Category: English

The night before my wedding, my fiancé’s female bestie posted online, looking for a sugar daddy. “Not into dating, definitely not into marriage,” she wrote. “That piece of paper is just a cage. It turns you into a man’s property—laundry, cooking, popping out kids, and breastfeeding for the rest of your life! But being the other woman? Totally different. You don’t even have to shower first.” The comments section exploded with people calling her shameless. My fiancé, Alex, just printed out a sponsorship agreement and dropped it on the table. “Cara,” he announced, “Jenna’s parents are driving her crazy about getting married. They’re pushing her to the breaking point. I have to help her.” “Don’t worry,” he added quickly, “it’s just an act to get her parents off her back. It won’t affect our wedding.” I glanced at the agreement—five thousand dollars a month—and asked him if he was actually going to pay her. He stared at me like I was an idiot. “Of course, it’s real. It’s for her reputational damages.” A slow, knowing smile spread across my face. I picked up my wedding dress from its hanger and shoved it into his arms. “In that case, why don’t you be a real hero and just marry her instead?” 1 Alex clutched the gown, a confused frown creasing his forehead. “Cara, what are you talking about?” “I’m just doing a friend a favor. Why are you getting so upset?” A favor? We had been together for five years. Five years leading to this moment, and on the night before our wedding, he was brazenly telling me he was going to become his best friend’s sugar daddy. He knew better than anyone that this was no act. We’d met each other’s parents a year into our relationship and had been planning our wedding ever since. But every time we set a date, Jenna would find a way to sabotage it. A sudden car accident. A drunken night out that required Alex to rescue her. Each time, she’d guilt him into postponing, claiming that if he got married, her parents would ramp up the pressure on her. If we had a child, she’d wail, they’d probably marry her off to the first old man they could find. And Alex, her loyal shield against parental pressure, had made me compromise, again and again. If I hadn’t finally given him an ultimatum—get married this year or we’re through—he would have kept dragging his feet. I thought this time, finally, our wedding would actually happen. I never expected Jenna to pull a stunt like this. My silence must have made Alex realize this wasn’t just a passing mood. “Are you serious?” he asked, his voice uncertain. “If I do this for Jenna, you’re really not going to marry me?” “Nothing is going to happen between us! We’ll just take a few pictures to fool her parents, that’s it. I swear I’ll be completely faithful to you.” I rolled my eyes. “Are you even listening to yourself?” “I’m not even your wife yet, and you’ve already lined up your mistress. What kind of pathetic doormat do you think I am?” Alex rubbed his temples and gestured toward the house next door, where a shouting match was in full swing. “Cara, just listen to them. Her parents yell at her like that every single day because she’s single. Don’t you feel bad for her?” “No, I don’t.” A flicker of relief crossed his face, thinking he’d won me over. He moved to pull me into a hug, but I sidestepped him. “That’s why I’m letting you go,” I said, my voice cold. “From now on, you can be her husband. Then maybe her parents will finally leave her alone.” The smile vanished from Alex’s face, replaced by a dark glower. “Cara! You’re a woman! Your parents have been pushing you to get married for years. You of all people should understand what she’s going through! Why can’t you just help her out?” I stared at the man I had loved for five years and suddenly had nothing left to say. So, he knew. He knew how much pressure my parents were putting on me. And he had still made me wait, time and time again, all for Jenna. He was so focused on being her hero that he never once considered my own struggle. He had no idea that his constant delays had made my parents despise him. I had fought tooth and nail for him, defending his character every time they urged me to leave him, assuring them—and myself—that he loved me. I convinced myself that a man so loyal to his friend would surely be a devoted husband. But the sponsorship agreement on the table was a slap in the face. “Alex, let me ask you this. As long as Jenna is single, you’re just going to keep running to her rescue?” “Of course! She’s my best friend. When your friend is in trouble, you drop everything to help.” That was all I needed to hear. I turned and started packing my suitcase. Alex, convinced I was just throwing a tantrum, grabbed the agreement and headed next door. “Cara, the invitations are out,” he called over his shoulder. “Tomorrow is the wedding you’ve always dreamed of. Don’t you dare ruin it.” 2 I didn’t stop packing. Since I was giving my wedding to Jenna, I figured I should clean up. I took down all of our engagement photos and dumped them in the trash. As I was leaving with my suitcase, the fight next door had reached a fever pitch. Jenna’s father was screaming. “Sponsorship? Alex, you bastard, who do you think you are, offering to be my daughter’s sugar daddy?” “You either marry her, or you get the hell out of my house! Stop making things worse!” Jenna’s mother spotted me and rushed over, forcing a smile. “Cara, you’re just in time! Come help us talk some sense into Alex! He’s supposed to be marrying you tomorrow, and now he’s talking about sponsoring Jenna. Isn’t that ridiculous?” She had to know her daughter was in love with Alex. I was done playing her game. “He’s going to marry her tomorrow,” I said flatly. “I wish them a long and happy life together.” My directness caught her off guard. The smile had already faltered when she saw my suitcase, and now it collapsed into a mask of contrived sadness. “Cara, what are you talking about? Isn’t Alex marrying you?” she stammered. “I mean, yes, Jenna has followed him around since they were kids, and they always played house together. We all thought they’d end up married, but… well, now Alex is getting married and Jenna’s still single. Her father and I are just worried sick…” It was always the same routine. Every time my parents came over to discuss wedding details, Jenna’s parents would start a loud, dramatic fight. Jenna would then run off, orchestrating some new crisis. And her mother would show up at our door, begging for Alex’s help, effectively derailing our plans. Once or twice might have been a coincidence. But every single time? I wasn’t an idiot. I was tired of my parents being disrespected. I had decided to break up with him before, but Alex had shown up at my parents’ house with extravagant gifts, literally kneeling and begging for my hand in marriage. He had sworn he would never let me down again. That was less than two months ago. I stared at Jenna’s mother, my voice sharp. “Aren’t you all tired of this act? Your daughter is getting married tomorrow. You should go home and decorate.” Her eyes met mine, and for a moment, she was speechless. But as I turned to leave, she suddenly collapsed onto the ground, crying out in pain. “Oh, my back! It hurts so much!” The shouting next door stopped instantly, as if on cue. The three of them rushed out and surrounded her. Alex’s face was a mask of panic, and I remembered how calm he had been when my own mother was in the hospital after a real car accident. He loved them like his own. He clearly cared more about Jenna’s mother than mine. I had no interest in their soap opera. I kept walking. But then, Jenna’s mother pointed a trembling finger at me. “Alex, go get your fiancée! I was just wishing her well, and I don’t know what I said, but she got so angry she pushed me over… Oh, I think my back is broken!” A family of world-class manipulators. Every last one of them. And Alex fell for it every time. He lunged at me, his fingers digging into my arm. “Cara, have you not caused enough trouble?” 3 The pain in my arm was nothing compared to the ache in my heart. I wrenched my arm free and slapped him, hard. “Who’s the one causing trouble?” I seethed. “Are you blind? Can’t you see this is all a performance to force you to marry her?” “I’ve already given you what you want. Why won’t you just leave me alone?” The three of them exchanged a look, then put on their masks of innocence. “Cara, you must have misunderstood,” Jenna’s mother said, her voice trembling. “We were just worried about Jenna. We’re so happy for you and Alex!” Jenna’s father adopted a stern tone. “You owe us an apology for these wild accusations.” Jenna just stood there, biting her lip, silent tears streaming down her face. Alex touched his reddening cheek, his eyes blazing with anger. “Look what you’ve done, Cara.” “I told you I was still going to marry you! The agreement was just to calm her parents down. Why do you have to turn everything into some twisted conspiracy?” “Take your anger out on me, not her mother!” “If you want our wedding to happen tomorrow, you will apologize to her mother. And then you will apologize to Jenna and her whole family.” The rage I had been suppressing erupted. Jenna’s father, seeing my fury, stepped in. “That’s right! You will apologize. And if you don’t, I will have no problem letting Alex sponsor my daughter!” “And that five thousand a month? You can pay it. As a token of your sincerity.” I was stunned. Then, I burst out laughing. In that moment, I had never been more grateful that I hadn’t legally married Alex yet. My parents had insisted we wait until after the ceremony, convinced Jenna’s family would pull something. They were right. If we had signed the papers, I’d be stuck, forced to go through a divorce to escape this nightmare. I pointed to the security camera on the corner of the street. “First of all,” I said to Alex, “I’m not apologizing for something I didn’t do.” “Second, you and I are over. You can marry whoever you want tomorrow.” My ride arrived just then. I got in without a second glance. In the rearview mirror, I saw Alex run after the car for a short distance. The driver kindly rolled down my window. “Should I stop, miss?” I shook my head. I could just make out Alex’s furious shouts. “Cara, come back here! Her mother is an old woman! Why would she lie about a little girl like you?” “Come back and apologize, and we can still have our wedding tomorrow!” “Speed up,” I told the driver. Alex’s voice rose to a desperate roar. “Cara! Fine! You want to be stubborn? I’ll marry Jenna tomorrow, just like you wanted! And you’ll be sorry!” Sorry? The only thing I was sorry about was not listening to my parents and breaking up with him sooner. When my parents saw me walk in with my suitcase, they didn’t ask any questions. They just wrapped me in a hug. Then they started calling our relatives, one by one, to tell them the wedding was off. They handled every awkward question with grace, simply saying we weren’t a good match, never once attacking Alex’s character. I hid in my room, curled up in a ball, and let the tears come. Tears for loving the wrong person. Tears for the shame I’d brought on my family. Tears for five wasted years. Before I could even process my grief, my phone started buzzing relentlessly. It was a flood of notifications, all of them filled with vile, hateful messages. So that’s why she posted about being a sugar baby! She was calling YOU out as the real homewrecker! You bitch, give him back to her! Crawl back into your hole and never come out! How dare you drive a good woman to beg for a sugar daddy online? Why don’t you just die? It clicked. The messages were connected to Jenna’s post. I ignored them and went back to her social media page. Her “sugar baby” post now had over a million likes. The initial negative comments were gone. Pinned at the very top was a new comment. From Alex. 4 “I’m so sorry. I was fooled by that woman. I’m going to marry you, and I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.” It was obvious who “that woman” was. To make matters worse, Jenna had tagged me in her reply to him. @Cara, there are plenty of fish in the sea. Please stop clinging to my fiancé. But if you truly love him so much you can’t live without him, I’m willing to step aside. My DMs were exploding. Just then, a text from Alex came through. Cara, don’t pay any attention to that comment. The internet is just toxic. They were about to dox Jenna and ruin her life. If she gets labeled a homewrecker, she’s finished. Once things calm down, she’ll delete the post. No one will ever know it was about you. By the way, I bought a gift. Come over tonight and we’ll go apologize to her mom together. Then this will all be over, and our wedding will be back on for tomorrow. His tone was so condescending, so certain that I would crawl back to him, just like I always had. It never even occurred to him that if the internet could find Jenna’s personal information, they could just as easily find mine. Did he think they hated only his mistress? In that moment, the difference between love and not-love was starkly clear. He probably didn’t even realize that his concern for Jenna had long since crossed the line from friendship into something else. I didn’t reply. Instead, I contacted the hotel manager and the wedding planner. I got copies of all the photos of the venue, the script for the ceremony, and then I posted everything online. The wedding invitation. The sponsorship agreement. And five years of our private relationship history, which I had always kept locked. I also included screenshots of the hate mail I was receiving, along with Alex’s arrogant text message. Let the internet decide who the real homewrecker was. I didn’t care what happened next. But I would not let them turn a mob of strangers against me and my family.

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1 For five years, Gideon Blackwood had never once truly looked at me. His heart belonged to a ghost. His lost love, Seraphina Monroe. It wasn’t until today, when I snatched the documents he’d been hiding, that the full truth crashed down on me. It was a Deed of Gift. Three properties in his name, along with forty percent of his shares in Blackwood Enterprises, were all being gifted, free and clear, to Felicity Monroe. Felicity. The younger sister of his dead first love. Tucked into the last page was another form. A bone marrow donation consent form. The recipient: Felicity Monroe. All it needed was my signature. I slapped the papers down in front of him. “What the hell is this, Gideon?” He didn’t even look up, just reached out and smoothly pulled the documents from under my hand. “Aurora, this is what we owe Seraphina. If you hadn’t insisted on marrying me back then, she would never have died.” “Now Felicity has leukemia,” he continued, his voice devoid of emotion. “We have to save her.” Five years. For five long years, I’d been his personal ATM, all to soothe his guilt over a dead woman. And now? Now he wanted to force me to donate my bone marrow. If Gideon Blackwood had no room in his heart for me or our daughter, then he could play the tragic, romantic hero all by himself. … When I pushed open the study door, Gideon was in the middle of locking a thick file into his safe. I moved like a flash, blocking the heavy door with my body and yanking the file from his grasp. The black ink on the white paper was brutally clear. Thirty percent of his shares in the Blackwood Corporation, three sprawling penthouse apartments overlooking the bay—all gifted unconditionally to Felicity Monroe. And tucked beneath it all was the bone marrow consent form, waiting for my signature. I slammed the file onto the polished mahogany desk, my eyes locking onto his. “Have you lost your goddamn mind, Gideon? Or did you sell your soul?” I demanded, my voice dangerously low. “It’s one thing to pour our marital assets into that bottomless pit, but now you want to drain my marrow? By what right?” Gideon’s brow furrowed, his eyes clouded with impatience. “Aurora, can you stop being so selfish for once?” “Seraphina was consumed by fire trying to save me. There wasn’t even a body to bury,” he said, his voice laced with that familiar, sanctimonious grief. “Felicity is her only sister, and now she has leukemia. If we don’t save her, who will? These assets are just material things. They’re worth it if they can save Felicity’s life.” A laugh, sharp and ugly, tore from my throat. “You’re the one who owes Seraphina a life. You go pay it back,” I spat. “You want to donate marrow? Go get typed yourself. Don’t you dare use my body to play the saint.” My words finally lit his fuse. He shot to his feet. “I’m not a match! You are. It’s the only one that’s viable. That has to mean something. It’s fate.” “You’re the lady of the Blackwood estate. You’ve enjoyed years of luxury. What’s a little blood?” he sneered. “Besides, if you hadn’t forced your way into this marriage, Seraphina would never have left town in despair. She never would have been in that fire. You’re atoning for your sins, Aurora.” My hand moved before I could think. The sharp crack of my palm against his cheek echoed in the silent study. “If you’re going to act like a rabid dog, Gideon, go get a shot. Don’t stand here barking at me,” I said, my hand stinging. “You’re the one who knelt in the rain, begging me to marry you, begging for my family’s capital to save your company from bankruptcy. Now that you’re safe, you want to rewrite history and play the heartbroken lover?” He clutched his cheek, staring at me in disbelief. “You… you hit me.” “And I’ll do it again to knock some sense into your thick skull.” I couldn’t stand the sight of his disgusting face a moment longer. I turned and stalked out, heading for the stairs. But as I reached the landing, our daughter Rosie’s heart-wrenching sobs drifted up from below. My heart seized. I flew down the stairs, taking them two at a time. The living room was a disaster. Felicity was sitting on the ruined sofa, a twisted expression on her scarred face. In her hand, she held a decorative, glass-handled feather duster. Rosie was huddled in a corner, trembling, a long, bloody gash marking her small arm. The blood rushed to my head in a blinding wave of fury. “Felicity, you are going to die today.” I lunged, ripping the duster from her hand and bringing it down hard across her back. Felicity let out a shriek like a butchered hog, tumbling onto the rug. “Aurora! What are you doing? I was just teaching Rosie a lesson!” “She deliberately broke the crystal glass my sister gave me! I was just helping you discipline her, what’s wrong with that?” she wailed, her face a mask of tear-streaked innocence, as if she were the one who’d been wronged. I swept Rosie into my arms, my heart shattering as I looked at her tear-stained face. “Mommy,” Rosie sobbed, her little arms clinging to my neck. “I didn’t touch her glass. She dropped it herself. And she pinched me.” I turned, my gaze a weapon aimed at Felicity. “What gives you the right to lay a hand on my daughter? Who do you think you are?” “I swear, I’m going to peel the skin from your bones today.” I raised the duster to strike again. Suddenly, a powerful force shoved me from behind. Gideon had stormed down and pushed me away. “Aurora, are you insane?” he roared. “Felicity is sick! How could you hit her so hard?” He knelt, gathering Felicity into his arms with painstaking care, then glared at me as if I were his mortal enemy. I steadied myself, holding Rosie tight, and met his furious gaze without flinching. “Are you blind, Gideon? Did you not see the blood on our daughter’s arm?” He didn’t even spare Rosie a glance, his attention focused on gently wiping away Felicity’s crocodile tears. “Kids get scrapes all the time. It’s normal. But Felicity is fragile. A blow like that could kill her.” His voice dropped to a menacing command. “Apologize to Felicity. Now.” Laughter bubbled up inside me, a hysterical, trembling sound. “You want me to apologize to her? The day I do that, Gideon, is the day I die.” I leveled a final, unwavering look at him. “From this day on, this house isn’t big enough for both of us. It’s her or me.” 2 Gideon’s face was a thundercloud, dark and menacing. “Aurora, stop being so dramatic.” “Felicity’s body can’t wait,” he said, his tone final. “At the charity gala next week, I’ll formally announce that I’m adopting her as my sister. At the same time, I’ll announce your marrow donation. Consider it a good deed. It will be good for your public image.” He leaned in, his voice a low threat. “If you dare ruin that gala, don’t blame me for what comes next.” I looked at this man I had shared a bed with for five years and saw a complete stranger. “Who do you think you are, Gideon? God Almighty?” I shot back. “What you announce has nothing to do with me. I won’t sign the consent form. Let’s see which doctor dares to touch me then.” Nestled in Gideon’s arms, Felicity let out a series of weak coughs. “Gideon, please, don’t force her. Aurora already hates me.” “I won’t get the treatment,” she whimpered. “Just let me go. I can be with my sister in the afterlife. I’m just a burden here anyway.” Gideon’s arms tightened around her protectively. “Don’t say that. I will save you.” He turned his venomous gaze back to me. “Aurora, your family’s company is preparing to go public, isn’t it? A critical time.” “If the world finds out that the great heiress of the Croft family is so cold-hearted she’d watch someone die rather than get a simple marrow test… I wonder what the SEC would think of that.” “You can leave my family’s business out of this,” I said, my voice ice. I laid down the gauntlet. “You want to use public opinion to pressure me? Go ahead. Let’s see who ends up destroyed in the end.” Cradling Rosie, I went straight to the nursery on the second floor and locked the door behind me. After I soothed Rosie back to sleep, I pulled out my burner phone. Aurora Croft was no pushover. I had seen potential in Gideon, given him the resources and connections to climb to where he was today. If he was going to throw that all away, then I would be the one to drain him dry. I dialed the number for my private hacker, K. “K, I need you to trace the international transfers from an account.” For five years, Felicity had been wiring enormous sums of money overseas under various pretenses. She thought she was being clever, but I’d noticed long ago. I just hadn’t cared enough to investigate. Now, it seemed the destination of that money was about to become very interesting. Less than thirty minutes later, the files arrived in my encrypted inbox. I clicked them open, and the more I read, the more absurd it all became. All the funds were funneled into an Australian account under the name Vivienne. And this Vivienne’s spending habits were nothing short of decadent. One day it was limited-edition handbags, the next it was chartering yachts for wild parties. But the real prize was what K found next. He’d hacked into an international social media platform and unearthed Vivienne’s private account. It was a gallery of debauchery. Photo after photo of a woman in oversized sunglasses and a skimpy bikini, with a different blond muscle-boy on each arm. Even with half her face covered, I instantly recognized the distinctive beauty mark on her chin. This wasn’t some stranger named Vivienne. It was Seraphina Monroe. The very same Seraphina who had supposedly been burned to ashes in a tragic fire. I stared at the screen, a cold, sharp smile spreading across my lips. So much for the sainted woman who died in a blaze of glory. She and her sister had played Gideon for the fool, staging the perfect tragedy. They weren’t just after his money. They were after my life. “Having fun abroad, are we, Seraphina?” I murmured to the screen. “Since you’re not dead, allow me to prepare a special welcome-home gift for you.” The next morning, I showered, styled my hair, and applied a full face of flawless makeup. As I descended the stairs, I saw Gideon in the dining room, patiently feeding Felicity a bowl of expensive bird’s nest soup. His eyes turned cold as he saw me. “Have you come to your senses? If so, get to the hospital for your pre-op exam.” I walked to the dining table, poured myself a black coffee, and took a sip with unhurried grace. “Gideon,” I said, my voice calm and clear. “Let’s get a divorce.” 3 The spoon in Gideon’s hand paused mid-air. A cold sneer touched his lips. “Aurora, what game are you playing now?” he asked. “You threaten me with divorce every time we fight. You really think that old trick still works on me?” I took another sip of the bitter coffee, letting the taste flood my senses. “This isn’t a threat. My lawyer’s letter will be on your desk this afternoon.” I met his gaze. “You won’t get a single penny of my assets. And I’m getting full custody of Rosie.” He slammed the bowl down on the table, the soup splashing across the pristine tablecloth. “In your dreams!” “If you dare file for divorce now, I will ruin you,” he snarled. “You will donate that marrow, Felicity. You’ll do it whether you want to or not.” Felicity, on cue, began dabbing at her eyes. “Aurora, it’s all my fault. I’ll leave. Please, don’t fight because of me.” She made a show of trying to stand from her wheelchair, then her legs gave out, and she crumpled to the floor in a heap. Gideon rushed to her side, scooping her up with a look of pure fury directed at me. “Are you happy now?” “If anything happens to Felicity, I’ll hold you responsible.” I looked at the disgusting pair, a wave of nausea rolling through me. “Do whatever you want, Gideon. You’d better just pray your precious ‘sister’ lives to see the gala.” I walked out of that villa without a backward glance, got into my Porsche, and drove straight to the office. The first thing I did was assemble my legal and finance departments. We began a complete audit of all of Gideon’s projects and funds connected to Croft Industries. If we were making a clean break, it was going to be absolute. For the next few days, I didn’t return to that suffocating house. I worked from the shadows, orchestrating a little surprise for the Monroe sisters—a gift they would never forget. K sent another update. Felicity’s so-called leukemia diagnosis was a complete fabrication. The attending physician was an old admirer of Seraphina’s, bought and paid for with a hefty sum. And Felicity was already getting impatient to cash in on the Deed of Gift. She had secretly contacted underground lenders, planning to mortgage the properties and transfer the assets offshore. And Gideon, the brilliant fool, was completely oblivious. He was too busy posting his usual emo bullshit on social media, waxing poetic about the fragility of life and the weight of his responsibilities. I couldn’t help but sneer at his pathetic words. Soon, the day of the much-hyped “family recognition” charity gala arrived. To build momentum for Felicity, Gideon had invited every major socialite and media outlet in Crestwood. He was going to show the world what a deeply loyal and honorable man he was. And he was going to let the world pressure his cold-hearted wife into giving up her bone marrow. The day before the event, Gideon called me. His voice was hard, laced with an unquestionable command. “Tomorrow night. Eight o’clock. The Grand Majestic Hotel. You will be there, dressed to the nines.” He added a final threat. “If you don’t show, I’m sending Rosie to a boarding school in the middle of nowhere.” My knuckles whitened around my phone. I forced down the rage, my voice emerging as smooth as glass. “Of course. I’ll be there on time.” Gideon seemed surprised by my easy compliance. He grunted and hung up. I stared at the dark screen of my phone, a chill smile playing on my lips. “Ready to face hell, Gideon?” “Oh, I’ll be there. And I’ll make sure that by the end of the night, none of you will ever be able to show your faces in this city again.” I dialed K and gave him his final instructions. All the pieces were in place. All I had to do was wait for the show to begin. 4 The grand ballroom of The Grand Majestic Hotel was dazzling. Gideon had booked the entire top floor, decorating it with an opulence that screamed new money. I made my entrance in a custom-tailored, wine-red haute couture gown, my hair swept up, my heels clicking purposefully on the marble floor. Every eye in the room turned to me. Whispers rippled through the crowd. “So that’s Mrs. Blackwood. I heard Gideon is giving away half his fortune to his ex-girlfriend’s sister tonight.” “And he’s forcing her to donate bone marrow, too. How tragic.” “I know, right? But she looks so powerful. It’s hard to believe she’s such a pushover at home.” I ignored their probing, pitying stares and walked directly to the main table. Gideon, looking smug in an expensive bespoke suit, was schmoozing with his guests. Felicity sat beside him in a specially designed wheelchair, dressed in a white tulle gown that made her look like a saintly, pure angel. If you ignored the sickly pallor she’d so carefully applied, she was the very picture of tragic beauty. His eyes flashed a warning as I approached. “Good, you have some sense. When you get on stage later, play along. Don’t embarrass me.” I shot him a look of pure ice and said nothing. Felicity, meanwhile, tugged timidly at the hem of my gown. “Aurora, thank you for coming. I promise I’ll repay your kindness for the rest of my life.” I snatched my dress away from her touch. “I wouldn’t be able to bear your ‘repayment’. Save it for when you’re in hell.” Felicity’s face went white, her eyes instantly welling with tears. Gideon immediately stepped in front of her, shielding her like a guard dog. “Aurora, what the hell is wrong with you? Do you have to cause a scene on such an important night?” “I’m not causing a scene. I’m just stating a fact.” I picked up a glass of champagne, swirling the golden liquid, my gaze as cold as a winter morning. “Gideon, I’m asking you one last time. Are you absolutely sure you want to transfer those shares to her?” He scoffed, his voice resolute. “I’ve already signed the papers. I’m announcing it tonight in front of everyone. You’d better not try any tricks, or I swear you’ll regret it.” “Good. That’s very good.” I nodded, then drained the champagne in one swallow. “Since you’re in such a hurry to greet your damnation, I’ll be happy to send you on your way.” Soon, the gala reached its main event. The host took the stage, recounting the touching, tragic love story of Gideon and Seraphina, painting Gideon as the most devoted, heartbroken man in history. Then, to a round of thunderous applause, Gideon pushed Felicity’s wheelchair onto the stage. He took the microphone, his gaze sweeping across the audience with manufactured emotion. “Thank you all for being here tonight.” “As many of you know, years ago, Seraphina gave her life to save mine. It’s a debt I can never truly repay.” “Now, her only sister, Felicity, is battling a terminal illness. As the man who loved Seraphina, it is my duty and my honor to care for her.” “Therefore, I have decided to gift thirty percent of my shares in the Blackwood Corporation to Felicity, unconditionally.” Gasps echoed through the ballroom. Thirty percent of the shares was a fortune in the billions. Gideon paused for effect, his eyes finding me in the crowd. “And I must also thank my wife, Aurora.” “She has graciously agreed to donate her bone marrow to Felicity, to use her love to give Felicity a new lease on life.” The spotlight swung, pinning me in its bright glare. The entire room was looking at me with a mixture of awe and pity. On stage, Gideon extended a hand toward me, beckoning me to join him. “Aurora, come up. Let everyone witness your selfless generosity.” Slowly, I set down my glass. Under the watchful eyes of hundreds, I walked, step by deliberate step, onto the stage. Gideon thought I had surrendered. A triumphant smirk spread across his face. But the moment I took the microphone from his hand, that smile froze solid. I scanned the faces of the guests below, my voice ringing out, crisp and clear. “Good evening, everyone.” “The story Mr. Blackwood just told was indeed very moving.” “However, it seems he forgot to mention one, even more moving, detail.” I turned to Gideon, my eyes like daggers. “The truth is, I never agreed to donate any bone marrow.” “And what’s more, the lovely Miss Felicity Monroe here… doesn’t have leukemia at all.”

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1 A year in the asylum broke me. I no longer craved my family’s love, or hated the imposter who replaced me. When my sister Scarlett came to pick me up, my blank stare seemed to enrage her. “Evan, were you stalling just to make me wait?” “If Cody hadn’t said he wanted you at his birthday, I’d have let you rot here.” I nodded. Then, as she glared in disgust, I stepped in front of a speeding car. Moments earlier, the System had told me: Obey every command, and you can return to your real family. “Are you mute? Who’s scared of that dead-eyed look?” [Host’s will to complete mission: zero. Parameters updated.] [Achieve absolute obedience. Upon death, mission complete. Reward: return to original world.] My sister’s voice and the System’s prompt overlapped. A flicker returned to my eyes. Scarlett, thinking I’d finally shown remorse, shoved a bag at me. “Change into this at the venue. What you’re wearing shames the Bates family.” Inside was an exquisite light-blue suit. My chest ached dully. She never knew I hated light blue. I’d given up on her, on this family, the day they sent me here for Cody. It was time to let go. This mission was impossible. Over the past year of torment, even the System couldn’t bear to watch. It had promised to fight for a new mission for me, begging me to hold on. It told me that when I returned to my world, not only would my adoptive mother be healed, but all my painful memories would be erased. Thankfully, it succeeded. Thank you, System. The System’s presence felt like a gentle hand on my head. [You’re welcome.] [I also visited your adoptive mother in her dreams. She’s doing well. The family of the child she saved is taking good care of her. She wants you to know she’s holding on for you, so you have to hold on too, host!] My eyes burned, a tear threatening to fall. That’s right. Mom is still conscious. She’s waiting for me. “Mom,” I whispered, my fingers clenching the bag, “I’m coming home soon.” Scarlett, who had already opened the car door, shouted impatiently, “Evan, what are you dawdling for? Do you want to die here?” “If you’re going to die, do it quickly! Don’t make me late for Cody’s birthday!” I looked up at her and nodded. For a second, she looked stunned, a flicker of regret in her eyes. “Just… just get in the car. Mom and Dad are waiting…” The next moment, I dropped the bag, turned, and threw myself in front of an oncoming truck. BANG! The screech of tires and Scarlett’s horrified scream filled my ears. This is what you wanted, Scarlett. I don’t want you, or Mom and Dad. Five years of my life, my heart, my devotion… in the end, I lost. With a gut-wrenching crash, my body was thrown into the air like a dead leaf, then slammed back onto the pavement. “Brother—!” Scarlett’s voice grew closer as I closed my eyes. My body felt weightless. Was this death? Good. I could finally go see Mom. 2 I don’t know how much time had passed. A blinding white light pierced my eyelids. The rhythmic beeping of a machine and the sharp, sterile scent of disinfectant pulled me back to consciousness. I forced my eyes open to a stark white ceiling. Looking down, I saw my right leg was in a cast, my left hand wrapped in bandages. The System’s disappointed voice echoed in my mind. [Host, you were just minutes away from dying of hemorrhagic shock and leaving this world. But Scarlett Bates carried you all the way to the hospital and even gave you a blood transfusion. Ugh! What is wrong with her? She tells you to die and then saves you?] Seeing my lack of response, it quickly tried to console me. [Don’t lose hope, host. You can just die again next time. There will be plenty of opportunities.] It seemed to realize how that sounded and quickly added: [What I mean is, since the Bates family all dote on the imposter and despise you, you should make your death count. Frame that Cody kid for it! Let him know what it feels like to be falsely accused!] I nodded silently. That was a good idea. From outside the hospital room, Cody’s tearful voice drifted in. “It’s all my fault. My brother wouldn’t have done this if it weren’t for me. Dad, Mom, maybe I should just leave the Bates family!” I heard my parents’ anxious replies. “This has nothing to do with you, son. He’s just not well! You’re the son we raised, and no one can ever replace you!” Scarlett’s voice joined in. “That’s right. You’re my only brother. Evan is probably just having a relapse. We should send him back to the asylum once he’s healed.” They had no idea that the place they’d sent me wasn’t a real mental hospital. It was an unlicensed, abusive facility run by a man Cody had paid off. The inhuman torture I endured was all his design. If the System hadn’t blocked my pain receptors, I would have been dead long ago. [Don’t be sad, host. Once you leave this world, I’ll make sure they find out everything that happened in that asylum.] I let out a soft, humorless laugh. Five years ago, I might have been sad. Now, I didn’t care. Five years ago, when my adoptive mother was in a car accident, the System found me. It told me I was the real heir in a “switched-at-birth” story from another world, and a cosmic error had landed me here. When it offered to take me to my real family, I begged it to save my adoptive mom. She had raised me for ten years, giving me all the love I’d ever known. After negotiating with the universe, the System agreed. [If you return and win over your biological family, making them feel remorse and love for you, you will earn the reward to heal your adoptive mother and wake her from her coma.] As much as I didn’t want to leave my mom, I agreed. Before I came here, I had dreamed a thousand times about what my real parents and sister would be like. When they held me, crying, swearing to make up for everything, I was moved. I was grateful that fate had blessed me not only with my mom’s love but now with the love of a real family. We shared the same blood. How could they not love me? But over five years, Cody’s relentless schemes turned them against me. A year ago, he staged his own kidnapping and framed me for it. And they believed him. They wanted to disown me, to throw me out. I knelt and begged, even harmed myself to prove my innocence. But with a single sentence, Cody sent me to hell. “Mom, Dad, Scarlett… my brother is just sick. We can’t blame him. Let’s just get him the help he needs, okay?” After being thrown into that asylum, my heart died completely. I saw the truth. They were not my family. My only real family was my adoptive mother. Outside the room, Cody was still crying. BAM! The door was kicked open, shattering my thoughts. “Evan, were you trying to ruin Cody’s birthday? Is that what you wanted?!” Scarlett stormed over to my bedside. Ignoring my injuries, she slapped me hard across the face. Her own face was pale; she had clearly lost a lot of blood for me. My parents rushed in after her. “Scarlett, be careful! What on earth did you say to him to make him run into a truck?” She froze, a guilty look flashing in her eyes. “I didn’t say anything! I just told him to get in the car so we wouldn’t be late for his and Cody’s birthday…” My parents’ concern for me instantly turned to cold anger. “You troublemaker! The moment you’re out, you cause chaos. Look what you’ve done to your sister and brother!” I wanted to snap back. I didn’t ask her to save me. I didn’t ask any of you to come. If I’m such a monster, why not just let me die? But the words caught in my throat. I remembered the System’s new rule: absolute obedience. I forced myself to look up, my eyes filled with manufactured guilt. “I’m sorry, Mom, Dad. It’s my fault. I’ll apologize to them right now.” With that, I yanked out my IV, grabbed the pair of scissors from the bedside table, and plunged them toward my carotid artery. 3 Squelch. Blood sprayed across my father’s face. The room erupted in screams. My mother clutched her chest, nearly fainting. Scarlett bolted out of the room, shouting for a doctor. When I woke up again, my neck was also wrapped in gauze. The doctor said I was lucky; the scissors had just nicked the artery wall. I hadn’t managed to die. Again. My parents and Scarlett stood by my bed, their expressions a complicated mix of anger and fear. They wanted to scold me, but they were afraid of setting me off again. Cody ran in, sobbing. “Mom, Dad, Scarlett… someone posted a video of brother running into the truck online. Now everyone is attacking me!” The three of them snatched his phone, their faces growing darker as they read. HEIR OF THE BATES FORTUNE DRIVEN TO SUICIDE BY IMPOSTER BROTHER! The comment section was a firestorm, with users calling Cody a manipulative monster. Some mocked my parents for being foolish enough to favor an adopted son with no blood relation. “These damn reporters!” Scarlett’s fingers flew across the screen. “I’ll clear your name. This has nothing to do with you!” My father stopped her, his face stern as he looked at me. “Evan, why don’t you make a statement yourself? Cody is innocent. You had a psychotic episode. It wasn’t his fault.” A sharp pain lanced through my heart, but I remembered the System’s words. I had to obey. If I didn’t, I would never save my mom. I would never go home. So, I smiled and nodded. “Of course, Dad. My phone was taken away, so just tell me what to say. I’ll say it to the camera.” They paused, only then seeming to remember my phone had been confiscated a year ago. On my first day in that place, I fought back against the orderlies who tried to abuse me. They electrocuted me until I collapsed, then beat me with clubs and whips for two days straight. I was given half a moldy bun for each meal and forced to drink slop water when I was thirsty. One night, I managed to steal a phone from a drunken guard and called Scarlett. Her response was a cold sneer. “Evan, it’s only been a few days and you’ve already learned how to lie?” “The doctors there were hand-picked by us. They are professionals. Why would they abuse you?” “Just behave and get the treatment you need. Fix yourself.” I cried, I begged her to get me out. But then I heard Cody’s voice in the background. “It’s all my fault brother is sick. I took his place for so many years, he has every right to hate me!” “Just let me leave the family. Bring him home! He won’t hurt anyone but me…” My parents started shouting, ordering Scarlett to hang up. “Don’t you see you’re upsetting Cody? Hang up now! And tell them to tighten their watch on him! No more phone calls!” The line went dead. After that, for stealing the phone, I was subjected to even more unspeakable torture. Even without the physical pain, the memory of their leering, monstrous faces left me with deep psychological scars. As if worried I’d pull another stunt, Scarlett simply aimed the phone’s camera at my face. “I’ll type out what you need to say. Just read it.” I nodded and did as I was told. The video statement worked. The online outrage died down. But some sharp-eyed users noticed something was off. Why is he wearing a scarf in the middle of summer? Is he injured again? Luckily, I was in the Bates Corporation’s private hospital. News of my second suicide attempt didn’t leak. My parents pulled some strings, and the public furor eventually faded. For the month I was hospitalized, I was perfectly quiet and obedient. They were pleased with my behavior and decided to take me home. At the front gate of the villa, Cody, dressed in a tailored suit and holding a bouquet of flowers, greeted me. “Welcome home, brother!” He bent down to hug me, then whispered in my ear, “You little bastard. I have plenty of ways to send you right back to that asylum.” Before I could respond, he let out a sharp cry and threw himself backward. His head hit the edge of a stone step with a sickening crack, and blood immediately started to gush. “Brother, why did you push me? I knew you still hated me…” he sobbed, his voice choked with grief. Blood streamed down his neck, staining the collar of his light-blue suit. “Evan! I knew you were faking it! You’re just as vicious as ever!” Scarlett rushed over, kicked my wheelchair aside, and cradled Cody in her arms. My father slapped me hard across the face. “You worthless thing! Apologize to your brother!” The blow knocked my head to the side. I saw a smooth, grey stone on the path. “Okay. I’m sorry.” I picked up the stone and smashed it against my own head. A hot stream of liquid ran down my face. My family stared in horror. My mother screamed, lunged forward, and snatched the rock from my hand. “You foolish child, what are you doing?! Someone call the doctor!” 4 After my head was bandaged, they wheeled me to the family luncheon. Cody cut a slice of mango cake and offered it to me. Then, he “tripped,” sending the cake flying. He burst into tears, wailing that he’d made it himself and that I was taking my anger out on his hard work. My whole family scolded me. My father ordered me to apologize. Scarlett roared, “You are going to eat every last piece of that today!” Not a single one of them remembered that I was allergic to mangoes. “I’m sorry. I’ll eat it.” I remained obedient, picking up the dirty cake from the floor and stuffing it into my mouth. After a few bites, rashes erupted across my face and arms. My throat began to swell shut. My mother gasped. “Evan, you’re allergic? Stop eating!” I was on the verge of suffocating. But they forced an anti-allergy pill down my throat. Once again, I failed to die. Scarlett looked away, her voice stiff and awkward. “Why didn’t you say you were allergic?” Why didn’t I say anything? Because five years ago, she already knew. I opened my mouth, but all that came out was a quiet whisper. “I’m sorry. I forgot.” She flinched, as if the memory had finally surfaced. “You…” A flicker of guilt crossed her face, but her words remained harsh. “Don’t you know your own body? If you can’t eat something, just say so. No one is forcing you.” “Okay, sister.” My complete submissiveness convinced them that my mental illness was truly cured. They decided to throw a joint birthday party for me and Cody to dispel the public rumors and restore Cody’s reputation. The party was held at the city’s most luxurious seaside restaurant. Before we left, Cody started crying that the jewel-encrusted crown my mother had personally designed for him was missing. The whole family searched frantically, finally finding it crushed at the bottom of the trash can in my room. “Brother, if you don’t like me, I don’t have to go to the party. But why would you destroy Mom’s creation?” he wept. My mother looked at me, her eyes filled with disappointment. She took the crown she’d bought for me and handed it to him. “If you can’t stand to see Cody happy, then you don’t deserve this either. Apologize to your brother.” “I’m sorry,” I said. Again. The ballroom was filled with guests. All eyes turned to Cody as he pushed my wheelchair. He looked like a radiant prince, while I sat hunched and dull, a plain scarf still wrapped around my neck. Everyone knew about my “condition” and kept their distance. I was a broken, lonely doll, serving only as a backdrop for Cody’s brilliance. “Brother, since your legs are hurt, let me cut the cake for you, okay?” he asked gently, leaning down. I looked at the massive, multi-tiered cake, topped with two small figures of boys holding hands. I gave a small, ironic smile at the detail and nodded. Amid a chorus of birthday wishes, Cody’s hand “slipped,” and the knife sliced off the head of the figure meant to represent me. “Oh, I’m so sorry, brother! I didn’t mean to!” he cried, fumbling to fix it, only to knock a huge piece of cake onto my lap. “I’m so, so sorry…” His eyes turned red with panic. “Let me help you change. You can wear my diamond suit. It’s a gift.” It was a one-of-a-kind, custom-designed suit from Scarlett, a gift of immense value. Everyone praised Cody for his generosity and grace, a true heir of the Bates family. I instinctively started to refuse. “No, it’s fine. I can just wipe it off.” Tears instantly welled in his eyes. “Brother, does this mean you won’t forgive me?” Before I could answer, my parents and Scarlett hissed at me. “Don’t be ungrateful. Cody is giving you his most precious gift, what more do you want?” So, I obediently nodded. Cody wheeled me to a private room at the end of the hall. The moment the door locked behind us, his expression turned sinister. “You little bastard. After today, you’re going straight back to that asylum!” He clapped his hands, and several large, masked men emerged from behind a screen. My heart pounded. “What are you doing?” He threw the diamond suit on the floor, his smile venomous. “What am I doing? You’ll see…” He messed up his own hair and gave the men a signal. They moved towards us with menacing grins. I was about to scream, but they shoved me aside and started punching Cody in the face. “No! Help me!” he shrieked. The door was kicked open. Scarlett burst in, followed by a crowd of guests, just in time to see the lead thug holding a knife to Cody’s throat. “Don’t move, or I’ll kill him!” the thug yelled. He snatched the diamond suit from the floor and backed towards the window with his accomplices.

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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.”

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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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