Category: English

At 11:00 AM, while my husband was slowly suffocating to death in our bathtub, I was chatting with the neighborhood moms by the playground slide. The slide was located directly beneath my bathroom window, a straight line of no more than twenty feet. If I had stuck to my usual routine and gone home at eleven sharp, I would have been in time to save his life. But as fate would have it, Jessica had just bought a new designer dress and enthusiastically invited a few of us over to admire it. By the time my daughter and I walked through our front door at 11:10 AM, my husband had already drawn his last breath. At the funeral, I was consumed by a grief so absolute it tore me apart. I fainted several times. The attendees watched with profound sympathy, murmuring their condolences. Then came my mother-in-law, Martha. A retired elementary school principal, she had traveled all the way from the remote windswept plains of Wyoming. In front of everyone, she marched straight up to me. Her expression was made of stone. She articulated every single syllable. “You are the murderer who killed my son.” 1 It had been an entirely ordinary Saturday in late summer. Arthur had stayed up late working the night before, so he woke up a bit sluggish, not making it to the breakfast table until ten. By 10:05 AM, our daughter, Lily, was urging me to take her downstairs for the eighth time. As I crouched by the door to tie Lily’s sneakers, she wiggled her head and made a funny face at her father. “Daddy is a big lazy bug! The sun is already cooking your butt and you just woke up. Shame on you, Daddy!” Arthur let out a muffled chuckle, scrunching up his face to mimic hers. “Lily is a little troublemaker. Always forcing Mommy to take her out to play. Shame on you too, Lily.” I hurriedly grabbed my water bottle and a pack of tissues. Just as I opened the door, a thought struck me, and I turned back. “Honey, Lily is going to be drenched in sweat again today. Remember to start the bathwater early so she can jump right in when we get back.” Our tub had terrible water pressure. It always took a solid twenty minutes to fill up. Arthur held a piece of toast in one hand and brought two fingers of the other to his temple in a mock salute. “Don’t worry, sweetie. Mission accepted.” I rolled my eyes playfully. “Let’s go!” The playground slide was just below our apartment building, easily the most bustling spot in the entire estate. Kids ran wild while parents clustered together in little gossip circles. After sitting with a few moms I knew well, I patted my pockets and realized in my rush, I had left my phone upstairs. I turned to Jessica sitting next to me. “What time is it? I left my phone at home.” Jessica whipped out her brand-new, ultra-expensive folding phone like it was a trophy and announced loudly. “Ten forty.” Just as the words left her mouth, our second-floor bathroom window creaked open. Arthur poked his head out, smiling as he called down to me. “Honey, the water is running. Stay out and play a bit longer!” I glanced over at Lily, who was currently sweating bullets on the monkey bars, and flashed him an OK sign. “Got it!” Arthur gave a polite wave to the group of moms before pulling the window shut. The women immediately began to swoon. “Your man is seriously the perfect husband. Handsome, great personality. I heard he made partner this year, right? That has to be mid-six figures easily.” “Mid-six? Try seven. A corporate attorney at Arthur’s level brings in millions. You can just kick back and enjoy the stay-at-home mom life without a single worry!” “He’s a high earner, comes home on time every day, cooks and cleans on the weekends, always smiling, no bad habits… Look at my husband. It’s like comparing dirt to the sky.” “I don’t care about the money. I just envy how deeply he loves you. I mean, look at that car crash. The man literally threw his own life away for yours!” The moms nodded in unison, their sighs thick with envy. Six months ago, Arthur and I were driving to pick up some potted plants when a semi-truck rear-ended us. Our SUV flipped and the front end instantly burst into flames. The driver’s side ended up facing the sky, so Arthur was pulled out by bystanders almost immediately. I was pinned underneath, completely trapped. As the flames grew wilder, the crowd began to back away in terror. Only Arthur rushed back. He pulled and tore at the twisted metal like a madman, his hands shredded and dripping with blood, his voice tearing as he screamed at the top of his lungs. “Save my wife! Please, God, somebody help her!” Less than five seconds after he managed, by sheer willpower, to drag me out of the wreckage, the car exploded in a deafening roar. Someone had caught the rescue on camera and posted it online. It went incredibly viral. The internet unanimously decided I must have saved the world in a past life to deserve a husband who loved me that much. Just thinking about that day made my eyes well up. Arthur always looked so refined and intellectual. I never imagined he could be so fearless, so primal, when it truly mattered. The accident left two fingers on his right hand permanently damaged, the tendons severed. He could no longer perform fine motor tasks. I cried until my heart ached over it. He just patted my head, offering a warm smile to comfort me. “It’s fine. I make my living with my brain anyway. I could lose two more fingers and it wouldn’t stop me from taking care of you.” Right now, amidst the envious sighs of the neighborhood moms, I nodded honestly. “Yeah. He really is the perfect husband.” 2 “My husband isn’t too shabby either, you know!” Jessica raised her voice to reclaim the spotlight. “He just got back from Paris and brought me a bunch of gorgeous designer dresses. Come on, let’s go to my place. I have to show you guys!” Jessica was in a classic May-December marriage. She spent every waking hour trying to prove how much her older husband loved her, desperate to show she married for romance and not for his bank account. I smiled and shook my head. “I’ll pass. I need to take Lily up for her bath. You guys go ahead.” Jessica, who loved comparing herself to me more than anything, immediately frowned. “Didn’t your husband just tell you to stay out a bit longer? Popping up to my place won’t take much time. You can’t even give me this little bit of face?” At 11:00 AM, I walked out of Jessica’s house. At 11:05 AM, I finally caught Lily, who was running wild by the slide, and tugged her arm to head home. She resisted at first. She begged for ‘just five more minutes’. I sternly refused, telling her the bathwater was going to get cold. Defeated, she went around saying pitiful goodbyes to every single one of her little friends. The circle of parents watched with fond amusement, sharing knowing smiles with me. At 11:08 AM, Lily and I reached the second floor. We bumped into Oliver, the bachelor living across the hall, who was just stepping out to take out the trash. His face flushed slightly as he greeted me. Lily grabbed his hand, asking in her sweet voice when he was going to help her build her new Lego set. As they spoke, I pulled out my keys and unlocked our door. At 11:09 AM, while Lily was still waving goodbye to Oliver in the hallway, I called out “Honey!” Nobody answered. I walked toward the bathroom. At 11:10 AM, a piercing scream ripped from my throat. Arthur’s pale face was submerged just beneath the surface of the water, his eyes wide open, staring blankly at the ceiling. He was already gone. 3 A lot of people came to the funeral. There were Arthur’s colleagues, his friends, neighbors from our estate, and even representatives from a charity organization holding a memorial wreath. That was when everyone found out Arthur had been quietly donating to an organization for underprivileged kids. Twenty thousand dollars a year. Over the years, his donations had exceeded a hundred grand. People whispered, their voices heavy with sorrow. “Such a good man. Heaven is blind. How could such a freak accident happen to someone like him? The good die young while the wicked live forever.” “He did so much pro bono work these past few years. He just made partner. He was telling everyone how he was going to build an amazing life for his wife and daughter. And now…” “Those two loved each other so much. How is Rachel going to survive this? She’s passed out a handful of times in just the last few days. Thank God the neighborhood committee ladies are keeping an eye on her.” “She doesn’t have an income, and they still have a mortgage. If Arthur had lived, they would have paid it off in a year or two. Things are going to be so hard for her now.” “The whole thing is just a tragic fluke. The cops said he knocked himself out, and the tub took twenty minutes to fill up enough to cover his nose and mouth. If he had just woken up, or if Rachel had come home earlier, he’d be fine. It was just awful timing.” Amidst the rustling whispers, I sat off to the side, my face ashen, staring vacantly at Arthur’s portrait. Over the past few days, I had been drowning in absolute agony. I had wept until my insides felt hollow, collapsing from exhaustion. Anyone who looked at me couldn’t help but pity the broken shell of a woman I had become. A lady from the neighborhood committee sat beside me, offering gentle words of comfort every now and then. Jessica walked over, her face painted with guilt. “Rachel, I am so sorry. If I hadn’t dragged you to my house and wasted your time, maybe… maybe Arthur wouldn’t have died.” By the end of her sentence, she was covering her mouth, sobbing aloud. I shook my head, my voice steeped in despair. “No. It has nothing to do with you. It’s my fault. I’m the one who told him to run the water early. I forgot my phone, which meant he had to open the window to call down to me. He slipped because of me. I promised I’d be home at eleven, but I dragged my feet and was ten minutes late. It’s all my fault. I killed him.” The committee lady quickly intervened. “Rachel, you absolutely cannot think like that! It was just a terrible alignment of the stars. Nobody could have stopped it. The police even said so themselves. It was an accident. A one-in-a-million tragedy.” That day, when I screamed, Oliver was the first one to rush inside. Realizing what had happened, he immediately blocked Lily from entering the apartment and helped me dial 911. After inspecting the scene and taking our statements, the police pieced together a rough timeline of the accident. 10:40. Arthur turned on the faucet and simultaneously opened the window to speak to me. Because the window was located right next to the tub and swung inward, he had to lean his body out at an awkward angle. When he pulled back to close it, he lost his balance, tumbling into the cast-iron tub and knocking himself unconscious. 10:40 to 11:00. The water slowly rose, inch by inch, until it submerged his head. 11:00 to 11:05. After five minutes under the water, Arthur suffocated to death. He never woke up. There were no signs of a struggle, no water splashed wildly on the tiles. 11:10. I came home and discovered the scene. During that window of time, from the moment Arthur showed his face at the window to the moment I arrived, no outsiders entered our building. There were no suspicious traces. The ruling was accidental death. Someone nearby shook their head and sighed. “When Death knocks on your door, you don’t get a minute to spare… Wait, who is that at the entrance? Why is she wearing such a heavy coat in this heat?” “Yeah, isn’t she sweating?” I sat there like a walking corpse, my head bowed, completely numb to my surroundings. “She’s walking straight toward Rachel.” “Is she one of those scammers asking for a handout? That’s crossing a line. This is a funeral, for God’s sake.” A pair of worn-out, gray women’s sneakers entered my field of vision. The style was ancient. There was a small, color-matched patch on the toe. They were coated in a fine layer of dust, whispering a silent story of how far they had walked. “Rachel. Do you know who I am?” A weather-beaten voice spoke. It was close. Right next to my ear. I slowly raised my head. Before me was the face of an elderly woman. Her skin was dry and deeply lined, her temples fading into white. Yet beneath her drooping eyelids, her gaze burned like a torch. In the sweltering heat of late summer, she wore an inappropriately thick wool-blend coat. One hand gripped a faded black handbag; the other held an old, battered metal thermos. “I am Martha. The mother-in-law you have never met.” I stared at her, my eyes hollow. My exhausted neurons slowly began to stretch, connect, and fire. My eyes suddenly widened. “Mom?” Martha gave a slow, deliberate nod. “I’m glad you recognize me.” The crowd immediately gathered around. “So this is Arthur’s mother. Oh, God, a parent burying their child. Please accept our deepest condolences.” “It’s good that you’re here. You can lean on each other. Now Rachel and Lily won’t be entirely alone.” Someone kindly offered to take Martha’s bag and thermos. She slowly shook her head, rejecting the help. She turned to look at Arthur’s portrait, then locked her piercing gaze directly onto me. “From the day I learned of my son’s death, I traveled without rest from Wyoming to get here, all to tell the police one single sentence.” She stared me down, her expression carved from stone. She articulated every single syllable. “You are the murderer who killed my son.” 4 After Martha delivered that line, she turned on her heel and walked away. Nobody could stop her. She appeared out of thin air. And vanished just as quickly. It was as if she had traveled across the country solely to spit those words in my face. The guests exchanged bewildered glances before clustering around to comfort me. “Rachel, the poor woman is just delirious with grief. Please don’t take it to heart. You can’t afford to let this upset you right now.” “Exactly. She’s an old lady from the middle of nowhere. She doesn’t know the facts. She probably heard some malicious gossip and took it as gospel. A good conversation will clear everything up.” “I’ve never even seen Arthur’s mother before. He dies, and suddenly she shows up? You don’t think she’s here to fight for custody or the inheritance, do you?” “I’ve never even heard of her! Rachel, that lady just said you two had never met. Are you absolutely sure that was Arthur’s mother?” I didn’t speak. My body felt so weak I was on the verge of collapsing. The committee lady handed me a cup of hot tea. “Alright, everyone, that’s enough questions. The most important thing right now is getting through the service and letting Rachel rest. Everything else will sort itself out.” I lowered my head and took a few sips of the warm tea. The fog in my brain began to lift slightly. Yes. Martha was indeed Arthur’s biological mother. Eight years ago, when Arthur and I got married, I met her for the first time through a video call. She had divorced Arthur’s father when Arthur was fifteen. She left everything behind to take a teaching job on a remote reservation out West. Mother and son were separated, going years without contact. After Arthur’s father passed away, Arthur had finally built a stable career. He tracked her down, wanting to bring her back to the city to care for her in her old age. She refused. She told him that when she chose to move to the mountains, she swore an oath never to leave that land. Over the years, Arthur made the long trek out to Wyoming twice to visit her. As for me, my only contact with her was a brief video call once a year on Lily’s birthday. In this moment, I was swallowed by a deep sense of confusion and bewilderment. I couldn’t understand why this woman, who had vowed never to step foot outside the rural West, had suddenly made this exhausting journey. Why would she hurl such a vicious accusation at me? Lost in my grief, I couldn’t make sense of it. After the funeral, Martha didn’t leave the city. She stayed. Naturally, she didn’t stay at my apartment. She rented a room in a run-down motel next to the train station. Late that night, a bright moon hung in the sky, looking down on the joys and sorrows of the mortal world. I sat alone, wiping tears from my face as I looked at a photo of Arthur. I made a decision. It didn’t matter why she had come. Whether it was for the child. The money. Or simply a terrible misunderstanding. She was still my husband’s mother. My daughter’s grandmother. I couldn’t just leave her to fend for herself. 5 The next day, I packed some daily necessities, fresh bedsheets, and a comforter. I knocked on Oliver’s door across the hall. When he saw me, his eyes flickered. He frantically tried to smooth his hair and adjust his shirt. I gently explained that I needed a favor, asking if he was free to give me a ride. “Of course.” “I’m free whenever you need me,” he said, looking earnestly into my eyes. Oliver drove Lily and me to the cheap motel by the train station. It was a dim, dilapidated building with a flickering neon sign by the door. Rooms: $30 a night. “Mommy, does Grandma live here? It’s so yucky. Let’s bring Grandma to our house.” Lily’s innocent voice chimed in. I let out a heavy sigh. “Grandma is a little bit stubborn, sweetie. She won’t agree to it.” Oliver walked over, carrying the heavy bags of supplies. “Rachel, this is too heavy. Let me help you carry it up.” I hesitated. “No, it’s okay. I’ve troubled you enough. Just wait for us down here.” A flicker of worry crossed Oliver’s face. He spoke softly. “After the things she said to you the other day, I don’t want you two getting into a fight while you’re alone. If I’m there, I can help keep the peace. Most importantly, we shouldn’t let Lily get scared.” I offered a bitter smile and nodded. “Thank you. I appreciate it.” When I saw Martha again, she was sitting in the dingy room, fiddling with a smartphone. Seeing me standing in the doorway, she froze for a split second before standing up. Her eyes were completely unreadable. I took a deep breath and spoke slowly. “Mom. I know you definitely wouldn’t want to come stay at the house, so I brought you some things. Whatever misunderstandings you have about me, please, for Arthur and Lily’s sake, don’t reject this.” I glanced over my shoulder at Oliver. He carried the bags inside, set them down gently, and silently stepped back out into the corridor. Martha remained standing, totally silent. She neither accepted nor rejected the gesture, simply watching me with a face devoid of emotion. Lily walked up to her timidly and spoke in a small voice. “Grandma, why won’t you come live with us? Mommy says Daddy went on a really far business trip and won’t be back for a long time. Will you come live at our house and wait for Daddy with us?” Martha’s eyes softened instantly. Her calloused hand gently stroked Lily’s hair. The deeply wrinkled skin around her eyes turned red. “Be a good girl, Lily. Grandma has something very important she needs to do. For now, I can’t go home with you.” “Grandma, I miss Daddy. Do you miss Daddy too?” “Yes. Grandma… misses him very much.” She looked calm and composed, but the tremor in her voice betrayed the emotions she was desperately trying to bury. I turned my head and whispered something to Oliver. He immediately stepped in, coaxed Lily with a gentle voice, and led her downstairs. Only Martha and I remained in the room. This little motel was sandwiched between towering skyscrapers. Only the faintest sliver of daylight managed to filter through the grimy window. The roaring noise of the city outside only magnified the suffocating silence inside this cramped space. “I’ve reported it to the police.” Martha stared at me calmly. I paused, leaning against the dim doorway, and let out a soft sigh. “As for my involvement, the police cleared me a long time ago. I had no time to commit a crime, no method, and absolutely no motive. Arthur’s death brings nothing but ruin to my life. Why would I ever hurt him? Mom, I genuinely don’t understand why you are so convinced I wanted my husband dead.” “So that’s why you came today?” Martha’s voice was remarkably steady. “You’re curious. You want to know how I, living thousands of miles away, know that you are the true culprit who murdered Arthur. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” A wave of sorrow and exhaustion washed over me. I wanted to speak, but it felt entirely pointless. “Since you are so stubbornly convinced that I am a murderer, we will just let the police give you their final conclusion.” I spoke in a hollow voice, turning to leave. I had barely taken two steps into the corridor when Martha’s voice boomed from behind me. “Honestly, I wasn’t entirely sure before.” “But you came today, and you brought that young man with you. You wanted to trick me into thinking you and that man were having an affair, didn’t you? You wanted to bait me into sending the police down that rabbit hole so they would find absolutely nothing.” “Now, I am completely certain you are the killer.” The moment the last syllable dropped, the corridor plunged into a dead silence. I slowly turned around. There, in the narrow, shadow-draped hallway. I met her eyes in absolute silence.

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I was at the community clinic with Leo and Lily for their vaccinations, and while we waited, I idly flipped through their health records. Leo, blood type A. Lily, blood type B. I thumbed back a page, double-checking my brother Owen’s blood type. Type O. His wife, Sarah, was Type A. Father Type O, Mother Type A – a child could only be Type A or Type O. Type B? Impossible. Unless… Lily’s biological father was someone else entirely. I snapped the health record shut. The nurse’s voice calling out numbers buzzed in my ears, distant and muffled. Sarah was squatting nearby, wiping drool from Lily’s chin. She looked up and smiled at me. “Skylar, what are you spacing out about with that book?” I offered a smile in return. “Oh, nothing. Just checking how much weight they’ve gained.” That secret, I kept to myself. For three years, it remained hidden. 01 Back home after the shots, the whole family was gathered in the living room, doting on the kids. My mom lifted Leo high, laughing delightedly. “Look at Leo’s eyebrows! Exactly like Owen’s when he was little!” My dad chimed in, “Lily takes after Sarah, with those big eyes. She’ll be a real beauty someday.” Sarah leaned back on the sofa, a perfectly poised smile playing on her lips. “They each take after one of us, Mom and Dad. It’s perfect, isn’t it?” I sat in a corner, nursing a glass of water, saying nothing. They each take after one of us. She’d uttered that phrase a hundred times. Whenever a relative or friend remarked that “the two children don’t look very much alike,” she’d just wave it away with that line, light as air. Everyone would just smile, no one thinking much of it. My brother, Owen, emerged from the kitchen, bringing out a dish. His apron was stained with grease, and sweat beaded on his forehead. “Sarah, try this sweet and sour ribs. I added the cherries you love.” Sarah didn’t even glance at it. “Ribs again? Can’t you ever make something different?” Owen paused, his smile faltering slightly. “How about I make fish tomorrow?” “Whatever.” She picked up her phone, dismissing him. My mom quickly intervened. “Sarah’s busy with work, and her appetite isn’t great, Owen. Don’t take it to heart.” Owen nodded, silently placing the ribs near Sarah’s hand. I’d witnessed this scene countless times over the past three years. Owen cooked, washed dishes, took care of the children, fixed leaky pipes – he did everything. And Sarah? She’d come home from work, sprawl on the sofa, scrolling on her phone. She’d occasionally hold Leo, but she was exceptionally attentive to Lily. The clothes she bought for Lily were all designer brands. Leo wore Lily’s hand-me-downs. “Boys are sturdy, they can wear anything,” she’d explain. I never said anything. But I remembered clearly: Leo was the older brother, Lily the younger. He was born a full four minutes before her. What kind of logic was it for the older brother to wear his younger sister’s cast-offs? After dinner, I helped clear the dishes. Owen was in the kitchen washing a pot, his voice low as he spoke to me. “Skylar, Sarah hasn’t been in a great mood lately. Don’t pay it any mind.” I looked at the red marks on his hands, splattered by hot oil. “Owen, is she good to you?” He paused, then laughed. “We’re a couple, right? Just a long adjustment period.” Three years, and still adjusting. I put the last bowl in the cupboard, asking no more questions. As I was leaving, changing my shoes by the door, Lily toddled over and hugged my leg, looking up and calling for “Auntie.” I knelt down to look at her face. Big eyes, a delicate nose, a pointed chin. She certainly resembled Sarah. But her earlobes… They were completely attached to her face, small and fused. Owen, had detached earlobes. Sarah, also had detached earlobes. Two people with detached earlobes, having a child with attached earlobes? Genetically speaking, the probability was close to zero. I stroked Lily’s head and stood up. “Auntie’s leaving now, be a good girl.” I stood in the hallway for a long time. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to speak. I couldn’t. What if I was wrong? What if there was another explanation? But I’d studied genetics for seven years, and I couldn’t find any “other explanation” that could simultaneously account for both the blood type and the earlobes. The elevator doors opened. I stepped inside, pressing the ground floor button. For three years, I had been waiting for the right moment. 02 I remembered everything clearly from three years ago. Sarah was Owen’s college classmate; they dated for five years, and she became pregnant in their second year of marriage. The whole family was overjoyed when she was expecting, especially my mom. “It’s twins! Our family lineage must have some good karma!” Owen practically worshipped Sarah. He quit a high-paying project team with long hours, coming home on time every day to cook. Sarah suffered severe morning sickness during her pregnancy, and Owen would hold a basin by her bedside at night. She craved dumplings at three in the morning, and he’d ride his electric scooter across four neighborhoods just to find them. The day the children were born, Owen cried like a baby outside the delivery room. Two boys, seven pounds two ounces and six pounds eight ounces, mother and sons healthy. The whole family was radiant with joy. No one noticed the fleeting moment of panic in Sarah’s eyes in the delivery room. I did. Back then, I hadn’t considered the blood types, but I remembered her expression freezing for a second when she saw Lily. Then she quickly smiled. “They both look just like you,” she told Owen. During her confinement period, I went home to help with the babies. Sarah’s mother also came – an impeccably dressed, sharp-tongued woman. She called Owen “young Owen,” her tone imbued with an undeniable sense of superiority. “Young Owen, Sarah has never known hardship since childhood. You’ll have to take good care of her.” Owen smiled and agreed. Sarah’s mother only held Lily, barely touching Leo. I asked her about it once. “Auntie, Leo’s fussy too, could you help soothe him?” She gave me a dismissive glance. “The older one takes after your family, you soothe him. The younger one is like our Sarah, I feel for her.” Even then, I felt something was off. They were just twins; did they need to be so distinctly separated? But what truly made me suspicious was the first month celebration. One of Sarah’s female friends arrived, dressed elegantly, driving a white BMW. When she picked up Lily, she froze for a full three seconds. Then she quickly walked to the hallway, grabbed Sarah’s arm, and whispered something. I only caught the last few words as I passed by. “…Are you out of your mind?” Sarah yanked her hand away, her face pale. “Stay out of it.” I never forgot that incident. I remembered it for three years. That friend never appeared at Owen’s house again. Sarah said she had moved abroad. But I’d seen her checking in at a local Japanese restaurant on Sarah’s social media just a month before. She hadn’t moved abroad. She’d been blocked by Sarah. I collected these fragmented pieces, like a puzzle, fitting them together towards a conclusion I didn’t want to believe. Until that day at the clinic, when I saw the blood types in the health records. The last piece of the puzzle fell into place. The picture was complete. And it was ugly. 03 After the children turned two, Sarah changed. Or rather, she stopped pretending. Owen’s construction business had been going for six years; he’d made some money in the early years and bought a two-bedroom apartment in the city center, titled in both their names. There was still a $32,000 car loan outstanding. Sarah worked as an administrator at a real estate company, earning just over seven thousand dollars a month, but her spending speed was three times her salary. First, she upgraded her phone to the latest iPhone model. Then came the bags; a $1,200 Coach was replaced by a $3,600 Celine. My mom would occasionally grumble, and Sarah would shoot back with a smile. “Mom, if a woman doesn’t treat herself well, who will?” My mom would fall silent. Owen, meanwhile, still woke up at six every morning, left for the construction site at seven, and returned home around eight in the evening, still needing to cook and put the kids to bed. One weekend, I visited their house and found him asleep on the kitchen floor, leaning against the cabinets. The soup in the pot was still bubbling. Sarah was in the bedroom, watching TV with a face mask on, the volume cranked up. I turned off the stove and woke Owen. He rubbed his eyes, his first words being: “Is the soup ready? Sarah’s waiting for it.” My nose stung, and I couldn’t hold it back. “Owen, aren’t you tired?” “No.” He got up and stirred the soup. “A man just has to shoulder it, right?” He wasn’t tired, but my heart ached for him. Three months later, on a Saturday, I went to see my nephews as usual. Opening the door, the sight inside stunned me. The wedding photo on the living room wall had been taken down. In its place was a solo artistic photo of Sarah – in a long white dress, by the beach, smiling brightly. “Sarah said the wedding photo was ugly, so she changed it,” Owen explained. On the coffee table, Leo was gnawing on a teething biscuit. Lily sat in Sarah’s lap, wearing a navy blue children’s suit jacket with a small gold emblem on the collar. I recognized that emblem. Burberry Kids. One piece, at least two thousand. And Leo? He wore a faded cotton t-shirt with a thumb-sized hole at the elbow. I knelt down and picked Leo up. “Sarah, Leo’s clothes need changing.” Sarah didn’t even look up. “Boys wear out clothes quickly; it’s a waste to buy anything too good.” “Lily’s a boy too.” She finally looked up at me, her gaze momentarily cold. “Lily is delicate. Better fabrics are less likely to cause allergies.” I didn’t say anything more. But as I left that day, I passed by the spare bedroom door and saw a partially opened delivery box. A corner of something was visible inside – a pair of children’s shoes, with the New Balance logo on the box. The size was Lily’s. Next to it was a shopping bag from “Rainbow Heights Baby & Toddler.” I knew that store. The one downtown, specializing in imported baby products; a single pair of socks cost ninety dollars. There was a receipt in the bag; I glanced at it while pretending to tidy up. Total amount: $4,312. The memo section read: For Lily only. Four thousand three hundred. Owen had borrowed five thousand dollars from me last month, saying he needed to pay Leo’s preschool tuition. One month’s tuition was eighteen hundred. He had to borrow even eighteen hundred. She spent four thousand three hundred on Lily in one go. I pushed the corner of the delivery box back in and gently closed the door. Walking out of the apartment complex gate, the wind was strong. I stood by the roadside for a long time before I managed to flag down a taxi. The driver asked where I was going. I gave the address, then turned to stare out the window. The taxi driver probably saw my face in the rearview mirror and said nothing more. 04 The turning point came on the children’s third birthday. Owen had decorated the house with balloons and streamers, and ordered a two-tiered buttercream cake with a “3” candle. The whole family was there: my parents, my aunt and uncle’s family, and Sarah’s mother. The two children, dressed in new clothes, ran around the living room. Leo’s new clothes were bought by Owen online: a pure cotton plaid shirt, tag price $89. Lily’s new clothes were bought by Sarah, and you could tell at a glance they weren’t cheap. When it was time for cake, Sarah’s mother held Lily on her lap, feeding her bite by bite. Leo reached for the cake, but Sarah’s mother blocked him. “Wait, let your brother eat first.” Leo’s hand retracted, watching longingly. I cut a piece of cake and handed it to Leo. Sarah’s mother glared at me. “This child is too impatient, no manners at all.” My mom quickly interjected, “My dear relative, they’re just kids, they’re all greedy.” Sarah’s mother huffed, saying nothing more. But what happened next made me completely unable to sit still. When it was time to blow out the candles, Sarah pulled out her phone to take pictures. “Lily, sit here, yes, turn your face this way.” She took seven or eight shots, changing angles three or four times. Then she put her phone away. Leo was still standing by the cake, his face smeared with frosting, smiling and showing his two little canine teeth. “Mommy, take my picture.” Sarah looked down at her phone, as if she hadn’t heard. “Mommy, please take my picture.” Leo tugged at her sleeve. Sarah impatiently pushed his hand away. “Your face is all covered in frosting, it won’t look good. Don’t fuss.” Leo’s smile slowly faded. The three-year-old’s eyes slowly welled up, but he didn’t cry. He just quietly took two steps back and stood in the corner of the table. My fork in my hand was twisted out of shape. My aunt leaned over and whispered, “Skylar, isn’t Sarah treating the two children too differently?” I didn’t answer. But that night, after I got home, I sat at my desk for a full hour. In the drawer lay the blood type data I had copied from Leo’s health record a year ago. A and B. My brother, Owen, Type O. Sarah, Type A. Father O, Mother A – a child could not be Type B. Unless Lily’s father carried the Type B blood gene. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath. Three years. The moment I had been waiting for, perhaps I shouldn’t wait any longer.

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Three years into our marriage, my successful entrepreneur wife cheated. When I found out and asked for a divorce, she brought me to my parents’ house. She gathered my parents, my brother, my uncle, and his family, then calmly declared: “I cheated, and Adrian wants a divorce. You all need to talk some sense into him!” Her brazen shamelessness utterly shocked me. But in the next moment, my shock doubled. 1 My dad laughed, looking at my wife, Amy. “No, Amy, there’s no way you could cheat. You’re such a sweet person. No way, absolutely not!” He then turned to me, his brow furrowed. “What’s wrong with you, as a husband, making jokes like that about your wife? Apologize to her at once, go home with her, and stop messing around!” My mom and brother chimed in, echoing his sentiments. “Exactly! Amy’s not that kind of person, how can you just make things up?” “Adrian, stop it. Apologize to Amy. This isn’t funny!” I was momentarily stunned. “I’m not messing around. This isn’t a joke.” My voice was tight with suppressed fury. “Amy Vance cheated. I have the chat logs, the pictures…” Amy had left her laptop open, logged into her messaging app. When I went to close it for her, I saw her messages. At the top of her chat list were two men. One called her “Wife,” the other called her “Baby.” Their conversations dated back half a year. The content was explicit, with many graphic photos. Most damning were the hotel records. Both men, mentioned in the chats, had met her no less than fifteen times each. As I scrolled through and saved them, I felt a wave of nausea, my hands shaking with rage. This was no joke! I was about to pull out my phone to prove it. But my uncle’s son, my cousin, stepped forward. 2 He grabbed my hand, fixing me with a steady gaze. After a brief pause, he snatched my phone away. “No… no, that’s impossible. You’re just talking nonsense!” He gave me a stern look. “Cousin, just focus on your marriage, okay? Don’t be like those overbearing men you see online!” My mind immediately filled with questions. Amy was the one who cheated, she was the one who wronged me. I was simply stating the facts, trying to prove them. Yet, my family members, one by one, were looking at me with cold eyes. Not only did they disbelieve me, they blamed me, and they stopped me? Why? Before I could even voice my confusion, Amy spoke. “You don’t have to defend me. I did cheat.” Her voice was calm, almost detached. “I brought Adrian here so you could talk some sense into him. He’s set on a divorce, but I don’t want one. I still have feelings for him.” A wave of nausea hit me. Forgetting my bewilderment, I immediately erupted. “Feelings? What a load of crap!” I snarled, my voice raw. “If you had feelings, would you have started cheating over half a year ago, with two men at the same time? If you had feelings, would you be playing the ‘new bride’ role out there every other day, calling them ‘husband’ with such glee?” I practically spat the words. “Cut the deep affection act, you despicable wretch. Aren’t you afraid of being struck by lightning, or hit by a car the moment you step outside?!” I cursed venomously. But midway through my tirade, my dad stepped forward. He raised his hand and smacked me hard on the shoulder. “Adrian Hayes! What’s wrong with you? Can’t you speak properly? You just started yelling curses and hexes!” He glared at me, his face red with anger. “You’re not acting like a man at all! Shut your mouth and stand back!” He roared, yanking me roughly behind him. Beside him, my mom and brother, in perfect sync with my dad, also tried to pull at me. A deeper surge of confusion washed over me. In a fit of anger, I broke free, glaring at them. “Are you all out of your minds?!” I demanded, my voice shaking. “I’m your son! I’m your family! You’re not helping me; instead, you’re helping this rotten person! You’re truly insane!” 3 My dad looked uneasy. He forced a placating smile at Amy, seemingly afraid of upsetting her. At the same time, he quickly raised a hand, trying to cover my mouth. I struggled, pushing him away. Seeing he couldn’t silence me, and my face etched with uncooperative fury, my dad grew more agitated. Grimly, he motioned to my mom, my brother, and my cousin. They grabbed me, dragging me forcefully aside. He then gave a meaningful look to my uncle and aunt, signaling them to lead Amy away. Once they were a safe distance, out of Amy’s earshot, they spoke through gritted teeth, their voices hushed. “Adrian Hayes! Don’t you dare make a scene here! If you upset your wife and mess up your brother’s job, I swear I won’t forgive you!” My cousin’s face was equally grim, his jaw clenched even tighter. “And my job too! Don’t you dare mess that up!” Looking at their angry faces, I finally understood their strange behavior. My cousin and my brother worked at the company Amy and I had built. They dared not offend Amy; they were afraid of losing their jobs. Amy brought me back here, confidently expecting them to talk sense into me, precisely because she knew this. A deep sadness welled up in my heart. Everyone was gathered. Amy announced her infidelity. Less than thirty seconds passed. My family members exchanged no words. But in that brief time, they instinctively thought of their jobs. Silently, implicitly, they chose to belittle me. To demand that I admit my mistake, that I swallow my pride and endure. Amy saw this, and she exploited it. Family. This was my family. To hell with family! My voice trembled. “For the sake of your jobs, you’re twisting black into white, ganging up on me like this? Do you even have a conscience anymore? Don’t forget, when you were unemployed, sitting at home, I was the one who brought you into the company!” 4 “I’m the one who gave you jobs, I’m the one you’re related to by blood, not that garbage woman!” The economy had been tough; my brother graduated straight into unemployment, couldn’t even get an interview. My cousin was laid off when his company downsized, and he was driven to despair sending out resumes. At the time, Amy and I had successfully started our own company. We had opened it, even built a small factory. We happened to need manpower, and my brother and cousin’s specializations fit, so I brought them into the company. What was originally a good deed had now become a knife aimed at me! I spoke faster, growing more and more furious, eventually almost roaring the words. But instead of feeling even an ounce of wrongdoing, they merely sneered at me. “You brought us into the company, and that’s your accomplishment? Aren’t you thinking a little too highly of yourself?” “The company belongs to Amy, the factory belongs to Amy, and Amy pays our salaries!” “The one who truly calls the shots, the one with the credit, is Amy, not you!” “Exactly. We’re already being generous by not calling you a sugar baby. You’re just her appendage, enjoying the good life thanks to her.” “Still haven’t figured yourself out, huh? Truly believe you’re something special now!” “Alright, stop losing your mind! Don’t you know what the economic climate is like right now? Don’t you know how hard it is to find a job?” “For your brother’s and cousin’s jobs, what’s wrong with you compromising a little? Besides, you’re not really suffering. She’s beautiful and she earns good money; you’re living a comfortable life!” “You’re a sugar baby and you’re still not satisfied? Always wanting more, wanting this and that. I don’t know how you were raised to be so greedy!” My voice suddenly grew hoarse, as I gritted my teeth and spoke. “I didn’t rely on her!” I insisted. “We built the company together! In fact, my contributions were even greater than hers…” My dad scoffed, cutting me off. “You’re my son. I know what you’re like. A good-for-nothing man, no talent whatsoever!” 5 Watching the sneer on my dad’s face, my heart clenched. Right out of college, I’d landed an eight-thousand-dollar salary during the worst economic downturn, all by my own ability. After that, it only climbed higher. Ten thousand, fifteen thousand, twenty thousand, thirty thousand… I spent a significant portion of that money on my family. My brother’s computer, phone, bicycle… My dad’s teapot, tea leaves, fishing rods… My mom’s necklace, gold bracelet, cosmetics… At that time, I didn’t even know Amy Vance! My abilities were evident to them! But now, I was talentless. I was a good-for-nothing, a sugar baby, dependent on a woman… My dad paused, then softened his tone. “Alright, alright, don’t be angry. Whether you love her or not, whether she cheated or not, it doesn’t matter. What matters is keeping your life together! She didn’t even try to hide it from you; she’s already been very good.” My dad nudged my cousin’s shoulder, and they exchanged a glance before my cousin left. My dad continued, “…You cannot get this divorce. And your brother’s and cousin’s jobs absolutely cannot be lost. Go back and sweet-talk your wife. Make her give you a son! That way, even if she goes out to ‘play’ again later, you can tie her down with the child, and you won’t have to worry about your life falling apart.” He lowered his voice. “I’ve already sent your cousin to bring her back. Just lower your head, admit your mistake, and we’ll consider this matter settled…” As he spoke, footsteps approached, and a smile spread across my dad’s face. He shifted his gaze, then pushed my back. “Amy, we’ve talked to him. He knows he was just confused for a moment. This divorce is off. Remember to live a good life from now on, okay?” My dad’s hand pressed harder into my back. He even winked at me, the meaning clear: What are you waiting for? Hurry up and bow your head, admit your mistake! 6 Amy stepped closer, nodded to my dad, and reached out to take my hand. “Alright, let’s go home. I’ll try to control myself…” I took a deep breath, gritted my teeth, twisted away, and slapped my dad’s hand off me. Family? They didn’t deserve me. And that rotten woman? Even less so! No one could bully me! No one! As my dad stared at me in disbelief, I raised my hand and smacked Amy hard across the face. Crack! The crisp sound of the slap made both Amy and my dad freeze. Amy clutched her cheek, staring at me blankly. “You… you dared to hit me?” I didn’t answer, nor did I stop. I brought my knee up, delivering a vicious kick to Amy’s body. The Amy who had just questioned me let out a gasp of pain, immediately doubling over like a cooked shrimp, sent sprawling to the ground by the force of the kick. I then stomped my foot onto her face, causing blood to gush from her nose and mouth. I pressed down, grinding my heel into her face as she wailed, one hand clutching her face, the other her stomach. “Control yourself? You think you can control me?!” My voice was a low snarl. “Anyone who wrongs me, not one of them will get away with it!” I had barely finished speaking when my dad’s roar suddenly erupted. He lunged at me, grabbing my hair and yanking with all his might. “Ah! Adrian Hayes, you’re really asking for it! How dare you lay a hand on her, and with such brutal force…” My dad yelled, delivering a smack to my face. He’d always been a physically active man. Instantly, blood appeared on his rough, dry palm. He’d scratched my face. But perhaps caught up in the fury, I felt no pain. Yet, the blood on his fingertips and the coppery taste in my mouth told me it wasn’t a light blow. Without a moment’s hesitation, I twisted, raised my hand, and smacked my dad squarely across the face. 7 In my dad’s stunned expression, I grabbed his hair in turn. With a pull and a yank, I slammed his head against Amy’s. Thud! The sound echoed, and both of them tumbled to the ground, their faces contorted in agony. I watched them coldly. “Anyone who wrongs me, not one of them will get away with it!” My brother and mom were startled. Their steps, which had been moving forward, hesitated, then retreated. Beyond their fear, their faces were etched with anger. Glaring at me, my mom instinctively ordered my brother, “Call the police! Call the police!” The precinct was nearby; the officers arrived quickly. They surveyed my blood-streaked face, my dad’s swollen forehead, and Amy, whose forehead was swollen, her nose and mouth bleeding. An officer gestured. “Alright, everyone, let’s go down to the station!” My dad had recovered somewhat. One hand clutched his forehead, the other held back the officer. “You take this bastard, lock him up. My wife isn’t going! My wife needs to go to the hospital first…” The officer glanced at Amy, then grunted, “Alright.” He then surveyed the faces of everyone else, his gaze finally settling on me. “One man against a whole family, huh? What kind of person are you, with such nerve? Let’s go!” I followed the officer’s gaze, sweeping over the faces of my dad, my brother, my aunt and uncle, and my cousin. Every single one of them looked at me with seething resentment. No wonder the officer immediately recognized them as a family unit and saw me as the outsider. But… “I’m that man’s son. His biological son.” All the way there, my thoughts drifted. I remembered a colleague from a previous job. I recalled a conversation I’d had with him. He had just finished a phone call, and on the other end was his father.

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For seven years, I’ve been his wife hidden in the shadows. Our son is publicly denied as his “nephew.” To please his first love, he filled the house with deadly lily flowers. My six-year-old son was locked in that pollen-filled room and suffocated to death. When I rushed him to the hospital barely alive, my husband was accompanying that woman for an IV drip. In that moment, I personally sentenced this marriage to death. I disappeared with my child, and he knelt begging me to come back, trying to atone with everything he had. But he didn’t know. The day he knelt down, I had already decided to make him spend the rest of his life paying for my son’s final breath. Jade’s POV “Mr. Carter, and this is…?” “She’s my assistant. That kid is my relative, staying at my place temporarily.” When Damien Carter introduced me to the client, his tone was casual. I lowered my head, organizing documents without a word. In reality, we’d been married for seven years. That child was his biological son. Damien and I had a child after an accident. We’d kept the marriage a secret ever since. To the outside world, our son was just my relative. After the client left, the smile vanished from Damien’s face instantly. He slammed a contract onto the desk. “Jade Wilson, why is the amount in this contract missing a zero? Are you trying to cost the company tens of millions?” I picked up the contract and glanced at it. “This was the first draft prepared by Clara. I hadn’t gotten to review it yet before you rushed to show it to the client.” Damien frowned and looked over at Clara Hayes. Clara’s eyes were already red, standing there helplessly. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Carter… I’m so useless. I saw Jade was too busy and wanted to help share some of the workload. I didn’t expect to make such a mistake…” Her voice carried a sob, and her body trembled slightly. Damien’s stern expression immediately softened. He sighed, his tone helpless yet indulgent. “Alright, if you’re not sure about something, leave it alone. Next time, let Jade handle this kind of work. You just focus on making my coffee.” Clara smiled, responding sweetly. “Thank you, Mr. Carter. You’re so good to me.” I stood to the side and noticed the tie clip on Damien’s tie. It was shaped like a cartoon bear, crudely made, with paint even chipping off at the edges. This was something Clara had bought from a street vendor last week and given him-supposedly only five dollars. Meanwhile, the cufflinks I’d given him last month, worth six figures, were currently gathering dust in a pen holder in the corner of his desk. That was the difference. Anything from Clara was treasure, even if it was trash. Anything from me was trash, even if it was treasure. My phone vibrated in my pocket. I glanced at it-the nanny from home was calling. I walked to a corner to answer. The nanny’s anxious voice came through. “Mrs. Carter, Mason has a fever and keeps gasping for air. His chest is heaving badly. The doctor said before that he’s at risk for asthma-what should we do?” My heart seized. Mason was premature and frail. High fever triggering asthma could be life-threatening. After hanging up, I took a deep breath and turned toward Damien. “Mr. Carter, I need to take leave.” Damien was teaching Clara how to identify coffee beans, his head still lowered. “The company’s busy. Request denied.” “Mason has a high fever of 103 degrees and may be showing signs of asthma. I have to take him to the hospital immediately.” I tried to keep my voice calm. Hearing Mason’s name, Damien finally looked up. But there was no concern in his eyes. Only impatience. “Sick again? Last week it was coughing, this week it’s a fever. Jade, are you using that kid as an excuse to skip work?” I clenched my fists. “This time it’s serious. The nanny says he can’t breathe properly…” “Ah!” A scream cut off my words. Damien whipped around to see Clara covering the back of her hand, the freshly brewed coffee spilled all over the desk. “What happened?” Damien rushed over and grabbed her hand. Clara’s eyes filled with tears. “The water was too hot, I couldn’t hold it… Mr. Carter, am I useless?” A small red spot appeared on the back of her hand-not even a blister. Yet Damien looked as panicked as if the sky were falling. He immediately shouted outside. “Get the burn ointment! Hurry!” After shouting, he seemed to think it wasn’t enough and grabbed his car keys directly. “No, we need to go to the hospital. Can’t let it scar.” With that, he pulled Clara toward the exit, completely forgetting I was still standing there waiting for him to approve my leave. I blocked his path. “Damien, Mason is at home waiting to be saved! Are you going to abandon your own son over this tiny injury of hers?” Damien stopped and looked at me coldly. “Jade, Clara got injured making coffee for me. That’s a work-related injury. As for your nephew…” He paused, his tone mocking. “If he has a fever, call a doctor. I’m not fever medication. Go home yourself and stop making a scene here.” He shoved me aside and strode away with Clara protectively. “Damien, you care about me the most…” Clara’s coquettish voice drifted from the hallway. I stumbled back two steps from the push, my lower back hitting the desk corner painfully. But I couldn’t feel the pain. Because my phone rang again. The nanny sent a video. In the video, my six-year-old son’s face was flushed red with fever, his mouth open as he struggled to breathe, his hand clutching a drawing tightly. The drawing showed a faceless man holding his hand. The nanny sent a text message. “Mason keeps calling for daddy, asking when daddy will come home.” Watching the video, tears finally streamed down my face. I wiped my tears and replied to the nanny. “Call an ambulance. Tell Mason that daddy is dead. From now on, only mommy will be with him.” I threw the unfinished documents on the desk into the trash and turned to leave the company. Watching Damien’s Maybach speed away into the distance, the last trace of hesitation in my heart disappeared.

Jade’s POV After leaving the company, I went straight to the hospital. Outside the emergency room, the nanny was pacing anxiously. Seeing me, she finally breathed a sigh of relief. “Jade, you’re finally here! Mason just had a nebulizer treatment. The doctor said we got him here just in time-if we’d been half an hour later and he’d suffocated, it would’ve been serious.” Through the glass window, I saw Mason’s small body curled up on the hospital bed, an oxygen tube in his nose, sleeping restlessly. My heart felt like it was being pierced by needles. I sent the nanny home to rest and stayed by the bedside myself. My phone pinged with a message from Damien. “Clara has a blister on her hand. I’m staying with her for the IV drip. Won’t be home tonight.” Looking at that cold line of text, I finally remembered what day it was. Today was our seventh wedding anniversary. For this day, I’d made a reservation at a famous Michelin-starred restaurant half a month ago and even sent Damien a reminder message. At the time, he’d replied with one word. “Okay.” Now it seemed he’d completely forgotten. I smiled and didn’t reply, just turned off my phone. Mason woke up once in the middle of the night. His fever had gone down a bit. The first thing he said when he opened his eyes was. “Mommy, did daddy come?” My hand pausing while peeling an apple stopped. Looking at the hopeful look in the child’s eyes, I couldn’t bring myself to say the word “dead.” I could only lie. “Daddy’s working. He’s far away making money for Mason’s medical treatment.” The light in Mason’s eyes dimmed instantly. He lowered his head, fidgeting with his fingers. “Other kids have their daddies with them. I want daddy too.” I put down the knife and gently hugged him. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault.” Mason considerately patted my back. “It’s okay, mommy. Having you is enough.” In that moment, I made a decision. I would take Mason away from here, to a place without Damien Carter. Zurich, Switzerland. There was the best asthma rehabilitation center there, and the peace I’d longed for. The next morning, Mason’s condition stabilized. I completed the discharge procedures and took him home. As soon as we entered the house, I smelled a strong fragrance. It was the scent of lilies. I frowned. Mason had a sensitive respiratory system and couldn’t tolerate this kind of irritating floral scent. On the coffee table in the living room sat a large bouquet of blooming stargazer lilies. Damien was sitting on the sofa, holding a pink scarf and looking at it. It was Clara’s. Seeing us return, he didn’t even look up, just asked casually. “Fever gone?” His tone was as flat as if he were asking about the weather. I ignored him and immediately took the vase of lilies out to the balcony, closing the door to block the scent. Only then did Damien put down the scarf and look at me with displeasure. “What are you doing? Those are flowers Clara gave me, saying it was to thank me for staying with her yesterday.” “Mason can’t tolerate that scent. It makes him cough.” I said. Damien scoffed. “How can he be that delicate? I think you’ve just spoiled this kid. He has no masculine spirit at all.” I didn’t want to argue with him. I took Mason’s hand and headed to our room. But Damien suddenly stood up and tossed an exquisite gift box at me. “Take this.” I caught it reflexively. “Since the fever’s gone, stop looking so gloomy. This is compensation for you.” Compensation? I opened the box. Inside was a necklace. I’d actually seen this exact same style on Clara’s Instagram yesterday. The caption read. “Mr. Carter has such good taste. Though this style doesn’t suit me, he insisted on buying it. Wonder who he’s planning to give it to?” Seeing my silence, Damien said impatiently. “Get ready. The day after tomorrow, the company’s having a team-building trip to the water park. Bring the kid along.” I looked up sharply. “Water park?” “Yes. Clara said she wants some excitement. Everyone’s bringing family members. I told them you’re a relative staying with your kid at my place. You need to come too. Don’t embarrass me in front of the employees.” I looked at his matter-of-fact expression and felt cold all over. “I’m not going.” My refusal was firm. “Why not?” Damien frowned. “Mason is afraid of water.” I stared into his eyes, enunciating each word. “When he was three, you were playing on your phone by the pool and he nearly drowned. He’s had a phobia of deep water ever since. Have you forgotten?” Damien froze for a moment. Then he waved his hand dismissively. “That was so long ago and you’re still bringing it up? How can a boy be so timid? This is a perfect chance for him to practice courage. It’s settled then. We leave at eight the day after tomorrow.” With that, he grabbed his car keys and left without looking back. “Clara’s still waiting for me downstairs. I’m going to drive her to work.” The moment the door closed, I threw the necklace into the trash.

Jade’s POV The water park was a new project invested in by Carter Corporation this year. It hadn’t officially opened to the public yet-this team-building event was essentially an internal trial run. On departure day, the sky was somewhat overcast. Mason gripped my hand tightly. Before we even entered the gates, his little face had already turned pale. “Mommy, I don’t want to go in… Water is scary.” I crouched down, adjusting his collar, my voice gentle and soothing. “Don’t be afraid. Mommy will stay with you the whole time. We’ll just sit on the shore and won’t go in the water.” Only then did Mason reluctantly nod, shrinking behind me like a frightened little quail. As soon as we entered the park, I saw Damien surrounded by a group of executives and employees. He wore a white casual T-shirt today, looking young and handsome. Standing beside him, Clara wore a bright yellow bikini with a transparent sun protection jacket over it. Her figure was on full display as she clung intimately to Damien’s arm, laughing happily. Anyone who didn’t know better would think they were the married couple. “Mr. Carter, your assistant is here.” Someone with sharp eyes spotted me. Everyone’s gaze immediately converged. Damien turned around. Seeing Mason hiding behind me, his brow furrowed almost imperceptibly. “Since you’re here, find somewhere to stay. Don’t wander around.” His tone was cold and distant, as if he really were speaking to an unfamiliar relative. A new administrative supervisor nearby asked curiously. “Mr. Carter, who’s this child? He actually looks a bit like you, especially around the eyes and brows.” My heart jumped. Mason did resemble Damien. This used to be what I was most proud of. The air went quiet for a moment. Damien seemed to hear a joke and scoffed, then spoke carelessly. “How could he look like me? He’s her nephew.” He pointed at me, then at Mason, his eyes carrying a trace of disdain. “No one at home to watch him, so he’s staying at my place temporarily. After all, we’re relatives-I help where I can.” Sounds of sudden understanding immediately rose around us. “Oh, so he’s a relative staying temporarily. Mr. Carter is so kindhearted.” “Exactly. Jade is really lucky to have Mr. Carter as both boss and relative.” The administrative supervisor quickly backtracked too. “Looking more carefully, he really doesn’t look like you. This child seems a bit timid-nothing like Mr. Carter’s presence.” I felt Mason’s body behind me stiffen sharply. Though he was only six, he wasn’t stupid. He slowly peeked out from behind me, looking at that tall man surrounded by the crowd, his eyes gradually reddening. He asked me in a small voice. “Mommy, why did daddy say I’m his nephew? What’s a nephew?” My heart felt like someone had wrung it violently. I covered his ears, forcing back tears as I whispered. “Daddy’s just joking with other people. Mason, be good. Don’t listen.” Mason sniffled and buried his head against my leg, refusing to look at Damien again. “All right everyone, go have fun! Everything’s on me today!” Damien waved his hand grandly, and the crowd cheered and dispersed. Clara pulled Damien toward the largest wave pool. “Mr. Carter, I want to play that one! Will you protect me?” Damien nodded indulgently. “Sure, whatever you want.” They walked away with laughter and chatter. Not a single person noticed me and Mason in the corner. I took Mason to find a lounge chair away from the crowds. It was quiet here. We could only hear distant screams from the wave pool. Mason hugged his knees, staring blankly at the distant water. “Mommy, I don’t like this place.” “Okay, we’ll sit for a bit then leave.” I was just about to take Mason away from this place of trouble when Damien suddenly appeared before us. He was soaking wet, clearly just out of the water, holding two ice cream cones. “Here.” He held out the ice cream. I froze, about to refuse, when he added. “Clara bought too many and can’t finish them. Waste to throw them away. Give them to the kid.” Leftovers again. Mason looked at the melting ice cream and shook his head. “I don’t want it.” Damien’s expression darkened. “Why are you so rude? I’m giving you something and you’re picky?” “Mason’s cough hasn’t fully recovered. He can’t have cold things.” I coldly blocked it for the child. “And these are someone else’s leftovers. We don’t want them.” Having his face rejected, Damien grew somewhat angry. “Jade Wilson, is this how you teach a child? No manners at all.” Just then, Clara’s voice called out from the distance. “Mr. Carter! Come quick! The slide over here is so thrilling!” She stood at the edge of the deep water area, waving excitedly. Damien’s expression changed completely. He responded and turned to leave. Before leaving, as if remembering something, he pointed to the nearby shallow children’s pool. “Since you’re here, take him in to play. Stop letting him hide on shore like a girl.” With that, he strode toward Clara.

Jade’s POV Of course I didn’t listen to Damien and take Mason into the water. I was packing up our things to leave with Mason when Clara somehow appeared. She held a huge inflatable unicorn, her smile so sweet it was almost blinding. “Jade, leaving so soon? Mr. Carter specifically asked me to come keep Mason company.” She bent down, trying to take Mason’s hand. Mason warily shrank back, dodging her touch. Clara’s smile stiffened for a moment, then she looked toward Damien in the distance talking with executives, her expression aggrieved. “Doesn’t this child like me? I even brought this unicorn especially for him to play with.” As she spoke, she shoved the giant unicorn toward Mason. The unicorn was too large and blocked Mason’s view directly. Mason instinctively stepped back, not realizing he was right at the edge of the children’s pool. Though the children’s pool wasn’t deep, for a child with extreme fear of water, any water was hell. Mason’s foot slipped, and his entire body fell backward into the water. Splash. Though the water only came up to Mason’s waist, he was already terrified. The memory of nearly drowning at age three instantly attacked his brain. He didn’t stand up. Instead, he thrashed desperately in the shallow water, arms and legs flailing wildly, as if trying to cough all the air from his lungs. “Help! Mommy! Help!” His shrill cries instantly pierced through the noisy crowd. My head buzzed. I threw down my bag and rushed over like a madwoman, jumping into the water without even removing my shoes. “Mason! I’m here! Don’t be afraid!” I scooped up Mason, soaking wet and trembling violently, from the water and held him tightly. He was shaking. Shaking violently. His face was deathly pale, lips purple, eyes unfocused, only able to repeat. “Don’t let me drown… Don’t let me drown…” It was a stress response. My heart was breaking. I patted his back, tears streaming uncontrollably. “It’s okay now, it’s okay. Mommy’s taking you home.” The shore filled with people, everyone pointing and whispering. “What’s wrong with this kid? Water this shallow and he’s this scared?” “Too pampered, right? How will a boy like this manage in the future?” Clara stood on shore, still holding that unicorn, covering her mouth with an innocent expression. “Oh my god, I didn’t mean to… I just wanted to give him the toy. I didn’t expect him to be so timid he couldn’t even stand steady.” At this moment, Damien finally pushed through the crowd. He glanced at Mason, soaking wet and still trembling, his brow furrowing into a line. But he didn’t come comfort the child first, nor did he blame Clara. Instead, he turned to look at me, his tone full of impatience and disgust. “Jade Wilson, can you not embarrass yourself in public?” I looked up sharply, staring at him deadly. “Embarrassing? Mason is this terrified and all you care about is embarrassment?” Damien snorted coldly. “The water’s only half a meter deep. He could’ve just stood up and been fine. All that wailing and carrying on-what does it look like! This is exactly the problem you’ve spoiled him into having. No resilience at all.” As he spoke, he reached out to pull Clara protectively behind him, still comforting the actual culprit. “Clara, don’t blame yourself. He lost his footing on his own-it has nothing to do with you. You were just being nice trying to play with him.” Clara fell into his embrace right on cue, tears coming instantly. “Mr. Carter, I was so scared… I didn’t expect this child to react so strongly. Should I not have approached him?” “Of course not.” Damien patted her back. “He’s just too withdrawn. It’s not your fault.” Holding Mason who was still convulsing, listening to this conversation that twisted black into white, the last trace of hope I had for this man completely turned to ash. “Damien Carter.” I called his name. “You’re going to regret this.” Damien looked at me with disdain. “Regret? Regret what? Regret not throwing this kid in the deep end to practice his courage?” I didn’t engage with him further. I took off my jacket, wrapped it around Mason, picked him up and turned to leave. Behind me came Clara’s sweet voice. “Mr. Carter, my legs are weak, I can’t walk…” “Then I’ll carry you.” Sounds of teasing rose around us. Holding Mason, I walked out of the water park step by step. Mason gradually calmed in my arms, though he kept hiccupping. He buried his head in the crook of my neck and said quietly. “Mommy, I don’t want daddy anymore.” I answered him softly. “Okay. We don’t want him anymore.” After returning home, Mason developed a high fever that night. This time was even more severe than the last. He cried out in his dreams, not wanting to go in the water. I stayed up with him all night until dawn when the fever finally subsided slightly. At six in the morning, I took out the divorce agreement I’d printed long ago and signed my name. Without a moment’s hesitation. At seven, sounds came from the front door. Damien had returned. Reeking of alcohol, he’d obviously gone drinking after the team-building ended. Seeing me sitting on the living room sofa, he paused, then frowned. “Sitting here first thing in the morning trying to scare people?” I stood up and placed the signed divorce agreement on the coffee table, pushing it toward him. “Sign it.” Damien glanced at the document title and scoffed. He casually tossed his jacket aside, as if he’d heard the biggest joke. “Jade Wilson, what game are you playing now? Still throwing a tantrum over yesterday?” I looked at him. “I’m serious. Mason and I have had enough of this house.”

Jade’s POV Damien finally looked at the agreement properly. But the emotion in his eyes was anger at being challenged. “Jade Wilson, do you think I’ve been too lenient with you lately?” He advanced step by step. “Seven years of marriage-what have I done wrong by you? I gave you the title of Mrs. Carter. What more do you want besides making it public?” “Want love? Or want me to coddle you the way I do Clara?” He laughed coldly and picked up the agreement, tearing it in half. “If you leave the Carter family, where can you go?” I watched the torn paper scatter on the floor, my heart like still water. “That’s not for Mr. Carter to worry about.” I turned to go back to the room to check on Mason. Damien grabbed my wrist. “Think you can leave before we’re done talking?” His grip was strong, painfully tight. Just then, a childish but angry shout came from the stairway. “Let go of my mommy!” Mason had woken up at some point. Standing on the stairs in his pajamas, he clutched a toy tightly in his hands. Damien looked up, his brow tightly furrowed. “Adults are talking. What are you interrupting for? Go back to your room.” Mason didn’t move. Those eyes so similar to Damien’s were filled with hostility for the first time. “You’re a bad person! You’re bullying mommy! I don’t want you as my daddy!” That sentence was like stepping on Damien’s tail. He released me and strode up the stairs, looking at Mason. “What did you say? I’m a bad person? I provide your food and clothes, let you live in a big house, and this is how you talk to your father?” Mason stepped back in fear but still stubbornly held his head high. “You let that person push me in the water! You didn’t save me! You’re a bad daddy!” The crisp sound of a slap echoed through the empty villa. Both Mason and I froze. Damien’s hand hung in midair, seemingly surprised he’d actually struck. Mason covered his face, looking at him in disbelief. Large tears rolled down but he made no sound crying. That look was one of complete disappointment and severance. I went crazy and rushed up, shoving Damien aside hard, pulling Mason tightly into my arms. “Damien Carter! Have you lost your mind?! He’s only six years old!” Damien stumbled from my push, a flash of regret crossing his face, quickly covered by forced pride. “He was disrespectful first! I’m teaching him manners!” “Manners?” I trembled with rage. “Your manners mean embarrassing your son in public? Spending time with your mistress when he’s sick? Hitting him?” “Jade Wilson!” Damien shouted to silence me. “Don’t make it sound so ugly! What mistress? Clara is…” The doorbell rang abruptly, interrupting the argument. Damien irritably tugged at his tie and turned to go downstairs to answer the door. The door opened. Clara stood at the entrance with two suitcases, her face bright with smiles. “Damien, good morning! I’m not interrupting, am I?” She peered inside and happened to see Mason and me in our disheveled state on the stairs. She covered her mouth in surprise. “What happened? Should I not have come?” Damien’s expression instantly softened. He took the suitcases from Clara’s hands and stepped aside to let her in. “Why are you here so early?” Clara changed into slippers and intimately linked her arm through his. “My air conditioning broke. It’s so hot. Your place is much more comfortable.” Then she turned to look at me, her eyes full of provocation. “Jade, sorry to intrude. Mr. Carter said I could move in temporarily for a few days to help take care of things. You don’t mind, do you?” I looked at Damien, waiting for his explanation. But he only avoided my gaze and said flatly. “Clara hasn’t been well lately. I don’t feel comfortable with her living alone. The house has plenty of rooms anyway. Clean up the guest room for her.” “No need to clean up the guest room.” Holding Mason, I descended the stairs step by step. “You can have the master bedroom. Mason and I are moving out right now.”

Jade’s POV Hearing I was moving out, Damien hadn’t responded yet when Clara let out an exclamation first. “What are you doing? If you don’t welcome me, I’ll leave right now.” She made a show of pulling her suitcase, tears welling in her eyes, looking as if she’d suffered the greatest injustice. Damien immediately pressed down on her hand, looking at me with furrowed brows, his eyes full of reproach. “Jade Wilson, have you made enough of a scene? Clara is just staying for a few days. Do you have to make everyone unhappy to be satisfied?” I ignored them and headed straight for the door with Mason’s hand in mine. The luggage had been packed long ago, stored in the entrance cabinet. Two black suitcases containing all of Mason’s and my belongings from these seven years. Pitifully few. Seeing those two cases, Damien froze for a moment. He blocked the doorway. “Where are you going? This early in the morning, where can you take the kid?” “That’s not for Mr. Carter to worry about.” I looked at him. “Move aside.” Damien didn’t budge. Instead, he laughed coldly. “Jade, you think threatening me by running away from home will work?”I understand. I’ll continue translating from where the previous section ended, maintaining exact sequential order. — “Cards?” I pulled out that supplementary card from my bag, snapped it in half right in front of him, and threw it on the ground. “Damien, I don’t want your money. All these years, I’ve kept accounts of every cent of household expenses. Here’s the ledger.” I slapped a thick account book against his chest. Damien instinctively caught it and flipped it open. The pages were densely packed with spending records from the past seven years. Detailed down to every loaf of bread, every pack of tissues. Even Mason’s medical expenses from each illness were separately marked as loans. His face instantly turned iron-grey. “What are you trying to say? Keeping such detailed accounts with me? What do you take me for?” “A creditor.” I looked directly into his eyes. “Now the debt is cleared. Between us, only divorce remains.” I pulled another divorce agreement from my bag. This was the backup copy I’d printed last night. “It doesn’t matter that you tore up the other one. I have this. Damien Carter, sign it.” Damien stared at that black-and-white document, his chest heaving violently. Clara stood to the side, watching this scene spiral out of control. Her eyes rolled, then she suddenly clutched her chest and collapsed. “Damien, my chest hurts so much… Is my low blood sugar acting up again…” Damien’s attention was instantly diverted. He caught Clara, his voice changing pitch with anxiety. “What’s wrong? Did you skip breakfast? Quick, go lie down on the sofa!” Taking advantage of his distraction helping Clara, I pulled my suitcase and led Mason around them, pushing open the front door. The morning sunlight was somewhat blinding. “Stop right there!” Damien roared from behind. “Jade, if you dare walk out that door today, even if you come crawling back begging me on your knees, I’ll never let you through it again!” My steps didn’t falter. I only turned my head slightly. “Damien Carter, those are exactly the words I want to say to you.” “From now on, even if you kneel yourself to death in front of me, I won’t spare you a single glance.” The door slammed shut with a bang. Mason gripped my hand tightly and looked up to ask me. “Mommy, are we really free now?” I looked at the child’s face, where the swelling from the slap hadn’t yet subsided, and crouched down with a pang of heartache, kissing his forehead. “Yes, Mason. We’re free.” Getting into the taxi, I gave an address. It was a five-star hotel in the city center. The visa and plane tickets to Switzerland still needed a week to process. We’d find a place to stay first. After settling in, I took Mason to the hotel restaurant for a meal. Mason was taking big bites of his sandwich when he suddenly asked me. “Mommy, when are we going to Switzerland?” I stroked his head. “Next week. Mommy already bought the plane tickets.” “Then… can we get a cat in Switzerland?” “Of course we can.” “And we won’t have to see that bad person anymore?” I smiled. “Never again.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “372746”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster #现实主义Realistic #重生Reborn #浪漫Romance

On the first snowfall, I heard a voice from inside my wife’s belly, dripping with malice. “Mommy, can you kill him? I want Ethan to be my daddy.” On the operating table, she raised the scalpel and cut open my chest. Just as the blade was about to slice through my skin, that childish voice rang out again. “Daddy’s faking it! The one who’s really dying is Ethan!” She believed it. She left me mid-surgery, rushed out to tend to Ethan, who’d barely scraped his skin. In my previous life, I died from that delay. Now, the excruciating pain suddenly receded, and I gasped for air. I had been reborn. Back to the moment when the surgery was forcibly terminated. This time, I called the police in advance. Jason POV On the first snowfall, I heard a voice from inside my wife’s belly, dripping with malice. “It would be so good if he died.” “Mommy, can you kill him? I want Ethan to be my daddy.” The surgical lights in the operating room were blindingly white, like the snow that day at the funeral. My riddled heart was violently convulsing, and the monitor let out a sharp beeping sound. I struggled to open my eyes and saw Sarah holding a scalpel. Above her mask, those eyes that had once been full of love were now as cold as ice. Just as the blade was about to slice through my skin, a young yet vicious child’s voice suddenly exploded in the operating room. “Don’t cut! Daddy’s heart is perfectly fine. He’s faking illness to get sympathy!” “The one who’s really dying is Ethan! Mommy, go save Ethan quick. His hand is bleeding so much!” Sarah’s hand holding the knife trembled violently. The scalpel clattered onto the tray, splashing up a harsh metallic sound. She stared at me intently. The professional composure in her eyes collapsed instantly, replaced by a fury born of being fooled. “Jason, is this amusing to you?” She yanked down the surgical light, plunging the room into dimness. She looked down at me from above. I lay on the operating table, tubes sticking out all over my body. Her tone was colder than room temperature. “To make me care about you, you bribed the anesthesiologist, forged the EKG, even went so far as to lie on this table to deceive me?” I opened my mouth. The white mist from my oxygen mask blurred my vision. I wanted to tell her I wasn’t acting. My heart really couldn’t hold on much longer. In my previous life, it was at this exact moment. She had believed that “genius baby” in her belly and decided I was faking illness to frame her student Ethan. She abandoned me in the middle of my heart bypass surgery and rushed out to bandage Ethan, who had merely scraped his skin. Because the optimal rescue window was missed, I died on that cold operating table. Until my last breath, I heard that unborn child shouting from Sarah’s belly. “Daddy’s still playing dead! Mommy, don’t believe him. Ethan is the best. I want Ethan to be my daddy!” I died with my eyes wide open. The pain receded like a tide, then came crashing back. I gasped sharply. I had been reborn. Back to the moment when the surgery was forcibly terminated. “Jason, speak!” When I didn’t respond, the disgust in Sarah’s eyes deepened. “A grown man acting like this? I’m ashamed of you!” That eerie voice rang out again, gleeful and malicious. “Mommy, ignore this liar! Ethan’s finger is still bleeding. It hurts so much!” Sarah’s expression changed drastically. She couldn’t spare me another glance and rushed toward the airlock door. “Wait.” I pulled out the IV needle in my hand. Blood immediately gushed out, staining the white sheets red. Supporting my already depleted body, I slowly sat up. Sarah paused mid-step and turned back, yelling impatiently. “What do you want now?” I looked at this woman I had loved for seven years and been married to for three. Suddenly, that face seemed terrifyingly unfamiliar. Using all my strength, I pointed at the door and smiled. “Go ahead. If you’re late, your precious student’s wound might actually heal.”

Jason POV Sarah probably didn’t expect that reaction from me. She froze for a moment, then snorted coldly. “Ridiculous.” The door slammed shut. I clutched my agonizing chest and stumbled after her. Since heaven had given me a second chance, I would witness firsthand just how far this absurd farce could go. At the rest area at the end of the corridor, Sarah was kneeling on one knee. The top cardiac surgeon in the country was holding a young man’s hand, her expression as focused as if she were restoring a priceless treasure. And that man was Ethan. My supposed best friend. Sarah’s most valued intern. Right now, his eyes were red as he let Sarah disinfect his index finger. If you didn’t look carefully, you wouldn’t even notice the cut thinner than a hair strand. “Sarah, I’m really fine…” Ethan sniffled. The moment his eyes met mine, his body flinched and his voice instantly took on a crying tone. “You should go back and operate on Jason. Heart disease is no joke. What if…” Sarah was carefully applying a bandage to his finger. At his words, she paused and turned to look at me, her gaze sharp as a knife. “Exactly! Ethan only got hurt because he was peeling an apple for me. He’s the best person in the world!” “Bad daddy only fakes illness to scare mommy. Let him die!” The voices from her belly came one after another. Sarah’s rationality was completely derailed by this mysterious “mother-child connection.” She stood up, shielding Ethan behind her, pointing at my nose and cursing. “Jason, look at how considerate Ethan is! Even now he’s still worried about you! Look at yourself-to deceive me, you’re wasting precious medical resources and even forging medical records! You’re a cancer to the doctor-patient relationship!” My heart felt like it was being squeezed by a giant hand, aching and swelling. In my previous life, I desperately tried to explain, even knelt down begging her to look at my ultrasound images. In return, I got a slap and the word “disgusting.” This life, I was tired. I leaned against the cold wall tiles and laughed. “Sarah, you’re a doctor. Whether I’m faking or not-is it really that hard to use a stethoscope or check the monitoring data from earlier?” Sarah frowned, seeming to waver for a moment. Just then, Ethan suddenly stepped forward, seemingly innocent as he tugged on Sarah’s sleeve. “Sarah, actually… Jason probably just cares about you too much. A few days ago I saw him searching online for ‘how to fake illness to win back wife’s heart’… Don’t blame him. He just loves you too much.” As he spoke, he deliberately showed a “I understand everything, I’m very magnanimous” smile toward me. “Jason, it’s okay. As long as you’re healthy, Sarah and I don’t mind suffering a little. Let’s not do this surgery. Don’t torture yourself like this.” Advancing by retreating. Killing with words. The trace of doubt in Sarah’s eyes vanished instantly, replaced by fury at being deceived. “Jason! What do you have to say for yourself?” That voice came again. “Ethan is so kind! I want Ethan to be my daddy! Bad daddy, get lost!” Sarah took a deep breath, as if making some decision. “Apologize to Ethan.” She commanded coldly. “Now. Immediately. Otherwise, you’re moving out of the house tonight.” The corridor fell deathly silent. Passing nurses and patients all cast strange looks our way. I looked at this pair of lovers before me and suddenly laughed. “Apologize?” I straightened my body. Though my legs were still trembling, I stood firm. “Sarah, they say mother and child are connected at heart. That little bastard in your belly wants to change fathers. Is that what you want too?”

Jason POV The crisp sound of a slap echoed through the corridor. I turned my head to the side. My cheek burned with pain, and the taste of blood in my mouth grew stronger. Sarah’s hand was still shaking. Her eyes were wide, as if she couldn’t believe I would say something so vicious. “Jason, have you lost your mind? That’s your own flesh and blood! How can you call him a bastard?” Ethan quickly wrapped his arms around Sarah’s shoulders, patting her back while looking at me with a pained expression. “Jason, you’ve gone too far! You can insult me, but how can you curse an unborn child? Don’t you know how much Sarah has sacrificed for this baby?” I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth, looking at Ethan’s hand resting on Sarah’s shoulder. Sarah didn’t pull away. She even leaned into his embrace, as if seeking support. In my previous life, I foolishly thought they were just teacher and devoted student. When Ethan walked her home every night, I would gratefully hand him a bottle of water. When Ethan was sick and Sarah stayed up all night caring for him, I would even bring over nutritional supplements. Turns out, in their eyes, I was the superfluous, oblivious third wheel. “Fine.” I spat out a mouthful of bloody saliva. “That slap, consider us even. From now on, we’re done.” With that, I turned to leave. Behind me came Sarah’s furious shout. “Go! Leave and don’t come back! I don’t believe you can keep up this act forever!” “Bad daddy’s leaving! Yay! Finally no one to bother our family of three!” “Mommy, don’t be angry. Ethan’s hugs will make it better!” That voice was like a curse drilling into my ears, each sentence striking my nerves. I forced myself through the heart-bursting pain, shuffling step by step out of the hospital entrance. If not to investigate the source of that eerie voice, if not to make this pair of adulterers pay, I would want to die right here and be done with it all. But I couldn’t. Even if I died, I’d drag them to hell with me. By the time I got home, it was completely dark. I collapsed on the sofa and fumbled for my pill bottle, hands shaking so badly I couldn’t even twist off the cap. Several white pills rolled onto the floor. I scrambled to pick them up and swallowed them dry. It wasn’t until after midnight that I heard the door lock. Sarah was home. Ethan had brought her back again. The two stood in the entryway. Ethan held her bag, his eyes ambiguous and suggestive. “Sarah, get some rest. Don’t waste energy being angry over someone like that. You have a major surgery tomorrow. I… I’ll always be here for you.” Sarah’s voice was unbearably soft. “You’ve had a long day too. Be careful on your way home. Message me when you get there.” This wasn’t a student and teacher. This was clearly lovers in the throes of romance. After Ethan left, Sarah changed her shoes and walked into the living room. Seeing me sitting in the darkness, she was clearly startled. Then she turned on the light. The harsh brightness made me instinctively close my eyes. “Didn’t die out there, huh?” She crossed her arms, looking down at me, her tone full of mockery. “I thought you had such a backbone, but in the end you still crawled back home?” I slowly opened my eyes and looked at her. “I’ll have my lawyer draft the divorce papers. Sign them tomorrow.” The air froze instantly. Sarah looked like she’d heard the biggest joke in the world. “Divorce? Jason, you’re threatening me with divorce? You think I’d be scared?” “I’m not threatening you.” I stated calmly. “I’m fulfilling your wishes. Since that unborn child wants Ethan as a father so badly, I’m making room for you.” “Shut your mouth!” Sarah’s nerve was hit. She grabbed the glass from the table and hurled it violently at the floor. Shards flew everywhere, cutting my ankle, but I felt no pain. “Stinky daddy! Bad daddy! How dare you bully mommy!” “Mommy, hit him! Beat him up! Ethan said men like that need to be taught a lesson!” Hearing the voice, the viciousness in Sarah’s eyes surged. She strode over and grabbed my collar. “You want a divorce? Not so easy! You slandered Ethan, cursed the baby-we haven’t settled that score yet! You think you can just walk away? Dream on!” At that moment, my heart convulsed violently. My vision went black instantly. I clutched my chest, gasping for air. The feeling of dying washed over me again. “Medicine… medicine…” I pointed at the pill bottle on the coffee table. Sarah watched coldly, not moving an inch. “Keep acting. Jason, it’s such a waste you’re not winning an Oscar. Just now you had the strength to bring up divorce, and now you’re dying? Is your heart disease intermittent or something?” Despair washed over me, cold as ice. I looked at her, feeling my heart grow colder than my body. Just as I thought I would die in front of her again, the doorbell suddenly rang. Ethan had returned. “Sarah, I left my phone… oh! What happened to Jason?” Ethan rushed in. Seeing my condition, his face immediately showed panic. He fumbled to pour a glass of water, grabbed some pills and shoved them in my mouth. “Jason, take your medicine quick! Sarah, really, even if Jason’s faking, you should play along. What if he’s so committed to the act that he actually hurts himself?” Water flowed down my throat. The pills dissolved. However, after just half a minute, not only did I feel no relief, my heart began racing wildly, as if it would burst through my chest. My blood boiled. My nerves went haywire. An extremely abnormal feverishness swept through my entire body. This wasn’t emergency medication! This was… some kind of stimulant! I stared with wide eyes at Ethan’s seemingly innocent face. He was carrying this kind of drug on him? Was he trying… to make me die directly from heart failure?

Jason POV “What did you… give me?” My entire body convulsed uncontrollably. Ethan looked aggrieved and backed up two steps, hiding behind Sarah. “Just the pills on the table! Jason, don’t scare me. Are you unhappy with how I fed them to you?” Sarah frowned, finally sensing something was wrong. She instinctively reached out her hand, wanting to check my carotid pulse. If her fingertips could just touch my skin and feel that explosive pulse, she would know the truth. Just a little bit closer. “Daddy’s acting again! He’s trying to scare Ethan!” “He’s framing Ethan, saying the medicine he gave has problems! So evil!” That damned voice rang out again! Sarah’s hand, extended halfway, stopped abruptly in midair, then jerked back. The trace of inquiry in her eyes instantly turned to extreme disgust. “Enough!” She shouted sternly. “Jason, to frame Ethan, you’re even lying about the medication? Those are your own pills. Ethan kindly helped you take them, and you’re turning it around on him?” My whole body trembled. My heart pounded like it would explode. My vision was filled with double images. The poison surged through my veins, but more poisonous than that was the human heart. Ethan hid behind her, a sinister smile curling at his lips, though his voice carried a sob. “Sarah, did I do something wrong? I shouldn’t have come back… If Jason gets angry enough to hurt himself because of me…” “It’s not your fault.” Sarah comforted him gently, then turned to me with that icy expression again. “Since you love acting so much, love faking heart disease, I’ll fulfill your wish.” She pulled out her phone and called emergency services. “Hello, send an ambulance. There’s a patient here with a heart attack. Since he says it’s so serious, take him back to the hospital. Operate immediately.” After hanging up, she looked down at me writhing in pain on the floor, her eyes flashing with a crazed light. “Jason, you say you have heart disease? Tonight, I’ll cut open your chest and let everyone see whether your heart is black or red, whether it’s rotten or just an act!” Twenty minutes later, I was wheeled into that familiar operating room again. The difference was, this time it was filled with a murderous atmosphere. There were no routine preoperative checks. Sarah directly dismissed the other medical staff. Only she, Ethan, and me lying on the table remained in the operating room. “Sarah, this… this isn’t proper protocol, right? Don’t we need an anesthesiologist? No monitoring?” Though Ethan said this, the excitement in his eyes couldn’t be hidden. Sarah put on her surgical gown while saying coldly. “He’s faking. What anesthesia? Give him a muscle relaxant so he can’t move. I want him to watch his lies get exposed while fully conscious.” My eyes widened in terror. Muscle relaxant! That meant my whole body would be paralyzed, unable to speak, yet I’d clearly feel every bit of pain from the knife! She wanted to kill me while I was alive! “Sarah… I’m really… you’ll regret this…” I roared with the last of my strength, but Ethan jabbed a syringe viciously into my neck. Cold liquid pushed into my body. A few seconds later, my tongue went numb. My limbs lost all sensation. I could only lie there like a fish waiting to be butchered, staring in despair at the pale ceiling. “Ethan, you do it.” Sarah handed him the scalpel. “Haven’t you always wanted surgical practice? Today’s a good opportunity. He won’t die anyway. This suffering is what he asked for.” Ethan took the knife, his hand even trembling with excitement. He walked up to me. Above his mask, his eyes curved into crescents. In a voice only I could hear, he whispered. “Jason, hang in there. This is the privilege Sarah gave me. After we cut you open, if there really is a disease, it’s accidental death. If there isn’t… well, you’ll be a cripple for the rest of your life.” “Yay! Ethan’s becoming a doctor! Mommy’s teaching Ethan surgery!” “Cut open bad daddy! See if his belly’s full of nasty stuff!” Sarah stood to the side, instructing. “Don’t be afraid. Keep the blade steady. Cut from the center of the sternum…” The cold blade touched my skin. Intense pain instantly swept through my nerves, but I couldn’t even scream. I could only watch helplessly as that knife slowly cut open my chest. Sarah, you’re so cruel. In another life, I’d rather never have met you. Tears slid from the corners of my eyes, mixing with blood. Just as my consciousness was slipping away from the pain, just as I thought history was about to repeat itself- BANG! A loud crash. The solid airlock door was kicked open violently from outside. A group of people suddenly rushed in.

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Our village has a tradition of bride snatching—the groom must sneak into the bride’s home at night, carry her on his back, and break through all obstacles. I’d waited three years for Ethan Quinn. Finally, the night came when he and his brothers crept into my family’s courtyard. I waited joyfully for him to carry me away, but instead I heard him say to his crew: “When chaos breaks out, grab Chloe. We can’t let her marry that playboy from the next village over.” “As for Aria, she’s got a fiery temper—she’ll protect herself just fine.” His friends exchanged uncertain glances. “Ethan, this isn’t right. You and Aria already got your marriage certificate. If she finds out the truth, all hell will break loose.” “Let it break loose then.” His tone was dismissive. ” It’s pitch black out here—mistaking someone is perfectly normal. I’ll smooth things over with her afterward. Besides, that marriage certificate is fake.” I stood behind the door in silence, then calmly retreated to my room. Then I simply climbed onto another stranger’s back and became his bride.

“Aria, my friend who works at the Marriage Bureau checked for me. You’re definitely not Ethan Quinn’s spouse.” I set down my phone. Something in my chest—so quietly, so gently—shattered. Five years married to Ethan. Throughout those five years, no matter what I did, the Quinn family elders never accepted me. My mother-in-law never mentioned my name in front of others, only referring to me as “that girl from the mountains.” At family banquets, I was always seated in the most remote corner. In group photos, I was always arranged at the edge where I could easily be cropped out. He said he didn’t want me to feel hurt, so he had me return to the village first. He said he’d wait until he completed our village’s bride snatching ritual, followed all the proper procedures, then bring me back legitimately. I obediently returned. Though we spent little time together, to outsiders we seemed loving and harmonious enough. But I’d waited three years for him, saved up three years’ worth of things to say, longed for this night for three years. Yet he came for another woman. He’d fooled me with a fake certificate for three years. All just so I wouldn’t discover—the person he truly wanted to capture was my stepsister, Chloe. I looked at the woman in the mirror. Expressionless, neither joyful nor sorrowful. Soon, commotion erupted in the courtyard. The bride snatching had begun. People were shouting “They’re here, they’re here!” Someone laughed. Footsteps pounded past in chaos. Someone deliberately blocked the path. The firelight painted half the sky red. The excitement belonged to them. The excitement was for Chloe. The other group consisted of people from the neighboring village who’d come for the capture. They’d originally come to capture Chloe. According to tradition, if a girl was unwilling, she could hide away early and let them make a wasted trip. But Chloe didn’t hide. She’d been waiting in her room all along, waiting to be carried away. And the person she was waiting for— Was my husband.

The room I was in wasn’t my usual one. It was Chloe’s. That afternoon, my stepmother had called me over, held my hand, and spoke with rare gentleness: “Aria, tonight during the capture, you stay in Chloe’s room. Your room is too quiet—the capture group won’t find it easily.” “Those thugs coming for Chloe are troublemakers.” “You’ve always been tough since childhood, can take a beating. Not like Chloe with her delicate constitution—if she got hurt by accident, it would be terrible.” I said nothing. I knew what she meant. According to village tradition, during bride snatchings, the groom’s brothers would charge in first to “seize the bride.” The woman had to resist, struggle, fight desperately to prevent being carried away—this was called “blocking the door.” The harder you blocked, the fiercer you fought, the more precious the girl was considered. The harder the groom’s side had to fight to carry her away. Those punches and shoves would land on you for real. My stepmother sighed, acting as though sharing her deepest thoughts. She studied my expression, testing the waters: “Besides, Ethan’s from the city—he’s not familiar with our customs. If you stay in this room by the entrance, he won’t have to search the whole courtyard.” Back then, wanting to make things easier for Ethan, I’d agreed. I’d even sent him a message with my room’s location. But who knew—they’d been planning this switch all along. Outside, a louder commotion suddenly erupted. Someone shouted: “Got her! Got the bride!” People laughed, people cheered, firecrackers crackled and popped. I listened but didn’t move. I knew who they’d captured. I could even picture the scene— Ethan carrying Chloe on his back, stumbling through the crowd. His brothers flanking them protectively. Someone deliberately blocking their path, people throwing things at them. Chloe burying her face against his back, pretending to struggle a few times. How wonderful. I lowered my eyes, refusing to look. Before long, my room door burst open. A group of people surged into the darkness, their footsteps heavy and chaotic. Someone grabbed my arm. Multiple hands came at me roughly. I felt fists landing on my shoulders and back—not too light, not too heavy—the ritual of blocking the door. The harder you hit the bride, the more the bride’s family treasured her, the harder the groom’s side had to fight. I didn’t dodge or resist. I let them push and shove, let them drag me from the chair, let those fists fall. At first it seemed like going through the motions, but quickly, the shoving changed its nature. Someone pinned my arm and slammed me against the wall. Someone pounded my waist with punch after punch. The force was vicious and deliberate, nothing like the ritual of blocking the door. This was intentional. It hurt, but I made no sound. I understood now what my stepmother meant by “tough since childhood.” Just as I expected more to come, someone shielded me: “Enough.” An unfamiliar voice, laced with anger. He blocked me, using his arm to push back those still surging forward: “You done yet? Hitting her this hard—she’s a person, not a punching bag.” Someone laughed sheepishly in explanation: “It’s tradition. The harder you block, the more precious the girl—” “What tradition?” His voice rose sharply. “Easy for you to say when it’s not your wife. If someone beat your wife like this, would you just stand there watching?” Silence fell around us. He glanced back at me. In the dim light I couldn’t make out his face, only a vague outline. Then he bent down and lifted me onto his back. Behind us, someone muttered: “Where’d this hothead come from? It’s a bride snatching—why’s he taking it so seriously…” Carrying me on his back, he strode outside with long steps. People chased behind us. People deliberately blocked the path. People threw things at us. His steps were steady, his pace quick. One hand gripped my legs firmly, afraid I’d fall. When we crossed the first ridge, he stopped to catch his breath. In the distance, firelight moved faintly—the other capture group. Through the bushes, their laughter drifted over indistinctly. Soon, that group drew near. The firelight flickered, illuminating several faces. The man in front carried a girl on his back, running until he was covered in sweat, but smiling nonetheless. It was Ethan. Chloe buried her face in his shoulder, arms circling his neck. They were laughing, teasing each other. The brothers following behind chanted: “Kiss! Kiss!” I lay on the stranger’s back, watching quietly as they approached. The firelight swept across my face. Ethan’s gaze passed over, pausing on my face for an instant. Just an instant. His eyes swept past, continuing his banter with his brothers. Chloe clung to Ethan’s back, saying something sweetly. Ethan turned his head to listen, his smile devastatingly tender. I suddenly remembered three years ago when I’d returned to the village to visit my father. The first time he came to the village to find me, he’d worn that same smile. That day he’d crossed two mountains. His shoes worn through, his heels bleeding. I’d asked, “Don’t your feet hurt?” He scratched his head, grinning: “Hurt? For my wife, I’m happy to do it.” A privileged young master accustomed to being waited on, yet willing to trek through these deep mountain forests for me. He always said the distance wasn’t far. But I knew—from town to the village, the bus only went to the mountain’s foot. The rest of the way had to be walked. Once when it rained, he stood at the courtyard gate soaked through, but the sweets tucked inside his jacket were still dry. I’d called him foolish, coming in the rain. He pressed the sweets into my hands, smiling: “I was afraid you’d get impatient waiting.” Afraid I’d get impatient. Holding those sweets, looking at his rain-soaked hair, I’d thought: This man, for the rest of my life. But now, carrying Chloe on his back, he smiled exactly the same way. My vision blurred for a moment, then cleared again. When did things start to change?

Probably three years ago when my father died. I’d felt completely hollowed out. Ethan postponed all his commitments and stayed with me in the village for half a month. The day he had to leave, he held my hand, his tone gentle with instructions: “Aria, you just finished the funeral. You look so pale. If my mother sees you like this, she’ll just complain again. I don’t want you suffering through that.” “Stay in the village for now, rest and recover. Didn’t you always want to take over the family business?” “Once I get things settled back there, I’ll come get you.” I looked at him and nodded. I was truly exhausted from the mother-in-law relationship that could never be repaired. Back then, I believed he was thinking of me. Couldn’t bear for me to go back and face scorn. Only later did I learn— Distance doesn’t make the heart grow fonder. It just makes it easier for him to love someone else. Last year when his mother turned sixty, Ethan came to bring me back. The moment I entered, I saw my stepsister Chloe, who was supposedly working in the city. She was in the living room helping arrange fruit, her movements practiced. Ethan paused while changing his shoes, explaining: “Chloe’s workplace is near our house. She’s staying here temporarily.” He showed no guilt, so I said nothing more. When my stepmother married into our family bringing Chloe, we were both already grown. We’d never had much of a sisterly bond. Over the years we only saw each other during holidays. I couldn’t quite identify my feelings about her staying there. Seeing me enter, Chloe called out affectionately, “Aria.” “Don’t overthink it. I’m just temporarily staying here. Once I find a place, I’ll move out.” I nodded without responding. Back then, I never imagined that while I, his wife, spent three years guarding an empty house in the village— My sister had also been “working” away, living at the Quinn house for three years. … Now, watching Chloe cling to Ethan’s back, I suddenly understood. From start to finish, I wasn’t waiting for him to bring me home, wasn’t waiting for him to capture me in marriage. I was waiting for my own heart to die. Voices drifted over on the night wind, growing clearer. Chloe’s voice. “…What about Aria? If she finds out, she’ll raise hell.” Ethan’s tone was certain: “She’s all bark, soft-hearted underneath. Once she’s done being mad, it’ll blow over. Besides—” He paused, his voice dropping: “Bride snatchings happen in pitch darkness—I just made a mistake. She’ll feel sorry for me before she gets angry. She won’t blame me.” “Once she knows, I’ll smooth things over.” Chloe laughed softly. My knuckles turned white from gripping so hard. One of the brothers suddenly said: “Ethan, what if Aria gets captured by someone else?” Silence fell on their side for a moment. Then Ethan laughed: “You think she’d let herself get captured without a fight? With her temper, she’d tear the roof off tonight.” “True, with Aria’s personality, there’s no way she wouldn’t fight back.” “Feel sorry for that poor groom—wonder what kind of beating he took.” The laughter grew louder. I lowered my eyes. “Let’s go.”

The man carrying me was very quiet. Since earlier, he hadn’t asked a single question. Lying on his back, I could feel his steps—steady, unhurried, like someone who’d walked night roads a thousand times before. He must have figured it out. Figured out who they were laughing about, figured out that the person who could “tear the roof off” was me. But he said nothing. Just kept walking. Until at a bend in the path, we came face to face with that other group. Torchlight swept toward us. Someone from the other side spoke first: “Lucas?” His steps paused briefly. He responded flatly, “Yeah.” Ethan, carrying Chloe, walked closer a few steps. Smiling, he looked him over: “It really is you? You’re doing a bride snatching too tonight?” “Yeah.” “Which family’s girl?” Ethan’s gaze swept over, landing on me. I buried my face in Lucas’s shoulder, showing them only the back of my head. “From the neighboring village.” Lucas said, his tone neutral. Ethan stared at me for another moment, then suddenly laughed: “Well, well. I always thought you were the stay-away-from-people type, figured you weren’t planning to settle down. Congratulations.” Lucas responded with another “yeah.” Ethan took two more steps forward. The torchlight drew closer. I could feel his gaze land on my back, lingering for a moment. I thought he was about to recognize me. “Let’s go.” Lucas suddenly spoke, taking a step forward. “Wait.” Ethan blocked our path. Ethan frowned, about to say something else. Chloe’s voice suddenly rang out, soft and sweet: “Ethan, the cut on my foot hurts a little.” Ethan immediately turned to her: “What’s wrong? Did you bump it just now?” “I don’t know, it just hurts…” Chloe’s voice grew fainter. “Let’s hurry. We need to reach your place before dawn.” Ethan couldn’t worry about anything else. He nodded at Lucas: “Gotta go. When we’re back in the city, drinks are on me.” Their footsteps gradually faded. Only then did Lucas say quietly: “He really didn’t recognize you.” Lying on his back, I said nothing. My eyes felt hot. But I didn’t cry. He seemed to sense something. His steps slowed slightly, walking steadily onward. The moon was bright. The mountain path was long. I didn’t know where he was taking me. But in that moment, I suddenly felt that anywhere was better than turning back.

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On my wedding day, I was in a car accident and lost my baby. My boyfriend Ethan didn’t show up. Later, he looked at me with complete indifference: “Yasmine is sick. Once she recovers, I’ll marry you.” Everyone thought I would forgive him like I always had. But the night the wedding was canceled, I agreed to the arranged marriage my family had set up. The man I was marrying was Ethan’s uncle. Five years later, my husband came back with me to pay respects to my mother. He had to leave on urgent business and asked Ethan to host a welcome banquet for me. At the manor entrance, the moment Ethan saw me, his eyes burned with intensity, though his tone was ice-cold: “You’ve made a scene long enough. Finally come to your senses? I’ll give you a chance—come back to me. Yasmine doesn’t want children, so you can do IVF for her.” The person my husband sent to pick me up was my ex-boyfriend from five years ago—Ethan, who had gotten his marriage certificate with my father’s illegitimate daughter. “Lena! Is that you?” Ethan was the first to recognize me. The others looked over too, exclaiming in surprise when they realized it was me. “Ethan, you were right after all. Just crook your finger and Lena comes running back like a dog.” “Well, well, what a move.” Ethan smirked, though his expression remained casual. “She probably heard that Yasmine wants a child now, so she rushed back to volunteer herself. Can’t have me, but she’ll settle for the chance to raise my kids.” Everyone froze for a moment, then burst into laughter. “That’s our Lena—world champion bootlicker.” “She disappeared without a word back then. We thought she’d finally grown a spine, but turns out she was just on standby.” “Though, I have to say, Lena, if you’re planning to be a surrogate, you could at least dress up a bit, you know?” “That dress you’re wearing? Hideous. Nothing like Yasmine.” “People who don’t know better might think you’re the cleaning lady.” They laughed and joked, their exaggerated smiles unable to hide the contempt in their eyes. But it made sense, really. Five years ago, every time they saw me, I had to dress exactly like Yasmine according to Ethan’s demands. Long dress, long hair, and those ridiculously high heels—not missing a single detail. All I ever got in return was Ethan’s mockery. But now? I didn’t need to do that anymore. Because I was married and had just given birth. My husband was Ethan’s uncle, who lived abroad. The plain-colored robe covering me from head to toe was custom-made by a royal craftsman because my husband was worried about me catching a chill. Apparently, they not only couldn’t recognize quality when they saw it, they also didn’t know that the person they were supposed to welcome today was me. Seeing my silence, someone stepped forward to smooth things over: “Since Lena’s back, let’s just let bygones be bygones. Lena, you don’t know this, but after you left, Ethan was really torn up about it. He got drunk at the bar for days…” Embarrassment flashed across Ethan’s face, but he quickly put on an act of nonchalance. “Yasmine and I want a child. Since you’re back, come with me tomorrow to do IVF.” Ethan lifted his chin confidently, though his eyes couldn’t help stealing glances at me. He was as self-centered as ever. But I wasn’t the naive little girl from three years ago who would fall apart without love. Seeing him again, all I felt besides surprise was hatred for this bastard. I rubbed my temples, about to reveal my identity. Then Yasmine suddenly spoke: “Are you still angry with me? I really didn’t know the miscarriage would hurt you so much. But now that you’re back, Ethan and I will definitely make it up to you. Once you’re pregnant with mine and Ethan’s child, I’ll keep a maid’s room ready for you at home. After you give birth, it’ll be convenient for you to take care of us. Though before the IVF, you should probably get a full medical checkup. After all, things are so chaotic abroad—we have no idea what you might have gotten up to these past five years…” Five years later, she was still as disgusting as ever. Seeing me frown, Ethan thought I was jealous. His eyebrows arched smugly: “Yasmine has a point. Having a baby is a big deal. How about this, Lena—I’ll take you for a full physical tomorrow, genetic screening too. If everything checks out, I’ll get you an appointment with the doctor right away. Oh, and you probably don’t have money, right? Here’s two hundred bucks, consider it a down payment.” He pulled out his wallet and counted out two crisp bills. The people around couldn’t hold back their laughter. “Lena, five years gone and you’ve gotten even cheaper than before.” “Ethan, don’t give her two hundred—just toss her a couple coins and she’ll be satisfied.” “What are you standing there for? Hurry up and thank Ethan.” The familiar words reminded me of the past. At 3 AM, when I ran from the north end to the south end of the city to bring them hot chocolate. They were exactly like this then too. Giggling as they pulled out two movie tickets from their pockets and threw them on the ground. Then with fake sincerity: “Thanks for going to all that trouble, Lena. You’re the best.” Yasmine tucked her hair behind her ear, sighing dramatically: “Looks like my sister really has had a rough time these years. In that case, I won’t be stingy either. After you give birth to mine and Ethan’s child, I’ll definitely give you a really generous gift. I won’t let you down.” Ethan’s eyes softened, as if he was moved. “Yasmine, you’re so kind. Not like her—losing one baby, it’s not like she can’t have more. And she had the nerve to throw a tantrum and run off abroad for five years. Just like her mom, so petty.” Hearing this, my heartbeat skipped. My father had an affair while my mother was pregnant and had Yasmine with his mistress. After my mother died, Yasmine’s mother moved in right after the funeral. Later, my wedding was canceled and I lost my baby. During those days in the hospital, Ethan never showed up once. From that moment, I realized Ethan was rotten. That boy who got into fights for me, wincing in pain but still quietly comforting me not to cry. That boy who defied his family for me and walked with me through every street and alley. That boy who knelt at my mother’s grave and swore he’d treat me well forever. Without me noticing, he had disappeared long ago. Pulling myself back to the present, I shook my head. The past felt incredibly foreign. After all, I had already gotten married. And soon, my second child would be a month old.

My eyes regained their calm as I looked at Ethan and got straight to the point: “I’m the person you’re waiting for. You can all leave now.” The scene fell silent for a moment. Everyone exchanged glances, then burst into laughter. Yasmine laughed so hard tears came out. She shoved the flowers she’d prepared to welcome me into my face. “Sister, it’s been five years—why are you still so delusional? We’re here to welcome Ethan’s uncle’s wife, the future mistress of the family. Not you… trash who couldn’t even keep her baby.” The last sentence was whispered so quietly that only I could hear it. The others followed Yasmine’s lead, mocking me one after another: “Yasmine’s right. Everyone in our circle knows Marcus has been waiting for his true love—at thirty-five, he still refused to get married.” “After finally winning the beauty’s heart, he threw a seven-day, seven-night wedding celebration in France. Even royalty attended, they say.” “Too bad Ethan was busy and couldn’t make it abroad.” “Lena, have you lost your mind living abroad? You dare to impersonate Marcus’s wife?” They chattered away, rolling their eyes practically into the sky. I said nothing, only thinking about that grand wedding, my mood unable to help but soar. If not for that wedding, I wouldn’t have believed that Marcus had waited for me for seven years. Yasmine thought I was guilty, her tone growing more arrogant: “See this watch on my wrist? Last Valentine’s Day, to make his wife happy, Ethan’s uncle specially commissioned the world’s only all-diamond watch in Switzerland. Just the diamonds embedded in it are worth 40 million pounds. And the one I’m wearing is a replica. Not expensive—only about 3 million.” Her proud smile had barely formed when someone beside her pushed her and pointed at my hand, crying out: “Yasmine, Lena’s watch… it looks like the same model as yours!” The scene suddenly fell silent. Ethan was the first to rush forward and grab my hand, examining it carefully. In less than three seconds, he relaxed and sneered. “The diamonds are so flashy—clearly artificial. Worthless.” His expression was half-mocking. “Lena, which security guard gave you that? How tacky—how dare he give you trash like this?” I shook him off and carefully wiped the watch face. Marcus had given me this the day I found out I was pregnant with our son. I couldn’t let them dirty it. Seeing how much I cared about it, Ethan’s mind went blank with anger. He suddenly grabbed my hand and smashed it against the wall. The watch face shattered. Yasmine patted her chest, looking at the broken watch face with a bright smile: “Knew it was a fake—one touch and it breaks. Otherwise I really would have been fooled into thinking you were the legendary Marina. That scared me.” Watching her exaggerated performance, everyone couldn’t hold back their laughter anymore. Though none of them had met Marcus, everyone knew one thing. Marcus was the most capable head of the family in nearly thirty years, at the very pinnacle of the elite. He’d have to be insane to get involved with his own nephew’s ex-fiancée. Much less pamper her like a precious treasure. The thought alone was impossible. Ethan wasn’t laughing. He watched me treasure the watch, his eyes cold: “Lena, be good. Get rid of it. I’ll buy you something better. This garbage—throw it away.” I found it laughable. What right did he have to order me around? “Impossible. My husband gave this to me. His name is Marcus…” SLAP! Ethan hit me. My face burned with pain, and blood trickled from the corner of my mouth. I stood there in shock, hearing Ethan speak through gritted teeth: “Lena, you lunatic!”

Ethan stared at me, anger and fear intertwined. “Do you know who Marcus is? He’s nominally my uncle, but in reality I’m less than nothing in his eyes. If rumors that you’re connected to him reach his wife’s ears, not only you but I’ll be punished too. Lena, are you trying to kill me?” The others snapped to attention too, glaring at me with rage. “I knew she was up to no good. Left in a huff back then, and now she’s back for revenge. Pfft! And Ethan searched everywhere for you. Ungrateful wretch!” “Exactly. Good thing Ethan didn’t actually marry her, or she’d get him killed eventually.” Yasmine’s face was full of venom: “Sister, why can’t you just be sensible? Ethan and I already decided to compensate you and even gave you the opportunity to have children for us. Why aren’t you satisfied? Do you need to see Ethan completely ruined to be happy?” Her disappointed tone reminded me of five years ago. Five years ago, Yasmine had used this exact tone to frame me bit by bit. At first, Ethan would blame Yasmine. Gradually, he lost even the patience to hear my explanations. Just like now—I hadn’t said anything, yet Ethan’s anger had completely exploded. He gripped Yasmine’s hand and pulled out a ring, throwing it viciously at my face. “For old times’ sake, I’ll give you one more chance. Put on the ring. From now on, Yasmine will stay in the picture, and you can be the one on the side” The diamond cut my eye, drawing thin lines of blood. I raised my head and stared at Ethan, hatred surging. Ethan froze, panic flashing across his face. But Yasmine quickly grabbed him. I said nothing. Right in front of them, I bent down and picked up the ring. This was my and Ethan’s wedding ring. Before going abroad, I had thrown it away at the hospital. Seeing my movement, the panic in Ethan’s eyes gradually faded, replaced by smugness. “That’s more like it. Don’t worry, when my uncle returns to the country, I’ll definitely shine in front of him. Once I inherit the company, I absolutely won’t shortchange you…” His words stopped. In everyone’s shocked gaze, I threw the ring Ethan had kept for five years into the trash. “Sorry, I don’t want secondhand goods.”

After throwing away the ring, I turned to leave. I’d only taken two steps when Ethan grabbed me, his eyes red: “Lena, what do you mean? You really want to cut ties with me completely?” I smiled: “What else?” Did you still expect me to wag my tail at you like a dog? Thinking this, I couldn’t help pressing my lips together. But Ethan looked back at the pitiful Yasmine and understood: “Oh, I see what this is about. You just want to be the main wife, right? How about this—tomorrow you come with me to the hospital for an examination. If you can give me a healthy child, I’m not opposed to considering marriage.” “No need.” I really couldn’t listen anymore and cut him off directly. “I’m not interested in IVF.” Ethan froze, a flash of joy in his eyes. His lips curved up, his tone softening slightly. “Alright, then no IVF. We’ll conceive naturally. But you still need a checkup first. Yasmine has a point—things are chaotic abroad, we can’t be careless.” Yasmine’s smile froze on her face. I rolled my eyes and quickly walked away. Five years ago, at my and Ethan’s wedding. On the way to pick up the bride, he and Yasmine both disappeared. All they left was a marriage certificate photo posted in the family group chat. I didn’t believe it. Crying, I ran to find him, and got into a car accident on the way. The doctor told me I had miscarried. And Ethan never showed up once. He only sent me a few messages to update me. “Yasmine is sick and needs a placenta for medicine. This time I’m the one who’s wronged you. But don’t worry, once she’s better, I’ll divorce her immediately. You’ll still be my bride.” Looking at the nine-photo grid Yasmine posted to announce their relationship, I stared blankly all night. Later I secretly went abroad and stayed with my uncle’s family who had settled there. A month later, I met Marcus. Two months later, I married him. Now I was already on my second child and almost through postpartum recovery. Coming back to the country now, I really didn’t want any more entanglements with them. I frowned, hoping Ethan wouldn’t cause more trouble, or else my jealous husband definitely wouldn’t let it go.

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I was the real daughter who had just been found and brought back to my wealthy family. But the moment I stepped through the door, the fake daughter Barbara threw herself into my parents’ arms, sobbing. “Dad, Mom, forgive me—I really can’t accept her.” “She’s that transfer student who spread rumors about me at school and gave me depression!” Mom Lucy held the fake daughter close, comforting her with heartache in her voice. Dad Patterson’s face was full of anger, his eyes looking at me with utter disappointment. “I never imagined that just a few years of being lost would make you pick up so many bad habits!” “Butler, throw her out! We don’t have a daughter who bullies others at school!” I looked confused and quickly signed: “I spread rumors about her? But I’m mute!” I stood at the doorway, my fingertips still cold from the chill outside. Barbara was in my parents’ arms, crying so hard she could barely breathe. She buried her face in Lucy’s neck, her shoulders shaking violently. When she lifted her head, the corners of her eyes were bright red. “Dad, Mom, you don’t know.” “Last monthly exam, I came in second in our grade, and she went around telling everyone I cheated, that my dad bribed the teachers with money, and that I did things with the grade director in his office to secure my recommendation spot…” With each sentence she spoke, Lucy’s hand patting her back grew heavier, and Patterson’s brow furrowed tighter. I opened my mouth but could only produce fragmented breath sounds. I hadn’t been able to speak since I could remember. The doctors said it was damaged vocal cords. Over the years, I’d grown used to communicating with people through sign language and pen and paper. I raised my hand, my fingers just about to form the sign for “it wasn’t me,” when my brother Pierre suddenly jumped up from the sofa. He strode over to me in a few steps, looking down at me from above, the contempt in his eyes almost overflowing. “Alice, how long are you going to keep up this act? Barbara’s been driven to depression because of you, and you still want to make excuses?” I froze for a moment, my fingertips suspended in midair. Pierre was Patterson’s only son. From the moment I entered the house, he’d been protecting Barbara, his gaze full of tenderness toward her. But when he looked at me, it was like he was looking at something filthy. “Pierre, don’t say that about Alice…” Barbara tugged at Pierre’s sleeve, her voice as soft as water, yet every word stabbed into my heart. “Maybe Alice just wants to fit into this family so badly that she’s trying to get attention this way. I don’t blame her, I really don’t…” “You’re just too kind!” Lucy immediately held her tighter, then turned to look at me with eyes as cold as ice. “Alice, we brought you back to feel the warmth of family, not to bully people! Can you stop with those underhanded tactics you learned out there?” Patterson let out a heavy snort, his knuckles rapping on the coffee table with dull thuds. “My daughter, even if she was lost outside, should still carry herself like a proper young lady. But look at you—the moment you walk through the door, you’re spreading rumors and bullying Barbara. You’ve completely disgraced our family!” The servants nearby huddled together whispering, their eyes full of undisguised contempt. “I heard she was just a wild girl from the countryside. Never thought she’d be so malicious.” “Barbara’s so gentle—how could anyone bear to bully her?” “Look at her doing sign language. She’s acting like it’s real. Maybe she’s just faking it to get sympathy.” Those words were like fine needles piercing my eardrums. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down, and reached for the side pocket of my backpack. Inside was the notebook I’d brought back from school. I could write down what had really happened. But the moment my hand touched the zipper, Pierre pressed down on my wrist. His grip was strong, his knuckles almost digging into my flesh. “What else are you trying to pull out to deceive people?” I struggled briefly, using my other hand to reach into my bag, finally pulling out that stack of white paper. But before I could unfold it, Pierre snatched it away and tore it in half with both hands. The stack of paper instantly became confetti dancing through the air. The pieces landed in my hair. I stared at him blankly, the last bit of warmth in my heart freezing over. Barbara let out a timely sob, burying her head even deeper. “Pierre, don’t be like this. Alice is just…” Pierre cut her off, the fury in his eyes almost catching fire. “She’s driven you to this state, and you’re still defending her? This kind of malicious person doesn’t deserve to stay in our home!” Patterson’s expression darkened completely. He waved at the butler by the door, his voice devoid of any warmth. “Butler, throw her out. We don’t have a daughter like this!”

I curled up on the hard dorm bed at school all night. The morning study session hadn’t started yet. I’d just opened my textbook when the homeroom teacher called me to the office. When I pushed open the door, Barbara was sitting in the chair across from the teacher. Her shoulders were heaving, a tissue clutched in her hand, her eyes swollen like walnuts. When she saw me enter, she immediately looked up, her eyes showing just the right amount of grievance and fear as she shrank behind the teacher. “Alice, you’re here.” The teacher’s voice was cold as ice. “Come here and tell me what you did to Barbara yesterday.” I stood at the door without moving. Barbara began sobbing at just the right moment: “Please don’t force Alice. Yesterday she cornered me in the hallway and said I was a cuckoo in the nest, a bastard. She said she’d make sure I couldn’t stay at this school. I… I was so scared.” Her voice wasn’t loud, but every word was clear, like small knives stabbing into me with precision. The teacher’s expression darkened further. He picked up his phone from the desk and made a call. “I’ve already called your parents. They’ll be here soon.” Before long, the office door was pushed open. My parents walked in. My dad’s face was ashen. My mom was holding Barbara’s hand, her eyes full of heartache. Patterson’s voice was filled with suppressed fury. “What happened? Did Alice bully Barbara again?” The teacher pushed up his glasses, his tone serious. “According to Barbara’s statement, Alice has repeatedly verbally abused and spread rumors about her on campus, even threatening to make her drop out.” “This kind of school bullying is absolutely intolerable at our school.” Patterson whipped his head toward me, the disappointment in his eyes almost drowning me. “How could I have a daughter like you! Are you only satisfied when you’ve completely disgraced our family?” I opened my mouth but could only produce fragmented breath sounds. I raised my hand, my fingertips just about to form the gesture for “it wasn’t me,” when Patterson slapped me across the face. The sharp crack echoed loudly. My head jerked to the side, my ears ringing, my cheek burning with pain. I stared at him in a daze, tears finally spilling over. “You dare to cry?” Patterson’s voice was full of undisguised disgust. “You did something wrong and you have the nerve to cry? I think you’re deliberately acting pitiful to gain sympathy!” Barbara beside him let out another sob, burying her head in Lucy’s arms. “Don’t scold Alice anymore. I don’t blame her.” Lucy shot me a cold glance. “Born lowly, all you know is how to bully Barbara!” The office door had been pushed open a crack at some point, with several classmates poking their heads in to look. Whispered conversations came through clearly. “So she really did bully Barbara…” “She seems so quiet, never thought she’d be so vicious.” “I heard even her parents don’t want her. No wonder she’s so cruel.” Those words were like fine needles piercing my eardrums. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to calm down. I raised my hands again, signing “I didn’t” in sign language. But I’d only gotten halfway through the motion when the teacher interrupted me. He frowned, his tone full of impatience. “Alice, can you stop using these tricks to get attention? If you have something to say, say it. Stop playing these games!” I froze, my fingertips suspended in midair. So even my silent defense was just seen as a ploy for attention in their eyes. Just then, the office door was gently pushed open. A girl stood in the doorway, her voice weak as she spoke: “She’s not playing games… That’s sign language.” Everyone turned to look at the girl in the doorway. She kept her head down, her fingers clutching tightly at her clothes, but she still gathered her courage and added softly: “I… I learned a little sign language. What she just said was ‘I didn’t.’ And… she seems to be mute.”

The air seemed frozen. The girl who understood sign language stood in the doorway, her face flushed red, but she still repeated word by word: “I’m not making this up. My little brother is congenitally deaf and mute. I’ve learned some sign language since I was little. What she just signed really was ‘I didn’t.’” The teacher pushed up his glasses, his tone clearly skeptical: “Are you sure? This isn’t something to joke about.” The girl lifted her head, her eyes firm. “The hand gestures in sign language are fixed. I wouldn’t mistake them. And… Alice has never spoken at school. Everyone knows that.” The office fell silent instantly. My parents’ expressions changed. Lucy looked at me, her lips moving as if she wanted to say something, a barely noticeable guilt flashing in her eyes. But just then, Barbara suddenly sobbed a few times. While wiping her tears, she spoke softly. “Alice, even if you don’t dare admit it, you can’t get someone to act with you and pretend to be mute.” Her crying was like a sharp knife, instantly puncturing Lucy’s fragile guilt. Patterson’s expression immediately darkened. He whipped his head toward me, the fury in his eyes almost burning me alive. “Alice, you’re something else! To avoid punishment, you’d even make up this kind of lie! You even found an accomplice to help you act—your heart is rotten to the core!” With trembling hands, I pulled out the neatly folded disability certificate from my school uniform pocket, wanting to show it to them. But the moment my hand touched that paper, Patterson snatched it away. Without even looking at it, he tore it in half. That thin piece of paper instantly became fragments. I stared at him blankly, tears finally spilling over. “Keep acting! Keep it up!” Patterson’s voice was full of undisguised disgust. “I think you need to be taught a lesson! Since you love acting so much, I’ll have someone send you to juvenile detention. Let’s see if you still dare to keep pretending to be mute after you see how tough the people there are!” Lucy’s expression changed immediately too. Holding Barbara, her eyes were full of contempt: “Alice, we really misjudged you. We never thought you’d use such lowdown tactics to avoid responsibility. You’ve disappointed us so much!” Barbara leaned in Lucy’s arms, the corner of her mouth curling into a barely noticeable smile, yet she still cried like a pear blossom in the rain: “Dad, Mom, don’t treat Alice like this. Maybe Alice just had a momentary lapse in judgment. She didn’t mean it…” “A momentary lapse?” Patterson laughed coldly. “This is her true nature! This kind of malicious person will only bring disaster to our family if she stays! I’m calling John from the reform school right now to have him come take her away!” The teacher stood to the side, his expression shifting uncertainly. He looked at me, then at my parents, and finally sighed, waving at the girl in the doorway: “You can go back now. We’ll handle this.” The girl opened her mouth as if she wanted to say something more, but the teacher’s gaze stopped her. She looked at me deeply, her eyes full of sympathy and helplessness, but finally turned and left the office. I stood there, looking at those torn paper fragments on the floor, and suddenly laughed. So the innocence I’d tried so hard to prove was nothing more than a ridiculous performance in their eyes. So I had never had any place in this family. I slowly crouched down, picking up those paper fragments one by one. My fingertips were cut by the sharp paper edges, but I couldn’t feel the pain. Compared to the pain in my heart, what did this little injury matter?

When the reform school van stopped under the academic building, the air on the entire floor of offices seemed to freeze. Two men in uniforms pushed through the door, their faces showing the indifference that came from years of dealing with problem teenagers. Patterson immediately went up to them, his tone familiar. “John, sorry to trouble you to make the trip. This girl is malicious. Keeping her around would only bring disaster. I’m leaving her to you for proper discipline.” The man called John glanced at me, the corner of his mouth curling into a cold, hard smile. “Mr. Patterson, rest assured. No matter how bad a kid is, once they get to our place, they’ll learn to behave.” Barbara leaned in Lucy’s arms, the smugness in her eyes almost overflowing. She gently tugged at Lucy’s sleeve, her voice as soft as cotton, yet every word stabbed into my heart: “Dad, Mom, don’t be too harsh. Alice just had a momentary lapse. Maybe once she gets to the reform school, she’ll realize her mistake.” Patterson laughed coldly. “This is her true nature! People like her need to be taught a lesson!” John walked up to me, looking down from above: “Is it you? Pretending to be mute and bullying people?” I didn’t speak, just clutched at my clothes, my fingertips ice cold. John’s eyes showed clear impatience. “Why aren’t you talking? Still pretending?” He suddenly lifted his foot and kicked hard at the back of my knee. Caught off guard, I fell to my knees with a thud, my kneecaps hitting the cold tile floor. The pain made my vision go black. “Still being stubborn?” John grabbed a handful of my hair and forced my head up. “I’ll teach you to pretend!” His palm slapped hard across my face, the force so great that my head whipped to the side, my ears ringing, blood seeping from the corner of my mouth. I was trembling all over from the pain, but could only bite my lip hard to keep from making a sound. But the intense pain still made me unable to suppress some fragmented breath sounds—a few unclear syllables leaked from my throat. “She spoke! She’s definitely faking it!” Barbara’s voice suddenly rang out shrilly, filled with undisguised delight. “I knew she was pretending to be mute to deceive us! She’s a liar!” My parents’ expressions instantly grew even uglier. Patterson pointed at me, so angry his whole body was shaking: “You liar! How could our family produce a daughter like you! You’ve completely disgraced us!” The teacher also shook his head, his tone full of disappointment: “Alice, I really misjudged you. I never thought you’d resort to such methods to avoid punishment.” The classmates around also joined in, their whispered conversations like invisible slaps striking my face painfully. “So she really was faking it!” “She seems so quiet, never thought she’d be so calculating.” “People like this should be locked up!” John slapped me again and grabbed my arm to drag me away. “Come on! Come back with me and see how I’ll deal with you!” I closed my eyes in despair, tears finally spilling over. Just then, the office door was kicked open violently. Everyone froze. A man in a black suit stood in the doorway, tall and upright, his bearing cold and severe, his whole presence radiating a suffocating sense of oppression. His gaze swept over everyone in the office, finally landing on me, the heartache in his eyes almost overflowing. His voice was low and icy, his eyes filled with killing intent. “My daughter simply can’t speak, and you humiliate her like this?”

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Fiona and I had been childhood sweethearts, and when we came of age, our families arranged our engagement. From that day on, I started counting down to our wedding. But Fiona thought it was unfair. “Everyone else gets to date multiple people in their lifetime. Why should I only be with you?” “You should go date a few others too. Don’t shortchange yourself.” She meant what she said. In just one year after our engagement, Fiona went through seven boyfriends. Each time she switched, I calmly said it didn’t matter—she’d come back to me eventually anyway. Until she brought her eighth boyfriend to her family’s Christmas party. I set down my fork and pushed the engagement contract to the middle of the table. “Fiona, you’re free now.” I took the hand of a girl at the party and stood before Fiona. Fiona threw her glass right there and then, her eyes reddening for the first time. “Johnson, what the hell do you mean?!” I smiled. “Didn’t you tell me to date a few others? She’s quite suitable.”

I’d been to Fiona’s family Christmas party many times before. But today was the first time I walked through that door not as Fiona’s fiancé. “Is that Johnson? How did he…” “Who’s he holding hands with? Someone from the John family?” “And who’s that guy next to Fiona? What’s going on here…” Fiona stood up abruptly. The movement was so sudden that her chair legs scraped across the floor with a piercing screech. Her eyes were rimmed with red as she pointed at Susan. “Do you know he’s my fiancé?” Susan turned her head to glance at me, as if checking whether I needed her to speak. I shook my head slightly. Fiona’s mother, Mary, smiled and tried to smooth things over. “Johnson, there must be some misunderstanding here. Fiona’s just young and playful, but she still cares about you…” I looked at Mary and smiled too. “She’s been playing for a year, gone through seven guys, and today she brought number eight.” Fiona’s father, Tony, turned iron-faced and shot Fiona a fierce glare. Fiona tried to speak, but I raised my hand to cut her off. “Fiona’s right—staying faithful to one person really is a loss. So I’m calling off this engagement first.” I pushed the engagement contract forward again and turned to look at my father, Anderson. His expression was unreadable as he locked eyes with me for three seconds, then stood up. “Tony, this is the kids’ business. We adults should stay out of it.” “But as for this engagement, if Johnson wants to call it off, I support him.” Tony’s face darkened as he yelled at Fiona, “Get out of here!” Fiona was banished to the study. Even through the door, you could hear things being thrown. Mary said nothing in the end and followed her into the study. Bob stood there alone, pinned by stares from all directions. Uncomfortable and hunched, he quickly left the main hall. The Christmas dinner ended hastily. I walked Susan to the door and released her hand. “Thank you for tonight, Susan.” She looked up at me, her gaze gentle, with no unnecessary words: “It was my honor to play along with your performance.” Then she got into her car and disappeared into the night. I stood at Fiona’s family’s doorway. The wind blew past, slightly chilly. My white shirt had gotten wine stains on it earlier. They’d dried now, leaving dark red marks. Back home, I threw myself onto the couch and lay there with my eyes closed for a long time. My mind kept replaying that year when Fiona first held my hand and said, “Johnson is my man.” At eighteen, when our families arranged the engagement, she said in front of everyone, “He’s the only one for me in this lifetime.” Yet at twenty-two, she showed up in front of me with her eighth boyfriend. The person I once protected was no longer mine. I opened my eyes, took out my phone, and pulled up Fiona’s chat. The last message was from three days ago—a photo of her and Bob. “New boyfriend. Handsome, right?” I hadn’t replied then, and I wouldn’t reply now. I clicked on her profile picture and deleted her contact.

A week after calling off the engagement, I went to a tea house on the city outskirts to discuss business. Walking through the courtyard toward the interior, I unexpectedly saw Bob. He sat at a garden table with refreshments and tea in front of him, smiling as he said something. And sitting across from him was Fiona. Bob saw me first. His eyes lit up, then he quickly composed himself and continued talking as if nothing had happened. A server came up to ask how many were in my party. I said I had an appointment and was led to a corner table. This spot wasn’t far from Fiona’s table—close enough to overhear their conversation. I’d just sat down when I heard Bob say: “Fiona, about Johnson calling off the engagement that day—how did you handle it afterward?” My hand paused as I lifted my teacup. Fiona’s voice came through: “What’s there to handle? He called it off. Am I supposed to beg him?” Bob laughed. “But he did that in public. Where does that leave your dignity?” Fiona laughed too. “He thinks calling off the engagement will scare me? The engagement was arranged by both families. He doesn’t get to decide alone.” I held my teacup and slowly took a sip. The tea was good. Bob asked again, “So will you still see him in the future?” “See him for what?” Fiona’s tone was casual. “I have you now.” Bob lowered his voice and asked, “So when will you marry me?” Silence for two seconds. Then Fiona’s voice rang out. “Soon. Once I finish dealing with this current mess, I’ll marry you.” I swallowed that sip of tea and poured myself another cup. The tea was hot. Steam rose to my face, slightly damp. Bob was saying something else over there, but I could barely hear it anymore. One sentence kept spinning in my mind—her words “once I finish dealing with this current mess, I’ll marry you.” Once she finished this current mess. I suddenly wanted to laugh. I’d waited a year for her to come back to me, and here she was, planning to marry someone else once she finished her current mess. I drained the tea in one gulp and called the server over to settle the bill. As I got up to leave, I passed their table without stopping, even wearing a faint smile on my face. Bob’s expression flickered—probably surprised I could be so composed. Fiona watched me walk past, her gaze following me until I walked out the courtyard gate. Outside the tea house, I got in my car and only then did I grip the steering wheel tight. My nails dug into my palms. It hurt. I sent a message to the project manager, changing the location for our business discussion. Three seconds later, I started the car and drove away. Inside the tea house, Fiona pushed away the refreshments Bob offered her. “Let’s go.” Bob froze. “Where to?” “You go home first. I still have things to do.” Bob’s face changed, but he didn’t dare say more. That evening, the project lead was decided—Tony Group. The next day, I received word that the project liaison would be Bob. I stared at that message for a long time. Did Fiona get him into Tony Group? Or was he already part of Tony Group? Whatever. None of it mattered anymore. I put down my phone and continued revising the proposal.

On the day of the project kickoff meeting, I sat across from Fiona for the first time as a client. Fiona wore a professional suit with an all-business demeanor. Bob sat beside her in a suit. I opened my laptop and began presenting the proposal. Five minutes in, Bob raised his hand to interrupt me. “Manager Johnson, there’s a problem with this positioning, isn’t there?” I stopped and looked at him. “The positioning report was confirmed through preliminary research. Your side signed off on it at the time.” Bob smiled slightly. “That was before. Now that I’m in charge of the project, if I think it’s not suitable, it needs to be changed.” Fiona nodded beside him. “Bob’s right. Go back and revise it.” I paused for a second, then said, “Alright.” I continued. Ten minutes later, Bob interrupted again. “This circulation design won’t work either. It’s too convoluted. When you made this proposal, did you actually visit the site?” I said, “We visited the site three times. The circulation design is based on…” Bob cut me off. “I looked at your analysis report. The data sources are all wrong. Redo it.” Fiona nodded again. “Revise it according to what he said.” Her gaze fell on my face but quickly moved away as she looked down at her phone. I took a deep breath. “Alright.” After that, Bob interrupted every five minutes, his criticisms becoming increasingly absurd. People in the conference room exchanged glances, but no one dared speak up. When the presentation ended, I closed my laptop. Bob smiled and said, “Manager Johnson, thanks for your hard work. Take the proposal back and revise it properly. We’ll meet again next time.” After the meeting, he stopped me in the hallway, smiling with a sinister edge. “Manager Johnson, I’ll be handling project coordination from now on. Let’s communicate often.” He lowered his voice and leaned in closer. “Fiona said whether this project goes well or not affects your family’s future cooperation with Tony Group.” “Don’t worry, I’ll ‘cooperate’ with you properly.” Looking at his face, I suddenly wanted to ask him: Do you know the woman beside you went through seven boyfriends in one year? But I didn’t ask. I only said, “Then let’s go by the rules.” He smiled even more deeply. “Of course I’ll go by the rules. I’m just afraid Manager Johnson won’t be used to it.” He turned to leave, then looked back and added: “Oh, by the way, Manager Johnson, Fiona said once this project ends, we’ll officially announce our engagement.” I stood in place, watching his figure disappear at the end of the hallway. For a week straight, I worked overtime until late every night. I revised the proposal eight times. Each time I submitted it, Bob sent it back. Colleagues complained privately that Bob was doing it on purpose. But I only said, “Keep revising.” Because I knew he was doing it on purpose, so saying anything was useless. At eleven p.m., I was alone at the office revising the proposal. Someone knocked on the door. I looked up to see the security guard standing there, saying someone was looking for me. I went downstairs and saw Susan standing in the lobby, holding a plastic bag.

Susan walked over and handed me the bag. “I was passing by and picked up some food.” I opened the bag to find a steaming plate of pasta and a cup of coffee. I looked up at her. “Susan, did you put a tracker on me or something?” She thought seriously for a moment. “Installing trackers is illegal.” “Then how did you know I hadn’t eaten?” She smiled slightly without answering. I lowered my head and ate the pasta. The hot soup warmed me from the inside out. She stood beside me, saying nothing, just standing there. I suddenly laughed. She looked at me. “What’s funny?” I said, “Nothing. Just feels like it’s been a long time since I laughed like this.” She looked into my eyes, her gaze light. I didn’t continue. That night when I got home, I revised the ninth version of the proposal. At 2 a.m., I submitted it. At 8 a.m. the next morning, I received a reply: [Approved.] At the project’s milestone celebration, held in a five-star hotel ballroom in the city center. As soon as I entered, I heard murmurs around me. “That Johnson guy—doesn’t he have an engagement with Fiona’s family? Why is he being treated so harshly now?” “I heard the engagement was called off, but I don’t know the details.” “That Bob guy next to Fiona seems pretty favored. Probably won’t be long now.” These words drifted into my ears one by one, but my face showed no expression. At eight o’clock sharp, Bob entered with Fiona on his arm. Bob wore a white suit today, looking quite dashing. Fiona’s gown was elegant, her face wearing a proper smile. Someone gathered the courage to ask, “Miss Fiona, we heard you and Johnson called off your engagement. Is that true?” Everyone looked at Fiona, then at me. Fiona was about to speak when I set down my wine glass. “It’s true. The engagement between our families has been canceled.” The whole room erupted. Fiona’s face changed as she stared at me. I met her gaze without any expression. She suddenly smiled and reached up to wrap her arms around Bob’s neck. Then, in front of everyone, she stood on her toes and kissed him. Bob froze at first, then showed delight, wrapping his arms around her waist in response. Gasps and whispers rose around us. When the kiss ended, Fiona lifted her head and looked at me: “Mr. Johnson is quite right. The engagement between our families has been canceled.” “The person I’m marrying now is him.” The whole room buzzed with excitement. Bob was so moved his eyes turned red as he held her waist tightly. But Fiona wasn’t looking at him. She kept staring at me, waiting to see my reaction. Waiting to see even a crack appear on my face, but my expression remained unchanged. Just as I was about to say something, a voice came from behind me. “What a coincidence.” I turned around. Susan emerged from the crowd, elegant in her gown, walking toward me step by step. Her gaze cut through everyone and landed on my face. Then she walked up to me, extended her hand, and took mine. She lifted her head, looking at Fiona, looking at everyone present. “I’m the one marrying him.”

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To save five hundred bucks on rent, I moved into a four-bedroom, one-bathroom shared apartment. The property agent said my roommates were all high-level professionals working nearby—early risers who came home late, extremely well-mannered. I’d been living here for half a month and hadn’t seen a single soul. Until that night when I was scrolling through my phone and came across a trending post: “Property Agent Uses Copied Keys to Murder Tenant.” Suddenly, the ventilation window above my head was pushed open, and a withered hand reached down to strangle my neck. Only in my dying moments did I realize it wasn’t some property agent at all. It was a homeless man who’d been living in the crawlspace above my ceiling this whole time. One of my “invisible” roommates. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on my first night moving in. 1 The searing pain in my neck shot through my entire body like an electric current. I gasped and bolted upright in bed. Before me wasn’t that gaunt, twisted face, nor that pitch-black ventilation window. It was the ghostly blue glow of my phone screen. The time displayed: July 15, 2023, 8:00 PM. I touched my neck. No ligature marks, but I could still feel the burning sensation of rough nylon rope scraping against skin. I was breathing heavily, my heart pounding against my ribcage, the sound echoing in this cramped room. I was alive. Or rather, I had come back to life. Half an hour from now—or three days from now in my previous life—I would die in this room. Cause of death: strangled by a homeless man hiding in the crawlspace above my ceiling. I looked around. This was a partitioned room, barely sixty square feet. A single bed, a cheap fabric wardrobe, walls painted a sickly white with bargain paint applied recently to cover the mold underneath. The air reeked of dampness mixed with the acrid smell of cheap formaldehyde. To save five hundred dollars, I’d stuffed myself into this coffin-like box. My banking app was still open to that soul-crushing screen: Balance $342.50. That was everything I had to my name. Not even enough for next month’s rent. What had the landlord said again? “Six hundred bucks in this neighborhood—where else are you gonna find that? This is a four-bedroom apartment. The other three rooms have high-level finance professionals living in them. Quality people. They leave early, come home late. You probably won’t even see them.” Indeed, I wouldn’t see them. In my previous life, I’d lived here for half a month. Even when I got up to use the bathroom in the middle of the night, I never heard a sound from those other three rooms. But I’d heard other sounds. Late at night, there would be this scratching noise from above the ceiling—fingernails scraping against wood. And sounds like marbles dropping. I thought it was rats, so I bought sticky traps. Even in the moment of my death, that trap still lay pristine on top of the wardrobe, completely clean. The real “rat” wasn’t anywhere near there. He was directly above my head. I looked up, staring hard at that small ventilation window high on the wall. It had been installed to provide airflow to this windowless room, connecting to the hallway’s ceiling space. In my previous life, that skeletal hand with fingernails caked in black grime had reached out from exactly there. The terror receded like a tide, replaced by the sharp clarity of someone who’d narrowly escaped death. I knew that monster was up there right now. Separated only by a thin ceiling, crouched like a giant cockroach, listening to my every move. Perhaps even watching me through some crack I hadn’t noticed. I had to leave. Even if it meant sleeping on the street or in a KFC, I couldn’t stay here. I jumped off the bed as quietly as possible, stuffing my ID, bank card, and the fruit knife I kept for protection into my bag. As for the bedding and clothes—forget them. My life was worth more than those rags. I reached for the doorknob and gently turned it. Click. The lock opened. I pulled the door open a crack. The living room outside was pitch black. Not normal darkness, but the kind that seemed sealed in thick ink. Heavy blackout curtains covered the windows completely. Silent. Dead silent. The three other bedroom doors were shut tight, not a sliver of light beneath any of them. I held my breath and tiptoed out. With each step, the floor groaned softly. In the stillness of night, these sounds were like thunder. I didn’t dare look back, but I felt a chill down my spine, as if something in that darkness was watching me. Finally, I reached the front door handle. One of those old-fashioned security doors that needed two full turns to open. My palms were slick with sweat as I twisted hard. It didn’t budge. I tried again. Still nothing. My heart sank. The door was deadbolted. Locked from the outside. With these old security doors, if someone deadbolts them from outside with a key, you can’t open them from inside without that key. The agent had only given me a door key, not the deadbolt key. Who locked it? Whoever it was, I was now trapped in this giant coffin. Just then, I heard a sound. Very light, very faint. Like someone rubbing their fingertips against wallpaper. The sound came from behind me. From above the hallway leading to the bedrooms. I stiffly turned around. In the darkness, I could just make out the ceiling access panel at the end of the hallway shifting slightly. 2 That access panel definitely moved. Like something had nudged it from above, revealing a pitch-black crack. An indescribable stench wafted out from the gap. Sour, reeking of urine, and that smell of unwashed bodies caked in grime. The smell of a homeless person. He was watching me. He knew I’d discovered the door wouldn’t open. He was waiting for me to panic, waiting for me to scream, then savoring my fear like a cat toying with a mouse. Every hair on my body stood on end. My fingers dug into my palms, forcing myself to stay calm. I couldn’t scream. In this godforsaken place where no one would hear me, screaming would only hasten my death. I took a deep breath, pretending I just needed to use the bathroom. I turned toward the bathroom, deliberately making my footsteps heavier. “This damn door, I’ll have to get the agent to fix it tomorrow.” I muttered to myself—not loudly, but loud enough for the thing above to hear. I entered the bathroom and quickly locked the door. The window here faced the hallway, but it had security bars—no way to squeeze through. The only exit was still the front door. Since I couldn’t open it from inside, I’d have to wait for someone to open it from outside. Or… lure someone here. I pulled out my phone with trembling hands and opened SnapChat to message that seemingly helpful agent—let’s call him Mike. This guy’s eyes always drifted to my chest when we talked, and he spoke like a creep, but at least he worked for a legitimate agency. He probably wouldn’t dare murder someone openly. “Hey, the front door won’t open. I need to go out for something urgent.” I sent the message. No reply. I tried a FaceTime call. It rang twice, then was declined. Immediately, a text message popped up. “Girl, why go out so late? Door’s broken, I’ll get someone to fix it tomorrow. Just sleep tight. The building’s security is great.” Great security? This run-down place didn’t even have working streetlights. What security? And how did he know I wanted to go out just now? How did he reply so fast? Unless… he was nearby. A deeper chill ran down my spine. I remembered a detail from my previous life. When that homeless man was strangling me, I’d heard sounds near the front door. Like keys turning. Could this whole thing be a setup? The agent bringing in tenants, the property manager collecting rent, and the homeless man… handling the cleanup? No, impossible. If it were that organized, this criminal operation would’ve been busted long ago. More likely, the agent knew something was off here but turned a blind eye to collect his commission. He might even be using this homeless man to scare off tenants, keeping their security deposits. I gripped my phone, knuckles white. If you’re going to be ruthless, don’t blame me for fighting back. I opened the dial pad and pressed 91

Before I could make the call, the bathroom light flickered twice. It went out. The world plunged into darkness. Then I heard that familiar scratching sound from overhead. Not in the hallway—in the bathroom ceiling. Those aluminum panel ceilings couldn’t support a person’s full weight. But he didn’t need to support his full weight. He only needed to push those panels aside. Click. The sound of the first panel being lifted. In that moment, I could almost feel hot breath on my scalp. I didn’t dare look up. I yanked the bathroom door open and rushed out. Better to take my chances in the living room than be trapped like a rat in that tiny bathroom. I ran back to my room and slammed the door shut, pressing my body against it with all my weight. I was already gripping that fruit knife, blade pointed at the door. But I knew this door wouldn’t stop him. That cheap ball lock could be popped open with a credit card from outside. Besides, he didn’t even need to use the door. That ventilation window. I whipped my head around. The ventilation window looked the same—a black void. But I knew he was crawling through the ceiling crawlspace, like a giant gecko, heading toward my room. I had to find a way to save myself. Besides this door, there was no other exit from this room. The window faced the air shaft—jumping down meant certain death or crippling injury. Wait. This apartment had partition walls. To squeeze out more rooms, all the walls were just steel studs covered with drywall. These walls had terrible soundproofing, but that also meant… they were fragile. My room was right next to Room B. If I could smash through this wall and escape into the adjacent room… As long as there was someone in that room, I could call for help. Even though I hadn’t seen anyone in half a month, the agent said those rooms housed professionals who left early and came home late. Even one person would be better than facing this monster alone. I looked at the cheap wardrobe. Behind it was that partition wall. I didn’t care if I’d alert the thing above anymore. I shoved the wardrobe aside. Facing that sickly white wall, I raised my leg and kicked with all my strength. Bang. A dull thud. The wall shook but didn’t break. The crawling sounds overhead suddenly stopped. Right above me. He was listening. Judging what I was trying to do. Gritting my teeth, I stepped back and kicked again, even harder. Bang. This time the drywall made a brittle cracking sound, forming a dent. It was working! Like a madwoman, I kicked that dent again and again. Fear transformed into adrenaline. I couldn’t feel the pain in my foot anymore. Only one thought filled my mind: Break through it! Crack. Finally, I’d kicked a hole through the drywall. Ignoring the sharp edges, I reached in and tore at the insulation, widening the opening. A cloud of dust made me cough. Through that hole, I could see into the adjacent room. In the faint light spilling from my room, I saw a bed. Someone was sitting on it. Long hair, back to me, completely motionless. “Help! Someone’s trying to kill me! Please help!” I shouted at that silhouette, my voice trembling. The person didn’t move. Didn’t even turn their head. Panic rising, I didn’t care that the hole was barely big enough for a dog. I forced my head and half my body through. “Ma’am! Wake up! Call the police!” I reached out and grabbed the woman’s shoulder, yanking hard. That body was surprisingly light, turning easily with my pull. In that instant, I felt all the blood in my veins freeze. It was a stiff, pale plastic face. Painted with garish red lips, eyes just dots of black paint. This was… a store mannequin. Wearing a business suit, wig slightly disheveled, staring at me with those dead painted eyes. Only then did I see clearly—besides this bed and this mannequin, the room was completely empty. A thick layer of dust covered the floor. There were no high-level professionals. There never had been. From directly overhead came an extremely soft laugh. That laugh didn’t sound human—like someone with phlegm stuck in their throat, raspy and shrill. A hand reached out from the ventilation window in my room. Holding a nylon rope. Dangling it toward me, stuck helplessly in the wall, and gave it a little shake. 3 Extreme terror becomes numbness. I was stuck in that hole in the wall, half my body on one side, half on the other. Ahead was the lifeless plastic mannequin. Behind was the killer homeless man. That nylon rope swayed in the air like a venomous snake. I jerked myself back, ignoring the sharp drywall edges tearing the skin at my waist. The pain brought some clarity. I scrambled back to the corner of my room, clutching that fruit knife with a death grip. The hand withdrew. But that didn’t mean he’d given up. He was enjoying this. Just like a cat always plays with a mouse before eating it. He knew I couldn’t escape. The adjacent room had a mannequin. What about the others? Were all those “early-rising, late-returning, high-quality” roommates the agent mentioned just these things? Creating the illusion of a fully-rented apartment to trick girls like me—fresh graduates, broke and scared of living alone—into this trap. This was basically an elaborately designed hunting ground. I had to verify this. Even if verification wouldn’t save me, I didn’t want to die in ignorance. I burst out of my room. The living room was still deathly silent. I didn’t care anymore. I ran straight to Room C’s door, the closest one, and twisted the handle hard. Locked. I kicked it. These cheap wooden doors couldn’t withstand much abuse. After a few kicks, the lock area splintered. I rammed through and charged in. By my phone’s flashlight, I saw the same scene. An empty room. One bed. One “man” sitting in a chair. Wearing a suit, glasses perched on his nose, that plastic face frozen in an eternal smile. A male mannequin. Room D. The door wasn’t locked. I pushed it open. This one was even more absurd. Two “people” lay in bed together, one male and one female, covered with blankets, two plastic heads poking out. These were the so-called “couple tenants”? All fake. In this entire four-bedroom apartment, besides me, there wasn’t a second living person. No, there was one more. Overhead. I stood in the center of the living room, holding up my phone’s flashlight, the beam sweeping across those tightly closed bedroom doors. This place was like some grotesque wax museum. In that moment, I didn’t feel scared anymore—just disgusted. Disgusted enough to vomit. They’d treated people like complete idiots. For a few hundred bucks in monthly rent, they’d created this tomb of the living dead. A drop of liquid fell on the floor in front of me. I looked down. It was a drop of murky yellow fluid, reeking of urine. Slowly, I raised my head. The flashlight beam illuminated the living room ceiling. That access panel had been completely removed at some point. A skull-like withered head was hanging upside down there. Matted hair dangling like weeds, those cloudy yellow eyes squinting in the bright light. He grinned, revealing a mouthful of half-rotten black teeth. In his hand was a water bottle, dripping urine downward. He was mocking me. Marking his territory. This was the “roommate” who’d been living above my head all along. Every night I’d heard those sounds, thinking they were rats. They were rats, all right. One giant human-sized rat. “Come down here!” I screamed at him, my voice so hoarse it scared even me. “If you’ve got guts, come down! What kind of man hides up there!” I raised the fruit knife, waving it at him. That withered face twitched, apparently surprised I’d challenge him. He retreated. Then came urgent crawling sounds. Heading toward my room. I knew what he was going to do. That ventilation window. His favorite hunting entrance. I couldn’t go back to my room. But I had to use that room. My mind raced, adrenaline surging. If he liked playing dirty, I’d play along to the end. I rushed to the kitchen. No gas here, just an old-style electric hotplate. But I remembered—in the corner of the kitchen was a bucket of paint thinner left over from previous renovations. Highly flammable. I grabbed the metal bucket and shook it. Still half full. Enough. I hauled the bucket back to my room. The ventilation window had already been pushed open, that skeletal hand about to reach down. Seeing me rush in, the movement paused. Probably wondering why this prey dared walk into the trap. I let out a cold laugh, unscrewed the bucket lid, and aimed at the bed beneath the ventilation window and the wall directly below it, splashing it everywhere. The acrid chemical smell instantly filled the cramped space. “You want to come down? Then come down!” I pulled out a lighter. Click. The flame sparked to life. The eyes behind that ventilation window widened suddenly. The animal’s instinctive fear of fire. He tried to retreat. But I didn’t give him the chance. I tossed the lighter onto the thinner-soaked sheets. The flames erupted instantly, like a fire dragon roaring toward the ceiling. That ventilation window was a wind tunnel—the flames rushed straight up with the airflow. A piercing shriek erupted from the ceiling crawlspace. That sound made your scalp crawl, like a pig being slaughtered. I stepped back, watching flames lick at the edges of the ventilation window. But I knew this wasn’t enough. This fire wouldn’t kill him—at most it would burn him. And if this old building really caught fire, I’d die too. I didn’t want mutual destruction. I wanted to force him down. Force him out of his dark fortress, down to ground level, where we could fight to the death. Sure enough, overhead came frantic crashing and rolling sounds. The crawlspace filled with smoke and fire—he couldn’t stay. A massive crash from the hallway. The access panel had been completely kicked out. A flaming black mass tumbled down from above, hitting the floor hard. He’d landed. It was a scrawny man, barely five feet tall, draped in tattered quilting, hair still smoking. He screamed and rolled on the floor, beating at the flames on his body. I gripped the fruit knife tightly and strode out of my room. Now he was no longer that superior hunter. Just a cornered dog. Strike while the enemy’s down—finish him off. I rushed over and stabbed down hard at his thigh. The sound of blade entering flesh. He screamed again, those cloudy eyes finally showing fear. He tried to get up, but I kicked him hard in that revolting face. “This is for the me you strangled to death!” I yanked out the knife. Blood sprayed everywhere. I wanted to stab again. But just then, keys turning sounded at the front door. Click. The door opened. The landlord Mike’s bulky figure appeared in the doorway. He held a baseball bat, panting heavily—clearly he’d rushed up after hearing the commotion. But when he saw the scene before him, he froze. I froze too. I’d expected him to come, but not with a weapon in hand. What I hadn’t expected was that when he saw the homeless man covered in blood on the floor, his eyes showed no surprise—only… fury. The fury of someone whose property had been damaged. “Damn it, useless piece of trash!” He cursed, turned around to close the door, and deadbolted it again. He turned back around. Those little eyes that usually squinted to slits were now wide open, gleaming with murderous intent. “Girl, you’re pretty vicious, aren’t you?” He hefted the baseball bat, advancing toward me step by step. “This idiot may be brain-dead, but at least he’s been watching this place for me for six months, saving me plenty of trouble. You crippled him—how am I supposed to do business now?” His tone was casual, like he was discussing some minor property damage. But I understood. This homeless man wasn’t some illegal squatter. He was a dog the agent kept. Specifically to frighten tenants, drive away those who wanted their deposits back, or even… dispose of troublesome people. I gripped the still-dripping knife, backing away step by step. Wolf ahead, tiger behind. And this tiger was bigger, meaner, and harder to handle than that wolf. “Don’t come closer! I called the police!” I shouted, raising the knife. “Police?” Mike sneered. “I installed a signal jammer in this dump. Who could you possibly call?” No wonder the call wouldn’t go through. “Wasn’t planning to touch you, but you had to make trouble.” The fat on Mike’s face quivered as he showed a savage grin. “Since you know everything now, might as well stay and keep them company. I’m sick of these mannequins anyway—perfect time to replace one with the real thing.” He swung the baseball bat viciously at my head. 4 I instinctively dodged sideways, but the bat still caught my shoulder. Intense pain struck. I thought my bone might have fractured. The fruit knife flew from my hand, sliding into a corner of the living room. The massive force knocked me to the floor. My vision went dark. Mike didn’t pause—another swing came down. I rolled desperately across the floor, barely avoiding it. The baseball bat smashed into the floor, making a dull crash. Floor tiles shattered. “Run? Where can you run?” Mike sneered, bearing down on me like a mountain of flesh. The homeless man I’d stabbed had also recovered by now. Clutching his thigh, he limped to his feet, making that weird clicking laugh, picking up a broken wooden stick from the floor and blocking my path to the bedroom. Two against one. With me injured and weaponless. Despair rose like a black tide, slowly covering my head. Had I been reborn just to die again? Even more horribly this time? My back against the cold wall, I gasped for breath. Past Mike’s bulky body, I could see the front door. Deadbolted. Even if I had the key, unlocking it would take time. And they’d never give me that time. “Stop struggling, girl.” Mike stepped on my ankle and ground down hard. I screamed in pain. He squatted down, that greasy fat face inches from mine, reeking breath washing over me. “Originally I planned to let you stay a month, keep your deposit and kick you out. But you just had to make trouble.” He reached out his fat hand to grab my hair. I suddenly lunged and bit down hard on his palm. Clamped down with every ounce of strength. I tasted blood—the rancid flavor of pork fat. Mike screamed and flung his hand, throwing me six feet away. My head slammed into the wall. The impact made me see stars, my consciousness fading. But I couldn’t pass out. Unconscious meant dead. Mike looked at the deep tooth marks on his hand, going to bone, and flew into a complete rage. “Ungrateful bitch!” He raised the baseball bat, this time aimed at my skull. He meant to kill me outright. I watched that bat descending closer and closer. Time seemed to slow in that moment. I wasn’t willing to accept this. I really wasn’t willing. I was only 23. My life had just begun. Why should I die at the hands of these two pieces of garbage? My hand groped wildly across the floor, hoping to grab something. My fingertips touched something cold and hard. A piece of broken floor tile with a sharp edge. Only palm-sized, but the edge was sharp as a knife. The instant the baseball bat fell, I exploded with my last reserves of strength. Not to dodge—to attack. I shot forward, not retreating but advancing, ramming into Mike’s bulk. The tile fragment in my hand stabbed viciously toward the carotid artery in his neck. The sound of a sharp object piercing a blood vessel. Scalding liquid instantly sprayed across my face. Mike’s movement froze. The baseball bat slipped powerlessly from his hand. Those beady eyes bulged like they’d pop out. He clutched his neck, making gurgling sounds, blood foam gushing between his fingers. The homeless man saw this scene and was stunned stupid. He probably never imagined his usually vicious master could be counter-killed by a “little rabbit.” I shoved aside Mike’s heavy corpse and stood up, face covered in blood. Like a demon crawling out of hell. I turned toward the homeless man. “Your turn.” The homeless man shrieked and turned to scramble toward the access panel. But how could I let him escape? I picked up the baseball bat, dragging it with my uninjured arm, walking toward him step by step. “Don’t… don’t…” The homeless man cowered in the corner, trembling. Now he seemed human—now he knew fear. I raised the baseball bat. Without the slightest hesitation. Thud. The world went quiet. I dropped the bat and slumped weakly against the wall. The whole room reeked of blood mixed with burnt smell. I looked at the two corpses on the floor and suddenly wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Was it over? Had I survived? Trembling, I fished the keys from Mike’s pocket. The front door key. I staggered to the door, my hand shaking so badly I couldn’t insert it properly several times. Finally, it went in. I turned it. Click. The lock opened. I pushed the door. Outside in the hallway, the motion sensor light flickered on. That sudden brightness was somewhat blinding. I squinted, wanting to breathe some fresh air. But I saw someone. Someone in a police uniform. Standing at the hallway entrance, gun in hand, pointed at me. I froze. A cop? Had someone called the police? Was I saved? I was about to raise my hands, about to shout “I’m the victim.” But the next second, I saw that cop’s face clearly. It was a familiar face. Though wearing a police uniform, those sinister eyes, that hooked nose… It was the property manager! The property manager who’d been at the contract signing, always with a gloomy expression, never speaking! Why was he wearing a police uniform? No, that uniform didn’t fit right. The shoulder patches were crooked. It was fake. Cosplay? No. He looked at me, then at the carnage inside the apartment, his face showing not a trace of surprise. Instead, he wore a strange smile—like someone who’d just watched their game finally reach completion. “Not bad, little girl.” He slowly lowered the gun—a black imitation pistol. “Thought Mike would win this round. Didn’t expect you to turn the tables.” He pulled a walkie-talkie from his pocket and pressed the button. “Hey, the house lost this round. Calculate the payout.” The walkie-talkie erupted with chaotic cheering and betting talk. “Holy shit! This chick actually pulled off a double kill!” “I told you betting on this girl to survive the night would pay off!” “I’m ruined—I bet on the homeless guy!” My mind exploded with a thunderous roar. This wasn’t robbery, wasn’t murder to silence a witness. This was… a gambling ring? This entire shared apartment was their arena? Me, the previous tenants, even the homeless man and Mike—we were all just pieces in their game? The property manager put away the walkie-talkie and raised the gun again, aiming at the center of my forehead. “You won, but the rules of the game are simple: there can only be one winner.” “And that winner is always the house.” Bang. A flash of fire erupted from the gun barrel. I felt a chill between my eyebrows. My consciousness rapidly faded. With my last glimpse, I saw the property manager step over my corpse, speaking into the walkie-talkie: “Clean it up. Prepare for the next round.” … I gasped and bolted upright in bed. No searing pain in my neck, no chill between my eyebrows. Before me was that familiar phone screen. Time: July 15, 2023, 8:00 PM.

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