Category: English

To earn medical expenses for my six-year-old autistic son, my wife Anna took on the high-risk job of river dredging through my brother Brandon’s introduction. During a flood season, she and my brother accidentally fell into the water and drowned. Three months after they left, my son also died from prolonged refusal to eat and stress-induced exhaustion. To prevent others from repeating my son’s tragedy, I took care of my wife’s parents while burying myself in study. I developed a specialized treatment plan for severe autism, and later opened a charity clinic to help autistic children free of charge. Until that day when I suddenly received a call for help. “Is this Dr. Smith speaking?” “My daughter also has severe autism. Can you save her?” I froze, because on the other end of the line was the voice of my wife who had been dead for ten years. On the phone, the woman pleaded almost humbly: “Dr. Smith, please, you’re our last hope.” A man’s voice came from beside her, tearful: “Dr. Smith, my daughter’s name is Lucy. She’s four years old with severe autism, and she’s contracted uremia. She refuses medical treatment—she’s terrified of doctors. Now she has multiple organ failure, and the hospital has issued a critical condition notice.” “We’ve asked everywhere. In the whole country, only you can save her!” I’d received no less than a hundred such calls in ten years. My charity clinic was the last lifeline for countless families with autistic children. Every time, my answer had been yes, and I never charged a penny. But this time, suppressing the chill rising from my very bones, I interrupted her directly: “The child’s name, age, and parents’ names.” The phone went quiet for a moment before the woman spoke: “The child’s name is Lucy. She’s four years old. My name is Anna, and her father’s name is…” “Brandon.” I finished for her. The line went dead silent, as if surprised I would know. Anna, Brandon. These two names, after ten years, stabbed viciously into my heart once again. I felt instantly transported back to that funeral ten years ago. The venue was packed with people. The coffin sat beside an open grave as people stood in silence, holding black umbrellas. Anna’s mother collapsed on the coffin, crying until she could barely breathe: “Anna! My daughter! How could you die—” Anna’s father stood beside her, eyes red, supporting her, his voice trembling: “Don’t cry, don’t cry… let Anna leave this world in peace…” Several relatives reached out to pull Anna’s mother back, some offering tissues, some patting her back, murmuring: “I’m so sorry for your loss.” I stood to the side holding three-year-old Lorne, feeling completely hollowed out. Lorne, uncomfortable from my tight grip, patted my face with his small hand: “Daddy, hurts…” Anna’s voice took on a tentative tone. “Dr. Smith, you… you know us?” I didn’t answer, only heard Anna urgently whispering to Brandon on the other end, then promising me again: “Dr. Smith, money is no object. We’ll give you whatever we have!” “As long as you’re willing to help, we’re willing to donate… no, to pay you one million! Please!” One million. Back then, when Anna abandoned our son who also had autism, she took the two hundred thousand dollars in death benefits—my son’s lifeline—and faked her death to escape. How resolute she had been then. Now, to save her daughter with Brandon, Anna was truly generous. My fingers gripping the pen turned white from the pressure as I spoke, word by word. “I’m sorry, this child—I won’t save her.” “Why?!” Anna’s voice suddenly shot up, full of disbelief. “We can pay more! Two million! Dr. Smith, you’ve always been…” Anna couldn’t finish her sentence. I hung up directly. The phone slipped from my trembling palm and hit the desk with a dull thud. Finally, the whole world was quiet.

When I pushed open the front door, the aroma of food hit me, but my stomach only churned. In the dining room, Anna’s parents were already seated at the long table. Across from them, as always, was an empty seat with a clean place setting. Anna’s mother carried a casserole, carefully spooning creamy mashed potatoes onto the plate in front of that empty seat. She cut up a piece of gravy-covered steak and placed it there, murmuring: “Anna, time to eat. I made your favorite roast beef today.” Ten years, rain or shine. They believed Anna had died heroically in flood relief efforts ten years ago, her body never recovered. A hero. So for these ten years, at every meal, they left a place for Anna, with food set out. As if she were still alive, just away on a trip. I stared at that plate of steaming food, hatred churning inside me. The daughter they worshipped day and night was actually living well in another city at this very moment. And Anna and Brandon were humbly begging me to save their daughter. I changed my shoes and walked over step by step. “Smith, you’re home? Hurry and wash your hands for dinner, today…” Anna’s mother looked up at me with a kind smile. But her words cut off abruptly. Because I walked straight to that empty seat, and under their shocked gazes, I picked up the food left for Anna, turned around, and threw it—plate and all—into the kitchen trash. The crash of breaking dishes exploded in the silent air. “Smith, have you lost your mind?!” Anna’s father shot to his feet, trembling with rage. Tears instantly streamed down Anna’s mother’s face as she looked at me in disbelief: “Smith… what are you doing? That’s… that’s food left for Anna…” I turned around and looked coldly at them, at these pitiful old people who’d been kept in the dark for ten years. I couldn’t tell them that their proud daughter wasn’t dead at all. Anna just found my autistic son and me to be burdens, so she and my best friend planned a fake death and ran away together. I couldn’t say a single word of it. I could only vent my ten years of accumulated resentment in the cruelest way. “Dead people don’t deserve to eat.” That night, I didn’t return to my room. I sat in my son’s room. Everything in the room remained exactly as it was when he left. His crooked drawing of our family still sat on the desk. I picked up the worn, matted stuffed toy from the bedside. This was a birthday gift Brandon had given my son. My son loved it. In his final moments, he clutched it tightly in his arms, calling over and over: “Mommy… Mommy…” I held that toy and sat there all night, until dawn squeezed through the curtain cracks and shone coldly on my face.

The next day at the clinic, Eve made me a cup of hot tea. As she handed it over, her slender fingers paused on the white ceramic cup. Her expression was gentle as always, but her tone carried a trace of concern: “Dr. Smith, yesterday’s call… you really refused?” “I’ve never seen you like this.” Eve was my deputy and my most capable partner. She knew how much I’d sacrificed for this charity clinic, and she knew I treated every patient like my own child, never giving up before. I picked up the teacup without answering. The warm liquid slid down my throat, but couldn’t warm that frozen heart. “Take it slow. There’s always hope.” Seeing my pale face, Eve habitually tried to comfort me. I forced a slight smile in response. Hope? My hope died ten years ago. Before I could speak, the office door burst open. A young rehabilitation therapist rushed in frantically: “Dr. Smith, Miss Eve, something’s wrong—someone’s kneeling outside!” Eve and I exchanged glances and immediately headed out. The afternoon sun was vicious as fire, baking the ground until white heat rose from it. Outside the clinic entrance, a large crowd had gathered, mostly parents picking up their children. In the center of the crowd, a woman knelt upright on the scorching cement. Behind her stood a man, helplessly holding a child, his face full of anxiety. It was them. Anna and Brandon. I put on a mask and slowly walked through the crowd to stand before them. “Dr. Smith! You’re finally willing to see us!” The moment Anna saw me, she crawled forward on her knees two steps, crying, her voice pitiful: “Please, save my daughter! As long as you’re willing to help, we’ll give you any amount of money!” Brandon also chimed in with red-rimmed eyes and a hoarse voice: “Dr. Smith, we’ve asked around. Only you can save her. Please have mercy!” My gaze fell on the child in their arms. Lucy. She wore soft, comfortable cotton clothes. Her face was pale, but she still showed signs of careful nurturing. Her features resembled Anna’s. But my son Lorne… When he died, he wore faded old clothes, washed until they were white. He was so thin he was just bones. His tiny body curled in my arms, his last weak breath still stubbornly calling for the woman who’d abandoned him. “Mommy…” My heart felt like someone had torn it open with a dull blade, blood pouring out, the pain almost making me unable to stand. The surrounding parents began whispering. “Dr. Smith has always been so soft-hearted, why this time…” “Right, what a pitiful child. They’ve been kneeling here so long.” I took a deep breath, suppressing the metallic taste rising in my throat. Under everyone’s puzzled gazes, I looked down at Anna kneeling on the ground and said coldly: “Stop dreaming.” “I’ll save anyone else, but not this child.”

The moment those words fell, the entire scene went dead silent. Anna, kneeling on the ground, jerked her head up, her eyes full of disbelief. Brandon behind her also froze, his lips trembling, unable to speak. “Why?” Anna’s voice shook. “Dr. Smith, how have we offended you? As long as you save the child, money is no problem!” “One million! No, five million! We’ll transfer it to you right now!” She thought I was demanding a higher treatment fee. The surrounding parents exploded in discussion, voices surging like a tide. “Five million! Why won’t Dr. Smith agree?” “Exactly. Dr. Smith never charges us anything to treat our children. What’s wrong today?” “Still, you can’t gamble with a child’s life…” These people who had once received my kindness now looked at me with reproach. I ignored them, my gaze still coldly fixed on Anna’s face. Seeing me unmoved, Anna seemed to have all her strength drained. She collapsed to the ground crying, her voice shrill: “You have no heart! How can you be so cruel!” “She’s just a child! You’re refusing to save her! This is murder!” Brandon also stepped forward with red eyes, pointing at my nose and roaring: “Do you have any medical ethics at all! We came seeking medical help, not charity! If you won’t save her, we’ll call the police!” He actually pulled out his phone and dialed emergency services. Soon, a police car came roaring up. Two officers listened to Brandon’s embellished accusations, looked at Anna crying her heart out on the ground, and finally approached me with difficulty: “Um… Dr. Smith, is it? Given this situation…” Eve immediately stepped forward, blocking me, calmly presenting the clinic’s charity certification documents: “Officers, we’re a charity organization. All assistance is voluntary and doesn’t fall under medical dispute jurisdiction.” The police looked at the documents and immediately understood. They sighed and shrugged at Anna and Brandon: “We can’t get involved in this. Providing help is a favor, not an obligation. We can’t force it.” With their last hope shattered, Anna’s face instantly turned deathly pale. In the deathly silence, I suddenly let out a low laugh. I walked back in front of Anna and looked at that face—both familiar and strange—asking word by word: “Anna, do you really not know why I won’t save your daughter?” Under her incredulous gaze, I slowly pulled down my mask.

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Before the holiday break, my colleagues swarmed around me, pleading persistently: “I heard you got a new car. Can you take us to the West Coast for vacation?” “You’re the steadiest driver! We trust you! We definitely won’t let you lose out on gas money!” Soft-hearted as I was, I gave in and drove all nine people in our team on a thousand-mile road trip—for free. The entire journey was over a thousand miles. I drove nonstop, alone, until my hands were trembling from exhaustion. Everyone in the car just ate, drank, and had fun. No one ever offered to take over. On the day of the carnival, a few drunk men rushed over from the roadside, wrenched open my car door, and dumped two huge buckets of water directly into the driver’s seat. Water flooded into the control panel. The car started billowing white smoke. Trapped inside, I screamed for help: “Don’t leave! Pull me out!” But my colleagues—who’d been thanking me profusely just moments before—all fled without a shred of mercy. I spent over forty days in the ICU. My parents sold our house to save me and destroyed their health in the process. Yet this group of people never came to visit. Instead, they viciously slandered me in the company group chat. Savannah even sent a voice message: “I warned him not to drive long distances, but he just had to play the hero and show off!” My colleagues chimed in one after another: “He almost got us all killed. So selfish!” “Who’d dare go anywhere with him again!” No matter how I tried to explain, no one would listen. The company fired me outright, citing unauthorized organization of activities. I died filled with resentment. When I opened my eyes again, I’d returned to one week before the holiday. Looking at these people surrounding me with fake smiles and flattery, my eyes turned ice-cold. In this life, I will never be soft-hearted again. For every betrayal and injury, I will repay them double!

The pothos plant on my desk was still alive. There was no scar on my left hand. Savannah walked over from the break room in her high heels, holding a latte. She bent down and leaned close to my ear: “Adrian, didn’t you request annual leave to go on vacation to the West Coast? It’s right during the carnival festival too. Why don’t you take us along? We can split the gas!” I saved the email I was typing as a draft and closed the screen. “I’m not going anymore.” Savannah blinked. “What? But your leave was already approved. Didn’t you book a hotel too?” I picked up the water glass on my desk and took a sip. “I canceled it.” “I canceled everything.” I stared at the blinking cursor on my computer screen. I couldn’t type a single word. All I could see were scenes from my previous life. I remembered every second of those three minutes when the fire burned up from beneath my feet. After the seatbelt buckle got soaked with water, it wouldn’t release no matter how hard I pressed. I yanked at it until my nails flipped back, until the flesh on my fingers was rubbed raw, but I still couldn’t get it undone. The smoke came first, choking me so badly I couldn’t even open my eyes. Then the heat rose layer by layer. I screamed until my voice went hoarse, until I couldn’t make any sound at all. The car door was open. Savannah had left it open when she ran. I could see the road outside. People were running on the road, filming videos, screaming. But no one came to pull me out. In the end, it was a DoorDash delivery guy who happened to ride by on his motorcycle. Without a word, he rushed in, used a blade he carried with him to cut the seatbelt, and dragged me out of the driver’s seat by force. That guy’s arm got burned too. Later, when I was in the ICU, I asked my dad what his name was. My dad shook his head. He said the guy left right after putting me down. Didn’t even leave a phone number. Eight colleagues. Two thousand miles. Free rides, food, and lodging. In the end, the one who saved me was a stranger. I pulled my thoughts back and glanced around the office. Twelve desks, nine people seated. Savannah sat diagonally across from me. She was looking down at her phone. After I rejected her just now, she went back to her seat without another word, but I knew what she was thinking. It was the same in my previous life. After being rejected the first time, she stayed quiet for about half an hour, then started round two. Sure enough. She put down her phone, turned to look at me, and changed her expression. “Adrian, are you under too much work pressure lately? I think you really need to get out and relax. Look at those dark circles under your eyes.” “Yeah, I’m a bit tired,” I said. “Then you should definitely go out and have fun.” Savannah stood up and walked to my cubicle, resting one hand on the back of my chair. “The West Coast is great. The carnival is so lively. You’d be so bored going alone. If we all go together, we can take turns driving so you can rest too.” Take turns driving. In my previous life, she’d said the same thing. Two thousand miles, eight people, and I was the only one who ever touched the steering wheel throughout the entire trip. Eight people, eight excuses, each more ridiculous than the last. “I’m really not going,” I said. “I withdrew my leave request too. I’ll just stay home this weekend.” Savannah’s hand slid off my chair back. Her mouth fell open. “You… you withdrew your leave too?” “Yeah.” “But that was your annual leave. If you don’t use it, isn’t that a waste?” “I’ll save it for later.” Savannah looked at me for a few seconds, then smiled. “Alright then, rest well.” She turned and went back to her seat. I knew this was just the beginning.

At lunchtime, the break room started getting lively. I sat alone at a small table in the corner with my lunch box. I used to eat with Savannah. She said she didn’t like eating alone, so I waited for her every day. Now that I think about it, in three years, when did she ever wait for me? Voices drifted over from the microwave area, intermittent but clear enough for me to hear every word. “What are you guys doing this weekend?” It was Maya, the youngest in our team, who’d just graduated and joined last year. “I want to go to the West Coast for vacation. It’s right during the carnival, but plane tickets are so expensive—over three thousand dollars round trip.” “Didn’t you say Adrian was driving there? Just ride with him,” Marcus chimed in. Maya lowered her voice, though not by much: “He said he’s not going anymore. He even withdrew his leave.” “Huh? Why’d he suddenly cancel?” “No idea. Savannah asked him but he didn’t say why.” “Then what do we do? Plane tickets are too expensive, and the train takes forever.” “Driving would be the most economical, but he’s the only one in our team with a car.” “And it’s a brand new car too. If we split the gas money, we could save a lot over two thousand miles.” At this point, several people glanced in my direction simultaneously. I pretended not to notice and kept eating. The lunch box contained fried chicken pieces and baked mac and cheese my mom made last night. The chicken was crispy, but I couldn’t taste anything as I chewed. In my previous life at this time, I was excitedly sending everyone the trip itinerary, wishing I could plan every day’s route and every meal’s restaurant. I’d even bought sunscreen and waterproof bags for everyone in advance. Eight sets. Cost me nearly a thousand dollars. Savannah had said: “Adrian, you’re so thoughtful. Whoever marries you will be so lucky.” Followed by a string of laughing and heart emojis. Thoughtful. Thoughtful enough to nearly burn to death in a fire. After finishing lunch, I washed my lunch box and put it back in my bag. As I passed Savannah’s cubicle, she was talking to Maya. When they saw me coming, both fell silent at the same time. The air went quiet for about two seconds. Savannah spoke first: “Adrian, finished eating? What was in your lunch today?” “Fried chicken.” “Smells so good. Next time have your mom make me some too.” In my previous life, she’d said the same thing. My mom really did make it for her. For three years. Every time Savannah came to my house, my mom treated her like half a daughter, making a whole table of food, and insisting she take home two containers when she left. Savannah said she’d had no mother growing up. My mom felt sorry for her. Later, when I was lying in the ICU, Savannah posted in the employee group chat saying I’d insisted on driving my new car to take her to the carnival and nearly got her killed. When my mom saw that message, she was at the ICU entrance signing a critical condition notice. “Maybe some other time,” I replied flatly and walked back to my cubicle. Behind me, Maya said something quietly. I didn’t turn around.

At 2:30 PM, our manager held a brief meeting. It was supposedly to discuss wrapping up the second quarter projects, but it was really just a formality since most of the work was done. Only some finishing touches remained. Halfway through the meeting, Manager Mr. Smith casually asked: “What are everyone’s plans for the weekend? Is the on-call schedule set?” Savannah raised her hand: ” Mr. Smith, I’ve arranged the on-call schedule. I’m on duty this weekend. Maya and Marcus will rotate the other days.” The manager nodded. Then Savannah’s tone shifted, becoming very natural: “By the way, Mr. Smith, a few of us in the team wanted to go to the West Coast for vacation and catch the carnival, but plane tickets are too expensive, and so is renting a car. Adrian was originally going to drive there, but suddenly he’s not going anymore, so we’re stuck.” As she said this, her eyes swept over me—quick, but I caught it. Everyone else’s gazes drifted toward me at the same time. Mr. Smith glanced at me: “Didn’t Adrian request annual leave? Why aren’t you going now?” “I changed my mind. I want to rest at home.” “Young people shouldn’t just rest at home. Take advantage of your time off and go out.” Mr. Smith smiled and didn’t say more. But Savannah didn’t stop. “Exactly, Adrian. If you don’t go, none of us can go. Your car is so spacious—it can easily fit eight people. Splitting the cost over two thousand miles would be way cheaper than plane tickets.” The way she said it, she wasn’t asking me—she was deciding for me. Kiera immediately chimed in: “Right, right! Adrian, your car is so big. Take us with you. Plus, it’s not safe for you to drive that far alone. With more people, we can look out for each other.” Look out for each other. In my previous life, when the car caught fire, all eight of them ran faster than rabbits. Look out for what? Watch me burn? “I said I’m not going.” My voice came out louder than I’d intended. The conference room went quiet for a moment. Savannah’s smile stiffened briefly, then quickly recovered. “Alright, alright. If he doesn’t want to go, don’t force him.” She waved at everyone, her tone light as if discussing something trivial. But I saw Kiera’s mouth twitch downward. Marcus leaned back in his chair, tapping his pen on the table. He didn’t say anything, but his expression clearly read: Fine, so you won’t help us, huh. Less than an hour after the meeting ended, Savannah posted a message in the employee group chat. “Everyone! Regarding the weekend trip, I’ve organized the details. Colleagues who want to go to the carnival, please reply below. I’ll figure out transportation, don’t worry.” A string of names immediately followed. Maya, Marcus, Kiera, Helen, Leo, Peter, Nathan. Seven people. Plus Savannah herself made eight. Exactly the same as my previous life. The only one who didn’t reply was me. Savannah posted another message in the group: “Adrian, do you want to reconsider? It’s more fun with more people. You’d be so bored at home alone.” I didn’t respond. About half an hour later, Savannah stood up from her seat and walked to the conference room doorway, tapping on the door frame. “Everyone, come in for a minute. Quick meeting, won’t take long.” She called it a “quick meeting,” but she stood in front of the projection screen with a marker in hand. The whiteboard already had a title written on it: “Weekend Carnival Trip Plan.” The handwriting was neat. Clearly prepared in advance.

I sat in the back row, watching her. “I checked, and plane tickets are sixteen hundred to two thousand one way. Round trip would be three to four thousand. Too expensive.” Savannah wrote a number on the whiteboard and crossed it out. “I also checked buses, but there’s no direct route. You’d have to transfer twice, and just the journey alone takes over thirty hours. Total waste of time.” Another cross. “For renting a car, an eight-seater van costs twenty-eight hundred one way, fifty-six hundred round trip. Split among us, that’s seven hundred per person. Cheaper than flights, but still not cheap.” She paused, tapping her marker on the board twice. “The most economical option, actually, is a self-drive. Gas plus tolls for two thousand miles would be about a thousand dollars. Split eight ways, that’s only a bit over a hundred per person.” At this point, her gaze moved from the whiteboard and naturally settled on me. Not just her—everyone was looking at me. I was the only one in the team with a car. Everyone knew that. I sat in my chair, twirling my pen, my face expressionless. “But the problem is,” Savannah put down her marker, “Adrian is the only one in our team with a car, and his is electric. Charging is even cheaper than gas. If he could take us, splitting the charging fees among everyone, it might not even cost a hundred dollars.” Kiera was the first to speak: “Less than a hundred dollars! That’s such a steal!” “Exactly,” Maya followed up. “Buying plane tickets myself would cost thousands. Adrian, please take us.” Marcus said, “Your car fits eight people comfortably anyway. I saw it once—the back row can fold down into a bed.” “Adrian, you’re the best. Please help us out.” “We’re all colleagues. This little favor is nothing.” “You’re not even paying for gas. You’re just giving a few people a ride.” One after another, talking over each other. I waited until they finished, placed my pen on the table, and slowly straightened up. The conference room fell silent. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m not going to the West Coast anymore. And I’m not lending my car either.” Savannah’s hand holding the marker froze. Kiera’s mouth gaped open. Marcus leaned back in his chair, his expression shifting from expectation to shock. “Why?” Savannah asked. Her voice was taut. “No particular reason. I just don’t want to go.” “What about the car? Can’t we drive it ourselves? We don’t need you to drive.” “No.” Savannah bit her lip. After a long moment, she spoke: “Adrian, you weren’t like this before.” I looked at her. I wasn’t like this before. Right. Before, I would have smiled and agreed, then driven two thousand miles alone, booked hotels alone, made all the plans alone, and taken all the blame alone. “People change.” After saying that, I picked up my phone and walked out of the conference room. I’d barely sat down at my desk when my phone vibrated. It was the department group chat. Savannah had posted a message, @-ing my name. “Adrian, I don’t know what you’re upset about, but everyone has been preparing for this trip plan for a long time. You’re the only one with a car but you’re unwilling to help everyone. I respect your decision. But I want everyone to know—it’s not that I didn’t try.” Silence for about ten seconds. Then Marcus posted an emoji: a thumbs-down. Kiera followed with a sighing emoji. Maya didn’t post an emoji, but she liked Savannah’s message. I stared at that message for five seconds. In front of the whole team, Savannah had pinned me in the position of being “unreasonable.” In my previous life, she’d done this after I got burned. In this life, she’d done it early. But in my previous life, I hadn’t taken screenshots. This time I did. I was about to lock my screen when Savannah sent another message. Not in the group this time—a private message. “Adrian, I don’t want our relationship to sour. But think carefully. I’m the one who arranges the on-call schedule. Next month’s project assignments go through me too. Do you really want to oppose the entire team?” I looked at that line of text, my finger hovering above the screen. This wasn’t a request anymore. This was a threat!

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My best friend Sophia’s pregnant with my husband Ethan’s child. She’s already three months along. Meanwhile, I’ve just been beaten by him until I miscarried, now lying in a hospital bed. Ethan told me that as long as I accept it, Sophia’s child can call me Mom. I smiled and nodded, then turned around and married the most dangerous man in River City. Everything they’ve inflicted on me—I’ll make them pay back tenfold, a hundredfold. My best friend Sophia posted on Ins that she’d decided to put herself up for sale tonight, going back to that life. Cassandra panicked and rushed to the Blue Baron, determined to pull Sophia out of that hellhole again. When she hurried over, she saw a room full of familiar faces outside the private room door. Including her husband of three years since their remarriage—Ethan. He was gripping Sophia’s arm, demanding answers. “Sophia, you’ve got some nerve coming here! Isn’t the money I give you enough? Why would you degrade yourself like this!” In an instant, Sophia’s eyes turned red. “Ethan, I told you I don’t want you involved. Can’t you understand that?” “I don’t want to be entangled with you anymore. I don’t want to be the other woman! I don’t want to hurt Cassie anymore!” She trembled as she cried. Ethan forcibly pulled her into his arms. “It’s my fault for putting so much pressure on you.” He looked down at her, his usually cold eyes now filled with deep affection. “Let’s tell her the truth, okay?” “No! I won’t!” Sophia pushed him away violently, shaking her head in panic. “Please stop trying to take care of me. I can’t hurt Cassie! Just go!” Ethan stared at her. “Tell me you don’t love me, and I’ll leave!” She looked up, her voice firm. “Ethan, listen carefully. I don’t love you anymore. Not at all—mmph.” The next second, the man pulled her forcefully into his embrace, dominating her lips with a kiss. Sophia cried while trying to push him away, but she couldn’t. Gradually, she stopped struggling and kissed him back even more intensely. When the kiss ended, Sophia leaned against him, gasping for breath. A friend nearby spoke up. “Sophia, Ethan loves you so much. Can’t you feel it?” “Three years ago, you said you were afraid of hurting Cassandra and insisted on breaking it off with Ethan. If he hadn’t stood outside your building all night a year ago, you probably wouldn’t even agree to see him again!” “Ethan loves you so much. If you keep degrading yourself in places like this, he’ll go crazy.” “Listen to Ethan. Tell her the truth. Cassandra’s pregnant anyway—she can’t leave Ethan! At worst, Cassie can be the first wife and you the second. You two sisters serving one husband—what’s wrong with that?” Sophia refused. “No, don’t tell her. Ethan, I’ll do what you say. I’ll stay by your side and stop degrading myself.” Ethan looked down, gently wiping the tears from the corners of her eyes. “You’ve suffered so much, Sophia.” Outside the private room. Watching this scene, Cassandra felt like someone was choking her throat. She even forgot how to breathe. In the dazzling lights, she remembered her past with Ethan. She and Ethan were neighbors, from age five to thirty. Ethan had protected her for a full twenty-five years. The Wilde and Hart families were well-matched. They’d had an engagement since childhood. Ethan was dark and rarely smiled, but he gave all his tenderness and favoritism to Cassandra. She loved eating scrambled eggs with locust flowers. Every season, the germaphobic Ethan would personally climb trees to pick them for her. She loved dancing. He hated it, but still learned for a whole month before her birthday ball, just to dance the first dance with her. When she was bullied, he could appear out of nowhere, fight five people at once, and shield her behind him so she wouldn’t get hurt. Sophia was a poor student she’d met in her junior year of high school. Her parents worked away from home year-round. She lived with her elderly grandmother. Even her tuition depended on school aid, and she barely scraped by for three meals a day. Cassandra felt sorry for her and took the initiative to befriend her, bringing her into her social circle. Later they became good friends. Ethan’s attitude toward Sophia also changed from initial distance to eventually sharing his favoritism with her for Cassandra’s sake. After college graduation, when Sophia was about to sell her body for money, it was Cassandra who rushed in to save her regardless of everything. Later she arranged work for Sophia, keeping her by Ethan’s side as his secretary. On Cassandra and Ethan’s wedding day, Sophia held the train of the wedding dress and cried her heart out. But in the first year after marriage, Ethan cheated. Cassandra didn’t know who the woman was. When she arrived, Ethan had locked that woman in a room. No matter how hysterical she became, he refused to let her in. She could only break down and seek comfort from Sophia, saying she wanted a divorce. It was Sophia who convinced her to let it go since it was in the past. Later, she forgave Ethan. For the next three years, everything was calm. Ethan also treated her better and better, not daring to hurt her in the slightest. This morning, after getting the ultrasound results and learning she was pregnant, she’d wanted to tell the two most important people in her life this good news. But she never imagined that the woman Ethan cheated with three years ago was her best friend! Three years later, they were at it again! Sadness surged over her like a tide. She staggered back a few steps and accidentally knocked over a vase nearby. “Crash!” The vase shattered on the floor. The private room door was yanked open. “Who’s there!” Seeing it was her, the person froze. “Mrs. Wilde…” Everyone in the private room looked toward her. One by one, until finally, Ethan looked at her too.

“Cassie, you saw everything.” Ethan instinctively shielded Sophia behind him. “I couldn’t control myself. On our wedding night, I said something came up at the company and didn’t come home. Actually, it was because I saw Sophia crying so sadly at the wedding. I couldn’t let her go, so I went to her apartment.” “I took her three times that night. That’s why I had a hickey on my neck the next morning. I told you it was a mosquito bite, but it wasn’t.” Cassandra froze. Before she could speak, Sophia had already broken down. “Enough! Stop talking! Ethan, if you say one more word, I’ll never speak to you again!” After screaming, she turned and grabbed Cassandra’s hand, crying and trembling. “I’m sorry, Cassie. I didn’t mean to. I couldn’t help myself. I really didn’t want to hurt you!” Cassandra could no longer suppress her anger and slapped her across the face. “Why would you do this to me! I treated you as my best friend! I gave you everything, and you even had to steal my husband! Why!” “Cassie, we truly love each other… We just can’t control it…” As soon as she finished speaking, Cassandra slapped her again. “You truly love each other? Then what do these ten-plus years between him and me mean!” This slap was harder. Sophia fell to the ground. Ethan rushed forward and shoved Cassandra aside. “Enough, Cassie. If you’re angry, take it out on me. Sophia’s health isn’t good. Don’t touch her again.” Cassandra fell to the ground, sharp pains shooting through her lower abdomen. But he turned to pick Sophia up. “Sophia, are you okay?” “I’m fine. Don’t worry about me. Go check on Cassie!” “Why do you still push me toward her at a time like this! You’ve yielded for so many years. Don’t push me away again!” Watching the boy who had once protected her growing up now protecting someone else. Cassandra finally understood everything. Actually, all the signs had been there. Later, when he made locust flower cakes, there was always a portion for Sophia. He remembered she liked sweet things and would add extra sugar. When going out shopping, he knew Sophia got cold easily and always kept a jacket in his bag. He said it was for Cassandra, but she never wore it because she was afraid of heat, not cold. That jacket was always on Sophia. She loved steak. Sophia didn’t. So every time they went to a Western restaurant, Ethan would arrange for someone to bring Chinese food specifically for Sophia to enjoy alone. Sometimes Cassandra would get jealous. He’d just pinch her cheek. “Silly girl, they say your best friend is like a second mother-in-law. If I want to marry you, don’t I have to win her over?” Cassandra had believed him. Now she realized she’d been a fool. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “No need to keep pushing each other away. Since you truly love each other, Ethan, I’ll fulfill your wishes. Let’s divorce.” “Cassie, I love you too. You know I won’t divorce you.” Ethan grabbed her arm, his eyes cold, his tone even colder. “As long as you apologize to Sophia, I’ll forgive what you did today. Sophia has depression. She can’t handle stress. If you don’t forgive her, she’ll do something to hurt herself again tonight!” “I should apologize?” Cassandra laughed. “She stole my husband, and you want me to apologize to her?” “Ethan, she’s the mistress. I will absolutely never apologize to a mistress!” Hearing the words “the mistress,” Sophia suddenly pushed Ethan away and grabbed a bottle from the table, smashing it hard against her own head. “I’m the mistress! I was wrong! I shouldn’t have been the mistress! I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” Bright red blood flowed from her forehead, but she didn’t stop. She grabbed another bottle and continued smashing it against herself. “Cassie, I was wrong, Cassie! Please forgive me.” Again and again, her forehead became a bloody mess. Ethan grabbed her hand, his eyes full of heartache. “Stop! Sophia, stop! You’re not the mistress. You’re not! I love you, so you’re not!” This statement dealt Cassandra a fatal blow. She never imagined that the Ethan who had announced at his eighteenth birthday coming-of-age ceremony in front of everyone that he would marry Cassandra when he grew up. Now said he loved her best friend Sophia. Seeing this scene, their friends couldn’t help but speak up. “Cassie, things have already come to this point. Why don’t you just let them be together?” “Yeah, we’ve brought up divorce before, but they both refused. They didn’t want to hurt you.” “Aren’t you two best friends? Can you bear to see Sophia suffer like this? She’s been wronged for three years too, forcing herself into depression.” Their friends looked at Cassandra with indignation, as if she were the only culprit behind everything. “Since you all think this way, I have nothing to say.” She turned to leave, but Ethan immediately had someone block her path. “Stop! You think you can just walk away after doing this to Sophia?” Cassandra bit her lip, tears blurring her vision. “Then what do you want?”

“Sophia smashed herself four times. I want you to pay back tenfold.” Ethan carried Sophia out of the private room. She trembled in his arms. “Do it. Forty bottles. Not one less.” Leaving those words, he walked away without looking back. Sophia tried to say something. “Don’t do this… Ethan…” “Don’t plead for her anymore. Otherwise, I’ll make it a hundredfold.” Hearing this, Cassandra couldn’t help but laugh. But as she laughed, she started crying. The man who’d sworn to protect her for life now wanted to hurt her! Seeing her cry, their friends didn’t comfort her. They all left one by one. Only she and two bodyguards remained in the private room. The bodyguards looked at each other, reluctant to act. Cassandra knew Ethan too well. Whatever he decided, no one could change. If she didn’t finish these forty bottles today, she wouldn’t be able to leave the Blue Baron. So she accepted her fate. “Do it.” “We’re sorry, Mrs. Wilde.” After apologizing, the bodyguard picked up an empty bottle and smashed it hard against Cassandra’s head. “Bang!” The glass bottle exploded, shards cutting her face. The second time, her head was bleeding! The third time, shards pierced into her scalp, the pain multiplying! The fourth, the fifth… After being hit countless times, she could no longer feel the pain. But something seemed to be flowing down her thighs. She looked down in a daze and saw blood. In that moment, she didn’t feel sad. She only felt relieved. The bodyguard quickly stopped and called Ethan in panic. “Mr. Wilde, Mrs. Wilde, she—” “Begging for mercy? Tell her—forty times, not one less! I’m with Sophia at the doctor right now. Don’t call me again!” The call was cut off. The bodyguard froze. Just as he was hesitating whether to continue, the woman in front of him collapsed to the ground like a broken doll. “Mrs. Wilde!” When Cassandra woke up, the first thing she felt was pain from her forehead. Everything else seemed not to hurt anymore. The doctor was checking her IV drip. “Mrs. Wilde, you’re awake? Don’t be too sad. You can have another child.” Cassandra didn’t answer. Her dark eyes shifted around. The doctor thought she was looking for Ethan and quickly explained, “Mr. Wilde will be here soon. We’ve already told him about your situation.” “How long have I been at the hospital?” “About six hours.” Six hours? Ethan hadn’t come. In his heart, she wasn’t that important at all. Cassandra’s nose stung, but she held back her tears. The hospital room door opened. Ethan walked in. The doctor left, thoughtfully closing the door behind him. Seeing the injuries on Cassandra’s forehead and her pale face, Ethan’s heart ached. He choked up. “Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?” “I wanted to tell you this morning. Didn’t get the chance before you beat the child out of me.” Cassandra’s tone was flat, as if talking about something unrelated to herself. “Now it’s fine. No need to say it anymore. The baby’s gone anyway.” “Cassie!” Ethan reached out to hold her, his voice still gentle. “If I’d known you were pregnant, I wouldn’t have done that to you!” “You saw it yourself. Sophia really is sick. I’ve thought about not dealing with her. But all these years she’s been between us. I can’t ignore her. You understand, right?” “She’s always loved me silently without asking for anything in return. Her life was hard enough before. I don’t want her to suffer. You’re her good friend. You should understand!” Cassandra had miscarried. The child was beaten out of her by Ethan. He came to the hospital to see her, yet every word was about how much he felt for another woman. Cassandra should have felt pain. But perhaps because this was her second time being betrayed, she didn’t feel any pain at all. “I know. I understand.” She pushed him away and asked softly, “How is she? Is she okay?” “You still care about her? Does that mean you accept her?” The hope in his eyes pierced her heart, but Cassandra still nodded. “Yes. You’re right. She’s sick. You should be with her.” She turned away, giving him only her back. “I’m tired. Go be with her.” “Cassie, you’re so wonderful! My love for you isn’t wasted. I’ll go tell Sophia. She’ll be so happy!” Ethan walked toward the door. When he reached it, he left one more sentence. “Oh, Cassie, don’t be too upset about not having a child. Sophia’s pregnant too, already three months along. She said as long as you accept it, her child will be your child.” He left. The hospital room door closed. Inside was deathly silent. Learning that Sophia was pregnant with Ethan’s child, Cassandra thought she would be shocked, heartbroken. But her heart was already like stagnant water, feeling nothing. She picked up her phone and called her lawyer. “The divorce papers I left with you three years ago can take effect now.”

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In the third year of our long-distance relationship, I stumbled upon Ethan’s alternate account. In his post, he shared a story about being saved during his youth. At the end, he asked in distress: [What should I do if I can’t forget my first love? It’s seriously affecting my feelings for my girlfriend.] The comments section had criticism and mockery. Some offered advice too. One comment said: [Sleep with your first love once, and you’ll realize she’s nothing special.] Ethan didn’t reply, but he liked the comment. 0 When I received Ethan’s message. My mind was still stuck on the post I’d just seen. My heart felt like it was blocked by a stone, heavy and suffocating. Ethan sent me several photos. “Had a team dinner today, happened to come to that trendy restaurant you mentioned before.” “The food’s pretty good. I’ll bring you here next time.” Coming back to my senses, I called Ethan. His voice carried a smile. “Serena? What’s up?” “There’s a long weekend coming up. Are you coming back?” Ethan hesitated for a few seconds. “I have work commitments this holiday. I won’t be able to keep you company.” My heart sank a little more. I changed the subject. “Who are you having dinner with?” He paused on the other end. “Company employees, three or four people.” The dishes in the photos looked exquisite and delicious. The portions weren’t much—not enough for one person to finish, but too little if there were many people. Just right for two. I asked jokingly, “Is that enough food? You’re not on a date with someone else, are you?” Ethan sounded a bit helpless. Even without seeing him, I could imagine him frowning. “What are you overthinking now?” “Do you need me to put someone on the phone to prove it to you?” Long-distance relationships severely lack security. Over these years, no matter how much I checked up on him, I never involved other people. As long as Ethan said something, I believed him. But this time was different. I picked up my cold tea and took a sip. “Sure.” The phone went silent. A light, cheerful female voice came through, growing closer. “Ethan, I won a couples bracelet in the lucky draw. Help me put it on.” Ethan coughed uncomfortably, his words coming fast and urgent. “Didn’t you want to go to the beach? You can go with friends. I’ll reimburse you.” “I’ve got something to deal with here. I’ll contact you later.” The implication was clear. He wasn’t coming back, and he didn’t want me to visit him either. Ethan had always been generous with me. Almost as soon as he hung up, he transferred money to me. I stared at the dark screen for a while. Suddenly I remembered that when I saw restaurant recommendations recently, one mentioned giving a mystery box gift for good reviews. My fingers moved, opening a review app. The latest review was from ten minutes ago. [My boyfriend took time out of his busy schedule to bring me here! Love it.] The photos matched the ones Ethan sent me exactly. The last picture. It was a girl’s selfie, smiling brightly, intimately holding onto an arm. I couldn’t sleep that night. Following that review’s user ID, I found her account on another social platform. There wasn’t much content, but the contrast was stark. In the past, everything was full of complaints. Rent was too expensive, neighbors too noisy, working part-time was exhausting, her boss was always picking on her. In the photos she posted, you could vaguely see peeling, moldy walls in her place. Crumpled dresses piled on a worn-out sofa. Until a month ago. She moved into a high-end apartment, spacious and bright, elegant and grand. Her closet was filled with all kinds of clothes, plus several expensive handbags. The boxed lunches from before became various Japanese cuisine, Western food, and specialty restaurants. In the scattered comments, someone asked if she’d struck it rich. [I ran into a neighbor boy from before. He’s doing really well now.] [Wow! A reunion romance with a younger guy?] She replied with a shy emoji. As dawn approached, I booked a ticket on the earliest flight. 0

In the departure lounge. My best friend called, her tone dejected. “What do you think someone’s doing when they don’t reply to messages? Are there still people who don’t check their phones all day?” I looked at my chat window with Ethan. The screen full of green bubbles, occasionally getting a few words in response. I thought for a moment and said, “People have a desire to share. If they’re not sharing with you, they’re sharing with someone else.” “If he can resist contacting you, it means you’re not that important.” The airport announcement happened to come on. My friend asked where I was going. I told her the truth. Her emotions came and went quickly, her tone teasing. “You and Ethan are so far apart, north and south, and you still want to stick together during a two-day weekend. I’m kind of jealous.” I opened my mouth. My explanation turned into a lie. “I’m not going to see him. It’s a last-minute business trip.” From freshman year until now, a full seven years. This relationship took up a huge part of my life. Even at this moment, I was still covering for Ethan. Even trying to convince myself. Attributing all suspicions to coincidence. I’d been to Ethan’s place many times. But this time I stood at the door for a long while before entering the passcode. Very subtle changes, but I noticed them at a glance. There was a small succulent on the balcony, a blanket on the sofa. The refrigerator that was always empty whenever I visited was now filled with vegetables and fruit. Plus several boxes of yogurt in different flavors. I sat in the lounge chair on the balcony, scrolling through chat records with Ethan. They seemed endlessly long. In my heart, the process of falling in love was extremely precious. In our second year together, my phone mysteriously went black. After getting it fixed, I discovered that more than half our chat history was gone. I tried many methods but couldn’t recover it. I was so sad and heartbroken. Ethan held me and comforted me for a long time. “If it’s lost, forget about it. We see each other every day anyway, and we’ll always be together in the future.” That’s what he said. But from that day on, he sent hundreds of messages daily, as if to make up for what was lost. Later, when I got a new phone, the first thing I did was back up our chat history. Back then, every line was filled with obvious love. From far away, it gradually, bit by bit, became shallow. All those overlooked things suddenly surged into my heart. Ethan’s initial active updates, squeezing out time during busy moments to video call. His endless sharing turned into “I’m busy,” “in a meeting,” “eating,” “sleeping.” Perfunctory. Mechanical. Recently, our contact had been sparse. The waiting time felt exceptionally long. Two hours later. Sounds came from the entrance. The curtains were half-drawn. I didn’t make a sound, quietly watching the two people entering. Ethan was carrying several shopping bags, bending down to change his shoes. The girl kicked off her shoes carelessly and jumped onto his back. “I’m exhausted from shopping all morning. My legs are so sore. Help me massage them.” Ethan held one hand behind him, steadily setting her down on the sofa. The motion was so natural, as if he’d done it many times. “You’re the one who wanted to go shopping, and you’re the one complaining about being tired.” He sat down next to her. “Where does it hurt?” The girl raised her hand and pointed, smiling as she placed her feet on Ethan’s lap. Her skirt rode up. Ethan lowered his head, gently kneading and pressing. He’d ask from time to time if it hurt, his expression full of affection. The silver bracelet on his wrist gleamed painfully bright. “I don’t want to go home today. Will you let me stay?” From my angle, I could see the fondness and attachment in the girl’s eyes. The ambiguous atmosphere gradually fermented. Ethan’s Adam’s apple bobbed, his lips parting slightly. I finally couldn’t help but speak. “Ethan.” 0

Time seemed to freeze. The girl looked over in shock, meeting my gaze without any evasion. Ethan stiffly turned around slowly, forcing out a smile. “Serena, how did you get here?” After saying it, he probably realized his tone was stiff and softened a bit. “Why didn’t you tell me in advance? I would have picked you up.” I didn’t say anything. The atmosphere became somewhat awkward for a moment. Ethan walked over, grabbing my hand to explain. “Don’t misunderstand. This is Tara. She helped me pick out gifts for business partners today.” I smiled. “Being a boss isn’t easy for you. You even have to give your employees massages.” Ethan looked at my expression, maintaining surface composure as he told Tara to leave. “Thank you for today. You can go home now.” Tara bit her lip, her tone dejected. “Alright, Mr. Miller. I won’t disturb you two then.” Only the two of us remained in the room. Ethan crouched in front of me, his words sincere. “Tara’s used to being casual. I forgot myself for a moment. Even if you hadn’t come today, I wouldn’t have let her stay.” I stared at him for a few seconds. “I’m a bit hungry.” Ethan exhaled, relaxing considerably. He ruffled my hair. “Then I’ll take you to eat. What do you want?” “Hot pot.” When we reached the entrance, Ethan’s footsteps suddenly stopped. “Let me change clothes. Can you wait a moment?” I nodded. Ethan quickly walked into the master bedroom. Click—a soft sound as the door locked from inside. I suddenly realized that changing clothes might just be an excuse. There was probably something he needed to hide that he didn’t want me to see. Twenty minutes later. Ethan came out changed, the bracelet on his wrist gone. He was as considerate as ever. The dishes he ordered were all my favorites, and the sauce he mixed for me suited my taste perfectly. Ethan barely ate, several times probing my intentions for coming. He thought my sudden appearance was due to distrust. What used to be a pleasant surprise was now suspicion. “We’ve been together for so many years. Do you really think I’m that unreliable?” Seeing my silence, his patience ran out. “Serena, I think we need a different way of getting along.” “Like when we’re apart, we can be like friends. That way everyone will be more relaxed.” I heard this less than an hour after we met. After staying up all night and traveling over two thousand kilometers. Actually, I was very tired, physically and mentally exhausted. Ethan said the daily check-ins and video calls made him feel very tired. The occasional missed contact, the screen full of messages and missed calls made him feel oppressed. He even felt love was being worn away bit by bit. “Serena, I love you. I want to marry you and start a family. Life is still long. Can’t we save our love for later?” Ethan’s gaze was very calm. A kind of helpless yet unavoidable weariness. It made me feel like my love was a burden, that even loving him was wrong. “Okay.” Ethan didn’t react. I looked into his eyes and repeated, “I think what you said makes sense.” Just like that, we seemed to reach some kind of consensus. But I knew clearly this relationship should end. That night, I made up a random excuse to sleep in the guest room. Ethan didn’t ask much. At the crack of dawn, I was woken by some commotion. Opening the door, Ethan was on the phone in the living room. “Don’t be nervous. We’ll see each other soon.” “If you’re not used to wearing heels, you can hold them and change at the hotel.” In a suit and tie, refined and elegant. Hearing the noise, he hung up. “Did I wake you?” “A friend’s getting married today. I’m a groomsman, so I need to head over early.” An unexpected kiss landed on my forehead. “Get some more sleep. I’ll come back to keep you company once things are done there.” 0

“I’ll go with you. Soak up some wedding joy.” Ethan froze, his expression somewhat unnatural. I lowered my eyes, adjusting his tie. “Not convenient? Or do you not want people to know you have a girlfriend?” Ethan sighed, probably thinking I was being unreasonable again. “I might not have time to keep you company. You don’t know any of those people. I’m afraid you’ll be uncomfortable.” “It’s fine. Do your thing, don’t worry about me.” We didn’t speak the whole way. Ethan drove, lips pressed tight, fingers constantly tapping the steering wheel. This was his tell when he was irritated. The groom’s house wasn’t far. I waited in the car. Close to the bride pickup time, a group of people came out from the stairwell. Ethan walked at the back, typing on his phone. He handed me a warm breakfast. “It’ll take some time at the bride’s house. You can take a nap in the car.” I acknowledged and said nothing more. The bride’s house was on the tenth floor. I didn’t take the elevator, slowly climbing the stairs. The main door was wide open, decorated with festive red double happiness characters. You could hear the commotion inside even from the hallway. “Today’s three pairs of groomsmen and bridesmaids are all couples. The final game is a passionate three-minute kiss, or you’re not taking the bride!” I could faintly hear Ethan’s voice. “Tara and I aren’t what you think. Can I drink instead? You decide how many glasses.” The jeering continued nonstop. “What do you mean ‘what we think’? Is Mr. Miller shy?” “Last time I went to your office, I personally saw her coming out of your lounge wearing your shirt.” “What’s embarrassing about kissing your own girlfriend? Hurry up, don’t delay the auspicious time!” Standing in the corner. Watching the person I’d been with for seven years being pushed together to kiss someone else. Every long-distance meeting was especially precious. We just wanted to be together, even doing nothing felt happy. Only now did I realize belatedly that distance doesn’t just divide feelings and hearts. It divides lives too. Without me noticing, I’d already been excluded. When Ethan got in the car, there was still a smudge of lipstick at the corner of his mouth. I pretended not to see it. After arriving at the hotel, he arranged a seat for me then hurried away. I’d also fantasized about wedding scenes. It seemed we were just one step away from school uniforms to wedding dresses. Many people asked me, when will you and Ethan end the long-distance? You’ve been together seven years, time to get married, right? I always instinctively made excuses for Ethan. No rush, too busy, waiting until things are more stable. Pulled from my thoughts, on stage it had already reached the bouquet toss. The blue bouquet had several white ribbons hanging from the bottom. When Ethan caught it, even he looked surprised for a moment. Everyone shouted for him to propose to Tara. Ethan instinctively looked at me, unconsciously taking a step forward. Tara tugged his sleeve, her face full of pleading. Just a few seconds. Ethan turned and gave the bouquet to Tara. The moment he turned his back, I got up and left the hotel. I had to admit, people do change. We’re all rushing along our paths. Spending a lifetime together is luck; drifting apart is the norm. Distraction and detachment in a relationship don’t deserve forgiveness. Not even for a second.

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In my past life, Ethan fell into ruin because of me—imprisoned, his family destroyed. Before he died, he spat blood and begged me: “In the next life, please don’t cling to me anymore.” Reborn back to senior year before everything went wrong, I decided to grant his wish. I distanced myself from him, endured bullying, and quietly planned to leave for a distant land. Yet when I was humiliated, he watched coldly from the sidelines. When I was slandered, he kicked me while I was down. He said: “An ungrateful wretch—I’m sick of her.” But when I finally boarded the plane to leave, he came chasing after me like a madman. The day Uncle Wilson brought me home, he said to Ethan: “Lily is a hero’s daughter. From now on, you must take good care of your sister.” Because of that one sentence, Ethan took care of me for ten years, from age eight to eighteen. I suffer from selective mutism—emotionally closed off, learning difficulties, lacking even basic self-care abilities. When I was ten, classmates locked me in the equipment room while Ethan wasn’t around, watching me break down. When Ethan found out, he blinded one of the perpetrator’s eyes. For this, the academically excellent boy not only received disciplinary action but was also made to kneel all night by Uncle Wilson. At twelve, I got my first period during the school sports meet. Face flushed, he bought me my first pack of sanitary pads and stammered through asking the school nurse to teach me about it. At fifteen, I was tricked by bad people to a hotel and nearly assaulted. He rushed in desperately and pulled me out from those thugs who carried knives and guns. Back then, his voice trembled with urgency as he struck my palm: “Will you ever follow strangers again?! Running off like that! Never listening!” He hit hard. I cried from the pain, but I didn’t blame him. Because that hand of his was covered in injuries from saving me. He was so good to me, yet I distanced myself from him when I turned eighteen. All because at a class dinner, drunk, he said: “Lily’s such an idiot. When she was little, I thought she was cute and was willing to take care of her. Who knew she’d still be this ‘cute’ at eighteen? If her parents hadn’t died saving my dad, I wouldn’t bother with this burden!” From that day on, I woke up an hour earlier every morning, took the bus to school alone, avoiding his schedule. At school, I ate lunch by myself, no longer joining his group. When Morgan, the girl pursuing him, cornered me in the hallway to bully me, I no longer looked to him for help. Instead, I kept my head down and silently endured Morgan’s malice. I became even more silent and obedient. Whether at school or home, I stopped causing him any trouble. But now he blocked my bedroom door: “Lily, how long are you going to avoid me?” I gripped my backpack straps and ducked under his arm. He suddenly pinned me against the wall: “Just because I said something stupid when I was drunk, you’re going to hold a grudge this long?” I knew his drunken words weren’t genuine resentment—it was because we’d argued that day. Despite my mutism, I also cared about beauty. That day I’d shortened my school skirt like Morgan did and happily showed it off to Ethan. His face darkened: “Who said you could wear such a short skirt? Change it back!” After all, I’d painstakingly altered the uniform myself, and he wouldn’t let me wear it. I clutched the skirt protectively: “Why can Morgan and the others wear it but I can’t?” “Can you compare yourself to her? Don’t you know your own situation?” Actually, I knew he meant that my mental state wasn’t fully developed, I couldn’t protect myself properly, and a short skirt would attract bad people. But in that moment, emotions got the better of me and I scratched three marks across his face. Feeling depressed, he vented with those harsh words while drunk. Returning to the present, I whispered: “Yes, because of those harsh words.” Then I pushed past him and walked out. He pounded the wall behind me: “Lily, you’re really heartless! I’ve taken care of you like a slave for ten years! If I really thought you were a burden, why would I act like your dog? Isn’t what you’re doing now breaking my heart?” Bang. Uncle Wilson’s bedroom door opened. He yawned and said: “You two leaving this early? Ethan, drive slowly and take good care of Lily.” Ethan and I stopped arguing abruptly. Neither of us wanted the adults to notice, so we had no choice but to leave the house together. At the door, Morgan greeted Ethan cheerfully: “Ethan, good morning.” Morgan had been chasing Ethan for three years. After learning they lived in the same neighborhood, she waited at his door every morning. But Ethan always treated her like she was invisible. Of course, except when she was bullying me—then Morgan also treated me like I was invisible. Seeing both our faces tense, Morgan’s lips couldn’t hide her excitement: “Did you two fight?” Ethan ignored her, steadying his bicycle and asking me: “Lily, you’ve decided. Continue this cold war, or ride with me to school?” I said nothing, head down as I walked past him. He didn’t try to stop me either, gritting his teeth: “Fine, don’t regret this!” Then he looked at Morgan: “Morgan, get on.” Morgan gasped with delight and climbed onto Ethan’s bike. The boy rode past me quickly, the puddle water splashing and dirtying my school skirt hem. I watched his cold, retreating back and Morgan’s smugness, suppressing the deep ache in my heart. Ethan, don’t worry. This lifetime, I won’t hold you back anymore.

He didn’t know—I’ve been reborn. In my past life, Ethan married me out of responsibility. After marriage, my mutism grew worse for certain reasons. During episodes, I became paranoid and violent, attacking Ethan with fists and scratches multiple times. A perfectly good professor, his face covered in scratches from me. Yet toward me, Ethan never uttered a word of complaint. Unexpectedly, Ethan’s rivals reported him for raping a mentally ill woman under the guise of marriage. Just like that, the prestigious Northbridge University professor was arrested on rape charges. Uncle Wilson and his wife begged me to testify in court, but with my severe illness, I couldn’t even speak, which only further confirmed the charge that he violated my will. After Ethan was imprisoned, I entered a psychiatric hospital for treatment. When my condition improved slightly, I went to court to clear his name. But by then, his reputation was destroyed, his job lost, and all his pride had been ground away in prison. The night I picked him up from prison, he drove in silence. With his shaved head and ill-fitting old clothes, those eyes that once shone with youth were filled with exhaustion from being dragged down. Filled with guilt, I asked him for a divorce. Then, a car out of control came speeding toward us. Before impact, Ethan instinctively shielded me with his body. He died. Before dying, spitting blood, he said: “Lily, if you truly feel sorry for me, don’t cling to me in the next life. I’m so tired.” His parents lost their only son. Within half a year, they both passed away. And I, this burden, destroyed Ethan and ruined Uncle Wilson and his wife who raised me. After burying Ethan’s parents, I found a deserted place and quietly left this world. When I opened my eyes again, I was back at eighteen, senior year. Ethan wasn’t imprisoned, wasn’t dead. He stood vividly on the table, drunkenly spouting harsh words. In my past life, I was heartbroken for a long time after hearing those words. But after rebirth, I smiled and called my mom’s nominal younger brother—my uncle. I just had to wait one month, then leave the country with my uncle. …… When I arrived at school, first period hadn’t started yet. Morgan sat on Ethan’s lap, the two sharing a cookie, incredibly intimate. Classmates around them teased: “Congratulations to campus beauty Morgan—after three years of pursuit, you finally caught the top student.” “I always said Lily was bad luck—killed her parents and cursed Ethan. Now that the idiot’s away from Ethan, he and Morgan finally got together!” “Ethan, you won’t protect Lily anymore, right?” “Then we…” Morgan’s girlfriends glanced at me with sinister glee, their intent to torment clear as day. Since freshman year, Morgan had been jealous of my relationship with Ethan, constantly undermining me openly and covertly, even bullying me when Ethan wasn’t around. Their malicious stares pierced me. I couldn’t help shrinking back, instinctively looking toward Ethan. But Ethan’s words were brief and cruel: “Don’t go too far. I have to answer to my parents.” I kept my head down and quickly passed through that crowd of malicious gazes, only to see my desk piled with garbage—sticky soy sauce mixed with moldy bread firmly stuck to the surface. People around me snickered. I felt lost, frozen for a long time before starting to clean it up. I heard Morgan say: “Ethan, you don’t feel sorry for her, do you? You always protected her before. Now you’re my boyfriend. I won’t allow you to be soft-hearted toward other girls, even an adopted sister!” Ethan said indulgently: “What adopted sister? Just an ungrateful wretch who can’t even speak properly. I’m sick of her.” My hand paused. My heart felt a faint numbness. Morgan’s beautiful, delicate shoes appeared in my vision. Crash! Dirty, sticky garbage was swept onto my head. Frightened, I fell to the ground, helplessly wiping at my hair covered in soy sauce and mold. The surrounding students laughed louder. I looked up indignantly, but what awaited me was Morgan’s heavy slap. “Try looking at me like that again.” Morgan’s delicate face filled with mockery. “Lily, you haven’t eaten yet, have you? Let your sister-in-law treat you to breakfast.” Two male classmates pinned my hands behind my back. I knelt humiliatingly in that pile of garbage, sharp glass shards piercing my knees. “Ah, it hurts…” Morgan grabbed that ball of black moldy bread and tried to shove it in my mouth. I struggled but couldn’t break free, biting my lips tightly, my face covered in the garbage’s soy sauce and mold: “Mmph!” Years of habit made me instinctively look toward Ethan. A flash of reluctance crossed the boy’s brow. He mouthed: “Just give in and I’ll save you.” He permitted Morgan to hurt me, waiting for me to beg him for help. I withdrew the tears from my eyes and suddenly rammed into Morgan’s stomach. “Morgan!” Ethan caught the off-balance Morgan in alarm. Just then, the homeroom teacher’s voice rang out: “What’s going on here?”

The homeroom teacher seemed like a lifeline to me. Seeing the filth on my face, she asked sternly: “Who’s openly bullying a classmate in class? Morgan, was it you?” Morgan rolled her eyes, clutching her stomach: “Teacher, you can’t favor Lily just because she’s sick. She’s the one who rammed into me.” Seeing Morgan’s pain didn’t seem faked, the teacher looked at me critically: “Lily, you explain.” But I’m naturally mute. Except when facing Ethan and his parents when I can communicate normally, when interacting with others, being able to say ten words in a sentence is already good. I stammered: “It’s not, I… I…” The powerlessness of being unable to defend myself made me anxious. Just then, Ethan stepped forward and said: “Teacher, let me explain.” Like a beam of light shining on me, I looked at Ethan hopefully, thinking he would give me justice. But Ethan said: “Lily had an episode this morning and made a mess of her own desk. Morgan kindly tried to help, but she not only wouldn’t listen, she rammed Morgan with her head.” His tone was lazy: “That’s what happened. No one bullied Lily. She attacked someone while sick.” In an instant, my mind went blank. He knew full well that when facing false accusations, I had no ability to defend myself. Yet now, he cruelly threw dirty water on me. The teacher was disappointed: “Lily, you’ve let me down! Go stand in the hallway and reflect on yourself!” The teacher’s criticism stung. I stared blankly at Ethan, lips trembling: “Why?” He didn’t give me any look, carrying Morgan to the infirmary. Only when passing me did he raise his eyes: “The teacher told you to go stand in the hallway. What, didn’t understand?” My heart throbbed with dull pain. Ethan, my knees are bleeding. Can’t you see? After class, the crowded hallway was full of malicious stares. “Look at her face, so disgusting!” “Doesn’t it look like a pile of shit stuck to her face?” The mockery was endless. Someone even picked up the disgusting bread from my desk and threw it at me. I trembled all over, completely breaking down. My condition felt like a flood about to breach the dam, ready to become hysterical any moment. I didn’t want to hurt others during an episode, so I shakily fumbled through my bag for my medicine. Finally finding it, someone snatched it away. “Give it back!” I looked up sharply to see Morgan’s mocking expression. And Ethan stood beside her, not stopping her. I stood up and rushed toward Morgan, only wanting to get the medicine back. But Ethan instinctively kicked me away, as if I were some uncontrolled wild dog: “You want to hurt people again?” His force wasn’t great, but that kick shattered my heart. Seeing me fall, Ethan looked away with reluctance: “Lily, if you apologize to Morgan, I’ll have her return your medicine. After all, you were in the wrong first. She’s doing this just to get your apology.” He wasn’t someone who couldn’t tell right from wrong. Who was at fault—he knew perfectly well. Ethan was doing this just to force me to give in. He was so excessive, yet I didn’t even have the right to hate him. After all, I truly owed him my life. Thinking of what I owed him in my past life, I stood up and left dejectedly: “I won’t take it.” The boy’s footsteps moved forward unconsciously, but ultimately pride won out and he didn’t chase after me. I went to clean the filth from my body, trying to make myself somewhat presentable. Just as I’d finished washing my face, Morgan came over twirling her delicate hair. “What spell did you cast on Ethan to make him care about you so much? Eagerly sending me to bring you medicine.” I didn’t want conflict with her, but she blocked my way: “Hey, you’re usually so quiet, but today you dared to ram me with your head?” Morgan was angry about my resistance today. I looked up, meeting her eyes directly: “I’m not afraid of you anymore.” In my past life I feared her, endured her bullying without telling anyone, because I didn’t want to cause trouble for the Wilson family. Morgan sneered: “Is that so?” She handed me the medicine: “I’m done teasing you. Here.” I reached for the medicine, but in the next moment, Morgan suddenly grabbed my hand and dragged it across her own face, falling to the ground pitifully: “Lily, I kindly brought your medicine back to improve our relationship. Why did you hit me?” Absurd. I didn’t understand why she did this and was about to leave when I suddenly saw Ethan’s disappointed gaze.

“Lily!” Ethan stood at the bathroom door, fists clenched: “You’re angry at me—why hurt someone else?” I panicked, finally understanding I’d been set up by Morgan. “Ethan, is this who I am in your eyes?” Being wrongly accused by others, I felt nothing. Being misunderstood by him, my heart felt like it was being cut. Yet I didn’t even have the right to blame him. I walked past him. He grabbed my wrist: “Illness isn’t an excuse for immunity. Apologize to Morgan.” His grip was strong. I couldn’t break free, my heart covered in grievance: “She slandered me. Why do you only believe her and not me?” “Whether it’s slander, you know in your heart!” Ethan’s voice was warm with anger. “Besides me, no one will indulge you!” He turned his head. On his fair neck remained the scratches from our previous argument, confirming the evidence that I liked to scratch people. Reminding me of the past life’s Ethan, who would always hold me tightly during my episodes, constantly apologizing, saying he hadn’t taken good care of me. Yet I would frantically drag my sharp nails across his face, again and again. Outsiders all laughed that Professor Wilson was henpecked, married to a fierce wife. But he never spoke a bad word about me to outsiders. “I won’t apologize.” I could apologize to Ethan, even kneel and kowtow. But I wouldn’t apologize to Morgan. Ethan gritted his teeth: “Fine, you asked for this.” He restrained both my hands behind my back: “Morgan, however many times she hit you, you pay back tenfold.” Boom! Prolonged ringing made my consciousness hazy. I looked at the boy before me in shock. His expression was serious, not joking at all. Until Morgan’s slaps fell like sudden rain. One, two… “Ah!” The burning pain on my face and the humiliation of being slapped left me breathless. Morgan hit even harder. After ten slaps, Ethan didn’t give me another glance. He tenderly took Morgan’s hand: “Does your hand hurt?” Morgan smiled and linked arms with him: “It doesn’t hurt.” “That’s good.” I stood there for a long time before forcing my injured mouth into a smile: Ethan, you didn’t need to restrain me. Because I wouldn’t have fought back. After school that day, Ethan and I went home separately. Uncle Wilson anxiously watched at the door. Seeing me finally return with injuries on my face, he criticized Ethan: “What dinner? You didn’t even notice your sister was being bullied?” Aunt Wilson asked with concern: “Lily, did you fight with your brother? Why haven’t you been coming home together these past few days? Is someone bullying you at school?” Ethan said coldly: “She had an episode and hit herself. She’s so fierce—who would dare bully her?” “Kneel down!” Uncle Wilson was furious. “I told you to take good care of your sister. Is this how you take care of her?” Ethan threw down his chopsticks and walked to the living room to kneel: “She doesn’t need me. Stop being presumptuous!” He rarely defied his elders like this. It made Uncle Wilson raise his hand to slap him. I spoke up to stop him: “Brother’s right. I hit myself. I’m tired and want to go upstairs to rest.” Hearing this, Ethan’s bowed head lifted, his gaze complex as he looked at me. Aunt Wilson sighed: “Ethan, you know Lily’s condition. When there are conflicts, you need to accommodate her more.” “Haven’t I accommodated her enough? Can’t she feel sorry for me even once?” Uncle Wilson said helplessly: “Stubborn boy! If you don’t treasure your time with Lily now, you’ll regret it eventually! Do you know she’ll soon…” “Uncle Wilson!” I stood at the stairs, interrupting him. Uncle Wilson held it in uncomfortably, but ultimately didn’t tell Ethan I was leaving. But how smart was Ethan? That night, he came into my bedroom carrying hot milk. This had been his habit for ten years—heating me a cup of milk before bed. But since we started our cold war, I hadn’t drunk hot milk. “Lily, you’re hiding something from me.” A declarative sentence. My tone was stiff as I turned away: “No.” He turned my face back, leaning close: “How long are you going to keep this up with me? You think I felt good treating you like that today?” His intimate breath brushed my face. I blushed and dodged: “I need to sleep.” Ethan’s throat moved. After looking around, his gaze landed precisely on a suitcase. He walked over. I panicked—inside that suitcase were all my documents for going abroad! I grabbed his hand. Ethan’s face darkened as he met my eyes: “Move.” I knew if he was determined to look, I couldn’t stop him. Fortunately, Morgan’s voice came from downstairs: “Ethan! Ethan!” Without thinking, he turned and left.

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1 To make Julia feel secure, I developed the habit of reporting every single detail of my life to her. A random flower blooming on the sidewalk, a terrible cup of coffee, the sunset on my way home from work. Even if she just crossed my mind for a split second, I would text her. Her replies were always short and dismissive, but she always replied. So, for the past six months, I survived the grueling process of planning our wedding entirely on those cold but consistent messages. I booked the venue, picked out my tuxedo, and handled the caterers all by myself. Until five days before the wedding. I found an AI program running on her laptop. It was designed to categorize every text I sent, extract keywords, and generate the most generic, flawless, dismissive response possible. If I texted that I missed her, it replied, “Yeah.” If I vented about a bad day, it replied, “Got it.” If we argued, it replied, “Stop overreacting.” It turned out that for the past half-year, Julia was never the one responding to me. And in the chat window right next to mine, her messages with another man were densely packed. From “good morning” to “good night.” From debating what to eat for lunch, to planning a future beach trip together. I finally understood. Julia’s love was never silent. It was overwhelming and loud. It just never belonged to me. And I finally made the decision to walk away from this one-sided waiting game. … When Julia finally got home, it was past ten at night. She pushed the door open, slipping off her heels. “Why are you still up?” I sat on the living room sofa, staring at her. “I was waiting for you.” She frowned. “If you have something to say, just text me. Why do you have to wait up?” I looked at her. “Julia, do you think I talk too much?” She paused, kicking her shoes onto the rack. “Why are you asking this out of nowhere?” “Just tell me the truth.” She tossed her coat over the back of a dining chair, a flash of irritation crossing her face. “Sometimes, yes.” I nodded. “Like when?” “Like when I am at work, and you send me paragraphs of pointless garbage.” “For example?” “For example, today at noon. You texted me that a new bakery opened downstairs and asked if I wanted to go this weekend. Then in the afternoon, you said you wanted to change the wedding centerpieces to white lisianthus. And tonight, you texted me that a streetlight was broken and you were scared walking alone.” She scoffed, a mocking smile on her lips. “Nathan, have you ever noticed that you literally have to tell me every single thing that happens to you?” I stared at her. “Isn’t that what people in love do?” “But I genuinely do not have the energy for it.” She sat down across from me, her tone softening slightly, as if she were lecturing a child. “I am exhausted from work every day. When I get home, I still have to manage your emotions. Can you please just grow up?” Grow up. For the past five years, that was her favorite thing to say to me. I wanted to celebrate our anniversaries. She told me to grow up and stop caring about pointless rituals. I wanted her to come with me to try on my tuxedo. She told me to grow up because all suits look exactly the same. I wanted to vent to her about the stress at work. She told me to grow up because everyone hates their job. But today, I saw her chat history with Liam. The logs were so endlessly long that it took me all afternoon just to scroll back six months. It showed a version of Julia that was entirely foreign to me. She answered his every call. She was attentive, accommodating, and sometimes so hopelessly childish it was jarring. When Liam complained that the grapes he bought were too sour, she spent thirty minutes sending voice notes, gently coaxing him out of his bad mood. I looked at Julia, unable to hold the question back any longer. “Then why doesn’t Liam have to grow up?” Julia’s brow instantly furrowed into a harsh knot. “Nathan, did you wait up for me just to pick a fight?” Turning the blame back on me. It was her signature move. Every single time Liam’s name was brought up, the argument always ended with her interrogating me, making me feel like I was being unreasonable and immature. But this time, I did not back down. “Fine. Let’s not talk about Liam.” I locked eyes with her, enunciating every word. “If you think I talk too much, you could have just told me. Why did you use an AI program to fake your replies?” Julia’s face finally dropped. The irritation in her eyes was suddenly tainted with genuine guilt. “How do you know about that? You went through my laptop without asking?” I did not say a word. I just kept staring at her. After a long silence, she let out an exasperated sigh, as if conceding defeat. “You are always complaining that I only code custom gifts for Liam and never for you. That AI script was supposed to be your gift.” I almost laughed. Julia was a genius software engineer, widely known in the industry. For Liam’s birthday, she coded a custom website just for him. When you clicked on it, digital snow fell across the screen, fireworks exploded, and a message flashed in the center: “Liam, stay happy forever. I will always be right here with you.” When Liam had insomnia, she developed a sleep-aid app for him. It recommended white noise based on his mood and sent him a push notification to drink warm water at two in the morning. When Liam was bored at work, she designed a mini-game. The little pixel characters would follow him around cheering, “You are the best, Liam!” But when it came to me. My gift was an automated script designed to ignore my existence. 2 I could not even find the energy to argue with her anymore. I just turned around and went to the bedroom. The next morning was my day off, so I slept in a bit. Before I even opened my eyes, the loud, unfiltered sound of laughter drifting from the living room woke me up. I pushed the bedroom door open and saw Julia standing by the entryway, kicking off her sneakers. Her hair was damp with sweat, her athletic jacket was unzipped, and she was carrying two plastic takeout bags. Liam was standing right behind her. His cheeks were flushed red, and he was laughing. “I seriously thought my legs were going to give out today.” Julia looked at him, her eyes curving into a warm smile. “That is what you get for staying up late gaming again. I’ll cut a mile off your run tomorrow.” During our second year of dating, I asked if we could start taking evening walks around the neighborhood after dinner. She said she did not have time. I brought it up a few more times over the years. She always told me that work was draining enough, and she just wanted absolute silence when she got home. But for the past three years, she woke up an hour early every single morning to go jogging with Liam. Rain or shine. She never missed a day. Seeing me standing in the hallway, Julia’s smile faltered. “You are up?” I did not say anything. She held up the takeout bags. “I brought breakfast. You want some?” I did not even need to look inside to know what she bought. Shrimp dumplings and seafood congee. Liam’s absolute favorite breakfast. And the one thing that would send me into anaphylactic shock. The first time I ended up in the ER with a severe allergic reaction, Julia sat by my hospital bed and solemnly typed my seafood allergy into her phone’s notes app. But the next time she brought breakfast home, it was seafood congee and shrimp dumplings again. Because Liam loved seafood. It was a memory etched into her bones after knowing him for twenty years. A heavy, suffocating wave of exhaustion washed over me. “Julia.” She looked up. “Why can you never remember that I am allergic to seafood?” The casual smile on Julia’s face froze completely. Liam immediately stepped in, sticking his tongue out playfully as he looked at me. “Oh man, Nathan, this is totally my fault. I kept rushing Julia to buy from this specific spot, so she completely forgot to ask what you wanted.” “It won’t happen next time, right?” Julia quickly nodded, taking the out. “Yeah. I will grab you something else next time.” Always next time. But ever since they started their morning runs, there had never been a “next time” where she brought home a breakfast I could actually eat. I did not say another word. Liam was already walking toward our bathroom like he owned the place. “Julia, I am gonna go grab a shower real quick. I am sweating like a pig.” “Go ahead. I put out fresh towels. In the usual spot.” The usual spot. That meant the second shelf of the bathroom cabinet. A blue towel, citrus body wash, and a bottle of the exact lotion Liam liked. Those items sat there permanently. Julia literally never did a single chore in our apartment. If we ran out of toilet paper, three days would pass before she even noticed. But when it came to Liam’s toiletries, she restocked them with military precision. This was supposed to be my home. But standing there in the living room, I felt like an unwanted intruder intruding on their domestic life. My chest felt agonizingly tight. I went back into the bedroom, changed my clothes, grabbed my bag, and headed for the door. Julia finally looked up from the table. “Where are you going?” “I have errands.” She didn’t ask any further. She just went back to carefully arranging Liam’s chopsticks. The second I stepped outside, the cold wind hit my face, and I felt like I could finally breathe again. I had a lot to do today. I needed to return the tuxedo and cancel the venue. As soon as I pushed the door open at the bridal boutique, the consultant rushed over with a bright smile. “Mr. Hayes! Did you bring your fiancée this time?” “We have the two styles you were debating last week all prepped. We are just waiting for the bride to give the final verdict!” She suddenly stopped talking when she realized I was completely alone. Her smile faltered. I gave her a polite, indifferent smile. “It is just me today.” “I am not doing a fitting. I am here to cancel the order.” The consultant looked incredibly uncomfortable, but she did not press the issue. After all, it is not exactly normal for a groom to come in for six separate fittings without the bride showing up a single time. The first few times, she tried to smooth things over with a sympathetic laugh. “Oh, your fiancée must be incredibly busy at work!” By the sixth fitting, she stopped bringing Julia up entirely. She just quietly helped me adjust my collar and smooth out the wrinkles in the fabric. After processing the cancellation, she handed me the receipt. She looked at me, her eyes full of quiet sincerity. “Mr. Hayes, you are a very kind and handsome man. I know you will find someone who truly cherishes you.” I was stunned for a second, but I smiled and thanked her. As I walked out of the boutique, my eyes burned. Even a complete stranger who had never met Julia could clearly see that she was not right for me. Yet it took me five excruciating years to finally open my eyes. By the time I finished canceling the venue, the photographer, and the florist, the sun was already setting. My phone buzzed. It was Julia’s mother. “Nathan, honey, come over for dinner tonight.” She paused, then added with a cheerful laugh, “Julia and Liam are already here. We are just waiting for you!” 3 Julia’s mother loved hosting. She threw dinner parties multiple times a month, inviting every relative and friend she could get a hold of. And every single time, Liam was sitting at the table. As for me, I was usually only invited as a superficial afterthought at the end of the month. When I walked into their house, the dining table was already set. Liam was sitting right next to Julia, happily picking up a piece of crab meat with his chopsticks. Julia, the woman who constantly claimed to be a germaphobe, had meticulously peeled an entire bowl of shrimp for him. He saw me walk in and his eyes curved into a bright, innocent smile. “Nathan! You made it.” “Waiting for me” was nothing but a polite lie. I didn’t call them out on it. I just quietly took an empty seat at the far corner of the table. More than half the dishes on the table were seafood. I couldn’t touch any of it. I quietly ate the plain vegetables placed near the edge. Halfway through the meal, Julia’s mother suddenly smiled at me. “Nathan, how is the catering menu looking for the wedding?” “Why don’t we add a lobster dish to every table? Oh, and the baked cheese crab. That is Liam’s absolute favorite.” Liam gave a shy, embarrassed laugh. “Auntie, I was just mentioning it in passing.” “If you like it, we add it! It is a wedding, the most important thing is that everyone is happy.” The food in my mouth suddenly tasted like ash. It was supposed to be my wedding. I had accepted that Julia wanted absolutely nothing to do with the planning. But now, even the menu for my own reception had to cater to Liam’s preferences. Not that it mattered anymore. The wedding didn’t exist. There was no menu to argue about. I kept my head down and gave a soft “Mm.” The rest of the dinner was agonizing. When everyone finally put their chopsticks down, Julia’s mother ushered me toward the living room to have some fruit. She turned to Liam with a warm smile. “Liam, be a good boy and help me with the dishes.” Liam started to stand up, but Julia immediately frowned. “Mom, Liam hasn’t been feeling well lately. He shouldn’t be touching cold water. Just let Nathan do it.” My fingers tightened around my glass of water so hard they trembled. So Julia was capable of remembering things. But in the five years we were together, she never managed to remember a single detail about me. Just last month, my stomach ulcer flared up so badly my face was completely drained of color. She just glanced at me and assumed I hadn’t slept well. In a completely serious, lecturing tone, she told me: “You look terrible. You really need to stop staying up late.” Julia’s mother looked surprised, then let out an awkward laugh. “What kind of host makes the guest do the dishes? Since Liam is not feeling well, your dad and I will handle it.” Julia was shoved into the kitchen to help. Liam followed her, leaning lazily against the doorframe, watching them work and cracking jokes. I sat entirely alone in the corner of the living room, feeling like a pathetic clown peering through the window of someone else’s perfect life. A while later, Liam let out a loud yawn, acting tired. Julia noticed instantly. She stood up and naturally grabbed her car keys. “It is getting late. We should head out.” Just like always, she insisted on dropping Liam off first. Not that it was a long drive. Liam’s apartment was only two streets away from ours. Julia had personally picked that apartment out for him. The neighborhood was quiet, the landscaping was beautiful, and the security was top-notch. His favorite breakfast place was right downstairs, and his gym was just around the corner. But the most important selling point was that it was only two streets away from us. “Just in case Liam has an emergency, I can get there in three minutes,” she had justified. She had a very loose definition of an “emergency.” A leaky pipe. A power outage. A mild fever. Even if he woke up from a nightmare at 3 AM or got scared watching a horror movie, she would rush over. When Julia pulled up to his building, Liam waved at us with a bright smile. “Bye Julia! Bye Nathan! Drive safe.” Julia kept her eyes on the rearview mirror, watching until he safely entered the lobby before putting the car back in drive. The car, which had been filled with their laughter just seconds ago, instantly fell into a suffocating, heavy silence. As we neared our building, I finally broke the quiet. “Julia, do you ever think that you and Liam are a little too close?” She was clearly still in a good mood. In a rare moment of affection, she reached over and lightly stroked the back of my hand. Like she was petting an obedient dog. “Are you jealous?” “Liam and I have known each other since we were in diapers. If something was going to happen between us, it would have happened a decade ago.” “Besides, I am marrying you at the end of the day. Is that not enough?” No. Of course it wasn’t enough. But I didn’t say it out loud. I just slowly pulled my hand away and let out an exhausted sigh. “Do you have time tomorrow?” “I have something I need to talk to you about.” Julia instinctively frowned. “Why do we have to talk face to face? Can’t you just text me on—” She stopped herself mid-sentence. She probably just remembered. I already knew that the person texting me for the last six months was a string of code. After a few seconds of tense silence, she changed her tune. “Fine.” “I will clear my schedule tomorrow.” 4 After five years together. Even if I was canceling the wedding, I owed it to both of us to say it face to face. To give this pathetic, miserable relationship a clean, dignified ending. But when I woke up the next morning, Julia was already gone. My phone buzzed with a rare, unsolicited text from her. “Liam wanted to check out that new hot spring resort outside the city. I am gonna hang out with him for a bit. I will be back this afternoon.” I stared at that text for a very long time. Then I typed back. “I told you last night that I needed to talk to you today.” A reply came through instantly. “Stop overreacting.” I knew immediately. That wasn’t Julia. The AI script was running again. I didn’t bother replying. I got out of bed and started packing my things. There wasn’t much to pack anyway. After living in this apartment for five years, everything that actually belonged to me fit neatly into a single suitcase. I waited all afternoon. By nightfall, she still hadn’t come home. Around 8 PM, I opened Instagram and saw a new post from Liam. It was a photo of the resort at night, lit up beautifully. He was throwing a peace sign at the camera. The caption read: “This place is incredible. I never want to leave! So glad Julia came with me.” Someone commented below: “I heard that place is a few grand a night! Look at you living the high life.” He replied with a shy emoji: “Can’t put a price tag on my happiness! Plus, Julia is footing the bill anyway ~” Staring at the screen, it finally clicked. Julia must have told him that I wanted to sit down and talk to her today. So Liam intentionally dragged her out of the city today of all days. He probably assumed I was just going to nag her about wedding planning again. Because ever since we started preparing for the wedding, this was exactly how he operated. The day we were supposed to do the cake tasting, he claimed his stomach hurt. The day we were supposed to pick out invitations, he claimed his laptop crashed and he needed her to fix it. The day we went venue shopping, he claimed his power went out and he was scared to be alone in the dark. Eventually, Julia just stopped showing up to anything wedding-related. And yes, I did want to talk about the wedding today. But this time, it was to tell her that it was permanently canceled. The next day, Julia still didn’t come home. I texted her. “Are you coming back today?” The script replied: “Yeah.” “This is incredibly important.” “Got it.” “If you don’t come home today, you are going to regret it.” “Stop overreacting.” Three texts. Three AI-generated responses. The clock struck midnight. No new messages popped up on the screen. By all logic, right now, I should be sitting in front of a mirror, letting a stylist fix my hair. There should be a fleet of luxury cars waiting downstairs. There should be friends and family laughing loudly outside the door. But instead, the apartment was dead silent. My single suitcase was sitting by the front door. My screen lit up. Julia finally sent a real message. “I will be at the venue on time tomorrow.” “I do not have time in the morning. I promised to go jogging with Liam. Let’s just skip all the traditional door-games and keep it simple. Make sure you are not late.” She was going jogging with another man on the morning of our wedding. Only Julia was capable of something so ruthlessly insensitive. This time, I was the one who didn’t reply. I clicked on her profile, hit block, and deleted her contact without a second thought. I grabbed the handle of my suitcase, called a cab, and headed straight for the airport. Five days ago, the moment I canceled the wedding, I booked a one-way ticket out of the city. During those five days, if she had chosen me—even just once—I probably would have canceled the flight. But she didn’t. To be brutally honest, in five years, she had never chosen me. When the plane landed, I checked into a hotel and slept better than I had in years. Meanwhile, back in my hometown. Julia, Liam, and her entire extended family arrived at the luxury hotel around 10 AM. There were no floral arches at the entrance. No welcome signs. And definitely no massive wedding portrait with our names on it. Julia frowned, grabbing the arm of a passing waiter. “Which banquet hall is the wedding in today? We are the bride’s family.” The waiter froze, pulling out his tablet to check the schedule. He looked completely confused. “Ma’am, there are no weddings booked for today.” He paused, a look of realization hitting him, and slapped his forehead. “Oh, wait! There was one scheduled. But the groom canceled it five days ago.”

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1 Bayport called me the luckiest woman alive. They said I was a substitute who had worked my way into his bed and his home. Even after I lost our son, Nicholas kept me in luxury, holding me in the palm of his hand. For five years, I searched for my boy like a woman possessed, traveling through ninety-nine cities. I cut myself ninety-nine times when the despair grew too heavy to bear. Nicholas never blamed me. He showered me with gentle care, nursing me through every breakdown. Waking from my hundredth episode of self-harm, I saw his bloodshot, exhausted eyes and felt a wave of crushing guilt. I decided it was time to let go of my obsession and start over. I put on the long dress he had gifted me five years ago and walked to his study, ready to thank him. But through the cracked door, I heard him laughing softly into his phone. “Don’t worry, Vivienne. The boy has been with you for five years. He only knows you as his mother.” “Emma was only a substitute so I could marry you. Since your body was damaged and you couldn’t conceive, it was fair she bore a child to pay her debt.” “Once she moves past this, we can have plenty of other children.” I stood frozen in the corridor, my blood turning to ice. Two thousand nights of self-loathing and torment, his performative devotion, all a twisted lie to make his muse smile. Nicholas, being the mother of your child is too exhausting. I am done. … “Who is out there?” The study door was flung open. He was holding his phone, the tender smile on his lips freezing the moment he saw my pale face. “Emma? Why are you barefoot?” He took a step forward, reaching out to scoop me up out of habit. I recoiled, jerking backward. Nicholas’s hands hung uselessly in the air. “You heard all of that?” He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Well, since you know, there is no point in hiding it anymore.” “Nicholas, is it true? Everything you just said?” My voice shook violently, my nails biting so deep into my palms that they nearly broke the skin. “Emma, calm down.” He stepped closer, towering over me. “Vivienne destroyed her uterus saving my life years ago. She can never be a mother. You are her sister. Helping her fulfill that dream was the least you could do.” “Fulfill her dream?” I stared at him, my eyes wide with sheer disbelief. “I carried him for nine months! He is my flesh and blood!” “But you only got to marry into the family because of Vivienne.” His voice was flat, each word a cold blade plunging straight into my chest. Everyone in Bayport knew Nicholas would never tolerate anyone implying his wife was just a placeholder. Yet here he was, saying those very words himself. “All these years, I have tolerated your tantrums, stayed by your side through everything. Haven’t I been good enough to you?” I stared into his dark eyes, finding them utterly unrecognizable. Five years ago, we had a massive fight over a lipstick stain on his collar. In a fit of rage, I walked out with our one-year-old son. I bent down for just a second to tie my shoe, and when I looked up, he was gone. For thousands of nights, I knelt in chapels until my knees bled, begging God to return my boy. Every time I sliced my wrists in sheer hopelessness, he would sit by my hospital bed with red, tearful eyes, begging me to live. He told me: “Emma, even without the baby, you still have me.” It was all a lie. Even that argument had been a meticulously orchestrated trap. “What am I to you, Nicholas? A breeding machine?” I screamed, tears streaming down my face. “I am going to find my son! I am bringing him home!” I spun around to run downstairs, but a hand clamped onto my wrist. He jerked me back, trapping me against his chest. “Emma, that is enough!” He hissed, his voice dripping with irritation. “Frankie has lived with Vivienne for five years. He thinks she is his mother. If you go barging in now, you will only terrify him.” “Let me go! You liar!” I thrashed wildly, sinking my teeth deep into his shoulder. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, but he did not even flinch. “Guard,” he called out coldly. “My wife is having another episode. Take her back to her room.” “And make sure she does not go anywhere near Vivienne.” He released me, letting the guards haul me away. “Get some rest, Emma. We will talk when you have cleared your head.” He walked back into his study without a backward glance. They threw me into the bedroom and locked the door. I collapsed onto the floor, looking around. The vanity held a diamond necklace he had bought at an auction just to make me smile. The closet was packed with limited-edition designer dresses he had sourced from around the globe. I scrambled to the closet and pulled out a storage bin. Inside were Frankie’s baby clothes. A faded bib sat right on top. For five years, I had slept clutching it to my chest. Tears dripped onto the worn fabric. The door opened, and Maria, the housekeeper, walked in with a warm bowl of soup. “Ma’am, please eat something.” I looked up at her like she was my last lifeline. “Maria, please help me. Let me borrow your phone. I need to call the police…” She sighed, shaking her head. “Ma’am, stop making a scene.” I froze, a chill creeping into my bones. “You… you knew too?” She continued folding clothes. “Miss Vivienne is gentle and kind. The young master is living a blessed life with her. If you really love him, you will let this go.” She walked out, locking the door behind her. I sat on the floor, numb. It turned out I was living in a real-life Truman Show, where everyone was in on the joke. My agony was nothing but cheap entertainment to them. I wiped my tears, stood up, and banged on the door. “Nicholas won’t let me look for my son,” I shouted to the guard outside. “But he never said I couldn’t visit my mother.” Ten minutes later, the door opened. Nicholas looked at the bib clutched in my hand, a flicker of guilt crossing his eyes. “Going to see your mother might do you some good, Emma,” he said softly. “I will have some men drive you to keep you safe.” Safe? He meant watched. The rain tapped against the car window. My reflection looked hollow, eyes dead. My mind drifted back ten years. Vivienne and Nicholas were the golden couple of their university. But Vivienne broke his heart to pursue her dreams abroad. Nicholas fell gravely ill. When he finally recovered, he saw me, a girl who looked seventy percent like his lost love. He offered to make me his substitute. My pride screamed at me to refuse, but my mother begged me. “Emma, you have loved Nicholas for years. Now is your chance. Your father’s business needs his backing. Do it for the family.” So, I agreed. During those first few years, Nicholas treated me beautifully. He made me believe I had actually crawled into his heart, that I wasn’t just a shadow. The night before our wedding, my mother wept. Nicholas knelt before her, promising, “I swear, I will never let Emma suffer a single day of unhappiness.” Even when Vivienne suddenly returned to the country on our wedding day, he did not leave me. He held my hand firmly and walked me down the aisle. Back then, I thought I was the happiest woman on earth. When the baby went missing, he never blamed me. His bloodshot eyes and the scratches on his hands from my panic attacks became the chains of my guilt. But it was all a trap. He had set the stage just to rob me of my child. “We are here, ma’am,” the driver’s voice shattered my thoughts. I pushed the door open, letting the rain soak my dress as I ran inside the house. My mother frowned when she saw me drenched. “Emma? What on earth happened to you?” I broke down, throwing myself into her arms. “Mom… Frankie isn’t dead. Nicholas gave him to Vivienne! Please, you have to help me get him back!” My mother’s body went rigid. Slowly, she pushed me away. “Emma, sit down first,” she said, her voice quiet. “The boy is safe and sound. Isn’t that the best possible outcome?” A loud buzzing filled my ears. “Mom? What are you saying?” She sighed, looking at me with forced pity. “Vivienne was alone abroad for so many years, and her health is fragile. Having a child keeps her company. Besides, she is your sister. It is only right the boy calls her mother. Would you rather he be lost in the streets, dead or alive?” Each word felt like a physical blow. “You knew,” I whispered, my voice trembling. She avoided my eyes, picking up a towel to dry my hair. “I had no choice, Emma. Nicholas promised that if I kept this from you, he would stop your father from divorcing me. You are still the wealthy Mrs. Huo. Vivienne is your sister. Why must you fight her over this?” I bit my lip so hard I tasted copper. Vivienne was my father’s daughter born out of wedlock. Years ago, my mother hated her and her mother with a passion. Yet now, she was calling her my sister. I stood up slowly. “Frankie is my life.” She sighed and walked into the kitchen, returning a moment later with a mug of warm milk. “Drink this and calm down, Emma. Nicholas hid it because he cares about your feelings. If you really can’t accept it, I will help you.” Believing her, I swallowed the milk. But within minutes, my eyelids grew incredibly heavy. My mother guided me toward the guest bed. “Just sleep, sweetie. Everything will be fine when you wake up.” She had drugged me. My own mother had poisoned me just to protect Vivienne’s stolen happiness. Despair washed over me. I couldn’t sleep. If I fell asleep now, I would wake up back in Nicholas’s golden cage. I pulled off the jade bracelet Nicholas had given me for our first anniversary. I smashed it against the nightstand, picked up a jagged shard, and sliced it deep into my arm. The sharp, burning pain jolted my mind awake. Bleeding, I climbed out of the low window into the rainy night. I knew where Nicholas kept his other estate. He often claimed he was working late there. Now I realized he was just keeping his two families perfectly balanced. I took a cab, stumbling through the rain toward the gates of the suburban villa. Just as I reached the corner, a luxury SUV pulled up. Vivienne stepped out. Then, a little boy hopped out after her. My son. Even after five years, I knew him instantly. He was holding a colorful card, presenting it to Vivienne like a trophy. “Mommy! Look what I made in school for Mother’s Day! The teacher said we should give the prettiest flowers to the person we love most. I love you the most, Mommy!” His bright smile pierced my chest. “Frankie…” Tears blinded me as I rushed forward. “I’m your mommy! I’m your real mommy!” I reached out to hold him, even if just for a second. “Stop her!” Vivienne shrieked. Two bodyguards shoved me backward. I fell hard onto the wet asphalt, scraping my palms. “Let me go! Let me see my son!” I sobbed, staring at the boy hiding behind Vivienne. “Frankie, look at me… I am your mother…” Frankie peeked out. Suddenly, he broke away from Vivienne and ran toward me. A spark of hope flared in my chest. I pushed myself up, opening my arms. “Frankie, come to mommy…” But he did not hug me. Instead, he swung his heavy school backpack, slamming the metal buckle directly into my forehead. A sharp pain exploded in my skull. Blood trickled into my eyes, painting my world red. “You are the bad woman who abandoned me!” Frankie yelled, his face flushed with anger and hatred. “Mommy told me everything! You hated my crying and dumped me at the mall! Vivienne is my only mommy! Go away!” A child’s words, yet they tore my soul to shreds. I had spent five years bleeding and weeping for him, only for him to believe I was a monster who threw him away. I looked up at Vivienne. She stepped forward, taking Frankie’s hand. “Be polite, Frankie. She did give birth to you, after all.” “I don’t want her! She is crazy!” Frankie buried his face in her side. I forced myself to stand. “What did you tell my son, Vivienne?” She leaned close, whispering so only I could hear. “Just the truth, little sister. You were nothing but a surrogate. Nicholas only married you because of your face. Now that you know, why don’t you just disappear? Neither of them wants you.” The agony of five years morphing into absolute fury, I swung my hand and slapped her across the face. She screamed and tumbled to the ground. “Mommy!” Frankie cried, lunging at me like a feral animal. “You hurt my mommy! I hate you!” “Emma! What do you think you’re doing?” Nicholas’s voice roared through the rain. He rushed forward, shoving me aside with such force that I crashed against the concrete edge of the flowerbed. He did not even look at me. “Vivienne, are you alright? Are you hurt?” He draped his coat over her shoulders. “I’m fine… don’t be mad at Emma. She just misses the baby…” Vivienne whimpered, looking utterly pathetic. Nicholas turned his cold, furious gaze on me. “Emma, I have tolerated enough of your madness!” Clutching my bruised ribs, I began to laugh. “Are you still playing pretend, Nicholas? You gave my child to her and taught him to hate me. You watched me tear the world apart looking for him for five years. What are you made of?” His face remained utterly emotionless. “Your depression has worsened. You are having severe hallucinations and violent episodes. Tomorrow morning, my men will take you to a private sanitarium in the mountains.” “No! I’m not crazy!” I struggled to stand. Suddenly, Vivienne screamed. “Frankie! No!” Frankie had run toward the unfenced riverbank. He slipped on the wet grass, losing his balance and tumbling into the rushing water. “Help! Mommy, help me!” “Frankie!” Without a second thought, I dived into the freezing river. I swam frantically toward his thrashing form. Then, another splash. Vivienne had somehow fallen in too, flailing close to the shore. “Nicholas… save me…” Nicholas jumped in. But he did not swim toward his son or his wife. He swam straight toward Vivienne. I used the very last of my strength to push Frankie to the muddy bank, where a guard pulled him up. Frankie looked back at me, his eyes filled with malicious spite. He kicked his foot out, striking me squarely in the chest, pushing me back into the deep current. I had no strength left to fight. The freezing water rushed into my nose and throat. As I sank, I could hear Nicholas frantically comforting Vivienne. I closed my eyes, letting the darkness pull me down. Nicholas, if there is a next life, I hope I never lay eyes on you.

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When my online gaming boyfriend found out I scored a 1590 on the SATs, he dumped me. “With grades like that, going into a STEM major? She’s probably a literal ogre.” He snickered, mocking my looks to his frat brothers, forgetting his mic was still hot. A second later, our teammate lifted his rifle and gunned him down. “Talk trash to a junior from my department, consider yourself unlucky.” Fast forward to the start of the semester. I stared at the 6-foot-2, drop-dead gorgeous guy standing in front of me, completely speechless. Bro, with a face like that, calling someone else a scumbag… isn’t that a bit hypocritical? After the SAT scores were released, I pulled an all-nighter gaming. My parents were too busy calling every relative we knew to brag, so they left me alone. By the time morning rolled around and I got a call from Mason, my voice was completely hoarse. He cut straight to the chase: “Riley, let’s break up.” Mason and I had met randomly in an online lobby. He was a painfully average player but had a lot of money—a total pay-to-win whale. Plus, he was a smooth talker. The night after the SATs, he asked me out, and we made it official. I didn’t expect it to crash and burn in less than a month. “Okay,” I agreed, not bothering to cling to him. We hadn’t even met IRL yet. I just treated it like my Tamagotchi had died. Mason seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. “We can still game together, right?” I said sure. Right after we finished a match, Mason changed his profile picture. I didn’t think much of it and was about to log off. Suddenly, an unfamiliar, teasing voice came through the headset: “Yo, Mason, what’s with the new PFP? You break up?” Mason’s mic was still open. Before I could warn him, I heard him scoff: “Obviously! Do you know she scored a 1590 on her SATs? And she’s going to Stanford for Computer Science!” “With grades like that, doing a STEM major? She’s probably a literal ogre. If I didn’t dump her before we met IRL, I’d probably die of fright.” The other guys in our squad went dead silent. Mason sounded confused: “Hey, why aren’t you guys moving—” Bang! Bang! Bang! The God-tier player on our squad suddenly fired three consecutive shots, blowing Mason’s head off in-game. Mason instantly raged: “Are you insane?! Why the hell did you team-kill me—” His voice abruptly cut off. He finally realized his mic had been hot the whole time. A lazy, nonchalant voice drifted through the headset. “Talk trash to a junior from my department, consider yourself unlucky.” Wait, what??? This teammate almost never used voice chat, but his skills were absolutely insane. In my head, he was always the cold, untouchable pro. Who would have thought the first time he ever spoke, it would be to defend me? Right then, my phone started buzzing like crazy. It was my best friend, Chloe. I exited the lobby and picked up, instantly bombarded by her frantic screaming. “Riley Evans! You! Are a literal god!” “You got a 1590! You’re valedictorian! You have to carry me through life now, ahhhhh!” I pulled the phone away from my ear. “Stop yelling. Your girl just got dumped.” Chloe: “?” I gave her the rundown of what just happened. “He probably thought I was ugly.” Chloe was furious: “??? Is he clinically insane? If the Prom Queen of West High is an ogre, what the hell are the rest of us?!” “Whatever.” I didn’t want to waste energy on him. Thinking back to what that God-tier teammate had said, I sent him a private message: “Hey, senior? Thanks for today! Can I get your number? I’ll treat you to food when the semester starts!” A minute later, the aloof senior blessed me with a single word: “Sure.” Getting publicly executed by a teammate completely destroyed Mason’s ego, and he rage-quit the lobby immediately. But that night, Mason sent me a message. “Log on. Let’s run it again.” It seemed he was determined to win his pride back. Talk about a bruised ego. I glanced at his new teammate. “This gamer tag looks familiar.” A lazy voice drifted through my headset: “He’s a paid pro-carry.” I jumped slightly, rubbing my ear in surprise. This guy… we had played together for so long, and he barely ever typed a word. But ever since he stood up for me, he seemed too lazy to type and just exclusively used voice comms. I wasn’t quite used to it yet. Looking at the expensive new gear Mason had equipped, I felt a bit nervous. “Can we win?” He was dead set on making a comeback, spending real cash to buy a victory. The senior asked lazily, “Do you want to beat him?” I didn’t hesitate: “Duh!” So what if he’s a trust fund whale? I heard a low chuckle. “Alright.” Nine minutes later, Mason and his expensive pro-carry both got sniped in the head. Mason screamed an obscenity over the mic and instantly logged off. I sat in deep thought for a long time before finally texting the senior: “Senior, if I go to Stanford for CS, will I become as cracked at this game as you?” “…Not necessarily.” The senior graciously typed a few extra words for me. “Depends on your raw talent.” Ah. I understood. “Well, I’m covering your breakfast for a month!” He went back to his aloof self and didn’t reply. After the scores were finalized, my life became a blur. Doing college prep interviews, picking dorms, getting my driver’s license… I was so busy I barely touched the game for over a month. Out of nowhere, Mason messaged me. “Riley, we had an amicable breakup. You don’t have to literally quit the game just to avoid me, you know.” Me: ??? What kind of delusional nonsense was he typing? When I finally logged into my neglected account, I realized the rumors were already flying. Several of my regular squadmates instantly spammed me. “Riley! You’re finally back!” “It’s just a breakup! It’s not the end of the world!” “Guys like Mason who only care about looks are shallow anyway! Good riddance!” I was totally lost. “No, I’ve just been super busy lately.” But no matter how much I explained, nobody believed me. After a few minutes of confusion, I finally figured out why—Mason had a new girlfriend. “That low-level account he’s carrying around is his new girl. I heard her PFP is actually her, a broadcast journalism major.” I spectated them for a bit and cringed. She was painfully bad. Even with his pay-to-win items, it was agonizing to watch. Hats off to Mason for having the patience to peacefully coax and carry her. To bleach my eyes, I grouped up with the senior. Sometimes he seemed incredibly busy, and other times he seemed like he had nothing but free time. I was very blunt about my needs: “Senior, my eyes are bleeding. Mind flexing some plays to cleanse my vision?” Five minutes later, we loaded into a match and absolutely decimated the enemy team. I felt so much better. I was perfectly satisfied, but right as I was about to log off, that deep, lazy voice echoed in my ears again. “Looks like you really liked him.” I thought I was hallucinating. “What?” He elaborated, “They all said you cried so hard you lost your voice the day he dumped you.” Me: “…” “But now he’s got someone new, and they look pretty happy. You should let it go. Crying over a jerk like that isn’t worth it.” Me: “…” This was absurd. I kept my face deadpan. “Why would I be hung up on him? Stanford has a massive ratio of guys to girls in the CS department. You think I’ll have a shortage of options?” Senior: “…” Realizing that might have sounded a bit arrogant, I corrected myself: “Actually, let’s not be too greedy. I just want the most handsome one!” The line was quiet for a long moment before a low chuckle broke the silence. “You’ve got some high ambitions.” Late August rolled around, and I dragged my suitcase onto campus for freshman move-in day. The California sun was relentless. There wasn’t a single breeze. I pulled my baseball cap lower and kept walking. Stanford was great and all, but the campus was so massive I felt like I was walking halfway to my grave. Suddenly, a guy jogged over from nearby. “Hey, freshman? Are you an English major?” I looked up, and he froze for a second, his ears rapidly turning red. “Thanks, but I’m in the Computer Science department. Do you know where their check-in booths are?” His eyes widened in shock. It took me asking a second time for him to snap out of it. “Oh! Just go straight down this path and take a left at the end. That suitcase looks heavy, want me to walk you there?” I politely declined and kept walking until I finally found the spot. A few guys were slouched lazily in folding chairs under the canopy. When they saw me stop, one of them let out a low whistle. “Hey, freshman, you looking for Liam too? Tough luck, he just stepped out to the advisor’s office. Come back later.” Liam? Who? “No.” I handed over my ID. “I’m here to check in.” The guys slouched under the tent all whipped their heads around in absolute shock. “Holy shit?!” As soon as I got settled into my dorm, I got a text from Chloe. “Rileyyyy I miss you so much waaaaah! Thinking about not seeing you every day is breaking my heart!” “Chloe, just to remind you, your college is literally across the bay.” “I don’t care, I don’t care!” Chloe whined. “Do you know you made the Campus Confessions Instagram page on your literally first day?! Now I have a million more people trying to steal my gorgeous bestie!” Me: “…Campus Confessions?” I tapped the link she sent, and sure enough, someone had taken a candid photo of me and posted it. Emmm… At the time, I was dragging my suitcase, sweating like a dog under the sun. I didn’t even notice anyone taking a picture. “BRO! Are the freshmen really this gorgeous this year!?” “If I call her the Campus Queen, nobody can object, right? What major? English?” “Drop the Insta handle! I am begging!” “Give up, guys, she’s a CS major! How the hell did those nerds get so lucky! FML!” “??? No way? The CS department already has Liam Wright, how did they pull someone of this tier too? They get the absolute hottest guy AND girl on campus? Where is the justice?” Liam Wright? That must be the Liam those guys mentioned at the booth. Seems like he’s pretty popular. Oh right, I almost forgot to text my senior. “Senior, I checked into campus!” A little while later, he replied: “Was busy earlier, didn’t see this. You arrived?” “Yep! You go do your thing, my roommates just got here, we’re gonna go grab food.” A few minutes later, he sent a short list. “These spots near the West Gate are pretty good.” Man, having a ‘local’ is the best! So convenient. My roommates were all in different majors, but they were super nice. After introducing ourselves, we headed out. We had just sat down at a restaurant when Mason randomly sent me a photo. My heart jumped. —It was the exact candid photo from the Campus Confessions page!

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After receiving the seventy-eighth explicit photo from my husband’s mistress, I finally snapped. I uploaded every single picture to my social media accounts. His little lover cried her eyes out, screaming to anyone who would listen that her life was ruined. Less than a minute later, Vincent called me. His tone was absolute ice. “Delete them.” I refused. Ten minutes later, I was forcibly logged out of all my accounts. The posts were deleted, my profiles were deactivated, and the trending hashtags were wiped clean. It took Vincent Cross less than ten minutes to erase the entire scandal. Three days later, he stood in front of me with divorce papers in hand. His voice was soft, carrying a veiled threat. “It is just a PR stunt to coax the girl. Be a good wife, Diana. Play along.” I nodded and signed my name. As soon as he left, I called the clinic. I changed my upcoming prenatal checkup to a clinical abortion. He probably never believed that I could actually walk away from being Mrs. Cross. 1 Half an hour after signing the divorce papers, I was lying on an operating table. My phone rang shrilly just as the procedure finished. The anesthesia was wearing off. A cold, dense layer of sweat broke out across my forehead from the sharp cramps. I bit my lip against the pain and answered the call. Vincent’s voice came through, completely devoid of warmth. “Diana, pack up all your things and get out.” “Okay.” I agreed without a second thought. We had been married for five years. The girls he kept on the side rotated like a revolving door. To ensure I did not interfere with his latest romance, he had his assistant rent a house for me out in the Chicago suburbs. He had laid down the ground rules on day one. “If I want to see you, I will call you. My assistant will wire your living expenses. Unless I give you permission, you are not allowed to show your face in my presence.” Yet, a year ago, he was the one kneeling on the floor, begging me to come back. He looked at me with such raw sincerity, swearing he was done playing the field. He promised we would build a real life together. Like a fool, I cried tears of joy and believed every single word. So I moved back into our marital home. A week later, a young model tripped on her gown during a runway show. She fell right into his line of sight, looking exactly like a startled, helpless fawn. I saw the way he looked at her. My heart screamed in agonizing betrayal, but I had to admit the truth. He was captivated all over again. That very night, headlines of him walking that model into a luxury hotel plastered the internet. Once again, I became the laughingstock of our social circle. This time, the girl seemed to have a real hold on him. A whole year passed, and Vincent still had not grown tired of her. Throughout that year, I received seventy-eight provocative photos and videos, along with countless harassing texts. Every single message dripped with her desperate ambition to replace me. Then came today. Three hours ago. He placed the divorce papers on the table for the very first time. “It is just for show. Be good. Do not make me angry.” I fought back my tears, staring at him with red, swollen eyes. I did not want to sign. No matter how wild his previous affairs had gotten, he had never brought out legal documents. But this time, he slowly stroked my hair, treating me like a pet he was trying to pacify. I knew exactly what happened when Vincent got angry. Just like today, all it took was a snap of his fingers to fix every single problem for Sienna. So I signed the papers and left him with a single word. “Okay.” When I finally dragged myself back to the house, Vincent and Sienna were nowhere to be found. Martha, our housekeeper, was busy in the kitchen. She saw me and her face lit up. “Ma’am! How was the prenatal checkup?” My face was pale as a sheet. I slowly shook my head. I had originally planned to tell Vincent about the baby tonight. But plans rarely survive reality. In the span of a few days, I lost my marriage, and I lost my child. “I ended it,” I said softly. Martha stared at me in absolute shock as I continued. “If this baby was born into this house, they would never know what happiness looks like.” Before Martha could process my words, the front door swung open. Sienna walked in, her arms loaded with luxury shopping bags. Behind her, a dozen bodyguards carried even more boxes of designer clothes and jewelry. She did not look surprised to see me. She made herself comfortable on my chaise lounge, flashing a sugary, mocking smile. “Honestly, I do not get it. Vincent treats you like garbage. Why are you still clinging to this house?” “Yesterday, I told him I was craving those artisan macarons from that boutique downtown. He did not even hesitate. He walked three miles in a blizzard just to get them for me.” She tilted her head. “Has he ever done anything like that for you?” I fell completely silent. Yesterday was the anniversary of my father’s death. When I finally managed to reach Vincent through his assistant, I could hear the howling winter wind through the receiver. But I also heard him say, very clearly, that he had no time for me. It turned out he was busy fetching pastries for Sienna. A wave of helplessness washed over me. I gripped the hem of my shirt tightly. There was a time when Vincent was the person who loved me most in this entire world, second only to my parents. He was the son of my family’s chauffeur. He had no status, no wealth, and he never quite fit in with the rich kids in our neighborhood. Back then, the other children loved to bully him. But he never cared about their taunts. He used to look at me and say, “The only person whose opinion matters to me is Diana.” When I ran a high fever as a kid, he stayed awake all night, sitting on the floor right beside my bed. When a minor earthquake hit our city, he threw himself over me. Falling debris cut his head wide open, but he swallowed the pain without making a single sound. He just kept whispering that I was going to be safe. We had a massive argument in college. He bought my favorite street food, wrote a ten-page apology letter by hand, and stood outside my dorm room in the freezing snow for an entire night just to prove his loyalty. The day we graduated was the day we got married. At the wedding, my father placed my hand in his, his voice stern. “If I ever catch wind that your heart has strayed, I will take her away without a second thought. My daughter will never have to beg for love.” Vincent had clenched his hand into a fist, swearing on his life that his heart belonged only to me. He looked into my eyes and promised, “I am going to make you the happiest woman in the world. I will never let sadness touch your life.” From high school sweethearts to a married couple, we were the envy of everyone who knew us. A year into our marriage, my father passed away. Vincent took over the entire company. He worked himself to the bone, collapsing from exhaustion and ending up in the hospital multiple times. My heart broke for him. I had grown up spoiled, never stepping foot in a kitchen, but I learned how to cook just so he could come home to a warm meal. He used to bring me a bouquet of yellow roses every single day after work. He told me they were the ultimate symbol of devotion. Every night, we would sit on the patio and look at the stars. He would hold me until we both fell asleep. I just could not figure out when everything started to rot. 2 I suppose it started when he finally shed the title of “the chauffeur’s son.” Once he became the untouchable CEO, his schedule filled up with endless networking dinners and exclusive parties. He started coming home smelling of cheap, cloying perfume. When I looked at him with questioning eyes, he would just laugh it off. “It is just the scent of some client I had to entertain. Do not overthink it, honey.” I believed him. He used flimsy excuses to slowly chip away at my unconditional trust. Once his grip on the company was absolute, he stopped pretending altogether. And I was left stranded in the illusion of love he had woven around me. I was completely trapped. The first time I caught him cheating was on his birthday. I had prepared a massive surprise party on a yacht. The guests waited until they were exhausted, but the guest of honor never showed up. Desperate, I had his location tracked. The signal showed he was working overtime at the office. All the way there, I silently scolded him for pushing himself too hard. I pushed open the heavy oak doors of his executive suite, holding a cake I had baked myself. But his desk was cluttered with the remains of a candlelit dinner. Lingerie was scattered across the expensive carpet. The most ridiculous part was the two bodyguards standing right outside his private lounge door. When I kicked the door open, Vincent did not even look panicked. He gently pulled the blanket over the naked woman beneath him to protect her modesty, then casually grabbed a towel for his own waist. He looked up at me. His eyes were as cold as a glacier. “Shut the door. You might not care about your dignity, but she cares about hers.” His icy composure made me feel like an absolute clown. I completely lost my mind. I lunged forward, desperate to drag the homewrecker out of that bed. Before I could even reach her, one of Vincent’s bodyguards stepped in and slapped me across the face so hard the room spun. In the chaotic blur, I finally got a good look at the woman hiding under the sheets. It was the young nurse who used to change his IV bags when he was hospitalized for exhaustion. She was crying fake, terrified tears. “Please do not misunderstand! I just came to drop off some liver supplements for Mr. Cross. I never wanted to ruin your marriage.” “We just had a little wine, and things got out of hand…” Vincent pressed his lips into a tight line, glaring at me with dark, threatening eyes. “Diana, I am warning you. Do not lay a finger on her.” That was when I realized he had been stepping out on me for a long, long time. Those romantic bouquets of roses were nothing more than a guilty afterthought. A cheap peace offering to the wife waiting at home while he partied with other women. After that day, the floodgates opened. The women draped over his arm changed with every corporate dinner. He stopped caring about my feelings. He stopped caring about my life. It seemed like the only things that made him feel alive were ruthless business deals and the bodies of different women. I slowly grew numb to the constant humiliation. Until one day, I completely stopped waiting for him to come home. I tuned out Sienna’s arrogant taunts. I walked upstairs, packed my passport and some essential documents, and headed back down. When I reached the living room, Sienna was digging through the purse I had left on the sofa. My breath hitched. I rushed forward and snatched the bag right out of her hands. Sienna rolled her eyes and held up her empty hands. “There is nothing valuable in there anyway. What are you so nervous about?” I subtly felt the bottom lining of the bag, making sure my medical documents were still there. I let out a quiet breath of relief. Sienna stepped closer to me, a nasty, knowing smile spreading across her face. “You are pregnant, aren’t you?” “I saw the prenatal vitamins in your bag.” “You know Vincent absolutely despises children, right? If he finds out you are carrying his kid, he will drag you to a clinic himself.” “Take my advice. Get rid of it before he finds out, or else…” Right at that moment, the front door opened. Vincent walked in. He shot me a casual glance. “Did you drop something?” I forced a polite smile and tucked my passport deeper into the bag. “Nothing important.” Vincent stared at me for a long second. As I turned to leave, he pulled out two plastic cards and held them out to me. “Here is a keycard to the presidential suite at the Grand Plaza. Stay there for now.” “The other is a bank card with ten million dollars. Spend it however you like.” He cleared his throat slightly. “Yesterday… I really was busy.” Busy? Busy buying macarons for his mistress? In that exact moment, looking at the man in front of me made my stomach churn with pure disgust. I gave him a warm, gentle smile. Then, I raised my hand and slapped him directly across the face. I shook out my stinging palm, my smile never fading. “You are absolutely disgusting, Vincent.” “You were nothing but a chauffeur’s kid. A stroke of luck turned you into a billionaire, and suddenly you forget who begged my family for help when you had nothing?” I had never spoken to him with such cruel precision before. Vincent did not strike back, but his expression instantly darkened into a storm. Before he could even react, Sienna grabbed a heavy crystal ashtray from the coffee table and slammed it directly into the side of my head. Warm blood immediately spilled down my temple. A violent wave of dizziness hit me. The bright living room lights suddenly felt blinding, making the floor tilt beneath my feet. Martha gasped and rushed forward to catch me before I collapsed. She turned to Vincent in a total panic. “Sir! Stop this! You have no idea that she just…” 3 I cut Martha off before she could finish her sentence. “Martha, I am fine.” The man standing in front of me did not flinch. He just gave the housekeeper a cold, dismissive look. His voice was like shards of ice. “Martha, do not forget who signs your paychecks.” “Since she has already signed the divorce papers, she is no longer the lady of this house.” Martha looked at me with frantic, heartbroken eyes. I just shook my head slightly. There was no point in telling him anything now. He was no longer the boy who used to lean in close, smiling just to hear me speak. Vincent immediately reached out and gently took Sienna’s trembling hands. “Did you hurt your hand swinging that?” Sienna sniffled, shaking her head pitifully. “No… I just could not stand watching her disrespect you…” The harsh overhead lights caught the absolute tenderness in his eyes as he looked at her. “You are an idiot. It does not matter if she disrespects me, but I will not let you suffer any grievances.” Hearing his validation, Sienna’s posture instantly shifted into smug triumph. “She slapped you. I want to pay her back ten times over.” She waited for his permission. He remained silent. Seeing his hesitation, Sienna stood on her tiptoes, pressing her chest against his arm as she whispered sweetly in his ear. “You are the great Vincent Cross. Word gets out that your ex-wife slapped you and got away with it, you will be a laughingstock.” A satisfied smirk finally broke through Vincent’s cold exterior. He wrapped an arm tightly around her waist and kissed her lips. “Alright. Whatever you want.” I stumbled backward, staring at the two of them in absolute horror. Two bodyguards immediately stepped forward, shoved Martha out of the way, and pinned my arms behind my back. I thrashed against their grip. “Vincent! You cannot do this!” Sienna just sneered. She stepped up and delivered a brutal, stinging slap across my cheek. At the exact same time, a sharp, agonizing cramp ripped through my abdomen. My head throbbed violently. Cold sweat drenched my back. By the time the tenth slap landed, I was thrown to the floor like a broken doll. Tears slid down my swollen cheeks, disappearing into my tangled hair. I bit down on the inside of my cheek, using every ounce of my willpower to swallow my sobs. I refused to let them hear me cry. He did not look at me even once as he led Sienna up the stairs. Just before they disappeared, I heard his low, magnetic voice echoing in the hallway. “Wear that black lace set tonight.” Sienna giggled, leaning into his chest, shooting me one last victorious glare from the top of the stairs. The bedroom door clicked shut. Martha rushed over and helped me up from the floor. But the dull, aching pain in my stomach did not fade. It only grew sharper and more terrifying. I have no idea how long I was unconscious. When I finally opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was Vincent sitting by my hospital bed. His eyes were completely devoid of warmth. His voice lacked any real emotion. “Martha told me you fainted. If your body is this weak, stop causing unnecessary drama. Just behave, and I will not have to worry.” His lazy, arrogant tone was casual, yet every word felt like a knife twisting in my chest. “Diana, look at the tax bracket I am in now. What man at my level does not mess around? Expecting me to be completely monogamous for the rest of my life is just unreasonable.” “I cannot do it. Whether it is a private party or a business deal, people are constantly throwing women at me.” “I already told you, the divorce is just for show. Just be good. Give me some time. Once I get bored of playing around, I will come back to you. We will have kids, and everything will be better than before.” “But only after I have had my fill out here.” He paused, finally lifting his heavy eyelids to look at me. The moment our eyes met, my heart went entirely dead. I searched his face for a single shred of guilt. There was none. He was absolutely certain I would back down, just like I always did. “You really need to learn how to be obedient, Diana.” Obedient? The old Vincent never wanted me to be obedient. He used to love my stubborn streak. He used to say that obedient girls had no spine, no fire. I looked down at the wedding ring still sitting on my finger. My chest felt like it was being pierced by a thousand suffocating needles. After a long, suffocating silence, my voice came out hoarse and cracked. “I understand.” “The purse I left on the sofa back at the house… there is something inside that Sienna really wants. She will be thrilled when she sees it.” My apparent surrender brought a genuine, relieved smile to Vincent’s face. “Is it that pigeon-blood ruby set from the auction last month? Diana, if you had just swallowed your pride earlier, things would never have gotten this ugly.” No. It is the medical receipt for my clinical abortion and the post-op care instructions. I answered his question silently in my head. We would never have children again. Vincent took my silence as a submissive agreement. He left the hospital room looking completely satisfied. An hour later, I checked myself out of the hospital and moved into the presidential suite he had arranged for me. I spent the next two weeks meeting with brokers, liquidating every single piece of jewelry he had ever given me, and funneling the cash into an offshore trust fund. The day the final wire transfer cleared, I bought a one-way ticket out of Chicago. As I dragged my suitcase toward the door, the bodyguards stationed outside asked where I was going. I ignored the question. They asked how long I would be gone. I thought about it for a second. “A couple of days.” Those couple of days turned into weeks. I never went back. A full month passed. The first people to realize I had vanished into thin air were those two bodyguards. Trembling with fear, they dialed Vincent’s number to report that I was missing. 4 One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. The call abruptly disconnected with the sound of heavy breathing. At that exact moment, Vincent had Sienna pinned against the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse. He had not heard a single word the bodyguards said. His kisses rained down on her like a violent storm, his hands aggressively pushing her clothes to the floor. Just as things were about to cross the line, Sienna pushed against his burning chest. “Wait.” Vincent grabbed her chin, forcing her glossy, hazy eyes to meet his. “What is it?” Sienna’s cheeks flushed crimson. Like a magic trick, she pulled a crumpled ultrasound report from her pocket. Her voice trembled with excitement. “You cannot have me tonight, Vincent. I am pregnant.” The temperature in the room plummeted instantly. The raging fire of lust vanished as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head. Vincent let go of her jaw, his face entirely blank. He slowly, methodically picked up his silk robe and tied it around his waist. He looked at the stunned woman standing in front of him. A cold sneer echoed in his mind. This woman had crossed the line. Just like every other stupid girl he had entertained, she overestimated her worth. He gave a noncommittal grunt, walked over to the leather sofa, pulled a cigarette from his case, and lit it. He did not say another word. Just a grunt? Sienna stood there, completely bewildered. This was not how the script was supposed to go. In her fantasy, Vincent was supposed to scoop her into his arms, kissing her deeply, and promising to take responsibility. Then, she would smoothly transition into becoming the new Mrs. Cross. She would have maids waiting on her hand and foot, living a life of endless, disgusting luxury. But instead, the man just gave a dismissive grunt and lit a cigarette. The brutal reality check made her lose control of her emotions. “What does that mean? Do you not want this baby? When we were in bed, you swore I was the only woman you ever wanted to have kids with!” Vincent’s voice dropped to a lethal register. Every trace of desire was gone. “You actually believe the garbage men say when they are trying to get laid?” “Sienna, I thought you were different. I thought you knew your place. But it turns out you are just as delusional as the rest of them.” Sienna stumbled backward, convinced she was having a nightmare. “What…” Vincent slowly exhaled a thick cloud of white smoke. “Go to a clinic tomorrow and get rid of it. If you do that, I will overlook your little stunt tonight.” “If you insist on having this kid, fine. I do not care.” “I will pay child support every month. But the amount is entirely up to me. Maybe it will be a million. Maybe a hundred thousand. Maybe ten thousand. Hell, maybe I will just send a hundred bucks. If you want to take me to family court, be my guest. I will hire the most ruthless legal team in the country.” “Your chances of winning are less than ten percent.” His voice was quiet, but every word systematically butchered the grand future she had mapped out in her head. After rapidly calculating her options, Sienna realized she was trapped. She lowered her eyes, bit her lip, and gave a humiliated nod. Vincent finally smiled, though the warmth never reached his eyes. Women like her were so easy to manage. No leverage, no backbone. They lived entirely on the scraps of pity and cash men threw their way, ready to compromise their entire existence for a payout. Suddenly, he remembered what Diana had said to him in the hospital room. He reached into the designer purse sitting on the side table, expecting to find the velvet box containing the pigeon-blood ruby set. He figured he could use it to pacify Sienna. His fingers did not brush against velvet. They touched a stack of folded papers. Curious, he pulled them out and unfolded them under the dim light. The bold, black letters on the medical report screamed at him, burning into his retinas. Diana Cross. Patient voluntarily terminated pregnancy. He froze. His muscles locked up. His hands began to ache from gripping the paper so tightly, but his brain completely short-circuited. Voluntarily terminated pregnancy?

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1 I was cutting through the underground parking garage when I saw it. My ex’s sedan was rocking violently on its suspension. Behind the tinted, reinforced glass, I heard a muffled, tear-choked scream from my best friend: “No… please, stop…” Any normal person would have pulled out their phone to record the affair. But me? I’m the ultimate ride-or-die bestie. A hot surge of adrenaline slammed into my brain, bypassing all logic. “You filthy animal! Forcing yourself on my girl in broad daylight? Baby, hang on, I’m coming for you!” I didn’t hesitate. I snatched the fire extinguisher from the wall and went full-on berserk, hammering the heavy canister against the windshield of his million-dollar ride. CRACK! SMASH! CRASH! Safety glass sprayed like diamonds. The screaming inside turned into a terrified shriek. Before the two naked bodies inside could even process the assault, I jammed the nozzle of the dry-chemical extinguisher through the shattered window and pulled the trigger. FOOSH! A suffocating, blinding cloud of white powder instantly filled the cabin. … The air turned into a choking, chemical nightmare. “Cough! Cough! Gag!” Hacking and retching, they finally kicked the doors open. Two pale, shivering figures—looking like deep-fried shrimp covered in flour—tumbled onto the concrete, scrambling for cover. The garage smelled of harsh chemicals and raw panic. The guy wiped the white dust from his eyes, his pupils bloodshot with pure, unadulterated rage. He locked eyes with me and his jaw dropped. “You lunatic! Have you lost your mind? I’m your—” Before he could finish, I launched a brutal kick squarely into his chest, sending him sprawling back into the wreckage. “Shut your mouth! A rapist trying to talk back? Security! Get me some rope! We’ve got a perverted freak attacking someone down here!” My voice echoed off the concrete walls like a siren. It was rush hour at the corporate plaza; the blaring car alarms and my frantic screeching drew a crowd of onlookers like moths to a flame. Phones were out, flashes popping like a paparazzi frenzy. My heart hammered against my ribs. I snatched a grimy, sweat-stained security guard’s parka and lunged forward. “Baby, stay with me! I’ve got you!” I wrapped my best friend, Elena, in the heavy, moldy jacket, cocooning her like a mummy. I pulled the collar tight—so tight it covered her nose and mouth. Elena thrashed inside the fabric, muffled sounds of “Mmph! Mmph!” erupting from the coat. I pinned her down, turned to the gathering crowd of lens-wielding vultures, and let out a sob that tore through the air: “Don’t record this! Please, show some decency! Give her some dignity!” I knelt on the floor, cradling the “mummy” in my arms, tears streaming down my face. “She’s the victim! Do you know who she is? She was just voted ‘Teacher of the Year’ in this city! She’s supposed to be teaching children tomorrow! If her students’ parents see this, how will she ever stand in front of a class again? To think she was assaulted by… this monster! God, have mercy!” The words “Teacher of the Year” hit the crowd like a shockwave. The laughter died, replaced by gasps of genuine horror. “Wait, that’s her? The one from the news?” “That’s sick. In the middle of the day?” “Is he even human? Someone break his jaw!” A few hot-headed employees were already rolling up their sleeves, ready to jump the guy. 2 Inside the parka, Elena was fighting for air, trying to push her head out to explain, but I wailed even louder, drowning out her muffled cries. “Baby, don’t be scared! I don’t care that you’re dirty! Nobody will ever know it was you! As long as I’m breathing, I won’t let that scum’s filth stain your reputation!” That was when Marcus finally cleared the dust from his lungs. He crawled halfway out of the car, his face white, his features twisted in fury. “Sarah! Are you blind?! It’s me! I’m your boyfriend!” The entire room—no, the whole garage—went dead silent. Every head swiveled between us, hungry for the drama. I stood frozen for a beat, acting like the betrayal had just shattered my soul, then I let out a scream that was even more pathetic and piercing than the last. “AAAAAH!” I lunged at Marcus and swung my arm with everything I had. SLAP! The sound was like a gunshot. The force sent a cloud of white powder flying off his face. “You have the nerve to call yourself my boyfriend?!” I was shaking, my finger inches from his nose, tears pouring down. “How could you do this to my best friend? Do you even have a soul?!” Marcus was reeling, clutching his cheek, his teeth bared. “Are you crazy? She… she was the one who seduced me!” SLAP! Another strike, even harder this time. I felt the skin break at the corner of his mouth. “You filthy liar! I won’t let you drag her name through the mud!” I turned to the crowd, sobbing. “People, judge for yourselves! My best friend loathes cheaters! She’s a woman of absolute integrity! She’s going to be my maid of honor next month, for heaven’s sake! You think she’d throw her life away for someone like him?” I locked eyes with Marcus, my gaze filled with the jagged edge of betrayal. “Marcus, you’re so desperate to save your own skin you’d destroy an innocent woman’s reputation? You’re not even a man. You’re trash.” The crowd swayed. Someone muttered, “Yeah, that’s twisted. Who hits on their best friend’s bride-to-be?” “He definitely drugged or forced her. Look at her, she’s so terrified she can’t even speak.” The sympathy in the room was palpable. Marcus was officially the villain. 3 Sirens wailed in the distance. Marcus was thrashing in the back seat, shouting at the arriving officers like he’d found salvation. “Officer! It’s a setup! It was consensual! This crazy woman assaulted me! I want to press charges!” “Still lying?” I stepped in front of Elena like a mother hen shielding her chicks. I pointed straight at the backseat of his wrecked ride. “Officers! Look! Look under the seat! That’s the evidence!” A cop peered inside with a frown, pulling out a pair of fuzzy pink handcuffs and a leather crop with a pair of sterile evidence tweezers. A wave of knowing titters rippled through the crowd. Even the cops looked uncomfortable, their expressions shifting from duty to disgust. I pointed at the items, my entire body trembling. “Why are you laughing? This is sick! My friend is a teacher! She doesn’t even wear skirts above her knees! She’s the most conservative person I know!” I glared at Marcus, who was being dragged out and pinned against the hood. “Marcus, you’re a deviant! You forced her to use these? Is that how you treat a woman? You’re a monster!” The crowd stopped laughing. A respectable woman wouldn’t touch that gear. He had to be the sick one. Marcus turned purple. “Those are just toys! It was consensual! That’s our business!” “Business?” I gasped, turning to the police with eyes full of tears. “Officer, who uses a whip in a healthy relationship? Please, save her! She’s been screaming for mercy!” The police officer looked at the gear, then back at the hysterical crowd. The pressure was on. “Enough! Save it for the station!” CLICK. The handcuffs went on Marcus. He was shoved into a cruiser, shouting into the void. I stood there, clutching a shivering Elena, refusing to give a statement. “Officer, can we get her to the hospital first? She inhaled so much dust and she’s in a state of severe shock! She needs medical care now!” I squeezed the cop’s hand, my voice cold as ice. “We want a full medical exam. A gynecological report. We’re going to sue this animal for every cent he has!” Elena went rigid at the word exam. The ambulance roared toward the city hospital. Once on the stretcher, Elena was finally freed from the coat. She was hacking, coughing up white dust, her face a mask of trauma. When I reached for her purse, she froze, her eyes widening in sheer terror. “Oh, baby! Don’t move! The doctor said your airways are scorched!” I gently pinned her hand down and snatched her phone. 4 Elena was crying, shaking her head, her throat raw and failing. “You want to call your parents, don’t you? Don’t worry, I’ll show them exactly what this monster did to you.” I swiped her phone across her face. Beep. Face ID unlocked. Elena squeezed her eyes shut, her body shuddering. A nurse hurried over. “Ma’am, stop moving! You’re on an IV!” “It’s okay, she’s just panicked, she wants her mom,” I cooed to the nurse. I turned my back to Elena and dialed the number of her uptight, image-obsessed parents. The moment they picked up, I didn’t say a word—I just started wailing. “Auntie… something happened to Elena… Marcus… that animal… I shouldn’t have let him near her…” I gave them just enough—assault, undressed, police are here—to trigger their worst nightmares. Every word was a needle to their pride. Twenty minutes later, they burst into the ER. Her father looked like he’d aged ten years, his knuckles white around his walking cane, his face a storm of rage. “Dad… Mom…” Elena shrank under the blankets. Before they could speak, I dropped to my knees. “I’m sorry! It’s my fault! I didn’t see him for the beast he was! He dragged her into the garage… the handcuffs… if I hadn’t arrived, he would have destroyed her!” Her mother started wailing, clutching her daughter. “My poor baby! What kind of karma is this? How are you supposed to get married now?!” Her father banged his cane on the floor. “Where is he? I’ll kill him! And you—why were you even with a man like that? Do you know what this does to our reputation?!” Elena looked ready to faint. She opened her mouth to speak, to defend herself, but I lunged up, clapping a hand over her mouth. “Doctor! Get in here! She’s hallucinating! She needs a sedative, now!” The staff rushed over. “What’s happening?” “She’s in shock! She’s trying to defend her attacker! He’s completely broken her mind!” In the chaos, I leaned in close to her ear, my whisper sounding like a velvet-lined threat. “Baby, take a good look at your father’s cane.” She went rigid. “Think carefully,” I breathed. “If you say it was forced, you’re the victim. Everyone will pity you. Your parents will shield you. But if you say it was consensual… knowing how much your father cares about his ‘image,’ do you think he’ll stop at just shouting? He might beat you to death right here in this room.” I paused, my voice chilling. “And tomorrow, the headlines will read: ‘Teacher of the Year caught in affair.’ You’ll be ruined. Your parents’ entire legacy will burn. So, what’s it going to be?” I felt her hot tears hit my skin. I patted her back like I was putting a child to sleep. “Choose.”

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