenly grabbed my hand, his eyes frighteningly red. “What happened last night was my fault. I shouldn’t have refused you money. I shouldn’t have let Rachel—” “So what?” I interrupted. “Are you here to apologize or to beg me not to divorce you?” He froze, seemingly unprepared for my directness. “I… I never wanted a divorce.” He lowered his head, defeat in his voice. “Fiona, after all these years together…” “Together?” I laughed as if I’d heard the world’s funniest joke. “Adrian, you want to talk to me about our relationship? Last year on Lily’s birthday, she had a 104-degree fever, crying for daddy. I called you over a dozen times—you turned off your phone. Later I found out you were in Switzerland skiing with Rachel and her son. This year when Lily was diagnosed with heart disease and the doctor said she needed immediate surgery, I begged you on my knees to give me the prize money to save her life. What did you say?” I mimicked his cold tone from that phone call: “‘Fiona, can you stop being so selfish? Mason has a cold and needs care! Lily’s surgery can wait—it’s not like she’ll die immediately!’” Each word was like a rusty blade, twisting repeatedly in my heart. Adrian’s face turned white as paper. He opened his mouth but couldn’t utter a single word. “Adrian, in your heart, my daughter’s life is worth less than your mistress’s son’s cold. Do you really think this marriage has any reason to continue?” I watched his devastated expression. My heart felt no satisfaction—only barren emptiness. “So save your speech. I don’t have time for this today.” I tried to pull my hand away and close the door. But he suddenly blocked it with his body and pulled out a crumpled paper from his pocket. A divorce agreement. “Fiona, look at this.” He unfolded it and held it before me. “I’ll sign it. I agree to divorce. The house, the car, all the assets under my name—I’ll give them all to you and Lily. I have only one condition.” He raised his head, looking at me with almost pleading eyes. “Don’t tell anyone about the ghostwriting. Please. I’m begging you.” I looked at him, at this agreement he’d drafted overnight, and suddenly felt utterly ironic. He still didn’t understand. He thought I was doing all this for money. “Adrian.” I took the agreement and, before his eyes, tore it to shreds, inch by inch. In his shocked gaze, I told him clearly: “Too late. I’ll get the money back, every cent. But not this way.” “What… what do you mean?” An ominous premonition rose in him. I smiled slightly and turned my phone screen toward him. On it was a Reddit post I’d just published under the “Lynn” account. [@Everyone, I’m the real author of “Return on a Snowy Night,” “River at Sunset,” and other books—Lynn. Tomorrow at 10 AM, I’m holding a press conference to present all evidence of ghostwriting.@Adrian Walker @Golden Pen Literary Award @Dolphin Publishing] The moment Adrian saw that post, his face lost all color completely.

“You’re insane! Fiona, you’ve lost your mind!” Adrian lunged like a cornered beast, roaring as he tried to grab my phone. I’d anticipated this. I stepped back and slammed the door shut with a bang, locking him outside. “Fiona! Open the door! Delete that post! Do you hear me!” He pounded frantically on the door, shouting, drawing neighbors who poked their heads out curiously. I ignored him, quickly grabbed the suitcase I’d already packed, woke Lily, and slipped out through the fire escape. I’d known he’d come, so I’d booked a hotel in advance. After settling Lily, I contacted Julian Smith, the country’s top rights protection attorney, and several media outlets known for in-depth investigative reporting. Julian’s team was extremely efficient. We met that afternoon. After carefully verifying all the evidence I’d provided, Julian pushed up his gold-rimmed glasses and gave me a definitive answer. “Ms. Monroe, rest assured. This case is a guaranteed win. Not only can we recover all the royalties and compensation you’re owed, but we’ll make Adrian and the publishing house pay a devastating price.” Looking at this calm, professional, powerful man before me, my anxious heart finally settled. That evening, the internet exploded. “Adrian Walker Ghostwriting Scandal” surged to the top of trending topics with unstoppable force, followed by a deep red “EXPLOSIVE” tag. Countless readers, fans, and onlookers flooded my Reddit. The comment section was absolute chaos. Some accused me of chasing clout, desperate for fame. [This is ridiculous. Adrian needs a ghostwriter? His talent is universally recognized!] [Another D-list nobody trying to climb up by stepping on a celebrity. Case closed.] [Screenshot saved. Waiting for Adrian’s legal team to destroy her.] But some rational longtime readers detected something in my writing style. [Wait… this “Lynn” person’s writing style seems so similar to Adrian’s early work. I remember Adrian became famous with “Return on a Snowy Night,” but his later books always felt like something was missing.] [I thought so too! Especially his recent book “A Dream of Life”—it felt so hollow, completely lacking his earlier brilliance.] [The more I think about it, the scarier it gets… If the ghostwriting is real, what have we been fans of all these years?] Public opinion split into two camps, arguing explosively. Adrian and the publishing house responded quickly. They jointly issued a strongly-worded statement, calling this baseless slander and defamation against me personally, and stating they would reserve the right to pursue legal action. Rachel was the first to share the statement, adding: [Truth will prevail. I believe in Adrian’s character and talent. Don’t let yourselves be deceived by people with ulterior motives.] Her “righteous stand” won her considerable praise and successfully redirected attacks toward me. [Rachel’s right! We believe in Adrian!] [This Fiona person is Adrian’s ex-wife, right? Getting revenge after divorce by throwing mud—how vicious!] [Probably didn’t get money in the divorce settlement, so now she’s bitter and wants to destroy Adrian.] Reading these comments, I just smiled. Let them have their last night of denial. After tomorrow, they’d know what it meant to fall from the clouds into hell.

The press conference was scheduled at a five-star hotel ballroom. When I arrived, the venue was packed with media from everywhere. Cameras and flashing lights created a blinding sea of illumination. Adrian, Rachel, and the publishing house president, Derek Ford, sat prominently in the front row. They’d clearly come prepared, cold smirks on their faces as if attending my public trial. Adrian had even brought his “hardcore fans”—dozens of people holding banners reading “Support Adrian, Resist Slander,” protesting outside the venue. I wore a crisp white suit, professionally made up, and walked calmly to the podium accompanied by attorney Julian. Camera flashes intensified instantly. Reporters swarmed like sharks smelling blood, thrusting microphones desperately toward me. “Ms. Monroe, you claim to be Adrian’s ghostwriter. What evidence do you have?” “Is this action revenge because of unequal divorce settlement distribution?” “Is there really conflict between you and Ms. Carter?” I didn’t answer immediately. Instead, I signaled for quiet. Once the venue settled somewhat, I picked up the microphone and spoke slowly, looking directly at Adrian in the audience. “Media friends, hello. I know you’re all full of questions today. So we won’t waste words—let’s go straight to the evidence.” The large screen behind me lit up. The first piece of evidence was the handwritten manuscript of “Return on a Snowy Night.” That familiar handwriting, yellowed paper, densely marked revisions—Adrian’s expression changed instantly. “These… these are just discarded drafts! They don’t prove anything!” Derek Ford shouted with forced composure, his obese body trembling with tension. “Is that so?” I smiled slightly and pressed the remote. A video began playing on the screen. It showed Adrian and me from five years ago. We were in the study, heatedly discussing the ending of “River at Sunset.” “No! The protagonist must die! Only tragedy can elevate this story!” Video-me was emotionally intense. “But Fiona, readers want a happy ending. Written this way, the book won’t sell.” Video-Adrian frowned deeply. “I don’t care! This is my work. I must preserve its integrity!” … This video clearly recorded our creative disputes and clearly proved I was the one with final decision-making authority. Adrian’s face had lost all color. Rachel beside him also widened her eyes, as if seeing me for the first time. “This… this is fabricated! It’s fake!” Rachel shrieked. “Fake?” My attorney Julian stood up, his voice steady and powerful. “Ms. Carter, we’ve had this video authenticated by the country’s most authoritative forensic institution. We can guarantee its authenticity. If you continue publicly defaming my client, we have the right to sue you for libel.” Julian’s response left Rachel speechless. She could only glare at me hatefully. I ignored her and presented the third piece of evidence. All email correspondence between Adrian and me over the past decade. Every book outline, every chapter manuscript—I’d sent them all to him via email. The emails also contained his various “guidance” on my drafts. For example: “Fiona, this plot drags too much. Can you make it more exciting?” “This female supporting character’s personality is unlikable. Readers won’t like her. Change it.” “The ending must be happy. Otherwise fans will riot.” These emails thoroughly exposed his complete literary ignorance combined with his love of giving orders. The venue erupted. Camera flashes targeted ashen-faced Adrian relentlessly. “Mr. Walker, what’s your explanation?” “Did you really have your ex-wife ghostwrite for you for ten years?” “Has your public persona completely collapsed?” Reporters surrounded Adrian. He was cornered, unable to speak a single word. Derek Ford, seeing things going badly, tried to pull Adrian away, but reporters blocked them completely. And I released the final, most devastating strike. An audio recording. Adrian’s voice, slightly drunk and boastful. “What bullshit talent? I can’t write a single word. But my wife loves me. I tell her how to write, and she has to write it. Readers actually think I’m some literary giant—it’s hilarious. They’re just a bunch of idiots I’ve been playing all along.” This recording was from years ago, when he’d gotten drunk and bragged to his buddies. I’d captured it accidentally. At the time, I’d thought it was just drunken rambling. I never imagined it would be useful today. When the recording finished, the entire venue fell silent. Even the fans protesting outside went quiet. Everyone looked at Adrian like they were looking at garbage. Adrian completely broke down. He collapsed in his chair, pale as death, muttering repeatedly, “It’s over… all over…” Just then, an unexpected person stood up. An experienced senior editor from the publishing house, Mr. Lee. He walked tremblingly to the podium, picked up another microphone, his voice filled with grief and anger. “I… I can testify. Everything Fiona said is true. All these years, the manuscripts Adrian submitted were full of typos and illogical. Our editorial department worked overnight to fix them. We all knew the real author was Fiona, but Derek Ford suppressed us for money, wouldn’t let us speak… I… I’m sorry to Fiona, and even more sorry to all readers everywhere!” After speaking, he bowed deeply to all the cameras. This bow became the final straw that broke the camel’s back. Derek Ford’s eyes rolled back and he fainted. Rachel screamed and tried to run but was surrounded by angry reporters and readers. And Adrian, under endless camera flashes and interrogation, was completely nailed to the pillar of shame like a stray dog.

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

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

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

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

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The night before the wedding, my fiancé Damien told me about a wedding custom from his hometown. The bride must cross over a burning brazier without wearing underwear, or she would offend the gods and bring disaster. I agreed reluctantly, thinking of him. Until the wedding day, when Nina suddenly lifted my skirt and shouted with a laugh. “Everyone come look! I knew she wasn’t wearing anything underneath!” “Elara, I was just making a bet with friends about whether you’d wear underwear. You’re not mad, are you?” I was utterly humiliated and knocked the camera from her hands. But Damien immediately shielded Nina behind him, laughing without a care: “Elara, it’s April Fools’ Day. Everyone’s just joking with you.” “The astrologer said I’d have bad luck this year unless someone caused a scene at my wedding. You understand, don’t you?” I laughed bitterly. But he didn’t know that before being recognized by the billionaire Hartley family, I had gained a supernatural ability — whatever lies I told would come true. Just then, a large truck careened out of control toward Damien.

At the last second, Damien barely dodged, avoiding being crushed to a pulp. But he acted like nothing happened, reaching to put his arm around my waist. “Come on, Nina didn’t mean it. Don’t take it to heart.” I calmly stepped back twice, dodging his hand. “Don’t touch me!” “Damien, did the astrologer really say that?” The atmosphere instantly froze. Damien frowned slightly, his tone becoming a bit impatient. “Does it really matter whether it’s true or false? Why do you keep harping on this?” “Nina has depression, but you stole everything that belonged to her, causing her depression to flare up until she almost committed suicide.” “She’s never blamed you. It was just an April Fools’ joke. Do you need to get this angry?” Watching him smile as he picked up the camera and returned it to Nina, I sneered. “Depression?” “You think I’ll still believe that?” My gaze fell with interest on Nina’s young, pretty face. Her complexion was rosy, her eyes bright and alert. Where was even half a sign of depression severe enough for suicide? Damien stiffened, apparently not expecting me to be so direct, then showed just the right amount of grievance. “Elara, this is all true!” “Nina really has depression. If she gets too emotional, she’ll go into shock!” At that moment, Nina’s jealous gaze fell on my wedding dress, her face full of dissatisfaction. “Damien! Why are you explaining so much to her!” “If it weren’t for your grandfather insisting you marry the real Hartley heiress, why would you marry her?” I couldn’t help but laugh. I said nothing. No wonder when someone lifted my skirt and took embarrassing photos, Damien didn’t care, acting like nothing had happened. Then everyone who owed me, everyone who bullied me, should pay the price! I turned, meeting Damien’s gaze, and asked with a smile: “I’ll ask you one last time. Will she really go into shock?” Whether Damien was lying, I would soon know. But before he could answer, Nina beside him looked impatient, pointing at my nose and saying sarcastically: “How ridiculous! You haven’t even married into the Sinclair family yet and you’re already so paranoid! Would Damien actually lie to you?” Damien nodded, agreeing: “Nina’s right. The doctor warned her not to get emotionally excited. If her condition acts up, she might go into shock…” Before he finished speaking. “Ah —” Nina’s mocking face suddenly trembled. Nina collapsed abruptly, her face visibly turning deathly pale, her whole body convulsing. “Nina!” Damien’s eyes widened instantly, panicking. The scene became chaotic. I looked at Damien, sneering inwardly. “Today is April Fools’ Day. Maybe Nina is just messing with us. Don’t make such a fuss.” Since you deceived me first, I need not show mercy. Let your words come true!

Damien froze in his steps. “Elara, I promised I’d marry you. There’s no need to go after Nina.” I smiled gently. “Damien, you seem to have gotten something wrong. It’s not that I’m desperate to marry you.” Damien looked confused. That handsome face so close to mine looked at me with slightly trembling eyelashes, tenderness nearly overflowing from his eyes. I lifted his chin, laughing softly. “It’s the Sinclair family begging me to marry down to you, to facilitate a business alliance between the Sinclairs and Hartleys. I also hope you can be loyal, not lie to me, and not disappoint me.” Damien stayed by hospitalized Nina’s side day and night. I was happy to have the peace and quiet. However, after Nina was discharged. She completely changed from her usual arrogant demeanor, bringing cake to my door to apologize. I frowned. I didn’t need to guess to know the cake contained chocolate that would cause me to go into anaphylactic shock. I pretended everything was normal, smiling as I accepted the cake. Perfect. Let her experience the taste of her own medicine. My nose filled with the scent of chocolate. I asked, knowing full well: “Is this mango cake? I love it!” Nina paused, then smiled in agreement. “Of course! It’s definitely mango flavored!” “Hurry and try it. It tastes amazing!” I took a deep breath and cut a large piece, handing it to her first. Nina quickly took a big bite, as if proving her sincerity. Seeing me hesitate, she asked with reddened eyes: “This mango cake is delicious. Won’t Elara eat any? Are you still unwilling to forgive me?” I curved my lips slightly. Nina had nearly gone into shock from secretly eating mangoes as a child. How could she not know she was allergic to mangoes? Heaven has a road but you won’t take it. Hell has no gate but you insist on breaking in! Then I’ll play along! Before long, Nina suddenly clutched her stomach, looking like she wanted to cry but couldn’t, more like a stubborn little white flower. “Elara!” She opened her mouth trembling. “Even if you’re jealous that I’ve had parents who loved me since childhood, you can’t poison me! If I hadn’t eaten so little, I’d be dead here today!!” Damien rushed over at the sound. He held the disfigured Nina, looking at me with undisguised disgust. “Elara Hartley, don’t you know Nina is allergic to mangoes? When did you become so… vicious??” I couldn’t help but laugh. “Look at her mouth running off like that. She knows she’s allergic to mangoes but still eats it? Isn’t she looking for death? Maybe her depression is acting up again and she’s seeking death? Call the police quickly, don’t let her die in my house!” I scoffed, not looking at her pig-liver-colored face, leisurely pulling out my phone. Nina bit her lower lip, looking like she was making a noble sacrifice. “Don’t call the police!” Seeing me completely unharmed and even mockingly taunting her, a flash of hatred crossed her eyes. She said through gritted teeth: “Even if she’s jealous of our childhood friendship, I can’t call the police. That would ruin the Hartley family’s reputation…” Looking at the red rash on her arms and neck, Damien frowned slightly, his gaze falling on the cake on the table. “Nina is still being generous, but didn’t you buy a chocolate cake?” Hearing this, I quickly stopped Damien from taking Nina to the hospital, pretending to be shocked. “What chocolate?” “She clearly said it was mango cake!” “Damien, don’t you know I’m severely allergic to chocolate?” Damien coughed lightly, explaining helplessly: “Elara, you can’t blame this all on Nina! She didn’t know you were allergic to chocolate.” “Besides, you’re fine. Nothing happened…” “Damien.” I looked up into his eyes. “Are you blind?” “She lifted my skirt to humiliate me, and now she sends me chocolate cake to make me go into shock!” “Damien, my patience has limits too.” Damien said nothing. The atmosphere instantly returned to silence. I was too lazy to figure out his true feelings. After all, it was Damien who would marry only me, not that I could only marry him. Watching Damien drive away with Nina, I gently swirled the wine glass in my hand. I wondered if they’d still be able to smile after going to the hospital. I took a hot shower and turned off my phone to avoid being bombarded with calls. Just as I drifted into sleep, the bedside lamp suddenly blazed on. Then, a man’s roar woke me up. Damien gripped his phone tightly, his voice trembling slightly. “I’ve been calling until I nearly broke my phone! And you’re still in the mood to sleep! Nina’s face is ruined! Do you know that?” I rubbed my eyes and looked up to see Nina’s face covered in red rashes, swollen like a pig’s head.

With just one look, I was nearly scared off the bed. In the dim light, Nina’s face was wrapped in bandages, the exposed skin festering with not a single patch of good flesh. She stood before the bed, looking at me with extremely vicious eyes, as if wanting to tear me to pieces. Damien gently pulled her into his arms, turned to look at me, his face instantly livid. He called his lawyer, saying he would sue the cake shop owner and pursue it to the end. I looked Nina up and down and sneered. “Tsk!” “Who told you to be greedy! Eating despite being allergic to mangoes! Now you’re swollen like a pig’s head!” Damien glared at me furiously. “Elara Hartley! Has your conscience been eaten by dogs!” “Nina’s face is ruined and you’re still making sarcastic remarks!” Nina glared at me viciously, her eyes full of poisonous hatred. Damien took a deep breath and grabbed my wrist hard. “Nina’s accident is your responsibility too. You must compensate her. I think you should give her that villa on the mountain and half the shares in your name!” “I’ll also persuade her to forgive you.” I laughed softly. One playing the bad cop, one playing the good cop. Nina got all the benefits, Damien got all the good reputation. Perfect. I was just thinking about how to ruin Damien’s reputation. Who told him to be two-timing, playing both sides. I forced out two tears, pretending to be wronged. “Why! She’s an outsider. Why should she get my family’s money!” Nina also took the opportunity to play the victim, making Damien’s heart ache instantly. “Damien, don’t worry about me.” “Even if I die outside, I won’t take a penny from the Hartley family!” Damien’s brow furrowed. He looked at me with complete dissatisfaction, as if looking at a child who didn’t understand. “Elara, you stole her identity as the heiress. Isn’t that enough? Now you want to drive her to death?” “It’s just this little bit of money. Can’t you let her have it?” I scoffed and couldn’t help asking: “Compensate her? Does she deserve it?” “I was sold to a mountain village as a child and suffered abuse. Don’t you know that?” “From the moment I was born, her mother stole me and sold me to human traffickers. The fact that I haven’t kicked Nina out of the house or called the police to send their whole family to prison is already merciful enough!” What I said was all true. Damien couldn’t refute it, obviously losing face. He sighed lightly, took my hand, and comforted me: “Elara, I know you suffered a lot as a child, but Nina grew up pampered. Without money, what will she do for the rest of her life?” “Don’t worry. Even though Nina and I grew up together, you’re just as important to me as she is.” “Just as important?” I suppressed the smile at the corner of my mouth and nodded. “Fine! I’m about to marry into the Sinclair family anyway, so hand over all the assets in your name for me to manage!” Nina immediately pointed at my nose and cursed angrily. “Elara Hartley! It’s not enough that you’re monopolizing Damien! Now you’re eyeing the Sinclair family money too! Do you have no shame!” Damien didn’t want me to make things difficult for Nina anymore and brushed me off. “Of course. After you marry me, my money is your money.” I smiled with satisfaction and gave Nina a provocative look. But Nina behind me was dismissive, touching her slightly protruding belly with a sneer. “So stupid.” But just as Damien finished speaking, his grandfather called. Specifically asking me to take over all of Damien’s assets and help manage them.

I froze all the bank cards in Damien’s name. Without money to keep Nina, he angrily sent me a voice message. “Elara Hartley, unfreeze those cards right now!” That night, they were taken away by police for dining and dashing. The incident even made headlines on the city’s entertainment news. After Damien was released from the detention center, he stormed into my CEO office looking furious. I sat in the executive chair, legs crossed, smiling smugly. “Your grandfather handed over all your assets for me to manage. Isn’t that what you agreed to first?” Damien was momentarily speechless. But Nina put her hands on her hips and shouted at me angrily. “Why is the old man so good to you! No matter what, you’re not a Sinclair. You’re always an outsider!” I lifted my eyelids and glanced at her belly with a smile. “Outsider? I’m Damien’s wife-to-be. His money isn’t for me to manage, should it go to you? What are you?” Damien seemed intimidated by my presence, his face livid, apparently guilty, not daring to say another word. I now controlled the finances. Next was teaching this shameless pair a lesson. But Nina was dismissive, stroking her slightly protruding belly with a charming smile. “After all, this is the Sinclair family’s money. You’re still not a Sinclair!” “I’ll tell you the truth. I have a Sinclair in my belly —” Damien quickly covered her mouth, preventing the truth from being revealed. I smiled. I’d known about Nina’s pregnancy for a long time. After all this talk, I was waiting for her to say this. “What did you say? Are you carrying Damien’s child?” I looked at Damien with confusion, pretending to be heartbroken. “Is what she’s saying true? I thought you two just had no boundaries, but you’ve been sleeping together behind my back, and now there’s even a child!” “I’m going to tell Dad. I’m not getting married!” I turned resolutely to leave, scaring Damien into quickly abandoning Nina to coax me. I knew clearly in my heart that he agreed to marry me only because his grandfather favored me. A flash of panic crossed Damien’s eyes. He quickly denied it. “Of course not!” I asked with a serious face, repeatedly: “Damien, don’t lie to me. That’s really not your child?” Damien didn’t hesitate for a second, patting his chest to assure me: “The child she’s carrying is definitely not mine!” I couldn’t help but smile and nodded. “I believe you, but I require a DNA paternity test.” Three days later, Damien and I held a grand wedding, inviting celebrities from both business and political circles. Halfway through the wedding, I took an envelope from a staff member. Damien looked at me helplessly. “Elara, this is all a misunderstanding.” “If that child isn’t mine, will you kneel and apologize to Nina?” Damien was clearly doing this on purpose. Making me lose face on our wedding day was his way of punishing me. Damien snatched the report from my hands and showed it to everyone. Seeing “no blood relation” on it, the whole venue erupted in harsh condemnation. “I knew Nina was innocent!” “Hurry up and kneel to apologize! Don’t waste everyone’s time!” “Why isn’t Elara Hartley reacting? Did she already know something?” Nina also shed tears, glaring at me resentfully, as if I had deliberately bullied her. “Hmph! Now the truth is out. Let’s see how you try to argue your way out!” Seeing me about to refute, Damien suddenly gripped my wrist, leaned close to my ear, his voice extremely low. “Elara Hartley, admit defeat.” “Even if you cry and beg me now, you must kneel and apologize to Nina!” I laughed dismissively, lifted my skirt, and gracefully took the stage. “Don’t rush!” “I know you bribed the staff to give me a fake report.” “But I have a medical report here, about you. Want to see it?” Ignoring the shock on everyone’s faces below, I just quietly glanced at Damien. Then calmly pulled out that medical report. Everyone seemed to hold their breath, all eyes gathering here. After a moment of silence, I heard Damien’s roar. “Impossible! This must be a mistake!” I smiled. “You have oligospermia. Has no one told you?” As soon as the words fell, Damien’s face instantly turned deathly pale.

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My husband Anderson’s mistress Rachel waited for him for eight years, but he kept putting off divorcing me. Rachel finally couldn’t take it anymore. She hastily found a boyfriend and declared she was getting married. When Anderson found out, he drank himself into a gastric hemorrhage at a bar. Grabbing my hand, he said: “I’ve wronged Rachel.” Rachel deliberately chose my and Anderson’s wedding anniversary to get married. She wanted to show me that she wasn’t the loser in this fight. And I’d been waiting a long time for this day too. I sent the video of her and Anderson’s intimate moments to her future husband. Then I asked Anderson for a divorce. This was our eighth wedding anniversary. He and Rachel had been entangled for eight years too. I was thirty-five this year. Rachel was thirty now. Neither of us was young anymore. I no longer shared daily observations with Anderson, didn’t get jealous, didn’t check up on him. I’d become exactly what he wanted to see. But Anderson fell more and more in love with me, even planning out where we’d be buried together after death. On our eighth anniversary, I prepared a table full of dishes. I called Anderson, but he didn’t pick up. I stubbornly called again and again. I had my eye on a large penthouse in the city center. On such a special day, it would be easiest to persuade Anderson to pay for it. Usually I didn’t care where he was living it up, but today he had to show up. “Alice, Anderson’s in the hospital with a gastric hemorrhage. Get here quick!” On the phone was Anderson’s friend Bob’s anxious voice. I calmly finished the dinner I’d prepared and replied, “Okay.” On the way, I received a message from Rachel. [See? Even though I’m getting married, he still thinks about me. I deliberately ruined your anniversary] [If I’m miserable, you should be too] [You used your dead child to morally blackmail Anderson, forcing him back to the family. You should have expected this day. When you wake up at midnight, do you ever think of that poor child?] I closed my eyes as my heart clenched painfully. Soon, I’d be able to avenge my child.

When I arrived, Bob accused me of taking too long. “But you’re here, aren’t you?” “I’m not a doctor. What did you expect me to do?” Bob said disappointedly, “You’re Anderson’s wife. How can you be so indifferent? If I’d known…” He suddenly stopped. I gave a cold laugh and finished his sentence for him. “If you’d known, you wouldn’t have persuaded Anderson to return to his family. Now he’d still have someone who knows when he’s cold or warm.” I’d heard this from Bob too many times. He was the one who urged Anderson to cut ties with Rachel and return to the family. He was also the one who now thought my care didn’t measure up to Rachel’s. From initial relief to repeatedly complaining about me to Anderson. Fortunately, I no longer cared about Anderson’s friends’ attitudes like before. They could say whatever they wanted. Anderson probably thought the same way. So every time Bob spoke up, he never stopped him, just looked at me with complicated eyes. Anderson wanted me to know what he’d given up for me. Everyone knew Rachel was the one he truly loved. I was the villain who interfered, possessing him but not knowing gratitude. “Get out. This is between Alice and me.” Anderson slowly woke up. Bob, disappointed in him, wanted to say more but froze at Anderson’s next words. “Rachel, I regret it. Don’t leave me. Don’t marry another man.” Anderson drunkenly grabbed my sleeve. “I can’t do it. I can’t watch you have children with another man…” This was the first time Anderson cried like this in front of me. His suppressed sobs were like a broken old violin. Only intermittent, trembling muffled sounds remained, stuck in his throat, unable to come out. He’d mistaken me for Rachel. When Anderson was still with Rachel, people around them often called Rachel “Mrs. Anderson.” After he returned to the family, I never heard it mentioned again. Apparently to avoid touching a sore spot. Bob looked at me with pity. “Are you satisfied now?” “Using your dead child to tie Anderson to your side, now neither of you is happy. Is this the life you wanted?” I smiled politely. “Yes, this is what I wanted. Seeing them both unhappy makes me satisfied.” “You should have died on that hospital bed with that child!” Bob left in anger. Only Anderson and I remained in the room. Anderson gripped me tightly. Following this position, I sat on the edge of his bed and slapped him hard across the face. “Are you sober now?” They all wanted me dead. I was determined to live well, better than all of them. Anderson’s face swelled red. “Alice, how did I end up in the hospital?” “Rachel’s getting married. You were upset, drank with Bob, and ended up here with a gastric hemorrhage.” I pulled out my phone and played his drunken words, including how Bob had provoked me. “You still can’t forget her.” Anderson’s face went pale. “Why don’t you care about my health anymore?” “Before when I was sick, even in pouring rain, you insisted on carrying me to the hospital. You rubbed your heels bloody.” I didn’t expect that would be his first thought. That was long ago, back when Rachel hadn’t yet interfered in our relationship. “That’s why I was so stupid back then. If I couldn’t get a cab, I should have just waited longer like today. Why suffer so much?” Anderson bowed his head guiltily. “I really don’t like her anymore. Tonight I just remembered the past and felt a bit melancholy.” “I didn’t know Bob was talking about you like that behind your back. I won’t associate with him anymore.” I interrupted his next words. “Sign this purchase contract.” “You’ve already wronged me emotionally. You can’t shortchange me financially too.” Anderson took the paper and pen as if it were routine, pausing slightly as he signed, the pen pressing hard through the paper. “Is this all we talk about now?” Since he returned to the family, I said nothing but quietly moved my things to the guest bedroom. His study was full of gifts from Rachel too. I never asked about it. We were like strangers living under the same roof, staying out of each other’s way. I only showed him a pleasant face when I needed him to spend money. “Why won’t you forgive me after everything I’ve done? What do I have to do for you to be like before?” I nodded. “If you can hear that on our anniversary, I drank myself into the hospital because my mistress got married, and you can stay as calm as I am, then I’ll forgive you.” “…I’m sorry.” I looked with satisfaction at the signature on the contract, unable to say “it’s okay.” Anderson pushed his luck, placing his hand on mine, his eyes pleading. “Let’s have a child too. Bob’s wife already had their second.” I gave a mocking laugh. Why bring it up now of all times? It was only because Rachel was going to have children with another man that he wanted a child. I brushed off his hand. “Forget it.” “I can’t be as heartless as you. You may not remember, but I’ll never forget that child. No matter how many children we have, none will be him.” “And I could never give you children. If you want children…” “No more children. Just the two of us is fine. We’ll always be together.” Anderson panicked and held me, as if afraid I’d leave.

Anderson was unusually restless tonight. Instead of staying in the hospital properly, he insisted on following me home. I knew tomorrow was Rachel’s wedding day. He was afraid I’d cause a scene, so he stayed by my side to monitor me. Even though he didn’t want Rachel marrying another man, he wanted her to find happiness. He was always so good to Rachel. When we got home and saw the clean dining table, Anderson froze. “Alice, today’s our anniversary. Where’s the food you made?” I looked annoyed. “Who told you to drink yourself into the hospital? You weren’t going to eat it anyway, so I fed it to stray dogs.” Anderson stared at the table in long silence. Exhausted from the day, I went to shower, too lazy to guess what he meant. Anderson used to travel for work, eating irregularly, which caused his stomach problems. After that, I started cooking, bringing every meal to his office to watch him eat. Later, for Rachel’s sake, he stood me up again and again. I reheated the food countless times until it was unrecognizable. When Anderson came home and saw the cold food on the table, he only had one word: sorry, he’d already eaten out. I dumped the food in the trash. After that, I never saved meals for Anderson again. But Anderson only noticed now. When I came out of the shower, Anderson was waiting by the door with a glass of warm water. “We’re husband and wife. We can’t keep sleeping in separate rooms.” “No thanks, I don’t want it.” “You used to drink warm water every time you finished showering. I measured it to your preferred temperature.” “This cup is the matching couple’s set you bought with Rachel.” I looked directly at Anderson. “When I accidentally broke your cup, Rachel was furious. You didn’t come home for a month. I lost twenty pounds. When you came back, you demanded to know if I understood my mistake.” “This is the second one she bought. You specifically told me never to touch it, never to damage Rachel’s thoughtful gift.” Anderson froze slightly, hastily putting it down. “I forgot.” He looked at me hesitantly. “What do you want to say?” “Are you going to see the house tomorrow?” Seeing me nod, he breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m free tomorrow. I’ll go with you.” I snorted inwardly. To ensure I didn’t make a scene at Rachel’s wedding, Anderson was really putting in effort. “Fine.” Anderson seemed very excited. I don’t know if it was Bob’s words from earlier, but I kept dreaming about the miscarried child that night. I tossed and turned, unable to sleep. Just as I was about to get up for some air, a pair of warm hands wrapped around my waist from behind. I smelled alcohol and broke out in goosebumps, instantly jumping up. “Anderson, how shameless are you? Rachel’s getting married and you don’t want to stay faithful to her, so you come touch me?” The anger I’d suppressed erupted, disgust showing on my face despite myself. Anderson flinched at my expression. “I just thought we should move to the next stage.” “Time to turn the page.” I smiled. “Fine.” Before Anderson could feel happy, I opened my phone, scrolled a few times, and pointed the lit screen at him. “How many children do you want? We can go adopt tomorrow.” The photos showed blind, deaf, and deformed orphans. “Infidelity, emotional abuse, shirking responsibility.” “I’m afraid children in our home would pick up bad habits. Only children who can’t see or hear would stay in our house.” Anderson fell silent. “Get lost. Don’t disgust me.” I pushed him out the door and locked it.

The next day, he wore the suit I’d bought him years ago, looking at me hopefully. “Does it look good?” Actually, it didn’t. After all these years, no matter how carefully preserved, the clothes had faded and wrinkled, looking cheap and lower quality than the suits he wore now. But I still insincerely praised it as “nice.” Anderson, delighted, transferred another ten million to me. “Those days were so hard, but we got through them. From now on, we’ll have better and better lives, right honey?” After getting the money, I shook my head. Anderson pretended not to notice. I was very satisfied with the house. One apartment per floor, in a core location, with two subway lines below and a huge shopping mall within a kilometer. The saleswoman followed behind me, smiling from ear to ear the whole time. Anderson was distracted, frequently checking his phone. I didn’t care where his mind was, as long as he paid. But in the time it took me to use the restroom, Anderson disappeared. There was only one message on my phone. [She insists on waiting for me before going on stage. I’m afraid she’ll pester me after marriage. This is the last time, I’ll be back in half an hour. Wait for me] The saleswoman looked at me awkwardly. “Ma’am, who’s paying?” I wouldn’t wait anymore. No one had to wait for anyone. “Charge the card.” What Anderson didn’t know was that I’d also prepared a big gift for Rachel. If he hurried, he should make it in time.

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After working in outdoor sales for a year, my adopted sister’s normally pale complexion had gotten a little tanned. Heartbroken, my mother dragged her to a high-end department store to buy skincare products. She settled on a luxurious La Prairie set, ringing up at a whopping $4,000. My adopted sister feigned hesitation. “Mom, this is way too expensive. Plus, Chloe has been working for five years and you’ve never bought her anything like this. I’d feel awful using it.” Mom brushed it off completely. “She’s used to roughing it. Buying her something this nice would be a waste. But you’re different. You’ve never suffered a day in your life. You’re my precious baby.” “Then I’ll accept it. Thank you, Mom!” My sister smiled sweetly, turning to shoot me a smug, triumphant look. I just smiled. Right in front of them, I pulled out my phone and called my boss. “Mr. Davis? I’d like to take a year off. I’ll come into the office tomorrow to sign my resignation papers. I’m really sorry for the inconvenience.” Lowering my phone, I looked at my mother, whose face was frozen in disbelief. “Starting tomorrow, I have zero income. Don’t come to me for the household expenses anymore.” “And by the way…” I pointed at the shiny bags in my sister’s hands. “That’s way too expensive. I need to start budgeting immediately, so don’t expect me to swipe my card for it.” Chapter 1 Mom’s lips trembled with rage. She screamed at me right there in the aisle, “Just because I picked out some skincare for Mia, you’re throwing a tantrum? You’re going to quit your job and stop providing for this family?!” I corrected her. “You didn’t just pick it out. You expect me to pay for it.” “What’s the difference?! I raised you for over twenty years! Spending a little of your money is my right!” Mom yelled, pointing a finger in my face. “Chloe Sterling, just because you’ve been working for five years, you think you’re all that? Don’t forget you came out of my womb. Providing for me is your absolute duty!” “Mom, please calm down!” Mia quickly rubbed Mom’s back to soothe her, then turned her big, innocent eyes to me. “Sister, I don’t want the makeup anymore. Just apologize to Mom. Don’t make her angry.” Her expression was so full of grievance, it perfectly painted me as the ultimate villain. “Mom’s health is already fragile. What if you give her a heart attack? I’m begging you, just apologize to her!” Other shoppers at the beauty counters began whispering, shooting me dirty looks. “What an ungrateful daughter. If you have an issue, take it home. Why make a scene in public?” “Didn’t you hear? She hasn’t gotten a gift in five years, so seeing her mom buy something for her sister made her jealous.” “The daughter is immature, but the mom is wrong too. You can’t play favorites like that.” Maybe it was the embarrassment, or maybe her ego couldn’t take the whispers, but Mom suddenly grabbed another luxury set off the counter and shoved it at me. “You’re just jealous, aren’t you? There! Are you happy now?” I let out a soft laugh. “I’m used to roughing it. Using something this expensive is a waste. Besides, it’s my own money anyway.” Seeing my attitude, Mom’s face turned livid. She raised her hand, ready to slap me across the face. Mia rushed to block her, looking at me with red, teary eyes. “Sister, if you’re mad at me, take it out on me! Why are you trying to trigger Mom? She carried you for nine months! She raised you for two decades, suffered so much for you… how can you be so cruel?” Hearing that, the crowd’s sympathy shifted entirely. They conveniently ignored my mother’s blatant favoritism and aimed all their fire at me. “Your mom loves you, she just has a blind spot out of habit!” “Exactly, there’s no mother in the world who doesn’t love her child.” “Look at how upset your mom and sister are. Just drop it.” “Families shouldn’t hold grudges. Are you really going to abandon your own mother?” I stayed dead silent. Mia shoved the skincare set into my hands. “Sister, Mom neglected you in the past, but it won’t happen again! From now on, whatever I have, you’ll get a share too.” I stared down at the exorbitant boxes in my hands, my tone dripping with sarcasm. “So, I’m supposed to thank you for your charity?” Mia’s tears spilled over. “Sister, how could you think that? I’ve always seen you as my real sister. I never wanted to fight you for anything. I just want to stay by Mom and Dad’s side, take care of them, and be a good daughter. I don’t understand why you have so much hostility toward me!” She sobbed uncontrollably, wiping her tears like a broken doll. “Mia!” Mom’s eyes overflowed with heartache. She pulled Mia behind her like a mother bear protecting her cub, glaring at me. “Chloe Sterling, there is a limit to your tantrums! You clearly don’t want this family anymore, and you clearly don’t want me as a mother!” “Get out. Get out of my sight right now.” “I should be the one to leave,” Mia choked out. She suddenly dropped to her knees right on the pristine department store floor. “Mom, thank you for raising me all these years. I’m an unfilial daughter. I can’t stay by your side anymore.” “Mia!” Mom tried to grab her hand, but Mia dodged it. Weeping, she stumbled toward the exit. Watching this dramatic display, the crowd looked at me with pure disgust. “She really forced her sister out. How venomous.” “What goes on in her head? Ruining a perfectly good family just to satisfy her own ego?” “It’s just a skincare set! Sure, it’s pricey, but making such a huge fuss over it? She clearly hasn’t faced enough real-world hardships.” Listening to their verbal daggers, I kept my face totally indifferent. I pointed at the skincare set Mia had dropped on the counter and looked at my mom. “So, we’re not buying it? If not, let’s go. I need to head to the office to hand over my projects so I can sign my resignation papers tomorrow.” Mom stared at me in disbelief. “You’re still quitting?!” “Obviously. When I say I’m going to do something, I do it.” “You…” Mom pointed a shaking finger at me, so furious she couldn’t even speak. Mia, who had just reached the store entrance, suddenly spun around and screamed at me. “Chloe! I’m already leaving just like you wanted! Why are you still quitting?! Are you really not going to be happy until you put Mom in the hospital today?!” I looked at her blankly. “Didn’t you say you were leaving? Why do you care?” “You… I…” Mia’s face flushed deep crimson. The next second, she fell backward, fainting dead away on the floor. “Call 911!” “Help her up!” “Check her pulse, see if you can wake her up!” The crowd devolved into absolute chaos, shouting and panicking. “It’s a sin!” Mom wailed, slapping her thighs as she glared at me with pure hatred. “Chloe Sterling, if anything happens to Mia today, I will never forgive you! Get the hell out! I never want to see your face again!” I was more than happy to leave. If I stayed, I would have had to ride in the ambulance and fake a worried, anxious expression. I really didn’t have the acting chops for that. But halfway home, I got a furious call from my dad demanding I come to the hospital. The second I walked into the hallway, Dad marched up to me without a word and slapped me across the face so hard my ears rang. Then, he grabbed a stack of medical reports from a nearby table and hurled them at my face. “Look! Open your eyes and look! Mia has terminal cancer. The doctor says she has three months to live at most. Are you happy now?!” Mia had terminal cancer? I froze, ignoring the stinging in my cheek, and instinctively looked toward the hospital bed. Mia was lying there, her face paper-white. Dad’s eyes were bloodshot as he roared at me. “Keep throwing your tantrums! Keep making a scene until you kill me and your mother too! Then this whole house will finally belong to you!” A few of the department store clerks who had followed the ambulance looked at me with venomous sneers. “Are you happy now? You won’t have to worry about your mom playing favorites anymore, because soon she’ll only have you.” “Why aren’t you throwing a fit anymore? Feeling guilty now that you know she’s dying? Where was this attitude earlier?” “People like you deserve to live in the shadow of guilt for the rest of your miserable life.” I remained expressionless. “Chloe, you have to save your sister.” Mom, who had been tightly gripping Mia’s hand, suddenly let go and dropped to her knees in front of me. “I’m begging you! It’s all my fault, I was biased! Blame me, but please, don’t abandon your sister!” I shook my head. “Once I quit my job, I won’t have an income. Even if I wanted to help, I couldn’t.” The entire hospital room froze. The silence was suffocating, like the exact second before a volcano erupts. Then, the eruption came. Dad looked at me like he wanted to rip me apart. “Quitting! Quitting! That’s all you know how to say! Mia has been in our family for over a decade, has she ever done a single thing to hurt you?! Now she’s dying, she desperately needs money for treatments, and you’re washing your hands of her?! Is your heart made of stone?! Do you care about family at all?!” Mom lunged at me, trying to claw my face. A nurse managed to hold her back as she thrashed wildly. “Let me go! Let me kill her! How did I raise a daughter like this?! If I knew she’d turn out this way, I would have drowned her the day she was born!” The retail clerks looked at me like I was the devil incarnate, hurling every curse in the book at me. “You’re the one who should be dying in that hospital bed! You’re a waste of oxygen!” “Karma is real. God will strike you down for this.” “You better go pray at a church, or you’re going to get hit by a bus the second you step outside.” I looked at them. They glared right back, completely unfazed. I knew for a fact that if we weren’t in a hospital, they would have physically assaulted me. “Thanks for the advice. I’ll be sure to stop by a church.” I gave a polite smile to the clerk who told me to get hit by a bus, turned around, and walked right out of the room. Thanks to the internet, by the next morning, the story of me throwing a fit over a skincare set and putting my “dying” adopted sister in the hospital had gone completely viral. The moment I arrived at the office, my closest work friend dragged me into the breakroom. “Chloe, is the stuff online true?! Did you really cut off your mom and put your sister in the hospital? That doesn’t sound like you at all!” “If it’s fake, you need to post a video defending yourself right now. You don’t realize how huge this is. It’s trending everywhere, and the whole company is talking about it.” I just smiled. My coworker was frantic. “Chloe, don’t brush this off! Before you got here, I heard HR talking. They said you’re damaging the company’s public image and they’re preparing to discipline you.” “You’ve grinded for five years to get to this position. You’ve eaten so much dirt to get here. Don’t throw it all away over family drama!” I paused, then laughed. “The company wants to discipline me? Perfect. I was just about to resign anyway.” My coworker choked on her coffee, her eyes going wide. “You’re quitting?! Chloe, when did you get so impulsive? I know your mom favors Mia. Worst case scenario, you rent your own apartment and stop visiting them! You don’t need to quit your job!” “I’m warning you, if you quit, you have to start from zero. Do you even have the energy for that anymore?” I was just about to say, Of course I do, when my phone buzzed. It was a text from Mr. Davis, the CEO. [Come to my office.] I patted my coworker’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. I know what I’m doing.” I turned and headed straight for the executive suite. Mr. Davis didn’t ask me about the viral rumors. He just looked at me and asked, “Are you really resigning?” I nodded. He tapped his fingers on his mahogany desk, silent for a moment. “Is it because of your mother and sister?” I didn’t answer. Mr. Davis smiled. “I understand. Ignore the office gossip. I am not approving your resignation. If you need a break, take an extended leave of absence. Your position will be waiting for you.” “Mr. Davis…” I barely got the words out before he raised a hand to stop me. “You’ve worked under me for five years. I know your character perfectly well. I trust my own judgment, and I trust that you can handle your family situation. I expect you back when you’re ready.” I sat in stunned silence for a long time. Finally, I took a deep breath. “Mr. Davis, thank you for your trust. I won’t make you wait too long. But I’m going to need a favor first.” “Name it.” “I need your legal team’s help. I need to freeze all my joint accounts with my parents and lock down my personal assets. I don’t want anyone touching a single cent of my money but me.” Mr. Davis frowned. “Reason?” My expression went ice cold. “Because I refuse to let the money I bled for end up padding someone else’s pockets.” He stared at me intently, his gaze sharp. I met his eyes without flinching. After a long moment, he nodded. “Done. I’ll make a call to a friend at the bank and get our lawyers on it.” “Thank you, Mr. Davis.” By noon, my dad called. His voice was trembling with rage. “Is this your doing?!” Mom’s frantic voice echoed in the background. “Chloe! The bank won’t let us withdraw a single penny! Mia is waiting for her life-saving surgery! She’s called you her sister for over a decade, you can’t just watch her die!” I replied calmly. “Dad, Mom. Wait for me at the hospital for thirty minutes. I’ll explain everything.” I hung up the phone and immediately went online. I drafted a quick post. [Want to know the truth behind the viral video? Come to City Hospital, Room 402. The truth drops in thirty minutes.] Because of the massive controversy, I was highly trending. The moment the post went live, it rocketed to the top of the timeline. People who had witnessed the department store drama commented that they were driving over immediately to hear my excuses. Several large influencers promised to live-stream the confrontation, and local streamers were already rushing to the hospital. Thirty minutes later. The small hospital room was packed shoulder-to-shoulder. When I walked in, the “witnesses” from the store glared at me with absolute contempt. “Quite the spectacle. Let’s see what kind of lies you spin today.” “You have some nerve talking about ‘the truth’. We watched the whole thing happen with our own eyes.” “Stop wasting our time and start talking.” Mia was leaning weakly against the headboard, her face pale. “Sister, what are you doing? Are you worried that I’m ruining your reputation? You really don’t have to do this. I was planning to go live and clear your name as soon as I felt better.” “Me getting terminal cancer is just my bad luck. It has nothing to do with you. I never blamed you, Sister. I’ve always loved you.” Hearing that, the entire room melted with sympathy. Mom wiped her tears frantically. “Mia, stop talking. You’re going to break my heart!” Dad’s eyes were bloodshot as he yelled at me. “Chloe! Do you hear her?! Even now, Mia is thinking about you! If you have a single shred of conscience left, unfreeze the accounts and pay for her surgery!” I looked at my dad, my voice dead calm. “If you still want me to pay after I’m done talking, I will do it without a second word.” With that, I turned to face Mia. I let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Mia, do you really see me as a sister? Or do you just see the money I’ve made over the last five years?” “And second… are you really dying of terminal cancer?”

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“Mom, you’ve spent this entire marriage walking on eggshells. Get a divorce. I’ll take care of you from now on.” My mother fell silent for a long time. Finally, she decided to give my father one last chance. “If he buys me a bouquet of flowers for International Women’s Day this year, instead of his usual logic, I’ll drop it. I’ll keep the peace and stay with him.” I could see she still held onto a sliver of hope. Not wanting to see her disappointed, I bombarded my dad with texts every day, reminding him to buy flowers. He promised he would. When the day finally arrived, Dad was uncharacteristically generous. He bought my grandmother a heavy solid gold bracelet, and got my sister-in-law a gold necklace. He even venmoed me $1,200 for high-end skincare. But when it came to my mother. He pulled out a $10 bottle of generic, store-brand laundry detergent from a supermarket clearance bin. … The moment he set the detergent down. The smile on my mother’s face froze. The last bit of light in her eyes went out. Dad didn’t notice. He just grinned, nudging her. “What are you standing there for? Take your gift and put it in the laundry room.” Mom didn’t take it. She just stared at the bottle. It was the same brand. Same blue bottle, same red “Buy One Get One Free” sticker. For thirty years. Every single Women’s Day, this is what she received. Dad finally sensed something was wrong. He frowned. “What? Not good enough? I got the economy size this time. Cost two bucks more than last year. Guaranteed to wash more clothes and last longer!” I couldn’t stand listening to this, and I couldn’t bear to see the look on my mother’s face, so I tried to create a diversion. “Dad, did you forget to bring out the rest of her gifts?” He looked like he just remembered something and slapped his knee. “Right! I did prepare another gift for your mother.” A flicker of hope returned to my mother’s eyes. But it vanished instantly when she saw what was in his hand. It wasn’t flowers. It was a pair of yellow rubber dish gloves. “The day before yesterday, when you were doing dishes, I saw your old gloves had a hole. I walked past the hardware store today and picked these up for you. Happy?” He waved the gloves, looking proud of himself. “Sarah, you always say I don’t know what you want, that I don’t care. I bought you these gloves, didn’t I? How is that not caring?” My mother’s lips were already trembling. She was clearly shaking with rage. But she said nothing. I was furious, too. I had texted him every single day, explicitly telling him to buy flowers for her, to not let her down. He had promised he would. Hell, even today when he was shopping, he sent me photos of roses and lilies. Asking me: “Sunny, which do you think Sarah would prefer? Roses or lilies?” So why did he still end up buying laundry soap! I couldn’t help but raise my voice. “Dad, Mom doesn’t want detergent, and she doesn’t want gloves. She wants flowers. I texted you every day. You promised me. Why are we back to laundry detergent?” As I spoke, I pulled up our chat history. [Sunny: Dad, Mom wants flowers for Women’s Day. Make sure you get them!] [Dad: Yeah, got it.] My father finally seemed to recall this. But his expression immediately soured. “What use are flowers? they’re dead in two days.” “Besides, the markup for holidays is ridiculous. $100 for a dozen roses? That money buys ten bottles of detergent. Spending money on flowers is a waste.” “A waste of money? How is buying a gift for Mom a waste of money?” My voice turned icy. “Grandma’s gold bracelet cost thousands. Chloe’s gold necklace cost over a thousand. Even I got $1,200 for skincare. How is a $100 bouquet considered a waste?” “That’s completely different!” My father shot back without hesitation. “Your grandmother raised me. My money is hers; it’s a no-brainer. I’d give her every penny if she needed it.” “Your sister-in-law Chloe just gave birth to my grandson. She’s a hero in this family; it’s only right to reward her. That thousand bucks was worth every penny!” “And you. You need to land a rich husband one day. If you don’t take care of your face, how is anyone going to look at you? Skincare is a long-term investment!” “As for your mother…” He paused. His tone was casual, laced with a familiar contempt. “She’s a housewife… she’s eaten my food and lived under my roof for years. What has she actually contributed that makes her deserving of a $100 bouquet?” All color drained from my mother’s face. She slowly lifted her head, looking at my father. Her eyes were drowning in tears. “So in your eyes, my thirty years in this house aren’t even worth $100.” My father didn’t care about the pain in her eyes. It barely registered. He looked back down at his plate, helping himself to seconds. “I’m just telling the truth. For years, you just wash clothes and cook food. You haven’t exactly made any money!” My mother opened her mouth, about to say something. But she closed it. My father was satisfied with that. That’s how my mother always was. She didn’t argue, didn’t scream, didn’t make scenes. She was a doormat. Letting everyone walk all over her. He assumed this time was no different. Dad kicked the detergent and the gloves toward her feet. “Grab your stuff. Let’s have a nice family dinner. Don’t ruin the night.” My mother stood up obediently. Everyone thought she was going to pick up the soap and the gloves. Even I thought she was going to cave again. But she didn’t. She didn’t even look at the detergent. She turned and walked straight into the master bedroom. A minute later, she walked out pulling a small carry-on suitcase. The sound of the wheels rolling filled the silent room, finally stopping next to me. “Sunny, let’s go.” My mother’s voice was calm. Her eyes were incredibly determined. If her rim were not still red, you almost wouldn’t have known how heartbroken she had just been. The entire family was stunned. Grandma was the first one to react. “Sarah, what do you think you’re doing?” “It’s International Women’s Day. Mark got you gifts. What more do you want?” “So he didn’t buy flowers. Big deal. You have your own money, buy them yourself if you want them that bad. Are you really going to ruin a family celebration over this?” Chloe, my sister-in-law, awkwardly touched the gold necklace on her neck, urging quietly: “Mom, you know Dad. He’s always blunt. You’ve put up with him for thirty years. There’s no need to get dramatic over one bouquet.” “Besides, Dad bought detergent and gloves. They’re practical. Isn’t that better than dead flowers? It just shows he’s a down-to-earth man looking out for the household.” She forced a small smile. “When I’m older, if my husband still buys me useful stuff like this, I’d actually find it quite touching.” Chloe nudged my brother’s arm. “Right, honey?” My brother jumped in immediately. “Exactly. Detergent and gloves are better than flowers.” “You don’t make any money, you should probably spend less. Try to save Dad some money.” “Besides, you don’t work, you don’t go out. You have chores and you’re helping with the baby. Even if we bought flowers, you wouldn’t have time to look at them.” Hearing this, my mother’s shoulders sagged. Her face turned pale again. It was as if she was putting back on her mask of silent obedience. Seeing everyone backing him up, my dad grew bolder. “You hear that? I’m not the only one who thinks so.” “If you really feel like you have it so hard, then go out and get a job.” “Bring in ten grand a month, and I’ll buy you flowers every single day. If you can’t, then you don’t get to be picky!” Hearing this, I couldn’t take it anymore. I flipped the entire table. If they wanted to treat my mother, who made this entire meal, like trash, then none of them were going to eat her food. Dishes crashed to the floor. Food was everywhere. Everyone was paralyzed. But they were about to get an even bigger shock. “You ungrateful son-of-a-bitch.” I slapped my brother across the face. The slap was loud and vicious. His right cheek turned red instantly. My brother clutched his face, looking completely confused. “Have you lost your mind?” I looked him dead in the eye. “I’ve lost my mind?” “I think the four of you are the ones who have lost your minds!” “No, actually, I think you’ve lost your goddamn souls!” Grandma saw the slap mark on my brother’s face and exploded. “You little bitch, who do you think you are putting your hands on him? If you actually hurt him, I’ll kill you!” I ignored her and glared at my brother. “You say Mom doesn’t make any money, so let me ask you: when you graduated and had that $20,000 credit card debt, who paid it off?” My brother’s face turned white. “Mom sold her engagement ring to pay your debt. You didn’t tell her to ‘save Dad money’ then, did you? You didn’t think she was useless then.” “But now that you have drained her, now that you have used her to pay off your debt, she is just a cheap housewife, right?” “And you.” I looked at Chloe, my sister-in-law, who was muttering insults under her breath. “You say detergent and gloves are better than flowers. You said you want my brother to send them to you one day. Let me ask you this: two years ago, when Mark actually did bring you laundry detergent as a prank gift, who went screaming to their parents’ house? Who almost divorced him?” Chloe’s face turned bright red. “That… that was different!” “How was it different?” I let out a cold laugh. “Every single year my brother gives you jewelry, and the one time he pranks you with detergent, you were livid, ready to end it. But my mother has endured this disrespect for thirty years, and when she finally cannot take it anymore, you tell her she’s dramatic? You say it’s trivial? Are you even a human being?” “This family, my mother, has done so much for you specifically.” My voice grew louder. “When you were recovering from childbirth, who took care of you?” “Your own mother came for seven days and went back because she was tired. My mother, terrified you would have postpartum health issues, waited on you hand and foot for forty-two days!” “Four meals a day, getting up in the middle of the night to change the baby, to feed the baby. No other daughter-in-law in this city has had such a happy, stress-free postpartum experience!” Chloe opened her mouth, but not a single word came out. I kept going. “When you went back to work, you had it so easy. Every day you just came home and ignored your son. The second the baby cried, you threw him into my mother’s arms. When you’re off work, you and my brother go on romantic vacations!” “What about my mother? Has she had a single day to herself since that baby was born? And after all of this?” “Has a single one of you even thanked her? No, instead, you see the injustice she’s facing and you ignore it, trying to force her to be miserable for the sake of your comfort!” When I screamed that last sentence, Grandma couldn’t handle it. “Enough! Every grandmother helps out with the grandchild. Why is it different with your mother?” “Every grandmother helps, so why weren’t you one of them?” I sneered at her. “When my mother was pregnant, where were you?” “Didn’t you claim your back hurt and you couldn’t serve people?” “My mother, pregnant with my brother, then me, still had to cook, clean, and do all the household chores herself.” “How come you didn’t have any of this ‘help’ then?” Grandma’s face turned multiple colors. “I… I was actually in bad health then.” “In bad health, yet you could go to bingo every night? In bad health, yet you could eat three huge meals a day? In bad health, yet you could scream insults at my mother without pausing for a breath? In bad health…” Grandma was about to faint from my retorts. My father finally couldn’t help but jump in, pointing his finger at my nose. “Enough!” “Who the hell do you think you are? Your mother hasn’t said a word, yet you are here putting on a show attacking everyone. Who do you think gave you the right?” Just as he finished, my mother grabbed my hand and said, loud and clear: “The right came from me!” The entire room went silent. Everyone’s eyes were locked on my mother. For thirty years, she had always been the quiet one. Silent when accused, silent when ignored, silent when abused. But this time, she spoke for herself. My dad couldn’t take her resisting him, feeling like he was losing face. His face turned dark, and he angrily kicked a dining chair over. “Sarah Miller, say that again. Who gave that bitch the right to come in here and make a scene?” My dad’s eyes were bloodshot, looking like a wild animal ready to bite. But my mother looked him in the eye without a hint of fear. She repeated herself, slow and clear. “I did!” “And.” She paused, looking at me with nothing but love. “Sunny is not a bitch!” “She is my daughter, my heart. She is the only person in this family who truly cares about me, loves me, and stands by me no matter what.” As she spoke, she calmly glanced around the room—at my brother, his wife, and Grandma. She said nothing to them directly, but they all instinctively looked away, unable to meet her gaze. “Fine. Since you say she’s the only one who treats you well, then when you leave with her tonight, don’t ever come back! From now on, you let this recent college grad support you!” “If she runs out of money, if she can’t feed you, and you are starving out in the streets, you aren’t allowed to come back. And don’t you dare call me, asking me for a dime!” As he spoke, his gaze was fixed on my mother. He assumed he would see her panic, see her immediately regret her actions. But he was wrong. My mother didn’t even blink. He was surprised for a second. But he immediately dismissed her reaction, deciding she just had no grasp of money. He began calculating on his fingers. “Your daughter just graduated. Her monthly salary is what, $5,000 max?” “Rent is at least $1,500, food is at least $800. She has a car, so that’s a $400 payment plus insurance. Utilities, phone, gas… that’s another $500.” “After all that, she still has to support a useless housewife like you who can’t make a dime. Do you really think that’s enough?” He finished, let out a cold laugh.

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On the first day we started dating, I confessed to my boyfriend that I had an ex-husband. He breathed a sigh of relief, looking like he wanted to say something but held back. It wasn’t until we signed our marriage license that he confessed he had been hiding two things from me. First, he had secretly investigated my past and knew all about my marriage history long before I told him. Second, he didn’t graduate from an average state college. Just like my ex-husband, he was a Harvard alum. He lied because he was terrified I would reject him if I knew the truth. I was so furious I kicked him out of the apartment that very day. But at midnight, a frantic call from his best friend jolted me awake: “Sister-in-law! Nathan is completely wasted! Hurry up and come to VIP Room 3201 to drag him home!” Swallowing my grogginess and irritation, I pushed open the gold-rimmed doors of the private lounge and pasted on my best professional, fake smile. “Sorry for the interruption. I’m just here to pick up my husband.” The next second, the chaotic noise in the room screeched to a dead halt. Dozens of the city’s brightest elites turned to look at me. Their eyes nailed me to the spot. Sitting dead center was a man in an immaculate suit, his features sharp and freezing cold. He was slowly running his thumb along the rim of his whiskey glass. “…Chloe Thorne?” Someone finally broke the suffocating silence. “This is a Harvard alumni mixer, not a community college shelter.” “Wait, is this the legendary ‘Chloe-ism’ girl? She doesn’t even look like much. Ezra actually tanked a Philosophy final for her, writing ‘Chloe-ism’ instead of ‘Objectivism’ for the entire exam. Almost gave the professor a heart attack.” A roar of mocking laughter erupted in the room. “She schemed her way into her stepbrother’s bed to force a marriage, and now Ezra’s new fiancée is a Yale PhD. How do you even have the nerve to show your face here?” They didn’t know. My ex-husband, Ezra Vance, used to be dead last in our high school class. He grinded his way to the top of the academic ladder, and he did it all for me. But none of that mattered anymore. The past was dead and buried. Facing the searing judgment of the room, I didn’t crumble like they expected. I just calmly said: “I’m not here to celebrate with you elites. I’m here to take my husband home.” Ezra finally lifted his eyes. They were dark and heavy. “Chloe, we divorced three years ago.” I let a genuine, soft smile touch my lips. “I know.” “That’s exactly why I didn’t say I was here to pick you up, Mr. Vance.” “So shameless. Still trying to ride Ezra’s coattails even after the divorce.” A few stifled giggles echoed through the lounge. Carter Hayes lit a cigarette and looked at me lazily. “Never seen someone try so hard to play the other woman.” Carter used to be Ezra’s and my best friend in high school. He used to be the person who treated me second-best in the whole world. But when my marriage with Ezra was falling apart, Carter didn’t hesitate to take Ezra’s side. Because the girl Carter was secretly in love with happened to be the third person in my marriage. And Carter had been helping Ezra hide their affair the entire time. I was the only one kept in the dark, playing the absolute fool from start to finish. “Carter, knock it off,” Ezra snapped coldly, his lips pressed into a tight line. Carter refused to back down, crushing his cigarette in the ashtray with an impatient scowl. “What’s wrong with saying it? An idiot like Chloe Thorne can’t even hold a candle to a brilliant scholar like Valerie.” “Only you would settle for a dummy like her. She dragged you down for years.” Ezra locked eyes with me, his voice dangerously low. “Chloe isn’t stupid.” Chloe isn’t stupid. Hearing that come out of the mouth of a certified genius like Ezra was actually quite comical. But sixteen-year-old Chloe used to believe it. The summer before high school, my mom married Ezra’s dad, blending our broken families. Ezra and I were the same age and ended up at the same public high school. We were even in the same homeroom. He was the worst student in the grade; I was somewhere in the middle. Ezra hated me, so he never spoke a word to me. I’d constantly see him getting into fistfights and ending up in the principal’s office. Then, my mom would have to come to school, bowing her head and absorbing the insults from the administration. One night, I went to the kitchen for water and saw my mom sitting on the couch in the dark, crying. “Clo, what do I have to do to make Ezra accept me?” I didn’t have an answer. I only knew that after that night, my quiet coexistence with Ezra turned into a full-blown war. I put hot sauce in his sodas, poured dirty mop water into his backpack, and spiked his lunches with laxatives. Ezra cornered me and laid down the law: “Got any more tricks? Let me tell you right now, Chloe—if you don’t kill me, I’m going to ruin your mother.” We stayed at each other’s throats for over half a year. I thought I would hate Ezra Vance for the rest of my life. But in the end, he became the only person in the world who truly loved me. Our war ended the night the domestic violence started. Ezra’s dad beat my mom so badly she had to be hospitalized. As the paramedics loaded her into the ambulance, his dad was still screaming abuse at her. “I chased you for two years! You’re nothing but a pretty face! Completely useless!” My mom was nearly forty. She had been spoiled rotten by my biological father for the first half of her life, so she naturally didn’t have any real-world survival skills. When Ezra heard his dad shouting that, his cold, rebellious facade shattered. He stared at me in shock and muttered: “It wasn’t your mom who seduced my dad…” Ezra had hated my mom because he genuinely believed she was the homewrecker who drove his own mother away. It didn’t matter anymore, because after that day, I didn’t have a mother either. When I brought my mom’s favorite white freesias to the hospital, I found out she had run away. She took nothing with her. She didn’t take me, either. Chloe Thorne was homeless. I had nowhere to go. I was wandering the streets in the dead of night when Ezra found me. His eyes were bloodshot. He looked so furious I thought he was going to hit me, so I curled into a tight ball on the sidewalk. Trembling in fear, I suddenly felt his warm arms wrap tightly around me. It was the first time I ever heard him speak so gently. “Chloe, come home with me.” “From now on, I’ll be your whole world.” I took his outstretched hand and held on for dear life. And from that moment on, at sixteen years old, my entire universe consisted of Ezra Vance. After my mom vanished, Ezra’s dad grew even more violent. Afraid I’d get caught in the crossfire, Ezra moved us both out into a tiny, rundown apartment. Life went on, but everything had changed. I stopped causing trouble, and the sharp, angry edges of Ezra’s personality softened into something gentle. He started spending more and more time studying. I couldn’t help but ask him about it. “You used to hate reading. You skipped class all the time.” He looked at me with total seriousness, then helplessly pinched my cheek. “Chloe, I want to give you a better life.” I looked at the tips of his ears, which were blushing red, and nodded hard. I promised myself I would never drag Ezra down. I studied like my life depended on it, but while Ezra miraculously skyrocketed from the bottom of the class to Valedictorian, I was still stuck in the middle of the pack. Ezra would stay up until midnight tutoring me. I stared at the calculus problems and shook my head in despair. He sighed. “Chloe, you really are a dummy.” “But I love how clumsy you are. It’s too cute.” As sleep finally overtook me, my pen slipped from my hand. I mumbled into the desk, “Ezra… can you walk a little slower? I’m never going to catch up to you.” Ezra told me I would never have to chase him. He promised he would wait for me forever. He didn’t keep that promise. Later on, my clumsiness and average mind became the things he despised the most about me. I became a nuisance. “Still not stupid?” Carter toyed with his silver lighter, picking up the conversation in the VIP room. “You worked yourself to the bone tutoring her, and she still only managed to get into some safety-school state college.” I glanced around the room, still not seeing my husband, Nathan. Nathan actually did go to Harvard with Ezra, just in a different college program. They probably wouldn’t hang in the same circles anyway. I figured Nathan must have texted me the wrong room number. I had zero energy to rehash old drama. “Sorry to bother you all,” I said, turning on my heel to leave. I had texted Nathan, but he hadn’t replied, and his phone was going straight to voicemail. I decided to just head home first. Before I could reach the door handle, a hand clamped down on my wrist. “Little sister, forgive me, okay?” Ezra kept his eyes lowered, hiding an emotion I couldn’t read. Little sister. That nickname used to make my face burn. It used to be our favorite forbidden, flirtatious joke, especially since Ezra was usually so rigid and proper. But eventually, that exact “stepbrother/stepsister” dynamic was the weapon used to destroy me. “Ezra, are you addicted to playing the victim?” I shook his hand off, my face blank. “I don’t have a brother.” As the tension in the room thickened, a light scoff shattered the awkwardness. “Chloe, I never expected to see you here.” Valerie clicked over in her designer heels, as haughty and arrogant as ever. In the past, her mere presence would have intimidated me. I used to envy her, look up to her, and feel an uncontrollable wave of inferiority around her. But now, after that wretched history had burned me out entirely, all that was left was total indifference. “Chloe, why don’t you come home with Ezra and me? Your mother misses you so much,” Valerie said sweetly. Even I was surprised by how calmly I replied after three years. “I don’t have a mother.” My stepbrother. My mother. They both chose Valerie. And I threw them away a long time ago, too. Valerie grabbed my wrist, “accidentally” letting her sleeve slip to reveal a vintage emerald bracelet. It was the heirloom Ezra’s mother had left him. I wore that bracelet for ten years. My entire relationship with Ezra only lasted ten years. Carter was right. I really was an idiot. Even with Ezra tutoring me with everything he had, I only barely made it into a state school. Meanwhile, Ezra aced his SATs, became the top scorer in the state, and went to Harvard. We were both in Massachusetts, not too far apart. Even though we couldn’t be together every single day, our lives were tightly woven together. It was the simplest kind of happiness, and a memory I will never be able to fully erase. Ezra was handsome and brilliant. Everyone wanted him. But he gave me absolute security. During college, I visited him on campus all the time. He was so famous that anything he did caused a stir. Eventually, the online campus forums started gossiping that I wasn’t good enough for him. They said I was nothing but a pretty face—no talent, no background, just a beautiful idiot trying to cling to a god. Ezra had already made our relationship public. When he saw those threads, he was furious. He said no one understood how wonderful I was. So, during a massive Philosophy final, he replaced every mention of “Objectivism” with “Chloe-ism.” He nearly failed the class and was publicly reprimanded by the dean for being lovesick. The incident made waves across the entire university. Back then, Ezra wanted the whole world to know I was his girlfriend. But when it came time to actually get married, he said: “Chloe, let’s keep the marriage a secret for now.” “Give me a few years. When I make a real name for myself, I’ll give you the wedding of the century.” I agreed. By our fourth anniversary, Ezra was wildly successful. I never got the dream wedding I was waiting for. Instead, I got his infidelity. On the day of our fourth anniversary, Ezra exploded in a terrifying rage. Because I had “lost” the emerald bracelet he gave me. He stormed out of the apartment, slamming the door. It was the first time in his life he had ever spoken to me with such venom. It was pouring rain outside. I searched every single place I had been to. I eventually remembered the tiny, rundown apartment we lived in during high school. Ezra had actually bought that apartment years later, because the walls were covered with thousands of polaroids from our three years there. The moment I pushed the door open. I saw Ezra pinning another woman to the bed. My scalp went numb. I lost my voice instantly. I knew who she was. Valerie. Ezra had mentioned her before, but barely. At first, he told me her dad essentially forced her into his tech startup, and he thought she was going to be a spoiled nuisance. But later, he started mentioning how capable she was. How brilliant she was. And it was right around that time that Ezra started calling me stupid. Our shared topics dried up. Ezra would always sigh and say: “Can you stop asking? Even if I explained it, you wouldn’t understand.” “Chloe, you’re so dense.” I had genuinely been happy that he found a business partner who clicked with him. But in that apartment, Valerie was wearing my emerald bracelet, staring at me with a triumphant smirk. I had been tortured by guilt, crawling on my hands and knees like a dog looking for that bracelet. I didn’t lose it. Ezra had taken it and handed it to someone else. My ears were ringing. My body lost all its strength. Operating purely on instinct, I grabbed a heavy picture frame off the nightstand and hurled it at them. Ezra shielded Valerie in his arms, his eyes blazing red. “Chloe, you’re out of your mind!” The man who once promised to be my whole world. He shoved me violently to the floor. My hands were covered in bloody glass shards. The photo inside the shattered frame was the first picture Ezra and I ever took together. He had his arms wrapped around me, looking so proud, like he was showing off a prize. But now, the frame was broken, and the eyes of the man standing in front of me were filled with nothing but disgust. Before I could even process the heartbreak, another bomb dropped. “Chloe, can you stop throwing a tantrum? You are suffocating. It’s no wonder your own mother didn’t want you!” It turned out my mother had remarried. She married Valerie’s father. She had spent the last ten years doting on Valerie like her own flesh and blood. My ten years of holding out hope for a family had officially morphed into a nightmare. Later, Ezra demanded a divorce. I refused to give them what they wanted, but I couldn’t fight them. Everyone I loved had turned their weapons on me. My husband. My best friend. And my mother. Ezra locked me inside our Boston house. For nearly a week, he unleashed all his pent-up frustration on me. “I’m not signing. You want to marry her? Keep dreaming,” I spat. At that point, the marriage certificate felt like the only card I had left to play. I was as stubborn as a lunatic. A week later, a blurred, pixelated video leaked online. The audio was crystal clear. “Big brother, I love you the most. Love your Clo a little more, okay?” It was an intimate video from years ago, back when he traveled for work constantly. He had begged me for it, saying he needed something to comfort him when I wasn’t there. Ezra was usually so terrifyingly straight-laced, so when he asked for a dirty video, I was both embarrassed and shocked. I only did it for him. But Ezra and Valerie were master manipulators of PR. That single leaked audio clip pushed me into the crosshairs of public outrage, framing me as a psychotic, obsessed step-sister who seduced him. And the final blow was dealt by Ezra himself, who let the narrative run wild. As I lay numbly in bed, watching the entire world—including my family and friends—condemn me, Valerie came to visit. She told me she had confessed her feelings to Ezra back in college. He had rejected her then. His reason? He said he wasn’t good enough for her yet. He asked if she would be willing to wait a few years for him. Wait until he was powerful enough to stand beside her in the light. That very night, I gave up. I agreed to the divorce. As I signed the papers, I thought about the past. Sixteen-year-old Ezra, full of fire, promising to give me a better life. But twenty-six-year-old Ezra’s future never had Chloe Thorne in it to begin with. I wiped my tears and forced myself to ask him one last question. “What was I, then? Just someone to settle for?” “Or was I just a placeholder to keep you warm until you were ready for the woman you actually loved?”

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My father arranged a marriage for me on his deathbed. The groom was Weston Cole. If you follow Wall Street, you know the name. He’s the coldest, most ruthless venture capitalist in New York. Before I moved into his penthouse, I set three strict rules for myself: Keep it business. Collect the dividends, forget the feelings. Total autonomy. He does his thing; I do mine. If a “True Love” ever appears at his door, I pack my bags immediately—provided I get double the severance pay. Weston seemed perfectly satisfied with how pragmatic I was. Until the day a teenage boy knocked on our door. He had Weston’s eyes and a striking resemblance around the jawline. He looked at me calmly and said: “Hi. I’m Weston’s son. I’m seventeen.” I froze for exactly two seconds. My first thought: Wow, Weston really plays the long game. Kept this a secret for seventeen years. My second thought: I need to mentally review my prenup. What was Rule Number Three again? Oh, right! If True Love shows up, I leave with double the money. A son counts as proof of True Love, right? I immediately stepped aside, opening the door wider. My tone was strictly professional. “Come on in. He’s not off work yet, so have a seat. Can I get you anything to drink?” The boy clearly didn’t expect this reaction. He hesitated. “You’re… not angry?” Angry? Why would I be angry? I was practically praying for Weston to have an affair. Shove a few dozen million in severance my way, and I’m instantly living my best life as a rich, single divorcée! I looked down as he changed into indoor slippers. At seventeen, his frame was nearly that of a grown man. He had Weston’s features, but his vibe was much cleaner, less cynical. “What’s your name?” “Leo.” I grabbed a bottle of fiji water from the fridge and handed it to him, offering some comfort. “Look, Leo, your dad and I have a contract marriage. It’s mutually beneficial business. I have no standing to be angry about his private life.” He gripped the water bottle, his Adam’s apple moving as he swallowed hard. He fell silent. I sat on the single armchair opposite him, observing him across the coffee table. The resemblance really was uncanny. It took me back three years. To the moments before my father passed away, gripping Weston’s hand, entrusting me to him. The Coles owed my father a life debt. Weston repaid it with this marriage. The night before we signed the papers, he handed me a prenup. I skimmed it, then held up three fingers. “I have three conditions to add.” “One: No romance. Strictly profit-sharing.” “Two: You play your games; I play mine.” “Three: If you ever want to bring a True Love home, I pave the way immediately. But the severance pay doubles.” He looked down and signed the agreement without a moment’s hesitation. “Deal.” From start to finish, the word “love” was never spoken. After the wedding, we kept separate rooms and separate schedules. He spent twenty days a month flying internationally. During the other ten, I saw him less often than his secretary did. Three years ago, at City Hall, he walked in first. Signed, stamped. He didn’t look back at me once throughout the entire process. It didn’t feel like getting married. It felt like closing a business merger. Weston got home while I was curled up on the sofa watching a reality show. His footsteps passed the sofa, then stopped for two seconds. I turned the volume up two notches and kept watching. He didn’t go upstairs. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him standing there, his gaze heavy on me. “Who did you see today?” I paused the TV and sat up straight, putting on a serious face. “Your intel moves fast, Mr. Cole. A very good-looking kid. Says he’s your son. Nice job on the secrecy, by the way.” The air went dead for a few seconds. His face was expressionless. But he didn’t deny it. “I’ll handle this.” I nodded, got up from the sofa, and paused as I passed him. “Great. If you need me to cooperate with the divorce proceedings, just say the word.” I hesitated, but couldn’t help dropping a reminder. “You do still remember the double severance clause in the contract, right?” He looked down at me, his eyes incredibly dark and intense. I waited a few seconds, but the atmosphere was getting weird, so I turned and bolted upstairs. I shut my bedroom door and leaned back against it, staring up at the ceiling light. Since the wedding, he’d been so busy, always gone. I thought our marriage was a blank slate, clean as paper. Turns out, the man had his True Love locked down ages ago, and even produced an heir. I looked down at my phone. Opened my banking app. The pre-marital transfer was sitting brightly in my asset details. $10 million. Double that is $20 million. But he hid a son for seventeen years before letting it leak. That counts as fraud, right? Asking for another $5 million on top doesn’t seem unreasonable, does it? At 1:30 AM, I was still tossing and turning, unable to sleep. After vacillating for ages, I opened my contacts and scrolled to [Lawyer Daniels]. I’d added him three years ago when I signed the prenup. His profile picture was a Golden Retriever. I opened the chat. Type. Delete. Type. Delete. Finally, I just sent: [Mr. Daniels, I need a consultation. If it’s inconvenient, feel free to ignore this.] He replied instantly: [Go ahead.] Talk about professional dedication. I carefully phrased my words. [Hypothetically—and I mean hypothetically—I have a friend. Her husband had a child before they married and never told her.] [Okay.] [That counts as concealing a material fact, right? There’s a clause in their agreement about ‘True Love’ appearing requiring double severance. Can she apply that here?] [Regarding this friend, what does the specific wording of the agreement say?] I stared at the screen. I couldn’t say it was me. I couldn’t be too specific. If the words “Mrs. Cole” circulated through the NYC lawyer group chats, I’d die of embarrassment ten times over. I typed: [My friend didn’t sign a formal prenup. Her husband verbally agreed that if he cheated, he’d leave with nothing.] Even I thought that sounded fake as I sent it. The ‘user is typing…’ indicator appeared… and stayed there for a long time. [Your friend is very… trusting.] I choked. [Mr. Daniels, the point isn’t her trust.] [The point is what she can get right now.] My fingers hovered over the screen. $20 million… $25 million would work too. Weston Cole’s face isn’t currency, but money is. [Severance pay. Preferably doubled.] [Is there evidence proving the husband acknowledged the child?] I thought of Leo’s face. I thought of Weston saying, “I’ll handle this.” He didn’t deny it. Does that count as acknowledgement? I typed: [She said her husband didn’t deny it. Does that count?] [A verbal acknowledgement counts, but it’s best to have a recording, chat logs, or a witness.] [A witness… do I count?] I slammed the phone face-down on the bed. Five seconds later, the screen lit up again. Lawyer Daniels: [Mrs. Cole, it’s not convenient for me to take a case involving the Cole family. However, I can recommend a colleague who specializes in high-net-worth family law.] … I laughed at my own stupidity. While I spent the next two days contacting lawyers and consulting on divorce proceedings, Leo came back. When I heard movement at the entrance, I was decanting red wine at the dining table. Weston walked in first, with the boy half a step behind him. Weston pulled out a chair. “Leo transferred schools. Until the paperwork is finalized, he’ll be staying here.” Wow. Bringing the illegitimate son home in broad daylight. How long until the True Love shows up demanding her title? Divorce! Absolutely must divorce! While mentally calculating the alimony, I didn’t miss a beat calling out to the kitchen: “Marie, let’s add two more dishes tonight.” Six dishes and a soup were served. I plated a piece of sweet and sour rib into $25 million’s… excuse me, into Leo’s bowl, and asked solicitously: “Is the school sorted out?” He looked down. “Yeah.” “What grade?” “Junior year.” “Can you keep up with the coursework?” His chopsticks paused. “It’s okay.” I added another spoonful of greens to his bowl. “It’s getting cold out. There are thick comforters in the guest room closet.” He didn’t respond, nor did he look up. His entire focus was communicating solely with the rice in his bowl. Weston didn’t speak either. Like father, like son—both clams. After dinner, the dishes went into the kitchen. I opened the fridge to find some fruit. I sliced oranges into eight perfect wedges and arranged them on a white porcelain plate. Footsteps stopped behind me. “You aren’t going to ask about my situation? You don’t care that he was running around outside?” Leo’s voice was a bit raspy. I kept arranging the oranges. “That’s between you two. I’m only responsible for cooperating with whatever arrangements Mr. Cole makes.” “…You really don’t care at all?” I turned off the faucet. Turning around, I dried my hands on a towel, smiling flawlessly. “Kid, we have a contract marriage.” I hung the towel back on the rack, my smile becoming enigmatic. “Caring too much counts as a breach of contract.” He didn’t speak again. His gaze fell on my face, searching for confirmation. But just as I picked up the fruit plate to leave, I saw Weston standing at the kitchen doorway. After that day, Weston’s frequency of coming home dropped noticeably. When Marie asked how many places to set, I said two. With the master of the house absent, the wife and the secret son coexisted peacefully. Nobody seemed to find it strange. Friday afternoon, Lawyer Chen, whom I had contacted, sent over a file. [Mrs. Cole, here is the rough draft of the evidence checklist for the divorce petition. Please review.] I opened it. Item Seven: [The husband concealed fathering a child out of wedlock, constituting a material fault.] “Hey.” Hearing Leo’s voice, I casually closed the file. He was standing at the terrace door, looking at me intently. “What were you just looking at?” I set my phone face down. “Work stuff.” He didn’t move. “Liar. Since you married Weston, he’s supported you. You’ve never worked a day. Are you divorcing Weston because of me? You can’t divorce him.” I asked him, “Why?” His back was to me, his voice very low. “Because…” Hey, this brat! Talk about a cliffhanger! How could he just turn around and walk away without saying anything? The next day he got up early. I was sitting on the sofa flipping through documents; he watched me. I went to get water; he followed me to the kitchen door. I came back; he followed me and sat down again. Finally, I closed my laptop. “Leo, is there something wrong with your brain?” He didn’t deny it, but repeated yesterday’s line: “You can’t divorce him.” I stared at him. “Wasn’t your goal in showing up here to let me know he cheated and ruin our marriage?” He pursed his lips. “It was, but…” “Then why are you stopping me now?” He lowered his eyes, silent. I got up to go to the study, slamming the door to shut him out. Five minutes later, a piece of paper was slid under the door. Folded, torn from a notebook. The handwriting was heavy, tearing the paper in two places.

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