Category: English

I posted a photo of my daughter on Ins. She was lying in bed, staring at her phone. My caption read: [Why is she always like this the second winter break starts?] The comments immediately turned toxic and snarky: [Who knows? Maybe it’s because scrolling on a phone is the cheapest form of relaxation.] [My mom usually gives me around $15,000 so my friends and I can go on a trip. What about you, ma’am?] I replied, feeling incredibly embarrassed: [I guess I’m not as successful as your mother. I can’t afford that much.] The mockery only intensified after that. Until five hours later, when I updated with my next video. It was a vlog of my daughter at the airport, embarking on a spontaneous trip. My caption: [I couldn’t give you $15,000, but here’s $5,123.67 for your trip. Have fun.] The narrative shifted instantly. [Who gets it?! She wasn’t criticizing; she was just genuinely asking a question!] [It could be $5,000, but it had to be exactly $5,123.67… Does anyone else realize how heavy that specific number is?] Many others started tagging their own mothers, asking: [Will you treat me like this one day?] The text on the screen became denser and denser. Under that comment tagging a mom, many accounts with middle-aged women as profile pictures replied. [Baby, of course not. I wouldn’t have the heart to do that to you. /sarcasm/] I stared at these words, almost laughing out loud. This back-and-forth felt exactly like girls tagging their boyfriends or husbands on relationship posts. Sliding my finger across the screen, my thoughts drifted back to a few hours ago. At that time, I had just posted the photo of my daughter lying in bed playing on her phone. Honestly, I just wanted to ask. Why does a child seem to turn into a different person the moment winter break starts, holding onto their phone all day and never letting go? Who knew the comment section would be submerged so quickly. [Who knows? Maybe it’s because scrolling on a phone is the cheapest form of relaxation.] [My mom usually gives me around $15,000 so my friends and I can go on a trip. What about you, ma’am?] Those words were like needles piercing my eyes. I didn’t have much of an education. I didn’t really understand the twists and turns of the internet. And I certainly didn’t grasp the sarcasm between the lines. I just felt my cheeks burning, my heart heavy with guilt. Other people’s children could go on trips during their break. But my daughter could only curl up in a cramped, dark bedroom, scrolling through free short videos over and over again. I opened my mobile banking app, looking at the remaining five thousand dollars in the account. That was money I had saved bit by bit, clipping coupons and scraping the bottom of the grocery budget. Without hesitation, I transferred the entire $5,123.67 to my daughter. “Go buy a plane ticket. Go have some fun.” I pushed open her door and spoke to her softly. Watching her back as she packed and left, I felt a sense of profound relief in my heart. At least my daughter could be like other people’s children and go see the outside world. But this peace didn’t last long. My mother-in-law, Martha, came back and, out of habit, called for my daughter to come rub her shoulders and fetch her things. I lowered my head and told her that Lily had gone on a trip. The air seemed to freeze. In the next second, she slammed her grocery bags onto the floor. “Where did you get the money? Did you steal it from my son?” I shook my head. “That’s money I saved myself.” A few onions rolled into the corner, covered in dust. “You’ve gotten brave, haven’t you? What do you mean you saved it yourself? That is our family’s money!” She pointed at my nose, her spit flying in my face. “Thousands of dollars, and you just threw it down the drain? You absolute parasite, do you even want this family to survive!” She cursed while brutally tearing at my pockets. I didn’t dare resist, letting her steal the remaining few dollars of change I had on me. “What is this pittance good for? You aren’t eating today!” Martha slammed the door and went into her bedroom, leaving me standing alone in the messy living room. In the evening, my husband, David, came home from work. His mother immediately went up to him, exaggerating the story as she retold it. I thought he would at least understand my feelings as a mother. But he just looked at me coldly, his eyes filled with disgust. “Are you sick in the head? Why are you posting our private business on Ins? Don’t we have enough shame as it is without you looking for more?” He took off his coat and violently flung it onto the sofa. “I didn’t… I just…” I tried to explain. “Shut up! Delete that account right now!” “If you ever dare to go online and post this garbage again, wait and see how I handle you!” He threatened viciously. I didn’t dare disobey. I could only silently turn off my phone screen. However, the storm on the internet did not subside because of my silence. Because I hadn’t updated or replied to comments, netizens began to speculate maliciously. [Why isn’t that mom talking? Is it because we hit a nerve, and she’s at home taking it out on her daughter?] [I looked at her previous videos. Her face just looks mean. She must be an abuser!] [Everyone, dox her. Find out who she is. We have to rescue this child!] Those vicious words came like a tide, almost drowning me. Until five hours later, when I posted the video of Lily at the airport again. In the video, she was smiling brightly. The caption read: [I couldn’t give you $15,000, but here’s $5,123.67 for your trip. Have fun.] The narrative shifted instantly. Netizens began to praise me. They said I was a good mom, that even though I was poor, I gave my daughter all my love. Looking at those warm comments, my tight nerves finally relaxed. I was even a little happy. They praised me. This meant I must have done the right thing, right? Giving the money to my daughter so she could travel was the correct choice for a mother. However, the accolades on the internet did not change my reality. David saw that the online storm had calmed down, but his anger had not cooled. He felt I had exposed myself online, damaging his reputation. “Get out! You aren’t sleeping in this house tonight!” With one violent shove, he pushed me out of the apartment and heavily slammed the security door. The wind in the hallway on this winter night cut like a knife. Wearing only a thin sweater, I curled up on the freezing concrete floor. For the entire night, I didn’t close my eyes. My legs and feet were numb with cold, but my heart retained a little warmth from those praises online. At dawn, I received a call from my parents. I thought they were calling to express concern. Tears fell uncontrollably. “Mom…” Just as I opened my mouth, my mother’s piercing screams came from the other end of the line. “Rachel Barnes, you think you’re a big shot now, don’t you?” “You disrespect your husband, and you even dare to air your dirty laundry in public! Do you think it’s easy for your in-laws to support your family?” “Go back to your mother-in-law right now, get on your knees and apologize! Don’t ruin our family’s reputation!” My father chimed in from the background: “Truly an ungrateful wretch. If I had known, I never would have had you!” The call disconnected. The busy tone echoed in my ear. I leaned blankly against the wall, my tears already dried up. Just then, the security door clicked open. David stood at the door, his face grim. Before I could react, he grabbed me by the collar and dragged me inside. My old sweater, which I had worn for three years, was brutally torn by him. Cold air rushed inside my clothes, causing a flare of goosebumps. A loud backhand landed on my face. My ears were ringing, and I tasted blood in the corner of my mouth. “I’m warning you. If you ever dare to go on Ins and embarrass me again, I will break your legs!” He pointed at my face, speaking through gritted teeth. I covered my cheek and lowered my head, not daring to make a sound. David grabbed my phone and violently smashed it onto the floor. The sound of the screen shattering echoed in the living room. That wasn’t enough to satisfy his anger. He stomped on it viciously several times until that old phone was turned entirely into a pile of scrap metal. “Call that brat and get her back here right now! Using the family’s money to run wild outside—she’s out of control!” He roared at me. Martha also walked out of her room. Holding a broom in her hand, she stared at me maliciously. “Hurry up! If she doesn’t bring that money back today, don’t expect a single moment of peace!” I looked at the wreckage of the phone on the ground, and a wave of indescribable peace suddenly welled up in my heart. In this house, only I had Lily’s phone number. But I hadn’t saved the number in the phone’s contact list. Now, aside from being furious and taking their anger out on me, they had absolutely no way to contact our daughter. They couldn’t find her. I lifted my head, looking at the exasperated faces of my husband and mother-in-law. The corners of my mouth couldn’t help but slightly upturn. At this moment, I was even celebrating in my heart. Thank goodness my daughter wasn’t home. Thank goodness she had already flown toward that sky of freedom that belonged to her. Even if I suffered torment here, as long as she could be alright, everything was worth it. The phone was smashed into a floor full of broken glass, but David’s rage did not subside. He couldn’t find our daughter. It was like punching cotton; his face turned completely red with pent-up frustration. This evil fire, naturally, was poured entirely onto me. Every day, the moment he got off work, even if the slippers in the shoe rack were slightly crooked, it became a reason for him to get violent. He grabbed me by the hair and slammed me against the wall. Martha just watched coldly from the side. I was like an old, discarded rag, thrown back and forth in this cramped apartment by them. My body was always covered in bruises, some green, some purple. Even a slight movement caused a deep ache to radiate through my joints. But I didn’t cry. Taking advantage of the moment I went out to throw away the trash, I rummaged through the garbage bag to find the phone. I pried out the SIM card, which fortunately wasn’t broken. There was an old man collecting recyclables at the street corner. I used a few flattened cardboard boxes I had saved, plus the only ten dollars remaining in my pocket, and traded with him for a second-hand smartphone with a leaking LCD screen. I inserted the card and connected to the neighbor’s unsecured Wi-Fi. Messages from Lily immediately jumped out. They were a few photos. In the photos, she was wearing that washed-out white puffer jacket, standing at the foot of a snow-capped mountain. Sunshine hit her young face. Her entire being was glowing, and there was a brilliance in her eyes I had never seen before. I hid in the cramped bathroom. Sitting on the toilet lid, I gently rubbed my rough finger against my daughter on the screen. The black leak spot covered half the sky, but it couldn’t cover her brilliant smile. So beautiful. As long as I could make her smile like a normal child, those punches and kicks I endured in this apartment were all worth it. Though the second-hand phone screen was blurred, I could still see the comments on Ins. Netizens were still in my thread urging me to update, wanting to see my daughter’s follow-up. In the comment section, a netizen whose profile picture was a little girl asked me: [Ma’am, since you love your daughter so much, why did you never think about sending her out to travel before?] Seeing this sentence, I froze for a long time. Yes, why? I honestly typed on the keyboard, replying to her: [Because I didn’t have money. The family bank cards are all in my mother-in-law’s hands. That five thousand dollars was saved bit by bit, dime by dime, from my grocery budget over the past few years. Before, I didn’t even dare to dream about the word ‘travel’.] Not long after this reply was sent, comments underneath flooded in. [I’m sorry, ma’am. I misunderstood you.] [Turns out you are living such a hard life. I thought you were one of those parents who favored boys over girls. Truly, I apologize.] The screen full of apologies made my eyes turn red. Among these messages, one netizen gave me a suggestion. [Ma’am, you cannot keep enduring this!] [Next time he hits you, don’t sit there stupidly behind closed doors and take it.] [Run outside! Go cry to the community outreach center!] [Make a scene! Attract the attention of the staff so they come to mediate, force your husband to open the door, and let everyone see his true face!] I stared at these words, reading them over and over a dozen times. Go to the community center? Make a scene? This was something I absolutely wouldn’t have dared to do in the past. My parents taught me from a young age that family shame should not be aired in public. If you get beaten, you endure it yourself. Making a scene will only make people laugh at you. But, looking at the sincere advice from netizens on the leaking screen, a slightly different thought suddenly emerged in my dried-up heart. Since the first time I followed their advice it had such a good effect, following it again shouldn’t hurt. The opportunity came quickly. Friday night, David came back completely drunk. Just as he entered, he threw his briefcase against my back, knocking over the hot soup I had just brought out. “Call that brat and get her back here!” His breath reeked of alcohol. He grabbed me by the back of the neck and dragged me toward the bedroom. “If you can’t contact her today, I’m gonna skin you alive!” His grip was incredibly strong; his nails almost embedded into my flesh. If it were in the past, I would definitely curl up into a ball, letting him hit and curse at me. But today, my mind was entirely focused on that phrase from the netizens: Run outside. I was very obedient. Following the force of his dragging, I suddenly grabbed the heavy glass ashtray from the coffee table and smashed it backward with force. The glass shattered against the wall, making a dull thud. David was startled; the force in his hand loosened by half. Seizing this gap, I used all my strength to break free. Clambering and rolling, I rushed toward the entryway, twisted open the security door, and ran out with all my might. “You bitch! You dare to run!” He roared in exasperation behind me.

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My boyfriend of ten years came home with me this Thanksgiving to meet my parents. But he didn’t come for me. He came for my stepsister. That night, my entire family stayed awake. Through the thin walls, I listened to my boyfriend, Tyler, play innocent with my sister, Mia. I also heard exactly how wild Mia could be. The cheap bed frame squeaked relentlessly against the wall. Meanwhile, on my phone, my text thread with Tyler was still stuck on yesterday. He had texted me saying he was exhausted and going to bed early. Then, the very next day, he showed up at my family’s house, holding Mia’s hand and carrying a mountain of expensive gifts. “Hey, sis! Mia told me you really like…” The moment our eyes met, the designer cake he was holding slipped from his hand and smashed onto the floor. Mia immediately jumped in to defend him. “It’s his first time meeting the family after all these years together. He’s just a little nervous.” “You don’t mind, do you, Harper?” I forced a stiff, awkward smile. Mia grabbed my hand. “Didn’t you say you were bringing your boyfriend home for the holidays too? Where is he?” “He’s dead. Died right before the holidays.” A heavy silence fell over the room. Plunged into sudden mourning, no one asked any more questions about my “boyfriend.” And yet, that very night, after Tyler and Mia had gone at it for what sounded like a dozen rounds, he actually had the nerve to text me: “I still love you!” Before I even had a chance to reply, my mom pushed my bedroom door open. “Come on, get dressed. We’re going to visit your boyfriend’s grave…” In that moment, sheer panic set in. I instantly regretted everything. I completely forgot that my mother was a deeply traditional, overly empathetic Southern woman who believed in paying respects to the departed, no matter what. I never should have blurted out that my boyfriend was dead just to save face while everyone else was celebrating. Now we had to go visit his grave! What grave?! Where the hell was I supposed to find a grave?! My mom and stepdad gave me my marching orders and immediately started getting ready. They even started packing a cooler with flowers and his “favorite foods” to leave at the site. Using the excuse that I needed to use the bathroom, I locked myself in and frantically posted on Reddit. [Emergency! Does anyone know of a grave nearby for a guy who died around 27? Preferably with the last name ‘Sterling’. I just need to borrow it for a quick visit, please!] [URGENT!] At first, I fully expected to get roasted in the comments. I was mentally prepared for the backlash. But I knew my parents. Once they set their minds on something like this, they wouldn’t back down until they saw it through. Plus, because I genuinely believed Tyler and I were going to get married, I had told my parents practically everything about him. Before Tyler showed up at the door, I was literally a day away from showing them our professional couples’ photoshoot. Thank god! Thank god I thought the lighting in the photos looked a little off and wanted to run them through Lightroom one more time before sending them. Otherwise, the exact second Mia walked through the front door with Tyler in tow… This Thanksgiving would have turned into a bloodbath. While I was waiting anxiously in the bathroom, my mom knocked on the door. “Hurry up, Harper! Your sister and her boyfriend are already dressed. We’re just waiting on you to head to the cemetery.” What?! I immediately texted Tyler. “Do you know whose grave my mom is getting ready to visit?” Tyler sent back a single question mark. I replied bluntly: “She’s going to visit YOUR grave!” The second the message delivered, I heard a muffled, strangled gasp come from the living room. He sent back a massive paragraph of text. The core message being: Why the hell did you tell them I was dead?! I replied, “What was I supposed to say? That you were currently cheating on me with my stepsister?” There was a long silence on his end. Meanwhile, right outside the bathroom door, my parents were having a ridiculously comical discussion about visiting Tyler’s grave. “That boy… Mia only mentioned him a few times. I think his last name was Sterling, but neither of us can remember his first name.” “He promised to come visit for the holidays, and then he suddenly passes away. We really should go pay our respects.” I heard Mia chime in, her voice sounding appropriately choked up. “Yes, we should go. Sometimes a wound needs to be opened up and cleaned out, otherwise it never heals.” “Right, Tyler?” Tyler let out an awkward, strained laugh. “Yeah… yeah, absolutely!” The Waiting Game I stayed holed up in the bathroom, praying to whatever higher power existed that the internet would pull through for me. What if?! Just what if?! Just as I was losing hope and reached for the flush handle, a direct message popped up on my screen. A user had sent me an exact location: a specific cemetery, section number, plot number, and a name. In that moment, I believed this random stranger was an actual angel sent from heaven. I replied instantly: “Thank you so much! You’re a lifesaver. Can I get your CashApp or Venmo?” “I’ll send you a little something to say thanks.” But the user never replied. At first, I thought it might be a prank. But after waiting a few more minutes and stepping out of the bathroom, it was the only lead I had. Whatever, I’d gamble on it. I gave my dad the address. As we all piled into the family SUV, my mom kept asking me questions. “I actually had a nice little gift envelope prepared for this young man. Now I can’t even give it to him.” “How did he pass away again?” I racked my brain for a believable lie. “Cancer. He kept complaining about feeling sick right from the beginning. I told him a million times to go see a doctor, but he just refused to go.” My stepdad, who was driving, let out a heavy, emotional sigh. He looked at me through the rearview mirror. “Young people always think they’re invincible and put things off. You can’t be like that, Harper. If you ever feel off, go to the doctor immediately.” I nodded earnestly, playing the role of the perfect, obedient daughter. Mia was sitting next to me, holding my hand and looking at me with deep sympathy. Even though we weren’t blood-related—my mom brought me into the marriage, and Mia was my stepdad’s daughter from his first wife—we had always gotten along well the few times we saw each other over the years. She always treated me like a real sister. Just like right now. She was squeezing my hand, looking like she wanted to say something comforting but didn’t know how. Finally, she looked at me and said, “If I had known your boyfriend just passed away, I never would have brought Tyler home and upset you.” I shook my head. “I’m not upset.” I looked at my mom, then at my stepdad. Honestly, I’ve been pretty content all these years. After my mom remarried, my stepdad treated me incredibly well. He never pressured me to change my last name, and he helped pay for my college tuition. It was my own stubborn pride that kept me at a distance. I always felt like an outsider, refusing to view myself as his “real” daughter and hating the idea of spending his money. Because of that, I didn’t keep in touch with him or Mia as much as I should have. Right now, sitting in this car, we had spoken more in the last twenty minutes than we had in the entire previous year. I smiled, though it felt a bit bitter. My mom seemed to notice I was hurting. “Don’t dwell on it, honey. Everyone has their own destiny. Cancer is unpredictable.” “The poor boy just didn’t have luck on his side. Maybe his next life will be better. Like they always say, sometimes the greatest act of love is letting go.” I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. Those cheesy Facebook quotes actually came in handy sometimes when comforting older folks. My stepdad smiled too. “As long as you’re happy, your mom is happy. And if your mom is happy, I’m happy.” I nodded. In this car, Tyler felt like a complete and utter outsider. He didn’t dare say a single word for the entire drive. Then, Mia suddenly asked, “Harper, I have to ask… after the boy passed, his parents didn’t give you a hard time, did they?” I shook my head. “His parents are dead too!” In the front seat, Tyler violently whipped his head around to stare at me. I tilted my head, looking back at him innocently. “What’s wrong, future brother-in-law? Did you have a question too?” Tyler forced an awkward, strained smile. “No, no. Just… just thinking about how tragic that is for the poor guy.” I nodded solemnly. I squeezed Mia’s hand and continued. “My boyfriend came from a really tough background. His parents were unemployed, and from the very beginning, they entirely relied on him to support them.” “Later on, they started looking down on me. They said my family didn’t look wealthy, and that because Mia and I were freelancers, we didn’t have ‘real’ jobs and probably struggled to eat.” “Whenever I went to their house for dinner, they’d only serve me leftovers.” BANG! My mom violently smacked her hand against the car window. In that instant, the entire SUV fell dead silent. “Then he deserved to die!” Mia spat through gritted teeth. In the front passenger seat, Tyler’s face was turning an increasingly ugly shade of gray. And that was when my stepdad, who had been quiet, finally spoke up. The Journey “He doesn’t even have a job, and he has the nerve to look down on my daughter?! We own our home, we have stable pensions, your sister makes good money—between the three of us, he thinks we couldn’t support you?!” “Good riddance. Good thing he’s dead, otherwise I would have driven straight to his parents’ house and given them a piece of my mind.” To be honest, I hadn’t told them any of this before. My biological father never took my side. When I was a kid, if I was bullied and came home crying, my biological father’s response was to beat both me and my mom. So, I developed a habit of swallowing my grievances and dealing with everything alone. Hearing my stepdad say that so fiercely… I couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. I started bawling in the backseat. Mia and my mom scrambled to find tissues for me. The aftermath was the three of us hugging and crying together in the back, getting so emotional that my stepdad had to pull the car over twice just to wipe his own eyes. Through the tears and the stops, we finally arrived at the address I was given. It was a small, quiet, and slightly older cemetery on the outskirts of town. So small that my parents didn’t even know it existed. I kept staring at the address on my phone, pretending I knew exactly where I was going, and led them through the wrought-iron gates. But internally, I was a nervous wreck. Tyler texted me: “I have to admit, Harper, you’re a freaking genius. How did you even find this place?” I scoffed mentally and ignored him. As I was walking forward blindly, my dad suddenly called out, “Where are you going? You’re so overcome with grief you forgot the way, didn’t you?” I nodded quickly. Squeezing out two more tears. My mom put her arm around my shoulders and guided me down a specific path. It was a relatively new headstone. Perfect. That fit the narrative even better. I secretly vowed to send that helpful Reddit stranger a massive cash reward. The photo on the headstone looked like it had been recently attached. My parents leaned in to look closely. Then they sighed. “Such a handsome young man, gone so soon. It really breaks your heart.” I kept my head bowed, playing the role of the grieving girlfriend. Mia, fully embracing the role of the protective older sister, pulled out a massive bouquet of expensive flowers and placed them at the base of the headstone. “Listen here, kid. You had bad luck. If you were still alive, I had a nice gift card ready for you. Whatever, you can’t spend it over there anyway. Take these flowers, and don’t hold back in the afterlife.” She stood up, brushing the dirt off her knees. Then, as if suddenly remembering something, she turned to Tyler. “Don’t you have anything to say to your future brother-in-law?” “You’re supposed to be stepping up as the man of the house now. Stop standing there like a statue and say a few words!” Tyler stuttered and stammered. He couldn’t get a single word out. Finally, Mia lost her patience and kicked him in the back of the leg. “If you can’t speak, then get down and pay your respects properly!” “You guys shouldn’t care about looking cool at a time like this!” Thud. Thud. Thud. Tyler was forced to his knees, awkwardly bowing his head to the dirt in a traditional sign of deep respect. Every time his head bobbed down, I squeezed my eyes shut. I had only ever heard my stepdad say that Mia was a bit “rough around the edges.” I didn’t realize she was this hardcore. “Two… two bows is enough, right?” I asked tentatively, trying to play peacemaker. Mia forced Tyler down for a third bow. “You can’t do even numbers at a graveyard! It has to be odd!” Tyler stood up slowly, rubbing a small dirt smudge off his forehead. He forced a smile. “It’s fine. I’m fine.” Meanwhile, my parents were busy arranging the things they had brought—some high-end bourbon, expensive cigars, and a platter of fresh, out-of-season fruit that cost a fortune in our area. “When Harper told us her boyfriend was visiting, we went all out. Since you passed, we figured we had to bring it all to you. Keeping it in the house felt like bad luck.” Watching them lay out what was essentially the highest tier of hospitality reserved for a future son-in-law… It made my stomach twist with guilt. I looked down and saw a new text from Tyler. “You better compensate me for this. You literally killed off my entire family in your little story.” The Incident In that exact moment, I wanted to punch him directly in the jaw. But for the sake of my sister and my parents… I swallowed my rage! I crouched down and whispered a few words to this incredibly helpful stranger’s grave. “I don’t know if it was a friend or a relative who gave me your location, but you really saved me today.” “I’ll make sure to come visit you in the future. We’re the same age, I’m sure we’d have a lot to talk about.” I took the small, resilient succulent plant I had brought and tucked it into the soil next to the headstone. “This plant is a survivor. It’ll grow anywhere you put it.” “I hope in your next life, you’re just as resilient.” I read the name etched into the stone. Julian Sterling. [Replaced with: Oliver Sterling.]

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Chapter 1 Five years after my death, Carter Hayes demanded that I take the fall for his first love once again. Clutching a written confession, he stormed into the rundown apartment complex on the wrong side of town, only to be met with my black-and-white memorial portrait and an altar covered in dust. In his bewilderment, he grabbed a neighbor from downstairs and demanded to know where I was. The neighbor replied nonchalantly: “Sarah Evans? She died five years ago.” “It was an absolute tragedy. The family from that medical malpractice lawsuit cornered her in her apartment and stabbed her over a dozen times. Even her little boy took two of the hits!” Carter let out a cynical scoff. “She just took the blame for Chloe once. It was just a revoked medical license. Does she really need to put on this elaborate, melodramatic show?” “Tell me, how much did Sarah pay you to say this? She even got my son to play along with this pathetic pity act!” The neighbor shot Carter an impatient, disgusted look. “Are you blind? Do you not see the memorial shrine right there? For the last five years, that little boy upstairs has been living all by himself. Word around here is that he couldn’t get ahold of his father no matter how hard he tried.” “Bullshit! I’ve been sending Sarah child support every single month!” Carter roared, his anger flaring. “It was just a damn medical license! I’ve been the one paying for her mother’s medical bills too! I can’t believe Sarah has the nerve to use my money to hire actors to put on this play. She’s completely lost her mind!” “You tell her, if her signature isn’t on this confession within three days, I’m cutting off both her mother’s medical funds and the child support!” The neighbor couldn’t take it anymore and spat back, “Her and her old lady are nothing but two memorial portraits sitting right there! You’re the one who’s out of your damn mind!” With that, the neighbor slammed his door shut. Refusing to believe it, Carter kicked open the flimsy, battered front door of the apartment and barged right into my memorial room. I watched as he clutched the confession letter. Without even glancing at the portraits of me and my mother, he shouted: “Sarah Evans, get the hell out here right now! Chloe is about to be sentenced to prison, and you’re still throwing a tantrum?!” Five years ago, a patient died under Chloe Miller’s care. Carter used my mother’s life-saving medical funds to blackmail me into taking the fall for her. Then, to protect the reputation of the Hayes Corporation, he coldly and ruthlessly kicked both me and our son, Leo, out of our home and banished us to this slum. For five years, he never contacted me once. I never expected that his sudden reappearance would be to demand I take the fall for his precious first love yet again. Carter paced around the tiny room twice. Failing to find me, he curled his lip in deep dissatisfaction. “You’re an unemployed parasite who relies entirely on me to survive, and you dare throw a tantrum? You really must have a death wish!” “Chloe is about to be locked up, and you’re still hiding. I know exactly what you’re doing. You’re trying to use this as leverage to force your way back into my life. Keep dreaming!” His eyes, red with anger, swept viciously across the room as he barked an order to his men: “Smash this place to pieces! Cut off all funding for her mother’s medical bills and Leo’s child support! Let’s see how long she can hold out!” The moment the words left his mouth, several men rushed in and began destroying the apartment. The framed photos and the meager, cheap furniture were all hurled to the floor. The memorial portraits of me and my mother were smashed to pieces. I desperately tried to stop them, but my hands passed right through everything. “No! This is my and Leo’s home! This is all we have left!” “Carter, I’m already dead! Make them stop!” Carter just stood there, watching the destruction with cold, detached eyes. Noticing that his men had intentionally avoided the two cheap-looking urns sitting in front of the altar, he actually walked over to them. He picked up the two urns and sneered: “Sarah, your acting is pretty convincing. You even bought prop urns.” “You’re willing to curse yourself and your own mother just to see Chloe go to prison. You are truly a vicious, toxic bitch!” With that, he raised the two urns, preparing to smash them onto the floor! Just then, a small noise came from inside the apartment. Chapter 2 Carter froze, a cold smirk forming as he looked toward the inner room. “Sarah, I knew you weren’t dead. Finally couldn’t hold it in anymore and decided to show yourself?” “Let me tell you right now, you are signing this confession today, or else…” Before he could finish his threat, a tiny figure peeked out, looking at him with immense caution. “Daddy, Mommy is dead.” Looking at the frail, tiny Leo standing before him, a flash of shock crossed Carter’s eyes. At eight years old, Leo looked no different than he did when he was three. A sob tore from my spectral throat. I desperately tried to push Leo back into the room to hide him. Carter had gone completely insane trying to find a scapegoat for Chloe. Even though Leo was his own flesh and blood, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t hurt him. Sure enough, Carter’s gaze turned icy, though he tried to soften his tone: “Leo? Why did your mother let you get so skinny? Where is she? Once I make her sign this, I’ll take you home, okay?” “Do you remember Auntie Chloe? She misses you so much. You’ll live with us from now on.” Leo timidly pointed a trembling finger at the urns in Carter’s hands. “Daddy, Mommy and Grandma are right there.” Carter instantly lost his patience. He violently hurled both urns onto the floor. The gray-white ashes spilled everywhere. Leo froze for a split second, then lunged forward, trying to gather the ashes. Carter shoved him away impatiently, his expensive leather shoe grinding heavily into the spilled remains. “Sarah really has ruined you! You even know how to lie now! How could she possibly be dead?!” Leo burst into tears, wailing loudly. Through his sobs, he cried: “Mommy really is dead! The family of the lady Auntie Chloe killed came looking for her. They brought knives and hacked Mommy to death!” Crying uncontrollably, Leo pointed to the thick, jagged scars on his own small body. “Daddy, I’m not lying. I have scars too.” Looking at his son sobbing in agony, a flicker of doubt finally crossed Carter’s eyes. He gripped the confession letter tightly, a brief flash of pain twisting his features. The next second, his phone chimed. Chloe had texted him two photos, followed immediately by a phone call. “Carter, Sarah took her mom and ran away. She must still resent me for what happened years ago.” “I guess… I guess I’ll just have to go to prison. Just please, Carter, promise you won’t forget me.” As soon as she finished speaking, she hung up. Panic washed over Carter’s face. He quickly dialed her back. “Chloe, don’t do anything stupid! You’re about to be promoted to Chief of Surgery, your future is so bright! You can’t go to prison!” “Don’t worry, no matter where Sarah ran off to, I will drag her back. I promise you won’t go down for this!” Hanging up the phone, Carter violently yanked Leo toward him. “I funded your mother’s life for five years! What the hell could an ex-con do after getting out of prison anyway?! For all these years, I’m the one who paid for her deadbeat mother’s hospital bills! She owes me, and now is the time to pay up! Leo, if you still want to call me your father, tell me exactly where your mother is right now!” Carter’s rough, aggressive handling terrified Leo, making his small body tremble violently. A sharp, agonizing pain ripped through my chest. Carter had absolutely no idea. Five years ago, after I took the fall and had my medical license permanently revoked, I was immediately banished to this slum. As for the so-called “child support,” I never saw a single cent of it. The money had all gone to Chloe’s bank account. She used those funds to hire local street thugs to relentlessly harass me day and night. The moment I stepped out the door, I would be cornered in an alley and beaten. When I finally managed to contact my old medical school mentor for help, I was ambushed at the door of my apartment by the furious family of the patient Chloe had killed. Seventeen stab wounds. Every single one lethal. My very last memory before I died was Leo, crying hysterically, calling Carter for help—only to have the call mercilessly hung up, over and over again. The sound of Leo’s crying in the present merged with the echoes of that horrific day. Seeing that Leo was only crying and not answering, Carter, in a fit of frustration, slapped his own son hard across the face! Then, he roared in anger: “Tell me where your mother is right now! If she doesn’t show her face, I’m going straight to the hospital to cut off your grandmother’s life support!” Leo was crying so hard he was hyperventilating. Under Carter’s terrifying threats, he could only answer through his tears: “Mommy is really dead. Grandma is dead too. Daddy, you can go ask the police officers. I’m not a liar.” Looking at Leo’s red, swollen cheek, a fleeting trace of guilt flashed in Carter’s eyes. But almost immediately, Chloe called again. “Carter, the patient’s family is at my door! They’re saying I need to pay for her life with mine! You have to come back and save me!” The moment she said that, Carter shoved Leo aside without a second thought! In his frantic rush to leave, he didn’t even notice that Leo had been shoved so hard his head slammed violently against the sharp edge of the coffee table. Blood instantly gushed out, pooling on the floor. Leo weakly reached out a trembling, bloodstained hand, trying to ask his father for help. But Carter was entirely focused on reassuring Chloe on the phone. “Don’t be afraid. I’m on my way back right now!” Chapter 3 Carter pushed open the door to Chloe’s luxury townhouse. Before he could even look for the supposedly rioting family members, Chloe threw herself into his arms. “Carter, you found Sarah, right? She agreed to take the blame, didn’t she?” As she spoke, she hurriedly snatched the confession letter from Carter’s hand. When she saw that my signature wasn’t on the dotted line, her face instantly turned ghost-white. “Why isn’t it signed?! Why won’t she take the fall for me?! That pathetic bitch…” Chloe’s face twisted into a mask of pure malice. Just as she was about to spit out more venom, she noticed Carter’s deeply furrowed brow and quickly caught herself, changing her tone entirely. “Carter, forget it. It seems she’s still holding a grudge over what happened five years ago. I’ll just go to prison myself. As long as you’re okay, I’ll be fine.” Chloe’s eyes instantly welled up with red-rimmed tears. It was a move she had used countless times before. And sure enough, it worked. Carter hurriedly pulled her into a tight embrace. “Chloe, don’t worry. Just because I couldn’t find her doesn’t mean the police can’t! If she refuses to sign the confession, I’ll find someone who will make sure her name gets on that paper!” A ruthless, dark glint flashed in Carter’s eyes. Chloe hid the victorious gleam in her eyes, feigning deep emotion as she hugged him back. “But if we do that, Sarah will have to serve five years in federal prison this time. I remember your parents already had a problem with her, right? I’m afraid they might force you to divorce her…” Carter’s face darkened. “Sarah and I are never getting divorced!” “We made a promise to stay together for the rest of our lives, and I don’t break my promises. Even though she’s spent the last five years raising Leo into a pathological liar, and throwing a tantrum by refusing to help you out… once I find her this time, I will make sure she learns her lesson.” “When she gets out of prison in five years, we’ll go back to being a normal family.” I was so shocked by this delusion that my ghost literally floated in circles. What Carter meant was that he was planning to cut ties with Chloe entirely. Years ago, he had abandoned me and Leo countless times just to be at Chloe’s beck and call. Even when Leo was hospitalized with a dangerously high fever, Carter abandoned us at the ER without a second thought just because Chloe called him. And now, for the sake of some casual promise we made when we were young and stupidly in love, he was voluntarily planning to cut contact with Chloe? Chloe’s features contorted in absolute rage. But remembering the looming threat of prison, she swallowed her anger, forcing herself to look up at him with a pathetic, wronged expression. Carter’s heart softened for a moment. Just as he was about to comfort her, his phone rang sharply. “Is this Mr. Carter Hayes? Your son, Leo, was just brought into the ER by ambulance with massive cranial hemorrhaging. Please come immediately to authorize his emergency surgery and pay the deposit.” “Heh! Are you scammers really getting this sophisticated now? Let him die, then. I’m not paying a cent.” Carter sneered coldly. The hospital staff on the other end was utterly appalled. “Mr. Hayes, your son’s life is in critical danger right now. If you don’t pay the deposit, we cannot proceed with the surgery. We are calling from City General. You can come verify it yourself right now.” Carter frowned, a brief flash of hesitation crossing his face. “Carter, Sarah is actually using her own child just to avoid taking the blame. She must truly hate me!” Chloe looked up at him, her face a portrait of victimization. Carter’s eyes hardened. He suppressed the rising unease in his chest and said furiously: “Enough! I don’t care how much money Sarah paid you to put on this show. When I left earlier, Leo was perfectly fine. How dare she curse her own son just to play a trick! She’s not afraid of karma?!” With that, he violently hung up the phone. I floated around him in a frantic panic, wanting nothing more than to force him to wire the money immediately. But Carter was completely consumed with having his assistant forge my signature on the confession letter. Once done, he took Chloe straight to the police precinct. “Officer, the medical malpractice incident that occurred at Emerson Hospital was caused by my wife. Here is her signed confession!” The detective frowned as he took the document. A few minutes later, he looked at Carter like he was looking at an absolute lunatic. “Mr. Hayes, are you attempting to obstruct a police investigation? You actually had the nerve to forge a confession document!” Carter’s heart skipped a beat. “This was signed by my wife! She has fled to avoid prosecution.” The detective gave him a dead, icy stare. “The Sarah Evans you’re talking about was stabbed to death five years ago by the family of a victim from a completely different medical malpractice case!” “When we closed the case, we tried to contact you, but you never answered your phone. In the end, it was her child who had to claim her ashes.” “You tell me: how exactly did a woman who has been dead for five years sign this confession?” All the color instantly drained from Chloe’s face, leaving her as white as a sheet. Chapter 4 Carter’s body stiffened for a fraction of a second. But almost immediately, he let out a cynical laugh. “So all the money I’ve been sending Sarah for the past five years… she used it all to bribe the police department?!” “No wonder Leo hasn’t grown an inch in five years. She’s really pulled out all the stops, hasn’t she?!” Carter slammed his hand angrily on the interrogation desk. Right at that moment, the hospital called again. “Mr. Hayes, the child’s condition is extremely critical. If you do not authorize payment immediately, I’m afraid he won’t last another ten minutes!” Carter gritted his teeth, his voice dripping with absolute impatience: “Then let him die! When he’s dead, don’t bother calling me. Just send him straight to the crematorium from the hospital. Are we clear?!” He violently ended the call. Floating in the air, I wept tears of blood. I hated myself for not running as far away from Carter as possible all those years ago. Because of my mistake, my precious Leo was about to be murdered by his own biological father. Fuming with anger, his expensive leather shoes clicking sharply on the pavement, Carter marched directly to the nursing home where my mother used to stay. Only to find that my mother’s file had been purged years ago. She had also passed away five years prior. “I heard the poor woman couldn’t handle the shock of finding out her daughter had been murdered. She passed away that exact same night,” the receptionist mentioned. My heart constricted so tightly I couldn’t breathe. The brutal karma that Chloe should have suffered had entirely fallen upon me and my mother. Facing setback after setback, Carter’s brow furrowed tightly. He finally began to suspect that what he had been told might actually be the truth. He pulled out his phone and texted his executive assistant. [Run a full background check on Sarah Evans and her mother.] The very next second, Chloe called him. “Carter, I don’t know if I should tell you this, but I just saw Sarah at the airport. She was holding hands with a man, and they had Leo with them.” “At the end of the day, it was my fault for not being careful enough during that surgery. Just let Sarah go. I’ll take the prison sentence.” As soon as she finished speaking, she sent him two blurry, grainy photos. It showed the silhouettes of a woman and a child who looked like me and Leo. And standing next to “me” was a man, pulling me into a passionate kiss. The muscles in Carter’s forehead twitched violently with rage. Sarah had played him for an absolute fool. He had actually almost believed she was dead! The fury of being played, the humiliation of being betrayed—it completely shattered Carter’s remaining sanity. He violently smashed his phone onto the ground and sprinted toward the nearest family court division. “I want to file for emergency full custody of my son! I’m taking him away from his mother!” As long as he had custody of Leo, Sarah would never be able to run away! Carter’s eyes burned with a manic, obsessive frenzy. Right at that moment, a hospital administrator suddenly appeared at the precinct doors. He scrutinized Carter for a moment before suddenly speaking up: “You’re Mr. Carter Hayes, correct? Your son, Leo, stopped breathing half an hour ago. We were just about to file the paperwork to void his birth registry and issue a death certificate. Since you’re here, you can handle it yourself.” The words hung in the air. Carter hadn’t even processed them yet. The police officer standing behind him added: “Mr. Hayes, you cannot file for custody against Ms. Evans. Ms. Evans passed away five years ago. And your son was issued a death certificate exactly thirty minutes ago.”

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Just as our wedding night came to a close, Liam held me in his arms and suddenly said: “There’s something I need to tell you.” “Legally, I already have a wife.” “We won’t be able to go to the courthouse to sign the marriage license tomorrow. But aside from that piece of paper, I can give you anything you want.” My mind went blank with a loud ringing. “You’re… married? Why didn’t you mention this once in all these years?” He got up to get dressed, the hickey I left on his neck still visible. “Chloe, I love you the most. We have ten years of history, after all.” “She… was forced on me by my family years ago. Since I took her in, I have to be responsible for her.” I lay paralyzed on our messy bridal bed, the lingering warmth of our intimacy still beneath me. The decorative “Just Married” sign on the wall was as glaringly red as a slap to the face. 1. Maybe the devastation on my face was too obvious. Liam sighed, took my hand, and placed our hands with the wedding bands together. “Chloe, look. Nothing is actually different.” “The wedding, the ring, the title—they’re all yours. Everyone knows you are the rightful Mrs. Sterling.” “As for her… just pretend she doesn’t exist.” He turned, meeting my red, tear-filled eyes. His voice softened. “Come on, don’t throw a tantrum.” “My Chloe is the most understanding, right?” I dodged his touch and said coldly: “We’re breaking up.” Liam’s smile froze. He let go of my hand, lit a cigarette, and said with a hint of exhaustion: “I don’t agree.” “Then divorce her.” Liam stared at me. After a long silence, he said: “Chloe, I’ll be honest with you.” “Sarah and I got married seven years ago. For those seven years, she has taken perfect care of my parents. I have no reason to divorce her.” Seven years ago? That was right after we graduated from college. We had already been dating for three years by then. He married someone else behind my back back then? My stomach churned. I rushed to the bathroom and dry heaved. “There’s no need to overreact like this.” Liam followed me in, gently patting my back. “I don’t have any real physical relationship with her. It was just a strategic marriage arranged by our parents. I had to fulfill the contract.” “The person I love most is still you.” I turned to look at him. His eyes were full of worry. It was the look I had loved most for the past ten years. But at this moment, it made me feel incredibly sick. “Overreact?” “You made me the other woman for seven years, and you’re telling me I’m overreacting?” Liam frowned, a flash of impatience in his eyes. “You’re making it sound so ugly. What do you mean, ‘the other woman’? We dated first. I just married her without telling you.” “You did nothing wrong, so you don’t need to feel guilty.” “Besides, we just lack that piece of paper. In my heart, you are my wife.” Saying that, he reached out to stroke my hair, trying to comfort me. “Don’t touch me!” I swatted his hand away. His hand froze in mid-air. In our ten years together, we had never had a real fight. I used to think it was proof of how much we loved each other. Now I understood. It was a complete and utter scam! Liam pinched the bridge of his nose, losing his patience. “Fine. Let’s both take the night to cool off.” “Chloe, think about it carefully. Giving up our ten-year relationship, the future we planned together, and your parents’ expectations… all for a piece of paper. Is it really worth it?” The door slammed shut. I started dry heaving uncontrollably. My back arched like a bow, but I couldn’t throw up anything. Tears and snot mixed on my face; I must have looked hideous. After I finished crying, I made up my mind. I got off the floor and started packing my bags. I had moved in with so much hope and excitement, and now I was moving out completely shattered. I couldn’t help but laugh at myself. My phone suddenly pinged. It was Liam’s mother. She had posted on Facebook: [My daughter-in-law is so thoughtful.] The photo showed the dining room of the Sterling family estate, featuring a table full of food. I didn’t cook that. In the past, my first thought would have been that Liam had ordered dinner for his mother in my name to help improve our relationship. I would have even rewarded him when I saw him. But now I understood. The “daughter-in-law” his mother was talking about was never me. I was just a woman who was forced to be the mistress for seven years. 2. In the middle of the night, I dragged my suitcase out of our bridal home. I walked aimlessly down the street. Suddenly, my phone rang. It was my dad. “Chloe, Liam mentioned that you two… had a little disagreement?” Hearing my dad’s voice made me want to cry. But afraid he’d worry, I held it back. My dad continued: “We’ve all seen how well Liam treats you. Tell me, in all these years, has he ever mistreated you?” How well? Like when we graduated, and his parents disapproved of us, so he resolutely cut ties with his wealthy family for me? From a glamorous rich kid to squeezing into a freezing, cramped basement apartment with me, he never complained once. Or when I worked late into the night, and he—despite struggling with his own startup—always showed up outside my office on time with a warm midnight snack? Or when he had a terrible time entertaining clients, but would always adjust his mood in the car before walking through our door with a bright smile, never letting the outside storms touch me? Those details, that seemingly ordinary yet pervasive care and protection. They flashed through my mind now like a slow-motion movie. So vivid. So warm. His kindness to me was real. But the fact that he married someone else was also real. “Chloe? Are you listening?” My dad’s voice pulled me back from my memories. “I’m listening,” I answered. “Dad, I…” I wanted to tell him what happened tonight. But the words felt stuck in my throat like cotton. What could I say? Your daughter was scammed for a decade and has been an unwitting mistress for seven years? Your perfect future son-in-law actually married someone else seven years ago? “Chloe, there’s something I need to tell you,” my dad said before I could finish. “In a month, your mother is going to have heart bypass surgery.” Suddenly, all the bitterness and accusations welling up in my throat froze. “The doctor said she cannot have any major emotional swings before or after the surgery, or it could be life-threatening.” “So Chloe, please, Dad is begging you. During this time, no matter what, we need peace in the family. We can’t let your mother worry about anything…” My dad went on, telling me to take care of my health, not to stay up late, to communicate properly with Liam… I couldn’t hear a single word of it. All that was left in my ears was a buzzing roar. The call ended. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I crouched on the empty street and wailed. Crying for my ten years of seemingly flawless love. Crying for my mother’s life, hanging by a thread. Crying for the beautiful, gilded cage Liam had built for me with a decade of deep affection. I don’t know when it started raining. From a fine drizzle to a torrential downpour… I was drenched on the street corner, unable to tell if it was rain or tears on my face. Suddenly, an umbrella appeared over my head. I looked up. It was Liam. Just like the past ten years, he held me tightly. I could feel his arms trembling. “Come home with me…” “Chloe, I only posted that photo on my mom’s phone to make you mad. I never meant to break up with you…” Liam grabbed my suitcase and gently shoved me into the passenger seat of his car. He promised me: “Don’t worry, I’ll handle it. I’ll divorce Sarah.” “We’ll live a good life together.” “Chloe, your dad told me about your mom…” I stayed silent. I just stared at him blankly. The unfamiliar perfume scent on him, the unfamiliar shade of lipstick on his collar… They all belonged to another woman. I closed my eyes, feeling incredibly exhausted. But Liam didn’t notice my numbness; he just kept rambling about how he was going to hire the best medical team for my mom. I leaned my head against the car window. I didn’t even have the energy to reply. 3. Over the next half month, to avoid Liam, I used taking care of my mom as an excuse and practically lived at the hospital. Liam didn’t get mad. Instead, he perfectly delivered on his promise. He used his connections to bring in top-tier specialists for a consultation, crafting the most flawless treatment plan for my mom’s bypass surgery. He even pushed back his work schedule to stay with me at the hospital overnight. He acted like the absolute perfect son-in-law. My mom’s color looked a bit better. She held my hand and said to him: “Liam, knowing Chloe has you to take care of her puts my mind at ease.” He naturally held my hand, intertwining our fingers, his gaze sincere. “Mom, I’ll treat Chloe right for the rest of my life.” Seeing my mom’s earnest eyes, I looked down and nodded. But my heart felt like a waterlogged sponge, heavy and suffocating. Everything seemed normal. The turning point happened one afternoon. Liam was called away for an emergency at his company, so I went to the hospital room alone. I pushed the door open and saw that my mom’s caretaker had been swapped. I had seen that face in the photos Liam’s mother posted on Facebook. Sarah. She was talking to my mom: “…My husband is actually a really good guy. He’s just too soft-hearted and got entangled with someone outside.” “That girl has been with him for years. He always says he can’t cut her off because he’s afraid of breaking her heart.” “My heart… sometimes it just feels so awful. That’s why I came out to do some work, to distract myself.” My mom listened, a sympathetic look on her face. I stood in the doorway, the blood in my veins instantly freezing. “Chloe, you’re here?” My mom saw me and smiled. “This caretaker, Sarah, has such a hard life. If you ask me, those women who become mistresses are absolutely shameless…” I forced a stiff smile and said: “Mom, I brought some soup. Have a taste.” Then I turned to Sarah: “Can you step outside for a moment? I have something to ask you.” At the end of the hallway. I looked at her: “Those things you said—you did that on purpose so my mom would hear?” Sarah’s meek demeanor vanished, the corners of her mouth curling into a very faint smirk: “I was just talking about my own family issues. Is that a problem?” “Whatever is between us, leave my parents out of it.” I kept my voice low, trying to be reasonable. “We are both victims here. If there’s something to discuss, we can talk…” “Victims?” She let out a scoff, cutting me off. “Chloe, you’ve been a mistress for seven years, and you actually feel justified?” “Talk to you?” “Did you really think Liam would divorce me for you? He’s just stringing you along.” “Even your own mother says you’re shameless. Chloe, do you have the guts to tell your mom that you’re the mistress?” I clenched my fists, wanting to argue, wanting to hit her. But I suppressed it with everything I had. Because we were in a hospital. I couldn’t cause a scene, and I couldn’t agitate my mother. But she wouldn’t let it go: “Oh, I get it. You’re afraid it’ll affect your mom’s surgery.” “But honestly, even if you don’t say anything, I doubt your mom’s surgery will go well.” “After all, she’s old and in poor health. Who knows… she might not even make it to the operating table…” The tightly wound string in my brain snapped. By the time I realized what I was doing, my palm was already stinging. I had slapped her hard across the face. Sarah shrieked, stumbling back and covering her cheek. “What are you doing?!” Liam’s voice suddenly rang out. He rushed over, immediately pulling Sarah behind him, grabbing my wrist with a lot of force. “Chloe! How could you hit someone?” Sarah instantly hid behind him, tears flowing on cue, her voice trembling: “Liam… I just saw her mom was lonely, so I kindly came over to help out and keep her company…” “I don’t know why Ms. Evans is so angry. She just came up and hit me…” She sobbed, looking incredibly fragile and pitiful. Completely different from the vicious woman who was just talking to me. “Ask her what she said!” I was shaking with anger, trying to shake off Liam’s grip. Liam frowned tightly. He looked at Sarah’s red, swollen cheek. Then he looked at the agitated me, his eyes filled with disappointment and annoyance: “She’s always been so gentle. What could she possibly have said?” “Even if she did say something, you shouldn’t have gotten physical!” “Chloe, when did you become so unreasonable? Getting physical over a disagreement?” “I’m unreasonable?” I wanted to laugh, but tears stubbornly welled up. “Liam, the unreasonable one is you! If you hadn’t been two-timing us, would she and I ever…” “Enough!” He scolded, putting an arm around Sarah’s shoulders. “I’m taking her home first.” “Cool off and take a good look at your own behavior.” He left with Sarah, without giving me another glance. Soon, I understood exactly what he meant by “cool off.” 4. That very night. The hospital notified us that the original expert medical team had been temporarily reassigned to handle other emergency cases. Following that, vile rumors began spreading through the inpatient ward. About me, about “knowingly being a mistress,” about “harassing a married man”… I don’t know how my mom heard about it, but her face turned deathly pale. She clutched her chest, unable to breathe, and was rushed into the emergency resuscitation room. But the top medical team had already been pulled away. My dad was sweating profusely from anxiety. He grabbed me and asked: “Chloe, what is going on?” “Everything was fine. Why did the doctors just up and leave?” “Your mom’s condition is critical, she needs surgery right now!” My hands shook so badly I could barely hold my phone as I dialed Liam’s number over and over again. No one answered. Desperate, I called Sarah’s phone. Finally, the call connected. “Hello?” “Put Liam on the phone!” My voice was incredibly hoarse. The other end paused for a moment before Liam’s cold voice came through: “Have you thought things through?” “Give the medical team back! Please…” I dug my fingernails into my palms. “I can do that.” His tone was flat. “Come to the Riverside Condo and apologize to Sarah.” “If she’s satisfied, the team goes back.” The Riverside Condo was his other apartment. I went. Because I couldn’t just stand by and watch my mother… die. Inside the condo. Sarah sat on the couch; any mark on her cheek had long vanished. Liam stood by the window, his back to me. “I’m not trying to make things difficult for you on purpose. But I have my dignity too.” “I was hit for no reason, I deserve an apology, right?” Sarah spoke softly, but her eyes were full of provocation. I looked at her, then at Liam’s back. “I’m sorry,” I said. “Can’t hear you,” she blinked. “I’m sorry!” I raised my voice. “Just saying it isn’t enough.” She sighed, as if she were deeply conflicted. “How about this: kneel down and say it. Slap your own face. Whenever I’m satisfied, we’ll call it even.” “Liam, what do you think?” Liam didn’t make a sound. He just silently turned around. I closed my eyes. My knees hit the cold hardwood floor with a dull thud. I raised my hand and slapped my own face, hard. One slap after another. The sound was crisp. A burning heat quickly spread across my cheeks. “Is this enough?” I looked up at them: “Can the medical team go back now?” “I’ll do whatever you want, but my mom… she can’t wait any longer…” Sarah looked at Liam, about to say something. Suddenly, my phone started ringing like crazy. It was my dad. A wave of suffocating terror instantly gripped me. I answered with trembling hands. “Chloe…” “Your mom… she’s gone… her heart stopped just now… they couldn’t bring her back…” The phone slipped from my hand and crashed to the floor. I sat slumped there, completely motionless, unable to even shed a tear. The world dissolved into a blur of gray static. Liam seemed to notice something was wrong and turned around. He saw the look on my face, froze for a second, and walked over quickly: “Chloe? What’s wrong?” “Did something happen with Mom?” “Don’t be afraid. I already made arrangements. Mom is going to be fine.” “Your mom was so good to me, how could I actually just leave her? I just wanted to teach you a lesson…” He crouched down, reaching out to touch me. I slowly, incredibly slowly, raised my head and looked at him. Looking at this face I had loved for ten years, which now seemed so utterly alien. All the emotions—the love, the hate, the entanglement, the pain, the bitterness… They were all hollowed out in that single instant. Leaving nothing but cold ash. A lesson? But… I heard my own voice, terrifyingly calm: “Liam, my mom is dead…”

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When Nathaniel and I reached the peak of our intimacy, his Adam’s apple bobbed, and he let out a low groan, calling out a nickname: “Emma…” That was when I knew he had fallen for his junior student. So, while his mind was still blank and reeling afterward, I gave him one last chance. “Let’s go get our marriage license tomorrow.” He flatly refused, saying he was going abroad with Emma Lawson for a closed, three-year research project. I calmly presented him with two choices. Either stay in the country, or our engagement is off. He, who was severely allergic to alcohol, drank all night. When he woke up, he compromised. “I’m not going.” From that day on, he drank behind my back and ended up in the ER getting his stomach pumped countless times. Until the day of our wedding—the exact moment the officiant announced, “You may kiss the bride.” Several of Nathaniel’s graduate students suddenly stood up in protest. “Professor Prescott, Emma’s heart is broken because of you! She’s getting married to someone else tomorrow!” Nathaniel’s pupils shrank. Like a madman, he threw down his wedding ring and bolted off the altar. I snatched the officiant’s microphone and furiously declared: “If you go after her, we are completely done!” His figure jolted violently, but he got in his car and sped away anyway. I smiled. Nathaniel, there is no such thing as having your cake and eating it too. Since you chose love, I will be taking your career. Chapter 1 A minute after Nate left, the audience erupted in whispers and pointing fingers. “Nate Prescott abandoning his bride to elope with his mistress today—isn’t that a public slap in the face to the Kensington family?” “I never thought a high-and-mighty heiress like Harper Kensington could be dumped!” “Looks like even a calm and steady guy like Nate couldn’t handle her rich-girl temper!” The gossip drifted into my ears. But Mr. and Mrs. Prescott’s faces were paler than mine. “Harper, what happened today is entirely Nate’s fault. Don’t worry, tonight we will absolutely tie him up and drag him back to your bridal suite!” “Mr. Prescott, have you no shame?” My mother coldly scoffed, stepping protectively in front of me. “What Nathaniel did today wasn’t just a slap in my daughter’s face; it was a public declaration of war against the entire Kensington family!” My father and brother wore ice-cold expressions, their oppressive aura suffocating the room. Mrs. Prescott begged me, her face white. “Harper, Nate was just seduced by that little fox!” “You know him, he’s always been so upright. He was never like this before!” Before? I chewed on that word with a cold sneer. Nathaniel Prescott was a professor at a prestigious university. His personality was dull and wooden. He wouldn’t even send a simple $50 Venmo for Valentine’s Day, let alone celebrate any annual holidays. Every time I brought it up, he would brush me off with irritation: “Harper, these holidays are a waste of time and energy. I don’t have the mood to waste on this kind of stuff.” So, I made excuses for him time and time again in front of my parents and friends. But when he forgot my birthday yet again, his “clumsy” female student, Emma Lawson, posted on Instagram. [So thankful for the 99th gift from my favorite mentor!] The attached photo showed a bed covered in various Hermès bags, designer makeup, and jewelry. The total value was easily in the millions. That night, to make it up to me, Nate initiated intimacy. But he didn’t know that the name he called out in the heat of passion exposed his true love. Afterward, he used the opportunity to suggest going abroad with Emma for three years of experiments. That day, I finally saw clearly. Nathaniel wasn’t incapable of loving someone; he just didn’t want to love me. I swatted away Mrs. Prescott’s tightly gripping hands. My voice was calm. “As of today, my engagement to Nathaniel is off.” If he won’t love anyone properly, then he gets to love no one. “Off?!” Mr. Prescott yelled, then, remembering something, forced a smile. “Harper, but you promised to help your uncle solve the supply chain funding issue…” Before I could make a sound, my brother let out a cold laugh. “Mr. Prescott, you sure think highly of yourself. The engagement is off; naturally, everything else is void!” The Prescotts’ faces turned a sickly shade of green and white. The Prescott Group was facing a severe break in their financial supply chain. Only our two families knew that this marriage was less about love and more about Nate saving his family’s company. Unfortunately, he failed to grasp the opportunity. As I was about to leave, Mr. Prescott rushed in front of me, his face twisted in desperation. “Harper, don’t worry! I will give you a proper explanation tonight!” I didn’t think much of it. I went home and threw every single academic paper and gift Nate had ever given me into a roaring fire. Back then, I thought he was just unromantic and treated his half-assed academic papers as treasures. After burning them, a notification popped up on my phone. Emma was flaunting again on Instagram. [Finally got a taste of my crush!] The attached picture showed red bite marks on a man’s chest. The implication was obvious. I smiled and screenshotted it for my records. The next second, Nate’s call came in. “Harper, running away from the wedding today was my fault, but Emma is my student. I can’t just ignore it when she’s about to do something stupid.” I laughed. “Stupid? What does her getting married have to do with you, Nathaniel?” “You humiliated me today. You should have expected the consequences.” My words choked him. An impatient voice came through the receiver. “Are you done throwing a fit? I told you we are completely innocent. It’s one thing for you to have a dirty mind, but now you’re deliberately spreading rumors and framing us? Harper, how did you turn into this?” “Enough. My dad already called and chewed me out. Hurry up and sort out the investment funds. I’ll come back as soon as I finish talking sense into Emma.” Listening to his pretentious words, I felt nothing but pure ridicule. He was the one who claimed to be a dull guy and begged for my understanding, yet turned around and chatted happily with his female student. He was the one who used work as an excuse to ignore my birthday, yet racked his brain to prepare exquisite gifts for his student. And he was the one who, for the sake of someone else’s happiness, humiliated me publicly at our wedding. I had given him countless chances to choose. But he chose the method of a public runaway groom to humiliate me. I loved him once, but that stops here. I was about to block and delete him, but the call hadn’t disconnected, and Emma’s provocative voice drifted through. “Professor, who has a better figure, me or your fiancée?” “…You.” I raised an eyebrow and took the opportunity to hit record. Then, I contacted the private investigator staking out Nate’s villa. “Tonight, record their every move and position. The whole thing.” Nate, you can come back, but you will have absolutely nothing left backing you. Sure enough, at 5 AM, Nate was forced back to my house by his father. As soon as he walked in, he threw several large boxes of makeup and gift sets at me. “Harper Kensington! How far are you going to push my dad?! Just over a few boxes of makeup, you’re going to sabotage the company?! Using your position for personal revenge—you used to never be like this.” “You’re not exactly young anymore. What’s the harm in using a little more of this stuff?” His words were like daggers, deliberately stabbing into me. I sneered, stepped forward, and ripped open his shirt, revealing the bite marks inside. Nate froze. “Emma’s cat bit me…” I scoffed. I remembered how, when Nate first pursued me, he deliberately hid his identity as the eldest son of the Prescott family. I was moved by his clumsy, earnest pursuit. Later, when he acted all high-and-mighty, burying himself in research and treating money like dirt, I was the one secretly funding him. I even pulled in my wealthy friends to finance his projects and be his backbone. With a few light words, he wrote me off as a jealous, bitter shrew. His phone rang. He answered it and then hurried to leave. Before leaving, he warned me: “Harper, if you still want me to marry you, be a good girl and stop causing trouble. Hurry up and resolve the company’s issues. I don’t have time to keep arguing with you.” Three minutes later, Emma posted on Instagram again. [Trained my crush like a dog. He comes whenever I call.] My eyes gleamed. I turned and sent a message to the group chat of elite heirs in the city. “Halt all funding to Nathaniel Prescott’s lab. Cut it all off.” Row after row of instant replies filled the chat: “Copy that, Harper.” If he wanted to help Emma climb to the top, I’d grant his wish. But without basic funding, how long could they last? But I didn’t expect that the very next afternoon, it would be extremely noisy downstairs at the company. My assistant ran in, sweating profusely, to tell me: “Ms. Kensington, it’s bad! Nate brought a few students and lab researchers to the company demanding an explanation!” I narrowed my eyes and looked down through the floor-to-ceiling windows. I clearly saw over a dozen people holding up banners that read: [Capitalist Harper Kensington, Stop Holding Research Hostage!] [Capitalists Get Out of the Investment Circle!] … I suppressed my beating heart and ordered the security guards downstairs to let them in. Ten seconds later, over a dozen people aggressively stormed into my office. As soon as Emma saw me, she threw herself to her knees, crying and slapping her own face in a dramatic display. “Ms. Kensington, I know you’ve always been unhappy with me. You can hire people to beat me, insult me, or even disfigure me! But you can’t incite others to pull their investments just because you’re jealous!” “If you’re not satisfied, slap me yourself!” The sound of slaps echoed through the room. Nate rushed forward from behind, heartbroken, and yanked the woman up. “Emma, stand up straight! This matter has nothing to do with you in the first place!” Then he glared at me, his tone menacing. “Harper, pulling the investment is a matter of national importance, not a plaything for you capitalists!” I remained silent, coldly watching this theatrical performance. After Nate spoke, the students and researchers behind him were riled up. Some pulled out their phones, shoved live streams in my face, and yelled indignantly. “Hey everyone! We’re live-streaming a capitalist hindering scientific development! Oppressing students!” Others held red paint, sneaking behind me to intentionally splash it. I was drenched from head to toe. The sticky, gross feeling of paint spread over my limbs. But Emma didn’t give up. She dropped to her knees in front of me again. Facing the cameras, she ripped the bandages off her face. For the brief moment the horrifying scars were exposed, everyone gasped. I simply stared down at her dismissively. “Ms. Kensington, please let us go! I know everything started because of me. Whatever you say, I’ll do it!” Then, she crawled closer on her knees and whispered to me. “Harper, so what if your parents are the richest in the city? Professor Prescott despises wealthy elites like you the most!” “He will only ever be mine. You can’t take him away.” The next second, she pulled a self-directed stunt, grabbing a hidden knife and stabbing it into her own abdomen. Warm blood splattered on my face. Emma opened her mouth in feigned horror, pointing a trembling finger at me. Everyone was terrified by the sudden twist, and they all pointed at me, roaring. “Murder! The capitalist killed someone!” Nate’s face was as black as pitch. He shoved me away violently, scooped up Emma, and roared. “Call 911 quickly!” I coldly stared at the woman’s triumphant smirk, my hands unconsciously curling into fists. After putting Emma in the ambulance, Nate approached me with a dark expression. “Are you satisfied now that you’ve killed her?” The crowd grew restless again, launching a new wave of verbal attacks at me and angrily smashing things. As the scene became uncontrollable, I playfully curled my lips. “You all say I committed premeditated murder. Why don’t we pull the security footage and confront each other publicly? If I really killed Emma Lawson, I am willing to go to prison.” As soon as I spoke, the angry voices of the crowd slowly weakened. The people who had been live-streaming on their phones started seeing doubts pop up in their chat rooms. [No way, you guys are being led by the narrative. I feel like this woman wouldn’t be dumb enough to kill someone in plain sight, right?] [Hard to say, what if?] [I also think this woman wouldn’t be that stupid. Actually, the woman from earlier seemed a bit mentally unstable.] Nate stared straight at me, his brows tightly furrowed. “Harper Kensington, you are the CEO of Kensington Corp. It’s entirely possible you had the footage tampered with.” “Emma is my student. If you want to hurt her, you have to get through me first.” After saying that, he didn’t give up. He picked up his phone, flipped the camera, and complained with red eyes. “Harper Kensington is my fiancée. Recently, she has indeed hurt many people due to her petty jealousy. As her fiancé, I apologize. But I will not show favoritism. I want to clarify that everything she did to my student Emma Lawson is true.” “As for her disrupting scientific funding and committing attempted murder, I will absolutely not defend her in court.” With that, Nate decisively ended the live stream. He led the group of people away. Someone tried to turn back to insult me out of a sense of justice, but Nate forcibly escorted them out. I stood in silence. My assistant swallowed nervously. “Ms. Kensington, less than a minute after the live stream ended, Kensington Corp’s stock plummeted by ten percent.” I forced down the churning emotions in my chest. “Contact the PR department. Prepare a clarification immediately.” However, my clarification couldn’t keep up with the speed of Nate and Emma’s smears. Gossip accounts maliciously edited videos of me “murdering” someone and withdrawing funds. My accounts were besieged by a massive number of bots and haters. Keyboard warriors doxed me and sent razor blades to my address. People on the street cursed me as a “bloodsucker of the academic world.” Various projects that Kensington Corp had previously cooperated on, contracts that had already been approved, were all withdrawn or faced immediate demands for exorbitant compensation. As public opinion fermented crazily. My brother called. “Harper, things have gotten out of hand. Nate and the Prescott family are paying off bots across all major platforms and hiring all the influential lawyers in the city so you can’t file a lawsuit.” “They claim you maliciously destroyed a major national project. Higher-ups have even sent people to ask questions. The family elders want you to apologize to the Prescotts, agree to the marriage, and fix their supply chain.” “You…” I took a deep breath, hung up the phone, and unblocked the previously blacklisted number. “Let’s meet.” Half an hour later, Nate brought me to Emma’s hospital room. “Apologize.” I lowered my eyes, “I’m sorry.” The man’s face softened considerably. He flicked the ash off his cigarette and raised an eyebrow. “Harper, so even you can be pushed to a dead end?” “But Emma used to be exactly where you are now, maybe even in more pain.” I lifted my eyelids. “What do I have to do for you to let me go?” Nate crossed his legs, leaning lazily against the leather sofa, and casually asked Emma. “Emma, tell me, what do you want?” Emma feigned innocence, biting her index finger. “I… I just hope to bury the hatchet with Ms. Kensington.” But Nate helplessly rubbed her head: “I know you’re timid; your professor will help you.” “Harper Kensington, replenish the Prescott family’s funding. Tell your little friends to cancel the withdrawal of their research investments. Furthermore, Emma was disfigured because of you; pay for her skin grafts.” “Apologize to Emma across all platforms. Once you’re done, I can consider the marriage.” I laughed out of pure anger, gave him a deep look, and turned to leave. That “I’m sorry” was an apology to my past self for being so blind. But he sure had a big mouth. Asking for the moon. If I gave it to him, would he even be worthy? As soon as I left the hospital room, I contacted the private investigator to retrieve the recorded videos and photos. I also organized the evidence of his lab illegally using materials, which I had investigated earlier using my black card connections. Since he liked it so much, this mountain of evidence would be enough to feed them for a lifetime. I packed up and left the hospital. Just as I took a step outside, a sharp pain hit the back of my head. My vision went black, and I fell backward. When I opened my eyes again, glaring surgical lights were shining directly on my face. I wiggled my body, but my hands and feet were securely locked with iron chains. Nate walked over with a cold expression. “Harper Kensington, do you think the hospital is a place you can come and go as you please? After all this time, have you thought it through?” My heart leapt into my throat, the veins on my forehead pulsing. “Nathaniel Prescott! If you dare touch a hair on my head, you will regret it for the rest of your life!” The man led Emma closer to me. “Emma’s face—if it weren’t for you unreasonably canceling the investment, how would we have used inferior materials? She never would have been injured in the explosion!” “Did you think an apology would be the end of it?” I ground my teeth, the blood in my veins boiling. “She injured her own face!” But Nate chose to ignore my explanation, coldly instructing the doctor beside him. “Begin. Take the softest layer of skin from her face. I don’t want Emma to reject it.” A sharp syringe pierced my skin. My pupils trembled, and my whole body shook non-stop from the pain and resentment. Until my screams grew lower and lower. Nate then came in, his guilty eyes landing on the bandages covering my entire face. “Harper, I will marry you.” I used all my strength to slap him. He turned his head and smirked. The next moment, I was forcefully yanked and shoved into a car. When I got out, a massive crowd of reporters aimed their long lenses directly at my face. Nate forcibly pressed me into a chair at the press conference. He coaxed me gently. “Harper, clarify everything, pave the way for Emma’s future, and it will all be over.” My fists clenched and trembled under the table. I listened to the reporters below eagerly throwing out sharp, lethal questions meant to destroy me. A faint curve formed at the corner of my mouth. Nate, did you think you had me trapped? I was prepared for this long ago…

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Valentine’s Day. My boss forced me to work late, so I bought a whole rotisserie chicken to make up for it. The shop owner, Pete, heard I was spending the holiday alone. He kindly threw in a few smoked “specialty riblets.” He made sure to emphasize they were made with his secret dry rub—smoky, savory, and incredibly flavorful. I got home, settled in, put on Netflix, and started gnawing on a riblet. But the more I ate, the weirder it felt. The meat had a strange, gamey texture. The taste had an unmentionable metallic tang underneath the spice. I figured it was just an old batch that hadn’t sold, and he was clearing inventory on me. I didn’t think too much of it. Until I finished the third piece. I spit out the bone and compared it to my own index finger. They were the same length. Same structure. I crawled to the toilet, puking until I was dry-heaving bile. Then, with trembling fingers, I dialed 911. Chapter 1 My parents passed away years ago. Since graduating college, I’ve lived completely alone. My boss knew my situation. That afternoon, she dropped a stack of files on my desk. “Don’t leave until these are done,” she said, without making eye contact. By the time I closed my laptop, the city lights below were already blazing. My body felt heavy with exhaustion. Considering it was a holiday, I didn’t have the energy to cook. So, I went to my usual spot, Pete’s Smokehouse, to buy a rotisserie chicken. “Hey Pete, I’ll take a whole chicken. Shredded, please.” Twenty-five dollars. Usually, I’d never be so extravagant on a random Friday. Pete saw me ordering so late and started making small talk. “Working late, kid? On Valentine’s Day?” I forced a tight smile. “Yeah. Got student loans and rent to pay, you know?” “You never stop working yourself, do you, Pete?” His hands never stopped moving. “Nah. I sent the wife back to her family in Idaho for the long weekend. Figured I’d keep the stand open a bit longer.” “Look at you, working so hard. Tell you what, take these smoked riblets. I won’t sell ’em tonight anyway.” “I’m telling you, these are made with my secret dry rub. The flavor is out of this world.” He tossed several pieces into a brown paper bag, acting like it was no big deal. I felt a little guilty taking them, thinking I should do something in return. I saw a black industrial trash bag sitting by the counter. Assuming it was trash needing to be thrown out, I stepped forward quickly. “Pete, let me take that trash out for you.” But before my hand could touch the bag, he grabbed my wrist tight. “Don’t you worry about that,” he said, his voice dropping an octave. “You kids are too busy these days. Go home, eat, relax. Take care of yourself.” He handed me the shredded chicken. “Alright, get going. Happy Valentine’s.” His sudden concern made my eyes sting. I blinked back tears, thanked him repeatedly, and headed home. The moment I unlocked my apartment door, I collapsed onto the couch. My miserable boss, Olivia, making me work late with no overtime pay. Squeezing me dry. I turned on the TV, half-watching a drama, half-sending Olivia work updates via email. This had been my life for years. But survival required a paycheck, so I couldn’t just quit. I grabbed a beer, cracked it open, and took a long swig. I reached into the bag for a riblet and started eating. I have to admit, Pete’s dry rub was incredible. Smoky, spicy, totally addictive. Under the warm living room light, the spiced meat looked enticing. I didn’t know where he sourced his meat, but these riblets seemed bigger than usual. I couldn’t tell if they were overcooked or just old, but the texture felt… off when I chewed. But hey, they were free. I didn’t analyze it. Until I got to the third piece, and my teeth hit something hard. I spit it out. The bone was unusually long. “What kind of riblet bone is this big?” I muttered to myself, holding it up to the light. Something felt terribly wrong. Drawn by some morbid instinct, I placed my own hand next to the bone. The length… was identical. I froze, paralyzed. Slowly, I looked down at the remaining pieces in the bag. They were all roughly the same size. I picked one up and flipped it over. On the end of the fourth piece, where the joint should be, there was a clean, brutal chop mark through what looked like a palm. This was… “URP…” I bolted for the bathroom and began to vomit violently. My stomach flipped inside out, retching until I was convinced I was puking bile. Once my stomach was completely empty, I crawled back to the living room, grabbed my phone, and ran into the bedroom, locking the door behind me. My hands shook so badly I could barely unlock the phone. I called 911. I didn’t really process anything until the doorbell rang repeatedly. Even then, knowing the bones were still in the living room, I was too terrified to go out. Until the police called my cell. “Is this Sarah Jenkins? This is the police. We are outside your door. Please let us in.” Shaking uncontrollably, I gripped my phone and crept along the wall to the front door. I unlocked it, and two men in police uniforms appeared. One old, one young—looked like a training scenario. Miller, the veteran, and Davis, the rookie. “You called in saying you found human fingers in your takeout? Where?” I hid behind them, pointing to the pile of bones on the coffee table. I have a bad habit: when I eat snaking food, I pile the trash on the table and clean it up all at once at the end. So that pile of bones looked exceptionally prominent. “You ate them?!” Davis looked at me, horrified. When I called 911, I only said I found fingers in my food. I didn’t say I had spit them out of my mouth. The question made my stomach roll again, and I gagged. Officer Miller cut his partner off. “Stupid question, Davis. Who buys smoked ribs just to look at them?” He turned to comfort me. “Don’t be scared, ma’am. Maybe it really is just a chicken paw or something weird. Animals mutate, they get big. It might be nothing.” But when he put on gloves and picked up a finger bone to examine it closely, his reassuring words died in his throat. He instructed Davis: “Call dispatch. Get forensics down here, and Dr. Evans, the medical examiner. I suspect dismemberment.” Davis did as he was told immediately, then shot me a look of pure pity. Spending Valentine’s Day eating… that. He probably figured I’d be scarred for life. While waiting for the ME, Officer Miller questioned me for background. Location and time of purchase, Pete’s appearance, any other details. When he heard Pete gave me the riblets for free, Miller’s expression shifted to suspicion. “As far as I know, Pete’s Smokehouse usually sells out of those ‘riblets’ by 8 PM.” “They are expensive. Why would he just give them to you for nothing?” I flinched at his sharp, accusatory tone. My lips trembled, and it took a few seconds before I could speak. “Pete told me it was late, and he wouldn’t be able to sell them anyway.” “And I’m a regular customer. He sometimes gives me extras, like chicken wings or ends that didn’t sell.” My heart hammered in my chest as I waited for his response. Officer Miller just stared at me, his eyes deep and unreadable. He didn’t say another word. I felt worse and worse, my anxiety skyrocketing. A moment later, Miller’s phone buzzed. He walked into the corner to answer it. I faintly heard him mutter phrases like “Surveillance and logs show…” and “They didn’t find anyone.” He hung up, and when he turned back to me, his gaze was full of scrutiny. “Sarah Jenkins, are you positive you bought this food at Pete’s Smokehouse?” “Is it possible you were exhausted from working late and hallucinated it? That you bought it somewhere else and got confused?” I was stunned. I shook my head instinctively. “No way. I only go to that one smokehouse.” “My own boss recommended it to me, so I go there every time.” Officer Miller took a deep breath, looking at the bones, the shredded rotisserie chicken, and finally back at me. “But we just got the report. Pete’s Smokehouse hasn’t been open in three days.” The world seemed to explode around me. I literally jumped off the couch. “Impossible! My boss just went there yesterday to buy pulled pork!” “I ate some of it!” Because Olivia recommended it, it was right near the office, so I went there constantly after work. She had even told me she wouldn’t be home for Valentine’s Day, so I could just relax and go there after I finished working. Officer Davis was completely lost, listening to me. He couldn’t help but blurts out: “What the hell is going on here?” The three of us stood in an awkward stalemate. Finally, Miller broke the silence. “You said Pete told you he sent his wife back to her family for the holiday, and he was keeping the stand open.” “But according to our immediate background check, Pete Peterson and his wife, Brenda, are legally separated.” “She’s been living in Idaho since last year because of ‘marital strife’ and they are in the middle of a messy divorce. It’s been dragging on.” Miller pulled up a video feed on his tablet. A woman I didn’t recognize was speaking. She was in a rural-looking kitchen. “Pete and I haven’t seen each other in eight months,” the woman in the video said. “I don’t know what’s going on at the Smokehouse. Pete handles all that. Is he in trouble? We aren’t legally divorced yet.” I stood frozen, my heart skipping a beat. They had been separated for months. So why did he always mention his wife to me? And why did he specifically say he sent her home early because he loved her? Officer Miller saw my confusion and asked another question: “Have you ever seen his wife?” I froze. I realized… I had never seen his wife. The shock was too much, and I stumbled, almost collapsing. Davis caught me just in time. “Sarah Jenkins, we haven’t found anything concrete yet. But I’m going to need you to come down to the station with us to make a formal statement.” “Okay… Okay.” I gripped my phone tightly, not even remembering to grab my coat. Davis saw the biting cold outside the window and grabbed it for me before we left. I shot him a grateful look and followed close behind. At the police station, Miller poured me a cup of hot water, opened his laptop, and began the interrogation. “Sarah, you say you frequently go to Pete’s Smokehouse. But I’m looking at the map. You live on the other side of downtown. It’s not on your way home at all.” “There are dozens of other restaurants, including other BBQ places, much closer to you. Why do you specifically drive all the way there?” I held the warm paper cup tight, as if that warmth were the only thing keeping me sane. “Because that shop… is owned by a relative of my boss, Olivia Smith. It’s right next to our office.” “Olivia makes all of us support his business. Almost everyone in our office eats his BBQ.” “My company is Apex Solutions. My boss is Olivia Smith. You can check.” Officer Miller clicked around on his laptop, confirming the information. Then he asked: “Are you positive the man who sold you that food? Was it Pete Peterson himself?” I was stunned by the question again. “Of course it was him. I go there constantly. How could I get the person wrong?” “Besides, his Smokehouse is the only restaurant on that entire block. I couldn’t have gone to the wrong place.” Officer Miller checked his phone again, remaining silent. After a long while, his fingers lightly tapped the desk, his eyes sharply focused on me. “Sarah, the patrol unit just interviewed the owners of all the other shops on that street. They all said the same thing.” “Pete’s Smokehouse was sold to a corporate chain a week ago.” “So, Sarah, where exactly did you buy those riblets?” Miller’s words were like a hammer blow to my head. What do you mean it was sold a week ago? Then where did my smoked riblets come from? Did I buy food from a ghost? Officer Miller didn’t speak, just sat in silence, staring at me with pure disbelief. “I don’t know if anything you just told me is true.” “But I’m going to tell you something. It was raining all day. It only stopped right before dusk. The ground is wet.” “Raindrops hit water, or feet step in puddles, and they kick up small points of mud.” “The lock on the security pull-down gate of Pete’s Smokehouse had absolutely no signs of mud points being wiped away. And the ceramic tiles next to the door frame had no footprints.” “If you wanted to open the lock on that security gate, you’d have to step on those tiles.” He handed me the tablet with photos, watching my reaction. I stared at the photos, zooming in, desperately looking for any shred of evidence. But the night was too dark, the visibility was too low. From the angle of the photos, the security gate truly looked like it hadn’t been opened in ages. I shook my head, trying to force myself to remember. It had just rained, it was cold, and because it was a holiday, his shop was the only one open on the whole street. The street was dark, and after I bought the food, I left immediately. “Aren’t you supposed to check the surveillance cameras? Technology is advanced.” I muttered a rebuttal. Officer Miller sighed, looking a little helpless. “That’s an old street. There are a few cameras, but most of them have been vandalized or are broken.” “Only one at the street corner still works.” I lifted my head in panic. He shot me a look of pity. “Even without cameras, the filth on that security gate doesn’t lie.” “You can’t seriously be trying to tell me that the owner specifically waited for you to finish working just to give you free riblets.” “That before closing, he took a mud bottle and evenly sprayed mud points on the security gate, then specifically wiped the floor next to it clean, just so anyone investigating would see nothing.” “That would be far too clever.” He was right. It made no sense. Was I truly so exhausted from working late that I hallucinated the whole thing? I grabbed my hair hard, trying to stay calm. Suddenly, I had a flash of inspiration and slammed my hand on the desk. “I posted a photo on Instagram!” I quickly pulled out my phone and started scrolling through my feed. I rarely treat myself to rotisserie chicken, so I took a photo to share. By now, many colleagues had commented.

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The morning of the SATs, my parents suddenly stormed into the testing center. Ignoring the proctor’s furious shouts, they physically dragged me out of my seat. “Chloe, we would never hurt you!” “If you want to live, you have to come with us right now!” I had absolutely no idea what was happening, but I followed them. We ended up on an Amtrak train heading deep into the Rocky Mountains of Montana. That afternoon, a news notification popped up on my phone. My entire body turned to stone. Just as the morning reading section had ended… Every single person in my testing center—all 1,020 students and staff, except for me—had dropped dead. My face deathly pale, I turned to my parents to demand what the hell was going on. But they were pointing at the train window behind my head, their faces twisted in absolute, primal terror. “Don’t look back! We have to get off this train right now!” Just half an hour before they stormed the school, they had been smiling, cooking me breakfast, and wishing me luck on my exams. But then, they appeared in the testing center, their faces grim and aggressive. “Chloe, come with us. Now!” I looked at the dirt smeared on their clothes, and then at the campus security guard lying unconscious on the floor down the hall. My mind went completely blank. “What happened? Why did you knock out the security guard?!” They grabbed me, one by each arm, their grips like iron vices. “We would never hurt you! Even if we have to knock you out too, we are taking you out of here today!” The proctor saw what was happening and rushed over to physically block them. “What are you doing?! This is the SAT! This dictates your daughter’s entire future!” “Whatever emergency you have, it can wait until the exam is over!” My mom showed zero hesitation. She shoved the proctor hard against the doorframe and screamed: “Is a test more important than her life?!” Before I could even process the situation, I was dragged out of the building. We didn’t go home. Wearing their dirt-stained clothes, they hailed a cab and rushed us to the nearest train station. It wasn’t until the train started moving that the color slowly returned to their faces. But their eyes remained bloodshot, darting around, hyper-vigilant of our surroundings. They looked like fugitives running from the law. What were they hiding from? I couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Mom, Dad, what is going on? What are you so afraid of?” “And where are we going?” My mom put a finger to her lips, her voice chillingly cold. “Don’t speak. And don’t ask why.” Their paranoid, fugitive-like behavior quickly caught the attention of the conductor, who stopped and questioned them aggressively for several minutes. I asked the passenger in front of us and found out this train was an express line heading deep into the Montana wilderness. My parents didn’t know anyone in Montana! Why were we going there? While they were busy distracting the conductor, I pulled out my phone. I was bored and wanted to see if anyone was posting about the SAT reading prompts online. But the moment I opened my browser, a breaking news headline dominated my screen. [BREAKING: 1,020 Students and Faculty Suffer Simultaneous Cardiac Arrest at Local High School Testing Center. All Confirmed Dead…] I clicked the article. The blood in my veins turned to ice. The testing center in the article… was the exact same one my parents had just dragged me out of! They were telling the truth! Every single person in that room was dead! If they hadn’t pulled me out of my seat, I would be lying under a white sheet right now! But… was this news real? How could 1,020 people die at the exact same second? I was just about to text my homeroom teacher when my phone vibrated. It was my best friend, Emily. “Chloe! Are you okay?! Mr. Davis is dead! The class president is dead!” Her voice was trembling violently. She was sobbing in sheer terror. “Everyone in your testing center is dead!” “Emily! I’m fine! Do you know what happened?!” Before I could even finish my sentence, my dad violently snatched the phone out of my hand. “Do not trust anyone!” he hissed. I was completely lost, desperate for answers. “Dad, you obviously know something, otherwise you wouldn’t have pulled me out! Tell me! What is going on?!” “Why is everyone in that room dead?!” My mom let out a heavy sigh, gently patting my leg to comfort me. “Chloe, knowing too much won’t do you any good.” “Just know that your father and I would never—” Her voice abruptly cut off. I looked at her, only to realize her face had turned ashen and completely drained of blood. “Mom! What’s wrong?!” Hearing my panicked voice, my dad turned to look at my mom. The moment he did, his expression froze in pure terror. Their eyes were wide with fear, staring fixedly at the space right behind my head. Through their trembling pupils, I could see the reflection of a blurry, shadowy figure standing right behind me. But behind me… was nothing but the train window. Was there something terrifying outside the glass? Instinctively, I started to turn my head to look. But my dad’s hand slammed onto the back of my head, holding me rigidly in place. His lips trembled, producing a voice I had never heard from him before. “Don’t look back. We have to run!” I could clearly feel my dad’s hand shaking. He was absolutely terrified. At that exact same moment, a blast of freezing, icy air blew directly against the back of my neck. The next second, my dad yanked me up by my arm. He grabbed my mom, and we sprinted frantically through three entire train cars, running as if hell itself were on our heels. It wasn’t until the train pulled into the next station that he finally slowed down. Without a single word of explanation, they dragged me off the train. “Mom, Dad, what did you see back there?” I was met with total silence. They refused to speak, but I couldn’t forget the sheer terror etched onto their faces. It was as if, had we been one second slower, we would have met the exact same gruesome fate as everyone in that testing center. What were we running from? Was it that blurry shadow? Seeing that the sun was starting to set, I suggested we book a hotel room in this town for the night. But my parents, their faces grim, flagged down a taxi instead. “There’s no time! Take us to the airport!” my dad yelled to the driver. I was shoved into the back seat of the cab. During the ride, Emily called my phone again. I was just about to answer it. My dad, sitting in the passenger seat, whipped around and glared at me. “Do not answer that!” My mom looked at me with intense paranoia. “Chloe, listen to your father! We cannot trust anyone right now!” The taxi driver shot us a bizarre look through the rearview mirror, but I ultimately let the call go to voicemail. However, I secretly texted Emily on iMessage, telling her I was safe and doing fine. She never replied. Half an hour later, urged by my dad’s frantic shouting, the driver finally pulled up to the airport. He was visibly annoyed by my dad’s yelling, but when he noticed the dried blood on my dad’s shirt, he looked terrified and sped off the second we got out. The earliest flights to Montana were completely sold out. I begged my parents to just wait until tomorrow, but my dad didn’t say a word. He just stood there, staring blankly at the massive TV screens broadcasting the evening news in the terminal. I took one look at the screen, and every drop of blood in my body turned to ice. Just ten minutes ago… The Amtrak train we had just fled had suddenly derailed, plunging directly into a deep river gorge. Over a thousand passengers were on board. There were zero survivors. The conductor who had been questioning my parents just an hour ago was now floating pale and lifeless in the river. Two consecutive brushes with mass-casualty death. I was officially terrified. My parents were right! There was something actively hunting us, trying to wipe us out. Despite the overwhelming shock, my dad was the first to snap back to reality. He pulled out a burner phone and made a call. He seemed to trust the person on the other end implicitly. He just nodded and kept repeating, “Okay, understood.” When he hung up, he looked like a man who had made a desperate decision. “Let’s go. We’re flying to Miami!” Wait, weren’t we trying to get to Montana? Why Florida all of a sudden? I was trembling. “Dad, shouldn’t we call the police?!” My dad’s face was dead serious. “The police can’t help us! They’ll just die with us!” I don’t know what kind of strings he pulled, but he somehow managed to secure three tickets for a flight boarding in ten minutes. I peeked at the boarding passes. The destination was Montana. But didn’t he just say we were going to Miami? Why did it change again? I was getting more and more confused about where we were going and what we were doing! Right before we boarded, my dad powered down his burner phone and threw it directly into a trash can. Without a second thought, my mom tossed hers in as well. They both turned to look at me. “Chloe. Phones transmit location data.” Faced with a life-or-death situation, I didn’t hesitate. I followed their lead and threw my iPhone into the trash. Once the plane successfully took off, my mom finally leaned in and whispered to me: “Sweetie, I know you have a million questions, but Mommy can only tell you this:” “Once we reach our destination, we will explain everything.” “Right now, the only thing that matters is staying alive!” I was about to speak, but my dad suddenly clamped his hand tightly over my mouth. “From this second on, if you don’t have to speak, do not make a sound!” “No matter who talks to you, do not reply, and absolutely do not say your name!” I didn’t know why, but I nodded vigorously. Half an hour into the flight, a cheerful ringtone suddenly pierced the quiet cabin. Everyone turned their heads to look at me. I suddenly remembered—I had a backup burner phone in my backpack! My parents’ faces turned a horrifying shade of gray. A flight attendant walked over. “Miss, please turn your phone off immediately.” Awkwardly, I pulled the burner phone out of my bag. The caller ID flashing on the screen read: Emily. “Wait, you guys get cell reception at 30,000 feet?” a passenger in the next seat asked curiously. I froze. A wave of pure, nauseating terror washed over me. I suddenly remembered a terrifying fact. This backup phone… didn’t even have a SIM card installed! Even if there was a signal up here, it was physically impossible for Emily to be calling me! While I sat paralyzed in shock, my dad violently snatched the phone from my hand and smashed it against the floor of the cabin. “Dad, I…” I tried to explain, but my dad glared at me with murderous intensity. “Shut your mouth!” “Hey man, take it easy! Your daughter didn’t do it on purpose! Stop yelling at her,” the passenger next to us tried to mediate. But I knew my dad was just reinforcing the rule: Do not speak. The phone was shattered and silent, but due to the impact, the cracked screen glitched and automatically opened the iMessage app. It stopped perfectly on my chat log with Emily. Our conversation had ended with the text I sent her after getting off the train, telling her I was safe. But three seconds later, a new message popped up on the cracked screen, sending me into absolute despair: [Chloe, I am so glad you’re still alive. Unfortunately, I wasn’t so lucky. Mr. Davis and I died in the exam room this morning.] Emily was dead! How was that possible?! I specifically remembered she was assigned to a different testing center than me! If she died this morning… who was the person calling me all afternoon?! It couldn’t be a ghost, could it?! I looked at my parents in sheer terror. They looked just as horrified. My mom’s face crumbled into absolute despair. She muttered under her breath: “It didn’t fall for the Miami trick! It found us…” So my dad saying we were going to Miami was a trick meant to throw it off our trail. But my mom said it was here! Where was it? I looked frantically around the cabin but saw nothing suspicious. Who—or what—was it? No one could give me an answer. My dad swiftly shot my mom a meaningful look. After taking a moment to steady her breathing, my mom gave me one last, heartbreaking look. Then, she pulled a small pill from her pocket and shoved it into her mouth. “Mom…” What did you just take? Before I could finish the sentence, my dad clamped his hand over my mouth again. “If you don’t want to get everyone on this plane killed! Shut up!” Watching my mom begin to violently foam at the mouth, I had to physically bite my own tongue to keep from sobbing out loud. Once my dad let go of me, he caught my mom’s collapsing body. “Sarah! Sarah! What’s wrong?!” “Help!” he screamed, his face a mask of agonizing grief. “My wife is having a severe seizure! We need an emergency landing immediately!” Seeing this play out, I finally understood what my mom had swallowed. This was their contingency plan all along! If they needed to force the plane to land, this was the only way. To prevent a medical fatality on board, the pilot initiated an emergency descent and landed at the nearest regional airport. The moment we touched down, we followed the ambulance straight to the hospital. My dad looked at my pale, traumatized face, a single tear rolling down his cheek. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. If we hadn’t forced the plane to land, it would have crashed. We, and the hundred other passengers on board, would have all died.” Fighting the urge to cry, I pulled a pen and paper from the nurse’s station and wrote: [Dad, are we being hunted by the Grim Reaper?] That was the only logical explanation I could think of. But my dad just shook his head. “Wait until we get to Montana…” After an hour of emergency treatment, my mom was finally stabilized, but she remained in a deep coma. At the exact same time, we received another horrifying piece of news. The hundred or so passengers on our flight hadn’t died in a crash. But every single one of them had fallen into a bizarre, unexplained coma, exactly like my mom. My dad wanted to grab me and run. He said we had to make it to Montana before dawn. But I absolutely refused. If we left, what would happen to my mom? Maybe my dad couldn’t bear to leave her behind either, or maybe he knew I wouldn’t budge. He didn’t force the issue. Instead, he deadbolted the heavy door to the hospital room and issued me one final, severe warning: “Tonight, no matter who knocks on that door, do not open it! And do not speak a single word!” After giving me that warning, he fell back into a chair and fell into a deep sleep. Or rather, it looked more like a coma. Just like the passengers on the plane, he had fallen into a strange, unbreakable unconsciousness. At exactly midnight, a knock echoed at the door. “Room 301, nightly rounds. Please open the door.” It was the voice of a young, female nurse. I was about to stand up, but my dad’s warning echoed in my head. Whether it was a real nurse or not, I refused to open the door. The knocking continued for a few minutes before stopping, and the shadow beneath the door vanished. Ten minutes later, the voice of my best friend, Emily, suddenly echoed from the hallway. “Chloe? It’s Emily. I heard your mom was in the hospital, how is she doing? Can I come in and see her?”

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My husband, whom I’ve known since childhood, loves going fishing with his female coworker. For the first three years of our marriage, we fought about it every single day. By the fourth year, I was too exhausted to fight anymore. I picked up a fishing rod and a tackle box, and started mimicking his routine of leaving early and coming home late. At first, Evan didn’t care. Until one night, he came home late and realized I still wasn’t back. He panicked. He begged me, promising he would never go fishing again and swearing he would stay home and be a good husband. But I didn’t want him anymore. Because the catch I reeled in… was the new widower in town. The billionaire tech mogul, Arthur Vance. I’ve always been a bit lazy. Because I was too lazy to date around, I just married my childhood friend, Evan. Things were fine at the beginning. Our families knew each other well, and we grew up together. He was decent-looking, had never really had a serious girlfriend before me, and I knew everything there was to know about him. After we got married, we got along pretty well. That was until his parents thought he had too much free time and pulled some strings to get him a job at a local firm. There was a girl in his department, loud and overly familiar, who constantly invited him out. At first, it was just grabbing dinner or going to a bar. Later on, somehow, they got obsessed with night fishing. He would stay out all night, not coming home until dawn. I was in the prime of my twenties, spending every night alone in an empty house. Who could tolerate that? When I argued with Evan about it, he called me needy and dramatic. His coworker, Chloe, would stand right next to him and add fuel to the fire. “Oh my gosh, Evan, you should just go home. It looks like your wife will literally die if she isn’t attached to a man 24/7.” A few of their other single male coworkers would stand around and snicker. I didn’t want to deal with them, so I just grabbed Evan’s arm to leave. He violently yanked his arm out of my grip, almost sending me stumbling to the ground. “Are you done throwing a tantrum?! Can’t I have my own hobbies?!” “I work my ass off all day for you, and I do chores around the house too!” “I give you whatever you want, and my only request is a little time to unwind. Why do you always have to chase me down and make a scene?!” I felt a surge of inexplicable grievance. “Is this just ‘unwinding’? You haven’t been home for a week.” His face was ice-cold. “What do you mean I haven’t been home? I come home to sleep every single night.” “Yeah, at 3:00 AM! And then you go to work the next morning, and spend the whole weekend hanging out with them! We haven’t even had a real conversation!” “That’s because you don’t have any friends of your own. That has nothing to do with me.” He kept a stony face, looking completely annoyed. “Listen to me, Mia. We are married, yes. But that doesn’t mean I have to take orders from you.” Evan had always been mild-mannered and polite since we were kids. He never had any bad habits, and he had certainly never lost his temper with me. That was exactly why I felt safe marrying him. We hadn’t even been married that long, and he had already learned how to scream at me. Seeing how utterly unreasonable he was being, I was furious. I turned around and walked away. From then on, the atmosphere between us became incredibly tense. He thought I was too controlling, and I hated that he was never home. Eventually, we just started sleeping in separate rooms and stopped talking to each other altogether. Our spacious house felt like a freezing icebox. My chest always felt tight, and I completely lost the motivation to take care of myself. Over those three years, I gained a significant amount of weight, and my face was perpetually etched with resentment. It wasn’t until my best friend, Sarah, who I hadn’t seen in ages, came to town for a business trip and asked me out to dinner. When she saw me, she physically jumped. “Holy shit, Mia, what happened to you? How did you end up looking like this?” “Like what?” I asked. “Look for yourself!” She pulled a compact mirror out of her purse. Looking into it, I saw a sallow-faced, dead-eyed, bitter housewife. I slammed the mirror down on the table in horror. “Fuck! Back up, what is that monstrosity?!” “Sarah, tell me… am I possessed by a demon?” My heart still pounding, I quickly poured out everything about Evan to Sarah. She pursed her lips, staring at me for a long time, seemingly at a loss for words. I was getting anxious and poked her arm. “Say something! Why are you just sitting there?” Sarah sighed. “I just think… getting married apparently kicked your brain cells right out of your head.” Me: ???? She started breaking it down. “Look, that Chloe girl is obviously up to no good. She knows you two are newlyweds, yet she drags your husband out every single day.” “And Evan? He’s playing dumb. Does he not know he should be spending his evenings with his wife? Of course he knows. He’s just absolutely certain that even if he leaves you rotting at home, you won’t do a damn thing about it.” I was confused. “How is that possible? I’m pretty. If he leaves me home alone, isn’t he worried I’ll go find some other guy?” Sarah: “Did you?” I immediately shook my head. “No. My grandma always told me, you have to live honestly. Once you’re married, you can’t mess around.” “Exactly,” she said. “You guys grew up together. You know him, and he knows you just as well. He is banking on your moral compass keeping you completely loyal.” I was suddenly enlightened. “Ohhh! So that’s why he’s so bold about abandoning me at home.” Sarah looked like a wise sage. “Exactly. And the fact proves he’s right. You can probably count the number of times you guys have been intimate lately on one hand, right? And even with all that, you still haven’t thought about finding another man. If that’s not being a predictable pushover, what is?” My fists clenched in anger. “Fuck! This is too much!” She sighed again. “Look, I’m not telling you this to make you do something crazy.” “But Mia, never, ever let a man think he can just brush you off whenever he feels like it. You need to start loving yourself.” After parting ways with Sarah, I went home. The massive house was cluttered with a mountain of random junk. It was all the cheap crap I had bought off Amazon and discount sites over the last three years to cope with my depression. It filled the entire two-thousand-square-foot house. The whole place looked like a landfill. Fortunately, even though Evan ignored me and left me hanging, he still had one redeeming quality: he contributed to the household expenses. Out of his $8,000 monthly salary, he gave me $3,000 as “pocket money.” His parents would also occasionally slip me cash during the holidays so I could treat myself. That was the only reason I had continued to endure the misery. But after talking to Sarah today, I realized this was completely wrong. I shouldn’t be wasting the best years of my life rotting away in this toxic environment. Looking at my bloated, greasy-haired reflection in the mirror, I took a long, deep breath. I tied my long hair back, grabbed a massive heavy-duty trash bag, and started throwing things away. From noon until night, I filled exactly eight contractor bags. The house was finally half-empty. I also threw away every single high-calorie snack hidden in the cabinets. The cheap, ill-fitting clothes in my closet, the drugstore makeup on my vanity, and the framed wedding photos of me and Evan—all of it went straight into the dumpster. After I was done, I boiled two sweet potatoes for myself. I had barely taken two bites when I heard the front door unlock. Evan walked in, and trailing right behind him was the polished, glamorous Chloe. Seeing me, her expression didn’t change. She smiled and said, “Oh, hey Mia. You’re home.” I gave a noncommittal “Yeah.” “What are you doing here?” “Evan said his new fishing rod was really smooth, so I came to borrow it and test it out.” Evan didn’t even look at me. He walked straight past me into the house. Chloe sat down next to me, staring at the sweet potato on my plate. “Why are you eating cheap food like that, Mia? Are you trying to lose weight?” Me: “Yeah, I’ve gained too much. Trying to trim down.” She let out a breathy giggle. “Oh, no offense, but body type is really just genetics.” “Some people are just born to be heavy. Starving yourself won’t help you slim down.” “You really shouldn’t torture yourself. Do you have any instant ramen? I’ll go make you a bowl.” She stood up, heading toward the kitchen, but I stopped her. “Don’t bother. I threw it all away.” “Why?” “I’m not eating it anymore. Leaving it there is just a waste of space.” Chloe’s eyes flickered, but she ultimately just smiled. “Alright. Since you’re so determined to lose weight, we’ll just have to wait and see the results.” She looked up and saw Evan walking back out. She immediately went over and took the fishing rod from his hands. “Wow, Evan, this rod is amazing! So thin and lightweight.” “Come on, I rented out a private pond on the south side of town tonight. Let’s go catch a few and see how it handles.” As she spoke, she turned back with a look of manufactured guilt. “Oops, I forgot you were still sitting here! Is it okay if I go with Evan, Mia?” Evan, who had completely stopped treating me like a human being, smirked mockingly. “Why are you asking her? Her opinion doesn’t matter anyway.” In three years, Evan hadn’t changed at all. If anything, as he got older, he had developed a more mature, polished charm. Combined with his well-maintained physique and respectable corporate job, there were plenty of women besides Chloe throwing themselves at him. He was no longer the innocent guy I had married. The way he looked at Chloe now held an undeniable, predatory edge. I stared at him, hating myself even more for turning into a depressed, pathetic ghost over a man like this. I looked like an absolute fool. Evan looked at me dismissively. “I’m leaving. I won’t be back for dinner, just eat by yourself.” Me: “Okay.” He started to walk away, then turned back. “Oh, right. I transferred $4,000 to your account. I got my quarterly bonus.” “Got it.” Clutching the balance in my bank account, I headed to the gym down the street. Thank god my in-laws had bought this house in a great location; everything I needed was within walking distance. After paying for a three-month membership, I still had $2,900 left. I bought a bunch of whole grains, eggs, and fruit, hauling the heavy bags home. Looking at my messy hair in the mirror, I made a ruthless decision and chopped it all off into a sleek bob. For the next three months, my entire life revolved around working out. Evan didn’t come home half the time, and I didn’t care. Once I had dropped over twenty pounds, none of my old clothes fit anymore. I wanted to ask Evan for some money to buy a few new outfits, but he wasn’t nearly as generous as he used to be. He sent me several 60-second voice memos, berating me for wasting money and buying useless things. After lecturing me for five minutes, he transferred me exactly $50. Me: … ????? If my original reason for marrying him was because I thought he’d provide for me and I wouldn’t have to struggle… Then this pathetic fifty bucks made me feel like an absolute clown. Gritting my teeth, I hit “Accept Payment,” completely losing my rhythm on the treadmill. Right then, a man walked over. He looked refined and intellectual, and asked if I wanted to grab lunch. When I spotted the Rolex on his wrist, a spark of inspiration suddenly hit me. Right. You marry a man for stability and provision. If I’m not getting anything out of this guy, what’s the point of staying with him? I might as well start scouting for a new target. So, that very night, I let this guy—Liam—take me to a private, secluded fishing lodge. It was remote, but the clientele clearly had money. I didn’t like Liam. He wasn’t particularly good-looking, and his gaze felt sleazy. After a few minutes of superficial banter, he started steering the conversation toward sex. This guy was way too eager. He was garbage. I didn’t want to waste my time. Losing my patience, I stood up to leave. But Liam got aggressive. He grabbed my arm. “Where do you think you’re going? You got in my car, you think it’s that easy to just walk away?” I actually found his tough-guy act hilarious. “We live in a society with laws. What exactly are you going to do? If you’ve got the guts, stab me to death right here.” Liam held onto me tightly. “I won’t stab you, but I’ve got plenty of ways to make you scream.” Psycho. Absolute freak! I kicked at him, but he dodged it. I grabbed a handful of his hair, causing a massive commotion. The owner of the lodge heard the noise and rushed over, quickly separating us and pulling Liam aside. “Bro, dial it back tonight, please. I have VIPs here.” Liam stubbornly adjusted his shirt. “What VIPs? You’re policing my game now?” “The CEO of Vanguard Corp. He just arrived. You know his background. He hates noise.” Liam’s expression shifted slightly. “Vanguard? Arthur Vance?” “Yeah, that’s him!” “I heard his wife died a few years ago, and he relocated his entire company to this city just to avoid the memories. Why the hell is a billionaire widower hanging out in the middle of nowhere?” “Come on, man. He’s just trying to clear his head and get back to nature. You think everyone is a sleazeball like you?” Their voices dropped to a whisper as they walked away, sounding like buzzing mosquitoes. Too annoyed to care, I quietly slipped away. But I hadn’t walked far before I realized I was lost. After taking a dozen random turns, I ended up behind a massive artificial rock formation. A man in casual clothes was standing there, staring off into the distance. Hearing my footsteps, he turned his head. The moment our eyes met, we both froze. I don’t know why he froze. I froze because… I had never seen a man this handsome in my entire life. In all fairness, Evan was a good-looking guy. But compared to the man standing in front of me, Evan wasn’t even a third of what this man was. It was mostly the aura. The difference was staggering. Just standing there, his silhouette alone was enough to make my heart race. I unconsciously licked my lips. “Um…” Arthur looked at me. “Yes?” “I… I’m lost. Could you help me find the exit?” I don’t know if it was because I hadn’t been around a genuinely attractive man in so long, but the sudden stimulation turned my brain into mush. Arthur’s detached gaze swept over me. Finally, he pointed to the right. “That way. You can get out.” “Oh. Th-thank you.” I had walked quite a distance before I realized I shouldn’t have just left like that. The lodge Liam had brought me to was incredibly remote. I could walk until my legs snapped and I still wouldn’t find my way back to the city. But if I turned around, I wouldn’t know how to find the main road, and if I ran into Liam again, it would be a disaster. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, I heard a car horn behind me. A sleek Bentley pulled up slowly beside me. The window rolled down, revealing the man from earlier. Arthur didn’t know why he was feeling so charitable, but looking at the woman nervously clutching her jacket, he unlocked the door. “Get in. I’ll take you back.” I smoothly slid into the passenger seat and said earnestly, “Thank you so much, sir.” Arthur’s eyes darkened slightly, but he didn’t say anything. On the drive back, he drove in total silence. I looked down at my phone. It was 10:00 PM, and Evan hadn’t sent me a single message. On Instagram, Chloe had posted another picture of their “fishing group.” Evan was sitting so close to her that anyone who didn’t know better would assume they were a couple. I let out a deep sigh, genuinely unsure if there was any point in continuing this marriage. Unable to figure it out myself, I looked at the calm, composed man next to me. In a moment of sheer impulsiveness, I asked him the question out loud. Arthur raised an eyebrow. “You’re asking a complete stranger for marital advice?” Me: “Maybe sometimes a stranger can see things more clearly.” He gave a noncommittal smile. After a long pause, he finally said, “If you’re asking me, I think the real issue is that you haven’t figured out what you actually want out of your own life.” I froze. This guy was ruthless. He saw right through me. I really didn’t know what I wanted. My parents were always busy running their business, and I had a younger brother. Because I was a girl, they dumped me at my grandparents’ house from a young age. No one supervised me, no one cared about me; they all just wished I wouldn’t bother them. When my grandparents died, my parents didn’t bring me home. Instead, they bought me a condo in this city and told me to just stay here. I picked my college major completely at random. I picked my husband completely at random. Because no one ever told me how I was supposed to live my life. And now, someone had ripped away the facade. With just a few sentences, he saw right through my hollow, empty existence. My nose stung inexplicably, and I asked him, my voice thick with unshed tears, “Then… what do you think I should do?” Perhaps because I sounded so genuinely distressed, Arthur cast a few extra glances my way. He said, “If you’re not afraid that I’m a serial killer, go buy some fishing gear and come back to that lodge tomorrow.” By the time he finished speaking, the car had arrived at my building. Before we parted ways, he gave me his phone number. After adding him as a contact, I saw his name was simply listed as “Arthur.” His social media feed was almost empty. Just a single photo of the ocean. The caption read: Ten years separated by life and death. The mind tries not to dwell, but the heart cannot forget.

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Tricked by my boyfriend into going to a remote, lawless compound deep in the backwoods, I was reduced to nothing more than a breeding machine. The day the local quack cut my stomach open to deliver a breached pregnancy, I lay in a pool of my own blood. Through the haze, I heard the two women guarding the door chewing sunflower seeds and gossiping: “These college girls from the city are so gullible. She actually thinks she was kidnapped by human traffickers.” “Right? Who told her to mess with Mr. Vance’s precious best friend?” “Mr. Vance paid our boss a hundred grand to have the whole compound play along with this ‘escape room’ game. He even personally mailed the labor-inducing drugs.” “I heard Mr. Vance say that as long as she rots in this hellhole for three years and experiences the pain his ‘bestie’ went through, he’ll mercifully take her back to the city to marry her.” Through the crack in the door, I saw the video call from my fiancé, Arthur Vance, playing on the woman’s phone. So, this pitch-black purgatory I had endured for three years was just a customized punishment he orchestrated to make his female best friend happy. The excruciating pain in my abdomen tore at my nerves. As my consciousness teetered on the edge of collapse, a mechanical voice echoed in my mind: [Host, the abuse meter for the target, Arthur Vance, is full. Do you wish to abandon the conquest and detach from the current world?] …… I opened my eyes, staring at the blackened wooden beams of the ceiling. The heavy wooden door was violently kicked open. The hinges snapped, and the door crashed into the mud, splashing filth everywhere. Arthur Vance, dressed in an immaculate black suit, stepped into the dim, foul-smelling barn. Behind him were five bodyguards in sunglasses. And two private doctors carrying medical kits. The local quack was squatting beside me, holding a rusted needle threaded with coarse black string, hovering over my abdomen. The flesh there had been brutally sliced open, and blood was relentlessly pouring out. Arthur stopped in his tracks, looking at the blood-soaked hay and pig manure covering the floor. He raised a hand and pointed at the quack. “Stop. Get the hell out.” The quack dropped the needle and thread. With his hands covered in dark red blood, he scrambled and crawled out of the barn. Arthur turned his head, issuing a command to his private doctors. “Give her a shot of adrenaline. Use a high dose of stimulants. We can’t have her sleeping through this.” The two doctors immediately stepped forward. One opened a medical kit, pulling out a long syringe to draw a clear liquid. He grabbed the shriveled flesh of my inner thigh and drove the thick needle into my vein. The liquid was rapidly pushed into my body. Ten seconds later, the drug’s effects spread through my bloodstream. My muscles began to spasm uncontrollably. My body thrashed and twitched against the filthy hay. With every convulsion, more blood gushed from the unstitched wound on my stomach. The blood ran down my thighs, pooling into a dark red puddle on the dirt floor. Arthur took a step back, avoiding the blood creeping toward his Italian leather shoes. “Stop acting. I know all your little tricks.” He stared down at me from his high horse. “I read the script the compound boss sent me. The fake wound and the pig’s blood pouch on your stomach? Nice prop work.” He let out a cold, mocking laugh. “Do you really think making yourself look like a tragic heroine is going to erase what you did to Chloe?” The stimulation from the drugs made my brain throb with agonizing pain. My upper body violently lurched forward, my hands instinctively reaching out. My skeletal, withered fingers brushed across the mud and grazed the hem of Arthur’s tailored trousers. The moment my fingertips touched him, I used my raspy, broken throat to force out a faint whisper. “Arthur… it hurts…” Arthur’s face darkened. He violently kicked my hand away. The back of my hand smashed against a stone trough, scraping off a layer of skin. He pulled a pristine white silk handkerchief from his breast pocket. Bending down, he aggressively wiped the spot on his shoe where I had touched him. “Put away that disgusting face.” He crumpled the used handkerchief into a ball and threw it directly at my face. It slid off, landing in the bloody puddle on the floor. “Chloe hasn’t forgiven you yet. You have no right to touch me.” I looked at the handkerchief and didn’t reach out again. I had to leave him. Arthur stood up straight and waved at his bodyguards. “Take her away. Don’t get my car dirty.” Two bodyguards stepped forward. They grabbed my arms and dragged me up from the hay. My legs had been broken months ago. The bones had healed misaligned; I couldn’t straighten them. As they dragged me, my paralyzed legs carved two long trenches through the mud and gravel. The skin on my knees was torn open by the sharp rocks, exposing the white bone underneath. Arthur walked out of the barn and stood on the dirt road at the edge of the compound. Old Man Cletus, the compound boss, stood by the road with a few locals, clutching several thick stacks of hundred-dollar bills. Arthur swept his gaze over them. “You all played your parts well these past three years. Her acting in this little setup of yours was very convincing.” Cletus nodded profusely, stuffing the cash into the pockets of his ragged coat. The bodyguards dragged me over to Arthur and dropped me. My body slammed heavily against the gravel road. Arthur looked down at my broken legs. “You didn’t want to do farm work, so you actually went far enough to break your own legs.” He scoffed through his nose. “Playing the beggar to get sympathy? Making yourself smell like an open sewer—did you really think that would soften my heart?” I closed my eyes. Three years ago today, I was slicing an apple in the kitchen of our mansion. The knife slipped, leaving a tiny, shallow cut on my index finger. A single drop of blood welled up. Arthur had sprinted in from the living room, snatching the knife away from me. He held my finger under running water for ten minutes, brought out the first-aid kit, and wrapped my finger in a thick cocoon of gauze. A month later, he rented out an entire private island. He covered it in red roses. He knelt on one knee in the flowers and slipped a flawless ten-carat diamond ring onto my finger. Two days later, Chloe Miller returned from abroad. She moved into the guest room of our mansion. A week later, Chloe walked down the stairs wearing a white dress that belonged to me. She picked up a pair of scissors from the coffee table and sliced a shallow bloody line into her own forearm. Arthur pushed the front doors open and walked in. Chloe clutched her arm, pointing at me. “Arthur, Stella cut me with the scissors!” Arthur snatched the glass of water out of my hand and shielded Chloe behind him. Another week passed. Chloe was holding a cup of boiling hot coffee. She poured the entire cup directly onto her own shoulder, screaming and shrinking into the corner of the sofa. Arthur rushed down from the second floor. Chloe pointed at me. “Stella tried to burn me to death with boiling water!” The next day, Chloe stood on the edge of the thirtieth-floor rooftop. Arthur rushed over and tackled her to safety. Following that, in front of a swarm of reporters, Arthur shredded our prenuptial agreement. He froze all my bank accounts and had his bodyguards shove me into a car. He personally drove me to this remote backwoods compound and handed a massive stack of cash to Cletus. He told me to rot here for three full years to experience the pain Chloe had gone through. And those three years were authentic, unfiltered torture. After taking the money, Cletus locked me in the barn. A heavy iron chain was padlocked around my neck. Every day, my only food was rancid pig slop. Every night, those backwoods creeps would walk into the barn. In the suffocating darkness, I suffered miscarriage after miscarriage. The bodyguards hauled me up by the arms and threw me into the trunk of the SUV. When the private jet took off, I lay crumpled in the corner of the cabin. I opened my mouth, wanting to make a sound. Only a broken, raspy wheeze squeezed past my throat. Sitting on the plush leather sofa, Arthur put on a pair of black noise-canceling headphones. “Enough, stop playing mute. Save your energy. When we get back to the city, you’re going to crawl on your knees and beg Chloe for forgiveness.” The jet landed at a private helipad in downtown Manhattan. The bodyguards wrapped me in a black industrial tarp and shoved me into the very back of a luxury van. The vehicle pulled into the underground garage of the Grand Continental Hotel. The elevator went straight to the penthouse ballroom. The grand doors were pushed open. The ballroom was lined with thick red carpets, the crystal chandeliers radiating blinding light. The bodyguards pulled off the tarp and threw me directly into the center of the room. Arthur, holding a microphone, stood under the spotlight. Surrounding us was a crowd of high-society elites holding flutes of champagne. Arthur pointed a finger at me. “Ladies and gentlemen, this is the gift I prepared to help cleanse Chloe of her bad luck.” He scanned the crowd. “A vicious, toxic woman I dragged back from the backwoods.” A roar of laughter erupted from the crowd. Several women in expensive evening gowns stepped forward, swirling their wine glasses. They looked down at me. “I heard she stayed in the woods for three years?” “Covering herself in mud on purpose, smelling like a rotting fish… is she trying to disgust Chloe?” I lay flat against the red carpet. I reached out my right arm, planting my elbow against the floor, and dragged my body forward. My broken legs trailed behind me, leaving a dark, wet streak of blood and grime across the immaculate carpet. Chloe, wearing a pristine white tulle gown, walked down the grand spiral staircase. Seeing the blood on the floor, she let out a dramatic gasp. She collapsed into Arthur’s arms, gripping his suit jacket tightly. “Arthur… her blood is so red… I’m scared…” Arthur’s face instantly went ice-cold. He turned to the hotel security guards stationed by the door. “Bring buckets of water. Wash that filthy blood off the carpet right now!” Two guards ran over carrying heavy plastic janitorial buckets. The buckets were filled with freezing, dirty mop water. Arthur pointed at me. “Dump it over her head. Help her wash off this pathetic, vulgar disguise.” The guards lifted the buckets. The freezing water, mixed with dust and grime, crashed down directly over my head. The torrent washed over my matted hair and seeped deep into the unstitched, gaping wound on my abdomen. The bone-chilling cold triggered violent, agonizing muscle spasms. Arthur walked up to me, his polished leather shoe stopping just an inch from my fingertips. “Crawl over here. Bow your head to the floor three times for Chloe.” He looked down at me. “Admit that you faked your pregnancy and faked your death just to fight for my attention. As long as you do that, I’ll give you a chance to be a janitor at the company.” I lowered my head. The gala transitioned into its second half. The bodyguards dragged me out of the ballroom and tossed me into the corner of the hallway outside the women’s restroom. My clothes clung tightly to my body. The bloody water from my abdomen dripped steadily onto the marble tiles. Chloe walked out of the restroom holding a compact mirror. She stopped right in front of me. She lifted her right foot, bringing the razor-sharp heel of her stiletto down hard onto my broken right index finger. She ground her heel left and right. The pain shot straight to my heart. My body seized violently, instinctively trying to shrink back. Watching me, Chloe let out a light, airy laugh. “Did you really think Arthur set you up at a nice little farm retreat?” She bent down, staring right into my face. “The day Cletus got the money, he texted me, asking how I wanted you handled.” She stood up straight, smoothing out her dress. “I texted back: Play with her however you want. Just leave her with one breath.” Chloe stared at the blood pooling around my stomach. “These past few hundred days and nights… tasted pretty good, didn’t they?” The sharp click-clack of leather shoes echoed from the other end of the hall. Arthur appeared around the corner. Chloe immediately threw herself backward, crashing heavily onto the marble floor. She grabbed her ankle, massive tears rolling down her cheeks. “Stella, I know you hate me, but why did you push me…” Arthur’s face changed instantly. He sprinted toward us. Without even glancing at me, he swung his right foot directly into my body. The toe of his leather shoe slammed precisely into the gaping wound on my abdomen. The fragile skin instantly ruptured. Blood and shredded tissue splattered against the wallpaper. I lay flat on my back, my eyes wide open, my breathing coming to a dead stop. Leaning against the wall, Chloe panted, her face pale. “Arthur, I was so scared, my anemia is acting up… I feel so dizzy…” Arthur immediately turned his head, his gaze locking onto me like ice. “Since you have enough energy to push her, you can use your blood to compensate Chloe.” He pulled out a walkie-talkie and called his private doctors waiting outside. Seconds later, a doctor ran down the hallway with a medical kit. Arthur pointed at my arm. “Draw her blood.”

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After being forced to drop out of high school, I got a job at a local boba shop. Just before closing, a gorgeous guy walked in. Without missing a beat, he ordered twenty Grape Slushes with Sea Salt Cold Foam. As I hesitated, a voice echoed directly into my brain. It was his inner thoughts: [This stupid System said I’m the male lead of a savior-trope romance, and the female lead is the girl working at the boba shop tonight.] [Heh, so this is my future wife.] [Damn! How does she look that pretty just breathing?] My fingertips stalled on the register. My heart slowly sank to the bottom of my stomach. The person who was originally supposed to work tonight wasn’t me. He had, it seemed, mistaken me for the female lead. I pretended I didn’t hear his thoughts. I told him the truth: “I don’t have enough ingredients left to make twenty cups.” Not to mention… It takes about three minutes to make one Grape Slush with cold foam. Twenty cups would take a full hour. I was the only one in the shop. The remaining cold foam in the back could only cover five cups, and I’d have to whip a fresh batch for the rest. For a minimum-wage worker who was exactly ten minutes away from clocking out, that workload was straight out of hell. The guy froze for a few seconds, then hurriedly said, “What about one cup, then?” I nodded. “That’ll be seven dollars and fifty cents. Cash or card?” Despite his calm outward appearance, I heard his thoughts again: […You’re so dead, Liam. You just left a terrible first impression on your future wife.] [Stupid System, come out here right now. I swear I won’t kill you.] Liam? Is that his name? It had a nice ring to it. I clenched my palms. I felt inexplicably nervous. Because the person scheduled to work tonight wasn’t me. It was Maya Reed. She had begged me ten minutes ago to cover the last half hour of her shift. Her payment was a crisp twenty-dollar bill. I agreed. But who could have predicted this? This guy had missed Maya by exactly ten minutes. I didn’t say a word. I just quietly started making his drink. Three minutes is a very short amount of time. But it also felt incredibly long. Because Liam was staring at me without blinking. He looked aloof and unapproachable. But his inner monologue was entirely out of control. [She works so hard. Shaking boba all day, her arms must be so sore.] [I want to go back there and help… but I don’t know how. What if I just make a mess?] [System, say something! You sent me here to save the female lead, at least tell me HOW to save her!] […This trash algorithm is playing dead again.] I sealed the lid on the cup. “Your drink is ready.” Liam immediately stood up. “Thank you.” He took the bag from the counter. When his fingers accidentally brushed against mine, he paused. [Her hands are freezing. Next time, I need to remind her to wear a jacket.] [Wait, next time… will I even get a next time?] I looked at Liam. He stood there, his sharp jawline illuminated by the warm café lights. Honestly, he was incredibly handsome. But his brain didn’t seem to work too well. He gave off serious “golden retriever with a trust fund” vibes. Liam asked, his face completely expressionless, “Are you… working tomorrow?” In his mind, he was screaming: [Please please please say yes say yes say yes!] I stayed silent for two seconds. Then I said, “Yes.” I paused, then added, “See you tomorrow.” I even made sure to flash him a warm, gentle smile. Liam nodded stiffly and practically tripped over his own feet walking out the door. The moment the glass door clicked shut, I saw his footsteps pause. His thoughts drifted back inside: [Hehehe, my wife has a little snaggletooth when she smiles. So cute.] [Fuck, I forgot to ask her name.] [It’s fine, I’ll see her tomorrow! I’ll definitely ask tomorrow!] [Wait, she said ‘see you tomorrow.’ Does that mean she doesn’t hate me?] [Oh my god, my wife is the best!] I narrowed my eyes and quickly ran out the door. I shouted at his tall, retreating back, “Do you want to exchange numbers?” Liam’s eyes lit up instantly. “Yes!” It was almost midnight by the time I got home. But my phone buzzed with a text from my dad. I had to drag myself out of the basement and climb the stairs up to the main floor of the house. They had changed the passcode on the smart lock again. I sighed helplessly and knocked on the door. When it opened, my dad was the only one in the living room. He asked, “You’ve been working for a month now. How does it feel?” I kept it brief. “Tiring.” My dad let out a cold scoff. “Now you know how hard it was for your mother and me to raise you.” I ignored the comment. I just stared blankly at the room down the hall. It used to be my bedroom. Now it was a renovated nursery. Inside slept the baby boy my stepmom had just given birth to. Seeing me stay silent, my dad finally got to the point. “Your stepsister is heading off to an elite arts conservatory prep camp soon. You know studying the arts burns through cash. My salary is barely enough to keep this family afloat. Since you’re making your own money now, it’s time you paid your parents back…” I interrupted him, feeling a wave of exhaustion. “How much do I need to hand over every month?” My dad didn’t expect me to be so compliant. “Four hundred.” I froze. The boba shop paid me six hundred a month for my part-time shifts. He wanted two-thirds of my entire paycheck? My dad fell silent for a few seconds, then inexplicably lost his temper. “You eat our food, you live in our house, and you don’t have any major expenses! What do you even need that much money for?!” Eat our food? He meant the cold leftovers they left for me. As for living in their house… They had just cleared out a corner of the unfinished, damp basement to give me a place to sleep. But I was too tired. I didn’t want to get into a screaming match with him. So, for now, I agreed. Perhaps sensing my underlying resentment, my dad added, “Your sister is beautiful. She’s going to make it big someday. Your grades were terrible anyway, and you weren’t going to get into college. Dropping out to help support the family was the right choice, so stop holding a grudge.” I bit my lip, my mind going numb. But I knew that arguing back would only trigger another violent outburst. It was better to say nothing. I walked silently back down the stairs to the basement. It was pitch black, damp, and freezing. But it had a twin-sized mattress and a discarded, wobbly desk. That was enough. The next day, when I got to the shop, Maya was already changing into her uniform. She saw me and smiled. “Thanks for covering me yesterday, Willow. Something came up last minute.” “No problem.” “Nothing crazy happened during closing, right?” My hands paused on the buttons of my apron. I forced out two words. “No. Nothing.” On my phone, Liam was asking what time he could come see me. I glanced at the shift schedule. I quietly texted him a time slot where I knew Maya wouldn’t be working. Ten o’clock at night. Liam appeared at the front door right on time. Aloof. Handsome. If you ignored his inner monologue, that is: [She looked at me! She looked at me!] [Is this outfit too casual? I should have worn the leather jacket.] [Wait, why didn’t she smile today? Is she upset?] [System! System! Get out here! What do I do?!] By the time I finished cleaning the espresso machines and walked out, Liam seemed to have regained his composure. He awkwardly trailed behind me as I locked up. I knew exactly what he wanted, so I played along. “Are you going to walk me home?” Liam tried to play it cool. “I can do that. It’s dangerous for a girl to walk home alone at night.” But his mind was screaming: [Good job, Liam. You are the absolute best.] [Willow actually let you walk her home! This is epic-level progress!] Me: “…” For the next month and a half. Liam showed up at the boba shop every single night at 10:00 PM sharp. An icy exterior, but a boiling hot heart. [She’s wearing a new scrunchie today. It’s pretty.] [She smiled at me. Hehehe.] [Why does she feel so hot and cold? Is she playing hard to get?] [Whatever, who cares. My wife can do no wrong!] I had to suppress a laugh every time I made his drinks. Sometimes he ordered the Grape Slush, sometimes Taro Milk Tea, sometimes a simple Lemon Iced Tea. He ordered something different every single time. His thoughts gave me a perfectly logical explanation: [I need to try every single flavor on the menu. That way, when she asks me what my favorite is, I can say, ‘Whatever you make.’] [I’m an absolute genius.] [Crap, crap, crap. I think I like her even more today than I did yesterday.] I almost squeezed the cold foam off the side of the cup. What kind of cheesy, sickly-sweet romance novel did this guy crawl out of? While sealing the drinks, I would “accidentally” meet his eyes. My heart couldn’t help but skip a beat. His gaze was intense. Focused. Like I was his entire world. It was such a beautiful feeling. But. What if he knew he had the wrong girl? I clenched my fingers. My nails dug painfully into my palms. Liam noticed me staring at him, and his ears turned visibly red. But his mouth said, “It’s late. Are you hungry? Do you want to grab late-night food?” I shook my head. “I’m so exhausted today. I just want to go home and sleep.” Liam nodded and waited for me to finish up. I calculated the timeline in my head. It was probably time. After clocking out, Liam walked me to my neighborhood gate, just as usual. But today, I purposely brought up the broken streetlights. “Liam, the streetlights in my subdivision are broken. Do you mind walking me all the way to my door?” Liam kept his face completely neutral. But his mind was racing: [AHHHHHH WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?!] [Does this mean our relationship is taking a massive leap forward?!] [Does this mean I can naturally ask to go inside for a glass of water?!] [No, never mind. She looks so tired today, my heart hurts just looking at her. I shouldn’t bother her.] The path down to the basement was pitch black. Liam walked beside me, his footsteps deliberately slow. As if he were pacing himself to match my stride. He used his phone’s flashlight to light the way, casually chatting with me about things happening at his high school. It turned out Liam was going to be a senior next year, too. If my dad hadn’t forced me to drop out… I would be sitting in a classroom during the day, just like him. I pushed down the envy in my eyes and gave a few generic, agreeable responses. Liam’s inner monologue was running wild, chattering non-stop: [Why is this path so dark? Doesn’t she get scared walking here alone every night?] [I need to buy her a tactical flashlight tomorrow.] [Where exactly does she live? Why does it keep getting more desolate? Why are we going down stairs??] He stopped in his tracks. Because I had stopped, too. In front of us was a rusted, metal security door. “I’m here.” Liam froze. He looked at the metal door, then at me, his Adam’s apple bobbing. [A basement? She lives in an unfinished basement?] [How can a person live here? It’s so damp and dark. She sleeps here every night?] [No wonder her hands are always so cold…] [Fuck.] I didn’t speak. I just stood there, waiting for him to say something. But Liam didn’t say a word. Even his inner thoughts went completely silent. This was exactly what I had predicted. I was the first to break the silence. I smiled and asked, “Do you want to come in for a glass of water?” Liam still couldn’t refuse me. Peeling paint, an overwhelmingly damp atmosphere, and a rickety twin bed. I poured him a glass of water, then suddenly spoke up. “You asked me before why I’m not in school. I’ll tell you now.” I told him the story of how I was bullied by my stepmom and stepsister. I told him how I was forced to drop out, and how my dad confiscated every dollar I earned. I timed my tears perfectly, letting them fall at exactly the right moments. I disguised myself as the resilient, tragic, innocent little flower that every “savior” novel demands. And sure enough. Liam was silent for a very long time. But his inner thoughts told me everything: He believed it. [Fuck.] [Fuck fuck fuck.] [I want to put her stepmom, stepsister, and her dad in the ICU.] [System, can you give me an invincibility buff? Just for ten minutes.] I kept my head down. My shoulders were trembling slightly.

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