Category: English

The Thursday before midterms, I stood outside the faculty office with a slip of paper clutched in my sweating palm. The heavy, foil-stamped wedding invitation for my great-niece was burning a hole in my pocket, but as I opened my mouth, the words caught in my throat. How do you explain the labyrinthine branches of an eccentric, old-money family tree to a man who already hates you? Mr. Davis, my homeroom teacher, didn’t even relax his jaw as he snatched the absence request from my hand. He pressed his red pen so hard into the “Reason for Absence” line that the ink bled through. “A fifth-grader with a great-niece?” He crumpled the paper into a tight ball and flicked it hard against my chest. “If you’re going to lie to my face, at least make it mathematically possible.” I scrambled to explain my father’s late-in-life second marriage, the generational gap, the strict family trust—but before the words could spill out, a sharp, stinging heat exploded across my cheek. “I haven’t taken a single day off in three years of teaching,” he spat, his hand raised again. “And you? You’re cursing your own family just to skip school?” His palm came down again, the wind of it whistling past my ear. My cheek throbbed, the raised imprint of his fingers burning into my skin. I bit down hard on my lower lip, swallowing the frantic I’m not lying that tasted like copper in my mouth. “If you are not in your seat on Monday morning,” he hissed, pointing a trembling finger inches from my nose, “you can pack your bags and get the hell out of Oakridge Preparatory.” I nodded, the tears finally spilling over, promising him I would never ask for a day off again. But neither of us could have predicted that the very next day, he would be bowing at a perfect ninety-degree angle to me at the entrance of the school. When the fleet of black town cars pulled up to the main building, the Headmaster practically tripped over himself to escort the elderly billionaire in the tailored suit toward us. And that revered patriarch, a man the entire city feared, looked straight at me, smiled, and said, “Ready to go, Uncle?” 1 My cheek was on fire. I cupped the left side of my face, the tears hot and unstoppable. It wasn’t the physical pain that broke me. It was the suffocating, helpless weight of the injustice. “Shut up. Stop crying!” Mark Davis’s shrill, bitter voice cracked like a whip above my head. Biting my lip until it bled, I twisted my fingers into the hem of my uniform. “Mr. Davis, I swear I’m not lying… My great-niece is getting married. I’m the head of the bloodline. I have to be there to sign the Founders’ Ledger and give the blessing. They can’t start the ceremony without me…” Before I could even finish the sentence, Davis let out a harsh, barking laugh, like I had just delivered the punchline to a sick joke. “The head of the bloodline? Giving a blessing?” He leaned in, his breath sour with coffee. “Hudson, are you intentionally trying to mock me? I am getting married this Friday. The school gave me one day off. One day. And I didn’t complain once.” He scoffed, pacing behind his desk. “A ten-year-old brat is going to sit at the head of the table like some aristocratic godfather? You just want to skip class. You want to go goof off. You’re a pathological liar. Is this how your parents raised you?” He paused. A cruel, deliberate gleam sparked in his eyes. “Oh, wait. I forgot. You don’t have parents to teach you anything. You’re just an unwanted charity case.” Boom. Something inside my chest snapped. The death of my parents was a hollow, aching cavity in my heart—a wound I protected fiercely. And he had just taken a scalpel to it. I raised my head. Even through the blur of tears, my gaze locked onto his, defiant and cold. “Mr. Davis, you can yell at me all you want. But you do not get to speak about my parents.” My voice trembled, but the words were granite. “And I’m not lying. I have to be at that wedding on Friday.” It sounded absurd to anyone outside our world. I was only in the fifth grade. But according to the sprawling, ancient lineage of the Hastings family, my late father had been the patriarch. After his passing, I became the highest-ranking surviving member of the main branch. At Friday’s wedding, the bride—a twenty-five-year-old socialite—had to refer to me as her “Great-Uncle.” Under the strict clauses of the Hastings Family Trust, if the head of the house didn’t sit in the high-backed chair, witness the vows, and sign the ledger, the marriage would be considered void by the family board. The reception couldn’t even begin. “You dare talk back to me?” Davis slammed his hands on the desk. “I said no, and I mean no! I have never met a student as brazen as you. Get out of my sight. You are not getting this time off!” Then came the second slap. It caught me on the right cheek, so hard it sent me stumbling backward. My lower back slammed into the sharp corner of a filing cabinet. I gasped, pain shooting up my spine. But the other two teachers in the faculty lounge just kept their heads down, vigorously grading papers. Neither of them even blinked. In that quiet, suffocating moment, it clicked. Davis wasn’t enforcing school policy. He was denying me out of sheer, petty jealousy because his own wedding plans were stressful. Fine. If he wouldn’t listen, I would find someone who would. “Mr. Davis.” I wiped my face with the back of my hand, my voice vibrating with adrenaline. “If you won’t approve it, I’m going to Vice Principal Higgins.” Without waiting for his explosion, I grabbed my backpack and bolted down the linoleum hallway toward the administration office. “Mr. Higgins!” I burst through his door, chest heaving. “My great-niece is getting married, and I need an excused absence, but Mr. Davis—” I had barely started my plea when heavy footsteps thundered behind me. Davis had chased me down. “Hudson! Who the hell do you think you are?” He grabbed the collar of my blazer, lifting me almost off my feet, and violently yanked me out of the Vice Principal’s office like a stray dog. “Whoa, Mark, what’s going on here?” Vice Principal Higgins asked, startled, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses. “Mr. Higgins, I need you to step in here,” Davis panted, shoving me forward as he played the victim. “These kids today are impossible. I’m getting married this Friday, and for the sake of these students, I only took a single day off. I’ll be right back here on Monday. But this one? He concocts some insane fantasy about a ‘great-niece’ getting married just to play hooky. When I try to correct him, he disrespects me in front of the whole staff and runs here to tattle!” I scrambled for footing. “Mr. Higgins, I didn’t disrespect him! Everything I said is true! I really need—” Higgins didn’t even look at me. He set his coffee mug down, a greasy, accommodating smile spreading across his face. “Oh, Mark, why didn’t you say something earlier about needing more time for the honeymoon? Tell you what, I’ll pull some strings. I’ll approve three extra days for you. We’ve got subs to cover your classes. Enjoy yourself.” Davis’s face instantly lit up. The rage vanished, replaced by a sickeningly sweet gratitude. “Oh, man. Thank you, Mr. Higgins. Honestly, it’s been a nightmare. My fiancée’s family is… well, they’re old money. Strict rules. They rented out an entire private estate on Nantucket for the ceremony. A lot of high-profile people are flying in. I was just stressed about leaving the troublemakers in my class behind…” Davis’s voice dripped with arrogant pride. But my breath hitched. Nantucket? 2 Just last week, my great-niece had mentioned they booked a massive, private beachfront estate on Nantucket. She wanted the absolute best for her groom. It has to be a coincidence, I thought quickly. Nantucket is a popular island. There are dozens of estates. But as the two men kept chatting, completely ignoring my existence, a quiet panic set in. “Mr. Higgins!” I interrupted, my voice cracking. “I didn’t yell at Mr. Davis! I’m telling the truth! I need that absence form signed!” The smiles melted off their faces. My persistence was the match that reignited Davis’s fury. “Still running your mouth? You really don’t know when to quit, do you?” To prove just how ‘delinquent’ I was to the Vice Principal, Davis snatched my leather backpack off my shoulder. He ripped the zipper open and upended it, dumping the contents onto the hardwood floor. Clatter. The Montblanc fountain pen my late father gave me. The Smythson leather pencil case my niece bought me in London. An Apple Watch. Even the custom, limited-edition Marvel figurine my great-niece had gifted me tumbled out, its arm snapping off cleanly against the floorboards. But that wasn’t enough for Davis. He lunged at me, violently tearing the watch off my wrist. “Look at this, Mr. Higgins!” he shrieked, his voice echoing in the corridor. “Ten years old, flaunting designer pens and smartwatches. Dressed up like some little prince. Is this the attitude of a student who wants to learn?” My wrist burned. Before I could process it, he threw the watch onto the floor and brought the heel of his shoe down on the glass face, crushing it. The dam broke. Heavy, silent tears spilled down my cheeks. I shoved Davis away with both hands. “If neither of you believes me,” I yelled, wiping my face with my ruined blazer sleeve, “then I’ll have my Guardian call the school! Will that be enough for you?” Without waiting to see the shock register on their faces, I turned and sprinted out of the administration wing. Behind me, their mocking voices drifted down the hall. “Run, then! Don’t bother coming back! Let’s see this imaginary guardian of yours. Let’s see what kind of trash raised a kid like this!” “Kids these days… absolutely no respect.” Once I was safely behind the bleachers near the football field, I pulled my backup cell phone from my pocket and dialed Weston, my older cousin who had legally adopted me. “Hello? Hudson?” The background noise was chaotic—airport intercoms blaring. I opened my mouth, but Weston was already talking a mile a minute. “Did you get your slip signed, buddy? Look, an emergency just blew up at the network. I have to fly out to LA right now. Martha is going to drive you to the wedding on Friday, okay? Be good for her—” “Weston!” I cried out, my chest tight. “They didn’t sign—” But the line went dead. He had already hung up. I stared at the black screen, my vision blurring again. Weston was a media mogul; when he was in crisis mode, he was unreachable. But there was still Martha, our housekeeper. She was an adult. Surely the school would listen to her? My thumb hovered over her contact name. “Higgins is coming! Hide your phones! Hurry!” A group of eighth-graders smoking behind the bleachers suddenly scattered, violently shoving their devices into their pockets. My stomach dropped. I fumbled to lock the screen and shove the phone into my slacks. But I was too slow. Vice Principal Higgins rounded the corner, Davis marching right behind him like a loyal foot soldier. Higgins ignored the older boys entirely. His eyes locked onto me like a heat-seeking missile. “Hudson!” Davis lunged, grabbing my wrist so hard it bruised, prying the phone from my fingers. “So! Bringing contraband electronics onto school grounds! You really have no shame.” He tapped the screen aggressively. “Talking all that game about having your guardian call, and I actually thought someone might show up. But what do we have here?” He drove a stiff finger into my chest, punctuating every word. “Nobody! Because there is no great-niece! There is no wedding! This whole thing is a pathetic, desperate lie!” “It’s not!” My voice broke, high and desperate. “I was just on the phone with Weston! He’s at the airport, I was just about to—” “Enough!” Higgins folded his arms, a cruel, satisfied smirk on his face. “Mr. Hudson, a lie needs ten more lies to cover it up. If you’re lying like this at ten years old, what kind of criminal are you going to be when you grow up?” He glanced around at the other students, who were dead silent, then turned to Davis. “Contraband electronics. Skipping physical education. Habitual lying. Insubordination. This requires immediate, severe disciplinary action.” Within minutes, they dragged me by the arms to the center of the campus courtyard, right under the flagpole. The midday sun beat down relentlessly. The concrete was hot enough to blister skin. Then, the PA system crackled to life. Higgins’s voice boomed across the entire academy. “Attention all faculty and students. Let this serve as a formal reprimand. Hudson Hastings, Fifth Grade, has severely violated the student code of conduct by bringing contraband to school, skipping mandatory assemblies, and demonstrating a shocking pattern of pathological lying and disrespect toward faculty. Effective immediately, he is suspended from all extracurriculars and will stand at the flagpole for three hours as a disciplinary warning to you all.” In that moment, I felt the weight of a thousand pairs of eyes staring at me through the classroom windows. I stood dead center on the concrete. There wasn’t an inch of shade. Ten minutes in, my uniform shirt was clinging to my back, soaked in sweat. Thirty minutes in, the edges of my vision began to warp and shimmer. An hour in, my lips cracked, tasting of salt and copper. My temples pounded like a drum. I didn’t know if I was getting heatstroke or if I was just suffocating under the humiliation. Nausea rolled through my stomach in violent waves. Sweat stung my eyes, mixing with tears I didn’t know I was still shedding. Through the haze of the heat, only one coherent thought remained. I’m not going to make it to the wedding. They had won. They were never going to let me go. Three hours later, my legs shaking so violently I could barely walk, I dragged myself up the four flights of stairs back to my classroom. When I reached the door, I froze. My desk had been hauled out into the hallway. The chair was tipped over. My notebooks, folders, and textbooks were scattered across the dirty floor. The classroom door was wide open. Davis was standing at the whiteboard. He saw me in his periphery but didn’t even pause his lecture. “Why are you lingering?” he called out, not looking at me. “I thought you needed the day off? Get lost.” Forty-two pairs of eyes snapped toward me. Davis finally turned, sweeping his gaze across the terrified ten-year-olds. His voice was cold and deliberate. “Let me make this perfectly clear. Anyone who pulls a stunt like Hudson to skip class, or anyone I catch associating with him, will be permanently removed from my roster.” The silence in the room was deafening. I stood in the doorway, staring at my trampled textbooks. A heavy, suffocating lump rose in my throat, threatening to choke me. But I bit the inside of my cheek until the pain grounded me. Don’t cry. Don’t let them see you cry again. Crying this morning did nothing. Arguing did nothing. I slowly knelt down. One by one, I picked up my ruined workbooks. I placed my last surviving pen into my cracked pencil case. I stood up, looking at the smug, malicious triumph radiating from Davis’s face. “Mr. Davis.” My voice was quiet, hollowed out by the sun and the exhaustion. It sounded like defeat. “I’m sorry. I won’t ask for the day off anymore.” A flash of absolute victory crossed his face. He opened his mouth to deliver the final killing blow to my pride. But before he could speak, a noise pierced the quiet. Bzzzz. Bzzzz. Inside the podium drawer, my confiscated phone began to vibrate violently. 3 The phone rattled against the wood of the podium. Without hesitation, Davis ripped the drawer open, snatched the phone, and swiped to answer it without even glancing at the caller ID. “So you’re Hudson’s guardian, huh?!” he barked into the receiver, his voice dripping with venom. “How exactly are you raising this kid?! Smuggling phones into school, making up insane, delusional stories about a great-niece getting married just to skip class! If you people don’t care about his education, come pull him out of my school before he infects the rest of my classroom!” My heart hammered against my ribs. Weston! It had to be Weston. He must have landed and seen my missed calls. There was a pause on the other end. Davis’s face contorted in confusion, his eyebrows knitting together. “What? You’re not his guardian? Then who the hell are you?” He paused for a beat. “The housekeeper?” Davis let out a laugh so loud and derisive it echoed down the hall. “Are you kidding me? You people can’t even get a real parent on the phone, so you send the help to deal with me?” He leaned against the podium, practically performing for the class now. “Let me tell you something about this kid. He is a menace. He has no work ethic, he lies through his teeth, and he expects the world to bow to him. Telling me some fairytale about his great-niece getting married. He’s a charity case. He doesn’t have a mother or a father—who the hell would be his great-niece? I guess this is what happens when a kid is raised by the hired help. The apple doesn’t fall far from the trash.” The hired help? Martha was fifty-seven years old. She had raised me for eight years. She was the gentlest woman I knew. How could he— “Mr. Davis!” I lunged forward, my voice cracking with desperation. “I said I’m not going! I dropped it! Stop talking to Martha like that!” Davis paused. The corner of his mouth twitched up into a sickening smirk. He spoke slowly into the phone, relishing every syllable. “Did you hear that? He said it himself. He doesn’t want the time off.” He tapped the screen, severing the call, and tossed the phone carelessly onto the podium. He looked down at me from his elevated platform. “See? If you had just behaved like a normal kid, none of this would have happened. Finding some random maid to impersonate a guardian. Hudson, you are rotten to your very core.” I stared up at him. His face was flushed with the high of his own power. I didn’t say a word. Inside, the last embers of my panic burned out, leaving nothing but a freezing, absolute stillness. Forget it, I thought. It’s just a wedding. It’s not worth destroying my life at school. Weston is dealing with a corporate crisis; I can’t add to his plate. Assuming my silence was submission, Davis waved his hand dismissively. “Go stand in the hall by the window. Don’t disrupt my lesson.” Clutching my ruined books to my chest, I walked back out and stood beneath the large hallway window. Through the glass, I could hear his tone shift immediately. He sounded like a completely different man—warm, jovial, charming. “Alright, everyone, some good news! I am officially getting married the day after tomorrow! I’ll be out for two days, but the math teacher will cover you, so behave.” A ripple of excitement went through the room. Some kids clapped. “Class President, hand out the favors.” He handed a massive, velvet-lined bag of beautifully wrapped gift boxes to the front row. His eyes deliberately flicked toward the window, catching mine. “One for everyone. Except Hudson. He’s got his ‘great-niece’s’ wedding favors to eat.” A few girls giggled behind their hands. Davis soaked it up, his chest puffing out. “My fiancée’s family is very prominent. Local royalty, basically. The rules are incredibly strict, and the whole event is highly exclusive. I’m going to be pulled in a million directions. If any of you act up while I’m gone and stress me out on my big day…” He glared at me through the glass, his eyes promising violence. “…I will make your life a living hell when I return.” I ignored him. But a second later, my gaze drifted to the small gift box being placed on the desk nearest to the window. My heart completely stopped. Pressed into the heavy navy-blue cardstock in shimmering silver foil was a crest. A silver falcon clutching a single rose. The Hastings family crest. A roaring noise rushed into my ears. The prominent family. The strict rules. The estate on Nantucket. My brain felt like static, but my body moved on pure instinct. I shoved the heavy oak door open and stepped back into the classroom. “Mr. Davis.” The words left my mouth before I could stop them. “Your fiancée. Is her name Cathy Hastings?” 4 At the podium, Davis’s smug smile froze. “Are you absolutely sure you won’t approve my absence?” I pressed, the pieces snapping together. “Because I’m telling you, Cathy is my—” SMACK. The backhand caught me across the jaw so hard I saw stars. “You little rat! How dare you speak an adult’s full name like that? You think you can stalk my personal life to threaten me for a day off?!” Panic flared in his eyes. He grabbed the lapels of my blazer, shaking me violently. “Tell me! How the hell do you know my fiancée’s name? Have you been digging through my desk?!” I clutched my blazing cheek, trying to gasp for air. “I didn’t—I’m trying to—” SMACK. A second slap. The room spun. He glanced down at the wedding favors, realizing his name and hers were printed on the delicate tags. The realization only seemed to enrage him more. “Clever little freak! Let me guess, you’re going to tell me you’re invited to the Hastings wedding?” “I am—” I choked out, desperately trying to make him understand. But he wasn’t listening. He dragged me backward by the collar, his voice a venomous hiss in my ear, calling me a parasite, a gold-digger, a street rat trying to attach myself to wealth. He hauled me to the very end of the corridor and shoved me violently into the janitor’s supply closet. “You don’t even know who your own parents are, and you think you deserve to breathe the same air as the Hastings family?” SLAM. The heavy door shut. The deadbolt clicked into place. Total, suffocating darkness swallowed me whole. I threw myself against the door, pounding my fists against the wood. “Let me out! If you don’t let me out, you’re going to regret it!” No one answered. The school bell rang once, twice, three times. The muffled sounds of lockers slamming and kids shouting faded into silence. School was over. And nobody came. I didn’t know how many hours passed. The air in the closet grew thick and stale. My skin burned with a fever, my teeth chattering uncontrollably as chills wracked my small body. Through the haze of delirium, I heard the click-clack of hard leather shoes approaching in the empty hallway. Vice Principal Higgins’s voice drifted through the wood, laced with a dark amusement. “Hudson? You need to cool off in there. Mr. Davis is getting married the day after tomorrow. Do not provoke him right now. His new wife’s family has more money than God. They could crush whatever pathetic family you have left like a bug.” He paused, letting the threat hang in the air. “Keep causing trouble, and I will personally expel you.” Curled in the corner, burning with fever, my lips cracked and bleeding, I suddenly let out a dry, raspy laugh. Crush my family? “If the Hastings family finds out what you did to me today…” my voice drifted out from under the door gap, a ghostly whisper in the dark hallway. “…he is never going to marry into that family.” Silence on the other side. Then, a dismissive scoff. Footsteps walking away. No one believed me. They would never believe me. I closed my eyes and buried my burning face into my knees. I was done crying. In the suffocating dark, only one crystal-clear thought remained. When I get out of here, I am going to destroy them. “Weston…” I mumbled into the dark, my voice as thin as paper. “Please…” Just as my consciousness began to slip away into the heavy blackness— CRASH. The reinforced door of the closet was kicked open so hard it shattered the hinges.

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On Valentine’s Day, my boyfriend gave me a Birkin that cost more than most people’s annual salary. When my live-in housekeeper, Martha, found out, she didn’t congratulate me. She didn’t even smile. She went nuclear. She pointed at the hand-stitched leather, her voice trembling with a mix of vitriol and disdain, claiming the bag was less practical than a reusable grocery sack from the supermarket. According to her, a plastic bag was free, durable, and held more. She then pivoted to a lecture on my “reckless” spending, accusing me of disrespecting my parents’ hard work and wondering aloud what kind of “respectable family” would ever marry a woman so fiscally irresponsible. I didn’t engage with her delusions. I simply grabbed my keys and headed out for some retail therapy to clear my head. But when I returned, the silence in the house felt heavy—wrong. I walked toward my walk-in closet, and my heart stopped. The walls that usually displayed my collection of designer bags and curated jewelry were bare. Everything was gone. Martha stood in the hallway, hands planted firmly on her hips, a look of smug triumph on her face. She told me, quite casually, that she had sold the entire “clutter” to a junk hauler she found on Craigslist. She’d made three thousand dollars on the lot. Then came the kicker: she said she was “holding onto the cash” for me. She claimed that once I finally married her son, the money would count as a pre-wedding tribute to her, my future mother-in-law. I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I was struck by a cold, crystalline laughter. I picked up my phone and dialed 911 right in front of her. “I’d like to report a crime,” I said, my voice steady as I stared into her widening eyes. “I have a grand larceny in progress, and I believe I’m being targeted for a forced marriage scheme.” … 1 It started on Valentine’s Day. When my boyfriend, Darren, handed me the orange box containing a limited-edition Hermès, I felt like the luckiest woman alive. But the moment I carried it into the penthouse, I ran into Martha. She was finished with her shift, lounging on my Italian leather sofa as if she owned the place. The bag was stunning—a deep, rich crimson, the leather gleaming under the warm recessed lighting. Martha’s eyes darted toward my hands, her gaze lingering with a sharp, predatory curiosity. “Megan, that’s a flashy piece. I bet it cost a pretty penny, didn’t it?” I was still riding the high of the gift, missing the sour note in her voice. I answered without thinking. “It’s a bit much, honestly. Twenty-eight thousand.” “Twenty-eight thousand dollars!” The screech that left her throat was ear-piercing. “Are you out of your mind? Spending that kind of money on a scrap of cowhide? You need to take it back. Right now!” I froze, my brain struggling to process the audacity. She didn’t wait for me to recover; she stood up, her face inches from mine, spittle flying as she worked herself into a frenzy. “What can you even fit in there? A Walmart bag has more utility! It’s bigger, it’s stronger, and it’s free!” She reached out, trying to grab the bag, her fingers clutching at it as if it were hers to protect. “You sit around this house all day, doing nothing but burning through cash! Do you think money grows on trees for people like your father? What kind of husband is going to put up with a gold-digger like you?” The shock finally gave way to a surge of pure, white-hot adrenaline. “Martha, look at me,” I said, my voice dropping an octave. “You are overstepping. By a mile. How I spend my money—or how my boyfriend spends his—is absolutely none of your business. This was a gift. You don’t get a vote.” “Boyfriend?” Her face turned a sickly shade of grey, as if I’d just confessed to a felony. “Since when do you have a boyfriend? Who gave you permission? Why wasn’t this discussed with the family?” “Family?” I scoffed. “Call him and break it off. Immediately!” I almost laughed. The sheer entitlement was breathtaking. She was acting as if she were the matriarch of an empire, rather than the woman I hired to dust my baseboards. “Martha, remember who you are talking to. You are my housekeeper. One more word, and you can pack your bags and leave. Am I clear?” Like a deflated balloon, her bravado vanished. She went quiet, though she continued to seethe in silence. I felt a headache blooming behind my eyes. The magic of the evening was gone. I turned my back on her and retreated to my bedroom, needing the sanctuary of my own space. I thought that was the end of it. But just as I was drifting off, I felt the mattress dip. I bolted upright to find Martha sitting on the edge of my bed in the dark. “Megan, honey,” she whispered, her voice dripping with a forced, cloying sweetness. “I’m only saying this because I care. That man? He’s no good for you. I’ve already found someone better.” I stared at her, half-convinced I was having a fever dream. Martha held up her phone, her face etched with a performative sorrow. “Men out there… they’re predators. They use pretty things like you. A man who buys you a bag that expensive? He’s just buying your silence before he throws you away. I’m doing this for your own good. Don’t be ungrateful.” 2 The more she spoke, the more I wondered if she’d had a literal psychological break. Did she not realize who Darren was? Darren Reed, the heir to a tech conglomerate that practically ran the city. We’d grown up in the same elite circles; our parents had been best friends since before we were born. Our lives were woven together by decades of history and trust. And she thought he was “shady”? I leaned back against my headboard, crossing my arms. I decided to see how deep this rabbit hole went. “Fine, Martha. Enlighten me. Who is this ‘good man’ you’ve picked out for me?” Her face lit up instantly, the faux-misery replaced by a manic glow. She fumbled with her phone, scrolling through her gallery until she found her “prize.” She thrust the screen in front of my face. “This is my son, Randy. Isn’t he a handsome young man?” I looked at the photo and nearly recoiled. The man had narrow, shifty eyes and a few greasy strands of hair plastered across a receding forehead. He looked to be pushing three hundred pounds on a five-foot-five frame. He was wearing a smirking expression he clearly thought was “suave,” but it just came off as predatory. He looked like the kind of person you’d avoid in a well-lit parking lot. Martha, oblivious, beamed with pride. “Randy just turned thirty-five. Look at those features. You two standing together? It’d be like a movie poster. A perfect match.” “A match?” I pointed at the screen, incredulous. Martha reached out and grabbed my hand, her grip surprisingly tight. “He’s a shift lead at the distribution center! He manages a crew of fifteen people!” I pulled my hand away, pushing the phone back toward her. “No. Absolutely not.” Martha snapped. She lunged forward, her sharp fingernails digging into my scalp as she shook my head. “Don’t you get picky with me! With your lifestyle, you’re lucky a man like Randy would even look at you! If it weren’t for your education and the fact that you’ve got a decent enough face to give me smart grandkids, I wouldn’t even be offering this!” No one had ever laid a hand on me in my entire life. I was trembling with rage. “You’ve lost your mind. Get out of my room! Now!” But Martha was emboldened. “Get out? I’m your future mother-in-law! Your parents spoiled you, but I’m here to fix that. It’s time you learned some respect before you enter our house!” I didn’t argue further. I got up, grabbed her by the arm, and literally hauled her out of the room. She spent the next ten minutes kicking my door and screaming that I was an “ungrateful brat.” I fell asleep feeling disgusted, skin crawling. I assumed she’d be gone by morning. But when I went shopping with my friend the next day, my phone wouldn’t stop vibrating. Megan, where are you? Why haven’t you accepted Randy’s friend request? He’s outside your building. Open the door right now! I was baffled. I scrolled up and saw hundreds of voice memos she’d sent while I was asleep. I’m a big enough person to forgive your outburst yesterday. You’re young; you don’t know better. Randy took the train all the way here just to see you. Don’t be insulting! Don’t look down on us. Randy is a ‘growth stock.’ He’s going to do big things. Being with him is the best thing that could happen to a girl like you! My best friend, Sophie, listened to a few seconds of the audio and looked at me with pure pity. “Your housekeeper is insane, Megan. You need to call Darren. He’ll handle this.” I shook my head. “Darren is in the middle of closing a merger. I’m not bothering him with this soap opera. I’ll just fire her and change the locks. Problem solved.” I blocked her number and tried to enjoy my day. But some people are like leeches—they don’t let go until they’ve drawn blood. A few days later, I returned home around dusk. Before I could even pull out my key card, a shadow detached itself from the bushes near the entrance. A pair of heavy arms wrapped around me. A stench of stale cigarettes, unwashed skin, and cheap beer filled my lungs. A voice grunted in my ear, “Hey, wifey… caught ya. I’ve been waiting forever.” I felt his soft, protruding stomach press against me in a way that made my stomach turn. My reflexes kicked in before my brain did. I swung my heavy shopping bag backward with everything I had. The man howled, clutching his face and stumbling back. Under the dim streetlights, I saw him. Randy. He was even more repulsive in person. His face was like an over-kneaded lump of dough, with two tiny, beady eyes peering out. Even while he groaned on the ground, his gaze was traveling up and down my body in a way that felt like a physical violation. “Get away from me! I’m calling the police!” I backed away, heart hammering against my ribs. He just grinned, a slow, sickening stretch of his lips. “Don’t be shy, baby! Our parents already gave the blessing. You can’t run from destiny!” 3 A security guard from the neighboring building started walking toward us. “Help!” I screamed, grabbing his sleeve. “I don’t know this man! Get him away from me! He’s stalking me!” The guard looked confused, but seeing my pale face, he stepped between us and pinned Randy against the wall. “Who do you think you are?” Randy yelled, struggling. “She’s my wife! Mind your own business!” I didn’t stay to watch. I sprinted into the lobby, my fingers shaking so hard I could barely hit the elevator button for the penthouse. I burst through my front door, gasping for air, expecting safety. Instead, I found a nightmare. My living room—my minimalist, pristine sanctuary—was filled with people. There were seven or eight strangers, middle-aged men and women in dusty clothes, sitting on my furniture, shouting over each other and spitting sunflower seeds onto the floor. Two toddlers were jumping on my custom leather sofa, their sticky hands leaving smears on the hide. The white wool rug was covered in black scuff marks and crushed crackers. The kitchen was a roar of activity. The vent hood was humming, and Martha emerged from the kitchen wearing my silk apron, carrying a steaming platter of food. She saw me and didn’t even blink. She smiled like a gracious hostess. “Oh, look! The bride is home! Wash up, honey, dinner’s almost ready. We’ve all been waiting for you.” My vision blurred at the edges. My pulse was a drumbeat in my ears. Martha looked behind me, her brow furrowing. “Where’s Randy? He said he was going down to fetch you. Where is he?” I looked at the wreckage of my home. The filth. The audacity. “Get out,” I whispered. Then, louder: “GET OUT! ALL OF YOU!” The room went silent. They stared at me as if I were the one speaking in tongues. “I said get the hell out of my house! This is trespassing! This is illegal!” “Your house? What are you talking about?” Martha spat, her motherly facade dropping instantly. “Once you marry my son, everything you own belongs to him. I’m just inviting the family over to celebrate. You should be honored.” My eyes darted to a corner of the room. A small boy was playing with something shiny, swinging it around like a toy. It was my Bvlgari diamond Serpenti necklace. The one Darren had won for me at a charity auction for my birthday last year. The world tilted. I ran to my dressing room and ripped open the doors. Empty. The shelves that held my collection were stripped bare. Just a few dust bags scattered on the floor like discarded skins. I felt faint. I turned to find Martha leaning against the doorframe, twirling a spatula. “Don’t bother looking,” she said, her voice dripping with smug satisfaction. “I took care of all that junk for you.” She pulled a wad of crumpled twenties and fifties from her pocket and waved them in my face. “See this? I sold it all to a guy with a truck who buys estate leftovers. Got three thousand bucks for the lot. Not bad for a bunch of old bags, right?” She actually had the nerve to smooth out the bills. “I’m keeping this for the wedding fund. Consider it your first gift to your mother-in-law. You need to learn the value of a dollar, Megan.” I was shaking so hard I could barely stand. “Martha… those pieces were worth over a million dollars. You sold them for three thousand? You stole from me.” Martha rolled her eyes. “Yours, mine… what’s the difference? We’re going to be family.” “Martha, your daughter-in-law has quite the temper,” one of the women said, casually cracking another sunflower seed. “I am NOT her daughter-in-law!” I screamed. Martha stepped in front of me, blocking my path. “Don’t mind her,” she told her relatives. “City girls are just high-strung. She needs to be broken in.” “Stop talking! All of you, leave now!” A sharp crack echoed through the room. My head snapped to the side, my cheek burning. I touched my face, staring at her in shock. “Have you had enough?” Martha asked, her eyes cold. “Get in the kitchen and help me. We have guests. Don’t make me embarrassed of you.” I took a long, slow breath. I reached into my pocket, pulled out my phone, and dialed 911. “Yes, I need immediate police assistance,” I said, my voice echoing in the sudden silence of the room. “I have multiple intruders in my home. I am being held against my will, and a massive theft has occurred.” I looked at Martha, then at the room full of stunned faces. “The value of the stolen property exceeds one million dollars. The suspects are currently at the Oak Shores Penthouse…”

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With the final countdown to the Ivy League admissions and the SATs only two months away, the fog has finally lifted. I can finally see a future. Back when my life was defined by a memory impairment, even opening a textbook felt like trying to catch smoke with my bare hands. Then came Paige. She was a transfer student who looked at me and saw a new toy. She spent her days orchestrating a series of cruel, petty torments. Textbooks would vanish. My homework would be sabotaged with subtle, incorrect edits. She’d even “helpfully” lead me down the wrong streets on my way home, knowing I’d get lost. My body felt the sting of her malice, the exhaustion of the confusion, but my mind could never hold onto the specifics of her games. Then, two weeks ago, she cornered me. She looked at me with a terrifying, manic excitement and told me that if she had my “tragic, beautiful goldfish” persona, the whole world would fall at her feet. Before I could even process what she was saying, I was forced into a black-market clinic for a neural-feature exchange. When I woke up, the world was sharp. High-definition. For the first time in my life, things stayed. Meanwhile, Paige had become the one who moved in slow motion, her eyes vacant and her thoughts slipping through her fingers like sand. Floating before my eyes, a translucent live-feed of comments—a “Danmu” stream only I could see—was debating the shift. They complained that I, the “side character,” didn’t appreciate a good trope. They were thrilled that the “true heroine” could finally ask the cold, powerful billionaire, “Who are you?” with that signature, dazed innocence. I couldn’t help but smile. None of that mattered. I pulled out my phone, my fingers trembling as I texted my parents: This time, I’m getting into Harvard. … My parents replied almost instantly: Sweetie, just do your best. We love you regardless. They had watched me struggle my entire life. I wasn’t stupid—I actually learned quite fast. My comprehension was high; I understood everything the teachers said in the moment. The problem was the “delete” button in my brain. By the next morning, everything was wiped clean. I couldn’t even remember where I’d been the day before. But now? Everything had changed. I locked myself in my room that night, fueled by caffeine and a desperate, starving hunger for knowledge. When I woke up the next morning, the first thing I did was a mental audit. Everything was there. Every formula, every vocabulary word, every historical date from the night before was locked in place. At that moment, hot, heavy tears tracked down my face. At breakfast, I told my parents about the procedure. They were horrified, then skeptical. They started grilling me—our home address, my phone passcode, their birthdays. I rattled them off with a fluency that broke them. My mother finally broke down, sobbing as she threw her arms around me. We huddled there by the breakfast nook, three people crying over the simple miracle of a memory. With two months left until the final exams, I went into a frenzy. When the results of the first mock trial came out, I had broken into the top thirty. I stood in front of the rankings board, staring at my name until the ink blurred. I couldn’t press the smile off my face. The live-feed flickered across my vision: [Wait, why is the side character studying? Shouldn’t she be working a part-time job at a high-end bar to “accidentally” run into a mogul and beg for resources?] [Exactly! She’s supposed to try and trap the billionaire, only for him to fall for the heroine’s “ditsy purity” instead. That’s the script!] My smile faltered. According to their “correct plot,” I was supposed to be discarded by everyone because of Paige’s new, adorable helplessness. The billionaire would eventually destroy me to avenge her, and I’d end up having my neural traits forcibly swapped back, left to rot as a vegetable on the streets. A cold sweat broke out on my neck. But then, another comment scrolled by: [But in the early stages, the side character did use the mogul to get resources. He even donated a building to get her into a top-tier school.] I stared at those words, my fists slowly uncurling. I didn’t need someone to buy my way into Harvard. I would earn it. But if someone could provide the resources to help me get there? Well, that was a different story. Following the hints from the feed, I went to a high-end lounge downtown on Saturday night. And there he was: Kieran Derrick—the most powerful, elusive shadow in the city’s private equity world. I took a breath, slipped into the staff hallway, and paid a waitress two hundred bucks for her spare uniform. I fixed my hair, grabbed a tray, and approached his booth. “Sir? Are you alright? Do you need assistance?” He opened his eyes, tracking me with a sharp, lethal intensity. He looked me up and down, his gaze lingering just a second too long. “Get me to the nearest hotel,” he rasped. He handed me a five-hundred-dollar tip. I didn’t waste words. I helped him up, hailed a car, and got him to a suite. Once he was safely on the bed, the live-feed went into a frenzy. [Oh god, here comes the thirsty side-character move!] [She’s going to fake a ‘night together’ to blackmail him. Gag. Only our ditsy Paige can win him over with her soul!] I ignored them. I stood by the bed, watching Kieran sleep for a moment. Then, over the screams of “DON’T DO IT” from the feed, I reached into my pocket. I pulled out a piece of paper and tucked it under his pillow. The feed was relentless: [I bet it’s her phone number with a ‘call me daddy’ note. So pathetic.] [Don’t worry, Kieran hates thirsty girls.] I didn’t leave a number. I walked out of the room, closed the door, and sat on the floor of the hallway. I waited. The next morning, the door clicked open. I had fallen asleep against the wall and nearly toppled over. Kieran stood there, towering over me, his aura suffocatingly cold. He let out a dry, mocking chuckle, holding the paper between two fingers. “You left this?” It was my transcript. A record of my jump from the bottom of the pack to the top thirty in a single month. I stood up, smoothed my clothes, and looked him dead in the eye. “Good morning, Mr. Derrick. My name is Talia. I’m not here for your money. I’m here for your investment. I want you to sponsor my journey to Harvard.” I said it without a hint of hesitation. Kieran leaned against the doorframe, flipping the transcript over. “And why on earth would I do that?” I took a deep breath. “Because I am the safest bet you will ever make. For a minimal overhead, you secure the loyalty of a mind that is currently outperforming every projection in this district.” I didn’t stop there. I pivoted into his company’s latest acquisitions, offering three distinct critiques of their AI infrastructure based on papers I’d memorized the night before. I had spent my “waiting time” in the hallway researching every public filing his firm had made in the last three years. He arched a brow. His eyes traveled from the top of my head to my toes and back again. “You’ve got balls,” he murmured. My palms were sweating, but I kept my gaze steady. He seemed to be weighing his options, his lips parting as if to speak, when someone suddenly stumbled into his back. A girl pushed past him, nearly tripping over her own feet. I looked over and felt my heart drop. It was Paige. She looked around with a wide-eyed, vacant expression. Finally, her gaze landed on Kieran. She tilted her head like a confused puppy. “Who are you?” The feed exploded: [OH MY GOD! The heroine has arrived!] [The little goldfish! Look at how pure she is!] [Kieran, are you falling in love? Because I’m literally dying from her cuteness!] Kieran, however, just frowned. “What, are you here for a scholarship too?” Paige blinked, her mouth hanging open as if she were trying to process the concept of language. Then she puffed out her cheeks. “No! I’m just… I forgot where I was. I’m a little goldfish. I need someone to take me home.” She reached out and grabbed the hem of Kieran’s expensive suit jacket. “You. You do it.” Kieran’s frown deepened. He tried to shake her off, but she clung to his sleeve like a burr. Seeing he couldn’t dislodge her easily, Kieran turned back to me. He pulled a matte black business card from his pocket and handed it over. “Call my office. We’ll talk.” Then, he pulled out his phone and dialed hotel security. “There’s a woman here who seems to be mentally incapacitated and is harassing guests. Get someone up here to handle it, immediately.” Security arrived within minutes. Two guards began to pry Paige away. She struggled feebly, shouting at Kieran’s retreating back, “Ice man! I’m going to remember you!” The feed was indignant: [Kieran is such a jerk right now. Just wait until he realizes how refreshing Paige’s innocence is compared to the side-character’s schemes!] [The ‘enemies-to-lovers’ arc is going to be so delicious.] As Paige was dragged past me, she tried to grab my arm for leverage. But when she saw my face, she froze. “Who are you? You look… familiar…” Her memory was already so shot she didn’t even recognize the person she’d spent a year torturing. I didn’t say a word. I pressed myself against the wall, giving the guards a clear path to take her away. I looked down at the black card in my hand, my heart soaring. That afternoon, before heading back to school, I called the number. A crisp, professional voice answered. “This is Parker, Mr. Derrick’s executive assistant.” I explained who I was. “Mr. Derrick briefed me,” Parker said. “I’ve already made the arrangements. We’ll take it from here.” The feed started scrolling again: [Side-character is digging her own grave.] [Enjoy it while it lasts, honey. Kieran is going to make you pay for this later!] I gripped the phone tight. I wasn’t going to be a side character in their script. I was going to use this momentum to become so powerful that no one could ever touch my mind again. That night, Parker sent me a text. My tutoring and weekend schedule had been set. The location was a private estate on the Upper East Side—an office Kieran kept for his personal ventures. The weeks that followed were a blur of intensity. By day, I was at school. By night and all through the weekends, I was at the estate. Kieran had hired three world-class tutors for me; one of them was a retired professor who literally wrote the standard AP curriculum. I was a sponge. I climbed from rank fifteen to eight, then five. By the final mock exams, I was consistently in the top three. Sometimes Kieran would be there, working at a desk ten feet away. He’d be on low-voiced conference calls, and I found myself actually understanding the jargon he used. Occasionally, he’d take a break and look over my work. I knew from the feed that this man valued intelligence above all else. Once, after he walked me through a complex physics derivation, I let a bit of genuine admiration slip. “Mr. Derrick, that’s incredible. Most teachers would have taken three pages to explain what you just did in four steps.” He gave me a sideways glance but said nothing. But in every exam after that, I never missed a question of that type again. When he looked over my graded papers, the corner of his mouth ticked upward. A ghost of a smile. After that, he started showing up more often. He grew more patient. Meanwhile, rumors of Paige started trickling back to me. Her grades had plummeted to the bottom of the school. I heard her family had hosted two major charity events that she’d single-handedly ruined—once by forgetting the name of the guest of honor, and another time by accidentally shredding a contract because she thought it was “scrap paper.” The feed tried to spin it: [Paige’s parents are so mean to her. They don’t deserve her! Just wait until she’s with Kieran.] [Their little boutique family is only going to survive if she lands a mogul. Go Paige!] I didn’t care. I did one thing: I studied. On the eve of the SATs, Kieran had me stay at his high-end apartment in the city to ensure I wouldn’t be late. He stood by the library door, looking like he wanted to say something profound. In the end, he just nodded. “Go kill it.” The exams went perfectly. On the third day, as I walked out of the testing center into the blinding afternoon sun, a black sedan was waiting. The window rolled down, revealing Kieran. “Get in,” he said. The car was cool, smelling faintly of sandalwood and expensive leather. He leaned back, watching me. “You used to have a memory disorder,” he said, his voice casual but sharp. “How did it just… go away?” The heat from outside seemed to distort through the glass. My hands went ice cold. The feed started cheering: [YES! He’s finally onto her!] [The truth comes out! I can’t wait for him to force her to give the ‘heroine’ her brain back!] I took a breath and forced a smile. “My parents took me to every specialist in the country. We’ve been doing intensive cognitive therapy for years. It finally clicked.” It was a half-truth. They had taken me everywhere. The therapy had been constant. It just hadn’t worked until the surgery. Kieran studied me for a long beat, then nodded. “Understood.” He didn’t push. He didn’t accuse. The car merged smoothly into traffic. While waiting for the results, Kieran had Parker set me up with an internship at his firm. They specialized in AI algorithms, and I caught on fast. Data processing, model training—I devoured it all. Whenever Kieran walked past my workstation, he’d stop for a few seconds, look at my screen, and walk away without a word. A week later, he moved my desk into his private suite. One afternoon, my phone rang. “Hello, is this Talia?” a voice asked. “This is the Admissions Office at Harvard University.” My hand started to shake, but my voice remained steady. “Yes, this is she.” They wanted to discuss my application. My scores were… “exceptional.” When I hung up fifteen minutes later, I just stared at my keyboard. A soft cough came from the side. Kieran was standing there, a rare, genuine smile reaching his eyes. “Congratulations,” he said. It was the first time I’d seen him look at someone with that much respect. The day the official scores were released, my parents sat on either side of me. The webpage took four seconds to load. When the national ranking appeared, my mother screamed. My father literally lifted me out of my chair. There was no hesitation. Harvard was my first choice. On graduation day, the auditorium was packed. I was the valedictorian. Kieran sat in the front row—not in the VIP section, but in the parent-teacher section, looking effortlessly powerful in his charcoal suit. I finished my speech and bowed. Before the applause could even settle, a commotion broke out. A figure scrambled onto the stage, pointing a trembling finger at me. It was Paige. She looked terrible—gaunt, her eyes bloodshot and wide. “Talia! I remember you now!” she shrieked. “You used my brain to get into Harvard! Those scores should be mine! I’m reporting you for academic fraud!” The room went dead silent, then erupted in whispers. The livestream cameras for the ceremony pivoted toward us. The feed was going wild: [YES! Our girl is so brave! Expose that thief!] [Everything belongs to Paige!] [Finally, Kieran will see how evil the side-character is. Revenge for our baby!] I felt a chill run down my spine. Would Kieran really try to reverse it? Paige’s parents rushed onto the stage, flanking her. Her father roared at me, “You little thief! You stole my daughter’s future! Where are her parents? Get out here and face us!” My fist clenched. My grades were the result of blood, sweat, and sleepless nights. I opened my mouth to fight back, but then a chair scraped against the floor below. Kieran stood up, buttoned his jacket, and walked up the steps with a slow, rhythmic thud. He stepped beside me, shielding me from Paige’s family. “I’m her guardian,” he said, his voice dropping an octave of pure ice. “What exactly is the problem here?”

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The anesthesia had just worn off when my werewolf’s keen hearing picked up the conversation outside the door. “Once she’s completely unable to have children, I’ll strip her of her Luna position. Then all of White Moon Pack’s resources and money will be ours.” “Besides, the Council of Elders only recognizes whoever gives birth to an Alpha pup first. Lena, once you bear my child, you’ll be the Luna of Black Rock Pack.” “You’re so good to me, Kane! I’ll give you the smartest pup!” Outside the door were my husband Kane and his delicate Omega first love, Lena. I lay in the hospital bed, my whole body cold. In the five years since our marriage, three pregnancies had ended in miscarriage. I had always thought it was my poor constitution. To protect the pregnancies, I had put my Columbia doctoral research on hold and poured all of White Moon Pack’s resources into filling the holes in his corporation. It turned out that the Alpha I’d loved for five years had been plotting against me, against my children all along, and wanted to steal my family fortune and destroy my future. In the last second before I lost consciousness, my mind was filled with nothing but hatred. When I opened my eyes again, I had been reborn to the day of my first miscarriage. Kane was sitting by the bed, pretending to comfort me with reddened eyes. “Ayla, don’t be sad. We can have another child. I’ve already postponed your doctoral defense for you. Just focus on recovering.” I suddenly slapped him across the face. “Kane, I want a divorce.”

Kane’s expression visibly stiffened. “Ayla, I know you just had a miscarriage and your emotions are unstable. I won’t hold this slap against you.” He reached out to hold my hand. “But I’ll pretend you didn’t mean what you said about divorce.” I shook off his hand and shifted away, wanting to distance myself from him. Kane continued talking to himself. “Be reasonable. The alliance between our two packs isn’t something you can just end. Don’t you care about the corporation’s stock price or our people’s reputation?” “Besides, you’re about to graduate with your doctorate. If you divorce now, what will people think of you? Are you willing to throw away your bright future?” “It’s just one child. We can have more.” I looked at him coldly, finding it utterly laughable. Among werewolves, a Luna’s status was second only to an Alpha. And I wasn’t just the Luna of Black Rock Pack. I was the sole Alpha heir of White Moon Pack. Yet in his eyes, I wasn’t even worth as much as an Omega. “Kane,” I said, my voice calm. “Do you really think I don’t know about you and Lena?” “Last year during the blizzard, when my father’s people were surrounded by rogues, I sent you five distress signals. You didn’t respond to a single one.” He frowned. “I told you, there was a board vote that day…” “You were with Lena.” I threw my phone in front of him, the flight records glaringly bright. “Lena said she wanted to see the Northern Lights. So you flew overnight to spend three days with her. My White Moon Pack was nearly wiped out because of it.” Kane’s smile finally cracked. I continued, my tone flat. “Since we got married, you’ve never given me a single decent gift, yet you gave Lena a sapphire necklace worth two million dollars. I really want to ask. Who do you really consider your wife?” “Enough!” He shot to his feet, the chair crashing against the wall. “Can’t take it anymore?” I pulled out documents from under my pillow and slammed them against his chest. “Tell me, who did you sign away White Moon Pack’s mineral rights to? You used our White Moon Pack’s assets to support your Omega, and you still have the nerve to sit here and tell me not to divorce you?” Kane grabbed my wrist, his fangs bared, pupils turning red. “Ayla, don’t push me.” “Push you?” I stared directly into his eyes. “I was pregnant for so long, and every day you sent me vitamins that Lena had to approve first. I thought you were being thoughtful at the time. Now I realize you were just making sure the poison would kill my baby, weren’t you?” His hand loosened, and he stepped back as if burned. “Since your Omega loves to approve things so much, let her be the Luna.” I threw the signed divorce agreement in his face. “I’m ending this marriage.” Kane clutched the paper, his knuckles white as it crumpled in his hand. He threw the crumpled paper on the ground, grabbed his coat, and left. After Kane left, Sophie, the Beta who had served me for years, came in with red-rimmed eyes. “Luna Ayla…” I pulled out the IV needle from the back of my hand and leaned against the headboard, speaking calmly. “Pull out the alliance agreement between our packs, the joint accounts, and the mineral transfer documents. I want every single transaction investigated thoroughly.” “Also, gather the remaining vitamins I was taking before my miscarriage. Don’t let anyone touch them.” “And contact my advisor. I want to attend my graduation defense on schedule. No delays.” Sophie’s tablet nearly cracked under the pressure of her grip. “Yes, Luna Ayla.” I looked out at the gray sky, my hand gently resting on my abdomen. Kane. Lena. In this life, what you owe me, what you owe White Moon Pack. I’ll collect it all back, with interest.

Three days after leaving the hospital, Lena came to the villa to see me. She walked into the living room carrying a bowl of medicinal tonic, Kane following behind her with one hand hovering protectively near her waist. “Ayla.” She placed the tonic on the coffee table. “This is a recipe I learned from our pack’s healer. It’s specially for restoring your strength. You just got out of the hospital and your body is weak. You need to take care of yourself.” She lowered her eyelashes and sighed. “I heard from Kane about what happened at the hospital. If you’re angry, take it out on me. Just please don’t fight with Kane about divorce. If I ruin the alliance between our two packs, I’ll be a sinner.” Halfway through her speech, she couldn’t hold back anymore and began sobbing softly. Kane frowned and pulled her into his shoulder. “Lena, this has nothing to do with you. Don’t blame yourself for everything.” He turned to me. “Ayla, look how reasonable Lena is. And you? All you know how to do is threaten divorce!” Watching her terrible acting, I suddenly laughed. Kane said angrily, “What’s so funny!” “I’m laughing at Lena. At least she has some self-awareness.” “But I need to remind you: among werewolves, an Omega speaking to a Luna must use respectful language. Didn’t your parents teach you manners?” Lena’s face flushed red and white, biting her lip, not daring to speak. Kane’s expression darkened. “Ayla! You’re going too far! How can you, as a Luna, bully a young Omega like this!” “Bully?” I raised an eyebrow. “I’m just teaching her werewolf etiquette. Kane, as the Alpha of Black Rock Pack, aren’t you afraid of being held accountable by the Council of Elders for allowing an Omega to disrespect a Luna?” “But more than etiquette, I’d like to ask you. That blue diamond necklace. Is it comfortable to wear?” Lena’s face froze for half a second, then her eyes grew even redder. “What necklace? Ayla, what are you talking about?” “The two million dollars you spent buying that blue diamond necklace came from our joint account.” I opened my phone and showed her the auction house transaction records. “That two million was supposed to be used to help our displaced pack members, but Kane spent it buying you a necklace.” Kane’s face turned iron-gray as he slammed his hand on the coffee table. “I made up that money later…” “Made it up?” I laughed coldly. “What about the forty million you siphoned off through the mineral rights transfer? Are you going to make it up with those fake accounts from Lena’s shell companies?” Lena cried, her shoulders shaking. “It’s all my fault. I caused trouble for Kane.” Watching Lena’s clumsy performance only gave me a headache. “Sophie, call security.” “Escort this Omega who doesn’t know her manners out. From now on, without my permission, she’s not allowed to set foot in any White Moon Pack property.” Kane’s pupils contracted sharply. “Ayla, you’re going too far. Do you have to be so ruthless?” I stood up and met his eyes. “Kane, the one being ruthless isn’t me. It’s you.” Kane tried to say something more, but two tall White Moon security guards immediately stepped forward, blocking his path. “Alpha Kane, please leave!” Kane pulled Lena up and turned to go. “Ayla, just wait. This isn’t over!” That evening. Sophie placed a thick stack of transaction records in front of me. “Luna, everything’s been investigated. Besides the sapphire necklace and mineral rights, over the past year and a half, your private account has transferred seventy-two million dollars to Lena’s account, and White Moon Pack has provided interest-free loans totaling three hundred million dollars to Blake Corporation.” “Also, I’ve contacted your advisor. The professor is very supportive of your timely defense and has scheduled it for one week before the graduation ceremony.” I picked up the divorce agreement and signed my name at the bottom. “Deliver this to Kane’s office. Within three days, tell him to return all the money and sign the divorce agreement.” “Otherwise, I’ll immediately report to the Council of Elders that he allowed an Omega to disrespect a Luna and embezzled pack funds.” “Also, tell him not to try using my graduation defense against me. If he dares to cause trouble at the school, I’ll make sure both he and Blake Corporation disappear from North America completely.”

Early the next morning, I returned to White Moon Pack’s estate. My mother took my hand and spoke earnestly. “My daughter, you and Kane have only been married for a year. It’s normal to have adjustment issues. As the Luna of Black Rock Pack, you can’t be so impulsive! You can’t just divorce like this!” My father’s face was stern, his tone displeased. “Ayla, it’s not that your mother and I aren’t on your side, but divorce is unprecedented in our pack’s history.” “Kane may have his faults, but it’s not unusual for an Alpha to keep one or two Omegas outside. Once you have another child and he becomes a father, he’ll naturally settle down.” “Besides, you’re about to graduate with your doctorate. If you divorce now, what if it affects your future?” I interrupted them. “Dad, Mom, I’ve already sent the divorce agreement. Kane and I are getting divorced. That’s final.” “I will also attend my doctoral defense on schedule. No one is taking my degree away from me.” My father slammed his hand on the armrest, making the teacup rattle. “How could you make such a decision without consulting us! Do you know how much negative publicity a divorce would bring to both our packs’ reputations?” As we reached an impasse, a steady voice came from the doorway. “If Ayla wants to come home, let her come home. With me protecting her, Black Rock Pack won’t dare touch her.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “401072”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

Vivienne Sterling had been keeping Cyrus Wilde for three years. Everyone in their circle said Miss Sterling had lost her mind. With so many eligible bachelors from prominent families available, she insisted on spoiling a race car driver who had nothing but a pretty face and a wild temper. Vivienne didn’t care. All she wanted was the red mole at the corner of Cyrus’s eye, exactly like Sebastian’s. Until news came that Sebastian, thought dead, had returned alive. That very evening at a charity gala, Cyrus stood with his arm around his childhood friend Meadow, bragging to others. “Vivienne can’t live without me. I just crook my finger and she comes running.” The next second, the doors swung open. The man missing for three years walked in, cold and intense, his gaze sharp as a blade. In front of everyone, Vivienne kicked aside Cyrus who blocked her path, eyes reddening as she rushed into that man’s embrace. Cyrus lost it, dropping to his knees and clutching at her dress. “Vivienne,look at me. I have a mole too…” Vivienne looked down at him with the same gaze one might give garbage. “A fake is a fake. Now that the moon has returned, who needs a firefly?”

When Cyrus tore up that ten-million-dollar check and threw it in my face, I was checking my watch. 2 AM. My birthday was over. “Vivienne, who the hell are you trying to humiliate with money?” Cyrus stood there shirtless, wine stains still wet on his chest, his handsome, hostile face full of aggression. “I was with Meadow at the hospital today! She’s afraid of the dark, and she had acute gastritis. What’s wrong with me staying with her as her brother for one night? Was that worth throwing money at me?” I calmly wiped the paper scraps from my face, my gaze settling on the dark red teardrop mole at the corner of his eye. So similar. Sebastian Ashford had a mole just like that too. Except when Sebastian looked at me, that mole reflected gentle ripples. Whereas Cyrus’s only showed greed and impatience. “I told you to come back and spend my birthday with me. Did you forget the rules?” I leaned back on the sofa, my voice light but carrying an unquestionable coldness. When I’d first kept Cyrus, the rules were clear: First, come whenever called. Second, play the role of Sebastian’s shadow well. Third, no emotional attachment allowed, especially not to that barely-related sister of his, Meadow. Cyrus let out a cold laugh and kicked over the coffee table in front of him. The cake I’d made myself was now a pile of ruined mess. “Fuck your rules! Vivienne, you think having some dirty money makes you so great? Let me tell you, Meadow is priceless to me! What would a cold-blooded capitalist like you know about feelings?” He bent down, bringing that face close to mine with vindictive pleasure. “Besides, don’t you love this face of mine? Even if I leave now, you’ll still obediently buy me that Ferrari and send it over. Vivienne, you’re just a pathetic woman who can’t survive without a man.” With that, he grabbed his jacket and stormed out. As he left, I heard him sending Meadow a voice message, his tone instantly turning sickeningly sweet. “Don’t be scared, Meadow. Cyrus is coming right back. That crazy bitch can’t control me.” The room fell silent again. I stared at the wreckage, my stomach cramping. Three years. To hold onto this last shred of memory of Sebastian, I’d fed this stray dog Cyrus until he became a wolf. Not only had I filled his stomach, I’d emboldened him. My phone vibrated. A message from my special assistant: “Miss Sterling, there’s movement from the Ashford family. The three-year lockdown… seems to be loosening.” My hand trembled violently, my heartbeat skipping. Sebastian, is it you?

Cyrus didn’t return for half a month. He was betting I’d show up with a black card and a luxury car, just like before. After all, every time before, I couldn’t bear to see that face disappointed. A face so much like Sebastian’s. So I’d compromise. No limits. But he miscalculated this time. I had no time for him. News from the Ashford family was becoming increasingly definite. Someone had spotted a figure resembling Sebastian at a private sanatorium abroad. I mobilized all of the Sterling family’s underground networks to investigate, staying up entire nights monitoring for updates. Right at this critical juncture, the Sterling family faced a crisis. My grandfather, who had doted on me most, suffered a sudden cerebral hemorrhage and was rushed into the ICU. The doctor issued a critical condition notice, telling me to prepare myself mentally. That day, thunder and lightning crashed. I stood outside the emergency room, my entire body ice cold. Before losing consciousness, Grandfather kept calling out. “Viv… find someone… to take care of you…” I knew Grandfather feared I would be alone. I wanted to put his mind at ease. Even if it was fake, I needed to let him see, to tell him I had someone. I dialed Cyrus’s number. First attempt, rejected. Second attempt, rejected again. Third attempt, finally answered. Deafening engine roars and cheers came through the receiver. Cyrus was at the racetrack. “Make it quick, I’m busy.” His voice was arrogant and cocky. “Cyrus, come to First Memorial Hospital.” I tried desperately to keep my voice from shaking. “Grandfather’s critical. He wants to see you. Just come now, and I’ll buy you that limited edition supercar you wanted.” Silence on the other end for a second, then Meadow’s shrill scream erupted. “Ah! Cyrus! I want to try that drift! Take me, please!” Cyrus clicked his tongue, then said impatiently, “Vivienne, you’re really going all out to trick me back, aren’t you? Even lying about the old man dying? Ever heard of the boy who cried wolf?” “Meadow’s in a bad mood today. I need to take her for a drive to cheer her up. Go play the dutiful granddaughter yourself. Don’t bother me.” The call disconnected. In that instant, my knuckles turned white gripping the phone. I never imagined a person could be this rotten. Half an hour later, the emergency room lights went out. The doctor pushed out a gurney covered with a white sheet and shook his head at me. I didn’t cry. Tears seemed too superfluous in this moment. I simply quietly took out my phone and sent an order to the financial director. “Cancel all supplementary cards under Cyrus’s name. Revoke his residential rights at the Westhill Villa. Now. Immediately.”

Grandfather’s funeral was grand. Everyone who was anyone in New York attended. Except Cyrus. Because his cards were canceled, he’d lost face in front of his friends and couldn’t even buy Meadow a purse. He sent me hundreds of text messages, starting with curses, moving to accusations, then finally threats. I didn’t respond to a single one. I blocked him directly. On the day of the funeral procession, Cyrus finally appeared. He’d probably climbed over the wall to get in, wearing a motorcycle jacket with the zipper half-open, his face full of hostility. What’s more, Meadow followed behind him. At this solemn occasion where everyone wore black, Meadow had on a pale pink Chanel suit, innocent makeup, and was even holding a milk tea. The guests immediately erupted in outrage. “Who is that? How rude!” “Isn’t that the boy toy Miss Sterling keeps? How dare he bring a girl in pink to a funeral?” Cyrus ignored it all. He strode directly to me and grabbed my wrist, his eyes bloodshot. “Vivienne, have you had enough? Is canceling my cards fun for you? Let me tell you, Meadow was terrified. You apologize to her right now, and give her that Westhill villa as compensation for emotional distress. Then I’ll forgive you this time!” I slowly raised my head, looking at that face. Once, looking at Sebastian through this face gave me momentary comfort. Now, I only felt disgusted. Like I’d swallowed ten thousand flies. “Take your filthy hands off me.” My voice was hoarse but cold as ice. Cyrus froze, seemingly unable to believe I dared speak to him this way. Meadow immediately stepped forward, clinging to Cyrus’s arm, looking at me with teary eyes. “Vivienne,don’t be angry at Cyrus. It’s all my fault… I wasn’t feeling well, that’s why Cyrus was so worried. And… and I didn’t wear pink on purpose. I just thought Grandfather going to heaven should be a happy thing…” Slap! I backhanded her hard across the face. The slap was so loud the entire funeral hall fell silent. Meadow was stunned, milk tea spilling all over her, leaving her in a sorry state. “This is the Sterling family funeral hall, not your hookup nightclub.” I accepted a wet wipe from a bodyguard and methodically wiped my fingers. Each word landed like a nail. “Wearing pink to a funeral. Is this your upbringing? Since your parents didn’t teach you properly, I’ll teach you in their place.” “Vivienne! Are you insane?!” Cyrus flew into a rage, raising his fist to charge at me. “You dare hit her? You believe I’ll…” Before he could get close, two bodyguards over six feet tall pressed him to his knees on the ground. His kneecaps hit the marble floor with a sickening crack. I looked down at Cyrus kneeling before me. “Cyrus, the game is over.” “You’re just a substitute, a plaything. When I favored you, you were a treasure. Now that I’m done with you, you’re not even worth a stray dog.” “Throw them both out. From now on, they show up on Sterling property once, we beat them once.”

Cyrus and Meadow were dragged out of the funeral hall like dead dogs. I heard he cursed at the gate for half an hour, swearing to make me beg him to come back. After handling Grandfather’s affairs, I swiftly cleaned house within the corporation. Those collateral relatives waiting to see me fail, I kicked them out one by one. The outside world buzzed with rumors. The Sterling family’s crazy heiress was back. No longer a lovesick idiot. A week later came a top-tier business reception. The host was mysterious, supposedly a newly returned tycoon holding hundreds of billions in capital. I had to secure this partnership to stabilize Sterling Corporation’s stock price. Unexpectedly, I ran into Cyrus again at the entrance. He’d apparently latched onto some nouveau riche sugar mama. Clutching an invitation from who knows where, he swaggered by the door looking smug. Seeing me, he immediately released the rich woman’s hand, straightened his collar, and walked over. “Well, well, if it isn’t Miss Sterling?” Cyrus blocked my path, his expression full of vindictive satisfaction. “What? You here begging for partnerships too? I heard this big shot has high standards. With Sterling Corporation’s current state, you probably can’t even get through the door, right?” He leaned close, lowering his voice with malicious temptation. “Vivienne,having regrets now? Just say ‘I was wrong’ in front of everyone, return that villa, and I’ll put in a good word with my lady friend here. Let you get in and see what real class looks like.” He thought I was still that Vivienne who gave him everything he asked for. Thought that with a simple crook of his finger and a small favor, I’d let bygones be bygones. After all, he still had that face. I looked at him and suddenly laughed. “Cyrus, did you forget to look in the mirror before leaving?” “That fawning, sleazy look on you. You really resemble a eunuch.” Cyrus’s face instantly turned iron blue. “Vivienne! Don’t be shameless! When that big shot arrives, we’ll see how you cry!” Just then, the banquet hall doors slowly opened. All the lights instantly converged, spotlights hitting the entrance. The previously noisy crowd fell silent, everyone spontaneously parting to create a path. “Is that… the legendary ‘Moon God’ of Wall Street?” “Oh my God, it’s really him! The Ashford family heir who disappeared three years ago!” I jerked my head up. My heart stopped beating in that moment. That man approached against the light. Dressed in an impeccably tailored deep black suit, his posture upright as a pine. That face, coldly noble, had gained even more maturity and commanding presence than in my memories. He lifted his gaze slightly, his eyes piercing through layers of people, landing precisely on me. It was Sebastian. The real Sebastian. No hostility, no sleaziness, only a nobility that made people want to bow in submission.

I froze in place, as if my soul was frozen. Three years. Over a thousand days and nights of despair. All of it broke loose the moment I saw him appear safe and sound. Cyrus froze too. He stared blankly at Sebastian, then looked down at himself. An inferiority complex instantly engulfed him. Though their features were seventy percent similar, their temperaments were worlds apart. If Sebastian was a bright moon hanging high in the night sky, then Cyrus was a puddle of mud in the gutter. Sebastian walked straight toward me. Bodyguards on both sides cleared the way for him. The rich woman who’d been so arrogant moments ago now didn’t dare breathe too loudly. Cyrus panicked. He felt an unprecedented sense of crisis. The bloodline suppression from the real thing. He instinctively tried to grab my hand to assert ownership. “Vivienne, who is he? He’s just a bit paler than me, right? Don’t let him fool you, I’m the one who…” “Get lost.” Sebastian spoke. Just one word, not loud, but carrying bone-chilling killing intent. He didn’t even spare Cyrus a proper glance, as if he were merely a patch of air. Cyrus staggered back two steps under the force of that aura, his legs weakening until he sat down hard on the ground. The next second, Sebastian stood before me. He reached out, his slender fingers gently touching my cheek, his fingertips warm. Those eyes that usually looked at everyone coldly were now frighteningly red. “Vivienne.” He called my full name, his voice hoarse as if scraped over sandpaper. “I’m sorry. I came back too late.” My tears instantly splashed onto his palm. All my strength, all my pretense, all the dignity of the Sterling family head. It all crumbled in this moment. I couldn’t care about propriety anymore. I threw myself into his arms, hands desperately clutching his lapels, crying like a child who’d been lost. “Sebastian… you bastard… you were dead for three years… why did you only come back now…” He held me tightly back, with a force as if trying to meld me into his bones and blood. “I’m the bastard. From now on, my life is yours. I’ll never leave again.” A deathly silence surrounded us. No one expected the cold, aloof Miss Sterling to cry like this. Even less did they expect the legendarily ruthless new Ashford family head to publicly comfort someone. Cyrus sat on the ground, ashen-faced. He watched the woman Sebastian carefully protected in his embrace, watched the undisguised devotion in that man’s eyes. He finally understood a truth. These three years, the so-called “favoritism” he’d been so proud of was nothing but Vivienne looking at another man’s shadow through him. “Impossible… this can’t be…” Cyrus scrambled up unwillingly, pointing at Sebastian and shouting. “Vivienne! Look at me! I have a mole too! Right here at my eye! You said you loved this mole most!” He frantically pointed at his eye corner like a madman trying to prove his worth. Sebastian finally deigned to spare him a glance. With one arm around me, he swept his indifferent gaze over Cyrus’s face, his lips curving into a cruel arc. “Oh? A mole?” “You had that tattooed on to look like me, didn’t you?” “Poorly imitating your betters. Truly… disgustingly ugly.”

“Tat… tattooed?” Cyrus looked like he’d been struck by lightning, covering his eye corner, his voice shaking uncontrollably. Sebastian took a handkerchief from his assistant with distaste, methodically wiping the finger that had just touched Cyrus’s chin. As if it had been contaminated by some lethal bacteria. “You didn’t know?” Sebastian’s tone was casual but every word hit home. “This mole of mine. When I was five, I got scratched by a tree branch while saving Viv. The scar later became a mole.” “It’s a badge of honor.” He tossed the handkerchief into a nearby trash can. “Whereas that one on your face reeks of crude industrial saccharine.” The crowd erupted. So Miss Sterling hadn’t loved the mole. She’d loved that history of childhood sweethearts, of life-saving devotion. Cyrus had become a complete joke. His proud “substitute credentials” had transformed into a farcical imitation in this moment. “No… I don’t believe it! Vivienne,say something!” Cyrus tried to lunge forward, but security kicked him in the back of the knee, forcing him to his knees again. He looked up at me, his eyes full of panic and pleading. “Vivienne,it’s me, Cyrus. We’ve been together three years. Even without merit, I’ve worked hard. You can’t be this heartless…” I nestled in Sebastian’s embrace, feeling only infinite exhaustion. Looking at that man sobbing on the ground, I wondered if I’d been blind the past three years. “Cyrus.” I spoke, my voice soft. “These three years, every cent you spent came from the returns on what Sebastian left me.” “The cars you drove. He ordered them before he died. The villa you lived in. He designed it. Even your existence only had value because you resembled him.” “Now the real deal is back. Don’t you find it disgusting? You fake, spending the real deal’s money and trampling all over him?” “Throw him out.” Sebastian didn’t want to hear another word. Holding my waist, he turned. “Don’t dirty her eyes.” Security dragged Cyrus and the now-terrified rich woman out like dead dogs. Before the doors closed, Cyrus’s heart-wrenching shouts could still be heard. “Vivienne! You’ll regret this! That man disappeared for three years. Who knows what he did out there! Only I truly cared about you!” The doors slammed shut. The world grew quiet.

Sebastian took me back to his private estate in the suburbs. In the car, the atmosphere was eerily quiet. I gripped his sleeve tightly, not daring to let go for even a moment, afraid this was just a dream and I’d wake to find him transformed back into that cold tombstone. “Why are your hands so cold?” Sebastian grasped my hand, his brow furrowed. He tucked my hand into his coat pocket, warmth flowing continuously from his palm. “I’m sorry, Viv. The plane crashed then, and I fell into international waters. A passing fishing boat rescued me, but I suffered brain trauma and was in a coma for two full years.” “After waking, I was in rehabilitation, fighting to regain control of the Ashford family. I didn’t dare contact you, afraid those who wanted me dead would target you.” His explanation was brief, but I could hear the bloodshed and violence behind it. Two years in a coma, one year in rehabilitation, and still having to fight his way back to the center of power in a foreign land. I didn’t dare imagine how much he’d suffered. “What about now…” I choked up, reaching to touch his legs. “I’m fine now.” Sebastian caught my hand, kissing it at his lips. “To come back and hold you, I made sure my legs recovered completely. See, I can hold you very steadily now.” The car stopped at the estate entrance. He didn’t let me get out. Instead, he scooped me up horizontally and strode into the house. The lights came on, and I realized the interior furnishings were exactly as I remembered. Even my hair tie from three years ago still sat on the coffee table. “This place has been maintained. Nothing’s changed.” Sebastian set me on the sofa, then knelt on one knee. This man who could overturn industries with a flick of his hand now knelt before me, removing my uncomfortable high heels. He cradled my foot, looking at the blisters rubbed raw on my heels, his expression dangerously dark. “That waste Cyrus never even bought you proper shoes?” I sniffled. “He only knew how to use my card to buy things for himself and Meadow.” Sebastian’s movements paused. Then he produced a black velvet box, opening it to reveal a blinding pink diamond ring and a heavy private seal. “This is the Ashford family head’s private seal. Seeing this seal is like seeing me in person. It can mobilize all Ashford family funds and influence.” He pressed the seal into my hand and slipped the ring onto my ring finger. “Vivienne,from now on you manage my money, you manage my life. Whoever wrongs you, I’ll send to hell.” Looking at that ring, I remembered Cyrus once gave me a plastic hair clip bought from a street stall, insisting I wear it to a gala, saying this was “true love doesn’t look at price.” It turned out, love versus no love really was that obvious.

After being thrown out of the reception, Cyrus didn’t give up. He took Meadow back to the Westhill Villa. That was Sterling family property, and his and Meadow’s nest these past three years. He wanted to grab some of the watches and antiques I’d given him to sell for cash to make a comeback. However, when he entered the password, the door lock emitted a harsh alarm: “Incorrect password.” He refused to believe it and tried again. “Incorrect password. System locked.” “Impossible! That woman Vivienne actually changed the password?!” Cyrus flew into a rage, kicking the door. Just then, the door opened from inside. Several uniformed movers emerged carrying huge black garbage bags. “What are you doing! This is my house!” Cyrus rushed forward to grab them. The head butler coldly pushed him away. “Mr. Wilde, Miss Sterling has given orders. This property has been reclaimed. As for what’s inside…” The butler gestured at the garbage bags on the ground. “Miss Sterling said since the person is no longer wanted, the trash that person left should also be cleaned out. These are your personal belongings. Please take them.” Cyrus tore open a garbage bag with trembling hands. Inside were clothes he’d worn, toothbrushes he’d used, and Meadow’s pile of cheap pink stuffed animals. But all the valuable watches, paintings, limited edition collectibles, all gone. “Where are my watches! Where are my car keys!” Cyrus shouted like a madman. The butler remained expressionless. “Those were all assets purchased by Miss Sterling, belonging to Sterling Corporation, not to you. You only had usage rights, not ownership.” “Additionally, Miss Sterling asked me to inform you that the thirteen million and fifty thousand dollars you charged over these three years. The lawyer’s letter is on its way. Please prepare for repayment.” “Thirteen… million?” Meadow nearly fainted hearing this, screaming, “Cyrus! Didn’t you say that money was what you earned? Didn’t you say the Sterling family was just your ATM? We have to pay it back? We’ll go to prison!” Hit in his sore spot, Cyrus turned and backhanded Meadow across the face. “Shut up! If you hadn’t demanded to buy this and that every day, would I have spent so much? Having second thoughts now? Get lost!” Meadow clutched her face crying but didn’t dare leave. Because she was also a parasite. Without Cyrus, she didn’t even know where she’d sleep tonight. The rain fell harder. Cyrus and Meadow crouched by the villa entrance clutching garbage bags, like two homeless dogs. And in the distance, the Sterling family’s brilliant lights would never shine on them again.

People in desperate straits often become even more shameless. Cyrus had reached the end of his rope. He could neither repay that thirteen million debt nor accept the fall from cloud nine to mud. At Meadow’s instigation, he decided to go all in. The next morning, a video titled “Heiress CEO Abandons Three-Year Lover, Turns Around to Grovel Before Returning Tycoon” shot to number one on trending. In the video, Cyrus appeared unshaven, red-eyed, haggard, tearfully complaining to the camera. “Vivienne and I were together three years. I gave her my whole heart. The day her grandfather was dying, I got injured at the racetrack and didn’t see the call. She’s held it against me ever since. Now that Sebastian’s back, she kicked me out to climb the social ladder and stuck me with over thirteen million in debt… I really don’t know how to keep living.” Meadow appeared on cue beside him, crying pitifully, even holding a forged “abortion medical record.” “Viv never liked me. She thought I was Cyrus’s burden. A while ago I accidentally got pregnant. When Viv found out, she forced Cyrus to take me for an abortion. That was a little life…” This victim act was devastatingly precise. “Abandoning old love,” “clinging to power,” “forced abortion.” Every keyword struck the public’s sensitive nerves. Public opinion exploded instantly. Uninformed netizens flooded Sterling Corporation’s official account and my personal profile with abuse. “Vivienne Sterling get out of New York! How can such a heartless woman be CEO?” “Trading her fiancé for money. Absolutely disgusting!” “So sad. Three years of her life wasted on a man, and now he’s the one paying the price. Too tragic!” “That Sebastian guy isn’t any better, right? Taking someone else’s leftovers?” Sterling Corporation’s stock price hit the daily limit down at opening. The board couldn’t sit still, calling to demand answers. Some even proposed removing me as CEO. I sat in my office watching Cyrus’s supremely hypocritical face on the big screen. I found it laughable. Did he think public opinion could destroy me? Too bad he forgot. These three years, I’d kept the Sterling family head position not through mercy. “Miss Sterling, PR has prepared a clarification statement. Should we release it?” My special assistant looked anxious. I shook my head, fingers lightly tapping the desk. “No rush. Let it play out a bit longer. The heat isn’t high enough yet. Not enough to finish him off completely.” “What about Mr. Ashford’s side?” The assistant checked her phone, expression somewhat odd. “Mr. Ashford said… this small matter doesn’t require your concern. He’s already sent people to ‘invite’ those two big stars.”

That evening, Cyrus sat in a shabby motel room scrolling through comments on his phone, gloating. “Meadow look! So many people support us! People are even tipping me! I’ve made tens of thousands just now!” Meadow nestled in his arms, her eyes gleaming with greed. “Cyrus is amazing! When that bitch Vivienne can’t take the pressure and comes begging for peace, we’ll demand a hundred million from her!” Bang! The motel’s flimsy wooden door kicked open. Several black-suited bodyguards filed in and without a word, pinned down the couple still dreaming of riches. “What are you doing! I’m calling the police! I’m an influencer! I have millions of followers!” Cyrus struggled desperately. His phone clattered to the floor, still on the livestream interface. Viewers in the livestream only saw the camera shake violently, then a pair of polished black leather shoes appeared in frame. Sebastian slowly entered. He toyed with a USB drive in his hand, his gaze looking at them like livestock awaiting slaughter. “I hear you’ve been having fun making up stories online?” His voice wasn’t loud but carried bone-deep coldness. A bodyguard brought in a chair. Sebastian sat down elegantly, crossing his long legs, his presence instantly crushing the cramped little room. “You… you’re Sebastian?” Cyrus swallowed hard, blustering. “What? Guilty conscience? Want to silence me? Let me tell you, the livestream’s still running! Millions watching! You dare touch me, just try!” Sebastian glanced at the phone on the floor, his lips curving in a mocking smile. “Livestream? Perfect.” He snapped his fingers. The assistant behind him immediately produced a projector, aiming it at the yellowed wall. “Since everyone’s watching, let’s all appreciate Mr. Wilde’s ‘devoted’ moments over these three years.” Sebastian pressed play. The screen began flickering.The first video was surveillance footage from a bar the night Grandfather was in critical condition. Cyrus had his arms around Meadow, writhing wildly on the dance floor, spraying champagne, shouting, “The old bastard’s finally croaking! Vivienne will be all alone after this, she’ll have to depend on me!” Cheers erupted around him. Where was any sign of an “injured leg”? The livestream went silent for a second, then the comments exploded. “Holy shit! This is what he called being injured at the racetrack? He was clubbing!” “This is so disgusting. Cursing someone’s grandfather?” “And that girl! Didn’t she say she was pregnant and weak then? She’s dancing harder than anyone!” The second video was dashcam footage. Cyrus drove my Ferrari with Meadow in the passenger seat. Meadow touched her stomach. “Cyrus, my belly… are we really saying Vivienne forced me to abort? I’m not even pregnant. That medical report was fake…” Cyrus smoked carelessly. “What’s there to be afraid of? As long as we cry pathetically enough online, those idiot netizens will believe us. Then we’ll extort Vivienne for money and go live it up abroad.” After this video, the livestream completely erupted. Those netizens who’d been feeling sorry for Cyrus now felt their intelligence had been insulted, their anger instantly maxing out. “Scammer! It was all an act!” “That woman is so vicious! Making up lies like that?” “I actually tipped this scumbag? Refund!” “Miss Sterling is so pitiful, being entangled with these parasites…” Watching the images on the wall, Cyrus turned deathly pale, trembling all over. “No… this isn’t real… it’s CGI! It’s deepfake!” he screamed hysterically at the phone. Sebastian stood, crushing the phone on the floor with his foot, cutting off the livestream. But he didn’t let the bodyguards release their grip. He walked to Cyrus, bent down, his deep eyes full of violence. “Cyrus, I was going to let you live, let you get lost from New York and be done with it.” “But you absolutely should not have used Viv’s reputation as fodder.” “The person I treasure so much I can’t bear to say a harsh word to. You think you can throw dirt on her?” Sebastian patted Cyrus’s already terrified face, his voice gentle as if telling a bedtime story. “Defamation, slander, fraud, extortion… these charges combined are enough for you to operate a sewing machine in prison for life.” “Oh, and there’s that thirteen million and fifty thousand in debt.” “I’ll have the best legal team play with you. Even if you die in prison, I’ll squeeze this debt out of your bone fragments.” Finished speaking, he straightened up, wiping his hands with a wet wipe in disgust. “Take them away. Send them to the police station, hand them to Chief Wang. Tell him… they’re a welcome-back gift from Sebastian.” By the time Cyrus and Meadow were dragged away, they didn’t even have the strength left to beg for mercy. They knew this time, it was truly over. Provoking Vivienne might have left a thread of survival, but provoking Sebastian meant provoking the Grim Reaper himself. That evening, Sterling Corporation’s official account posted just one sentence: “The real deal returns, the clowns scatter. @Ashford Corporation Welcome home, Mr. Ashford.” The accompanying image showed Sebastian putting the ring on my finger in the car, our hands interlocked with fingers intertwined, the pink diamond on my ring finger sparkling brilliantly in the night. The internet exploded. Not just because of this shocking reversal, but because Sebastian’s newly registered account instantly replied: “My moon, finally in my embrace.”

The morning after the storm of public opinion subsided, I woke to kisses. Opening my eyes, Sebastian propped his head up watching me, his other hand playing with my long hair spread across the pillow. Sunlight filtered through the curtains onto his coldly noble face, gilding him with a soft golden edge. He didn’t look like the Grim Reaper who’d been so ruthlessly decisive in the livestream, but more like a male demon. “Awake?” His voice carried the huskiness of early morning as he lowered his head to kiss my forehead. I instinctively burrowed into his embrace. Even after a whole night, this real warmth still didn’t feel like enough. “About Cyrus…” I’d just started. Sebastian’s expression visibly darkened, and he bit my lip corner in punishment. “First thing in the morning, why mention that unlucky thing? Trying to make me not want to get out of bed?” My face heated. I pushed him. “I’m worried there’ll be follow-up trouble. After all…” “No trouble.” Sebastian cut off my words, his gaze deepening. “Vivienne,you need to get used to something. As long as I’m here, even if the sky falls, I’ll hold it up. You just need to be the Sterling family’s young miss, to be my Mrs. Ashford.” He got up, revealing his muscular upper body. On his back was a vicious old scar from washing ashore three years ago. My fingertips trembled as I touched it. Sebastian grabbed my hand, pressing it to his heart. “Don’t touch it. It’s ugly.” “It’s not ugly.” My eyes stung. “This is the roadmap you left to come back and see me.” During breakfast, the assistant called, her tone hesitant. “Miss Sterling, those old foxes on the board… they’re making trouble at the company.” “They say that although this public opinion storm was clarified, Sterling Corporation’s stock volatility affected their dividends. They’re proposing… to convene an emergency shareholders’ meeting to re-elect the chairman.” I let out a cold laugh, setting down my milk glass. These wily board members had been restless even when Grandfather was alive. Now they saw me caught up in a scandal and thought I was an easy target. They wanted to take advantage and stage a coup. “Prepare the car.” I stood, cold light flashing in my eyes. Sebastian methodically wiped his mouth, casually picking up his suit jacket and draping it over my shoulders. “Perfect timing. I’ll go with you. Some accounts need settling not just with Cyrus, but with these disrespectful old geezers too.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “401073”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster

Seven years into our marriage, my husband pushed me down the stairs over a single word from his mistress. The baby was gone. And I was diagnosed with terminal stomach cancer. On the day we signed the divorce papers, I neither cried nor made a scene. I simply dug out an old sketchbook covered in dust from the storage room. It was the very first gift he had ever given me back in high school. When I opened the first page, a familiar line of handwriting came into view— “Violet, I’m gonna love you for ten thousand years!” Through tears, I grabbed a pen and viciously crossed it out. “Don’t love Violet. She’s bad luck.” But the next second, the words vanished into thin air, replaced by a new line of furious scribbles: “What kind of death-wish monster are you?” “Who the hell dares curse my wife?!” Eighteen-year-old Ethan, across time itself, had sent me his furious reply. “Miss Carter, Mr. Blackwell’s terms are clear: the villa goes to you, plus five million dollars, as long as you sign the papers.” The lawyer pushed the divorce agreement in front of me coldly. I’d just finished dialysis. The needle marks on my arm still showed dark bruises, and my chest felt like it was stuffed with burning coals, making me want to vomit. But I held it back. I glanced up at our wedding photo on the wall. In the picture, Ethan Blackwell had his arm around my waist, his smile brighter than the sunshine that day. Who could have imagined that in just seven short years, the man who swore to protect me forever would now find even the sight of me disgusting? “Where is he?” “Mr. Blackwell is accompanying Miss Sullivan to her prenatal checkup. He’s unavailable.” The lawyer answered emotionlessly. Sophia Sullivan. At the sound of that name, my heart seized violently. The impoverished student I once considered a little sister and financially supported. The girl who called me “sis” over and over. She was now carrying my husband’s child, brazenly living in the guest room I’d carefully decorated, and was about to replace me entirely. “Fine.” I picked up the pen. My hand trembled badly, but when I signed “Violet Carter” at the bottom, the stroke was surprisingly resolute. No heartbreaking accusations. No hysterical attempts to make him stay. Because I knew that Ethan Blackwell’s heart had become harder than stone. The lawyer collected the documents and left. The enormous villa was hollow and empty, as quiet as a tomb. I began packing my things. Actually, I didn’t have much to take. For these seven years, I’d lived like an appendage of Ethan Blackwell. The clothes were ones he picked, the jewelry was what he bought. Things that truly belonged to me were pitifully few. In the corner of the storage room, I dragged out a dust-covered cardboard box. This was from high school graduation, when Ethan had forced it on me. He said these were all his worldly possessions, entrusted to my care. Opening the box, a slightly yellowed hardcover sketchbook sat on top. I studied art. He was a jock. During study hall, I’d draw while he either slept beside me or grabbed my notebook to doodle randomly. Something possessed me to open it. The first page showed an extremely ugly turtle he’d drawn, with a note beside it: “Violet is a little turtle.” Flipping through, it was full of the clumsy strokes belonging to eighteen-year-old Ethan. Until I reached the middle page, where I froze. This was a line I’d never seen before, written with such force it had penetrated through the paper, even tearing it slightly. “Violet, I will love you for ten thousand years! Not one year less, not one month, not one day, not one hour!” Tears fell without warning onto the page, blurring the blue ink. Love for ten thousand years? Ethan Blackwell, your love didn’t even have a shelf life of seven years. I fumbled in my bag for a black pen. The urge to destroy everything rampaged through my chest. I forcefully drew a big X over the words “ten thousand years.” Then, trembling, I wrote a line. “Ethan Blackwell, don’t love Violet Carter. She’s cursed. She’ll destroy you.” Since the ending was so rotten, better if it had never begun at all. I closed the notebook and slumped against the wall, powerless. The stabbing pain in my stomach made me curl into a ball. Just then, the sketchbook resting on my lap suddenly moved. I thought it was my imagination. But immediately after, the scratching sound of someone writing forcefully on paper exploded in my ears out of nowhere. I snapped my eyes open and flipped the book open. The line I’d just written had vanished. In its place were several lines of bold, messy blue handwriting, the ink still wet, carrying an overwhelming sense of teenage bravado and inexplicable fury. “Who the hell are you? Some kind of demon?” “Who? Who dares curse my girl? Got a death wish?” “Come out! Stop playing ghost!”

I stared at those lines, my breathing nearly stopped. I knew this handwriting too well. Ethan’s current writing was practiced regular script. Steady, restrained, carrying the authority of someone in power. But this wild, almost flying scrawl could only have been written by that reckless eighteen-year-old Ethan. A hallucination? Had the cancer spread to my brain? I pinched my thigh hard. The pain was piercing. Not a dream. Looking at the question marks and exclamation points that kept appearing, my tears flowed even harder. I wiped my face, gripped the pen tightly, and wrote tentatively. “Are you the eighteen-year-old Ethan Blackwell?” The response came instantly, incredibly fast. “Obviously! What the hell are you? Why are you writing in my notebook? And why are you calling Violet cursed?!” “Say one more bad word about her and I swear I’ll kill you!” Even across time and space, across the distance between life and death, I could picture how he looked right now. Definitely wearing that red jersey, eyebrows raised high, looking fierce as he protected what was his. Once, this fierce devotion was my security. Now, it had become the sharpest blade stabbing into my heart. I took a deep breath and wrote. “Who I am doesn’t matter. What matters is this, Ethan Blackwell: Violet will cause you unbearable pain in the future.” “Bullshit!” The words on the other end were so large they nearly burst off the page. “Violet is the best girl in the entire world! I chased her for three whole years before she agreed to date me. I’m terrified of dropping her, afraid she’ll melt if I hold her in my mouth. How could she possibly cause me pain?” “You’re the problem, you sneaking rat!” “You’re just jealous I have a girlfriend, aren’t you? Single loser!” Looking at these words, I cried and laughed at the same time. Yes, I was jealous. I was jealous of eighteen-year-old Violet. Jealous that she had a boy whose heart and eyes were full of her alone. That boy hadn’t yet learned to weigh pros and cons. Hadn’t learned to put on false smiles. Hadn’t learned to kick away the one he loved like garbage for profit. “Ethan Blackwell,” I wrote, my wrist losing strength, “I’m from the future… an observer.” “I’ve seen how you two end up.” “End up?” He paused for a few seconds. “Did we get married? Have kids? Violet says she wants a daughter, a beautiful daughter just like her.” That blade struck true. I instinctively covered my flat stomach. There had been a little life there once. Three months along. That day Sophia pretended to fall. Ethan shoved me without asking any questions. I tumbled down the stairs. Blood stained my white dress red. When I woke up, the baby was gone, and I was diagnosed with terminal stomach cancer. And Ethan just looked at me coldly and said, “Violet, stop pretending. Sophia was just trying to help you up. You lost your balance. Who can you blame?” The memories corroded my sanity like acid. I gritted my teeth and wrote, one word at a time. “You got married.” “But seven years later, you’ll have an affair with her best friend.” “You’ll force Violet to divorce you for that woman.” “You’ll personally kill your child.” “Ethan Blackwell, is this what you call love?”

The other end fell into deathly silence. A full five minutes passed with no writing appearing. I thought the connection had broken, or maybe he’d thrown the notebook away. Just as I was about to close the book, a line of crooked text emerged, the handwriting messy, revealing the writer’s inner panic. “You’re full of shit.” “If you’re going to make up stories, at least make them believable! Me cheat? Me force Violet to divorce? Unless I got kicked in the head by a donkey or possessed by a demon!” “And Violet’s best friend is that crybaby Sophia? That bitch? I can’t stand her. I don’t even want to look at her. I’d hurt Violet for her? That’s the biggest joke ever!” I froze. So eighteen-year-old Ethan saw more clearly than anyone. Back then, Sophia had just transferred to our school and always followed me around looking pitiful. I was soft-hearted and treated her like a little sister, sharing all my snacks with her. Ethan warned me more than once: “Violet, stay away from that Sophia. She’s got bad intentions. She keeps staring at my shoes and watch. Her eyes are off.” I didn’t believe him then. I even scolded Ethan for being petty and assuming the worst about a girl. Turns out, I was the fool all along. “You don’t believe me?” I wrote. “Of course I don’t!” “Fine.” I glanced out the window. A rainstorm had started outside. “If I remember correctly, today should be June 15, 2014. Three days after finals ended.” The other end replied: “So what?” “Tonight at 8 PM, you’ll go to the stadium downtown for a farewell game. Five minutes into the third quarter, you’ll run into the basketball hoop trying to save the ball. Your left leg will fracture and you’ll need three stitches in your forehead.” “This injury will make you miss the athletic scholarship to State Sports University. And it’ll be… the first time you lose your temper with Violet.” This was an indelible turning point in my memory. After he got injured that day, he thought he was useless and didn’t want to burden me. He yelled at me in the hospital room, telling me to get lost. This was the first crack in our relationship. Although we patched it up later, that scar was always there. The other end went silent. A moment later, he replied with an incredibly arrogant line. “I just won’t go for the save today! Let’s see how your prediction turns out!” “Wait to be proven wrong, you fraud!” The writing faded. I closed the notebook and wearily shut my eyes. I hoped I’d be proven wrong too. If the past could change, if his leg hadn’t broken, would everything that came after be different? … 10 PM. The sound of the passcode lock opening the front door woke me up. I thought Ethan had come back. My heart instantly leapt to my throat. But it was Sophia who walked in. She wore a loose maternity dress and carried a luxury brand purse from the current season. The one I’d liked last month but couldn’t bring myself to buy. “You still haven’t left yet?” Sophia looked at me with a bright smile, her victor’s attitude completely undisguised. “Ethan sent me to check on your packing progress. After all, this house transfers to me tomorrow. I need to redecorate. I don’t like your taste. Too plain.” I looked at her coldly. “Have him come tell me himself.” “Ethan’s busy picking out bird’s nest soup for me.” Sophia stroked her slightly rounded belly, walked up to me, and lowered her voice to a volume only we could hear. “Violet, you’re so pathetic. You know what? That day I didn’t actually mean to fall. You were just too stupid, standing there daydreaming at the top of the stairs.” “Oh, and that baby… Actually, Ethan already knew you didn’t want it. He said it was good riddance. Saved trouble during the divorce later.” Boom. Something exploded in my head. “What did you say?” I shot to my feet, staring at her intently. “I said, Ethan never wanted the child you were carrying!” Sophia laughed delightedly. “He thought you weren’t worthy!” In that moment, all my rationality snapped. I raised my hand, ready to slap her hard across the face. “Stop!” A roar came from the doorway. Ethan rushed in and shoved me aside, shielding Sophia behind him. His strength was enormous. Already weak, I crashed heavily into the corner of the coffee table. Sharp pain shot through my waist. “Violet! Haven’t you caused enough trouble? You’re about to be divorced and you’re still bullying Sophia? How can you be so vicious!” Ethan looked down at me, his eyes full of disgust. I lay on the floor, looking at this man I’d loved for seven years. His face overlapped with the memory of that sunshine boy, then quickly tore apart. “Ethan Blackwell,” I spat out a mouthful of blood and smiled miserably. “You’re something else.” He saw the blood at the corner of my mouth. His eyes flickered with what seemed like a moment of panic, but it was quickly replaced by cold indifference. “Get out now. Don’t let me see you again.” He helped Sophia upstairs. I heard Sophia say sweetly, “Ethan, don’t be angry. She just can’t accept it…” I climbed up from the floor, grabbed the box containing the sketchbook, and stumbled out into the rainy night.

I checked into a cheap hotel. Soaked through, stomach pain torturing me like death by a thousand cuts. I shook as I pulled out the sketchbook. The pages were already covered in dense writing. The blue ink was written so hastily that in some places it had bled through to the other side. “Hey! Fortune teller!” “Are you there? Answer me!” “Fuck! I actually broke my leg!” “That fat bastard crashed into me just now. I couldn’t help it and went for the save anyway… My leg’s broken and my forehead’s cut open too, just like you said. Three stitches.” “I’m at the hospital now. It hurts like hell.” “Violet just cried. Her eyes are swollen like peaches. My heart aches. I wanted to yell at her to leave, but thinking about what you said, I didn’t dare shout.” “Hey, whoever you are from the future.” “If you can predict the future, then tell me. If I love her this much, why would I change later?” “Did Violet do something to betray me?” Looking at line after line, my tears broke free. Even at this point, eighteen-year-old Ethan was still trying to make excuses for his future self. He’d rather suspect I did something wrong than believe he was the one who changed. I picked up the pen. The IV tape still clung to the back of my hand, damp with rain. “She did nothing wrong.” “She lived with you in a basement apartment for three years. To save money for your startup equipment, she ate only one meal a day.” “She drank with clients until she had stomach bleeding, all for your business.” “To have your baby, she took countless ovulation shots. Her stomach was covered in needle marks.” “Ethan Blackwell, you’re the only one who turned rotten.” “You were blinded by money. You found her haggard and plain. You thought Sophia was young and exciting and could give you thrills.” I wrote quickly. Each word was like flesh carved from my heart. The other end was silent for a long time. So long I thought he’d run away scared. Suddenly, a line slowly appeared, the strokes no longer bold but carrying a tremor. “That bastard… is really me?” “Made Violet live in a basement? Made her drink until she had stomach bleeding? And found her unattractive?” “Fuck that guy!” “I’d break future me’s legs! What kind of inhuman behavior is that?!” “System… no wait, goddess, tell me what I should do now. What do I need to do to not become that animal?” “What do I do to protect Violet?” My heart felt like it was being carved with a knife. It’s too late. The current Violet is already rotting in the mud. “Ethan Blackwell,” I wrote. “The only solution is to leave her.” “Don’t go to the same university as her.” “Don’t confess your feelings to her.” “Don’t let her fall in love with you.” “Bridge to the south, city to the north. You two should never have met.”

“Impossible!” The response on the other end was decisive. “Leave Violet? Only over my dead body!” “If future me is a bastard, then I’ll change starting now! I won’t start a business, okay? I’ll just be a PE teacher and stay with her every day. I won’t get involved in those messy circles!” “That Sophia, right? I’ll expose her true colors to Violet right now!” “I refuse to believe that these 130 pounds of bones can’t beat some bullshit destiny!” Looking at the boy’s bold declarations, I smiled bitterly. If fate were that easy to change, it wouldn’t be fate. But in my heart, a faint hope unexpectedly arose. What if… what if he really could do it? Just then, another line suddenly appeared in the notebook, urgent and panicked. “Wait! You said future me has an affair with Sophia? Is that woman really manipulative?” “Violet just told me that Sophia heard I’m hospitalized and is bringing me hot soup.” “That idiot Violet even said Sophia’s a good person!” “No way. I need to handle this.” My heart clenched. During that summer after senior year, something like this did happen. Sophia came to the hospital to see him. While I went out to get water, she deliberately spilled hot soup on herself, pretending to be scalded, and implied I hadn’t secured the thermos properly. At the time, although Ethan said nothing, looking at Sophia’s reddened thighs, his eyes flashed with sympathy. That was the first time Sophia planted the seed in his heart that “Violet is clumsy and not gentle enough.” “Listen, Ethan Blackwell.” I took a deep breath and began writing. “Sophia will arrive at your hospital room in ten minutes. She’ll be wearing a white dress with a very low neckline.” “While Violet goes to wash fruit, she’ll deliberately spill soup on her own leg, then frame Violet for it.” “Don’t believe her!” The writing on the other end flew across the page. “Got it! Damn, trying to pull this shit on me?” “Watch me take her down!” … I held the sketchbook, curled up on the hotel bed, sleepless all night. The next morning, I woke to severe abdominal pain. The stomach cancer symptoms were getting worse. I was even vomiting blood now. I struggled to get up, wanting to pour some water, only to discover the sketchbook had an entire new page of writing. The handwriting was cheerful, radiating a sense of sweet revenge. “Nice!” “You’re amazing! Sophia really came, dressed so… scandalous.” “As soon as Violet went to the bathroom, she came over with the soup and was about to pour it on her own leg. I shouted, ‘What are you doing! Trying to scam me?!’” “Then I ‘accidentally’ knocked the whole bucket of scalding soup onto the floor by her feet. It splattered oil spots all over her, but didn’t burn her. Just scared her into screaming.” “Violet ran out and I immediately played pitiful, saying Sophia tried to force-feed me soup, and when I refused, she was going to pour it on me.” “You should’ve seen Sophia’s face. Red, then white, then green. Spectacular!” “Violet kicked her out and apologized to me for not protecting me. Man, my girl is so cute.” Looking at these words, color finally returned to my pale face. It really… changed? Just then, my phone suddenly rang. An unknown number. I answered. A familiar yet strange voice came through, carrying a trace of youthful tone mixed with adult exhaustion. “Hello, is this Violet?” I froze. It was Ethan Blackwell’s voice. But not the cold Ethan. Not the furious Ethan from last night either. This voice carried confusion and caution. “I’m… Ethan Blackwell.” “Last night I had a very long dream. I dreamed that when I was eighteen, I kicked your best friend out of my hospital room…” “Violet, did we… miss something?” My phone clattered to the floor. Memory was being rewritten.

The other end of the phone was a suffocating silence. Rain hammered against the window, just like the chaotic reality of this moment. “Speak.” My knuckles turned white gripping the phone. “What else did you see in your dream?” Ethan’s voice sounded somewhat dazed, even carrying unprecedented self-doubt. “I dreamed… Sophia spilled soup on the floor and I scolded her. Then you protected me like an angry little cat.” “But Violet, that’s wrong.” His tone suddenly turned cold. The rationality of twenty-five-year-old Ethan Blackwell returned. “My memory clearly says you didn’t hold the thermos steady and burned Sophia. I even ignored you for three days over it. Why would I dream something completely opposite?” My heart sank. So when the past changed, the current version of him didn’t simply disappear or reset. Two sets of memories were battling in his mind. One was the cruel reality weathered by seven years. The other was the newly corrected memory, still carrying youthful passion. “Ethan Blackwell,” I asked softly, “which do you believe?” “I…” He was at a loss for words. Just then, Sophia’s saccharine voice came through the phone. “Ethan, who’s calling? It’s so late.” Then came the rustling of fabric. Ethan seemed to cover the receiver, but I still faintly heard his murmur: “Nobody. Insurance telemarketer.” Insurance telemarketer. His wife of seven years had become an insurance telemarketer in his words. “Violet, I don’t know what method you used to make me have these weird dreams, but I’m warning you. Don’t try any superstitious nonsense to win me back. We signed the agreement. Stop pestering me.” The call ended. I looked at the darkened screen. The twisting pain in my stomach attacked again. I rushed to the bathroom and vomited until I was dizzy. This time, it was all dark red blood clots. I rinsed my mouth and looked at myself in the mirror. Pale as a ghost. It’s not over yet. As long as the current Ethan Blackwell remained this way, it meant the changes to the past weren’t thorough enough. A single event wasn’t enough to shake seven years of cause and effect. I dragged my weak body back to the bed and opened the sketchbook. The writing had already updated. “Why aren’t you responding?” “I just got Violet to sleep. Her eyes are swollen like two peaches. It breaks my heart.” “But that Sophia really is trouble. I just saw her leaving. The look in her eyes was vicious and scary. What should I do next?” I picked up the pen. My hand shook, but my eyes were unusually determined. To change the ending, I had to cut it off at the source. “Ethan Blackwell, next comes college application season.” “Originally, Violet gave up her acceptance to the New York Academy of Fine Arts to be with you. She switched to Fashion Design at Riverdale Tech, only because it was two blocks from your Sports University.” “This time, you must stop her.” “Let her go to New York. Let her chase her dreams. Don’t let her sacrifice herself for you.”

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I have a rare RH-negative blood type. After becoming an adult, I used my blood to save 99 families. But this time when the hospital sent me a distress message, I refused. Just because when I was six years old, my mother committed suicide because my father had an affair. A medium told me that for my mother’s soul to find peace, a blood relative must complete 100 good deeds. So after becoming an adult, I joined the blood donation volunteers, all for my mother. Over these twenty years, I’ve saved young mothers hemorrhaging from difficult births, saved construction workers with steel rods piercing their chests, and saved little girls with relapsed leukemia… No matter how late the hospital called, I would always rush there immediately. This time, the hospital called me again. The patient had a sudden massive brain hemorrhage. In this city, I was the only one who could provide RH-negative blood. I looked at the patient information the hospital sent to my phone. Even though we hadn’t seen each other in years, I still recognized the familiar features in the photo. My chest felt suffocated and painful. I suddenly remembered the image of my mother dying with her eyes open. Taking a breath, I pressed reply to the message: “Find someone else. I’m not feeling well.”

Less than half a minute after I sent the message, my phone rang. The caller ID showed it was the director of the blood department at City Central Hospital. I pressed the answer button and put it on speakerphone. “Miss Antoine, please, I’m begging you. The patient really can’t wait!” The director’s voice on the other end was extremely anxious. “That child is only six years old. The brain hemorrhage is very serious. Surgery must be performed within eight hours.” “We’ve checked all the blood banks in the city. Only your RH-negative blood can save a life.” I stared at my mother’s photo on the table. My tone was calm, without any emotion. “Director, I told you, I’m not feeling well.” “If you’re not feeling well, we can send a private car to pick you up. We can give you a comprehensive examination first!” “Miss Antoine, this is a human life. You’re the most caring volunteer in our state. You can’t just watch someone die!” I laughed coldly. “Being a volunteer means I have the right to refuse at any time.” “I don’t owe you anything, and I certainly don’t owe that child anything.” After saying this, I hung up directly and pressed the power button. The room instantly became quiet. I looked at my mother’s gentle face in the photo, my fingers clenched tightly into fists. Just one more good deed, and my mother could find peace. But this hundredth good deed, I would absolutely never do for my enemy’s son. But I was thinking too simply. Less than ten minutes later, my backup work phone suddenly lit up. Only a few important clients and the community manager knew this phone number. I looked at the unknown number on the screen and pressed answer. “Is this Miss Antoine?” The male voice on the other end was extremely anxious and accusatory. “I’m a reporter from the state TV station. The entire internet is looking for you right now.” “The six-year-old boy with brain hemorrhage at City Central Hospital—why won’t you save him?” “Do you know your behavior is equivalent to murder?” I gripped my phone tightly, my eyes completely cold. “Murder?” “By your logic, that child’s biological parents murdered someone twenty years ago. Why don’t you investigate that?” I hung up directly and blocked the number. I opened my tablet next to me and clicked on the local news live stream. On the screen was the scene outside the emergency room at City Central Hospital. A well-dressed woman was kneeling on the floor outside the emergency room door, crying hysterically. “Please everyone, help me! Help me find that volunteer!” “As long as she’s willing to donate blood to save my son, I’ll kowtow to her!” I stared at that face on the screen. Even if she turned to ash, I would recognize her. Garcia. In the footage, a middle-aged man in a suit walked into frame. He bent down to help Garcia up, facing the reporter’s camera with a face full of indignation. “I don’t understand what this volunteer is thinking.” “The hospital said she’s donated blood for free ninety-nine times, so why won’t she save my son?” “If it’s about money, I can give her one million, ten million!” Gabriel spoke through gritted teeth to the camera. “A six-year-old child is lying inside waiting for his life to be saved. How can she be so selfish?” “I hope all the netizens can help me find this person.” “I want to ask her to her face if her conscience has been eaten by dogs!” The comments in the live stream instantly exploded. “This volunteer is disgusting!” “The ninety-nine times must be fake data. When it comes to the real thing, she shrinks back!” “Doxx her! Force her to donate blood!” “Right, we can’t let this cold-blooded animal get away with this!” I watched the screen full of vicious cursing, a cold smile appearing at the corner of my mouth. I’m selfish? I’m cold-blooded? For my mother’s reincarnation, I saved ninety-nine complete strangers who had nothing to do with me. But this family alone absolutely doesn’t deserve my blood.

Suddenly, violent pounding came from the door. I walked to the entrance and looked through the peephole. It was my fiancé, Jordan. He looked anxious, his suit jacket wrinkled from running. I opened the door, and he grabbed my shoulders, gripping so hard it hurt. “Antoine, what the hell are you doing?” “The whole internet is tracking down that RH-negative blood volunteer’s IP.” “Other people don’t know, but I know that blood type and donation record is you!” He frowned tightly, his eyes full of confusion and anger. “You usually save even stray cats. Why are you refusing to save a child now?” I coldly pushed his hands away. He had no idea about my past family affairs. He only knew I was a good person who loved doing charitable deeds. “I won’t save him. Jordan, mind your own business.” His eyes widened in disbelief. “That’s a human life!” “Didn’t you always say you wanted to accumulate blessings for your deceased mother?” “If you refuse to save someone now, can your mother’s spirit rest in peace?” Enraged, I slapped him across the face. “If I save him, then I won’t be worthy of seeing my mother!” “Get out.” Jordan covered his face, looking at me in shock. “Antoine, you’ve gone crazy.” “You’re going to drown in society’s criticism!” He turned abruptly and left, slamming the door hard. The room fell silent again. Just then, my tablet emitted a series of notification sounds—a video call request from a social media app. The caller was the largest local media account. I knew they had used hacking methods to lock onto my backend account. I could have just turned it off. But I didn’t. I wanted to see with my own eyes the desperate looks on those murderers’ faces. I turned off the camera and accepted the audio-video call. The screen split in two. One half was completely black, the other half showed the scene outside the emergency room. The reporter immediately handed the phone to Gabriel. “Volunteer, can you hear us now?” The reporter’s voice carried a hint of threat. “Millions of people across the internet are watching this live stream. Please give an explanation.” Gabriel snatched the phone, his face almost pressed against the camera. “I’m Gabriel, chairman of Gabriel Corporation. Come to City Central Hospital right now.” “Whatever conditions you have, I’ll agree to all of them.” “But if you dare make my son miss the eight-hour surgical window, I’ll make sure you can’t survive in this city!” Looking at this man who shared the same blood flowing through his veins as me, I laughed outright. “Mr. Gabriel, is this your attitude when asking for help?” Garcia suddenly pushed into the frame. Her hair was disheveled, her eyes swollen like walnuts. “Volunteer, please don’t listen to him. He’s just too anxious!” “I’m a mother. I’m kneeling before you!” “My child is only six years old. He’s so well-behaved and obedient.” “You can take my life if you want. Please save him!” I looked at her coldly. Twenty years ago, she also wore this pitiful appearance, begging my mother to let them be together. And Gabriel stood beside her, accusing my mother of being unreasonable. That night, my mother jumped from the eighteenth floor. Thinking of this, I spoke emotionlessly. “Karma always comes.”

The live stream comments momentarily froze. Garcia’s face instantly turned deathly pale. “What do you mean? Are you some kind of psycho taking revenge on society?” “My son has never hurt anyone. What did he do wrong!” Gabriel also completely exploded in rage. “You vicious woman!” “You’re using my son’s life to extort us, aren’t you?” “I’m telling you, if you don’t come today, I will dig you out and tear you to pieces!” I continued typing. “Your son’s life is worthless in my eyes.” “Save your money to buy him a coffin.” I disconnected directly. The internet completely crashed. #Cold-blooded Volunteer Curses Sick Child# #Gabriel Corporation Heir in Critical Condition# #Citywide Search for RH-Negative Blood Volunteer# These topics instantly dominated all trending lists. The netizens’ anger reached its peak. My work phone began to flood with text messages. All were death threats from unknown numbers. “Die a terrible death, bitch!” “I’ve already found your approximate address. You’re dead!” “This kind of person doesn’t deserve to live. The police should just forcibly extract her blood!” I sat in the dim room, quietly looking at my mother’s face in the photo. “Mom, do you see?” “The people who killed you are about to experience the taste of losing a loved one too.” At this moment, there were less than four hours left before that child would be brain dead. The director of City Central Hospital sent me another long text message. “Miss Antoine, the child’s heart rate has already begun to drop.” “Mr. Gabriel guarantees he absolutely won’t hold you accountable for what you said in the live stream.” “We’ve already arranged the best car and bodyguards to pick you up.” “Even if it’s for your own reputation, please come forward.” I finished reading the message and casually deleted it. I stood up and walked to the closet. Since they wanted to see me so badly, and the entire city was seeking justice for them. Then I would personally make a trip to the hospital. I wanted to stand outside the emergency room and watch that child take his last breath with my own eyes. Pushing open the door to the emergency room floor at City Central Hospital, the corridor was already packed with people. Everywhere were internet celebrities holding up phones live streaming, and reporters from various media outlets. Seeing me appear, camera flashes instantly lit up like a sea. Gabriel and Garcia immediately pushed through the crowd, desperately rushing toward me. So many years had passed, my features had long since matured. Plus I’d maintained a cold expression for years, my temperament had changed dramatically. Gabriel’s eyes were completely red. He only looked at the volunteer badge on my chest, not carefully examining my face at all. In fact, if he had been slightly calmer and looked carefully. He could have completely recognized from my current features his once most-despised daughter. “Volunteer, you finally came!” Gabriel excitedly reached out to grab me. I stepped aside, looking at him with utter disgust. “Mr. Gabriel, speak plainly.” Gabriel glanced at the dense cameras around us and lowered his voice. “It’s too chaotic here. Let’s go to the director’s office to talk privately.” I stood in place, coldly refusing. “Let’s talk right here.” “Didn’t you want the whole internet to cyberbully me?” “Then let’s livestream to the whole internet now and talk in front of everyone.” Gabriel’s face stiffened, a flash of displeasure in his eyes. But for the sake of his son in the emergency room, he could only forcibly swallow his anger. He waved at his assistant, and cameras from all the major media outlets instantly aimed at us. “Volunteer, whatever conditions you have, just name them.” Gabriel suppressed his anger, putting on the airs of a superior boss. “As long as you go in and donate blood to save my son right now, you can name any condition.” Just then, Garcia suddenly rushed out and fell to her knees in front of me with a thud. “Please, I’m begging you, save Nelson!” “Gabriel and I have been married for twenty years. We only had this one child!” “He’s only six years old. He can’t die!” I looked at her pretentious face, feeling nothing but disgust. Twenty years? The timing was perfect—exactly the year she forced my mother to death. I laughed coldly. “Married twenty years before having one son?” “Haven’t you two considered that maybe you’ve done too many immoral things and received karma?”

As soon as I said this, the entire corridor gasped. Garcia jerked her head up, looking at me in shock. Gabriel completely lost his temper, pointing at my nose and cursing. “How can you be so vicious!” “My child is only six years old, and you’re cursing a child!” The nearby reporters also raised their microphones toward me, and the live stream comments scrolled even more frantically. “This woman is crazy!” “If she doesn’t want to save him, just say so. Why curse people to have no descendants?” “No manners at all. How is this kind of person qualified to be a volunteer!” Just then, the emergency room door opened, and the lead surgeon rushed out in a hurry. “Mr. Gabriel, the patient’s blood pressure is dropping fast!” “If the volunteer doesn’t donate blood soon, it’ll be completely hopeless!” Gabriel was so anxious his head was covered in sweat. He could no longer maintain his image. He gritted his teeth, staring at me intently. “How much money do you want exactly?” “Ten million? Fifty million? Or a hundred million!” “Just nod, and the money will be transferred to your account immediately!” I looked at the indignant reporters outside, then at the live stream frantically cursing me for being shameless about money. I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. The whole internet was curious about what I wanted. “Gabriel, if I wanted money, those 99 families I saved would have made me the richest person already.” Gabriel froze. The comments across the internet also instantly stopped. Everyone looked at me, wanting to know what I really wanted. “Then what exactly do you want?” Gabriel’s voice trembled. I put away my smile, my eyes completely cold. I turned around and pointed at the window at the end of the corridor. “For me to save him, sure.” “But I only have one condition.” I stared at the two of them intently. “You two, right now, hold hands and jump together from this eighteenth floor.” “Trade both your lives for your son’s life.” “Are you willing?” The entire venue fell completely silent. After a brief silence, the whole place exploded. Reporters frantically pressed their shutters, and violent cursing erupted from the crowd. “You’re an absolute lunatic!” “This is intentional murder. Call the police and arrest her!” Gabriel was shaking with rage, his pointing finger trembling. “What kind of psycho are you!” “Do we have a grudge against you?” “What deep hatred do you have that you must force our whole family to death!” Garcia had completely collapsed on the floor, pointing at me and screaming. “You have no heart! You’re not even human!” I looked down at them condescendingly, a cruel smile appearing at the corner of my mouth. “Deep hatred?” “Yes, exactly that—deep hatred.” “As long as you meet one person, you’ll know exactly what grudge we have.” Gabriel laughed in extreme anger, shouting loudly. “Fine!” “Bring that person here!” “I’ve done business honorably my whole life. I’ve absolutely never wronged anyone!” He patted his chest, brazenly making claims in front of the whole internet. Some people in the live stream comments also chimed in, saying Gabriel Corporation did charity every year. I looked at his hypocritical appearance and felt nothing but disgust. “What honorable business, never wronged anyone.” I looked at him coldly. Then slowly placed my hand on the zipper of my black jacket. Under the gaze of all the cameras and millions of netizens. I yanked open the zipper of my jacket. The jacket fell open, revealing the white T-shirt inside with a huge photo printed on it. The woman in the photo was gentle and beautiful—it was my mother’s appearance from twenty years ago, before her death. Gabriel’s gaze fell on the photo, and all the color drained from his face.

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The tiger “Charlie” was chewing raw meat, staring intently at a man wearing a baseball cap. Its thoughts echoed in my mind: [“This man reeks of a little girl’s blood. Very strong. He was here three days ago too. Back then, he had another woman’s blood on him.”] I whipped my head around, following Charlie’s gaze. The man was leaning against the railing of the viewing area, holding up his phone as if photographing the tiger. His movements were as natural as any other tourist around him. Charlie spoke in my mind again: [“He has a knife in his pocket. Metallic smell, very new. Sharpened just yesterday. I can smell it.”] The metal bucket in my hand crashed to the ground with a clang. Every visitor in the area turned to look at me, including the man in the baseball cap. Three days ago, a serial disappearance case that shocked the entire nation had broken out in the city. Three young women had vanished within a week—no bodies, no trace of life. The task force had turned the entire city upside down without finding so much as a strand of hair. But now, I—a temporary worker at the zoo—had spotted the real culprit that even surveillance cameras couldn’t catch.

I took a deep breath, pulled out my cracked-screen burner phone from my pocket, and dialed 911. “Hello, I need to report something! I’m at the city zoo’s tiger pavilion. There’s someone here who might be the serial disappearance suspect.” After two seconds of silence, the operator’s voice came through with professional calm: “Please describe the situation in detail.” “Male, about five-foot-nine, wearing a gray baseball cap, black windbreaker, dark blue jeans, white sneakers. He has a knife in his pocket.” “How did you discover this?” I glanced at Charlie, who was licking his paws behind the glass, and forced out the words: “I saw the outline in his pocket.” It was a lie, but I couldn’t exactly say a tiger told me. “Understood, ma’am. Please don’t alert him. We’ll dispatch someone immediately! Keep your phone on.” After hanging up, I leaned against the iron door of the feed room, my heart pounding so hard it felt like it would jump out of my throat. My name is Samuelle. I’m twenty-four years old, an utterly ordinary temporary zoo worker. A month ago, I came down with a high fever—104.4 degrees. I lay in bed for three days. After the fever broke, this happened—I could hear what animals were thinking. I’d thought the biggest use for this ability would be helping tourists find their lost pet dogs for spare change. Never imagined my first real case would be reporting a murderer. I returned the metal bucket to the feed room and walked to the employee passage of the tiger pavilion, acting casual while secretly observing the man through the one-way glass. He was still there. Phone raised, he took two photos of Charlie, then slowly walked toward the exit. Charlie’s voice came again: [“He’s leaving. Always like this. Watches for a bit then leaves. Does he like watching me eat? No. He likes watching blood.”] I clenched my phone, staring at that retreating figure with only one thought in my mind. Don’t go. Don’t leave. The police will be here any second. But his footsteps didn’t stop. I bit my lip, rushed out from the employee passage, circled around to the visitor path, and followed him at a distance. He walked unhurriedly, even stopping briefly at the monkey mountain to watch for a few moments. The macaques in the monkey enclosure went wild, screeching as they fled behind the artificial mountain. An old monkey’s voice entered my mind: [“Danger. This human reeks of death. Stay away. Everyone stay away.”] My stomach clenched violently. Even the monkeys feared him. Just then, sirens wailed at the zoo entrance. Two police cars stopped at the entrance, and four uniformed officers strode in quickly. The man in the baseball cap paused for just a moment. Only a moment. Then he removed his cap, ruffled his hair, stuffed the cap in his pocket, changed direction, and headed for the side gate. I panicked and broke into a run. “That man!” I shouted toward the police. “Black windbreaker! He’s going to the side gate!” The officers reacted quickly. Two immediately ran toward the side gate. But the man was faster. As if he’d already scouted the route, he twisted through a couple turns and disappeared behind the park’s landscaping. By the time the police reached the side gate, they found only an empty pathway. He was gone. I stood there, feeling as if all the strength had been drained from my body. An older officer walked over and looked me up and down. “You made the report?” “Yes.” “You said that man is a suspect in the serial case. What’s your evidence?” I opened my mouth, realizing I had no way to explain. I couldn’t say a tiger told me he reeked of dead people’s blood. “I saw a knife in his pocket.” I repeated what I’d said on the phone. The officer frowned. “Having a knife in your pocket doesn’t prove anything. Plenty of people carry folding knives. Do you have any other observations?” “He always stares at the tiger eating meat whenever he comes.” I pushed forward with my improvisation. “And the times he’s come match up with when the disappearances happened. I’ve worked here over a month. He’s come at least four times.” The officer’s expression softened slightly. He pulled out a notepad and jotted down a few notes. “Can you describe his appearance?” “His cap was pulled down low. I only saw the lower half of his face. Sharp chin, pale skin, thin lips. There’s a scar on his left wrist—very thin, looks like an old wound.” These were details I’d desperately memorized while following him. The officer finished writing and handed me a business card. “If he appears again, contact us immediately. Don’t follow him yourself. It’s dangerous.” I took the card and nodded. After the police cars drove away, I stood alone in the empty park, my legs still shaking. Charlie’s voice drifted over from the distance, lazy: [“He got away? Shame. I wanted to smell him more. That scent was special—like he buries his prey somewhere very deep underground. Earthy smell, rotting smell, and disinfectant.”] Underground. Earth. Disinfectant. I burned those three words into my memory.

Three days after the police left, there was no news whatsoever. The news said the task force was still investigating with full effort, but there had been no breakthrough. A fourth woman had disappeared. Every day at work I was on edge. While feeding the animals, I nearly poured the monkey food into the crane enclosure. My supervisor Giovanni yelled at me twice: “Samuelle, where’s your head? Make another mistake and don’t bother coming back next month.” I apologized with a forced smile, but my mind kept circling back to the man in the baseball cap. He hadn’t returned to the zoo. On the fourth evening, passing by the back gate after work, I spotted a skeletal orange stray cat crouched by the entrance. It saw me and meowed, but the voice in its mind made me freeze in my tracks. [“That white van again. It passes down this road every night. There’s crying inside. A woman crying. Muffled, like her mouth is covered.”] I crouched down, my heart pounding. “Which road?” I whispered. The cat obviously couldn’t understand me. But its thoughts continued: [“The dead-end road out back. The van drives to the abandoned factory at the end and stops. Always around midnight. Always stays for about an hour. Then the van leaves and the crying stops.”] Abandoned factory. I knew that place. Behind the zoo was an old industrial area, abandoned for years, with half the walls collapsed. I stood up, legs trembling, but my mind was unusually clear. I pulled out my phone, found the police officer’s business card, and called. “Hello, Officer Clinton? This is Samuelle from the zoo. I have a new lead.” Clinton clearly paused. “What lead?” “The dead-end road behind the zoo. There’s an abandoned factory at the end. Recently, every night around midnight, a white van goes there, stays about an hour, then leaves.” “How do you know this?” “I get off work late. I’ve heard the commotion.” Another lie. Clinton was silent for a few seconds. “I’ve noted it. I’ll report it up the chain. Don’t go to that place yourself, understand?” “Understood.” After hanging up, I stood under the streetlight, staring at the dark abandoned factory area in the distance. Of course I wouldn’t go there myself. I’m not suicidal. But that night I couldn’t sleep. Lying on the hard board bed in my rental room, tossing and turning, my mind filled with everything Charlie had said. Earthy smell. Rotting smell. Disinfectant. Underground. The fourth missing girl was only nineteen years old. The news had shown her photo. Round face, ponytail, two dimples when she smiled. I closed my eyes, and that face floated in the darkness. The next morning, before I even reached the zoo, my phone rang with an unknown number. “Samuelle?” A male voice, deep, with an undeniable authoritative pressure. “Speaking. Who is this?” “Criminal Investigation Division. George. Regarding the lead you provided yesterday, I need you to come in.” The Criminal Investigation Division’s office building was older than I’d imagined. The hallways were plastered with wanted posters and anti-fraud flyers. Someone walking past looked at me curiously. I was led to an office at the end of the third floor. The door plate read “Major Crimes Unit.” Pushing the door open, a man stood facing a whiteboard, his back to me. The whiteboard was covered with photos, maps, and red connecting lines. He turned around. Very tall, broad shoulders, wearing a dark gray shirt with sleeves rolled to his forearms. Deep-set features, prominent brow bone, slightly sunken eye sockets. When his gaze landed on me, it felt like two knives. “Sit.” He pointed to a chair by the desk, then sat down himself and opened a file folder. “Samuelle. Twenty-four years old. Local resident. Associate degree. Currently employed as a temporary keeper at the city zoo. Last week, reported spotting a possible serial case suspect at the tiger pavilion. Failed to apprehend on scene. Yesterday, provided a lead about an abandoned factory.” He raised his eyes to look at me. “What’s your source?” “I get off work late. I heard it while passing by.” “From the zoo’s back gate to that dead-end road is an 800-meter walk. You take that route after work?” “It’s a shortcut.” “Your rental is in the east district. The zoo is in the west. Taking the back gate is the long way around.” I was stumped. George closed the file folder, leaned back in his chair, and stared at me. That gaze made me feel like I’d been stripped naked and thrown under a spotlight. “Samuelle, I don’t have time to dance around. Both leads you provided have value. First, the man at the tiger pavilion—we reviewed surveillance and confirmed he appeared near the zoo before and after all four incidents. Second, the abandoned factory—we sent people to stake it out last night. A white van did appear, but it turned around before entering the area.” He paused. “This tells us two things. First, your information is accurate. Second, the suspect may have already noticed someone’s paying attention. He’s cautious.” Cold sweat broke out on my back. “So I need to know,” George’s voice dropped half a tone, “exactly how you discovered these things. A temporary zoo worker with no investigation training background, yet you’ve provided consecutive valid leads. Either you’re a genius, or you have an information channel I don’t know about.” I sat in that hard chair, palms drenched with sweat. Tell the truth? Say I can understand what animals are thinking? He’d think I’m insane. Don’t tell the truth? He’s already caught me lying.

The silence lasted about ten seconds. George didn’t rush me. He just watched me like a leopard stalking prey—patient. Finally, I made a decision. “Captain George,” I said, “if I tell you something that sounds really absurd, can you not call a psychiatrist right away?” His eyebrow moved slightly. “Speak.” “I can understand what animals are saying.” The office went silent for a full five seconds. George’s expression didn’t change. No mockery, no surprise, not even confusion. He just stared at me, as if evaluating the credibility of intelligence. “Continue.” “At the tiger pavilion, the tiger told me. It said that man reeked of blood—another woman’s blood. Yesterday’s lead came from a stray cat by the zoo’s back gate. It sees that white van every night. There’s a woman crying inside.” When I finished, I felt like a defendant making a final statement in court. George was silent for a long time. Then he stood up, walked to the door, closed it, and came back to sit down. “This ability you’re describing—is there a way to verify it on the spot?” I froze, then nodded. “Any animal will do.” George picked up the radio on his desk. “Johnson, bring Paul to my office.” Less than two minutes later, the door opened. A young officer led a black Labrador inside. The dog’s tail started wagging like a propeller the moment it entered, nose pressed to the ground, sniffing everywhere. Its voice immediately flooded my mind: [“Captain George’s office! Smells like coffee! And that suspect’s shoe sole from yesterday—mud plus gasoline. Wait, who’s this woman? She smells like tigers. So cool.”] I couldn’t help the twitch at the corner of my mouth. “His name is Paul?” I asked. The young officer nodded. “Right. Drug detection dog. Three years old.” I looked at Paul. He was pawing at George’s pant leg. [“Captain George, do you have beef treats in your pocket? I smell them! Give me one, just one! I did great today. Found three targets at the training ground.”] I turned to George. “He says you have beef treats in your pocket and wants one. He says he did great today and found three targets at the training ground.” George’s hand paused. He actually reached into his pocket and pulled out a small sealed bag of beef treats. The young officer’s eyes went wide. “Captain George, since when do you carry snacks?” George ignored him, his gaze fixed on me. His expression had changed. No longer scrutiny, but something I couldn’t quite read. “Johnson, out. Leave Paul.” The bewildered young officer was shooed out. After the door closed, George tossed the bag of beef treats to Paul, then crossed his hands on the desk and looked at me. “Samuelle, I’m giving you two choices now.” “First, you walk out that door, go back to being a keeper, and we pretend today’s conversation never happened.” “Second, you stay as an investigative consultant and help me solve this case.” I looked into his eyes. Paul was crunching happily on beef treats beside us, his mind full of blissful fireworks. “Is there pay?” I asked. The corner of George’s mouth moved almost imperceptibly. “External consultant standard. Three hundred a day.” Three hundred a day. I made three thousand a month at the zoo. “I choose the second.” From that day on, my life completely changed. Daytime at the zoo working normally, evenings “overtime” at the Criminal Investigation Division. George arranged a temporary workstation for me in the corner of the Major Crimes office, next to a stack of old case files no one read. At first, everyone in Major Crimes looked at me like I was an exotic animal. An old detective named Patterson, fortyish, beer belly, voice loud enough to shatter glass. On the first day, right in front of everyone, he asked George: “Captain, who’s this girl? New intern? Doesn’t look like police academy.” George didn’t look up. “External consultant.” “Consultant?” Patterson looked me up and down. “Consulting on what? Feeding fish?” A few others suppressed laughter. I said nothing. George didn’t defend me either. That’s the kind of person he was. No explanations, no protection. He’d wait for me to prove myself. The chance to prove myself came quickly.

That evening, the task force held a briefing. The whiteboard displayed photos of four missing women, with dense timelines and location markers below. George stood in front of the whiteboard, voice cold and hard: “Current information. Four victims, ages nineteen to twenty-six, all living alone. Disappearances concentrated between 9 and 11 PM. Disappearance locations scattered across four different city districts with no obvious geographic pattern. Crimes committed in surveillance blind spots. No witnesses. No physical evidence.” He paused. “The only lead is a suspect description and possible hiding place provided by a citizen. But the suspect is already alert. No vehicles appeared at the abandoned factory last night.” Patterson leaned back in his chair, voice gruff. “Is that citizen’s lead reliable? Could be some internet sleuth who watches too many crime dramas.” I sat in the corner, head down, pretending to look at my phone. George’s gaze swept over, pausing on me for a moment, then moving on. “The lead has been preliminarily verified and has some credibility. But it’s not enough. We need more.” After the meeting ended, everyone dispersed. I still sat in the corner, unmoving. George walked over and placed a photo in front of me. The photo showed a street with several parked cars along the roadside. The image was blurry. “This is the only surveillance footage near the abandoned factory. White van. License plate obscured by mud. We can only see the last digit is a 7.” I stared at the photo, heart sinking. “Tomorrow,” George said, “go around the abandoned factory area.” “Didn’t you say it’s dangerous there?” “Go during the day. Take Paul.” He placed a leash on the desk. “See what the stray animals in that area can tell you.” I picked up the leash and nodded. The next day was my day off. Early in the morning, I set out with Paul. Paul was thrilled, his mind full of: [“Going out! Going out! Not a park but so many new smells! That tree over there—three cats peed on it, one dog peed on it, and a human male peed on it about three days ago.”] I dragged him forward wordlessly. The abandoned factory was about a kilometer behind the zoo, in an old industrial area. Half the walls had collapsed, weeds growing from cement cracks over six feet tall. In daylight it didn’t look scary, just desolate. I didn’t enter the grounds, just slowly walked along the perimeter road. Paul’s nose was pressed to the ground when he suddenly stopped. His tail stopped wagging. [“Blood. Old blood. Underground. Very deep. And disinfectant smell. Same smell as that suspect’s shoe soles in Captain George’s office that day.”] My feet felt nailed to the ground. “Where?” I whispered, though I knew he couldn’t understand. Paul walked a few steps toward the northeast corner of the factory area, then sat down and looked up at me. This was a drug detection dog’s alert posture. I memorized the location and quickly led Paul away. Only when we reached the road outside the factory did I dare pull out my phone and message George. “Northeast corner of factory area. Underground. Paul reacted.” The reply was almost instant: “Received. Don’t approach again. Come back.” I led Paul back. Passing a small alley, a three-legged black cat crouched at the entrance. Seeing Paul, it arched its back and hissed. Its voice entered my mind, sharp and thin: [“Get lost, dog. This is my territory. That human who drives here at midnight is annoying enough. Now a dog too.”] I stopped. [“That human always brings a big bag. Very heavy, carries it on his shoulder. Has the bag going in, nothing coming out. The smell underground is getting stronger. I don’t even dare catch rats over there anymore.”] I crouched down, pretending to tie my shoe, actually frantically memorizing every detail. Big bag. Carries it in, comes out empty-handed. The smell underground is getting stronger. When I stood up, my legs were weak.

That afternoon, I returned to the Criminal Investigation Division and told George everything. After listening, he was silent for a long time, then picked up the phone: “Notify the tech team. Prepare underground detection equipment. Operation at dawn tomorrow.” Hanging up, he looked at me. “You’re staying at the station tonight. Don’t go anywhere.” “Why?” “If that person really noticed someone’s paying attention to the abandoned factory, he might want to know who. You’ve filed a police report and appeared in that area.” My blood went cold. George saw my fear and, rarely, added a sentence: “Major Crimes has a duty room. Sleep there tonight.” That night, lying on the hard cot in the duty room, listening to occasional footsteps in the hallway, I didn’t sleep a wink. At 4 AM, urgent footsteps and lowered voices suddenly echoed in the hallway. I bolted upright and pushed open the door. In the hallway, George was striding out, wearing a bulletproof vest with a gun at his waist. Seeing me, his steps didn’t slow. “Go back to sleep.” “Did you find it?” He didn’t answer. He’d already disappeared at the stairwell. I stood in the hallway, wrapped in that thin blanket, and waited for four hours. At 8 AM, the Major Crimes team gradually returned. Everyone’s face looked terrible. When Patterson passed me, that usually carefree face showed no expression. He walked into the office, threw his bulletproof vest on the desk, sat down, and covered his face with both hands. I stood in the doorway, not daring to enter. Half an hour later, George returned. His shirt was stained with dirt, his face ashen. Walking to the whiteboard, he removed the four photos of the missing women one by one and moved them to the other side of the board. Then he picked up a red marker and wrote “DECEASED” under each photo. Four people. All killed. The bodies were buried in the basement at the northeast corner of the abandoned factory. I leaned against the doorframe, stomach churning. George turned around, saw me, and walked over. He stood in front of me, looking down, eyes bloodshot. “Your lead was correct.” His voice was hoarse as sandpaper. “Basement. Four bodies. Times of death match the disappearance times. However.” He paused. “We didn’t catch him. No suspect in the factory. No van appeared. The scene was cleaned. Almost no usable trace evidence left.” My heart sank to the bottom. “He knew we were coming?” “Very likely.” George’s jaw tightened. “He’s more cautious than we imagined. The only thing recovered from the scene was a footprint. Size ten running shoe, matches the white sneakers you described. But it’s not enough.” He looked at me, gaze heavy. “Samuelle, this case is much harder than we anticipated.” The following week, the task force hit a dead end. The suspect seemed to have evaporated. Never appeared at the zoo again. No activity around the abandoned factory either. Surveillance, canvassing, screening—all conventional methods were used. Nothing. That man in the baseball cap had dissolved like a drop of water into the ocean. Every day I went to the zoo as usual, then sat at the Criminal Investigation Division after work. But without new leads, I was just furniture. Patterson’s attitude toward me shifted from initial dismissal to a strange courtesy. He no longer mocked me to my face, but he didn’t talk to me either. Once, getting water in the break room, I heard him quietly telling another colleague: “That girl, uncanny. She said there’s something underground, and there really was. Where did Captain George even find her?” The colleague asked: “What’s her background really?” Patterson shook his head. “Don’t know. Captain George won’t say. Who dares ask?” I retreated to my corner with my water cup. On the eighth day, a breakthrough came. Not from an animal, but from a person. That afternoon, I was cleaning the aviary at the zoo. The aviary housed dozens of parrots, mynahs, and thrushes. Usually noisy as hell, their minds full of “food,” “that female bird is pretty,” “I want out”—that sort of nonsense. But that day, a gray African Grey parrot suddenly went quiet, tilting its head and staring outside the aviary. Its thoughts were much clearer than other birds: [“That person’s back. Last time he came, he stood here and made a phone call. He said, ‘Move the stuff to the old place, under the third bridge opening by the river.’ I remembered because his voice is ugly, like a crow.”] The broom in my hand nearly fell. I followed the parrot’s line of sight. On the path outside the aviary, a man was walking leisurely past. Not the baseball cap man. This person wore a checkered shirt, glasses, slightly overweight—looked like an ordinary middle-aged office worker. But the parrot said he’d made a phone call here last time. “Move the stuff to the old place, under the third bridge opening by the river.” I put down the broom, pretended to take out trash, and followed the checkered shirt man at a distance. He stopped in front of the monkey mountain, pulled out his phone, and dialed a number. I couldn’t get close enough to hear what he said. But the old monkey in the monkey enclosure could. [“This human is talking. He says, ‘Is it clean?’ Can’t hear what the other side said. Then he says, ‘Good, I’ve already chosen the next target. Lives near the zoo.’”] My blood froze. The next target lives near the zoo. I turned and walked away, practically running back to the feed room, pulling out my phone to call George. “Captain George, new development. The suspect might not be working alone. There’s an accomplice.”

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I got pregnant at the same time as a doctor from another department. But right after my NT scan, the head nurse came knocking at my door. “The hospital is short-staffed. Management has a rule that only one woman can be pregnant during the same period.” “The slot goes to Dr. Harris this time. You need to get an abortion right away!” I was stunned. “Dr. Harris and I aren’t even in the same department. Our work doesn’t conflict at all.” “Plus, I’m a nurse and she’s a doctor. We’re not even on the same shift schedule.” But the head nurse just stubbornly tapped on my desk. “This is hospital policy. No one gets special treatment!” “Either you abort the baby, or you transfer to logistics. Your choice.” Transferring to logistics meant no hope for advancement for the rest of my career. I’d be stuck making two thousand dollars in base pay. My fingers clenched tighter and tighter. I’d worked at this hospital for eight years. I was the hardest-working nurse on the front lines, winning excellence awards every single year. And yet I wasn’t even allowed to be pregnant. I took a breath and looked calmly at the head nurse. “I agree to transfer to logistics.” Less than a week after I transferred, the department fell into complete chaos.

The head nurse changed her tone, patting my back with forced friendliness. “Chloe, you know the hospital has always been understaffed.” “You’re a veteran here. You need to set a good example and follow orders.” I stared at the eight certificates of excellence on my desk without saying a word. The first certificate came from spending half a year on the pandemic frontlines. The second came from participating in nearly a thousand surgeries without a single mistake. The eighth came from working night shifts every Christmas for eight consecutive years. I’d already set enough of a good example. I’d already followed enough orders. When I looked up again, my voice was soft. “I’m going to see the director.” The head nurse finally dropped her smile, her face turning ashen. She said, “Go ahead. It won’t make any difference.” I took a breath and knocked on Director David Harris’s door. Dr. Melody Harris was actually inside too. What was a doctor from another department doing in our department director’s office? But I figured out the answer soon enough. Melody placed two boxes of tea on David Harris’s desk and laughed lightly. “Uncle David, this is tea from back home. Give it a try.” “Dad said this is your favorite.” David Harris’s face showed an expression of warmth I’d never seen before. “Your father really knows me. That’s cousins for you.” “Melody, go home and rest now. I’ve already arranged for you to have fewer shifts.” “You need to take it easy in early pregnancy. I’m waiting to give my grand-nephew a red envelope.” Melody turned around and brushed past me. She glanced at my belly like she was looking at a piece of dead meat. “Chloe, what are you doing here?” David Harris resumed his businesslike demeanor. “Director Harris, I think the hospital’s arrangement for me to have an abortion is unreasonable.” “My work doesn’t conflict with Dr. Harris’s. I’m the only one pregnant in our department. The work can easily be covered.” But David Harris just lazily lifted his eyelids. “Chloe, this is the hospital’s decision. There’s nothing I can do.” I clenched my fists. “Then why do I have to abort? Why not Dr. Harris?” At the mention of his niece’s name, David Harris shot up from his seat. “Chloe, what are you trying to say?” “Dr. Harris is a top-tier graduate, a rising star in this hospital. It’s perfectly natural for her to be pregnant!” “Who told you not to get pregnant earlier? You’re so old now and suddenly want a baby. Shameless.” But David Harris knew better than anyone why I hadn’t gotten pregnant earlier. When I was younger, I’d thought about trying for a baby. He said the hospital was short-staffed, that I was the most reliable, that I needed to dedicate myself to the medical cause. I listened. And then what? What did I get in return? I grabbed the door handle and pulled it open a crack. “If you won’t handle this, I’ll go to the hospital director for an explanation.” David Harris said nothing, his expression unnaturally calm. When I knocked on the hospital director’s office door, I understood why he’d been so calm. Because on the director’s desk sat two boxes of fresh tea. Identical to the ones Melody had given David Harris. Before I could even speak, the director pulled up a chair and began earnestly. “Chloe, I know you’re here about the baby, but there’s nothing I can do either.” “The hospital does have a rule—only one internal pregnancy slot per year. After all, we save lives. We can’t afford to be short-staffed.” “Why isn’t Melody the one who has to abort?” I continued. The director frowned, seeming to find me completely unreasonable. “Dr. Harris is a young backbone doctor with high education and high qualifications. How can you, a nurse, compare to her?” “Chloe, you’re a veteran here. Be reasonable. Show some spirit of dedication.” I spoke calmly. “Is it because Melody is David Harris’s niece?” The director immediately flared up. “Chloe, what nonsense are you spouting!” “Our hospital maintains high ethical standards. We don’t have that kind of nepotism! You’d better watch what you say.” “Fine. I understand.” I stood up. “Director, I won’t abort. I agree to transfer to logistics.” The director pushed up his glasses, his expression unreadable. “You’ve thought this through? Is it worth sacrificing your career for a baby?” “If you really want a child that badly, I’ll give you special approval for next year’s slot, okay?” I said nothing and left the office. The director had it wrong. Transferring to logistics wasn’t surrender—it was a declaration of war. Since they all looked down on nurses, I’d guarantee that within a week, the department would fall apart.

The next morning, the official document transferring me to logistics was distributed to all departments. At the morning meeting, the head nurse slammed the desk so hard it shook. “Some people put their own selfish interests ahead of the entire department’s reputation. And look at the result—you all saw it.” “Don’t any of you follow that bad example. Don’t think being a veteran employee gives you special privileges. Everyone is equal in this hospital!” The young nurses didn’t dare make a sound, only casting curious glances at my not-yet-swollen belly. I ignored it all and focused on packing up my things. The eight certificates of excellence I’d once been so proud of went to the very bottom of the box. As I carried my things out, not a single person came to help. Even though I’d covered their night shifts so many times. Even though I’d taught them hand-in-hand how to assist in surgery. Only the head nurse looked up at me. She said, “Chloe, you’ll regret this. But it’ll be too late.” But I wanted to say—I won’t. The ones who’ll regret this will be them. As I placed my box on the cart, Melody came breezing into our department again. It seemed her shifts really had been reduced. Otherwise she wouldn’t be so free. Melody held an armful of candy, distributing it to all the young nurses. “It’s a custom from back home—when you first get pregnant, you give everyone candy to bring good fortune to the baby.” Immediately, everyone in the department chimed in. “Dr. Harris, don’t worry. The baby will definitely be born safe and sound!” “Yeah, you’re so beautiful. The baby will take after you and be gorgeous too.” The head nurse’s voice was the loudest. “If you ask me, babies need to know how to choose the right womb.” “Being born to Dr. Harris means a lifetime of happiness. Being born to someone else? Well, that’s another story!” I gripped the cart handle, my lips pressed tight. I said nothing. Instead, Melody walked over with a smile, stuffing the last few pieces of candy into my hand. “Nurse Chloe, I heard about what happened to you. Have this candy for good luck.” “I wish, I wish you success with your next pregnancy.” “Not next time,” I said calmly, lifting my head. “I’ve already applied to transfer to logistics. I’m keeping this baby.” “Dr. Harris, your uncle helped reduce your shifts. Since you haven’t been at work, you naturally wouldn’t know this news.” Melody froze, her face flushing red then white, apparently not expecting me to mention their relationship so openly. I didn’t look at her again and pulled my cart toward the exit. But I’d barely taken a step when I heard the head nurse’s furious voice. “Chloe! Wait!” “Did you take something you shouldn’t have? Put it down!”

I stopped and looked down at the cart. Three large boxes, all packed with my own things. But before I could speak, in full view of everyone, the head nurse rushed over. “Chloe, open your boxes. I need to inspect them.” I blocked her path. “You don’t have that authority.” Though I was speaking to the head nurse, my eyes were locked on Melody the whole time. Because it was after Melody whispered to the head nurse that she called me out. And I’d packed everything under the head nurse’s nose in the first place. Melody stroked her belly, calmly meeting my gaze. But the head nurse had already pushed me aside and turned the boxes completely upside down. “You can’t take this banner. This represents the department’s honor, not your personal achievement!” I pointed at the words on the banner. “The department’s honor? Head nurse, this has my personal name on it.” “Still not allowed.” The head nurse carelessly tossed the banner aside. “These operation manuals and training notes can’t be taken either. These are our department’s confidential materials!” “The preserved flowers from discharged patients can’t go either. They gave those to you because of the department’s reputation!” Eventually, the head nurse even took the half-used notebook and pen from my hands. “These also belong to our department. Chloe, you can’t be a thief!” I looked at the mess on the floor, having no doubt that after I left, all of this would end up in the trash. The head nurse didn’t want any of it. She just wanted to humiliate me. Finally, the head nurse pulled out those eight certificates of excellence. After thinking for a moment, she shoved them into the paper shredder. “Chloe, you earned these honors by relying on our department. How dare you take them?” I listened to the sound of the shredder working. Crunch, crunch. Ten seconds to destroy eight years of my hard work. But I didn’t argue. I didn’t even move. After all, I didn’t care about these worthless pieces of paper I’d earned through self-sacrifice anymore. “Look more carefully. Make sure you didn’t miss anything.” I even smiled slightly. The head nurse seemed surprised by my reaction and froze for a moment. And at that exact moment, Melody stepped forward. “Head nurse, although I shouldn’t get involved in your department’s affairs, we’re all friends, so I’ll speak up.” “The nurse’s uniform Chloe is wearing still belongs to your department. I wonder if it’ll be useful later?” The moment she said this, the department fell silent. I looked at Melody. Her expression was innocent, but her eyes held malice. The head nurse immediately caught on, pointing at my nose. “Dr. Harris is right. Chloe! Take off that uniform right now! It belongs to the department!” Seeing that I wasn’t moving, the head nurse even tried to grab me. I stepped back twice and slowly removed my nurse’s uniform, draping it over a chair. “Very good. You’ve done very well. I’ll remember this.” With that, I pulled my nearly empty boxes and walked out. The moment I turned the corner, I heard footsteps behind me. “Nurse Chloe, wait.” It was Melody. She caught up in a few steps. The politeness she’d shown in front of everyone had completely vanished. She frowned at me. “Chloe, who told you to go to the director and make trouble? Who told you to blow this up?” “Do you know what people are saying about me now? That I used connections to force you out!” “Oh.” I suddenly laughed. So that’s why Melody targeted me today. “Isn’t that the truth, Dr. Harris?” Melody hadn’t heard the groveling apology she’d imagined. Her face instantly flushed red. “Chloe, I really don’t understand why someone with no connections like you acts so arrogant.” I didn’t answer. I just slowly turned around. Melody thought she’d won this silent war, that she’d secured the right to have a child. The head nurse thought she’d won prestige, that she could trample this veteran employee underfoot. But they were wrong. I didn’t care. I didn’t care about competing with them for status. I was just waiting for the moment when the real show began.

The logistics department mainly handled purchasing and distributing basic office supplies. The staff was small. Besides me, there were just a few interns and old employees waiting for retirement. The person next to me was named Luna, a senior doing her internship. She was naturally friendly, helping me unload my boxes with nimble hands while smacking her lips. “Chloe, is it true you transferred to logistics just to have your baby?” I kept my head down, organizing things, and didn’t respond. Who knew if she was like the nurses in my old department—just waiting to laugh at my misfortune and kick me while I was down. The silence grew, but Luna kept talking to herself. “Man, I think that rule is pretty unfair, don’t you?” “You and Dr. Harris are in different departments with different jobs. Both being pregnant wouldn’t affect anything. I don’t know what the leaders were thinking.” “But logistics has no future. Chloe, what are you going to do after you give birth?” “Luna! Don’t talk so much!” someone nearby warned her. “Remember last time you complained to management about logistics’ low pay and got chewed out for a whole morning?” “If it’s not our business, don’t stick your nose in it. Do you want to keep this job or not?” Luna’s hands didn’t stop, helping me arrange my desk as she muttered under her breath. “I just think it’s unfair. It doesn’t affect the department’s work. What’s wrong with being pregnant…” I finally looked up at her. She had a very likable baby face. “It’s fine. Logistics is pretty good,” I said. For the next three days, I calmly went to and from work, doing my assigned tasks. No more endless overtime. No more dealing with patients. The days seemed tolerable. Occasionally, when people from my old department came to requisition office supplies, they no longer spoke to me with the same courtesy. Instead, they were dismissive. The kind of disdain a proper nurse has for someone who coasts along in logistics waiting to collect a paycheck. “Chloe, it’s such a shame you’ve fallen this far.” I handed her the office supplies with no expression. “I think it’s pretty good.” The young nurse curled her lip. “I think you’re just shackled by that baby. Do you really have to have it? Pregnancy hormones are scary.” But she didn’t understand—this wasn’t about pregnancy hormones. It wasn’t just about this baby. I was seeking fairness. Justice. Real equality. Not a situation where someone could pull strings and cut off all my paths forward. The turning point came on the fourth day. I’d just gotten off work when my phone started vibrating. One SnapChat message. Then a second. A third. A fourth. It vibrated eighteen times total. Eighteen times—the exact number of nurses in our department. Each message represented a problem they couldn’t handle, a difficult situation. Before I could even open the chat, the head nurse called. On the other end, the department was in chaos. “Chloe, reply to everyone’s messages right now! Hurry!” I gripped my phone, my voice soft but firm. “Why should I?”

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“Ellie, I need you to call me ‘uncle’ today, and have Max call me ‘dad’.” At the parent-teacher conference, Dad said this with one hand on my shoulder and the other holding my classmate Max’s hand. “Why?” I asked. “Max doesn’t have a father.” He spoke quickly. “He’s in a difficult situation. Just help me out today—let him call me dad, and you call me uncle. Understand?” I didn’t say anything. I just watched his lips move. “It’s settled then.” Dad patted my shoulder. Max’s mom walked over, tissue in hand, her eyes red. “Ellie’s such a good girl, aren’t you? Help Max out.” Dad’s hand left my shoulder, his eyes full of urgency. Those three words were like a switch—suddenly my mind flooded with images. The first time was my seventh birthday. I waited with the strawberry cake Mom baked until midnight. Seven candles burned down to black stubs, wax dripping onto the top strawberry, as red as the blood from when I scraped my knee last time. When he came home, he smelled like hospital disinfectant. He said, “Max had a fever. Mrs. Rivera couldn’t handle it alone. You’re a good girl—we’ll celebrate your birthday another time.” I said okay and picked off that wax-covered strawberry and threw it away. It tasted sweet and bitter at the same time. The second time was right after he bought me a pink bicycle. I could barely ride two meters, wobbling all over, and before I could call him to watch, Mrs. Rivera’s call came through. He lifted me off the seat, put me on the curb steps, and pushed the bike to Max who came running over. “You’re older, so be nice to your little brother. He can’t ride yet—I’ll teach him first.” I squatted on the steps counting ants. By the 127th ant, he finally came back. The little bell I’d saved half a month’s allowance to buy was gone from the handlebars. He said, “Max liked it, so I gave it to him. I’ll buy you a new one next time.” The third time was the parent-child craft competition. We spent half a month gluing together a starry castle, and I placed every single sequin on the windows myself. He said he’d turn it in to the teacher for me. Then I saw the castle displayed in first place at the school exhibition hall with Max’s name on it. He crouched down and touched my head. “Max needs this to get his achievement award. You’re a good girl—let him have it. Next time Dad will make you an even bigger one.” Every time it was the same. He said I was a good girl, so I should let Max have what was mine. I looked up at him, then at Max hiding behind him, and nodded. My voice was just loud enough for the three of them to hear: “Okay, Uncle.” Dad visibly relaxed, smiling as he patted my head, then took Max’s hand. “Max, let’s go. Dad will take you inside.” Max jumped high, waving his Ultraman toy. “Dad, hurry! Let’s sit in the front row!” Max’s mom followed them. She glanced back at me with a look that seemed like gratitude, but not quite. Halfway through the conference, it was my turn to go onstage and read my excellent essay. I stood at the podium watching Dad in the first row peeling an orange for Max. I opened my mouth. The essay I’d memorized perfectly—”My Dad is a Superhero Who Lifts Me Above His Head to Watch Fireworks”—not a single word would come out. After standing there for half a minute, I said quietly, “I’m sorry. I forgot to bring my essay.” When I ran off the stage, my knee hit the corner of a table. The pain made me gasp. The parent-teacher conference ended quickly. We walked out of the kindergarten together. Max kept talking—about how the teacher praised him, how he got a gold star, how amazing his dad was. Dad kept smiling. At the intersection, Max’s house was to the left, ours to the right. When we got home, Mom came out of the kitchen wearing her apron. “How was the parent-teacher conference today?” Dad let go of my hand. “It went well. Mrs. Rivera is raising her kid alone—it’s not easy. I helped out today.” Mom looked at Dad for several seconds. After dinner, Dad went to make a phone call. He stood on the balcony, voice low, but I heard him say “it’s okay,” “it’s what I should do,” “raising a child alone isn’t easy.” Mom washed dishes. I helped wipe the table. “Mom,” I said quietly. “Dad wasn’t my dad today.” Mom’s hands stopped. “What?” Mom turned to look at me. “Today at kindergarten, Dad was Max’s dad.” I spoke slowly, each word clear, just like Dad had spoken this morning. “Dad made me call him uncle. He said Max could call him dad, and I had to call him uncle.” Mom’s throat moved, like she was swallowing something. Then she crouched down and hugged me. “Then from now on, Ellie will just call him uncle.”

From that day on, the word “uncle” was carved into my tongue. It came out automatically. The first time was the next evening when the phone rang at home. I ran to answer it. The moment I said “hello,” I heard Dad’s voice through the receiver. “Ellie, Dad bought you—” “Hello, Uncle.” I interrupted him, my voice flat, like reading words from a textbook. The other end went silent for a long time. “Ellie, what happened that day was wrong of Dad,” his voice dropped. “But Max really…” “Uncle, are you looking for Mom?” I asked again, my finger twisting the phone cord. “Mom’s hanging laundry.” This silence lasted even longer. “Yes, I’m looking for your mom,” he finally said. I put the receiver on the coffee table without hanging up and shouted toward the balcony: “Mom, Uncle’s on the phone.” I said “Uncle” extra clearly, enunciating each syllable like the kindergarten teacher taught us phonics. When Mom came over, she glanced at me, picked up the phone, said only two sentences, then hung up. “Your dad says he’ll take you to the aquarium this weekend.” Mom dried her hands and crouched down to look me in the eye. “It’s Uncle,” I corrected. Mom looked at me for a long time, then gently touched my face. “Right. Uncle.” The second time was that weekend when Mom took me to the supermarket to buy yogurt. I was on tiptoe reaching for the peach-flavored yogurt on the top shelf when I heard a familiar voice nearby: “Max, slow down. Don’t fall.” I turned around and saw Dad pushing a shopping cart. Max sat inside holding an Ultraman toy bigger than himself, a lollipop in his mouth. When Dad saw me, his eyes lit up. He let go of the cart handle and walked toward me, reaching out to hug me. “Ellie, you’re shopping too?” I took a step back and hid behind Mom, clutching her clothes and peeking out. My voice was just loud enough for the nearby aunts picking fruit to hear: “Hello, Uncle.” The aunts’ gazes immediately swept to Dad. They whispered to each other. I heard someone say quietly, “Isn’t that the Johnson boy? Why is his own daughter calling him uncle?” Dad’s face turned red instantly. His hand froze in midair, not knowing whether to advance or retreat. Max grabbed the cart railing and shouted at me: “Yeah! This is my dad! You’re right to call him uncle!” Mrs. Rivera quickly came over and pulled Dad away, smiling awkwardly at my mom. “It’s just me and Max. He’s helping us carry things.” Then she pushed the cart away quickly. I saw Dad look back at me several times, his expression terrible. The third time was Monday afternoon after school. I’d just walked out the school gate when I saw Dad waiting for me. When he saw me coming, he rushed over, holding up a beautifully wrapped box—the limited edition Elsa magic wand I’d begged him for months to buy. I used to remind him about it every day, saying I wanted it for the school cosplay competition. “Ellie, look what Dad bought you.” He held the box out to me, his tone a bit pleading. “The one I promised to buy you. Your favorite.” I stared at the box with Elsa’s picture on it for three seconds, then shook my head. “Thank you, Uncle, but Mom already bought me one last week.” Without waiting for him to respond, I ran across the street with my backpack. Mom was waiting for me at the bubble tea shop entrance, holding my favorite pearl milk tea. When I ran over, I glanced back. Dad was still standing there, holding the magic wand, like a forgotten scarecrow. After that, he came to wait at the school gate for several days in a row. Sometimes he brought strawberry cake, sometimes my favorite fried skewers. But each time I only said, “Thank you, Uncle, I don’t want it,” then turned and walked away. Until three days before the sports meet, he didn’t bring any gifts. He just stood at the gate. His back was straight, like a kindergartener about to take a pledge. “Ellie,” he crouched down, his hands pressing on my shoulders with some force. “Next week is the kindergarten sports meet. Dad will definitely be there. This time I’ll only be your dad, only cheer for you. Okay?” His eyes were bright, almost frighteningly bright. “Dad swears.” He held up three fingers like in TV shows. “If I’m lying, I’ll… I’ll turn into a puppy.” I didn’t say anything. I looked at the tiny reflection of myself in his eyes and nodded slightly. He smiled immediately and picked me up, spinning me around. “Then it’s settled!” I nodded. I said quietly in my heart, I’ll trust him one more time. If he really came this time, I’d call him Dad again.

The sun on sports meet day was so bright it hurt to look at. I stood under the sycamore tree by the school gate half an hour early, waiting. “Ellie, the parent-child relay race starts in ten minutes. Is your dad here yet?” The teacher walked over holding a starter pistol. I stood on tiptoe looking toward the intersection, my neck getting sore, and nodded hard. “He’s coming!” But the gate was empty. The warm-up music started playing. All the children and parents held hands in a circle. I stood alone. The teacher came over and took my hand. “Ellie, let’s do this with Ms. Wilson first, okay?” I nodded but kept my eyes on the gate. During the third section of warm-up exercises, I saw Dad. He was running in, carrying a plastic bag, his forehead covered in sweat. I almost jumped and waved at him. But the next second, I saw him run straight to Max. Max was sitting on the ground hugging his knees, crying. Mrs. Rivera was anxiously making a phone call nearby. Dad rushed over and crouched down, carefully examining Max’s knee. I stood on tiptoe and saw a small red mark on Max’s knee—probably just a scraped patch of skin. Dad pulled iodine and a band-aid from the plastic bag, his movements practiced like he’d done this a hundred times. He said something to Mrs. Rivera while treating the wound. Mrs. Rivera covered her mouth, her eyes red again. The teacher urged the parent-child relay participants to gather at the starting line. I stood in place, watching Dad fifty meters away gently blow on Max’s knee, then scoop him up and walk toward the nurse’s office. “Ellie Miller! It’s your turn!” the teacher shouted beside me. I mechanically walked to the starting line. The referee teacher looked beside me. “Where’s your parent?” “He…” I opened my mouth and saw the nurse’s office door close. “Her parent is here.” Mom’s voice came from behind me. I whipped around and saw Mom running over, pulling an uncle I’d never seen before. Mom was out of breath, her hair a bit messy. “I’m sorry, Ellie. Mom’s late.” Mom crouched down and hugged me. Her arms were trembling. The uncle also crouched down, looking me in the eye. “You must be Ellie. I’m Liam. I’m your mom’s friend. I just heard from your mom that you’re in the relay race. I even borrowed matching clothes. Want to bring me along? I’m really fast—I won first place at my company sports meet last time.” The teacher walked over just then, looking at Liam in surprise. “And you are?” I stared at the smile in Uncle Liam’s eyes, then glanced at Dad who had just walked out of the nurse’s office and was looking this way. Suddenly I raised my hand and pointed at Liam, my voice loud enough for the entire field to hear: “This is my dad!” Time seemed to freeze. Dad stood twenty meters away, frozen mid-step.

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