Category: English

Before my father died, he arranged a marriage for me. The groom-to-be was Adrian Blackwood, the most untouchable tycoon in the city. Before I married him, I set three rules for myself: One: No emotions, only dividends. Two: He could do his thing, and I would do mine. Three: If his one true love ever showed up, I would step aside immediately—for double the alimony. Adrian was perfectly satisfied with my pragmatism. Until the day a seventeen-year-old boy with a striking resemblance to him knocked on our villa door and calmly announced, “Ma’am, I’m Adrian Blackwood’s son. He’s been raising me in secret.” 1 I froze for a solid two seconds. My first thought was, Adrian is better at keeping secrets than I thought. My second thought was to mentally review our prenuptial agreement. What was rule number three again? Oh, right. If his one true love ever shows up, I step aside for double the alimony. I immediately stepped aside, my tone all business. “Come in. He’s not home from work yet. Have a seat. What would you like to drink?” The boy was clearly not expecting this reaction. He hesitated. “You’re… not angry?” Angry? What was there to be angry about? I had been practically praying for Adrian to have an affair. Then he could throw a few million in alimony my way, and I could finally start my life as a wealthy divorcée. I watched him change his shoes. At seventeen, he already had the frame of an adult. His features were Adrian’s, but his aura was much cleaner, less severe. “What’s your name?” “Cole.” I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and handed it to him. “Cole,” I said, my voice reassuring, “your father and I have a contract marriage. It’s a mutually beneficial arrangement. I have no right to be angry about his private life.” The boy clutched the water bottle, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He didn’t say anything. I sat down on the armchair across from him, the coffee table a safe distance between us. The resemblance was uncanny. It took me back three years, to my father on his deathbed, gripping Adrian’s hand and entrusting me to him. The Blackwood family owed my father a life, and Adrian repaid that debt with this marriage. The night before we registered our marriage, he handed me a prenup. I skimmed it, then held up three fingers. “I’d like to add three clauses.” “One: No emotions, only dividends.” “Two: You do your thing, I’ll do mine.” “Three: The day your true love comes knocking, I’ll step aside immediately for double the alimony.” He signed it without a moment’s hesitation. “Done.” We never spoke a single word of love. After the wedding, we lived in separate rooms, ate our meals separately. He was out of the country twenty days a month, and in the remaining ten, we saw each other less than he saw his secretary. Three years ago, at the courthouse, he walked in ahead of me, signed the papers, and got the stamp. He never once looked back. It didn’t feel like a wedding. It felt like the closing of a business deal. 2 Adrian came home while I was curled up on the sofa watching a reality show. His footsteps paused beside the couch. I turned the volume up a notch and kept watching. He didn’t go upstairs. I glanced over. He was just standing there, his gaze heavy on me. “Who did you see today?” I paused the TV and sat up straight. “Mr. Blackwood, your sources are impressive. A rather handsome young man came by. Said he was your son. You’ve done a remarkable job keeping him a secret.” The air went still. His face was a blank mask. But he didn’t deny it. “I’ll handle this.” I nodded and stood up. As I passed him, I hesitated. “Right. If you need me to cooperate with the divorce proceedings, just let me know.” I couldn’t help myself. I had to add, “You do remember the clause about double the alimony, don’t you?” He looked down at me, his eyes dark and intense. I waited a few seconds, the atmosphere growing stranger by the moment, then turned and fled upstairs. I leaned against the closed door, staring up at the ceiling light. All this time, while he was supposedly busy with business trips, I thought our marriage was a blank slate. Turns out, he already had a true love and an heir stashed away somewhere. I pulled out my phone and opened my banking app. The initial transfer he’d made before our marriage was sitting right there in my account details. Ten million. Double that would be twenty million. He waited until his son was seventeen to reveal him. That had to be some form of fraud, right? So, asking for an extra five million wouldn’t be unreasonable, would it? 3 At one-thirty in the morning, I was still tossing and turning. After much hesitation, I opened my contacts and found the name “Mr. Anderson.” He was the lawyer I’d added three years ago when we signed the prenup. His profile picture was a golden retriever, and his posts were only visible for three days. I opened our chat. Type. Delete. Type. Delete. Finally, I sent a single message: [Mr. Anderson, I have a question. If you’re busy, feel free to ignore this.] He replied instantly: [Go ahead.] Quite the dedicated professional. I chose my words carefully. [Let’s say, hypothetically, I have a friend whose husband had a child before they got married and never told her.] [Mm-hmm.] [That would be considered concealment of a major fact, right? The verbal agreement for double alimony in case of an affair—could that apply here?] [This friend of yours, what were the specific terms of her agreement?] I stared at the screen. I couldn’t say it was me. I couldn’t be too specific. The name “Mrs. Blackwood” whispered in the city’s legal circles would be enough to socially kill me ten times over. I typed: [My friend didn’t have a written prenup. Her husband verbally promised to leave with nothing if he cheated.] Even as I sent it, I knew it sounded fake. The “typing…” indicator appeared and stayed for a long time. [Your friend is quite… trusting.] I was speechless. [Mr. Anderson, the point isn’t her trust issues.] [The point is what she can get now.] My fingers hovered over the screen. Twenty million… twenty-five would be even better. Adrian’s handsome face couldn’t pay the bills, but money could. [Alimony. Preferably double.] [Is there any proof that the husband acknowledged the child?] I thought of Cole’s face. I thought of Adrian saying, “His name is Cole. I’ll handle this.” He hadn’t denied it. Did that count as an admission? I typed: [She said her husband didn’t deny it. Does that count?] [A verbal admission counts, but it’s better to have a recording, chat logs, or a witness.] [A witness… do I count?] I dropped my phone onto the bed. Five seconds later, the screen lit up again. Mr. Anderson: [Mrs. Blackwood, I can’t take on a case involving the Blackwood family, but I can recommend a colleague who specializes in family law.] … I had to laugh at my own stupidity. 4 While I was busy contacting lawyers and looking into divorce proceedings over the next couple of days, Cole showed up again. I was decanting a bottle of red wine at the dining table when I heard a noise from the entryway. Adrian walked in first, with the boy half a step behind him. Adrian pulled out a chair. “Cole is transferring to a school here. He’ll be staying with us until the paperwork is finalized.” Well, well. Bringing the illegitimate son home for all to see. The true love can’t be far behind, demanding her rightful place, can she? Divorce. It was a must. As I mentally calculated the child support, I called out to the kitchen, “Anna, two extra dishes tonight, please.” A six-course meal with soup was served. I placed a piece of sweet and sour pork into the twenty-five-million-dollar—I mean, Cole’s—bowl. “Have you found a school yet?” I asked considerately. He looked down. “Yes.” “What grade?” “Eleventh.” “Are you keeping up with your studies?” His chopsticks paused. “It’s fine.” I added some vegetables to his bowl. “It’s getting cold. There are extra blankets in the guest room closet.” He didn’t respond or look up, his entire focus on the rice in his bowl. Adrian was silent too. A pair of clams, father and son. After dinner, as the dishes were being cleared, I went to the kitchen for some fruit. I sliced an orange with practiced precision, arranging the segments symmetrically on a plate. Footsteps stopped behind me. “Aren’t you going to ask about my situation? Don’t you care that he’s been fooling around outside?” Cole’s voice was a little hoarse. I arranged the eight orange slices on a white porcelain plate. “That’s between you two. I’m only here to cooperate with your father’s arrangements.” “…You really don’t care at all?” I turned off the tap and dried my hands on a towel, my smile flawless. “Kid, we have a contract marriage.” I hung the towel back on the rack, my smile enigmatic. “Caring too much would be a breach of contract.” He didn’t say anything else, his eyes fixed on my face as if searching for something. But as I turned to leave with the fruit platter, I saw Adrian standing in the kitchen doorway. 5 After that day, Adrian started coming home less and less. When the housekeeper asked how many place settings to prepare, I told her two. With the master of the house absent, no one found it odd that the wife and the illegitimate son were coexisting peacefully. On Friday afternoon, a file arrived from the lawyer I’d contacted, Ms. Chen. [Mrs. Blackwood, here is the initial draft of the evidence list for the divorce proceedings. Please review it.] I opened it. Clause seven: [The husband concealed the existence of a child born out of wedlock, constituting a major fault.] “Ma’am.” At the sound of Cole’s voice, I discreetly closed the file. He was standing at the entrance to the patio, his eyes fixed on me. “What were you looking at?” I put my phone face down. “Work stuff.” He didn’t move. “You’re lying. Adrian has been supporting you ever since you got married. You’ve never had a job. Ma’am, are you… are you divorcing him because of me? You can’t divorce him.” “Why not?” I asked. His back was to me, his voice low. “Because…” This little brat! Leaving me hanging! He turned and walked away without finishing his sentence. The next day, he was up early. I sat on the sofa, flipping through my notes. He watched me. I went to get a glass of water. He followed me to the kitchen doorway. I came back. He sat back down. Finally, I snapped my laptop shut. “Cole, is there something wrong with you?” He didn’t deny it, just repeated yesterday’s line: “You can’t divorce him.” I stared at him. “Isn’t that the whole point of you showing up? To let me know he cheated and to ruin our marriage?” He pursed his lips. “Well, yes, but…” “Then why are you trying to stop me?” He looked down, silent again. I got up and went into the study, shutting the door with a firm click, leaving him outside. Five minutes later, a piece of paper was slipped under the door. It was folded in half, torn from a notebook. The handwriting was heavy, piercing the paper in two places. 6 [I am not his son. You don’t need to divorce him.] [If you stay with the Blackwoods, at least you’ll have money. My mother was the same way. She refused to go back to them, and later, when she got sick, there was no money for treatment. I just don’t like Adrian, but I don’t want to hurt you.] I stood there for a long time, clutching the piece of paper. I opened the door. He was still standing in the hallway. “Your mother…” “She thought she could raise me without a title, without money, without disturbing his marriage. Later, when she got sick and had no money for treatment, she said it wasn’t anyone’s fault.” When Adrian came home, I called out to him. “Adrian.” He stopped. “That boy’s mother.” There was no moon outside. He stood in the sliver of light from the doorway, his silhouette blurred. “What really happened?” “Cole is my father’s son. My father only found out about him shortly before he died, so there was nothing left for him in the will. But his mother contacted mine before she passed. She said my father didn’t know, and she didn’t plan on telling him. She was just afraid she wouldn’t make it and the boy would be left alone.” I was taken aback. Adrian’s father had died in a car accident three years ago. His voice was low and flat. “His mother was my father’s mistress. The Blackwood family wouldn’t acknowledge her.” I leaned against the headboard. “So all these years…” “I tried to give them money, but his mother refused it. It wasn’t until she got very sick that she finally accepted.” He paused. “Before she died, she had someone bring the boy to me, with a message.” “What was the message?” He looked up, his gaze meeting mine across the half-open door. “Don’t let the boy go back to the Blackwood family.” 7 I didn’t say anything. Although Adrian rarely took me to the Blackwood estate, I knew it was a place that chewed people up and spat them out. He stood in the shadows, his expression unreadable. “My mother tried to help them once. But…” “When my grandmother found out, she used some flimsy excuse to make my mother kneel in front of everyone at a banquet. She knelt for a whole night. My father was at the card table that night. He never even glanced her way.” Adrian’s mother and my mother had been good friends. I vaguely remembered my parents discussing it at the dinner table when I was a child, sighing over her fate. Suddenly, I understood why Adrian had done what he did. He didn’t want Cole to suffer the same way he had. He lowered his eyes. “Cole doesn’t know any of this. He only knows that I’m his half-brother. He thinks I’m hiding him away, afraid he’ll come back and fight for the inheritance.” My mouth fell open. Blinded by the prospect of a massive alimony payment, I had overlooked a crucial detail. Adrian was twenty-seven. Cole was seventeen. If Cole were Adrian’s son, Adrian would have had to have a child at the age of ten. “So… Cole isn’t your son.” He looked at me. It wasn’t an accusation, just a calm, steady gaze. But there was a hint of disbelief in his voice. “You really thought he was my son?” I didn’t deny it. He was silent for a couple of seconds, then sighed. “Catherine, what goes on in that head of yours?” I closed my eyes, mourning my lost twenty-five million. “Really… just incredible.” That night, after we had both retreated to our separate rooms, I opened my phone. The chat with Ms. Chen was still open to her last message: [Mrs. Blackwood, the lawsuit materials can be submitted next week.] I typed four words. [Let’s put it on hold.] After sending the message, I buried my face in my pillow. Twenty-five million, gone. I could cry.

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I was in the middle of a remote translation for a major Italian client when the call came through. HR. “Audrey, you’re being laid off. Come in and get your paperwork now.” Listening to the sterile, impersonal voice on the phone, then looking back at the expectant client on my screen, I had to laugh. Leaning into my headset, I spoke in flawless Italian. “My apologies, but our session ends here. The company you’re partnering with just fired me.” The video conference exploded into chaos. 1 The HR manager’s voice, cold and sterile, slithered through the line like a venomous snake coiling in my ear. Each word was a sharp, brutal blow, as if she were disposing of a piece of expired trash. On my computer screen, Mr. Rossi, the CEO of the Italian luxury brand, was watching me with a furrowed brow. Beneath his salt-and-pepper eyebrows, his eyes were sharp and focused, waiting for me to translate the crucial final clauses of their contract. Behind him, his entire executive team—a dozen European faces in their little digital squares—formed a silent, high-stakes tableau. This was a multi-million dollar deal, and the negotiations had reached their absolute peak. And I, Audrey Hale, the lead interpreter for the project, had just been told I was fired. At the eleventh hour. How utterly absurd. How laughable. A cold, sharp laugh bubbled up from my chest, shattering the initial shock and disbelief. I didn’t spare a glance for my boss, Mr. Peterson, whose face I could see in my peripheral vision cycling through shades of crimson and ghostly white. Nor did I pay any mind to the HR manager still barking orders into my phone. I simply adjusted the thin metal frames of my glasses, repositioned my headset, and leaned closer to the microphone. My gaze was fixed on the camera, as if I could stare right through the screen and into Mr. Rossi’s eyes. Then, in the clearest, most impeccable Roman accent, I calmly delivered the bombshell I’d been preparing my whole life for. “Scusate, la traduzione di oggi finisce qui, perché l’azienda con cui collaborate mi ha appena licenziato.” (My apologies, but our session ends here. The company you’re partnering with just fired me.) Silence. For a full half-second, the screen was dead quiet. Then, Mr. Rossi’s deep blue eyes shot wide, his focus instantly replaced by sheer disbelief. The executives behind him erupted into a cacophony of urgent Italian. “Cosa sta succedendo?” (What’s happening?) “L’hanno licenziata? Adesso?” (They fired her? Now?) In the corner of my screen, Peterson’s face had morphed into a grotesque shade of purple. He waved his hands frantically at the camera, his broken English tumbling out in a panic. “No, no, Mr. Rossi! Is… is technical problem! Signal is not good!” A pathetic excuse from a clumsy executioner. On the phone, the HR manager finally grasped the situation. “Audrey! Are you insane? Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?” Oh, I knew. I had never been more clear-headed in my life. Ignoring the chaos, I addressed Mr. Rossi one last time, my voice sincere. “Mi dispiace sinceramente per l’inconveniente, Signor Rossi. È stato un onore lavorare con lei.” (I am truly sorry for the inconvenience, Mr. Rossi. It has been an honor to work with you.) Then, with a single, deliberate tap on my trackpad, I clicked “Leave Meeting.” The world went silent. I tossed my headset on the desk and unplugged my phone. The icon for our company’s internal chat app was flashing manically, the notification count climbing past 99. I glanced at it. Peterson was frantically tagging everyone in the group chat, his message in bold red letters. “Regarding Audrey Hale, no one is to discuss this outside the company! If I hear one word, there will be consequences!” How amusing. As if silencing everyone could make it un-happen. Private messages from my colleagues started popping up like a virus. “Audrey, are you okay? Peterson is losing his mind!” “Oh my God, Audrey, you’re a legend! What the hell happened?” I didn’t reply to any of them. I stood up, walked to the window, and took a deep breath of the city’s afternoon air, thick with the scent of exhaust fumes. The suffocating feeling of betrayal and humiliation finally began to loosen its grip on my chest. There was no confusion, no hesitation. I turned back to my desk and calmly began to pack my personal belongings. The small succulent on my desk, the keyboard I’d used for three years, the well-worn Italian dictionary. Each item I packed felt like shedding a piece of my old, stifled life. By the time I taped the last box shut, my heart was a placid lake. This war… was just getting started. 2 Showing up at the office the next day to sign my severance papers was like walking into my own public execution. Colleagues who had once greeted me with a cheerful “Hey, Audrey!” now avoided my gaze, skirting around me like I was the plague. Their eyes were a mixture of pity, curiosity, and, most of all, fear. Fear of Peterson’s invisible wrath. The air in the HR office was cold enough to freeze. The manager who had screamed at me over the phone now eyed me like a criminal, slamming a thick stack of exit documents onto the desk. “Sign them. Then get out.” Her voice dripped with undisguised contempt, as if my very presence was contaminating the air. I didn’t move. I just calmly flipped through the pages. Under the “Reason for Termination” section, a few words were typed in stark black ink: Gross violation of company policy and leakage of confidential business information. What a convenient, career-ending accusation. They were trying to nail me to the industry’s cross, to ensure I would never work again. “This isn’t true,” I said, looking up at her. My voice was quiet but firm. She scoffed, crossing her arms. “What’s true is what the company says is true. Don’t make this harder than it has to be, Audrey.” Just then, the office door swung open. Jessica strutted in on four-inch stilettos, a file folder clutched in her hands and a smug, triumphant smirk on her face. She feigned surprise when she saw me, pressing a hand to her mouth. “Oh, Audrey, you’re still here? I thought you’d be gone by yesterday.” She drew out my name with a sickeningly sweet, mocking tone. “Mr. Peterson asked me to collect all the files for the Rossi project. I’ll be taking over from now on.” She shot me a provocative glance from the corner of her eye. The HR manager’s demeanor instantly changed, her face melting into a fawning smile. “Of course, Jessica. It’s all right here. Mr. Peterson already gave me the heads-up.” Jessica. Peterson’s distant cousin, a so-called “expat” who’d landed the job through connections and whose Italian sounded like she’d learned it on a construction site. She had been green with envy ever since I was assigned the Rossi account. And now, she had gotten her way. Watching her preen, a cold fury settled in my gut. She leaned in close, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper only I could hear. “Don’t blame me, Audrey. Blame yourself for being in the way. You think talent matters here? It’s all about who you know.” I ignored her taunt. I picked up the pen and signed my name on the termination papers. When I was done, I dropped the pen on the desk with a sharp clatter. Then I stood up and looked Jessica dead in the eye. “You can’t take what’s mine. And even if you manage to grab it, you won’t be able to hold on to it.” Without another word, I turned and walked out of that suffocating office. Behind me, I could hear Jessica’s indignant sputtering and the HR manager’s hushed whispers. As I walked down the long, empty hallway, I could feel eyes on me from every direction. I knew the rumors about me had already spread like wildfire. In their version of the story, I was a corporate spy who had tried to steal company secrets. And it was all because Peterson needed to make room for his family, and he needed a scapegoat for his own incompetence. I was the sacrifice. Stepping out of the building, I was blinded by the harsh afternoon sun. I had been cast out by my entire world. No. Just this rotten, filthy corner of it. I pulled out my phone and went through my contacts. One by one, I blocked every familiar name from the company. As of today, none of it had anything to do with me anymore. 3 Back in my rented apartment, I collapsed onto the sofa. The room was silent, save for the distant hum of traffic from the street below. The quiet felt suffocating, and for the first time, a wave of uncertainty washed over me. I’d lost my job, my reputation was in tatters, and my career felt like it had been sentenced to death with a single phone call. I opened my laptop. The cursor blinked on a blank resume template, taunting me. I couldn’t type a single word. “Top-Tier Italian Interpreter.” It felt like a joke. What company would hire someone publicly branded a traitor by their last employer? A tide of despair rose, threatening to pull me under. I closed my eyes, forcing myself to breathe. Get it together, Audrey. You did nothing wrong. Suddenly, the silence was shattered by the sharp ring of my phone. It was an unknown number with a +39 country code. Italy. My heart hammered against my ribs. An impossible thought flickered in my mind. I took a deep breath and answered. “Pronto?” (Hello?) A polite, professional male voice replied in perfect Italian. “Good morning, am I speaking with Ms. Audrey Hale? This is Marco, Mr. Rossi’s personal assistant.” It was them. I fought to keep my voice steady. “Yes, this is she. How can I help you?” Marco’s tone was warm and sincere. “Ms. Hale, first, on behalf of Mr. Rossi, I would like to apologize for the unexpected interruption to yesterday’s meeting. That was certainly not our intention.” He continued, “Second, Mr. Rossi was incredibly impressed with your professionalism and skill. He considers you one of the finest interpreters he has ever worked with.” His words were a balm to my wounded spirit. In a world that had turned against me, this validation from a client felt like a lifeline. “Thank you,” I said, my voice a little hoarse. “I appreciate you saying that, and please extend my thanks to Mr. Rossi.” “Mr. Rossi is very keen to understand what happened yesterday,” Marco went on. “He believes a professional of your caliber would not disrupt such an important meeting without a very good reason. He was hoping to hear your side of the story directly and would like your personal contact information for future correspondence.” This was it. A chance to clear my name. I could have embellished, painting Peterson and Jessica as the villains they were, begging for Mr. Rossi’s sympathy. But I didn’t. My pride, my professionalism, wouldn’t allow it. I simply stated the facts, my voice even and objective. “During the meeting, I received a call from my company’s human resources department informing me that I was being terminated, effective immediately. I was instructed to cease all work and begin the exit process. I was as surprised as you were. The company did not provide a specific reason.” I delivered the lines without a trace of emotion, as if I were translating a legal document. There was a brief silence on the other end. I could only imagine the surprise Marco—and perhaps Mr. Rossi himself—felt at my composure. “I understand, Ms. Hale,” Marco said, a new note of respect in his voice. “Thank you for your candor. We will be in touch soon. Please take care.” After we hung up, the tension finally drained from my body. A tiny flame of hope flickered to life in the wreckage of my career. Mr. Rossi’s offer was more than just a potential job; it was the ultimate endorsement of my worth. It was proof that true talent could not be buried by lies or suppressed by petty office politics. I sat back down at my computer and deleted the blank resume. My battlefield was no longer on job boards.

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Flying home for the holidays with my girlfriend to meet my parents. After we took off, I went to the restroom. When I came out, the woman in the seat next to me was gone. I called a flight attendant, but she insisted I had boarded the plane alone. I asked the other passengers. They all said the seat beside me had been empty the entire time. But I know, I’m absolutely certain, that I got on this plane with my girlfriend. She had just peeled an orange for me, telling me to eat it when I got back from the restroom. How could she have just vanished? I stared at the peeled orange on my tray table and demanded they search the cargo hold and the cockpit. My outburst forced the plane to make an emergency landing at the nearest airport. The airport police came aboard. They searched every inch of the plane but found no trace of my girlfriend. They couldn’t even find a record of her ever existing. They called my parents. My parents told them I’d always been single, that I’d never had a girlfriend. In the end, I was committed to a psychiatric hospital. The other patients beat me to death. When I opened my eyes, I was back on the plane, on the day I was supposed to take my girlfriend home to meet my parents. 1 “Alex, what are you spacing out for? It’s time to board. Let’s get to the gate.” My girlfriend, Sarah, waved our two boarding passes with a smile. Seeing her gentle face, a shiver ran down my spine. I was back. I had been reborn. I’m twenty-seven, and Sarah and I have been together for three years. I decided to finally take her home to meet my parents for the holidays. I never imagined that this one decision would lead to her vanishing without a trace, and to my own death. Thinking back on my previous life, my mind is still a complete fog. I can’t figure it out. How could a living, breathing person like Sarah just disappear mid-flight? Why did the flight attendant and all the passengers, who I know saw us board together, all sing the same tune, insisting they’d never seen her? And my parents… they’ve always doted on me. They knew we’d been dating for three years. Why would they lie and say I’d never had a girlfriend? “Alex, you look terrible. Are you feeling okay?” Sarah was looking at me, her brow furrowed with concern. A pang of grief hit me. For three years, she had been nothing but good to me. She knew I had a sensitive stomach, and though she’d never cooked before, she learned just for me, preparing three meals a day without fail. In over a thousand days together, we never once had a fight. That’s why her disappearance in my past life had driven me mad, why I had risked everything to find her. I still don’t know what really happened then, but I refuse to let history repeat itself. I looked at Sarah, my voice tight with a fear that was all too real. “Maybe… maybe we shouldn’t take this flight. We could change it, or take a train instead.” Sarah blinked, then her expression softened into a fond smile. “What are you talking about, silly?” “It’s the holiday travel rush. There aren’t any other tickets.” “We spent three days trying to get these. If we cancel them, we won’t be able to go home at all.” She was right. Changing our plans was impossible. But the thought of getting on this specific plane, knowing it led to one of us dead and the other missing, made my stomach churn with anxiety. What could I do? Was there no other way? Wait. In my last life, the reason I was sent to a psych ward was because no one except me could prove Sarah had ever been on that plane. So this time, all I need to do is create undeniable proof that she boarded with me. With that thought, I pulled out my phone. Arm in arm with Sarah, I started snapping pictures of us as we walked through the gate, down the jet bridge, and onto the plane. I documented everything until we were in our seats and the cabin doors were sealed. Then, I posted a photo dump to my social media feed with the caption: “Boarded and ready to go! Taking the girl home to meet the parents.” The post immediately started racking up likes and comments: “So sweet! Wishing you guys the best~” “Wow, meeting the parents! It’s getting serious! Congrats!” “Safe travels! Can’t wait for the wedding!” Just to be safe, I took one more photo of us holding our boarding passes together and sent it to my family’s group chat. “Mom, Dad, Sarah and I are on the plane. We’ll land in three hours.” My mom replied instantly: “We finally get to meet our future daughter-in-law! Your father and I have already bought all the groceries. We’re just waiting for you to get home!” 2 Seeing my mom’s reply and the dozens of well wishes on my post, I finally let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. There. Now no one could possibly say I didn’t have a girlfriend. As the plane began to taxi, the flight attendant instructed everyone to switch their phones to airplane mode. Then, she started beverage service. When she got to our row, the flight attendant, Jessica, had the same mishap as last time. Another passenger bumped into her, causing her to spill a little orange juice on me. “Oh, I’m so sorry, so sorry,” Jessica apologized, reaching for some napkins. But Sarah was quicker. She was already dabbing at the stain on my shirt with a tissue. “It’s okay, I’ve got it,” she said gently. Jessica offered a polite smile of thanks. Then she looked at me and said with genuine warmth, “Your girlfriend is so sweet.” I stared at Jessica, really stared at her. In my last life, she had said those exact words. But after Sarah vanished, when I frantically asked if she’d seen my girlfriend, she had just looked at me with a blank expression. “Sir, are you sure you’re not mistaken?” “I’m quite sure I saw you board alone.” To prevent her from changing her story this time, I immediately put on a friendly smile. “Could I ask you for a small favor?” Jessica looked at me, puzzled. “What is it?” I held up my phone. “Today is the first time I’m taking my girlfriend home to meet my parents, and I want to document the trip. Would you mind taking a quick photo with us?” “Just as a memento.” Jessica nodded without hesitation. “Of course.” We snapped a quick selfie: me, Sarah, and Jessica the flight attendant. I saved the photo carefully, then turned my attention to the elderly man sitting across the aisle, Mr. Peters. He was in his late sixties, and his seat was the closest to ours. In my past life, another passenger had bumped into him while he was finding his seat, and Sarah had been the one to catch him and help him get settled. He had thanked her profusely at the time. That’s why he was the first person I had asked. But his response had been chillingly firm. He claimed the seat next to me had been empty the entire flight. To make sure he remembered Sarah this time, I gently tapped him on the shoulder. “Excuse me, sir.” He looked up. “Yes?” I feigned nervousness and gestured toward Sarah. “I was just wondering… what do you think of my girlfriend? My parents haven’t met her yet, and I’m a little anxious.” Mr. Peters gave Sarah a thorough, kind look, then nodded in approval. “She’s a very beautiful young woman. A perfect match for you.” “Your parents will be thrilled.” His answer was a small relief. I thanked him and sank back into my seat, lost in thought. Both Jessica and Mr. Peters had reacted naturally. There was no hesitation in their words, no shiftiness in their eyes. So where did it all go wrong? Why, after interacting directly with Sarah, would they later deny ever having seen her? I decided to take it a step further. I pulled Sarah to her feet. Under her confused gaze, I raised my voice and addressed the entire cabin. “Excuse me, everyone. Sorry to bother you for just a moment.” “Today is a very important day for me. I’m taking my girlfriend home to meet my parents for the first time. We’ve been together for three years, and we’re planning to get engaged right after this trip.” “To be flying with all of you at thirty thousand feet on such a special occasion feels like a unique kind of fate. So, I was hoping you could all give us your blessing. Would that be okay?” A ripple of interest went through the cabin as all eyes turned to us. They didn’t disappoint. A warm, friendly round of applause filled the air. “Congratulations! Wishing you a lifetime of happiness!” “You two are so cute together! All the best!” “Can’t wait for the wedding!” Amid the chorus of good wishes, Sarah beamed, her cheeks flushed a bright red. After thanking everyone, she quickly pulled me back into my seat. “Alex, what has gotten into you today?” she whispered, embarrassed but pleased. “You’re being so public.” I squeezed her hand tightly, my voice deadly serious. “I’m just so afraid of losing you.” Now the entire plane was our witness. Nothing could possibly go wrong this time. 3 Hearing my words, Sarah gently stroked my hair. “Silly. I love you so much. How could I ever let you lose me?” “You’re just nervous about me meeting your parents, aren’t you?” To calm my nerves, she pulled an orange, my favorite fruit, from her carry-on bag. She peeled it carefully and held a segment to my lips. “Stop overthinking. Have something to eat. We still have over an hour to go.” I looked at the piece of orange she offered, and my blood ran cold. This was the exact moment. In my last life, I felt the urge to use the restroom right then. When I came back, she was gone. Only the peeled orange remained. I felt the same urge now, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave my seat. I ate the orange slice, my grip on her hand tightening. “From this moment on, you are not to leave my sight for a single second.” Sarah gave a helpless smile. “Okay, okay. I won’t move an inch.” Just as she said that, the plane gave a violent lurch. “Ladies and gentlemen, we are experiencing some turbulence. Please remain in your seats with your seatbelts fastened and hold on to your armrests.” As the announcement played, the shaking grew worse. The cabin lights flickered erratically, then went out completely, plunging us into absolute darkness. Everyone gripped their armrests, frozen in place. Two seconds later, the lights flickered back on. The plane stabilized. Still shaken, my first instinct was to grab the arm next to me. But my hand met nothing but air. I whipped my head to the side. Sarah’s seat was empty. The orange was still on the tray table. But Sarah was gone. She was just holding my hand a second ago! How could she have disappeared in the blink of an eye? A suffocating wave of panic washed over me. I tore off my seatbelt and jumped to my feet, my eyes darting wildly around the cabin. I checked the aisles, the restrooms, even under the seats. Nothing. She was nowhere. Sarah had vanished again. “Flight attendant! Flight attendant!” I yelled, my voice cracking. Jessica rushed over. “Sir, what’s wrong?” I pointed a trembling finger at the empty seat. “My girlfriend! She’s gone!” “She was here during the turbulence, but when the lights went out, she disappeared!” Jessica’s brow furrowed. She glanced at the empty seat, her expression one of pure confusion. “Sir, are you sure you’re not mistaken?” “We only saw you board the plane. We didn’t see a girlfriend with you.” There it was again. That same blank, bewildered look. Those same chillingly familiar words. My heart hammered against my ribs. I fumbled for my phone, scrolling frantically through my photo album. “How could you not have seen her?” I shouted. “You just took a picture with us…” My voice died in my throat. I froze. The photo of the three of us—me, Sarah, and Jessica—was gone. My social media post with all our pictures, my message to the family group chat… everything had vanished without a trace. What was happening? “Sir, I don’t know what photo you’re talking about, but I truly have never seen the girlfriend you describe.” “We are currently in flight. Please return to your seat and fasten your seatbelt.” I ignored her and turned to Mr. Peters. “Sir, you saw her, didn’t you? You just saw my girlfriend!” “You even said she was beautiful and that my parents would love her.” Mr. Peters looked up at me, completely baffled. “Young man, what are you talking about?” “When did I say anything about your girlfriend? I’ve never even seen her.” “From the moment we boarded until now, I’ve only seen you sitting there by yourself. This seat next to you has been empty the whole time!” His tone was so certain, so matter-of-fact, as if he was stating the most obvious truth in the world. But that only made my fear spike. “That’s impossible!” “You just complimented her a few minutes ago! She’s been with me this whole time! You had to have seen her!” My outburst drew strange looks from the other passengers. “Hey, buddy, I remember you getting on alone, too.” “The seat next to you has been empty the whole flight. What girlfriend are you talking about?” “Are you okay? Maybe the turbulence scared you, and you’re… confused or something?” I looked at the sea of questioning faces, my mind reeling. “But you all just applauded for us! You wished us a lifetime of happiness! You congratulated us!” “Have you all forgotten?!” A wave of confused murmurs and shaking heads swept through the cabin. “Applause? For what?” “It’s been quiet this whole flight. No one was congratulating anyone.” “Hey kid, you don’t look so good. Maybe you should sit down and rest.” They spoke one after another, their expressions open, their gazes clear. It was as if the moment of shared celebration had never happened. 4 But how could that be? I remembered it all so clearly. The events, the images, they were burned into my mind. There was no mistake. How could a living person just vanish at thirty thousand feet? Why was everyone denying they had ever seen her? And why had all the photos on my phone disappeared? “Sarah, where are you?!” I was on the verge of a complete breakdown, screaming her name into the void. Jessica and the other flight attendants closed in, trying to calm me down. “Sir, your behavior is disturbing the other passengers. Please return to your seat and remain quiet.” I shook my head wildly. “No! My girlfriend is missing! I have to find her!” My continued shouting forced the pilot to divert the flight. We made an emergency landing at the nearest airport. The moment the cabin door opened, several airport police officers boarded the plane. Jessica immediately pointed me out to the lead officer, a stern-looking man named Detective Russo. “It’s him. He boarded alone but insists his girlfriend disappeared from the plane. He refuses to listen to reason and has been causing a disturbance.” Desperate to avoid being sent back to the psych ward, I forced myself to speak calmly. “Officer, I’m not causing trouble. I’m looking for my girlfriend, Sarah. She was on this plane with me, and now she’s gone.” “She has to be here somewhere. Please, I’m begging you, help me find her.” My pleas must have seemed genuine enough, because Detective Russo eventually agreed to search the plane. They were meticulous, but in the end, they found nothing. Detective Russo looked me over, his expression grim. “We’ve searched the aircraft from top to bottom, even checked every passenger’s luggage. There is no sign of the woman you described.” “A person can’t just vanish from a plane, son. Are you absolutely certain she boarded with you?” Tears of frustration welled in my eyes. “I’m certain.” “I took pictures of the entire boarding process and posted them online! I sent a photo to my family! I know the posts are gone now, but my parents and my friends, they all saw them!” My conviction seemed to sway him. Detective Russo took down my parents’ number and made the call right there. But when he asked my mother if she had seen the photo I sent to the group chat, her voice came through the speaker, laced with confusion. “What photo? I didn’t see any photo.” “And my son has always been single. He’s never had a girlfriend.” My world shattered. I grabbed the phone, my voice trembling with disbelief. “Mom, what are you talking about? You knew I was bringing Sarah home! You’ve known about her for three years!” There was a two-second pause, then my mom’s voice, even more bewildered than before. “Alex, what on earth are you saying? Your father and I have been nagging you for years to find a girlfriend, and you always said you weren’t interested in dating.” “You’ve been single all this time. How could you possibly have a girlfriend of three years?” What was happening? Why was my mom denying it all, just like last time? But I had my friends. My social media post. They could prove it. “My friends can vouch for me!” I said desperately to Detective Russo. “I posted about it! They all knew I was bringing my girlfriend home to meet my parents!” Detective Russo, patient but skeptical, contacted the friends whose names I gave him, the same friends who had commented on my post. Their responses were identical. “A social media post? I didn’t see anything.” “Alex? He’s famously single in our friend group. There’s no way he has a girlfriend.” “I’ve known him since we were kids. He’s never mentioned a girlfriend, let alone posted about one online. That’s impossible.” No matter who Detective Russo called, the answer was the same. No one had seen my post. And everyone was certain I didn’t have a girlfriend. But I saw their comments. I saw their blessings under my photos! What in God’s name was going on? As I stood there, utterly lost, the other passengers began to complain. “See? The guy’s got issues. He imagined a non-existent girlfriend and caused all this trouble.” “Yeah, even his own parents and friends say he’s single. How can he stand there and keep looking for someone who isn’t real?” “What a waste of time. I’m trying to get home for the holidays, and we’re stuck here because of some psycho.” “Just take him to a mental hospital already and let us get on with our lives.” The cabin was filled with angry murmurs. Detective Russo shook his head wearily and gave the order. “Take him to the hospital for an evaluation.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “394902”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Right after I found out I was pregnant, my husband’s first love—the woman he had pined for over ten years—returned to the country. He didn’t hesitate for a second. He threw a divorce agreement on the table and demanded I sign. I walked away with absolutely nothing. I secretly gave birth to my daughter, assuming our lives would never cross paths again. Until five years later. Desperate to scrape together enough money for my daughter’s life-saving surgery, I took a job as an escort at an underground VIP nightclub. When we met again, he was sitting in the center booth, surrounded by men treating him like royalty. One of his rich friends pointed a cigar at my heavily made-up face and laughed maliciously. “Declan, this one’s gorgeous. Mind if I drag her to the bathroom for a quick spin?” Declan slowly lifted his eyes. His cold gaze locked onto my face. He let out a low, mocking chuckle, reached into his pocket, and tossed a foil packet onto the glass table. “Be my guest. Just make sure you use that. You don’t want to catch whatever diseases she has.” … I forced my hips to sway as I walked over and picked the foil packet off the glass. Then, moving smoothly, I dropped to my knees right beside Declan’s tailored suit pants. I tilted my head up, forcing my voice to sound sickeningly sweet. “Thank you for the gift, Mr. Molesley.” “You’re so generous. As long as the price is right, I can belong to anyone tonight.” Someone in the booth whistled sharply, laughing. “Damn, Declan, your ex-wife knows how to play the game!” “No kidding. She’s way looser than the professionals we usually hire. I bet she’s a wild ride.” Declan’s friend grinned, leaning over and gripping my arm tightly, hauling me to my feet. “Come on, sweetheart. Let me show you a good time!” Every alarm bell in my head was screaming, but I didn’t dare fight back. This was their territory. I kept a frozen smile on my face as he half-dragged, half-carried me toward the private restrooms down the hall. I threw a desperate look back over my shoulder at Declan. He sat perfectly still, his face an emotionless mask, slowly lighting a cigarette. He didn’t lift a finger to stop it. The second we hit the bathroom doorway, the rich kid’s hands started aggressively wandering, his breath reeking of expensive liquor. “Stop playing hard to get, beautiful. Declan threw you away like trash. Who are you putting on this act for?” “Let me take care of you, and I’ll make sure you never have to work a day in your life.” The sheer terror in my eyes finally broke through my makeup. Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted an empty whiskey bottle resting on the sink counter. Using every ounce of adrenaline in my body, I grabbed it by the neck and smashed it down onto his wrist. He howled in agony, his grip loosening just enough. I shoved him backward and ran for my life, tearing back down the hallway in a blind panic. I crashed headfirst into a solid, unmoving chest. Gasping for air, I looked up. I was staring straight into Declan’s icy, calculating eyes. He wasn’t angry. Instead, he looked down at me, the corner of his mouth lifting in a cruel, amused smirk as he took in my disheveled, terrified state. “What’s wrong?” “Did you price yourself out of the market?” The men who had followed him out into the hall started jeering. “What’s the matter, Stella? Was his offer too low? Come on, give us a number!” Declan’s voice cut through the noise, dropping the temperature in the room. “Or maybe he just wasn’t enough man for you. You want me to take you for a test drive instead?” Instead of breaking down under the humiliation, I leaned into the madness. I dropped to my knees right on the sticky club floor, landing back at his feet. I reached out, my trembling fingers grazing the hem of his trousers, and offered him the most broken, wretched smile I could muster. “You’re too funny, Mr. Molesley. Of course I’d rather have you take me for a test drive.” “It’s just… his offer was insulting.” “You know me. I’m incredible in bed, but my rates are steep.” “If the price is right, you don’t even need to test drive me. You can break me.” The mockery in his eyes darkened into something violent. He pulled his leather wallet from his jacket, pulled out a thick stack of hundred-dollar bills, and violently slapped the entire stack directly across my face. His voice was pure venom. “You want to negotiate? Fine.” “Two grand for every slap.” “How much can you take?” I needed twenty thousand dollars to hit the hospital’s account by tomorrow morning, or my daughter would be taken off life support. Without a second of hesitation, I nodded. My cheek was stinging, but I kept the smile plastered on. “I can take it. Keep them coming. Thank you, Mr. Molesley.” He raised his hand. He didn’t hold back. The first strike connected with a sickening crack. My left ear instantly started ringing in a high-pitched whine. “That’s for insulting my friend.” The second strike snapped my head to the side. “That’s to remind you of your place.” The men in the hallway watched with morbid fascination. I saw camera flashes going off as they recorded the spectacle. Surrounded by a crowd of laughing billionaires, I stayed on my knees, smiling through split lips, taking over a dozen full-force slaps without making a single sound. My cheeks swelled grotesquely, and the metallic taste of blood filled my mouth, dripping down my chin. Eventually, he grew bored. He lowered his hand, his chest heaving slightly. He pulled a pristine white handkerchief from his breast pocket and meticulously wiped the hand he had used to beat me, pressing hard into the skin. As if he had just touched raw sewage. He dropped the soiled cloth onto my battered face. His voice was a quiet, devastating sneer. “The old Mrs. Molesley used to be so high and mighty, completely untouchable. Look at you now. You’re cheaper than a stray dog.” I scrambled to pick up the scattered bills off the floor, swallowing the blood pooling in my mouth to force out a laugh. “You’re absolutely right, sir. But a stray dog doesn’t know how to beg for cash the way I do, does she?” Clutching the thick wad of life-saving cash to my chest, I ignored the throbbing agony in my skull and practically crawled my way out of the club, stumbling into the night air. As the heavy doors swung shut behind me, I faintly heard a woman’s soft, elegant voice calling his name from down the hall. It was the voice he had always loved. The gentleness that used to be mine, but never would be again. In the dingy employee locker room, I stood over the rusted sink, desperately splashing freezing water onto my destroyed face. The woman in the cracked mirror had bruised, swollen cheeks and a busted lip, but her eyes were burning with a terrifying, feral light. I gripped the wet cash in my fist. There was only one thought keeping me breathing. If it meant saving my daughter, I wouldn’t just become a dog. I would become a monster. And I would do it gladly. 2 The moment I pushed through the back doors of the nightclub, my phone began vibrating violently in my cheap purse. It was the hospital. “Are you the mother of the patient in bed 23? The child’s vitals just crashed. She needs emergency surgery right now. We need you here to sign the consent forms! We’ve been trying to reach you!” The nurse’s voice was cracking with panic. “If you don’t get here in the next ten minutes, we’re going to lose her!” An icy fist seized my heart, squeezing until I couldn’t breathe. A torrential downpour had hit the city. I stood on the curb, instantly soaked to the bone by the freezing rain, frantically waving at empty cabs that sped right past me. Panic clawed at my throat. I was seconds away from throwing myself in front of moving traffic just to force a car to stop. Suddenly, a massive black SUV swerved aggressively through the puddle in front of me, throwing a wave of dirty water over my legs, and slammed on the brakes. The tinted window hummed downward, revealing Declan’s handsome, shadow-drenched face. Bathed in the warm, ambient light of the luxury interior, Serena—his untouchable first love—was leaning intimately against his shoulder. When she saw me standing in the storm looking like a drowned rat, a flash of vicious triumph flickered in her eyes. It vanished instantly, replaced by a mask of angelic, heartbreaking pity. She reached out, gently tugging at Declan’s suit sleeve, her voice trembling with manufactured concern. “Declan, isn’t that… Stella? What is she doing out here? Look at her, she’s freezing. And her face… it’s awful.” She paused perfectly, letting her voice drop into a conspiratorial whisper. “I heard some rumors recently… people are saying she got mixed up with some lowlife guy. He doesn’t work, and he’s deep in debt to loan sharks. You don’t think she’s running out in the middle of a storm to give him the money you just threw at her, do you? Declan, that cash you gave her…” It was a masterclass in manipulation. She knew exactly which buttons to press to trigger his deepest insecurities and rage. Declan’s face instantly hardened into a mask of pure, lethal fury. He turned to look at the “fragile” woman clinging to him, his expression softening for a fraction of a second, before barking a cold order at his driver. “Take Serena home first.” Mission accomplished. Serena offered a meek, obedient nod, but right before the tinted glass rolled up, she shot me a look of pure, unadulterated victory. The heavy SUV peeled away into the storm, abandoning me on the sidewalk. I let out a ragged breath of relief, thinking the nightmare was over, and sprinted down the block trying to flag down another taxi. But less than five minutes later, the black SUV came roaring back up the street, performing a violent, screeching U-turn and slamming to a halt inches from my knees. The rear door was kicked open from the inside. Declan stepped out into the pouring rain alone. He had ripped off his tie. He stalked toward me, the violence in his eyes completely unhinged. He hated the idea that I was degrading myself to fund another man’s life. But he hated it even more that I dared to look so utterly broken and desperate in front of him. “In a rush to go bail out your deadbeat boyfriend?” He lunged forward, grabbing a fistful of my soaking wet hair, and brutally slammed me backward against the cold metal hood of the car. The rain battered against my swollen face. “Drop the innocent martyr act!” His breath was hot against my ear, his voice a low, terrifying growl. “Are you really that desperate for a man, Stella?” “Five grand. Right here on the hood of the car. Are you taking it or not?” Without Serena there to perform for, his cruelty became visceral and completely unrestrained. Hearing the dollar amount, my desperate thrashing froze for a split second. I turned my head. Rain and tears tracked through the drying blood on my face as I forced out a grotesque, hollow smile. “Only five?” “You’re insulting me, Declan.” I forced my chest upward, leaning into the degradation. “What’s wrong? Your precious first love just left and you’re already starved for attention?” “Makes sense. I’ve always been a much better ride than her anyway.” That was the final match in the powder keg. The last thread of his sanity snapped. His hand shot to my throat, his fingers tightening like a steel vice, threatening to crush my windpipe. As his vision narrowed in blind rage, I seized my chance. I brought my hand up and dragged my jagged fingernails violently down the side of his neck, leaving three deep, bleeding gashes. I screamed, my voice tearing my vocal cords. “You’re going to rot in hell for this, Declan!” 3 The stinging pain on his neck obliterated whatever was left of his self-control. His eyes went dead. He yanked the heavy car door open and threw me into the back seat like a bag of garbage. He slammed the door, the electronic locks clicking shut with a heavy thud, and shouted at the driver through the partition. “Drive. Take us to the cliffside estate.” I knew I had pushed too far. I thought antagonizing him would make him disgusted enough to throw me back onto the street. Instead, I had trapped myself. As the car accelerated, pulling me further and further away from the hospital, I dropped to my knees on the floorboards. I didn’t care about my pride anymore. I threw my upper body forward, slamming my forehead against the expensive leather of his seat. The dull thud echoed in the quiet cabin. “Declan, I’m begging you. I was wrong!” “I have an emergency! Someone is going to die!” “Just let me go to this one place! Just this one place!” “Once I’m done, I’ll come right back to you! You can kill me for all I care, just let me go!” He stared down at me, his eyes entirely devoid of humanity. He was getting high off the absolute power he held over my suffering. “Your life is worthless.” He casually adjusted his cuffs, entirely unbothered by my screaming. “I just wanted to see you crawling on your knees like a dog. It’s incredibly entertaining.” In his warped mind, my total breakdown was just a theatrical performance to get back to my imaginary lover. “What’s the matter? Your little toy boy taking his last breath?” “Is he really worth throwing away your last shred of dignity for?” At that exact second, my phone started vibrating violently in my wet pocket. In the dim light of the backseat, the bright screen illuminated the interior. The caller ID flashed in massive, bold letters: “City Gen – Pediatric ICU.” It was the lifeline. The only hope my daughter had left. I let out a choked sob and threw myself at my pocket, clawing desperately for the phone. But Declan was faster. He snatched the device out of my hand. He glanced at the caller ID, and the cruel smirk on his face deepened. “City Gen Pediatric ICU?” He read the words aloud like the punchline to a pathetic joke. “You changed your boyfriend’s contact name, and you actually hired someone to call you? You went through all this effort just to trick me into letting you out of this car?” “Wow, Stella. Let’s see how deep your commitment to this little play goes.” Right in front of my horrified eyes, he swiped to answer the call. And just to twist the knife, he put it on speaker. Dr. Harrison’s voice ripped through the speakers, his usual calm demeanor completely shattered. “Stella! Where the hell are you?! The child’s heart rate is plunging! I need you here to sign off on the bypass right now! Every second you’re not here, she is slipping away!” It was the sound of the grim reaper standing over my baby’s bed. Hearing that voice, my organs felt like they were liquefying. I threw myself over the center console, screaming at the top of my lungs. “Doctor! Save her! I’m coming—” Declan’s large hand clamped brutally over my mouth, cutting off my scream, as he forced me back down against the seat. He leaned toward the phone. His voice was casual, bored, without a single drop of empathy. “She’s busy.” The doctor froze for a second. “Who is this? The patient is coding…” Declan let out a harsh laugh, cutting the doctor off mid-sentence. “Save the script. I’ve seen better acting in soap operas. Tell the kid to stop playing dead. It’s not going to work.” “If she wants to pull the plug, let her. Deal with it yourselves.” He didn’t wait for a response. His thumb hit the red button, killing the call. Then, he rolled down the tinted window. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed my phone—my only connection to my dying child—out the window and into the black abyss of the highway overpass. I stared blankly at the window. I watched the tiny, glowing rectangle vanish into the rain. It felt as though I was watching the monitor tracking my daughter’s heartbeat flatline in real time. A sound tore out of my throat—a guttural, inhuman shriek of pure agony. I lost my mind. I threw myself at him, snapping my teeth, trying to rip out his throat. He backhanded me so hard my vision flashed white, and I collapsed against the far door. My ears rang violently. The car tore through the rain, heading into the mountains, leaving the hospital miles behind us. I curled into a tight, trembling ball on the floorboards, clutching my chest as the invisible blades shredded my heart into ribbons. I could feel it in my bones. The most important piece of my soul was fading away into the dark. When we reached the isolated estate, he dragged my limp body into a guest room and threw me onto the rug like a corpse. The heavy oak door slammed shut, and the lock clicked into place. “You’re not leaving this room tonight.” His voice bled through the wood, cold and absolute. “Spend the night figuring out how to properly get on your knees and beg.” 4 The next morning, I lay paralyzed on the cold carpet. My eyes were wide open, staring blankly at the ceiling, completely dead inside. The extreme trauma and grief had triggered a violent physical response. My body began to convulse, burning with a terrifyingly high fever. Declan unlocked the door, intending to continue his psychological torture. But when he saw me, he froze. My lips were cracked and bleeding, my skin the color of ash. He reached down to touch my forehead. The blistering heat radiating from my skin made him snatch his hand back like he’d been burned. He let out a frustrated breath, cursing under his breath. “Damn it.” “Who are you pretending to die for? Don’t do it in my house. It’s disgusting.” Despite the venom in his words, he bent down, scooped my shaking body into his arms, and carried me to the car, speeding toward the nearest hospital. By pure, horrific coincidence, the closest emergency room was City General. In the passenger seat, I was drifting in and out of consciousness. But my cracked lips kept moving, chanting the same broken prayer over and over. “Too late… I’m too late… My Penny…” Declan gripped the steering wheel, sneering. “Still acting? You never quit, do you?” When I finally woke up from the IV drip in the ER, the overwhelming stench of bleach and iodine slammed into my senses, dragging me out of the darkness. My eyes snapped open. My heart hammered against my ribs—the terrifying, biological alarm of a mother who knew her child was gone. I ripped the IV out of my arm, ignoring the blood running down my hand, and tried to bolt for the door to find my daughter. Declan stepped into the room and grabbed my wrist, crushing it in his grip. He glared down at me, unleashing a barrage of insults. “Are you out of your mind? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” “Still trying to run back to your pathetic loser boyfriend?” “You collapsing in my house forced me to bring you here. Serena found out. She thinks you’re putting on this sick little show to seduce me! She’s locked in her room crying right now!” “Get up. You’re coming with me to apologize to her. You’re going to get on your knees and explain everything.” The roaring in my ears drowned out his psychotic rambling. I didn’t care about him. I didn’t care about his precious Serena. I wanted my baby. With a surge of hysterical strength, I shoved him backward. I didn’t even stop to put my shoes on. Barefoot, I sprinted down the linoleum hallway toward the Pediatric ICU. “Have you lost your damn mind?! Come back here!” Declan’s furious shouts echoed behind me, but I didn’t look back. I crashed through the double doors of the ICU wing and sprinted to Bed 23. A nurse was quietly stripping the sheets off an empty mattress. That bed. I had spent months sleeping in a plastic chair next to that bed. I lunged forward, grabbing the nurse’s arm with a grip like a vise. My entire body was shaking so violently my teeth rattled. “Excuse me… where is the girl from Bed 23?” “Where is my baby?” The nurse turned. When she recognized my face, her eyes filled with a heavy, devastating sorrow. “You’re the mother?” “I am so sorry. We did absolutely everything we could.” “At 2 AM last night, she went into multi-organ failure. We desperately needed you to sign the authorization for the bypass.” She let out a shaky sigh. “We called you dozens of times. It just kept going to voicemail.” “Right before she passed, she kept crying out for you… There was nothing more we could do.” “She’s gone. Transport just took her down to the morgue.” Last night. 2 AM. The exact moment he ripped the phone out of my hand and threw it off the bridge. The exact moment he locked me in a dark room and smothered my only hope of saving her. A sickening, metallic warmth surged up my throat. I couldn’t hold it back. I violently coughed, and a spray of dark blood erupted from my lips, splattering across the pristine white tiles of the hospital floor. Declan finally caught up to me. Seeing the blood dripping from my chin, the rage vanished from his face, replaced by sudden shock. He opened his mouth, stepping forward to say something. I slowly turned to face him. My face was smeared with my own blood, but the corners of my mouth stretched upward into a smile so twisted, so completely broken, it barely looked human. I stared right through him, forcing the words out of my ruined throat. “Declan. Congratulations.” He froze, his eyes widening. I enunciated every single syllable. “You personally killed your own biological daughter.”

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A trip to the mountains with my husband and best friend. Then the blizzard hit. Now, we’re trapped. The three of us were snowed in. My best friend, Zoe, suggested she and my husband, Mark, go out to find supplies, leaving me to rest in our rented cabin with a raging fever. I don’t know how much time passed before a frantic pounding rattled the door. Mark’s voice, raw with panic and pain, tore through the wood. “Ava! Open the door, please! Zoe’s lost it! She went crazy over the supplies, she… she cut me!” Just then, a text from Zoe lit up my phone. “Ava, run! Don’t you dare open that door! Mark is trying to kill us! I’m hiding outside, don’t trust a word he says!” I stared at the two conflicting messages, a cold sweat breaking out across my skin. The first time this happened, I chose to trust Zoe. I didn’t open the door. In the end, Zoe hacked Mark to death with an axe, then broke into the cabin and strangled the life out of me. The second time, I chose to trust Mark. The moment I unlatched the door, he burst in, his eyes wild with madness, and stabbed me until I bled out on the floor. No matter who I chose, the outcome was always the same: death. And I never understood why. Why did they have to kill me? When I opened my eyes again, I was back on that very same day. This time, I would find the truth. 1 I snapped back to reality, my hand hovering over the doorknob. I snatched it back as if the metal were white-hot. The ghosts of my two previous deaths were still fresh, a chilling dread coiling in my gut. Hearing my silence, Mark began to hammer on the door with more force. “Ava, hurry! You have to let me in before she gets back! If she finds us together, we’re both dead!” My phone buzzed again. It was Zoe, calling me. Her voice was a ragged whisper. “Ava! Don’t open that door! He’s lying! Think about it—Mark’s a gym rat. How could I possibly overpower him?” “Besides,” she continued, her logic sharp despite her panicked tone, “if I was the one who hurt him, wouldn’t I have gotten back here first? Why did he, the injured one, beat me to the cabin?” From outside, Mark must have heard her voice. His own tone shifted, laced with suspicion. “Ava, who are you talking to?” “Don’t listen to her, Ava! Zoe planned this! She had a fruit knife hidden on her. She told me to scout ahead, then attacked me from behind when my back was turned! I tried to fight her off, but it was too late. My arm is bleeding, and in this blizzard… if I didn’t run, I’d have frozen to death out there with her! I broke free and ran straight back to you!” His performance was drenched in sincerity. I fought against the fog of my fever, my eyes landing on the heavy wooden cabinet in the corner. With a surge of adrenaline, I pushed it against the door, barricading us in. Mark heard the scraping sound and his voice grew frantic. “Ava, what are you doing? Don’t you believe me? Open the door! I’m losing a lot of blood. If I don’t get warm soon, I’m not going to make it! And if something happens to me, you’ll be all alone when she gets here!” When I still didn’t answer, his voice cracked with desperation. “Look! I’ll prove it! I really am hurt!” A pained grunt followed, and then his voice turned weak. “I’m sliding a piece of cloth under the door. It’s soaked in my blood.” “It’s so cold… I was afraid the wound would get infected, so I ripped off a piece of my shirt to wrap it. It’s the only reason I made it back.” I knelt down and picked up the bloody strip of fabric. The coppery tang of blood filled the air, a stark reminder of the danger I was in. He was telling the truth. He was hurt. Just then, another text from Zoe appeared. Ava, he’s tricking you! Look closely at that scrap of fabric. It’s not from his shirt! 2 I rubbed my throbbing temples. She was right. The color and texture of the cloth didn’t match the flannel shirt Mark was wearing. My fever was making it impossible to think clearly. I could only hope their words would reveal the truth. Zoe’s next text came through: Mark wants to kill us to buy himself more time until rescue arrives! He’s the one who tried to hoard the supplies, and now he wants to use us as an emergency food source! A picture followed the text. In it, Zoe’s face was deathly pale. A long, gruesome gash ran across her stomach, the ripped fabric of her parka visible beside it. I didn’t want to worry you, so I didn’t say anything before. This is what he did to me. I was lucky I reacted fast enough to get away. If I hadn’t, I’d be dead. A jolt went through me. She had been my friend for over a decade; my instinct was to worry. Are you okay? I typed back. I’ve patched it up. Don’t worry about me. Now do you believe me? I stared at the photo of the wound, my throat dry. “Send me a video,” I said out loud, as if she could hear me. A photo could be faked. After a moment of silence, a video file appeared. I played it. Zoe, looking exhausted, held up the camera and gave me a grim middle finger. The gash on her stomach was still weeping blood. It looked real. She was definitely hurt. But… I frowned, then carefully lowered myself to the floor, pressing my cheek against the cold wood to peek through the crack beneath the door. The moment I did, a single, bloodshot eye stared right back at me. A short, strangled scream escaped my lips before I clamped my hand over my mouth. “Sorry, Ava, I didn’t mean to scare you,” Mark’s voice came, feigning concern. “You were so quiet, I was worried you’d passed out from the fever.” But the pounding on the door intensified, turning from desperate knocks into violent blows. I scrambled backward, my heart hammering against my ribs, my body slick with cold sweat. The look in Mark’s eye hadn’t been concern. It was the look of a man lost in the desert who’d just stumbled upon an oasis. It was pure, ravenous craving. We were in a tough spot, sure, but we weren’t desperate enough for… cannibalism, were we? What bothered me more was what I’d seen in that brief glimpse. There were indeed drops of blood staining the snow where he knelt. The cotton stuffing was spilling from a tear in his jacket. He hadn’t been lying about that. His voice turned into a pathetic plea. “Ava, please, let me in! I’m so cold… I think I’m getting hypothermia…” His words were faint, but I held my ground. “If you’re telling the truth,” I challenged, “then why isn’t Zoe back yet? It’s been ages.” Mark let out a series of weak coughs. “Did you forget? Zoe has a terrible sense of direction! Without me to guide her, she’s probably wandering in circles right now. If you don’t open this door, she’ll eventually find her way back. She has a weapon, and I’m too weak to fight. We’ll both be finished! I… I don’t have much strength left…” 3 I slapped my forehead, cursing the fever that was clouding my judgment. He was right. Zoe couldn’t find her way out of a paper bag. It’s why she’d insisted Mark go with her instead of them splitting up to search. Just then, a video call from Zoe came through. I hesitated for a second before answering. On the screen, her face was a ghostly white, her lips chapped and dry. Her voice was a hoarse, urgent whisper. “He’s lying! I know my sense of direction is crap, but the ground is covered in fresh snow! He ran off in a panic. All I have to do is follow his footprints! How could I possibly get lost?” “Ava, I’m begging you, don’t open that door! That bloody cloth he gave you? It’s from my jacket! I tore his when I was fighting him off. He’s the one who’s lost his mind, Ava. I don’t dare come back to the cabin. I found a small cave to hide in. I’m trying to call for help. Don’t let him in! Whatever you do, protect yourself!” “You have to wait for me!” She spoke with such intensity that her features seemed to strain with the effort. Her words sent a fresh wave of fear through me, and I backed away from the door, tears welling in my eyes. I grabbed a thick fireplace poker, the only weapon I could find. It wasn’t much, but it was something. My only real hope was that the old wooden door was strong enough to hold. Zoe’s face was ashen. “The knife is in his hand,” she said, her voice dropping lower. “He didn’t tell you that because he’s planning on using it the second you open the door.” When I didn’t respond, she quickly sent another video. This one showed Mark, a vicious sneer on his face, slamming his body against the door while clutching a small, gleaming knife. The sounds in the video perfectly matched the violent thuds coming from outside. My heart plummeted into my stomach. My head felt like it was about to split open. Mark, sensing my hesitation was gone, changed his tone again. It was now laced with a desperate, trembling sincerity. “Ava, don’t believe her! Please! Just open the door a crack. You’ll see.” After a moment’s thought, I cautiously slid the cabinet aside and opened the door just wide enough to peer through with one eye. Mark’s face was pale, his eyebrows frosted with ice. He held up his hands to show they were empty, even turning his pockets inside out. There was no knife. He looked like he was on the verge of collapsing. He offered me a weak, painful smile. “Ava, I’m sending you a video. If you still don’t believe me after this, then… then I guess we’re all going to die here.” A video appeared on my phone. The footage was shaky, clearly filmed by someone terrified. It showed Zoe, a wild look in her eyes, holding a bag of supplies in one hand and a small knife in the other. “See?” Mark whispered from outside. “I risked my life to get proof. I knew you two were close. I was afraid you wouldn’t believe me.” On my other phone, Zoe’s voice rose in panic. “No! Don’t listen to him!” “Ava, look at his throat! Is he swallowing over and over again?” “Mark learned some sideshow tricks when he was younger. That knife isn’t big. He’s hiding it in his throat!” My face paled. Every second I wasted was a second closer to disaster. Forcing myself to stay calm, I peered through the crack again. “Open your mouth,” I demanded. Mark let out a bitter laugh, already slumping against the doorframe. From the phone, Zoe screamed, “Ava! Barricade the door! Now!” Her terror was contagious. I slammed the door shut and shoved the cabinet back into place. At that exact moment, a blood-curdling scream erupted from Zoe’s end of the line, and the call abruptly cut out. Simultaneously, a heart-wrenching cry of anguish came from Mark outside the door. “She’s here!” he yelled. “Zoe found me!” A blurry photo hit my screen, clearly taken in a panic. A woman, her face a mask of rage, was charging at him with an axe. It was blurry, but I could still make out her features. It was Zoe. Mark hammered on the door, his fear palpable. When I still didn’t move, his voice broke into a bitter laugh. “It’s okay, honey. You don’t have to open it. I’m done for anyway. I’m going to charge her, try to buy you some time. When you see an opening, you run!” A guttural roar followed, then the sounds of a struggle—heavy footsteps in the snow, grunts of effort, the clash of something heavy. Tears streamed down my face. I thought of all the happy times we’d shared, unable to comprehend how everything had gone so horribly wrong. What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t face it. I gripped the poker, my hand trembling. I would open the door. To hell with it. We would all die together. In my panic, the phone slipped from my grasp, clattering to the floor. The last video Zoe had sent me flickered on the screen. My eyes locked onto a corner of the frame, and suddenly, everything clicked. The memories of my past lives, the lingering doubts—they all crashed together in my mind. My pupils shrank to pinpricks. A chill colder than the blizzard outside washed over me. Of course. That’s what this was all about.

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Right before I was supposed to meet my online boyfriend in person, my best friend tried her hardest to talk me out of it. I had just blocked and deleted his contact when a floating chat feed suddenly materialized in my line of sight: [Wow, she really fits the ruthless female lead trope. The first thing she does after being reborn is steal her bestie’s billionaire boyfriend. Hilarious!] [The side character is so dumb. One little guilt trip and she deletes her multi-billionaire boyfriend. No wonder she’s just a stepping stone.] [But the female lead isn’t the one who actually chatted with him. What if she gets exposed?] [Relax! Our girl has the looks and the manipulation skills to play that pure-hearted rich boy like a fiddle. Just watch.] While I was still reeling from shock, Harper was still playing the role of the caring friend, her tone full of fake concern. “Amanda, you never know who you’re talking to on the internet. He could be a creep. Deleting him was the right call.” I slowly snapped back to reality and nodded. “Yeah. You make a good point.” 1 Even though I had seemingly blocked and deleted the “male lead”, Harper still wasn’t completely at ease. She probed further, her eyes searching my face. “Amanda, you didn’t send him your pictures, your phone number, or anything that could reveal your real identity, right?” I smiled and shook my head. “I’m not that stupid.” A flash of secret delight crossed Harper’s eyes, though she kept her voice sounding like a wise older sister. “Good. You have to protect your privacy online. Never hand out your personal info to strangers.” I nodded vigorously. “Don’t worry about me. I’m not some naive college freshman anymore. I’ve been in the real world for over a year now. I know how to read people.” Harper stifled a laugh and teased. “Right, right. You’re a seasoned veteran now. So cunning.” I pretended not to catch the dripping sarcasm in her voice and lifted my chin proudly. “Obviously!” Harper secretly rolled her eyes, then faked a yawn. “Amanda, I have my part-time shift tomorrow. I’m going to crash. You should get some sleep too. Night.” I smiled back. “Night.” [The side character is painfully stupid. Getting sold out by the female lead and still counting the cash for her. Hopeless!] [Yeah, but I’m still worried the female lead might blow her cover.] [Don’t stress. She’s a top-tier actress and came fully prepared. She won’t slip up.] [Plus, the female lead is an absolute bombshell with killer curves. Way more seductive than this plain-jane sweet girl. Even if the guy finds out the truth later, he’ll just be glad he ended up with the hot one.] [True that!] [Am I the only one who thinks what the female lead is doing is highly immoral?] [The author literally tagged this as a toxic, selfish female lead story. If you want a saint, go read something else!] I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at the floating text. Seriously? Who actively roots for a homewrecker? 2 Once Harper’s bedroom door clicked shut, I casually strolled back into my own room. I pulled out my phone and unblocked my online boyfriend, adding him right back on a different messaging app. I hadn’t given him my phone number, but I definitely had his. [Holy crap! The side character kept a backup plan!] [Why did she lie to the female lead? Did she catch onto her scheme?] [Not necessarily. Maybe she just got annoyed with the nagging and pretended to delete the guy to shut her up.] [Fingers crossed.] [It doesn’t matter why she lied. What matters is that the female lead has no idea she’s been played!] [Stay calm, the female lead will figure it out. There has to be a plot twist!] A plot twist? We’ll see about that. My boyfriend hadn’t messaged me during that brief window, so he remained blissfully unaware that he had ever been blocked. I slipped into the white dress I had bought specifically for our meetup. I took several selfies, carefully cropping them to only show everything below the bridge of my nose. I picked the most flattering shot and sent it to the contact named “Rowan”. I typed out a quick message: Don’t mistake me for someone else tomorrow, handsome. He replied almost instantly. Rowan: Wouldn’t dream of it! Rowan: You look gorgeous, babe. [Drooling emoji] Amanda: Good to know. Rowan: Your lips are incredible. Can I kiss them tomorrow? The chat feed wasn’t entirely wrong. My overall vibe was sweet and girl-next-door, lacking Harper’s natural, sultry allure. But my lips were my best feature. Naturally flushed and perfectly shaped, they looked incredibly inviting in isolation. Amanda: Not tomorrow. Depends on how you behave. [Winking emoji] Rowan: Challenge accepted! I promise I won’t disappoint. We flirted back and forth for about half an hour before I used sleep as an excuse to cut the conversation short. I could tell he was craving more. But basic psychology dictates that you never give a guy everything he wants all at once. [She actually sent him a picture. I feel like our female lead might be in trouble.] [Chill out. The female lead can turn the tide. Besides, it’s only the lower half of a face. He might not even recognize her.] [But those lips are pretty distinct. If he pays attention, he might be able to tell the difference.] [Doesn’t matter. The guy is obsessed with looks. The female lead will win him over with sheer beauty!] I closed my eyes with a cold smirk. I’d love to see Harper try to turn this tide. Of course, if this so-called “male lead” actually took one look at Harper and fell head over heels, I’d have nothing to say. But even if he was driven by pure lust, I was going to make damn sure he knew that Harper was a manipulative snake who tried to steal her best friend’s man. Harper wouldn’t be leaving any perfect impressions on anyone’s mind. 3 Harper and I had been college roommates. She came from a struggling background with parents who blatantly favored her brother. Her tuition was paid through student loans, and she survived entirely on part-time jobs. My family wasn’t filthy rich, but we were comfortably middle-class. Being an only child, my parents never let me lack for anything. When I found out about her financial struggles, I quietly took her under my wing. I frequently paid for her meals without making a big deal out of it. Whenever I shopped for seasonal clothes, I’d buy her a couple of outfits too. I shared all my expensive skincare and makeup with her. After graduation, we landed jobs at different companies. Knowing she was drowning in loan repayments, I deliberately found an apartment exactly halfway between our offices. I voluntarily covered the entire rent, electricity, and water bills just so she could save every dime. It wasn’t a completely one-sided dynamic, to be fair. In college, she was the one fetching my packages and scrubbing our dorm room. When we moved in together, she took over all the household chores without asking. I never felt it was unfair. I genuinely considered her my best friend. Yet, just to secure a luxurious lifestyle, she resorted to such deceitful tactics to steal my boyfriend. It left me feeling a freezing mixture of heartbreak and rage. If she could throw away years of loyalty for money, she couldn’t blame me for turning ruthless. I tossed and turned that night, finally drifting into a restless sleep around three in the morning. By the time I woke up, it was already ten. At eight sharp, Rowan had sent a message: Morning, gorgeous. Amanda: Morning! Five minutes later, my phone buzzed. Rowan: Sleepyhead. Just woke up? Amanda: Yeah. Taking full advantage of the weekend. Rowan: I respect that. Just don’t forget our date tonight! Amanda: Don’t worry, I won’t. I’ll text you when I’m on my way. See you there. Rowan: Can’t wait! [The female lead still hasn’t noticed anything. She’s in danger.] [There’s still hours left. She has a chance.] [What if the side character just coincidentally gets hit by a car on the way to the meetup?] [Oh man, maybe!] Thanks for the heads-up, floating chat. I’ll be sure to look both ways before crossing the street. 4 After wrapping up the chat, I took my time getting out of bed and throwing on some clothes. When I walked into the kitchen, I noticed a sticky note Harper had left on the dining table. It read in her neat handwriting, “Left some pork and century egg porridge in the pot. Make sure you eat breakfast!” A complex knot formed in my stomach. Harper was only a year older than me, but she had always acted like a protective older sister. She knew I had a habit of sleeping through breakfast on weekends, so she prepared something for me every single morning. I used to find it incredibly touching. Now, it just felt nauseatingly fake. I walked over to the stove, stared at the perfectly cooked, aromatic porridge for a few seconds, then picked up the pot and dumped the entire thing into the trash. [Holy shit! She just threw away the food the female lead made for her. Is she a reincarnated character too?] [Highly likely! I hope the female lead realizes it soon, otherwise she’s going to take a massive hit.] [Stop worrying. Harper is the true protagonist here. Amanda is just a minor roadblock!] Around three in the afternoon, my phone pinged with a message from Harper. Harper: Amanda, I’m stuck working overtime today. I’ll be home late. Just order some takeout or make something simple. I’ll cook your favorite sweet and sour ribs tomorrow. Amanda: Don’t stress about me. Focus on work so they don’t dock your pay. Harper: Will do. I just ordered a mango pomelo sago for you from that place you love. I paid extra for extra toppings. Drink it as soon as it arrives! Amanda: Aww, thanks. Harper: Don’t mention it. We exchanged a few more casual, friendly texts before she claimed a customer had walked in and ended the conversation. Ten minutes later, the delivery guy dropped off the iced drink. I had just poured the entire cup down the toilet and flushed when the chat feed flared up again. [Disaster! I don’t think the side character just reincarnated. I think she reincarnated AFTER the female lead did!] [That’s the only explanation. How else would she know the female lead ordered the staff to use heavily contaminated tap water for that drink?!] [Then the female lead is totally screwed!] [Relax, she’ll notice something is off and execute a flawless counterattack.] [Am I the only one who kind of wants to see the toxic female lead crash and burn?] [Quietly agreeing. I want to see her fail too.] I stared at the empty plastic cup in my hand, my blood running cold. I had a notoriously weak stomach. Eating anything remotely unhygienic would guarantee me a night of agonizing cramps and diarrhea. She had gone to extreme, malicious lengths just to keep me trapped in the bathroom while she stole my life. I really had overestimated her humanity. Perhaps to verify if her little biological weapon had worked, Harper sent another text fishing for information. I played along, telling her my stomach was cramping up and blaming it on some greasy takeout I had for lunch. She swallowed the lie hook, line, and sinker, even putting on a show of ordering stomach medicine for me online. 5 That evening, I arrived at the plaza twenty minutes early. Instead of heading straight to the designated meeting spot, I tucked myself behind a massive illuminated billboard near the bus stop, keeping my eyes peeled. Ten minutes later, a gorgeous guy holding a bouquet of pink roses walked into view. He headed straight for the south side of the fountain, pacing with a mix of anxiety and excitement. Unless I was completely wrong, this was my online boyfriend. The man the chat feed called the “male lead”, Rowan. Five more minutes passed. Then, Harper made her entrance. She knew I was planning to wear a white dress, so she wore one too, opting for a stunning strapless design. I had to admit it. Harper had a body that turned heads. The moment she stepped into the plaza, she drew the eyes of everyone around her, including Rowan. But probably out of a guilty conscience, she was wearing a medical mask, making her look incredibly suspicious. Rowan spotted the white dress, gripped his flowers, and strode purposely toward her. I was too far away to catch their exact words. But based on Rowan’s relaxed body language, he was clearly thrilled with what he saw. And honestly, standing side by side, they looked like a magazine cover. After a brief exchange, Rowan reached out, gently took Harper’s hand, and started leading her toward the entrance of the luxury mall. I didn’t rush out to create a dramatic scene. Instead, I calmly pulled out my phone and dialed his number. He answered on the second ring, but his voice was completely detached and cold. “Who is this? What do you want?” I feigned total ignorance and let my voice go soft and sweet. “Handsome, it’s me! I’m here. Where are you?” Rowan stopped dead in his tracks. A heavy silence stretched for two seconds before he asked, his tone dripping with sudden vigilance, “Who exactly are you?” I poured on the innocent confusion. “It’s me! Didn’t we agree to meet by the fountain at eight? Don’t tell me you forgot!” Rowan whipped his head around, his eyes desperately scanning the area around the fountain. The chat feed exploded in real time: [Holy crap! No plot twist! I’m getting massive second-hand embarrassment!] [Give it a second! There’s totally going to be a twist!] [What if he finds out she’s the real online girlfriend, but still chooses the female lead anyway? That would be the ultimate slap in the face for the side character. Hahaha!] [Exactly! They’ve only ever talked online. They’ve never even met. Plus, with the side character’s mediocre IQ, there is zero chance she can handle a dominant billionaire heir.] [So true. Only a sultry temptress like the female lead can tame a wild alpha dog like him.] 6 Rowan stood frozen, looking over his shoulder. After about ten seconds of silence, I let out an exaggerated sigh of complaint. “It’s your girlfriend! Are you seriously telling me you forgot my voice?!” “Fuck!” Rowan cursed violently under his breath. He aggressively ripped his hand out of Harper’s grasp and started marching back toward the fountain. Harper panicked, instinctively reaching out to grab his arm to stop him. “Get off me!” Rowan shoved her hard. Caught off guard in her heels, Harper let out a sharp gasp and stumbled backward, falling hard onto the concrete. Rowan didn’t even spare her a second glance. He broke into a jog, keeping the phone pressed to his ear. “Babe, where exactly are you? Some crazy woman just tried to impersonate you. She almost had me fooled!” I gasped in fabricated shock. “Are you serious? That’s psychotic! Wait, I think I see you!” I stepped out from the shadows and stood directly under the streetlamp next to the fountain, waving my arm high in the air. “I see you too!” Rowan locked eyes with me and sprinted over. I walked forward to meet him. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Harper staring in my direction with wide, terrified eyes. She scrambled up from the ground and practically sprinted away, disappearing into the crowd. Rowan jogged to a halt right in front of me. His chest heaved as his eyes darted down to my white dress, and then fixed intensely on my lips. It took him a few seconds to confirm I was the girl from the photo. He let out a heavy breath, raking a hand through his hair in frustration. “Babe, I’m so sorry. Some woman wearing a dress just like yours came up to me. I was this close to believing it was you!” “Thank God you called when you did. I was about to get totally scammed.” I widened my eyes, playing the perfect innocent victim. “Who would do something like that? That’s so creepy!” Rowan turned and pointed furiously at the empty spot where Harper had fallen. “Some psycho wearing a mask and sunglasses! She was just standing right there, but she bolted.” I crossed my arms indignantly. “What an absolute freak.” Rowan nodded emphatically, absolute disgust written across his handsome features. “A total freak.” [I can’t believe there was no twist.] [The side character played that beautifully. The male lead is definitely disgusted by the female lead right now. It’s going to be so much harder for her to steal him away.] [Wait, two fake besties who both reincarnated? I kind of like this dynamic way more!] [Honestly, reading this from an outside perspective is really satisfying. I hate homewreckers.] [When men cheat, people excuse it. When women do it, they get crucified. The internalized misogyny is real!] [Are you mentally ill? Who said anything about excusing cheating men? I literally just said I hate homewreckers of any gender!] The chat feed devolved into a messy argument. I found the whole thing ridiculous. Some of these invisible watchers seemed downright addicted to stories glorifying infidelity. Probably reflected their own twisted morals in real life.

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On New Year’s Eve, burning with a hundred-and-four-degree fever, I coughed up blood and begged my mother to take me to the hospital. She still produced that spinning wheel. “The old rule: if it lands on red, we go! If it lands on black, shut up!” I was the true daughter, swapped at birth. The night I came home, my mother said that from then on, all family matters would be decided by this red and black spinning wheel. It was the fairest way, she claimed. I nodded, full of hope. But for three whole years, thousands of spins, my sister always landed on red, and I, always on black. Not only did all the beautiful jewelry and the sunny room go to her, but even when I was sick in bed, wanting a sip of water, I had to wait for her cartoon to finish. I gripped the edge of the wheel, my fingers trembling with fever. This time, I wanted to live. In the last split second, as the pointer was about to slide to black, I used all my strength to press my index finger against the back. For the first time, it stopped on the red section. “I landed on…” “Daisy!” My eldest brother seized my wrist. “Even if your luck is bad, you can’t cheat!” My second brother shoved me to the ground: “You came back with your bloodline, only to learn such despicable tricks?” My third brother broke my finger: “Being biological, you should follow the rules even more.” They left merrily. I lay on the cold floor, watching fireworks explode outside the window. So red was truly beautiful. I’m sorry. In my next life… I will definitely try hard to land on red. … I could still hear them as they prepared to leave. “Pearl, is your scarf on? It’s cold outside.” My mother’s voice was impossibly gentle. “The private dining room for New Year’s Eve dinner is all set up, with pink balloons everywhere. You’ll love it, I’m sure.” “Really? Mom knows me best!” My second brother chuckled, joining in: “Tonight, Dad even specially ordered a New Year’s Eve cake with your favorite ballerina sugar figurine on top.” My third brother’s voice was full of indulgence: “Little princess, the head chef at the French restaurant heard you were coming and specially prepared your favorite caramel crème brûlée tart, a three-tiered one.” “That’s great! What about my New Year’s gift?” Pearl’s voice was sickly sweet. “It’s all in the car.” My eldest brother said with a smile, “Tonight is a night of reunion. Whatever our Pearl wants, she gets.” Footsteps moved towards the door, the rustle of coats filling the air. Not a single person looked back towards the living room. Not a single person remembered that someone was still lying on the floor. Every time the wheel landed on black, my mother remained perfectly calm. “The probabilities are fifty-fifty. If your luck is bad, who can you blame?” “People with bad luck don’t deserve good things.” She had said these words countless times. But what was luck? I remembered when I first came home three years ago, my mother took out that red and black spinning wheel. “Daisy, you’re my biological child, Mommy loves you.” She knelt down to look me in the eye. “But Pearl has also been with us for ten years. For absolute fairness, from now on, all family matters will be decided by the spinning wheel, okay?” A one-in-two chance. I nodded vigorously, my eyes full of light. The first time. In late autumn, the cuff of my only sweater had a hole. As the cold wind seeped in, I quietly said, “Mom, can I have five dollars to buy some yarn? I’ll mend it myself.” Mom was trying on a cashmere coat for Pearl and didn’t even turn her head: “Five dollars isn’t money? Let the wheel decide.” The pointer stopped on black. My second brother scoffed: “Such a pauper. Pearl’s coat is enough to buy you a cartful of yarn.” Later, I tied a piece of discarded red ribbon around the hole and was laughed at in school for a whole week. The second time. I clutched my test paper, my palms sweating. “Mom, I got first place.” The dinner table fell silent for a moment. Dad grunted an “hmm,” and continued to serve Pearl shrimp. “Alright, what do you want this time?” Mom wiped her mouth. “A ten-dollar workbook…” “Old rules.” My third brother put an arm around Pearl, smiling grandly: “Hear that? Our true scholar is right here. Your first place was probably just a blind squirrel finding a nut.” The pointer stopped on black again. That test paper was tucked into the bottom of my bookshelf, never to be taken out again. … The 825th time, when the news of Grandma Willow’s passing came, I stood on the stairs, my blood running cold. “Mom, I want to go back and say goodbye to Grandma…” “Enough!” She cut me off. “The dead cannot return to life. What’s the point of going back? It’s unlucky!” My third brother rushed in, phone in hand, his face beaming with excitement: “Mom! Pearl won first prize in the piano competition!” Mom’s impatience instantly turned to ecstasy: “Really? What reward do you want, sweetie?” Dad also came out of the study: “We should definitely celebrate.” My second brother had, at some point, brought over the spinning wheel. “Spin it.” He placed it on the coffee table. “If it lands on red, you can go.” I looked at the distinct red and black wheel for a long time. My fingertip hovered above the pointer, trembling, but ultimately didn’t descend. That night, I kowtowed three times towards the direction of the countryside, standing before the spinning wheel until midnight. Because I knew the outcome. It would definitely be black. Always black. The door closed. The joyous sounds of reunion were completely cut off. Inside, the house was deadly silent, save for my gradually weakening breaths and the festive crackle of firecrackers from other homes outside the window. The moment the pain vanished, I floated up. Looking down, a small body was curled on the floor. Faded, worn pajamas, the right index finger bent at a strange angle, and on the pale face, un-dried tear streaks. That was me. Thirteen-year-old Daisy, no longer breathing. It turned out some people were born to be held in the family’s palms, with even the New Year’s Eve cake figurines prepared to their liking. Some people were born only to lie on a cold floor, their deaths silent and unnoticed. I don’t know how long it was, The door was pushed open again. Mother and daughter walked in, wearing identical cashmere coats. Pearl wore a dazzling diamond necklace around her neck; it was the welcome gift my grandmother had given me when I first came home. Because the spinning wheel landed on black, Mom said, “Such precious jewelry isn’t fitting for you,” so it ended up around Pearl’s neck. Pearl lifted her skirt and knelt, her voice innocent: “The floor is so dirty… why is Sister still lying here?” My eldest brother frowned: “Country folk are just like that. When they’re tired, they lie down anywhere, regardless of cleanliness.” My third brother lazily chimed in: “That’s why, even if Pearl isn’t biological, she has an inherent grace. While some people, well, genes can’t change that inherent peasant air.” Pearl curiously touched my face, but quickly recoiled. She gasped: “Mom! Sister’s face… it’s colder than ice!” Mom’s movement of taking off her coat froze. For some inexplicable reason. I felt a faint sense of anticipation. I wondered what their reaction would be when they discovered I was dead. Mom walked over. She first saw my twisted finger, her expression momentarily taken aback: “Her finger… why is it bent like that?” My third brother leaned against the entryway, saying casually: “I broke it.” Mom glared at him, with a hint of anger: “You really don’t know your own strength. She’s still your sister, after all!” I floated in the air, staring blankly at her. A warmth spread through my heart. I knew it, Mom still loved me. But it didn’t matter anymore, I couldn’t feel pain. My third brother raised his chin: “Mom, you set the rules yourself. Cheating deserves punishment. Pearl remembers it and always follows it obediently. Is it really fair to her if you indulge Daisy?” Mom’s lips moved, then she turned to look at Pearl. The young girl bit her lip, her eyes slightly red, like a startled bunny. In that instant, Mom’s voice softened: “Alright, just remember not to do it in front of Pearl next time. She’s easily frightened.” That flicker of emotion, sparked by me, was like a pebble thrown into a deep pond, creating only a trivial ripple. Mom reached out, but didn’t check my breath. Instead, she poked my shoulder with disgust: “Daisy, get up.” “Playing dead, are we?” She kicked my shoulder with the tip of her high heel. “To avoid the family dinner, to make us feel guilty, you’re full of tricks! You’ll stoop to any despicable means.” My second brother picked up the glass cup from the coffee table, his wrist flicking. Scalding water splashed half my face. “Can you wake up now? Can you stop always using such cheap tricks to get attention?” Water droplets rolled down my temples into my collar, yet my eyelashes didn’t even flicker. Pearl retreated a small step, timidly saying: “Mom, I feel like, Sister seems… really unwell.” To soothe Pearl’s wounded spirit. My second brother patted her back and tucked an exquisite gift box into her arms. “Good Pearl, big brother knows you have a kind heart, but some people are just born to play the victim and aren’t worthy of sympathy at all.” Mom rubbed Pearl’s head: “The more you indulge her, the worse she’ll get next time. Today she’s playing dead, tomorrow she’ll hang herself. She just wants to force us to apologize by doing this.” My third brother scoffed along: “This afternoon she was making such a fuss about going to the hospital, now she’s just lying here like a corpse. What else can she do besides upsetting the family and ruining the atmosphere?” Perhaps wanting to end this farce quickly. Mom crouched down and fiercely pinched my philtrum. Even when my lips turned white from her grip, I remained motionless. She completely lost her patience. Raising her hand, she slapped me across the face. “If I had known you were such a stubborn and malicious person, I never should have softened and brought you back!” Just then, Pearl’s sweet voice came from upstairs: “Mommy, look, isn’t the new dress second brother bought me pretty?” That voice was like magic. The anger on Mom’s face instantly melted away like snow. “Sweetheart, Mommy’s coming.” After a few steps, she suddenly turned back and dragged me up from the floor. “Daisy, listen carefully! In this family, Pearl came first, then you. Bloodline means nothing! Don’t think that just because you’re biological, you can do whatever you want.” My head fell back limply, my eyes half-open, pupils dilated and lifeless, staring at the ceiling. She stared into my unfocused eyes, as if wanting to see submission and fear there. But I was already dead; I couldn’t give any reaction. This seemed to infuriate Mom. She grabbed my collar, warning me fiercely: “Know your place! If you dare to have crooked thoughts and compete with Pearl again… you can go back to your village!” She let go. My head, losing its support, hit the floor with a “thud.” She didn’t look back, clip-clopping upstairs in her high heels. My second brother kicked me: “On New Year’s, who are you putting on this deathly display for? That’s enough.” My third brother, smiling, pulled out his phone and pressed the shutter button. “A souvenir. Next time you pretend, I’ll let everyone see what kind of person the real daughter of the Sterling family is in private.” Finally, it was my eldest brother. He stood there watching me for a long time, so long that I thought he would discover something. Finally, he sighed. Reluctantly, he dragged me back to my room and threw me onto the bed. Before leaving, he stood at the doorway and said, as if offering charity: “Daisy, if your finger hurts too much to bear, come find me, but don’t alarm Pearl. I can send you to the hospital without going through the spinning wheel. However, the medical expenses will be deducted from your next month’s allowance. You caused this trouble yourself, so you bear the consequences, understand?” I answered over and over: “Brother, thank you, but I’m already dead now. I don’t need to go to the hospital…” But he would never hear it. The door closed. Outside the window, fireworks bloomed, firecrackers popped, full of festive cheer. Next door, the family was joyous, laughing heartily, so lively. Only I, floating alone in the air, was dead and no one knew. I’m sorry. In my heart, I whispered to the me who, three years ago, first walked into this house, looked up at the crystal chandelier, and thought I had finally found a home. See? Pearl is the best, obedient daughter. And I, even being biological. In their hearts, I was just a stranger with the title of “true daughter.” The next morning, Dad walked through the door, looking travel-worn. He spent years developing overseas business, only returning for holidays. In his hands, he carried two gift boxes, one large and one small. “Daddy!” Pearl, like a cheerful butterfly, flew into his arms. “What good things did you bring me again?” Dad smiled, ruffled her hair, and scanned the living room: “Where’s Daisy? How come she didn’t come out to get my slippers this time?” Mom, who was brewing tea, paused: “On New Year’s, she insists on competing with Pearl. I said a few words to her yesterday, and now she’s probably sulking in her room.” Dad frowned, but didn’t ask further. He pointed to the two gift boxes: “Brought New Year’s gifts for the children. The big one is Bulgari’s new limited edition jewelry set, which took a lot of connections to get. The small one… is a souvenir keychain I bought casually at the airport.” Million-dollar jewelry, and a keychain worth at most five dollars. The disparity was comically vast. “Daddy! This one must be for me, right?” Pearl pounced on the opulent large gift box. Dad gently chided: “Pearl, don’t be silly. You know, our family always emphasizes fairness.” Then, he solemnly took out the spinning wheel and placed it on the coffee table: “Still the old rule. Spin to red, take the large one. Spin to black, take the small one.” Mom shouted towards my room: “Doesn’t someone always complain we’re biased? If you don’t come spin the wheel, then I’m letting your sister spin it, okay? Don’t you dare cry later and say the whole family ganged up to bully you!” “I’ll spin it, I’ll spin it! The result is always the same anyway.” Pearl happily ran over. She flicked the pointer, and it began to spin. Dad watched with a smile, Mom with doting eyes, and my brothers with an air of certainty. Only I, floating in the air, teared up uncontrollably—I really was just as Mom said, naughty and stubborn, still foolishly dreaming of landing on red even after death. Unwilling, I leaned over the spinning wheel, trying to flick it, blowing with all my might. Perhaps heaven also pitied me, the pointer slowed down, trembling as it approached black… Then, it stopped. The living room was silent for a moment. I froze, then was overcome with wild joy, jumping up excitedly—Oh my god! Red was finally mine! But I was already dead, and such precious jewelry would be a waste to be buried with me. It was better for Pearl to wear it. I thought to myself. It seemed I really just had bad luck. Had I misunderstood them? They actually hadn’t been biased all this time. Mom suddenly grabbed Pearl’s wrist and examined it, then said in surprise: “No wonder. My sweet Pearl, where’s the magnet on your bracelet? It’s gone?” I felt like I had been struck by lightning. A magnet? So, Pearl’s bracelet… had a magnet hidden inside? Three whole years, thousands of blacks. I had knelt countless times, praying, secretly practicing in the dead of night, thinking it was my lowly fate, that I was despised by the gods, that I didn’t deserve a shred of special favor… “…I don’t know.” Pearl pouted, looking aggrieved. “Daddy, Sister isn’t here anyway. Can… can this time not count?” Dad’s face showed some difficulty. Just then, my brothers exchanged glances. My eldest brother immediately understood, walked over, and gave a gentle flick, and the pointer landed steadily in the red section. “See, it’s clearly red.” My eldest brother’s tone was flat. “Oh yeah!” Pearl cheered. “Thank you, Daddy! Thank you, big brother!” Dad nodded with a smile: “It seems the gods still favor our Pearl.” Mom also smiled: “Yes, Pearl always has good fortune.” The family was harmonious, as if that little “accident” had never happened. A profound sense of desolation and absurdity swallowed me. So in this family. Not only were the rules flexible, but even luck could be manual. After dinner, my third brother lost a game, and his punishment was to bring me food. He stood up, his face full of disgust, “I’m not going! It’s bad luck.” Pearl pouted playfully: “A bet is a bet, brother~” My second brother immediately frowned: “Go quickly and come back quickly. Would you really upset Pearl for that annoying person?” My third brother stood up irritably: “Tsk… This is so annoying.” Two minutes later, he threw a bowl of leftovers onto my bedside table: “Hey, stop pretending! That’s enough.” I lay motionless on the bed. He kicked the edge of the bed: “Daisy, I’m talking to you, are you deaf?” “Fine, you’ve got guts. Don’t eat, then. Starve to death.” He angrily poured the food into the trash can. “Brother! I’m not pretending! I’m really dead! Look at my face, look at my hand!” I floated in front of my third brother, waving my hands frantically, trying to catch his attention. My third brother seemed to sense something, his footsteps faltering. His gaze fell on my pale face and purplish lips. In that instant, my heart leaped into my throat. Was he going to discover it? Was he finally… going to see me? The next second, he scoffed: “Heh, your acting is damn good. You’re even so committed to playing dead.” He turned and left, the door closing crisply. …

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In the tenth year of my AA-marriage into a wealthy family, before I could fully wake up from the illusion of love, Ryan’s payment QR code was shoved right in my face. “The suite for tonight, you’re splitting the bill with me.” I barely had time to get dressed, fumbling for my phone. On the screen, my bank account balance showed a paltry thirty dollars. I awkwardly asked, “My paycheck doesn’t come until tomorrow. Could… could I pay you then?” Ryan just smiled at me, a hint of something unreadable, perhaps mockery, in his gaze: “That million dollars you used to betray me ten years ago, is it all spent? If you don’t want to split the bill… then just pretend you’re a street girl. We’ll go again, and I won’t charge you.” My eyelashes fluttered down. I said nothing more, just silently transferred the money. Only then did he get up to shower. What exactly happened ten years ago was a complete blank in my memory. When I woke up in the hospital, everyone told me that after Ryan and I eloped, I couldn’t stand the hardship. I’d gone to his mother, demanded a million dollars, and promised to leave him. A few blurry fragments flashed through my mind, and my head throbbed. Just then, Ryan’s phone chimed a few times. As if possessed, I picked up the phone and unlocked it. On the screen were a few suggestive photos from his secretary. “Mr. Howard, when are you divorcing that old hag?” My hands trembled as I morbidly scrolled through all their chat history, from their explicit flirtations to discussing rendezvous points. My tears dried and re-wet on my cheeks. Finally, I typed a reply: “Tomorrow.” 1. At two in the morning, I tiptoed out of bed. It was time to clean the restrooms at the Howard Group building. Ten years ago, I’d agreed to an AA-marriage with Ryan, but the expenses of high society were far more exorbitant than I’d imagined. Even if I ate nothing but plain pasta, just living in that villa meant monthly maintenance fees that were a colossal sum to me. And Ryan’s mother had “kindly” offered me a job: a restroom cleaner at the Howard Group. Even though I knew it was an insult, I accepted. Because I didn’t know where else I could find a fifty-thousand-dollar-a-month job to maintain my chance of staying by Ryan’s side. Luckily, starting tomorrow, I wouldn’t need to. Today’s cleaning solution was particularly acrid, and my eyes stung repeatedly. It wasn’t until nine in the morning that I finished cleaning all the restrooms in the entire building. This was Ryan’s mother’s requirement. She’d looked at my clean, unblemished hands with a smile then, saying softly, “Ophelia, before everyone starts work, all the restrooms in the building need to be sparkling clean. You can manage that, can’t you?” I’d gritted my teeth and agreed, even though my hands were once meant for painting. Exhausted, I huddled in the last utility closet in the restroom for a break. “Bang bang bang!” A loud knocking startled my heart. I opened the door, and there stood Ryan’s secretary, Laura. She was dressed impeccably in a professional suit, looking down at me. “Oh, Mrs. Howard, so you’re hiding out here, are you? The ladies’ room in the second stall is clogged. Could you please clear it?” Her words were polite, but her sarcastic gaze pierced straight through my faded cleaner’s uniform. My fists clenched tightly, my nails digging deep into my palms, though I barely felt it. Finally, I put on my mask and numbly nodded. Seeing me take out a long pair of tweezers, Laura raised a hand to stop me. “Mrs. Howard, the company’s toilets are all new. Each one is a smart toilet worth a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Using tools like that might damage it…” I frowned, “Then what do you want me to do?” “You figure something out. Just no tools…” The implication couldn’t have been clearer. I knew she wouldn’t give up unless I did as she wished. Thinking my paycheck hadn’t arrived yet, I didn’t want any more trouble. I mechanically knelt down. My stomach churned, whether from the smell or the emotion, sour bile rising in my throat. Tears silently fell, hidden by my mask. Under her watchful, amused gaze, I began to work. As the foreign object was pulled from the toilet, I heard a few clicks of a camera behind me. “Mrs. Howard, I’ve sent your hard-working picture to the company group chat, okay? Your spirit of not fearing hardship is truly inspiring!” Laura said, smiling at me. I paid no mind to her words, staring blankly at the purple sheer thong in my hand. It was the one she’d worn in the photos she’d sent last night. Laura’s delicate brow furrowed, feigning embarrassment: “Oh, how did this end up here? Could it be with Mr. Howard that day…” She said, “I’m so embarrassed! I was going to Mr. Howard’s office to report, and he wanted to see me in it!” “Mrs. Howard, could you do me a favor and run a quick errand? There’s a self-service store a few blocks away. Could you pick one up for me?” She pulled a few thousand dollars from her pocket and, without asking, shoved it into my hand. As I walked from the restroom to the main entrance of the building, people I passed avoided me as if I carried a plague. Those who walked by me covered their noses and chuckled lightly. I heard someone say, “These gold-diggers are really working for it!” As I carried the item back towards the Howard Group, I clutched my numb heart, thinking: What have I gained? Ten years of marriage, only zero in savings, and a lover who didn’t love me. With a notification of a payment received, I felt all the strength drain from my body. The spirit and feelings that ten years hadn’t managed to extinguish now vanished into thin air. I took the thong and the two documents I had prepared, walking towards Ryan’s office. One was a resignation letter, the other a divorce agreement. 2. Before pushing open the door to Ryan’s office, I glanced at his secretary’s desk outside. It was empty. Seeing me enter, Ryan looked up, his face flushed with an ambiguous color. “What are you doing in here?” His voice was hoarse, his tone carrying an underlying restraint. Ten years ago, he’d used that same tone, tenderly and lingeringly, to call me: “Lily.” “Ophelia?” he called me. The coldness in his voice snapped me back to reality. I placed the items in my hand on his desk. “Your secretary asked me to buy these panties. Said you needed them urgently.” Ryan scoffed, raising an eyebrow: “You really can tolerate a lot to be Mrs. Howard, can’t you?” “This is my resignation letter…” Ryan looked at me with surprise, his cold remarks still unsaid. Then he heard me say calmly, “The other one is our divorce agreement.” Ryan’s eyes instantly cleared, filled with a sharp, scrutinizing coldness. His hand gripped the leather armrest of his chair tightly. He took several deep breaths before speaking, his face looking less than pleased. “Ophelia, playing hard to get won’t work on me.” If I didn’t know who was currently beneath his wide office desk, I truly might have mistaken his words as an attempt to keep me. “Mr. Howard, I’m tired.” “Tired?” Ryan laughed, his handsome features utterly devoid of emotion. “Ophelia, for ten years you couldn’t bear to leave the Howard family’s gilded cage. What makes you willing to leave today? Or have you found another sugar daddy with your looks?” “Don’t think I’ll go soft.” His words were like sharp blades, stabbing into my heart again and again. He picked up my divorce agreement with just two fingers, glanced at it dismissively, then flicked it into the air. The paper drifted lightly to the floor, like my dignity and my heart. His thin lips opened and closed, uttering cruel and vicious words. “I’m not agreeing to a divorce, Ophelia. I’m not done with you yet.” “Ow!” No sooner had the words left his lips than Ryan winced in pain. Perhaps his little mistress, upset that he wouldn’t divorce, was causing a scene under his desk. I let out a self-mocking laugh in my heart. After the brief amusement, ten years of pent-up grievances surged to the surface. I struggled to speak calmly, to maintain my last shred of dignity, but what came out was a trembling whisper, laced with tears: “Ryan, please, let me go…” 3. Ryan’s face changed. He slumped backward, utterly drained, hitting the backrest of his chair with a thud. He spoke, his voice carrying a suppressed anger: “Is being with me that unbearable?” “Please, let me go? I don’t want anything anymore…” The title of Mrs. Howard, I don’t want it. Ryan himself, along with our relationship, I don’t want it anymore. Even why I left him with a million dollars in the first place, I no longer care to investigate. That memory, that relationship, after I discovered his infidelity, it all became irrelevant. Ryan’s gaze dimmed, like a murky pool of black water. “Why? It’s always been you coming and going as you please. Did you ever consider my feelings for a single moment?” Every word sounded squeezed from between his back teeth; he clearly hated me. “My family disagreed, yet I eloped with you. The Howard Group blacklisted me, I couldn’t find work. I was willing to work construction, just so you could paint freely in your studio, but what did you do?” Ryan laughed, his eyes reddening without warning. “You played me like a dog. One day you swore eternal love, the next you went to my mother for a million dollars to go to the Northside.” “In your heart… I was only worth a million.” The Northside… A dark, damp basement, a sticky sensation flashed in my mind. I suppressed the uncomfortable feeling and forced a bitter smile: “I’ve already repaid you for ten years, Mr. Howard, isn’t that enough?” Ryan was about to say something else when someone pushed open the door and walked in. He quickly composed himself. The newcomer was Mr. Peterson, a key business partner of the Howard Group. “Mr. Howard, I saw the secretary wasn’t outside, so I came straight in.” Ryan grunted, biting his index finger slightly. Arguing with me had already drained a lot of his energy; he was now on the verge of exploding. Mr. Peterson, mistaking me for a cleaning lady, pulled out a contract from his bag. “Mr. Howard, we were very pleased with my last proposal. We’re here today to sign the contract.” He stepped forward with the contract, but Ryan raised a hand and growled, “Stop.” Mr. Peterson paused, startled, frowning slightly with displeasure. Ryan quickly amended, “I think the proposal could be even more perfect. Please wait while I gather everyone for a meeting.” Mr. Peterson chuckled, “Mr. Howard is certainly meticulous. Why don’t I call everyone to your office for a meeting now?” Saying this, Mr. Peterson, ignoring Ryan’s darkening face, called people to the meeting in the work group chat. Employees are always swift. Even though Ryan was on the top floor of the building, everyone arrived within a minute. They all looked expectantly at Ryan, wanting to know what still needed to be revised. Ryan was tense, suppressing his primal urges, and began discussing the proposal with everyone in a rigid, formal manner. I took out a rag, pretending to clean, moving from the office desk to the display cabinet behind it. Under the desk, I met Laura’s eyes. She glared at me venomously. I pulled out the purple thong I’d retrieved from the toilet that morning and, without hesitation, tossed it onto her. The damp, soiled fabric touched Laura, and she let out a disgusted gasp, scrambling out from under the desk. Just like that, dishevelled, she stood face-to-face with everyone.

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“My fiancée was kidnapped by my rival, crying and begging me to save her. My rival taunted, “”Bet me. If you win, I’ll return your fiancée and transfer my assets to you. “”If you lose, I’ll take your assets, and your life!”” My fiancée, her face streaked with tears, subtly urged me to accept. I knew it was an elaborate trap they had set together. But I still accepted the wager. 1 “”Jason, save me!”” My fiancée, Selena, was crying, her face streaked with tears. She was bound to a chair, unable to move, her large eyes continuously shedding tears as she looked at me. Around her stood several burly bodyguards, each one incredibly muscular. There was no way for me to get close to Selena, let alone rescue her from such a heavy guard. The one who had kidnapped her was my sworn rival, Derek Jensen. He was my company’s biggest competitor. We had battled for years, countless business wars, and had long become thorns in each other’s sides. Previously, I had always bested him, building my company into the industry leader. He hated me to the core; every time he saw me, he wanted to flay me alive. A day ago, Selena had gone out alone for a nail appointment and hadn’t returned. Her phone was also off. It wasn’t until evening that I received a desperate call from Selena, saying she had been kidnapped by Derek. To save my fiancée, I came alone to the rendezvous. The location was a Jensen family construction site, a building not yet topped out. We were on the rooftop of the 20th floor. Derek sat on a sofa smoking a cigar, while Selena was bound to a chair not far away, surrounded by Derek’s men. He looked at me, applauding approvingly: “”Good, coming alone. You’ve got guts.”” “”What are your terms to release her?”” I looked at him coldly. What he wanted was nothing more than for me to give up the bidding for the land in Southfield, or perhaps to leave the industry entirely. Sure enough, Derek stood up, still exhaling smoke: “”It’s simple. You and I make a wager. If you win, I’ll release Selena and transfer all my assets to you, withdrawing from the real estate industry forever. “”If you lose, you give all your assets to me, and… your life.”” “”Of course, publicly, you’ll announce your successful retirement and take care of yourself. I’m a law-abiding citizen, you see, haha.”” With that, he pulled out a contract and waved it: “”I’ve already drafted the contract; it’s real and legally binding.”” “”A wager?”” I hesitated for a moment. Selena cried even louder, her face soaked with tears. “”Jason, save me, I want to go home.”” “”Please save me! It’s just a gamble, you can definitely win.”” Selena’s mournful cries echoed in my ears. Derek laughed: “”Time is running out for you. Decide quickly. If you don’t agree, I’ll throw her down.”” As he spoke, two burly bodyguards lifted Selena from the chair and forcefully suspended her from a crane hook, leaving her dangling 20 stories high. Selena screamed, terrified, continuously yelling: “”Save me, Jason, I’m so scared, put me down.”” “”It’s best not to struggle, or you’ll fall and splatter into a mess of flesh and bone,”” Derek chuckled, threatening her. Selena didn’t dare to open her eyes and look down. With that reminder, she stopped squirming. She stared straight at me, crying. “”I’m so scared, save me……”” “”So? Have you decided? She can’t hold on much longer.”” Derek turned his head to look at me, smugly. I was still hesitating. My father was known as the “”King of a Thousand Aces”” in the gambling world. With his incredibly skilled gambling, he had held the title of World Gambling King for over a decade. Afterward, he retired honorably and started in the real estate industry. It was then that he set a rule, forbidding his descendants from touching gambling. But now, I was about to violate the family rule. Seeing my prolonged hesitation, Selena’s face was etched with despair: “”Jason, actually, yesterday I wasn’t getting my nails done. I was at the hospital for a check-up… I’m pregnant. You’re going to be a father, Jason.”” 2 At that, I froze, immediately turning to Derek: “”Put her down.”” “”You agree to bet with me?”” Derek raised an eyebrow. The first rule of my family was never to gamble, and never to reveal our skills in front of outsiders. But now, I had to choose between saving her and violating that oath. Seeing me still hesitate, Derek laughed heartily: “”If you don’t dare to gamble, then let’s skip that part. Just transfer all your assets to me. I won’t even take your life. You pack your bags and leave this city immediately.”” Selena choked up: “”Jason, my stomach hurts so much. The baby might not hold on much longer. Weren’t you looking forward to our baby? Please save me, I can’t take this anymore.”” “”But if I save you, I have to gamble with him. If I lose, I’ll become a disgrace to my family,”” I said with difficulty. Selena, hearing this, cried even harder: “”Are the baby and I not as important as your money? You might not even lose if you bet him. If you win, everyone will be happy.”” “”But you know I never play cards. Derek, he’s a veteran of many casinos, called the ‘Young Gambling King.’ How could I possibly win against him?”” I said helplessly. Selena looked at me affectionately, saying: “”Jason, I believe in you. Even if we lose, I’m willing to be a poor couple with you. We’ll never abandon each other.”” “”Enough with the nonsense, are you betting or not?”” Derek prompted, a little impatient. I closed my eyes, letting out a heavy breath: “”I’ll bet you.”” “”Gutsy. Have a seat!”” Derek smirked. “”Shouldn’t we sign the contract first? What if you go back on your word?”” I said calmly. Derek scoffed: “”I’ve been gambling since I was a teenager, always winning. Almost no one has ever beaten me. Are you so eager to sign the contract because you’re afraid you won’t lose your family fortune?”” With that, he tossed the contract onto the table. I sat across from him, picked up the contract, and meticulously reviewed every clause, ensuring there were no issues or hidden clauses. Finally, I signed my name and affixed my fingerprint. “”Your turn.”” I pushed the contract towards him. He sneered, a look of disdain on his face, as if certain he would win this time. After signing the contract, I took it back to photograph and video record it. He smugly pulled out a cigar. Derek held a silver lighter between his fingers, the flame flickering on and off. After taking a deep drag, he said: “”We’ll play Blackjack, simple rules. The dealer deals, everyone gets two starting cards. Points are the sum of the card faces. Aces are 1 or 11, Jacks, Queens, Kings are all 10. Whoever gets closest to 21 without going over wins. Best two out of three. Even if you’ve never played, you understand the rules, right? Don’t say I’m taking advantage of you.”” My fingertips tapped the table. I watched him expertly tear open a new deck of cards, the red and black faces fanning out and closing neatly in his palm: “”Who’s the dealer?”” “”We’ll take turns. I’ll deal the first round.”” Derek’s shuffling was mesmerizing, the backs of the cards colliding with a crisp “”swish-swish”” sound, like opening drums for this wager. This clearly showed he was a master of the casino. His deal was clean, two cards slapped in front of me, then two for himself, one face-up—the Diamond 10—and a face-down card tucked under the corner of the table. My starting hand was a Heart 5 and a Club 7, totaling 12 points, quite a distance from 21. “”Hit me.”” I pushed the cards forward. Derek glanced at me, his eyes showing his usual nonchalance. He drew a card and slid it to my hand—a Spade 8. My total instantly jumped to 20. This number was tricky. Another card might bust me, but standing pat put the pressure on the dealer. “”Stand.”” I arranged my three cards in a neat line. Derek’s gaze lingered on my cards for half a second. His slender fingers flipped his face-down card—a Heart Ace. His current total was 11. He said without hesitation: “”Hit me.”” The first additional card was a Diamond 3, bringing his total to 14. The second was a Spade 6, making his total exactly 20, matching mine. The air in the private room seemed to solidify. Derek’s fingertips rubbed the edge of his cards. The lighter flickered again. This time, he lit a cigarette. In the swirling smoke, his voice carried a hint of a smile: “”Another round. You deal this time.”” I took the cards he offered. When I shuffled, I deliberately slowed down, my fingertips feeling the texture of the cards. Although my family rules forbade gambling, my father had taught me knowledge and techniques of the card table since childhood. Just by touch, I could clearly know what card was under my hand. 3 When dealing, I intentionally revealed my face-up card slowly. My face-up card was a Heart Queen. Derek’s face-up card was a Club 9. He glanced at his own card, then at my face-down card under the table, raising an eyebrow: “”If your face-down card is an Ace, I’ll surrender immediately.”” I didn’t reply, flipping over my face-down card—a Diamond 2, making my total 12. Derek’s face-down card was a Diamond 5, totaling 14. He immediately raised his hand: “”Hit me.”” I drew a card and pushed it over—a Spade Jack. His total instantly soared to 24, a bust. “”Tsk, bad luck.”” Derek threw the busted cards on the table, extinguishing his cigarette butt in the crystal ashtray. Sparks flew up and quickly died out. My fingertip tapped the Heart Queen. My gaze fell on his ears, slightly reddened from losing, and I slowly spoke: “”Last hand.”” He chuckled at that, gathering the cards again. The shuffling sound was louder than before: “”Alright.”” I picked up the cards from the table, drew a Heart Ace, and placed it face down in front of him: “”I’m still the dealer.”” The shuffling sound resumed. This time, Derek’s gaze was fixed on my dealing hand, as if trying to see through my fingers to the suit of each card. I dealt him his cards first. His face-up card was a Diamond 9. I then dealt myself a Heart 6. My face-up total was just over half, not much of an advantage in Blackjack. Derek immediately flipped his face-down card. It was a Club 8. His fingertip tapped the card face: “”17 points, very stable.”” I glanced at my face-down card, a Spade 3, total 9. “”Hit me.”” I pushed the card forward. Derek scoffed, his action of drawing a card showing a hint of condescension: “”You dare to chase aggressively with 9 points? Be careful not to bust yourself.”” The card slid in front of me—a Diamond 5, bringing my total to 14. “”Hit me again.”” My words had barely finished. Derek’s laughter came through: “”There’s a limit to showing off. Look how stable I am at 17, standing pat. Unlike some people, who insist on gambling when they clearly don’t have the luck.”” He said, leaning back in his chair, his legs crossed high. His gaze swept over my cards with disdain. “”You’re bound to lose this hand. Why don’t you admit defeat now, call me ‘Daddy,’ and kneel to me? I might even consider leaving you two thousand to buy an electric scooter to deliver takeout, since you’ll be broke after losing.”” I didn’t pick up on his taunt, just raised my hand again: “”Hit me.”” Derek, this so-called “”Young Gambling King,”” was nothing more than trash in front of me. His little tricks were just entertainment I used to pass the time when I was bored as a child. Derek’s smile deepened. He deliberately paused for two seconds before drawing a card, as if savoring my final struggle. This card was a Heart 4. My total stopped at 18. “”Stand.”” I placed the three cards steadily. Derek immediately sat up straight, tapping the table with his fingers: “”18 points? Looks good, but unfortunately, it’s still a bit short compared to me.”” He said, about to collect the cards, but I gently pressed his wrist: “”What’s the rush? The dealer hasn’t finished drawing cards yet.”” Derek froze, then raised an eyebrow: “”Oh? You dare to draw another card at 18 points? I’d like to see how you bust.”” I drew a card from the deck. Instead of flipping it immediately, I pinched the corner of the card and spun it half a turn. Derek’s gaze was practically fixed on that card. The smile on his lips hadn’t dropped once: “”Hurry up and flip it! Are you scared? I told you early on that you’re no match for me.”” 4 Before he finished speaking, I had slapped the card on the table. A Spade 3, totaling exactly 21 points. The air instantly solidified. Derek’s smile froze on his face. He abruptly leaned forward, his finger pointing at the Spade 3, his voice changing pitch: “”Impossible! How did you get a 3?”” He frantically flipped over my cards one by one—Heart 6, Diamond 5, Spade 3. The sum of the numbers was clearly laid out before him. His earlier arrogant mockery was all caught in his throat. He stared wide-eyed, his ears turning from flushed to crimson, his fingers unconsciously clenching the tablecloth, his breathing becoming ragged: “”What’s wrong with these cards? Did you cheat?”” I gathered the cards again and pushed them towards him: “”A bet is a bet. Or are you going to go back on your word?”” “”This is impossible, you cheated!”” Derek roared, slamming his fist on the table. He glared at me, his eyes red: “”Didn’t you say you never gambled? Are you playing dirty?!”” “”I don’t gamble, but that doesn’t mean I don’t know how. A bet is a bet.”” I smiled faintly, turning my head to glance at Selena. Selena was now stunned, her pupils dilated. She looked at me in astonishment: “”You won?”” “”Aren’t you happy I won? I can save you right away.”” I smiled slightly. Selena nodded: “”Happy. I’m really happy for you.”” Watching her force a smile, I remained silent, not exposing her true thoughts. “”Now, can we leave? When will Mr. Jensen transfer the assets to me?”” I looked at Derek, my voice dripping with sarcasm. Derek tore the contract in his hand into shreds. He laughed ferociously: “”Hahahaha, do you understand the law? From a legal standpoint, this contract has no legal effect whatsoever. The Civil Code explicitly prohibits gambling and civil acts for gambling purposes. An agreement centered around gambling is directly considered invalid because it ‘violates mandatory provisions of laws and administrative regulations.’”” “”Dream on about taking my family fortune.”” Derek smugly scattered the contract fragments across the floor. I raised an eyebrow slightly: “”I didn’t expect you to be quite clever, making thorough preparations, even thinking of an escape route beforehand.”” Such a gambling agreement, legally speaking, indeed had no legal effect. Even if both parties agreed, the old guard on the board wouldn’t approve. But with this agreement, I could make a big deal out of it. I had thought of a perfect plan from the beginning. “”I’m the Young Gambling King. How could you possibly beat me?”” Derek gritted his teeth. I chuckled: “”Because I can feel the value of each card with my fingers.”” “”That’s impossible!”” Derek countered, then fanned out the cards, looking at me. “”I don’t believe it, unless you demonstrate it now.”” “”Alright, to convince you.”” I reached out, touched a card, and said calmly: “”Spade Ace.”” “”Again.”” Derek was unconvinced. I touched three more cards, saying: “”Diamond Four, Heart Three, Club Six. How’s that? Did I get them right?”” “”Rumor has it that only the legendary ‘Ghost Hand’ Gambling King knew this trick of feeling cards with his fingertips. Could you be… the son of the Gambling King?”” Derek’s eyes widened in shock, looking at me incredulously. I stared back, not speaking, just smiling faintly. He swallowed, wanting to say something but closed his mouth, wary. Having grown up in casinos, he naturally knew my father’s name. Although my father had retired from gambling for many years, his legends and connections still circulated in the underworld. My father was famous in the gambling world back then, known to everyone, though few knew his real name, only revering him as the Gambling King. Thirty years ago, my father rose to prominence in the Hong Kong and Macau region, but he also secretly offended many enemies. After several assassination attempts, my father came to the mainland with his money, starting his business with his first pot of gold from gambling. The old poker deck with ivory edges in my father’s study was a testament to his reign in the entertainment city casinos. After his real estate business stabilized, my father married and had children. On the day I was born, he, in front of everyone, threw that deck of cards, which had won countless fortunes, into a brazier, completely retiring from gambling. He even chopped up the mahjong table at home for firewood. My father used to say that the card table was an abyss: however crazy you were when you won, that’s how miserable you would be when you lost. 5 “”A bet is a bet. Let her down.”” I looked at Selena, who was still dangling. Derek chuckled: “”I don’t care who you are, you’re not leaving today. I only wanted your assets initially, but if you insist on opposing me, I’ll have no choice but to be ruthless.”” “”Do you know about human sacrifice for building foundations? Today, I’ll use you to consecrate my family’s new development. Get him.”” Derek commanded, and several bodyguards immediately rushed towards me. I stretched my limbs and chuckled, “”Bring it on. You only get one chance to take me down.”” Derek retreated to a safe distance, watching me and yelling: “”So what if you have ghost hands? So what if you have a Gambling King for a father? Today, you’re going down.”” The bodyguards swarmed me, their moves vicious and aimed to kill. But I wasn’t to be underestimated. Every punch I threw landed with power, and in less than half an hour, I had knocked down a dozen bodyguards. I twisted my neck and walked towards Derek: “”Your turn.”” “”I underestimated you, you’re quite a fighter.”” Derek was shocked, then gritted his teeth and glared at me, seemingly not expecting my formidable skills. I had boxed underground for a few years, a fact many people didn’t know. “”Being a good fighter is useless, you bastard. You wait for me.”” Derek stood on the edge of the rooftop, gave me the middle finger, and then leaped off. Selena screamed, but then saw Derek had a paraglider strapped to his back. After jumping, he quickly deployed the paraglider and flew into the nearest patch of woods. A coward, thoroughly prepared. Even if he hadn’t anticipated my gambling and fighting skills, he had still made sure he was foolproof. The bodyguards on the ground, seeing their boss flee, also scrambled up and ran towards the stairwell. Only Selena and I were left. Selena’s voice was hoarse from crying. Her face was pale and distraught: “”Jason, please put me down.”” I gently lowered her and held her in my arms: “”Are you alright?”” “”I, I’m fine. I knew you would win,”” Selena said, reaching up to touch my face, forcing a smile. “”I’ll do anything for you. Thankfully I won, otherwise, you would truly suffer with me in the future. I didn’t know you would be willing to sacrifice so much for me. I failed to protect you, but I promise I will never let you get hurt again.”” I looked into her eyes, full of tenderness. Selena’s complexion was very poor, likely due to being suspended for too long. She was about to speak, but her eyes rolled back, and she fainted. I immediately took her to the hospital. The doctor said she was just traumatized and needed to be hospitalized for a few days for observation. When Selena woke up, it was already evening. I sat by her hospital bed, holding her hand. “”You’re awake. I was so worried about you,”” I said. “”What happened to me?”” Selena asked weakly. I poured her a glass of warm water, then said through gritted teeth: “”You were so frightened you almost had a miscarriage. The doctor said you must stay in the hospital for observation now.”” “”Is the baby okay?”” Selena immediately clutched her stomach in alarm. I comforted her for a while, telling her she had to stay in bed for a few days. Then I added: “”You rest well. I’m going to the police station now to report this. We absolutely cannot let that scoundrel who hurt you get away with it.”” “”No.”” Selena grabbed my hand, her voice clearly anxious. I frowned, looking at her in confusion: “”What’s wrong? That bastard Derek hurt you and almost killed our child. I must make him pay. I’m going to accuse him of kidnapping and assault.”” Selena shook her head. “”Can we report it after I’m discharged? Or, after the bid is over, then deal with these things. I don’t want you to be distracted because of me.”” At Selena’s repeated pleas, I agreed not to call the police for now. But I still gritted my teeth and said, “”I won’t let him off the hook.”””

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After Women’s Day, my CEO wife created a “Men’s Day” and gave every male employee a gaming keyboard—except me. I overheard colleagues in the break room: “She set this up just for her boyfriend Liam. Even bought him a high-end gaming PC.” “He keeps bothering the CEO. No wonder she’s avoiding him.” I remembered the flashy setup the intern Noah got this morning. Amy never gave me a gift, not even on anniversaries. Lately, she’s been distant, only talking about work worries. I turned down Gray Corp’s offer to help her startup, worked tirelessly, even agreed to a secret marriage. All I got was her silence during rumors and clear favoritism toward the intern. Holding the hard drive with the latest tech, I called Gray Corp. “Deal. Technology for equity.” … A few seconds of silence, then Hannah Gray, known as the “tech industry’s Iron Lady,” couldn’t hide the excitement in her voice. “Charles, don’t worry. I guarantee your decision will be the best choice you’ve ever made! Tomorrow’s Eastern Pacific tender, with your technology, we’re set!” As soon as I agreed, the phone in my hand was snatched away. I turned to meet Amy Quinn’s cold gaze, a group of gloating employees standing behind her. She ended my call without a glance, her tone icy. “It’s just a keyboard. As a tech lead, do you really need to make a scene at HR? If word gets out, people will think Noah is deliberately making things difficult for you. Where would that leave him?” A bitter smile played on my lips— I hadn’t even reached HR, and she was already so worried about Noah. But for the past year, in the eyes of colleagues, I’d become a lecherous man destroying her and her boyfriend’s relationship, with vicious rumors flying everywhere, yet she acted deaf and ignored it all. Seeing the boss angry, the others naturally understood and joined in with harsh words. “Manager Gray, being an old bachelor, probably never received a keyboard before. Is that why he’s so sensitive?” “Are home-wreckers always this shameless? Ms. Quinn tried to avoid you and not give you a keyboard, but you still insisted on coming over!” “Men’s Day, as the name suggests, is for young, handsome guys like Noah and us. What’s an old fossil like you even thinking?” Every word pierced me like an arrow. Amy Quinn’s face, however, showed no ripple of emotion— I instantly understood that they were probably her mouthpieces, which was why she was so calm. I trembled with anger, looking coldly at this woman I’d been married to for seven years. “I am also a male employee of the company. Is there a problem with me fighting for the benefits I’m entitled to?” Seeing my eyes redden, a flicker of emotion finally crossed Amy Quinn’s face, and she sighed lightly. “If you want—” Noah Dubois suddenly appeared, clutching the gaming rig, and interrupted her, sobbing. “Manager Gray, it’s my fault. As an intern, I don’t deserve this! If you like it, take it. Please don’t use your managerial position to pressure me. I’m really scared!” His few close colleagues in the company also stepped forward, complaining passive-aggressively. “This morning, as soon as Noah received the keyboard, Manager Gray made him print hundreds of pages of garbled files within an hour. Noah stood by the printer until his back was breaking, but what came out was clearly useless paper that no one would read. Isn’t this blatant workplace bullying?” Amy Quinn saw the pile of half-printed documents on the desk, and that hint of emotion on her face instantly vanished. She pulled out a stack of what looked like gibberish, angrily tore it to shreds, and scattered it all over me. “And I thought about compensating you. Our Quinn Industries has always valued employee care as its corporate culture. You, a degenerate who bullies subordinates, are utterly disgraceful!” Behind the scattered papers were Noah and his friends’ triumphant smiles. But Amy Quinn didn’t know that what was written on those papers was my latest technical report, which I had slaved over for five sleepless nights. I had asked the intern to print it this morning because I wanted to present it to Eastern Pacific Group, the largest client in the industry, before the bidding closed, to secure the project directly. She grabbed another stack of papers and savagely slapped them across my face. “Apologize to Noah, now!” The sharp edges of the A4 paper left several cuts on my face. The tingling pain, however, was nothing compared to the desolation in my heart. I bent down to pick up the documents I had painstakingly worked on, my voice as cold as my heart. “He didn’t follow my instructions to produce the files within an hour this morning because he wanted to show off his new equipment. He’s the one who should apologize!” 2 Amy Quinn’s face grew even darker. She stepped forward and grabbed my collar. “Charles Gray, when did you become so deceitful and malicious? You’re clearly in the wrong, and for a bit of jealousy, you’d abandon all dignity? Kneel down and apologize to Noah, and I… I might let you stay on the team!” The crowd of petty people erupted. “You old home-wrecker, using your position to bully and harass the rightful person, and you still have the nerve to demand an apology?” “A pile of waste paper, wasting company resources and disrupting our work. What right does such a selfish, lowlife man have to be a manager?” “You usually know you’re cheap. You don’t even take salary or benefits, just cling to Ms. Quinn. Today, for a measly flower, you finally couldn’t keep up the act, could you?” I couldn’t help but let out a self-deprecating laugh— When Amy Quinn and I married, she was penniless, but she knew I liked to relax by playing games, and she often saved up to buy me gaming equipment. Our lives were humble then, but our hearts were full. Until she clamored to start her own business, pinching every penny, with no time to buy me equipment. As a renowned tech expert in the industry, I had no choice but to invest my money and efforts to support her. It wasn’t until last year, when the company began to thrive, expanding its team and hiring many interns, that she aimed to capture the market. I watched her every step of the way, knowing her struggles as an entrepreneur, so I joined Quinn Industries without a salary, giving all benefits to the new recruits. Even when rumors about her and Noah reached my ears, Even knowing that Noah, an intern, could expense anything without receipts or limits, Even though he’d been here only a year and couldn’t even manage basic printing, his year-end bonus was a sports car, I believed Amy Quinn’s explanation, “to show care for subordinates and enhance team cohesion.” But for today’s benefit, I always thought, given my preferences, she surely wouldn’t omit me. Yet, I never expected that my years of silent endurance and support would only be seen by everyone as undeserving. I pointed at the data on the document, looking at Amy Quinn with heartache. “This is the technical data I created with my blood and sweat. If it had been completed according to my timeline this morning, this document alone could have secured the Eastern Pacific bid ahead of time. Now it’s all ruined. Shouldn’t he be the one to go?” Noah, whom I was pointing at, his eyes darted around, then tears streamed down his face. “Manager Gray, I just got Ms. Quinn’s favor, and you’re setting such a malicious trap for me? No wonder you gave me a time limit to print so many documents. It turns out you couldn’t develop the software Ms. Quinn requested and were afraid of losing tomorrow’s bid, so you wanted to blame me! Are you really going to harm me just to cling to Ms. Quinn?” Others also chimed in. “I heard Ms. Quinn has been dissatisfied with the tech department for not breaking through the bottleneck for a year. This old fox is cunning, using Noah as a scapegoat!” “So it didn’t matter if the printed documents were garbled. It was just to give Noah an impossible task, purely for blame-shifting!” “How insidious! No wonder a man tries to climb the ladder by being a home-wrecker. Turns out he knows he’s incompetent!” Amy Quinn’s eyes were like daggers. She shoved me onto the pile of documents on the floor. “You’re truly scheming to calculate against Noah! I wondered why you volunteered for the tech work and then went quiet for so long. Turns out you were spending all your time plotting against Noah! Apologize to Noah immediately, or don’t even think about staying with the company!” But she forgot, back when the company was just starting and couldn’t afford employees, I often filled in for all positions. Including printing hundreds of pages within an hour, which she always considered basic. But when it came to Noah, it became me deliberately making things difficult. I gave a desolate smile, stood up, brushed off the paper scraps, took off my ID badge, and packed my belongings. “No need for threats. I’m quitting right now!” I printed another document, signed it, and handed it to her. “Sign this, and I’ll send you the mailing address.” Seeing the words “Divorce Agreement,” Amy Quinn froze, then instinctively grabbed me as I was about to leave— 3 Others assumed I was handing her a resignation letter and cheered. Only Noah, seeing her hold me back, his face instantly clouded over. He quickly pulled Amy Quinn’s arm away. “Ms. Quinn, are you trying to drag Manager Gray back to apologize to me? If he resigns as an apology, I might not be able to accept it…” Amy Quinn then recovered herself. Always mindful of her boss image, she quickly nodded along with his words. “Exactly, how can I let this scoundrel leave so easily?” She yanked me back, pressing me hard against the wall. “If I win the bid tomorrow, I’ll be a legendary heroine in the business world! How can you just leave at a time like this?” The fierce and unwilling look in her eyes, made it impossible for me to tell if she was keeping me for the bid, or for a love that had been worn down to a mere inconvenience by time. But I had long lost the interest to guess her thoughts. My heart like ashes, I stared straight into her eyes. “Since you think I’m incompetent, and you resent me for interfering with your love life, why stop me?” Amy Quinn’s face stiffened. She glanced at Noah behind her, making a clumsy attempt to cover up. “You’re neglecting your duties and bullying a colleague. Don’t drag me into it!” Then she leaned in, gritting her teeth and whispering. “Just because I’ve been busy with work these past few months and a bit less intimate in bed, you’re going to make a fuss over a keyboard and turn everything upside down?” I shook my head, speechless, and forcefully pushed her away. The contents of the cardboard box in my arms scattered across the floor. Noah immediately picked up the most conspicuous item, a photo album. He opened it and sneered. “No wonder Manager Gray is in such a hurry to leave Quinn Industries. Turns out he saw Ms. Quinn was out of reach and found someone new!” Others glanced at it and followed suit with mocking laughter. “Today, seeing he didn’t even get a keyboard, he knew Ms. Quinn was a lost cause and started looking for a new sugar mommy. How utterly pathetic! Looks like he’s been eagerly riding cars to hook up with new targets. Shameless!” But Amy Quinn’s face turned ashen as she looked at the contents— The album contained no photos, only train tickets. It was from college, during the National Computer Competition. She, as part of their school’s logistics team, fell for me at first sight and confessed passionately. But back then, I was already the school’s renowned prodigy, unmatched in software technology. Compared to her, a student who liked to play all sides and often failed classes, we were worlds apart. I gently rejected her, but after the competition, she came back again and again, even standing for hours on trains, to win me over. Moved by her persistence, I agreed to a relationship. When we got married, she gave me an album made of all those tickets, tears streaming down her face as she hugged me. “It took me thousands of miles to catch you. How could I not cherish you?” But now, this album of tickets had become the most ridiculous irony. Seeing my silence, the employees assumed they had guessed my illicit affair. They immediately took out their phones, pointed them at my face, and started a live stream. “I’ve never seen such a shameless kept man. Failing with one, he immediately goes to ruin the next. Everyone beware!” Instantly, my swollen face, paired with the title “Most Afraid of an Old Kept Man Who Tries Hard,” spread across the entire internet. Netizens delighted in the gossip, defamation flowing freely. “So old and still wanting to be a mistress. Isn’t earning money in bed tiring?” “Who told him he’s incompetent? No skills, so he has to rely on his body!” Some also questioned. “This man looks familiar. He seems to have won many tech awards before. He should earn quite a bit of money. Is it really necessary to be a kept man?” Seeing the public outcry, I was furious. I grabbed Amy Quinn’s collar. “Whether I’m a kept man or not, you know best. Tell everyone…”

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