Category: English

Ever since my husband started staying at his late teammate’s widow’s house during every leave. I noticed my daughter began writing “My dad disappeared” in her essays. The teacher called to confirm. I was silent for a moment. Yes, it’s been a long time. For Father’s Day crafts in my daughter’s class, they had to make cards for their dads. She lay at her desk, folded a paper airplane, and carefully wrote four words: “For Heaven.” On parent visiting day, the walls were covered with children’s essays titled “My Dad.” My daughter wrote: My dad went to the neighbor lady’s house. That lady kept crying, and then Dad disappeared and never came back. Later, my husband finally noticed something was wrong and rushed home in a panic, bringing flowers to celebrate our daughter’s birthday. When the door opened, there was a new essay by my daughter on the table, titled “If Dad Were Still Alive.” “Mia, is this how you teach our child?” Luke stared at the open composition book on the table. The top line, written in pencil, read “If Dad Were Still Alive.” Luke’s smile faded as his eyes widened. “I’m alive and well, and you let her write that I’m dead in her essay?!” He turned to look at me, raising his voice and slamming the cake he was holding onto the table. “I didn’t teach her that.” “She wrote it herself.” Luke clenched his jaw and grabbed the composition book as if to tear it up. He stared at his daughter’s handwriting for a moment, then put the book down. He had no idea this wasn’t the first time Nina had written about him being dead in her essays. Ever since he brought his late teammate’s widow, Linda, and her son back to our city, he ceased to exist as a father in our daughter’s world. I said nothing more, just watched him coldly. Nina heard the commotion and walked out of the bedroom. She wore faded pajamas and hid behind me. She didn’t run over to call him “Dad” like before, nor did she cry in fear at Luke’s rage. She just looked at Luke with calm eyes. Like looking at a stranger. That look was more piercing than any tantrum. Luke’s breathing hitched, and all his anger seemed to lodge in his throat, blocked by his daughter’s indifferent expression. He tugged irritably at his tie, suppressing his temper, and pulled a shoebox from the bag behind him. “Nina, come here.” He tried to make his voice sound gentle. “Dad passed by the mall today and bought you the ballet shoes you wanted most.” “Aren’t you taking your exam next month?” “Come try them on and see if they fit.” Those were the ballet shoes Nina had been looking at in the shop window for three months. Luke always said he’d buy them “next time.” If this were before, Nina would have jumped for joy. But now, Nina didn’t move. Seeing this, Luke sighed and knelt down on his own, opening the shoebox and reaching for his daughter’s foot. Just as his hand was about to touch Nina’s ankle. His phone rang. It was a special ringtone—soft music. Everyone at the security company knew this was Linda’s exclusive ringtone. Luke’s hand snapped back as if electrocuted. He reflexively stood up and pulled out his phone to answer. “Linda, what’s wrong?” His voice carried a tenderness and urgency he himself hadn’t even noticed. Linda’s pitiful crying came through the phone. “Luke, I’m sorry to bother you again.” “But Ryan had an asthma attack in the middle of the night. He’s crying and calling for Uncle Luke.” “I really can’t handle him alone. I’m so scared.” Standing nearby, I heard this clumsy yet familiar sob story and felt my stomach churn. Luke’s expression changed. He didn’t hesitate for a second. He casually tossed the ballet shoes onto the carpet and grabbed his car keys. “Mia, watch our daughter. Ryan’s situation is urgent. I have to go over there right now.” He said it so righteously, as if abandoning his biological daughter to care for someone else’s son was perfectly natural. Bang. The door slammed shut. He didn’t even look back at his daughter. The house fell silent as death. Nina walked forward and looked down at the ballet shoes. Then she bent down, picked up the shoes, and threw them into the nearby trash can. “Mom.” Nina turned to look at me, her voice floating. “Dead people don’t buy shoes, right?” My heart felt like it was being torn apart, and even breathing carried the taste of blood. I knelt down and hugged my daughter tightly, stroking her hair. “Right.” After Nina fell asleep, I sat alone in the study and opened the bottom drawer. Inside lay a transfer notification already stamped with the official seal. I’m an orthopedic attending physician. To accommodate Luke’s work, I’d given up three opportunities to study at the best orthopedic hospital in America. But now, I didn’t want to stay in this cesspool anymore. I picked up a red pen and heavily circled a date on the desk calendar fifteen days away. That was the final deadline to report for the transfer. In fifteen days, my daughter and I would leave this city. As if this person had never existed in our lives.

Countdown Day 10. I’d just finished a six-hour emergency surgery and dragged my exhausted body home. As soon as I stepped out of the elevator, I froze. The front door was wide open, and I could hear moving workers shouting inside. I hurried in, and the scene before my eyes made my blood run cold. The living room was a mess. Several workers were carrying the piano out of Nina’s study. Luke stood to the side in casual clothes, directing them. “Be careful, don’t scratch the edges. This piano’s expensive.” That was the Steinway piano I’d saved up three years’ worth of night shift pay to buy for Nina’s fifth birthday. Nina polished it every single day, treating it like her most precious possession. “Luke, what are you doing?” I walked over with a cold face, blocking the workers. Luke saw me come home early, and a flash of guilt crossed his eyes, but it was quickly covered by self-righteousness. “Don’t make trouble here.” “Linda just rented a new place. Ryan’s being teased at school for not having a dad. The doctor said learning piano could heal his psychological trauma.” He paused. “Linda’s raising a kid alone—it’s not easy. She can’t afford a piano this nice.” “Nina hasn’t been playing much lately anyway. We’ll just lend it to Ryan for a bit.” I listened to his absurdly twisted logic and laughed in anger. Using his biological daughter’s treasure to fill another child’s wounds? How could he make such blatant favoritism sound so reasonable? If this were before, I definitely would have rushed over and fought with him to keep the piano. Instead, I took out my phone, opened the video function, and recorded the workers’ movements and Luke’s face. “What are you recording?” Luke frowned and stepped forward to grab my phone. I stepped back, avoiding his hand. “Keeping evidence.” “This is marital property. You’re privately transferring it to an outsider. I have the right to record it.” Luke’s face darkened. “Mia, why have you become so cold and calculating?” “That’s Sean’s son!” “Sean died saving me! It’s just a damn piano. Do you really need to be so petty?” He pulled out his phone and transferred five thousand dollars to me. “Fine, consider this me buying it out.” “Just go buy Nina a cheaper electric keyboard to practice on.” With that, he directed the workers to carry the piano out. The door closed. I looked at the empty study and felt suffocated. Not long after, Nina came home from school. She walked to the study door with her backpack and stopped. The space where the piano had been was empty, leaving only four indentations on the wooden floor. Nina didn’t cry or ask me where the piano went. She just silently walked back to her room and opened the composition book Luke had crumpled. She picked up her pencil and quietly wrote a fourth essay. The title was “My Dead Dad Took My Piano Away Too.” I stood outside the door watching my daughter’s thin silhouette, my eyes stinging. My phone vibrated. I opened SnapChat—it was a post from Linda’s feed. In the photo, Ryan sat at that piano, smiling brightly. The caption read: Ryan finally has his first piano. Thank you to dearest Captain Luke for giving us mother and son the light to live. Below it was Luke’s like. I stared at that photo for a long time, then finally liked it too. I switched out of SnapChat and opened my banking app, paying the full balance on the house in my transfer location all at once. Right after I completed the payment, Luke sent a text. [Once Ryan’s emotions stabilize, I’ll take leave next weekend and take Nina to Disneyland to make it up to her.] [Stop teaching our kid to hold grudges.] I looked at the word “make it up” on the screen and sneered mockingly. I didn’t reply. He didn’t know there would be no next weekend.

Countdown Day 3. Today was the awards ceremony for the provincial children’s art competition. Nina wore the new princess dress I’d bought her and sat in the front row of the art gallery. Her eyes were fixed on the entrance doors, unblinking. I sat beside her, holding her slightly sweaty little hand, my heart aching. I knew that man wouldn’t come, but children always hope. Nina said quietly, “Mom, Dad said he’d definitely come watch me receive my award today.” I didn’t speak, just held her hand tighter. Ten minutes before the ceremony began, my phone lit up. Luke sent a message. [Emergency task came up. Can’t get away.] [Tell Nina I’m sorry for me.] The familiar excuse. The familiar broken promise. I turned my phone face down on my lap without telling Nina. Nina looked back at the entrance. “Maybe he’s stuck in traffic.” The ceremony proceeded smoothly. The host picked up the microphone. “Now, we’ll reveal the grand prize winner of this competition!” Nina’s hand squeezed my fingers. “The winning piece: ‘Dad in the Flames’!” The big screen lit up, displaying Nina’s painting. The Luke in the picture wore rescue gear, his back to the flames. She’d spent half a month painting this picture of her dad. It was filled with her admiration for him. Nina stood up and looked back at me. “Mom! It’s my painting!” I smiled, ready to push her toward the stage. The host continued, “Please welcome the winner, Ryan Sean, to receive the award!” The smile on Nina’s face froze. The signature in the bottom right corner of the screen read “Ryan Sean,” not “Nina Brown.” Her painting—the signature had been changed to Linda’s son’s name. Nina stood frozen in place, opening her mouth but making no sound. A parent nearby leaned over, whispering, “Why did that little girl stand up? Didn’t they call Ryan?” Nina heard it. She sat back down in her chair and lowered her head. I clenched my fists and walked straight toward the family section. Linda was just standing up with Ryan, straightening his tie. I blocked her path. “Linda, stop right there.” Linda looked up, the smile still on her face. “Oh, Mia, you’re here too?” I stared at her. “That painting was drawn by my daughter. What right does your son have to sign it?” Linda stepped back, lowering her voice and shrinking her shoulders. “Mia, don’t be angry. Luke handled this himself. I didn’t know anything…” She paused, then leaned closer, speaking in a voice only we could hear, and smiled. “But Mia, who drew the picture doesn’t really matter, does it? What matters is who Luke wants to cherish.” “So what if your daughter stayed up late every night painting? With one word, Luke gave all her hard work to our Ryan, didn’t he?” “That’s what they call love by association. No matter how angry you get, you can’t change the fact that Luke doesn’t care about you two at all.” “You’re shameless!” Looking at her face, I raised my hand and slapped her. Linda’s head snapped to the side as she clutched her face and cried out. I was about to drag her to find the organizers when someone rushed out from the side and shoved me hard. “Mia! What the hell is wrong with you!” I was pushed back several steps, my lower back hitting the back of a chair. I bent over in pain. I looked up. It was Luke. He protected Linda and Ryan behind him, glaring at me with red eyes. Linda buried herself against Luke’s back, crying. “Luke, it hurts so much… Don’t blame Mia. It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have let Ryan accept this award. I’ll return it…” Luke saw the red mark on Linda’s face, held her tighter, then turned and pointed at me angrily. “Mia, are you sick! Hitting people in public—do you realize you look like a shrew right now!” I steadied myself against the chair and looked at him. “Luke, that painting took Nina half a month to finish. You put Ryan’s name on it, and now you’re shoving me for this woman?” “It’s just a painting!” Luke cut me off. “Nina can paint more! Ryan grew up without a father! He’s being mocked by classmates! He needs this kind of recognition to build confidence!” “Sean died saving me! What’s wrong with giving an award to his son?” “As an elder, you have no generosity at all. You even hit Linda. You’re completely unreasonable!” Shrew. Unreasonable. My daughter had her work stolen—the painting of her father stolen. I sought justice, and in return, her biological father shoved me to the ground for another woman. I shut my mouth. Ryan was led onto the stage by staff. He held up the trophy, standing in front of Nina’s painting, smiling at the camera. Linda leaned into Luke’s embrace, the corners of her mouth lifting. She picked up the microphone, her voice choking. “Ryan could have today all thanks to his godfather, Captain Luke…” “Captain Luke treats us mother and son better than family…” Luke sighed. “Mom.” A voice called from behind. I turned around. Nina stood not far away. She looked at Ryan holding the trophy, at Luke embracing Linda, at me clutching my waist. “Nina…” I tried to reach for her. Nina stepped back. She looked down at the contestant badge on her chest. She reached out and tore the badge apart bit by bit, throwing it into a nearby trash can. She stood up and dusted off her hands. “Mom, let’s go.” My daughter kept her little face tense, forcing back tears. My heart was breaking. I walked over and hugged my daughter tightly without a word. I turned and left that place. I didn’t argue anymore. Arguing with a blind and heartless man was pointless. When we got home, Nina sat in her room for a long time, then opened her composition book and wrote a new entry. The title was “Dad Gave My Painting to Someone Else and Hit Mom for Them.” I opened the booking app and changed our flight tickets to the day after tomorrow.

The day before leaving. I took Nina to buy necessities at the downtown mall. The mall was crowded with people. Nina held my hand and stopped as we passed a pizza restaurant. I followed her gaze. Through the glass, I saw Luke. He was patiently cutting a small piece of pizza with a knife and fork, blowing on it, then carefully feeding it to Ryan. Linda sat beside him, smiling happily, naturally pulling out a napkin to wipe sauce from the corner of Luke’s mouth. A family of three, happy and harmonious. Watching this scene, I actually felt like laughing. This was his so-called emergency task. His lie exposed right to my face—ridiculous and ironic. Nina’s little hand gripped the corner of my clothes tightly as she asked quietly, “Mom, isn’t Dad supposed to be working?” I laughed coldly and pulled Nina to leave. A piercing alarm suddenly sounded. The next second, a massive explosion erupted from the kitchen in the first-floor dining area. Flames and thick smoke burst through the mall’s interior glass walls. The crowd screamed and surged toward the emergency exits. “Nina!” I shouted, instinctively grabbing my daughter’s hand. But the crowd was like a madness with no direction. A burly man crashed into me from the side. My back hit something and I stumbled, falling to the ground. My hand was empty. “Mom!” By the time I scrambled up, thick smoke had spread to the second floor. I searched through the crowd. Through the black smoke, I saw Nina fall under a counter. She was blocked by a fallen advertising board. Just then, a figure rushed out. It was Luke. He immediately began evacuating people. He saw her! He saw his daughter fallen under the counter! From the other side came Linda’s scream. “Luke!” “Help!” “Ryan’s trapped under a shelf!” Luke’s body went rigid. He turned back, staring at his biological daughter so close by, his eyes filled with a struggle I couldn’t understand. That struggle lasted less than two seconds. He shouted toward Nina. “Nina, don’t move!” “Dad will come back for you after getting Ryan out!” With that, I watched him decisively turn and rush toward that other woman and her child. He picked up Ryan, protecting Linda as they rushed toward the safety passage. In a life-or-death moment, he abandoned his biological daughter once again. Watching this scene, I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood. With one “wait a moment,” he gave up on his own daughter. In the billowing smoke. Nina watched Luke disappear, her small body motionless. She stopped crying, stopped calling out. She just slowly lowered the little hand covering her nose and mouth, letting the choking black smoke pour into her throat. A tear slid down her cheek as her lips moved. “Mom, Dad went to save someone else… Today, Nina really has no dad anymore.” Those words pierced through my last shred of rationality. I screamed, grabbed a fire extinguisher from the corner, and smashed at the obstacles blocking the way like a madwoman. “Nina!” “Mom’s here!” “Mom’s here!” I scooped up my daughter, who was about to lose consciousness, covered her face with my jacket, and rushed out. The moment I ran out of the fire scene, an ambulance had just arrived. I rushed onto the vehicle carrying my oxygen-deprived daughter. Outside the emergency room, the red light came on. I collapsed onto the bench. I took out my phone and opened my lawyer’s chat. [I’ve signed the divorce agreement.] [Go through litigation. Cut all ties completely.] After sending it, I opened the booking app. I changed our originally tomorrow’s flight to tonight’s earliest available one. I didn’t want to stay in this place for one more second. Luke, you’ve lost us forever.

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Discovering my husband’s affair was actually a small matter. I was at a parking lot with my best friend, Rachel, checking out a high-end maternity care center, when I spotted his car. I walked to the front desk: “Excuse me, could you check if my husband, Ryan Walker, has an appointment here today?” Soon, the receptionist looked up: “I’m sorry, ma’am, we cannot disclose client appointment information.” My heart tightened. Can’t disclose? That meant he really was here. Rachel stared at the black Mercedes in confusion. “Didn’t Ryan say he was on a business trip? Why is his car here?” Yes. He left on a business trip last night, saying he’d be back by evening to celebrate my birthday. I pulled up his number and called. —Ring—Ring—Ring— No answer. I checked the time: 11:30. “Forget it, let’s just go up.” This maternity care center was located above the city’s most expensive private women’s hospital. It operated on a strict members-only appointment system, specializing in pre-pregnancy care, pregnancy support, and postpartum recovery. I was three months pregnant. Rachel originally wanted to bring me here to check out the place for my birthday. The elevator doors opened, and the receptionist greeted us with a practiced smile: “Hello, ma’am. Do you have an appointment?” “Yes, under Anna—” “No.” I pulled my friend back behind me: “It’s under my husband’s name, Ryan Walker.” The staff member paused, then looked down at her computer. Then she looked up: “I’m sorry, ma’am. Due to client privacy, I cannot confirm specific appointment details with you.” My heart tightened. Can’t disclose? That meant he really was here.

Rachel looked at me with concern. She understood immediately. A man who claimed to be on a business trip out of town suddenly appearing at a high-end maternity care center. He couldn’t possibly be here for a business meeting. I took a deep breath and looked at the young woman in front of me: “Here’s the situation. My husband mentioned he wanted to look into pregnancy packages for me and asked me to come today to register family information. I’m a bit tired now and would like to sit in the waiting room for a while.” The staff member maintained her smile: “I’m sorry, ma’am. Without appointment confirmation, we cannot escort you into the client area at this time.” I nodded: “I understand. Could you please call him to confirm? Just tell him a Ms. Nichols is here and ask if he can come out to meet me.” The staff member hesitated for two seconds: “May I have your surname?” “My surname is Nichols. My husband’s name is Ryan Walker.” She entered the information into the system to search, then picked up the internal line. My heart jumped to my throat. “Hello, Mr. Walker. This is the front desk. A Ms. Nichols is here, saying she’s come to register family information for the package you inquired about. Would you be available to come out to meet her?” There was a long pause on the other end. “What did you say?” The staff member turned to me: “Ma’am, may I have your full name?” “Emma Nichols.” “Alright.” She spoke into the receiver again: “A woman named Emma Nichols is at the front desk. Would you be available to come out?” One second. Two seconds. Just when I thought he’d hung up, a response finally came from the other end: “I’ll be right there.” The call ended. The staff member gave a professional smile: “Ms. Nichols, you may wait in the lounge area.” I barely managed to stay standing by gripping Rachel’s arm. He really was… here. But for now, I only knew he was at this maternity center. I didn’t know who he came with. The staff wouldn’t tell me. That was private information. Ironic, wasn’t it? The rules protected his privacy while he accompanied another woman to look at postpartum suites, but wouldn’t give his own wife a heads-up. My phone lit up. It was a call from Ryan. I watched his name flashing on the screen and pressed decline. Soon, my phone vibrated again. “Emma, the company suddenly arranged for me to discuss a collaboration here. You guys look around, I’ll be right down.” “What did Ryan say?” I turned my screen toward Rachel. She glanced at it, and two words squeezed through her teeth: “Bastard.” “How shameless can he be?” She stared at me, her eyes redder than mine: “But we still don’t know who he came with.” I glanced at the warm yellow lighting in the center and the rows of pamphlets as polished as showroom displays, then took a deep breath: “Who says I’m going to ask now?” “Then what are you—” “Wait for him to come.”

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I was sick and hospitalized, and my boyfriend was running himself ragged taking care of me. The older woman in the neighboring hospital bed quietly asked me when the two of us were getting married. I just smiled, shook my head, and didn’t say a word. He had no idea that I saw his phone. I saw that he had linked his gaming account as an “in-game couple” with a girl saved as CeeCee. I saw it last night, right when he forgot to lock his screen before turning around to pour me a glass of water. 1 The day I was discharged from the hospital, the city was blanketed in its heaviest snowfall of the year. Caleb took off his scarf and wrapped it snugly around my neck, laughing and calling me a silly little goose. I opened my mouth to speak, but tears just welled up in my eyes. He crouched down, taking my hands in his, and looked up at me with those eyes full of stars, asking what was wrong. I stared back at him. I just couldn’t wrap my head around it. How could someone cheat on me, yet still treat me with such incredible tenderness? 2 Caleb’s Instagram grid was completely filled with pictures of me. Because I had severe sinus allergies, he not only quit smoking cold turkey, but he also refused to let any of his frat brothers or coworkers light up around me. Whenever he came home late from grabbing drinks with the guys, he would wait out in the freezing apartment hallway for ten minutes just to air out, all because I couldn’t stand the smell of alcohol. He remembered every food I loved and every brand of skincare I used. He even tracked the dates of my period more accurately than I did. Last month, when I went on a ski trip to Aspen with my friends, he couldn’t make it because of a massive work deadline. He stayed on the phone with me for half an hour, nagging me to be safe on the slopes. My friends laughed, teasing that his eyes only had room for me, that Professor Vance was hopelessly obsessed with his girlfriend. But this exact same man was on a multiplayer game, paired up with a girl I didn’t even know. Their “couple status” was currently at 147 days. 3 I was craving a spicy Cajun seafood boil, spicy buffalo wings—anything with a massive kick of heat. Caleb coaxed and pleaded with me until I gave in, and he ended up making me a warm bowl of homemade chicken noodle soup instead. I sat at the kitchen island, watching his broad shoulders as he busied himself by the stove. Suddenly, I asked him. “Caleb, that game you’re always playing on your phone… can you teach me how to play?” He froze for just a fraction of a second, then turned around and smiled, ruffling my hair. “Sure thing, babe. Since when did you care about video games?” I really didn’t know the first thing about gaming. The complicated interface gave me a headache. But more importantly, I noticed Caleb had logged into a burner account to play with me. When we lost our first match, I tossed his phone onto the sofa. He wasn’t even mad. “Wanna do something else?” he asked. He had finished cleaning up the kitchen and wrapped his arms around me from behind on the couch. His breath brushed against my ear, his soft hair carrying the fresh scent of his body wash. But my body reacted on instinct, and I pushed him away. He raised an eyebrow in surprise, but still just gently rubbed my stomach and told me to get some rest. 4 The next morning, I didn’t wake Caleb up. I just got dressed and went straight to the office. He sent me two texts around noon. “You just got out of the hospital, don’t eat anything greasy. I ordered you some warm soup from Panera, be a good girl and eat it all.” “Were you in a bad mood yesterday? Let’s go catch a movie after you get off work.” “…” I locked my screen, a dull ache twisting in my stomach. Caleb finished his afternoon lectures right on time and drove to my office to pick me up. I didn’t say a word as he held my hand and led me into the theater. The movie was incredibly dull. Halfway through, Caleb’s phone kept buzzing in his pocket. Suddenly, he leaned over and whispered that there was an emergency at the university he had to deal with immediately. I nodded and said that was fine, I’d just catch an Uber home after the credits rolled. But he probably never expected that I would slip out of the theater right behind him. Luckily, he was on foot. If he had driven, I never would have been able to keep up. His destination was close by—a local urgent care clinic just two blocks down. Caleb was tall and striking, easy to spot even in a crowded waiting room. Because of that, I had a perfectly clear view when a young girl sprinted out of an exam room and threw her arms around his neck. Caleb let her hold him, his hands resting casually in his jacket pockets. He didn’t hug her back. But he didn’t push her away, either. 5 I got home much later than Caleb did. He was sitting at the dining table, tilting his head as he watched me walk in. I had no intention of explaining where I’d been. As I walked past him, he reached out and caught my wrist. “Why have you been so down these past few days, hmm?” He kissed the spot behind my ear, trailing down to my neck. But the moment I thought of how that girl had practically wrapped herself around him, a violent shudder ran through me, and I shoved his chest. “Go take a shower.” I avoided his gaze, and he didn’t seem too suspicious. Before grabbing his towel, he affectionately ruffled my hair. Caleb had always kept his guard down around me. Look, he didn’t even lock his phone. This time, I dug deeper into his apps. Yesterday, he had played games with me using his main social media login, but it was undeniably his alternate gaming account. After messing around with his settings, I found a hidden encrypted messaging app buried in a locked folder. Logged in on that app was a completely different persona. … The contact list was sparse. Just a few of his frat brothers. But pinned to the very top of his messages was a chat with someone named CeeCee. As I opened it, CeeCee happened to send a brand-new text. “My cramps hurt so bad, I feel awful. When are you finally going to break up with that woman?” “…” I scrolled up. They had talked so much. So much that it felt like they exchanged more words in a single day than Caleb and I did in an entire month. A month ago, when I was in Aspen with my friends, Caleb said he was swamped with grading papers and stayed on the phone with me to make sure I was safe. But that very same day was this CeeCee’s birthday. The two of them had gone to the exact same local animal rescue cafe that Caleb and I went to on our first anniversary. Someone had even taken a Polaroid of them. The girl was smiling radiantly, holding a golden retriever puppy, while Caleb looked down at her with pure, unadulterated affection. My hands and feet turned to ice. I kept reading. Caleb sent her paragraphs upon paragraphs. He would whine to her about how exhausting his department meetings were. He would play video games with her and affectionately mock her for being a “total noob.” He even took photos of the new succulent on his office desk just to share it with her. All those times he told me he was working late? They were almost all dates with this girl. As I stared at the screen, I slowly clutched my stomach and sank to the floor. I had just gotten surgery for severe gastric ulcers, and the intense stress made the searing pain flare up all over again. To make matters worse, I was so absorbed in the texts that I didn’t even notice the sound of the shower turning off. The bathroom door clicked open right behind me. … “What’s wrong? Does your stomach hurt again? Do we need to go to the ER?” The man swept me up from the floor from behind, the crisp scent of his body wash flooding my senses. His warm palm pressed firmly against my abdomen, and for a fleeting second, it actually seemed to soothe my pain. I lowered my eyes, staring at his phone, which I had flipped face-down onto the table in the nick of time. The very last message I saw was from Caleb to that girl: “I lost my feelings for her a long time ago. You’re the one I like now.” 6 Growing up, my mom loved showing affection through food. Because of that, I developed a habit of binge-eating whenever I felt overwhelmed. Especially during the high-pressure years of high school, my weight ballooned by over thirty pounds. Most teenage girls are hypersensitive about their appearance, and I was no exception. But the more anxious I got, the more I ate. The social circles for girls in my class were a weird mix of superficial harmony and brutal exclusion. I was constantly marginalized because of my size. I wore oversized hoodies, lagged behind in gym class, and never dared to wear a sundress. Nobody wanted to be friends with me, except… Caleb. I met him during our freshman orientation assembly. He was the golden boy speaking for the guys; I was the top-scoring nerd speaking for the girls. But compared to my one fleeting moment in the spotlight, he was as radiant as the summer sun. Top grades, insanely handsome, constantly surrounded by friends. Girls flocked to him like moths to a flame. But as fate would have it, we ended up in the same SAT prep classes, and our similarly high test scores meant the teachers were always comparing us. Over time, we just clicked. I knew exactly what the guys in our grade whispered about me behind my back. They called me fat, joked that no man would ever want me, and erupted into cruel, echoing laughter. They said the most disgusting things. But Caleb… he never once looked at me with that kind of revulsion in his eyes. When did I fall for him? It was probably a humid summer night after prep class. He slung his backpack over one shoulder, took the empty seat next to me, bringing the summer heat with him. His eyes crinkled, his smile incredibly bright and clean. “Just checked the practice scores. You beat me by one point again.” “You’re too smart. Mind lending me that brain of yours?” … Caleb never knew that I peeked at his college application list, spent hours calculating my odds, and made countless silent wishes. In the end, we got into the same prestigious university. At a graduation party, a wealthy, gorgeous girl confessed her feelings to him in front of everyone. I sat in the back of the crowd, quietly listening to everyone cheer them on. I truly thought Caleb would date her. But he didn’t. He politely turned her down. … As the party wound down, I was sitting alone in the furthest corner of a booth. Years of isolation made me terrible at socializing; my default instinct was always to hide. But he could always find me. That night, Caleb sat next to me, resting his chin on his hand, his eyes slightly narrowed. I knew he was staring at me, but I was too terrified to meet his gaze. After a long silence, his voice—light and teasing—broke the quiet. “I like you.” “Wanna give us a try?”

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1 I, Chloe Sterling, was the internet’s most hated rising star. Right as my career was supposed to be taking off, I was booked on a massive celebrity reality-talk show alongside another Gen Z “It Girl” from my agency. During the segment, the topic shifted to industry connections. To manufacture some viral drama, the host challenged the guests to call a friend—in or out of the industry—and ask to borrow money on speakerphone. The amount? Exactly $100,000. In this economy, asking for a hundred grand out of the blue is an incredibly sensitive issue. Plus, the person on the other end wouldn’t know they were on live television. Anything could happen. We were all public figures. The producers were purely looking out for their own ratings, completely disregarding whether this might ruin a guest’s career. Just as I was hesitating, Harper Quinn flashed a sickly-sweet smile. “Chloe, you look a little pale. Do you not have anyone you can call?” She looked at me with undisguised contempt. Harper was, for all intents and purposes, my ultimate rival. We were signed by the agency around the same time, which meant we constantly competed for the same roles and brand deals. Because of her innocent, “girl-next-door” aesthetic, her first lead role blew up globally. Her status skyrocketed. Meanwhile, since my debut, I had only managed to land lukewarm supporting roles. I guess I partly blamed myself; I wasn’t hyper-ambitious and felt perfectly content with where I was. But I never expected that even after hitting the A-list, Harper still wouldn’t let me breathe. She had to fight me for everything. I glanced at Harper in her flashy, haute-couture gown. Her smile felt like daggers. “Don’t worry about me, Harper.” Choked by my immediate pushback, Harper didn’t get angry. Instead, she smirked, leaning in to whisper so only my mic would pick it up: “Keep faking it. Let’s see how long you can hold this front.” I lowered my eyes and stayed silent. 2 The livestream chat was already exploding. [Omg, Chloe is so arrogant. Harper was just checking on her!] [Harper is way more famous than her anyway. Why does Chloe always look so bitter?] [Our girl Harper is too nice. If it were me, I would’ve slapped her.] [No wonder she’s a D-list flop. People like Chloe are the poison of Hollywood.] Before the game began, the crew mirrored our phones onto the giant studio screen. Eager to watch me make a fool of myself, Harper volunteered to go first. I didn’t object. The host beamed. “Alright, let’s get started!” Looking incredibly smug, Harper pulled out her phone and opened her iMessage. Right at the top of her pinned chats was the name: Liam Sterling. Oh, wow. That was my older brother. The studio audience instantly lost their minds. [Wait, Liam Sterling?! Like, THE Liam Sterling?] [For anyone who lives under a rock: Liam Sterling is Hollywood’s most eligible bachelor. Insanely talented, literally won back-to-back Oscars for Best Actor.] [He is drop-dead gorgeous and so sweet in person! I met him at LAX once, totally breathtaking.] [How does Harper know Liam?! And he’s pinned in her texts? They must be super close!] [Are they secretly dating?!] [Twitter sleuths, get to work NOW!!] The studio atmosphere reached a fever pitch. Seeing that her stunt had worked perfectly, Harper feigned a shy, blushing smile. “Is it okay if I call Liam?” Liam? My mouth twitched as the studio audience screamed their approval. Having an A-lister of that magnitude featured on the show was a producer’s wet dream. The host eagerly urged her on. Amidst the deafening cheers, Harper dialed Liam’s number. It rang for a long time. Harper’s face tightened with nervous anticipation. Ring… Ring… Ring… And then, the call disconnected. Sent straight to voicemail. The studio went dead silent. Harper’s face darkened instantly, but she quickly forced a stiff smile. “Liam is probably on set right now. He must have missed it.” I smiled, looking completely innocent. “Really? Because that sounded exactly like you got sent to voicemail.” “You…” “Why would Liam ever decline my call?” she snapped defensively. I just chuckled, threw my hands up, and gave a helpless shrug. [Chloe is such a bitch. She literally cannot stand seeing other women win.] [Exactly. Liam is a busy man, missing a call is completely normal.] [Ignore her, she’s just jealous that Harper even has Liam’s number.] [I mean… it did ring three times and then abruptly stop. That literally means he declined it. Are you guys blind?] Occasionally, a viewer would drop some truth in the chat. But they were immediately drowned out by the flood of toxic stans. Everyone knew Harper’s fanbase was rabid and allergic to criticism. 3 Unable to let the embarrassment slide, Harper dialed Liam’s number again. This time, it was declined even faster. A second later, an iMessage from Liam popped up on the giant screen: [Harper, are you done?] [How much longer do you expect me to tolerate you?] The audience gasped. Harper’s face drained of all color. She frantically tried to do damage control. “No, wait, it’s not what it looks like. Liam might just be having a stressful day today! I know him so well—he hates being interrupted when he’s deeply in character on set. Let’s just be understanding and try someone else!” Clearly, the studio fans desperately wanted to believe her. Someone from the bleachers even yelled, “It’s okay, Harper! We understand!” I scoffed internally. If nothing else, Harper’s fans were blindly loyal. Looking deeply moved, Harper stared lovingly at her fans. Then, she backed out of her texts and dialed another number from her contacts. It didn’t have a saved name, but I recognized the digits instantly. That was… my dad’s private cell. Harper hit the call button, looking even more terrified than she had when calling my brother. Almost immediately, the automated carrier voice echoed through the studio: [We’re sorry, the number you have reached is unavailable…] Refusing to give up, she hung up and dialed again. Same automated voice. The audience began whispering. Harper was biting her lip so hard it was turning white. I knew my dad. His tech empire spanned the globe; he literally never missed an important call. The fact that it went straight to an automated message meant one thing: Harper’s number was blocked. The director looked completely panicked. He had assumed Harper’s segment would be a massive ratings booster. Nobody expected it to be this humiliating. But no matter how embarrassing it got, her delusional fanbase refused to turn on her. [It’s fine! The other person is probably just in a meeting.] [Don’t cry, Harper! You tried your best!] [Seeing her looking so sad breaks my heart.] [Lmao, look at Chloe’s face. She is eating this up. What a psycho.] [She literally has ‘mean girl’ written all over her face.] [It’s her turn next. Let’s see how badly she embarrasses herself.] The host forced a laugh to smooth things over and moved the segment along. Harper blinked at me, her eyes dripping with fake sympathy. “It’s okay if you can’t borrow the money, Chloe! Knowing your… reputation in the industry, we totally understand.” God, she was a piece of work. I opened my phone, pulled up my contacts, and dialed the contact saved as “Brother.” 4 Harper covered her mouth with a manicured hand and giggled. “‘Brother’? Is he actually related to you? I’ve seen this a million times. Girls like you meet a rich guy in the hills and suddenly start calling him ‘Brother’ or ‘Daddy.’ Who knows what kind of relationship you guys actually have behind closed doors.” I frowned, glaring at her. Among female celebrities, spreading implicit rumors about someone’s sex life was the lowest of the low. Harper was entirely dropping her innocent facade. [Holy shit, Harper went there.] [Industry insiders probably know the tea. Chloe is probably a high-end escort or something.] [Harper never speaks like this in public. Chloe must be genuinely vile behind the scenes.] I ignored the chat and waited for the call to connect. Within seconds, it was picked up. A deep, lazy, incredibly affectionate voice echoed through the studio speakers: “Hey, Chloe. What’s up?” In a split second, Harper’s face turned ghostly white. The live chat completely short-circuited: [Wait… tell me that isn’t Liam Sterling’s voice.] [Am I hallucinating?!] [Omg, I’ve been a hardcore Liam fan for five years. That is 100% his voice.] [AHHHHH! Liam picked up Chloe’s call?! AND HE CALLED HER CHLOE IN THAT TONE?!] [I’m shipping them so hard right now. This is wild.] I spoke directly into the phone: “Hey, can I borrow $100,000?” My brother let out a low, rumbling chuckle. “What’s wrong? Did my little troublemaker burn through her allowance again?” “Yup!” Even though he couldn’t see me, I nodded happily. His magnetic voice poured through the speakers again. “I just wired $200,000 to your account. Let me know if you need more. I can’t have my favorite girl going broke, can I?” The call ended. A second later, a notification dropped onto the giant screen: [Chase Bank Alert: Incoming Wire Transfer of $200,000.00 successful.] Harper looked like she was going to pass out. The chat was having an absolute meltdown: [HE CALLED HER ‘LITTLE TROUBLEMAKER’ AND ‘FAVORITE GIRL’!!!] [Are they actually siblings?! We need a DNA test immediately!] [My gossip radar is going crazy. Someone call TMZ!] [He is so charming. A man talking like that could ruin my life and I’d thank him.] I locked my phone, turned to Harper, and gave her a sharp, predatory smile. “Sorry about that. My brother Liam usually declines calls from people he doesn’t know.”

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1 In the third year of my marriage to Carter Sterling, he set up a young, pretty college girl in an apartment downtown. Her name was Chloe Jenkins. She had a sweet, innocent look—exactly Carter’s type. Carter had been keeping her around for over six months. Other than me, she was the woman who had stayed by his side the longest. My friends warned me to be careful. They all said that this time, Carter might actually be falling in love. The first time I met Chloe was on my birthday. My nose had been bleeding since the morning. I went to the hospital for a checkup, and the doctor told me I would probably only live until next spring. I nodded gently and whispered, “That’s okay.” I wasn’t afraid of dying, but I was a little afraid of the pain. I heard there was a very expensive experimental painkiller that could make my remaining days a bit more comfortable. The money in my bank account wasn’t enough, so I went to Carter’s company to find him. It just so happened that Chloe was there, too. She had just graduated and was working as Carter’s personal secretary. Carter was in a meeting, so I sat in the waiting area. Chloe kept staring at me, whispering to her colleagues nearby: “Is that the boss’s wife? She’s so ugly. She looks dried up, like she’s about to drop dead.” “Everyone says I look like her. How do I look like her? I’m way prettier.” The polished glass wall reflected my image. I wore no makeup and was swallowed up by a bulky, unflattering winter coat. It was true. I wasn’t pretty, and I was about to drop dead. A colleague pulled Chloe’s sleeve and whispered back, “She just isn’t dressed up. If she put on makeup, ten of you combined couldn’t compare to her.” “Also, don’t let the boss’s favoritism get to your head. Don’t provoke her.” “You don’t know how much the boss loves her. If you upset her, he will literally end you.” 2 Hearing that Carter loved me deeply, Chloe pouted in defiance and rolled her eyes at me. She brought me a cup of tea, asking in a sickly-sweet voice, “Emma, how could the boss bear to make you wait so long?” “It’s so weird. Usually, whenever I come to find him, no matter how busy he is, he drops everything to keep me company. He tells me I’m the most important person to him.” “I thought he was this considerate with all his women…” She smiled, her eyes curving into sweet crescents. When she smiled, she really did look like a younger me. I thought about it. Carter really did treat Chloe differently. He had countless mistresses. He used them as tools to spite me, bringing a different woman home every night, testing my reaction over and over again. But Carter never kept them around long. A day or two, maybe a couple of weeks at most, and he would get bored. Only Chloe. Carter kept her properly on the outside—taking her to dinners, shopping, the movies. They were like any ordinary, loving couple. Carter gave her money, and he gave her affection. I looked at Chloe and smiled softly, asking her in a gentle voice, “If you’re so important, how can Carter bear to keep you hidden away as a dirty little secret?” “You should talk some sense into him. Tell him to divorce me sooner so he can marry you.” Chloe’s face drained of color. Humiliated and furious, she lowered her voice and hissed, “The one who isn’t loved is the real third wheel! You are the one who doesn’t belong!” “You’re just riding on the fact that you met Mr. Sterling a few years before I did. But look at you now—you’re old and ugly. What do you have left to fight me with?” Her colleague, probably terrified that I would snap, hurried over to grab her arm and pull her away. Honestly, I didn’t mind. I had made a promise to myself a long time ago: I wouldn’t get angry over Carter, and I wouldn’t cry over him either. And I certainly wouldn’t lower myself to fight other women out of jealousy for him. He wasn’t worth it. 3 Chloe was yanked back, lost her footing, and crashed to the floor. The ceramic teacup shattered, slicing a deep gash into her palm. Blood spilled across the tiles. Through the glass walls of the conference room, Carter saw the injured Chloe. With everyone watching, he slammed his files down, pushed open the doors, and strode over, pulling Chloe into his arms. He snarled coldly, “Who the hell hurt her?” The well-meaning colleague stumbled backward, her face ashen with terror. I sneered. “I did it. And she deserved it.” Chloe glared at me through her tears, crying out, “Yes, I deserve it! It’s my fault for falling in love with a married man. It’s my fault people call me a homewrecker and a mistress!” “But Mr. Sterling, as long as you love me, I’ll stay by your side for the rest of my life. No one can tear us apart.” She cried so beautifully. Even spouting such ridiculous nonsense, she looked brave and resolute. Carter chuckled, his anger melting. He reached up to wipe her tears, coaxing her, “Be good. Look at you, crying like a little stray cat.” He truly treated her differently. I lowered my eyes, too tired to keep watching, and simply said to Carter, “For my birthday this year, I want fifty thousand dollars.” It was funny, really. We were husband and wife, but we didn’t even have each other saved in our phones. Unless I needed money, I never reached out to him. Before we got married, we had a deal: he wanted my body, and I wanted his money. Carter always hated me for being a gold digger. But in the past, whenever I asked, no matter the amount, he would give it to me—usually more than I requested. But this time, he looked at me and smiled. A freezing, cruel smile. He said slowly, “You can have the money.” “But, Emma. Lower your noble head and apologize to Chloe first.” Carter was using fifty grand to buy my dignity, all to buy Chloe an apology. It was the first time he had ever used his money to humiliate me for another woman. I slowly clenched my fists and gave a faint smile. Suppressing the sudden, agonizing pain flaring up in my chest, I turned and walked away. I didn’t want the money anymore. I suddenly felt very curious. Carter… If one day you found out that this money could have kept me alive just a little longer, if you knew how much pain I suffered before I died… What kind of face would you make? 4 I went home alone, curling up in agony under the covers, sweating through my clothes from the pain. I took some sleeping pills, lying to myself. If I fall asleep, it won’t hurt anymore. In a hazy delirium, I had a dream. I dreamt of the year I was twenty. Carter was dirt poor, but he loved me so, so much. It was my birthday. We walked past a bakery and saw a couple sitting by the glass window. The girl was holding a delicate slice of white velvet cake. It looked exquisite, delicious, and incredibly expensive. I remember it was snowing heavily. I scooped up a handful of snow, smiled at Carter, and asked, “Carter, look at this snow. Doesn’t it look like a slice of cake?” Carter clenched his jaw and pulled me into a tight hug, hiding his red, tear-filled eyes from me. Three days later, he appeared outside my dorm building holding a massive, entire white velvet cake. A whole cake cost fifty dollars. Standing on the freezing, wind-swept streets handing out three thousand flyers only earned him twenty. I looked at the frostbite on his fingers and burst into pathetic, ugly sobs. I tilted my head back and yelled at him, “Carter Sterling! Your hands are meant for reading books and writing papers! You can’t just ruin them just to make me smile!” I told him I wasn’t worthy of such an expensive cake… Carter frowned and instantly shut me down. He said, “Emma, you are the best girl in the world. You deserve every beautiful thing this world has to offer.” That day, I ate the entire cake through my tears. So much time has passed, I can’t even remember how it tasted anymore. All I know is that since that day, I’ve never had a cake that tasted better. I slept for a long time. Groggily, I heard my phone ringing. I answered it, and heard Carter’s voice calling my name: “Emma.” I smiled weakly, my voice sweet as I called back, “Carter, it’s snowing heavily. I want to eat cake.” Without waiting for his reply, I rolled over and sank back into a deep sleep. 5 I slept until the middle of the night before I woke up starving. I went to the living room to find food, only to realize Carter had actually come home. He had bought Chloe a massive penthouse. They lived there together. Chloe cooked for him, made him laugh, and waited for him to come home. Carter was living a great life. He hadn’t been back to this house in a very long time. He leaned lazily against the floor-to-ceiling window, a cigarette between his lips, staring fixedly at me. I kept my eyes down, walking past him, but he grabbed my arm. He frowned, his voice soft. “Why have you lost so much weight?” His tone was gentle. It almost sounded like he still loved me. I froze for a second, then violently yanked my arm away, snapping, “Carter, are you out of your mind?” He looked down at his empty palm, the warmth bleeding out of his face. When I reached the dining table, I saw a large cake resting on it, covered in unlit candles. Only then did I realize that the phone call hadn’t been a dream. I said I wanted cake, so Carter went out and bought one. What was this? A peace offering? But I was dying. I had stopped needing cake—and stopped needing Carter—a long time ago. I grabbed the cake and shoved it straight into the trash can. Carter ground his teeth, grabbed me, and slammed me against the wall. He cursed viciously, “Emma, are you fucking playing with me?” I smiled and admitted it. “Yes, Carter. I’m playing with you. So what?” “I say I want a cake, and you go run and buy a cake. Why are you still as pathetic as you used to be?” I deliberately drove the knife into his heart. I watched Carter’s expression freeze into absolute absolute ice. He crushed his cigarette out, dragged me into the bedroom, and threw me onto the bed. Carter was driven mad by anger. Like a beast losing control, he roughly tore at my nightgown. I was terrified. I balled my fists and hit him. “Carter, you bastard! Don’t touch me! You disgust me!” He pinned my legs down so I couldn’t struggle, lowered his head, and bit down hard on my neck. The pain brought tears to my eyes. He pressed his lips against my ear and growled, “Emma, would it kill you to just give in for once?” “Do you have any idea how many years I’ve waited for you to just be soft with me?” “Do you know how happy I was when you told me you wanted cake?” “And then you treat me like a fucking joke?” He lifted his head, staring at me with bloodshot eyes. I fought back my tears and glared right back. In the dimly lit room, neither of us spoke. Neither of us was willing to surrender. Carter leaned down, getting closer and closer. Just as his lips were about to brush mine, his phone suddenly rang. It was Chloe. Carter paused, but eventually picked it up. I could hear Chloe crying through the speaker. “Mr. Sterling, are you really abandoning me for Emma? You clearly told me you loved me.” “I’m at a bar right now. I drank too much, and some guy is harassing me…” “I’m so scared. Please come take me home, please?” Carter didn’t say a word to her. He just stared at me, a cold smile forming on his lips. He softly ordered me, “Emma. Beg me.” “Beg me to stay. Just ask, and I won’t leave.” He must have forgotten. A long time ago, I had thrown away my pride and begged him too. “Carter, can we just sit down and talk calmly?” “Can we stop fighting?” “Can we just love each other?” “Can you please just be good to me?” That day, Carter stared at me with cold indifference, smiled, and said, “Emma, you aren’t worth it.” Those words had been embedded in my heart ever since. Until today, when I finally got to return them. I grabbed his collar, looking him in the eye, and enunciated every word: “Carter. You aren’t worth it.” Carter went silent for a moment. Then, he let out a self-deprecating laugh. He brought the phone back to his ear and told Chloe, “Wait for me. I’m coming to get you.” Without looking at me again, he got up, slammed the door, and left. 6 The next day, photos of Carter getting into a physical brawl with another man over Chloe spread through the Manhattan elite circles. It was the first time his affairs with other women had caused such a public spectacle. Paparazzi swarmed the front of my house. When I tried to leave, they surrounded me, firing off questions. Carter’s company had grown exponentially over the years, giving him massive influence on Wall Street. Young, obscenely wealthy, and handsome, he was practically a celebrity online. A young female reporter shoved a recorder in my face. “Mrs. Sterling, do you have any comments regarding Mr. Sterling and Chloe Jenkins?” I kept walking, not even looking back as I countered, “One is a man committing adultery, and the other is a homewrecker who knows exactly what she’s doing. What exactly do you want me to say?” The girl chased after me. “But I heard that when Mr. Sterling was at his poorest, you dumped him for money!” “Then, when he made it big, you emotionally manipulated him and used underhanded tactics to force him to marry you…” “Now that Mr. Sterling has found true love, he and Chloe are a perfect match. You’re the one stubbornly clinging to the title of Mrs. Sterling and calling others homewreckers.” “Don’t you think you’re the one being a bully?” I stopped in my tracks, turned with a cold smile, and snatched the press badge hanging around her neck. She was an intern. Tucked behind her press pass was a student ID from Easton University. I looked at her calmly. “You’re Chloe’s friend, aren’t you?” “Back then, Carter used every ruthless tactic in the book to force me to marry him. Do you really think I wanted this?” “Everyone in our circle knows the truth. You really didn’t know? Or did you just come here to throw mud at me to help your little sorority sister climb the ranks?” Her expression faltered. Panicked, she snatched her badge back and defended herself self-righteously: “Yes, Chloe is my friend, but I’m a journalist! Everything I say is objective and fair.” “If you really didn’t want to marry Mr. Sterling, then why won’t you divorce him now that he loves someone else?” I smiled and opened my mouth to reply, but suddenly, my nose started bleeding again. I looked a mess. Someone in the crowd laughed. “Mrs. Sterling talks a big game about not caring and being forced into marriage, but she’s so stressed out she’s giving herself nosebleeds!” I reached up with a fingertip and wiped the blood from my lip. Calmly, I said, “I’m not stressed. I’m just sick. I’m dying, so I get nosebleeds a lot lately.” The crowd suddenly fell dead silent. Nobody was laughing anymore. Only that girl kept going. “Cut the act. You get a little nosebleed and suddenly you’re playing the terminal illness card for pity.” “I am so sick of women like you. Pulling the ‘I’m dying’ stunt just to fight over a man. You’re a disgrace to women everywhere.” She flipped her ponytail and marched off. Watching her back, I realized she was just as repulsive as Chloe.

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I told my best friend that her boyfriend already had five wives back in Africa. She sneered at me with pure disdain. “I know you’re just jealous of me. So what? Are any of them as brilliant or beautiful as I am?” The next thing I knew, she brought him along to corner and threaten me. Still, I couldn’t bear to see her life ruined, so I told her parents everything. Her parents couldn’t thank me enough. They immediately locked her in her room to save her from herself. It wasn’t until her boyfriend flew back to Africa with another girl that her parents finally let her out. But instead of taking responsibility, her parents wept and blamed me for everything, telling her it was all my doing. Consumed by a burning rage, she secretly poisoned my drink and murdered me. Then, she smeared my name across every social media platform, spreading disgusting, explicit rumors about me. My mother, consumed by grief and fury, rushed to her house to demand justice—only to be mocked and literally provoked to a fatal heart attack by her parents. When I opened my eyes again, I was back to the exact day she was bragging about becoming a tribal queen. This time, without me standing in her way, I’m going to sit back and watch her claim her “royal” crown. Chapter 1 “Audrey! He proposed! He said if I go back to Africa with him, he’ll make me his tribal queen!” I opened my eyes. My best friend, Tiffany Vance, was rolling around on my dorm bed, ecstatically waving a photo of her boyfriend. “What do you think if I drop out of the Stanford Master’s track and just go with him? His family is insanely rich and powerful anyway.” In my past life, an upperclassman in my sorority had already warned me about this guy. He was a lazy, shiftless freeloader who already had five wives back home. So when Tiffany said she wanted to throw away her education to follow him, I did everything in my power to stop her. But she just sneered with utter contempt. “So what? Are any of them as brilliant or beautiful as I am?” I shook my head, pulled out my phone, and showed her a real, documented news report. I told her about an American girl years ago who was tricked into a remote village by a con artist, had her passport burned, and endured unspeakable torture. Tiffany let out a cold laugh, completely unbothered. “That’s just because she was incompetent and couldn’t hold onto a man’s heart. My babe is right—you’re just green with envy! “Ugh, I was actually planning to invite you over to enjoy the luxury life once I became queen. Now? You don’t deserve it.” With that, she blocked my number, unfriended me on Instagram, and stormed out without looking back. That evening, when I went out to grab takeout, Tiffany and her boyfriend cornered me on a quiet campus path. “Babe, she’s the one who said you’re a piece of trash. I had a massive fight with her for you, look, I even blocked her everywhere!” Her boyfriend gave her a satisfied kiss on the forehead, then turned to me, his face morphing into a terrifying, menacing scowl. In thick, heavily accented English, he growled: “I’m warning you, stay the hell away from my girl. If I catch you near her again, I’ll beat you to a pulp.” I stumbled backward in fear—not just because of his hideous, violent expression, but because a rancid, overpowering stench was radiating from him, making my eyes water. It smelled like he hadn’t showered in months. Tiffany was much shorter than him, her head barely reaching his armpit. Standing right there in the epicenter of that sour, putrid body odor… I couldn’t even begin to imagine the horror. After delivering their warning, they aggressively started making out right in front of me. The scene was too foul to witness. I bolted. Even though Tiffany cut ties with me, I still couldn’t bear to watch her jump into an abyss. I called her parents. “Mr. and Mrs. Vance, Tiffany is dating a guy at our school with a terrifying reputation. Please, you need to talk some sense into her!” Hearing this, her parents thanked me profusely. They drove to campus that very night, dragged Tiffany back home, and locked her securely in her room. During the weeks Tiffany was grounded, her boyfriend quickly found a new target, and the two of them happily jetted off to Africa together. When Tiffany was finally let out, she threatened to cut off her family completely. Terrified of losing her, her parents wept and pinned all the blame on me: “It was all your friend Audrey’s idea! She kept whispering in our ears that your boyfriend was a dangerous criminal, forcing us to lock you up. If you want to hate someone, hate her!” Nursing a murderous grudge, Tiffany returned to campus. The moment I wasn’t looking, she slipped poison into my water flask, killing me. After I died, she deepfaked my photos and leaked them across Reddit and GreekRank, fabricating disgusting, explicit lies about my personal life. My mother, broken-hearted and furious, stormed into their house to demand justice, but Tiffany’s parents relentlessly mocked and berated her until she suffered a fatal heart attack right on their doorstep. This time, without me standing in her way, I want to see if she can successfully wear that crown. Chapter 2 “Whatever you decide, babe, I’m backing you up a hundred percent. “Your boyfriend sounds like an absolute emperor over there. If you go, wouldn’t that make you the ultimate Queen?” I playfully bent my knee in a mock curtsy. “All hail Her Royal Highness!” This sent Tiffany’s vanity through the roof. She laughed triumphantly for a good minute before narrowing her eyes, scanning me up and down. “Audrey, why don’t you come with me? I can totally hook you up with one of his brothers. “I’ll be the Queen, and you can be a Princess. Deal?” Ah. I wondered why Tiffany, who usually kept secrets from me, suddenly ran over to ask for my opinion. Turns out she was terrified of going alone and wanted a sidekick to drag along. I intentionally snatched her boyfriend’s photo, putting on a face of absolute adoration. “Oh my god, can you share his contact info? I heard guys over there can marry multiple wives anyway. We’re sisters—it doesn’t matter which one of us gets to be the queen, right?” Tiffany’s face instantly dropped. She snatched the photo back, stuffing it into her pocket, and snapped, “Hands off your best friend’s man. Don’t you have any morals?” Suppressing my intense disgust, I linked my arm through hers and pouted playfully. “I just want to stay close to you! Once you’re a tribal queen, how am I supposed to see you whenever I want?” Tiffany bared her teeth in a smug, wide grin. “True. Fine, I won’t hold it against you!” Right on cue, her phone rang. It was her boyfriend, demanding she meet him at a motel. Hanging up, Tiffany leaned in mysteriously and whispered that before leaving for Africa, she needed to “create a powerful anchor” to lock her boyfriend down, ensuring her royal status was secure. Enduring the nauseating wave of her odor, I walked her to the campus gates and waved goodbye. If she didn’t leave right then, I was going to throw up my dinner from last night. Spending so much time with him had clearly ruined Tiffany’s own hygiene. From that day on, Tiffany completely stopped showing up to classes. Our academic advisor was furious and left dozens of voicemails for her parents. She was an only child, and her parents doted on her blindly. The moment the advisor hung up, they drove straight to campus and cornered me right at the entrance of my dorm building. Since I was Tiffany’s only real friend on campus, I was always their first point of contact for any emergency. In my past life, I was more than happy to help them. I never expected them to repay my kindness with cold-blooded betrayal. The moment Tiffany’s mother saw me, she dropped to her knees, grabbing my hands and weeping dramatically. “Audrey, please! Ask yourself, haven’t I always treated you like my own daughter? You can’t just stand by and watch our Tiffany ruin herself!” With that, she whipped out a stack of crisp hundred-dollar bills from her purse and shoved them into my hands, sobbing. “You don’t even have to ask, I will gladly pay you. Just tell us where she is!” Students were constantly drifting past the dorm entrance. They were instantly fooled by her pathetic, weeping performance and began turning on me. “Wow, talk about a gold digger. Extorting her best friend’s grieving parents? Gross.” “Right? I heard she got a full ride for a Master’s track. Clearly, her morals are completely bankrupt. We should report this to the Dean tomorrow—maybe they’ll revoke her spot and open it up for someone else.” “Disgusting. I’m recording this and posting it on TikTok so everyone can see what a monster she is. Don’t let her ruin anyone else.” I rubbed my temples. Dealing with this family of manipulative grifters was exhausting. I dialed 911 right then and there, turned on the speakerphone, and handed it directly to Tiffany’s mother. “Mrs. Vance, I haven’t seen Tiffany in days either. For her safety, let’s let the police handle it immediately.” Her mother’s face stiffened awkwardly. She knew exactly what kind of trashy things her daughter was up to and desperately wanted to avoid getting law enforcement involved. Seeing her hesitate, the crowd of students chimed in to encourage her. “Don’t be scared, ma’am! We’ve got your back!” “Yeah, there are so many fake friends these days. Who knows if this girl did something to your daughter!” “Exactly, don’t waste time! Tell the dispatcher everything!” Chapter 3 Left with no choice, Tiffany’s mother stammered through an explanation of the situation to the dispatcher. Within a short while, the police traced her phone ping to a sketchy, hourly-rate motel down the highway. They dispersed the crowd to protect the “victim’s” privacy. But of course, some drama-obsessed students secretly followed them, opening a live broadcast on their phones. I made sure to stay far away. If Tiffany saw me there, she would find a way to blame me for the humiliation. Instead, I watched the livestream safely from my dorm room. As the viewer count exploded, it seemed like half the university was tuned in. On screen, Tiffany’s mother looked green. She was terrified of two possibilities: either her daughter was there voluntarily doing something shameful, or she was actually kidnapped. Either way, with this much publicity, her daughter’s reputation was going to be utterly trashed. She tried to call off the investigation and tell the officers to leave, but the police, fearing a dangerous suspect might be inside, insisted on verifying Tiffany’s safety before clearing the scene. Soon, the officers kicked the motel room door open, with Tiffany’s parents trailing right behind them. An absolutely grotesque, unspeakable scene filled the screen. The livestream chat went completely wild, comments flying at hyper-speed: [Ew, what the hell! I need bleach for my eyes!] [College kids these days are wilding out, omg!] Just as the chat was reaching a fever pitch, the stream was abruptly banned. Someone immediately created a burner account to restart the stream for clout. In the video, Tiffany’s parents’ faces drained of color, turning a ghostly white before flushing a deep, violent crimson. The police interrogated them repeatedly, but Tiffany kept screaming that everything was completely consensual, making her dad look like he wanted to slap her into next week. Once the police confirmed it was just a massive, trashy misunderstanding, they washed their hands of it and left. Then came the main event. Since her parents doted on their precious daughter too much to lay a finger on her, they directed a hundred percent of their fury toward her boyfriend. Tiffany’s dad let out a feral roar, raising a fist to smash it directly into the guy’s face. But before the fist could connect, her dad let out a pathetic shriek and went flying across the room, crashing into the wall. The boyfriend cracked his knuckles and snapped his fingers in a mocking, arrogant gesture. Instead of checking on her bruised father, Tiffany stood by the bed, clapping her hands and squealing with delight. “Babe, you are incredible! That was so alpha! God, I love you so much!” Fueled by her worship, the boyfriend grew even more arrogant, pounding his chest like a gorilla and flexing his muscles. Tiffany’s mother wanted to help her husband up, but one threatening glare from the boyfriend froze her in her tracks. She collapsed into a corner, slapping her own chest and wailing hysterically. “It’s all because of that miserable bitch, Audrey! I see it clearly now—she’s intentionally trying to tear our family apart! “Tiffany, you can’t let her blind you! Your father has a terrible heart condition! Go find that Audrey girl and beat her to death!” Hearing my name, Tiffany’s expression shifted drastically. Then, her eyes darted around as a twisted idea formed, and she dragged her boyfriend out the door. Shoot. They were coming for me. This family was more relentless than a curse. I quickly started throwing things into a bag, intending to go home and lay low. But then I stopped. Tiffany knew my home address. If she couldn’t find me at school, she would terrorize my mother. There was no running away from this. I walked out and found a highly public, heavily crowded quad on campus, sitting down calmly to await her arrival. Chapter 4 Tiffany marched up, dragging her boyfriend behind her. But to my utter surprise, she looked… thrilled? Baring her teeth in a massive grin, she slid into the seat right next to me, gripping my arm tightly. “Audrey, you are an absolute genius! I was so worried my parents would stand in our way, but look at them now! They won’t dare say a single word against us!” I forced a stiff, awkward smile. She leaned down, whispering directly into my ear, “Hehe, and this actually proved to my babe that my love for him is stronger than my bond with my own parents. He’s going to worship me even more now.” I was genuinely horrified by her psychological gymnastics, but I kept nodding in mock agreement. Two days later, Tiffany’s parents had the audacity to text me as if nothing had happened, asking me to help them trick Tiffany into coming home. I blocked their numbers instantly. They didn’t dare show their faces on campus anymore, utterly terrified of getting thrashed by her boyfriend again. In the weeks that followed, her parents went completely silent. Tiffany disappeared from campus for over two months; word was her parents had filed for an extended medical leave of absence for her. According to a sorority senior, the boyfriend couldn’t get ahold of Tiffany, so he simply moved on and found a new girl to hook up with. No wonder my left eyelid had been twitching lately. The timeline was realigning itself with my past life. I immediately tracked down the boyfriend’s new target. I laid out his entire history, telling her exactly how many girls he was juggling at once. Fortunately, this girl actually had a brain; she dumped him on the spot and even bought me a Starbucks drink to thank me. I couldn’t help but feel a wave of irony. The only one who treated that human garbage like a priceless treasure was Tiffany. After getting dumped, the boyfriend’s reputation on campus was entirely ruined. Desperate, he turned his sights back to his easiest mark: Tiffany. He somehow dug up her home address and began harassing her family, showing up at their house every single day to cause a scene. And just like that, Tiffany’s locked-down heart began to throb with wild romance once more. Her parents sneaked onto campus during a window when the boyfriend wasn’t around, cornering me right outside my dorm room again. With tears and snot streaming down her face, Tiffany’s mother dropped to her knees, attempting to guilt-trip me into submission. “Audrey, please! Tiffany is on a hunger strike at home! Her body is going to give out! You’re her best friend, you have to do something! If all else fails… why don’t you try to seduce that man away from her? “Honestly, this is your fault too. If you had stopped her aggressively from the very beginning, she wouldn’t be this deeply infatuated! You need to atone for what you did!” I snapped. I couldn’t swallow this garbage for one more second. “Are you insane, lady? Did I force them into that motel room? You can’t even control your own daughter, and you expect a total outsider to manage her life?” Ever since the motel livestream incident, most of the building knew about the Vance family drama. Several girls with a strong sense of justice immediately stepped up to back me up. “Seriously, fix your own trashy family instead of harassing other people. Get psychological help.” “Where is the resident advisor? Why do we keep letting these delusional strangers into our hall? It’s ruining the vibe.” Tiffany’s mother opened her mouth to screech back, but her husband quickly leaned down, whispering something urgent in her ear. Flustered, the two of them shuffled away like beaten dogs. I thought they had finally given up, but over the weekend, while walking down a quiet path on my way home, someone blindsided me from behind. Everything went black. When I regained consciousness, I found myself tied to a chair inside Tiffany’s house. She was currently throwing a tantrum, smashing decor against the walls. Seeing me wake up, her parents rushed over with oily smiles, untying my hands. “Audrey, sweetie, we know you’re a good girl. We were truly desperate, or we would never have resorted to this. Please, just talk some sense into Tiffany.” I recoiled, pulling my hands away. But then a thought struck me: if I defied them openly right now, there was no telling what desperate, violent things this unhinged family would do to me. I forced a compliant smile and nodded. Still paranoid, Tiffany’s mother confiscated my phone before unlocking the door to Tiffany’s bedroom, shoving me inside, and immediately locking it behind me. The moment Tiffany saw me, she dropped the expensive collectible figurine she was about to smash and threw her arms around me. “Audrey! What took you so long? Is my babe losing his mind out there? “My psycho parents took my phone, so I can’t text him. You have to message him for me! I’m terrified he’ll do something tragic if he thinks I abandoned him!” Suddenly, Tiffany cut herself off, doubling over and dry-heaving violently into a trash can. Though I had never witnessed it in person before, I had seen it enough on TV to know instantly—she was pregnant. Tiffany and I locked eyes, and I knew she realized that I knew. I knocked loudly on the bedroom door, calling out to her parents that Tiffany had finally calmed down and was craving the specialized wontons from the diner downtown. Her parents exchanged a thrilled look. Her dad whipped out a fifty-dollar bill, hesitated, and reluctantly handed it to me. “Audrey, thank you for the trouble. Keep whatever change is left as a tip!” The moment I left the house, I noticed her mother tailing me from a distance. I intentionally slipped through the back door of the busy diner, sprinted to a nearby pharmacy, bought a digital pregnancy test, and hid it securely inside my sports bra. When I returned, her parents patted me down thoroughly, even checking the plastic takeout bags multiple times. Once they were satisfied I hadn’t smuggled a phone, they let me back into the room. A few minutes later, I stared at the digital display in Tiffany’s hand showing a clear, undeniable PREGNANT. I fell into deep thought.

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I am an original singer-songwriter in the music industry. I’ve elevated countless singers to the absolute pinnacle of pop, but I myself remain under the radar. The Masked Singer invited me to be a judge, but I chose to be a contestant instead. During the first round, I critiqued the other contestants: “The vocals are just okay. The vocal runs were handled poorly.” “This song isn’t written very well at all.” Netizens exploded: [Who the hell is this? So arrogant!] [This is a track written by Sienna, the collective Godmother of the music industry! I’ve never seen anyone so full of themselves!] [Can we just eliminate this woman already?] After my performance, the entire internet was torn between tearing me down and praising my vocals. But when I finally took off my mask, the whole web went into a collective meltdown: [Wait… who is this?!] The host teased, “You’ve been calling her your Godmother for so long, but now that the Godmother is standing right in front of you, you don’t even recognize her?” 1 I was right in the middle of fixing a track for Tyler Hayes when the producers called me. To beg for a song, Tyler had been shadowing me every day. It was beyond annoying. Of course, that wasn’t the main reason I agreed to write for him. It was because I saw a leaked screenshot of him in a group chat, asking: “Hey, if I make my favorite songwriter my girlfriend, does that mean I get an endless supply of hit tracks?” That scared me straight. I immediately opened my laptop and pulled an all-nighter to finish his song. This girl right here was being targeted. Time to pay him off with a track and run. 2 “Are you absolutely sure you’re inviting me to be a judge?” I asked again, feeling a bit resentful. “Well, Ms. Sienna, if you’d prefer, you could just be on the guessing panel,” the producer on the other end said, his tone incredibly cautious. I clicked my tongue in distaste. “Are there really no other options?” The producer froze, his voice tinged with a slight panic. “Ma’am, with your A-list status…” “Can’t I just be a contestant?” I was the ultimate behind-the-scenes ghost in the music industry!! Everyone considered me a breath of fresh air—a mysterious top-tier legend who never appeared on reality shows or variety programs. But the truth was… nobody ever invited me! My reputation had been hyped to the stratosphere, so obviously, I couldn’t lower my status to beg for a spot on a show. It had been ages since I stood on a massive stage. The feeling of the spotlight hitting your skin? It’s pure magic. Especially a show like this, where you wear a mask. You just go up, enjoy the stage, do a one-and-done round, and leave. It sounded perfect. “Wait… Ms. Sienna, are you serious?” The producer’s voice was literally trembling. I sighed, feigning regret. “Is that a no? If it’s a no, then I’ll just…” forget it. “Yes! Yes! Absolutely yes! Ma’am, we will make it happen!” “Awesome!” In my excitement, my finger slipped and hit “Send.” I accidentally sent the unedited, flawed demo to Tyler Hayes. Before I could unsend it, a message popped up. [Thank you, Sienna! It’s incredible. I love it.] [Should I ask for any revisions?] [You’re joking, right? A track from Sienna is flawless. No revisions needed.] I hesitated. The song genuinely had a flaw that could slightly tarnish my pristine reputation. But whatever. I was practically coerced into writing it anyway. Let it be. 3 Turning my attention to an exclusive indie-pop group chat, Tyler’s messages were glaringly bright. [Sienna wrote a song for me!] [She even asked if I needed any edits!] [Too bad I’m going on a reality show soon, I don’t have time for edits.] I stared at the screen in silence. Don’t tell me… we’re going on the exact same show? 4 Half a month later, I heard the show was switching from a pre-recorded format to live-streaming. The moment I stepped out of my hotel and into the production van, the live broadcast had already begun. The scoring system: 4 judges (100 points each), a 10-person guessing panel (10 points each), and 500 audience members (1 point each). Total: 1000 points. Looking at the roster, literally everyone except the audience had more public clout than me. I knew all of them, but wasn’t close to any of them. After all, the only way an introvert makes friends is by waiting for an extrovert to adopt them. I routinely stayed locked in my apartment for weeks at a time. No extrovert had found me yet. 5 Following the PA’s instructions, I walked the red carpet, headed backstage, and drew my number. Lucky me. I was the last to perform. Tonight, out of 6 singers, the last place would be eliminated, and the second-to-last put on probation. Thrilling. Every drop of blood in my body was screaming for the stage. Backstage, I watched the live feed on a monitor. The judges, wearing the show’s signature masks, were making their grand musical entrances. The production team had hyped up the judges’ reveals to bring massive traffic to the premiere. The first was Arthur Vance, my mentor and the undisputed Godfather of Music. He had been retired for years; the producers must have paid a fortune to get him. The second was Richard Cole, a major label boss with a ruthless eye for talent. Any song he backed went viral instantly. The third was Ethan Pierce, a massive pop star who perfectly blended idol traffic with genuine talent. I was the one who wrote his breakout hit. The fourth was Diana Cross, a veteran pop diva who notoriously despised singers carried by internet fame—making Ethan her prime target. As their intros wrapped up, the live chat was already rolling. [I thought the producers were baiting us! They actually got them?! Aren’t they worried Diana and Ethan will literally fight?] [I want them to fight. That’s good TV!] [Hehe, I’m actually hyped for this.] 6 The judges took their seats. The host stepped up, the guessing panel did their comedic bits, and finally, the contestants took the stage. The first singer wore a goofy fairy-tale costume. Surprisingly, they chose to debut a brand-new song. That’s usually a death sentence in singing competitions. But when the credits flashed on the screen: Lyrics & Music: Sienna. The live audience gasped. “Whoa!” “Who is this guy?!” “Of course it’s a Sienna track! You can tell from the first chord!” “I’m literally crying, it’s so good!” “He must be an A-lister. Sienna hasn’t written for anyone in ages!” In the various waiting rooms, contestants were showering the performance with praise for the cameras. My assigned PA, a girl named Lily, seemed to be an introvert too. Our room was dead silent. I hesitated. Should I pretend to be an extrovert? 7 Lily finally broke the ice. “This singer has to be an A-lister, right? I can’t believe Sienna wrote a song for him!” “No,” I replied flatly. “He’s a B-lister at best.” Lily froze, her voice cracking. “A B-lister?” “He mishandled the vocals. There’s an obvious flaw in his riff on the bridge.” “And…” Lily’s smile stiffened. “This is a track written by Sienna.” I nodded earnestly. “I know. The song isn’t written very well at all.” Lily was physically shaking. Her brain was short-circuiting trying to figure out how to do damage control. The room fell into a heavy silence. I twitched my lips awkwardly. Did I say something wrong? “Well, actually…” I started. “Cut it! Cut the feed!” Lily practically screamed, trying to drown out whatever I was about to say. The cameraman quietly mumbled, “We’re live on a national stream.” Everyone in the room looked at me like I had just committed a felony. I offered a stiff smile and awkwardly glanced at the live chat monitor. The viewer count was skyrocketing. The engagement rate was going through the roof. [WHAT THE HELL?!] [Is she seriously trashing our goddess Sienna?!] [This is a track by the Godmother of the industry! I’ve never seen anyone so arrogant!] [This show was going so well. This woman is an absolute stain on the program!] 8 I leaned in, squinting at the screen. “Sienna is just a person, right? We don’t need to deify her.” Lily scrambled to cut me off again. “Girl, you are my favorite person, but please stop talking! Are you even in the music industry? That’s Sienna!” I rolled my eyes. Fine. I won’t say anything. But the comments wouldn’t stop. [My God, is this just a scripted villain arc?] [Let’s pray she gets eliminated round one! Take off the mask and pack your bags! I swear I’ll make sure she never works in this town again!] [Is this the script the producers handed her???] [I don’t get it. Who could possibly survive the backlash of this script?] 9 I was put on a mandatory mute by my panic-stricken PA. I watched as the next singer took the stage dressed as Snow White. Her song choice? Autumn in Brooklyn. Yeah, one of mine. The moment she opened her mouth, she stunned the room. Even the four judges couldn’t hide their approving smiles. “That’s A-list talent right there,” one murmured. The live chat was a sea of praise. I nodded along. This girl had a gorgeous figure. Respect. The vocals were solid. If I could tailor-make a track for her, it would be flawless. Lily carefully studied my face. “Feline Empress, Snow White sang that beautifully, didn’t she?” I nodded. “She’s definitely good.” “But…” The moment that word left my mouth, the atmosphere in the room solidified into ice. Lily gasped for air, asking in a trembling whisper, “Empress… you’re not about to say something blasphemous again, are you?” Me: “???” “This song actually isn’t a great fit for Snow White. Her tone is a bit thin, and she sang it too pop-heavy. If she altered the bridge like this—ahhh~ ah~ ahhh~—it would carry much more weight.” I casually belted out two lines as a demonstration. The live chat numbers started spinning like a slot machine again! Lily and the cameraman exchanged horrified looks. I looked at them, confused. “Our stream numbers are peaking. Why do you guys look like someone died?” Lily looked like she was about to cry. “Ma’am, have you looked at the comments?” I paused, leaning closer to the monitor. “I’m a little nearsighted. Forgot my contacts.” [HOLY CRAP, THIS B*TCH IS TOXIC!] [Sienna’s songs are NOT for you to casually remix! Your riff didn’t even match the lyrics!] [This has to be premeditated. She’s using Sienna for clout!] [Sienna is the untouchable holy grail of our industry. How dare she tarnish her work?] [VOCAL THIEF, STAY AWAY FROM MY IDOL!] 10 I was genuinely baffled. “Does Sienna really have this good of a reputation?” Lily leaned in, her face pale. “Ma’am, Sienna is known as the Godmother of all musicians. Her status is unshakable. Your repeated jabs look like you’re targeting her, or desperately trying to steal her spotlight.” Wait. I have clout in this industry? “This is going to ruin your future career in pop!” Lily warned. I started to regret my choices. Maybe I should have just been a judge? Now I couldn’t even speak freely. I kept my mouth shut for the rest of the wait. I was practically suffocating. But looking at Lily’s pleading puppy-dog eyes, I felt bad. Making a cute girl stress out is a sin. “Feline Empress, please prepare for standby.” Finally. Lily helped me up, offering one last pep talk. “Ma’am, I wasn’t trying to scare you! This stage respects pure talent. Just give it your all, sing perfectly, and no one can vote you out!” On stage, the host gripped his microphone. “Next up is our final singer of the night, the Feline Empress! She seems to have… unique opinions regarding Ms. Sienna’s work. What kind of performance will she bring? Let’s find out.” The applause, which had been polite and steady all night, suddenly dwindled to almost nothing. I grabbed my mic. Every vein in my body was pulsing with adrenaline. Exciting. Thrilling. A tremor I hadn’t felt in years. I thrive on playing against the odds!

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I’m the only daughter of a wealthy East Coast family. Ever since I was little, my parents ingrained in me that I was never allowed to move far away for marriage. After a lot of coaxing and persuading, my boyfriend finally agreed to move into our estate, take our family name, and essentially be a stay-at-home husband. Overjoyed, my dad gave us $10 million to buy a house as an early wedding gift. He said since the boy was willing to marry into our family and give up traditional expectations, we shouldn’t treat him poorly. After all, he’d be the one raising the kids and managing the household. For a woman to build a successful career, a supportive husband behind the scenes is essential. I thought my dad made perfect sense. Before we left, I discussed it with my boyfriend. I told him we’d put both our names on the deed as our marital home, just to give him some security. Oliver Vance wrapped his arm around my shoulder, looking deeply sincere. “Babe, as long as we can get married, it doesn’t matter whose name is on the deed. What’s mine is yours.” I took a half-day off from my company and went with him to the real estate office. To celebrate buying our marital home today, I even drove my brother’s Rolls-Royce. On the way, I enthusiastically told Oliver that I had already contacted an agent I knew. But suddenly, my boyfriend slammed on the brakes, stopping the car dead in the middle of the road. He stared blankly out the left window. I nudged him, confused. “What are you doing? The place is still five hundred yards ahead.” His lips pressed into a tight line. After a long moment, he finally spoke. “The new Maplewood Estates development right across the street looks nice too. Harper, didn’t you always say you loved maple trees? Let’s go take a look.” I love roses. When have I ever said I liked maple trees? Oliver must be confusing me with someone else. Before I could say another word, Oliver parked the car right in front of the Maplewood Estates sales center. He grabbed my hand and pulled me out of the car. He had always been measured and composed; he’d never acted this out of character before. So I asked, “What’s wrong with you, Oliver?” A saleswoman standing by the entrance of the luxury villa sales center heard me and looked up. The moment she laid eyes on my boyfriend, utter shock flashed across her face. Her gaze dropped to our tightly interlocked hands. The way she stared made my skin crawl; something felt incredibly off. Oliver reached back and slammed the door of the Rolls-Royce with a deafening BANG. It was as if he wanted to draw everyone’s attention. As if that wasn’t enough, he reached out, tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear, and declared loudly, “Honey, meeting you is the best thing that ever happened to me.” I stepped back half a foot, smoothly dodging his touch. Oliver was usually never one for public displays of affection. He always said that was kid stuff. The saleswoman watched us walk into the center, her eyes glued to my boyfriend. She looked completely devastated. Inside, an agent named Ms. Davis greeted us. I looked at a few floor plans for the community but wasn’t thrilled. So, I asked Ms. Davis if they had any better layouts. Instead of answering, she looked me up and down and then completely ignored me, treating me like thin air. I thought maybe she just didn’t hear me, so I tried a few more times. Then I realized she was doing it on purpose. Whenever I spoke, she’d give zero response. But the second Oliver opened his mouth, she was overwhelmingly enthusiastic. A surge of anger flared in my chest. Just as I was about to snap, Oliver suddenly pointed at the prime luxury mansion sitting right in the center of the display model. “I want this one.” This mansion was the most expensive property in the entire development, making it incredibly hard to resell. Buying it basically meant tying up all your capital. And we definitely didn’t have that much liquid cash on hand. Ms. Davis’s eyes lit up like Christmas trees when she heard he wanted the mansion. She cranked her enthusiasm up to eleven, pitching it with everything she had. But just as she talked until her throat went dry, Oliver waved her off dismissively. “You can stop talking! Where is Chloe Harper? Have her come here.” “Who is Chloe?” He didn’t answer me. Ms. Davis froze, her joyful expression vanishing instantly. She tried to explain, “Sir, it’s the exact same if I explain it to you.” “I know everything about this mansion, and I promise you, the VIP pricing any agent can offer you will be identical.” “Did you have a prior appointment with Chloe?” As she spoke, she scanned Oliver’s outfit, silently calculating the odds of him actually buying the mansion. Today, Oliver was dressed head-to-toe in the newest Louis Vuitton collection and wearing a $200,000 watch—a casual gift from my dad when he agreed to marry into our family. In contrast, even though I was wearing designer clothes too, I looked like an exhausted corporate drone. I didn’t look nearly as effortlessly wealthy as he did. Oliver impatiently tugged at his collar, giving the agent a half-smile. “Go get Chloe. If she doesn’t pitch it, I’m not buying.” “She’s a sales agent, isn’t she? Tell her to come over here and introduce this mansion to my wife and me.” Ms. Davis went to get her. A few moments later, the saleswoman who had been hiding from us at the entrance walked over. It suddenly clicked—she was Chloe Harper. Following Oliver’s gaze, I took my first real look at this woman. She was pale, had big eyes, and a great figure. But the way she looked at Oliver was laced with deep, undeniable romantic tension. These two definitely have history. The thought instantly popped into my head. Suddenly, Oliver’s weird behavior made sense. This girl was probably his old flame. Chloe bit her lower lip, the corners of her eyes flushed red, tears welling up. She looked like she had suffered the greatest injustice in the world. She stammered as she introduced the property to Oliver, “The… the 10,000-square-foot floor plan… is our flagship mansion…” Before she could finish a single sentence, her voice choked with sobs. Although I was suspicious, my “girls support girls” instinct kicked in, and I handed her a tissue. “Are you okay? Are you feeling sick?” Smack! She aggressively slapped my hand away and covered her face. “Oliver Vance! Did you really have to bring a woman here just to humiliate me?!” Oliver hadn’t looked at me once; his eyes were glued entirely to Chloe. “This is what you call humiliation? Aren’t you a sales agent? As long as I have the money, what’s wrong with demanding your service?” I tugged at his sleeve. “The girl isn’t feeling well. Let’s just have someone else explain it.” Besides, I had absolutely no intention of buying this mega-mansion anyway, so it didn’t matter who pitched it. Oliver’s gaze was aggressively scanning Chloe’s face and body. After her outburst, Chloe didn’t even dare to meet his eyes. If someone told me there was nothing going on between them, I’d call them a liar to their face. But right now, Oliver was my fiancé, and it was time to establish my territory. I reached out and grabbed Oliver’s hand. “Oliver, didn’t we agree we were just going to buy a nice penthouse? My parents…” He cut me off frantically, terrified I’d finish the sentence. “It’s not like I can’t afford the mansion! I want to give you the absolute best. I want everyone to know that being my woman means you’ll be incredibly happy.” I was speechless. Then don’t use my parents’ money to do it, you idiot. But since he was willing to marry into my family, I figured I’d humor him for a bit. As long as he behaved, my parents wouldn’t force me to go on blind dates with other men anymore. Chloe looked at Oliver, then at me. A single tear rolled down her cheek, her eyes filled with an inescapable, profound sorrow. A beautiful woman shedding a tear is like a falling star. Oliver couldn’t look away. Completely ignoring my presence, he reached out, wanting to grab Chloe’s hand. “I… I have other things to do. Let Ms. Davis help you.” She practically fled in panic, but my fiancé’s eyes followed her every step of the way, his soul clearly dragged away with her. I tapped my fingers on the desk. Well, isn’t this interesting. But no matter how earth-shattering their tragic romance was, this girl still needed to get married. The only reason I chose Oliver was because he was handsome, highly educated, had no complicated family drama, and was famously aloof with other women. I didn’t even mind that he wasn’t a virgin. But now, right when we were looking at houses, at the final hurdle—was my golden goose trying to fly away? How was I supposed to explain this to my parents? My older female cousins would laugh me out of town. Losing a man was no big deal, but if my dad got furious and cut off my credit cards, this wouldn’t be fun anymore. Oliver was, at the very least, decent-looking, and I am admittedly a bit shallow when it comes to faces. I finally asked, “What’s going on? Is she an old friend of yours?” Looking completely crestfallen, he still had to find the energy to brush me off. “Harper, she’s just a friend from the past. Don’t overthink it, babe.” Ms. Davis, being the shrewd salesperson she was, shifted her gaze between Oliver and me, dropping a heavy hint: “So… about this mansion, are you still interested?” It was a $25 million property. There was no way I was blowing all my private savings just to get married. I waved my hand. “Let’s go back to looking at that penthous—” Oliver cut me off again. “Take us to see the mansion.” He pointed a firm finger. It was still that mega-mansion. I was starting to get pissed. “My dad only gave us $10 million. Where are we getting the rest?” Oliver casually hummed. “We can take out a mortgage for the rest. I’ll pay it.” I rubbed my temples. Are you out of your damn mind?! He said he would pay for it, but I highly suspected he meant funneling money out of the pet supply manufacturing company we co-owned. I confronted him. “Why are you so hell-bent on this mansion?” “We are short $15 million!” “Do you think that’s $1,500?” My dad was already furious that I ignored our family’s corporate empire to start my own independent manufacturing business. He rarely gave me any financial support for it. I built that pet supply factory from the ground up through sheer blood, sweat, and tears. It meant everything to me. Thankfully, our client base had stabilized over the past two years, and we were finally turning a real profit. Oliver wanting to bleed the company dry just to buy some stupid mansion was unacceptable. I would never let that happen. Yet, he acted like it wasn’t up for debate. He tossed his credit card onto the table right in front of the agent. “Go get Chloe. Tell her to come back, and I’ll sign the contract right now.” A few minutes later, Ms. Davis returned, looking hesitant. “Chloe’s daughter got sick, so she had to rush to the clinic for an IV drip. She probably won’t be coming back today.” Oliver looked like he’d been struck by lightning. “Daughter?!” Ms. Davis glanced at me, then covered her mouth with a subtle smirk. “She claims it’s her ex-boyfriend’s. Apparently, she only found out she was pregnant after they broke up. The kid is already two. So many people told her to get an abortion back then, but she absolutely refused. So desperately devoted.” Right. Oliver and I started dating exactly three years ago. I could practically see the gears turning in his head as he did the math. The next second, he looked completely unhinged. Completely ignoring the fact that I was standing right next to him, he frantically interrogated the agent. “Which hospital is Chloe’s daughter at?!” I crossed my arms, deeply suspicious. “Is that kid yours? Oliver, do not tell me your ex-girlfriend had your baby. Because if this gets that messy, this wedding is officially canceled.” Oliver looked at me and forced a smile. “How is that possible? Harper, don’t be paranoid. This girl is actually my college roommate’s ex. She was super materialistic and dumped my buddy. Now she’s struggling, and suddenly has a kid. I just need to go check. If it’s really his, I have to let my buddy know.” She’s struggling, yet you were just humiliating her five minutes ago? Are you psycho? And I was 99% sure that “college roommate” was just him. What a pathetic excuse. I played the magnanimous fiancée. “Go ahead.” He froze. I raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong? Changed your mind?” He looked extremely conflicted. “That card your dad gave you… can I borrow it for a bit?” I had been with Oliver for three years. He always acted so high-and-mighty, refusing to talk about money or touch my finances, which made me think he was a decent guy. Now I realized he just hadn’t found a moment where he desperately needed to flex. I shut him down instantly. “Absolutely not. That money is strictly earmarked by my dad for our house.” Then I compromised. “But I’ll give you our joint business card.” I transferred $2 million straight to him. “I just wired you your share of the company dividends.” He nodded. “Thank you, Harper. You are such an understanding girl. Don’t overthink these little things.” He hesitated for a second, looking around before his eyes locked onto a luxury car rental shop next door. “I’m going to head to the shop first. Call me if you need anything.” “Harper, let’s grab dinner tonight. I’ll book that restaurant you love.” I smiled sweetly. “Sounds great.” I didn’t go far. I watched him walk into the rental shop, then turned right around and followed him. As the old saying goes, never let sunk costs dictate major life decisions. If Oliver really wanted to rekindle the flame with his little ex, then I was going to cut the cord fast and cut my losses. Oliver rented a Maybach and sped off straight toward the clinic. I handed the keys of the Rolls-Royce to a valet service to take home, then hailed an Uber, following him at a leisurely pace. Oliver was in such a frantic rush he didn’t even notice a car was tailing him. He haphazardly parked the Maybach on the street and rushed out. Right after he ran into the clinic, a guy on an electric scooter lost his balance and sideswiped the freshly rented Maybach. Screeeech! A massive, deep scratch carved into the paint. I got out of my Uber and walked straight to the pediatric IV ward. From a distance, I could see Oliver pointing an accusing finger at the little girl in Chloe’s arms, yelling at the top of his lungs: “Is she my child or not?! How could you just abandon me and run away with my baby?! “What do you take me for?! “I have money now! I can buy a mega-mansion, I drive luxury cars, I own my own company! “Are you regretting it now, Chloe?! “Well, it’s too late! I’m getting married soon! You’re the one who betrayed me first!” He was acting like an absolute lunatic, completely ignoring the fact that they were in a public space. Chloe was still biting her lip, shaking her head frantically. “No, no! I know you hate me, but I had to leave! My father became paralyzed, and I couldn’t even afford his rehab! And then I found out I was pregnant. I knew with your personality, you would have married me. You’re a good man. “But I couldn’t! I couldn’t drag you down with me. It was enough that I was drowning in the swamp alone! “But I couldn’t bear to let Lily go. She looks just like you. She’s allergic to shrimp, and she hates green onions. “I don’t regret a single second of being with you back then. “And now that I know you’re doing better than me, I have no regrets left. Oliver, let’s just go our separate ways. Please don’t humiliate me like this! “If I lose my real estate job, Lily won’t have money for school, or books, or medical bills! I saw your new fiancée. You take such good care of her. She’s a lucky woman. It’s me who didn’t deserve you!” Chloe only managed a few sentences before tears streamed down her face. She reached out and tried to push Oliver away. “Leave! We broke up a long time ago. Why are you even looking for me?!” Ignoring everything around him, Oliver grabbed Chloe’s face and kissed her passionately. I rolled my eyes so hard I almost saw my own brain. What absolute psychopaths! Blood was backing up into the kid’s IV tube, and these two were too busy making out to notice?! Well, at least now I knew for a fact: this man was garbage! Just as I finished dealing with some work emails, Oliver called me. “Harper, can you wire me the other $2 million? “I went to a business meeting and rented a car, but for some reason, someone keyed it. Now the rental company is demanding $200,000 in damages. “I don’t have that kind of cash on me. Doesn’t one of your cousins own this rental agency? Can you come over and talk to them?” My face contorted into a massive question mark. ? He didn’t think of me when he was sucking face with another woman, but the second he’s done getting his kicks, he suddenly remembers he has a fiancée? Me: “Didn’t I just give you $2 million this morning?” He stammered, “The mansion required a massive deposit, so I put it down.” I couldn’t sit still anymore. I slammed on the gas, sped straight to the sales center, and right in front of Chloe, I pointed a finger at Oliver and tore him to shreds. “We worked our asses off for an entire year to earn a $2 million dividend each, and you blow it on a $25 million mansion without even blinking?! “What did you tell me when we first met? You said you didn’t care about material wealth! Now you’re throwing a tantrum, demanding to buy this mega-mansion?! “Oliver, you’ve changed. You’ve become superficial. You’re not the pure, grounded man I used to know.” Faced with my accusations, Oliver’s face turned beet red. Finally, he squeezed out, “I’ll pay you back.” I scoffed. “Pay me back? With what?!” Chloe stepped indignantly in front of him, turning the blame on me. “Oliver is only willing to buy such an expensive house because of you! “You’re just a spoiled little princess who’s never worked a hard day in her life! What right do you have to criticize him?!” Excuse me? Me?

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Since I was a little girl, I knew my family was different. I didn’t have a dad. My father had climbed the social ladder. While my mother was still pregnant with me, he couldn’t wait to marry the daughter of a powerful political boss. That was the extent of my knowledge about him. I didn’t know his name, his age, or what he looked like. That was, until my grandmother fell seriously ill. St. Jude’s Medical Center told us that Dr. Harrison, the top surgical oncologist, was booked solid for over a month. My boyfriend, Ethan, tried to pull some strings to bump us up the list, but he was just a resident. He didn’t have that kind of pull. As Grandma’s condition rapidly deteriorated, my Aunt Susan let it slip. She muttered that maybe I should reach out to my father—maybe he could get us a bed. That was the day I learned my father lived in the exact same city as me, and that he had massive influence at St. Jude’s. Grandma snapped at Aunt Susan, telling her to shut her mouth. “If I don’t get treatment, then I don’t get treatment! I’ve lived long enough anyway.” I closed my bedroom door and privately asked my aunt for his name. Robert Vance. My father’s name was Robert Vance. When I typed his name into a search engine, dozens of news articles and political profiles popped up. His office contact number was right there on the city government’s website. The line connected. “Hello, who is this?” “This is Chloe,” I said, my nails biting into my palms. “Dad.” 1 We agreed to meet at a coffee shop near City Hall. Before the meeting, I scoured every public record I could find. I learned his wife’s name was Patricia Sterling, the Vice President of St. Jude’s Medical Center. His daughter was Olivia Vance, a recent college graduate. I even found Olivia’s Instagram. Fine dining, luxury vacations, designer jewelry, picture-perfect family portraits… every single post was undeniable proof of a girl who had grown up drowning in love and privilege. Did she know I existed? Did she know she had a half-sister just six months older than her? Did she know this sister had grown up being called a bastard, a girl who lost her mother at birth and became an orphan in every sense of the word? A shadow fell over my table. Robert Vance had arrived. He stared at me for a moment. “You look a lot like your mother.” I looked him up and down and offered a faint smile. “Do I? I can’t really remember. She died too early. My memories of her are pretty much gone.” Robert’s smile froze. Dropping the pleasantries, he lowered his voice. “All these years… I’ve done you both a great disservice.” Both. He said both. He always knew I existed, yet he had never once bothered to check on me. I fought to suppress the well of grievance and rage in my chest. “I’m sure you had your reasons. I understand.” A look of relief washed over Robert’s face. “You’ve grown into such a beautiful young woman. If there’s anything you need, just ask.” I had been waiting for that exact sentence. “My grandmother is sick. It’s very serious,” I said. “But we can’t get an appointment with Dr. Harrison at St. Jude’s for her surgery. Can you help us?” He fell silent for a long moment. “St. Jude’s won’t work. How about City General?” “Dr. Harrison is the leading authority on this specific cancer. If City General was an option, I wouldn’t have presumptuously called you today,” I replied. “Besides, your wife is the Vice President of St. Jude’s. Wouldn’t that be easier?” Robert offered a bitter smile. “You don’t understand. That’s exactly why it won’t work.” He avoided my gaze, looking out the window at the busy street, watching the autumn leaves drift to the pavement. Suddenly, it all made sense. His wife didn’t know I existed. And more importantly, in his eyes, the stability of his perfect family was far more important than my grandmother’s life. Robert turned back to me, having made his decision. “Here’s what we’ll do. I’ll call a friend at City General and get your grandmother admitted immediately. I’ll wire you twenty thousand dollars for the medical bills. If you need more, just ask.” My biological father was trying to pay me off. To him, my silence was worth exactly twenty thousand dollars. “I don’t need your money,” I said. “I opened my own photography studio in college. I might not make as much as you, but I’m not here to extort you.” A flash of embarrassment crossed Robert’s face. “Don’t be silly, no one’s calling it extortion. It’s what I should do as a father.” He checked his Rolex and stood up to leave. “We’ll leave it at that. I’ll call my buddy at City General and get back to you.” “I’ll give you a hundred thousand dollars,” I interrupted. “Just get her admitted to St. Jude’s.” He frowned, finally flashing a hint of paternal authority. “Chloe, what kind of nonsense is that? Stop being unreasonable.” I was being unreasonable? How many times did I have to say it? Besides the cancer, Grandma had a host of chronic illnesses. City General’s surgical survival rates were miles behind St. Jude’s. Going to St. Jude’s gave her a fighting chance. Going to City General was a death sentence. How could I let her just wait to die? She was the one who chased away the neighborhood kids who called me a bastard. She was the one who stayed up for days nursing me when I had pneumonia. She was the one who, at nearly seventy years old, was still stringing cheap beads together to save up for my college tuition. She was the only family I had left. Robert raised a hand to a waitress. “Check, please.” I chased him out onto the sidewalk, calling out softly, “Dad.” He turned around, visibly impatient. “Chloe, don’t make me—” I dropped to my knees right there on the concrete, my voice trembling. “Please, Dad. I promise no one at St. Jude’s will find out who I am. I promise I won’t ruin your family. Please. I’m begging you.” That day, Robert Vance stood in silence for a very, very long time. I could see the hesitation in his eyes, weighing whether his biological daughter’s desperate tears were worth risking his happy, comfortable life. Eventually, he told me to go home and wait for his call. I thought he had agreed. I went home, elated, and told Grandma that Dr. Harrison would be doing her surgery soon. “It’s Dr. Harrison! The best scalpel at St. Jude’s. He saves everyone he touches.” But Grandma didn’t smile. “Your aunt and uncle couldn’t even get us on the waitlist. You’re just a young girl fresh out of college. How did you pull that off?” I quickly made up an excuse. “My friend from college is a doctor at St. Jude’s, remember? Ethan? Remember him?” The old woman looked at me flatly. “Did you go find your father?” My words caught in my throat. I stumbled over my next sentence. Grandma, usually so gentle, turned fierce. “Chloe! Even during our hardest times, I never once went to him. Do you know why? I want you to live your entire life knowing he owes you everything, and you owe him absolutely nothing!” Tears spilled down my cheeks. “But you’re sick! You’re so sick. If it means you get to live to a hundred, who cares if I owe him?” “A person’s life is defined by their dignity,” Grandma said coldly. “Robert Vance looked down on my daughter, and he looks down on my granddaughter. Well, this old woman looks down on him! I don’t want his pathetic charity!” I cried even harder. “But I need you! I need you to live! What am I going to do without you?” Grandma started coughing violently. I panicked, rushing over to rub her back. “I’ll stop, I’ll stop talking about it.” Her coughing gradually subsided, and she leaned back against her pillows. “In this life, I raised your mother, and I raised you. You both turned out beautiful and capable. I’ve lived these decades. I’ve had enough.” She reached out and wiped my tears. Her fingers were rough, the back of her hands dotted with age spots, but they were just as warm and gentle as I remembered. “Little Chloe, everyone has to leave eventually. No one can stay with you forever. You have to be strong, you hear me?” I choked on a sob and told her I understood. But I didn’t know those would be the last words she ever said to me. The next morning, I made breakfast and went to wake her up. She wasn’t breathing. The morning sun filtered through the curtains, illuminating a face whose eyes would never open again. 2 After the funeral, my insomnia was unbearable, and I was mentally exhausted. My studio team gently suggested I take a few days off. I thought about it, but saw no point. You always have to keep moving forward, right? Can’t sleep at night? No problem, perfect time to edit photos. Can’t eat? Even better. Plenty of people pay good money to lose weight. I flooded my brain with a relentless workload, eradicating any possibility of feeling grief. Until one afternoon. I woke up, drifted like a ghost to the fridge, and opened it. Sitting on the shelf was a bag of cranberry bread. It was my favorite flavor. I didn’t remember buying it; maybe my best friend, Hailey, had brought it over. Just as I was about to open it, I noticed the bread had expired. The production date printed on the sticker was exactly three days before Grandma died. I suddenly broke. Clutching the plastic bag, I collapsed in front of the open refrigerator and bawled. The reality of Grandma’s absence, which I had tried so desperately to ignore, crashed over me like a tidal wave. It hurt. God, it hurt so much. Her hanging spider plants were still green and lush. But the goldfish in her tank were all floating belly-up because no one had fed them. She used to love sitting in her old rocking chair watching TV. I used to complain that the creaking noise was annoying. It wasn’t noisy anymore. But the silence was deafening. I had always thought our two-bedroom apartment was too small. Today, I realized that for one person, it was agonizingly huge. My phone buzzed. It was an unfamiliar number. “Hello?” Robert’s voice came through the speaker. “Chloe, I asked around for you. St. Jude’s is totally off the table. But I hired the best lead surgeon at City General. Take your grandmother to admissions and tell them you’re my second cousin.” I felt a sudden, bone-deep chill. It was snowing outside today. It was so cold. “There’s no need,” I interrupted. Robert’s voice raised in annoyance. “Chloe, don’t be stubborn. Do you have any idea how hard it is to book Dr. Evans? I had to pull a lot of favors to get this surgical slot.” I let out a hollow laugh. “There’s no need. My grandmother is already dead.” His lecturing came to a grinding halt. Only the sound of his breathing remained on the line. Staring blankly ahead, I asked him calmly, “Robert… why wasn’t it you who died?” Beep. Beep. Beep. He hung up on me. My legs gave out. Gripping my phone, I squatted deeply onto the floor. My tears hit the hardwood, leaving tiny, wet craters. A few days ago, at Grandma’s wake, I held vigil until dawn. As Aunt Susan helped me to a chair, she finally broke down crying. She told me how much her heart broke for me, and she cursed Robert’s name. She told me the whole truth. Over twenty years ago, Robert and my mother were already engaged to be married. But then, he caught the eye of Patricia, a wealthy socialite whose father was a major political player. Robert kept stringing my mother along while simultaneously aggressively pursuing Patricia. He was terrified Patricia would reject him, so he kept my mother as a backup plan, swearing he would marry her. By the time Robert successfully secured Patricia’s hand in marriage, my mother was seven months pregnant. Robert tried to pay her ten thousand dollars in a private settlement to get an abortion. Naturally, my mother refused. Unlike Robert, she actually wanted her child, even if it meant facing a lifetime of rumors and judgment. But the world is incredibly unfair. The victims suffer the worst fates, while the greedy and the wicked sail smoothly through life. Just as Robert’s political career began skyrocketing, my mother died of complications in the delivery room. Grandma called Robert, begging him to come to the hospital to see my mother one last time. He told her he was busy drinking with his new father-in-law and didn’t have the time. It wasn’t until today that I fully understood why Grandma forbade me from going to Robert, and why she wanted him to forever be in my debt. Because she saw right through him. Men like Robert Vance possessed no conscience. Absolute self-interest was his only law of survival. I had been shielded for too long. Protected so well that I had forgotten that vile, despicable people walk among us. But why? Why did he get to live such a perfect life? I clenched my fists, my nails digging deep into my flesh. In that moment, I genuinely wanted to drag Robert Vance straight to hell with me. 3 I opened Instagram and found Olivia’s profile, scrolling through every single post. It was a continuous feed of tranquility, joy, and privilege. Just recently, she posted a photo holding a designer handbag. The caption read: Best Dad in the world! Secretly bought me the bag I’ve been dying for! The date was the exact same day my grandmother passed away. While I had been waiting in agony for Robert’s reply, he had already decided to reject my plea for St. Jude’s. He was just stalling me. He had enough free time to go buy his daughter a luxury bag while my grandmother died. I clenched my fists. The sheer malice rising in my chest threatened to swallow me whole. Swallowing my rage, I scrolled down further, reading every single post from top to bottom. One post caught my eye—Robert’s birthday. It was a family portrait taken in a private dining room. Robert sat at the head of the table. In the center was a massive cake with glowing candles. He was making a wish. I saved the photo and drew a red circle around one specific detail. I thought I finally had a way to destroy him. I made a phone call to a former client, Mrs. Miller. She had hired me previously to shoot her family portraits. Her youngest daughter had taken a few photography lessons from me, and wanting to build a network, I hadn’t charged her. I even shot a free music video for the girl. Now, it was time to cash in that favor. “Hi, Mrs. Miller! It’s Chloe. Remind me, what department does your husband work in at City Hall?” Mrs. Miller told me her husband worked in the exact same department as Robert. She complained that the department director had just been promoted to the state level two weeks ago, leaving a massive vacancy. All the deputy directors were fighting tooth and nail for the spot. She sighed heavily. “Honestly, my husband probably doesn’t stand a chance. Another deputy director’s father-in-law just retired from the State Senate but still has deep ties to the Mayor. He basically hand-picked the Mayor back in the day.” I smiled. “No matter how much power someone has, promotions still have to comply with state ethics and legal regulations, right?” “Of course they do,” Mrs. Miller replied. “But the problem is, his age, qualifications, and record are all flawless. He hasn’t made a single mistake in his tenure. How do you find a flaw in that?” Not necessarily, I thought. When I scoured Olivia’s Instagram a few days ago, I noticed something very strange. On Robert’s birthday cake, the candles clearly read “44”. There was no way he was 44. Aunt Susan had told me he was in the same high school class as my mother. When he used to visit my grandmother, he specifically mentioned he was one year older than my mother and promised to take good care of her. If my mother were alive today, she would be 47. Which meant Robert should be 48. A simple logical deduction: if Olivia confidently posted a cake with “44” candles on her public social media, it meant that to his current family, Robert being 44 was an established fact. Two contradictory facts. One of them had to be a lie. So, which one was it? I drove to the state university archives, the school Robert and my mother had attended. I tracked down an old professor who still worked in administration. After some small talk, I explained my visit. “My grandmother recently passed away. She told me my parents actually met studying here. Professor, if it isn’t too much trouble, could I look at their old student files?” The professor knew I was an orphan and immediately called the archivist to grant me access. In the dusty, yellowing folders, written in faded blue ink, were the words: Robert Vance. Male. Born: 1973. A man born in 1973 had magically transformed into a man born in 1977. I took out my phone, snapped a photo of the archive document, and texted Mrs. Miller. Why would a city official lie about his age on his federal and state background checks? She replied quickly: Lots of reasons. Sometimes they alter it to bypass strict age caps for fast-track political fellowships, or to qualify for “Under 40” political appointments. In politics, once you age out of a certain bracket, no matter how capable you are, the party won’t invest in promoting you to higher office. I stared at my phone, deep in thought. People forget that before the digital age, state records were entirely paper-based. The transition to fully digitized identity systems only happened over the last twenty years. Back then, paper records had massive loopholes. It wasn’t uncommon for people’s names or birthdates to be permanently altered just because a county clerk misheard them. I didn’t care exactly how Robert managed to forge his official identity. But one thing was absolutely undeniable: According to federal and state ethics laws, falsifying official background checks, lying on civil service forms, and committing perjury to secure government employment or promotion was a felony. At the very least, it meant an immediate suspension. At worst, it meant a permanent ban from public office, stripping of pensions, and potential jail time. Whether Robert altered his age at the beginning of his career or specifically for a promotion, the fact that he tampered with his official state file was a massive ethical violation. If this scandal broke right as he was vying for the director position, there was no way he’d get the job. Under the guise of “building a portfolio for family portraits,” I offered to do a free photoshoot for the Miller family. Mrs. Miller happily agreed. I deliberately dragged the shoot out until 6 PM. Feeling bad, she insisted on buying me dinner. Exactly what I wanted. During dinner, I asked Mr. Miller, “Mr. Miller, do you happen to work with Robert Vance?” His brow furrowed slightly. “Bob? Yeah, I do. Do you know him?” His expression changed. His tone shifted. He didn’t like Robert. I smiled gently. “Yes, actually. Robert is an old college buddy of my uncle. I heard my uncle mention today that Robert seems to be aging backward.” Mr. Miller looked at me thoughtfully, repeating the phrase. “Aging backward? What do you mean by that?” I leaned in and said with a knowing smile, “He’s the exact same age as my uncle. But my uncle celebrated his 48th birthday this year, while Robert celebrated his 44th. Wouldn’t you say he’s aging backward?” Mr. Miller understood instantly. A flash of triumphant joy crossed his face before he masked it with a cough. “Chloe, those are heavy accusations. You need evidence for claims like that.” I pulled up the photos on my phone: his original university archives, his birth year, and his class graduation photo. Mr. Miller zoomed in on Robert’s birth date. He nodded subconsciously. When he looked back at me, his eyes were incredibly warm. “Chloe, if it isn’t too much trouble, could you forward those two photos to my wife?” I knew exactly what he was going to do. I smiled and put my phone away. “Of course.” Even after putting that in motion, I tossed and turned in bed. Relying entirely on someone else to execute my revenge wasn’t enough to bring me peace. I needed double insurance to ensure Robert Vance would never rise again. First, I checked the legal statutes. I consulted a friend from college who was now an attorney. I wanted to make absolutely sure that releasing truthful, documented evidence of a public official’s fraud didn’t violate any defamation or libel laws. He confirmed that as long as I was presenting objective facts to official oversight channels, I was entirely protected. He also warned me, “Just remember, don’t incite a mob or protest, or you could be hit with a public disturbance charge. But if you’re just filing an official complaint as an individual, you’re perfectly fine. Go for it.” At the end of the call, he asked curiously, “Who the hell did you cross paths with?” After I told him the whole story, he laughed. “Chloe, don’t worry. I deal with guys like this all the time. He won’t dare sue you.” Whether Robert dared to or not was secondary. I needed an airtight case. I drove to Robert’s old high school and used the same excuse. I found his high school records, confirming the 1973 birth year, and photographed them as well. Next, I drafted a formal whistleblower complaint. I listed every piece of evidence meticulously, had my lawyer friend polish the legal phrasing, cited the specific state statutes he violated, and prepared to submit it to the State Ethics Commission. Additionally, I printed out hundreds of flyers. The font was massive, and the message was simple: Official Whistleblower Report: City Official Robert Vance Falsified Federal Documents and Committed Background Fraud! My lawyer friend offered one last piece of advice. “Chloe, if you’re going to do this, do it right. The Attorney General’s Anti-Corruption Task Force is auditing the city next week. Submit your complaint to both the Ethics Commission and the Federal Investigators simultaneously. Hit him from both sides!” I took his advice and patiently waited for next week to arrive.

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“Aunt Susan and I are happily married now. As my daughter and son-in-law, you two need to show some respect and contribute.” As soon as I walked through the door, I heard my dad making demands of my husband, Liam. “I want a $100,000 cash gift, another house bought in this same gated community, and when the baby is born, Maya, as the older sister, can help raise him.” I walked in with a dark expression, and the room instantly went dead silent. My dad was paralyzed from the waist down, sitting in a wheelchair. Aunt Susan, the caregiver, instinctively stood up when she saw me. I ignored her and fired straight at my husband: “Liam, my dad has dementia and is getting scammed into a marriage. Why didn’t you just call the cops? What’s with all the arguing?” Liam shot me a look of grievance and quickly jogged over. “I was waiting for you to get here!” I glared at him, but he didn’t care, just grinning as he stood behind me like a bodyguard. My dad turned his head away, speechless. I looked at the caregiver, who seemed nervous but carried a hint of smugness. I said coldly, “Susan, you’ve been working here for almost three months. Have I ever been late paying your $3,000 a month salary? All you had to do was cook three meals a day and clean the house. I even hired someone else to bathe him and change his clothes. He’s paralyzed in a wheelchair—what kind of happiness can he possibly give you?” She looked helplessly at my dad. “A woman needs a home of her own, to be her own master. Being a caregiver is just being a servant to someone else.” I sneered. “Then you really are destined to be a servant. I never treated you like one, yet you knelt down of your own accord.” My dad frowned, clearly displeased. “Watch your tone! I am informing you, not negotiating! I’m at this age, can’t I make my own decisions?” An old creep who still can’t control his lower half at his age. I mocked him, “You’re paralyzed in a wheelchair. Do you really have no idea why someone would be interested in you? You want to make your own decisions, yet you expect me to fork over the cash to buy you a wife. Talk is cheap.” Still angry, I added, “Damn it, I hate pretentious people the most.” My dad clutched his chest, looking at me in disbelief. “You… you ungrateful daughter!” Then he sighed, softening his tone. “Susan is pregnant. She secretly got it checked—it’s a boy. You know my situation. I lived off your mother’s family’s wealth, and you didn’t even take my last name. I don’t have grand ambitions, I just hope to face my ancestors with pride when I die. God has been good to me, finally sending me a son right as I have one foot in the grave.” He was so sincere, even wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “Maya, I haven’t asked you for much in this life. Consider this a plea from your father.” I watched his performance with cold detachment, casually picking up an apple Liam had brought over and taking a bite. “I don’t have money… Liam and I work normal jobs. We aren’t destined for sudden wealth.” He panicked. “Didn’t your grandfather leave you an inheritance?! You can definitely afford this $100,000 cash gift.” My eyes instantly turned sharp. My grandfather had only one daughter—my mother—who grew up terribly spoiled. In college, my mom fell in love with Richard, a guy from a poor, rural background. He had seven or eight siblings, no money to his name, just a decent-looking face. Knowing my grandfather didn’t like him, he seduced my mom into getting pregnant out of wedlock, using his own life and the baby in her belly to threaten my grandfather. My grandfather, who had been a dominant force his entire life, finally compromised. His only condition was that both of them had to forfeit their right to inherit his estate. My mom agreed. She thought it was just my grandfather’s prejudice against a poor country boy. They were both college-educated; she believed they could build a good life through their own hard work, and that time would eventually prove Richard’s worth to my grandfather. Richard thought the same. The old man only had one daughter. If he didn’t leave his fortune to her, what was he going to do? Donate it all? But my grandfather was a man of his word. He didn’t give them a single penny, only buying appliances and furniture as a dowry. Life was stable after that, until I was ten years old. My grandfather fell severely ill, and Richard finally revealed his true colors. He abused my mother, started messing around with other women, and openly bragged that once the old man died, he’d be a millionaire. When my grandfather heard the rumors, he clung to life. Diagnosed with only three months to live, he forced himself to hold on for six. He knew my love-struck mother was unreliable, so he took all his cash, partnered with a local community trust, and developed a commercial business park. He set up a strict will: I could only access the inheritance in installments when I turned eighteen, twenty-five, and thirty-five. With the local trust’s intervention and the loyalty of the community my grandfather had supported, most people saw right through Richard and despised his gold-digging ways. After my grandfather died, Richard brought a different woman home every day. My mother fell severely ill and became bedridden, wallowing in self-pity every day, blaming herself for causing her father’s death. She couldn’t understand why Richard had changed so drastically. Eventually, suffering from severe depression, she took one of his mistresses with her and drowned herself in a lake. Snapping back to the present, I sneered at him. “So that was your goal all along.” Knowing he was entirely cut out of the old man’s will, he actually came up with this twisted scheme to try and scam me out of my money. I looked at Susan’s completely flat stomach and fell deep into thought. Susan rubbed her belly, attempting to play the emotional card. “Maya, I know this looks bad. At first, I refused him, but he kept insisting. He took all the pressure for me. His kindness and perseverance touched me.” “To me, he’s just a pure, kind-hearted older boy. Now that I’m pregnant—and it might be a boy—I know your mother couldn’t give him one her entire life. I’ve heard the love story between your parents. Since she loved your dad so much, she must be heartbroken in the afterlife that she couldn’t leave him a male heir.” “You’re a woman, you must understand how that feels.” The more I listened, the angrier I got. “Shut up! What gives you the right to talk about my mother?!” I grabbed the glass of water in my hand and hurled it straight at her. Richard pushed himself up on his wheelchair and threw his body in front of her, taking the hit. He shrieked as the heavy glass struck his head. I sneered. “Your stench of patriarchal entitlement is way too strong, Susan.” “Richard lived off my family’s wealth. And he wants to pass down his lineage using the Miller family’s resources? Isn’t that biting the hand that feeds you?” “Neither my grandfather nor my mother ever said a daughter couldn’t carry on a legacy. You, a mere caregiver who schemed her way up, are suddenly worried about my family’s lineage?” “Let me put it bluntly. Even if this kid is born, I could make him take my last name, Miller. Try me.” Hitting a nerve, my father’s face flushed crimson, his age spots trembling. He tried to stand up, but only managed to stumble and crash back into his seat. “Maya! Your mother has been dead for twenty years! Do you expect me to stay celibate for her forever?!” “You miserable bastard, what gives you the right to mention my mother?!” I snapped. He sounded indignant. “I admit I wronged your mother, but she’s gone! What can I do to make up for it now?” “I don’t have many good days left. Susan is my last woman. I can’t bear to see her working as a caregiver for other people. Can’t she just stay by my side?” He wanted to play the emotional card, but unfortunately, I had no emotions left for him. I mocked him, “When did our family ever stop you from leaving?” “Did my grandfather not give you the chance?” “It was you who couldn’t bear to leave the house and the money.” “If you had any backbone, you would’ve stood up, made your own money, and never leached off my mother’s family.” My words left him red-faced and speechless. “Stop talking,” he finally muttered, glancing nervously at the caregiver beside the bed. I knew what he was thinking—he didn’t want to look weak in front of his ‘true love’. But in this world, you can’t have your cake and eat it too. “Every day you are alive, you should be repenting for what you did to my mother and my grandfather.” Back when Richard brought women home, my mother had screamed like a madwoman. But he just mocked her from his high horse: “If you hadn’t failed to give me a son, I wouldn’t have to look for other women.” Even my mother, an only daughter who grew up showered in love, began to believe it was her fault. She would grab me like a maniac, her eyes bloodshot, screaming and asking why I wasn’t a boy, convinced that if I had been, Richard wouldn’t have cheated. People like him are cowards who prey on the weak. A leopard never changes its spots. Right in front of them, I called the domestic staffing agency. “I remember the contract I signed with your agency. It stated that if any of your caregivers engage in an inappropriate relationship with their client, your agency will pay a penalty fee, correct?” Susan’s eyes widened in terror. She lunged forward to stop me, but Liam blocked her easily. I continued talking to the person on the line. “Ms. Miller, you can’t just say things like that. Our caregivers undergo professional training, they wouldn’t just… We need evidence for these kinds of claims… Please apologize to our employee.” “Does a marriage license count as evidence?” The line went dead silent for a second. “It counts…” There was a specific reason I chose this agency: their strict insurance policies. I knew Richard’s true nature better than anyone. As long as the person was female, he’d go into heat. That was why I always hired male nurses for him. The caregiver’s only job was to maintain the house and do light cleaning; she was never supposed to interact directly with him. I never expected him to still find an opening. It didn’t matter. I didn’t even need to lift a finger—someone else was about to be much more desperate than me. The insurance company would have to pay me the penalty, and where would they get that money from? They certainly wouldn’t let Susan and Richard off the hook. Paralyzed in his wheelchair, my dad spun around in a panic. “What are you doing?! What are you doing?! You monster! How did I end up with a daughter like you?!” I smirked, speaking with feigned innocence. “Look at it this way. If I get the settlement money, I’ll have the cash to pay for your wedding gift.” He went silent for a moment before bursting into a tirade. “You have a black heart! No matter what, I am your father! I gave you life and raised you, and this is how you treat me?!” I purposefully egged him on. “Well, what am I supposed to do? If I put the pressure on, they’ll actually pay me $100,000. All you do is demand $100,000 from me.” Beside him, Aunt Susan was panicking. “Richard, you can’t let them make me pay! Where am I supposed to find that kind of money?!” My dad patted her hand to comfort her. “No, no, don’t worry. I’ll figure something out.” He turned back to me, his face sagging into a pleading look. “Maya, Susan is having a high-risk geriatric pregnancy. Her health is poor, and she’s at risk of a miscarriage. Can’t you just consider this $100,000 a loan from your father?” I smiled sweetly. “Nope! But I can introduce you to a reliable loan agency… Though… what exactly do you have to put up as collateral?” Susan looked at him with desperate hope, but Richard turned his head away and remained dead silent. Heh… Men. They’ll preach about true love until their lungs give out, but the second it threatens their own wallet, their lips are glued shut. The room fell completely silent. Just as I kept a straight face and turned to leave, a heavy sigh came from behind me. “Didn’t your grandfather… leave you a sum of money?!” I turned around, examining this man. His face was etched with fine lines, a few age spots dotting his jawline. He looked refined and cultured, but underneath, he was nothing but a demon reincarnate. There was never a moment I didn’t want to send him straight to hell. Suppressing the sheer hatred in my heart, I stared directly into his eyes and spoke slowly, deliberately: “Where are my mother’s ashes?” That day, years ago, my mom had just gotten back from picking up her medication at the psychiatric ward when she caught Richard tangled up with another woman. The mistress, believing she was carrying a golden male heir, acted like she already owned the place. Her deliberate mockery triggered my mother’s illness, leaving her howling in agony on the floor. Furious, I grabbed a knife, charged at the woman, pinned her down, and pressed the blade to her neck. When she saw Richard running in, she panicked and thrashed wildly, accidentally driving her own neck into the blade. I hadn’t expected her to hit an artery. Warm blood sprayed across the room, pasting my eyelashes shut with a sticky crimson film. Terrified, I slumped on the floor, paralyzed, too afraid to look at the woman bleeding out. I couldn’t even tell… was she alive… or dead? In that moment, my mentally ill mother snapped back to a chilling clarity. She gave me one last, devastating look of absolute despair, then grabbed the bleeding woman and threw them both into the decorative pond outside. My dad knew he had caused a fatal incident and that things had blown completely out of control. On one hand, he had to pay a massive settlement to the dead woman’s family. On the other, he was terrified to come home, genuinely afraid his “psychotic” daughter would slit his throat in his sleep. In the end, he stole my mother’s ashes to use as leverage against me. Because he knew that I really was crazy. Susan came to my house alone, standing awkwardly by the coffee table, too afraid to sit. She had entirely lost the aggressive, entitled pregnant-woman attitude from a few days ago. “Maya, I know I’ve wronged you, but he’s still your biological father. There shouldn’t be permanent grudges between father and daughter. Just go apologize and give him some face.” She looked deeply conflicted. “I know you don’t like me, but the baby in my belly is your little brother.” “You expect me to act like a mother to a brother who’s over thirty years younger than me?” I asked coldly. Her face went pale, and she stammered, “I’m only 45… I can raise him myself.” I scoffed. “Is the old man going to change his diapers with his shaking, Parkinson’s-ridden hands from a wheelchair?” She suddenly dropped to her knees, hugging my legs, sobbing. “I know we messed up, but the baby is innocent! Please, I’m begging you, give him a chance to live.” I pried her fingers off my legs. “Get out.” She stumbled to her feet, throwing out a venomous parting shot. “You are so heartless!” My dad called to curse me out. “What did you do to Susan?! If anything happens to her, I will end you.” I sneered back. “Oh no, I’m so scared. Hurry up and jump out of your wheelchair to come beat me up.” “You…” “Give me my mother’s ashes back, and we cut all ties. I don’t care if you have ten sons after that.” Yeah, right! My mother loved him so much. She suffered through ten months of severe morning sickness and endured ten hours of grueling labor just to have me. If I let you have another child, my grandfather would literally roll over in his grave from sheer rage! He said, “Two million dollars, and I’ll tell you exactly where they are.” I flat-out refused. “Then I guess I’ll just wait and see how you plan on ‘ending’ me.” The very next day, the video of a haggard Susan crying and kneeling to beg me was uploaded to TikTok. A mob of outraged netizens started harassing me, throwing rotten eggs at me in public, calling me an overbearing, controlling bitch. Some misogynistic older women even started insulting my mother online. “He needs a son so your mother can hold her head high in the underworld! Otherwise, she’s probably suffering in the eighteenth level of hell right now!” Insult me all you want, but insult my mother? Absolutely not. I charged straight into the crowd and started throwing punches. Liam took a few slaps to the face before he managed to drag me out of the mob. Then, local news reporters interviewed my dad. “Susan and I are true love. At my age, finding a woman who understands me, cares for me, and doesn’t mind my disability is incredibly rare.” [I know what my daughter is upset about, but she can take it out on me. Why is she bullying Susan? Susan is innocent, and the child in her belly is innocent.] [She was raised by her grandfather. She always looked down on me because I lived off her family’s wealth. She despises me.] [Honestly, one of the reasons I wanted a son was for Maya’s mother. She passed away early, and there was no son to carry her casket. Her ashes are still unburied because of it.] Hearing that made my blood boil. I wanted to reach through the screen and strangle that absolute beast. I really should have killed him back then. It was entirely his fault, yet he was twisting the narrative, playing the victim, and framing me. Liam tried to calm me down. “Hold on, Maya. Your plan is almost complete!” I took a deep breath, forcing myself to cool down. The internet rumors spiraled out of control. In his latest video, Richard announced he was taking me to court for failing to fulfill my legal obligation to support and care for him. Liam handed me his phone. “A text from Aunt Susan.” [$50,000, plus $5,000 a month for his pension, and I can talk your dad out of this.] I picked up the phone, pressed the voice memo button, and replied: “He is not worth that price.”

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