Category: English

The moment she clinched her third straight Best Actress award, right there on live television, with millions watching, my wife stood in a wedding gown, holding a ring I’d designed, and proposed to her agent. Her circle of friends, a flurry of retweets and well wishes, declared it was high time they got together. I, too, quietly posted a comment: “Truly touching. Best wishes.” The next second, my phone rang. It was my wife, fuming. “Don’t be childish, Mark. This is the ninety-ninth task. Once I’m done with the last one, I’ll go public with us.” 1. The live chat was still flooded with congratulations. I calmly ate the dinner that had long gone cold in front of me. It tasted awful. Much like the meager affection between Elara and me – flavorless, yet somehow hard to discard. The video of Elara’s passionate, heartfelt proposal to Jason Reed on the awards stage quickly went viral. The comment section was a unanimous chorus of fans praising them for finally finding their happily ever after, calling them soulmates. I expressionlessly set down my chopsticks and opened Elara’s social media. Her latest post was a photo of her and Jason locked in a deep embrace, captioned: “Finally found you, glad I never gave up.” Below it, her close friends chimed in with identical blessings. “My OTP is finally together!” “This is what fairy tale love looks like!” I scoffed, then casually typed a comment: “Truly touching. Best wishes.” After sending it, I tossed my phone aside and drained the remaining red wine in my glass. A bitter taste spread through my mouth, mirroring the raw emotion churning inside me. Knowing she might win, I’d specifically cleared my schedule. I’d prepared a table full of her favorite dishes and uncorked a cherished bottle of red wine, intending to celebrate with her. Because of Jason, our relationship had steadily deteriorated. I’d tried to confront her countless times, but each attempt ended with her giving me the cold shoulder and me, inevitably, giving in. This time, I had thought, after she won the award, we’d finally have that talk, clear the air. She’d even promised me she’d come home to celebrate with me tonight, putting Jason aside. I sat in front of the TV, brimming with anticipation, waiting for her winning moment, ready to cheer for her, waiting for her to come home. And what did I get? I watched her, tears welling in her eyes, change into a wedding gown. From her assistant’s hand, she took an exquisite velvet box, slowly opening it. Inside lay a pair of rings—a pair I had personally designed, meant for our long-overdue wedding ceremony. “Jason,” she said, her voice filled with deep affection, looking out at the audience. “I know you’ve always been there. Thank you for tolerating all my quirks and shortcomings, for being the man behind me. I…” Her voice caught, tears glistening in her eyes. “For my hundredth little gesture for you… will you marry me?” My wife, on a grand awards stage, before the entire world, had proposed to another man. It was utterly, brutally ironic. I felt like I’d been slapped hard across the face, a scorching pain blooming on my cheeks. 2. She knew how much that ring meant to me, how much thought and effort I’d poured into it. Three years of dating, seven years of marriage. When we got married, her career was just taking off. Her agent insisted that going public would harm her prospects. I understood. I supported her. I willingly became the man in the shadows. She promised that at the right time, she would reveal our relationship. I believed her, and for three years, I worked tirelessly, day and night, designing this wedding ring. I revised it countless times, pouring all my heart and soul into it. I had so hoped it would be a testament to our love. I wanted to give her a magnificent wedding, to personally place this unique ring on her finger, and then tell the world she was my wife. Instead, she put it on Jason’s hand, turning it into a cruel thorn in my heart. My phone screen lit up. It was a video call from Elara. Against my better judgment, I answered. The scene that greeted me sent a chill down my spine. In a bathroom, Elara, dressed in a seductive nightgown I’d never seen before—lace and sheer fabric outlining her graceful figure—was carefully reapplying lipstick in the mirror. Jason held the phone, wearing only a bathrobe. “Honey, what are you doing?” Elara playfully rolled her eyes at him, every curve of her lips and eyelids exuding charm. The call ended. I couldn’t take it anymore. I grabbed my phone and typed a message: “Let’s get a divorce.” The message sent, my heart felt hollowed out, empty, leaving only an expanse of bitter emptiness. Three hours later, Elara’s call finally came through, laced with pure venom. “Mark, what the hell is wrong with you? What’s with this sudden divorce talk in the middle of the night?” “I’m home. Where are you?” I asked, my voice cold. “I’m celebrating with the team, why?” Her tone carried a hint of impatience. I scoffed. “Elara, do you really take me for a fool?” Elara’s voice hardened. “Believe what you want! I don’t have time for your drama, I’m busy right now!” Seeing her utter nonchalance, I suddenly felt a profound sense of weariness. “Elara, let’s get a divorce. I’m serious.” I hung up. My mind replayed the last ten years with Elara, every single memory. I picked up my suitcase and walked out of the house without a backward glance. The second floor of my studio had a lounge, a place I usually used for quick naps. Now, it was my temporary refuge. I sat slumped on the cold floor, drinking. In a haze, I dreamt of when Elara and I first got together. She was so young and innocent then, her eyes full of adoration for me. I’d casually mentioned wanting a new gaming console. She’d said, “Waste of money,” but secretly, she’d saved up for ages, scrimping and sacrificing, just to buy it for me. Her joy then was purer than any gift she could have received. 3. I woke the next day with a splitting headache. My phone screen flashed with dozens of unread messages, all from Elara. “Where are you? Why aren’t you answering?” “I bought your favorite matcha cake, when are you coming home?” “Mark, can you please stop being so unreasonable?” “Is this about Jason again? Don’t push it too far!” Unreasonable? Pushing it? I scoffed and blocked her number. When did I become the unreasonable, irrational one in her eyes? Perhaps it was when she started publicly documenting her “100 small gestures for Jason” on social media. I’d questioned her then, and she’d nonchalantly brushed it off. “It’s just to keep up appearances, to grab attention.” I believed her. Again and again, I chose to trust her, lowering my boundaries each time. I convinced myself to understand her, to be empathetic. I thought that once she completed her 100 gestures, she would settle down with me. But I was wrong. Her attitude toward me grew increasingly perfunctory, increasingly impatient. Our arguments became more frequent, each ending with my surrender. I was afraid she would really leave me, even more afraid of losing her. I was forced to accept her late-night trips to the beach with Jason to watch the sunrise. I accepted their passionate kiss in a bar on our anniversary. I even accepted her taking off for a month-long trip abroad with Jason without a word. She never told me about these things; I always found out from her social media updates. Every time I saw them, it felt like a knife twisting in my heart. Everyone else was cheering for their love, while I swallowed all my grievances alone. The ridiculous part was, I still had to pretend everything was normal, asking her, “Busy with work lately?” She’d always answer nonchalantly, “Hmm, I guess.” And then, nothing. It was as if an insurmountable chasm had opened between us. I was an outsider, watching my wife openly flirt with another man. I wanted to let go countless times, but each time I saw her return home exhausted, saw her occasional flashes of vulnerability, my heart softened. I lied to myself, saying it was just for work, just an act. But now I finally understood: I had lost, completely and utterly. An email popped into my inbox, sender: Daniel William, a renowned designer. The email was concise, expressing admiration for my design style and a sincere invitation to join his team. My fingers trembled slightly as I replied, accepting his offer. Deep down, I still wanted to prove that without Elara, without this marriage, I, Mark, could live a more fulfilling life. That afternoon, I was buried in perfecting a design draft in my studio when Elara suddenly appeared. She was wearing a perfectly tailored white suit today, sunglasses hiding her eyes but not the star aura emanating from her. My colleagues couldn’t help but steal glances and whisper about her. She had always been proud; after the first year of our relationship, she never came to my studio again. Before, if she could just come by to see me, I would be ecstatic, like a fool, wanting to tell the whole world she was my wife. But now, I merely gave her a fleeting glance and continued working. “Mark, why aren’t you talking to me?” She walked over, draped her arms intimately around mine, her voice a slight whine. I felt uncomfortable with her closeness, subtly pulled my hand away, and said flatly, “Something wrong?” “Last night, I was too caught up in the celebration, I forgot to celebrate with you. Can we make it up tonight?” “No need, I don’t think we have anything to celebrate.” Elara froze, a hint of hurt in her voice. “Mark, what’s wrong? Are you still angry with me?” “If you don’t have anything important, please go home. I have a lot of work to do,” I said coldly, unwilling to waste any more words on her. She bit her lip, her eyes slightly red. “Don’t be mad. Shall we go to dinner together?” Looking at her pitiful expression and the curious stares of my colleagues, I finally gave in. “Let’s go.” 4. I pulled open the passenger door, only to be met by a pair of men’s slippers. I looked at Elara, expressionless. “Jason’s. I’ll put them in the back,” she stammered, grabbing the slippers and tossing them into the back seat, her embarrassment barely concealed. I said nothing, sliding into the car, but my hand froze before buckling my seatbelt. Tucked into the crease was a used condom, still there. I couldn’t maintain my composure anymore. I snatched the damn thing out and flung it onto the seat. Elara’s face instantly went pale. Her lips moved, but no words came out. Of course, she knew what it meant. I slammed the door and got into the back seat. I watched her coldly, like a stranger, a stranger who made me sick. The white suit she wore today was clearly a matching set with the one Jason posted on his social media last week. I casually glanced at the back seat. Jason’s personal items were scattered everywhere: spare clothes, his usual hairspray, even an unread script… Before, Elara would always complain about my messy things, insisting no clutter in the car, saying it ruined the aesthetic. Now, Jason’s things shamelessly occupied her car. Just like their relationship, shamelessly occupying my life, my marriage. All this time, I had been deceiving myself, deliberately ignoring those glaring details, pretending everything was normal. But now, this car full of “evidence” had slapped me awake, leaving me nowhere to hide. “Mark, listen to me, my hundred gestures for Jason are over. I’ll find a way to go public with us.” Elara’s voice was laced with panic and a plea. Over? So what? The thought of her using my designed ring to propose to Jason in public made me realize this marriage had long ceased to be worth anything. Rain drizzled outside the window. I felt a little drowsy. A jarring screech of brakes jolted me awake. I looked up to see a familiar figure standing in front of the car. Jason. He was soaked through, rain dripping from his hair, his face pale, looking utterly miserable. Elara frantically unlatched the door and rushed out. “Jason, are you okay? Were you hit?” I watched her coldly as she ran to Jason, meticulously checking him for injuries. Elara helped Jason into the car, then turned to me, anxiously. “Mark, Jason’s soaked. Can I drop him home first, then we can go to dinner?” Seeing her frantic expression, the last flicker of hope in my heart died out. “Go ahead and drop him off,” I said expressionlessly. “Pull over somewhere with cover and let me out.” “Mark, why are you being so suspicious again? I’m just worried Jason will get a fever,” Elara frowned, clearly annoyed. “I understand. Just drop me off, then you can go.” I thought I sounded quite composed, even a little nonchalant. Elara’s voice suddenly rose, full of anger and accusation. “Jason has been in the rain for so long; do you really have to be so suspicious now? Will you only be satisfied if he gets sick?” At that moment, Jason weakly spoke up, “Elara, it’s fine. I’ll just call a cab later. Don’t let me disrupt your dinner.” I watched their interaction, finding it incredibly jarring. “No, you can’t. You’re soaked like this, what if you get a fever?” Elara refused without thinking, her voice full of worry. Sitting in the back seat, watching their intimate gestures, I suddenly felt incredibly ridiculous. Elara seemed to lose patience. She snapped at me fiercely: “If you don’t want to come along, then get out now. Don’t waste our time.” She reached to pull me out of the car. A sharp pain pierced my heart, and I let her push me out. The heavy rain poured down, instantly drenching me. I stood by the roadside, watching Elara drive away without hesitation. It was hard to find a cab in the downpour. I walked for a long time before finally reaching a sheltered spot. I was soaked to the bone, shivering uncontrollably. By the time I got back to the studio, I was burning up, my mind hazy. Thankfully, a colleague working late saw me and rushed me to the hospital. In and out of consciousness, I saw my colleague bustling around, buying me porridge, pouring me water. Eating the bland congee, tears streamed down my face, unstoppable. How long had it been since someone cared for me like this? I suddenly remembered how, when we first dated, if I got sick, Elara would drop everything and rush to my side to take care of me. Now, only a colleague was by my side. Upon returning to the studio, I sent Elara an email. The content was simple, just one line: “I’ve drafted the divorce papers. Sign them.” I scrolled through my phone. There were a few messages from Elara, all sent half an hour ago, asking if I had gotten home. Her tone was as demanding as ever, with a perfunctory concern: “Don’t be so childish next time. I’m not going anywhere.” “Learn to be as considerate and generous as Jason, stop being so petty.” “I’ll give you all the security you want, don’t be so small-minded. I’ll come home to stay with you tonight.” Reading these messages, I let out a humorless laugh. She probably hadn’t been back to our house since the awards, having no idea I had already moved out. I expressionlessly blocked her number. Out of sight, out of mind.

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1 Isabelle Ridley and I grew up inseparable. The day we turned eighteen, our families announced our engagement. From then on, I counted the days. But Isabelle saw it as a cage. “Most people get to fall in love a few times,” she once said bitterly. “Why am I stuck with you, from cradle to grave?” She shrugged, adding, “You should date around too, Noah.” She lived by her words. In the year after our engagement, Isabelle cycled through seven boyfriends. With each one, I calmly said it was fine, telling myself she’d get it out of her system and return to me eventually. Then came the eighth. She brought him to her family’s annual gala, holding his hand as he called her “Izzy.” I set down my fork and, in front of everyone, slid the signed engagement contract to the center of the table. “You were right, Isabelle,” I said steadily. “Committing to one person for life? It’s a raw deal.” Later, when I stood before her with Sophia Langdon—the Langdon heiress—Isabelle smashed her champagne flute, her eyes red with fury. “Noah, what is this?!” I smiled. “Isn’t this what you wanted? I tried. And she’s a perfect fit.” … I’d been to the Ridley family gala many times. But tonight was the first time I walked through those doors as something other than “Isabelle Ridley’s fiancé.” “Is that Noah Prescott? What is he…” “Who is he holding hands with? Is that the Langdon girl?” “And who’s that standing next to Miss Ridley? What is going on…” Isabelle shot to her feet, the legs of her chair scraping a jarring shriek against the polished marble floor. Her eyes were red-rimmed as she pointed a trembling finger at Sophia. “Do you have any idea who he is? He’s my fiancé!” Sophia glanced at me, a silent question in her eyes, asking if she should speak. I gave a subtle shake of my head. Mrs. Ridley forced a smile, trying to smooth things over. “Noah, there must be a misunderstanding. Izzy is just young and likes to have her fun. In her heart, she’s still yours…” I looked at Isabelle’s mother and offered a smile of my own. “Mrs. Ridley, she’s had her ‘fun’ for a year. Seven boyfriends. I never said a word.” “Tonight is your family’s most important event of the year, and she brings number eight. If I stay silent now, should I be expected to give up my seat for number nine?” Mr. Ridley’s face turned to stone. He shot Isabelle a look that could kill. She opened her mouth to argue, but I cut her off with a raised hand. “You were right, Isabelle. Being faithful is a bad deal.” “So, I’m ending the engagement. It’s over.” I nudged the contract further across the table, then turned to my own father. His expression was unreadable. He met my gaze for three long seconds, then stood. “Richard,” he said to Mr. Ridley, “let’s not interfere in our children’s affairs. But if Noah wants to end this engagement, he has my full support.” Mr. Ridley’s face darkened. He roared at Isabelle, “Get out of my sight! Now!” Isabelle was banished to the study. Even through the thick wooden door, we could hear the sound of things being thrown and smashed. Mrs. Ridley said nothing more, simply following her daughter into the room. Isabelle’s date, a young man named Caden, was left standing alone, wilting under the stares of the entire room. He ducked his head and hurried out of the main hall. The gala ended abruptly. I walked Sophia to the door, releasing her hand once we were outside. “Thank you for tonight, Sophia.” She looked up at me, her gaze warm and uncomplicated. “It was my honor to play a part in your little drama.” Then she got into her car and vanished into the night. I stood there in front of the Ridley estate, a cool wind brushing against me. A red wine stain on my white shirt had dried, leaving a dark, rust-colored mark. When I got home, I collapsed onto the sofa and lay there for a long time with my eyes closed. My mind drifted back to the year Isabelle first took my hand, declaring, “Noah Prescott is mine.” I remembered our eighteenth birthday, the day of our engagement party, when she announced to everyone, “He’s the one for me, for life.” And now, at twenty-two, she had brought her eighth boyfriend to meet me. The person I had sworn to protect was no longer mine to protect. I opened my eyes, took out my phone, and opened my chat with Isabelle. The last message, from three days ago, was a picture of her and Caden. New boyfriend. Cute, right? I hadn’t replied then. And I wouldn’t be replying now. I tapped her profile picture and selected “Delete Contact.” 2 A week after the engagement was broken, I drove out to a tea garden in the countryside to discuss a new project. The place was designed like a classical estate, with a small courtyard at the entrance and a flagstone path lined with bamboo. As I walked through the courtyard, I saw him. Caden. He was sitting at a tea table under a covered veranda, smiling and chatting, with pastries and tea laid out before him. Across from him sat Isabelle. Caden saw me first. A flicker of recognition lit his eyes before he quickly composed himself and pretended to continue his conversation. A hostess came to greet me, and I told her I had a reservation. She led me to a table in a quiet corner. The spot wasn’t far from their table, close enough to overhear their words. I had just sat down when I heard Caden say, “Izzy, about what happened with Noah the other night… what’s the latest?” The teacup in my hand paused halfway to my lips. Isabelle’s voice drifted over. “What’s to handle? He’s the one who broke it off. You don’t expect me to beg him to take me back, do you?” Caden chuckled. “But for him to do that in public… it was a huge slap in the face for you.” Isabelle laughed along with him. “He thinks he can scare me by ending the engagement? Please. Our families arranged it. His word alone doesn’t mean a thing.” I lifted the cup and took a slow sip. It was a premium green tea, this year’s harvest. It was good. Caden asked another question. “So, are you going to see him again?” “See him for what?” Isabelle’s tone was breezy, indifferent. “I have you now.” Caden lowered his voice. “So… when are you going to marry me?” There was a two-second pause. Then, Isabelle’s voice, clear as day. “Soon. As soon as things settle down, I’ll marry you.” I swallowed the tea and poured myself another cup. The steam rose, warming my face, leaving it feeling damp. Caden was still talking, but his voice had become a dull buzz in my ears. Her words echoed in my head, over and over. As soon as things settle down, I’ll marry you. Things settle down. I almost laughed. I had waited an entire year for her to come back to me. And here she was, promising to marry someone else as soon as things “settled down.” I drained my cup, called the waitress, and paid the bill. As I stood to leave, I walked past their table. I didn’t slow my pace. I even wore a faint, polite smile. Caden’s expression shifted, likely surprised by my composure. Isabelle watched me, her gaze following me until I was out of the courtyard and gone. Once I was in my car, I gripped the steering wheel, my knuckles white. My nails dug into my palms, the pain a sharp, welcome sting. I sent a message to the project manager, changing the location of our meeting. Three seconds later, I started the car and drove away. Back at the tea garden, Isabelle pushed away the pastry Caden offered her. “Let’s go.” Caden looked confused. “Where?” “You go home first. I have something to take care of.” His face fell, but he didn’t dare argue. That evening, the client for my new project was finalized. It was the Ridley Corporation. The next day, I received another message. The project liaison would be Caden. I stared at the message for a long time. Did Isabelle get him a job at her family’s company? Or was he already working there? It didn’t matter. None of it mattered anymore. I put down my phone and went back to revising the proposal. 3 At the project kick-off meeting, I found myself sitting across from Isabelle as a contractor for the first time. She was dressed in a sharp business suit, her expression all professional. Caden, also in a suit, sat beside her. I opened my laptop and began my presentation. Five minutes in, Caden held up a hand, interrupting me. “Mr. Prescott, I believe there’s an issue with your target demographic positioning.” I paused and looked at him. “The positioning was determined by preliminary market research. Your team signed off on the report.” Caden smiled. “That was before. I’m in charge of the project now, and I don’t think it’s appropriate. It needs to be changed.” Isabelle nodded beside him. “Caden’s right. Revise it.” I paused for a beat. “Alright.” I continued. Ten minutes later, Caden interrupted again. “This customer flow design is also unacceptable. It’s too convoluted. Did your team even do a site visit when you drafted this?” “We conducted three site visits,” I replied evenly. “The flow is based on…” Caden cut me off again. “I’ve seen your analysis report. The data sources are all wrong. Do it over.” Isabelle nodded again. “Do as he says.” Her gaze met mine for a fleeting second before she looked down at her phone. I took a deep breath. “Understood.” For the rest of the meeting, Caden interrupted me every five minutes, his criticisms growing more and more absurd. The other people in the room exchanged uneasy glances, but no one dared to speak up. When I finally finished, I closed my laptop. Caden smiled. “Thank you for your hard work, Mr. Prescott. Please take the proposal back and revise it thoroughly. We’ll meet again soon.” After the meeting, he cornered me in the hallway. He gave me a slick, smug smile. “Mr. Prescott, I’ll be your point of contact for this project moving forward. Let’s make sure we communicate frequently.” He leaned in, lowering his voice. “Izzy told me that the success of this project will directly impact the future partnership between the Prescott and Ridley corporations.” “Don’t worry,” he added, his voice dripping with insincerity. “I’ll be sure to ‘cooperate’ with you fully.” I looked at his face and felt a sudden, sharp urge to ask him a question. Do you have any idea that the woman you’re with went through seven boyfriends in a single year? But I didn’t. I just said, “Then let’s stick to the protocol.” His smile widened. “Of course, I’ll follow protocol. I’m just worried Mr. Prescott might not be used to it.” He turned to leave, then glanced back over his shoulder. “Oh, by the way, Mr. Prescott. Izzy said that after this project is completed, we’ll be officially announcing our engagement.” I stood there, motionless, and watched him disappear down the hall. For the next week, I worked late into the night, every night. I revised the proposal eight times. Each time I submitted it, Caden sent it back. My colleagues complained in private, saying he was doing it on purpose. I just told them, “Keep revising.” I knew he was doing it on purpose. Arguing was pointless. At eleven o’clock one night, I was alone in the office, working on the proposal. A knock came at the door. I looked up to see the security guard. Someone was here for me. I went downstairs. Sophia Langdon was standing in the lobby, holding a plastic bag. 4 Sophia walked over and handed me the bag. “I was passing by and thought you might be hungry.” I opened it. Inside was a container of hot soup and a coffee. I looked up at her. “Sophia, did you plant a tracking device on me?” She pretended to think about it. “That would be illegal.” “Then how did you know I hadn’t eaten?” She just smiled, not answering. I started on the soup. The warm broth soothed something deep inside me. She stood beside me quietly, just watching. Suddenly, I let out a small laugh. She looked at me. “What’s so funny?” “Nothing,” I said. “It’s just… I feel like it’s been a long time since I’ve laughed like this.” She met my eyes, her gaze soft and light. I didn’t say anything more. I went home that night and completed the ninth revision of the proposal. I submitted it at two in the morning. At eight a.m. the next day, I received a reply: [Approved.] The project’s milestone reception was held in the grand ballroom of a five-star hotel downtown. The moment I walked in, I could hear the whispers. “Isn’t that Noah Prescott? I thought he was engaged to the Ridley girl. Why is her family giving him such a hard time now?” “I heard they broke it off, but I don’t know the details.” “That Caden guy seems to be Miss Ridley’s new favorite. I bet an announcement is coming soon.” The words floated into my ears, but I kept my face a blank slate. At precisely eight o’clock, Caden entered with Isabelle on his arm. He was dressed in a sharp white suit that made him look dashing. Isabelle was in a magnificent gown, a polite smile fixed on her face. Someone braver than the rest called out, “Miss Ridley, is it true you and the Prescott family have called off the engagement?” Every head in the room turned to look at Isabelle, and then at me. Just as she was about to speak, I set down my glass. “It’s true,” I said, my voice cutting through the murmurs. “The engagement between the Ridley and Prescott families has been cancelled.” A wave of shock rippled through the ballroom. Isabelle’s face paled. She stared at me, her eyes wide. I met her gaze without flinching. Then, a slow, deliberate smile spread across her face. She wrapped her arms around Caden’s neck. And in front of everyone, she stood on her toes and kissed him. Caden froze for a second, then a look of pure joy washed over his face as he wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her back. Gasps and whispers erupted from the crowd. When the kiss ended, Isabelle pulled back, her eyes still locked on me. “Mr. Prescott is correct,” she announced, her voice ringing with false triumph. “The engagement is off.” “Because the man I’m going to marry… is him.” The room exploded. Caden was so overjoyed his eyes turned red. He held her waist tightly, as if she might disappear. But Isabelle wasn’t looking at him. She was staring at me. Waiting for my reaction. Waiting for a crack to appear in my composure. But my expression remained a perfect, unreadable mask. Just as I was about to say something, a voice came from behind me. “What a coincidence.” I turned. Sophia Langdon was walking through the crowd, a vision of elegance in her evening gown. She moved toward me, her gaze passing over everyone else until it landed on my face. She stopped in front of me, reached out, and took my hand. Then she lifted her head, looking at Isabelle, at Caden, at the entire room. “Because I’m going to marry him.”

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I had my phone on silent all day for a business trip, escorting clients for a fifty-million-dollar company bid, not wanting to be disturbed. Who knew I’d return only to be stopped by my fiancée’s male assistant? “You didn’t reply ‘received’ in the work chat today. Five thousand dollar fine!” I merely assumed he was unaware of my work schedule and ignored him. The next day, my fiancée, Sally, kicked me and my luggage out of the company. The male assistant fanned the flames nearby. “Company policy clearly states you must reply ‘received’ within two minutes. You’re abusing your position, setting a bad example! Other project managers reply instantly; is your hand too precious to type?” Sally actually spoke up for him. “A Vice President brazenly defying regulations and arguing fallaciously! If you don’t pay the fine within a day, you’re suspended for a day!” I looked at the diligently prepared bidding documents in my hand and smiled. Then I called my eldest sister. “I have a fifty-million-dollar winning bid to hand over to you. Also, I accept your previous offer; I’ll start at your company in three days.” 1 “What, finally came to your senses? Didn’t you refuse to come back before, even for a million-dollar annual salary?” My sister’s tone was full of teasing. Thinking of Sally kicking me out of the company because of a male assistant, I couldn’t help but smile bitterly. “Don’t even get me started. As long as your company doesn’t have some rule about being fined for not replying ‘received’ in the main work group within five minutes, I’ll be there in three days to start.” “Then it’s settled! No backing out this time!” Soon after talking to my sister, Sally called me. “I left the bid documents in the car. Bring them up.” I heard Ben’s deliberately amplified voice. “Ms. Vance, these tasks are for me, your assistant. How can you ask the Vice President to do them? Mr. Will already has a grudge against me after being fined today. I’ll go instead…” Sally’s stern voice, without a second thought, immediately soothed him. “It’s so hot. Your constitution is too weak for running around. Besides, he defied company regulations; you were just doing your job, giving him a friendly reminder.” “Will, I’ll only wait ten minutes for you. If I don’t see those documents, pack your things and leave the company!” The phone call was ruthlessly cut off. I stood there stunned for a long time, then let out a self-deprecating laugh. My fiancée had inexplicably reprimanded me for another man. She even, out of concern for him, made me take over what should have been someone else’s task. I still went to retrieve the documents, after all, there were resignation matters to settle. Sally took the documents. I was about to mention my resignation, but she didn’t even glance at me, handing the papers directly to Ben. “I have an announcement. Due to Will’s disregard for company regulations, I’ve decided to demote him. From now on, Ben will take over his Vice President position, and Will will be an assistant, supporting his work.” Ben looked at her, overwhelmed. “I… Ms. Vance, you’re too kind to me!” “It’s just a shame for Will, but you’ve had enough leisure as Vice President for a few years. It’s time to gain some experience as an assistant.” Listening to Sally heap praise on him, my heart felt as if it were being squeezed by a pair of hands, leaving me breathless with pain. Everyone in the company knew I was Sally Vance’s fiancée, yet under her, I had never received any special treatment due to that connection. On the contrary, I was treated more strictly than regular employees, starting from the bottom, working my way up. I drank so much at client dinners I ended up in the hospital, and secured countless projects to finally reach the position of Vice President. She always used to say, “I don’t want people to treat you differently because you’re my fiancée. I’m training you.” Yet, with Ben, her principles would bend and break again and again. Ben’s brow was etched with smugness. He pulled out a few expense reports. “Will, when you’re in a position, you act accordingly. So I’ll just have to uphold some Vice President rules. These are your hotel receipts from your last business trip.” “The company has always emphasized cutting costs. You’re still staying in five-star hotels? You’re just an assistant now; these expenses can’t be reimbursed.” Sally snorted, praising him. “He just took over and already understands how to generate profits for the company. My judgment is truly good.” My fingertips dug deep into my palms. I forced a calm demeanor. “You can give the Vice President position to whomever you wish, but I will not take the assistant position.” “I’m specifically here to resign. And Sally, our engagement is off.” 2 [Your employment process is complete. Report to work the day after tomorrow.] I received my sister’s message while packing to leave what had been our marital home. Sally returned with Ben, frowning when she saw me at home. “Why are you here?” My hands paused. I couldn’t help but retort, “You must have forgotten, this is my home too.” She seemed surprised by my uncharacteristic attitude, paused, then softened her tone. “Ben’s neighborhood hasn’t been safe lately. He’s now the company’s Vice President, holding considerable power, and as his superior, I should show concern.” “So I’ve decided to let him stay with us for a while, until he saves enough money to move out.” Her words were a complete declaration, with no hint of seeking my agreement. Ben stepped forward, feigning sincerity. “Will, I really don’t want to intrude on your and Ms. Vance’s lives, but Ms. Vance insists on not leaving me alone; she practically forced me to stay.” “She also said that you, Will, are older and more tolerant, and wouldn’t mind these things.” Over the years, I had heard such provocative words countless times, but this time, my heart was already unmoved. I picked up my luggage and said indifferently, “Do as you please. I already said the engagement is off. It doesn’t concern me who you bring into this apartment.” As I approached the entryway, Sally suddenly grabbed my hand, displeasure in her voice. “An entire night has passed, and you’re still not calm? I didn’t even mind you humiliating me in front of everyone yesterday. What exactly are you doing?” “Doing?” I scoffed, all the questions I had for her and Ben trapped within my throat. Looking at this meticulously decorated marital home, I suddenly felt pitifully foolish. It was in this apartment that she had knelt on one knee and proposed to me. “Will, I promise you, I will never let you suffer another moment of hardship.” In the past, even the slightest disagreement between us would make her immediately drop everything to soothe me. But now, she knew I was unhappy, yet chose to resolve it by ignoring me for a night, expecting me to calm down on my own. I shook her hand off, saying calmly, “The engagement is truly off. I’ll have you submit my resignation letter for me.” Ben suddenly rushed forward, blocking me, bowing and apologizing profusely. “Mr. Will! It’s all my fault! I shouldn’t have come here and made you think I was taking your place!” “I’ll go resign right now and never appear before Ms. Vance again!” With those words, he hurried out the door. Sally clenched her fists tightly, shoving me hard, raging, “Will! Will you only be happy if you drive Ben to his death?! The whole company was talking about him yesterday, and he only fined you to set an example for others!” “If he doesn’t live and travel with me, he’ll be ostracized by everyone in the company! I’m making amends for you! There’s nothing between Ben and me; can you put away your filthy thoughts?!” I crashed against the hallway cabinet, the bones in my lower back almost breaking. She left, slamming the door, without even looking back once. 3 I had my employment documents ready to proceed with joining Thorne & Co., but before I could leave, Sally’s secretary called me. “Mr. Will, Vice President Ben hasn’t approved your resignation letter. He requests you come to the office in person, and this is also Ms. Vance’s wish.” Ms. Vance’s wish. This was a blatant attempt to force me back. If my resignation wasn’t processed, the bid project would remain with Sally’s company. That project was one I had secured after repeatedly humbling myself; now that it had won, I had to take it with me. Ben looked down at me, contemptuously tossing the resignation letter to the floor. “My apologies, Will. Have you been Vice President for so many years that you can’t even write a proper resignation letter? The project handover isn’t clearly detailed, so I can’t approve it.” Looking at the resignation letter, revised dozens of times, I clenched my hands, letting out a scoff. “Intentionally targeting me? Ben, I just disdain to argue with you, otherwise, do you really think you’re qualified for this Vice President position?” I picked up the report, looking at him coldly. “Speaking of which, you reminded me. The projects I’ve handled over the years are all critical to the company’s lifeline. It’s certainly not up to you to approve.” Ben, smugly, blocked my way, pushing a lace negligee into my hand. “You’re going to see Ms. Vance, right? Good. Please return this negligee to Ms. Vance for me. Last night, Ms. Vance insisted on wearing this to cheer me up because I was in a bad mood.” “Let me tell you, forget about firing you for not replying to a message. Even if I said you walked into the company with your left foot first, Ms. Vance would listen to me and tell you to get out!” “Oh, I almost forgot, this outfit got dirty last night because we got a little carried away. Will, could you please wash it before returning it? After all, you’ve done plenty of laundry and cooking before.” Rage surged from my feet to my head. I could no longer restrain myself and swung my fist at his face. “Ben, you’re actually proud of being a homewrecker, aren’t you?!” The force was clearly not great, yet he thumped to the ground, clutching his face, crying and apologizing. “Will, I was wrong! But the resignation letter has to follow this procedure! Hitting me won’t help, everyone has to follow the process!” Accompanying his words was a furious kick to the door. Sally, seeing him on the floor, didn’t hesitate for a moment. She raised her hand and slapped me across the face. “Will! How dare you hit Ben!” A searing pain flared on my face. I looked at Sally’s piercingly cold eyes, and it took me a moment to realize what had happened. “Apologize.” Her voice was icy and merciless, her gaze like millennia of frozen ice, chilling me to the bone. “Won’t you even ask what happened?!” My eyes reddened, my head throbbing. I felt like I was about to collapse. “You laid hands on Ben and still think it’s his fault?! You’re truly irrational now, get out of my way! I need to take Ben to the hospital!” She impatiently shoved me. My ears rang, my head spun, and with that push, I actually fell to the floor. She paused, pulling Ben’s hand, about to help me up, when Ben suddenly cried out in agony. “Ms. Vance, what do we do? I feel so dizzy. I wonder if Will’s punch just now injured my brain!” Sally’s eyes were filled with anxious concern. She looked at me, then back at Ben, and finally let go of me. Before I lost consciousness, the only thing in my mind was that deafening slap. And the unbelievable, yet undeniable, truth. The person who once said she would never let me suffer, who worried when she saw me doing dishes and cooking, had actually raised her hand to hit me for another man.

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The day my patron was exposed as an imposter, the true heir of the city’s wealthiest family forced him into a basement where he tried to kill himself. I had just stolen the sponsorship agreement we’d signed years ago, planning to shred it and run. Suddenly, a stream of text began to scroll before my eyes, like comments on a live feed. Typical gold digger. She’s ditching him now, which is perfect. Makes room for our girl, the real heroine. After she leaves him, she’ll find some psycho benefactor who tortures her to death. If only she knew that in six months, he’ll have staged the most epic comeback in history, surpassing the Blackwood dynasty to become the youngest self-made billionaire. He and the heroine will become a legendary power couple. She’d probably claw her way back from the grave out of sheer spite. My hand trembled, and the agreement ripped in two. There was no time to think. I burst into the bathroom and saw him, Alistair, with a fresh cut bleeding on his wrist. I threw myself forward, grabbing his arm, my tears flowing without a shred of dignity. “Alistair, don’t you die on me! Who’s going to take care of me if you’re gone? I was hoping we could renew our contract!” His gaze, dark and hollow, drifted to the two pieces of the agreement on the floor. He spoke, his voice a ghost of its former self. “Really?” 1 “You were only ever with me for the money,” he said, his eyes scanning the damp, grimy basement as if he were a machine. “And now, you see what’s become of me.” His lips, always so vibrant, were now bloodless. I pressed my hands over the gash on his wrist, but crimson still dripped onto the cracked concrete floor. “I’ve been cast out of the Blackwood family. I’m hiding in this hellhole, a man who can’t even support himself, let alone you. So just go. I won’t blame you.” A cold dread prickled my skin, and I shivered. I’d been with Alistair for eight years. To the world, he was the suave, gentle heir. But I knew the truth. He was a viper coiled behind a mask of civility, and he never forgot a slight. His words might have sounded like a release, but the hand hidden behind his back was clenched so tight his knuckles were white. I didn’t know whether to believe the strange text floating in my vision, but my instincts, honed by years of surviving at his side, screamed at me to make a choice. I couldn’t leave. If I did, I wouldn’t have to wait for some future psycho to kill me. Alistair would do it first, and he’d do it slowly. I lunged forward and crushed my mouth against his pale lips. He seized control instantly, kissing me with a desperate hunger that left me breathless. When I finally pushed him away, gasping for air, I snatched the torn agreement from the floor. As he watched in stunned silence, I ripped it into tiny pieces. I cupped his face in my hands, my voice earnest. “Alistair, I don’t want to be your mistress anymore.” A flicker of murderous intent, the kind born from having nothing left to lose, flashed in his eyes. The comments in my vision were just as scathing. [Wow, I actually thought she’d had a change of heart. Turns out she’s just here to twist the knife. Just you wait. When her new patron is torturing her, she’ll be begging Alistair for help, and he won’t even give her a second glance.] [As soon as this parasite leaves, the heroine will burst in and save him. And that’s when his epic revenge story begins. Get the popcorn ready!] I ignored their vitriol, my voice dropping to a soft, trembling whisper. “I know this is probably the worst possible time to say this, but… now that you have nothing, I feel like I can finally reach you. So, Alistair, will you be my boyfriend?” His eyes widened slightly. But before he could answer, my vision went black. The last thing I saw was a single line of text materializing in the darkness. [Changing your mind won’t save you. Deviate from the script, and you’re the one who suffers.] A furious fire ignited in my soul. Follow the script? The script wanted me dead. Why the hell should I? In the suffocating dark, a searing heat consumed me. I ran and ran, desperate to escape, until finally, my eyes flew open. I shot upright, drenched in a cold sweat. I was in a hospital bed, a piercing pain radiating from my core. A soft groan escaped my lips. A cool hand touched my forehead, and Alistair’s voice, thick with fear, washed over me. “Sasha? Are you feeling any better?” The pain was a constant torment. After eight years of him catering to my every whim, never letting a single scratch mar my skin, I had grown soft. The agony was too much. I broke down, sobbing. “It hurts. It hurts so much.” He stood up, helpless, and rushed out to find a doctor. The man who returned with him shot me an irritated look. “If you don’t have the money for tests, you need to be discharged. Stop taking up a bed. What do you want me to do? No money, no treatment. It’s that simple.” Alistair’s voice was a low, furious growl. “Run the best tests you have. I have…” His words died in his throat. His proud posture, always so straight, seemed to crumple. He lowered his head, unable to meet my eyes. The doctor scoffed. “You should probably get going. You don’t have anything left to pawn for another night’s stay.” That’s when I noticed it. The family signet ring he always wore on his little finger was gone. Ignoring the searing pain, I threw myself out of bed, grabbed his hand, and pulled him toward the exit, chattering nonstop to soothe him. “Honestly, just being with you is like a painkiller, you know? It doesn’t hurt nearly as much. You can’t get rid of me, Alistair. You just can’t.” A single, hot tear landed on our joined hands. His voice was a raw, broken whisper. “I won’t.” A small smile touched my lips. And I wasn’t even lying. 2 [He chose to take the side character to the hospital and missed his fated meeting with the heroine. The plot is completely derailed.] [The system’s punishment seems weaker, too. That’s probably why she can still walk. The original penalty for defying the script should have left her in a state worse than death.] [You know, I’m kinda shipping them. The fallen tycoon and his fiercely loyal canary. You don’t see that every day.] I hid the glint in my eyes, piecing together a path to survival from these fragmented clues. So, if I defied the script, I’d be punished. But if Alistair chose me, without hesitation, every single time, it could break the script’s hold. The punishment might weaken, or maybe even… disappear? It all hinged on Alistair’s love. I turned to look at the man who was once the untouchable prince of the city, now trailing behind me, holding my hand with such gentle care. I smiled, my eyes crinkling. “Alistair, you’re my boyfriend now. So you’re going to work hard and get rich again so I can have my old life back, right?” “I promise,” he said, his voice firm, his words a vow. [Is it just me, or did he go from being her sugar daddy to her lapdog?] [Just wait until he starts working. The humiliation and degradation he’s about to face… that’s when the heroine swoops in to save him from rock bottom. Their love story will ignite. That’s the most important plot point.] [So they missed their first meeting. Big deal. It won’t stop them from falling in love. The side piece should start looking for her next benefactor now, before it’s too late.] I didn’t stop Alistair from going to work. The pain was a relentless beast, and sleep was my only escape. He came back exhausted every day. His clothes, once impeccably clean, now had dust ground into the knees. I knew from the comments what was happening. He’d gone to an old acquaintance from his circle, a man named Rick. Rick despised Alistair for being an imposter, but he couldn’t deny his business genius. So he tormented him with petty cruelties. The man who once oozed pride was on his knees, polishing another man’s shoes. He was hauling heavy water coolers up twenty-six flights of stairs, replacing the jug in every office. He was standing in the breakroom for three hours, making coffee for the entire company. Rick even made Alistair clean the toilets. I had smelled the acrid scent of disinfectant clinging to his skin. But despite all that, the first thing I saw when he walked through the door each night was a smile. He’d set down the groceries he’d bought and immediately pull me into his arms. “Feeling any better today?” I’d blink my eyes open, still groggy, and plant a loud kiss on his cheek. “Just having you hold me makes it all better.” “I’m starving. I want dinner.” Alistair, carrying the bag of groceries, moved to the small kitchen with practiced ease. I propped my head on my hand, enjoying the absolute meltdown happening in the comments. [This is the man who used to take three showers if he got a whiff of cooking smoke on him. Now he’s living in the kitchen just to cook for her.] [All she has to do is give him one compliment and he’s putty in her hands. And her whole ‘you’re my painkiller’ line? So cringe, I got goosebumps.] I rolled over in bed. Oh, there’s so much more than that. After dinner, Alistair would wash my clothes by hand, clean our tiny apartment, and then give me a full-body massage. Only after I was sound asleep would he start on the work he’d brought home. Whenever he was here, the slightest sound from me was treated like a national emergency. Like right now. Wearing an apron, he knelt beside my bed. “Did rolling over hurt? Do you need me?” I put on my sweetest voice. “I need my boyfriend to kiss me.” He chuckled and pressed a soft kiss to my lips, his hands, the same hands that had signed billion-dollar deals, began to gently massage my temples. The throbbing ache inside me subsided a little. I closed my eyes, content, and directed him to my shoulders. A shrill ringtone shattered the peace. Alistair’s hands paused before he answered the call. His brow furrowed, and he gave me an apologetic look. “Something came up at work, Sasha. I have to go out for a bit. You finish dinner, just leave the dishes on the table. I’ll wash them when I get back.” I watched him go. The comments exploded. [Rick has been plotting this all along. This isn’t about work. It’s a setup. He’s going to break Alistair’s pride, humiliate him, assault him. But thank god, the heroine is about to make her grand entrance and save the day! I’ve been waiting for this scene. My ship is finally sailing!] [After tonight, that manipulative gold digger will be kicked to the curb. I am so tired of her cutesy, fake act.] 3 A jolt of energy shot through me. I forced myself up, ignoring the pain, and scrambled out the door after Alistair, determined to intercept his and the heroine’s fated romantic encounter. Following the directions from the comments, I found the nightclub and slipped past a distracted bouncer. The pounding music amplified the pain in my body. In the center of the main floor, a noisy crowd had formed a circle. I pushed my way through and saw him. Alistair, pinned to the floor. Rick had his foot on Alistair’s face, grinding his heel into his cheek. The floor was littered with shattered glass, the shards digging into Alistair’s skin. Blood and spilled liquor pooled around him, the metallic, sweet stench making my stomach turn. “Still think you’re some kind of prince?” Rick sneered. “You’re a fake. A nobody. Thrown out on the street with nothing. If I wasn’t feeding you, you’d be begging for scraps right now.” “All I asked was for you to do a little striptease for us. You had no problem getting on your knees to polish my shoes. Why the high-and-mighty act now?” A vile smirk spread across Rick’s face. He grabbed Alistair’s chin, pinching his cheeks until they were red. Rick was notorious in their circle for being into men and women, but I never thought he’d set his sights on Alistair. “You’ve had a tough time, haven’t you? Just soften up a little. Be a good boy and play with me, and I can give you all the money and power you could ever want.” Alistair’s chest heaved, his eyes burning with silent fury. He spat a mouthful of blood onto Rick’s face. The response was a vicious storm of kicks and punches. Rick wiped his face, his expression twisting into a mask of rage. “Break his arms and legs! Strip him naked and hang him from the ceiling! Let’s see how long he lasts with no food or water!” A bouncer lifted a chair over his head and brought it down hard. Alistair let out a muffled grunt, swallowing the scream that rose in his throat. My vision turned red. Forgetting everything about the plot, I grabbed a fruit knife from a nearby table and charged into the circle, swinging it wildly. “Let us go! Or none of us are walking out of here alive!” My voice shook uncontrollably. I’d never been this close to real danger. My frenzied state made Rick stumble back a step. He squinted, and a slow, dawning smile spread across his face. “Well, well, if it isn’t Alistair’s little pet canary, Sasha. Still sticking with him even though he’s broke. What a loyal little whore.” His lecherous eyes darted between us. “I’ve had men, and I’ve had women. But I’ve never had a matching set before. Looks like I’m trying something new tonight.” “You can be my little plaything,” he said to me. “I’ll give you more than he ever could.” The words had barely left his mouth when Alistair, who had been lying limp on the floor, exploded. Veins bulged on his forehead as he snatched the knife from my hand and plunged it straight into Rick’s eye. “You dare touch her!” But Rick had numbers on his side. Bouncers swarmed forward, pinning Alistair down and beating him mercilessly. Rick writhed on the floor, screaming. “A doctor! Get me a goddamn doctor! And skin that bastard Alistair alive! I want him to beg for death!” I tried to shield Alistair with my own body, but someone kicked me so hard I flew backward, crashing into a table and coughing up a mouthful of blood. The fists landing on Alistair were brutal, each blow a sickening thud. But he seemed to feel nothing. His only focus was on me. When he saw the blood spill from my lips, he began to struggle with renewed ferocity. His eyes were blazing red, staring straight at me. He mouthed two words: Run now. [I knew this scene was coming, but it’s still brutal to watch. This incident leaves a permanent scar on him. It’s only with the heroine’s love and support that he’s able to heal.] [No wonder Rick is the one who eventually tortures the side character to death. I wish I could jump through the screen and kill him myself.] That sentence flashed in my mind. A wave of fury and defiance surged through me. Why should I die at the hands of scum like this? Why does he get to humiliate Alistair without consequence? I grabbed a jagged piece of broken glass from the floor and scrambled toward the now-unprotected Rick. As he roared in agony, I drove the shard deep into his neck. Hot blood sprayed across my face and hair. Suddenly, a clear, commanding female voice cut through the chaos. “Stop! Anyone who lays another hand on Alistair Blackwood will answer to me.” It was as if fireworks had exploded in my vision as the comments lit up in celebration. [The hero and heroine have finally met! The plot is back on track!] A wave of unimaginable pain washed over me, stealing the last of my strength. I collapsed to the floor. With my last ounce of will, I turned my head to look at Alistair. And I saw it. A flicker of awe and astonishment in his eyes as he looked at his savior.

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The moment I saw my husband Henry’s name filled in the “Family Signature” section, I knew he was cheating. I’m an obstetrician, specializing in deliveries. In that instant, I stared at his name for a full five seconds. The nurse beside me stamped her foot impatiently. “Dr. Evelyn, hurry! The patient’s already in, and the family is waiting in the hallway!” I didn’t move. Because just last night, during our video call, Henry had been complaining to me. He said his business trip to Seattle would last half a month. He said he couldn’t sleep without me. With that thought, I picked up the consent form and pushed open the door leading to the delivery ward hallway. On a chair in the corridor, Henry sat, head bowed, meticulously peeling an apple. He peeled it so carefully, the skin a single unbroken coil. Yet, in our two years of marriage, he had never once peeled an apple for me. The moment he looked up and saw me, the apple slipped from his hand and hit the floor. “Ev… Evelyn? I thought you were at your fellowship…” He pointed at me, his lips trembling. I didn’t answer. I simply held out the consent form, even unscrewing the pen cap for him. “Mr. McCarthy, you missed one signature.” “Hurry, your wife is waiting for you.” 1 Henry’s face went white. His mouth opened and closed twice, but no sound came out. “Sign it.” I repeated, my voice steady, cold. He took the pen with a trembling hand, his gaze darting wildly, unsure where to look. “Evelyn, listen to me, it’s not what you think.” “I’m not thinking anything.” I pointed to the last line on the form. “Family confirms consent for delivery, sign here.” He looked down, seeing his name printed under “Spouse.” Next to it were the patient’s details: Maya Croft, 27 years old, first delivery. His pen tip hovered over the paper, hesitant to descend. “Evelyn, I can really explain.” I didn’t look at him. I pulled the form from his hand, using the pen to tick a box in the family section for him. “No time for explanations. Dilation is almost complete.” As I turned, he reached out to grab me. I sidestepped, and his hand met empty air. Nurses bustled back and forth in the corridor. Family members dozed on benches, clutching thermoses. No one saw him reach out. And no one knew the doctor walking into the delivery room had just encountered her own husband bringing another woman to give birth. I pushed open the delivery room door. The lights inside were bright. A young woman lay on the delivery bed. Round-faced, her bangs plastered to her forehead with sweat, her eyes red, clutching the bedsheet tightly. She saw me enter and offered a nervous smile. “Hello, Doctor. I’m a little scared.” “That’s normal. Relax.” I lowered my head, flipping through her medical chart. 39 weeks and 2 days pregnant, normal fetal position, complete prenatal check-up records. The signature for every single check-up was Henry McCarthy. From week 12 to week 39, not a single one missed. I did the math. She got pregnant about ten months ago. What was I doing ten months ago? I was discussing with Henry whether we should enclose the balcony to plant flowers. He said yes, he’d find someone to do it after his business trip. That balcony was never enclosed. He said he was too busy. Turns out, he was busy accompanying someone else to prenatal check-ups. I closed the chart and walked to the delivery bed. Maya reached out to me. “Doctor, could you please call my husband in? I want him to be with me.” I looked down at her hand. A ring adorned her left ring finger. Platinum, set with small diamonds, with an engraving inside the band. I didn’t need to get closer to know what was engraved. It was my wedding band. Three months ago, Henry said he lost it at the gym, searched for days but couldn’t find it, and promised to buy me a new one. Now it was on another woman’s hand. This woman lay on the delivery bed, calling my husband her husband. Wearing my ring. “Doctor?” Maya watched me cautiously. I withdrew my hand. “Family can’t come into the delivery room for now. He can come in after you’ve given birth.” I offered her a smile. That smile took all my strength. 2 The contractions grew more frequent. Maya’s forehead glistened with sweat, and her lips were bitten raw. But she never screamed, just endured in muffled tones, occasionally whimpering. When the pain became unbearable, she’d clutch the bedsheet, mumbling, “My husband says it’ll be over after I give birth, it’ll be over after I give birth.” I adjusted the fetal heart monitor, not responding to her words. She was probably too nervous and started talking incessantly. Some people curse when they’re in pain, some cry. Maya was the talkative type. “Doctor, my husband is really good to me.” “Mhm.” “He says he’s been waiting for this baby for a long time.” “Mhm.” “He was in a relationship before, it didn’t work out. Then he met me, and he said he knew I was the one for him, forever.” I smoothed the monitor wires, keeping silent. “We’ve been together for almost two years.” Maya added, a hint of pride in her voice. Almost two years. Henry and I got our marriage license exactly two years and three months ago. Overlap. It overlapped from the very beginning. Which meant, he started this soon after we got married. Our honeymoon period wasn’t even over. Maya probably saw my expression was too calm, assuming I wasn’t interested, and changed the subject. “Doctor, are you married?” “Mhm.” “Then your husband must also feel for you. Being a doctor is so tough.” I handed her the straw cup. “Drink some water. You’ll need the strength later.” She took the cup, drank a few sips, and started talking again. “What moves me most about my husband is that he’s willing to start over for me.” “His previous relationship ended badly. He said the other person clung to him for a long time.” “Later, he moved, changed his phone number, and finally found peace.” I heard the words “moved.” My fingers paused for a second. “Where do you live now?” I asked casually, like idle chatter. Maya didn’t think much of it and gave an address. Emerald Lakes, Building 14, Apartment 1602. My pupils constricted. Emerald Lakes, Building 14, Apartment 1602. That was my property. My parents bought it outright before I was married, in my name. Henry and I moved in together after we got married, living there for over a year. Before I left for my fellowship, Henry said his commute was too long, and he wanted to move closer to his company, suggesting I rent out the Emerald Lakes apartment. I agreed. He said he found a tenant for me, three thousand five hundred a month, paid into my account. Three thousand five hundred. He did transfer three thousand five hundred to me every month. It wasn’t the tenant’s money. It was his own money, a pretense. He was living in my apartment, with another woman, spending my money, and pretending to collect rent every month. Maya was still talking. “Our apartment is so nice. He decorated it himself, and he planted so many flowers on the balcony.” The flowers on the balcony. They were jasmine and mint that I had planted before I left. I had watered them for half a year, fertilized them countless times. Now, they were his gift of romance to another woman. “Doctor? You don’t look so good. Are you alright?” “I’m fine.” I adjusted my mask. “The air in the delivery room is stuffy. It’s normal.” Another wave of contractions hit. Maya was too much in pain to speak. She arched her back, panting desperately, her hands gripping the side rails. I looked at her, thinking, You’re living in my apartment, wearing my ring, carrying my husband’s child, and now you’re lying on my delivery bed, asking me to deliver your baby. Maya, do you know how absurd this world can be sometimes? And I am the only one in this entire room who knows the script. 3 The labor progressed faster than expected. Maya’s physical condition was good, the baby’s weight was moderate, and the fetal heart rate remained stable. It was a smooth delivery. As I acknowledged this inwardly, a bitter taste filled my mouth. Profession was profession, personal matters were personal. I stood by the delivery bed, guiding her to breathe, push, breathe, and push again. Maya’s face was streaked with tears and sweat, gritting her teeth, she strained with my rhythm. In between contractions, she kept speaking, brokenly, as if only talking could lessen her fear. “My husband said… he said he’d wait outside all night…” “He also said… if it’s a boy… we’d name him Henry Jr.… meaning ‘peaceful’…” Henry Jr. A nice name. What did Henry say when we discussed names for our future children? He said not to rush, to wait until his career was more stable. Wait until the mortgage was paid off. Wait until he returned from his business trip. Wait until next month. Wait until next year. I waited for two years, and it turns out he wasn’t waiting for the right moment. He was waiting for someone else to get pregnant. “Push, one last time.” I pushed down all other thoughts, fully concentrating as I delivered the baby. A boy. Six pounds, eight ounces. His cry was loud and clear, filling the entire delivery room with his wails. Maya lay exhausted on the bed, her face a mix of tears and sweat, a foolish grin on her lips. “Is it a boy?” “Yes.” “That’s wonderful, he finally has a son.” She emphasized “finally,” as if she had completed some monumental task for Henry. The labor and delivery nurse took the baby for cleaning, while I performed the final stitches. Maya tilted her head, watching the baby, and suddenly said, “Doctor, thank you.” “You’re welcome.” “No, I’m not talking about the delivery.” Her voice was weak but sincere. “My husband had a difficult past. His ex-wife… the woman who clung to him, she got sick and passed away.” My hand, holding the suture needle, paused. “He’s truly a good man with a loyal heart. Every spring, he says he goes to visit her grave, suffering alone.” “Last spring he took me to San Diego, saying he needed a change of scenery, but he was distracted the whole day. He said he didn’t want his ex-wife to be too lonely by herself there.” “So I’m especially grateful to fate for bringing me to him. And thank you, for safely bringing our child into this world.” She smiled through her tears. I looked at her young, unguarded face and suddenly found it absurd. He told this woman I was dead. I was alive and well, working at a hospital three miles away, delivering babies, doing rounds, writing medical charts every day. In his story, I was an ex-wife who had passed away, a dead person used to elicit sympathy. I finished the stitching, removed my gloves. “Rest for a bit. The nurse will bring the baby to you soon.” Maya hummed in acknowledgment and reached out to stop me. “Doctor, wait. Help me look at something.” She struggled to pull a velvet pouch from a small bag beside her pillow, emptying out a jade ring. Verdant green, with an orchid carved into the silver setting. “My husband said this is a family heirloom his grandmother left him. He told me to wear it after I gave birth, to ward off evil. Do you think it’s valuable?” I stared at that ring. Only one in the whole world. My mother wore it for twenty years before she died, taking it off her hand and pressing it into mine as she passed. “My little Jasmine, this is for you. Mom has nothing else to leave you.” I had locked it in my jewelry box at home. Henry had told me six months ago that we had been robbed, that the jewelry box was pried open, and my mother’s jade ring and some gold jewelry were stolen. He had even taken me to the police station to file a report. Now it was on Maya’s hand. Left by his grandmother. To ward off evil for her. “Quite valuable.” I heard my own voice. “Keep it safe.” I walked out of the delivery room. The hallway was empty. I leaned against the wall, pulling out my phone. I opened my banking app, navigating to the joint account with Henry. Balance: $1083.46. I scrolled through the transaction history. One by one. Outgoing, $50,000. Outgoing, $30,000. Outgoing, $80,000. Outgoing, outgoing, outgoing. Each transaction to the same recipient, the memo always blank. Two years, $410,000 transferred out. My hand, clutching the phone, finally began to shake. Not from fear, but my body was breaking down before my mind. 4 I stood in the hallway for about three minutes. Deep breaths, exhale, inhale, exhale. When my hand stopped shaking, I locked my phone and put it back in my pocket. Pushing the door, I returned to the nurse’s station. The duty nurse was filling out newborn records. Seeing me, she called out, “Dr. Evelyn, the family for 1602 has been asking outside if they can come in to see the baby.” 1602. Even their delivery room number was the same as my house number. “Let him in. Mother and baby are fine. Tell him to be careful not to touch the patient’s stitches.” My voice was flat. The nurse gave me an extra glance. “Dr. Evelyn, you look terrible. Do you want to take a break?” “No, I’m just going to the restroom.” One of the light tubes in the restroom was broken, flickering. I leaned over the sink, cold water running through my fingers. The person in the mirror looked unfamiliar. My eyes were red, but I wasn’t crying. I wanted to cry, but no tears came. A strange feeling, my heart empty, as if everything had broken. I pulled out my phone, opening Henry’s chat. The last message was from 11:07 PM last night, from him. “Goodnight, wife. Seattle is boiling, I miss you so much. Go to bed early.” It was accompanied by a photo of a hotel king-sized bed. I took a screenshot, saving it to my album. I scrolled up. Day before yesterday: “Meetings all day, so exhausted. More tomorrow.” Three days ago: “Seattle is so boring. Home is best.” Every message was a lie. Every message typed so smoothly, so naturally. When did it become so effortless for him to lie? I closed the chat. Opened my album, flipping to our joint photos. Last year for Thanksgiving, he took me to San Diego. In the photo, we stood by the ocean, he held me from behind, his eyes crinkling in a smile. I remembered him saying that day, “Evelyn, let’s go somewhere new every year, and when we have kids, we’ll bring them along.” I said yes. Back then, I didn’t know that in his heart, there was only an expiration date for me. I scrolled past our photos. The most recent three months of photos were all from the hospital: fellowship notes, cafeteria meals. No him. Because he wasn’t there. Or rather, he was there. In my apartment, with another woman. Peeling apples for her, taking her to prenatal check-ups, putting his ear to her belly to listen to the baby move. Then at eleven at night, he’d video call me, calling me his wife into the camera. I turned off my phone. Washed my face. Dried it with a tissue, and put on a fresh mask. As I walked out, passing the delivery room door, I heard Maya talking to Henry inside. The door wasn’t fully closed, and voices leaked out. “Honey, look, he looks just like you.” “Mhm, the nose is similar.” “Kiss him.” Henry let out a soft laugh. I stood outside the door for two seconds. Then I walked away. I finished my last two hours on shift. Changed out of my scrubs, picked up my bag, and walked out of the hospital entrance. 8:17 PM. I didn’t take a cab back to my fellowship dorm. I hailed a cab and went to Emerald Lakes. Building 14, Apartment 1602. My apartment. The elevator reached the 16th floor. I walked to apartment 1602. The door had a pink cartoon bear sticker, proclaiming “Happy Home.” I pulled out my key from my bag. The apartment was mine. The lock hadn’t been changed. The key slid in, a turn. The door opened.

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The air was thick with the lingering scent of us when his friend showed up. Ashton and I had just finished. His buddy, a bottle of bourbon dangling from his fingers, gave me a knowing once-over and let out a low whistle. “Whoa, bad timing? Damn, Ashton, you’re a lucky man.” A hot blush crept up my neck. I mumbled something about needing to buy groceries and fled the apartment. But as the door clicked shut behind me, I heard his friend’s voice, low and conspiratorial. “Seriously, man. Felicity’s coming to town soon. What’s the deal with the girl in your room?” My feet froze to the floor. A long moment passed before I heard Ashton’s voice, casual and laced with a dismissive sneer I’d never heard before. “What’s to think about? She’s just a colleague. A bit of fun, that’s all.” His friend clicked his tongue. “And Felicity?” “Felicity?” He tapped the ash from a cigarette, his voice softening. “She’s different.” 1 At that moment, my mind went completely blank. I’d been chasing him, sometimes subtly, sometimes not, for five years. I thought we were finally, truly together. I was even planning to take him home for Christmas to meet my parents. I’d already figured out which train tickets to book, how I’d introduce him to my relatives, all the charming spots and hidden diners in my hometown I wanted to show him… The beautiful little future I’d built in my head shattered like glass, destroyed by those few careless words. Just a colleague? A bit of fun? The phrases hit me like a bucket of ice water, and I couldn’t move. The conversation inside continued. I peeked through the crack in the door. “By the way, I heard Felicity applied for grad school here. That’s because of you, right?” Ashton chuckled, his eyes softening into something warm and gentle. “Yeah. I had someone look into it for her, she’s pretty much a shoo-in. When she gets here in a few days, I’ll take her to meet her advisor.” “Look at you, pulling out all the stops. A regular knight in shining armor for your little princess.” Felicity. I’d heard her name before. She was Ashton’s childhood neighbor, three or four years younger, still in college. He’d never mentioned any special feelings for her, so I’d always assumed he saw her as a little sister. “Since she’s coming, you should probably clean things up here. Don’t want the kid to see this and get her heart broken.” “You think I don’t know that? I’ve got it handled.” Ashton took a drag from his cigarette, his expression vanishing into a cloud of white smoke. I couldn’t listen anymore. Tears blurring my vision, I stumbled down the stairs and ran. 2 I couldn’t understand it. Just last night, he was whispering “I love you” into my ear in a haze of passion. How could he turn so cold, so fast? Ashton. In my mind, he was brilliant, proud, and a little aloof to the world, but always, always gentle with me. He was a year ahead of me in college, and now we were colleagues at the same massive tech firm. I’d fallen for him the first time I saw him on campus. After graduation, I followed him right to this company. Our workplace even encouraged inter-office dating, so I pursued him openly. At first, he barely gave me the time of day, but slowly, he started to come around. When he finally kissed me, pulling me into his arms, I thought my devotion had finally won his. I never imagined this was how he saw our relationship. “Where’d you go? You’ve been gone forever.” My phone rang. It was Ashton, his voice a low rumble. “Just browsing at the supermarket,” I said, wiping away a tear and forcing my voice to sound steady. “Alright. Well, take your time.” He paused. “Oh, hey, we’re out of the ultra-thins. Grab a box on your way back.” Just as the line went dead, I heard someone in the background chuckle. He’d actually said that to me in front of his friend. Shame and anger washed over me. “Just a bit of fun…” His words echoed in my head, a sharp knife twisting in my heart. God, Ava, you’re so cheap in his eyes. I took a deep, shaky breath and opened my email, finding the transfer offer Sarah from HR had sent a few days ago. The company wanted to promote me to department head and relocate me to the Chicago office next month. My hometown wasn’t far from Chicago. It was a promotion, a raise—a golden opportunity. But for Ashton, I’d turned it down without a second thought. Sarah had pulled me aside for a chat afterward. When she realized I was rejecting the offer because of him, she’d hesitated. “Ava, love is important, but so are you… Just think about it a little more.” Now… Now I finally understood. I quickly typed out a reply: I accept the transfer. 3 I didn’t go back to the apartment I shared with Ashton. I went to my old room in the company dorms instead. When he called that night asking me to come home, I just told him I was swamped with work. Sarah had mentioned that the Chicago position was highly coveted, with several people vying for it, so she advised me to keep it quiet until the New Year. I wasn’t an idiot. If Ashton never considered me his girlfriend, then there was no need for a breakup. Where I was going and what I was doing was none of his business. The end-of-year rush was brutal, though. I had to wrap up all my current projects before the transfer, so I wouldn’t leave a mess for my colleagues. I found myself working until 3 a.m., and I’d only been asleep for a few hours when Ashton’s call jolted me awake. “Ava? What’s the name of that place you get those breakfast burritos and that weird green juice from?” “Huh?” I squinted at my phone. It was only 6:30. Ashton was usually dead to the world at this hour. “You know, the one with the extra crispy hash browns inside… Is it the one on the corner or the food truck downtown?” “The one downtown.” “Got it.” The call ended, but I was wide awake. Sleep was impossible now. Ashton was a night owl who always skipped breakfast. During the years I was trying to win him over, I’d bring him all sorts of things to eat in the morning. He loved the burritos from that specific truck, so I’d often take an early bus across town, a half-hour ride each way, just to get them for him. Was he up early today to buy breakfast… for me? A bitter, hopeful feeling swelled in my chest. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d woken up early for me. Last winter, I came down with a nasty flu and was stuck in my dorm room. I was drifting in and out of a feverish sleep when I heard the doorbell ring, thinking I’d imagined it. Later, I found out he’d gotten up at five, a personal record for him. He’d made me rice porridge from scratch, the kind my mom used to make, then went to the pharmacy for medicine, delivering it all to my door before he had to be at work. He grew up wealthy; he’d never cooked a day in his life. He deliberately handed me the soup and medicine with his left hand, but I still saw the bandages on the index and middle fingers of his right hand, tucked at his side. I can still remember the comforting aroma of that porridge. But today… I waited until 9 a.m., the start of the workday. He never showed. 4 “Ava! Ava, you won’t believe who I saw at the subway station today.” At lunch, Dani sidled up next to me in the cafeteria line. She was my partner on my main project and my best friend at the company. “It was Ashton. He took the day off, did you know?” Dani watched my face carefully. “No, I didn’t,” I said, my voice flat. Usually, I’d wander over to his desk during our breaks, chat for a bit, maybe grab a coffee together. Today, the thought hadn’t even crossed my mind. “He was with this really sweet-looking girl, heading for the L-train. I bet they were going to Six Flags.” Six Flags? After we’d gotten together, I’d asked him to go with me several times. He always said no. Turns out it wasn’t that he didn’t want to go. He just didn’t want to go with me. “The girl twisted her ankle on the stairs, and he just knelt right down, took off her shoe, and started rubbing her foot. He was blowing on it and everything, looked like he was about to kiss it…” “I snapped a picture. Here, look.” Dani handed me her phone. In the photo, a girl with a delicate, fair-skinned face and exquisite features sat on the steps, dressed in a wool skirt and black stockings. Ashton was kneeling before her, cradling her foot on his knee like it was a priceless treasure. A sharp pain lanced through my chest. I understood. The breakfast burrito this morning was for her. Taking the day off was for her. Felicity. She was here. “Look, Ava, don’t think I’m overstepping,” Dani said, “but you’ve been chasing this guy forever, and he’s never given you a straight answer. I always thought he was a player, and today just proves it.” “Now you see him for what he is, right?” My colleagues and his all knew I was pursuing him. But no one knew we’d actually been dating for a while. That was because Ashton had never made it official. I used to think it was just his personality, that he was private and didn’t like public displays. I even found his reserved-in-public, passionate-in-private persona charming. But between yesterday and today, even I couldn’t be that stupid anymore. Dani took her phone back and deleted the picture with a decisive tap. “Jerk. He’s disgusting.” “You need to stop hanging all your hopes on him! You’re gorgeous, Ava. There are plenty of guys in this office who’d kill for a chance with you. In fact, that cute new guy from R&D was just asking me about you…” “Thank you, Dani,” I managed a smile. “But I’m not looking to date right now. I’m…” I told her about the promotion and the transfer. Dani was trustworthy, and since she was my project partner, she deserved a heads-up. “Oh my God, congratulations! Ava! You have to treat me to dinner!” she squealed, throwing her arms around me in a hug. “Deal!” I laughed, prying her off me. I leaned in closer. “I heard from Sarah that they might be expanding the Chicago office even more in the second half of the year. Your department might send someone over…” “That would be amazing! I’d be the first to volunteer!” Dani grinned. “We could go to Navy Pier together!” 5 Two days later, Ashton showed up at my dorm room with a cup of bubble tea. I was on my laptop, trying to finish up some work. “Ava, can you please come home tonight? I can’t sleep when you’re not there.” The warm lamplight softened the lines of his face, making his eyes look deep and sincere. He sounded so loving, so gentle. My gaze fell on the cup on my desk. A coconut matcha latte, my old favorite. In the past, on the rare occasions I’d gotten upset with him, a single cup of this was all it took to soothe my anger. It wasn’t about the drink itself. It was because I was that easy to please. But things are different now, Ashton. “I’m not coming back. I’ll pick up the rest of my stuff in a few days.” I didn’t even look up from my screen. “What’s wrong?” He frowned slightly, then a look of understanding, mixed with a hint of amusement, crossed his face. He leaned over and pulled me into his arms. “I had to take a couple of days off for an emergency. My fault, I forgot to tell you. Is that it? You’re mad because you haven’t seen me for a few days? You’re the one who’s been hiding out here working late.” He buried his face in my neck, inhaling deeply, trying to take things further in the privacy of my room. He’d done this before, and I’d mistaken it for love. Now I knew he was just horny. I shoved him away, hard. My arm knocked over the latte on the table. The pale green liquid splashed across the floor, blooming like a sickly flower and filling the air with a cloying sweetness that made my stomach turn. “Ava!” His voice finally sharpened with anger. He grabbed my wrist. “What the hell is your problem? I asked around. Your department is busy, but not this busy. What are you really doing here every night?” He trapped me against the desk, his lean forearms bracketing me. His dark, narrow eyes narrowed menacingly. “Or are you avoiding me to see someone else?” The air went still. My eyes suddenly burned with tears. I had wanted to end things quietly, to just disappear. But I couldn’t hold it in anymore. “Ashton, I’m not shameless like you! You’re the one who doesn’t give a damn about me! You’re the one seeing someone else! Felicity! I know she’s here!” Ashton froze, his shock quickly morphing into fury. “How did you know? Are you spying on me?!” “Ava, we’re not married! We just slept together, and you’re already watching my every move… I’m very disappointed in you.” “I’m disappointed too,” I choked out, looking up at him. All the pain I’d bottled up over the last few days burst forth like a flood. This man, the man I had loved for years, had taken my love and forged it into a thousand tiny knives, plunging every single one of them into my heart. Seeing my tears, Ashton’s anger faltered. He fumbled for a tissue, trying to wipe my face. “I’m sorry, that was too harsh. I just mean… Ava, I need my space. You can’t control everything I do…” “I won’t anymore.” I pushed his hand away, wiping my tears on my sleeve, swallowing them down. I’m done with you, Ashton. I heard voices in the hallway; my roommate was coming back. “You should go,” I said, pushing him toward the door. Ashton stood there for a moment, then pressed the crumpled tissue into my hand. “Fine.” “Calm down. We’ll talk on the phone tonight.” 6 My roommate tiptoed around the puddle of latte on the floor, her eyes wide with surprise. “Ava, what happened?” “It’s nothing.” I grabbed a mop and cleaned the floor, scrubbing until it was spotless, as if nothing had ever been spilled. Then I took out my phone, blocked Ashton’s number, and blocked him on every social media app. That evening, my mom called. “Ava, have you and your boyfriend booked your train tickets yet? I cleaned out the guest room today, so he’ll have a place to stay…” I paused, then cut her off. “Mom… we broke up.” Every time I went home for the holidays, the first question from every aunt and uncle was about my relationship status. My parents never pressured me, but I knew they were secretly hoping I’d bring someone home. When my mom had called last week and I asked if I could bring my boyfriend for Christmas, she had been ecstatic. Now, just a few days later, I had to let her down. There was a brief silence on the other end of the line before my mom’s voice returned, as cheerful as ever. “Well, that’s okay! You’re young, these things happen.” “You’ll find someone better when the time is right.” “Ava, just make sure you book your own ticket home soon! I can’t wait to see you…” “Okay,” I whispered, my voice thick with unshed tears. The next day, I took a half-day off and went back to the apartment. I threw my few clothes and makeup into a suitcase. The stuffed animals, the lipstick, the handbag he’d bought me—they all went into a trash bag. Downstairs, I tossed the bag into the dumpster and walked away, pulling my suitcase behind me without a single look back. I wondered if Ashton had noticed I’d blocked him, if he was furious. Or maybe he was too busy with Felicity to even care. Either way, he didn’t contact me again for the next few days. Soon, it was the company’s annual anniversary party. Employees were allowed to bring a plus-one, and the ballroom was filled with spouses and partners. A few of Ashton’s colleagues passed by me, their eyes darting away as they mumbled a hello. “Ava!” Dani called out, nodding toward the front of the room. “Ashton’s here. And he brought her.” I turned. Ashton stood with his back to me at the dessert table, next to Felicity. She took a small bite of a strawberry panna cotta, then playfully fed the rest of it to him. Ashton put on a show of exasperated affection. I remembered how he’d never once touched food I’d already eaten. Even when we shared a bag of chips, we had to have separate bowls. The ballroom was chaotic, with kids running everywhere. As I stood there, lost in thought, a little boy about five or six years old, holding a chocolate ice cream cone, ran straight into my white dress. Before I could even react, he burst into tears. His mother, assuming I was the one who had bullied her precious child, immediately started scolding me. Dani tried to explain, but the woman wouldn’t listen. A crowd of colleagues gathered, but no one knew what had happened, so they just stood there watching. Finally, a guy holding a large camera stepped in front of me. “Ma’am, your son ran into her. I caught the whole thing on video, if you’d like to see?” After reviewing the footage, the mother offered a half-hearted apology and dragged her son away. The guy turned to me and smiled. He had a kind, handsome face, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He held out his hand. “Noah. R&D department.” Dani nudged me with her elbow, a teasing glint in her eye. “The cute new guy from R&D.” Noah’s ears turned a little red. I got the hint. “Ava, from Product,” I said, shaking his hand politely. “Thanks for that.” “Excuse me, I need to use the restroom.” 7 I was still trying to scrub the chocolate stain out of my dress when a call came through from an unknown number. I answered. It was Ashton’s deep voice. “Ava, where are you? Who was that guy?” He’d seen what happened. He didn’t even ask if I was okay. The first thing he asked was who the other guy was. “Ava, stop this childish game! You blocked me, you cleared out your stuff from the apartment, and now you’re putting on a little show with this guy right in front of me?” His voice was strained with disappointment and fatigue. “This is exhausting!” “I only brought Felicity today to introduce her to a few people. She’s leaving in a couple of days. You don’t have to be so petty…” I almost laughed. He actually thought I’d staged the whole thing just to get his attention. “Ashton, I’m not being petty! What are we, anyway? We’re colleagues, remember? Why would I put on a show for you? Frankly, this dress is worth more to me than you are!” I dabbed at the stain again. It was fading, but it wouldn’t come out completely. A shame. It had cost me three hundred dollars. “Fine, Ava. Just fine,” he seethed through the phone. “You…” I didn’t hear the rest. I hung up and blocked his new number. It was all just noise. I didn’t want to hear another word. When I came out of the restroom, Dani and Noah were rushing toward me, both out of breath. Noah was holding a paper bag from a sportswear store. “Ava, this was the best I could do on short notice,” he said. “It’s just a tracksuit, but you can change into it for now.” “Thank you, Dani!” I said, taking the bag. “Don’t thank me! It was his idea, and his money. I just picked the size,” Dani said with a grin, pointing at Noah. The tall, broad-shouldered young man gave me a shy smile.

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Five years after my death, my doctor husband, Sauron, demanded once again that I take the fall for a medical malpractice suit involving his first love. He burst into my old apartment, clutching a forged agreement, only to find a house thick with dust. In a panic, he grabbed the corner store owner downstairs, questioning my whereabouts. The owner, however, told him: “Chloe Finch? She died five years ago. I heard the family from that malpractice suit, driven by grief, ambushed her in an alley one night and stabbed her over a dozen times.” My husband refused to believe it, convinced the owner had been paid to lie for me. He raised an eyebrow, a cold sneer on his face. “So, just because I suspended her for two years, she’s throwing a tantrum now?!” “Tell her, if she doesn’t show up in three days, I’m stopping her sister’s cancer treatment payments!” With that, he cursed and slammed the door behind him. The owner watched his retreating back, shaking his head with a sigh: “What sister? Her sister died years ago, unable to afford treatment…” … In the hallway, the deadbolt clacked as a key turned. I floated on the ceiling, watching Sauron burst into my old apartment, clutching the forged agreement. He covered his nose, fanning away the dust, his hurried footsteps echoing on the floor. “Chloe Finch, get out here! Eleanor’s about to lose her license, and you’re still hiding?” I chuckled to myself, a bitter sound. After that medical malpractice incident five years ago, Sauron and I had lost touch. I never imagined his next visit would be to demand I take the blame for Eleanor’s new medical error. I couldn’t help but marvel at how deeply connected he and Eleanor still were. Sauron walked through the rooms twice, his gaze sweeping over the dusty sofa and the cobweb-strung window. His mouth twisted into an even sharper sneer. “What are you trying to do, disappear? Where could someone like you, fired from the hospital, possibly hide?” “Eleanor just texted that the police have started their investigation. You want her to go to jail, don’t you?” “I’ll give you ten seconds. Get out here now!” I watched his impatient face, thinking, Five years, and he’s still so entitled. But no matter how many sets of ten seconds he gave me, I wouldn’t obediently appear before him like I used to. Because I was dead. “Chloe Finch! Do you hear me? Why are you being so difficult about helping me out?!” He suddenly turned and kicked the bedroom door, which groaned dully. But it remained empty. Sauron impatiently “tch’ed,” then searched the rest of the apartment fruitlessly. He finally realized there truly was no one there. He muttered to himself, gritting his teeth, and slammed the door shut. The convenience store door downstairs was yanked open. Sauron grabbed the owner, who was scanning items. “Have you seen Chloe Finch? The one on the third floor.” The owner paused, wiping oil from his hands. “Chloe Finch? She died five years ago.” I saw Sauron falter, then sneer. “Who are you trying to scare? How could someone like her die?” “No, really.” The owner pointed toward the alley entrance. “Five years ago, the family from that medical malpractice suit ambushed her in the alley and stabbed her over a dozen times. She died on the way to the hospital. Who are you to her?” The overly fluent answer made a flicker of surprise cross Sauron’s eyes. His brows furrowed, and his expression showed a hint of pain that I didn’t understand. But then, his attention was drawn by a message on his phone—it was from Eleanor: “Forget it, Sauron. I’m sure Chloe still resents me and will make excuses. Don’t trouble yourself for me, I’ll just go to jail. Without me, you must take care of yourself.” That single message was enough for Sauron to conclude that my death was merely an excuse to refuse them. His fingers trembled as he replied: “What right does she have to refuse? I gave her a huge sum of money back then; when I need her, she has to show up!” “Don’t worry, I’ll definitely drag her back to take the blame. I won’t let anything happen to you!” The “message sent” notification popped up. Sauron looked up, glaring at the owner. “Don’t play this game with me! She’s definitely hiding. Did she pay you?” The owner sighed. “Young man, is this something to joke about? It was in the news back then…” “News reports are always true?” Sauron unconsciously raised his voice. He took a step closer, his eyes full of menace. “Tell her, if she doesn’t show up in three days, I’m stopping her sister’s cancer treatment payments!” The owner opened his mouth, about to say something, but Sauron sharply waved him off. “Don’t waste my time! Either she comes out, or she waits to claim her sister’s body!” With that, Sauron turned and left. The convenience store door slammed shut with a bang. The owner watched his retreating back, shaking his head, and sighed to the empty air: “What sister? Her sister died years ago, unable to afford treatment…” I floated nearby, looking at the water bottle kicked aside on the ground. My soul felt as if it were soaked in that icy liquid. That money never reached my hands. When my sister lay in her hospital bed, waiting for money to save her life, Eleanor was using it to buy imported medical equipment. And when I was stabbed and left to die in that alley, he was accompanying Eleanor at a medical seminar. Now, he was threatening a long-dead person, in the name of another long-dead person. My soul seemed trapped beside Sauron, forced to follow him home. The moment he pushed open the door, Eleanor rushed to meet him, her face alight with anticipation. “Sauron, well? Did you find Chloe Finch?” Sauron shook his head, his expression a little dazed. “No… And, they said Chloe Finch is dead?” “Dead?!” Eleanor’s eyes widened abruptly. She stumbled back half a step, her hand instinctively grabbing Sauron’s arm. “How is that possible? Is she… is she deliberately hiding from us, making that up to fool you?” Sauron frowned, saying nothing. Seeing his expression, Eleanor quickly forced a bitter smile. “It must be! Chloe must still resent what happened five years ago and doesn’t want to help me, so she made up such a lie.” “Sauron, how about… we just drop it? Don’t trouble her anymore. At worst, I’ll just turn myself in…” Sauron was silent for a while, finally nodding. “You’re right, she must be hiding.” “But this can’t just be dropped. Even if I have to dig three feet deep, I will find her and get you exonerated!” Eleanor’s eyes reddened with emotion, her voice choked. “Sauron, you’re so good to me…” “However…” Sauron suddenly cut her off, a hint of hesitation in his voice. “Chloe Finch can come up with such an excuse; it seems she’s genuinely furious.” “Eleanor, this is the last time. Once she takes the fall for you and gets out of jail, let’s end things.” I stood by, so shocked I almost forgot I was dead. Sauron actually suggested breaking up with Eleanor? I remembered how he had fought with me fiercely for this woman, turning our world upside down. We had been married for less than a year when Eleanor returned to the country, even specifically transferring to our hospital. From then on, the two of them carried on an open affair right under my nose. If I so much as questioned it, he’d accuse me of being narrow-minded and paranoid. Yet now, he was actually proposing to end the relationship? Sauron didn’t notice the stiff expression on Eleanor’s face. He turned his head away, his voice softer. “I need to return to my family, eventually. I did give her money last time, but these past few years, I’ve truly neglected her.” “Honestly, deep down… I feel quite guilty.” Eleanor looked at him in disbelief. “Sauron… are you leaving me?” “I don’t know,” Sauron evaded her gaze, his brow furrowing even deeper. “Ever since I left Chloe’s apartment, I’ve felt a constant unease, like something terrible is about to happen.” He paused, his voice firming up again. “But I will definitely help you with this! I won’t stand by and watch you go to jail. I’m going to find her now. You wait for me.” With that, he turned and left, his back conveying a sense of determination and finality. Eleanor remained still. But when she looked at him, her pitiful expression was completely gone. I clearly saw her eyes, like venom-tipped blades, sinister and vicious. And the name she ground out through gritted teeth was mine. Sauron was desperate to find me, so the first place he thought of was my sister. I followed his car straight to the city hospital. This road was all too familiar to me, for before, my life had been a straight line between the hospital and home. So many years, never changing. I watched Sauron press the accelerator to the floor, his brow remaining furrowed since he got in the car. It was clear he was still fretting over Eleanor’s situation. He didn’t even bother to properly park the car, rushing into the inpatient ward and grabbing a nurse at the station. “Can you check the room number for Hazel Finch?” “…Oh, okay.” The nurse responded blankly, then began to search through records. Unexpectedly, a cold sneer suddenly echoed from nearby. “Well, well, if it isn’t Dr. Sauron, himself? What brings you to our humble little place?” Sauron turned, his face instantly darkening. It was Dr. Thorne, a chief physician who used to be in the same department as him. As far as I knew, the two had been at odds for a long time. But later, for some unknown reason, after my medical malpractice incident, Thorne had also resigned and left. Now, enemies meeting, their eyes were red with animosity. Sauron scrutinized him, responding testily, “Where I am? What’s it to you?” Thorne crossed his arms, a mocking smile on his lips. “It’s nothing to me, truly. Just curious, how can you be so cold-blooded?” “You didn’t come when they were critically ill, but now that they’re gone, you suddenly decide to look for them?” “Critically ill?” Sauron frowned deeply. “Who was critically ill?” Sauron looked completely bewildered, as if he didn’t understand. But I knew Thorne was talking about my sister and me. Back then, I was stabbed multiple times in the alley, already on the verge of death in the ambulance. They called Sauron, hoping he, as family, would come to see me one last time. But he was with Eleanor, not wanting to disturb their private time, so he hung up without even answering. When they called again later, his number was already blacklisted. My sister, too. Back then, Hazel was given a critical condition notice because she couldn’t afford treatment. When I tried to contact him, he was enjoying a carefree trip with Eleanor. As a result, my sister passed away utterly alone, with no one by her side. Watching Sauron’s bewildered expression, Thorne stared for a few seconds, then suddenly scoffed. “You’re quite the actor. Never mind, I truly don’t know what’s so good about you, to be worth so much to her.” Thorne didn’t say much more, leaving only that cryptic remark before returning to his office. Sauron stood there, his fingers slowly, unconsciously clenching into fists. This was a small gesture he made when he was nervous or afraid. But… what was he afraid of? “Dr. Sauron?” The nurse’s voice pulled him back to reality. “The patient you’re looking for…” She hesitated, then continued, “Hazel Finch, she passed away three years ago.” Sauron’s pupils constricted sharply at those words. He stood frozen, as if nailed to the spot. “What did you say? Hazel Finch is dead? Three years ago?” The nurse nodded timidly. “The system recorded it as spring, three years ago, advanced lung cancer with complications…” “Impossible! This is impossible!” Sauron suddenly lost control, banging on the nurse’s station, drawing stares from surrounding patients. But he quickly forced himself to calm down. As a fellow medical professional, he knew the hospital’s archive system couldn’t be wrong, let alone tampered with. He gripped the nurse’s wrist tightly, his voice trembling. “How could this happen? Isn’t your oncology department the best here? How could she die? And…” He suddenly remembered something, his face growing even paler. “And, I deposit money into that card every month. Eleanor just told me last week that Hazel was doing very well, all her indicators were improving…” The nurse winced at his tight grip but quickly pulled up the system records. “Dr. Sauron, that bank card was unlinked three years ago. And according to the medical records, the patient’s condition was consistently very grim, never improving.” “During the patient’s hospitalization, most of the time she used affordable alternative medications. Because a lady came several times, saying she wanted to save money, and swapped out the imported medications prescribed by the doctor.” “Later, she even completely stopped all medical payments…” Every word from the nurse was like a knife, savagely twisting in my heart. That venomous woman, Eleanor! She knew that was Hazel’s life-saving money, yet she still had the gall to take it! Sauron, upon hearing the nurse’s words, also began to tremble. Of course, he knew who did it. After all, besides Eleanor, no one would be so audacious as to touch his money. I imagine he also recalled the condition I made five years ago when I took the fall for Eleanor—to take good care of my sister. At the time, he had promised faithfully, but the result… Sauron clutched his head, crouching down, his shoulders shaking violently. “How could she… she promised me she would take good care of Hazel!” “How could she do this…” I watched Sauron in his shattered state, feeling not an ounce of sympathy. If not for his indulgence and tacit approval, how would Eleanor have dared to do such a thing? Ultimately, they were two of a kind. Suddenly, Sauron stood up abruptly, a flash of ruthlessness in his eyes. He pulled out his phone, his fingers trembling so much he could barely dial the number. “Detective Miller, I need you to find someone for me.” I vaguely heard a man on the other end of the phone ask who he was looking for. Sauron spoke calmly, “Chloe Finch. Find out where she is now; I need to see her immediately.” “Chloe Finch? Is there a new breakthrough in Miss Eleanor’s case, and you need to find her urgently?” “No.” Sauron’s hand gripped the steering wheel tighter. After a long pause, he finally whispered, “I just want to apologize to her…” The car suddenly shot forward, tires screeching against the asphalt. I floated in the passenger seat, watching Sauron’s tense profile. Sunlight streamed through the car window onto his face, revealing fine lines at the corners of his eyes. So, after five years, no one remained unchanged. But he didn’t know that the person he wished to apologize to had died in a pool of blood in an alley five years ago on a rainy night. What he owed me, what he owed Hazel, could never be repaid in this lifetime. Returning from the hospital, Sauron practically broke into the house. Eleanor, on the sofa, immediately put on her innocent expression when she saw him. “Sauron, why are you back? Did you find Chloe Finch?” Sauron completely ignored her question, simply throwing his jacket onto the coffee table. “Eleanor, what exactly happened with Hazel Finch?” Eleanor’s hand, holding a teacup, paused. Her brow furrowed. “Hazel? Isn’t she fine? I deposit money for her every month.” “Fine?” Sauron scoffed, pulling out his phone and showing her the death certificate photo the nurse had sent him. “She died three years ago! You swapped her medication and unlinked the bank card. Do you dare say you didn’t know?” The date on the photo was clear. Eleanor’s face instantly paled. She set down her teacup, wringing her hands as she explained. “This… Sauron, let me explain. I had no choice at the time!” “Research funding was tight then. I thought I’d just borrow some, and pay it back once the project progressed…” “Borrow some? You say it so easily!” Sauron took a step closer, his eyes red-rimmed. “That was Chloe Finch’s only sister! Her only condition for taking the blame for you back then was for us to take good care of Hazel! How could you do this?!” Seeing Sauron truly enraged, Eleanor suddenly dropped to her knees with a thud. “I know I was wrong, Sauron! Please forgive me! When I wanted to pay the money back later, I couldn’t find anyone… I was just confused for a moment!” Watching her feigned remorse, I only felt revulsion. When she was using my scapegoat money to buy imported equipment, I didn’t see a shred of guilt in her. The two remained at an impasse. Eventually, Sauron was the first to sigh, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “Forget it, get up. I’m also at fault in this; I shouldn’t have given you all the money and not supervised Hazel’s treatment.” Eleanor’s eyes brightened, thinking he had forgiven her. But just as she was about to speak, Sauron cut her off. When I looked up, I saw a clear look of disappointment in his eyes. “Eleanor, I’ll help you resolve the medical malpractice issue, but once this is over, we’re through.” “I already owe Chloe Finch too much; I can’t wrong her anymore.” “Sauron!” Eleanor suddenly looked up, her face filled with panic. But Sauron didn’t look at her again, turning to leave. As he walked halfway, he suddenly stopped—his jacket was still on the coffee table. He sighed, turning back. But as he reached the hallway, he heard Eleanor’s hushed voice from the bedroom, chillingly vicious. “…We must find Chloe Finch immediately, and somehow, we have to kill her!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “397520”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

“Is it really that big a deal that I broke your mother’s urn? Was it worth pushing your aunt over?” Ten years ago, my father swung a steel pipe, breaking two of my ribs. I dragged my injured body out of that house and hadn’t set foot in my hometown for ten years. Ten years later, with both his kidneys failing, he lay in the ICU begging me to come back for a match test. My stepmother knelt before a live-stream camera, kowtowing ten times to force me to show myself. In response, I mailed a body donation consent form directly to his attending physician. 1 The surgical lights finally flicked off at midnight. I peeled off my blood-stained gloves and walked out of the operating room, leaving behind a battlefield where I had fought for eight grueling hours. In the dead silence of the hallway, my phone screen lit up, vibrating relentlessly. The caller ID showed an unknown number from my hometown. I swiped to answer. The sharp scent of antiseptic still clung to my fingertips. “Is this Dr. Stella Crawford?” The male voice on the other end sounded exhausted and overly cautious. “Speaking.” “This is City General Hospital. Your father, Robert Crawford, is in the ICU with end-stage renal failure. We are currently trying to stabilize him.” I felt absolutely nothing. My heart remained a flatline of calm. Ten years. That name had finally crawled its way back into my ears. The doctor paused, his tone growing more strained. “Your stepmother says you are his only biological daughter. You are his best hope for a successful kidney match.” “She is begging you to come back as soon as possible.” I did not say a word. The only sounds were the faint static of the line and my own steady breathing. “Dr. Crawford? Are you still there?” “Yes.” I spat out the single word calmly and hung up. With a flick of my thumb, I dragged that number straight into my blocked list. The world was quiet again. I leaned against the freezing hospital wall, closing my eyes to steal a moment of rest. My phone screen flared back to life. A breaking news notification popped up. The blood-red headline felt like an open wound, stinging my eyes. [Where Is The Dutiful Daughter? Dying Father Waits In ICU For Biological Child To Donate Kidney And Save His Life!] I tapped the link. The video showed a hospital corridor I knew all too well. My stepmother, Diane, was crying her eyes out in front of a camera, looking absolutely heartbroken. She wore flawless makeup, but her hair was deliberately messy, her eyes wide and tragic. She was playing the perfect role of the exhausted, devoted wife fighting for her husband’s life. “Stella, I know you are watching! Please, I am begging you, come back!” “Your father is dying! The doctors say you are the only one who can save him!” As she spoke, her legs suddenly gave out. She dropped to her knees, hitting the cold floor tiles with a heavy thud. “Stella, if you just come back and save your father, I will grovel at your feet!” Bang. Bang. Bang. She actually started slamming her forehead against the ground. She used so much force that the dull thuds echoed clearly through the video. The live chat exploded instantly. A flood of pure outrage crashed over the screen. [What the hell! Is this daughter an animal? Her own dad is dying and she won’t even show up?] [Stella? How can a woman be this vicious? Cold-blooded psycho!] [Dox her! An ungrateful brat like this needs to be exposed and ruined!] [A doctor? She calls herself a doctor? She won’t even save her own father!] I stared at the ridiculous farce playing out on my screen with a completely blank expression. I watched Diane’s hypocritical face. I watched the righteous fury of the internet warriors in the comments. Ten years had passed, and their tactics were still just as clumsy, just as laughable. I closed the app, turned around, and walked straight into my office. I booted up my computer and downloaded a specific document. The printer hummed quietly, spitting out a crisp, warm sheet of paper. It was the National Organ Donor Registry Consent Form. I picked up a pen. In the “Donor Name” box, I wrote my name with slow, deliberate strokes. Stella Crawford. Then, at the very bottom, I stamped my personal seal. I placed the signed form on the scanner. The harsh white light swept across the page, permanently digitizing my handwriting. I opened my email and typed in the contact address for my father’s attending physician. Attachment uploaded. In the body of the email, I typed a single line. “Upon my death, I voluntarily donate all of my organs to anyone in need.” “With the sole exception of Robert Crawford.” The send notification chimed. I leaned back in my chair and closed my eyes. The torrential rain from ten years ago started ringing in my ears all over again. I had been holding my mother’s newly issued urn. That small, freezing box was the only thing I had left in the world. Diane blocked the front door. She crossed her arms, the corner of her mouth twitching with pure disgust. “You think a dead woman’s ashes deserve to cross the threshold of this house?” Before I could even react, she lunged forward and swiped her arm violently. The urn was knocked out of my grasp. It flew through the air, tracing a desperate arc, before smashing into the wet concrete driveway. Crack. A sickening sound. The box shattered. Pale grey powder mixed with the freezing rain, washing away into the filthy mud. My brain completely short-circuited. Every ounce of my sanity collapsed in a single second. I screamed like a wild animal and shoved her backward. “What did you do!” Right at that exact moment, my father, Robert, charged out of the house. He was holding a thick steel pipe. “Are you out of your damn mind? You dare lay a hand on Diane?” He roared at the top of his lungs. That freezing steel pipe swung through the rain and slammed brutally into my back. Snap. Snap. I heard the distinct sound of my own ribs breaking. Agony shot through my entire body like raw electricity. My vision went black, and I collapsed into the muddy water. The rain battered my face. I could no longer tell the difference between the rainwater and my own tears. He stood over me, looking down from his high porch. There was not a single shred of pity in his eyes. Only disgust and violent rage. “Get out!” “I do not have an ungrateful wretch for a daughter! Get the hell off my property!” I would never forget the sheer agony and absolute despair of that moment. I thought I was going to die in the mud that night. But here I am. Alive and thriving. And now, they were the ones using their dying breaths to beg me for a favor. How incredibly ironic. 2 A single stone creates a thousand ripples. My father’s attending physician had clearly never encountered such a cold, merciless family member. In his sheer shock, he accidentally leaked the contents of my email. Within half an hour, the hashtag #DaughterDonatesBodyButRefusesKidney exploded to the number one trending spot on social media. Public opinion was completely torn in half. Some people started stepping back, wondering what kind of horrific trauma I must have endured to make such a drastic, unforgiving choice. But the vast majority of the internet remained firmly planted on their moral high ground, launching a massive crusade against me. Diane was certainly not going to let this golden opportunity slip away. She rallied my uncle, Arthur Crawford, and a massive mob of internet vigilantes clutching their smartphones. With reporters swarming behind them like vultures, they marched right into the main lobby of my hospital. “Stella! You heartless monster! Get out here right now!” Diane’s shrill, weeping voice shattered the quiet of the outpatient lobby. She acted like a lunatic, grabbing random strangers to cry to them. “Everyone, look at this! What kind of daughter does this? Her father is dying in the ICU waiting for her to save him, and she officially declares she would rather give her organs to strangers than her own flesh and blood!” Uncle Arthur stood beside her, fanning the flames. He pointed a furious finger toward the upper floors of the hospital. “You call yourself a doctor? Saving lives? You will not even save your own father! You are a murderer!” A massive crowd gathered at the entrance. Camera lenses and phone screens locked onto the hospital like the barrels of firing squads. I was up in the sterile prep room, washing my hands for a procedure. The head nurse burst through the doors in a sheer panic. “Dr. Crawford, this is bad. Your family… they are causing a massive riot down in the main lobby!” My hands paused under the running water for a fraction of a second. Then I calmly dried them and started pulling on my sterile gloves. “I know.” My mentor, Dr. Harrison, the Dean of the hospital, had beaten me to the lobby. He stood there in his crisp white coat. He was a slender man, but he stood incredibly tall, acting like a solid brick wall between the chaos and his staff. “This is a place of healing, not a circus for your tantrums. I need you to leave the premises immediately.” Dr. Harrison’s voice was not loud, but it carried absolute authority. Uncle Arthur spotted me walking out of the elevators. He pointed right at my face, spitting as he yelled. “Stella! You finally decided to show your face! You ungrateful parasite! Your father fed you and raised you for nothing!” Seeing me, Diane immediately flipped the switch. She cried so hard she was choking on her own tears, dropping her knees toward the floor. “Stella! Mommy is begging you! Have a little mercy in your heart! Please save your father!” I walked slowly out from behind Dr. Harrison. I looked right past him, fixing my eyes on Diane’s twisted, theatrical face. My voice was quiet, but it echoed perfectly clear into the ears of every person in that lobby, and straight into the live broadcast microphones. “Diane.” “Ten years ago, when you threw my mother’s urn into the garbage, were you this self-righteous?” The entire lobby went completely dead silent in an instant. The frantic, scrolling text in the live chat froze for a solid second. The color drained from Diane’s face in real-time. Pure panic leaked into her eyes. “What… what nonsense are you talking about!” She raised her voice, desperately trying to use volume to cover her guilt. “You were clumsy! You dropped it yourself! How dare you try and pin that on me!” “Oh?” I let out a soft laugh. The sound was dripping with ice. I took a step forward, looking dead into the nearest camera lens, as if I were staring right at the millions of people watching behind their screens. “Is that so?” “Then how exactly did I ‘accidentally’ push you so hard that your rib fractured, putting you in a hospital bed for two weeks?” “Did you not tell the police that I was jealous of your loving relationship with my father, and shoved you out of pure revenge?” “I am just curious. How did a fragile, weak stepmother manage to beat an eighteen-year-old girl until two of her ribs snapped, and then throw her out onto the street?” Every single question I asked was like a surgical scalpel, slicing precisely into Diane’s vital organs. She started shaking. Her lips trembled, but she could not force a single word out of her throat. The reporters smelled blood in the water. The sound of camera shutters clicking sounded like machine-gun fire. Uncle Arthur realized the narrative was slipping. He lunged forward with a ferocious scowl, trying to snatch the microphone away from the press. “You little bitch! Stop spreading lies!” Before he could even get close, two massive hospital security guards tackled him, pinning his arms behind his back. Dr. Harrison stepped in front of me, facing the sea of cameras. His voice was deep and unshakable. “Everyone, quiet down.” “Dr. Stella Crawford is the youngest lead cardiothoracic surgeon in this hospital, and she is my most brilliant student.” “The number of lives she has personally pulled back from the brink of death outnumbers the people standing in this room.” “I, Dr. Harrison, put my entire decades-long medical reputation on the line to vouch for her professional ability and her moral character!” He paused, his sharp gaze cutting across Diane’s pale face and Arthur’s struggling form. “As for her family disputes, I believe the truth will come to light through the proper legal channels, not through a poorly staged internet mob!” Dr. Harrison’s words hit like heavy iron. The security guards moved in. Completely ignoring Diane’s screeching and Arthur’s cursing, they physically dragged the two of them out of the hospital doors. The absurd theatrical riot ended in total humiliation. The storm settled for the moment. I had just changed out of my scrubs when the ICU nurse called my extension. “Dr. Crawford… your father… he woke up due to the agitation.” The nurse’s voice was hesitant. “He is incredibly worked up. He is demanding to speak with you.” The phone was handed over. A second later, a weak but violently arrogant voice crawled through the speaker like a venomous snake. “You… wicked brat…” “Get your ass back here right now…” “Give me… the kidney…” “Or else… even if I die… I will haunt you as a ghost… I will never let you go…” That voice sounded exactly the same as his furious roar in the rain ten years ago. Dripping with entitlement and toxic hatred. I did not say a single word. I just listened to him wheeze. Then, I reached out and tapped the red button. I powered my phone off completely. The world was finally, beautifully quiet. 3 Diane’s live stream may have ended in disaster, but her claims about the urn and the fractured rib had successfully ripped open a gap in the public narrative. The internet was not entirely stupid. Amateur detectives started digging frantically for clues. I did not give them much time to speculate. The very next morning, I handed a crystal-clear audio file to a trusted journalist friend. The recording featured an elderly woman’s voice, thick with pity and regret. “…Diane, I have to say, you went way too far.” “That was Evelyn’s ashes. Throwing them like that… it is a mortal sin.” “And little Stella. She is just a child. How could you lie to Robert and say she pushed you?” “Are you trying to drive that poor girl to her death?” The voice belonged to Mrs. Higgins, our old next-door neighbor. She had watched me grow up. She had witnessed every ounce of misery I endured after Diane moved in. Ten years ago, she was terrified of Robert’s violent temper and kept her mouth shut. Ten years later, her son had made a fortune and moved her to a luxury condo in another city. She had absolutely nothing to fear anymore. When I tracked her down, she held my hands, tears spilling down her wrinkled cheeks. “You poor girl. You have suffered so much all these years.” The moment the audio file dropped, the internet narrative flipped instantly. [Holy shit! So the stepmother threw the urn herself and framed the daughter for pushing her?] [This stepmother is pure evil! Who does something like that?] [I take back every bad thing I said about Dr. Crawford. If that were me, I wouldn’t just refuse the kidney, I would go back and slap her across the face!] [My heart breaks for Dr. Crawford. Being born into a family of bloodsuckers is a nightmare.] Diane’s phone was bombarded with calls. Thousands of hateful direct messages flooded her social media accounts like a tidal wave. Her carefully curated persona of the perfect, suffering wife shattered into a million pieces overnight. The Crawford family was in complete chaos. They held an emergency family summit that lasted well into the night. Finally, a call came through to Dr. Harrison’s personal cell phone. It was Great-Uncle Henry, the patriarch of the Crawford family trust and the most powerful figure in their circle. He ordered Dr. Harrison to hand the phone to me. Through the speaker, the old man’s voice was hoarse and dripping with absolute authority. He spoke in a tone that refused any argument. “Stella, this is your Great-Uncle Henry.” “Your father is dying. As his daughter, you are required to return immediately!” “If you continue this ungrateful, ridiculous tantrum and drag the Crawford family name through the mud, we will convene the board and legally strip you of the Crawford name and your inheritance!” Disinherited and erased from the family. That was the absolute worst punishment their tiny, pathetic minds could come up with. How hilarious. They thought a last name I was desperate to scrub from my identity was a bargaining chip. I smiled softly into the receiver. “Sure.” “Time and place.” Great-Uncle Henry was clearly shocked by how quickly I agreed. He paused for a moment before giving me the address to the main Crawford estate and the meeting time. The next day, I walked right into the grand library of the Crawford estate on the dot. The room was packed with people. A sea of dark suits and grim faces, all staring at me with judgmental, condemning eyes. The air was thick with the smell of old wood polish and suffocating tension. Diane sat in the chair closest to the patriarch. Her eyes were swollen. When she saw me walk in, she started sobbing quietly, playing the role of the brutally victimized wife flawlessly. Great-Uncle Henry sat in a massive leather armchair at the head of the room. He slammed his silver-tipped cane hard against the hardwood floor. “On your knees!” I stood perfectly still. A flash of pure rage crossed his cloudy eyes. “Stella! Your father is dying in a hospital bed! You owe us your life, your very flesh and blood belongs to your parents! Saving him is your absolute duty! You will go to that hospital, get matched, and donate that kidney right now!” “If you refuse, you are a traitor to the Crawford bloodline!” My flesh and blood belongs to my parents. I looked around the room, making eye contact with every single one of these hypocritical relatives, and let out a sharp laugh. “My flesh and blood?” “Ten years ago, when Robert Crawford used a steel pipe to break my ribs and threw me out into the street like a stray dog, why didn’t he think about my flesh and blood then?” “Did a single person sitting in this room stand up and say one word in my defense?” The grand library was dead silent. My gaze finally locked onto Diane. She flinched, shrinking back into her chair. I stared at the massive diamond ring sparkling on her right ring finger. Even in the dim light of the library, the stone gleamed with pure greed. “Diane, that is a gorgeous diamond ring.” She froze, completely confused as to why I was bringing up her jewelry. “You bought it with my mother’s heirloom, didn’t you?” My voice was quiet, but it hit the room like a live grenade. “Her favorite vintage emerald pendant. It was worth a fortune. Less than six months after she died, Robert pawned it for a hundred grand.” “And he used that cash to buy you that diamond ring, along with a closet full of designer bags.” “Am I right?” All the blood instantly drained from Diane’s face. She looked like a ghost. The rest of the Crawford relatives looked at her with sheer shock and visible disgust. They started whispering furiously among themselves. The fact that Robert had pawned his dead wife’s jewelry to spoil his mistress was clearly news to them. I completely ignored their reactions and took a slow step forward. My voice was not loud, but I made sure every single syllable was razor-sharp. “You are all sitting here demanding I give up my kidney, preaching about family love and moral duty.” “But is it really because he is my father…” “Or is it because… when I was ten years old, he bought a massive five hundred thousand dollar life insurance policy on me?” “And the sole beneficiary listed on that policy was Robert Crawford.” I stopped walking. My eyes cut across the horrified faces in the room like a surgical blade. Finally, I looked up at the massive family crest hanging above the fireplace. “I have spent years thinking about one specific detail.” “Ten years ago, in the freezing rain. If that heavy steel pipe had swung just a few inches higher and crushed my skull instead of my ribs…” “Could he have legally claimed that half a million dollars and lived happily ever after with you, Diane?” The grand library was submerged in absolute, terrifying silence. You could hear a pin drop. Every single face in the room was painted with horror and sheer disbelief. The majestic Crawford family crest suddenly looked incredibly pathetic, like the punchline to a very dark joke. 4 The word “insurance” dropped like a depth charge, blowing the stagnant waters of the Crawford family wide open. Buying a massive life insurance policy on a minor child, with himself as the sole beneficiary. Every adult in that room knew exactly what that implied. No one dared to bring up “family duty” anymore. No one threatened to disinherit me. The way they looked at me shifted from righteous anger to pure terror. They looked at me like I was an avenging ghost crawling back from the abyss. The ridiculous family summit ended in total disaster. When Robert heard the news, his failing body took another massive hit. According to the nurses, he started foaming at the mouth and had to be rushed back into emergency resuscitation. He was finally terrified. He stopped issuing orders and sent a corporate lawyer to contact me instead. The lawyer was a sharp-looking man in his forties. When we met, he got straight to the point. “Dr. Crawford, Mr. Robert Crawford has authorized me to negotiate with you.” “He states that if you agree to donate a kidney, he will immediately transfer all of his assets to you before the surgery. This includes two luxury estates, a premium vehicle, and thirty percent of his corporate shares.” “He is prepared to draft a legally binding will and have it notarized today.” It was an astronomical amount of wealth. Enough to guarantee a person absolute financial freedom for the rest of their life. When Diane caught wind of the offer, she completely lost her mind. She threw a massive tantrum in the hospital lobby, screaming at the lawyer, rolling on the floor, crying that Robert had gone insane. She demanded that half the assets legally belonged to her and her son. Someone filmed her greedy, hysterical meltdown and posted it online, sparking another wave of vicious mockery. I sat quietly in the hospital coffee shop, listening to the lawyer lay out the terms. When he finished, I picked up my coffee cup and took a slow sip. “Tell your client something for me.” “His money is filthy.” The lawyer blinked in pure shock. He clearly had not expected such a flat, instant rejection. “Dr. Crawford, are you sure you do not want to reconsider? We are talking about an eight-figure portfolio.” “I am sure.” I stood up, looking down at him. “And a piece of professional advice. I highly suggest you drop him as a client.” “Because I have a feeling your client is about to transition from a civil dispute into a primary suspect in a major criminal homicide investigation.” I turned around and walked out, leaving him sitting there with his jaw practically on the table. That afternoon, I accepted a text-based interview with a major national news outlet. The journalist’s questions were sharp, asking why I was being so incredibly ruthless. [Dr. Crawford, the public understands you survived a horrific childhood. But Robert Crawford is still your biological father. Now that he is willing to surrender his entire fortune in exchange for your forgiveness and a kidney, why do you still refuse?] I stared at the blinking cursor, typing my response word by word. [Because I want to know why my mother, who was only suffering from a mild winter cold, suddenly died of heart failure in her own bed.] I typed the next sentence slower, making sure it was perfectly clear. [I want to know exactly who snuck into her room the night she died and swapped her vital heart medication for a handful of over-the-counter vitamin pills.] Then, I delivered my final statement. [I have formally retained legal counsel and petitioned the authorities to officially reopen the investigation into the death of my mother, Evelyn Crawford.] [I believe the law will give me the truth.] The second the interview went live, the entire internet went completely silent. If the allegations of abuse and the life insurance policy were scandalous family drama. The words “medication tampering” and “premeditated murder” elevated the situation into a fight to the death. This war over a kidney transplant had finally reached its true climax. I never wanted his money. I never cared about his apologies. I wanted the truth. I wanted them to pay for my mother’s life with their own blood.

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On my fifth year of courting the villain of this novel, he finally agreed to marry me. The day of the wedding, the grand chandelier in the hall suddenly plunged. In that critical moment, he violently pushed me aside, shielding the trembling protagonist, his true love, Eleanor. His arm was gashed, a large stain of blood blossoming across his white tuxedo. Eleanor, in his arms, was completely unharmed. Clutching the bleeding gash on my neck, I finally accepted the truth: he didn’t love me. The System appeared, asking, “Do you want to end the mission early?” I nodded. “Since he’s destined to lose his limbs and suffer a fate worse than death because of her, I’ll grant him that wish.” 1 “Are you sure, Host? Once confirmed, there’s no turning back, no room for reversal.” The System sighed, a touch of regret in its tone. After all, the System was born from my wish. It had sent me into this book when I despaired over Elias’s tragic fate, hoping I could change his ending. I pressed a hand to my neck, where blood was faintly seeping, feeling lightheaded. “I did my best…” Elias was the villain of this story, his character twisted by a childhood devoid of love. As an adult, he would go to hell and back for even the smallest kindness from Eleanor. In the end, saving her would lead to him losing all his limbs, becoming a mere torso—a living death. I’d been in this world for five years, meticulously documenting his every joy and sorrow, staying by his side to redeem him. Everyone knew I loved him. I was the only one who had seen his dark side and wasn’t afraid. Initially, he was hostile towards me, distrusting my words, his eyes only for Eleanor. I knew his cruelty. When he deliberately aimed a small knife at me, I stood still, letting him stab me near my heart. The smile on his lips froze, replaced by shock and confusion. I smiled and told him that in this world, he wasn’t the only one willing to give everything for the person they loved. I was too. I won that gamble. He personally took me to the hospital. From then on, he stopped speaking to me with malice. He loved racing. I knew nothing about cars, but to earn a smile from him, I worked desperately, barely sleeping three hours a night, to buy him a global limited edition helmet. But in the fifth year, he had an accident during a race and disappeared. I searched for him tirelessly, without sleep, for an entire day. When he awoke and saw me, his eyes were red-rimmed. He cradled my face, murmuring against my ear. He held me so tight, as if wanting to crush me. Then, suppressed sobs echoed by my ear, and I held him back, comforting him. After he was finally discharged, the first thing he did was grab my hand, his gaze heavy. “We’ll get married someday. You won’t be able to leave then.” His words were soft, laced with a threat, but they left me stunned, unable to recover for a long time. My heart pounded so hard it made my ears ring, and my cheeks flushed. After a long while, I squeezed his hand back firmly, my eyes locked on his. “Then it’s settled, we’ll get married!” That very day, I began planning every detail of the wedding. From selecting the grand ballroom to pairing the smallest accessories on my gown, I handled everything myself. My heart and mind were completely consumed by the final vision. I even invited Eleanor to our wedding. I had been so confident, believing Elias would no longer be captivated by her. But the moment the chandelier crashed, it shattered all my beautiful dreams of these past days. I pressed my hand to the freshly bandaged wound on my neck. It still throbbed. I smiled bitterly, lowering my head to hide my tears. I pulled out my phone, telling the wedding planner to cancel everything, then removed my wedding gown and accessories, folding and sealing them away. I had thought that Elias and I had been through hardships together, that he would treat me differently. But I underestimated Eleanor’s devastating power. No matter how long I’d been with him, how much I’d given, as long as his true love was still around, I would always lose. The System couldn’t help but ask, “Host, are you truly going home?” I nodded. “Why don’t you tell me when I can go home?” “Approximately one day from now, the tunnel will reopen. During this time, you can do whatever you wish, leave no regrets.” 2 I handed the bag to Elias’s sister, Selena, who had been kind to me over the years. “After I leave, please burn this dress for me.” “I’m no longer worthy to wear it.” Selena clutched the bag, a hint of indignation in her voice. “My brother is truly awful. I’m going to go confront him right now, make him give you some severance pay before you go…” She turned to leave, but I pulled her back. “No need.” She had seen how I had treated her and Elias over the years, and she remembered it. The easing of her relationship with Elias was also something I had worked to achieve. Just as I finished speaking, Elias appeared, clutching his freshly bandaged arm, his voice icy. “Where are you going?” I looked up at him, feeling a strange disconnect after only half a day apart. I suddenly remembered the first time I saw him. The bar was dimly lit. He leaned against the table’s edge, drinking alone. He wore a utility jacket, his posture tall and straight. His eyes were dark, his lips a thin line, as if pushing the world away. But with just one glance, I was captivated, unable to tear my eyes away. Over the years, I had seen so many expressions from him, but the gentleness he reserved for Eleanor, I had never witnessed. My thoughts returned to the present. I spoke. “You misheard.” “I was just asking my sister to dispose of some unimportant things for me.” The more I spoke, the more my gaze drifted, as if trying to convince myself. Yes. I came empty-handed, and I’ll leave empty-handed. Elias stared at me for a long moment, seemingly unable to find fault with my words. Finally, he conceded and left. That’s right, I thought. This is the normal him. He was always so taciturn with me, only becoming more talkative when Eleanor was mentioned. Why would he genuinely care where I was going? 3 Soon after, the front door opened. I watched, utterly invisible to Eleanor, as she rushed upstairs to find Elias. It was as if this was her home, and I was merely a phantom. I followed her up. As she knocked on the door, a muffled “Get out” echoed from inside. Eleanor grew more frantic. “Elias, it’s me…” Click. The door quickly opened from within. I realized then that the “Get out” had been meant for me, Elias mistaking Eleanor’s knock for mine. Restraining his desire, Elias asked, “Why are you here?” “Aren’t you afraid he’ll find out you came to see me?” Eleanor’s eyes immediately welled with tears. Her voice trembled as she spoke. “He’s not with me yet, he can’t control me.” “Besides, you were hurt because of me. How could I rest easy without knowing you’re okay?” I froze. My heart felt as if it had been struck by a hammer, aching dully. Her words were spoken as if I didn’t exist. Even though I had spent half a day trying to sever their ties, in their eyes, I was still nothing more than cannon fodder. Eleanor’s tears began to fall. “Don’t you want to see me?” Elias could no longer hold back. Right in front of me, he embraced Eleanor tightly. “I need you, I’ve always needed you.” I watched his eyes, red-rimmed, as if he were holding a precious treasure he had thought lost forever. Those words cruelly twisted my heart. So, what about me? Had I been a joke all along? After they had held each other long enough, Eleanor began to inspect Elias’s wound, caressing it while sniffling. “Does it hurt?” Elias looked at her, his heart aching even more. He took her hand from his neck and held it with both of his. His gaze was tender and lingering. “Don’t be scared, Eleanor. It doesn’t hurt anymore.” “Look, the doctor bandaged it well. As long as I change the dressing carefully, I’ll be fine.” “…You should go back.” Five years. I had never heard such a gentle voice from him. Clearly, only the female protagonist deserved it. 4 I couldn’t bear to watch any longer and quietly slipped away. The tears in my eyes refused to be held back, streaming down my cheeks and staining the floor. I sat in the living room for a long time, silently watching the wall clock, counting down the hours. Thankfully, only two more days, and I could leave. Never to return. After a long while, Eleanor carefully came downstairs. Her lips were redder than when she arrived. I averted my eyes, pretending not to notice. But Eleanor walked directly toward me, giving me careful instructions. “Elias is asleep now, don’t wake him.” “I’ve been a bit busy lately and can’t come often. You must take care of him, don’t let him get hurt again.” “Although he has a bad temper, he’s a good person. If he ever yells at you, just come to me, and I’ll get justice for you.” She held my hand, her smugness barely concealed. I subtly pulled my hand away, unable to resist snapping back, “I’m his fiancée, I don’t need you to tell me what to do.” The smugness on her face grew more pronounced. She scoffed. “If I hadn’t allowed it, do you think you’d have had a chance to be with him?” “You think too highly of yourself. I’m his true love; you’re just my stand-in.” “Do what a stand-in is supposed to do.” It was strange. It felt as if I had been utterly broken. There was no ripple in my heart. “Whether I’m a stand-in or not, you don’t need to tell me.” “At least, I’m his fiancée. If we don’t marry this time, we can always marry next time.” “You—!” Eleanor was furious, her voice rising considerably. Then she took a deep breath, composing herself. “Hmph, you only win with your mouth. I’m happy this time, so I’ll let you win.” “Next time, I’ll make you roll out of this house.” “Guess if Elias listens to me or you.” With that, she strode away, the door slamming shut. I instantly lost all strength, collapsing onto the sofa, breathing heavily. Elias came down from upstairs, unable to resist scolding me. “Why do you argue with her? I just see her as a sister…” My gaze fell on the redness at the corner of his lips, and I couldn’t help but mock him. “It seems your relationship is truly close.” He flinched, quickly raising a hand to wipe away the red on his lips. “That was just an accidental smudge. Can you stop overthinking things?” He walked over, his gaze heavy on me. But the excuse was too flimsy. I couldn’t fathom how his lips could have gotten red in such a way. When I first arrived in this world, I knew no one. I only knew to stay by his side. Everyone thought I was mad, shamelessly trying to seduce Eleanor’s man, unafraid of being bitten back. He never offered explanations, only saying, “Don’t even think about it. I won’t abandon Eleanor to be with you wholeheartedly.” I cried until my eyes were red, locking myself in my room, refusing to eat or see Elias. He broke down the door, dragged me out, his expression cold. “Do you think if you starve yourself to death, I’d spare you a second glance? You might as well make the most of things.” I understood his underlying meaning, taking it as comfort. And just like that, I was placated. After that, no matter what outsiders said, I remained indifferent. When someone called me his lapdog, his expression never changed. Yet now, he was worried I would suspect his true love, forbidding me from insulting her. I lowered my head, wiping away my tears. “You’re overthinking. I’m not imagining things.” Elias looked at me with a questioning gaze. I continued, “Next time I see her, I’ll apologize.” 5 Late at night, I looked at my neck in the mirror, unable to stop tracing the wound. An entire day had passed, and such a visible injury, yet Elias hadn’t noticed it. It was as if he was certain I couldn’t be hurt. That day was pure chaos. Only Selena helped me up and took me to the hospital. “After all this time, I really thought my brother loved you. He’s such a private person, yet he was willing to invite so many people to his wedding.” “But you were right beside him, and he still pushed you away to save Eleanor, who was some distance away!” “It’s clear he doesn’t love you at all!” My face was ashen that day, speckles of blood staining my wedding gown. But Elias’s eyes didn’t spare me a single glance. His arms were wrapped tightly around Eleanor, shielding her from all the glass shards, protecting her so she was completely unharmed. Eleanor huddled in his arms for a long time before she reacted, pushing him away with restraint. “Your wife is hurt, you should go check on her.” Elias didn’t listen. Instead, he scanned Eleanor up and down several times before sighing in relief. “It’s good that you’re alright. I knew she wouldn’t be seriously hurt.” Selena helped me stumble out of the banquet hall, tears of pain streaming down my face. Recalling that day, the pain seemed to return once more. I couldn’t help but flinch, trying to shake it off. But a bitter ache still lingered in my heart. Only in moments of life-threatening danger could one truly see if someone loved them. As long as I left this place, I could heal myself. With time, I would completely forget Elias. It would be as if I had never been here.

When the truth finally came to light, I was brought back to the Sinclair estate. But the very second the fake heiress shed a single tear, my biological parents abandoned all plans to press charges. Instead, they turned around and urged me to be the bigger person, begging me not to make things ugly. The people who stole me not only escaped justice, but they rode the fake daughter’s coattails straight into a life of absolute luxury. My biological family trusted her unconditionally. My heart completely died, so I packed my bags and walked away. But karma never misses a target. Ten years later, the fake heiress gave birth, and her newborn baby was swapped at the hospital. The Sinclair family completely imploded. The eldest brother secretly ran a DNA test on his son. Zero percent match! The second brother rushed out in the middle of the night to test his own daughter. Also a zero percent match! As they sobbed and begged the authorities to ruthlessly punish the human traffickers, I simply smiled. “You need to be the bigger person. There is no need to make things ugly, right?” 1 Tristan Sinclair found me just as I was leaving the municipal building after a long shift. I was mentally calculating what to make for dinner when I looked up and saw him standing by my car. What a suffocating sight. I had zero intention of acknowledging him. I adjusted the strap of my tote bag and tried to walk right past him. But Tristan stepped into the harsh glow of the parking lot streetlamp, completely blocking my path. “Briar. We need to talk.” I lifted my grocery bag slightly. “I don’t have the time, Tristan. I’m going home to cook.” “Give me ten minutes.” His voice carried that familiar, commanding weight. “The family is in crisis. You have to know what’s happening.” Of course I knew. My phone had been buzzing non-stop for three days with breaking news alerts. The Sinclair corporate empire was drowning in a massive identity scandal, and their stock prices were in freefall. It all started because my abusive adoptive parents, the Dawsons, somehow got in touch with Serena, the fake daughter who had taken my place in the Sinclair family. Serena had secretly paid them off with a massive sum of money. The Dawsons bought a McMansion in the suburbs and went from white-trash nobodies to overnight millionaires. But people who suddenly stumble into money love the sound of their own voices. They started bragging to anyone who would listen about their incredibly generous, rich daughter. A sharp-eyed investigative journalist noticed the sudden wealth, got my adoptive father blackout drunk at a local bar, and recorded him spilling every filthy secret. The video hit the internet and went viral overnight. I looked at Tristan with dead eyes. “Your family’s public relations nightmare is not my problem.” “Briar, this is not the time to throw a tantrum.” He furrowed his brow, slipping right back into his role as the disappointed eldest brother. “Mom and Dad are getting older. They can’t handle this kind of stress. Serena is pregnant, and she is getting death threats in her DMs every single hour. She is on the verge of a total mental breakdown. We are a family.” “Your arrogance is genuinely exhausting. Move.” I stepped to the side, ready to walk around him. “Wait.” Tristan shifted his weight, blocking me again. “All you have to do is make a public statement. Just tell the press you left the family willingly.” I stopped dead in my tracks and slowly looked up at him. The amber light from the streetlamp caught the sharp angles of his face. He looked impatient, his jaw tight, his chin slightly raised. Ten years ago, he looked at me with that exact same expression. He had stood at the top of the Sinclair mansion’s grand spiral staircase, looking down at me like I was something scraped off the bottom of a shoe. What did I look like back then? Oh, right. I was clutching a frayed canvas backpack that held every single thing I owned in the world. I looked like a stray dog. That was when he delivered his welcoming speech. “Throw that garbage bag in the incinerator. You can use whatever you want in this house, but do not ever touch Serena’s things.” Any fragile hope I had of finding a real family evaporated the second those words left his mouth. I knew instantly that I was an intruder in their perfect world. “Tristan.” I said his name slowly, letting the coldness seep in. “Did you actually watch that video?” He frowned and gave a stiff nod. So he had seen it. Then how did he have the absolute audacity to stand here and ask me for a favor? I would never forget the smug, rotten look on my adoptive father’s blurred face in that footage. He proudly bragged about how he starved me, beat me, and treated me like a slave. He proudly bragged about how his real daughter was living like a princess while I suffered in the dirt. Tristan saw all of that. No, he saw it, and he simply did not care. “You did leave willingly back then.” Tristan insisted. “If you just post a video clearing her name, I can write you a check for.” “Get out of my face before I call the cops.” I ignored his stunned expression, shoved past his shoulder, and walked straight to my apartment building. I climbed the three flights of stairs, unlocked my door, stepped inside, and threw the deadbolt. The entire sequence was muscle memory. I learned a very painful lesson a decade ago. Some blood ties are just chains meant to be broken. 2 I was twenty-three the first time I met the Sinclair family. I had just graduated from night school. I was drowning in student debt, working a miserable desk job by day and pulling shifts at a gas station by night just to survive. The Dawsons tracked me down right at the register. They walked in wearing filthy clothes, immediately turning on the waterworks. They cried about how sorry they were for the past. Then they dropped the real reason for their visit. My adoptive brother had racked up a massive gambling debt, and they needed a hundred grand to keep a local loan shark from breaking his legs. They demanded I fix it. I barely had enough money to buy groceries. How was I supposed to pay off a loan shark? My adoptive mother suddenly dropped to her knees right there in aisle three. She started slamming her forehead against the linoleum floor, sobbing loudly. My coworkers stared at me with weird, judgmental eyes. When I was eighteen, I was the one on my knees. I had begged them not to force me to marry a creepy, fifty-something local landlord. But my adoptive mother just smiled and told me the man was willing to pay a hefty price for a young bride, enough to buy my brother a new truck. She said I should be grateful to marry a rich older man who knew how to treat a woman. I pretended to agree. That night, I stole my Social Security card and birth certificate, climbed out the second-story window, jumped into a pile of cardboard boxes, and ran for my life. I didn’t stop running for five years. They pulled me out of school in the eighth grade to work. After I escaped, I scrubbed toilets and flipped burgers while studying for my GED. I clawed my way into a community college and finally got my degree. And the second I had a real job, they came looking for blood. While the Dawsons were putting on their theatrical crying act, the Sinclair family walked through the gas station doors. It was like a scene straight out of a soap opera. Tailored suits, diamond earrings, the smell of expensive cologne. The wealthy middle-aged couple wrapped their arms around me, sobbing about how they had spent over two decades looking for their missing baby. The moment the Sinclairs appeared, the Dawsons vanished into thin air. I was taken back to the sprawling Sinclair estate. That was where I met Serena. Her skin was flawless, like porcelain. Her hands were incredibly soft, manicured to perfection. My hands were covered in rough calluses from years of manual labor. My arms were marked with ugly, jagged burn scars from my childhood. I had the exact same bone structure as Arthur and Eleanor Sinclair. Serena looked exactly like the garbage people who raised me. I wasn’t a lost child. I was stolen. I pointed out the obvious truth and demanded they call the police on the Dawsons. But the second a single, perfect tear rolled down Serena’s cheek, my biological parents shut me down. “Those are still Serena’s biological parents. Arresting them would ruin her reputation.” Eleanor had pleaded, clutching her fake daughter’s hand. Arthur sighed heavily. “You’re home now, Briar. We will compensate you financially. Let the past stay in the past. Be the bigger person. There is no need to make things ugly.” That was the night Tristan came home and told me to stay away from Serena’s things. I lay awake in a massive, king-sized bed that night, staring blankly at the vaulted ceiling. I stayed in that house for exactly one month. And for thirty days, I couldn’t breathe without doing something wrong. If I ate, my table manners were too aggressive. If Serena misplaced her jewelry, I was accused of stealing it. If Serena tripped on a rug, I was accused of pushing her. They never once tried to understand me. They never asked about the scars on my arms. They never cared about my trauma. The warm, loving family I had dreamed about on freezing winter nights was a complete delusion. They stood like a brick wall in front of Serena, deaf to my defenses. They just played the peacekeepers with passive-aggressive guilt trips. “You are the older sister, Briar. You need to be accommodating.” “Serena grew up with us. We know her heart.” “Serena has severe anxiety. Stop provoking her.” My second brother, Gideon, was the most blunt. “If you hate it here so much, you can leave. We will rent you an apartment downtown and deposit an allowance into your account every month.” A younger, more fragile version of me might have begged them to love me. But I had spent five years surviving on the brutal streets. Cold, hard cash meant far more to me than their conditional affection. I refused to stay in that toxic mansion and play the villain in Serena’s little victim narrative. Life is way too short. I wanted peace, stability, and a career I actually cared about. So when I packed my bags, I didn’t shed a single tear. I didn’t throw a prideful fit either. I asked for a hundred thousand dollars, packed my frayed canvas bag, and walked out the front gates. They never came looking for me. Not for ten years. Neither did the Dawsons. If this scandal hadn’t blown up in their faces, they would have happily forgotten I existed until the day they died. 3 I had just finished eating dinner when my phone started ringing. It was an unknown number. I glanced at the screen and hit decline. It rang again. I declined it again. When it lit up for the third time, I let out a long breath and swiped to answer. A man’s voice barked through the speaker, thick with poorly contained rage. “Briar, did you seriously just hang up on me twice?” Ah. It was Gideon. My hot-tempered second brother, whom I hadn’t spoken to in a decade. His voice felt like a rusted blade swinging at me through the phone line. “Answer me, Briar!” I pulled the phone away from my ear, waited for his little temper tantrum to end, and brought it back. “Do you need something, Mr. Sinclair?” He choked on his next breath. “What did you just call me?” The fury practically bled through the receiver. “I am your brother!” “My entire family is dead. If you don’t have a point, I’m hanging up.” “Wait.” He snapped, suddenly frantic. “I am coming to your office tomorrow afternoon. We are going to have a serious conversation.” I let out a dry laugh. “I am incredibly busy, Mr. Sinclair.” “Briar!” He ground his teeth together. “Stop acting like a petulant child. Our family is being torn apart by the media. Do you have any idea.” I tapped the red button and ended the call. Peace at last. He was bold to pick my workplace. Did he honestly think I would bend to his will just to avoid a scene at the office? The next day at 2:30 PM, the receptionist called my desk to say a man was demanding to see me. I stood up and looked out my office window. Gideon was leaning against the hood of a sleek black sports car in the visitor lot. His expensive hair was perfectly styled, and he was wearing a bespoke suit, but he looked deeply erratic, checking his watch every five seconds. I ignored him and went back to organizing my municipal planning files. Ten minutes later, I heard him shouting my name from the parking lot. I kept my head down. He called my cell phone six times. I flipped it to silent. At 5:30 PM, I finally clocked out and walked out the glass doors. I was genuinely surprised to see him still standing there. Patience was never his strong suit. “Get in the car. We are going somewhere private to talk.” He marched up and grabbed my wrist, trying to pull me toward the passenger side. I planted my feet, dug my nails into his knuckles, and pried his fingers off my arm one by one. Ten years had passed, and he was still the same arrogant thug who thought he owned everyone around him. “We have absolutely nothing to discuss.” Gideon glared at me, his chest heaving under his tailored vest. “Fine. You think you’re untouchable now, right? Do you even watch the news? Do you know how much money the company has bled this week? Mom and Dad are crying themselves to sleep, Tristan is managing a total corporate meltdown, and you don’t have a shred of basic human decency?” I looked at him with a perfectly blank expression. “And?” “And you need to get in this car, come back to the estate, and host a press conference.” He fired the words off like a machine gun. “Tell the reporters the online rumors are fake. Tell them Serena is a saint who treated you like a sister. Tell them the Sinclair family gave you everything.” “Mr. Sinclair.” I interrupted his manic speech. “Do you remember the exact words you said to me before I left?” He froze, his eyes narrowing. “What?” “You said trailer park trash has no class.” I repeated his words with icy precision. “You said if I hated being civilized, I should just get out of your house.” The blood drained from Gideon’s face. “And now you need the classless trailer park trash to save your collapsing empire?” I smirked. “Where is Serena? Where is your fragile, perfect princess? She is so socially graceful, isn’t she? Let her face the cameras.” “You.” Gideon choked on his words, his face flushing a violent shade of purple. I looked at him and felt nothing but profound pity. They hadn’t offered me a single drop of warmth in my entire life. I had taken the hundred grand to buy myself out of their twisted bloodline, and they still thought they could summon me like a dog. Ten years. They hadn’t evolved at all. They still stood on their pedestals, convinced the world revolved around their feelings. They expected me to drop to my knees and thank God for the privilege of lying for them. Not once did he ask if I was okay. Not once did he apologize for the horrific abuse revealed in that viral video. I told him to go to hell, turned on my heel, and left him staring at my back in absolute disbelief. 4 I enjoyed exactly three days of silence after Gideon left. The fake daughter scandal was dominating every social media platform. Web sleuths had completely doxed my identity. People from my old rural town started coming out of the woodwork, posting testimonies about how severely the Dawsons had abused me. “It was brutal watching that little girl grow up. She wasn’t even as tall as the stove, and they forced her to cook for a family of four.” “The Dawsons were monsters. They beat her for breathing too loud, burned her arms with cigarettes. We tried to call child services once, but the dad chased us off with a shotgun, screaming she was his property.” My old college classmates posted about how relentlessly I studied and worked, mentioning they all assumed I was an orphan because I never spoke about a family. Serena’s meticulously crafted public image was being shredded. Photos of her bullying lower-income girls in elite private schools surfaced. A former university classmate dropped a massive thread proving Serena had plagiarized her senior thesis. Someone else posted a breakdown of her wearing a ten-million-dollar diamond necklace to a charity gala for starving children. Every single post about her was flooded with hundreds of thousands of venomous comments. The algorithms knew exactly what I wanted to see. I spent my evenings curled up on my sofa, sipping tea and liking the most creative insults. I could play the stoic professional all day, but deep down, watching them burn was incredibly satisfying. Thanks to the PR nightmare, Sinclair stock plummeted by forty percent. Saturday morning, my doorbell rang. I looked through the peephole. Standing in my hallway were Arthur and Eleanor Sinclair. They had aged gracefully. Money tends to buy good genetics. I leaned against the heavy oak door and didn’t move a muscle. The doorbell chimed again. “Briar.” Eleanor’s voice trembled through the heavy wood, thick with tears. “I know you’re in there. Please, sweetie, open the door. Just let me look at you.” Arthur cleared his throat. “Briar. We just came to check on you. What happened back then, it was our fault. We are here to apologize.” “Please, Briar.” Eleanor started openly sobbing. “I made a terrible mistake. I am so sorry. Just open the door.” I didn’t open the door, but I heard the neighbor across the hall crack theirs open to eavesdrop. I took a deep breath, undid the deadbolt, and pulled the door open. But I kept the security chain attached. The door only opened a few inches. Eleanor’s tear-streaked face lit up. She immediately tried to push her way inside. “Briar.” “Speak from out there.” I planted my hand on the edge of the door. “My apartment is small. We don’t have the space.” Eleanor’s smile shattered. Arthur looked humiliated for a brief second before forcing his features into a mask of fatherly concern. “Briar, these past ten years. Have you been doing well?” “I was doing exceptionally well until your family started stalking me.” “Briar.” Eleanor wept, pressing her manicured hands against her chest. “Don’t speak to me like that. It breaks my heart. I know we were foolish. We only listened to Serena’s side of the story. But we raised her from infancy. We loved her. We genuinely thought keeping both of you under one roof would be best for everyone.” “Best for everyone?” I let out a sharp, incredulous laugh. “Mrs. Sinclair, are you listening to yourself? Serena literally stole my entire life. You didn’t keep two daughters. You harbored my abuser’s child.” “It’s not like that!” Eleanor grabbed the doorframe, her knuckles turning white. “I know you resent us, but we share the same blood! Blood is thicker than water! How can you be so merciless to your own mother?” “Merciless?” I stared into her eyes. “When Serena framed me for stealing her diamond watch, which one of you asked for my side of the story? When she claimed I pushed her down the stairs, which one of you checked the security cameras? When she turned the entire staff against me, which one of you defended me?” “We.” Eleanor stammered, unable to form a sentence. “You didn’t want to investigate, did you?” My voice dropped to a quiet, lethal whisper. “Because if you looked too closely, you would realize your precious princess was a pathological liar. You couldn’t bear the thought of hurting the girl you raised, so you decided it was easier to just let me take the abuse.” Arthur finally found his voice. “Briar, what happened was a failure of our judgment. But Serena was fragile. She had been with us for so long, we just couldn’t sever the emotional attachment.” “So severing ties with me was the easier choice.” I countered effortlessly. “Because I only lived with you for thirty days. Because my mental health didn’t matter. My reputation didn’t matter. My trauma didn’t matter. Is that it?” Arthur was completely silenced. Look at them. Even now, with their empire burning, they couldn’t just admit they were wrong. They just wanted to weaponize biology. They wanted to use guilt to force my head down, to make me clean up their mess. “The only thing you ever cared about was Serena’s comfort. You were terrified of upsetting her. As for me, I was collateral damage. But that is perfectly fine. Because to me, you are just strangers with a familiar bone structure. I sincerely hope this is the absolute last time I ever see your faces.” Eleanor broke down completely. She covered her face, her shoulders shaking violently as she sobbed. “Briar, I am so sorry.” Arthur supported his weeping wife and looked at me with desperate eyes. “Briar, we will make this right. We will compensate you. Whatever you want. A penthouse, luxury cars, an unlimited trust fund. Just name your price.” I looked at them, entirely exhausted by their existence. They genuinely believed that a few pathetic tears and a blank check could erase a lifetime of neglect. “I don’t want your money.” I said flatly. “I just want you to stop breathing near me.” I slammed the door shut and threw the deadbolt. “Briar!” Eleanor pounded her fists against the wood. “Open the door. Let me see my baby.” The sobbing continued for several long minutes. Eventually, the cries faded into sniffles. I heard Arthur whispering something in the hallway, followed by the sound of slow, defeated footsteps dragging toward the elevator. The world was finally quiet again.

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