Category: English

I touched my empty stomach, trembling uncontrollably, surrounded by the mocking laughter of his friends. “Commander Harrison Brooks, just because Audrey Sinclair said one word, you really aborted the child you had with Evelyn?!” “Haha, look at the princess, all the color drained from her face! What, are you gonna hit someone?!” Harrison merely pulled Audrey into his arms, his tone impossibly gentle. “I told you I would never have a child with her. Do you believe me now?” The ice on Audrey’s face finally melted into a sweet smile. I tried to step forward to demand an answer, but I was violently held back by my three older brothers. My eldest brother, State Senator Bennett Vance, frowned in disgust. “Audrey finally smiled. Stop acting like the grim reaper and ruining the mood.” My second brother, Oliver, Director of the National Research Institute, spat at my feet. “She suffered so much in the brutal foster system before we found her. Just give Harrison up to her! I’ll find you another guy!” My third brother, Miles, Director of the National Arts Company, practically poked his finger into my eye. “They are the ones truly in love! Were you really going to bring a child into a loveless household?! Stop committing a sin!” They dragged me back to the family estate and locked me inside, forbidding me from ruining the happiness of their precious golden girl. It was then that the System, which had been silent for years, finally spoke. “Host, detecting that the strategy mission has been completed! Would you like to return to your original world immediately?” I hung a rope over the exposed ceiling beam. My eyes were completely out of focus, but my heart was screaming with wild ecstasy. I finally didn’t have to act anymore! …… Before I was fully dead, the bedroom door was kicked open. Oliver rushed in, and his security details frantically cut me down. Oliver was absolutely furious. “When did you learn to throw these pathetic tantrums?! Crying, screaming, hanging yourself?! Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re causing this family?!” But all my attention was focused on the System’s voice in my head. “Detecting that the Vance brothers and the male lead’s affection levels reached 90%. The mission to conceive a child with the male lead, Harrison Brooks, is complete!” “Once the host’s physical body dies, you may return to your original world, receive your cash reward, and cure your cancer!” I suppressed the overwhelming joy bubbling in my chest. I could finally go home! I looked up and met Oliver’s eyes. A guard leaned in and whispered something into his ear. The fiery rage in Oliver’s eyes instantly vanished, replaced by a soft, gentle warmth like a spring breeze. Unsurprisingly. He only ever looked like that when it came to Audrey. Catching my gaze, he immediately stiffened and cleared his throat. “What? Did you think you could use death to scare Harrison?! How could you be so malicious?!” “Do you have any idea how much Audrey suffered bouncing around the foster system?! She finally found us. What’s so wrong with letting her be a little happy?!” I clenched my fists tightly, letting out a self-deprecating laugh. If “suffering” meant having three powerful men orbiting you, ready to pluck the stars from the sky if you asked for them… Then I would gladly suffer too. Perhaps seeing how ghastly pale I looked, Oliver softened his tone slightly. “Just go apologize to Harrison. Stop being so stubborn.” He reached out to pull me up, but I lightly dodged his hand. I sneered. “Why should I apologize? What exactly did I do wrong?” Oliver froze. Then, his brows knitted together in renewed anger. “Evelyn Vance! Are you really trying to push your luck?! Do you want to be sent away to a disciplinary facility?!” I closed my eyes. Even if I only did this for a mission, after so many years, I had developed real feelings for them. I had genuinely cried over their coldness before. But now, it was all over. “Once Audrey finishes her performance for the President and gets promoted to Principal Dancer, you will go and apologize to her.” I no longer held a single shred of hope for him. I simply communicated with the System in my mind. “As long as this body dies, I can go back, right?” “Yes.” I let out a slow sigh of relief. I scanned the room, looking for the fastest way to kill myself. Oliver immediately realized what I was doing and roared. “Evelyn, what twisted scheme are you plotting now?! Can’t you understand a word I say?!” I ignored him. Locking my eyes on the heavy mahogany dresser, I steeled my heart, closed my eyes, and sprinted headfirst toward the sharp corner. The wind rushed past my ears. I felt a fleeting sense of lightness. But the next second, a strong arm clamped around my waist. I was hoisted into the air by a pair of large hands. I let out a yelp before I was violently slammed onto the hardwood floor. The security guards immediately surrounded me. Furious, Oliver pushed through them and delivered a vicious kick to my side. “You’re crazy! You’re completely insane! I say one sentence to you, and you try to kill yourself?! We spoiled you too much!” I let out a muffled groan, feeling nothing but annoyance that I hadn’t died. I ignored him completely. Seeing my apathy, Oliver grew even more enraged. “Doing this just to get our attention again, right?! Put away your pathetic little tricks!” Turning a deaf ear to his screaming, I staggered to my feet and dusted off my clothes. The guards boxed me in tightly, terrified I would cause more trouble. A heavy, bizarre silence filled the room. I don’t know how long passed. But the moment I caught them looking away, I seized the opening and threw myself out the second-story window. “I jumped on my own! Don’t take your anger out on anyone else!” I shouted the words as I plummeted. “Evelyn!” Oliver screamed in absolute despair. He and the guards were a second too late. I was filled with hope, welcoming death with open arms. Even though returning to my world meant facing the agony of cancer again, I didn’t want to spend another second in this hell. But unexpectedly, I was met with a violent, piercing pain. I thought I was dead, but the agony radiating through my torso told me otherwise. I opened my eyes. I was impaled and caught in the thick branches of an oak tree just outside the window. The commotion drew the attention of all our wealthy neighbors in the gated community. They quickly gathered around. “Isn’t that the Vance family’s daughter? Why is a girl that young trying to end her life?” “Oh, please. Everyone knows how horribly the Vance family treats her in her own home… Sigh, it’s a sin!” I was stuck in the branches, unable to move. I dropped my head in defeat. “You’re insane! Evelyn, have you completely lost your mind?!” Oliver’s eyes were bloodshot. He shoved through the crowd, stumbling and falling to his knees beneath the tree. Soon, the estate’s security brought a cherry picker and carefully brought me down. Oliver immediately started checking my body. “Does it hurt anywhere?! Talk to me!” My gaze inadvertently fell on Oliver. A man who was usually obsessed with his immaculate appearance was missing a shoe, limping heavily. His right ankle was swollen to the size of a baseball. He must have twisted it rushing out of the house in a panic. If this were the past, my heart would have ached terribly. I would have demanded he go to the hospital immediately. But now, I just apathetically looked away. “What? Do I need your official permission to die, too?” Oliver froze, his face stricken with disbelief. I scoffed, walked around him, and politely thanked the security guards. “I’m sorry for causing you all so much trouble.” I also bowed to the gossiping neighbors. “Please don’t tell anyone about this. If word gets out, my eldest brother will curse me out again.” Oliver dug his fingernails into his palms. The corners of his eyes turned bright red. I frowned slightly, confused by his reaction. “Don’t worry,” I assured the neighbors. “Everyone in the compound knows each other. You won’t spread it. If you need me to, I’ll apologize door-to-door so you don’t have to bother Bennett or Oliver…” “Evelyn!” He cut me off, unable to bear it anymore. And then, to my utter shock, a flash of genuine grievance appeared on his face. “You are the only daughter of the Vance family! You’re the youngest! We three brothers want nothing more than to lift you up! Why are you speaking to us like we’re strangers?!” I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing. “Do you even believe the words coming out of your own mouth?” He trembled, as if he had just been slapped awake. Because the one living with the Vance family, the one treated like their daughter now, was Audrey Sinclair! As for me? I had been banished to a dusty storage room at the Arts Company. I was originally supposed to live in the dorms, but because Audrey hated the sight of me, my third brother Miles expelled me from the company entirely. As an act of “charity,” he let me sleep in the storage closet. I looked at Oliver with completely dead eyes, but a deep sense of sorrow bled through. Outside of the arts company, I used to love studying biology in my spare time. Oliver was a leading expert in the field. Seeing my talent and passion, he used to love mentoring me. We would discuss scientific problems until the sun came up. But now? Now he only looked at me with cold disgust, ordering me to yield to Audrey in every single aspect of my life. Oliver lowered his head in resignation, his voice as quiet as a mosquito. “Once Audrey finishes her performance and gets promoted to Principal Dancer, you can move back home… Audrey turned your bedroom into a dance studio. This is a critical time for her career. You’ve always been so understanding. You get it, right?” “Everything that happened before… it was all just a misunderstanding…” I couldn’t be bothered to respond. I just sneered and walked away. Before I transmigrated, I was an orphan. I lived meal to meal, starving half the time. To make matters worse, after coughing up blood on the street, a kind stranger took me to the hospital, where I was diagnosed with terminal cancer. I lay in that hospital bed, slipping into a coma from the agonizing pain. When I opened my eyes again, the System had brought me to this world, placing me in the body of a nine-year-old child. That was the first time I heard the System’s voice. “Reach an 80% affection level with the three Vance brothers and the male lead, Harrison Brooks, and conceive a child with Harrison. Once complete, you may return to your modern world and your cancer will be cured!” Then, it vanished. I thought the pain had given me hallucinations. But looking down, I was indeed in the unformed body of a nine-year-old. I adjusted quickly. I had no ties in my old world, and having a healthy body here was a blessing. Now, Oliver and I sat in the grand living room of the estate. To ease the tension, he started recounting funny stories from before Audrey came to our house. I hadn’t felt that kind of warmth in almost ten years. There was a time when Oliver’s smile almost made me want to abandon the mission and stay here forever. But after I brought Audrey—a fellow orphan from my school—home out of pity, she stole all of Oliver’s favoritism. I went from angry, to acting out, to absolutely hysterical. And all it earned me was his cold reprimand: “Stop throwing a tantrum. Look at how pathetic you’re acting.” Seeing that I wasn’t responding to his stories, Oliver’s voice took on a pitiful, pleading tone. “Evelyn, I hurt my foot trying to save you. Can you please get the first-aid kit and help me…” I cut him off, my face blank. “Your security detail is standing right there. If it’s serious, call a doctor. Why are you telling me?” Suddenly, heavy, powerful footsteps echoed from the porch. I knew immediately it was Harrison. And the steady, authoritative footsteps beside him belonged to my eldest brother, Bennett. Bennett’s voice was dark and threatening. “Audrey has been so worried about you she hasn’t eaten or slept. She’s lost weight! You better treat her with respect, or don’t blame me for what happens next!” Audrey quickly stepped between everyone, playing the perfect peacemaker. “Bennett, Harrison, I’m really fine! It was all a misunderstanding. As long as we talk it out, everything is okay.” I sat on the sofa, admiring their sickeningly sweet display of sibling devotion. I rubbed my face, only to realize my cheeks were wet and freezing. I hadn’t cried in a very long time. Oliver limped over to me. He was just about to speak when the front doors swung open. Seeing Oliver’s condition, Audrey immediately rushed over. “Oliver! How did you get hurt so badly? You…” She didn’t get to finish her sentence before my fist connected squarely with her jaw, knocking her to the floor. Audrey panicked, collapsing onto the rug, looking up at me in utter shock. Almost simultaneously, a massive, bruising force clamped down on my shoulders. The pain forced me to my knees. Bennett nodded approvingly at his guards. He shot up from his chair, pointing at me furiously. “Evelyn Vance! We have spoiled you beyond repair! Apologize to Audrey!” I kneeled pathetically on the floor, spitting out a mouthful of blood. “I apologize? What exactly did I do wrong? My husband cheated on me, and I’m not allowed to hit his mistress?!” Bennett grew even more enraged, his voice turning shrill. “What kind of delusional nonsense are you spouting?! Audrey and Harrison are a couple! Have you forgotten?! You and Harrison never signed the marriage papers! You aren’t husband and wife!” “How could I have such a shameless, classless sister?! You’ve humiliated the Vance family!” I looked at him like he had just told the funniest joke in the world. “Shameless? Have you forgotten that Harrison was the one who coaxed me, saying we would sign the papers after I got pregnant?! He treated my love like garbage, and I’m the shameless one?!” Harrison stared at me with eyes like ice. “Thank God I didn’t marry you. Thank God I had the foresight. The Brooks family would never accept a wife like you!” Miles, who had just walked in, stormed over and slapped me hard across the face. “Evelyn! Apologize!” I didn’t speak. I just slowly, coldly swept my gaze over all of them. Bennett’s eyes were indifferent. Miles’s face was full of disgust. Harrison looked like he wanted me dead. Oliver frowned, his lips moving slightly, but in the end, he didn’t say a single word. Just like three years ago. Audrey had snuck into Oliver’s lab and destroyed years of his life’s work by messing with the equipment. The government demanded Oliver give them an explanation. Oliver begged me to take the fall, and pleaded with Bennett to cover it up. But Audrey intentionally leaked the scandal to the public. I was publicly disgraced and could no longer stay at the Arts Company. So Miles fired me. And my bedroom was converted into a dance studio, simply because Audrey wanted to “soak up the aura” of the former Principal Dancer. “You have security guards following you everywhere! Audrey is all alone! She lives in the house so she can communicate easily with Miles! Can’t you be a little more mature?!” I had screamed at them hysterically back then. And the way they looked at me then was exactly how they were looking at me now. Today, I couldn’t be bothered to defend myself. I grabbed the fruit knife resting on the coffee table. Oliver’s eyes widened in terror. He tried to lunge forward, but Audrey tightly locked her arms around his waist. “Evelyn, what are you doing?!” I looked at Audrey with a mocking smile. “Didn’t you want an apology?” I ignored the panic-stricken men around me. In one swift motion, I dragged the blade across my own throat. Screams erupted in the room. I was crying and laughing at the same time. “I’m paying her back with my life! Is that enough?! Are you happy now?!” Warm, thick blood violently sprayed from my neck. The dizzying wave of blood loss made my legs give out. Amidst the chaotic, indistinguishable roars, my vision went dark. The last thing I saw was the absolute, unadulterated horror on the men’s faces. Oliver broke free and caught me against his chest. “Call an ambulance!”

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Right before the wedding ceremony was supposed to start, my mom found me, her face dark with anger. “Chloe, did you arrange the catering for the reception?” I nodded, confused. I had personally handled all the catering details. We even went to several different hotels for tastings before settling on this one. My mom froze for a second, then glared at me. “Are you out of your mind?! I gave you thirty thousand dollars, and this is the garbage you serve at your wedding?!” “Your husband’s family gets top-shelf whiskey, premium steak, and lobster!” “And you serve our relatives cheap beer and generic chicken?!” “Do you have any idea how humiliating this is going to be for your father in front of our entire extended family?!” I was completely stunned. We paid for the exact same premium catering package for every single table. How could there be such a massive discrepancy? Just as I was about to storm out of the bridal suite to find the hotel manager, my husband, Liam, grabbed my arm. “The ceremony is about to start. If you go now, you’ll delay the schedule and ruin the timing.” Then, he muttered under his breath: “Besides, I’m the one who told them to change it. Why would you go yell at the hotel?” 1 Even though Liam muttered it under his breath, I heard him perfectly clearly. My brain stalled for a second before the realization hit me like a ton of bricks. The two-tiered catering—the blatant disrespect toward my family—was Liam’s doing! I forced down the raging fire in my chest and tried to keep my voice level. “Why? I paid the hotel in full for the premium package. Why did you change it?” “You downgraded the food and drinks for my side of the family. How are my relatives supposed to look at my parents now?” “Did you even consider for a second that after this wedding, my parents won’t be able to show their faces in front of our family and friends?” Despite my best efforts to stay calm, my voice unconsciously rose into a shout. Liam looked away, too guilty to meet my eyes. My mom’s face was livid. She was breathing heavily, on the absolute verge of an explosion. But maintaining the elegant, composed image she had cultivated for years, she held it in and said to me in a low, tight voice: “The ceremony starts in thirty minutes. I am giving you exactly ten minutes to find a reasonable solution to this mess.” After she finished, my mom shot Liam an icy, lethal glare, turned on her heel, and walked out. The bridal suite fell dead silent. The only sound was our breathing. “Honey, please, just listen to me explain…” After a long, uncomfortable silence, Liam took a deep breath and reached out to take my hand. I took a step back, pulled up a chair, sat down, and stared at him silently. Liam awkwardly withdrew his hand and scratched his head, pretending it wasn’t a big deal. “Look, honey. The premium catering package is eight hundred dollars a table. We booked twenty-eight tables, plus three reserves.” “If we used the premium package for everyone, the money your mom gave you wouldn’t be enough.” “Plus, your family alone takes up twenty-one tables! If we kept the premium package, we’d end up having to pay the difference out of our own pockets!” Liam counted on his fingers, eagerly breaking down the math for me. “But changing the package changes everything!” A look of calculated greed flashed in his eyes—a look I had never seen before. My heart grew colder by the second. This hidden side of Liam was completely rewriting my understanding of the man I was about to marry. “I talked to the hotel manager and downgraded the catering for your family’s tables to the basic hundred-and-fifty-dollar package.” “By doing that, we’ll actually have money left over from your mom’s budget after the wedding! We can use that extra cash to take my parents on a nice vacation with us!” When Liam mentioned the vacation, his eyes lit up with excitement. It was as if he was already sitting on a beach with his parents. I, on the other hand, was completely dumbfounded. I never, in my wildest dreams, imagined he would go behind my back like this. Sneaking off to the hotel manager to downgrade the food, without even bothering to consult the person who was actually paying the bill. I wanted to scream. I wanted to tear my own wedding to the ground! 2 But then I thought about our three-year relationship, and all the relatives waiting outside. I was trapped. This was the man I had fought my parents so hard for, blinding myself to all his red flags. We were already at the venue. The guests were seated. Backing out now would be a catastrophic, humiliating scandal. I took a deep, shaky breath, trying my absolute hardest not to lose my mind. “Go find the manager right now and change the catering back to the premium package.” “My parents paid for this reception. You know exactly what was agreed upon.” “More importantly, today isn’t just about my extended family. My dad’s business partners and clients are out there.” “Did you even think about the consequences of insulting them like this?” The excited, daydreaming look on Liam’s face instantly vanished, replaced by a sullen scowl. “I can’t change it back… I told the manager to downgrade the order the very next day after you finalized the menu.” “The kitchen definitely prepped all the food in advance!” “Besides, they’re just here to celebrate our marriage. Who actually cares if the food is a little cheap?” It felt like a ball of fire was lodged in my throat. I was literally shaking with rage. “Then go out there and tell your relatives they’re sitting at the wrong tables! Tell them to switch!” “Let my dad’s business partners sit at the tables with the top-shelf liquor and steak! All the relatives get the basic package!” The moment I suggested moving his family, Liam stiffened defensively. He stuck his neck out and argued back: “We can’t do that! How humiliating would it be to serve my family cheap food?!” I let out a harsh, incredulous laugh. Oh, so now he understands it’s humiliating. But he was perfectly fine serving that exact same garbage to my family? “Besides, they’re already seated! If I make them move now, how am I supposed to look them in the eye?!” “Are you trying to ruin me?!” I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I slammed my hand down hard on the vanity table. CRASH! Everything on the table swept onto the floor. I stood up and screamed at him: “And what exactly are YOU doing to ME?!” “Did you forget that when we were negotiating this wedding, your family cried poverty over and over again?!” “I felt bad for you! I didn’t ask you to pay a single cent! I let your family eat and drink for free on my dime, under the strict condition that everyone received the exact same premium treatment!” “And what happens? I pay the bill, and I end up being the one humiliated?!” “That is not how the world works! Liam, do you still want to get married or not?!” I roared at Liam, and the suffocating pressure in my chest finally eased a fraction. I took a deep breath of air. Liam was completely stunned that I would threaten to call off the wedding. He stared at me, his eyes wide in disbelief, looking like a chicken being choked. Before Liam could even utter a word, the door to the bridal suite was violently kicked open. “How dare you speak to my son like that?!” 3 “You aren’t even officially married yet, and you’re already screaming at your man? You think you run this house?!” My mother-in-law, Martha, stormed into the room and slapped me hard across the face. Feeling the burning, stinging pain on my cheek, my mind went completely blank. I stared at this wicked, vicious old woman in utter shock. Martha’s face was twisted in pure malice. There was absolutely no trace of the sweet, loving future mother-in-law she had pretended to be. In that moment, I realized with chilling clarity that all her previous kindness had been an act. This was her true face! Liam was also shocked by his mother bursting in and slapping me. Snapping out of it, he hurried over to check my face. “Mom! What are you doing?! The ceremony hasn’t even started, and you just slapped her face swollen!” “When we go out there, what are the guests going to think?!” Martha yanked Liam behind her, shielding him, and glared at me with absolute venom. “The wedding is about to start, and you two are in here screaming like animals! What is wrong with you?!” “And I heard you actually had the nerve to demand my family switch tables?!” “Do you still want to marry into this family or not?!” Holding my stinging, swelling cheek, a wave of profound regret washed over me. If I had known his family was like this, I never would have fought my parents so bitterly to marry Liam. When our families first sat down to discuss the wedding, I, trying to be understanding of Liam’s financial situation, directly told my parents we didn’t need a dowry, an engagement ring, or any of the traditional expensive gifts. I told them if I saw something I liked, I would just buy it myself. I didn’t need his family to pay for it. My parents strongly disagreed, but because I was so incredibly stubborn, they eventually caved. They even bought me a brand-new car as a wedding gift out of their own pockets. When it came time to discuss the reception, my in-laws looked visibly disgusted when my parents mentioned we had a large extended family and would need around twenty tables. “Look, it’s not that I’m being cheap, but I just don’t agree with bringing that many people to a wedding reception.” “Twenty tables? That is ridiculous!” “Are you just inviting every random person you’ve ever met? Do you have any idea how much that’s going to cost?!” “Besides, if you invite all those people, they’re going to give cash gifts. Who gets to keep that money?” My mom instantly lost her temper. “That is exactly how large our extended family is! And I’m actually giving you a conservative estimate!” “Who keeps the cash gifts from our side of the family is none of your business!” “Even if I give every single cent of it to my daughter, that is her personal asset, and it has absolutely nothing to do with your family!” After being chewed out by my mom, Martha muttered something under her breath in defense. I forget the exact words. But the gist of it was that my mom was a greedy, calculating woman who was trying to pack the reception with freeloaders just to recoup all the wedding gifts she had given out over the years, all without spending a dime of her own money. Meanwhile, even if every single one of Liam’s relatives showed up, they wouldn’t fill ten tables. Thirty tables for a reception was simply too expensive. They claimed that after giving Liam the money for a down payment on a house, they had absolutely nothing left for the wedding. Hearing Martha say that, my mom was ready to grab me and walk out right then and there. But I, being young, naive, and completely blinded by love, physically blocked my parents from leaving. I stubbornly defended Martha, insisting there must be a misunderstanding, that she couldn’t possibly mean it like that. My parents were exhausted by my stubbornness. My mom looked at me with deep disappointment. She raised her hand as if to slap some sense into me, but couldn’t bring herself to do it. Instead, she gave me another thirty thousand dollars specifically to cover the cost of the reception. The moment Martha heard she didn’t have to pay a single cent for the wedding, her face instantly lit up. She grabbed my hand, acting as if the entire ugly argument had never happened. “Oh, Chloe is truly the best daughter-in-law a mother could ask for!” “Don’t you worry, once you marry into our family, I promise I will treat you like my own flesh and blood!” 4 She even promised my parents that once I married Liam, she would never let me suffer. Back then, I was stupid enough to believe that Martha had only insulted my parents because she was genuinely stressed about money. But seeing her now, looking like she wanted to eat me alive… I finally saw her for what she truly was. “Then let’s call it off!” “You refuse every option I give you to fix this, so there’s absolutely no point in continuing this wedding.” “Liam, take your mother and your relatives, and get the hell out of here!” “I’ll just treat today as a private dinner party for my family and friends!” I screamed at Liam, completely ignoring Martha’s existence. “We can’t do that! The guests are already here! We have to get married!” “Mom, if we have to, let’s just listen to Chloe and have our family switch tables.” Liam tugged at his mother’s sleeve, whispering nervously. Martha glared at me darkly. She pulled Liam aside and hissed: “Are you an idiot? She practically begged to marry you, paying her own way. There is no way she’s going to call off the wedding!” “If you cave to her demands now, she’s going to walk all over you for the rest of your life!” “Listen to me. She doesn’t have the guts to cancel the wedding. She’s just bluffing!” Martha finished her whisper and shot a cautious glance back at me. I found it hilarious. The bridal suite was tiny. Did she really think taking two steps back meant I couldn’t hear every word she said? “Chloe, it’s not that I’m trying to be difficult, but the guests are already seated. We can’t just make them move.” “Listen to me. You’re marrying Liam today. What’s wrong with letting his family eat a little better?” “Once you’re married and living your life, our relatives will remember your generosity.” Martha spoke with sickening sweetness, acting as if she and her son were doing this entirely for my benefit. If this were the past, when my brain was completely clouded by love, I might have actually fallen for it. But that sudden slap to the face had violently woken me up to exactly what kind of person she was. Seeing Liam cowering behind his mother, utterly devoid of a spine… I lost every last shred of hope I had for him. “I don’t need them to remember my generosity! I only know that I paid the bill!” Seeing that I wasn’t falling for her manipulation, Martha immediately dropped the act. “Ha! You little ungrateful bitch, you just refuse to listen to reason, don’t you?!” She looked up at her son and declared loudly: “Son, if we don’t get married, we don’t get married! With your looks, you can find any woman you want!” “She’s obsessing over a few plates of food like a psychotic cheapskate. I told you not to marry her from the start!” “Look at her now, showing her true colors!” “I told you to find a girl from a rich family, and we wouldn’t be dealing with this garbage!” I froze. His mother actively wanted him to marry a rich girl? So basically, Martha wanted her son to be a gold-digger. And I, the ultimate sucker, had just been completely blind to it all this time. Hearing his mother say she was fine with calling off the wedding, Liam panicked. He leaned in close to his mother’s ear and whispered: “Mom, we can’t call it off! Where am I going to find a rich girl?!” “With our background, being able to marry her…” Martha aggressively shook her head, patting Liam’s hand reassuringly. “Don’t worry, son. Her dad manages a factory. She wouldn’t dare humiliate her family by calling off a wedding!” “She’s just bluffing! She can’t afford the embarrassment!”

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At the start of the new semester, my homeroom teacher mandated that every single parent had to come to the school for “Classroom Beautification Day” to clean and prep the rooms. I went to him privately and explained, “Mr. Harrison, my parents have a highly classified work situation. They can’t make it.” Mr. Harrison slammed his lesson planner onto his desk, his eyes flashing with anger. “Everyone else’s parents can make it, but yours can’t? On your emergency contact form, their occupations are listed as ‘Classified,’ and now they can’t even show up? It seems to me you just have zero respect for my authority!” “If your parents don’t show up, you don’t need to show up either. My class doesn’t accept students like you!” I stood there, stunned. But a classified federal agency isn’t exactly a place you can just clock out of whenever you want! Little did he know, when my parents did finally show up, Mr. Harrison wouldn’t be able to stay in his seat. Mr. Harrison marched into the classroom, his face as dark as a thundercloud, and slammed his books onto the podium. “For the new semester, I asked all parents to come and help clean the classroom. Only one student’s parents failed to show. What, is pushing a broom beneath you? Or do you think getting good grades means your family is too good for manual labor?” His voice rose sharply. “Let me make one thing clear. In my classroom, the attitude your parents show me dictates exactly how I will treat you.” Parent participation for Beautification Day was supposed to be strictly strictly voluntary. But Mr. Harrison was a narcissist who cared entirely about optics. To him, the more parents he commanded, the better he looked to the administration. “Leo Carter,” he barked, calling me out directly. I stood up. “What exactly do your parents do for a living? Are they street sweepers? Do they guard a parking lot? They must have a shift that ends eventually, right?” He crossed his arms, mocking me. A few students snickered. “They…” I paused. “Their agency is highly secure. They can’t just leave.” “What agency? Let’s hear it.” “I can’t say.” The classroom fell dead silent for a second. Mr. Harrison turned red with fury. “You can’t say? Or are you too ashamed to say it?!” “Playing passive-aggressive games with your teacher on the first week of school? You think I can’t handle a kid like you?” “Mr. Harrison, I’m not,” I quickly explained. “It’s genuinely classified…” His face turned a furious shade of purple. He slammed his hand on the desk. “I’ve been teaching for years, you think I haven’t seen every type of parent? I’m calling them right now! I’ll ask them myself! And if they don’t give me a good reason, you will stand at the back of this classroom for the rest of the year!” Without hesitating, he pulled out his cell phone, dialed the emergency number I had provided, and deliberately put it on speakerphone. A sterile, automated voice echoed through the classroom: “We’re sorry. The number you have dialed is an unallocated federal line. Please check the number and try again.” The entire classroom erupted into roaring laughter. Mr. Harrison hung up the phone, his chest heaving. He felt like he had been played and publicly humiliated. “Leo Carter,” he gritted out through his teeth. “You think this is a game?” “No, sir, they really are—” “Shut your mouth!” He pointed a finger right at my nose. “Do you think I’m an idiot? You’ve been lying from the start! There is no classified agency! You just didn’t want your parents to come, and you’re intentionally defying me!” The more he spoke, the angrier he got. “Since your parents won’t come to my school, you don’t need to attend my class. Get out. Now!” I tried one last time. “Mr. Harrison, I told you, their line is secure. Not just anyone can dial in.” He was trembling with rage. “Get the hell out of my classroom!” I sighed, accepted my fate, and walked out into the hallway. Mr. Harrison was notoriously petty. Once, a student accidentally brought the wrong textbook to class, and Harrison publicly berated him for a full forty-five minutes. If I didn’t get this sorted out, he would make the rest of my high school life a living hell. I pulled out my encrypted phone and sent a message to the group chat with my parents: [My homeroom teacher, Mr. Harrison, has a misunderstanding because you guys couldn’t make it to the classroom cleanup. Could you possibly explain it to him?] A moment later, my mom replied: [Understood. The situation has been flagged to our superiors. Personnel will be dispatched to handle it.] I stood in the hallway for the entire class period, my legs aching. When the bell finally rang, I headed to the teachers’ lounge to try and explain myself again. But right outside the door, I heard Mr. Harrison’s voice. “That Leo Carter is a cancer in my classroom! His parents skip the cleanup, their jobs are ‘classified,’ and their phone number is disconnected! What does that tell you? He’s openly defrauding the school! He comes from a family of trash!” My heart sank. Another teacher spoke up: “Come on, maybe there’s a real reason. He’s usually a very well-behaved kid.” Harrison scoffed, his voice rising. “Well-behaved? I’ve seen a million kids like him. Who cares if his grades are good? His character is rotten, and he’ll end up being the scum of society! His parents are probably fugitives on the run, that’s why he’s covering for them!” I couldn’t take it anymore. I shoved the door open. Failing to explain my situation was on me, but as a teacher, what right did he have to slander my family? Every teacher in the room turned to look at me. I stared straight at him. “Mr. Harrison, you can question me all you want, but you have no right to insult my parents! You have zero proof. How dare you call them fugitives!” Mr. Harrison pointed at me, his face livid. “Excuse me?! Eavesdropping on teachers and barging in to talk back? Did I say something wrong? You have zero respect or upbringing!” “My upbringing taught me to seek the truth and follow the rules!” I stepped forward, holding his gaze. “I’m telling you the truth. As for my parents’ exact jobs, you don’t have the clearance to know!” “You little punk!” Harrison trembled with rage. He grabbed a heavy grading binder from his desk and hurled it right at my head. I dodged it just in time. He roared, “Get out! You are permanently banned from my class! Get out!” I pressed my lips together and turned away. Behind me, he bellowed, “Look at that attitude! He’s a lost cause! I’ll teach him a lesson he won’t forget!” Back at my desk in the classroom, a few students were grouped together, whispering and shooting me dirty looks. “Mr. Harrison said his parents are literal fugitives!” “We better stay away from him.” My hand froze on the page of my book. The class president stood up and clapped his hands. “Alright everyone, pass up your winter break assignments.” I reached into my backpack and pulled out my completed packet, ready to pass it forward. Suddenly, Mr. Harrison marched straight down the aisle toward me. In front of the entire class, he snatched the stack of assignments out of my hand, turned around, and dumped them straight into the trash can. The room went dead silent. The blood rushed to my head. “Mr. Harrison!” “What?” He turned back to look at me. “You keep challenging my authority. Since I clearly can’t manage you, I won’t be accepting any more of your assignments.” He walked to the podium, grabbed a stack of practice exams, and handed them to the class president. “These are the weekly exams. Hand them out.” He shot me a venomous look. “Oh, and skip Leo Carter. He doesn’t get one.” “In fact, I’ve already spoken to all your other teachers. From now on, Leo doesn’t need to turn in any homework. Even if he does, it goes straight to the trash. We will not be grading his work.” I felt ice cold. Just because my parents couldn’t come to mop a floor? I was being treated like a pariah? The bell for the next period rang. Harrison pointed to the door. “My class is starting. Get out.” I gritted my teeth, turned on my heel, and marched straight to the Vice Principal’s office. I told Vice Principal Davis everything. “Because my parents couldn’t come to clean, Mr. Harrison told the other teachers my parents were fugitives, and now the whole class thinks so. He threw my homework in the trash, refused to give me my exams, and told the other teachers to fail me. I need you to step in.” Vice Principal Davis listened, tapping her pen, and fell silent for a moment. “Leo,” she said, her voice stern but measured. “I hear what you’re saying. I know Mr. Harrison well. He can be a bit hot-headed, but his heart is in the right place.” She offered me a warm, reassuring smile. “Tell you what. I’ll get on the PA system in a few minutes. I’ll make an announcement to clear up your parents’ situation so the teachers and students don’t misunderstand. How does that sound?” My eyes instantly welled up with tears of relief. “Thank you, Vice Principal Davis! Thank you so much!” “Go on, head back,” she waved me off gently. I bowed slightly out of respect and left the office. Standing in the hallway, I let out a massive sigh of relief. The PA system was going to chime any second. Once she cleared this up, I could go back to learning like a normal student. I stood in the corridor outside my classroom. Inside, Mr. Harrison was teaching. The speakers crackled to life. I stood up straight. “Attention all students and staff,” Vice Principal Davis’s voice echoed through the halls. “Please listen to the following disciplinary announcement.” I took a deep breath. “Regarding the disciplinary action for sophomore Leo Carter.” “Following an investigation, this student has been found guilty of falsifying parental information, defying his homeroom teacher, and refusing to participate in class activities. Despite multiple warnings from his teacher, he showed no remorse, and today, he skipped class without permission, disrupting the educational environment. His behavior is a severe violation of the school’s code of conduct.” “The administration has decided to place Leo Carter on final disciplinary probation. Let this be a warning to all students to respect your teachers. That is all.” I stood there, feeling like I had been struck by lightning. My mind went entirely blank. Through the classroom window, I saw Mr. Harrison looking right at me, a smug, mocking smirk plastered across his face. I turned and sprinted down the hall, kicking the door to the Vice Principal’s office wide open. Davis was calmly sipping her coffee. She frowned deeply. “What is wrong with you? Do you not know how to knock?” “Why did you lie to me?!” I panted, my voice shaking. “You promised you would clear my name! Why did you put me on probation?!” She stood up, slamming her mug down. “Listen to me, Leo Carter! Stop throwing a tantrum in my office. Your punishment is final!” Right then, Mr. Harrison stormed into the office, his eyes blazing with fury. “You’ve got some nerve, Leo! Coming to harass the Vice Principal!” He crossed the room in three massive strides, raised his hand, and slapped me hard across the face. My cheek exploded in burning pain, and I stumbled backward, my ears ringing. “You little punk!” Harrison pointed right at my nose. “Going to the Principal won’t save you! I run that classroom! You messed with the wrong guy today!” “Calm down, cousin,” Vice Principal Davis said casually from her desk. I held my burning cheek, staring at them in pure disbelief. No wonder Harrison was so untouchable. The Vice Principal was his cousin. She had his back the whole time. My phone vibrated in my pocket. A text from my mom: [Son, we are pulling up to your school in ten minutes.] Harrison’s face darkened. He lunged forward and smacked the phone out of my hand. “Trying to call the cops? Dream on! I’m going to educate you on behalf of your fugitive parents right now!” I clenched my fists. The blood rushed to my head. The burning on my cheek, the heat in my eyes—it all mixed into an indescribable rage. But my parents were almost here. I wanted to see how arrogant he would be when they arrived. I let out a cold laugh. “Are you sure you want to do this, Mr. Harrison?” Harrison scoffed loudly. “Security! Get in here!” Two campus security guards rushed into the office. Harrison pointed at me, feigning outrage. “This student violated school rules and physically attacked me!” “Look at the red mark on my face! He’s completely out of control. Restrain him!” I looked at Harrison’s perfectly smooth, unblemished face and almost laughed out of pure anger. The gaslighting was unbelievable. The guards rushed me. One grabbed my left arm, the other my right, pinning me in place so I couldn’t move. I struggled with everything I had, but I couldn’t break free from two grown men. Mr. Harrison stood right in front of me, looking down at me like I was dirt. “Since your parents won’t discipline you, I’ll do it for them. I’ll teach you what it means to respect your superiors!” “Get on your knees right now and beg for forgiveness!” “I didn’t do anything wrong!” I yelled, fighting against the guards’ grip. “I’m not kneeling!” The guards pressed down hard on my shoulders, making my joints scream in pain. I twisted my body, planting my feet firmly. “Hold him down!” Vice Principal Davis barked, stepping up behind me and kicking me hard in the back of the knees. My legs gave out, and my knees slammed onto the hard floor. Harrison crouched in front of me, pulling out his phone and aiming the camera right at my face. “Look up. Let everyone see the face of the kid who attacks teachers.” “Say it. Say your parents are fugitives.” I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, refusing to speak. He stood up, shoving his phone into the hands of one of the guards. “Hold this. Make sure it’s in focus.” The guard took the phone, keeping the lens locked on me. Harrison walked behind me and kicked me squarely in the back. I pitched forward, catching myself on my hands. My palms scraped painfully against the floor. “Not going to talk?” His voice echoed from above me. “Fine. Let’s see how tough you really are.” He leaned down, grabbed a fistful of my hair, and yanked my head back violently. My scalp burned like it was tearing apart. “Look at the camera. Admit your parents are criminals. Say it,” Harrison commanded. Tears of pain rolled down my cheeks, but I clenched my jaw shut. My silence pushed him over the edge. He reached out and snatched the stun gun off the security guard’s utility belt. My blood ran cold. “Harrison!” I screamed. “That’s illegal! You have no right to be a teacher!” He pressed the metal prongs of the stun gun against my shoulder. I flinched in terror. “Now you’re scared? Are you going to say it?” “In your dreams! My parents aren’t criminals,” my voice shook, but I enunciated every word clearly. “They protect this country. A piece of trash like you isn’t even worthy of speaking about them.” His face contorted with rage. “Let’s see if your mouth stays that tough!” His thumb moved to press the trigger. BANG! The office door was kicked violently open. Several figures filled the doorway. I broke down and cried out: “Mom! Dad!”

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On the day the settlement money from the buyout of our parents’ old house arrived, my brother secretly transferred three million dollars to my account. He explicitly warned me not to let my sister-in-law know. He told her that, according to “tradition,” I was only entitled to sixty thousand dollars. My sister-in-law still complained about that sixty thousand for a long time. Later, when my brother’s business went under, she came to me in a panic, begging. “Chloe, your brother can’t hold on much longer. Look…” I cut her off, pulling out my phone. “Give me your account number, Sarah. I’ll transfer thirty thousand.” The day the buyout money hit the accounts, my phone pinged with a text from the bank. Almost simultaneously, my brother, Mark, called. His voice was low. “Did you get it?” “I got it.” I stared at the long string of zeros on my screen, feeling a little hollow. “Three million. You hold onto it for now.” “Mark, this is too much.” “It’s not. It was Mom and Dad’s house. Half of it rightfully belongs to you.” From the background of the call, I heard Sarah’s muffled voice yelling, “Who are you talking to? Sneaking around.” Mark immediately said, “I gotta go. Remember, don’t tell anyone. Especially Sarah.” “Why?” “You know how she is. Just trust me.” The call disconnected. Before I could even process the shock of that massive sum, a message popped up in the family group chat. It was from Mark. “Chloe’s sixty thousand has been transferred.” Sarah replied instantly: “Finally. Now that’s settled.” A second later, she sent another message: “If you ask me, a married daughter is like spilled water. Giving her that sixty thousand was too much. If it weren’t for the fact that she’s struggling on her own, she shouldn’t have gotten a dime.” The group chat fell dead silent. I gripped my phone, staring at the words, and said nothing. That evening at dinner, Sarah brought it up again. “Mark, did Chloe even say thank you for that sixty thousand?” Mark kept his head down, shoveling rice into his mouth, and mumbled, “Yeah, she did.” “Hmph. At least she has some conscience.” Sarah picked up a piece of rib and dropped it into her son’s bowl. “That money was supposed to be for Leo’s college fund. Giving it away to an outsider just rubs me the wrong way.” “What outsider? She’s my blood sister,” Mark said, irritation creeping into his voice. “So what if she’s your sister? Even brothers have to keep their finances straight. She’s going to marry into another family eventually. Why are you being so good to her?” “Enough. Let’s just eat.” Mark clearly didn’t want to fight. But Sarah had no intention of stopping. She looked at Mark pointedly and said, “I just worry that some people are too eager to give our family’s money away to outsiders. Mark, let me remind you, our family is counting on this buyout money now. Don’t do anything stupid.” Mark slammed his chopsticks down. The bowl hit the table with a sharp clack. “What exactly are you trying to say?” “I didn’t mean anything by it.” Sarah shrank back slightly, but her mouth kept running. “I just think people need to have a conscience. Our family took the lion’s share, giving her sixty thousand was already extremely generous. If she knew what was good for her, she would have returned it.” “In your dreams!” Mark roared. Their five-year-old son, Leo, jumped at the shout and burst into tears. Sarah quickly hugged him and started crying herself. “Fine! Mark Davis, you’re yelling at me now? You’re yelling at me and your son for your sister? I’m only thinking about this family! Do you know how many tutoring classes that sixty thousand could have paid for?!” The atmosphere in the house plummeted to freezing. Mark looked at her, his eyes filled with exhaustion. I knew this was only the beginning. For the next month, Sarah complained about that sixty thousand dollars almost every single day. “The neighbor’s daughter didn’t get a cent, and she’s perfectly happy.” “Karen from our subdivision—her sister-in-law actually gave her brother thirty thousand to help buy a car.” “Sigh. Comparing people just makes you mad. Why did I get stuck with a sister-in-law like this?” She would say these things in the family group chat, or post them on Facebook, specifically blocking me from seeing them—but I always heard about it from other relatives. I never replied. Not once. I just quietly moved that three million into a high-yield CD and set a very complex password. Mark would occasionally message me privately. “Don’t take what your sister-in-law says to heart.” “I know.” “Keep that money safe. That’s my safety net for you.” “You too, Mark.” I didn’t know if he understood what I meant. I hoped he did. After getting the buyout money, Mark was incredibly motivated. He had always wanted to start his own business but never had the capital. Now, with cash in hand, he aggressively leased a storefront and started a construction materials supply business. Sarah was entirely on board at first. She posted pictures of the new store on Facebook every day, calling Mark a business genius who was about to strike it rich. I went to the grand opening. As soon as Sarah saw me, she grabbed my hands, smiling so widely her face scrunched up. “Chloe, look how capable your brother is. When our family gets rich, we’ll make sure you’re taken care of.” It was as if she had completely forgotten how she had obsessed over that sixty thousand dollars. I just smiled faintly. “It’s good that Mark is doing well.” “Of course.” she puffed out her chest, pulled me aside, and lowered her voice. “Chloe, look, the store just opened, and we need money for everything right now. That sixty thousand isn’t doing much just sitting in your hands. Why don’t you… lend it to your brother for cash flow for a bit?” I looked at her, my heart turning ice cold. “Sarah, that’s my living expense money.” “Oh, come on, how much can one person spend? Besides, that money belonged to our family in the first place. Isn’t it only right that you lend it to your brother now?” Her tone was so entitled, as if the money inherently belonged to her. I pulled my hand away and didn’t speak. Her face changed instantly. She pulled a long face and muttered, “Ungrateful brat.” It wasn’t loud, but I heard it clearly. For the first few months, the business really was booming. Mark was full of energy, looking ten years younger. Sarah was even more insufferable. She posted eight times a day about new designer bags, manicures, and check-ins at high-end restaurants. 她 started organizing frequent family dinners, always rushing to pick up the check. At the dinner table, she constantly made passive-aggressive comments directed at me. “Chloe, how is the single life treating you? Work going okay?” “It’s fine,” I said, keeping my head down. “Sigh. Why do girls need to work so hard? Look at your brother. His business is taking off; he can easily support our whole extended family.” She paused, pivoting sharply. “Speaking of which, that sixty thousand isn’t earning much interest in the bank. Why not listen to me and invest it in your brother’s store? We’ll give you dividends at the end of the year. Isn’t that better than a dead savings account?” Mark kicked me under the table, giving me a look. I pretended not to notice and just said, “I don’t understand business. I’ll pass.” Sarah’s face fell again. “Why are you so stubborn? I’m only offering you this chance to make money because we’re family. Other people beg for this kind of opportunity.” The atmosphere became awkward. A distant relative chimed in to smooth things over: “The younger generation has their own ideas, don’t worry so much about it.” Sarah dropped it, but she didn’t give me a pleasant look for the rest of the meal. On the way home, Mark called me. “Ignore her. She’s just obsessed with money.” “I know.” “If she brings it up again, just tell me.” “Okay.” I hung up, watching the city lights blur past the window. Honestly, I had seen the warning signs in Mark’s business for a while. He expanded too fast, hired too many people, and unnecessary overhead was crushing him. Every time he saw me, he claimed everything was fine, but the bloodshot eyes and exhaustion he couldn’t hide told a different story. But he didn’t say anything, and it wasn’t my place to ask. He was the man of the house, the provider. He had his pride. Sure enough, the good times didn’t last. The market shifted unpredictably. The developers downstream ran out of capital, leaving Mark with a massive pile of unpaid invoices. The store’s cash flow collapsed overnight. First came the layoffs, then selling off the delivery trucks. The tone of Sarah’s Facebook posts changed too. Instead of bragging, she started sharing “inspirational” quotes and articles about “never giving up.” She stopped organizing family dinners and barely spoke in the group chat. The atmosphere in their home grew increasingly suffocating. One day, I bought some fruit and went to visit them. When the door opened, a heavy cloud of cigarette smoke hit my face. Mark was sitting on the couch, the ashtray by his feet overflowing. He had lost a significant amount of weight, his beard was scruffy, and his eyes were hollow. Sarah sat on the other side, her eyes red and swollen. She glared at me with pure resentment. “Why are you here?” she asked icily. “I came to see Mark.” “See him? You came to laugh at him?” Sarah suddenly stood up, pointing at Mark. “Look at him! This is all because of you! You jinx!” I froze. “If he had listened to me and just put the money in the bank, none of this would have happened! But no, he had to start a business! And now the money is gone!” She turned her fury on me. “And you! If you had a shred of conscience, if you had just given him that sixty thousand when he needed it, he wouldn’t be in this mess! You’re cold-blooded! Ungrateful!” She was screaming hysterically. Mark suddenly stood up and slapped her hard across the face. “Shut your mouth!” The living room fell dead silent, save for Sarah’s shocked gasp. She held her cheek, massive tears rolling down her face. “Mark Davis, you hit me? You hit me for her?” “I hit you for running your toxic mouth!” Mark was shaking with rage. “The business failing is my fault. It has nothing to do with Chloe! Try saying one more crazy word, I dare you!” Sarah collapsed onto the floor and started wailing. The sound was shrill, ear-piercing, full of despair and grievance. Standing at the door, watching this absolute disaster, my chest felt incredibly tight. I placed the fruit on the shoe rack and said softly, “Mark, I’m going to head out.” I turned and walked downstairs. The crying and arguing faded behind me. I knew the real storm was yet to come. After that, Mark didn’t contact me again. I knew he was trying to endure it alone. He didn’t want me to see him look any more pathetic. Until one afternoon, an unknown number called my phone. It was Sarah. Her voice was hoarse and exhausted, completely lacking her usual arrogance. “Chloe, where are you?” “At home.” “Can you… come out for a bit? I’m at the coffee shop downstairs from your apartment.” My stomach dropped. I knew the inevitable had arrived. I changed and went downstairs. I spotted her from a distance, sitting by the window. She looked incredibly haggard, wearing a faded old jacket, her hair a mess. Her former polished look was completely gone. Seeing me, she forced a smile that looked worse than crying. “Chloe, you’re here.” I sat across from her and didn’t speak. She stirred her black coffee for a long time before struggling to speak. “Your brother… he can’t hold on much longer.” Her eyes instantly reddened. “He’s drowning in debt. People are coming to the house every day demanding money. The store is closed, we sold everything we could, and there’s still a massive hole we can’t fill.” She looked up at me with pleading eyes. “Chloe, I know I was wrong before. I apologize. But right now, you are the only one who can help us.” She pulled a crumpled debit card from her purse and pushed it toward me. “I know you still have that money. Your brother told me everything. He gave you… he gave you a lot.” Looking at her, I finally understood. Mark couldn’t handle the pressure and confessed. I just didn’t know how much he had confessed. “Chloe, please, I’m begging you. Take the money out and save your brother’s life! If this continues, those debt collectors will drive him to his grave!” She looked like she was about to get on her knees. I held her arms, looked her dead in the eye, and asked slowly, deliberately. “How much did Mark say he gave me?” Sarah froze. Her eyes darted away, and she stammered, “He… he said… he gave you a few extra tens of thousands to round it up…” I sneered internally. Even now, at the absolute edge, he was still preserving his final shred of dignity—or rather, he was still guarding against her. He hadn’t told her the truth. Seeing my silence, Sarah grew more frantic. “Chloe, your brother can’t hold on much longer. Look…” I cut her off, pulling out my phone and opening my banking app. “Give me your account number, Sarah.” Her eyes lit up instantly, like she had grabbed a lifeline. She hurriedly rattled off the account number. I entered it, then moved to the amount field. I typed a ‘3’. Followed by four zeros. “I’ll transfer thirty thousand.” Sarah’s expression froze. The light in her eyes visibly died. “How much?” she asked, as if she hadn’t heard correctly. “Thirty thousand.” I turned the screen toward her so she could see the number clearly. “That’s all I can give.” “Thirty thousand?” Her voice spiked, sharp as nails on a chalkboard. “Chloe Davis! What is thirty thousand going to do? Are you tossing change to a beggar?” People in the coffee shop turned to look at us. She bristled like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. “Your brother needs money to save his life! And you? You pull out thirty thousand to humiliate us? Do you have any conscience at all? After everything your brother did for you?!” I looked at her calmly and pulled my phone back. “Sarah, Mark gave me sixty thousand initially. The whole family knows that. I haven’t touched a dime of it. I’ve been working for a few years and saved twenty thousand myself. That’s eighty thousand total. I’m giving you thirty, keeping fifty for my own living expenses. Is there a problem with that?”

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As the absolute pinnacle of Hollywood’s A-list and the ultimate It-girl of the internet, If I post a single selfie, The comments can easily break a hundred million. Trending on X and Instagram is practically my daily routine. People either call me a pure, talentless plastic vase, Or they curse me out, saying I post online just to seek attention over nothing. I literally do not care! The most important weapon to dominate this industry Isn’t my acting skills or my raw talent, It’s my drop-dead, devastated-nations, flawless face. Sure, Hollywood has never had a shortage of beautiful women. But there is a difference between a swan and the most beautiful swan in the lake. Even if my acting is explosively terrible, Even if I sing off-key and trip over my own feet when I dance, Even if my business acumen is zero and my EQ is in the negatives, The audience simply eats up this face! My Instagram notifications crashed the app again. When my assistant, Lexi, called me, she sounded like she was on the verge of tears: “Chloe, look at Twitter right now!” “Serena Vance is throwing shade at you in her latest interview!” I was sitting in front of my vanity mirror, carefully inspecting my fresh manicure. Hearing this, I just gave a lazy, “Mhm.” Oh well, rivals dragging me is just human nature. Beautiful people are always hated by the jealous! “She said, ‘A soulless shell won’t make it far in this industry’!” “Now her fans and your fans are tearing each other apart online!” “The PR department’s phones are ringing off the hook. They’re saying she’s a tough target and want to know how we should respond.” On the other end of the line, Lexi was pacing like a cat on a hot tin roof. I held my hand up to the light, admiring the sparkle of the crushed diamonds on my nails, and casually asked: “That photoshoot I did yesterday, are the edits done?” “Chloe! Now is not the time!” Lexi was losing her mind. “Serena Vance just won the Academy Award! She’s at the absolute peak of her career right now. Her words carry weight!” “The whole internet is mocking us, calling you a vase, saying you have absolutely nothing to offer except your face!” “Oh,” I finally found a shred of interest. I put my hand down, Opened the front-facing camera on my phone, tilted my head to find the perfect angle, “Isn’t that perfect, then?” “The harder they curse at me, the more it proves how obsessed they are with this face.” Online, Serena’s fans were quoting classic literature and film theorists, elevating her to the status of a pure artist untainted by the secular world. My fans were much more straightforward. They spammed my legendary red carpet photos from over the years with the caption: “Beauty is enough. Does your fave have a face card that never declines?” A brutal war over “Talent vs. Beauty” raged across the internet, turning social media pitch black. Serena’s team was clearly thrilled with this outcome. Riding the momentum, they bought off several gossip blogs, Pushing the hashtag #TheDedicationOfAnActor to the top of the trending list, attempting to nail me to the pillar of shame. Lexi reported over the phone: “Chloe, her team is pushing the narrative again. The public opinion is turning really bad for us.” “Should we issue a statement? Maybe say something like—” “No need,” I cut her off. I had already selected the nine most flawless selfies from my camera roll. “Post this photo dump. Make the caption: Face card looking pretty good today.” “Huh? Just that?” “Just that.” A few minutes later, the hashtag #ChloeSterlingPhotoDump crushed everything in its path, parachuting straight into the number one trending spot worldwide. Unsurprisingly, the servers crashed for a solid ten minutes. By the time the tech guys got it back online, seven out of the top ten trending topics had my name on them. #ChloeSterling Flawless #GodsMasterpiece ChloeSterling #LookingAtChloeMakesMeWantPlasticSurgery As for Serena’s #TheDedicationOfAnActor hashtag? It had been pushed down past the top twenty, completely ignored. Lexi called back, her voice now brimming with ecstasy and sheer worship: “Chloe! I heard Serena’s PR director was so mad he literally smashed his phone against a wall!” I let out a soft laugh, locked my phone, and picked my mirror back up. Miss Vance, in this industry, being incredibly beautiful really does let you do whatever you want. Especially when you’re a thunderously invincible, explosive beauty like me. Public relations? I don’t need it! After all, there’s a running joke in the industry: People say watching me act makes them want to gauge their own eyes out. But then they realize if they gauge their eyes out, they won’t be able to see my face anymore. So they think, Ah, what a pity, and give up on the blinding. Coincidentally enough, Serena and I had been cast in the same movie—the $200 million summer blockbuster, Chronicles of the Wind. She was the leading lady; I was the undisputed second lead. At the press junket, the press release from her team featured her name followed by a long, glittering list of Oscar and Golden Globe titles. After my name, there were only two words: “Hollywood It-Girl.” On our first day shooting together, she ruined seventeen takes. When the director asked her what was wrong, she massaged her temples, looking at me with an expression of profound agony: “Director, looking at Chloe’s face, I simply cannot get into character.” The entire set went dead silent. Her reasoning was that my face was too “modern.” My features were too exquisitely perfect, like a soulless porcelain doll, Destroying the gritty, broken, historical aesthetic required for the film. When she said this, her eyes were cold and aloof, As if she were discussing some profoundly complex artistic dilemma. Over the next few days, this became her standard operating procedure. Whenever we shared a scene, she would inevitably cause endless outtakes. Either she would claim she got “distracted” by my face while delivering her lines, Or she would yell “Cut!” halfway through a scene, claiming my beauty was “pulling her out of the illusion.” While I outwardly cooed, “Oh my gosh, I’m really not that pretty~”, Internally, I was cursing this dramatic bitch out. She was deliberately messing with me. After the production schedule was severely delayed, the producer and director finally started looking grim. They cast displeased glances my way, though their expressions would inevitably soften the moment they actually looked at my face. My assistant Lexi stomped her feet in anger: “Chloe, she’s doing it on purpose!” “What kind of actor complains that their co-star is too pretty? She’s abusing her power for a personal vendetta!” I was flipping through the script. I didn’t even look up: “Let her act.” Lexi was confused: “Act like what?” “Act like a dedicated, artistic Oscar winner whose pursuit of perfection is being dragged down by a talentless plastic vase.” Sure enough, a couple of days later, “leaked” behind-the-scenes footage flooded the internet. The hashtag #SerenaVanceDedicated Professional trended at number one. The gossip blogs praised her for striving for artistic perfection, Saying she was even willing to offend a massively bankable influencer backed by big studios just to protect the film’s integrity. And me? Naturally, I became the villain—the “pretty face committing crimes,” the “talentless dead weight dragging down the whole crew.” Eventually, the director asked to speak with me. The meeting took place inside Serena’s luxury trailer. Serena was there, along with her junior from Julliard who had just graduated. The director rubbed his hands together, looking incredibly awkward: “Chloe, look… Serena’s state of mind really isn’t great right now.” “For the sake of the artistic vision of the entire film, we’ve had a discussion…” Serena sat to the side, slowly sipping artisanal pour-over coffee, not even lifting an eyelid. I looked at the director, waiting for his punchline. “The second lead role originally given to you… we might need to recast it.” “We’d like to let Serena’s junior try it out. They trained at the same conservatory, so they might have better chemistry.” Lexi was ready to explode on the spot, but I pressed her back down with a single look. Of course, I knew this was a targeted hit against me. I quietly glanced at the Julliard junior’s face. She was pretty enough, a sort of girl-next-door type. But most importantly… she definitely wouldn’t overshadow Serena. Instead, she would act as a perfect, bland foil to make Serena’s leading-lady aura shine even brighter. I tucked away my thoughts and asked plainly: “And what about me?” “The production still wants you to stay,” the director said, lowering his posture even more. “There’s a role for a maid in the mansion. The screen time isn’t huge, but it has some real highlights.” “There’s a pivotal scene where the female lead slaps the maid across the face. It’s a great test of emotional explosiveness…” The intent to humiliate me was now laid bare on the table. Everyone stared at me, waiting for me to throw a diva fit, waiting for me to tear up my contract and storm out. Then, they could smoothly slap a “toxic diva” label on my head and feed me to the press. Serena finally set down her coffee cup, a faint, almost imperceptible smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. I ignored her and simply looked at the director, my voice perfectly calm: “Fine. I’ll take it.” The air inside the trailer seemed to freeze in that exact instant. The director was stunned. The Julliard junior’s expression stiffened. Even the smugness on Serena’s face showed a tiny, visible crack. On the day we shot the slapping scene, the entire crew was present. They weren’t there to watch a movie scene; they were there to watch me. The director yelled, “Action!” Serena swung her hand and slapped me across the face. No camera tricks. No stunt coordination. Just solid flesh violently colliding with flesh. It was crisp, loud, and burned like fire. “Cut!” The director’s voice carried a hint of hesitation. “Serena, the emotion was great, but… you can pull back on the physical force a little.” Serena rubbed her wrist, looking at me with wide, innocent eyes: “Director, in order to pursue absolute realism, the instant reaction to being hit can’t be faked.” “What do you think, Chloe?” She tossed the grenade right into my lap. Every eye on set locked onto my face, waiting for my reaction. My assistant Lexi clenched her fists so hard her knuckles turned white, her eyes welling with tears. I raised a hand, signaling her to stay back. I smiled at the director: “Serena is right. For the sake of the film’s effect, it’s fine. Let’s do it again.” And so, there was a second take. A third. A fourth… Every single time, Serena demanded a retake, claiming her “emotions weren’t quite there” or my “reaction wasn’t realistic enough.” And every single time, her slap was harder than the last. By the eighth take, I could taste the metallic tang of blood seeping from the corner of my mouth. My left cheek was completely numb, swollen high and red, feeling like I was holding a scalding hot stone in my mouth. “Moving on!” The director finally called it. Lexi immediately rushed over, holding an ice pack to my face. Her voice cracked with tears: “Chloe, they’re crossing the line! This is bullying!” I stopped her, turned to the makeup artist nearby, and said calmly: “Please touch up my makeup. Conceal the blood at the corner of my mouth.” Then, I turned back to the director, maintaining that exact same, unbothered demeanor: “Director, was the effect to your liking?” The director looked at my swollen face, his eyes full of complex guilt. In the end, he just nodded. Word of this incident leaked immediately. The internet was blanketed with PR articles praising Serena’s dedication to her craft, saying she was willing to offend anyone for the sake of cinematic realism. And me? I became the useless hack who was so untalented she couldn’t even act out getting slapped correctly. My public favorability plummeted to rock bottom. My management team was running around with their hair on fire, but I didn’t have time to care about any of that. Because the global ambassador contract for the international luxury house V&L was in its final stages of negotiation. This was my ultimate weapon for a counterattack. As long as the official announcement dropped, it would prove that my commercial value was unshakeable. But the night before the signing, Lexi burst into my hotel room, her face pale as a sheet. “Chloe, V&L just made the official announcement… The ambassador isn’t us.” My hand, which was in the middle of removing my makeup, paused. “It’s Serena.” Lexi’s voice was shaking. “I asked around. Yesterday, she personally flew her team to V&L’s global headquarters in Paris.” “She told the brand that she was willing to sign an iron-clad five-year contract for absolutely zero compensation.” An Academy Award-winning actress, lowering her quote to literally zero dollars. No corporate brand could resist a temptation like that. She didn’t do it for the money. She didn’t even do it for the endorsement itself. She did it purely to snatch it out of my hands. Overnight, the internet threw a massive party celebrating my downfall. “Hahaha, a vase is just a vase in the end. Her commercial value just got steamrolled by actual talent.” “Even her corporate sugar daddies abandoned her. Looks like Chloe Sterling’s career is finally over.” “She used to rely on her face to eat, but now her face is swollen from slaps, and her rice bowl has been smashed.” The hashtag #TheVaseIsBroken rocketed to the number one trending spot in less than an hour. Lexi looked at the vicious comments flooding her phone, pacing in circles in a panic: “Chloe, what do we do now? The PR department’s phones are blowing up!” I looked at my swollen face in the mirror. The five finger marks were still clearly visible. My phone screen lit up with a breaking news push notification. Star-Studded Lineup: Nominees for the Annual Hollywood Icon Awards Announced. I tapped it. Under the category for “Most Commercially Valuable Artist of the Year,” I saw two names listed side-by-side: Chloe Sterling, Serena Vance.

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Chapter 1 My older sister and I both got accepted into the county’s top magnet high school at the same time. My mom baked two pieces of sweet cornbread to celebrate. One was dusted with powdered sugar and cinnamon; the other was completely plain. “I have the best grades, so I get the sweet one,” my sister, Chloe, declared, instantly snatching the sugared piece off the plate. My mom smiled and nodded, pushing the plain piece toward me. “My sweet little Lily is so mature. She doesn’t fight over things like this.” I took a bite of the bland, dry cornbread. I didn’t say a word. Three years later, Chloe and I both got accepted into the State University’s teaching program. The day the acceptance letters arrived in the mail, my mom did something unprecedented: she slaughtered the only egg-laying chicken we owned. When we sat down for dinner, she placed a massive bowl of chicken noodle soup right in the center of the table. She picked up the ladle, scooped a generous bowl for my dad, and then one for Chloe. When it was my turn, her hand paused mid-air. She gave me exactly half a bowl of broth. I didn’t say anything. I just quietly took the bowl. Then, she picked up her fork and reached for the only two drumsticks in the pot. One landed squarely in Chloe’s bowl. The other… also landed in Chloe’s bowl. “Chloe, you’ve been studying so hard. Eat up. You need to keep your strength up.” My dad kept his head down, slurping his soup as if it were a Michelin-star meal that required his absolute, undivided attention. Chloe kept her head down too, picking at her rice. Her fork carefully avoided the two glistening, golden drumsticks, but she didn’t say a single word. Since we were kids, if there was ever anything good in our house, it automatically belonged to her. Just like when we got into high school, and my mom made that cornbread. The piece I had in my hand wasn’t even warm yet before my mom told me to give it to my sister. Her reasoning? Chloe had better grades, so she needed the sugar for brain power. I thought that getting into college would finally change things. We got into the exact same university. Our SAT scores were only twenty points apart. The neighbors were constantly praising my parents, saying how blessed they were to have two brilliant daughters flying out of the nest at the same time. But the moment my mom opened her mouth, that “blessing” belonged solely to Chloe. “You both know our family’s financial situation,” my mom said, putting down her fork. She looked around the table, her gaze finally landing heavily on me. “Your dad’s salary from the hardware store is barely enough to feed us. There is absolutely no way we can afford two college tuitions.” My heart began to sink, inch by agonizing inch. “So, your dad and I talked it over. Chloe is going to college. Lily… you aren’t going.” My head snapped up, and I stared at her. She avoided my eyes and kept talking. “Your sister’s grades are slightly better than yours. She has a brighter future. You’re the younger sister; it’s your duty to help support the family and support your sister.” “I’ve already pulled some strings. You’re going to start working at the textile mill in town next week. You’ll work to pay for your sister’s tuition.” “Listen to your mother.” My dad, who had been silent the entire time, finally opened his mouth—just to say those five words. I turned to look at Chloe. She had finally stopped pretending to eat. She looked up, a fleeting trace of guilt in her eyes, but it was immediately eclipsed by a profound sense of overwhelming relief. She didn’t look at me. She looked straight at our mom and said, “Mom, I promise I’ll study hard. I’ll pay you, Dad, and Lily back someday.” Pay you back. What a beautiful, hollow promise. I looked down at the few pathetic, meatless chicken bones swimming in the clear broth of my bowl. Then I looked at the two massive, intact drumsticks sitting in hers. And suddenly, I understood. From that piece of sugared cornbread to this opportunity to go to college… it was never actually about whether we were poor or not. It was because, in their hearts, I was the one who could be sacrificed. And therefore, I must be sacrificed. I gripped my fork so tightly my knuckles turned white. I didn’t say a single word. For the rest of dinner, the only sounds were my mom and Chloe excitedly whispering about what she needed to pack for her move to the city. Their voices were bright and full of hope for the future. The hot chicken soup in my stomach felt like it had turned to solid ice. The next morning, my mom woke up at the crack of dawn. She didn’t ask me to make breakfast. Instead, she dragged a locked metal lockbox out from under her bed. It held our family’s entire life savings. She dumped the contents onto the mattress—stacks of crumpled one-dollar bills, loose change, and a few crisp fifty-dollar bills. She counted it all, meticulously, three separate times. When she was done, she wrapped the money tightly in a handkerchief, shoved it deep into her coat pocket, and turned to Chloe, who was brushing her hair. “Come on, Chloe. Mom’s taking you into town to buy some nice fabric for a few new dresses, and a brand-new pair of leather shoes. You’re going to be a college student now; we can’t let people look down on you.” Chloe caught my eye in the mirror. She looked away quickly, but couldn’t hide her excitement as she replied, “Okay!” From beginning to end, my mom didn’t glance at me once. It was as if I were just another piece of furniture in the room. After they left, I heated up the leftover oatmeal from the stove and handed a bowl to my dad. He kept his head down, eating silently. Suddenly, he looked up and muttered, “Your mother… she’s just doing what’s best for the family.” I didn’t respond. I took the dirty bowls into the kitchen and started scrubbing the pots. They came back that afternoon. Chloe was clutching a roll of pretty floral fabric, her feet sporting a pair of shiny black Mary Janes. She paraded back and forth across the living room several times. Once my mom had admired her enough, she finally directed her attention to me. “Lily, you’re reporting to the textile mill on the east side of town tomorrow. I already talked to Mrs. Higgins. You’re a fast worker. The first month is an apprenticeship, so the pay is lower, but you’ll still get a hundred and fifty bucks. When you get your paycheck, you hand it directly to me, every single cent. It’s going toward your sister’s living expenses.” Her tone wasn’t that of a mother speaking to her daughter. It sounded more like a plantation owner barking orders at a field hand. I replied quietly, “Understood.” The next few days in our house were incredibly loud. Aunts, uncles, and distant cousins heard Chloe got into the State University and came flocking to the house to congratulate her. They brought casseroles, baked goods, or just handed her cash in greeting cards. Every single time, my mom would push my sister to the front, her face beaming with pride as she accepted the gifts and cash, loudly announcing to everyone: “I’m putting all this money straight into a savings account for Chloe! It’s her college fund! Our entire family is counting on her now!” Occasionally, a relative would notice me and ask, “What about Lily? Didn’t she get accepted too?” My mom would immediately let out a dramatic sigh, putting on a pained, conflicted expression: “Oh, I know! But the girl is so mature. She knows how hard things are for us financially, so she volunteered to drop out! She said she wants to give the opportunity to her sister. She’s going to work at the mill to pay for Chloe’s tuition!” Every person in the room would then look at me with a mix of approval and pity, praising me for being so sensible, so selfless, such a “good sister.” I didn’t say a word. I just poured their coffee, refilled their water glasses, and quietly retreated to my tiny bedroom. My room was practically a closet. It fit a twin bed and a battered wooden chest. I opened the chest. Inside was everything I owned in the world: two faded, overworn t-shirts, a few dog-eared textbooks, and a small tin box. I took my clothes out, folded them meticulously, and packed them into a canvas duffel bag I had prepared days ago. Then, I opened the tin box and dumped out all the money inside. It was money I had scraped together over the years by tutoring kids in the neighborhood and collecting scrap metal. It was a pathetic pile of crumpled bills and heavy coins. It totaled exactly $348.50. I carefully tucked the money into the inner pocket of my jacket. It was late at night. Through the thin walls, I could hear Chloe and my mom still excitedly discussing college life. Their voices were bright, warm, and overflowing with dreams for the future. But not a single ray of that light reached my pitch-black room. I lay in bed, shoving the canvas duffel bag deep into the gap between my mattress and the wall, hiding it completely. I closed my eyes, but my mind had never been clearer. From the exact moment this family decided I was the one who had to be sacrificed… this was no longer my family. The loudest day in our house was the day Great-Uncle Henry came to visit from the city. He was a mid-level manager at a regional logistics company and was widely considered the most successful, respectable person in our extended family. The moment he walked through the door, my mom dragged out the nicest chair we owned and brewed a pot of expensive jasmine tea she normally kept hidden away. After the pleasantries, Uncle Henry pulled a small, velvet-lined box out of his briefcase. Inside lay two brand-new, high-end Parker fountain pens. “Chloe, Lily, you both got accepted to college. I don’t have much to offer,” he said with a warm, booming laugh, “but here’s one for each of you. Take good notes at school, and go do great things in the world!” A chorus of impressed gasps echoed from the relatives gathered in the living room. A Parker fountain pen was a serious status symbol. It represented intellect, class, and respectability. My heart involuntarily skipped a beat. Without even thinking, my hand instinctively reached out toward the box. But Chloe was faster. Her hand swooped in front of mine, smoothly and naturally plucking both pens from the velvet lining, clasping them securely in her palm. “Thank you so much, Uncle Henry.” She smiled flawlessly, waving the pens at the room. “College coursework is so demanding, I’m going to have to take a million notes! It’s perfect—one to use, and one as a backup!” Her movement was fluid; her excuse was airtight. Uncle Henry froze for a second. He clearly felt something was off, but looking at Chloe’s beaming, joyous face, he swallowed whatever he was going to say. My mom immediately stepped forward and patted Chloe’s hand—as if terrified someone was going to snatch the pens away from her. She quickly offered an explanation to Uncle Henry: “You’re absolutely right! Chloe’s studies are the priority. Our Lily… well, she’s not going to school anymore. She’s going to work at the textile mill. She’ll be dealing with cotton and heavy machinery all day. She has absolutely no use for such an expensive, fancy pen. Giving it to her would just be a total waste.” She emphasized the word “waste” with crushing clarity. My hand, still hovering halfway in the air, froze completely. The cheerful atmosphere in the room instantly curdled into something incredibly awkward. The eyes of the relatives darted back and forth between me, my mom, and the two fountain pens, filled with probing curiosity and second-hand embarrassment. My dad was crouching by the front door, lighting another cigarette. The thick smoke obscured his face. I slowly, deliberately pulled my hand back and shoved it deep into my pocket. From beginning to end, Chloe didn’t look at me once. She kept her head down, lovingly stroking the two fountain pens—one of which was undeniably meant for me—as if they were her most prized possessions. In that exact moment, the very last, fragile, crumbling pillar holding up my heart completely collapsed. For years, I had compromised. The sugared cornbread, the new clothes, and now, even the chance to get a college education—I gave it all up. I always told myself it was because we were poor. Because our family had limited resources, and we had to pool them together for one person to succeed. But now… these two pens were explicitly, specifically gifted to both of us by Uncle Henry. It turns out, it had absolutely nothing to do with being poor. I raised my head. My gaze swept over the faces of every person in the room, finally landing dead center on my mom and my sister. The room was noisy with awkward chatter, but my voice cut through it, ringing out with crystal clarity. “So, it’s not because we’re poor.” I asked, enunciating every single syllable. “It’s just because the person who is supposed to be sacrificed… will always be me. Right?” The chaotic noise in the room slammed to a halt. Everyone looked as if they were physically choking, staring dead at me. The entire house was plunged into a suffocating, deathly silence. My mom’s face instantly flushed a violent, furious red. She shot up from her chair, pointing her finger right at my nose, her voice shrill and piercing: “Lily Davis! We put you through high school, and this is the ungrateful, venomous trash you learn to spew?! How dare you speak to me like that?! I am your mother!” “Mom, please, let it go. Lily is just upset and isn’t thinking straight.” Chloe immediately played the gentle peacemaker, though her hands were still gripping the two fountain pens in a vice grip, as if they were her only family. Several relatives nervously tried to smooth things over, saying I was just young and impulsive, and told me to hurry up and apologize to my mom. My dad, crouching by the door, viciously ground his cigarette out against the floorboards. He finally spoke, his voice raspy and exhausted: “Everyone, just drop it.” The ugly, humiliating spectacle was forcibly swept under the rug, overshadowed by the impending “joyous occasion” of Chloe leaving for college. But everyone in that room knew that something had fundamentally, permanently fractured. Soon, the day of Chloe’s massive send-off party arrived. My family had set up three large banquet tables in the backyard. The entire extended family was there; it was louder and more festive than Thanksgiving. Chloe was wearing a brand-new, custom-made dress my mom had sewn for her. She looked like a proud peacock, surrounded by a flock of admiring relatives. After a few drinks, my mom stood up, her face glowing red with pride, holding her glass high. First, she gave a highly emotional, theatrical speech about how incredibly hard she worked to raise such a brilliant daughter, praising Chloe for being the golden child who was going to elevate the entire Davis family name. Inside and outside the house, the air was thick with applause and fawning compliments. Then, she pivoted. Her gaze shot across the yard, locking directly onto me. “Of course, the fact that our Chloe can go off to college with peace of mind… is also thanks to her younger sister.” “Our Lily is such a good girl! So incredibly mature! She knew how hard our financial situation was, so she volunteered to drop out! She insisted on giving her spot to her sister! She’s going to work at the mill to earn money to pay for Chloe’s tuition!” She painted me as a willing, selfless martyr. The relatives immediately turned their approving, sympathetic gazes toward me. “Lily really is such an amazing sister!” “Martha, you are so blessed! Both your girls are incredible!” Basking in the glow of these hypocritical, hollow compliments, my mom smiled in deep satisfaction. She looked at me and said loudly, “Lily, when you start at the mill, you better work hard! No slacking off! Every month when you get your paycheck, you mail it straight home immediately. Don’t you dare hold a single cent back, you hear me? Your sister is living in the big city now, her expenses are going to be huge!” Under the watchful eyes of every single person in that yard, I slowly stood up. I didn’t say a word. I just reached deep into the inner pocket of my jacket. And right in front of everyone, I untied the string and dumped the contents directly onto the banquet table. Clatter. It was a massive pile of worn-smooth quarters, dimes, nickels, and a thick stack of meticulously folded one-dollar and five-dollar bills. There wasn’t a single twenty-dollar bill in the pile. It was every single cent I had scraped together, literally taking food out of my own mouth, tutoring kids, and collecting recycling for years. My entire life savings. I took my time, carefully counting the money out, arranging it into neat piles until it totaled exactly one hundred dollars. I pushed the neat stack directly into the center of the table. Then, I raised my head. Meeting my mom’s shocked, horrified gaze, I spoke in the absolute calmest voice I had ever used in my entire life: “Mom. This is the exact cost of every meal you fed me and the clothes you put on my back. One hundred dollars. I am paying you back right now.” “From today on, we are completely even.” With that, I turned around, grabbed the canvas duffel bag I had hidden by the back door, and resolutely walked out of the gate. Behind me, I could hear my mom’s furious, hysterical screaming, followed by the sharp, shattering crash of plates and glasses hitting the patio. But I never looked back. I took a step forward, and I kept walking.

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Three years after our divorce, my ex-husband showed up at my door. In his arms was the baby he had with the mistress who destroyed our marriage. “She passed away,” he said. “Her dying wish was for the child to have a complete family.” I rolled my eyes hard, fully intending to slam the door in his face. But then he dropped a bombshell: “I will transfer all my money and every property in my name to you. Just treat this child as your own.” I immediately snatched the baby into my arms, smiling like a blooming flower: “Come here, sweetie! Call me Mom!” 1 Oliver Sterling stood at my front door, holding a toddler who had barely learned to walk. “She got sick and passed away. Before she left, her biggest wish was for the baby to grow up in a healthy, complete family.” “Chloe, you’re the only one I can count on.” The “she” Oliver was referring to was the other woman who had wedged herself into our marriage and successfully taken my place. And this little guy in his arms was the physical proof of their “true love.” I rolled my eyes in annoyance and grabbed the door handle, ready to shut it. But Oliver threw out bait I simply couldn’t refuse. “Every single asset in my name can be transferred to yours.” “As long as you raise this child as your own flesh and blood.” I instantly swung the door wide open and smoothly scooped the child into my arms. “Such a good baby. Say ‘Mommy’.” Oliver pulled back his expensive Italian leather shoe, which had been wedged in the doorframe and was now visibly creased. “He’s too little. He hasn’t learned to talk yet.” “If you have no objections, we can go to the courthouse and get remarried tomorrow.” Surprisingly, being held by a total stranger didn’t scare the kid at all. He was incredibly calm. He looked exactly like Oliver did in his childhood photos. I held the toddler’s chubby little hand tightly, refusing to let go for even a second. This wasn’t just a child. This was a literal golden goose falling straight from the sky. “We can go right now,” I said. I was crouching down, so I had to tilt my head way back to look at Oliver. He was too tall. My neck was practically cramping before I could clearly see his face. “Actually, never mind. Let’s give you a few days to calculate exactly how much money and real estate you have under your name first.” “Just to be safe, we should sign a prenuptial agreement before we remarry, so things don’t get messy later.” Oliver stared down at me, his lips pressed tightly together. He didn’t say a word. He just reached out and took the child back, not letting me touch him anymore. “The baby is too young. He needs someone with him at all times.” “Move back into the Sterling mansion before tomorrow morning.” Was that an order? I was furious. I wanted to jump up and slap him across the face. But then the thought of the hundreds of millions of dollars in his name flashed through my mind, and I forcefully swallowed my anger. I forced a flawless, professional smile. “No problem, Mr. Sterling.” Honestly, even before Oliver showed up at my door, I had seen the news about Mia’s death. Mia had been battling cancer for over six months. During that time, Oliver dropped almost all his work projects and flew her overseas for cutting-edge treatments. The media had a field day reporting on how much the CEO of Sterling Enterprises doted on his wife. It got to the point where everyone almost forgot exactly how he and his current wife had gotten together in the first place. But no matter how much money Oliver threw at it, he couldn’t buy his wife’s life. A week ago, Mia, wasted away by cancer, finally passed. Oliver was devastated. He threw Mia an absurdly extravagant funeral. On the day of the service, in front of a swarm of reporters, Oliver took off his sunglasses, revealing eyes swollen like walnuts. Tears were streaming down his face. “I couldn’t give her a proper wedding back then, so all I can give her now is the grandest funeral.” “I love her more than anything in this world.” I saw all of this on the news. Oliver treated Mia like his most precious treasure. So before he showed up at my door, it never even crossed my mind that he would come to me. More accurately, I never expected him to come to me this fast. When I headed to the Sterling mansion, I dragged a single carry-on suitcase packed with a few changes of clothes. Oliver, holding the baby, stood at the front door and looked me up and down. “That’s all you brought? Chloe, do you think you’re just here for a vacation?” Then, he quickly backpedaled and answered his own question. “Never mind. The Sterling house has everything anyway.” “If you need anything, just tell Mr. Lee. Don’t be a stranger.” Hilarious! I lived in this house way longer than Mia ever did! But I kept my smile and nodded obediently. “Understood, Mr. Sterling.” As I was carrying my suitcase upstairs, I bumped right into Mr. Lee, the butler, who was coming down. Mr. Lee rubbed his eyes hard, several times. “Mrs. Sterling?” He looked like he had seen a ghost, instinctively backing up several steps until his foot slipped and he landed hard on his butt on the stairs. “No, no, Ms. Davis, why are you here—” Before he could finish, I cut him off with a bright smile. “You’re trying to ask why I’m back, right?” Mr. Lee didn’t say a word. He just stared at me with a terrified expression. Like he had just witnessed a corpse sit up in its coffin first thing in the morning. I rested my hands on my knees, bent down, and looked him right in the eye. “Mr. Lee, I’m back.” “Aren’t you happy?” Back before Oliver and I divorced… Oliver would often wait until I was away on business trips to bring Mia into the house to fool around. If it hadn’t been for Mr. Lee covering for them and lying to both sides, it wouldn’t have taken me so long to discover their disgusting affair. Mr. Lee was essentially the most obedient dog Oliver ever owned. Seeing Mr. Lee so flustered and panicked, I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. “It looks like our head butler didn’t even know I was coming back?” So, it turned out he wasn’t privy to everything Oliver did after all. This was going to make things much easier. I stood up straight, grabbed my suitcase, and continued up the stairs, casually tossing a sentence over my shoulder. “It’s been three years and you still haven’t managed to become Oliver’s trusted confidant? You aren’t working hard enough.” 2 I officially remarried Oliver on the third day after moving back into the Sterling mansion. The agreements were signed and notarized by a team of lawyers. Everything was set in stone. I sat on the cashmere rug in the living room, idly shaking a toy to entertain the little guy. Oliver sat next to us, incredibly patiently reading a storybook to the baby. His voice was soft, radiating a deep, undeniable tenderness. Anyone watching would think this was a picture-perfect, loving family. It’s just a shame this child wasn’t mine. It’s just a shame this was all an act. After coaxing the baby to sleep… Oliver put down the storybook and carefully carried the sleeping child into the nursery. I tossed the toy aside, sprawled out on the rug, and scrolled through my phone out of boredom. This designer bag is nice. Buy! This diamond necklace is gorgeous. Buy! These are all amazing. Buy, buy, buy! Until a large shadow completely blocked my view. I sat up abruptly, staring at Oliver defensively. “Mr. Sterling, any further instructions?” Oliver stood with his hands in his pockets, looking down at me. “As a responsible mother, shouldn’t you be in the nursery watching over him right now?” “Chloe, I know you’ve never given birth, but you should at least learn how to take care of a child, right?” “From the moment we remarried, you became this child’s mother.” My grip on my phone tightened involuntarily. It’s true I had never given birth, but I had lost a child. Three years ago. On the exact day I first caught Oliver cheating. I had just returned from a grueling two-week business trip, feeling like my body was about to fall apart. It happened to be Mr. Lee’s day off. I didn’t call for a company driver; I just grabbed a cab and went straight home. My only thought at the time was: Take a hot bath, and then sleep for days in Oliver’s arms. But when I pushed the door open… The scene before my eyes instantly vaporized every ounce of my exhaustion. Oliver was holding another woman, lying right in our marital bed. The most laughable part was that our wedding portrait was hanging directly above them. That day, I not only discovered Oliver was cheating, but I also found out I was pregnant. Unfortunately, by the time I knew, it was already too late. I couldn’t keep the baby. Back then, to protect Mia, Oliver hadn’t hesitated to slap me hard across the face. “Chloe, are you done throwing a tantrum?!” He was the one screwing around outside, yet he acted like I was the one being unreasonable. I had been working overtime for two weeks straight; my body was already completely drained. Oliver’s slap carried so much force that I couldn’t even stay on my feet. I hit the floor hard, slicing my forehead open on the nightstand. And because of that slap, I lost my baby. It was the first child we had conceived in our five years of marriage, and the only one. Perhaps realizing he had misspoken, Oliver cleared his throat, about to explain. I looked up and smiled like nothing had happened. “Understood, Mr. Sterling.” “Starting today, I’ll learn how to take care of the baby. I’ll strive to be a perfect mother you can’t find a single flaw in.” The words caught in Oliver’s throat, and he swallowed them back down. He avoided my gaze, adding a sentence as if trying to give himself an out. “Alright. Just do your best.” Probably feeling guilty… That day, Oliver had someone deliver a mountain of designer bags and jewelry. It completely stuffed my previously empty walk-in closet. Mr. Lee approached me with a fawning expression. “Mrs. Sterling, is there anything else you require?” I casually sifted through the sparkling jewelry, not even giving him a direct look. But I couldn’t resist making him uncomfortable. “There’s still a pile of boxes downstairs. Those aren’t for me, are they?” The staff had clearly unloaded way more boxes in the driveway earlier. Almost half of the delivery hadn’t even been brought to my room. Mr. Lee looked incredibly awkward, stammering for a long time before finally getting a sentence out. “Mrs. Sterling, those…” I put down the jewelry and turned to look at him. “Hard to say?” Honestly, I had already guessed what was going on. But I needed someone to say the truth out loud. Mr. Lee lowered his head, his voice barely louder than a mosquito’s hum. “Mr. Sterling ordered them for the former Mrs. Sterling.” “Mr. Sterling specifically instructed that whatever you have, the former Mrs. Sterling must also have, and hers must be even better.” On the surface, Mr. Lee looked timid, but his words cut like a knife. It felt like he was intentionally trying to retaliate against me. Former Mrs. Sterling? He meant Mia. Time is a truly bizarre thing. It can dilute feelings, and it can also blur the order in which people arrive in your life. How did a woman who climbed the ranks by being a mistress become the legitimate “former Mrs. Sterling”? Just because she died before me? I forced a smile, too lazy to argue with a dead woman. “Get out.” 3 After Oliver and I remarried… Aside from the time we spent together playing with the baby, we lived completely separate lives. I lived in the master suite on the second floor. Oliver lived in the master suite on the third floor—the bedroom he had shared with Mia. I don’t have many special talents, but I am exceptionally good at maintaining boundaries. I never stepped foot in Oliver’s room. But I could guarantee that room was stuffed to the brim with everything related to Mia. A month passed in the blink of an eye. Oliver still hadn’t recovered from the blow of losing his wife. In fact, he was getting worse day by day. He only managed to act like a normal person when he was in front of the baby. The moment he was out of the child’s sight, it was like his soul left his body. He was like a walking corpse. A puppet drained of all vitality. Late one night. The baby’s sharp, piercing cries tore through the quiet night. Like a miserable employee forced to work overtime, I groggily dragged myself upstairs. The nursery was on the third floor, right next to Oliver’s bedroom. When I pushed the door open, I saw Oliver bent over, softly trying to coax the baby, who had clearly had a nightmare. The entire nursery smelled strongly of alcohol. Oliver was drowning his sorrows again. I reached out, tugged his sleeve, and lowered my voice. “Go outside, get some fresh air, and sober up. Don’t suffocate the baby with those fumes.” Oliver lifted his arm, sniffed his own clothes, nodded, and walked out. I picked the baby up and, following the techniques I had learned online, rhythmically patted his back. Thank god. This child was too young to remember what his biological mother looked like. Plus, during the six months Mia was sick, she hadn’t had the energy to take care of him anyway. Raised primarily by a nanny since birth, the child naturally wasn’t crying and screaming for his “mommy.” Since I had been by his side every day for the past month, he genuinely treated me as his mother. After coaxing the baby back to sleep… I quietly slipped out of the nursery, ready to go back downstairs to bed. Oliver was standing by the window at the end of the hallway, leaving me with only his lonely silhouette. I wasn’t pathetic enough to interrupt another person’s mourning session for their dead wife. But just as my foot hit the first stair, Oliver suddenly spoke. “Chloe, can you talk to me for a bit?” “In this whole world, I honestly don’t know who else I can pour my heart out to.” I stopped on the stairs, but I didn’t answer right away. I ran it through my head before finding an excuse to reject him. “Mr. Sterling, my job is to take care of the child. I don’t provide psychological counseling services.” Oliver sighed softly. “Chloe, if only I had never proposed to you back then.” “Being good friends for the rest of our lives would have been so much better than ending up like this.” “Chloe, do you hate me?” Hearing that, I finally turned around to look at him properly. Oliver turned his head to look at me too, his eyes full of disappointment. “Chloe, you hate me, don’t you?” I looked at Oliver acting like his life was ending, and I just found it funny. Hate? Why would I hate the golden goose who was handing me his fortune? I stared right into his eyes, my tone incredibly calm. “Mr. Sterling, you’re overthinking it.” “In the adult world, there isn’t that much dramatic love and hate. Everyone just takes what they need.” “You paid me to be a mother to this child. I’m doing the job I was paid for. This is a fair transaction.” Oliver froze. He clearly hadn’t expected me to say that. In his mind, I was supposed to be a bitter ex-wife. I was supposed to point a finger at his nose and curse him out, or throw myself into his arms and weep bitterly. Too bad I haven’t been that naive, lovesick girl for three years. I yawned and turned back toward the stairs. “Get some sleep, Mr. Sterling. I have to meet with the lawyers tomorrow to finalize the details of the asset transfers.” Oliver didn’t say another word. First thing the next morning, I had the lawyers bring a thick stack of documents to the Sterling mansion. Since the agreements were signed and notarized, I needed to secure the bag as quickly as possible. I sat on the living room sofa, verifying the asset inventory line by line. Real estate, luxury cars, stocks, mutual funds, and forty percent of the shares in Sterling Enterprises. Looking at those numbers, I could literally breathe easier. Mr. Lee walked over with a cup of coffee, his face looking like he had swallowed a fly. “Mrs. Sterling, these properties have been built up by generations of the Sterling family. Are you truly going to transfer them all to your own name?” I took a sip of the coffee without even lifting my eyelids. “Mr. Lee, what kind of question is that?” “It’s written right here in black and white. Oliver gave these to me willingly. Why make it sound like I’m robbing him at gunpoint?” Mr. Lee gritted his teeth and lowered his voice. “Aren’t you afraid the former Mrs. Sterling is watching you from heaven?” I couldn’t hold it back—I burst out laughing. I set the coffee cup down, stood up, and walked right up to him. “Let her watch.” “If she’s really that capable, she can crawl up from the grave and find me.” “But Mr. Lee, aren’t you overstepping your bounds?” “My current status is the lady of the Sterling household. You are an employee collecting a paycheck. What gives you the right to dictate what I do?” Mr. Lee was rendered speechless, his face flushing deep red. I turned to the lawyer. “Mr. Davis, please draft a termination agreement.” “Mr. Lee is getting old, and his mind isn’t quite clear anymore. He’s no longer suitable to continue working for the Sterling family.” Mr. Lee’s head snapped up, his face full of disbelief. “You’re firing me?! Mr. Sterling will never agree to this!” I shrugged. “Then go ask him. Ask him if he wants his butler, or if he wants a good wife who can take care of his child.” Furious, Mr. Lee ran upstairs to complain to Oliver. Less than ten minutes later, he came back down, looking entirely defeated. He didn’t dare utter a single word as he went back to his room to pack his things. Watching his back as he dragged his suitcase out the door, I felt incredibly satisfied. Three years ago, he helped Oliver and Mia humiliate me. Today, I sent him packing. And this was just the beginning.

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Part 1 I divorced my uncle’s commanding officer. It was ugly. He shielded the new female combat medic while I hurled three heavy glass ashtrays at them, and he responded by kicking me down a flight of stairs, causing me to lose my seven-month pregnancy. I left. I remarried. Life was quiet and mundane. Slowly, it smoothed over the madness and rage of those years. Until one evening, at a reunion of my current husband’s platoon, one of his drunk army buddies mistook me for someone else. “Chloe, back then you thought Mark was too poor. You took all his severance pay and ran off to Europe. He had red eyes and swore he’d put a bullet in you, but in the end, he actually married you.” “I guess that’s the power of the one that got away.” That was the exact moment I realized why Mark had fallen in love with me at first sight. It was because I was a stand-in. In an instant, my mind snapped back to my ex-husband. … I turned my head to look at Mark sitting beside me. His jaw was tight as he explained, “He’s drunk and talking nonsense. Are you really going to believe him?” The buddy stubbornly stuck his neck out. “The hell I’m talking nonsense!” “I still remember the night you guys broke up. You cried the entire night…” Mark violently stood up, slamming his fist onto the table. “Shut the hell up!” The buddy sobered up halfway, his gaze lingering on my face for a long time. From his complex expression, I guessed everything. No wonder the youngest brigadier general on the base fell in love at first sight with a divorced woman like me. No wonder he never let me cut my hair short and always liked me to wear white summer dresses. No wonder he unconditionally tolerated all my little temper tantrums. Turns out, before me, he had an unforgettable college sweetheart from the military academy. I picked up my coat and stood up to leave. My wrist was violently grabbed. It didn’t hurt, but it felt sickening. I yanked my hand free and backhanded Mark across the face. The private dining room instantly became so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Just as I was about to walk out, a woman in a white dress pushed the door open with a bright smile. One look, and I knew she was Mark’s first love. The same white dress. The same long, straight black hair. Chloe noticed me too. A glimmer of understanding slowly surfaced in her eyes. I bit my lip in humiliation, my fingernails digging hard into my palms. Chloe brushed past me and greeted Mark with familiar ease. “New girlfriend?” “She looks so much like me. Don’t tell me you’re still hung up on me?” Mark’s face grew even darker. “This is my wife. Watch what you say!” She lowered her head, her voice starting to tremble. “I didn’t know you were married. Why are you yelling at me?” Mark instinctively crouched down slightly, his tone becoming panicked. “Don’t cry. I’m sorry…” Before he could finish, Chloe covered her mouth and giggled. “Haven’t seen you in three or four years, and you’re still so easy to fool.” Mark ground his back teeth. “Chloe!” He was annoyed; she was laughing. The other guys at the table watched the scene as if it were the most normal thing in the world. I couldn’t take it anymore and slammed the door behind me. From behind the door, I heard Chloe’s malicious teasing. “Aren’t you going to chase her?” My footsteps paused. But I heard the man’s cold, indifferent reply. “Her temper isn’t as bad as yours. She’s easy to coax.” Part 2 I don’t remember how I got home. As soon as I walked through the door, the wedding photo hanging in the living room was blindingly painful to look at. When Mark told me it was love at first sight, I didn’t believe him. After all, my ex-husband—my uncle’s commanding officer, a man I had known for over twenty years—had betrayed me. Let alone a stranger I had only met once. But after the messy divorce with my ex, Arthur, my parents took their anger out on me and froze my bank accounts. Because I didn’t have hard evidence of Arthur’s infidelity, rumors ran wild on the base, painting me as a dramatic, high-maintenance brat. The other military wives my age were just waiting to see me become a joke. Everyone said I would never find a better husband than Arthur. I didn’t believe them. I was determined to prove them wrong. And luckily, I bet correctly on Mark, a rising star. His devotion to me allowed me to make a beautiful comeback. Those who mocked me for throwing away gold for copper were forced to shut their mouths. But it wasn’t until tonight that I realized his so-called “love at first sight” was built entirely on the lingering feelings for his first love. My stomach started to churn. I rushed to the bathroom and threw up violently. When I came out, I walked into the home office—a room I rarely entered. Among a pile of military theory books, a battered old notebook stood out. With trembling hands, I opened it. A photograph fell out. Mark, in his uniform, was looking at the girl beside him with eyes full of deep devotion. The man I remembered as being incredibly calm even while executing covert operations was, in his diary, just an ordinary guy who got jealous and heartbroken. [She said staying with me was a dead end. She wants to break up and move to Europe.] [I said no, but she left anyway. She took all my severance pay with her.] [That heartless woman. When she comes back, I’m going to make her wish she was dead.] The ink on this page was smeared by water stains, the paper crinkled. I turned the page. [I met a woman who looks exactly like her.] [The day we got our marriage license, I texted her.] [If she comes back, I’ll marry her.] [She didn’t show up. I’m not waiting for her anymore.] My vision blurred. So, while I was excitedly planning our wedding, Mark was waiting for another woman to crash it. The sound of keys turning in the lock echoed from the front door. I didn’t move. Until Mark rushed into the room. Seeing the diary in my hands, his voice dropped to freezing temperatures. “Who told you to touch my things? Give it back.” The day he proposed, Mark did it to give me peace of mind. He voluntarily handed over his salary cards and put my name on the deed to the house. After we married, he was completely transparent with me. No passcodes on his phone, real-time updates on his whereabouts. But now, just because I touched something related to Chloe, he was panicking. I sneered. “If your heart is already occupied, why are you afraid of me looking?” He didn’t answer, just reached out to snatch it. I gripped it tightly, refusing to let go. He started prying my fingers open, one by one. My knuckles popped. I went pale from the pain and violently threw the diary at his chest. “If you love your first love so much, why did you marry me?” He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “That’s all in the past. Stop being unreasonable.” “Then look me in the eye and tell me you married me because you love me.” I didn’t look away, staring straight at him. Mark’s Adam’s apple bobbed. His eyes flickered away for a second. The next second, he let out a cold laugh born of humiliation and anger. “You want the truth?” “Fine. I’ll tell you.” “I married you because you look like her.” “But haven’t I treated you well enough these past three years?” It was precisely because he treated me too well. So well that I thought he indulged me because he loved me. But what was the reality? Arthur loved the new and threw away the old. Mark was nostalgic. But the person he was nostalgic for, the person he loved, was always his first love. Watching him carefully put the diary away, I only felt a sickening sense of irony. “Mark. Let’s get a divorce.” Part 3 Mark’s movements paused, his tone impatient. “Evelyn, can you stop throwing a tantrum?” “As my wife, who on this base doesn’t treat you with respect?” “Throwing a fit about divorce now will only make us a laughingstock.” Those words sounded incredibly familiar. When I was divorcing Arthur, he said the exact same things. He said he just had “a little crush” on the female combat medic. He said there was no physical cheating, told me to stop making a scene. But I refused to be with a man who had someone else in his heart. If I could leave Arthur back then, I could definitely leave Mark now. “Tomorrow morning, 9 AM. At the courthouse.” After saying that, I turned to walk past him. Mark grabbed my shoulder. “Evelyn, don’t be so childish.” “Nobody wants to marry a woman on her third marriage who’s had a miscarriage.” I suddenly couldn’t see the man in front of me clearly. When I cried and told him about my past with Arthur, he had held me tightly, saying he wished he had met me sooner. Perhaps the heartbreak in my eyes was too obvious. Mark’s tone softened slightly. “I’m sorry, I was just…” Before he could finish, his phone rang. I glanced down. No caller ID saved. Mark hesitated, but ultimately chose to answer. “Arrested for a DUI? I’m not coming to bail you out.” “When you took all my money and ran off to Europe, you didn’t care about my situation either!” Every word was laced with disdain, yet every syllable betrayed how much he cared. Even though I had just demanded a divorce a second ago, it wasn’t as important as a phone call from Chloe. Seeing how desperate he was to go bail her out, the corner of my mouth twitched. “In such a rush to see your old flame? At least let’s finalize the divorce details.” Mark frowned deeply. “Don’t overthink this.” “She just got back to the States. She doesn’t know anyone here.” “I’m her ex-boyfriend, after all. I’m just doing her a favor.” He grabbed his car keys and hurried out the door. After the door slammed shut, I was left alone in the study. I went back to the bedroom and started packing my things. Not long after, a friend request popped up on my phone. The profile picture was a simple doodle of a kitten. Mark’s profile picture was a military working dog. After all this time, he still couldn’t bear to change his matching couple profile picture. After accepting the request, Chloe didn’t send a single message. I clicked on her social media feed and saw a completely different Mark. He would let a woman draw all over his face with lipstick; He would go to the shooting range with her and take those cheesy couple photos; He would even cook for her, making hot cocoa when she had cramps. These posts were from three years ago. Before Mark even met me. Just then, Chloe posted a new update. [The bad girl gets everything.] The location tag was the base’s guest lodge. The photo attached was of two hands with interlocked fingers, clearly taken post-coitus. The man wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. But there was a pale indent on his ring finger. Mark couldn’t even wait out the mandatory thirty-day cooling-off period for the divorce. I bit my lip until it bled. In a moment of pure impulse, I called an Uber and headed straight to the guest lodge. The front desk refused to give me the room number. So I searched room by room. Apologizing over and over again. When I reached the very last door, I couldn’t bring myself to knock. What was the point of catching them in the act? Have a screaming match like a hysterical banshee? And become the laughingstock of the base all over again? After a moment of hesitation, I didn’t knock on that door. I went home, dead inside. I consulted a divorce lawyer about the process, then fell into a heavy sleep. But early the next morning, I woke up to find myself trending: Woman Caught Sneaking into Guest Lodge for Midnight Rendezvous with Ex-Husband. Part 4 Before I was fully awake, an enraged Mark yanked me out of bed. He shoved his phone in my face. The picture showed me standing outside the guest lodge, looking anxious. “Evelyn, running back to let your ex screw you—do you have no shame?!” My head was spinning, but I instinctively fired back. “I haven’t even seen Arthur.” “But what about you? Weren’t you also at the guest lodge last night?” A flash of panic crossed Mark’s eyes, quickly covered up by furious indignation. “Nothing happened between me and her!” “But what the hell is this midnight rendezvous with Arthur?” I let out a bitter laugh, deciding to just lean into his accusation. “Then just assume I went to see him.” Seeing his pupils shrink in shock brought a twisted sense of vindictive pleasure. “I didn’t just see him. I told him I regretted divorcing him.” “Because no matter how garbage he was, he never treated me as a stand-in.” Mark’s breathing instantly grew heavy, his fingers digging into my shoulders turning white. “You think I don’t regret it?” “No matter what Chloe did to me, she was never touched by another man.” “I married used goods for my first marriage. Do you have any idea how many people talk behind my back?” A sharp smack echoed in the room. My palm stung. Mark’s head jerked to the side, violent red veins instantly flooding his eyes. He raised his hand to hit me back, but froze mid-air. I tilted my chin up. “Hit me!” “If you have the guts, hit me back!” Mark stared at me for a long time. Suddenly, he reached out and dragged me all the way into the bathroom. He turned the tub on full blast with freezing cold water. Ignoring my struggles, he forced my head under the icy water. “Cough… Mark! You’re crazy!” He scrubbed violently at my skin. “Evelyn, I don’t hit women, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have a temper.” “This is your one and only warning. I never want to see you contact your ex-husband again.” The icy water cut to the bone, but it was a fraction of the chill in my heart. “Mark, what gives you the right to be such a hypocrite?” “You and Chloe were alone in a hotel room last night. You expect me to believe nothing happened?” He held me down in the tub, his voice dark. “You don’t have the right to question my business!” Water rushed into my nose. Panic and suffocation set in instantly. Just as I thought I was actually going to die by his hands, the pressure on my head suddenly vanished. I shot up, gasping desperately for air. Mark looked down at me from above. “You stay in here and think about what you’ve done.” I scrambled up, instinctively trying to run out. But I was locked inside the bathroom. “Mark, you can’t do this to me! Let me out!” Through the door came his cold voice. “I’ll let you out when you realize you were wrong.” A sudden, violent cramp ripped through my lower abdomen. A warm stream of liquid slid down my inner thigh. With trembling hands, I reached down. My fingertips came back covered in a horrifying crimson. “Mark… my stomach hurts. Let me out…” I weakly pounded on the door, my voice trembling uncontrollably. Footsteps approached. Just as I thought he was going to open the door, I heard a scoff. “Evelyn, the lengths you’ll go to just to get me to open this door.” “Faking sick this time. Are you going to fake your death next?” The red pooling beneath me grew darker. Scalding tears mixed with the bathwater on my face. I had never been so terrified in my life. Even when I miscarried Arthur’s child, it happened in a hospital under anesthesia. Now, I was watching my own child dissolve into a pool of blood with my own eyes. “Mark, I’m not lying.” “I’m having a miscarriage. Please… take me to the hospital.” The silence outside the door lasted only a second. “Evelyn, do you think I’m an idiot?” “You miscarried before. The doctors said it would be nearly impossible for you to ever get pregnant again!” “And even if you are pregnant, I have no intention of keeping that bastard child.” It felt like a knife plunged straight into my heart. Even drawing breath brought a dull, agonizing pain. I couldn’t hold on any longer, and I slipped completely into darkness. Part 5 When I woke up, the sharp scent of hospital disinfectant assaulted my nose. I instinctively reached for my stomach. It was flat and empty. “You’re awake?” A cold voice echoed near the bed. I turned my head and saw my ex-husband, whom I hadn’t seen in three years. Arthur was wearing a black trench coat. He had blue stubble on his chin and his eyes were completely bloodshot, looking like he hadn’t slept a wink. He handed me a cup of warm water, his movements clumsy but careful. “Drink some.” My throat was incredibly dry, my voice sounding like sandpaper. “Why are you here?” Arthur licked his lips. “I’ve been keeping tabs on you all these years.” “I came to LA for business a few days ago, and I saw the tabloid gossip about you and me.” “I hadn’t even seen you. There was no ‘midnight rendezvous.’” “I was worried, so I went to find you.” “But you wouldn’t answer your phone or messages, and the lights in your house were off.” “So I had someone break the door down. And I found you unconscious in the bathroom, surrounded by blood.” Arthur’s tone grew vicious. “You left me, just to end up with a piece of trash like that?” “The doctor said… because you were submerged in freezing water for so long, and under extreme emotional distress, the baby couldn’t be saved.” “Your body suffered severe trauma. It’s highly unlikely you’ll ever be able to conceive again.” Hearing him say all this, I felt absolutely nothing. It was exactly what I expected. I turned my head, looked at the green leaves outside the window, and softly said, “Thank you.” Arthur violently grabbed my hand, his eyes burning red. “Evelyn, do we really need to say ‘thank you’ to each other?” “I was too young back then. I couldn’t handle temptation.” “But Mark went way further than I ever did. Are you seriously going to stay with him?” “Come back to New York with me. I swear, from now on, I will only ever be devoted to you.” “This time, I will never let you suffer.” Hearing these solemn promises left me with a bitter taste in my mouth. This man was the love of my youth. Then he became the ex-husband I hated to my core. And now, when the whole world had abandoned me, he was the only one standing by my side. But two catastrophic marriages had broken me. And finally snapped me completely awake. I didn’t want Mark, and I didn’t want him. I wanted neither of them. I coldly pulled my hand away. “I’m tired. I want to rest.” Arthur’s eyes dimmed for a second, then he nodded. “Okay, get some sleep. I’ll be right outside.” “As long as I’m here, nobody is coming in to hurt you.” I slept very deeply. When I woke up, it was already late afternoon. The moment I opened my eyes, a nurse ran in, looking panicked. “Mr. Thorne! We have a problem! Mr. Sterling brought his men to lock down the floor and is forcing his way in!” Arthur stood in front of the hospital bed, letting out a cold laugh. “Perfect timing. I’ve been looking for him.” Before he even finished speaking, the hospital room door was violently shoved open. Mark strode in. He was flanked by several military police guards, and behind him stood Chloe in her white dress. Seeing that I was awake, a flash of joy crossed Mark’s eyes. But it was quickly replaced by an unnatural stiffness. “You just got a little wet with cold water. Why are you in the hospital? Do you still have a fever?” He walked toward the bed, reaching out to feel my forehead. But Arthur swatted his hand away. “Keep your dirty hands off her.” Mark frowned deeply, looking at Arthur with intense irritation. “This is my wife. I’m taking care of her. It’s none of an outsider’s business.” He turned back to me, his tone carrying a hint of accusation. “Evelyn, you took it too far this time.” “Do you have any idea what people on the base are saying about you and Arthur?” “Everyone is laughing at me, calling me a coward for letting my wife cheat on me right under my nose.” “I know you’re angry, but absolutely nothing happened between me and Chloe.” “Did you really have to invent a fake pregnancy just to humiliate me?”

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When Mason asked for a breakup, I thought he was just throwing another tantrum. After all, everyone in the Upper East Side elite circle knew we had been childhood sweethearts, breaking up and making up for over a decade without ever truly severing ties. Too proud to be the first to beg for peace, I had my best friend text him, saying I had committed suicide. I didn’t expect Mason’s reply to her: [Tell her to drop dead! In fact, why didn’t you go die with her!] At the exact same time, Mason’s grad-school mentee updated her Instagram story. “Spring is here. I was going to hire a male stripper for the night, but this gorgeous guy insisted on throwing himself at me. Saved me $500.” The “stripper” wrapping his arms tightly around her neck in the photo was none other than Mason. When Mason asked for a breakup, I thought he was just throwing another tantrum. After all, everyone in the Upper East Side elite circle knew we had been childhood sweethearts, breaking up and making up for over a decade without ever truly severing ties. Too proud to be the first to beg for peace, I had my best friend text him, saying I had committed suicide. I didn’t expect Mason’s reply to her: [Tell her to drop dead! In fact, why didn’t you go die with her!] At the exact same time, Mason’s grad-school mentee updated her Instagram story. “Spring is here. I was going to hire a male stripper for the night, but this gorgeous guy insisted on throwing himself at me. Saved me $500.” The “stripper” wrapping his arms tightly around her neck in the photo was none other than Mason. …… I couldn’t believe my eyes. After staring at that painfully familiar face in the photo for a few seconds, my hands shook as I FaceTimed Mason. To my shock, the face that abruptly popped up on the screen was Scarlett’s, beaming with a radiant smile. “Mason is in the shower. If you have something to say, you can just tell me. It’s the same thing.” I stared blankly at the screen. Across Scarlett’s exposed collarbone was a cluster of bright red hickeys. The background was a messy, white hotel bed. I could faintly hear the sound of the shower running. Scarlett let out a scoff. “Looks like you’re still confused. I’ll send you a link to a post; you’ll understand everything once you see it.” Without waiting for my reply, she hung up and texted me a link from her own account. Numbly, I clicked on it. Though the poster’s profile picture was just a blurry silhouette, I instantly recognized it as Mason. Turns out, he had a secret burner account I knew nothing about. The post featured a video he had taken of me during our ski trip to Aspen last winter. In the video, I was holding a bouquet of winter blooms, skipping happily through the snow-capped mountains. But the caption read: She’s always so happy every time we go out. How do I tell her I stopped loving her a long time ago? I stopped loving her a long time ago! Every single word felt like a dagger plunged directly into my chest. It hurt so much I could barely breathe. But my first reaction was still denial. Mason and I had twenty years of history, a passionate and fiery romance. Everyone in New York society knew the Sterling and Crawford families had essentially arranged our marriage. Next month, after graduating with our Master’s degrees, we were supposed to have our wedding. Unless I heard him say he didn’t love me with his own mouth, some bullshit burner post meant nothing! Like a madwoman, I ran downstairs, hopped into my car, and sped straight to The Ritz-Carlton. Mason had a permanent VIP suite there. But the moment I reached his door, I heard the unmistakable, heavy panting echoing from inside. The sound wrapped around me like a curse, driving me to the brink of insanity. I bit my lip so hard that the metallic taste of blood bloomed in my mouth. I don’t know how much time passed, but masochistically, I stood there and listened to the entire process. Suddenly, the door swung open. Along with Mason’s face came the heavy, unmistakable scent of sex. The corners of Mason’s eyes were still flushed with lust. Seeing me, he didn’t panic at all. He just raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Didn’t you say you committed suicide? You look perfectly healthy grinding your teeth like that.” My gaze bypassed him, landing on Scarlett, who was taking her sweet time getting dressed on the bed, and the used condoms scattered on the floor. Through my blurry, tear-filled eyes, I saw her smile provocatively. “What are you so shocked about?” “It’s not like this is my first time with him. Empty classrooms, campus rooftops, the bed in his parents’ mansion, and even the sofa in that apartment you share with him… we’ve done it everywhere.” “Today I just wanted a thrill. I wanted you to come stand outside the door and listen, which is why I posted that story for you to see.” “Got to say, I’ve never seen Mason as excited as he was just now.” A wave of intense nausea hit me. My internal organs felt like they were twisting into knots. I looked up at Mason, my voice hoarse. “Is everything she said true?” Our eyes met, and Mason gave a lazy shrug. “I have nothing to defend.” The next second, I rushed into the hallway bathroom and threw up until my vision went dark. Footsteps echoed behind me, and a familiar, large hand gently patted my back. I looked up, seeing my bloodshot eyes in the mirror. Mason let out a sigh. “Chloe, can we calm down? We’ve already broken up.” My entire body ran cold. I stared at his reflection dead in the eye. “Scarlett joined your advisor’s lab three months ago. Over these last three months, we’ve ‘broken up’ so many times. Tell me, which time was the real one?” “Every single one.” The brief answer made my scalp go numb with agony. It turned out that what I thought were just lovers’ quarrels were his premeditated attempts to leave me. Seeing how deathly pale my face was, he sighed helplessly and turned to Scarlett. “You head back first. Chloe and I need to talk.” Scarlett smiled with absolute confidence. “Sure. After all, it’s not easy to cleanly sever twenty years of history.” With that, she left. Mason’s infatuated gaze followed her retreating figure, exactly the way he used to look at me with such deep devotion. It wasn’t until Scarlett’s footsteps completely faded away that he finally brought his eyes back to my face. “Why?” I asked, my voice trembling. “There is no ‘why’.” Mason lit a cigarette and leaned lazily against the wall. “I got bored of you. I got tired of us.” “But none of this has anything to do with Scarlett. She might seem arrogant on the surface, but she’s innocent at heart. She never wanted to get between us.” “Don’t go looking for trouble with her. If you’re mad, take it out on me. I’m the one who wanted to break up with you over the last three months; you’re the one who refused to take it seriously.” I suddenly burst into laughter, my heart aching so badly it trembled. “Mason Crawford, are you really defending her like this?” “Then what about me? What am I?!” I screamed at him, my voice tearing. “When you ran toward me with flowers at seventeen, when you kissed me under the stars at eighteen, when we lay in the same bed for the first time at twenty… did you ever think there would come a day where you’d treat me like this for another woman?!” His hand holding the cigarette paused, his cold eyes flashing with a hint of red. “No. I never thought we’d end up like this. But that’s all in the past.” “Chloe, maybe the seventeen-year-old me loved you desperately, but the twenty-five-year-old me undeniably doesn’t.” “We can’t let a few moments from our past shackle our entire future.” I stared at his hardened profile. My heart squeezed with a pain so intense I couldn’t speak. Twenty years of feelings. From childhood companionship to adult intimacy—shattered into dust by his few weightless sentences. My last shred of dignity stopped me from making any more futile arguments. I turned and walked away, every step feeling like I was walking on broken glass. But the man behind me suddenly lunged forward and grabbed my wrist. “You’re too emotional right now. I don’t feel safe letting you leave alone. I’ll drive you home.” One sentence, and in a daze, it felt like we were back in the days when he still loved me. But there was undeniably no trace of that past affection left in his eyes. I forcefully ripped my hand out of his grasp, shedding tears of self-mockery. “No need. Since the love is gone, we should make a clean break. Dragging things out isn’t my style!” “Even if we aren’t a couple anymore, we still grew up together! I still care about your safety!” He yelled at me, frowning, and without giving me a chance to refuse, he practically dragged me to his car and shoved me into the passenger seat. My gaze abruptly landed on the plushie hanging from his rearview mirror—a little figure in a racing suit. Belatedly, I remembered Mason once mentioning that Scarlett was an amateur race car driver. When did this plushie get hung up here? I couldn’t even remember. I watched Mason driving with a serious expression, not knowing exactly when the love between us had begun to rot. The car drove all the way into my upscale neighborhood and stopped in front of my family’s estate. Usually, at this moment, we would share a passionate, lingering kiss, refusing to let each other go. But today, swallowing the burning acid behind my eyes, I didn’t look at him. I simply reached for the door handle. Yet Mason grabbed my hand again. “Chloe,” he called my name, his voice hoarse. “I’m sorry…” “Save your apologies,” I cut him off. “They make me sick!” I violently yanked my hand back. As I did, my arm struck the rearview mirror, shattering the little racer plushie. Instantly, his brow furrowed in deep distress. He ignored me entirely, dropping down to meticulously gather the broken pieces. I gave him one last look, turned, and ran into my house. Outside the door, Mason’s phone started to ring. Perhaps because his hands were full, he put it on speaker. “Mason, I saw your mentee’s Instagram story. Are you really with her? What about Chloe? Are you seriously throwing away twenty years together?” It was my best friend, Maya. I bit my lip so hard it bled, waiting for Mason’s response. After a long silence, his exhausted voice drifted through the door. “Even if it’s hard to let go, I’ve already said the cruelest things to Chloe to her face. Ripping the band-aid off quickly will hurt her less in the long run.” “Because right now, I am absolutely certain: I want to be with Scarlett, not Chloe.” In that exact moment, I heard something inside me snap. It completely shattered. A thick, intense wave of sourness mixed with the metallic taste of blood surged up my throat. I violently coughed up a massive mouthful of blood. The next second, I completely lost consciousness. The smell of antiseptic. I slowly opened my eyes. My vision was filled with the stark white ceiling and walls of a hospital room. My parents and Maya were standing by my bed, their eyes red, watching me anxiously. “Chloe! Two days and two nights! You’re finally awake. Do you have any idea that you’re pregnant?!” I froze, my hand subconsciously moving to my flat stomach. Why? Why now, of all times? My mom took my hand, tears streaming down her face. “Chloe, we know what that bastard Mason did.” “This baby… what do you want to do?” “Don’t worry, aside from the three of us, no one else knows this child exists.” “Whatever you decide, we support you.” I lowered my eyes, a thousand thoughts rushing through my mind. Seeing my conflict, my parents and Maya knew I was struggling. “We’ll go get you some food and pastries. Take your time and think about it.” “Even if you want to keep the baby and ditch the father, the Sterling family is more than wealthy enough to raise a child!”

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Five years of marriage, and this morning was the first time Mark actually sat across from me at the breakfast table. He wasn’t alone. He was holding the hand of a three-year-old boy. “My buddy from the Marines passed away,” Mark said, not looking at me. ” Kid’s got no one. I want to adopt him. Put him under both our names.” 我 kept moving my fork, not breaking rhythm. The boy looked up. His eyes, his nose—they were a carbon copy of the man sitting across from me. “A buddy?” I asked coldly. “Three years ago, when you did that ‘consulting gig’ in Vegas… did you stay at the Bellagio, or did you rent a private condo in Summerlin?” His face went pale. “Look, the mother… she doesn’t want any drama. She’s just going to live here and help take care of the kid…” “Live here? In the guest room right next to the master?” “Come on, you get a son out of the deal, you stay Mrs. Sterling. It’s a win-win.” I set my fork down. I looked at this man who had used my dowry—my inheritance—to launch three separate LLCs. His family’s “conglomerate” was a hollowed-out shell, currently sitting on an eighty-million-dollar deficit. Every cent keeping it afloat was my father’s money. “Mark, I already had my attorneys draw up the divorce papers.” I leaned in, my voice icy. “Every asset under your name is about to belong to me.” 01 “Belong to you?” Mark repeated the phrase, his tone twisting it into the punchline of a bad joke. He picked up the boy, placed him in a high chair, then turned back to me, jamming his hands into his pockets. “Harper, we’ve been married five years. Who is listed as the registered agent and CEO of all three Sterling subsidiaries?” “You are.” “Whose name is on the deed to this house?” “Yours.” “Exactly.” He pulled out his chair and sat down, methodically buttering a piece of toast. “That eighty million your dad pumped in? That went through corporate loan channels. P-to-P agreements signed between entities. Your name, Harper Vance, appears on exactly zero of those documents.” He took a bite of toast. “You have no leverage. How exactly are you going to divorce me?” The three-year-old boy sat in his high chair, stabbing at a cup of yogurt with a spoon. Every few stabs, he’d peek at me. His brow, the bridge of his nose, even the tiny mole near the corner of his mouth—it was a genetic blueprint of Mark Sterling. “You really think I didn’t come prepared?” I asked. “Prepared with what? A lawyer?” He chuckled. “You mean Miller? I had dinner with him last night. His firm is now on retainer as external counsel for Sterling Corp.” I just stared at him. He put the toast down, clapped the crumbs off his hands, and stood up. “Harper, stop making a scene.下午 (This afternoon), a woman named Chloe is coming over. Do me a favor and make sure the room next door is made up.” He walked to the mudroom to change his shoes. As he bent over to tie his laces, he looked back at the boy. “Ace, buddy, be good for Daddy. I’ll be back tonight.” Daddy. Not Uncle. He wasn’t even pretending anymore. Twelve minutes after the door slammed shut, my phone rang. An unknown number. “Hi, um, Mrs. Sterling? This is Chloe.” The voice was soft, saccharine, with a slight Southern lilt. “Mark told me to come by around three. Is the room ready?” She called him Mark. “What else did he tell you?” I asked. “He said… he said you were okay with this.” “When exactly did I say that?” Silence on the other end for two seconds. “Look, I really won’t be in the way. I’m just here to help take care of Ace, maybe do some cooking. Think of me as a free live-in nanny…” “The person you have pinned at the top of your iMessage list—what is their nickname?” Her breath hitched. “I saw his screen this morning, Chloe. Between eight and nine a.m., you sent him eight texts. The last one said—’Hubby, did she agree yet? I’m so nervous.’” “Mrs. Sterling…” “You have a second Instagram account. ‘Chloe’s Blessed Life.’ Hundred and seventeen thousand followers. Three months ago, you posted a reel. The background was a living room—recessed warm lighting, a custom mahogany bar, Italian silk curtains. You looked into the camera and said, ‘Guys, this is the home hubby and I built.’” Total silence on the line. “That living room is my living room. Those curtains were custom-ordered from Milan by me. I bought that bar.” Silence. “Are you still coming at three?” Her voice was barely a whisper, but there was no surrender. “Mark told me to be there.” At 3:02 p.m., the doorbell rang. She was wearing a cream-colored knit dress, her hair in a low ponytail, her skin ridiculously pale and glowing. When she smiled, she had two deep dimples. “Hi, Harper.” She bent down, dragging two large suitcases across the threshold. The boy, Ace, jumped off the sofa and sprinted into her arms. “Mommy!” He hugged her tight. She kissed his forehead, then looked up at me. There wasn’t a hint of guilt in her eyes. She took a slow turn around the living room, acting like she was returning home. Because in her mind, it was her home. “Which way to the guest room, Harper? I can find it myself.” “That ring on your left hand.” Her smile froze. On her left ring finger was a sapphire and diamond ring. My engagement ring. Two years ago, Mark said he took it to the jewelers for a professional cleaning and “security check.” It never came back. She hid her hand behind her back. “Mark gave it to me…” “I know who gave it to you.” I turned and walked upstairs. Behind me, her voice followed, high-pitched, laced with a sweet, nauseating brand of grievance. “I’m really just here to help!” 02 “Harper, you are being ridiculous.” My mother-in-law, Brenda, called sooner than expected. “Mark told me everything. That child is the son of his Marine buddy who died in theater. Where is your compassion? Where is your grace?” “Brenda, the child calls Chloe ‘Mommy.’” “Kids say things. He’s three. He calls whoever holds him Mommy.” Her words were rapid-fire, like she’d been rehearsing this script all night. “And Mark was very clear with me. That girl is temporary help. She’ll be gone in a few weeks. You are only twisting this because you’re bitter that you haven’t given him a child in five years.” When those words hit, my nails dug so deep into my palms it broke the skin. “Brenda, do you know why I haven’t had a child in five years?” “If your health is poor, go to a specialist. I have told you a thousand times—” “During our second year of marriage, Mark made me take holistic herbal supplements for six months. He said it was to help with fertility. I took the prescription to a real lab to be tested. Three of the ingredients, if taken long-term, cause permanent sterility.” Two seconds of dead silence on the line. “You’re lying.” “I have the lab report. I can send a copy to your attorney.” Brenda sputtered. “I don’t need to see anything! Has my son not taken good care of you? Are you really trying to destroy this family?” She slammed the phone down. At noon, Chloe came down from the room next door and cooked a massive spread. BBQ ribs, roasted vegetables, artisanal bread. The boy, Ace, sat at the table, clutching a fork, his face covered in sauce. She sat next to him, wiping his face with a wet wipe, one gentle dab at a time. She stood up when she saw me come downstairs. “Harper, I made a plate for you, too.” The plate was placed at the far end of the table. She was sitting in my usual chair. I didn’t touch the food. Later, when I went to the pharmacy to pick up some medication, I swiped Mark’s business credit card—the high-limit one he gave me for household use. “I’m sorry, ma’am. This card has been declined.” I switched to my personal debit card and entered my PIN. Insufficient Funds. I opened my mobile banking app. Three days ago, a massive transfer had been executed from my personal savings account. Every dime—one hundred and forty thousand dollars—was gone. Transferred to a Sterling Corp holding account. Authorized by: Mark Sterling. He used a clause in the power of attorney I signed years ago for investment purposes—”Party A grants Party B authority to allocate and manage funds for investment opportunities.” Brenda arrived early that evening. Seventy years old, wearing kitten heels, carrying a high-end gift bag of fruit. The moment she saw Chloe, Brenda beamed. “Oh, look at you, sweetie. You are absolutely stunning. Come here, let Brenda see little Ace.” She scooped the boy up, rubbing his cheek, kissing his forehead, her eyes crinkling into slits. “This nose. He looks exactly like Mark did at this age.” She knew. She knew everything. Brenda reached into her purse and pulled out a velvet box. She opened it. A jade bangle bracelet. Deep emerald green, flawless, incredibly high quality. I recognized it instantly—item eleven on my pre-nuptial inventory list. It was part of my family inheritance, valued at ninety thousand dollars. During our second year of marriage, Brenda said she wanted to borrow it for a charity gala, just for one night. I never saw it again. She slid the bangle onto Chloe’s wrist. “Here, this is for you. For taking such good care of the boy.” Chloe made two polite attempts to refuse, just enough for show, then accepted it on the third. “Thank you, Brenda.” She smiled directly at me when she said it. Brenda sat on the sofa, took a sip of the tea Chloe had brewed, and looked at me. “Harper, you’re thirty. Everyone knows it gets harder for a woman to conceive after thirty. Ace is such a sweet boy. Let’s just focus on raising him for now, and we can discuss the future later.” “Brenda, that bracelet is mine.” “What’s yours is mine? Harper, you married into the Sterling family. What belongs to you belongs to the family.” She set her teacup down. “Harper, if you’re really struggling to understand how the real world works, then let me put it plainly—Mark told me you want a divorce.” Brenda looked at me, her gaze switching from “sweet grandmother” to predatory matriarch. “You entered the Sterling family through a gilded door. There is no exit.” “Your father’s money? That was an investment in Sterling Corp. Investments carry risks. Did you not learn that in school?” “Think about it. You’re one woman. No children. No assets. What are you going to do out there on your own?” Chloe stood near the kitchen door holding Ace. She didn’t say anything. But she was smiling. Those deep dimples. Brenda stood up, brushing imaginary lint off her designer skirt. “Think long and hard before you speak to me like that again.” “Women are lined up down the block hoping for a shot at a man like Mark Sterling. You should be counting your blessings in silence.” 03 “Dinner tonight at my mom’s. She invited a few relatives.” Mark’s text arrived at 4:00 p.m. When I arrived at Brenda’s estate, there were seven or eight people sitting in the living room. aunts, uncles, cousins. People we never saw, but they were all here today. At the dinner table, my chair was gone. Chloe was sitting to Mark’s right, with Ace on her lap. My chair, the one I had sat in for five Thanksgiving dinners, had been moved to a dusty corner of the dining room. “Harper’s here,” Brenda announced, not looking up from her plate. “Pull up a stool, sweetie.” Mark’s Aunt Carol spoke up. “Mark, this is the young lady you were telling us about? She is stunning. And the boy… he is the image of you.” Mark smiled. He didn’t deny it. Carol then turned to Chloe. “Sweetheart, how old are you?” “Twenty-four,” Chloe replied, sounding like a shy choir girl. “Twenty-four and already raising a beautiful boy. Impressive. Shows character.” Aunt Carol shot me a pointed look. Brenda chimed in. “Tell me about it. Some people spend five years in a house and leave it emptier than they found it.” The entire table fell silent. Not one person spoke up for me. I stood there, clutching a glass of water. “Harper, don’t just stand there. Sit.” Mark finally spoke. He pointed to a small, wooden step-stool that had been placed at the very end of the table. I didn’t sit. “Mark, my attorney has been trying to contact you all day.” “We’re having a family dinner, Harper. This is not the time.” “Miller’s firm has been completely compromised by the retainer you put them on. I tried contacting six other law firms in the city today. Three are existing clients of yours, two received personal calls from you advising them not to take the case, and one told me outright they ‘don’t have the bandwidth’ for high-asset divorce cases right now.” The dining room went silent for two seconds. “Harper—” Brenda chopsticks clattered against the fine china. “Are you really going to humiliate us in front of the family?” “Humiliate you? Is that what this is?” “You are being completely unreasonable,” Aunt Carol snapped, slamming her hand on the table. “Mark has provided everything for you. Look at the wives in this city. How many live in a house as nice as yours? How many get to spend money the way you do?” I looked at Aunt Carol. “Spend money? My credit card was declined at the pharmacy today. He transferred a hundred and forty thousand dollars out of my personal savings account. Right now, I have three hundred dollars in my pocket, and that’s only because I withdrew cash yesterday.” Aunt Carol blinked, stunned. She turned to Mark. “Mark, is this…” “Aunt Carol, this is a private marital matter. Please don’t listen to her histrionics.” Mark didn’t stop eating. His tone was smooth, perfectly calm. “Harper hasn’t been herself lately. She’s under a lot of stress. I’ve actually made an appointment for her with a top-tier psychiatrist.” A psychiatrist. He was telling everyone I was mentally unstable. In front of the entire extended family. Chloe sat next to him, her head bowed, feeding Ace. She didn’t speak. She didn’t look at me. But her phone screen lit up on the table. I saw her quickly type two words and hit send. “Handled.” I couldn’t see who she sent it to. But I saw the nickname on the chat window. Hubby. At 11:00 p.m., I sat alone in my master bedroom. All my bank cards were frozen. My legal avenues were blocked. The entire family was aligned against me. From the room next door came the sound of Chloe singing a lullaby, her voice saccharine sweet. I pulled out my phone. I scrolled to a number I hadn’t dialed in five years. Dad. I didn’t press call. As the phone screen dimmed, Brenda’s voice drifted up from downstairs. She was talking to Chloe. “Chloe, sweetie, you make yourself comfortable. This house… it’s going to be yours sooner rather than later.” “Honestly, if Harper just packs up and leaves, it’ll be easier. We won’t have to look at her miserable face anymore. It’s not like she can take anything with her. Nothing useful, anyway.” 04 “Sign it.” The next morning, Mark threw a thick legal document on the table in front of me. A Supplemental Post-Nuptial Agreement. Twelve pages, professionally drafted. I flipped it open— Article 3: Party B (Harper Vance) hereby waives all future claims to equity, profits, or assets of Party A’s associated business entities. Article 7: Party B assumes sole responsibility for all personal debts accrued during the marriage. Article 9: Party B confirms that all assets previously designated as ‘dowry’ or ‘inheritance’ were converted into business capital upon investment and are non-refundable. Article 11: Signing of this agreement constitutes Party B’s consent to a peaceful dissolution of marriage, with no further claim to marital assets. I flipped to the last page. Under “Party A,” Mark had already signed his name. Sterling Corp had also applied its corporate seal. “You sign this, we have a clean break. I won’t make this difficult for you.” He poured himself a cup of coffee and sat opposite me. “You can stay in the house until the end of the year. I’ll give you a debit card with twenty thousand dollars a month for living expenses. That’s more than enough for you to get back on your feet and find a job.” Twenty thousand. I brought thirty million dollars in assets into this marriage. My father pumped in eighty million to save his empty shell company. And he was offering me twenty thousand a month. “What if I don’t sign?” He took a sip of coffee. “If you don’t sign, you can still leave. But you will leave with nothing. Not a dime. Not even your jewelry—I should remind you, Brenda is currently in possession of your inheritance collection, and she claims it was a gift. You want to sue her in probate court? Go ahead. Get in line. It’ll take years.” He set his mug down and stared at me. “Harper, you have vastly overestimated your own value.” “What do you think you have? Your father’s influence? Your father’s influence matters in a boardroom. It is worthless in a divorce court.” Chloe walked out of the kitchen carrying a breakfast tray. Eggs benedict, artisanal toast, fresh-squeezed orange juice. She set a plate in front of Mark and a small plate in front of Ace. Nothing for me. “Breakfast is served, Mark.” She sat next to him. At my table. In my chair. Brenda came downstairs and glanced at the agreement on the table. “Sign it, Harper. Get it over with. Look at you. No money, no children, no lawyer. Why are you still fighting?” “Honestly, if you don’t sign this, let me be blunt—what are you, without your father’s bank account?” Mark leaned back in his chair, crossing his legs, looking at me with total amusement. I knew that look. It was a look of absolute, bone-deep certainty. He was certain I would sign. Certain I had no cards left to play. Certain he had won the game. “Harper Vance, you can refuse to sign. But the moment you walk out that Sterling door, you are nothing.” He was smiling when he said it. At that exact second, my phone rang on the table. The screen lit up. The caller ID read one word—

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