Category: English

My parents took me to the city to buy a house. I walked up to a dilapidated, tiny old house and refused to leave. No matter how much my parents tried to persuade me, I stood my ground. Helpless, my parents had no choice but to buy it. Three days later, a “Condemned for Demolition” notice appeared on the wall of our newly purchased house. My parents were shocked. 1. Right after dinner, my cousin and I were running around the yard. “Chloe, come here and let me wipe your sweat. Look at your little face, it’s as dirty as a little kitten,” my mom said, smiling as she walked over, hugged me, and wiped my face. Our neighbor, Mrs. Smith, walked by and smiled. “Chloe is such a lucky charm! It’s rare for a little girl to be loved this much.” “But, Sarah,” she continued, “a woman still needs a son to secure her future. It would be great if you and Chloe’s dad had another baby and gave Chloe a little brother.” Hearing Mrs. Smith’s words, my mom looked a bit displeased. While tickling me with one hand, she replied politely, “We are perfectly happy with just Chloe. You don’t need to worry about us.” Seeing me laughing heartily as my mom tickled me, Mrs. Smith shook her head and walked away. My grandmother came out of the house. “Don’t listen to that old busybody. Having Chloe is perfectly fine for our family.” My mom smiled too. “Mom, Chloe’s dad and I are planning to go to the city tomorrow to look at houses. We’ve saved up quite a bit these past two years, and for the sake of Chloe’s future education, we want to move to the city as soon as possible.” Grandma smiled warmly and patted my head. “Alright, as long as you find something you like. I’ve saved up a little bit too; if it’s not enough, I can chip in!” My parents wouldn’t actually take my grandmother’s money. After all, I still had an uncle, and she needed to be fair to both her sons. In rural areas, favoring boys over girls wasn’t uncommon, and my grandmother originally held those views too. When I was first born and she heard I was a girl, she showed obvious disappointment on her face. But from the moment I was born, I loved to smile. Seeing me swaddled like a little white dumpling, grinning widely at everyone, my parents and grandmother couldn’t help but smile too. They held me in their arms, unable to put me down. Add to that my sweet talk, and with this skill, I gained a lot of love in the family. But what truly elevated my status was another incident. When I was a year old, my parents had something to attend to, and my grandmother was watching me at home. After feeding me lunch, my grandmother was working in the yard while I played on the bed by myself. Not long after, I suddenly started crying loudly. My grandmother held me, trying everything to soothe me, but it didn’t work. My cries grew louder and louder, my voice becoming increasingly hoarse. For someone like me, who naturally loved to smile, this was extremely unusual. My grandmother didn’t dare delay and hurriedly carried me to the local clinic. The doctor at the clinic couldn’t find anything wrong with me and just told her to take me home and observe me. My grandmother carried me home, and on the way, she saw black smoke billowing from the direction of our house. “Fire… there’s a fire…” When my grandmother finally ran back carrying me, she found that several nearby houses, including ours, were on fire. The fire was quite large, and the volunteer firefighters were all helping to put it out. My parents also rushed back, and seeing that my grandmother and I were safe, they finally breathed a sigh of relief. It took the whole afternoon to put out the fire; it wasn’t extinguished until nightfall. Later, we heard that people in several of the nearby houses were severely injured, and even after being saved, they were left disabled. Our family was the only one that didn’t suffer much loss, and no one was hurt. Hearing this news, my parents were silent for a long time. My grandmother held me tightly, her eyes still showing lingering fear. “Thanks to Chloe! Our Chloe is a little lucky charm, Grandma’s sweetheart.” 2. Since that incident, everyone in the family favored me even more. My grandmother and mother even fought over who got to take care of me, making my aunt, who had two sons, green with envy. My parents also gave up the idea of having a son; they only wanted to take good care of me. When I was two, my dad was laid off and started his own business. Unexpectedly, his first venture didn’t lose money; instead, he paid off all the money he borrowed to start the business in just one year. Not long after, my mom also quit her job to help my dad, and a year later, they made a neat little profit. As our family’s life improved day by day, my parents started thinking about moving to the city. After all, the educational and medical facilities in the city were relatively much better. Early the next morning, my mom picked me up from bed. “Chloe, are we going to the city to look at houses with Mommy and Daddy today? Does that sound good?” With my eyes closed, I let my mom dress me and groggily washed my face. After eating the breakfast my grandmother prepared, my parents and I set off. My parents had been making frequent trips to the city for their business over the past few years, so they had some knowledge of the well-known neighborhoods. When my parents brought me to a sales office, I instinctively disliked the place. The houses sold here were considered upper-middle-class in the city, and many people were buying them. While my parents were listening to the real estate agent’s introduction, I sat in my mom’s lap, looking around. Just then, I saw an elegantly dressed couple walk in through the door with a little girl. The couple looked very kind; the man was tall and handsome, and the woman was gentle and beautiful. However, the woman looked pale, as if her health wasn’t very good. The little girl with them was wearing a princess dress and delicate white leather shoes, but she looked unhappy. Seeing them, the sales manager hurried out to greet them. “Mr. Sterling, Mrs. Sterling, what brings you here personally today? And this must be your daughter?” The little girl glanced at the sales manager expressionlessly. The man referred to as Mr. Sterling spoke: “Today we want to pick out another house for ourselves. My wife isn’t used to living in the one we bought previously.” Seeing Mrs. Sterling coughing softly, the sales manager nodded in understanding and personally began showing them around. But the little girl didn’t seem very close to the couple; she just sat impatiently on the side by herself. My parents picked me up, ready to go look at the houses in the neighborhood. As my mom picked me up, the family next to us also noticed us. The woman called Mrs. Sterling froze for a moment when she saw me. Noticing her gaze, the man also looked at us. Seeing my face, the man, like the woman, was stunned for a moment, but soon returned to normal. Both of their gazes lingered on us. It wasn’t until my parents and I left that their line of sight vanished. My parents were very satisfied with the house they viewed. But ever since I walked in, I didn’t like it. I shook my mom’s hand: “I don’t like it here, Mommy. Let’s look somewhere else.” “Chloe, be good. Look how big this bedroom is! You can have your own room from now on.” But I still shook my head, my face showing my reluctance. My parents looked awkwardly at the salesperson and said they would think about it. After going outside, my dad picked me up: “Does Chloe really not like it there?” “I don’t like it!” I immediately replied. “Then we’ll keep looking. There are plenty of houses anyway.” “You just spoil her,” my mom said, smiling and shaking her head. My parents decided to take me to get something to eat first. We came to an alley where the road was full of potholes and very difficult to walk on. My dad, holding me, looked up. There weren’t many houses here, and the layout was scattered. When we reached a certain house, I struggled to be put down. After my dad set me down, I scurried over to the house and took a look. I didn’t know why, but I really liked it here. “Mommy, Daddy, I want to live here!” My parents were shocked by my words: “Chloe, it’s too run-down here. It’s not even as good as our house in the country. Let’s live in a new house, okay?” “No, no, I want to live here!” A “For Sale” sign was posted on the mottled gate of the house. My mom tried to coax me for a long time, but I refused to leave. Having no choice, my dad called the “For Sale” number posted on the gate. Hearing that we wanted to view the house, the owner excitedly said he would be right there. When the gate opened, we could see the yard wasn’t small, but it was piled high with junk. Upon entering the house, the overall appearance was even more dilapidated. My parents really didn’t think much of the place, but since coming in, I found myself liking the house more and more. I hugged my mom’s thigh. “I want to live here. I like it here.” My mom looked at my dad, conflicted. After all, I had been very sensible since I was little and rarely stubbornly demanded anything. My dad looked at my hopeful little face. “Buy it! If my daughter likes it, we’ll buy it! Worst case, we save up and buy another one later!” My dad made the final decision. Hearing this, my mom didn’t object either. Afraid we might change our minds, the owner offered an at-cost price and rushed the transfer of ownership. Looking at the property deed in our hands, our family of three stared at each other in disbelief. 3. There was too much junk here, making it a hassle to clean up. My parents decided to pack up our things from the country and move them over little by little. After returning home, the neighbors heard that my parents had bought an old house and gossiped while snacking on sunflower seeds. “The Davis family must have lost their minds! Listening to a little girl!” “They finally saved up enough money, and they go to the city just to buy a house like that? I wouldn’t live there even if they gave it to me for free!” “Tell me about it! Last time I suggested Chloe’s mom have another boy, she gave me such a dirty look!” Mrs. Smith said, spit flying. “No matter how lucky this girl is, she’s still not a son! Just wait and see! There will come a day when the Davis family regrets it!” My grandmother also disapproved a bit when she heard, but her attitude completely changed when she heard I liked it. “Since Chloe likes it, then we bought it! Don’t listen to their nonsense. At least we own a house in the city now!” My parents felt the same way and started packing up the things at home. The next day, my dad received a phone call and walked home looking like he was sleepwalking. “Richard? What’s wrong with you? Did you lose your soul?” My mom waved her hand in front of my dad’s face. My dad recovered after a while and said, “Sarah, the old house we just bought is condemned for demolition.” “What… what nonsense are you talking about?!” My mom looked doubtful. “It’s true, that call just now was from the city planning office!” My mom and grandmother still couldn’t quite believe it, afraid they had encountered a scammer. The family rushed to the city in a panic. It wasn’t until they negotiated with the city officials, signed the contract, and saw the “Condemned” notice posted on our newly purchased house that it finally felt real. “Oh my, I told you our Chloe is a little lucky charm!” My grandmother hugged me and happily kissed my cheek. My parents were also smiling, looking at me with absolute adoration. After all, trading the price of a dilapidated house for a massive eminent domain payout was something they wouldn’t have even dared to dream of. Since the house was going to be demolished, it couldn’t be lived in. Striking while the iron was hot, my parents took the fresh payout, gritted their teeth, and bought a nice house in the suburbs. Soon, our whole family moved. The houses here were divided into two main areas. One area was for families with a little bit of money, like ours. The other area consisted of gated estates; only the wealthiest and most prestigious people in the city lived there. On our very first day moving in, we ran into the family from the sales office. It turned out their family had also moved here, but they lived in the gated community. Mr. Sterling wasn’t there. Mrs. Sterling still looked pale, but it didn’t detract from her beauty. Mrs. Sterling was holding the hand of the little girl from last time. The little girl was dressed like a little princess, even wearing a small tiara on her head. When she saw our family, she didn’t look friendly and muttered “hicks” under her breath. My parents didn’t notice, and I turned my head away, ignoring her. We found out later that they were the Sterling family. The Sterling family enterprise was a leading corporation in the city. Mr. Sterling was famous for doting on his wife, and they only had this one daughter, Lily Sterling. Lily had been spoiled since childhood; calling her a princess wouldn’t be an overstatement. I thought this was just a minor interlude, never expecting our two families’ fates to be intertwined forever. Not long after moving, I was getting ready to start elementary school. I adapted to the new school pretty well, but I saw Lily Sterling here too. She and I didn’t know each other, so I didn’t approach her. But Lily wasn’t happy about that. Since she was little, wherever she went, she was always the center of attention. Her peers would try their best to please her. And yet I, someone she had disliked from the very first glance, hadn’t taken the initiative to approach her. So, during recess one day, Lily and her little followers came looking for me. “Hey, Chloe Davis, who told you to wear this hairstyle?” I touched the half-up princess style my mom had just done for me that morning, looking confused. Lily stared at me unkindly, as if trying to burn a hole in my face. Seeing that I didn’t speak, another follower next to her spoke up. “We’re talking to you! Are you mute? Who told you to wear this hairstyle?” “Why do I need your permission?” I asked seriously. “Don’t you know Lily is the little princess of our school? Are you trying to steal her thunder by dressing up so elaborately?” Listening to this illogical nonsense, I didn’t want to talk to them anymore and put on a cold expression: “Sorry, I don’t know you guys.” I didn’t expect this sentence to completely infuriate Lily. She ordered her followers to lunge at me and mess up my hair. But having grown up playing rough outside, I wasn’t someone to mess with either. Seeing this, how could I just take it? I nimbly dodged their attacks, grabbed firmly, and yanked the hair clip right off Lily’s head. A strand of Lily’s hair was still clinging to the fallen clip. They were completely enraged by me and were preparing to all jump me to teach me a lesson. The farce only ended when the teacher walked into the classroom. After school, both my mom and Mrs. Sterling appeared at the school. Mrs. Sterling recognized me and was clearly surprised to see me. My mom put her arm around me and looked angrily at Lily. I was actually fine, my hair was just a bit messy. But Lily’s hands had several red scratch marks from me. After Mrs. Sterling heard the whole story, she pulled Lily forward to apologize to us. Lily looked incredibly resistant, glaring at me with anger in her eyes. “I’m not apologizing to her, that hick!” Lily refused to cooperate. “Lily Sterling!” Mrs. Sterling gave her a warning look. Lily turned and ran, completely disregarding Mrs. Sterling’s presence. “I’m so sorry, Lily has been spoiled since she was little. How about this, you leave me your address, and we’ll come to your house another day to formally apologize?” My mom didn’t care for her apology and led me away, turning her back on them. 4. I don’t know what method they used, but the three members of the Sterling family actually came to our house that night, saying they wanted to apologize. Lily was clearly much more obedient and offered a half-hearted apology. You don’t smack a smiling face, so my parents didn’t want to hold a grudge against a child, and they politely chatted with them. During the conversation, Mrs. Sterling noticed a childhood photo of me in the living room and froze. She gently tugged Mr. Sterling, signaling him to look up. Following her gaze, Mr. Sterling saw the photo and also froze, lost in thought. Mrs. Sterling casually asked where my parents’ hometown was. My parents told her honestly. The two of them looked even more pensive. “I felt an affinity with Chloe the moment I saw her. What year and day is Chloe’s birthday?” Mrs. Sterling looked up and inquired. My mom also told her honestly. Hearing my birthday, Mrs. Sterling shot up from her seat, staring straight at me. Mr. Sterling quickly put his arm around her, claimed it was getting late, said goodbye, and they left. My parents thought the family was very strange and decided it would be best to minimize contact with them. Unexpectedly, the very next day, Mr. and Mrs. Sterling came to our house again. As soon as they entered, Mrs. Sterling looked at me with eager eyes. My mom told me to go back to my room and play. When I was called down again, everyone’s eyes were on me. My mom looked awful, and Mrs. Sterling wanted to approach me but didn’t dare. Everyone hesitated to speak. Finally, Mr. Sterling bent down and touched my cheek: “Chloe, we are your biological parents.” It turned out that Mrs. Sterling and my mom had given birth at the same hospital at the exact same time. Back then, the Sterling couple had gone to my family’s hometown for a charity event, but unexpectedly, a pregnant Mrs. Sterling suddenly went into labor. She was taken to the nearest hospital and gave birth to a daughter. Due to the chaos, Mr. Sterling had to handle everything himself. Unexpectedly, in the blink of an eye, the baby was gone. The hospital back then didn’t have any surveillance equipment, and the Sterling family searched for a long time but couldn’t find her. Because of this, Mrs. Sterling suffered a severe mental blow and fell bedridden ever since. It wasn’t until Mr. Sterling adopted a little girl of the same age from an orphanage and renamed her “Lily Sterling” that Mrs. Sterling slowly began to regain some vitality. And I was the biological daughter of the Sterling couple. But Lily wasn’t my parents’ biological daughter either. My mom had actually given birth to a boy back then. However, my aunt, afraid that a boy would steal attention and resources from her own son, managed to swap him for a girl, sending my parents’ real son to an orphanage in a neighboring city. At first, my parents refused to believe any of this. But looking at the evidence brought by the Sterling couple, they had to believe it. My mom stood frozen in place for a moment, then muttered blankly: “How could this be? How could Chloe not be our daughter?” Actually, just looking at our appearances, I really didn’t look like my parents. My mom was conventionally pretty, but my features were strikingly bright and vibrant. When I was little, people in the village used to joke that I was switched at birth. I didn’t expect it to become a self-fulfilling prophecy. “How could Aunt Mary be so malicious? I’m going to call the police and have her arrested!” Just as my mom finished speaking with red eyes, Mr. Sterling immediately followed: “We have already called the police.” After all, this was ultimately done by a member of the Davis family, and the Sterling family had suffered an unprovoked disaster. Mr. Sterling calling the police was understandable. Only then did everyone notice me standing there looking crestfallen. The Sterling couple and my parents looked at me with heartache. Before anyone could speak, Lily suddenly rushed in and yelled at the Sterling couple: “Dad, Mom, I am your daughter!” “I don’t want someone else coming into our house!” Lily had clearly eavesdropped on their conversation, and the look she gave me now was full of jealousy and hatred. “Dad, Mom, I want to go home, I want to go home!” Lily shook Mrs. Sterling’s hand and pleaded. Seeing their adopted daughter pulling at them, Mr. and Mrs. Sterling also wanted to give me time to accept all this. Although Mrs. Sterling looked at me with deep reluctance, she didn’t force the issue and left with Lily first. That night, I heard my mom secretly crying in the bedroom: “How could Chloe not be our daughter?”

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On April Fool’s Day, my sister and I moved into our new apartment. Mr. Johnson Mr. Johnson’s fridge was covered with notes containing bizarre rules. One of them read: Never eat anything from the neighbor in 404—she’ll consume parts of your memory. I dismissed it as Mr. Johnson’s holiday prank. That afternoon, the neighbor from 404 knocked on our door and brought over a freshly baked tiramisu. I thanked her with a smile and immediately put it in the fridge. The next morning when I woke up, my sister pointed at me in terror and asked, “Who are you?” “Chloe, what are you talking about? I’m your sister.” I stepped forward to take her hand, but Chloe backed away, grabbing a throw pillow and clutching it tightly to her chest. “I don’t know you! Who are you! How did you get into my home!” I froze in place. The fear and resistance in Chloe’s eyes didn’t look like an act. I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice steady. “Chloe, calm down. We just moved in together yesterday, don’t you remember?” Chloe shook her head frantically, tears welling up in her eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t remember having a sister!” I pulled out my phone, opened my photo album, and handed it to her. “Look, this is us at the beach last month. You forgot?” In the photo, we were smiling brightly, her arm linked intimately with mine. A flash of confusion crossed Chloe’s eyes, but it was quickly replaced by wariness. “Photos don’t mean anything—they can be AI-generated!” “Then look at our chat history.” I opened SnapChat, hundreds of messages, scrolling up endlessly. Chloe glanced at it and pushed the phone back. “My phone was stolen. How do I know you didn’t fake this?” I was stunned. She was right—her phone had been stolen a few days before we moved. It was precisely because our old rental had such a chaotic environment that we’d decided to move. I looked at Chloe, my mind in turmoil. Could memories just vanish like that? She knew her name was Chloe, knew her phone had been stolen, but she’d forgotten me entirely. I suddenly remembered yesterday’s note on the fridge. I spun around and rushed into the kitchen, yanking open the fridge door. The tiramisu was gone. My hands were shaking. How could something so coincidental and bizarre happen in this world? I suppressed the panic rising in my chest and called Mr. Johnson. The phone rang for a long time before someone answered. A drowsy voice came through. “Hello?” “Sir, this is Aria, I just moved into your place yesterday.” “I want to ask about the rules you posted on the fridge. My sister ate something from the 404 neighbor, and now she doesn’t recognize me!” The voice on the other end paused for two seconds, then burst into laughter. “Young lady, don’t you know what day yesterday was? April Fool’s Day! I just wrote those notes for fun. Is your sister upset with you about something?” “She’s not upset. She genuinely doesn’t recognize me.” My voice cracked with urgency. But Mr. Johnson still treated it as a joke. “Come on, nobody loses their memory after one night’s sleep. You young folks just love pranking each other.” The call ended. I rushed to door 404 and pressed the doorbell. The door opened quickly. Mrs. Patterson was wearing an apron, holding a spatula, looking at me with confusion. “Young lady, it’s so early. Is something wrong?” “Ma’am, what did you put in that tiramisu box you gave us yesterday?” “My sister doesn’t recognize me after eating it!” Mrs. Patterson looked stunned, then showed an innocent, amused expression. “How is that possible? It’s just regular cake. I ate some myself.” She stepped aside slightly. “I still have some left from yesterday. Why don’t you come in and try it?” “Maybe your sister hasn’t been sleeping well lately. Sometimes poor sleep can cause hallucinations. Should I help you schedule a doctor’s appointment?”

When I returned to the apartment, Chloe was standing in the living room. Two police officers sat on the sofa, taking notes. Chloe looked up at me, her eyes filled with unfamiliar wariness. I stood at the door without moving. The officer spoke first. “Are you Aria?” “Yes, I’m her sister, Aria.” The officers spread photocopies of our IDs and household registration on the coffee table, exchanging glances. “Ladies, is there some misunderstanding? You are indeed biological sisters. It’s written clearly here.” The younger officer tried to mediate. But Chloe wouldn’t listen. She stubbornly insisted I was a stranger who’d broken into her home. “There’s no misunderstanding. I just don’t know her. Take her away!” The officers had no choice. They quietly told me, “Why don’t you stay somewhere else tonight? Wait until her emotions stabilize, and if that doesn’t work, contact your parents.” I sat on the stairwell steps, my mind in chaos. I didn’t dare go far. I found a budget hotel nearby. I called my mom. She seemed to be playing cards. I kept it brief, not mentioning the prank notes, just saying Chloe didn’t seem to recognize me. Mom sighed. She said, “Aria, is your sister still angry with you?” I didn’t understand. “Angry about what?” Mom said, “About Zachary.” “You forced her to break up with him, made her block him. Chloe hasn’t been quite right since then.” Zachary was Chloe’s boyfriend of three years. Three months ago, Chloe caught him with another girl. They were being intimate. Chloe called me, crying so hard she couldn’t form a complete sentence. I told her to break up immediately, block him, leave no way back. “She might have mentally linked you to that painful period, so she doesn’t want to remember you at all.” I hung up, my mind a tangled mess. Was this really a psychological issue? I searched online for a well-reviewed counseling center. The doctor listened and nodded. “Your sister has amnesia specifically about you, correct?” “Yes.” “This is called dissociative amnesia, a form of selective memory suppression.” “Her brain isn’t damaged, and the memories exist intact. Her psychological defense mechanism has simply sealed off that part, preventing her from accessing it. She hasn’t truly forgotten.” I was silent for a moment. “Can she remember again?” “Yes.” The doctor spoke with certainty, no hesitation. “But she needs a trigger point, something to give that sealed memory an outlet.” He paused. “Was the starting point of your sister’s amnesia the trauma within that relationship, or how it was handled after the breakup?” “I don’t know.” “Then you need to find out.” He picked up his pen again. “You could try finding her ex-boyfriend. If that relationship can reach true closure in a meaningful sense, it might be a breakthrough.” “If your sister is willing, she could also come here so we can talk.”

The one who tied the bell must untie it. But could that bastard Zachary really untie this knot? I found Zachary’s number and called. No answer. I sent a message on SnapChat: [This is Aria. I need to talk to you. 3 PM, Countryside Café on South Street.] I arrived half an hour early. I chose a window seat with a view of the street corner. Three o’clock. Zachary didn’t show. Three-thirty. Zachary didn’t show. Four o’clock. The coffee had gone completely cold, and Zachary still hadn’t appeared. I tried calling him again. The line wouldn’t connect. Then my phone buzzed on the table—an unknown number. “Hello, is this Ms. Aria?” “Yes.” “This is the Criminal Investigation Unit of the City Police Department.” I thought something had happened to Chloe. My hand shook, nearly knocking over the coffee cup. “Do you know Zachary? We received a report that he was found in an alley in the west district with severe head trauma. He’s in the hospital now, unconscious.” I didn’t catch the next few words. My ears were ringing. “We checked his recent communications. Both you and Chloe contacted him recently. Please return to your apartment now to assist with the investigation.” I left the café. The cold wind outside jolted me awake. Back at the apartment, Chloe was curled up on the sofa, arms wrapped around her knees, making herself as small as possible. The officers said there was no surveillance at the crime scene, no witnesses, and no weapon found. Zachary’s phone was also missing. Chloe shook her head to every question. “Zachary? Who’s that? I don’t know him.” “I don’t remember him contacting me. I don’t remember meeting him.” “I’ve been home these past few days. I haven’t gone anywhere.” Her answers were airtight. Naturally, the police couldn’t get anything from me either. After all, Zachary hadn’t answered my call—I’d only sent a SnapChat message and never met him. The officers told us to keep our phones available for further assistance with the investigation. After the police left, I pulled Chloe onto the sofa. “Chloe, tell me the truth. Did you go see Zachary these past two days?” Chloe looked up, her eyes red and full of confusion. “I don’t remember. I really don’t remember who Zachary is.” But I knew her too well. When she was nervous, she’d unconsciously wring her fingers. From the moment the police entered until now, her hands hadn’t stopped that small gesture. My doubts grew stronger. But I didn’t press further. After she fell asleep, I quietly entered her room. In her nightstand drawer was a diary with a combination lock. I tried several of her common passwords. None worked. I hesitated, then entered my birthday. The lock opened. I flipped it open. The first few pages were in her usual handwriting. Further in, the writing became messy. The last few pages made a chill run down my spine. “Zachary says he owes a lot of debt. The creditors will kill him.” “He says he wronged me and wants to see me one last time before he leaves.” “I don’t know if I should agree.” “If Aria finds out I’m still in contact with him, she’ll definitely yell at me. I can’t let her know.” I closed the diary and sat in the darkness for a long time without moving. My mind was even more chaotic. Had Chloe gone to see Zachary? Did Zachary’s injury have anything to do with Chloe? I didn’t dare think further. Each question pressed down on me until I could barely breathe.

I looked up and found Chloe already awake, watching me quietly. I walked over and placed the diary in front of her. “Chloe, do you really not remember at all?” Tears silently fell from Chloe’s eyes. She didn’t wipe them, just let them drop onto the blanket. “You went to see him, didn’t you?” But she bit her lip and said nothing. “You were there, weren’t you?” Still no response. I shouted sternly, “Chloe!” She jerked her head up, crying. “I don’t remember. I really don’t remember anything.” “I read what I wrote, but I don’t remember what I did that night. My mind is blank. I’m not lying. I don’t even remember you.” “When I heard he was hurt, I thought maybe I did something, which is why I forgot. I’m so scared.” “Don’t cry yet. Listen to me. There’s only one thing you need to do now.” She looked up, eyes blurred with tears. “We’re going to the police station. You need to tell them everything you know.” Her body stiffened. “I…” “Chloe, we still don’t know who hurt Zachary, but I believe you wouldn’t do something like that.” I gripped her hand. “If you keep hiding and saying nothing, that’s when there’ll be real trouble.” “Trust the police. Let them find the truth.” Chloe bit her lip, silent for a long time, then nodded. I accompanied Chloe to the Criminal Investigation Unit. Chloe handed over her diary. She explained everything from start to finish, including Zachary contacting her and the gap in her memory. The officers’ expressions changed after hearing it all. Police further retrieved all surveillance footage from our apartment complex that night. The footage clearly showed that Aria had indeed never left the apartment that night. But after I fell asleep, Mrs. Patterson had visited our apartment. She stayed in our apartment for a while, then hurriedly left the complex and took a taxi. After a considerable amount of time, she returned looking anxious. The officer looked at me and Chloe. “We’ve made another major discovery. Zachary’s ex-girlfriend—besides Ms. Chloe—there’s also a woman named Rachel.” “Her mother is someone you know—this Mrs. Patterson.” I gasped. “Mrs. Patterson?” From the prank notes, to Mrs. Patterson from 404 bringing cake, to Chloe’s amnesia after eating the cake, to Zachary’s injury—didn’t everything start after the cake was delivered? My mind raced through all the recent details. These fragmented details were like scattered beads suddenly strung together on a thread, and the other end of that thread seemed to point to the same person. The moment this thought emerged, I felt cold all over.

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On the day of my wedding, I knew perfectly well that the cup of chamomile tea my half-sister handed me was laced with sedatives. Still, I smiled and drank every last drop. I watched her eagerly slip into my custom bridal gown and climb into the wedding limousine belonging to Tristan Vance, the golden boy of Manhattan’s elite. In my previous life, I woke up hysterical. I tore apart her innocent facade, ruined her reputation, and had her banished from New York. Meanwhile, I married Tristan. Using my father’s authority as a Four-Star General at the Pentagon, I helped Tristan wash his family’s dirty money clean and pushed him to the absolute pinnacle of power. It wasn’t until I was lying on my deathbed after a critical surgery that the truth came out. Tristan dismissed my doctors, wrapped his arm around my sister, and held their one-month-old son. He looked down at me with cold, calculating eyes. “Chloe, if it weren’t for the Sterling family’s military connections, I would have sent you to your grave years ago for the way you treated Harper. Now that your father is under federal investigation and can’t even save himself, it’s time you give up your seat.” My sister ground the heel of her stiletto into my fingers, her smile twisted and cruel. “Sister, the empire you built? My baby and I will enjoy it to the fullest. From now on, the title and glory of Mrs. Vance are finally returning to their rightful owner.” Amidst the agonizing pain and soul-crushing betrayal, I took my last breath. Then, I opened my eyes. I was reborn, right back on the morning of my wedding. …… Outside the window, the faint, melodic notes of the wedding march drifted into the room. I sat up, waited in the silence for about fifteen minutes, and then massaged my temples before pushing the door open. My mother was just turning to walk down the hall, the unshed tears still glistening in the corners of her eyes. She looked up, freezing when she saw me leaning against the doorframe. A loud gasp escaped her lips. Hearing the noise, my father turned around and froze. “Chloe? Didn’t you just get in the car?” He pointed a shaking finger toward the front gates in absolute shock. “Then who the hell was wearing the wedding dress and just got driven away?” I placed a hand over my chest, feigning panic and confusion. “No way… Last night, Harper told me how much she was going to miss me. She brought me a cup of warm chamomile tea. After I drank it, my head felt so heavy, and I slept right through until just now…” The joyous, celebratory atmosphere of the estate instantly plummeted to freezing. The gathered high-society guests exchanged subtle, knowing glances. My mother’s chest heaved violently. She nearly collapsed before her voice rang out like a whip, “Bring Ruby to me right now!” Ruby, the mistress, was dragged out of the crowd by my father’s military aides. She was clutching a designer suitcase, clearly having tried to slip away in the chaos. “No wonder you were crying harder than me earlier,” my mother sneered. “I thought you were actually heartbroken to see my daughter leave. Turns out, you were crying tears of joy because you personally sent your own daughter into the Vance family’s limousine!” Ruby’s eyes darted around nervously, but she forced a brazen look onto her face. “What do you mean, Madam? The eldest Miss overslept and missed her own wedding. How can you pin this on my poor Harper?” Before she could finish her sentence, the estate butler hurried over, his voice hushed but urgent. “General, Madam, the motorcade from the Hayes family has arrived at the gates for the Second Miss.” My mother’s face was covered in frost. “Which car did Harper get into? Chase her down and bring her back!” A cold smirk ghosted across my lips. It had been almost half an hour. By now, she was definitely already inside Tristan Vance’s Upper East Side penthouse. And knowing Tristan, he had probably been unable to keep his hands off her the second the doors closed. My eyes swept over the poorly concealed triumph at the corners of Ruby’s mouth. Everything clicked into place. This mother and daughter had played a brilliant hand. Years ago, Ruby was planted by my father’s political rivals. She drugged him, got pregnant with Harper, and my father—to protect his military reputation—had no choice but to let them into the estate. Now, Harper was using the exact same playbook. She drugged me, swapped our places, and stole my groom. Even if I realized it now, the damage was done. The rice was already cooked. There were only two choices laid out before me: swallow this ultimate humiliation, or take her place and marry into the Hayes family. The Hayes family wasn’t old money or a massive political dynasty, but Carter Hayes was young, fiercely capable, and already my father’s most trusted Colonel. His military record was decorated with honors, and his future in Washington was limitless. My father had personally arranged Harper’s marriage to him because he admired Carter’s steadfast and resilient character. But Harper had stolen the sky and swapped the sun. She took the billionaire heir she coveted and tossed the military arrangement she despised right into my lap. If I accepted this, within half a day, the news would spread across all of New York: the eldest Sterling daughter was tossed aside like garbage by the Vance family, forcing her to marry the Hayes boy instead. I would become the laughingstock of the entire elite social circle. 【Chapter 2】 In my past life, Harper had relied on Tristan’s backing to brazenly steal my marriage. At the time, with my parents’ furious support, I led our security detail to crash the lavish Hamptons wedding venue. Tristan, terrified of my father’s authority in the Armed Forces, flat-out denied knowing about the bride swap. He stood by and watched as my father’s men dragged Harper away in tears. Naturally, I proceeded with the ceremony. After the wedding, Tristan treated me like a queen. I had been naive enough to believe he was genuinely kept in the dark that day. Little did I know, he and Harper had been sleeping together for months. He was simply waiting for the perfect moment, using my family’s military influence to expand his illicit empire, before mercilessly throwing us into an abyss of despair. “The Second Miss isn’t in her room!” the butler reported urgently. “The wedding dress sent by the Hayes family was left on her bed, but all of her personal belongings and passports are gone!” He handed over a sealed manila envelope. “We found this hidden in a false bottom of the Second Miss’s drawer.” My father’s face was stormy as he tore it open. Inside were several passionate, sickeningly sweet love letters written in Tristan’s own handwriting, along with pieces of breathtakingly expensive jewelry. The veins on my father’s forehead throbbed. He violently slammed the envelope right into Ruby’s face. “This is your precious daughter! Seducing her own brother-in-law! You and your spawn have dragged the Sterling family name through the mud!” Harper had obviously treasured those tokens of affection. But the moment I woke up, I knew exactly where to find them and expose them to the light of day. I wanted everyone to see clearly that they had been carrying on an illicit affair long before today. Just as expected, whispers instantly erupted among the high-society guests, their voices dripping with disdain. “The daughter of a homewrecker. The General showing them mercy and letting them stay was already a massive favor, and she repays it by drugging the rightful heiress? Stealing a marriage to climb the Vance social ladder? She’s begging for death!” “That Vance boy is a piece of trash, too. He was engaged to the eldest Miss Sterling, yet he still messed around with that unpresentable side-piece. Shows exactly what kind of character he has!” Ruby calculated the time in her head. Assuming the deed was already done and the wedding finalized, she actually straightened her spine and looked my father in the eye. “General, Harper is still the Second Miss of the Sterling family! Why not just give them your blessing? It would make things much easier to explain to the Vance family…” My mother trembled with rage. She raised her hand and delivered a sharp, echoing slap across Ruby’s face. “Give them my blessing?! You and your bastard daughter use vile, disgusting tricks to steal my daughter’s marriage, and you have the audacity to ask for my blessing?!” “Guards! Lock this woman up. We are handing her over to the NYPD later today!” Ruby collapsed onto the floor, screeching at the top of her lungs, “You wouldn’t dare touch me! I am Tristan Vance’s mother-in-law now! When my son-in-law finds out, he won’t let any of you get away with this!” “I only have one daughter, and her name is Chloe,” my father said, his voice dropping to a glacial chill. “Taking you in all these years was the absolute limit of my mercy. Since you dared to plot against my real daughter, don’t blame me for what happens next.” He waved his hand. Two military aides immediately dragged Ruby away without an ounce of hesitation. 【Chapter 3】 The butler looked conflicted. “General, the Hayes motorcade is still waiting at the gates. They are asking what time they can come in to receive the bride.” My father’s face was dark as iron. He spoke with absolute finality. “Gather the men. We are heading to the Vance estate! We will tie that wretched girl up, drag her back here, and force her to marry into the Hayes family immediately!” “Dad, don’t.” I took a step forward, calmly placing a hand on his arm. “If Tristan Vance’s heart belongs to Harper, then I, Chloe Sterling, have zero interest in fighting over a two-timing, unfaithful piece of trash.” My eyes were steady and resolute. “Carter Hayes is a man you mentored yourself. He is brilliant, capable, and fiercely loyal. If we reject his motorcade today because of this mess, how will he and the Hayes family ever show their faces in society again? I am willing to marry him.” My mother grabbed my hand in shock. “Chloe, don’t speak out of anger. How could you possibly…” “Mom, I’m not acting out of spite.” I squeezed her hand back. “Carter is young and promising. He’s climbed the ranks through his own military merit, and his future is bright. I trust my father’s judgment, and I trust Carter’s future.” Hearing this, the surrounding guests looked at me with deep admiration and respect. “The eldest Miss Sterling truly has an incredible grace and vision. So rare to see!” “Compared to her, that illegitimate daughter who uses dirty tricks is like mud next to a diamond.” My mother pulled me into a heartbroken embrace, her voice choking with sobs. “I just don’t want you to be wronged…” My father took a deep, shuddering breath. “That Vance boy dared to humiliate my daughter like this. From this day forward, he can forget about getting even a shred of protection from me! Those gray-area businesses he runs on the coasts? Let’s see how well they do without my cover!” His tone was ruthless. “But right now, I must go to the Vance family and demand an explanation. Otherwise, that arrogant punk will really think the Sterling family is weak and easy to manipulate!” By the time our convoy arrived at the Vance family’s breathtaking Upper East Side penthouse, the wedding reception was in full swing. The elite guests paused, turning their heads and whispering furiously as our imposing group stormed into the ballroom. “Isn’t that the eldest Miss Sterling? Wasn’t she supposed to be today’s bride? Why is she just walking in now?” “Wait, then who was the woman who exchanged rings with Mr. Vance and was just taken upstairs?” An uncle who had accompanied us let out a cold scoff. “Just a bastard daughter born from a mistress. She used underhanded drugs to steal her older sister’s wedding!” The ballroom erupted into a tidal wave of shocked gasps and gossip. As the commotion grew louder, Tristan finally descended the grand staircase. Seeing me, he immediately took the offensive, scolding me before I could speak: “Chloe, haven’t you made enough of a scene? You can’t blame Harper for all of this!” “If you want to blame someone, blame the fact that your family scheduled your weddings on the exact same day. She simply got confused and got into the wrong limousine. And I,” he paused, his eyes completely devoid of guilt, “had a few too many drinks earlier. I was caught up in the moment and mistook her for you. What’s done is done. I have to take responsibility for her now.” He looked down at me from the stairs. “But don’t worry. With my status in New York, I won’t just toss you aside. I’ll make sure there’s always a place for you by my side.” 【Chapter 4】 I almost wanted to clap and cheer for his shameless, breathtaking audacity. Leave a place for me by his side? What century did he think we were living in? Did he really think he was some king who could have a wife and a harem? If it weren’t for the massive shadow of the Sterling family protecting him, his shady, borderline-illegal empire would have been eradicated by the feds ages ago. He wouldn’t even have the platform to stand here and spew this garbage. Did he seriously believe the daughter of a high-ranking General would settle for being his side-piece? My father was so furious he actually laughed. “Tristan Vance, say that one more time? You want my daughter to be your mistress? Who the hell gave you the nerve?! Have you forgotten who keeps you out of federal prison?!” Just then, Mr. Vance—Tristan’s father—hurried out of the VIP lounge. “General, what’s all this…” He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw me. “Chloe? What are you doing down here?” My mother violently threw the stack of love letters directly at his chest. “Read them yourself, Richard Vance! Your precious son has been sleeping with that illegitimate wretch behind our backs. They conspired to drug my daughter and steal her wedding! Today, your family owes the Sterlings an explanation!” Mr. Vance’s face turned a sickening shade of purple. He raised his heavy walking cane and cracked it viciously across Tristan’s back. “You ungrateful bastard! Explain yourself! What is the meaning of this?!” Before Tristan could defend himself, Harper stumbled out of the elevator. She was clutching a silk bathrobe that wasn’t even fully buttoned, tears streaming down her face as she threw herself in front of Tristan to shield him. “Mr. Vance, it’s not Tristan’s fault! It’s all my fault. I just couldn’t control my feelings for him. If you have to hit someone, hit me!” She then turned her tear-streaked face to my father. Her voice was trembling, but every word was a calculated trap. “Dad, it’s already done. If you make a massive scene, the Sterling family’s military reputation will be ruined. Think of the press. You’ll lose face…” My mother’s fingertips shook with rage. “You didn’t care about the Sterling family’s face when you drugged my daughter and stole her groom! And now that we are demanding justice, we are the ones ruining the reputation?! You shameless little bitch!” I stepped forward, my voice eerily calm. “Harper, if you had just been honest with me from the beginning, I might have simply let you have him. Why did you have to use such dirty, underhanded tactics on the morning of my wedding? Did you want to humiliate me, or did you want to turn the entire Sterling family into a joke across New York?” Her face went stark white as I hit the nail on the head. “Tristan and I are truly in love…” she whimpered, looking up at Tristan like a helpless doe. The elite crowd wasn’t stupid. They saw right through the theatrics and began whispering loudly: “Like mother, like daughter! Her mother climbed into the General’s bed using dirty tricks, and the daughter is even better at it!” “If she were my daughter, I’d break her legs!” Someone even called out sarcastically to Mr. Vance: “Richard, if your son pulls a stunt like this and your family doesn’t make it right today, you’re going to have a very hard time doing business in this city.” 【Chapter 5】 Mr. Vance looked ready to die of humiliation. He threw his cane to the marble floor with a loud clatter and delivered two stinging, back-to-back slaps right across Tristan’s face. “You piece of trash! Get on your knees and apologize to your father-in-law, your mother-in-law, and to Chloe! Then we are re-doing this ceremony, and you are marrying Chloe today!” Tristan took the blows without flinching. When he looked at me, his eyes were dripping with raw, undisguised malice—the exact same look he gave me right before I died in my past life. In his twisted mind, I was the villain of this story, not the victim. He let out a dark sneer. “Dad, the only woman in my heart is Harper. Chloe is a stuck-up, arrogant princess. I’m sick of just looking at her, and I will never marry her!” “If she’s willing to lower her head and be obedient, maybe I’ll take her out to social events once in a while. Otherwise, let me make this clear right now: I will never give her the title of my wife! I’d love to see who in New York would dare take a woman that I, Tristan Vance, have publicly discarded!” The sheer audacity of his words left even the hardened socialites in the room gasping in horror. No one could comprehend where this man—who relied entirely on the Sterling family’s military umbrella to survive the criminal underworld—was getting the courage to act so arrogant. Ever since Mr. Vance retired, Tristan had become increasingly reckless. He stole territory from rival syndicates and offended countless dangerous men. It was me who begged my father to deploy resources to save his life when the cartels came for him. Tristan had literally dropped to his knees in front of my father, swearing on his life that he would never betray me. But now, with his wings slightly hardened and a little bit of street cred to his name, he dared to trample on the very people who built him! Seeing my silence, Tristan thought I was intimidated. He pushed his luck even further: “Since you clearly can’t let me go, I’ll give you one last chance. We can do it the old-fashioned way. You can move in as my mistress.” “Pour a drink for Harper, apologize properly to the true Mrs. Vance, and if you behave yourself, I might consider letting you bear one of my children.” The ballroom erupted into sheer pandemonium. Even the elders of the Vance family looked away in absolute disgust at his shamelessness. My father’s rage had reached its absolute peak, and it suddenly settled into a terrifying, dead calm. He spoke slowly, his voice echoing in the massive room: “Mr. Vance, you certainly think highly of yourself. The Sterling family cannot reach your lofty heights. And my daughter will certainly not accept your generous offer of being a mistress.” He turned his piercing gaze onto Harper. “As for this wretch, as of today, I, Arthur Sterling, have no second daughter! From this second onward, Harper is completely severed from the Sterling family! Whatever she does, whether it brings glory or ruin, it is solely the Vance family’s burden to bear!” 【Chapter 6】 Harper forced a few fake tears to fall. “Dad, you always favored my sister anyway. Now you finally get what you want.” “But Tristan and I are truly in love. Sister is the real third party here.” She turned her chin up to look at me. “I’m going to post on Instagram and let all of New York know that Tristan dumped you! Don’t come crawling back begging for him later.” I raised a hand to stop my father, who looked ready to explode. “Don’t worry,” I said smoothly. “Only you would treat a piece of garbage like a prized treasure. Oh, and by the way, the three trucks of dowry sitting in the motorcade outside? I’m taking every single box back.” Harper instantly lost her mind, shrieking, “That’s my dowry! You have no right to take it!” I let out a cold laugh. “Your pitiful share is still sitting at the estate. I can be generous and have a servant drop it off for you later. But my belongings? Don’t even think about touching a single thread.” She lunged at me, screaming and trying to tear at my clothes. “You bitch, those are mine!” My mother moved lightning fast, shoving her hard in the chest. My father immediately signaled his military aides to go start the trucks. Tristan snapped his fingers. Instantly, dozens of burly, suited bodyguards swarmed forward, forming a massive wall around my family. “Nobody moves,” Tristan sneered. “I gave you an out, and you threw it in my face. Since that dowry followed Harper’s car here, it belongs to her. If you try to take it today, you’re declaring war on me!” Faced with this mafia-style intimidation, my father didn’t even blink. “Tristan Vance, touch me and see what happens.” Tristan laughed like a maniac. “Old man, don’t think those stars on your shoulder mean everything! If I didn’t keep the underground in check, those cartel psychos would have bombed your Pentagon office by now! If you know what’s good for you, leave your oldest daughter here for my bed. Otherwise, none of you are walking out of those doors!” My father’s chest heaved violently at the disrespect, his face draining of color. My mother quickly held onto him, rubbing his back to calm his breathing. Harper leaned into Tristan’s chest, giggling mockingly. “See? Your family is so stubborn and blind to reality!” “Leave the dowry here for me. Who knows, maybe when you inevitably get in trouble later, I’ll put in a good word for you with Tristan.” My mother was so furious she tried to lunge forward to slap her, but Harper actually raised her foot and kicked my mother in the shin. “Back off, you old hag! I’m sick of looking at your miserable face!” I immediately stepped in front, shielding my parents with my body. But Tristan shot his hand out, gripping my jaw painfully and forcing my face up to look at him. “Chloe, it’s not too late to regret it. For the sake of our past, I can let you stay here tonight.” “As for these two old fossils, since they disrespected me, they can drop to their knees, kowtow to apologize, and I’ll let them leave.” He gestured. Two of his thugs grabbed my parents by the arms, twisting them painfully, while two massive bodyguards stepped toward me, preparing to drag me upstairs by force. My father’s military aides were hopelessly outnumbered and blocked by Tristan’s mob of men. They couldn’t break through. Just as the situation was about to turn violently ugly, a booming, authoritative voice echoed from the grand entrance: “NYPD! Nobody move!”

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“Who gave you permission to use Operating Room 7?” I had just pulled down my mask, my hands barely out of the sterile field, when the question hit me like a slap to the face. I looked up. Liam Carter stood in the center of the hallway, his lab coat crisp, his ID badge glaring under the fluorescent lights. “As of right now, you are suspended.” The surrounding area instantly fell silent. The lights at the nurses’ station were on, and several doctors stopped dead in their tracks, all eyes turning toward us. I let out a short laugh. “Excuse me?” Liam took a step forward, his voice louder. “I said, you are suspended. Operating Room 7 is no longer open to you.” “On whose authority?” Right in front of everyone, he reached out and ripped the printed schedule off the wall at the nurses’ station. The paper tore with a sharp rip. “The Chief of Medicine.” I nodded slowly and didn’t say another word. In that moment, I knew this wasn’t a spur-of-the-moment decision. I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text to the Mayor. “I’m sorry, my surgical privileges have been revoked. I’m afraid I won’t be able to perform your wife’s liver transplant.” 01 The OR doors slid shut behind me, and the moment the “In Use” light flicked off, the tension in my shoulders finally released. For ten straight hours, I had stood at that operating table, performing a highly complex organ transplant. I had personally verified every single suture. When the patient was wheeled out, the lines on the monitor were clean and stable. I pulled down my surgical mask, the sharp scent of antiseptic still clinging to my breath. Just as I rounded the corner of the hallway, a figure stepped directly into my path, blocking me. “Dr. Hayes.” The tone was abrasive, the volume intentionally dialed up. I looked up and saw Liam Carter. He wore a pristine white lab coat, his ID badge so new it reflected the overhead lights. He was a surgical intern, personally mentored by Julian—no, excuse me, by Arthur Sterling. He stood ramrod straight, looking as if he’d been waiting there for a while. At the nurses’ station and in the waiting area, several doctors paused what they were doing, drawn by his loud voice. “Who gave you permission to use Operating Room 7?” Liam raised his chin, making sure everyone could hear him. “As of right now, you are suspended.” The air instantly tightened. I froze for a split second. It wasn’t that I hadn’t dealt with arrogant people before, but I hadn’t expected it at a moment like this. I gave a small smile, tossed my gloves into the biohazard bin, and kept my voice light. “Oh? And on whose authority?” He sneered, as if he’d been waiting for me to ask that very question. Right in front of me, he reached out and yanked the printed schedule off the wall. The sound of tearing paper echoed unnaturally loud in the quiet corridor. “The Chief of Medicine.” After delivering the line, he tossed the torn schedule aside, the edge of the paper grazing a nurse’s hand. Nobody made a sound. I watched a few young residents lower their heads, pretending to be deeply engrossed in charting. The charge nurse’s lips parted, but she ultimately said nothing. I nodded. “Understood.” My tone was so calm it surprised even me. Liam was visibly taken aback. It clearly wasn’t the reaction he’d been hoping for. He took another step forward, lowering his voice but still ensuring those nearby could hear every word. “Chloe Hayes, know your place. You should know perfectly well who runs Surgery now.” I didn’t dignify that with a response. The light above OR 7 was still illuminated. Through the observation window, I could see the scrub techs breaking down the sterile field. That surgery was my first since returning to the States. It was also my first time truly standing in a core position at this hospital since coming back from my fellowship abroad. I sidestepped him and headed toward the locker room. A scoff sounded behind me. “Stop acting tough.” In the locker room, I washed my hands for a long time. The sound of running water drowned out the noise from the hallway. The woman staring back at me in the mirror had dark circles under her eyes and a red indentation across her forehead from the surgical mask. Chloe Hayes, forty-two years old, attending surgeon. I had completed numerous complex transplant surgeries during my time abroad. According to protocol, I was supposed to be the hospital’s key asset for their next phase of development. And now, I had just been publicly suspended by an intern. My phone buzzed in my scrub pocket. I pulled it out. The caller ID read: Arthur Sterling. He was the Chief of Medicine at this hospital. He was also my husband. The message was brief. “Don’t cause a scene. Let me handle it.” I stared at that line of text for a few seconds before the screen went dark. He hadn’t shown up. No explanation, no denial. That scene in the hallway—if he hadn’t green-lit it, it never would have happened. Suddenly, it became crystal clear: this wasn’t a misunderstanding. When I got back to my office, the door was slightly ajar. On my desk, my nameplate had already been removed, leaving only a faint, sticky residue behind. Administration moved fast. I stood there for a moment before I started packing my personal belongings into my bag. I didn’t rush, meticulously organizing even my files, paper by paper. Someone knocked. It was a veteran attending from the surgical department, his voice hushed. “Chloe… maybe you should just head home and take a few days off?” I nodded. “Alright.” He hesitated, looking like he wanted to say more, but eventually just let out a heavy sigh. By the time I walked out of the administrative building, the sky had already grown dark. I stood on the steps and lit a cigarette for myself. As the smoke curled upward, my mind drifted back three years to when Mayor Davis came to inspect the hospital. Mayor Richard Davis was a man of few words. He stood in the patient room, looking people dead in the eye when he spoke. At the time, he asked me a direct question: “If the risks become uncontrollable, will you stop the procedure?” I answered, “Yes.” He simply said, “Good.” Later, the Mayor’s wife, Eleanor Davis, was diagnosed as needing an organ transplant. After multiple rounds of evaluation, it was finally decided that I would be the lead surgeon. It was a surgery with absolutely zero margin for error. My phone lit up again. Without a second thought, I opened my contacts and sent a message. It wasn’t long, but every word was clear. “I’m sorry, my surgical privileges have been revoked. I’m afraid I won’t be able to perform your wife’s liver transplant.” Message Sent. The cigarette burned down to the filter. I crushed it out in the receptacle on top of the trash can. In the distance, the lights in the inpatient tower flicked on one by one. At the end of the corridor, Liam Carter stood amidst a group of people, talking animatedly. He looked thrilled, as if he were already accustomed to being the center of attention. No one noticed me. At this moment, everyone assumed I was just a suspended doctor. But I knew that things were only just beginning to shift. 02 Early the next morning, I arrived at the hospital as usual. When I swiped my ID badge at the main entrance, the scanner flashed red for a second before the turnstile opened. The security guard glanced at me, said nothing, and quickly looked away. I entered the inpatient tower. The elevator was packed with white coats. Usually, people would nod and say hello, but today, everyone suddenly seemed incredibly fascinated by the digital floor display, staring intently as the numbers ticked up. The elevator chimed at the sixth floor. The sign for the Department of Surgery was still there, but the atmosphere inside had noticeably shifted. The printed schedule at the nurses’ station had been replaced with a fresh sheet. The handwriting was neat and clean. Under the “Lead Surgeon” column for several upcoming procedures, the name “Chloe Hayes” was completely absent. I set my bag down, pulled out my phone, and opened the hospital’s internal portal. The login screen popped up an error message: Insufficient Privileges. I tried my backup account. Still nothing. I clicked over to the surgical schedule. It looked as if the screen had been wiped clean. All the surgeries originally assigned to me were now blank, reading only “Pending Assignment.” I looked up and saw the charge nurse standing behind the counter, clutching a clipboard so tightly her knuckles were white, her lips pressed into a thin, pale line. “Who changed the schedule?” I asked. Her voice was barely a whisper. “Administration sent down a memo… said you were suspended from all surgical and clinical duties, pending further assignment from the board.” “Where’s the memo?” She hesitated, then slid open a drawer and handed me a stamped document. The header was bold: Decision Regarding the Suspension of Surgical Privileges and Clinical Duties of Dr. Chloe Hayes. It was issued by the Executive Office. In the approval signature box was Arthur Sterling’s name. I set the paper back down without so much as a frown. A young nurse nearby softly called out, “Dr. Hayes…” Before she could finish, someone coughed lightly from behind. She immediately swallowed the rest of her sentence, lowered her head, and went back to sorting medication orders, though her fingers were visibly trembling. The cough came from Liam Carter. He strolled down from the end of the hallway, his pace leisurely, almost like he was on patrol. Two interns trailed closely behind him. “Morning, Dr. Hayes.” He smiled politely, but his eyes were taking roll call. “Having trouble logging into the system? That’s normal. The Chief had it disabled last night.” I looked at him. “Are you in charge of surgical scheduling now?” “Temporarily assisting.” He emphasized the word ‘temporarily’. “The Chief asked me to keep an eye on things, to make sure no one goes rogue. Don’t blame me, rules are rules.” The area around the nurses’ station grew even quieter. I didn’t waste my breath arguing with him. I turned and walked toward the Department Head’s office. The door was unlocked. I pushed it open. Two people were sitting inside: the Deputy Director of Administration and a coordinator from Medical Affairs. There were file folders laid out on the desk, clearly waiting for me. The Deputy Director spoke first, his tone strictly business. “Dr. Hayes, we’re just executing the board’s decision here. Please hand over your OR access card, your authorization for anesthesia consult sign-offs, and your ER green-channel clearance.” “My ER green-channel clearance is suspended too?” I asked. The coordinator rushed to explain. “You’re not barred from the ER; you just can’t act as the final authorizing signatory. The board has designated a replacement.” “And who is the replacement?” The Deputy Director shot the coordinator a look and didn’t answer, instead sliding a sign-off sheet toward me. “Please sign this.” I didn’t pick up the pen. His smile turned stiff. “Dr. Hayes, don’t make this harder for us.” I flipped the sign-off sheet to the last page. In the box labeled “Designated Replacement,” I saw a name: Liam Carter. I looked up. “An intern is acting as the final authorizing signatory?” The coordinator’s face drained of color, and he hurriedly backpedaled. “It’s not the final signature! He’s just assisting… the actual approval still goes through the Chief.” I snapped the clipboard shut. “I’m not signing this.” The Deputy Director’s voice grew colder. “Dr. Hayes, you are currently suspended from clinical duties. Per hospital policy, you must cooperate with the handover. If you refuse, we will have to report this up the chain.” “Then report it.” I stood up. “Have the Chief of Medicine tell me himself.” Coming out of the office, I ran head-on into an old med school classmate from Anesthesiology. When she saw me, her steps faltered, like she wanted to say something but was terrified of being overheard. “Chloe…” she whispered, dropping her voice. “Don’t fight this head-on. The political winds in the hospital are blowing the wrong way right now.” I nodded. “I know.” She sighed and hurried away. I went back to the locker room to change out of my scrubs. Just as I hung up my white coat, my phone rang. Caller ID: Arthur Sterling. I answered. He skipped the pleasantries and cut straight to the chase. “Why are you causing trouble in Administration? They’re just doing their jobs.” “I was asking for clarification on the name on the sign-off sheet,” I said. He paused for two seconds, his tone shifting into that familiar “voice of reason.” “Stop getting hung up on details. The hospital needs order right now. You just got back; there are a lot of protocols you aren’t accustomed to yet. Taking a step back to breathe is a good thing for you.” “Suspending my surgical privileges is ‘taking a step back’?” “Chloe, stop twisting my words.” His voice grew tighter. “You’re too emotionally invested right now. If you keep operating, you’re going to make a mistake.” I didn’t give him an inch. “Last night’s surgery was a success. If you want to talk about risk, let’s look at the data.” Silence on the other end of the line. Then, he switched to a more blunt approach. “I’m not going to beat around the bush. The hospital needs to move forward, and that requires people who follow orders. You’re too aggressive, and it’s making a lot of people uncomfortable.” “Who are ‘a lot of people’?” “Don’t push me.” Arthur’s tone was clearly irritated now. “You’ve been out of the country too long. You don’t understand how the game is played here. The Department of Surgery isn’t your personal stage.” I heard footsteps and knocking on his end, like he was in the middle of a meeting. He lowered his voice, almost like a warning. “Don’t go running to Mayor Davis again, and don’t try to use his wife’s case as leverage. She is a patient, not a bargaining chip.” I didn’t argue, nor did I explain. He took my silence as a concession. His tone softened slightly. “I’m doing this for your own good. Go home, take a few days off. Don’t wander around the hospital. Once this blows over, I’ll figure out a new arrangement for you.” “What kind of arrangement?” I asked. “You can focus on academia, mentor the young doctors, write grant proposals.” He said it so casually. “Clinical work is high-pressure. You don’t have to be the one on the front lines all the time.” I hung up. The locker room was silent except for the dull, annoying hum of the exhaust fan. I grabbed my bag and walked out of the surgical wing. Just as I reached the elevator banks, Liam Carter appeared again. It was like he was intentionally guarding the chokepoint. His eyes flashed when he saw me, and then he smiled even more brightly. “Dr. Hayes, the Chief spoke to you, didn’t he? You should head home and rest. The hospital has a lot of inspections coming up; don’t go looking for trouble.” “Inspections?” I stopped in my tracks. Liam feigned casualness. “The city is sending people down to review our protocols. Word is they’re focusing on OR management. Someone like you, who just got back, should definitely stay out of it. Don’t worry, I’ll keep an eye on Surgery for the Chief.” He said “for the Chief” very loudly, seemingly making sure the passing nurses heard. The elevator doors slid open. I didn’t get in. I turned and headed toward the other wing of the inpatient tower. That was where the ward consultation rooms were. I had post-op follow-ups scheduled for two transplant patients today, and I needed to check on them. When I pushed open the door to the consult room, the attending physician inside practically leaped out of her chair. She moved so fast the legs of the chair screeched against the floor. “Dr. Hayes… this consultation has been rescheduled,” she said. “Rescheduled for when?” “Medical Affairs sent down a notice… another team is taking over.” She refused to meet my eyes. “You shouldn’t show your face right now. The patients’ families are highly emotional; if they cause a scene, it’ll be hard to manage.” “Who’s taking over?” She hesitated before saying, “Liam Carter is shadowing… it was arranged by the Chief’s office.” I stared at her. She couldn’t hold my gaze and muttered defensively, “There’s nothing I can do. The paperwork is already filed.” I didn’t press the issue and turned to leave. At the end of the hallway, the patients’ families were waiting. When they saw me, their eyes visibly lit up. “Dr. Hayes, how is the patient from last night doing?” someone asked anxiously. “We heard you were back, we wanted you to look at my mother’s labs.” I stopped, keeping my tone as even as possible. “You can give me the reports, and I’ll review them. But the hospital is reorganizing all surgical schedules right now. Medical Affairs will contact you with specific updates.” The family members were stunned. “You’re not doing the surgery anymore? Weren’t you the one in charge?” I offered no emotional response, only saying, “It’s a hospital decision.” As I said that, I could feel the stares around me intensifying. Several nurses standing nearby seemed to suddenly find their charting clipboards very heavy. I flipped through the lab reports, highlighted two key metrics, and handed them back. “Keep her on this regimen for a week, then re-test.” They thanked me profusely, but their frustration was evident. “Dr. Hayes, you’re the only one we trust.” I didn’t acknowledge the comment. I just nodded and walked away. I didn’t need anyone to cry foul on my behalf. Every move I made here was being watched. When I reached the main lobby on the first floor, I saw a new notice tacked to the bulletin board. During the specialized standardization review of the surgical operating rooms, all OR usage, authorization sign-offs, and personnel deployments will be centrally managed by the Executive Office. The official hospital seal was stamped at the bottom. People were whispering nearby, but scattered immediately as I approached. I stood in front of the notice board for a moment before heading to the parking garage. Just as I started the car, my phone buzzed again. It wasn’t Arthur, nor was it anyone from the hospital. It was a reply from the Mayor’s Office. It contained only two words. “Hold on.” 03 I didn’t go back to the hospital. By the time I drove up to my neighborhood gate, it was pitch black. The guard saw my car, raised the barrier as usual, and didn’t give me a second glance. The lights were on inside the house. I changed my shoes in the entryway. The living room was quiet; the TV was off. On the dining table sat two plates of food that had already gone cold. Arthur was sitting on the sofa holding a tablet, looking like he was reviewing documents. He heard me come in, glanced up, and his tone was flat. “You’re back.” I set my keys in the tray by the door, didn’t reply, and walked over to the dining table to pour a glass of water. “You don’t need to go back to the hospital anymore,” he said, closing the tablet and standing up. “I’ve already made it clear to Administration. I told them to stop bothering you.” “Made what clear?” I asked. “That you’re not in the right emotional state, and you need to take a break.” He walked over, picking up the cold plates to take them into the kitchen. “You acting like this will only make things more difficult.” I followed him into the kitchen and watched him dump the food into the trash. “Did you sign off on Liam Carter’s authorization form?” His hands paused for a second, but he didn’t turn around immediately. “He’s just a proxy,” he said. “The final approval still comes to me.” “He’s an intern,” I stated. “So what?” He turned around, his tone edging into impatience. “Stop bringing up titles all the time. Young doctors need to be trained; someone has to be ready to step up. What’s the point of fixating on a name?” I leaned against the doorframe, watching him. “That transplant patient… I was the one responsible for her.” “I know,” he frowned. “But the hospital doesn’t revolve entirely around you. How long have you been back in the country? Can you even keep up with the changes in the surgical department over the past few years?” “You think I can’t keep up?” He didn’t answer directly, merely sighing. “Chloe, you’re too stubborn. The way things are done overseas… it doesn’t work everywhere.” I offered a half-smile. “So what works here? Putting an intern on the front lines?” His face finally darkened completely. “Do you have to speak like that?” He tied a knot in the trash bag. “You just can’t accept change. Do you think you’re still the only option available?” My smile vanished. “You’ve already made up your mind,” I said. He stared at me, as if weighing the impact of my words. The living room fell silent, save for the low hum of the refrigerator compressor. After a few seconds, his tone softened slightly. “I won’t deny it. Right now, I have to think about the entire hospital. The Chief of Surgery position can’t remain vacant, and someone has to be able to hold the fort. You wanting to drag everything back to how it was the second you returned… it’s just not realistic.” “So you chose him,” I said. He didn’t deny it. “Liam is at least obedient, and he’s willing to do the work,” he said. “He knows which side to stand on.” The implication hung heavy in the air, clearer than any direct accusation. I nodded. “Understood.” He seemed surprised I agreed so quickly, taken aback for a moment. “What do you understand?” “You don’t want successful surgeries,” I said. “You want positions filled by people who fall in line with your agenda.” His temple twitched, and his voice dropped. “Don’t make this sound so malicious.” “Then be honest with me.” I met his gaze squarely. “If someone else had been suspended today, would you have been this decisive?” He avoided my eyes and turned to pour himself a glass of water. “You’re being too sensitive,” he said. “We’re married. Stop trying to turn this into an adversarial situation.” “But you’ve already taken a side.” He set the glass down on the counter with a soft clink. He looked up at me, and for the first time, his eyes showed clear annoyance. “Chloe, this attitude of yours isn’t doing anyone any favors.” “I’m not sure if it benefits you,” I said. “But it definitely doesn’t benefit me.” He was silent for a moment before speaking more directly. “You currently have zero privileges and no say in this matter. Continuing to make a fuss will only make it harder to wrap this up.” “Is that a warning?” “It’s a fact.” I didn’t continue the conversation, turning instead toward the study. The study door was ajar, the room exactly as I had left it. A stack of medical journals sat on the desk; my suitcase, still half-unpacked from my return trip, rested in the corner. I pulled the suitcase out and started throwing clothes inside. He followed me in, standing at the doorway. “What are you doing?” “I’m moving out for a while,” I said. “Is that really necessary?” His voice rose slightly. “Your home is right here.” “Here, my voice means nothing.” I zipped up a compartment. “A change of scenery will give me some peace and quiet.” He stared at me like he was looking at a complete stranger. “Are you trying to pick a fight with me now?” he asked. “No.” I stood the suitcase upright. “I just don’t want to be involved in your decisions anymore.” He let out a cold laugh. “Do you think taking a step back absolves you of everything?” “At least I won’t be used as an excuse anymore,” I said. His expression turned ice cold. “Chloe, don’t forget—right now, you have nothing.” I paused and looked at him. “I have my expertise,” I stated. The word seemed to hit a nerve, his tone suddenly sharp. “Expertise? Who cares only about that nowadays? You’re too naive.” I didn’t argue back. Some things only need to be said once. I pushed the suitcase to the door and casually grabbed a stack of documents from the study. They were case analyses I’d compiled over the past few years, intending to slowly review them after returning to the States. He stood in the middle of the living room, watching me, as if waiting for me to say something more. I changed into my shoes and grabbed my coat. “You’re going to regret this,” he suddenly said. I paused for a second but didn’t turn around. “You always think you’re in control of everything,” I said. “But you can’t even manage patient triage correctly.” As the door clicked shut, his voice was sealed inside. 04 I checked into a hotel nearby. The room wasn’t large, but it was quiet. After unpacking, I opened my laptop and reviewed several transplant cases I’d worked on over the past few years. The data was solid; the protocols were flawless. The issue wasn’t the surgeries themselves. The next morning, I received a call from an unknown number. The caller identified himself as a staffer from the Mayor’s Office. His tone was restrained, asking only one question: “Dr. Hayes, is this a good time to talk?” I said yes. He didn’t elaborate, merely confirming one fact: “You were responsible for the pre-op evaluation for the Mayor’s wife, correct?” “That’s correct.” A brief pause on the other end. “Understood. If we need your further cooperation, we will contact you.” The call ended. I didn’t return to the hospital, and no one reached out to me. That afternoon, I visited an imaging center I frequently collaborated with and requested a follow-up report from an outside facility. It was Eleanor Davis’s most recent scan, taken just two days ago. The numbers weren’t promising. Her liver function was highly erratic, with some markers approaching critical levels. According to the original plan, if the transplant wasn’t expedited, post-op management would become significantly more difficult. I slipped the report back into its folder without doing anything else. For a VIP patient of this caliber, any delay would leave a paper trail. By the third day, things at the hospital began to shift. First, a brief text from my old med school friend in Anesthesiology: “They swapped the surgeon for your transplant case.” I replied, “I know.” Shortly after, another text: “It’s Liam Carter. The Chief handpicked him.” I stared at the screen for a few seconds before placing the phone face down on the desk. I knew Liam’s resume. His fundamentals were okay, but he had never been the primary surgeon for a transplant of this magnitude. At best, he had stood in as second assist, handing instruments and keeping time. Pushing him to the front line wasn’t bold; it was reckless. That evening, I received a third phone call. This time, it was the Deputy Director of Administration from the hospital. “Dr. Hayes, just giving you a heads-up,” he said vaguely. “The city might inquire about the scheduling of that upcoming surgery. If anyone contacts you, just stick to the facts.” “Who’s inquiring?” “The Mayor,” he lowered his voice. “Richard Davis.” The call ended abruptly, as if he feared being overheard. The following morning, the hospital convened an emergency coordination meeting. I wasn’t there, but the details of the meeting quickly leaked out. Eleanor Davis’s latest test results were placed squarely on the conference table. Representatives from Medical Affairs, Surgery, and Anesthesiology were all present. The original surgical plan was pulled out, and comparative data was laid out page by page. Someone suggested changing the lead surgeon. The justifications were perfectly bureaucratic: young, energetic, capable of handling pressure. Liam Carter volunteered. “I can do it,” he stated firmly. “I’ve been involved in all the prep work. I know the patient’s condition inside and out.” No one openly objected. But no one nodded in agreement either. Midway through the meeting, a secretary slipped in and whispered something into Arthur’s ear. His expression shifted momentarily before returning to a neutral mask. The meeting continued. Not long after, Richard Davis himself arrived. There were no pleasantries, no superfluous expressions. Upon sitting down, his first question wasn’t about the surgical plan. He looked directly at the head of Medical Affairs. “Who was the original lead surgeon?” A brief silence settled over the conference room. The head of Medical Affairs stood up. “The original plan was Dr. Chloe Hayes.” “Then why the change?” This time, no one answered immediately. Arthur spoke up, his tone measured. “Dr. Hayes’s recent condition makes her unsuitable to handle such a high-intensity surgery right now. The hospital made an adjustment based on risk assessment.” Davis nodded, then asked, “Who conducted this assessment?” “It was a comprehensive internal review by the hospital board.” “Where is the assessment report?” The air in the room noticeably tightened. Administration handed over a file. It wasn’t thick, mostly consisting of procedural outlines rather than clinical data. Davis flipped through two pages without commenting. He then turned to Liam Carter. “You are the replacement?” Liam stood up straight. “Yes, sir. I will give it my absolute best.” “How many procedures of this specific type have you been the primary surgeon for?” “As the sole primary surgeon… none yet.” “How many have you participated in?” “Seven.” Davis closed the file. “Seven participations, and you are prepared to take ultimate responsibility?” His tone wasn’t loud, but the weight of his words was undeniable. “Who gave the final approval for this?” Arthur answered, “I did.” Davis looked at him but didn’t press the issue further. He pivoted. “Have you reviewed Eleanor’s latest lab reports?” “Yes.” “With the markers fluctuating this wildly, why are we still debating personnel changes?” This time, no one rushed to answer. The only sound in the room was the rustling of paper. Davis pushed the reports back to the center of the table. “I don’t interfere with hospital personnel decisions. But when it comes to patients, there is no room for trial and error.” He stood up. “Compile the entire approval process for this surgery—from initial proposal to current status, including all personnel change logs and risk assessments—and submit it to the Mayor’s Office.” “By the end of today.” With that, he left the conference room. The door closing wasn’t loud, but it left everyone shifting uneasily in their seats. After that day, the rhythm of the hospital drastically changed. The surgical department found itself under constant scrutiny. Protocols were double-checked line by line. Approvals that usually sailed through were suddenly put on hold. Liam Carter’s name was, for the first time, being debated, rather than accepted as a foregone conclusion. I was notified that evening. Someone from the Mayor’s Office contacted me, requesting a written statement covering only one topic. “Explain exactly why your surgical privileges were revoked.” I agreed. After hanging up, I sat quietly for a moment. The situation was pivoting in a new direction, but a conclusion was still far off. Some people had already sensed the shifting winds, but no one dared make the first move. Early the next morning, I submitted the compiled materials. When the “Sent Successfully” notification popped up, dawn was just breaking outside my window. The real problems were now laid bare on the table.

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My fiancé, Marcus Grayson, died trying to save me. After his death, his parents knelt before me, begging me—someone blessed with exceptional fertility—to bear a child for the notorious mafia boss Xavier Cross to settle their debts. Overwhelmed with guilt, I tearfully agreed. Everyone assumed that becoming the gang leader’s woman would bring me endless luxury and privilege. But these past three years, I’ve been nothing more than his breeding tool, subjected to endless humiliation. Three months into my pregnancy, Marcus came to visit me. As I gazed at that face I’d longed for day and night, I felt like I’d fallen into an icy abyss. I never imagined the man I’d loved for years had been deceiving me for three whole years. With trembling hands, I scheduled an abortion and sent Xavier a delayed message. “The child we worked so hard to conceive has been killed by Marcus.” Now I’d just sit back and watch them tear each other apart. During the three years Marcus faked his death, I lived every day consumed by heartache and guilt. I was even willing to stay by Xavier’s side, never fighting back no matter how he beat or cursed me, just hoping to get pregnant soon and clear the debt. “Wendy, my son and I have wronged you so deeply. If Marcus hadn’t died so young, we would never have let you suffer like this…” Every time my depression flared up and I wanted to end it all, my father-in-law would blame himself. Seeing his graying hair and his anguished expression, I could only endure. Only in the dead of night, alone with Marcus’s photo, could I pour out my grief and longing. Who could have imagined that this very man had sent me to Xavier just so he could run away with another woman? My phone suddenly rang. I frantically pressed the power button to turn it off. But Marcus’s voice continued. “Dad, Vivian rejected an arranged marriage for my sake. I have to make her happy.” “Besides, Wendy’s pregnant with Xavier’s child now. She already has a good life. Even if she knew I was alive, she’d only be able to wish us well. Now is the perfect time to plan the wedding.” My chest felt like it had been filled with concrete. I couldn’t breathe, and everything went dark. I stumbled back to the living room. Before I could even sit down, a slap struck my face. “How dare you hang up on me? Were you sneaking around with some guy just now!” Xavier’s eyes were bloodshot as his hands clamped around my throat. Stomach acid surged up, and I vomited all over him. Xavier froze for a moment. When he came to his senses, he yanked off his belt and began beating me viciously. “You disgusting bitch! I’ll beat you to death!” I curled into a ball, letting my tears fall silently. Marcus, is this the happy life you promised me? Glass suddenly shattered. Marcus jumped through the window. “What gives you the right to hit Wendy!” Before Xavier could explode in rage, my father-in-law rushed over and held the pregnancy test result up to his face. “Mr. Cross, please calm down. She’s carrying your child now.” When he turned to look at me, a flash of impatience crossed his face. “Wendy, why can’t you behave now that you’re pregnant? What if something happens to the baby? How would you face Marcus?” Marcus frowned and pulled me behind him, using his body to shield me from my father-in-law’s accusing gaze. Xavier stared at the pregnancy test with wild joy, examining it over and over, completely ignoring me. “So the useless woman finally did something right. My money wasn’t wasted! But you’d better know your place. Don’t think being pregnant makes you special.” My father-in-law’s eyes lit up as he leaned close to Marcus’s ear and whispered. “Judging by that lunatic’s reaction, we’ll definitely get the final payment in the next few days! Once the money comes through, we’ll hold your wedding with Vivian right away!” I clenched my fists hard against my abdomen, my heart aching so badly I could barely breathe. Since I owe him nothing, then this ends here. Xavier didn’t leave until he’d laughed maniacally for what felt like forever. Only then did Marcus breathe a sigh of relief. He turned to help me sit down, then quickly brought me a glass of milk. “Wendy, you need to learn to protect yourself. Even for the baby’s sake, you can’t let that maniac abuse you like this.” “If Marcus knew about this, how heartbroken would he be?” He knelt on one knee, holding my ice-cold hands, his eyes full of concern that seemed completely genuine. His gentleness made me feel disoriented again, as if everything had returned to three years ago. A bitter, self-mocking smile tugged at my lips. I asked him softly. “Marcus, would you really be heartbroken?”

Marcus froze for a moment, then affectionately ruffled my hair. “Wendy, you’re Xavier’s woman now. Don’t bring up the past anymore. If Xavier found out…” I closed my eyes, unwilling to see his false concern any longer. “I want to rest. Please leave.” Seeing that I didn’t press further, he secretly breathed a sigh of relief. “I heard you have a prenatal checkup tomorrow? Let me take you.” I laughed softly and tilted my head back, refusing to let my tears fall. I’d only agreed to this pregnancy out of guilt. Now that I knew it was all a lie, what reason was there to keep going to checkups? “We’ll see tomorrow.” After he left, I furiously wiped away my tears. Ten years ago, we had a brief encounter. He protected me throughout my senior year of high school. He still has a scar on his ribs from when he fought off street thugs for me. At the freshman welcome party, he stood on the stage and confessed his love for me through a passionate guitar solo. Once our jobs stabilized, he proposed to me without hesitation. “Wendy, give me two years. I’ll make you the happiest bride.” I was completely intoxicated by the vision of our future together. I even told him my secret—that I had exceptional fertility—right before our wedding. Who knew it would become the beginning of this nightmare? My father-in-law walked in from outside, contentedly playing with his bank card. When he saw me, his eyes shifted, and he sat down beside me with a smile. “Wendy, Marcus came all this way to see you. Now that he’s getting married, it wouldn’t be right if you didn’t send some money as a gift, would it? We’re all family, so you don’t need to give much—thirty thousand should do.” I just wanted to escape as quickly as possible, so I went along with what he said. “Fine. I’ll definitely attend the wedding. I’ll prepare a big gift.” My father-in-law’s face creased with his smile. I stood up and went straight to my room. He had no idea that day would never come. The next day, I wanted to return to the place Marcus and I used to live together to retrieve my belongings. The moment I pushed open the door, the blood in my veins began to freeze. Torn clothes were scattered across the floor. The trash can was filled with used condoms. My eyes instinctively scanned the room. The guitar he’d used to confess his love to me was now covered in childish stickers. Three words were crudely carved into the body: “Vivian Fletcher.” A faint burning smell drifted from the balcony. I walked closer and looked down. Only scattered ashes remained, with a few fragments of paper showing the words “Love Wendy Forever.” The last thread in my mind finally snapped. These were the love letters Marcus had written to me. They’d been my spiritual anchor, read countless times over these three years. A scream suddenly came from outside the door. “Who are you? How dare you break into my house?” I turned around to find a girl in a tank top and short skirt standing in my line of sight. Before I could speak, she began crying and shouting loudly. “Marcus, where are you? Someone broke into my room!” Marcus ran over and embraced her, his voice carrying a tenderness I’d never heard before. “Vivian, don’t cry. I’m here!” His sharp gaze stabbed toward me, but softened when it touched me. “Why is it you? Vivian’s been sick. Don’t upset her like this—her body can’t take it.” “Wait, I should be questioning you. Why are you crying like that?” I stood there in a daze, wiping my face only to realize tears were already streaming down my cheeks. “My letters were all burned. Even this room has been defiled!” Marcus frowned impatiently, his expression darkening. “Is that all? You’re dredging up ancient history? Wendy Turner, I’d advise you not to make a scene with me.” I glanced at Vivian making faces at me, unable to say another word. Forget it. It was all fake anyway. What’s there to miss? I turned and left the estate, heading to the hospital for the procedure.

I walked alone for a long time through the drizzling rain. At some point, a trail of blood began streaking across the wet ground behind me. The cramping in my lower abdomen grew more and more obvious. My whole body felt increasingly heavy. Marcus’s villa was in a remote location. There was no way to catch a cab nearby. In my daze, the screech of brakes pierced the air. Muddy water from the roadside splashed all over me. A Cayenne stopped not far away. The window rolled down, revealing Marcus’s panicked voice. “Wendy, what are you doing?” I turned to look at him and called out for help. “Help… help me…” After I spoke, everything went black and I collapsed toward the ground, struggling to breathe. Marcus’s face went deathly pale with alarm. He pushed the car door open, about to come help me. Vivian’s sweet voice complained from inside. “Wendy, even if you’re mad at me, you can’t take it out on your baby. If something happens to your child, that maniac Xavier will never let the Grayson family off.” Marcus’s movement to exit the car stopped. When he looked at me again, only disgust remained in his eyes. “Wendy, I never realized you were such an actress. What’s that on the ground? Ketchup, right? You almost fooled me!” With that, he slammed the door shut forcefully. I weakly shook my head desperately, using every ounce of strength to try to explain. But in the end, I didn’t even have the energy to speak. Vivian laughed mockingly. “Wendy, you don’t actually think you look like some fragile beauty right now, do you? You just look dirty and pathetic, like an idiot.” “Marcus, I’d advise you to control her better, so she doesn’t keep acting stupid. If she really does something extreme someday, it’ll be too late…” I couldn’t hear the rest. A ringing filled my ears. I couldn’t hold on any longer and collapsed completely. Marcus observed me with furrowed brows, a hint of internal struggle occasionally flashing in his eyes, but ultimately replaced by coldness. “Stop pretending even now!” Blood flowed more and more freely, gradually staining the ground beneath me into a red puddle. I kept praying in my heart, hoping he would change his mind and take me to the hospital. But all I got in return was choking exhaust fumes. “Vivian’s in a hurry to get to her concert, so I’ll let you off today!” “Since you love acting so much, go ahead and put on a show for yourself!” The Cayenne’s departing taillights became the last image I saw before losing consciousness. The pungent smell of disinfectant filled my nostrils as I frowned and slowly opened my eyes. My hand instinctively moved to my lower abdomen. The cramping pain had completely disappeared. “You’re still young. You can have children again in the future.” The doctor shook her head sympathetically. “Thank goodness a kind person got you to the hospital in time. A few minutes later, and not even a miracle could have saved you.” I weakly thanked her. Even though I’d already decided to terminate this pregnancy, my heart still ached uncontrollably. “Baby, I’m sorry. But I absolutely cannot let that maniac Xavier be your father. You’ll understand Mommy, won’t you?” The moment I closed my eyes, tears seemed to break free from all restraint, pouring out recklessly. My phone suddenly rang. Seeing “Marcus” displayed on the screen, I didn’t hesitate to hang up. Now that the deception was exposed, I would settle accounts with him one by one.

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Married for eight years, everyone praised me as the luckiest woman in New York high society. My husband was notoriously devoted, showering me with jewelry, buying yachts, and renting out entire private islands just to celebrate my birthday. I, too, tirelessly played the role of the gentle, compliant, and frugal Mrs. Sterling. Even the media dubbed us a rare example of true love emerging from a business marriage. That is, until the day our daughter was born. His little kept woman intentionally had a C-section early to deliver his son, publicly provoking me, the legitimate wife. Naive as I was, I thought he would consider the Sterling family’s reputation and send the mother and son abroad. I never expected that he would swap my daughter for that illegitimate son. He even handed me a custody agreement, righteously forcing me to sign it. “I owe her. I have to repay her.” “Our daughter will recognize you as her godmother. When she’s older, I’ll send her to Switzerland for school. Don’t worry, she will be a little princess that everyone envies.” “And you will always be my wife.” I nodded and smiled as I took the pen to sign. He let out a long sigh of relief, thinking I had finally accepted my fate. Little did he know, today was the exact day I had been waiting for. Chapter 1 I handed the signed custody agreement back to Arthur Sterling. He glanced over it and nodded in satisfaction. “Get some good rest.” As he reached the door, he looked back once more. “By the way, the boy’s name is Leo. The girl… is Chloe.” The door clicked shut. The hospital room fell quiet again. I stared at the baby boy in the bassinet, studying him. He was awake, looking right back at me with his big eyes. That little face definitely resembled Arthur, especially the eyes and the bridge of the nose. A wave of nausea surged up my throat, and I covered my mouth, dry heaving. My nanny, Maria, pushed the door open and walked in. When she saw the baby boy in the bassinet, she jumped in shock. “Mrs. Sterling! Didn’t you have a baby girl? Why…” I offered a self-deprecating smile. “This is Maya Harper’s child.” Hearing this, Maria was furious. “Mrs. Sterling! How… how can this be allowed?! Who does that woman think she is? An illegitimate child is now the heir to the Sterling family?” “You went through ten months of pregnancy and a grueling labor to deliver your daughter, and she’s just going to be given to some D-list Instagram model to raise?” “This… this is just too much bullying! How could you… how could you agree to this?” Her hands were shaking with anger, her words filled with indignation on my behalf. I looked out the window at the dreary, gray sky, smiling bitterly and shaking my head. “Does it really matter… whether I agree or not?” Maria sighed. “But you are Mrs. Sterling! Is there no law and order anymore?” Law and order? In Arthur Sterling’s world, he is the law and order. I closed my eyes, that familiar feeling of powerlessness creeping back up. It didn’t matter. My wishes had never mattered. After all, from the very beginning, the person Arthur loved wasn’t me. During his years abroad, he had a constant string of women, but Maya Harper was the one who stuck around the longest. She was beautiful, had a killer body, and knew exactly how to play coy, completely bewitching Arthur. But for a top-tier old-money family like the Sterlings, there was no way they’d let a model who made a living flashing skin marry into the family. Old Mr. Sterling, without a second word, ordered him back to the States to meet me. As soon as the news of our arranged marriage leaked, Maya started throwing massive tantrums. To appease her, Arthur funneled all the best entertainment resources from the Sterling Group directly to her. He single-handedly elevated a kept woman who couldn’t see the light of day into a massively popular, A-list star. He gave her whatever she wanted, acting as if he’d rip his own heart out to compensate her. And now, he was even giving my child to her. Thinking of this, I pulled out my phone and sent a text to an old friend: [The fish took the bait.] Chapter 2 In the blink of an eye, little Leo turned one month old. The one-month celebration was held at the Sterling family estate. Inside and out, the five-story mansion was adorned with peonies flown in directly from Holland. The champagne tower was stacked even higher than the one at our wedding. Wearing an elegant evening gown, I greeted guests in the ballroom. Arthur held his son, a triumphant, beaming smile on his face. The wife of the Vanguard Group’s chairman approached me, raising her glass with a smile. “Mrs. Sterling, you look radiant. You’ve recovered so quickly.” I smiled and thanked her, catching a commotion at the entrance out of the corner of my eye. Maya Harper had arrived. She was wearing a custom Valentino gown with a plunging neckline that went almost down to her navel, looking incredibly sexy. The entire room fell silent for a second, all eyes zeroing in on her chest. A massive pink diamond necklace sparkled brilliantly under the crystal chandeliers. That necklace was the grand finale piece at Sotheby’s auction last month, selling for twenty million dollars. The media had reported that Arthur bought it as a “push present” for his wife. Yet now, it was glaringly hanging around Maya Harper’s neck. When Arthur saw her, his eyes lit up. He handed the baby to a nanny and walked toward Maya. Maya habitually looped her arm through his, pressing herself tightly against him. Camera flashes erupted like fireworks. The reporters, like sharks smelling blood in the water, swarmed them. “Ms. Harper, what is your relationship with Mr. Sterling?” “Did Mr. Sterling gift you this necklace?” Maya smiled for the cameras. As she raised her hand to tuck a stray lock of hair behind her ear, a hickey on the back of her neck was exposed, glaringly obvious against her pale skin. She tilted her head to look at Arthur, saying shyly, “Mr. Sterling, why don’t you answer?” Arthur wrapped an arm around her shoulder and spoke to the cameras. “Maya is the star artist of the Sterling Group’s entertainment division. Please don’t write any baseless rumors! The company’s legal department will pursue any false reporting to the fullest extent.” The reporters exchanged skeptical glances, their faces screaming disbelief. But intimidated by the power of the Sterling family, they didn’t dare press further and resentfully dispersed. Several society wives gathered around to comfort me. “Stella, don’t take it to heart. You know how men are…” “Exactly. Let him play around; at the end of the day, he still has to come home to you.” I smiled and nodded. It wasn’t until I raised my champagne glass to my lips that I realized my hand was shaking violently. A little champagne spilled onto my hand. It was freezing cold. Maya walked over, her arm still linked with Arthur’s. She stood in front of me, looking me up and down. “Stella, you look absolutely beautiful today.” I offered a faint smile. “Thank you. You look quite stunning yourself, Ms. Harper.” She stepped closer and whispered, “Don’t worry, Arthur told me. You will always be his wife. No one can replace you.” As she spoke, she purposefully touched the necklace around her neck. I pointed to the necklace. “Worthy of an eight-figure pink diamond. Very flashy.” “Right?” she let out a light laugh. “Arthur said it suits me perfectly. Unlike you—it would just look old and dated on you.” Arthur frowned slightly. “Maya.” “Just joking,” Maya tugged at his arm playfully. “Stella won’t mind, right?” I nodded. “I don’t mind.” That night, Twitter blew up. #MayaHarperHickey# #NewYorkSocietyPrincessOvershadowed# #ArthurSterlingMayaHarperIntimate# My name was sandwiched in between, utterly ridiculous. Chapter 3 Arthur didn’t come home until late into the night. He paused when he saw me. “You’re still awake?” I smiled. “Waiting for you.” He walked over to the bed and said softly, “Next month, I want to take Maya and Leo to Switzerland for a vacation.” I put my phone down and replied nonchalantly, “Sure, have a great time. Take lots of pictures.” “You… you’ve changed,” he said, looking at me, hesitating. I looked up at him. “Have I?” He stared into my eyes, speaking earnestly. “You didn’t use to be like this. Back then, there was light in your eyes. Now… it’s like you don’t care about anything anymore.” I scoffed inwardly. Of course I changed. From the day Arthur swapped my daughter at the hospital, that Stella Hayes died. The person living now is nothing but a walking corpse wearing a mask of docile obedience. But I just smiled. “People change. You’ve changed too, haven’t you?” Arthur let out a heavy sigh. He stood up, walked to the door, then turned back. “If you want to go, you can come with us.” I shook my head. “No thanks. I have things to handle at the company.” After Arthur left, I immediately shed that mask of docility. While he was off having a blast in Switzerland, I turned around and enrolled in the top Executive MBA program in the city. The coursework was brutal, but I relished every second of it. Maya, however, hadn’t forgotten about me. Every few days, she’d send me photos of them looking intimate, occasionally accompanied by a few boastful remarks. I patiently replied to every single one, even complimenting her photography skills. My calmness seemed to confuse her. She probably found it boring, so she eventually stopped sending them. When Arthur returned to the States, he clearly noticed the change in me. He likely assumed my “understanding” behavior was a compromise born of total despair, and miraculously, he actually tried to make amends. A Birkin bag one day, a Michelin-starred dinner reservation the next. Even his tone became ingratiating. One time, he got drunk and held my hand, saying, “Stella, can we go back to how things used to be?” I pulled my hand away and smiled. “How did things use to be? I’ve forgotten.” The light in his eyes instantly died. No matter what he said or did now, it couldn’t stir even a ripple in my heart. I was just waiting for the right moment to take back everything that belonged to me. Chapter 4 For Chloe’s fourth birthday, Arthur made an exception and allowed her to celebrate at our house. I got up early to bake a cake for her. I had just finished whipping the frosting when Maria frantically knocked on the kitchen door. “Mrs. Sterling, Chloe is here!” I didn’t even bother wiping my hands as I hurried out. As soon as I reached the living room, I heard the disjointed notes of a piano. In the distance, I saw my daughter, wearing a beautiful princess dress, sitting on the piano bench playing. Maya leaned over and asked her, “Does Chloe like playing the piano?” Chloe nodded enthusiastically, answering in her sweet, toddler voice, “I love it!” “Then we’ll play it all the time from now on, okay?” Maya smiled and stroked her hair. Chloe was even more thrilled, shouting, “Okay!” She was so excited that she accidentally knocked over the amethyst vase sitting next to the piano. The vase crashed to the floor, shattering into pieces. Everyone froze. Maya’s face changed instantly. She grabbed Chloe’s arm, yanked her off the bench, and raised her hand, delivering a hard slap. SMACK! A crisp, loud sound. Chloe’s head snapped to the side from the force, a red handprint rapidly blooming on her cheek. She stood stunned for two seconds before bursting into loud wails. That crying sounded like a sharp blade, stabbing into my heart over and over again. I charged forward. Maya was still yelling, “You little brat! Do you know how much that vase costs?! Mr. Sterling had that custom-made just for me!” She raised her hand to strike again. I grabbed the cake knife from the dining table. Before her hand could fall, I seized her wrist and twisted it viciously. Maya screamed and stumbled backward, and I pinned her against the piano. The piano let out a chaotic jumble of discordant notes. I pressed the knife against her throat and demanded fiercely, “Do you want to die?” The living room erupted into chaos. Little Leo started crying in terror, and the nanny rushed to pick him up. Maya struggled frantically trying to escape. I grabbed a handful of her hair, yanked her back, and delivered several vicious slaps across her face! SMACK! SMACK! The sharp sounds were piercingly loud in the chaotic living room. She screamed and tried to protect her face. I backhanded her hard across the mouth, and blood immediately seeped from her lip. “You dare hit me! Arthur! Arthur, save me!” she screamed hysterically. I raised my hand, fully intending to keep teaching this reckless idiot a lesson. “Stella Hayes, stop!” Arthur stood in the doorway, glaring at me coldly. Maya screamed for help. “Arthur, save me! She’s trying to kill me!” I pressed down hard on Maya, looking at Arthur, and roared, “If Maya Harper ever shows her face in our house again, I will kill her!” “What did you say?” Arthur frowned. I scoffed coldly. “I don’t repeat myself!” Arthur was stunned. He had probably never seen me like this—eyes bloodshot, veins bulging on my hands, acting like a mother wolf protecting her cub. Chloe ran over and hugged my leg. “Godmother…” Maya used the distraction to struggle. I applied pressure with my hand, and she instantly stopped moving. “Arthur!” she cried out. “Are you just going to watch her bully me?” Arthur remained silent for a long time. So long that Maya’s crying began to trail off. Finally, he spoke. “Take her back.” The bodyguards standing nearby were also stunned. “Are you deaf?!” Arthur’s voice rose. Two bodyguards immediately stepped forward, and only then did I release my grip. They hauled Maya up. She glared at Arthur in disbelief. “Arthur? You’re treating me like this?” Arthur looked away. “Just go home for now.” “Arthur Sterling! You—” She was dragged out, her curses fading into the distance. That night, for the first time ever, Arthur didn’t go to comfort Maya. He leaned against the headboard, scrolling through his phone. I lay on the other side of the bed, my back turned to him. In the darkness, he suddenly spoke up. “You were too impulsive today.” I didn’t say anything. “However…” he paused. “Maya was definitely out of line, but I believe she didn’t mean to do it.” I sneered. “She hit my daughter, so of course it doesn’t hurt you.” He sighed. “Don’t say that. Chloe is my daughter too, how could I not feel bad for her?” I let out a cold laugh, choosing not to expose his lie, and just said, “Go to sleep.” He shifted closer, wrapping his arms tightly around me from behind. It was an intimate posture, just like a real married couple. But all I felt was disgust. Chapter 5 On the first day of spring, Arthur surprisingly had some free time and suggested taking the kids to the country club. The men headed out to the golf course, while the wives sat in the lounge area, sipping tea and chatting. Chloe sat next to me, drinking orange juice. “Chloe, is your godfather good at golf?” Mrs. Bennett asked curiously. Chloe set her cup down and said earnestly, “My godfather doesn’t know how to play golf, but my daddy does.” “Really?” “Really.” Chloe nodded. “My daddy said he hit a hole-in-one when he was 18, and he gave that little white golf ball to my mommy.” The room fell completely silent. The wives exchanged knowing glances. Arthur never played golf. He considered the sport a waste of time. His expertise lay in the stock market; he knew absolutely nothing about what happened on a golf course. But his biggest rival, Julian… excuse me, Harrison Thorne, was an expert. Harrison had grown up in Hong Kong, where golf was practically mandatory. Fifteen years ago, at a charity golf tournament. Arthur, trying to save face, forced himself onto the course and ended up making a complete fool of himself. But Harrison, with a casual swing, sent the little white ball flying in a perfect arc, landing squarely in the hole. The crowd erupted in cheers. Harrison took off his white glove and, in front of everyone, handed the golf ball, signed with his name, to me, sitting right next to Arthur. Arthur’s face was so dark he looked ready to commit murder. Later, I hid that little white golf ball in the jewelry cabinet in my walk-in closet. My thoughts snapped back to the present. As I turned to pour Chloe some more juice, I caught a glimpse of Arthur standing in the doorway out of the corner of my eye. He had heard every single word. Chapter 6 That night, Arthur went straight to his study as soon as we got home. By 10 PM, he still hadn’t come back to the bedroom. I went downstairs to get some water and saw the light in the study was still on. I pushed the door open. Arthur was sitting at his computer, the country club’s membership list displayed on the screen. “Still awake?” I asked. He looked up at me, his voice low. “What did Chloe mean by what she said today?” I held my water glass, feigning confusion. “What did she say?” Arthur stood up and walked over to me. “She said her daddy hit a hole-in-one and gave the golf ball to her mommy.” “When have I ever hit a hole-in-one? When have I ever given you a golf ball?” I pretended to think for a moment. “She probably saw it in some cartoon. Kids can’t tell the difference between reality and TV.” “Is that so?” Arthur sneered. “Stella, are you sure?” “What else could it be?” I shot back. “Do you really think I have a lover who plays golf and hits holes-in-one?” Even I was surprised by how sharp my words sounded. It was very unlike my usual self. Arthur was taken aback too. He stared at me, stared for a long time, and finally waved his hand. “Forget it. Go to sleep.” Although I obediently went to bed, he didn’t sleep. Over the next few days, he launched a frantic investigation. He questioned the club manager, checked my credit card statements, and interrogated anyone who interacted with me regularly. Just as Arthur was about to dig deeper, Maya threw a massive fit. She marched right into the Sterling Group headquarters, dragging Leo behind her, and caused a huge scene at the front desk. I happened to be waiting for the elevator and heard the chaos outside. “I want to see Arthur Sterling! Now! Immediately!” “Ms. Harper, Mr. Sterling is in a meeting…” “I don’t care about his meeting! Tell him to come out here!” I walked over and saw Maya, her hair a mess, her eyes swollen like walnuts. Little Leo was hiding behind a chair, crying in fear. Employees formed a circle around them, no one daring to step forward. When Maya saw me, she got even more riled up. “Stella Hayes! Arthur doesn’t love you at all! He should have divorced you and married me ages ago!” Before I could even respond, Arthur yelled sternly, “Maya, what the hell are you doing?!” “I’m making a scene?!” Maya shrieked. “Arthur Sterling, you said you’d marry me as soon as I gave you a son! Look how big Leo is now! How much longer do I have to wait?!” Dead silence. Utter, dead silence. The employees lowered their heads, pretending they hadn’t heard a thing. Arthur grabbed Maya’s arm and dragged her toward the elevator. “We’ll talk upstairs!” “No! We are settling this right here, right now!” Maya struggled. “If you don’t get a divorce, I’m going to leak everything—” “Shut up!” Arthur cut her off fiercely, shoving her into the elevator. The spectacle was over, but the news spread like wildfire. Arthur was completely overwhelmed. Maya was throwing tantrums every day, and the media, catching wind of the drama, started digging up the luxury mansions and sports cars she had received over the years. Arthur was busy trying to pacify her and suppress the news, temporarily putting his investigation into Harrison Thorne on hold. I took advantage of this window to set my next steps in motion. When we got married, Arthur gave me 5% of the Sterling Group’s shares, and transferred a bit more to me over the years. Combined with the shares my family originally held, I now controlled 20%. I had already prepared the transfer agreements for these shares. That night, Arthur came home later than usual. As soon as he entered the bedroom, he threw a stack of photos onto the floor in front of me. I stepped closer to look, my breath catching in my throat. The photos were all of me and Harrison Thorne. I offered a faint smile. “Just catching up over dinner with an old friend. Was it really worth hiring someone to stalk me?” Arthur picked up a photo of Harrison and me hugging and sneered. “Is this how ‘old friends’ act? Stella, do you take me for an idiot?” I ignored him and turned to go take a shower. He grabbed my arm and roared, “Answer my question!” “What exactly is your relationship with Harrison Thorne?”

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The moment the meeting ended, I knew this thirty-million-dollar deal was in the bag. I had just closed my laptop when my supervisor, Miranda Hayes, walked over with her arms crossed. She looked me up and down, her tone dripping with mockery. “Nice choice of dress. But I think educated women like us shouldn’t submit to beauty standards.” I froze for a moment, then explained, “We were hosting an important client. Dressing appropriately is basic respect, isn’t it? Besides, the proposal itself is what really matters.” She immediately raised her voice so the entire department could hear: “Respect? The client’s a man, and you’re the only woman in the room wearing a dress. Isn’t your intention obvious? Stop catering to men! Wake up!” One of the male colleagues tried to smooth things over. “Miranda, that’s too much. She really did well in the presentation today…” She immediately cut him off. “Of course you men would defend her! She’s a classic case of being disciplined without even realizing it, thinking she’s so professional and dedicated!” “If we professional women want respect, we need to break free from this mindset first.” “Next time, I suggest you come bare-faced and let your ability speak for itself. Don’t embarrass the rest of us women.” ……

When you’re utterly speechless, you really can’t help but laugh out loud. I had simply put on light makeup and worn an appropriate dress, yet somehow I was being labeled with all these accusations. “Miranda, you should really spend less time scrolling through social media. Just because someone feeds you content doesn’t mean you should swallow it whole. Do you even actually know what the term ‘disciplined thinking’ means?” “Your binary, single-track mindset is what really needs some training.” Her face instantly turned red. She’d probably never been talked back to by a subordinate in public before. “Jane! How dare you speak to me like that?!” She slammed the table, her finger almost poking my nose. “I’m your superior! Do you have any sense of propriety?!” I didn’t back down an inch, throwing her own words right back at her. “Propriety? Weren’t you just saying we should let our abilities do the talking? I just closed a deal. Let me see your abilities?” She was just a parachute manager with no real competence. She flew into a rage and swung her hand toward my face. I didn’t react in time. My cheek stung with burning pain. After hitting me, she seemed to regain her confidence, breathing heavily as she shouted. “Let me tell you something, Jane! I know you’re capable! But everyone knows how you got those abilities!” “Right now, in this company, I am your superior! You need to learn respect! Don’t think that just because you can seduce men with that face and land some small projects, you can throw your weight around here!” As soon as she finished speaking, several colleagues who had always been jealous of my better performance immediately crowded around, chiming in one after another. “Capable? Who knows what kind of capability? Shady tactics will never be respectable.” “Dressing like that—who are you trying to impress? Miranda is trying to save you. Don’t be ungrateful.” “Exactly. We honest people earn our living with real skills, not by flirting. Why don’t you thank Miranda?” I covered my face, fury burning in my chest, about to lash back regardless of consequences. The director grabbed my arm. “Alright, alright, Jane, say no more! You worked hard today. Come on, I’ll treat you to dinner to help you cool off!” He half-dragged me toward the cafeteria, lowering his voice. “Why are you going head-to-head with her? She’s Mr. Hayes’s only daughter! We’re just employees—we can’t afford to offend her!” Mr. Hayes’s daughter? How come I didn’t know my dad had given me such a sister?

But before I could say anything, the director had already pulled me to the employee cafeteria. He kept rambling on about how I should just endure it for the sake of peace, while I mindlessly pushed the food around on my tray. Just then, my phone buzzed. Messages in the company group chat were flooding the screen. I opened the chat. The top few messages were photos and videos posted by Miranda! She had actually gone to my desk while I was away. In the photos were all my personal belongings: A pair of stockings I’d just taken off to bring home and wash, high heels I kept at the office for emergencies, and my commonly used lipstick and perfume. Then came a voice message from her, sickeningly affected, played on speaker. “Everyone take a look! Our company must eliminate this kind of unhealthy atmosphere! We’re banning behavior that sells one’s body and appearance to please men! Things like lipstick, perfume, stockings… none of these should appear in the company anymore!” “Today, I’ve confiscated some dirty items from a certain colleague. Following the principle of not being wasteful, I’m holding a little auction here!” “Let’s see if anyone’s interested in our project goddess’s personal items! Highest bidder wins!” My stomach churned. I felt so sick I almost threw up the food I’d just eaten. And there were actually sleazy men in the group responding, with bids popping up one after another. I cursed under my breath, unable to take it anymore, and rushed back to the office. When I reached my desk, the scene before me made my blood pressure spike even higher. Miranda hadn’t just gone through my storage locker—she was now going through my personal laptop. “What are you doing?!” I rushed over and slammed the laptop screen shut. “This is my personal computer! It has my private information!” Miranda jumped at my action, then raised her chin, looking self-righteous. “What am I doing? Inspecting, of course! You use a computer at the company, so I need to check whether you’ve stolen company secrets or made deals with that project manager using company interests. After all, someone like you… who knows what you’re capable of?” I was shaking with anger, my fingers gripping the edge of the laptop tightly. I was about to argue when a male colleague wearing black-framed glasses shamelessly approached. “Miranda, I’m here to pick up the stockings I bid on.” Miranda nodded knowingly, pulled out my stockings, and handed them to him. “You look honest, but I didn’t expect you’d be into this. Take them. Just transfer me the money.” “Miranda Hayes! What gives you the right to auction off my things! I’m not selling!” “What gives me the right? Because these items that cater to men cannot appear in the company! I’m purifying the workplace environment!” I was completely enraged and fired back. “Necessary attire is professional etiquette! Just because I dress appropriately and look presentable, that means I’m pandering to men? By your logic, when I wear a skirt, should I also wear bright red long underwear underneath to be considered proper?!” My voice wasn’t quiet, drawing whispers from colleagues who had been watching the show. Some couldn’t help but chuckle softly, clearly finding Miranda’s behavior too absurd. Her face immediately flushed with embarrassment, her eyes growing more vicious. “Jane! Are you crazy? Believe it or not, I’ll make sure you can’t survive in this company!” I didn’t want to waste another word on her. “Move. I need to get to work.” I said coldly, reaching to close my laptop.

But she pressed down hard on the computer, her fingers rapidly scrolling through my SnapChat conversation interface. “Work? Your work is having in-depth exchanges with CEOs from various companies on SnapChat, right?” Her voice was shrill, deliberately making sure everyone could hear. “Come on, let me read a few lines for everyone to learn from!” She cleared her throat, imitating an affected tone. “‘Mr. Hayes, thank you so much for today. I’d love to treat you to dinner sometime!’ Look, a blatant invitation! Jane, don’t you know this Mr. Hayes is a married man? His wife is famously fierce, and you still dare to throw yourself at him? You’ve got some nerve!” I was almost amused by her stupidity. “It’s just normal business courtesy. What else should I say?” “Courtesy? Then look at this one!” She clicked open another chat window with the contact name “Old Hayes.” The conversation inside was indeed more casual, with me complaining about work being tiring and the other person reminding me to eat on time, the tone intimate. “Oh my! You’re even closer with this Old Hayes! Acting all sweet! Calling him ‘Daddy’? How disgusting! What kind of fetish is this? Some rich old man must be keeping you! No wonder you get project after project. I bet your sugar daddy is this guy, right?” Looking at her face twisted with jealousy, my inner mockery deepened. Idiot, she can’t even recognize my dad’s SnapChat, yet she dares to call herself Mr. Hayes’s daughter? When I graduated, I made a bet with my old man that without using any of his connections, I’d join the company and close deals worth a hundred million dollars on my own merit, and then I could take over as general manager. But I never expected that right before the finish line, I’d be humiliated like this by this clown who claims to be the chairman’s daughter. Fine, if you want to put on a show this badly, I’ll play along to the end. Let’s see how much longer you can enjoy yourself. Seeing that she had no intention of backing off and was instead escalating her invasion of my privacy, I completely lost patience. I suddenly turned around, rushed directly into her office, grabbed her laptop, and returned. “What are you doing! Put down my computer!” she shouted in panic. I ignored her, my fingers randomly sliding across the touchpad. Actually, I’d long heard rumors about Miranda’s office affairs. But everyone, out of deference to her position as supervisor, never mentioned it to her face. I clicked open a hidden file. The next second, embarrassingly explicit moans and gasps streamed from the computer speakers. “Is that voice Miranda’s?” “Playing it pretty wild, huh? Even filming yourself in the office as a keepsake?” The surrounding colleagues instantly erupted in whispers. Her face turned pale. She rushed over and snatched the computer, slamming it shut, shaking all over as she pointed at me. “Jane! Stop framing me! I’m completely innocent! You must have just snuck in and copied that filth onto my computer!” “The woman in that video is probably you! For projects, what wouldn’t you do?” But everyone still looked at her with suspicion. She immediately stood up and loudly announced her identity. “I didn’t want to say this, but I’m the chairman’s daughter! I came in undercover to help my father clean up the company culture! Employees like Jane who got ahead through improper means and maliciously slander others are exactly who we’re targeting for removal!” She looked around, her eyes carrying naked threats. “Anyone standing here watching and laughing at me today better think carefully about whether you want to have good days in this company in the future!”

This tactic of making an example worked immediately. Colleagues who had just been mocking the supervisor instantly changed their expressions. Several female colleagues who had always been jealous of me were the first to jump out. “How vicious! Your own hands aren’t clean, yet you want to drag the supervisor down with you!” “Exactly! Always making jokes about women’s reputations—her heart is truly wicked!” “An educated woman? I think she hates women! She wishes all women would rely on men like she does! She’s the typical man-pleaser who hates women!” I couldn’t be bothered with those buzzing behind me. I picked up my personal computer and contract and left to sign that thirty-million-dollar deal. The process was exceptionally smooth. The client representative even reassured me. “Miss Jane, although we’ve heard some rumors, we absolutely recognize your professional ability and project proposal. Looking forward to our cooperation.” On the way back to the company, I called my dad. “Dad, mission accomplished. The cumulative amount exceeded a hundred million long ago. You should honor your agreement and prepare for the handover, right?” His gratified laughter came through the phone. “Haha! As expected of my daughter! Dad keeps his word!” I paused, then asked out of the blue. “Dad, you’ve never betrayed Mom, have you?” My dad’s voice immediately rose eight octaves, full of survival instinct. “How could that be possible! Heaven and earth as my witness, I’ve only loved your mother my whole life! Sweetheart, who’s been feeding you nonsense?” “Never mind.” I hung up the phone, a cold smile forming at the corner of my mouth. As soon as I returned to my workstation, I heard Miranda being surrounded by a group of people. “At the company restructuring meeting in a few days, I’ll probably be taking the general manager position.” She pretended to be modest as she brushed her hair. “I remember everyone who’s been good to me. You’ll all benefit in the future.” Immediately, a chorus of flattery rose around her. “Miranda is amazing! This is real advancement based on ability, not relying on men!” “Exactly! So much better than certain people who use underhanded methods!” “From now on, we’re following Miranda!” She glanced at me smugly, provocatively. “What’s wrong, Jane? Jealous? Someone like you who relies on men could never reach such a high position.” I ignored her, focusing on preparing my performance report. Jump all you want. The higher you jump, the harder you’ll fall. Over the next few days, my colleagues found all kinds of ways to sabotage me. My cup tasted like dish rags, dead cockroaches appeared on my seat from time to time, printed documents disappeared… I didn’t bother with it, just took my laptop and moved to the coffee shop downstairs. Soon, the day of the election arrived. I deliberately wore a sharply tailored, high-quality professional dress, with exquisite makeup and a commanding presence. As soon as I walked through the company entrance, Miranda stopped me. She looked me up and down, jealousy flashing in her eyes, then put on a stern face. “Jane! How many times have I told you! Don’t come to the company all dressed up like this! Who are you trying to seduce?” I looked at her, noting that she had also obviously dressed up carefully, and retorted. “Miranda, aren’t you also dressed quite formally today?” She immediately raised her chin, looking superior. “Me? I’m completely bare-faced! Not like certain people who can only rely on makeup to cover up their ugliness and gild their faces!” I smiled, and without another word, pulled out a small bottle of makeup remover from my bag and splashed it directly at her face! Miranda screamed. The liquid ran down her cheeks. Her carefully drawn eyeliner and mascara instantly smudged, her face turning patches of purple and red, like an overturned palette, utterly disheveled. “If you’re bare-faced, then what’s this stuff on your face?” “Jane! I’ll kill you!” She was shaking with rage, lunging at me with claws out, trying to slap me. The director nearby quickly held her back. “Miranda! Calm down! The meeting’s about to start! Quick, go to the restroom and clean up!” Miranda was dragged away, her resentful eyes almost boring through me. I straightened my collar and walked toward the top-floor conference room. Just as I reached the entrance, the receptionist stopped me, her face wearing a formulaic fake smile. “I’m sorry, Miss Jane. Today’s senior management restructuring meeting is invitation-only by name. Your name isn’t on the list, so you cannot enter.” Miranda and a few of her followers had also cleaned up and rushed over. Seeing the situation, they immediately mocked. “Oh my, you actually dared to come?” “Shameless, aren’t you? This is a place you can enter?” I looked at them and smiled. “How about making another call to confirm with higher-ups?” The female receptionist’s face showed impatience, clearly thinking I was being unreasonable. She reluctantly picked up the internal phone and walked aside to inquire in a low voice. A few seconds later, her expression changed dramatically. She ran back, bowed respectfully to me, her voice trembling. “Miss Jane, please come in! Your seat is at the head table. Please take your seat!”

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Just hours after I officially registered my marriage with my commander boyfriend, a highly private video of my first time was leaked across the entire military base. I stared at the screen, my entire body trembling uncontrollably as I watched myself, completely naked, positioned in humiliating ways. Echoing in my ears were the unrestrained, mocking laughs of the people surrounding him. “Arthur Sterling, to make Chloe smile, you actually leaked the video of your own wife’s first time?” “Hahaha, look at the princess, her face is completely pale! She looks like she’s about to cry!” Arthur, however, affectionately tapped his adopted sister Chloe’s nose, saying with a smile: “See? Now the entire base knows Maya has a scar on her waist. Will you finally smile for me now?” Chloe covered her mouth, her eyes curving into crescents as she laughed. I wanted to rush forward and demand an explanation, but my biological brother grabbed me tightly. Liam Sterling, the usually stoic base commander, darkened his face and warned me: “Behave yourself. Don’t think just because you’re the Sterling family heiress you can bully Chloe whenever you want.” “Arthur and Chloe were meant to be together in the first place. You forced your way in, so you deserve to have that video leaked.” He forcefully shoved me into his SUV, forbidding me from ruining the happiness of the precious girl in his heart. The System, which had been silent for ages, suddenly chimed in my mind: [Host, detected that the conquest mission has been completed! Do you wish to return to the real world immediately?] I covered my face, my shoulders shaking violently, desperately trying to suppress the laughter threatening to spill out. After struggling in this melodramatic world for over a decade, I could finally go home. From now on, their tangled web of love and hate would have absolutely nothing to do with me. … [Detected Male Lead’s conquest meter has reached 95%! Mission to marry Male Lead Arthur Sterling is complete! Congratulations to the Host for completing all missions!] [Upon the physical death of the Host, you will immediately return to the real world, receive a 100 million dollar cash prize, and your congenital heart defect will be completely cured!] I desperately swallowed the laughter that was about to burst from my throat. Finally… I’m free. Since Arthur wanted to stay at the hospital to accompany Chloe, Liam personally escorted me home. I turned my head and looked at my biological brother in the driver’s seat. From the moment he got in the car, he had a long face, radiating impatience from head to toe. It wasn’t until a notification sound from Chloe chimed that the corners of his mouth lifted slightly into a smile. Noticing me watching him, he immediately locked his phone screen, his brow furrowing deeply: “Haven’t you looked enough? Don’t want to leave? Still thinking about going back to ruin things between Arthur and Chloe?” “Chloe is young and has suffered so much. Can’t you just be more accommodating to her?” I dug my nails into my palms, trying hard not to laugh. Young? If we’re being technical, I’m half a year younger than Chloe. Perhaps my expression was truly awful, because Liam’s tone suddenly softened a bit: “When we get back, apologize properly to Chloe. Don’t be so stubborn.” He reached out, wanting to ruffle my hair, but I tilted my head to avoid it. “What exactly did I do wrong?” Liam’s hand froze in mid-air, his tone instantly darkening: “Maya, enough is enough!” I closed my eyes. Over the years, even if it was just to complete the mission, I had invested a bit of real emotion. I had also felt genuine heartache because of their attitudes. But now, it was all over. “After Chloe’s competition is over, come with me to apologize to her.” I didn’t answer him. Instead, I asked the System in my mind: [As long as this body dies, I can go back, right?] [Correct.] I slowly inhaled, observing the road conditions through the car window. After confirming that no innocent bystanders would be involved, I pressed the door unlock button and forcefully pulled the car door open. Liam, who was mid-lecture, stopped abruptly: “Maya! What are you doing?!” I didn’t look back as I threw myself out of the moving car. The freezing wind sliced across my cheeks like a knife, and an intense feeling of weightlessness gripped my heart. I squeezed my eyes shut, not feeling an ounce of fear. But the next second, a strong arm clamped tightly around my waist. I was completely enveloped in an embrace and thrown toward the bushes on the side of the road. Amidst the spinning and tumbling, I heard a muffled grunt of pain. We rolled several times before finally coming to a stop. The back of the person shielding me was torn up and bleeding profusely from the branches, but I didn’t have a single scratch. I looked up, meeting Liam’s terrified face, my voice exceptionally calm: “Let go.” Staring into my completely apathetic eyes, Liam suddenly exploded: “I say two words to you and you jump out of a moving car?! Have we spoiled you so much that you have no limits anymore?!” “Trying to get attention this way again, right? Save it!” I acted like I didn’t hear him and forcefully pried his fingers open. Standing up and looking around, I immediately spotted an SUV speeding toward us not far away. “I haven’t gotten my allowance for this month yet. Just consider it compensation for their car repairs.” Leaving those words behind, I ran straight toward the front of the approaching car. “Maya—!” Liam’s roar was heart-wrenching. He stumbled, trying to get up and chase me, but it was far too late. I almost laughed out loud. I was going home. Whether my congenital heart defect in reality could be cured or not was secondary; I didn’t want to stay in this world for another second. The piercing screech of brakes assaulted my eardrums. The SUV managed to come to a dead stop less than half a meter away from me. I stumbled backward, falling into Liam’s arms as he tackled me from behind. “Are you crazy?! Maya, do you really want to die?!” Liam’s eyes were bloodshot. With trembling fingers, he checked my arms and shoulders: “Did it hit you? Where does it hurt? Say something!” Didn’t die again. I lowered my eyes in disappointment. My gaze fell on his leg. His camouflage pant leg was already soaked in blood, and it was still dripping down. If it were the old me, I would have cried until I couldn’t breathe, wishing I could take the pain for him. But now, I just indifferently looked away. “What, now I even need your permission to die?” Liam froze in place, his entire body shaking uncontrollably. I tugged the corners of my mouth into a smirk, turned around, and walked toward the swearing SUV driver: “I’ll transfer the money for the repairs to you later.” Liam’s clenched fists trembled slightly, his eyes terrifyingly red. I paused for a moment, then immediately realized what he was thinking: “Don’t worry, I won’t use your money. I’ll use the money I saved myself…” “Maya!” he practically roared, cutting me off. Yet, I saw a trace of an expression on his face that bordered on feeling wronged. “You’re the sister I’ve protected since we were kids! Even if I had to give my life for you, I wouldn’t blink an eye!” I found it incredibly absurd and looked straight into his eyes: “Is that right?” His body jolted violently, as if he had just snapped back to reality. The one they cherished and held in the palm of their hands now was Chloe. And me, the so-called biological sister, had long since become an unreasonable joke in their eyes. My shoulders shook as I laughed, but tears fell uncontrollably. I used to always follow behind him. When he returned from a mission, I was always the first person he wanted to see. And now? He only told me with a cold face to “be sensible” and “stop bullying Chloe.” Liam violently yanked me back into the car, his voice low and raspy: “Once Chloe wins first place in this military competition, we’ll tell everyone that you are the real…” “Enough.” I couldn’t be bothered to listen to the rest and turned to look out the window. The passing scenery blurred backward rapidly, like fragments of time that could never be grasped. Before I crossed over to this world, I was an orphan. The day I was diagnosed with end-stage heart failure, I clutched the diagnosis report and sat in the hospital corridor all night. Finally, I passed out from the pain in my hospital bed, and when I opened my eyes again, I was a six-year-old girl. A voice echoed in my head: [When the conquest meter reaches its target and you marry Arthur Sterling, you can get the money to go back and cure your illness.] After that, there was only static. I thought I was having auditory hallucinations. But getting a second chance at life with a healthy body wasn’t too bad. The car drove smoothly. Liam gripped my wrist tightly, his thumb unconsciously caressing the back of my hand. It was a habit he had to comfort me whenever I had nightmares in the past. As an orphan, I used to be incredibly greedy for that tiny bit of warmth. I even thought about abandoning the mission and just staying in this world forever. Until Chloe appeared. She was an orphan girl I picked up from a war zone. But later, all the favoritism and love fell onto her. I went from acting spoiled and feeling wronged, to breaking down and becoming hysterical, only to finally earn one sentence from them: “Maya, you act like a lunatic.” The car stopped at the entrance of the military family compound. I shook off his hand, pushed open the door, and got out. Liam called out to me from behind, his voice trembling: “Maya… my leg is hurt… I hurt it trying to protect you…” I didn’t even turn my head: “If you’re hurt, go find a medic. What’s the point of telling me?” Pushing open the front door of our house, I saw Arthur feeding Chloe medicine. Seeing me return, Arthur’s face turned as cold as ice. He rushed forward and slapped me across the face. “Chloe stayed awake for three days and three nights because of you.” Chloe hurriedly reached out to stop him: “Arthur, it’s really not Maya’s fault, it’s just me worrying over nothing…” I watched this heartwarming melodrama with complete apathy. [Host, detected that your emotional fluctuation value has dropped to a critical point…] The system’s mechanical voice carried a rare hint of hesitation: [Are you… very sad?] [Chapter 2] That single sentence from the System almost made the tears I had forced back break through the dam. I roughly wiped the tears from the corners of my eyes. Liam hobbled over to my side, but before he could speak, Chloe screamed and threw herself at him: “Liam! Your leg—!” Before she could finish her sentence, I stepped forward and slapped her, cutting her off. The crisp sound of the slap instantly silenced the entire living room. Chloe covered her face, her eyes wide as saucers. The next second, a massive force violently slammed me to the floor. Liam pointed at me, his eyes frozen over: “Maya, you’ve completely lost your mind! Apologize to Chloe!” I propped myself up from the floor and spat out the taste of blood in my mouth: “Me apologize? What’s wrong with me hitting a homewrecker? Arthur Sterling is my legally wedded husband!” Liam’s face grew even darker, his voice abruptly rising: “Nonsense! Arthur and Chloe were in love to begin with! You’re the one who kept pestering him!” “How did I end up with a sister as unreasonable as you!” I laughed out loud, but the tears wouldn’t stop falling: “I’m unreasonable? Right now, my name is on the marriage certificate, isn’t it?” Arthur spoke coldly: “It isn’t anymore. This morning, I already submitted the divorce papers. Our Sterling family will not accept a woman who goes crazy at the drop of a hat.” Liam yanked me up from the floor, his voice suppressing his rage: “Maya. Apologize.” I didn’t make a sound, my gaze sweeping over the people in front of me. Liam’s eyes were icy; Arthur’s eyes were filled with disgust. It was just like a year ago, when Chloe, who was always running around the military compound, was mistakenly identified as a spy. Liam couldn’t bear it. In front of the entire base, he announced that she was the true Sterling family heiress, the sister he had protected since childhood. And I, the actual Sterling family heiress, had to bear all the suspicion to protect her safety. “You have guards following you every time you leave the house. Chloe only has herself!” I was shocked, I resisted, I cried and screamed, but it was all useless. The way they looked at me then was exactly the same as they were looking at me now. My heart felt an indescribable exhaustion; even arguing felt superfluous. I shook off the guard’s hand, rushed into the living room, and grabbed a military combat knife from the table. Liam tried to rush over to stop me, but Chloe hugged his arm tightly: “Maya! Don’t do anything stupid!” I looked at Chloe and grinned: “Here’s my apology!” Ignoring Liam’s drastically changing expression and Arthur’s outstretched hand, I raised my arm and plunged the combat knife directly into my own chest. Screams erupted instantly. I laughed through my tears: “Is this life enough compensation for her?” “Are you satisfied now?” Warm blood poured out, and a wave of intense dizziness violently seized me. Amidst the chaotic roaring, my vision slowly faded to black. I saw the faces of those two men finally reveal expressions of absolute terror. Liam lunged forward to catch my sliding body, his voice shaking uncontrollably: “Medic! Call the medic right now!!” … The pungent smell of disinfectant pierced my nose. I opened my eyes, and the blinding white instantly made my heart race. Did I succeed? Turning my head, I met Liam’s bloodshot eyes. I closed my eyes in annoyance. His hoarse voice, for the first time ever, felt incredibly loud and irritating: “Maya! Who taught you to use self-mutilation to threaten people?!” I grew even more annoyed, feeling something uncomfortable digging into my neck. Reaching my hand up, I pulled out a custom-made medallion, engraved with the crooked word “Peace.” When I was thirteen, I fell into a coma for three days with a high fever at the border. Liam, risking disciplinary action, took his highest military honor medallion, had it modified into this, and then knelt up a thousand steps to beg a high monk to consecrate it. Later, when Chloe went on her first mission, he turned around and gave this very medallion to her. Now, it was back around my neck. But I only found it to be an eyesore. I yanked it off and casually threw it away. The hospital room door happened to be pushed open. Liam stood at the door, watching helplessly as the medallion landed at his feet. He looked up, staring dead at me: “Maya, you just threw it away?”

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The bleeding wouldn’t stop. I lay on the delivery bed, the overhead lights blindingly white. Someone shouted, “More pressure!” I could hear running, the sound of shoes squeaking frantically against the linoleum floor. My consciousness was sinking. I couldn’t feel the pain anymore. Just cold. A deep, creeping cold starting from the soles of my feet. The delivery room door wasn’t shut completely. Voices drifted in from the hallway. It was my mother-in-law, Martha. She was on the phone. “…Five hundred thousand dollars, that was the agreed-upon dowry. If she doesn’t make it, can we get that money back?” I heard it perfectly clearly. Every single word. 1. I didn’t die. The doctor said I hemorrhaged two liters of blood and they spent forty minutes trying to stabilize me. They managed to save my uterus. The baby lived, too. Six pounds, two ounces, a little boy. When the nurse brought the baby over for me to see, I was still shaking. Not from the cold, but because my body hadn’t fully returned from the edge. I looked at my son. A wrinkled little face, eyes squeezed shut, mouth opening and closing like a baby bird. I didn’t cry. I was thinking about that sentence. “If she doesn’t make it, can we get that money back?” The hospital room door opened. David walked in. He looked pale, his eyes a little red. He stood by the bed, looked at me for a moment, and said, “You scared me to death.” I looked back at him. “When you had to sign the consent forms, how long did you hesitate?” He froze. “What?” “To save the mother or save the child. When the doctor asked you to sign. How long did you hesitate?” “I didn’t hesitate,” he answered quickly. Too quickly. People don’t answer that fast when they’re telling the truth. I didn’t push it. I was too exhausted. Tubes were sticking out of me, and a blood transfusion was still dripping into my arm. I closed my eyes. David sat beside me for a while. He didn’t hold my hand. He didn’t ask if I was in pain. He was looking at his phone. Through my half-closed eyes, I saw the screen. It was a text thread with his mother. He was replying to her. I shut my eyes completely. Ten minutes later, the door opened again. Martha walked in. She was carrying a thermos, walked straight to my bedside, and set it on the nightstand. “You’re awake? Eat something.” She glanced at the baby, a smile breaking across her face. “Six pounds two ounces, not bad.” She opened the thermos, poured out a bowl of soup, and held it out to me. “Drink this, it’s pork rib broth.” I didn’t take it. I was staring at her face. This was a face I had looked at for three years. A round face, eyes that crinkled into slits when she smiled, a loud, booming voice. The neighbors all called her the friendly Mrs. Hayes. Twenty minutes ago, this same face was out in the hallway on the phone, voice lowered, weighing my worth like a piece of meat on a scale. Could they get the five hundred thousand dollar dowry back? While I was bleeding out, she was doing the math. “Mia, are you going to drink this or not?” she asked again, her voice a notch louder. I took the bowl. My hands were shaking. A little bit of broth spilled onto the blanket. She didn’t notice. She was too busy looking at the baby. “He looks just like David,” she smiled. I lowered my head and sipped the soup. I couldn’t taste anything. It tasted like absolutely nothing. That night, David went home. He said he needed to clean up the house and get things ready for the baby. Martha left, too. She said she’d be back first thing in the morning. Only the baby and I were left in the room. Out in the hallway, I could hear other new mothers talking, men’s voices coaxing them—”Does it hurt? What do you want to eat? I’ll go buy it.” The husband of the woman in the bed next to mine came back with a bouquet of flowers. On my nightstand sat that half-finished bowl of pork rib broth. Cold. No flowers. No fruit. Not a single “You went through so much today.” I rolled onto my side, facing the wall. The baby let out a tiny grunt from his bassinet. I closed my eyes. I didn’t cry. My brain just kept replaying that one sentence, over and over. “If she doesn’t make it, can we get that money back?” The next morning, the nurse came in for rounds. “Where’s your family? Why isn’t anyone here with you?” “They went home to clean up,” I said. The nurse gave me a look but didn’t say anything else. She changed my dressings, checked my bleeding, and told me to get plenty of rest. I asked her, “Yesterday, during the emergency… who signed the consent forms?” “Your husband.” “Did he… sign them quickly?” The nurse hesitated. “You just focus on resting.” She didn’t answer. But her hesitation was all the answer I needed. 2. On my third day postpartum, Martha came by. Not to see me. The first thing she said when she walked in was, “I looked into a postpartum doula. Twelve thousand a month, that’s way too expensive. I’ll just take care of you during your recovery. Save us some money.” I didn’t say anything. She continued, “And that postpartum rehab package you wanted? Eighteen hundred dollars? Don’t bother. Women in the old days never did any of that ‘postpartum rehab’ nonsense, and they turned out just fine.” I stared at her. Eighteen hundred dollars. On the third day after I almost died, she was here to haggle over my recovery. “You’re healthy, you’ll bounce back quick,” she said with a smile. “We’ll save that money for the baby.” I stayed silent. I had heard that exact phrasing before. During my first year of marriage, I wanted to join a yoga studio. The annual membership was three hundred bucks. Martha had said, “Why do you need to pay for classes? Just do it at home. Save that money; having a kid is expensive.” Three hundred bucks. That same year, for her daughter Sarah’s birthday, Martha bought her a $4,800 designer bag. She even opened the package right in front of me. I hadn’t said a word. Three hundred versus eighteen hundred—the numbers changed, but the principle remained the same. My money wasn’t real money; only her daughter’s money mattered. We didn’t hire a doula. Martha came to “take care” of me. Her version of taking care of me consisted of: Cooking breakfast, microwaving the leftovers for lunch, and David bringing home takeout for dinner. When the baby cried at night, Martha didn’t get up. “I’m older, I don’t sleep well. You handle the night shifts.” I was just a week out from a massive hemorrhage. My incision still ached terribly. I had to get up every two hours to nurse. And David? He slept in the guest room. “I have to work tomorrow, I need to sleep.” No one ever asked, “How are you doing? Does your incision still hurt?” On the fifth day, I spiked a low-grade fever. 100.7 degrees. I told David. He said, “Just take some Tylenol. You’re breastfeeding, you can’t go to the hospital anyway.” Then he left for work. Martha was in the living room watching TV. I took my own temperature, took the medicine myself, and filled a thermos with hot water to keep by my bed. The fever broke that afternoon. No one knew. And no one cared. That afternoon, while the baby was sleeping, I propped myself up against the headboard and scrolled through my phone. David had posted on Facebook: “Welcomed our baby boy! Both mother and son are safe and healthy. Thank you everyone for the well wishes!” Attached was a picture of the baby. No picture of me. The comments were flooded with “Congratulations!” and “David’s a dad now!” David replied to every single one with smiley face emojis. Both mother and son are safe and healthy. He used those exact words. As if I were merely an incubator. Now that my function was complete, the incubator itself was irrelevant. I set the phone down next to my pillow. No ‘like’. No comment. I got up and changed a diaper. On my twelfth day postpartum. David’s sister, Sarah, came to visit. She brought a case of imported formula, a set of baby clothes, and a pile of colorful gift bags that covered the entire table. She held the baby, gave him a few kisses, and chatted and laughed with Martha. No one called me out of my room. From the bedroom, I heard Martha ask, “This formula looks fancy. How much was it?” Sarah replied, “About eighty bucks a can.” Martha said, “It’s a little pricey, but it’s good quality. We should give the baby the best.” Eighty dollars a can for formula, and she says, “give the baby the best.” Eighteen hundred for my postpartum rehab, and she says, “women in the old days never did that.” Twelve thousand for a doula, and she says, “way too expensive.” Spending money on the baby? Acceptable. Spending money on her daughter? Acceptable. Spending money on me? Too expensive. I sat in the bedroom. The door was slightly ajar, and the sound of laughter from the living room drifted in waves. I looked down at my hands. My nails were clipped short, and the skin on my fingertips was peeling from constantly washing baby bottles in hot water. I tucked my hands under the blanket. When Sarah left, she walked past my bedroom door, peeked her head in, and said, “Rest up and get better soon, Mia!” Her tone was light and cheerful. She didn’t step inside. The door clicked shut. 3. My physical recovery went alright, all things considered. Not because Martha took good care of me, but because I pushed through it myself. On the day the baby turned one month old, David suggested having a family dinner to celebrate. I said fine. At the restaurant, Martha held the baby, basking in the compliments from a crowd of relatives. “Martha, you’re so blessed. Look how healthy your grandson is.” “David’s done well for himself, finding such a good wife.” Martha laughed and said, “Yes, Mia is a good girl, just a bit too frivolous with money sometimes. But young people, you know, they’ll learn.” Frivolous with money. I sat at the very edge of the table. I paid for this entire dinner. The formula, the diapers, the utilities for the past month—I paid for all of it. The groceries during my recovery, my own medication—I paid for it. And I was “frivolous with money.” I didn’t argue. I picked up a piece of food, chewed it twice, and swallowed. That night, after clearing the table and seeing everyone out. David was in the living room playing video games. Martha was in the bedroom with the baby. I was alone in the kitchen, washing dishes. By the time I got to the third plate, I stopped. Today was my birthday. Nobody had mentioned it. In our first year of marriage, David remembered and bought me a lipstick. The second year, he forgot. When I brought it up, he said, “We’ll celebrate another day.” That ‘another day’ never came. The third year was today. The baby’s one-month celebration. Everyone remembered the baby turning a month old. No one remembered my birthday. I put the plate in the drying rack. Dried my hands. Went out to the balcony to bring in the laundry. Folded it, put it in the closet. I did these things every single day. Today was no different. Two weeks later, on a quiet afternoon while the baby was sleeping, I was reviewing my bank statements. Our expenses had been high that month, and I wanted to balance the books. And then I saw a transfer. Three months ago. From my and David’s joint account. Two hundred thousand dollars. Recipient: Sarah Hayes. Memo: “Down payment.” I stared at that number for thirty seconds. Two hundred thousand dollars. For Sarah’s down payment on a house. From our joint account. I scrolled further back. This joint account was opened after we got married. Martha had suggested, “It’s easier to manage if the family’s money is pooled together.” At the time, I thought it made sense. Let the mother-in-law handle the finances; less for me to worry about. My dowry—the four hundred and eighty thousand dollars my parents had given me—was deposited into this account. David’s family had offered a five hundred thousand dollar “bride price.” My parents received it, kept twenty thousand as a token gesture, and returned the remaining four hundred and eighty thousand, plus some of their own money, back to me as my dowry. Four hundred and eighty thousand dollars. I kept scrolling. Eight months ago. A transfer of one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Recipient: One of David’s cousins. Memo: “Loan repayment.” What loan? Four months ago. A transfer of eighty thousand dollars. Recipient: An investment firm. Memo: “Investment capital.” Who invested it? I scrolled some more. A smattering of smaller transfers—five thousand, eight thousand, three thousand… all sent to Martha’s personal checking account. Added together, it easily surpassed forty or fifty thousand. I closed the banking app. Opened the calculator. 200 + 150 + 80 + 50. Four hundred and eighty thousand. Exactly four hundred and eighty thousand. Down to the last penny, it matched my dowry. I sat on the edge of the bed, phone in hand. The screen was bright. The numbers glowed. My dowry. Not a single cent was left. The baby stirred in his crib beside me. I locked my phone. Placed it on the nightstand. Walked into the kitchen, poured a glass of water, and took a sip. My hands weren’t shaking. My heart wasn’t racing. But a string snapped inside my head. The string labeled “Family.” Things my mother-in-law had said lined up in my memory— “Pooling the dowry together is for the good of this family.” “We’re all one family, there’s no ‘yours’ and ‘mine’.” “What does it matter who holds onto the money?” It mattered a great deal. Because when she held onto it, it vanished. 4. I didn’t confront David immediately. Nor did I go looking for Martha. I called my best friend, Jen. Jen is a CPA working at a major accounting firm. After I told her everything, she was silent for five seconds. “Screenshot all the bank statements and send them to me right now.” I did. She reviewed them for twenty minutes before calling me back. “Mia, this two hundred thousand for Sarah’s down payment—is the house in her name?” “I assume so.” “The hundred and fifty thousand ‘loan repayment’—do you know whose debt that was?” “No idea.” “The eighty thousand investment—did David ever discuss that with you?” “No.” “Your entire four hundred and eighty thousand dollar dowry has been drained. Did you have any idea before today?” “None.” Jen fell silent again. “Look up the deed for Sarah’s house. And get me the name of that investment firm, I’ll run a background check on them.” “Okay.” “Mia.” “Yeah.” “Don’t let them know you know.” “I know.” Checking the deed was easy. While David was at work, I took a trip down to the county clerk’s office. With my marriage license and ID, I pulled the property records for Sarah’s new place. Purchased entirely in cash. Two hundred thousand dollars. Owner: Sarah Hayes. It had absolutely nothing to do with me. My two hundred thousand dollar dowry bought a house with my sister-in-law’s name on it. Jen got back to me, too. That investment firm—David was listed as one of the partners. The eighty thousand went in, but the company had filed for bankruptcy and dissolved six months ago. Dissolved. Eighty thousand dollars, gone. And that hundred and fifty thousand dollar “loan repayment”? Jen did some digging. It was money Martha’s brother had borrowed a decade ago. He defaulted, and Martha used my dowry to pay off his old debt. My dowry paid off my mother-in-law’s brother’s ten-year-old debt. I sat in Jen’s office. Spread out in front of me were three printed stacks of bank statements, a property record printout, and a corporate dissolution notice. “Four hundred and eighty thousand dollars,” Jen said. “Yeah.” “Does David know?” “I’m not sure.” Actually, I was sure. But I didn’t want to say it out loud. Because if he knew… That would destroy me far more than losing the four hundred and eighty thousand dollars. I went home. Evening. David got back from work. I was cooking dinner. He took off his shoes, walked to the kitchen doorway, and asked, “What’s for dinner tonight?” “Braised short ribs.” “Sounds good.” He turned to leave. “David.” “Yeah?” “The money for Sarah’s house… did we pay for that?” His back stiffened. Just for a moment. Maybe a second. Then he turned around. “Yeah, Mom said to let her borrow it for now, she’ll pay us back eventually.” Borrow. He used the word “borrow.” “How much was it?” I asked. “…About a hundred grand or so.” A hundred grand or so. It was two hundred thousand. He cut the number in half. “When did this happen?” “Sometime last year, while you were pregnant. Mom said not to tell you, she didn’t want you to stress over it.” Didn’t want me to stress over it. When I was eight months pregnant, I cut my finger while chopping vegetables in the kitchen. I had to find and put on a band-aid myself. Nobody stressed over that. But spending two hundred thousand dollars of my money? That, they didn’t want me to stress over. I didn’t ask any more questions. I turned back around and kept chopping vegetables. He left. The sound of the TV drifted in from the living room. I put the ribs in the pot and put the lid on. Then I leaned against the counter and closed my eyes. Not out of exhaustion. But because I had just confirmed a fact. He knew. He had known the entire time. 5. For the next few days, I didn’t act out of the ordinary. I cooked, took care of the baby, did the laundry. Martha would drop by occasionally, hold her grandson, and say things like, “He’s growing so fast,” or “He looks just like David when he was a baby.” I would smile and agree. But every night, after everyone had gone to sleep, I did one thing. I audited our finances. Not just the joint account. I checked David’s credit card statements—he had an authorized user card I didn’t know about, issued to Martha. She was spending one to two thousand dollars a month on it, all at department stores, supermarkets, and pharmacies. I checked our mortgage payments—the house was David’s before we got married. Martha paid the down payment, and the mortgage was in David’s name. But the monthly payments… I checked the history… for the last two years, every single payment had been deducted from our joint account. Meaning, my dowry had been paying off David’s mortgage. On a house I didn’t own. I ran the numbers again. The $480,000 dowry was entirely gone. Adding my salary from the three years we’d been married, I had contributed about $45,000 to the household—groceries, utilities, baby expenses, general living costs. $480,000 plus $45,000 equals $525,000. I stared at that number for a very long time. Five hundred and twenty-five thousand dollars. Initially, the Hayes family offered a $500,000 “bride price.” My parents returned $480,000 of it. Doing the math, the Hayes family essentially paid a net total of $20,000. While I had put in a net total of $525,000. Who owed who? Outside the delivery room, Martha’s morbid calculation— “Can we get that five hundred thousand dollar dowry back?”— The five hundred thousand she was referring to was the initial amount the Hayes family offered. But she completely ignored the $480,000 she took back. And she certainly didn’t factor in the $45,000 I subsidized out of my own pocket. In her twisted ledger, the Hayes family spent five hundred thousand dollars to “buy” me. If I “died,” it was a bad investment. So she wanted a refund. I compiled all the numbers into a document and saved it on my phone. I password-protected it. Then I did something else. I called my mother. “Mom, you know that $480,000 dowry you gave me? Do you know what Martha did with it?” My mom went silent. “Mia, what’s wrong?” “Just answer the question first.” “…Your mother-in-law told me she put it in a high-yield CD for you two to use later.” A high-yield CD. Not a single cent was invested. It was all spent. My mom had no idea. My parents handed me the $480,000, I transferred it to the joint account, and Martha managed it. They thought the money was still there. The money had been gone for a long time. “Mom, it’s fine. I was just asking.” “Mia—” “Seriously, it’s fine. Don’t worry.” I hung up. I sat out on the balcony. The baby was on his playmat in the living room. The sun was shining brightly. I remembered my wedding day. My mom held my hand and said, “Live a good life with his family. If you ever run into any hardships, tell Mom.” I said I would. I thought “living a good life” meant cooking, raising kids, and not sweating the small stuff. I never imagined that the price of “living a good life” would be $525,000 and almost losing my life. That night, I unlocked David’s phone. I knew his passcode. I didn’t look at his texts with anyone else. I was looking for one specific thing. His chat history with Martha. I scrolled back to the day I gave birth. David: “Mom, the doctor says I need to sign the consent form to prioritize saving the mother.” Martha: “Don’t rush to sign anything just yet. Ask the doctor if there are any other options.” David: “She’s already hemorrhaging, it’s critical.” Martha: “I know it’s critical. But think about it—if you sign that, and what if… what happens to the money?” David: “…” Martha: “Just hold them off for a minute. Let me make a phone call and ask someone.” A gap of seven minutes. Seven minutes. Seven minutes while I was bleeding out in the delivery room. Then David sent a text: “Signed it.” Martha: “Fine, you signed it. If she pulls through, we’ll deal with the rest later.” I took screenshots of the conversation. I saved them to my personal email. Then I put his phone exactly back where I found it. My hands were perfectly steady. I had long passed the point of trembling. 6. The next day, I met Jen for lunch. I showed her all the documents. The bank statements. Property records. Company dissolution notice. Credit card bills. Mortgage payment history. Chat screenshots. And the document I created myself—the grand total of $525,000. Jen looked through it all without touching her food. “What are you going to do?” “Divorce him.” “And then?” “Get my money back.” “How?” “First, let me ask you a question.” “Shoot.” “The $480,000 dowry went into a joint account, but it was used entirely to benefit the Hayes family—buying Sarah a house, paying off his uncle’s debt, funding David’s investment. Legally, how is that classified?” Jen thought for a moment. “Although the dowry entered a joint account, its use was clearly a unilateral transfer to his relatives without your consent. This qualifies as the unauthorized disposal of joint marital assets by one spouse. You can argue that David should receive a smaller portion, or none at all, of the remaining assets during the divorce.” “Is that enough to get my money back?” “Yes. But you need a bulletproof chain of evidence.” I smiled. “I have it.” I printed out a complete set of all the screenshots, bank statements, and inquiry forms. I kept the digital originals. I made two sets of physical copies—one for Jen to keep, one to stash at my parents’ house. I went to see a lawyer. His name was Mr. Stevens, in his forties, and he had been handling divorce cases for over a decade. He reviewed the files. “The evidence is very strong,” he said. “In cases like this, there is a very high probability you can recover the vast majority of your dowry.” “I don’t want the vast majority.” “Hmm?” “I want all of it. $480,000. Every single cent.” Mr. Stevens gave me a look. “We can negotiate. You hold all the cards.” Leaving the law firm, I stood on the sidewalk for a moment. It was blazing hot. A brutal July sun. I remembered this time last year. I was eight months pregnant, taking an Uber by myself to my prenatal checkup. David said he had a meeting. Martha said her knee was acting up. I sat alone outside the ultrasound room waiting for my number to be called. Every other pregnant woman had someone with them. A husband, a mother-in-law. I was the only one alone. When the ultrasound printout came, I took a picture and sent it to David. He replied with an “Okay.” Just one word. Back then, I thought— Whatever, he’s busy. Looking back now— He wasn’t busy. He didn’t care. He hadn’t cared from the very beginning. The only things he cared about were what his mother said, the money his mother managed, and following every step his mother planned for him. I hailed a cab. “Driver, take me to Elm Street.” Elm Street was where my parents lived. It was time to tell them.

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I was born because my older sister had congenital heart disease. To save up for her surgery, my mom worked three part-time jobs a day, and my dad worked overtime until dawn every single night. My job was to stay home and take care of my sister. I fed her, rubbed her back when she was out of breath, and gave her sponge baths. If she even coughed, I had to jump up immediately to give her oxygen and her medication. Day and night, without a moment’s rest. But I never complained. I knew that if I were the sick one, they would take care of me just the same. Until I fainted right before Christmas. I went to the hospital and was diagnosed with a primary brainstem tumor. Looking at the diagnosis report—”The tumor is already compressing the medulla oblongata; it is extremely advanced. Inoperable”—my first thought was: If I’m gone, who will take care of my sister? How heartbroken will Mom and Dad be? It was only after I figured out a way to take care of them that I finally felt at peace and decided to go home and tell them. But standing at the front door, I heard my parents talking inside: “Sigh, today Chloe cried and told me she didn’t want to die. My heart just broke.” “She’s such a good girl, why did she have to get this disease?” “Why couldn’t it have been Mia who got sick? My poor Chloe hasn’t experienced a single day of health in her life.” My hand froze on the doorknob. I looked down at the signed Organ Donation Consent Form in my hand and let out a bitter smile. Mom, Dad, after New Year’s Eve, your wish will come true. 1 I tucked the consent form away, waited at the door for a few minutes, and then pushed it open. I acted as if nothing had happened, greeting them with a smile: “I’m home.” My mom’s mouth immediately turned down at the sight of me: “Running wild until now? The whole family is waiting on you.” “Hurry up and call your sister; she can’t go hungry.” I answered obediently, my steps into the house as light as ever. As if I hadn’t heard a single word just now. My sister lay in her darkened room, her breathing barely audible. I bent down and called her softly: “Chloe, it’s time to eat.” “Let me help you up, okay?” For a long moment, there was no movement. Worried, I reached out to feel her forehead: “Are you feeling sick?” Smack. Chloe slapped my hand away. Her hand fell weakly onto the blanket. She kept her eyes closed, refusing to look at me: “Get away from me. Don’t touch me.” I paused for a second, pretended I hadn’t heard, and continued trying to help her up. “Just eat a little bit, okay? Your body won’t be able to take it if you don’t.” “If you don’t want to move, I can bring it in and feed you, alright?” As soon as I offered to feed her, she slowly sat up, ready to go out and eat. I followed closely behind her, carefully hovering, finding a bitter sort of amusement in the situation. Just as I thought. She still hated me touching her so much that I could easily manipulate her with it. The moment we stepped out of her room, I blinked away the moisture in my eyes and put a smile back on my face: “Mom, Chloe’s up. We can eat now.” Our apartment was tiny. It was less than thirty feet from the bedroom to the dining table, yet Chloe was panting heavily by the time she made it. I followed behind her, watching her with concern, but didn’t dare reach out to support her. As we reached the table, Mom just happened to walk out of the kitchen. She rushed over, casually shoving me aside, and carefully helped Chloe sit down. I rubbed my hip, which had banged hard against the corner of the table, and let out a quiet hiss of pain. Chloe looked up, glaring at me, her breathing turning rapid: “Are you doing that on purpose? Mocking how pathetic I look when I have an episode?” Before I could open my mouth to explain, a slap from my dad landed squarely on my face: “You’re old enough to know better! Apologize right now, don’t make your sister angry!” He turned to Chloe, his voice instantly softening: “Chloe, ignore her. Your health is the most important thing. Try to stay calm.” I covered my face, my eyes stinging. I mumbled an apology, lowered my head, and tried to comfort myself. She doesn’t hate me. She’s just in a lot of pain from being sick. Chloe’s breathing quickly steadied, and my parents finally sat down with peace of mind. I pulled myself together and hurriedly served them rice. My mom was ladling soup for Chloe and motioned for me to put the rice bowl on the table: “Never home during the day, and now you want to play the good daughter.” “What exactly have you been so busy with these past few days?” My hand froze mid-air with the serving spoon. After being diagnosed with no hope of a cure, I had spent the last few days at the hospital, consulting about a heart transplant. Fortunately, my disease didn’t affect my other organs; my heart was perfectly viable for transplantation. I also found out that donating organs could yield some compensation. If I sold off my usable corneas, kidneys, and liver, it could bring in forty or fifty thousand dollars. That way, I could rest a little easier after I passed. Before I could answer, my mom continued, laying down the law: “From now on, you stay home and take care of your sister. Do you know how much pay I’ve been docked for missing work these past few days?” “Alright, that’s enough,” my dad interrupted her nagging, turning to me. “Didn’t you say you were going to the hospital to get those headaches checked out?” “How were the results? Everything okay?” “If you get sick too, this family won’t be able to afford it.” I lifted my bowl to hide my expression, trying my best to sound casual: “It’s nothing. The doctor said it’s just from staying up too late. It’ll go away on its own in a couple of days.” My mom’s brow furrowed tightly, casting a dissatisfied look my way: “I told you it was nothing. Running to the hospital over every little ache and pain, do you think tests are free?” “You’ve always loved wasting money since you were a kid.” I knew she just liked to complain. But hearing her scold me now still made my heart ache. I kept my head down, poking at the rice in my bowl with my chopsticks: “I’ve always been responsible. When have I ever wasted money?” My mom snorted disdainfully: “Plenty of times.” “When you were in elementary school, you insisted on taking oil painting classes. Wasn’t that a waste of money?” I had no rebuttal. Even now, I regret making a fuss about wanting to learn to paint. 2 In elementary school, I didn’t fully understand what Chloe’s illness meant. I didn’t know why my parents were always frowning. Seeing my desk mate taking oil painting classes, I went home and made a fuss about wanting to learn too. My mom flat-out refused with a dark expression, and even rolling on the floor throwing a tantrum didn’t work. A week later, Chloe secretly bought me brushes and paints. I excitedly hugged her, jumping and screaming with joy. But staying up late writing to earn that money took a toll on her fragile body; she had a severe episode and was hospitalized. In the hospital, thinking she was going to die, Chloe secretly told me: “I have a little bit of money left from writing, along with my allowance savings. It’s under my pillow.” “Mia, go home and get the money. Buy your own paints from now on.” Thankfully, she pulled through in the end. And I suddenly grew up. Later, when the paints Chloe bought ran out, I quietly packed away the supplies and stopped asking for more. When my mom casually asked about it one day, I sheepishly scratched my head: “Painting is too hard. I don’t want to learn anymore.” Lost in my memories, my mom assumed my silence meant I was feeling guilty, and she pressed her advantage: “It’s time you grew up. Stop running around all day not coming home.” Hearing her words, I felt a sense of helplessness: “Mom, I really wasn’t just out playing. I had things to do.” “Getting checked for that minor issue wouldn’t take all day. What could you possibly be doing, going out every single day this week?” “I…” I wanted to tell the truth, but seeing Chloe’s pale face next to me and remembering she couldn’t handle emotional stress, I swallowed the words back down. My mom seemed to think I had been caught in a lie and grew even angrier: “I just asked you to stay home and take care of your sister, and you dare make up excuses to slack off and run out.” “Raised you all these years for nothing.” “If it weren’t for needing someone to take care of Chloe later on, I never should have had you.” My dad also looked at me with disappointment: “Mia, when you were little, you used to say you’d grow up and protect your sister. Why are you being so disobedient now?” “Have you forgotten how good your sister was to you when you were kids?” Chloe kept her head down; I couldn’t see her expression. I only saw the hand holding her chopsticks clenched tight, the veins on the back of her hand starkly visible. I opened my mouth to explain, but a knock at the door interrupted me. My mom got up to answer it. It was our neighbor, Mrs. Gable. She held up a bag of oranges and gestured: “Your Mia was standing at the door for a long time just now, and she left something outside when she went in.” “Hurry and grab it, or someone might walk off with it.” My mom’s back went rigid. She forced out a few polite pleasantries and sent the neighbor away. She walked slowly back to the table and sat down, breaking the silence in the room: “Did you hear what your dad and I were saying? Is that why you were standing at the door?” I nodded gloomily, not saying a word. A flash of panic crossed my mom’s eyes, quickly replaced by forced composure: “I just remembered how you insisted on changing jobs last month, got mad, and said some things I didn’t mean in the heat of the moment.” I stayed silent, staring at my rice bowl, my mind completely blank. Seeing my silence, my mom’s tone took on an edge of irritation: “What I said wasn’t wrong at all.” “Why couldn’t it have been an ungrateful wretch like you who got sick?” “You want to change jobs because you think we’re dragging you down, just to shake us off.” Her words were like a sharp knife plunging into my heart. I looked at her in disbelief, my lips trembling, unable to make a sound. After graduating, I listened to my parents and found a job close to home. The pay was low, but it made it easy to help take care of Chloe. But this year, her health had been deteriorating rapidly, and the medical bills were piling up. Seeing my parents so anxious, I wanted to help, but there was nothing I could do. Until last month, when I received a great job offer. The salary was triple, the prospects were good—the only downside was that it was in another state. I was ecstatic. With this job, I could make more money, buy better medication for my sister, and lighten my parents’ load. I never expected my mom to disagree. I was utterly confused and was still trying to explain it to her. So that’s what they were thinking. 3 Tears slipped down unnoticed, landing on my hand and jolting me back to reality. My mom was still rattling off a list of my supposed crimes. I wanted to speak, to tell her I wasn’t going to change jobs anymore. After all, I only had a few days left to live; there was no point now. But a sudden onset of my symptoms cut off my explanation. A throbbing pain erupted in the back of my head, and my chest grew tight, like a heavy stone was pressing down on it. I gripped the table leg tightly to keep my balance. It wasn’t until the wave of pain passed that I noticed the anger on my mom’s face had intensified. She seemed to mistake my pain for defiance, her tone growing even harsher: “You think you’re all grown up now, so you dare give me an attitude?” “You tell me clearly right now: are you going to take care of your sister or not?!” “Enough!” Chloe braced herself against the table and stood up, looking embarrassed: “Stop it. I won’t need her help anymore.” “If she wants to work, let her go. I…” Before she could finish, she collapsed back into her chair, clutching her chest and gasping for air. My mom shoved me aside and rushed to Chloe, rubbing her back to soothe her, while barking orders at my dad: “Hurry! Go get Chloe’s medicine!” I crumpled to the floor, my vision going black in waves. I wanted to get up and help, but I couldn’t move. My dad was in such a rush to find the medicine he didn’t even see me on the floor. He didn’t even notice when he stepped hard on my hand as he passed by. At that moment, the agonizing headache consumed me; I couldn’t even focus on my crushed hand. Waves of sharp pain hit me, and I curled up on the floor, gritting my teeth. My parents’ gentle, concerned voices directed at my sister seemed to drift in from far away, blurry and indistinct. After what felt like an eternity, the pain finally subsided. I held onto the table and shakily got to my feet. Looking around the living room, I realized I was the only one left. A warm, yellow light spilled from my sister’s room, and through the crack in the door, I could vaguely see my mom tucking her in. I lowered my head and stood there. Even though I was in my own home, I felt like I had nowhere to go. It wasn’t until Chloe fell asleep that my mom tiptoed out of the room. Seeing me standing in the living room, her brow immediately furrowed. She walked over quickly and pinched the flesh on my arm hard: “Your sister is sick, and you’re just standing here like a log. Are your legs broken? Can you not move?” “Keep it quiet tonight, and make sure you’re taking good care of her!” Ignoring the pain in my arm, I looked at her with a sliver of desperate hope: “Mom, my head hurts so much…” But before I could finish, she cut me off: “Why don’t you just die of the pain then?!” “Faking sick every time I ask you to do something. Can you just act your age for once?!” My world plunged into a sudden silence; an empty, desolate void filled my heart. I could only see her mouth moving, but I couldn’t hear her voice. I nodded numbly until she stopped, looking satisfied. After she walked away, I instinctively went to my sister’s room. I don’t know how long I stood by her bed. By the time Chloe’s sarcastic voice broke the silence, my legs had gone completely numb. “Mia, stop pretending. You wish I were dead so you’d never have to take care of me again, don’t you?” Her dark, brooding gaze pinned me to the spot. When I was little, I thought my sister was the gentlest person in the world. She would knit me stuffed bunnies, read me stories, and softly comfort me when I cried. But I don’t know when it started—that gentle sister disappeared. Lost in thought, I didn’t say anything, but she didn’t need me to reply anyway: “So what if you’re healthy? I’m the daughter Mom and Dad love the most.” “In this house, you are the extra one!” “Get out now. Just looking at you makes me sick.” My heart ached, but I didn’t dare say anything, terrified of triggering another episode. I went back to the tiny storage closet that served as my room, lay down on the bed, and stared at the ceiling with wide, tear-filled eyes. It’s okay, I told myself. She’s sick. She needs their love more. That’s why Mom and Dad ignore me sometimes. Once she has the surgery, everything will be fine. 4 The hospital moved quickly. A couple of days later, my parents got the call. Someone had donated a heart. After the holidays, Chloe could prep for surgery. Seeing a glimmer of hope, smiles finally returned to my parents’ faces. Light returned to my sister’s eyes too; she no longer seemed to have given up completely. Seeing my family so hopeful, I swallowed the fear and reluctance in my heart. And waited with them for Christmas to arrive. On Christmas Eve morning, taking advantage of my mom’s good mood, I whined and asked her to make sweet and sour ribs for dinner. Unable to resist my clinging, she laughed, scolded me playfully, and agreed. Because of Chloe’s illness, there were many things she couldn’t eat. Money was always tight, so our meals usually consisted of the same few bland, healthy dishes. I loved sweet and sour ribs, but I hardly ever got to eat them. Thinking about having them tonight, I even forgot my fear of checking into the hospital soon. All I felt was anticipation. But when it was time for dinner, there were no sweet and sour ribs on the table. I looked at my mom, confused: “Are there still dishes in the kitchen? I’ll go get them.” My mom answered casually while ladling soup for Chloe: “Your sister said she wanted shrimp, so I didn’t buy ribs.” “Shrimp is just as good, it’s still a treat.” I told myself I needed to be understanding. The family was under a lot of financial pressure, and my parents didn’t have a choice. But I still heard my own voice trembling: “Mom, do you remember I’m allergic to shrimp?” She glanced back at me, her tone impatient: “Can’t you just eat the vegetables? Do you absolutely have to have meat? Are you as fragile as Chloe now?” “She hasn’t had much of an appetite lately, and today she finally craved something.” “You can have your sweet and sour ribs some other time.” I stood frozen, my throat feeling like it was stuffed with cotton. I couldn’t speak. But Mom… I don’t have a “some other time.” A sour ache filled my chest, and I couldn’t stop the large tears from crashing onto the floor. My dad looked at me with disgust and grumbled: “Throwing a tantrum over something so trivial. Let’s eat and ignore her.” “She’ll come eat when she’s tired of crying.” Soon, the sounds of their cheerful laughter filled the living room. Standing right next to them, I felt like a ghost, entirely unnoticed. “In this house, you are the extra one!” Chloe’s words echoed in my ears. This time, I couldn’t find a single reason to argue with her. Early the next morning, I packed my things and checked myself into the hospital. My condition had been worsening, and the doctors had been urging me to admit myself for days. I just didn’t want my family to worry about me missing the holidays, and I wanted to spend one last Christmas at home. That’s why I dragged it out until now. While I was in the hospital, my mom kept texting me, scolding me: “You ungrateful brat, running away from home just because you missed out on one dish? If you’ve got the guts, don’t ever come back.” I brushed her off with the excuse that I was busy job hunting. A couple of days later, she texted again: “Your sister is in the hospital prepping for surgery, and you can’t even be bothered to come see her?” I lay in my hospital bed and smiled bitterly. Mom, I’m actually staying right on the floor above you. I see everything. After I was admitted, my symptoms worsened daily. I kept slipping into semi-comatose states. The entire right side of my body was paralyzed; I couldn’t even turn my head properly. Until one time, I woke up from a sleep and realized I was a spirit. I floated downstairs to find my family. My parents were waiting outside the operating room. My mom’s face was pale and tense, her hands gripping my dad’s shirt tight. They were both muttering under their breath, praying non-stop. Three hours later, the doctor walked out. He pulled down his mask, a tired smile on his face: “Congratulations, the surgery was very successful.” My mom stumbled, as if all the strength had been drained from her body, and collapsed to her knees. My dad’s eyes instantly went red, and he let out a long, shuddering sigh of relief. Soon, Chloe was wheeled out and taken to the ICU. Seeing her resting peacefully in the bed, my parents finally calmed down. And they finally remembered me. My mom couldn’t help but complain to my dad: “I don’t know what Mia is so busy with.” “She barely replies to my texts lately, takes half a day to send one back.” “I told her her sister was having surgery today. Even if she couldn’t be here, she could have at least called to check in.” My dad frowned slightly, then quickly smoothed his expression: “She’s drifted apart from us.” “Once Chloe recovers from the surgery, we won’t need her anyway.” “We’ll just focus on taking care of Chloe from now on, and let her be.” I floated beside them, listening to everything. So souls can feel pain, too. My mom looked like she wanted to argue, but her phone rang, interrupting her. She glanced at it casually, answered it, and put it to her ear. “Hello, is this the family of Mia Hayes?” “The donor’s organ recovery surgery has been successfully completed. Please bring your identification to the morgue at Central Hospital to claim the remains.”

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